Open up your mind and your potential reaches infinity…


Armaan Khan bhai again writes with his soul.

Let me do the explaining.This kavita (poem) is in context with the much awaited Court ruling on Ayodhya-Babri Masjid controversy.Any time this issue comes to limelight, a visible tension crops up among the two communities, who have essentially been living side by side for centuries.

I hope each word of this poem reflects the feelings of each one in India and extends to ‘us’ across the ‘border ke us paar too.’ 🙂

शायद खत्म ये फ़ासले हो जायेंगे,
जब हमारे बीच फ़ैसले हो जायेंगे !
अयोध्या भी सुकून से हो जायेगी,
हम तुम भी अच्छे भले हो जायेंगे !
अब बदगुमानियाँ भी मिट जाएँगी,
दूर, सब शिकवे गिले हो जायेंगे !
हाथों से नही, दिल से मिलेंगे तो,
दिल से दिल के मरहले हो जायेंगे !
नफ़रत ढूँढने से भी ना मिलेगी,
मोहब्बत के सिलसिले हो जायेंगे !
– अरमान

Shayad khatm ye faasle ho jaayenge,Jab hamare beech faisle ho jayenge.
Ayodhya bhi sukoon se ho jayegi, hum tum ache bhale ho jayenge.
Ab badgumaniyan bhi mit jayengi, door sab shikwe gile ho jayenge.
Haathon se nahin dil se milenge to, dil se dil marhale ho jayenge.
Nafrat dhoondne se bhi na milegi, mohabbat ke silsile ho jayenge.

—- Armaan Khan

In reply, Ibrahim Shishmahal says:

Dil mil sakein subhi kay, kuch aisaa payaam de
Nufrat na ho kahin pe, sukun subho shaam de
Pur amn ho watun, kahin dehshut na ho zara
Meri dua ye ‘Faisla’, khushiyan tamaam de!!

And Amit adds:
main na himdu na musalman mujhe jeene do..
dosti hai mera emaan mujhe jeene do…


Yeh daur kaam bada maheen karta hai,
Mujhko meethe se namkeen karta hai.
Tera masoom udas chehra ai dost,
Mujhko bhi bahut ghamgeen karta hai.
Main samjhata tha who sunta na tha,
Zindagi ne mara to yaqeen karta hai.
Kaali syahi mein din mere dubo kar,
Maalik apni raatein rangeen karta hai.
Gawah goonge hain insaaf bhi andha,
Sach yahan kaun tasleem karta hai.
Khudaya! Mujhe phir se faqiri de,
Paisa mujhe deen se bedeen karta hai.
Humein aapas mein larati hai siyasat,
Yahan to Pakistan, Cheen karta hai.
‘Armaan’ kisi aur qabil ho na ho,
Magar shayari to behtareen karta hai.

—Armaan.


This an interesting school assignment that my 17 year old son Ismail did for his Grade 12 English class,at the weekend. I had always thought that the modern means of communication like cell phones,emails have made my teenager children more independent and self assertive.
However Ismail’s opinion on it was contrary and perhaps interesting.He has always been a boy who thinks out-of-the-box. He wrote a 500 word assignment and asked me to edit the mistakes. There he goes……
Is technology stunting postsecondary kids’ growth?
The interview raises a valid point that technology is decelerating the students’ growth into adulthood.Personally speaking, I too am amongst one of those students in high school who takes help from the mom. I sometimes e mail her my HW and ask her to look at my work, edit it, give suggestions, etc. Even when I need to take the bus or get lost on the way to certain destinations, I feel the urge to call her or my father on cellphone to Google up the routes, instead of me asking the people for directions.
Before reading the interview I did not feel as if this was a problem. When looking deeper into the issue, as a high school student I understand that the issue creates a lot more problems for university students, more than the high school students. This is because university is the stepping stone for the transition into adulthood. Even after leaving for university, many students aren’t totally away from the parents. I have seen many real life examples like my friends who live in dorms, and text message their friends and family to check their work or evenask to do online research for them on trivial home work assignments.
At one point I found in the article, Ms Moore saying that students and parents should have healthy communication like sending them campus pictures, buildings and monasteries. I felt that it is THIs TYPE of communication, that makes parents want to get involved in their children’s’ student lives. Because when parents get a glimpse of the environment their children are in, it gives them the urge to just get involved and do their best to help their children succeed.
One point that I really found true was the one talking about how students take help from their moms and dads rather than the people on campus. I personally feel this is true because I feel that getting help from my parents is better than getting help from the people available on campus. I think this is because parents are more likely to say good than bad about their child’s work to boost their confidence. (I love you Ismail for writing this, but you never said this on my face ! ) But then again, this not always true as parents who believe in reality check always tell their children the truth.
Last but not least, one point that I find a little difficult to agree on is the one that says that a lot of parents usually get swayed by their children’s emotional reactions on Skype and text messages. I think this is because personally my parents try to keep me strong by telling me that I have to face the world alone one day, so I should learn to deal with my problems on my own.
In conclusion, technology has been helpful but we should not overuse it to bring to us to our downfall.( Ismail, remember this when you sit on PS 3 or WWE on the net)
Hopefully, after reading this interview, I will learn to become more independent, in time, for university.
by Ismail Fasih
Grade 12
John Fraser Sec.School
Posted 3 months ago


