To Maa, in Heaven

The earth has completed an orbit now...  Calendars have been changed... A lot of time has passed… The day is coming again… And I am still battling within myself, what to do, how to react and why me. My dirty green wallet accompanies me almost everywhere. I open and zip it mercilessly numerous times a day but a pocket inside it remains untouched because of something I hid a year ago. I motivated myself to take a glance at the pocket stuffed with papers and ATM slips and read it out. It is the receipt of your last Mother’s Day present that I have kept preciously but haven’t seen again.

Mothers Day shopping has always been irresistible and super exciting for me. From the moment I think of your present to my way to mall, to making the final choice, to returning home, to hiding the surprise till the moment we hand over your gift, I wait eagerly for something – your sparkling facial expressions, the shine in your hazel eyes and your beautiful wide smile that exposes your missing tooth.

Your anticipation and excitement for the big surprise was the only reason I started celebrating Mothers Day. My last Mothers day shopping was fun too where I bought designer dresses after shelling out all the bucks I had. You know what, I bought them a month before the special day but see you didn’t get to know about it. I am a great planner, after all. Your poor habit of choosing the best for us and going economical for yourself compelled us to take this decision. Oh that April went at the pace of turtle - slowly and slowly, just like the load shedding hours during the summers. I knew you would burst with anger if you got to know the price so I hid it deep inside my wallet. I wanted to show it later to hear your patent dialogue ‘itnaaaa mehangaaa’ and laugh off. But you didn’t give me a chance to do that. You left us in this ruthless world just few days after the Mothers Day, with all the material things and those presents lying in the wardrobe unstitched and unworn. I wanted to see you flaunting them like models on the ramp. You were a model Maa, my model… my role model…

From the day you left I never thought about Mothers Day, neither what I would do on this day now. The Day I used to wait and plan for throughout the year is once again approaching, but it is haunting me this time and I am clueless about what to do. I am hating these sweet jingles, touching advertisements and the mother’s day sale that have always enticed me. I want to run away from all the glitz and glamour till these festivities come to end and everything return to normal, but I don’t know where to hide.

Though I feel your presence at every step of life, I miss your gentle touch, your warm hugs and the kisses we used to give you vigorously- you were so brilliant in hiding your emotions and affection, yes I have inherited this from you. I miss the protection and security I felt when you were there; I miss the facial massages I used to give you at nights and that lovely expressions when you were pampered; I miss the delicious treats that were just a request away; I miss your company, your patience on my prolonged shopping tours – no one else can bear an irritating shopping partner like me. I miss your advice, your twinkling smile, our fights, our discussions and my pocket money even after earning so much. I miss everything Mamma, every single thing!

For all the hardships you have faced for us, for raising us like a mother and father, for giving us unconditional love and a life full of luxuries, I cannot label you as the best mom. You are the best parent the world has ever seen and the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me. May you rest in the state of everlasting bliss and may you have all the pleasure of Jannah in the hereafter. Accept my prayers as your present for now, but I promise to celebrate your Big Day with great fervour again when we will meet in heaven.

Happy Mother’s Day Mimmo!

Lakhvi Bailed: An Open Letter to ATC Judge

Dear Kausar Abbas Zaidi,

Was the mass murder of 148 innocent people in Peshawar attack not enough to wake you up? Were you not torn apart with the little bodies lying in the Army Public school? Did you not weep with the parents who have buried their flowers inside graves? Was this all not enough that you choose to put another hundred lives at risk?

You have approved the bail of Zakiur Rehman Lakhvi who is accused of planning and carrying out the 2008 Mumbai attacks and killing 166 people, may I know why? Is it because there was a lack of evidence against him or because you want to telecast the next episode of such attack in your own country among your own people? The nation is grieved, broken down and waiting for the execution of these cannibals and you Mr Zaidi, you are provoking them and encouraging them to kill more people by granting bails. What a shame!

Those who performed the death rituals of their loved ones in India had gone through the same pain we felt while burying our kids. They have cried, shouted and cursed them just like we do every day. They mourn their absence and miss them in every moment of their lives, just like we mourn our deceased. Can’t you feel that Mr Zaidi?

