Amir Mehdi Khan of Hunza

 

Gusse ki Aankh

I read horrible news of a desi family in Houston - where parents got killed in Suicide-cum-Homicide and kids are under 'Child Protective Services' (here). Whatever triggered one parent to pull trigger on whole family, reminded me of my Dadi - who use to remind my father during his usual spells of anger.

"Gusse ki aankh nahi hoti"

(Gussa aag ki ruhani shakal hai - jo qaboo main rahe to tuaam ka intazam kerti hai, be-qaboo ho jaaye to ghar jala deti hai - Anger is the spiritual form of Fire. If it remains in line, it creates food, but if gets out of control, it burns the house).

Suicide!

I work in a profession where I see life and death up close and front. But every time if  I hear someone committed a suicide, I feel an electric shock and remain motionless for minutes.

I don't want to create a story on someone's tragedy. In short, a woman slapped other woman in a desi party. She felt so humiliated, she went home and killed herself leaving behind 2 kids.

"........." ?????!!!

Sheer shock!

http://youtu.be/nI51ESCus1U

One baby grave!

I am not a regular visitor to graveyards except if I have to go to a funeral. Last week, I had to go to a funeral of one relative. After rites were over I took a detour to read plates (kutbe) of various graves around. I saw graves of all ages but one grave caught my eye. It was a grave of a 20 days old baby from year 2006 but many new stuffed animals and flowers were lying on it, like it was visited recently and kutba read:

For moments in our arms, 

Forever in our hearts..... 

I stayed there for few moments. Ye Aulad ka dukh bhi bara harami hai, saari zindagi chen nahi lene deta

Zindagi hairan hun main!

Peechle do din main 2 khabrain aesi parhne ko miliN ke dimag sun hai

1. A Pakistani father killed his 3 kids over divorce custody battle (here)

2. A Pakistani couple killed in road accident leaving behind 2 kids (here)

Tujh se naraz nahi zindagi hairan hun main

lost

Tum mujh se poochte ho na ke main shadi kiun nahi kerti to sun lo - meri kahani sirf aik 'line' ki hai.

"Main aath(8) baras ki thi. Aik din mere abbu kaam se ghar wapas nahi aaye. Us din se mujeh rishtoN ki sabati pe aitabar nahi raha!"

7 sisters, A bhai and Greek mythology

(An email reply I received after a 29 year old brother of my colleague died in a car accident. He was youngest of seven sisters).

"I am a very christian person. I go and take my kids to church every Sunday. I asked, cried and protested to God without any answer. They say Greeks have a word for everything, and there is no human situation the Greeks didn't describe.The Greeks say it's a sin against the Gods to love something beyond all reason. Our love killed him. We are seven sisters and he was our only brother. And when someone is loved so, the Gods become jealous, and strike the object down in the very fullness of its flower. There's a lesson in it. Its profane to love too much..."

7 uncles, liver failure and 'Mayyat ki izzat'

On Medicine, Cultural barriers and Ethics.

"My last uncle (mamu) died today. I had 7 uncles (Mamus). My first uncle died at age of 42 when I was 7 years old and than later one by one each died every 5 to 7 years in line. One of my uncle was computer engineer and he moved to USA years ago. He was diagnosed of liver failure when he died. Later in Pakistan 3 uncles died of same diagnosis. None were alcoholic and interestingly all workup turned negative on youngest uncle but he died today with same diagnosis. He complained of fever, headache and not feeling well for few days. Thats it! On his death I suggested taking his liver out and send to Pathology. If we get diagnosis we may save a whole lot of people in next generation. For me it was a no brainer but elders in family refused on the ground that "Bhai hum mayyat ki behurmati nahi kerwa sakte" .

Children of a lesser God

Life is not fair. This blog is about how life presents differently to different people. Following is taken from internet. Without comment.

