A rant in our defence

Dear temporal, I just read your post regarding Dr. Sajjad.

He might think he knows what he’s talking about when he says Daur-e-Jahaliah... but I don’t think he has an idea of the particular kind of thirst we, the children of that period, have. We don’t take knowledge for granted, as a given, nor good writing, nor beautiful poetry... visit Lahore in November or in February and March to see what I mean... all the dramas are well attended, the concerts are chock-full, people even go to book readings and signings... if anything, we can’t have enough of you Dr. Enver Sajjad and your ilk... where are you?!!!! That same phrase keeps reverberting through our collective conscience ’’brain drain’’. A more precise analogy would be indiscriminate, random removal of cerebral matter, so as to mess up all higher processing, leaving only the those parts intact that keep the body going. A controlled acid trip?
I guess what really got my goat was ’’people don’t read, words fall on deaf ears’’... this site is living proof to the contrary... search for Pakistani or Urdu related groups on yahoo or msn, check out the debating societies in the bigger cities, look at the amazing turn-around at UET Lahore, look at the response to the slight crack in the border with India!!! Every single Zia Mohiuddin reading is full even though those have always been too expensive for me (and it’s true there’s probably a bit of the ’’place-to-be-seen’’ thing involved there), charities are booming, the Lahore Municipal Corporation can’t make schools fast enough...
Give us a chance sir and we’ll give you a fair hearing... more than that, we’d love to re-claim you...
What do you think is the topic of discussion among any given set of 4 or 5 guys with an engineering or sciences or economics or medical education (restricting myself to the circles I know)? Bacchiyan aur yeh keh voh aati naheen hai, followed immediately by Pakistan/Islam/our hypocrisies at all levels/ways to bootstrap out of here/ghalib and faiz/sir syed/the joint family system/our prejudices and hates/our potential/Edward Said, Eqbal Ahmad and Chomsky/globalisation and its opposition/amreeka and all its crap/our own personal faults... and so much more... much of it is self-deprecating, we know so little, it’s true that the old-fashioned ’’general knowledge’’ is somewhat lacking in us, but there’s so much hope, so much desire for improvement, give us a chance, help us, don’t leave us here to rot... use the gift of our youth.
and your innings ain’t over till the fat lady sings. no way. that would be too easy.

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when you next take up the matter with him, please give him a print out of this. Better yet, do it now.
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A word about letters

By Kazy Javed

A primer on Iqbal

There are two ways of avoiding Iqbal: one is not to read him and the other is to read him as a poet only. Pakistani scholars and students of Iqbal studies have usually been taking him as a philosopher and thought leader. They are convinced that Allama was not interested in poetry itself. He used poetry as a medium to communicate his ideas and deliver his message. Didn’t Allama himself profess a lack of interest in his poetry qua poetry, they ask.

They seem to be right. In a letter dated January 3, 1919, Allama Iqbal wrote to Syed Shaukat Hussain: She’riat in my poems has but a secondary place. I don’t at all have aspirations to be counted among the poets of this age’’. After a few weeks, Iqbal wrote to Maulana Girami: ’’It is a wonder that people regard me a poet and ask me to recite my poems to them, although I have nothing to do with poetry’’.

Such quotes from Allama Iqbal’s speeches, letters and writings can be multiplied. They make it clear that Allama preferred the thought-content of his poetry to its form and artistic excellence.

A renowned Indian scholar and a former Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan Professor of Delhi’s Jamia Milliya University, Shamsur Rehman Faruqi, took all the pains to travel to Lahore from Allahabad past week to teach us ’how to read Iqbal’. Author and compiler of some 40 books, he is held in high esteem as an Urdu literary critic and editor of literary journal Shabkhoon. His books on Ghalib, Mir and early history of Urdu language have been widely read and appreciated.

In a lecture arranged in Lahore by the Iqbal Academy, Professor Shamsur Rehman Faruqi emphasised that Iqbal’s greatness depended more on his poetry than his message or philosophy. The problem with most Urdu criticism about Iqbal, according to the professor’s literary judgement, is that ’’it fails to appreciate the fact that ’great thinker’ is not synonymous with ’great poet’. In fact it may be easier to write poetry in philosophy than to write philosophy in poetry. One recalls Coleridge writing to Wordsworth ’Whatever in Lucretius is poetry is not philosophical. Whatever is philosophical is not poetry.’

It is interesting to note that Professor Shamsur Rehman Faruqi takes those Urdu critics and intellectuals to task who find ’interpretive and explicatory tools for Iqbal’ from European philosophical and literary traditions. He asks them to get such tools ’from our own Arabo-Persian-Sanskrit tradition’. However, the learned professor has not inferred this concept from the eastern or his ’own tradition’. It is rooted in the ’alien’ western tradition which we were advised by the professor to keep at bay. He quotes Hayden White who wrote in his review of Frank Kermode’s book An Appetite for Poetry: ’’Every writer writes within a tradition or complex of traditions and hews the wood of his or her experience in terms comfortable to the traditionally provided matrices thereof... Literature is identifiable by this conformity of the individual work to the canon, which determines what will or can count as literature at any given time, place and cultural condition’’.



Manto on US

Khalid Latif has many interesting stories to share with friends. One of the stories goes that he arranged a meeting between Sa’adat Hasan Manto and an official of the United States Information Service (USIS) who came to Lahore to persuade eminent Pakistani men of letters to write against communism and in favour of the United States. The meeting took place in 1951. Manto expressed his willingness to oblige the Americans who offered him three hundred rupees per piece. After a few days Manto came to the USIS office in Lahore to deliver his first writing. It was titled Chacha Sam Kay Naam Aik Khut (A letter to Uncle Sam) -- which carried Manto’s fiercest criticism of the US polices.

The Americans were not pleased. Khalid Latif says Manto was asked not to write any more for them. (Manto, however, wrote eight more such letters and they were published in early 1950s).

Khalid Latif now lives in Canada. He writes about his travels to various countries and also translates books from Arabic and English into Urdu. He was in Lahore last week. Ishfaque Naqvi, the writer, translator and columnist who is being much talked about nowadays for some spicy chapters of his tell-all autobiography that have appeared in literary journals, hosted a dinner for Latif.

Attiya Syed who teaches philosophy at the Lahore College for Women University and writes novels and short stories, was there. She, too, had many stories to tell about her recent trips to Sri Lanka and Iran. Shahid Ali Khan who edits monthly Alhamra, the literary magazine that was first started by his august father Maulana Hamid Ali Khan in the third decade of the past century, and Shahid Bokhari, the banker turned literary journalist, also happened to be there.

It was rather a dry evening for Naqvi but we did enjoy Khalid Latif’s conversation. He told us about his forthcoming book which deals with the Muslims’ role in American history.

Traveller’s tale

Mustansar Hussain Tarar’s latest book Burfeelee Bulandian (Icy Heights) is as engaging as his first that was published almost a third of a century ago. His success in holding a large number of readers captivated for such a long spell of time is certainly unusual. But the reason behind it is very simple: despite God-given gift of writing alluring prose, he has never ceased working hard. This is because he cherishes and respects his readers. He first won notice as a travel writer. Going through his travelogue, we always feel as if we, too, are traveling with him. He tells us funny stories, cracks jokes but seldom forgets to enlighten us.

Burfeelee Bulandian is also a travelogue. It presents the account of Tarrar’s new adventures in the wonderfully scenic Northern Areas of Pakistan about which he has already published four books -- K2 Kahani, Nanga Parbat, Yok Serai and Snow Lake.

Burfelee Bulandian is Tarar’s 37th book. His 38th is going to be on a totally different subject: He is nowadays writing about his pilgrimage to the holy cities of Makkah and Medina.

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EXCERPTS: Oh for peace and faith!


By Maniza Naqvi

Maniza Naqvi captures the dilemma of the protagonist of her story, a mediawoman, who finds herself in a land where war has destroyed the spirit of the people and robbed them of love.

But she knows that she is unwanted here. She has had word of that. And she knows how guests are honoured here, and these are just platitudes for honouring guests. She manages to smile back. She is tired, she has been walking since daybreak, it has taken them twelve hours through mountain passes to reach this valley. Their valley. His valley. Here she will get the story she has come for. Always in search of a good story. Always willing to go where no one else would.

They had said they would just drop her and come to pick her up a week later. No problem she had said. She was only worried about one thing. Who was going to do the translation? They had made all the arrangements. There’s someone there who speaks perfect English. At first, the office had said she wouldn’t be able to pull it off, the fighters would never allow her to enter, then this was confirmed when the fighters had said that she was unacceptable when the office had communicated the gender of the journalist coming to write.

And then the fighters had relented, because she was a good writer. They had heard about her. And the story mattered more than the hand that wrote it. They needed to be heard. They needed to be born. She looks around her, humming under her breath. As far as they were concerned a midwife has come. It’s a fair deal, they want to be heard, she wants to write. So what if they don’t like her. She’s not crazy about them either! She loves it! This feeling unwanted is her best schtick.

That’s when she really hums. She looks around her, happily. Humming under her breath. All men, all in battle gear, all fighters. They fit the bill with their long hair and beards. They are dressed in military fatigues. Rebels. Their heads are covered with fidayeen scarves or berets with symbols on them, there is the Kalma embroidered on to their lapels, and they carry Kalashnikovs, they are strapped with spare magazines and grenades. And she is among them. Wait till she tells Jack!

A sheep turns slowly on a spitfire. She hates meat, but loves the smell of it roasting. But for now she is under an autumn night sky and the stars seem a stepladder’s distance away. And there is music. The men start to stand, she watches them transform, they become creatures of rhythm, swaying to the seduction of the poetry. They dance. Arms outstretched, heads held high and proud, chins up, shoulders thrown back and hips swaying, pelvis thrust forward.

Slowly moving, bringing their arms inward over their heads to clap their hands, their feet stamp, keeping time to the rhythm of the music of the drums and tambourines. Stamp, stamp, clap, clap. Lunging forward towards each other, knees bending, torsos twirling and whirling. A man sings. He is singing, ’Rahe man rahe tu.’

The translator leans towards her. ’Our paths are the same, whatever is my path is your path.’ The soldier turns to her, points to himself then points to her. ’Rahe tu, rahe man. This is Hafiz. Do you know him? He is the greatest of poets,’ the translator translates.

* * * * *

And the shouting begins.

So you are worried about our society.

’Of course I am.’

Why?

’Because we have lost peace and civility.’

And what would you say was peace and civility?

’A face, un-defaced.’

What?

’Aman and Iman, would be indicators. Indicators of it would be when people are able to walk about outside on the streets late into the evening. Lovers walk hand in hand at night on main avenues and linger on in parks and children kick footballs in alleyways way past dark. Or when, a man lies down on the floor next to a woman and makes love to her. Aman and Iman.’

Listen, we brought you in because you agreed to do the job. We said we needed a pretty face to cover ours. Do you hear me? Pay attention! Wake up! We chose your face. You didn’t really think you could do anything did you? The constitution is not for you to change. It is ours to abrogate.