Food for thought…

“You must trust and believe in people or life becomes impossible.”– Chekhov

I tested this quote in real life today and came out with flying colors…
Date:14 Sep 2010
Time: 8:15 AM
Place :Outside the US Consulate, Toronto.

A strange unscripted drama unfolds...
I had an appointment with the US Consulate to get a visa for attending a “Connect for Health” Conference, New York, next week.I was late for the appointment by 15 minutes (5 minutes over the time limit), due to an accident on the Expressway which had blocked it. I was sure I will be refused the entry because of being a late comer.
I gave a deliberate and fake angel smile at the blue uniformed lady at the gate saying, “I’m sorry I am late because…”

The masked face lady interrupted me and asked back,”Do you have any food, drinks, camera , cellphones or any other electronic devices?”

“No, none of these but….. I have this iPhone.” I said.

The’ mask faced’ changed into a Cruela Devil. She retorted, “You are already late. You have two minutes to give this away and get inside. We donot keep them with us nor do we allow it to be placed within the premises.”

The car was parked two blocks away, so going upto it wasn’t an option.

Suddenly this prized possession turned heavy and cursed. I had just a couple of minutes to decide its fate,or else I miss- my appointment, the visa and hence, the terrific Conference where I have to make a presentation of my decade long work. I had to choose and then act in the next TWO minutes.

I looked around to see if any savior would come forward and volunteer, to hold my cell phone till I return back. All those onlookers who were watching my drama changed their gaze when I looked at them—as if they didn’t know what was going on.

Half a minute had passed in my watch and as if the seconds’ hand was trying to beat the 100 meters world record of Usain Bolt, right then.

I saw two angels descending down from the horizon across the road. I knew they were God sent and one of them will envelope my divine iPhone in his wings.

The first one was a young lady rushing towards her office perhaps. I jumped at her and requested her to keep my cell phone till I’m done from inside. She gave me a wierd look and angled herself away from the potential exploding device in my hand. She walked away quietly not even bothering to say a big “NO”..Not her fault. I fit into the profile of a suspicious person by virtue of my skin color. Without uttering a word, she spoke of volumes of her distrust on me and my iPhone. I felt really helpless for not being trusted.

I knew I will miserably fail in my efforts today, but I didnt want to give up without trying. My presentation and a decade of work behind it was at stake . It was dramatic,  it was embarrassing but I chose to do away with all those senses for just these two minutes of my life.
A few seconds later, I stopped a man , probably in his early thirties and repeated my request to him. He took his hand forward and grabbed the phone without a second look or a second word. I just threw the iPhone into his hand and jumped across the road saying ‘thank you’ half way across the road . He waved at me to take his cell number but I pretended as if I hadnt heard, and rushed into the gate before they got closed on my face. At the doorstep, I made sure that when the lady in blue uniform looks into my face, I will give her a scornful look. And, yes, I did give her one. She was unmoved and was probably immune to such looks day in and day out.

I realized how painful this device was, which was faking itself as a blessing to me for the past one year. I was feeling light.  But the materialistic in me was calculating how much will I lose if I never get this thing back and if the fellow disappears from the scene.  Why would he take this iphone so willingly without even a question?

I took me about a couple of hours inside the consulate to fulfill all the requirements of document check, finger printing, interview etc. Because of the invitation letter, the whole ordeal was a smooth sailing. I still did not regret handing over my iPhone to a random man on the street.

At 10:30 am I was told that the passport would arrive at my house by the weekend, stamped with the visa. I felt I had won a medal at the steeple chase race. I walked out triumphant from the gates.

On the road I looked around as if he would be standing for the past 2 and a half hours,dying to give back my iPhone.  He was nowhere to be seen.

I knew what I had done. What will I tell my folks at home—did I drop it somewhere? I certainly won’t let them know of my foolish act—I will fake it, that I dropped it. Or may be I will tell the truth so that everyone learns a lesson at my cost.

Half sure, I decided to call on my own cell phone number from the public booth. The bell was ringing. Will he pick it up, will he…?

Before I could think of anything else  ,he answered and asked,“‘Did u get your job done ma’am. Wait I am three blocks away from the Consulate and will come down to you in ten minutes”.

His words were music to my ears. I had never felt so relieved in my entire life.  A while later I saw a man coming from across the street. I wasn’t even sure if he was the same person.  I hadn’t even looked at him well enough to recognize him two hours later. He handed over my phone, and smiled.

