O' what a tangled web we weave ...

The conspiracy theories have only just begun.

What fans them? The general lack of credibility of all people in power is one element ... but it certainly helps when, in what looks to many as an effort to clear one's tracks, representatives of those in power make one statement, modify it, make yet another that contradicts the first ... and go on doing this ad nauseum. If you add to that, in the specific case of Ms Bhutto's killing, washing away all signs of forensic evidence (in much the same manner as the Lal Masjid evidence was destroyed, as General Durrani pointed out on a TV program today), people actually begin to wonder ....

Why don't they ever learn that Truth is best is beyond me. Maybe one needs to be a liar - or, at the very least, an actor - in order to become a spokesperson for all governments. But, surely, they can afford some seasoned ones, like Corporations do.

That who killed BB will never be known (with so many people gunning for her, as I had indicated in my modified MAD cover that now seems sadly ominous) was something I was prepared to accept - having been brought up on unsolved assassinations, from Pakistan's first PM Liaquat's to American President JFK's. But that we won't know what killed her has come as a bit of a shock, thanks to the government's bungling of everything.

Soon after the occurrence of what Air Marsall Asghar Khan rightly called the most dangerous event in Pakistan's history, we were informed that BB had received 2 wounds in her head and 1 in her neck from an assassin's bullets, shortly after a blast - which some referred to as a diversionary tactic - claimed several other lives in this great tragedy.

One can understand that the first reports are never absolutely accurate, since statements are given by people who are confused and in shock at the time. Slowly, though, clearer pictures begins to emerge. So I waited until the DAWN, in cold print, gave us the official Government version:

RAWALPINDI, Dec 27: An assassin’s bullet killed Benazir Bhutto on Thursday in what the government described as a gun-and-bomb suicide attack immediately after the former prime minister had addressed an election rally of her Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) at Rawalpindi’s Liaquat Bagh park.

Also, in the same paper was a report that described how the hospital had dealt with the emergency.

A REPORT sent by the Rawalpindi General Hospital to the Health Department of the Punjab provincial government said all efforts by its doctors to revive Ms Bhutto failed and she was declared dead exactly 41 minutes after she was brought at its emergency department at 5.35pm with open wounds on her left temporal bone from which “brain matter was exuding”.

It said the PPP leader was not breathing at the time and her pulse and blood pressure “were not recordable”.

The report said “immediate resuscitation (process) was started” and she was taken to the operation theatre where the same was done by a team of doctors headed by Prof Musaddiq Khan, principal of the Rawalpindi Medical College.

“Left antrolateral thoracotomy for open cardiac massage was performed,” it said and added: “In spite of all the possible measures she could not be revived and (was) declared dead at 1816 (6.16pm) hours.”

The report said a post-mortem examination of Ms Bhutto’s body was not carried out at the hospital “because the district administration and police had not requested the hospital authorities (for this)”.

So, after more than a day of assimilating this, dispelling feelings of disbelief, and coming to terms with the horrible reality, for many people around the world (including international TV newsreaders who found it difficult to hide their incredulity) Brig. Cheema's revelations came as a total surprise, just as did Dr. Musaddiq's earlier press conference changing his own story. (I am not sure if surgeons hold such press conferences, unless "requested" to do so by the authorities).

With a straight face - and after labouring repeatedly over the fact that the government had provide Ms Bhutto with the best security possible - the obviously not-too-straight Cheema sahab informed us that BB had not been felled by a bullet, nor been hit by a pellet or piece of shrapnel. She had, he alleged, died while trying to duck back into her vehicle from the sunroof through which she had stood up and waved to the crowd, hitting her head against a lever in the process. This injury had caused a fracture that precipitated in her death. He then proceeded to show us a video of BB - courting danger, without doubt - and the sounds of the 3 gunshots and BB disappearing down the opening. Of course, the actual moment of her hitting her head on the lever was not captured on video, but that's a minor detail for him, I guess. Like much else in this pre-fab construction of the fable.

The spokesperson underscored the new theory by waving printouts of X-ray images clearly indicating the absence of any objects (bullets, pellets, ettc.) that could have caused such damage and distributed the images to all present, as if the journalists would have been instantly able to verify anything by looking at them, much less that they were, indeed, those of BB's head. And when were the X-rays taken, I wonder. Certainly not as she was brought in ... they had to start on saving her life right away ... and certainly not after she passed away, which would have been quite pointless.

Also, there were a couple of minor problems which could, in all fairness, be results of genuine misunderstandings: (1) Dawn's Update quotes him as saying, “The lever struck near her right ear and fractured her skull ...” , while the earlier medical report talks about injuries on the left side, and (2) He stated that the family had requested that no post-mortem be performed, while yesterday's press information indicated that it was not performed because the police had not requested it.

One amazing aspect of the conference was his insistence to call the tragedy an Al Qaeda engineered 'assassination'. Hello?!?!? This is no time for being facetious, but I do wonder that - with no bullet or bomb piece involved - what assassination are we talking about? Did Al Qaeda plant the lever?

Someone suggested to me, when I brought this up, that 'the explosion startled her and caused her to move in a way that led to the accident that, in turn, led to her death'. Hmmm. I wonder if a court of law would establish through this Rube Goldbergian route that the guy who caused the explosion was her 'murderer'. I mean I can understand that he could be caught for disturbing the peace, malafide intent, vaghaerah vaghaerah, but for her murder? I doubt it. I recall a cricket match in which a spectator died of a heart attack when our delightful Merry Max (whom some of the older Urdu-reading ones among you may also recall as the character, Maqsood Gho∂a, of Shafiqur Rahman's humourous books) was bowled out at 99! By this stupid reasoning Max - or even the Indian bowler - could have been charged with a crime!

