My Tribune article that never got published :-P

THE GLOBAL VILLAGE AND CULTURAL CONFUSION
Umair I. Khan

If Mark David Chapman, John Lennon’s murderer, ever met our generation of Pakistanis, we would all be dead! For those who don’t know why Mr. Chapman murdered one of the greatest musicians the world has seen, it was because he thought Lennon’s enamor for the eastern culture was “phony”. See where I am going with this? Just to make my stand clear, I have nothing against trying to learn the practices of different cultures. In fact, I am not only a huge advocate of the global village, but being a telecom engineer, also responsible for the expansion of our social spheres in my own small way. No, my main concern is that while the world is shrinking, our values for our own cultural heritage are attenuating much more rapidly. Add this to the dogma that comes as naturally to us as breathing, and you have a society where young people who are trying to keep this heritage alive are either made of fun of by their peers or are social outcasts for not being “cool enough”. This kind of puts the whole “Police maaregi toa hum inqilab kaisay layengay” episode in perspective. The person in question here, Zohair Toru, has been the object of ridicule by almost the whole nation for almost a week now and all because he is considered “too burger” or “wannabe” by the rest of the incessantly dogmatic population of our country. Even though I was forced to include this incident as part of this article, I have to admit the poor guy deserves a break after having tried to make his stand clear countless times on TV and the Facebook page dedicated to him (yes join it if you haven’t already, gives some good incite to what was going on in his mind when he said those things).

It comes as no surprise though, that this wave of cultural confusion is in no way gradual. Its rise has been directly proportional to that of the telecommunication and the cable TV industries. In fact, not long ago, the people who wanted to stick to their roots slightly outnumbered the ones who thought that being educated meant speaking English with an accent (no matter how hilariously horrendous it sounded). And then there was the third very small group of young men and women, who were just clueless about which way to go. I confess to have been one of these people as an adolescent.

Having been brought up in an upper middle-class household in Karachi, I was always blessed with the best of both worlds. Along with being taught about the wonders of praying five times a day, I was also taught to appreciate the melodious effects of the pentatonic minor scale. Being the youngest of four siblings in a family that literally did everything together, I had the advantage of being influenced with a very diverse taste in all forms of entertainment. As a result, to date, my taste in music varies from Madam Noor Jehan to Led Zeppelin, and everything in between. Hence, needless to say that as an adolescent, I suffered from an extreme case of identity crisis. On one hand, I did not want to be clichéd a “burger” or a “wannabe” and on the other hand, I did not want to be labeled an “Urdu medium”. Going to a local engineering school after taking my a-level exams didn’t initially help matters either, but eventually it was the four years spent at this place that really helped me grow up and find my true self. It was during this phase of my life that I realized that it is okay to be confused and to act as a bridge between the two extremes. It has now been two and half years since I graduated from engineering college and two years since I came to the US for graduate school. I look around at the younger Pakistanis here in their college days and I see that they try to fit in so hard that the line between adopting the good or bad in a culture becomes hazy to the point of vanishing all together. This makes me thankful that I decided to stay the way I was when I was their age.

Coming back to the present dilemma of our generation of Pakistanis, I should add that by cultural confusion, I do not just mean the Westernization of our society. There is another very prominent wing of young and not so young alike who think that acting like they have come straight out of a Bollywood flick will make them the embodiment of awesomeness. According to me, the reason for this widespread confusion is the urge to be accepted by the rest of the world. What we do not realize is that this behavioral pattern is making us lose our identity. Does this mean that we are becoming so ashamed of ourselves, as a nation, that we feel the need to change who we are? It is time we realize that it is not our culture that makes us unpopular, but our intolerance. Moderation does not mean that we leave the right extreme and jump to the left extreme. It means that we can incorporate the best of all theologies in our thought process, instead of keeping one and rejecting the others all together.

