|To reconcile the at times shades of brightness that I read about in the novels like War And Peace to the ruthless, barbaric and merciless image of Russians being projected in the media was massively confusing.|
|To reconcile the at times shades of brightness that I read about in the novels like War And Peace to the ruthless, barbaric and merciless image of Russians being projected in the media was massively confusing.|
Eid at home has always been a family affair. As a child, Eid was to be waited for a multitude of reasons.
Eid ul Adha was a different Eid. It did not have the same ambience of festivity as Eid ul Fitr had. It was to be spent at home and not at granddad’s house in Peshawar. As children we looked forward to the animals being bought, being taken care of and being decorated. Of course the moment of separation left us with tears, but we were told that their sacrifice is for Allah and we must not feel sad.
The breakfast was eagerly waited for. The butcher relentlessly hunted for. The barbecue or the biryani or the korma or the curry of the Eid animal meat just tasted uniquely differently mouth-watering, maybe because for few days before Eid meat had been banned in the house.
Over the years, much has changed in Pakistan. Not much has changed at our home except that children have left home to follow their dreams and their jobs at places far away from home. So even though animals are slaughtered at homes, kids spend Eid having halal meat at cafes and eating places all over the world.
My Eid celebrations in London took me to Pakistani, Lebanese and Persian eating places. At all the places I found people talking about Eid of their childhood. Their tales were studded with playful fondness of days gone by. As they told their children stories of Eid back home, their voices got choked with emotions.
There was an Iraqi man who had lived in London for more than 20 years. He cannot go back home but that home where he is unwelcomed still hold him a hostage. The home has shut doors on him but the only place he loves in this world is his home.
He was fondly telling stories of how he played with slaughter animals, how his entire family would gather to have a feast. I looked hard at his children’s faces. They listened with interest of a far-away land that they will always be mesmerised with. The TV channels may scream of chaos in Iraq yet their father would make them believe it is a paradise.
Then there was the Palestinian woman with two boys. Her husband has been martyred and she now lives with her sons in London. The land that had given her much grief was dotingly remembered by her as an abode of joy where Eid bought unrivalled festivities.
There were far too many people of countries that are torn apart by war and chaos busy in telling tales of supreme exultation on Eid. Listening to them, for some reason I thought they were trying to convince their children that no matter what the world says, you belong to that country that we were forced to leave but for you to have an existence in this world, you must continue to live the culture and values of that country.
You must continue to celebrate Eid in far-away lands yet long to be home!
It has been exactly 30 days since our separation. This is neither the first nor I think the last time that we have separated. To say I miss you will be a lie. Missed are those who are forgotten, you are an integral part of my existence. How can I forget you?
For the last 2 years or so I had been a part time resident. I flew here and there but always knew after a few days would return to Lahore. No matter how tired I was, you made me feel alive!
This time however I have decided to move homes.
My new home has made me reflect on the city I have loved the most. As a child Lahore was Paris for me. I did not dream of visiting New York or London. So complete Lahore was as a city for me.
I remember the day fondly when Walls ice cream came to Lahore. I recall Burger Eleven, to date have never had burgers as yummy as were served there. Then there was joy unlimited at Joy Land. There are many precious memories of my childhood and college days associated with Lahore.
Then one day just to become more enlightened I went far away from you. Europe was enchanting yet it never made me think Lahore was less enchanting. Years of studies kept me away from Lahore but not for a minute did I think of not returning to Lahore.
Then I returned exposed and unwillingly and sometimes not happily I started questioning whether Lahore despite its grandiose and generosity was still an urban village. Did the Moghul buildings have the Lahoris trapped in thinking that they were the invincible emperors of the world?
The enchanting Europe did not make me ponder over Lahore because it seemed a destination unachievable for Lahore. It were the South Asian cities that me me think whether Lahore mesmerised by its gardens, universities, fly overs, cafés and shopping malls has assumed its excellence.
For its inhabitants,Lahore is better than the crime ridden Karachi or the sleepy Islamabad or the antiquated Peshawar. But is it really the heart of Pakistan just like Colombo is of Sri Lanka or Dhaka is of Bangladesh.
