Phallic Phallacies

AMpakistanis who have lived abroad, or more likely studied abroad, always carry a hang up of having been there. they love making endless comparisons, using it perpetually in arguments, talking about the best quiche they ever had, the most stunning concert they heard, the most fun they had, the best drink they ever tasted - while they were abroad.
i should know - i am one of them.

my stories inevitably begin with "when i was in america..."

so this is one of them stories. *these*

when i was in america, at my college, we would have a weekly assembly, where people from various countries would mark their country's independence day with a presentation about their country, they would play their music and dress in their native clothes, and talk about their country in general.

now firstly 14th august fell during the summer vacations, so i didn't have an option for that. but in my second year me and my first year country mate did do something for 23rd march.

back in 2002, pakistan was a country not many people knew about, and almost no one gave a shit about. in essence, the good old days.we forsook the talking about our country for a two minute video. the first slide began with the claim that pakistan was a country that was the bomb.

that was followed by a montage of pictures of beautiful pakistani women, and those of our nuclear missiles, played over salman ahmed's version of the national anthem.

as i recalled that incident now, the first thing that struck me was how incredibly misogynist it was. but i also recalled it as a deliberate attempt by us about making people know where and what pakistan was by making obvious the two most shocking things about our country - that we had women who were not wearing burkhas, and that we had a far more naked nuclear obsession.

my friends were genuinely surprised, perhaps because at age 16-18 kids are not as politically inclined.

regardless, the prinicpal was aghast - she summoned us and lectured us about the inappropriateness of the message we were putting out about our country. she was almost weeping when she spoke about how much she would hate someone portraying her native Colombia in such a manner.

thinking about it now, i wonder why i decided to present pakistan in such a manner. instinctively, the first response i recall was wanting people to realise what and where pakistan was - i mean before the epicenter of terrorism stuff most people thought of us as somewhere between saddam and apu.i also remember that at that time i found our nuclear pride a bit hilarious - i didn't know whether to laugh or cry when the people of our bum fucked nation were distributing sweets in public to celebrate the nuclear tests.yet, i am still not sure if my eventual message was as genuinely satirical as i recall. because eventually, i was projecting the two things pakistan the nation, the construct and the state love doing - brandying off our nuclear power, and exploiting our women.


essentially, both impulses arise out of the strenuously patriarchal nature of our society. the phallic missiles aside, the nuclear bomb is a blatant display of geopolitical machismo.
it is perhaps the IR equivalent of wearing one of these.
as for women, i don't know if i really need to qualify anything here. women in pakistan exist in a surreal reality.
they are upheld as the barometer of our morality and values, and are hence punished barbarically if they stray even in the slightest from the standards we uphold for ourselves...
...yet at the same time, it is a national pastime to ogle at women, to fantasize about women, to poke women's private parts in public places, to fornicate with women with or without their consent.

for many young pakistani males, getting together to bang a hooker is an acceptable weekend activity. if my former driver is to be believed, in rural areas getting together to gang bang any woman is acceptable weekend activity.
we have found ways to make sleeping with nine year olds religiously acceptable, and if we feel that we must protect their honor, we have found justifications for marrying them off to the Holy Book.

essentially then, the interplay between women and nukes was so vital in my presentation (even though i didn't realise it) because it represents the pakistani psyche, with both elements representing integral parts of our masculinity - with the nukes being the national penis, and the women being the national penis receptacle.

put in such a context one can understand why just about every problem in pakistan is inevitably attributed to a foreign ploy designed to steal our nukes. in essence, we are afraid of being castrated by the big white man. we are afraid they will take away our penises.
so even though we are largely poor and illiterate as a nation, and remarkably fucking corrupt and lest we forget, in the eye of the global shitstorm, our primary obsession is the nukes and their planned theft.
because, as i just said, without the nukes we would be chakkay, heejray, na-mard.
so imagine the delightful irony of this delightful situation, described here in the words of my colleague

"The entire national security doctrine is based on the revenge of a lover..."

it appears that a couple of pakistani nuke scientists - oh those epitomes of our nation's valor - were willing to fucking sell out the nation's grassy diet for a little bit of cash. if we extend our analogy here in, some pakistani males were willing to castrate our national lun to buy some rolexes or what not. to make these guys even more scum of the earth, one of these fuckers had an office romance (which i find abhorrent) and then decided to jilt his lover.

motha-fucka.