" I am the oldest of five children by four different fathers. My mother emotionally and physically abused all of us, but I received special attention. She told me how worthless I was and how much she hated me. When I was 12, my mother put the two youngest children up for adoption. I was placed in foster care and have had little contact with the family. I'm now happily married and have a successful career and caring friends. Through much introspection and the assistance of a good therapist, I have been at peace for many years—until recently. The two siblings who were placed for adoption found me a few months ago through a social-networking Web site. It turns out they have been in constant communication with my mother for several years. Neither of them recalls their early life, and I am hesitant to talk about it. I haven't heard much from the brother, but the sister calls frequently. She desperately wants us to be one big happy family. I have repeatedly told her that can't happen. Conversations with her leave me depressed, and I've started avoiding her calls. Childhood memories have resurfaced. I find myself caught up in that "worthless loop," and then I feel guilty for not being able to let bygones be bygones. The siblings and I don't have anything in common besides blood. What do I owe them? How do I handle this?

—Not in the Family Way"

Source: here

Asim Butt - 2

(From Ahsan Butt)

We are working to document and catalogue Asim’s work and require the help of his friends and all those who communicated with, loved and respected him. Please share whatever you can about him and his work, specifically communication you had with him including letters and emails no matter how trivial, pictures, notes, description of his work which you own, and any other information which would help us in putting together a comprehensive account of his life and work. We realise many might not feel comfortable sharing personal communications if they contain personal references, but any such correspondence is not for publication or dissemination and will only be used, if necessary, to derive an idea of the thinking which went into the making of his art. To ensure Asim is accorded his rightful place in the pantheon of Pakistani artists, and to show just how much we all loved him, please help us in preserving his memory for posterity.

Ali Dayan Hasan
ali.asimicus@gmail.com

Arif Pervaiz
arifpervaiz@gmail.com

Asim Butt - another to die in dark lane

Asim Butt ne Khud kushi nahi ki bulke use hum sab ne mil ker maara hai

naarsai agar apni taqdeer thee
teri ulfat to apni he tadbeer thee
kisko shikva hai agar shouq ke silsiley
hijr ki qatal_gahooN se sab ja miley
qatal_gahooN se chun kar humarey alum
aur niklaiN gaiN usshaq ke qafley
jin ki raah-e-talab se humarey qadam
muKhtasar kar chaley dard ke fasley
kar chaley jin ki Khatir jahaaN_geer hum
jaaN gaNva ke teri dilbaree ka bharam
hum jo tareek rahooN main marey gaey (Faiz)*

See Asim's work here

Read more here, here, here, and here

*If not to reach you was our fate
but to love you was our accord
So who complains if these matters of desire
brought me to death cell of (eternal) isolation
From same death cell holding up distinct flags,
new caravan of lovers will emerge
Their ardent desire made (my) steps
to shortened the distances of sorrow,
it’s because of them that we ruled the world,
By sacrificing life we entertained your heart
we who died in the darker lanes.

Usre Yusra

I didn't blog much in last one week, as I was trying to overcome the shock of death of one of my very good friend. Imagine a friend, who you meet everyday - who is always smiling, helping and ready to give fair advise - who you talk to in the morning and in the evening you get news that he is shot dead during house robbery, leaving behind a 2 year old and a pregnant wife!

It took me sometime to overcome the grief. I tried to find solace in books, movies, internet and may-o-meena-o-ayag but without any help. I can't explain but what bring some relief to my heart were 2 small ayats from Quran. Actually, the same thing is said twice - telling me how important is this message of life:

F'inna-m'a'l-usre-yusra. Inna m'a'l-usre-yusra (94:5-6)
(So verily, with every difficulty, there is relief:
Verily, with every difficulty there is relief)

It took me back 16 years ago, when we all friends were going through little tough time trying to find residency spot in USA. One of my friend received news of having baby back home in Pakistan. He jumped with joy in Chicago's lincoln park and named his daughter Yusra. Indeed! he was smart and was able to connect the dots of this universal mystic web.

Allah hum sab ko asani de aur asani taqseem kerne ka sharf de (Ashfaq Ahmad)

Mr. Singh ki kahani

"Mr. Singh, the widower, grew up in a boisterous Indian household with 14 family members. In Fremont (california), he moved in with his son’s family and devoted himself to his grandchildren, picking them up from school and ferrying them to soccer practice. Then his son and daughter-in-law decided “they wanted their privacy,” said Mr. Singh, an undertone of sadness in his voice. He reluctantly concluded he should move out. So when he leaves the Hub, dead leaves swirling around its fake cobblestones, Mr. Singh drives to the rented room in a house he found on Craigslist. His could be a dorm room, except for the arthritis heat wraps packed neatly in plastic bins.