’The people will protest!’

Madam, the streets of this blessed country are quiet! No need for us to even impose a curfew, no need for army patrols. There are no protests. The nation sleeps. The nation rests in peace because a soldier stands guard. Do you understand? Now tell me will you cooperate? Will you be a good little girl and go on television to announce that you will behave?

There is so much pain. Only darkness now, pain overwhelms sound.

’Lie down next to me now. Here on this stone floor. Transport me, whole to that place of peace to that space, to that being of completeness of wholeness.’

’It is evening,’ he says, ’wait for me tomorrow.’ She understands but she pretends not to, the look on his face is too urgent, his voice too full, her knees too weak, it is too much, and where would there be to go from there if she says she has understood? But he looks at her, indignantly, and says, ’What do you mean you don’t understand? You understand everything.’ And she had understood everything. And it was true, everything in his tone, in that moment, every gesture of his, had conveyed the meaning of the words that she didn’t catch. The words would have been superfluous anyway. The image faded.

She sobbed, ’Wait, please wait come back! Take me with you! I will never see you again! I don’t even know if you are alive, or if you are dead and if you are, if you have a grave?’

’I have a house in the mountains,’ he had said.

’Yes.’

’Where I want to take you.’

’Why?’

’You should rest. Should you need to ever rest, and get away, to just rest from the world and be by yourself, then you will come there.’

’You think I will need to?’ she had asked.

’There will always be a room for you.’

’I don’t take up much space,’ she had joked.

’Then for you I will have a small room!’

They had laughed.

’And I will lock you in,’ he had smiled resolutely.

’Why?’

’I will keep the key.’

’Why?’

’So that you’ll stay with me.’

’I am with you,’ she had said.

’Stay.’

And she didn’t know why prompted from some other place she had said, ’I don’t take up too much space.’ She had said this to him, who needed no persuasion.

’Then for you, I will have a very small room, and I will lock you in and keep the key, you will stay there and I will never let you go.’

’Never let me go.’

Throw her back in there, let’s see how long she lasts. Throw her back in there and throw away the key!

’You will get tired of me.’

’Never.’

’You will.’

’You don’t understand me.’

’You will forget, that you ever said this.’

He had looked at her with confusion. He could not understand why she was saying this. ’You will have a window from where you will see the mountains, and the snow on them, and meadows covered with flowers.’

’Flowers like the ones you bring me every day?’

’More beautiful!’

’Yes.’

’Who gives you flowers there?’

’Friends, and I buy them for myself,’ she says.

’You will never need to buy flowers, you will never have to rip them from the ground, the whole world will be your vase full of flowers when you look out of your window. Will you come with me?’ he asks again.

’I cannot, we are so far apart,’ she replies.

’What do you mean?’

’Our circumstances,’ she says.

’What do you mean?’

’Don’t you know who I am?’

’I do.’

’Then?’

’Then what? We are the same.’

’How?’

’We have nowhere to go.’

’I have a place to go to!’ she protests.

’Is that where you want to be?’

’I want to be everywhere.’

’Exactly. Going everywhere, always struggling, always alone, always controlled by someone else’s commands. We are the same,’ he says.

Who was she? What did she mean, do you know who I am? Who was she? When did she say this to him?

’We should be married,’ he says.

’No!’

’We should have children,’ he repeats.

’No.’

’Don’t you want children?’ he asks.

’I did want children. But for that, perhaps, it is too late now.’

’No, no, never say that,’ he protests.

’Why? It’s true.’

’Only God knows,’ he says.

’Yes.’

’Only God will decide.’

God decided. God decided.

’Why stay when men leave anyway?’ she asks.

’For the children,’ he replies, simply.

Had you been the child you wanted me to have, I could have swooped you up into my arms.

’Men leave, look around you, just look here, most of the women are without their husbands, raising children on their own! These no good men. No thank you, I am fine the way I am. These no good men!’

He seemed as though she had hit him. And he had looked at her, his face had become solemn and he was silent. Then in a soft voice he had said, ’No one wants to leave their family, don’t be so hard on our men. Many of our men were killed in the war. Far too many. Beautiful, brave young men.’ His voice was gentle, as though he was explaining to a child. ’My brother was shot during the war and has left behind his widow and five children. That’s when I returned from Moscow. I bought a gun there and I came back to fight. So don’t say men leave, they don’t always want to. Really, they don’t always want to.’

In the darkness, she asked, ’I did apologize, didn’t I? I was ashamed of myself I want to tell you that. I would not hurt you, ever. But where would I be if I had said I understood?’

Maniza Naqvi was born and brought up in Lahore and now lives in the US where she works for the World Bank. This is her third novel.

This is a disturbing and intriguing story of torture and survival. The main character is a journalist who is initially invited by the establishment and then later tortured when she doesn’t conform to her hosts’ expectations. She finds the strength to face the ugliness and brutality of torture by recalling her past experiences. As she moves in and out of consciousness, her past life is reconstructed. The reader learns of her existence as a woman; her ideas, thoughts and feelings are captured as is the fleeting and complex nature of existence.




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Excerpted with permission from: Stay With Me

By Maniza Naqvi

Sama Editorial & Publishing Services, 4th Floor, Imperial Court, Dr Ziauddin Ahmed Road, P.O. Box 12447, Karachi-75530.

Website: www.samabooks.com

Available with Liberty Books (Pvt) Ltd, 3 Rafiq Plaza, M.R. Kayani Road, Saddar, Karachi.

Tel: 021-5683026

Email: libooks@cyber.net.pk

Website: www.libertybooks.com

ISBN 969-8784-00-4

176pp. Rs375

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AUTHOR: Harris Khalique - Interpreting love and self


By Imam Shamil

Those who know Harris Khalique are of the opinion that Harris’ upbringing and his parents’ influence in his life have made him what he is today. He is a recognized writer and a poet, and a well-known activist and development worker, who is heading a community development organization called Strengthening Participatory Organization (SPO).

Harris says that he owes a great deal to the literary and intellectual milieu of his home, which was conducive to reading. He memorized Iqbal’s works when a teenager. ’’I started writing in my adolescence,’’ Harris says. ’’I would write poems and short stories in Urdu and also translate poems and stories from English. For essays I preferred the medium of English,’’ he adds.

Harris was encouraged to read avidly but his early writings were not eulogized by his family. Initially, it was his mother, aunts and his mother’s friends who whetted his appetite for good literature. When he was older his father, Ibrahim Khalique, a great writer, began to take interest in what his son was reading.

’’My father’s friends were a bunch of highly motivated and committed people, and I must say that I learnt a lot from them,’’ says Harris. ’’As far as my father is concerned, he is a very self-effacing and quiet person. Though he has always had a very strong political and ideological bent, he never enjoyed large gatherings and processions despite being part of an ideological movement. I was part of all literary and political activities happening inside and outside the household to which every family member contributed,’’ recalls Harris. And yet, he had the worst kind of political disagreements with his family.

’’What inspired me a great deal in my university days was not only English poetry but also poetry of different languages translated into English,’’ Harris says. But he was a student of engineering. Why did he not opt for a degree in social sciences if he had a penchant for literature? ’’Studying literature does not make you a writer. I am a student of literature though I do not have a degree in it. It enriches one’s writings if one studies other subjects too,’’ he retorts.

Talking about his political and social activism, Harris says that it started in his college days, when Pakistan was going through Zia’s martial law. Those were not the best of times and political activities were banned in the country at that time. ’’I was not a member of any political group, but I used to support the left-wing nationalists by writing political literature, poems and pamphlets for them,’’ Harris says.

Harris describes himself as a Marxist. ’’One may disagree with Marxism in detail, but as a tool of understanding society, it has helped me in analyzing and evaluating the social conditions of my country,’’ says Harris.

Not inclined towards rhetorics, he admits that literature does bring social change. He, however, doesn’t believe that one has to be a Marxist to be progressive.

The word ’progressive’, according to Harris, is not restricted to those who want to bring about a socialist revolution, which he believes is quintessentially an economic revolution. He says that there are many other aspects of life that are beyond economics and the economic well-being of people. ’’There has to be a balance between the rights of the individual and the collective rights of people. Many humanist writers face this dilemma. They want collective freedom as well as the individual’s freedom from collective control,’’ observes Harris.

But he firmly believes that the writings of those he doesn’t agree with ideologically should not be judged against their political views. ’’I may not want to dine with them, but if they are producing fine literature, we must appreciate their work,’’ he says.

Discussing the subject of the relationship between fictional writing and social development, Harris comments that fiction and poetry are a chronicle of history as well. ’’You would understand England better through Charles Dickens than any other historian of that time. The same is true about our literature as well. The way the struggle of a common man has been depicted by Premchand and other Progressive writers will not be described in history books. Therefore, it is not just social development but also a lot more that fiction has to offer. Literature cannot be detached from social life,’’ claims Harris. But he also emphasizes that writers with dogmatic political views cannot be the sole representatives of people.

Harris likes some of Ashfaq Ahmed’s and Bano Qudsia’s stories a lot, though they are opposed to modernity and have different aesthetic values. ’’I would respect them if I see that they contribute something to existing literature,’’ insists Harris.

Harris strongly reacts when someone terms some of his Urdu poems as prose poems. He says they are free verse and follow a certain meter. ’’I have not written a single Urdu prose poem. All my poems are metrical. As far as the difference in style is concerned, some of my poems have a narrative, and that is influenced by my contemporary living and modern world literature,’’ says Harris.

’’You see, society evolves from itself different kinds of expressions to suit the time, and language must correspond to the society and the time we live in. Language has to be contemporary. Today’s thought has to be rendered in today’s language and expression. How can one use the expression ’chilman’ today when chilman does not exist anymore? Modern words and changes that have been introduced in our languages should be appreciated and recognized by literary writers. I use some English words in my Urdu poems such as ’rearview mirror’ and ’rush’ because we use these words in our daily conversation and they have now become Urdu words. They should be reflected in our poetry too. I don’t edit these words; they come to me naturally,’’ remarks Harris.

Harris is a nazm poet. He thinks the ghazal does not suit his style. However, he likes to read ghazal. To Harris, ghazal is limiting, therefore, in his opinion, the biggest poet of the 20th century, Iqbal, preferred the medium of nazm over ghazal. Still Harris thinks that his metrical poems are heavily influenced by the expression of ghazals.

Has his work with non-government organizations affected his literary productivity? ’’It has. Any senior management work is tedious and time-consuming. But the work I do is quite gratifying. My work with NGOs is a unique experience as it enables me to interact with all kinds and classes of people. You don’t find such experience in every field. On the one hand, one interacts and learns from the poorest rural communities, from their pain and their wisdom, and on the other hand, one also deals with people who are in the corridors of power. It does enrich one’s experience and expression.’’

Does development work, or rather interacting with the underprivileged and downtrodden, make him sad or pessimistic? ’’It does make me sad; but it does not make me disillusioned.’’

