Save PAKISTAN!

This is what needs to be done and what WE can do:

1. Like Ammar said, the responsibility is with us so we need to straighten up our act and start living by the rules that were set for us by our beloved Prophet (PBUH). That means praying on time, planning our day around the prayers, being truthful, not paying or receiving bribes, not dealing in interest, not trying to save the zakat we owe and taking the time out to pay it to the rightfully needy and so on, you get the drift. This may be easier than it sounds or it might sound like rhetoric but until we truly start doing this in letter and spirit, it won't mean a thing, it won't change a thing. Start with yourself, your wife, your parents, your siblings one family, one neighborhood, one town, one city and eventually a country!


2. For god's sake VOTE. Register your vote and your family's vote. The person who works at your home and his/her family, everyone you can get your hands on. If all else fails, people like you and me need to come out on the streets and protest but till we have hope that change can happen within the system, we should try for it. So please let go of what your fathers and grand fathers and families have believed in for the past 60 years as far as political affiliations go and break the mold. Basically vote for Imran Khan. We can debate all day long but all of us know he's the last real hope we have at a glorious Pakistan. Don't get caught up in "the system won't let him change a thing" let him try for once...... I'm not one fro creating messiahs but history is witness that in bleak times, hope is what gets man through.


3. On a personal front, do as much charity as you can and spread messages of peace, patience and hope to everyone you meet or talk to. Project the positives of Pakistan for once and forget the negatives, you'll be amazed at the energy positive thinking and speaking can bring to you and imagine what it can do to a nation if adopted collectively.


4. What the mullahs need to do. I'm not speaking about the terrorists but your everyday maulvis, imams of mosques, ameers of our different factions. Since the onslaught of bad times, basically since the lal masjid fiasco, these mullahs had a collective responsibility of spreading messages of peace and reminding people to mend their ways. Every Friday sermon should be used as an opportunity to do a collective tauba and people in general need to be reminded of repenting continuously both individually and collectively. They should do more than spread hate messages or anti America messages or coming on Alim online and addressing personal, specific masail. Come on TV and hold collective tauba sessions, if we can have donation telethons, we can have tauba telethons. They should be educating people on the minutest details of how to live according to the Prophet's (PBUH) ways. The first step to revival is acceptance of one's fault and asking of forgiveness from the supreme being.


5.The rest will fall in place, the police, the education, the health, the judiciary etc etc. You ask how, well firstly if everyone will have adopted the ways of the Prophet (PBUH) then there really shouldn't be a problem. Secondly, if you have an honest man leading you trying to get your institutions corruption free, then you shouldn't have a problem. Once you create a positive environment, creativity, investments and brains follow. Our institutions are victims of politics and the age old system of associations and loyalties to kinfolk being stronger than loyalties to religion or the state. In order for you to get elected you make promises to your people of jobs and economic security. Once you get elected if you don't follow through, you lose face and/or you lose support of your people hence you have to hand out jobs to the undeserving. now multiply that problem at the national scale and you have Pakistan.

I have more where that came from, so lets stop talking and start DOING.

They say "Pakistan needs to regain its glory days". I say what glory days, we never had those. Zawal uss cheez ka hota hai jo kabhi bulandi par gayee ho, we've never reached the top yaar..... we're still fighting amongst ourselves. So the question should be: "How high is high for Pakistan"

It's all my fault!

This one's been a long time coming hasn't it?? Truth is I just couldn't find the inspiration to write about something that was important to me.....well maybe I did, atleast on 2 occasions. On the first one, my editor (read wife) didn't allow publishing rights, and on the other I was too lazy to put pen to paper, or is it fingers to keyboard nowadays.....

Anyways, to cut a long story short, these days there's a general theme doing the rounds, somehow, I find myself at the center of the universe and funnily enough its not due to me becoming an egotistic megalomaniac overnight. 

I'll quote 2 small incidents in my defense and I would like you as the readers to be the judge and jury, and help me reinforce the theme I've stated above or negate it. 

Incident 1:

A friend has a flight back home in the morning, earlyish, so I humbly offer my services to drop him to the airport, knowing full well that I will not be sleeping most of that night due to prior commitments, still I offer, coz I'm such a swell guy, always willing to help out. The friend readily agrees. The flight is at 9:25am, so we decide on a time of around 7:30am for me to be at his place and for us to be at the airport around 8ish to be on the safe side. Now mind you, this friend has also informed me the night before that he has checked in online, which usually helps and means that you can show up a little later, drop off your baggage and proceed to passport control no questions asked. Now I go to sleep at around 4:30 after the morning prayers, having set all my alarms, but shit happens, so I oversleep by ONE snooze and wake up at 7:40, precisely when the friend decides its now a little late so I better see where Adil is. Ideally I should've been at his place at 7:30 or 7:45 at the latest, as it turns out I reach at around 8 and we reach the airport around 8:25. By the time he reaches the counter to drop off his baggage, the guy at the counter informs him that its too late and that they've closed the counter. So my good friend calls me to tell me to turn back as I'm on my way home as he might have to give me back the luggage as he could still go on with carry on baggage. 

As it happens, he catches a lucky break and somehow gets on the plane with all the luggage, but in the aftermath of the incident, who gets blamed for almost making my friend miss his flight or at best leave his luggage behind. Now all i'll say before leaving the case to your capable judgement is why counldn't he have called earlier? wasn't it his flight to miss? his luggage to check in? but no guess who's fault it is???

Incident 2:

The following day is eid so the prayers are early in the morning. Another friend sends me a message asking what time are the prayers, and I reply saying 6:15, I get a reply saying "Done", thats it, thats all it says. However, I'm supposed to understand from this one all encompassing word, that I'm supposed to wake up this friend well before the prayers and pick him up to go to the mosque together. So when I some how wake up and go to the prayers after only an hour's sleep because, you guessed it, prior commitments, I barely make it through them let alone the sermon that follows. I come home at around ten minutes to 7 and I get a call from the same friend who has now woken up and brazenly accuses me of being the sole reason for him having missed his first eid prayers here in dubai, albeit not in so many words, to be fair to him. Obviously that makes me feel a bit guilty, but because I'm so god damn sleepy, I just hit the pillow and doze off. 

