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Archive for the ‘Politics’ Category

O’ the wandering mind ~Kabir


Kabir has hardly spared any animate and inanimate examples to ridicule the bigots who have great illusions about their self image and through their beliefs repeatedly,  make a fool of themselves.
In the same spirit, I came across yet another simple yet interest verses.

Poem 1: 

Apanpo aap hi bisaro.
Says Kabir, they  fall prey to their  own illusions and forget the essence of our existence.

Jaise sonha kaanch mandir me, bharamat bhunki paro.
Just as dog who enters the house of mirrors, goes crazy barking at the images, considering them different. This is a very curious satire on those bigots who bark at other bigots, thinking they are different, but in essence are reflections of each other.

Jyo kehari bapu nirakhi koop jal, pratima dekhi paro.
A lion looks deep into the well, and mistakes his own reflection as another lion, and jumps into it. This also satires on the ‘lions’ of different faiths, who are such egoists, that they destroy themselves, in challenging other ‘lions’ in the business. The current sectarian bigots could be appropriate here.

Aisehi madgaj phaTik sila par, dasanani aani aro.
An elephant, so proud of its strength, bangs his head against the rock, and hits it with his teeth. Here rocks could be interpreted as hard, rock like beliefs which they bang their heads against.

MarakaT muThi swad na bisare, ghar-ghar naTat phiro.
A greedy monkey for whom the food in the pot is not enough, and goes from home to home asking for more. This is perhaps reference to looking outwards, though we could easily content with what is with us.

Kah Kabir lalani ke suwana, tohi kaune pakaro.
Says Kabir, their logic is as impossible to catch as the parrot of a village girl. Here he gives a satire of those who keep repeating mindlessly like a parrot, with no logic what so ever.

And then in contrast to the satire, many verses of Kabir bring home the message through simple, day to day examples, of how should we be viewing our beliefs, and the essence of our existence.

Poem 2: 

Man tu maanat kyu na mana re.
O’ the wandering mind, why don’t you understand?

Kaun kahan ko, kaun sunan ko, dooja kaun jana re.
Who is worth to speak or to listen, when there is ONE truth.
Here he refers to perhaps the various claimants of ONE, and give it different names and forms.
( The next verse makes it clearer)

Darapan me pratibimb jo bhase, aape chahu disi soi.
He is all round in every atom, the way there is a reflection in every mirror.
( This could be compared to the idea of sheesh mahal—made of tiny mirrors all around one image is seen in each and every tiny mirror)

Dubidha mite, ek jab howe, tau lakh paawe koi.
If you get ONE truth, you will get contentment worth a million, and the confusion of mind will go away.

Jaise jal se hem banat hai, hem ghoom jal hoi.
The way ice is first made of water, then returns back to the same water.

Taise yah tat wahu tat so, phir yah aru wah soi.
In the same way, we are all come from that truth, and unto the same truth we have to return to.

Jo samajhe so khari kahat hai, na samajhe to khoTi.
Those who get this, call this a stark truth. Those ignorant who don’t get this, consider it falsehood.

Kah Kabir khara pakh tyaage, waaki mati hai moTi.
Says Kabir, one who gives up the essence of truth, his brain is thick ( stubborn).

It is remarkable how Kabir talks of evils of bigotry, unity of mankind and the true spirit of secular spirits, rising above the superfluous divisions in the dark ages.

Or perhaps, we are living in darker ages.

Indeed, it is a long road, before Kabir’s examples and teachings become irrelevant to the current times.

The Kabir bhajan below, again, gives some more examples through which he challenges the bigots. Note the translation subtitles. This is my favourite tranquillising Kabir song. 

Category:

India, Indo-Pak, Kabir, Music, Music Without Borders, Pakistan, Peace, Poetry, Politics, RELIGION, Social Issues

Who the hell are we to empathize with the ordinary?


Shams Ul Anwar’s statement of ‘waiting to receive the body parts of my daughter’ moved me. It really moved everyone.

Rarely do I take more than  a few seconds to figure out what status to write, but this time I wrote and rewrote at least 5 times before posting on Twitter and Facebook :
“He isn’t just one. There are many more #ShamsUlAnwars in Baluchistan, Parachanar, Hazara and where not… in #Pakistan.”


I read it with a flicker of scepticism on facts in the story: “he saved a man from planting a bomb.” It occurred to me “Why did this not make news?”

Next I read “his two sons were kidnapped and one son was sent back in pieces with a recorded CD of the act.”

“How come it didn’t make it to the news?” I again questioned.
Then came the last rhetoric that it is Jan 11 and a few hours left to the deadline of Jan 12 for his daughter’s turning into pieces.
I thought again, “Why did he have to wait for the last hours?”

But I just blamed the devil in me for questioning it. And felt nauseated. Really nauseated

It was one of those rare occasions when one saw EVERY Pakistani status on facebook pouring out compassion.

