The Only Good That Comes Out of Pakistan, is Slims

I have a childhood friend, who lives in the U.S. who is one of the most pro-Pakistani people I know. Having left Karachi in her teens, she and her family made it to the states, and settled down in Florida. Now, a working mother of two gorgeous children, she is a self-made, strong and independent woman. And, she never forgets where she comes from, and what she really is. A Pakistani. Born, raised and proud of her roots.

It's getting more and more rare to spot these kinds of people. Not that I blame many who prefer to distance themselves from Pakistan, what with our current state of affairs, and hogwash. Not to mention former Pakistanis in the west, looking to avoid hate crimes, just because of who they are. But, bullshit? That comes out in the form of some Pakistani Americans, ranting and hurling abuse against a nation they were born in.

This same friend, proudly posted a link on her Facebook page, about Mir Zafar Ali, a local kid, who is now an Oscar winning, Visual Effects Specialist in the U.S. - She was immediately assaulted by a former Pakistani who commented with "One out of what billion? The only good that comes out of Pakistan is Slims."

How quickly can you say 'douchebag'? 

This idiot claims to not be proud of being Pakistani. I feel he should address the fact that he is a pessimist, and seek out therapy. There is a LOT of crap going on in Pakistan, tons of it. And, those of us living here know it better than anyone else. But, let's set a few things straight shall we?

• The nation as a whole did not hide OBL in their neighborhoods.
• Many, many Pakistanis have never even been to Abbotabad
• And, while we're at it, it's Abbot-ah-baadh, not Abbot-abid
• No, we are not heading to the beach everyday, to see if we can spot OBL's remains. And, not because some American has already beat us to it.
• There is no shrine to OBL near our seafront. I promise.

Now, back to the idiot (although, I'm really calling him 'dickhead' in my mind).

As my friend pointed out to him, he is probably wearing clothing with 'Made in Pakistan' tags on. Or, he could be wearing 'Made in USA' tags, which were really just printed here in good old Pakiland. And, I'm betting he uses a good slathering of Fair & Lovely everyday, just so he can maybe turn white at some point, and feel he is truly American. He chooses to remain ignorant to the fact, that many Pakistani Americans are successful in their chosen fields, be it medicine, politics, engineering and yes, even crime.

Not forgetting to mention how he ends up labeling himself, and his entire family as "nothing good" because you know, they have literally come out of Pakistan.

So, the question is, how are we any different from anyone else?

We're not. Except that maybe we're currently bleeding a lot more than most people.

Pakistanis abroad, and Western Pakistanis here. I have a message for you (not all of you, just the douche bags amongst you).

For the ones who left, and can't stop bitching. Read that again... You left. You tried here, and you failed, or maybe you didn't try at all, so you ended up trying somewhere else. And, maybe that minimum wage job is giving your ego a little boost right now, but not enough to make you feel more special than the Oscar winning dude.  However, you should know, that no matter where you go in that vast land of the free, you are, and always will remain just another Pakistani, to those who you probably grovel before. 

For the ones who came back here. If you're not trying to make a difference, not making the sacrifices (and I don't mean a 'I-just-took-one-vacation-this-year'  or "I-only-have-two-power-generators-not-four-so-I-am-making-the-ultimate-sacrifice" sacrifice.), get off your high horse, STFU with your bitching about this country, and grow up. There are people far, far worse off than you are. And, really... If you are going to insist on calling us "third world" you leave me no choice but to call you 'third class.'

This country may not be perfect, in fact, it's crazy right now. But, there are people who live here, work here, raise their families here. And, they're not all bad people. So, please, enough with the bullshit.

P.S. While writing this, I decided I should maybe one day write about Pakistanis in the west, who every day set an example of what the 'good Pakistani' is all about. The ones who hold fast to their culture, their traditions, their homeland. I'm sure there are numerous stories out there, that should be told.

Great Balls of Fire!

