A gifted nation’s melancholy

The statement is itself confusing right? You must be thinking how in heaven this nation is gifted. let me tell you my friends, since independence we have been gifted perpetually till now by one thing; ‘foreign aid’ and its wonders; let me call it our melancholy dose!

What seemingly reflected as our development injections became our vaccinations for aid-dependency.

Eventually, as our country’s body grew, from childhood to maturity, we developed this immunity within us to prevent economic development and always be in a need of this imported medicine. We started drowning in it to the point that now not every single kid of our gypsies’ lives with the hope of salvage but wait for this pernicious gift.

Looking at this child’s expression, I only find a fury, not hope but an anger of when someone would come and save her. To our utter shame, the one who will come to salvage her will come with the same gift and not with plans to take her out of this situation, not to revive her dignity that ridiculed as she begged.

To our satisfied ignorance, whenever hunger threatens a child of her class, another fear is carried along; ‘open demanding fist’, because that is what works every time. So here’s a point, supply shows itself wherever its partner demand is, when demand is a ‘piece of bread attached to string to run after’ and not the development than obviously supply will serve it accordingly.
How in this condition can gypsies of my country be transformed into communities?  
This to me is nothing more than heavy dose of ignorance that their bodies are fed onto.
This blind eye towards their pitiable condition is never caused by aid recipient or aid donor, but by aid regulators, ones who proclaim as their well-wishers, ones who show up their misery rather than an opportunity of development in them, those who aimed at developing policies for them.

All we need is to get sincere with our own nation if we want our dignity back. We need to educate them, let them know what condition they are in, and what they actually need to demand and receive.

“We turn a blind eye to illiteracy and poverty, we ignore individuals, and the rights of people and their dignity, and even life itself as a legal principal. Instead we agitate and call for resistance and sacrifice. Our fallen are ‘martyrs,’ just like in the religious code we’re trying to uproot or tear down."
Says Fadi Azzam, a Syrian writer and journalist

Not another social activist

The above-illustrated picture that I randomly found is a perfect part reality of our activists and such cases our no better than those ignorant ones who do nothing but admit it. One needs to respect this work because they are doing it for their own sake not for someone else’s.

It reminded me of one of my horrible encounters months back and made me think about how the things are going…

“I won’t go and collect donations from people, you know I don’t like it, I won’t clean my place and carry a mop, but I so support you and want to be an activist.”


Struck by these lines of one of my co-workers during social activism campaigns, it suddenly came to me a sarcastic laugh but then I was plunged into despair by a melancholic statement that I just heard. This is ‘struggle’ of our wanna-be good youth. It is not make them hopeless with what little they want to contribute but they need to understand for their own sake that one cannot change anything unless he/she moves within.

Our social networking sites are blowing up daily with such quotes  as ‘change within’ or ‘change comes from inside’ but very few get it absorb into their skins and cherry on the top is we share it extensively to get satisfied(as if it is eid Mubarak wish), moreover getting 20 likes in it is a big success and you sleep relax at night.!

OK assuming that their intention was to support it, but they miss larger part of reality that they end up doing nothing rather ridiculing the spirit of it.
Another funny thing is, when people are dying of hunger around you and you want to work for ‘global warming’. It is because the solely source of inspiration or learning is social networking and you never have stepped out to see misery of 99% around you.

As i put it compassion, which is the sole purpose of being a social activists serves your own self, people often do it to find the hidden meaning of their self

Is it finding the hotshot topics to work on? Or finding real time needs to be helped?
So next time before getting satisfied with words let’s just think if we you can really move yourself for it.

Of a smaller world

The prayers slipping through my lips were reluctantly hushed by the eyes of my mind gazing back at the cold young rickshaw boy who seemed to me like the flickering flame of the only diya dancing in the wind striking its orange intensity “I want to be a computer expert”. Like those dreams that leave their flavor in our thoughts of hope and bliss and their taste accentuates our senses to a certain madness. I stood there amid all the hustle of the traffic passing by, my hands cupping the air filled with the piercing smell of burnt wick. Shadows of green flags halting my vision from keeping still, so I shut my eyes and pretended to myself that I was only praying.
I stood there in silence as the glow of the stark lights made me tighten my eyelids that were now wet with the tears I did not know had invaded my eyes. Those glimmering invaders started rolling down my cheek with the lost feeling of remorse.

"To my utter surprise I wasn’t crying on the  petty issues that troubled me rather my utter embarrassment; of being so heavy on my demands to be granted, was alone responsible for the tears streaking my cheeks."

