A role model is someone we admire and aspire to emulate. They serve as a guiding light, especially for the young, by demonstrating how to navigate life with purpose and resilience. Whether through their actions, which reveal strength and wisdom, or through their words—spoken or written—they offer invaluable support and counsel. Their presence reminds us that success is not just achieved but lived and shared, wrapped in motivation, support, and belief in others.
We are urged, time and again, to carve our own path through the world — to shun the footprints of others, no matter how majestic their stride. We assume that we would lose a vital part of that all-too-precious commodity – our individuality – if we were to subscribe to ideas other than those that happen to come spontaneously into our minds. I beg to differ. If we choose our guides with care, there is no shame in walking where greatness once tread. It is not the blind imitation of the past, but the wise selection of its finest echoes that can illuminate our way. The goal is not to be more defiantly “ourselves” — as if authenticity were born only from chaos — but to edge closer to wisdom and calm. These, more often than not, are found not in isolation, but in communion with the thoughts of those whose vision surpassed our own. The voices of the past, far from muffling our own, may be what awakens us at last.
We don’t need to know someone personally for them to be our role model—many of the most powerful influences come from historical or literary figures we've never met but deeply admire. What matters most is the connection we feel, the sense that their journey reflects a dream within our reach. Young people seek those who spark their passion and awaken a deeper sense of purpose—not always by listening, but by imitating what they see. They crave examples who walk with authenticity, offering inspiration through action rather than instruction. Whether a celebrity, teacher, parent, or even a distant figure from a book, a true role model becomes a compass, guiding the young along the winding path of self-discovery that life sets before them.
An authentic role model doesn't merely command action—they awaken the innate desire to do what's right
When faced with a serious choice, my father would often say, Picture the person you hope to be one day, and ask yourself—what would they do? Seek wisdom in books, choose a role model with care, and look to those living the life you dream of; study their path, and then walk it with purpose. Without them, we wander, unsure of what’s straight or crooked, like sailors adrift without a North Star. A role model can become our compass, our guide, giving meaning to direction; for without one, we risk drifting through life without ever reaching our goal.
An authentic role model doesn't merely command action—they awaken the innate desire to do what's right. Their power, however, vanishes the moment ego replaces inspiration, for hypocrisy drowns even the noblest words. You cannot force virtue upon others, but through consistent kindness, patience, and love, you create conditions where goodness may take root. True role models aren't defined by accolades, but by their humanity—their resilience through failure, their integrity beyond the spotlight, their commitment to lifting others when no one's watching. They are gardeners of our communities, proving daily that character isn't built in grand gestures, but in the quiet accumulation of choices that honour our shared dignity.
Growing up, I longed for a role model—not a distant figure, but someone real, who could guide me with their actions more than words. I sought a person who faced life's trials with courage and grace, and in doing so, showed that success was not just a dream but a path I, too, could walk. I needed someone to mirror strength in struggle, to offer wisdom in hardship, and to remind me that setbacks were not the end, but the beginning of growth. I searched someone I could identify with—someone whose belief in me could build my confidence. A true role model, to me, lived with integrity, demonstrated kindness, upheld noble values, and showed what it meant to treat others with respect. While stories and headlines spark admiration, they often feel too far removed to touch the heart. What I sought was more than inspiration—it was permission to believe. A flesh-and-blood mentor doesn’t just model behaviours; they make the impossible look attainable by existing in three dimensions, their scars testifying that setbacks aren’t dead ends, but detours on the road to becoming.
My parents and teachers were great early role models, shaping not only my educational and career aspirations but also my confidence and belief in what I could achieve. Through their daily presence and encouragement, they nurtured my self-esteem, reinforced my performance in school, and taught me resilience in the face of challenges. Like devoted gardeners, they planted a seed of potential within me, tending to it with care, preparing the soil with knowledge, watering it with encouragement, shielding it from doubt, and ensuring it received the light of opportunity and support. Their investment wasn’t just in the moment, but in my future, believing I could grow into the fullest version of myself. Without such figures to guide us through the vital stages of learning, we risk losing our way, lacking the tools to make wise decisions or the sense of self needed to navigate life’s complexities.
