By Arooj Kohli of 2nd Year:
TO THE WIND:
Do you still wander upon his doorstep softly creaking the wooden stairs below?
Does your breeze still rustle the leaves on the tree in his front yard?
Or do you playfully jostle the swing set that his father so enthusiastically set up for him?
Perhaps your whirlwinds of air still race across the sleek exterior of his car?
Or just before rainfall your air mingled with dirt sneaks into the crevices of the windshield paying homage to the medical sticker brazenly sitting above?
Do your swift blows still seek to accompany his father’s fingers running through his young child’s soft hair?
Or do they recoil in sorrow knowing no further birthdays will need their help in blowing out the festive candles of yesterday?
Does your current run alongside the funeral procession as he once ran in youth when you aided him into his father’s wide-open arms?
Or do you linger at the edges of the wooden casket fearing lest you whisk him too quickly from his father?
Is your ailing heart so filled with grief that you do not move to dry his father’s tear-stained face?
Or is it paralyzed with despair at being doomed to loiter upon his gravestone never to reunite the father to his son again?
Dedicated to our Dear Sir Javed Aslam whose son died in the blast yesterday on Friday, May 28, 2010. May God grant him paradise and give peace and consolation to his family. Ameen.
TO THE WIND:
Do you still wander upon his doorstep softly creaking the wooden stairs below?
Does your breeze still rustle the leaves on the tree in his front yard?
Or do you playfully jostle the swing set that his father so enthusiastically set up for him?
Perhaps your whirlwinds of air still race across the sleek exterior of his car?
Or just before rainfall your air mingled with dirt sneaks into the crevices of the windshield paying homage to the medical sticker brazenly sitting above?
Do your swift blows still seek to accompany his father’s fingers running through his young child’s soft hair?
Or do they recoil in sorrow knowing no further birthdays will need their help in blowing out the festive candles of yesterday?
Does your current run alongside the funeral procession as he once ran in youth when you aided him into his father’s wide-open arms?
Or do you linger at the edges of the wooden casket fearing lest you whisk him too quickly from his father?
Is your ailing heart so filled with grief that you do not move to dry his father’s tear-stained face?
Or is it paralyzed with despair at being doomed to loiter upon his gravestone never to reunite the father to his son again?
Dedicated to our Dear Sir Javed Aslam whose son died in the blast yesterday on Friday, May 28, 2010. May God grant him paradise and give peace and consolation to his family. Ameen.
I am glad to announce that the results of Pakistan Blog Awards have been declared, and I have won the Best Individual Blogger award for my personal blog A Myth in Creation! :D
I have never seen a bigger procrastinator! Yes dear reader, it’s I who I am talking about. Every day since the inception of this blog, I have been willing myself to cough up a para or so of my own to contribute to the well-publicized blog as the charts said that writing for the blog will all of a sudden change me from the dull boring personality I am to a sensational and witty, full of acumen wonder girl. But I just could not sit down and jot down (or rather type in) the clamorous thoughts of my otherwise quite fecund brain into a beautiful symphony of words that would outclass anything else written for the blog… (I am always impressed by how much egotistical, self-obsessed snobs can human beings be!)
For starters, (it’s my sheer hope that this entry will lead to hundreds of others too:p) I will ramble on about my ultimate kemcolian experiences… lo and behold! I have always been a strong supporter of the idea that there are first-timers in life that you don’t enjoy at the moment but afterwards you look upon them with such an affection that forces you to dissolve into teary laughs. For the crème-de-la-crème of the nation the first-timers mostly revolve around the hitherto inexperienced insults during vivas and failures in the written tests; shunting out of the lecture theatres for crimes committed by a devilish, sneaky, next-seat-student; thwarted in practicals by the frogs and the cadavers in the dissection hours; banging of the door against your sensitive nose with the declaration that you were not wanted in the so-and-so class, practial, viva, tutorial etcetera etcetera. But how so often these may occur and how so unforgettable these may be, they do not make to the top slot of the ultimate kemcolian experiences. The ultimacy resides in the fact that the events that I enlist here are not academic but strictly extra-curricular. I still remember the time vividly when I applied to the post of class representative in the debating society and I was whooping inside with glee for having submitted the CV without arising any suspicions among my friends, and was bursting with pleasure as I reveled in the thought that no one, I repeat, NO ONE, other than me would have seen the notice board. I do not know where the naiveté bore into me but I thought that miraculously no one else would have seen the notice board other than me… confidence upon over-confidence I say! But on the day of the interview, (as I supported my best attire in the false belief that the interview will be a world-class, close to diplomatic, official discussion, in which other than revealing the pearls of my wisdom I will be required to make an APPEARANCE ;) ) I found out that there were other people too who not only look at the notice board to see their reflection but also care to check what is displayed. My first ultimate kemcolian experience and my realization: “PEOPLE OTHER THAN YOU CARE TO CHECK NOTICE BOARD TOO!”
Next ultimate kemcolian experience came with the tide of the events in the blooming spring. One after the other, short video competition, drama, story writing competition, intercollegiate events, sports, funfair and so on into the wee summer months came the inter-class declamation competition. I was blind-folded by the previous record of my abilities and what I failed to see was that this time it was the kemcrowd that I would be facing. Anyone who had been once to the declamation competition need not be explained what happened afterwards. The next kemcolian experience and the realization: “ WHEN YOU ARE AT KEMU, IT’S KEMCOLIANS YOU SHOULD FEAR AT THE DEBATES AND DAMN THE JUDGES”
Was that the yawn I just saw? Now see it’s not very flattering to see someone yawning over your write-up! I would rather have you swooning over it because of the uniqueness and ingenuity of the material, the wit of the writer, so forth… but yawning is not “whats I s likes!” (Now go on guessing whom I imitated in adding the extra s-es!)
For your sake I will begin to be short and conclusive… the ultimate kemcolian experiences also encompass the first ever visit and then daily ritualistic visits to oh-so-famous-but-not-so-scrumptuous-al-karim, the dash across the patiala stairs in heavy downpour with the friends, hang man and Pac man competitions in kemcaana, the threatening proxy escapades, umbrella shopping in baking sun, the palpitations in send-up and profs, waiting together for the prof viva turns… it’s strange how you come close to the people whom you never bothered to greet during normal days, and it’s so sweet how you develop so much in the critical hour amongst you fellows, and it’s so befitting how we come together to become the esprit-de-corps and then remain so when the threats are over. The ultimate kemcolian experiences are those of bitter-sweet memories and emotions, of friends and friendship, of mistakes , apologies and laughs, I am lucky to have got this all from this alma mater. I can just look forward with eagerness to what comes next in the 70 percent of my med education yet left!
(If my write-up falls short of your idea of beautiful, coherent symphony of words then I must tell you that these hostel computer lab chairs have khatmal in them and currently as you read this I am supporting red itch some blisters on the back of the thigh. So consider it a blessing that I even came this far in coherency! You would not have been able to type a single sentence gracing this horrible seat :p )
For starters, (it’s my sheer hope that this entry will lead to hundreds of others too:p) I will ramble on about my ultimate kemcolian experiences… lo and behold! I have always been a strong supporter of the idea that there are first-timers in life that you don’t enjoy at the moment but afterwards you look upon them with such an affection that forces you to dissolve into teary laughs. For the crème-de-la-crème of the nation the first-timers mostly revolve around the hitherto inexperienced insults during vivas and failures in the written tests; shunting out of the lecture theatres for crimes committed by a devilish, sneaky, next-seat-student; thwarted in practicals by the frogs and the cadavers in the dissection hours; banging of the door against your sensitive nose with the declaration that you were not wanted in the so-and-so class, practial, viva, tutorial etcetera etcetera. But how so often these may occur and how so unforgettable these may be, they do not make to the top slot of the ultimate kemcolian experiences. The ultimacy resides in the fact that the events that I enlist here are not academic but strictly extra-curricular. I still remember the time vividly when I applied to the post of class representative in the debating society and I was whooping inside with glee for having submitted the CV without arising any suspicions among my friends, and was bursting with pleasure as I reveled in the thought that no one, I repeat, NO ONE, other than me would have seen the notice board. I do not know where the naiveté bore into me but I thought that miraculously no one else would have seen the notice board other than me… confidence upon over-confidence I say! But on the day of the interview, (as I supported my best attire in the false belief that the interview will be a world-class, close to diplomatic, official discussion, in which other than revealing the pearls of my wisdom I will be required to make an APPEARANCE ;) ) I found out that there were other people too who not only look at the notice board to see their reflection but also care to check what is displayed. My first ultimate kemcolian experience and my realization: “PEOPLE OTHER THAN YOU CARE TO CHECK NOTICE BOARD TOO!”