Harris is of the view that his writings contribute towards the humanitarian cause and social changes but he is not sure how potent they are in order to challenge the system. He also considers his writings political. ’’All writing is political and all poetry is love poetry,’’ he says. So all love poetry is also political, I ask. ’’Love is political; there is nothing which is not political. When you start engaging with someone who is outside you, it becomes political,’’ replies Harris.

How does he feel in a sector where all issues are considered and dealt in an apolitical manner? ’’It is happening in all sectors and arenas of life. People do not read and do not think. So whether people in the development sector subscribe to a particular idea or oppose it, it is not necessarily based on thinking and reading,’’ says Harris.

Does he feel alienated in the development sector? Harris believes that there are all types of people in every sector. Though most people in the development sector don’t have the political understanding of issues, the work they undertake is very much political. ’’The development sector reflects what is happening in society. The NGO sector is not a monolith. There are so many organizations, including women’s rights and children’s rights organizations, which are making political statements through their work,’’ observes Harris. He believes that any political work devoid of social work remains lopsided, and any social work that depoliticizes people also has no real meaning.

Finally, talking about his recent collection of English poems, Between You and Your Love, a title taken from a line in William Shakespeare’s play Hamlet, Harris tells me that it comprises selections from his two previous books If Wishes Were Horses (1996) and Divan (1998) and his new poems. Harris Khalique keeps swaying between his love and the beloved, as he thinks the choice between the two is not given to him. But as a person who does not believe in the puppeteer, he bears the responsibility of his actions wholeheartedly and without any complaint. One might not agree with his principles, his standings, and his approach; one is bound to respect him for his humanistic beliefs. There is a very thin line between progressive humanism and regressive humanism; Harris knows the distinction too well. These humanistic beliefs also reflect in his literary work as well as in his activism.

Fearless, tamed, lustful, platonic, saddened, glad I didn’t let the passion die Though it hurts when love strikes. Anna, hold me tight again tonight!

[Lines from ’For Anna Akhmatova (1889-1996); Between You and Your Love by Harris Khalique]




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Harris Khalique: Profile

Born in 1967

Studied at the NED Engineering University and the London School of Economics

Heads a community development organization, Strengthening Participatory Organization (SPO)

His books are Aaj Jab Huee Baarish (Urdu, 1991); If Wishes Were Horses (English, 1996); Saray Kaam Zaroori Thay (Urdu, 1997); Divan (English, 1998); Purani Numaish (Urdu, 2001); Unfinished Histories (2002), a book of essays on issues of identity, separation and belonging, co-written with an Indian author; a monograph titled Pakistan: The Question of Identity (2003) and Between You and Your Love (English, 2004)

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Safe haven


By M.B. Kalhoro

A greater number of women are now seeking assistance from Darul Amans. Governments need to recognize the significance of the services rendered by these institutes and provide for improving them, argues M.B. Kalhoro.

In today’s uncertain times, one common observation suggests that young women, either married or widowed, would rather seek refuge in Darul Amans than go to a police station or the kot of a landlord when seeking shelter from the wrath of their families. This, however, doesn’t answer the question as to why these women opt to leave their homes, relatives and even children in the first place.

Some say that the woman is either dissatisfied with her life due to family disputes, or she objects to the old traditions and revolts against customs in an attempt to lead her life in her own style. Illiteracy, social imbalances and sale of women coupled with discrimination are some of the reasonswomen run away from homes and arrive at such shelters through courts, says Gulnaz Ali Abbasi, assistant director Darul Aman, Larkana.

This institution has been functioningfrom a rented building since it was established in Larkana in December 1995, when the first batch of 20 inmates was brought here from Sukkur.In the past women were kept as ’sam’ with preferably powerful landlords or a family in Sindh. Once she was declared sam with any family, no one could dare to harm her and if they accidentally did, then those who had kept her as sam would sacrifice everything, even their life, before allowing intruders to lay hands on her.

The noble tradition of providing shelter to a sam has weakened and become unreliable perhaps due to a decline in values, inter-tribal clashes and the inefficacy of the writ of the law. What one sees now is that instead of seeking support from these people,women, whether married, single or widowed, acquire shelter at Darul Aman. Some of the women find that only this house provides them shelter where they can avoid being killed under the pretext of being kari, said Abbasi.

According to Abbasi, family crises, fear of being killed as kari, corporal punishments and sub-human treatment are other factors that compel women to revolt and seek refuge. Sometimes these women end up at the Darul Aman having lied to the court about their situation when in reality they just want to marry a man of their choice. According to Abbasi, once they are released from the shelter, they marry their ’’friends’’, although she adds many of these so-called friends do not turn up to take these girls away, a tragedy in itself.

Inmates in the Darul Aman, each has a story to tell of the injustices they faced, the degradation and inhuman treatment they endured, and the degree of mental torture they suffered. Eight women and three children are presently residing in Darul Aman in Larkana. ’’We have not paid 13 months rent to the owner of this house,’’ said the administrator of Darul Aman.

Construction work on a new building for Darul Aman is in progress for which the district government has sanctioned a handsome amount so as to have a permanent government building for the purpose, said Khursheed Ahmed Junejo, district nazim, Larkana. The meagre funds coupled with no transport facility and a lack of an instant medical aid system are affecting the condition at Darul Aman.

The medical superintendent Chandka Medical College Hospital, Dr Shabaig Chandio agreed to permanently post a lady doctor at this institute, and with the arrival of a new EDO he has released ample funds of Rs70,000 to run routine affairs, said Abbasi.

Abbasi also said that it was usual for inmates to spend six months at the Darul Aman, adding that four sisters of Larkana district who had property disputes lived continuously for five years at the shelter. A woman from Jacobabad, Shabiran Jakhrani, spent 15 months at the institute and even after that she declined to go with her parents, and finally moved to Gosha-i-Aafiyat in Karachi.

The accounts given by the inmates that are taken down in official registers do not always reflect the pain and miseries these women have suffered. Most references in the registers reveal that many of the inmates accused their parents of selling them to aged men, while they concealed their real problem.

This correspondent met a girl Shabiran who had come to the Darul Aman for the second time on April 15. She had been released on January 20, 2004 but after marriage she fled to Quetta only to return. She looks underage and said she was four months pregnant but did not know the father of the child.

This pale-faced girl from Mandi Bahauddain, Punjab, said that her parents had forcibly married her to an old man. ’’I lived with him for three years and he died of an asthmatic problem,’’ she said. She then went on to say that her in-laws tortured her and indicated that she had been kidnapped by a woman called Zarina who sold her in Shikarpur where she was subsequently married to a person who was already married. He killed his first wife on the charges of karo kari, and used tobeat Shabiran regularly, which is why she ran away from home. When she was found at the Shikarpur railway station the police took her to Darul Aman.

Abida Sahar, who identified herself in the court as Bablee, while narrating her story said that her father forced her to marry an old man named Fareed Ahmed whom she hated. In retaliation she confessed to have fallen in love with a policeman who was working in Dadu. Abida left her home and has been in Darul Aman since, during which time no one has been to visit her, said Abbasi. However, Abida is convinced that one day the policeman will turn up and they will marry.

Nasreen Rani, who is hardly 18 and hails from Sargodha said that when her parents planned to marry her to an old man she revolted and eloped with a resident of Ratodero (Larkana). She was sent to Darul Aman when her parents took legal action against her. Although her parents are now willing to respect her decision, and arrange her wedding to show the relatives that she has married with their blessings, if only to save their honour, she has refused to return to them.

Sumaya, wife of Asif, is hardly 20-years-old and an orphan. Telling her tale she said a housemaid kidnapped her from Karachi where she was working as her assistant. She was brought to Behram town (Larkana) and sold and married to Asif. Sumaya said that after the murder of her husband over domestic differences, the other family members regularly beat her. They told her to leave home and she sought refuge in Darul Aman. Now she wants to marry of her own willafter she is released.

On April 18, 2004 Dawn reported that a man allegedly killed his sister on the charges of her being a kari after taking her home from Darul Aman, Larkana. He did this after assuring the district and sessions court that she would be in his safekeeping and would not be harmed. The police have not been able to find her body and an FIR was not registered.

Sabhai, 30, resident of Mulamo Banglani Goth near Thul, Jacobabad district, had fled the village around two months ago after her brother had declared her a kari. The police produced her in the court of the civil judge in Thul, where Haji Ghulam Yasin decreed that she be housed in Darul Aman, Larkana, the government’s shelter for women.

Shortly after, her brother, Dadan Banglani, went to Larkana and took his sister back to the village, after giving the district and sessions courta personal guarantee that she would not be harmed. She was sent to Darul Aman on March 10, 2004 and released on April 14, 2004 said Abbasi. Within a span of four years no one except Sabhai had been killed on this charge.

The Darul Aman, Larkana has its managing committee and some philanthropists regularly donate ghee, flour, pulses and sugar, etc. The horrifying stories of the inmates call for urgent attention of the state and society by strengthening the existing laws to prevent under-aged marriages, customs like karo kari, ensure a ban on the selling of girls and giving them in exchange as compensation. A system of checks and balances should be evolved and a women’s force formed to control forcible marriages with old men which could work in close liaison with the women police and other law enforcing agencies.

The government should allocate sufficient funds to run the affairs of Darul Aman - a vital institution desperately needed by those who have nowhere else to go for fear of losing their lives.

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Confessions of a former astrology slave


By Bina Shah

Recently I took a serious decision, very light-heartedly. What I mean to say is that the decision was a serious one but I did it on a whim, in a moment of capriciousness, really. I don’t know if it’s going to affect my life profoundly, or if something awful is going to happen as a result of my decision, but I’ve decided to take the first step, take a chance, and see what happens.

No, I haven’t given up smoking, I’m not going to become a Buddhist, and I haven’t decided to suddenly go backpacking around the world. I’ve renounced something which was a habit I’d nurtured for years, something which brought me hours of fun and amusement and something which I really didn’t expect to expunge from my life quite so dramatically. For what it’s worth, I’ve given up astrology.

Let me explain: for years I’d been enamoured of astrology. This habit was handed down to me from my parents who were always very into it-they’d buy those books that would predict your entire year, day by day- Sydney Omarr’s Your Predictions for 1978 being an example of that genre.

Apparently my parents weren’t the only ones inducted into this craze;astrology is a very popular pastime all over Pakistan. You’ll see horoscopes in every daily newspaper, ads for palmists and astrologers who claim to be able to tell your future, and books on astrology in every bookstore.

I got into astrology too and was always looking at horoscopes, reading about astrological signs, and so on and so forth. Pretty soon I became the astrology expert. If a friend was interested in a new guy, all I had to do was ask his date of birth and I’d give my friend a run-down of his positive and negative traits, his strengths and weaknesses and his favourite foods.

I knew all along that astrology isn’t very Islamic.When people asked me whether I realized that astrology is considered a sin, I said yes, but I was only interested in it from the ’’personality’’ angle and I wasn’t really interested in knowing my future. Well, apart from those little sneak peeks at the horoscope section in the Dawn and other newspapers every morning and on Yahoo Astrology.