Having said that, I believe all hope is not yet lost. Our music and fashion industries, for example, are keeping our culture alive. Establishments like Coke Studio are responsible for bringing our legendary musical genres of ghazals and qawwalis back into the limelight. Cricket is another passion that keeps us all united; even though there are those who have become “too cool for cricket”, but they are an insignificant minority and can easily be ignored by the masses. Although, it’s funny how, for about a month now, the Facebook statuses of these same people negate their constant bickering about everyone but themselves suffering from the Cricket Fever. In the end, all I wish is that the true Pakistani culture remains part of the global village for centuries to come. It is a dream of mine, and undoubtedly, of countless others that our country will rise up from the ashes of the political and natural turmoil it is now facing and make its own place in the enormous family unit this world is becoming. Let us all, then, get over our differences and do our own little part in representing our nation in a positive way to the rest of the world.

Chicken Soup for the Soul

IN SEARCH OF JOY
By Umair Ishaq Khan

He kept wondering where he had gone wrong. He just could not come up with a valid explanation for her behaviour. But this had always been the case. Her behaviour at most instances was unpredictable; and later, incomprehensible. It was also true that she never apologized, but quietly made up for her rudeness with a favourite dish for dinner and a romantic evening in the living room after that. This time, though, she just would not talk. This time he knew something had gone terribly wrong.

The doctors had warned him that this day would come. Wait a minute! Had she found out about the doctors? Certainly, even a normal woman would react this way if she found out that her husband was sending live web cam feeds of her every move to a bunch of white-coated individuals claiming to know what was going on in her mind more than herself. But this was a long shot. She had not found out about the cameras in six years, there was no reason to believe that she had this time. The possibility, though, could not be completely overruled.

The doctors had also said that she was in constant fear of something. Had her fears come to life? She had always managed to avoid the topic earlier. Should he push harder this time? He decided to take the chance.

As he entered the dimly lit living room, he could clearly see her blood shot eyes in the light of the reading lamp. Knowing the answer, he still proceeded to ask, “What’s the matter Sab? You seem to have been crying.”
“No hun’, it’s nothing. It’s just that this book is really emotional,” she answered with a blank expression.

Normally, he would let the matter be after this response; as per the advice of the doctors. But this time he decided to get it out of her. So he sat down beside her and started caressing her hair as if nothing had happened.

Soon, as he had hoped, she rested her head on his shoulder and started weeping. He decided not to push too hard, and let her weep quietly. This was the first time in six years that she had shown any emotion after the period of indifference. But, then again, this was the first time it had lasted more than a day. Soon she got tired of weeping and fell asleep in his arms. He continued to caress her hair, not disheartened as the weeping was definite progress.

A quarter hour later, he was woken up by the sound of mumbling. With some delight, he strained to hear what she was saying in her sleep.
“Leave her alone ... don’t beat her … it isn’t her fault … she was helping me with homework.”

This was all he could make out. He knew that the doctors had heard this too and decided to visit the clinic the next day. That night they slept in the living room. The next morning was a sunny one and things were back to normal as he was enjoying his favourite breakfast. Nothing of last night was mentioned and he left for work with his mind full of possible diagnoses.

His day at work was not very productive as he could not concentrate on his work. On his way back, he stopped at the clinic. As he entered, he was met by the doctor at the reception.
“Welcome Mr. Khan,” was the warm greeting with a smile.
“You can call me Umair, Dr. Richards, I’ve been telling you this for the last six years.”
“I will, as soon as you start calling me Cliff,” the doctor replied with a smile.
“Alright, Cliff, so I presume it was me that you were waiting for at the reception.”
“Yes you’re right,” the doctor said, his smile vanishing.
He noticed this and asked, “Anything serious doctor?”
The doctor, maintaining his bland expression, said, “I’m afraid, Umair, you’re gonna have to ask Mrs. Khan about her past now.”

He was expecting this answer and maintained his composure. But his eyes gave him away.
“I know you promised her never to ask her about her past,” the doctor continued, “ I know it goes against the very essence of your marriage. But it’s integral if you want to save her life.”