Next ultimate kemcolian experience came with the tide of the events in the blooming spring. One after the other, short video competition, drama, story writing competition, intercollegiate events, sports, funfair and so on into the wee summer months came the inter-class declamation competition. I was blind-folded by the previous record of my abilities and what I failed to see was that this time it was the kemcrowd that I would be facing. Anyone who had been once to the declamation competition need not be explained what happened afterwards. The next kemcolian experience and the realization: “ WHEN YOU ARE AT KEMU, IT’S KEMCOLIANS YOU SHOULD FEAR AT THE DEBATES AND DAMN THE JUDGES”
Was that the yawn I just saw? Now see it’s not very flattering to see someone yawning over your write-up! I would rather have you swooning over it because of the uniqueness and ingenuity of the material, the wit of the writer, so forth… but yawning is not “whats I s likes!” (Now go on guessing whom I imitated in adding the extra s-es!)
For your sake I will begin to be short and conclusive… the ultimate kemcolian experiences also encompass the first ever visit and then daily ritualistic visits to oh-so-famous-but-not-so-scrumptuous-al-karim, the dash across the patiala stairs in heavy downpour with the friends, hang man and Pac man competitions in kemcaana, the threatening proxy escapades, umbrella shopping in baking sun, the palpitations in send-up and profs, waiting together for the prof viva turns… it’s strange how you come close to the people whom you never bothered to greet during normal days, and it’s so sweet how you develop so much in the critical hour amongst you fellows, and it’s so befitting how we come together to become the esprit-de-corps and then remain so when the threats are over. The ultimate kemcolian experiences are those of bitter-sweet memories and emotions, of friends and friendship, of mistakes , apologies and laughs, I am lucky to have got this all from this alma mater. I can just look forward with eagerness to what comes next in the 70 percent of my med education yet left!
(If my write-up falls short of your idea of beautiful, coherent symphony of words then I must tell you that these hostel computer lab chairs have khatmal in them and currently as you read this I am supporting red itch some blisters on the back of the thigh. So consider it a blessing that I even came this far in coherency! You would not have been able to type a single sentence gracing this horrible seat :p )
(Click to enlarge)
By Shakeel Ahmad Tabish from 3rd year.
I hate hypocrites.........Yes I hate hypocrisy and those who are hypocrite either to themselves or others. I do not understand why people deny the things they do in their routine or even despise them. Why be so hypocrite?
They do things in their private lives and deny them openly in front of other fellow beings. I have such anger against them that i can not put it into words. Why not be true to your self and others? why not stand for what you believe in? Why not publicly accept the things we do or used to do? why not be a bit more honest to ourselves and others? Why not?
Probably because they are cowards. They do not have the courage to be different. It requires a lot of will and vigour to choose a path that is opposite or even a bit different from others because common lot follows blindly the path chosen for them by others and does not even try to give it a thought why they are following it or what would they get by following it.
Today an incident happened that made me loose my wits and go mad. A certain person, I would call him Mr. X for the sake of anonymity, chided me at being a staunch supporter of a certain thought or belief. He scorned me for my belief in that thought. And the most strange thing or i would rather say ironic thing is that i personally know Mr. X and he himself carries out the same act that I openly admit.
That is how we humans behave. We are pathetic losers. I feel pity for those guys. Who are they bluffing? No one except themselves, it is self conceit. It seems and appears pleasant but it is the demise of character. But then again who needs character? This is a world in which true inner self or real character does not matter at all: the thing that matters is what you project as your image to the society.
This is what we all do and believe in, superficiality. we believe in appearances, superficiality, our virtual avatars that project into the materialistic society. That is what has become of our race and civilization and we consider this the height of civilization
So in our philosophy: the more mean, ruthless, selfish, proud, materialistic, pompous you become; the more successful you become and you are at the peak of civilizations' progress.
It looks like funny but our economy and society is based on these very principles; the golden principles of this civilization. We do not teach those things to our children but when they grow old they learn the essentials either from society or from their surroundings or their families.
THE VERY BASIS OF OUR SOCIETY
I hate hypocrites.........Yes I hate hypocrisy and those who are hypocrite either to themselves or others. I do not understand why people deny the things they do in their routine or even despise them. Why be so hypocrite?
They do things in their private lives and deny them openly in front of other fellow beings. I have such anger against them that i can not put it into words. Why not be true to your self and others? why not stand for what you believe in? Why not publicly accept the things we do or used to do? why not be a bit more honest to ourselves and others? Why not?
Probably because they are cowards. They do not have the courage to be different. It requires a lot of will and vigour to choose a path that is opposite or even a bit different from others because common lot follows blindly the path chosen for them by others and does not even try to give it a thought why they are following it or what would they get by following it.
Today an incident happened that made me loose my wits and go mad. A certain person, I would call him Mr. X for the sake of anonymity, chided me at being a staunch supporter of a certain thought or belief. He scorned me for my belief in that thought. And the most strange thing or i would rather say ironic thing is that i personally know Mr. X and he himself carries out the same act that I openly admit.
That is how we humans behave. We are pathetic losers. I feel pity for those guys. Who are they bluffing? No one except themselves, it is self conceit. It seems and appears pleasant but it is the demise of character. But then again who needs character? This is a world in which true inner self or real character does not matter at all: the thing that matters is what you project as your image to the society.
This is what we all do and believe in, superficiality. we believe in appearances, superficiality, our virtual avatars that project into the materialistic society. That is what has become of our race and civilization and we consider this the height of civilization
So in our philosophy: the more mean, ruthless, selfish, proud, materialistic, pompous you become; the more successful you become and you are at the peak of civilizations' progress.
It looks like funny but our economy and society is based on these very principles; the golden principles of this civilization. We do not teach those things to our children but when they grow old they learn the essentials either from society or from their surroundings or their families.
It was 4 o’clockish. I was comfortably settled on a rug in front of our tele today watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy (uhhh not that I’m a die-hard-fan-who-can’t-LIVE-without-watching-every-epi of Grey’s, House and Bones when they’re on *ignore the loud cough and as if! snigger from my sis who’s reading this) –when I felt this really weird feeling…
*****
You know there are definitely some characteristics that you can’t help inheriting. Certain knacks that you get all cause of your genes. Being a member of the uhh ‘Butt bradary’, I surely have some Buttishness about my genes. Whoever has the word ‘Butt’ as a part of their name, would agree with me, that the ‘thing’ common in us, adored by us, enjoyed the most by us, the ‘thing’ that for generations has featured as one of the most prime parts of all our lives is- F.o.o.d.
*****
And so there on my rug, the restlessness that I felt was the queasiness of the decade upon decade, generation upon generation-long trained Butt genes inside me… they sensed it…they felt it… somewhere food, better described (in Oliver!) as food, glorious food was being smelled, tasted, EATEN!!! So though my eyes and mind were focused on how screwed up a life Meredith Grey always has, yet my queasy genes had their nucleic eyes and minds on the tantalizing chicken wings, warm brown rice and hot curry, icy cold drinks and crunchy gol gappay presently being enjoyed by ‘certain someones’ in Windmill**. Sigh…
*****
Reading how incredibly great the food was (and how much fun they had…yep they really were RUBBING IT IN…) via messages from Fatima, Iqra and Faiza** I got up for lunch. I treated my annoyed taste buds to some mom-made rice (admittedly yummy as always) with a chocolate bar at the end to sort of make up for the treat they’d missed. The time will come, I tell 'em, when we’ll have our revenge. All those ‘someones’ better watch out; for from this day forth every sandwich, every shawarma, every coke bottle they touch, every gol gappay plate they lay their eyes on… will be forever endangered. Beware… yes YOU bursting with Windmill food…bewaaaaaare!!! ;D
**This writer has a mortal fear of lawyers. So any names if related to actual people are PURELY COINCIDENTAL. The writer will not be held responsible if such a circumstance arises. Hehehehehe ;P ;P
*****
You know there are definitely some characteristics that you can’t help inheriting. Certain knacks that you get all cause of your genes. Being a member of the uhh ‘Butt bradary’, I surely have some Buttishness about my genes. Whoever has the word ‘Butt’ as a part of their name, would agree with me, that the ‘thing’ common in us, adored by us, enjoyed the most by us, the ‘thing’ that for generations has featured as one of the most prime parts of all our lives is- F.o.o.d.