Anyway, after years of following astrology, reading horoscopes in the paper and on the web, putting in people’s birth information to get clues about their behaviour and character, I woke up one morning and realized that I was letting this dubious art influence me just a little too much... I realized that although there were times when horoscopes seemed to be accurate, it was more often that they were wrong.

But most of all I realized that it’s really limiting to let your life be ruled by astrology. I was pigeonholing people into behaviours and personality traits based on their date of birth. I was letting myself get intimidated about things based on the phase of the moon or whether or not Mercury was retrograde or whatever. And I was getting tired of thinking that way. It really, really limits your outlook.

What would life be like if I didn’t look up my horoscope every morning? If I didn’t rush to an astrology website to enter someone’s birth information and glean all the dark secrets of their soul? What if I decided to just excise this whole habit from my life, once and for all? Would I feel helpless and lost without my astrological compass? Or would I feel freer, unshackled from the need to consult the stars for my every move?

So one afternoon I decided enough, no more astrology for me. Cold-heatedly, calculatedly, I deleted all the astrology websites from my Internet browser’s ’’Favourites’’ section. I un-subscribed to the Astrocentre newsletter that bounded into my inbox every month, promising to tell me what April had in store for me (in return for $9.99, which, I am ashamed to admit, I fell for more than once).

Now, when I open the morning newspaper, I glance cursorily at the horoscope section (hey, it’s right next to the crossword and the cartoons, which I am not about to give up no matter what). But I try to screw up my eyes so that all the words look blurry and I can’t really read what it says. Like they say at Alcoholics Anonymous, ’’One Day At a Time’’. In the case of astrology, you just try to forget what day it is.

It’s been two weeks now, and it feels weird because I’ve been a slave to astrology for so long that I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to live without it. We’ll have to see if I’m successful with it, but I don’t even see it as a habit I’ve given up, like smoking or alcohol (no, no I don’t smoke or drink... it was just an example).

I just thought, ’’Why should I let myself be limited by this kind of thinking? What would life be without these constraints?’’ So far, so good. The sky hasn’t fallen down yet, I haven’t stepped outside my house on the wrong day and been hit by a passing bus, and I haven’t lost all my friends.

While I was a follower of astrology, none of those things happened to me either, but then nor did I ever win the lottery, get that amazing promotion, or find Mr Perfect Taurus-with-Gemini-Rising. So, I’ll take my chances on a life without the guidance (or chokehold, depending on how you look at it) of astrology. Call it an experiment if you will, but I already feel 20 pounds lighter.

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Life back home


By Mohsin T. Siddiqui

Many young individuals are returning to their motherland with certain objectives and ambitions. It is becoming quite clear that they were least prepared for the shock that awaited them in terms of professional pursuits and family expectations, writes Mohsin T. Siddiqui.

Change is always difficult, even more so when it’s forced upon you. The last few years have seen a rather large influx of returnees to Pakistan, most of whom are people one would not normally find coming back to the country, at least not without having spent a fair portion of their lives abroad. And although there is a whole slew of reasons behind their return, the truth of the matter is that most people who came back are beginning to resent their lives here.

Although there are indeed people who return to Pakistan of their own free will, it’s always a difficult adjustment. Sehr, who moved back almost five years ago and works as a PR consultant, points out that her life in Karachi, or even in Lahore (where she is originally from), is nightmarish, compared to her life in the US.

’’You want to know why we all hate coming back here?’’ she asks, smoking a cigarette. ’’It’s because there’s nothing to do here. All you do in this country is stagnate. I’m 29 and single, and all I hear all day and all night from my parents is: ’Why aren’t you married!?’ or condescension from my bosses at work, who still think that women shouldn’t ever be anything more than secretaries.

’’I make half the salary of the men at my office, and when my boss found out that I live by myself in Karachi, he had the nerve to lecture me on how it was ’inappropriate’. I have a degree in marketing from Wharton, and an MBA from Yale. I make no money, I get lectured by every person with the breath to speak, and I don’t care what everyone says, when I tried to get a job somewhere besides my current place, the fact that I was single and living on my own worked against me.

’’These idiots are all backward; I had to move out of my parent’s house in Lahore because I got sick and tired of being asked where I was going all the time, of being lectured and yelled at if I came home after one or two in the morning.’’

Sehr’s sentiments touched a nerve with Faraz, who returned home due to a tough job market in the US and is now working for the local office of a well-known multinational. ’’It’s not just that things are different here,’’ he admitted. ’’It’s that things are essentially unfair. My family and I coughed up a lot of money to send me abroad for college, and now that I’m back here, I’m thinking: ’What good was it all?’

’’I worked myself into the ground waiting tables in-between classes, took out private loans that I’m going to spend the next couple of decades paying back, and all because no one in this country understands the concept of a fair wage. It’s not about how qualified you are, it’s about how long you’ve been somewhere.

’’I have advanced degrees in electrical engineering, but I’m still making less as a monthly wage than I did while serving people diet colas! I’m more qualified and have more relevant work experience than many of the people who are my superiors, but just because they’ve been there longer than I have...’’ He broke off, visibly composing himself.

Faraz went on to say, ’’Do you realize that the only way to get anywhere in this country is to either take massive risks with start-ups, or to just wait your turn in line? It doesn’t matter how well or poorly I do my job, I’m not going to get rewarded or punished for it.

’’Meritocracy is an unknown concept in this country - the whole desi mentality revolves around ’young people are inferior to old people’, and even when ’youngsters’ have more experience or a better education, they’re still shoved to the back of the line because people feel threatened by any change in their status quo. This is why our country won’t ever get anywhere, because the lack of professionalism is truly terrifying, and it makes me so unbelievably frustrated.’’

The unfortunate part about the sentiments expressed by both Faraz and Sehr, is that rather than being a vocal minority, they appear very much to represent a widespread source of discontent. People who come back home realize that they aren’t doing anyone a favour, but they do want the respect and the financial payback to which they would be entitled anywhere outside their home country.

Pakistanis may be second-class citizens in other countries, but as Sehr mentioned, stubbing out her cigarette viciously, ’’At least we get paid and treated as though we’re not supposed to be grateful for what’s rightfully ours - the money, the respect, the attitudes of co-workers. Over here? Hah! Here we get treated as though we should consider ourselves privileged to spend eight hours per day in an office that stinks of chai and is constantly abuzz with gossip and unprofessional behaviour.’’

Kashif, who was forced to return to Islamabad when his wife was discovered to be an illegal immigrant inGermany, agrees with Sehr. ’’After living on your own for even a few years, adjusting to life here is hellish. You have to live with your family because no entry-level job here pays you enough to live in a decent location, at least not if you want to do anything besides work and sleep.

’’You have to re-adjust to the fact that the degree of independence you cultivate abroad is considered ’selfish’ or unnecessary here. I like having dinners with my wife, and living in a house without children. I don’t care for huge family gatherings, and trying to have a meal with six other people in our joint-family household is completely unnecessary.

’’My wife doesn’t make a great deal of money, but we decided to sell one of our cars, and luckily had enough cash left from our move back here that we could purchase an apartment for ourselves. My family wailed that I was abandoning them, but it had to be done - I simply wasn’t willing to give up my sanity for the sake of appearances.’’

He continues, while thoughtfully munching pakoras, ’’The thing is... that no one here wants to change or listen. I feel as though Islamabad is the same city now as it was a decade ago. Pakistani people, especially our parents, seem to be caught in a time warp of some kind. They expect all of us to do ’real’ work, like something corporate, raise a family of at least three children, and then live happily ever after with them, and it just doesn’t work like that any more.

’’Islamabad’s hardly a party city, but even here nothing gets started until about 10 or 11 in the evening, which means that it’s a bit ridiculous to expect that dinner and coffee will be over by midnight and that we’ll all be in bed by 12:30. I mean, come on!’’

Kashif makes a valid point, especially when he mentions ’real’ work. Several people who come back to Pakistan in the hope of escaping mainstream corporate work environments, and who want to engage in some sort of entrepreneurial activity, find themselves blindsided by angry family members who will gladly buy them a Mercedes-Benz, but not invest a single rupee into something that they consider unacceptable; and that consideration is frequently completely arbitrary.

All this really does is intensify the general sense of unease that most people feel, after all, they’ve given up lucrative, happy lives to come back and do ’’the right thing’’, to invest in and develop the local economy, butfind themselves being forced into employment that isn’t of their own choice.

’’When my company wasn’t making any money for the first year,’’ recalls Taimur, who now owns successful consulting group in Lahore, ’’my mother sat me down and basically threatened to throw me out of the house if I didn’t stop ’messing about’ and ’got a real job’’’. When I asked her what she meant by ’a real job’, she didn’t hesitate to throw out the names of several banks and multinationals, claiming that they were the only sorts of jobs with which I could be guaranteed any sort of success. Then she went on to list the names of people with whom I went to school, and who were doing very well for themselves at these sorts of places. So, I moved out and lived with my best friend; he and I went into business together.

’’Funnily enough,’’ he chuckles, ’’three years later, now that I drive a BMW and have more money than most of them, Ammi claims that without her support, I would never have got anywhere. It used to make me furious in the beginning, but now, I just shrug it off.’’

And things don’t really pick up much when you consider individuals who are forced into coming back to Pakistan through no fault of their own. Jahanzeb, who worked as a developer for one of the major players in the US software industry, was in Karachi for a vacation this past December. He boarded his flight back to the US, only to be accosted by the Department of Homeland Security officials.

He was arrested, held in jail without being allowed to make a phone call to his lawyer, and had a ticket back to Karachi charged to his credit card without his knowledge. Now, he sits in Karachi - having been told by the US embassy in Islamabad that ’’he didn’t register with the appropriate authorities in time’’ - trying desperately to wrap up his entire life.

’’I have a home there,’’ Jahanzeb says, shaking his head in disbelief. ’’I did everything they told me to; I waited hours every morning for a week to register with their authorities, I used up all my vacation days to make sure that they wouldn’t have an excuse to deport me, and now, when they’ve lost track of my records and won’t accept my copies of the documentation, they blame me for not registering?

’’I registered! How could I not have, and stayed there for two years, especially given the number of times I left the country and returned? Now, from 12,000 miles away I’m supposed to cancel my lease, sell my things, and ship everything back? I didn’t go to college in the US, most of my friends are no longer in the area, how am I supposed to do anything? Should I just let my landlord take it all or throw it away? I’ve gone from making over $60,000 per year to barely making $4,000 here.’’

Jahanzeb’s issues extend beyond simply leaving his personal belongings behind. There’s a car on which he was making lease payments, a house that he was mortgaging, college loans that he had to pay back. ’’I wanted to pay for my younger brothers and sisters to go to college as well. Now I can’t even do that,’’ he says dejectedly.