Discussing fires yesterday, with a group of friends, I realized we don't really consider fire too much of a threat here in Pakistan. I'm sure, in Karachi people have some kind of fire escape plan, should their houses ever catch on fire. Calling the fire department, would be last on their lists of course. I remember years ago, working at a local hotel, which decided to excessively conduct a series of fire drills one year. Some of us were selected to climb out of the fifth floor (big ass hotel floors folks, not your average residential building floors), and then fight our way down a canvas chute, attached to a fire truck. I signed up, took the elevator up, climbed out of the balcony, started down the chute, then remembered I'm claustrophobic. Of course, the two firefighters there to assist us, thought I was mental. I climbed back out, jumped back into the balcony, and watched the firefighter light a cigarette, before I went off in search of a drink.

Should there be a fire in the apartment building we live in, I have an escape plan in mind. We live on the 1st floor, so instead of running down stairs, while the building burns, and people stampede, I think it would be easier to tie the kids in sheets, and lower them over the balcony. The Huz, would need to climb down first, which is fine, because he can climb up and down sewerage pipes easily (at least he used to over a decade ago, when footballs, and tennis balls needed retrieving). I see a great future for him in the U.S. as a firefighter, should we ever move there. And of course, if that happens, I will be a fire-fighter's wife, and expect everyone to thank me for my husband's service. Oh wait... wrong service.

As you can see, fire is not scary in Pakistan. In fact, we love fire over here, more than we love to hate our cricket team... At least that's what it's been like in the last decade. BOOM goes a market, then everything catches fire, and people gleefully jump over burning carts, and flaming fruit stalls to rescue old men and women, who were only there for a bargain. OK, maybe not gleeeeefully, but man can they jump.

Then, of course there are the groups who hate "blasphemers", and burn down their residences, villages, churches, and parts of their towns,  After, which the media will film the burning for hours, while people watch, and young children learn why their city is called the "City of Lights" and/or 'The most violent city in the world.' 

As you can see, no panic. We're a fearless bunch.

Tyre burning is another great local sport. Fuel prices go up, power outages become unbearable, "rival groups burned tyres on Tuesday? It's our turn now." It doesn't matter. People find their excuse, and take to the streets, yanking tyres off vehicles, drenching them in petrol and setting them ablaze on main roads. Other people abandon their cars, and run around looking for more tyres, to throw on the massive fires all around them. Most go home, because watching endless re-runs of it on the news, while sipping chai at a local Dhaba, or alternatively, updating Facebook with "OMG I was just THERE" is more appealing.

One lonely tyre... Not for long.

Bus burning. Well, because buses are just so goddamned badass, and big, and look so scary when set ablaze. Why not? And, easily accessible too, these buses, since they can always be found on the streets, shuttling working people back and forth, so you know, they can maybe earn a living, and feed their small children.

Looks gorgeous in print doesn't it?

  

Flag burning. No excuse needed, it's yet another fiery national sport, sponsored by people who clearly manufacture international flags, and have lots of 'Not fit for export' ones to spare. India, Israel, The Netherlands, Sweden, were this decades favorites, OK, OK, the Indian flag has always been a favorite.... coming in second, only to Israel. Until recently that is. Then came the American flag... And, the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave? Nonsense! Ah, it remains the most sought after flag to burn. Even though there seems to be an endless supply of it available, at any given impromptu flag burning ceremony. If you've burned an American flag, you're a hero.

But please, keep giving us visas, and aid for Sesame Street productions.

Coming in last, but certainly not the least. The effigy. One cannot begin to describe the passion and emotion behind the burning of an effigy in Pakistan. We've burned so many over the years, created so many remarkable likenesses from George W. and the Pope, to members of our national cricket team  The effigy, without doubt, is our true love.

Dude, why are you beating it?

All this talk of fire has made me hungry. Think I'll fire up the grill tonight.

Here We Were Taught the Golden Lesson...

 *How to sift out wrong from right.


Idly browsing through Facebook today, I came across several updates, all sharing the same link. St. Joseph's Convent turns 150 years old. Without hesitation, I clicked the link, without missing a beat, I 'shared' it too, and without a second thought, I proudly posted a rambling tribute, which ended with "What a great school we belonged to." 

Ah the very essence, of what our convent school was about. Greatness. Introduced to us, when we took our first tentative steps, into that massive structure, and from then on, drilled into us relentlessly over the years, by every faculty member worth her salt.

We were great! We were special! We were Josephians! It becomes almost second nature, to think like that.

*Honor and glory to our school. 


Screw the rest.

We were served an elitist mindset upon admission, and encouraged to like it.