You tell me, ho does one word mean so much?????

Now, I know that based on 2 small incidents, I may be exaggerating a bit by saying that everything that happens good or bad (mostly bad) is my fault, but believe me when I say that a married man already carries the burden of being blamed for everything so when his friends start doing the same, the world does start to crumble. I mean isn't it enough to be carrying the burden of being late for every dawat, forgetting the eggs, mixing up the dhania with the podina, not noticing the minutest change to the hair, not being able to answer spontaneously to the eternal question: "Why do you love me"?, or for the gas running out at the wrong time, for the microwave to stop working at the wrong time, for asking for tea at the, you got it, wrong time; if all that wasn't enough, I'm now responsible for letting my friends down....I'm going to break into a sob now.....

oh wait, it just got worse, there's another power failure in New Delhi, guess who's fault it is?

later.....

Horrible Bosses!

There's a common saying in the corporate world, "people don't leave companies, they leave bosses". Why is it that this particular breed is the same? how can it be? all humans are different, every one has a unique DNA, different fingerprints even, yet when someone graduates to becoming that dreaded being called a "BOSS", everyone becomes exactly the same, how?

My first prolonged and proper interaction with this ajeeb aur ghareeb kaum was when I started to work at  a multinational back in April 2003. I had gone through a couple of internships and a couple of one month stints before landing up there, but this is when I really found out what a "BOSS"can be like.
My first day, and I found out that I was to have a female boss, I had heard even weirder stuff about this gender of the species, and when I finally got to my desk she was waiting. She seemed pleasant enough, didn't have any devilish horns, or a spike tail, and if I remember correctly actually smiled. She handed me my project list straight away and so began our journey, one never to be forgotten by me and one that I would profit from remarkably.

When you're at this MNC, you have to understand that even the receptionist and the tea boy are challenged to be their best day in, day out. Even they have to follow the "success drivers" and play their part in being a member of the High Performing Organization (HPO). So the fact that this trickles down (or up, depending on how you look at it) to the ABMs really isn't a surprise. We were a bright bunch if I do say so myself, fresh out of university with dreams in our eyes of being successful (however each one of us defined it) but all of us were violently brought down to earth by our respective bosses. In those first days, every bit of self confidence was ground out of us to the point that you thought whether you were good enough at all, whether you even had it in you to be successful. Terms like "batti sessions"and "äaloo aagaya" were commonplace. Whenever you saw an ABM with his/her boss in a huddle room, the prevailing rumour would be of a batti session in progress under the guise of a "öne to one".

In my time there, I had been taken to the cleaners on numerous occasions. I often wondered how important was that comma or full stop that I had to be called back from half way home and complete the document. That I was kept in office till 2 AM in order to prepare for a meeting the next day. That I was given a dressing down for the promoters not knowing my name which meant that I wasn't involved in the project enough, and the funniest of all, being asked to go through a piece of A4 sized paper without tearing or cutting it, oh and in the same session I was also asked to stand on top of the table, I forget why though. These plus other numerous altercations mainly around me wanting to go home quickly, and my boss wanting  me to put in more hours, led to the embedding of continuous resentment against her and developing a victim mentality.

After 3 long years, I had had enough and decided that this life wasn't for me. Its not that I didn't want to work hard, but I didn't want to be consumed by my job. For me the job was going to be the means to an end which was a more fulfilled life after work, however, I may chose to spend it. I took the first job that came my way and made the first mistake of my career. Anyways, the stars were smiling on me and I quickly got out of that predicament and landed a job at my current place of employment, another MNC, where I've been now for the past 5 and a half years.

The start here wasn't very rosy as well. Here, I walked into another Pakistani belonging to the old school of autocratic management, believing in might is right and really maintaining a control on every little thing I did. Once again I found my wings being clipped and the style being cramped. Since this was a start up in this region, the office was very small, not more than a big room which at its full capacity seated 5 people. In this environment all phone calls were overheard and promptly disturbed, every meeting was followed up on with detailed feedback and minutes being sought even on weekends. Eventually, I was reduced to being a paper pusher with a fancy title and responsibility portfolio, my creativity was being blunted and initiative had been beaten out of me completely. I had become what I had tried to avoid all along, a work horse. I hated going to office everyday, and each day took special will power, prayers and my personal predicament back home to get me through it. One and a half years of this and I had reached a nervous break down. Once this man was rotated and left the scene, the others and myself were left completely drained, both emotionally and physically, totally devoid of any energy to get anything done. I spent the next 3 months doing nothing, just getting by and god bless the man who replaced my first boss, as he not only put up with me at this time but actually took measures to correct the situation. If it wasn't for him, my faith in such a thing as a good Boss would've been lost forever.

Every breed has an odd one out, every family has a black sheep and so in walked the black sheep of bosses. This person bucked the trend and changed the whole mindset. His approach to being a boss was so different and refreshing that finally we found the room to breathe again. slowly but surely, the positive attitude, the constant encouragement and the completely collaborative style got me up and running again. I enjoyed the 2 most fruitful years of my professional career and quickly went up the ladder from a SBM to heading the marketing department. Since then the first guy has come back and he's been my boss now again for almost 2 years. I still remember when I found out that he was coming back, I had palpitations and tried to do everything in my power to jump ship. For some reason that wasn't to be my escape and I stayed on. In the beginning there was ample evidence that the same old ways were to be employed and it didn't matter what I had become or developed into, for him, I was going to be the same old boy he could bark at and get his work done.