Jahanzeb doesn’t actually mind being back in the country. ’’There are worse places to be,’’ he shrugs, and the memory of his nights in a jail cell come back. ’’At least over here, I’m not paying rent, and my family’s laid back enough that they don’t mind my going out and partying if I want to. I guess not everyone’s that lucky. And you know, I did want to return to Pakistan eventually, but not on these terms.’’

’’Besides,’’ he adds, ’’I think that perhaps this may be for the best. My parents are getting old, and I was getting a little tired of the 15-hour workdays there.’’

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That Shia Feller

m j akbar

The most amusing moment in George Bush’s recent interview to Tim Russert of NBC was surely when, scratching his mind for a name, the President of the United States referred to ’’a Shia fellow’’ (pronounced ’’feller’’, Mr Al Hakim. One of these days the President of the United States will learn how to use an Arab name, but that may take time. He started life by messing up Pakistan President Pervez Musharraf’s name, but course correction came after 9/11.

The question to Bush referred to the future of a democratic Iraq: ’’If the Iraqis choose, however, an Islamic extremist regime, would you accept that, and would that be better for the United States than Saddam Hussein?’’

Bush replied: ’’They’re not going to develop that. And the reason I can say that is because I’m very aware of this basic law they’re writing… I remember speaking to Mr Al Hakim here, who is a fellow who has lost 63 family members during the Saddam reign… He obviously was concerned, but he… I said, you know, I’m a Methodist, what are my chances of success in your country and your vision? And he said, it’s going to be a free society where you can worship freely. This is a Shia fellow.’’

The joke doing the rounds in the more indiscreet corners of the Sunni discourse is that George Bush has really been sent by Allah to the Shias to deliver them from their age of despair. Even bad satire sometimes makes a good point. No one has done more for the Shias of Iraq than George Bush. For the first time since Hazrat Ali, son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad, the followers of the Imam (they were called ‘Ali shiatu Ali’, later simplified to Shia) have a chance to rule a land they have always claimed as their own. Ali, the fourth Caliph in the Sunni tradition but the first in Shia doctrine, shifted his capital to the garrison town of Kufa, and was buried next door in Najaf after a fanatic assassinated him in a mosque 14 Islamic centuries ago.

The martyrdom of Imam Hussain at the notorious battle of Karbala in 680 marked the end of that first bid for the leadership of the nascent Muslim community. Since then, first from Damascus and then from Baghdad, the Sunni dynasties of the Ummayads and the Abbasids ruled until the Mongol whirlwind devastated all shreds of the past in 1258. (The Shia Fatimids ruled in Tunisia and Egypt, but they could not extend their reach to Iraq.) The post-Mongol debris in Iraq was cleared by the Sunni Mamluks. The last of the great empire builders of the region, the Turkish Ottomans, were also Sunnis.

The British became the first non-Muslim rulers of Mesopotamia, or Iraq (and indeed Arabia, with its holy cities of Mecca and Medina) since the inception of Islam. After the First World War. The Mongol intervention was brief, and they never went south to the Holy Cities. The British tried direct rule in 1918. Their Paul Bremer was a Tarzan-like figure with experience in both the army and oil, Arnold Talbot (or ‘AT’ Wilson. As a lieutenant in the Bengal Lancers he had protected Masjid-e-Suleiman in Persia, where the maverick gambler William D’Arcy struck oil in May 1908. The British had no time for pretensions when they entered Baghdad in 1917, or after complete victory in 1918. As Arthur Balfour, the British foreign secretary, told the Prime Ministers of British Dominions at a conference in August 1918 to justify British rule in Iraq: ’’I do not care under what system we keep the oil, but I am clear it is all-important for us that this oil should be available.’’ This was Dick Cheney in better English.

The Ottoman Caliph was the officially designated tyrant of 1918, and the Arabs were persuaded by the likes of T.E. Lawrence during the course of the war that they were being liberated from the Turks. Instead of freedom they got British and French colonialism. By 1920 the Iraqis had got tired of waiting for liberation. Wilson was nicknamed ‘Despot of Messpot’, not by the Iraqis but by his own brethren in the British civil service. There were no pitched battles in the first Iraqi uprising, but only a steady haemorrhage. British figures eventually showed 453 dead and some 600-odd missing. Winston Churchill, then Colonial Secretary, convened a Cairo conference in 1921 to hand over power to the Arabs. (I hope all this is sounding very familiar.) The Hashemite prince, Feisal, a friend of Lawrence, was anointed King of Iraq. Two aspects need to be noted, one of them unusual. Feisal had never set foot in the country he was given to rule. And he was a Sunni, who governed with the help of the same Sunni elite that had surrounded the Ottomans in the past and would bolster the Baathists in the future.

What chance then that Bush’s ’’Mr Al Hakim’’ will become the first headmaster of the Jefferson school of democracy?

In 1958, when the ‘Free Officers’ of Iraq butchered the Hashemites and seized power, the Shias used the new environment to set up their first political organisation, Al Dawa al Islamiya. Inspired by the clerics Mohammad Baqr al-Sadr and Mohsen al-Hakim (the family names echo in today’s news pages), the Dawa had two basic principles: democracy on the basis of adult franchise, and the revival of Islam. The Baathists of course found neither compatible to their interests. However, it needs to be stressed that the Baathist ideology was not Sunni or Shia, and theory intertwined sufficiently with practice to permit a Shia element within the new ruling class.

In 1965, an exile from Iran came to live in Najaf. Ironically, he was directed towards Najaf by the Shah of Iran, who was apprehensive about the warm treatment that this exile received in his first abode of refuge, Turkey. This cleric, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, would one day lead a revolution. Khomeini stayed in Najaf till October 1978, when he was thrown out of Iraq and found a home — and international publicity — in Paris. In Iraq, the elder Shia Ayatollahs had treated Khomeini with reserve if not disapproval. As Saddam expanded his power base within the Baath regime, there was little appetite for a radical activist. But Khomeini found admirers in the younger generation, including within the families of Sadr and Hakim.

Between 21 January and 8 February 1970 Khomeini delivered a series of lectures in Najaf that laid down the ideological foundations of his revolution and searched for a solution to the ‘hopelessness and impotence of the Muslim world’. He argued that while the Shias must wait for their promised Imam, they could still turn to the Quran and the Prophet’s life for guidance. The clergy would lead this battle for revival: after all, the Prophet was a political person. On the specific question of the national divide between Iraqi and Irani Shias, he offered practical advice: they should preserve their borders but unite their thoughts. Mohammad Sadr was in the forefront of Iraqi Shia support

for Khomeini. A chant rose in Najaf: ’’Ash al Khomeini wil Sadr weddin-e lazim yantaser!’’ (’’Long live Khomeini and Sadr, and faith will prevail!’’. This was accompanied by ’’Kulana lak fida Khomeini!’’ (’’We are for you to sacrifice, Khomeini!’’.

Saddam became an absolute dictator in 1979, the same year that Khomeini overthrew the Shah. Confrontation was instant. Khomeini called on the Iraqi Shia to destroy the ‘un-Islamic’ Baathists. Sadr proclaimed himself Khomeini’s deputy in Iraq. Hakim was his ally. Saddam’s response was typically brutal. Sadr was picked up and killed, along with his adored sister. Hakim was sentenced to life imprisonment, but later permitted exile in Iran. Iran nurtured Hakim. The families, and the community, maintained their spirit through long years of suffering.

Faith waits for opportunity. One is visible now, but there are evident hurdles. Iraqi Shias have suffered for too long to show their hand easily. A peaceful transition to self-rule through free elections suits Shia calculations. But the prospect of a free Parliament the majority of whose deputies might be Shia does not automatically mean an immediate imposition of theocracy. To begin with Iraq is very different from Iran, culturally as well as demographically. Bush is wrong to fear either a sudden Islamic theocracy, or indeed a democratic government that would be unable to accommodate Kurdish aspirations. What Bush and the neocons of Washington should be worried about is Iraqi nationalism. As the British found out in 1920, Shias and Sunnis can unite seamlessly if they are convinced that their common enemy is a foreign power. The elimination of Saddam’s dictatorship has created space that will be filled by nationalism, not subservience to foreign interests. No free Iraqi government will happily sign a treaty permitting American bases full of soldiers obedient to the Pentagon. The British had this problem throughout their four decades of neo-colonial rule, and had to intervene militarily to keep Iraq on their side in the Second World War. The American plan at the moment seems to be to install a civilian government with authority over civic life, including law and order. The American (or Nato?) presence would be established through a series of well-protected fortresses from which troops would swoop towards targets of their choosing. It is the same pattern as in Afghanistan, which may be one reason why the United Nations is exploring options through interlocutors who have handled Afghanistan. But if Iraq is not Iran, it is not Afghanistan either.

On paper, Iraq (whether Sunni or Shia) wants the same thing as Washington (whether Republican or Democrat), democracy. But democracy is incompatible with occupation, and a mere change in nomenclature will not change reality. That is the bug in the software. Iraq is relieved that Saddam is trapped. It will be at peace only when the last foreign soldier leaves.

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145 or 250?

m j akbar

Twenty years ago this week the most powerful Sikh in India was Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale. Giani Zail Singh was the President of India but he was merely in a Delhi palace; Bhindranwale, seated on the roof of Langar Sri Guru Ram Das Sahib in the winter sun, or in the shade when it got warmer, with a durbar of devotees and flitting journalists, had the country on an edge. I remember vividly the taunt in his eyes when he laughed and told me in February 1984 that if the Prime Minister of India wanted to talk to him she could come to the Golden Temple. His guns had shaken the confidence of India, and journalists spoke helplessly of the Vietnam syndrome: if it was a dull day you could always count on a few corpses from Punjab to make the lead story. From London Dr Jagjit Singh Chauhan, the self-styled ‘President of Khalistan’ co-ordinated with Bhindranwale about when to announce a provisional government of Khalistan that would nominate a Sikh Parliament and collect taxes, while Chauhan would open a Khalistan House in London to work for international recognition of this state. On 1 June there was formal hostility between Bhindranwale’s armed men, firing from the roofs of the buildings in the Temple complex and the police outside: 11 died. On the evening of 2 June Mrs Indira Gandhi addressed the nation on Punjab. Her speech was preceded by Iqbal’s Saare jahan se achha, Hindustan hamara and the Saraswati Vandana. Even while she was speaking two infantry divisions from Meerut and Secunderabad moved into Amritsar. The next morning Lieutenant General Ranjit Singh Dayal, a Sikh and decorated war hero of 1965 and 1971, was made an adviser (security) to the governor of Punjab, B.D. Pande. On the night of 3 June a 36-hour curfew was imposed around the Golden Temple. On 4 June at 4.45 in the morning the battle to end the Bhindranwale threat to India began; it was only on the morning of 7 June that he died. The heavy price that Mrs Gandhi herself paid, in martyrdom, is too well known to bear repetition.

Who could have predicted in May 1984 that in May 2004 a Sikh would be sworn in as India’s Prime Minister? Could there be a more marvellous tribute to India, to Indian democracy and to the Indian people, the bedrock of both the nation and its leadership?

