In this journey called life

We are touched, by infinite souls.

Some bring us joy,

Some  travel weary, who bring us tears

Others, merely snowflakes,

 Which touch and go

But there will be some

Who leave their mark, deep upon the soul

Such marks are never, washed away

By the currents of time

They glow, when it’s dark

For the traveller to see,

And guide him on his way

                                                                

Whats Ours

“Kahoon kiss say main keh kia hay, Shab-e-gham buri bala hai,

Humain kia bura tha murna, Agar ek bar hota”-Ghalib

These verses and many more of Ghalib and his contemporaries have brought immense joy to their readers and listeners. Urdu is a language for poetry; it simply flows off the tongue. There was a time when knowing and reading Urdu poetry was considered to be a mark of sophistication, not any more.  The grave of Ghalib in Delhi, India and our linguistic heritage, share a common fate; it is in ruins. Uncared for by its heirs.

In Russia, they are teaching Urdu in their Universities, “Sada-eRoos”, a radio program in Urdu is aired from the Russian capital. Where Russian authors like Tolstoy and Dostoevsky are a mile stone in classic literature and are still read widely; the Russians are reading Manto. 

Unfortunately, we never really appreciate our own until it is celebrated by the West. Take our Sufi’s and their teachings. Rumi came back in our lives after centuries of being around. He was reincarnated by the West, celebrated by them. His work, his poetry, his message, his dervish. Now that Rumi is a bonafide celebrity abroad, we all take a shine to his work. Similarly, Iqbal and his work is recited with great fervor in Iran, here is limited to “Shikwah and Jawab-e-e-shikwah” for the matriculation students. I guess we should wait for a twist of fate to befall Bulleh Shah, Faiz and Jalib, and hope that some westerner takes a fancy to their work and makes them avant grade.

I acknowledge the benefit of having a command over the English language. I believe that every language is a doorway into a unique culture and should be learned, but what sorry people leave their own immense treasures and pursue only others. When and how it became “unfashionable” to know and speak Urdu was a sad chapter in our history. The focus of the literate (read fashionable) families today is English, period. The children speak English, eat English and breathe English. I have seen them taking immense pride in the fact that actually, they can’t (were not taught to) speak Urdu at all. They spend a lot of money sending their kids to elite institutions where they will learn French and German. Where, as stated above, I believe it is a huge advantage to know any language, the intention to learn the same, is just as important. How inwardly insecure and shallow we must be to not own our language, our hero’s, our literature. How blind! Where the world celebrates our poets and teaches their kids our language, we are deliberately omitting it from their lives. And to what end.. appear modern!!

I hope that we, the people of this Nation will some say understand the importance of owning what is ours. No one respects a people who have no respect for themselves, who do not pride in their own. The very people, who we are so focused on impressing, cannot be impressed by a cheap imitation of themselves. Being modern entails much more than just learning a language and donning their wear .If the goal is modernity, or even imitating all things west; let’s start by imitating them in their superior moral and social practices of tolerance, honesty and hard work.

Nah, that just hard work… 

Shades of Grey

Growing up life is pretty simple, things are absolute; things are perfect. There is right and there is wrong; no betwixt or between. If you were raised in the Pakistan of the 80’s then: all Indians were bad, women who wore short sleeves were wicked, no one drank alcohol (ever), there were no homosexuals (at least not in Pakistan), there was no child abuse, Pakistan was the land of the pure, men in green descended to help us win our wars, good people prayed five times a day, no one divorced or if they did, the women were wicked. All evils resided in the West; pop culture, drugs, extra marital relations, nudity. All people except Muslims are condemned to go to hell. These are not generalizations, these were my beliefs.

Imagine the horror I felt when in my twenties one by one all my bubbles start to burst. As I step out of the school room and into real life, I am dumbfounded with the lies and deceit that I have been taught for sixteen years of my academic life. What plagues me more is that although, through some unfortunate circumstances my bubbles are no more, most of the people around me still live peacefully in these cocoons. We do not question the relevance of these obsolete teachings, the teachings that have a way of condemning people and situations in either one bracket or the other. If you question your religion or your country you are labeled a non believer and an unpatriotic person respectively. It is mind boggling easy for us to condemn people; secular humanists as lost souls and left liberals as amoral creatures.

Life cannot be divided in black and white. The fairy tales and the movies will always have a villain; an all out bad guy and the hero a “picture of virtue”. Ever consider that actually we are all bit of both. In each and every one of us resides the tendency to do good and be evil; and in the course of our lifetimes we exhibit both behaviors. There will be triggers that will bring out the worst in us and we will be the villains of our story; then and for other parts or some other people we may be good guys. Can we dispense with our habit of labeling everyone and everything in our lives as either good or bad? Right or wrong. Can we assume that there may be a great shade of grey in the middle, where good and bad become relative terms; relative to scenarios and people who experience them.