Without naming them, from journalists, intellectuals, values upholding serious youngsters, all of  whom I hold in high esteem, to even the Paris Hilton-ish socialites and fun loving teenagers who generally post only songs and light hearted statuses were all visibly shaken. Those who generally seem oblivious to the calamities occurring anywhere on the globe, or not giving a second thought to the suffering flood victims right in their backyard, were all posting bank accounts.

So overzealous were the intentions to donate that Beena Sarwar and others had to issue an appeal to avoid payment into the direct account and lest it would escalate the demand from the perpetrators and make kidnap for ransom an attractive option for criminals. It was only through her elaborate status that an emotionally moved me, could rationalise that these could be the possibilities too.

The vague imageless impression of the girl lingered in my head through the sleep. First thing I did jumping out of bed was to start the laptop to check what happened.

The girl was recovered. There weren’t as many rejoicing statuses, but people moved on to their usual statuses. It simply signified they felt truly happy with the developments. When you are really happy deep inside, you generally don’t show it off as an outburst, and stay calmly contented.

And then in the middle of the day, as if another emotional bomb was dropped.

Twitter started to talk of the possibility of the story being fraudulent. At that moment I felt for a split of a second, “Was it really silly of me  to believe it? “

But then I realised it was better to have believed and empathised rather than have blown it off as a fluke. What if it had turned out to be correct, or even half correct?  The guilt then would have been worse, and quite unforgiving.  As such I hate to reach a point of apathy when no pain of others  looks real.

Later then , while searching on the net I came across this blog post on LUBP. Instead of digging into what fraudulent culture and mindsets, from top to bottom, gave Shams Ul Anwar the audacity to make up such a story, the author punned at the compassion of the empathising ‘urban elites’ as ‘promoting their shallow philanthropic credentials’.

And then the author did have to take it out on Imran Khan too, for which he had the compulsive urge to mention a blog by name of one of the key members of the opposite camp for settling a score.

Agreed, that there is no denial of the ‘ignored authentic stories of the Baloch, Pashtun and Shia target killings by army and its Jihadi-sectarian proxies’.

But how does this wrong negate the empathy of  thousands for the story? How does the empathy for a horrifying story become ‘superficial’ ?

I fail to understand. Perhaps they are right.

Neither the Baloch nor the Shias of Parachanar and Hazara killings deserve empathy, nor did the story of Madina Anwar’s until proven fraudulent.

The only rant that really deserves merit is the ‘victimisation’ rant and ‘coup, coup’  wolf cry that the followers of the party whose agenda  LUBP pursues.

This is the only unfairness in the world that deserves all the outpouring and sympathy. After all they are the ‘Feudal and the ruling ‘elite’.

What the hell is empathy got to do with an ordinary Madina Anwar or the   ‘people’ who are killed whether in Hazara, in Parachanar, or Balochistan or even who die a million deaths each day in the flood affected areas of Sind or elsewhere in Pakistan, due to lack of basic necessities of life?

Yes, next time when they rant ‘coup , coup’ (whether true or false), despite their non compliance to the parliamentary resolutions or court orders, please all of you cry in pain.

Category:

Pakistan, Peace, Politics, Social Issues

Let’s make Health our Commonwealth



First published in AmanKiAsha in TheNews:  http://amankiasha.com/detail_news.asp?id=594

The Confederation of Indian Industry (CII) some time back recommended promoting economic cooperation between India and Pakistan by focusing on information technology (IT), entertainment and healthcare.

Yes, “Healthcare”, I shout.

After all the other two are thriving and will take care of themselves. I remember in the mid-nineties, when my father-in-law, a doctor himself, was diagnosed with a serious medical problem. Frantic tests at various local institutions recommended that he undergo a procedure that wasn’t very commonly performed in Pakistan. He was all set to go to the west which required large expenses.

It was then that my awareness about a particular institution in India, where I had grown up and attended medical college, came in handy. I persuaded him to get examined there. We went to New Delhi, and he returned to Pakistan treated at one tenth of the cost it would have required in the west. I became an instant ‘doted’ upon daughter-in-law in his eyes. All his initial reservations about his son marrying an Indian disappeared overnight.

The true potential of medical cooperation between the two countries was dramatically highlighted when Noor Fatima, a two-and-a-half year old baby girl, went to Bangalore by the Lahore-Delhi bus in 2003. In fact, the bus service was resumed in part to allow her to make the journey. She was literally given a red carpet at the hospital as well as by the media.

Just a few days ago there was news of a 10 month old baby being taken from as far away as Qila Abdullah near Chaman in Balochistan to Bangalore, India for a heart surgery, a free treatment thanks to the joint efforts of Rotary India Humanity Foundation (RIHF) and Rotary Pakistan with Aman ki Asha, the peace initiative of the Jang Group of Pakistan and the Times of India Group. It is heartening to know that thanks to this rightly named ‘Heart to Heart’ initiative, now over 60 Indian and Pakistani children from poor families have been able to undergo life-saving heart surgeries in India.