But Monsieur Cheema was not done yet. He then decided to offer proof of Al Qaeda's role in the 'killing' by reading us the translation of a Pushto transcript of a conversation between a Maulvi and Baitullah Mahsood (of the Al Qaeda) that our intelligence agencies had taped. Listen to it carefully when you watch the video of Cheema sahab's conference - as soon as it finds its inevitable way to YouTube. I am unconvinced ... and my skepticism is based on the following observations:
1. Neither party mentions who has been killed.
2. They seem to be surprisingly unexcited about having assassinated someone who, to them, must certainly be a major victim.
3. Baitullah Mahsood, who must know that his calls get tracked at times, provides information about who he is staying with, risking being caught.
4. The references to a killing in that call could be to any of the several that Al Qaeda are supposed to be engaged in. Even if the call can be proved to have taken place on the same day as BB's killing, there is no reason to believe that it was to her that they were referring. After all, there'd been another attack the same day.
5. The transcript of the Mahsood tape that's been handed over in English and is now on many websites has a phrase about "killing her". The actual video recording says "killing him" ... but Cheema has 'explained' in the conference that that was a mistake the caller made because Pathans get confused when speaking about gender. Yes, they do: in Urdu! But these two were speaking in their mother tongue, Pushtu, so there should be no confusion.

Since I could only assume that all these arguments presented by Brig. Cheema - especially those that dealt with the medical examination and reports - were full of more holes than a lawn-sprinkler, I decided to ask a neighbour, my friend Dr. Shamim. Over to him!

Of interests to Diabetics during the Holiday [and, in Pakistan, also the Wedding] Season!

Dr. Barnett offers the following tips to help people with diabetes enjoy a healthful holiday season:

1. Follow a regular exercise routine to help regulate metabolism. Don't have an hour to spare? Try 10– or 15– minute brisk walks at intervals throughout the day – they all add up. Remember, after a holiday meal, to wait 60 to 90 minutes before taking your walk.

2. Eat something at home before you go to the event or party. When you're hungry, you tend to overeat and are likely to choose foods that are less healthy. Grab a piece of fruit on the way out to the party to tide you over.

3. Enjoy those special holiday foods in moderation. Pass on the everyday foods like crackers and dip. Instead, take small portions of special holiday items. A small portion is less likely to upset blood sugar levels.

4. At parties and other social events, gravitate toward the veggies and fresh fruit.

5. Make water or diet sodas your beverages of choice. If you do choose to drink alcohol, be sure to have something to eat along with it.

6. Remember to monitor your blood glucose level, and be sure you don't skip meals.

7. Take extra care to be certain that your meals are nutritious, varied and balanced. If you do have a treat, make sure you substitute it for an equivalent item in your regular menu.

8. Be positive. Remember that you control your diabetes; it doesn't control you.

An estimated one–third of those affected by diabetes go undiagnosed for several years. Symptoms of diabetes include extreme thirst, frequent urination and blurry vision from time to time. Early symptoms of the disease include unexplained weight loss or weight gain, as well as fatigue.

And bookmark this site ... it is worth referring to, frequently.

Diabetics have one track minds!

"Say something soft and sweet to me, Jughead", she said.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Marshmallows!"

Even in in a family with a hereditary (on both sides) love for sugar, my passion for it bordered on a level that, in any other case, could have put me in trouble with the Law.

And then I married Nuzhat, who, along with her brothers, also shared my psychological disorder of never being able to pass the sideboard or the tea-trolley without grabbing and gulping down a spoonful of sugar. In fact, my mother-in-law used to say that she'd given birth to ants!

I recall Eeds where 3 different types of Sivayyaañ were cooked in our house. One for visitors, who found the sweetness of our regular dish difficult to handle; one for my mother, my wife, and anyone feeling adventurous; and one for me (and for my father, when he was alive) - The Chaogünee - in which the ratio of Sugar to Vermicelli was 4:1 ... honest!

I also admit to having been guilty (in my pre-Type II days) of secretly sprinkling sugar on my portions of desserts served at friends' houses. Or, inadvertently, shocking them, as I did at my sis-in-law's house, by drinking the left-over sheera from the pot that the gulaab-jaamans had been served in.

So to end up with Diabetes (Puhleez! Excessive sugar does NOT cause Diabetes! That's one of the most common misunderstandings!!!) has been a terrible personal tragedy. Or was, in the beginning. Fortunately(?) there are enough diabetics to target as a market segment. And, thus, as one of the benefits of Capitalism, we have a host of Sugar-Free products.

But here's the most important part: The best of these come from someone who started producing the stuff, or introduced this as a line, because s/he was a diabetic and missed the erotic delights of good sweets. Everyone else delivers a bland piece of excreta with no sugar (or, more frequently, with really bad sugar substitutes). No one else can even begin to understand our need.

BTW, the idiots in a restaurant off ZamZama - I forget the name; it's a first-floor coffee shop - have no idea of the serious risk they are putting diabetics through: I asked the waiter which sugar substitute they use in the drinks they advertised as sugar-free and was informed that they "use regular sugar but do not charge for the sugar in these drinks." I swear this is true ... I have a witness!

Just in case some of you are still unaware, sugar substitutes come in two different versions. Most types cannot be used for cooking (the heat breaks them down into something that is vile-tasting and could be bad for health, too. Who knows ...). Make sure you choose the ones that clearly state that they are meant for cooking and baking.

Here are some of my favourite sugar-free thingies: Ice Creams, Banana Splits, and Milk Shakes at Gelatto Affair (be sure to try their Coffee Milk Shake with sugar-free Chocolate ice cream); Ice creams at Snoopy may also work, depending upon your taste or wallet state. BTW, Gelatto Affair is in Karachi, Lahore & Islamabad. And, of course, Chill-Out in Lahore deserves prominent mention: Their Sugar-Free Mocha and Butter Walnut are out of this world! The Delite Diet Ice-Cream tubs can, as a last resort, be used. Hico has a Vanilla that's useful for topping up other delights and mixing with mangoes.

Speaking of mangoes, they are poison for diabetics, I know. I changed my first diabetician almost immediately, because she suggested that I could have "half a mango at mealtime. " --- HALF????? I mean why bother? You either don't eat mangoes or you eat them. Them. Plural! She also said to me that for each year I skipped mangoes, I'd live two more years. Two more years without mangoes? What a daft idea! And sinful, too! Mangoes, Music, and Macs are the closest things I have to religion, really. In fact, my vision of Heaven has always been of London lined with mango trees.

Desserts (also off ZamZama) and a couple of other bakeries offer reasonable cheesecakes for diabetics. Pester them often and they'll soon add other items.

