Unwinding the Clock - A Walk Through History

Epictober 2011: Experiencing Pakistan - Post 3 of 8
I recalled my brief trip to Lahore the year before when I went there for a conference. The afternoon the conference ended, I was touring around the city in a taxi before my flight back home that evening. The car was going down one of the many roads and my friend, who was sitting next to me in the backseat signaled to me: “There’s Minar-e-Pakistan on your left.” The spontaneous photographer in me took hold and I started taking photos of the structure paying no heed to my surroundings. “You idiot,” she nearly slapped me, “you’re missing the great wonders on your right!”

I tore my eyes away from the left and looked right just in time to see the grand red walls and minars of the Baadshahi Masjid passing away. Then came the Lahore Fort and the gates to the old city, and as soon as they had appeared, the speeding car had swept them out of sight leaving my mouth open in awe.

History has always excited me. Not the type of history where I have to go through Ayub Khan’s policies that made Pakistan the leading race horse in the economies of Asia during the sixties; not the type of history where I pore over texts explaining how Newton discovered gravity and fine-tuned the laws of motion; and not the type of history where I have to gauge the importance of the industrial revolution in propelling us to the modern era. No!

That kind of history is nice and important too, but what excites me about history are its tangible bits and pieces which have stood the test of time. They weathered wind and rain, riots and battles, fires and earthquakes, and the shifts of culture and tradition. For me, Lahore stands as a shining example of that kind of history and it was perhaps because of that excitement that I wanted to visit it.

Buying that bus ticket to Lahore turned out to be one of those gut feeling decisions that turn out to be the best thing you ever did. An unexpected reunion with friends and a trip to old Lahore were the big highlights. I found Lahore to be a cultural jewel, fashioned and carved carefully over many centuries with close attention to intricate details. It is clear that Lahoris love their city, and have conserved old and interesting traditions, places and their stories.

Old Lahore was on the agenda for Saturday and I didn’t want to waste a minute in the morning. I took a dip in mosquito repellant, packed my camera, some water, and almost dragged one of my friends with me who was taking forever to get ready.

Musical instruments dating back to the Mughal era

A short rickshaw ride took us to Lahore Museum which was housed with fantastic treasures. The museum was a great reminder of the shared history of the people of the sub-continent. Relics belonging to the Gandhara civilization, giant Buddha statues, old Muslim calligraphy on stone, Sikh temple stupas and idols of Hindu deities from centuries past were all preserved here. The cultural heritage was also keenly kept here, from old musical instruments, intricately carved ivory, and hookahs to the fashions of the day which included heavily embroidered robes to fancy shoes. An armory of sorts also drew attention to the brutal aspect of history here, with the various styles of armor, swords, and guns on display. The museum also highlighted some small tributes to the soldiers from India who were sent to fight Britain’s war in World War I.



A Buddha Statue from the Gandhara civilization



The museum was almost like a time capsule, encompassing the various empires, civilizations and people who lived in the sub-continent over millennia, up to the point of the colonization by the British Empire and the struggles of the freedom movement. The exhibits showed all that we choose to ignore in this country, a shared inheritance and the need to co-exist. Sectarianism and discrimination among minorities does not need to be the daily occurrence it is today.

Still lost in the museum thoughts, we made our way towards the Baadshahi Masjid in the early afternoon. Rickshaw drivers were demanding insanely high rates to transport us to what was clearly a popular tourist destination. Soon, we were winding through small streets of the old, walled city surrounded by older buildings on the right with the Baadshahi Masjid towering on our left. The driver took a few detours through the winding streets of the old city and stopped next to a side entrance to the Masjid. It was a large, towering, old gate large enough for elephants to pass through but was closed except for a side door for people to go in.

Resting against a wall, just inside the main prayer hall

We stepped into the sunlight of the outer courtyard with the Alamgiri gate of the Lahore Fort on our right and the large archways to the Masjid’s inner courtyard to our left. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I recalled the brief glimpse of this Masjid I had caught last year. I had made it, but as we hurried inside I realized, not quite. We just missed the afternoon prayers, an opportunity I had hoped to avail. After I prayed on my own, I finally decided to relax for a bit and took it all in.

The Masjid had been the largest one in the world since construction in the 17^th century all the way to 1986. This had been the jewel in the crown of Aurangzeb’s empire, and I felt simply overwhelmed when contemplating the great achievement that his engineers and architects had achieved in their day. My friend and I started our walk back across the long, inner courtyard of the Masjid to the outside amid many tourists, snapping pictures and taking in the views. Back in the day, trade caravans en route from India to Central Asia could see the Lahore Fort and Baadshahi Mosque from miles afar before the main city came into view. Indeed, it was a true spectacle of its day.