The most important aspect of this decision is that it has been made without any fuss. Mrs Sonia Gandhi chose to make Dr Manmohan Singh Prime Minister not because he was a Sikh, or from this caste or that, but simply because he was the best person for the job. It is an interesting fact that while electoral politics has been prey to caste and community considerations, the Prime Minister’s office has remained above such zero-sum games.

So to the obvious question: how uneasy will this head be? In theory, there is no reason why the government should not last five years. If the NDA could get along for more than five years with only an occasional flash of silliness from the likes of Mamata Banerjee, then there is no reason why Dr Manmohan Singh cannot take what he wants with a reasonable amount of give.

Given the colour that they bring to the environment, and the attendant media projection, it is perfectly understandable that we tend to confuse politics with politicians. But however temperamental they may be, it is not politicians who will be Dr Singh’s problem but the larger play of politics. The allies will reconcile themselves to whatever they get because it would be suicide to rock a Manmohan Singh government even before it has been sworn in. One of the great strengths of this government is going to be Dr Singh himself, since his integrity (not just financial but also political) is considered to be beyond reproach. The fact that he is not, and has never been, a politician could be his best asset.

The great liability he inherits is that this alliance was born out of compulsion rather than an allotment of shared space. Nothing was discussed, and much was assumed. The Congress did not inform Laloo Yadav before the elections that he could not become home minister, for instance. He has been a bit stunned to discover that he is being treated on par with Nitish Kumar. Ram Vilas Paswan had obvious problems with the portfolio assigned to him. Sharad Pawar kept his views to himself, but delight was not his first emotion on Saturday. The allies have a point when they claim they propped up the Congress, for this election was a victory and defeat for partnerships. The most significant statistic is that both the BJP and the Congress lost two per cent of their vote share: one alliance worked and the other did not. Check out another fact: apart from Delhi-Haryana, and to an extent Gujarat and the Northeast, the Congress was decimated wherever it contested alone. The list of such states is a long one: Kerala, Karnataka, Orissa, Bengal, UP, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, Rajasthan, Punjab. If anyone is doing any thinking amidst the euphoria of power, this should go into the category of sobering thoughts.

A single, passionate desire to defeat the BJP brought the allies together, but such glue is vulnerable to conflicting agendas. An obvious concern is the demand for a separate Telangana by one of the constituents of the alliance, Telangana Rashtra Samiti. Without the TRS the Congress could never have pulled off such a decisive victory in Andhra. But while UP, Bihar and Madhya Pradesh were divided by the mutual consent of all parties, there is no such consensus on Telangana. Chandrababu Naidu has fought an election against the division of Andhra Pradesh, and he could seek resurrection on the streets. The CPI(M) will be wary of concessions in Telangana, since it fought a difficult battle to spike the demand for Gorkhaland. The Congress itself will worry about the impact such a decision would have on Vidarbha and the rest of Maharashtra, where Assembly elections are due in a few months.

Ironically, issues of governance never break up such a government. Politics does.

Mrs Sonia Gandhi made an important statement when she told the Congress Parliamentary Party that she did not consider 145 seats to be a mandate; she added that she would consider 250 seats a mandate. This is a legitimate ambition for a national party, and Mrs Gandhi had every right to tell her MPs that they should trust her to take the party to that level.

But that leaves the allies with an uncomfortable question: when does Mrs Sonia Gandhi want those 250 seats? Is she willing to wait till the general elections of 2009?

This is the question that will control the politics of the alliance, because most of the partners in Delhi are competitors in the states. This is why the Marxists kept out of government. If the Congress wants to grow in Bihar, then it can only do so by displacing Laloo Yadav’s party, because Laloo has absorbed the space that once belonged to the Congress. The situation is absolutely the same in Maharashtra.

Alternatively, the Congress might offer its allies the option of a second strategy: let us cash in on the rising popularity of Mrs Sonia Gandhi and the depression within the BJP by a second general election on the same terms, except that the Congress will try and increase its presence in the states where it does not have allies, or at least a significant one: the 180-odd seats of Punjab, Rajasthan, Gujarat, Chhattisgarh, Madhya Pradesh and UP. But to do so you must cash in early, before the sheen has rubbed off. The BJP won handsomely in MP, Rajasthan and Chhattisgarh only because it did not wait for too long after its Assembly victories. In power, sheen disappears very quickly.

The rational thing to do of course will be to let Dr Manmohan Singh run a good government for its normal term. But that would leave the Congress static at 145 seats, with every chance of a large chunk of this disappearing in 2009. That does not seem very helpful, does it? For the Congress to gain any further ground, an election within a year is the only real option.

Would the allies be ready for another general election? The allies gain nothing by haste. There are too many imponderables, the most crucial being the Assembly elections that are due in states like Maharashtra, Bihar and Tamil Nadu. Power in the states is vital for the allies. Laloo Yadav may swallow a bit and accept what he gets in Delhi, but he is going to dictate terms in Bihar. So does the Congress remain content with its marginal role in Bihar? And if it wants more how much more? The interplay of such tensions will be a continuing headache.

Well, at least there is going to be more than one head to share that ache. Manmohan Singh is in office, but Sonia Gandhi is in power

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WORLD AFFAIRS

An enclave on the boil

RAHUL BEDI
in New Delhi

Discontentment is mounting in the Northern Areas, once a part of Kashmir, where Pakistan has tried to suppress regional aspirations by enforcing draconian laws and by changing the demographic pattern by settling Sunni Muslims from Punjab and the northeast.



WHILE the highly publicised 56-year-old dispute over Jammu and Kashmir rages between nuclear rivals India and Pakistan, the simmering discontent in Pakistan’s remote Northern Areas (N.A.), which once formed part of the troubled principality, has largely gone unnoticed.






This strategic, picturesque and environmentally diverse region adjoining China and the Central Asian Republics (CARs), which is dominated by Shias and Ismaili Muslims who are followers of the Agha Khan, has remained under tight Pakistani military control for over five decades. It is out of bounds to outsiders including journalists, except for occasional ’’guided tours’’ closely monitored by the Army and the intelligence agencies. Because of this, little about the rumblings in the region becomes known.

The N.A.’s 2.8 million residents, spread across Gilgit, Diamir, Baltistan, Ghizer and Ghanche districts, which cover 44,800 square kilometres, are the only people in Pakistan whose status remains unspecified. They continue to be deprived of the fundamental, legal, political and civil rights that are guaranteed to the rest of the country by Pakistan’s Constitution. The entire region is administered by the repressive Frontier Crime Regulations (FCR), which were framed during the Colonial era and which make it mandatory for all residents to report regularly to local intelligence personnel and stipulate that all movement from one village to another has to be reported. Consequently, their resentment has been steadily growing.

Persistent denial of educational and economic opportunities for the region and the absence of any infrastructural facilities such as hospitals and colleges have further strengthened Islamabad’s stranglehold over the N.A. The region has a near negligible presence of daily newspapers and radio or television stations. The few publications that exist are subject to state control and are frequently shut down for airing ’’subversive’’ demands such as human rights, accountability and political freedom.

The breathtakingly beautiful N.A. is home to eight mountain peaks between 24,000 and 28,000 feet (7,200 to 8,400 metres) high, including the K2, the world’s second highest peak. But little of this is exploited to benefit the local people. ’’We want access to our own resources, which is our right,’’ Inayatullah of the Engineers Forum of Gilgit-Baltistan said at one of the first ever public seminars by N.A. leaders permitted by the Pakistani establishment, in the garrison town of Rawalpindi last year.

Accusing Islamabad of perpetuating ’’Agency Raj’’ or control over the region by the military and the intelligence services, members of the 12-party Gilgit Baltistan National Alliance (GBNA) objected to the N.A. being colonised by outsiders, mostly Sunni Muslims from Punjab and the North West Frontier Province (NWFP), and demanded a greater say in deciding its future.

Security analysts say Islamabad is concerned that the mounting restlessness could impinge negatively on vital national security concerns. The Karakoram highway, which snakes through the N.A., links Pakistan to its military and nuclear ally China via the Khunjerab Pass, one of the worlds highest passes. The Indus and Jhelum rivers, Pakistan’s main water sources, meander through the area. Any attempt at disrupting the flow of the rivers in the N.A. could trigger drought in several parts of the country, parts of which are already parched and close to becoming deserts because of Islamabad’s short-sighted water management and inter-province disputes.

THE complex history of the N. A. is intricately linked to the Kashmir dispute. After Independence in 1947, Kashmir’s Hindu ruler Maharaja Hari Singh feebly tried to regain control over the turbulent area, then known as the Gilgit Agency and controlled by the Gilgit Scouts, one of the several militias raised by the colonial administration to exercise at least limited suzerainty over far-flung and turbulent regions of the vast empire.

But pro-Islamic zeal and incitement by the British commander of the Gilgit Scouts led to the region breaking away from Kashmir to form the independent People’s Republic of Baltistan and Gilgit. This, however, lasted a mere 17 days, as the leaders of the rebellion in a fit of religious zeal handed over the territory on November 1, 1947, to the newly formed Pakistan. Over the years, following decades of repression by Islamabad, November 1 is observed as a day of repentance in the N.A. when slogans in support of independence from federal control are raised openly.

Recognising its strategic importance and unsure of how the Kashmir dispute would unravel, Pakistan almost immediately renamed this region the Northern Areas and separated it from the rest of Kashmir, which it occupied and called it ’’Azad’’ or free Kashmir. Azad Kashmir - which India terms Pakistan-Occupied Kashmir (POK) - included a 6,400 sq km sliver of land around the capital Muzaffarabad and the other main town Mirpur, while the N. A. was at least seven times larger. India controls two-thirds of Kashmir.

In 1949, Pakistan separated the administration of the N.A. from POK and introduced the draconian FCR. And, though POK was provided a figurehead administration, which included a Sadr (President) and a Vazir-e-Azam (Prime Minister) and a modicum of political activity, albeit tightly controlled by the federal government, the N.A. is still administered by a toothless council, headed by a Deputy Commissioner appointed by Islamabad.

Islamabad is determined to ’disengage’ the N.A. from POK. Security analysts say that the Pakistani military will go to any length to crush any independence movement in the N.A. as it cannot afford the area breaking away or becoming part of the larger Kashmir question.

’’While Pakistan-backed militancy has focussed the international spotlight on the Kashmir valley, India has failed to expose clearly Pakistan’s weaknesses in the N.A.,’’ a security official said. If India’s tenuous claims over Kashmir form the basis of Pakistan’s argument to gain control of the Muslim-majority State, then the hatred of the people of the N.A. towards Islamabad must also be factored into the dispute, he added.

