Open up your mind and your potential reaches infinity…

LET’S NOT LET ‘EM FIX THIS GAME

January 10, 2011

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

Category:

Pakistan, Politics, Social Issues

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SIYASAT


A poem in Hindi by Armaan Khan

Ye to siyasat hai, Ise kab hamara dil,
Gham se bhara dikhai deta hai.
Kisi ne sach kaha hai bhayya,

Sawan ke andhe ko sab hara dikhayee deta hai.

Ise mere maathe ki , badhti shikan nahin dikhti,
Mere dard mere aansoo, meri uljhan nahi dikhti,
Ise to ye mehngai bhi daayan nahi dikhti,
Mere ankhon ka dariya bhi ise qatra dikhai deta hai.
Kisi ne sach kaha hai bhayya,
Sawan ke andhe ko sab hara dikhayee deta hai.

Jab sham dhale, dhoop apne ghar ko bhagti hai,
Bhhok hamari angrai lete hue,neend se jaagti hai,
Aur hamari bebasi,pet pe pathar baandhti hai,
Lekin siyasat kehti hai, Tumhara pet to bhara dikhaee deta hai.
Kisi ne sach kaha hai bhayya,
Sawan ke andhe ko sab hara dikhayee deta hai.

Jo bhi qasoor hai apna hai, mazaa bhi hamein hi chakhna hai,
Kyonke har paanch baras mein, hum khud bhi andhe ho jaate hain,
Hamien jo khara hai who khota aur jo khota hai who khara dikhaee deta hai.
To ismein kya bura hai bhayya,
Sawan ke andhe ko, sab hara dikhayee deta hai.

Category:

India, Poetry, Politics

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LORD NAZIR ON LADY DEMOCRACY


Food for thought…
While browsing through the FB home page my eyes get attracted to the word DEMOCRACY flashing through the dawn blog page. Being the first and “favourite”(just a wild guess) child of political scientist parents I was weaned on words like Democracy, Aristotle, Plato, Socialism, Marx ,…… and the list goes on. When girls of my age were enjoying Mills and Boons I was bombarded with these terms at home. The after effects of this “child abuse” remain on my psyche till date. I click the mouse to check that it was an article by Lord Nazir saying :
”Give Pakistan the democracy it deserves”.
The Lord from across the seven seas that he is, he means every word of it. I read through the article not once but twice, imagining that I missed the real message the first time. He did mention of tackling corruption, democratic system in practice not just words, our politicians plundering the country and stacking it into most expensive barcodes in Britain. Indeed, he wasn’t exaggerating any of that stuff. He was kind enough to do the straight talk,
“This is the time, when Pakistan is embroiled in the chaos of the floods, to give power to civilians and help them run local services as part of a solid democratic political system. This bottom-up approach will encourage Pakistanis to be self-sufficient as well as learn to trust their political leadership again. But the buck stops at the door of the politicians who have to win the respect and confidence of the poor Pakistani public who are fast losing faith in their motives and the practices of these politicians are not helping the cause of the democracy.”
However, what was noticeable was the mention of Z*****(this is fb censor not mine) four times in the article. He even mentions the terms Mr.10%, corruption, Murtaza Bhutto murde, most expensive post codes in Britain—all these terms which are synonymous with this censored word that begins with a capital “z”.
My eyes were searching for the mention of other names of the ranks of Z. He did not even hint at the leader of the ‘friendly opposition’ or the Lord of Lahore when wrapping up corrupt politicians. There was a reason for it .He is a Lord of “House of Lords” in Britain and out there they do not mix business with friendships. He is not a hardcore desi like me who spares no chances to glorify a friend in writings when he deserves just a passing mention. Yes, he does not believe in nepotism. Poor Z, since he wasn’t his best friend, he had to take all the blame alone.
As one reader said and I agree the article was, high on theory and low on substance especially, when it was coming from the first Pakistani in the House of Lords.
As always, on dawn blog, I enjoy the reader’s comments more than the articles themselves. A lot of our compatriots registered their sincere takes on the issue. Few of them hilarious, some encouraging, but a lot of them sad keeping into mind the lack of trust they have in this magic word called “democracy”. Some of the illustrious in-depth explanations were too complicated and codified for my feeble grey matter to decipher. I wish I could understand what they wanted to say just to get the pulse of our compatriots. There were myriad of comments and I copy paste some:
*The definition of democracy which this ruling elite is giving to Pakistan is becoming a curse for the people unfortunately.
*no to zardari’s democracy.
*Democracy in pakistan is just a dream that we have since 63 years. I have not seen ever in my life in my country during my 26 year age.
*I never saw democracy in Pakistan.