More stuff is beginning to show up on shelves at supermarkets. Some of the cookies and biscuits are really good, but you'll need to explore. Chocolates: I shall leave that to your judgement, entirely. If you are travelling, buy them abroad. The ones you get here are usually stale, frozen-defrosted-refrozen, or unknown brands that are too expensive to experiment with. And, please, if you wish to give some diabetic a gift of love, do not get Dark or Bitter Chocolates (with or without sugar): The poor soul is missing the sweetness, most of all.

As for sugar-free mithaaee, Nirala's Barfee is great and, if you are in Lahore, their Laddoos are wonderful, too. Karachiites are deprived of the latter treat for 'technical' reasons, I was told. But their gulaab-jaamans are simply unbelievable ... and better, really better, than the standard fare. Most of my non-diabetic friends prefer them. Even those not conscious of their expanding waist-lines.

There's a little corner shop on Burns Road in Karachi - next to the famous Kabab eatery recognizable by its overwhelming green colour - that sells superb sugar-free rab∂ee to which I usually add a teeny bit of milk (sweetened ;-) with sugar substitute). The milk makes it easy to have the sweetness penetrate all of the contents of a large bowl of rab∂ee. Yes! In matters of desserts, size counts.

Finally, if you are diabetic and really, really have a sweet-tooth, maybe you can drop in this Eed and taste a bit of the stunning stuff that Nuzhat still whips up for me with Splenda, including the most splendid kheer this side of the Gomti.

Additional note in response to some comments: MedicineNet's Diabetes Section is among the best sources of info on the subject. I would strongly suggest using the xml/rss feed option to make sure you are kept updated.

Take a deep breath! Block your nose and mouth. Exhale!

Damn! Now there are 3 people in my life wanting me to lay my trust in Breathing as a way to cure all diseases. The Video-CD that I have been made to watch guarantees Total Cure, for everything from Cancer to Hemorhoids. What does a Guarantee mean here? Total Cure or your disease back?

I haven't seen all the videos yet, so can't tell you if Hemorrhoid treatment will require breathing from the usual end or not.

One thing's sure: Maharaj Thandagaram, who is conducting the training on the Video, suffers from Lingual Rectitis - a not-so-rare condition among such gurus - which is caused by the sphincter and jaw muscles becoming entangled and resulting in the patient talking shit!

To be fair, he is much respected in circles that respect him, since his earlier book, pictured below, received the prestigious Deepak Chootia Award.

A gift idea!

"It goes to the heart of who we are and where we came from. Our human ancestors were still interbreeding with their chimp cousins long after first splitting from the chimpanzee lineage, a genetic study suggests."



The whole story, featured in the May 17th edition of The New Scientist, is one of many that this amazing magazine offers each week. No time to read? Here's a sample podcast from The New Scientist. Put it onto your iPod!

I have yet to come across a single issue that hasn't held me glued ... and, lest you think it's for oldies or science-buffs and geeks, my copies are constantly in demand by absolute non-science types who are less than half my age!!! Of course, you have to be Bright, Aware, and Inquisitive. So, be warned: You may be at a disadvantage if you've been through formal education which has taken the sheen off all these qualities you were born with. (To be fair, I've known even some of those to enjoy the magazine.)

So, why am I plugging the magazine? Well, it's part of my life-long passion to unzip minds. And I really think some parents should consider a year-long subscription as a gift for their kids on graduating. (They just lose those frigging expensive pens you buy them, anyway!)

And he's not even a Syed!

An Earth-Shaking Tale

This happened almost 6 weeks ago ...

A doctor friend approached me for advice on an ethical problem he was facing: A middle-aged widow, a long-time patient of his, wanted an abortion to be performed on her young, un-married daughter. In Pakistan, as in many countries, this is illegal — although the laws, despite being vague, are not as harsh as many even within Pakistan imagine due to the lack of awareness.

Note: The difficulty of spreading awareness about any matter connected with sex, without being accused of promoting promiscuity and immorality, is another widespread problem and has been a deterrent in running effective campaigns about birth control or AIDS.

Abortion is an even more difficult decision for a practising Muslim, since it is also considered sinful, as in many parts of the Christian world.

Add to this the ghastly fact in Pakistan that, if discovered, the girl would be deemed guilty of an act punishable by 100 lashes of the whip under Pakistan's controversial Hudood Ordinances.

The decision had to be taken quickly. While within the safe zone at the time, the girl was fast nearing the cut-off date, after which an abortion would be almost certain to result in complications beyond control.

The doctor, moved by the story the woman had told him, was willing to help on humanitarian grounds, despite the 'illegality'. What was bothering him, and holding him back, was the aspect of Sin. He needed to understand what Islam really said about this. Given that he is well aware of my views on such matters, I found it odd that he should have come to me for this aspect of support, but promised him that, after hearing the full case, I would give him my personal views on what I think Islam expects in such cases. But I did clarify a few things at the outset:

One: I strongly support all moves to make Abortion legal, if the reasons are sensible and valid (in the minds of the parties directly involved and/or the doctors).

Two: A woman's body is not a field to be used to fight political battles! I believe that the only person with an undeniable right to make the decision, unless incapacitated, is the woman who wants to have the abortion.

Three: Qür'anic verse[s] that are generally mis-used to oppose Abortion (and Birth-Control) do not support such a conclusion and refer to an entirely different context. I am of the opinion that Islam permits abortion under all reasonable circumstances. This view corresponds with that of many scholars of Islam. I am, of course, cognizant of the fact that certain scholars are extremely rigid about the opposite view and consider it haraam (forbidden).

Four: After years of reading, I have concluded that Muslims, are required - by their own Faith - to use ONLY the Qür'an in such matters. The Book describes itself, and no other source, as Al-Fürqaan (a word that means 'The Criterion' ... to be used to differentiate good from evil).

Five: My views on many subjects (such as Euthanasia) very often fall well outside those of the mainstream, as a result of not being burdened by any religious or sectarian thought.

(The last makes it possible for many to pre-judge all my views as being immoral or, at least , a-moral - although I consider myself to be a strongly moral person and try as hard as I can to live by my principles. Admittedly, I frequently fail.)

This is the story I was told.

