The day Scots invaded Manchester

When I got called to a job interview in Manchester, I readily agreed. I like Manchester and more than that I like the fact that someone finally shortlisted me for an interview, so going there did not seem like much of a problem. Little did I know that my big day was to coincide with the big day of Glasgow Rangers. Due to my ignorance of sports, I had no idea that Glasgow Rangers were playing some Russian team in the Old Trafford, not that I would’ve bothered finding out.

I reached Manchester at 9am, feeling all professional in my business suit and giving myself a pep talk in my head, I made my way to the City Centre. I saw scattered groups of people wearing blue shirts with Union Jacks wrapper around their waists. At that point I found them amusing, thought it would be fun to cheer with them (whatever they were cheering for) after the interview. I did find people drinking beer at 9am a bit strange, but I thought its just beer, how bad can it be.

During the lunch break, I, along with some colleagues, went out to grab some lunch. The handful of blue shirts had, by now, turned into a sea of blue kilts, with beer bottles, cans, paper cups floating in it. We scoured many a street to find a peaceful spot to kill time, but failed to do so. In the end, we had to throw ourselves in the chaos and navigate our way out. We stumbled upon old, fat, weird men, scrawny teenagers, some hot chicks, tons of bottles and trash. After nearly spraining our ankles and giving some serious jolts to our joints, we emerged looking like train wreck for our interview. The afternoon experience was enough to make me want to dread the long walk from Picadilly Gardens to Victoria station. Totally exhausted, I entered the mayhem again. More than twice I thought I won’t be able to make it to the station. After taking detours and what I considered relatively peaceful routes, I reached my destination — what would normally have been 20 minutes walk took a good one hour.

I don’t have a problem with Scots, surely don’t have a problem with people drinking, but I do have a big problem with 20,000 sloshed Scots making it impossible for me to reach the train station after a long, stressful day. With my nerves all over the place and toes bleeding to death because of the new uncomfortable, but cute, shoes, a horde of topless, pot-bellied drunken fans blocking the thoroughfares, was just enough to throw my objectivity out of the window. I came home praying the Rangers lose (and they did).

What struck me the most was the minimal number of police in the area. It was expected that the pre-match party would be a big drunken orgy of football fanaticism, why then were there so few policemen? So much for all the talk about curbing anti-social behaviour.

Cyclone Nargis

The wrath of nature can strike anywhere, be it the northern valleys of Pakistan, southern coast of America or western island of Indonesia. The disasters are unpredictable, destruction of property and infrastructure unavoidable and death toll, in unfortunate cases, unprecedented. However, Cyclone Nargis in Burma, which is being estimated to have caused 100, 000 casualties, is different from the recent catastrophes.

Unlike the victims of Katrina, the Burmese people are being deprived of the much-needed international aid. The Burmese junta is wary of opening its doors to the aid workers and journalists. The ones present inside the country are struggling for permits to move around in the country and land airplanes supplying relief goods. Those, who are allowed to reach the worst hit areas, have to be escorted by a government official or Red Cross. With the widespread damage and rising death toll, the obstinacy of the government defies all norms of humane behaviour.

Another thing, which strikes one, is the way the disaster is being reported. Al-Jazeera did not name its correspondent for the fear of her safety; all the major international networks have relayed news reported by either anonymous reporters embedded within the disaster zone or present closest to the territory.

With planes full of relief goods sitting idle on the tarmacs and aid workers waiting for their ‘permits’, one can see the number of deaths and extent of destruction sprawl out of control.

The show must go on

MY article which was pulished in Dawn Magazine today

The Olympic torch relay represents “internationalism” and is defined as “an emotionally charged symbol of peace” by Britannica. It seems that the editors of the encyclopedia will soon have to revise this definition.

The 2008 torch relay, which is halfway on its journey to the host country, has so far been anything but a symbol of peace. On the contrary, it has symbolised chaotic parades.

The torch, which was lit on March 28, has been subjected to protests against all things wrong with the Chinese government — its human rights record, environmental hazards and the repression in Tibet. What was supposed to be an attempt to present a more amicable image of Chinese society has gone terribly awry. When entrusted with the responsibility of hosting the Olympics, the country vowed to make improvements on all those issues that posed a challenge to its acceptance in the international arena. So, has China met the challenge? It would be unfair to say no.

Even though Tibet remains sealed off and journalists and international adjudicators await entry into what is known as ‘the roof of the world’, it would be wrong not to mention the efforts being made to address the environmental issues in the country — perhaps the US will follow suit.

The Olympic torch is being taken as something representing Chinese autocracy. In London, the attempt to extinguish the flame led to 35 arrests; in Paris, the flame had to be put out at least twice to avoid the crowd, which was being controlled by 3,000 policemen; in San Francisco, the torchbearers had to re-route the relay to avoid the protests. No one should judge the intent of those who came out on the streets to voice their concerns over the Tibetan movement. However, one is forced to wonder whether these protests were pro-Tibet or anti-China. It is one thing to speak out for a repressed nation facing the risk of cultural annihilation, and quite another to target a nation trying to come out of its claustrophobic cocoon.

The Chinese people are happy and proud to be hosting an event that promotes internationalism. Instead of taking the Olympics as an opportunity to improve communication with the Chinese society, the games are being projected as a grossly extensive propaganda campaign by the Chinese junta. The western media has been aggressive to the extent of alienating the progressive sections of the Chinese populace who rely on their support and international diplomatic mediation to achieve liberal values that have so far been denied to them.

It is ironic that world leaders are being discouraged to attend the games to show support for the Tibetan cause when Dalai Lama himself has supported the Olympics saying that the Chinese people deserve to host it. Perhaps it would be too ambitious to expect the likes of ‘ping-pong diplomacy’ work at the Beijing Olympics, but it would be too cynical to dismiss hopes of something fruitful coming out of international participation.