I am sure the Peshawar victims do not belong to your family, neither those who fall prey to terrorism anywhere in the world. Your family and loved ones are safe, protected and enjoying their care-free lives. Those who have passed away must have died peacefully; they were not bombed in to pieces. You wouldn’t have faced difficulty in finding their dead bodies and identifying them. Ask those who have gone through these horrible situations; who have waited for their loved ones outside the Taj hotel praying that they were safe. Just imagine if the murderer of your child is released on bail, how would you feel?

Step down Mr. Abbas in favor of anyone who has witnessed loss in spate of terrorism. They will make better and quicker decisions than you. You are ineligible, incompetent for this responsibility. We don’t need you. And yes, don’t forget to take the surety bond of 500,000 rupees home; they will help you book a deluxe suite for your life after death.

Lots of hate,

Tanzeel

Soaring AIDS Number – Who is Accountable?

“A few days after Ali’s* death, I received a call from his family saying that they want to donate in the name of their son who was under my treatment. I sent my team to their home and they returned with loads of stuff –furniture, air conditioner, clothes, accessories, beddings, crockery, clock – it’s hard to recall what was not there. The charitable contribution was above par, it made me wonder about their munificence. I shared this thought with my mates and they told me that the family wanted to get rid of all the things lying in his room. They were scared they would be infected with AIDS if they touched them,” says Dr Saleem Azam.

Dr Azam who is working actively for the prevention of HIV in Pakistan unfolded stories of many HIV patients on World AIDS Day. Ali* was just one of them. He was a young, educated, full-of-life and a happily married businessman, until the day he was diagnosed with AIDS. While he was fighting the war of depression, anger and helplessness within himself, the penalty of life imprisonment was imposed upon him by his very own family. But, his prison was not the typical one! As it was owned by those he loved, it had all the luxuries - the only similarity was that he couldn't meet his family members, not even on special occasions. Ali left this ruthless world after a short duration treatment. Doctors say he died of AIDS but I feel arrogance, hardheartedness and social isolation are equally responsible for his death.

Since 1986 when the first local case of AIDS was diagnosed in Pakistan, there is an 11% increase in the number of AIDS patients annually. According to UNAIDS, there are nearly one lac HIV positive people in Pakistan, with 50,000 in Sindh and an 80% majority in Karachi. What’s more astonishing is that only 7000 patients out of this huge total are under treatment and only 3524 out of 50,000 are registered in Sindh. These grim stats raise some important questions: Where are the rest of infected people? Why are they not registered? When the government provides free medicine for HIV, why are the patients not availing it? The answers speak for themselves– it is the HIV-related stigma, discrimination and prejudices prevalent in the society.

Let’s be honest! When you hear of an AIDS patient whose partner is not positive, what is the first cause of disease that comes to your mind? Extramarital affair? Well, you are not alone! A large number of people have this prejudice against HIV patients. HIV is mainly spread by having sex with someone who has HIV, but it can also be transmitted through blood or contaminated organ/tissue transplants, and sharing needles or syringes. In short, the virus has same modes of transmission as Hepatitis B and C but many people don’t consider it a disease, they think of it as a sex offense! Besides the fear of discrimination and social boycott, these prejudices prevent the patients from disclosing their identities and getting the treatment they deserve.

HIV prevalence among injecting drug users (IDUs) in Pakistan has reached 50% in 2014 from 26% in 2004-05. Once HIV enters a community of injecting drug users, it spreads rapidly through other people. But, are these disturbing numbers controllable? Many IDUs do not use a new sterile syringe for every drug injection, which increases the risks of acquiring and transmitting blood-borne viral infections. They get the syringes from street drug dealers, injection partners, diabetics and hospital dump which are already-used and non-sterile.

So, who should be blamed for these soaring figures? Every one! If the responsibility lies on hospitals and clinics for a safer disposal of used syringes, the doctors and society are also liable for treating patients miserably. Ask yourself, are you spreading awareness, promoting the rights of people living with HIV or making efforts to end prejudices against them? HIV/ AIDS patients have the same basic rights and responsibilities which apply to all citizens. They have the right to liberty, health, non-discrimination, equal protection, freedom of movement, education and participation in public and cultural life. Take the first step! Get yourself tested for HIV and hug an infected patient to stop this discrimination.  

*Name changed to protect identity

Stop Shia Killing: IfNot Now, When?

