Pakistan's Quest for a:Future - Government College University

Pakistan's
Quest for a:Future
Mushahid
Hussain
As Pakistan enters 2011, a crucial year for the region, the country is exuding
confidence and clarity regarding the geo-political scenario but in domestic politics-there is
confusion. That confusion has set the stage for political change, whose contours are not yet
clear.
On the regional scenario, Pakistan has started preparing for a post
America-Afghanistan, with the United States now more dependent on Pakistani cooperation
for the success of its strategy in that war-torn country. In fact, it would be no exaggeration
to state that the political future of Barrack Hussain Obama largely depends on how Pakistan
assists the United States in providing for an eventual dignified military exit from
Afghanistan after facilitating negotiations with the Afghan resistance. To prepare for this
eventuality, Pakistan has made some significant moves:
+ Better rapport with President Karzai, whom Pakistan backed in the Presidential
elections, unlike the United States and India which supported Dr. Abdullah, Karzai's
main rival.
+ Pakistan has positioned itself as a pivotal player in the emerging 'new regionalism'
which is driven largely by energy and economy by signing onto the gas pipeline with
Iran despite stiff US opposition and also agreeing to the
Turkemenistan-Afganistan-Pakistan-India (TAPI) pipeline.
+ The recent visit of the Chinese Prime Minister and the agreement to upgrade
strategic cooperation to the regional and global level give Pakistan more room to
maneuver vis-a-vis the United States and India.
The centre-piece of this Pakistani strategic worldview was clearly enunciated in a
14-page document presented by Pakistan's Army Chief, General Kayani, to President Obama
during their meeting in the White House in October 2010 on the sidelines of the Pakistan-US
Strategic Dialogue. In what is probably the most concise and clear enunciation of Pakistan's
core national security interests on Afghanistan, India and the United States, General Kayani,
a cerebral general with a calm demeanor, talked candidly of the Pakistani perspective, urging
the need for a political strategy that can supplement military moves while also ensuring what
is clearly the bottom line: Pakistan should not be caught in 'the wrong corner of the room'
when the time for the US military exit comes.
On India, unlike allegations of "compulsive hostility", General Kayani is clear that
India has a legitimate role and interests in the region but these should not be at Pakistan's
expense. When their meeting ended, Obama promised Kayani that "I will read every word of
your paper". For a change, Pakistan's leaders in mufti and khaki are on the same page as far
as this strategic world view goes.
The biggest worry for Pakistani policy makers is that the US brass might try to
convert their failed military strategy in Afghanistan to scapegoat Pakistan, as seems the
inclination through orchestrated media leads.
In the last couple of years, Pakistan has withstood pressure from India's 'coercive
diplomacy' as well as US leaning on Pakistan to start a new offensive in North Waziristan. If
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there is clarity on Pakistan's foreign policy, Pakistan's political landscape presents confusion
and an unraveling of the government that replaced the Musharraf Order in 2008.
This crisis comes in the context of three basic-realities of Pakistan and its people.
First, a serious crisis of political leadership, reflected in immature acts of a vision-less ruling
elite that is bent upon repeating past mistakes. Insatiable greed and lust for illicit money.
failure to rise above clan or partisan interests, and self-perpetuation at all costs, are some of
the hallmarks of this ruling elite. Contrast this with how one factor above all else - leadership
- turned the tide in South Asian Muslims quest for a homeland based on exercising the
inalienable right of self-determination. Had there been no Quaid-e-Azam, there would have
been no Pakistan. He virtually single-handedly fashioned a future for the Muslims of the
sub-continent, in the process, as eminent historian Stanley Wolpert, aptly summed up - the
Quaid changed the course of history, altered the geography of the region and created a
nation-state. Truly, an unprecedented achievement.
Central to the success of his leadership traits were his integrity, character which
showed he could not be purchased, and a relentless commitment to his goal of Pakistan. In
today's world, any aspirant for national politics focuses on Big Money, support of the
Establishment, a nod from external influences, before seriously embarking on achieving
political goals. Conversely, the Quaid-e-Azam had no atom bomb, no army, no America or
Britain to back him nor any Big Money, but he fought off and defeated a whole range of
interests inimical to the notion of Pakistan, including the British Viceroy Lord Mountbatten,
the powerful Congress Party representing India's majority community and a broad array of
Muslim political groups, both secular and religious. So, the basic lesson of the freedom
movement is that difference between success and failure is dependent, more often than not,
on the quality and calibre of leadership.
Second, the Pakistan power structure is today no monolith controlled exclusively by
the military or political establishment. There are multiple power-centers now that include
the military and the political establishment, a truly independent judiciary run by the powerful
and popular Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, a fiercely free media in which there are no
'holy cows', and a very vibrant civil society which influences perceptions and public opinion.
In other words, no single institution or individual is incharge. Pakistan is also witnessing a
disconnect between the State, many of whose institutions are working in an archaic and
outmoded manner, and Society, which exudes vigor, activism and dynamism.
Third, the ethos of the people of Pakistan.When many foreign observers present a
doomsday scenario for Pakistan, they under-estimate the resilience of the people, who have
shown the capacity to combat challenges, overcome them and then move on. Pakistan has
been in the' eye of the storm' since 1979, witnessing geopolitical upheavals in its
neighborhood - the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, the Iranian Revolution, the breakup of
the Soviet Union, the nuclearisation of South Asia, the post 9/11 turmoil - plus political
instability, violence, terrorism and natural disasters at home. Pakistan has surmounted since
then the pressures of three Afghan wars, three Gulf Wars and three near wars with India,
apart from hosting the world's largest and longest-standing refugee population.
Resilience apart, another strength of the Pakistani 'national character' is the warm,
welcoming and generous nature of our people. Whether it is applauding Indian cricketers
success on our soil, as was the case in 2005, or responding rapidly with an amazing spirit of
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voluntarism in the 2005 earthquake or the 2010 floods, or donating to charity with a 'big
heart' at about a $ 1 billion a year, Pakistanis have developed that can-do, self-starter
confidence which is a sign of a society that has zing and an empathy for the suffering of
fellow citizens.
While a lot needs to be done to re- invent the Pakistani state, with wrongs reversed
and the rule of law firmly embedded in the national landscape, the way forward will be
somewhat eased if our educated elite shed their visceral pessimism, and be more proactive in
promoting political change, rather than resigning themselves to a role of cynical prophets of
doom and gloom watching events from a distance without daring to take steps to alter the
status quo. The quest for a better tomorrow should not be left to just a bunch of politicians,
bureaucrats, generals, judges and journalists, but the educated class, especially the youth,
must leave the 'cribbing club' and come out of the closet by contributing with clarity for a
way forward for Pakistan.
The youth need not be reminded that when the Quaid -e-Azam seriously embarked
on a struggle for a free Muslim homeland, he tapped the potential of two key sectors of
Muslim society - youth and students, and women. And these two became the vanguard of the
Pakistan Movement, converting an 'impossible dream' into a reality in less than a decade.
The writer is the current Secretary General of the centre-right Pakistan Muslim League (Q).
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Pakistan's Foreign Policy Challenges
Shamshad Ahmad
The Qyaid's Vision:
The Founder of Pakistan, Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah had envisioned the
newly independent Muslim state's foreign policy to be one of "peace with all, and enmity
with none" In a message to the nation on August 15, 1948, he elaborated his foreign policy
vision
as follows:
"Our foreign policy is one of friendliness and good-will towards all the nations of
the world. We do not cherish aggressive designs against any country or nation. We believe in
the policy of honesty and fair play in national and international dealings and are prepared to
make our outmost contribution to the promotion of peace and prosperity among the nations
of the world. Pakistan will never be found lacking in extending its material and moral
support to the oppressed and suppressed of the United Nations Charter."
The Quaid's foreign policy vision thus stipulated Pakistan's steadfast adherence to
the purposes and principles of the UN Charter, particularly the principles of sovereign
equality, territorial integrity, non-interference in each other's affairs, and peaceful settlement
of bilateral
disputes.
Functionally, the Quaid also expected the nation's irrevocable commitment to the
ideals of democracy, pluralism, market economy, social justice, communal harmony and
egalitarian order. He visualized a Pakistan that would be stable politically and strong
economically where its people could live their lives and raise their children in dignity, free
from the fear of violence, oppression and injustice, and where they and their future
generations could also live free from hunger, disease, and illiteracy.
Based on these principles, the basic goals of Pakistan's foreign policy could have
been summed up as "preservation of sovereign independence and territorial integrity,
socio-economic development, maintenance of Islamic identity while progressing as a modern
and forward-looking democratic nation, pursuing in solidarity with the international
community, the cause of global peace and security and making Pakistan a strong factor of
regional and global stability."
Geopolitics:
For any country, it is important who its neighbours are, as their attitude, irrespective
of their size or power, has a direct bearing on its personality and character, and on issues of
its security, development and resource allocation. A glance at the map of our region will
show that Pakistan lies at the confluence of some of the most important but volatile regions
of the world.
Our location gives Pakistan an unrivalled relevance as a factor of stability and
harmony not only in our own region but also the regions beyond. We cannot change our
geography, nor escape from its social, cultural, political economic and strategic influences.
Geography thus places on Pakistan the onerous responsibility of consistent vigilance and
careful conduct of its relations not only with its immediate neighbours but also with the rest
of the world, particularly the major powers.
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No doubt, a nation's strength lies in its people and institutions. But its ability to
develop and prosper is conditioned by the geographical environment in which it functions.
The cliche that a person is the product of his or her environment is equally true of nations.
No wonder, since its independence, Pakistan's foreign policy has been determined
primarily by its geo-political environment and concomitant compulsions of national security
and territorial integrity.
It has always had to respond to exceptional challenges inherent in its ever-volatile
regional and global environment which not only had an indelible influence on its conduct as
a state but also conditioned its national agenda, state priorities and policy-making processes.
Pakistan's external relations since the very beginning of our independence have been marked
by four major
constants:
+ Our quest for security and survival as an independent state.
+ The legacy of our troubled relationship with India which in fact constituted the
centre-point of our foreign policy.
+ Our excessive reliance on the West for our economic, political and military survival;
and
+ Our total solidarity with the Muslim world, and unflinching support to Muslim
causes.
Against this backdrop, Pakistan's foreign policy has remained marked by a complex
balancing process in the context of the turbulent history of the region in which it is located,
its own geo-strategic importance, its security compulsions, and the gravity and vast array of
its domestic
Domestic
problems.
Perspective:
Foreign policy of a country, and the way it is made and pursued is inextricably
linked to its domestic policies, governance issues and socio-economic and political situation.
And domestically, Pakistan's post-independence political history has been replete with
endemic crises and challenges that perhaps no other country in the world has experienced.
The tally of our woes includes costly wars and tensions with India, loss of half the
country, territorial setbacks, political breakdowns, economic stagnation, social malaise,
societal chaos and disintegration, and a culture of violence and extremism. This is the
sum-total of our independent statehood.
Our domestic failures have seriously constricted our foreign policy options. Decades
of political instability resulting from protracted military rule, institutional paralysis, poor
governance, socio-economic malaise, rampant crime and corruption, and general aversion to
the rule of law have exacerbated Pakistan's external image and standing.
Corruption in our country has been a source of serious concern from the very
beginning of our independent statehood. In his presidential address to the Constituent
Assembly on 11 August 1947, Quaid-i-Azam had warned us against what he called the
"evils" of bribery, corruption, black-marketing, nepotism and jobbery. He wanted the
government and the Assembly to take "adequate" measures to put these evils down with "an
iron-hand."
We as a nation have not only failed to grapple with these challenges but are in fact
living remorselessly with these problems as an "integral" part of our society. Governments
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and the Assemblies have been part of the problem rather than solution. Aversion to the rule
of law is endemic. Poor governance has been our national hallmark. Crime and corruption
remained rampant and galore both in scope and scale.
Our country is today the classic example of ingenuities for bribery, exchange of
favours and illegitimate perquisites. "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" is the
common approach followed by public officials, be they parliamentarians or civil and military
officials. The culture of perks and privileges has been growing at the expense of the state.
Meanwhile, the difficulties and sufferings of the poor and the underprivileged have
only been aggravating. They remain burdened with liabi Iities that normally belong to the
state. Parents pay teachers illegal fees to have their children educated, patients pay extra to
get proper health care, citizens give public officials "gifts" or money to speed up procedures,
and drivers bribe police officers to avoid a fine. What many see as simply a way to get things
done is, simply and in fact, nothing but a crime.
There has been no limit to exploitation of the state's resources by public
office-holders. No other country is familiar with the normatic practice of forgiving as a
matter of rule the elite looters, plunderers, loan-defaulters and highly placed hoarders,
profiteers and criminals of all sorts.
The Challenges:
A successful conduct of foreign policy must not only protect and advance our
national interests but also contribute to the preservation and enhancement of our standing
and power in the comity of nations, without being unduly detrimental to the national
interests, power and status of others.
A country's standing in the comity of nations corresponds directly to its political,
social, economic and strategic strength. Unfortunately, throughout its independent statehood,
Pakistan has gone through traumatic experiences, which have left it politically unstable,
economically weak, socially fragmented and physically disintegrated.
For over sixty years now, we have followed a foreign policy that we thought was
based on globally recognized principles of inter-state relations and which in our view
responded realistically to the exceptional challenges of our times. But never did we realise
that for a perilously located country, domestically as unstable and unpredictable as ours,
there could be not many choices in terms of external relations.
In the process, Pakistan has encountered unbroken series of challenges and
experienced wars and territorial setbacks. It has lost half the country, and even today, it
continues to live in a hostile neighborhood. Above all, the post- 9/11 scenario has placed it
on the global radar screen in a very negative image as "the breeding ground" of "religious
extremism, violence and militancy."
Terrorism-related problems afflicting our country have placed us on the global radar
screen, giving Pakistan the unenviable distinction of being the "ground zero" of the war on
terror, which we prefer to describe as being the epochal frontline of the war on terror.
This negative perception complicates things for Pakistan both domestically and
externally, and limits its policy options. In recent years, besides the new global situation.
grave crises and acute problems in our own region have proliferated in a manner that has not
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only made us the focus of world attention and anxiety but also forced us to make difficult
choices in our perennial struggle for security and survival as an independent state.
The world now watches us with anxiety and concern as we seek to correct our
image. Our crucial role in this campaign complicates our tasks, both at home and at regional
and global levels. From being a major power in South Asia always equated with India,
Pakistan today is bracketed with Afghanistan in terms of its outlook, role, needs and
problems.
Our problems are further aggravated by the complex regional configuration with a
growing Indo-US nexus, India's strategic ascendancy in the region and its unprecedented
influence in Afghanistan with serious nuisance potential against Pakistan's security interests.
Conclusion:
For much of our history, Pakistan's foreign policy agenda has been shaped by a
"civil- military complex of power" reflecting the preferences and interests of our ruling elite
and special interest groups. The balance of power between the ci viI and mi litary bureaucracy
kept changing but it was they who invariably controlled our policies on such crucial issues as
relations with India, China, US, the Gulf States and the nuclear issue. The Foreign Office did
provide the requisite professional expertise and diplomatic skills in its execution.
One thing is clear. Pakistan's foreign policy is not responsible for the prevailing
crisis of governance in our country. It is the character of the state and the character of those
who wield state power that are responsible for the current crisis of governance. In the
ultimate analysis, our problems are not external. Our problems are domestic. We need
domestic consolidation, politically, economically and socially.
All these problems that we continue to suffer have nothing to do with our foreign
policy. Our problems are rooted in our domestic failures which have seriously constricted
our foreign policy options. No country has ever succeeded externally if it is weak and
crippled domestically. Even a super power, the former Soviet Union could not survive as a
super power only because it was domestically weak in political and economic terms.
Instead of always blaming "others" for our problems, we should have the courage to
admit that there is something fundamentally wrong with our own governance patterns. The
perennial leadership miscarriages are the root cause of our governance failures. Our
problems are not external; our problems are domestic. We ourselves are responsible for
being where we are today.
The solution to our problems does not lie in altering the objectives and content of
our foreign policy. We just have to readjust them to regain our lost sovereignty and freedom
of action. Putting our house in order is what we need. Reordering of national priorities is the
solution. The country must return to genuine democracy rooted in the will of the people and
based on constitutional supremacy, independence of judiciary and the rule of law.
Our foremost priority is to fix the fundamentals of our governance. We need
domestic consolidation through democracy based on constitutional supremacy, institutional
integrity and independent judiciary, rule of law, accountability & good governance. We must
not make any compromise on principles & national interests. We need to regain and preserve
our sovereign independence.
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Our leaders must give-up the Marco Polo culture. We should also do away with the
system of perks and privileges for civil-military officials and parliamentarians. No more
distribution of state land or plots for anyone. No begging. We must opt for self-reliance and
national dignity. No more blind faith in the so-called "Friends of Pakistan". Lets be our own
friends. Let's ourselves take care of Pakistan.
We need a low profile foreign policy formulated through institutional rather than
personal approach with greater focus on domestic political, economic and social
consolidation. In doing so, we could best serve our interests by following Hafiz Shirazi's
advice for "kindness to friends", "courtesy to enemies" with equal faith in Allama Iqbal's
message of "self-pride, self-confidence and dignity".
The writer did his Masters in Political Science and B.A (Hons) from Government College
Lahore before joining Foreign Service of Pakistan in 1965. He was the Foreign Secretary
of Pakistan from 1997 to 2000.
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Pakistan's Energy Scenario
Dr. Samar Mubarakmand
Several years ago in the eighties and nineties, most of the country's thermal power
plants were planned. Mangla and Tarbela Dams had been commissioned and Kalabagh dam
had run into political snags. With no imminent hydro electricity generation in sight, it was
decided to install additional power generation capacity based on imported oil and local
natural gas. Independent power producers cropped up to meet the increasing energy gap and
these too relied on oil imports. All fossil fuel power generation was, of course, a forecast for
environmental
disaster.
Natural gas powered stations were planned on the principle of single steam turbines
run from boilers. Such units, similar to those being run on furnace oil, have efficiencies of
between 28% - 33%.
However when natural gas is available, the most desirable power generation system
to have is the Integrated Gas Combined Cycle unit (lGCC) with thermal to electricity
efficiencies of 58%. In these plants, gas is burnt in a gas turbine which is coupled to an
electric generator. The hot flue gas (which is mostly carbon dioxide and steam) comes out of
the gas turbine at a very high temperature. This hot gas then converts water to steam in a
heat exchanger and a small steam turbine is run to produce additional electric power. The
total power output from the two turbines combines to give efficiencies close to 58(7

should be provided with coal washing, surface gasifiers and heat exchangers. These can be
locally manufactured. The existing steam turbine and generator can be used. Only a gas
turbine has to be imported. This revamping can increase the thermal power generation
capacity from 11500 mega watts to 22000 mega watts and total power generation can exceed
30,000 mega watts. The cost of generation will come down drastically because of the
increase in efficiency. The life of the plants can be extended to fifty years.
The Ideal Option:
The Thar Coal field spreading over 9500 sq.kms has reserves of lignite coal
estimated at 175 billion tons. This is a tremendous stock of energy and when translated into
electricity, it can generate 50,000 megawatts for 800 years. In terms of oil, it is 165 billion
barrels of oil which is more than the oil reserves of Saudi Arabia, Iran, UAE& Iraq
combined.
Lignite coal lies at a depth of an average 170 metres below the sands of Thar Desert
about 100 km east of Badin. This coal is powdery in nature and has an energy of about 6000
Btu per pound. During the latter half of the 20th century, the world witnessed a process
called the underground gasification of coal. This technology was spear headed by the Soviet
Union and it remained behind the iron curtain for well over half a century. The first exposure
of the Soviet effort came to light with the break-up of the country. The 400 megawatts
Angren Thermal Power Station in Uzbekistan has been the oldest power plant which is in
continuous operation since 1961.
It exploits underground coal reserves of lignite at an average depth of 250 metre,
which is very similar to the Thar Canal, both physically and chemically.
The process of coal gasification is very well known since the nineteenth century
when coal was crushed, mixed with water and burnt in a steel cylinder in the presence of air
or oxygen at a certain pressure. The carbon in the coal reacts with oxygen and water to
produce coal gas which is mainly carbon monoxide and hydrogen. Most of us, who were
students in the fifties or sixties, are familiar with this gas burning in Bunsen burners in the
chemistry labs of our schools & colleges.
Underground coal gasification (UCG) is a process which avoids mining of coal.
Vertical holes are drilled from the surface into the coal seam at regular intervals. Coal is
ignited at the bottom of one hole and compressed air is injected in it together with steam. In
case there is enough water in the lignite coal, steam injection can be avoided. Coal gas
formed in the coal seam comes out from the next hole. Several pairs of holes form a gasifier.
Gas collected from many wells is sent down a pipeline from the coal field to an IGCC plant
after removing ash, tar, carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulphide. Electricity can be produced
with a high efficiency. According to a University of California, Lawrence Livermore
National Laboratory Report, internationally 160 coal gas plants are producing 50,000
megawatts of electricity all over the world. The average price ranges between 3 to 5 cents per
unit.
Coal gas can also be converted into diesel, fertilizer as well as several other useful
chemicals. In fact a whole petrochemical complex is built around UCG facilities. Sasol plant
in South Africa is producing 1,60,000 barrels of diesel per day from coal gas. The price
ranges between $ 17 to $ 20 per barrel. Compare this to present day crude oiI price of $ 80
per barrel.
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The hydro geological conditions in the coal field at ThaI' favour the underground
gasification process. The coal is sandwiched between roof and floor of hard rock thus
preventing the influx of large quantities of water from above. This particular geological
configuration not only prevents the escape of UCG from the coal seam to water above, but
will also prevent subsidence of soil once the coal is exhausted from underground. It is a
standard procedure to capture carbon dioxide produced in the burning of UCG in the gas
turbine. This is called carbon dioxide sequestration and carbon credits can be claimed from
the United Nations environmental control authorities.
The UCG pilot project at ThaI' is well under way and a 100 megawatt power station
is scheduled for 2012. Talks are also underway with Sui Southern to feed UCG into the
pipeline network to distribute it for domestic use. The success of the pilot project will show
the way to several foreign investors to undertake this work at ThaI'. Already one Australian
company has leased Block IlIA in ThaI' for UCG production. Similar lignite deposits across
the border in Rajisthan are being exploited for UCG production by Ergo Exergy ? another
Australian company. The day is not far when UCG technology will revolutionize power and
diesel production over the world.
A Short-Term
Solution:
There is a solution to the problem faced by the individual industrial units suffering
from both gas and power shortages. Coal can be transported from the coal mines in
Balochistan and this coal can be converted to both gas as well as to electricity. In the first
step coal mixed with water is crushed. This slurry is fed into a Surface Gasifier. This
machine, which is very common in the industries of China, is easy to manufacture in
Pakistan. As a matter of fact a Pakistani industrialist is manufacturing these plants in his
factory in China. The gas thus obtained can be burnt directly to dry the cloth in the textile
process. Electricity can be generated in any quantity needed by a factory with
engine-generator sets that run on coal gas.
In our country we have to realize that too little power is being produced from coal,
in fact it is less than 2 % of the total power generated. India produces 60% of its electricity
from coal. Most countries using coal are accused of causing pollution. If we make coal gas
from coal then the pollution is minimized and one becomes eligible to claim carbon credits
from the UN.
The writer is a Pakistani nuclear physicist, (NI, HI, SI, Ph.D, FPAS), who served as the
founding chairman of National Engineering and Scientific Commission (NESCOM)
from 2001 to 2007.
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"The Revolution is that there will be no Revolution"
Maajid Nawaz
We are indeed living in historic times. Never before has a people's uprising on the
scale we are witnessing today taken place the Middle East, a region so strategically
important for the rest of the world. The desperate act of a single Tunisian man with the only
tool of protest he had - his life - has sparked a remarkable series of events that have seen the
downfall of the Tunisian and Egyptian regimes, and at the time of writing, is seriously
threatening the fate of Libya's 41 year dictatorship.
For me, the events in Egypt in particular have been of great personal relevance.
Having served five years as an Amnesty International-adopted prisoner of conscience in that
country, and having survived the infamous Egyptian state torture, I watched with bated
breath as the regime that imprisoned and tOliured me and so many Egyptians before my eyes
was finally overthrown. Many of my former cell-mates were the leaders of this revolution
who, after inspiring and mobilising the people to stand up in protest, are now busy building a
new Egypt.
But quite aside from my personal feelings of exhilaration, some very important
lessons are to be learned from the people of the Middle East, which we in Pakistan can
greatly benefit from. The first is the role that Facebook and Twitter played in these uprisings.
We saw how large groups of young people were able to organise themselves in a sustained
manner and were able to keep the collective morale of the movement going despite the very
dangerous and often desperate circumstances they were facing. Facebook pages such as the
one created in memory of Khalid Said - one of the many young Egyptians who had been
tortured to death by the brutal state police - attracted tens of thousands of followers and
eventually became a chronicle for the oppression of the Egyptian regime and a rallying point
for protesters.
And in the face of this phenomenon, no amount of suppression by dictators seemed
to work; even with media blackouts and a "ban" on online activity, resourceful techies were
able to find proxy codes to access the internet. Google and Twitter responded by creating a
service called Speak2Tweet, allowing people to post to Twitter using their phones. When
reporters were barred from entering Tahrir Square, citizen journalists stepped. in to record
updates and circulate pictures and videos. In fact, some of the most defining images of the
events in Tunisia and Egypt were captured on ordinary people's mobile phones.
The result was that these tools were able to revolutionise the way we carry out
revolutions; the voice of dissent was no longer limited to the streets of Cairo, Tunis or
Tripoli but was magnified around the world, allowing the tide of global public opinion to
shift its weight behind the protesters. And so we prayed and we cheered as the joy and
anguish of the protesters was brought home to us through Faceb60k groups, YouTube videos
and Twitter feeds.
Today, no one who witnessed the Middle East revolutions can say that 'online
activism' is meaningless. Naturally it is no substitute for actual on-the-ground mobilisation,
but the Arabs have shown us just how powerful a resource it can be. In fact, even the
'all-powerful' dictators of the Middle East have proven their fear of it, swiftly moving to ban
the internet at the first hint of dissent. Evidence of this exists even in our recent history,
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when a media crackdown by Musharraf in 2007 resulted in a Lawyers' Movement that was
organised almost entirely through blogs, SMS messaging and Facebook, while national and
international support was garnered through YouTube videos that documented the abuse
meted out to protesters by the police. So let this be a lesson to us never to underestimate the
power we as citizens actually possess.
Quite apart from the effectiveness of the uprisings that were sparked across the
Middle East, is the very nature of these protests. In one dramatic sweep of events they have
managed to completely discredit the worldview - actively encouraged by AI-Qaeda and other
extremist organizations on the one hand and rightwing elements in the US and Israel on the
other -that has fostered the false impression that the only prospects for the Middle East are
either repressive dictatorial regimes or a takeover by extremists.
For years I myself peddled this same narrative. As a member of Hizb ut Tahrir (an
extremist group that I belonged to for thirteen years), I tirelessly advocated that the only
solution to the Middle Eastern dictatorships would be the creation of an expansionist state,
that I falsely labelled 'Khilafat' -in other words, a different kind of autocracy garbed in
religion that would miraculously solve all the present day woes of Muslims in the region, and
around the world. Having long since left Hizb ut Tahrir and now working for democratic
revival in Muslim countries, I am so glad that the youth of Tunisia, Egypt, and now Libya.
have proven my earlier stance wrong. They have demonstrated that a third way is possible;
that Arabs and Muslims deserve, and can fight for, the same freedoms and democratic rights
that people enjoy elsewhere in the world.
Although the role of the Muslim Brotherhood was much discussed during the
Egyptian revolution, and fears of their takeover were repeatedly expressed, the truth is that
the groups that led the popular movement were largely comprised of youth activists, such as
the April 6th Youth Movement and the Egyptian Movement for Change (Kifaya). They were
not extremists campaigning on a religio-political agenda but were a broad, inclusive coalition
of those who support democratic principles.
So what does this mean for us in Pakistan?
The recent assassinations of Salmaan Taseer and Shahbaz Bhatti, quite apart from
being national tragedies, seem to have dealt a final death blow to the ever-shrinking space for
democratic dissent in our country; the fear in raising one's voice is almost palpable now. On
the other hand, extremist organizations have been busy for many years in presenting
themselves as the only "authentic" opposition to cOITuption, injustice and the trials of the
ordinary masses. By organising noisy rallies on the streets of our cities, inciting people with
aggressive rhetoric and using violence and intimidation to silence their opponents, they have
skilfully managed to dominate the public space. They now appear to be the voice and face of
today's Pakistan.
The extreme irony here is that these very same people are the ones calling for an
"Egypt-style Revolution" in Pakistan, completely ignorant of the circumstances in the Middle
East and the democratic aspirations of the Arabs. We in Pakistan have had our
"Egypt-moment" - it happened in 2007 when we came together as a nation to oust our
lO-year long military dictatorship. We won that battle, but only after that did the hard work
begin. In the current climate, calls for 'revolution' simply distract us from what we should be
focusing on: making our democracy actually work for our people. There is need for change;
The Ravi 2011 13

we can see it all around us. But not the kind of change that calls for utopian theocracies or
unrealistic scenarios. The kind of change we need to see is where we build a consensus
around democratic values in our society, we educate ourselves on our rights, organise to
make our elected officials accountable to us, stand firmly for the freedoms of speech. belief
and association, strive for equality and speak out for justice. This is no small task, and the
journey towards it may seem hopeless at times, but there never are quick solutions to these
things. Nevertheless, we must work for the long-term to deepen the principles of popular
movement that removed dictatorial rule in Pakistan. Our revolution is that there will be no
revolution.
The writer is the Co-Founder and Executive Director of the world's first
counter-extremism think tank, Quilliam and is also the Founder of Pakistan's
counter-extremism social movement, Khudi.
The Ravi 2011 14

Volunteerism for Social Change
Muhammad Atif Khan
Man's potential for achieving what he aims for, is almost universally phenomenal.
Despite the twists and turns the boulevard of life has to offer, one can almost always find the
right direction provided the level of determination and motivation is high. When one rises
above the ban-iers of self-interest and starts thinking beyond his self-centeredness as a citizen
of humanity, he possesses the very spark that can ignite the flame of humanity.
When we look at our society, a lot of questions begin to cross our minds. Bribery.
corruption, illiteracy, poverty, depression, suicides, crimes and other evils are not at all
•
difficult to find. Elimination of these evils would be the dream of every idealist and believing
that these evils could be eliminated in a fortnight through a magic wand would be
tantamount to keeping blind optimism. In addressing these problems one thing can be
deducted without overgeneralization that these problems are intertwined and intrinsically
linked to one another. The root cause of these problems is perhaps the ignorance of the
masses. Even where there is knowledge, society is not immune to problems.
A popular cliche "Knowledge is Power" may sound good as it is, but what good is
power if it is used to play havoc with the peace of mankind. People who bypass the taxes are
often highly educated and employ such tactics that may seem a mirage to an illiterate.
Industrial giants that destroy the environment with each batch of their product are no less
educated. Their illegal dumping of industrial chemicals in clean waterways is done under
supervision of qualified individuals who know how to do away with laws smartly. Cutting of
trees from the protected forest reserves by lumber producers also requires certain skills that
education can easily confer. Rising above the laws, playing havoc with the peace of state,
destroying Mother Nature and stooping below humanity just for capital cannot be stopped
just through the acquisition of knowledge. The question is not whether knowledge gives you
power; it cel1ainly does. But what are the merits of that power if one lacks the sense of
responsibility. Mere awareness of the possible negative consequences of our actions is not
sufficient to prevent them from happening. What needs to be realized is that developing a
responsible attitude towards our actions is the solution to many a problems. When one
realizes his status as a human and his responsibility towards humanity, then he stands up
against all odds to bring a social change; a change that possesses the hope for a better
tomorrow.
Poverty is one aspect responsible for many social evils. It places the person on a
slippery slope of crimes where one gives birth to the other .The feeling of hatred and
resentment against the state and established order is but a natural consequence of poverty.
When people get fed up of widespread destitution, they aren't really left with many options.
Robberies, thefts, suicide attacks, kidnapping for ransom, bribery, drug abuse, depression
and all similar things take birth. What role can be played by them is perhaps a difficult
question, but what can be done by economists, industrialists, and agriculturists might not be
that difficult. The reforms that are periodically introduced by governments in each sector of
economy are almost never implemented in true spirit. What comes in the way is personal
interest. Huge land-owners with thousands of hectors of cultivable land often leave large
chunks in their land uncultivated due to lesser economicpotentials of cultivation. But they
The Ravi 2011 15

are not ready to give this land to the state that can potentially utilize the fertility of soil to
produce crops and economic opportunities along the way. No number of reforms by the state
can bring the change they aim for, until and unless the stakeholders get ready to adapt the
altruistic attitude, rise above their personal interests and volunteer to become agents of
change!
History bears witness that whenever man has decided to go beyond his immediate
interests and thought about the greater interest as a nation, great revolutions occurred that
brought about a paradigm shift in the existing social order and established trends. This very
spirit of volunteerism was responsible for the French Revolution when the might of
monarchies was crushed in 1789 through the very hands of the oppressed class. Once they
decided to bring an end to the established social order where a few ruled the lives of people
whose grievances were stretched to the very limit, no force could hold them back. They fell
on power like an uncontrollable flood that was unstoppable by the severest of the severe
floods. Many died and many perished, but brought an end to oppression, victimization and
injustice and secured their citizenship and inalienable rights which were withheld from them
for centuries.
On the command of Quaid-e-Azam and Iqbal, the Muslims of the subcontinent
weren't paid to get slaughtered at the hands of their enemies. They didn't abandon their
homes to get castles. They didn't travel far away to become billionaires. It was the spirit of
volunteerism and of desire to achieve the long lost freedom that empowered them to unite for
a great cause. They did so, even at the cost of their lives so that the coming generations could
peacefully live as a sovereign nation. The emergence of Pakistan in 1947 gives testimony to
fact that even world maps can be altered when people adopt altruistic attitudes for achieving
great goals and bringing great changes.
In the events of Swat Operation in 2009, a huge number of residents in Swat and
adjacent areas had to abandon their homes due to the ongoing military situation. More than
three million people were displaced from their places of residence, and the Swat Crisis is
termed as the largest humanitarian and displacement crisis in recent times. The handling of
these IDP's was no less than a challenge to the Government of Pakistan. The government
alone might have not been able to deal with such massive human numbers. In dealing with
these IDP's, thousands of citizens volunteered to give their homes and belongings to them
and patiently entel1ained them for a reasonable time. They volunteered not to get money or
fame but to serve the national interest, keeping the patriotic spirit and citizenship in mind.
They showed such a great example of hospitality that makes us really proud as a nation.
Volunteerism is the very force that drives the man to stand above his personal
interest and think for a greater cause. The NGO's and self-help organizations like Scouting
Organizations that work without making profit are certainly encapsulating this very spirit in
their tasks. The scouts taking care of victims of natural catastrophes, like earthquakes and
floods are volunteers serving humanity.
We can always be more compassionate and sensitive to the needs of the oppressed
classes and help them with food collected through charity drives. Each of us blessed with
education, if manages to spare a couple of hours in a week to educate the unprivileged
children residing in orphanages and slums would become a weapon to conquer ignorance.
The action would certainly require moral strength and courage but if each of us does manage
to bring it in, the results can be phenomenal.
The Ravi 2011 16

Organized efforts can only take place if each and every individual in the
organization becomes a true and sincere volunteer. Volunteerism was one factor responsible
for the eradication of small pox disease as young enthusiastic students especially teenagers
ventured into administering small-pox vaccines to people. The polio eradication campaign is
also largely successful due to these voluntary efforts because the value of Human Resource
that is employed without wage remarkably increases the efficiency of budget in any social
welfare program. Blood saves lives but blood donation can only be carried in high frequency
if people develop this social attitude of responsibility towards other fellow beings. Eye
donation, through cornea transplant after death of an individual, is another aspect that
requires moral strength and will on part of donor who allows his/her dead eyes, to give birth
to a life full of colors to the blind.
The news of electricity and power crises, food and clean water shortage and fuel
shortage etc is often heard. Volunteerism may offer a way out of these problems too. What
people on the very personal scale can do is to avoid wastage and make the best possible use
of these resources in order to reduce the intensity of crises. This may also require the need of
sacrifice but if each one of us develops this responsible attitude, we may enable ourselves to
swiftly cross the crises which otherwise often result in disorder and chaos in society.
This spirit of sacrifice can bring about a paradigm shift in the established social
orders if those in power or who have the state's power, volunteer to be held accountable for
all their actions. If they face the Law and avoid all possible channels to bypass justice, the
trust deficit between the rulers and the ruled is likely to lessen. The politicians can become
role models in true essence of the word, for the whole society, by stopping using connections
and nepotism in their affairs and by presenting themselves before justice and demonstrating
the rule of law. Adoption of "queue" culture may seem a mirage for someone who knows
how to get the hour's job done in seconds, but it is really possible if individuals awaken the
slumbering volunteer in them. Austerity on part of the governments is nothing but another
aspect of volunteerism that enhances the ownership of rulers by the ruled and thus
strengthens democracy.
The attitudes, ideas and cultures of people change and evolve over time. What
remains unchanged is the humanistic aspect of them. The need for developing respect
towards minorities and varied cultures that are important ingredients of a healthy society is
also very important for nurturing socio-cultural harmony. This can also occur when the voice
of majority shows compassion towards the aspiration of minorities; a difficult task indeed
when "Might is Right" is in minds of all but not impossible if there is strength to rise above
personal interests.
The problems and challenges faced by man change with time but the idea of striving
towards progress in society remains. Man being a social animal is responsible for his actions
in context to others. Every now and then, new ideas emerge and are readily adopted or
rejected outright. The players get different on the stage of life but the drama essentially
remains the same: the human desire to prosper, to progress, to love and to be loved, and to
advance in every aspect of one's existence. The answer may lie in us developing a tendency
to volunteer for social change; a change that inevitably comes but the relative merits of
change can be dramatically altered. It is on us to decide whether we want to move in positive
direction and achieve goodness or to move in negative direction and get doomed to infinite
disaster!
The writer is a third year student of B.Sc (Hons), Biotechnology
at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 17

I Wonder
M inahil Zafar
I was going over Pakistan's education policy 1998-2010 for one of my courses at
LUMS. And one specific clause under provisions for higher education really took me by
surprise. "In order to eliminate violence, all political activities on campuses shall be banned".
I confirmed its legitimacy from a couple of sources. It is true.
I wonder if that's the reason why we have an apathetic, indifferent generation. I
wonder if that's the reason we like to discuss Veena Malik's character on open forums
compared to other pressing issues. I wonder if that's the reason why we are scared to come
out on the streets and ironically love to sit back in our comfort zones and denounce our
institutions? I wonder what Pakistan really needs right now?
A revolution such as that in Tunisia?Or just responsible proactive citizens?
Revolution entails bloodshed. If we kill all the politicians, the vaderas, the mullahs,
will that help? Do we want more bloodshed? If we come out on the streets, aren't we stalling
the already terminal economy? But what else can stir the people of Pakistan? It takes massive
destruction such as the 8th October earthquake, or the 2010 floods to bring people of
Pakistan together. What now?
Do we need proactive citizens who realize their social responsibility? Or who at
least are interested in matters that concern our survival as a nation? Citizens who can raise
their voice against the $100 billion development budget cut? Against trillions of dollars in
Swiss accounts? Against misuse of blasphemy laws? Against poverty, injustice, intolerance,
corruption and the million evils shaking the foundations of our society today?
I wonder if anyone else wonders like me, if anyone else is as distressed as me. I can't
vouch for it, but I certainly hope so!
I like to praise my University for various reasons, but one aspect which is worthy of
all admiration is the fact that I am free; free to be an outright Leftist in terms of politics, or
an atheist in terms of belief. I am free to speak. Free to act. I can choose the path I want to
take. I can condemn what I feel is wrong without the fear of being shot in the head by some
lunatic.
Apart from the intellectual space, it has also given me physical space to experiment.
I can start my own software venture on one of the lab computers; I can sit all day in a cabin
in the library and read in isolation; I can have my meals with my instructors in the cafeteria; I
can stay up the entire night on campus or sleep the entire day; I can befriend people from all
social, religious, political classes without the fear of being judged.
I love this freedom.
But such freedom entails responsibility and I am proud to endorse this
responsibility. This freedom has inculcated in me respect for difference of opinion and the
tolerance to accept differiT}g viewpoints. It has made me civil enough to deliberate over
controversial issues through dialogue without losing my patience. It has made me more
aware of my surroundings, responsible enough to accept diversity and most importantly
cherish it. It has made me break preconceived notions, value Islam as my religion, engage in
healthy debate, not judge people based on their appearance and primarily understand the
The Ravi 2011 18

purpose of life better. It has helped me utilize my time to the utmost. It has made me eager to
learn, to experiment and to innovate. I am glad I study here.
But then again, I am in a bubble. What lies in the confines of my university building
is not what happens when I step out of it. Pakistan is a different setting. People are
judgmental, do not accept difference of opinion, and have forgotten basic values of civility
and morality. It is saddening to see an individualistic culture penetrating our society today.
But again, the situation is not as bleak as I have made it sound. Our perceptions
have been immensely affected by negative propaganda around us. There are people who
envision a free and responsible Pakistan in the context that I have mentioned above. There
are many people who will stand up for what they believe sooner or later. It is a matter of
survival now.
The writer is a fourth year Economics student at the Lahore University of Management
Sciences, and also writesfor The News intermittently.
The Ravi 2011 19

Where there is a Will there is a Way
Fahad Rafique
There is no doubt that Pakistan is currently facing a lot of problems. Terrorism and
economic meltdown have crippled everyday lives of common people, with the government
claiming that it is trying to address these issues on a war footing basis. Amidst all these
problems, it is important that we do not neglect the education sector of the country, as
education, or rather the lack of it, contributes to most of the ills currently faced by our
country.
Everyone agrees that our educational system is in a mess. Everyone sees the need for
educational reforms. Unfortunately, there are some myths associated with educational
reforms that limit our ability to bring any worthwhile change. In this article, I will highlight
four myths commonly associated with educational reforms in Pakistan and discuss why we
need to think differently.
Myth 1: Money is the all important factor.
Many people seem resigned to the belief that we can only bring educational reforms
if we have more money. Money's importance comes only after you have the vision,
commitment, and planning to improve the education system. If resources are being
wasted. like what we are doing right now, then even putting billions more into the educations
sector will not yield the desired results.
We only need to look as far as our brotherly Middle Eastern countries to see a failed
attempt of 'buying education'. Countries like Qatar and Saudi Arabia have spent billions on
setting up universities and training their students in foreign universities. However, all this
lavish spending has brought modest success. The reasons are simple. You cannot make a
world-class university by just setting up a state-of-the-art campus. You cannot turn a slacker
into a scholar by providing him a foreign scholarship. Rather, you need dedicated and
professional teachers, along with students who have the yearning for education. The right
people, not money, is the recipe for success in these cases.
Myth 2: Higher education is the panacea to our problems.
Lately, we have been obsessed with higher education. The implications of this are
two-fold: i) we believe that higher education is more important than other levels (primary,
secondary etc.) and ii) we think higher education is an independent subject and can be dealt
separately.
Both the above implications are related and to a large degree a consequence of
HEC's charter. The point here is not to criticize HEC but rather to question the vision under
which HEC was set up. First, how could HEC work independently from the education
ministry? This is like appointing two captains for a cricket test match: one for the first four
days and the other captaining the last day, with no coordination between them. Success
demands an integrated strategy under a unified leadership.
Second, how can we expect to improve the standard of higher education without
improving the standard of our schools and colleges? We cannot build a high rise building if
the base is weak. We invested a lot in higher education without having a proportional
increase in primary and secondary education spending. A good university needs good
The Ravi 2011 20

students who are a product of the colleges and schools in the country. Probably the only
exception to this rule is US, which has great universities without having the best high school
system. The key to their success is the presence of bright international students (mainly
Indians and Chinese) and expecting Pakistan to attract such a talent is simply unrealistic. In
short, we cannot have world class universities if our schools and colleges are in shambles.
Myth 3: Producing more PhDs will improve teaching standards.
Many people tend to think that a person with a PhD is a better teacher compared to
someone with a lower qualification. This is far from true. As PhD students we were told
during our orientation, "If you are only interested in teaching then PhD is not for you". PhD
is all about research and requires mastering a very specific area. Courses taught in
universities mostly cover fundamental material (rather than cutting edge research) and even a
master's degree holder can have the sufficient background to teach the materia!. Some of the
great teachers at top universities (e.g., Stanford) are not PhDs but rather lecturers with a
master's degree. They are great teachers because they understand the material and know how
to communicate it to the students.
Why is this a problem? If we realize that PhDs need to focus on research then our
strategy will dramatically change. We will either create more research opportunities, so that
PhDs could do what they are trained to do, or we will produce fewer PhDs. Many of the
purely teaching jobs can then be filled with non-PhDs who are passionate about teaching.
We need to understand that our students need good teachers, and good teachers need not be
PhDs.
Myth 4: Private sector can bail us out.
Some people tend to look at the private sector as a potential saviour of our current
educational problems. It is true that we have some excellent private institutions in the
country: Beacon House, LUMS, and Agha Khan are just some examples where the standard
of education is generally much better compared to government institutes. If we take a look at
the list of Fulbright scholarship recipients in recent years, we won't be surprised to find most
of the students from private institutes like LUMS. However, despite the good work done in
the private sector, expecting the private sector to carry the whole country on its shoulders is
overly optimistic.
Private sector institutes are mostly profit oriented or at best want to break even. As a
result, they charge a higher fee and only establish their centers at economically feasible
locations (with a few exceptions). For the masses, government institutes are still the only
option and their quality determines how well we do as a nation. If we want to have more
Abdus Salams and Abdul Qadeers, the government needs to establish centers of excellence at
every level (schools, colleges, universities, vocational training centers etc.). In most
developed countries, private sector plays a secondary role and provides healthy competition
to the government owned institutes.
The above discussion attempts to highlight that improving education system in
Pakistan is not just about pumping in more money, establishing more universities or
producing hundreds of PhDs. All these steps need to be taken in a systematic way to achieve
success. How do we exactly achieve this is probably a subject of another article. One thing is
for sure though: the desire to make Pakistan an educational center of excellence IS a
pre-requisite for success. We should realize that "where there is a will, there is a way."
The writer graduated from LUMS in 2005 with a gold medal in Computer Science. He is
currently a PhD student at Carnegie Mellon University, US.
The Ravi 2011 21

The Peace Road to Kabul runs through Islamabad
Raflullah
Kakar
The tragic attack on World Trade Centre was one of the early-21st century's most
crucial incidents. It was bound to alter and shape the face of world affairs and future political
developments in profound and diverse ways. In the aftermath of the attacks, inter alia South
Asia's ascendance to a position of a higher geo-strategic significance, was the most important
corollary that was to playa decisive role in shaping the future geo-politics of the region.
Pakistan being geo-strategically situated between Afghanistan and India and sharing lengthy
borders with each, soon captured the attention of US foreign policy makers and became the
center stage of US foreign policy concerns in South Asia. Given the country's important
geo-strategic location and its record of past support for the Taliban regime, the US
threateningly sought Pakistan's unconditional and unequivocal support in its war against
terrorism. The enormous pressure from the US (i.e. threat of 'dire' consequences), coupled
with the non-availability of other viable alternatives, left Pakistan with no choice but to
become a partner in the US-sponsored anti-terrorism campaign. This campaign faced
opposition by a significant number of people who viewed this partnership with skeptical
eyes keeping in view the on-off nature and mercurial pattern of Pak-US relations in the past.
The critics of the new Pak-US partnership were quick to remind us of the end result of the
anti-Soviet Afghan War which, most Pakistanis believe, turned out to be a callous betrayal of
Pakistan by the US. Soon after the war, the United States pitilessly turned cold-shoulders to
the region, imposed sanctions on Pakistan, and left Islamabad to fend for itself in trying to
manage the ugly outcomes (the burden of Muhajirs and the concomitant penetration of
'Kalashinkove' and 'Heroin' Culture into its society) of the so-called "Holy War" that were to
plague Pakistani society for decades to come. Anyhow, Pakistan reluctantly joined the US
alliance against terrorism amidst all these concerns and suspicions.
As a key player in the "War on Terror", Pakistan has provided logistic, diplomatic
and political support to the US, launched military operations against Taliban in its territory,
shared intelligence information with the CIA, captured and killed AI-Qaeda operatives, and
most importantly, has committed more troops than ever to the western border of the country.
In response to Pakistan's cooperation in pursuit of U.S. policy goals, the United States has
provided the country with some $11 billion in assistance, between September 11, 2001 and
the end of 2008. However, while Pakistan has lost more military, paramilitary, and police
personnel than any other ally, disturbing allegations and reports continue to surface about
Pakistan's continued support for the Afghan Taliban. As a consequence, despite Pakistan
being a front-line ally, the "trust deficit" between the US and Pakistan persists with the result
that US officials have repeatedly made the unwanted demand of "Do More." This has been
received unfavorably by officials in Islamabad who believe that US expectations regarding
Pakistan's counter-terrorism efforts are unrealistic, over-optimistic, and do not take into
consideration the internal security dilemmas and realities on the ground in Pakistan. These
misperceptions between Pakistan and the United States on one hand, stem from the
fundamentally different views that the two partners hold in defining the basic contours and
means to achieve the goals of the "War on Terror". On the other hand, Pakistan's
troublesome past and contemporary political problems, its dismal economic conditions, and
the multitude of real or perceived internal and external threats to its security have seriously
The Ravi 2011 22

hampered its ability to eliminate the menace of religious extremism. Thus, in the wake of
this environment of distrust and suspicion, there is mounting international pressure on
Pakistan to eliminate the havens of AI-Qaeda and local Jihadi groups in its territory.
In the contemporary situation, as the Afghan war enters its tenth year, America's
strategy in Afghanistan is as vague and confused as ever. Obama, who made encouraging
gestures during his Presidential campaign, has done no better job than his predecessor in
addressing the crisis. His Afghan-Pak policy was doomed to fail, given its bizarre and flawed
"Surge and Exit" strategy which served no purpose other than encouraging Taliban to muster
up their courage and prepare for asserting their strong reemergence in the soon-expected
post-US scenario. Though the tentative withdrawal date has been extended up to 2014 now,
there are little prospects of success of this revised policy as well. This is because the
nation-building and reconstruction of this war-torn country is too difficult a task to be
accomplished in a brief period of four years.
In the face of these realities, one thing remains crystal clear that Pakistan is deeply
committed to the outcome in Afghanistan. Given the chequered history of Pak-Afghan
relations, Pakistan while placing stability at the top of its Afghan agenda, is eagerly pursuing
a policy that would ensure a Pakistan-friendly government taking charge of affairs in Kabul.
Having experienced the presence of pro-India regimes in Kabul in the past, Islamabad is
highly weary of another such regime controlling affairs in Afghanistan. It is on account of
this reason that Pakistan has expressed grave concerns over the increasing Indian influence
in Afghanistan which poses serious threats to its security. Security concerns about India have
remained the central pillar of Pakistan's policy calculations throughout its history. Pakistan's
pre-occupation with India can be judged from the fact that Pakistani leaders from Bhutto to
Musharaf have repeatedly looked at Afghanistan in context of their struggle with India. This
'security syndrome' about India, indeed, was the key factor explaining Pakistan's support for
the Taliban regime. It not only buried the hatchet with Pakistan but also brought the
influence of "Hindu" India in Afghanistan to virtually zero. America, however, has failed to
recognize this nearly fatal obsession of Pakistan with India. In contemporary situation, the
military establishment in Islamabad while feeling a constant threat from India's expanding
military capabilities and her increasing influence in Afghanistan, has voiced concerns against
it. However, the US has not paid heed to these grievances. Rather than curing Pakistan's
problem, the US has further exacerbated the situation by signing the US-India nuclear deal,
adopting silent profile on Kashmir, and pledging support for India's effort to secure a
permanent seat in the Security Council. The rising US-India nexus has intensified
Islamabad's concern which perceives it as an attempt at altering the regional balance of
power in favour of India. Obama's recent trip to India, though disappointed many Indian
pundits who expected him to unleash a tirade against Pakistan, nevertheless was an alarming
call for Pakistan. During this visit, Obama candidly expressed America's commitment to help
India emerge as a regional if not an international power. Obama, whose campaign oratory
evoked a ray of hope as he talked about adopting a regional solution to the Afghan issue, has
disappointingly gone silent about Kashmir since he has stepped into the Oval office. He did
not utter even a single word about Kashmir, neither in his Afghan-Pak policy, nor in his
recent Indian Tour. Thus these factors have given birth to serious apprehensions in the minds
of authorities in Islamabad. They may possibly explain Pakistan's reported "half-hearted"
efforts against terrorism and its alleged "support" for the Afghan Taliban. In the wake of
The Ravi 2011 23

