the dynamic duo who took care of me

such wonderful friends I made at the women's hostel

dinner at sajjid barbecue (notice the outdoor arrangement) 

lychee stand 

Pakistan

"self-portrait" within the first few days 

my room at the hostel 

Pakistan

Pakistan Pastiche

It's been exactly a month since I left Pakistan (and consequently, since I last wrote.)

Now, after being home for some time, I feel myself returning to comfort and routine. I find my quondam habits and mannerisms have reappeared in the interactions I share with other people. 

And when all became "normal," returning to familiarity really disquieted me. It was cloyingly comfortable.

In Pakistan I had to rely on facets of myself that were previously unemployed.  Because I had to reach deep into myself just to get by, I was living rawly. Thus, I lost dependency on all material/social frills.

This made each encounter with pain or pleasure, lucid and arresting.

I feel that here, I live a little weaker. It isn't a result of the luxury or ease that the American lifestyle provides me, but rather, I think it results from having become fully acquainted with where and who and what I am. We are always classifying ourselves into groups and characteristics and limitations based on our own life. But I think that this is self-indulgent.

Here, I am very dependent on my physical body--on my external self. To interact with others, to carry me throughout the day (Am I eating healthily? Have I gotten proper sleep? Am I alert and ready to go through this crazy schedule? Am I acting in a way that is advantageous to whatever outcome that I desire?) 

But in Karachi, there was some other force at work. I became reliant on something within that had to get me from day to day. And I think this "something" was my soul.

I lived mercurially in Pakistan because it was a challenge becoming acquainted in Karachi. It wasn't always safe and warm and happy. Sometimes I was lonely and afraid or fed-up and suffocated. I slept in fear of death and of myself. Who was this stranger who stared at the ceiling in the stagnant night and lived so intrinsically? She looked back at me in the mirror, her face angular and intense, eyes focused and real.

My friendships were my life supports. I became completely dependent on voicing my opinions in this blog and on my attendance to Jamat Khana.
My discomfort was something to be endured, because there was a lesson at the end and I knew that I could solve it if I'd felt it enough.

And this was the glory of Pakistan for me.

There may be something or someone which does this to you, (which makes you have to reach into those turbid depths of your self and find something clear and hard and bright)-- and when you do find it, never let it go.

Those strengths I found in Karachi are somewhere in the heart of myself; it has been an exquisite challenge to find them and evoke them.

And indeed I must evoke them because I want to be complete! Nothing is really "whole" in what we encounter. Every country and every place and person is strong in some way or the other and it is all beautiful from some obscure angle.

So embrace those strengths of others and embrace those wonderful idiosyncrasies of your own, too. Because at one point or another, they may be all you've got (this is a rough re-phrasing of what Dan has mentioned to me more than once.) And what you already have is more than enough to get you to where you need to be.

Aap Khayal Rakna

I don't want to leave Pakistan.

I am yearning to stay, to continue my experience by furthering my understanding.

However, I wonder if the novelty will wear off when I am not in the transition phase, in the position to depart.

As soon as I was aware that I had one week remaining, I lost all my inhibitions. I'm sorry to report that it was this approaching deadline of my absence that did it.

During this time, I have spoken to doctors, nurses, medical students, housewives, Muslim scholars, grandmothers, and children about this connection between the body and soul that I came here to explore. And I am finally aware of the infinite depth, the searchless wonder that comes with such an idea.

I think then, that the importance of such a journey, is marked by those people who are determined to understand how the body and soul works for themselves: in their own life, as a product of genetics, as a product of God, or both.

I attended a lecture today that spoke about the portrayal of violence in the media, especially perpetuated by Islamic countries. In the lecture, a scholar spoke about a particular book, called "In the Name of Honour" which is a narrative of a woman, Mukhtaran Mai. She was gang raped by her village, and then due to this, was expected to commit suicide.
However, in her narrative, the voice heard is not only the author's, but the voices of the publisher, translators, and editor. The lecture explored the accuracy that the portrayal of a story ultimately has after it has been polished and tuned by all the collaborators. Unfortunately, the book was not even translated into Urdu for the people of Mukhtaran's own country.

There are those novel books that speak about the horrors and the tragedies that occur in places that we have never dared to venture to. And for some reason, I never was interested in reading them, no matter how great the praise it received.

Sometimes, I want to do the sensing, to experience what I have heard about.

So this is what I am rambling on for.

After coming to Pakistan, I have come to understand this. Do not make your judgements based on the media, or the news, or the magazines, or those books. They are not entirely honest. Nothing really is.

