Episode 10 — Tatfīf: When We Take More Than We Give

We thought tatfīf was about wet markets and weighing scales.
Then one day we realised… it was about us.
Full salary. Short work.
Full rights. Short responsibility.
Episode 10 — Tatfīf: When We Take More Than We Give
A reflection on the small dishonesties that quietly hollow out our workplaces.

☕ KopiTalk with MHO | MIB Management 101

"Woe to those who give less [than due]..." — Surah al-Mutaffifīn

I recently attended an interesting class where the ustaz was doing tadabbur on Surah al-Mutaffifīn. To be honest, I went in thinking I already knew what it was about.

Tatfīf (defrauder), I thought, was about cheating in weights and measurements, about dishonest traders, wet markets, and vegetable sellers who tweak the scale a little.

Then the ustaz began to speak.

And slowly, uncomfortably, I realised something.

This surah wasn't really about them.

It was about us.

I must admit openly: I am not innocent of this sin.

In my younger days, there were many occasions when we did things we thought were just "a little naughty": going home earlier than we should, taking longer coffee breaks, spending too much time smoking and chatting during office hours, coming late, and leaving early—but still expecting full pay, full recognition, full entitlement.

At that time, we didn't really feel it was wrong. Everyone did it; it felt normal enough.

We thought tatfīf was about cheating money.

We never thought it could be about cheating time, effort, and trust.

That was when something shifted in me.

Tatfīf, I learned, is not only about scales. It is about moral scales.

It is about wanting full measure for ourselves, but giving short measure to others:

Full salary, short work.

Full rights, short responsibility.

Full respect, short sincerity.

That is tatfīf.

And the frightening part is this: it is often invisible, hiding inside routines, inside office culture, inside that quiet phrase, "that's how things are done."

No one feels like a criminal. No one feels like a thief.

But something is being taken.

Over time, I began to notice how this spirit quietly lives in many workplaces.

We demand efficiency from others, but give excuses for ourselves.

We complain about lazy staff, but quietly cut corners.

We get angry at systems, but also learn how to exploit them.

We want promotions, but not always improvement.

We want trust, but not always accountability.

And we rarely call this what it really is.

We call it pandai bawa diri.

Sometimes we excuse it by saying, "jangan luan rajin, inda jua kana puji, gaji pun inda jua labih."

And in the end we shrug and say, "asal kerja siap."

But in the language of the Qur'an, this is giving less than what is due. In our own Malay idiom, we call it curi tulang.

Tatfīf is not a scandal; it is a culture.

And that is why it is dangerous.

Because when an organisation lives like this, nothing collapses dramatically. Everything just becomes... hollow.

People still come to work, but they stop giving their best.

They still follow procedures, but they stop caring about meaning.

They still collect salaries, but something inside them slowly switches off.

And then one day, we wonder why productivity is low, why morale is poor, why trust is thin, why cynicism hangs in the air.

We rarely trace it back to this:

We have been short-changing each other for years.

In a Negara Zikir, this should make us pause and feel very uncomfortable.

Because this is not just a management problem; it is a spiritual problem.

Islam does not only care about whether you steal money. It cares about whether you steal time, energy, and sincerity.

The Prophet ﷺ taught that ihsan is to work as if Allah sees you.

Because He does.

Tatfīf is living as if no one sees.

It is doing the minimum when you could have done better.

It is hiding behind the excuse of "good enough."

It is slowly training your soul to accept mediocrity.

And what is most frightening is this: once you become comfortable giving less, you slowly become comfortable receiving more than you deserve.

That is how amanah dies quietly.

That is how adil becomes selective.

That is how ihsan becomes a slogan instead of a way of life.

I am not writing this to accuse anyone.

I am writing this because I recognise myself in it.

And maybe, if we are honest, many of us will too.

Perhaps the real question Surah al-Mutaffifīn is asking us today is not this:

Do you cheat in weights and measures?

But:

Do you give your work the weight it deserves?

Do you give your responsibilities their full measure?

Or are you quietly living on short measures, hoping no one notices?

Because in the end, even if people don't see...
Allah does.

KopiTalk with MHO — reflections brewed gently, with honesty and heart.