Obama's renewed exit plan for Afghanistan, Pakistan is more than ever desirous to secure her
interests and to get "strategic depth" in Afghanistan in the post-American scenario.
For the United States to get out of this quagmire, there is a dire need for initiating a
regional approach on the issue as soon as possible. The key stake-holders such as Pakistan
and Iran and other regional powers must be taken into confidence while framing any strategy
for Afghanistan. The US must exercise her influence to bring India to the negotiating table
with Pakistan. India must be pressurized to initiate a dialogue on all important issues such as
the issue of Kashmir, the Water dispute, and the issue of India's alleged involvement in
Baluchistan insurgency. To put in a nut shell, for the US to register Pakistan's full and
whole-hearted support against terrorism, there is need for some drastic measures to be taken
so as to change the military mindset which harbors deep-rooted fears about India. Nothing
less than a reduced Indian presence in a Pak-friendly Afghanistan is going to please the
military establishment in Islamabad.
The writer is a fourth year student of B.A (Hons), Political Science at GCU. He recently
studied for one semester at the Augustana College, Sioux Falls (South Dakota), under the
Global UGRAD Program.
The Ravi 2011 24

Energy Scarcity
Yawar Abbas and Hadia Jahangir
Growing economy, budding industry, expanding transport network and mounting
demographic changes necessitate the need for increased electricity production in Pakistan.
Pakistan experienced an unprecedented economic growth during 2003-2007. Increased
energy production is not only a prerequisite but also a stimulus for a growing economy.
Unfortunately, energy production could not match pace with the rising economy in Pakistan.
Lack of proportion between economic growth and energy production is due to severe energy
crisis that Pakistan is afflicted with. Energy crisis in the country is manifested by dai ly
power outages; sharp increase in petrol, diesel and Compressed Natural Gas (CNG) prices
and electricity tariff; and shortage of electricity at homes and industrial units. According to
Water and Power Development Authority (WAPDA), power shortage in the country reaches
up to 4,500 MW during summer. This situation is not only extremely frustrating for the
domestic consumers but has also caused a sharp decline in the industrial activity in the
country. Moreover, agriculture-sector, which contributes about 25% of the GDP, is heavily
dependent on uninterrupted power supply. Power shortage has become a major problem for
the agriculture sector. Agro-based industry is also badly hit by power shortage. Mechanized
farming, tube-wells, turbines, generators and other farming engines depend on constant
electric supply and power outage for up to twelve hours means devastation of the agriculture
sector.
The world-wide energy crisis has far reaching implications for developing countries;
Pakistan is one of the worst-hit countries of the world. However, apart from the global
dimension, the energy crisis in Pakistan also has a domestic dimension as well. Both the
world-wide and domestic problems of the energy sector have complemented to accentuate
energy crisis in the country.
Countries all over the world are facing an energy crisis due to the depletion of oil
reserves, rise in demand for oil (mainly fuelled by the emerging Asian economies), rising oil
prices, energy wars, climate changes, energy shortages, unsustainable and undiversified
energy resources. During the period of 1983-2003 price of oil was about $25 per barrel; it
rose above $30 per barrel in the after math of the US invasion of Iraq in 2003, became $60
per barrel in 2005 and hit the all time high mark of $146 per barrel in June 2008. This trend
of dramatic increase in oil prices accentuated power crisis throughout the world, especially
in the developing countries like Pakistan, whose energy sector was already vulnerable.
World-wide population growth, rapid urbanization and improvement in living standards have
dramatically accelerated demand for energy and consequently have accentuated energy crisis
in various countries. Increase in US oil consumption is also a chief cause of the world-wide
energy crisis. Between 1995-2005 oil demand in US grew from 17.7 million barrels per day
to 20.7 million barrels per day. China has its role in increasing oil demand; its ten per cent
annual growth in the last five years has resulted in increasing oil demand by about eight per
cent during the same time. Protection of consumers by governments through provision of
subsidies on oil has heightened the oil demand to exceptional levels. Another major cause of
world-wide energy crisis is growth in the transport sector, which has become the largest
energy sector and consumes most of the oil and gas resources. According to estimates
fifty-five per cent of oil is used in transport sector world-wide. In Pakistan, forty-seven per
The Ravi 201 J
2S

cent of oil resources are used in transport-sector while forty per cent is used in power
generation. Similarly, 4.4 per cent of gas is used for transport as CNG, twenty four per cent
is used in industry and thirty-four per cent is used for power generation. It means a lesser
portion of oil and gas are allocated for electricity production, resulting in power outages.
Apm1 from the spill-over effects of the global energy crisis on Pakistan, there are
numerous domestic causes for Pakistan's energy predicament. In the sixty-three years of
Pakistan's existence, successive Pakistani governments have been influenced or directly
controlled by unrepresentative rulers indifferent to the sensitivities of the political elements
in the provinces. All important policies and decisions with respect to energy-sector have
been made in an undemocratic fashion, without any regard, whatsoever, to the reservations
of citizens of the country. The parochial political parties in the provinces have given the
energy-related problems an ethnic colour and have made the situation worse. The successive
governments in Islamabad have failed to cope with the situation and have preferred to defer
the crisis, which is unresolved to date.
The major reason of energy crisis in Pakistan is the lack of dams for electricity
generation. The lack of dams in the country is not due to lack of resources but due to lack of
willingness among the provinces to act like one nation and move the country out of the
current crisis. Instead of coordinating together to evolve an integrated strategy to address the
serious issue of water storage, they blame each other for creating this problem. The
misperceptions of provinces are largely shaped by their paranoia of being robbed off their
due share in water resources. They have built odd hypotheses about water scarcity and the
consyquent energy crisis. Their assertions even ignore the root cause of their problems, i.e.
lack of water storage capacity. Political parties have been so blinded by parochialism that
they cannot comprehend the fact that their main problem is not just water scarcity but also
lack of water storage capacity. The logic, that the problem of water scarcity is deepened by
lack of water storage reservoirs and not due to development of such reservoirs, is yet to be
understood in Pakistan. By now Paki'stan should have constructed multiple mega water
reservoirs with electricity generating capabilities, but due to this wrangling of provinces, the
country has to depend upon Tarbela and Mangla dams, which are fast losing their efficiency
to store water and generate electricity. The country is pushed into severe power sh0l1age as a
result, because without construction of mega dams, there will neither be hydro-based cheap
electricity nor large reservoirs to store water for irrigation.
Every decision-maker knows that the country urgently needs construction of dams
but no one dares to break the ice in order to solve the crisis. Under WAPDA's Vision 2025
program, Pakistan has planned numerous projects and approved them for construction. Some
of these key projects include Kalabagh dam, Bhasha dam, Skardu dam, Akhori dam, Chiniot
reservoir, Mirani dam, Gomal Zam dam, Kachhi canal, Chashma right bank canal and greater
ThaI canal. It is argued that the scarcity of water may not allo~ the construction of so many
projects on the IndusRiver. The political parties have politicized many of these projects. The
lower riparian Sindh province contends that the construction of a major reservoir on the
IndusRiver will result in decrease of water supply to Sindh. Nowhere in the world, does
water get reduced due to the construction of a dam. Water availability increases with dams
but this rationale is yet to be understood in Pakistan. This is mainly due to politicization of
an issue of vital national interest by disgruntled politicians for the sake of getting political
mileage. Kalabagh Dam is a classic example. Punjab supports the construction of Kalabagh
The Ravi 2011 26

Dam and a number of other mega dams for water storage. However, the provincial
assemblies of Sindh, Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa have passed resolutions against
the construction of Kalabagh Dam. Sindh is the strongest opponent of the Kalabagh Dam
because it claims that construction of the proposed Kalabagh dam would further curtail the
water storage capacity of MancharLake and other lakes and of wetlands like HalejiLake and
that their share of the Indus water from the Kalabagh will go to irrigate farmlands in Punjab.
Hence, the Kalabagh Dam project has been a subject of great deal of controversy. The
government's present priority is the construction of the Bhasha dam in place of Kalabagh
dam, but it is also subjected to a series of questions that are yet to be answered. For example,
some experts maintain that it will submerge 120 kilometres of Karakoram Highway and is
located in highly active seismic area. Moreover, it is believed that it would need hundreds of
mile transmission lines to be connected to the national power grid.
Unlike water-based electricity production, which is cost-effective, furnace oil and
natural gas-based electricity production is not a viable option for Pakistan because fossil
fuels are a precious commodity to import in a country whose huge current account deficit has
pushed it into a severe economic crisis. Moreover, fossil fuels resources are extremely
"localised"; only twenty countries have ninety per cent of the total oil and gas resources. Less
than fifteen per cent countries are self-sufficient in fossil fuel-based energy production.
There are other major concerns related to fossil fuels. Foremost are the global conflicts
emanating from states' struggle to get access to energy rich regions of the world; Iraq war of
2003 is a notable example. Another serious repercussion of fossil fuels based energy
generation is global warming that results in hampering agricultural growth, climatic changes,
droughts, dwindling supplies of fresh drinking water, famines, economic damages like loss
of property for coastal communities due to the rising levels of sea water (e.g. in Maldives)
and the migration of environmental refugees.
Of Pakistan's total energy production, about 51 per cent is gas-based (World average
for gas-based energy production is 15 per cent), 29 per cent is oil-based (World average is 10
per cent), 12 per cent is hydro-based (World average is 20 per cent), 7 per cent is coal-based
(World average is 40 per cent) and only 1 per cent is nuclear-based (World average is 15 per
cent). Currently the total power production capacity of Pakistan is estimated to be around
19,500 MW, out of which Hydel Power contributes only 6,500 MW, nuclear power yields
450 MW, coal produces 150 MW and the rest of 13,000 MW is thermal power, generated by
natural gas and furnace oil. In Pakistan, furnace oil is predominantly used as fuel in thermal
power stations. Oil based electricity production has pushed the country into severe economic
predicament. The production cost of furnace oil based electricity is sixteen rupees per unit
(or kWh) and when the cost of transmission and distribution is added to it, the cost becomes
about twenty-two rupees per unit, while tariff charged from the consumers is about five
rupees per unit. So, the difference between tariff charged and the price of furnace oil
electricity is seventeen rupees per unit. According to experts, the annual consumption of
electricity produced through furnace oil in the country is around twenty-five billion units. So
the total deficit turns out to be up to about 425 billion rupees, which is reduced to a great
extent by cheap power produced through hydel energy and natural gas. However, still the
deficit remains so huge that government has to give subsidy for it and consequently a greater
chunk of the budget is exhausted. Payment for a deficit of approximately three hundred
billion rupees cannot be sustained by the government for a long time due to its limited
The Ravi 2011 27

esources. Neither can the government maintain status-quo and burden itself by loans to meet
the power deficit, nor is it feasible to proportionally increase the power tariff and bring
consumers under more pressure.
The problem of circular debt is also a major cause of energy crisis in Pakistan. The
Independent Power Providers (IPPs) owe about RS.154 billion to Pakistan State Oil (PSO).
PSO fails to import oil, since it is cash strapped because of non-payment of the due amount.
IPPs have a strong pre-text for not paying the due amount to PSO; they hold that Pakistan.
Electric Power Company (Private) Limited (PEPCO) owes about Rs. 91 billion to the IPPs
which in spite of repeated requests by IPPs has not yet been released.
It is estimated that Pakistan has about forty-thousand Mega-Watts untapped
hydropower capacity, only a fraction of which has been tapped so far. Gifted with vast water
resources, Pakistan has only a few dams for electricity production. In the sector of
hydro-based electricity generation, there are important lessons for Pakistan; China, Pakistan's
neighbour has about 22,000 dams. Canada produces sixty-one per cent of energy from
hydropower resources. Pakistan, on the other hand, has only two major dams whose storage
capacity has reduced and policy-makers are indecisive about construction of new dams
owing to petty parochial politics.
The crisis can be resolved by Islamabad through construction of mega water
reservoirs on priority basis, by taking all the federating units into confidence. This will bear
fruitful results in two major areas, on one hand the issue of shortage of water for irrigation
will be successfully addressed and on the other, the severe power crisis that the country is
facing will be dealt with. Since power production from furnace oil does not seem to be a
viable option, the solution of the problem lies in securing long-term sustainable energy
supplies; power generation from indigenous fuels like coal and natural gas; and energy
production from diversified resources, like hydel, bio-fuel and renewable energy resources.
Pakistan is not only rich in water resources but also in coal, which can be used for
electricity production. In 1948, sixty per cent of Pakistan's power was. being produced by
indigenous coal. However, the situation is reversed now and Pakistan is heavily dependent
on import of fossil fuels for electricity production, which is huge burden on the national
exchequer. Presently, forty-nine per cent of US energy, sixty-five per cent of India's energy
and seventy per cent of China's energy is coal-based. China and India has even developed
coal liquefaction facilities. The world average for coal-based energy production is about
forty per cent. Compared to these figures, Pakistan, which has one of the largest coal
reserves in the world, is at a disadvantageous position, as only seven per cent of the total
energy produced in Pakistan is coal-based. Pakistan can learn from Indonesia that has
prepared a new energy policy, according to which it will produce the next 10,000 MW power
from coal. The policy-makers in Islamabad seem oblivious to such developments and do not
appear to have learnt lessons from the international experience. A pertinent example of this
negligence is the ThaI' coal project. In 1992, it was discovered that Pakistan has 175 billion
tonnes of coal reserves in the ThaI' region. A 5,200 MW power project based on Thar coal
was initiated in 1996, but it was cancelled in 1997 due to political differences of the newly
elected government with the previous one. In 2006, a Chinese-based firm offered to invest in
the Thar coal and demanded a tariff rate of 5.79 cents per unit of energy production, but
according to reports, the "cost-conscious" government in Islamabad was insistent on an offer
of 5.3 cents per unit. As a result there was no agreement on the issue. The same government
The Ravi 2011 28

was, however, not reluctant to conclude another deal of 15 cents per unit tariff rate for a
contract of thermal energy production. Such short-sighted decisions prove to be catastrophic
in the long run. To save burden on national exchequer, thermal power generation should be
more dependent on indigenous natural gas and coal. Proper attention should be paid to
environmental concerns with regard to the use of coal based energy. In order to make
additional gas available, the system of gas transmission and pressure needs to be improved.
Resorting to environment-friendly renewable energy resources is also a viable option
for coping with the mounting power crisis. World average of power generation from
renewable resources is 13.5 per cent. North American and European countries are heavily
investing in power generation from renewable energy resources. European Union has a target
of producing twelve per cent energy from renewable resources by 2010. Denmark produces
25 per cent energy from wind. According to Professor Sohail Zaki of National College of
Science and Technology, Karachi, as much as 40,000 MW of energy can be produced from
wind in Sindh.
The Government should also invest in innovative projects like 'Zero Energy
Buildings'. Such Zero Energy Buildings have solar plates for absorbing solar energy and an
internal mechanism for generation of power through conversion of the solar energy into
electrical energy. These projects not only use renewable energy but they also have
uninteITupted power supply.
There are some other ways to deal with the energy crisis; it is estimated that Brazil
saved up to $70 billion on oil import by producing ethanol-based energy (15 per cent mix).
Blending ethanol with gasoline produces bio-fuel, which is cost-effective. Bio-gas, which is
prepared from dung and litter, is another viable option for energy generation through smart
grids. Since Pakistan is also rich in rivers and water channels, electricity can be produced by
installing micro hydro turbines that operates from movement of running water and do not
require potential energy from high pressure water-fall. Another area that can be explored for
cutting the petroleum bill is preparation of bio-plastics. Plastics, a product of petroleum, can
be replaced by bio-plastics, which are prepared from starch and vegetable oil.
In Pakistan, twenty-six per cent of the energy that is generated is either lost in
transmission or is stolen. Due to heavy losses in the transmission, the country loses about
twenty-nine billion units of electricity annually. Moreover, power grid operates at less than
eighty per cent of its installed capacity, which is reduced to sixty per cent during winter. This
is a result of poor management of the power sector in the country. In face of the worsening
power crisis, Pakistan can hardly afford such callous mismanagement and inefficiency.
National Transmission and Dispatch Company should properly manage the transmission to
minimize the loss of electricity. According to a cautious estimate, if such losses are reduced
by even five percent, the country will save over seven billion rupees.
Deregulation of WAPDA is also a feasible way to ensure effective energy
management. WAPDA, created in 1958 as a semi-autonomous federal body, is responsible
for servicing of grid stations, development of water and power schemes and expansion of the
electricity network all over the country. It also oversees large dams such as Tarbela and
Mangla. However, this huge federal organization runs into losses and burdens the national
treasury. The different units of WAPDA should be deregulated for functional specialization,
effective monitoring and well-organized management. In addition, the government should
hold negotiations for investment by donor agencies and Independent Power Plants (lPPs) of
other countries in the energy sector. The hydel power projects in the private sector should'
also be encouraged by the government.
Another solution to the present energy crisis is import of cheap gas from Iran
The Ravi 201 J 29

through a gas pipe-line. Iran has the second largest proven gas reserves in the world. The
proposed Iran-Pakistan-India (IPI) gas pipe-line, also known as 'Peace Pipeline', will
originate from Iran's Southern Pars field and will be 2700 km long and will produce 150
million cubic-metres gas per day, out of which Pakistan will get 60 million cubic-metres gas
per day. Pakistan will earn approximately $700 million per year as transit fee. However,
there are some problems that are preventing the realization of this plan, which are: row over
pricing issue of gas, cost of construction that stands at a staggering $7 billion and opposition
of IPI project by the Unites States due to its estranged relations with Iran. Pakistan and India
are allies of the US and it is difficult for them to go against it. Additionally, in the face of
opposition from US, donor agencies like World Bank and Asian Development Bank may not
be ready to finance this project. Most importantly, the unfriendly relations between Pakistan
and India are a great hurdle in construction of this project. The trust deficit between the two
countries discourages India to pursue construction of a pipeline that passes through
Pakistan's territory. However, given the present energy scenario in Pakistan, the gas pipeline
project with Iran must be finalised immediately, even without India.
Conservation of energy is yet another way out of the energy crisis. During 1973, the
United States imported less than a third of its oil needs in face of oil embargo imposed by
the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC), through adoption of a
country-wide energy conservation policy. The government of Pakistan can also take energy
conservation measures like shutting down power on billboards, hoardings and street lights
and adopting day light saving methods. The government should also promote public-private
partnership for development of a well-organized public transport system throughout the
county. This will decrease people's reliance on privately owned vehicles for transport and a
few public transport buses in major cities will replace a huge number of privately owned
vehicles, resulting in a decrease in the oil bill, traffic and pollution. Importing vehicles from
abroad should be discouraged by imposition of heavy custom duty on them. Banks should be
asked to stop leasing cars on easy loans. These steps will help in reducing the oil bill to a
great extent because the swelling transport sector is responsible for the import of oil and
hence is a cause of severe economic deficit.
It is also the responsibility of the Government to ensure uninterrupted power supply
to industrial and agriculture sectors, which are at present badly affected by severe power
outages. Both these sectors playa vital role in strengthening the country's economy and
hence should be accorded preferential treatment by providing them with constant electricity
supply throughout the year.
Construction of mega water reservoirs for cheap electricity generation, institutional
reforms, decentralization and deregulation of WAPDA, effective power management policy
to minimize electricity losses, promoting private sector investment in the energy sector,
importing cheap gas from Iran through a pipeline, strengthening the mechanisms of
inter-provincial coordination; power generation from ethanol,bio-fuel and renewable energy
resources, replacing the use of furnace oil with indigenous fuels like coal and natural gas for
thermal power generation, using bio plastics, bio gas and micro hydro turbines; adoption of a
coherent national energy conservation policy, organization of an effective public transport
system and a well-articulated energy policy can result in an energy-rich Pakistan.
This article is a collective effort of two people: Yawar Abbas and Hadia Jahangir. Yawar
Abbas is Assistant Director at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Islamabad, and Hadia
Jahangir works at the Centre For Advance Research in Engineering (CARE), Islamabad.
The Ravi 20 II 30

Pakistan
and War Against Terror
Tariq Khosa
Despite the prevalent depressing circumstances, there is still a possibility for
Pakistan to turn its bleak-looking future into a promising one. This transformation requires
no intricate planning; rather, if only we are willing to address some basic issues concerning
our national interests, and to make amendments in our core strategy to combat the menace of
terrorism that threatens our integrity as a nation, we can still hope to drag Pakistan out of this
darkness.
Our national purpose should be based on 3Ps: Peace, Progress, and Prosperity.
Firstly, Pakistan needs to establish peace within the country, in order to ensure security for
its citizens. We are a nuclear state and can defend our territorial frontiers. However, we have
to guard ourselves against internal insurgency to avoid becoming a nation that is at war with
itself. Secondly, it is really impol1ant for us, as a nation, to adopt a progressive and liberal
mindset. The kind of liberalism that is being suggested here, in no way, targets the one
practiced in the western world; rather Pakistan needs to conform to the idea of liberalism that
its Founding Father Muhammad Ali Jinnah proposed. He wanted Pakistan to be a democratic
nation based on enlightened, liberal and tolerant social values. Unfortunately, Jinnah died on
11th of September, 1948 leaving behind a disunited and troubled Pakistan. Since then,
Pakistan has been facing a crisis of leadership which has become our malaise. This curse has
to be lifted before it is too late. Thirdly, we should make economic prosperity our national
purpose. Our homeland is rich with treasures of gold, copper, coal, and other natural
resources. And yet we are in deep debt and at the edge of economic strangulation because of
lack of wisdom and poor governance. The choice is ours: either we can sink as a despondent
nation or swim against the tide and emerge as a strong and vibrant country.
Nations do not have permanent friends, but only permanent interests. The term
'national interest' is an oft quoted and a frequently misused concept in the world of
diplomacy and warfare. Similarly, the concept of sovereignty changes with the events in the
history of nations. Post 9/11 Bush Doctrine introduced the concept of war against the
non-state actors and pre-emptive military strikes against the states that were perceived to be
sponsoring so-called terrorism. The sole super power, United States of America, tried to
enforce its diktat through military aggression in Afghanistan and Iraq. At the end of cold war
against communism, another ideological war theatre opened against radical Islam and there
appears to be no end in sight. According to neo-cons this is going to be a long drawn battle.
Pakistan became a part of this 'war on terror', not only owing to its geography and strategic
location, but also due to its policy of alignment with the US against the Soviets during and
after the cold war. Pakistan's sovereignty has been poorly bruised by US drone attacks and its
troops engaged in operation near Pak- Afghan border. So what is our national interest? Keep
on fighting on the terms and conditions of US or evolve our own national strategy to fight
terrorism within and resist incursions and terror from abroad? To be or not to be, that is the
question dear Brutus.
Pakistan's counter-terrorism strategy flows out of its multiple strategic compulsions.
First, its need to stay engaged with the United States; second, to combat the Taliban
attacking Pakistani state; and third is to fight India's rising occupation of Afghanistan. To
The Ravi 2011 31

some analysts, this strategy has inherent contradictions, caught between inclinations to fight
forces and yet having to partner with some, strengthens its future bargaining position.
The Way Forward
In order to wrestle with the escalating terrorism, Pakistan must come up with a
national policy and a coherent counter terrorism strategy based on national interests.
Therefore, it is mandatory that first we answer the following questions so that then we can
move forward with the clarity of purpose.
First of all, it is important to consider that is Pakistan being perceived to be fighting
America's war on terror on its soil? The answer is 'yes'. Then, we need to decide is it crucial
for Pakistan to fight terrorists and militants for its survival? Absolutely! Our foremost
priority has to be internal security. Army, Frontier Crops, Rangers, Police and intelligence
agencies must come hard on terrorists and militants, both foreign and sectarianism should be
addressed by political parties, civil society organizations, media, and everyone who holds
stake in the future of this country. Pakistan was not meant to be a theocratic state but a
pluralistic, tolerant Islamic state where freedom to practice religion and one's beliefs would
be an inalienable fundamental right. The battle for soul of Islam in Pakistan has to be fought
through ballot and not bullet, through debate and not deterrence, thorough tolerance and not
tyranny. People of Pakistan delivered a clear verdict in general elections, on February 18,
2008, by rejecting forces that promote militancy and terrorism.
Besides, another question of immense significance is to ask, if there is social and
economic justice in Pakistan? The answer is a clear-cut 'No'. But do extremism and militancy
flourish due to lack of social and economic justice? The answer would be a big 'yes'.
Pakistan is going through a tension between 'haves' and 'have-nots'. To create a distinction
between extremists and liberals is misleading in our context. The egalitarian ethos of our
society has been hijacked by materialistic and vested class of society who wield influence.
Castes, tribes, clans and feudal values are dividing our society. Economic growth lacks
distributive justice and poverty is breeding angry youth who fall easy prey to militancy and
terrorism.
The next question that requires our immediate attention is that is there something
wrong with our education system? Your guess, the answer is 'yes'. Our education system
happens to be quite below par and offers numerous hitches. Madrassas that have been
established in various parts of the country are functioning to fill the void created by lack of
good public education system. The solution to this problem of grave intensity does not lie in
closing those Madrassas, but in establishing a public school system that would impart
affordable and modern education throughout the rural, tribal and feudal landscape of
Pakistan.
Uptil this pdint, we have addressed three questions that call for our immediate
attention. Yet, these issues are not the only issues being faced by Pakistan. The fourth issue
is that we need to realize that the strategy to combat terrorism has geopolitical significance
with both international and domestic implications. USA, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan
collaborated in Afghan jihad against the Soviet Union. They jointly created a monster that
has come to haunt them as a Frankenstein since 9/11. It would require a close cooperation to
flush out Al-Qaeda and militant Taliban from their hideouts both in Afghanistan and
Pakistan. The leaders and militant organizations that sponsor and launch suicide bombers
The Ravi 2011 32

will have to be dismantled.
Fifth, suicide bomber is the weapon of warfare being used by terrorists. With boots
on ground, both in Afghanistan and tribal areas of Pakistan, this phenomenon cannot be
washed away. Therefore, military action and operations inside the tribal areas of Pakistan
and even in settled areas have to be swift and brief with least collateral damage. While
emphasis of the Army and Frontier Corps should be effecti ve border control, the intelligence
agencies, police and other LEAs must coordinate with local notables and political
administration to identify and apprehend terrorists in the tribal and settled areas of Pakistan.
lSI should be the lead agency against AI-Qaeda and Afghan Taliban while Intelligence
Bureau, Federal Investigation Agency, and provincial CIDs should combat local Taliban and
proscribed militant organizations.
Sixth, recent successful army operation in Swat, South Waziristan and some other
troubled tribal areas have to be properly followed up by infrastructure development,
economic opportunities and political empowerment. The whole issue of having tribal
agencies and federally administered areas has to be revisited to create a uniform system of
government in KPK. Baluchistan's conversi.on to all police area was a successful model
which was reversed at the altar of political and feudal expediency.
However, political and constitutional nuances should be addressed rather than
sweeping the matters under the carpet.
Se,;,enth, we are not fighting America's war in Afghanistan or Iraq. While we need
long-term strategic partnership with USA and not a narrow short-term cooperation on war on
terror, we must also proudly and resolutely guard our national interests to maintain Pakistan
as a nuclear state that is at peace with its neighbours. Even though we wish to establish
peace with India, yet it is equally important to settle the core issue of Kashmir with dignity
and honour, even if it requires a long wait. We need not to pursue the strategic depth in
Afghanistan but at the same time; we should not allow Afghanistan to pose a strategic threat
to us. Another 'Great Game' being played in this region should be watched carefully. We
should not let our soil be used to encourage incursions or for sabotaging Iran. Above all, our
relationship with China should be further cemented.
Finally, war against terror should be fought through rule and administration of
justice. The entire nation's approach against violent extremism will succeed ultimately. Let
the entire nation rally under the banner of Jinnah. Our country is just ripe for the rule of law
of revolution. Silent majority is waiting anxiously on the starting line. Who will pull the
trigger? We are all set to go. Bright future is Pakistan's destiny.
On a concluding note, let me quote Benazir Bhutto, who said in her last book
"Reconciliation", that Pakistan is a tinderbox that can catch fire quickly. However, I would
say that the entire world would become a tinderbox, if global war on terror is not perceived
to be just. In the words of the great Pakistani Poet-philosopher Mr.Allama Iqbal, "Tyranny
cannot long endure."
The writer is an old Ravian (1966-72) and recently retired as Federal Secretary
Government of Pakistan and from Police Service of Pakistan. He is currently Member of
the Executive of INTERPOL and also Advisor to the United Nation Office on Drugs and
Crime (UNODC) on Rule of Law and Criminal Justice in Pakistan.
The Ravi 2011 33

China -A Role Model For Pakistan
Muhammad Shabbir Abbasi
Pakistan was created to materialize the ideology of a separate state by which we
meant to protect the rights of the Muslims and to give them an opportunity to live their life
according to their own will. The ultimate goal was to attain the highest standard of life under
the umbrella of Islam.
Unfortunately we failed in our objectives and Islam was left for mere use as a tool
and footstep to befool the innocent people by our politicians.
Today if we want to live and survive we have to take some concrete steps. For this,
our all-weather friend China stands not only as a role model for us, but also as the most
trusted supporter of Pakistan.
China has adopted a new peaceful developmental plan for economic and social
welfare. It has five principles. First, the peaceful nature of development. It will not engage in
invasion, plundering, war or expansion. Second, China will pursue independent diplomatic
policy, policy of self reliance in national development through reliance on reforms,
expanding domestic demands and transforming economic growth pattern. Third, public
interest will be held supreme during sustainable development. Fourth, as a member of
international society, Beijing will pursue cooperative nature of development to serve its own
and others interest: Fifth, common development. China follows the policy of live and let live.
The plan can help Islamabad and the people of Pakistan further understand China and its aim
to use peace, cooperation and a win-win strategy for collective development.
China's foreign policy of peaceful co-existence is also part of the plan. It stands for
settlement of disputes and conflicts through dialogue and negotiation and by seeking
common ground while shelving differences. Islamabad can make use of this policy to help
resolve Kashmir issue in accordance with the UN Resolution, to bring peace and prosperity
in the region.
China's core interests are its form of government, political system, stability, socialist
system, justice and its soverignty, territorial integrity and national unity. Such a policy can
also support Pakistan's policies on Kashmir, keeping Pakistan united, protecting its
Two-Nation Theory vision, maping Pakistan a welfare state in accordance with the
constitituon, to protect the public and strengthen nationalism.
The defense policy of China is defensive in nature. Its military is defending its
territorial integrity and safeguarding its huge borderline which is more than a twenty-two
thousand kilometre long, land boundary and an eighteen thousand kilometre long sea
boundary. It is driven neither by arm race nor by the desire to seek hegemony or expansion.
Its military spending is also minimal both in aggregate and in per capita terms as compared
to the US. China's military transparency can be imagined from this declaration that "China
has openly declared to the world that it will never seek hegemony". It is comIllitted to no first
use of nuclear weapons. Pakistan's defense policy is also defensive in nature.
China's energy policy is part of its domestic and international policies. Its fast pace
of replacing fossil fuel with renewable energy has prompted US energy Secretary to call it a
"Sputnik Movement" in green technology race. China is the world's number one clean energy
"{he Ravi 2011 34

power producer. It is generating 200 GW with hydropower, 36.3 GW with wind and 8000
MW from solar energy. It is the leading country in electric cars using renewable energy.
China can help Pakistan in the energy sector to overcome the crisis and put it on its feet. It is
adopting state of the art infrastructure to strengthen its economy, bridge the gap between
rural and urban areas and reduce poverty. In road and rail network, China has established its
superiority. It is leading in building vessels for military and maritime use, heavy and light
steel. Pakistan can benefit from China's expertise in these areas. The most important area of
mankind is provision of fair and free justice. China has transformed its justice system,
standard of transparency and revised capital punishment to end corruption. China's judiciary
has standardized punishments to cut delay and bring transparency in the system. The
working in government departments is getting transparent. The media is playing a positive
role. The execution of Vice President of China's Central Bank, high ranked police officials
and others found involved in corruption leave no doubt in the minds of public, that their
government is sincere in its efforts to eliminate corruption. China has issued a
comprehensive plan guaranteeing social, economic and cultural rights, civil and political
rights, rights and interests of ethnic minorities, women, children, elderly and disabled and is
also performing international human rights duties. The strengthing of human rights can
benefit Republic of China and Pakistan and it will help end violation of human rights in the
region and rest of the world.
At the end, it is imperative to note that China which is touching the heights of
development and prosperity got independence two years later than us. It is an undeniable fact
that China has achieved this glory and success by sheer dint of its people's hard work and
sincerity, their commitment and devotion.
The writer is a lecturer at the PAF Public School, Lower Topa (Murree).
The Ravi 2011 35

"We were as men who through a fen
of filthy darkness grope:
We did not dare to breathe a prayer
or give our anguish scope:
Something was dead in each of us
and what was dead was hope"
(Oscar Wilde)
Doing the Right Thing
Hanna Ijaz
We might not acknowledge this openly, but it's just about as commonplace a fact as
anything "revealed" by wikileaks. We are losing the war against terror! We are losing every
war that we are fighting, including that of our survival! Deep down, alI of us know it. So no
surprises there. But what is important to realize is that we are not losing in on the
battlefields, rather in our minds and spirits. Take a walk around the city and talk to anyone
you can get hold of (it isn't as easy as it sounds i.e. neither the walk around the city nor
getting hold of someone willing to talk to a stranger, *read 'potentially a terrorist'!*). You'll
realize that almost everyone is infected with a deadly virus; it is spreading with every passing
moment; highly contagious, it sucks the hope out of its prey and injects despair and
disillusionment. You'll also find that the educated class is more susceptible to the attack and
the virus thrives on it! Before you know it, you'll be infected with it too i.e. if you aren't
already! Tum on your television set, and you'll find the proof on every news channel; no
matter how hard you may try, you won't be able to find even a shred of optimism, except for,
perhaps, the 19 Pakistani girls entering the Guinness Book of World Records by fitting into
one smart car!
Such' is the state of affairs in Pakistan. And perhaps the situation is really bad:
Bombs are exploding left, right and centre; the economy has gone to the dogs; political
system ... well there wasn't any to start with; corruption being on an all time high; a
government which is hell-bent on giving up each and everything that a government stands
for; even cricket seems like a lost cause! Yes, the situation is quite serious. And, quite
frankly, the "all is welI" approach does not work here. One cannot simply close his eyes to all
that is going wrong around him.
So, is all the pessimism and despair justified then? Should we flee from this country
as soon as we get an opportunity? Are we aboard a sinking ship, and destined to go down
with it? Is there no reason at all for us to hope for a better future? A response in the
affirmative not only sounds incorrect (morally), but also lacks a logical basis if you claim to
be a loyal Pakistani. Rhetoric aside, there are ample reasons, historical and statistical, to
believe in a prosperous future. But the most important ingredient, for things to change is
hope; that our lives and actions aren't as mea~ingless as we are made to believe; that things
can actualIy take a tum for the better.
You see, we try to idealize these champions of democracy: Nelson Mandela, Aung
San Suu Kyi etc. They would figure out in almost every list of 'favorite personalities'. But
what we sometimes, conveniently, ignore is the fact that Nelson Mandela spent twenty-seven
years in prison, Aung Suu almost 15 years under house arrest! It sounds an awful long time,
The Ravi 2011 36

doesn't it? I'm sure that it was even longer for those actually who were suffering it. Every
passing day ought to have given way to more frustration, more restlessness, lesser hope,
lesser optimism. But that didn't happen, did it? For twenty-seven and fifteen years
respectively, these noble individuals persevered with their never-ending hope for a better
future. It could have been possible, that all of it would have come to nothing, that their
struggle would have proven to be fruitless, they might not have lived to see what they saw!
Surely, it must have crossed their minds more than once. But why, then, did they not give
up? What made them hold on? I would like to believe that it was their belief in doing the
right thing, come what may, and the hope that by doing what is right, they can contribute
their bit to this world. They made a choice for themselves i.e. they tied their fate to that of
their country. They were willing to go down with their dreams, hoping till the very end that
all is not lost. And I would also like to believe that without this hope and belief, history
would have had an entirely different outlook (much worse than it is today).
Hope is. perhaps, the most powerful thing in this world. And there is much in this
country that we can rest our hopes on. We have one of the largest energy reservoirs in the
world, more than the combined resources of Iran and Saudi Arabia. Similarly, we have one
of the highest ratios of human resource available, a quintessential for development. And no
matter what the people have to say of our moral decadence, there is much to suggest
otherwise. If a sweeper in the International Islamic University can sacrifice himself to save
hundreds of innocent souls from being blown up; if the likes of Abdul Sattar Edhi can build
up one of the largest foundations of social and relief work from practically nothing, and if his
is not the only story to tell, then I am willing to have faith in the morals of both this country
and its people.
What this country needs from its people is to continue to work for its betterment;
continue to do the right thing; continue to hope! If we can believe in a prosperous future for
ourselves, then believe me, we'll have one! And even if we fail, at the very least, we'll die
hoping for one, satisfied that we did our bit. I think each one of us needs to read the cover of
the movie Braveheart, which reads "Every man dies, not every man really lives!"
The writer is the former President of the ceu Debating Society (2008-2009).
The Ravi 2011 37

A Gift for the Future
Huda Fatima
A country where the heart rules over the mind; where one can be emotionally
provoked just by misquotations; where logic has been buried into the depths of ignorance
and where the brain has been rendered a useless organ. This is a country where the darkness
of ignorance has spread its wings and evil has rooted itself into the hearts. Here one does not
have time to ponder over right and wrong, while those who do so are put to death.
This is a country where the teachings are in conflict with actions, where even the
teachings of religion are misinterpreted. Here is a country where no one has a strong
personal belief. No, this is not so. Instead the belief is shaped by wolves in sheep's hide. It is
shaped by those who proclaim themselves to be the flag bearers of our religion, the voice of
reason, the representatives of the public, and the upholders of truth, but who are not so. This
is a country run by those who declare themselves to be the caretakers of the poor, the
listeners of the helpless and the shelter for the shelter-less. But it is not so. This is a country
where we are fed with lies to feed our hunger, and hypnotized by the promises for a bright
future to quench our thirst.
Here is a country where the blue skies are shrouded with black thick clouds that are
being produced by bomb blasts, mass protests and instigations, where the earth is dyed with
the blood of innocent people; innocents who have been falsely proven to be guilty for crimes
that they did not even think of committing. Here, in this great nation, Islam is a religion not
of logic, kindness and forgiveness, but is a religion of the heart, a religion that dictates
extremism.
Welcome to the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. This is the Muslim World. This is the
country with a very high Muslim majority. This is the country which has based the rulings
and orders of Islam to make its constitution so that the teachings of Prophet Muhammad
(P.B.U.H.A.H.P) can be implemented. This is a country that follows the sayings of the
Prophet (P.B.U.H.A.H.P) that an Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab, nor a non-Arab
over an Arab except on the basis of Taqwa or faith. This is the dream of Allama Iqbal in the
real form. This is the dream of Quaid-e-Azam, Muhammad Ali Jinnah that has been
engraved on the map of the world. This is the country that rightfully protects the rights of
minorities. This is the country that our ancestors have achieved by shedding their blood and
sacrificing their lives. This is the country we have decorated with ignorance, adorned with
extremism, beautified with bomb-blasts, embellished with sectarian conflicts, and garnished
with illiteracy and corruption. This is the legacy we leave behind; a country engulfed in
terror, conflicts and helplessness.
This is our gift to our children, our gift to the future; but we have to realize that the
night is always darkest before dawn. We will rise from the ashes like the legendary Phoenix.
May our future be a prosperous Pakistan. Amen.
The writer is a third year student of B.Sc (Hons), Biotechnology
at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 38

Only the Shallow Know Themselves
Lamia Khan Niazi
There are many events unfolding in the current climate. The Muslim brotherhood
revolution recently culminated in ousting despot Hosni Mubarak from the country.
Revolution is seeping into Tunisia. Bahrain and Libya, with Qadaffi struggling to hold his
crumbling rule together.
I pondered over a certain aspect of this socio-economic climate, after my Facebook
news-feed was swamped with statuses expressing an urge for revolution in Pakistan. After a
week perhaps, I was inevitably questioning myself about the possible reasons of our youth's
prevalent thinking. I felt that the concept of revolution was something that made our young
people feel good about themselves; in more colloquial words, may be the idea was 'cool' or
'awesome' in itself. What I inferred was, that they also wanted a revolt; but how our youth
was able to draw an analogy between the situations of Pakistan and Egypt, was what I failed
to understand. How could they be so naive to ignore the atrocities on Egyptians and the law
and order situation in their country, where innocent civilians were gunned down for no
rhyme or reason in the past. The corruption rate in Pakistan may be synonymous to that of
Egypt, but the law and order situation isn't. Why would we want bloodshed when we can
come up with toned down methods.
The drive behind revolution comes from wanting a change in power. It can be done
in ways other than those leading to epic bloodshed, because such a situation makes a country
vulnerable and gives enemies a chance to infiltrate and exploit the state of affairs. Our people
have the passion, the drive, but at times it bubbles so much that they forget to pause for a
moment and think rationally. They are so eager for change that they exhibit willingness to do
absolutely anything. But is doing anything without a pragmatic approach, the solution to our
problems?
I have an alternate proposal whereby we can bring change in the absence of revolt.
Our country is not at a precarious stage to demonstrate a revolution, that destroys us in
return; we are already fragile. post the floods and a cOlTupted economy. We are the ones who
have to excel and then attain the prestigious positions of Civil Services, Judiciary, Police etc
in order to bring a constructive change. It's a collective effort. Each one of us, where ever we
are, in Pakistan or abroad, need to have a clean intention, and prosperity will be ours.
Undeniably, Pakistan is surmounted in law and order issues, target killing being the
recent one. However, at the same time, we are witnessing people of conscience coming up.
After Salman Taseer's murder and then Shahbaz Bhatti's assassination. our people have
understood the gravity of widespread insecurity. In fact some of us earlier stood up to probe
the matter. No one had let go off Raymond Davis when he shot innocent Pakistanis. Having
an outspoken and fearless media that questions people and politicians is an advantage. We as
a community are becoming increasingly aware. So, why just get on the revolutionary
bandwagon, when we are almost certain that all the wrong people will get on it. What we
need is a reformist perspective and a democratic approach. Revolution does not need to be
aggressive. It can be passive yet effective. By voting sensibly we can rectify so many errors
and bring the change we aspire for.
Overthrowing
one government to bring another bunch of corrupt lunatics, who want
The Ravi 2011 39

to run our country, is not the solution. We have to make them answerable. We have to be
paJi of establishments to do that. We have to join NAB and other national institutions to
ensure transparency. After all, we are part of the youth that wants change.
I am not declaring it a smooth journey, but this is the staJi. If our conscience is clear
and we spread the word with motivation and reason, nothing will stop us. We are a youth
fuelled by passion, and our love for our country will be truly manifested if we stand up to
protect it.
My friends, revolution is not just getting on the streets, breaking windows of
buildings, burning tyres, or ranting slogans- this will cause all the negative elements to crop
up, weaken our roots and cripple us under the cover of revolution. We need to be stronger
than before, because we are the roots which will grown into trees, that will bear the fruit we
have been yearning for. We can never assess our potential till we put it to use. Just never
give up, because those who give up, are the shallow ones and only the shallow know
themselves. The journey is of self exploration and determination- where we must continue to
learn about ourselves, and channel our positive thoughts in making it all work.
The writer is a third year Law student at King's College, London.
The Ravi 2011 40

How Wikileaks Works
Fahad Dogar
Wikileaks has been making the headlines in Pakistan for quite a while now.
Unfortunately, most people in Pakistan still know little about the working of Wikileaks. As
a result, there appears to be a lot of mystery surrounding the authenticity of the 'leaks' and
how these leaks are obtained in the first place.
It is a popular belief that Wikileaks obtains its secrets by hacking into unauthorized
computers - in this case, those owned by the US government. This perception is
understandable given the background of Julian Assange, the founder of Wikieaks, who has
been involved in hacking in the past.
However, Wikieaks denies hacking into US government computers; in fact most
experts believe that it does not have the ability to do so. The US government hires
world-class experts to secure their computers. As a result, hacking into their sensitive
computers is challenging, if not impossible.
According to Wikileaks, it obtains the secrets through "whistle-blowers" i.e.,
insiders in an organization who are authorized to access confidential information, but want
to expose this information to the world. For example, in the present scenario, the
whistle-blower could be an official of the US state department or any other official who had
access to the confidential diplomatic cables.
The motives of the whistle-blower usually differ on a case-to-case basis. In many
instances, attack of conscience or the urge to take revenge from a colleaguelboss are the
primary motives. Publicity or fame is not the desire of the whistle-blower as this can
potentially risk his/her life.
An important question to ask in this context is whether the US government
any technology to prevent whistle-blowers from leaking out confidential information.
can use
There are technologies that can track a whistle-blower. However, such technologies
require that information always remains inside the computer and not be copied or printed.
This is impossible to implement in practice. As a result, a whistle-blower can easily bypass
these technologies by printing the documents, by taking hand-written notes or in the worst
case, just memorizing the important information.
The role of Wikileaks starts once the whistle blower decides to reveal the secret
information to the outside world. Wikileaks provides two guarantees to the whistle-blower:
anonymity and confidentiality.
Anonymity ensures that the identity of the whistle-blower is hidden from the whole
world, including Wikileaks itself. This is achieved using potentially hundreds of random
computers for exchanging messages between the whistle-blower's computer and the
computers of Wikileaks. As hundreds of random computers are used, it is very difficult to
track the source of the message and therefore the whistle-blower remains anonymous.
Confidentiality ensures that no one except Wikileaks is able to identify the contents
of the message. This ensures that ongoing project/stories of Wikileaks remain secret from
the outside world. Confidentiality is achieved by encrypting the information such that it only
makes sense to Wikileaks. Anyone else who gets hold of the message, such as the US
The Ravi 2011 41

government
or any news agency, is unable to understand the contents of the message.
Wikileaks certainly seems to provide good anonymity and confidentiality: the
identity of the whistle blower(s) who revealed the secrets is still unknown and no one,
including the US government, was able to break the confidentiality provided by Wikileaks.
Once Wikileaks obtains a secret it verifies it just like a newspaper verifies a story or
a lead from someone. They claim to hire the services of professional journalists, although
their names do not appear in the media because of the sensitive nature of their job. So far, it
seems that the Wikieaks' staff is doing a great job as all their startling revelations have
proved to be authentic. Even the US has never denied the veracity of the 'leaks'.
Once the information is verified, Wikileaks decides what information to release to
the outside world and how it is released. In some cases, it hides sensitive information by
omitting names of people or places. Finally, the information is published on its website as
well as simultaneously released through some selected newspapers. Not surprisingly this
information soon makes the headlines of all newspapers and tv channels.
One hopes that this article will remove many misconceptions regarding how
Wikileaks obtains and publishes the secret information. It is up to the readers to decide
whether Wikileaks is doing a great service to the world or creating unnecessary contlicts.
The writer graduated from LUMS in 2005 with a gold medal in Computer Science. He is
currently a PhD stildent at Carnegie Mellon University, US.
The Ravi 2011 42

Moving Forward
Shoaib Ahmed
It is not surprising how often we ponder upon the foreign relations of Pakistan that,
strictly, do not include America. I, at least, don't find it surprising because we have so many
issues to deal with at home that we don't even get a chance to lift our heads and peep at the
affairs regarding how "friendly" we have gone with our immediate neighbours. Pakistan, an
Islamic Republic, is facing the kind of problems that cannot be shrugged off easily by
simply saying that these are the normal crisis faced by almost every "developing" country.
Not every country has to fight a proxy war where the security of the whole world is at stake.
Not every country has the leadership that is elected by 45% of bogus voters. And maybe not
every country has the inflation rate of 12.91 % and the GDP heading down hill.
If we take out these problems one by one, and USA finally leaves this part of the
world for better or worse and things somehow return to pre-91l1 era. Then what? With
whom do we collaborate? Who are our trading partners and on whom can we rely for foreign
investment? History of US-Pak relations has always taught us that USA always plays the
game of its interests and by far USA has had no interest in Pakistan other than the
eradication of Taliban and AI-Qaeda for the "greater good".
Every country tries its level best to maintain healthy relations with its neighbours.
More attention is given to immediate neighbours. Pakistan's immediate neighbours include
China who remains a faithful ally and has helped through thick and thin. The people of both
the countries have love and respect for each other. It is only in the interest of Pakistan to take
the friendship, with China, onto the next level.
Iran and Afghanistan are the neighbours with whom Pakistan could never have
good foreign relations. On many occasions, Iran has accused Pakistan of instigating
extremist activities in Iran. Pakistan is also blamed, by Iran, that it secretly supports the
Taliban regime in Afghanistan. Pakistan obviously dismisses these accusations saying that
Iran has no evidence to support these claims. Afghanistan on the other hand has little to offer
to Pakistan as far as foreign trade is concerned. It is quite evident that most of the extremists
trespass the Pak-Afghan border and create chaos in this region. Although ,Pakistan
vehemently supports an economically stable Afghanistan but this doesn't seem to alter the
bitter truth that it may take Afghanistan decades just to get on the track of economic
progress, let alone economic stability.
India, our final immediate neighbour, is our arch rival. This rivalry dates back to
times seemingly immemorial. It has so not been a rivalry between an Indian and a Pakistani.
This is the enmity between a Hindu and Muslim. This enmity has resulted in countless wars
and horrific bloodbath. Many innocents have died just because they belonged to a different
religion. Both sides have tried to take over the other, not by molding others' hearts, but by
the bent of their swords or the firing of their guns. So many battles fought, many lost and
won, still they cannot stand the presence of the other.
But we, when I say "we" I mean both the sides, have to take things a lot more
realistically. We now live in the 21st century. Both nations are nuclear powers and the
eruption of war would mean the complete annihilation on both sides. So if chance of war is
thrown out of the window then maybe we can move on towards forging better relations.
The Ravi 2011 43