Things have turned out differently, both of us are still here, I have found my voice, he has changed some, due to feedback from me and others like me and we're surviving. I was thrown a line atleast on a couple of occasions to ply my trade elsewhere, but both times I turned it down and stuck at it. Having spent more than 8 years working under different bosses, I can safely say that I have learnt from all of them and that I wouldn't have it any differently than it was since each and every experience has shaped me and made me what I am today. Having a team of 8 now of my own, I would also like to think that I handle my team completely differently and actually apply my belief that keeping a happy and congenial atmosphere actually gets more work done rather than keeping a tense atmosphere. That people should be motivated by an inner desire to do their best and an aspiration to be the best rather than being beaten into submission. Let them fly, let them make mistakes so that they learn from them, don't hold them back and most importantly smile while going about it. The only qualifier is that everyone is sincere and is willing to learn, once those qualities are confirmed, there's no limit to the fun everyone can have.

So here's to all the bosses I've worked with, thank you for all the time you put in with me, however misguided, I have definitely learnt a lot from all of you, whether its what to do or what not to do, but my advice to the first 2 in my career would be to still take it easy, take a deep breath and slow down. Take stock of your lives and really decide whether this is the most important thing in your lives, that this is the legacy you want to leave behind. This is how you want to be remembered? I'm sure the answers to all those questions will be a resounding "no", so then why do it? why behave in this manner? Just so that you can get that next pay raise or that next promotion, and then what? I am a big believer in everyone getting what has already been set for them by Allah. Yes we need to work hard for that and be sincere in what we do, but we don't need to turn into monsters. Just think about it!

Later,
Shaku

P.S. I expect my team to post only positive comments about me should they read this :-)

A Tale of 2 Holy Trips!

A muslim is supposed to perform the holy pilgrimage at least once in his lifetime, free from all debt and obligations, sponsored by himself and when he’s old enough to understand the significance of it and perform all the rites in order and with the correct intentions.

I have had the honour of performing this trip twice in my thirty year old life and the 2 trips could not have been more apart.

Trip 1:

Sheikh Adil Hussain is 17 years old, studying at The Cambridge High School in Dubai UAE. The year is 1998 and the month is April. Adil has been in a relationship with a nice, sweet girl (who will remain unnamed for reasons you all know too well J ) for about a year now. It had all started off when the 2 had hit it off at the junior school prom a year earlier, the senior prom was 2 weeks away and this would be their chance to celebrate the anniversary in style. This time, there would be no going as stags and hoping for a good time, this time there was the anticipation of a special evening. Discussions on the dress and modes of transport had started when the bombshell fell.

Enter Mom: “beta you’re going to Saudi with me for Hajj in 2 days”

Adil: ________________________

That’s right I was speechless! How could this happen to me? How could I miss the senior prom? How could I miss this special moment we were going to share together? Boo hoo boo hoo, much sobbing and whining later, I still ended up boarding the bus from Shah Faisal mosque in Sharjah bound for that most holy of trips…..the Hajj.

My parents had duped me into going along by keeping me in the dark till the very end. The reason for this deception was that my dad couldn't take off from work and my mom needed a mahram to go with her. Its then that I realized that the injection I had received a week or so earlier was for this purpose. My mid term spring break which I was going to remember forever was slipping away from me. Turned out, that I still remember it but for entirely different reasons.

The trip itself was a blur, I fell ill almost immediately and when I say ill, I mean seriously ill. All I recall are endless roads, bad food and smelly toilets at our pit stops and me not being able to even sit up straight. Oh and did I mention witnessing the death of an elderly woman on the sidewalk next to us on the morning after Arafat and Muzdalfah? The irony was that everyone around thought it was the best thing that could happen to anyone, dying during Hajj, guaranteed eternal bliss and a one way ticket to heaven.

I came back seriously depleted in weight and with no hair on my head, I cut a sore sight. The first comment I received was not a “Mubarak ho” but “you look like you’re strung up by a hanger”.

I promptly went back home and instead of sleeping saw “Pyar kiya to darna kya” (the latest release from Salman Khan and Kajol) and then received congratulations on performing Hajj from my cousins at an Awaz concert 2 days later. Clearly I had had my sins forgiven and come back reinvigorated!!!! Yeah right.

Trip 2:

Sheikh Adil Hussain has now matured and is a 29 year old man with some modest accomplishments behind him. He is spiritually and religiously more inclined than he was previously following the influence of a close friend and an awakening back in 2005. The year now is 2010 and the month is October. Adil has just paid off all his loans and is now debt free. He is somehow able to muster up just enough to take him, his wife, both his parents and his thus far single younger sister for Hajj the following month.



Saba, his wife has gone to Karachi ahead of Adil as they will leave from there for Saudi as Hajj was a wee bit too expensive to go on from Dubai (40,000 dhs vs. 13,000 dhs per head). By this time, the couple also had the good news that they were expecting so there was a sense of peace and accomplishment in the air. Everything was going well and in the right direction, life was panning out the way it was supposed to.

Yes, predictably another bombshell. (Come on, admit it, you knew there was one coming right?)  I receive a call in the middle of the night that Saba has felt a serious pain and has been taken to hospital where she’ll be operated on immediately. I was supposed to fly 3 days later, however, upon hearing this, quickly took a flight for the following day.

I went straight to the hospital and by her bedside, once satisfied that she was okay I let the news of us no longer being parents sink in. There would be bigger decisions to make pretty soon. Saba’s grandmother (henceforth known as nano) started crying and resigned herself to the fact that we were the victims of someone’s evil eye. Saba lost her child and would no longer be going for Hajj as well, sob sob. Saba’s mom was also feeling sad but keeping up a strong front. I on the other hand was stuck in the middle of it all and for some reason or the other didn’t for once think that Saba would not be going with us. It was the same kind of feeling I had when Benazir got shot and we were to get married the next day and everyone wanted to call it off whereas I was intent on going through with it. I tried to calm everyone down and said, we’ll see what the doctor says. There was still a week for us to go.