*Pakistan need democracy as well as good leadership who could be able to restore good governance. Improve the economy .Do not depend of loans…….
Pretty valid arguments especially coming from 26 year olds or so.
Some sounded different or angry and some confused:
*i personally think we don’t deserve democracy.

*We r the people who don’t deserve democracy and we can’t adopt dis even we have given a chance.
*The establishment of Khilafat via the revolution of the masses is the solution to all our problems.
*American system of democracy is the best for India and Pakistan.
*im not saying martial law is the answer, I m saying..we don’t deserve to be given power…
*we need an honest dictator to rule us…….
*Now lets Play the new debate, really it’s like a TOM & JERRY Show! every one is proving that he/she is the best. You peoples cannot change this Ethnic Mind State.
*Regardless democratic or undemocratic, lead by a honest and a fair leader, regardless in or without uniform.

I do not mean to judge each of these comments. We all reserve the right to have our opinions. However it is heart aching to read how we under estimate ourselves by saying we don’t deserve democracy.
Just holding elections and selecting (and not electing) the representatives from the Feudal Lords isn’t democracy. These so called “people’s representatives” are Feudal Lords disguising as politicians. The illiterate and ignorant voters are merely their pawns. Since we have the pawn mindset we think we do not deserve democracy or accept this sham democracy as the only answer.
Few of us talk of whip lashing military rule as the answer being naïve that military is meant to be on our “borders” and not in the “centre”.
For Lady Democracy to arrive and thrive amongst us we need to provide her with the accessories she adores—education and tolerance.
Sadly we haven’t yet tasted true democracy to know how sweet it tastes.
Hope we get to taste it someone day….

ILMANA FASIH
1 Sep 2010

Category:

Pakistan, Politics

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OF HUNGER, HOMELESSNESS AND DESPERATION


Food for thought…

“There is a triple threat unfolding as this crisis widens and deepens. People have lost seeds, crops and their incomes leaving them vulnerable to hunger, homelessness and desperation – the situation is extremely critical. We urgently need continued and strengthened commitment to the people of Pakistan in this time of crisis.” says Josette Sheeran, Executive Director of World Food Programme.

She accompanies Anthony Lake, Executive Director of UNICEF to see first hand the scale of the current needs in Pakistan.
Millions of hectares of farmland lay inundated as far as the eye can see. Just overnight, the lush green fields turn into stinky swamps. They transform into breeding grounds for mosquitoes causing malaria and dengue, and into culture-medium for Cholera, Typhoid and Hepatitis.Who knew that it was not just the droughts that bring thirst and hunger?

We had presumed that rampant corruption, frequent suicide bombs, lawlessness and sky rocketing inflation had already seen its zenith prior to these killer monsoons. Who knew this was just the beginning of the misery?

Children and infants under five are the most vulnerable and first to be affected in any disaster, followed by pregnant and nursing mothers. The National Nutritional Survey statistics for Malnutrition rates (general) and Stunting rates (in children) were already alarmingly high at 13% and 36.8% respectively. Where will these statistics reach now, is nobody’s guess.

The UNICEF and WFP with numerous other local and foreign organisations have come forth to feed the hungry through energy dense and vitamin fortified Ready to Use Supplement Food (RUSF). The fliers with instructions are handed out but to many of our unlettered women they appear to be Greek and Latin. Only if these women could read the manuals to know that they are to be consumed several times a day and not all at once to get the optimum benefit.

The Chief Executives of these phantom organisations roam around fearlessly not as trekkers but as saviours to the millions, while our own local Chief Executives stay within their fortresses saving their skins. But they do speak up occasionally. It is we the feeble minded who do not get the spirit of their lip service.

