Goodbye to good old days of Daydreaming!

Monday morning took me to a Park with renewed energy. It felt good to see lively kids and unexpected students this early to a Park. I got there by chance, as I said Monday Morning energy brought me 40 minutes early to office and I had to wait in this small but beautiful park. As I watched the kids hanging and laughing and the students making final minute revision before exam, a strong energy beamed from each of them. Probably they were living that moment and each moment of life. Or may be I had returned from a lazy week to find other people so lively.

Human beings find ways to love nature

While I was watching those people, I started getting visualization. The kids were playing when I joined them as their contemporary age mate. I then turned to my right and found myself studying with the students. I got back in time, I started preparing anew for my intermediate exams. Then I came back to life. The rail of daydreaming had already gained speed. I had abandoned this engine many times but it kicks-in on getting fuel. Today lets talk about daydreaming. Daydreaming not as a phenomenon but a state of mind. It usually crawls in to our mind, gradually but steadily eats up human energy and leaves no room for creativity. It is destructive creativity.

Guess what? I would have touched the highest echelon of being a writer by now had I not given this creature free hand to trade inside my mind. That's true. Oh, you doubt it! Please don't tell me that... Okay fine, I would have been a widely read blogger of my country had I not given up to combat daydreaming . I hope that sounds logical. Or, for that matter I would have developed a brilliant writing style. Happy now?

Daydreaming was my favorite activity of  academic life. I sat in solitude for hours, literally hours, as long as 6 hours a day. During those uncontrolled contemplation I came up with ideas, stories, what-if scenarios and most of the time I emerged as a hero from those stories in the world of my own. There were moments of happiness, success, sadness, pain, suspense, failure, romance and love.

Once there lived this most amazing person on earth. He was so humble, caring and handsome. He took every pain to be part of all the social activities in his village. In a single day he got involved with a group of people digging out channel through a hilly terrain to irrigate the village's field, and the next hour he went to the school for teaching kids from his region. He would then return home for completing some ongoing chores there. It did not stop here, he offered his prayers regularly, and in the night he embarked on academic growth. This gave him a strange privilege and made a content life. Along with the activities what changed was his attire. He wore an old jeans with heavy joggers and full sleeves shirt with its color raised when he was at work with villagers. In school he put on decent dress.

During these activities he became part of the sweet chatters among elders, he listened to them and laughed with them. There were innumerable incidents on the way to work or home. Like, a stone slipping his feet and missing someone below the slope, or a stone rolling down a hill and missing him by scratch. Or, the amazing questions from some of his students about God, Science etc., and his own interesting findings during his study hours.

If you sit with your friends to tell and compile all these activities mentioned, with their minute details, it is going to extend to at least 2-3hours discussion or theater. And, for the above drama the stage was no other place than my brain in idle and busy hours of the day. The person was none but myself in the world of adventures. I went up to the extent of killing myself and I visualized my funeral many times. I saw people gathering; friends, family members and strangers, at my funeral. I listened people talk about me and my life. So strong was the appearance of my family and friends in the visualization of my daydream that their reaction left me weeping for minutes.

Why did I indulge in daydreaming? What was the benefit to me? Well, in the early days once our physical instructor at school (Jahageer) talked about daydreaming and the disease it leads us to, after finding many absent minded students among us.  I asked out of fear, "Sir what if it has become a habit of ours? How can we counter it?" His response was a warning not to let it become a disease to kill our creative brains. He instructed us to remain attentive and keep ourselves busy with activities. So to me the benefit was zero and there was consistent waste of precious time.

Why did I daydream? Because, I kept thinking about doing activities, instead of starting on the ones I wished to do. I have always yearned for keeping a journal in life since school days. But, every time I opened a diary or thought of starting on the first page of my diary, the thinking process kicked-in in a matter of seconds. This led me to imagine many beautiful and memorable passages in my journal 50 years from then. And made me look at numerous decorated stories of my life as a retired old man. When I would be back, a full hour or two had passed with the journal still blank in my lap.

Chase your dreams, it curbs the seeds of laziness

These kids in the park were chasing the idea of having fun early in the morning. A small wish of few friends to be together in the final minutes before their exams led some students to this serenity to embrace nature. They gave each other company before their educational combat. All of the above characters could have easily excused themselves for not coming here. The best possible option for the kids was to remain in slumber and kill the thought of early morning walk. Or they could have delayed it for the next time hence missing the opportunity for a lifetime. Or each student could have excused himself for self-preparation and thus missed a cheerful company. But, they said yes to their inner voice, thus eradicating the seed of laziness. At the same time they did not allow to stock "I wish/want" items in their brain. This ultimately stopped them from seeding daydream. They had the experience of what they imagined and now they won't sit imagining other possible outcomes of the idea which they had already accomplished.

