an itinerant observer

I met Jacob Shahid Masih years before I understood why I kept returning to him. We worked together briefly during a medical elective in a rather unassuming place in Northern Pakistan that quietly reshaped how I thought about faith, care, and belonging. I have written about that time before. He was a nurse by training. Looking back, that almost feels incidental. What stayed with me was the way he moved through the ward. He never seemed in a hurry. He simply seemed present. With patients. With suffering. With silence. He sang. Sometimes devotional songs in Punjabi. Sometimes playful ones in Urdu. Sometimes simply because the moment could hold them. I never knew where one tradition ended and another began. I never thought to ask. Jacob seemed equally at home in Catholic churches, Sufi shrines, hospital wards, and in the company of people whose beliefs differed from his own. He never appeared preoccupied with defending an identity. When conversations drifted towards religion, he...

At the end of the year, change becomes imminent in Karachi. The crisp and fresh winter air (relative only to Karachi’s summer air, mind you) induces one to take up change in all its glory. Therefore, as the denizens of the megapolis pushed ahead with renewed hope for 2019, I too became intoxicated by their excitement. “What change shall I bring about?” I asked myself. When self provided no ready answers, I looked around for change projects that I could take on. I even asked my fellow travelers for suggestions. A few enthusiasts rattled off their new year’s resolutions, thinking that I would pick something of their interest. The list ranged from working towards the elimination of poverty, disease, violence, and workplace harassment, to acceptance of keto/paleo diets, dance therapy, weight and stress management lifestyles, and so on. To me all that seemed like a lot of effort vis-a-vis work, time and money. I went back to self for further introspection. I mulled about a sin...

Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free. -Rumi “Dhum-dhum-dhum…” The drumbeat started plaintively at dusk. I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. As I turned around, the sights were to behold; orange, purple, yellow, green and blue fairy lights adorned the tomb creating a riot of colors. The chadors being handed out for draping around our necks were lal – red – the color attributed to the Saint. It wasn’t just the sights and sounds that were captivating. Incense sticks generated a pleasant aroma. Typically, I would’ve been irritated by the cloying Metro Milan  agarbati  – but not this time. The nasal senses were heightened as much as the others, if not more. As if the sights, sounds and scents weren’t enough, a tingling sensation made itself felt all the way from my fingers and toes to my center. It felt like a warm embrace. ...

I heard about the second floor (T2F) in Karachi before hearing about the person behind it. Prior to relocation to Karachi, my birthplace and the city where I came of age, T2F was described to me as the reason why Karachi was still cooler than Lahore. I recalled the 80s and 90s during my school and medical college years, when there weren’t any spaces like the T2F, where one could go and immerse oneself in thinking, for oneself and for those around you.  After resettling in Karachi, I had the opportunity to visit a few sessions at T2F. It was delightful. The talks and discussions were scintillating, photographic or other exhibits impressive, and the café an oasis. But none of that even came close to the person who ran the show, Sabeen Mahmud. Every time I would see her there, I found her exuding vitality and uber enthusiasm for any cause célèbre that she hosted. She was witty and introspective, an intriguing combination - a real charmer, as they say.   Interesti...

Prior to leaving Houston ‘for good’ and relocating to Karachi, perhaps 'for good', I was asked by several well wishers to keep up with my blog. They specifically wanted me to write from and about Karachi. Knowing well that I would neither delve into politics nor religion, some still asked, “Why don’t you write about politics in Karachi”, while others persisted, “Asad, why don’t you write about the religion of Karachi, especially during the month of fasting?”   If the number of Facebook likes and comments on anything related to politics or religion is a fair gauge then one might conclude that those are the only two scintillating topics worthy of expression in words. “If I take away both religion and politics prevalent in Karachi, then what am I left with to ramble about?” I asked myself. Normally I call upon the muses to assist me in finding something interesting to write about. This time around was no different.   Today marked week two of relocation to Karachi from ...

As happens frequently now my mind (heart?) tends to gravitate towards the next writing mission for the Karachi - Houston diaries. “Perhaps you should take a break from writing a new entry? It is after all a break from work too”, I felt like telling myself the other day. But the muse intervened. “Write about ritual customary celebrations in Karachi and Houston.” The muse obviously won. Ritual celebrations that are supposedly suffused with religion are always interesting to observe. This year’s barri (big) Eid is a case in point. A few days prior to the start of this celebration, some family members, males for the most part, enthusiastically promoted touring the animal bazaar. “We’ve got to pick the choicest goat, sheep, buffalo, camel, or a combination”, said my cousin-brother. That seemed to be a valid aspiration – for him. What I learned from him: factors that weighed into the selection process, other than price, included type and number of animals the neighbors were buyin...