A small girl, one of many leisure visitors, stands in
front of the big, red wall of the Masjid

We reached the outer courtyard and explored it more fully. The Alamgiri Gate was now opposite us, with some gardens in the middle. Although a Masjid, it had become so popular as a tourist hotspot that some small ice cream vendors and food stalls had also opened up to capitalize on this small market. Some old graves were also located here, one prominent one marking the resting place of the great poet, Allama Iqbal.

We made our way around the left side toward the Alamgiri gate of the Lahore Fort, amid a throng of people, mostly traffic from the food area. The gate on this left side, before the Alamgiri Gate, had a sign attached. Known as the Roshnai Gate, it was used only by noblemen and royalty in its day. The description excited my imagination as I saw nobles passing through the gate on elephants. The River Ravi used to flow through the gate, so it used to be illuminated at night to ease the nobles on their way into the Complex. It bewildered me, the thought of a river flowing through here. Throughout history, nature has shaped the way we adapt to the environment we live in. However, the thought that the growth of Lahore and development into the modern age actually caused the Ravi to change its course over time was a bit hard to swallow.

The Alamgiri Gate of the Lahore Fort

I saw a Pakistan flag blowing in the wind on top of the Alamgiri Gate as I approached it, the white stone distinct from the red of the Masjid, and carved with intricate design. That entrance to the Fort is not in use today, but I still found myself walking up to the high doors in a trance. Huge, wooden, double doors large enough for elephants to go through were locked shut. The rusty, iron bars and bolts that interlaced through the wood were the locks on a lost age. I walked right up to them, and pushed at the small side door, in the misplaced hope that it would open. The heavy timbers were jammed from the other side, so I just gave a knock on the door of the Mughals and walked away.

Imposing view of the Baadshahi Masjid from the Alamgiri Gate.

Unfortunately, as my friend and I walked toward the tourist gate of the Lahore Fort, we were denied entry. A guard informed us that a VIP delegation was visiting the old city so the Fort, the Shalimar Gardens, Sheesh Mahal, the Samadhi of Ranjit Singh, and other sites were all closed for the day. Bitterly disappointed, we had to turn back. My friend was not in the mood to visit the Wagah Border or go up to the Minar-e-Pakistan. In my state of disappointment, I heeded him and we headed back to the hotel for a little rest before going out in the evening with the other people I was staying with.

Some of the artwork inside Cooco's Den in old Lahore.

For a day’s stop in Lahore, I actually had a lot to take back. That evening, we returned to the old city again much to my surprise. We went to eat at Cooco’s Den, located right next to the Baadshahi Masjid, which shed light on another interesting part of Lahore’s history. The restaurant was decorated with great pieces of art; it was owned by an artist who used to work here while her mother ran a brothel in the building. The rooftop of Cooco’s Den gave some breathtaking views of the Baadshahi Masjid, Lahore Fort and the old city. Sitting on the rooftop exposed the many visages of the city: the mystical, the grand, and the profane which happened behind closed doors.

However, due to the many mosquitoes on the rooftop, dengue phobia took over us and we went to eat at another nearby restaurant, Andaaz, instead. During this time, I got the opportunity I had missed during the day and prayed Isha in congregation at the grand Masjid. I heard Azan while still on the rooftop of Cooco’s Den, and it continued as I made my way into the Masjid with another friend. The difference in acoustics was remarkable, and the sound overwhelmed the ears reaching a heart-warming crescendo I hadn’t anticipated before. My friend also noticed the difference in acoustics and enlightened me to the brilliant engineering of the structure. We went to one of the two long corridors of the Masjid, which was actually a line of long, arched hallways supported by many pillars. My friend took a place at a pillar under one of the small hallways, and asked me to place my ear at the diagonal pillar in the same hallway. He called my name into the pillar, and much to my surprise, I heard it back at the other end. The little experiment bore testament to the great sound engineering of the Baadshahi Masjid, and the architectural skills of the Mughal era.

The Masjid looked especially beautiful at night, the domes were lit up in soft lighting, and the courtyard was bathed in a flood of light under a clear starry, sky. We prayed in congregation, but I witnessed an irony that one of the world’s largest masjid’s had but a single row of worshippers. I believe there were only around 25 of us, in a masjid which boasts a capacity of over 5000 worshippers. The red stone shone pale under the soft lighting of the Masjid. Although it looked beautiful, it carried a sad kind of beauty. The place seemed hollow for a masjid. It attracted scores of people every year, but it was mostly tourists, photographers and backpackers. The real hustle and bustle of the great Baadshahi Masjid seemed to have been lost and buried behind the sealed doors of the Alamgiri Gate.

