The No-Nation Theory

The Israeli leadership complains that the Palestinians refuse to recognize Israel as a "Jewish" state. The demographic threat, after all, is quite potent; the strategic environment threatening; and Israel's paranoia strong as ever. The Israelis want affirmations from the Palestinians that they recognize the Israeli state with that specific adjective, in order to take comfort from Palestinian acceptance of the nature of their country.

 But the Ps refuse. In Foreign Affairs Dec 2011 issue, there are three reasons listed why the Ps will never offer such a recognition: (1) it effectively invalidates the right of return, (2) it adversely affects the status of Palestinian citizens of Israel, and that it panders to the Zionist ideology. Beyond those three reasons, the Palestinians also contend that people who follow Judaism are not a distinct nation or people. The P National Charter originally stated that " Judaism, being a religion, is not an independent nationality. Nor do Jews constitute a single nation with an identity of its own; they are citizens of the states to which they belong." This comes from the Palestinians.

Pretty strong, right? And part of it does make sense. The Israelis rebut that its not merely religion, but their cultural identity that they wish to protect. Thats understandable too.

But here's my question: what would Jinnah think about this Palestinian rejection of identity based on religion? Lets think back to somewhere around March 23, 1940, Lahore. 

Strasbourg

On the trams of Strasbourg, the announcement on upcoming stops come in children's voices. Funny, charming and cute.

One day, the tables will turn

I was helpless. Each moment seemed as if the skies would open up with pouring rain and drown me in a sheet of thick, heavy water. Everywhere I turned, the gloom pervaded. The air was still. Several pairs of eyes looked at me from down below, waiting for me to realize that my time was up.

Except one. Those eyes locked in on me as if it didn't matter whether I lived, but that if I surrendered to what seemed to be an inevitability, I surely will end.

"Just continue working."

The storms hit with relentless ferocity and repeated urgency. Giant wallops landed on me, and several times I fell to the floor. But if I was going to be subsumed by this deluge, I might as well as depart with a straight face. I persevered.

It came. Like a new season. Slowly, but inevitably and undeniably.

My feet rose. My heart beat with a rhythm unbenownst to me hitherto. I started smiling effortlessly and without reason.

The convulsions that previously threatened to consume me suddenly lost their unworldly powers and crashed at my feet. My footsteps signalled promise, my voice echoed, my words hung in the air. The devils had seen me. And they had blinked.

Nothing lasts forever. One day, I will be crowned king!

.

How I Learned to Love the European Welfare State

Going Dutch - How I Learned to Love the European Welfare State. - NYTimes.com

As the healthcare reform debate has raged across the United States over the last several months, I can't help but wonder about the American psyche, the opposition, the very need for a debate. For something so basic, for a country that is the leader of Western democracies, for a nation so devoted to justice and equal rights for all... should there even be a question about this?

Even the Holy of the Holies?

One high-profile attack after another, all in a matter of days. Looks like Hakimullah Mehsud means business to the point that the days of battling Baitullah now seem like a kindergarten fight.

If General Headquarters can be attacked with such audacity as we just saw, you can forget about any inch of Pakistan qualifying as "secure." It seems that the shocks to our national psyche would not end anytime soon, as if sytematically calibrated by Divinity in whose name this entire bloody carnival is going on.

When the Sri Lankan cricket team, with its "head-of-state security protocol," was ambushed in the middle of Lahore, we consoled ourselves that a mere politically motivated transfer of a police official at the worst possible time opened an unfortunate gap for the militants to jab their fingers into. The escaping Sri Lankans took with them international cricket from Pakistan's stadiums for the forseeable future. Militants 1; Pakistanis 0.

The attack on the Manawan Policy Academy in Lahore landed as another punch to the guts. Things did not look good. The war was no longer in those Godforsaken tribal areas, which we could conveniently lump together with the even-more-Godforsaken Afghanistan. This battle was now being fought in the country's political and cultural heartland - if there ever was a Pakistan, it was in Lahore - and it was obvious that the Pakistani state was being washed away.