The cold air around me sprayed the scent of scattered petals of decaying roses with strokes of wind filling my nostrils with the salted moist fragrance contaminated with time.

The young rickshaw boy made no signs of a rush that gave me a sense of comfort and I lingered my pretense.
I was not in control of my trembling lips that were only hushing words that did not make any sense to me. I felt dizzy for a moment when the cold rushed into my windpipe and started fogging the glass of my lungs. I concluded my prayer with an Amen and walked back in the rickshaw. I was still amused at how the boy whose name was still unknown to me had responded with such principled grace to the dutiful police men standing at the check post. Here in my city, that is quite a usual sight that encumbers as the elite find it insulting to be checked for security and tend to delve into an uncanny argument. As he saw me walking back he geared the rickshaw and opened the door for me. I was taken aback as He inquired about the name of the shrine using the salutation of “madam” in a much-fashioned yet genuine way. I could not resist to inquire the young boy so I started my rapid fire in an under toned manner so that he did not take me for a charity worker.

His accent was crisp as he spoke in Urdu with the faintest of tinge of English. To my relief he wasn’t using the back view mirrors to look at me while answering my queries as I was put ill at ease by other Rickshaw drivers who stare back through the mirrors to satisfy their boredom by permeating in your skin through their imploring eyes. I was also guiding him to choose the right road that lead to my place as he had earlier told me he has been in Multan for a day or two only and wasn’t familiar with the roads and places. I told him to go straight and follow the streetlights and he did so. He told me he was from Bahawalpur and this was his first experience of being away from home and with a rickshaw. He had passed his Matric and due to strong inclination towards Computers, he had later done a diploma under the supervision of his favorite teacher. His father never supported him, as he wanted him to join the forces, which to his wish he had been working hard to join and had later left because of not finding any compassion for it.

This was four years back when he took a stoic stand for his future of becoming a “computer expert” as he eloquently and zestfully put it. His father has estranged him ever since and he was all to support himself with.

He had been teaching at the same place during evenings from where he was doing his diploma in computers. To his dismay, this earning hand disjointed when his mentor who ran that institute shifted abroad. He stiffened his back and with a self-assured air told me that nothing could break his passion for computers. He worked at a construction site in the morning and drove a rickshaw in the evening to collect enough money to rent a room and buy a computer for him. I was surprised with the answers he had to every question that I threw at him and with the surety he delivered them made me envious of his lucid vision with which he saw his dreams shaping up as realities.
I wanted to hide the expression of dissuasion in my tone when I asked him why he chose a diploma. To which he implored that he was not left with any other choice as his father abandoned him. I told him to turn left as we neared to my colony. He did not have any permanent residence for himself. At 1 am Zonaib, as he told me on my asking him of his name, he went to any hotel and after having a cup of tea made any bench his bed until the next day.

"There was no shame in his speech; he knew his path lead through carrying bricks and driving rickshaw to earn a life for his dreams."

I found myself lost for words and ways to offer help or assistance. I did not want to shatter the confidence of his words by my presentation of ways to move forward. Shaken from the black holes of vague ideas racing and boggling my mind, I asked Zonaib to take a U-turn and drop me off at the opposite gate.
I told him it was the limit of cantt area and the bargain passengers should not fool him. The gas costs expensive during the days it is not available and that is from Monday morning to Wednesday evening. His compliant conduct made me give him an extra amount quite contrary to how I cut a deal out of those who are detrimental and adamant of their say rather whine of their poverty.

Zonaib thanked me and asked the way back.

Training workshop on "disaster management" in collaboration with rescue 1122

The experience of learning and walking in their shoes with rescue teams is brilliant when it comes to learning of basic humanitarian concepts. Small motivation pills that drive any unit sitting there to save thousands of lives on an alarm bell, knowing the reality of most of our rural population and how sometimes you need to convince them to save their own life.

It’s not only about disaster management which actives after it ruin everything; it is much about community based humanitarian assistance! Instead of being able to call for foreign assistance, whether charity or evacuation, communities should be able to respond to their fellow humans in hour on great need.

To know how people can live hazard free....oh its reminds me of our introduction to words like, hazards, vulnerability, capacity, risk, we learnt all of them and it was beautiful imaging yourself as a lifesaver for someone. 
It has been a fun too, we learnt a unique concept today after many years of our school stories that

"Safety is the first policy; honesty is least"

and trust me its big reality when disasters come. The basic evacuation cycle that we learnt and various other realities like human nature matter a lot in decisions making during such situations, in effective recovery and humanitarian assistance.

Its 'You' who have to decide!