The old city had carried the traditions of the tabooed brothels and the red light district through the generations, but it seemed the grand masjid had lost its way as it transcended through these years. Although the architecture had stood the test of time and changed the course of a river, it had evolved from a place of worship into a tourist hotspot; a mere photo on our Rs. 500 bill. I wonder what Aurangzeb’s true vision was for the legacy he had left behind, and the visions of other rulers who had reigned over this illustrious city in ages past. History excites me, and a walk through this park of history had given me some food for thought. I could not help but wonder what Aurangzeb would have said about all of it had he answered to my knocks on the doors of the Alamgiri Gate that afternoon.

Beautiful view of the well lit courtyard and domes of the Baadshahi Masjid from the rooftop of Cooco's Den

Excursions Off the Beaten Path

Epictober 2011: Experiencing Pakistan - Post 2 of 8

October 2011 was an unforgettable month in my life which I spent entirely on the road, a month where I was a nomad, living in different hotels and guest houses every few days. Much more interesting was the fact that it was a business trip, and I had been given a golden opportunity to visit multiple cities and towns across Pakistan. It was an opportunity that enhanced my learning in the professional world immensely, gave me some very good practical exposure of the operational end of board room strategies, and allowed me to explore and understand Pakistan itself.

During those four weeks, I encountered the great diversity in our country; sampled the local culture of the many places I went to, and discovered the great wealth of Pakistani history and heritage that has long lay hidden from the eyes of the world. To try and communicate my entire experience through one post would do injustice to my great journey. I will try to give a few different accounts with respect to the different lenses through which I saw Pakistan last month, and perhaps something more detailed about a few of the interesting experiences.

My journey started with a flight to Faisalabad, one of the major industrial centers in Pakistan and then shortly after arrival the very same day, a drive to another city in Punjab, Sargodha. Sargodha is known as the City of Eagles due to the Pakistan Air Force base in the area, and is also famous for its citrus production. However, it’s a small city and it felt that if all income in Pakistan were distributed evenly, we would have a place like Sargodha. Narrow roads with more donkey carts than cars, small and shabby shops for the most part make up this city. There are only two bridges in Sargodha, and no traffic signals on the roads. The city is surrounded by farms and villages for miles around, and Sargodha forms a major market center for the farmers who bring in their produce over here.

The people I met from the start of my trip were very welcoming, and that definition also extends to strangers whom I met on the way. Sargodha’s residents are always keen on having a good talk with you on things from politics to load shedding to cricket to “the state of Karachi as compared to other cities in Pakistan.” There isn’t much to do in Sargodha for an outsider; the place has little to offer in terms of leisure, or cultural and historic places. For most of my time in that city, I found myself going out for random walks in the evening after work, across the streets to nearby market places and masjids.

A scene of the Punjab countryside on the way to Khoshaab

One good excursion I had there was to a small town called Khoshaab which is about 30 to 40 kilometers away. The town is famous for its food, and it offered me a chance to see a bit more of the countryside of Punjab. The late afternoon drive from Sargodha offered plenty to see on both sides of the road. Through green fields and farmland, slices from the daily life of an average Pakistani could be seen flashing past the car. As the car rolled on the highway, I saw men driving tractors through the fields, women and children busy collecting water from wells, farmers busy harvesting the autumn crops, shepherds with their livestock in green meadows, and many more beautiful bits and pieces. On the way, we crossed River Jhelum, and through the bridge rails I could see fishermen on small boats, manning nets in the water.

Soon we arrived in Khoshaab, a semi-rural/urban town with the highway passing through it. The settlements went around 3-4 kilometers along the main highway road, and behind that, Khoshaab stretched to a few more streets on either side. Khoshaab was a busy place, a popular stop for merchants and traders on the way to larger cities. Along the road side, many trucks and vans with cargo were parked outside large storage houses, which seemed to fulfill the purpose of warehouses. One of my colleagues stepped out of our car to ask about restaurants nearby.

Within a few minutes, we had parked the car and proceeded across the road to a two storied local restaurant. Most of the cooking equipment like the grill was just outside the restaurant entrance, an arrangement that is quite popular throughout Pakistan. However, inside it was quite dim and hot because there was no power in the area at that time. One of the waiters recommended for us to sit upstairs where we could enjoy a good breeze.

