I find the blatant disregard with which we throw around the word 'But' highly disturbing. I also find it impossible to count the number of times I have started a sentence with "…I'm not sure if I should say this…BUT…", and every time the 'but' takes over. Why is it that we always use a 'but' as an excuse to do or say what we know we probably shouldn't?
Perhaps, because sometimes we just need to talk, regardless of the aftermath.
Like I said – I don't know if I should say any of this, but…
Of late I have experienced the enormous thrill that accompanies reading and, somewhat understanding, Philosophy – and yes I realise that this does not sound particularly enthralling. I was beginning to feel frustrated with my search for 'answers' or 'questions' – depending on one's perspective - in religious texts and turned to philosophy as a detour. There are two things that strike me pleasantly about this new search, the first is that it forces the mind to expand – one can actually feel the cogs ticking and turning as every new thought is planted and the second is that it is easy to disagree with when the need to do so presents itself. After Sappho and Plato, I moved on to Marcus Aurelius – the stodgiest of philosophers (and that's saying something) – only to realise that despite all the 'good ideas' there were plenty of 'bullshit ideas' (or so I thought). The silver lining for me personally was that I was free to say, "Okay, so this dude lived bazillions of years ago, times have changed and some of this stuff needs to be scrapped 'cause it can’t keep up (at least not practically)."
Doing so was easy because it wasn't dogma and it wasn't absolute. There was no hellfire and no damnation in dissent. It was all about taking a 'good idea' over a 'belief'. This notion always brings me back to Chris Rock in the film Dogma, when he tells Bethany that Mankind's greatest mistake was taking a good idea and building a belief structure on it. Ideas could be changed, beliefs were trickier. No shit Sherlock.
This is probably the point where sanity and a naturally ingrained sense of self-preservation would generally tell me to heed the 'BUT' and let y'all come to your own conclusion rather than 'go there'. Then again, paper is the only place where I don't 'do' buts, not that this is 'technically' paper.
If we admit that time changes man and man changes society and society changes the rules every now and then – how does one rationally justify hanging on to a 1400 year-old belief structure in the same spirit, when all evidence proves that it is in desperate need of a drastic update. I used to have a theory - one I shared with only a handful of people – that the 21st century would mark the death of organised religion because most of these religions navigated themselves on the bearings of absolutes and the world was becoming increasingly variable. By nature, an entity fights its hardest fight when it knows it may be the last time it can do so. I believe they call it ‘going out with guns blazing’. Islam, for all practical purposes came with a bang, lived with several and it only makes sense that it should choose to go out in the same manner. 'Sense'...no wonder i've always had trouble with the word. This was the theory at least.
The 'New Age' would be all about Humanism – or so I had hoped, but there seems to be little hope of that now. I admit that I have been quick to give up on Islam, the moment I could no longer find an anchor anywhere in it for myself, I sailed away. But God, He proved harder to leave. This is probably why I didn't leave Him. He and I set sail together on my new voyage and I know he nudges me towards safer waters and scarier notions time and again. I know that I have a bond with an entity greater than myself, I just loathe the notion of giving that bond definition. It diminishes both the bond and the purpose of having it.
There is one person who unknowingly smashed quite a few of my moulds for me, without my realising it. During my one-year stint at a national newspaper I met a girl. In some capacities she was my boss, in others my friend and in most my teacher. Burki broke quite a few barriers for me. I am no longer ashamed to admit that I am defensive and can be judgmental when judgment is directed my way, especially when it comes to religious symbolism. The beard, the scarf – these items are often met with a sense of reservation by me, my beliefs and my overall insane persona. It is a double-edged sword – when most of the 'burka's' judge you, you put up your shield and judge back. I have yet to acquire the complete Zen stillness that will allow me to smile at blatant hostility.
