Why Are We Killing Ourselves?
Anas Malik March 2, 2002
#102 Posted by hobbyty on March 6, 2002 6:57:50 pm
Shah
Shah Sahab:
I am not suggesting that I agree entirely with Mr. Friedman. And yes, No one in the West or in other places, with the exception of Pakistan, cares about Muslims of India. But even in Pakistan, Indian Muslims will find support only if they decide not to play the victim. India is a big country, if it will reject Muslims and it does, if it will not make room for Muslims and others that it rejects, then, time for talk is slipping away. Any Indian Muslim who does not arm himself or herself, is willing to play victim; there is more killing and burning to be inflicted on them by the Indian.
I posted this article because I think Friedman`s point about reality of Muslim lives, individual and institutional, not conforming with our self image does have merit. It doesn`t mean we do not face hostility and chauvanism - we do - but it is also incumbent upon ourselves to look at ourselves honestly - only good can come from it - ``they`` criticize us, some of it is vile and it`s motivation questionable - we should welcome it and use it. (Please read the article by Shashi Thakoor and what he has to say about the role of identity of the Indian) with Unless the Muslims of India understand that they are alone and that they are not powerless but are powerful, can shape their own destiny, accept whatever your enemies will throw at you - but resolute, willing to accept the cost of LIBERTY - Muslims from around the world will not only support you materially but in other ways as well. So what if Friedman won`t support it - do we live for Friedman or Freedom?
You know that a majority of Indians on these boards support the BJP and VHP, etc., - the appeal of these organizations is psychological - to give the Indian a chance to fight the ``GHOSTS`` of Muslim rule - So they burn a few hundred Muslims here, a few hundred there - as long as Muslim of India will not stand up for themselves, no one will stand with you. If those Muslims who were massacred in Gujjrat were armed, I bet the Indian would have thought twice about killing them.
Notice at every step the Indians on these boards express ``displeasure`` at Pakistanis ``choice`` of identity - what this shows is their own conflict, their self image not conforming with reality.
Notice how the Indians on these boards indulge their chauvanism by heaping insults upon Islam and Muslims - ``Converts``, that`s what we are - not persons who have made a choice of conscience. At the core of this Indian construct, is the justification of their caste system - We must have a measure of compassion for them, they too, are in a process of reinventing themselves, but having compassion for them does not mean that Muslims of India must not also hold a weapon, just in case. Friedman is saying Be who you are - don`t worry about the self image and reality - recreate reality. The Indian for a thousand years thought that he was not master in his house, this feeling may or may not change - that`s not the important question - the important question is whether or not the Muslims of India will have create, not demand, not protest - create, protect, and assert, a home for themselves; India is a big country. And if the Indian mouths off about a home for Muslims of India in Pakistan - remind them that Pakistan is the home of Pakistani Muslims, that there must be room for more than one, two, three, four or five States - remind them that these were choices the Indian forced upon Muslims. Remind the Indian this isn`t a request or demand, this just the course of action the Indians have imposed on Non-Hindus.
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#101 Posted by bong_dongs on March 6, 2002 4:17:43 pm
Good find hobbyty! here`s his web site:
http://neemanet.com/trips/globetrotter/
http://neemanet.com/trips/globetrotter/
#100 Posted by Shah on March 6, 2002 4:13:27 pm
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#99 Posted by hobbyty on March 6, 2002 3:44:47 pm
The How and Why of Gujjrat Riots:
From Washington Post Mar. 6, 2002
Provocation Helped Set India Train Fire
Official Faults Hindu Actions, Muslim Reactions for Incident That Led to Carnage
By Rajiv Chandrasekaran
Washington Post Foreign Service
Wednesday, March 6, 2002; Page A10
GODHRA, India, March 5 For two days, as the Sabarmati Express snaked across northern India, some Hindu activists in cars S-5 and S-6 carried on like hooligans. They exposed themselves to other passengers. They pulled headscarves off Muslim women. They evicted a family of four in the middle of the night for refusing to join in chants glorifying the Hindu god Ram. They failed to pay for the tea and snacks they consumed at each stop.
When the train pulled into this hardscrabble town in western India on the morning of Feb. 27, the reputation of its rowdiest passengers preceded it. When they refused to pay for their food, Muslim boys among the vendors at Godhra station stormed the train.
When the confrontation was over, 58 Hindu passengers mostly women and children were dead, incinerated by a fire that consumed cars S-5 and S-6. In retaliation, mobs of enraged Hindus descended on Muslim communities across Gujarat state, igniting riots that killed more than 500 people, India`s worst religious violence in a decade.
Indian officials have characterized the riots as Hindu rage for an attack on innocent activists. However, interviews with passengers on the train, witnesses to the incident and police and railway officials suggest that the train fire was not a premeditated ambush by young Muslims, but rather a spontaneous argument, provoked by the Hindu activists, that went out of control.
``Both sides were at fault,`` said a police official here, who spoke on condition of anonymity. ``The provocation was there and the reaction was strong. But no one had imagined all this would turn into such a big tragedy.``
B.K. Nanavati, the deputy police superintendent in Godhra, said the investigation does not support the contention by Gujarat`s chief minister, Narendra Modi, that the assault on the train was a ``terrorist attack.``
``It was not preplanned,`` Nanavati said. ``It was a sudden, provocative incident.``
The confrontation illustrates the volatile mixture of religion, history and extremist politics that plague India, a Hindu-dominated but officially secular nation of 1 billion people. In 1947, when India achieved independence and was partitioned to create the Muslim nation of Pakistan, thousands of Hindus fleeing Pakistan settled in Godhra. Enraged that Muslims in Pakistan had evicted them, they vented their anger at Godhra`s Muslims, burning their homes and businesses with truckloads of gasoline.
Since then, government officials have deemed the city one of the country`s most ``communally sensitive`` places. In the 1980s and again in 1992, it was wracked by riots, some started by Muslims and others by Hindus.
Today, the population of 150,000 is almost evenly split between Hindus and Muslims, who live in segregated communities separated in places by the train tracks. There is little interaction between the groups, which regard each other with suspicion.
Hindus, who question the depth of the Muslims` loyalty to India, refer to the other side of town as Pakistan. The Muslims contend they are mistreated by the local Hindu-dominated government.
Enter the World Hindu Council, whose cadres want to transform India into a Hindu nation with limited minority rights. The group, part of a coalition of Hindu-nationalist organizations that includes the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party, favors a confrontational approach to push its agenda.
At council rallies, members brandish tridents and swords symbols from Hindu mythology and shout Hindu slogans. And in 1992, the group led a mob of Hindus who destroyed a 16th-century mosque in the eastern town of Ayodhya. Since then, the council`s followers have made pilgrimages to Ayodhya, where they hope to build a temple to Ram on the site of the razed mosque.
Activists from Gujarat state, where the Hindu council has a strong base, often made the trip on the Sabarmati Express. Along the way, witnesses say, they frequently would scream out ``Victory to Lord Ram`` and ``Victory to Hindus`` as the train passed through Muslim neighborhoods.
``There was a history of provocation,`` said Syed Umarji, a wood trader who lives in a Muslim neighborhood near the tracks here. ``They would say these things all the time.``
On the train that left Ayodhya on Feb. 25, members of the Hindu council were particularly boisterous because of a government order that they vacate the Ayodhya grounds. Muslims who were on the same train say the activists walked through the cars shouting taunts such as ``Wipe out every Muslim.
``The train was full of them,`` said Fateh Mohammad, a Muslim passenger who was traveling with his daughter and son-in-law. ``They were shouting and dancing all the time. All the Muslims were very scared.``
Savita Darbar, a member of the Hindu council who was on the train, insisted that her group was not confrontational. ``We were just singing prayer songs to Lord Ram,`` she said. ``We did not bother the Muslims.``
As the train came to a stop in Godhra, however, all the elements were in place for a fight.
The train was five hours late, largely because the activists` behavior had forced the conductor to make several emergency stops. Instead of arriving quietly in the middle of the night, the Sabarmati arrived at 7:43 a.m., just as word of the group`s behavior had trickled in from vendors at other stations.
The vendors in Godhra were resolved not to be victimized. The Hindu council members, too, were ready for action: Rocks collected from near the tracks were piled near the doors of their cars.
When the Hindus refused to pay for their tea and snacks, several young Muslims jumped on the train as it started to leave the station and pulled the emergency brake chain. With a piercing squeal, the Sabarmati ground to a halt a half-mile from the station, in the middle of a Muslim neighborhood. An argument ensued, drawing hundreds of residents.