Once we have an idea we should start following its action plan rather than deploying too much energy on thinking how and when to make follow up action. This thinking process once started finds ways to make the idea better but, only inside the human mind. Hence, it spreads the germs of delay; a thought that we might do it later, or next time or when we have proper time at our disposal so that we meet the best criteria set by our mind to complete the generated idea. This is the foundation of daydream. A sea of unlimited thoughts that engulf our mind, seeking possible outcomes for the ideas we wished to do in life but haven't dared to start it practically.

Morning Park and Bliss

The kids were embracing nature and nature was embracing them. They found happiness today, and they will aim for more blissful day next time which will lead them to experience nature in different ways. No matter how trivial idea you possess, keep chasing it and act to materialize it. If you want to write a poem scribble it, if you want to draw create some shapes, if you want to play go out in the field, if you want to walk get out of your room and if you want to smile do it before anything else worries you. They are your inner voices which directs you towards a destiny more aligned with your 'being'. Locking the voices inside your mind will only cause damage to your existence, your creativity and your life. Laziness is the only natural compliment of daydreaming. The opportunity cost for daydreaming is a human life itself. And daydreaming is not worth any human life on earth.

Do before you get lazy enough to destroy your God gifted resources; your life, creativity and future. Act, do not give life any chance to regret.

Apricot (Chuwan) Surprise

"Chuwan" (Apricot) is speciality of Hunza. The opulent juicy fruit in the region is spread densely in every orchard and garden. The colors of summer season is decorated by nature's purest dyes which also includes dispersed spots of  yellow/orange color with slight shade of red some times, in a green background; chuwan on the widely spread trees.

Last week I was strolling in a street in Rawalpindi with Asif, and we were heading towards our home. I crossed a little sign board of a beauty saloon which I had seen many times before. It is tied to a tree in front of a bungalow. I saw something familiar in the background. I had almost crossed the tree, when I stopped. Its a tree I am well familiar with. I almost shouted "Chuwanaay!" (An apricot tree!).

Surprise Chuwan

For me it was the first time I had seen chuwan tree outside Gilgit territory. First time in 7 years. The chuwan was still juruti "un ripen apricot". Green but almost grown to its maximum size. My mouth had already started getting sour. My body shivered with the thought of  tasting a juruti. But I had to rely on the feeling, (maz yo chorrde nai) I didn't brought the juruti down.

I thought the least I could do is share it. And here I present you with the captured image.

Apricot caught

Farewells!

By definition Farewell is an act of parting or of marking someone's departure, which I do not intend to explain.


As March ended, it culminated the affiliation of a brilliant officer with Hashoo Foundation: Ms Shrifa.  Now, as April is ending, Mr. Ameer has set out for a challenging career opportunity. In professional environment the setting for farewell is different than we had at college. The short homage ceremony is planned and enjoyed, and people continue with their jobs.


At Sharifa's moment, loads of tears were released. Managers, officers and interns lined up with their own cascade. I saw male colleagues' inevitable urge for building an obstruction around the pool in their eyes. Some men went up to the extent of mimicry, to show as if they were crying and successfully saved their "dignity" by not letting tear pour out of their eyes. With Ameer it was quite the reverse. Ameer seemed to struggle with constructing a barrier around his eyes as he listened to the emotional tributes from his colleagues. Meanwhile, the rest of the staff appeared happy on the variety in lunch and tried to give an impression that the departing officer will be missed by putting on artificial and imposed sad face.


Their colleagues said that Sharifa is hardworking, focused and ambitious lady with strong determination who went against all odds to be a working woman. Ameer was labeled with responsible, proactive and respectful gentlemen. The epic moment was when  Kamal refered to Ameer as a USB that could fit in every computer system (department and programs) without getting corrupt or damaging the host's file.


I realize that farewell is just part of life, and continues as long as we live. You join a school or college and in the end its a farewell. You are part of a society, forum and group and in the end there is a departure. The tears, cheers and goodbyes are stitched to human nature. To be honest I shed tears at many of my goodbye moments. Because the takeoffs took me further away from good people. The emotions are for the good things you fear loosing.


Hence, it is the trace of your existence that remains with people and all other things dematerialize. Best of luck my first batch of working colleagues. :)

CD Hashoo F. (Ali) presenting appreciation token for Amir,
 in presence of HF Staff 

Past: Lahore

Sabir in his first year in Lahore, Residence: a cubic with Naseer bhai

This is in Makah Colony, near Firdous Market. Sabir was relatively new in Lahore, it was my 3rd year. Here, we stayed with Naseer bhai, a very respectful and helpful brother. 