The best you can do then, is decide NOT to decide. To choose NOT to make a conclusion. To be aware that even as I am here, in this country, I am still not even close to beginning to see what it is. And as much as I wanted one to clasp in my hands, there is no thesis, no final summary you can tuck between the pages of your mind and then, satisfied, close the the volume and place it back on the shelf to accumulate dust.

Diamonds have facets. Imagine the detriment to their beauty if you only looked at one.

Fortune Cookie Day

Some of you know of the work that I have done with Dr.G.

I won't delve into the details but the point is, that now and then, I'll work with cadavers. This is notably, one of the major influences for the Human Being Project because in the morgue, human beings lose that human aspect and become nothing more but mere objects.

At the opposite end of the spectrum, I encounter the interactions of daily life among my friends and colleagues. I find life, bright and bursting, in the magnificent productions that CMU Drama puts on and I revel in this extreme.

With exposure to such polarities, how could I resist the intrigue that surrounds the human body, its soul and these faculties that encompass the two?

Yesterday, my research mentor Nabi Shah, took me to the MDL lab at AKU where they are employing the use of India's ancient medicinal manuscripts to test the effects of earth-derived plants or compounds on different organs. For example, there is a tree very common here and its leaves were used in the old days for people suffering with asthma. The researchers then, must test the effects of this compound (after soaking it in a solution of 75% methanol and then distilling it into a syrupy concentrate) on the trachea of some research subject (ideally, the compound should cause bronchial dilation.) To observe these changes at a cellular level, the trachea must be observed in isolation. Meaning, the organ has to be removed from an animal while it is still alive (you cannot use sedatives or any drugs or it will alter the biochemistry of the cells.) The organs are then put into a designed lab tool. This is a fascinating contraption that looks like it is straight out of some mad-science lab. The instrument contains all the proper ingredients that compose our body's natural interstitial fluid so that the organs stay alive, ignorantly under the impression that they are existing in a body. However, this body is all tubes and curly-cues of glass and metal handles.

Stop reading this if you get queasy or offended at animal cruelty or gore. Please have the self control to stop if you know you'll be offended. You can continue reading at the next bolded sentence.

The research subject was a rabbit and they had to break its upper spinal column/neck by smacking its head against a table. After doing so unsuccessfully a few times, I watched them slice into it while it was unconscious. I was the only female in the lab and the men in the cleaning staff were gaping at me in horror as I stood in my lab coat surveying the scene with a steady face.

I was calm and controlled until I saw the heart.

While the rabbit had been sliced open with a vertical incision, beneath the folds of its furry chest, the heart was exposed. It was beating feverishly.
When they began to cut out the trachea, the heart slowed down to a dull rhythm and then the eyes began to glaze over. At first I felt relieved that the rabbit would finally die soon. And then all of a sudden, a wave of faintness. My head grew very light and I felt as if I was leaving my body.

Now, in vasovagal syncope (the most common type of fainting,) whatever the trigger is, the victim will faint so that they will be in a position that promotes blood flow to the brain. Once blood reaches the brain, the body is in a position to return to consciousness.
Panicking, I tried to position my head in a blood-receiving manner and attempted to distract myself with one of the researchers by asking him about the fake-body contraption.

But it was too late. I was slipping away. (I now know how Harry Potter feels in the vicinity of a dementor.) It was just like that. Nabi took one look at me, jumped up and said "Let's go." My knees had gone weak, my heart was pounding and when he spoke, all I could hear was a dull roar in my eardrums. It all sounds so melodramatic now, but it was completely surreal.

Some minutes later, over some chai and juice to get my blood sugar back up from the shock, Nabi said that my face had gone completely pale and my lips had turned white.

I was a little ashamed. I mean, for God's sake, I've done autopsies! And when I talked it out with him, I realized that I had finally completed the spectrum. I had seen life, I had seen death. And there, in that little rabbit, I had seen the transition.

There was some strange feeling of kismet in the air. I thought this is what your project is about. If this rabbit had a "soul," it left when it died. Or was it just life that had ended? What's the difference? The light feeling in my head dissipated as the questions streamed steadily in.

I insisted that Nabi take me back to the lab so that we could finish the procedure. I have found that once I faint (or nearly do so!) in a situation, I've gotten my immunity. Once I've done that, I'm good forever.

The second day I assisted an autopsy, I fainted. During the first day, it had not clicked that we were working with actual people. But on the second day, by person number two, the moment I had this all figured out, I was on the floor before you could say "Yo Alia, pass me the scalpel."