We took our place at a worn out table with old chairs close to the high glass windows in the fairly empty restaurant. As the sound of traffic and pedestrians came in through the window, one of my colleagues from Multan started a random talk about another place called Mianwali: “People over here are generally nice, but if you wander out towards Mianwali, you’ll have to deal with totally different circumstances. Every other person is armed with a gun, and if you question them too much or stare at them for too long, you’ll get shot.”

Images of a desi wild west floated through my mind, where red neck Punjabis with big moustaches and AK-47s rode on the back of mules. I rejected the wild picture in my mind, “you have got to be joking, it’s hard to believe something like that happens here; is there no law and order?”

“Ineffective and corrupt police system under the heavy influence of local landlords.” 

The small restaurant in Khoshaab

It was after this brief conversation that a man on a nearby table approached us. “Excuse me, but I could not help overhearing your talk about Mianwali”, he said. “It’s just that I am also from Mianwali and I would like to know who told you those outrageous things about my hometown.”

I was just taken aback by this strange coincidence, while my other colleagues simply stared at the Mianwali local, wide eyed. “There’s nothing like that in Mianwali, you people are just clinging on to old tales from decades past. Some incidents like that did happen long ago, but you cannot call my whole community rogue because of that. Please come visit us in Mianwali, we are great with guests and we will treat you to the best fish you have ever tasted.”

My colleague pardoned his ill-knowledgeable talk on Mianwali, and we all introduced ourselves to the man. Our stranger turned out to be a merchant who traded goods to Mianwali, and had stopped in the area. That coincidental encounter was entertaining in the least, and showed the Pakistani love for tall tales, exaggeration and carrying wrong perceptions forward just for sheer enjoyment; it is also a huge irony for us all.

Stopping for prayers in Khoshaab. Small, rural Masjids have their own charm.

After a late lunch, we stopped and prayed at a small, humble mosque near the restaurant before making our way back to Sargodha. Most of the people praying there were local residents of Khoshaab: simple, humble traders who did not have much education, and were probably employed in the business since their teens.

On the way back, we stopped on the banks of River Jhelum just in time to catch the sunset. There was a small dhaaba there selling tea, fish and pakoras. A few children from a nearby village had also strayed to the riverside, and were watching a fisherman try to make his catch in a boat a few meters out in the water. The children came to beg us for food and money as soon as they saw us. Life in this part of Pakistan was slow and relaxed compared to the big metropolitans from where we came. People were usually engrossed in their daily lives but the signs of hardship and other faults in this part of society were clearly visible. Children were trained to beg at an early age, illiterates followed religion in blind faith and people believed rumors and tall stories without any credence to hard facts.

There was so much beauty as the sun turned the calm water into shades of gold and orange, but as the fisherman’s boat glided along, it disturbed those brilliant shades, and its black silhouette showed marks of heavy toil and labor which had never earned its due reward. As the boat glided west, a Pakistan flag on its tail caught some of the fading glow from the sunlight, and the children that had come begging to us went back to the bank to watch the boat and play some more. It is clear that Pakistan is largely misunderstood, and has immense wealth that goes largely unappreciated by all of us. Yet the sweet calmness that surrounded the sunset carried a sublime sense of sorrow and hardship, and it was obvious that a lot was never done to exploit the region’s true potential.

Sunset on the banks of River Jhelum, a Pakistan flag is visible on a fisherman's boat.

Journey Gear Up: Pakistan

Epictober 2011: Experiencing Pakistan - Post 1 of 8

Today I toasted my mug of chocolate milk to discovery. I appreciated the fact that I have been given a foothold to climb one step closer to a dream. At this point, it would be a shot amiss to discuss the dream but it would make sense to talk about a certain goal. It has been hard to understand and truly learn about Pakistan from my natural vantage point, i.e., a nice, comfortable, apartment in a safe and cosy district of the cosmopolitan city of Karachi; and surrounded by my Playstation 3, laptop and smartphone. One can only learn so much through books, television and newspaper stories. We have to see only as far as Karachi to realize how many misconceptions people hold about the level of safety in the city. Yes, it did get quite messy recently but generally, life continues like it would in any other over-populated, sprawling, third world city.

Moving on to the main point here, the goal is to shun a few more stereotypes and arrive at more concrete conclusions about how life really is in Pakistan. This month of October for me will be a time when I shall be traveling to many cities and smaller towns in Pakistan, and also probably be the first time when I won't be living as a tourist in my own country. This opportunity promises to be one where I can sharpen the outlines and add more color to my descriptions of this lively painting. In a country which loves gossip, tall tales and enjoys bliss in its ignorance, it is challenging to write or talk about it in meaningfully accurate ways.

