A liberated marionette

the election results in Pakistan are to be celebrated. I would have celebrated them even more if certain folk such as women in some areas had not been disenfranchised in certain parts of the country.

From the Daily Times:

Women barred from voting in several areas

Staff Report

PESHAWAR: Electoral candidates of the provincial constituencies of PF-6, PF-7 and PF-8 disenfranchised women on Monday, claiming that Pashtun traditions did not allow women to leave their houses to vote.

A female presiding officer at the Khazana Bala polling station showed reporters an agreement written in Urdu that said, “We, the candidates for PF-8, announce a ban on women’s participation in the February 18 balloting, given that women had been barred from voting in the previous elections as well.”

The agreement carried the names of several PF-8 candidates, including former Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal information minister Asif Iqbal Daudzai. The PML-N, ANP, PPP and PML-Q candidates for NA-3 also signed it.

Similarly, women were also barred from voting at two polling stations in PF-6. A political party’s female polling agents, on condition of anonymity, told Daily Times that the candidates had verbally agreed to disallow women from voting. “We are only here to prevent women from voting, as there is an agreement barring their participating in the balloting process,” they added. Separately, through a verbal agreement, female voters of the Garhi Sherdad area were disallowed from voting in PF-7.

Panchayats (local village councils) in Mianwali and Sargodha also banned women from voting, Online reported.

What is the fear behind women voting? Ask myself a silly question, I know, but really? The song Tradition which Tevye sings from Fiddler on The Roof keeps repeating in my head. Now I am all for respecting traditions. I just want to know is the Pashtun qaum going to be any less a force if women were to vote?

It goes without saying that such decisions not only show the powerlessness of women in these areas, but they are also revealing in terms of the fear of men behind those commanding exteriors.

***

I was thinking, or trying to formulate scattered ideas into a thought the previous day, when I questioned my own cynicism regarding elections. Hope should be kept alive, change should be welcomed. . . . but it’s been a long time coming. The people did speak in Pakistan, but some were silenced, and as long as some are still silenced, change is a long time coming, and one can only hope that it is a process favoring everyone. I wish the land of my birth the very best.

***

Speaking of change, the often green outfitted, cigar puffing man who has been such a dominating presence for almost half a century in Cuba is retiring. This is a change to watch for as well. . .

***

*with apologies to ABBA*

****

I must be in some kind of funk if I am seriously considering closing this blog.

***

I hate drama when it is staring me in the face. Which is why I hate getting really angry because then the drama is just too much to bear. But I can be overly dramatic or melodramatic more times than I care to be. It is those days when I want to cut my own head off. It is those days when I want to hide away from the rest of the world until I am back to being a joker again.

One of my friends seems nervous about how much time I spend alone. Or like to spend alone. I try to reassure her that when I am alone, I am doing fun things, like reading. Watching my favorite videos on YouTube, or my favorite television series on Netflix. But I am also thinking about those things she is afraid I am thinking about. I think too much about things I should not think about. Ones I have no control over. I let loneliness take over. I convince myself that I am truly anti-social and that Oscar the Grouch is my twin. I tell myself I deserve no one and nothing. It is not self-pity, but rather something completely different.

***

Today while on the bus, I recalled this image from a few years ago. I may have been on a bus or a train rolling by the Goose Hollow stop, and I saw these two old men, bearded, staring aimlessly into space, one was seated on a bench, the other perhaps was standing. They were scraggly looking men, just staring straight ahead at God knows what. And I thought to myself, these two are Lucky and Pozzo. And they are still waiting for Godot.

***

I think I am in denial again, and if I recognize that, perhaps I am not. It is not that I am in denial about being depressed, or angry. I am trying to work it out the best way I can, on my own. I try not to let it spill into work. I try not to get upset about work, after all, I have no control over what happens. You do the best you can and you go home. I am pissed off about the politics in this land of the free. I am pissed off about family. I am pissed off that I possibly ruined the best chance I ever had of being happy. And quite frankly I do want to say I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore. (Network) For all the bloody good it will do.

Time to listen to some Earth, Wind and Fire

These men rock!

And this song by Frankie Beverly and Maze is in debt to Khalil Gibran.

As I write this, elections are taking place in Pakistan. Already there is fear of violence and rigging especially after it was discovered through a recording of a phone conversation that Qayyum sahib said something to the effect that the elections would be rigged. Kaun hai sacha kaun hai jhooTa. . . .

I can no longer find that quote on Have Your Say on bbc.co.uk but I balked when a Pakistani said something to the effect that Nawaz Sharif was the best choice for the nation because he was for an independent judiciary. An independent judiciary? Nawaz Sharif? We are talking about the man who was behind the storming of the Supreme Court. Has NS really turned around in the ten years since he did that? Will wonders never cease!