I thanked him in the politest possible way I could, and he simply shrugged his shoulders,”No big deal lady”.An epitome of dignity he was. “I have to get back to my office”. He turned never to look back again.

I did not have the strength to ask him of his name,or anything else. I couldn’t even say a thank you with my mouth full open. I was overwhelmed.

I still do not know who he was, what his nationality or what  his faith was . I do not even have either his cell number to call him and say thanks , or his name to add him on FaceBook.  He just came and went back like an angel.  He was a human being. Yes, it’s human beings who turn into angels when they help others in need or transform into a satan when in greed.

How right was Abraham Lincoln when he said, “The people when rightly and fully trusted will return the trust”.

In every man resides an angel and a satan.
It is up to us to chose which one we ought to awaken.
We need to awaken the angels from within.
Let the Satan in us die a premature death.
Is it worth putting our i phones at risk?
I am not sure. But, yes, I did so.
I got back not only my iPhone,
but also, a huge trust in the the humanity.
It was worth a try.

You try it too, sometime….

ILMANA FASIH
14 September 2010.
(P.S. Whether I get the visa in time and can make it to the Conference seems a trivial matter now!)


Junk food…
On the first day, God created the dog and said, “Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. For this, I will give you a life span of twenty years.”
The dog said, “That’s a long time to be barking. How about only ten years and I’ll give you back the other ten?”
So God agreed……
On the second day, God created the monkey and said, “Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I’ll give you a twenty-year life span.”
The monkey said, “Monkey tricks for twenty years? That’s a pretty long time to perform. How about I give you back ten like the dog did?”
And God agreed……On the third day, God created the cow and said, “You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer’s family. For this, I will give you a life span of sixty years.”
The cow said, “That’s kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. How about twenty and I’ll give back the other forty?”
And God agreed again……
On the fourth day, God created humans and said, “Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I’ll give you twenty years.”
But the human said, “Only twenty years? Could you possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten the dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?”
“Okay,” said God. “You asked for it.”
So that is why for our first twenty years, we eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves. For the next forty years, we marry,have kids and slave in the sun to support our family. For the next ten years, we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren.And for the last ten years, we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone.
(PS Sorry in advance if it hurts anyone’s sensitivity.This is just to change the taste in the mouth after a lot of bitter foods for thought.)


For no rhyme nor reason I fell for this innocent Hindi poem…..

By Armaan Khan

Kuch adaen uski shehri thi
Kuch adaen uski ganwari thi,
Badi natkhat thi,chanchal thi,
Who kamsin thi,kanwari thi,
Woh jo mujh se bichar gaee
Woh alharh larki bahut pyari thi…….
Misri si mithi thi who,
Mirchi si teekhi bhi thi,
Kabhi kachi amiya si thi,
Kabhi imli si chatkhari thi,
woh jo mujh se bichar gaee,
Woh alharh larki bahut pyari thi…….
Rang sanwal,nain nakhsh teekhe the,
Thodi pe uske til bhi tha,
Chand se kuch khas doston mein,
Uska naam shamil bhi tha,
Aur meri Maa bhi us par waari thi,
woh jo mujh se bichar gaee,
Woh alharh larki bahut pyari thi…….
Aaj achanak kyon aise,
Yaad ki lakriyaan sulagne lagin,
Aur wajood mein dhuan bhara to,
Rooh bhi apni sulagne lagi,
Tum dekhte to samajhte,
Bina uske kaisi haalat hamari thi,
woh jo mujh se bichar gaee,
Woh alharh larki bahut pyari thi…….


A bitter food for thought…..

Whenever the topic of “honour killings” came up in any Dinner party or gathering I attended, I would end up arguing and fighting against it being a Pakistani or a Muslim phenomenon.

Alas, God  heard my cries and enlightened someone else also, to acknowledge that honour killings are not synonymous with only Pakistan.( We needn’t worry! We have  monopoly over many other issues like Feudalism, bigotry,  “outside hand”, to name a few. And yes, we also have a huge turnover from the “rumour factories” all across the land).

Yesterday, I came across an article in The Independent by Robert Fisk. He introduces it by the opening paragraph:
“ It is a tragedy, a horror, a crime against humanity. The details of the murders – of the women beheaded, burned to death, stoned to death, stabbed, electrocuted, strangled and buried alive for the “honour” of their families – are as barbaric as they are shameful. Many women’s groups in the Middle East and South-west Asia suspect the victims are at least four times the United Nations’ latest world figure of around 5,000 deaths a year. Most of the victims are young: many are teenagers, slaughtered under a vile tradition that goes back hundreds of years but which now spans half the globe.”

(However, his is a half the truth. It doesn’t span only half the globe—it spans across the globe. Only the magnitude may be variable . Fisk failed to mention the lands beyond the Atlantic Ocean).