It is unnecessary for something to be perfect in order for us to love or accept it. Would we be less Pakistanis if we are taught the real history of this country or if we questioned our hero’s and their motives? Would we cease to be Muslims if we read the real history of our religion and its evolution? Would it not enhance our understanding of who we are as a people and what we really practice and preach? Doesn’t knowing taking away the pain of deceit and mistrust. What if we were to introspect and admit to the evil that lives in all of us and begin to reconcile with the evil that resides in others around us. Can we, in real life, see people in a more tolerant shade of gray, rather than the harsh shades of black and white?

Sometimes great understanding and learning comes from great trials and tribulations. I have seen pious drunks and corrupt saints. I have seen believers who never performed a single ritual in their life. I met with satan cloaked in sheep’s hide, I met sinners who made me believe in God. The lesson I learnt was this: The way to live life is to keep an open mind to the things we experience and people we meet; the knowledge we gain and the knowledge we have. Black and white is great in theory but life is a lighter shade of grey.

“Perfection is not for the pure of soul; there may be virtue in Sin”

- Khalil Gibran

Letter to Jinnah

Dear Jinnah,

Your Pakistan is turning 65. Some would say that in the lives of nations 65 means they are still in the infant stage, others may argue that there are nations who now are well on their way to development and prosperity in lesser time. No one is implying that Pakistan hasn’t moved forward in these years since its birth, but let us admit that it has suffered from stunted growth.

It lost its founder when it was a few months old, and suffered a war when it was less than a year old. In 65 and 71, again it was subjected to the tyranny of wars, the latter resulting in an amputation. It had to go, Mr. Jinnah, when a body cannot be fair and just, cuts down the blood supply to its own organs; it develops the gangrene of political dissent. Finally, at 26 we were able to agree on some foundation for this country by providing it a constitution. Why were we so late? But of course Mr. Jinnah, there were vested interests of the people at the helm, besides after you went away we suffered a major crisis in locating our North. After years of Musical chairs between the Army and the civil governments, I am proud to inform you that we did become a Nuclear Power. Wait, well that too isn’t without controversy.

On its 65^th birthday the picture of your country, Mr. Jinnah, is very grim. Its people are crippled under the weight of an economic crisis which continues to worsen by the minute. Your average person cannot even afford the basic needs, electricity is rare, and his children are many; health care is an unheard of concept, for him education is a luxury and life is cheap.  

Mr. Jinnah, your city, Karachi has its streets washed in blood every few days, owing to power tug-of-wars. Due to this dirty power play, on this eid and on the rest to come, many children will not have their fathers to give them eidi. A similar fate, for many Baluch families, who are still looking for missing loved ones. But this is not the worst news yet, the worst is that the people of this beautiful land have become morally corrupt and ethically depraved; they are numb to the sufferings caused by their own actions of intolerance and dishonesty. They are willing to take a life if it does not adhere to their religious or political point of view. Your people are in a race to get their hands on “more” by any means. Our rulers simply depict what we have become callous & dishonest.

Mr. Jinnah, you turn your face away, like a father betrayed by his own son. Wait sir, this bleak picture may be true, but there is more. Pakistani’s may have lost their course but the soil they are made of is resilient and courageous. We may bear battle scars and are travel weary, we may have lost our tolerance to accept the different opinions and ways of life but we are still, at our core, sons and daughters of this soil. I desperately cling to the hope that these dire circumstances will wake in us some humanity, some degree of tolerance. The sickness we witness everyday will make us abhor violence in all its forms, that we will again believe in honesty and integrity of work. I desperately pray, that we will rise from these dark days a better people and the dream you dreamt for us, will ultimately come true.

Defining Success

These times are competitive. I feel we are infected with the virus of discontentment. Nothing is what it should be. The neighbour has a bigger car, better house, vacations in Europe, in short; has it all. You compare yourself to these people and always fall short. There is that bad after taste when you meet someone, who you perceive has half your brain size and three times your pay cheque.

When I started earning, I used to imagine that the guy above my pay scale had it all. If I just had that much I would certainly be happy. Time went by and as I grew in my pay scale, the more discontent with it I became. There was always someone ahead of me, ahead in the game. There was always a better model of phone on the market, a new car, a new destination. Keeping up meant cutting throats to get to the top faster, earn more in order to acquire more. Material things, which give a huge high for a day and then the euphoria ends. We try to fill the inner vacuums of our life with things, feeling if we just had this one “Thing”, we will certainly be happy, finally content.

So who is truly successful? Capitalism would define a successful person as the one with the most material possessions. There is no doubt that for most things, having a stack of dough helps.  But suppose that you have reasonable means to a comfortable life. Where reasonable doesn’t not include every luxury but some; would you consider yourself a success or a failure?

In words of John Wooden, one should not try to compete with everyone, if you become too engrossed in the things over which you have no control it will adversely affect the things over which you do have control.  It is human nature to compare ourselves to others, it is when we feel the sting of jealousy that we need to step back and understand that we all are unique in our capabilities.  We all have our own crosses to bear, on the outside all we see in others is the perceived success that we want to see.