A little before this, out of nowhere, my younger sister also got married in late Sep and promptly pulled out of the trip as well (it obviously wasn’t as simple as that, but lets leave that for another blog). For her, we managed to get almost a full refund, however, now at this late juncture, getting the cost of Saba’s trip back would’ve been a challenge. Saba will tell you that this was my only motivation to make sure that she went along on the trip J. Well, that wasn't entirely true.....

The doctor said Saba needed complete bed rest for a week and would need a further 2 weeks of more rest vs. activity. I said perfect, because, Hajj itself was a good 4 weeks away however, we were going earlier to be able to go to Madinah as well. Somehow I convinced everyone around that she would go with us and we’d take her in a wheelchair.



People actually asked if she was "Masoom" meaning retarded  :-)



Can’t say it was a cakewalk but boy am I glad she went along. It turned out to be a truly divine experience and there were certainly moments that I felt the closest I have ever felt to Allah. Saba recuperated well after the initial 16 hour arduous journey of getting to Makkah, and then used to look forward to our trips to the grand mosque.

On one of the first tawafs I was taking Saba through, I cut an old man’s foot from behind with the wheel chair, purely unintentional but I was being a bit cavalier with my driving. The guilt was so immense that I actually did a whole tawaf for that man not knowing whether he was able to complete his or not. I still ask for his forgiveness in my prayers.



Other highlights included the al Baik trips and the 9 hours it took for us to get to Madinah, otherwise a 40 minute drive. My mom saying “humain nahi jaana” like a kid when asked to vacate the back seat in the bus knowing that was the only seat she could stretch her legs out on. Arriving in the wee hours of night at our so called hotel in Madinah and being blocked by a qaflah from Ivory Coast, who had been informed late that they had to vacate the premises to make way for us.

Bed bugs in the hotel beds, tikka from the Paki restaurant, losing our luggage on our way back from Arafat and Muzdalfah, the mad dash for a clean toilet in one of the road side clinics and most of all going through a sea of people twice knowing that one misplaced step could lead to a stampede. The trip sure was churning out its fair share of memories.



On the night of Muzdalfah



Once the actual Hajj started, our camp at Mina ran out of water, we didn’t get any bed space inside the tents which were supposed to have air conditioning, so were forced to stay outside, which turned out to be a blessing as it was stuffier inside. We avoided eating or drinking much so that we wouldn’t have to go to the toilets, which was a fair way off as we had to go to the next door camp.

I have to say that the time we spent at Arafat was probably the most meaningful for me personally as I really felt connected. I started to read the dua in one of our books which was in Urdu and then suddenly was prompted by a few guys in the group to read aloud so that they could take part as well. I swear I have never read so much Urdu so fluently without mistakes as I did that day, and somehow the words evoked emotions of guilt and true submission at the life I had led before then. Such that tears started rolling freely and I started to pause to allow for genuine sobs. It is said that if you can truly ask for forgiveness from the bottom of your heart at Arafat, your Hajj is done, and I would like to think that this is what happened with me.

Numerous other such moments, but the proudest of all was knowing that Allah had made me able to provide this for my parents and given me another chance to do it the right way. Can’t thank the Supreme Being enough for that opportunity and for letting us come back safely.



My Parents



Moral of the story: there is none; just that we all go through different phases in our life and we feel and react differently to the same things during those phases.

Later,

Shaku

Ye Dunia Jee Laganay Ki Nahin Hai!

I reached office yesterday and was settling down switching my computer on and going about my daily ritual when a new colleague of mine walked in and went past my desk to the HR reps sitting behind me. Having HR placed behind me has been a source of some good entertainment ever since we moved into the new office so I thought this would be interesting. In the new “open space” it’s a bit difficult to ignore conversations that spring up close by so eavesdropping is the new national pastime J

Anyways, the gentleman is a new transfer into Dubai, as is the case with the company these days since many departments are relocating to Dubai. So this gentleman has just joined the long line of “expats” living in Dubai and he sounds a bit ticked off. “I went to the bank to open an account yesterday, did you know that in Dubai if you die, then your account gets frozen and your family doesn’t get any access to the money? Did you know that you need to have a will made and registered with the bank so that it enables access of funds to your family if you happen to die, and that this will needs to be drawn up in Arabic and registered with the courts? Even then it might take weeks before your family gets any access to your funds? Why didn’t HR tell me this before? Why don’t you advise all expats coming into Dubai as a matter of policy?” and so the conversation continued, largely one way traffic with the HR reps squirming for replies, but weren’t able to muster up anything substantial.

The conversation ended and the gentleman left steaming, basically wanting the company to foot the bill for drawing up the will since it was an expense he had to undertake being an expat, but it left me wondering. I thought to myself, just because this guy’s a gora he could mouth off and will probably end up getting his way, but this applies to any expat who lives in Dubai. That’s probably why majority of the expats don’t keep their money here and save up in their home countries or in forms of gold, except for the people who have lost sight of reality and have come to accept this place as their “home”.

It’s these people I’d like to address.  There are countless stories of people having spent their entire adult lives here 20 years, 30 years, sometimes even in government, and at the end of it had to leave the country as soon as they retired since now they didn’t have a visa. Not everyone was lucky enough to have children who had been brought up here on the farce they call education and landed good enough jobs to be able to sponsor their parents and that too for only a year. There’s something inhumane about asking someone in their 60s to just pack up and leave and go back to their home countries to try and settle into a new system all over again where more often then not they have lost any semblance of a social network and the family is a bit alienated since you’ve spent all your time abroad. The look in those same relatives’ eyes is killing when you realize that it has dawned upon them that you will now be here forever and will no longer be the distant cousins who would be coming home bearing fancy gifts every other summer.

The children can’t be blamed either because they’ve grown up on an overdose of “the good life”, ineffective education or a job market that isn’t ready to hire expat fresh grads. Why? Simply because they don’t have to. The government only asks them to hire local fresh grads because that’s the indigenous population they’re responsible for. We’re just the necessary evil they have to live with so that we can keep the country running or building their egos even higher. It’s the nature of the beast that companies have established here knowing full well that the local talent is not good enough to cut it, therefore the need to bring in seasoned professionals from outside or bring in foreigners on temporary assignments. This simple fact adds to the temporary nature of the place.