The widow also has a daughter who lives happily with her husband and children outside Pakistan. On a recent visit her son-in-law stayed at her house for a few days and, finding an opportunity, raped the younger daughter (his sister-in-law). Having done so, he feigned an urgent call from his overseas employers the next day and left immediately. The girl, understandably, hid this from her mother for a couple of weeks and then, unable to bear it any more, broke down and narrated everything.

The poor Mother was torn by anguish and confusion. If she accused the son-in-law, what would it do? While it is easy to say, as advisors often do, that reports must always be filed (making it possible for the criminal to be traced and punished) if we are to rid our societies of such crime, other considerations must have intervened: The almost-definite resultant divorce of the other daughter and her ensuing misery; her two grandchildren being brought up motherless (should the court decision grant the husband the rights for whatever reason); the stories the young ones would be told as they grew up ...

The widow decided to advise her daughter to remain quiet and live with this burden ... after all, the world was a rotten place and such tragedies happened everywhere. Soon, all this would be a sad but distant memory. Time, of course, was the healer of all wounds.

But, some wounds fester with time! Life rarely conforms to a Script. And Happy Endings are not even expected of Hollywood anymore.

A few weeks later, the girl informed her mother that she was probably pregnant. Medical tests confirmed this. If things were now brought to the fore, a new set of problems would present themselves: The possible counter-accusation by the culprit, that the young girl had had an affair and was covering up the real cause of her pregnancy by blaming the brother-in-law and hoping the family would be forced to resolve this internally; the rapist's very likely claim that the young girl had always tried to seduce him and was now getting back ... The variations and possibilities were endless. And the threat of the Hudood Ordinances even more real.

The only solution I could think of: Abortion! So, I suggested that my friend consult, for greater peace of mind, the views of a few religious scholars of his own sect or preferred school of jurisprudence, but also that he never lose sight of Bertrand Russell's advice: Remember your Humanity and forget the rest.

I also advised my friend to get a gynae, one he knew well, to perform the deed. After all, as far as I was concerned, alternatives simply did not exist. All I could see in the girl's future was death, either by judicial edict or suicide. No God, I said, trying to convince him within his frame of reference, could be unhappy with him for lessening the misery of another one of His creations.

He spoke to a gynae. A staunch Muslim herself,she thought that the deed, under the circumstances, would be considered a kaaré savaab (an act worthy of the Lord's Grace). She agreed to perform the act as long as he (a surgeon) also remained in the room, thus ensuring that they were 'partners in crime'.

With the date set, my friend still decided to talk to various religious people, ranging from the garden variety of mulla to an aalim. The responses he received, shocked him. Despite the differences between what they profess on most issues, and the fact that many even consider the others to be outside the world of Islam, they all agreed that Abortion was not acceptable and was, in fact a grave sin. Even in a case involving rape!

I was less shocked than he, having known that many hold this position. The most prominent among these being Maudoodi, the founder of the Jama'até Islami.

What hit my friend hardest was that the youngest of the mullas held the most disgusting of views that even infants got raped "as part of God's greater plan. And who are we to interfere with that?" ...

(I wonder if, under this line of reasoning, all forms of medical treatment become questionable. Aren't other crimes and problems, then, also part of the same plan and should be left unchecked or unsolved? It was just this kind of ridiculousness, propagated by the Church, that led Galileo to say that he found it difficult to accept a Creator who would give humans a brain and forbid them to use it!)

The following week the ground shook beneath our feet as the Earth vomited at the thought of such people trampling upon her bosom.

Heading Home Healthy

The medical tests are over. The results are in. Thanks to the giant strides made in the world of medical sciences, we now know, without an iota of doubt, that I have been unwell! Honest; that is the unanimous verdict!!!

OK. So this is what happened: I stopped taking my daily dose of Dapsone and gorged myself on gluten-rich food. The dermatologist had expected me to break out in a rash, within 3-4 days, either confirming the earlier Dermatitis Herpetoformis diagnosis or, through yet another biopsy, delving deeper into understanding the mysterious revolution raging in my innards. A fortnight later, things are still fine. My body has not turned into what, until only a month ago, had looked like something Pixar could use for modelling the terrain in its animated version of Verne's From the Earth to the Moon.

In the Dermatologist's opinion, "Whatever it was, has gone away."

Barring the nagging fear that the ailment could have Vesuvian tendencies or, worse still, that The Creatures from Under the Skin may be lying in wait, like Saqi's Tadpoles (for those not familiar with the poem this refers to, I am reproducing it at the end of this post), I couldn't be happier. Bundu Khan, the family's favourite Karachi spot for Seekh Kabab and Paraatha has been denied me for too long. And I can also indulge in the occasional sheermaal from Burns Road (named after the Scottish poet and not for the effect its Nihaari has on one's sitting end).

So, with mixed feelings, I am heading home today. The joy of being with Nuzhat, and others close to me, as well as being surrounded by my books and music, cannot be denied. But the sadness of leaving behind unbelievably warm friends and relations - and hosts, about whom I could only write with justice if I had TT's way with words - is overwhelming. It's almost like 1947 all over again.

Kal ajab see voh gha∂ee thee … phir rahaa tha dar bah dar;
Aaj ajab saa yeh samaañ hae, jaa rahaa hooñ ghar se ghar.

If visa restrictions went away, and travel between the two countries became possible with the same ease one encounters when traversing the 'soft borders' within Europe, making it possible to spend most weekends here by driving down from across the border, I might even be tempted to take the plunge into my version of a life of hell: Living in Lahore and Driving.

By the way, the return airfare, for the 2-hour journey between Karachi & Delhi, is a ridiculously high Rs. 21,000 … which is 70% of the return airfare between Karachi & London! Can anyone explain the logic behind this to me?

On to the poem I promised.

