an itinerant observer

Illustration/Photo-credit: Saniya Kamal It was a late Thursday morning. An unusually quiet day in the Pediatric Emergency Room. Only two out of the 10 beds were occupied by children – and these are children famous for wailing in agony; uncomfortable because of their ailment, scared because of the hospital environment, and the terrifying individuals in white coats and white uniforms who poke needles into them. Today, however, both the children admitted into the ER for observation (for gastroenteritis and croup, respectively) were calm, feeling much better, and comforted by their mother’s presence next to them. I smiled at the thought – it’s a great feeling to know you’ve helped a child come out of the pain they were in. I checked my watch – I had at least an hour before their next follow-up. So I did what every medical student does – or rather, is expected to do – in his/her free time: I grabbed an empty chair, took out my book and started studying. I barely got through th...

“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...

[Photo Credit Riaz Khan] It is not surprising that Karachi and Houston, two cities that I have considered home for almost the last four decades, are “sister cities”.   Just last year, I was introduced to the Sister Cities of Houston program. At times I wonder why the program doesn’t refer to the cities as ‘brother’ cities or ‘cousin’ cities? Could it be that sisters are more pleasantly inclined towards each other in comparison to other relatives, and hence the sisterly link even for cities is more enduring?  The questions take away from the real thrust of this essay. What earthly comparison can even exist between the presumably volatile and anarchic city of Karachi, Pakistan, and the oil and gas hunger-driven megapolis of Houston, Texas? At face value not much of an analogous situation exists. Digging deeper into this juxtaposition, however, you might realize that both urban locales are burgeoning in similar fashion! Here are a few similarities:...

It’s only right that Manto would be the source of shattering my writer’s block - a heavy over 5-year-old block. Not being a full time writer nor poet, over the years I have dabbled in both writing and poetry. I practice psychiatry - a conventional career that pays my bills. "Ah!", you might say, "That is why Manto got her writing. That man had plenty going on in terms of mental illness". Perhaps he did. Perhaps, we all do. But I’ll come to that later. On a sunny Thursday meant to be an official holiday, I set out to do a morning clinic, before joining friends at a theater to watch Manto, the much awaited film. My familiarity with Manto had been of a passing nature. Growing up in the O’ and A’ levels realm, I felt a far greater kinship to the Bards, Brontes and Hemmingways of the world than to our Urdu maestros. A couple of his short stories read in my 20s, in English, hardly warrants even an acquaintance-ship to Manto. But the billboard that I passed ...

To, Medical Students Wherever & whenever Dec. 31, 2015 Dear Medical Students, Upon returning to Pakistan and resuming my medical career in Karachi after 15 years in Houston, I became acutely aware of my buttons. Those, if touched, would get my goat. If done at a particularly inopportune time then activation of said buttons would make me rebellious. And that was not a good omen for you. Perhaps you could extol my being attuned to my ins and outs – in particular, realization of my dark side, what triggered it and how I manage to control it, being part of the learning that you, my dear medical students, forced upon me.    Today’s letter is about the most significant of those buttons. I call it “The Button”. I realized early on, “The Button” was being called “Sir”.  It all began when I started receiving seemingly innocuous email from you. Email that would inevitably start with the salutation “Dear Sir….”, or ‘Respected Sir..”, or “Dear ...

Disclaimer : This is not a movie review (as I'm not a movie critic). It started with the need to have minions at my beck and call 24/7. Never ending work, without a break, and lack of readily available home help had led to a frustrating situation. Although I was desirous of minions, in reality it was highly unlikely to happen. So I relegated myself to the virtual world of minions. I'm not a huge fan of Disney-Pixar's animated movies. This time, however, my kids ensured that I would accompany them to watch the latest ‘cartoon’. Not having watched ‘Despicable Me’ prior to this I was a bit curious to see for myself what all the hangama was about. My kids had been incessant about the minions. So on Eid day 3, since I was neither on call at home nor in the ER, I took my kids to watch the much anticipated movie. It was not entirely disappointing. The minions’ main objective is simple: to seek out and offer their services to the most evil person alive. Thus, the evil doer...

When I hear the word ‘Pakistan’ on CNN, BBC, or even FOX news for that matter, there’s that sinking feeling of, “Oh no, what now?” Reflexively I expect another story of doom and gloom to unfold. I might rush to Pakistani newspapers and TV channels hoping that they might provide a somewhat objective viewpoint. Alas, they too, at times, tend to obfuscate reality and create an alternative one that is a better fit for conspiracy theorists.    It is time to move past political punditry and journalistic jingoism. Perhaps it is time for the Diaspora to talk and write about good things in Pakistan.       Before reaching this semi-conclusion, I felt I had arrived at a crossroads - I could either delve in apathy and antipathy for Pakistan, or write about a potential way out of my dilemma. I choose to write since that is my comfort zone. I will try to describe the problem first. What's happening in Pakistan is complex. ‘ Corruption’ , a common buzzword, i...