Benazir's Hand

I received this pic and following text in email from one of my palmist friend:

"Look closely, She has very short life line, abruptly finished (red), but very strong line of fate and fame (blue circle). Mostly, you find this combination in hands who get fame by destiny but die of unnatural cause mostly assassination or accident. Infamous Osama bin laden and famous princess diana have similar combination (OBL & Diana). I guess it was her destiny like her father".

P.S: Z A Bhutto himself had very keen interest in palmistry and famous palmist M M Malik was said to be regularly seeing his lines and actually was warned that election date of March 7, 1977 will lead to his death. Bhutto was aware of one fact - short life spans of Bhuttos. As Irfan Hussain mentioned also in his latest column (here): "Days after he announced that elections would be held in a couple of months in 1977, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was asked by a western journalist how many terms he expected to win.“I am not looking beyond the next term,” he replied. “The Bhutto men do not live very long.”
Click to enlarge pic

Subhe be-noor

Aaj Pakistan ki jo halat hai, mujhe Habib Jalib ki nazam, "aese dastoor ko, subhe benoor ko, main nahi manta, main nahi manta" - bohut yaad aa rahi hai.

Listen in Habib Jalib voice here (taken from windmills of my mind)

Click on image to see enlarge poster.

On Benazir's assassination & aftermath riots

Agar aaj ke daur main bhi nabi aate hote to woh dua kerte:
"Ya Allah! is jungli qaum ko neest-o-naabud ker de".

Maulana Hali hote to phir musaddas ko parhte

Ham hain qatal-o-garat main chalak aese
Darinde hon jungle main bebak jese

Bayan shamshu chole wale ka

Karachi ke ilaqe 'patel para' main aik shaks barson se chole chaat ka thela lagata hai aur naam hai us ka shamshuddin urf 'shamshu chole wala'.

Agar aap shamshu ke chole khane jayain to aap ko is baat ki ijazat nahi hai ke aap, chole ki plate milne ke baad chole mix ker sakain ! Jese woh aap ko chole ki plate haat main de, aap ko wese hi khani pare gi. Agar aap ne chole ki plate ko mix ker ke khane ki koshish to woh aap ko tok dega ke "chamcha mat maaro", kiunke shamshu chole waale ka khayal hai ke plate main chole aur masale mix kerne se us ka asli zaaiqa kharab ho jata hai !

Aksar logon ka wahan jhagra bhi ho jaata hai ke hamare chole hain, jis tarah chahain kha'ain. Ye baat 'shamshu' ko bohut nagawar guzarti hai.

Mere dil main 'shamshu' ki bari izzat hai kiunke woh sirf rupe kamane ke liye chole nahi bechta bulke apne kaam se ishq kerta hai.

Zara aik lamhe ko sochiye ke agar aap koi mussawir hon aur koi aap ki 'painting' khareed ke us per chuna pher de - to aap ko kesa dukh hoga. Bus jab koi 'shamshu' ki plate main 'chamcha maarta hai' to use bhi wesa hi dukh hota hai.

Jinnah ka asli Pakistan - kiya huwa?

Aaj Quaid-e-azam ka yaume-paidaish hai. Mera dil kerta hai aaj un logon ko yaad karun jin ki badaulat Jinnah ke banaye huwe Pakistan ka naam abhi tuk duniya ke naqse pe maujud hai. Ye woh log hain jinhon ne sach likha aur us Pakistan ka mafhoom zinda rakhne ki koshish ki jo Quaid-e-azam ka Pakistan tha, na'ke kisi fauji general ya Ziaul-haq ka islami Pakistan.

Faiz Ahmad Faiz, Habib Jalib, Eqbal Ahmad, Hamza Alvi, Dr. Mubarak Ali, Janab Tariq Ali, Ardeshir Cowasjee, Munnu Bhai (kuch naam) - ye woh log hain jinhon ne na sirf Pakistan bulke duniya main hur zulm ke khilaf awaz uthai aur musibatain jhelin. Ye log Zameer ke qedi hain. Inhon ne sachchai se apne sach ko likhne ki koshish ki.

Agar aap "History and Philosophy of Pakistan" ko sahi andaz main dekhna chahte hain to aap ko Prof. Hamza Alvi ka ye article zaroor parhna pare ga...