When the PM talks of NGOs consuming 50% of the aid—he said it in good will. Messed up that our psyches are, we deliberately twisted his words. If the aid would go to one of his likes, even the rest 50% would also vanish into thin air. Our myopic eyes missed this hint in his wink and the naughty smile, when he uttered these golden words. Poor him.

The detective minds amongst us can even attempt to uncover a hidden American agenda behind these floods. No, I am not joking. We did so during the earthquake and some of us suspected it in tsunami too .

And it is certainly not a divine punishment either. Allah does not punish the innocent when the culprits sail scot free.
This is the blessed month of Ramadan. We fast to learn self restraint and to feel for the less fortunate among us. How can we devour table full Iftars when 20 million of our compatriots go hungry, homeless and desperate.

Ramadan also reminds us of the importance of a collective responsibility as mankind. It is time to think collectively as a nation and as humanity at large. Ramadan is a month of alms giving too. Allah specifies the minimum that we are obliged to pay to the needy. He does not prescribe an upper limit.

Let us open our hearts and minds.
Let us have a guilt free Ramadan this year.
Close your eyes and think….

ILMANA FASIH
31 August 201

Category:

Pakistan, Politics, Social Issues

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OOPS! SHE DOES IT AGAIN


Food for thought…
Pakistan stands divided into Muslims, Christians, Ahmedis, Hindus, Sikhs and Parsis.
Pakistan stands divided into Sunnis,  Shias and a million other sects.
It stands divided into the filthy rich Waderas and the desperately poor Harees.
It stands divided into inhuman extremists and moderate human beings.
It stands divided into shamelessly corrupt sharks and conscientiously honest dolphins.
It stands divided into Punjabis, Sindhis and half a dozen other ethnicities.
It stands divided into powerful politicians and hapless awam.
It even stand divided into Sindhi Biryani,Chapli Kabab and Balochi Sajji.
However one string that holds Pakistan united is CRICKET.
What oxygen is to life, cricket is to Pakistan. From an army dictator to an elected politician,  from a celebrity to a common man—they all breathe cricket.
An unlettered boy in a remote town of Sibi may not be able to read his name,  but he can spell who is the current wicket keeper.
A boy from Karachi may not know his Calculus but knows how many wickets Afridi has taken.
A city girl from Rawalpindi may not know who is her Foreign Minister but knows who is Shoaib Akhter’s latest girlfriend.
A grandmother in Mardan may not know the nearest grocer but gleams up when Yunus Khan comes to bat, on TV.
Cricket is one beloved a lad called Pakistan refuses to part with, despite her history of infidelities. A little show of loyality in the form of a rare match victory or a century or even a maiden over is always enough for him to forget her previous transgressions.
Oops! She betrays him again—so heartlessly, so shamelessly.
Pakistan is terribly hurt and heart broken. I wonder if he can ever forgive her again. Enough is enough. I hope he stands up on his spine and decides to call it a day.
Pakistan , you are not alone in this hour .We- all Pakistanis, all sport lovers and all humanity the world over are with you in this tragedy.
Let us not nod our heads in denial or cry conspiracy theories. Let us awaken our sleeping conscience. Let us revisit our long forgotten values.
Lets us teach a lesson which sends shivers for centuries to come.
Let this be a new beginning of an end. The beginning of fair play, merit and sportsmanship. And the end of match fixing, doping and ball tempering.
I beg cricket to have mercy on Pakistan. I beg it not to betray Pakistan again.
No, not again.

ILMANA FASIH
31 August 2010

Category:

Cricket, Humour, Pakistan

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OUT OF SIGHT BUT NOT OUT OF MIND


Food for thought…

Imagine yourself going up or down in a lift at night and the light goes off. The lift stops and one or more of you get trapped in the pitch dark. You scream at your utmost and no one hears you for less than 10 seconds. You know you are above the surface of the earth, have enough oxygen to keep breathing for some hours, surrounded by a metal cased lift walls which cannot cave in, and a button at your hand to press in case of emergency. Close your eyes and imagine how do you feel…

I know exactly how it feels. I got trapped in a lift some few floors above the ground . I saw my end from the closest and shreaked hysterically at my best for ‘help’ ‘help’ till after some 20 seconds, rescue arrived. I did not have the presence of mind to even think of pressing an emergency bell right next to me. I even had a cell phone but no presence of mind to even think of it. The state,both physical and mental, in which I walked out of that lift was only seen to be believed. So embarrassed was I for several months that I could not look the eyes of those two men who rescued me,for a long time.