Those days I did not let grow my hair longer than 1/2 a inch. Memories are sweet :)

Public Service Institutes' an adventure

Image Source here

Aspirant of government service? Well, a visit to the hub of Pakistan's public service institute makes me rethink prior goals set.











Margilla Hills, the serenity, magnificent buildings and cordial interaction with security forces: Welcome to the Pakistan Secretariat, Islamabad. I love this place.

Once inside, I expect a young lady at the reception, with everlasting broad smile to say formal welcome. Stop right there Mr. Shah. How dare you imagine of a modern impressive work force inside the nation's daily grind center. My subconscious spoke. And for a while the world around me appeared very similar. Yes I have been here before, a voice from within shouted. It is the post office in my village. But wait I am in Islamabad!!! Ah the uniformity and standardized culture of our nation's public service institutions has taken my breath away.

While I am inquiring about the concerned office and officer over a narrow wooden reception desk, an old aged man dressed in Shalwar Kamiz, almost stretching on the guazed chair gives me the direction as he points towards the ceiling saying 2nd floor.

Shining tiles, 3 adjacent elevators without traffic (I wish we had this at our university although we had 1 but it remained packed at rush hours), clean corridor and the office, bang we are inside.

Two men sat over a table with PC on it. A fragrance I am well acquainted with, that of a library room. A thick and warm air with mixture of smell of bundle of books. The office walls are packed with files, hundreds of thousands of piles. The loose cupboard doors are open and inside it one sees the profuse files protruding through the door. The leftover bundles get piled on top of the cupboard reaching the roof top. Still leftover along with new ones put on a layer of dust as they rest peacefully on the floor .

By looking at the varying shade of the files you can easily tell which files are there since the creation of the country and those added recently. This is so depressing, at university library at least we had colorful tags at the books to capture our attention, but here its the unlimited white, gray and brown layers of files.

An intelligent young man wearing wasket over a creamy kameez, siting on the traditional office chair across a table covered with green shawl under a transparent glass with pages surrounding him is our final encounter (me and a colleague). He is very polite. He takes a minute to start dialogue when he gets interrupted by the office assistant. He very carefully and slowly starts writing a note which is probably addressing another colleague to complete an agreement made earlier. Once back to us we have to remind him what he was talking about. He accedes and before proceeding gets confused with all the files and pages on his table. He again inquires if they are ours but then remembers himself and puts them  in place.

Well, finally a sweet chit chat and a professional scrutiny of the documentation. He is good at it as he is good at seeking opportunity for 'free lunch or stay' through contacts. By now we are cursing ourselves for being indulged in an affair with the public sector institution and pray and literally get ready to "pay" what ever it takes to get us out of the affair. And, a 10 minutes meeting gets extended to 1 hr 30 minutes gup shup.

Did I say 2 mice ran into us during our discussion? Okay, they backed off as if saying sorry for interruption but its already 4:30pm. Nevertheless, interesting statistics: Government of Pakistan has so far spent Rs. 50 Million to clean sweep mouse population from the vicinity of Parliament house and Secretariat. The black fat creatures still rule.

Image Source here

Kudos to the resources, man power and 'authority of the offices' at the Pakistan Secretariat but only if the substandard culture, mindset and office management system changes. We will be the best in the world.

In memory of Moom Jon! Moom Laal Begum (لعل بیگم) of Gulmit Gojal Hunza

                                       

Moom Laal Begum
Photo by Zafar Iqbal, 2011

Baig Ali: "Aunty late was the daughter of the Second Revolutionary leader Mr. Ghulam Ali Sho of Gircha Gojal. Paternal CHACHEE of Hyder Tai and Genealogically from the GRAND GRAND PA of BOBO SUFI of Tajikistan/Toojikistan (Bobo Sufi) of Ghuroun Badakhshan. Her son Mr. Rehmat ullah Baig [Muhammad Sana Jr., Nadir Shah, Nusrat Nasab] is the 13th generation of BOBO SUFI."

Moom (Grandma) Laal Begum (لعل بیگم ) was the daughter of Poop GhulamAli Shah of Avegarch Gojal. She was raised in Ghalapan Gojal until she got married to my grandfather Havaldar Rustam Baig s/o Muhammad Sana of Gulmit Gojal. My Grandma's age was 9 years at the time of her marriage. Life started in a new environment with new guardians and vast responsibilities for a mere 9 years child. The scenario exposed Moom jon to new challenges of managing a vast and combined household of Poop Muhammad Sana. In fact, this challenge shaped her later life with courage, kindness, diligent hard work, patience and success. 

