Pen-Friends; Extinct Community!

Penning down on beautiful & colorful writing pads, buying smart pens, choosing impressive postage stamps and inserting pictures & view cards in elegant & scented envelopes were some of the hallmarks of pen-friendship. The exciting moment was when one received a letter from an unknown person, unknown city/country with a request for friendship. Who would send his/her picture first between the two newly pen-friends was the trickiest as well as funniest thing of pen-friendship. Faking the identity from a boy to a girl or otherwise was non-existent in that relatively simple life. Pen-friendship was all about writing letters; no oral communication.

I remember receiving my first ever letter for pen-friendship from an elderly boy living in a comparatively smaller town. It was beautifully hand-written in rich Urdu and I had to seek the help of my elder brother to fully comprehend it. Brimming with jubilation I ran to my parents to share the exhilaration with them. Making a new friend or breaking away from the old one like practice kept on for years except the one; once my father sent me a packet which contained a small transistor (radio) and a letter addressed in my name while I was a boarder in the hostel of Engineering University in 1979-80. The envelope had a stamp of a foreign country. With sheer excitement I opened it and to my utter disbelief it had come from a girl. Why a girl hailing from a cosmopolitan city would write to a boy living in an ordinary town of Pakistan? Where did she get my address from? These were two immediate questions I tried to figure out answers of. After settling down my euphoria and reading the contents of letter repeatedly I learnt that she picked my address from an international pen-pal magazine on the basis of my hobbies i.e. making pen-pals, playing cricket, music, watching movies, etc. In the very next letter she sent her picture and other pictures kept flowing in. I reciprocated in the same manner. Her writing skills were envious, so was her command over vocabulary. On the contrary I communicated in broken English and that even after making drafts on rough papers. In spite of my hiccups our pen-friendship remained unbroken.

Do we still write letters? No longer are they needed because we remain connected through scores of technological gadgets. Electronic mail, texting through cell phones, Facebook, and Twitter are some of the modes of our instant communication. Do we call each other frequently? Never; this is the only trait of traditional pen-friendship left with us that is being followed in its true spirit, though unintentionally.

The romance of writing letters to friends has vanished. The music of a knock on the door by a postman is gone. Once flourishing all across the world in the later half of 20^th century, particularly during 1960s to 1980s conventional pen-friendships are no more in vogue. Few years from now, the children will just ask with a frowned forehead what it was all about! Some elderly people maybe still doing it simply out of tradition or fun but the younger generation is not aware of it and surely not interested in it.

The biggest foe of this once ever-loving pastime of young boys and girls is the advent of computer and its subsequent by-product i.e. Internet. The texting facility on cellular phones nailed the casket of pen-friendship once and for all. Conventional pen-pals have gone extinct. Information technology have introduced new terms like cellular friends, facebook followers and twitterites. Friends in these categories run in thousands but do they replace conventional pen-pals is hard to answer!

My Early Fantasies

Almost everyone used to daydream in the childhood and during teenage years about various things. Some people even at old age continue to do so. I’m one of them carrying this habit all these years. During school and college time my teachers would often shake me up and ask what I was pondering about. At home Mom finding me in a pensive mood would yell; Utho (Get up)! Do some homework.

Following are my early fantasies I could remember:

1. Someone slapped me across the face. I started shedding tears while enjoying the toffee in my mouth! Bizarre, isn’t it? Here is how it happened; our rented house was just in front of the only Post Office in the town. A new Post Master arrived on his transfer from a comparatively larger town and stayed with his family in the official house attached with the Post Office. It was a decent educated family. One of his sons Tufail became my classmate in fourth grade. Tufail was handsome, taller than me with dark, straight and silky hair which covered his forehead all the time. Once Tufail’s elder brother got angry and slapped him across the face while he was still eating the toffee. He started crying and tears flowed down his face. I still remember and adore Tufail’s crying face. However, my desire remained unfulfilled.

2. Kidnapped by the stature of Behram or Sultana Daku (Dacoit), raised me in the caves, I became a Daku and helped the poor! Watching movies was my prime craze at the young age of ten onwards and I used to like action Urdu films with the basic standard of having at least eight fights in a film. I enjoyed going to the cinema to watch black & white oldies having sword fights while sitting in the front lane. Later I turned to Punjabi films in mid 1970s to enjoy actions of Sudheer, Yousuf Khan and Sultan Rahi, etc. Most favorite films depicted dacoits fighting and looting rich and cruel landlords to help poor and in distress. Alas! No Daku came to kidnap me!