After that, I had retched in the bathroom stall for an hour. One of the attendants was patient, holding back my hair, bringing me sprite and teasing me for my lily-livered composure.

I was completely ashamed. I considered why I had decided, like an idiot, to do these autopsies? What was drawing me to the dissection of cadavers? Why did I willingly choose to be surrounded by these remnants of people, of misery, of death?

I questioned my intentions and for days, I sat in my room in a nightmarish state, thinking of the horrors of the morgue, of the physical damage to these people (or objects!? what were they after death!?)

The next day, I decided. I had to go back. I was scared to death (haha, get it? ) because I knew what I was going to face. And more than anything, I did not want to wake up on the floor again. To be on the safe side, I considered bringing a helmet. Alternatively, I put some eucalyptus oil on a handkerchief (to quell the odor of decay,) stuffed it into my pocket, and walked through the double doors of the metallic morgue that morning.

I think that was one of the most important things I have ever done.

Following that third autopsy, I accepted all the things about human cadavers and death that scared me, that worried me, that tore into my rationale. After that third autopsy, I never had a problem in the morgue again.
This is why I insisted on going back to the lab to finish the rabbit procedure.

*Okay. Whoever skipped all that can start reading now!

Ironically, after this episode, I had a meeting with Mr. Suleman Mohammad. He is the manager of the male hostel at AKU. I was to obtain his permission for the posters I created to promote a photo shoot and discussion that I am holding on campus for the Human Being Project. During my explanation to him on the phone a week earlier (in very broken Urdu,) he agreed to meet with me and was interested in discussing his views to contribute to my project.

I was running late from the rabbit dissection and I entered his office, a bit dazed, a bit flustered, but in the perfect state to absorb whatever he had to share (after just witnessing a life to death transition that composed elements of body, of life, of soul) He had mentioned my project to some of his colleagues and they had asked to join our discussion as well.

By some twist of fate, these men happened to be very well versed in the Qur'an, connected to some of the best and most renowned Islamic Scholars in Pakistan.

Here are some of the things that arose in our discussion: (note that these are not facts, but opinions that were shared in the discussion)

-life, soul, and body (as separate entities) animals do not have souls, only life

whereas people have been granted souls and that is precisely what makes us human

-at night, when we sleep, our souls leave our body and thus we experience a dream

-at our most basic level (even further than atoms!) all physical things are made of quarks, which are in essence, light

this light is the light that has been given by the universe, by God
(i am not sure if this is entirely complete because there are 6 types of quarks, each type called a flavor so I will e-mail professor franklin to see what he has to say about this!)

-people who are brain-dead in the hospital are only physically alive, there soul has already left their body

-there is no concept of time and space for the soul or for God; our physical bodies have been given these aspects to interact and live in a material/tangible world

-when a sin is committed, the soul is not partaking in the sin. only the body is a part of the act

-during meditation or a deep spiritual trance (such as the Sufi Muraqaba or whirling/Kiyana) the soul leaves the body and thus experiences things that are unknown to the physical body but sensed with the mind via the soul

-our physical bodies depend on all physical things that come from the earth (food, water, shelter, clothing) to survive; just as we cannot feed our bodies with intangible food, we cannot feed our souls (the intangible) with something that is physical--in order to thrive spiritually, we must feed our souls with prayer or meditation

-the heart is the home of the soul and thus a mirror

Our discussion lasted two hours. I was stunned. My mind was abuzz with so many thoughts and curiosities, I couldn't fathom where my project would end and where it would begin.

So here I am. Finally deeply emerged and still so thirsty.

Good night,

Alia

P.S. On a side note, I received a most beautiful e-mail from my junior-year english teacher (the teacher who taught me how to write a damn good essay.) She told me something very important. And I will quote an excerpt of it Mrs. Speicher, if you don't mind.

"There's something I want to say to you, and I don't quite know how to say it, so if it's all wrong, blame it on my advancing age (it's very handy having something to blame everything on). Your experiences in the third world will make you a better American, but there's a lot that needs to be done here as well. You have only to compare the reactions to the recent floods in the midwest with the response to Hurricane Katrina in Louisiana to realize the tremendous differences between people who believe they're in control of their own lives and those who don't. What shocked me even more than the government's incredible indifference was the indifference of the victims themselves, many of whom didn't lift a hand to help themselves or anyone else. This is a cultural dependency that we have to overcome right here in this country. (In contrast, the students at the University of Iowa filled 100,000 sandbags in ONE DAY!) The educational system here needs a complete overhaul as well--we at Trinity have always moved in a very rarefied atmosphere, unaware of how many racists, anti-feminists, and high school graduates who don't know ANYTHING exist in this country. They'll need you right here." -Susan Speicher

So I want to, in light of Mrs. Speicher's most loving e-mail and some other messages that I've been receiving, to tell people that what I am doing should not result because of my location. Yes, I am in a neat place, but it is important to acknowledge that wherever you are, there is something to be done, something to learn, something to explore.

p.p.s. Note to Nitin and Malavika: Do you remember that fortune cookie? I think this was the day.