As this people-to-people interaction in health, as in other fields, goes on, it is clear that no animosity or cold temperatures at the top level can freeze the warm relations between the ordinary Pakistanis and Indians. Our common heritage, common interests and above all a concern for each other will never dampen this warmth.

However, there is a dire need to extend this at a wider and higher level. The recent statements from the Indian and Pakistani business communities could well be the trigger. The top levels of the corridors of power need to formulate policy along these lines to bring a real impact at community level.
With reports about a case of Polio being found recently at Wagah, Pakistan, it becomes essential for strong policy decisions to be made at the top level, trickling down to the masses, to combat the spread of such crippling diseases.

India and Pakistan are among the four countries of the world where Polio is endemic. Our proximity will not enable either to achieve the ambitious plan of making Polio extinct, without mutual cooperation.

Looking at both countries from the UN lens, India and Pakistan are both termed ‘out of track’ when it comes to achieving the 2015 target for the Millennium Development Goal (MDG) 4 – the reduction of infant mortality. With a 1.4 billion population in the region, this means millions of children and babies are at risk. Failing to achieve an optimal Infant Mortality Rate will mean that a gigantic number of children being deprived of the opportunity to survive. Does that not warrant a joint concerted effort for both countries to come ‘on track’?

Similarly, in the MDG 5, the reduction of the Maternal Mortality Rate, again, both the countries are unlikely to meet the target in 2015. India has done better, but in both countries, far too many women die during childbirth. We certainly have great room for cooperation in this field too, as overpopulation, women’s illiteracy, and violence against women are among the common problems that both countries face. Isn’t it common sense to share information and experiences and work together to eradicate these problems?

MDG 6 deals with the Infectious diseases, like Tuberculosis, Malaria and HIV. India has done a good job in stabilising HIV, bringing down the prevalence rate from 0.36% in 2006 to 0.31% in 2009 (UNAIDS Global report on HIV/AIDS, 2010). In Pakistan the HIV/AIDS prevalence is low among the general population (<0.05%), but according to UN reports, it is increasing rapidly in high risk groups. The UN categorises Pakistan as a high risk country for the spread of HIV/AIDS. (http://bit.ly/UNmdg-mm).

Doesn’t it make sense for Pakistanis dealing with HIV/AIDS control to learn from India’s experience? Isn’t prevention better than cure?

Malaria is still a problem that both countries have not been able to tackle. According to a recent World Health Organisation (WHO) report, a third of the world’s countries will manage to eliminate Malaria, but adds that “the future in the South Asia region isn’t bright.”

India battles with a heavy burden of Malaria. Pakistan too has almost half a million cases of Malaria each year. A common problem with a common purpose of defeating it could help the region also realise the dream of being Malaria free. After all, countries closer to home like the Maldives have managed to do that, and Sri Lanka is considered close to eliminating the menace.

The mid-2000s saw Dengue epidemics in the Indian cities of Delhi and others in northern India. Today, Lahore and others in Pakistan are battling with it. It was a proud moment for the region when expertise from Sri Lanka and medicines from India helped Pakistan to combat the illness.

We have no choice but to combat such problems through joint efforts. The border security guards can check humans for visa, but mosquitoes are above such restrictions.

But besides the recent Dengue cooperation, there has hardly been any cooperation in the field of health at the top policy-making level. The only other cooperation worth a mention is the Polio drops being given to under-fives at Wagah border, and the fumigation of the Samjhota Express against the H1N1 flu virus.

Such small examples of cooperation are nothing compared to the gigantic cooperation that takes place in the field of entertainment. It is much more critical to come together on the immensely more serious issue of health. The stalwarts in this field must emulate the entertainment sector towards substantial cooperation.

We have a common geography, ecology, genetics, cultural practices and health problems. I am sure we can find common solutions too, that will save both countries much valuable time and money. United in health we shall stand, divided we shall fall with illnesses.

Dr Ilmana Fasih is an Indian gynaecologist and health activist married to a Pakistani. Blog: Blind to Bounds https://thinkloud65.wordpress.com/

Other children who have also been given a second chance through AKA-Rotary’s Heart to Heart initiative

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Category:

AmanKiAsha, Health, India, Indo-Pak, Pakistan, Peace, Personal, Politics, Social Issues, Women

Continuation of a joint heritage


Published in Aman Ki Asha , in TheNews on December 14, 2011. http://amankiasha.com/detail_news.asp?id=584

Ilmana Fasih recounts some examples of the ‘Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb’ and centuries’ old, peaceful coexistence beyond religious divides

An otherwise sane looking person I met at a party recently started to spew venom laced with conspiracy theories about “Hindu Muslim animosity”. To top it all, he tried to use my own life to justify his views, insisting that my going

to live in Pakistan after marrying a Pakistani was proof of the natural divide. He refused to accept my views that a peaceful coexistence between people of different faiths is possible or that my going to Pakistan from India was not based on religious reasons.