*****
And so there on my rug, the restlessness that I felt was the queasiness of the decade upon decade, generation upon generation-long trained Butt genes inside me… they sensed it…they felt it… somewhere food, better described (in Oliver!) as food, glorious food was being smelled, tasted, EATEN!!! So though my eyes and mind were focused on how screwed up a life Meredith Grey always has, yet my queasy genes had their nucleic eyes and minds on the tantalizing chicken wings, warm brown rice and hot curry, icy cold drinks and crunchy gol gappay presently being enjoyed by ‘certain someones’ in Windmill**. Sigh…
*****
Reading how incredibly great the food was (and how much fun they had…yep they really were RUBBING IT IN…) via messages from Fatima, Iqra and Faiza** I got up for lunch. I treated my annoyed taste buds to some mom-made rice (admittedly yummy as always) with a chocolate bar at the end to sort of make up for the treat they’d missed. The time will come, I tell 'em, when we’ll have our revenge. All those ‘someones’ better watch out; for from this day forth every sandwich, every shawarma, every coke bottle they touch, every gol gappay plate they lay their eyes on… will be forever endangered. Beware… yes YOU bursting with Windmill food…bewaaaaaare!!! ;D
**This writer has a mortal fear of lawyers. So any names if related to actual people are PURELY COINCIDENTAL. The writer will not be held responsible if such a circumstance arises. Hehehehehe ;P ;P
I've never given my clothes to a Tailor. I have a 'Darzan', or Seamstress, if you will. Her name is Rani.
Now Rani happened to have an angina attack two days ago. She called me after returning from the DHQ emergency, and told me she'd wanted to come to Mayo, but couldn't. I sympathized with her, and reassured her that if she ever needed me, she could call me and I'd do whatever I could to help.
Which is why I saw her number flashing on my cell phone while I was attending the Gastroenterology Conference: Rani was sitting outside the Mayo Emergency, and would I please come there?
As it turns out, Rani had been having mild chest pain again since morning, and so she decided to pop into the Emergency.
I was confused.
Quite so.
Because despite spending 4 years at KE and Mayo, I had never, EVER seen the inside and workings of a hospital in a capacity other than that of a carefree med student. Most certainly not as a patient or an attendant. And so I didn't know where to start from, or what to do.
Should I take Rani to the OPD, or the Emergency? Her condition wasn't serious at all. I decided to ask somebody: preferably an HO, and a nice looking one, who wouldn't laugh at my stupidity. Incidentally, the OPD was closed, so I was directed to get Rani a 'parchee' in the Emergency.
Now, I'd seen patient parchees scores of times. But as far as I was concerned, the parchees probably just poofed themselves into existence. I found out that there was an entire world of long lines and curt staff and jaded patients and general mismanagement to maneuver through.
I had a vague notion that if I just marched up to the front of the winding, jostling line of patients and announced that I was a Doctor (or a student, since I don’t feel comfortable with calling myself a doctor-at least yet), the teeming masses would part like the Red Sea, and things would go smoothly from then onwards. And so I did. It was pretty cool to see how I could get my way. And I wasn't even wearing an overall.
Unsure of what exactly to do next, I just decided to cash in on the line that had just worked wonders for me: 'I'm a Student, and this is my patient...' And so the HOs looked Rani up and down, and the ECG-wala smiled and made small talk: Was I a student? Would I wait a few moments till those other patients got done? First one, then another, then the huffing babaji, then the irritable old woman. The nagging thought crept into my mind that if I acted haughty and busy, and made a scene, I wouldn't have to wait in line. After all, I was a Doctor...and what would Rani think? That I had no influence here? But I just smiled and reassured the ECG-wala that it was OK.
As Rani was being ECG'd, two women shoved past and stood in front of me, blocking my way. They'd come for an ECG too.
'Aap zara side pe ho jain gi?', I asked.
The older woman looked me up and then looked me down and then growled something incoherent.
'Kia?' I said.
'Changay kapray paay nay, ais lay?!?'
For a moment, I was stunned, and at a loss for words.
Then, as anger welled up in me, I retorted the only half truth that came to mind: 'Me yahan Doctor hun!'
'O! Acha! Mai sadqay jawan! Sao Bismillah!'
I edged away in annoyance as she began stroking my head...
Rani was as fit as a fiddle. Her ECG was fine, so was her blood pressure. She was advised a pain killer, and as I walked out with her, I couldn't help thinking that the only reason she had shown up here today was because I'd promised to help.
I explained that she was fine. Muscle aches, heartburn, and even tension could have caused her pain. That she should modify her diet a bit, and get exercise: it relieves stress too.
Yes, she told me, she had been very upset the past few days. A sick, unemployed husband. Household tensions. Money matters.
But then she poured out a stream of duas and blessings. Success. Happiness. Everything I wanted in life.
She seemed genuinely relieved. Lighter. Healthier. Knowing that nothing was wrong with her heart probably put the smile back on her weary face.
And so, I told myself, maybe this wasn’t an entire waste of time. Rani got her health back. And I was slightly wiser and richer than when I stepped into the Emergency today.
Now Rani happened to have an angina attack two days ago. She called me after returning from the DHQ emergency, and told me she'd wanted to come to Mayo, but couldn't. I sympathized with her, and reassured her that if she ever needed me, she could call me and I'd do whatever I could to help.
Which is why I saw her number flashing on my cell phone while I was attending the Gastroenterology Conference: Rani was sitting outside the Mayo Emergency, and would I please come there?
As it turns out, Rani had been having mild chest pain again since morning, and so she decided to pop into the Emergency.
I was confused.
Quite so.
Because despite spending 4 years at KE and Mayo, I had never, EVER seen the inside and workings of a hospital in a capacity other than that of a carefree med student. Most certainly not as a patient or an attendant. And so I didn't know where to start from, or what to do.
Should I take Rani to the OPD, or the Emergency? Her condition wasn't serious at all. I decided to ask somebody: preferably an HO, and a nice looking one, who wouldn't laugh at my stupidity. Incidentally, the OPD was closed, so I was directed to get Rani a 'parchee' in the Emergency.
Now, I'd seen patient parchees scores of times. But as far as I was concerned, the parchees probably just poofed themselves into existence. I found out that there was an entire world of long lines and curt staff and jaded patients and general mismanagement to maneuver through.
I had a vague notion that if I just marched up to the front of the winding, jostling line of patients and announced that I was a Doctor (or a student, since I don’t feel comfortable with calling myself a doctor-at least yet), the teeming masses would part like the Red Sea, and things would go smoothly from then onwards. And so I did. It was pretty cool to see how I could get my way. And I wasn't even wearing an overall.
Unsure of what exactly to do next, I just decided to cash in on the line that had just worked wonders for me: 'I'm a Student, and this is my patient...' And so the HOs looked Rani up and down, and the ECG-wala smiled and made small talk: Was I a student? Would I wait a few moments till those other patients got done? First one, then another, then the huffing babaji, then the irritable old woman. The nagging thought crept into my mind that if I acted haughty and busy, and made a scene, I wouldn't have to wait in line. After all, I was a Doctor...and what would Rani think? That I had no influence here? But I just smiled and reassured the ECG-wala that it was OK.
As Rani was being ECG'd, two women shoved past and stood in front of me, blocking my way. They'd come for an ECG too.
'Aap zara side pe ho jain gi?', I asked.
The older woman looked me up and then looked me down and then growled something incoherent.
'Kia?' I said.
'Changay kapray paay nay, ais lay?!?'
For a moment, I was stunned, and at a loss for words.
Then, as anger welled up in me, I retorted the only half truth that came to mind: 'Me yahan Doctor hun!'
'O! Acha! Mai sadqay jawan! Sao Bismillah!'