Police and railway officials said they do not know who began throwing stones first. But the officials said they believe that after about 10 minutes, one or more Muslims poured a flammable substance on a mattress and ignited it between the S-5 and S-6 cars.
A few minutes later, a fire broke out at the other end of the S-5. Within moments, the car was engulfed by flames.
Police officials said they are not sure how that second fire began. Nanavati said the Muslims could have set another fire, or the Hindus, trying to respond in kind, might have accidentally sparked a blaze in their own car, which was filled with kerosene and cooking gas.
``It could have been an accident,`` Nanavati said.
Thus far, the railway police have arrested only Muslims 41 of them in connection with the fire, a fact that galls Muslim leaders here.
``They should arrest the Hindus, too,`` said Shoail Sadamas, an accounting student who witnessed the incident. ``They were not innocent victims.``
Special correspondent Rama Lakshmi contributed to this report
From Washington Post Mar. 6, 2002
Provocation Helped Set India Train Fire
Official Faults Hindu Actions, Muslim Reactions for Incident That Led to Carnage
By Rajiv Chandrasekaran
Washington Post Foreign Service
Wednesday, March 6, 2002; Page A10
GODHRA, India, March 5 For two days, as the Sabarmati Express snaked across northern India, some Hindu activists in cars S-5 and S-6 carried on like hooligans. They exposed themselves to other passengers. They pulled headscarves off Muslim women. They evicted a family of four in the middle of the night for refusing to join in chants glorifying the Hindu god Ram. They failed to pay for the tea and snacks they consumed at each stop.
When the train pulled into this hardscrabble town in western India on the morning of Feb. 27, the reputation of its rowdiest passengers preceded it. When they refused to pay for their food, Muslim boys among the vendors at Godhra station stormed the train.
When the confrontation was over, 58 Hindu passengers mostly women and children were dead, incinerated by a fire that consumed cars S-5 and S-6. In retaliation, mobs of enraged Hindus descended on Muslim communities across Gujarat state, igniting riots that killed more than 500 people, India`s worst religious violence in a decade.
Indian officials have characterized the riots as Hindu rage for an attack on innocent activists. However, interviews with passengers on the train, witnesses to the incident and police and railway officials suggest that the train fire was not a premeditated ambush by young Muslims, but rather a spontaneous argument, provoked by the Hindu activists, that went out of control.
``Both sides were at fault,`` said a police official here, who spoke on condition of anonymity. ``The provocation was there and the reaction was strong. But no one had imagined all this would turn into such a big tragedy.``
B.K. Nanavati, the deputy police superintendent in Godhra, said the investigation does not support the contention by Gujarat`s chief minister, Narendra Modi, that the assault on the train was a ``terrorist attack.``
``It was not preplanned,`` Nanavati said. ``It was a sudden, provocative incident.``
The confrontation illustrates the volatile mixture of religion, history and extremist politics that plague India, a Hindu-dominated but officially secular nation of 1 billion people. In 1947, when India achieved independence and was partitioned to create the Muslim nation of Pakistan, thousands of Hindus fleeing Pakistan settled in Godhra. Enraged that Muslims in Pakistan had evicted them, they vented their anger at Godhra`s Muslims, burning their homes and businesses with truckloads of gasoline.
Since then, government officials have deemed the city one of the country`s most ``communally sensitive`` places. In the 1980s and again in 1992, it was wracked by riots, some started by Muslims and others by Hindus.
Today, the population of 150,000 is almost evenly split between Hindus and Muslims, who live in segregated communities separated in places by the train tracks. There is little interaction between the groups, which regard each other with suspicion.
Hindus, who question the depth of the Muslims` loyalty to India, refer to the other side of town as Pakistan. The Muslims contend they are mistreated by the local Hindu-dominated government.
Enter the World Hindu Council, whose cadres want to transform India into a Hindu nation with limited minority rights. The group, part of a coalition of Hindu-nationalist organizations that includes the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party, favors a confrontational approach to push its agenda.
At council rallies, members brandish tridents and swords symbols from Hindu mythology and shout Hindu slogans. And in 1992, the group led a mob of Hindus who destroyed a 16th-century mosque in the eastern town of Ayodhya. Since then, the council`s followers have made pilgrimages to Ayodhya, where they hope to build a temple to Ram on the site of the razed mosque.
Activists from Gujarat state, where the Hindu council has a strong base, often made the trip on the Sabarmati Express. Along the way, witnesses say, they frequently would scream out ``Victory to Lord Ram`` and ``Victory to Hindus`` as the train passed through Muslim neighborhoods.
``There was a history of provocation,`` said Syed Umarji, a wood trader who lives in a Muslim neighborhood near the tracks here. ``They would say these things all the time.``
On the train that left Ayodhya on Feb. 25, members of the Hindu council were particularly boisterous because of a government order that they vacate the Ayodhya grounds. Muslims who were on the same train say the activists walked through the cars shouting taunts such as ``Wipe out every Muslim.
``The train was full of them,`` said Fateh Mohammad, a Muslim passenger who was traveling with his daughter and son-in-law. ``They were shouting and dancing all the time. All the Muslims were very scared.``
Savita Darbar, a member of the Hindu council who was on the train, insisted that her group was not confrontational. ``We were just singing prayer songs to Lord Ram,`` she said. ``We did not bother the Muslims.``
As the train came to a stop in Godhra, however, all the elements were in place for a fight.
The train was five hours late, largely because the activists` behavior had forced the conductor to make several emergency stops. Instead of arriving quietly in the middle of the night, the Sabarmati arrived at 7:43 a.m., just as word of the group`s behavior had trickled in from vendors at other stations.
The vendors in Godhra were resolved not to be victimized. The Hindu council members, too, were ready for action: Rocks collected from near the tracks were piled near the doors of their cars.
When the Hindus refused to pay for their tea and snacks, several young Muslims jumped on the train as it started to leave the station and pulled the emergency brake chain. With a piercing squeal, the Sabarmati ground to a halt a half-mile from the station, in the middle of a Muslim neighborhood. An argument ensued, drawing hundreds of residents.
Police and railway officials said they do not know who began throwing stones first. But the officials said they believe that after about 10 minutes, one or more Muslims poured a flammable substance on a mattress and ignited it between the S-5 and S-6 cars.
A few minutes later, a fire broke out at the other end of the S-5. Within moments, the car was engulfed by flames.
Police officials said they are not sure how that second fire began. Nanavati said the Muslims could have set another fire, or the Hindus, trying to respond in kind, might have accidentally sparked a blaze in their own car, which was filled with kerosene and cooking gas.
``It could have been an accident,`` Nanavati said.
Thus far, the railway police have arrested only Muslims 41 of them in connection with the fire, a fact that galls Muslim leaders here.
``They should arrest the Hindus, too,`` said Shoail Sadamas, an accounting student who witnessed the incident. ``They were not innocent victims.``
Special correspondent Rama Lakshmi contributed to this report
#98 Posted by hobbyty on March 6, 2002 3:44:47 pm
Chowkies
This is a piece on impressions of Pakistan - the earlier one was India.
``A small piece of the world (5)
Nine-month adventure through 11 countries in three continents
By Neema Moraveji
March 5, 2002
Week 5: Pakistan
When it came time for me to enter Pakistan, I looked back across the border back to the world that had stolen my heart and soul; India is its own world - a mini-planet. With my Iranian passport in hand, I hid my American Passport deep in my bag. To enter Pakistan I wanted to switch to my Iranian passport because I would not be able to enter Iran using my American passport - in fact, I was afraid they would confiscate it. The Pakistani officials weren`t happy with me switching passports and refused to sign it - I explained my situation and the tall Punjabi guards eyed me down over and over before denying me my first stamp in my shiny, maroon Iranian passport. I was nervous but knew that this, like every other issue in my journey, would somehow work itself out.
I was in; I had left the world of India and had now entered what I consider the Middle East. I have to admit I wasn`t particularly happy about this. In my head, the phrase ``Middle East`` conjures up images of veiled women, religious zealots, flat and sandy terrain, and a stifling social environment. However, I soon learned that this was not entirely true.
I was traveling with Brett, an American friend I met while teaching English in Dharamsala. Being of Middle Eastern descent, I guided us through Lahore to Iqbal Park (Lahore`s equivalent of Park-e Mell-li) and we noticed the stark difference between the chaos of India and Lahore`s half-hearted attempt at organization. While walking through the old city portion of Lahore, I heard a Muslim prayer over a loud speaker for the first time since my last visit to Iran, five years before.