My South Asian friends get impressed with then blend of modernism and culture of Lahore. Lahore has the apparent affluence to dazzle anyone but Lahore has the potential not only to dazzle but to influence the thinking and actions of all Pakistanis.
In my childhood Lahore was my London. Till recently Lahore was as brilliant as London but on reflection Lahore has a long way to be London. To be London, people of Lahore have to accept that their thinking has been caged by the reckless injection of steel in its foundations. It has become self centred and snobbish.
Whereas Pakistan struggle, Lahoris take solace in the thought Lahore is peaceful.
Lahore for me will always be the city that on any day can give me energy but I want the energy to spread beyond Lahore. I want Lahore to be the heart that pumps the energy of Pakistan, that helps Pakistan become a tolerant enlightened cultured developing country.
And I want to return to a Lahore that brings smile not only to me but to everyone in Pakistan.
You are my love Lahore but to love you blindly will be to let you and my dear Pakistan wither. To constructively objectively tell you how you can be the love of every Pakistani will be to let you and Pakistan blossom….and that is the Lahore and Pakistan I want to return one day inshaAllah!
Come on Lahore!
“When you really want something to happen, the whole world conspires to help you achieve it.”
― Paulo Cohelo
Never before had Paulo Cohelo words of wisdom echoed as loudly and as truly, as they did on the bright sunny summer morning when I met the handsome young man. I have always been master of words but I cannot find the words to describe the man’s resilient determination.
If story of his life was turbulently tragic, his cheerful face showed no resentment to the tragedy. He narrated his story like a fairy tale.
He was fourteen when a disease called Leukemia came to visit him. He needed treatment. He went to SKMTH to get treatment but he did not want to leave studies. He had to be an engineer. So as he went through chemotherapy, instead of calculating his miseries, he calculated numbers, prepared for his exams during chemotherapy. The treatment appeared to be grueling but all he was focused was to be an engineer.
While he went through rounds of chemotherapy, his friends and cousins were going through rounds of interviews for universities abroad. His dream was to go abroad for studies but life had other plans and he could not fight life, so was contended focusing on studies in the cancer hospital. He just had to be an engineer.
He did have tears in his eyes for few moments as he mentioned factually how he could not go to school not only because doctors feared for his immunity but because school children mocked his deteriorated physical condition.
Did he have any grudge against his friends or cousins? Maybe he did but did not say a word.
Suffering from Leukemia, took Grade ten and Grade twelve exams. Despite what for me were traumatic trials and tribulations, and for him usual events, he is on the verge of becoming an Engineer.
Leukemia was defeated, now he dreams of working as an Engineer in the Middle East, going for a holiday to Paris.
In the end he did become emotional talking about how indebted he is to the thousands of nameless donors for contributing to his treatment. He attributes his dream to them. With evident tears in his eyes, a tone bordering on pleading, he concluded, thousands like me would not have had a life, had thousands not contributed millions to SKMTH.
He is right. SKMTH is testimony to Pakistanis unyielding determination, over generations to contribute to a dream that a man had. The dream lives enabling thousands to live their dreams….the dream stretches its wings to Peshawar…..and anyone who has even little sympathy for what Peshawar has gone through in the dramatically dreadful decade must contribute to the dream….maybe that would bring some hope to Peshawar and may lead to a few dreams seeing the light of the day.
So to dreams we must contribute something this Ramadan and continue the spirit for the rest of our lives!
Having gone through forced separation from PIA for a few months, not out of my free will but out of compulsion had to travel by PIA today.
If I say during my separation period, I had missed PIA. I would be being honest and truthful. PIA is national pride and seeing its logo flashing anywhere does bring a longing smile.
Thus when I found a PIA plane without its logo, I was distressed quite a lot. Well the whole experience was exceptionally enlightening!
My sleep was disturbed by an SMS at 0500 hours that proclaimed:
Dear Customer, this is a polite reminder. Your flight PK/MAY is on time at 0955 hours. Have a pleasant flight. Thank you for your choice of the National carrier.
PIA Contact Center 111-786-786
Well what is this! The sceptic within me screamed suspicion and sabotage. The optimist within me pleaded for leniency and clemency.
