Last week, during a visit to my sister-in-law’s house, a conversation unfolded that felt instantly familiar. My sister’s mother-in-law, Zeba Bano recalled an incident involving her son: Saad-ul-Allah once uploaded a WhatsApp status, proudly standing in front of his car. She had warned him not to post it—nazar lag jaegi—but he ignored the advice. The very next day, the car met with an accident. For the family, the explanation was immediate and unquestioned: the evil eye.

In the same conversation, another example surfaced. A relative spoke of a young woman who shared her acceptance letter for a foreign scholarship with extended family groups before the process was complete. Congratulations poured in, but weeks later, the visa was unexpectedly delayed. Once again, the conclusion was swift: “Nazar lag gayi.” No one questioned whether premature exposure, procedural gaps, or sheer uncertainty played a role. Such stories, repeated across homes and gatherings, show how quickly nazar becomes the default explanation for life’s interruptions often leaving little room for reflection or accountability.

My mother also shared another childhood story about my brother. One day, guests had come to visit and couldn’t stop praising him; commenting on his beauty, charm, and cheerful nature. The family enjoyed the compliments, but forgot to say MashaAllah. The very next day, my brother was inconsolable, crying for no clear reason. For the family, the explanation was immediate: “Nazar lag gayi.” Stories like this, passed down from generation to generation, highlight how deeply belief in nazar is woven into daily life, teaching caution alongside affection and admiration.

Stories like this circulate widely in Muslim societies, reinforcing belief in al-‘ayn or the evil eye. Islam does acknowledge nazar; the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) stated, “The evil eye is real” (Sahih Muslim).

The belief in nazar becomes most intense in economically struggling families. When one member of a poor or struggling family secures a government job, qualifies for CSS, or goes abroad, the achievement is no longer personal; it becomes communal property. Parents, overwhelmed with pride, often share every detail of the process with relatives, neighbours, and distant cousins before the success is complete.

In such environments, success attracts not only prayers but also silent resentment. Jealousy grows where opportunities are scarce. Relatives who have endured years of deprivation may struggle to celebrate another’s rise. Islam recognises this psychological reality; envy (hasad) is a disease of the heart, and unchecked envy can manifest as nazar.

Speaking on the culture of overexposure and silent envy, a senior corporate professional based in Pakistan, who preferred to remain anonymous, shared a similar caution shaped by years of experience. “I have seen well-planned careers derail not because of incompetence, but because people announce their moves too early,” he said. According to him, workplaces are often charged with unspoken competition, where encouragement masks comparison. “Not everyone who claps for you wants you to win,” he added. His advice is simple yet profound: protect your progress, remain humble, and let results speak. In environments driven by rivalry, silence can be a form of strength and protection.

You planned every move and fulfilled every responsibility, yet something still went wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake but an unspoken glance. In the corporate world, jealousy often hides behind polite smiles and whispered “good lucks.”

During my conversations both in Pakistan and now over calls with my friend Masooma Saiyid, who resides in the US, she repeatedly emphasises one lesson: never disclose your plans prematurely. According to her, ambitions should be protected until they materialise. “People who cannot match your vision or mental standard often become jealous not of what you have, but of what you think,” she notes. In her view, envy is triggered not only by visible success, but by the courage to dream differently. Her advice echoes a timeless Islamic principle: wisdom lies in discretion, especially in environments where comparison breeds resentment.

Across Muslim-majority countries, belief in nazar has become deeply cultural.

In Turkey, the blue nazar boncuğu is everywhere homes, cars, newborns, workplaces. Despite modernisation, superstition thrives. In Turkey, the belief in the evil eye commonly called “nazar” is deeply rooted in everyday life and collective consciousness. It is widely perceived as a harmful force triggered by jealousy or envy, capable of bringing misfortune, illness, or loss to a person or even their possessions. Many Turks view nazar as a form of negative spiritual energy rather than a mere superstition, and this belief has survived for centuries despite modernization and secular influences.

To counter its effects, people frequently use protective expressions in daily speech. “Maşallah” (what Allah has willed) is said to acknowledge blessings without envy; “Allah korusun” means “may Allah protect,” often uttered when fearing harm; “Allah bağışlasın” is used for children, meaning “may Allah preserve this child.” Interestingly, words like “çirkin” (ugly) or “cadı” (witch) are sometimes used playfully for children not as insults, but as a cultural attempt to deflect praise and avoid attracting nazar. These linguistic habits reflect how deeply fear of envy has shaped social behaviour, often blending religious sentiment with cultural folklore.

Ofcourse, the evil eye amulet is common in Turkey and Greece, worn as jewellery and homes are adorned with it.

In Turkey, it is believed that good fortune is brought by throwing water behind a person when they leave for travel. Families believe that just as water flows smoothly and returns to its source, the traveller’s journey will also be safe, successful, and followed by a smooth return home. This is not linked to fear alone but reflects hope, continuity, and protection from unseen obstacles.

