Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Bullah smiled yet again

October 15, 2017

the pull

tangible

hard

like a rope

round the neck

unstoppably

choking

only letting off

if i give in

and yield i did

driving to beat

the setting sun

feeling the presence

i reached

and the tears

unstoppable

ran like i walked

and there the presence

someone turning

looked at me

arms enveloping me

a radiant face

a voice firm and vibrant

for its age

so good to see you here

handsome countenance

i heard him say

his attendants held my hand

kissed them

turned and went

the tears flowed

oblivious to all

i felt you

like i did when i

came to ask you

why?

and Bullah smiled

yet again

4/9/2017

18.50

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now us

October 15, 2017

you morphed into me

that is all i see

together from me to us

now we be!

apex corruption and concealment

August 17, 2017

my blog after a long time on the situation prevailing in pakistan these days
——————-

During the German bombing of London, Prime Minister Winston Churchill during a briefing on the economic collapse suffered due to the bombings asked, “Are the courts functioning?” On getting the answer in the affirmative, Churchill said, “Thank God. If the courts are working, nothing can go wrong.”

Churchill was no Godfather, and the British proved they were not a nation of shopkeepers, and ruled most of the then known world for close to two centuries, and even today many nations look to them for a guide to good governance and an aid to grow.

For the past many months’ banners inscribed with the slogan 'Say No to Corruption' were hung in almost all places where anyone with money would go – banks, post offices, government offices and such.

While it is dubious as to what effect these had in real terms to curb corruption, one thing I am sure would have happened, some people would have asked for more gratification or 'welfare' money to cater being exposed.

And now a word about the infamously famous judgment of the Supreme Court of Pakistan in the case of family and personal affairs of the prime minister – everyone who was or is anyone in the ruling party, raised their voice to harp on one single agenda point – the prime minter had not been indicted on corruption charges as the Head of Government, but on flimsy and untenable issues.

And everyone jumped on the band wagon and harped the same tune – no one minded that the emperor’s new clothes were no clothes – and just got blinded by the dust raised in the fiasco of seventy days.

And then the inevitable dragging out lists of the house of sheriff’s corruption, and quiet an impressive list it was, which also soon got drowned in the din of clean, return to grace, down but not out started again. And we as a majority gullibly swallowed it hook, line and sinker.
So let’s roll back the carpet a bit to see the dust, or as they say, let’s see the fire where the smoke is rising from.

First off, not one Prime Minister in Pakistan completed their term and was removed for one reason or the other, but corruption as an issue was in two recent cases that the incumbent had to contend with. And in the din of celebratory bugle calls highlighting disqualified not on corruption in office charges, forgot that the issue was not one of corruption but of concealment of wealth. And in the run up to the actions in the coming six weeks even the fourth estate – the press named so in 1837 in view of its increasing prominence and power in the affairs of nation’s – went for a ride, implicit or explicit, and did not ask the corruption version concealment question.

Sane voices, few of which are speaking, are clear in their opinions on the issue, yet the very anchors on whose programs they are invited to express their views, come up with suspect questions leaving a doubt to muddle the otherwise clear waters; so once again who is leading who? At least when blind leads blind they use white canes to show the people it’s a blind show!

And then there are voices ready to blame even the trees for what is happening in the country, stooping below than the level of street urchins in their choice of vocabulary, and gloating at having outdone the opposition in the choice of words!

The courts in Pakistan do not enjoy a very good reputation where dispensing justice is concerned, and now when the apex court has handed down a landmark decision, everyone had ridiculed its judgement. The judges have heard the tirade flowing from all ruling party leaders with remarkable patience; seems like people have forgotten the recent past when Suo-motu notice was the order of business, one wonders what would have happened if this case had been heard in those days!

So where do we stand? Corruption verses concealment, disqualification, election of a new leader of house, a new cabinet in a few days, an election and selection of another leader of the house, and of course the sword of Damocles in the form the NAB reference in six weeks, are focuses for the soothsayers next round of predictions and professing about what will happen and where the next issue will raise its head from!

Meanwhile, it’s all quiet in the homes of the slum dwellers who have since gone to sleep after the last call for prayers as for them the more pressing issues are where the next meal will come from, which begum will give the next dress for them to cover their body, and a hope that they will not fall ill, because they can clean the big doctors clinics but not dream of being treated by the same doctors. And around them buzz the mosquitoes, breeding in the puddles of water all around the slums for the 'baray saabs' in the committee office do not see these puddles as breeding ground for dengue bearing mosquitoes for it’s the middle class areas which are slums for the upscale residential areas, that are more important to spray!