in essence, the pakistani male is willing to chop off his own cock for the sake of some money, which he would probably spend on getting a hooker upon which he would realise that he no longer has a dick and thus the money and his penis would both go to waste.
now, as my fiance reminded me, it was a woman however, who helped us retain our luns, and thus through perverted pakistani logic, our murdangi.
and what makes this woman, who was also a nuclear scientist by the way, even more impressive, is that she did not do it for the national cock, but rather out of the fury generated by a love betrayed.
now if there is one thing we can do right, it's love. love is a good enough reason to do anything, and if someone fucks with your love, being delivered to the ISI is a pretty easy let off.

so next time you bitch and moan about the fact that the foreigners are looking to castrate the nation and run off with the nukes, remind yourself that those who rule, those who obsess about their phalluses the most, are the ones that are most willing to sell them off for some money.

like every other problem in pakistan, it seems that only those who are getting fucked will be around to save the country (and it's penis) when it needs them.

Blasphemy no. 5

What kind of SMS would the Holy Prophet send?

Which carrier would he decide on? Zong? Telenor? Ufone? (The devil uses Jazz so we can rule that out)

I backed up my blog before publishing this, as i was wary people in their fury at my words might take out their anger on my blogsite. For most people, considering the Prophet, or Allah, or anything remotely connected with religion in any context out of the conventional and sanctioned ones is an invitation to strap on some dynamite and ball bearings.

so back to the conversation. would the Prophet be on facebook? would he use blogger, or wordpress?


are you recoiling in horror? praying for forgiveness for my sins? why?

consider this - it is the belief of muslims that islam is the perfect and eternal religion, which provides for guidance in every conceivable manner of life's varied situations. moreover, it is perpetually put forth that the Prophet's life provides for the perfect solutions to each and any problem that our daily life might throw at us. thus islam has an ordained method of stepping inside a bathroom, a set way of having sex with one's wife, a prescribed procedure for conducting war, for shaving one's pubic hair, for saying hello in the morning, for offering prayers for drought and for funerals, for trimming the beard, for decorating the eyes, for tugging trousers above ankles and below navels...
so it stands to reason that the Prophetic way would also provide for issuing guidance in areas where contemporary muslims are unsure of what to do. but in order to do that, one can not turn to any examples from the Prophet's life, as none exist. ergo, wouldn't one have to depend on interpretations, on analogies, and on consensus to reach a decision?

unfortunately, the prevailing instinct in popular, or perhaps prevalent streams of islamic thought is a strict, literal version of islamic injunctions and orders. of course, it is bleeding obvious by now that i am referring to wahabist, salafist ideologies, most eloquently embodied by the taliban.it would be unfair though to blame solely the taliban - for as long as i can remember, muslims have always looked fondly back at the time of the four caliphs, as an era of utopia, of perfect contentment, of ideal governance and living, of the ultimate realization of humanity's potential. in fact, the panacea to all of today's problems is routinely thought to be setting back the clocks to those glorious times.

let us ignore the historical fact that the era was marred by repeated rebellions against the new state, and of a debilitating civil war, and would go on to deliver a dynastical monarchy which was ruled by men who had much in common with the very arabs that the Prophet had removed ideologically and politically from power.

even if we assume that this said time was Perfect with a capital P, is there any sense in reverting back to it?
to do so would require literally stripping away whatever exists of contemporary life, which includes 14 centuries of buildings, boundaries, structures and technology. even if that were possible, one would also need to destroy 1400 years of cultural development, of linguistic development and intricacies, of intellectual thought. but even if one somehow manages to do those things, it still would not be enough. for you would also need to eradicate a millennium and a half of memory, of identities, of history.yet advocates of such a monumental task of rampant destruction are adamant that this is exactly what would provide Muslims with deliverance. now, as i just explained, a return to such times would need a collective imposition of amnesia. are these advocates even aware of the consequences of what they are asking for?

clearly they are not. why? because their whole manner is insincere.

the mullah denounces the decadent west, and promises a return to simplistic times, through an FM transmission. i know that Hazrat Bilal had a lovely voice, but he was a slave, not a short wave transmitting device. no precedence exists for this digital sermon in our Glorious Past, Mr. Fazlullah.Or how about the band of illiterate bus conductors who proclaim themselves to be the taliban? last time i checked, a talib was a student. expropriating their name might be an example of brand mimicry, or even franchising, but this sly usage is certainly not befitting of a glorious movement striving for the establishment of God's will on earth.

but the extremism on one end does not justify the extremism on another end.

