Suffocating self reliance... (cont'd)

Resting peacefully...
Originally uploaded by theusual.

Headed back into the vehicle which was now loaded up with plants and flowers we made our way to Rawalpindi. Rawalpindi is the home to the resting place of my father. It was time to get what I wanted to do for so long done. I wanted to tend to my father's grave and make sure that it was neat and tidy. Not to mention that I had to have a long overdue conversation with him.

We arrived and I began cleaning up the weeds and the weed from my father's plot. We were in need of water so I sent Shaqeel to procure some. This gave me the time alone to have my conversation. As I was having my discussion I must have said something to anger my father for the winds picked up and in the distance ominous clouds encroached with haste. The wind was picking up all the sand and dirt in it's path and throwing it against my face. I just closed my eyes and continued digging while talking. Lightning started flashing and it's thunderous boom cracked above. I must have really pissed him off and tried to figure out what it was that I said, as per usual some of my statements made to or with my father resulted in the lightning bolts slung from Mt. Olympus. That was our relationship - he the sandpaper and I the rough stone. Friction aside, we were friends and he listened to me, not always with approval, but he listened. If enough sandpaper is applied to a rough stone it shall one day come out shiny and polished. He always said that if there was ever a problem that I should come to him, I wished I would have started earlier, listening wasn't always my strong point.

The violent winds ceased and reduced to gusts. I shared with him some news of my life that I really wanted him to experience. It is with great sadness that he physically will not be able to be there, but he will be there. It was nice to share with him and he didn't have much to say about it which was even better. The plants had been planted and the three flowers in the center to represent his three wonderful sons were set. As if to say that he approved of everything rain drops came from the sky as if to wash away the anger and let me know that things begin with a seed only to bloom. Life.

The anniversary of his death is coming up on the 24th and I just wanted to let him know that his sons and his magnificent wife loves him very much. I will return on Tuesday to make sure everything is everything and to plant the flower for my mother. The one that stands tall and endures the tests of time only to show it's resilience and beauty to all that come across her.

Head for the hills...

The Pakistan Transports...
Originally uploaded by theusual.

Just a quick note about my excursion over the weekend. I headed for Murree and Nathia Gali. My first time to visit Murree, a hill station. Beautiful setting in the hills and valleys full of tourists from all over Pakistan. From romantic excursion filled with feeding each other ice cream to families just getting away from the city to enjoy good company, good chai and good scenery. We left late on Saturday and the way to Murree along the twisty and winding roads was filled with transport trucks. I have now a new passion of taking pictures of these beautifully decorated moving shrines.

This family excursion was fun for I was now transformed into Chachu Khayyam (Uncle). I handled children with love and care, shared in silliness and experienced family excursions in Pakistan. The road trip means something a little different around these parts and I truly do enjoy them. I look forward to many to come.

Friday's slow roll...

My only goal today was to remain in my pajamas for the duration of the day. It is officially past the midnight hour in these neck of the woods so I'm going to have to report back that the mission was successfully accomplished.

I procured a copy on digital versatile disc of Ghost Rider and Perfume when I was at the market the other day. Ghost Rider is based off of a Marvel comic premise that looked like a sound investment for the motion, picture and sound. Near the end of this picture, the sound was lost. In that moment where the motion was no more, I was lured into a trap in the living room. My hair was straightened, yes straightened. You ask how can this be? After two hours of hair ironing and detangling the hair was straight, well, looked more like the troll doll you'd find at the end of an HB pencil in sixth grade, but straighter nonetheless. After this a full treatment of mustard seed oil was doused into my salad and was ready to marinate. And marinate it did. I have to admit looking myself in the mirror gave me flashbacks of a seventies Detroit pimp soaking up a storm. Past lives are hard to shake I guess ;)

From there I wandered back to my computer and began organizing files and appropriating them according to their purpose and content. Eventful, I know... but so calming. In that calmness I was completely distracted towards some artistic en devours that led me playing and experimenting myself into great exercise.

Oh, let's see what came next in this hectic day... umm... then I made way to the world wide internet. The patience that I was exhibiting impressed me. You really take some things for granted. For example, checking your email is as effortless as to inhale, whereas here you're fighting to even exhale. The pollen count of norm is approximately 160 per cubic meter and in Islamabad right now it's 1,260 per cubic meter, I wasn't kidding about breathing. It takes me twenty minutes just to log into my email account. Time like these I have my back in Canada moments. A great exercise in my own patience.