The Islamabad Frontier Constabulary Camp. The Jandola Fort. The United Nations compound in Islamabad. And now, this!

The attack on GHQ is over, but its effect will be longstanding. It opens possibilities that were previously ludicrous, and poses new questions about where the Pakistani nation could be headed:

1. The war against Islamist militants in Pakistan has reached the military's doorstep, quite literally. An assault on the Waziristans is inevitable now, along with a few other tribal areas thrown in. This not only means an eventual end to the political status of FATA, but it would also mark the turning point for the Pakistani army from an India-specific force to a counter-insurgency apparatus. Whether the army can go through this transformation smoothly is critical for the future of that country.

2. This is the moment of truth for Pakistan's ideology as an Islamic state. So far the government has desisted from demonizing the Islamist militants as it should have long ago soon after the first time Pakistani cities were targeted. But a direct attack on the military calls for a comprehensive and all-out strategy. Could this be the Ataturk moment of labeling every beard and burqa as anti-state? Could this push the government into actually taking control of every pulpit in mosques around the country, and rein in lay imams and religiously-inclined political parties from the incitement that has been their manifesto and rallying cry? In short, could this be the moment that takes religion out of Pakistan's political ethos? And if it is, what does that mean for the country that has since 1971 relied on its religious identity as its primary bulwark against further dissolution?

3. The threat of Islamist militants is dangerously real and uncomfortably close for the average Pakistani now. If GHQ can be penetrated, then the beardos with guns are already everywhere. It is too early to say, but such moments create public revulsion for those who threaten to upset the status quo, no matter how unsettling the status quo is. Almost everyone knows, including the religious parties, that the rise of Islamists is no Iranian Revolution, but simply a descent into chaos with no prospect of any recovery for many decades. If the population of the country starts becoming wary of the beardos, what does that mean for the nation's general parameters of political discourse? Would Pakistanis reflexively start moving to the left?

These are truly exciting times.

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When our beliefs were innocent...

I was surfing the net, avoiding the news from Pakistan, as usual. The TV was playing in the background with the usual bits about the Prime Minister speaking in English in interior Sindh, and I am thinking, why, oh why, is the world like this?

Suddenly I heard 'lab pe aati hai dua ban ke tamanna meri,' that poem by Iqbal which we all so proudly sang in school.

Such innocent words, that poem. And look where we stand today.

Where did that innocence in our beliefs go? When did we start becoming like this? Our Islam was a belief that the world can be a better place, that it will be a better place. It was an undying value system which allowed us to see the beauty in God's most sterling creation: mankind itself.

But somewhere, there were this other kind of Islam that was being nourished. An Islam based on hate, violence and intimidation. No one could possibly want it, or so it seemed.

Things look so much different today.

For what good?

"They fled through heat and rain...the dust of the caravans stretched low across the Indian plains and mingled with the scent of fear and sweat, human waste and putrifying bodies. When the cloud of hate subsided, the roll of the dead was called and five hundred thousand names echoed across the dazed land - dead of gunshot wounds, sword, dagger and knife slashes and others of epidemic diseases. While the largest number died of violence, there were tired gentle souls who looked across their plundered gardens and then lay down and died. For what good is life when reason stops and men run wild? Why pluck your baby from the spike or draw your lover from the murky well?"
- Donald F Ebright, "Free India: The First Five Years: An Account of the 1947 Riots, Relief and Rehabilitation"

Seriously, for what good?

Premonition

...
Said I one night to a pristine seer
(Who knew the secrets of whirling Time),
"Sir, you well perceive,
That goodness and faith,
Fidelity and love
Have all departed from this sorry land.
Father and son are at each other's throat;
Brother fights brother. Unity
and Federation are undermined.
Despite these ominous signs
Why has not Doomsday come?
Why does not the Last Trumpet sound?
Who holds the reins of the Final Catastrophe?"
...

