I could probably say that I have come to Karachi with three curiousities. I want to learn who Anant was, how Islam is, and what Pakistan will be.
For the first few days here I had my questions at the top of my dome for my Nani-Ma. It’s like they have been locked in a vault for a decade awaiting the key master (”Are you the key master?” “Yes, I’m a friend of his.”- Ghostbusters just for pops). We would be sitting in the morning, drinking chai, and I would blurt, “Was Anant a socialist?” And she would answer, “Yes. Until the end. Partition greatly hurt him. He, more than anyone wanted to see a unified India. But I think socialism is dead.”

A former student of my Nani-ma’s, Sadia, took me for lunch my second day in Karachi. We grubbed some Chicken Mahkani, Chicken Tikka Masala, and a lot of nan. As we are devouring the savory goodness and talking about South Asian history, she tells me with ultimate conviction,”There would have been unification, but Gandhi said that Muslims could not practice Islam in India.”
To which I said, “Whaaaat!?”
Then I had dinner with some folks who knew Anant a night later and I told them what this girl had said to me. This guy almost dropped his fork in shock. “That’s not true. No. It was Nehru’s power trip. Nehru had to be Prime Minister and he didn’t want to give any power to Jinnah. It was because of Nehru that there was partition.”
To which I sat and listened…
You’d think that there would be one straightforward answer to some of history’s great questions. Why was India divided into sections with Independence? Why did the U.S. intervene in Vietnam? Why did we invade Iraq? But I guess these are tough questions and various answers gain greater credibility in different areas and time periods.
One of my pet peeves is when someone gives me false information…especially when they tell me with a fist-stomping-the-table-attitude. I was in San Diego with a friend a couple years ago and a foreigner asked him, “How do I get to highway 8?” My friend bluntly answers, “There is no highway 8.” I had just moved to town and was unware of anything but “the 5″, so I went along with it. But I found out later, that there is indeed an important highway numbered 8. My buddy had already lived and driven in the town for a couple years and I was dumbfounded at how he didn’t know of the highway and how he told the guy with such undoubtful truth in his language.
I asked another friend about a year a go: (I feel like she’d kill me if I gave her name away, so I won’t. She is a Shia-Muslim from Iran) “What percentage of Iraq is Shi’a?” She replied “10%.”
So I figured “Huh, I guess the Shi’as have no way of obtaining a majority with a democratic election. I could have sworn they were two-thirds of the country though.”
Later that evening I was doing my nightly SD-WC politic chopping with my pops on the phone and I said, “Well, Iraq is only 10% Shi’a, so they won’t grab power with elections.”
“No, my son. You are mistaken. Iraq’s Shi’a constitute 60% of the population.”
To which I said, “Whaaaat!?”
The next day I stormed in on my friend and blew up at her. I probably overreacted, but I was so furious to have been misinformed. This has caused me to be weary at times over spreading sketchy information that I’m not 100% sure of. I usually hesitate when explaining things because I’m often not 100% sure… so I say things with a bit of apprehension. I hate this…but I think I prefer it to the arrogant “I know I’m right, as I look down upon you” manner that some people use.
I still like to trust what people say…but I guess I gotta do my homework in addition.

Categories: Indian Odyssey, Politiking, Thoughts as of late...
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In the spring of 03′ I took a course for Third World Studies called “Islam and the Modern World”. During its duration, I realized how interested I was in the religion, its teachings, and for it being an anti-western idealogy, like Marxism. Sure, socialism and islamism have many flaws in their current states, but they both provide an alternate route from consumerism, capitalism, westerization, and materialism.

Each morning at 6:00a.m. in Karachi, I awaken half-way to the AZAN from the nearby mosque. AZAN is the call made by the Muezzin to summon Muslims to pray five time daily. It’s been incredible to see the piety expressed by people over the past few days. A deep piety that is rooted in a spiritual grounding. In the late afternoons I have sat and watched the cook do her prayers. The concentration and meaning that she puts forth as her forehead touches the ground each time, going back to child’s pose. As she whispers the prayers, I feel how deeply involved and dedicated she is with this daily ritual. I admire this.