“In India there is a favorable bias toward the elders,” Mr. Singh said, sitting amid Hindu religious posters and a photograph of his late wife. “Here people think about what is convenient and inconvenient for them.”

Read full story here from NYtimes

Schizophrenia

I have seen few casses of schizophrenia during my practice and very much convinced that more than a psychological disorder, its a physiological disease. Its just unfortunate that few people get it. No they are not crazy people. Its just like diabetes, coronary artey disease or breast cancer which strike many people without their own fault.

"Doctor Sahib, chote chote bonoN (dwarf) jesi koi makhlooq hai. HazaroN ki taadat main mere aas paas jama rehte hain. Bus dar lagta hai mere ooper na char doraiN. Soti hun to bister ke neeche jama ho jaate hain. Kubhi yun mehsoos hota hai, bahir khirki ke jama hain. Aik shor sa har waqt machaye rakhte hain. Har waqt ayatul kursi parhti rehti hun magar koi faraq nahi parta. Kisi aur ko nazar nahi aate na sunai dete hain. Dr. Sahib, log kehte hain mujhe schizophrenia hai. Hoga magar khuda ki qasam - kuch to hai jo sach hai. Sab kuch jhoot nahi. Ye sirf mere dimag ka khalal nahi...."

Meri aik Nazam GAZA ke naam

Gaza main jo bapi hai aaj qayamate sugra
kaanp gayi dharti, aasmaan sarak gaya

"Qatle Hussain asal main hai marge yazeed"
Islam phir zinda hoga ke hua phir karbala

Ye to taalim-e-torah ho nahi sakti kisi tarah
beh'ta khun, jalti aag, har taraf badal siyaa(h)

Ibne-maryam ko dhund ke lao kahin se yaaro
ke insaanoN ko bachaye, woh suli ka meseeha

Mujrim woh hai jo zulm dha raha hai, magar
Khamosh jo haakim hain, banao unka katehra

"sabbath' ke roz maut, khauf aur khun ki holi ?
"das aehkam" ye to na the, ke manao aashura

Barood se qaumaiN mitti nahin, batao nadaN ko
werna aaj bhi hota arz pe namrood ka basera

Duaa kerte raho dil main apne, agar majboor ho
yaqeen rakho ke raat ke baad aata hai sawera

Man who was not the father

From one of my favourite blogger karrvakarela

".....Or the man who, even when he found out at the time of transplant that he wasn't the father of his daughter, still took care of her. Her own mother abandoned the child but this man stayed with her, steadfast until the very end. The girl died in his arms..."

Read full post here

Mani ki Kahani

(I am cross-posting few parts from Baraka's recent post with permission. She left me speechless for many minutes in front of computer screen).

"...........Before my cousin Mani committed suicide in May, he was homeless for one period, in jail for another. He was the last person you’d expect either of, with two masters’ degrees from reputable Bay Area universities, a job at Sony, and a devoted wife and adoring son - all the stuff that is supposed to signal success and protect you from becoming one of the unwashed crazies on the street. But when his first mania struck at the age of 32, within weeks he had lost everything. As his mind boiled with fantasies and conspiracies, he spent his savings, lost his job and apartment, and then left his family, reputation, and sense of self-worth behind, never to be recovered. Two years later at the age of 34, after great suffering and consistently refusing to accept his condition or seek treatment, he shot himself in the head while his sick and aging parents slept in the next room............

I locked his memory away without allowing myself to grieve in May, too busy tending to a houseful of distraught women, including his wife, and to a frantic child, his son. Five months later it is still too painful to imagine his agony and isolation before he died, believing that we didn’t love him, that we were all against him. I still have all of his e-mails and the replies I sent him, unbearably harsh now in retrospect, because I didn’t understand that it was the disease speaking for him............His tragic death - and my role in contributing to it - showed me how serious a medical condition bipolar is; how imperative psychotherapy, medications and empathy are; and how deadly the consequences of not informing ourselves of the lethality of the disease proved to be. Lithium is as necessary as prayer.