In 1963, in violation of all agreements, approximately a third of the N.A., the Shaksgam valley, was gifted to China under the Sino-Pakistan Boundary Agreement, which stipulated that the deal was subject to a final settlement of the Kashmir issue between India and Pakistan. Thereafter China and Pakistan built the Karakoram military highway on the ceded territory, linking Islamabad with Kashgar in Xinjiang. And though the chances of renegotiating this arbitrary land transfer are remote, Pakistan remained wary of the local Shias, who have not reconciled themselves to the majority Sunni control from the ’mainland’.

In the first decades after 1947, the N.A. agitation was directed towards joining the Pakistani mainstream by the amalgamation of the region on the basis of parity with POK. But once they realised that even this would not be conceded, in 1988 people revolted in Gilgit demanding an independent Karakoram state.

President Gen. Pervez Musharraf, then a Brigadier with the elite commando Special Services Group charged with quelling the disturbances, effectively used Sunni tribal ’irregulars’ to execute a brutal pogrom against the locals. Sunni tribals were trucked in from mainland Pakistan and the Afghan border regions, and after eight days of ceaseless violence the Army ’stepped in’ to restore peace. Thereafter large numbers of Sunnis were brought in from Punjab and the NWFP to settle down in Gilgit, radically altering the demographic profile of the area. The 85-90 per cent Shia majority of 1947 has been whittled down to around 55 per cent today. ’’We were ruled by the whites during the British days. We are now ruled by the browns from the plains. The rapid settling in of Punjabis and Pakhtoons from outside, particularly the trading classes, has created a sense of acute insecurity among the local Shias,’’ local Shia leader Muhammad Yahya Shah declared. According to reports in the Pakistani press, the 1:4 ratio of non-local people to local people in the region until January 2001 has dipped to an alarming 3:4.

Anti-Sunni riots broke out in 1993 in Gilgit, leading to the death of 20 Shias. A year later the federal government allowed mainline political parties of Pakistan to funtion in the region but not those of neighbouring POK.

The first party-based elections in October 1994 led to the installation of the 26-member Northern Areas Executive Council, but it had only advisory powers, no legislative authority. The real power remained with the Ministry of Kashmir and Northern Areas Affairs, which is headed by a middle-level bureaucrat in Islamabad. ’Mainland’ officials continued to man the N.A.’s civil, police and security services. There was also no right of appeal against the judgments of the judicial commissioner.

Following the recommendations of the Pakistan Supreme Court to extend to the N.A. legislative, financial and administrative powers alongside an independent judiciary with writ jurisdiction, the first N.A. Legislative Council was elected in 2000. It was granted powers to legislate on local matters and impose local taxes, but the overall N.A. structure was left unchanged so that Pakistan’s Federal Minister for Kashmir Affairs continued as the chief executive. And when the rest of Pakistan voted for a new civilian government in the October 2002 elections, the N.A. remained outside the political process.

Unrest erupted in Gilgit in June 2001 and again two years later following protests from Sunni organisations over the Islamabad-directed administration’s decision to introduce a school syllabus that ignored Shia beliefs. The Shias claimed that they were being forced to study the same books as those prescribed for Sunni students by the Sunni Ulema, and not those approved by the Shia clergy. Shia leaders said the textbooks promoted Sunni thought and values and were an attempt to promote sectarian hatred between the two sects. Hundreds of schoolchildren boycotted classes and staged protest rallies in Gilgit but to little effect.

The 11-week-long Kargil War in 1999 further fuelled discontent in the N.A. The Pakistan Army’s Northern Light Infantry (NLI), over 70 per cent of which is comprised of local people, was used for the Kargil incursions. The NLI suffered serious casualties as the Shia soldiers were pushed into suicidal missions by Sunni officers from the ’mainland’. Once Washington, fearing the conflict between the nuclear rivals could escalate, brokered peace between the neighbours and forced Pakistan to withdraw its forces, the NLI was disowned by Islamabad. Pakistan refused to accept the bodies of NLI soldiers and the Army initially refused any compensation to the families of those killed in combat. Soon afterwards, NLI units were posted out of the region while, to humiliate the local people further, Sunni Punjabi and Pakhtoon troops were inducted into hitherto ’’pure N.A.’’ Shia units.

’’Though outwardly calm, the Northern Areas of Pakistan are simmering with a crisis that has all the ingredients of boiling over the rim,’’ the widely circulated newspaper Dawn said recently. This discontent and anger, if not appeased, can erupt into a national crisis with far-reaching consequences, it added.

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What is Musharraf’s Cousin Doing in the PIA Kitchen?

By MA Siddiqui

KARACHI: Who is Mr. Adnan Asad, owner of Venus Traders who has been awarded a lucrative contract in the Flight Kitchen of Pakistan International Airlines (PIA)?

The answer to this simple question is both easy and difficult. The easy answer is that he is a cousin of our own General Pervez Musharraf, President of Pakistan, who has appointed his trusted buddy Tariq Aziz’s “girayeen” (village fellow), Choudhry Ahmed Saeed as PIA Chairman.

The difficult answer is that Adnan Asad may be, repeat may be, the Insurance Policy, Chairman Saeed has purchased to save his skin as scandal after scandal and incompetence after incompetence is exposed in his feudally run airline where no procedures are being followed and no corporate SOPs (standard operating procedures) exist anymore.

For the first time in the history of the airline, there are three Deputy Managing Directors working in the top management. But the airline is running without a Managing Director or a full fledged qualified Director Engineering. The essential post of Director Stores & Procurement has been scrapped, ostensibly to eliminate the hurdles in the way of kickbacks and commissions.

As a consequence the Engineering Department has turned into free for all pawn shop where orders are being placed with fake companies and substandard material is being procured without any fear, often at exorbitant rates.

Both external and internal auditors of PIA are shouting from roof tops that serious financial irregularities are being committed but no one is listening, either in the PIA headquarters, or in the power centers of Islamabad, be they run by the not-so-smart Defence Minister, Me-No-Care Prime Minister or the all-too-busy President. All are pretending to be deaf because the Chairman is said to be a buddy of the big General’s buddy.

The External Auditors letter to the Board of Directors which highlighted that ’’Procurement and custody of stores and spares should not be under the executive who is responsible for consumption. This is a serious weakness in the system’’ has been paid no attention at all and instead purchases of Flight Services, Catering and Airport Handling Equipment have also been assigned to him.

Despite being promoted to the post of Deputy Managing Director, against the orders of the Prime Minister, Chairman Saeed’s right hand man AVM (Retd) Niaz, continues to be the acting Director Engineering, because a new man on the post may detect the mess that has been created.

According to an internal audit report prepared for the PIA Engineering, the airline was jolted by a shock of Rs 5.329 billion just because lack of managerial control led to under utilization of Airbus A-300, during the period of January 1999-June 2002.

The same report said PIA paid $1.2 million to Volvo for repair of an engine of a Jumbo 747, when the original repair bill was only $0.7 million --- or half a million dollar extra, to be stashed away in a Swiss or London account.

The managers were so pleased by the performance of Volvo that they sent two more JT9D engines to the same company for the same repairs. That would mean another cool million dollars by the going rate.

’’Such purchases are clear examples/instances of mismanagement/planned purchases with mala fide intentions’’, the PIA audit report commented while mentioning the above deals.

The audit observations prepared at that time pointed out 12 serious irregularities. The management sent components for repairs to a non-repairing agency M/S Airinmar, the report said. ’’M/S Airinmar is not a repair agency rather it is an information management company/ mediator/a contractor’’, the report commented over the placement of order to Airinmar.

Faulty aircraft parts are thus being sent abroad to companies with which contracts have been negotiated with huge commissions, yet the reliability is not ensured. Items requiring replacement of parts are fitted with defective second-hand parts and their failure rate is high. But no penalties have been imposed on the repairing companies.

Consequently PIA aircraft are getting stranded across its network costing millions in expenses, delays, cancellation of flights and annoyed passengers. One recent example is that of the flight to Beijing where the aircraft was stranded for four days and recovered through a relief flight, which also carried a new engine.

While top managers are having a ball, the Chairman is enjoying a grand slam. He is said to be using PIA resources and official funds to support his sick shoe industry producing Service Shoes.

Service has obtained soft-terms loans from Banks which are being repaid by parking millions of PIA deposits. The turnaround of Service is also visible in the form of its association with Nike, the world renowned shoe maker. No wonder, PIA’s cockpit and cabin crews and other ground staff, who are entitled to free shoes annually, are enjoying Nike brands. Small sacrifice for Service shoes

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OP-ED: Unveiling the truth —Farida Majid

If the insistence on hijab as a paradigmatic self-definition of Islam is based on the mendacious presumption that the Qur’an mandates it, then Muslims all over the world should stand up and resist this irreligious propaganda

The debate on hijab is intensifying in France and Germany. Muslim women have stood up and demanded the right to wear hijab. Attitudes are hardening on both sides and Muslims have come to consider the ‘attack on hijab as an attack on Islam’. Is that correct? The claim deserves closer examination.

Hijab is a controversial issue and has been interpreted differently by Islamic scholars. In the present context, it generally refers to the modern headscarf. So the sticking point is the headscarf. Is it a valid symbol of Islam? No. Indeed, such a claim flows from the insidious and misogynistic politics ‘hijabisation’.

The Quran does not mandate hijab; nor is hijab sanctioned by the Hadith. There are three verses in the Quran that deal with the women’s dress issue. All of them use mild language by way of gentle suggestion or kindly advice. The word hijab itself means curtain and it occurs seven times in the Quran in a variety of nuances of meaning. Its most notable use is in Sura Maryam. It occurs in the sense of a screen in the context of Mary’s immaculate conception of Jesus, and the word metaphorically captures the moment of that miracle.

References to women’s seclusion and modest dressing are made in Sura Ahzab (33: 32, 33, 53), but they are very specifically addressed to the Prophet’s younger wives. Muslim scholars all over the world acknowledge that this advice, still mildly worded, is not binding on the general mass of m’umina, the believing women. Only Abu ‘Ala Moududi insists that the advice in Sura Ahzab be treated as dicta for all Muslim women, although the verses begin with: Ya Nisa un Nabi, O women of the Nabi, you are not like other women.

The loud claims made by the Muslim patriarchy and their army of well-mobilised women-followers that there such a thing called the Islamic dress code for women has very feeble basis in the Quranic text. Religious traditions are vast, and in Islam’s case, globally spread out. Traditionally, Islamic legal-moral rules or mores were carefully attuned to the way the Quranic language communicated on the matter at hand. Trained religious scholars or Arabic jurists would comb the Qur’an in order to establish a graded scheme of classifying behaviour, like wajib (mandatory), mandub (recommended), mubah (permitted), makruh (disapproved), haram (forbidden), and so on.

The most egregious falsification by the proponents of hijab occurs, ironically, in the case of the most frequently quoted verse from Sura Nur (24:31): “Tell the believing women to lower their eyes, guard their private parts, and not display their charms except what is apparent outwardly, and cover their bosoms with their veils and not to show their finery”. Mark again the even-toned language of the advice and the generality of what is being advised.