I edged away in annoyance as she began stroking my head...
Rani was as fit as a fiddle. Her ECG was fine, so was her blood pressure. She was advised a pain killer, and as I walked out with her, I couldn't help thinking that the only reason she had shown up here today was because I'd promised to help.
I explained that she was fine. Muscle aches, heartburn, and even tension could have caused her pain. That she should modify her diet a bit, and get exercise: it relieves stress too.
Yes, she told me, she had been very upset the past few days. A sick, unemployed husband. Household tensions. Money matters.
But then she poured out a stream of duas and blessings. Success. Happiness. Everything I wanted in life.
She seemed genuinely relieved. Lighter. Healthier. Knowing that nothing was wrong with her heart probably put the smile back on her weary face.
And so, I told myself, maybe this wasn’t an entire waste of time. Rani got her health back. And I was slightly wiser and richer than when I stepped into the Emergency today.
By Raza-ul Mohsin of 2nd Year
Yesterday was a day of fun and frustration. Like the last year the hostel authorities again succeeded in ragging us .The students didn’t agree to their ragging and did a mock demonstration at the hostel office. Student representatives were chosen who talked to the authorities, but the authorities failed to convince them. Slogans were chanted. A resolution was passed that nobody will participate in this allotment and so the hostel authorities had to postpone the allotment. The demonstration was fun but inside everyone was frustrated. Those were the moments when I really missed the peace of being at home.
Many day scholars get fascinated about hostel life when they hear hostellites telling them their "full time masti non-stop fun” activities. But things when seen from far always look beautiful .The reality is always very real and not so beautiful.
Being at short distance from college with no surveillance from parents and the freedom to do whatever and whenever you want are attracting features of hostel life.
Living in hostel is a great learning experience .You learn to be independent, you make your own decisions and bear their outcomes all by yourself. You learn to manage yourself, your activities and studies. You learn to take care about and do things that at home you take for granted e.g. washing your clothes, keeping up your room and doing the dishes.
But there is a dark side of every story.
While you are in hostel there is always a constant base line tension, the difference you feel the moment you reach your home. Being, a short distance away from university the sense of being at university remains intact. Things making you feel comfortable are few. The environment is competitive. You see people studying all the time in their rooms and reading- rooms. You have to deal with a great variety of people including those who annoy you a lot. IF you dare to study at the time when other people are not studying you are tagged as a theta and in future you are bullied on permanent basis. The food given in mess makes your appetite run away. You can’t sleep at night or study during exams if your neighbor decides to have fun using woofers and cries out songs in beautifully annoying voice. In off days when you can’t go to home and are stranded in hostel it becomes very boring. So people go here and there to minimize this sense boredom. But the city seems to have only a few recreational places for students and you ultimately get bored by going to same places over and over again. All these things with the feeling of being away from your family and missing the family fun moments make you feel the true importance of being at home which day-scholars obviously take for granted
As Ghalib said ask a patient if you want to know the importance of health. Similarly living in a hostel teaches you to cherish the experience of being at home. The moment you reach your home and see your parents and siblings all the tension gets soothed. Your appetite returns and you forget the worries about the university things. All the depressive thoughts vanish. You can study peacefully without worrying and getting depressed of what other will say and how much others are studying. You can have the food of your want and you know that your mother will not let you sleep without making you eat breakfast. At night when you are unable to sleep instead of changing sides on your mattress you can go and watch television or read a book without having to worry to wake others by switching on the lights. In the end you don’t have to worry about anything including changing your room every year when you feel settled in the previous ones and bear the annoying attitude of hostel authorities.
Yesterday was a day of fun and frustration. Like the last year the hostel authorities again succeeded in ragging us .The students didn’t agree to their ragging and did a mock demonstration at the hostel office. Student representatives were chosen who talked to the authorities, but the authorities failed to convince them. Slogans were chanted. A resolution was passed that nobody will participate in this allotment and so the hostel authorities had to postpone the allotment. The demonstration was fun but inside everyone was frustrated. Those were the moments when I really missed the peace of being at home.
Many day scholars get fascinated about hostel life when they hear hostellites telling them their "full time masti non-stop fun” activities. But things when seen from far always look beautiful .The reality is always very real and not so beautiful.
Being at short distance from college with no surveillance from parents and the freedom to do whatever and whenever you want are attracting features of hostel life.
Living in hostel is a great learning experience .You learn to be independent, you make your own decisions and bear their outcomes all by yourself. You learn to manage yourself, your activities and studies. You learn to take care about and do things that at home you take for granted e.g. washing your clothes, keeping up your room and doing the dishes.
But there is a dark side of every story.
While you are in hostel there is always a constant base line tension, the difference you feel the moment you reach your home. Being, a short distance away from university the sense of being at university remains intact. Things making you feel comfortable are few. The environment is competitive. You see people studying all the time in their rooms and reading- rooms. You have to deal with a great variety of people including those who annoy you a lot. IF you dare to study at the time when other people are not studying you are tagged as a theta and in future you are bullied on permanent basis. The food given in mess makes your appetite run away. You can’t sleep at night or study during exams if your neighbor decides to have fun using woofers and cries out songs in beautifully annoying voice. In off days when you can’t go to home and are stranded in hostel it becomes very boring. So people go here and there to minimize this sense boredom. But the city seems to have only a few recreational places for students and you ultimately get bored by going to same places over and over again. All these things with the feeling of being away from your family and missing the family fun moments make you feel the true importance of being at home which day-scholars obviously take for granted
As Ghalib said ask a patient if you want to know the importance of health. Similarly living in a hostel teaches you to cherish the experience of being at home. The moment you reach your home and see your parents and siblings all the tension gets soothed. Your appetite returns and you forget the worries about the university things. All the depressive thoughts vanish. You can study peacefully without worrying and getting depressed of what other will say and how much others are studying. You can have the food of your want and you know that your mother will not let you sleep without making you eat breakfast. At night when you are unable to sleep instead of changing sides on your mattress you can go and watch television or read a book without having to worry to wake others by switching on the lights. In the end you don’t have to worry about anything including changing your room every year when you feel settled in the previous ones and bear the annoying attitude of hostel authorities.
By Ihtisham Tahir of 2nd Year.
The Heart
The wide world of the heart is like a maze but no matter how much the paths look like a hotchpotch, they lead to four regions; not atria and ventricles but hell, heaven, self and graveyard.
Hell is for our hatred, ,jealousy and other such bad habits and wicked things. It is the store-house of the destructive ideas (for oneself and the world as well). Heaven is the place where God lives. Graveyard is the region where we bury things like faults of others, our desires, our sorrows etc.Self is the birth place of our desires and wishes and actually it is the master part. It controls the state of other parts. It can ignite the fire in hell as well as put it out. Similarly the entrance door of heaven of heart is under its control. As far as the graveyard is concerned, it can be empty and can also have graves in it. Again it depends upon the 'self'. But an important thing to be noted is that all these areas have infinite space to expand especially hell and graveyard. One can become a monster in him/herself if the hell continues to spread. Otherwise he/she can be the most contented person if his/her graveyard spreads all the time turning his life into its best form. So don't hesitate and feel bad in forgiving others. You are actually taking advantage for yourself in such a case.
There is a court inside us as well. Its called ''conscience'' but it is not a part of heart. It is like a guard, watching over our heart all the time and telling us which part of heart is dominating and is it right that this part dominates or not. This is the part that thinks. Actually it is directly controlled by Allah. So it means that Allah guides us all the time. He puts the information about the right path in our conscience which we consider as ''thoughts''. So feel free to follow these commands and reach your destination through the shortest path.
The Heart
The wide world of the heart is like a maze but no matter how much the paths look like a hotchpotch, they lead to four regions; not atria and ventricles but hell, heaven, self and graveyard.
Hell is for our hatred, ,jealousy and other such bad habits and wicked things. It is the store-house of the destructive ideas (for oneself and the world as well). Heaven is the place where God lives. Graveyard is the region where we bury things like faults of others, our desires, our sorrows etc.Self is the birth place of our desires and wishes and actually it is the master part. It controls the state of other parts. It can ignite the fire in hell as well as put it out. Similarly the entrance door of heaven of heart is under its control. As far as the graveyard is concerned, it can be empty and can also have graves in it. Again it depends upon the 'self'. But an important thing to be noted is that all these areas have infinite space to expand especially hell and graveyard. One can become a monster in him/herself if the hell continues to spread. Otherwise he/she can be the most contented person if his/her graveyard spreads all the time turning his life into its best form. So don't hesitate and feel bad in forgiving others. You are actually taking advantage for yourself in such a case.