His hate-filled thoughts kept me sleepless for hours that night. But talking over the phone to my mother in Delhi later, I was cheered up by her mention of Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb. Our conversation triggered off thoughts about this beautiful, fluid culture that refuses to be boxed up and compartmentalised.

The name Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb is as beautiful as its spirit. It refers to the centuries’ old, peaceful coexistence between Hindus and Muslims of the subcontinent. Not only did the two faiths borrow cultural practices from each other, but they also exchanged each other’s vocabularies. So much so that now one is hardly able to find any difference between spoken Urdu and spoken Hindi.

The Nawabs of Awadh in north India in the 1700s are considered the pioneers of Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb. At least, the term was coined in their times. But on ground it existed well before that era.

The starkest example of this syncretic culture is the Purana Hanuman Mandir in Lucknow, which is crowned by an Islamic symbol, a crescent. According to legend, the temple was built by Nawab Saadat Ali Khan to honour the wish of his mother, who had dreamt of building a temple. The tradition of honouring the Nawab’s gesture still continues when the Muslims in the area put up stalls of water during the Bada Mangal festival at the temple, and Hindus manage sabeels (stalls) of sherbet and water during Muharram in reverence for Imam Hussain.

Not far from Lucknow, the rulers of the Hindu holy city of Kashi (also known as Benaras or Varanasi) observed the Azadari (the mourning) during Muharram, wearing black on Ashura. Ustad Bismillah Khan, the renowned Shehnai maestro, began his career as a shehnai player in Vishwanath temple, Kashi. In fact, many of the musicians, Hindu and Muslim, who play in the temples, fast during Ramazan and also observe Vrat during the Hindu Navratras.

Even today, Muslim artisans in Kashi/Varanasi who make Taziyas for Muharram also make effigies of Ravan for Dussehra, a friend tells me. Hindus too participate in Muharram processions and make Taziyas in many cities, notably Lucknow.

Similarly a Sindhi friend talks of the centuries-old peace and harmony between the Hindus and Muslims of Sindh. Adherents of both faiths revere and pray together at the shrine of Jhuley Lal, she says. The shrine walls are inscribed

with Arabic verses as well as Hindu names of Gods. An age-old common greeting of Sindhi Hindus and Muslims is “Jhulelal Bera-Hee-Paar”.

Karachi’s 150-year old cremation ground for Hindus has a Muslim caretaker, although there are many Hindus in the city. This caretaker is responsible for cleaning the statues and lighting the lamps in the temple, and takes care of the urns that contain the ashes of the dead after cremation, until their loved ones immerse the ashes in water.

Cultural practices in Sindh are a fusion of the two cultures. If the Hindus, fervently use Allah as the reference to God, the Muslims touch the feet of their elderly as traditions borrowed from each other’s cultures.

The contribution of Sufi poetry towards this peaceful coexistence, from Kabirdas and Amir Khusro, to Bulleh Shah on the other side, is well known.

Beyond faith, at the cultural level, the Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb has seen some beautiful creations like the Ghazal style of singing and the classical dance form Kathak.

Kathak’s journey from ancient times to its present form merits a walk-through. The word “katha” comes from “katha” or story telling. It has its roots in ancient times, when storytellers narrated epics or mythological stories like Shakuntala, and the Mahabharata through dance forms in temples. However with the arrival of Mughals, the dance, enticed to come to the courts, developed into a more Persianised form. The Kathak dancers adopted the whirling

from the dervishes to the ‘chakkars’. The rhythm of the footsteps found harmony with the beat of the tabla recently discovered by Amir Khusro. The female Kathakaars (storytellers) abandoned the sari of ancient times for the angarkha and churidar pyjama. The language of narration also transformed from Sanskrit to Brij Bhasha and then Urdu.

There may be more examples of such coexistence and development in other regions of the subcontinent too.

Those who propagate conspiracy theories and narrate stories of hate and disharmony need to know that even with the physical separation between India and Pakistan, the spirit of Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb lives on. The lack of communication between the two countries, particularly after the 1965 and 1971 wars, has not managed to dampen the natural instincts of sharing these cultures.

Farid Ayaz and Abu Muhammed, the renowned Qawwals from Pakistan continue to sing Bhajans which their gharana has been singing for the last 300 years. On the other side are Wadali brothers who sing Bulleh Shah Kaafis and Naats with the same devotion. Despite all odds, Sheema Kermani and her students in Pakistan have continued to keep the dance forms, not only of Kathak, but also Bharatnatyam and Odissi, alive and known in Pakistan.

The recent collaboration between Zeb and Haniya from Pakistan and Shantanu and Siwanand Kirkire of India yielded the soft melody “Kaho kya khayal hai” in a beautiful blend of Dari and Hindi. I could not help relate it to the Zehaal-e-Miskeen composition by Amir Khusro which was a beautiful fusion of Persian and Brij Bhasha.

