Labels: dealing with death, death, feminism, politics
I am not a political analyst, and I'm not trying to be one. I'm a regular world citizen - a media/political victim of "terrorist fear" to whom the international page in the morning paper is just a 5 second scan. Political battles and ground breaking diplomatic summits mean nothing to me. Yet this one hit me hard. Almost below the belt. It left me confused. Befuddled. Benazir Bhutto assassinated. Pakistan in chaos. So, like any self respecting blogger, I googled "Bhutto". Don't try it. It's a mad, mad world out there right now. And in view of the December 28th events, some have gone beyond mad to downright scarily fanatic. Wikipedia, of course, wasted no time in converting the second paragraph of their article on her to the following:
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" She was assassinated on 27 December 2007, in a combined shooting and suicide bomb attack during a political rally of the Pakistan Peoples Party in the Liaquat National Bagh in Rawalpindi.[3] Eyewitnesses to the assassination stated to various news agencies that Bhutto had stood up through the sunroof of the white Toyota Land Cruiser that ferried her to the rally to wave at supporters who were cheering her. It was then that a man on a motorcycle, carrying an AK-47 rifle, fired two shots, one into Bhutto's neck, and she collapsed, falling down into the vehicle. Bhutto was rushed to Rawalpindi General Hospital where she died at 6:16 p.m. local time (13:16 GMT). The gunshot to the neck was reported as the cause of death, according to the Pakistani Interior Ministry. She was buried in her hometown in Larkana, Sind, next to her father Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto's grave. "
She "was". That's the second one in my lifetime. To my not yet born children, their mummy witnessed the 9/11 and the Bhutto assassination.
The news cast ripples across many newsrooms, many homes and changed the directions of many a political wind. Afgahanistan President Hamid Karzai said he was shocked. Hilary Clinton will use it to coerce voters to go for the "safe choice" - a former first lady whose husband's tenure was clean of any such "madness". For Rudy Giuliani, who just released a new 9/11-themed commercial in New Hampshire and Florida titled "Freedom," the assassination was only one step away from Manhattan. "Her death is a reminder that terrorism anywhere-whether in New York, London, Tel Aviv or Rawalpindi-is an enemy of freedom," he said in a statement. "We must redouble our efforts to win the terrorists' war on us." Even her neighbor in her exile home of London had something to say on his blog about the "smart, sophisticated woman" he met on morning walks in the park.
Political analysts rave about the beauty and strength of Ms. Bhutto and how she would have saved Pakistan from its now unavoidable obliteration. I don't believe that. A nation cannot be saved by one person. Bush, of course, is out to prove the opposite - that a nation can be destroyed by one person. I digress.
And then of course there's the Al Qaeda, who "dropped hints" in an obscure website that they knew about all this. Translation on national TV world over - "In a recent development in the Bhutto Assassination, infamous militant outfit Al-Qaeda has reportedly taken responsibility for the attack on Ms Bhutto that led to her death. ABC News(sorry thats a real channel)...XYZ News back with more on the story after these messages."
But what struck me the most was the opinion of the Pakistani expatriates. One pakistani chef who owns a "curry" shop in New York and whose children have been born and brought up there commented, "What becomes now of how people see us in USA? When 9/11 happened, they thought all bearded men were Osamas. Now they will assume all Pakistanis are assassins. What kind of country should we ask our children to be proud of? What national identity shall we ask them to stand up for?" That simple perception of this potboiler was so much more meaningful than anything any man in a black tie at a podium with a fancy embossed logo had bothered emoting.
Where, in all this, is the poor woman herself? She was not a war hero by any means. But she was a real woman. Who was born into political royalty. Groomed in the International Debating Halls of Radcliffe and Oxford. The throne of Prime Minister-ship was bequeathed to her twice, first at the tender age of 35 and then again after 6 years. Tenures that cost her 2 brothers. A woman who in a Times of India Sunday Review, talked nostalgically and with equal ease of her "campaigning days", the "double death blow" in her family, her "rock and roll concert at Cambridge", her "boyfriends in college days" and her "persona change" each time she set foot on native soil." She was one of those rare people who rather than being bogged down by family name, picked up the reins and stood for more than she needed to. Who returned to her country, desperate to use her degrees in International Diplomacy and State Studies in a country that needed it badly. But her always rouged cheeks, immaculate designer coats worn over silk traditional salwar-kameez and dupatta-covered glossy hair never betrayed the passion that she had for Pakistan. The lady had guts. And that perhaps is the reason we all feel her loss. Not as a political figure, but as a woman who bridges the gap between English speaking secular us and the third world. Us and a condemned dictatorial state. Us and a suspected Islamic terrorist harbor. She went to the people she wanted to help because she could. Not because she had to. Above all she spoke out - despite being in mortal danger, despite being a woman in an Islamic world - for something she believed in. Despite all our advantages, that is something most people, irrespective of last name, academic accolades or gender - find it hard to do in their life. She was the real deal.