Chalo, what do I know about what is going on in Pakistan anyway?

It is good that elections are taking place. I wish there were different choices.  

Hum dekheNge - We Shall See

***

I love John Cleese. This party political broadcast for the SDP/Liberal Alliance in 1987 is rather funny, and while he is talking about British politics, parts of it pertain to parties and politics in various parts of the world, no? It is just fun to listen to him talk.

***

Update: Monday morning 5:00 a.m Pacific Time.

Voting has ended in Pakistan. I have been looking at various news sites, and the day did not go by without violence. There was one location in Sindh, in Tharparkar district where PPP supporters were not allowed to vote, and shots flew in the direction of the reporter who wanted to investigate that.

So much for free and fair elections.

Some parts of Lahore, it was slow and peaceful, other parts, a PML candidate murdered, another one’s office attacked. (link)

The atmosphere much different in the North, as well as in Baluchistan, where most parties boycotted the election.

And lest I be the blog crier here with just the bad news, this looked encouraging: Women and minorities: For the first time in Pakistan history, 180 women and nine non-Muslims are contesting direct elections. (link)

I have not watched Sesame Street in its entirety since my years in Rochester, but there are still muppets I am very attached to, and rejoice at seeing again. The Cookie Monster being one of them. NPR interviewed the Cookie Monster here and asked questions a la the Proust Questionnaire 

In lieu of rage against the machine again, I give you, Mahna Mahna.

One hot desi male has called me a bimbo for having referred to the suicide bomber in Pakistan who killed 37 and injured close to a hundred people a murderer. Not only am I a bimbo for that, but also for having questioned the usage of the term freedom fighter in connection with suicide bomber? I guess I should have kept my fingers off the keyboard for my response. Counted to a hundred. Done something other than set him off. But really, where is the “freedom” in killing people?

It would not be the first time I was called a whore or a bimbo. It certainly will not be the last. So if you think I am a bimbo for being against suicide or murder, I should wear the badge proudly, no? 

*sings bim-bo. . . .bim-bo va to the tune of Santana’s Jingo*

I reacted rather badly to him, but being the hot desi male that he is, I could not resist. But let us not talk about the dead and the dying. Let us simply rip each other apart for expressing our opinions. As if it was about us. But that is it: it is about us. It is not simply about me labeling people as murderers. Or him and his brand of Islam. This is about all of us and what matters to us as Pakistanis. Different things do matter. Supposedly “freedom” and “democracy” matter. Ramming explosives into a candidate’s office is freedom for whom? A victory where?

And then he takes the bimbo identification further as he asks me if I know anything about what is going on in Pakistan. . . . I should simply let hot desi males like him tell me who I am and what I know and do not know because as a bimbo, I should only be talking about fashion!

Got to love some of these hot desi males. . . . and their -isms schisms. May the force be with them.

On The Namesake DVD, there is a trailer for The Last King of Scotland. It is the first time I ever saw a trailer for the movie, and now I am even more convinced that as much as I love Forrest Whitaker, I will not watch the movie.

Idi Amin. In the days of Bhutto, Amin was considered to be a friend of Pakistan. It would be later that I would learn of his cruelty, to put it mildly. I was watching the trailer the other day, and this scene comes on where this Ugandan tells the young doctor something to the effect of: You must tell the world about Amin. They will listen to you. You are the white man.

That one scene reminded me of how not just Amreeka, but other governments have not listened to the Africans: Darfur, Rwanda, for a long while, South Africa. It made me think of the fact that no matter how well-intentioned Bono or George Clooney and friends are, I find it agonizing that these are the folks who are heard, if they are, over the folks whose voices truly need to be heard.

And now Bush is in Africa, and as much as I try to ignore him, I could not resist reading what he is saying in Benin.  Akh. . . who all is listening to him, who truly believe? He is the white man afterall, with whom God speaks. Africa’s well-being is in America’s national and moral interest. Okay. But then there is this piece of irony in Benin:

Your fight against corruption is visible and easy for the people to see, Bush said. This is such a good lesson … because leaders around the world have got to understand that the United States wants to partner with leaders and the people, but we’re not going to do so with people that steal money, pure and simple.

And there will be more to listen to, with difficulty, to be certain.

This has got to be one of the most popular lines in literature next to the beginning of Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities or even the Bible. (some do consider the Bible to be literature)

***

One of my favorite lines about families is from The Lion in Winter. I suppose I love it simply for the way Katherine Hepburn delivers it at a key moment in the movie: What family doesn’t have its ups and downs?