The thought still sends shivers through the cells of my body.

Today, there are 33 miners trapped 2500 feet below the earth’s surface in a remote Atacama desert of a far flung country we call Chile in a remote continent by the name of South America. They haven’t been trapped for 20 seconds or 20 minutes or even 20 hours. They are there since the past 20 days. They were mining the precious metal called copper to get huge revenues for the owners and for their country. The mine caved in and the 33 miners began climbing the emergency ladder, but they could get only upto a third of the way.

Ask why? Because the mine owners had never bothered to finish the ladder to the top. If this ladder was in place they could have been out in 48 hours after the incident.

The owners of the San Esteban Mining Company that runs the mine said “it was THANKS to the safety regulations that the miners were found alive and WELL.

”Clap clap! “ (I wish I could keep my social norms up on the laddle and swear all the possible four letter words I know)

If this is not enough to shake you, the news is:they are going to stay there until December when the rescue tunnel is completed to pull them out.

Yes, they are getting oxygen, water, food, letters from the loved ones everyday through a duct with the diameter of a grapefruit. Camera too has been lowered for them to send their images and messages for their loved ones and to the rest of the world to know what they are going through.

Yes their relative are camping close to them—2300 feet vertically above them. They are really happy to see their partner’s ,son’s, father’s recorded films, showing they are alive. Yes the miners and their families are blessed. Eating, living, happy—why should they get the news coverage from our “independent media”. This is not a sellable story in our part of the world, why should our reporters or journalists hype this news.

They are not Palestinians ,they are not Iraqis, they are not suffering Indian Muslims, they are CHIIILEEEANS. Why care?

We have our own mega problems .We have BIG issues like big cricketers being pulled in a conspiracy of the gora media because our team was so good ,that no one could ever defeat us in the tests, one days or the twenty-20. Jealous world. Ehh !

Indeed we are the chosen people .Why should we care even to know whether Chile is a country or a condiment?

We have the right to cry foul when we don’t get enough foreign aid or foreign empathy for our floods and they have no right of their plight to be even known by our countrymen.

We have the right to ask for all the aid possible and they have no right to question our governance.

We have the right to call others infidels and they have no right to call us extremists.

This is the world in which we live. We look at things from a tube through which only those things which matter to us are visible. We prefer to keep the rest of the issues as” none of our business “ attitude. We are a great people!

I feel ashamed of myself.  I feel so probably because I got trapped in the lift myself. Those amongst us who didn’t they needn’t worry.

Why didn’t these floods drown my conscience?
Please think.

Think hard……..

Ilmana Fasih
30 Aug 2010

Category:

International, Politics, Social Issues

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LIVING THE PAST THROUGH FB


Until an year ago I detested facebook to the fullest. Ever since my kids and husband had joined the network five years ago-life at home had transformed. There was a queue and constant quarrelling over the single PC we had then. I couldn’t get a head and tail of what they meant when the three of them constantly talked of checking their posts. They took turns to do so but came out with no post in their hands.

” Where is the post?” a technologically challenged person in me would ask.

T hey found the question too ridiculous to even give an answer. The indulgence was so continual that I had to put a ban on the internet for a month during their exams.

One fine evening, my daughter led me to start my own account on the FB—less out of love for me and more to get rid of the nagging that she got from me. I thought it was beyond my comprehension. I had no clue what these Latin words stood for—wall to wall, profile, privacy settings, status etc. etc.

Unwillingly I was grilled into learning the FB   science by these techy teens. Little did I know then, what was the future unfolding for me through FB.

Slowly and laboriously at an ant’s pace, things started to make sense. With some guidance and some trial n errors the FB intoxication was taking over.