Poop Rustam (Zaq Poop/Chotay dada) and Moom Lal (لعل ) have four children namely Rehmat Ullah Baig, Muhammad Sana Jr., Nadir Shah and Nusrat Nasab. "Naan Jon  (Dear Mother) said that she gave birth to her eldest child at the age of 16 years" said voch (Aunt) Nusrat Nasab. Her first child is Rehmat Ullah Baig with year of birth 1954. This implies that Moom Laal Begum (لعل بیگم)was born in the year 1938 and she got married in 1947 (9 years from 1938).

I am not a historian, neither can I attest that the account which I am presenting about Moom Lal Begum is comprehensive. But, my intention is to give a brief homage to the courageous lady who  proved to be a loyal wife, a caring and loving mother, a diligent and hardworking housewife, a guardian angel for her grandchildren,  survived to be an exemplary model for her generation  like our other legendary Naan and Mooms; the ambassadors of our culture and traditions.

When Moom Jon came home after tying knot with Zaq Poop,  her dedication could be sensed from the very initial days. Many a times I heard from both  Poop-Moon, (usually in connection with discussion on early marriage) , that Shirin Moom was so little that after dragging a small gallon of water into the house she could not pick it up over the *Nikaard xanjh (Step at the front portion inside a traditional Wakhi house following the entrance). From there onward others would help her. 

Havaldar Poop Rustam Baig and Moom Laal Begum
Hunza, Pamir, Wakhi attire 

The laborious work in summer season comprised of cutting, packing and closing of grass for livestock, harvesting and thrashing of wheat and grain and the follow up processes (manually), collection and processing of apricot and other fruits, collection of dry leaves in Autumn season in tughor (Urdu:Booree), all spread over a vast and hilly terrain as offered by the geography of our area. Presently, in our combined and extended family human resource available to cover the laborious work of the summer season is abundant and mechanized as compared to the time when Moom Jon  had to deal with it either alone or with Zaq Poop's  assistance (when he would be in village for vacations from service in Northern Area Scouts). I must mention here that most of the time the family of Poop Muhammad Rafi (Loop Poop/Baray Dada)and  Poop Sultan Baig(Mulungage Poop/Middle Poop), brothers of Poop Rustam Baig, helped Moom Shirin in the chores.

But, even in the presence of a handful of manpower Poop - Moom complained against the pace at which we worked in the same terrain doing the same activities. They were right in doing so. With peripheral activities like education and health care for children, social engagement and skill development training gaining core importance our and our parents' capacity, stamina  and speed did not match that of our grand parents at labor work.  

Zaq Poop shared an interesting incident at such times to praise Moom Shirin's strength at work. Once the couple were cutting wheat  with hands using dhuter (Urdu: Dantree) in a small field named *poop racen. Both started at same time and same spot. Zaq Poop said he took one patch and Moom Jon took two patches down the field. "After awhile she raced off moving swiftly down the field clearing both patches leaving me behind", said Zaq Poop, "I told her to move slowly so that I could catch up". After a very short time she caught her natural pace again, asserted ZaqPoop as he laughed at this point. Now raising his hand  Zaq Poop jolted it down as he proceeded "I threw the dhuter at the spot and leaving the work returned home dejected" . After a short time when Moom Shirin had finished her part she followed him back to home and inquired about his early departure. His response was, "What will the folk think when they see you out classing me at work? Wouldn't it be an embarrassment for us!". Moom Jon  would laugh at this as they narrated the episode.

"*Laal Bigim (لعل بیگم) is not my sister rather she is my brother". Revealing and self explanatory remarks of Loop Poop Muhammad Rafi (eldest brother of Poop Rustam) on Moom's hard work.

Moom Laal Bgum in Gulmit
Hunza, Pamir, Wakhi look

Afiyat Nazar:-"She has just departed to the world of eternity....she was really a kind and soft spoken...I spent my early years most of the time mum's home....and once caused her head injury...when she asked me to pluck some pears from the pear tree....I carried batteries in my pocket and climbed the tree while mum sat under the tree... I shook the tree to throw down the ripen pears but instead...a battery fell out of my pocket and hit her head... poor mum cried out in pain...and said somebody threw stone on me....when I explained that it was my fault and that it was not a stone, rather it was a battery, which fell off out of my pocket...She gently said you grandpa never punished me like that as you had punished me... this was her only reaction..."