3. Thud; Sound of closing door of a car! This fantasy must be termed as something between strange and nonsense! Unfortunately it is true. I fell in love with the sound of closing doors of cars preferably new and bigger ones. I enjoyed this dull sound as a bystander since I wasn’t able to own a car for better part of the early age. When I did, the charm had subsided but it still dwells within. One more thing; Have anyone ever noticed the aroma of the interior of a new car? I’m obsessed with it. Your guess is far from the reality; I don’t change my cars frequently. Rich relatives, friends and official vehicles provide ample chance of enjoying this peculiar odor. Maddening!

Being Optimistic

Living in Pakistan is like living on the edge. Negative, undesirable, annoying, and frightening things keep happening around you relentlessly, only if you do not fall part of it. Reading newspapers, watching news on TV channels, having friendly gossips or informal discussions with office colleagues; you’ll end up depressed, distressed, frustrated and shattered.

I am such one of those millions affected citizens trying hard to change lifestyle by ignoring all negative effects and aim at living positively enjoying every bit of life. Henceforth following pessimistic things and events are not going to make any influence upon my life and will not impair my buoyant attitude:

1. Rejection of admission of my child in the desired private school because I failed to make some “donations” to the school.
2. Land-line telephone is out of order for more than two weeks despite lodging complaints.
3. Electricity Supply Company wrongly sent an inflated bill of 20,000 rupees three months ago. I’m still running pillar to post to get it waived off.
4. More than 26 years of service in a public organization brings just one promotion.
5. My children are sick of our car which breaks down every now and then. They demand a new and bigger car.
6. Why can’t we go to Dubai or Saudi Arabia while all our friends visit in vacations? Children inquire.
7. Deafening noise of music coming from the nearest Marriage Hall is going to last till late night.
8. Corruptive practices prevalent from top to bottom, political instability, terrorism, sectarianism, etc. Natural calamities such as earthquakes and floods. Religious and ethnic exploitations.
9. Poverty, hunger, unemployment, increasing number of incidents of self immolation, suicides.
10. Lawlessness, kidnapping for ransom, murders on petty matters, and honor-killings.

The list can simply be unending.

Only an insane can remain unaffected.

Donkey!

A terrified donkey was attached to a parasail and flown across the sky for 30 minutes in a sick publicity stunt over a beach on the Sea of Azov in Russia. The creature was pulled through the air by a speedboat over a crowded beach — near the Russian resort village of Golubitskaya in a warped bid to promote parasailing for tourists. A local entrepreneur was said to be trying to lure holidaymakers to his private beach club. The petrified donkey, which was braying in terror, was described as "half dead" when it was finally released. Onlookers said the animal was "faint and dizzy" as it tried to get to its feet following the ordeal (news excerpt).

The Russian “feat” was seen as a shameful act by the general public as well as animals-loving NGOs in the West but cruelty to animals especially donkeys is a daily affair in our Sub-Continent. Donkey-Cart owners/drivers can be seen beating donkeys with hunters and sticks fiercely so that this innocent and docile animal could pull and drag loads that even a horse cannot do. Donkey is the most submissive, down-to-earth (literally) and indefatigable animal. Ironically it is also the one who receives unabated brutality by its master (always men) but still remains quiet and faithful. I am sure everyone must have seen a donkey hanging in air while still tied to the cart when it fails to carry heavy load in busy streets of our cities.

Sometimes carts are driven by two parallel donkeys; first reason being the kindness of master who considers inappropriate for a donkey to pull up large loads all alone. This additional donkey is traditionally known as “Pakh”. You may be not aware of other interesting reason; it’s under training. Yes, young donkeys, not accustomed to pulling heavy carts in city streets, are attached parallel with the experienced and old donkeys to receive “on-job” training before getting independent.

Those who opened their eyes (like me) in poor and slum areas must have thrown stones at stray dogs and beaten donkeys with sticks. The painful barks of dogs and pathetic brays (Dheechoon Dheechoon…) of donkeys used to amuse us. At the same time, we would not let an opportunity go waste and enjoyed taking brief rides on donkeys which returned after unloading construction material. These donkeys can hardly be sighted in cities now. Small and medium trucks have replaced them. In order to recall your childhood, just visit a small town or suburb slums of big cities and you’ll come across all similar acts. Life has retained its original color even after decades! Another favorite pastime of our unemployed “Tapori” youth is to place a thief backward on donkey and take a procession in the streets with thief’s face blackened and his neck is garlanded with old shoes. Insulting a red-handed nabbed thief may be an outburst of the crowd but what crime does a donkey commits to go through this heinous ordeal is indigestible!