As one reader graciously commented "Having studied at St. Joseph’s Convent, is like being part of the royal family! We can always hold our head up high and walk with everlasting pride." 

Reading that article, I see nothing has changed. Because, while celebrating 150 years of education, students produce plays poking fun at the "lesser" schools. Baconhouse, Amma Farsi, and Karachi Punctuation School. Are you fucking kidding me? 150 years, and this is how they're allowed to honor their school? 


*We are taught to fight the fight.


Ms. Kazi still stands front and center, to remind everyone how "lucky" they are, and apparently she still affects a fake British accent, while she over pronounces words.

What started out as a Christian mission of five nuns, starting a school of just ten pupils, turned into one of the leading educational institutions for girls in Karachi. No doubt.

But, they fail to talk of the blatant discrimination within that institution. They fail to mention how if you were good, privileged, or "pure bred" you were accepted. Dare I say Cambridge = Worthiness, while Matric equaled... um yeah right, stand over there and shut up. And, how if your parents scraped together every penny to pay for your education, you had better be grateful to the school, for accepting you. I was lucky I came from "an aristocrat, Brahmin, Catholic family" and luckier my sister before me was a star pupil. That I dashed their hopes of carrying on her tradition did not go over well. I was forgiven however, and probably prayed for a lot.

I think the praying took place, when I got thrown out of religion class (several times a month) for daring to question the Bible.



*God's blessings shower down on all
Who through it's portals dear
Leave well-equipped to meet the call
Of life, each passing year

I was told at the age of nine that I had "disgusting" handwriting, and an inability to string together a coherent sentence. But, that was tame compared to what was said, to the poor Urdu speaking girl who sat beside me. I watched fellow Christian students berated for being "Anglos" by self-righteous Goan teachers, and slammed repeatedly if they came from "broken" families. I watched fellow classmates, learn at an early age not to cry, when called an idiot by an adult. The same teachers instructed the "pure breds" to not associate too much with those "beneath" us. The same teachers complained to our parents, when we broke that rule. Students who didn't do well in a subject, were forced to sit at the back of the class, if you struggled in a subject you were labeled "lazy," and heaven forbid you should ever question authority. 

*Kind guiding hands, keep us from harm.
And, make our hardships light.

My school, taught me to loathe bullies with a passion, I didn't know I possessed.

My school, helped me to understand the privilege of class, and status. 

The friends I made there, I will always remember fondly. The fun and good times, remain memories carved in stone. And, some teachers admired, and loved dearly, always. Cannot end without a tribute to the two canteen owners, who fed us crap worth it's weight in gold..

*We'll always have a special thought

For our dear convent home.

*Lyrics from the official school song

Stuff and Nonsense

Spur of the moment plans, to meet up for coffee is something I rarely do. But, meeting this one particular friend was important, well, because I don't see her enough. She's a fellow mom of twins, almost always short on time and energy, so our plans to "meet up" rarely progress further than text messages promising it'll happen "soon," while we attempt to juggle kids, work schedules, kid activities, nonsense and more nonsense.

So, there I was, sometime last week (I've forgotten which day... Like I said, too much nonsense) at *drum roll* Butlers Chocolate Cafe, waiting for my friend to arrive. I put in the drum roll, because in Karachi, one must always do that, before one mentions places such as Butlers, where all the "cool" people hang out.

When I entered, I immediately felt the waiter was trying to usher me out, He sort of gestured to the door behind me, his eyes signaling something to the cashier. Then, having realized I hadn't stumbled upon the cafe by mistake, attempted to guide me to a table in the far back. I pretended he didn't exist, and grabbed the nearest table much to his annoyance. He mumbled something about "being more comfortable" and I snapped. So, I froze him with my best don't fuck with me, because I'm a bigger bitch than your mother look, because hey, I didn't work in a swanky hotel for nearly ten years without learning crap like that.

He held my chair for me, then dutifully brought me a menu, and discreetly looked down my top. 

I ordered a coffee, which had some sophisticated name, with the word 'cappuccino' attached to it.  Extremely comfortable in my old, old jeans, some type of kurti I grabbed out of the closet an hour before, hair freshly washed, but not blow dried, and my  favorite worn out flat sandals, smoking my cigarette (nasty habit I know)... I began texting with my brother-in-law, about how Butlers is just a regular roadside cafe everywhere else, but in Karachi the waiters will treat you like shit, if your clothes are not designer labeled. 

