Thursday, September 9, 2010

Washed Away - a short-story*




Rahmat watched the torrential rains fill up his small yard, and by evening, the water seeped inside his mud house. The river got higher and higher, and flowed right over his crop and his land. He tried to tie and lead his two cows to safety, but one of the cows slipped and was washed away, the other refused to move against the water's flow. He had no choice but to leave it where it was. His wife and his children packed up what they could, some dry bread and fruits and what little money they had, hauled it over their 'charpai' (a poor man's bed) and waded through the raging muddy water. When they reached the higher ground, they were drenched to their skin, as were the others who had camped there for safety. Rahmat haggled with a few local men to get a piece of canvas, and tried to make a small tent with it, with what little skill and help he had with his son. His wife and the kids placed the charpai and their two packs of belongings underneath, and sat helpless...staring as their entire village sank into the river. 


At night, they only had a bite of bread with some fruit, and they starved the next morning. The kids were cold and wet, and had no change of clothes. The mother tried her best to keep them warm inside the tent. Some other tent neighbours had managed to get a gas-lamp for some heat and cooking. She looked imploringly at Rahmat, but he had no means to get a gas-lamp for them. Some helicopters flew overhead, and dropped food packs from time to time. Meanwhile, some local men were busy hacking and hammering away the 'bunds' (or the breaks lining the river which was gushing towards the big palace "Haveli" of the local Feudal Lord "wadera") in their effort to try and divert the flow towards what was left of the drowning village. The local men were getting paid by the Wadera, and by evening they could afford to pay for a gas-lamp and some more bread. But their own village had completely disappeared, while the towering Haveli was intact. The Wadera Sahib decided to leave the village, as his purpose here was accomplished - his Haveli was safe, while his poor farmers were homeless.

He arrived in the big city, and was interviewed by a local channel. He explained the extent of damage in his area, the whole village has disappeared, he said. And the people have no food no water, nothing. We need help. His plea was repeated by other Waderas (who had just finished saving their palaces by drowning the locals), and was magnified 10 times over to reach the ears of the remaining country-men. People in cities, feeling sad and distressed for their fellow citizens, poured their money out into the 'relief camps'. Some people, fearing Allah in the month of Ramadan, and how He knows that their latest income comes from corrupt means, decided to placate Allah by donating a fraction of the 'haraam' income into the 'relief'.

Usman Khan was busy lecturing on the politics of the country in USA, when he heard the sad news about his hometown being submerged in the flood. His secretary assured him that all the 'bunds' forcing the water towards his Haveli were broken, so that the water could flow easily into the poor farmer's land, and his Haveli was safe. Usman Khan immediately thanked his secretary, and embarked upon a humanitarian quest to acquire as much aid as he could, while he was still outside his country. He pleaded on TV, and his many admirers and fans, pledged money in foreign currency to his account, and felt that they had atleast done their little part to help those poor people. He made sure that a chunk of that money was immediately used to buy food and clothes and medicines for the flood affectees, while the rest of that money was conveniently left in the bank to gain some interest. Ofcourse, interest (sood) is Haraam, of course, yes it is. That is why I have an account with the Islamic banks, he explained. They only give some 'profit' on the money, that isn't interest.

Gonglo Nawab also decided to make several appearances on tv, condemning the present government for their mismanagement, and went to visit several people injured in the floods and shook hands with them. Later, he washed his hands carefully off the matter, and used a ready hand-sanitizer. His brother and himself were invited to a big Iftaar party soon after, and he should have his hands clean for some digging-in to the samosas and aloo-chat.

The Army were required to pull out people from their rooftops, and throw packs of food to those that could not be helped immediately. The Army was also getting a beating from the government for not mobilizing all the helicopters and all the boats and hovercrafts. But, we don't know how to use those helicopters yet, and the guy who knows how to work those hovercrafts is on vacations to the UK right now, sir, - said the Army. The world must help us with Helicopters and boats!
The Army was also getting stretched in the opposite direction, trying to fight the terrorists, and yet save their brothers from the flood. It is indeed like walking on a tight-rope.

The government was trying not to look too much like beggars, and yet, that was what their 'duty' was at the moment. The aid was coming in slowly, and the beggars had to explain to all and sundry that: no, we will make sure every cent goes to the poor, we promise not to take even a little bit for ourselves. You can come and check my pockets, sir, said the government. Just ignore my bank account in Switzerland, and some property in France and UK, and other places. Now that is my hard-earned rip-off. 