He had always known this would happen one day. He knew it was inevitable. But still, when it happened, he felt himself shatter from inside. The doctor’s words had created a hollow inside him.

He said to himself, “The six years of silence may have been slow poison to our marriage. But this might prove to be nothing less than a catastrophe.”

There was a ten minute silence between the two men, which seemed longer that the six years of her illness. Finally, he quietly took the doctor’s leave and walked home, a broken man.

At home, he was greeted with his favourite dish for supper, but he could not eat much. She noticed this and asked, “What’s the matter dear, you seem to be tense. All well at work?”
“Yes work is fine,” he answered trembling, “But I need to ask you something you might not like.”

She smiled at him, as if she knew exactly what was coming and said, “I know dear, my silence has been little less than torture for you these past six years. But for your sake, lets forget all our promises today.”

His eyes welled up with relief and love for his wife. He held her hand and only managed to say, “Speak.”

“My story is a small one,” she said, her smile vanishing, “My father was a chronic alcoholic. He used to torture my mother at the slightest pretext. Her face was full of marks of cigarette burns and bruises caused by his ring. Whenever my mother wanted to spend time with me and not give in to his carnal desires, he raped her with the brutality of a savage. Day by day, I saw my mother dying with pain.”

Her cheeks were now black with streams of tears. He was holding her in his arms now, but was silent.

“But death came slowly,” she continued, “One day, my father came back home with his eyes blood-shot. He pulled her into the room and satisfied himself. He then brought her out and told her that he had lost his job for breaking a chair on his boss’s head.

“The next day there was a line of men outside our house, offering my father money, as if he was auctioning something. That night, there was a visitor at our house. I recognized him as the man shaking hands with my father when the rest of them left that day. My father had locked my mother in their room that day and had told her to dress well. She probably did not know about the daytime visitors. When the man arrived, he showed him to the room where she was locked. He locked them in the room and told me to go to sleep.

“Next morning, when I woke up, I saw that there were many people in our house, including policemen. I walked out of my room and peered at what everyone was looking at. There lay my mother, dead with the mark of a rope on her neck.

“I was twelve then, and knew exactly what had happened. That day, I ran away right from the graveyard. I knew where my maternal aunt lived and I went straight to her house from there. My aunt was a childless widow and she got me through high school. After that I worked in a call center for two years and then got admission in the city’s top computer university, where I met you. After that you know that you married me when my aunt passed away and I was left all alone in this world. I am sorry to tell you, honey, that it took you six whole years to earn my trust completely. I could never trust a man after what I had been through, and my fits of indifference were because of my guilt for not trusting a man like you and making you promise never to ask me anything. Day before yesterday, I found out about the cameras and instead of feeling angry, I came to realize the trouble you were going through for my sake.”

He was speechless. All he could do was to hold on to her even more tightly.

That night they were given a surprise party by Dr. Richards, who of course, had heard everything. They removed the cameras together and then had a splendid dinner, prepared by Dr. Richards’ team. That night, the fire at the fireplace in the living room glowed with a joy it had never seen before.

My First English Song

BURNIN'

By Umair I Khan for K-Oz


(verse)
As I walk down this road of life,
Listening to people and their lies;

Lookin' back at the good old days,
All seems lost in smoky haze;

I can't stop livin' in the past,
Nostalgia will haunt me for as long as I last;

Why did it all have to end?
Why can't I just make ammends?

When we were young our hearts were full of joy,
Laughing, not crying over broken toys;

(chorus)
But now I'm Burnin', burnin' with desire,
Burnin', burnin' in this fire;

Burnin', burnin' in my hate,
Burnin', giving up to fate!

(verse)
I'm tryin' to get rid of the memories,
Will somebody shoot my brains out please?