After reading a post about Israel’s aggressive attacks in Gaza on BBC Facebook page, when I took a look at the comments, there were many voicing the anger over the grave situation. Not much to my surprise, I found a comment (of a Muslim) condemning the killing of Palestinian Muslims by Jews. The comment which caught my attention was lying just after that, poking that guy to take a look at Pakistan where Muslims are killed by Muslims. The comment was bitter but true. Being drowned in embarrassment I quit the page and began to think about the sectarian violence escalating in the country day by day.

Malala Yousafzai is enjoying the limelight since long, but there is another innocent girl who was attacked on the way to school, but is not discussed as widely as Malala. I am talking about Mehzar Zehra, a 12 year old child who fell a victim to sectarian violence about half a month ago. The assailants attacked Nazar Abbas and his daughter, Mehzar when they were going to school, the 45 year old father died on the spot while the little girl is still fighting for life. Now tell me how many of you have heard about Mehzar Zehra before-- a few? Many? But not everyone!

Actually, a common man can not be blamed- it’s the media that make public aware. If people are unaware of Mehzar, Nazar Abbas, Dr. Iqbal Hasan & his wife Dr. Kaneez Fatima, Agha Aftab Haider Jaffery, Mohsin Rizvi and other 600 Shia Muslims killed this year, then it’s the media that should be questioned. When it can cover Baldia town tragedy so courageously, why can’t it give a little more attention to such brutal incidents which occur daily? Are these lives less valuable?

We have been taught since childhood that Muslims are brother to one another, so these sectarian attacks are done on all of us, on a particular community. It’s the high time to stand and speak for each other. A peaceful protest held by Shia community members against the genocide is going on at Numaish. If you truly believe and remember the brotherhood lesson, join them! Or if you have any other way to condemn the target killings then do it, but please don’t be silent. Give some voice to your love and compassion- I think there can be no better way to condole Mehzar and others like her, than it.

Sehri Wala.... A Tradition on verge of Extinction

Ramadan is laden with abundant excitements depending upon the choices of people they enjoy the most. With the prelude of Ramadan people engage themselves in the activity they like. Girls enjoy the preparation of Eid and shopping, boys playing the cricket matches at dawn, but for me the source of merriment at my childhood, was the drummer at sehri.

The rocking beats of the drum, tthak tthaka tthak, tthak tthaka tthak, and the refreshing voice of the drum beater (Actually the Sehri Wala for me) compel me to run to the terrace and watch him, whenever I used to stay at my grandma home during Ramadan. I always wondered that how the Sehri wala wake up so early, doesn’t he sleeps at night? My situation after listening to his energizing voice and beats of his drum was not much different from the rats who danced on the tune of Pied Piper.

As I lived in apartments , I couldn’t get this  excitement at my home so I find reasons to stay at my grandma home and whether to have fast or not, I tried to get up for sehri,

just to have a glance of that scene which was immense blissful for me.

Like every drummer he uses to come to the streets the whole month of holy Ramadan and even at Eid to get his reward. It was one of the Eid that I heard the beats of drum and the same zealous voice of that Sehri wala. I got out to terrace to see what he was doing. He knocked at every door of the street asking for the reward of this hard work, some gave him few rupees and others shut their doors on his face asking, Hum ne kaha tha jagaaney ko, to phir pese kese?

I became really sad and also irked at the selfishness of people. He worked so hard then why people are not willing to give him his due money, I inquired myself. But I didn’t know at that time that this egotism of people will bring a dearth of drummers today and will plunge this profession in to murky.

The concept of sehri wala is considered pious for many people today because it is one of the oldest traditions of ours. When there were no alarm clocks and loudspeakers people rely on them to get up for sehri. But with the advancement in technology and all facilities available to us, our hearts and pockets have become so tiny that a 20Rupee note doesn’t come out of it for any one.

As stated in the news I read, a drummer (sehri wala) was of the view that his profession is not helping him to make enough money for his survival. Despite of his services in weddings and Ramadan he couldn’t make money to make his ends meet and even fails to earn two meals of a day sometimes. He said if it continues he will be succumbed to quit his ancestral profession like many others did.

The fanatical voice of    Sehri wala that I heard in my childhood reverberates in my ears till today. But unfortunately I don’t see many of them on roads and streets whenever I get out for sehri. This tradition of ours is not only unique but also worth watching for people residing outside Pakistan. We can still drag this tradition from the verge of extinction by paying due rewards for their services. I really don’t want to loose this languishing wing of our culture so that our up coming generations can also feel its pleasure and glee, as I felt when I was a kid.  

Who left behind................