Sher Imdad Ali's Tadpole

but
there was
in that murky dim pond
such an air
on the half-blossomed lotus
that it filled his eyes
with rainbow colours

then of course
there was
the inviting, seductive water

giving in to its magical pull
throwing off his clothes
he plunged into the stagnant water

and
got entangled in weeds.

millions of tadpoles
like soft raw headed foetuses
rushed in all directions
frightened by the clamour
of shark waves

Sher Imdad Ali
was in the water
up to his chin
the lotus of his desire
still far away

lightning flashed
and a tadpole
with the speed of a deflating balloon
slipping out of someone's hand
like the dagger tongue of a lizard
whizzed into the tunnel
of his gaping mouth

days passed
seasons changed
years went by

a voice keeps hounding him
LET ME OUT
LET ME OUT OF THIS DUNGEON

dozens of doctors surgeons
X-rays were to no avail
he changed homes cities countries
all without relief
in his blood
the same voice
ripples and tosses
LET ME OUT
LET ME OUT OF THIS DUNGEON

Sher Imdad Ali
his stolen property
taken from the water
hides in his house in fear

outside
the water lurks
and in it
like yellow pipal leaves
yellow frogs
angry bastards
lie in wait

This is Mahmood Jamal's English translation, taken from his published selection: The Penguin Book of Modern Urdu Poetry.

BUY THIS BOOK!
This plug is as much to interest you in our poetry, through this fairly representative volume, as it is to prevent Penguin, or the author, from screaming "copyright infringement".

Yet Another Health Update

Since my arrival in Delhi, I have seen several specialists — an Endocrinologist, a Dermatologist, and a Gastroenterologist — and have undergone a variety of tests, including a biopsy, and a procedure at Apollo Hospital's Department of Nuclear Medicine, which proved entertaining and educational.

The entertainment bit: The B.Sc. in Nuclear Medicine, who was administering the procedure, had a rather lilting accent. Out of curiosity I asked him where he came from? "Bhitri", he said. Having heard this name so frequently from my Maamooñ (I recall Kodarma as the only place mentioned more often) this led to a general conversation while I waited for a capsule to dissolve inside me. After 10 minutes he said he was puzzled as to why I had been educated in India, because my medical form showed my address as Pakistan. I told him that I had not studied here, or anywhere else, at all. He then asked where I had learnt to speak Hindi so fluently. Not wanting to get into a Hindi-Urdu discourse, I said, "In Pakistan." He then had me in stiches (wrong phrase for someone visiting a hospital, I realize) when he asked why Hindi was taught in Pakistan. I have left him with this information to use as he will: It's the most popular foreign language taught in the jehaadi madrassahs.

OK. Back to the update. A few results have arrived and have indicated nothing of much concern, except for a really bad stomach condition, discovered during my endoscopy, called H. pylori. This year's Nobel Prize in Medicine was awarded to its discoverers on the day I arrived here! Synchronicity or Coincidence? Anyway, if Tarun Tejpal wins the Nobel Prize someday, I can claim some equivalence (don't you just hate it when your friends are so much better than you?), by at least having had a Nobel Prizeworthy disease.

Sorry for this bit of Kathaakaari. I'll stick to the facts from now. Tests also revealed a slight thyroid problem that, subsequent tests have indicated, was a passing aberration. Treatment for the H. pylori, via a strong dosage of antibiotics, ended today and I will now be checked for its effectiveness. The diabetes is well under control. A biopsy report, on scrapings taken from my intestine, will come in next week and will govern the treatment and the duration of any further stay here or the need for a later return.

As for my earlier-diagnosed 'Gluten intolerace', the condition seems to have subsided and no fresh lesions seem to have appeared since my arrival. Under medical observation, I was asked to discontinue Dapsone and eat a variety of 'normal' foods to see what I specifically react to. I was to rush for a skin biopsy as soon as the expected lesions erupted, so that the daanaaé raaz would reveal their secrets. I was provided with strong anti-histamines to take immediately after the biopsy and, at that point, also to restart Dapsone. I lived in fear every day, keeping both medicines in my wallet (once the repository of better things). I scoured my body - on one occasion, I even did so with a magnifying glass - for the tiniest of spots to appear. Images of my earlier condition haunted me in my sleep.

I had no idea how much, more that the taste of breads, I was missing the feel and texture of all things wheat. Fondling the phulkaas each morning was a turn-on. Stroking paraathaas could have been even more so, but the local name, praañthaas , proved counterproductive for the libido. However, buttered buns, in the mornings, were pure ecstasy. Geetan peeked slyly out of her bedroom one Sunday morning — after hearing me going "Mmmnmhmm ..." at my early-dawn breakfast in the adjoining dining room — probably suspecting I was having it out with their maid. Even their generally friendly but very pschycotic dog, Astro, got off his first syllable to run in and confront me with a quizzical growl. Note: In the interest of preventing scandals in this house I have stopped bringing buns back home ... and, honest, TT, that maid's attempted suicide the following day (true, dear readers — I am not making this up!) had nothing to do with me.

So far, after a whole week of sinful "Gluteny", no signs have appeared. A Kermitian "yayyyyyyyyy" would be an excusable interjection at this point, na?

Hopefully the problem has disappeared and not just temporarily abated. Of course, it is possible that, with so many lesions in a variety of shapes sizes and colours, the 'real' problem could easily have been masked and I was/am not gluten intolerant; or was merely having a terrible, but temporary, reaction to drugs, creams, and lotions. Even to Gluten. If that was the case, I will forever regret not having gorged myself on the variety of breads, with their mind-tingling smells, during our recent South of France vaction.

Over the next week, more things than just the skin will, hopefully, be clearer — and I will be back home again, soon. (Too soon?) … The time spent in Delhi, between tests, has been truly awesome and would have been even better, but for the depression of the recent earthquake weighing heavily.

What more could I have asked for, than devouring real Dossas, Idlis and Uthapams with old seafaring friends Vipin and Mukta; being pampered by Geetan; exchanging views on books and life (generally spelt s-e-x) with Tarun; sharing family gossip over Barista's amazing coffee with workaholic niece, Sahar; 'talking tech' with Arun; discussing and listening to music with Shubha and Aneesh; and dining out with childhood friend Salma and her family. Oh, I finally managed to take a moment off and call up Rinku, to apologize for not being able to find time to get together. Discovered that she lives just a few houses away, in Soami Nagar. Will probably go out for a late night walk in the park with her and plan something interesting (I hope Shamim doesn't have to be paid royalty on the use of this word!) during our partially overlapping stay in Lahore next month.