People sitting far away in their drawing-rooms clucked with pity at the scenes shown on TV. Some showed off their wealth and 'humanity'/'religiosity' by telling all who would listen how much they had donated to such and such charity. Some people wrote amazing articles on blogs, newspapers and other places on the internet. A handful of genuine charities tried their hardest to reach the worst hit areas, but couldn't get any further. The rains lashed on, and the flooding rivers did not subside. Half the country was drowning, and yet the terrorists sat together in their caves, and planned to blow up more mosques, more Shias, more Kaafirs disguised as women and children in busy bazaars shopping for Eid, or disguised as Red Cross/UN aid workers. Allah will grant them Paradise for recognizing the Kaafir and the Shaitaan, and blowing themselves up to kill it. 
More foreign celebrities displayed their perfect acting skills, and pleaded for money. More self-righteous people loosened their change. More angry people slammed the relief efforts. Why should we save those people? They're brothers with the terrorists!!! Better nuke them all.

All this time, Rahmat sat under his make-shift home, trying to avoid the helpless eyes of his wife, and the shivering kids. They had had two packets of food from the helicopters (the first he had ever seen in his life), and they had soon been interviewed by a professional looking man who spoke flawless urdu, and told them he was coming on Television. Rahmat didn't know what to say, when the man asked him how he felt. Some people, wearing badges of a political party also came to shake hands and take pictures with Rahmat and his neighbours, and they handed them tokens for 'food rations' at their camp some miles away. Rahmat went to get the food in the evening, and they had a hot meal. At night, more thunder and rains caused the Television man and the Political party people to flee the area. Rahmat had two tokens left but nowhere to get the food. 

When the rivers finally quieten down, he and his neighbours will try and re-build what was lost. He will need to ask for a loan from the big Haveli-owner, the Wadera "feudal lord", so that he could buy bricks and one cow. He will spend his whole life trying to repay that loan. His children will not go to school. No more helicopters will fly over-head. No relief camps would come back, to help build his little mud house. No foreign aid-worker will shake hands with him and pose for the camera. He won't be interviewed for the local TV. The terrorists will come down from the mountains, shaking their AK-47s and Rahmat would pull in his children, and lock his door for fear. They will shower bullets over their town, and shriek and scream. His wife's eyes will fill with tears at the gun-shots, and Rahmat would sit alert and frightened, as the terrorists finally leave the village. The Wadera will invite the terrorists for a "talk" inside his big Haveli, and broker a deal with the terrorists and the government, or Usman Khan, or Gonglo Nawab, or any body else, willing to deal. 

Deals that are of no concern to Rahmat. And comments on the Internet, that do not concern him. And the donated money sitting in Islamic Banks gathering 'profits', that are not his concern. And the world will forget Rahmat one day. 

*entirely a work of fiction.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Grief-stricken countrymen to pay London hotel rent


Last week was one of the worst for the people of Pakistan. 152 people died in an unfortunate plane crash at the Margalla Hills just as the plane was about to land at Islamabad airport. The shock and grief of losing loved ones wasn't even over when the country got hit by the worst monsoon rains and floods, breaking a 90 year old record. So far 400-500 people have lost their lives, and around 600,000 are displaced/injured.

On top of that, the British PM made some controversial and unsettling remarks about the war on terror and Pakistan's role in "exporting terrorism" while on his visit to India. Some of his words are actually insulting to the efforts of the Pakistan Army, and the sacrifice of the civilians of Swat and Waziristan region who have suffered for years due to the armed conflict between the army and the militants, and also US drone attacks.

What's worst is that our dear President is due to visit the same British PM in a couple of days in the UK, where- according to news reports, suites in the most expensive hotel have been booked for his stay. And who pays for his air-fare, and his luxurious suites? Why, the grief-stricken, flood-affected, homeless, distressed people of his poor third-world country of course! I mean, why not? He's our Mr. President, right? He's upholding our "democracy", right?

Monday, July 26, 2010

Synonyms for chaos

I think the word "chaos" occurs quite a lot in my posts. I'm trying to analyse why.

I often have this nagging feeling inside, as if things are happening too fast, too slow, too randomly, to make any sense. Being so connected with the multimedia has lead to this sort of ... overwhelming amount of information, and I wonder if one day...my brain just gives up? And what about information that has an effect on how one feels? Information that is emotionally charged, and higher than normal doses of such, will be bad for mental health. This much I know. But I still can not distance myself from the various sources with such info. Where can I go, o modern world...with the cell phones, the internet, the satellite televisions...?

When these things seem to rush at me all at once, and I can't even catch my breath, I often ask myself...what does it feel like right now? Answer: Chaos.