Riding a donkey is considered a shameful act in our society except poor who take donkey as an integral part of their lives for earning “Do Waqt Ki Roti”. Donkeys are rarely seen as running fast. They look rather lazy and tired. In the Liyari area of Karachi, “Donkey-Cart Race” holds regularly every year where one enjoys watching donkeys running surprisingly much faster than usual. The racing carts are not meant for carrying loads on ordinary days. Fitted with two bike wheels this small & smart racing cart carries the “Jockey” only. Good thing about this race is that donkeys are never hit by their respective Jockeys. Jockey carries a metal box filled with pebbles, and shakes the box rigorously signaling donkey to run faster.

We the human beings of Sub-Continent feel proud in making fun of donkey and have labeled it as a symbol of foolishness. We love to ridicule our employees, sub-ordinates, and maid servants, and while scolding kids a comparatively mild word “Khota” is used when they perform certain actions contrary to our expectations. Khota means young donkey and usually reflects our persistent love and care to the target while still being angry. I never heard a mother calling her daughter “Khotee” no matter how annoyed she had been!

We find plenty of folklore on donkey but stupidity of donkey is yet to be seen or proved. Donkeys are herbivores (eat plants), eat less food than a horse of similar size, and need a lower protein content in their feed. Average age of donkey is said to be 34 years whereas world’s oldest donkey was 62.

Can a donkey earn respect and escape wrath in our society? Perhaps, never!

Career!

Dadaji was enraged over the repeated poor academic results of Mani, his grandson. This year Mani came 21^st in his eighth grade exam. Dadaji decided to talk to Murad, his son, over the ever deteriorating results of Mani. In the meanwhile he went to Mani’s room to have a chat with the kid to ascertain the real cause of the problem. Mani was as usual busy playing games on computer.

I’m gonna make complaint to your Dad, said Dadaji.

About what Dadu? Without taking his eyes off the computer screen, Mani asked.

You are not putting up serious effort in your studies. It won’t put you anywhere; you would never succeed in life and may end up doing some clerical job, Dadaji warned.

But Dadu! I overheard Abbu saying to Ammi that this country doesn’t need good, honest and hardworking people anymore. Degrees, attractive jobs and lucrative positions are on sale. One just need a degree, no matter it is real or fake to climb the success ladder! Mani replied.

You speak too much. Don’t listen to this rubbish and let me discuss it to your father. I’m afraid he’ll let you become a completely spoilt child, Dadaji said in a stern tone.

Later in the evening Dadaji caught his son over the supper and straight away asked him whether he knew about the poor exam results of Mani!

Yes Papa, I know. He is doing fine. He is far from being regarded as an excellent or brilliant student but then why should he put extra effort when the sole purpose is to obtain a degree. Murad said.

With a shock in Dadaji’s eyes, he asked Murad with sarcasm in his tone; so, what profession my grandson would like to take up as a career on your recommendations?

In a country like ours, career in Politics would be ideal, followed by Law and Judiciary; even joining Journalism or an NGO would be equally beneficial. Murad smilingly replied.

And you think these careers can be had without having a good educational background, Dadaji said.

Exactly; Mani will just need a push to enter any of the above fields and there he becomes a successful and powerful person. Murad tries to convince Dadaji.

And how will he earn the degree without studying in a proper way? Dadaji insists.

Abbu! You know that half of our parliamentarians have fake degrees. Those who were caught and disqualified are being re-elected through by-elections. If Mani fails to obtain a fake degree due to prevailing crackdown, we would easily buy him another student to appear for his exams. Even if that doesn’t happen, we can obtain Mani’s grades according to our wishes from the Educational Board.

What do you aim for exactly by planning to get him into politics? Dadaji asked him again.

Abbu! let Mani complete his so called studies and earn a degree. We’ll send him to England for a few months for learning English and other managerial / oratory skills. I want him to contest elections from our ancestral town where we have a large following of our servants, farmers, friends etc. Once he reaches the Assembly, fame, respect, and power will follow him, while abundance of wealth is just a by-product, Murad smiles meaningfully.

Good; that means all my moral education to you regarding service to the poor, honesty, patriotism, etc. went into vain, Dadaji said dejectedly.

Abbu; please try to understand. Times have changed. You can’t survive in this country without having grip over some institutions or power quarters. It’s a need of hour to have at least one family member inducted in any of the above professions. Even people prefer to send their children into Army and Police.

Now please, don’t speak of these noble professions aimed at serving the nation on internal and external frontiers whereas you are taking them as sources of influence and vice motives, Dadaji commented in a complaining tone.

Abbu, you are still living in older times. Do you know which institution has a larger stake in the real estate business across the country? Didn’t you hear the joke that longstanding issue of Kashmir can be resolved instantly once our government decides to go for allotment of plots to our “Jawans” in held-Kashmir?

