RIP

I've been thinking of writing something on BB's death since a long long time, but every time I start, it has somehow been impossible to continue. The first year I was still not over it, the second year I was getting there, but I think now it has sunk in enough for me to think about it without feeling too emotional.

Like 9/11, most of us would remember exactly what we were doing on Dec 27 when the news of BB's death broke.

I was not a BB supporter.

Some of my cousins were - still are - die-hard Bhutto supporters. I remember as a kid shouting Jiay Bhutto from my cousins' car and flashing the V sign in a huge gathering of people in Clifton when BB was coming to Karachi in the 1980's. It was such a fantastic feeling, not the political side of it, which I didn't understand at the time, but the feeling of being among thousands of people in one place, happily shouting the same slogan over and over and the cheering and music and flags and dancing and the fun, something I had never experienced before in this way. It was magical.

Fast forward to the 1990s, the political awareness and the disillusionment. I did not forgive BB for her political mistakes, alleged corruption, bad choice of people and the like, and judged her to be no different than anyone else - same system, different face. I was very vocal in my opposition in family discussions, much to the annoyance of some of my cousins who were still staunch loyalists despite two failed tenures.

The days leading up to Oct 18 were especially charged up. The most embarrassing thing to happen was when on Oct 18 the whole extended family was at home watching TV coverage of her return and some cousins decided to go for a drive and check things out. We all get in the car and the cousin driving puts in her CD of PPP songs, and the next thing I know, everyone in the car, including myself, is dancing to Dila Teer Bija like crazy. I obviously became the butt of jokes as no one expected it of me, least of all myself. I guess I got transported back in time to the 1980s - or maybe I thought what the heck, BB supporter or not I could still enjoy the craziness of the moment. We passed many cars, everyone flashing and exchanging the V sign, and reached the Karsaz bridge beyond which cars could not go. Lots of dancing and music and people having fun. We kept going from Bilawal House to Karsaaz to Quaid's Mazaar enjoying the festivities, and only headed back once we got tired.

As soon as we got home we heard about the bomb attack where we had been just a little while before. The next few days are hazy, another cousin who was not supposed to be there but had gone to drop some friends had been hit in the blast and was in hospital. The discussions then were all about how things were not the same, to avoid such gatherings and etc. And of course, me being ridiculed no end for my dramatic change from anti-PPP to jiye-Bhutto-car-dancer.

In December all the family, including those overseas, were in Pakistan for a wedding in the family. December26 was the shaadi in Hyderabad, and the valima was scheduled for December28 in Karachi. After a late wedding we had just driven back to Karachi on December 27th and I was napping. I remember being shaken awake by my sister who shouted, "Wake up, wake up, BB is dead!". I went numb. What? "Yes, she has been shot, they are saying she's probably dead". No, No, No, No please God no, let that not be the case, let there be some mistake. God let them be mistaken.

But it was true, she was dead.

I was not a BB supporter. I really didn't agree with her politics. But I was also naive. In her life I didn't understand what I understood with her death - that it was possible to feel very deeply about someone despite disagreeing with them on everything. That I loved her I only understood with the emptiness I felt on her death. I cried for days, for weeks. She had stood for hope - she was the hope of millions. She had stood for courage, for it takes courage to face death knowingly the way she did. She had stood for the people, for she had come for them.
And she gave her life for them - for all of us.

Benazir Bhutto, you still live on in our hearts.
May you rest in peace.

So What's Cooking?

OK, time to own up. My cook and cleaning ladies didn't turn out to be the dream-come-true I had imagined. They had a fight and decided to split, leaving me in a fix.
The story goes thus:

Apparently the Cook is a permanent resident who was till recently a lonely housewife from South India, and so some months ago decided to give one of her apartment rooms up for rent to another Indian in order to have some company. A student from Hyderabad (India) responded to the ad, took up a room and they became friends. Soon afterwards the student proposed that they make some extra money working in houses instead of sitting at home -- result, they became Cook and Cleaner respectively and placed the ad that I found and responded to. Other than myself they also got a couple of other customers. So far so good.

