112799515414777655

You Are Out of Line Mr. President

Sorry for the antics with certain elements of my profile, instead of being a trail blazer, I am trying to cover my trail. I am feeling insecure and paranoid, which some how became the theme of this week. It is a sad truth that a sizable male portion of our society can only be termed as perverts, and when you go out regularly, you encounter them once too often. A few incidents that happened this week made me think if it is safe at all these days to go out alone, and what to do if you don’t have people to chaperone you around? It is not just personal; it’s the general scheme of things.
There are days when one wishes not to read the newspaper and watch the news at all. If natural calamites aren’t enough to read about, there are gruesome details about murders, injustices, chaos and rape. And one wouldn’t enjoy reading the details of a rape(until and unless one happens to be a pervert). Sometimes there is no point in reading the paper, and it seems more feasible to bury my head in the sand like an ostrich, and wishfully think that if I won’t come to know about it, it would mean that it doesn’t exist at all. This is exactly the approach that the people at the helm of affairs have always taken, isn’t it?
Those who know me also know that I have mostly avoided talking on two topics namely religion and politics. But this time something related to the latter has really instigated me to speak up. It is our very own dear president and his glorious statement (which according to him was an instance of being misquoted.

“It’s happening everywhere. You must understand the environment in Pakistan,” Musharraf added. “This has become a moneymaking concern. A lot of people say if you want to go abroad and get a visa for Canada or citizenship and be a millionaire, get yourself raped.”
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/09/12/AR2005091201724_pf.html

Although he claims that he has been misquoted, but I wonder to what extent could that have happened. The “brush- it-under-the-carpet” approach that he has taken in Dr. Shazia’s case, the treatment that he has meted out to Mukhatara Mai and the character mud slinging that is going on in Sonia Naz’s case, along with his infamous lash out on a human rights activist in the NY conference is proof enough of his “blame-the-woman” mentality. It could have happened to any one! But it hasn’t happened to anyone related to Mr. President, and it can’t happen to them because they are coming from a ‘privileged’ background. So much for our mushy soft image Mushy! Never before had I been so disappointed in this man. He might be better than the average politicians and their feudalistic, land lord back grounda. But how much better is he and the overall military mentality? The military’s disdain for civilians is a fact and not a myth. I have had firsthand experience of working with them, and it was not a comfortable experience. I am not saying that all army men are like that, but the majority of the uniformed cadre is what it is…arrogant, rude and insensitive. The last time I was up and running a diary, a military brat made similar kind of responses to a personal entry. I could have taken him down, but it hardly seemed worthy of the effort. He would stay what he is because he has been conditioned this way by his family, and the military education has further deranged from the realm of emotions and empathy.
There are days when nothing seems worthy of the effort, any effort ….an emotional Inertia. “Sarhaddon ke hifazaat karenee walaee” [defenders of our borders] seems like a clichéd phrase. Can we really expect such people to take care of the frontiers, if they physically and verbally begrime their mothers and daughters? And they are not alone in this. It’s only their uniform and it being the symbol of responsibility and sacred trust, which makes us ask them…WHY…Where should one go to seek justice? The Jirga and ultimately the judicial system (Mukhtara Mai’s case), SHO (Sonia Naz’s case), the military official (Dr. Shazia Khalid), the security guard (a rape case in a park), and the numerous sodomy and rape cases on the hands of the mulvis…it’s a long line…a trail of perversion. It seems like the disintegration of the very institutions upon which the edifice of the society rests.
And when you feel that you can’t take any more, you again get to hear about the rape of a 4 year old child on the hands of her guardian – the brother-in-law (a mulvi). What do you have to say about this Mr. President? Does this girl child have a motive as well to cash in on this incident and settle abroad?
I think we should now stop taking shots at Bushy and his anti-Muslim policies and start analyzing our own mess.

112799515414777655

You Are Out of Line Mr. President

Sorry for the antics with certain elements of my profile, instead of being a trail blazer, I am trying to cover my trail. I am feeling insecure and paranoid, which some how became the theme of this week. It is a sad truth that a sizable male portion of our society can only be termed as perverts, and when you go out regularly, you encounter them once too often. A few incidents that happened this week made me think if it is safe at all these days to go out alone, and what to do if you don’t have people to chaperone you around? It is not just personal; it’s the general scheme of things.
There are days when one wishes not to read the newspaper and watch the news at all. If natural calamites aren’t enough to read about, there are gruesome details about murders, injustices, chaos and rape. And one wouldn’t enjoy reading the details of a rape(until and unless one happens to be a pervert). Sometimes there is no point in reading the paper, and it seems more feasible to bury my head in the sand like an ostrich, and wishfully think that if I won’t come to know about it, it would mean that it doesn’t exist at all. This is exactly the approach that the people at the helm of affairs have always taken, isn’t it?
Those who know me also know that I have mostly avoided talking on two topics namely religion and politics. But this time something related to the latter has really instigated me to speak up. It is our very own dear president and his glorious statement (which according to him was an instance of being misquoted.

