A Conversation of Mr. Muhammad Hassan Ilyas with Dr. Shehzad Saleem
Hassan Ilyas: In the name of Allah, the Most Merciful, the Compassionate. A student from the Ghamidi Center is present before you. We are fortunate that one of the eminent scholars of our school of thought, Dr. Shehzad Saleem, has graciously come to the United States at our request. In recognition of his lifelong services, our institution has conferred upon him the Lifetime Achievement Award. This ceremony was broadcast on social media and received a wide response from the people. In today’s sitting, I wish to engage in a candid conversation with Dr. Saleem about his personal life—things which are generally not discussed in scholarly gatherings—so that we may hear them directly from him. Let us begin. Brother Shehzad, Assalamu Alaikum. I trust you are well?
Shehzad Saleem: Wa Alaikum Assalam. Alhamdulillah, yes.
Hassan Ilyas: Thank you very much, Brother Shehzad, for sparing the time. My intention today is not to raise academic or intellectual themes. Rather, I would like to exchange thoughts, in an informal manner, regarding the journey of your life. To begin with, kindly tell us about your family background: how did your interest in the religious sciences develop? What led to your first meeting with Javed Ahmed Ghamidi, and when did that meeting take place?
Shehzad Saleem: In fact, the turning point of my life was the year 1981, when my father passed away. I was fourteen years old at that time—a lively, though studious, boy for my age. I shared a close friendship and deep affection with my father. His sudden departure from this world was an event of immense impact upon me—it was something that really changed my life. That incident transformed me completely.
As a result, fundamental questions about life began to arise in my mind: Who are we? Where have we come from? What is the purpose of our coming? What is life? What is death? These questions gripped my heart and mind with intensity. In search of answers, I turned to the study of philosophy. Yet I realized that instead of answering those questions, philosophy generated even more questions.
Thus, I resolved to pursue a formal education in religion. At that time, the International Islamic University in Islamabad was just being established. We used to live in Rawalpindi–Islamabad with my father, but after his death we had to move to Lahore. Since my sisters were still very young, I could not take the step of enrolling in the Islamic University at Islamabad. Instead, I secured admission in Electrical Engineering at the University of Engineering and Technology, Lahore—but my heart continued to long for religious learning.
This desire led me to Dr. Israr Ahmad. However, his institution was more action-oriented than knowledge- oriented. Its primary emphasis was on missionary and reformist goals, which reflected his own disposition. Although there were some one-year and two-year academic courses offered, I felt they would not quench my thirst. I wished to go very deep, to acquire knowledge in its profoundest sense.
Around that time, I came to know that Mawlana Amin Ahsan Islahi was a distinguished scholar and was delivering lectures in Lahore. So, I began attending his sessions. He suffered from hearing impairment in those days. After the lectures, a question–answer session would be held: one had to write the question on paper and present it to him, and he would respond. I also attempted this, but naturally such an arrangement did not allow for real dialogue. By chance, our old associate, the late Anis Mufti—may Allah have mercy on him—was present there. He said, “Since you find difficulty in asking questions directly to Mawlana, it would be better for you to go to Javed Ahmed Ghamidi. He is himself a student of Islahi, and he lives nearby, in Model Town, not far from here (Ferozepur Road).”
Hassan Ilyas: So, your first introduction was with Islahi, before you met Javed Ahmed Ghamidi?
Shehzad Saleem: Yes, exactly.
Hassan Ilyas: What was your father’s profession? Did he reside in Pakistan, or had he migrated from India?
Shehzad Saleem: My father was a Chartered Accountant. His family belonged to Punjab. My mother was from Meerut, but her family migrated to what later became Pakistan in 1945. The reason was that my maternal grandfather, Dr. Qazi Saeeduddin, was offered in 1945 the opportunity to establish the Department of Geography at Punjab University. Thus, he founded the Department of Geography there and became its first head.
Hassan Ilyas: That means your grandfather was indeed a distinguished and well-educated personality.
Shehzad Saleem: Yes, he had completed his PhD from University College London under the supervision of the renowned geographer Dudley Stamp.
Hassan Ilyas: I see. Now let us move forward. Tell us, what was the factor that initially drew you towards Dr. Israr Ahmad?
Shehzad Saleem: Before mentioning Dr. Israr Ahmad, I should acknowledge another individual who first turned my attention towards the Quran. That was Professor Muhammad Azmat—he is, by the grace of Allah, still alive. At that time, he was teaching at Government College, Lahore. Actually, when we moved from Rawalpindi to Lahore, we shifted into the haveli of my maternal grandfather. The neighborhood where this haveli was located happened to be the same area where Professor Azmat resided. He had a great passion for the Quran. His recitation was beautiful, and he used to lead the Friday prayer in the local mosque. With much affection and care, he nurtured in me a deep love for reading the Quran.
As for Dr. Israr Ahmad, it was probably around 1984–85 that I began going to hear him at Masjid Darus-Salaam in Bagh-e-Jinnah. At that time, I was a student at the University of Engineering and Technology. I found that his discourse was logical, his manner of speaking was modern, and he could speak English well too. Soon afterward, I also began attending regularly at his institution, Quran Academy, in Model Town. I later came to know that one of my maternal uncles had been his class fellow at King Edward Medical College. In any case, I continued to listen to him, but matters did not move beyond listening. He wished me to join his system of bay‘at (pledging allegiance of hearing and obedience). However, given my educational background, I had already been exposed to modern intellectual trends. My mind could not accept the idea of binding oneself to a person in unquestioning obedience. So, although I attended his lectures and Quranic sessions, my temperament was never inclined towards pledging bayt. Around that time, the “Islami Jamiat al-Tulaba” (Islamic Students’ Organization) was founded. It quickly became very active in the Engineering University, attracting a large circle of students. Dr. Israr placed great expectations upon it. The extent of its influence in the university can be gauged from the fact that when the time came to appoint a city leader for Lahore, one of my classmates from the Engineering University was entrusted with that responsibility.