A first hand tour promises to be an experience where one can exercise some good balanced judgements on these stereotypes. From my easy chair in Karachi, I see Lahore as a forsaken city, blanketed in a plague so intense that it can go into apocalypse mode. People of Gujranwala just seem like jolly, good natured Punjabis who love food and kites. The "Peshawar Portrait" in my head exhibits RPGs and turbans in a game of hide and seek. I hope to discover things more cheerful, well defined and hopeful, respectively when I travel inland.

In an official sense, the purpose of this trip is to work on the execution of a national project and gather a more thorough understanding of consumer markets. This cannot be compared in magnitude to my study of the retail environment of Dubai in June, a plastic city with no original culture and exhibited by a self-consuming essence of capitalism. In many ways, that trip was a tourist retreat with many days spent in modern shopping malls and fast food restaurants. A forced melting pot of many cultures, it effectively masked Dubai's own. But the kind of trip I am currently about to undertake will break me away from the more liberal constructs of society, and put me in a relatively more unknown playing field. Aside from a deeper understanding of the core of Pakistani society, culture and history, I find this as a golden opportunity for myself to gain first hand experience of the challenging and complex environments of emerging markets such as Pakistan, and to navigate my way around it.

Discovery of new frontiers is the goal for me this October, in dimensions which are professional, cultural, historical, and traditional in ways that I have never attempted before. Currently, I'm relishing the challenge and hope I come out in November as someone who has discovered more in himself than the places he's been to. Hope to share some stuff when I get to the other side in November, or perhaps in between if a window of opportunity opens.

An Idea Grown in Exile

It has been many long months, and how I have longed to fill this space of mine. I had easy excuses at the start as I was extremely busy, loaded with assignments, reports and presentations to the point that I had to skip a night of sleep completely, on two occasions. However, I went on to visit Dubai with my Retail Management class after the end of term and that left me with loads of thoughts which I could pour out here. However, I chose not to. The trip left me with many mixed and conflicting emotions, which I often cannot describe myself.

After I returned, my mind became a shell. Empty, devoid of thought! It was just this state in which I could not write at all. Perhaps I will discuss these past four months on a separate occasion, but now I must move on to the real purpose of this post, which has also, more or less, been the purpose of my blog. In the later half of this period, void of writing, I really wanted my next post to be a story and not some log about myself and my obsessions. Many ideas came and went, one of them however, has grown in my mind and I am working on it. However, I feel that it will become excessively long, and may be delayed by some more weeks, maybe months (I really hope not..) before it's complete. But I wish to post this little (read "puny") excerpt that charts the beginning of what I feel is one of my better ideas to date. Hopefully, when you next get to read this it will be part of a much larger plot that will capture your fancy. Let me know your thoughts... gibberish? promising? etc.

*Clip clop, clip clop* the sound of horse hooves resonated loudly in my left ear which was glued to the floor. That is the sound I hear every time I stretch my memory back the farthest I can, the very beginning. *Clip clop, clip clop* it continues, always haunting me, playing at the edge of time itself. *Clip clop, clip clop* the horses went, marching in rhythmic fashion, as if to establish a state of orderliness which signified authority. An authority that dictated that what I remembered from then on was to be the only truth of my life, what I was, and what I was ever going to be.

*Clip clop, clip clop* the sound of their hooves shot like the strokes of a blacksmith’s hammer on my head, magnifying the pain in my skull. As the hammer fell harder, it broke the rhythmic charm of the marching horses, forcing me into a state of uneasy consciousness with my eyes still shut. Still in terrible pain, I tried to gather the rest of my senses to get a bearing on where I was. I rested on my stomach with my left cheek plastered firmly on a moving floor. The side of my face touching the floor felt numb; I tried to find my hands in the overwhelming void and felt them move somewhere above my head. My fingers touched some moist hay and a cold, metallic surface.

*Clip clop, clip clop* the horses trotted on ever so passively, that I felt my world go into a blur of black and white. I felt a breeze flowing on my face, which drew away some of the numbness. With my eyes still shut, I tried to form a more complete picture of my surroundings. In my state of limbo, I could feel myself moving as the horses marched on behind my back, and rocked whatever was carrying me, to and fro. The air was cold, and I could feel no light from behind my still closed eyes. I tried to stretch my legs, but cold metal bars prevented my feet from going any further. Although alarmed, I rested my bare feet on the cold bars to bring some feeling back into them. A loud neigh from a horse suddenly raised my senses but I still kept my eyes wired shut, and desperately wished for some answers to present themselves when I opened them.