Add to it the glitz of the shiny buildings, the high profile events and the over the top landmarks and you get the feel of a huge life sized amusement park, which again by definition closes down at nightfall.

It’s all a big fish net. You get drawn here by the prospect of earning in dirhams and you say this is big money. You convert into your local currency and you think, no one in my class would be earning this much, so you jump at it. You tend to conveniently forget the costs will be in dirhams as well. Again countless stories of labour class workers being duped by high promises into taking loans to come here and then being stuck with less than half the pay they were promised and a mountain of debt. Can’t go back coz they have to pay the debt off, and wait a minute, their passports have been locked away so they can’t go even if they wanted to just leave.

The people who fare slightly better said to themselves, I’m going for 3 years, 4 years, 5 years max, that’s how long it’ll take me to save up to do this this and this back home, then I’m jumping on a plane and back it is. During those years, they end up marrying, having kids, taking on debt and it becomes harder and harder to just get up and leave. Its like quicksand.

Scores and scores of people headed back to their home countries during the mid 90s and now post the Sep 2008 recession, and came back with their wills broken. Not having the energy to start afresh and put their efforts into one last venture that’ll put food on the table. Many families were split while staying in Dubai because of a rule that didn’t allow 18 year old sons to be sponsored by their fathers. This meant that either they send them to the expensive colleges and universities here or send them abroad, not everyone could do either. The result was “visa runs” for these boys who would go back home for a month and wait for their dads to somehow get a visit visa for them so that they could spend another  3 months in precious Dubai.

The phenomenon called Dubai has resulted in the formation of at least two lost generations. One that came to find gold originally as they came back like ghosts in their own home countries drained of all their powers, and the children they bore, who grew up to be soulless individuals capable only of reciting the latest movie, mobile phone or gadget model number, or the latest car on the street.

It truly saddens me to now see some of these people left over here in Dubai still trying to hold on, regardless of their circumstances, just trying to stay on in Dubai come what may. God knows when they’ll wise up and realize that all of this temporary. The irony of the similarity of the “Dubai” story with how this world is a temporary abode before we cross over to the hereafter cannot be ignored. As muslims, we’re taught to prepare for the hereafter all our lives by being good humans, follow the 5 tenets of Islam in the best way possible and try to inculcate the habits of our beloved Prophet Muhammad (P.B.U.H) into our lives as much as possible. Treading on this path sincerely, will lead us to eternal salvation, or so we’re told. We’re told to shun away the temptations of the world, and lead a continuous battle (jihad) against our self as we have by way of being muslims, submitted our will to the will of God. Now apply all that to anyone who’s staying in Dubai with all the realities existing around it. Eerie right?

Have I made it LARGE?

The idea came to me from an ad for McDowell’s whisky, where stars like Saif Ali Khan and Gautam Gambhir list their long line of distinguished achievements and then ask themselves, “Have I made it large?”

It’s a good question to ask oneself periodically as it allows you to take stock of things and really assess how you’ve done so far or are you on track or not. The key however lies in realizing two simple truths about the question.

One is, whether making it “large” is the real objective or not? I mean have you even set yourself that goal, because not everyone wants to take part in the proverbial rat race? The second is how do you define having made it “large”, because it could mean different things to different people?

For the sake of keeping the discussion simple, let’s assume that everyone including me, has set himself or herself the goal of making it “large”, however, it only differs in its meaning.

Having set that premise, I dare to embark on this journey of self evaluation at the tenderly ripe age of thirty, and the first step on this journey entails me clarifying my personal definition of having made it large. However, I shall not start with the definition, rather I will enlighten the readers with the second step first, which is that of listing the various achievements…..no, wait a sec, I can’t call them achievements yet since the yard stick has not been defined… so lets call them “significant events” during the course of my life thus far.

It all started one morning back in 81’ in a dusty old town of Ajman, (I’m pretty sure most of you don’t even know where that is, ………well go look it up, I’m not wasting space in telling you that it’s the 4^th largest emirate of the UAE after Abu Dhabi, Dubai and Sharjah and that its located 5 minutes towards the north of Sharjah!) when I was born on the auspicious day. It was an innocent age where even Dubai was still finding its feet and though hordes of expats had made there way to these shores, it wasn’t difficult to realize your dream of making a better living than back home, wherever that might be. Everyone knew each other as it was a small community (not really an advantage if you were a bit adventurous) but the only attractions on offer were bowling and skating at the Al Nasr Leisure land J.

However, even during those times, there was nothing holding people back from dreaming big, and my father was one of them as well. So he ventured into his own business, leaving a relatively cushy job with perks and starting out on his own. Fast forward 8 years of continual losses and in ‘98 we were down in the dumps. Suddenly we couldn’t sustain in Dubai and had to make the eventual move back home very prematurely. Suddenly the bubble burst, for me as a 17 year old, the world came crashing down. No foreign education, no coming back to my dad’s business and expanding it to an empire, no nothing. That was the first big event in my life, the first set of circumstances that really affected me, that shaped my personality. Up till then I was living in my own fantasy world, a straight A student, mild mannered, not too big on the latest style or fashion, didn’t have the most fancy console games or gadgets, just going about my way. Suddenly, my school fees could not be paid and a higher education became a distant dream. I had just completed my 12^th year of education by giving my AS Level exams, which was fortunate because this was the first year, the school I was in decided to offer AS Level examinations, otherwise I would’ve had to wait for the next year to give my A Level exams. Anyways, it was decided that I would be shipped off to Karachi first and would try to get into IBA which had always been a fall back option should a foreign education not materialize. But getting into IBA wasn’t going to be easy. It was touted as the toughest university to get into with a long procedure of screening which sorted out the best from the rest.

