Happy Independence day...?

So a lot of statuses are popping up on facebook saying things like 'I am disappointed with Pakistan'. I mean it's one thing to say that you're sad about what's happening, like the floods and the corruption. But to say that you're disappointed with 'Pakistan' is kind of... dumb.

Let me tell you why: Pakistan itself is not a Quaid-e-azam that can go around brandishing the swords of unity, faith and discipline. It's actually just a piece of land, and what makes it a nation is the people like you and me that populate it. So to say that you're disappointed with Pakistan is actually just to say that you are disappointed with yourself. So only you can do something about it.

And just because Pakistan has been hammered by a sausage-string of disasters (most of them, admittedly brought about by us) doesn't mean that there is no cause to celebrate the day of independence. Of course I'm not saying that we should be in a super-festive mood because that would just be heartless and disrespectful considering the troubles half our nation is plunged in. But what I am saying is; the independence itself was one of the best things that has happened to the Muslims on this side of the world. And no amount of corruption can change that.

I think one of our greatest faults lies in the fact that we take intangible entities and blame them for our problems. So if the Taliban are screwing up Afghanistan we say that we are disappointed in Islam; when to be perfectly reasonable it's not 'Islam's' fault. It's the fault of a couple of narrow-minded fundamentalists. Ultimately, the fault of humans. The same goes for Pakistan. It's our fault. We, who can't even let go of our extravagances for this one month of Ramadan. We, who talk about the bombs and the killings and the floods in our beauty parlors while eerie romantic music plays in the background. I mean the least we can do, is just admit our mistake. Because if we don't, someone else will just exaggerate them and then you'll see Pakistan's name plastered all over BBC and it'll get thrashed like some kid who stole the candy. I mean becoming rich and refined and looking down your nose at Pakistan won't really do much because the soil isn't going to stand up and fashion itself into men who will change everything. Pakistan will only ever be what we make it.

Haunted

I saw this word in the newspaper today; and it scared the daylights out of me. One minute you're yawning away the remnants of a cozy slumber and the next you're sitting stiff in your chair, a sort of stifling darkness creeping up in the air, with the word gently throbbing in your brain like a fading echo. Know the feeling?

That's the word reporters used to describe the probable future of all the flooded places in Pakistan. Right now they were a mass of swimming arms and legs being crushed and carried by the current, but soon, judging by the rate at which people were evacuating, nothing would be left but a few streamers of cloth and many many unmarked graves.

But I can think of a better word: cursed. I think the whole lot of us are cursed. Cursed with pain and cursed with such thick skin. So many horrible things have happened in the past couple of years to other Muslims, to fellow countrymen. To innocent people like Dr. Afia Siddiqui and all the people of Iraq who never did have those much flaunted WMDs. It's happening to the people of Palestine and Israel constantly. And yet I always feel like the pain of these events is isolated only to those with whom it's happening. We shudder to think about the holocaust which was years ago yet we can't conjure up those same feelings for what's happening in the present, in front of our very eyes.

That's not to say I am doing very much to help these people. I'm in the same boat (or perhaps even in a more damaged one) as you guys. It's just that I have this opinion that, at the very very least, news like this should make your heart sink. Does it make your heart sink? Maybe it does for you, and you and you too. But obviously not for all of us. Because if that were true things like these wouldn't even be happening.

I read this book the other day in which a magistrate sentenced a man to execution. The magistrate's son watched as the man himself swung the sword that beheaded the criminal. The boy was repulsed and his father looked equally sickened but he told his son that that was necessary. It was necessary that he kill the man with his own hands because "...If you would take a man's life you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

--quote taken from 'Game of Thrones' by George R. R. Martin

My Blog Says...

Obsession with court-shoes

So the other day my mother-in-law, who happens to be a non-cliche non-monster-in-law, ordered Mr. Mo (husband) to buy me a pair of shoes. So we drove to a shoe store near a whole lot of closed-down or about-to-close-down shops (yes, it is a very good shoe store. Which is probably why it is the only shop in that deserted place still running) with the gray sea yawning at us morosely. Once inside, I was gripped with a sudden desire to buy high heels. And high here is not just a figure of speech. By high I mean the kind that would raise five-foot-four me, teetering, to look Mr. Mo in the eye. And that's when I saw my ultimate shoe. A classy stream-lined silver with a sparkling zircon buckle. And triangle toed, just the kind of painful fashion I had the urge for.

"Can you bring these in one... no two... no three sizes larger?" I sweetly asked the shop attendant, hiding my step-sister-sized, uneven feet.

"That's the only pair left."

GASP! I grabbed the pair and jammed them onto my feet and hobbled to the stool. When I regained my strength I got up, (gracefully I'd like to imagine) and turned my feet this way and that in the full-length mirror. Not too small after all. It was like a fairytale. So while I gazed at the front of the shoe, Mr. Mo, in characteristic husband fashion, turned the shoe over and glanced at the price before grunting his acquiescence (okay, he doesn't grunt. he's not forty). So now I'm the proud owner of a pair of Jimmy Choo's (not really =/) that even Dorothy would be jealous of. Not to mention Cinderella. They're more sturdy than hers anyway. And then in my obsessive fit I scoured my house till I found another pair of court shoes. Less dearly loved than the silver ones but loved nevertheless. So I ask you god/google/ blog-readers (if there be any) show me more!

PS: Lightening just lit up the sky outside. It felt like for once Karachi had turned on its street lights. And then shut them off at the speed of light. This last is something I'm quite sure KESC is capable of.