A job title, salary, promotion or public recognition often becomes our measure of success.
A young person who fails to secure a government job may begin to see himself as unsuccessful.
A person’s social identity becomes vulnerable when it depends entirely on public attention.
We imagine that a better financial position, a larger house or professional recognition will finally allow us to enjoy ourselves.
Qazi Touqeer’s greatest lesson may have little to do with winning a singing competition or returning to television.
Qazi Touqeer
By Dr. Ashraf Zainabi
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We have grown used to judging people by their professional positions. A job title, salary, promotion or public recognition often becomes our measure of success.
We celebrate people when they rise, but when they fade from public view, our attention shifts elsewhere. Somewhere along the way, we have begun to confuse professional success with a person’s worth.
The story of Kashmiri singer Qazi Touqeer challenges this way of looking at people.
His journey from winning a national television competition to returning to the spotlight through Bigg Boss shows how to find happiness in life even when things do not turn out as we had hoped.
In 2005, Qazi became a household name after winning Fame Gurukul, a popular television singing competition.
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A young man from Kashmir, he captured the affection of millions with his singing, confidence, energy and entertaining personality. His victory opened the door to expectations of a successful career in the entertainment industry.
Many imagined that he would become a regular presence on television and build a lasting position in Indian popular culture.
His professional journey, however, took a different direction.
His television appearances became less frequent, and the visibility that followed his victory gradually faded. For someone who had experienced national recognition at such a young age, the years outside the spotlight could easily have become a source of disappointment.
But Qazi’s public personality appears to have retained its cheerfulness, humour and enthusiasm.
His presence in the Bigg Boss house has brought him back into public discussion. He sings, jokes, participates in activities and interacts with fellow contestants. There is an ease in the way he approaches the experience. He seems as interested in enjoying his time inside the house as he is in entertaining viewers.
His story raises three important lessons about how we approach our own lives.
The first is that professional disappointment should never become a verdict on personal worth. Life rarely follows the plans we make for it. Opportunities disappear, careers take unexpected turns and years of effort sometimes produce results far removed from our ambitions.
A person who once occupied a prominent professional position may find himself starting again, while someone with modest achievements may discover happiness in family, friendships and everyday experiences.
Our society often makes this distinction difficult. We introduce ourselves through our professions, judge others by their occupations and attach social standing to income and recognition.
This line of thinking can become particularly restrictive in a place like Kashmir, where competition for government employment remains intense and professional designations often influence social standing.
A young person who fails to secure a government job may begin to see himself as unsuccessful. Someone whose business struggles may feel that years of effort have been wasted. Such thinking turns a professional setback into a personal burden.
Qazi’s journey suggests another way of looking at life.
A career can fall short of expectations while the person behind it continues to find reasons to enjoy living.
His second lesson concerns human relationships. Public recognition is temporary. The people who applaud us today may turn their attention elsewhere tomorrow. Television programmes change, institutions move on and new personalities occupy the space once held by others. A person’s social identity becomes vulnerable when it depends entirely on public attention.
Relationships provide a more lasting source of connection. Friendship, humour, kindness and the ability to make others comfortable build bonds that professional achievements alone cannot create.
Qazi’s present appearance on television illustrates this through his interactions with fellow contestants. He sings, jokes and participates without appearing preoccupied with proving his superiority. His willingness to engage with others makes him an interesting presence in the house. His appeal lies partly in his ability to enjoy the company of people around him.
There is a lesson here for young people who spend years building professional identities while giving little attention to friendships and personal relationships. A designation may introduce you to someone, but the way you treat people often determines whether they remember you. Professional success can bring recognition. Human warmth gives relationships their lasting value.
The third lesson may be the most difficult to practise: happiness should not become a reward that we keep postponing.
We frequently tell ourselves that life will become enjoyable after the next achievement. A student waits for admission, a researcher for publication, an employee for promotion and an entrepreneur for profit. We imagine that a better financial position, a larger house or professional recognition will finally allow us to enjoy ourselves.
Meanwhile, the present becomes a waiting room for an imagined future.
Qazi’s approach suggests a different relationship with ambition. He sings because he enjoys singing, entertains because he enjoys making people laugh and participates because he finds pleasure in the experience. His enthusiasm does not appear to depend entirely on the outcome.
Ambition remains important. People should pursue their dreams, work hard and seek professional excellence. But ambition loses its purpose when it consumes the very happiness that achievement is supposed to bring. We can work towards a better career while enjoying friendships, family life, music and ordinary pleasures along the way.
This is particularly relevant in Kashmir, where young people face intense competition for limited employment opportunities. Families invest years of savings in education, coaching and professional preparation. A young graduate may spend years preparing for examinations, while parents organise household finances around the hope of securing a government position for their children.
Such aspirations are understandable. But children also need to learn that a particular job is only one possible destination in life. An unsuccessful business does not make someone a failure as a human being. A career that takes an unexpected direction need not deprive a person of happiness.
Kashmir needs ambitious young people who pursue professional excellence. It also needs people who can accept setbacks without losing their interest in living, who maintain friendships beyond professional circles and who find pleasure in life before achieving their biggest ambitions.
Qazi Touqeer’s greatest lesson may have little to do with winning a singing competition or returning to television. His journey reminds us that a person’s life continues long after public recognition fades.
The applause may become distant, professional opportunities may take different directions, and public attention may move elsewhere. What remains is the person and his ability to enjoy the life he has.
Perhaps we should pay greater attention to that part of success.
A career tells us what someone has achieved professionally, but the way a person lives tells us something much larger.