Long lost neighbours, school mates and college friends kept surfacing on the friends list. Exchanging wall posts or mails with them and checking the recent wall posts –I too joined the bandwagon at home.

FB  for me is a time machine that takes me into the past in an instant. Exchanging mails or wall posts from different friends flashes the memories as colourful as the aurora borealis on the north pole.

Recieving a wall post from an old friend who I last saw 35 years ago transported me instantly to those beautiful days when we both played for hours with our dolls and even arranged their weddings.

I could clearly remember that red polka dot frock I always wanted to wear while going out to play. This friend once wrote a post on my wall referring to me as ”girl .  My nasty son rolled over the floor on that word and asked her to come out of FB to see who she was calling a girl. It was annoying but embarrassing too.

A friend from the Grade VII  who is now an architect, wrote a nostalgic note on my wall reminding of the silly things we did, and how I had acted as a messenger for him when he asked me to take this slip to my best friend saying “Will you marry me?”

Again the kids giggled.

I retorted, “Boys in our times had good morals and asked for marrying not dates”.

Their giggles turned into a hysterical laughter. I knew I was cornered, but I tried my best to act cool.

A friend from Grade X, who is now a CEO of a renowned software firm, adds me to his list. I couldn’t help but remind him of the day when he screamed at me for being “the meanest girl” on earth for betraying his trust. My wicked daughter looks wide eyed at me—demanding an explaination without saying so .Since his roll number came after mine and we sat adjacent in the exams—we had struck a deal. I would study the inorganic chemistry and he would learn the organic. We will then exchange notes in the exam in a collaborative effort .The exam began , I kept whispering my inorganic chemistry answers to him and he kept copying them obediently. When came his turn, his eagerness to tell me his part was worth recording.

The mean girl that I was, I had studied for the organic part too. I told him the paper was easy and I could manage it on my own. Nothing happened for the next one hour.

As I stepped out of the exam hall, a redfaced dragon was waiting to spew fire at me –hurling all kinds of allegations. I explained I had told him all the answers—but alas he was upset that I betrayed him and didn’t take his help. The whole school knew what we had corroborated.

A nerdy school senior who is now a Physics Professor and a very good friend chats on FB. We talk of the golden school days and the talks stray towards our chemistry Sir and his message screams :”Oh Julie”. That was like a password and it opened up all the memory boxes right from his pronunciation to how he used to erase the black board,  to how he compared the protons to girls and electrons to boys with the protons in the nucleus and the electrons revolving around them in the orbits.

I forgot for that hour how old I was.

Brother XYZ of Sacred Heart adds.He was the vice principal of our school and a person we could crack jokes with ,without any fear of reprimand. We talk about the other Brothers. He tells me he knew very well what all names we had coined to the whole fleet of Brothers.

We talk of our strict and dangerous Principal, and that he too knew what we called him behind his back. He revealed that he even knew how we girls walked past him taking a deep breath trying to check what perfume he was wearing that day. Too embarrassing to know but thanks to FB  I was behind the laptop and not face to face .

A friend from high school writes on my wall. She reminds me how we both were expelled out of the biology class for constantly giggling at the lame jokes the  boys sitting behind were cracking,  telling a running commentary of the actions and the expressions of the poor lady explaining digestive system on the blackboard. For once I managed to hide this post from the two monsters and succeeded in maintaining the holier than thou image.

My brother adds me and these two monsters at the same time. They narrate all my secrets to mamu. He offers them another occasion to poke fun at their mother. He explains how it took me some hours in the Grade VI to understand simple algebra—not until Papa had to elaborate 2x + 3y as 2 horses and 3 donkies.

My kids cry foul.

”So why do you scream at us when we don’t get it the first time”.

I have no answer to them but a sheepish grin.

I got smarter on FB with time and learned the tricks and privacy settings to not to expose the shady sections of my past to these monsters.

I even got the art of closing the window after typing “BRB” at an infinite speed when there were: “bachas right behind”.

It may be embarrassing at times but revisitng the past through FB is a trip to heaven.

I admit my addiction to the intoxication of this time machine. Even if that occurs at the expense of becoming a butt of joke from  my kids, I dont care.