Everything is chaotic. From the weather, to family, to life, to television, to news, to political conferences that make my heart beat 10 times faster with the implied threats, to health issues, to emotions, to the flooding in some areas of my country, to the people who make random narrow-minded remarks, to the ever-growing religious fundamentalism everywhere. So right now, it is chaos. Utter confusion. Bedlam. Turmoil. Unrest. Lawlessness. Disorder.

I pray for some peace and quiet. For the sake of sanity.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Strange

It's strange how in my country, it only takes 2 rainy days to kill 43 people.
It only takes one storm to flood the plains in Punjab, leading to a significant crop destruction = hunger and starvation = more deaths that are too unimportant to report.
It only takes a handful of evil motorbikers to kill more than 200 people in about 2 months in target killings across Karachi.
It only takes 2 people with weapons to close down shops and businesses, and to create an atmosphere of fear and suspicion throughout the area.
Strange how we haven't ever been struck by war or occupation, but our people suffer day and night.


Thursday, July 22, 2010

Samad et son pousse pousse


I know the title sounds funny. Although 'pousse pousse', in my opinion, seems a more befitting name for the atomizer attached to some luxueus perfume bottle, in French it actually refers to our very own "Rickshaw". 'Pappu' with his pousse pousse anyone?

Today I was watching an entertaining documentary on a cable channel from back home, which was documenting and appreciating the amount of rickshaw and truck "art" and "poetry" that we take for granted in our society. I had a really good time reminiscing about blue rickshaws thuk-thukking about the busy (and hot) streets, trying to squeeze into the smallest area available between two cars, and their dire warning for those driving behind them "pass kar, warna bardasht kar" (something like: either pass me, or bear me thuk-thukking in front of you) in flowery script atop a thickly kohl-lined painted eye (kajrare naina). Aah! rickshaw art, and their amusing attempts at poetry.... "Kabhi aao na Sargodha, surma lagakey!" (not translating this :P)

I was reminded of a very strange occurrence one hot day, several years ago, when my mother and I had decided to go to a market nearby to get something. My mother was having a hard time maneuvering the car among the collective chaos of rickshaws, motorbikes and random people, when a blue rickshaw suddenly decided to block our path head-on. Mother's instinctive reaction: angry outburst at the driver for not noticing this big red car in front of you, daring to drive on the wrong side of the road...are you really blind, rickshaw-walah?

The rickshaw driver caught my eye and gave me a big boyish smile. I recognized him instantly. His rickshaw wasn't overly decorated (as is the norm), it was quite used, with peeling blue paint, and the rickshaw-walah was thinner and shabbier than I'd last seen him. But he had the same smile, and the same nod, and the same wave. He grinned at my mom and me, and then backed his rickshaw into the chaos, and was lost amongst it.

Mother parked the car, and tried to find him among the other blue rickshaws, but we never did.
We didn't speak about it until we were driving home. "It was Samad, can you believe it? Driving a rickshaw?"

Many years ago, for some strange reason, or most probably because my Mother wanted me to, I was enrolled in French classes for the summer at the Alliance Francaise institute. Our teacher was amazing, I made great friends, one of them actually got married soon after and we even got invited, we played table-tennis endlessly during those days, and Samad was our favourite guy. He'd come from a small town near Peshawar (northern province of Khyber) after completing his 10th grade, to look for work in Karachi. A French lady, working as the director of the Alliance Francaise in those days, had taken him in as a doorman and assistant, and Samad had consequently picked up fluent French and broken English, without paying a cent. He was our "Guard" (in Karachi, almost all official buildings and even residences have such guards who own Kalashnikovs for safety purposes), our table-tennis tutor, our unofficial French tutor, and our very own tea-maker. Also, a gardener and the sole caretaker of the 30+ Australian parrots that were living as decorative pets at the institute. Samad and his parrots entertained the staff, the students, the parents, and the members. Occassionally, university students dropped by for a game or two and to chat with Samad, the French pathan of Karachi.

He was quite young, as my mother often said, and quite intelligent. Which was why he picked up the language so fast, he could even read the French magazines, while we would stare at pages trying to make sense of the headings and captions. In his spare time, Samad liked to sing songs in Pushto and French (which he had learned from the French tv in the AF lounge), cook in his kitchenette, and then clean his Kalashnikov. He was quite an interesting person, and a great friend to all. He was highly in-demand around exam-time, as he could help out with almost all the pronunciations and the grammar, not to mention his free tea was a great refreshment.

One day, some religious fundamentalists went on a rampage around the area, burning and attacking buildings they considered were "Western" influences - or maybe they were trying to pretentiously protest yet another something, and the AF building was obviously targeted. I had finished my course a long time ago, and hardly visited the area, and it was quite some time before I realized that the AF institute had closed down (and that it's windows were smashed, and the main-gate was charred). I wondered where everyone might have gone. I thought about Samad sometimes, when I really missed French songs and early morning table-tennis.