Rivendell

I have been confused for the past couple of months, confused about a lot of things. A part of this problem was which path should I go for after graduation this year, but this was merely a part of a much larger puzzle. Overwhelmed with a load of work with hardly any time to think of a solution to this puzzle, I recently got an opportunity to travel north to Murree to attend the National Strategic Conference.

Embracing this chance, I decided to stay another day after the conference to enjoy the fresh mountain air, go exploring a bit more and most of all, try to relax and look for a solution. I went to search for Rivendell, my Rivendell. Anyone who is familiar with Tolkien’s Middle Earth and the Lord of the Rings will know that Rivendell is the beautiful valley near the Misty Mountains, home to the elves, where the weary found a retreat from their travels, explorers discovered a new path to tread on to, and the lost could always trust to find their way again.

We started our journey to Murree in the early hours of darkness, and I made a point to pick a window seat on the left so I could enjoy the fresh air and soak in the little view that was visible in the dark. It was refreshing to say the least, and I can never forget that journey up the hills. As we moved through the traffic of Rawalpindi through the thick smog, the change in the feel of the atmosphere was more than apparent and it got cooler, lighter and graceful. Other than the headlights, the lights inside the passenger cabin were also on, and the glow stretched a few meters into the darkness illuminating the plants and trees against the road side. The trees grew taller and larger, and many of the smaller ones which were just against the road had flowers on their branches. They almost touched me at the window, breezing past me, teasing me of the great beauty that lay beyond the light cast by the van. There was a good moon that night with few clouds, and in its light we could faintly make out the darker shapes of trees further down the flowing valleys. Hidden streams revealed themselves in shining silver as the van passed, the image of the moon reflected perfectly in the crystal clear water. Dots of light also sprang up far below us, as the points of human settlements could be seen scattered throughout the dark countryside.

My mouth was mostly open in a two hour plus “WOW”, and my neck developed a sprain because I had only been looking to my left throughout the journey. I put on my headphones to cancel out the endless drone of the engine, and the sleepy talk of my tired friends. As the Icelandic melodies of Sigur Ros played in my ears, my soul felt elated. Even though I could not see the beauty that surrounded me, I could feel it in the very depths of my heart. The moon, the dotted lights, the flowers on the trees all teased me of what lay ahead; if this was merely a trailer of the beauty up north, I could not wait to see the full movie. I formed the belief that I would definitely find Rivendell somewhere up there, and would go looking for it after NSC ended. However, NSC sort of changed my perception of Rivendell, and helped me grasp some kind of coordinates as to where it may be.

Even though I had learnt to solve many of my problems by looking at things holistically, AIESEC showed how really to take strategy into account. Strategies do not exist merely in organizations, but one can form their own strategy and apply it in personal life. I took part for the very first time in policy making decisions in organization legislation, and had to consider some decisions that can have a long lasting impact. The way AIESEC goes about such an endeavor can be enviable to many, as I witnessed a true democratic model at work with respect to the organization’s values. Taking part in such a task really helped me realize how far-reaching strategic decisions can be on a personal level.

Developing focus points for AIESEC Pakistan’s next five-year strategy and translating that into action plans on a functional level was one thing; but considering how one has to strategically place themselves in the organization to achieve those objectives is another. I have attended many talks and speeches by people who say that: “one must discover themselves before they go on to accomplish other things, and find the path which is right for them”. NSC had such a session too; but where it differentiated was that over its course of five days, it helped discover HOW one can go about such a thing.

All the sessions, when broken and considered separately will never make sense. To exploit the true learnings of NSC, I had to pause and consider everything from the fun, to the people, to the very professionally executed sessions together. All of that helped put things into perspective, and helped me relate (to an extent) of how I can strategically go about an issue rather than poking corners in the darkness. There is a difference between perceiving a situation holistically and solving it holistically.

On the day I really hoped to go forward and search for my Rivendell after the conference, I discovered that my decision was, regretfully, under the subliminal influence of friends. When everyone decided to spend their extra day in Islamabad, I decided to follow suit and cancelled the plans to stay in the mountains in that duration.

I figured that the conference had given me quite a few, if not all, of the answers I sought. I discovered that Rivendell is still a dream; it is not a place to go search for a solution but rather a place you will find eventually when you get to the solution. NSC gave me some bearings on where to search for it, and as I started the long journey down the mountains during the late afternoon, the valleys opened up in their full majestic beauty. I could see clearly now all that the veil of the night hid on the first night to Murree, it was a land out of a fairy tale. The cold hail of that day was melting on the roadsides as we made our way down, with clear springs of water visible on the mountain face to one side. The scenery unfolded in green with us level with clouds on the other side.