The Independent did a 10 month long research and investigated the existence of Honour Killings in various Middle Eastern and South Asian countries. The study came out with few interesting facts:
-Although unfortunately being stereotyped as a “Muslim practice”, it exists among the Christian and Hindu communities as well.
-Men are also killed for honour at times.

Indeed, this barbaric practice transcends beyond any faith and sect. It is a hallmark of ‘Jahalat” (ignorance is too soft a word for this ). It would be an equally heinous crime to label it to any religion -whether Hinduism or Islam or Christianity or any other ism for that matter.

My heart bleeds when even seasoned journalists label it “a largely Muslim practice”. It may be more frequent in some Muslim communities but that has more to do with their level of ignorance rather than their faith. For all those who either don’t know or simply forgot-Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) had denounced, campaigned against and banned the “female infanticide”(burying the female child) some 1400 and more years ago. The birth of the female child in PreIslamic Arabia was a dishonour to the family.

The practice of Honour Killing dates back to 2000 years, and has been documented to be existing in the ancient Rome and the Mesopotamian Civilizations(in Hammurabi’s Code).

The reports from Amnesty International and other Human Rights groups indicate that menace of honour killings is increasing each year.

The Fisk article mentions, “ Iraqi Kurds, Palestinians in Jordan, Pakistan and Turkey appear to be the worst offenders but media freedoms in these countries may over-compensate for the secrecy which surrounds “honour” killings in Egypt – which untruthfully claims there are none – and other Middle East nations in the Gulf and the Levant. But honour crimes long ago spread to Britain, Belgium, Russia and Canada and many other nations.”

UNFPA estimates that annual worldwide total of such killings is around 5,000. I beg to disagree here. This may be the hard statistics,  but it just represents the tip of an iceberg. A vast majority (upto 90%) of these dastardly acts are conveniently reported as suicides or accidents.

In fact, honor killing exists  in the garb of various other names in different parts of the world. It comes with the name of “Karo-Kari” in Pakistan, “Dowry Deaths or Bride Burning” in India, “Loss of Ird” in the Bedouin (Middle Eastern) communities and as “Crimes of Passion“in Latin American countries.
Each of these kinds merit their explanation and clarifications:
.
KARO-KARI: The compound word literally means “black male”(Karo) and Black female (Kari), a metaphor for the adulterers. Once a couple is accused of “immoral behaviour” the male family members authorise “themselves” to restore the honour of the family by killing both the karo and the kari. But the real life scenario is that in most of the times only the female accomplice becomes the victim, whilst the perpetrators are close male relatives-father, brother, husband or son. One needn’t bother to get a witness, mere suspicion and accusation is enough to desecrate a family’s honour. To wind up the event the victim’s family pardons the murderer (usually from within the family) or are “counselled” by the elders of the community to accept blood money (if the perpetrators are outsiders). And hence the murderer sails free in ALMOST ALL the cases . A Bill against the practice was passed in the Pakistani Parliament in November 2006, but the practice still goes unabated. We still have a couple of “people’s representative” sitting in the parliament who have the audacity to stand up and justify the incident as “our culture”. And the irony is that one of them remains a Minister – with just a change in his Ministry after human rights activists’ cries for his removal.

DOWRY DEATH/BRIDE BURNING: It isn’t technically an honour killing, but the motive behind the act is similar —for not honouring the in laws by not bringing “enough” dowry. (Dowry is a symbol of the high credentials of the groom. The more he earns the more dowry he deserves). A young woman is murdered by her husband and his family for not living up to their expectations of the dowry she brings with her. She is typically dowsed with Kerosene, and set alight leading to death by fire. Although there is legislation in place since 1961 as Dowry Prohibition Act, about 500-600 brides are dowsed each year. The murderers and the abetters can be sentenced to from 7 years to life imprisonment, but the reality is that many are passed on as accidental kitchen fire or a suicide unless the girl’s parents are strong enough to cry foul. The dowry deaths saw their peak in the 80s and early 90s in India. I remember reading at least 2 or 3 cases each day in the newspaper those days.

LOSS OF IRD: This is a preIslamic custom. “Ird” is a Bedouin honour code for women. A woman is born with her “ird’ intact, but any immoral act of sexual infidelity could take her ird away. Los of ird doesn’t merely imply to the physical transgression, but it is more of an emotional concept. Once lost, a woman cannot regain her ird  . In contrast to this “Sharafa”–the honour code for men can be acquired, augmented, lost and regained.  And if this wasn’t enough Sharafa is required to protect the Ird of the women of the family and honour of the tribe. Majority of these cases get highlighted only in the countries like Jordan, Iraq or Turkey. In countries where press is gagged—like Egypt and the Gulf,  the incidents are claimed to be nonexistent. We can guess that.