On Religion and Secularism in the making of Pakistan

"It was not until the mid-Forties, when the approach of independence began to look like a reality, that the landed magnates of Punjab realised, firstly, that they would not be given an Independent Punjab within the Commonwealth, which they wanted. Secondly they saw a mortal danger to their survival as a class, if independence came to the Punjab under the Indian National Congress. The Congress was fully committed to Land Reform, on which a Committee, presided over Pandit Nehru himself, had been working for some years. The Congress was fully committed to Land Reforms. For the survival of their class, the Punjabi feudals reckoned that Pakistan under the Muslim League was a workable alternative for them, the more so because they knew that if they joined the League, they would, in effect, take it over.They would control it. Mian Mumtaz Daulatana was amongst the first to see this and he joined the Muslim League in 1943. By 1945 virtually all of them had joined it except for a small misguided rump under Khizr Hayat Khan.

The situation in Sindh was similar to that of the Punjab. So by the time that independence came, the feudal landed magnates of Punjab and Sindh had taken over the Muslim League. No ideology except their concern forself-preservation was needed to draw them to the League. The Pakistan movement was not driven by any religious ideology. Many pirs in Punjab and Sindh were among the great landed magnates who opted for Pakistan. At their behest their mureeds celebrated the idea of Pakistan with gusto. From this a false impression has been taken by some scholars that it was the idea of Pakistan which had motivated them, whereas in truth what they were celebrating was the joy of their pir, when he joined the League and there by averted the threat of Congress land reforms."

Click here to read full article

Eid in west

What a remarkable and important post from Mezba


Eid Can Be Fun, No... Really!

Where's Montu?"

"Oh he's at school - he had exams today."

"Montu, why didn't you defer the exams? It's Eid!"

"Oh, I just wanted to get it over with. Besides, Eid sucks anyways."

If you are a kid growing up in the West, how will that kid appreciate Islam when supposedly the most fun thing associated with Islam - Eid - sucks?

Click here to read full post !

2 step conversation

"When I travel, I steal soap, shampoo, gel etc from hotels ".

"What? Are you crazy? Why you do that?"

"I always throw the hotel amenities into my bag. They were suppose to be for me right? When I get home, I put them aside to donate to a local homeless outreach program."


(any comments?)

BE SPECIFIC

A man got two wishes from GOD.

He asked for the Best wine and the Best Woman.

He had the Best Wine and Mother Teresa next to him the next moment.

Moral: BE SPECIFIC

The half-eaten cardamom

Few people get bless with natural talent of writing and saroor is one of them. She is among my must read blog. 3 days ago, she wrote one of her finest post. It was about her father. I could not resist asking her to allow me to reproduce here. With her kind permission.


The half-eaten cardamom

"My father was an exceptionally clean man. I have yet to meet a man who gives as much attention to personal hygiene as my father did.

During the summer months, Abi used to shower twice; once before going to work and once just before bedtime. In the winters he showered once only which seemed a little odd to us. Till his last day he only wore clean and pressed night suits, never repeating them on a second night in a row. Just before retiring to bed he would brush his teeth till his gums bled and would apply a little cologne, massage his hands with a good moisturizer and comb his hair. At times we made fun of him because he always got ready for bed like he had actually woken up. Abi’s pet response was, “you never know who might visit you in your dream. Better be ready than sorry!”

If in case we ever caught our father in the morning before he could dash into the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth, he only spoke in sigh language. He liked tea and after every cup he had half a cardamom to freshen his breath which was carefully placed in his saucer. Sometimes I would wash his trousers only to discover his pockets full of soaked cardamoms which he carried around in his pockets. There were always some in the breast pockets of his night suits. He had some in his briefcase and even the wallet!

Aly tells me that giving Abi’s body a bath was the easiest he had ever done. Abi had showered an hour before his death. There were no food remains in his stomach. You could still smell Paco Rabban on him. After washing his hair Aly used Abi’s comb to brush back his hair just like he liked it – parted on the left side.

I didn’t go upstairs into Abi’s room till two days after his death. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle my loss. And I couldn’t. I clung to his dressing gown which lay lifeless on a chair just like he had taken it off a couple of hours before his death, and broke down until I collapsed and my tears dried. On his dresser was the cup of tea he never drank, but in the saucer was a half eaten cardamom.

That cardamom is now nestled safely in a locket that I wear around my neck, always. The left over seeds have disappeared but my father’s memory lives in a hollow papery shell of a half-eaten cardamom".

Ghalib - The Original hippie

Taken shamelessly and without permission from

windmills of my mind

Snow flowers

Snow despite its all mess, always touches human heart. I received this beautiful email from one friend, on this weekend's snow !