And now another peacenik in the form of Shahvar Ali Khan makes a music video titled ‘No Saazish No Jang’ (No Conspiracy, No War). It is heartening to see the visuals, and hear the voices of Quaid-e-Azam Mohammed Ali Jinnah and Bapu Mahatama Gandhi together in the backdrop.

It is not possible to list all collaborations between the two countries and across religious divides, particularly in fields of films, music, health (the most significant being the Heart to Heart initiative by Rotary and Aman ki Asha). But all these initiatives testify to the desire for peace, not hate.

As for me, convinced that each of these efforts towards peaceful coexistence is based on foundations going back centuries, I slide into my bed, comforted by the faith that peace, not hate, will ultimately prevail.
It’s just a matter of time.

Dr Ilmana Fasih is an Indian gynaecologist and health activist married to a Pakistani. Her blog is Blind to Bounds https://thinkloud65.wordpress.com/

Category:

AmanKiAsha, Amir Kusro, Art, Bulleh Shah, CULTURE, Farid Ayaz ka Jadoo, India, Indo-Pak, Music, Pakistan, Peace, Personal, Politics, Published, RELIGION, Social Issues

Aalu Anday etc.


If you churn the ingredients-adversity, endurance, sense of humour,  imagination and hope into a machine at one end, you will receive Pakistani youth at the other end. Hammered with adverse circumstances one after the other, the hardy rocks of youngsters are  carving themselves into idols of the future.

Endurance is not just the ability to bear an adversity, but to turn it into glory. And laced with sense of humour, their creativity becomes their crowning glory.

Remarks a friend Kamran, “ I’m both amazed and proud of this younger generation of Pakistanis who refused to cow down, who continue to eke out a good time against all odds and do their thing. It’s almost as if nothing’s happening around them when everything is.”

There could not be a more artsy way to show their disdain for the prevailing politicosocial circumstances than through this master piece by the Beygairat Brigade .

There a lot more to this song, than just funny lyrics or catchy music …and is pleasing to know how these ‘kids’ get them conveyed through the briefest of  audios and  visuals. In fact, the name of the band says it all.

It was extremely imaginative of them to depict aalu andey (potatoes & eggs,  the current offering ) what  these youngsters are getting from their Mom( Pakistan), while they wish  Chicken ( their desire for a better deal).

As an  FB friend Rashid aptly describes  the song ( in fewest possible words) , “Song worth thousand articles by sages.”

I salute thee, the Brigade.

 

Sometime ago, yet another hilarious piece of creation pertaining to the burning issue of load shedding brought a cool breeze to the sufferers through the composition by Load Shedding Studio. They did a superb job in sketching the biography of a load shedding victim aka Pakistan.

Bijli ji !  Great  ji .

 

“There is no defense against adverse fortune which is so effectual as an habitual sense of humor”,  quotes Thomas Higginson.

And,  when the adverse fortunes become as habitual as they have in Pakistan, then humor becomes  a compulsion. Had there not been the knack in Pakistanis, in general, to laugh at themselves,  who would have been their saviour ? I wonder.

Youngsters, keep scoffing  off  your miseries  through melodious satire, till the true happiness sprouts from the seeds of your efforts.

“Satire, indeed,  like a polished razor keen,
Wounds with a touch that’s scarcely felt or seen.
Thine is an oyster knife, that hacks and hews
With  talent and not  rage, to shun abuse.”

Bravo, keep it up !

Category:

Humour, Music, Pakistan, Peace, Politics, Social Issues

Let the baby survive and grow


Published in AmanKiAsha The News on Oct 5, 2011.

Nirupama Rao, now Indian ambassador to Washington, reportedly said of the Agra Summit at which Vajpayee and Musharraf met: “Though there were midwives, a still-born child was born in Agra”. A healthy baby was born that night, but was replaced by a “still-born”, reportedly retorted a Pakistani delegate.

Whatever the rhetoric or interpretation, the fact remains that the baby could not breathe in the air it needed – of peace and confidence from the two sides. Hence it died. How many such babies have died over so many years after such meetings?

The love-hate relationship between India and Pakistan does not allow the two neighbours to be indifferent to each other. They keep the relationship going by conceiving ideas and dialogues, but the babies somehow never survive. They can’t. The trust deficit kills them.

The parents need two things to nourish the baby and ensure its survival. The first is ‘love’ and the second, ‘trust’.

I know first-hand, that there is no dearth of love amongst the masses on both sides. It is so evident from their interest towards each others arts and cultural affairs. If Pakistanis’ love for Bollywood films and Indian soaps is immense, then Indian craving for Pakistani singers and music groups is no less intense.