But all that changed with Burki and I am glad, for once, to be proven wrong. Burki wore a dupatta, prayed five times a day, swooned over 50's classics like Nat King Cole and Ella Fitzgerald, drooled over Gene Kelly oldies and smiled more than most people I have met in my lifetime. I am quite sure it was the smile that first set me straight. It was one of those pure, honest, ridiculously unpretentious smiles that forces you to confront the bigot within. It coerced me into considering that if there were liberals on the right then there were also bigots on the left. The key was to keep your heart open and your eyes closed. I think I'm getting better at it, then again there are days…
Working in a newspaper changes you. Some integral part of your person that is 'supposed' to react to words like 'gang rape', 'severed limbs', ' bomb blast', '120 killed' and '3- year-old sold' just stops reacting. The words become punch lines and the crux no longer remains what they say but how loud they look while saying it. Bit by bit the quiet, jaded monster in your heart bleeds more and more venom until the headlines become a part of regular dinner conversation. You know the monster has truly won when you can laugh at them. That is when you lose yourself completely- when it starts to sound funny.
It has been eight months since I have been editing Letters to the Editor. I used to find it fascinating at first, having an in-route insight into Pakistan's psyche – now not so much. One can divide letters and letter-writer's in four basic categories: Whiners, Wax-poetics, Waders and Warts. Needless to say the distinctions have been honed to near-perfection after a daily regiment of going over an average of 150 letters per day. The Whiners are easy- these are people who need to complain. It can be anything… bad roads, bad plumbing, bad government, bad electricity and bad policemen. The Wax-poetics are a notch above the rest – these are individuals who write well-posed tirades directed at the establishment, the President, the beards and the bureaucracy. They tend to be honest – left or right – and brutal. Essentially they are the best letter writers, which is why it goes without saying that they're names almost never see the light of day. Then come the Waders – these are the small fry who like to stick to the small stuff like cricket (and yes in the LARGER scheme of things it IS small stuff), investment and television programming. They make it a point never to mention names or anything of consequence and are the most frequently scouted in the column. Last but not least come the Warts – these are almost always the fundoo's, they are the most frequent contributors and the largest in number.
There are a few letters I shall never forget – words on a piece of paper or on screen that have managed to ruin my day, my week and occasionally even quench my morale to the point that it s unsalvageable. One was by a woman who called herself a 'Daughter of Islam', she complained about the Women's Protection Act being passed by stating that women were the chattel of men according to the Quran and for them to be dissatisfied with their 'position' denoted disrespect for Islam, God and the Prophet. She said that women had been given a position by religion and asking for anything more amounted to blasphemy. The other letter was more recent, it came in response to the murder of our provincial social welfare minister Zille Huma's murder for neglecting to wear a scarf. The woman, writing from Islamabad, said that all women who walked among men with their heads uncovered deserved to be raped and then murdered. According to her Huma got off easy.
I saved both of these letters, in the likelihood that one day I would begin to believe that anger truly does breed strength and power. For now I remain a pacifist, which is why the realisation that approximately 92% of our people feel this way is depressing. And I say this after reading letters addressed to what is widely known as a 'liberal publication'.
I no longer know where to direct my attention and my anger. I quit my job yesterday for any number of reasons: I was bored and idle and unable to contribute, I could not be creative, my salary sucked and I was being offered much better elsewhere… I lack passion for what they call the 'News Business'. When I think about it, it has to be the latter at large.
My mother has told me time and again that I feel far too much of everything. That my mind never stops wringing out the depths of every notion and every idea it comes into contact with. She is wrong, too wrong. The problem is that I don't feel 'enough', not nearly enough to do something about anything.
I have struggled my entire life with telling the truth, whether it is about my feelings, my dreams or my reality. Lying for a living seemed the easiest thing in the world at first – it isn't. The tinting and tainting of the truth is one of the most loathsome sights one can ever see, because it is often done without qualm. All I hope for now is the chance to tell the truth by whatever means in speech or in art - the whole unadulterated, un-censored, un-fashionable truth…so-help-me-God.
Today's headlines warn about a 'religious group' going to every bus stop and forcing women to cover their heads. Another item tells of the same group calling in bomb threats to several girls' schools if the students' uniform is not changed to a burka.
You seethe, You simmer, You sigh and then You're done.
I'm done.
Perhaps, because sometimes we just need to talk, regardless of the aftermath.