For the first time since May, I find myself mentioning Mani in detail, here, and to her, because I hope that by speaking of his death, she - and others - might live.........I hope that he knows that I love him. But my mind recoils imagining that he does not know, and at someday having to answer his now five-year-old son when he asks me how and why his father was killed."


Read full post The Slippery Slope

Related previous post: Saving a person

Baap ka saaya !

Jub main america main residency dhundh raha tha to aik din aik hospital main mulaqat aik Pakistani lurke aman se hui. Aman us hospital main RT (Respiratory Therapist) tha. Mere pass car nahi thi. Aman mere bare kaam aaya. Woh raat bhar hospital main job kerta aur subha mujhe apni car main le ker mukhtalif hospitals ke chakkar lagata. Yun Aman se meri kafi gheri dosti ho gai. Mera uske ghar aana jana bhi huwa. Aman ka aik beta Jamal tha aur woh hu-bahu Aman ki 'copy' tha. Mujhe aehsas huwa Jamal apne baap se bohut qareeb hai. Kher, waqt guzar gaya. Main kisi aur shahr chala gaya. Main residency main lug gaya. 2/3 baras usse koi ziyada baat nahi hui magar 1996 ke Christmas wale din hum ne 2 ghante khub dil khol ker pakistan ki siyasat se le ker sinfe-nazuk ki nafsiyat per batain ki. Is doran kai dafa usne apne bete Jamal ka zikar kiya !

Aur aik hafte baad 1997 ki new year ki subh main phone ki ghanti se bedaar huwa. Aman ko new year ki night kisi drunk driver ne hit kiya, and he died on the spot. Mayyat (funeral) wagera jese hota hai wese huwa. Jub saare log Aman ko dafna ker chale gaye to main akela kafi der Aman ki qabar ke paas khara agar-batti ka dhunwa dekhta raha. Aik achha insan aik dum se yun chala jaaye aur baqi reh jaaye sirf agar-batti ka dhunwan !! I couldn't decide how to react !!

Jamal ki umer us waqt 8/9 baras rahi hogi. Woh chup tha. Main ne use rote nahi dekha. Aesa lagta tha, jese he didn't know what exactly happen and that his father is gone forever.

Is baat ko 8 baras aur guzar gaye. 2005 ki eid per main florida gaya to Jamal nazar aaya. Yun mehsoos huwa jese Aman saamne khara ho. Aga ne bataya Jamal ko depression ka shadeed marz ho gaya hai. Main ne Jamal se kaha, aao drive ker ke aate hain. Jamal ne mujh se koi baat na ki. Woh sehma sehma passenger seat pe betha raha. Main ne poocha: "Do you drive?" Us ne jawab diya: "No. Cars kill people".....Aur phir usne kaha: "I miss my father" !

'Beloved' baap ka saaya aik dum se uth jaaye to bachhon pe kiya guzarti hai uski misal mere saamne thi. Mujhe yun laga jese Jamal ki zindagi bhi usi lamhe ruk gai thi jis lamhe Aman ki.

Us raat drunk driver ne aik nahi do zindagion ko maut ke ghat utara.

Drive safely !

Herpes came home

(following is 100 % true conversation with a Pakistani girl)

"I gave everything of me and myself to him and he gave me Herpes."

Smile Again

Picked up from suffering with behaviours

"Nasreen Sharif was once beautiful. So lovely that when she turned 14 her cousin poured a whole bottle of sulphuric acid on her face as she slept. His only excuse was that he couldn't stand other boys whistling at her when she crossed the street. This young woman is now 23 and she no longer bears any resemblance to that youthful beauty. "My skin melted and my hair burned away. I am now blind, I have no ears and I have no sense of smell."

Please visit this site Smile again Foundation

(Foundation to help female survivors of acid and kerosene oil burns in Pakistan by providing them essential first-aid treatment, appropriate medical attention and reconstructive surgery, psychological/ psychiatric support, shelter and vocational training).