an itinerant observer

I watched The Life of Chuck on a flight out of JFK. The plane had just lifted, and the movie found me. No distractions, no wandering thoughts. It landed inside me faster than Flow had on another journey . I came of age reading Stephen King. From the haunting darkness of Salem’s Lot , The Shining , Cujo , and It to the unexpected humanity of his short stories adapted into The Shawshank Redemption and Stand by Me , King shaped my sense of how worlds can collapse, and how small, luminous acts still matter. The Life of Chuck felt like the natural continuation of that arc: not horror, but mortality seen through wonder. The story runs backward. Death first. Then middle age. Then childhood.  The world itself collapses into darkness, only to reveal the celebration of one man’s life, Chuck’s. Thirty-nine years written as if they were the span of a cosmos.  When he dies, the lights go out. That is the point: each of us carries a universe inside, and when it ends, so does the world ...

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...

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality Open your eyes , look up to the skies and see I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy …” Bohemian Rhapsody by Freddie Mercury And I was hooked. How could I not be? I was 15 when I heard the above, a lifetime ago. Being drawn into those words could merely be attributed to a teenager’s existential angst, but in my head, it was clear that Freddie Mercury was writing and singing for me and me alone. That he crooned the song in a most rhapsodizing manner, was a bonus. Thus, I began my love affair with Bohemian Rhapsody, arguably one of the most influential songs of all time, performed by the band Queen.   I was in high school when I fell in love with that song. For me, that was a time of trials and tribulations. Societal acceptance at that age and stage of my life essentially boiled down to peer acceptability. Perhaps it was not so surprising that except for those fe...

Recently it became newsworthy that PepsiCo's famous CEO Indra Nooyi hated being called‘Honey’ or ‘Sweetie’ . I believe she found such ‘titles’ demeaning in an environment that needed to strive more towards gender parity. Of course, she meant that in the larger context of the contemporary work environment, with higher numbers of women in leadership positions, than ever before. Nothing against that, however, had she not been quoted in that article, a back and forth email thread would not have been generated among a few work colleagues; a heated argument on gender disparity at the workplace would not have resulted; and ultimately, as tends to be the norm, sexism, feminism and other isms would not have been invoked.    Bottom line…a lot would not have occurred. But it did. And here’s a snippet:   “One shouldn’t take these titles too seriously”, said one person. “Whether I am called Honey, Sweetie or Babe is not important to me – what I get to do (at the wo...

“It’s time to put the kids in private school”, used to be Ayesha’s mantra, a few years ago. My companion and much better half of over a decade would have me believe that private schooling was exactly what the doctor ordered for our young kids. I, being somewhat twisted in logic, had a hard time coming to terms with that. I understand, thus believe, that the private versus the public school dilemma is not new and that it is faced by many people across a wide spectrum of our nation’s populace. I also feel that it is of particular interest to the über-competitive desi (South Asian) Diaspora in Houston, and elsewhere. In fact, it is of such significance that it makes for much conversation whenever there is a meet and greet, typically at a birthday party, baby shower, bridal shower, or even the fashionable  GNO  (Girls’ Night Out). The argument for private school goes somewhat like this: better teachers, better curriculum, more motivation, and more inspiration. If...