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travel
By Tariq Bhatti In London, since September
last year, many a time I thought of writing on comparative cultural I wanted to write about twenty-four year old Margaret, a beautiful Polish girl, who rides cycle taxi in central London in chilly nights and manages to attend University in the morning. The same cycle taxi is regarded inhuman if it runs in Bahawalpur; but is a tourist attraction in London. It was a windy December morning, a day before the Christmas, when George stopped me at the gate of big super store near Seven Sister Station in North London to ask for alms. I asked "How are you young man?" "Tired" he replied. "What are you tired of" I curiously inquired. "Life. Isn't it", he retorted with proverbial British brevity. I stood stunned. He told me he was just fifteen and had no where to go. "My mom kicked me out of home". "Come on George. You are tired at fifteen. Don't give up so early." Strange! I intended to jot down my
observations of the plight of economic migrants and the cost they pay I also wanted to highlight
the hardship faced by students who do not belong to filthy rich families in
my country. They toil and serve at McDonalds, Sainsbury's and other retail
shops to pay fees to sham institutes without even attending classes. They pay
fees just to get extension of their visas. Owners of such educational
establishments get money without imparting any education and the boys get
extension to live in the land of the pounds. Higher education in UK does not
come I can not exactly count how many times my heart convulsed on reading, listening, watching or discussing awful incidents that took place in these fateful five months. It is hard to remember any good news from home that got space in the British media. They were dreadful stories and horrific pictures, leading to expressions of pity and derision on the faces of Londoners. Pictures of tortured women
protesters under the boots of policemen; bleeding leaders of legal fraternity
being dragged with brutality, judges of supreme and high courts made
prisoners by law enforcement agencies, school children being thrashed and
thrown in police vans were some of the scenes that embroidered the
'enlightened' image of Pakistan across the globe. There were many more
testimonies to demonstrate regime's commitment to genuine democracy and
freedom of expression -- emergency-plus and gagged media being only two
examples. In the backdrop of the ongoing protests by lawyers and other political forces and the apathy it evokes, I feel envious of this black British woman who turned the whole council office upside down by bringing one one mouse there. It explains how authorities in civilised countries respond to the protest by their citizens and how citizens demonstrate their empowerment. I was visiting my friend who works in Haringey Council office. As I was sitting in the visitor area, I observed panic in the whole office. Women officers and customers started screaming and all the desks were left unattended within seconds. I saw a mouse jumping out of the basket and running towards the gate. A stout black woman stood calm by the basket looking with vacant eyes. When I went to her and asked why she had brought the mouse in the office, she replied: "My children are allergic to mice. I complained many times to the Council. They did nothing. I just wanted to make them realise how it feels like living with rats." After a while the relevant desk incharge came and took that lady with him in his office to discuss the matter.
by Jazib Zahir Children are always asked what they aspire to be when they grow up. Standard responses range from the banal, such as doctor or lawyer, to the somewhat more adventurous such as fashion designer or professional athlete. I was always stumped by this question. It presumes that we all find our calling in a singular purpose that we will proceed to devote our life to. It was the visionary Karl Marx who first pondered over "the exclusive spheres of activity which are forced upon us and from which we cannot escape". He dreamed of the day when it would be possible for us to "do one thing today and another tomorrow, to hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon and rear cattle in the evening." That sounds like a
fascinating lifestyle to me. Marx of course saw this as necessary for the In a previous job, I was a member of an engineering team. We would devote months to a single project and with each passing day I could sense my increasing disillusionment with the lack of variety in my tasks. One day my line manager suggested on a whim that I work half the day with his team and half the day with the business one. Suddenly, I was seeing two sets of faces every day and my exposure to new experiences was doubling. I was tapping into more of my mind's undeveloped potential and there was a spring in my step on the way to work every morning. But eventually even this dual activity became routine and I was left yearning for something different. So why stop there? Why not be able to devote yourself to any task you want whenever your heart desires? When I hear friends talk about their rewarding experiences as doctors, I wonder how life might have been different had I solemnly taken the Hippocratic oath after all. But in Utopia I wouldn't limit myself to wonder. I would just pull a surgeon's gown over my head and rush to the operating room scalpel in hand. Utopia wouldn't require me to immerse myself in years of rigorous training and red tape to attain the contentment of saving someone's life; if there's a will, there will be a way. And after a few trysts should I decide that I wasn't made to live and breathe in the four walls of the hospital I would just morph into some new outlet for my enthusiasm. I don't mean to denigrate the years of training that go into such a profession. I just find it unjust that its fruits only accrue to those willing to devote their life to it and nothing else. And while my Utopia will eliminate the impediments to making such career transitions by freeing us from uncertainty and economic insecurity, it will only provide such rewards to those who are able to take on the roles with equivalent passion and fervour. And why limit myself to careers? In Utopia, I would be able to hone my talents and skills more rapidly than in the real world. I started playing tennis a decade ago but am no closer to developing the fluency of Roger Federer. So I am unable to experience the joys of being able to execute such mesmerizing talents and can only live through him vicariously. Since Utopia would free me from the single-minded commitment required to perfect the task, I too could occasionally prance around the court and perform superhuman feats. And in between I could learn what it feels like to play violin in Carnegie Hall and deliver an impassioned plea to the Security Council. The best thing about my Utopia is it would free us from the need to criticise others since we would be afforded the opportunity to prove that we can do better. Unhappy with politicians? Become one yourself and show us how policy should be made. Dissatisfied with the performance of the cricket team? Strap on your pads and show us how it's done. Come to think of it, Shoaib Akhtar probably agrees with my suggestions given recent reports of his desire to fit the life of a Bollywood hero into his cricketing hours. But I hear grunts of contempt from my readers. These are nothing but pipe dreams you say, our world thrives on the talents of specialists. But that is the beauty of Utopia my friend. It requires no set of logic in its framework. Its sole purpose is to provide us with maximum satisfaction in our existence. And in my case that satisfaction is derived from knowing that I can tackle a new job and hobby every day and be a small part of all forms of excellence in our world. Tiger Woods may no longer be unique but would we mind if we could all feel what it means to be a Tiger? Many of Marx's ideals may not have stood the test of time but in this case, I think he was really on to something.
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strengths of each society. I wanted to narrate some. anecdotes. I wanted to
share my bewilderment with the digitalised modes of transportation in London.
For instance the disbelief over how trains could come and go without any
driver, stopping at all stations, causing no accidents. And buses running
with no conductors asking for tickets?
for their dreams. I also wanted to capture some shades of the life of those
Pakistanis who are staying illegally and sweat in freezing temperature while
building Britain. They work seventy-two to eighty-four hours a week on less
than minimum national wage prescribed by the UK government, what to talk of
the UN restrictions on maximum working hours a week. Their cheap labour
benefits businessmen to multiply their profits. At macro level, domestic
financial wizards interpret this exploitation as increase in foreign exchange
reserves; the poor labourers in turn get some extra pounds to sustain their
families back home.
for free.
economic emancipation of the labouring class. My intentions are probably
somewhat less noble and a little more selfish. Why should anyone want to
devote his precious life to one occupation when we live in a universe of
infinite opportunity? In my vision of Utopia we can wear the hat of a hunter,
fisherman or cattle rearer whenever we please. We are free of the
bureaucratic and logistical constraints that prohibit such transitions in the
real world. This ensures that we never fall into the tedium of a routine.