Of course, Delhi has so much to offer on the cultural spectrum that I could live here forever and more. This is something that, for years, I had only felt about London — the city that, IMHO, only needed to add mango-tree lined avenues to rival Paradise. Today, I'd choose Delhi without batting an eyelid. Have attended an evening of Susmit Bose, India's Bob Dylan - with a passing resemblance to Pete Seeger: with a combo like that how can an activist singer not succeed! The event was arranged (and FREE for the public, as most such things are here) by Shabana Azmi, on the release of Susmit's new CD: Public Issues. Yes, Ragni, I have got you a signed copy!

The event took place at the buzzing-with-life Habitat Centre, where I might even be able to attend Yaadoñ Ke Baaraat - a celebration, through readings and music, of Josh Malihabadi's prose and poetry, unless I leave for Karachi before the 20th. But I will try to see Birju Maharaj perform at Puraana Qila, today. What I really wish I could stay back for - but Nuzhat will kill me if I do - is a Daastan-Goee session on the 23rd. Where else but in Dilli could one expect that?

And, at long last, today I will get to see "TV Doccy", niece-friend Nazli, the bubbling, running-madly-in-all-directions, wonder-woman who made this therapeutic trip possible by arranging my medical appointments with the best doctors, and constantly following up on them, despite - for a few days - being admitted to hospital herself.

Final results of the biopsy and other Hitchcockian reports arrive on Monday. Will update.

An updated Health Bulletin

As some of you know, around a month after my prostate surgery, I started suffering from some form of rash. Dermatologists and doctors continued to treat me with what (even they admitted later) were sheer guesstimates. Had they confessed their inability to diagnose matters, I may have been able to proceed to India or the West (the sum total spent on wrong medication and also lost by not working would probably be a similar amount - with much less strain).

The rash took various shapes and sizes and spread rapidly to the entire body, with itching and irritation that are impossible to describe. I would not wish them on anyone, even extremists of the ilk of Bush and Osama (who, for someone brought up on Indian movie plots, could well seem to be twins separated at birth). The lack of sleep that resulted almost drove me insane (though many would say that that condition existed prior to this ailment). A dermatologist abroad who was sent pictures of parts of my body sent me a one-word reply: Horrid! It was not accompanied by any suggestions on the medication.

I was sent in for yet another biopsy (with the accompanying unbearable suspense for my family and friends). It took the Aga Khan Lab almost 2 weeks to get back with a diagnosis that, according to the tribe of doctors I was seeing, meant nothing. It just stated: Drug Induced Intolerance. Most doctors then started looking at medication received from pre-surgery to that point in time and said none of the medicines used seemed to offer specific reasons to suspect it. One doctor did categorically suspect Amaryl2, a medicine used to control blood-sugar levels during surgery, since I am slightly diabetic (although not insulin dependent). No one else agreed. And certainly not the doctor who had prescribed it.

To give you an idea of how confusing second opinions can be, the prescribing doctor had used this on several patients and never experienced this, while the suspecting doctor said it looked like a classic case of Amaryl2 reaction!!!

The condition got to the point where 24/7 itching and subsequent lack of sleep threw my blood-sugar levels out of control and placed even greater stress (even worse for diabetes and skin conditions). Friends and family kept advising me to see other doctors (including a quack homeopath, a phrase which may sound redundant to those who do not believe in this form of therapy). No one provided even the slightest clue. And, to be honest, the homeopath did not even look half-intelligent. He listened to my tale of woe intermittently, between conversations that were already alternating between a friend on the phone and a mafiosi looking character who had dropped in and walked into his consultation room while he was supposedly examining me. He then phoned up another friend, since he could not remember what the name of the medicine he was to give me was. Risky, na?

A friend and well-known dermatologist (who had been the first to see me and been unable to get to the root of the problem) returned from a trip abroad and called to see me again. At her clinic she showed me - on her laptop screen - a series of pictures that resembled very strongly the condition my skin was in. She had found a CD-ROM of skin rash images and, through this wonder of ICT, diagnosed me as having developed (although no reason for the development has yet surfaced) a condition known as dermatitis herpetotoformis (which means: not herpes but something that only looks similar!) which had made me "gluten intolerant". This, despite the fact that a test (known as G6PD) had eliminated this possibility, perhaps due to the readings being inaccurate as a result of the variety of medicines taken earlier.

I was then put on a single tablet of Dapsone per day (along with various creams primarily to soothe the skin and a couple of antihistamines to reduce itching) and voila! The tablet has proved to be remarkable. In less than a week one could see/feel the improvement, and now, 2 weeks later, while the condition needs improvement in certain areas (particularly the shin) the body is all but entirely clear of marks, lesions, scabs. The fear of not knowing precisely what is wrong or what caused it - accompanied by a dread of relapse - persists.

Until this happened to me, like many others I have spoken to since since, I was unaware of gluten intolerance. Now I have learnt (Thank you, Google!) that this is a condition that can remain for an extended period in some, even life-long in others, and be short-lived in many if brought on as a reaction to drugs. I hope I am in the latter group, since the ailment all but stops you from eating most things you'd like to eat or drink (all forms of bread, for example; and wine. If Khayyam had suffered from this, he'd only have been left with 'Thou' ). Of the few things it does permit, I am already marked as unfit for most due to my diabetic condition. If I were a strong believer, I'd have accepted this as divine retribution for some innoccuous, harmless act, like fantasizing about Angelina Jolie. But, if that were true, half of the world's population would be suffering from this condition.

While, in the West much gluten-free stuff (including breads) and sugar-free everything is available at health stores and larger supermarkets, our countries do not provide such easy access (except for the 'sugar-free sugar' I saw advertised in a Lahore daily). The very dear Jehan Ara came to the rescue, as she always does!!! She found a few items in one of the exclusive shops in Karachi, and - though expensive - they have alleviated some of the tension associated with the terribly bland and limited meals I have had to put up with in the past two weeks. Although I must confess that the cookies she brought feel and taste like high-quality cardboard.

One of the purposes of making you read all this is to be aware of this phenomenon. In the past week I have discovered 4 people among my friends or their families, who have had this condition. And two of the 4 had it a month after surgery! Both surgeries were performed abroad, in Canada and the USA. And one was for hernia, while the other was for something much minor. Rather worrying!!! Are some of us, because of our dietary habits (or bad hospital conditions - a problem that is spread worldwide) getting more susceptible to this? Only time and research will tell. One of the 4, incidentally, has had it from birth (she is 31 now) and lives in the UK where she does have access to food but has not been able to get rid of the condition. And, I believe, she was only diagnosed after years.