I had to stay with my nani (who I call nomi pyaar se) initially as my family stayed back in Dubai. She lived all the way in Kalaboard, Malir, a few minutes from the Karachi airport. From there I took my first steps in the city of Karachi by getting on the mazdas and infamous coaches. The fare used to be 3.5 and 5 rupees respectively, I still remember that I got off in the wrong direction and fell backward on the road since I didn’t know that you had to get off in the same direction as the bus was going in order to maintain balance. I still remember that I used to stand waiting for a bus with a seat available for upto an hour at times adamant that I would only travel when I found a seat, and then failing to find one started going on buses with space for one foot at the door, standing space on the window sills, hanging from the rear frame, sitting on the roof, those were the days.

I enrolled into the month long preparatory classes for the feared IBA entrance test and quickly found out how deep in I was. The big fish from Dubai was no longer the smartest guy around. I was surrounded by students who had worked their butts off to get here in a tougher system with tougher competition and were honed at fighting it out to the top. Have to admit I was nervous, but I persevered, I trusted the methods that had got me here, and slowly but surely, I started enjoying the independence and the new budding friendships. The big day came along rather quickly and when the results were announced, my name was not on the list. Dejected, I refused to give up because IBA had another test for the people who could afford to pay more for the same education a week later. This time I passed and sighed relief as the alternative was pursuing an Economics degree at KU which wouldn’t have been the end of the world, I now realize, but would’ve been the end of the world I’m living in now.

However, there was still the interview and group discussion to go. I turned up on the day of the interview and the first question I was asked was did I sit in the CBM test the same morning. I admitted that I didn’t even know they were having a test. I mixed up Adam smith and Douglas McGregor’s theories, and had to prove that I could write Urdu by writing the word “Bilkul” in front of them, but somehow I got through. This was followed by the group discussion which went off well, and finally I found my name on the list of people who had made it (I would be only the second person from my family to grace the IBA campus). We still had to borrow the money to get me admitted but I was in. In the midst of mad recent happenings, I could still somehow hold my head up high and walk amongst the best as equals. This was the first step towards resurrecting my life and that of my family’s. From here it was more hard work and then the ultimate challenge of finding myself a good job. It made sense to ask oneself at this point:

“Have I made it LARGE?’…………….the answer was not yet!

What followed were the most formative and fulfilling 4 years of my life. I made life long friendships and learnt a lot from everyone I met. It would be safe to say that I learnt more about life outside the classroom than I did while in it. In the first semester itself, our class team won the campus cricket tournament, which made us quite popular, our class also won the internal debate competition, with me getting the runners up trophy, and we won our first talent show with a truly innovative performance with me in the lead. I was on a high, a high that comes from feeling you’re alive every second, every breath. I could feel every moment. Along came concerts, and dinners, events, gate crashing, sleep overs, group studies, going to cheap cinemas to watch cheap movies, bowling alleys, football and a whole lot more. I remember transforming into an extrovert as before IBA I was never the outgoing kind.

I never said no to anything, whether it was a plan to go for lunch or dinner with friends or on an IBA endorsed event. This helped me make friends across various groups in IBA and got me out of the confines of just my classmates. The net of friends widened and not out of any ulterior motive but purely out of fun. I discovered I could dance at IBA and soon we were looking for excuses to dance. Beach picnics, artifice, talent shows and mehndis. By the 4^th year I was being invited by people who barely talked to me to come and dance at their mehndis, (somehow they always lost my number when it came to the actual wedding ceremony J). No worries, I enjoyed it all.

I also discovered I could act, and so came along BhaiLog company. The time spent at Suneel’s place with rehearsals will forever remain etched in my memory. The high of those performances, it was pure bliss.

There was also the struggle to land good internships as this would then be seen as the first step to a great job, so the internship hunting season would be a frenzied one for everyone. For my first internship I got into Citibank which was quite an achievement for me as well, because it still meant the head could be held up high. Also I had gotten in with no “source” so the sense of achievement was even stronger.

Should I have asked my self then: “Had I made it LARGE?”

The second internship came pretty soon after the first and by this time I had set my eyes very clearly on P&G, every marketer’s dream company. They too had a rigorous procedure to hire internees who were then granted an extended 2 month interview as P&G had a famous policy of only hiring from their batch of interns. They had a complicated test, a screening interview and then a panel interview. Don’t know the ramifications of admitting now that the test paper had been released by the previous year’s students and I had been privy to it before we actually sat for it. Naturally we passed, but P&G got wind of this and were being extra tough on the screening interviews. Of the 400 odd students who sat for the test, some 132 passed, and only 18 cleared the screening stage. Of the 18, only 8 or 9 got offered the internships. Still remember the day I got the letter and I read the first line “we’re pleased to…” don’t remember the rest, reading that much was enough. Now I really felt I was in the big league, and I really had to ask myself:

“Had I made it LARGE?”

3 years into P&G and I was once again wondering where it was all going. I had run up a huge pile of debt and had made the same mistakes my father had made. Surprisingly, I somehow refused to learn from his mistakes and in the yearning to give my family the same lifestyle they had back in the good old days, I kept racking up the credit. I was obtaining all the material comforts, from the latest TV set, a window and split AC, fancy furniture and so on, all culminating with a car. Thankfully I came to my senses quickly as well and started consolidating. At the same time I got an offer from IFFCO and I took it. Partly because P&G was getting too much for me and partly because I wanted to settle all my liabilities quickly as well, this was only possible by earning in Dirhams. Once again the P&G experience was a rich one and taught me everything I know. The time spent there will forever hold me in good stead. Just like IBA, every day was fun and challenging at the same time. I was surrounded by young enterprising people with a fire in their eyes. Everyone was out to prove themselves and pushed themselves to the limit day in day out. It was a very high performance culture and there couldn’t be a single day you could take to pause and reflect, if you stopped, you fell behind. Some of the best minds and talents going at it made for a very highly charged atmosphere and the stress took its tool. There were burnouts, and feuds, and resignations, but we soldiered on until one day, even I bit the dust. I had had enough of explaining why I didn’t sell 1 MSU more or less last month and so decided to risk everything and head to Dubai for a relatively unknown company in the grand scheme of things.