Once the dust has settled and the half baked theories are over, there will remain the question of the "survived by". Benazir Bhutto (1953 - 2007) is survived by three children and a husband The children have mostly remained in anonymity till now while the husband has played second fiddle to his wife very successfully during her career without any publicly known marital damage. I cannot begin to imagine how her immediate family will ever develop a national identity when the very whisper of their surname will, for years to come, haunt their lives. Ostracized by their own people, they will find themselves marooned emotionally. Above all else, above the concerned current and contesting political leaders, above even the people of The Islamic Republic of Pakistan, my heart goes out to these four. I wish them strength. I wish them peace. To Benazir Bhutto. A mother. A wife. A daughter. A former prime minister. And a formidable woman.Thursday, December 27, 2007
Labels: MMD
Incredibly cute welcome mat inscription -
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"This house is clean enough to be healthy
And dirty enough to be happy"
In the true tradition of the Fish Philosophy (check out the lil movie How FISH! Culture Works (wma) on the green bar on the right if u do click on this), I have decided to randomly post the pearls of wisdom like this one, that I pick up along my day. These shall be duly posted under the title Make-my-Day. You can then simply access them via the "MMD" link on the label-wise-organized blog archive (which I shall soon learn to do. And subsequently, actually do).Monday, December 24, 2007
5 objects of desire :
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1. A chance at studying English Literature
2. A ticket to India (I'm working on that one)
3. A chance at volunteering (that one too)
4. A chance at a world trip (haha i know)
5. A beautiful library
5 movies i must see in 2008:
1. sweeney todd - johnny depp. johnny depp. johnny depp. plus the macabre dahl touch.
2. the great debators - denzel AND debating
3. enchanted - for purely eye candy purposes :)
4. the assassination of jesse james - story. western setting. brad pitt.
5. the golden compass - a bit masochistical here, i just wanna know if im right when i say the makers cant match up to their earlier LOTR sucess, commercially or otherwise. although nicole kidman is capable of lifting any movie a notch or two, so lets hope im proven wrong. and then of course, there's the craig incentive...
5 movies i DON't want to see in 2008:
1. bee movie - but given my seinfeld obsessed mom...
2. p.s. i love you - cud u get more what-the-director-thinks-is-a-different-love-flick-but-so-ISNT meets unused-supertalented actress who is so gonna get the what-was-i-thinking-when- i-signed-this syndrome soon?
3. i am legend - i do not wish to spoil this legendary story from a legendary author for myself
4. the kite runner - see 3
5. Magnorium's Wonder EmporiumSaturday, December 22, 2007
Warm
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Even with cold antarctic winds chapping my cheeks raw
As I walk back home at 9pm with new blankets for the now colder nights
With the wind forcing me to catch my breath
Across the road
A stranger and I share a laugh
As her umbrella flips backward and breaks away
Calm
When in the middle of the thronging last minute gift buying rush
A mother steals a moment with her daughter over a Mall-Santa photograph
Fragrant
With the familiar turkey roast odour of a parents house
When I see children and grandchildren pull up in a driveway
Children reliving childhood memories
Evoked by the sight of Nanna in her huge apron
Hugging the little ones at the door
A quick glance, and knowing smile stolen at the hubby
Over the car roof.
Snuggly
With the feel of cool silken quilts against your body
And the anticipation of the warmth soon to come
Once the undercover warms up
Relaxed
That far away, loved ones are thinking of us
Just as we are thinking of them
Knowing that all will end well; that this year, too, has passed
For better or worse.