Kashmir remains the bone of contention. India needs to realize that it is not in it's
power to forcibly annex any territory against the will of the inhabitants. India should hold a
plebiscite under the supervision of UN. Pakistan should and always have supported this idea
and, bravely enough, the outcome whatever it may be.
On the other hand Pakistan should come out of the state of denial that Pakistan can
still, somehow, eclipse India at the international level. India has outrun Pakistan in most of
the fields and economy is at the top of that list. The recent visit of the leaders of the G8
countries to India clearly signifies this change in the sub-continent. India is becoming an
economic hub for almost all the developed countries due to its large market and cheap
labour. If the developed countries can come to India from all around the world then it will
never hurt Pakistan, the next door neighbor, to bring down these elusive walls of enmity and
forge economic ties with India.
Of course, keeping the history in view, a continuous state of alertness is required
whenever an equation involves Pakistan and India. Some may try to exploit this new-born
relation, but, again keeping the history in view, economic needs have always compelled the
countries to take steps which otherwise seemed improbable if not impossible. France had to
improve it's relations with Russia during the late 19th century for the sake of investment.
Cuba, an immediate neighbor and rival of USA, cannot afford to lose economic-friendly
terms with America. Pakistan itself had to accept the existence of Bangladesh as a separate
entity and now many agricultural items are imported from Bangladesh.
Perhaps, this may be easier said than done.However, economic stability and foreign
investment is the need of the hour for Pakistan. It cannot afford to sever ties with the
emerging economical market of the world i.e. India. The world has always moved forward
and so should Pakistan. And if things are handled in the right way, then who knows our arch
rival, may even turn out to be our benefactor. Who knows the enmity that has got the better
of both the nations may finally be rooted out and new seeds of harmony and peace are sown.
Who kno'ws ... ?
The writer is a second year student of B.A (Hons) - English Literature at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 44

Why Pakistan Needs to Reform its System of Education
M. U. Ather
That's the dilemma! Sixty-three years since independence of Pakistan, and we are
still floating in the same stagnant water. The primary reason for such a plight is our worn out
education system. Education here means "A process of learning to follow", which is
contrary, to its real meaning which is, "A process of freeing one's mirid, converting the
splinter of one's unique ability in to an unmatchable skill." A reform in educational sector is
inevitable for the development of Pakistan. It is the educated class which is always in the
vanguard when a country embarks upon its journey towards glory. To achieve liberty from
slavery we need to learn, and education in its real sense is the yardstick of a country's
success.
The education system is suffering from the curse of disparity which is a huge
loophole in the system. Majority of the people never get a chance to see how an inside of a
school looks like. Primary and secondary education cannot be afforded by much of the
population. The gender disparity is alarming; only 22% of girls complete primary schooling
as compared to 47% of boys. Female literacy is only 45%. Alongside these alarming
statistics, regional disparity is creating a gap between the masses; the people of Punjab are
more groomed than the people of Baluchistan. The acute difference between public and
private schools is adversely contributing towards the development of education by dividing
students into two segments. This develops a sense of inferiority amongst the students of
public sector, which is the prime reason of the high dropout rate at secondary level; only
19% of the students get the opportunity to access post-secondary studies.
Teachers are considered as the spine of an educational system, but unfortunately in
Pakistan teaching has become a job for a person who cannot do anything else. Most teachers
are not professionals and thus hamper the mental progress of students. But the biggest
problem is the worn-out way of teaching, curriculum and policies. The curriculum is very
conservative which makes us follow and jot down things in our memory, discouraging free
thinking and creativity. There is a deficit of technical education, hands-on problem solving
and learning through research. Innovation is needed and we need to incorporate latest
technology and techniques in the education system. The supposed purpose of education, as
marketed by the education industry is to safeguard career advancement, high pay, and to
empower a college graduate's job search. But this should be the secondary purpose as the
primary purpose is to learn and bring forward responsible citizens. This colonial system of
education has to be configured according to our needs and dealt with flexibility, in order to
adopt new ideas. And investment in this sector must also be increased to 7%-8% of the GDP
which is at present 2.3%. It should be a system which envisages learning, prepares for wise
leadership and opens minds for achievement and success. We need a system based on
modern lines, innovation and adaptability. We should learn to think, not to follow.
That's the only way we can empower people's will and create awareness among the
masses, not only to discern their rights but also to develop a sense of responsibility to
perform their duties honestly. This will lead to a sense of accountability in people and it will
be the first step towards reforming the education system of Pakistan, which needs to be
revamped if we want to change the status quo. It will inculcate those moral principles in
people, which will make them responsible citizens who are capable of thinking freely,
adopting new ideas and developing a sound character.
The writer is a/irst
year F.Sc student at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 45

Promoting Culture
Fazal Muhammad Khan
It is a very stupefying fact that watching Indian movies and serials has instilled in us
the Indian culture, such that the words like "Munni badnaam hui" and "Shela Ki Jawani"
(famous Indian movie songs) have become the part and parcel of daily conversation for the
youth of Pakistan. Indian culture has penetrated our lives such that a major portion of the
youth of Pakistan tries to look the part of Indian actors and actresses. The type of language
spoken in Indian serials or movies is now routinely used in the easily exploited factions of
the Pakistani society. Reality shows such as Big Boss, Kon Banay Ga Crore Pati, Dus Ka
Dum have become the common topic of discussions in our gatherings, especially amongst
the women-folk in Pakistan.
It has reduced our individual and cultural identities so much that we may be the
Pushtoons of Khyber Pukhtunkhwa and Balochistan, Punjabis and Saraikis of Punjab,
Sindhis and Urdu-speaking people of Sindh and Balochs of Balochistan, but we, the youth of
Pakistan, indeed have become Indians as far as our thinking, speaking and living styles are
concerned.
The booming voices of Indian singers are heard in our marriages and pri vate
functions. The gestures of Indian actors and actresses have exponentially become a style in
our youth, and the dressing of Indian serial actresses has gained the status of fashion
amongst the women-folk in Pakistan.
Let us admit the reality, change it all, ostracize the Indian cinema in our domestic
society and promote our very own culture. History has witnessed that success, prosperity and
progress of a nation lie not in its following the suit of prosperous nations, but in promoting
its own culture, best examples being China, Japan, Germany and France. I am sure most of
us are willing to pay the price that success and prosperity demand.
Let us rise to bring an end to what we should not be. It is now up to us, either to
remain with no individual and cultural identities and keep on doing what Indian actors and
actresses do in movies, serials and reality shows or become the real Pushtoon ( in case of
myself) and promote Pushtu culture which is my moral and social responsibility. Jim Rohn,
America's foremost business philosopher, in his article Change Begins with Choice has
inscribed brilliantly, "Any day we wish; we can discipline ourselves to change it all. Any day
we wish; we can open the book that will open our mind to new knowledge. Any day we
wish; we can start a new activity. Any day we wish; we can start the process of life change.
We can do it immediately, or next week, or next month, or next year." So let us do it
immediately.
The government in this regard should take some serious steps to enhance the
tendency of the youth of Pakistan towards the field of research, in which Pakistan lags far
behind, and fortify them against the demoralizing effects of watching Indian cinema. Sports
grounds and public libraries should be established in remote areas of Pakistan, or their
number must be enhanced if they are already established. Extra-curricular activities in
educational institutes should be encouraged and morally supported. Seminars, functions.
competitions and lectures relating to local cultures should be constantly conducted in the
educational institutes so as to promote our local culture.
The writer is a fourth year student of B.Se (Hons) - Chemistry at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 46

PENSIVE

The Body Count and Shaping the Future of Our World
Robert Reid
Politicians disagree about means of solving "strategic blunders" with troops as we
progress toward a "New World Order." Russia is upset by the particulars of UN sanctions on
Iran. They want to know why the US can continue to buy Iranian oil and the Iranians can't
use the money to buy nuclear materials from Russia. Putin accuses the US. The price of oil
rises; and" 126 killed by truck bomber" subtitles our internet screens while Christiane
Amanpour talks about the war within. The headline reads 31 American soldiers killed so far
this month. Everyone talks about religion and no one talks about the real causes of war
among people in the 21st Century. The arguments that kill people are about money; and in a
global economy the elite have access to education and a place in the world wide order. The
poor have access to starvation, violence and the ordinance supplied by the politicians
attempting to shape the world. The stories that shape the world grow out of the stories of
past and present tragedies.
Human beings, hopefully, are discovering that those cultures that appear to be
opposite and diametrically opposed are, in fact, simultaneous in time; and the stories that
shape the future of the human community will be the tragedies of past conflicts (death and
separation resulting from past crimes against the human community).
That is the image of a system that works; and the academic system that works
provides access to an environment that offers the entire human community (composed of
diverse nations and cultures) the right to inherit a place in the system.
The accurate portrayal is of a world divided by ghettos within and nationalistic
divisions without. Most of the people that make up the world occupy ghettos, reservations,
and isolated, warring states. They have no place in the archetypal struggle for a new world
and new life engendering realities. They are still poor relatives of a dominant corporate,
economic, political and cultural system that refuses them access and offers them neither
freedom nor equality.
Schools and colleges are microcosms occupied by a privileged mobile minority of
world citizens. Dreams are deferred for the majority of the human community. Death and
separation are their current empirical realities. These are the stories that will shape the world
future as interior reality or vision shapes exterior reality. Tony Hillerman infers the reward
for separation and isolation in a conversation between Jim Chee and an elderly Vietnamese
woman in Coyote Waits.
Mrs. Ha said something in Vietnamese, said it directly to Jim Chee and then glanced
at her daughter, awaiting the translation. "She said: We have a saying in Vietnam--'" Janice
Ha hesitated. "I'm not sure of the word for that animal in English. Oh, yes. The saying is
that fate is as gentle with men as the mongoose is with mice."
Chee shook his head, nodded to the woman. "Would you tell your mother that
Navajos say the same thing in different words? We say: '''Coyote is always out there
waiting, and coyote is always hungry'" (Coyote Waits).
The story, not the language it's told in, is important. The story embodies the
archetypal truth shared by the two people who are part of one world community.
The Ravi 20 II 47

The stories that give the bodies that we hear as body counts, collateral damage and
Americans or Terrorists killed a name are told by the truth of fiction and the disciplines. The
ideal way to solve our differences is access to education and the opportunity to earn a place
in a global economy. Warring economies count the bodies of the victims of starvation and
warfare. Politicians issue death warrants and propaganda. America may be attempting to
shape a region. The Hezbollah may be attempting to shape a world; and the people who
occupy those worlds may be dying in despair. Hope is not in the strategies. Hope is in the
stories that transform otherwise meaningless death and separation into tragedy.
The writer has worked at King Saud University in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, Bilkent
University in Ankara, Turkey, The University of Kentucky in Cumberland, Kentucky,
Tennessee Wesleyan College in Athens, Tennessee, The University of Guam and United
Arab Emirates University. He lives in Lahore, Pakistan and teaches at FCC University
currently.
The Ravi 2011 48

Taking Stock
Mohammad Vmer Khan
At some crucial juncture in our past, we (and when I say 'we', I assume you know
who I mean) severed ties with the man who ran the mosque, almost entirely. We no longer
felt the need to actively participate in religion, except in passing, as a sort of polite nod to the
fact that the constitution did after all call us an Islamic Republic. We felt that our children
too need not be bothered with this meddling complexity while there were other, more
important and lucrative pursuits. Education, that vital architect of outlook, became
increasingly more secular because this shift promised better returns in terms of finance; and
of course our post-colonial hangover dictated that we act more like the West at any cost - and
when I mention the West, I don't mean the relevant geographical continents with all their
pros and cons but an empire as it takes shape in the mind of a slave who has lost all
conception of ever having had a past, except one of shame. Thus, the man who ran the
mosque was confined, as it were, to the suburbs of our social existence, allowed to assert his
presence only at times of birth, marriage, death, the weekly Friday and biannual Eid prayers,
which too for many of us (again, I refer to a particular social class) became optional or purely
symbolic. For the rest of the year he was the 'Mullah', someone to be contemptuously ignored
when not being satirized. Whether you believe he was himself responsible or not for the
origin of his caricature is irrelevant. The fact is that we merely criticized without rectifying;
we showed nothing but indifference towards our society and indeed ourselves when we
relegated him to carryon without us a task that should have been taken up by the brightest
and most privileged of us; the task of studying, understanding, commenting upon and
disseminating our religious body of knowledge. But we, in our anxiety to remain unsullied in
the eyes of the secular world by something as 'superstitious' and 'medieval' as religion, left no
channels of communication open between the Mullah and ourselves. We 'otherized' the
Mullah and all his followers so that we could delight in our own 'enlightenment' and
simultaneously create a psychological cushion necessary for our increasing loss of faith. By
making the 'illiterate' Mullah the sole representative of religion, we were able to justify our
own departure from it, keeping ourselves satisfied with the knowledge that we were only
distancing ourselves from 'ignorance' and 'darkness'. But the truth is, while we were busy
distancing ourselves from something whose significance we were too foolish to comprehend,
we were doing nothing to illumine, as it were, the darkness that was gathering all around us.
At what we arrogantly believed was the periphery, but was in fact the very centre of our
social existence, something horrible was brewing.
And thus, by having divorced ourselves from its charge, we relinquished our right to
complain about what they were doing to, or with our religion. Today, we are nonplussed by
what is going on around us. People are dying because of a decision we made a long time ago
to be irresponsible. And every time a man is killed, we frantically scan the Quran, not
because we want to get at the truth, but because we want for it to validate our preconceived
conception of it, to reassure us that Islam is still what we want for it to be. We seem not to
understand that interpretation depends upon the interpreter. And we ourselves have installed
interpreters. We used to be amused by the silly ramblings of the Mullah's sermon. Now we
are afraid of them. We did not want to do his job because we felt it to be beneath our stature.
Now we wouldn't know where to begin anyway. A friend of mine, who is researching the
The Ravi 201 J 49

easoning behind the blasphemy law, (something that we should've looked into decades ago)
claims that it is impossible to have a constructive discussion with a Mullah. There seems to
be too wide a gap in between the two for there to be a meaningful conversation on the
subject. This gap, I believe, is of trust. Because if there is no trust, if the Mullah feels that he
is being attacked by an outsider (for he no longer recognizes us) and not merely being
questioned by one of his 'flock', and on the other hand, if the researcher feels that he is being
misled by a hostile or ignorant man, how can the two move forward in a direction of mutual
understanding? And one wonders, how is it that after all these years of co-existence, the two
have not been able to develop a rapport of trust? Why does the Mullah feel that the
researcher is an outsider? Why does the researcher feel that the Mullah is hostile? Why are
questions about the blasphemy law being raised now? What have we been doing for all these
years? It appears as if the gap which we created will widen until all there is will be
swallowed by the chasm. My researcher friend should have always been a regular visitor to
the mosque, someone whom the Mullah recognized and appreciated as one of his own. Then
his questions would not have felt like accusations from a worshipper of the west. Then the
possibility of dialogue could have been preserved. But it is still not too late, I hope, if we get
our act together, if we start taking a genuine interest in what goes on in our friendly
neighborhood mosque.
There are so many articles nowadays in newspapers about Zia-ul-Haq's Islamization,
usually vilifying it, often and not surprisingly for the wrong reasons. More than anything it
has become a copout: everything that goes wrong or seems to go wrong (the Taliban, honor
killings, the blasphemy law murders etc) with the practical interpretation of our religion is
stacked up on Zia as his burden. Or even more commonly, it is professed to be an evident
sign of the inherent evil of all religions themselves. Writers target issues like the imposition
of compulsory Islamic studies in the academic curriculum, equating it to a fascist dictum,
and asking for the idea to be scrapped. I believe this to be an act of idiocy at best. I think
these overzealous writers, who feel it's always a progressive move to badmouth Zia, lack
understanding about how one possibly negative move can on its own weight be turned into a
positive one. Our best educational institutions could try to take the original initiative a step
further and make the subject more than the unfruitful exercise in rote-learning that it is right
now. If we make Islamic studies important, critical, and as relevant a subject as it ought to
be, considering where we are living, there is a good chance that in less than a generation we
will have produced brilliant scholars who can take a stand on issues that are otherwise
exploited by the corrupt or the ill-informed simply because there is nobody around who
knows enough to make an informed argument to the contrary. And if not brilliant scholars,
we would at least have well informed individuals who know what they are talking about
when discussing religious matters. All we have at the moment are random liberals yapping
their traps about some sort of imitation humanism that they have borrowed from some
bohemian utopia, which is just not going to cut it with the majority in Pakistan.
At the same time, we need to reclaim our religion. We have doctors, engineers and
lawyers aplenty; a veritable infestation of civil servants and a plague of politicians/politically
motivated mullahs. Conversely, we have a severe shortage of informed religious sense in this
country. Of course, we are also ridiculously biased against anyone with a beard who doesn't
sport a fancy British accent. And we are biased against anyone who pursues religious
studies. We need to grow out of that sort of thinking. After all, is there any logical reason
The Ravi 2011 50

why issues like the blasphemy law are not discussed in schools while race issues (almost
entirely irrelevant to our region) are? The answer is yes; we borrow all the information we
need on racism from America, where the issue is pertinent, but we are too ashamed to find a
single reliable source to tell us how matters of Fiqh are resolved. We have been unwilling to
invest in something vital, something that when left to rot has started decaying in our
living-room. Our educational system has to be brought back to Pakistan, and made sensible
and relevant again. If it has taken a lapse of several generations to bring us to the brink of
civil war and chaos, it is not too great a cost if one generation's investment might save us.
We can bring down the wall of mistrust that we ourselves have erected that has split
our society into two. And when I say 'we' I mean the insufferable and pompous liberal elite
and the upper middle class, both of which have let this country fall to its knees. These are
those who have the resources to set things right if for a moment, perhaps for the first time in
our country's history, they could be persuaded to think unselfishly and grow up. Stop trying
to pretend you are a sahib for a little while, and reestablish contact with the mosque.
The writer is former editor of the Ravi, and graduated in 2010.
The Ravi 2011 51

Let the Heart Navigate the Road Ahead
Rohit Kumar Singh
New Delhi's JawaharLal Nehru Stadium was jam-packed. The extremely tight
security, winding queues since the morning and even accusations against the organizing
committee were unable to dampen the enthusiasm of the people who eagerly waited for this
moment. While millions were watching it on TV in the close confines of their homes, I was
lucky enough to witness the grand opening ceremony of the Commonwealth Games 2010 on
that muggy Delhi afternoon in September.
The contingents from various participating countries were making their way into the
stadium in the form of a procession - proudly waving their flags and being cheered by the
enthusiastic crowd as they started to go round the stadium. Suddenly I heard a huge roar. The
entire stadium was engulfed in a deafening thunder of claps. Lots of people stood up
impromptu in the contagious excitement; some even hampering the view of those nearby.
The 10 year old kid sitting next to me was getting also good people. We love them".
Mother's reply and argument yet to sink in, the boy got up from his seat and started to clap
for the men in green jackets- hesitatingly restless as he was not able to see the contingents
entering from the diagonally opposite corner of the huge stadium. He asked his mother
"Mummy, is it the Indian team?" Pointing at the green flag being displayed on the massive
aerostat balloon, replied the mother "No Beta! This is the Pakistan contingent". The
boy, visibly a shade astonished, asked "But why are we cheering for them? Aren't they our
enemies?" Mother, looked him straight into his eyes; added that extra bit of affectionate
persuasion in her tone and said "No Bachchay! They are our neighbours. They are initially,
but gradually catching up with the crowd's tempo - as the proud Pakistani contingent inched
closer.
Like the young boy, many of us - both Indians and Pakistanis - sometimes forget
that we are essentially the same people with similar aspirations. On both sides of the border -
that imaginary line drawn under pressure from the circumstances prevailing in those difficult
months preceding August of 1947- we are equally turned on by the saffron aroma emanating
from Biryani, be it out of a kitchen located in Hyderabad of Andhra Pradesh or, the
Hyderabad of Sindh. When a Shoaib Akhtar quickie whizzes past the ears of Virender
Sehwag at Feroze Shah Kotla Stadium in Delhi or when a SachinTendulkar square cut races
past the extended arm of ShoaibMalik fielding in the covers at the Qaddafi Stadium in
Lahore, the decibel levels attained by the crowd are similar, if not exactly the same.
I am not romanticizing just for the sake of it. I have seen it time and again.
Overwhelming was the love and affection showeied on the Pakistani contingent at the
recently concluded National Youth Festival at Udaipur. Or last week, when authors Ali
Sethi, Mohsin Hamid and sufi singer Sian Zahoor enthralled the audiences at the Jaipur
Literature Festival 2011, everybody loved them for their tremendous talent. They instantly
became role models for the many schoolchildren that thronged the Festival. Hailing from
Pakistan never came in the way of their instant stardom; everyone present loved them.
Before the British ruled India, we were one people and one country. We must
remember that we fought them together while they desperately tried to divide and rule. When
a London lawyer Cyril Radcliffe drew an imaginary line based on even more imaginary
The Ravi 2011 52

premises, it could only divide the country, not the people. Our shared culture, heritage,
language, cuisine, art, music and dance continue to inspire us, bind us together.
While the vested interests, on both sides of the border, incessantly try to spread
hatred and fuel animosity, I think most people yearn for friendship, peace and harmony.
They aspire for an improved quality of life and a better future for their children. They want
good governance and public systems free of corruption; the latter having plagued the
sub-continent for long;and is probably the biggest impediment to equitable growth in both
India and Pakistan.
So, what is the way forward? I think the mantle lies on the youth that make up one
fourth of the South Asian demography. The challenges faced by the youth like poverty and
unemployment; need to be met with a collective strategy. While the sweeping globalization
has forced Europe to become one economic entity why can't we remove trade barriers; and
increase the movement of people, goods and services to help the region become a powerful
economic entity.
And what is the tool? I firmly believe that technology is one of the greatest enablers
for uniting the youth around the world. Technology has flattened the world over the last
couple of decades and the young across the globe have been quick to adopt it. Internet and
social media like facebook and twitter are not just being used for fun and games; they have
become the vehicles for advocacy, mobilization and even have the potential of triggering
social transformation. Recent events in Tunisia, Egypt, Jordan and Yemen provide ample
evidence of the tremendous power of technology especially the social media.
The power of collaboration and peace is enormous. There is definitely light at the
end of the tunnel. Taking a cue from the Indo-Pak "peace pair" of Rohan Bopanna and
Aisam-ul-haq Qureshi who reached their first ever grand slam final in the prestigious US
Open Tennis Tournament last September; let us take the pledge to join forces and make our
great nations of Pakistan and India better places to live in.
Let us be dri ven by our hearts!
The writer is the Secretary of Youth Affairs and Sports Department, in the Government of
Rajasthan, India.
The Ravi 2011 53

Time
Dr. lmtiaz Asghar
From the beginning of the life of man on earth and even before that, there existed
Time. A series of segments of existence connected to each other by related or unrelated
events. Irrespective of this, time has marched on. Soon it was divided into three phases, the
past, the present and the future. On day one it was just the present and a lot of uncertain
future and then gradually the past started to build up. The present remained the same and the
future started to be shorter than before.
The past is no more and the future is yet to come therefore the present or today is the
time of existence and doing and achieving. Despite the fact that the past is no more, what is
to-day becomes the past in a moment and what is in the future is shaped by what we do
to-day. Since the to-days become the past and the to-days also make the future it is obvious
that the past is the future connected by the ever-present to-day. All the three phases are
intricately related. One cannot exist without the other two. What is done to-day affects the
future immediately or by remaining in the past for an unspecified period.
Man has always had the tendency to live in the past. His achievements and failures
have molded his behaviour in the present and been instrumental in shaping the future. It is
learning from the past that has been the single most important aspect of time that enabled
man to reach new heights of accomplishment.
What exactly is time? It cannot be defined. It is not the moments, seconds, minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months, years, or centuries. After all it was there before the time keeping
came into being. Allah has created Time (Dahr) and has sworn by it to bring home to man
that what he has revealed in the Holy Quran is the truth, that judgment will come to pass,
that each soul will be requited according to his deeds in the past and there will be no
injustice. How ignorant of man to treat the present as having no bearing on his eternal life
after death. .
The fact remains that Time defies definition. This is today and it is this moment that
passes in a blinking of the eye, never to be retrieved. Yet where is that moment? In the past
we say! Okay, but where in the past? Is it in a memory like that of a hard drive of a
computer? In that case it should be possible to retrieve the moment exactly as it happened or
maybe even go before that moment and let it happen again. A thing that is the element of
time-travel!
The Holy Quran has a number of incidents that point towards what can be expected
in the future.
1. The case of the man going by the ruins of a city. He mused, "How can all this be
brought back to life". Allah made him sleep 100 years. When he woke up the man
saw besides him the skeleton of his donkey, and also food that was fresh. Allah said,
"Now watch the donkey" and right before his eyes the donkey was clothed in flesh
and was alive. Two things can be inferred from this.
a. Under the right circumstances food can remain fresh for up to 100 years.
b. Man can remain in suspended animation for 100 years.
2. In the case of the Companions of the Cave, they slept for well over 350 years and
did not age. Their dog also was with them.
The Ravi 2011 54

3. The Holy Prophet (PBUH) had a journey of "The Miraj" in which he traveled in the
twinkling of an eye from the earth to the heavens and back. This also shows two
things:
a. Travel is possible at speeds that defy the imagination.
b. Some form of a machine for travel can be made which will make time stand
still or at least make it meaningless.
4. The age of the Prophet Noah (PBUH) is said to have been more than 950 years. It
can be deduced that man can reach an age that is far more than any achieved in
recent memory.
What it all means is that time can be controlled. Allah has time and again reminded
man that various things have been subjected to him. So there is no reason to suppose that
time will not be subjected to man in the future. Man is on the verge of conquering space and
then the Final Frontier will be Time. That Time is a creation of Allah is shown by the fact
that in the Holy Quran Allah says in one of the ayaats "by time .... " It is an adjuration that
Allah uses to bring home to man that what He says will come to pass, and that is in the
future for which the present is preparing by becoming the past.
As we move along it is apparent that at end of the 20th century more has been
achieved in unit time than in the early part of the century. Does this mean that time has been
stretched? This is one of the signs of the of the approaching Judgment Day. More distances
will be covered in shorter periods of time than ever before. With all this there will be no time
to remember the Almighty who is the Benefactor and the Sustainer and the Evolver. There
will be no time to do good.
Today is like a ship in the vast sea of time. As it moves forward the future flows by
and becomes the past. There is a difference though with a ship. The water flows around it
and moves into the wake. The futures of the sea of time flow through the todays to become
the past. Is there actual movement of the today or is it static while the flow of time courses
through it? The fact that each today has gradually become better than the previous one could
be taken as a progression of the day towards betterment. But that still does not mean that
today is moving. The future is definitely moving into the past, but through today. It seems
that while the future and the past are moving, today is static. The immediate future over the
course of days, weeks, months, years and decades becomes the recent and then distant past
and then ancient. Time could almost be viewed as a V where the flow is down towards the
today, the point of the meeting of the two limbs of the V and then the flow continues up the
other limb to gradually become the more and more distant past. It w,ould mean a gradual
dissimilarity between the lengths of the past and future. As we do not know how long is the
future we can only know that the past is growing in length. The past will continue to grow in
length at the expense of the future until the future is no more and all is the past as it swiftly
passes by today. Then Resurrection will take place.
The writer is all Old Raviallfrom the sessioll 1948-50.
The Ravi 2011
ss

The Undoing of Stereotypes
M. AsIam Khan
Why do we not use Ms. for a man and Mr. for a woman? Why do we differentiate
between a bull and a cow or a dog and a bitch? Why do people mind when they are not called
by their names or called by names which are not theirs? Human beings do so because they do
not want to distort reality, and also because doing so is considered foolish and illogical.
The science of positivism and empiricism negates the existence of apriori ideas in
the human mind. According to this science, nothing meets the standard and legitimacy of
knowledge until it is based on reason and tested through sensory stimuli. Knowledge is what
is gained through personal observation, experience, and logical judgment. Anything out of
the positivist or empiricist paradigm of knowledge is a preconceived and baseless chain of
thoughts, which can be called a misnomer for reality.
When we apply the positivist or empiricist argument to the relations between
different peoples of the world, we come to see a host of problems they are confronted with.
Peoples' ideas about one another around the world are not very rational and not based on
reason. Owing to the lack of communication and interaction, many people have come to use
heuristics (shortcuts) or schemas to make images of one another. These images, more often
than not, happen to be baseless, less rational, and less logical.
These images have developed certain kinds of stereotypes, which in turn have given
bil1h to hatred, animosity, and enmity between the peoples of the world. For instance, the
perception of some narrow-minded and biased western scholars of Islam as an evil religion
or a violent political ideology, and the view of some extremist and conservative Islamic
religious scholars about the West as Islamophobic, are a far cry from reality. Then, why are
we so eager to identify things or ideas with people that actually do not belong to them? Why
do we assume the wrongheadedness of one individual or a group of individuals and apply it
to the whole society? Perhaps, this is because of the lack of information or misinformation,
prejudice towards other people, or the human instinct which frames images of others the way
they (images) serve their benefits. These forces have led human beings to frame non-existent
and unrealistic images of their fellow beings.
I acknowledge the fact the there are differences of religion, language, race, colour,
nomenclature, etc, but these differences do not mean that some people are better than others,
and that there is a clash of human interest. These differences, honestly speaking, stand for
the identity of different peoples. Rather, these differences should be used as a source of
collective synergy to achieve the goals of love, peace, and prosperity which are common
amongst all human beings.
I know it is not easy to make correct judgments about people who are novel to you.
This does not suggest that you should develop wrong and baseless frames of someone's
identity. The best way is to wait and logically reason who people are, why they are the way
they are. It is also a fact that it becomes difficult for people to be fair judges when they do
not have direct contact with people from other cultures, but they are advised not to easily fall
prey to the narrow-nationalistic and one-sided viewpoint of the media. This may show you
the many positive aspects of human beings, and you may reach logical conclusions about
your fellow beings.
The Ravi 2011 56

My personal experience with the United States has provided me corrections on a
number of viewpoints that were victim to the malaise of stereo-typicality. For instance, a
major chunk of the world's population is anti-Semitic on account of the heavy-handed and
wrongheaded policies of Israel towards Palestine, but I met a Jewish boy in Chicago who
was strictly against the Israelis' treatment toward the Palestinians. I do not believe that all
Jews might be like him, but I do believe when I say that all Jews should not be enlisted in
one and the same category. Similarly, the rude and inhumane image of the U.S. immigration
staff towards non-Americans or particularly towards Muslims, having been fixed in my mind
by the classic movie "My Name is Khan" from the Bollywood film industry, was undone
when I personally faced them. They were quiet respectful and duty-oriented to me. Other
non-Americans might think them disrespectful to them because of their race. But this is not
normally the case. What I observed during my travel inside the U.S., tells me that the staff at
the airport is to follow the rules and ensure security for all of us. They did not seem
discriminating between me and an American, and often times I witnessed that it took a long
time for them to check in an American. Likewise, my belief about the openness of American
society changed when I came to know that Christianity does not allow pre-marital sex,
though it is a different debate that the American society is very liberal, secular, and open.
Moreover, my host community, Kearney, Nebraska, is very humane, welcoming, and
friendly. I will never let them depreciate in recounting my experiences.
We share a plethora of things in common. The same blood runs in our veins. We
have similar physical chemistry, biological structure, are born with the same thinking
pattern, and long for the desires of love, peace, and happiness. What more do we need in
common to be good to one another? I am convinced that no feeling is stronger than that of
humanity, and nothing provides as solid a sense of oneness and commonality as the human
body does. Nature explains that all human beings have the ability to empathize with one
another, and ethics reinforce the argument by emphasizing that they must do so. If you do
not want to be stereotyped, stop stereotyping others. If you do not want to have your identity
misrepresented and distorted, do not misinterpret others'. Stop falsifying the facts. Say
goodbye to stereotypes. Do not base your judgments of others simply on ignorance,
prejudice, myopia, or unreliable sources of information. Learn to judge others on the basis of
facts and reality. Do not reject someone outright in weird and novel costumes, but take your
time to develop a space in your mind for others to understand them. This would believably
mirror the real face of the world, which is very calm, pleasant, and peaceful, and eliminate
the one created by our false judgments. Let's thrive in a world premised upon reality not
subjectivity.
The writer is a fourth year studellt of B.A (HOIlS), Political Sciellce at GCU. He is
currelltly studyillg for olle semester at the Ulliversity of Nebraska, Kearney (US), ullder
the Global UGRAD Program.
The Ravi 2011 57

Money Conspiracy
Mushahid Hussain
Lahore during this January was mired in fog, which crippled air, rail and road
movement. These woes were compounded by unusually biting cold, along with gas and
electricity shortage, further reinforced by the fog of political confusion and uncertainty.
Despite the shortage of energy there has been no shortage of the energy required to
indulge in political maneuvering. Central to political movements are differing conspiracy
theories. It almost is becoming a cultural habit to ascribe happenings to plots, schemes and
ruses. While people may be mired in the fog of conspiracy theories, the single greatest
conspiracy passes unnoticed and does not attract sufficient attention. It is the conspiracy to
make a lot of money quickly.
Many politicos describe themselves as brave but, if they are really brave, they would
eschew the naked pursuit of pelf.
At the root of the national conundrum is the unbridled greed for accumulating
riches. Those who are steeped in this rat race do get occasional rewards but at the national
expense. Many of the problems relatable to this are foreseeable and preventable. Under the
display of democracy, mini-Mughal style dynasties are flourishing. At the same time, the
burning issues of governance are lying unaddressed.
At home, these inclllde, but are not limited to, healthcare, education, police reforms.
law and order, and joblessness. Their cumulative impact is low national morale and a
despairing and frustrated youth. Opportunity is entrenched as a privilege for the select few
rather than an equal and legitimate expectation for the many.
Abroad, consider Kashmir. Kashmir's case has been squandered by poor
aI1iculation. preparation, and presentation. Seldom have the envoys sent abroad missed an
opportunity to embarrass themselves and mess-up the message. The results are obvious.
The cultural fixation with social fac;ade and showy piety conceals a lack of
substance. The rulers follow either personal agendas or foreign agendas. Meanwhile, the
national agenda gets hit for a six. The motivator remains illicit money. Those who have tried
to bring change in this mindset flounder at the finishing line, especially so, when their efforts
collide with personal gains.
The failure to develop community spirit through the instilling of core Islamic values
of hygiene, comradeship, amity, empathy, and fairness has derailed the quest to inculcate a
nation-building ethos. The "I"-centric mindset is prone to misuses of power, privileges,
affluence and even faith-related matters. This is evident when it comes to daily dealings and
interactions.
The key test for society is to re-evaluate its current direction and ask whether it is
compatible with national dignity, security and prosperity. If it is, the set-up needs to be
fm1her empowered. If not, then the set-up, along with its management, needs to be changed.
Hazrat Ali once advised: "Knowledge is better than wealth. Knowledge protects
you, while you protect wealth. Wealth is diminished by spending, while knowledge grows
by use ... Those who accumulate wealth have perished even though they are alive, while
those with knowledge last as long as time."
To begin with, the first step to take is to thwart the culture and conspiracy of
seeking absolute wealth in the shortest possible time-frame. In that could be the key to
national salvation.
The writer is the current Secretary General of the centre-right Pakistan Muslim League (Q).
The Ravi 2011 58

The Theory of Clash of Civilizations: Myth or Reality?
Tahir Iqbal Jadoon
In this article, I am going to highlight the swelling reality of the theory of 'the Clash
of Civilizations' propounded by a highly influential US political scientist and a professor at
Harvard University, Samuel P. Huntington, in his 1996 book "The Clash of Civilizations and
the Remaking of World Order." Before moving on with my exposition, I want to apprise that
the central thesis of the said theory is, that in the post-Cold War world, cultural and religious
differences among the world's major civilizations would form the basis of conflict rather than
ideological differences. This was earlier seen in the form of the long rivalry between the
capitalist and communist blocks. The seeds of conflict based on culture and religion were
sown in the last decade of the twentieth century, but the harvest was reaped, (particularly by
the Muslim world) after the terrorists hit the twin towers in September 2001. All terrorists
were declared Muslim by the US agencies soon after the attack, the following day.
Afghanistan, under the control of Taliban, had havoc unleashed on it in the month of
October 2001, when it was declared the breeding ground for terrorists.
In the following years, an enormous labeling of Muslims as terrorists was carried
out, and Islam was misinterpreted by many as a religion that approved of violence. Then
again, Iraq, another Muslim country fell victim to the hegemony of the same country, though
on a different pretext of WMD (weapons of mass destruction) this time; but ironically,
Muslims bore the brunt of it. As many as a million people were displaced within a year or so
after the invasion in March 2003, and about seven hundred thousand have been gnawed by
this occupation up till now. Who suffered the colossal bloodshed? Just Muslims, the
followers of Islam. And through a cunning strategy, Iraq was brought in the fold of the War
on Terror, the initial blame being WMD, because the presence of Al Qaeda elements was
established there.
I would also like to draw attention towards the 'cultural theft', endorsing the culture
part of Huntington's theory, which has occurred in Iraq and Afghanistan, besides, unbounded
economic exploitation of both the countries. There have appeared credible and authentic
reports during the latter half of 2007, that huge amounts of precious metals and stones have
been taken away from Afghanistan. On the other hand, Iraq has every valuable emblem of its
rich culture stolen from its museums; the theft of a great number of vases from its national
museum tops the list.
The cultural conflict is very much there, encircling Muslims from all directions.
Numerous examples can be found about this phenomenon. For instance, if you dress as a
Muslim, you are formidable, you grow a beard, you draw glances of suspicion, and
sometimes your veils and scarves are banned as they make you appear sinister and terrifying
to the 'civilized world.'
Let's tum our eyes to our beloved country Pakistan for a while, which was founded
on the basis of Islam. Despite standing with the world in the war against terrorism since
2001, we still receive messages to 'do more'. It's an unquestionable fact that we have
contributed to the US-led War on Terror in an unmatched manner, and the tragic fact is that
we have suffered the maximum. The world's War on Terror has become 'a war within' for our
country. Our internal stability and national cohesion have been endangered to alarming
The Ravi 2011 59

proportions. Still our sincere intentions and actions, for the most part, are greeted with an
eye of suspicion and remain unrequited. We have been discriminated against, on many
occasions without any reasonable basis. Each one of you can yourself have the bitter
experience of going down the memory lane for a while, to recall the differential treatment
meted out to us, without my comments. On the contrary, our Eastern neighbor has been the
focus of all benevolence and praise for its being the 'largest democracy.'
The labeling of Muslims as sponsors of violence and terror, which began with the
War on Terror tale is yet unfinished. Many labels surfaced after the word 'terrorist.' These
included titles like extremists, fundamentalists, militants, Islamists, militant of Islam, and
now the story hangs over us with the label of 'non-state actors.' Again, Muslims, the residents
of the frontline state in the fight against terrorism, have had a serious, baseless, blot left on
their truly peaceful national character. Though the story of Huntington's life ended at the end
of the year 2008, the pivotal postulate of his theory linking 'conflict among civilizations' to
religious and cultural differences in the post-Cold War world, is not likely to bid us farewell
anytime soon.
The writer is the wardell of Federal Judicial Academy,
Islamabad.
The Ravi 2011 60

Of Faith, Beliefs and People
lhsan Ayyub Qazi
To move or not to move, that is the question!
In this article, I will discuss my views on the Ground Zero Mosque debate which
started when some people protested against the building of an Islamic Cultural Centre near
Ground Zero. These protesters argued that the building of this centre at the current location
would hurt the feelings of those who had lost their dear ones on 9/11. In the days that
followed, this issue got great press attention, things got more heated between the opponents
and proponents of the centre, and even the American President had to make a statement
about
it.
At this time, I listened to an interview of Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf of Ground Zero
Mosque on Larry King Live. When asked why he did not want the mosque to be moved, his
response was that he was concerned about the (reactions of) radicals in the Muslim world.
He hinted that the narrative in the Muslim world would be of Islam being under attack. This
would endanger the Americans and their interests in the rest of the world. Even though this
might be true, I do not think this should be the fundamental reason for sticking to the current
location.
To me the larger question that surrounds this debate is that of religious tolerance and
freedom of its expression, specifically for Islam at this time. This mosque is about two
blocks away from Ground Zero and note, it is not "at Ground Zero". Some say, "move it two
blocks further", while others say, "move it ten blocks away". In the future, people may say, "I
don't want a mosque in my community" even though that community may belong to Muslims
as well. To go a little further, what if some people may say "we don't want Muslims here".
Where does it end? Do we realize the consequences that this may have and more importantly,
the precedence this may set?
At the heart of this call for shifting this cultural centre, which includes a prayer
room, lies an understanding that somehow, Islam and Muslims are to be blamed for what
happened on 9111, which is clearly not true. Have you had a chance of looking at the
placards that people protesting against the mosque, were holding? They went like this:
"Don't glorify murders of 3000. No 9/11 Victory Mosque."
"Where is sensiti vity? Denounce Sharia Law globally."
"Stop Islam."
Whenever a small group of people commit acts like 9/11 and justify them through
the narrative of religion, it is unfair to generalize and impose the narrative of the very few on
the vast majority of people who think absolutely otherwise.
Having spent a good number of years in the US, I think, the Muslim community in
the US should be more proactive in reaching out to non-Muslim Americans to improve
mutual understanding and also to dispel any notions of hatred that some have come to
associate with Muslims and Islam. One of the things that this debate has shed light on is the
fact that a significant number of people have a negative view about Islam and Muslims. At
the end of the day, the Muslims must realize that they would need to change the thinking of
the people to address the so-called "Islamophobia". This can be achieved, firstly, by
The Ravi 2011 61

ecoming conscious of the need for it.
Despite the protests against the building of this mosque, one should appreciate the
fact that many people (including non-Muslim Americans) demonstrated in favour of its
construction:
"Defend Muslims. Stop Hatred."
"Support Freedom of Religion."
"Groundless Hatred is the Real Enemy."
I think this incident and the reactions that followed should force us to reflect on
ourselves, as well as on our conduct and behaviour towards other faiths, beliefs, and people.
Even though the Ground Zero debate tamed over time, it may only need a tiny spark to ignite
more such incidents. As a community and people we should seek to build strong bridges of
understanding with others and make our voices heard when it matters so that such incidents
never occur in the first place. I hope we can meet this end.
The writer is a postdoctoral researcher at the Centre for Advanced Internet Architectures
(CAIA), Australia.
The Ravi 2011 62

The Idea of Terrorism and Drone Attacks
Usama Ather
"We are fighting the war of our own survival"; these are the words of every leader of
international fame. But I do not know what to call it, hypocrisy or paradox because terrorism
is an idea, it's a thought, it's a concept, it's not a war. It's an idea not new to the world; it
started right back during the crusades when Christian extremists murdered Muslims. An
analogous situation emerged when a Jewish terrorist group known as 'Sicari' executed
Romans and fellow Jews. Those people wanted to enforce their thoughts and concepts. This
idea of terrorism kept on emerging throughout the globe, at different times, in different
forms and in different regions, which was snubbed by the way of persuasion and
compassion, by their own people using their own genius. But it's the dilemma of the present
'information age' that it is perceived as a physical war. In fact, it's a war between two
contradictory ideologies; an idea can only be defeated by coming up with an idea which is
better than it. Despite the huge monetary and human loss we are still unable to learn that
ballot is better than the bullet.
The Pak-Afghan border which is considered to be the most strategically significant
area in this so called "War on Terror" is known as the nursery for Al-Qaeda and Taliban,
with its top brass seeking shelter in the same specific area. The sophisticated drone
technology is being employed to eradicate these terrorists. But, contrary to what was
envisaged the strategy has not only contributed towards strengthening these people but also
towards exaggerating anti-American sentiments in Pakistani public. According to recent
surveys, it has been observed that the support for USA has fallen since the increase in drone
attacks. A common man not only perceives it as a breach of Pakistan's sovereignty but also
as a humiliation of his security agencies, in particular Pakistan Army. But the US
administration advocates continuation of these strikes, on the pretext that they have killed
many of the top leaders of terrorists, most notably TTP's leader Baitullah Masud. On the
contrary, during the last three years, eight hundred innocent people have been killed while
only twenty terrorist commanders were killed. So the other side of the picture tells an
extraordinarily shocking story. As already mentioned in the preceding paragraph, terrorism is
an 'idea', and by countering it in this way we are actually helping telTorists to grow and
boom. The reasons are very simple and obvious. When a man loses his family a fire of
revenge ignites in him and he thus becomes 'vulnerable' to the extremist groups which
provide him incentives and means to avenge. This is a plausible explanation of incessant
suicide bombings in Pakistan. It provides these groups solid reasons to attack Pakistani
security agencies and government officials. Thus the idea of terrorism is spreading with no
geographical boundaries; the idea may be developing in the mind of a clean-shaved man in
the slums of Karachi frustrated by this drone menace, or a white in the streets of Sweden
disagreeing with Amelica's war strategy.
So, the important point here is that we have to discover the real causes of this
rebellion and this idea has to be annihilated by way of sympathy, empathy and persuasion.
The use of force is only going to aggravate the matter. We have to come up with a better idea
and have to realize that this issue can only be solved when we approach it by keeping in
mind the mindset of the people we are going to negotiate with. What we have to realize is
that force cannot change the minds of people, persuasion can.
The writer is a first year F.Sc student at GCu.
The Ravi 2011 63

The Reminder
Mishal Saeed
The monotony of time and routine sometimes makes us ignore some of the obvious
realities of life and over-look the rules of nature. As task takes over task, and people move
from place to place, the predictable nature of events blend their frequency with time and our
memories get used to it. Some tabooed topics stay tabooed. Many things get taken for
granted. It is easy to ignore or avoid thinking of disturbing topics, or that which displeases
the senses. It is quite natural, actually, to be accustomed to such a position and unless there is
a jolt or a realistic bump that reminds us that our time in this world in transitory, it is easy to
forget that it is. Contrary to that, it is much more convenient to take things for granted.
I am glad to say that I am not that lucky to be able to forget such realities, or maybe
it's a bad thing? Death is my next door neighbour. Every now and then, a dead body arrives
at the house next door. I cannot predict how often 'death' knocks on the house next door,
because it has not been possible for me to observe any recognizable pattern of the
happenings. It is unpredictable, just like death itself, but every time an orange light is visible
from the windows of their shop, I am aware of what has happened. Someone somewhere
from around town has died and their family has come to collect a coffin (sometimes bringing
the dead body with them). The place is a coffin shop called "Carriages Funerals". It has been
most interesting for me to observe the running of this particular business. So much so, that
sometimes I question whether it is just me who is over-sensitized to this particular aspect of
life.
Every time the orange light is turned on, guests are being hosted and a coffin is
being chosen, a deal has either been made or would be made in the near future. If the body is
brought to the venue, the coffin would be carried away to be filled or would be filled in there
and then in the carriage-way to be carried off to the cemetery. There are delivery services as
well for people who have pre-ordered the coffins. It amazes me that there is actually a list of
people who have pre-ordered their coffins and already paid for the arrangements of their
death ceremonies. I really wonder what sort of people they are. Having engaged the
neighbour aunty in a friendly conversation, I found out from her that unexpectedly, some of
them are rich, well settled, happy and not even that old, but are just probably extremely
sensitized to this reality of life that so many of us often conveniently ignore. These are the
sort of people who do not want to burden anyone with the hassle of burial services so they
allot a particular amount of funds for this inevitable occurrence.
For me, it is something that makes me value life very much. I feel that every time I
take things for granted or become unreasonable in any way, every time I am upset because of
petty issues, I am reminded time and again that everything is temporary. Just imagine how it
would feel to live close to the cemetery and pass it on your way every day. Obviously it
depends on what sort of a person one is; some people might point out that living next to the
Eiffel Tower doesn't necessarily make you value it. On the contrary one might be more prone
to overlooking the value attached to it by people worldwide.
Nevertheless, everyone gets a jolt at some point or another. It is part of life. At many
points in time, one gets reminded of death and the obvious feelings that follow. But it is a
good thing, and the more one gets reminded the better it is for them. Praying five times a day
The Ravi 20 II 64

serves as a self-reminder that keeps one disciplined, focused, and sensitized among other
good things. For me perhaps unfortunately, the flickering orange light is a perpetually though
haphazardly occurring "jolt" for as long as I live in this neighbourhood. I'd like to think of it
as a natural reminder which is important to keep me abreast on the concept of the higher
order of things, keeping me alive, in my mind and in my senses.
The writer is a second year student at Salford University, Manshester, and also works for
the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC).
The Ravi 2011
6S

Uncertain Beliefs
Ahmed Bilal
Last week, I visited my aunt living in Delhi Darwaaz. She was sewing clothes with
all the equipment lying beside her. Nearby, my nine-year old cousin was playing with
remote-control cars. Suddenly, he picked up a scissor and started to click it. His mother
stopped working and tried to make her son understand that clicking a scissor while not
cutting anything, could give rise to fights.
Let me come to the point. Superstitions are prevalent not only among proletariats,
but also among the bourgeois class. Such thoughts have left our society baffled. Most of
them are concoctions, false beliefs or unreasonable myths.
Superstitions do not entangle the minds of people, in a society which is blessed with
even an iota of sensibility. Ideally, if someone promotes such false notions, the rational ideas
of a conscious individual should pinch him to ask a dozen questions before accepting these
so-called facts.
A black cat passing in front of us on a way, cutting nails full of dirt at night, and
giving dowry that includes knives and scissors, are just some of the many popular incidences
that are believed to hold great misfortune for their concerned individuals.
I was once roaming on the roads around Liberty Market with my friend. Our car was
moving with the speed of, almost eighty kilometres per hour. Suddenly, a black cat passed in
front of it. My friend applied the brake with full force and turned the car towards a one-way
traffic route. I was astonished to see this.
Superstitions vary from culture to culture. In the West, passing under a ladder and
the occurrence of number thirteen anywhere, are considered inauspicious. In Asia, falling of
milk is considered an omen. And almost in every region, the communities faithfully cling to
their own set of mind-boggling beliefs and transfer them to their next generations as family
heredity. In our part of the world, people are very conscious about the evil eye. They mark
kohl dots on the chins or cheeks of their babies.
In 1948, a behaviorist psychologist, B.P. Skinner conducted an experiment which
demonstrated a sort of superstition. He placed some hungry pigeons in a cage which was
attached to an automatic mechanism that delivered them food "at regular intervals with no
reference whatsoever to the bird's behaviour." He came up with the discovery that the
pigeons had associated the food delivery with the actions they performed as it was delivered;
hence, they continued performing those actions in the hope of obtaining more food.
Most people associate behaviour (worship of God or head-turning) with an external
process (conquest by a foreign power or delivery of food), which in reality has no connection
with personal behaviour in any way. Thus any disaster could be taken as a sign of divine
disfavor.
I once passed by Data Durbam". I saw quacks sitting on footpaths persuading people
to tie black threads on their wrists and ankles. They were also giving black taveez's of dum to
people. According to me, these things have nothing to do with rationality. These beliefs are
practiced without any rationale. It is nothing more than a source of income for these quacks.
Let me tell you one thing, I never wore taveez, nor tied black thread on my wrist. I
The Ravi 20 II 66

usually cut my nails at night, click scissors and never change my way when a black cat
passes in front of me. May you believe, nothing bad happened to me, ever!
Most of the superstitions emerge from the notion of luck. The belief becomes
stronger as one is forced to live in this environment since a young age. This habit leaves a
person anxious about his future. Regardless of one's preparation for exams or interviews
where one wants things to go well, mind-boggling thoughts manage to lead one astray.
Superstitions are just overwhelming beliefs and these beliefs only hold true for those
who have faith in them. The stronger the belief, the sooner will it acquire reality.
The writer is a third year student of B.Sc (Hons) - Psychology,
at GCU.
The Ravi 201 I 67