While the players in the international arena must give some leeway to China, the Chinese government should also realise that merely hosting the Olympics would not be enough to earn international acceptance. It will have to allow basic freedom of expression to its people, prefer diplomacy to militarism while dealing with Tibet, and will have to loosen media control to counter the allegations of symbolised propaganda in order to prove that Chinese society is, in fact, on the road to transformation. So while the games go on with all their pomp and grandeur, the government will have to tolerate the Tibetan monks protesting outside sporting venues. At least that’s what the warmongers did in Washington and London while making plans to invade Iraq.

Tell me your dreams

I am no stranger to bad dreams, twisted dreams and nightmares — I get them all on a regular basis. It’s not unusual for me to wake up with a bad headache or shaken up due to a bad dream. I see people I love dying, hurt, leaving me…you name it, it’s there.

This morning I had yet another eerily realistic dream, which ruthlessly cut short my much needed sleep. I saw myself in exactly the same setting as I actually was: asleep in my bed with my bedroom door open. I saw some people sitting in my lounge and got alarmed as I was home alone (at this point I was thinking I am awake), then I saw a woman come towards my bed with a plastic bag in her hands (with the intention of choking me). At that moment, I thought I must get out of there and struggled to wake up, but something kept holding me back, I actually felt pressure on my body as I tried to wake up. Once I managed to break my sleep, it took me two minutes to calm down.

Back in college a friend once asked me if I’d agree to have nightmares for one whole year to get a million bucks at the end, she’d read about this psychology experiment somewhere. I had promptly agreed and said what’s the big deal. I now realise how intense an effect such dreams can have on you. It is a constant psychological battle which I fight with my own self. I feel jaded.

No community in this Centre

Since I am from Pakistan, and a journalist, Pakistan Community Centre (PCC) should have been amongst the top-5 places-to-visit-in-Bradford, but it wasn’t because I expected the place to be a sad victim of red-tapism and negligence, as is almost every Pakistani organisation be it inside or outside the country. So I crossed the centre quite a few times without making an effort to go in. However, one day, overcome by excessive guilt, I paid a long-due visit to the facility. The banner offering free computer courses added to my guilt and I felt bad for having underestimated the place, interestingly, the guilt wore off rather quickly as I entered the building and found myself in a dark, sparsely furnished hall. A lone soul showed up from nowhere, the dull expression on his face was enough to gauge the amount of activity happening in this community centre. When inquired about the ‘free’ computer course, he told me that they had to stop the programme because of shortage of funds, when asked about any other activities, he showed me a huge (empty) kitchen and two halls which are used for mehndi and shadi functions – not quite the kind of activities I wanted to learn about.

In a city like Bradford, where there is a sizable Pakistani community comprising entrepreneurs and other professionals, it is disappointing to see the community centre in a state of disarray. The space available can be used for a number of courses – English language courses for adults would be a good idea as a good number of desis here can’t converse in any language other than their dialect of Punjabi, Mirpuri, Potohari and Pahari. Funding should not be an issue for courses started on small scale as students can volunteer for these programmes. The centre can be a good platform for gathering Pakistani professionals and launching ventures aimed at improving integration in the society. Until that is done, one assumes, PCC will only be hosting matrimonial ventures.

Stranger in Bradford

How does it feel, how does it feel

how does it feel

how does it feel, how does it feel

when you’re alone and you’re cold inside…

…sings Micheal Jackson, so how does it feel? I have no idea. Yes I am alone, cold, far away from sunny days and very much a stranger in Bradford. I don’t mind solitude, in fact I like my personal space; the very idea of no one being able to physically invade my personal space fills me with joy. But there are time when the fine line between solitude and solitary confinement becomes blurred and the solitary reaper turns into a solitary weaper.

I don’t befriend people easily, in fact, I believe I give out this unfriendly vibe, which should explain why a majority of people I meet don’t go from strangers to even acquaintances, let alone friends. So for a socially handicapped person like myself, the thought of being physically away from the few people, I managed to somehow befriend, is worrisome. I don’t know if I will be able find anyone who would be tolerant enough to like me with all my eccentricities and self-centered bullshit.

Legalised anarchy

Of late the legal community of Pakistan enjoyed a rare popularity amongst the otherwise indifferent masses – the subjugated bastions of justice rising up against the might of an evil dictator, they gave Pakistanis a taste of political fairy tale drama, which is rare in this part of the world. Sadly, however, the fairy tales set against political backdrop seldom end with the ‘happily ever after’, the endings are rather happily never after, which was demonstrated this week when the heroes turned into ugly dragons spitting out fires of barbaric rage which reduced the erstwhile revered community to a bunch of rowdy hooligans.

Words cannot express the mix of emotions one felt through while seeing the former federal minister being manhandled by those entrusted with the task of upholding law and order. No matter what one’s opinion of the politician, his policies or his party affiliation may be, in civilised world the ‘bad guys’ take the beating at the ballot box, but then again, no one says we have to abide by the rules; we pick and choose the aspects of democracy which suit our needs, so if squeezing in a tad bit anarchy to make our democracy a little more colourful and might I add dramatic, then why not.

While the masses might get over the episode and shelve it along with the other political highs and lows which are almost exhausting their already limited faculties by now, the dent in the credibility of the legal fraternity will continue to haunt the institutions of this country for long.

Hello world!

Blogging has been the ‘in’ thing for quite some time now, and this happens to be my third attempt at joining the blogistan. I have finally decided to sort out the junk occupying my upper storey more regularly and where else to dump it than in this vast universe of mental waste. To quote my darling friend Sallu, I have found one another outlet to subject this world to my intellectual masturbation.

Happy reading.