CRIME OF PASSION: This too isn’t technically claimed as an honour killing but the perpetrator generally kills the woman when his honour is stabbed by her presumed or real infidelity. It could be considered more of a form of domestic violence where the husband, partner, lover or the boyfriend murders the woman in a rage of jealousy or when the latter being caught for infidelity. Usually the perpetrators claim to have committed the act in a fit of rage or “temporary insanity” (in legal language) and the crime gets mitigated. Unfortunately a lot of the offenders get away with lighter sentences on that account. “Femicide” and violence against women as it is also called has reached alarming proportions in the Latin America. In a report from Peru, 58% of men accused of murdering their women blamed it on the infidelity or jealousy.

The irony is that in any form of honour killing, one need not prove the offence and the offence need not be grave either. Just a suspicion or a dream could lead to the act. So also, it need not be a grave act of marital infidelity or premarital sex, even flirting and failing to serve her man on time can be enough to dishonour the fragile “honour’ of men in her life(whether a husband or a father or a brother).

Statistics say that all round the globe only half the killings are by firearms, the rest being by throttling, strangling or stabbing with a knife. Majority of women are between the ages of 16 and 30 years of age.

Wherever it is done (here or there), whoever commits it (a brother or a husband),or Whatever the motive is (honour or jealousy) the end result remains the same—a woman (in 99.9%) cases) becomes a prey to the misogynist mindset of a close male relative.

The practice is nurtured by the idea that Woman is “our property” and that the violence against a woman is “a family issue” and not a judicial one.

As quoted in an old article from National Geographic on honour killings: “Women are considered the property of the males in their family irrespective of their class, ethnic, or religious group. The owner of the property has the right to decide its fate. The concept of ownership has turned women into a commodity which can be exchanged, bought and sold.”

Just to give a firsthand feel I copy-paste some of the real-life clips from across the globe:
* In Turkey, a young woman’s throat was slit in the town square because a love ballad had been dedicated to her over the radio.
*In Delhi, India, Deepika Bajaj (28), customer care and services manager of Hans Hyundai in Jhilmil Colony, was burnt to death allegedly by her husband and in-laws,over the issue of dowry, in their house at Gopal Park. The woman had made a call to the police saying that her in-laws were trying to set her ablaze. When the police reached the spot, she was found burnt in her room.
*In Pakistan , five women were buried alive for “honour crimes” in Baluchistan by armed tribesmen; three of them – Hameeda, Raheema and Fauzia – were teenagers who, after being beaten and shot, were thrown still alive into a ditch where they were covered with stones and earth. When the two older women, aged 45 and 38, protested, they suffered the same fate. The three younger women had tried to choose their own husbands.
*In Iraq, a 17-year-old girl, Rand Abdel-Qader, was beaten to death by her father because she had become infatuated with a British soldier. Another, Shawbo Ali Rauf, 19, was taken by her family to a picnic in Dokan and shot seven times because they had found an unfamiliar number on her mobile phone.
* Even in liberal Lebanon, there are occasional “honour” killings, the most notorious that of a 31-year-old woman, Mona Kaham,
whose father entered her bedroom and cut her throat after learning she had been made pregnant by her cousin. He walked to the police station in Roueiss in the southern suburbs of Beirut with the knife still in his hand. “My conscience is clear,” he told the police. “I have killed to clean my honour.”
*In India, an engaged couple, Yogesh Kumar and Asha Saini, were murdered by the 19-year-old bride-to-be’s family because her fiancée was of lower caste. They were apparently tied up and electrocuted to death.
*In Peru, in a police report obtained by IPS, Juan José Galiano, 36, confessed that he strangled his partner, Rosa Trujillo, 38, because he suspected her of carrying another man’s child.
*In Brazil: The mountainous south eastern state of Minas Gerais is commonly known as the terra dos machoes, or land of the machos. “Here, if a man sleeps around with other women, it’s a sign of masculinity,” says Elaine Matozinho, a policewoman in Belo Horizonte. “But if a woman is an adulteress, it’s a different story: she pays with her life.”
*”In Jordan, if a woman is afraid that her family wants to kill her, she can check herself into the local prison, but she can’t check herself out, and the only person who can get her out is a male relative, who is frequently the person who poses the threat,”
*In London,UK„The 16-year-old was stabbed to death by her Muslim father Abdullah, in west London, because he disapproved of her Christian boyfriend.
*In Canada, Aqsa Parvez, who was found strangled in her family’s home. Friends said Aqsa had been at odds with her family over her refusal to wear the hijab.
*In Canada,Kamikar Singh Dhillon, who pleaded guilty to stabbing Amandeep Kaur, 22, to death Jan 1, 2009, said he feared his daughter-in-law would leave his son for another man with whom she was allegedly having an affair.

PS. After all this writing I do not have any spirits left in me to conclude this note. My mind is numb. I leave it on the readers to draw their own solutions to the problem and give the feedback if interested.
Read and think……..

