Work Environments

What horrible, inhumane environments we have created and called them work environments. I was waiting to meet someone at an office recently and the receptionist asked me to wait while she got me the person and as she turned she fell flat on her face. There was a room full of atleast seven people sitting on their desks and not one of them got up to help her up or offer a kind word. They all just asked indifferently if she was alright and went about their business. She seemed floored by the incident and managed to get up in her atleast 4.5 inches pencil heel and rushed to the ladies room. She had returned by the time I came out of my meeting and her eyes were puffy from crying. I felt so sorry for her but sorrier for all those people working there as this would be their fate as well if they were to fall....

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Fantasy or reality: Where do we want to live?

An eagle is told that it once lived in huge nests on high mountains and tall trees at high altitudes and the big bird scoffs at such a preposterous idea. How can such a big bird living in caves and hunting on rodents soar in the skies over mountain tops and oceans. Not a bad idea but quite unlikely. Seems like these humans are crazy and think of anything about other animals to hide their own embarrassment over their monkey ancestry. Pick up any great novel, Hundred Years of Solitude, Blindness, Beloved, Alchemist or any others that you have read where imagination is stretched but you flow with the narrative. You easily believe what the writer is asking of you. It seems plausible and hence possible and you like a bird open your wings and fly where the winds of possibilities take you. Marquez creates a parallel world of freedom and we camp in this world with him; Morrison brings a spirit from the dead and we unblinkingly accept her character; Saramago presents a sightless world to us ...

Captains!

Haven't written in a while and those following my blog would know by now that whenever something disturbing on the world scene happens, I stop writing. Its an irony because usually writers provide solace through their writings while I, lose all power of expression when I am disturbed. And then what is there to write? Follow any newspaper from around the world and there is only one message that you get: Pakistan is rapidly slipping into an abyss! I was born in the 70s and have grown up in the 90s, I have vague recollection of the 80s even though I was not old enough to understand what life under Zia's martial law was like but I have seen relay race of power between Benazir and Nawaz Sharif in the 90s but never in our history have we been so unsafe. Where every person big or small, significant or otherwise, powerful or weak, rich or poor is exposed equally to this invisible enemy. Call it what you might, Taliban, extremist, jihadi, Al Qaeda, seperatist, a murderer by any name is ...

Snapshots

Naseem, is a six year old girl. When I met her she was sitting on the charpoi with her mother and constantly clapping but without any mirth. Her hair was cut almost to her scalp. I was told that she was a miracle child, she had been suffering from severe acute malnutrition and her family and relatives had almost given up hope that she would survive but she had proven all stats wrong and was sitting right in front of us. Physically, she was on the mend but her mental growth had been irreversibly stunted. She did not respond to any movement, any gesture or sound, her mind was somewhere else... A little boy, hardly seven, sitting on the curbside on an otherwise busy junction but at 0100AM he seemed so out of place on that dark, deserted road. As we stopped at the traffic signal, on the road perpendicular to where he was sitting, my attention was drawn to his posture. His slumped back was towards me and as I watched, two cars stopped on the lanes furthest from him. He made an ...

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