There is a court inside us as well. Its called ''conscience'' but it is not a part of heart. It is like a guard, watching over our heart all the time and telling us which part of heart is dominating and is it right that this part dominates or not. This is the part that thinks. Actually it is directly controlled by Allah. So it means that Allah guides us all the time. He puts the information about the right path in our conscience which we consider as ''thoughts''. So feel free to follow these commands and reach your destination through the shortest path.
Yes, We Rock! :)
Photographers:
Remisha Zahid
Talha Saleem
Remisha Zahid
Talha Saleem
KELS Intercollegiate Mastermind Quiz Competition reported in Daily Times.
A Case of Tangled Spaghetti
“Their cause I plead – plead it in heart and mind…”
At the risk of sounding pathetically gluttonous, I have to admit that I seldom think of anything with more earnestness than food. It turns me on, the wholesome goodness of a fine meal.
So it also pains me when things to eat are subjected to unwarranted injustice.
Exhibit A: the spaghetti abuse during the five days of bake sale.
From the 12th century to the era of Lady Gaga and iPad and from Southern Italy to our Pharma Lawn; pasta has come a long away. It is a story of unvarying popularity that very few icons have achieved. I won’t raise my eyebrows if someday Time magazine puts pasta/spaghetti in the same list that contains Beatles, Marilyn Monroe, Mother Teresa. Or Jesus.
You’d think how someone can go wrong with pasta! And I’d roll my eyes and make a ‘duh’ face and say ‘In a thousand unsplendid ways!’
Spaghetti/pasta’s shape would influence cooking time, consistency, ability to hold sauce, ease of eating. So certain shapes are better suited for certain recipes. You just should not try to stir fry fettuccine into a Chinese style chow mein sauce.
Al dente as professional chef would call out – soft , but with texture: that’s what your pasta has to be like. It should split open a story on your palate. Doughy is fine. Leathery is OK. Chewy is good. Slippery would pass. But soggy and limp; you might as well add some boiled daal into it, make khichrhi and donate it to the purging, diarrheal kids in Paeds ward.
There’s a world beyond soy sauce and vinegar. That world is red. It’s tomato sauce and simple Italian herbs. Or it can turn white. Cheese! So you see, Americans are proud of their bucketful of fried chicken. Just the way Japanese own sushi. British: fish and chips. So I have a strong notion that along with Sophia Loren and Ferrari, the Italians would also be possessive about these twines of dough. And take my word for it; dried oregano leaves would never let you down.
But you know what. My unyielding love for food took a backseat this week. I am just too afraid of human nature. It has become so strong from the milk of human kindness. And kindness was what we all saw in abundance at the bake-sales, no? It was kindness that you all made and brought food, bearing all the expense, time and energy and for no profit of your own! And I would like to believe that it was kindness (and not greed) that made me try out and relish every single sort of spaghetti.
So take away the spices and herbs and delicacies. But give me kindness. And to that kindness add a scoop of kindness. And add a hundred scoops more. A thousand to that hundred. And upsize the thousand to a million.
And when that’s done, let’s be kind afresh. As when we’d first begun.
“Their cause I plead – plead it in heart and mind…”
At the risk of sounding pathetically gluttonous, I have to admit that I seldom think of anything with more earnestness than food. It turns me on, the wholesome goodness of a fine meal.
So it also pains me when things to eat are subjected to unwarranted injustice.
Exhibit A: the spaghetti abuse during the five days of bake sale.
From the 12th century to the era of Lady Gaga and iPad and from Southern Italy to our Pharma Lawn; pasta has come a long away. It is a story of unvarying popularity that very few icons have achieved. I won’t raise my eyebrows if someday Time magazine puts pasta/spaghetti in the same list that contains Beatles, Marilyn Monroe, Mother Teresa. Or Jesus.
You’d think how someone can go wrong with pasta! And I’d roll my eyes and make a ‘duh’ face and say ‘In a thousand unsplendid ways!’
Spaghetti/pasta’s shape would influence cooking time, consistency, ability to hold sauce, ease of eating. So certain shapes are better suited for certain recipes. You just should not try to stir fry fettuccine into a Chinese style chow mein sauce.
Al dente as professional chef would call out – soft , but with texture: that’s what your pasta has to be like. It should split open a story on your palate. Doughy is fine. Leathery is OK. Chewy is good. Slippery would pass. But soggy and limp; you might as well add some boiled daal into it, make khichrhi and donate it to the purging, diarrheal kids in Paeds ward.
There’s a world beyond soy sauce and vinegar. That world is red. It’s tomato sauce and simple Italian herbs. Or it can turn white. Cheese! So you see, Americans are proud of their bucketful of fried chicken. Just the way Japanese own sushi. British: fish and chips. So I have a strong notion that along with Sophia Loren and Ferrari, the Italians would also be possessive about these twines of dough. And take my word for it; dried oregano leaves would never let you down.
But you know what. My unyielding love for food took a backseat this week. I am just too afraid of human nature. It has become so strong from the milk of human kindness. And kindness was what we all saw in abundance at the bake-sales, no? It was kindness that you all made and brought food, bearing all the expense, time and energy and for no profit of your own! And I would like to believe that it was kindness (and not greed) that made me try out and relish every single sort of spaghetti.
So take away the spices and herbs and delicacies. But give me kindness. And to that kindness add a scoop of kindness. And add a hundred scoops more. A thousand to that hundred. And upsize the thousand to a million.
And when that’s done, let’s be kind afresh. As when we’d first begun.
By Jawad Haroon from Beaconhouse National University.
This little team from Beaconhouse National University appeared out of nowhere. Invited graciously and warmly at just about the last moment, four literature students from BNU unassumingly turned up at the King Edward auditorium to participate in the Intercollegiate Mastermind Quiz Competition organized by the King Edward Literary Society, on 17th May, 2010, and walked away with the cup.
Just like that, just about. A number of School of Liberal Arts (SLA) honors students were nominated for participation, but upon learning that only two could compete, the Literatures and Languages Department decided to give two bright and promising new entrants a shot. The BNU team that took top honors, after a tough and some seriously exciting five rounds, hence consisted of first-year MA student Haseeb Asif and third-year BA student Hira Azmat, both of whom enrolled at the university this semester—backed up by one of our already well-vaunted freshmen, Palvashay Sethi and Haroon Qureshi, a perennial literary powerhouse at SLA currently completing his Masters.
Haseeb and Hira stood second in the first round, which consisted of a set of forty miscellaneous questions, to be answered by all teams in one timed sitting. BNU then went up against Kinnaird College in the second round. Both teams answered six of seven questions correctly; hence, all tied, both sallied on to the next stage.
In the third round teams opted for questions in specific categories: BNU selected Religion and Mythology and Literature and Art, and secured five of six questions. Other teams, including Punjab University, exited the competition at this stage, leaving only Kinnaird College, the Salamat International Campus for Advanced Studies (SICAS) and BNU still in the hunt for glory.
The penultimate round saw the excitement hitting a pre-climactic peak. Responding to multimedia-based questions, the on-song SICAS team got three of four questions right and sailed self-assuredly through to the final. Locking horns for the second time, Kinnaird College and BNU each managed to answer two of four questions correctly in this round, leaving them all tied up again.
This time the deadlock was to be broken by sudden-death. In extra time, the BNU team held its nerve, nailing the first question posed: Kinnaird slipped on theirs. And there was BNU—in the final, out of nowhere.
SICAS and BNU staged dramatically opposite starts to the ten-question final round. Just as SICAS secured their first three questions, BNU bungled theirs—including a lovely tongue twist on the Vitruvian Man (henceforth Universal Man in SLA folklore, courtesy Michael Hussey). Taking a fancy to the ICAS boys, a rotund and gregarious fat lady in the corner of the auditorium was seen readying herself, about to belt out a eulogy to the ‘heroic but alas’ effort by BNU, prematurely.