Then there’s the curiosity with which we follow each others sport teams. If there are girls in Pakistan swooning over Dhoni, there are lasses in India putting up posters of Afridi in their rooms.
The pairing of Aisam ul Haq and Rohan Bhopana in professional tennis, or Shoaib Malik and Sania Mirza tying the knot, are also living examples of that love. Despite the practical difficulties, non-celebrity cross-border marriages continue to take place. They don’t hit the limelight, but it is the love and bonds between us that makes them possible even after 64 years of separation.

Even when mishaps occur across the border and when some people do indulge in mudslinging, I bear witness to the fact that on both sides, there is a sizable majority who feel a heartache for the sufferings of their brothers and sisters across the border.

Just take the bonds that exist between the media personnel of both sides. If Beena Sarwar from Pakistan speaks through her soul to break the touching story of a Pakistani pilot’s letter to the daughter of an Indian pilot, Barkha Dutt on the other side follows up with a live TV programme that echoes these emotions from the bottom of her heart.

Another pair of journalist friends post the following facebook comments around August 14th and 15th, the Independence Days of the two countries: Shivam Vjj, Delhi: “All the world’s countries are mine. – borders. And Jeevay Pakistan!

Shiraz Hasan, Lahore: “There is a little bit of Indian in every Pakistani and a little bit of Pakistani in every Indian.” – Benazir Bhutto | Happy Independence Day to all Indian friends!

Many of us can cite numerous other such examples of friendship amongst the common folk. With this magnitude of love, there is no reason that the baby should not only survive, but be healthy and develop into the pride of its parents – the entire region of our Subcontinent.

But what do we do about the ‘trust deficit’ at the top, which smothers the baby? What more testimony of reconciliation do the powerful on both sides want, after the heart piercing letter of the Pakistani pilot to the daughter of the Indian pilot he shot down? What could be a greater example of forgiveness than the equally touching reply of the daughter, with the reassurance that she forgave and moved on long ago?

Together we make up 1.4 billion, about a fifth of humanity who aspire to live in peace and harmony in the region. Why does the trust deficit of just a handful keep jeopardising peace and harmony here?

The spirit at the Pakistan-India Parliamentarians Dialogue between the lawmakers of both sides in August was indeed yet another ray of hope. There was much needed discussion on political bones of contentions like Kashmir, Siachen and Sir Creek and the challenge of terrorism, all in a cordial environment.

It was even more encouraging that the issues which really matter to the people on both sides were given the due emphasis – economic ties (related to trade and investment), energy (via Iran-Pakistan-India gas pipeline), agreements to open new transit routes (across the Line of Control in Kashmir and at Khokhrapar-Monabao) or easing travel restrictions.

The idea of the “trusted visitors programme” was indeed a significant step forward for the hundreds of families divided across the border.

The categories laid down for such trusted individuals included senior citizens, businessmen, elected representatives etc. However, an important category was missing which by no means may be considered less trusted – that of couples who are married across the border.

I understand there will be more such meetings of the group. I beg the authorities on both sides to please look into these families, of cross-border couples, as also trustworthy. I belong to one such family, and I promise we will never let you down for having done so.

As for the elected representatives on either side, I beg them to please push in the high corridors of power to reduce the trust deficit, so that next time when an Indo-Pak Treaty starts to be born, it does not die a premature death.

Wednesday, October 05, 2011

Dr Ilmana Fasih is a gynaecologist and health activist of Indian origin,  married to a Pakistani citizen. She blogs at https://thinkloud65.wordpress.com/

Category:

AmanKiAsha, India, Indo-Pak, Pakistan, Peace, Politics, Published, Social Issues, Uncategorized

What is politics ?


A little boy goes to his dad and asks, “What is politics?”

Dad says, “Well son, let me try to explain it this way: I’m the breadwinner of the family, so let’s call me capitalism. Your Mom, she’s the administrator of the money, so we’ll call her the Government. We’re here to take care of your needs, so we’ll call you the people. The nanny, we’ll consider her the Working Class. And your baby brother, we’ll call him the Future. Now, think about that and see if that makes sense.”

So the little boy goes off to bed thinking about what dad had said.

Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying, so he gets up to check on him. He finds that the baby has severely soiled his diaper. So the little boy goes to his parents’ room and finds his mother sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nanny’s room. Finding the door locked, he peeks in the keyhole and sees his father in bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed.

The next morning, the little boy says to his father, “Dad, I think I understand the concept of politics now.”

The father says, “Good son, tell me in your own words what you think politics is all about.”

The little boy replies, “Well, while Capitalism is screwing the Working Class, the Government is sound asleep, the People are being ignored and the Future is in deep shit.”

Courtesy: As e-mailed by a friend.

Category:

Humour, Politics

When hatred reigns.


It was with helplessness that I read an article in one of the newspapers about how school kids in certain areas of Karachi were not able to attend their school safely because of prevailing tensions between two ethnic groups- both Pakistanis, both Muslims of the same sect. A kid claimed he was friends with his schoolmates from the other ethnic community and they even played together after school, but now the same friends say they could not play with him anymore.