As long as we give our very best at everything we do we should consider ourselves successful.  There will be people who will have lost, having won and others who will be the real winners, although to others they may have lost. As long as at the end of the journey one can look back with contentment, you have lead a successful life.

                

Change

They say that consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative; I agree. Nothing dusts up the rust in your head and heart like change. Change the furniture placement of your room or the route to your work. A minor change like the way your wear your hair or a major change like moving to a new place. There is some positive energy that comes off when we change in a positive direction.

Man is not designed for monotony. Our personal energy and creativity starts to hit rock bottom if we are stagnant for too long; nothing revs up your life’s engine like experiencing something completely new. When we change one thing we are treading into unchartered territory. There is a “good scared” feeling that comes with change. When we are not in our usual “secure environment”, governed by our everyday routine we are more willing to take risks, try new things, shed our current avatars and trade it for a new one.

Our personal energy is a very important factor that most of us ignore. In older times, before internet and connectivity people used to believe that travelling enriched one’s life. Not just hoping on a plane and checking in a hotel/resort, they believed that the journey with all its discomforts and perils has a tendency to make our soul grow. When we connect with the natural elements around us, the “soul of the world”, as Paulo Coelho terms it, connects with us. Mountains, seas, the hmmm of a busy metropolis the whistling of the pine needles, all speak to us in their own way.

Each and everything in our life has its own energy and that energy balance plays a crucial role in our lives. The Chinese call this the “Feng Shui", according to them “Chi” is the positive energy that symbolizes life, health, prosperity and everything that is positive to us. Our life quality can diminish or be improved depending on the way chi flows in the environments we inhabit. Cluttered surroundings show a restless mind, broken furniture indicates weak relationships, simple everyday things that mirror our inner selves and reflect these energies back. Reorganizing your home in a new and organized manner will definitely bring in that much required creative energy.

Challenge yourself to try new things or visit new places; more importantly don’t put off starting your life to a time when you are more secure financially or have enough time off work. The time and place to start checking on that bucket list is now, every day.  Write that novel you always wanted to write or go bungee jump off a cliff; chances are that we will live a healthier and happier life if we intersperse if with new and different experiences on a regular basis. A predictable life may sound more secure, but the rush of adrenaline that change will inject in your life may make the difference between living and existing.

The Banality of Evil

It’s Friday, after the congressional Jumma prayers the streets of Kasur turn into an arena for cold blooded murder. A young man is killed by the merciless crowd over an accusation which proves to be false later. The image of two teenage boys being beaten to death in the middle of a crowd in Sialkot, is still etched in our hearts and minds. Karachi, Lahore, Gujranwala all over the country there are scenes of violence in the name of street justice. All the aggressors will vouch for the fact that they were merely doing the right thing, all their victims were accused thieves, or were involved in social crimes; most would say they were merely watching.

All this malevolence is carried out by ordinary people, who are not necessarily either violent or possess a tendency to evil. How can an ordinary man justify the killing of another person in cold blood? The answer lies in the fact that most of them actually don’t believe that they are taking active part in an evil process itself. The banality of evil is our tendency to justify and make righteous our acts of evil till they cease to be evil in our minds.

In Hitler’s concentration camps, hundreds were employed in making the huge killing machine work, were all of those people inherently evil? No. they were doing their jobs, they were not looking at the big picture and surely they were not killing anyone. There were janitors, soldiers and administrators who just did what they were told. By making an act normal, they actually acquitted themselves of the responsibility of the act itself.

Every person that contributes to the death or torture of a person is guilty by association; from the person who was silent at the scene of the crime to the government official on whose watch the crime took place. Ask the people who were standing there at the “Just” killings taking place all over the country and they will plead innocent. Not realizing that by simply becoming spectators or supporters to these events renders them just as guilty of not saving a life, as it qualifies the killers to a murder.

The need of the hour is a society with an active moral conscious, where any form of violence is entirely unacceptable. Where all life is sacred, whether it belongs to any group or ethnicity, religion or political party. Where at an individual level we ensure the respect of every person’s right to life and privacy. Where we take responsibility for every single action we perform and understand its butterfly effect. Unless we adopt this self-check; precious lives will continue to be lost in the name of so-called “street justice”.

We don't need no education

What should have been a trip to watch the much-hyped movie ”Bol”, turned out to be an afternoon where I learned much about the Pakistan’s “educated “middle class.

The queue at the local “middle-class cinema” was long in the sweltering July sun. Having spent 15 minutes standing in the line, I was miserable to see a Madam, dressed up in some designer lawn suit holding an expensive phone, walking in her labeled shoes with her labeled glasses right up to the ticket window and demanding that her request be urgently met. Looking at her one would assume her to be a woman of some reasonable education, with a decent family background. But see, she was not in Europe where she should be observing a queue; she was in good old fashioned Pakistan. Here if you are wearing heels high enough and can flaunt your accent at the poor teller he is bound to take notice.