- "Chirag-i-Dair" (excerpt)
Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib,
Benaras, 1827
(translated by Qurratulain Hyder)

God Protect You

You drive through the boulevards of Karachi's rich localities, passing a string of crore-rupee mansions. The houses on both sides are monstrous behemoths. Tall ionic columns appear to leap across from the boundary walls. Gold paint emblazons the balustrade and railings. Polished metal gates, marble-covered facades, mahagony window panes. Its clear that the vault had run out of space to store money, so no effort was spared to throw together an expensive concoction that is painful for any appreciative eye to bear. But suddenly, you notice an engraving on one side of the facade that reads in Arabic 'Mashallah.' You want to spit out the nausea that collected within you from taking a 10-second look at the house. But the 'Praise be to God' clamps down your throat and you wonder whether an expression of outrage would be noticed by the cemented calligraphy on the wall. You turn your face and walk away in disgust, only to see more replulsive architectural specimens adorned with the same flowery narcissist invocations to God. You wonder, could God be this immune to such horrific creations made by the hands of His ostensibly most genius product?

The 'Mashallah,' 'Subhanallah' and unending variations of God's name on flamboyant freak shows are not the evil warders that they are often claimed to be. They are an obtuse effort to make a critic subconsciously deflate his or her judgment and deflect the assessment to acknowledge the 'Divine Hand' in something as tasteless as what stands before you. Could you dare to criticise something that has Allah's name written all over it? If you do, then you are conveniently a heretic and not worthy of offering any opinion to begin with. If you dont, mission accomplished!

The next time you see God's name being utilized in the name of art, think whether the artistic creation really needed such an honour. Good art does not depend on praises to God; it instead harks to the inner soul lurking within you that God himself has so artistically concealed. Chances are that the art work enmeshed with cheap holiness is so terribly regular that only God's name can truly protect it from being thrashed into immediate oblivion.

"We'll Always Have Paris"

My legs moved with a sense of weightlessness; the heart confused whether it should rest with achievement or throb in excitement. My eyes looked deliriously at the unremarkable skylight roof of the train station, my head spinning between where I should go and where I was. For I was, finally, in Paris!

I will try not to adulate endlessly on the charms of Paris. But there is something about this city that has made me believe in the force of love at first sight. Is it the history? It was the center of imperial glory that mesmerized all of Europe throughout the late Middle Ages and the Napoleonic Era. Is it the architecture? The stonework on its churches, the sculptures on its landmarks and the melee of Corinthian Orders upon which rest some of its most spellbinding superstructures hit you with captivating aura. Is it the bewitching scent of fresh pastries and madeleines rolling out from hot ovens in enchanting little cafes tucked in every cobble-stoned street? I just can't take this anymore...

Train to Pakistan 1947 - 2007

Its been nearly 60 years since the horrific Partition, and we continue to live under its shadow - and burn in it.

One year ago, on February 18 2007, almost at the famous Midnight's Stroke to add insult to injury, 67 passengers on the Samjhauta Express were burned alive as fire broke out on two carriages rumbling on their way from Delhi to Lahore. Whether a terrorist attack or sabotage, people died not just because of the fire, but because India and Pakisan maximized the damage because they are so damn insecure about each other. No culprit has as yet been identified, let alone captured or brought to justice.

The world has moved on, we hear quite often. But India and Pakistan seem to have been trapped in a perpetual time warp. Many of the passengers could have been saved had the carriages on fire not been locked from outside and with wrought iron rods barricading the windows!

The rationale for the padlocks and window bars, you ask? We Indians and Pakistanis are so ridiculously paranoid about each other, we 'd rather that an accident trap passengers and take innocent lives than risk the danger of a loner trying to embark on or disembark from the train enroute. Forget the fact that the Samjhauta Express and its passengers go through unending scrutiny as they cross the international border.