I learnt a new lesson today.
Imagination is dependent on observation...
like output is on invesment.

My economics. I love it, cauz it makes me think of dependencies and vulnerabilities. Economic variables are like humans, vulnerable.

I know, I digress.

Bus ride from school... was tiring, to begin with. I had an exam, was sleep deprived, it was cold and it was snowing... again!

The bus took a turn at 'charlotte and Montreal' and all looked the same. Same buildings, same snow, more mess... as with each passing day, snow it seems is mourning the loss of its virginity...As usual, I was looking outside. Not sure what do I look for everyday... Bus route - 5, more or less same timings. I just always look out. Everyday, I see this man playing with his dog. Lucky dog eh'.

Today my attention was caught be a medium sized tree. Very ordinary. Missing its foliage and one of a kind... and one of a kind, it indeed was. It showed me how observations and imaginations go hand in hand.

The tree had branches, and it was carrying snow. Good thing was; it dint bow down to snow's weight. It stood tall and proud. The most beautiful thing was it had blooming snow flowers.

Yes snow flowers...

I had heard of a snowman, snow angels, snow balls...but I didn't know that snow flowers existed.

I guess snow flowers are like weeds... they bloom and then they vanish...But they do leave memories behind. Like this tree which has now become a part of my imagination... I can think about it, look at it and feel its softness whenever I want...

I am happy, I was looking out!

The Collected Short Fiction of Chintu Parekh

I met some very intelligent and smart people on net, whom I never encountered anywhere else. One blogger who writes very occasionally but so deeply that it always strike my nerves. He nickname himself as karrvakarela . While I was away visiting Karachi, he wrote this beautiful piece. This story has many facets. This story is 'different'. At one end, this is the story of unsoul people living around us but on other hand also story of emptiness which lies deep inside every human. On contrary, this is also the life we all crave sometime to find 'escape' from life. My all hats off to this young man !

With his permission, I am reproducing here:

"This is a book that has never been written. Its author, a short, inconsequential man with a toothpick mustache and impeccable teeth, was never alive. He has no mother or father, no wife or children. He doesn't wake up in the morning to the shrill eruption of an alarm clock. His feet don't slide into plush slippers, his morning shower isn't hot, his breakfast table isn't sprinkled with cornflakes or toastcrumbs. The train station near his house isn't crowded with strangers who aren't waiting for him to occupy his usual seat opposite them. They shuffle on to the train without him and open up their newspapers as if he never existed. They are wise.

Chintu Parekh does not work. He knows nothing of paychecks or deadlines or income tax. He doesn't ride an elevator to the sixth floor and follow a frayed carpet to a cubicle decorated with family photographs. There are no telephones that insist for his attention, no emails that flash across his screen waiting for an urgent response. He doesn't carry a lunchbox smelling of sandwiches. At lunchtime, when all the others are busy inhaling the exotic aromas of takeout or frilly home-cooked leftovers, Chintu Parekh doesn't sniff the air and feel his heart break at the hint of parathas. He doesn't nurture any colleagues or water-cooler alliances. No woman waits patiently for his attention or fastens any hopes of a secure future on to him. He does not carry a cellphone. He certainly never sends text messages. When work ends, Chintu Parekh does not go to bars or nightclubs. Not wishing to be comforted by strangers, he subscribes to no carnal virtue.

In the evening, when night closes around him and the dinner plates are never cleared away, he doesn't sit at his desk and write about his life. He has no ambitions or regrets, no disappointment or failures that haunt him to eloquence. ("Chintu Parekh, Kahan jaa rahe ho?" is never a question he asks himself.) He does not feel his soul shrivel with loneliness at the thought of a life spent alone among shadows and strangers. There have no been no past loves, no failed affairs. He does not excavate through memory to locate slivers of contentment, measures of a live well-lived. Chintu Parekh cannot do that. He was never alive."

Chotu Bhai

Chotu Bhai amma ke koi dur ke rishtedar the magar abbu ke bhi achhe dost the. Unhon ne hame godon khilaya. Chotu Bhai ke 5 bachhe aur hum qareeban saath saath jawan huwe. Chotu bhai ke ghar gurbat ke haaton tang-dasti rahi magar mehnat ker ke rizqe-halal khane wale insaan the. Kubhi kisi ke aage haat nahi pehlaya. Chotu bhai masjid ke bahir khare ho kar qurani ayaton ki frames becha kerte the. Isi kamai se unhon ne 3 betion ki shadian achhe gharon main ki. Aik bachhe ko CA kerwaya aur dusre ne Karachi ke real estate business main khub rupe kamaye.

