Beautiful beaches, sudden mountains, rumbling music and lots of Havianas! Rio is all that. I was recently over there to attend the third forum of the United Nations Alliance of Civilizations (UNAOC). More on the forum later, but for now Rio.

Sights of Rio

We were located on Copacabana beach area, and our hotel the “Copacabana Sol” on Rua Santa Clara was just blocks away from the beach. The hotel was old but comfortable and the staff was helpful. But the wireless was horribly sporadic and if you are one of those who rely on hotel toiletries, you will be disappointed. The “Copa Sol” just provided us with soap. But the showers were powerful with plenty of hot water, so that made up.

The city is absolutely stunning to look at. There is something riveting about the combination of geographical elements one gets to see in Rio. The circular beaches lined with coconut trees, with steep green hills in the background. Even though it is was “winter” in Rio (May) the weather was mild and not cold at all. Some of the must see sights in Rio is the Statue of Christ the Redeemer (but beware overcharging) and on the insistence of a number of cab drivers, the mountain peak with the cable car, Sugar Loaf. The Sa’ara Market is an old market which was overflowing with objects green and yellow. (Maybe because the FIFA worldcup is just around the corner, and Brazilians take their football passionately). Also I spied a number of good bargains to take back home as presents.

Sa'ara Market

Over at ipanema beach, was a “Devassa” (a locally brewed beer) restaurant which offered an excellent place for us to gather. And then to get a real taste of Rio, live samba music and performances at Lapa is a must. And lastly, if you happen to be in Rio on Sunday, there is a Sunday market full of local wares at ipanema beach. We took the subway and got off at the ipanema stop, which is right by the market.

Getting a temporary cell phone in Rio was a nightmare, I do not recommend it to anyone especially if you don’t know any Brazilians. The sim card requires activation through some national finance number, which foreigners do not have and you wont be able to register the sim card and get the phone to work. At the end of the day, I figured skype would be the best way to go, that is if the wireless works. (There is wireless at the beach as well!)

The best and safest way around Rio was taxi. The city also has a good subway system, but if you don’t know your way around, I would not recommend it since I did hear of muggings and robberies at gun point. So stay in groups and closer to the touristy spots. And learn some Portuguese otherwise it is very difficult to communicate with people on the streets. Thank you is Obrigado (if you are a man) and Obrigada (if you are a woman). The rest is up to you.

But to all the Brazilians who hosted us, and took good care, Obrigada! You were great!

When you work in news, especially news in Pakistan, you become accustomed to headlines such as “Five killed in bomb attack…”, “Two dead in targeted attack..”, “Eight dead…” and so on. As the news comes in, news editors have to sift through what makes it in the headlines and rundown and what doesn’t. In a manner perhaps as cold blooded as of the attackers, the editor makes the decision that the death of only three people is news not big enough.

I’ve been there, I have made that decision. 

What are you going to do when there are ten other stories lined up, each more horrifying, each with bigger numbers?

But now I know what the other side looks like. Over on that side there is nothing bigger than “three killed”. And there never can be. When a family loses three of its members to senseless killings, the enormity of “three killed” cannot be conveyed and cannot be overcome. The extreme emotions spill out of the bodies of those affected, ripping their souls apart it seems. There is no logic, no comfort, no rundown of how the day, the week, or the years are going to be like. “Three Killed…” is so much more than just an average bit of news. 

There is turbulence all around us. We try to make sense and keep moving in the right direction. But how possible is it to keep the direction right when the boat is rocking so much. 

This post doesn’t have a conclusion, or a witty question, its just there, suspended in the middle of all the extremes we live within.

The feeling runs deep. The memories deeper. The sorrow has the tint of always to it. The loss is no ordinary loss. This week Karachi, St Josephs, I, lost a great teacher. Ms Senior, Shafiqa, Fikree left us seemingly stranded in a world without her.

The first instinct says its not possible. Its impossible to imagine so many spaces without her. She was a teacher who gave you her all. With the utmost sincerity. Your word had meaning, whether in earnestness or in jest. She made it a point to listen, to weigh, to asses and to react.

It’s been years since I met her, its true. Even though I used to never let time go without meeting her. But that story is for another day. So much of what she was to me lives on untainted, unaffected by the mistakes of maturity, pure and simple. The space she has within me only has love and respect.