Brett and I stopped in a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant where we became a spectacle for a while and passer-bys stopped to see what the commotion was about. I heard a few Persian words and my heart leapt - was I mistaken or did I just hear the sweet ring of my mother`s tongue? It was in that small shop that I learned of the large number of Afghani refugees in Pakistan (and Iran) and their version of the Persian language. I was enchanted! It felt so good to speak Persian and it was a trip to hear them speak it the way they did! Drinking tea, laughing at my ignorance, and happy to translate what they were saying to my American friend (a treat while traveling off the beaten path), all of a sudden a man comes into the restaurant with a huge falcon perched on his shoulder! Their pet! Its wings were clipped and they placed the once-majestic creature on my head and hand for me to play with.
We walked along the streets, people stared at us and started up conversations, which at this point could get monotonous. I would tell people I was from Iran and that brought a surprised look to their face and more questions, the first invariably being ``Are you Muslim?`` (to which I was answering `yes` to at this point, just to be able to walk away in peace). Then a young guy walked by us, in our direction, and says ``HELLO!`` and we do the same and after a few yards he stops with three bottles of coke and we share them. He`s a 20 year old named Shahid who works at a milk shop and loved showing us his muscles because he lifts milk all day, and he bragged about his fighting skills and scars. He had twelve brothers and sisters. Well, I guess business was good because this guy wouldn`t stop buying us stuff, even dinner at the end of the night (which he didn`t eat). No matter what we did, he paid for it. He was a cool guy, we had some fun just lounging around the city.
There were very few tourists - the few that we did see were young Japanese men and women. They stuck together in groups and didn`t socialize much outside of their culture.
Brett and I went to Islamabad and made a visit to the Iranian consulate there who was very helpful and overjoyed to meet with me! Let me tell you how fantastic it was to walk into that embassy and be greeted with traditional Persian sheer-ni and cha-ii and have this consulate speak to me in recognizable Persian. After so many months, it was great just speaking with him. I was getting advice for entering into Iran as well as trying to get my American friend Brett a visa to enter my homeland. It didn`t work. They would simply NOT grant him a visa without an immeasurable amount of work. In the end we had to separate because he could not follow me to Iran. I was sort of glad to separate, though; I was used to being alone and I wanted to experience Iran alone. I love traveling by myself but I enjoy a week or (maybe) two with friends here and there along the way.
I had originally planned to explore the beautiful mountains of northern Pakistan (and the infamous KKH) and do some more trekking, even hitting up Peshawar and the notorious Smuggler`s Market. However, after a bit of deliberation while I was in Islamabad, I decided to take the next train south towards Iran and cross into Iran as soon as possible. I missed familiar things - language, culture, custom - the thought of sleeping at my grandmother`s house in Tehran with a belly full of Lubia Polo was just too tempting. I was heading ``home``...
I just took a look back at the diary I kept while I was traveling. It`s fun and interesting to read what I wrote about the places while I was there. Here is an funny line from an entry I wrote while Brett and I were in Islamabad: ``Last night we splurged and had pizza at a pseudo-American restaurant, it was fun. The next day we went to KFC for a sec and I freaked out. I stopped in my tracks and turned around and had to get out. Those 5 seconds are burned into my head/memory.`` I still remember those five seconds: I had just opened the door and took a look around at the inside of this KFC and I almost threw up - I turned around and ran out, with Brett close behind me. It was the most striking reminder of Western culture I had seen since Spain.
Also while in Islamabad, I went to the Ministry of the Interior and had my stamp transferred from my American passport to my Iranian - what a relief! I was ready for Iran! The day before I got on my train bound for southern Pakistan I met an Iranian named Mohsen from Mahshad. We talked and talked and he laughed at me when I told him I was going to Iran dressed like I was currently dressed. He simply wouldn`t have it and thought I was joking. He took me down to a shopping area and we bought me clothes from a used clothing stall on the street. I was wearing jeans for the first time in months and I even had a shirt with a collar. I felt uncomfortable taming the wild afro formerly known as my hair... but I did all this to get into Iran.
On the way to the Iranian border, after a 34 hour train ride (yes that`s 34 hours in a wooden box on wheels), I stopped for a few days in a town in the middle of the Baluchistan province: Quetta. The blend of people in this town overwhelmed me. The faces I saw in this town were one of the most amazing things I had seen during my entire trip. Mongolian complexions, green eyes, dark skin, blue eyes, light skin, skinny, tall, fat, short, it was one huge Benetton commercial. I gawked at them as they gawked back at me - the feeling was mutual. Talk about beautiful people.
After September 11th, I watched CNN when I got a chance and caught glimpses of crowds in Pakistan demonstrating. One city that kept popping up over and over again was Quetta. Seeing those scenes on TV sent a shiver down my spine every single time. I remember walked the streets in Quetta - by the time I left I knew the city quite well; I had walked around much of it and had a map with me at all times. I remember visiting the various bookshops, visiting the local university, riding the buses, hanging out at the bus station. I think that if I was there now my feelings would be very different, if I would have even made it out of there alive. It brings me great sorrow to write that previous sentence.
Along with Shane, an Australian guy I met while in Pakistan, I rode the bus with what seemed like sixty Afghanis to the border of Pakistan and Iran. I will never forget that bus ride from hell. First of all, we stopped at apparently random places in the middle of the night in the lawless land of Baluchistan and old men with rifles taller than they were would come and sit next to me, staring straight ahead. It seems that you needed a rifle just to walk around this desert. Second of all, the bus was so packed I couldn`t believe it - and people carried what seemed like ALL of their belongings with them. From apples to shoes to stereos to TVs to ghalyuns to I-don`t-know-what... people slept three to a seat, in the one-foot-wide bus aisle, anywhere! And I am 6` 4``, it is already a rough ride no matter where I am. We stopped every
two hours so everybody could get out and pray and then we would get back in and drive down like madmen to the border. We stopped for places for dinner in the middle of the desert and I would buy bottled water that looked like it had been under the counter for the past 10 years. It was quite a trip.
We finally made it to the Iranian border. I could barely contain my excitement! I gave Shane my American passport because I didn`t even want it to be on me in case they searched me. Shane went ahead with absolutely no problems. He went on ahead and I told him I would meet up with him in Bam. I got to the counter to have my passport stamped and the official looked at me. I smiled hopefully back at him and he smirked and said in perfect Persian ``You are going to have to step into my office...``
Next week I`ll talk about my wonderful journey from one end of Iran to the other, with a long stay at my grandmother`s house in Tehran. Until then.``
This is a piece on impressions of Pakistan - the earlier one was India.
``A small piece of the world (5)
Nine-month adventure through 11 countries in three continents
By Neema Moraveji
March 5, 2002
Week 5: Pakistan
When it came time for me to enter Pakistan, I looked back across the border back to the world that had stolen my heart and soul; India is its own world - a mini-planet. With my Iranian passport in hand, I hid my American Passport deep in my bag. To enter Pakistan I wanted to switch to my Iranian passport because I would not be able to enter Iran using my American passport - in fact, I was afraid they would confiscate it. The Pakistani officials weren`t happy with me switching passports and refused to sign it - I explained my situation and the tall Punjabi guards eyed me down over and over before denying me my first stamp in my shiny, maroon Iranian passport. I was nervous but knew that this, like every other issue in my journey, would somehow work itself out.
I was in; I had left the world of India and had now entered what I consider the Middle East. I have to admit I wasn`t particularly happy about this. In my head, the phrase ``Middle East`` conjures up images of veiled women, religious zealots, flat and sandy terrain, and a stifling social environment. However, I soon learned that this was not entirely true.
I was traveling with Brett, an American friend I met while teaching English in Dharamsala. Being of Middle Eastern descent, I guided us through Lahore to Iqbal Park (Lahore`s equivalent of Park-e Mell-li) and we noticed the stark difference between the chaos of India and Lahore`s half-hearted attempt at organization. While walking through the old city portion of Lahore, I heard a Muslim prayer over a loud speaker for the first time since my last visit to Iran, five years before.
Brett and I stopped in a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant where we became a spectacle for a while and passer-bys stopped to see what the commotion was about. I heard a few Persian words and my heart leapt - was I mistaken or did I just hear the sweet ring of my mother`s tongue? It was in that small shop that I learned of the large number of Afghani refugees in Pakistan (and Iran) and their version of the Persian language. I was enchanted! It felt so good to speak Persian and it was a trip to hear them speak it the way they did! Drinking tea, laughing at my ignorance, and happy to translate what they were saying to my American friend (a treat while traveling off the beaten path), all of a sudden a man comes into the restaurant with a huge falcon perched on his shoulder! Their pet! Its wings were clipped and they placed the once-majestic creature on my head and hand for me to play with.