As for me, I am off to France for a week on a holiday, invited by someone I respect greatly and feel close ties to: Ambassador Madanjeet Singh. Also, from Nice, I hope to be able to come back with a few gluten-free edibles (notice how my mind keeps going back to food?). And, sitting by the sea, will improve my eyesight (the nude beach is a fair distance away!)

On my return I intend to travel to Delhi, where the dermatology institute is considered excellent, and see if certain tests (unavailable in Pakistan) can provide some clues and long-term help. While seemingly on the road to recovery, there are reasons for me to suspect that a few of the lesions, which look different from the rest, could provide nastier surprises in the long run. I am keeping my fingers crescented (keeping them crossed seems risky in these days of the Mullah Military Alliance in Pakistan, since it would be considered as emulating the beliefs of Crosstianity). I am wondering, too, if an experiment with Ayurvedic medicine could provide help. Any opinions on this will be welcome.

The trip to India will be cheaper by far than trying to do this in the West, and the stay a lot easier - many friends there have volunteered to put me up. I can survive on Idli and Dossa, too :~) ... If the stay has to be long, I hope to be able to spend the free time in furthering regional ties through interaction with school or college children or by writing in the popular press (read Tehelka!).

For those of you who are inquisitive or wish to know for any other reason (provided you are not too squeamish) I can email a picture or two of what I was going through. I have not put them on my blog for aesthetic reasons.

Rash Behaviour

Those of you who are endowed with good taste presumably read my posts frequently. So you are aware that I have been suffering from a skin condition that has taken quite a while to diagnose. (Those who have not entered this blog spot earlier, can catch up on the story so far by reading 'The Seductive Quality of Leisure' among my posts of the very recent past.)

The validity of the new diagnosis is yet to be confirmed through the effectiveness of the umpteenth medication being inflicted upon me. The inside of my body feels like a battleground of viruses and antidotes, with its 3-D map, in deep reds and dark blues, displayed on my skin. I cannot help but wonder about the sense it makes (or doesn't) of going for treatment to doctors, who were responsible for this problem in the first place. Reminds me of an old maqta' of mine, although written in an entirely different context:

Deevaangi ki had hae keh jis nay diyay haeñ gham
'Alam' usee ke naam se karta hae gham ghalat … !

Meanwhile, each person informed of my predicament by my loving wife, offers a remedy that, often, if not bordering on the paranormal or outrageously weird, does make me wonder if by my willingness to try it out I am not giving in to senility. But who can fight the power of love? This time, another of Nuzhat's teacher-friends (now you know where our school kids get their insanity from) suggested that I apply a paste made up of crushed neem leaves and coconut-oil before taking a bath.

Since the treatment required that I cover myself with the paste and wait 20 minutes before a shower, Nuzhat suggested that I sit naked in my study/library and read something while listening to music. After all, being a Sunday, with no visitors or others in the house, I could trek to the bathroom without anyone seeing me in this condition. So, smelling of a cross between a Dossa and a Herbal Cake, I squatted out the waiting period on an old newspaper (carefully positioning myself so that the right portions came into contact with the beaming picture of George W), listening to Ravi Shankar's perennially stunning Maalkauns Alaap, chosen this time more for the appropriateness of its length (18'47") than for its serenity. Reading, I soon realized, was out, given that my hands were dripping with witches' brew.

In about an hour, 20 minutes passed … (trying times seem so much longer than they are, na?) … and I headed for the shower. Surprise, surprise. Just as I opened the door to step out, covered from head to toe in this moss, the maid - who had suddenly decided to pay a kindly visit to us on her day off and bring coffee for me to the study - screamed, obviously thinking she'd been 'flashed' by the Jolly Green Giant.

Suffice it to say that the pimples and rash are still there, unchanged 4 hours later, but we are minus one well-loved coffee mug and some smelling salts. Thankfully, the maid has agreed to stay on, but only after I convinced her of my not belonging to some strange nudist vegan sect.

The Seductive Quality of Leisure

Surgeon Masood Shaikh, in his usual matter-of-fact way, stated, "Your TURP surgery was successful, which means that you're now healthy and have the same chance of contracting prostate cancer as any other person." The biopsy report that came, after a suspense-laden week, was 'clear', putting many minds at peace. Even I was relieved at the knowledge, for, despite being prepared for the worst, I must admit that I felt too young to die.

The aftermath, however, has been disastrous in other medical ways, not directly related. Numerous doctors were unable to diagnose it, covered me in creams and ointments, bathed me in solutions and herbal teas, stuffed me with numerous pills and tablets, poked and punched me in unmentionable spots (hopefully for more than cheap thrills), sent me off to specialists of all sorts, and subjected me to a second biopsy (and another round of the accompanying suspense for family and friends).

In jargon, designed to sound inaccesible, the biopsy report told me what I knew only too well: I had lesions and they itched badly! But it did rule out the Big C, again! Nothing like getting another confirmation of this kind to get the spirits high. It added that my condition seemed to be a drug-induced reaction. The extreme discomfort that I have lived with, as confirmed by a new doctor at the very first look only yesterday, was caused by a specific medication (Amaryl 2) that was administered to control my diabetes during the surgery period. Well. Better late than never, as the cliché goes ... so I am now using a new set of ointments, creams and tablets. But I am confident that, this time, they'll work. [Please do not be a moron and ask me why I did not go to him in the first place!]

Because of all this, my visits to my office, b.i.t.s., became less frequent, often lasting only for the few minutes that I was needed to offer support or advice to the wonderful team that runs on ideology for fuel. I must confess that so enjoyable and seductive is this lifestyle that I, who - until recently - was proclaiming, "I am 64 and hope to be 24 next birthday", am beginning to flaunt my age around in order to convince myself and those around me that what I am looking forward to is to live a retired life.

Of course, you will not see "(Retd.)" written after my name; that's an abbreviation, in my book, for 'Retarded'. You will find it most prominently used by newly appointed heads of public sector corporations - old cronies who have retired from their life-long jobs in, generally, the armed forces. This really means that they have been asked to handle challenges they are most likely incapable of taking up --- since 'retirement' implies that they been decreed to be no longer capable of performing well even those tasks that they trained for and specialized in for 40-odd years.

