Melbourne

The most pleasantly shocking discovery that I made while on my way to Melbourne and while in Melbourne was that Australians are not racists. The down under has immaculate manners. In fact I doubt they suffer from the same image problem that has marred us for the last two decades, albeit with lesser intensity.

The second most pleasantly shocking discovery was the feeling of liberation which almost instantly got to me when I landed at the Tullamarine international airport. I was ready for a showdown with the immigration authorities based on what I’ve heard about their reputation and policies towards sweets. To my utter disbelief they didn’t ask me one single question and a lady said sorry for the inconvenience that never was! I, on the other hand, accepted her apology as if it was on behalf of the security guys at our own Jinnah Terminal. Then throughout my stay I looked for clues related to racism, and I didn’t find any.

Unlike London, which is primarily English, Melbourne is a melting pot of Asian and English cultures. Many Londoners have Asian origins but they all refer to themselves as Brits. I stayed in the northwestern London at a place called Harrow and went to a Fish and Chips owned by a Kashmiri guy. When I told him about my Dubai connection he came on a little easier and we started chatting. He simply refused to agree that he is a Kashmiri and continued talking in that peculiar English accent as if he’s a direct descendant of the Queen. In Melbourne, I chose Formule 1 by Ibis on Elizabeth Street just a block away from Flinders station. I was shown a donor kebab shop near my hotel by my chachu’s friend. I went there regularly and to my surprise the guy there asked one day “Brother! Kahan say ho aap” ….  . Turned out he’s from Karachi as well!

Coming back to liberation, I saw many people walking within the CBD crowds with beards, many in a first rate Qameez Shalwar with turban around their heads. No one, absolutely no one bothered them, no heads turned, no eyebrows raised. It’s as if they’ve been accepted, amalgamated with the Aussies which is a wonderful thing. That’s why I felt liberated, for the first time in my life I felt like having some rights and a free will. I do not have to conform and that’s a norm!

https://www.123passportphoto.com/

Still remembered ... Ustaad Amanat Ali Khan

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amanat_Ali_Khan

The Sunday Driver

After a long, long time, some music has managed its way inside my soul. It was probably the right kind of music at the right time only but I nevertheless fell for this rather unknown amateur music band 'The Sunday Driver' .... You can get a taste of the title Black Spider or download the whole album for a measly 3 pounds here

Memoir of my early reading habits

Reading is one thing that I thoroughly enjoy, and it’s also part of a very privileged and of course short list of activities that I’ve constantly been engrossed in since my childhood. I don’t exactly remember when my affair with reading started but my earliest memories are of my late aunt narrating me the stories from a local magazine. She was a polio patient and was very restricted with her movements, so she used to be mostly on the bed or on her wheelchair and I usually would sit in her lap or beside her bed and we used to enjoy those long stories together.

Not very distant are the memories of my maternal grandmother’s house where the most attractive thing alongside a park at the back of her house, was a magazine called Saathi (Friend). It was a children’s magazine which my uncle used to bring very religiously every month partly because it was published by a political party to which he still feels proud to belong. That magazine is still published but I rarely see anyone holding a copy.

With that I also used to read another child magazine by Late Hakeem Saeed’s Hamdard Foundation called Naunehal (Toddler). Naunehal was relatively liberal; it lacked the religious undercurrent which was very evident in Saathi. It published stories which most of the times carried a moral lesson or some sort of civic etiquette. One could actually relate to those stories. Overtime it became my personal favorite and I used to wait for the last week of every month when I could hold a copy and have my dose.

In those days, stories on the audio cassettes were very popular; I used to listen to them for hours and hours. They were more convenient and enjoyable since they have different characters and proper theatrics. I still have some of them left with me, though I’ve dubbed them all with my own voice and spontaneous jokes on the proceedings so what remains is really nothing more than a funny time killer.

However, despite its appeal the cassette stories were unable to impress me for long and I returned to the books completely and more devotedly. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I kept most of my books in very good shape and ruined all of those cassettes but just perhaps.

On my sixth or seventh birthday my father gifted me a set of books published by the same organization. It had a travelogue by Hakeem Saeed himself called “This is Turkey” and a translation of the famous novel “The Count of Monte Cristo” by Alexander Dumas, both in Urdu. I was lost in the amazing world of words created by their authors and lived through each and every episode with a fizzy heart. By the time I reached 3rd or 4th grade I had a bag full of non-text books which was later abandoned by my mother.

The interest in reading somewhat coupled with above average general knowledge started rewarding me very early. I was the darling of literature and social studies teachers throughout my school and college. Of course science and engineering teachers would hate me but my active involvement in extracurricular activities kept them from doing so. I never excelled in technical subjects; I detested mathematics and was afraid of calculus even during my years in the university. Sleeping seemed to be the best option during those classes. On the other hand when it came to writing essays I used to write 2-3 versions of the same essay for my friends keeping the best one for myself. I was made the reader of the class when our literature teacher felt he is too old to read several pages long chapters.

Now when I recollect all those memories I wonder how I ended up being a computer programmer!!

Note: The abrupt ending to this article demonstrates the state of dismay that the last sentence has put me in :)

The Alarm Tone

I usually get up in the morning with a headache and with a ridiculed feeling of passing another meaningless day. I hate the time I open my eyes with the buzz of my regular alarm tone. Last week I thought that the alarm tone might be the cause of my early morning headaches and my bad mood so I changed it and put on a very soothing ring tone to wake me up every morning.
Next morning the same ring tone which was soothing, refreshing and stimulating became a nightmare. I forgot to change it that day and woke up with the same tone the very next day as well. This time it was worse, I literally had to hold the wall to stop me from falling down once I left the bed.

I’ve reverted back to my original tone but I’ve lost a good tone. Now it’s always horrendous to listen to the once soothing, refreshing ………