"There is no way in which to understand the world without first detecting it through the radar-net of our senses."
-Diane Ackerman


Touch

The material of Pakistani boutiques in the afternoon. Visiting them gave me a rough idea of the fashion industry and advertising, which is a main influence in body perception among the youth. There were silky embroidered flowers, golden flecks on maroon damask, paper thin cottons, and my favorite--the airy chiffon that flutters about and kisses the skin. I didn't hesitate to touch every fabric, closing my eyes to escape for a second. I liked best a Mughal-esque empress dress, which felt royal and regal on my wrists with a high beaded collar and a pair of silk trousers to match.

In between the shops, we walked the roads, eyes following our movements while dirt caked our feet and slipped between our toes.

Hear

The deafening roar of generators because the power always goes out. The exacerbating tap-tap on the windows by the beggars outside. A bird that makes sounds of holy rapture at sunrise and sunset. The call for prayer five times a day. Plastic fans struggling to whiff about the stagnant air in the cramped sawdust shops.

Taste

Some fruits that we bought from a scrapwood cart on Zamzama Road. They were ripening in the blinding sun and were growing swollen in the daylight. Swarms of flies danced along their wet seams. We purchased pounds of jambu which are deep purple and leave your mouth a little numb. Small and addictive, they filled our mouths until our bellies emulated their plump skins.

Smell

The desert dust, the clouds that rise up in the windy streets. And if you're extra aware, you can smell the musky jasmines bloom in the heat of a late black night.

See

The Karachi sky is sweeping, vast, magnificent and proud. Sable with a Muslim moon, it is turbid with the city pollution. Last night I looked up and felt lost in the expanse, then a little more connected to the earth. And then, I planted my feet firmly in the Karachi soil and thought of all the connections to be made in this vast wondrous world and how many more lives and buildings and histories that remain for me to sense like this.

"Our ideas are the offspring of our senses; we are not more able to create the form of a being we have not seen, without retrospect to one we know, than we are able to create a new sense.

He whose fancy has conceived an idea of the most beautiful form must have composed it from actual existence."

-Henry Fusili

Vignettes

Fumes to Tariq

I went out to Tariq Road with Uranous two days ago and we went shopping for some essentials (talcum powder is now my life force.) It was my first time to the city in a rickshaw which is essentially a small open taxi about the size of a peanut (daddy don't worry, I was safe.) The driving (if you can call it that) in India and Pakistan is extreme and disorderly. And EVERYONE honks all the time. In America, I always feel a bit offended when people honk but here it's perfectly okay (which might make me a little honk-happy when I return to the US so here's an apology in advance.)


Neuro-AWESOME

Today we came across some very strange situations (fungal infections, orbital swelling, strange urine) in patients and the diagnoses are still to be made. We're waiting after we've sent all the samples to the labs.

Neurology is really an astounding field. There is so much left to be discovered because the brain is the most complex instrument I have ever known. To me, there is nothing more beautiful or astounding or intricate. The pulchritude of its complexity is the fuel that will always compel me to explore it forever in whatever means that brings me satisfaction.

The Cost of Living

Yesterday, I went to buy some vegetables from a cart that stations itself right between Silver and Al-Amaan apartments--close to Noorabaad. Here they are nice and fresh and my Pakistani friends have been cooking wonderful curries and spiced vegetables for me, so I thought I'd return the favor. The vegetable man is young and handsome and gives us very good prices. I purchased four tomatoes, a bunch of spinach, about one handful of okra and four cucumbers for NINETEEN RUPEES!!! (As of now, that is approximately 28 cents.)

Sidenote

I've been keeping up with some friends via e-mail and it has been so nice to here about everyone's summer. Please keep me updated with all that is going on in your lives! I have been religiously reading Jane Austen, and some other nice books I found here. I also found an awesome website at http://www.unilang.org/ (it's free and helps you learn languages) which I have been using quite exhaustively in efforts to speak Urdu properly.