Two "ladies" seated at the next table, kept shooting me looks of disgust, one kept wrinkling her nose everytime I exhaled smoke, (she was also wrinkling her nose before I lit up, and I promise I showered that morning). She pointedly asked the waiter to remove the ashtray from her table, then went back to pretending the cafe did not have a 'non-smoking section' on the other side, so she could remain seated at the corner window booth, with a clear view of the entrance. Must not miss the chance to see if fellow hair-sprayed to death acquaintances, put in an appearance, so we can wave french manicured fingers at each other, and air kiss over everyone's heads.

I visit such places for blog fodder as well.

And, yes in Pakistan, we still have smoking sections in our restaurants.

Then, there was this woman sitting with her friends, directly across from me, just staring. I rubbed my nose. She stared some more. I lit up another cigarette, and felt a hiss behind me. Turning slightly, all ready to suggest the non-smoking section, I caught them both glaring at me. I glared right back, while trying hard not to imagine, what one of those faces would look like minus the botox, and obvious eye lifts. It didn't work, so I smirked, and could swear I heard the words "low class" muttered as I turned back to see the waiter standing near me, asking yet again if I would be dining alone.

It's a sin to dine alone at Butlers.

If you're not armed with an iPad.

My friend finally arrived, looking very much the mom who stayed up all night with a sick kid, struggled through fusses at breakfast, wrestled three kids into a car, drove them to their schools, and finally stopped for a break, before heading off into an over-scheduled day. 

She had definitely not changed her clothes, there were visible 'sick child' signs on her t-shirt, tired lines around her eyes, and an exhausted smile on her face. The waiter stared at her in disbelief, and later kept shooting her looks, which told of the unimaginable physical pain she caused him, with her audacity of showing up "un-polished."

I was tempted to rip the silver, tribal design earring, right off his left lobe.

And, feed it to botox lips behind us.

The food was good, the coffee was great. This post is really just (yet another) pointless one... Because, I'm in a kind of pointless mood.

Tired of being a Pakistani

After recent events in Pakistan, where yet another life is taken, yet another voice is silenced, we realize we're not so much back at square one, but that we never moved from there at all. 

I'm tired of the blame games, the finger pointing, the defense of dogma, the useless rants of liberals, the silence of moderates, and the fanaticism running rampant in this nation. The bloodshed. The despair. I am tired of people jumping up to defend their religion, after every tragedy. As if that makes all the difference. It does not. 

I'm tired of the dependency on scripture and Holy Books, as if they are the only source of moral codes for what is right and wrong. They are not.

I am tired of searching for hope in all the madness, tired of those who have stopped searching for it, and so tired of those who hold on to it, preach about it, offer prayers for it, then sit back and live in it with comfort, and a solid dose of denial.

I am tired of shielding my children from the news, tired of attempting to explain to them why it's not safe to go here, or there. So very tired of words like "terrorists" "assassination" "serfs" "elite" "fatwa" "minorities." "Shia, Sunni, Ahmedi, Christian, Hindu, religion, rights, law, repeal...  Blasphemy."

 

I'm tired of news channels, and their panels of 'experts' engaging in so called discourse, with some borderline hard core extremist, hell bent on defending bloodshed. I am tired of people taking to the streets, and burning flags of nations they could not find on a map, setting ablaze vehicles of hardworking individuals, destroying public property, as if it is their duty to stand up for themselves in such a barbaric manner.

I am tired of no longer reacting in shock, when I hear of tragedies.

I am tired of watching news clips of bomb sites, in all their gruesome glory, and only feeling grateful it wasn't me, or my loved ones who perished.

I'm tired of the poverty, and the power hungry who prey on the poor. I am tired of those who can do something about it, but do not. I'm tired of people telling me to 'get out' if I don't like it, and just as tired of people telling me to 'stay and fight' so we can have peace. 

I'm tired of constantly being confronted with the fact, that the only way to achieve peace is to fight for it.

I am very, very tired of being a Pakistani.

But, I cannot be anything else.

Drama, Teenagers and Agatha Frickin Christie!