“It’s happening everywhere. You must understand the environment in Pakistan,” Musharraf added. “This has become a moneymaking concern. A lot of people say if you want to go abroad and get a visa for Canada or citizenship and be a millionaire, get yourself raped.”
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/09/12/AR2005091201724_pf.html

Although he claims that he has been misquoted, but I wonder to what extent could that have happened. The “brush- it-under-the-carpet” approach that he has taken in Dr. Shazia’s case, the treatment that he has meted out to Mukhatara Mai and the character mud slinging that is going on in Sonia Naz’s case, along with his infamous lash out on a human rights activist in the NY conference is proof enough of his “blame-the-woman” mentality. It could have happened to any one! But it hasn’t happened to anyone related to Mr. President, and it can’t happen to them because they are coming from a ‘privileged’ background. So much for our mushy soft image Mushy! Never before had I been so disappointed in this man. He might be better than the average politicians and their feudalistic, land lord back grounda. But how much better is he and the overall military mentality? The military’s disdain for civilians is a fact and not a myth. I have had firsthand experience of working with them, and it was not a comfortable experience. I am not saying that all army men are like that, but the majority of the uniformed cadre is what it is…arrogant, rude and insensitive. The last time I was up and running a diary, a military brat made similar kind of responses to a personal entry. I could have taken him down, but it hardly seemed worthy of the effort. He would stay what he is because he has been conditioned this way by his family, and the military education has further deranged from the realm of emotions and empathy.
There are days when nothing seems worthy of the effort, any effort ….an emotional Inertia. “Sarhaddon ke hifazaat karenee walaee” [defenders of our borders] seems like a clichéd phrase. Can we really expect such people to take care of the frontiers, if they physically and verbally begrime their mothers and daughters? And they are not alone in this. It’s only their uniform and it being the symbol of responsibility and sacred trust, which makes us ask them…WHY…Where should one go to seek justice? The Jirga and ultimately the judicial system (Mukhtara Mai’s case), SHO (Sonia Naz’s case), the military official (Dr. Shazia Khalid), the security guard (a rape case in a park), and the numerous sodomy and rape cases on the hands of the mulvis…it’s a long line…a trail of perversion. It seems like the disintegration of the very institutions upon which the edifice of the society rests.
And when you feel that you can’t take any more, you again get to hear about the rape of a 4 year old child on the hands of her guardian – the brother-in-law (a mulvi). What do you have to say about this Mr. President? Does this girl child have a motive as well to cash in on this incident and settle abroad?
I think we should now stop taking shots at Bushy and his anti-Muslim policies and start analyzing our own mess.

112747467560657263

The Rain and the Tears

I have forgotten how to cry,
But the sky remembers,
Ant sheds the healing tears
That experience and years
Have taught me to disipline
And dry.
The sky and I
Have agreement about pain,
And I love rain.
Anon

I kept a hope and a heart… and the rainy days did come, thunder and dust storm as well. It was beautiful, maddening and mysterious at the same time. It was dark, then it was bright and then it was dark again. The anthem of the droplets soared on the window pane, while the curtains swelled like balloons and danced as if they had a life of their own. Now as I write this, it’s really hot again, but the very act of recall is making me feel some what fresh. I can hear the anthem still, can you too?
Ironically I celebrated my rain enchained in a workshop (yuk) on a Saturday and a Sunday (double yuk), but then one can’t help it. Circumstances…they betray you. I should have been at home, doing a rain dance, maybe sipping tea, listening to Junoon’s Garaj Baras, or may be Iqbal Bano’s Daasht-e-Tanhai, doing nothing and doing a lot. But …circumstances betray you, just like your own mind and body. You think that you are strong enough, that you can cope with anything, take into stride everything that comes your way. But that doesn’t happen. One incident, and another, and then you begin to feel as if the bottom of your life just cannot hold, it’s giving away. There is so much beauty in life, and there is so much pain. That one moment of peace that you get, that one moment in which nothing is happening…is that one moment of happiness. And I clutch at that moment. I savor it. For one it will be gone…I would be empty handed….nay…I would wait for the next moment. Forgive me for the somber tone…I was with some one who was very depressed. And when I think I was making a progress in cheering her up…but then I saw a recently widowed young women walking indoors, and afterwards I was unable to say anything further, and my friend couldn’t say anything as well…or in her own words…”couldn’t crib any further.” Seeing the young woman’s face frozen in a mask of perpetual and mute agony, made us shudder plainly. And trying to cheer the first person up has made me rather sad myself. I don’t know what do friends and acquaintances look for when they talk with you. Do they need a shoulder to cry on? Maybe just a sympathetic ear? Or solid advise? A dose of Hard Core reality? Or a delusional promise, another one? Maybe a heart felt prayer? Maybe all of this! But I get really scared for the task being overwhelming and my own inadequacy. So for this time around, and all the times in the past…when I have had in the past or will fail to say something substantial, something meaningful to you when you are in pain…just forgive me! For I feel but I can’t articulate it in words. And so I cry.