Take Care :)

Gabrahat

I am a little discontented with my last post because I fear taking on a tone. You know the story. The spoiled American girl goes to a country in the Middle East and of course, can't notice anything but the dirt and the poverty. She writes about her initial shocks (because of her pampered, luxuriant, and binged American lifestyle) and leaves Karachi with nothing but her stupid stereotypes and obtuse ignorance.

There are so many things that are here for me to become part of, to understand. However, at the same time, I feel as if I am standing behind a glass window. I am observing, but I am not partaking. I am using many excuses--mostly because I am, admittedly, afraid. I refuse to take my large camera onto the streets, yet I will snap photos from the cool comfort of a car. I don't speak to people in my normal American accent, but disguise my dialect so that I sound Pakistani. If I cannot think of what I want to say in Urdu, then I won't say it all. I wear only salwaar kameezes in public and hold back on my actions because I am not sure how to deal with an ostensibly patriarchal society.

Admittedly and most unfortunately, my preconceived notions are keeping me from fully immersing myself in Karachi. I can't help but feel in danger sometimes (even though there has been nothing dangerous here that I have witnessed.) I came across dried, splattered blood in a stairwell (not to be confused with paan juice, which is spit ubiquitously) and then I immediately reminded myself to BE CAUTIOUS ALIA! FOLLOW THE RULES!

But if I am always cautious to the point of being distant, then I can safely say that I will never get to know this place.

That is something that I am working around with in my head.

I have also been contemplating death. At the hospital, there are many patients who are dying and I'm not quite sure what to make of it. Death is one of those strange things. Its so familiar, yet I don't always feel it's confrontational. And when I see people dying, I begin to take on a detached "that's life" persona. But after witnessing so many families--I can't help but wonder, what if that were me? I could never be strong if I had to watch a loved one die.

I couldn't sleep last night in the hostel. My room was dark and sticky from the heat. There were insects chirping outside the window and my fan was violently shaking on the ceiling. But there was death. The thoughs stoically, silently sitting in the room.

So in frustration and anxiety (gabrahat, they say here,) I dragged my mattress to the air conditioned common room where some of my friends sleep in response to the unbearable heat. And as soon as I was tucked between Uranus (pronounced Yoo-rah-noos--she's Afghani) and Salima with their heavy blankets and soft snores, I could comfort myself enough to drift to sleep.

Its really remarkable how much power people have. I mean, we are all reliant on one another at one point. And last night, I needed to be with people. Never underestimate the impact you have on others. I've always been quite proud of myself for being the lone soldier, the independent and solo woman. But regardless, I felt much better with them. And smile! You don't know how much I miss it--so smile away!!

Karachi

It is at this point in my journey where I will, rather unwillingly, admit that I like to look at the world through a rose-colored glass. And as much as I love my view from the clouds, I can only do justice to the place in which I am living by grounding my feet in the reality of where I am.

Pakistan is a third-world country. At Aga Khan University Hospital, I am isolated in my medical study and luxuriate in such academia. While my dealings with patients have been far from inspiring (I am in the neurology clinic after all,) my sole encounter with suffering has been in a sterilized room wearing a lab coat. I am professional, trying desperately to remain detached. But working with the patients is a whole aspect of this experience that is separate from the dealings I have had with Karachi. After all, I am in the most prestigious university in Pakistan; it is not the most accurate portrayal of the daily life outside its architecturally magnificent campus.

What can I say about this city that will be fair to its existence, yet accurate in the portrayal of its struggle? It is dirty. The roads are rocky and unpaved, strewn with rotting food, plastic bags, and broken glass. The air is thick with horseflies and carries the smell of manure and roasting meat. Barefoot children dirty their faces and dignity, tapping on car windows in the middle of afternoon traffic to sell silly trinkets. I'm trying not to dramatize here.

Men stare at me constantly. I am not sure what they are thinking and most of the times, I feel frustrated at my inability to read their expressions. Mostly, I fear that they are stares of hostility. But I cannot be sure. I am not the most collected-looking person in the world. Usually people see what I am feeling. I'll have to refer to a quote from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (an excellent nonfiction book, p.s.)