I want to read the Qu’ran and understand why over a billion and a half people in our planet revere this text. Why is it so beautiful and why is it said to be so prefect? Like my grandfather, Anant, I find some beauty in all religions and I’m not sure if I will ever profess to strictly one. I like to say that I am agnostic, but we’ll see where I end up… I am currently reading “The Meaning of the Qu’ran”- By S. Abdul A’la Maududi. Muslims must read the Qu’ran in Arabic (as it was originally spoken by Muhammad) in order to interpret it’s fullest, most powerful meaning. But many Muslims speak and read another language: Urdu, Farsi, Russian, etc etc… Therefore, in order to grasp its full meaning, most Muslims read the Qu’ran in Arabic, which they do not understand. Hmmmm…
My Nani-ma said that she too was one of those people reading the Qu’ran without understanding the meaning, until she met Anant, who knew it inside out. “It was Anant who helped me truly understand the Qu’ran.”

My Grandfather grew up in Kerala, India where he was born into a Brahmin family- Brahmins are members of the Hindu priestly caste. He was force-fed their teachings and so he dismissed its qualities early on. When he was seven, he visited the Haji Ali mosque in Bombay and asked to be converted to Islam. He was fascinated by the people and its religion, more-so than the hierarchical system of the Hindus. Despite his intrigue with Islam, his first wife was Catholic. His love for his family had been forsaken by Islam? And his fascination with Islam had been taken over by his love for an English woman named Daphne? Perhaps… I’ll discuss his life more in another post, right now we’re just talking about Islam in Karachi.

I saw a French opera the other night with some friends of Anant’s: Moen and his wife, Marish. The following evening we went to a play funded by the British council. The issue that the play discussed was “Honor Killings” and the goal was to raise awareness and provoke discussion regarding it.
Wikipedia describes Honor killing “as the practice of males killing their female relatives or spouses when the female relative or spouse is considered to have damaged the family honor through unwarranted sexual activity. The males involved in the sexual activity, which might have been a rape, are not adversely affected, in general. The execution is considered to be a private matter within the affected family; rarely do non-family members or the courts become involved.”
“Islamic law prescribes severe punishments for zina’ (extramarital sex) by both men and women; premarital sex may be punished by up to 100 lashes, while adultery is punishable by stoning. The act must however be attested by at least four witnesses of good character, punishments are reserved to the legal authorities, and false accusations are themselves punished severely. The term “honor killing” refers specifically to extra-legal punishment by the family against the woman, and as such is forbidden by the sharia.”
“Interpretations of these rules vary. Some Arabs regard it as their right under both tradition and sharia (by the process of al-urf), though this contradicts the views of the vast majority of Islamic scholars (fuqaha). Ayatollah Ali Khamenei of Iran has condemned the practice as “un-Islamic”, though the punishment under Iranian law remains lenient. In Indonesia, the world’s largest Muslim country, honor killings are unknown, as also in Muslim parts of West Africa. According to Sheikh Atiyyah Saqr, former head of the al-Azhar University Fatwa Committee (one of the oldest and most prestigious in the Muslim world):
“Like all other religions, Islam strictly prohibits murder and killing without legal justification. Allah, Most High, says, “Whoso slayeth a believer of set purpose, his reward is Hell for ever. Allah is wroth against him and He hath cursed him and prepared for him an awful doom.” (An-Nisa’: 93) The so-called “honor killing” is based on ignorance and disregard of morals and laws, which cannot be abolished except by disciplinary punishments.”[4]
After the play finished, audience members got in line to comment and question the actors on the material and of the details regarding honor killings. This was intense. Most people gave their point of view, which was more-or-less on the side that “Honor killings are bad. Do away with them.”
But one guy stood up and said, “Well, its very political. You must account for the politics of this and why this is happening to women.”
This got an already emotional old lady to stand in tears, shouting “Don’t mix women and politics!” From there she rambled in an emotional rage and people had to eventually grab the mic from her hand like a bad freestyler who thinks he/she can flow well. People were definitley passionate about the topic and had strong opinions about its current state and legitamacy.
All in all I was impressed with the Urdu play. I couldn’t believe how progressive the Muslims were in Pakistan. Ouch…Yes, I was making a mistake. I was thinking that these elite, progressive Muslims of Karachi, were the Muslims in all of Pakistan. It was analagous to living in the San Francisco Bay Area and thinking that these like-minded individuals spoke for the United States. I would have to make a better observation and analysis later.