I talked to the sunshine today. I don't know if you've ever had the chance to speak before, but I wish that everyone once in their lives could share a finely balanced moment of sunshine and moonlight. It is quite an experience and makes your temperature rise. Give it a whirl, get out in the sun.

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." ~Dr. Suess

The evening progressed and then came the moment of make it or break it pajama day. I had finished eating and felt the need for a walk to off set the enormous portions of oil and meat I've been served these past couple of months. I had to change, or did I? I switched my top for a t shirt and kept the bottoms. I managed to keep on my pajamas. I set of into the dust and pollen and clicked about with my chappals. Amazing that I was walking along and felt someone behind me, but when I turned around no one was there ; ) Beautiful neighborhood where my cousin lives, well to do area that's safe at night for women and children to walk about in without any precursors. I came across two gents leaning up against a pole lampin' just having a conversation in the middle of the street. Then came the miscellaneous little shops that were open along the main roads. Back into the residential areas and this is where I found something of interest happen to me. I must be starting to look like a desi (local) because a taxi pulled up and asked me for directions ;) Headed back and met with the end of the initial lamp post conversation that began the walk. Just two guys hanging out, one can't go too far from home so the other walks over to his house. They cross the street so their conversation isn't within their parental unit's ears or any aunti ji's aren't eavesdropping. It was a swimmingly fantastic evening in Islamabad.

It was nice to slow my roll and have a slow simmer on a lazy, mazy Friday.

Suffocating self reliance...

I am stifled by the suffocating silencing of my independence. I am dependent on people to take me from one place to another. I run on other people's schedules and can't even entertain having one of my own. It's very difficult and I am losing my breath.

Last weekend I wanted to go to a nursery/greenhouse and get some plants and flowers to properly attire my father's resting place in Rawalpindi. Circumstances that were not in my control said otherwise. I was whisked to this place and then to that place and then locked away in an office for an entire day. Plans of a Sunday morning breakfast vanished and I was to take sympathy with my cousin. None of my needs of the weekend were met, a promise I made was broken and time won't come back.

I decided to ask my cousin Inam to borrow his vehicle so that I could get my things done. I have a lot of them and no one will let me take a rickshaw, they'll take me. We'll 'they'll take me' means that I usually have to twiddle my thumbs for hours on end before I reach my destination. I need not any more calluses on my thumbs, they've done enough twiddling for two months.

So off I went at 7am to the office with Inam. I was dressed completely inappropriately for an office setting and having none of my belongings with me. We enjoyed a great breakfast of chana masala, naan and cow brains. Yup, I had brains for breakfast ;) Ya, I don't get it either. All this consuming of animals tends to make people act like their respective animals they eat I think. I cannot wait to return to a proper diet sans the artery filling read meat and oil. I take smaller portions that most and don't take any of the shorba (the juice of the dish) and intense looks of "Is this boy ok?", "What's wrong with you?" or "How can you eat so little?". I can do so because I have seen what not doing so can do to those whom you love. I've learned a lot of lessons the hard way, this isn't one that I would like to entertain.

On with the story... the car was being cleaned and I thought afterwards I could just head back to the house, change into the appropriate clothing for the tasks of the day and grab all the essentials. Nope. Not going to happen. I had made arrangements with my nephew to grab him at school at 10am. The nephew happened to be Inam's son and so I told him of my plans to have Shaqeel at my side during the day to get me from place to place. He got on the phone with him and said this and that. This and that for me was that he'll be driving us. That's fine as long as we could leave soon so I could get my tasks done. Half an hour turned into and hour and then it decided to double and land up being a couple of hours. I sat in that office for five hours, five hours I could have been using so much more productively. I was upset with myself as well as my cousin for leading me down a road to what was to lead me to my independence.

Finally got a move on at about three in the afternoon and the car in my possession to wander about in. So I headed to Mr. Books in Sector F6 to find some Lonely Planet guides for my upcoming travels. Couldn't believe the prices they were asking and walked out. Have I become a cheapskate? The Indian experiences have caused me to respect the value of a rupee and always know I can always get it for cheaper ;) So off Shaqeel and I went to the Diplomatic Enclave to check up on the visa. I found out that my application had been sitting in Toronto for two weeks collecting dust and had them fax it to the Vancouver office. Mr. Rakesh in the Vancouver office instructed me that they cleared it almost immediately and they attempted faxing it to the Islamabad office but with no success. They will attempt it again and if I don't get it today, then try the next day. The funny thing about arriving at the Enclave this time was everyone knew me. As I walked by the mobile check, the guy hollars out, "Khayyam bhai... kee haal hai?" (Hey Khayyam brother, how are you doing?). The bus ticket guy smiled with recognition and didn't even ask me to 'Prove my identity'. The security guard that pats you down showed me something that resembled a smile compared to his steely grill that I'm usually greeted with. The guy who collects the tickets for the bus came over to shake my hand and offer his 'Salaam' and the bus driver gave me water after finding out the little store was fresh out of cold and warm water.