The following post got published at blogs.dunynews.tv on 18 August 2011.

People say everything is possible in this world, what all one need are the will, determination, Zeal and passion to make it happen. Yes many things are possible in this world and much loss can be fulfilled. Wealth, health, respect, trusts, confidence can be regained but few things never return. Time if once fly, words if once spoken, bullet if once fired and life if once lost can never come back.

Above all the loss, the most heart thrashing is the moment when one looses his beloved, his source of life, around which his world of happiness orbits. Ferocious flood of tears fill up the eyes sweeping all the dreams, commitments, hopes, happiness and promises away with the departed soul and left rampant memories behind.

28 July was commemorated as the first anniversary of the tragic Air Blue crash. This calamity which engulfs 152 lives is still a mystery not only for a common man but also for the clan of the deceased as the government has not make the investigation reports public.

The investigation was done by two teams. One of the teams was headed by Air Commodore Khawaja Abdul Majeed, president of the Civil Aviation Authority’s Safety Investigation Board, which focused on human factors, possibility of technical fault and weather conditions.

The second team, headed by Federal Investigation Agency director-general, was assigned the task of investigating the possibility of `sabotage’, but neither of the reports is unveiled for the public like others in the past. The guardians of the dead are enraged and traumatized by the most important questions rattling in their minds that How this havoc took place? And who should be blamed for the bloodshed of their loved ones? Neither all the legal heirs have got compensations announced by the high ups of government and Air Liner Company, nor have they got any satisfactory answer to their burning question.

My soul shivers when I thought about the families of the victims. How have they controlled themselves when they heard about the tragedy? How had a brother felt that has just see off her newly wedded sister for honey moon? How had a sister reacted when the wedding album arrived with the dead body of his brother? What did a mother feel when she saw her son’s fiancé after his death? Had that father been able to stand who has lost his only son? How painful was it when they saw Margalla hills encircled by human limbs? How grim was to recognize the corpse of their beloved? How battering was it when they were misinformed that few people had been rescued? How much hopes had been torched till they get into reality?

I become deeply grieved when I saw tears in their eyes, when I hear their stories, when I witness unanswered questions on their faces.

But why can’t I escape from these thoughts, none of the victim was my friend or relative, I don’t know their families personally. But yes, we share a common bond. The bond of humanity, which is above all the relations.

The loss suffered by those families can never be compensated. But providing accurate answers to their questions can bring an iota of relief to their hearts. 

KARACHI.......... I AM MISSING YOU

Karachi… my city of lights….my city of life

Where mornings begin at 10 am and nights are brighter than days. Where traffic noise can never let u sleep and no roads are find without a jam. Where beaches are packed with people in every hour of the day. Where food streets and restaurants are bulging even after the mid night, where malls and bazaars are always crowded as if there is Chand Raat. Where customers are not willing to leave the shop unless the shop keeper is about to kick them, where boys play cricket on the roads, where people are always complaining about the load shedding and where newspapers and news channels are loaded with the inflation updates.

Life in this city has its own charm, containing so much of qualities Karachi and Karachiites are surely different from every other city and citizens in this world. If a person has spent few years in this part of the world he can never love any place more than this vicinity.

With the ups and downs of life, something strange happened in past few days. The wind which was always smiling, is mourning. Something has changed. But what?

I went out of my home, everything was bizarre. I didn’t find my city illuminating; I found it haunted by darkness. I didn’t witness any traffic jam, I saw every road cleared. I didn’t heard any shouting horn, I felt cries and firing in the air. I didn’t find the busy restaurants and bazaars, I saw troops of rangers, I saw blood. What all I witness in the city was terror, pain, tears and anguish.

Lot of feelings attacked me at the same time, I came back home, I was astonished, worried, horrified and grieved. I did not understand where I have been, where I am, is this same city I lived in or have I come to a mysterious locale? How can it be my metropolis?

 My city is the city of lights, not of darkness. My city is the city of life, not of corpses, my people thank God for their fix load shedding time, not for escaping from bullets, my city is where peace means happiness, not the interval between two killings, and my city has got a rush at food streets not at the coffin shop.

This is the city of brutality, killings, sectarianism, racism, politics, violence, animals and vampires.

This is not my city God, this is not my Karachi.

Dear God,

I am missing my Karachi a lot. Please return my city to me with its all charms, with its jammed roads, with its zealous people, with its twinkling lights and with its colorful life.