OK, now apparently the Cleaner (student) was herself quite sick of being in Australia and missed home. A number of her university friends gave her the 'brilliant' idea to apply and get loans from different banks, take the money and split back home to India and start a new life. She proposed this to the Cook who freaked out and said nothing doing - she has 2 kids in school and is half-way through her citizenship process - she also asked the Cleaner to vacate her place as the trust had dwindled with this crazy scheme proposal. There the trouble began.

The Cleaner, who by now had had access to the Cook's whole house, had obtained her bank account details as well as PIN numbers, and applied for bank loans using the Cook's details! Not only that, she booked a one-way flight to India as well - the Cook only discovered all this by accident when she got a call at home at a time she was supposed to be out, by the bank asking for a reconfirmation of some detail, following which she searched the Cleaner's room. She immediately called up her husband at work, who came home and they confronted the Cleaner in the evening - a very ugly scene after which she vacated overnight, and without even paying some $500 that she owed them.

During this whole time both of them kept calling me with their own versions, each trying to keep me as her customer (they still need money I guess). As if I would get involved.

Back to square one for me.
Wanted: come-at-home desi Cook. Clean record required, No hanky panky schemes please. Any takers?

"Papa Money"

This Chinese guy comes to my place to deliver some stuff I ordered online. Puts the stuff in the living room, looks around and says,"wow, big place in very posh area, how much rent you pay?"

I don't know if it's me or most of the Chinese in Sydney are really curious about property prices and rentals. Anyway, so I tell him how much, and he goes "Woohoo, why you want to live in this expensive neighbourhood?"

So I tell him we want to be in a happening area initially as we don't know many people in Sydney and it'll help us settle quickly. Looks at me weirdly and says, "where you from? India?" I say Pakistan. Suddenly all confusion disappears from his face and he winks at me and says "Ahhh, hehe, ok now I understand".

Now its my turn to be confused, what's there to understand "wink wink"??? He says, "You know all the Indians, they come and live in small places, many many people in one bedroom flat, you know, overflowing. But all you Pakistani, your papas work in government, take the government money and send all to you, you live in big places, pay big money, enjoy life on papa money" (another wink).

I mean, huh? So I indignantly tell him there's no such thing thank you, no 'government money' and no 'papa money'. He says, "Then why you spend so much money, you have good jobs?" Affirmative nod from me. "Then why you not save? I tell you all cheap places." I listen to the list of all 'cheap' places, polite thank you and open the door for him.

Wah re Pakistani, kya tera impression pardes main. Achhay achhay bhi badnam.

Ganga chali Pardes

First major thing I resolved to do after landing in Sydney was to try find a cook and a cleaning service. The web is full of cleaning service agencies across Australia, but not a single decent cooking service provider ! How inconvenient! So I began to ask around from acquaintances and any desi I know in Sydney, only to be given 'that look': a desi come-at-home cook? That doesn't happen here buddy, we all do our own cooking...kinda made me feel like that Indian movie heroine who goes to a foreign land where anything she tries to do she gets told, "Ganga, yeh vilayat hai, yahaan aisa nahin hota...".
Bechari paindoo Ganga.

Kyun nahin hota bhai? This only made my resolve stronger...finally after a few days of turbo web searching I finally chanced upon this obscure site where two Indian women had put an ad about their combined cooking + cleaning service, and at rates much lower than the cleaning-only agency rates. Viola! I called them up and within a day I had both services, twice a week.

Where others continue to come home after a long days' work and spend the next few hours toiling in the kitchen then downing it and falling dead in bed, I get steaming hot biryanis and niharis, do my reading and writing, put my feet up and enjoy every evening.

So who's laughing now. Ganga yeh pardes hai, yahaan bhi sab kuch ho sakta hai. Hmph!

When We Two Parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever the years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder, thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk, chill on my brow,
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me...
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well..
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

- Byron (1728-1824)

Obama sacks McChrystal

Hope there will come a day when a President of Pakistan can also sack a serving general of the army with the statement:

"...our democracy depends upon institutions that are stronger than individuals. That includes strict adherence to the military chain of command, and respect for civilian control over that chain of command."

And be able to get away with it without a coup.

Khayyam's Rubai'

Pray tell, who has not transgressed Your Law?
Pray tell the purpose of a sinless life
If with evil You punish the evil I have done
Pray tell, what is the difference between You and me?
- Omar Khayyam