Disability is not Inability (the story ofFadumo Bihi)
Farhan Abdi Suleiman
Fadumo and her daughter live in the Mandeeq village in a Somali hut made up of
shabby clothes and plastic sheets. The shack is at present in desperate condition - lacking all
necessities of life. Fadumo lost both of her parents and lives with her aunt, who also is a
single mother and head of a household with eight children. With tears in her eyes she
mentioned that her aunt was the breadwinner for their family. Now, the children and the
whole family have found themselves in a miserable condition with no food, clothes etc.
It is hard to forget any achievement in one's life, especially the people who manage
to make a difference in their society, and who change and improve the lives of many others.
Despite her young age, Fadumo Bihi, a double amputee, has achieved more than many others
have done in a life time. At the age of six, Fadumo Bihi lost both of her legs to a landmine
explosion at her Mandeq Village in Hargeisa. Fadumo's parents were worried about the
health condition of their daughter's disability. They took her to Somaliland Rehabilitation
Center -The only place that provides disability services in town. However, unfortunately the
case couldn't be solved in the country. Therefore doctors advised to send her abroad to a
medical facility with more advanced capability. Fadumo's parents were thankful to Almighty
Allah for giving them the will and acceptance of their daughter's disability.
Abroad, Fadumo was fitted with artificial limbs to walk as a normal person. Shortly
after, Fadumo was invited to participate in an international conference on mine elimination
which was held at Switzerland in 1996. In that meeting, Fadumo was a real and living
example of mine victims. She was asked what she would like to do by the United Nations;
she answered bravely "I want to build a school at the same place where the mine exploded
and caused me to lose both of my legs".
To make her dream come true, the school was built by the United Nations and
currently serves the educational needs of the community. Today, more than twelve hundred
students all of whom are from poor families are the beneficiaries of the Fadumo Bihi primary
and intermediate school. The school has thirteen teachers in both morning and afternoon
shifts with limited office equipment and educational facilities. It has one latrine shared by all
students. The school lacks recreational centres and other education enhancing facilities.
While three batches of students have so far graduated from upper primary school (grade
eight), few of them have been able to join high school; and there is no record that shows any
student from Fadumo Bihi's school who is enrolled in a university. Fadumo is perhaps one of
the few from this area who was able to attend a uniyersity. She has received a generous
scholarship to study at Lucy University College. She has always attended social activities in
her school and never lets herself miss out from community functions. She is an active
member of tpe Community Education Committees of her school. In spite of the challenges of
having physical disability, Fadumo manages to live a normal life, and continues to be
productive and contribute to her society. She attends Lucy University College and is
currently studying in the faculty of Information and Communication Technologies (lCT).
She has many friends, and is active in the student community. She believes that she will
succeed in this field, despite her condition. Even after Fadumo got married and became the
mother of one child, she continued to pursue her studies. In the morning and afternoon she
The Ravi 2011 68

looks after her child, and then starts her four kilometres walk to the University. Put yourself
in Fadumo's position - a mother with a disability and student with meagre financial
resources! Dear reader, what goes through your mind when you read this story? I challenge
all those who read this piece, who are lucky enough to be physically fit and have parents who
support them financially, to imagine what it feels like to be a double amputee, mother and
student.
Due to her physical limitations, Fadumo needs a special car to cope with her double
life as a university student and a mother at home with her family. Fadumo Bihi is an
amazingly optimistic individual, who has shone in many aspects of her life despite her
physical limitations. She is a role model to ordinary people like us, proving that disability is
not inability. Truly, she is an asset to the people of Somali land and an important part of
many people's lives.
The writer works for the Press News ill (Oday) Hargeisa, Somalilalld, the Hom.
I Wanted to Change the World
Sherab Tenzin
When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world. However, I found it
difficult to change it, so I tried to change my nation.
When I found that I could not change my nation, I begin to focus on my town. I
could not change my town; therefore, I tried to change my family. Now, as an old man, I
realized that the only person I could change was, myself. Suddenly, I realized that if long ago
I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could
have made an impact on my town. Their impact could have changed my nation and I could
indeed have changed the world.
Food for thought:
"All changes, even the most longed for, have their
melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of
ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter
another."
The writer is a sellior school teacher ill Bhutall.
The Ravi 201 J 69

The Power of Verbs
Thakur Singh Powdel
I love verbs. I rejoice in the magic and the might that they hold. I, therefore,
commend the thoughtfulness of my colleagues in deciding on a giant of an action-packed
verb rather than the usual non-committal, tentative and leisurely preposition or some such
excuse.
So often, one encounters conference themes introduced by the words like towards
improving the quality of education, towards enhancing professionalism or some rather
lethargic wayside inn of grammar. This time, it is straight enhancing professionalism in
education.
I am fascinated by the power of verbs. They made our world the way it is. Verbs
gave our world its purpose and its life. That is why the mountains stand, the sun shines, the
wind blows, the river runs, plants grow, humans breathe, birds fly, fire burns, and every
other object has a reason to be and to become.
Thanks to the power of verbs, we cut the immensity of space into intelligible units
and called it Bhutan or Britain, India or Indonesia, America or Armenia, and such other
entities that stand as tokens of our attempt to express our desire for sorting and ordering
which are themselves supreme examples of verbs.
We segmented the infinity of time and called it seconds and minutes and hours and
days and months. We created out masterpieces and celebrated our fine arts. We sent jumbo
jets into outer space and launched giant ocean-liners. Look at our inventions and oLlr
discoveries. But for verbs, we could not have our letters and our numbers. If we had only the
numerous nouns or prominent pronouns or proper nouns, our universe would have come to a
standstill. Life would be dull and uneventful. The marvels of the human mind and the
fecundity of nature would be rendered waste.
Verbs are of paramount importance particularly for small countries like ours. If any
nation in the world has achieved greatness, it was through the exploitation and celebration of
the promises of verbs. It will be through the creative possibilities of verbs distilled as work
that we will be able to fulfill our vision of gross national happiness and take our country to
her destined future.
When it comes to education, the place of verbs is non-negotiable. Building a
knowledge-based society defined by citizens who espouse not only the resources of brains
and skills but also of faith and character will take all the power that verbs are capable of. We
have to be mindful, or else we will lose our path in the flashy and the fashionable and quite
forget the soul of education that we are required to discover and to celebrate in a mission
called learning.
I have a dream that many years into the future, we will have a Bhutanese man
traveling to space, a Bhutanese woman gliding in an astronaut's outfit. I have dream that our
temples of learning will be the cradles of our young philosophers and thinkers, of our writers
and our composers, of our scientists and our leaders. How do we make that happen?
The writer is the Education Minister of Phuntsholing, Southern Bhutan.
The Ravi 2011 70

Literature Being Suppressed by the Practicality of Life
Khola
Malik
Literature is a subject that deals with the social and personal affairs of every
common man, but unfortunately these social and personal affairs have brought us far away
from the world of literature. Here, I am going to discuss the factors which are intluencing
our nation's attitude towards studying literature and how it is affecting our society.
Pakistan's population growth rate is very high and povel1y is the major problem of
this country which is becoming worse with every passing year. For this reason, people are
interested in getting technological education instead of studying literature, because literature
does not provide them with the required bread and water. They ironically argue that if
literature could help them in getting the basic necessities of life, people would happily
engage in reading and writing.
The value of literature has not reduced, but, in reality, people prefer computers,
banking, engineering, medical or business etc, in order to generate reasonable earning. In
general opinion, literature does not enable them to compete with the continuously
progressing mode of the planet. Besides, the most essential concern in the field of education
is its aim. Our nation has become obsessed with its social status and living standard. It has
actually become the only purpose of our lives. Unfortunately, we are too illiterate to
understand that the moral standard which we achieve through literature is more essential,
than the materialistic accomplishment which we gain by using moral and immoral ways.
Technologically, the world is developing at such a rapid pace that, in order to
compete with such a situation, our nation has fully devoted itself towards vocational
education and disregarded liberal education. Of course, there is nothing wrong in being
ambitious and competitive, but when the rule of "everything is fair in love and war" is
applied, the consequences will not be different from the milieu in which we are living.
With the revolution in technology, our country too, has entered the digital age and
this digital media has badly affected the bond between the book and the reader, which used
to be very strong once. It is essential however. to realize the importance of book reading.
Facilities like television, internet etc, are very advantageous and propitious, but dismally, our
indolent nation has become completely dependent on these inventions. We have become
used to being spoon-fed, and internet is catalyzing this habit. The libraries are now visited by
only a few number of students and researchers, or some senior citizens, who read
newspapers. People are so engaged in their lives that they do not have time to spend hours in
just scanning a book. They are unaware of the fact that R. Elkin has stated, "Students are
formed by the reading they do, by the views of self and the world such reading presents."
"Now let me justify that why does literature matter so much in our life?" Whenever
we have to get acquainted with a developed nation, the first thing of concern is their culture
and civilization. We see how much, the people of that country are humane, conscientious,
moralistic and ethical. So, it is obvious that developments in technology alone, do not lead us
towards the highest point we aim, but literature, which humanizes the nation, is also a
condition.
The world is so full of tears and pain, but with the passage of time, the sensations
and emotions to feel pain for others have vanished. The heart of our contemporary
The Ravi 20 J J 71

generation is completely vacant from such sensitivity. This is a lamentable situation and with
this scenario, how can we expect to lead the planet?
According to N. White: "Literature leads us towards incrementally more complete.
but never wholly adequate, understandings of other people and other minds-towards other
languages, other ways of thinking and being, and imagining the world. These understandings
in turn carry us towards a general understanding both of language and of the mind, one that
is literary rather than conceptual in kind, and affects our reading not only of 'literature' but of
all the texts that make up our world."
Literature is considered a tool of self-examination; it means that we see our own
personality through the mirror of literature. It mirrors man's individuality, reveals him to
himself in all his naked, undefended glory. In the meantime, we cannot forget that literature
helps us to empathize with others. It also enables us to learn from their experiences, as we
are able to feel their pain. As R. Elikins states :"Literature returns you to otherness, whether
in yourself or in friends, or in those who may become friends. Imaginative literature is
otherness, and as such alleviates loneliness."
It is the quality of literature that without doing any harm to our individuality, it
enables us to realize that we are a part of society, and it also makes us understand our duties,
being its part. We are not alone in what we feel or think. The wholeness and the sense of not
being alone in this universe that we find in literature, results in a sense of fulfillment for the
reader because literature, undoubtedly, focuses on every single individual, without neglecting
his position in society or a group of people. Certainly, giving up literature will not do us any
benefit but harm for sure. We, as a nation, need to realize the severity of this harm.
When a nation communicates with another nation, it must learn its language at least.
But this is not enough; history, anthropology and religious studies provide a method of
learning about the cultures and beliefs of others from the outside, looking in. Literature, on
the other hand, allows us to experience the cultures and beliefs of others first-hand, from the
inside looking out. In this way, we can have a better understanding of others by being
equipped to communicate meaningfully with them.
Literature works as a historical chronicle as well. For example, Shakespeare wrote
many historical plays portraying the political and social state of Britain in different periods
of time. Hence, literature reflects society. So when we are studying literature of the sixteenth
century, it means we are making ourselves aware of the thinking patterns and social norms
prevalent in the society at that time. History is important, because until and unless a nation is
not familiar with its own past, it cannot achieve its target in the future. According to Oak,
"Several ancient scriptures relating stories of human evolution and narratives of human life
in those times have been of tremendous help to mankind. Thus, literature has always served
as an authentic source of information from all around the world." Such determination is
evoked in individuals by history. Unfortunately, it has been lost as a consequence of ignoring
literature.
Literature not only serves to relax our minds, but it provides us with an eagle eye to
analyze and interpret different aspects of life critically. It sharpens the mind enough to solve
the personal and social problems. In-depth analysis of great literary works helps one to
understand life and to take a closer look at its different aspects. Occasionally, literature
modifies and shapes one's perspective towards life.
The Ravi 2011 72

"Literature goes beyond life. It is art; it is an imaginative creation that can tell truths
gracefully, subtly through narrative, poetry and the movement of characters on stage. Any
imaginative act suggests possibility, and this is another reason to continue studying
literature." (R. Elkins)
Moreover, English is the first international language and the history of English
Literature is very rich. The credit goes to all those writers who helped in generating ideas
through literature. Richness of literature is still the same because it is still being promoted to
an extent, but we, as preservers of Urdu Language, are so insensible that we.are not
promoting our national language and its literature. We have long drawn out lists of great
writers in the history of Urdu Literature, e.g. Saadat Hassan Manto, Ghalib, Faiz Ahmad
Faiz, Allama Iqbal etc., but how grievous this fact is, that our new generation is not familiar
with their works and even sometimes, with their names.
According to Mallarme: "Language in the hands of the mob, leads to the same
facility and directness as does money; but in the Poet's hands, it is turned above all, to dream
and song, and by the constituent virtue and necessity of an art which lives on fiction, it
achieves its full efficacy."
Media, in our society, has achieved a position through which it can bring a
revolution. But media, also, does not promote literature. Our television channels do not show
enough good programs regarding our legends. All the artists, models, anchors, greatly
influencing our new generation, belong to business, medical or engineering fields. The
media is not bringing those people on screen who love literature and can promote its worth.
Another big hurdle in writing literature is, that publishing is very expensive here.
This discourages our creative minds and it is a big loss, as new thinking patterns are badly
required for our beloved country, Pakistan.
Literature is not about playing with words only; it is equally important for a man's
social and private life, even for a technocrat's life. Pakistan has come up against a formidable
situation and is morally crushed. Only the production of literature in this scenario, can help
in firming the roots of the country. The acknowledgement of the importance of literature and
the redevelopment of reading habits are also the sine qua non of challenging the world.
The writer is a second year B.A (Nons) student at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 73

You Can Execute Me but You Cannot Execute My Dreams
Mishal Tariq
It is dark. I cannot see.
It is quiet. I cannot hear.
It is empty. I cannot feel.
There is no way out of this darkness. No running away from this emptiness. No
scream of mine can pierce this silence. But hold on, there's a chink of light imminent. A glow
of warmth that fills me and prevails in my soul. Where is it coming from? It comes from my
dreams and the brightness they implant in me. I thank God for my sanity. That's all I have.
That's all that keeps me going. For till I have my dreams, my hopes and my fantasies, I'm
alive.
I dream of what life could be, or the way it should be; so much more. I dream of a
world where women would get the respect they deserve, the honour they behold, and the
safety they yearn for. Where both men and women would be treated as equals. A woman
would not be refused a job on the premise of her sex. She would not be paid lesser than a
man for doing the same job.
I dream of a world where women would not be abused, accused, victimized, and
tenorized because they're considered the weaker vessel of the society. Where they would not
be harassed by opportunist men.Where they would not be the target of domestic
violence.According to Dawn newspaper, in 2008 alone 7,733 cases of violence against
women were reported in the media. A total of 1,516 women were murdered while 472 other
innocent lives were taken on account of reasons of 'honour'.
I hope the day will come when innocent girls in Sindh are no longer the victims of
Haq Bakshish-an unIslamic, unimaginably cruel act sentencing a woman to a lifetime of
loneliness. And what is the reason behind this heinous practice? Man's despicable greed for
power and money indeed.
Another loathsome practice all over the country is the demand for dowry by a girl's
in-laws when she is to get married. In the instance that her family is unable to provide
enough, the girl is abused, tortured and very often burnt alive. Her death is later attributed to
the explosion of the gas stove.(A repulsive act in the quest for money).
I remember, as a young girl, I went to Swat on a family vacation. I recall my sense of
pride on having seen such a beautiful place in my country. I remember seeing young children
going to school there. It is a grave pity, that there are no schools there now. I tremble with
both fear and fury at the mere mention of Swat. A seventeen-year old girl was flogged there
in public, sunounded by a crowd of men, who enjoyed the spectacle, whilst relishing her
screams. Her crime? Nobody knows. No one bothered to investigate. Nobody questions
entertainment after all. (This is considered entertainment in Swat, evidently). Sadly and
shamefully nobody reacted to it the way they should have. There was no cry for justice.
Hence the stark aftermath: no justice!
And now we cry. The same barbarians, strengthened by that victory, are spreading
all over the country, threatening women and hoping to scare them into staying at home. My
best friend's aunt was recently going somewhere on the road. At a traffic signal, a man (who
The Ravi 2011 74

claimed to be a Taliban), came up to her and said, "Cover yourself up and never leave the
house again." I pray to Allah that He may save us all from these illiterate, inhuman,
barbarians. A prayer is all I have.
I dream of the day when women will no longer be kidnapped and made slaves.
When they would not be trafficked into unknown countries and forced to work in brothels
against their will. And it is not just women. Little girls, seven, eight or ten years old, are
stripped in their childhood-the time which is to be the best of one's life.
Today, centuries after the era of ignorance when women were buried alive (which I
must tell you is still being done in Babakot, a village in Balochistan) we have not progressed
much. My heart aches over the miserable state of women al1 over the world. I cry over their
woes. I feel their pain as if it were a wound inflicted on my own body. I am every woman
and I feel everyone of these loathsome acts committed against my sex.
I dream, I hope, I pray that one day things might change for the better. That is all I
can do as I am one tiny person. A woman to be precise.A second-rate citizen in this
male-dominated, backward world.A commodity, not to be treated with compassion or
kindness. Not as a thinking, feeling, or being with her own free will, who possesses a life of
her own. I believe men feel the need to make themselves superior. Consequently, they sense
insecurity in the presence of educated, confident women.
I dream that one day women themselves wil1 be educated enough to know their own
rights. The day they will not settle for less. The day they will stand up on their own two feet
and not depend on a man for survival.
The darkness blinds me.
The silence deafens me.
The emptiness engulfs me.
But I hold on to my dreams. They keep me going.
The writer is a first year student of MS Clinical Psychology
at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 75

Motivation
Sadia Batool
Do you feel that your motivation has diminished recently? Or do you feel at the
moment, that it's gone completely? Do you wonder how you'll ever get it back?
It often happens that many people find their motivation decreasing or disappearing
altogether. When this happens you tend to feel stuck and you're not really moving forward.
You may feel frustrated because you're not making any headway. Seeing yourself making
progress is a good incentive, which enables you to drive yourself in whatever task you
undertake. But if that's not there, it becomes a vicious circle, because when you're not
making progress, you don't feel motivated and vice versa.
When you want to increase your motivation, it's worth remembering that there's a
difference between it and inspiration. Motivation is an external source which encourages you
and gives you ideas. Inspiration comes from within and the encouragement and ideas are
your own. When it comes from within, you own it and will feel inspired. When you feel
inspired you'll take action and taking action is the key to achieving what you want, whether
it's increasing your business, making changes in your life or progressing towards your
dreams.
So, we're really looking to increase your inspiration here and not necessarily just to
motivate you. I've found that people's inspiration drops when they've been doing the same
thing over and over again for some time. You may feel you're stuck in a rut; it's become a bit
of a drag. If you're feeling this way, it's no wonder your inspiration has decided to 'wander
off.'
Sometimes you just need to take a break or have some rest from what you're doing
and your inspiration may well come back. This break also allows you to re-assess what
you've been doing and not doing. Perhaps then, you'll see there are some changes you want to
make; perhaps you'll decide to implement a different strategy or action plan.
Taking a break will mean different things to different people and you need to
determine for yourself what this break will be. Perhaps, you'll decide to take a day or a week
off work, to play and have fun. Or you may decide to go for a brisk walk. I'm even inclined
to suggest to you, that while taking this break, you tell yourself that you're not allowed to do
or think about anything work-related or whatever it is that you're taking a break from. It's
surprising how much most of us react to, being told we can't do or have something. The
rebellious part of us often surfaces and wants to fight it.
Taking a break from whatever it is that you've been doing, will probably make you
feel apprehensive. All your fears about how much you ha~e to get done, you're wasting time,
what if you don't want to go back to doing this, are likely to surface. It's a natural reaction,
but the fear is usually much worse than the reality. You need to trust yourself, face the fears
and know that you can handle any situation.
After a break, you'll feel refreshed and when you feel refreshed, your enthusiasm and
inspiration will return. Then, you'll be ready to start moving forward again.
What I want for you is to take a break and allow your inspiration and desire for life
and business, to return to you naturally. Only then can you benefit those around you, to the
best of your potential.
The writer is a first year B.A (Hons) student at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 76

Democracy and Islam
Muhammad Osama
The meaning of democracy is: 'a government of the people and a government for the
people'. The main objectives of democracy, as envisaged, are: empowerment of people in the
state affairs through a group of representatives commonly given the name of Parliament,
establishment of a welfare society on the principle that all men are created equal and have
equal rights and privileges, implementing such foreign and defense policies which protect
the interests of people and promulgating such a judicial system which not only gives people
justice but is also a source of check and balance for the government.
Islam means 'total submission to Allah and entering into peace'. The teachings of
this creed depict that it is in fact, a religion of peace. The concept of government in Islam
encircles the empowerment of the common man. It conceptualizes the establishment of
Shura, a house of elected representatives, with a head known as Caliph (Khalifah) in whom
the authority vests. The Caliph is chosen by the people or nominated by the predecessor, who
has to be approved by the people. Almighty behests in the Holy Quran:
"Allah commands you to entrust authority into the hands of
those who are best fitted to discharge it." (4:59)
The chosen Caliph is morally obliged to work for the welfare of people without any
sort of religious and racial segregation and to follow the golden principles of Islam. He has
to give equal rights and amenities to the people irrespective of their creed. He must work for
establishment of a welfare state vis-a-vis the Islamic principles. He has the authority on
matters such as foreign policy, defense, budget etc, which must be endorsed by the council
(Shura). In this way, the will of the common man is empowered and exercised.
Islam being an ultimate supporter of justice for all people, envisages the
implementation of such a judicial system which guarantees justice for all, irrespective of
their social status. Even the ruling Caliph can be summoned by the court. The Fourth Caliph
of Islam, Hazrat Ali (R.A), said:
"A state can survive even if it is governed by agnostics, but
no state can survive if it is based on injustice."
Justice is perceived in Islam as the utmost liability of state, which must be ensured;
otherwise, the society will be crushed into splinters. The purpose of judiciary is not only to
ensure justice for the public, but also to keep an eye on the working of government. It plays
the role of a surveillance unit which keeps an eye on the working of the state and ensures
that the government is fulfilling the task for which it was formed. When such a system
apropos the enlightened Islamic teachings is formed, then a true Islamic welfare state is
established in which the Caliph works under the banner of Islam.
The modern day democracy and the Islamic way of government are analogous as far
as the structure, or the formation of government is concerned. The difference lies somewhere
in the beliefs on the basis of which the government is formed. The Islamic government
envisions that supreme authority vests in Almighty Allah and the law which must be
followed is only the revealed law of Allah. It envisions that Shura cannot pass a bill which is
The Ravi 2011 77

contradictory to the teachings of Islam, but the modern day democracy gives right to the
Parliament to pass any bill if it is supported by the majority, setting aside whether it's against
ethics or not. So, there lie some exceptions in the working of the two systems, but the
Islamic ways of government and democracy are not mutually exclusive, as it is perceived
now-a-days.
The writer is a first year F.Se student at GCU.
WHAT IFEEL
Saadat Saeed
Is my feeling dead
Or am I severed from the bustling Existence
I have no link with Death
No union with Life
Yet, on the borders of days and nights
I converse with stones
Collect shells of agony
But keep my distance
From the gems within them
I roam and reside
On spiritless roads of insensitivity
Fill up cradles of my thoughts
With birds of superstition
Pierce the thriving blisters of the heart
And die
Translated by Yasmeen Hameed
The Ravi 2011 78

\
.~
;,r-- . ...:.
,
~~.;! -..c
~
"The im~gi.nationimitates.
It is the critical spirit that creates."-- Oscar Wilde

The Black Orchid
Robert Reid
The sun is hot. The hearse is white. I see it now in its darkened garage. The chain
link gate reveals the Cadillac elegance. There is no chariot like a hearse. I suppose it's when
you realize that only velvet death and silken elegance accompany you that you think of Emily
Dickinson and the Grangerford house in Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn, surrounded by
death, romance and the parody of Emily Dickinson's work in the paintings of the dead sister.
And the sister in HarlanCountyU.S.A. singing, "Oh Death!" like Death was a spirit to talk to
in a land that reeked with the smell of blood.
The police are drawing the chalk outlines. A white haired leathery faced man is
pointing to the splatters on the cement driveway. They are dry in the sun. One of the
policemen is taking notes. An egg fries on that hot concrete in Saudi Arabia. Here, the
protein and the blood absorb the moisture in the air as they dry. There must be a difference
in drying time.
We are standing in this very driveway. I am oblivious to the heat as I push the shiny
black hair away from her face and kiss the salt tasting tear flowing onto her full lip. Again I
hear Emily Dickinson saying that she knows its poetry when the chill runs up her spine and
through her scalp. The face, the feeling (the senses are windows to the soul) is poetry.
The voice grates from the window of the unmistakable, metallic blue low rider
pickup. He still stalks in my mind. I know now he's locked up where I can't kill him; and
his voice rings from the street toward that spot where the police are taking their samples and
their notes. I see her there and him yelling. "Hey Baby Doll. I'm luffin' you." And his glare
makes the irrational connection between love and hate, sadism and possession, accepting
separation only in death.
Her soft brown eyes register sadness. She understands separation. There is a scar.
"Love without fear?"
I see the soft deep dark eyes.
We sit in the floor of the empty concrete house.
"My first thought when I heard the car start was, He's gone," she said.
the window. I watch the profile of the Aztec nose, the dark Chamorro face.
She looks out
On this white marble floor, in all this whiteness, her dark face and shining black hair
absorb the damp encroaching jungle outside the window and I know, except for the spirits in
those twisted trees and the dark recesses of her soul, she is alone in this brilliant tomb.
I see the picture, sitting on the Egyptian sarcophagus. The same dark face, the same
shining black hair, the same profile--in the museum--the vain attempt of an Egyptian
Orpheus to dream her back. I lost her for a minute. The memory of the portrait in the
museum. "Do not touch." the sign said. Did I look back? I don't want to look back. I can't
know. I will see, feel, taste, touch and smell her.
T"You have to touch," I say. The sun shines on the mountains to the south as they
rise like a briIIiant green, blue three dimensional mirage. A curl of smoke floats from the
hidden valley between us and the mountain.
She laughs. "His touch sure did hurt," she says. She turns toward me, her fingers
The Ravi 2011 79

locked just below her knees. She rests her voluptuous body on firm thighs and her eyes
sparkle, laughing into mine.
Past the jungle, past the hot concrete, into room 107 on the second day of class. She
is writing her name, year and contact number on the front of a file card, on the back she
writes: I am the girl with the long black hair. You will always remember the scar on my
nose.
I see the face now. I see it then. I see the artifice preserved in constant perfect
temperature by the Nelson Atkins family, having acquired it from the grave robbers, they left
another's body to preserve their monument. It's turning cold. In this heat can something turn
cold? The wind is stirring and I will not look back to concrete.
The proud dark aquiline face made human (less perfect is more perfect), sensual by
the scaned flesh, leaving the mark that aches chills and binds. The eyes, dark and lovely and
deep, reveal a soul of pure misery. She laughs. Her eyes sparkle in the coal oil lamplight.
Darkness fills the room and the lamp, meant for power failure, spotlights the beauty in our
dream of life. The light is soft and yellow in the globe. The darkness flows into, surrounds
and protects the body and in the lamplight she takes my breath away.
"My second thought was to leave as well," she says. "Then I realized there was no
car." The flame wavers and the light touches her face. She laughs.
"That happened to me once," I say. "My first realization was the grief. My second
was the entrapment." I meant that she drove off in the car. I see her face tum solemn at the
word entrapment. Tears come and one flows down her cheek. In the lamp lit eyes is both
the promise of life and the certainty of death. I taste the salt as I hold her. I do not see the
warning in the tomb. Do not touch.
Velvet is her skin, softer than velvet is her voice. She murmurs the words and,
engulfed in the soft yellow and brown world I see, feel, taste, touch and smell every varying
shade, texture and form until the pain of the joy is more than we can bear. Lying back in the
darkness, feeling her diaphragm move, my fingers tickling the moist flesh of her soft skin
and firm stomach, I wish there had never been electricity, lighting the cold hard concrete and
the darkness could hide us forever.
****************
The coal oil lamp lights the patch of marble floor in front of me, blending softly
with the darkness. It flicker's, drawing my attention to the face, raised on the pillow, asleep
and surrounded by the quilted silk lining of the casket. With the soft light I conjure her out
of the darkness.
I am lying next to her. She is asleep. I worry. Is she breathing? I reach to feel her
diaphragm and touch the soft warm lips. She comes alive, in the fecund darkness, her warm
dark body closing around me as the soft light flickers.
The jungle is alive in the darkness. The flowers open and the warm, heavy air is
scented with the perfume that breathes romance and life. A gecko screeches a warning. I
awaken from my dream to realize the white coffin and the white silk.
I look to the face again.
The lamplight is a kind of scrim that with its movement
The Ravi 201 J 80

causes the illusion of warmth and life. I know now why Grandma Buckner talked, late at
night, to my dead grandfather.
"I took the tickets back today," I say to her face, shrouded in darkness. It is her face
but I can't touch it. I can't bring it out of the shroud of darkness. "We'll be staying here." I
look around. The room is empty. Only this small marble stage is lighted by the lamp. "I'm
sorry. We are trapped."
The writer has published short stories, essays and plays in Confrontation: The Literary
Journal of Long Island University, The Prague Review, The Annual Czech Language
Anthology of the Jama Cultural Foundation, Poems and Plays. His collection of short
stories and plays has been released by Red Hen Press in Las Angeles, California, 2007.
He is a member of PEN USA and PEN International (2005).
The Ravi 2011 81

The Aura of My City
Meeraal Shafaat
Aeenay ki nazar lag na jaey kaheen,
jaan-i-jaan apna sadqa utara karo.
-Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Aisa Banna Sawarna
Lahore is no longer the same since you left, beta, Abba tells me over the phone. It's
only been three years, I argue. How much could the city change? I distract myself by
re-checking my PIA itinerary as he lists the new prices of naan, eggs, potatoes, tomatoes. By
the time he gets to the petrol prices, I'm only barely listening. He and Amma both compare
petrol prices to the glorious days of the 80s, oh when you could get a tank full for nothing,
nothing at all! But I disregard arguments of inflation when they defy rules of economics. Not
to be outdone, they bring up the horrifying rate of load shedding. You've been used to central
heating over there, it never fails you there, but wait till you see how weak the gas pressure is.
The geezer doesn't work, the heaters don't work. They only work after 2am. I shut my eyes -
clearly, a lot of things defy logic in Lahore.
I resort to emotional blackmail. Aren't you glad I'm coming home? It leads to an
onslaught of defensive why-wouldn't-we-be and 100k-how-we-are-preparing-for-your-alTival
statements. Amma cleaned your room yesterday. Dadi will make aloo gosht the night you
come. We'll take you to Abbot Road to have taka-tak. Bhai knows this new restaurant and he
says they have really good ice-cream. I smile to myself and ask them if they want anything
from America. No, no, we want nothing. Don't waste your money on us, just come. I argue, I
beg, I plead for requests but none come. I cross another day on my calendar; the box outlined
with a red marker and capital letters saying Home! is so, so close.
I go outside and inhale the cool, crisp air of Western Massachusetts, already craving
meals from roadside vendors brimming with spices, cholesterol and pollutants. Thirteen hour
direct flight from New York to Lahore. I mentally calculate the time I'll spend awake by the
time I reach home. I spend the night before packing, anticipating. But jet lag will be so worth
it, I assure myself. The dreary customs official at JFK doesn't return my smile but I forgive
him. He doesn't know I'm going home! A free bird for a month, away from this world of
public bathrooms, of running on caffeine, of having French fries three nights in a row, of
ceaseless deadlines, papers and tests.
Realistically, flying economy class is always semi-nightmare with my inability to go
to sleep in the cramped seat. Bored, and too jittery to read the novel I brought, I look up at
the ceiling. I resolutely ignore the completely unsubtle way my neighbors are staring at me,
sizing me up. The moment our eyes meet, they vent their curiosity. The abaya clad aunty on
the left asks loudly, "Akele travel kar rahee hain?" for the benefit of everyone around. Aunty
on the right, decked out in embroidered georgette, heavy gold bangles and stiletto heels
promptly follows with "Lahore ja rahee hain?". I resist the very strong urge to respond with a
no, I'm getting off at the station before that, and I simply nod. Encouraged, she grills further:
"Lahore main kidhar?" I look at the people across the aisle hanging on every word and say
"Gee, ghar" with a note of finality. The air hostess watching this exchange hides her smile,
and reminds me to fasten my seat belt.
Jaan-E-Bafa Ho Aur Mohabbat Ki Shaan Ho
The Ravi 2011 82

Jalwein Tumhare Husn Ke Taaron Se Kam Nahin
Duniya Kisi Ke Pyaar Mein ...
I'm jetlagged, fatigued and exhausted but I tap my feet impatiently in the final queue,
I fidget during the security check. Zombie-like, I walk across the glass doors into my parents'
arms, grinning widely one second, bursting into tears the next. An mmty close by exclaims
"How Sweet!" My brother gives her an embarrassed smile. I can indulge my senses now.
Having yearned for touch in the US, I hug my grandparents tightly. I give Shayan a
mock-salute, he reaches for my suitcase. I had missed the way Abba's strong dark hands with
their visible veins messed up and then smoothed my hair; missed the miraculously
therapeutic nature of Amma's cool fingers on my feverish forehead.
In the car, I listen to them argue over whether I'm fatter, thinner, slightly fatter,
slightly thinner, or just the same. Naturally, no one agrees and everyone thinks they have it
right. They talk about deaths they had "forgotten" to mention while I slaved away at college.
They follow it with news of births. Dolly had twins, you know. Twin boys, and yes, they are
identical. Afsheen's engaged. Sarah's wedding was spectacular-too bad you missed it. They
drown out the noise of Lahore's traffic and of drivers who love their horns too much with an
Ahmed Rushdi cassette and yet more gossip.
I grin because finally my accent is not an anomaly. When the conversation switches
seamlessly from English to Urdu to Punjabi, I know all the terms and the cultural references
and the insider's jokes. At home, I recognize and revel in familiar sounds once again - the
news channel countdowns, advertisement jingles, even their telephone ringtones. I abandon
my fork and spoon and ignore the bright yellow stain on my white shirt. Amma stares at me,
vexed: That stain will never go away! I listen to the whole family participate in an argument
about whether detergent, cold water, hot water, lemon juice or chamomile tea would provide
the best remedy. I sit silently, inhaling delightful smells: my mother's perfume, Shayan's
cologne, and even though I glower darkly at him, my father's freshly lit cigarette.
Harchand sahara hay teray pyar ka dil ko,
rehta hay magar aik ajab khauf sa dil ko.
Coming back home entails switching an international-student,
resident-alien-for-tax-purposes in America status to that of a complex foreign return. I smile
politely as aunties scrutinize my appearance and pronounce judgment on whether I've been
Americanized or not, depending, entirely of course, on the way I carry my dupatta now. The
quantity and quality of change in my identity, I learn from other people, is disputable:
minimal, dramatic, for the better, for the worse. I perfect the art of diplomacy, choosing not
to argue, preferring to spend the most time with family over socializing.
I'm not the only one facing a conflicted identity. Going around in another tiny
Mehran, I mull over the changes in Lahore. Children still sell newspapers at intersections,
the headlines scream of inflation, terrorism, the hapless government - and on what I think are
happier days, celebrity scandals. The children still offer relentlessly to wipe cars in Gulberg.
The landscape still switches jarringly from stately bungalows to run-down slums; from
brightly lit up malls to crowded open air bazaars. While driving on its broken and bumpy
roads on the way to get Kashmiri Chai, my father remarks, "This city looks more like a failed
IMP project with every passing day."
But there's a supermarket, a hypermarket now that wasn't there before I left. We
The Ravi 2011 83

check out the humongous building with multiple floors, bustling with people exercising
conspicuous consumption. Their carts, brimming with packageg, goods remind me of the
departmental stores back in the U.S. I think about the market near our house, of relationships
. built over years: the fruit-seller, the butcher, the tie-dyer. Iqbal Uncle's store where we
bought laces, buttons and threads to do embroidery. I wonder if neat little sections,
self-checkout booths and uniformed personnel will replace our market too.
Every so often, driving in Lahore produces an uneasiness that the qawali playing in
the background or the joke on the rickshaw ("main bara ho kar truck banoon ga") can't
resolve. Security checkpoints have cropped all over in certain places, policemen scrutinize
the passengers, look into the car's boot and ask for the driver's ill. As their guns glint in the
sun, we wonder about the effectiveness of the provided security. As we pass GPO chowk
and Naval War College, we remember that security forces are at risk of attack themselves. As
we think about the attack on the Sri Lankan team and the Ahmadi mosque massacre, I reflect
on what's happening to a city where people were thought to have big, welcoming hearts? Is it
losing its aura at a pace that's beyond our control?
When I think about the same pattern being replicated all over Pakistan,
yes, it is really not the same Pakistan that I left three years ago.
I wonder if
The writer is a fourth year student of Politics and History at the Mount Holyoke College,
Massachusetts.
The Ravi 2011 84

A Daughter's Wish
Natasha Cornelius
My grandmother used to tell me to ask for the moons and you'll get the stars. But I
would always look up to her, pucker up my small little nose and say, "But g'maman I want
the whole blue sky." Of course, in the ensuing silence, she would frown down on me, stating
me to be not only impe11inent but greedy as well, which to her was the cardinal sin, the
reward of which could only be punishment. I was five then. I am 23 now. I never changed.
My grandfather, on the other hand, was a fond advocate of my excesses, of my
desire to be indulged in indulgences but believed staunchly in one commandment that was
his talisman: be careful of what you wish for.
I grew up with these two sayings hammered inside my skull till they became a part
of my nerve cells, perhaps a follicle of my hair, from which I could never escape but whose
importance became known only when it was too late for me to do anything constructive and
so I blundered on in the hope of a better future, forgetting what my parents told me once
from the book of Ecclesiastics that there is a time to mend and a time to sew. I lost both the
time and the thread.
Standing at the airp011, my shoulders stiff and weary from the long journey, I looked
and felt as if I had crossed a million years of my life. Tired and scared I waited for my family
to come while my brother roamed around the place unable to recognize me. I had changed
from a young laughing girl to a pregnant woman of 23 in just over four months; the
transformation so complete and sudden that when I called my father, he stared at me hard as
if he couldn't understand why a stranger had called out to him in that achingly familiar voice.
For seconds that ticked away like hours he stood there immobilized by the recognition that it
was his daughter who stood before him, so thin and waif-like while hot. scalding tears
welled up in his eyes only to run down his rough coarse cheeks, silent and all the more
poignant for he was unaware of them; grief that consumed him so thoroughly he never
regained his self again.
My life started with a silent wish and ended in a single teardrop. It was the wish of a
fifteen-year-old girl to be proposed by the boy she had just met. He was nineteen. The wish
came true seven years later and changed the course of my life and of my family. I never
believed in the power of those magical words by which my grandfather had built his life nor
did I understood the faith with which he uttered those words till now. For little did I know
that a simple wish of a young adolescent girl in the throes of her first silent love could wreak
such havoc on those around her. I look at my mother and see her struggling with death while
my numb fingers ache to soothe the vulnerability of my father as I feel his helplessness, that
with each passing moment gains a feather, an inch, a pound till one could touch its fiery
tentacles wrapping themselves nimbly around the soul of a man who wonders: what more
misfortunes life has in store for his family.
For the first time I realized that there is God and there is God; that the two are the
same and yet not; that while one dealt with mercy, the other busied Himself with notions of
sin and punishment. I could look up at the sky. I could look down at the child within me and
feel that there is a benign force, kind and simple who l.aughs at our follies and forgives our
impulses or I could turn to the other side and watch my child grow fatherless, my parents
The Ravi 2011 85
/

fighting those thin, wafer-like arms that could so easily suck them in its bottomless pit and
say that all I had ever believed in was a simple wish. I could rant and rave at the injustice of
it all, of a God who refused to help me but all that my dumbness could afford me is a
whisper in the wilderness that shouts in its very absence of a voice, resounding in the
darkness that it was what I had wished for. I could tell myself that God saved me by helping
me run away from a man who had professed to love and protect, but who in just a month
after that became intent on taking everything away from me, while his parents plotted ways
to kill me and my child or I could accuse the Lord of indifference as I prayed to Him for a
miracle to save my maITiage.
Months later and still I lie confused and powerless, dependent on a memory seven
years back when I had asked for the same man from whom I ran away from, after four
months of marriage; a wish made by a na'lve girl and acknowledged by The Father; a wish
which she now wishes she had never made; a wish which she wishes God had ignored for
the wounds are deep, the poison ripe, the scars numerous and the nights long.
The writer is an English Literature student at Kinnaird College
The Ravi 20 II 86

Grey
Zartasha Afridi
Dead leaves lay strewn across the long veranda along which he strolled in utter
desolation. Tears trickled down his cheeks and trembled down his jawline like raindrops on
the edge of a roof. He sat there on the stair, while the streetlight threw amber hues of light on
his gloomy face. His long, haggard cheeks had many wrinkles which served as canals for his
sorrow to How through. After grasping a leaf forcefully and clutching it under the knuckles
of his dry hand, he vent out a roar of rage. His son had dumped him there as if he were a
mere commodity, so as to amass his wealth (It was his fourth year at the Fountain House).
****************
He stared at the child intently, his face ablaze with anger. With one swift movement,
he gave a stinging blow to her face. Ruqqaya was a slum resident working in that house to
earn a living for her family-being brutally punished for her innocent mistake of not ironing a
shirt properly! Her stomach growled, her muscles were cramped-coupled with a stiff neck,
bruised hands and swollen feet. She was just another victim of child labour, another epitome
of helplessness. Her life followed a treadmill rhythm of endless household chores, making
her feel way older
than her age.
****************
While sitting in the bus, Hashim envisioned himself as the hero his people needed.
The saviour of "Justice" and the rescuer of "Equality." So, he made the decision without any
regret. He too wanted to taste a maJ1yr's death. He began fantasizing about the day his name
would make headlines all over Pakistan ...nay, the world!
Meanwhile two passengers were conversing:
"Oye, trust me Zinc Nitrate is soluble in Ammonia."
"Are you sure, it wasn't Aluminium Nitrate?"
The impatient rustling of a few pages followed ....
"Ummm, do you think they'll give me a mark for getting the anion correct????"
Hashim wanted to sympathize with this uniform-clad student, as he sat gloomily, his
face cupped in his hands. (Dreams, HAHA).
A mobile phone rang. An Abrar-ul-Haq favourite had been distorted into a ringtone.
The passengers heaved an immense sigh of relief as the man answered the call ... ''I'm on my
way-just another ten minutes."
Hashim found himself grasping his bag. (Stay cool ...stay calm .... no remorse required
for these people. This is for the greater benefit after all).
****************
After the bored newscaster on terrestrial network had recounted every minute of the
The Ravi 2011 87

President and Prime Minister's day, and the advert of a urea fertilizer had come and gone, she
announced in her standard monotoned voice:
"A suicide bomber blew himself up in a crowded bus at
3:20pm, in Lahore today, killing "
****************
For many of us, life is just like a candy-floss full of sweet blessings which of course
we deny, being ungrateful gits!!!! However, only few people are truly grateful, for they have
realized that they are not amongst the vast majority of people whose lives are nothing but
gloomy and grey.
The writer is a second year student of B.A (Hons) Philosophy,
at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 88

An Understatement
Amna ljaz
He was dying and we knew he wasn't going to die painlessly. We could see it in his
eyes. Once so bright, now they were dark with the curtains of plea shadowing them. I got up
and left. Maybe I didn't want to see him die or maybe I was tired of looking after him.
Whatever the case was, as soon as I lay on my bed, I went to sleep.
My father came to me in the middle of the night, probably expecting to find me
crying. He shook me; a bit annoyed.
"What are we supposed to do now?" He said in a harsh neutral tone.
I didn't have anything to say in return so I pulled the sheets over my head and told
him to switch off the night bulb when he left. He didn't leave. I could feel him standing there.
Although he wasn't moving, I knew he was restless.
The next day I got up because of the usual disturbance from underneath my pillow. I
hit the snooze button on my cell phone that I alternatively used as an alarm clock. The best I
could do now was to stare at the ceiling fan.
Alarm again.
Snooze again.
Now the wall.
Alarm again.
Snooze again.
The fan again.
After a few spins of the half-dead fan with a nearly burnt capacitor, it was time to hit
the snooze button again but it never "alarmed" me. It was sick of me too. There was no more
reason to remain lying on the bed, so I sat. My mind was unable to help my body in
conceiving any other position. My back itched. I scratched it. Then I scratched my elbow
too. I wanted my mum to come wake me up but she never came. Only fifteen minutes were
left for me to get ready for school and ...get out of my room.
Right from the bed I suddenly noticed that my sister had left my dressing room
mirror unclean. I got up to clean it. It couldn't get any dirtier. Dirt is bad. I cleaned it until my
arms ached and it shone.
Four minutes left.
My cell phone vibrated from somewhere near my pillow. But that was an absurd
place for a cell phone to be, so I looked at more probable places first; the book rack, inside
the cupboard. under the bed. It stopped vibrating, so I stopped looking.
Finally my mum knocked at the door. I was still in my Pajamas. "Get ready" was all
she said.
Is that all? Nothing else? I went to the bathroom and looked into the minor. My face
was as skinny and as bony as before, but my teeth looked yellow, really yellow; so yellow
that even I was disgusted. I moved my tooth brush to and fro, up and down, round and round,
until my fingers ached and small bits of red started to appear in the white foam on my tooth
brush. The part of me in the minor definitely had a stained face. The mirror needed cleaning
too.
The Ravi 2011 89

There was a knock on my door again. I put my clothes on and grabbed my backpack.
I opened the door, and surprisingly it seemed loose. I checked if it really was loose, or I was
imagining things. It wasn't. A deep breath came out of my lips. I adjusted and readjusted my
backpack on my shoulder. My sandwich was ready for me as usual. I had to eat it as fast as I
could. I realized I was getting late. Very late.
Nobody said anything. I half-wanted them to say something and half-needed them to
remain silent. In less than a minute my sandwich was gone and hot tea gulped down, leaving
a burnt oesophagus behind. The only thing left to do was to put my dishes in the wash basin
and then I could leave. I pushed open the kitchen door and hurried inside. My foot hit a small
bottle I had never seen before. Mum never left medicines lying around; not on the floor at
least. I picked it up.
I never had that feeling before. The transitions that it carried were undecipherable. It
was so strong. I felt nauseous. There were butterflies deep inside my gut. A sigh of relief
came out of my lips. I am sure it was a sigh of relief. But then deep anger took over. I had
never been so angry. I still can't comprehend that feeling I had on seeing the tiny skull
printed on the little brown bottle. It made me want to tear the whole world apart. Every bit of
it crushed right between my palms. I was angry at myself for not being able to do anything. I
was mad at myself for being such a coward to let it happen. I wanted it to end for him. I
should have wanted it to end for me too. If it were possible I would have hugged his cold
body and never let go, for he was mine. He had been mine all along. And I knew both of us
wouldn't regret it ever. His pain was gone but he was gone too.
Everyone always told me that I cared about my "cats" and "dogs" more than I cared
about my "human amigos". But they never understood and they never will.
The writer is a fourth year Biotechnology student at GCU, and is also editor of The
Gazette (GCU's monthly publication).
The Ravi 2011 90

DUSK AT DABGARI GARDEN
Maryam Khan
CHARACTERS IN THE PLA Y:
Saleem: An old man of about sixty-five years, very weak and scrawny. Although
very poor but with a dignified look on his face carrying such grace, as a nobleman
would.
Rasheed: A well-off young man in the waiting room.
Doctor: A middle-aged man, somewhere between a rude and kind person.
Little girl: About the age of ten years.
SCENE I:
In a small congested waiting room:
[ About 30 men are squeezed into one small space. The weather is hot and humid,
and the heat is causing much discomfort. Each one of them is waiting eagerly for his turn
with the doctor. Sometimes it is so hard to wait, especially when you are waiting for
something as important as your life. Time is too swift for those who fear, too long for those
who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who wait, time is eternity!
Saleem is also one of them, sitting in a comer of the waiting room. He has been
waiting quietly since the last two or three hours. He seems to be focused on a point in the
space without dimensions. From his tom clothes and wrinkled face, he seems to be a man
who has faced a lot of hardships in life.
A man comes and sits right next to Saleem and starts a
discussion].
RASHEED: Hello!
SALEEM: [Trying to come back from his imaginary world] Hi! Where did you
come from, what is wrong with you? You seem almost perfect to me.
RASHEED: I am Rasheed and I have come from Jamrud. I came to the doctor last
week, he advised me to get some tests done, which I have and now I am here to show them
to him for further treatment. But the doctor seems very busy. What about you?
SALEEM: Well, I come here every day. It has been ten years since I have been
working here in Dabgari . However, since the last week, I have been feeling sick. I am very
weak and old, as you can judge from my appearance.
RASHEED: [Witha Touch of arrogance] Well, from your appearance you seem like
a... a ... Beggar.
[Beggar? Saleem doesn't like this word and have never liked it before. He only asks
people to help him, to give him money. He does not beg anyone. But it is only his
philosophy; the bitter reality is that he is a beggar].
SALEEM: Had it not been for my tom clothes, no one would have dared to call me a
beggar. But alas!
[Starts coughing with a lot of discomfort, silent for sometime but then speaks up
with anger and exasperation, still breathing with difficulty].
SALEEM: Yes! I am a beggar! But I am not asking you or anyone here for money!
The Ravi 2011 91