Click: Moom Lal Begum's glimps " 

For Wakhi population pastures meant means of  livelihood, where every year hundreds of thousands of livestock were bred. In return they collected dairy products, wool and meat. My Granny  was among the people who went to the pasture to cater for the livestock. In the year 1990/91 when I was almost 2 and half years child, Grandpa took me to *Shmizeraav  (A pasture on the high mountains miles away from hometown). Xu Moom  told me this story one last time in Islamabad during her ailment. Siting on the bed, with her legs stretched forward such that the yellow skin of her foot and tibial area exposed , softly she started, with weak appearance due to the malady she was fighting. The grin on her yellowish face continued as she spoke. Your Poop brought you to the pasture on his back. Once you were there, I was worried. Many thoughts were running through my mind. I thought how will I manage to calm you if you cried at night, or if you yearned for your mother's milk since you were separated from her for the very same reason. As the night fell you were calm, but as soon you got irritated I called your Poop through the wall of the *helgaah (A place where livestock and their responsible persons rest in pasture). And soon you started to get comfortable with the environment. 

In connection to this event Moom Jon said that my Poop had to go to Hunza urgently. "But when he returned he came straight to Shmizeraav (the pasture) without stopping by at home in Gulmit. He was worried for you, but when he got there and saw you happy, he got relaxed", said Granny. I have never gained weight in life as far I remember. But Xu Naan told me that Moom Shirin had brought me up so well that on return from the pasture I was a healthy child with cheeks turned red. 

Moom Jon's management of our house was very crafty. At the time when she was responsible at home, I remember we used to have livestock packed in our *Ghel (Wakhi: Home for Animal). It was during these days that when Moom Jon  prepared butter she would take a handful of freshly prepared butter and feed us one by one. It was like the mother of few birds feeding them. Her hand clutched over the butter she would make a small bulbous with the help of her thumb and as we opened our mouth she would let us take the round portion of butter protruding from her hand. It was such tender feeling that I missed ever after Moom Jon left the responsibility of managing the house. Naan Jon also entertained us latter but I automatically phased out from the category after 18, because the privilege resides with kids only. In February 2012, when she was in Gulmit and her illness had started I missed her and reminded her on the phone about this ritual. Her response told me she missed those days more than any body could imagine.

Tullah Khan:-"Very sad news, Maula Bless her soul in eternal peace and Bless Uncle to bare the loss of life partner, she was very caring soft spoken and humble with all at home and as well at the village level. we lost you really======"

One aspect of Moom Shirin was her life long loyalty, love, care and support to Zaq Poop. They made an exemplary couple. Given Zaq Poop's "harsh" attitude and strict rules of life, Moom never complained against any of his "offenses". Instead as far I can remember they both would accompany each other for the minor activities in the surroundings. Zaq Poop's eyes had grown dim, even than he would follow her outside the house, sit on the stairs and wait until Moom was done with her task. Then came the hard phase of Zaq Poop's life; his eyes did not allow him to see the outside world. This offered Moom Shirin with another challenge. She accepted and faced the challenge gracefully. According to our elders Moom served to be Zaq Poop's eyes. It was through the lens of Granny that he started to see the world. During these days she sat besides Zaq Poop, never attended any social events unless unavoidable, and made sure that he gets the maximum comfort and satisfaction. In her last days the only person she was most concerned about was Zaq Poop.


The *nupus (grandchildren) of Moom Shirin had privilege to get raised up in her custodian. Out of the 16 nupus from her 3 sons, starting from the eldest of her grandchild Farida Gillani to the smallest Mushahid Ali, majority were directly handled by her at initial years of their life. And, the 1st three out of four of her grandchildren (i.e Aliza, Nabeel and Mikael) from her only daughter were raised in Moom Jon's custody in their early years. In her last days she was fortunate enough to take in her lap her 1^st great grand son Sayed Azlan Moheeodin Gilani (s/o Farida & Ehsan Gilani).

MoomJon with Aliza, Nabeel, Mikael and little Sheraz in Islamabad during treatment

Her ultimate surrender...

People say that Moom Jon was a healthy lady and she never had any major health issue. Knee pain was the only affliction that she endured in her later years. She did not let surface this agony. Her response to inquiry about her health was always in a pleasant "all right" notion. This certainly implied that except her knee pain the rest is fine. 

She spent the last decade of her life in Gilgit city and Islamabad with voch Nusrat Nasab and family. In 2009 Poop also came to Islamabad where after a minor operation he stayed with Moom. After participating in the marriage ceremony of their granddaughter Farida in April 2011 the couple shifted to Gulmit, the Tehsil headquarter of Gojal Hunza with the intention to spend the rest of their life in their hometown. Here they participated in another granddaughter Ayima's wedding ceremony in July 2011.