I thought about this line, and Tolstoy’s from Anna Karenina as I heard yet another sad story taking place in my extended family. It would be lovely, as we all grew older, if we had more ups than downs. Or if somehow we could balance it all out. But the scales are never equal in terms of weight. The downs, the unnecessary drama, outweigh the ups.

What is normal in a family? Is normal a relative term? I honestly do not know what normal is in a family anymore. And when I see a family where everyone gets along famously with one another, and there is no tension whatsoever, I think something is wrong. Either that, or give that family a collective Oscar for their performances.

***

Movies from our part of the world, or drama serials contain struggles within families, between father and son. Between mother and son, or the stereotyped saas bahu. And sometimes in the end, all is forgiven. Perhaps most times. Life does not mirror a Pakistani or Indian film though. Grudges are held for a lifetime. Sibling rivalries turn more into sibling enmities - if you think there is a difference between rivalry and enmity.

One of the more popular examples of struggles within families is the historical epic Mughal-e-Azam, which depicts the love story between the Mughal Prince Salim and the courtesan Anarkali. The first time I saw this, I was a teenager, and did not pick up on the sexual tension that I did later in my life, the possible rivalry between Akbar and his son. Not that I am suggesting that Akbar-e-azam (Akbar the great) had a thing for Anarkali, but there is definitely something Prithviraj Kapoor as Akbar portrays beyond his disapproval of Salim’s choice of lover. This is not one of those stories like the Yash Chopra fillums where corny stuff like Love conquers all appears at the end.

Perhaps this is not a good example because afterall, it is a story of a royal family. And as we see in The Lion In Winter, no one does dysfunction better than a royal family. But it goes without saying that royal families do not have the monopoly on dysfunction.

***

I know a number of folks who did not like The Namesake. Someone was critical of it in terms of how it portrayed culture, others simply could not relate to the experience. I had read the novel before I saw the film and I have mentioned before about how nervous I was about this being interpreted on the screen. The second time around, I thought that even though so much was missing in the film, that Mira Nair still did it justice. This was a movie inspired by loss, according to her, and while there is quite a bit of loss in the story, it ends with hope.

Kal Penn talks about how his character does not have a problem with his identity, but rather how those around him, family as well as friends want to tack an identity on him. I like how he says that being Indian as well as being American do not have to be mutually exclusive. But does that not defeat the notion certain diasporic folk have? The notion that we have one foot in one boat and one in the other, and it is hard to choose one to the point where we begin to question our identity? I had questions like that, but I believe I had questions like that, because they were imposed upon me.

The number of times I have heard, You are too Western, or You are too American, and the sound of that being insulting to my ears. I mean what the hell? I have lived in Amreeka most of my life, of course I am Amreekan. Deal with it! Why does that mean that I am any less Pakistani? Are we destined to believe that east and west can never meet, as Kipling said? Most of us do not buy into his white man’s burden, do we?

***

Our name is a key part of our identity. I had no idea I would offend my father by adding my Nana’s name to my last name. To me, it really did not change all that much of who I am. I am still my father’s daughter. And my mother’s. My father greatly respected Nanaji. Why would this be a problem for him? Why would he think that I wanted to do away with his name? The thought had occurred to me. And I would have understood his ire had I dropped the family name altogether. I saw sense and did not. I added something that already existed - I belong to another family just as much.

A friend could not understand my father’s reaction. You would have changed your name had you married. But the point is, I am not married. I am still my father’s daughter. I still carry his name. Why would I change that unless. . . .

In The Namesake, remember the discussion between Gogol and Moushumi? Moushumi does not want to change her last name from Majumdar to Ganguli. She gives all sorts of excuses, like being published under the name Moushumi Majumdar, but this is her holding on to her identity. Of not being trapped. And Gogol appears to be upset by it, but is it because he thinks changing her name does not change her? Would that not be slightly disingenuous, considering how his name has affected him?

I have gone through much of my life having a love-hate relationship with my name. Especially while I was still in Lahore. Because part of it is not “desi”.My first name is Persian. My middle name is European. My last name is the Anglicized version of a Hebrew name. I did not have to tell anyone I was a Christian in Lahore. My name took care of that for me. I do not know that I was ashamed of it. I just could not understand why Christians could not blend in with the rest of our folk and have last names like Khan, or Urducized, rather Persianized versions of biblical names like Yusaf, or Daoud.

Again, I do not know that my struggle with my name was my own, but rather one tacked on by the ideas and thoughts of those around me.

***

I had not actually connected Gogol’s and Sonia’s returning to India and the shock of it as young adults, to our shock as children returning to Pakistan until I verbalized it to Ma.