RASHEED:
[insensitively] Ok, ok! Don't get angry.
SALEEM: There is no king in the world who didn't have a beggar among his
ancestors. And there is no beggar in the world who didn't have a king among his ancestors. I
was not born a beggar .... !
[Nobody is listening to him ... after all who is interested in knowing who he is or
who his ancestors were, everyone is concerned about their own self. The world is a selfish
place, and the people are self-seeking animals, he thinks, still coughing forcefully, unable to
talk. Everyone around him is busy talking or listening to the stories the others are telling,
each one trying to prove his illness is bigger and more serious].
[About ten minutes later, a man in uniform enters the room holding a long list of
names, everyone looks anxiously at him ... but this time it is Saleem's luck, it is his turn. His
wait is over, now he would see the doctor and somehow convince him that he is very poor
and cannot afford the fee. Hopefully, the doctor will listen to him and give him some
sympathetic consideration and maybe even help him].
SCENE II:
Inside the doctor's cabin:
[There is a big contrast from the waiting room, the doctor's cabin is cleaner and
well-furnished. The temperature in the cabin is comparatively mild with the AC on. The
doctor is busy making some notes; he doesn't even notice that Saleem has entered in].
from ...
SALEEM: Asalam-o-Alaikum doctor sahib! My name is Saleem I have come
DOCTOR: [not looking up] Sit down! [pointing to the chair, still busy with his eyes
on work, Saleem sits down like an obedient child] What's your problem old man?
SALEEM: Sir, I am a very poor man ... !...
DOCTOR: Well that is not a problem that I can treat you for. You see every man
that comes here-is poor. I can't listen to the stories of each one of them; I don't have a lot of
time. There are many people waiting outside ....
SALEEM: [Feeling guilty, like a little child, who says something wrong in front of
the teacher and then wishes not to be punished for it] I am sorry sir!
DOCTOR:
[kindly] Now tell me what the problem with you is?
SALEEM: I cough a lot and when I cough there is a lot of pain in my chest, my
bones ache severely. Last night when I coughed for about one hour; blood came out into my
mouth. I was so scared; I went to the medicine shop in the morniQg to get some cough syrup
but ....
DOCTOR: Don't take any medicine without consulting a doctor, it can harm you.
Get yourself these medicines, here I am writing down for you. [Takes about ten minutes to
make a long list of tablets and cough syrups].
You also need to get some tests done, an ECG, chest X-ray and blood tests from the
laboratory downstairs.
SALEEM: Sir ... how much does it cost because I don't have ...
DOCTOR:
I suspect you have T.B but I can only be sure after you bring your test
The Ravi 2011 92

esults, then I'll recommend some other drugs for your proper treatment. Till then you should
take these for temporary relief [handing the paper to Saleem]'
My fee is RS.300. You can give it to my accountant outside the waiting room, I'll see
you next week.
[Rs.300? This is too much. Since the last week, he had managed to earn rupees 500
only, begging was not an easy job after all! But he knew it was out of question that he would
argue with the doctor].
SALEEM:
[Ironically] Thank you doctor sahib for your time and kind attention.
[He stands up and takes out Rs. 300 from his pocket while leaving the cabin. The
money is mostly in the form of notes of rupees five or coins worth Rs. 1 and 2. The tears are
flooding in his red eyes, he hands over the money to the accountant as if it is his most
precious or rather his only possession.]
SCENE III
On the road ,in front of the doctors clinic:
[Cars and rickshaws are coming and going, parking haphazardly. A lot of noise is
being generated on these roads; every man considers this road his property. It is about dusk
now. Saleem comes out of the building and being a man of no destination sits idly on the
side of a footpath, as usual thinking about something .... or rather someone.
After about half an hour, a little girl, whom Saleem often sees begging on the road at
the back of the building comes and sits next to him. She has a piece of bread and a few coins
in her hand. This is all she could collect so far].
LITTLE GIRL: [Looks at Saleem with her beautiful green eyes with a lot of
curiosity in them] Here, do you want bread? [She treats him like a rich little girl playing with
her dolls] Why are you sitting here alone? This is the time of the day when you can get
maximum money from the people.
SALEEM: [Lifts his head which seems as heavy as a rock, he is breathing with
difficulty, his eyes are red and he is crying!] I don't want to beg anymore I. ... .1 am old .... I
am very weak little angel. ..I cannot ask people to give me; no one wants to help me ,they are
all stone hearted. I can't buy medicines ... .I [weeping like a little child]
LITTLE GIRL: [Innocently] Are you ill? Did you go to see the Doctor?
SALEEM: Yes I am very ill, my friend.
LITTLE GIRL: Don't be hopeless, you will get well, I'll pray for you, I'll find money
for your medicine ... I know a man who .....
SALEEM: [Coughs with a lot of force and keeps on coughing until blood comes
out, he spits on the floor, the little girl is frightened and silent]
[He is not listening to her; he is at war with someone else at this time, looking above
at the dark skies]Oh God! Is this what my life had to become? I am a pious man, I always
prayed, I never lied, I never cheated, I always helped the poor. But. ....
[Stops to catch his breath .....tears running down his cheeks like a waterfall]
You betrayed me! My family betrayed me! Now I pray that my life betrays me too. I
pray that the death come to me soon and take my soul out of my body. To hell or heaven ... I
don't care, my life is already a living hell! [Literally shouting]
The Ravi 2011 93

[The little girl is very scared now. She musters up courage to say something; a dry
voice originates from her littlethroat).
LITTLE GIRL: Where is your family? Tell them to come and take you home.
SALEEM: My family? [Hesmiles, realizing he has scared the little soul). You know
when I look at these buildings covered with the boards, doctors' names written on
them ..... Doctors ... you see my child; they have a good life, these doctors. They earn respect
in the society, they earn the prayers of all these people, and most importantly they earn
money! I had wished for all this for my son as well .... my only son [stops, half crying half
smiling, almost hysterical]
LITTLE GIRL: Your son? Where is he? Did he die?
SALEEM: My son! I was so happy the day he got admission in the medical college.
He was a smart boy, very intelligent. [He looks at the floor as if he can see his son's picture
on it.] At that time I was a clerk, I could earn enough money to pay for his educational
expenses. Every day I used to look at him with bright eyes and hopes in my heart .... he was
my only son.
[The little girl is speechless]
He wanted to do his specialization abroad; when he did his MBBS I gave my entire
retirement fund to him. He went to England, he studied, he got a job ... settled, married but
never came back to me.
LITTLE GIRL: [almost crying .... in a low voice] He forgot you?
- SALEEM: I pray to God everyday ... I pray that no man ever gets a son like mine. I
pray no son betrays a father like my son betrayed me.
[Saleem stands up. With only rupees 200 in his pocket he cannot not afford the
medicine, the tests are even a far chance. Every day at dusk in Dabgari garden, he has the
same routine. Maybe someday, he will earn enough to get his medicines. He looks back at
the little girl and dries his tears).
Goodbye, my little friend! If I get another day to live, I shall see you tomorrow.
[At dusk, the traffic is at its peak .As he is about to cross the road while still lost in
his thoughts .... remembering rather missing his son, the pride of being the father of a
doctor .... the respect that he could have but did not have.
An ambulance rushing towards the hospital goes on to hit him. It hits him so hard
that he never gets up and is crushed as miserably as an ant under a careless foot).
SALEEM: [As he breaths his last, he sighs] I will never forgive you my son!!!
THE END
The playwright is a first year MBBS student at Khyber Medical College, Peshawar.
The Ravi 20/1 94

The Dark Passage
Umar lee Salimi
Roshan was left in the care of his grandparents. Both, like his parents, were busy in
losing themselves in their daily doings, utterly ignorant of his needs. He had no need for
love, for he never tasted or felt how it was to be loved like normal children. His previous
maid who was an elderly lady and was a witness to the evils which the walls of this haveli
had seen, used to admonish Roshan in going to that part of the haveli. It was abandoned
years ago. But after the death of the elderly maid, the young maid who was assigned to take
care of Roshan was not particular about his wandering inside the haveli as long as he came
back.
Roshan liked to hide in the dark passage, as he could see whatever was going on, on
the other side and there was no one who could see him. He had caught several servants
smoking in that area, heard many secrets. It was really an enjoyment for Roshan to see
servants conversing in low tones thinking that there was no one to see them indulging in
their passionate endeavours. Little did they know that there was little Roshan, the child of
the dark passage espying on them from the darkness of his hiding place. Children are natural
scientists, they devise their own set of rules, or their imagination finds them an answer. One
of the first discoveries which Roshan made on his own was that "When you're hidden in the
darkness, you can see those in the light, while those in the light cannot see you." This
discovery made him more introvert and sulky. He was not like normal children who made
friends and played in the sun light; he was Roshan who had found a friend in the darkness, a
friend who took care of him and shielded him from others. It was in this recluse that he
found his own self, he felt at home in this part of his haveli. With the passage of time
Roshan's trips to that passage protracted. Whenever he was in trouble or wanted to avoid the
stern presence of his grandfather and the slobbery kisses of his soapy grandmother he rushed
into the passage and disappeared within its folds.
In the summer of his eighth year, he heard his grandmother conversing with his
father on the phone that he would come in two weeks to get Roshan, for they wished him to
continue his studies in the city. Roshan who had visited the concrete jungle did not find it to
his likening. He abhorred the life there, for there was no peace and even the darkness of the
city was not as warm and friendly like the one back in the haveli; it was empty and haunting.
Hearing this news, he went to his recluse, discoursed his apprehensions with his friend, and
to ease him, the darkness encouraged him to travel further in its folds. He travelled further
into the passage to find his answer and as he went lower and lower in its depth he found his
answer.
The next day Roshan was not to be found. At first his disappearance was news to
the servants, but as time passed, the news found its way to the higher echelon and eventually
reached his parents. Malik Jabbar was furious; he ordered the servants to search every corner
of the manor. The search continued for three days but there was no news of Roshan. The
maid was called forth and was threatened to be sent to the police if she failed to provide any
clue of his whereabouts. Wajahat, his father, who was never a passionate person and
preserved his calm demeanor at all times, made no exception to this occasion. After six days
of Roshan's disappearance he resolved that this calamity was a punishment by fate for his
The Ravi 2011 95

negligent and indifferent attitude towards his only child. He tried to make amends by talking
to the servants of Roshan; he condoled himself by asking how Roshan, his lost son looked
and what were his activities.
A servant accidently slipped the fact that Roshan was particularly fond of the dark
passage, and when Roshan's father asked if a search was conducted in that part of the haveli,
the servant sheepishly replied that they had gone there and called his name repeatedly but no
answer came back. Roshan's father insisted that he wished to go there to which the servant
replied that no one was allowed to go there and the keys to that part of the haveli were in the
personal custody of Malik Jabbar.
Hearing this, Wajahat asked his father Malik Jabbar, who said that it was impossible
for anyone to be in the basement let alone Roshan, as it had been abandoned for years. On
his repeated insistence Malik Jabbar gave in and resolved that he himself would go there,
accompanied with Arshad, the oldest living servant and the only person apart from Malik
Jabbar who was privy to the dark secrets which the passage beheld. With lanterns Malik
Jabbar and his faithful Arshad faced the dark passage, both lost in a reverie. The darkness
laughed at Malik Jabbar, mocking at him. Malik's imagination animated the darkness and he
could see his dark past being enacted vividly in the seemingly silent passage. Regaining his
composure Malik Jabbar took his walking stick, and stepped into the dark passage not losing
the measure of his steps. The light of the lantern which Arshad was holding served as the
first rays of light in decades which were slicing the folds of the darkness, and resting on the
dusty cobwebbed corners of the passage. The stairs which led to the basement were carpeted
in dust, making the tread of the footsteps soft and steady. Each step was a struggle for Malik,
and he recalled how it was a struggle for the person he had imprisoned and dragged down.
On reaching the first landing, what caught Malik Jabbar's eyes was a necklace which
was a family heirloom, as he remembered. The remembrance of the necklace brought with it
a rush of thoughts which had long been slumbering in the mind of Malik. Gazing at the
fallen necklace, he heard a laugh coming from the depths. The laugh caught him unaware
and his staff fell and rolled down the steps; it took a while before the echo of the falling staff
died away. Worried for his master Arshad, gave him support and held him. He urged him to
go back, to which Malik did not disapprove. Malik was repeatedly shouting and waving his
hands, as if shielding himself from an invisible foe. He found himself strangled in a ragged
dupatta which flew towards him as if guided by an invisible hand. On seeing the orange
flowery dupatta Malik Jabbar's eyes bulged and he whispered "It can't be; is this a message? I
buried her in the very clothes she wore, I saw her breathe her last." And with this he
swooned at the spot. Unable to move forward, Arshad bore his master upstairs and
surrendered him to the flock of servants who awaited them. They had heard the fierce Malik
scream and whimper like a child. Before their fears were to be confirmed, Wajahat stepped
inside the passage with Arshad, bearing a questioning look. Arshad then signaled Wajahat to
calm down and gave him a will-talk-later look.
With Malik Jabbar out of the way, Wajahat with Arshad silently moved forward into
the dark passage which led to the accursed basement. They steadily walked their way,
maintained their poise and gradually let themselves be absorbed in the darkness of the abyss.
On the final landing they found the walls stained with strange markings; some were of
brown colour, which Arshad recognized as blood stains. The walls had fresh trails of fingers
on them. He and Malik Jabbar were the only ones who knew the story of the occupant who
The Ravi 2011 96

had lived in that room. The basement seemed endless in the dark; in one corner they found a
wooden frame which had threads of different colours dangling, signaling that it was a
charpoi in the past. They tried to find Malik Jabbar's staff. When Arshad moved his lantern,
he saw something glimmer on the floor. thinking that it might the stick he moved forward;
but on coming near he saw an iron chain. He accompanied Wajahat and his lantern followed
the trail of the chain.
Following the chain, they heard a laugh coming from the direction in which they
were going. They both stopped and hesitated, trying to forget it as a figment of their
imagination. Wajahat putting himself together resolved to move ahead, and what his eye
beheld was unbearable. On seeing his master transfixed to the ground, Arshad followed
Wajahat's gaze and he saw a beautiful lady whom he once knew embracing a boy and
enchained. She was still beautiful and it seemed as if time had forgotten to ravage her with
age. The beauty which had brought her ruin a long time ago, now seemed more potent. She
seemed to be floating in thin air; her countenance which was once rosy and innocent was
now cruelly beautiful. On meeting the warm glow of the lantern, the pale white aura which
surrounded her, vanished. She opened her eyes which were stark black; there was no white
just black, and as if pouring from her very eyes the blackness trickled down from her eyes on
her skin. Wherever the drops fell, they spread their wretched colour. She was angry; her
features sharpened, her size increased, she uncoiled herself and like a snake which seems
fragile, rubbing its belly.on the ground but in a split second rises with such majesty and
power ruthlessly shedding away his humble contact with the earth, she rose with unnerving
command and in full control of her faculties. She laughed aloud, at which Arshad's senses
gave away and he uttered "I thought you had died or run away." Unable to shield the light
longer from the boy the lady screamed, upon which Roshan woke up and upon beholding the
light he cried out "Go away, don't disturb us, I am not going to go with you, this darkness is
my friend, we both have silently watched the happenings of the haveli from the passage, and
she is my only friend; she has brought me to her home; she loves me and has taken care of
me; it was she who gave me company all these years; GO AWAY!" Both Arshad and
Wajahat saw Roshan's transformation; they witnessed how his human skin withered away;
how his skin became taut and pale like his mistress. Wajahat and Arshad in their last attempt
to save him, came near. Seeing them so close, made the boy frantic, and in a frenzy he
strangled and choked himself to death. Both pursued the floating lady and on failing to find
her, they returned to where the dead Roshan lay, and they found nothing but a pool of
glowing white liquid immersed in a mist which just appeared from nowhere. In the middle of
the pool a dais suddenly rose. On the dais was a vertical slab, which was hollow' from the
inside. The floating lady appeared with Roshan widespread in her arms. She made him stand
in the hollow, and before Wajahat and Arshad could cross the pool, she rose her arms and
from nowhere a second slab appeared with which she entombed Roshan. Swirling around the
slab and cackling in madness she embraced the giant slab in her arms and then suddenly
when her fit of madness reached its zenith she herself was absorbed in it. Wajhat and
Arshad, shocked and unable to move, waited in terror and readied themselves for the events
which they apprehended, might follow.
When all seemed calm and peaceful, the slabs cracked and split. The hollow which
had Roshan in it, was filled with vapors of dark colour. Those vapors climbed steadily and
dispersed. Seeing his son, vaporize before his eyes, broke his composure, and he fell under
The Ravi 2011 97

his weight. Arshad hurried to his side and raised him from the ground. Wajahat who was
stupefied from the shock of the events, silently tried to find his way back and when they took
their first step they heard the lady scream, and her voice seemed to resonate throughout the
void "Tell Jabbar the chains and the darkness which he gave me as a gift needed an heir
whom he denied me. As per his wishes, I have found life where he tried to give me death.
Tell him our child, the child of darkness has resumed the throne of both our dynasties."
"Who was she?" Wajahat asked solemnly from Arshad. "She was not human, that I
know. Your father man'ied her to gain power and wealth but she sought an heir to continue
her unholy lineage. Your father betrayed her on gaining power, and then he starved her to
death, to hide his communion with the devil." When they reached outside the passage, the
servants on seeing them, hurried both of them to Jabbar's chamber.
On entering the chamber, they heard Malik Jabbar stifling before a person. The man
was holding Jabbar's hand and his other hand was on the brow of Jabbar. The mysterious
person of short height was muttering gibberish, and Jabbar was sweating profusely. When
Wajahat drew near to identify the person, the person calmly rose and went to the
antechamber next to the room. Wajahat came close to his father, but before he could
converse with his father, his steps froze, for Malik Jabbar was dead, his mouth was open,
and his bewildered eyes dark, like the ones he saw below. Wajahat rushed towards the
antechamber.
In the antechamber, on the mahogany chair of Malik Jabbar, the person sat, holding
the staff of Jabbar. His eyes were completely black, but on seeing Jabbar they changed to
soft brown and spoke "Don't be afraid, I am to change the tides and bring harmony," and
there waiting for Wajahat was Roshan.
The writer is a third year student of B.A (Hons) - English Literature at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 98

A Small Kindness
Zinnia Mansoor
It had just rained a while ag~. The sweet scent of wet earth hung in the air. The
branches of trees washed back into life, swayed to and fro. Joy was felt with every breath.
The roads were full of cars whose lights seemed like little stars against the black
background. Children, women, men, young and old were blossoming with happiness,
enjoying the weather around them. Food stalls were alive with activity. There was hustle and
bustle everywhere. In a dark corner beneath the shade of the tree stood one soul, aware of his
sLlIToundings, yet he had in his hands not only his own fate but the fate of all those around
him.
As he saw people enjoying themselves his hands gently touched the end of his
jacket. He knew what he had to do. His brain, only capable of thinking what his teacher told
him, became numb at that time. Images, words, teachings, instructions - everything flashed
before his eyes. He knew he was only a few seconds away from death and when he would
die, he would kill along with himself at least half the people present there. He was a suicide
bomber---a twelve-year old suicide bomber who'd been given away to the madrassa by his
poverty-stricken mother at the age of four.
He knew what he had to do, yet it seemed that an immobile force had stopped him.
"What are you doing here little boy?" a gentle voice said to him. He turned around to see a
lady smiling at him. Frightened at the thought of how she would react if she realized that he
was a suicide bomber, he was unable to answer her question except for opening and closing
his mouth in an attempt to come up with an answer. The young lady smiled at him and said,
"Come here with me child. Let me buy you an ice-cream. You're such a lovely child, yet
you're standing alone by this tree tonight, while you should be jumping around and playing
with boys of your age." With that the lady signalled him to follow her and he did so without
thinking anything. A minute later he came to his solace beneath the tree with an ice-cream in
his hands. The young lady had apparently gone to get something for herself after getting him
an Ice-cream.
As the sweetness of the ice-cream filled his mouth, a sense of warmth began to flow
through his blood - a warmth he'd never felt before. By the time he'd finished eating the
ice-cream, he could feel that warmth encircling him. He was not numb to the joy in his
surroundings. A part of him remembered his job, but a much greater part of him wanted to
see the smiles on the faces of those around him. The very thought that he was about to kill
from amongst this crowd the lady who had been kind to him, for no reason at all, made him
shudder. Unconsciously he started questioning what his teacher had told him.
The bearded man who was his teacher was a brutal person who often hit his students
if they did not do as he said. He had told him that if he blew himself up he would go to
heaven because he would kill with himself many people - people who were not nice, people
who were not Muslims, people who had hatred in their hearts, people who snatched away the
rights of others and people who were selfish. He looked at the crowd closely. There were
people - people with radiant faces, with smiles for each other, people who were ready to lend
a helping hand to any old man or woman who could slip through the mud. And then he
thought of the lady who had got him the ice-cream, her radiant face, her sweet voice and her
The Ravi 20// 99

kindness. People were not what his teacher had told him. He didn't want to kill them all. He
didn't want to end his life too. He realized at that point what life was and how he had only
seen life through his teacher's eyes. With a sudden adrenaline rush he took off the suicide
bombing jacket and then quietly sneaked up behind a policeman to place it behind him. Then
he ran away from the spot as fast as he could manage to, without anybody noticing him. The
last thing he saw when he turned around was, that the policeman had the jacket in his hands
and was taking it away probably to the police station.
However, after that night there was no turning back for the twelve-year old. He had
realized what life was and had learnt to value it.
The writer is a third year student of B.Sc (Hons) - Biotechnology
at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 100

A Dream Country
Arif
Khan
He was the only son of his poor mother. Kafi's father had died when he was a child.
His father was a school teacher and after his death his pension proved deficient to fulfill their
needs. They lived in a little rented house in the suburbs of a big city. His honest and
hard-working mother, Razia did all the labour to nurture her son in accordance with
her capacity.
She believed that one should live in a dream country to make the reality of one's
life better and inspiring. Although washing clothes and scrubbing utensils at others's homes
hardly leaves one with any dream. But still Razia had the will and courage to live with her
dreams and inculcate them in her son as well. She was naturally intelligent and had received
the basic education. Razia spent all her efforts in educating her son to lend his life meaning.
She faced the grinding reality of existence every day, but still kept the world of her dreams
alive in her mind. To her, the inner plane of existence was superior, for it offered one
some respite and consolation against the sufferings of the material realm.
Kafi turned out to be an inspiring youth who had graduated with the support of his
mother and his own compelling passion for learning. There was a strange dreamy glow on
his brow and an equally bizarre, yet hopeful glitter in his eyes. And he had a
profound faith in the dreams of his mother, for she had guided him every moment
through their light. He had learned that good dreams were inevitable to shape a good
reality. Although the reality around him was not in harmony with his dreams. Alfd he
attributed it to the absence of understanding about good dreams, and their connection with
reality among the majority of people. Every day his faith in his dreams received a serious
blow. but it remained unimpaired, for the roots of this faith were deep; they were in his
blood and in the bread his mother had fed on. He knew this transient existence was never
meant to leave a bad mark.
His mother had lost her youth without ever feeling its presence. It slipped like the
fastest wind. But she had pinned all her hopes on her son. He was her sale asset and
whole treasure.
In those days, jobs were not easy to find. Despite his constant and desperate
efforts, Kafi could not secure any sort of regular job. But his mother assured him after every
failure, that he would earn his place one day with his firm faith in himself. Kafi had
developed great love for reading during his stay at the college and spent every free moment
in the college library. Reading further shaped and sharpened his vision about life. And his
understanding and faith regarding the primacy of dreams in life reached the remotest
frontiers.
One day with the help of a benign stroke of luck Kafi was able to earn a part-time
job as assistant editor with the publisher of a bi-monthly literary magazine. He offered
his assistance regarding editing of short works of fiction for the magazine.
Since he was a beginner, a little salary was fixed for him first. Even this little
amount of money fairly relieved his mother of her burden, for she could now not work
every day because of her ill health and age. Kafi pleaded with his mother on many occasions
to let him take the full responsibility of their little family and stop her labour. But she never
The Ravi 20 II 101

yielded and said, 'I will continue to offer you my little support as long as I can. I still have
enough life in me.'
Whenever he spoke anything about it, his mother said, 'My dreams don't let
me rest. They tell me to walk on my feet and not to leave my burden on you entirely. There
is an undying grace in work.' This closed the whole chapter every time. And Kafi's
dream of becoming the sole breadwinner for his little family could not materialize.
Two souls were again stirred in a cryptic nether chamber to converse with each
other in an ethereal light. It was all an uncanny atmosphere. A dim halo of light surrounded
each soul, as if to honour them regarding some special roles they had played in their previous
existences. The communication on an uncommon plane thus began:
soul.
'I had a dream and I brought it in the general light,' said the first relatively reflective
'I shaped a concrete reality; not a dream,' asse11ed the second soul with a definite air.
'Life is an imitation of a dream; dreams are its essence and hence they earn
primacy,' said the first one.
'Reality comes first, for life essentially is real and it is the only thing out there to be
felt and dealt with,' stated the second one firmly.
'But there is a hell of crises and trouble between my dream and the reality you have
shaped,' uttered the first one with equal vigor to indicate the missing link.
It gave the second soul an overwhelming pause and after some thinking it
said, 'It happens when people fail to deal with reality in a truly pragmatic and active
way, and because of it they fail to construct a better reality.'
'It happens when reality is shockingly divorced from good dreams and all reality
remains less than an illusion in the absence of a positive dream to give it form and
meaning,' stated the first soul with a resounding resolve.
At that very moment, echoes were heard in the whole nether world and they
stretched to its nethermost recesses. Acknowledging their sure intensity, it could be said
that some of those waves may well have reached the outer sphere, where few had a chance of
being drenched in the sea of noise, pains and worries.
It made the second soul disappear. And with a grave and melancholic air, the first
soul too left its place after some time, leaving a deserted mystifying void after it, in the dark.
Kafi woke up in the middle of the night, perturbed by the same strange dream for
the third time. His whole being was in the grip of shudder, and he was panting with his face
bearing a confounded expression. After some anxious moments, he was able to sleep
again with the resolve to share his dream with his mother in the morning.
The next day Kafi narrated his dream to his mother and asked her in a perturbed
way, 'Mother, how can hell come between a dream and a reality?' She listened to
him with attention and after some contemplation said, 'I can explain your dream in the
simplest possible words by saying that it means: all the ugly aspects of reality around you
persist because they are not guided by good dreams.' She assured him that his dream
contained a very constructive message of living a meaningful life; so, he should continue
to believe in his dreams and in himself. Kafi had had a two-year work experience and his
The Ravi 2011 102

editing skills had improved tremendously, during that time. His interest in reading had also
grown enormously. He had impressive discussions with the editor-in-chief of the magazine
about the relation of literature with life, and in what way a good work of art could influence
the minds of people. He also started writing short stories on the subjects of interest to him.
He spent his morning hours with his mother every day, and read a few pages from
any good book which he could lay his hands on, from his little collection. After having
his lunch with his mother, he left for work at 1.30 pm each day. Those were the sizzling
days of summer. One felt burnt at the slightest touch of the callous air. Everywhere,
most of the trees that lined both sides of the city roads, had lost their green look under
the cover of dust; the clouds of dust kept rising after the passage of every vehicle, with
short intervals. Clinging to the bus, (for normally the seats were occupied) and pushing
and pulling against the people, bearing a hell of heat every day, Kafi used to reach the place
of his work. When he went back to his house in the evening, the first sight of him
would glitter his mother's eyes as all her worry of wait would end.
Kafi's love of reading knew no bounds. Every Sunday, he spent two hours in
the evening reading in a library in the inner city. He read books, magazines and
newspapers. He felt especially worried after reading the newspapers and hearing from people
who would indulge in little talks here and there, about the disturbing events which
were happening every other day, in almost every city of the country. In the face of the
unending problems and pressures of reality, the people were becoming more and more
disillusioned and violent. He could see that the distance between the good dreams and the
ugly reality around him was growing every moment.
One Sunday evening Kafi met a man in his early thirties in the same library. The
man had an aura of musing and erudition about him. Kafi entered into an introductory
discussion with the man and learned that that man was a poet. Both of them proved
like-minded and an intimate relationship was established between them even during
their first meeting. The poet was also impressed by Kafi's good literary taste and his
profound understanding of things.
Kafi kept visiting the library on Sundays, and his inclination to read now
was not as strong as his urge to meet the poet. He told the poet about his dreams and how
they were instilled in him by his mother. On one occasion he asked the poet, 'What do think
about the role of dreams in our lives?' The poet said, 'Every human act is stimulated by a
dream. There are good dreams as well as bad dreams, and it depends on us which dreams we
allow to thrive inside us and employ to mould the reality of our life. A beautiful dream
gives birth to a beautiful reality! The alleys of good dreams can only carry one to the grand
mansion of reality.' The narrative of life can have no reality without dreams; rather it will
totally cease to be.'
To Kafi, all this seemed much closer to his own view about dreams. He questioned
the poet about the room for hope, especially highlighting the uncertain circumstances in the
country and the frequent acts of violence and bloodshed which left the people with little
reason to be optimistic.
'My dear, there is no life if there is no hope,' said the poet with an air of belief.
'Believing in the darkness of despair is very easy and its preachers can be found
everywhere. But grasping the spirit of hope and advocating it is difficult, and even
The Ravi 2011 103

impossible for a dark mind. Even history gives evidence of the fact that the majorIty
worshipping the deity of despair has often forsaken the few upholders of hope. Only a
true stalwart can do the daring act of keeping the torch of hope burning and high. And
standing for hope yields sure dividends at the end.'
These discussions with the poet proved immensely enlightening for Kafi, and
their relationship consistently rose to the rare heights of intimacy.
The summer was still around and two months had passed since Kafi first met the
poet. On the evening of a scorching summer day Kafi was returning to his house on bus,
after work. The bus reached the last stop in about an hour where Kafi got off. From here,
his house was half a mile away and he covered this distance every day, despite being tired,
on foot with the hope to ultimately rest in the lap of his mother, where all worries would
come to an immediate end with the first benign touch.
Following his routine, he went across the road to buy bread from the big Bright
Bakery for breakfast. No sooner had he entered the bakery, that there was a huge
explosion which shattered everything to bits. The entire atmosphere was wrapped in a dense
sheet of dust and smoke. Flames of fire were rising high, gnawing everything. All the people
were killed in the bakery and outside a few passing pedestrians received severe injuries.
Within a few moments, ambulances were scurrying around, shifting their main
focus to recover the injured and transport them to hospitals, being baffled by the bits of the
dead. Later, it was reported that a bomb planted under a parked car in front of the
bakery, had exploded.
This blow had proved fatal for Kafi, the dreamer. On the other side of this great
divide, Kafi's old mother was waiting for the return of her son with an unusual anxiety in
her house. The blurred birds of dreams kept feebly fluttering in her mind behind the wall of a
dark curtain which had suddenly fallen from nowhere.
The poet too waited on the next few Sundays. Being disillusioned by Kafi's
constant absence, he finally attributed it to a probable loss of his interest in reading.
The writer is a second year student of B.A (Hons) - English Literature at GCU.
The Ravi 20II 104

"Me"and "Myself'
Ushna Butt
You believe in miracles, don't you? Maybe you will believe me and understand
power of true love and bonding after reading my story.
I had never been alone in my life. I was born with a twin brother. We grew up
together, spending literally every minute of our lives together. Our bond of love grew
stronger with each passing day. We were so close that sometimes I felt that we were a single
soul dwelling in two bodies. He joined the army and had to go away for long periods, but
distances could not diminish our affection; r knew he would always be there when I needed
him. But one day changed it all.
Fate ripped him out of my life into the cold realm of death. He was plunged out of
my cocoon of love and care, while I stood helpless. For the first time in my life, I felt all
alone and that feeling was heart-breaking, not just metaphorically but I actually felt it; every
single bit breaking from the whole. What I now have are just a bunch of colourful memories,
of days which will never come back again.
I felt as if every colour had evaporated from the universe. All that was left were
different shades of grey and black. The sun went down behind a thick veil of dark clouds;
every leaf turned brown, flowers wilted and buds lost their desire of ever blossoming; birds
lost their voices, happiness bid farewell to earth, affection left every heart and love closed its
eyes on mankind.
****************
On the day of his burial I remember standing in the graveyard, beside the coffin,
listening to saluting gunshots. I didn't feel pain anymore. By then, I had become accustomed
to grey and black everywhere, blurred images and numbness. A void had taken the place of
my heart; just an empty space, not even the broken pieces could be felt any more.
r knew I had to take one last look at that handsome young face, to make it real. I
opened the coffin and saw him lying there, covered in a green-white flag, wearing his
wounds proudly like medals. My fingertips traced his sharp features, which appeared so
peaceful beneath the layer of blood and dirt. They were carved forever in my mind.
I touched his cheek and he opened his eyes ..... his beautiful brown eyes, and looked
straight at me. I remember being happy, exhilarated, satisfied, joyous, but not surprised. No;
I somehow knew deep down, at the core of my heart that my love could bring Ie ',m back. We
had been together even before we came to this world, so how could death have tom us apart.
Our bond was too strong to be broken by the cold realities of life.
He stepped out of the coffin, the green-white flag still resting on his broad
shoulders. I looked around, expecting joy to break on everyone's face but they stood sadly,
still looking at the empty coffin. They didn't even notice him standing beside me. I yelled out
loudly: "A miracle has happened; God does care. The heavens have interfered; life is fair."
But no one listened to me. A woman, probably my mother shook her head sadly--- even she,
who used to say that martyrs never die; they live after death.
the
The Ravi 2011 105

A cannon sounded somewhere and a group of soldiers marched forward. The blurry,
grey shadows picked up the empty black coffin, laid it in the grave and started putting dirt on
it.
I don't know why everyone acted so weird. I know what happened wasn't ordinary
but then, one just cannot close ones eyes to whatever happens around him/her.
I looked up at him in confusion, trying to understand why everyone didn't accept the
fact that he was alive; not dead. In answer to my unasked question, he gave his secretive
smile and came close to me. He held my hand in his own and miraculously, his hand
penetrated mine; slowly his arms entered my arms and within a few seconds we had blended
together so beautifully that he had become ME. It was like mixing two liquids together;
smoothly and easily.
And suddenly every colour of the universe returned, brighter than ever. The sun
came out of its gloomy veil; the leaves turned green once again, buds opened with the
sweetest fragrance; the birds found their voices back, happiness returned to earth, affection
found its way back into every heart and love opened its eyes to mankind again.
Eventually, I understood everything. My desire for his return had been so strong that
fate had sent him back to me, in a way that we could be together till the very end. But other
people could not understand this; and they still don't believe me. Their mechanical and
scientific minds refuse to accept this miracle; this interference of heavens in my life. That
day we looked back once; everyone was crowded around the empty grave, showering it with
flowers. So "ME" and "MYSELF" turned back and walked out of the graveyard together,
happy to have reunited.
The writer is a first year student of B.A (Hons)-English Literature at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 106

The Water Bubble
Syed Hassan Waqar
Delicately, with a glint in his eyes, the child blows into the soapy loop before him.
His breath arrives at the soapy surface and slowly a water bubble drifts out. I watch as the
bubble swims in the air, away from the child who is now clapping wildly and jumping
frantically with hungry, excited eyes trying to hold it back. Such a dilemma, I think. Man is
so afraid to let go of his own creations. The bubble drifts, and in that moment I can see,
enclosed within the soapy layers of the sphere, life. Life ...a mere confrontation of blood and
flesh holding down a violent soul, of soap and water engulfing an exhaled
breath.Life .... surrounded by a harsh reality as cold as air.Air .... that both canies it forward on
its journey and threatens to crush it.A delicate balance of life and death. A balance between
air on either side of a soapy veil. Swoosh! I fly high. Pop! And the little trick is over. Click!
And in that moment of time I see how life is as good as a water bubble. And as bad as that!
Realization is absurd at times. How an amalgamation of soap and water, as evident
as light, as invisible as air, can help you understand reality. The water bubble sparkled in the
sun showering a consortium of colours here and there. The very semblance of childhood.The
guise of a rib-tickling laughter, of toys and swings, of chocolates and cartoons, of silly
mischief, of pictured books, of bed-time stories, of ignorance, of innocence, of trinkets and
of wonder. An abstract blend of everything cute and beautiful, all momentarily encapsulated
in one bubble; which I could see immaculate in the hazel of the little child's eyes, just as the
breeze took it a little higher up. I could see in the bubble's soapy texture, reminiscence of
times that I envy now. Vigorous Youth. It swayed in the wind like a college student dancing
arm in arm with his teenage crush at prom. It floated merrily, unhindered by the calm breeze
that threatened to blow against its meagre existence. Youthful, determined. Much like a man
at that age is, full of strength, brimming with raw emotions that overflow sometimes,
engulfed by lost temptations, eager with far-fetched ambitions.An age that brings with it
freedom and hope. When blood gushes through the veins, when failure and success hop
about like a merry-go-round, when carelessness prevails and burden of vague responsibilities
and pressure of deliverance cannot tie down the excitement of early manhood.
Those crystal clear images viewed through a soapy "looking-glass" remind me of a
time well spent. Sigh! Barely two seconds have passed between the child's soft blow that
created the tiny bubble, and now, when I see it from across the road. The wind is intent upon
testing the tiny bubble. It struggles to exist. The water bubble is as feeble as I am now. Frail
and weak.A madman resisting the inevitable. I can see what is happening. A lifetime of
existence flashes before my eyes. Regret and redemption hit me, wounding my ailing soul.
The bubble fights against the inevitable. Life trying to repel death.A battle which can never
be won. The breath caught inside the soap-and-water wall is destined to be free. We are
destined to extinction. The brain is working fast, conjuring up images of all rights and
wrongs that I have done. Fears and weakness, wisdom and mediocrity colour the bubble
white.
The breath gets caught up. The soul poises, stretches, springs free and is drawn out
of the limping lifeless body, silencing the heart and drowning the mind. A stray gust of air
thrashes against the bubble's resolve, shattering the veil that keeps the air diffusing into its
The Ravi 2011 107

somehow, manages to reach his home with a world of contradictions in his immature mind- a
mind that had recently started working properly, but had received a shock, inducing
pessimism in it. He, unconsciously, dashes at the small door cf his house, opening it with an
unusual hard push. His nerves are exhausted, hair disheveled, clothes dirty, face black with
smoke, breath hasty and eyes red, full of fear ... the horror of devastation ... the terror of the
road ... the fright of the bomb.
On seeing his miserable condition, his mother becomes intensely worried. She
embraces him passionately and calms him, verbally. She makes him sit beside a wall, on the
other side of which is the main road. He seems to be comfortable there as long as no sound
of traffic can be heard on the road. But, as the sound of vehicle horns strike his ear drums,
the whole incident of the bomb blast on the road gets played inevitably again and again in his
mind. His veins staI1 to throb, refusing to calm down. With eyes fully shut, he presses his
ears hard but cannot shun the horrible experience. He leaves that wall, immediately, and
sticks himself to another wall with an intention to keep maximum distance from the road.
But unfortunately, he cannot run away, for it is the only room in the so-called house. Feeling
helpless, he statts crying bitterly, with painful screams which worsen his condition. He is
afraid, that sooner or later, there will be a bomb blast on the road that neighbors his house
and he would also lose his parts of body, against the law of nature. He is scared of the range
of destruction, as he knows that a single wall would not be able to save him from the bomb.
Seeking safety, he runs away from the house, and arrives at the nearby river where he gains
temporary satisfaction. Standing at its bank, he regains his calm, thinking that he will be safe
under water. He leans towards his totality, embraces the rushing river, adhering to the law of
nature by surrendering his mere existence in a greater continuation, steps forward, completes
his journey, and is saved from the apprehensions of this world .... saved, at last!
The writer is a second year student of F.Sc at GCU.
The Ravi 20 J J 110

"You Think you've been Born?"
Fatima Tanveer
They say a person who has not seen Lahore hasn't been born yet. Is that true? Let's
find out, let's go on a journey discovering Lahore.
The historical buildings in old Lahore remind you of united India, the Freedom
Movement and our freedom fighters. Old Lahore delicately keeps Lahore Fort in it. The
Badshahi Mosque is seen housing thousands of Muslims during Eid and Jumma prayers and
Lahore is honored to have the Badshahi Mosque in it. Then, there is the slim, tall, white
monument which is soothing to the eyes, and symbolizes PAKISTAN-yes you guessed it
right - the "Minar-e-Pakistan".
Next to these magnificent monuments we smell things incredibly tantalizing. The
food of old Lahore is unavoidable and known simply as "Khaaba". It is spicy, smoky,
delicious, and traditional in presentation and eclipses almost every five star cuisine. To tell
you a secret, the Chanay Walas there are probably millionaires, keeping their own BMWs
and accounts in fancy Swiss Banks.
While eating out in the open air in the heart of Lahore, one cannot overlook the
vehicles that the locals use, "Xingxi" also famous as "Chaand Gari", " Tonga" and other
various kinds of chariots. A ride on anyone of these vehicles is a treat indeed.
Sitting on a Tonga will incite you to notice the old houses around you. You see
them as far as your eyesight allows you to. Old wooden houses in dilapidated condition are
still pleasing to the eyes, especially when you think of the warmhearted people who used to
live in them or those who still do. Their small, grilled windows make you imaginate young
girls looking out for their Romeos.
While interacting with Lahore you interact with its people. Lahori people are
hospitable, welcoming, creative and creature of their own kind.
A trip down the historical Mall Road of Lahore presents you with a historical time
line of sorts. StaJting from the Lower Mall, at first you see the most eye-pleasing of colonial
architecture, You see the Government College buildings, the Lahore Museum, the High
Court, the Lahore Zoo, the Bagh-e-Jinnah housing the famous Jinnah Library, and numerous
other places which are connected to our history one way or the other. FlIlther along the road,
Lahore offers its visitors luxurious hotels; the Pearl Continental and Avari. You can rest a
little here before Lahore shows you more of itself.
Going further on this journey one would like to name Lahore the" Green City". The
floral decoration adds to the beauty of the city. Lahore is convincingly known as the City of
Gardens. For all the plantation and fresh air, a big thank you surely goes to Punjab
Horticulture Authority.
On top of all that, Lahore has a beautiful, breezy refreshing
right in the middle.
canal, cutting the city
A smooth transformation can be witnessed as you go near the well-planned and
developed new Lahore. Big glass buildings, and moon-scrappers (a trifle less than
sky-scrappers) meet the eyes. Every latest car can be seen on the roads; from big monsters to
low, slim sports cars. A change in housing can be seen, from the old housing in old Lahore
The Ravi 2011 111

to the new planned housing societies of the new city with all luxuries inside. Lahore, thus, is
a blend of the historic old and modem one, which is a model for new cities all over the
world.
Lahore, as a city, is a trend setting one. It is a city which caters to the elite and poor
and from old to the young. Lahore accepts all. From patyala shalwar andshort shirts to long
shil1s and flappers; from jeans tops to skirt tops, all blend in Lahore. It is a multi-cultural
metropolis of a multi-cultured country, all proving that Lahore welcomes all.
Lahore is the capital of Punjab and surely has all the qualities of a capital. It is also
regarded as the culture capital of Pakistan and rightfully so. A beautiful city, which is a must
visit for all. So much so that we can proudly say that YES if you have not seen Lahore you
are not born yet!
The writer is a second year student of B.A(Hons) - English Literature at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 112

You know you are Crazy when ...
Zohrain Bhaur
You have headphones plugged in your ears and you are daydreaming about God
only knows what. Suddenly a slow, retarded smile forms on your lips and you start smiling
like a fool. Gradually this smile widens and before you know it you are laughing out loud.
You do not need other people to stare at you incredulously to know you are insane. You
realize that yourself when this hysterical episode ends. Still it's a happy sort of crazy that you
are because whatever reason caused that laughter, lingers on in the guise of a loony smile for
some time to follow.
Here's another scenario. And this I have personally observed in tons of people. You
are staring at that cellular screen and your face is expressionless (which is not possible; for
even when you are expressionless you still have some expression. THAT is your constant
expression) and you get a text. By the time you are done reading, you are smiling like the
idiot that you know you are. Or in some cases you can sense deep-set anger or even sadness.
What the hell. You can instantaneously observe the quick play of emotions as the content of
the message unfolds. This however, is an unintentional digression. Back to the topic.
Oh yes, this is one of my favourites. You really have to go to the job. So you rush
towards the bathroom and as you turn the light on you come across that ugly, rubbery thing
that clings on walls. Yes, you got it right, a LIZARD. Now you really need to pee but you are
scared the darn thing will fall right on you. So what do you do? You stand there staring at
that hideous creature right into its tiny eyes. You refuse to blink and neither does it. So far it
is a visual combat. But the pressure on your bladder gradually increases and you decide to
give it a piece of your mind. You start to curse at the damned thing and think that will do the
trick, and it will leave you alone. But no, it stays there, adamant and challenging. At one
point you can almost see it snickering at you. Now that does it. Not even "you" are going to
stand snickering from a rubbery old thing! Already it is looking down upon you! There is
only 'so' much insult you will take. And so you resort to the age-old technique of shooing it
away. Flinging your arms around wildly! And finally you can answer that persistent
nature-call in peace.
(Oh, and the insect and situation is subject to change. The basic point here is talking
to insects)!
The summers test your patience really, to the absolute extreme. Anyhow a peculiar
thing happens as a result of extreme weather I would like to believe. It so happens when you
are unable to function because the heat has melted your brain; and inevitably, you start
slapping yourself. An odd reaction I must say and one that does not help in bringing down
the temperature anyway. Yet you keep at it, slapping yourself randomly on your arms and
lamenting it's too hot. Your friends, those who know you are prone to this, ignore it. This
case of slapping yourself is also seen when you are unable to keep yourself from falling
asleep in the middle of an extremely boring lecture. A couple of slaps might just rouse you or
maybe not.
Here, now comes my favourite type of craziness. Picture this. You wash your hands
in college and surprisingly there is soap. So now you have to open the door to get out of the
cafeteria and what do you do? You can obviously NOT use your hands because you only just
The Ravi 2011 113

washed them and there are all sorts of ugly stains on the glass door anyway. So you do what
any sane person would do, you use your foot to push the door open and let yourself out. And
you feel so great at having accomplished that without getting your hands dirty. But then you
become so obsessed with it that you NEVER use your hands to operate any object that could
have been touched by another living soul. What you do is you use tissues or newspapers or
even better just shove the thing out of your way with your foot. How convenient, no? You
shall always remain impeccably clean.
And then there is that phenomenon of walking down the stairs on your tips only.
Makes you wonder if you wanted to be a ballerina while growing up or are so fond of heels
that even when you are not wearing them, you prefer walking on your toes. Also while you
are walking, you might occasionally skip or jump just for the sake of it; it's always good to
break the monotony. And the uncanny ability some people have, of running right into a wall
or a person for that matter. You should always see where you are going, but I do believe
people deliberately change their path so that they can run into you and walls somehow
magically come to be in your way.
At this point, this is becoming utter gibberish. So I shall stop now. However, the
craziness does not end here! It is an ever-evolving process of growth and development that
even our sociologists do not know how to deal with! Ha-ha, lame joke.
The writer is a third year student of B.Sc (Hons)-Psychology
at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 114

Knock, knock.
I am Beautiful.
Tahleel Iqbal
I rush to open the door. Whoa! Who's this? He totally looks like and before I
make that impossible connection alive in my mind, he says, "Hello, I am Albus Dumbledore
and I'm here to see your parents."
"Oh!" I manage to utter, "Um ...sure ...right this way please."
"So you're saying I can do magic just like you and you want me to go to Hogwarts to
study magic so that I can be a proper witch?" I ask him unbelievingly.
"Yes, and a mighty good one too!" He says and I see that twinkle in his eyes.
"Okay, now Al must have been doing some weird stuff lately but this is way too
much!" My mum says with a worried glance towards me and then immediately, "AI, honey,
you need to complete your homework."
Ok that's my cue. Slowly, I get up and staring as much as I can at that long-bearded
man, I walk out of there. I come in my room and tum to look at my books.
Maths. Ughh!
Hogwarts. Wow!
I think of Mum and Dad. Damn! They'll never allow it.
"AU" Mum calls, and I literally run to the drawing room, "Say goodbye to Mr.
Dumbledore, he's your headmaster now."
I look at my parents completely shocked. Mr. Dumbledore
it smiling, unable to hide all my teeth.
offers his hand and I take
"See you at Hogwarts, Alexandra. I hope that you'll be a very good student."
And before I can interrupt, he goes on, "I have explained everything you need to
know and have, to your parents. Good luck dear!" He smiles and turns to leave while I tum
to look at my Dad, overwhelmed. He gives me a soft smile and I hug him tightly.
****************
I'm in London. I look around, awed. Diagon Alley ....Gringotts ....Platform Nine and
Three Quarters. "Al! Look where you're walking!"Mum shouts from somewhere behind me
and I hastily straighten my pace ...Hogwarts Express .... the boats, the lake ..... then finally,
Hogwarts! Yippee!!
I scream with glee and that's where I wake up.
****************
I used to dream that when I was ten or eleven. It isn't that it was my first bizarre
dream. I always dreamt like this ever since I can remember. However, I mentioned this
particular one because I used to think about it a lot. I still do. I would talk to myself for hours
about it and I can clearly remember, at one point, my mum grew really worried about me as
to why I kept on talking to myself like that. I find it funny because I just loved fantasizing
The Ravi 2011 115

about myself in that magical world! Even then I knew it was childish and none of this could
ever happen, but every time the doorbell rang, a pmt of me always hoped that a long-bearded
man with blue, twinkling eyes would be standing at the doorstep. Just thinking about that
dream gave me a satisfaction nothing else could.
I never stopped dreaming. I tried to live in the practical world. I really did. But
whenever my homework was undone, I had to show test results to my parents, or after some
silly fight with friends, I couldn't help dreaming. Dreaming about a world in which things
were so different around me. Whenever I couldn't sleep at night, lying awake, I would dream
which made me so peaceful that I would fall asleep immediately.
I still dream, of course, and about the many things sUlTounding me. But now I have
understood the real meaning of these meaningless dreams. They give me hope. I don't know
how bizarre this may sound but these dreams light a fire inside me, making me push myself
up when I'm feeling low. Motivating me to keep it together when I'm about to break down.
So now, they've become a part of me. A part which tells me I'm never alone, a part inside me
which, even in the worst of situations, tells me that I can achieve anything I want. A part of
me which screams: I'm beautiful.
The writer is a first year student of B.A (Rons )- English Literature at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 116

A Polar Bear's Address
Aitzaz
As the day wore on, the exuberant rays of the sun shown brighter upon all and
sundry. Multitudes of families were thronging the zoo. With a balloon in one hand and the
other hand clasped by mothers, children were moving from cage to cage, beholding the
strange creatures and getting mesmerized.
The zoo possessed a pair of polar bears too. They were kept in a perfect simulation
of their real home back in the snowy mountains--a makeshift cave, a pool bearing fish,
walruses and rocks. etc.
The female bear decided to stay back inside the cave. Her consort however, came
out to answer the many stares directed at him.
He started to move about the zoo, having a careful look at all kinds of people, who
had turned up there, scanning his moves. Apparently, his look was tinged with a slight
contempt and hostility for humankind. Finally, he spoke:
"Ah, what a fine day, thanks to nature. And you, my dear fellow animals, have
chosen such an insane mode to steal a chunk out of your hectic routine of mechanized lives
to please yourselves--by gaping at me.
What I actually hear is that you call yourselves the images of God on this earth. My
apologies--I feel a little hesitation to do that; you don't even know the fundamental principles
of good manners. You don't seem to have the idea that it's impolite to stare at others! We, the
animals, or shall I say inferior animals, have also got certain vulnerable feelings that deem
staring as impolite. But then, alas, as you're superior animals, you always have got some
justification for your odious and obnoxious actions. For that matter, it looks like I'm casting
pearls before swine.
My dear boy, I'm afraid that your eyes may fall out of their sockets should you keep
staring at me like that. Now now little girl! Why are you throwing banana peelings at me?
How dare you take unfair advantage of my helpless position?
What a life that had been when I was completely free to roam around on the mounds
of ice, stretching for miles and miles; when fish-hunting in the splendid golden rays of the
sun was my favourite activity; when, after having a meal, I used to jump over the soft, gentle
snow for play. But it seems impossible to indulge in these sweet reminiscences in front of
staring idiots!
What a pity! A few moments bon"owed from routine life to find an escape to all that
robotic life you have trapped yourselves in. These little children you have brought with you
truly represent you. I saw them pestering the deer over there. They are afraid of my
magnificence though. Is that the moral lesson you're teaching them? Indoctrinating them to
boss over and stamp the poor, and cringe before the strong? I bet that exactly is the case.
What is more shameful is that you call our laws 'the law of the jungle' founded upon
the principle of 'might is right', eh? I'm sorry, we are not the images of God on the earth,
possessing intellect and brains that are but unique to you. We are merely souls who possess
as much an intellect as you possess manners. Souls--for whose salvation you have built
mosques and churches. You claim to possess culture and civilization but what is it that I
The Ravi 2011 117
Arif

hear? Two great wars bursting your own selves into smithereens just for the sake of
superiority and rule?
Hiding under the veil of humanitarianism, murdering your own kind. I'm getting a
little tired of answering you and am going to retire to my cave. Woe to the unfair contest
where one is against many.
Certainly, no one can parallel man in tyranny and selfishness!"
The writer is a second year F.A student at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 118