Not much else besides that seems to be filling up, what just happens to be our 7th wedding anniversary weekend celebration. The conversation a few days ago went something like this...

J: My school kids are doing a play, I need to supervise

Seriously! You're a MATH teacher.


And, later...

J: Can you come help out a little?

Dude, I'm a working mom (redundant term isn't it?), and you're SO in need of a second wife. (Totally legal in our country btw).

And, so I envisioned my weekend going to hell, because that's what you expect when you think you're going to be surrounded by a bunch of teenage wannabe superstars, with chips on their shoulders, and acne where blush would otherwise look good.

Not a hint of wannabeism, the chips were barely visible, and the lack of acne made me wonder how much sex they were having, or whether they just all have great parents, who insist on a year round healthy diet of fruit and veggies. 

At first glance, they seemed disorganized, loud and erratic. Their supervisor (the Huz) did not seem to be helping matters. I will never understand how he can be yelling at a kid one second, and laughing hysterically with them the next. I wanted to run from the madness , which consisted of much messing up of lines, literal dragging of feet, and no one seeming to have a fucking clue what the word 'places' means in an on-stage production. 

I met and dealt with 'The beauty,' 'The beast,' 'The class clown,' 'The stud,' 'The bookish mouse,' 'The genius.' and everyone in between. Gay clothing, hairspray,  girls boldly stating they did not feel ashamed to change in front of me, then promptly stripping,  boys not very careful either, hair straightening irons, female bickering over hair and make-up (OMG the bickering!!!) I was in a Pakistani, missionary, High School Musical hell.

Thankfully it wasn't Vanessa Hudgens' voice belting out from the speakers, or I would have killed them all.

I had the best time.

These kids... Umm, young men and women....

I was struck by their niceness, amazed at how hard they worked, and loved how much they cared about their play. This is the stuff young people are made of, and the older more cynical amongst us, would do well to remember that.


You know who you are, asshats! Stop criticizing the kids.

They put on a show, which rocked the house. A hilarious Agatha Christie play happened. Their talent was impressive, their humor typically teen, their passion? Outstanding. 

And, they did it all on their own.

Little to no help, just given a task, and expected to do a great job, sometimes with needless interference. And, support? Umm WTF is that when it's just a bunch of teens right? 


OK, so back to what I planned would be a review of the production (much as I'd love to rant endlessly about asshole people I spotted adults). 

And, don't even get me started on the 'Christian' presence I observed there. Seriously people! You have so begged me to (yet again) rant about you. Another blog post though.

 

 

 

On second thought... screw the review. I recommend you go see it. If you can't, then go see something undertaken by teens from start to finish. You might be surprised by how professional kids can be.

A Class Above

So children, the topic today is classism and the elitist mindset. I don't even know where to begin, because there is an endless field of crap I'd have to wade through to find out where it all began in the first place. So, in my typical style of not really giving a rat's ass about history, and why this is this, and that is that, I'll just jump right into the middle of it all and point out the bullshit I see around me.

Right now, we're living in a nation which is rapidly approaching hell's fire. People are dying, thousands are suffering the after effects of the floods, the fanatics are getting more fanatical, target killings are an everyday occurrence, people are scared, people are resigned, people are leaving the country, and some people are tweeting about Meher Bokhari being a fundi bitch, and Veena Malik is telling all the mullahs to back the fuck off.

But, it's important for some to remind themselves, and others of who they are, and what they come from. How they sit far above the rest, and either tut tut at those they see as beneath them, or do what they can to exploit, abuse, and ridicule them.

An otherwise pretty entertaining blogger, was the straw, that broke this camel's back. Why? Because, he's privileged enough to have attended the best fucking school in the whole nation.

BEST! 

The one where everyone retains their place if they have "perseverance, excellence, and a dash of style." according to the blogger.

Notice no mention of daddy's bank balance, and feudal background.

Or mommy's social standing in some big shit, fuck-the-people-this-is-about-luncheons charity organization, where they spend more money on organizing their annual dinner/dance, than they do helping the poor in a decade.

So, in essence having the one school in Pakistan, where it is imperative to be the best academically just so you can retain your seat, is actually a good thing.

How?

