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.

Cynicism must not prevail

It was my last lecture of the course in an MBA class. As has always been the case I urged the students to be genuine, creative and forward looking. One of the students quipped that all our strategies and analysis would be of no use because in Pakistani environment an illiterate boss would scuttle our ideas and demand blind compliance of his orders. The mood of the class changed as if all their studies are in waste and they cannot make any real difference through their efforts once they are out in the field. I vehemently opposed the belief that out there in the practical life they would face ogres. Subscribing to the idea of cynicism tantamounts to accepting the role of education and educational institutions as ineffective and by the same token it would mean that my standing as a teacher has no impact on the outside world.I tried to defuse despair by injecting hope among all the students and exhorted that no matter what circumstances you face keep the negative thoughts away and concentrate on delivering the best, certainly, you can and will make a difference. The cynicism must not prevail because it would paralyze your limbs and mind and leave you frustrated. You must give yourself a full chance in life by continual improvement in your education and skills. Do not succumb to cynicism because if you succumb I would lose my pride as a teacher. I have seen success and the seed of success is born in the mind, here right here in you.

Your hand

Your hand slipped away and I was lost
I am looking for that hand to find me back
Do you know how much I have missed you
In thousand dreams I have kissed you
Time sepeartes you and me
it's increasing, it's decreasing
the feel of your hand is still with me
and that gives the clue of my being.

Cold nights

Cold nights challenge me to dare out and feel their raw chill. I want to spend a night over the top of an arid mountain in Kirthar range. When cold freezes me I will take refuge in a cave and lit the fire and wait for the sun to come out.

Sunny Serene Sky

After Monday's thunderous rain Hyderabad's sky is sunny once again.
I love the colour of sky.

Timeless purity

Many will be sending you the messages to wish you happy birthday but they don't know you were born at the time when the stars were born billions of years ago. The glimmer in your eyes is similar to the glitter of heavenly diamonds in a pitch black cloudless night. Your purity is timeless and originality is intact just as the purity of stars is untouched and unmolested.