Categories: Cultura, Indian Odyssey, Thoughts as of late...
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1) It seems like most people who inhabit an area know very little of its core or periphery. For example, most of us young folks from the Dub-C East Bay Area, wouldn’t be able to take someone through San Francisco-From North Beach, to the warf, on to the Mission, up to Haight, and back without getting lost. Okay, maybe that’s just me…But I think it’s just been in the last couple years that a handful of us have made the effort to try and befriend one of the best cities on the planet, while others nearby choose to stray. Example number two, is when I stayed with a homestay family in Salamanca, Espana for 3 months. The parents whom were in their forties hadn’t been anywhere in Spain- Barcelona, Sevilla, Portugal- which was only two hours from Salamanca!! I mean how does this happen? How do people get so comfortable in their surroundings that they have no interest in exploring or knowing their home?
Example number three is Bombay. Especially so…because here in India and Pakistan anyone who has a decent lifestyle has a servant/maid, cook, and driver. This means that the driver takes them to and from their destination in air-conditioned luxury. They (anonymous) aren’t able to express any detail when someone asks them about Bombay and its intricacies.
Lucky for me, I meet someone like Mister Phillip- a fifty-year old Serbian man in the petro-chemical business who lived in Bombay for 8 years a while back. “Taizun and I will be going far down under after all the environmental damage we’ve caused in our lifetimes,” he laughs. I had lunch with him and my Uncle Taizun’s secretaries and he was hysterical. Lots of stories and very animated. After lunch, I was planning on going into Colaba…Mister Phillip said he was heading that way and that we could walk there together…From Horniman Circle we cruised…he knew Colaba inside-out… it was like taking a guided tour of a college campus. “This is the Church of England, but was renamed Church of India after independence. These lads are selling generic perfume in designer bottles. The guy who just sold me this pack of cigarettes would have given me a cheaper tabacco if I didn’t speak Hindi. Indian girls don’t want American guys. If they are seen with an American, then everyone thinks they are a slut. If an Indian guy has an American, then he is macho.” Keep going my friend. We talked about Serbian politics, Indian society, and his life all over a couple pints at Leopolds. “This is a Parsi establishment. You know that right?” He was fascinated by the Parsi culture and he was much more versed in its history and tradition. “The Parsis will die because there are so few of them and the marriage rules are too strict. They should change this.” Why so you can convert?

2) A girl named Suchi. You know those people who are usually of the opposite sex and who have an incredibly sassy, spunky, sarcastic, energetic sense of self? The people you can instantly joke around with. I love those people. Although since sarcasm is usually at the foundation of the relationship, its hard to dig beneath that towards sincerity. Or so some have told me…
She is a good friend of Melissa’s (my aunt’s daughter) and I met her my first night in Bombay. She was singing to songs on the car radio and yapping away about this and that. I later played her a track by Annie called “Heartbeat” and she was dancing and playing it over and over again. “How did you know I would like that song. That is a great track! Music, I love music. When I hear good music I feel like I can do anything!” Whoa. A couple days later she steals my hat, thinking that I am nice enough to give it to her…Well, she has still has it, but I better get it back. “It’s not everyday you meet someone so similar. It’s so great. I mean, you and I we are the same. What’s the word I’m looking for?..ummm…NOTORIOUS, yeah.”
“Notorious? I don’t think that’s the right word,” I replied.
“Yes, notorious,” Suchi says.
“Okay.”