I walked up to the embassy and the gentlemen who had previously, I was about to write helped me, but rather spoke with me was there smiling. I knew something was a wry. So I just asked him if he received the fax. He said no. I told him that he should have received it and asked if they leave their fax machines on at night. He told me he would get in contact with me when it arrives. I asked him how and he responded that I left a number on my application. As if any of these lazy people would be bothered to pick up a phone and dial ten digits to save their lives. For some reason, it no longer mattered though. Everything was in it's motion to completion and I had everything thing bureaucratically dependent, sorted.

[to be continued]

Carcinogenic complexities...

I am not in practice of sharing the intimate details of my family, but today I had a tremendously different day. I called my tayyee ji (great aunt) and was welcomed with a very weak voice and she told me that she hadn't been feeling that well that morning. So I told her I would make arrangements to stop by. Right after I finished talking with her I called my chachi Gul (my aunt) and asked her what was going on. She explained to me that tayyee ji had cancer and that because of her age that she would not likely be a candidate for chemotherapy. This came to me as a complete shock. I had no idea of any such illness. I began discussing it with Inam (her son) and he pretty much told me that they keep her out of the loop as to the severity of her illness and that it's in God's hands. I was floored.

First of all, it's hard to take in that her own sons are that protective of her and won't allow her to know the condition of her conditions. Secondly, I just got to Pakistan and just meeting everyone, I don't want to lose any of them just yet. There are so many cups of chai to be had and laughs to be shared. My mother tongue is coming along and the frustration and reservations of calling people is slowly dissipating. It's only a little more time and my conversational skills will be top notch. What I'm trying to say is that it took me thirty years to have these members of my family truly enter my life. To see children grow, learn and pick up silly habits from me or just the fact that I can just go and visit cousins and aunts and uncles, oh my...

I went to the house to visit tayyee ji with the energy and mood in the house being quite sullen. It immediately hit me like a ton of bricks. Seeing her in such a fragile and weak state transported me back to my experiences with my father in the hospital. I was off with memories of illness. It was happening again. This time to a woman whom I can call my mother, she has that much motherly love in her to give and to see the love that is returned to her is astounding. Family is constantly passing through the door to pay her love and dua (prayers). It's almost as if she is the queen of the royal blood and all come to pay respect and hail to the queen.

The ride back to Islamabad is about 35 minutes and the whole way I wandered off in some other realm of thought. I was so saddened that it took me this long to find what I've been looking for and it had to be set in motion by such a series of unfortunate events. I am so much richer and wiser for it now and can't tell you how much it means to be able to physically hug and share in my family's company. Which made me realize that I talk to family here more than I do my own brothers. I've been imposed with the way in which everyone exists with family and have no other ability than to impose it upon mine now ;)

My foreign affairs...

The Diplomatic Enclave
Originally uploaded by iamkhayyam.

Today I spent the day at the house in Islamabad watching old Rishi Kapoor music videos from the 70's Bollywood era. It surprises me as to how modern and cutting edge the leading ladies were. I find them to be much more attractive than the ladies of today's Bollywood movies for they had no need for make up. One song stood out from all of them and I have committed myself to having this be my first song that I am able to perform in my mother tongue. The first lines of the song translated are, "I am no poet. But upon seeing your beauty I speak in poems." The simple nature of the statements are wise beyond measure. The simplicity of the poetry sung makes it all that more intriguing to learn, not to mention I've finally understood that running around a tree is indeed romantic ;)

Ah, the lounging was over and mid afternoon hit. I had only one task to complete and that was to head to the Diplomatic Enclave and visit the Indian High Commission to see where my application was. The apparent concern with my application was the exit visa stamp. How could it pose a problem? They gave me an exit visa, otherwise I'd be quite uncomfortable in a jail cell. So... again I will have to call the High Commissions in Toronto. They have sent my application there for some reason and since being sent twice to them I have yet to hear anything in due course ;)