Never did I imagine that Samad, our French pathan of Karachi, would be forced to become just another rickshaw-walah roaming the hot and humid streets. When people would wave his rickshaw down for hire, and tell him where to go, they wouldn't even have an inkling about what this ordinary rickshaw-walah sweating in the heat with flushed cheeks actually was: a brilliant table-tennis player, an excellent gardener, and a most amazing French-speaker. Has he forgotten his earlier life? Or maybe, he entertains his passengers still, by singing in french, and writing amusing statements in french on his rickshaw? I honestly hope, that Samad chose the latter outcome.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

The dream




One early morning,

A dream knocked on my door,

And opening it, I saw...

Some guests had come from across the border.

They looked very familiar,

Their words were well-known, and their voices heard before,

I lead them inside to wash away the dirt from their travel,

And made them sit in my orchard,

I offered them some corn bread, fresh from my oven,

And they had brought me some molasses,

Made from last-year's sugarcane crop.


And then as I woke up, I saw...

There was no one at home.

When I touched the oven, it was still warm,

And the sweetness of the molasses,

Was still there upon my lips.


Must be a dream, must have been a dream,

At the border last night, I've heard there was some cross-fire.

At the border last night, I've heard some dreams were killed.


By: S. Gulzar

Translated by me.


Original urdu:

...صبح صبح، اِک خواب کی دستک پر دروازہ کھولا، دیکھا

صرحد کے پار سے کچھ مہمان آئے تھے

آنکھوں سے مانوس تھے سارے چہرے سارے سُنے سُنائے

پاؤں دھوئے، ہاتھ دھُلائے، آنگن میں آسن لگوائے

اور تندوُر پہ مکئ کے کچھ موٹے موٹے روٹ پکوائے

پوٹلی میں مہمان میرے پچھلے سالوں کی فصلوں کا گُڑ لائے تھے


...آنکھ کھُلی تو دیکھا گھر میں کوئ نہیں تھا

ہاتھ لگا کے دیکھا تو تندوُر ابھی تک بُجھا نہیں تھا

!اور ہونٹوں پہ میٹھے گُڑ کا ذائقہ اب تک چپک رہا تھا


خواب تھا شاید، خواب ہی ہو گا

صرحد پر کَل رات سُنا ہے چلی تھی گولی

...صرحد پر کَل رات سُنا ہے کچھ خوابوں کا خون ہوا

Sunday, July 18, 2010

A poem by Faiz


I translated this piece by the famous poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, and shared it with my friends on Facebook (around November last year) on his death anniversary. I would like to re-post it here too:


We will see,
certainly, we will also see,
that Day which is promised,
the Day that is written in the book of Eternity.

When mountains high of cruelty and oppression,
will fly away like wisps of cotton,
when the ground under our feet,
will shudder and shake,
On the heads of the rulers that day,
the thunder shall find its way.

From the Centre of God's land,
every idol will be thrown out,
and we, the faithful, forbidden in "sacred" halls,
shall enter in triumph,
When the crowns will be tossed in air,
and the thrones will sink to dust.

Only the name of God shall remain,
Who is Unseen, yet Omnipresent.
Who is the Beholder, and yet the Beheld.
"I am the Truth!"- shall be the motto,
which is both You as well as Me,
And the People will freely rule this world,
which is both You as well as Me.
~ Original Urdu: Faiz
Translated by: Hareem =)

Original ghazal in Urdu:

Hum dekhenge
Lazim hai ke hum bhi dekhenge
Wo din ke jis ka wada hai
Jo lauh-e-azl mein likha hai

Jab zulm-o-sitam ke koh-e-garan
Rooi ki tarah ur jaenge
Hum mehkoomon ke paaon tale
Ye dharti dhar dhar dharkegi
Aur ahl-e-hakam ke sar oopar
Jab bijli kar kar karkegi

Jab arz-e-Khuda ke kaabe se
Sab but uthwae jaenge
Hum ahl-e-safa mardood-e-harm
Masnad pe bethae jaenge
Sab taaj uchale jaenge
Sab takht girae jaenge

Bas naam rahega Allah ka
Jo ghayab bhi hai hazir bhi
Jo manzar bhi hai nazir bhi
Utthega an-al-haq ka nara
Jo mai bhi hoon tum bhi ho
Aur raaj karegi Khalq-e-Khuda
Jo mai bhi hoon aur tum bhi ho