Inside the situation was worst. The Movie contained some very sensitive dialogues and scenes; to all of which our home crowd (most of it) happily cheered. Apparently everything from infanticide to sexual harassment was funny to our educated middle class boys and girls. It would not have been a shocker if I were watching this movie in some other cinema catering to a different tier audience. I can understand if the rickshaw-wala or the local thelay- wala cannot grasp or respond to the call of such serious topics but such a reaction from the so called educated and “urbanely” dressed up youth is a very serious question on our ethical education.

Apparently all education is supposed to do for us is get us jobs. We have stopped placing any importance to the ethical education of our young. Whose duty is it to teach the young about respect, about ethical norms and civic sense? Are these doomed to live in text books, for we feel that these lofty qualities certainly do not require to be exhibited in everyday life? Do we feel that observing these mannerisms make us look quaint and weak?  Is laughing on the harassment of a weaker and different gender part of our cultural mindset? Kids from elite schools throwing rubbish out of there elite cars and  eve teasing, simply goes to show that we may be producing kids who can get A’s but  something very vital in their overall grooming has gone missing.

Where we have kept up with the latest fashion trends abroad, we certainly forgot to adopt their manners in most cases. We forgot to teach our boys to stand up for the weak instead of laugh at them, we forgot to educate our girls that they have rights and it is not their fault that they are teased when they step out of the house. It is not just our ethics but our general civic sense which is in tatters. We generally never say hello, we are hardly ever polite to the person standing next to us and we never ever smile. We do not offer seats to the elderly or women and we simply have to honk at all times. I can imagine what Ramadan will be like this year. Thirsty and short tempered our holy fasters will be at each other’s throat as the time of iftar draws near. The number of accidents on the road will rise alongside the number of brawls, all in the spirit of the Holy month.

Pakistan is facing a political dilemma because we face a moral and ethical one. Educate our youth in all aspects of life, upholding the real values that govern our life; it is only then that Pakistan may emerge from this quagmire.

The Relation Ship

Some people fall more readily in love (in all its base and lofty forms) and at a closer pace than others. The reason is very simple, they are risk takers who are not afraid to explore where a mutual attraction may lead. It is human nature to safeguard itself against getting hurt and to build defenses against advances that we may feel, will lead us to pain. This is especially true if we have been hurt once or more in our life by the object of our then affection. Our choices determine the path of our romantic life, while yes safeguarding one’s self is important unfortunately not having loved is not having lived.

However, Love is not a tag that should come with every emotion of attraction that we experience. It is no guarantee that if you are in love with someone your relationship with that person will be a long lasting one. Love is a complex emotion, when it moves out of the realms of the soul and starts finding its physical manifestations; it is met with a lot of disappointments. Love is romance and life is not, the reality of life has to be synchronized with our feelings in a relationship.

You can love a person with your heart and soul; fight the fight and go the distance only to discover, after having settled down that it may not be all that you imagined. Does that mean that your love wasn’t real? I believe that is not the case, love comes in all shapes and sizes. The wrong marriage between two soul mates can make them resent one another simply due to that fact that there is a difference in what we want and what we actually need. We as people have very poor real knowledge of ourselves; not until we experience something first hand can we decipher how it may irk or liberate us. A habit or a thought in one person may be the sole conflict in one relationship and the strengthening bond in another.

Real life is governed by a numerous things that will affect a relationship, which actually do not come in to play in the initial stages. Our conditioning, beliefs, habits, environment, work, ethnicity and economics; everything from what and how we eat, to when and how we sleep. In truth love may take root in mutual physical attraction, an intellectual bond or simply a soulful connection but once it becomes a relationship it comes with a very small shelf life and an expiry date. In the beginning the mutual attraction is enough fuel to charge the relationship and propel it to the next levels, soon and this may vary from one to the next; it is bound to hit the plateau. From here you need something else to keep the relationship going or gradually you will move into the downward spiral.

The only relationships that really last are the ones that change shape and color, just as people in them evolve. From the initial stages of euphoria it has to move to a close bond of friendship and communication. In the end the only standing emotion required for a truly great relationship is being able to talk to a person who knows all your warts and imperfections, respects your opinion and cares for your needs. Chances are that you may have a more stable long lasting relationship with your best friend than the love of your life with whom you have a brilliant chemistry. Again, there will always be exceptions to the rule.

The way I have experienced it, in the mathematics of love; Love is not necessarily equal to a great relationship. Love may be unconditional which a relationship isn’t. You can love a person and not be able to have a life with them and sometimes you can live with a person you have never really loved. In this game the only real losers are the ones that never fall; love’s labour is never lost even if your relationship was. In short: Love can survive without a relationship but a relationship cannot survive without some form of love.

Love. Delusion?

