Just yesterday, in my weekly tarjuma class, we were speaking of how all requisites for life are available for us without question and without fail. We breathe we eat; the fact that we are face water shortages or our ozone layer is depleting is directly correlated to how we've abused these resources. But I'll leave it to Al Gore to cover that one.
What we do to human life, that's another battle. We have bomb blasts and shootings left, right and center, not only in Pakistan but in Mexico and the Dominican Republic and everywhere else. What's that about? What brings a man/woman/child to the point where all they can think of to make their lives more peaceful, is to blow themselves up and "If I'm going down, I'm taking everybody with me." What does it take? Poverty and the frustration that comes with it? Brain washing of some bizarre kind? How much of that washing is required and what is it being washed with? I fail to understand the seventy-two virgins and how appealing they possibly could be. I'm a firm Believer, in that I love God and I pray to Him five times a day; I believe that I'll be reprimanded and rewarded for everything I do. I believe, til kingdom come, I am being tested. That said, it would naturally follow that I wouldn't believe that I am ready to blow myself up in oblivion for want of the streams of milk and honey (yes, it is the food that is luring me); I would always need that one extra day/hour to do that one act of kindness that will tilt my scale favorably. It also naturally follows that when my time is up, no number of security detail or cordoned neighborhoods are going to protect me. But I'm sure others, like myself, would appreciate some calm and dignity until that time comes, instead of dying and reliving every time we hear a rickshaw backfire because it could just as easily have been a bomb.
I don't buy the fact that this genocide is in the name of religion; neither does anyone else for that matter. Now, what other myth could we propose to veil these "acts"? God is testing us, sure, but we'll pick up our pieces and live on, but those behind these atrocities, how are they picking themselves up every morning? My friend W.A. once lost his nail in a soccer match and he had issues swallowing the fact for days. How can you obliterate structures, homes, lives, children, mothers and brothers and think "Maybe a second blast would've proven more effective, challo next time"? I fail to grasp what this thought process could entail or where it stems from.
I watched "Paradise Now" with my aunt in Dubai and as we walked out of the cinema we discussed how it was intriguing how brainwashed this man was into becoming a suicide bomber. I take it back. "Brain washed" would innately imply a brain to begin with. There are no extra-credit points for returning to God with a completely "washed" brain, "Brand new, Allah, not used at all! Feel free to recycle". No; I'm sorry, what in the sweet Lord's name are they using to wash it so that there are no remnants of common sense, courtesy or dignity? The debates of morality and religion have echoed for eons but no one can dissuade from believing that lying, stealing and killing are a no-no from Tennessee to Timbuktu; whether you follow Budha, Darwin, Jehovah, Jesus, Ram, or no one. Life is always sacred.
Living in Lahore has brought me full circle, from being confused, to being angry, to being sad and now I'm back at confused again. All these "episodes", all these places, all so close to home. Today, practically in my back yard. And why? We'll never know and we'll keep wondering, instead, how to better our youth by detaching their cell phones from them and by filing law suits against the Government for some obscure form of what we like to call blasphemy. Again, in the name of religion. I'm glad we're at least focused.
"God, guide and protect us. When we're wrong, correct us." - Bob Marley.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
March 8, 2010
"I am, however, glad to hear that you and your loved ones are doing well. I am sure that it still affects you guys and I do hope that things will get better soon. It is very tragic to see how a place that one loves so much can begin to be such hell; maybe it is just me that is thinking of Venezuela, so I mean no disrespect to your country :)" - Anneliese, Fleckenstein.
Another morning, another bomb blast. People can pretend like its the norm here, but its not. It still winds us completely and we all rush into momentary frenzy, calling every-which person we can dream of that would be in the vicinity of the blast. Fifteen minutes into this, we all get dressed and go to work like we would any other day. At work, we exchange stories of where we were and what we thought that sudden noise was. Ten minutes into that, we settle at our computers and life resumes as usual. Unusual. Does the death and destruction not affect us? I went shopping the same evening. Anne is right, it pains us to see our homes, our people and our identity shake to its core with a single bang.
It took the international media a while to get this beat in (the New York Times didn't have the story until five hours after the incident). "I just heard about the blast as major news were focusing on this damn Oscars." - Charbel Moarbes. But we're not pointing fingers, because our own news networks the next morning had other drone attack stories and news of a couple of buildings catching fire to report. We pick up and the hell on because there's more carnage elsewhere to focus on today.
If we take in every death and every bombing and various other misgivings and reside ourselves to our homes, we're getting nowhere; not that we as a nation are seemingly going places now. But one thing Pakistani's have, is hope, faith and resolve like nowhere else. However, that phrase has been lathered, rinsed and repeated so much I think its losing its bubbles.
Its not about who we can blame; be it the genius who thought it apt to place the Federal Investigation Agency office in the hub of one of the biggest planned residential areas of Lahore, or the Prime Minister whose envoy was conveniently taking away police/army personnel to escort him out of his home an hour after the attack in Model Town, or the terrorist that strapped his truck with some of the good stuff and rammed in there. Its not about that at all. Its about how this is supposed to be a lesson learned, relearned and re-relearned. At this point, frankly, I forget what I'm learning anymore. All I can think is that we're learning to "suck it up and deal" - which innately implies being somewhat of an ice-queen, sadly. I'm learning that I can't get upset and sob each time something goes off (transformer or bomb?) in my beautiful city. I'm learning to see the death-toll in the paper, know its not just a figure but families and children; the entirety of life, but move to the sports section instantaneously. I've learned to be an Ostrich (dig head in hole and pretend everything is peachy).