In Egypt, illness or failure is frequently attributed to nazar before medical or personal reasons are examined. In Syria and the Levant, people hesitate to praise openly, fearing envy more than Allah’s decree.

These practices reflect not Islam itself, but a fear-driven culture that has drifted away from tawakkul (trust in Allah) toward constant suspicion of people.

I witnessed a severe incident in my family that left a lasting impression. My aunt’s son, Zahid Khan, had just been promoted to area manager at State Life. The family was overjoyed, but tragically, just a few days later, he died due to an electric shock. What made the incident more painful was the context: Zahid’s promotion came after years of unfair efforts by his elder brother, who had maneouvered to secure the position, while other employees many with more experience and dedication were overlooked. The family and community immediately whispered about nazar, linking his sudden demise to envy and wrongdoing. This incident serves as a harsh reminder that the consequences of unethical actions can return in unexpected ways.

Reflecting on the tendency to blame nazar for every setback, I interviewed an Islamiat Lecturer, Taleha Ahmed pointed to a deeper moral dimension. “Islam does not deny the evil eye, but it strongly warns against injustice,” she explained. “When people deceive, exploit, or hurt others and then face loss, they often call it nazar. In reality, it may be Allah’s justice unfolding.” She added that wrongdoing especially against fellow humans creates spiritual consequences that cannot be erased by supplications alone. “Before seeking protection from others’ envy,” she said, “one must ensure they have not become a source of pain for someone else.” Her observation challenges believers to replace suspicion with self-accountability.

The malevolent glare is more of a concern in countries such as Pakistan, India, Turkey, Iran, Greece, Italy, and Arab states, and it is widely accepted that adults can also be affected as well as children. There are various traditional tricks and tips that people use as a protection against the dreaded evil eye, after all, prevention is better than cure, isn’t it!

In Eastern European countries such as Romania and Serbia, a coal is dropped in water to see whether it sinks. On the other hand, in Italy and parts of Eastern Europe, melted wax dropped into water is observed for unusual shapes, which are then interpreted by experts who can say how bad the situation or affliction is.

Muslims societies such as those in Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Indonesia, and Turkey follow common practices that are associated with cleanliness and purity to ward off evil. These include that a bath, and reciting Quranic verses, as well as offering Sadaqa, which is voluntary charity in Islam, encompassing any good deed done with sincerity to seek spiritual rewards, purify sins, and show compassion for others, and hence to please God. Another widely practiced remedy in Muslim societies is to blow on the area which is inflicted with pain and to recite Quranic verses.

In Pakistan and India, it is believed that you can get rid of the evil eye by circulating raw eggs in their shells over the afflicted person’s head and literally tossing them out or disposing of them as far away as possible. Some ofcourse believe in burning chilli peppers after circulating them around the afflicted person. It is also somehow believed that if the pungent smell is directly proportional to the intensity of the evil eye! Believed to bring good luck and ward off the evil eye, mothers often give their children yogurt mixed with sugar before exams, interviews, or important life events, symbolising sweetness, calmness, and success. Similarly, in many households across South Asia and the Middle East, a small black dot is marked behind a child’s ear or on the foot to divert excessive praise and protect the child from nazar or the evil eye.

In Mediterranean countries, particularly in Southern Italy, Sicily, Greece, and Cyprus, olive oil is primarily used in rituals to diagnose the evil eye and to dispel it. It is a powerful symbol of purity, blessing, and protection in these cultures. In Mexico, eggs are used to protect against the evil eye [Mal de Ojo] through a ritual called a limpia (cleanse), where a healer rubs a raw egg over the body to absorb negative energy, then cracks it into water to interpret the patterns for diagnosis and spiritual cleansing. In Chinese tradition and the practice of Feng Shui, a mirror for protection against negative energy (often associated with "evil eye" in other cultures) is typically an octagonal mirror known as a Bagua mirror [or pa kua mirror]. A pink coral bracelet is also worn in India and Sri Lanka, and a red string in Jewish communities. In Russia, the "spit method" to protect against the evil eye (or jinxing something) involves simulating spitting three times over the left shoulder. This action is often combined with knocking on a wooden surface three times.

Maybe nazar isn’t always a jealous gaze from the outside, but our own need to explain loss without looking inward. We rush to blame unseen eyes because they are easier than facing bad timing, loose tongues, or moral compromise. Faith was never meant to turn us fearful of people. Some things fall apart because they were exposed too early. Some doors close because they weren’t entered honestly. And some victories survive only when they are held quietly, carried humbly, and trusted to God—without announcement.

All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the writer

Rabia Khan is writer who covers social issues, literature, and cultural values of Pakistan. She can be reached at rabiayousufzai26@gmail.com