Like I said – I don't know if I should say any of this, but…
Of late I have experienced the enormous thrill that accompanies reading and, somewhat understanding, Philosophy – and yes I realise that this does not sound particularly enthralling. I was beginning to feel frustrated with my search for 'answers' or 'questions' – depending on one's perspective - in religious texts and turned to philosophy as a detour. There are two things that strike me pleasantly about this new search, the first is that it forces the mind to expand – one can actually feel the cogs ticking and turning as every new thought is planted and the second is that it is easy to disagree with when the need to do so presents itself. After Sappho and Plato, I moved on to Marcus Aurelius – the stodgiest of philosophers (and that's saying something) – only to realise that despite all the 'good ideas' there were plenty of 'bullshit ideas' (or so I thought). The silver lining for me personally was that I was free to say, "Okay, so this dude lived bazillions of years ago, times have changed and some of this stuff needs to be scrapped 'cause it can’t keep up (at least not practically)."
Doing so was easy because it wasn't dogma and it wasn't absolute. There was no hellfire and no damnation in dissent. It was all about taking a 'good idea' over a 'belief'. This notion always brings me back to Chris Rock in the film Dogma, when he tells Bethany that Mankind's greatest mistake was taking a good idea and building a belief structure on it. Ideas could be changed, beliefs were trickier. No shit Sherlock.
This is probably the point where sanity and a naturally ingrained sense of self-preservation would generally tell me to heed the 'BUT' and let y'all come to your own conclusion rather than 'go there'. Then again, paper is the only place where I don't 'do' buts, not that this is 'technically' paper.
If we admit that time changes man and man changes society and society changes the rules every now and then – how does one rationally justify hanging on to a 1400 year-old belief structure in the same spirit, when all evidence proves that it is in desperate need of a drastic update. I used to have a theory - one I shared with only a handful of people – that the 21st century would mark the death of organised religion because most of these religions navigated themselves on the bearings of absolutes and the world was becoming increasingly variable. By nature, an entity fights its hardest fight when it knows it may be the last time it can do so. I believe they call it ‘going out with guns blazing’. Islam, for all practical purposes came with a bang, lived with several and it only makes sense that it should choose to go out in the same manner. 'Sense'...no wonder i've always had trouble with the word. This was the theory at least.
The 'New Age' would be all about Humanism – or so I had hoped, but there seems to be little hope of that now. I admit that I have been quick to give up on Islam, the moment I could no longer find an anchor anywhere in it for myself, I sailed away. But God, He proved harder to leave. This is probably why I didn't leave Him. He and I set sail together on my new voyage and I know he nudges me towards safer waters and scarier notions time and again. I know that I have a bond with an entity greater than myself, I just loathe the notion of giving that bond definition. It diminishes both the bond and the purpose of having it.
There is one person who unknowingly smashed quite a few of my moulds for me, without my realising it. During my one-year stint at a national newspaper I met a girl. In some capacities she was my boss, in others my friend and in most my teacher. Burki broke quite a few barriers for me. I am no longer ashamed to admit that I am defensive and can be judgmental when judgment is directed my way, especially when it comes to religious symbolism. The beard, the scarf – these items are often met with a sense of reservation by me, my beliefs and my overall insane persona. It is a double-edged sword – when most of the 'burka's' judge you, you put up your shield and judge back. I have yet to acquire the complete Zen stillness that will allow me to smile at blatant hostility.
But all that changed with Burki and I am glad, for once, to be proven wrong. Burki wore a dupatta, prayed five times a day, swooned over 50's classics like Nat King Cole and Ella Fitzgerald, drooled over Gene Kelly oldies and smiled more than most people I have met in my lifetime. I am quite sure it was the smile that first set me straight. It was one of those pure, honest, ridiculously unpretentious smiles that forces you to confront the bigot within. It coerced me into considering that if there were liberals on the right then there were also bigots on the left. The key was to keep your heart open and your eyes closed. I think I'm getting better at it, then again there are days…
Working in a newspaper changes you. Some integral part of your person that is 'supposed' to react to words like 'gang rape', 'severed limbs', ' bomb blast', '120 killed' and '3- year-old sold' just stops reacting. The words become punch lines and the crux no longer remains what they say but how loud they look while saying it. Bit by bit the quiet, jaded monster in your heart bleeds more and more venom until the headlines become a part of regular dinner conversation. You know the monster has truly won when you can laugh at them. That is when you lose yourself completely- when it starts to sound funny.