SICAS wilted in the final sway, dropping their last seven questions. On the opposite sway up, BNU hammered home six of the last seven questions, and in the end walked away quite comfortably with the cup.
“We came, we conquered, we had samosas,” concluded Haseeb Asif aptly afterwards.
A few days back, I got an email from Mr. Jehangir Mohammad, which i think is worth sharing, so here it is:
Salaam o Alaikum,
I have been visiting your blog pages recently. Masha Allah, the thought process and the language are admirable. Not too long ago I was a student of KE. Would I like to come back there. No. Never. The worst thing was the immense waste of time during the wards in third and fourth year. At each ward the person assigned to teach had two goals, to start from point zero and to humiliate.
The other worst thing is the unsupervised way in which house officers are allowed to work.
KE produces mental slaves and not thinkers. The graduates from there learn to follow orders and appease ( Google KEMCAANA or KEMCAPNA website and their advice to new arrivals to the states). Usually Kemcolians are spineless.
Medicine needs a lot of Spine. The practice of medicine requires:-
Humility: Recognition of one's own weaknesses, and to accept ones faults.
Graciousness: to Allah to allow us to deal with the best of His Creations.
Courage:- to stand up against wrong decisions, clinical or otherwise, even if made by those stronger than us.
Sincerity: The intention to acquire knowledge for its stated purpose, so that it may not become a garland of fire in the HereAfter
KE teaches nothing of that. Every senior doctor is a demigod.
I learnt the above, but from people I met later in life.
It is just after Fajr, here. Therefore I shall grab some winks.
Wasallam,
Salaam o Alaikum,
I have been visiting your blog pages recently. Masha Allah, the thought process and the language are admirable. Not too long ago I was a student of KE. Would I like to come back there. No. Never. The worst thing was the immense waste of time during the wards in third and fourth year. At each ward the person assigned to teach had two goals, to start from point zero and to humiliate.
The other worst thing is the unsupervised way in which house officers are allowed to work.
KE produces mental slaves and not thinkers. The graduates from there learn to follow orders and appease ( Google KEMCAANA or KEMCAPNA website and their advice to new arrivals to the states). Usually Kemcolians are spineless.
Medicine needs a lot of Spine. The practice of medicine requires:-
Humility: Recognition of one's own weaknesses, and to accept ones faults.
Graciousness: to Allah to allow us to deal with the best of His Creations.
Courage:- to stand up against wrong decisions, clinical or otherwise, even if made by those stronger than us.
Sincerity: The intention to acquire knowledge for its stated purpose, so that it may not become a garland of fire in the HereAfter
KE teaches nothing of that. Every senior doctor is a demigod.
I learnt the above, but from people I met later in life.
It is just after Fajr, here. Therefore I shall grab some winks.
Wasallam,
By Zara Naveed of First Year
THE FIRST ANATOMY STAGE
I told 'em all, all I knew,
I even tried to mime,
I wrote it down, I drew it up,
They said,"You're wasting time."
I blushed, I grinned,what a clown!
Held the femur, upside down,
And when I finally got it right,
They said,"Doc sab! It's down side up"
So next time there comes a stage,
I won't even bother to try,
Why do they even call it a stage?
"It's judgement day", I cry!
THE FIRST ANATOMY STAGE
I told 'em all, all I knew,
I even tried to mime,
I wrote it down, I drew it up,
They said,"You're wasting time."
I blushed, I grinned,what a clown!
Held the femur, upside down,
And when I finally got it right,
They said,"Doc sab! It's down side up"
So next time there comes a stage,
I won't even bother to try,
Why do they even call it a stage?
"It's judgement day", I cry!
What I’ve learnt from surgery:
• Why it’s important not to leave any loose ends.
• Always keep track of what you put and where…and whether you remove it or not.
• Chains and saws may break my bones, but words…are no use, especially if you’re addressing the ot staff!
• After air, water and food…sleep is the fourth basic need.
• You’re not a good surgeon till you’re over-worked, under-fed and sleep-deprived.
What I still don’t understand: why people keep saying surgery is a male field when surgeons “wash-up”, “stitch-up” and “wash-out”…?
• Why it’s important not to leave any loose ends.
• Always keep track of what you put and where…and whether you remove it or not.
• Chains and saws may break my bones, but words…are no use, especially if you’re addressing the ot staff!
• After air, water and food…sleep is the fourth basic need.
• You’re not a good surgeon till you’re over-worked, under-fed and sleep-deprived.
What I still don’t understand: why people keep saying surgery is a male field when surgeons “wash-up”, “stitch-up” and “wash-out”…?
My (first ever) column 'Our Intolerant Youth' which was published in The News on 8th May 2010.
http://www.thenews.com.pk/daily_detail.asp?id=238000
http://www.thenews.com.pk/daily_detail.asp?id=238000
Dr Yasmin Rashid, Professor of Obs and Gynae, was taking our morning lecture on 7th May. The next day, 8th May, was International Thalassaemia Day, so, quite appropriately, her lecture was on beta-thalassaemia, the type of the disease most prevalent in Pakistan.
Just a little detail for orientation: Thalassaemia major is an autosomal recessive disorder, with no treatment except repeated blood transfusions, iron chelation therapy, and splenectomy or bone marrow transplant, if possible. The main focus is on prevention, which centers on creating awareness about the disease, screening the population for carriers (if two carriers get married, there is a 25% chance, in each pregnancy, of the child being affected by thalassaemia), and pre-natal diagnosis, with the option of aborting the fetus if it is found to have thalassaemia.
Prof Yasmin, also the General Secretary of the Thalassaemia Society of Pakistan, spoke quite eloquently and forcefully about the plight of a thalassaemic patient. Many go undiagnosed, and die without knowing what ails them, or that it can be treated. Some are too poor to afford the treatment. And even for those who can, it is a life of misery and difficulty: transfusions every other week, iron chelation via subcutaneous infusions hooked up to the patient 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Many require splenectomies, others have to battle infections as their bodies gradually break down and give way. Many patients dont make it beyond their teens. A short life, and one of toil and turmoil.
What struck me was the way the Thalassaemia Society of Pakistan seemed to be a protector for these unfortunate people; those who, through a twist of fate, the betrayal of their own genes, a failure of their own systems, had been sentenced to a life of affliction. Like a hen spreading its wings over its chicks. Like Moses for the Israelites. In its own words: 'The Thalassaemia Society of Pakistan is a torchbearer in the lives of Thalassaemic patients. It is a streak of hope for the ailing souls of young children who are doomed forever to pain and suffering.'
Ma'am told us about a woman from Gujrat, who had lost three grandchildren to thalassaemia. She was entirely uneducated, but was now instrumental in spreading awareness about thalassaemia in her extended family. She was apparently quite involved in the rishta-business, and according to Prof Yasmin, would often come to her, saying about a particular pair: 'Ainaan da rishta karna ay Dr Saab, par pehlaan ainaan da 'tesht' karo!'
Then, there was that singularly unique, even slightly mad idea: thalassaemic patients, already anaemic and weak, walking to the K2 base camp. Five thalassaemic kids, under the Society's care and guidance, went through a year-long program to strengthen and prepare them for the arduous walk. The banner they held read: 'If looked after properly, we can do anything in the world.' A symbolic walk: five young people battling the odds to show the world that, despite their handicap, they could do wonders. Trying to make their voice heard amidst the din. Trying to be seen in the glare. Utterly quixotic, you'd say. Things like this only happen in movies, or glimmer on the pages of sentimental inspirational books.
But listening to Dr Yasmin about how she, and many others, were working to make a difference in people's lives, made me think for a moment, that those clichés may have some truth in them: miracles do happen, dreams do come true and it is possible to overcome the odds. The website of the Thalassaemia Society of Pakistan http://www.thalassaemia.org.pk/ has an Achievements page. Take a look at the captions:
Mr Amin: 1st Thalassaemic patient who became a father in Pakistan
Ms. Rida Fatima: 2nd position in O-levels
Ms Laiba Mukhter: 3rd position in SSC
What might be ordinary things for us, are great feats for them. Like living long enough to be a father. Or being healthy enough to study and get good grades. These are their miracles. These are their dreams. And the Society, their champion, looks proudly on the acheivements of the children it looks after and nurtures.