Categories: Cultura, Indian Odyssey, Thoughts as of late...
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I was last in India when I was 12, for my Navjote. This the first-communion-like ceremony for the Zoroastrian religion. It was at the Grand Hotel in Calcutta where I recited a half hour of prayers for a couple hundred people…and that was one of the last times that I ever did recite them. I recall now that I hadn’t even memorized the copious amount of prayers, but the Dustergee (priest) whom I recited them along with, had such a powerful voice, that he drowned my soft, shy voice before the crowd of people. This allowed me to get through the ceremony without any sort of embarrassment. There’s a number of other memories I have of the country…but after just stepping off the plane in the early morning, I found the most cherished one. Taking a deep breath of the Indian air for me is refreshing. Yes, its polluted and hazy, but this aspect along with so many other entities that are considered filthy are the things I really like about India and other developing countries.
I have missed this smell. Since I was 12, the only time I have gotten a nice wiff of it has been when my grandmother comes into town. No, its not her B.O. It’s when she opens her luggage up and out pops that filthy-sweet smell that knocks me back about two feet. Filthy-sweet. I’m not sure how else to describe it. But I do know it was something I was thinking about before coming here and something I was yearning to smell again.
I knew that my Aunt’s driver would be picking me up with my name on a sign. After, the guy stamped my passport and gave me the traditional Indian grin with nod to the side, I saw the guy with the sign, and I gave him a wink and a smile.
Even just driving home to my Aunt’s house, it all seemed so vaguely familiar. My senses have been so awakened since coming here. Bombay is Juhu and Cowpatty beach. Its Bandra and Colaba along with so many other bubbling, thriving spots. It’s auto-rickshaws honking profusely at the pedestrians and bicyclists, whom are barely managing to meander their way through th lanes or scurry across the street…usually to miss getting nabbed by mere centimetres. It’s the infrastructure that makes Bombay beautiful. The congestion, traffic, floods of people, and how it all seems to barely work out in the end. They say that if you can drive in Bombay, you can drive anywhere in the world. A guy I met recently added, “If you can drive in Ahmedabad and Calcutta, you can drive anywhere in the universe.”
So much contradiction, poverty, diversity, income disparity, and contrasts. It all adds up to the creation of the intense beauty of being caught in the grips of this fascinating city.
I thought that this American Desi would stick out like a bloody, sore thumb, amongst neatly manicured fingers, but if I keep my mouth shut it’s not quite the case in thi s modern metropolis. But I don’t keep my mouth shut normally. I almost find myself being very proud that I have this American accent and I feel happy with a cahnce to display it. I try not to judge others, but at times I do feel some sort of superiority- this usually doesn’t occur towards the poor, but at the rich, hip youth of Bombay. My first night in town, Melissa (my Uncle Taizun and Aunt Perveen’s daughter) took me to a hookah bar-coffee shop. The guys are quite fashionable with their hip haircuts and apt to the latest style of the States, while the ladies are astonishingly breathtaking period. Simply unbelievable. Whether in tight fitted jeans to show off their figure or in the traditional, vibrantly colored salvakameeses- I am equally in awe of either. You can say that I’ve been a tad deprived of the Indian woman, while I’ve lived the first twenty-two years of my life in Walnut Creek. What did we have like five Indians maybe out of a population of 1,200 at Las Lomas?
The café seen has sprouted up like no other in Bombay over the past few years. Small chains like “Barista”, “Mocha”, and “Café Coffee Day” are on corners of happenin’ parts of town and young people flock there as if a Bollywood star is expected to be there. No, there will be cameo appearances tonight- it’s a place to be seen for some “coffee and conversation”, as one of the slogans go

Friday morning I awoke alert at 7a.m., ready for the day. I did some yoga and push-ups on the cool marble floor of my room, and told my Aunt I was going for a run on the beach. Today, was Eid, a holiday for the nation and a celebration for Muslims. The beach was already alive with activity: kids playing soccer and cricket, adults out for a walk or jog, and behl puri or paratha vendors getting prepared for the day.
A reoccurring theme for over the past few years, is that when I move from home I feel inspired to exercise, do yoga, and my thoughts flow more fluidly. All of this initially, as my consistency in most endeavors seems to gradually dwindle.
There’s a lot more sociological analysis of Bombay to come along with some other thoughts…perhaps when I return here next week.

Categories: Indian Odyssey, Nostalgic commentary, Thoughts as of late...
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On the plane, listening to The Unicorns- one of the new aquisitions from Timmy Lee. He threw some of his latest offerings onto my iTunes, via his Ipod, a couple days ago. But I’m a little irate right now that I forgot a couple albums by another band that I was digging- I think their name is Mirah?
This aircraft departed SFO around noon30 and is filled to about 1/3 capacity. A complete row being enjoyed by myself, the Wall Street Journal, some beats, and pad and pen.