Ilmana Fasih
8 September 2010.


Teaching is not a lost art, but the regard for it is a lost tradition. ~Jacques Barzun

Teaching is the noblest of professions which got undervalued and lost its sheen along the way. It is a profession that teaches all other professions.
More than half way through my life, the group I feel most indebted to are my teachers.
‘I am indebted to my father for living, but to my teacher for living well.’ ~Alexander the Great.

Indeed, I am indebted to all my teachers-to the mediocre teachers for stuffing my brain with ready to use information, to the good ones for making the information interesting and to the superior ones for sparking a burning desire for the quest of knowledge unto death.

Not spelling out the gratitude to each one of them for their shares in my life would be like writing a letter and not sending it.

In middle school, I went to school looking forward to the vacations in May, June and July, in High School, it was to have fun with the friends, and in University, to come out with a licence to earn good money.

Fortunately though, if it wasn’t for the inspiring teachers, I would have walked out with same goals achieved. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that they were my awesome teachers who replaced my empty mind with an open one .They widened my horizon and brightened my vision.

Half baked brain that I was (especially in school), I extremely undervalued the magnanimity of my teachers. There was a love- hate relationship that existed –they being ‘tools of torture’ one minute and ‘instrument of inspiration‘ the other. It sounds impertinent and embarrassing that these angels of knowledge and wisdom were at times viewed by my myopic eyes as satans of strictness and discipline.

But I was smart. Yes, very smart. I never let them know what transpired in my mind and always faked like a well behaved, loving pupil ever ready to say ,

‘Yes Sir ‘ or ‘Yes Ma’am’.

Now that I ejoy the fruits of their perseverence and hardwork,  I feel guilty and want to confess for my “evil’ thoughts.

A very wise old teacher once said: “I consider a day’s teaching wasted if we do not all have one hearty laugh.” He meant that when people laugh together, “they cease to be young and old, master and pupils, jailer and prisoners. They become a single group of human beings enjoying its existence.”

True to the spirit of above quote, school life was more of a “fun packed day out” with friends rather than a “a forced holy visit” to the temple of learning. Some teachers were sporty enough to become a single group of fun with us, but many of them, sadly though , ended up being the target of our laughter.

I feel especially apologetic of the single episode in my student life when I actually misbehaved with a short tempered Biology teacher for not doing the prank that she blamed me for. She asked me to walk out of the class but I refused and arrogantly argued for my innocence. She could have believed me easily,  but to my hard luck I wore a naughty smile on my lips and a nasty furrow between my brows, while arguing, and that was more than  enough to unleash the lionness of her anger. As her voice rose in volume, so did mine. What happened later is an epic deserving a narration. I wish I had the decency to not have offended a teacher almost thrice my age then. What made me look even smaller was that before the class could end she had already forgiven me in front of the class of 28. Again today I beg sorry to her for my vulgar offence.

For our beloved chemistry teacher, teaching was not his profession but a passion. Chemistry was his beloved and the only love in his life, perhaps. He made the pungent subject sound melodious by his real life examples. His favourite being the comparison of the effect on molecules of heating and cooling, with people staying apart from each other in the room with heaters on and huddling together in a room with ice blocks. As he would narrate his oft repeated, famous examples there would be a blush on his cheeks and sparkle in his eyes.

I remember once when he had to do the explaining of the Rutherford’s model of an atom. He explained not once, not twice, but thrice because the back seated ragamuffins of our class pretended not to have understood the simple concept, just to get kicks out of his example of protons as girls and electrons as boys, that the reason why these two particles attract each other and why the electrons revolve in the orbits around the proton nucleus. Our stomachs cramped with  continual laughter but the poor soul was so drenched in his passion of explaining that he could not see the ulterior motive behind their ignorance. The story remained an instance source of hysterical laughter, for months together.

“ I beg sorry Sir.”, on behalf of the whole bunch, as rest of us were equal abettors in the prank. Though belated but I honour and hail him for being a very diligent teacher.

Hindi wasn’t a pleasant subject for any of us. The teacher was in love with her subject and  was doing her PhD thesis in Sanskrit. She even dreamt in Sanskrit. Her love affair with Tulsidas poetry and our abhorrence for it were open secrets. Once, a team-spirited me allowed a few of my fellow classmates to copy the homework, ditto, of the meanings of Tulsidas poetry. We all ended up getting a ZERO each—as an acknowledgement of  our collective effort. She refused to hear who the original author was. I took back my homework notebook from her table to my desk, silently uttering the filthiest four and five letter words, I knew then,  in my heart. My ego was stabbed with this zero, and then I knew I would have to  do the explaining at home, too. No one heard those words except me and my God. And I know He will not forgive me if I do not render my apology to its recipient.

”Ma’am I beg my sincere apology to you for this shameful act.”