What is most tempting about this semi-retired state that I find myself in? I can read and listen to music without let or hindrance, almost all day and night, if I so wish. (Sadly, I cannot say that for my other love: movie-watching - but that's another story).

I had always considered strange how we all listen repeatedly to our favourite pieces of music - serious and pop - but rarely re-read our once-loved books (other than those that duty requires). I decided to do that and see if it afforded me the same kind of pleasure that the deja vu factor in musical experience does. Well, let me state emphatically that it does! And in Spades!!! This is especially true of books that I had bought between the ages of 12-15, when I was feeding my voracious appetite for philosophy, especially my new-found agnosticism. This time around, they are affording me another kind of pleasure, for I now have the experiences of my life to test those philosophies against. In any case, the books in my collection are a reminder of the roads I mentally travelled, of the guides I chose along the way, and of the prejudices I re-arranged in my mind as I encountered new ideas.

A renewed respect, too, has emerged for people who were far ahead of their time, for their visionary statements are becoming clearer in the light of recent events and societal changes. I shall end by sharing two re-visited passages that, while certainly not the profoundest among my recent readings, will, I hope seem relevant to many:

"I have no doubt at all that we will progress industrially and otherwise, that our country will advance in science and technology ... But what I am concerned with is not merely our material progress but the quality and depth of our people. Gaining power through industrial processes, will they lose themselves in the quest of individual wealth and soft living? ... Can we combine the progress of science and technology with the progress of the mind and spirit also? We cannot be untrue to science because that represents the basic facts of life today. Still less can we be untrue to those basic principles for which we have stood through the ages. Let us then pursue our path to industrial progress with all our strength and vigour and, at the same time, remember that industrial riches without toleration, compassion, and wisdom, may well turn to dust and ashes." Jawaharlal Nehru - Addressing scientists at opening of a technology institute / 1961

"The central theme of my discussion is that I believe that one of the greatest dangers to modern sociey is the possible resurgence and expansion of the ideas of thought control; such as Hitler had, or Stalin in his time, or the Catholic religion in the Middle Ages, or the Chinese today. I think that one of the greatest dangers is that this shall increase until it encompasses all of the world." Richard Feynman - Addressing scientists at the Galileo Symposium in Italy / 1964

[Oh, and given the fact that retirement is not a lucrative business, re-reading does help reduce the expense of buying more books.]

Don't know when this post will get published. Internet services are still dead. For the record: this piece was completed at 11.54 on June 28, 2005.

Case Closed?

Terri Schiavo is dead. But fundos do not give up so easily. They'll pick another opportunity to try and make inroads into trampling personal liberties. In such evil times, Freedom needs to be guarded 24/7 !!!

It has been impossible for most people to not take sides in this sad, personal drama that the media thought exciting enough to thrust in our faces. Gratis. It did serve to remind many of us that some things are not quite black and white. I, myself, needed to feel sure that the act of pulling the feeding tubes was humane, that she felt no pain, before I could consider this a clear case of euthanasia, a view that I wholeheartedly support. A search on the web had left me no wiser; everywhere, there were two camps. Finally, a long discussion with my family doctor, a strong opponent of any form of mercy killing or suicide, under any circumstances, whether assisted or not, convinced me that this, indeed, was a case of euthanasia. Strange, the way things often work out.

For most, the case unmasked the politics behind it all when Senator De Lay referred to the courts being "out of control". (I had not been aware that courts in the USA were expected to be "under control" in the first place). And then that poor excuse for a human being, William Bennet, wrote that 'Jeb Bush should simply overrule the courts, break the law and send armed guards to insert the feeding tube by force.' Now that it is all over, we can tell Bill what he can do with the unused tubes!

The usurper-president of the United States spoke humanely when he said "it is wise to always err on the side of life". Must have been hell, for someone who feels this way, having to sign countless death warrants after mere cursory glances at review petitions, when he was the Governor of Texas.

I realize that there may be no concept of honouring a Living Will in Pakistan, especially in such a case. But I plead with my family, friends, and the family doctor, through this public platform: When the time comes, please do not put me through such torture; just let me die with dignity and with the absolute minimum of discomfort.

And, oh yes: No soyem vaghaerah, either.

The Schiavo Mess

While the senators, the president, the judges, the media, and the two families play power-games, while the religious right (which is neither religious nor right) and the neo-cons use the opportunity for furthering their political agenda, and while their opposite camps in this strange debate continue to confuse the Schiavo scenario with Euthanasia, a woman lies starving in the hospital, hopefully unaware of why she is being made to suffer.

Euthanasia, voluntary or under the decision of others (which others is a debate in itself), at least to my mind, has always meant allowing the ending of a life, quickly and painlessly, to save the patient from prolonged suffering and a severely deteriorating quality of life. 'Removal of tubes', in such a case, was understood by me and (as I understand from my recent discussions with friends) many others as the removal of life-support systems. We were obviously wrong in our assumption.

Food, I suppose, is technically a 'life-support system' (although I have never heard it referred to as such in everyday language). Deprivation of food and water in this particular case is expected to s-l-o-w-l-y starve Ms Schiavo to death over a period of 2-3 weeks! Somehow that doesn't quite strike me as a benevolent and humane way to end a life. Surely starvation will be accompanied by hunger-pangs and a painfully parched throat, never mind that Ms Schiavo will not be able to express her feelings coherently.

There is bound to be horror and dismay at this situation, muddied further by the oblique aspersions cast on her husband regarding the reasons for his insistence upon wanting her to die. This, in turn, can only swing a lot of people on the border-line of the argument from supporting Euthanasiaa in future. In fact, the blurring of the lines between the present scenario and Euthanasia, as [mis?]understood even by some of its supporters, seems to be an almost purposeful effort to confuse the issue and to enlist support of the Pro-Lifers (who, strangely, had no conscience stopping them from murdering doctors who performed abortions). Oh, and isn't it strange to see Bush's concern for the life of one woman while choreographing the killing of innocents around te world?

One fallout of the Schiavo case may also be to allow the government - seemingly driven by humane reasons - to interfere even more with what are essentially personal decisions.

Is nothing sacred?