A Prayer

O Lord! I kneel down to You because of my firm and un-dwindling faith

And follow your commandments revealed in the Last Book

Can’t think of denying meeting You hereafter

For the accountability of my deeds, and the subsequent fate!

Lord! You created me and bestowed with uncountable blessings

A heart that feels and a mind that thinks together with intent and authority

To choose good from evil, virtue from sin, to become a better and helping human being

Alas, I still remain highly unthankful, unsatisfied and fervently insatiable.

Pardon me Lord but people argue, if I were not a Muslim by default

I wouldn’t have reverted to Islam, merely because of the conduct of Muslims

Even the cursory contact with Islamic teachings would’ve done little to lure me

That’s why more than two-third of the world population is still wayward!

Forgive me Lord! They take my bowing down as performance of a ritual

And express it with various names like sheer fear, threat, voracity and smarmy

Insist that some contents of the Last Book are irrelevant to present life and need an Update

But Lord, they are astray like those who witnessed miracles but still perished as nonbelievers.

Health, wealth, cozy life, etc., have tarnished my mind and heart

Either I take them for granted or term them an outcome of my own toil

Lord! Have mercy on me, bolster my faith, and instill Your love

O Omnipresent! Cleanse my heart; make me feel grateful, an ardent and humble believer.

Mom, please forgive me

Ever since I’ve decided to pen down about Ammi (Mom), all forgotten memories no matter how minute and faint they are, have started reappearing in my mind; for example the day I was circumcised (guess I was 3 years old) when the Barber (Hajaam) put a sweet candy in my mouth and pointed to sky to watch an aeroplane flying overhead. My resistance and reluctance proved futile as within seconds my father took me in his arms while I bled and cried with pain.

At that time I sneaked towards Mom who was smiling and shedding tears relentlessly.

As my elder brother (2 years older than me) and I were growing up in our ancestral tiny village, I recall indistinctly my uneducated mother having scores of arguments with my father over migrating from that village to a nearby town for children’s education. During shifting on a caravan of two to three bullock carts, I slept in Ammi’s arms for better part of the 10 mile long journey, as I was later told, but I do remember that I would also sporadically alight from the moving cart to stroll along and/or would run to catch them up.

Ammi would every time stretch out her arms to take hold of me and save me from falling down and getting hurt.

Our rented house in the town was quite large with electricity and a hand pump (Nalka) for water. We had a buffalo in courtyard. Ammi would milk it twice a day and would let us drink fresh milk. After school I would just run outside barefoot to play “Gilli Danda”, Marbles, or would go to Bus Stand to watch new buses. On returning home around sunset, filthy from bottom to top, Ammi would just drag me to stand below the Nalka and let me take bath to clean up.

She would always narrate stories/fables of animals, genies or fairies before we were fast asleep.

Once my tutor of class six Mr. Narain Das tried his best to teach me how to read analog Wrist Watch and tell the correct time but I wouldn’t. On replying the wrong “Time” the umpteenth time, the tutor was peeved at me and slapped across the face.

As if Ammi was standing just across the door, she instantly entered the room ignoring her “Pardah” and asked the tutor as to how he dared slapping her son!

One thing I never understood for long until I turned father; how can parents especially mother love her all children equally? I always considered myself getting most of parents’ attention and care during my early childhood. Other siblings were also in agreement with me and when they protested, Ammi would just reject their plea with a big grin.

Now, decades later, my children repeat the same story and ask their Mom, why Fatima (youngest of all) is your “LADLEE”? They don’t get the different reply from their Mom either.

Mother’s love, affection and showers of prayers for her children have been considered as something obligatory for her to do. No matter how ill-behavior and disrespect the children treat her mother with, they feel proud to be living in a shadow of their mother’s “Duaeen”.

The painful fact; ask a bribe taker, a ‘Sood Khor’ (interest taker), a rich man who makes big fortunes through illicit means, etc., how come he is so successful in his life? Just because I’m bestowed with my mother’s blessings, will come the sole reply.

Time never stops. Once completely dependant on parents especially mother, I turned independent and the most unfortunate reality is that my mother is dependent now. Am I behaving and taking care of my dependent as better as she used to, years ago, when she was independent? What about you, the reader?

The reply must be pretty painful!

Can we find solace in justifying that we are paying back mother’s love and affection to our children instead, and these children will be paying back to their children and so on?

How many of us, still living under the shadow of this evergreen tree, have rekindled complete respect to her and allocated some ‘precious minutes’ to listen to her patiently without getting into arguments?