So what happened over the weekend?…besides me running errands on the daily, Friday thru Sunday.
On Friday evening my sister Rochelle came back home from Santa Barbara. We grabbed a pitched of I.P.A. at Pinky’s Pizza, finding pleasure in just kicking back and chillin…like right now-
I finally feel the boulders from my shoulders completely lifted. I just put The Album Leaf’s “In a Safe Place” (courtesy of Reuel) into my discman. I saw them open for Pinback, a month back at Bimbo’s in North Beach and I recall hearing half their set with Nina and Lara thinking, “This is melodic and chill…I like this.” There’s that melancholic, introspective mood that intrumental artists like Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, and Boards of Canada evoke that I really love. But DJ Shadow’s “Endtroducing”, Miles’ “Kind a Blue”, and the music from “Amelie” have to be my favorite albums to write or study to.

So Rochelle and I polished off our last gulps, giving me the slight buzz I was seeking before heading to San Jose to pick up my Uncle Brian. While I was doing this, Roch would be waiting to snag Roy (another uncle, but who prefers not to be refered by as such) from the BART station.

By the time 1 a.m. rolled around, we were all back home grubbing on some Chicken Stroganoff and laughing away the early morning in the kitchen with dad and mom (and yes, she did get a surprise). Roy, if you would care to share the details of how you surprised Mom while she was sleeping, please do so.

Saturday was a morning and afternoon of preparation, an evening of stressing, and a night of partying. I forgot to remind a couple folks that the time of the function had changed- so three peeps showed up around 6. Oops. But it was the family friends I had invited, but had not informed my dad about, that threw him for a tailspin. He said, “You, me, garage, now.” I nodded and followed him down the hall, to the garage where he spoke bluntly. “You’ve invited too many people. There’s not enough food. As far as I’m concerned, you and I are done. You’re on your own tonight.” My reaction was calm and collected, though I too was worried that my lack of organization was going to backfire. I knew I had screwed up, but was definitley not willing to admit any sort of fault yet. You know how that is right?
“Look, everyone is going to have a great time tonight. If you don’t, then it’s your problem, not anyone elses.”
There were a number of people who had undergone hardships in 2004- Separation from a spouse after 35 years, death of a son…Thus there was the potential of some somber energy being brought to a lively atmosphere. But my perspective on that was opposite. These people are interesting, good people and I am providing a space for them to enjoy themselves amongst my parents’ animated, sparkling friends. Indeed, I do feel it were these folks that made the night.
As the beer and wine flowed, Rochelle & a few of my mother’s friends pulled together to ensure that appetizers and dinner were taken care of. I scurried to a neighbor’s house, whom I had spoken to in years (and ended up talking with her longer than I ever would have), to grb some more wine glasses.
The lamb biryani, lamb curry, tandoori chicken, Gordon’s appetizers, and so much other delicious food left people going back for fifths while ranting and raving. Soon after people finished dinner, the dancing started. Patrick, Alana, Stella, Eddie, Ali, Ashley, Sheila, Ruxana, Abi, my pops, sis, mom, and myself. It was happenin’! It was probably the first time I had felt comfortable dancing at my home or at almost any other occasion with my ‘rents. The abundance 0f Pyramid Hefeweizens and no dinner for myself (partly because of the fear of food shortage) might explain the case partly. A highlight had to have been when I put on US3’s “Cantaloop”. This track came out when I was about 16 and became one of the few tracks early on that bridged the music tastes of my father and I. The steady-jazzy beat with trumpets and saxaphones, along with the fluid flow of the lyricist, make this track one of the best hip-hop songs of the 90s. This song was followed by The Roots’ “Seed 2.0 with Cody Chestnutt which enjoyed equal love by the dance party.

To say that the party was a success, is to put it mildly. When at least five peeps come up to you saying “This was the best party I’ve ever been to. The variety of people and ages! Great job!” It was definitley a special evening.

I have felt a little exhausted with the question “What are you going to do in India?” It’s almost as bad as the “What are you going to do after college?” or “What are you going to do with that (Third World Studies degree)? But I have been truly touched by people’s warm regards, excitement for me, and even their envy. A handful feel so happy, that they say “I feel like I’m coming with you.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that for someone else.

