Banbhore.

The Mosque of Banbhore, Sindh.

Yesterday I went to Banbhore. When I sat foot out of my home I didn't know that I would reach Banbhore because I intended to go further south to the Arabian Sea coast of Keti Bandar. After contacting some people of the area I came to know that the route to Keti Bandar goes from Gharo, a small town on the road between Thatta and Karachi. By the time I reached Gharo it was already 2pm and when I asked the driver of the taxi how much time it would take to reach Keti Banadr he told me that it would take around 3 hours. So I decided it was too late to go to the place and asked the driver to show me the nearby places. The driver belonged to the Memon community of the town and I was surprised to know that he knew so much about the life in Indus delta and sea. Memons are usually businesspersons. He told me that he was married in the Mir Bahar community who are actually fisherman. Mir Bahar, the king of Sea, has given the name Admiral , the commander of the fleet of navy. We first went to Gharo creek where the fishermen were catching fish and then we went to Banbhore. Banbhore is a ruined city now but it is said that when first Arab conquerer of Sindh Muhammad Ibne Qasim came here it was the bustling port city and called Debal. I took some pictures of the ruined city with the Gharo creek in background. The famous poet of Sindh Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai has immortalized the love story of Sassui and Punnuh through his poetry. Sassui belonged to Banbhore. The first mosque in the Sub continent is said to be built in Banbhore around 712 AD at the time of Arab conquest of Sindh. I came back home with better and clearer understanding about visiting Keti Bandar that I will visit soon.

Wounded Alma Mater.

The massacre at Virginia Tech has blown the hallowed institution of university to smithereens. It is like bombing the mosque, temple, synagogue, or church. No, I am wrong the university is more sacred than the religious centers because here the learned and the learners together are in the pursuit of knowledge the only activity truly epitomizing the essence of being human.

The killer wounded his alma mater and killed her children who were not strangers but his own siblings. Who would now feel safe in the lap of alma mater? The students and teachers will doubt each other; the home of learning has been shattered. I feel the pain of the teachers of Virginia Tech who grope to find the answer to the biggest question of their life why did they fail to pacify the brewing anger of a young guy who had shown enough signs of alienation. Something somewhere must have altered the role of university, teachers and education so subtly that resulting absence of support system for any estranged student turned an ordinary student into the perpetrator of the deadliest massacre in US history.

I do not claim to know America and its culture and how it would feel to be a part of an American university so I am not in a position to comment upon the pressures an immigrant student might have felt that led him to commit mass murder of his own varsity fellows. However as a teacher I think the lacking may lie in not reaching out to the family of the student especially his parents at a time when first signs of diabolical thoughts were detected in his writings. Taking the family into confidence and tracing the causes of his problems might have given the university authorities better clues to know true state of the mind of the embittered student. I feel sorry for the VT faculty and staff who no doubt would have done more had they known what catastrophe a lone student would bring to their institution.

“Give respect to each other, help the weak students to grow, never make fun of any student, never ridicule anyone and always stretch your hand for mutual growth “, this is my message to all the students of the world.

Existentialism. (My 100th Post)

When I got the novel Plague by Albert Camus I had no idea who the author was and what kind of the novel Plague would turn out to be. Later I came to know that Camus was associated with existentialism though he himself preferred not be associated with any school of thought. Camus was once a close friend of Sartre who is regarded as the leading philosopher of existentialism of the 20th century. The meaning of existentialism in philosophy was not clear to me and after searching on net and reading from my introductory book on philosophy I found that existentialist philosophers believe that human beings although have no power to choose the environment of their birth but they do have the power to form their world through exercising the will power. I know that there must be more to the subject than what I have understood but the essence that I got from reading about it is liberating. One can make a difference for better in the presence of overwhelming problems and challenges through resoluteness and will. Plague is such a story where the indomitable spirit of the human beings fought a battle against the plague. Plague struck the people out of the blue and altered their destiny but failed to subdue the will of the people to defeat the dreaded disease. Eventually the people of the town saw the retreat of the plague and began living their ordinary lives again.