There was a light that shone bright and beautiful in my day however. I ventured back over to the bus stand to wait for the 'diplomatic express'. Only one other gentlemen was waiting for it. He sported an English accent and we began to jest about our situations. He explained his dilemma and I, mine. That's what you do in the embassy, find another to empathize and sympathize with, or so it seems - this one's name was Anthony ;) He shared with me that forty five years to being present in this moment he had travelled around the world in a Land Rover with one of his comrades. Started off from the UK and traversed Europe onwards to the middle east and eventually through Pakistan and into India; onwards to the South Pacific and ferried the vehicle to Canada and commenced his cross Rockies and Canada tour. He even knew about Saskatoon since he had made it a pit stop. What a wonderful man and his stories were magnified by the absolutely sharp recollection of what transpired. We sat on the bus together and continued the exchange of traveller's notes, information and it turns out he's a lecturer in the tourism industry and is a certified worldy tourist guide.

This man's presence in my day made every bad thing seem right. It didn't matter anymore what was going on because it was supposed to be going on. Just being able enjoy his company for that half of an hour was a blessing.

Thank you Anthony and I wish that everything works out, you met your daughter and had a nice bed waiting for you ;) You are in my thoughts and prayers.

Feeling the guilt of four wives...

I love family, I really do. The teasing continues and I play along. Upon arriving in Rawalpindi I was greeted with statements like, Oh, you still remember me?; You haven't gone back to India yet?; Why are you afraid of Pakistan?; Why won't you shift here?; Why didn't you call? or my favorite, You don't love us?

I gladly respond to tease back that I have one wife in Canada, one in India, looking for one in Pakistan and have arranged for another one in Indonesia and haven't had the time. Oh the guilt that this family wields upon you. And I wonder why my parents coated statements with guilt; it runs in the family ;)

Now I pose a question upon anyone that reads this, what is guilt? Is it a feeling? Because everyone seems to say that they "feel" guilty about this or they "feel" guilty about that. How is it that you can "feel" guilty? Guilt is now classified as an emotion? I disagree vehemently. I've had conversations about this with many a friend and foe and have come to the realization that guilt is a thought, not a feeling.

Shame is what is felt due to the guilty thoughts that run amok in one's mind. Replace the words and you have it right. I feel shameful about not calling family, I feel shame for not being able to speak my mother tongue, I feel shame for my family for thinking that I don't love them, bottom line is that I feel shame and not guilt. Slipping me statements that are a catalyst to the thoughts of guilt, this is the way that these people impose their love? Since they are family, I've learned how to be family. I wield my own witty guilt and sport it equally and more convincingly now.

The crux is this, there is healthy shame and there is unhealthy shame. It is completely normal to have those thoughts fuel feelings of healthy shame, for that healthy shame will allow you to make different choices. That unhealthy shame will only compound your feelings of shame and thoughts of guilt. Learn to differentiate and grow.

A discussion ensued after my smart remarks of having four wives. The room filled with four women and myself discussing the fact that a Muslim man can marry four wives. What a crock pot full of burnt chana masala. I do have some reservations to any organized religion that allows the unfair treatment of another human being. Ah yes, the reason why a Muslim man is allowed to have four wives is to ensure fidelity. If a man has a wife and a mistress, God forbid, for this is a sin and you will have to answer for this wrong doing. But, if a man has more than one wife it tapers his need to be adulterous. The wives are in full awareness of his non-adulterous acts now, all if forgiven. At least he's not sneaking around making attempts to produce a cricket team, he does it in plain view. The wives are not allowed to stray however and have to be accepting of their man's choices to have more wives. Complete hogwash.

I guess I might want another wife if I had an arranged marriage, simply for the reason that the families would merge and produce a mutually beneficial partnership. I would learn to love my wife but might want another because my parents didn't have my best interests in mind. So if I wasn't happy with the first arrangement I could make others. Don't think I can condone it or even entertain it. I am of the belief that there is one woman in my existence in this form whom I will love the longest and most. She will never be treated unequal to myself and I will have no need to be adulterous for there is no other. It's that wrinkly hand holding porch love.

A familiar Jalal ad-Din Rumi quote found me recently that communicates this feeling:

The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you,
not knowing how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along.

When you get married and become a family, what is of utmost importance? Yes, that's right ;) Nothing else matters. They are paramount in your existence. Whether you are of this religion or that religion or this belief or that belief - bottom line is it always comes down to LOVE.

Love is my religion and it is the universal religion. Feel that and think what you want ;)

¿Cerveza por favor?