It makes me escape the daily grind of the four letter words that keep me held up— WORK, READ, COOK, WASH and YELL at these bundles of joy I call my children.

All credits to Mark Zuckerberg  for making the ‘reliving the past’ experience possible.

Thank you Mark.

ILMANA FASIH
29 AUGUST 2010

Category:

Humour, Personal

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LET’S ERASE THE PSYCHOLOGICAL BORDERS


Panchee nadiya aur pawan ke jhonke, koi sarhad na inhen na roke;
Sarhad to insanono ke liye hai socho tumne aur main ne kya paya insaan ho ke.
(Bird, river and the gust of wind, no border inhibits them:
Borders are for people, think about what have you and I obtained by being born as humans?)

This couplet by Javed Akhtar from a Bollywood blockbuster entered through my ears but shook my soul. Wow ! Javed Akhtar knows what I feel each time when I go to the Indian consulate to ask for a visa for my family to visit my parents in New Delhi.

“In January 1990, a girl in her mid twenties in New Delhi ties a knot with a Pakistani man in his late twenties. Happily, but quite unsure how the things in her life would unfold after that. She wasn’t a poor small town girl from India who gets married to her well off cousin in Karachi on 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 consent for it until she approved of it herself. No good decisions are made on a swivel chair. It took her four painful and paranoid years to decide if this was the right decision. The young man across the border erased all his egos despite repeated refusals to convince her that they can make it.”

Twenty years on, now I can confidently say that we have really made it. The road of life together hasn’t been all tulips and roses, though. We had our share of bumps and puddles on the way, in addition to the usual hurdles any random couple faces. Both of us being passionately patriotic about our respective homelands, it wasn’t an easy task. The only thing which made us sail through was the erasing of psychological borders, knowing very well that humanity on both sides of the border had same needs and aspirations. We promised to uphold sanity in the heads above our shoulders and not indulge in spewing of patriotic venom against each other. Not that the outsiders spared us in peace. Any bitter comment on the annihilation of the other side by a “patriotic acquaintance” from either sides, left me more enraged than my husband.

At times I would even cry for being “punished“ for this decision, only to be comforted by my husband with a “mitti pao” attitude. This is an experience to be lived, to realise what goes within one’s heart when someone recklessly passes a casual snide remark about your homeland sitting on the other side of the border. With every news of bomb blast or riots in my city, amidst the indifference of the friends and relatives, but I would sit paranoid, glued to the TV wondering about the safety of my parents and sibs.

Even in the kindergarten my kids were hurled questions by their curious friends—if we had fights at home when there’s a cricket match between India and Pakistan ? For several years in the early childhood, my son would come home crying that his friends tease him saying, “Your mom is a traitor!” It did take him some years to get confident that his mom wasn’t a traitor.

Months and days passed by as usual. The only time I really, if ever, regretted my decision was when I had to queue up outside the visa window in the consulate of a country I called homeland. Miserable is an understatement of how I felt when the man behind the counter would frown at my kids as if I was taking terrorist recruits with me to my beloved city. And then on return to their homeland my kids and husband would be scrutinised by the airport security questioning about the frequency of their visits across the border.

One has to live it to feel it.

The upbringing in a home with parents teaching international politics- my sibs and I grew up with our eyes open to the world issues. We were trained to look beyond our boundaries and feel the empathy for the suffering of others be it in Palestine or Apartheid in South Africa or Gen Zia’s martial Law in Pakistan. I salute my parents for raising me and my sibs into “human “ beings with a wide horizon.
Many a times my critical comments on the Dawn blog or FaceBook, on political issues in Pakistan are retorted back at me attributing them to my “Indian roots”.

Yes I am proud of my roots but I also have a very patriotic husband and two passionate kids who say: they own Pakistan they love both the places.

A for me, I claim that I  own both the places and love both too.

But more than that we know both sides have their good and bad. And don’t indulge in mutual blame games. We have erased the psychological borders at home and at the same time respect the sanctity of political borders. And we love this feeling.

What if the one and half billions across both the borders could erase the psychological borders one day?