And God, I hope you too heard me apologising to her publicly!

University was no better. We were going to be doctors in few years and our quest for knowledge had no boundaries. Even while hearing a lecture on Pathology, our burning desire for the latest score of the test match between India-Pakistan was equally aflame. The whispers of news spread around the lecture hall that the handsome reincarnation of ‘Samson’, Pakistani batsman Zaheer Abbas was batting. The interest in the lecture vanished in a microsecond. We had to go to the girl’s common room to watch him playing, on TV. It wasn’t our fault—Zaheer was to be blamed. Why was he such a looker and such a hooker of the ball?  On that trip to India, Zaheer was in his top form and there used to be a caption on the Amul Butter billboard saying—Zaheer Ab Bas!

The most ardent of fans amongst us conveniently fainted in her seat and poor four of us had to rush her out of the class to get the first aid. And in emergency we landed up in the girl’s common room trying not to miss a single shot from his batting. I feel sorry neither for watching the fantastic shots nor for being such malingerers, but for taking the kind heartedness of our Pathology Professor for a ride. ” Yes, I feel really sorry for that, Prof.”

One person I would want to name as a special honour is Brother John of S.H.  Till date he lives in my life as a guide and as an inspiration. His dignity and grace were  beyond our petty pranks,any but I beg him too, to forgive if I ever hurt him.

“One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feelings. The curriculum is so much necessary material, but warmth is the vital element for the growing plant and for the soul of the child.” — Carl Jung

Thank you, Brother, for having been that ‘vital element’ in my growing years.

Apart from those to whom I have apologised, I feel a huge gratitude towards ONE AND ALL  my teachers for acting as a compass that activated the magnets of curiosity, knowledge and wisdom within me . They prepared me, along with my parents, to meet the challenges of the times to come by nurturing my mind, my body and my soul. Each one was in some way a catalyst of change in my mental chemistry, either as a corrosive acid or as a sweet smelling ester.

To all my teachers from Jack n Jill Nursery  to Mallinson Girls School to Montfort School to Lady Hardinge Medical College to Royal College of ObsGyn, I say:
“I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.” (William Shakespeare)

I thank you ALL, my teachers,  from the bottom of my heart, but for you, my heart has no bottom.

HAPPY TEACHER’S DAY.

Ilmana Fasih
5 September 2009


Watching a news bulletin in Sep 2010 is no less than watching a World War II movie fron 1940s. Statistics of just the past few days go as:
-72 migrant workers killed in Mexico near US border
-Over 50 killed in Quetta in a procession
-35 killed by a suicide bombing in Lahore
-Sixteen killed in Darfur
-Nine killed in Kandahar
-Six people set ablaze in Barbados
-Four killed in bomb blast in Hebron
They may look a micronumber considering the 6 billion who call Mother Earth their home..
Many more precious lives are lost through natures’ fury . But that is another story although the onus of outraging the mother nature too lies on us .
Death is inevitable but a human life succumbing to the barbarism of another fellow human being is an abominable act. Isn’t this a trait uniquely attributed to us the “human” beings. Rarely do we hear of ferocious lions killing other lions, or elephants stampeding elephants in the frenzy of the ‘mast’. I feel ashamed of being a homo sapien.
It would be rude but true to say, probably those who departed were ‘blessed’ , keeping in view the billions who lead desperate, hungry lives and die a hundred deaths each day out of hunger or humiliation. One out of every 6 (i.e.1.02 billion)people don’t get enough food to stay healthy or lead an active life.
Surfing through the website of the World Food Program is a journey through the chamber of horrors. Facts appear like hammer blows over one’s skull, strong enough to stun the brain. Truly representing heartless clan of human beings, I sail through the fact sheet ,alive and breathing, reading :
*Almost one billion people suffer regularly from hunger, mostly being women and children-equal to the population of the US, Canada and EU together.
*97% of them being in developing countries.
*65% of the world’s hungry live in seven countries— India, China, DR Congo, Bangladesh , Indonesia, Pakistan and Ethiopia.
*Malnutrition prevents children from reaching their full cognitive and developmental potential.
*One child dies every six seconds from hunger and related causes.
*More people die of hunger every year than AIDS, Malaria and Tuberculosis combined.
And then, today a news flashes on an international channel:
”The UN has called an urgent meeting on rising global food prices in an attempt to head off a repeat of the 2008 crisis that sparked riots around the world.”
Russia, the world’s third largest grower of wheat ,extends a ban on wheat exports next year. In a knee jerk wheat prices in the world rise, biggest monthly rise in 37 years. In June itself UN had warned that the prices will rise by 40% in the next decade due to increases biofuel demands. How will the above stats take shape in future is a scary thought.
If the news shakes a ‘little’ me, it must have thrown the Nobel Laureate ‘The Banker of the Poor’ Dr Mohammed Yunus into a convulsion. A reincarnation of an angel on this earth, he believes “Poverty is unnecessary “ and attributes it to the lack of the political will. On narrating his life journey towards the Nobel Peace Prize in 2006, he had said:
“I went to the bank and proposed that they lend money to the poor people. The bankers almost fell over. They explained to me that the bank cannot lend money to poor people because these people are not creditworthy. Today, if you look at financial systems around the globe, more than half the population of the world – out of six billion people, more than three billion – do not qualify to take out a loan from a bank. This is a shame.”
Hail the top brains in banking and corporate world for making this world “a heaven” for the rich and “a hell” for the poor. Yes, these ‘achievers’ are honest men, human life is indeed a cheap commodity with a high maintenance cost.
Dr Yunus dreams to create Poverty Museums.
We need to clone more Yunuses to make it possible.
Each one of us can live a micron of Yunus within us to make it possible simply by thinking about the millions who sleep hungry each night and persevere to not llet a grain end up in the garbage bag. It isn’t asking a lot.
I wish he was Hercules.
Can he live his dream?
I wish he does……