Anneliese would always tell me how she moved from Venezuela because they didn't agree with Chavez, how he chose to run the country and what he was doing to it. She moved to the US with her family, leaving behind heritage, friends and Caracas, what she still calls home. She is no less Venezuelan now; still loudly spewing Spanish at the speed of light, fun, gorgeous and full of energy! But, she's not at home and I know it kills a part of her.
I think of her every time something "goes down" in Lahore. I think of how her family had the courage to pack up and leave and how they must have had no other option and how I don't know if I'd ever be able to. I know I want to move out of here just so I have only good memories of Lahore. The memories of old Lahore as I remember it from my visits back during my childhood: the smell of the sand in the canal as the water reappears, come spring; the sound of a rickshaw and the rattling truck that carries hundreds of glass coke bottles; and the time a crow stole a rusk from my hand as I sat daintily in the garden of grandparents' house in Muslim Town (to date, crows petrify me). These are my memories of Lahore. Now, they're fading and being replaced by memories of how we escaped the office in July, 2009, when a bomb hit the security offices across the street on Mall Road, or of where I was when the earthquake of 2005 hit or of when I visited Swabi last summer.
I just pray that Pakistani's leave, not like Anne and her family to escape without knowing if and when they can return, but because they want to and because they return with a sense of pride of their country and their culture. I hope that the hope and resolve that we're constantly reminded of doesn't fade and translate into anger and frustration. I pray that we don't lose the faith.
"Tu nishane azmealishan arze Pakistan; Markaz-e-yaqin shadbad." - Pakistani National Anthem
[Translation: Symbol of high resolve, Land of Pakistan; Blessed be your fortress of faith.]
Another morning, another bomb blast. People can pretend like its the norm here, but its not. It still winds us completely and we all rush into momentary frenzy, calling every-which person we can dream of that would be in the vicinity of the blast. Fifteen minutes into this, we all get dressed and go to work like we would any other day. At work, we exchange stories of where we were and what we thought that sudden noise was. Ten minutes into that, we settle at our computers and life resumes as usual. Unusual. Does the death and destruction not affect us? I went shopping the same evening. Anne is right, it pains us to see our homes, our people and our identity shake to its core with a single bang.
It took the international media a while to get this beat in (the New York Times didn't have the story until five hours after the incident). "I just heard about the blast as major news were focusing on this damn Oscars." - Charbel Moarbes. But we're not pointing fingers, because our own news networks the next morning had other drone attack stories and news of a couple of buildings catching fire to report. We pick up and the hell on because there's more carnage elsewhere to focus on today.
If we take in every death and every bombing and various other misgivings and reside ourselves to our homes, we're getting nowhere; not that we as a nation are seemingly going places now. But one thing Pakistani's have, is hope, faith and resolve like nowhere else. However, that phrase has been lathered, rinsed and repeated so much I think its losing its bubbles.
Its not about who we can blame; be it the genius who thought it apt to place the Federal Investigation Agency office in the hub of one of the biggest planned residential areas of Lahore, or the Prime Minister whose envoy was conveniently taking away police/army personnel to escort him out of his home an hour after the attack in Model Town, or the terrorist that strapped his truck with some of the good stuff and rammed in there. Its not about that at all. Its about how this is supposed to be a lesson learned, relearned and re-relearned. At this point, frankly, I forget what I'm learning anymore. All I can think is that we're learning to "suck it up and deal" - which innately implies being somewhat of an ice-queen, sadly. I'm learning that I can't get upset and sob each time something goes off (transformer or bomb?) in my beautiful city. I'm learning to see the death-toll in the paper, know its not just a figure but families and children; the entirety of life, but move to the sports section instantaneously. I've learned to be an Ostrich (dig head in hole and pretend everything is peachy).
Anneliese would always tell me how she moved from Venezuela because they didn't agree with Chavez, how he chose to run the country and what he was doing to it. She moved to the US with her family, leaving behind heritage, friends and Caracas, what she still calls home. She is no less Venezuelan now; still loudly spewing Spanish at the speed of light, fun, gorgeous and full of energy! But, she's not at home and I know it kills a part of her.
I think of her every time something "goes down" in Lahore. I think of how her family had the courage to pack up and leave and how they must have had no other option and how I don't know if I'd ever be able to. I know I want to move out of here just so I have only good memories of Lahore. The memories of old Lahore as I remember it from my visits back during my childhood: the smell of the sand in the canal as the water reappears, come spring; the sound of a rickshaw and the rattling truck that carries hundreds of glass coke bottles; and the time a crow stole a rusk from my hand as I sat daintily in the garden of grandparents' house in Muslim Town (to date, crows petrify me). These are my memories of Lahore. Now, they're fading and being replaced by memories of how we escaped the office in July, 2009, when a bomb hit the security offices across the street on Mall Road, or of where I was when the earthquake of 2005 hit or of when I visited Swabi last summer.
I just pray that Pakistani's leave, not like Anne and her family to escape without knowing if and when they can return, but because they want to and because they return with a sense of pride of their country and their culture. I hope that the hope and resolve that we're constantly reminded of doesn't fade and translate into anger and frustration. I pray that we don't lose the faith.
"Tu nishane azmealishan arze Pakistan; Markaz-e-yaqin shadbad." - Pakistani National Anthem
[Translation: Symbol of high resolve, Land of Pakistan; Blessed be your fortress of faith.]
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