As we moved on, it became silhouetted in black against the fading disc of the sun beyond the further peaks with a glare reaching inside the van and touching the heart as another teasing goodbye. I hope to solve the great puzzle inside me, a puzzle that I can’t explain, and then one day reach Rivendell. Rivendell was a place of lasting tranquility, not a place of temporary respite. It was a place of eternal peace, not a forced cease fire. I will continue to search for my Rivendell, during which time it may change to become many more things in my mind. It may not even lie in the mountains for all I know.

Song: Rush - Rivendell

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZce6-rQNyA

Stuck on a Ship

This post is quite unexpected in that it was never meant to be blogged about. For my second post, I wanted to put up a story I have been working on for the past week. But it turns out that I have lost my way again, though not as badly. For starters, I can just tell you that this story is set to take place on a sea vessel and I have already placed my protagonist on the ship's deck.

Now the trouble is that I have little knowledge of layouts of huge ships, and I need to form some accurate blueprints in my head to move myself around, along with my protagonist. Dear ol' Google has been of some help and I am more familiar with certain terms, practices and ships now than before. But it has been frustrating work so far, and I still have not acquired some knowledge that I desperately seek. Perhaps I am not searching for the right terms as I am not well-versed in sailor lore.

This search and seek practice of the past few days has opened my eyes to a new kind of irony: my dependence on facts and research to form the support columns of my imagination. Imagination is supposed to be an all-powerful weapon that can define new frontiers. However, it is something that can neither exist nor develop on its own.

For a powerful imagination, one must be open-minded and absorb the lessons of their surroundings. Even for an imaginary setting where the imaginaut has defined surroundings completely other-worldly and alien to what is known to us, they form roots out of what they gained from their own experiences on the real earth. Wonka's great glass elevator may not have the same characteristics as our normal elevators, yet it was imagined from the foundation of a normal elevator of which the esteemed imaginaut Roald Dahl was aware of. Tolkien was a skillful linguist and used that knowledge to create languages to support Middle-Earth. He also used his appreciation for the wide-open spaces in England, where he lived, to gain inspiration to conjure the Shire.

Right now, I may have the imaginary power and the inspiration to write my story but I lack the knowledge to do so. I can still define the boundaries of my own ship, the like of which has never been made before, but I believe that will not connect my audience too well with the setting. The artificial layout will need to be polished and waxed too well, and the depth of characters will need to be quite intense to delusion the reader into believing that those walls can really exist. After all, Khaled Hosseini re-imagined a true Afghanistan that gave him the power to connect well with his readers. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle placed Detective Holmes in London so well that his statue actually graces Baker Street today. And I have simply not reached that level of experience as an imaginaut yet.

So I am afraid that unless I find some true knowledge about sea travel which I need, I cannot proceed with my sea tale. It's not that difficult, but will need some time and more effort on my part. I think I need to go to the Karachi Port and have a tour of a huge cargo ship myself. And if any of you are guessing as to what the story is about, well, it's not that hard to guess and the theme may be predictable but not in the way you imagine it. For now, I shall leave my protagonist to stand at the ship's deck on their own until I can create the world for him to move about in.

Last First Day

It’s actually time to put things into perspective now, and look ahead to the future. It’s quite hard to believe really, that today was the last time I entered IBA for a first day of the semester. I’m writing this while sitting on a bench in the foyer, taking in all the sights and sounds of main campus. As usual, the atmosphere is jovial and cheerful with a lot of laughter going around. The singing of birds is also audible over the loud chatter of my peers, and I’m reminded again that nature is a huge part of main campus. A healthy breeze perpetually flows through the foyer, adding to the comfort on the marble benches. Against the background of the gray, cloudy sky, the futsol goal posts are visible a few meters away, positively inviting me to come and play. A few of my chums can also be seen playing the beautiful game. So am I really going to miss it?

To be frank, I have never associated the kind of loyalty to IBA as I did to my school, St. Patrick’s. But yet I have this feeling of dread and uncertainty hanging over my head, the like of which I have never experienced before. I know a lot of people who are quite eager and excited at the fact that they will be leaving IBA soon. But I mostly find myself at a loss for words when they ask back: Aren’t you glad IBA is ending? It’s quite a mixed feeling really.

When I first came to IBA, I hated it. I was looking for value in petty things like the size of the campus; I felt that the campus was too small for a university, which should have acres of land. I hated most of my teachers initially, whom I felt screwed up many of my concepts. I got ragged in my first few weeks quite a few times, experiences which cannot be elaborated in detail here, and all of this put me off about IBA.