Meanwhile, I had also met both Amin Ahsan Islahi and Javed Ahmed Ghamidi. Among the very first questions I posed to Javed Ahmed Ghamidi was precisely this matter of bayt involving hearing and obedience. On that occasion, an interesting incident occurred: after I conveyed to him Dr. Israr’s viewpoint in my own words, Javed Ahmed Ghamidi remarked, “This does not make sense to me.” Obviously, it was a critical remark, but I interpreted it at first to mean that perhaps he had not properly understood Dr. Israr’s perspective. However, in subsequent sittings, he explained that the Hadith upon which Dr. Israr based this demand—“I command you with five things which Allah has commanded me: adherence to the community, hearing and obedience, migration, and striving in the path of Allah”—relates, in fact, to the domain of government and state.
As a result, the entire edifice of Dr. Israr’s thought on this matter collapsed. One immediate consequence was that the circle of “Islami Jamiat al-Tulaba” within the university dispersed, and within merely eight or nine months of its formation, the organization dissolved. Naturally, this was a serious setback for Dr. Israr’s work, for he had believed that this movement would become highly influential among the youth.
Hassan Ilyas: Understood, that is now clear. Let us move ahead. Usually, when people experience a religious transformation, the first effects appear in their lifestyle, habits, outward demeanor, and clothing. You came from a modern family background. When this change occurred in your life, did it also manifest outwardly in such ways?
Shehzad Saleem: When this religious transformation took place, I was still too young for facial hair. Then, around 1986–87, when some hair began to grow, I decided to keep a beard. I still remember: the decision was made after Dr. Israr had delivered a lecture on the subject of the beard. I was so deeply moved that I resolved never to shave again. When I informed my family, an uproar broke out at home. My mother was particularly opposed. She had already been watching with concern for the past four or five years that I was gradually drifting from the track she expected, but at least my outward appearance had remained unchanged. Now, when I announced this decision, she grew very worried. Since my beard was still sparse at that time, when it became visible it looked extremely untidy. A similar situation arose with regard to clothing. I used to wear trousers, but it was difficult to keep the hems above the ankles. To resolve this, I asked my mother to instruct the tailor to stitch my trousers with higher hems. My mother objected, saying, “That will spoil them, and they will look bad.” So I devised a solution of my own: I folded the hems upwards and fastened them with a stapler.
In addition, I began to wear a Jinnah cap on my head. You can imagine what my mother and family must have thought: below were trousers folded and stapled layer upon layer, on my head was a Jinnah cap, and on my face an unruly beard. I had adopted this appearance believing it to be a very important requirement of religion.
Hassan Ilyas: You mentioned that your beard was sparse. It seems to me that many of the senior scholars of our school of thought have been granted sparse facial hair by Allah. Perhaps there is some hidden wisdom in this too. Anyhow, let us move forward. Tell us: when you first met Javed Ahmed Ghamidi almost forty years ago, where and how did that meeting take place? What was he like at that time?
Shehzad Saleem: At that time, he was living in House No. 51-E, Model Town.
Hassan Ilyas: Did you get an appointment before going to meet him?
Shehzad Saleem: No, I did not take any appointment. The very day I learned, at Islahi’s lecture, that he lived nearby, I decided immediately to go meet him. So instead of returning home, I went straight to Model Town.
My cousin and I set out on a motorcycle, and in a short while we arrived at his house. Just as I was about to ring the doorbell, my eyes fell on the road: I saw a gentleman walking with very measured steps, wearing a light mesh cap on his head, his gaze cast downwards. I thought to myself, perhaps this is Javed Ahmed Ghamidi. Indeed, he saw us, opened the door, and welcomed us warmly. He seated us kindly. I told him that I had just attended his teacher’s lecture. He was very pleased. Then he listened attentively to my words and asked me several things. From that day until today, our bond has remained. It was, as Shakespeare says:
There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. In human life, there are moments when a tide rises, and if one rides upon its flow, it carries him onto the current of great fortune. For me, that day was such a moment of felicity granted by Allah.When I first married him, he was so immersed in his reading and writing that there was hardly any conversation between us. I have never seen anyone work as hard, academically, as he does. Hours upon hours he would sit in the same position, focused on his work. Now, of course, I am used to it. Let me share one incident: when we would go to pick up our son, Ibrahim, from Aitchison College, Shehzad would be proofreading papers in the car. Ibrahim would feel embarrassed and say, “My friends ask me—does your father do anything other than study all the time?”
As for my own journey, whatever little contribution I have been able to make in the service of faith has been entirely because of Shehzad’s support. I don’t think any woman could get this much time for academic work alongside household responsibilities if it weren’t for a husband’s full cooperation. I remember our late-night Ramadan transmissions—he never once stopped me, never said, “Not at this hour, you cannot go.” Whenever I was called, Shehzad always supported me wholeheartedly. In this regard, I am deeply grateful to him. Whatever I am today, I owe it to my father, my teacher, and my husband. He has always stood by me in life, and at the same time, remained fully committed to his own mission.
These days, however, I see something new in him—though perhaps he might not like me saying it. He seems to be turning more and more towards asceticism. His eating is very simple, he keeps just a few clothes, and there is a visible detachment from worldly concerns. It feels as if he is becoming increasingly indifferent to the material world.
My prayer—and may your prayers join mine so that they are surely accepted—is that Allah grants him good health and continued strength in his scholarly work. May Allah always keep him surrounded by His blessings, with his son, with his friends, and, at the end of it all, with me as well.