on friday, i was doing a report on ways people could aid the IDP situation. i visited one event which was very well publicized on the net, which had its own facebook page, and radio ads and all the works. it was completely sparse as well, populated only by a variety of MILF-ish aunties in oversized Chanel sunglasses gossiping away while being surrounded by a handful of sacks of food.perhaps ironically, or befittingly, the name of this organization was "Voice of the Civil Society."

their ideologies and ideas were soon exposed as just as insincere, as half-baked and self-serving as the people i mentioned above. for starters, they were passing out these green ribbons which were supposed to show our support for our troops.i recoiled in horror when asked to wear one, as i felt that as the army had created, fostered and nurtured the taliban, the least they could do was fight them when they were threatening to take down pakistan.

in response, the flamboyant designer who was offering the ribbon replied that the only good taliban was a dead taliban, and someone has to kill them, so it might as well be the army. he then served me some drivel about how people like him and me were the only bastions of progressive values in our country.
fuck him.

let us imagine that the Prophet was around right now. perhaps he wouldn't be bothered with using Zong, or twittering. but there are some things he would probably denounce.

he would feel that the air-conditioner i have on right now is sinful in the context of the fact that most pakistanis are suffering from electricity shortages, and don't have any ACs to relieve them when the light does come back. he would not like the fact that my family of six has access to three cars. he would recoil at the amount of water i use in my shower when the country suffers from a lack of adequate water supply. he would question my need to eat the super sized meal at Mickey Dees when most of the people in my society consumer the same number of calories over a week's period. he would probably ask me not to keep my appliances on standby, because the energy they use are causing pollution and shortages.the mullahs in our society use mobile phones to plan and then detonate improvised explosive devices, yet denounce modernity and it's manifestations such as democracy. the mimis and tinkoos in our society testify the kalima of progressiveness, yet routinely support fascist and authoritative actions and ideals.

if the Prophet were alive today, he would not be on the right or the left, he would not be secular or theocratic. he would take a stand against bigots, against regressive thoughts and ideas, against the blind following of ideals just for their sake, he would be against anyone who uses the ends to justify his deplorable means.

i would venture to say that such issues would occupy him far more than the need to flog unproperly attired teenage girls, the compulsion to criticize land reforms and democracy as un-Islamic, the desire to hold charity drives while sipping perrier, the excitable calls for the creators of the demons to protect us from the demons themselves.

the Prophet may have been many things, but he was not an idiot. stop making him out to be one, and stop acting like ones yourself.

The Politics of Dance

Last year in Lahore, there was a running battle between the courts and the moral police in an attempt to ban dancing on stage. It was one of the first battles in a steadily intensifying culture war, which would later rear its head during the Shanakhhat festival, as well as the banning of Naseebo lal.

I had done this report back then...

The Joys of Quality E-Mail FWs

You are definitely staring at a monitor right now. but you may or you may not have your speakers on, or have headphones either.

Similarly, when you are watching the tv, there is a way to mute the sound, but you can not mute the picture.

it is perhaps why music aficionados don't like videos - those who access videos inevitably become viewers, rather than listeners.

but even the visual sense has its own class markers - much the same as everyone on the blogosphere cares more about the class and ideological differences amongst themselves rather than realizing that they are all part of the smallest pyramid on the income distribution chart.

so, there is text, images and moving images. clearly, text is the clear loser, because it is slower, useless unless focused on and thought about, and requires the greatest effort.

the difference between the image and its moving counterparts may be difficult to split on aesthetic differences, but the moving image category provides you the most bang for your buck, so that's where people end up going the most.

so, it's all about what you see, often over what you read.

now, i received an e-mail this morning proudly exclaiming that

"FW: Most Good Looking Man In The World Is a Pakistani! (Internal)"

now my eyes saw, but they did not believe. but, as the Oracle says "Believe"

but why take my word for it. who am i to tell you what to believe and what not to. 

why.

don't you see.

for yourself.

TA-DA!

it's ok. 

you can scroll back up.

do i really need to write anymore?

well, what you saw up there was the straight-on to camera, look-me-in-the-eyes, understand me, know me, luuvvee me style. it's important to note that even if not visible, the hands are not on the hips, in a threatening or aggressive manner, but probably pressing lightly against the thighs. it suggests a laid-back, lackadaisical, almost bohemian approach sprinkled liberally with good-clean-fun. but that is not what is arresting you.

it's the eyes. 

as mansoor malangi put it so eloquently, "teray naiiiiin, tere naaiiiin, te-ray naiiiiiin..." 

a set of eyes almost perpetually behind some dapper set of shades are presented in all their un-tinted glory. and it's a sensual, almost holy experience. these are not the eyes of a politician, a statesman, a deeply respected icon... 

 these are the eyes of a young boy, 

playing on a karachi street, 

in the blazing afternoon heat, 

and he's asking you...