My mood is ethereal

The night has fallen and the humming of the fan enhances the silence all around. I am sitting in my study room with a new book around. "...And Another Woman Shall Bear Me" is the collection of articles by Khadijah Gauhar an Afro-Asian writer. I have already finished a couple of articles and surprisingly the first article was finished even before I reached home after purchasing the book. My bike was standing idle for almost a month and I decided to take a ride on it. I went straight to the bookshop to get the book and on my return trip I found my self stuck in a traffic jam. The blockade was so massive that I switched off my bike and opened the first pages of the book to read. I created an island of serenity in the midst of mayhem and started reading the book. As I engrossed myself in the thoughts and ideas of the author I forgot that I was stranded in the traffic jam and the feeling of being in control gave me satisfaction at a time when most of the people seemed frustrated. I read about the author's apathy towards restrictive form of education she got in a school of a Muslim neighborhood of Cape Town in 1930s. As I finished the first article with these words " I believed that the general aim of sound education is to help individuals to grow to fuller maturity; to help them to live well with his or her own world or society", I looked around and found no improvement in the traffic jam. I waited for few more minutes and then turned the bike back to reach home via long route. I am reading the other articles now but I will never forget the start of the book as it was made in very unusal environment for reading. My mood is ethereal.

Curse of a woman

Leave me forever if you so desire but you will long for love and it will never embrace you. Every step forward and every passing moment will lead you to a life where each day ends in the lap of loneliness, ennui will rule your life and tall buildings surrounding your abode will obstruct fresh air and sunshine to enter, the loosening of the tie will not ease your breathing and you will feel your body turning into a concrete. You will watch thousand faces popping out from the dead walls of your forlorn room mocking your highbrow living and you will die all alone in the midst of dark night faraway in time as well in distance from the one who is urging you right now not to leave.

Magic moment

Distnictively tall, having long black hair, big eyes and buxom body with confident and affable outlook she walked effusively towards the garden of our campus. Her untrammelled youth had enthralled me. Next day our eyes met and locked for a split second then drifted away. I didn't go to campus for next few days but on my next visit I saw her seeing in my direction and again our eyes met but this time we smiled. The magic moment passed and we parted.I never saw her again. When I look back at the magic moment it enchants me and fills my heart with happiness.

Irrational son.

Why do I hurt my mother despite possessing ineffable love for her? I think the answer lies in my irrationality when it comes to my relation with my mother. I want to see her always happy. The sight of my mother being tense, sad or depressed shakes my world and I lose my sangfroid and try to make her happy instantly without realizing that she would naturally take some time to get out of her gloomy mood. I become extremely annoyed with whoever causes her bad mood. My extreme agitation affects my heart and brain and I start feeling pain. At this point my mother forgets her own pain, assures me that she is fine and asks me to be normal and there is absolutely nothing that she is worried about. When I hear her I should calm down but then I find myself in a vortex of emotions that keeps spinning my head. Seeing my condition my mother gets stressed and worried and there I feel utmost guilt that in the pursuit of making her happy I have inflicted pain on her. The guilt of causing pain to my mother further exasperates my condition. Finally after hours of talking, expressions of love for each other, promises of taking care of each other and hugging things start to normalize and my mother forgets her pain and smiles as I start my daily routine.
I know I do not deal with the normal swings of my mother’s mood in an emotionally intelligent way but despite my efforts to control my emotions, I lose my control over them and deny my mother her right to be sad, angry or depressed like any other normal human being.

Teaching my veiled students

In my all girls class four of the students wear niqab or veil. Teaching the veiled students was a difficult task for me. I establish eye contact with every student while teaching but I find it difficult to establsih eye contact with girls wearing veils because I thought it might offend them. However without eye contact I found it impossible to teach so I slowly started establsihing eye contact with them. The result was an improved level of communication. Veil ceased to be a formidable barrier as I started focusing on the non-verbal aspects of voice to compensate for the loss of facial gestures that are so important to know the level of comprehension of students.
I haven't seen the faces of my veiled students but in my imagination each student has a face that may not correspond to the actual face but that face smiles, questions, concentrate and performs all the gestures while I teach. I determine the obscure facial expressions of the students through the tone and pitch of their voice and their body language. Those who cannot see with eyes have thousand other ways to appreciate the beauty of world, so if facial expressions are missing there are ample ways to communicate effectively with veiled students.