Later, in January 2012 Moom Shirin got ill in Gulmit and received treatment for cold and pneumonia. She was shifted to Gilgit and than to Islamabad not sooner than March 09, 2012. They landed by C130 plane. Bech (uncle) Muhammad Nawa accompanied her. She was directly shifted to Shifa International Hospital Islamabad.

I reached the hospital and waited for bech Rehamat, bech Mehboob,voch Nusrat and Moom to come out of the consultant's office. Meanwhile, bech Nawa and I got indulged in a discussion. After half an hour bech Rehmat driving a wheel chair passed by and all others followed. I could not see Moom's face who was being driven on the wheel chair. When they halted at a rest area, I walked passed the wheel chair turned around to meet my Shirin Moom. Oh dear Lord, I cant believe it. Amalgamation of yellow and dark shade dominated her skin color. Her eyes turned up very slowly, and I was still staring at her in shock and pain. As I hugged her and gave her a kiss I realized drops pouring out of my eyes. "Don't cry" she said, "Your Moom is not going to die".

Farman Ravian:-"a paragon nd source of golden advices--a great personality--takes on a divine touch...may her soul rest in divine peace (ameen)"

Once in the hospital she shared the narrative of her illness.

"We thought I had cold and thus pneumonia. I was coughing, and I had fever. My diet mainly constituted of apricot oil and milk (it is considered to be healthy diet for cold/pneumonia). We all thought it was a seasonal infection. It went on for a month. Now the fever and nausea became frequent. At night I felt the heat in my chest and abdominal area. Many people came for inquiry but no one could read the changing color of my eyes and face. Nor did anybody at home note the transformed color of my face, I could not get out in the cold. Then we decided to go to the Aga Khan Health center. We were at *glech (a place on the way to hospital) when Hakim Shah (of Kamaris) met us and after looking in to my face told me that I had *zarth-pervevn (jaundice). After reaching the hospital they also affirmed it as jaundice and treated me with four injections. I left and I was taken to vuruth (brother) Muhammad Rahim who checked the extent of the jaundice through examining my tongue.

All of a sudden my diet was changed to no fat no protein ingredients. I relied on *parhaiz (abstain from fats and protein). When Sasab and Rehmat came to know about the nature of the illness, they immediately wanted me to be in Islamabad. I did not want Nadir to know about the nature of illness but he was told. The work at Attabad Spillway (video here) and unrest in Gilgit (due to Kohistan Killings) prolonged my journey for almost 15 days. Finally, I was brought to Gilgit and after 2days at Aga Khan Health Center Gilgit I was transferred to Islamabad". With a mild smile she further said, "before leaving home, your Poop was reluctant to let me go and said that first to Gilgit and then your children will take you to Islamabad and operate you". ( The reason was simple, Mooms voice was so clear and full of energy that unless one saw her one couldn't believe or imagine she was suffering a chronic disease, and Shirin Zaq Poop could not see her).

Rehmat, Nusrat, Mehboob with Moom Shirin

Doctors said she had obstructive jaundice, with traces of the cancerous cells in lungs. Moom Laal Begum (لعل بیگم) was thereafter under the intense and selfless care and service of the doctors, bech Mehboob Aziz (husband of voch Sasab) and his family.


Moom Shirin breathed her last at the age of 74, on April 10, 2012 (10:50 am) in House # 580, G9/1, Islamabad at her beloved deghd (daughter) Nusrat Nasab's home. Voch Nusrat Nasab, bech Rehmat Ullah Baig, Nadir Shah (Xu tath: my father) and the loving family of bech Mehboob Aziz were around her. In her last 5 minutes, as Poop Qushi was doing dam duo, she started dhiker and asked Allah Almighty to ease her difficulty said Nadir Shah.

She was laid to rest in H-8 graveyard Islamabad.

Rehmat, Nadir & Nusrat at Moom's
Harvo for fateha. Daulat Karim also present

 "My Grandma was like a mother to me and the rest of her grandchildren. Her presence was very sweet and full of attraction that rooted in her kind character and humble attitude. Never in my life had I seen her get infuriated by our silly deeds or ever speak in loud voice. She would smile and let things go, but she would very carefully select her words at times to correct us or advise us. RIP moom jon. "

Fateha at Moom's Harvo

The attendants of the future generations are the “bosses”

Sabir has returned home late.  He is down and right away starts complaining about the attitude of Riaz Ahmad towards him, who is Director at Preston University Islamabad . He was feeling great these days, after suffering chronic health issues that led to halt his academic career for almost 2 years he has finally joined Islamic Art and Architecture Program at Islamic International University, Islamabad. Nevertheless, he is exploring options for B.Tech his primary field of interest.