Government College: Those Were the Days
By Pran Nevile
Introduction:
Extracts from the following article are taken from his book entitled "Lahore, a
Sentimental Journey" first published in 1993. Pran Nevile was born in Lahore from where he
obtained a postgraduate degree. After a distinguished career in the Indian Foreign Service
and the United Nations, he became a freelance writer and has written extensively on Indian
art and culture.
(Courtesy:
Parvez Rahim)
The magnificent Gothic edifice of Government College, Lahore, occupying a
commanding site, could be seen from practically every housetop in the walled city where I
lived until my adolescence. I still recall how, as a child, I was overawed by its majestic
grandeur. It was designed by W. Purdon, C.E., and constructed by Raj Kanhya Lal, C.E., in
1877 at a cost of Rs. 320,000. The college opened in January 1864 and was originally
housed in Dhian Singh'shaveli in Hira Mandi inside the Taxali gate of the city. Later in my
school days, I found the Gothic spires of the building somewhat similar to those of the
Houses of Parliament in London as illustrated in our English textbook, Simple Chapters on
English Life. I also remember when our science teacher, in his lesson on the production of
natural electricity in thunder clouds, cited the example of college's spire topped with a
conductor as protection against a lightening strike. Then studying in the D.A.V. High School
(now Government Muslim School No.2) in the vicinity of Government College, I often
cycled home past the college gate facing the courts. I always dreamt about studying in this
college which had by now attained pre-eminent status throughout the country, surpassing the
older presidency colleges of Calcutta, Bombay and Madras.
While preparing for the matriculation examination I told my father about my keen
desire to join this college. A modest official, he smiled and said, "Government College is
meant for the sons of rich titleholders like Khan, Rai, Sardar, Sahjbs and Bahadurs, plus
students from Chiefs' College and the Government Central Model School. Of course, they do
take a few bright students on merit and if you win a university scholarship you may get a
chance." I took this as a challenge and, though good in studies, made a resolution to achieve
my goal. Thus, in May 1937 when the results were announced, I had not only won a
scholarship but also achieved a high rank in the Punjab University securing 703 marks out of
850. This boosted my confidence in fulfilling my wish. Incidentally, in those days the
university offered forty scholarships strictly on merit. Each scholarship carried a monthly
stipend of Rs. 18.
So the day of reckoning arrived. I think it was around the 20th of May 1937 that I
was summoned for an interview for admission to Government College. In school we seldom
spoke English and though quite adept in reading and writing, I was not very fluent in
speaking. Here my uncle, a post-graduate and an Anglophile, came to my rescue and tutored
me enough to allay my apprehensions. Nearly seventy years have lapsed but I vividly
remember how nervously I faced the selection committee chaired by the principal, H. B.
The Ravi 2011 119

Dunnicliff, along with other distinguished professors including the vice-principal, G. D.
Sondhi, J. B. Seth and Eric Dickinson. When asked why I wanted to join the college I
promptly replied, "Sir, as it is the best in India". In fact I had already prepared the answer to
this anticipated question. When asked about my favourite subject I spoke the truth and
mentioned Sanskrit. I had little interest in sports but had occasionally handled a hockey stick,
so when asked to name my chosen sport, I timidly answered "Hockey". Thereupon I was told
to be at the Oval at 4:30 p.m. for the test. I did not fare well but Professor A.R. Khanna, who
was evaluating the performance, was kind enough to overlook my shortcomings in
consideration of my academic record. Additionally one of Professor Khanna's favourite
senior students, C.L. Bhardwaj, had requested him to help me out. All this drill finally
enabled me to enter the portals of this great institution and earn the label of a Ravian.
Incidentally, only six other boys out of nearly a hundred applicants from my school
succeeded in obtaining admission to Government College.
Although many students hailed from wealthy families, there was no class distinction
in the college. What mattered was how smartly one was dressed and one's academic and
sporting achievements. As freshers it took us time to form groups with like-minded
classmates. Given my academic record I did not want to be dubbed a padhaku (bookworm)
so I went out of my way to make friends with smal1-looking boys who were average in
studies but extrovet1s. I was able to impress quite a few of them with my singing talent: we
often held these enjoyable sessions in the Oval. It was also fashionable to talk about the
latest movies, especially the English ones, and the sex appeal and seductive charms of the
leading actresses of those days such as Greta Garbo, Norma Shearer, Heddy Lamar and
others.
The faculty boasted of a galaxy of professors and lecturers educated at Oxford or
Cambridge, such as Eric Dickinson, Richardson, Sirajudin, I. M. Varma, A. R. Khanna, J. B.
Seth, Imdad Hussain, Malik Ahmad Hussain, Ghulam Mustafa 'Tabbusum', Abdul Hamid,
Gauri Shankar and Harnam Singh. Attired in black gowns they would majestically enter the
classrooms to deliver their lectures. Some would dictate from worn-out notebooks while
others encouraged a dialogue with students and enlivened their lectures with spicy
anecdotes.
We were amused to find three professors teaching us English: Baldoon Dhingra,
Harish Kathpalia and Eric Dickinson. One of them lectured on poetry, another on prose, and
the third taught us grammar and composition. They encouraged us to be independent and
pursue our studies diligently. Physics was taught by professors, J. B. Seth and Kichlu. Our
Mathematics teacher, Professor S. A. Hamid, was a quiet, serious man, and extremely
helpful to students.
The college professors and lecturers were fairly well off. They were all elegantly
dressed and invariably entered the classroom with a black gown covering their shoulders. In
matters of dress, Professor Siraj-ud-Din impressed me the most with his corduroy jacket
studded with leather patches on the elbows. Those belonging to the Indian Education Service
were like the ruling Indian Education Service elite and others held different grades of the
Provincial Education Service comparable to the Provincial Civil Service of those days. Some
of them drove their own cars while the senior professors were chauffeur-driven. This
reminds me of a special order issued by the College authorities sometime in 1939-40
forbidding students to bring their personal cars inside the college campus. It was rumoured at
The Ravi 2011 120

the time that a parent had complained to the principal that his son used to take away his car
to impress his classmates, leaving his father high and dry.
Another traditional form of entertainment was the dramatics club; we looked
forward to the annual plays performed in the college hall. I still remember the famous names
associated with the Government College Dramatics Club such as Balraj Sahni (later a
renowned film actor), A. S. Bokhari, Imtiaz Ali Taj, Kalyani Gupta and of course G. D.
Sondhi, the founding father of the open air theatre in Lawrence Gardens. Eminent citizens
and senior government officials came to see the plays at the college. We also had some
budding poets and listened to their recitations at special gatherings in the Oval. I vividly
remember my classmate, Masud, who wrote under the pen name of Mushtaq, and Arshad
Mahmud who would display his knowledge of tarranum and classical music which he
claimed to have learnt from the famous contemporary composer, Rafiq Ghaznavi. This
reminds me of another class fellow, Ved Parkash Jauhar, who entertained us by delivering a
dialogue from the super hit film Pukar starring Sohrab Modi, Chander Mohan and Naseem.
He had memorized this famous dialogue having seen the film a dozen times. On my paJ1 I
would display my erudition by quoting the couplets of Mirza Ghalib most appropriate to the
occasion. I would also recite Omar Khayam's verses immol1alized in English by Fitzgerald.
There was no tea or coffee shop, only a milk bar that offered flavoured milkshakes
with banana-splits soaked in cream. Owned by Nahar Singh, it was located near the
Chemistry block but later moved to a covered place near the cycle stand. This was a
favourite spot for ragging, teasing and making fun of the freshers, the little we had in those
days to amuse ourselves. A typical joke was to snatch the solar hat from the head, use it as a
handball and make the newcomer run after it. Another favourite joint was Jalal's tuck shop
just across the road from the college gate. Even after nearly seven decades I can well recall
the delicious almond sharbat and sweet limewater he offered for one anna a glass. During the
winter months he used to sell fresh orange and pomegranate juice for two annas a glass. Jalal
was himself an institution and entertained the students with his amusing anecdotes and
enriched our knowledge of carnal pleasures. He offered liberal credit to his student
customers but they dared not default on monthly payments.
Some of the boys could be considered homosexuals. My classmate Masud wrote a
beautiful poem addressed to another friend of ours, Sundar, who captivated his heart. More
than fifty years have passed but I still remember the poem. Here are a few couplets:
'.::.... , 1;, (jf I;IY I;~) e:r}
1;, (jf 'tk \() 0' L,lJ.Ij U~
'.::.... I; .
,
'.::.... , ~ (jY:;- ,.PJ;
~ ";.h
J~ (;; .Jp jf ~ J) L.Y< ,-7.1 '- ~
J~ l-'.JY '-~ ~ U/' Je7 U~
(Who is it that comes swaying and swinging and smiling,
Who is that comes illuminating my dream world?
You are the centre and source of all my interest in college,
The Ravi 2011 121

Otherwise the study of philosophy is a mere excuse,
Dear Sunder, come and build a temple in my forlorn heart.
And let my eyes absorb your image.)
There was no religious teaching whatsoever and we never talked about our
individual faith. The college campus was a totally secular environment, so much so, that it
was considered unfashionable to talk about prayers of any kind or religious rituals which
were considered to be the pursuits of backward and the olihodox people. We were keen to
look modem, act modem and imbibe modem ideas in general, which, in other words, meant
that we gladly welcomed western influences. I recall stirring debates on the subject of
co-education in those days with the majority of participants in its favour.
This occasion, marking the end of the most exciting and happy chapter of our lives,
reminded me of Jalal's customary comment as we laughed our way to his tuck-shop in front
of the college gate
-JI ~)0J.:......IJ}JLiJ~yL/.:......)iJ~Lll:~
(Enjoy yourself. Thank your parents: these days will not come again.)
What we felt for our Alma Mater, more than nostalgia, was an abiding attachment to
an institution where we had grown from boyhood to an impressionable youth. We were now
on the threshold of learning and following a new set of rules and principles in order to
pursue the business of life. Fortunately, we had learnt from our teachers that there was no
short cut to success and that it was imperative to work hard to attain power, position and
privilege.
Parvez Rahim has over forty years' experience in Industrial Relations, mostly in
multinational companies. He is currently working as the Employee Relations Specialist at
the Aga Khan University Hospital since May 2005. Mr. Rahim is an avid writer of letters
and articles on labor legislation and Industrial Relations in the country's leading English
publications, especially the daily Dawn, to which he has contributed more than
three-hundred articles so far.
The Ravi 201 J 122

Faiz- the Subcontinent's
Poet
(Courtesy: The South Asian Times, published from New York)
Prakash Bhandari
This year the lovers of Urdu poetry arecelebrating the birth centenary of Faiz Ahmed
Faiz. He was born on February 13, 1911 at village Kala Kader in Sialkot district of Pakistan
and was educated at Lahore, where he studied English literature and philosophy. He began
his career as a lecturer in English at Amritsar. After World War II, he turned to journalism
anddistinguished himself as the editor of The Pakistan Times. He was charged with
complicity in the Rawalpindi conspiracy case (an attempted coup against the government of
Liaquat Ali Khan in 1951) and was condemned to four years' imprisonment in 1951. The jail
term gave him a first-hand experience of the harsh realities of life, and provided him with the
much-needed leisure and solitude to think out his thoughts and transmute them into poetry.
Two of his books,Dast-e-Saba and Zindan-Nama are the products of this period of
imprisonment.
As a poet, Faiz began writing on the conventional themes of love and beauty, but
soon these conventional themes get submerged in the larger social and political issues of the
day. The traditional griefs of love get fused with the travails of afflicted humanity, and Faiz
uses his poetry to champion the cause of socialistic humanism. Consequently, the familiar
imagery of a love-poet acquires new meanings in the hands of Faiz ... This turning away from
romance to realism, from Eros to Agape is beautifully suggested in his poem (nazm),'Mujh
Se Pehli Si Mohhabat Mere Mehboob Na Maang'.
In diction and style, Faiz may be called the inheritor of the tradition of Ghalib. His
admiration for Ghalib is also reflected in the title of his first published work, Naqsh-e-
Faryadi, which comes straight from the opening line of the first ghazal of Diwan-e- Ghalib.
Although he has written poems in a simple, conversational style, he has a marked preference
for polished, Persianized diction, the diction of the elite rather than of commoners. But
because of the universality of his thought and sympathetic vision, and because of his perfect
handling of the ghazal, his poetry is read and admired in the entire Indian sub-continent.
Faiz is a "committed" poet who regards poetry as a vehicle of serious thought, and
not a mere pleasurable pastime. He does not accept the maxim of "art for art's sake". An
admirer of Karl Marx and a poet of the people, Faiz was honoured by Soviet Russia with the
prestigious Lenin Peace Prize in 1963 and his poems have been translated into Russian
language. He was also nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature shortly before his death
in 1984.His poetical collections include Naqsh-e-Faryadi (1943), Daste-Saba (1952),
Zindan-Nama (1956) and Dast-e-Tah-e-Sang (1965).
His daughter Salima Hashmi, who is currently the Dean of School of Visual Arts in
Lahore, and is an author in her own right, remembered Faiz Saheb during her recent visit to
Jaipur.
In a talk in 1982, Faiz Saheb described how he never did anything in his life for
aduration longer than five years - even jail. Except of course poetry. Salima Hashmi talked of
the life and times of Faiz in the words of the poet himself:
"I stat1ed gradually becoming a poet. Two or three things determined that. I faced
The Ravi 2011 123

hardship after the death of my father. We were the rich men in Sialkot and after the death of
my father we became paupers. But of course that was not all. There was one thing which
created the impulse and the motivation of expressing this ordeal into poetry. I fell in love
with an old playmate of mine, an Afghan girl whose family had come from Afghanistan at
the same time as my father. They settled in a village near Faisalabad as it is called now. My
sister was married in Layalpur as it was then known. I went to see this village so I went to
see my family and there one morning, I saw a very beautiful girl feeding the parrot. She
looked at me and I looked at her and then we promptly feU in love. As was the custom, we
S0l1 of secretly held hands, but that's as far as we could go. She was married off to some rich
landlord. Inever met her again. So we lived unhappily ever afterwards - for eight years".
Salima has vivid memories of her father and remembers the duel career as a poet and
as a Marxist when he went to do his graduation in Lahore's Oriental College."ln his
landmark poem 'Mujh Se Pehli Si Mohhabat Mere Mehboob Na Maang', the traditional
image of the 'beloved' and the turmoil of love is forcefully but not violently identified with
the turmoil of the age. Perhaps not the best, but certainly better known of all of Faiz's poems.
It was the famous singer Noor Jahan's first rendition 'Mujh Se Pehli Si' ..... in 1952 in a
public concert and when she sang it Faiz was in jail.
He heard Noor Jahan's rendition in the jail on radio. They said Noor Jahan was
established as a great singer after this song. "Salima feels this poem was associated mostly
with Faiz's Marxist beliefs that it is not an illustration of dogma, but acknowledges both the
romantic and the Marxist messages. Faiz could draw upon more than one set of sensibilities,
and become the bridge wherein he makes it possible for his audience to embrace the Marxist
message as a humanist one without discarding the reassuring pleasures of tradition. The
theme of the two lovers - one personal, the other of the people, the land or humankind _
could be interpreted as something akin to the Sufi message. I think that is why Faiz becomes
acceptable and beloved of all.
"Faiz sahib thought all literature was propaganda unless it totally fails to
communicate then it is no literature at all. He thought even nonsensical literature propagates
nonsense. Literature fails to be literature and becomes journalism or pure propagandas only
when it lacks the additional aesthetics dimension required of all literature," Salima said. Faiz
was a "committed" poet who regarded poetry as a vehiCle of serious thought, and not a mere
pleasurable pastime. He documented the first 50 years of Pakistan's history - the carnage of
partition, the advent of dictatorship, the civil war and dismemberment of the country in
1971. About partition he wrote that the dawn of independence has come but it is not what
the multitude waited for. The light that has come has a hundred blots.
"Yeh daagh daagh ujaala, yeh shab gaziida sehar
Voh intezaar thaajiskaa yeh voh sehar to nahiin"
Salima, Pakistan's human rights activist, Asma Jahangir and Bollywood lyricist
Javed Akhtar are of the view that Faiz should not be taken as a poet only of Pakistan. He was
loved by poetry lovers from both sides of the border and India should also celebrate Faiz's
centenary in a grand way.
Faiz's most loved poem.
'Mujh Se Pehli Si Mohhabat Mere Mehboob Na Maang'- original in Devnagri script
and translated in English by Mir Habib.
The Ravi 201 I 124

Do not ask, my love, for the love we hadbefore:
You existed, I told myself, so all existenceshone,
Grief for me was you; the world's griefwas far.
Spring was ever renewed in your face:
Beyond your eyes, what could the worldhold?
Had I won you, Fate's head would hang,defeated.
Yet all this was not so, I merely wished itso.
The world knows sorrows other thanthose of love,
Pleasures beyond those of romance:
The dread dark spell of countless centuries
Woven with silk and satin and gold brocade,
Bodies sold everywhere, in streets andmarkets,
Besmeared with dirt, bathed in blood,
Crawling from infested ovens,
My gaze returns to these: what can I do?
Your beauty still haunts me: what can Ido?
The world is burdened by sorrows beyondlove,
By pleasures beyond romance,
Do not demand that love which can be nomore.
The writer is an acclaimed journalist of Jaipur, who has also worked for The Times of
India Group.
The Ravi 2011 125

The Story of the Village Boy from Jhang,
Prof. Abdus Salam(1926 -1996)
Dr. Ghulam Murtaza
Eighty-five years ago on January 29, 1926 Salam was born and with that began the
story of the village boy from Jhang who later became the pride of his home town, the pride
of Government College Lahore, the pride of this nation, the pride of the entire Muslim
world, the pride of the Italians, the pride of the scientific community of the Third World and
indeed the pride of the entire scientific community the world over.
Salam created history by becoming the first from the Muslim world to win the Nobel
Prize in science. He also created history by setting up a unique institution in the world -the
ICTP, the citadel of learning where thousands of devotees come year after year to acquire
knowledge of the frontiers of Physics. Thus Salam has left us two important and lasting
legacies.
Salam was born in Jhang on January 29, 1926. Jhang must be a small village eighty
years ago. Salam started his career from this place. Imagine the state of science at the time in
. this part of the world. Salam described how one of his science teachers explained to his class
the fundamental forces in Nature. "One is Gravity, everybody is familiar with. Second is
Electricity -which does not exist in Jhang; it exists only in Lahore. Third is the Nuclear
Force and that exists only in Europe." That was the state of science education and the level
of awareness in Jhang. And Salam started his career from that humble background. But due
to his determination, hard work and constant struggle, he overcame his initial handicaps and
became a celebrity in the world of Physics. He went to the best centres in the world,
interacted with the grand masters of the time, rubbed shoulders with giants like Dirac, Pauli,
Heisenberg, Dyson and many others and eventually joined the Elite Club of Nobel Laureates
in 1979.
This is the story of the village boy from Jhang. An extraordinary story indeed and
therefore must be told to every child in the Third World. And more so to every young boy
and girl of Pakistan. The story of Salam inspires all young people with the idea that,
wherever they may come from in the world, they too can make careers in science-or indeed
in any other profession at present dominated by the rich countries.
Salam had his early education from Jhang-did his Matric and Intermediate from
there. Right from school days he proved himself to be exceptionally smart at studies. In
1942, at the age of sixteen, Salam moved to Government College Lahore where he was lucky
to find a great teacher of Mathematics Prof. Sarvadaman Chowla who later became one of
the great Number Theorists of his time. Chowla did Mathematics all the time and nothing
else. He had little interest outside Mathematics. The other teachers used to think he was
crazy. He had the habit of ending his classes sometimes posing unsolved problems. So, while
teaching cubjc and quadratic equations to Salam's class, he posed a problem of Ramanujan (a
legendary Mathematician of the sub-continent) regarding four simultaneous equations in four
variables. Salam spent three or four days on that problem, and then came back to Professor
Chowla with the solution. Chowla was pleased and he sent Salam's solution to the journal for
publication. This was Salam's first research paper which he published as a fourth year
The Ravi 2011 126

college student. Salam wrote an interesting note at the end of the paper:"We can solve the
system of equations much more rapidly than Ramanujan did. His is a very laborious
method." That showed self-confidence of the young Salam.
In 1944 Salam took the B.A examination with Mathematics, English and Urdu as his
subjects (no Physics !). He broke all the previous records by a large margin. He offered
additional papers for Honours in English and here again he created a new record. In 1946 he
passed his M.A examination in Mathematics, again standing first with a high score. But this
time he could not break the previous record. His friend Professor Bambah who was senior to
him by a year had appeared in the M.A examination a year before and had created an all time
unbreakable record by scoring hundred percent marks.
After doing his Masters, Salam went to Cambridge UK where he first did his B.A.
Honours with Double First in Mathematics and Physics and then did Ph.D. in Theoretical
Physics. With his Ph.D. work, he became instantly famous in the world of Physics.
On return to Pakistan, he became Professor of Mathematics at Govt. College,
Lahore and at the same time Head of Mathematics Punjab University. Before leaving
England for home, he went to his professor and asked him to give a letter of
recommendation. His professor smiled and said "Salam, you should give me a certificate that
you have worked with me." What could be a greater tribute than that from a teacher to his
pupil! After staying there from 1951 to 1954, he decided to go back to Cambridge
University where he was offered a lectureship at the age of twenty-eight. Three years later, in
1957 at the age of thirty-one, Salam became full Professor at Imperial College London. He
was the first Muslim to be elevated to a Chair in Anglo-Saxon Society. People in Pakistan
were not aware of what Salam had achieved in Britain. Mian Iftikharuddin broke the news.
He was a known politician, who owned an English Daily "Pakistan Times", and happened to
visit London in 1957 (perhaps in connection with his son's admission). He met Salam and
was surprised to know that Salam was full Professor there. He couldn't believe that and kept
repeating: Is it really true, is it really true. Mian Iftikharuddin published Salam's story in his
newspaper and thus introduced Salam as the Scientist of international fame to his own
people in Pakistan. At the age of thirty-three, he became FRS - Fellow of the Royal Society.
London. Salam was the first Pakistani and the first Muslim to achieve that distinction. Now,
we have more FRS in Pakistan- the late Salimuz Zaman Siddiqui, Prof. Akhtar and more
recently Prof. Atta ur Rehman are also Fellows of the Royal Society London. At the age of
thirty-eight, Salam became the Director of the International Centre for Theoretical Physics
(ICTP) Trieste, Italy in 1964- the position he continued for thirty years.
For his excellent contributions to Physics, Salam received several prestigious awards
and honours including the Nobel Prize in 1979, for his work published in 1967 on the
unification of two fundamental forces i.e., the electromagnetic force and the weak nuclear
force. For his contributions towards peace and promotion of International Science
Collaboration, he got the Atoms for Peace Medal and Award. He became fellow/member of
more than thirty Academies/Societies of the world; was awarded D.Sc. Honoris Causa by
more than forty universities of the world. There is a long list of his achievements, honours
and awards. The ICTP has preserved all his documents, awards, shields, souvenirs and his
personal collections of books including his Chair and Hukka etc. They have a separate room
(called Salam Room) in the library of the Centre. The Centre was renamed Abdus Sa,lam
International Centre for Theoretical Physics on the occasion of his first death anniversary on
The Ravi 2011 127

the initiative of the Italian government. It is remarkable how the Italians have owned this
great man and honoured him.
Besides his scientific work, the creation of the ICTP is an important legacy of Salam
which was set up in 1964 to provide scientists from the Third World with opportunities to
conduct research and to study new developments in Physics and Mathematics. The scope of
activities has since been extended to include applied and related fields of science.
How does the centre work?
Each year, the centre organizes about forty schools, colleges, conferences and
workshops on different subjects - Elementary Particle Physics, Cosmology, Condensed
Matter Physics, Material Science, Mathematics, Computational Physics, Geophysics,
Climatology, Biophysics, Medical Physics and Laser and Plasma Physics. Each year about
four thousand scientists visit ICTP. And since its establishment in 1964, more than seventy
thousand scientists from a hundred and seventy different countries have visited the centre.
Out of the seventy thousand, seventy percent came from Asia, Africa, Latin America and
Eastern Europe.
In brief, this is the story of that village boy who started his career from Jhang,
became a towering personality on the world scene and left behind two important legacies-his
scientific work and the ICTP.
The writer is the Professor of Theoretical and Plasma Physics, and the director of the
Physics research institute, known as the Abdus Salam Chair in Physics, at Government
College University. He is a distinguished student of Pakistan's only Nobel LaureateAbdus
Salam, and is also the recipient of "Sitara-e-Imtiaz. "
The Ravi 2011 128

G.C. - Reflections and Reminiscences
Prof R.A Khan
"Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very heaven"
My active association with GovernmentCollege, Lahore lasted some forty years. I
had the honour of being admitted to the college in 1948 by the legendary Ahmad Shah
Bokhari, known in the annals of literature as Patras Bokhari. I studied in this great institution
for six years and served as a teacher for thirty-four years.
I have taught hundreds of students but some of the more gifted among them whom I
recall at the moment include Mumtaz Hasan, Hamid Khan, Saadatullah Khan, Saeed Mehdi,
Naveed Ahsan and Tariq Sultan.
GC was, indeed a splendid institution and "one of the great nurseries of leadership
and excellence" whose role could be compared to that of Oxford, Harvard and Sorbonne.
When I entered the portals of this august edifice for the first time, I stood in awe of its
magnificent Gothic structure, huge columns, pointed arches and, of course, its grand
hat-toppling clock tower.
Some of the teachers of this hallowed haunt were men of great learning. I had the
good fortune of being taught by such charismatic and inspiring men as Mian Sirajuddin,
Khawaja Manzoor Hossein, Mian Namdar Khan, Fayyazuddin, Abdul Hamid and K.K. Aziz.
My distinguished contemporaries included Shehzad Jahangir, Muzaffar Qadir, Daud
Ilyas, Muhammad Idrees, Aslam Iqbal, Abdul Qayyum (jojo), Shoaib Hasrni, Kamal Azfar
and Sakhi Sarwar Sultan.
I also had the privilege of working with some of the renowned Principals of that
time like Dr.Nazir Ahmad, Professor M.Rashid, Dr.Muhammad Ajmal and Professor
Fiza-ur-Rehman. Dr.Nazir Ahmad in particular, was a phenomenal personality. He was
adored by the students for his unostentatious living, austere habits and broad human
sympathies. His sudden appearance at a function would send a wave of irrepressible joy
through the audience and trigger a rousing ovation. Seldom has an educational institution
seen such close rapport between the teacher and the taught. One fine morning, however, and
quite out of the blue, this celebrated soul, this connoisseur of classical music and Sufi poetry
was transfelTed to CentralTrainingCoIlege (now Government College of Education for Men).
The college was stunned. He was transferred because he had annoyed Governor Amir
Muhammad Khan by siding with students who were highly critical of the government. But
so transcendental and overwhelming was his popularity that the high and mighty governor
was compelled to reverse his decision and "restore the father to his children."
In 1966, I was appointed the Superintendent of the Iqbal Hostel (formerly the
Quadrangle). It was a tough assignment and kept me continually on my toes. I could not have
handled the task single-handedly and was lucky to find two very able, wise and foresighted
Chief Prefects like Sheikh Ahmad Farooq, now an honourable Judge of the Lahore High
Court and Muhammad Iqbal Sheikh, now a leading industrialist. Without their unstinting
support, I could not have fulfilled my onerous responsibilities so successfully.
My memories as student and teacher are indelibly imprinted on my mind. I feel the
The Ravi 2011 129

tug of the past wander through the dim corridors and dreamy hunts of yesteryears. Often, in
the still of the night, I remember the springtime before the advent of summer catch the
fragrance of the jasmine and the rose, recall the polemics of young friends and the sound and
fury of college debates. It is these ripples of tender thought that we cherish and which dwell
with us to the last syllable of recorded time.
Music when soft voices die
Vibrates in the memory
The writer is the former Vice Principal of Government College Lahore, where he served
as a teacher for thirty-four years.
The Ravi 2011 130

Chaeha Murad-Our Living Legend
(A small tribute to someone who has worked at GCU for 62 years)
Sameer
Life. What does this four letter word mean to you my dear reader? Does it mean that
time defines reality, and life is everything that surrounds us? Or is it merely a deformed
conception of one's years spent alive? Well whatever you think in this sphere is subject to
change, and you might be forced into revising your pre-conceived notions about life once
you read this piece. Today the chronicle I'm going to unravel is about a person to whom only
a few thousand old Ravians roaming in the corridors of Main Building can relate. This is a
tale of a man who has worked in Government College and later GC University for over
sixty-two years. He is of eighty years now and even today works at our university, which he
claims has given significance to his existence.
Murad Ali Shah, also known as Chacha Murad was employed in 1948 by the
principal of Government College Lahore, Ahmad Shah Bokhari Patras as a maali (gardener).
In those days the principal himself employed all, from a lecturer to a gardener. It is amazing
as well as commendable, that Bokhari Sahib took out time from his busy schedule to do so.
During his principal-ship he was constantly drenched in a hectic routine and that is why, his
office, post and tenure was shared by Mr. U. Karamat. A. S. Bokhari was on a constant
series of tours for the U.N.
Conversing with Chacha Murad on campus, I came to know that Chacha Jee
(particularly in his early days at Government College), was a rustic who did not like to wear
pants, and at times felt awkward wearing shalwar kameez. For him, a job, a roof on his head,
and his dhoti were sufficient to make him happy. He worked in the luscious green lawns in
the vast estate of the college. At that time only two quadrangles existed; one that is now
known as the Main Building and the other, now called Allama Iqbal Hostel as Chacha Jee
recalled. However, one can never be too sure to rely solely on recollections. So I also verified
this fact from the two volumes of "A History Of Government College Lahore" from
1864-1964 and 1964-1989 respectively.
After principal Bokhari left for the United States, Chacha Murad continued working
as a maali (gardener), for the next principal Sirajuddin, another prominent old boy of the
College. His affection for the College was such that on one occasion he declared that the
gold and claret of the College Crest were engraved on his heart. He was the one who laid a
Rose garden between the Quadrangle (Iqbal Hostel) and the old Tennis lawn which was later
demolished and turned into The New Block. It was here that Chacha Murad worked till
1964. A lot of the students who haven't seen the bravura campus of Government College
Lahore would not believe that today where the enchanting geometrical Post Graduate Block
stands, here once upon a time stood an antique house where A.S. Bokhari lived and it was
here where his dead body was brought in 1950 when he expired. Looking into the cold eyes
of his benefactor brought a pain to Chacha Murad's heart that still brings tears to his eyes
whenever he is asked to recall the episode. According to him, it seems as if all this happened
yesterday. It reminded him, that when the call for the tragic event came, it was the time of
the Annual Sports Day. In reverence for the treasure that the College had lost, an
announcement for the cancellation of the Annual Sports Day was made, and people from all
The Ravi 2011 131
Afzal

walks of life came to Government College to pay their final respects to Ahmad Shah
Bokhari.
In 1955 Chacha Murad started the exercise of running small errands for the peons of
the English department as favors from one friend to another. After nine years of work
experience at Government College, he came to the English department in 1964, on the
request of Prof. Imdad Hussain, a renowned figure of the college.
After talking to him, I realized that Chacha Jee's heart wasn't strong enough to
recollect certain campus-related tales. He gave me an account of how the architecture of the
famous Government College had changed over a course of seven decades, and it is
something that I feel every Ravian should hear.
So my dear Ravians, today where the splendid Bokhari Auditorium stands, exactly
here used to be a long line of servant quarters. Next to it, in addition to a newly made portion
called the Professors' Rooms, was nothing but a Badminton Pavilion. Even today if you go
around the building to the back, there is an old structure that still has an old plate outside it,
stating that this Badminton Pavilion was donated by an old boy to the College.
In between the two hostels for Intermediate boys, Iqbal Hostel and the
Quaid-e-Azam Hostel, was a swimming pool which was later covered and then demolished.
Today a prolific building stands there which is the Official Guest House for dignitaries
visiting GC University on any account.
Similarly between the Administration Block and the Main Cafeteria was another
lawn which was again drilled to make room for the Student Service Centre. Interestingly,
this entire space was used to dump construction material, and the only reason anyone would
lurk here would be due to the presence of a working well in that vicinity, (in the early '50's).
If one would move on the carpeted driveway coming from the Main Gate and going
all the way up to the Post Graduate block, one would see the famous Oval Ground on the
left, and next to it a mosque, followed by a sports complex and a sports hall in line. But the
interesting history is that long before when the Mosque, the Sports Complex and the Post
Graduate Block, were even constructed, there was a large piece of land next to the Sports
Hall. This area was used for Riffle Shooting. Next to it was a dumpster (later turned into the
beautiful Lodgia we now know), a graveyard (which was later demolished for the Mosque),
and the College Fruit Shop/Canteen, which was in the possession of a gentleman identified
by Chacha Murad as M~hr Siraj.
At the far end of the Oval Ground, where a pavilion is now situated, there initially
used to be a Wrestling Ring and near the Lodgia was another well.
After getting his strength back, Chacha Murad recalled how Sufi Gulam Mustafah
Tabbusum used to enjoy a share of his 'hukka' in class. It was his peon's job to bring it after
fifteen minutes. In those days, a professor named Mr. Haroon Kiyani told Chacha Murad to
wear pants if he wished to stay in the department as a clerk. Even though Chacha Murad said
he was reluctant at first, he did in fact start wearing pants. His first pair was a loaned one
from Mr. Kiyani which he wore everyday in the morning and took off immediately after his
shift was over.
His memories welled up and I felt he amalgamated emotions into every bit and fact
he shared with me. He is an old man who longs for recognition from the university
The Ravi 2011 132

administration. A mere glint of it can lift his spirits even in this age. He asks for nothing
more, but a little acknowledgment. That is why his eyes welled with tears when after the
final performance of 2011's annual play, 'Nizam Sakka' (enacted by the GC University
Dramatics Club), Chacha Murad was called up on stage and was given a standing ovation
from a crowd of over three hundred old Ravians who remembered and recalled his presence
throughout their academic years. And through this piece of writing I salute Chacha Murad's
loyalty and service which he has rendered, and is still rendering to our beloved Alma Mater
even after sixty-two years in a row. Long live the dhoti-clad maali boy! Long live our living
legend!
The writer is a third year student of B.A (Hons), English Literature at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 133

Recollections
Tariq Saleem Dogar
Government College Lahore was known as a symbol of excellence and a nursery of
leadership. An overwhelming majority of eminent personalities in the sub-continent was
groomed in this great Alma Mater. I was sent to this Asian Oxford by my parents who were
living out of Lahore, after matriculation, keeping in view the matchless excellence of the
institution. My six-year stay at Government College Lahore can be epitomized as a journey
from diffidence to confidence. The mere news of admission to college sent a ripple of joy
and excitement in the family because accession to this institution was considered a prelude
to corridors of responsibilities in practical life. My separation from my family which was out
of Lahore was a difficult experience for my parents, especially my mother, who was
uncomfortable to learn that I was to study with girls as well. She, however, allowed me to
join G.C.L for better pursuits with an advice to avoid any contact with female students lest it
may distract me from studies. I tried to abide by her advice as far as possible.
I entered Government College with the shyness of a first year novice. My first
glimpse of this great institution not only engrossed and absorbed me but also prevented
blinking of eyes for quite sometime. Architectural magnificence had withstood the test of
time. Gothic structure and protruding columns of the building on an acclivity from the main
entrance manifested its distinction.
My initial days coincided with the election campaign for students union and young
speaker union. Both the candidates (Saadat Ullah Khan and Shahid Nabi Malik) for
president students' union and their supporters pleaded credentials of their candidates;
academic qualification, extra-curricular activities like debating etc of both. Saadat Ullah
Khan, however, won by a reasonable margin as he appeared more talented than his opponent.
Students were still in a state of honeymoon over the reposting of Dr. Nazir as
principal who was earlier transfened elsewhere.
I required accommodation in Iqbal Hostel (then Quadrangle) and was guided to see
the legendary, popular and illustrious principal Dr. Nazir Ahmad. Everyone especially
newcomers were entering his office without any let or hindrance. My first visit to Principal's
office in quest for hostel accommodation left an indelible impression. The youngsters mostly
requiring hostel accommodation had thronged the principal with applications. The kind and
benign principal was passing orders on the applications with one hand and controlling his
long silky, flexible hair from falling on his face/forehead with the other. The cause of
students was so dear to the principal that he would invariably talk to the warden of Iqbal
hostel to recommend the needy students, knowing the paucity of accommodation. It was very
difficult rather impossible for the principal to leave students in a lurch. He offered his own
residence on college premises (Principal Cottage) to students pressing for hostel
accommodation. Lo and behold, about ten students willingly accepted the offer and stayed in
Principal Cottage where Mohamadan bedding was arranged for them. Better sense, however,
prevailed when students shifted elsewhere after a day or so. All old Ravians, especially those
who had ever seen or visited the Principal's Cottage could hardly reconcile with its
demolition.
I was admitted to Iqbal Hostel (Quadrangle)
The Ravi 2011 134
a few days later. The very idea that the

great philosopher poet Dr. Allama Iqbal stayed in the same hostel was very thought
provoking. The first few days in hostel were very uneasy for me as my throat choked due to
use of Dalda Ghee. Consumption of fresh confectionary and juices was a good respite in the
afternoon. The stately gait and domineering voice of our ever-vigilant warden Prof. R.A
Khan, was the hallmark of our stay at the Quadrangle.
Emergence of Principal Dr. Nazir from his office would thrill students studying on
Oval benches or walking around, as everyone would crave to shake or hug their principal. He
would instantly extend his right hand and arm to students, while the left hand was to take
care of his flexible silky hair. His sudden appearance in a hockey match at the Oval Ground,
many years after his superannuation. evoked a standing ovation from thousands of
spectators/students. Dr. Nazir was so mindful of the convenience of students that he
immediately sat on the ground beckoning everybody to do the same. He was succeeded by
Professor S.M Rashid, an eminent economist who contributed a lot for improving the overall
standards in all disciplines of education. Professor Ashfaq Ali Khan, a distinguished literary
luminary was the last principal during my stint at college.
Professor Qayyum Nazar and Mashkoor Hussain Yad imparted Urdu with great
dedication and commitment.
I had the privilege of being taught at postgraduate level by eminent Professors
Gilani Kamran, Rafique Mahmood, Siddique Kalim and Khalid Khan. Tariq Yazdani Malik,
Sh. Ahmad Farooq, Naguibullah Malik and Shahid Rafi were few notable contemporaries.
Veteran Chacha Murad was an unforgettable figure who could easily determine the
calibre of the teacher and the taught through his sustained posture.
Mr. Abbas and Nighat Siraj were contesting election for the post of secretary
English Literary Circle. Both the candidates, especially the lady, were very courteous and
appealing in their quest for votes. It was very difficult to make a false promise or announce a
blunt refusal to vote. I could only wriggle out of this quagmire by announcing my own
candidature. I was candid in sharing the reason of my candidature with all and sundry. It
went so well that I was elected to my own pleasant surprise.
Extra-Curricular activities, inter-collegiate debates, trilingual debates at open air
theatre, debates in hostel, seminars, audio-visual activities, Dramatics Club, games,
swimming, the Gazette and the Ravi---all this was nearly heaven on earth. Such co-curricular
activities not only exalted the status of Government College Lahore but also instilled
confidence and exuberance in the students who were groomed into qualitative leadership.
Any journey from diffidence to confidence, from darkness to light, from literacy to
knowledge, imbues the courage to know the truth of service, humility, commitment and
above all sincerity.
My six-year stay at Government College Lahore was an odyssey from:
Diffidence to Confidence
Literacy to Knowledge
Timidity to Courage
Indifference to Service
Arrogance to Humility
Falsehood to Truth
The writer is former Inspector General of Punjab Police. He graduated from Government
College Lahore in 1970.
The Ravi 2011 135

Chaperone to Risalpur
Mohammad Umer Khan
Every wheel has a hub, every universe, a centre. And if you're talking about oratory,
then the centre of the universe is PAF Academy Risalpur. Not just because it's one of the last
decent Declamation tournaments left (with the added bonus of competent judges), but also
because you get to ride a genuine Pakistan Air Force flying tub all the way to the
tournament: the antiquated, non-sound-proof, and vomit-inducing C-130 is famous for
transporting heavy artillery, farm animals, debaters, and for exploding with President
Zia-ul-Haq onboard. Apart from that there's also the food, the clean crisp air of Risalpur, the
Super-Mushak "Joy Ride", the neatly cropped cadets, more food, and of course, there's the
trophy to look forward to.
Ummar and I broke the curse of not winning by winning the elusive trophy back in
2008, but then the great fiasco of 2009 occurred, which resulted in Dr. Haroon Qadir
(In-charge GCUDS) stepping down as Official Permanent Chaperone to Risalpur. At this
crucial juncture it was decided that a fresh goat be prepared for decapitation in 2010. As it
happened, I was conveniently found grazing nearby, and was shrewdly lured into a trap by
the powers that be. Mr Siddique Awan (Co-In-charge GCUDS) asked me to accompany team
GCU comprising Ali Zafar and Saad ul Hassan this year as chaperone. It is generally and
somewhat accurately held that I bring good luck to everyone except myself. And as the
fateful day when I would accompany the new talent to their ultimate test came nearer, I
couldn't help but concur.
I was not looking forward to this trip at all because my earlier experience as
chaperone had been rather unnecessarily painful. Ali Zafar, our humorous speaker for all
occasions and the heir to my throne, was disqualified on grounds of "vulgarity," and I was
held responsible and therefore harangued by the upholders of morality at Military College
Jehlum for having allowed my student to use that sort of "filth to corrupt the innocent minds
of" their boys. Ironically, Ali had used most of the campus material provided by the innocent
minds of MCJ.
"I myself am a Ravian, sir!" claimed the indignant uniformed instructor after he had
finally sought and wrestled me down during the post-tournament luncheon, "And I would
have you know, sir, that I am shocked! Shocked!" he spluttered, and continued his less than
flattering analysis of my person, going red in the face, and looking at me with piercing eyes
that demanded an explanation but did not desire one. I tried to hastily piece together an
inconclusive, noncommittal sort of response, but in the midst of my self-conscious
mumblings, that pompous old uniform with little remnants of what had once been a man,
held securely in between dry folds of starch, left me stranded in a vortex of ice-cold attitude.
And as if from a distant cave, far, far away, I could make out Ali Zafar's voice whispering in
my ear one of his ever-ready excuses: "But Umer bhai, I won at Lawrence College with
similar materiaJ!" while I felt angry and miserable for having been censured in front of my
boys by a creature who had no experience whatsoever of humorous public speaking, of the
immense pressure, or of the hard work involved. Plus, common decency dictates that if you
wish to chastise a chaperone, you do it discreetly, not in front of his charge.
Fact of the matter is: what is vulgar for some is perfectly acceptable for others. It all
The Ravi 2011 136

depends on where you are. And I had no idea where I was anymore. On the one hand there
was my boy who claimed his material was perfectly all right, tried and tested, and on the
other hand there was this vicegerent of ethics rebuking me for spreading evil in the land. All
I knew now was empathy! For the first time I understood why Dr. Haroon never really liked
this chaperoning business, even though it seems such a cushy prospect from a participant's
point of view. It's because it really is horrible, and quite frankly an unnecessary botheration.
All sorts of self righteous hypocrites with opinions come up to you and tell you what they
think of you; they judge you personally on the basis of the performance of the participants
you are accompanying, irrespective of whether you have had anything to do with their
preparation or not. You are made to feel like a wretched worm if the team you have brought
performs abysmally. But what is infinitely worse is that as a young, unconvincing, as well as
seemingly impressionable chaperone, I often find myself easy pickings for two kinds of
people: (a) old Ravians who love GCU but hate everyone from GCU, and (b) non-Ravians
who hate GCU and anyone from GCu. These were the two principle categories of Villain
that I encountered in MCJ, and they were all mostly chaperones from institutions that GCU
had a habit of beating repeatedly. Some chaperones were merely sore at me for having
become, at so young an age, a lecturer at such a prestigious university. I did not feel tempted
to tell them that I had not, and was merely an unpaid nurse.
On the day of our departure, as Saad ul Hassan and I waited at the Air Force base
with the other teams from Lahore, a Mr. Bahauddin, chaperone from Chenab College Jhang
and knucklehead extraordinaire, showed up. And in order to impress upon me the
importance of his existence, and to indicate how intimately he was acquainted with GCU (he
was an old Ravian) he started telling me how GCU had gone to the dogs. As it happened, he
found out by overhearing a conversation between a Risalpur cadet and I that Ali Zafar was
not going to accompany us on the flying tub, but would be taking a bus instead, as he was
going to participate in the Chief Minister's Declamation tournament in the Post-Graduate
category
on the same day.
"What? Don't you have more than one competent speaker?" exclaimed Mr.
Bahauddin. "This is an outrage! As an old Ravian I must say I am shocked! Shocked! Has
GCU fallen so low that it can't even produce two decent speakers to divide tournaments
among? You send one boy everywhere?" he slapped the tabletop with feigned exasperation
but was clearly delighted at this fresh opportunity to bash GCU, and to inform me that the
Debating Society was crumbling in the incompetent hands of Mr. Siddique Awan, especially
now that the legendary Ms. Masooma had left for her eternal abode elsewhere on planet
Ambition. I listened to him patiently, and then pointed out that he was an insufferable
loudmouthed windbag as well as an imbecile, and then proceeded to substantiate my claim
with a brief overview of GCUDS' achievements since Ms. Masooma's departure and Mr
Awan's arrival. Saad ul Hassan was kind enough to provide information vis-a.-vis the actual
number of Ravians currently participating in the C.M tournament, proving that Ali Zafar was
not the only speaker we had, rather a rare species of multi-tasker that Mr. Bahauddin could
only ever hope to be. Though there is no doubt that he tried very hard: he had two mobile
phones out almost constantly, both stuck to either side of his head as props that helped him
appear busier than the devil when parliament is in session. As luck would have it, Mr.
Bahauddin's unfortunate team did in fact manage to reach the final round at Risalpur, only to
forget both their speeches mid-stream, embarrass themselves to death, and bring into sharper
The Ravi 2011 137

elief the caliber of Mr. Bahauddin who had felt he had the divine right to criticize not only
my team and my teachers but also the university that had made him competent enough to be
ranked among the incompetent. God only knows what he was before that.
"You should listen to my boys, they're very good," I said at the end, "you'll enjoy the
lesson," I added rather condescendingly. Aware of the distinct possibility of ending up with
egg on my face, but with the wounds from MCl still afresh, I was rearing to spill bile. To be
honest, I was fairly confident about Saad's Urdu serious speech. It was Ali Zafar whose
speech worried me. English humorous is no laughing matter. Quite literally! Ali's
abominable humorous speeches were the limiting agents in this experiment. But he was
confident, and I felt it my duty as chaperone to not tell him that I did not share his optimism.
It was like watching a young man go off to war with a rubber gun. But so be it. More
victories have been won by those who know not the danger they face, than by those who do.
Ali joined us at Risalpur that night after having stood second at the C.M
tournament. One of our own, Umar lee Saleemi, stood first (he along with Adeel Anjum
were the perpetrators of the fiasco of 2009 that resulted in my being chaperone in 2010.
Their defeat had permanently discouraged Dr. Haroon from further excursions to RisaJpur).
News of Ali's victory sent a nervous shiver up the collective spine of the participants in the
rest-house that night. The fact that he was on a victorious rampage had the same effect on his
competition as news of Ghengis Khan's arrival had on the pious scholars of Baghdad. Now
that the preliminaries were over, and I had met the chaperones, and the teams, and all the
fake pleasantries had been exchanged, it was time to strategize and go to war.
The plan was a simple six-pronged
announced at MCI.
affair. We had devised it soon after results were
1. We would take the most tame, uncontroversial, impotent English humorous speech
known to mankind. We would ensure that nothing at all could offend even the most
puritanical of hypocrites present among the crowd. \Ve would leave them no
opportunities to disqualify us; in other words, we would bore the life out of all
members of the student audience, and like true professionals, aim to satisfy the
judges alone. (As a humorous speaker it is really very hard to compromise on
laughter. To stand there and be considered unfunny and boring is more painful than
to be considered vulgar. But we strategize to get the team trophy. Individual
ambition is unimportant. Ravians go in as a team and win as a team. And if boring is
what it takes. Then that's what they'll be!)
2. We would try our best not to pay heed to any of the thousand and one things that
cadets come knocking on our doors about. The best way to relax when everyone is
"requesting the pleasure of your company" at some official function or other, is to
ignore the request until it becomes an order, and even then try to dawdle for as long
as possible without getting disqualified from the tournament.
3. Saad ul Hassan, if he forgets, or fumbles in the course of his speech, would be shot
there and then. And his remains unceremoniously dumped in any non-specific
water-body.
4. Ali Zafar, if he felt the onset of fear when facing a crowd full of contemptuous
yawns, and if that fear were to flash on his face for so much as an instant. would
experience the same punishment as above.
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5. I would dress to kill. And if anyone spoke to me, I would reply after careful
consideration, in a manner appropriate for one in my position, or perhaps I would
merely gesture my response without having to resort to using my vocal apparatus
(this was perhaps the toughest of all rules).
6. We would accept the trophy with dignity, humility and graceful gratitude. (When I
say "we", I mean Saad and Ali. I would be sitting in the audience clapping with
poise. In all honesty, being chaperone is an inglorious, thankless job for an
ex-debater.)
The initial round's speeches were divided into four sessions. Ours were in the fourth.
We entered the great light-blue and downwards-sloping Academy Auditorium a little early to
watch the tail-end of the third session so as to get some idea of what the competition was
going to be like this year. The speeches were mostly atrocious, bordering on retarded. And
when the president introduced a particular contestant as Miss Gorilla-Lala while announcing
her topic, Ali and I burst into scarcely controlled, hysterical laughter that lasted tiII the end of
the session. Relaxed and refreshed by the general level of outrageous hilarity I bade my
young warriors good luck at the start of session four and took a seat from where I could
observe them with ease while they moved down to the contestants' seating positions onstage.
Meanwhile, Miss Gorilla-Lala left the hall with her team mate and was never heard from
agaIn.
I felt all the speakers needed work. A lot of work! They were all, barely
comprehensible. Some were old hands who had only recently started winning, now that
Ummar and other good speakers had stopped pm1icipating, and therefore had nothing decent
against which they could be compared. As I sat there I thought to myself that perhaps I had
become too cynical, but in my honest opinion, it seemed as if Declamation, as an art, was
dead. It had died a long time ago and we were all merely juicing a corpse. Trying to squeeze
out what little glory there was still left in its rapidly drying arteries. Its death occurred once
the private schools and universities realized that there was money in Parliamentary Style
Debates and none in Declamation. Foreign universities patronize the former style of debating
and accept students with that sort of training. A school that can boast of a good
Parliamentary team can advertise the possibility of a foreign education and have hopeful
parents flocking to have their children admitted. Simple economics has killed Declamation
and now feasts in the halls of cut-throat politics as the academia tries to rake in as much
money as possible without a clue to how meaningful this hijacked intellectual game could
really be. I feel that both these art forms need to be merged into one again. Logic without
rhetoric and rhetoric without logic are too cold and meaningless respectively. But it seems
almost too late now. There are no orators left, only tournaments. Filled with incompetent
copycats! Declaimers try to rip-off material written years ago by Ummar and Iqrar even Nasir
Muneef who stopped speaking nearly seven hundred years ago. Parliamentarians copy Adeel
and ... well, just Adeel.
GeU will keep trying to produce quality declaimers, because it must, but what's the
point? If the circuit is not going to have healthy competition, and if there's nobody out there
who really understands this art form anymore, then what are we but peacocks in a jungle,
dancing to an unheard melody? Nobody knows what's going on anymore. And so, good
judges are harder to find now than ever before. To the untrained ear, the loudest voice seems
the obvious choice for a winner. But yelling till your lungs burst was never what oratory was
The Ravi 2011 139

supposed to be about. Of course, as with most forms of art, there is no scientific or purely
objective way to judge a declaimer. There is and always will be just the one test: can the
orator raise the hair at the back of your neck? And I for one couldn't feel that unmistakable
sensation at this tournament. And to make matters worse, they all fumbled and forgot. It was
just plain embarrassing. Nothing puts the fear of God in a declaimer than watching people
make fools of themselves onstage. And it's all because the competition and the drive have
both vanished. There's nobody left to inspire the new lot. I suppose the C.M. tournament is a
good initiative to inject some life back into Declamation, but having tournaments without
providing a means to adequate training for young orators is in the end fruitless. We need to
get the schools interested again. I remember, at one time, Aitchison College used to host one
of the most prestigious Declamation tournaments around, and so, produced some of the
finest orators. Now, it's got the most rubbish tournament imaginable and has no declaimers
to boast of. They're tops in Parliamentary though, because there's so much money involved in
that. The only school in Lahore still interested in Declamation currently is SISA.
After the first round was over, we had a team meeting and decided there was little
chance of GCU not breaking into the final round. We were a shoe-in! With that in mind we
went to dinner. After which the results were announced. We broke in as the second ranked
team. This was fairly good news. Ali's speech had bombed with the crowd but had worked
wonders on the judges. And that was precisely the sort of suicide bombing we needed to win
this tournament. Here I must add that Ali's performance had been no less than admirable and
outright courageous. The poor guy got absolutely no response from the dead crowd but he
did not bat an eyelid. Surefooted as a goat he frolicked all the way to the butcher's. Naturally,
not everybody was pleased with the results. And someone struck the first blow to sabotage
us.
An officer came up to me and asked me, "Where is the chaperone for team GCU?" I
told him he was looking at him. "But you are a student!" he said. "No, I am not," I replied.
"Yes, you are! I know you; you're a student!" he insisted. "I used to be a student, now I am a
teaching' assistant at GCU; I've got the authority letter to prove it." He took another narrow
eyed look at me, perhaps to determine if he could sense a lie and then said, "A Ms. Aleena
from FC. College has called us and told us that you're a student!" I chuckled at this good
naturedly: "Yes, well, according to FC. College, squealing cisterns like Fahd Kazmi are
'good' orators goes to show that they're all unreliably crazy there." He eyed me for a bit
longer with suspicion, and then left. This was not the end of it though. After every half an
hour someone or the other would inquire about GCU's chaperone and I would have to retell
my story over and over again. "Weren't you here as a speaker?" they would ask. "Yes I was.
Back in 2008; I won your tournament, and then I gradwHed ... it happens, I'm sorry. I hope
you can forgive me for aging normally." "They kept you on as a lecturer at GCU straight
after your Bachelors?" "I'm a teaching assistant, and it's an Honours degree, that's for four
years. I've got the letter of authority." "That won't be necessary." "Then what do you want?"
While I was getting grilled by the Air Force, Us man Leghari from LSE showed up
by my side. "Hey," he said, "I heard they're on your case?" "Yes," I muttered, "somebody's
been telling tales about my ambiguous professional status." Leghari dropped his tone to his
favourite conspirational out-of-the-side-of-the-mouth drawl and said, "It was Israr! F.c.'s got
nothing to do with it. They're using FC as a cover; it was actually Israr who spread the
rumour!"
The Ravi 2011 140