Whenever I imagined a role model, I longed for one soul who embodied everything I aspired to be—kind and courageous, generous yet grounded, honest, loving, and quietly influential, all balanced by an unshakable inner calm
In my formative years, I couldn’t escape the expanding influence of mass media that had placed certain celebrities on pedestals of fame. Like many, I felt drawn to iconic figures across music—Rafi, Neil Diamond, ABBA; film—Dilip Kumar, Smita Patil, De Niro; sports—Imran Khan, Maradona, Carl Lewis; literature—Ahmed Faraz, Robert Ludlum, Charles Dickens; and politics—Jinnah, Churchill, Mao Zedong. What connected them all was their unwavering discipline and the passion they poured into their crafts, chasing excellence with tireless zeal. Yet even in admiration, I reminded myself to separate celebrity-worship from hero-worship. These two are not the same. Too often, we blur the line, and in doing so, risk losing sight of what truly makes a role model. Greatness is not found in fame, but in character, effort, and meaningful contribution. When we confuse the two, we dilute the value of true greatness, turning fame into mere notoriety—and in that blur, we risk losing the real models worth emulating.
Whenever I imagined a role model, I longed for one soul who embodied everything I aspired to be—kind and courageous, generous yet grounded, honest, loving, and quietly influential, all balanced by an unshakable inner calm. I wanted someone who could weather life’s brutal storms and emerge not just intact but triumphant, someone I could witness in motion—living fully as a devoted son, loyal friend, loving husband, wise father, inspiring teacher, and steadfast leader. I didn’t want a polished myth or filtered ideal; I craved the unedited reality—how he eats, sleeps, weeps, loves, trains, connects, and carries time in his hands. I needed to know that the person I admired was real, not just a stitched-together fantasy of who I wished he were. Their greatness, not manufactured or manipulated, but evolving naturally, rooted in truth and lived conviction. They choose the moral high ground, even when it’s hard, as the quiet path that shapes not only their character, but also inspires those who walk behind them. It felt like searching for a character from a book I couldn’t stop reading—except that I never stopped hoping he was out there.
As children, we all played the game—slipping our small feet into our parents’ enormous shoes, giggling at the absurdity, and wondering if we might one day grow into such towering figures. In time, we come to see that our parents, though giants in memory, may not be the perfect models we once believed. Yet history offers us a broader horizon. With time and distance as our guides, we can look beyond the familiar silhouettes of early life and search the vast expanse of ages past for more fitting exemplars. There is a quiet strength in yielding, now and then, to the wisdom of thoughtful, long-departed souls. We are not adrift; nor must we walk alone—we need only find the footprints that echo the shape of our becoming.
In search for a role model, I yearned to rise above the fog of tradition, to see with eyes unclouded by time or creed. I found Jesus, radiant in spirit; he drew me near—yet his earthly story fades into silence, swallowed by the divine. The Buddha, serene as moonlight, mastered the art of stillness, walking untouched by malice or gold—but his path turned inward, away from the tumult of the world. Alexander, fierce and brilliant, carved empires from ambition, yet stood bewildered once the world lay at his feet. Newton and Einstein, architects of the cosmos, bent the heavens to their thought—yet in the quiet of their lives, they faltered, their brilliance outstripping their grasp of the human. Napoleon, storm-born and sovereign, forged order from fire, yet traded liberty for the altar of glory. Lincoln and Washington, titans of their age, bore the weight of nations—yet their shadows stretch long, marbled with the contradictions of their time. Each a star, burning bright across the centuries. Yet none, whole enough to point out the way.