The second instinct came in the shape of vivid memory, connected to deep emotion, set deep inside my conscious. Half a sheet of paper with “For Nadia” written on it. As Ms Fikree shared her love of good stories with us, she made the effort to initiate us into reading and truly enjoying what we read. She filled two cupboards with the best reading material a teenage girl could ask for. And every afternoon, after her day’s classes were done, she would take out books for those who requested them in writing. But that afternoon, I found a surprise for me. A book for me, just for me, because I liked it so much. Without records or requests. Just with a singular piece of paper with “For Nadia” on it. This came to me, as I drifted of, with so much clarity it startled me.

I will never forget you Ms Fikree. You taught me so much I know and also how to know more. And perhaps its true that its not possible that you are gone, because so much of you remains within us, and always will. For my mistakes, forgive me.

An editorial in Dawn’s OP-ED pages recently rightly pointed out the lack of leadership in the country. Pakistan’s army is engaged officially in Waziristan and unofficially all across the country. We are reminded, Pakistan is at War. But where are the leaders, and where are their assurances to the people of Pakistan. Do the citizens not deserve to be informed what the plan is, assured that they will be protected and given the hope that all will turn out well? For that you need a campaign to give them hope and get their support. But as Cyril Almeida pointed out, that effort is lacking. No word from the PM, no appearance by the President.

And if you think that is bad, there is something worse. Driving through certain parts of Karachi known for its political affiliations, I saw “others” stepping into this vacuum of despair. With blaring speakers pointing the “right” way, stalls dot the roads telling people what to think while giving them the satisfaction of feeling they have made a choice. These stalls have the space and the freedom to impose their way of thinking, their version of the story, their sense of what is right and what is absolutely unacceptably wrong. This is something the government should be wary of, as we all know that this war is a war of the minds. The war against the brainwashed suicide bomber, the potential terrorist, and those who create them.

As Pakistan struggles to win against this unconventional war, the state of mind of the people of Pakistan cannot be ignored.

The world is changing fast. For us living in Pakistan, and news of blasts, attacks, fires and death remind us of the physical changes taking place all around us. Constantly. Even otherwise, and for others, the world is changing rapidly.

I was reminded of this in the heart of the silicon valley recently: Stanford University. I was aware that the world as we know is being updated minute by minute, and that there are blogs, and sites, and interactive portals. Yet I did not know that the degree of it all. People, its bigger than we know it to be. And for all those like me, aware of the this new world, on the edges of it, but not yet deep enough, there is stuff to be learnt. Will add a couple of interesting interactions and newer websites right here in days to come. Perhaps some of you might be able to benefit from it. 

One thing is clear, my blog and my updates in it have been quite a disgrace in terms of the blogging world. And after having been to stanford, and realizing the degree of twittering, facebooking, location sensitive services, and information congregation, I am vowing to be better at it, to become a part of it. See ya!

Pakistan, its politics, its people, and its system is slipping into despair. Most Pakistanis are appalled and embarrassed by the attack on the Sri Lankan team. Eye-witnesses, traders, and citizens are upset. But what can they do? While we all cringe at Indian media’s onslaught against Pakistan, and our sense of hospitality gets a harsh blow by comments from Chris Broad, what is it that we can do and say to make the world realize? Realize that we are not the fanatics the world is thinking we are, that our country has a great deal to offer even now, and that we really really appreciated the Sri Lankans who stood by us, and we wanted them protected. But its not the world’s fault. When elected representatives of the people cannot realise what the people want, how can the world know it? It is simply not possible.

Then why is it that Pakistanis continue to choose or allow one non-representing representative after another? For one thing, education has never been allowed to breathe in Pakistan, let alone be given the chance and time to develop into sense. But another major lacking seems to be a continuous identity crisis. Who is a Pakistani, what does it mean to be a Pakistani. Does anyone have any idea? Perhaps at the time Pakistan was created we relied on an identity so inherently alien to daily lives that we were not able to connect it to our inner personalities. After that, its all been downhill. With an obligation to uphold certain sensibilities in order to secure a place in the after life, people of Pakistan have been buffeted from one side to other. Utterly confused, with a vacuum where it really matters. And whenever there is a vacuum, an empty vessel jittery and unstable, it easily and forcefully fills with whatever comes its way. 

Confused, cast away, and castrated, the Pakistani wanders. What will come next, he seemingly has no power to understand, prevent or change. 

Is it too late to change this?