But I guess over time I started to take a liking to many things, and met some great people. The small population on our campus initially contributed to a homely atmosphere where everybody knew everybody else, and you could go and talk to almost anybody in any batch. Most seniors were willing to help you out in any problems you faced or gave you advice if you needed help in any matter. This is independent of those people who stepped up to help you during the time of elections and disappeared into the thick of the crowd after they ended; trouble was, the crowd was not thick at all. I loved the gigs that used to happen in the cafeteria, where people sat in open circles on the floor, filmed hanging from the rails of the upper floor and the whole place was packed like crazy. The football that we played almost daily just beyond the foyer became an inseparable part of life.

I remember Independence Day 2008 in particular. It was raining and everyone was clad in white and green and the ambience that morning is hard to define in words. There was energy in the air that is felt rarely, and people were happily decorating the campus. A few guys went upstairs in the cafeteria and hung the green and white banner to soak in the rain of freedom. Others were taping confetti and jhandian in the cafeteria, where I joined in. Some girls had brought tiaras, brownies and poster paints which they were using to paint the crescent and star on people’s faces. The energy we felt was surely not a fad, as it got to the teachers as well and I remember a few of them giving the classes off early as well (something that hardly happens in IBA). We made the most of that morning, singing anthems, splashing water and simply soaking in the monsoon shower. Such mornings are hard to come by.

Since I have come to IBA, I made many amazing friends as well who are hard to replace. Over four years you tend to go through things thick and thin, and there are people who have stood with you through all that time, and it is something you cannot easily let go of. Yet, four years is also a long time in which to lose people as friends. It is a sad fact which I have also come to embrace. At the start, I started off with a lot of people who would hang out with me, meet and talk. Yet, with time circumstances changed and I met many of them only occasionally, and we used to greet then. A few years passed, and then they pass in front of me, with glazed and far-off looks in their eyes, amnesia taking hold early as they fail to recognize me. This is another part of reality that I have come to accept over the years, and feel I have also changed with time. I also came across some very inspiring teachers who really taught with passion and taught us much more than the course outline, and many who really made us work like donkeys, but you found you learnt more at the end of it all. They really helped me shake the initial stereotype of the not-so-great teachers at IBA, but I had a very diverse experience with all the teachers.

In 2009, I became part of the Entrepreneurship Society and embarked on a memorable, year-long journey of hard work, new friends, frustration, failure, success and unprecedented milestones. In IBA, I learnt that the edge we gain is not mostly from what we do in our class rooms, but mainly from what we learn from interacting with our peers and taking part in the management of different events that happen around the year. These experiences have given me lots of new perspectives with which to see things, and made me aware of all the effort that goes behind even the smallest of things we see, but do not appreciate.

If we consider The Verve in this context for example, a lot of people appreciated the event and the way it happened. But what most people don’t know is the effort and khwaari I had to go through to book that venue. Around four weeks before the event, a friend and I were going around hotels to look for potential venues for the event. We had already settled for the Sheraton but wanted to explore additional options before confirming it. We went to Avari Towers at around 3.00 PM, but due to an immense traffic jam we had to park the car towards Saddar and walk the length of the road to get there. We had a meeting time for Sheraton at around 4.00 PM, and left Avari at around 3.30 PM to allow half an hour for the traffic jam. However, the half hour turned into an hour and we had barely moved past one signal. We missed the meeting, and it was time for my friend to drop me home, return to his place and then return for a class to city campus in the evening. However, all plans went to waste and we both ended up proceeding to city campus. In the end, the situation was so bad that we parked the car in the middle of Saddar and proceeded to city campus on foot, nearly a 25 minute walk. For an end to the perfect day, on the way back to his car at night when the roads had cleared, we discovered that the car had a flat tire. I reached home at around 10.30 PM when I should have reached back in the afternoon.

Now all those experiences and memories are coming up and swirling around me, and I can’t help but wonder what lies beyond June when I graduate. Life will go in a new direction, but we can never be sure of any more summer holidays, meeting friends everyday or anything else for that matter.

Right now, I’m sitting on a sofa in the city campus waiting for an evening class. A few people are engrossed in their talk on the other sofas, and four guys are playing Trumps on the table in front of me. The parked cars are visible outside the glass doors, and I can see their shadows lengthening on the ground as the sun begins to set. I think IBA has changed me, and has given me a lot of things which I had not realized previously. The parting will be more bitter than sweet this June, as I start the long walk towards this great uncertainty that surrounds me.