... to love him

but it doesn't end there.

Chotay, agli slide lagao.

After all the eroticism, it is perhaps almost a relieved soul that greets this image. the maddening ecstasy induced by the last picture can now subside into a calm ocean of wisdom and gratitude, the waves of reverence gently lapping on your grateful feet. 

when the continued encroachment of the Taliban *coff* Pathan*coff* worries you, when the hollow words of the media and Imran Khan compel you to take the streets in the month of May, when the issues of federation, feudalism and fucking-staying in power are not to be found in any political party's manifesto, you need not despair. 

because somewhere, in England, in a small garden, in the morning, a well dressed philosopher is slowly composing his daily voice-mail,  issuing instructions for you, your family and your friends.

and it's not just there, in the garden, where the creative grapes are fermenting to produce the intoxicating wine of wisdom. the thoughts are just as powerful when composed in a coquettish glance away from the lens, into the lookspace of the mysterious realms of the metaphysical world

and now, what do we have here...

as mentioned above, the placement of the hands is a lovely indication of the disarming, unarmed, welcoming tone of the body language. but here again, one sees the vision on display. that glorious path towards fascist emancipation that we all await deliverance upon. and that smirk - that gentle, mirth-filled little scrawl made by the positioning of those full lips that signify hope, elation, contentment and eventual salvation. 

but it's not all about being a leader, forever frozen in thought amidst middle-class English town surroundings. a leader also immerses himself in the cultural milieu, a leader's heart beats with the passions of the masses, a leader is he who lives the lives of his people.

i'm not sure if he's dressing like Osama bin Laden would at a qawwali. i am even further unsure about how much i like the people around him - i hope they are not his companions. the guy on the right seems to be sleeping, and has a large camera bag, which surely has no place at a performance such as this unless it involves a cameraman, which snoozing beauty over here clearly isn't. and those guys on the left - what is the guy in black wearing, and why are they talking. i mean, what the fuck is so important that you have to talk about it during what was clearly early-era Salman Ahmed doing the solo for "Do Pal Ka Jeewan". I mean, what else would move the Bhai of all Bhais and their Behens to such a pure moment of bliss? 

The eyes are focused in concentration, the arm extended in simultaneous appreciation of the sound, as well as creating a symbolic connect - like an antenna - with the fabolous energy floating in the auditorium. 

Rock on Altaf Bhai, rock on.

At first, this picture seemed to have too many colours that the BJP likes to wear. That can never be good. But then, it becomes obvious that Pir Sahab is visitng another Pir and the ecsatsy of the divine union has climxed into an orgasm of colours which have flocked to  the shareer of the Bhai who is Pir.

In fact, such mortal divinity causes collective cumming across the confounded devotees, and they often like to express their honor and love. Sometimes, they do that through a placard. 

"Welcome In Delhi, 

Mr. Altaf Hussain

A Man Loves To All Folks

By - Indo-Pak Friendship Forum"

A Man Loves to all Folks. 

How true. How poignant. 

No other man has the amount of loves that he can dispense upon all folks like my Saathi. So many loves, so many folks. It is truly incredible. And don't be put off by the cringe binge expression he's carrying, he likes it - he likes it a lot. 

but sometimes, a man who loves to all folks also sends his love to all tribes. and the nomadic peoples of the desolate stretches that is Bumfuckistan, Pakistan. and as i had mentioned, the leader is one with his people, and his people are the Mohajir. Those who migrate. And since all of us are forever migrating, forever in transit, across time, space and the ether, we are all migrants, we are all Mohajirs, and we all have one leader - a man with the ability to effortlessly lose himself in to costumes of any one. His visceral link with the common man means that even in strange costumes, he immediately appears as the perpetual native. it is only when you look at that visage, that self-content mystique of the seer that you realise it is not just a common man, it is the Common Man. 

Pir Saab can also be the Nawab, the Khan, the Malik, the Makhdoom, the Chaudhry, the Mian and the Malik, the Syed and the Thakur, the Saeein, the Saaaaaaaaaattttttthhhhhhhhhiiiiiiii...

But then there is one pitcure I can't really say much about. Only a question, if you were the handsomest man alive, and you went online, what would you look at?

Where are you Pakistan?