'Cause this life can't be better than hell,
It actually attracts me to the Bottomless Well;

When all your friends turn into foes,
N' you're the jerk everyone ignores;

You know it was you but you can't turn time,
N' your guilt turns into the ugliest of rhymes;

That's when you remember how glad you once were,
But glee can be lost, to you, it never occured;

(chorus)
That's why I'm Burnin', burnin' with desire,
Burnin' burnin in this fire;

Burnin', burnin' like lightening,
Talkin' with all my teeth grinding;

(bridge)
Now this burnin' is gettin' on my nerves,
All this hatred, I don't really deserve;

Whatever happened, I too need a life,
Why don't all of you just stab me with a blunt knife?

This pain is killin' me slowly anyway,
Everyone I know keeps pushin' me away;

Why did it have to happen to me?
My life is worse than third degree;

Things, it seems, will never be better,
With me, it seems, everyone has a personal vendetta;

(verse)
But what the heck, this life ain't really worth it,
So all those who hate me, can take their hate and shove it;

'Cause I ain't gonna let my guilt make me sick,
Even the court said it was an accident;

How could I kill him, he was my friend,
It just happened 'cause that's the way it was supposed to end;

I didn't push him, but we did collide,
Just as easily even I could'a died;

The cliff was steep 'n I was scared,
But to save his life, none of the others dared;

(chorus)
So I ain't Burnin', burnin' anymore,
Burnin', burnin' from the core;

I'm Shinin', shinin' like a star,
But from the burnin', I will remain scarred!

First attempt at comedy, a few years ago

PARIVAR [If FRIENDS were aired on Star Plus]

One of the most popular TV shows among the youth today is Kioun ki Saas…oh sorry (what am I thinking?) FRIENDS. For those who are not familiar with this program… please don’t bother reading any further.

Anyway, so what will be the changes made on our favorite show once it is aired on Indian satellite television? The name, for starters, cannot be retained; it has to be something in pure Hindi. As you might have guessed from the title, it will be called “PARIVAR;” and as the name suggests, it will be based, not on six friends hanging out together, but on six members of a joint family. So where do these six people stay? No, definitely not in a couple of adjoining apartments, you cannot expect one of the biggest business tycoons of India to be living in flats!!! So they’ll probably be living in this huge mansion called “Sampur Jeevan” or something else in unpronounceable Hindi. Next comes the title song. This one should be sung by a girl and should be based on the importance of “Rishtay.” Our Rachel counterpart will be introducing us to the rest of the family members while this song is being played in the background.

Coming to the individual characters now:

-Phoebe: Phoebe will be a tomboy, who’ll have contacts in the underworld. She will be dressed in jeans, an untucked shirt and a cap. Her vocabulary will include words like “Bindas,” “Jhakas,” “Sala” and others not appropriate for printing here. She will carry a hockey stick with her whenever she has to attend a “Lafda.”

-Ross: Ross will be the business tycoon in our serial and will be dressed in a suit most of the time. Approaching his late fifties and with his son; Ben in his mid twenties and married; Ross, a divorcee for the last twenty years will be considering remarriage to end his “akelapan.”

-Chandler: Chandler will be Ross’s evil brother-in-law. He will always be looking for ways to swindle money out of Ross (who he’ll be calling Jeeja Jee) or any other family member.

-Monica: Monica will be Chandler’s evil wife and Ross’s sister. She will help her husband in his evil plans and will also prevent any suspicion from falling on him whenever any money is missing. She will be dressed in a sari with a sleeveless blouse and wearing a complete jewellery and cosmetic shop.

-Rachel: Rachel will be the typical “Bhabhi Maa or Bari Maa” in this serial. She will be Ross’s ex-wife and while she will be caring for all the rest of the family, everybody else will be trying their level best to hurt her in anyway possible. She will be constantly at loggerheads with Monica, who will somehow manage to but the blame of all her husband’s schemes on poor Rachel. In fact Monica is the one who has caused Rachel and Ross to get divorced. Rachel will be dressed in a Banarasi Sari (Yes she will sleep in it too) and will look half her actual age.