We walked along the streets, people stared at us and started up conversations, which at this point could get monotonous. I would tell people I was from Iran and that brought a surprised look to their face and more questions, the first invariably being ``Are you Muslim?`` (to which I was answering `yes` to at this point, just to be able to walk away in peace). Then a young guy walked by us, in our direction, and says ``HELLO!`` and we do the same and after a few yards he stops with three bottles of coke and we share them. He`s a 20 year old named Shahid who works at a milk shop and loved showing us his muscles because he lifts milk all day, and he bragged about his fighting skills and scars. He had twelve brothers and sisters. Well, I guess business was good because this guy wouldn`t stop buying us stuff, even dinner at the end of the night (which he didn`t eat). No matter what we did, he paid for it. He was a cool guy, we had some fun just lounging around the city.
There were very few tourists - the few that we did see were young Japanese men and women. They stuck together in groups and didn`t socialize much outside of their culture.
Brett and I went to Islamabad and made a visit to the Iranian consulate there who was very helpful and overjoyed to meet with me! Let me tell you how fantastic it was to walk into that embassy and be greeted with traditional Persian sheer-ni and cha-ii and have this consulate speak to me in recognizable Persian. After so many months, it was great just speaking with him. I was getting advice for entering into Iran as well as trying to get my American friend Brett a visa to enter my homeland. It didn`t work. They would simply NOT grant him a visa without an immeasurable amount of work. In the end we had to separate because he could not follow me to Iran. I was sort of glad to separate, though; I was used to being alone and I wanted to experience Iran alone. I love traveling by myself but I enjoy a week or (maybe) two with friends here and there along the way.
I had originally planned to explore the beautiful mountains of northern Pakistan (and the infamous KKH) and do some more trekking, even hitting up Peshawar and the notorious Smuggler`s Market. However, after a bit of deliberation while I was in Islamabad, I decided to take the next train south towards Iran and cross into Iran as soon as possible. I missed familiar things - language, culture, custom - the thought of sleeping at my grandmother`s house in Tehran with a belly full of Lubia Polo was just too tempting. I was heading ``home``...
I just took a look back at the diary I kept while I was traveling. It`s fun and interesting to read what I wrote about the places while I was there. Here is an funny line from an entry I wrote while Brett and I were in Islamabad: ``Last night we splurged and had pizza at a pseudo-American restaurant, it was fun. The next day we went to KFC for a sec and I freaked out. I stopped in my tracks and turned around and had to get out. Those 5 seconds are burned into my head/memory.`` I still remember those five seconds: I had just opened the door and took a look around at the inside of this KFC and I almost threw up - I turned around and ran out, with Brett close behind me. It was the most striking reminder of Western culture I had seen since Spain.
Also while in Islamabad, I went to the Ministry of the Interior and had my stamp transferred from my American passport to my Iranian - what a relief! I was ready for Iran! The day before I got on my train bound for southern Pakistan I met an Iranian named Mohsen from Mahshad. We talked and talked and he laughed at me when I told him I was going to Iran dressed like I was currently dressed. He simply wouldn`t have it and thought I was joking. He took me down to a shopping area and we bought me clothes from a used clothing stall on the street. I was wearing jeans for the first time in months and I even had a shirt with a collar. I felt uncomfortable taming the wild afro formerly known as my hair... but I did all this to get into Iran.
On the way to the Iranian border, after a 34 hour train ride (yes that`s 34 hours in a wooden box on wheels), I stopped for a few days in a town in the middle of the Baluchistan province: Quetta. The blend of people in this town overwhelmed me. The faces I saw in this town were one of the most amazing things I had seen during my entire trip. Mongolian complexions, green eyes, dark skin, blue eyes, light skin, skinny, tall, fat, short, it was one huge Benetton commercial. I gawked at them as they gawked back at me - the feeling was mutual. Talk about beautiful people.
After September 11th, I watched CNN when I got a chance and caught glimpses of crowds in Pakistan demonstrating. One city that kept popping up over and over again was Quetta. Seeing those scenes on TV sent a shiver down my spine every single time. I remember walked the streets in Quetta - by the time I left I knew the city quite well; I had walked around much of it and had a map with me at all times. I remember visiting the various bookshops, visiting the local university, riding the buses, hanging out at the bus station. I think that if I was there now my feelings would be very different, if I would have even made it out of there alive. It brings me great sorrow to write that previous sentence.
Along with Shane, an Australian guy I met while in Pakistan, I rode the bus with what seemed like sixty Afghanis to the border of Pakistan and Iran. I will never forget that bus ride from hell. First of all, we stopped at apparently random places in the middle of the night in the lawless land of Baluchistan and old men with rifles taller than they were would come and sit next to me, staring straight ahead. It seems that you needed a rifle just to walk around this desert. Second of all, the bus was so packed I couldn`t believe it - and people carried what seemed like ALL of their belongings with them. From apples to shoes to stereos to TVs to ghalyuns to I-don`t-know-what... people slept three to a seat, in the one-foot-wide bus aisle, anywhere! And I am 6` 4``, it is already a rough ride no matter where I am. We stopped every
two hours so everybody could get out and pray and then we would get back in and drive down like madmen to the border. We stopped for places for dinner in the middle of the desert and I would buy bottled water that looked like it had been under the counter for the past 10 years. It was quite a trip.
We finally made it to the Iranian border. I could barely contain my excitement! I gave Shane my American passport because I didn`t even want it to be on me in case they searched me. Shane went ahead with absolutely no problems. He went on ahead and I told him I would meet up with him in Bam. I got to the counter to have my passport stamped and the official looked at me. I smiled hopefully back at him and he smirked and said in perfect Persian ``You are going to have to step into my office...``
Next week I`ll talk about my wonderful journey from one end of Iran to the other, with a long stay at my grandmother`s house in Tehran. Until then.``
#97 Posted by sac on March 6, 2002 2:09:03 pm
re ROmair #87:
The guy as usual is talking out of his ass. ISI is not composed merely of officers from the armed forces. Roughly more than 30% of the strength of the ISI is composed of civilians. Just like other beauracracies it needs a lot of pencil pushers to get its work done. The dirty deeds they are involved with needs a lot more than the straight laced lance naik from Jhelum or the Captain from Kamoke can handle.
The funding for the ISI does not come merely from the military budget(which by the way has never been accounted for). `Discretionary` funds at the disposal of whoever is running the show at the time are always around to shore up its finances. The whole thing is cloaked in layers of corruption and deception.
later
-sac
The guy as usual is talking out of his ass. ISI is not composed merely of officers from the armed forces. Roughly more than 30% of the strength of the ISI is composed of civilians. Just like other beauracracies it needs a lot of pencil pushers to get its work done. The dirty deeds they are involved with needs a lot more than the straight laced lance naik from Jhelum or the Captain from Kamoke can handle.
The funding for the ISI does not come merely from the military budget(which by the way has never been accounted for). `Discretionary` funds at the disposal of whoever is running the show at the time are always around to shore up its finances. The whole thing is cloaked in layers of corruption and deception.
later
-sac
#96 Posted by AAmir on March 6, 2002 2:09:03 pm
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#95 Posted by veeresh on March 6, 2002 2:09:03 pm
Dear Romair . . . my info is that the Pakistani ISI keeps going ONLY and ONLY because the people therein in the Military establishment in Pakistan hate the Pakistani Foreign Service people more than they hate us Indians!!
Now this confuses everybody in the establishment in Pakistan even further.
The question I raise and which you tried to answer is: who pays for the extra marmalade on their ISI tables? The Saudis? The Iraqis? The Kurdish road control smugglers? The Central Asian narcotic lot? Everybody who hates the Israelis (which includes from Disraeli and Balfour onwards . . .)
#94 Posted by cutandpaste on March 6, 2002 2:09:03 pm
ONCE AGAIN MY HEAD BOWS DOWN IN SHAME
http://www.kavitanjali.com/pgfeb02/onceagain.htm
Oh! once again my head bows down in shame,
Eyes shudder to open to horrendous barbaric strains,
Ears plead to deafen out those agonizing wails,
Is that humanity being snuffed out by the humanity gone astray.
Why was I not born a bird or an animal tame,
Why not an unselfish flower or a river untame,
Why couldn`t my being help enlighten lives,
Why couldn`t my kind enthuse joy in place of cries,
How could fathers, brothers, sons be perpetrators of such heinous barbarism,
Killers, murderers, looters ,plunderers, maligning all that was humanism,
Torching, maiming ,killing, deriving sadistic pleasures from Satanism,
Followers of God`s chosen path, calling themselves Hindus and Muslims,
Forgetting they are the Lord`s best creation indulge in all that is bestial,
Oh! to be a bird or an animal tame......