Yes indeed, its Christmas time.Things I Love:
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1. Rain
2. Books
3. Diamonds in flower shapes
4. Hugs from close friends
5. Music
6. Drives
7. My sister
8. Travelling
9. Libraries / Bookshops
10. The colour orange
11. Long hot water showers
12. Children
13. A good start to the day
Things I Hate:
1. Fights and Tears
2. Selling electricity
3. Long distance
4. Self pity
Long Distance
2:32 AMwords on a screen
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aren't hugs
smilies on a popup
aren't kisses
"love," as a sign off
isn't as warm
as having the person next to you
i know.
but if i admit it
it's real
the shortcomings
the miscommunication
no tangible emotion
change
what's changed
things have gone away
that's all
i haven't changed
not when you see what's changed around me
a lilt isn't a passport
a tilt isn't a nationality
i want for you to feel complete
i want for you to feel happy
but im not there to fill the void
and i feel like a mistreater
and i feel so, so guilty
bcoz im the reason no one else can be there either
loyalty is a scary thing
it threatens to push away
all else
all others
till there is just that one thing
and when it isn't there
you hate that very one thing
with your guts
and your life
coz there isn't much else left to hate
or love.
there isn't much else left, really.
i didn't know till you told me today
the familiar voice always so gay
i never dreamt you felt that way
you held up the facade
an impregnable wall
i knew you better than you knew yourself
that's what you used to say
(i'm sarcastically smirking at how cliched my words are sounding)
then was i fooling myself the past four weeks
or were you fooling yourself for the past four years?
you feel like its one way
i know what you feel
ive felt it often
please hold on
please believe
i will.
i do.
he will never read my blog
(he doesn't believe a person can write publicly and honestly)
why do i bother writing here
copying from my outbox
would be too personal
sending this to your inbox
would be too formal
someday, im going to regret writing this post on the WWW. hell, i don't care. goodnight melbourne.
Memoirs of a life just begun
12:02 AMIn the 80's a girl from a conservative Punjabi family brought up in Wales but college educated in India married an unassuming, reserved yet tenacious army officer. Three years later, they had their first daughter. The father being naturally inclined to indulgence and being the first grandchild on the maternal side, she grew up completey spoilt, as did her younger sister. They were brought up across many cities and towns in India, and quite a number in Europe as well (although she doesnt remember cause she was under 24 months of age but photos stand testament).
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She grew up to be a bit different from parental expectations. Apart from a tumultuous two years of high school, she was also far more outspoken and non-academically inclined than her parents deemed suitable. All the same, they were proud of the strong family ties that held them together through thick and thin, a legacy that would hold the 4 strong in the years to come.
She mistakenly stumbled into engineering and even succesfully tumbled out of it with a degree. In doing so, she also met her best friend and life partner (two different people). Above all, she learnt what she was about, learnt that she wasn't as strong as she thougth she was, learnt that she was a little more feminine than she gave herself credit for and learnt to survive and be happy, no matter what or who was or wasn't around her. Learnt to slowly carve her dreams out and learnt to accept that certain things can only be healed with time. She learnt, the hard way, that you can't rush growing up.
Now, she is in Melbourne Australia, where her Mom and sister are with her trying to make a new life, hopefully a better one than they left behind. Even though she grew up criticizing the treatment of women and a million other things in India, she knew she belonged there. How, one cannot say. Maybe it was as the waters of a Goan beach washed between the toes of her sandy feet. Or as she chatted up a new mother from south india in the berth of the cramped 3-Tier Indian Railway Train. Or the fantastic joy she took in the sheer contrast of the country, and how it united in its celebration at 11pm when its cricket team won the world cup. Her patriotism was not nationalistic; she simply did not believe in blind love of any kind. She was never religious, thanks to the atheist and spiritual attitudes of her parents. But there was something about her country she loved. And would continue to love.
Now, that girl sits at a computer screen in a suburb of the Victorian capital, as the rain pours outside the venitian blinds of the living room, she can hear the TV blaring the story of the flsh flood in the city. She remembers flash floods back home. She remembers the smell of rain as she sat exasperated in the library making notes about some unintelligible telcommunications protocol. She remembers a lot of things,. And she smiles. She knows she'll be back. she knows that some friends will wait for her. And that some won't. Its alright. Some things are better enjoyed when you wait for them. Some people are worth the wait.
Welcome to my life.