How is it good? Wouldn't it be better if it was one of the best? (Calm down Patricians, this is not about you... not in this post anyway) And, there were many more like it? Maybe in every district? You know just so that ALL the kids in this country had the chance to strive?  Or maybe even had a chance at education without it having to be a money making business? Hey, how about every school retaining good academic standards?

Or, are poor kids living in slums, going to public schools, going to low fee private schools, going to crap ass schools, all a bunch of idiots?

Maybe they're just not worthy.

Because, if some kid off the street was given admission in KGS, how would his parents afford the fees? How would they pay for his college tuition in North America? OMG would they send their child to school on a public bus? Or worse, on foot?

Never! Privileged kids should never see that kind of stuff. It may make them aware of *gasp* poverty!

Or the middle class.

Academic standards, my ass!

They take in the best, from the richest (or those who do a good job of pretending to be rich) and retain their "high standards." It's common knowledge, and it's disgraceful to see it being lauded over everyone else, by some very naive people, who prefer to live in denial.

This is not about whether KGS is the best school or not, because it's a great school. 

But, seriously former students of KGS (some of you) and other elitists schools. Get off your steeds. If you were fortunate enough to get the education you got, do something more than just lauding it over others.

Like I said to the blogger in his comments section. One need not elevate themselves/put others down to take pride in what they come from.

These are the kind of people, who continue to help this nation remain in the sorry state it is in. I can't say that enough. Because, hey enjoy their comforts, and status too much. They have to be the best, have the best, and keep the best for themselves. And, the only way they can do that, is if they keep everyone else down. Whether they realize they're doing so, or not.

But, it's nothing to be proud of.

P.S. Home of the Snapping Turtle (link in my blog roll) is an otherwise pretty entertaining blog. Just because I disagree with the blogger today, is no reason why I shouldn't promote the little brat.

Cinderella is a Bitch... Poor Cinders!

So, again... Hyper moms worried about the little phases their kids go through, in the corporate world's attempt to take over our childrens lives, and ruin them completely.

Completely!!

But, it's really our daughters we should worry about, well because you know... Some feminists say so. Beware of the pink, the fluffy, the glitter... The goddamn Disney princesses!! They will eat your daughters, as Peggy Orenstein so dramatically tells us.

Cinderella is a bitch!

Protect your daughters people, because girls need to be protected right? They're weak, easily influenced, not like boys who are tougher and never want to grow up to be princes, or knights in shining armor. Not since that little fucker Lightening McQueen zoomed onto a screen, and forever changed the way little boys view their body parts anyway.

My daughter likes pink, and purple. She also like princess dresses.

And, dirt.

But, according to Peggy, it's only possible for girls to play in dirt wearing princess dresses.  

“Just because little girls wear the tulle does not mean they’ve drunk the Kool-Aid. Plenty of them shoot baskets in ball gowns or cast themselves as the powerful evil stepsister bossing around the sniveling Cinderella.”   

Umm ball gowns? 

This is how she views females?

I have nothing more to say about that, because the purpose of this post was to list the evil commercial world's plot to take over my son's brain, and turn him into a cartoon character. I've witnessed so many phases in my son's life of six years, I'm actually terrified he'll become "confused" when he grows up... Because...

1. Diego Ate my Son
2. Lightening McQueen Ate my Son
3. Spiderman Ate my Son
4. Batman Ate my Son
5. Multiple Personality Disorder, aka Ben10 Ate my Son

Hell, at least my daughter will look pretty in her ball gowns. My son on the other hand, will grow up to look like this if he had his way.

What is the color pink compared to that?

Any feminists care to create a stink about that?

And, can we PLEASE let kids be kids... When they're kids?

Thank you!

Mad, Mad World

A few days into the new year, and Pakistan was shaken with yet another mindless incident, where a governor was gunned down by his own security guard for being "guilty" of standing up for minorities. 26 bullets were pumped into the governor by his assassin, who then grinning from ear to ear turned himself over to the police.

And, then all hell broke loose.

Clerics rejoiced, the masses danced, while moderates wept... And, the liberals tried to stop opening and closing their mouths like goldfish, suddenly jerked out of a crystal bowl, on a Queen Anne table.

The Christians crossed themselves several times, and gave masses.