Once again my head bows down in shame.......
http://www.kavitanjali.com/pgfeb02/onceagain.htm
Oh! once again my head bows down in shame,
Eyes shudder to open to horrendous barbaric strains,
Ears plead to deafen out those agonizing wails,
Is that humanity being snuffed out by the humanity gone astray.
Why was I not born a bird or an animal tame,
Why not an unselfish flower or a river untame,
Why couldn`t my being help enlighten lives,
Why couldn`t my kind enthuse joy in place of cries,
How could fathers, brothers, sons be perpetrators of such heinous barbarism,
Killers, murderers, looters ,plunderers, maligning all that was humanism,
Torching, maiming ,killing, deriving sadistic pleasures from Satanism,
Followers of God`s chosen path, calling themselves Hindus and Muslims,
Forgetting they are the Lord`s best creation indulge in all that is bestial,
Oh! to be a bird or an animal tame......
Once again my head bows down in shame.......
#93 Posted by cutandpaste on March 6, 2002 2:09:03 pm
The Seed Of Violence
Cries of anger and of pain
As images of a burning train
Like a branding iron hot
Seared hatred in the brain
A burning woman, sari aflame
Clutching her child without a name
Mouth open in horror and fear
For her death whom do you blame?
Burning embers far and wide
Carried forward on hatred`s tide
Setting afire innocent homes
For those inside, no place to hide
Other women in different garb
Impaled on vengeance`s barb
Mouth open in horror and fear
No protection far and near
An innocent life taken in vain
Cannot innocent life avenge
While culprits hide like cowards
This is barbarism and not revenge
Wild fire now burns the land
Flames that boil the blood
A torch now in a brainless hand
Who`ll stem this vengeful flood?
Politics the hot whirlwind
Emanating from barren souls
Laying waste a land of peace
Now inhabited by vengeful ghouls
Can`t you see it all you fools
`Tis what our enemies seek
That we hate and kill each other
And burning bodies reek
Stop this now, stop it please
Do not vengeance breed
For somewhere in a quaking soul
It plants a violent seed
The cycle will never end
Like weed upon this soil
Destroy the very garden
We have built with our toil.
Cries of anger and of pain
As images of a burning train
Like a branding iron hot
Seared hatred in the brain
A burning woman, sari aflame
Clutching her child without a name
Mouth open in horror and fear
For her death whom do you blame?
Burning embers far and wide
Carried forward on hatred`s tide
Setting afire innocent homes
For those inside, no place to hide
Other women in different garb
Impaled on vengeance`s barb
Mouth open in horror and fear
No protection far and near
An innocent life taken in vain
Cannot innocent life avenge
While culprits hide like cowards
This is barbarism and not revenge
Wild fire now burns the land
Flames that boil the blood
A torch now in a brainless hand
Who`ll stem this vengeful flood?
Politics the hot whirlwind
Emanating from barren souls
Laying waste a land of peace
Now inhabited by vengeful ghouls
Can`t you see it all you fools
`Tis what our enemies seek
That we hate and kill each other
And burning bodies reek
Stop this now, stop it please
Do not vengeance breed
For somewhere in a quaking soul
It plants a violent seed
The cycle will never end
Like weed upon this soil
Destroy the very garden
We have built with our toil.
#92 Posted by hobbyty on March 6, 2002 2:09:03 pm
It seems Muslims and Hindus share a ``Poverty of Dignity`` - where the self image does not match reality
March 6, 2002
``The Core of Muslim Rage
By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN
The latest death toll in the Indian violence between Hindus and Muslims is 544 people, many of them Muslims. Why is it that when Hindus kill hundreds of Muslims it elicits an emotionally muted headline in the Arab media, but when Israel kills a dozen Muslims, in a war in which Muslims are also killing Jews, it inflames the entire Muslim world?
I raise this point not to make some idiot press critique or engage in cheap Arab-bashing. This is a serious issue. In recent weeks, whenever Arab Muslims told me of their pain at seeing Palestinians brutalized by Israelis on their TV screens every night, I asked back: Why are you so pained about Israelis brutalizing Palestinians, but don`t say a word about the brutality with which Saddam Hussein has snuffed out two generations of Iraqis using murder, fear and poison gas? I got no good answers.
Because the real answer is rooted in something very deep. It has to do with the contrast between Islam`s self-perception as the most ideal and complete expression of the three great monotheistic religions Judaism, Christianity and Islam and the conditions of poverty, repression and underdevelopment in which most Muslims live today.
As a U.S. diplomat in the Middle East said to me, Israel not Iraq, not India is ``a constant reminder to Muslims of their own powerlessness.`` How could a tiny Jewish state amass so much military and economic power if the Islamic way of life not Christianity or Judaism is God`s most ideal religious path?
When Hindus kill Muslims it`s not a story, because there are a billion Hindus and they aren`t part of the Muslim narrative. When Saddam murders his own people it`s not a story, because it`s in the Arab-Muslim family. But when a small band of Israeli Jews kills Muslims it sparks rage a rage that must come from Muslims having to confront the gap between their self-perception as Muslims and the reality of the Muslim world.
I have long believed that it is this poverty of dignity, not a poverty of money, that is behind a lot of Muslim rage today and the reason this rage is sharpest among educated, but frustrated, Muslim youth. It is they who perpetrated 9/11 and who slit the throat of the Wall Street Journal reporter Danny Pearl after reportedly forcing him to declare on film, ``I am a Jew and my mother is a Jew.``
This is not to say that U.S. policy is blameless. We do bad things sometimes. But why is it that only Muslims react to our bad policies with suicidal terrorism, not Mexicans or Chinese? Is it because Arab-Muslim conspiracy theories state that Jews could not be so strong on their own therefore the only reason Israel could be strong, and Muslims weak, is because the U.S. created and supports Israel?
The Muslim world needs to take an honest look at this rage. Look what it has done to Palestinian society where the flower of Palestinian youth now celebrate suicide against Jews as a source of dignity. That is so bad. Yes, there is an Israeli occupation, and that occupation has been hugely distorting of Palestinian life. But the fact is this: If Palestinians had said, ``We are going to oppose the Israeli occupation, with nonviolent resistance, as if we had no other options, and we are going to build a Palestinian society, schools and economy, as if we had no occupation`` they would have had a quality state a long time ago. Instead they have let the occupation define their whole movement and become Yasir Arafat`s excuse for not building jobs and democracy.
Only Muslims can heal their own rage. But the West, and particularly the Jewish world, should help. Because this rage poses an existential threat to Israel. Three broad trends are now converging: (1) The worst killing ever between Israelis and Palestinians; (2) a baby boom in the Arab-Muslim world, where about half the population is under 20; (3) an explosion of Arab satellite TV and Internet, which are taking the horrific images from the intifada and beaming them directly to the new Arab- Muslim generation. If 100 million Arab-Muslims are brought up with these images, Israel won`t survive.
Some of this hatred will remain no matter what Israel does. But to think that Israel`s exiting the occupied territories and abandoning its insane settlement land grab there wouldn`t reduce this problem is absurd.
Israel cannot do it alone. But it has to do all it can to get this show off the air. It would take away an important card from the worst Muslim anti- Semites and it would help strengthen those Muslims, and there are many of them, who know that the suicidal rage of their fanatics is dragging down their whole civilization.``
#91 Posted by hobbyty on March 6, 2002 2:09:03 pm
Akash, Stuka, Dost Mittar, YLH - and the`` missing in Action`` Zafar al-Talib
Also see Tom Friedman`s ``Roots of Muslim Rage`` - these two pieces are relevant in my opinion
A piece from today`s NYT:
March 6, 2002
India`s Past Becomes a Weapon
By SHASHI THAROOR
`ll tell you what your problem is in India,`` the American businessman said. ``You have too much history. Far more than you can use peacefully. So you end up wielding history like a battleaxe, against each other.``
The businessman does not exist; I invented him for a novel, ``Riot,`` that came out last year and concerns a Hindu-Muslim riot that erupts during a campaign to erect a Hindu temple on the site occupied for four and a half centuries by a mosque. Yet the views of this fictional character seem more real each day as reports describe a renewed cycle of killings and mob violence over plans to build a temple to Ram above the ruins of the Babri mosque in Ayodhya, in northern India. In a nonfiction afterword to ``Riot,`` I alerted readers to the threat by Hindu extremists to commence construction in mid-March this year. I take no solace whatever from prescience. The tragedy in India is that even those who know history seem condemned to repeat it.