When for the first time an arrow would have been made and handed over to man, no one have been taught about how to kill a man from it.
Many things in our possession did not come to us with a manual how to make a positive or a negative impact out of it, no one teaches us its role but we learn from its contemporary use and then keep on practicing the same. Then there are things, mostly businesses that are born to leave a negative impact under capitalism. Sometimes we justify it by marketing too, if businesses are set-up aiming at contributing positive to society or even if left as a blank page and let public decide how to interpret and use, it would have been much better.

"God gave us arms but did not taught us how to fight neither did He told us how to hug; it is the contribution of humans to their evolution that defined the role of arms"

I mean it is we, who have to decide how to define a certain things’ role, how it is going to work, what impact it is going to make. We often let ourselves lose into historical control, depending ourselves on predefined ways of living or performing the roles, why we cannot use our own unique experience with that character of life?

The bad is not cultivated or grown by it but instead when good is not been thought and practiced by anyone.

Civilizations are not there just to make generations born and die, but to contribute unique meanings into lives and roles of matter on this earth.Even evolution expects change contributed by its generations, and then human is so justified to expect change brought in by other fellow characters of its human bondage. Please people play your part in other people’s life, try to be positive, because it matters, you feel it or not, it is just like movement of earth so slow and badly reckon but every second contributes.

"We the people"

Do not raindrops that strike the stream; let us assume the stream as our lives form us just like those water bubbles. It is like every person forms a bubble around them; of individuality, restraining a learning interaction by avoiding collides with others around them on their way because if they will, it will lose their so perceived temperament in which they have and their ancestors lived through all of their lives. They are not concerned to others even to themselves, so here is no possibility of traveling on a road to wisdom

"Struggle is the law of growth; character is built in the storm and stress of the world; and a man reaches his full height only through compulsions, responsibilities, and suffering"

Coming back to the stream, we do not even have our own way, we just flow as the stream flows and take us with it because this is what we want; opting an easy way out. As we do not realize what we are doing and where we are going, each bubble carries on it not the impression of rainbow colors but labels of doctor, engineer, business graduates, and at the end it turns more into sewage water than rain stream …...........
Eventually this fast stream of sewage + rainwater carries us down to the shitty depth of drain, ultimately blowing all the bubbles (ending our youth) where we stand still rotting and regretting what we have done to us. Realizing the need of blowing our bubbles but this stage comes at around the age of 50, and then it is too late to be in that stream again, to be in youth again with all those passions where we would have interacted with others, being into heated debates and discussions, experiencing pain and happiness. We miss that ‘free will’ to make our own way not allowing the waters to carry us with them in the flow but to form our own way for generations to follow , to pleasurably move through , to enjoy life and people.

Hype of education often suppress ‘knowledge’, it is a great worthless load of degrees that is hanging on our heads, which tend us to waste almost all of our youth, 16 years of our great life all in the name of getting knowledge end up in becoming products of industrialism. Even after this people, do not give a damn about throwing trash in the dustbin, not at least in Pakistan!

I mean seriously, have we ever thought about where this institution lead learning is leading us? Or is it like, everyone is doing it so let’s do it!

Why do we invest our whole youth for getting soaked in academics only?


Education to me is gained for the wisdom of right and wrong, I wonder even if we are educated enough to make difference in our own lives.

On mumkin kar

mere bastey mein kitaben nahi shilkway hain
mein ye shikway sar-e-bazar utha laya hun
hai koi jo pal bhar ko rukey mujh ko suney

kia meri umar wohi umar nahi hai jis mein
hath mein qalam, kitab or slate hot hai
jism pe wardi hoti hai school ki aur
zehan mein roz naye sabaq ki date hoti hai

ankh mein khuwab hoa karte hain nustaqbil ke
dil mein hoti hai tamana keh banun ga officer
mein bhi parh like ke kisi roz gina jaon ga
koi fauji, koi pilot, koi acha doctor

gar meri umar whoi umar hai achey logon
phir ye pather ye hathori kyon mere hathon mein hai
kion mere jism pe hain ye ghair munasib kapre
kyon faqt fikr hai roti ki meri baton mein

ek gila aur bhi rakha hai mere baste mein
is ko sun lijeye to aur bhi mashkur banun
meri ghurbat ki saza itni bari na kijiye
keh mein mazdur ka beta hun to mazdur hi banun

mein bhi is qoum ka bacha hun par achey logon
phirta rehta hun in galion mein awara din bhar
kuch khayal kar ae zamane mujh kamsin par
tujh se jo mumkin ho wo mere liye mumkin kar

ali khayal