-Joey: Joey will be Ross’s innocent, but comical, little bother. He will be Phoebe’s boyfriend (Yes he’s twenty years younger than Ross, got a problem with that?). Joey will be constantly using Phoebe’s contacts with the underworld to somehow blackmail Chandler and Monica into admitting their crimes so that Ross and Rachel can get back together.

Well that was all from this episode of Parivar. Don’t forget to tune into Star Plus at prime time tomorrow to see IF the story has progressed at all!!!

Something I once worte for someone who isn't there anymore

AN ENVIRONMENTALIST’S LOVE SONG

By Umair Ishaq Khan

Standing there so firm and tall,

Was once my heavenly doll;

She was there for me through rain and shine,

She belonged to me, I called her mine;

Dressed in green in all her majesty,

She was more beautiful than anything could be;

I talked to her whenever I was sad,

She was a patient listener and never made me feel bad;

Now she’s gone I don’t know where,

As I stand so lonely here;

They said she’ll be back within a year or two,

But till then, what am I to do?

A little one stands now in her place,

But in my heart she can never be replaced;

How could they be so utterly mean?

To cut down a tree so innocently green.

My first try at poetry

NOVEMBER (The Days of My Youth)

Golden brown leaves glow under the cool sun,

The tree that shed them stands almost bare and undone;

Birds in multitudes fly towards the welcoming south,

With music like honey dripping from their ever-cheerful mouths;

Cold winter awaits the departure of the cool autumn,

As the stubborn season changer beats his fateful drum;

As each day dawns with the absence of heat,

The early morning fog makes the soil smell sweet;

As I await the impending arrival of the vain December,

I wonder why I should ever let go this sweet November.

A story in verse

AIN’T LIFE GRAND?

By Umair Ishaq Khan

For those who think their lives are damned,

Let me tell you there was once this man;

Filthy rich, he had everything that money could buy,

Still, thinking of his existence made him break down and cry;

What was he hiding in the vestiges of his broken heart,

Of which no one alive could be made a part?

Everyone could see and envy his immense wealth,

But what was behind this expensive black suit, no one could tell;

Even his servants who called his house home,

Never saw him in his study crying alone;

I first met him at an international convention,

And gathered there were many from our profession;

By pure coincidence, I saw in his eyes that no one could see,

And right then I knew that to end his troubles, God had sent me;

To talk to him I had to ask him for a ride,

Ironically I was going to be his guide;

On reaching our hotel I invited him to my room,

Mainly to know the cause of his gloom;

He immediately accepted, I don’t know how,

I think he had finally found a companion now;

We went inside and lit cigars,

To get him to talk, I didn’t have to go far;

I guess he was looking for someone to talk,

His heart was a stone, but not yet a rock;

Now comes the story that might bring tears to some eyes,

And clear the misconception that only the weaker sex cries;

It had all happened some ten years ago,

He was a famous doctor, but of it he never made a show;

People all around the world had heard of his success,

But one day he encountered failure even though he tried his best;

There on the operation table lay the limp carcass of none other,

Than someone he loved the most, his very own mother;

Dumped by his fiancé and disowned by his family,

He tried in vain to convince them, he was no magician after all he was only thirty;

He had never talked to them ever since,

He continued his practice but it was only pretence;

It was now time for me to play my part,

I had to end his gloom and free his heart;

I thanked God for granting me the power of persuasion,

I immediately knew how to handle the situation;

I somehow convinced him to call home there and then,

He finally did and we found out that they were as lonely as he was without them;

His fiancé had never married these ten years,

This fact alone made him overcome all his haunting fears;

Happy as a lark, he could laugh out loud again,

That night despair had lost and only hope reigned;

We boarded the first flight and headed straight for his home,

Both of us knew now that he will never be alone;

So all of you out there get up and take a stand,

After all my friends, ain’t life grand?