“What is love anyway, does anybody love anybody other way”

There is no way to define love, each person will experience this most talked about emotion differently. There can be no definite set of words that will equally apply to everyone who experiences this emotion once or more in their lifetime. The most talked about human trait, the most touted of feelings; love can be easily confused with infatuation, flirtation, lust and awe/curiosity. Does that mean all these emotions are not love, and love in its essence is a holier more sacred emotion?

For simplicity’s sake, let’s divide love in two. There is the love for one’s family, country, religion /beliefs. Love is a learned behavior in this context, a child that has been cared for by a set of individuals will love them back, the child will have a bond with the surroundings that it grows in, naturally attached to its native environment; hence love for the land and finally, the beliefs that it sees its elders practice and preach. All of the above are broad generalizations, with many exceptions to the rule.

Here I talk about romantic love, love that a human being may experience in the course of  a lifetime .We understand and love differently as a teenager, for us the idea of being in love is more romantic than whatever the relationship may be. Just the very notion of someone being attracted to us makes us feel giddy and important. We are conscious of our looks and others and what it may mean to the person who fancies us. In our twenties it starts to take a more mature form, taking into consideration other variables such as understanding and interests, still even if we hold the question of age as constant can we absolutely conclude on the love delusion? For Love is notorious for clouding ones judgment, we see what we want to see and believe nothing else.

Fancy is a great word; though under-utilized in describing our attractions. I believe most of the times we just fancy one person or another. Most times we imagine or fancy that our life could be perfect if a certain someone is a part of it. We may fancy a person who is in a position of power, better looking, popular or wealthy. We can justify all these to be true love. This feeling is very fleeting and the object of our fancy can readily be replaced. This emotion is not the kind of love that we are talking of here; though it could be called its shallow younger sister.

It may happen that you meet someone and an instant light bulb goes off. At other time it is after many encounters that one qualifies to the level of love. But I believe that before we become conscious of someone’s importance in our life, a click happens in our brain and something deep inside not only hears it but responds to it. I believe that we all act as receivers and transmitters of signals. We fall in love every time we get a frequency match. How that happens, are there some specific codes that we unconsciously follow, I am sure. Human beings are an energy form, the reason we get attracted to the same kind of people over and over is part of the genetic code that we are emitting.  

A person walks in the room and instantly you get a negative vibe from him/her, you decide in the blink of an eye whether you like that person or not. The rationale behind this may be very complex and may take painful psychological evaluation but people like Malcom Gladwell, writer of the famous book Blink and the Tipping Point suggest that our core programme sifts through lot of information in a matter of seconds and presents us with a verdict.

The first instant that you hear a bing, the first thought that comes in your head is almost always correct, till we start coloring it with our own preconceived notions, our prejudices and align it with our conditioning. Our prejudices of race, color, ethnicity and worldly placement are not featured in this ancient processor that we carry. There is a theory that all souls in this world were made on a single day and that they appear in this world at different times. Scientifically that seems correct; the universe cannot hold another iota of matter, we keep recycling from one form of matter to another, so it seems highly plausible that we are all connected in a way that even science has not been able to tap. The entire universe comprises of one single soul and with some souls we have an ancient bar code that bing’s when we are near them.

I believe it is possible to sometimes meet one, sometimes more of the people who carry the same code. Our intensity of feeling with each will differ widely due to the worldly connection and considerations that we all experience. What we decide to do with each specific encounter is our choice and free will; but love for me is not a delusion ; rather a matter of frequency.

Remembering Moin Akhtar

I have very fond memories from my childhood. Lots of running around, climbing trees, playing outside till the face burnt and the legs hurt. We weren’t the tech savvy generation, our pleasures were simple. In the evenings we had few choices on the tele, PTV being the only channel till I was about 12. The PTV drama was not entertainment it was a ritual, streets would go quiet the day a famous tele play was to be aired, everything was arranged accordingly. Then there was Eid, the special plays and telecasts that I remember watching most of the three days as a child.In this telecast there would be a special comedy play more awaited for than the others.

I saw the drama “Rozee”, as a young kid, It was an adaptation of a western play. I can still recall the dialogues of that play, how I felt wonder at his transformation from a guy to a woman (A rare and dangerous phenomenon in the Zia Regime). Then there was another one called the “Eid Train”, one of my absolute favourites as a kid. “Munnay kay abba” would come to his wife’s aid, hanging outside the train; hilarious stuff. As I grew older so did the tele culture, I saw Moin change his skin like a chameleon opposite the talented Anwar Maqsood and Bushra Ansari on countless occasions, cloaking social messages in irony and humour, effortlessly.

Moin Akhtar symbolised another era of performance and dedication. To me he symbolizes my childhood. When I think of him, I remember the great times only. Like most things in life, we never realize the importance of something till it is gone. I never knew that he was an important part of my childhood till the news of his death; it’s the end of an era and the closing of a grand chapter.