It has been eight months since I have been editing Letters to the Editor. I used to find it fascinating at first, having an in-route insight into Pakistan's psyche – now not so much. One can divide letters and letter-writer's in four basic categories: Whiners, Wax-poetics, Waders and Warts. Needless to say the distinctions have been honed to near-perfection after a daily regiment of going over an average of 150 letters per day. The Whiners are easy- these are people who need to complain. It can be anything… bad roads, bad plumbing, bad government, bad electricity and bad policemen. The Wax-poetics are a notch above the rest – these are individuals who write well-posed tirades directed at the establishment, the President, the beards and the bureaucracy. They tend to be honest – left or right – and brutal. Essentially they are the best letter writers, which is why it goes without saying that they're names almost never see the light of day. Then come the Waders – these are the small fry who like to stick to the small stuff like cricket (and yes in the LARGER scheme of things it IS small stuff), investment and television programming. They make it a point never to mention names or anything of consequence and are the most frequently scouted in the column. Last but not least come the Warts – these are almost always the fundoo's, they are the most frequent contributors and the largest in number.
There are a few letters I shall never forget – words on a piece of paper or on screen that have managed to ruin my day, my week and occasionally even quench my morale to the point that it s unsalvageable. One was by a woman who called herself a 'Daughter of Islam', she complained about the Women's Protection Act being passed by stating that women were the chattel of men according to the Quran and for them to be dissatisfied with their 'position' denoted disrespect for Islam, God and the Prophet. She said that women had been given a position by religion and asking for anything more amounted to blasphemy. The other letter was more recent, it came in response to the murder of our provincial social welfare minister Zille Huma's murder for neglecting to wear a scarf. The woman, writing from Islamabad, said that all women who walked among men with their heads uncovered deserved to be raped and then murdered. According to her Huma got off easy.
I saved both of these letters, in the likelihood that one day I would begin to believe that anger truly does breed strength and power. For now I remain a pacifist, which is why the realisation that approximately 92% of our people feel this way is depressing. And I say this after reading letters addressed to what is widely known as a 'liberal publication'.
I no longer know where to direct my attention and my anger. I quit my job yesterday for any number of reasons: I was bored and idle and unable to contribute, I could not be creative, my salary sucked and I was being offered much better elsewhere… I lack passion for what they call the 'News Business'. When I think about it, it has to be the latter at large.
My mother has told me time and again that I feel far too much of everything. That my mind never stops wringing out the depths of every notion and every idea it comes into contact with. She is wrong, too wrong. The problem is that I don't feel 'enough', not nearly enough to do something about anything.
I have struggled my entire life with telling the truth, whether it is about my feelings, my dreams or my reality. Lying for a living seemed the easiest thing in the world at first – it isn't. The tinting and tainting of the truth is one of the most loathsome sights one can ever see, because it is often done without qualm. All I hope for now is the chance to tell the truth by whatever means in speech or in art - the whole unadulterated, un-censored, un-fashionable truth…so-help-me-God.
Today's headlines warn about a 'religious group' going to every bus stop and forcing women to cover their heads. Another item tells of the same group calling in bomb threats to several girls' schools if the students' uniform is not changed to a burka.
You seethe, You simmer, You sigh and then You're done.
I'm done.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteRe the notion of revamping religion, I recommend the following:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.allamaiqbal.com/works/prose/english/reconstruction/06.htm
You are great! You know that?
ReplyDeleteNot everyone can grab and hold your attention any great distance on a page. But you seem to have that THAT.
Feelings are great. Obviously! But like sex, they can make you numb. And for your information, you can also indjure yourself by both. At least I have done so, by much less than I would imagine necessary for any real harm. But hey, I was wrong.
You know when you are edging on the borderline of breakdown, when you feel like you lungs are full of dust, and breathing comes labored, just by an emotion. And your thoughts race in your brain like they are trying to get out for lack of space. If you stay long enough in that emotional space you will get very tired and essentially very numb. Jaded is a good word for it in eglish, but old and tired is allso close to the mark. No one should be in a hurry to end up like that. Time tends to push you in that direction anyway.
You know you have to ease off in sex, when it starts to hurt more than feeling good. No need to go there either.
But one thing you should not stop doing, is writing.