Discounting the fast-disappearing tribal groups of Africa, South America and some other parts of the world where women remain topless, women of all religions around the world dress by covering their bosoms. Not to show their finery is an additional cautionary measure towards checking an individual’s desire to show off superficial adornments to outsiders. But the Quran is not as draconian in its opinion on a woman’s natural desire to adorn herself as the Muslim fundamentalists interpret from this verse. In the rest of the ayat we get the idea that a sweet, youthful m’umina can wear her fineries in front of her family members and householders.

The key to understanding the true import of this verse is the first utterance: Tell the believing women to lower their eyes. These words are rhetorically repeated here from the preceding verse 30: “Tell the believing men to lower their eyes.” Bar none, both sexes are asked to cast down the gaze or glance. Modesty, then, resides in the mind. All other external accoutrements suggested by the Quran are subservient to this inner, mental activity.

This is further reinforced by the adverbial clause: min absari. The verbal, absar comes from basira meaning the power of mental perception, discernment, clear thinking, etc. Therefore, the clause, min absari, appended to the lowering gaze action should mean that both men and women are asked by the Quran to divert our gaze from what is before their eyes and turn inward to inner discernment.

As in Sura Nur: 30 and 31, all the advice for modesty to women can be shown as replicated for men elsewhere in the Quran. The tone of the language, however, when it is addressing men, is definitely more strident. In Sura Luqman (31:18-19), for instance: “Do not hold men in contempt, And do not walk with hauteur on the earth. Verily God does not like the proud and boastful. Be moderate in your bearing, and keep your voice low. Surely the most repulsive voice is that of the donkey”.

The Quranic language is clear and unambiguous about its admonitions. The genuinely pious and spiritually well-formed men were, and are, mindful of such Quranic moral guidance.

It is the modern fundamentalists who are either ignoring the sacred words of the Qur’an, or superimposing ideologically driven meanings upon them in order to suppress Muslim women. If the insistence on hijab as a paradigmatic self-definition of Islam is based on the mendacious presumption that the Qur’an mandates it, then Muslims all over the world should stand up and resist this irreligious propaganda.

Farida Majid is a poet, scholar and literary translator living and teaching in New York City

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OP-ED: The thin slice —Ethan Casey

When I was in Pakistan, I panicked that I would have too little material. When I sat down to write, it astonished me to find that I had far more than could fit in a book of eighty thousand words

My discovery of Pakistan began with the siege of the Hazratbal mosque in Srinagar, about which I first learned while scanning the wires at the Bangkok Post newspaper, where I worked. Overnight on October 16, 1993, about a thousand Indian Army soldiers surrounded the most important Muslim religious site in the Vale of Kashmir. Indian government spokesmen told the New York Times that about a hundred “Muslim separatist guerrillas” had taken refuge inside the mosque with arms and ammunition.

Like “Himalayan kingdom” in stories about Nepal, or “poorest country in the Western hemisphere” for Haiti, the phrase covers a lot of ground — too much. Such phrases are the opposite of poetic, leeching the complexity and subtlety out of a situation. The men inside the Hazratbal mosque certainly were Muslims, and separatists, and guerrillas. But there was more to say about them than that. An honest writer would not use the connotations of such a phrase in order to pander. As I began to learn, the Kashmir problem had a history, and no party to it was without blame, and its roots traced back to the partition of the subcontinent — which is to say, to the creation of Pakistan. The awkward truth is that the real issue was not the status of Kashmir but the existence of Pakistan.

Last year, when I was invited to spend a semester teaching journalism at the new Beaconhouse National University in Lahore, my friend Isa Daudpota helped seal the deal by suggesting I take the opportunity to write a book. I had previously intended to write a book about Pakistan, but a London literary agent — a very prominent and influential one — told me few people in the West were interested in Pakistan, “the more’s the pity”. That was in 1999, which just goes to show.

One of my intentions was to catch people in Pakistan going through their humdrum regular activities. This is, it seems to me, the advantage travel writing has over crisis-driven journalism. “It’s been very difficult to get other stories in that don’t have to do with Al Qaeda,” Ahmed Rashid told me, speaking of his own gigs with foreign publications. There’s always a lot more going on than what people notice most readily, and much of what is true is subtle and requires patience to glean.

Last week, as I finished writing the final chapter of Alive and Well in Pakistan, I kept finding in my notebooks stories and dialogue that I wished I could include. When I was in Pakistan, I panicked that I would have too little material. When I sat down to write, it astonished me to find that I had far more than could fit in a book of eighty thousand words. Even so, my notebooks contain only traces of all I experienced and encountered, which in turn is a thin and arbitrary slice of all that was going on. It’s like the way newspapers pile up, unread despite best intentions: too much happening, too much to read and know, too much effort to make the connections, too little attention to spare.

I had a couple of explicit literary intentions. One was to depict a place and a moment as vividly and memorably as V.S. Naipaul depicted Kashmir in 1962, in the middle section of An Area of Darkness. The other was to do for the human side of Pakistan’s story what Owen Bennett Jones has done more than ably for its political history in Pakistan: Eye of the Storm (2002).

“There have been some books about Pakistan that have proven very popular, such as the one called Waiting for Allah,” noted a man I met in November. “And the other one.”

“Breaking the Curfew,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Which one is better?”

He paused for thought. “Frankly,” he said, “I can’t remember which is which. Which is the one that was written by Christina Lamb?”

“Waiting for Allah.”

“Yes. I remember that I liked her descriptions of things, like houses in Islamabad. But other than that, I can’t remember much. It’s been too long.”

I pointed out that Waiting for Allah was published in 1991 and Breaking the Curfew by Emma Duncan was published in 1989. “Part of my purpose with my book,” I said, “is to update the story. Those books were published fifteen years ago. A lot has happened since then.”

“A lot has happened since then,” he agreed.

A published book is the residue of a writer’s failure to do what he initially set out to do. If the story I’ve told is rough around the edges, then so has been my experience, and so is Pakistan. All I can do is to record faithfully what I’ve witnessed; I speak only for myself.

Whether any of it means anything is a matter of faith. “Why are you in Pakistan?” my tennis friend Mian Mohammed Amjad asked me one evening. “Why are we sitting down talking like this? I’ve been a member of Gymkhana for so long; I’ve never sat down like this. Everybody has been given an assignment. And you look at this assignment, and you see that there is a pattern also.”

Ethan Casey (ecasey@blueear.com) is the founding editor of the global journal BlueEar.com. His book ‘Alive and Well in Pakistan: A Human Journey in a Dangerous Time’ will be published in September in the UK and US by Vision

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what say roz?

By the way Hafizur Rahman

Not the Lahore I knew

The story is apocryphal, but like all such stories it is worth telling. In any case it sounds authentic. They say that Majha (or Gamma if you like), belonging to the asli te wadda Lahore of the walled city, was praying in the holy of holies, the Khana Kaaba. Overwhelmed by the majesty of the moment and the sacred ambience, he exclaimed, ’’Ya Allah, my life for your Makka and Medina!’’ And then, after a pause, he added. ’’But Lahore is Lahore.’’

This is how the denizens and lovers of Lahore view their city. During the recent Indian invasion for cricket, many Hindus and Sikhs were heard repeating the phrase, ’’The one who has not seen Lahore has yet to be born.’’ I have lived in Lahore off and on for long periods. In fact I belong there, if anywhere. Though I missed the first 16 months of its life as the Pride of Pakistan, as I was caught up in the happenings in Junagadh and the birth pangs of Karachi, the capital of the new country.

But I have witnessed all the rest, including the first short martial law of 1953 presided over by the popular General Azam Khan which sentenced Maulana Maudoodi to death, the war of 1965, the memorable general election of 1970, the doomsday scenario of December 1971, the inspiring days of the Islamic Summit, the PNA agitation of 1977 and Benazir Bhutto’s conquest of the city in 1986.

I still love Lahore, though much less than before and that is what this piece is about, written after a recent visit. It was actually motivated (or you can say provoked) by a cloth banner that I saw stretched across The Mall welcoming some foreign guests to ’’this cultural capital of Pakistan.’’

Lahore is still the cultural capital of the country, but I’m afraid it is no longer cultured. The devotees of its leisurely and peaceable style of life are gradually dropping on the way and diverting their affections — strangely — to Islamabad, the abode of a bureaucracy that is devoid of the spirit of liveliness. For it is Lahore’s state of being cultured and urbane that is diminishing every day.

The special physical features of Lahore are still in place. The number of gardens and parks has gone up. The profusion of trees and flowers, the beauty of the winter and the short spring, the absence of high-rise buildings, the wayward traffic, the canal, the tonga (though dying out) the ever-increasing eating places and the variety of delicacies to savour — they are all there. But then, physical features alone do not make a city that is loved and respected. Character and personality are imparted to it by those who live in it and the way they live.

There are now a number of things that put off the old Lahore fan. I just mentioned its traffic gone haywire. That was always one of its charms, but not mega traffic composed of innumerable brand new cars and decrepit old wagons, both undisciplined, and the dust and the petrol fumes. The rush on the roads is maddening, and the biggest victim of this rush is courtesy.

Some time ago I heard from a friend how his father’s car barely touched a shining limousine on one of the main roads in Gulberg because of the heavy traffic. A bulky young man in starched shalwar-kameez jumped out of that million-rupee monstrosity and started waving a pistol in the elderly man’s face and spoke in terms that only showed that he didn’t know who his own father was. That is the kind of people you now come across in Lahore in chance encounters.

You will ask, in which city are conditions any better? Nowadays there are traffic jams even in small towns whose names you’ve never heard before, places like Kabirwala and Baddo Malhi. But what frustrates is the fact that nobody seems to bother about its incidence in Lahore, least of all the local authorities and the traffic police. I may love to live in Lahore, and I may love to die in Lahore but not in a traffic accident on the once lovable Mall.

University towns the world over are known for their atmosphere of learning and the gentle refinement that comes of scholarship. The biggest loss that Lahore has sustained is that the University of the Punjab may as well not be there. It no longer contributes anything to the learning and polish and suavity of the city and is not interested in the cultural aspect of Lahore’s personality. The so-called professors profess to deal in knowledge and education, but in behaviour and ethics they have become petty bureaucrats without the ability of the latter to do anything for you.

Once upon a time the citizen of Lahore who stood out from the rest was the student. He was lovingly alive, articulate, well-dressed, given to a healthy interest in politics and known for his good manners. Alas! That happy picture was painted over long ago by the paints and brushes wielded by some students’ organisations backed by religious parties whose political creed is anything but decency and are a breeding ground for militant evangelism.

This new student may have his qualities, other good points, though he takes pains to hide them, but he is anything but likeable. He has been transformed from an innocent young man into a humourless goon who excites fear among respectable folk by his brash brand of politicised faith. Others not wanting to be left behind have quickly followed his example, and now the picture has nothing about it to distinguish it from an ugly travesty of once healthy youthfulness.

Fear is also generated by the police of Lahore, though not among the criminal class. While Chief Minister Pervaiz Ila