Thus far I hadn’t faced any real failures on a personal level yet, I wanted to get into IBA, I did, I got 2 great internships while there and the eventually got my dream job as well. The detour wasn’t bad, before my last exam and on the day of my sister’s marriage, I became the first one in my class to get a job offer and that to from Engro chemical, (Pakistan’s first multinational company). They offered a 46,000 Rs. Package which I eagerly agreed to and joined on the day of my 22^nd birthday. A week later they posted me to Dharki where I found myself living alone with no family, immediate or extended for the first time in my life. I cried that first day, and once I got myself together, I decided to explore Dharki, I was done in 2 hours. 3 weeks of sulking and I found myself back in Karachi, where I promptly got a call to attend the Shell assessment center. Once again I was pitted against some of the best minds IBA and Karachi had to offer. Out of the 8 only 3 got in initially with the other 2 being 4.0 and 3.99 GPA holders from my batch. Once again the sense of achievement and pride soared and I was immensely proud of myself.

Shell posted me in Pindi and I was there for about 2 and a half weeks before I got the call from P&G. I flew down to Karachi and had decided to go without a tie, which was not a smart thing to do I was told. So I borrowed a tie from the person I was there to replace, the Marketing Director was new and hadn’t seen me during my internship. He asked one question: “What’s your objective in life?” I started with the obvious answer but he interrupted me and said, “what’s your REAL objective?” I drew a deep breath and said I want to build a house for my family. He said that’s it then, “Welcome to P&G”! and that was that.

Back in Dubai, I realized I had made a mistake the first day at work and didn’t have the guts to go back. I knew I had a window of about a year since I had been termed a “regrettable loss” at P&G and could be taken back. However, 3 months into IFFCO and Henkel cam calling. They were opening up a new office in Dubai and needed somebody in Marketing. A 45 minute interview, an hour long case study report and 2 online tests later, I was offered the job. New lease of life, I was ecstatic, it had happened again; finally I’d be able to set everything right.

It’s been a little over 5 years now and I have settled all my liabilities, saved up for my marriage and those of my sisters, paid off all loans, my dad’s and my own, took the parents and my wife for Hajj and am currently 7 months away from completing the payments on the house I wanted. God willing, my family will shift into the new place by the turn of the year.

So now “Have I made it LARGE?

It all comes down to the definition. Somewhere down the line I realized all this was not what we’re supposed to be chasing after. Amongst all that was going on, a spiritual awakening also occurred during the month of ramzan of 2005. I felt as if my faith had been renewed, as if the realization that had always been there suddenly became more apparent. Everything happened for a reason, nothing was random, everything was a test, good times and bad times alike. All this was temporary and the real life was awaiting us. Simple truths but so strong that once you realize the enormity and reality of them, nothing else seems important. Using this as a guiding light, the definition was and is and should be simply work for your after life, material things are immaterial and prepare for the questions we will be asked upon death: What car did you drive? How big a house did you make? What brand of mobile or watch did you have? ……….no? that’s not it, is it?

Once you know the questions that’ll be asked, and once you’re on the way to finding the answers to those, then ask yourself “Have I made it LARGE?”………….the answer will be in the affirmative!

Later.

Why I want to get married again?

Well I know this is a long one but in all fairness it has been almost 4 years in the making....

Now hang on, before you guys go ahead and judge me and start calling me names, the title really should read: " Why I want to get married to Saba again?" better? :-)

I've been meaning to document the circumstances surrounding our wedding day which are well known to everyone for it was a day after mohtarma Benazir Bhutto decided to get shot and the city was burning, and I took the bold, some say stupid decision to not call off the wedding and still go to Saba's place to bring her back. We ended up back at my place eating khichdi on the same night at 7pm, which has to be one of the earliest wedding ceremonies in Karachi ever!

Thinking about it again, I should've seen it coming, I mean I had all the signs. In Oct 07, I went to Khi for some so called shopping, and Bibi decided to end her self imposed exile and come back to Karachi, we all know what happend there. The whole city shutdown after that and since it was eid as well, I got a grand total of 1 day to do some shopping. The second sign was when I went to give the order for my sherwani, I think sometime before the Oct trip. We went into a shop on Tariq Road and went downstairs, They guy was taking my measurements when all of a sudden all of the shop keepers started to act funny, when I enquired he put a finger to his lip and somehow told me that the shop was being robbed above. Thankfully the robbers decided not to come downstairs but when we eventually made it back upstairs, one of the clients had lost all their money as they had come to make a final payment for one of the suits they had ordered. A sign? not really right?

That December back in '07 was going to be special. I had spent a year saving up for my wedding managing 3 committees simultaneously in order to have enough to pull off a decent wedding ceremony. This does not include the careful accummulation of funds, my mom was pulling off at her end to do her best for her soon to be bahu. In her mind this was going to be the best ever wedding for her one and only son with suhag puras and all, I don't even know what that is.....anyways, there were going to be all of 7 weddings in my family that December, not to mention 2 of my close friends also deciding to tie the knot right after me. Imagine what a feat it was within the family to come up with unique dates for all the myriad of events that go towards making a "perfect wedding". 

 

Technically, Saba and I had been married on Dec 28th 2006 when we signed our papers but the rukhsati had been set for the same date next year, so Dec 28th, 2007 was the designated day. In that sense, we had set our date first and therefore avoided the ensuing arguments that were to take place between so many of my relatives to get the dates that suited them best. Not to say that attempts weren't made to move us from our chosen one as well, with accusations of "nazar lagana" starting to fly left right and center, it was all quite amusing up till then. Saba and I got married in stages, my friends used to say, I did it on purpose in order to prolong the experience, but sadly the climax turned out to be a party pooper leaving a very bad taste in the mouth.