I had had a feeling that this might be the case since F.e. wasn't even competing this
year; they had been sent back home from the base back in Lahore because they had failed to
bring a chaperone. But experience teaches us to expect pretty much anything from F.C. "So,
it was Israr'?!"
Israr-ul-Hassan, sort of famous for being the brother of the actually famous
Iqrar-ul-Hassan, has had to live under the suffocating shadow of his elder brother's reputation
as a legendary orator, and was disappointed at not having made it to the final. This had been
quite possibly his first and last chance to speak at Risalpur, and winning this tournament
would have afforded him a sense of closure. First, his brother's legacy had hung over him
like a specter for too long; then, being marginalized by other, more talented orators at the
GCUDS had taken its toll on him, and then finally, his expulsion from GCU had left Israr a
little bitter to say the least. Perhaps we were all at fault; his batch-mates who had been
unable to help him deal with his predicament. Maybe we should've helped him improve.
Lord knows those who could, tried their best. Either way, the fellow lost his place at GCU
and was now representing Punjab University at tournaments. Losing to kids many years his
junior like Saad ul Hassan was perhaps the last straw. And though at the time I had felt his
reaction to be a little treacherous and unsportsmanlike, I feel sorry for him now. However,
before we get to what Israr really did wrong, there's the matter of the Joy Ride.
One of the best things about Risalpur is the Joy Ride. They call it a Joy Ride
themselves and it takes place early morning before the final round. Anyone who signs-up for
it gets to fly in a two-seater plane called the "Super Mushak" with an instructor pilot for
about fifteen minutes, and gets to see stuff from reasonably high up. And if the pilot feels
like putting you through your paces then you can also experience having your stomach
sucked out of your skull while you watch yourself vomit uncontrollably all over your own
face. It really is splendid. Of course, before they take you up, you have to sign a special
waiver which states that neither you nor any of your descendants shall from this day forth
ever articulate a nasty thought about the armed forces ... ever, seriously. And also, if you die
during the Joy Ride, it's not the Air Force's headache. Thus we all sell our souls for a Joy
Ride. And let me tell you sir, it is worth it, usually. This year was a bit different.
A non-specific cadet woke us up and told us we were very late and everybody was
getting ready to go up, so we dragged ourselves out of bed and got dressed as best we could
under the circumstances. We reached the bus just in time and this officer from the Education
Corps took a contemptuous look at us, frowned, and said: "You're from GCU'?"
I confirmed his suspicion with a nod and a faint yes. "Is this how you dress'?" he
pointed his ball-point pen at Ali's official GCU sports trousers and the random 'upper' he had
put on in his haste. This man was not pleased with the state of our attire. For some reason he
seemed to harbour the belief that Ravians must always be stuffed full of starch and built
entirely out of bits of plastic and barbed wire. While I was rummaging up the wakefulness
required to answer this man and point out the absurdity of such a criticism before the
commencement of something called a Joy Ride, he informed us all of the reasons for his
disgust: "I myself am a Ravian, sir! And I am shocked! Shocked!"
It's as if they all have the same unbearable script. The moment they see someone
from GCU they start telling them how worthless they are. I still couldn't figure out what to
say to him when right on cue he demanded: "Where is your chaperone'?"
The Ravi 2011 141

"I am the chaperone," I said, woefully aware of the mound of indignity that he was
heaping upon me and that this little episode had effectively ruined clause five of the
six-pronged plan. He stared at me with distrust and hatred for about three seconds in which I
stared back at him with an excellent melange of fury and boredom. "Go, sit!" he barked at us,
and up we went into the bus that took us to the tarmac. They would never treat Dr. Haroon
like this, I thought. Why do I never have anything good to say to these people to shut them
up proper? I thought, therefore I suffered. Meanwhile, Ali Zafar tried to placate me. The
Education Corps doesn't really embody the spirit of Risalpur anyway, I thought as we headed
for the tarmac.
It was there on the tarmac that it happened. Ali had been trying to catch the eye of a
fair skinned lady-cadet; Saad was being his usual uneventful self; I was muttering
obscenities under my breath, trying to locate a washroom and cursing the non-specific cadet
who had roused us before my early morning purge. And then it happened. All three of us
turned and beheld a sight no mortal was meant to behold. The lady-cadet whispered
something into an ear. The ear! And whose ear it was? There he was, glowing brighter than a
thousand burning suns, the Greek god of flexing muscles, built like a weapon of mass
destruction; his chest, a vast expanse of rippling strength. There he stood bathed in a light
that fell upon his pure and noble form and scattered as it bounced off the many points of his
regal mane, splitting into a spectacular rainbow of celestial colours. And as the three of us
gazed at him in awestruck ecstasy we knew that a taller, more finely chiseled and glorious
form of human had never before been seen by a mere Ravian. The fine aquiline nose, the
high cheekbones, the distinctly Numenorian features. Here was a walking tribute to the
ideals of male beauty! Here was a testimony to the creative genius of God! Here was trainee
pilot, cadet Shigri.
Cadet Shigri turned around and gave us one sharp look of all-consuming fury and
we were his willing slaves forever, liveried in his bondage, subservient souls till souls depart,
we were struck down and brought to heel by the charismatic whiplash of his dreamy,
merciless eyes. They say if the Air Force ever runs out of fuel, cadet Shigri could simply jog
up and down the runway thereby motivating fighter jets to fly on empty tanks. Men would
attempt the impractical and achieve the impossible if cadet Shigri but hinted that it was his
desire they do so. It is rumoured that with a single gaze cadet Shigri can make the coldest
cats on campus conflagrate. And need I say I saw no cats while in Risalpur? And it was this
miracle's cousin that Ali Zafar had been trying to catch the eye of. One toe over the line and
we would've all ended up dead in a non-specific ditch somewhere.
Fact of the matter is, those Air Force people had kept us waiting for about five hours
before finally officially announcing that there was just not enough "visibility" for the Joy
Ride to commence. So I don't blame Ali for losing his focus. But Shigri? Good God! Were
there ever three such fools as us? Flirting with deatll's honour itself! Cadet Shigri could've
impaled us with an eyelash! Skewered us like kebabs on a seekh! None would've been
spared! And all because young master Ali Zafar could not keep his eyes to himself! There
wasn't much time to lose. We begged for, and managed to acquire, a spare bus and went off
as quickly as possible to our rest-house. Once safely behind locked doors, it was time to
prepare for the final round.
That evening I asked Israr if he had spread the rumour about my being a student in
order to sabotage my team. I asked him upfront because I just don't deal with this sort of
The Ravi 20II 142

ubbish by plotting and planning. I ask outright. And I almost always know when I am being
lied to. Israr denied he had anything to do with it. I felt unconvinced but there you have it.
My word against his.Stalemate. So I let bygones be bygones and that was that. Once the final
round began I was too busy chasing camera-flash after-images in my head to care about
anything. But once Ali's speech began, I noticed somebody coughing: An obnoxious and
intrusive, constant and quite obviously rude, cough. Some people sitting behind me were
coughing loudly and pointedly. Their purpose was evident: we're going to keep doing this
until Ali Zafar gets distracted enough to fumble. And Ali did seem annoyed. But he slogged
through the trial with no applause and a lot of ghostly coughing. The coughing was
disturbing enough to get guests from as far down as the third row to tum and see what was
going on. It was Israr and his cronies who were at it. They wanted to disrupt Ali's speech,
and this time they had gone all out to do their worst. There was not even a chance of
claiming he hadn't done it after this shameless display. He had been seen. One never expects
this SO]1 of behavior from an old Ravian. I was shocked! Shocked! Either way, Saad's speech
went spectacularly well and at the end of the day, on account of being the best team in this
particular tournament, because Ali's speech had been safe enough to get us through after all,
and Saad had won the second prize, OCU lifted the team trophy. And for that moment, as in
so many other important moments in life, Israr became irrelevant. We had a decent
post-victory dinner, went back to our room (coincidentally the same room where Ummar and
I had stayed) and stashed the trophy in the closet just like the last time, and went off to watch
the comedy skits that the Risalpur Dramatics Club was putting on in the hall.
"Is your cough better now?" I asked Israr, as coldly as I could the next day. Ali and I
were going back to our room after breakfast and Israr and his boys were making their way to
the mess. What I expected was for Israr to give his usual sheepish laugh and deny what he
had done in his usual gutless fashion. Instead, he became belligerent. He accused us of
accusing him unfairly, and so on and so forth. Fact is I didn't accuse him of anything; I
merely inquired after his health. But the cat was out of the bag now. He was angry,
offensive, and quite possibly very much ashamed. Perhaps he hoped we would throw a
punch at him. And that would have made what he had done seem worth it, justified. He
wanted to hate us, or for us to make him hate us. But I didn't say anything. Neither did Ali.
We went back to our room without another word and he went his own way. I was hurt, of
course. But I had found myself just as speechless at Israr's outburst as I had been when
confronted by the instructor at MCl. I felt wrong-footed to be sure. I had expected an
apology, or at least some sort of obvious symbolic victory to satisfy myself with. At the time
I didn't realize this, at least not until Ali pointed it out, but we really had won, and not just
the trophy. Victory comes in many guises if you have the sense to recognize it for what it
really is.
This became evident a few hours later while we were waiting for the bus to come
and take us to the flying tub for our ride back home. Israr came up to us and sort of
apologized. He didn't actually admit to having done anything wrong, but indicated that he
wanted no hard feelings between us. And we graciously accepted his overture. After he left,
Leghari showed up again (as is his habit to pop up at crucial moments)
"He came to me after breakfast, Israr did," whispered Leghari importantly, "He said
he had exchanged heated words with you guys?" "Yes," I said, "I asked him about his cough
and he ... " "Well, he felt bad about it afterwards," Leghari interrupted, "He told me so
The Ravi 2011 143

himself. And I asked him if it was his fault and he said it was, and so I told him to go
apologize and that it wouldn't make him the smaller man ... quite the contrary." "Leghari," I
laughed, "you're a regular Mother Teresa aren't you?" "Hey, I just try to keep the world
running smoothly; he's an old Ravian; you guys are going to run into each other everywhere,
might as well patch up." He winked at me the way he does. Leghari, by the way, got the first
prize as an individual English speaker. Which is a pretty big deal, or at least, well, it used to
be before the bane of eardrums everywhere, Fahd "the high-pitched honor" Kazmi from F.e.
got it!
As the bus arrived, all four of us (including Leghari) stood watching Mr. Bahauddin
of Chenab College Jhang, with both his mobile phones pressed against his ears, yelling "Sir!
Sir! Yes Sir!" as loud as his personal measure of decency permitted. Here was a man who
hadn't been loved enough by those who mattered I thought. Otherwise why would he be
doing this? Making a spectacle of himself just to gain some attention. To each his own,
however, and if this works for him, then so be it. The poor guy hadn't caught my eye since
last night's victory when he had come over and said to me, "So ... it seems as if we're taking
the trophy home?" He was alluding to the rather weak fact that he was still a Ravian, and that
since it was a GCD win, he was entitled to partake in the festivity. And I said, "Yes, it seems
Mr. Awan really does know what he's doing over there after all doesn't it?" Mr. Bahauddin
smiled an embanassed smile, shook his head and left the hall. And now here he was with his
mobile phones, secure in his private delusions.
Like I said, I had not been looking forward to this trip at all. But I did go. I force
myself not to miss a chance to do things I wouldn't normally do and to go places where I
wouldn't normally go, for the simple reason that life is essentially an opportunity to amass as
many interesting anecdotes as possible. In the words of the renowned science fiction writer,
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.: "Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God." And I
believe that even though lessons are a dreadful nuisance, we're all going to miss them once
college-life is over.
The writer is former
editor of the Ravi, and graduated ill 2010. He currently teaches at Geu.
The Ravi 2011 144

Dear Ammi,
Letter to My Mother
Soufia Anees Siddiqui
I rode my bike to Blenheim Palace in April and it took two hours because the other
girls kept stopping to take pictures. The countryside was gorgeous along the way and we
passed all kinds of farms, fields, the Oxford Airport and the historic town of Woodstock. I
observed to Michel that the area leading up to the Palace was reminiscent of the northern
parts of Pakistan. She considered it to be quite pretty and I took the opportunity to point out
to her that the country is not quite as bad as it is made out to be in the news all the time.
I find myself spending an enormous amount of time clarifying Pakistan's position on
an endless number of senseless issues. Of course, I'm not saying terrorism or extremism are
senseless, per se, but I wish people wanted to sit down and talk about something other than
the sad, negative, pessimistic and sullen. Therefore, I tell them about you and Daddy and the
books in our house; I talk about the colour of brick that defines older parts of Lahore; of the
nuts they sell on Beadon Road; spices and fish you and I would pick up from Township
Bazaar; and the smell of damp soil that only Lahore has. I try to describe the route the
Baloch Number 20 takes from our house to GC and the City FM 89 transmission I'd listen to
on my phone's radio to keep my sanity when travelling on the bus through four years of
college. Mostly, I just try to tell them that Pakistan's struggling to find its identity, but that
it's a natural process and I really miss home. I miss you.
I'm not sure why everyone was insisting so much before I left that I would fall in
love with Oxford and never want to come back. Maybe they don't know me very well. It's a
bubble: everyone's really quite wealthy, especially up in Summertown, where I live. There
are really good schools and universities here, excellent community initiatives and
environmental regulations and a drive to progress that is uniquely Oxfordish, because it is
simultaneously both modern and traditional, hence schizophrenic. But sometimes it's all very
boring. This is a small town with nice romantic things to do like punt by Magdalen, stroll
down Parks Road, frolic in a meadow or recite poetry. It's full of such academically
motivated people that you begin to forget kids fail school, teachers hate their jobs and
governments actually care about neither. There are so many books and libraries and facilities
here, you begin to think,that is how life should be and the libraries you left behind at your
former institutions start to pale in comparison.
The Rhodes House is nice. I mean, the House itself is extremely pretty and its
gardens even more so. But the atmosphere there is warm and welcoming. We can use the
printer for free whenever we want, there's free afternoon tea on Wednesdays where Willy J.
always brings bread for the rest of us and every fortnight, there is a Meet 'n Mingle that
compels us to get up and go socialize a bit with the other Scholars. Sometimes, I hate that.
We have to shake hands with lots of people, remember their names, countries,
constituencies, years, what they're studying, at least one hobby they're interested in and be
able to generate a 5-10 minute conversation out of this limited information. You know I can't
speak very loudly anyway so this is always more trustrating for me. But I have to admit that
it's really pushed me to step out of my comfort zone and strike up meaningful conversation
without intending to. I can see why they do it, in a way. I feel more willing and able to
interact, learn from others, talk about things and, by the end of the night, sneak away with a
select coterie to bang around on musical instruments in the Scholars' Room downstairs.
They're tipsy, I'm not. We dance and joke and then I walk home.
It takes half an hour to get home. When it's really cold, I walk as fast as I can so I
can keep warm, but my toes are still absolutely numb by the time I get into my room. As the
The Ravi 2011 145

weather warms up, I slow my pace and take in the houses I pass, the lights that shine
serenely behind translucent curtains and the grocery stores now shut. Sometimes I leave my
bike home on purpose to enjoy every step along the Banbury Road. Every time I've come
back from America, England has felt like a toy town. Everything is surreally small. But in
American suburbs, everything is crudely big. I like American friendliness, but British
discipline; American basketball, but British cricket; American desserts, but British Sunday
Roast; above all, I like Amelican nieces and nephews, but British brothers-in-law.
Even though there is so much to do, see and learn about and from, there's something
about Pakistan I can't quite put out of my head. I think spending time away from Lahore
without any of you to help me through bills, laundry, groceries, rain, snow, proposal scraps,
awful supervision meetings, loneliness and the cold reality of never being able to truly
depend on any of your friends has done wonders. I don't feel compelled to do what others
necessarily consider as points of success; I truly feel like I can do whatever I think is
important to my existence. I've found that I've become less attached to things and people so it
is easier to let go of situations that are not to my favour. I've also realized that even though
getting into Oxford is very competitive, it is not merit that is the hallmark of this university's
graduate. What really makes a graduate successful is the ability to form an intelligent plan as
to how to systematically approach an end goal and develop the mental strength to see it
through.
I've also found that my exposure to research has only humbled me in my pursuit for
greater satisfaction in life; I know it more than anything now that I want to spend the rest of
my life working for educational improvement in Pakistan. More importantly, though, I feel
like if anything is to be truly done in the country, I shall have to work day and night, even if
it means giving up on much else. I am no longer able to convince myself that spending
exorbitant amounts of money on milkshakes at eTC or elaborately designed clothes just to
'give myself a break' yield any value to me. I just can't bring myself to invest in a 1700-rupee
facial because I've been so stressed working on development issues that my inner peace can
now only be bought from a salon. I've found that my peace is just that-mine. It's in my head
and it's all around, if I'm just looking for it.
Ammi, last night when you took me to get my questionnaires typed in Urdu and the
uncle there kept his shop open till 1 am to help me finish my work, I cried myself to sleep
later. There are good people, still, in this country. They are who I am at Oxford for and they
are the ones that keep me going on the days when my feet are soaking wet from the rain, my
stomach is rumbling with hunger because my stipend is running low and the ones I stay up
all night studying and reading for. When you read this letter tomorrow morning, I want you
to know that you may not have a PhD or even an MSc, but you gave me the most important
thing I needed to fly on my own- my freedom.
So thank you, for all your support, love, patience and enthusiasm for life. For
showing me that the challenge in life is not to be good, when everything around us is good,
but to be good when everything around seems to be going bad. For showing me that you are
never kind to people because you want kindness back, but because that is the best tribute to
God's finest creation. And for showing me that if we keep our eyes, ears and heart open, we
can learn all this and much more, even if we don't all get the fanciest of degrees from the
most exotic places in the world.
Your loving, albeit strange, daughter,
Soufia A Siddiqi
The writer graduated from GCU in 2008, and is currently a student at the University of
Oxford, UK.
The Ravi 2011 146

Rendezvous
Dr. Maryam Alam Khan
Away from the rampant and savage life of the city, deep in the tranquil fields of my
village there are many undiscovered treasures, many truths that are waiting to be unraveled
and may pearls that are waiting to be unveiled. There are inspirational people out there who
have seen all the hardships of life; they were born and brought up in a world quite different
from what we see today. The deep lines on their faces tell stories of the world!
Zait-un-Nisa is one such woman; an old, apparently unimportant person on the first
sight, she is no less than a walking, talking, living and breathing wonder of the world!
Given below is a glimpse of the conversation I had with her.
Q: Bebay, how are you?
A: My child, I am not fine anymore .... How can I be? I am lying on the death bed,
ready to meet my fate. I am very scared! May Allah forgive my sins and may Allah have
mercy on all of us! We all have to die one day, but I am very scared of it now that it is
coming near.
Q: (Na yara!) Bebay, you are still a young and graceful lady! And what sins are you
talking about precisely?
A: No my child, I am no longer young, I am so old, I have been through a lot in my
life ... I was married when I was a young girl, my husband Sultan was an Imam in the
mosque. I was his second wife. When my husband was alive, I tried to look beautiful for
him but not anymore! I have committed many sins. I have watched TV and I have stolen
wheat from my mother-in-law.
I used to watch a lot of TV and I loved to dance in weddings. I have seen the movie
YUSAF KHAN SHERBANO in cinema. Even though I am illiterate, I can read Push to
books and I have read the book of the same story.
Q: Bebay, how was life when you were a small girl? Tell me about all the events that
you can recall?
A: My child, I used to remember everything very well but now my memory is weak.
Old times were so good. I was a young naughty girl who used to play in the streets. I
remember the British rule and my Hindu friends very well. And when people sold their
houses and cattle and decided to migrate to Afghanistan, I was standing on my roof top; I
saw hundreds of people leaving my village. They hadn't gone far when they were asked to
retreat back and then they had nothing left behind for them.
There used to be many diseases back then, I remember the (great plague) epidemic
which killed thousands of people! Eight funerals were held in my neighborhood on one day!
People used to develop swellings in the groin with intense fever and then die.
There was no electricity or any car back then; electricity is a "recent" thing. I have
spent half of my life without it.
When Pakistan came into being, all of the Hindus left Charsadda. We were so happy
for the new nation. I was a mother of five children at that time. But those were very hard
times; there were no clothes, no food and no homes for many of the people. They.suffered a
The Ravi 2011 147

lot of hardships for this country.
Q: Bebay, what kind of food did you mostly eat?
A: I loved to eat all kinds of meat and I loved green chilies a lot.
She has recently had a stroke and is now suffering from left sided paralysis and
speech difficulties; seemed very weak and fragile to me but I was astonished when she
spoke .... for she spoke with the zest and zeal of a young girl!
Zait-un-Nisagot married in 1910. She gave birth to seven children: five daughters
and two sons, the last of whom was born in 1950. Presently, only three of her daughters are
alive, the oldest being hundred years old! Her husband died in 1960.
She narrated a very long dialogue from the film and after that recited many verses of
poetry from the book, listening to which, I was in awe! Being almost a l20-year old, stroke
patient she possessed a phenomenal memory!
The migration to Afghanistan happened in 1918 when several people from the
present day NWFP decided to leave the subcontinent.
The great Bubonic plague epidemic broke out in 1922.
Zait-un-Nisa and her family claim her to be 140 years old; but being an illiterate
woman, she doesn't really know her true age. She told me that she had attended an
engagement ceremony of a woman in 1897. The authenticity of this statement was
confirmed, since the grandson of that woman, is now seventy-five years old!
Bebay has seen the grandchildren of her grandchildren and thus her fifth generation!
She has an ID card and has therefore been regularly voting for A W AMI
NATIONAL PARTY.
Bebay passed away in 2010, at an age I am yet to determine; but the woman was a
world record in her own self!
I am happy to be fortunate enough to have met her. May her soul rest in peace!
The writer is a House Officer at Khyber Teaching Hospital, and graduated from Khyber
Medical College, Peshawar in 2010.
The Ravi 2011 148

Colonel Imam, as I Knew Him
Yasub Ali Dogar
I had known Sultan Amir, later on Colonel Imam since mid-1966. I had been
commissioned about six months earlier than him. However, my unit Guides Infantry FF
(formerly Queen Victoria's own) came to Lahore as a result of pull back of forces due to
Tashkent Accord in 1966 about the time he was commissioned in the Third Pathans (FF).
Both of us, young and energetic, plunged into the lives of young officers (of that
time), which were mainly sectioned into training and sports events, assaulting, Xing and
water obstacle exercises. Even evenings were devoted to regimental dinner and guest nights,
leaving very little time for fun and frolic. Only on Sundays one could indulge in 'non-training
events'. Most of us made up for our sleeplessness of the previous six days of the week, on
Sundays.
In December 1970, both of us found ourselves competing for selection into the elite
SSG (Special Services Group). While I had just crawled through, Sultan Amir passed
through the three days of gruelling selection tests with flying colours. Only twenty-four
officers were selected from the large number of officers who had volunteered for the SSG.
The basic Commando Course started in early 1971. It was here we discovered the
real Sultan Amir. Originally designed by the US Special Forces instructors, it was considered
as one of the toughest courses in Pakistan if not of other modern armies. Sultan would carry
the heaviest load to the farthest distance not asking for relief or respite, till one of us felt that
we were not being fair to him. He was the most helpful among all of us; always willing to
CaITYanyone else's belongings, even though he was dead tired of caITying his own weight,
weapons, ammunition and other such items. After thirty miles of night marching over the
most rugged terrain, when we would just slump down, he would run around to see our
hideout, gather fire wood, cook food and see to the security drills of the hideout etc. It was
here that his real leadership qualities came out.
A few days before we were to graduate from the course, he was with us in setting a
record of crossing the Mangla Lake at its widest, swimming approximately six miles both
ways, in two hours and forty-five minutes. This record remains unbeaten till today. He along
with Brigadier Akram, later Commander SSG, came out with the highest grade in that
course.
He was posted to the elite Tipu Company and I went over to Two Commando
Brigade (SSG). During the Dec 1971 war he had infiltrated behind the Indian troops in the
Desert Sector and laid a blocking position. Unfortunately, the Pakistani ground offensive just
petered out. It goes to his credit that although lost, hungry and forsaken he was able to safely
extricate himself along with his troops. By the end of 1973 he had undergone the US Special
Forces Course at Fort Bragg along with Psychological Operations Course. His visit to the US
was to bring about a marked change in him; appreciating their training methodology while
criticising the materialistic way of life that he saw there. Meanwhile, as the OC Parachute
Training School he had also become a jump master with a golden ensign (over hundred
jumps).
We went up our career ladders, commanding our parent battalions and landed back
together in 1976. I was the Commanding Officer (officiating) and he was the Second in
Command. We went through hectic training, exercise, operations, etc, together. During this
period we were involved in training of the Mujahedeen on a small scale, courtesy General
Naseerullah Khan Babar who was the architect of the forward policy and had advised Mr
Zulfikar Ali Bhutto to be proactive along the Durand Line and payback in the same coin for
what the Afghans were doing in NWFP in particular. Promoted to the rank of Lt Colonel he
The Ravi 2011 149

commanded his "Paltan" and landed in the Afghan cell of the lSI in early 80's and was to
become a larger- than-life legend. His stay there was to change his earlier outlook towards
life, as well as profession. It was there that he adopted the nom de guerre of Colonel Imam
which became a world famous identity.
Imam went after his job with single-minded devotion. Firstly, training the Afghan
Mujahedeen and later leading them into operations against the Soviet troops. The animosity
among Afghan groups was so great that Ahmad Shah Masoud and Hikmatyar killed more of
each other's cadres than the Russians did. Without, belittling the efforts of the Mujahedeen,
it was the immense efforts of this small group of officers and men in coordinating operations
inside Afghanistan, which finally resulted in the Soviet withdrawal. Imam had a low opinion
about the operational capability of the Russian forces except the Spetnaz. He had a (healthy)
high regard for them and thought that they were among the best Special Forces in the world.
He always took pride in being the first stone in the dismemberment of the Evil Empire.
He was one of those lSI operators who stayed the longest, went the deepest and
earned total respect of the Mujahedeen for his operational handling, tact and coordination.
This was also the most dangerous period. The domination of Soviet gunships over the sky
with total air superiority, made any moves by Mujahedeen very difficult, particularly by day.
However Charlie Wilson's effort bore fruits and the induction of Stinger anti-aircraft missiles
severely challenged the Soviet air superiority. Very few people know or understand that most
difficult period. Were it not for the timely induction of these SAMs, Dr Najibullah might
have been still around. At the same time he was not without his detractors. While handing
over the Afghan desk to me, my predecessor, General Afzal Janjua remarked that one of the
biggest worry he had was the personal security of Imam. He was apprehensive that Gulbadin
Hikmatyar (GB) may eliminate him for his patronage of Akhunzada Nasim the leader of the
Mujahedeen in Helmand Province who was vehemently anti GB. During my stay as the Head
of the Afghan desk, I too had to ensure that they did not come into each other's domain.
The Peshawar Accord of 1992 owed itself to hectic work of pushing the
Mujahedeen leaders round the clock to come out with a solution. Prince Turki Al Faisal,
Head of Saudi intelligence was also there to pressurize the Afghan leaders. However it was a
handful of people including Imam who utilized their friendship, influence, charm or arms,
twisting abilities to force the Afghan leaders to come out with an accord. Naturally, this was
not to the full satisfaction of Iranian diplomats, who were waiting in line to exercise their
own influence on the future of Afghanistan. The effort to bring out an accord, was by itself
one of the major achievements of the lSI. Till the last moments, there were hiccups and a
possibility of its being sabotaged by many players, who felt they were not being allowed
their part in the game.
The Mujahedeen Government led by Hazrat Mujadadi was installed in April 1992.
Most of our work in operations had finished. I asked for a posting out while Imam stayed
there till his retirement. Afghanistan remained in a state of civil war even after the
installation of the Mujahedeen Government. It was the period of the warlords, Turan Ismael
in Herat, Gul Agha in Kandahar, Rashid Dostum Uzbek at Mazar I Sharif and the Ahmed
Shah Massoud in Punjsher Valley and other Tajik areas. The Central Government was
confined to parts of Kabul only.
The Pakistan Foreign Service officers were not interested or keen in serving in a
turbulent Afghanistan particularly. after the assault on Pak Embassy and drubbing of our
diplomats in Kabul. Colonel Imam came in handy and was appointed as Pakistan's Counsel
The Ravi 2011 150

General at Herat. Having very good personal relations with Turan Ismael and his brother, he
went after his job with gusto. There is no record of Imam having strayed beyond his official
responsibility and interfering in the internal affairs of Afghanistan. However his personal
friendship with so many of them did not rule out his influence over them. As a Counsel
General, Imam strengthened these friendships further. He was also the target of kidnapping
and assassination more than once. Probably his detractors wanted to shoot two birds with
one shot i.e. embarrass Pakistan besides eliminating him.
The Pakistan Government during this period was conceiving its own plan for
opening up Central Asian Republics through over land routes through Afghanistan. His
location at Herat and Kandahar was ideally suited for facilitating this purpose. The Interior
Minister General Baber was particularly very keen, though some saner elements had advised
against this adventure. Unfortunately the very first convoy led by Imam got mired in the intra
Afghan feuds and was made hostage. The timely arrival of the Taliban saved Imam and the
convoy from annihilation. The arrival of the Taliban in 1996 onwards was a home grown
affair in Afghanistan though it was laid at the doors of the Pakistani establishment. Imam's
personal knowledge was most useful in establishing contact and ultimately recognizing the
Taliban. This was done somewhat prematurely and without the input of the foreign office.
One of the key figures of Charlie Wilson's war, he was personally known to everyone who
mattered, from Charlie Wilson to the bigwigs in Pakistan; his input was considered vital in
policy formulations in those crucial years.
TiIl the last, he remained an admirer of the Taliban and prided in having been
Mullah Omar's instructor. We had heated discussions on the subject particularly after the
destruction of the largest Buddha statue at Bamyan. However it was difficult to convince
Imam. He basked in the limelight he was getting as the mentor of Taliban. His impressive,
tall and handsome looks with a white turban, did knock off some pretty journalists. He also
had a knack of impressing people with his candid and frank opinion particularly on the
future of American occupation in Afghanistan. He felt that more innocent Afghans had been
killed by the US forces - called euphemistically as collateral damage - than the Russians did.
Understanding Afghan psyche, he believed that the time and space was on the side of the
locals.
Lastly what ultimately happened to Colonel Imam is the most difficult question to be
answered by anyone close to him. His last public appearance was the marriage of my
daughter on 5th of March, 2010. A few days later he was apparently kidnapped by the
Punjabi Taliban known as Asian Tigers on a visit to Waziristan, along with Khaled Khawaja
and Asjad Qureshi a British Pakistani journalist. Imam had earlier told me that during
President Karzai's last calIon President Musharraf, Karzai had complained that rogue
elements of lSI under Colonel Imam were training the Afghan Taliban. Imam was called
upon by his old Directorate, where he told them that if he was training them then they would
surely know it because nothing remains hidden from the plethora of Intelligence agencies for
long. He was probably lured into coming to the tribal belt by one of the foreign-funded
Taliban groups, with the aim of finding out about the lSI or Imam's linkages with the Afghan
Taliban. When nothing came, out he had to be eliminated otherwise the game would be up.
The incredible incident of Raymond Davis's arrest, followed by Imam's purported
execution by the Pakistani Taliban, seems to be interwoven and interlinked somewhere. It
also gives credence to the perception in Pakistan's establishment, of Pakistani Taliban being
a tool in the pay of distant paymasters as part of the new great game. Imam's death will
remain a mystery till his remains are found, DNA tested and a proper Islamic burial arranged.
His friends, colleagues and lastly his family will miss his colourful personality for a long
time to come. It is very difficult to fill such a vacuum.
The writer is a retired Brigadier, former Head of Afghan Desk and former
Mayor of Lahore.
The Ravi 2011 151

Wrapping up an Indian Experience
lsha Tariq
I had never imagined that I would be able to represent Pakistan in my life, let alone
GCU. Neither had I faintly dreamt of touring India in this regard.
English Department---December, 2010:
It was one of those tense, work-filled, indiscriminate days in the final week of
December in which I submitted my CV to a brisk-pacing Professor Siddique Awan, whose
left arm was swinging (the right being book-loaded customarily), in order to keep up with
the stride of his feet. This was done at the eleventh-hour of the last day, on which an institute
could still possibly send in the nominations of their students to the provincial government,
for their selection in a SAARC delegation going to India. I was fortunate enough to have
made that deadline, and in this regard shall always remain indebted (for the rest of my life) to
the swift pace of Sir Awan's feet.
The Pakistan delegation, as chosen by the federal government was a group of five
young people, one from each of the provinces of Pakistan, along with Gilgit-Baltistan. We
made a team of four girls and one boy-- an unwavering reality which was ultimately
interpreted very pleasantly by most Indian people, in terms of how much encouragement and
support our government showed towards women, contrary to their prior image of a sparsely
women-emancipated Pakistan. This positive interpretation was consolidated by the fact that
our team was led by Maryam Alam Khan, a young lady doctor from Khyber Medical
College, Peshawar.
My visit to India was in conjunction with the 16th National Youth Festival (NYF),
of the kind. This year (i.e 2011) it was held in Udaipur, which is widely known as the 'City
of Lakes' or the 'Venice of the East'. The beautiful city is located about 250 miles away from
Jaipur, state capital of Rajasthan. It was for the first time in the history of an annual NYF,
that participants from SAARC nations where invited to visit India. These included countries
like Bangladesh, Bhutan, Pakistan and Sri Lanka.
During the days of the festival, the Pakistani delegation became a centre of
attraction for many, as participants from different Indian states enjoyed discussing a variety
of issues (involving the two countries) with us. Living in Lahore was one reason which
earned me effortless affection from most Indians. Being a student of Government College
University was another one. After interacting with most people, particularly the elderly ones,
I sensed the love and reverence they held for our institution. The "Courage to Know"
instilled by our esteemed alumni, the century-long endorsement of the Ravian spirit, and the
strength of a bond having sustained itself across the border, became all the more important
for me.
National Youth Festival (12th-16thJanuary,2011)-Udaipur, India--(About the NYF):
Celebrated on the birthday of Swami Vivekananda on January 12th, the National
Youth Festival is organized every year by the Ministry of Youth Affairs and Sports, India.
January 12th is celebrated as National Youth Day, and the week commencing from that day
as National Youth Week. The festival propagates the concept of integration, communal
harmony, brotherhood, courage and adventure amongst the youth. These were concepts and
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ideas given by the thinker/philosopher, Swami Vivekananda during his life-time. He was a
spiritual genius of commanding intellect and power who managed to wake people to a new
national consciousness. Swami Vivekananda's ideas and teachings have carried on globally,
being practiced in institutions all over the world. His monumental works have been a source
of inspiration for the youth in India who thus try to promulgate the values of this thinker
(primarily brotherhood, unity and courage), through the NYF every year.
"Don't look back. Forward, infinite energy, infinite
enthusiasm, infinite daring, and infinite patience. Then
alone can great deeds be accomplished."
Swami Vivekananda-Philosopher
(January 12, 1863 - July 4, 1902)
This year, the magnificent city of Rajasthan Udaipur, hosted five thousand
participants from all thirty-five states and Union Territories. The festival was a five-day
event, and comprised of many competitive as well as non-competitive events covering
performing and non-performing art forms, like classical dance, folk dance, classical
instrumental, painting, sculpture, etc. In addition to the main events, several add-on events
had been organized to connect with the youth and public at large.
A gist of my NYF experience:
For many reasons, my visit to Udaipur has been one of the most invigorating
experiences of my life. One comical reason for instance would be the frequency with which
Team Pakistan happened to be termed 'sundan' by Indian women. At a particular occasion a
few people asked me if everyone in my city was as tall as I was/am. I therefore enjoyed the
privilege of fooling many Indians with the statement that "Yes all people in Lahore are tall."
In another similar-lined conversation, with aged men of some sound literary background, my
team leader had proclaimed: "You have no idea how good-looking the people of Pakistan
are." It was another remark well-served to the purpose of astonishing its listeners. This was
a miraculous achievement in itself. Hence we concluded that we had turned out to be great
ambassadors of Pakistan in this regard, if not any other.
I met my team members for the first time at the Lahore Airp0l1 on the 12th of
January, 2011-the day the festival was to commence. There was a colossal barrier between us
and the attainment of our visas, despite the acknowledged fact that we were SAARC
delegates. (Yes, getting Indian visas on time is one rare fot1une)! We got ours at the airport
about three hours before our departure, and therefore missed the festival's opening ceremony
scheduled for that night in Udaipur. This was no misfortune on our part, for we got to spend
a night in Delhi. At the airport however, we encountered an Indian immigration officer who
detained us for two hours on account of not getting our SAARC forms photocopied. We told
him about the Sh011 time in which we had got our visas, and that there was no photocopy
machine in the plane from Lahore to Delhi. To that, he had retorted: "Aik to tum logoan ki
yeh harkat, aur phir ooper say tum logoan kay sarray hoay Piyaaj." It seemed that he was
deeply afflicted by the India-Pakistan Onion Trade occurring in those days. He was the first
Indian we had encountered and no one whom we met during the rest of our stay had an equal
for the crunchy tone he possessed.
The night at Delhi was unforgettable. There, we enjoyed the privilege of breaking
into an Indian wedding, courtesy our travel guide R.K Bandoo, whom we liked calling
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"Bundoo Khan" for our convenience. He was a spirited fellow with nearly orange hair,
displaying a love for tomato soup and a keen interest in the commonality between the Indian
and Pakistani cultures. We alarmed him by revealing to him the number of functions which
an average wedding in Pakistan happened to constitute. He on the other hand baffled us by
informing that an Indian wedding, be it extravagant or simple, composed of just one
function, the expenses of which were bam mutually by the bride and groom's parents. It was
up to the two families to decide the duration of the function, which could be as long as ten
hours, or as short as thirty minutes. The function would however still be devoid of the
tremendous activity or dances most weddings in Pakistan imbue in festivity.
Culture aside, we (Pakistani delegates) got a chance to discuss various other issues
with different sections of the Indian society, be they journalists, writers, singers,
sportspeople, air force men, students or even shopkeepers. Talking to each of them gained us
a unique experience. We got to interact with sportsmen like M.Azharuddin (former Indian
Cricket Captain), and Sini Jose (who is certainly the Naseem Hameed of India). Some of the
interesting questions put fOlth by us were given coverage in Indian newspapers. Our brief
chat with the Indian Air Force Wing Commander, Jai Kishan held immense inspiration. He
had created a national record by diving from the highest altitude in the Mount Everest
region, and also sky-dived from a great height with his team, on the grand closing of the
Youth Festi val I was lucky enough to witness.
M.B Stadium Udaipur, was filled with the ecstasy of dances and songs every night.
Singers like Sudesh Bhosley. and Sonu Nigam sang late night for their fans on two
respective nights. The jubilant, yet peaceful occurrence of the Sonu Nigam concert was
indeed an accomplishment by the authorities in charge. especially the Rajasthan Police men
whose timely baton-charge on many hooligans rendered results. The attitudes and physiques
of these armed men were in close proximity with our Punjab Police men, who I'm confident
would have served the purpose of baton-charging even better. The Udaipur Police was
however awakened (one fine 14th February), to the exercise of charging batons on all people
who upheld the tradition of Valentine's Day publicly. It is for this reason that the celebrations
of this day in Udaipur are no longer made openly.
Having long conversations with Indian friends, (who were university students there),
eamed me some immensely interesting stories that revolved around their religious beliefs. I
was astonished to know about the number of beliefs an average Hindu could possess
simultaneously. He could be a stem believer of the fact that his god's soul was distributed in
the four stomachs of his holy cow. Alongside this, he could also possess a belief that this
god's soul was distributed in the two thousand black rats that horded (and still horde) the
Kami Mata Temple in India. Locating a white rat amidst these black rats was/is considered
auspicious by the believers of Kami Mata,the Rat Goddess. Hearing such unusual beliefs,
made my stay in Udaipur all the more enjoyable.
Udaipur being a beautiful city, has seven lakes and innumerable mountains and
forts. The only aspect which perhaps ruins its exquisiteness is the presence of dogs on the
roads, and that too innumerable! We (my team leader and I) happened to be chased by three
of them on our way back from Kumbhal Garh. Needless to say, that too created an integral
memory,(of a wholly different sort though), but eventually making our Udaipur stay
'enjoyable' once again. Kumbhal Garh is an antediluvian fort surrounded by the second
longest wall of the world (36 kilometres long), the area around which is bordered by around
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360 temples. Touring this beautiful sight was an essential part of my Indian tour, alongside
the many other places
I visited.
Our interview to the Times of India group was perhaps the highlight of our six-day
Indian experience. It was the longest and the most organized interview we gave. The five of
us were asked individual questions based on the academic and co-curricular backgrounds
each one of us had. There was an in-depth discussion about students' exchange programme,
medical tourism, sports, music, culture exchange, and the promotion of confidence-building
measures between the people of Pakistan and India. What made this interview particularly
more important was the fact that we were Pakistani delegates--young people from India's
most noteworthy neighbour, who had become a predominant part of all news pertaining to
the NYF in the Indian media--newspapers and television. Almost every media-person wanted
to talk to us, be it just for a few seconds. Each one of them longed to penetrate into the mind
of a Pakistani youth and pen, or else record the thoughts he/she had in store for the Indian
people. This amounted to us, attaining immense recognition and regard in Udaipur within a
short time of six days. It was a commendable feeling: being recognized as a Pakistani by
face, and then put forth arbitrary questions by random public. Giving the answers to some of
them was a careful national responsibility indeed. The importance and pampering we had
been receiving in the festival days, reached its threshold when Maryam (my team leader) and
1, made an errand to a small paan shop in front of Fateh Sagar Lake. On seeing us, the owner
of that roadside shop proclaimed: "Dekho meri dukaan parr aaj kaun aaya: Pakistani 'kallaa
kaar' (artists)!" Upon interrogating him, we came to know that he had seen us on Sahara TV
Channel in India. Within seconds, about dozen people had surrounded us, some asking us
their usual questions about Pakistan, others expressing a desire to get themselves
photographed with us. We had almost become celebrities in less than a week's time!
Jaghwinder Sindh, our caretaker and travel guide in Udaipur, often rescued us from awkward
situations, and without his permission no formal media interview could progress. In spite of
retaining this firm demeanor, Jaghwinder Singh was popularly known as 'Jag goo Dada'
amongst all SAARC delegates. He was a spirited and hefty government official who
entertained us time and again in the bus, by dancing hilariously to the beat of some melTY
Indian songs.
My interaction with the other SAARC delegates turned out to be outright
memorable. I found many good friends from amongst the Sri Lankans, Bengalis and the
Bhutanese youth. They kept their vivacity and friendliness intact, throughout the Youth
Festival. The Sri Lankans hosted a party on our last night in Udaipur where we all sang the
cultural, folk and pop songs of our respective countries. Songs like 'Dil Dil Pakistan',
'Jazba-ey-Junoon', 'Ko Ko Ko Reena' and even 'Bibi Shirini' filled the air, alongside sweet
melodies from the Sri Lankans, Bhutanese and the Bengalis. It was a fun-filled event,
coupled with the exchange of country currencies, as a mark of affability. These goodwill
friendship gestures continued with the exchange of national brochures and small gifts with
each other. The Indians too joined us in for dinner. We exchanged t-shirts with them, which
each one of us wore the following day. The Indians gave us black NYF ones, while we gifted
them white ones with some images of Gilgit painted on them. (Salma, my teammate who
works for the tourism department in Gilgit had bought those with her, along with some other
small souvenirs).
My six-day visit to India proved to be constructive in interacting with various people
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and then ultimately finding good friends in them-friends who still mail to me before and after
an India-Pakistan cricket encounter, in order to exchange light-hearted annotations. After
addressing the grand Indian audience in M.B Stadium, we (team Pakistan) bid a final
goodbye to the hospitable people of Udaipur who had made us feel royal and pleased
throughout our stay, via their goodwill and courteous behaviour. In a nutshell: Getting visas
at the eleventh hour and reaching Delhi after a four-hour flight delay, made it a lackluster
beginning. Nevertheless, instantly breaking into an Indian wedding made a dramatic
compensation. Not only this, there were times when laughing out loud did not demand a real
reason. Udaipur certainly had a lot to offer. Amidst the spicy aroma of 'Paao Bhaaji' and
finger-licking 'paapri chaats', the yumminess of the 'kheers' and the 'paneers', we eventually
grasped the tag line of the NYF theme song: "India loves you".
The writer is a fourth year student of B.Sc (Holls)-Physics at GCU.
The Ravi 2011 156