Heart wrenching

Bob Woolmer's death has shaken the Pakistani nation. "Bob Woolmer has died", the news muted all the tirade against Bob Woolmer by the jingos of Pakistani cricket. In our frenzy to castigate the team we forgot what the toll it would take on the coach and players. Although exact condition of his mind at the time of his death would never be known but the pressure build up following the deafeat of Pakistan may have been too much for the man to cope who had dedicated his life for cricket and in the night following the defeat he collapsed. The Woolmer wanted to quit as the coach of Pakistani team after the completion of his contract in June 2007 to spend more time with his family. He was under tremendous stress and far away from his home in an alien island he couldn't make it to the morning. The headlines of the papers are filled with praise for him but he is no more.

Naxalites of India

The terror attack on the police station in Bijapur by Naxalites as reported in Hindustan Times is deplorable without any doubt. However I was surprised by the scale of killing in this attack and concerned that something terrible is happening in India that is not getting due coverage in international media. The under privileged class in India feels itself trounced under the feet of bourgeoisies who are rapaciously gulping Indian resources to imitate the lifestyle of the citizens of western world. The naxalites represent the reality of interior India that is obscure to the western reporters who are dazzled by the glitter of Bollywood and dazed by the success of Indian cyber world companies. India has aligned itself with the capitalism of US and the socialist ghost of Nehruvian era has been exorcised from its economy. The backlash by the Indian down trodden is feeble yet it is gaining momentum day by day and the time is not far away when the news of the emergence of a leader of Hugo Chavez stature from the little known states of Chhattisgarh or Jharkand would take the world by surprise. In the eyes of western media India is beautiful, democratic, vibrant, progressive, secular and the darling of the west yet in the dark jungles of far off India Naxalites have become the voice of oppressed Indians who find themselves languishing in the India that has no resemblance to the India portrayed in western media.

Abhorently Haughty.

After reading the post Let us trade with Pakistan on Amit Varma's blog IndiaUncut one cannot miss the sense of self righteousness that is prevailing among Indian intelligentia. The simplistic approach of Indian writers of squaring all blames on Pakistan for the troubles in Kashmir is of no help to take out the billions of people of sub continent from the quagmire that we are facing for decades. The worsening of the situation in Kashmir cannot be attributed solely to Pakistani support of the insurgents there. The sooner Indian intelligentsia realizes the bungles of its own government the better India would be in a position to win the hearts of ordinary Pakistanis who really want to see relations between India and Pakistan strengthened. The mess in Indian held Kashmir has to be sorted out. The blame game must stop if Indians want that they should be truly accepted at a higher moral pedestal by ordinary Pakistanis. Haughtiness of Indian political writers is putting off the Pakistanis who want to be the partner in achieving the cherished goal of long lasting peace in Sub continent.

Exclusive Kiosk

Time has stopped in my mind whenever I think of you. What I find there is a tall, fair girl with big eyes and blonde hair sitting on the black leather sofa in front of me in the sumptuous office of an advertising agency where both of us had gone for an interview in a June evening long time ago. I never knew those brief common moments of our lives would leave a permanent mark on my mind. You went back to your own world leaving me behind to reminisce the joy of your brief company. I have captivated that moment or that moment has captivated me, I don't know what I know is that in my imagination I have made an exclusive kiosk where I marvel at your natural simplicity. When I am not with you in the kiosk I imagine you are glowing in the light and I am wondering whether the light is coming from the sun or you.

Keep shining, keep glowing.

You cannot give me " nothing"

I ask from you nothing. Will you be able to give me nothing? No, you cannot give me what I ask. If you try to give me nothing in what shape will you give it to me. Will it be in the form of ignoring me but ignorance is not nothing. In your attempt to give me nothing you are trying to fulfill my desire thus performing the act of lovers who try to fulfill the desire of their beloved. If you intentionally deny it and give me something in the form of attention, affection, love or presence you will be doing something that is also the act of a person who may be on the path of falling in love. The other option of hating me is not possible because nobody hates anyone for asking for nothing. If you hate me for asking for nothing than this itself is the affirmation of your love for me because that shows you want me to want something instead of nothing. You cannot give me nothing. You are doomed.