The Samjhauta and Thar Express trains that run at erratic schedules between India and Pakistan are the sole means of transport between the two countries for the poor. For us previliged people, acquiring a visa is perhaps the only debilitating obstacle should we have the nerve to take a peep of what's across the border. Once we have a visa (whose application, of course, we have dutifully backed up with a brimming bank account and perhaps a high-up source or two), the elusive mysteries of India and Pakistan are a 45-minute airline flight away.

But for those who have to bleed to cough out a few thousand rupees for the battle with fate in getting a visa and bracing up for a struggle to get across Sir Cyril Radcliffe's Line, the trains are the only option. But we consider all that to be a bit too convenient for these poor people, so we lock them like cattle or corn in the bogeys and send them off in the stifling heat. After being harassed enough at immigration, the wretched beings are thrown about at the border crossing into another train (ahan, yes, we cannot trust train wheels that have touched the unholy soil of the other side to be free from threats to our national security). Finally, the ragbags are disgorged at Delhi or Lahore, from where they persist onto their final destinations.

Inhuman is an understatement to describe the process these passengers have to endure to travel to family who were lost to the other side through no fault of their own. The fight between India and Pakistan has always been more about prestige and self-respect than survival. Yet these two countries ensure that their paranoia of each other shower enough humiliation, and perhaps even fireballs, upon their poorest and most powerless people, and make life even more miserable for those who have nothing but misery to speak of.

After more than 60 long years, even saying "shame on us" sounds shameful.

For what...?

Pakistan, continuing a 17-year-old tradition, marked 'Kashmir Solidarity Day' today, 5 February. A few thoughts...

- What exactly did Pakistanis do, except lounge around at home, for the purposes meant behind this day?

- What are the purposes, explicit and implicit, official or otherwise, meant for this occassion anyway?

- Is there an alternative, perhaps more productive, more impacting and more introspective, that could help both us and the Kashmiris? I am thinking of not shutting down the entire country and not wasting billions of rupees worth of business, but instead running an awareness programme which, without fomenting hatred against India, explores how human rights and freedom of expression could be made better within Pakistan. I am sure that greater attachment to human dignity at home would automatically enkindle the Indians to do the same.

- Do the Kashmiris really care? They would care if it brings them any tangible good. Without that, its as good as someone watching bad news on TV and then changing the channel. In any case, for now there seems to be a growing realization along both sides of the LoC that the status quo shall inevitably attain permanency in the future, for better or worse.

- Even if they do care about us marking the Indian oppression visited upon them, would the Kashmiris really want to join Pakistan eventually? With the frequent suicide bombings in the name of religion across the country, the reality that Afghanistan's most lawless provinces are far more in physical unison with our territory than Kashmir ever could be, and the permanent political deadlock that we have reached on the questions of democracy and dictatorship, I dont think so.

- Do the Indians care? OK, I wasn't trying to be funny.

- Does the world care? I think Kashmir registered for a grand total of a few minutes on the international crisis radar back in 2002 when India and Pakistan were threatening to wipe each other out. Since then, the issue attracts probably as much attention as that Japanese whaling controversy. Seriously, did anyone see a whimper in any of the newspapers abroad? Even the Arabs seem to have grown tired.

So if nobody cares, and we waste so much of our precious resources for it, while we have so many other pressing matters to address, why, in the name of all that is reasonable, are we still sticking with this 5th of February drama?

World Capital

Is there any way to describe New York City? I should perhaps make it clear that I never was nor probably ever will be a big fan of this rotten, rat-infested fruit of a place. The aimless rush of life, the ear-busting noise and that rancid stench of urine and garbage trails along the sidewalks simply make it an unacceptable place for anyone half-civilized. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, in all my years of living here, I have yet to come across another person who shares my feelings for this city - my frank opinions are oftentimes met with stares, some of them a bit disparaging; if I am lucky, I can hope to get away with confounded looks or forced smiles as a response to such lunacy.