Just another piece of promotional material, well... self promotion I guess ;) Nonetheless, it's something I made and I'll share. It's nice to be able to get lost in so many ways while travelling; lost in the land, lost in surroundings, lost in family and lost in creation. So as you can see, I'm otherwise fully engaged. The pursuit of happiness has never been so easy. It is real, it is a way and most of all, it's relaxing. Peacefully co-existing and co-creating with the full support of the universe with the only limitation being your imagination. It's the attention to detail that I love the most... see if you can see what I can see on the luckiest of unlucky Fridays that are the thirteenth ;)

Smile ;)

Once again I am at the Diplomatic Enclave. Sitting on the corner on an unhealthy patch of grass which resonates how my health is at the moment. I sit contemplating the metal erected monument of the planet we reside upon. I can't help but wonder what we have done to our Mother, Ma. The damage we've done, the endless selfishness of taking, taking and taking. Reminds me of the story of gold that I recently heard.

Do you know the story of gold? Gold itself told me this story: 'I was resting peacefully in the womb of my mother, Earth, when men came and dug into Her and dragged me from my home. Then they tortured me by burning and melting me and forming me into new shapes. But I have altered their minds so that they do not keep me outside working for them; instead they keep me hidden in dark, cool vaults, very much like my mother's womb. I have cursed them for tormenting me, and now they torment each other over possessing me.'
Aghora III: The Law of Karma (Robert E. Svoboda)

I am sitting with an egressed mood that is unsettling. At one point in time I was rushed but the course which I am circumambulating has other plans. I have left the Enclave with passport in hand. Attached crudely to the back side of the leather bound representation of the country that I call home is a blue thin slip of paper. It reads on the appropriate check box: Application under progress. Applicant will be informed in due course. Great! (with the most sarcastic, yet accepting tone possible ;) Who is going to inform me? When is due course? And most importantly how are they going to inform me? I received no definite answers from the lackadaisical employed person of the High Commission to my queries except for yes, yes to all. I could have taken advantage of this opportunity and treated this man like the fortune teller at the amusement park... Will I be happy? Yes. Can I have my visa? Yes. Are you and idiot? Yes. I did however ascertain that the stench of marijuana permeating through the thick air has created some of the laziest workforce in bureaucracy, oh wait, I guess that has nothing to do with it ;) So I am left with seven days on my Pakistani visa, a motorbike in India that might not be there when I get back now which I would like to sell to fuel the remainder of my due course. Time I don't have a lot of yet there is always time. I could courier my passport back to Canada and spend over $150 more to get my visa (which I don't even know if I can do since I applied for it in Pakistan initially). I need to apply for my NICOP card (allows me visa-free entry into Pakistan for ten years) here which requires NADRA to have my passport for a duration of at least two weeks. I need an extension now for my Pakistani visa I've realized, or I could just fly to another country and make use of the time, but still I'd have to wait my two weeks before getting my NICOP card. Ok, scrap that rant.

Oh the perils and conundrums of being Pakistani or better yet, me ;) Truly the (mis)adventures of Khayyam Wakil.

So I will investigate my possibilities this evening and see what I create. The most interesting thing just happened as I wrote that last statement down. I have to rewind a little bit to describe my surroundings. I went with my cousin-brother's work place with him, the National Bank of Pakistan. Pickup time for passports was between the hours of three and five. A four bells we departed from his office and he dropped me off at the Enclave and I just told him I would ring him when I was done, should be only half and hour to forty five minutes. It was in that window that I reappeared from the Enclave, repossessed my mobile and dialed him up. He instructed me to walk down Constitution Avenue until I saw the NBP sign on the left. I told him I would ring him when I came across it. So I called and he wasn't even there. He had arranged for the manager of this branch to give me a lift. So I endured and continued writing my tales. As I made my last point of what I intended to create, I looked up. Before me was a sign on the wall that must have been printed off by an employee that read, "SMILE AND MAKE OTHERS SMILE". That completely reinforces who I am, how I deal with situations and instructions how to live.

So in retrospect, I have time on my hands and under my feet. I have some more family to get to know, familiarize myself with the internal politics that comes with having such a large and nosy family and an opportunity to see the majestic side of Pakistan. I am now setting my intentions to head to the northern most extremes to seek refuge in the mountains. The Karakoram Highway will be my guide and solace my companion. I have begun to lose the feelings that I have embraced and that little voice keeps on getting louder. Time to press mute...