That day Sabir was on academic expedition, when the Director of Preston University encountered him in a queue for admission inquiry. The director after taking him to his office asked about his query. So far so good says Sabir. “When I said I am enrolled in Islamic International University the director started shouting at me” confused faced Sabir was describing the event.  “I apologized and asked for the reason behind his sudden outrage” carried on Sabir. The Director’s arguments were:

“You have often visited our campus with your friends, with Afghanis, Iranis and Pathans… I know you are not going to take admission…” [Sabir was there for the first time ever and he had asked me that morning to send him the addresses of the institutions].

Not comprehending what the Director was talking about he again clarified his motive and asked for a prospectus to purchase. “The director ordered the security guards to take me out of his office and the campus” now almost feeling the pain as he kept telling. “He ordered them not to let me in again”. He asked me desperately “WHAT should I do… What should we do?”

I quietly went to the hall, where Nawaz was already sitting. I asked if he (Sabir) had been to the campus earlier. His reply was no. Given the fact that we shifted to Islamabad from Lahore in November 2011, Sabir had no chance to apply or visit any institution except International Islamic University where he got enrolled.

“He accused me of visiting their campus with friends, with Afghanis and Pathans” growing shock on his face was evident as he kept telling me the details. As we sat in the Hall for dinner, he again inquired “What should I do”. I made sense of his inquiry; it was a plea against the unprofessional, rude and illogical attitude of the director. Sabir was discouraged; his eyes told so. He was discouraged at a stage where he is fighting against his demoralized will to carry on with academics.

Earlier this week a news article pierced through my heart when I discovered that Kamran Khan a 13 years student torched himself to death due to circumstances pertaining to poverty. I left office by 5pm and after attending to my grandma who is still recovering from her malady reached home by 9pm. While I was traveling towards home the images of the 70% population including ourselves, kept appearing in my mind. People pressed by hardships and suffering of poverty, terrorism, politics, social injustice and violence.  

Once at home, under the darkness of the power shortage crisis, Nawaz and I started to share situation in our country that day.  Sabir had not yet returned home after leaving for university in the morning. The topics earlier that week had not been on fortunate incidents and progresses but on the unfortunate circumstances surrounding us including the Kohistan carnage, Minority issue and forced conversion and alike.  I told Nawaz about the fate of the unlucky mother who set priority to the basic necessities of life like food and shelter ignoring her son’s uniform requirement that resulted in her son’s death.  We placed hope in the present day universities and colleges who claim to provide the nation with highly qualified professionals and leaders by advertising their well reputed faculty. May be, one day we all together, the educated lot will do the difference.

It was at this point that Sabir came home and straight away with evident dismal condition shared his account. I thought the only hope of the society is fading; the attendants of the future generations are the “bosses”.

It is pertinent to note that in a time of disparities from almost every institution and section of the society including religion (which is being used to create hatred on the ground of sectarianism and extremism), politics, economy and development it is only education that will sow the seed of hope in the generation to come. But, behavior of the patrons of prestigious universities like the one above will curb the only hope left for the youth.  In every civilized society the above incident is condemnable and would require unconditional apology from the subject and he would be held accountable.

For Sabir it had taken long time to construct the confidence and belief in him, which the director gave harsh blow. 

Rai Ghulam-ud-Din (Late) Gulmit Gojal Hunza

Click for detailed insight  LEGACY, JOURNEY AND STORY OF A COMMUNITY LEADER: RAI GHULAM UD DIN KHAN (1944-2011)


Pup Rai Ghulam u Din (late), a wonderful poetry/Loos* recited by Nazir ahmed Bulbul on the day of Pup's funeral. The video also contains excerpt of Pup marhoom's speech in Karachi, and glimpse of his local dance. Proud of you, an inspiration for a generation.

Rai Ghulam-ud-Din (Late) Gulmit Gojal Hunza


*Loos in Wakhi is a collection of verses to honor a person's character and his life after his/her death. It is integral part of the Wakhi culture, and it is on the verge of extinction. But, efforts are underway to collect and preserve the rich heritage of loos, and to encourage the tradition.

1988 & 2012: an equidistance journey to and from millennium 2K

In 1988, when I was born, I was 12 years away from the new millennium and in 2012 I am again merely 12 years away from the new millennium.

The difference off course is nothing but the morphological changes.

Today I ponder over an amazing topic, a question and the most romantic idea: “I want to become a (profession) when I grow up.”

It’s amazing when you hear from children about the future profession they want to choose. It feels as good to hear as to imagine the child one day achieving that professional career that s/he utters. I never knew (neither did I inquire) about my future ideal as a child. May be my school teachers would remind me. I do remember that by grade 8^th I would reluctantly respond to the question “what is your future plan?” with “doctor”.