It is one of the ironies of India`s muddled march into the 21st century that it has a technologically inspired vision of the future yet appears shackled to the dogmas of the past. The temple town of Ayodhya, in India`s most populous state, Uttar Pradesh, has no software labs; it is devoted to religion and old-fashioned industry. In 1992 a howling mob of Hindu extremists tore down the Babri Masjid, which occupied a prominent spot in a town otherwise overflowing with temples. The mosque had been built in the 1520`s by India`s first Mogul emperor, Babur; the Hindu zealots vowed to replace it with a temple to Ram. In other words, they want to avenge history by undoing the shame of half a millennium ago.
India is a land where history, myth and legend often overlap; sometimes Indians cannot tell the difference. Some Hindus claim the Babri Masjid stood on the exact spot of Ram`s birth and had been placed there by Babur to remind a conquered people of their subjugation. Historians most of them Hindus reply that there is no proof that Ram ever existed in human form, let alone that he was born where the believers claim he was. More to the point, there is no proof that Babur demolished a Ram temple to build his mosque. To destroy the mosque and replace it with a temple would not be righting an old wrong but perpetrating a new one.
To most Indian Muslims, the dispute is not about a specific mosque Babri Masjid had lain unused for half a century before its destruction, most of Ayodhya`s Muslims having emigrated to Pakistan upon Partition of British India in 1947 but about their place in Indian society. For decades after independence, Indian governments had guaranteed their security in a secular state, permitting the retention of Muslim ``personal law`` separate from the country`s civil code and even financing hajj pilgrimages to Mecca. Two of India`s first five presidents were Muslim, as have been innumerable cabinet ministers, ambassadors, generals and Supreme Court justices. Until the early 1990`s, India`s Muslim population was greater than that of Pakistan. The destruction of the mosque felt like an utter betrayal of the compact that had sustained the Muslim community as a vital part of India`s pluralist democracy.
The Hindus who attacked the mosque had little faith in the institutions of Indian democracy. They saw the state as soft, pandering to minorities out of a misplaced and Westernized secularism. To them, an independent India, freed after nearly 1,000 years of alien rule (first Muslim, then British) and rid of a sizable portion of its Muslim population by Partition, had an obligation to assert an identity that would be triumphantly and indigenously Hindu. They are not fundamentalists in any common sense of the term, since Hinduism is a religion without fundamentals: there is no Hindu pope, no Hindu Sunday, no single Hindu holy book and indeed no such thing as a Hindu heresy. Hindu ``fundamentalists`` are, instead, chauvinists, who root their Hinduism not in any of its soaring philosophical or spiritual underpinnings and, unlike their Islamic counterparts, not in the theology of their faith but in its role as a source of identity. They seek revenge in the name of Hinduism as badge, rather than of Hinduism as doctrine.
In doing so they are profoundly disloyal to the religion they claim to espouse, which stands out not only as an eclectic embodiment of tolerance but as the only major religion that does not claim to be the only true religion. All ways of worship, Hinduism asserts, are valid, and religion is an intensely personal matter related to the individual`s self-realization in relation to God. Such a faith understands that belief is a matter of hearts and minds, not of bricks and stone. The true Hindu seeks no revenge upon history, for he understands that history is its own revenge.
The Hindu zealots who chanted insultingly triumphalist slogans helped incite the worst elements on the Muslim side, who set fire to a railway carriage carrying temple campaigners; in turn, Hindu mobs have torched Muslim homes and killed innocents. As the courts deliberate on a solution to the Ayodhya dispute, the violence goes on, spawning new hostages to history, ensuring that future generations will be taught new wrongs to set right. We live, Octavio Paz once wrote, between oblivion and memory. Memory and oblivion: one leads to the other, and back again. And history is not a web woven by innocent hands.
Shashi Tharoor is the author of ``India: From Midnight to the Millennium`` and, most recently, of the novel ``Riot.``
#90 Posted by bharatvaasi on March 6, 2002 2:09:03 pm
Here is one person who is willing to stand up to the goons of the VHP. The Shankaracharya has come up with the goods, and is putting these goons inplace. It is kick ass time. I wonder what happens in our land of pakistan, the land where civilisation started.
check out http://www.hinduonnet.com/stories/2002030603191100.htm
Quotes
1.The Shankaracharya also made it clear to the ``mandir`` proponents that he was not ``mediating`` between the VHP and the Government. As the religious leader of the Hindu community, he believes that he had a higher and exalted status than the assorted `sants` and `sadhus`; he could always direct the VHP leaders to take a particular course, and in case they remained intractable, he would not hesitate to appeal directly to the Hindu community at large.
2.The Shankaracharya of Kanchi has managed to make the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) give not one but two written undertakings. First, the already publicised one is that the VHP will abide by the court verdict. This in itself is a major climbdown because, so far, the `sadhus` and `sants` have refused to admit a role for the court in a matter of ``faith.``
3. More significantly, it is learnt that the VHP has also given a written undertaking that it would abide by the court judgment even if there was an ``adverse`` verdict over the ``disputed`` area. In the second written commitment, the VHP has undertaken to provide, honestly and sincerely, access and right of way in case the final verdict restored the ``disputed`` site to the Muslims.
check out http://www.hinduonnet.com/stories/2002030603191100.htm
Quotes
1.The Shankaracharya also made it clear to the ``mandir`` proponents that he was not ``mediating`` between the VHP and the Government. As the religious leader of the Hindu community, he believes that he had a higher and exalted status than the assorted `sants` and `sadhus`; he could always direct the VHP leaders to take a particular course, and in case they remained intractable, he would not hesitate to appeal directly to the Hindu community at large.
2.The Shankaracharya of Kanchi has managed to make the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) give not one but two written undertakings. First, the already publicised one is that the VHP will abide by the court verdict. This in itself is a major climbdown because, so far, the `sadhus` and `sants` have refused to admit a role for the court in a matter of ``faith.``
3. More significantly, it is learnt that the VHP has also given a written undertaking that it would abide by the court judgment even if there was an ``adverse`` verdict over the ``disputed`` area. In the second written commitment, the VHP has undertaken to provide, honestly and sincerely, access and right of way in case the final verdict restored the ``disputed`` site to the Muslims.
#89 Posted by hobbyty on March 6, 2002 2:09:03 pm
I ran acorss this writing and thought others at Chowk may enjoy it as well
``A small piece of the world (3)
Nine-month adventure through 11 countries in three continents
By Neema Moraveji
February 6, 2002
Who doesn`t dream about traveling the globe, finding and losing one`s self a million times over and over, exploring new heights and vastly different cultures, having fun every single day, and doing it all while you are young enough to enjoy it?
I know I did and I still do, even after a nine-month adventure through 11 countries in three continents during my senior year of college. I hope to take you, through this series of six photo essays, to the places I visited.
First, some background knowledge: As a 21-year-old Iranian college student here in the US, I saved up my money from college internships and decided to take my senior year off and backpack alone through Europe. I flew into Madrid and ended up staying there for close to three months.
From there my travel plans changed and I visited Amsterdam, Morocco, Kenya, Thailand, India, Nepal, Pakistan, Iran, Turkey, and Germany. I kept a small backpack with few clothes, some first-aid supplies, and a book. I traveled by bus, train, and motorcycle to make it all the way from Southeast Asia back to Europe.
Week 3: India
I arrived in Kolkata (Calcutta) from Bangkok on February 14th, (Valentine`s Day), 2001. I remember reading a newspaper published that day in Kolkata: throughout the country, acts of protests were being held by fundamentalists in response to the celebration of the Western holiday by young Indians. My true introduction to India came when I got in my first taxicab and stayed the night in a small Indian hostel. The infection on my foot wasn`t ``going away`` as I expected - it was the result of several motorcycle accidents despite the healing powers of an aloe plant that a Thai woman gave me from her garden (see the photos for the story of the Indian ``hotel doctor``). All of my previous injuries were magically disappearing throughout my journey, but this one refused to budge.
In the airport in Kolkata, I befriended the only other traveler in sight: Bruno. We ended up sticking together for a couple of days in the city and I learned that this was his second time in India. Our first night in the hostel, I asked him why he came back to this country. He replied that he was here for the spiritual experience. He wanted to continue his spiritual education - and what place is better than the enigma that is India? On a small met he unrolled from his backpack, he practiced Yoga and meditation in our tiny hotel room while I read about the history and culture of this fantastic subcontinent.
As anybody who first enters India, I was shocked, appalled, saddened, amazed, enthralled, and countless other adjectives. It`s just that type of place. I`m not going to try and explain those feelings with words - hopefully the photos I supply will do it some justice. What I will describe is my route and several stories along the way.
