We Have Talked So Much

Have we said it all?

10 Years Ago in the bottom bar on front page is evocative. From One Chowkwala to Another brought back my very first piece for Chowk, 'Say Something, Let's Talk' and the question popped up, 'Have we said it all?'

It is a hot August evening and I am typing this on a Dell laptop on the same desk as before. The bijlee can go anytime but I have a laptop with a battery so my work will stay. Pakistan celebrated its 60th anniversary a couple of weeks ago, with great fanfare. Pakistani TV has changed dramatically and internationalization or modernity call it what you will has been the mantra of the Government during the last several years. The rupee sadly buys nothing and the struggle of the poor is terrible. It amazes me how expensive food and clothing is in Pakistan. Prices in Pakistan are comparable to prices in Canada or USA, however, the per capita income is far lower.

There are many Pakistan focused content websites now, liberal and educated Pakistanis defend their Pakistaniyats on Chowrangies waiting for their Naseeb to turn. Yet, there is only one Chowk where people can say whatever they want, as long as they have the spleen to stand by it. We are all a little like Socrates here, who drinks a cup of poison rather than back off from his well argued positions. The Internet is a far more complex place than 10 years ago when it was fresh, naïve and sincere. One could talk without fear and repercussions. Now, more often than not we huddle with those who share our beliefs or say what others want to hear.

The only things that have become cheaper to buy in 1997 are computers. I am a computer addict who literally needs a computer to think. The Internet is the way we live now and even though we take it for granted, there are moments of pure joy. Like finding Fraggle Rock DVDs on Amazon. Or connecting with a favorite author, or discovering a long lost friend’s email. It is harder now for me to be enchanted then how it was 10 years ago when just anything was magical. Yet even now anything beautiful can enchant me and I am grateful to have the constant companionship of ideas, even if all bonds are lost, the bond of the reader with the writer remains.

We are all interconnected, but we have developed new ways to keep the barriers alive. Globalization has empowered us all able to buy something but we have become o so cynical. My beloved Winnie the Pooh stuffed toy is made in China by people who have never read the books, thereby becoming a meaningless junk item to sit on a shelf till the next garage sale. Descartes, I concluded, knew only about those who think, he had no prescriptions for those who feel. My past is fragmented and divided between countries, histories and jobs. My clothes are of neither East nor West. My identity is a work in progress of a corporate denizen neither Pakistani nor Canadian nor American nor Indian-- a continuous work in progress of passports, paperwork and identifications. My illusions about people and the world are gone. But, I still want to talk. One thing is for sure, the Internet was invented for me.

I want to talk about Buddha and identity. About knowing who one is. Not the little box on the passport that attaches a country’s name with yours, but the person behind the Irises, who changes every moment of every day. We, uncertain humans seek certainty all our life and exhausted with the struggle give up the search to settle for what we found in the journey. Love and family, job and career, house and home, the list can be short or long.

When I start my list it starts like this:
Found:
1. Child
2. Wisdom
3. Laughter
4. Unanswerable questions
5. Friends
6. Hope

And ends like this:
Lost:
1. Love
2. Arrogance
3. Pride
4. Family
5. Faith

This too is a work-in-progress. A conversation in mid-sentence.