This really isn't a report i am proud of, but it's an issue i felt really distraught about... felt i should have people see it

"We are burdened with a genius that is misunderstood"

These images were floundering around in a forward. I think they work perfectly as a complement to my previous blog...


So what if they can't catch the militants - at least they have got all the chicks covered...


Remember when Titanic came out and you could buy Titanic chappals, bangles, mehndi, and even Titanic qamar-bundh? seems like those branding habits die hard


in case you slept through the first 24 hours...


This one encapsulates brilliantly what i mean about us being harami - sometimes we get oblivious to it, other times we just revel in it :)


A 1000 words won't do this one justice.


The best for last. You can't help but fall in love with this place. *tear*

A Case of Exploding Aaloos or "What do they know of Pakistan, who only Pakistan know?"

This post is long. It's also kick ass. Relax and enjoy it.

So there i was, enjoying a feisty comments-debate (on a blog i gave props to in my last post, so i'm not going to do so again. i'm very much like this) when suddenly, it felt like an intense deja vu.

it was something that has happened so often during the past year i have been an active participant in the blogosphere that i wonder if i should even partake in it any more.

it goes something like this - a blogger puts forth the idea that the country should be democratic, it should be modernized, it should have peace with its neighbors, it should not be forever insecure, it should be secular.

that leads to much controversy, inevitably, because such an opinion OBVIOUSLY means forsaking our islamic identity, NECESSARILY implies that we become closer to the americans or the west and accept the superiority of the indians. it dictates that we lose our national sense of morality,
sell our women to be ravaged and ravished by uncircumcised RAW agents,
send our poor to be melted in vats of acid, collectively desecrate the memory of the Holy Prophet, start listening to "Stairway to Heaven" in reverse and believe that Ajit Agarkar was a good bowler.

In short, such an option for pakistan would mean that we would become the most despicable excuses for humanity possible.

you also notice that the people who draw such conclusions at even the slightest hint that pakistan should be anything other than mullah omer's wet dream
are people who are not living in pakistan. a majority of them are those who are living, working or have emigrated abroad. is this a huge generalization? perhaps...

now if we come back to the comment-debate i was talking about, the person in question was someone who indeed lives abroad. during two-month long vacations that he/she takes to pakistan on an annual basis, this person achieves the superhuman feat of empathizing, sympathizing, and most importantly, relating completely with the "average" pakistani. the "common" man.

doesn't it suck that someone like me who has never stayed in pakistan beyond a 2-month period would be more accepted by the general people than someone like you? doesn't it suck that if i went to chill with some of the poor at orphanages in balochistan or went to the villages im from in punjab or visited schools we've help build in kashmir that you, and not I, would be the obvious misfit?

let us discard for one moment the fact that such a person - the common man - doesn't exist beyond drawing room, and by extension, blogosphere conversations or celebrity op-ed contributions.
now these expat pakistanis feel that pakistanis from similar class/social status as themselves are becoming increasingly baysharam, bayhaya, that they have sold out the values and identity of the country and the nation, that they have committed sacrilege and blasphemy, that they have become traitors to the country as a whole.
when they combine this impression with the depressing social, economic and political news they read and watch about pakistan, they come to the conclusion that because of the actions of the "elite" that they encounter, the country is at its current impasse of being absolutely fucked up.

i'll put it in simpler terms - because the elites they meet are all fucked up, and the country they live in is all fucked up, it stands to reason that the former is responsible for the latter.
now, i'm not saying that the actions of the elites are not responsible for pakistan being bum-fuck crazy. but such a deterministic and ultimately simplistic argument never appealed to me. how can it be that 5% of a country half the population of Europe can be the sole purveyor of blame, while the rest of the 95% are idiots and simpletons who can not exert any control over their lives?

however, thinking like that leads one to the idea that pakistan somehow needs to be saved. can't argue with that. but the savior most people have in mind is either the magical cure of an islamic society, or the globally proven balm of constitutional democracy.

now i wrote to my vacationing in pakistan friend in the comment debate that one thing we must understand is that pakistanis as a people are a incredibly harami lot. i mean we are kanjars par extreme.

this sounded offensive to many, and i can see why. here is what my comment-debate friend had to say

"you clearly pity yourself and your absurd mentality that pakistan is a harami place is part of the problem. self-pity never helped anyone get anywhere and it wont help pakistan. if it is such a harami place incapable of changing, why are you there? or do you, as with most priveleged pakistanis, have a superiority complex and trust in your ability to thrive in a harami environment?"

now i replied to that with an intensely emotional response. this blog is a more rational take on things.