Time slipped and so did matriculation. Perplex with the option of deciding between Pre-Engineering and Pre Medical, I consult few of the best career counsellor and professionals and somehow cling to pre-engineering. Well, to their question “what is your future goal?” I respond, “I guess I want to study management sciences... or maybe I want to become a doctor... no I feel like becoming an engineer...”

Finally, I am in Lahore and in the first day of the college our Urdu professor sir Tahir Masood asks a million dollar question during an introductory dialogue. “Please one by one introduce yourself: your name, your region, your school and what do you want to become?” Why would the teacher ask us our future plan? Doesn’t he know that we are pre engineering students and we will become engineers? My heartbeat has already raced off, as I for the first time in my life hear the words “Electrical engineer, Mechanical Engineer, Civil Engineer, Electronics Engineer, and Computer Engineer” while students in the front row respond and Tahir scribbles every detail on his file paper.

It’s my turn and I haven’t yet decided my specialization in engineering, I speak “...I don’t want to be an engineer (50 students and the teacher startled at my statement fix their eyes on me) but, I want be academician and I plan to do PhD in Physics” This was brilliant; it not only surprised the audience but myself. Now the biggest joke to share with you all, the same year I drop physics in examination.

 

Well, this is 2012 and I stand here with a degree in my hand. I am not a doctor, neither an engineer. It is as if I have done everything and yet nothing. While I travelled the first half of the equidistance to the year 2000 with my parents and teachers, I wandered in the next equidistance journey from 2000 to 2012 on my romantic ideas. That made the 24 years of my life. I do not regret for not having a clear goal all these years, I wish to start anew, with clear and defined path for the rest of my life.

Happy New Year- Happy 2012

Towards a destiny with clear road map

(P.S. I loved art and Architecture)

A wish for Pakistan, A wish for myself

As the nation is about to celebrate the 135th birthday of Quaid e Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah, many initiatives are being carried out for commemorating the day. One such initiative is taken by Dawn Newspaper where people are invited to the forum to participate in "Tell us, tell the Quaid" discussion.The least I could do was to think of a competitive strategy for Pakistan, I find the idea and material in the brainstorming and thought provoking exercises conducted by the honorable teacher Dr. Farid A. Malik during our academic program.

Quaid e Azam M.A. Jinnah

Pakistan has a geostrategic location, rich with natural resources. The current situation of Pakistan is very critical. The country has the greatest proportion of youth population and it has traveled 63 years with a consistent problem of political leadership. This translated itself in the institutional structures and became the basis for indifferent citizens. Religious institutions got misused and fundamentalism and militancy strengthened.

In such a scenario competitive strategy for Pakistan shall primarily focus on youth development programs. Its investment in education sector will be a building block for the nation’s development. This shall include reaching out for the rural populations, reforms and improvement in technical education and development of uniform curriculum that encourages critical, intellectual and conceptual thinking.

Furthermore, institutions like Scouting and students’ political bodies shall be extensively launched. The blend of well designed practical approach curriculum will produce well informed political thinking. Moreover, scouting will help in cultural, religious and ethnical interaction to saw the seed of pluralism in the hearts and minds of the youth. This will address today’s religious fundamentalism, extremist religious rhetoric and ‘winning the heart and mind of peoples’ issue.

The next level strategy shall focus on exploration and utilization of the natural resources within our country. From natural resources I mean the fertile soil, fuel, water, fruits, gem stone and others. There are several coal mines including the Thar coal mine to be efficiently utilized as fuel source. Water is not scarce in Pakistan, but lack of proper planning cause draughts and floods in case of fluctuation of its flow. So dams and systematic control of water from macro to micro level will not only save water but also improve agriculture, stop or reduce the effect of natural disasters related to it. Health issues will also get under control.

The third competitive strategy for Pakistan could be suggested as transforming its foreign policy to have flexible and diplomatic relations with all its neighboring counties. This should include acting as a gateway for central Asian countries for trade through the sea routes. Also, it will be in the favor of Pakistan to create genuine bilateral relations with India. Pakistan could open the doors for investment and business for India and advance in technology instead of military advancements.

Pakisatan

To conclude, the youth of Pakistan in this turbulent time are the asset as well as liability of the state. Investment in them will automatically translate itself into skillful, enlightened and tolerating leaders. Pakistan will be a model for pluralism and peace rather than terrorist labeled state. Our focus on the strategic location and its invaluable resources can help us grow the business activities by providing opportunities for investment, and industries like the tourism industry to flourish. 

I wish to be part of the team for railing back Pakistan on the track of prosperity and peace. My wish on the Quaid's birthday.