112747467560657263

The Rain and the Tears

I have forgotten how to cry,
But the sky remembers,
Ant sheds the healing tears
That experience and years
Have taught me to disipline
And dry.
The sky and I
Have agreement about pain,
And I love rain.
Anon

I kept a hope and a heart… and the rainy days did come, thunder and dust storm as well. It was beautiful, maddening and mysterious at the same time. It was dark, then it was bright and then it was dark again. The anthem of the droplets soared on the window pane, while the curtains swelled like balloons and danced as if they had a life of their own. Now as I write this, it’s really hot again, but the very act of recall is making me feel some what fresh. I can hear the anthem still, can you too?
Ironically I celebrated my rain enchained in a workshop (yuk) on a Saturday and a Sunday (double yuk), but then one can’t help it. Circumstances…they betray you. I should have been at home, doing a rain dance, maybe sipping tea, listening to Junoon’s Garaj Baras, or may be Iqbal Bano’s Daasht-e-Tanhai, doing nothing and doing a lot. But …circumstances betray you, just like your own mind and body. You think that you are strong enough, that you can cope with anything, take into stride everything that comes your way. But that doesn’t happen. One incident, and another, and then you begin to feel as if the bottom of your life just cannot hold, it’s giving away. There is so much beauty in life, and there is so much pain. That one moment of peace that you get, that one moment in which nothing is happening…is that one moment of happiness. And I clutch at that moment. I savor it. For one it will be gone…I would be empty handed….nay…I would wait for the next moment. Forgive me for the somber tone…I was with some one who was very depressed. And when I think I was making a progress in cheering her up…but then I saw a recently widowed young women walking indoors, and afterwards I was unable to say anything further, and my friend couldn’t say anything as well…or in her own words…”couldn’t crib any further.” Seeing the young woman’s face frozen in a mask of perpetual and mute agony, made us shudder plainly. And trying to cheer the first person up has made me rather sad myself. I don’t know what do friends and acquaintances look for when they talk with you. Do they need a shoulder to cry on? Maybe just a sympathetic ear? Or solid advise? A dose of Hard Core reality? Or a delusional promise, another one? Maybe a heart felt prayer? Maybe all of this! But I get really scared for the task being overwhelming and my own inadequacy. So for this time around, and all the times in the past…when I have had in the past or will fail to say something substantial, something meaningful to you when you are in pain…just forgive me! For I feel but I can’t articulate it in words. And so I cry.

112585020338762006

Autumn in a Megalopolis
Yesterday’s resolutions lie heaped upon my feet like a shattered glass and the body and mind find it hard to make new ones. There is sadness in the air and a bout of loneliness. I don’t know why.
Autumn in a Megalopolis is the worst fate that can befall you, especially if you are ill and suffering from both i.e. lack of will and lack of imagination. The sky seems as barren and parched as one’s own soul. The trees are coated with dust and smog, and are standing with their branches hung low. The sparrows seem restless. Too bad, if you want to feel all the colors of the weather, in their primeval glory and majesty; sunshine, rain, thunderstorm, snow, autumn and what not. But instead, you are stuck with this deadness. The god of weather seems to be in a bad and rather whimsical mood. It seems hot and yet it is not. It seems cold, yet it is not. Just like myself. The fever lies dormant in the body and the thermometer loves playing a trick on me, giving a 98 reading at one time and a 99 reading at another. I am ill one hour and ok the hour later. All the anti-biotics, over-the-counter remedies; these multi-colored pills and syrups coming in all shapes and sizes are unable to cure me. And shackled in my room like a condemned prisoner, I look out of the window and I find no respite. I don’t know which one is to be relied upon; the weather inside or the weather outside. We have received no rain. Each day the clouds would gather, giving you a false hope that they might rain, but they didn’t. Sometimes the proud sun would shine on mercilessly and my tired eyes are unable to locate even a single cloud on the sky. A single cloud, upon which I can lay a dream and let it flit sky high, here in there. Which is exactly what this tired soul entrapped in this tired body is unable to do.