Believe me it isn’t really impossible, for the humanity on both sides of the border is made of the same flesh n bones, has the same shade of blood and shares the same genetic pool.

I wonder if I will live to see that day!

llmana Fasih
27 August 2010.

Category:

India, Pakistan, Personal, Politics, Social Issues

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WE NEED TO CHANGE


Food for thought…

“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, or the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change that does”.

This is a quote from a famous man. I dare not mention his name, fearing the knee-jerk reaction one would get from a section of our people who have already made our lives unliveable on the face of this earth.

No, this isn’t a puzzle or a riddle. It is a blatant truth that all those who possess sane heads over their shoulders need to accept and pull their ostrich heads out of the sands. In fact, burying our heads in sand for too long has made it metamorphosise into granite and we find it now impossible to pull our heads out without fracturing the cervical vertebrae. Not that I am making myself sound ambiguous out of fear or to look charismatic, but because the message is intended to those who have the willingness to grasp its essence. If others don’t get it—probably it wasn’t meant for them.

1400 and some years ago, Islam itself brought with it a huge change: from survival rights of a female baby to women’s rights to child’s rights to minority rights, and to human rights, in general. That was a huge change.

By ‘change’ I do not imply a revolution. It does not mean rebellion either. But yes, a change which is enough that the bend in the road does not become an end on the road, if we fail to take a turn.

Yesterday when I saw on TV, the much needed aid being distributed to the flood victims in Pakistan—my eyes couldn’t believe that I am alive enough to see this. Yes the aid was coming to the them, but certainly this is not how they deserve to receive it.

‘One plastic bag gave itself up when at least half a dozen needy angels pounced on it for the grab. As if this wasn’t enough—the flour spilled on the dusty road was so desperately being collected up by the kids that they chose to pick up even the straw and dirt in not letting an atom go waste. There were those relief workers with a big heart but small minds who did not have the common sense to bring water in individual containers. They poured water out of their jerry cans from the trucks to the people down below holding their shallow trays and polybags trying to catch every drop they could. And then in the pushing and pulling the poor souls drenched their bodies with it more than their throats. And that old lady who was trying to dip all her face into the polybag to get some sips without bothering if the bag and the water in it could smother her. Gosh, why don’t the poor come born with beaks?’

The truck moved ahead like a Pied Piper of Hamlin and the needy angels (no, they are not rats) ran obediently behind it trying to catch the goody bags thrown at them.

My heart too raced into a paroxysmal atrial tachycardia. I wish I had a cardiac arrest instead.
I wondered what stopped them from distributing the aid in a more dignified manner.

And then came the news report, wherein the myopic MNAs and MPAs who did show up in their constituencies, not to save people, but to save their own lands and properties. The smartest of this smart lot showed up in their constituencies only to breach the bunds toward the lesser smart ones. I couldn’t help but notice the glimmer of hopelessness with which these needy and desperate angels watched on, when these “people’s representatives’ cheered in their heart on saving their side, while deluging the other. Why were the peasants born with eyesight if their Feudal Lords were without vision? I wish I could go into an amblyopia before watching this news clip.

Alas, as if all this was just a trailer and the movie was yet to come. My misfortune that sitting half way across the globe I had to witness the Sialkot incident on TV. The barbarism of the perpetrators and the police wasn’t a surprise. What was heart shattering, instead, was the way those cool bystanders watched, as if Shahrukh Khan was shooting a scene for the next film. If I could, I would certainly want to sample what blood ran in their veins and biopsy their flesh and bones. I am sure each and all in the crowd had a Blackberry, a Nokia or a Motorola in top front pockets over their rib cages, devoid of a human heart. My heart missed a few beats. I wish it had decided not to beat again.

How I wish what my eyes were witnessing through TV were not real happenings in August 2010 but a reconstruction of the dark ages. We call this a civilised world, when even the cave men lived a more dignified life.

After all this do we still need to wait?

No, we need to change.

Yes not only do we need “a “ change and we need “to” change as well.

We need to change the faces that represent us and even if it requires a radical plastic surgery.

We need to change the way we disapprove of what we see on TV and whisper our complaints in our living rooms. And then move on to a soap serial on the next channel.