From West Bengal I entered the chaos of the Indian national train network south to Orissa state. As I wrote before, I was interested mainly in visiting rural villages, small sights, out-of-the-way towns, and great adventures. Traveling through the vastly different regions of India, I was amazed at the diversity of the culture. Language, dress, custom, food, everything changed from state to state. Keep in mind that I saw but a small piece of this great country. I could have visited more cities but I wanted to get to know India, not bounce around her from city to city. Consequently, I would visit towns and stay a few days if I enjoyed them. I traveled as I pleased, with no real schedule and no goal.
In Puri, on the east coast, I made an Indian friend named Bubu who was about my age. We decided to travel together for a few weeks. With this new acquaintance, I was given a key to a secret India - an India hidden from normal foreigners and travelers. Speaking several languages and wearing the six Brahmin strings across his chest to symbolize his high caste, Bubu gave me the opportunity to visit remote villages and explore ancient ruins of Buddhist monasteries that had yet to be fully excavated.
From Orissa I went to Benares (Varanasi), probably the holiest site in all of India. The mighty Ganges winds through the region and Benares was built along particularly beautiful portion of it. On my rickshaw ride from the train station to the infamous Godaulia region of the city, I fell in love. Benares was a city unlike any other I had ever seen; I had just taken a step back five hundred years into history. I walked along the ghats (steps that lead into the Ganges river) and felt as if I stepped into an issue of National Geographic published in the 14th century. Cremations, hash pipes, sadhus, travelers, holy men, children, old statues, crumbling old buildings in different colors, narrow walkways clogged by cows, etc. Walking along the ghats one day, I walked by two dogs knawing and fighting over a human femur bone.
One afternoon in Benares I met several children who invited me to their house in a part of Benares that was void of any tourists. At the top of this old, skeleton of a building lived their extensive network of aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and parents. One of the girls, 16 years old, spoke some English and I communicated through her with them. We talked and talked and ended up dancing for no apparent reason into the evening in a small shack on the top of this building overlooking the Ganges. I stayed with this hospitable family for a week and a half total. The father practiced Yoga and I did so with him: at six in the morning. I slept on the floor alongside the father and his children. They accepted me as their own for a short while. That`s the thing about traveling like this: you never know when you might stumble into life-altering experience.
When I returned to Benares from my ten-day trip to Nepal (the story of Nepal will be published next week), I took a train east, straight through Agra (the site of the Taj Mahal) without stopping - I was totally turned off by the idea of interacting with tourists and going through those motions. I took a train to Punjab state and stayed for a day in Amritsar, the great capital of the Sikhs. At their pilgrimage sight, the Golden Temple, I accepted free food, hospitality, and smiles (all are customary at the great Golden Temple). Then, I continued to the place I was heading to since I heard about it: McLeodganj and Dharamsala. I arrived in Dharamsala. with a Japanese woman who was also making her way to this magnet of spiritual seekers. Our bus arrived at 4 AM, the town was asleep. We had no idea what to do. Sticking together as travelers sometimes do, we woke up a man and he rented a room with two beds to us. The next day we caught another bus even higher up the mountain to McLeodganj.
In McLeodganj, I stayed at a Tibetan Buddhist monastery in small, cold living quarters assigned to visitors. I knew that the Dalai Lama lived here in McLeodganj but that didn`t really affect my decision for coming here. I wanted to study meditation, interact with monks, explore the world of Buddhism and Tibetan culture. On my second day in the cold, wet, gray, windy mountainside, I heard that the Dalai Lama was holding public teachings starting that day and would continue them for ten days. Yet another omen. I was becoming accustomed to these strange matters of ``chance`` I encountered on a semi-daily basis. As a result, I traveled with this air of comfort and real knowledge that everything was right in the world, my path was somehow ``right``.
Here in southern Kashmir, I attended the teachings of the Dalai Lama alongside other Westerners and hundreds of Tibetan refugees. Both of these parties shared two common characteristics: His Holiness the Dalai Lama was their spiritual leader and they both traveled from far away to come hear him speak and bask in his presence. I attended a Tibetan Opera festival being held in the hills and was there when he entered with his entourage as the honored guest. I was but a foot away from him as he repeatedly bowed back to us with nothing but humility and a smile. He made his way through the crowd and it was a feeling I had never felt before. I didn`t come to India seeking spirituality - spirituality was banging down my door - and it was coming in.
I volunteered at a small school that educated recent refugees that made the month-long trek over the Himalayas from Tibet. I taught monks English on a daily basis alongside a friend I made: Brett. Together we came up with lessons and just taught them whatever we wanted to. I also took a student one-on-one who had arrived a month ago. Every morning I would walk up a hill through a monkey-infested forest from the monastery where I stayed, stop on the street and buy some bread and bananas for breakfast, visit a man who would make me an egg omelet while we smiled at each other, and then go teach English to Jamyang for an hour. During the day I would attend the teachings of the Dalai Lama, read all day, or just walk in the forests and think. In the evening I would go to the school and teach the monks more English.
One monk who I taught came to me one day and asked me why my name was Neema. I told him my parents named me that. He asked me where I was from and I replied Iran. He then told me that Neema was a Tibetan word for Sun and his name was, in fact, Neema. But he spelled it ``Nyima``. I took this as a sign - I had to do something about this. Nyima and I spent several evenings speaking at length over dinner. I asked him questions about his life in the monastery in southern India and Nepal, he asked me questions about America and my life there. These were conversations I had always dreamed about.
I spent another two weeks at even higher elevation in the hills of McLeodganj at a Vipassana meditation center. There, I studied the meditation technique that the Buddha himself taught all across the Indian subcontinent. I learned of the pure teachings of the Buddha (note I didn`t say Buddhism) and followed the rigorous plan: awake at 6 AM, meditation all day (with several breaks) until 9 AM. No talking ever, no evening meals, and only small meals during the day. It was the most difficult yet greatest twelve days of my life.
From McLeodganj, I took a bus to the border of India and Pakistan, bypassing central Kashmir in favor of an area closer to Iran. On my last day in India, Brett and I together jumped on a rickshaw in the middle of the plains between India and Pakistan. Brett let the child peddling us to sit alongside myself while Brett peddled us the 300 yards to Pakistan. The people we passed laughed and I could do nothing but smile. Love was everywhere I looked.
Next week I will be writing about my short time in Nepal. If you remember, I took a bus from Benares to Nepal and stayed for ten days. I then returned to Benares for the great celebration of Holi. So, next week will be Nepal and the following week will be Pakistan. Hang in there, Iran comes after Pakistan and there is a great story of my entry into Iran from Pakistan in the middle of the Baluchistan desert.``
``A small piece of the world (3)
Nine-month adventure through 11 countries in three continents
By Neema Moraveji
February 6, 2002
Who doesn`t dream about traveling the globe, finding and losing one`s self a million times over and over, exploring new heights and vastly different cultures, having fun every single day, and doing it all while you are young enough to enjoy it?
I know I did and I still do, even after a nine-month adventure through 11 countries in three continents during my senior year of college. I hope to take you, through this series of six photo essays, to the places I visited.
First, some background knowledge: As a 21-year-old Iranian college student here in the US, I saved up my money from college internships and decided to take my senior year off and backpack alone through Europe. I flew into Madrid and ended up staying there for close to three months.
From there my travel plans changed and I visited Amsterdam, Morocco, Kenya, Thailand, India, Nepal, Pakistan, Iran, Turkey, and Germany. I kept a small backpack with few clothes, some first-aid supplies, and a book. I traveled by bus, train, and motorcycle to make it all the way from Southeast Asia back to Europe.
Week 3: India
I arrived in Kolkata (Calcutta) from Bangkok on February 14th, (Valentine`s Day), 2001. I remember reading a newspaper published that day in Kolkata: throughout the country, acts of protests were being held by fundamentalists in response to the celebration of the Western holiday by young Indians. My true introduction to India came when I got in my first taxicab and stayed the night in a small Indian hostel. The infection on my foot wasn`t ``going away`` as I expected - it was the result of several motorcycle accidents despite the healing powers of an aloe plant that a Thai woman gave me from her garden (see the photos for the story of the Indian ``hotel doctor``). All of my previous injuries were magically disappearing throughout my journey, but this one refused to budge.
In the airport in Kolkata, I befriended the only other traveler in sight: Bruno. We ended up sticking together for a couple of days in the city and I learned that this was his second time in India. Our first night in the hostel, I asked him why he came back to this country. He replied that he was here for the spiritual experience. He wanted to continue his spiritual education - and what place is better than the enigma that is India? On a small met he unrolled from his backpack, he practiced Yoga and meditation in our tiny hotel room while I read about the history and culture of this fantastic subcontinent.