ILMANA FASIH
4 September 2010


Jaagte raho…
Days ago the water was still. Yesterday I saw some ripples. Today there are waves in it. And tomorrow it’s getting ready to turn into a whirl pool. The whirl pool which will suck with it the very cause of it.
I sit half way accross the globe from 9 pm tp 2 am glued to my TV watching the channel whose name rhymes with the name of our favourite enemy. The news ,the news analysis, the debate, the talk show—all one after the other, with a burning desire in the heart that today will give a pleasant surprise .For months on, each time I switched the TV off at 2 am-dejected and disappointed.
However, yesterday night was different. Somewhat different.
Though the opening news of the Lahore carnage was as painful as the numerous other such news we have been hearing and watching for the past few years. The scenes of incident couldn’t be watched with a dry eye. They were soul shaking. Each time one hears such blasts, one goes through the de ja vu feeling one got on losing a family member. And am not exaggerating.
Initially, program after program I felt the same monotonous rut until came the music of the last talk show at 1 am. It changed my day. The anchor was going through a camp at the suburb of our largest port city where IDPs from the Shaheed Bhutto’s home town are settled. A beautifully organised tent city is lined up. Each settler interviewed showered prayers and no complaints on our “Billo’s” philanthropist cum singer cum ex lecturer. They hug him, embrace him, bless him for making them live a dignified life in this tent city. When asked repeatedly whether they would want to go back home after the floods recede—majority refuse without a pause. Not because they got spoilt by the luxuries of a tent house and two decent meals ,but because they feel home here. They feel they have found a saviour in him.Their dignities restored. Their being a “human being” feeling restored.
Not one but all of them one after the other utter,”Why should we go back? What do we have there? As we go empty handed into the ruins, the Wadera will load us with the loans bonding our subsequent generations repay it forever. We feel safe and cared here.” It’s sad they are rejoicing the displacement from their homes, from their fields where they ploughed. They have lost all in kind only to get their dignities back which had been missing since their time immemorial. And remember they came from the land of the current rulers.
Its touching to see the humility with which their new wadera goes from tent to tent ,dawn till dusk asking them if they were fine. I have failed to find an appropriate adjective to the humility with which he was accompanying the anchor. Avoiding to look up to the camera hiding his wet eyes. The gentility personified. I salute this man!
I also salute all those other known or not so known “humans” who are turning their nights into days to help the humanity –here as well as anywhere on the globe. The hour flies away and the anchor bids “Khuda Hafiz”.
I turn to my laptop to check the status and to shut it down and sleep. My eye catches a glimpse of a video link. It says” Must watch this video clip”.It is barely a 54 seconds video but it beautifully sums up the history of 64 years of a Feudal Nation:
Pet bhar amir shadbad,
Bhal maran ghareeb kanda yaad.
Asif nu bangle aali shan,
Dubai ,Pakistan.
Pak sar zameen ka nizaam,
Amir tar amir ,mui awam.
And it goes on……………..
Unfortunate! It is a parody of our National Anthem, but not even one word of it is a lie or an exaggeration. I click it neither once nor twice, but again and again till I lose the count. Each time I hear, it rings bells in my ears.
I can smell it .Yes I can smell the change coming.
It isn’t too far. We don’t have to wait another life to see it.
We don’t even have to wait another year to see it, I am sure.
We are starting to wake up. We are standing up.
I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Lets all see the light getting brighter each second.
Lets not sleep until we exit the tunnel.
We don’t have miles to go –it’s just round the corner.
Yes, FEUDALISM is getting ready to be caught out at the slips, let not any bookie, “in here” or “out there” fix the game to drop the catch. Let no “Butts” amongst us get sold out.
Beware and stay awake…….

ILMANA FASIH
3 September 2010