Saira Votes for Peace

Magical Pakistan has magic people who are gifted with powers beyond the ordinary. A theory that probably never made it to a book is that people are much more resilient in less developed countries. What would send my friends in Canada for long sessions to the local counselor is never even noticed in Pakistan. It must be Allah who, replete after millions of prayers winding His way, numbs the senses of Muslims. Or so I imagine. My friend, one such magic person, whom I left behind in Karachi (when I opted for a life supported by psychologists rather than Allah), writes to me every week. Her stories are worthy of a Nobel Prize for peace, but unfortunately, Saira has always been a shy person. She is a little dark and is very worried that in case people find out about her they might photograph her—dark skin, tires et al and then she will be known as the ugly Pakistani woman on Chowk who does noble things but doesn’t look noble. When Chowk started I used to find her worries ridiculous, I used to email her and tell her that nobody would notice what she looks like, since she does such noble things. But no, Saira was adamant. She knew the cardinal rule. No matter how wonderful a woman is, she has to be beautiful. I told her to join a gym and use Fair and Lovely—but she is always ‘too busy’ to do so.

Today she wrote to me, inspired by the Columbia tragedy—and said, ‘go ahead, write what you want to, I know nothing will happen, papers aren’t worth the bytes they are written on, but today I give you permission because when I die, I want somebody to at least remember me a little like Dr Kalpana Chawla.’

So Saira was human after all…I was relieved to see that Saira as yet has not given up her soul completely to Allah. Saira’s stories are worthy of a book or two at least. Saira lives in the side of Karachi where most migrants from India made houses after lodging claims for land lost in India. The great transfer of land after partition bought her parents 250 sq.yards of land on which they built a three story house that has since then undergone blue, pink, light green and off white top coats —depending on their mood and money. Saira has two older brothers with 3 children each who live in that house along with Saira, her parents and son. Saira got married at a ridiculously young age to a man 13 years older than her. The man ran away to Dubai and married an Indian lady and then migrated to Toronto, leaving Saira with a 3 month old son who has a club foot. Saira was fortunate in that she had the open terrace of her parents’ house and large expanses of cotton dupattas to cry on. It was fortunate too that the Karachi heat and electricity gave perfect excuses for her regular escapes to the terrace above. Saira was brave enough to refuse marriage after three months to her first cousin who was a bit retarded and she went on to register at a local University to get her first and then second degrees. (This is where I met her).

Saira who is a devout Muslim, prays five times a day and says that prayer is the only reason she is sane. She believes completely in the two-nation theory, and is regularly amazed at Chowk content and boldness. She always emails me her comments and criticisms of the latest fare at Chowk…for instance the other day she was thrilled to see Yasser Latif Hamdani, her new-age hero back on Chowk. She composes Urdu poems and sent me a couplet on Yasser:

Ya Yasser, Ya Arafat, Wohi Keh Saktay hain Woh Baat
Jo meray dil pey lagey bar bar barsaat.

(Saira is learning to write Urdu poetry from a famous ghazal writer next door in return for making him two rotis and shaami kababs two times a week).

She likes Yasser because she thinks he is the only person who understands that M.A. Jinnah has to be right, otherwise there is no way forward. I find her comments illuminating many times—for I am afraid the patriotic gene missed me completely and she helps me see things from her perspective rather than the laboratory observatory of Chowk's multiple viewpoints. Sometimes I dread her emails. The nasty ones…the kinds that start like one did a few days ago, “Saima, I understand you people have lives other than Chowk, and I know you are not TOTALLY attached to the Computer, but at least read the rubbish that abc writes!”. He is spoiling Chowk and I thought you loved it and what the hell, I am leaving Chowk for two days!!”. And then two pages about how much she loved Chowk BEFORE xyz decided to make it their JugaRR (spot).

Saira is a secretary at a local company. She is the phuppie (aunt) of 6 children in addition to being mother of one. She reads Chowk avidly along with Dawn and The Friday Times (that her Boss orders but doesn’t read). She also reads the Urdu papers---I have no idea why she doesn’t write articles for the local press—other than her fear that her English isn’t good, because she didn’t attend a Convent School. She tells me that the bad English at Chowk makes her feel better about never having attended a convent school unlike myself.

Just last year she ended up getting arrested and her entire family had to come and bail her out. She had to stay home for a few days to recover from the effects of tear-gassing; her silence on Chowk had me worried. I phoned her and she told me,’I don’t know what happened to me… --I was reading an article by Farzana Versey, then I read an analysis by Khalid Ahmed at TFT, then I read Veeresh Malik….I got up to go home from work but then I heard the prophet’s voice, ‘Is this all you will do, Saira?…So I went home and made several banners…”STOP THE WAR”. “LARAIYA BAND KARO”. “ISLAM KA MATLAB PEACE” (!!!) and took all seven kids to the closed office of the Indian High Commission. She told me she was sure that a miracle would happen and the doors would open so she could get a visa to travel and demonstrate for peace in New Delhi. She didn’t know that somebody had put a bomb in a bike close by. Next thing she knew the police came and tear-gassed the area. The police didn’t let the incident get in the papers—and the only news that made it was about the bomb that blew up in front of the closed Indian High Commission.

I keep telling Saira she is very brave—She has a political conscience and how special that is in a place like Pakistan---..If she would approach Amnesty International or tell the Brookings Institute---surely Canada would give her refugee status. She was shocked the first time I suggested that—and said that she is too dark to move to Canada. Everybody would think she is from India.


So this is Saira.