And tomorrow, each city cross road will see these people out in numbers, begging to make ends meet. For them it’s not corruption or concealment of millions of millions but just begging for subsistence.

Corruption anyone, or would you rather do corruption and concealment?

http://nation.com.pk/blogs/03-Aug-2017/on-corruption-and-concealment

the balm of time

August 9, 2017

کہتے ہے کہ وقت کا مرہم

زخم سارے بھر دیتا ہے

یہ کیسا مرہم ہےسارے

زخم ہرے کر دیتا ہے

Reiki level III

August 8, 2017

attuned almost 2 years back posting now as feel confident about it

petrichor

July 24, 2017

that look of concern
or mocking perhaps
in the thought that it all
was a made up farce
a story or nothing at all
just an attempt at
seeking attention

slowly the smouldering depths of eyes
that did not
reflect the smile
on the lips
awakening to a new
understanding

that the drama played
may not be a farce
no masks no direction
just a flow
going where the flow went
and in that brief instant
he caught the curtain shift
to glimpse a fire
deeper than the
earth under the feet
and then
tottering on the corner
of the eye
a tear
enough to wet the
eons of dried earth
and
petrichor

22.07.2017
00:09 hours lahore

triumph

November 26, 2016

The easiest thing for us all to do is to sit and morosely say I have nothing!

And when I saw Triumph as the topic for The Missing Slate’s open mike session, I said here is a chance to think of the other side of sitting and thinking I have nothing.

So triumph it is!

Let me delve a bit in to the past.

Triumph for ma as a kid was associated with the famous Arc de Triumph in Paris, which was built over a hundred and eighty years to commemorate the French revolution and Napoleonic wars. The tall big gate like structure, on the end of the Champs-Elysée in Paris, which of course any French person will correct you to pronounce as Parree, with its night illumination was more than enough to impress a young tourist kid of the majesty of being triumphant!

Fast forward to final year in school and bicycling to school like most school mates and grudging a couple of school mates who came on Vespa’s, till one day a class fellow came not on a Vespa but on a motor cycle – and that too not just any motor cycle but a brand new shining full of chrome Tiger Cub, yes a Triumph Tiger Cub!

And triumph took on the meaning of a shining roaring beeping motorcycle.

And as is said there is many a slip between the cup and the lip.

These two triumphs were not the end of triumphs in life but as I look back now just the beginnings.

The seasons changing from May to June many years ago in Peshawar was close to unbearable, but I was happy that soon this heat would be lessened by the pleasantness of Abbottabad. And Abbottabad it was; only the regimen made life tough and the weather became secondary to survival.

However the Pakistan Military Academy gave new meaning to life, I found that I could do things better and that gave me an impetus. The desire to triumph this time in perhaps the actual meaning of the word.

And I got down to the serious business of winning. Going the extra mile, working, physical fitness, drill, and what have you led us to the day when we were all gathered in the Ingall Hall to hear our fate, and my name was called out last.

I was to pass out with the top honor.

I had triumphed.

And then life started in earnest. The triumph as is said cost me dear (mehangi pari). The bar had been set high for me by none other than myself!

And everyone expected me to “do better” than the rest. And luck played her innings on my side of the fence, and I did not let myself down.

And then the second call came. I was on the Siachen glacier, and in a glacial valley 18 of my men got buried under an avalanche.

Those of you who remember the Giyari incident, with the search operation undertaken with machinery and implements, can not imagine the back breaking search for the buried men, with each dig with picks and shovels, and often with bare hands almost getting frozen to the point of breaking off form the wrists, the danger of getting buried alive like those we dug for looming on our heads.

And finally on the 14th of August just as luck would have it, I asked the team to change the direction of the search in a 180 degree turn. And 20 yards of tunneling under snow and three hours later we managed hit the feet of the last soldier, another two hours and we had retrieved the last of the bodies; the sky shattering Allah ho Akbar still reverberates in my mind and gives me goose bumps almost 28 years later.

That was nothing but the tenacity of the troops and their will that made us work for over a month in the most hostile of conditions to not leave a fellow soldier behind that led to this triumph. Although it was counted as a notch on my totem pole, this triumph truly belonged to the men under my command.

And I sat and relaxed, having had my fair share of wins, I started to live life as a normal human being occasionally talking of the good and the triumphs, and tribulations of life, I saw myself joining the ranks of the veterans!

Till the 5th of October of 2009 when I joined the ranks of the ordinary Pakistani in the street!

That Pakistani who you see on your television screen after the breaking news flashes and live exclusive coverages of a terrorist attack – standing arms akimbo crying, hurt, not sure what happened to him and why he was one of the people at the venue of another bomb blast!