Another article read of how Hindus in Baluchistan who have been living there for centuries were fearful of sending their kids to schools due to escalated kidnappings for ransom and killings of the community. Although they have no animosity with the Muslims in neighborhood,  they all scared to mingle.

In brief, the hatred of a handful prevailed over the helplessness of the lot.

Before I could finish, the news broke of Karachi blast in the DHA where along with others, an innocent passerby mom and her 5 year old son got killed.
What prevailed here too was nothing but hatred.

I know first hand, exactly how it feels to be helpless in the face of hatred.

I was a first year medical student in  Lady Hardinge Medical College, situated in the heart of New Delhi, when Indira Gandhi was assassinated on 31 October 1984. The mayhem spread as faster than the spread of the news. As if a riot button was switched on. Delhi’s panorama was puking smoke of hatred from every direction.

Parents were coming to pick up their daughters, from the college hostel, and narrating the harrowing tales of watching limbs and other body parts splattered across the killing fileds that Delhi roads had turned into. I remember how a Sikh girl from my class sat cautiously frozen in the crowd of girls in the hostel’s TV room.  She broke down when she learnt that her brother had left home an hour ago to pick her up. No one reassured her not to cry or to worry for her brothers safety.  Not a single parent even offered to drop her home. Why would I blame others, when I felt the same helplessness, and feared what will happen when my parents come, will they be reluctant to take her too.

Ultimately, along with her and a few other girls, I ended up staying back to spend the terrible night in the hostel. The city had turned into an open house of looting and rampage. Next day on my way back home,  all I saw was roads stained with fresh blood, a charred and empty shop after every few well preserved shops and selectively  burn’t buildings along the way to home. Though I did not have the courage to give a second look, but I did see a glimpse of most likely a charred body lying inside a burnt shop.

At home everyone shared their eye witness accounts. Our house boy Jung Bahadur described how the shacks(jhuggis) in the slums of Mangolpuri and Sultanpuri were stocked with stacks of VCRs, TVs and other electronics. He even shared how some dead bodies were piled together, doused with kerosene and burnt to ashes. Papa had witnessed a headless body being carried in an autorickshaw.

I do not remember how and when did the Sikh girl go home, but we learnt days later that her brother could neither arrive at the college, nor ever return back home. His body was  identified some days later in the morgue.

Again, amidst the helplessness of us all, hatred prevailed like a king.

The same story was repeated with my parents, as they were left in the cold, during the riots in December 1992, that followed Babri Masjid demolition. Many Muslim houses were chalked in Delhi, including those of IAS officers, doctors, cricketers, poets etc.

In fact some like Bashir Badr’s house in Meerut was actually attacked. It was after this incident that Bashir Badr wrote this shair:
Log toot jaatey hain, ek ghar banane mein
Tum taras nahin khaatey bastiyaan jalane mein.

Being  staunch beleivers of Indian secularism, my parents had proudly built a house in 1977 in a University housing cooperative compound where his colleagues and other University professors resided. We were only 2 Muslim houses in a colony of 238 lots, but that was besides the point. However, that cold and lonely December night none of our neighbors, his University colleagues or friends came forward to even reassure them of support in case of any danger. There was a criminal silence from friends and neighbors.

As my mother narrated later, that was the first time she saw my father cry with tears, not for his life, but at the ‘sudden’ transformation in hearts of trusted and indeological friends for several decades. My parents had packed their car with valuables, in case they had to leave. Once the crisis was over, a few friends did come up, begging their helplessness.

Once again, amidst the intelligentsia of the society, hatred took an upper hand .

My grandfather often narrated of an incident when during the 1947 riots a Sikh boy had come to drop a pregnant Muslim woman to Matia Mahal,  Jama Masjid area, but was not let to go back alive, despite the helpless cries from the woman’s family to spare her saviour.

The helpless family members could do nothing as the hatred reigned.

I know I can never be able to guess from where this business of hatred all began, but can we really dare dream a day when the hatred propagated by a handful of vested interests will not prevail over the helpless masses ?

This reminded me of a discourse I had read about the controversy between Tagore and Gandhi during the non-cooperation movement against the British in 1930s.

Tagore had warned Gandhi by saying: “….besides, hatred of the foreigner could later turn into a hatred of Indians different from oneself.”

Gandhi on the other hand believed that this non-cooperation would dissolve  Hindu-Muslims differences.

Ultimately Tagore was proved right, and Gandhi had to shift his  non cooperation  against the British into a non violent movement.

The same corollary of Tagore’s could easily be applied to the situation in Pakistan, too.

What began as a hatred for the foreign faiths has turned into hatred among Pakistanis different from each other.

And ironically a handful of vested interest first made the helpless common Pakistanis hate the foreign faiths and now have turned the Pakistanis of different sects and ethnicities hate each other.