In my quest, I would often reminisce about the legend of a man, an extraordinary soul who rose from obscurity to unite warring peoples and forged a mighty civilisation within two decades. With unwavering resolve and steadfast principles, he stood firm to oversee this —yet he was described as “…kind and generous, compassionate, hardworking, brave and sincere…”. Beyond nobility, he carried a heart of tender mercy: tolerant, joyful, and luminous, laughing with his companions, jesting to kindle warmth in their souls. He was “just, truthful, intelligent, pure, magnanimous, and ever-present in mind.”. He was strikingly handsome, for “…his face was radiant, as though lights within him shone to pierce the blackest night…”. A man of greatness not carved by the hands of teachers, nor shaped within the walls of schools, for he did not need them. He was, in every breath, the man the ages had awaited. Through him, the world bent and bloomed anew—its spirit remade, its destiny rewritten.
This felt too close to home, and seemed as if I was a hostage to my inherent bias. Because, back then, I was living in a different film; one that was inspired by the West, whose grip on intellectual progress had ensued for centuries. The fact is that most of us live our lives in the here-and-now, but our inner worlds more closely mirror a “Mission: Impossible” saga starring Tom Cruise. Our days may seem mundane, but in our minds, we are forever defusing bombs, leaping from burning bridges, and barely escaping catastrophe. We crave the edge-of-the-seat thrill because we descend from a long line of ancestors schooled in the dramatic art of responding with adrenaline to the plot twists of ordinary life. There is a perverse comfort in this clamour—so long as everyone is shouting, we need not hear time’s quiet drift. We can ignore the quiet regrets and the still moments of sorrow. But we rarely realise—we have a choice. We could rewrite the script where our existence need not be recited as a mere testimony. We could also shift into a slower, deeper kind of cinema—a tranquil film, where the climax may be a shared meal with an unexpected guest, welcomed as a gift from God. But perhaps the greater art is to live as though we are in a film where silence speaks louder than thunder.
In the fifth and sixth centuries, the civilised world teetered on the brink of chaos. The ancient emotional cultures that had once nurtured civilisation—instilling in humanity a sense of unity and reverence for authority—had crumbled, leaving nothing substantial in their place. The great edifice of civilisation, built over four thousand years, now seemed poised to collapse, threatening to plunge mankind back into barbarism: a fractured existence where warring tribes and sects ruled, and law and order were but distant memories. Even Christianity, whose new sanctions promised salvation, sowed division and discord rather than harmony. Civilisation, like a colossal tree whose branches had once shaded the world, now stood rotten at its core, its foundations trembling. Was there any force, any unifying belief, capable of binding humanity together once more and rescuing the world from ruin? The answer would emerge from an unlikely quarter—the deserts of Arabia, where a man arose destined to unite the known world.
Muhammad (PBUH) was born into the eminent Banu Hashim clan of Mecca. Acquainted with sorrow from the very beginning, his father passed away before his birth, and his mother died when he was just six. In accordance with Meccan tradition, he was sent to the desert under the care of Halimah of Banu Sa’d, where he absorbed the Bedouins’ pure Arabic language and austere way of life, far removed from the compromises of urban society. Though orphaned, he was not forsaken; raised first by his grandfather Abd al-Muttalib and then by his uncle Abu Talib, who recognized in him an exceptional character, later affirmed by the honorific al-Sadiq (the Truthful). These seminal years, marked by moral integrity and divine preparation, paved the way for the rise of a man whose teachings would unite Arabia and profoundly alter the course of history.
Endowed with a profound intellect and a deeply contemplative spirit, Muhammad (PBUH) distanced himself from the trivial diversions of his contemporaries. Instead, he dedicated himself to reflection and moral authenticity—qualities that earned him the revered title Al-Amin (the Trustworthy) among the people of Mecca. Even in his youth, his innate aversion to violence set him apart. During the tribal conflict between the Quraysh and the Hawazin, he chose not to fight, limiting his role to retrieving arrows for his kinsmen rather than participating in bloodshed. This unwavering commitment to justice later found expression in his involvement with the Hilf al-Fudul (League of the Virtuous), a noble pact initiated by his clan, Banu Hashim, to defend the oppressed and uphold the rights of the vulnerable—an early foreshadowing of his future prophetic mission. He was destined to transform Arabian society and dismantle the exploitative structures maintained by the Quraysh elite by instituting a divine order grounded in justice and equity, principles he had quietly embodied since his earliest days. (to be continued)