Gone to Canada

Z is my first cousin. We were born six months apart, I being the elder. We went to the same school and spent 12 years till we pursued different careers. He left for Canada yesterday as an immigrant. I don't know how would I fill the time in the evening when I need a friend to talk about sundry topics like my poetry (that he regarded as merely puerile...) my real or imaginary flirts, our married lives, old friends, politics, philosophy, his chats on yahoo in religion rooms, his friends whom I don't like, (I think these friends were just a wastage of time). There was a sort of tacit agreement between us not to try to change each other though we may advise and suggest what we feel was better for each other. I have spent years and years of close friendship with him and there was hardly a day when we did not talk or meet each other. As he left for Canada I feel a portion of my life vacant. I know I can keep in touch with him through net and call him on phone as well but it will not be the same as it was here. I wish him success and hope to see him soon.

Colors of Holi

When one of my hindu students came to study I asked him did you celebrate holi. His answer was no. I was surprised but he explained that the fun of holi was to celebrate it with family and his family was scattered in Karachi, Hyderabad and his village. He told me in childhood when he used to celebrate it his grand father always told him not to throw colours as they would spoil the floor. He explained that the colours available in Pakistan are hard to get rid off and even after a week they remained on skin and he had to cleanse the body with kerosine. I was surprised how come here the water colors are not available. He may be right...I don't know. Was he hiding something or scattered family and caustic colors were the causes of such a bland holi day in the life of a hindu guy.

Sindhi

Last week I met Mr. Abdul Qadir Junejo, a famous Sindhi writer. It was an intellectually satisfying meeting. I told him about my interest in Sindhi literature and my efforts to excel Sindhi language skills. We talked on diverse matters ranging from gypsies to Portuguese attack on Thatta. On my request he recommended me a Sindhi novel " Rehji Wiyal Manzar" that I purchased next day. The novel is a love story developed in Sindh University campus in Jamshoro. I have picked few new words of Sindhi and I am enjoying the novel. My fluency in the language is improving and one of my student was surprised when he found I could speak Sindhi. I remember those days when in the university I used to fumble in speaking Sindhi and people used to smile on my clumsy efforts of speaking the language. Learning of Sindhi has been a long journey for me. There are few words that only Sindhi speakers could pronounce correctly like Bba, Jn, Gn and my Sindhi friends used to ask me to say JnJn and I was unable to speak. Through practice and efforts I can now pronounce the peculiar Sindhi words correctly and I feel great about it. My journey to explore Sindhi continues and the greatest reward is the enhanced feeling of belonging to Sindh and its people.

Janay do

dil ka har bojh utar janay do
na roko ashk beh janay do

teri zindagi say jo chala gaya
aay jo uski yaad to aanay do

phir kabhi, kabhi na ai ga
hamain hal e dil sunanay do

main khud bhi so hi jaun ga
pehlay khabon ko sulanay do

bat hai tai dar nahin kholna
phir kiyun isay khatkhatanay do

zindagi bhar ka hai saath lekin
main aur dunya goya anjanay do

Son of the Sea

When I boarded the bus to come back to Hyderabad from Karachi his face struck me immediately. He had a very dark complexion that became starker due to his shocking green dress. The seat beside him was empty and there I sat. I asked him is he from Thar, the remote desert in the South East of Pakistan. He looked like a Thari but he replied no he is not from Thar. He was from a small village along River Indus in the north of Hyderabad, Sindh. He belonged to the community of fishermen known as Mallahs. Mallah literally means the boatman. He told me he was coming from the sea after fishing there for a month and going back to his village. I asked him about his life on sea and his eyes shined as he told me that the life on sea is wonderful. He spend nearly a month on sea catching fish. Fishing has been their livelihood since centuries. They take all the food on the boat and spend days and nights in open sea. During the nights they dance and sing. Finding me interested in his work he asked me to go along with him on a fish catching trip. I liked him, his simplicity and sincerity. He was the son of the sea. His dark complexion was the making of years of exposure to the heat of sun. I enjoyed his company and said good bye to him before getting off from the bus.

On a weight loss jaunt

It has been 5 days since I am on a diet and eating only chicken and salad. It feels good but pounds are yet to shed. I want to lose weight to look great and feel great. I am enjoying the change in diet.

Delhi once again

I dreamt of Delhi again. It was a saint's tomb and I was sitting with the disciples. I introduced myself to them as Pakistani. When I saw outside it was a ruined masoleum and in the back ground I saw Qutb Minar. I had an idea that it was the tomb of Hazrat Qutbuddin Bakhtiar Kaki.