For those cherished memories and laughs thank you Moin, rest in peace.

http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=rozee+moin+akhtar&aq=0&oq=Rozee+moin+

http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=eid+train+ptv+drama&aq=1&oq=eid+train

Mukhtaran & I

I met Mukhtaran Mai on March 8, 2007 at the Karachi Press Club. The event was the celebration of International Woman’s Day. These are the feelings I penned down on my flight back.

“It was a weird feeling, sitting there today and looking at the likeness drawn by an artist. It was disturbing. I had seen the person before many times on the television but the image drawn and displayed in front of me was unsettling. It was her eyes….. those big sad eyes.

The artist had captured a unique expression in those eyes, which made me at once restless and connected. I sat there trying to decipher that piercing yet humbling look. A look of deep pain, a look of sorrow and compassion. But their captivity lay not in these emotions, it lay in another feeling that the eyes conveyed; that of defiance.

They say your eyes are the mirror to your soul. It would be a rare occurrence to be able to capture something as lucid as the soul. A photographer had once captured something similar in a young afghan girls eyes years ago, immortalizing those hazel green eyes forever. However, there was no similarity between the young child’s woebegone look and the piercing gaze that looked down at me today. These eyes represented a next phase in the cycle of pain. The phase where the green eyes would find the answers to the baffling riddle called life. The woman with the defiant eyes was Mukhtaran Mai.

Having read her story a many times and having seen her on the tele, I didn’t expect much when I was invited to celebrate International Women’s Day with Mukhtaran at the Karachi Press Club. To me yes she was a woman who was centre to a lot of news and controversy. Honestly, I think I have become desensitized and numb. With the news of rape, murder, killings (honour and otherwise) splashed all across our nation everyday, one hardly even turns the head to see another victim. Unfortunately I, like most people have started taking the most heinous crimes in the same stride as I discuss the weather, an acceptable part of everyday life.

When I met her, I realized how small and frail this woman was in real life. Yet nothing weak was visible in her person, she was graceful and polite, instead of looking for sympathy she looked like the pillar of strength. Destiny holds for us unique paths to discover our true self. In case of Mukhtaran, the journey began the day she was subjected to tribal injustice and unthinkable human cruelty, that journey has taken her to the cover of a book dedicated to her life and her struggle. It is not the fall but how one recovers from it that determines the course of our life and Mukhtaran has emerged from this battle, scarred but not broken”

            This meeting took place four years ago, I had thought then that this woman may very well have overcome the worst and will find justice. But The saga of Mukhtaran continues, her journey taking yet another fateful turn, this time acquitting her 13 tormentors of cruelty against her under the pretext of “lack of evidence”. How many Mukhtaran does it take to convince the jury and the judiciary of the crimes committed against her, for her to convince the law abiding in this world “beyond reasonable doubt” that the people who commit crimes against humanity are indeed the biggest criminals of all.

May you become stronger and more defiant every day Mukhtaran, with that prayer, I rest my case.

http://tribune.com.pk/story/154026/mukhtaran-mai-verdict-citizens-enraged-by-supreme-court-let-down/ 

Munnay ki Jawani

Teaching is the easiest job in the world. A lot of women in our country waiting to tie the knot seem to be doing it. Surely there cannot be a threat or huge challenge in it; at least that’s what I thought. Four days substituting at a local private “English” medium school changed my perception of three things: teaching, 12 year old boys and Sheela.

As it happened, I dropped in at this particular school to collect some information regarding the admission policy. The administration was quick to size me up and seize the day by asking me to kindly substitute for a missing teacher for a few days. Will I be comfortable dealing with and teaching 12 year old boys? Why should I not be conformable, they are kids!!!

The first greeting I got as I entered the class was a long whistle, followed by a sheelaaaa….sheela ki jawani from a corner. Ahem! This cant be right, as I tried to regain my composure and maintain a business-like demeanour (heart pounding in my head) I tell them to settle down. Next I am subjected to the Holy Inquisition: What’s my cell? Am I on facebook? Married or single?

As I restore the class discipline (mind boggling task) and start the lesson of the day, older boys lounge outside the class. Toying around with their latest phones, sharing content and giving me sly looks. A few boys are giving me odd stares in the class, nudging each other and sharing notes. Every time I turn around the Sheela chorus beings somewhere.

I am being paranoid, they were just harmless children. Children, who represented a better class of our society, having access to a thousand luxuries, in a country where millions were devoid of the basic needs. Yet these very privileged children had learned to treat women and girls the same as they are treated elsewhere in our morally decrepit and ethically bankrupt society. There was nothing different; women to them are mere objects of gratification and eve teasing.

It is heart rending to find that yet another generation of Pakistan’s future shows no great signs of improving the deplorable ethical values that we as a society seem to have fed in our basic mental software. Before we start blaming the media, the school systems and our poplar culture; let’s bear in mind that children imitate their elders. They are a mirror, of how they see the men in their life treat the women around them. Their behaviour is a sad reality that raises some very serious questions.