Sindh Khappay
Ali Zafar
Punctuality is one thing I hate the most about myself. It appears to be a disorder in a
person like me. A person whom almost all the people refer to as an irresponsible,
non-serious, cynical idiot, who has not learnt anything from his past and has not planned
anything for his future. (I live amidst a group of geniuses who have properly planned their
future and are very sure that everything is going to happen according to their master plan -
and then they call me an idiot!). That's why in recent years my favorite word has been 'irony'.
21st March, 2011, I woke up at 7:30am, waited for half an hour like a scared child,
officially got out of my bed with the alarm at 8am. Spent three hours cursing myself for
being what I am (a thing I do quite frequently). By 1O:30am I was done with my packing and
was ready to leave. It was a Sunday with no traffic on the roads; as the clock struck eleven, I
left for the Punjab Arts Council, Qaddafi Stadium; within fifteen minutes, I was there, all
alone.
I might as well tell you where, why and how we were going and who 'we' were. We,
the thirty best students from various educational institutions of Punjab, were going to Sindh
to bridge the social and cultural (actually political) gap between the two provinces. Gender
balance was well kept: fifteen male and fifteen female students. We were supposed to go by
air; our government is prudent enough to not want to waste two to three days on traveling.
Plus airfare is crucial for the strengthening of inter provincial relations, the comfort of the
"best and brightest" of our youth, their security, and to save time, which is more important
than money in a third-world country - apparently.
11 :45am: I made a mental note after observing some ridiculously dressed boys that
this trip might not involve the "the best and the brightest" after all. Or perhaps I was just
being prematurely judgmental. lust like magic, however, the 'prettiest' boy I have ever
known, carne to my rescue: Muhammad Umar lee Salimi. (I hope I haven't committed a
spelling mistake,for he is very particular about his name). GC University was the only
institution to have all its nominations selected to be a part of this delegation. Umar lee and I
were there, now we were waiting for our two female counterparts. Fortunately or
unfortunately, Fatima Tanvir, one of the girls we were waiting for, couldn't corne due to
some professional commitments she had taken up. She had an extremely minor role in the
annual Urdu play but did not want to seem unprofessional by leaving the cast. This is how
decent people deal with situations, unlike me: I chose the exact opposite. I had a relatively
more important role than hers, - not an Oscar winning role but an important one nevertheless
- and yet I decided to take this trip and forego the play. This is how I deal with situations;
another thing I hate about myself.
I believe I should mention that the play wasn't the only thing I let go of: the next day,
GCU Debating society was staging the finals of 16th Annual Parliamentary Debates 2011,
and I was supposed to conduct the event. I, being the General Secretary of GCUDS, had to
be there; although history tells us that usually secretaries are not required for this job, but
this year, due to some technical and psychological flaws in the presidential policy, the task
was mine to shoulder. So, I gave up two important things, one may say two very prestigious
things to be a part of this tour. Two things people at GCU actually long for. Now, I felt that
The Ravi 2011 157

this tour had better be worth it.
12:30pm: at last team OCU was complete. Isha Tariq, arrived with a person whose
presence filled me with horror. I thought he was Isha's brother. Brothers and fathers of the
pretty girls I know always frighten me. If you are looking for an exaggeration, it is there in
the term "pretty girls". Although I have known Isha for almost three years, and I knew that
the man with the moustaches could not be her brother. Even then, the fear somehow
possessed my heart, coursed through my veins and gave me goose bumps. I shook hands
with him, greeted him, and then he went down to talk to the tour in-charge.
As usual, Isha had something to tell us, something she should have told us the
previous day or even that morning; "Hey, we have to leave at Spm, and that too on a Daewoo
bus; my father talked to the tour in-charge," she said, followed by a Colgate smile. Now the
pretty pink world I had imagined started to fade away. After some time, that mustachioed
man handed over the luggage to Isha and went away. Three of us went down to the waiting
room, which was nothing but a tale of gender discrimination. Vmar Jee and I sat on the boy's
side and Isha settled down with an abaya-clad girl in the girl's section.
Aft e r sam e tim e , w hen U maT J e e ' s bar i n g con ve r sat ion full 0 f
"Arguments-by-Imagery" became unbearable, I asked Isha to have a seat with us. This
attracted the tour in-charge, Section Officer Cultural Affairs, Mr. Abdul Wahid to our party.
He came and sat with us and throughout his conversation left the impression that he was an
old Ravian, which we later came to know he wasn't.
2:30pm: the mind numbing delays began. Once the torturous mismanagement and
the starvation were over and we finally boarded the bus, it was Spm. By now I had partially
started to regret my decision to take this tour instead of all the honour and glory I had left
behind at OCU. The tour in-charge enlightened us with something we were not actually
excited to hear, we had to make stops at Sahiwal and Bahawalpur to pick some more
students. Officially and ideally the delegation should comprise of thirty students from all
over Punjab and at maximum three officials. But bureaucracy works in a different way. The
tour in-charge made it a family tour and a vocational trip for himself and his office staff.
Instead of thirty three people there were forty two people; with four family members of the
in-charge and seven officials - from his personal secretary to the office water boy. And as the
tour went on we came to know that apparently we were the only three people who got
selected on merit, because even the students who got selected had "connections" in the huge
web of bureaucracy.
Finally the journey started and for a restless person like me it was nothing but just a
nightmare, sitting on one seat with the scorching sun on my left and, of all the creatures the
Almighty created, U mar Jee on my right. I had taken two sedatives from Isha before the
journey began, and felt it was the best decision I had made all day.
I slept like a four year old child and when I opened my eyes next we had reached
Sukkur. An orange coloured coaster was waiting for us to take us to the hotel; it looked like
an orange tlavored Fruitella tube. The place we were taken to, which they called a hotel,
looked more like an abandoned brothel. We were given fifteen minutes to get fresh and ready
for we had to visit a deer enclosure, and to get there we had to pass through cultivated fields,
and Fruitella could not be driven there, so the District Officer arranged for some cars. As
always the "oppressed" gender, the girls, went in the cars while we followed in a tractor. It
The Ravi 2011 158

was truly adventurous. Within a few minutes we reached the deer habitat. This was where I
found a deer skull lying in ;1 putrid heap of animal dung, which Isha unwittingly and
excitedly proceeded to store in her hand bag for three days. I took it along with me and for at
least half an hour it was the centre of attention amongst the delegates. Umar lee, Isha and I
unanimously agreed upon naming it; a name that reflected it's majesty, it's charm, a name
that could sound like one of a desert animal, who lived through the dry and barren terrains of
Sindh and died with honour and pride. Thus we christened it, "Sissy". Isha took a few
pictures with it, and in one of the pictures Sissy was placed right over her head; again, she
didn't know of its dung-heap origins.
Next up was the Fort, Kat Diji, where we were served our first meal. I had eaten
Sindhi biryani before, but everyone used to say that they make the best Sindhi biryani in
Sindh. No, they don't, because in the lunch box that each of us got, there were some
half-cooked rice with unpeeled potatoes, which they called biryani; we also received a shami
kebab with too much salt and a chicken patty soaked in oil, which pleaded its irrelevance in
this weird version of biryani and kebab. The only thing I could stomach in this meal was the
Nestle water bottle they served with the lunch box.
We looked over the fort on our own, with no tour guide; even now I don't know who
made it, why, and whether it was an actual fort or just a preparatory sculpture for Lahore
Fort. It was all kept a secret. Finally, after our in-depth study of the fort, we left for the hotel.
Once again we had an hour to gear up for a cultural show where Sassi Palejo, minister of
something would meet us. I had been wearing the same black shirt for the last three days.
Isha gave me an ultimatum that if I didn't change clothes the next day they would leave me in
Sukkur (this actually frightened me). Sassi Palejo didn't come and some sports instructor of
the Sukkur sports club was dragged in as her replacement (clearly the two were
interchangeable ).
He sang us a Sindhi folk song and asked our very talented delegates to return the
favor. Here begins a new story, after some initial hesitation, two girls from Bahawalpur
stood up to sing a song, the only two girls Isha initially liked (I have no idea why). They
performed a Punjabi folk song known as a Punjabi Tappa, with some very interesting lyrics
in which they were cooking potatoes and peas (Alloo-mattar) and envying shirt buttons for
they were placed on the chest of their beloved instead of they themselves (because unlike
them. shirt buttons do not stink?). After which every time these girls got a chance to sit and
breathe they would clap and sing this song, whether it was six in the morning when we
awaited Fruitella, or midnight when we were returning from a cultural show, Aloo-mattar
and claps were two things we would surely listen to. They served us dinner which I and
Umar Jee didn't eat due to a shortage of food, so one whole day without food and I simply
loved Sindh. We got back to our hotel, changed our clothes and now had to do something
about the dinner. I had given up hope, because in the briefing our tour in-charge strictly
conveyed his message that no one will be allowed to leave alone, we were supposed to be
together all the time. Umar Jee put our case forward to Mr. Musavir Hussain, Section Officer
Youth Affairs; hunger made Umar lee look even more pitiful than usual, so we got the
permission but we had to return in half an hour. We went out and had pizza at a local
restaurant, which at that moment tasted like the best pizza on earth. After the meal we came
back and threw ourselves on our beds, which proved to be costly for me, as the bed couldn't
bear my weight and now I had to sleep on a broken bed.
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I was in the middle of a beautiful utopian dream when my sleep was disrupted by a
woman banging on the door and screaming at the top of her lungs in a shrill voice. It was one
of lady luck's standard leg pullers, because it wasn't a wom:m, it was our group in-charge
from Sindh, Mr. Abeer-ul-Haq who had a pretty thick beard and looked almost normal until
he opened his mouth to speak. According to him, he was the only child of his parents and
conflicts arose between them when they were expecting him. His mother wanted a son and
his father longed for a daughter and the result was an amalgamation of their wishes. (Nature
has a very unusual sense of humour).
Our next destination was the oldest civilization of the world; Mohenjo Daro. On the
gate of the now preserved and well managed Mohenjo Daro we met our tour guide, who
looked just a year or two younger than the civilization itself. He started off by pointing
towards the sculpture of an ancient king and said, "What you are looking at is not what the
actual piece looks like; the original is kept in the Karachi Museum." and then for the next
hour we had to hear the same sentence every time we set our eyes on something new. The
only thing I concluded from this trip was that in order to preserve history our archaeologists
moved an entire civilization to another city almost killing the purpose of visiting that very
place.
We were taken to a hotel in Larkana, which was a much better place than Sukkur.
We had our lunch (I had a proper meal after two days), rested, and after freshening up we
were ready to leave for a cultural show organized by the art council of Larkana. The show
truly reflected the folk musical culture of the province which has been a part of Sindh's
heritage for centuries; the show stretched till 2am. We were left for the mosquitoes to feast
on.
2:15am and finally we were having dinner; they served us a delicious chicken curry,
which I was very sure is known as Chicken Makhani, but they refused to admit it: "We cook
it in butter, so it's Chicken White, not makhani," they said. This sort of logic made me
wonder whether they were all somehow related to Umar Jee. They were all extremely
hospitable but not exactly bright.
Next day was an interesting one; we visited the shrine of a very famous saint Laal
Shahbaz Qalandar (a place I really wanted to visit) and the shrine of Shah Abdul Lateef'
Bhattayi. It was a spiritual experience that made the trip worthwhile. Afterwards we went to
see Malakhrra: the Sindhi version of wrestling. The matches are more of a spectacle than
anything else. You get to witness impoverished men beating each other senseless for money
that the entertainment of the affluent affords. It was more depressing than cultural
illumination usually is. And, talking about hypocrisy, the game was played by two almost
naked men, and the fifteen girls of the delegation who had been carefully separated and
"protected" from the male delegates were taken to the arena to observe these almost nakemen
fight. Where did the upholders of morality place this sort of display? Hypocrisy and
Bureaucracy they don't just sound the same way, I believe they work in the same way as well.
We were taken to the Sports Board of Hyderabad, where they had arranged our
accommodation. It was a very hectic day and I was starving. I desperately wanted a shower
and some food. I got the shower but not the food. I just couldn't stomach it. Even so, I went
to dinner, which was organized at the roof top of the Sports Board, with a swimming pool to
our left and a pleasant breeze whistling through our ears the sweet tune of mosquitoes. As
The Ravi 2011 160

soon as we were done with dinner, Mr. Khursheed, Director of Youth Affairs, Sindh, a.k.a
Hitler, asked the boys to leave while the girls remained seated. He had planned something
special for them. The girls were given an ice-cream treat by Hitler while the boys were
locked in their rooms right after dinner. Suppressed gender? I wanted to ask all feminists
why they thought women were suppressed. They get ice-cream; we get ravaged by vampire
insects.
Sindh University, Jamshoro was the next place scheduled for the delegates. It was an
informative experience for us, as we got a chance to comprehend the educational system of
Sindh. An experience that forced us to thank the Almighty that we studied at GCU, because
as far as the management and administration of the university was considered, it was a
complete mess. By evening we reached Karachi, the last city on our schedule, we had to
spend the last four days of our trip in Karachi. We had nothing to do that evening, so we
finally had some rest. After an hour we were called to Mr. Wahid's room where we were
instructed about our security and there was a special instruction for me. I was asked to
change clothes. (Black being my favorite colour, I took five black T-shirts with me. and he
thought I had been wearing the same shirt for the last five days).
Next morning we went to the Quaid's mausoleum. We came to know some
interesting facts about the place, but what came as an eye-opener was that the real grave was
not the one that the public gets to see (this immediately reminded me of our guide to
Mohenjo Daro, and I thought the original grave might be in Karachi Museum, since
everything with historic importance is shifted there). But it was in the basement, right
beneath the fake one, where everybody prays.
We had an hour to get ready for our visit to the Governor House, where we had to
meet Dr. Eshrat Ul Ebad, the Governor of Sindh, who would talk to us and answer our
queries. After waiting for an hour, the governor blessed us with his presence. I was very
excited because after five days I was about to participate in something constructive: I was
asked to raise a question after the govemor's address. But as usual lady luck played her dirty
trick and due to shortage of time I was deprived of this honor.
The next day, we visited the beach where the delegates proved their worth. About
half the delegates who visited the beach were wearing lounge suits; only the best students of
the Punjab could be expected to be so well dressed on a beach. But as soon as these
gentlemen stepped on the golden sand, they took off their shirts and jumped into the water,
that too in front of the girls, a pure exhibition of elegance. Right after that we headed
towards Nine-Zero (90), the MQM house, wearing wet clothes and sun burns all over our
faces, going straight to the next destination without stopping at the hotel to freshen up.
Efficiency is essential. It was an intriguing experience, for we came to know how well the
party worked and then Altaf Bhai honoured us with a priceless, pointless and boring
telephonic address. Half an hour wasn't enough to take off sand of our bodies, but we had to
get ready for a cultural show organized by Karachi Arts Council. Coincidently almost all the
boys were wearing kurta shalwar which for the first time gave a decent outlook to the overall
group. Young talented artists of Karachi Arts Council performed well to maintain the
balance between good and bad; our aloo-mattar gang gave another performance which we
were ashamed of, yet we fully supported them. After that the Sindh government distributed
certificates and Ajraks as a token of gratitude. In order to conclude the show, the secretary of
Karachi Arts Council requested the delegates to perform Bhangara; the beat of the dholl gave
The Ravi 2011 161

me an adrenaline rush, so I was up, and I was not alone. I forced Umar Jee to join me as well,
after the usual hesitation, surprisingly, Umar Jee stood up for what will remain the most
hilarious Bhangara ever performed, at least for me it will. The only thing in the entire tour
Isha didn't capture with her fancy camera.
It was Sunday, a bright day, but we were heading towards the city of gloom; Thatta,
which has the largest graveyard. The Malki graveyard truly represented the exquisite art of
our ancestors who not only lived in majestic palaces but their final abodes were also
fantastic. Close to the graveyard was the Thatta mosque made in the reign of Emperor Shah
Jahan; the mosque has a hundred tombs and fine art work all over the building, it is a pure
representation of the Mughals. Thatta truly reflected the cultural refinement Sindh has
undergone over centuries, a place which may be old but will live till end of time. In the
evening we were taken to Zainab market for shopping and for the first time in a week we
were left free to go where we felt like going. We bought gifts for our loved ones, some of us
enjoyed the spicy junk food which they were not allowed to have due to medical reasons,
while some just roamed around here and there charming the Karachi girls. But I discovered
some friends during this, friends who would risk their lives just to fulfill my one stupid wish.
I wanted to buy a paper bag, which wasn't available in Zainab market. To get it we had to go
to Borri Bazar, an area we were not supposed to go due to security reasons. So those
beautiful people walked almost two kilometers with me to buy that paper bag, without even
asking me why I wanted it. And after I had that blue paper bag, they kept on asking me why I
bought it without getting an answer.
Finally, it was our last night in Karachi; everyone planned to have fun the whole
night, but not me, I went to sleep earlier than routine. You see I hate changes; I hate it when
things change, when people depart, when friends walk away. I am not good at saying
Goodbyes. When I see people going away, those people with whom I have seen good times
and bad, with whom I have tasted victory and embraced defeat, seen time tloating away, it's
like getting punched really hard. Inexpressible pain. If I had to simply define this tour, I'd say
it was like building a sand castle and then watching a wave erase it, just like that.
The writer is a third year student of B.Sc(Hons)-Economics, and is also the General
Secretary of the GCU Debating Society.
The Ravi 20 J J 162

Kaleidoscope
Hamnah Saeed
We can make a difference
Let us all unite to change the world today
We can make a difference
The world is waiting for us to make a change.
The lines of the official OIYP (Oxfam International Youth Partnerships) echoed in
the ears of all the three-hundred Action Partners as the closing night came to end. The
Oxfam Australia has been playing a tremendous role in creating socid change by bringing
together youth from around the world, training and mentoring them and helping them to
establish and start their own projects to bring out positivity in their societies.
In March 2010, I was selected as an Action Partner at the Oxfam International
Youth Partnerships.Oxfam International Youth Partnership (OIYP) program is a global
network of young people who share a vision of a just world and are committed to working
for peaceful, equitable and sustainable social change within their communities. As a member
of OIYP I had the privilege to attend their global conference Kaleidoscope in New Delhi,
India. Every three years, the program introduces three-hundred young men and women, aged
between eighteen to twenty-five years, from around the world to the OIYP network. Ever
since the program began in the year 2000, OIYP has worked with over a thousand young
people, known as Action Partners, from ninety-eight countries.
Throughout the three-year cycle, the OIYP program focuses on building skills and
knowledge, supporting action and facilitating networking. In addition to networks amongst
Action Partners, members of OIYP are given opportunities to network and form partnerships
with many other organizations and communities around the world to support them in their
work.
The first year of the OIYP cycle introduces selected members to the network and
focuses on supporting Action Pal1ners to identify the supp011 they need and the strength that
they require to contribute to positive change in their communities and regions.
New members of the OIYP network are invited to come together at an eight-day
forum to launch this first year of the OIYP cycle. This event is called Kaleidoscope, meaning
'a complex pattern of continuously changing sequence of bright and interesting visions.
During Kaleidoscope, three hundred Action Partners live, learn and work together to
deepen relationships, share values and enhance mutual understanding across economic,
cultural, thematic and geographic boundaries. Formal and informal workshops and
discussions bring about ideas for creating positive futures in communities.
The second and third year of the OIYP program are focused on learning and action
support. These include online forums, program support, skill shares, cultural exchanges and
more. Throughout the three years, Action Pa11ners continue to support, challenge and inspire
one another in the implementation of their vision of change through face to face, online and
other initiatives driven by the members themselves, and supported by Oxfam.
Being one of the four Action Partners selected from Pakistan I had the opportunity
to represent my country at a global platform. I shared my visions and ideas for global peace
The Ravi 2011 163

and harmony. exchanged ideas on eradicating poverty and violence against women, created
projects on climate change, human rights and women rights etc.
We were gi ven a chance to attend workshops being conducted by renowned
facilitators who had been working for social change for the past many years. Having an
interest in the sector of education and women empowerment I took up sessions on Creative
AI1s and Violence Against Women. We were taught effective ways to overcome problems
and hindrances in our projects. We shared our culture with one another, learnt new
languages, catered our taste buds with exotic dishes from around the world, spent time
together, explored India and shopped for our loved ones together thus creating an everlasting
bond of love and friendship with one another.
The end of the eight-day long Kaleidoscope event left everyone with conflicting
emotions. On one hand everyone was sad to leave the Centaur Hotel that had acted as a home
to nearly three-hundred Action PaJ1ners, Facilitators, Mentors and Motivators and on the
other hand the spirit to bring a positive change in the society, to share the passion and energy
with fellow peers and work with a greater zeal to make projects a huge success ignited in the
hearts of every individual.
OIYP is a platform that gives incentive as well as encourages young people from
around the world to come forward and work for their community. The objective is to inspire
young individuals and enable them to contribute in bringing social change not just in their
own communities but in the whole world. We at Oxfam Intemational Youth Partnerships are
like a global family who are always there to support fellow action partners in their causes. Be
it the revolutionary movement in Egypt, the earthquake in New Zealand, the rebellion in
Tunisia, Yemen and other countries of the Middle East, the Tsunami and natural calamities
in Japan, we have all united as one big global family and contributed our time, efforts and
money to bring back the positivity in these countries.
As a young social activist I believe that attending a global event like Kaleidoscope
has made me grow as a person. It would not be an overstatement to claim the program to be
education in its own right. Indeed it has proved to be a small step towards discovering new
things about others and myself around me. Meeting some of the most amazing people who
have done so much for their communities finally made me realize the meaning of Pericles's
observation:
"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone
monuments but what is woven in the lives of others."
The writer is a fourth year Mass Communication student at Kinnaird College.
The Ravi 2011 164

Esplanade it!
Zohrain Bhaur
They call it one of the safest countries in the world with its insignificant crime rate
and citizen-friendly policies; Singapore has found a niche for itself alongside the list of
well-developed countries. It has rapidly progressed to be a prosperous nation in a small span
of time. I found myself there when I got an opportunity to represent GCU at a two-week
summer programme in NUS (National University of Singapore), on entrepreneurship.
Travelling alongside fourteen other students from different universities of Pakistan
was an experience in itself. Getting to know one another, forming bonds, running to find the
right terminal at the airport, trying your best to not get lost, sticking together; all the while
solving one crisis or another, our journey together was anything but uneventful.
It was my first time out of the country and that too with a bunch of strangers.
However we all had one thing in common; we were Pakistani's. Being present amongst seven
other nationalities ranging from Chinese to Austrian, I realized the fact, that we as a nation
are so used to undermining ourselves. It was there that I realized that we have much to be
proud of. We belong to a rich culture and are very well-versed in English, which happens to
be our secondary language in comparison to others. I still remember a couple of my Chinese
fellows who would use a dictionary during the lectures to translate the difficult words and
had trouble comprehending what we said, as we spoke too fast.
We as a group were the second largest representative of the present seven nations,
Chinese being the first; and so without a doubt, we were highly noticeable, and of course
loud too. I remember this one time in the bus when we were having a heated argument
related to politics, and our Chinese friends started wondering whether we were fighting!
Chinese are generally (from what I have seen) overly soft-spoken and calm people. Once we
had a friendly competition of songs in national languages, and while we were singing our
hearts out to songs by Junoon etc, they sang a ballad or that was what it sounded like, all low
pitched and very school-choir style.
At the end of the program we had to give a five-minute presentation about our
respective countries. We decided to focus on all the positive aspects by highlighting those
features in which we are on top. Our speaker was Ammad from Karachi. A debater since
early age, he spoke in the most convincing and vociferous manner that would convince the
most stubborn opponent. However, while he went on expounding how we are a peace loving
country, the images behind him were showing nuclear power plants! The contrast was so
striking, and along the lines he uttered something like we can beat Indians at war any day.
The one Indian boy from Delhi University almost lost his colour when he heard this and our
professor, who was a tiny man. got up all ashen-faced and started to wave his arms in a
time-out sign, hoping to calm Ammad and the rest of the people down! And we found
ourselves in stitches, doubling over in laughter at the bizarreness of it all! To put a cherry on
top we ended our presentation with showcasing our Punjabi bhangra moves. Our class
fellows looked towards us in what can best be described as careful wariness, as if they could
not really comprehend our words or actions so to say.
The most interesting thing that I noticed there was the expansive use of plants and
trees. What Singapore loses in terms of area and space, it makes up for by planting lush
The Ravi 20 II 165

green hedges and beautiful plants in well-planned parks or green belts. The most fascinating
were the unique types of fountains I saw outside every mall, or even liberally placed in the
NUS campus. It was an extremely soothing sight for the eyes and a nice excuse to dip the
feet in the cold water in order to beat the afternoon heat.
The Singaporean cuisine was surprisingly tasty with all the different squids, fish,
and yes, I tried my hand at using chopsticks too! There is not much to be seen in this small
country/city. However their performing arts theatre, Esplanade was what took my breath
away. It is an intricately designed mass of steel that resembles a porcupine and has huge
opera theatres, orchestra settings, complete with innumerable lights and a capacity of over
thirty-thousand people. I would love to perform at that beautiful place, at least once in my
life!
It was the most fun-filled trip I have ever had, with great lectures about staJ1ing your
own business. Educational and recreational trips helped us gain insight into this small
country. Qur grandest night was adorned with a dinner at a posh restaurant that was
organized by our sponsor, Mr. Ali Siddique with the High Commissioner of Pakistan. We
got to meet all sorts of business personnel and interact with the High Commissioner herself.
Singaporeans are very hardworking and law-abiding citizens who strive to reach the
top without using any unfair means. And why do we lag so far behind them and every other
developed country? Well, I will end it up by saying, that during our stay there we respected
all their rules and regulations and abided by them. We were not known by our status or
family background, yet our work showed who we are. However as soon as we returned home
we took a sharp turn towards the VIP customs line where the father of one amongst us made
sure we did not have to wait for custom clearance or get held up in the line of ordinary
citizens. Therein lies the divide, the line that divides us into separate identities, upon whom
the usual laws do not apply.
The writer is a third year student of B.Sc (Hons) - Psychology
at ceu.
The Ravi 20II 166

.
'.>
'! •••
.' .
:'
...
~.... .~ .•.-. ~
-.~-",~ . ",'
'"':.
" ..

Preamble:
"I retired from the Army on 15 March, 2008 after thirty-seven glorious years of my
life spent in Uniform. I do not regret a single moment of my life which had all the UPs and
DOWNs; I cherish every bit of it.
The perception of Military and Martial Laws has been so deep-rooted that
something unique, exclusive and unrepeated needs to be offered to the readers so as to
explain them about a "Soldier" in the Army. In 2005, my late son Nasir Mahmood alias
MOODY on my birthday, sent me a poem as my birthday gift. It has thus been the best gift a
son can offer to his father. The dedication has touched my heart deeply. I have absolutely no
reason to believe that it would not touch any youth's heart. I say so, because MOODY was
thirty years old when he wrote this poem; a young man in prime of his youth and hence it
should give a reflection of how a young blood thinks about the Army."
MY BIRTH DAY GIFT FROM MY SON
(16 March 2005)
Major General
Muhammad Tahir (Retd)
We are habitants of hope and You beholder of its fulfillment
We are confidants of constitution and You its solemn pillar
We are a crowd of millions in embittered rows and You vowing thousand services for its secLllity
We scorn at neighbours from cities to suburbs and You serve them all on country outskil1s
We are guests dining parties and You fighting to host the pledge of your compassions
We are conceited money-making teams and You a league bereft by the very currency of it
We jeer in subjects of jested foolishness and You the tower on guard with regard for justice
We are destitute of our daily civic duties and You destined to an unexpected breach of life
We pastor in our ill perceptions and limited peripherals of sights while You save us on the
zenith of bloody battles
We are objects of laughter gathered around fountains while You a forgotten group on the
tenuous rifts of mountains
We are scattered visitors and tossing tulips on friends for favours and You a promised
unified protector of fellowship
We are a Standard of scrounge in the Bank of our deceptions and You save us from the feuds
of enemy emancipations
We are reckless in publicity of our superficial reputations and You for simplicity in the lines
of enemy slaughters
We yawn in choirs and dance on songs in our sensations of youth while You hasten youth in
the hazards of servitudes
We isolate ourselves with instincts of rich and poor but You dare to save us both in the eye
of fury and danger
We value mode of our fabrics and means to travel while You bear the range of average
school fee in modest stakes and limitations
We foster to gain rupees by the ironies of wealth but You are the residual of war in the
shelter of bullets and bombs
We tire our evenings choosing ways to colour the sense in our clothes and You
speed years in the stiff crease of uniform
You are my sterling Warriors and Pride of Pakistan.
The Ravi 2011 167

CheckMates
Umer Khan
What bore this game we play!
You move, I move,
You stay, I stay;
And thus we always pass the day.
Together now we bolt about,
Diagonal, straight,
Or side to side;
The world before us Black and White.
I look at you,
You look at me,
And neither one does truly see,
What bore this game we play.
'Check you say?'
'Not mate' say 1.
And someday soon we both shall sigh.
Until that happy faithful day ...
Let's watch the Queen,
Take down the Rook!
Behold, the Pawn
Undo the Queen!
-Life is slow but not serene-
The Bishop falls before the Knight
The night must end, and all alight.
We are two Kings,
Yes you and I,
We're face to face ...
And eye to eye!
We chase each other,
Round and round
We're Black and White,
And wearing crowns.
But the game is done.
-And was it fun'll
clear my throat
And brush my coat.
(We stare at all the pieces strewn
The morning sky still holds the moon!
Captive he and captive we!
The ghost of tedium hangs between.)
You say 'It's time.'
You say 'Good-bye.'
"But what these rules we play life by!?!
Who bore this game?
Was it You? orI?!"
You say 'It's Time.'
Open the door
Amna ljaz
B.Se (Hons)-IV
Open the door and let me in
It's cold out here, and
The air is thin
My clothes are in tatters,
My scarf is torn.
I've been in there before
But now I'm not so sure.
Deep inside my little heart aches
Counts every moment
Every step you take.
I hear your warm voice from here
See your angel face with me.
Is the sky inside still the same?
Because outside;
The air changed with every step I took.
My eyes are dead,
My hands are cut
To whom you bid farewell
Was a girl so pure.
The one that stands here
Has been in the street;
Has played the game.
You loved her then.
Do you love me now?
Open the door and let me in!
Of God and Man
M. Umer Khan
He plays me like a yo-yo;
My soul a stling unravelled.
Until He calls me back again,
I don't know why I travelled.
he plays me like a yo-yo,
Always has from the start:
he lets me go, I hit the floor,
I hate his bloody heart.
The Ravi 201 I 168

Another Ibrahim, Another Fire
Muhammad Umar lee Salimi
B.A (Hons)-IV
I am Ibrahim looking for Ishq, said the traveller.
To the martyr who wore a princely armor and crimson sword.
"We are warriors, our faces emanate glory, and on them expressions are carved,
We are fearless men who exalt violence with our death,
beheading strangers whom we never met, but we,
baptize them in blood and name them enemy,
We are soldiers who die for a cause, so others can Jive for it,
Look for Ishq in the writer's recluse, where the pen and the tablet
inebriate through fiery words and immortal verses" Replied the martyr
"I am Ibrahim looking for Ishq" said the somewhat lost traveler
to the writer who wrote fiery words and immortal verses.
"We are masons, who built stories, painters who paint imagery,
Dealers who shuffle words, Cavemen who discover fire again,
And if lucky,Time immortalizes our works,
We are not great, we just let our turbulence escape,
too keep us sane and satiate the thirst.
Ishq for us is one of the many muses we dance with,
she was once treasured in the prohpets legacy, but now forgotten,
So look for amongst the lost and forgotten ones" said the writer.
The traveller was now indeed lost, while swaying
in oblivion, he saw her flowing everywhere, mystifying subtley
She was burning with Rumi for Shams (Who was fire himself),
Hanging with Hallaj who was touched by The Truth,
Swirling around Dervishes, dancing Dhamal in ectasy,
She was Bhulla's memory, the one who forgot.
The traveller who was merely lost, clutched her hand resolving
To burn, and absolve his existance away, like ashes
To be hanged as The Truth, again and again,
To swirl around and around, and around,
To end his journey and be amongst
the forgotten.
The Ral'i 2011 169

Of Rain and Romance
Tahir Iqbal Jadoon, Warden
Federal Judicial Academy
This rainy season reminds me of a previous
monsoon
We were together in the lap of mountains
Those moments are still afresh in my mind
Let's forget all worldly worries
Whenever, the clouds cover the sky
I rush to the mountains dimly
Hoping you would be there
To revive our love, but in despair
The tickling clock reminds
Me that you have left
Me alone as the abstruse Nature
Stays indifferent to my loss and pain
Before her raining, noisy silence
I stand alone, feeling her heaving presence
Sun-ounding us both, though you are not
With me, I desperately implore her for she
Was a witness to our vows for
An unbreakable bond of reciprocity
I remember what
You said on a cloudy evening
'It seems I have seen you somewhere?'
You turned oblivious of me in
The crowd of the world,
I walked and thought alone
You were not a stranger
But the one who used to call me 'darling'
Ah! My desk fellow why?
You have forgotten those moments of
Memory which is my sole
Tragic treasure
Residing as the flickering lamp
In the cozy and constant
Dark chamber inside me:
No one can snatch them
Till the final annihilation
Which I fear is nearing slyly
And may well be here soon
My few things are lying with you
Those letters and warmth of sighs
Return them all
Return my dreams
Which we saw on the bank of the stream
Or disentangle me from this illusion
Wake me, shatter it to smithereens
For heavy drowsiness grips me
The benign harbinger to
My long sleep.
Rainy Day Woman
Dr. Asir Ajmal
I thought concubines were porcupines
And midwives were neither
Like the undead
Divorced couples living together
Chained in time
Every link loosely hung together
In the circles of my mind
Mandalas lacking focus
Inward loops without a centre
Like a fall from grace
Into deep space
With the devil on my back
Skydiving forever in a free fall. ...
She saved me with just a smile
Rain
Ahmad Bilal
B.Sc (Hons)-JJJ
Flute of dawn soothes my mind
Verdurous leaves cool my eyes
Bluish blue sky having cumuli
For all give me pleasure
I want to fly
Sun imparting energy
Birds making melody
Cool breeze when it blows
Leave charming effect upon my body
Out of the city, into the wild
Out of the sound, into the silence
I want to be conscious of daisies
For I want to smile
For a moment, for a life
Let me fall for nature
Let it encompasses me
For I want to be liquored with it
The Ravi 20 II 170

Underneath the Lilac Garden
Gulrukh Doultana
B.A (Hons)-JI
Underneath the lilac garden;
Fireflies were dancing in the magical light;
Mesmerized by their light, behind the clouds the moon remained hidden;
Hush! If it came out they would take to flight.
Two fireflies got lost in the thoughts of their love;
They flew higher in circles above the lilac garden;
For them their short moment was stretched into an eternity undreamed of;
Moon sang to the tune of their song and remained no more hidden.
Oh no! Other fireflies underneath the lilac garden hid for fear;
But the two yellow lights kept on creating music with their wings;
One of them wanted to go and touch the brilliant lightof the chandelier;
Moon warned them to stay away from the homes of humans and their things;
Leave it Moon! Love is blind;
They both flew into the room through the open window;
Underneath the chandelier the humans sat and dined;
One man and woman, unnoticed, went on to the balcony through the French window.
Sad! The young woman cried for their impossible love;
Man was breaking inside but he understood what was best for her,
He tried to talk sense and her hand he let go of;
In anger, another man came out and fired a bullet from a pistol of silver.
No! It can't bel Only two fell, one noisily and the other silently;
One was the man who fired and other was a diminishing yellow light;
When the bullet left the pistol violently;
One firefly changed bullet's course from woman's lover to her source of fright.
Don't cry Moon! In this world it's always give and take;
One firefly gave new hope to a withering love but had to go instead;
Left behind was the other firefly with an inconsolable heart ache;
It flew above the lilac garden and buried underneath it its beloved one, which was now dead.
So cold! The Moon whispered to the clouds and snow-flakes started falling down;
The lonely firefly never sang, never danced and never went above the snow covered lilac
garden;
Spring returned, other fireflies made merry, but only one stayed on the earth so brown;
Moon gradually forgot about the fireflies for now no one ever dared to come above the lilac
garden.
The Ravi 20 J J 171

I am a Day Flower
Rida Akram
B.Se (Hons)-IV
I have seen better days,
Under azure skies and purple clouds;
I have felt before,
This light, and darkness,
And the cold wind stinging my face -
Not cool, not refreshing.
I have seen the autumn leaves strewn across your path
And crunched my way
Toward oblivion and peace;
Rockets spewing hazy smoky somethings,
Out and over your head.
I have felt before this modest beginning,
This search for truth,
This display of innocence,
This image shattered by thorny lives
And hopeless endings.
I have seen before the walkways of your life
White sand beaches and gray sky mornings,
No deep-fried throbbing, only bitter pain,
Waiting to be spit out.
I have watched, and waited,
And then watched some more
(Waiting needs to become a habit)
I trod carefully over your scattered bones,
Lest I made another mis-step
Again.
I tended the plants in your garden,
Then watched them
Wither.
I choked the vines with my bare hands,
Then watered the
Ground, with my tears,
(Exceptions).
I have felt.
That is enough,
For now.
News when I do, not when I don't.
Exemplifying mindless mannequins
Twitching marionettes - hollow sawdust
And bones.
Watch foreheads wrinkle,
The Ravi 2011 172

Temples throb,
Eyelids twitch
Forever.
I have seen before this sunset
Crimson-red, gold, lavender, grey
Swirling rocky mountain, and blueberry streams;
I have tasted your candyfloss dreams
Let them fade and dissolve and swirl away
Until anomalies appear;
And crush them.
(I am a day flower, I bloom in the day).
OhAmerica
Dr. Imtiaz Asghar
Old Ravian (1948-50)
Oh America the super power of the world
You have got my lovely Pakistan in a twirl.
Our nuclear program has been peaceful for long,
In India's nuclear explosion you see nothing wrong.
Is it because we are Muslims though in name only?
Champion of human rights, you do nothing
When Muslims the world over are a plaything,
For the Serbs, the Jews, the Hindus of Hindustan,
And Kashmir bleeds which is the jugular of Pakistan ..
Is it because we are Muslims, though in name only?
The F-16's are not delivered without reason,
You expect us to be friends in every season?
Double standards you apply to make us genuflect
When in reality it will have the opposite effect.
Is it because we are Muslims though in name only?
We have a long history of glorious achievement,
From Makkah we spread to every continent.
Many were the foes of Allah that we conquered,
We were faithful, disciplined, at times outnumbered.
This was because we were not Muslims in name only.
In America Islam is the fastest growing religion,
We will not be stopped in spreading to every region.
Like it or not Islam is here to-day, to-morrow and forever,
Do what you must but we will conquer hemts and prosper.
This despite the fact we are Muslims in name only.
The Ravi 2011 173

The Macabre Story
Maryam Alam Khan
Khyber Medical College, Peshawar
My end has come to deal with me
"Oh! Death Angel have mercy on me!"
The Angel in clairvoyant air..
Makes the point clear to me
"Thy name is here in the Book ...
God wants to meet thee!"
As death comes knocking at my door
There are some realities I cannot ignore
All once that I had admired
This moment they will expire
My invincible fantasies ...
Now seem follies of defeat
Wasted time and titles to decor my fame
Respect is not from name but deed
A fact I had failed to heed
As I try to remind a memory sweet
Death conquers my body another feet
A cold shiver creeping, taking my heat
Freezing my blood, I cannot breathe
Numbing my senses, a halt complete
A mere soul-trapped-in-body,now I'm free
My soul will hang in air above-
My body will rot in earth beneath
Silence is filled within the air
Music of death playing in me
Ah!! Death is such a painful disease
Yes! My death angel I'll follow you
Don't wreath my corpse with funeral flowers
Don't honor me for my worldly powers
But this word of wisdom to the world I leave-
For every soul next in the book of thee
"Life was a joke God played on me
On my journey to cemetery"
Tired
Syed Muhammad Ameer,
In search of my Lord
Ushna Butt
B.A (Hons)- 1
I tried seeking you;
In sunsets and dawns,
In deserts and lawns,
In water and land,
And every offered hand;
In peace and fight,
In wrong and right,
In worst and best,
And life's every test;
In freedom and cage,
In ecstasy and rage,
In chaos and order,
And beyond every order.
But I couldn't find you anywhere;
It took me some time to understand,
And finally I found you.
I found you;
In my smiles and tears,
In my courage and fears,
In my sense and sight,
And every single word I write;
In my pain and pills,
In my silence and shrills,
In my disease and cure,
And every ache I endure;
In my dreams and visions,
In my mirage and illusions,
In my soul and heart,
And in not a thing apart.
B.Sc (Hons)-f11
A tired man,
And an open road.
Blind turns,
Fold into folds.
Screaming out loud,
To the deaf world around
There is nothing new,
Nothing to muse.
The tired man gives up hope,
Could not carry this load anymore.
The Ravi 2011 174

Identities
Mishal Saeed
Salford University, Manchester
What gives a more torturous blow?
To search for an answer,
Or a question you don't know,
What's more hectic?
To find a beginning,
Or to look for an ending.
What's more difficult?
To live up to expectations,
Or to avoid disappointments.
Which would better fit?
To lament a selected path,
Or to regret not choosing it.
What would weigh heavier?
To deal with someone's presence,
Or to fiII up a devoid absence.
What would be more helpless?
To aim as high as you can and fall,
Or to aim low and achieve less.
Put forth all these queries
Or ask yourself just one
Would you burn underwater
Or would you drown in fire?
Suicide Bombers
Muhammad Atif Khan, B.Se (Hons) -Ill
It's hard to think at first
how they can stoop so low?
In quenching their ego's thirst
give humanity a death blow!
In shedding blood, in taking lives,
they find some sort of unique joy;
Like rotten zombies, with beastly drives
they love the tears; make humans cry,
Their spiritual decadence, their moral
destitution
gets fuelled under guidance of their
pseudo-gods
They want to bring a great revolution
with guns, with bombs, with power of swords,
They want to change the world for sure
they themselves are victims of a complex fraud
They want no love, no peace, yet battles more
and continue to murder in the name of God!
I Beg to Differ
Mohsin An'had Chattha
B.Se (Hons)-IV
I beg to differ
But it's all the same
Yes? No? maybe?
I don't know
Maybe you're wrong
Maybe I'm right
I beg to differ
But it's all the same
You? Me? Us?
I don't know
Maybe you and I are wrong
Maybe we, are right
I beg to differ
But it's all the same
Left?Right?Straight?
I don't know
Maybe right is wrong
Maybe left, is right
And straight, is but a direction as well
I beg to differ
But its all the same
A Country Off Course
Isha Tariq, B.Se (Hom)-IV
A brooding night made her cry
She knew not what the future conspired.
Tears welled up and sorrow filled,
In a heart too glum and fear-instilled.
Unable to grab the gist of affairs
She resorted to praying and crying still.
Her past wavered before her eyes,
With dreams and reliefs that once
lightened her desires;
Just like sand grains dancing in the
desert wind
Knowing not into which dune they'll
next sink.
Or grasshoppers that are led astray,
Unaware of all green that comes their way.
Innocence was and innocence is,
A gift for the future and optimism to build.
Sorrow however does hit back;
Whether through a momentary ache,
Or an etched reminder.
The Ravi 20 II 175

Death
Lamia Khan Niazi,King's
College, London
Beneath the clouds of hope and prayer,
The miracles that happen so rare.
Life is abrupt and so bitter,
When we forget the laughter, amazing
times and the twitter.
My prayer was in vain,
My princess lost her hero in pain.
His suffering came to an end,
There was nothing I could mend,
He looked peaceful and serene-
Then who am I to complain and grumble,
When my Lord knows everything what I
think is a jumble.
He sends war to the warriors,
Simba ,death is just a barrier.
Waiting to rejoin others and rejoice
Time is less and there is no choice
If I were a panther
Dr.Asil' Ajmal
If I were a panther
I'd change my spots
As if I were salamander
I'd change them into green, yellow, and pink
I'd post my spots in the sky
As if they were stars or stamps
I'd give you a few
To use as kisses when lonely
And as arrows when angry
Or when bored you could sing them
As if they were songs
Some you could turn into babies
For ever to keep
Feed and bathe
The Strongest
Zohrain Bhaur, B.Se (Hons)-Il/
The beauty of life is such that
it makes you love the lesser things in life.
The sufferings, the sadness, the sorrows,
these are what life is made of.
It is not the good times
since they are always temporary.
It is the long stretches of darkness that define us.
That make us who we are.
For all good things must come to an end.
And the strongest amongst us are those,
Who smile even while it hurts.
The Ravi 201/
A Childless Mother
Kaml'an Hussain, F.Se-U
He died at eventide
His heart pounded quicker and quicker
So soon his childhood drew away
A sigh, a pause, a faint whisper
And his little soul leapt like a star,
That traveled in the gloomy night
And left behind a world of darkness
But the day changed not
Mourns of sadness unanswered
Echoes of giggles piercing her ears
Alone and left behind with no one to console
In solitude she sat
Beside his grave
Shedding salty tears
Soaked in pain
There she was then,
A childless
mother.
For we dream big
Zohl'ain Bhaul', B.Se (Hons)-lU
Let's paint it green and white, shall we?
With the rush of fresh air comes fresh hope
and new dreams; unfulfilled dreams.
The glory, the prestige, the joy.
Yes, the golden trophy.
The men in green carrying the dreams of an
entire nation.
Hope-filled eyes and heads bowed in prayers.
Oh, what a joy it would be!
The endless echoes of patriotic songs,
the beats of a drum,
the swing of a bat; swish of the ball,
what a joy for us all!
Alas! Nothing quite as glorious as being champions.
Shall we conquer the world now?
I think it is time.
176

Forefathers
Sherab Tenzin,
Bhutan
Parents
Norbu Tshering
Bhutan
Through the wandering of time and season,
HE handed the graceful land of sovereignty.
Many wars he crushed
Many helps he sought
Many weathers he wrecked
Many roads he cleared
Many he did to let live the one happy.
Through daylight and dark he worked.
To cultivate sword against my isolation
Many dark he lighted
Many paths he dug
Many wheels he invented
Many friends he made
Many: sweat he shed to give me a good today.
Through mountains and rivers he crossed
To let my head be held high in the sky.
Many states he united
Many hearts he purified
Many temples he constructed
Many songs he composed.
Many lives he sacrificed for the good of
future.
He did more than many to give me THIS.
1, an heir that inherited the peace
I must face the storm in this uncertain sea
And doing this, I must let my son :say
The words that my heart beheld;
FOREFATHERS .....
Courage
Sobia Shabbir
M.Phil Psychology
Parents are the instrument of God.
Tools of his creation.
Mode to foster love and care.
For the children of the Nation.
Children are the issue of
This God-man coalition.
Together joining to keep
Them in excellent condition.
Their lovers are little cribs.
And watch their bodies from all harm.
Bath and clothe and nourish.
The children soon are on their own
Making their own way,
Still God and Parents continue.
To love and care each day.
So we should do our best
For God, Fathers and Mothers.
Because by doing right to them,
We show our love to all others.
Courage to live and courage to grow
Get into the mood and be in flow
Never regret the things that ever make you smile
Journey towards happiness is just of a mile
Mix the colours, live the moment and swing the rope
Blow the fragrance and be the one that brings the hope
Free your thoughts and look up to the sky
Feel like a free bird and fly high
People might want you to stay in a jar
Just be yourself and love the way you are.
The Ravi 2011 177

Cloud Boat
Gulrukh Doultana
B.A (Hons)-Il
Feel it on a higher level nete;
Up in the sky, clouds form a boat;
As far as the ear can hear;
No trace of the noisy traffic the silence bear;
See no aero planes fly in this zone;
Only spot a skinny dog playing with a bone;
It's dusty yet the breeze is cool from the south;
Sometimes tricking the entry of pollen grains into the mouth;
The taste is a mixture: bitter sweet, chalky and sticky;
Rusty tap near the pomegranate trees is saviour of the lucky;
Flowers are adorning the branches of mango trees;
Patterned beehives are being filled fast by the busy bees;
Two dogs bark continuously at the brown mud wall;
Only a lonely, black cuckoo rests on the brown mud wall;
The young green wheat daily drinks water in the fields;
An old man calculates and predicts about the acre yields;
The birds chirp and chatter about what is being cooked in the people's homes;
Mixed aroma of spices diffusing with the wind, makes them forget about the worms;
But one little sparrow has no time to talk and play;
It builds its nest with wheat and hay;
Little brown children yet have no interest in the nest;
Only when sparrow will lay its egg it will seem best;
Right now they are content in being dirty in the mud puddles;
Coloring the white sheep with mud, as the white fur dulls;
A red faced pheasant with shades of black and brown shyly picks at the wheat grain;
A gust of wind dishevels the cloud boat, redesigning the sky and smelling of rain;
On a fallen, long forgotten, dry poplar tree I find my seat;
Savoring the sweet juice of sugarcane, silently expecting to hear the rain beat.
The Ravi 2011 178

The Pilgrim and The Path
Muhammad Umar lee Salimi
B.A (Hons)-IV
The North-Star guides the navigators on the sea and
The ever-moving progeny of the of the Arabs in the dunes
A Chan-ed village speaks of gory trail made by another Chengaiz on a bloody spree
A gurgling well on a dusty lone road lightens the traveler that he is near
Like all these travelers, adventurers and lost ones, who were guided by heavenly lamps
and earthly marking and perhaps by kismet.
A pilgrim once sought to traverse The Path,
Like all hungry ones he possessed faith, that one day
Sitting in the Creator's lap, he shall be proud of his menial birth,
Like all mediocre filth, he believed "God belongs to him, for belief comes with struggle
and indeed only he struggles"
With his tattered faith which hung together by envious ambition,
He resolved to walk The Path, and in like all his errands, He stopped short, not to catch
breath, perhaps to catch Faith,
Little did he know, what was to come after.
For then, long he stood guiding those who came after,
Giving hope to those who lost theirs, reasons to those who forgot Him,
Slithering beneath their steps, helpless and yet helpful,
Guiding them while finding his own way
For long he stood and yet he stands,
Not firmly, not dangling perhaps 'kismet-Iy'
All the pilgrims thought him a Saint planted by Him,
None knew, like them he was and perhaps still is a pilgrim.
Like a North-Star, charred village, gurgling well he was guiding the lost and,
Silently, one day,
He lost his pilgrim cassock and as virgins were sacrificed to keep the Nile flowing, He
found himself sacrificed to keep The Path going
Many tread on him, thank him, and on reaching forget him,
For about the haven, to which he bears them, it is said,
"Those who reach are given a draught of forgetfulness,
To relieve them of their journey and earthly memories"
A deep fear now lurks in the kinds of him,
For when the hom will be blown and to smithereens
One world will vanish and the Gates of the other closed,
and no pilgrims and stray ones will ever raise the dust,
He will be lying there, forgotten like the steps of a manor, whose
Denizens have locked themselves in, to rejoice for eternity,
He will be a lone path between oblivion and ban-ed doors waiting for the draught of
forgetfulness to seep through it.
And if ever tales are told or read in the manor or somewhere else
His will be a tale of a pilgrim who became The Path.
The Ravi 2011 179

Pakistan Zindabad
Sameer Afzal, B.A (Hons)-IJ1
One fine day in the middle of the night
One paralyzed Pakistan got up on its legs to fight
Back to back facing each other they marched towards the palace
From the empty tower the blind king and the dead queen looked at them with malice
The dead queen shouted to her deaf ministers 'let them eat their cake'
The blind king got tired looking at their wounds for God's sake
They decided to get rid of them, for once and for all
Thus they gave them what they had not yet asked for
An invitation to a party in the graveyard and entrance was free
The royal message was conveyed to the masses by the dummy referee
The news knocked them like electricity through the gasoline wall
Into the waterless ditch with no telephone and drowned them all
The blind king ran to the empty tower to see the fair play
The deaf ministers and the dead queen shouted 'hooray'
Now the bare treasures of the nation were finally theirs
Now they could pass this wealth to their drunken dead heirs
The king the queen the ministers said: 'the story isn't true'
If you believe me tum the TV on! And you will doubt them too.
The Soldier's Wife
Kamran Hussain, F.Sc-11
I'll wait for you when the war is over
Above our cottage your helicopter will hover
I'll run for you, calling out your name
I'll know you'll trot, our emotions the same.
Life again will swiftly move on
Colorful and fragrant as a flowery lawn
Together and united, we'll walk the streets
Considering the hurdles as cherished treats
But before you come back home victorious
Promise me, you'll fight, firm as the glorious
No matter how strong the enemy in case
The strongest of defeats will he face
But I know my wish will never come true
I realized this truth the moment you flew
But somewhere in my heart I have a hope
I testify you my love, never leave this rope
Your name will be written after my name
Forever and ever, remaining a proud fame
For I am the love of a soldier who fought
The meaning of fear he ever knew not
So, till the day of my demise ...
I'll wait for you when the war is over
Above our cottage your helicopter will hover.
A Resolution
Naeem Hasni
NUML, Islamabad
So high, high you fly
To unseen beauties, with air speed
And beat behind the fear and despair
To enter a new world of all pleasure
Through a rain-bow door
And land on the land of glamour
Everything is great but you are greater
The sun'ounding is same as behind
But you've a charm and there is no harm
Then it happens alas!
The sun covered by the two clouds again
Your colour faded, your charm gone
Yet strong enough you are
To go straight up, without aid
And spread the clouds into pieces.
The Ralli 2011 180