It is possible to make a difference in people's lives; Prof Yasmin's lecture reminded me of this fact. And even though it might be uncool to dream, or naïve to think of a better world, these are little examples which help you keep the faith. Needn't look too far: simply a group of dedicated doctors who have chosen a cause to champion, and have brought joy and light to so many families.
Just a little detail for orientation: Thalassaemia major is an autosomal recessive disorder, with no treatment except repeated blood transfusions, iron chelation therapy, and splenectomy or bone marrow transplant, if possible. The main focus is on prevention, which centers on creating awareness about the disease, screening the population for carriers (if two carriers get married, there is a 25% chance, in each pregnancy, of the child being affected by thalassaemia), and pre-natal diagnosis, with the option of aborting the fetus if it is found to have thalassaemia.
Prof Yasmin, also the General Secretary of the Thalassaemia Society of Pakistan, spoke quite eloquently and forcefully about the plight of a thalassaemic patient. Many go undiagnosed, and die without knowing what ails them, or that it can be treated. Some are too poor to afford the treatment. And even for those who can, it is a life of misery and difficulty: transfusions every other week, iron chelation via subcutaneous infusions hooked up to the patient 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Many require splenectomies, others have to battle infections as their bodies gradually break down and give way. Many patients dont make it beyond their teens. A short life, and one of toil and turmoil.
What struck me was the way the Thalassaemia Society of Pakistan seemed to be a protector for these unfortunate people; those who, through a twist of fate, the betrayal of their own genes, a failure of their own systems, had been sentenced to a life of affliction. Like a hen spreading its wings over its chicks. Like Moses for the Israelites. In its own words: 'The Thalassaemia Society of Pakistan is a torchbearer in the lives of Thalassaemic patients. It is a streak of hope for the ailing souls of young children who are doomed forever to pain and suffering.'
Ma'am told us about a woman from Gujrat, who had lost three grandchildren to thalassaemia. She was entirely uneducated, but was now instrumental in spreading awareness about thalassaemia in her extended family. She was apparently quite involved in the rishta-business, and according to Prof Yasmin, would often come to her, saying about a particular pair: 'Ainaan da rishta karna ay Dr Saab, par pehlaan ainaan da 'tesht' karo!'
Then, there was that singularly unique, even slightly mad idea: thalassaemic patients, already anaemic and weak, walking to the K2 base camp. Five thalassaemic kids, under the Society's care and guidance, went through a year-long program to strengthen and prepare them for the arduous walk. The banner they held read: 'If looked after properly, we can do anything in the world.' A symbolic walk: five young people battling the odds to show the world that, despite their handicap, they could do wonders. Trying to make their voice heard amidst the din. Trying to be seen in the glare. Utterly quixotic, you'd say. Things like this only happen in movies, or glimmer on the pages of sentimental inspirational books.
But listening to Dr Yasmin about how she, and many others, were working to make a difference in people's lives, made me think for a moment, that those clichés may have some truth in them: miracles do happen, dreams do come true and it is possible to overcome the odds. The website of the Thalassaemia Society of Pakistan http://www.thalassaemia.org.pk/ has an Achievements page. Take a look at the captions:
Mr Amin: 1st Thalassaemic patient who became a father in Pakistan
Ms. Rida Fatima: 2nd position in O-levels
Ms Laiba Mukhter: 3rd position in SSC
What might be ordinary things for us, are great feats for them. Like living long enough to be a father. Or being healthy enough to study and get good grades. These are their miracles. These are their dreams. And the Society, their champion, looks proudly on the acheivements of the children it looks after and nurtures.
It is possible to make a difference in people's lives; Prof Yasmin's lecture reminded me of this fact. And even though it might be uncool to dream, or naïve to think of a better world, these are little examples which help you keep the faith. Needn't look too far: simply a group of dedicated doctors who have chosen a cause to champion, and have brought joy and light to so many families.
LOVOFLOPA: the basic ingredient in every unsuccessful love story.
TANTALIZERS: the teachers promise of ending the class early if we behave well.
SEDUCTIVES: the "not-always-correct" hints and options passing around during and mcq test.
HYPNOTICS: the hypnotizing techniques/tactics used by professors to keep the students spell-bound in their classes.
TANTALIZERS: the teachers promise of ending the class early if we behave well.
SEDUCTIVES: the "not-always-correct" hints and options passing around during and mcq test.
HYPNOTICS: the hypnotizing techniques/tactics used by professors to keep the students spell-bound in their classes.
By Asmah Mahmood of Final Year
The Shattered Dreamland
Sooner or later, everybody has to step into the world of practical life. People in the state of euphoria, being ambitious, having certain goals, with dreams to have a joyful and contended life when come to face this world, moments of realization of factual status of this world with jolts of thousands of volts make them see that this is a world full of suffocation, making people sensitive to it huffing and puffing. They see that this world occupied by brutal and ruthless people with their bitter behavior and sadistic attitude; creating hurdles, always making tries to snatch every single procession of people around and sucking even the last drop of blood from the veins of their victims like leeches.
Such predators make most of the part of such a milieu while the rebels try to bring some change but eventually learn to cope with these ups and downs and develop an apprehensive attitude of visualizing the true picture behind the apparent circumstances.
Most of the people have to encounter such hurdles after entering into the professional life, but when I had to had a look at the canvas of my life having on it the ever clear image of my yet spent life in this place King Edward Medical University, it dawned at me that the exposure to this nasty world of practical life had been doomed to begin, since the very day I joined this institute; with the probable fault of being oblivious of being endangered and lacking the abilities to confront such a hostile environment with some dirt camouflaged in the layers on my soul, ending up in anaphylactic reaction with a feeling to have been caught up in a tornado, that bashed me and tore off every bit of my existence.
This dream land!!! Of thousands of students, is nothing to me but a land of massacre of souls, where Every butcher around playing his role in creating and maintaining unfriendly, conservative and non cooperative nerve-wrecking environment giving mental trauma, academic pressure and mortification especially to the failing students.
A milieu created by Mentally sick boys standing at zero point, giving weird looks to every passer-by for their own reasons, mean Girls gossiping around about self created non existent affairs, self-made religious preachers imposing their very own religious theories, all working in pathetic combination making sexuality much more resonant issue than spirituality, especially the religious dogmatic.
Karen Crocket say that “ Your worst humiliation is only someone’s momentary entertainment” but this is a place where every person thinks to have the authority to intrude into people’s matters, mocking about and commenting on people’s character.
The title of Kings and Queens at K.E, depicting superiority, doing nothing but creating humanity discrimination and giving people superiority complex instead of furnishing them with sobriety, the duty that must be observed by all authority holders.
These evils must be an integral part of the most of the dwellers of this society of ours, but this best medical institute, unfortunately, acts to be one of the best samples, representing this society with its dominant putrefied values in its worst shape instead of refining and reshaping the distorted geometry of values, the original shapes and angles being deformed by the smudges added on by the filth of this society. And this adds much to the depression of the individuals spending quite a time of their lives in this place.
All the above mentioned points might be an individual’s opinion for the reader, but this place affirmed this notion even by providing a proof of their existence in form of Haris Malik’s suicide. Alas!!! And where deaths don’t bring any revolution or change in people’s attitude, big bangs come to play their role then.
But, the only reason, this place gives me to feel blessed at times is, having met those people, very little in percentage though, the goodness of whom helped me to find the hidden beauties of life in shape of my oasis in this vast treacherous desert and making me believe in this quote by Anne Frank:
“I don’t think of all the miseries, but off all the beauty that still remains”.
The Shattered Dreamland
Sooner or later, everybody has to step into the world of practical life. People in the state of euphoria, being ambitious, having certain goals, with dreams to have a joyful and contended life when come to face this world, moments of realization of factual status of this world with jolts of thousands of volts make them see that this is a world full of suffocation, making people sensitive to it huffing and puffing. They see that this world occupied by brutal and ruthless people with their bitter behavior and sadistic attitude; creating hurdles, always making tries to snatch every single procession of people around and sucking even the last drop of blood from the veins of their victims like leeches.
Such predators make most of the part of such a milieu while the rebels try to bring some change but eventually learn to cope with these ups and downs and develop an apprehensive attitude of visualizing the true picture behind the apparent circumstances.