Many years ago, unaware of real life yet believing in the depth of truth and principle, I jotted some thoughts on paper. Well, on the computer. In my own way I tried to make them represent my principles, my devotion and my patriotism for Pakistan. But if I were to read them now, I would find the words cute, perhaps endearing, but nothing exceptional. 

Yet there was someone who gave it more than a passing thought. Someone who was a distant figure who wrote about press freedom in Pakistan, and was the only book available in the library to complete a report I had planned. He took time out to notice a teeny tiny article hidden somewhere in the folds of the paper. Not only to read, nod, and smile at, but also to call the newspaper and ask to speak to the young girl who had written the idealistic lines. It was a moment remembered many moments later, to make many other moments special. He felt good to know such thoughts existed in the new generation. I confirmed with him whether it was ok to be idealistic because people called me and my friends mad for thinking this way. He said, its the mad mad mad people of this world who are keeping it going. And that was good. That defined ‘encouragement’ to me. I remember it still. I will appreciate it forever.

Many years later,  I came across Mr Niazi’s son, unexpectedly realizing his connection. I shared the moment with him. It was like passing on the feeling, the thanks, the idealism. He didnt say anything, but I know he received the knowledge. The next day he gave me  ”Fettered Freedom” by Zamir Niazi, silently. And when I last night picked up the book, I realized how the tradition of care and the spirit of encouragement had been firmly preserved.

By writing tonight perhaps I once again pass it on…

What is about some films that they leave an eternity of sadness in their wake. Like lasting shadows, lingering after the flash of light is gone, unreal and untouchable. Its somewhat that feeling which remained with me after I saw this particular film. While you enjoy the highs, the lows, and the simple miraculousness of moments woven in the middle, you cannot help but turn away from the dull ache that lingers after the intensity is gone.

Inevitably, the intensity, the depth, stems from a heart to heart connection. A bond of love so strong that one cannot help but feels its presence and its pain throughout. An image from the movie stays with me, and its strange that this is the one to linger on, causing a startle at each recollection. Now I know the scene is not superior photographically, by acting or plot….yet it makes an impression on me. How do you understand love, it questions, when all parameters have been pushed upside down? Is there a definition, a simple idea? But it comes through, one way or the other. The love comes through, and leaves behind the futility of life…making it difficult to be understanding of life and its problems…simply making it difficult.

When you live in world ruled by traffic, last minute plans, large loving families, and six day work weeks, count on it that you will slowly go insane. I am no psychologist, but believing one plus one to be two, this is the very reason why people living, working and moving in sprawling cities are often well known for their bad tempers and relentless attitude. And it doesn’t happen overnight either, it happens, bit by bit, as Emily Dickinson put it, bone by bone. And then one day if you have the time to just look at yourself in the mirror, perhaps you will realize how much you have changed.

The feeling of constantly being rushed does sap you of your creative spirit. The passion to not just get the job done, but to go the extra few steps to making it more of what you are capable. To constantly take your ability and take it to higher levels by challenging yourself. To have time to remove all that is polluting the insides, and maintain all the good. This might sound like a lot of wasted time to many, but is it really? At the end of the day, your success and the satisfaction attached with it, is connected to how well you are performing at life. What your contribution is. So I would say, one should never be ashamed to take that little bit of time just for oneself….to unwind in a way which is natural to you, to sip tea while watching a show which makes you laugh, or penning down thoughts that help you sort out your brain. 

Many times those responsible for “time” in our lives do not understand the significance of this. I wish they would. Until they dont, we must strive to get what we still can, to make sure our inner spirit does not get lost.

An expanse of roads, traffic, pot holes and fumes. Thats what Karachi has become. Every day I travel from one end to the other, not ever getting used to all that seems unnatural. Tonight I got caught in the melting pot which I believe was the old landmark Regal Chowk. At least one neon sign pointed that out to me, as I tried to figure out which way the buses, cars, motorcycles seem to be headed. Nothing made much sense.

And as I tried to inch out of confusion, my mind wandered how the scenes must have changed. How noise and extreme traffic have probably nibbled away at the memory of Karachi as it was once in the minds of many. Where are the tea shops, where poetry and discussion could take passion to revolution? Where are the wide roads, where people could walk and greet friends and strangers on the way? Where, did the light, the very special light that belongs only to Karachi vanish? Now the buildings have no color, they are covered in dark pollution, with garish reflections from overwhelming traffic. And as times goes on, the moments become fewer and fewer, where glimpses of the past shine through. Does it matter that one day they will all be gone?