After Abid, Samar Ends His Life Too — Who Is Responsible? Shabu Zaidi**

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Lucknow today — a sigh that once belonged to Abid. Just a month ago, it echoed through a small flat in Panjtan Heights. Abid, a young man whose eyes sparkled with dreams but whose pockets carried nothing but the darkness of debt, took his own life in the Sathkanda outpost area under Thakurganj Police Station. Why? Because joblessness and financial despair crushed him so deeply that every path of life seemed closed.

He left behind a widow, two small children, and elderly parents who still cry for him. Abid’s death asked a painful question — has our community become so heartless that we cannot support our own sons in their hour of need?

But before Abid’s cries could fade, another heartbreaking news stunned everyone. Samar Imam Zaidi, who ran a small stationery shop on Hardoi Road’s Sarfaraz Ganj, chose the same tragic path. Samar, a 48-year-old man lovingly known as “Samar Bhai,” was buried under debt — a bank loan of nearly three lakh rupees, taken for a family occasion. That debt became his life’s enemy. He left behind a note saying, “The loan has crushed my soul. I can bear it no longer.”

Imagine that pain — a father leaving behind his crying wife and two children. The tears of his aging parents, the sobs of his wife, the innocent eyes of children who have suddenly become orphans — these together paint a picture that can pierce any heart. Samar Imam Zaidi, a Shia brother, who never stopped working hard, lost to the indifference of society.

These are not just two incidents — they are wounds within our community. Islam, especially the Shia faith, teaches that taking one’s own life is the gravest sin. As the Quran says, “Do not kill yourselves” (Surah An-Nisa, 4:29). The martyrdom of Imam Hussain (A.S.) gives us the message of patience and hope — even in the fields of Karbala, he never surrendered. But what about today’s Shia youth, highly educated yet unemployed? Where can he turn? Financial distress, joblessness, and the fear of losing social respect create a fire that burns the soul itself. Suicide, then, becomes not just an individual’s choice, but a mirror reflecting the collective failure of society.

And who is responsible for this failure? We are — along with our religious leaders, clerics, and so-called community representatives who exploit our emotions daily. For years, they have summoned us to protests and rallies — sometimes over mosque disputes, sometimes under the banner of religious pride. But have they ever thought about providing employment for the likes of Abid or Samar? Have they created funds for higher education or healthcare? No. They remain busy displaying their influence while our educated youth wander the streets.

The teachings of our Imams (A.S.) say: “The greatest jihad is the fight against poverty.” But where are our clerics today? Their faces show no trace of grief for these tragedies. They gather crowds for their personal agendas, not for the uplift of the people. These political demonstrations do not strengthen our community; they weaken it further.

Imagine Samar Imam’s wife tonight — struggling alone to raise two children, praying for help that never comes. Think of Abid’s parents, clutching their son’s photo and sobbing in silence. The cry of “Ya Hussain!” has turned into a cry of grief and helplessness. These tears are not individual; they belong to the entire community. If we continue to ignore them, how many more Abids and Samars will we lose tomorrow?

The time to awaken is now. Our clerics, leaders, and every member of the community must act — immediately and collectively — to create pathways for youth employment, education, and healthcare. A communal fund should be established to help those drowning in debt. Instead of endless sit-ins and speeches, build skill centers where the youth can turn their education into livelihood. Imam Zainul Abidin (A.S.) once said, “The greatest act of virtue is to hold the hand of an orphan.”

Let us hold those orphaned hands today. Let us stop these tears before they drown us all. Do you feel that pain too? If you do, then raise your voice now — because tomorrow may be too late.

Contact: 7617032786

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