That Pakistani who you change the channel on.

The loss of a loved one in a suicide bomb attack is something that cannot be explained or talked about. It is something that only the one who goes through the catastrophe can understand!

I felt that all that I had done in life, everything I had worked for achieved and triumphed over, was taken from me in the flash of the exploding explosive of the suicide jacket!

And then I got an opportunity to speak about my loss, and I realized that I had to become the voice of the survivors of terrorism in Pakistan. And I started to look for and meet survivors and talk to them so I could share our grief.

The first time I met a widow, she just sat there and looked at me, I could feel her look pierce my body, go through my heart and reach my very soul.

I sat silent, while all round thee was sounds of sorrow.

Yet we sat silent, shallow breathing and blank stares, as blank as our minds and hearts.

And then she sobbed, and started to speak. Everyone all round fell silent, twenty days she had stoically braved the loss, putting up a brave face, and finally she broke. Her husband was all she had and now she did not have him.

And this started my crusade to speak truth to terror, and try to bring succor to others like me crushed under the burden of the will of God and culture of silence prevailing in our society.

And this ability to emphasize and make people speak of their loss has been my greatest triumph.

Finally as Nelson Mandela said, I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.

 

16 -06-2016. Lahore

Back Home Blues

April 27, 2016

An essay i read on 27 April 2016

A hectic week of buying, sorting out and ticking off of the list, and packing; with farewell dinners and teas thrown in for good measure; found me sitting in the GTS bus for a journey to Abbottabad, with the proverbial pae’tie (tin trunk) and canvas bistar bund (bed roll) loaded on the top of the bus – yes in those days of non AC Foton and Daewoo busses the luggage was carried on the roof top rack!

And so on the evening of 4th June 1969, I reached Abbottabad, got into a waiting military truck along with a few other gangly kids for the 15 minute or so ride to the Pakistan Military Academy.

The next many years were spent serving between Somiani on the Arabian Sea to Siachen, the highest battle ground in the world and having the best of times.

Home was the sarkari ghar allotted – setting it up, decorating it, living and entertaining in it, till the time came to pack and move and the process restarted.

In all this setting up homes and moving from city to city, somewhere at the back of the mind was the picture of “back home” – the home I left in 1969 and visited once a year every year, meeting the permanent inhabitants of that home, my parents.

Welcoming us as they would do guests – who would soon go back to the alien world they came from and life would come back to the normal without such intrusions.

Of course there were unscheduled visits back home also, deaths and marriages called for our presence – obediently following the rituals returned to our life outside this cocoon of our youth!

In all these changes the only constant being a flower pot with a money plant planted in soil which like the money plant was taken from the flower bed back home.

And then as they say life came full circle and it was time to finish the business in alien lands and return home.

Roots tugged, I now wonder if it were the soil calling the money plant or home calling me?

Visions of walls with antiques, paintings, artifacts and rooms large enough to accommodate the whole house that we had lived in flashed in my mind. An empty nest was easy to pack for having lost my better half and knowing back home was also without the mother was hard; yet knowing I would be welcome to the home of my youth, missed for forty seven years but not acknowledged for fear of nostalgia intervening and making life difficult.

And then the off white walls of the house and the memories, and the laughter of days gone by, and the mischief filled hours, all started to pale before the reality of life back home; where once my youth thrived now lived a lost in nostalgia old man who responded to my calling him Daddy with a smile, and occasionally with stories of an age gone by.

And “back home” was no longer the colorful and joyous memories kept alive for forty seven years, but back home was blue.

I could not sit and enjoy things happening around me, because nothing happened unless I did it. Reality.

Reality also was that now I was no longer the same gangly footloose and fancy free boy of 1969, but a weather beaten experienced and rubbed on the wrong side by life garrulous, grumpy getting on in years man.

Reality was being called uncle or sir gee in shopping malls as I took time to read labels to see if the ingredients were good for me or not.

As I sat and thought about rediscovering home, I wondered if I was somehow thinking of and writing about what a few years from today my children would be experiencing when they came “back home” from their sojourns in foreign lands?

And I cringed, and wrote about rediscovering home.

Only this became back home blues.

Blue Ice

tears are of the same color

March 6, 2016

irrespective of whose tears, mothers, husbands, sons, fathers, brothers, tears are of the same color!

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/robi-damelin/our-tears-are-the-same-color_b_9196712.html

The Lahore that lahore Was

September 10, 2015

my last blog about Lahore

I wish I could say “Lahore Lahore aie”, but then I would be unfaithful, both to Lahore and my memories of that city of my childhood