How many children end up harming themselves and others due to these unanswered queries? Who should be blamed for not educating our young about boundaries and respect?

There is a dearth of communication between the parents and their children. In most cases we as care givers are unable to provide right information and guidance to our young regarding the many curiosities that they face in tweens and beyond. Couple that with reckless media and marketing gimmicks, one strategy of selling everything, from Bollywood movies to local tooth paste; objectifying women. The Icing on the cake is our favourite: what–I-ignore-never-happened theory.

I go back the next day with my head clear, I give them a calming stare. Next, I ask them their opinion of women/girls. To my surprise; a hush falls over them. I talk about how a true man really treats the people in his life, I address them not as boys but as young gentlemen and their gaze is lowered. They open up and begin to share their thoughts, start asking questions.

The problem is never with the children, we need to open channels of communication and teach them about respect and boundaries. We need to put theory in practice by opting for a behaviour which is not derogatory to women. As teachers, relatives and care givers our practices need to confirm what we preach. Holding seminars in five star hotels on gender equality, writing policy papers and advocating with the Ministries will achieve nothing.

As I walked towards my car on the last day, I could hear another group of older boys and a familiar chorus building up. There is a long journey ahead. Sheela’s ki jawani will be forever etched in my mind.

The Boy who rescued Me

At 25, I was in a bad relationship and felt completely disconnected with myself. I was struggling with a life that I didn’t want and work that did not gratify. As far as I was concerned, life had dealt me an unfair hand. Despite the fact that I had loving parents, who were willing to support me always, I felt alone and misunderstood. Having made a series of bad choices in my life, I was not willing to accept the responsibility of any. Like most people in my position, I was focused only in blame shifting, complaining about life’s unfairness and wallowing in self pity.

October 2005 saw a disastrous earthquake hit Pakistan. Many were dead, injured, homeless and missing. There are times in your life, when a catastrophe so great occurs, every personal thought is drowned in the tidal wave of the colossal loss. Driven by grief, I would make my way to the local hospital almost every evening, hoping to be able to make some difference, hoping to be able to help. A lot of people were being evacuated from the Northern regions and brought to the Capital for medical aid and to be provided shelter, since all that they had known had been destroyed. Men, women and children homeless, without proper clothing and no one to turn to. The hospitals were crammed with the effected and the volunteers; who came in huge numbers everyday to help those in need.

It was on one such visit that I met Bilal, a young boy of about 8 years, sitting outside a children’s ward. He had a very serious and mellow expression on his face and looked aloof from his surrounding.  I went to him and asked him the usual questions, what was his name, where did he come from. First, he ignored me, when he saw that I was not ready to budge he told me that his family had died when the roof of their house collapsed. When I questioned him further he just got up and left.

Feeling perturbed, I again went the next day looking for him, this time I found him sitting beside an injured young girl of about four years. He was holding her head affectionately in his lap and stroking her hair. The girl had a bandage around her head and was holding his hand. Not wanting to intrude, I waited aside, till he got up, apparently to fetch something. I went after him and said hello in a familiar manner. He looked at me and the same indifferent and cold expression returned to his face. Seeing that, I told him that all I wanted to do was help; did he need warm clothes, food, and shelter? Could I inform his guardians? Was there some emotional help that I could provide him? He remained quiet for a few moments as if calculating an appropriate response, he told me that his father’s brother was all that was left of his family other than that an injured sister, then he left.

Encouraged by his willingness to open up, I ventured back the next day. He was with his sister, who was fast asleep. I had with me a small token that I set aside and inquired after his sister. He gave a brief response of her being better than before. I sat there beside them silently for a while and then dared to ask where this uncle was and why were the kids not with him. The same indifferent look returned and looking me straight in the eyes he said that the Uncle had returned to the village to help with the rescue efforts and after a pause added, “My uncle has told me that now I am the head of my family and am old enough to shoulder my responsibilities. My sister and I are neither in need of your sympathy nor your charity. ”

I stepped back and with a weak smile, begged leave. This young boy indeed did not need my help. That day I returned home in a trance, what had he said that had shattered something so deep in me. I felt like a mirror had broken in my face and now the shards of glass were cutting through my skin and reaching my brain. Old enough to take responsibility???? A boy of 8 who 24 hours earlier may have been playing in the street and yelling to his mom for snacks. Whose life had changed in the few seconds that brought his home, his village and everything he knew tumbling to ground and reduced to dust? He was sitting there, aged beyond his 8 years and had acquired the dignity of a seasoned caretaker. He had understood that his life had changed forever and he was up and centre, ready to face the worst, with courage in his heart and dignity drying his tears. He was not complaining to the whole world about the earthquake that had shaken his life. Instead of complains, there was poise and fortitude. He did not cling to me, a temporary relief for any sympathy.