But over the past several months, I have come to discover something that may not necessarily help in my appreciating this city, but may help me in appreciating the fact that I am living here. It is quite certain that I do not intend to live in New York for all my life (or at least I have not as yet reached that point of enthrallment that afflicts so many of my 'New Yorker' friends and co-workers). But I cannot discount the fact that it was New York that thrusted the so-called 'real world' upon me with such thumping force and yet with such steely encouragement, I was swimming in its tempests even before I could shout out an SOS. And today, because of New York, I am probably capable of surving in any urban jungle that life throws at me.

New York is packed, true. New York is dirty, unbearably true. New York is rude, mostly true. New York is sinful, definitely true. But as my father recently uttered out of the blue after a trip to lower Manhattan, if there ever was an Eighth Wonder of the world, this City is it. With more restaurants than you could ever hope to dine in over a lifetime, with every inch occupied for a purpose than any miniaturist could ever imagine, with more nationalities fluttering about its boroughs than its own Midtown-based United Nations Headquarters could ever boast of, and with as much life streaming below its jam-packed surface as above it, this City is a true marvel.

It is an amazing engineering and organizational feat how this City is run. From the nightly garbage collection along its countless narrow streets and alleys to the logistics of funneling in and out millions of workers into a tiny island connected only by a handful of bridges and tunnels, a mere imagining of the administrative burdens this City has to bear can be bewildering. Yet, the City functions, day in and day out, with minor train delays, random traffic jams and an occassional accident. No amount of heat or rain, which sometimes last for days, overloads the City into a complete shutdown, something quite normally expected for a place functioning at such a high speed and with such precious resources, and it takes a full-fledged Nor'easter dumping 20 inches of snow to sufficiently freeze its spirit. A challenger to this Stunner is not within sight.

And even after the mammoth tragedy that this City has suffered, it has emerged more enigmatic, tolerant and universal than anywhere else in the rest of the world. It is as if the unexpected, the inspiring and the wonderful are all inherent in the soul of this City that grow stronger just when you think otherwise.

I may never fall in love with this City. I may want to move away at my next opportunity. I may never succeed in soaking my spirit in this City's colors. But I cannot ignore, let alone deny, the power, business, glamor and glory that is New York. And forever, it shall stay with me, this fact that at one point in my life I was among those who have been fortunate enough to call The Big Apple home.

The First Step

I have finally ventured into the world of blogging, without a clue if it is something I have a knack for.

I liked the idea surrounding a blog - personal thoughts on politics, religion, philosophy, strategy, life, family, food and travel for the world to read, consider and/or ridicule. I have heard that oftentimes the act of blogging leads one to become more open, more articulate and more confident over his/her thoughts, but sometimes also an exercise in futility to exhibit one's inner self to the outside world, only to end up with further commotions with those inadvertent or misinterpreted utterances. Frankly, I feel that the latter is more of a possibility for a person like me, hence the tepid excitement for this whole blogging enterprise. While there isn't a lava of feelings trapped inside me that this blog is going to help leak out, a lot of me does simply go unsaid, at least to those outside my immediate family and close circle of friends. And while this blog most certainly will not be bursting with my deepest headlines on a daily basis, it 'd be my aim to let out a few thoughts that may help in hinting at why I was staring at that empty can of coke in the subway car all the way to work this morning... just kidding, I promise not to be that boring.

But the more important question is not how much I let out, but what and whether I should let out. This blogging system is apparently advertised as a daily journal, but a daily journal cant just be a click away. And some of my true feelings on certain issues may carry some negative baggage, none of it deliberate. So I have decided to start easy - stay clear of the most controversial thoughts, but not shying away from what I truly believe in when I do happen to step on a political landmine. I am quite argumentative anyway, so most of the times it may be difficult for the reader (and even for my myself) to judge where exactly I stand.

I wish myself good luck.