As anybody who first enters India, I was shocked, appalled, saddened, amazed, enthralled, and countless other adjectives. It`s just that type of place. I`m not going to try and explain those feelings with words - hopefully the photos I supply will do it some justice. What I will describe is my route and several stories along the way.
From West Bengal I entered the chaos of the Indian national train network south to Orissa state. As I wrote before, I was interested mainly in visiting rural villages, small sights, out-of-the-way towns, and great adventures. Traveling through the vastly different regions of India, I was amazed at the diversity of the culture. Language, dress, custom, food, everything changed from state to state. Keep in mind that I saw but a small piece of this great country. I could have visited more cities but I wanted to get to know India, not bounce around her from city to city. Consequently, I would visit towns and stay a few days if I enjoyed them. I traveled as I pleased, with no real schedule and no goal.
In Puri, on the east coast, I made an Indian friend named Bubu who was about my age. We decided to travel together for a few weeks. With this new acquaintance, I was given a key to a secret India - an India hidden from normal foreigners and travelers. Speaking several languages and wearing the six Brahmin strings across his chest to symbolize his high caste, Bubu gave me the opportunity to visit remote villages and explore ancient ruins of Buddhist monasteries that had yet to be fully excavated.
From Orissa I went to Benares (Varanasi), probably the holiest site in all of India. The mighty Ganges winds through the region and Benares was built along particularly beautiful portion of it. On my rickshaw ride from the train station to the infamous Godaulia region of the city, I fell in love. Benares was a city unlike any other I had ever seen; I had just taken a step back five hundred years into history. I walked along the ghats (steps that lead into the Ganges river) and felt as if I stepped into an issue of National Geographic published in the 14th century. Cremations, hash pipes, sadhus, travelers, holy men, children, old statues, crumbling old buildings in different colors, narrow walkways clogged by cows, etc. Walking along the ghats one day, I walked by two dogs knawing and fighting over a human femur bone.
One afternoon in Benares I met several children who invited me to their house in a part of Benares that was void of any tourists. At the top of this old, skeleton of a building lived their extensive network of aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and parents. One of the girls, 16 years old, spoke some English and I communicated through her with them. We talked and talked and ended up dancing for no apparent reason into the evening in a small shack on the top of this building overlooking the Ganges. I stayed with this hospitable family for a week and a half total. The father practiced Yoga and I did so with him: at six in the morning. I slept on the floor alongside the father and his children. They accepted me as their own for a short while. That`s the thing about traveling like this: you never know when you might stumble into life-altering experience.
When I returned to Benares from my ten-day trip to Nepal (the story of Nepal will be published next week), I took a train east, straight through Agra (the site of the Taj Mahal) without stopping - I was totally turned off by the idea of interacting with tourists and going through those motions. I took a train to Punjab state and stayed for a day in Amritsar, the great capital of the Sikhs. At their pilgrimage sight, the Golden Temple, I accepted free food, hospitality, and smiles (all are customary at the great Golden Temple). Then, I continued to the place I was heading to since I heard about it: McLeodganj and Dharamsala. I arrived in Dharamsala. with a Japanese woman who was also making her way to this magnet of spiritual seekers. Our bus arrived at 4 AM, the town was asleep. We had no idea what to do. Sticking together as travelers sometimes do, we woke up a man and he rented a room with two beds to us. The next day we caught another bus even higher up the mountain to McLeodganj.
In McLeodganj, I stayed at a Tibetan Buddhist monastery in small, cold living quarters assigned to visitors. I knew that the Dalai Lama lived here in McLeodganj but that didn`t really affect my decision for coming here. I wanted to study meditation, interact with monks, explore the world of Buddhism and Tibetan culture. On my second day in the cold, wet, gray, windy mountainside, I heard that the Dalai Lama was holding public teachings starting that day and would continue them for ten days. Yet another omen. I was becoming accustomed to these strange matters of ``chance`` I encountered on a semi-daily basis. As a result, I traveled with this air of comfort and real knowledge that everything was right in the world, my path was somehow ``right``.
Here in southern Kashmir, I attended the teachings of the Dalai Lama alongside other Westerners and hundreds of Tibetan refugees. Both of these parties shared two common characteristics: His Holiness the Dalai Lama was their spiritual leader and they both traveled from far away to come hear him speak and bask in his presence. I attended a Tibetan Opera festival being held in the hills and was there when he entered with his entourage as the honored guest. I was but a foot away from him as he repeatedly bowed back to us with nothing but humility and a smile. He made his way through the crowd and it was a feeling I had never felt before. I didn`t come to India seeking spirituality - spirituality was banging down my door - and it was coming in.
I volunteered at a small school that educated recent refugees that made the month-long trek over the Himalayas from Tibet. I taught monks English on a daily basis alongside a friend I made: Brett. Together we came up with lessons and just taught them whatever we wanted to. I also took a student one-on-one who had arrived a month ago. Every morning I would walk up a hill through a monkey-infested forest from the monastery where I stayed, stop on the street and buy some bread and bananas for breakfast, visit a man who would make me an egg omelet while we smiled at each other, and then go teach English to Jamyang for an hour. During the day I would attend the teachings of the Dalai Lama, read all day, or just walk in the forests and think. In the evening I would go to the school and teach the monks more English.
One monk who I taught came to me one day and asked me why my name was Neema. I told him my parents named me that. He asked me where I was from and I replied Iran. He then told me that Neema was a Tibetan word for Sun and his name was, in fact, Neema. But he spelled it ``Nyima``. I took this as a sign - I had to do something about this. Nyima and I spent several evenings speaking at length over dinner. I asked him questions about his life in the monastery in southern India and Nepal, he asked me questions about America and my life there. These were conversations I had always dreamed about.
I spent another two weeks at even higher elevation in the hills of McLeodganj at a Vipassana meditation center. There, I studied the meditation technique that the Buddha himself taught all across the Indian subcontinent. I learned of the pure teachings of the Buddha (note I didn`t say Buddhism) and followed the rigorous plan: awake at 6 AM, meditation all day (with several breaks) until 9 AM. No talking ever, no evening meals, and only small meals during the day. It was the most difficult yet greatest twelve days of my life.
From McLeodganj, I took a bus to the border of India and Pakistan, bypassing central Kashmir in favor of an area closer to Iran. On my last day in India, Brett and I together jumped on a rickshaw in the middle of the plains between India and Pakistan. Brett let the child peddling us to sit alongside myself while Brett peddled us the 300 yards to Pakistan. The people we passed laughed and I could do nothing but smile. Love was everywhere I looked.
Next week I will be writing about my short time in Nepal. If you remember, I took a bus from Benares to Nepal and stayed for ten days. I then returned to Benares for the great celebration of Holi. So, next week will be Nepal and the following week will be Pakistan. Hang in there, Iran comes after Pakistan and there is a great story of my entry into Iran from Pakistan in the middle of the Baluchistan desert.``
#88 Posted by ferozk on March 6, 2002 10:39:39 am
Re: Romair
Yaar, give it up! Like that old line...me thinks that you protest too much!
Ciao
Yaar, give it up! Like that old line...me thinks that you protest too much!
Ciao
#87 Posted by rsaxena on March 5, 2002 10:30:10 pm
re: the inane shrinker
too much time in the sun for you, eh?
{{OK Pakistan; what the HECK is happening?! 80,000 people are killed in Kashmir, the GoI is tardy in protecting rights of minorities in Gujerat & India doesnt even appear in the prominent list in the ``Axis of evil``!!}}
umm genius, gujarat is no worse than race riots in the US; if the US picks on india for that, they can add themselves to the list each time there are rodney king, OJ, or louima inspired riots in LA, New York, Cincinnati, etc.
{{This is sad: NOBODY, but NOBODY gives a s *it about what is happening to Kashmiris! Why the US gives India such a wide berth is mind boggling.}}
only pakis get hemorrhoids over kashmir...and the hemorrhoids get worse when no one, including the ARABS, will listen to their moaning...
too much time in the sun for you, eh?
{{OK Pakistan; what the HECK is happening?! 80,000 people are killed in Kashmir, the GoI is tardy in protecting rights of minorities in Gujerat & India doesnt even appear in the prominent list in the ``Axis of evil``!!}}
umm genius, gujarat is no worse than race riots in the US; if the US picks on india for that, they can add themselves to the list each time there are rodney king, OJ, or louima inspired riots in LA, New York, Cincinnati, etc.
{{This is sad: NOBODY, but NOBODY gives a s *it about what is happening to Kashmiris! Why the US gives India such a wide berth is mind boggling.}}
only pakis get hemorrhoids over kashmir...and the hemorrhoids get worse when no one, including the ARABS, will listen to their moaning...
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