*** 

I think the Ganguli family had its problems. But they are not problems unique to an Indian-American family. As the famous quote goes: We all came out of Gogol’s Overcoat.

When we moved back to Amreeka, we moved to an area where there were few if any desis. And while we held on to remnants of our culture: language, food, clothes, we did not seek to find as many Punjabi or desi families as we could to connect with. We were never well-versed in our traditions since my parents seemed somewhat iffy in regards to cultural traditions save for one, which is actually a universal: my father was the physical head of our house, and his word was to be the final word. Talking back to parents: big no-no. Turning eighteen in Amreeka was not the huge accomplishment as long as you still lived in your father’s house. I learned from my sister who said often enough how she was eighteen and free to do what she wanted, never to say that in my parents’ house. The one time I did say it, I had no idea my father was standing right behind me, and so was blessed to hear his booming voice tell me I could get the hell out of his house. . . .

***

Ma thought that Ashoke was more understanding of what their children were going through than Ashima. I do not think that is necessarily the case. Ashoke is my favorite character in the novel, and Irrfan Khan does such a wonderful job of bringing him to life. I do not know if anyone will agree with me, but there was a point in the movie where I thought, kya casting coup mara! Kal Penn could be an older Irrfan Khan’s son.

I was glad in the end that I brought the movie home for Ma to watch. It has made her want to read the book. . . . 

Back in Portland. Had a lovely time with me mum. We watched The Namesake together, and I have to say I appreciated it more the second time around. I also liked Kal Penn more the second time around. Oh well. . . either my critical faculties are dwindling (you mean they haven’t already?!) or I am not as picky as some of my friends.

The best surprise on my birthday was actually youngest brother. He made an extra effort, effortless as it is, to make sure I got his message. I could not answer my phone right away so he left me a voice mail message and he text messaged me. How cool is that?! He was the hero of the day, even though had I spoken to him he would have been his usual annoying brotherly self.  Gosh I love him lots.

It is always hard for me to leave home, especially watching Ma watching me leave.

I do not know why I hang on to hope about things I should not hang on to hope about. Silence speaks volumes, except that sometimes it is hard to know whether the silence is lyrical or simply deafening. . . .

And now I have to go to work. . . .

I am trying to figure out where Ma’s reaction to Obama is coming from. I am not going to say it is racist, or accuse her of it because I do not think it is. I think she wants more than rousing speeches and she simply is not looking past that. At first I was a little disturbed by her reaction, but now I just listen and laugh.

The other day she referred to him as The Obama Business.

Ma, his name is Barack Obama, not The Obama Business!

I know what his name is, and I will call him whatever I want. I could hear the cheeky grin in her voice as she spoke.

***

I was sitting in a bar the previous week, watching CNN muted, thank goodness, but reading the captions whenever I could. Anderson Cooper had a panel of folks talk about the Democratic campaign. One of them, a young woman talked about how she thought it was interesting that Obama rarely invoked the name of his father, who was an immigrant, or did not engage too much in the topic of immigration. Already, he is aware of the things being said about him, about him being Muslim. I heard someone I know say that Obama was Muslim, and that was the reason he would not vote for him. Bloody hell!

***

It is still curious to me that Obama won Idaho. I guess my perception of Idaho all these years I have lived right next door to her has been wrong. There are definitely some parts of Idaho, you do not want to be traveling through as a person of color other than a whiter shade of pale. Those are the parts where folk most likely did not vote Democratic or Obama. . . duh!  

He has swept Washington, which does not surprise me, and I think he most likely will win in Oregon. Our governor has endorsed Clinton. Hmmm. Earl Blumenauer, one of our Congressional representatives, on the other hand has endorsed Obama. But all he talks about when he gives his reasons is a new voice. How new is the new voice? It is all about change. And change = new, right? That is what we are all caught up in right now, the winds of change. His theme song should be Winds of Change by the Bee Gees. The army, or reserves used that in one of their ads once. Love the song, not the army.

***

Before there was Kurt Cobain and Nirvana, before Pearl Jam, before Stone Temple Pilots, Green Day, Smashing Pumpkins, etcetera etcetera etcetera, there was, and still is Neil Young. As I leave you folks for a few days, I leave you with this: hope your valentine whoever he or she is, has a heart of gold. As for me. . . well. . . .

There are days when I get all excited, like pao bhangra and say oho aha at the sight of my blog stats. To think that some of you actually read this bakwaas, but then I wonder how come no one ever comments and makes their presence known.

I look further down on the page and see how many spam comments I have been protected from, and my question is answered. Spammers seem to like me best. . . but I don’t like spam. The story of me life. . . . *bashing violin like The Who used to bash their guitars. Bechara* (the violin, not me)