Twitter was all abuzz, and so was Facebook... With fanatical MBAs defending the security guard, and lauding him as a hero. Old people tweeted about their sadness, and were ignored, moderates indulged in embarrassing displays of damage control, and some liberals recovered fast enough to hammer out tweets of disgust with a vengeance which was startling. There was much gnashing of teeth, and use of the word "Jaahil." 

The Indians had the time of their lives throwing fuel on an already blazing fire, Americans ignored the danger of fundamentalists in their own country, and slammed Islam, I don't know who told the people of France , that tweeting to the Pakistani public in French would be a good idea, but it happened, and got even more confusing. Then, not to be outdone, the atheists grabbed the opportunity to repeatedly declare religion a menace.

The world had gone insane.

Several days later, the madness still blazed on, as thousands took to the streets to protest an amendment to the nation's blasphemy laws. Of course, the PM is still bouncing around on TV, trying in vain to assure the rightists that no laws will be amended. Moderates are calling for peace through dialogue, and much quoting of scripture, and liberals are determined to be heard via blogs, Facebook status updates, and tweets hash tagging Pakistan, in what seems to be a contest to keep our country on Twitter's Top 10 Trends. They have suggested everything from banning Madrassas, to designating an island for maulanas and their minions, somewhere in the East Indies. After decades of standing by, watching their country being raped, simply because it benefited most of their capitalist mindsets, they have found their voice.

Bravo Liberals!

Safe to say that most liberals in the country belong to the upper classes?

Who have neglected to take responsibility for the state of this nation for too long. And, here is their payback, biting them hard in the ass. Poverty is a nasty word, and it belongs to the masses here in Pakistan. No one else wanted it, and everyone distanced themselves from it. Except the fanatical clerics, who knew a good thing when they saw it. Christians have done it for 2000 years, and who doesn't borrow from the Christians right?

So they (the clerics) opened their religious schools, fed poor children, probably housed their families, while the upper classes turned a blind eye and went shopping. Are they really surprised as to whom the masses have pledged their allegiance to? Are they really that stupid, as to NOW be blaming fanatical clerics, when they've been a thorn in our side for decades? Do they really have the right to call this nation "Jaahil" when they've done little or nothing to change things for the better? 

Did they pay taxes?

Did they fight for education reform?

Did they fight for childrens rights?

Employees rights?

Human rights?

What are they ranting about? 

We are as much responsible for the state of this country, as the fanatics are.

All of us.

Condemning the Poor - A Sense of Privilege

Over the course of the last week, two incidents occurred on Facebook. Simple status updates, and sharing of links relating to the poor, and working class of this nation, led to comments by some people, which nearly drove me up the wall. According to some (who incidentally belong to the upper class society) 90% of our nation's people are lazy, blood sucking, stab-you-in-the-back individuals, looking for a free meal, and a free life."

These comments were directed at the class of people who for the most part:

1. Work for below minimum wage

2. Are laborers, maids, sweepers, factory workers, cooks, drivers, tailors etc.

3. Are uneducated

4. Are dirt poor

5. Receive little or no benefits from their employers

6. Cannot afford healthcare

7. Cannot afford to educate their children

8. Often cannot afford to feed their children

9. Have almost no rights in the workplace

10. Are treated as inferior beings

Because, they are prisoners of birth.

So, let me tell you how much some of the other 10% contribute to this country.

1. They own their own businesses

2. They employ laborers, maids, sweepers, factory workers, cooks, drivers, tailors etc.

3. They are educated

4. They are rich

5. They will never be poor, as long as they have the poor working for them

6. They can afford healthcare, and anything else they desire

7. Can afford to send their kids to private schools, where most remain average or below average students

8. Can afford to let their kids waste an entire McDonald's meal after eating one french fry.... Daily.

9. Have every right anywhere they go, because they abide by no law except their own

10. Demand respect and often to be treated as royalty

But, let's not leave it at just 10...

11. They don't care that their private businesses do not follow labor laws, and that their staff is paid below minimum wage.

12. Their maids, cooks and drivers can usually be found working 14-15 straight days with a day off after said days are complete. These same maids and drivers, are on call 24/7 and often go without a day off for months at a time, because things would fall apart if they left.

13. They are incapable of opening a car door themselves, but think nothing of their 7 year old servant boy mopping their 14 room houses.