Anyhow got to the airport.
Wondered why while checking in at Lahore airport for non Pakistan airlines, we stand in a straight line. With PIA, we stand anywhere but in a straight line. The PIA check in counter was in a mess with people jumping in from anywhere to check in till an iron lady restored order.
Luck came visiting! The man at the counter recognised me from my days of being a frequent flyer with PIA. Was so delighted to see me that I got a LEG SPACE seat and a pass to business class lounge when my ticket was Economy Class.
When he said PIA misses me, I wanted to say PIA misses its complaining critics- incredible! But my ego had been massaged and the Pakistani within me was floating on the clouds!
He made sure I was escorted to the lounge. Maybe he remembered my previous tantrums at issues unimportant uncounted in the past.
I sat in the lounge being served and looked after. I had many mails to reply and was calmly confidently that the ever late PIA will let me reply to all my unanswered e-mails.
Devastated I was when the boarding was announced sharp at 9 am. I consoled myself that boarding will take ages but 20 minute later was rushing to the bus as one of the last passengers.
The fully loaded bus stopped by a plane that had blue wings. On it was written something non-English in blue and yellow. I refused to get down and shouted.
Where is PIA?
The driver shouted back get out, this is your plane.
Others were leaving the bus but I sat there frozen!
The driver shouted again this time threatening I will miss my flight if I did not get on to the plane.
His threat did the trick. I ran up the stairs or steps with my eyes half closed.
Has PIA been taken over by a blue company? Where is the green logo? Where is my country’s pride? Am I on the right plane? Is the plane hijacked? Will it crash?
I screamed as I entered the plane. The crew half Pakistani, half not told me to sit silently.
Silence at the slaughter of my national pride! I wanted to shake the crew for an answer.
As I sat on the seat, I was flabbergasted. Something non English was written on the seats.
What is it? I said to the air-hostess.
She smiled and said, as we aspire to get great people like you on board again, temporary inconvenience is apologised.
This is not a PIA plane-but a plane on lease!
The plane on lease was an old plane, there was hardly any leg space. The announcement in an alien accent caused laughters loudly. I looked forward to the dried cookie and butter-less and chicken less sandwiches but got yummy snacks. Yes, haunted by MH disappearance, whenever the plane turned turbulent silently, I prayed passionately!
Have to say though the plane and crew on lease adhered to punctuality. Only if the plane had PIA logo- I would have been perfectly pleased at this rare achievement.
PIA: I realised today, I may condemn and curse, but like the cricket team that gives me woes and wonders, I love you loads too.
What else can I do- you are part of my nationality!
May you be the best soon and all your planes have your logos!
Today I again did let her down. Today again she had to defend me!
Today again because of me she had people staring at her!
Till when will I continue to create moments of embarrassment for her.
It was not always like this.
Many years back, when she was a teenager. I was her pride, to reflect, a pride unknown and unexplored.
She wad a non-entity, a young girl with dreams many in eyes. She had me on her side to take her to destinations unknown.
As she pursued dreams, I was her partner. Wherever she went, I went. I opened the doors for her.
I still recall once in the freezing cold weather of Europe we became separated. Till we were not one, none of us were at peace. I cannot forget her beaming face when she saw me. I vowed that day never to leave her alone.
So I have not left her alone. Over the years, as she had ventured into newer paths, I have remained loyal to her.
She had remained loyal to me too even though the loyalty has been tested!
Over the years, I have seen her change a bit. She very proudly used to show me around. Recently I have seen a bit of reluctance. Sometimes I feel she does not want to own me but has no choice. Till death do us apart, we are one!
Do I blame her?
How does she feel? I want to ask her but am afraid to do so. She always has a smile.
She protects me more than she takes care of herself . Not even once have I heard a hard word about me.
Yet there must be moments of dismay but then may be there are none. Maybe just like the land she loves the most, she loves me too.
I was supposed to be her pride, yet I have not been!
If I could tell her, how proud I am of her. I was to be her identity, In fact she has gone on to be one.
Do forgive me…do forgive your passport!