The first step was the baat pakki back in March 2004, small affair with my parents and myself going over to her place and officially asking for her hand, the second step was a "small" engagement ceremony in December of that same year. This was the closest to the most 'complete' event of our entire extended wedding as it was attended by almost all my friends and family at PIA garden in Karachi, though Saba would have a different take on that as well :). The next step was the nikah in Dec 2006 at her place again and the final steps were supposed to be the wedding and the valima in Dec 2007.

 

As it turned out I was at a friend's place practing dance steps on "beedi jalayi le" for his mehndi when I heard that bibi had been shot. It didn't sink in at first, I just said screw it and lets keep practising. Slowly but surely the realization that the scene outside was getting bad started to creep in and then we started making some phone calls. Saba used to live really closeby and she told me that she had been on Tariq road when the news hit and how everyone had a made a mad dash for safety, the scenes were quite dramatic and she told me she didn't think anything nice was going to come out of it. She was scared and I could feel it but for some reason I was steadfast and became more and more adamant that the rukhsati was going to take place the next day no matter what. I waited it out at my frined's place for a while longer and then made my way to saba's place, where the decorations from her mayun were still up and she was sitting on her sofa in her yellow dress, head draped with her orange dupatta, melancholic, reflecting on what was to be. My saas was also putting up a brave front but I could sense her disappointment as well.

The family had pulled off 5 weddings prior to ours and the general sentiment was "why now?", "why us?" I tried to console, I tried to give everyone a sense of purpose and kept on repeating that we'll see how thing sto develop and will take a call in the morning. I somehow made it back to my place that night, which in retrospect was probably not the wisest or safest of moves but I had to get back if I was to come to pick her up the next day.

The morning brought with it fresh perspective and with very little speculation, I just started like a parrot. The wedding was going to be today come what may and I started getting everyone ready. I made a few calls to my friends to tell them to stay away, and it was going to be my trusted Cuore that would double up as my friend's accord and act as the rukhsati car. A very dear cousin of mine joined me in this foray into the burning tyre jungle and we set off as best we could as a baraat. During the whole time, I did feel as if my determination was what was holding this whole thing together, and some part inside me was wondering, should I have pushed for it or held back? maybe we should have postponed? but I couldn't let the negative thoughts enter my mind I had to stay positive.

We reached Saba's place and inside the house everything felt normal, whoever could make it from nearby did and it helped that Saba's family lived in the same building. So I had my sherwani dressing scene and wore my turban. Saba was dolled up by my little sis who did a great job, and she took her place beside me. We had our amateur photo sessions and had homemade food before the elders decided that we should leave before darkness falls, so we left just around maghrib in a cuore and a baleno with me driving the cuore and tailing the baleno ahead at breakneck speed to avoid any mobs and get back home safely.

Back home at 7pm after the Rukhsati!

  

The event itslef would have been more memorable for the right reasons had some relatives not decided to indulge in a traditional spat, but these things are unavoidable, however, because of it my only enduring memory from the rukhsati is the sight of my mother crying and all the other upset faces around. That was probably the first moment where I felt that I had done the wrong thing, I had made the wrong decision. In my haste, and selfishness, and naievety, I thought I was doing the right thing, and instead of postponing the whole thing, I went for a patched up event which left me with nothing but regrets.

Everyone had been looking forward to this day, Saba, her mother, her sister, my mother, my sisters, not to mention myself. Saba wanted to look her best, get her hair and makeup done well from a pro, my saali wanted to dress up in the suit she got made specially for the day, my mother wanted her bride to look the best amongst the others in the family and the list goes on. What did I want, I just wanted for the guy who attended every Tom, Dick and Harry's wedding over the past 7 years and brought it to life, to have his own wedding attended by all his dear friends, of which he had many (wry smile). 

Again, it would've been still chalked up to "one of those days" in the grand scheme of things, if it ended there, but it didn't. Now there was still the small case of my valima to be done, and now with the tensions in the city easing up a bit, the other 2 friends of mine still had their functions on time leaving me with absolutely no dates in between, not to mention that no wedding gardens were taking any new bookings as they were trying to sort out their messes with the back logs. We decided to put up a tent near my place on a vacant ground, so we found a wedding guy who does the decorations and the food and everything and gave him the contract. I pissed off one of my friends as my valima clashed with his wedding and so once again the full complement of my friends didn't make it to my valima as they got split between attending his or mine, and since mine was all the way in Gulshan, safety issues came in to play, but never mind, the ones who mattered showed up. But it wasn't going to be easy. On the morning of January 4th, the night of my valima, I went to the ground around 11 am to see if the work had started, it hadn't. By noon we had a couple of trucks show up with some chairs and bamboo sticks. My heart started beating again as atleast there was some action, however, it still felt a bit slow for my liking. So I called up the guy who was supposed to be in charge. No answer. After trying incessantly for a while, I went to his office at around 1:30 where I promptly got to know from one of his coworkers that they guy's father had passed away in the wee hours of that morning. I knew how Aladdin feels on his flying carpet at that time becasue it was getting a bit woozy......From that moment onwards, started the mad dash to get everything coordinated by myself. I tried to get as many contacts out of his coworkers as possible and started to call them one by one, the flowers, guy, the sofa guy, the lights man, the generator team, the waiters and so on. By 9pm (the official time for the guests to arrive) the tent had just gone up and the waiters were putting the final touches to the tables, there was still no light coz the generator team had lost their way and the electricity in my mohalla went off. I parked my Cuore up at the entrance and cranked up the headlights to full beam which made a tiny difference and worked as fast with the workers as possible.

In the end it looked as magical as it could, what with no light tower for good photographs, Saba not entirley satisfied with her hair, the sofas having exposed borders and a wobbly stage. We got through it but is that how it was supposed to be?

4 amazing years on and thats the only regret I have, for not holding out, for not having chosen to wait. Maybe I still have time to make amends, to give Saba that great event, one day IA.