This business of hate has to stop somewhere. Whether it is for a fellow Indian/ Pakistani of different ethnicity, of a different faith or of a foreigner of different color, we have to shout in the face of hatred: “Enough is enough”.

Or else, as poet E E Cummings lamented: Hatred bounces.

Category:

Down the memory lane.., India, Indo-Pak, Pakistan, Peace, Personal, Politics, RELIGION, Uncategorized

Erasing psychological borders


Published in The News @AmanKiAsha on September 2, 2011

Panchee nadiya aur pawan ke jhonke, koi sarhad inhen na roke;
Sarhad to insanon ke liye hai, socho tumne aur meine kya paya insaan ho ke

Birds, rivers & gusts of wind, no borders inhibit,
Borders are for us, think what have we gained being Humans ?

This couplet by Javed Akhtar from a Bollywood blockbuster entered my ears and shook my soul.
“Wow! Javed Sahib  knows how I feel each time I go to the Indian consulate in Pakistan to apply for visas for my family to visit my parents in New Delhi.”

“In January 1990, a girl in her mid-twenties in New Delhi ties the knot with a Pakistani man in his late twenties. Happy, but quite unsure how the things in her life would unfold after that. She wasn’t a poor small-town girl getting married to a well-off cousin in Karachi in compliance with her parents’ decision. She was a typical city girl, who made it to a premier medical school in Delhi and was full of patriotic fervour for her homeland. Her parents did not become a hurdle, but advised that she decide it with full insight, and not regret later. It took her four painful and paranoid years to come to this decision. The young man across the border, putting aside his ego in the face of repeated refusals for years, convinced her that they could make it.”

Twenty years on, I can confidently say that we have made it. Our life together hasn’t been all tulips and roses of course. We’ve had our share of ups and downs, in addition to the usual hurdles any usual couple faces. Both of us being passionately patriotic about our respective homelands, it hasn’t been easy. What helped us was the erasing of psychological borders, knowing that humanity on both sides of the border has the same needs and aspirations. We promised to uphold sanity in our heads and not spew patriotic venom against each other. Not that outsiders spared us. Any bitter comment against the other side by a “patriotic acquaintance” from either side affected me more than my husband.
At times I would be reduced to tears after such taunts, to be comforted by my husband with a “mitti pao” attitude. It is not easy when someone passes a snide remark about your homeland. Any news of a bomb blast or riots in my city, would have me sitting paranoid, glued to the TV, wondering about the safety of my parents and siblings.

In kindergarten our children faced questions from curious friends – like,
“Do your have fights at home during a cricket match between India and Pakistan?”

My son would come home crying that his friends teased him about having an Indian mother, saying,
“Your mom is a traitor!”
 It took him some years to feel confident that his mom wasn’t a traitor.

But the only time I really, if ever, regretted my decision was when I had to queue up outside the visa window at the consulate of a country I called my homeland. Miserable is an understatement of how I felt when the man behind the counter looked at my children, asking for details, as if I was taking little terrorist recruits with me to my beloved city.

And then on our return to Pakistan, my husband would be pulled aside by the airport security, questioning him about the frequency of his visits across the border. One has to live it to feel it.

My siblings and I grew up with our eyes open to the world issues, with parents who taught international politics at a university.
We were trained to look beyond our boundaries and feel for the suffering of others be it in Palestine, apartheid in South Africa, or Gen Zia’s martial Law in Pakistan. I salute my parents for raising us as “human” beings with a wide horizon.
Some attribute my “Indian roots” to my comments on news blogs or Face book regarding political matters in Pakistan. Yes, I am proud of my roots. But I also have a husband and two kids who are passionately patriotic Pakistanis. They love both places. And so do I. I claim that I own both countries, and love both too. Karachi is mine as much as Delhi is.

We know there is good and bad on both sides. We don’t indulge in mutual blame games. We have erased the psychological borders at home and we respect our political borders. And we love this feeling.
What if the one and half billion across both the borders could also erase the psychological borders? After all, people on both sides of the border are made of the same flesh and bones, we share the same genetic pool. I wonder if I will live to see that day.

Dr Ilmana Fasih is a gynaecologist and health activist of Indian origin, married to a Pakistani. Contact her via amankiasha@janggroup.com.pk
Friday, September 02, 2011

Category:

AmanKiAsha, India, My world, Pakistan, Peace, Politics, Published, Social Issues

That the truth has a tongue…~a poem


Just a minute long poem narrates the decades of pain and suffering of innocent kids who have no reason to bear this.

All your armies ..
all your fighters ..
all your tanks ..
and all your soldiers ..
against a boy ..
holding a stone ..
standing there ..
all alone ..
in his eyes ..
I see the sun ..
in his smile ..
I see the moon ..
and I wonder ..
I only wonder ..
who is weak ? ..
and who is strong ? ..
who is right ? ..
and who is wrong ? ..
and I wish ..
I only wish ..
that the truth ..
has a tongue :

Category:

International, My world, Peace, Poetry, Politics