I’ve been working a Global Exchange and Park Day School now for about four months (mid September-mid January). After struggling to find niches in both environments, I’ve found the connections established with some people to be quite incredble. I had thought that I would be in and out of both atmospheres without any sadness in leaving or any solid relationships with anyone. I’m happy this was not the case. And I’m happy my pops and everyone had a great time at the party. Happy birthday Mom and thanks for finally ENJOYING a surprise!

Categories: Thoughts as of late...
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If you ever have 6 hours to kill at an airport, Singapore is the place to do it at. I’ve seen Singapore before, many years ago with my folks (and I’ll be stopping here for three days on my way back to the States in June). I think it just slipped my mind regarding how advanced these people are and how much on the cutting edge of convenience, technology, and cleanliness they are. My dad made a comment yesterday before I left that, “It’s amazing that an island in the South China Sea, with only 4 million inhabitants, has one of the best airlines in the world. Why is that? And India, with over one billion doesn’t have one decent one.” I agree. What’s up with that. It seems to be one of the many cases in India, where nationalization has stunted any competition or growth.
I’ll post my airplane journey- written in my journal- after I get settled into Bombay, where the temperature is looking to be a cool 87 degrees for the weekend.

Categories: Thoughts as of late...
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So I was going to start this off with something completely different, but after the evenings latest occurence, I must spill what just happened.
I’m leaving for India on a little five month expedition in 4 days…meaning I am racking my nerves, trying to figure out last minute items I need, people I want to call, etc…its a good feeling knowing that I am leaving with no strings, commitments, or attachments behind.
The other event that is going on is that I am throwing my mother a surprise 50th birthday party on Saturday (in two days). I should be banned from throwing parties. When I decide that I am the host of any sort of gathering, I ensure that every person with any amount of personal contact (glares included) with myself gets invited. You can bet that I have had some ragers over the years. For example, Senior year homecoming dance+parents overseas= a bash!! So, when I decided to have a party for my mom, I did some major calling, oh yes I did. What’s the result now? Her brother from Iowa and her cousin from Virginia are both flying into Oakland tomorrow evening. So you can bet that I’ve been excited regarding the chances for a successful surprise party.
Well, I’m chatting with my friend Lara on the phone with my room door closed, perousing through nostalgic slideshows on my computer, and I hear my dad yell my name “Raaaaayvaz!” The phone simultaneously disconnected with Lara, and I left the room to seek what this yell was regarding. I walk into my parents room where it is dark and only my father is laying in bed. My mother is downstairs. He says in a low, stern voice, “Your mother heard you talking on the phone. She heard you say ‘my two uncles are coming tomorrow’. You have a big mouth.”
What?!? I wanted to slap myself. Damnit. After being able to keep a secret and be so excited about it for weeks, I had spilled the beans a day before their arrival. She had somehow heard me. I could have sworn I had whispered it softly over the phone while my room was closed. Shucks. I decided to go downstairs and do some computer biz with a Death Cab for Cutie’s “Transatlanticism” album in my hand. Sitting down I was anxiously awaiting my mother’s appearance and interrogation. It came…
“Tell me what’s going on. Are Brian and Roy coming tomorrow? I hate surprises, please just tell me. Look at me. The house is a mess. I won’t be able to handle it if they are here and the house is like this. What’s going on Saturday night?”
I tried as hard as I could to tell my mom that she had misheard what I said on the phone and that was talking preposterously. I had my usual grin on my face. Even when I’m not guilty of a “crime”, throughout my childhood, I can’t help but grin or laugh…which makes me look like an even bigger culprit. But I think it benefited me this time. I was somewhat able to laugh it off like she was crazy. I think she’s on to it though. We’ll see how it all goes down this weekend. Although the party is Saturday night, my uncles fly in tomorrow. My dad and I had decided earlier that they would come over tomorrow night, instead of grabbing a hotel and just killing time for 24 hours before the par-lay. This would ease the shock for my mom for Saturday (actually, probably give it away), allow us all to have more time together, and not force them into wasting ducats on a hotel. We’ll see how everything goes down…

Categories: Thoughts as of late...
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