you see, there are a million reasons why pakistan is a harami place. i can go into all of them, but i would encourage readers to give their own examples in the comments section.

here is one reason that i think perfectly encapsulates pakistan's harami-ism.

back in the 90s, when relations with india were a lot more paranoid and closed-off than they are even now, post-Mumbai, cricket matches between the two countries used to be held solely on neutral locations.

for those who don't appreciate the place cricket holds in our hearts, you must understand that cricket in south asia is an extension of nationality, and even religion. for a lot of us, the cricket team is the only genuine thing about this country we can be regularly proud of, and it is also something that helps us punch above our weight. a pakistani cricketer can become a rock star, an intellectual, a prophet, an action hero, a pin-up model, a father figure and a sex symbol all rolled up into one.

the greatest batsman of our generation was inzamam-ul-haq, affectionately known as inzi.

although inzi's list of achievements can go on forever, his first act alone should reserve a god-like status for him for all eternity. if it wasn't for a 37-ball innings of daring genius by this man, we would have never been world champions. simple as that.

anyways, in 1997, pakistan and india were involved in a series in toronto known as the sahara cup. at one point during the second match, inzi - whose demeanor incorporated the zen-like calm of buddha with the laziness of a bored cow - rushed up to the stands with a bat in hand to assault a spectator.

what heinous and despicable acts was this brazen villain committing?

he was calling inzamam an "aaloo."

a potato.
that had been enough to upset the demeanor of a man who ferocious fast bowlers, wily spinners, sledging close in fielders, cheating umpires, vindictive journalists, brutal selectors and everyone in between had never even extracted a raised eye brow from.

so how would a cricket mad country treat one of its most revered stars, who had to face the unimaginable ignominy of being insulted by not just a spectator, but an indian supporting spectator, not just an indian fan, but a dirty, cow worshipping, piss drinking, Babri mosque destroying, Zionist collaborating Hindu?

the next time, and far as i can remember, through out the next 11 years of his glorious and exemplary career, inzamam would be welcomed to the batting crease by his own supporters, his own countrymen, his own people the exact same way.

they would welcome him with the chants of "AALOO, AALOO"

every single time.

please remember that cricket stadiums are overwhelmingly populated by the common man. please also remember that inzi's favourite hobby was rescuing the shame and izzat of the pakistani team over and over again. and finally, please remember that he was one of the kindest, softest, most lovable and huggable pakistanis alive. and yet, every time, every single fucking time -

aaloo, aaloo.

at a moment like that, confronted with a reality like that, how can you not come to the conclusion that your entire country is nothing else if not harami?

i mean, forget the drones based in our own country, forget supreme court stormers upholding the independence of the judiciary, forget claiming that gang-rape gets you canadian visas, forget everything else.

aaloo, aaloo.

Reverberating through the concrete wasteland of the NSK, bouncing off the arched roof of the Gaddhafi, echoing through the male-only stands of the Arbab Niaz - aaloo, aaloo.

but does that mean that pakistanis, and by extension pakistan, are to be hated, or looked down upon, or despised for their innate harami-ness? (harami translates into bastard)

two people helped me realise that this is not so.

the first was this man, my grandfather.


when i had grown up enough to realise that he was not just my nana, but a poet of stature, i would wonder why he chose patriotic poetry. i mean, where is the rebellion, the middle finger to the establishment?
by no means was all his poetry patriotic, but it was one of his central ideas. i wondered if he was just naive, what with his simplistic calls for love for the country.

as i learnt of him, his life through my family, i came to understand the eminence of the man, the trials and tribulations he withstood in the face of the stark reality of supporting a family, and the repeated betrayals of his country and his people. for him to not get jaded, to not let those things defeat him, to still be consumed by the passion of his ideals taught me that there is something worth loving in this god-forsaken land.

the second person is the woman i love.

she taught me a lot about our country, but her invaluable contribution was that she taught me how to love. she made me realise that you love something for what it is, not what you want it to be. that love is not about contentment, but continuous unrest. it breaks you down to build you up again. when we love, it is not out of convenience, not out of intellectual fulfillment, but rather out of need, out of desire, out of a compulsion to love.

"jaan"
for the simple understated necessity it employs,
for placing atop enviable heights,
yet familiar like dew bitten earth to the senses,
bare
embarrassing
vulnerability.

you can not love that which you cannot stand unless it changes. you can not love that whose identity you deny. you can not love what you do not understand. you can not love out of contempt, but through truth and through hope.

yes, pakistan may be harami. but whatever it is, and however i wish to see it change, this is the pakistan that i love.