Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim…
October 10, 2026. As I sit down to write this article, it has been a month since Deedar.
In Ismaili philosophy, Deedar holds great importance. But I don’t think we can truly understand its significance until we experience it for ourselves.
At that moment, the garden of my heart, which had been deserted and lifeless for so long, came alive again. It began to bloom. Yet, while the Imam-e-Zaman is physically present among us for a limited time, He is always with us in a spiritual sense. And perhaps we don’t fully realise this until we experience it in our own lives.
A lot has happened over the past month.
I thought I had finally blossomed, and that I would never wither again. But as the days passed, those memories and conversations slowly faded into the complications of everyday life. I got caught up in the same old maze of responsibilities and distractions. Somewhere along the way, I forgot.
And then, a strange dryness began to spread through my heart.
It wasn’t just that my ego was growing again; I was also feeling a sense of hopelessness. Deep down, I felt I was drifting away from my Imam. And along with that, I was losing my faith.
I began to wonder whether that faith would ever return. Perhaps I would simply carry on through life in a materialistic way, enjoying whatever came my way.
There would be solo trips, moments of solitude, gatherings with friends, movies, excitement—and, most importantly, my phone and the internet would always be there with me.
On the surface, this kind of life sounds exciting, doesn’t it? Travelling wherever I want, having no restrictions, enjoying myself and doing whatever makes me happy.
But inwardly, it felt like a glimpse of Dozakh—a kind of spiritual emptiness that I was beginning to experience in real life.
Take watching a movie, for example. I would watch it, enjoy it for a while, and then move on. The excitement would fade, and I would be left with the same emptiness. It felt as though something was missing. There was no lasting life in that happiness.
Our Hazir Imam’s name is Rahim, a name that reminds us of mercy and compassion.
Sometimes, I wonder whether a mother might allow her child to feel hunger so that the child learns to appreciate food. In a similar way, perhaps the Hazir Imam allows us to experience a glimpse of spiritual emptiness, so that we can recognise the value of Jannat—the love of the Imam, Ishq-e-Imam, and the knowledge of the Imam. Not only should we learn to appreciate these blessings, but we should also learn to live peacefully through them.
The Imam’s guidance, “Keep your faith alive all the time,” has taken on a deeper meaning for me.
Perhaps this is what Jannat feels like in practical terms: keeping our faith alive.
This doesn’t mean abandoning everything, giving up our responsibilities, or walking away from the world. It means fulfilling our duties, doing our jobs or running our businesses, while keeping our ethics alive. And, above all, it means remembering the Imam and Allah in our hearts, even in the middle of our everyday activities, allowing Zikr to become as natural as the rhythm of our own heartbeat.
Everything has two aspects: Zaahir and Baatin, the outward and the inward.
In the same way, ethics also has two aspects: outward ethics and inward ethics.
When the Imam is always present before us inwardly, when He remains in our thoughts and hearts, perhaps following ethical principles becomes more natural. It reminds me of the story about Apple, where the child follows the rules because he feels someone is watching him.
Perhaps the real question is whether we can develop that same awareness within ourselves—not out of fear of being watched, but out of an inner connection that guides our actions.
And perhaps this is what balance really means.
A balance between Deen and Duniya.
Think about it. Even when we are sleeping, eating, or spending time with our families, our minds often wander back to our jobs or businesses. Sometimes we worry about them; at other times, we simply keep thinking about what needs to be done.
If our minds can remain occupied with our work even during those moments, why can’t we also remember our faith and our Imam while we are working?
In fact, thoughts about our jobs, businesses, and worldly responsibilities can often leave us anxious. But remembering the Imam can bring a sense of peace to our work, help us approach our responsibilities with a better heart, and make us feel closer to Him.
And so, here I am, a month after Deedar, reflecting on everything this past month has taught me.
There is so much I have learned, and no matter how much gratitude I express to my Hazir Imam, it will never feel like enough.
Insha’Allah, may I never drift away from Sirat-al-Mustaqim, the Straight Path.
Ya Hazir Imam, I know I make mistakes. I know I fall short. But I am Your child. Please forgive me.
Ameen.
Ya Hazir Imam, Shukrana, Imam-e-Zaman.