14. They consider a cheap cotton jora gift to their staff, and or 200 rupees for Eid as "taking care of them as if they were our own family."

15 They're not opposed to loaning their staff money, for their medical needs, but will deduct it from their pittance of a salary "to teach them some responsibility."

16. After they do that, they'll spend the day shopping for that perfect outfit which costs 20,000 rupees.

17. They will lie if they have to, to protect their businesses, and gain credibility.

19. They expect and demand a life time of gratitude for their "generosity" in granting the poor employment.

20. And, they will constantly moan about how those same people are so lazy, and always ready to stab them in the back.

It is difficult to not be outraged.

It is difficult to not want to bitch slap them from here to hell.

It is very difficult to fight them while exercising respect and calm.

I admire the people who do it. They have the patience of saints. 

Friendship, Social Barriers, & All That Crap!

In the last few weeks, I've had some interesting conversations with various people, regarding friendship. Not one to give it too much thought, since I've always applied the theory "either someone is your friend, or they're not" when it comes to all the friendships I've ever had or continue to have. Now, I can't help but ponder about it, as my kids have both reached the age where they've begun to choose their own friends, without my encouragement.  I've always chosen my friends wisely, or rather chosen them with what I consider some wisdom after a few nasty experiences in my youth. 

Some people can be strange about friendship, and the views I received recently left me a bit disconcerted. Class, standard, religion and money seem so important. I watched my husband get ignored and treated like less than nothing in the company of "friends" I was reunited with after five or six years. A lot of them probably deemed him unworthy of their time, and respect because.... He's a teacher by profession? And, chooses to work and support his family, instead of jumping from one business venture to the next with lightning speed, and no purpose? Yet, they fawned over me, like I was the prodigal daughter returning home. 

I don't take offense to that, because people are what they are. But, there will be no more reunions.

And, I can't stand "in your face" friends. With their constant need for interaction, get-togethers, fun, fun, and more fun. It simply bores me. I was once firmly fixed into those types of friendships, and I found them shallow. Then, there are the one sided friendships, I for some reason have mainly had with women... I look back on those with quite a bit of disgust, because my goodness, did they waste a ton of my time, incessantly talking about themselves, their problems (of which they had plenty each day), and never giving the slightest heed to the advice they begged me for. I was honored with a few seconds of their interest in me, and my life, before being completely dismissed as unimportant. It amused me, and built in me an aversion to women who never seem to have a grip on their lives. 

Last night, I found I have much in common regarding friendship with someone, who from our first meeting over a year ago, I clicked with almost effortlessly. It didn't matter that we met up after months of planning to meet up, even though the distance between our homes is probably not more than 11/2 mile. It didn't matter that her two kids were running in circles around us, while we enjoyed a long awaited Margarita night, husbands and all, because it wouldn't occur to us to exclude them, and opt for "Coffee at Espresso" instead. 

I stopped after only two (but pretty strong) ritas, because I felt a happy buzz I haven't felt in years. The buzz which comes when you are your most relaxed self. I ate like a pig, and I eat like a bird in public otherwise. 

A few hours before that, I sat on the floor of the home of a person, who doesn't own a couch, or any other furniture besides two metal cupboards. They served us food which they could ill afford... I couldn't stand to see the gratitude in their eyes, that we felt they were worthy of a visit from us. I don't see why my children shouldn't visit and play with their kids out in the compound, with sticks and an old rubber ball. 

They're not ready for me to withhold encouragement, and my opinion on their choice of friends, which at present is nothing more than what is acceptable in the little society they're a part of in school. 

They will not be encouraged to only have "Christian friends" because "that's what they come from." It was how I watched people raise their kids in the small community I belonged to. I found it ridiculous from the start, and hypocritical that they still boasted about having friends "from all walks of life" while never having the slightest bit of respect for them on the inside.

I don't refer to my Muslim friends as "Mozzies." Neither do I "keep them at a distance." Diwali is not celebrated by "a bunch of people who are crazy enough to worship thousands of gods." Neither are Parsis' "weird about their burials." Or, Urdu speaking Christians "not acceptable to attend Christmas midnight mass with us English speaking folk."

Yes, fuck the barriers, is what I intend to teach my kids.