Most of the people have to encounter such hurdles after entering into the professional life, but when I had to had a look at the canvas of my life having on it the ever clear image of my yet spent life in this place King Edward Medical University, it dawned at me that the exposure to this nasty world of practical life had been doomed to begin, since the very day I joined this institute; with the probable fault of being oblivious of being endangered and lacking the abilities to confront such a hostile environment with some dirt camouflaged in the layers on my soul, ending up in anaphylactic reaction with a feeling to have been caught up in a tornado, that bashed me and tore off every bit of my existence.
This dream land!!! Of thousands of students, is nothing to me but a land of massacre of souls, where Every butcher around playing his role in creating and maintaining unfriendly, conservative and non cooperative nerve-wrecking environment giving mental trauma, academic pressure and mortification especially to the failing students.
A milieu created by Mentally sick boys standing at zero point, giving weird looks to every passer-by for their own reasons, mean Girls gossiping around about self created non existent affairs, self-made religious preachers imposing their very own religious theories, all working in pathetic combination making sexuality much more resonant issue than spirituality, especially the religious dogmatic.
Karen Crocket say that “ Your worst humiliation is only someone’s momentary entertainment” but this is a place where every person thinks to have the authority to intrude into people’s matters, mocking about and commenting on people’s character.
The title of Kings and Queens at K.E, depicting superiority, doing nothing but creating humanity discrimination and giving people superiority complex instead of furnishing them with sobriety, the duty that must be observed by all authority holders.
These evils must be an integral part of the most of the dwellers of this society of ours, but this best medical institute, unfortunately, acts to be one of the best samples, representing this society with its dominant putrefied values in its worst shape instead of refining and reshaping the distorted geometry of values, the original shapes and angles being deformed by the smudges added on by the filth of this society. And this adds much to the depression of the individuals spending quite a time of their lives in this place.
All the above mentioned points might be an individual’s opinion for the reader, but this place affirmed this notion even by providing a proof of their existence in form of Haris Malik’s suicide. Alas!!! And where deaths don’t bring any revolution or change in people’s attitude, big bangs come to play their role then.
But, the only reason, this place gives me to feel blessed at times is, having met those people, very little in percentage though, the goodness of whom helped me to find the hidden beauties of life in shape of my oasis in this vast treacherous desert and making me believe in this quote by Anne Frank:
“I don’t think of all the miseries, but off all the beauty that still remains”.
By Mariam Baig of Second Year
HITTING SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN!
No matter how you define each, fundamentalism and liberalism somehow belong to each other. Getting nurtured in the lap of extremism, with a “not-too-considerate” motto no matter what, highly criticizing each other while continuously revolving around their own orbits and having no idea what the other side has got to say.
There is no line of demarcation or a single justified definition for either of them. Everybody seems to have their own criteria for putting you on either side of their self created “no-man’s-area”, exposing you to an outburst of criticism regardless of the real purposes of your action. Switch on to a television show housing both sides, all you get is fingers somewhat menacingly pointed at each other,an outburst of disregard for what the other has got to say while all the time neither the so called “fundo/mullah” or the “broad minded liberal” has the least idea what its all about; ending up in an argument just for the sake of it.
If the (so called) fundamentalists are such a heart-and-soul devoted beings to religion then why do they tend to forget that Islam preaches MODERATION with far more stress than any other religion in the world, rather than expecting the believers to move up to the heights of “ONE SIDE”…that there is NO FORCE in religion, you just can’t force your ideology upon others without least consideration of what they have got to say because it only ends up in people getting repulsed rather than influenced by you... that shaving your beard off doesn’t make you less of a Muslim as when you are violating the simple rights of those around you, as when you go bluffing, lying, fabricating things out of nowhere and a whole lot of other suff...
And as for those “enlightened” Liberals, seeking refuge under the slogan in which fundamentalists are tageed as extremists, they are just an evolved form of the “fundos” ,wrapped up in a glistening sheet of modernization just to hide their own “modified form” of extremism 'cause they are just as NON-CONSIDERATE as the fundamentalists(linking any slightest thing related to Islam as an act of “fundo-ism”, all the while knowing in their hearts just too well that it’s the “FAITH” needed to keep everything going …).
I have always been at sea to find any particular reason as to which all this outburst can be ascribed. Both sides seem to have taken upon themselves to blow up the foundations of whatever ideaology binds the other side, humiliating them, even employing the “personal-attack-tactics” if they come to any use at all…….
There is a simple solution to all this….all that mess getting created for nothing…WHY CANT WE BE JUST CONSIDERATE??....just learn to respect each other for a while even when we know the other one is wrong….you cannot judge what its like to be on the other side unless you put yourself in their place,just step into their shoes and learn how it feels like to walk around in them…,just try and understand what they have got to say(once for a change)….If only we can learn and reach to A POINT,…..A POINT OF CONSIDERATION,A POINT OF UNDERSTANDING,A POINT OF MODERATION…..then it will definitely put an end to a huge lot of our troubles…..
HITTING SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN!
No matter how you define each, fundamentalism and liberalism somehow belong to each other. Getting nurtured in the lap of extremism, with a “not-too-considerate” motto no matter what, highly criticizing each other while continuously revolving around their own orbits and having no idea what the other side has got to say.
There is no line of demarcation or a single justified definition for either of them. Everybody seems to have their own criteria for putting you on either side of their self created “no-man’s-area”, exposing you to an outburst of criticism regardless of the real purposes of your action. Switch on to a television show housing both sides, all you get is fingers somewhat menacingly pointed at each other,an outburst of disregard for what the other has got to say while all the time neither the so called “fundo/mullah” or the “broad minded liberal” has the least idea what its all about; ending up in an argument just for the sake of it.
If the (so called) fundamentalists are such a heart-and-soul devoted beings to religion then why do they tend to forget that Islam preaches MODERATION with far more stress than any other religion in the world, rather than expecting the believers to move up to the heights of “ONE SIDE”…that there is NO FORCE in religion, you just can’t force your ideology upon others without least consideration of what they have got to say because it only ends up in people getting repulsed rather than influenced by you... that shaving your beard off doesn’t make you less of a Muslim as when you are violating the simple rights of those around you, as when you go bluffing, lying, fabricating things out of nowhere and a whole lot of other suff...
And as for those “enlightened” Liberals, seeking refuge under the slogan in which fundamentalists are tageed as extremists, they are just an evolved form of the “fundos” ,wrapped up in a glistening sheet of modernization just to hide their own “modified form” of extremism 'cause they are just as NON-CONSIDERATE as the fundamentalists(linking any slightest thing related to Islam as an act of “fundo-ism”, all the while knowing in their hearts just too well that it’s the “FAITH” needed to keep everything going …).
I have always been at sea to find any particular reason as to which all this outburst can be ascribed. Both sides seem to have taken upon themselves to blow up the foundations of whatever ideaology binds the other side, humiliating them, even employing the “personal-attack-tactics” if they come to any use at all…….
There is a simple solution to all this….all that mess getting created for nothing…WHY CANT WE BE JUST CONSIDERATE??....just learn to respect each other for a while even when we know the other one is wrong….you cannot judge what its like to be on the other side unless you put yourself in their place,just step into their shoes and learn how it feels like to walk around in them…,just try and understand what they have got to say(once for a change)….If only we can learn and reach to A POINT,…..A POINT OF CONSIDERATION,A POINT OF UNDERSTANDING,A POINT OF MODERATION…..then it will definitely put an end to a huge lot of our troubles…..
By Fatima Rumesa of First Year
Her!
she has her face set in a frown,
it seems as if she were about to drown.
although consumed by bouts of helplessness,
she tries to smile nonetheless.
she suppresses the need to scream,
and poses as if in a dream.
she wants to fly high as a dove,
but she's bound to the ground by her own love.
her life, to her, seems like hell,
she still wishes everyone well.
the person who tried not to make anyone cry,
leaves everyone sad as she's about to die...
Her!
she has her face set in a frown,
it seems as if she were about to drown.
although consumed by bouts of helplessness,
she tries to smile nonetheless.
she suppresses the need to scream,
and poses as if in a dream.
she wants to fly high as a dove,
but she's bound to the ground by her own love.
her life, to her, seems like hell,
she still wishes everyone well.
the person who tried not to make anyone cry,
leaves everyone sad as she's about to die...