I kept reeling for a few days not able to focus my attention on anything. Soon it was clear to me that I was at the crossroads of my life, I had two courses of action open and it would be my call whatever I chose. I vowed then, to take responsibility of every action that I took and deal with life upfront. I went back to look for him after sometime later but he had gone and no one was able to give me any leads to find him.

I cleaned up the mess in my life, it took time and courage, but every time I was faced with something too difficult to handle, instead of burying my head in the sand I took courage from Bilal. Six years later, I am a better person and have a blessed life.  Every now and then I think of him and say a silent prayer for him in my heart.

The boy I had intended to rescue had saved my life. 

Book Review: The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas

‘Indeed it is even possible for an entity to show itself as something which in it self it is not.’

                                                                                                     Martin Heidegger

The enigma of “Thought Experiment”; vigilantly and intricately woven, with the web of an adventurous journey, this is the flavour of, “The End of Mr Y” by Scarlett Thomas. Unlike most young authors, her diction is frank and candid and from the very beginning the book has some magnetic quality very much like the old time novels that you sneak to finish, during your lunch hour. She discusses thoughts, emotions and associations as they appear in her own thought process. She chalks out the process of karma and chance element in the movement of her thoughts and like a gushing torrent the reader is carried  away on a high fevered intrigue. Scarlett Thomas, has lent a new freshness to the age old concepts of metaphysics and various philosophies of Being.

The novel is a modernistic look at the nineteenth century philosophy. Our almost eccentric heroin is Ariel Manto, whose life consists of smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee, and researching nineteenth-century author’s work on thought experiments.  Thomas sends Ariel on a quest, that’s has the exuberance of a sci-fi novel yet has the depth of a most amazing journey of self introspection and discovery. The trip into the “The End of Mr. Y” is like marrying one of Stephen Hawking’s with a Paulo Cohelo, metaphysics backed back logic and fact.  The work is not only thrillingly imaginative, but Thomas’s grasp of challenging philosophical concepts weaves a very satisfying thread of commentary through the story. If you’re interested in Derrida, Phenomenology or the interrelation of science, faith, and language, you will find Ariel’s musings fascinating and well-informed.

Providence leads Ariel, to an almost fabled book in a used book store; the last copy surviving, since the late 1800s. Part of the reason that the other copies were destroyed is the rumour of a curse, wherein anyone who reads the book dies shortly afterwards. Feverish with her discovery and baffled at her luck, she scurries home with her treasure, caring mixed feelings of fear, wonder and intrigue. She is torn between the temptation of the knowledge within and petrified of the consequences so legendry. Fate deals a strange hand to our heroin and a jigsaw puzzle of strange happening starts to unravel. Ariel Manto, obsessed by her knowledge is carried away in her quest for Truth. Her search for the answers leads her to questions and more questions. The cursed book brings together a strange mix of people entirely disconnected and yet absolutely connected in another realm. Her journey has starts with destitution, obsession, self deprecation, lust, and finally takes the form of truth, hope and love.

Despite the fact that the novel is based on principals derived from history , philosophy and physics it is by no means a dull commentary; Thomas has a knack of mixing fact with poetry in a most blended manner, ‘What folly takes fight through ether to each eye from every horizon? And beyond this is not truth but what we have made truth; yet this is a truth we cannot see’

Ariel Manto, is a thoroughly modern woman with strong ideas. At one point, Ariel self-deprecatingly laments, ‘Sometimes I think I see my own ideas floating around, but they usually don't last long. They’re more like mayflies: They're born, big and gleaming, and then they fly around, buzzing like crazy before they simply fall to the floor, dead, about twenty-four hours later.’ This thought however, is not applicable to this book which has all the ingredients of leaving a strong imprint on the mind of the reader.

Scarlett Thomas, builds Ariel's world like a scientist may build a thought experiment, letting it unfold for us naturally, and it becomes as persuasive as our real world. She is also willing to face the darkness and complexity of human decisions and interactions with humour and ethics, but without judgment. Her narrator is flawed but understanding, a refreshing point of relation for the reader. The question is never the act, but the thought behind that act which moves and shapes the realities as we see them, the question of evil, good and bad is left entirely to the judgement and perception of the reader. Ariel herself, a home to all the proclaimed vices, also displays a great understanding of the Soul of the Universe, ‘In anyplace that I take flight the dark will mutate into light’.

The book has entirely lucid lines, finely merging the hard core concepts of reality into the realms of unreal, but it has a strong essence of being entirely relevant. While going through the book one feels various moments of déjà vu. Our unconventional novel however has a conventional outcome and although the plot is well thought out, the ending leaves a quite a few questions unanswered. This quality however, lends it a more interesting appeal and though not as powerful, it sinks in leaving the reader to draw its conclusions.

In 2001, Scarlett Thomas was voted among United Kingdom’s top 20 best Young Writers and in 2002 won the Elles Style Award. She currently teaches Creative Writing and English literature at the University of Kent.