My dear passport, you are forgiven. Yes I have moments of despair not because of you but my helplessness to change the realities of the land who is your identity. I love you loads for without you, the world would have been impossible to explore.
Together we will make the world value us! Together we will make this land as green as the colour of your cover!
Till then let us together continue our journey of recognition!
Why have I been unable to look at newspapers or watch TV for the last few days?
Of all the people, I who have seen blood in abundance, who have witnessed bombs and bullet infested dead bodies in plenty.
I, for whom, watching scenes of weeping wives, wailing mothers, sobbing sisters and mourning daughters have become a part of life.
I who has seen hundreds of grieving fathers, helpless husbands, bewildered brothers and sniffing sons carry bodies of their beloved.
Why could I not see similar scenes in the last few days? Was it because it was another country?
Why? I live in a country where if a bomb blast does not pierce our TV screens in form of breaking news for a few days, we start getting flustered.
Even days of peace do not give us peace of mind for we fear in store is a deadly disaster!
I have tried hard but cannot recall when bombs and deaths were not part of our lives.
Yet we live! People are surprised by the normal life that we live.
But there is nothing to be surprised. When our dear ones leave us, we mourn but in mourning, our faith gives us amazing strength. Their memories never leave us. They remain part of our lives but we live, we smile, we eat, we work, we rejoice. It is not that life goes on. Life is not the same but you know that the dears departed would not have liked you to live a life as a living dead. So you live on!
It is the same with many Pakistanis. Our country is not what it used to be when we were children. But it is our country and in the memory of days gone and in the hope that one day, it will be a country better than even the country of our childhood, we live on.
Living at times is agonizing. As a child when I watched news of killings and wars in other parts of the world, I used to pray that my country never becomes one of them. When I used to see scenes of children bleeding, I used to pray that children of my country never have to fear a bullet.
I used to wonder how people lived in such violence invaded countries.
I no longer wonder.
They lived just like we do. We have built a China Wall between us and realities.
Sate of our dear country moves us to tears for minutes but then we have to move on. We have to smile for smile is associated with courage and bravery.
We have sleepless nights but we must sleep for in sleep the realities are defeated by dreams.
We have to work hard! We have to be more right than even what the word right means.
We have to go extra miles to prove our professionalism, our honesty, to still have an identity not as a country of bombers but as a country of people who are to be respected for their resilience, for defeating disaster, for living life as if nothing has happened!
It is not easy but we expect no mercy, only understanding that among us are people who will work very hard to make this a country a land of realized potential.
Till that day scenes of bloodshed are to be witnessed to keep the passion of performance burning!
There is always the possibility of beauty where there is an unsealed human eye; of music where there is an unstopped human ear; and of inspiration where there is a receptive human spirit. (Charles Henry Parkhurst)
As I leisurely read a book on IPad sipping green tea in a busy cafe, my eyes caught glance of a graceful lady picking up a scone with her glove covered hand, putting it in a plate. Then opening the oven, placing the plate in the oven. Then turning around with a musical speed. Picking two bowls, placing jam and cream in each. Majestically positioning everything in a tray, carried it all with mystical grace.
I was transfixed …. my eyes followed her. Memories of an opera seen many years back came rushing.
Those were the days when I had wings. When my eyes had a shine emanating from a keen desire to appreciate everything and everyone around me.
When walking thorough a park, on the road, driving in the car, eating in a restaurant, shopping anywhere I would stop to chat with an adorable kid. Compliment the kid. Admire old couples for the years of patient sincere love. Fondly smile at young couples building dreams and lives. When out of analysis of body languages, I would weave stories to entertain family and friends. When my novel was in full swing.
Gone are those days. I have cut my wings. I have blinded my eyes. My novel suffers stagnation.
I have no stories, beauty of things and people around me have deserted me or maybe I have betrayed them. Conversations do not cross my paths.
But I have a few companions who keep me busy with sound and fury.
With them in my hands, the world is on my fingertips. If I lose them for a second, my world crashes. I still communicate with thousands but all I get back is noise! I do not lose way anymore,thus need not ask a human for a way. On long haul flights, I no longer feel urge to chat for I have numerous podcasts drumming in my ears.