Peechle mahine main Karachi gaya to ghar walon se pata laga ke chotu bhai ka chota lurka jo CA hai, usne ab ghar walon se nata tor liya hai. Shadi ke baad uski biwi ke liye Karimabad main rehna mushkil tha aur chotu bhai karimabad main barson purani rihaish chor ker clifton ya defence main muqayyad nahi hona chahte the. Zara si baat bari ho gai aur ab bol chal band hai. Bare lurke ne chotu bhai ko masjid ke bahir qurani ayaton ki frames bechne se rok diya ke is main izzat kharab hoti thi. Us ne apne baap ko apne hi office main mulazim rukh liya !

Karachi main mera dusra din tha. Purane janne walon ke kisi bachhe ki shadi thi. Unhe mera pata laga to zabardasti shadi pe le gaye. Shadi hall ke bahir chotu bhai apne bete ki real estate ki advertisement ke pamphlets baant rahe the. Mujhe bara ajeeb laga. Mere cousin ne bataya ke unki yahi naukri hai ke shadi halls ke bahir advertisement ke kagaz baante.

Mujhe dekh ker chotu bhai aik dum jhijhak gaye. Pamphlets ka palanda chupane ki koshish ki to saare kagaz zameen pe gir pare. Bare jhenpte huwe unhon ne saare pamphlets jama kiye. Khare huwe to aankhon ke peeche aansu the. Gale lage, haal poocha.

Main ne pamphlets ki taraf ishara ker ke poocha: "Chotu bhai ye kiya?".

Bharrai hui awaz main bole: "Bete ki naukri hai. Woh jesa bole wesa kerna parta hai. Aik beta to haat se gaya. Ab is burhape main dusre bete ko khona nahi chahta, isi liye ye sab kerna parta hai".

Ahmar ka Pakistan

(Based on true incident)

Ahmar ki umar koi 9 baras hai. Ahmar New York main aik Pakistani parents ke ghar paida huwa. Ahmar ke waldain aik achhi zindagi ka khawab le ker america aaye aur din raat mehnat ki. Jahan unhon ne Ahmar ki taalim-o-tarbiat main koi kasar na utha rakhi, wahan ye bhi khayal rakha ke woh urdu sikhe, Pakistan main apne - dada dadi chacha chachi mama mami aur cousins se 'touch' main rahe. Ghar pe isi maqsad se desi channels lagwaye gaye. Us ke parents use hur Pakistan parade main zaroor le jaate.

Ahmar ke dil main aik apna Pakistan tha jo bohut confuse tha. Aik taraf uske parents ka bataya huwa Pakistan tha. Dusri taraf CNN ka Pakistan tha magar uska dil kerta ke woh bhi Pakistan jaaye, apne cousins se mile - jub uski 'mummy' use sadar main sarak kinare pani puri khane ka qissa batati to woh apne zahan main sadar ki sarkain bana leta. Jub us ke 'daddy' use tower ke bus stop pe W-11 ki mini-bus main charhne ka haal sunate to woh chupke chupke internet pe 'google images' pe 'Karachi W-11' type kerta.

June ki jis dopher uske parents ko mail main green card mosul huwa usi din se Pakistan jaane ka program banne laga. Hur roz ghar main bus Pakistan Pakistan hota. Ahmar ne khud apne hur rishtedat ke liye, kubhi manhattan se to kubhi jackson heights se shopping ki.

Aur phir december ki aik sham Ahmar 'very very excited' apne parents ke saath Pakistan rawana huwa. Fajar ki azan hui aur unka jahaz Karachi airport pe land ker giya. Karachi airport uske liye aik nai duniya thi. CNN ka Pakistan maadum ho chuka tha. Uske parents ka Pakistan zinda jaagta uske saamne tha.

Karachi ke airport se aik gari ne unki gari ka peecha kiya. Jub woh guru-mandir ke paas Garden ke ilaqe main apne dada ke apartments main daakhil hone lage to unhe rok liya giya. Pehle hawai firing ki gai. phir sara saman loot liya gaya. Ahmar ka american passport, uske parents ke Green cards aur saare bags cheen liye gaye.

Ahmar ke dil main ab Pakistan mar chuka hai !

Kaawish

Kiya ye baat sahi hogi ke agar insaan kisi cheez ki sachhe dil se aarzu kare to saari kaainat uske saath kawish main shamil ho jaati hai.