We need to change the way we shop till we drop and then hunt for a penny at the bottom of our purses, present it to the “cute boy” at the red light signal, driving back home with the feelgood feel of a philanthropist.

We need to change the way compassion pops up in our brains but fails to reach to our hands as if the floods swept away the bridge that transports the thoughts to actions.

We need to change the way we point a finger towards others without realising that the rest four are pointing and poking fun at us.

We need to change the way we look condescendingly at those who do not fit into our frame of faith and feel proud of ourselves.

Yes, we need to change our mindsets, our hearts, our philosophies and our lives. We need to come out of our cocoons and think beyond ourselves.

We need to change, to look at this world from the eyes of those millions who live a life not even a sewer rat would choose to live, if given an option.

Indeed, we need to change. Or we shall perish.

Ilmana Fasih
26 August 2010

Category:

Pakistan, Personal, Social Issues, Uncategorized

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SPREAD THE INFECTION OF GENEROSITY


Food for thought…
WHO SAID THAT BACTERIA AND VIRUSES WERE INFECTIOUS? Twenty or so odd years ago, I studied in Microbiology during my third year in medical school that infections were caused by bacteria, viruses or fungi. I believed it with my eyes closed. Then a couple of years later, I stood with my gown on the convocation day with the photocopy of my medical degrees rolled in a ribbon and snugly hugging to the fingers of my right hand. I stood up with my head high, my spine hyper extended and my mind floating in the seventh skies. I was certain I was prepared for a career wherein I will alleviate the illnesses of my patients by my smiles, my prescriptions and if luck be with me, maybe with my scalpels.
On embarking into a journey into the real world, the lessons I learned unabashedly contradict the science I studied in my medical school. Time and again, the realities of life screamed in my ears and poked fun on my knowledge. “Hahaha. Who says that only bacteria, viruses and fungi were infectious?” “What else was infectious, man?” My thoughts wandered, flipping the pages of microbiology textbooks. The ‘Hahaha’ screamed louder and longer. However the ringing of the morning alarm, the call from the ward or the cry of my baby would wake me up from these thoughts and I would again enter the real world of responsibilities and duties.
I hear the cry of my naughty son, because he fell from his bike and bruised his shin. I caught the “anxiety” from his cries and got anxious too. Then it struck what else was infectious.
A small “hug” would comfort him and he would run back to his play the next moment. Again, it flashed in my frontal cortex what else was infectious.
My little girl comes “worrying” that she didn’t do her test well and wouldn’t get a High Honours that year. I would catch her worry, staring all night at the moving fan wondering about how she would be comforted on the day she gets her school report card. Again that was infectious too. The D-day comes. She goes to the stage and gets her High Honours. The “confidence” in her eyes beams on to me like electromagnetic radiations. Surely, that was infectious too.
My husband got his MRI report which said the “pain” he was having for weeks was from the prolapsed disc. The words in the report transmit a lightening pain in my spine from the cervical to the sacral vertebrae. Oh! Yes, I knew that was infectious too.
I write a “disturbing’ status on Facebook and my school friend from Atlanta (who I haven’t seen for the last 20 years) writes back equally disturbed to know what went wrong in my life. Gosh, that also was infectious.
Life went on and each day, I discovered a new cause of infection which medical science failed to teach.
And as enters August 2010, Pakistan faces a deluge from Swat to Sindh. It ruthlessly sweeps with itself the lives, the materials, the crops, the aspirations and the mere survival of twenty million innocents. They “suffer” and so do many elsewhere through their TVs or Facebook images. Wait, this suffering isn’t simply an isolated infection. Isn’t that what you call an epidemic?
As their houses and fields get “flooded”, millions of human hearts flood with empathy and compassion too, from Canada to US to Norway to UK to Saudi Arabia. Does it mean even the floods are infectious? And that too of Pandemic proportions.
The doctor in me stands paralysed in my abilities to deal with this suffering. But eureka! A thought springs from the grey matter. This pandemic needs to be treated with another infection and that is the pandemic of “generosity” which needs to spread from North Pole to South Pole, that too with a speed of light.

August 25, 2010

Category:

Pakistan, Personal, Social Issues

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