But as I saw the Musical Scones Lady, my companions lost their irresistible hold over me.
And I regained my sight..well to the extent that I could see that there were people around me who had the same companions as me.
Namely smartphone and tablet but not as life-lines but as life-enhancers.
As tools not as masters.
They had them on their sides or in their bags thus could chat, could connect.
I looked at my companions with disdain. What have you done to me, why have you wrecked my life?
They whispered ….. we came in your life as tools not masters but you made us rulers of your life. You wrecked your life not us.
Why blame us! Go have a life… enjoy us some of the times and enjoy the beauty of interactions, smiles, innocence, nature most of the times. Use us to capture those moments or seek those moments for we are tools not masters!
Are you also thinking….tools not masters!
Was seeing the German movie Circles inspired by a true event. My tears did not stop for a minute.
The tragedy shown on screen was tears inducing, but more was the empathy I could have with the characters of the movie.
The onlookers! The one who are sentenced to a life term of remorse and repentance, unbearable than the one who was the victim.
Set against the happenings in Bosnia in the nineties, it is the story of people who looked by as a young man was killed as he tried to save the life of another young man. It is the story of a father who is at loss to understand what positive change did the killing of his son bring or was it in vain.
As he rightly says if you throw a stone in the water, even it creates circles. Does a good deed not create any circles?
For me, however it is the story of the friend of the victim and of the onlookers who stood watching a young man being killed.
Should they have done something? Could they have stopped the brutal killing of the young man? In their place what would I have done?
Exactly what they did!
Turned their faces away or looked on with disbelief, dismay and dejection. Doom too for they were being sentenced to a life at times unbearable than the few minutes\hours suffering of the victim. The victim leaves the world, they continue to live.
Each day is hell! Each day is a punishment. Living becomes an ordeal. You try to live, you try to immerse yourself in millions of wonders of the world but everytime you see your face in the mirror. You are the culprit. You keep on running away from yourself. To the world you maybe the bravest person. In your eyes you are a coward.
The onlookers in the movie were like many of us. As we continue to pursue individual brilliance, our senses have become immune to suffering. Lives lost in blasts and violence move us only for a minute. Maybe it moves us, it hurts us for more than a minute but we pretend as if nothing has happened.
To the world, we smile but the pain within does not let us genuinely smile. The tears of remorse that are shed in loneliness do not let nights pass by, making days loaded with exhaustion.
Yet we live apparently physically fit yet emotionally drained. We pray for the suffering to end, to have peace and tranquillity but in vain!
If you have time, watch Circles.
Finding a job, finding a new job, career development, promotions – these are real life issues faced by most of us during our working career. There no formal and effective career counselling at any level in Pakistan as well as in other parts of South Asia, the need to some practice advice remains!
With this in mind, one of my best friends Hammad Siddiqui took initiative and wrote a wonderful book on this subject titled “Bootstrapping Your Career” – This is a transformational book indeed. Simple language, fascinating examples and hilarious illustrations are combined with thoughtful insights to the science of career development. Hammad has been blogging on the subject for quite some time and he volunteers in public speaking events on this subject. Recently, he started Career Discussions with small groups. Now that I call real community service, Kudos Hammad!
I was amazed to see some examples from ACCA community. The realization that those studying ACCA must also consider opportunities beyond just Accounting is now augmented. One must look at wider opportunities available in the job market, thinking ahead and thinking beyond helps!
Hammad Siddiqui book is a must read for anyone ambitious to have a career or take the career to dazzling heights.
It is an absolutely essential read for young men and women looking for their first real job. Employers these days have reservations about interviewees CVs, interview handling skills especially their emotional intelligence and having a well rounded multi dimensional conversation. Hammad very aptly and willingly like a sincere mentor has given guidance points that if understood could help anyone get through any rigorous recruitment process. Hammad is an inspirational social media advocate. One of those who very willingly share experiences and success factors. He had done the same in the book. In all, delightful exhilarating experience reading the book.
Counting days for the next one which should be your autobiography for you are a role model for the young wanting to do something for people of Pakistan. Good luck!