"Aside from my cockeyed internal compass, I also have a shortage of personal coolness, which can be a liability in travel. I have never learned how to arrange my face into that blank expression of competent visibility that is so useful when traveling in dangerous, foreign places. You know--that super-relaxed, totally-in-charge expression which makes you look like you belong there, aywhere, everywhere, even in the middle of a riot in Jakarta. Oh, no. When I don't know what I'm doing, I look like I don't know what I'm doing. When I'm excited or nervous, I look excited or nervous, And when I am lost, which is frequently, I look lost."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud at this point in my reading because when people are staring at me, I react in one of three ways:
1. I put on a tough, what-are-you-looking-at-buddy? sort of face which really just makes it look pouty and squished (which you'll see in the camel photo I post)
2. I attempt to smile at them, which then confirms that I am indeed, a foreigner
3. I giggle nervously because I think of expressions 1 and 2 and decide that neither has been working

I came to my relative's home for the weekend and I told them my major observation of this place. No one here smiles. And to be honest, I can't remember the last time I saw a smile from anyone (other than the friends I've made here.) Those of you who know me can be sure that I smiled at roughly 300 strangers before I got the message. But even then, I still can't give up. Out of those 300, a smile was returned twice. I think that says alot about the situation here. NOT that people are cruel and mean--but that there are too many things to be thinking about to smile. And I mean that. In America, there is so much government or organizational aid to people who need it! There are hundreds of homeless shelters and abused-women homes, thousands of food banks, blood banks, clothing-drives, etc. In Pakistan, it is quite apparent that the government doesn't care (and those who do are strategically kept from gaining any power.) And people have no one to turn to. So that's it. Life will continue to be dreadful until there is a miracle. (No one's expecting one.) So people beg and starve and shade themselves under a tree from the burning sun. They wrap their festering wounds that result from such a street life in dirty cloth; they take what you give them and they do what they can to get by.

In the same book I mentioned earlier, a point is made that every city has a word to describe the mentality of its people. In Rome, it's "SEX". In New York City, it's "ACHIEVE." I was thinking of Karachi's word. I'm still not sure. But I think it would entail the struggle for survival. People struggling to get by.

I want to be fair to Karachi. It is still metropolitan. There are still amazing restaurants, and big corporate offices. There are hundreds of advertising billboards for cell phones and food products. There are beautiful homes and fancy cars. The shopping is great. But this is such a small slice of what I am encountering, it is easy to ignore.

I also want to point out, that I am still in no way close to having reached some sort of thesis, if you will. I am still experiencing my initial impressions, because this is only the third day I spent in the actual city of Karachi. The rest of my time has been dedicated to my neurology work at AKUH. Do not make conclusions about Karachi based on this one post--as I have not even scratched the surface.

Khuda Hafiz

Aga Khan University Hospital

I arrived at AKUH yesterday evening to get settled into the women's hostel where I am staying for the duration of my elective program. The layout of the building is like a labryinth. I keep getting lost in the corridors which are numerous and form squares to surround central courtyards. The layout is so intricate because it was built so that the wind will flow through the passageways at a greater speed and force. Because Karachi is so hot and there is no A/C on campus, this is a blessing.

Looking at my last post, I feel very naive. But I was viewing Pakistan as a tourist and I was excited with the wonders of the city. Now that I am living in a hostel and "on my own" in Karachi, the difficulties are sprouting up, inevitably, as they were supposed to. The weather is sticky and sweltering and the power frequently goes out. I've been feeling like a freshman all over again because I am a little lonely. It is quite difficult to get to know the people here because alot of them have been students at the medical school for some time. The language barrier is also an issue. It is not like India where Hindi is half English and everyone speaks English anyway. Here, the more refined and pure Urdu is preferred to all else. This is good, as I am picking it up--but it will take some time. I am the only student here who is not currently in medical school, but I have been lucky to get some very kind advisors who are eager to help me learn the knowledge that I obviously lack.

All the people here are so beautiful--there is this exotic Islamic elegance which is quite distinct in the facial features. Think Jodhaa Akbar X 50. I think that the conditions here push people to be more intimately aware of their body (e.g. the heat, the bathrooms--which are very different, the social levels, the ubiquitous presence of faith, etc.) This is why women and men dress so conservatively (although I wish that the climate was more agreeable with the tradition.) Most women cover their heads and legs and I see that there is more gender differentiation (for example, the dorms are separated into male and female hostels.) I find that everyone here I have spoken to believes that their body houses a soul. So how do I convey people's souls? I have photography to convey physical beauty, but even then, I feel that perhaps it may be a bit too invasive for some.

To be honest, things have been a little challenging. Because I am away from family, I have been relying solely on the kindness of strangers. A young girl walked me to Jamatkhana last night, a teacher bought me dinner, another girl let me use her cell phone to contact my uncle (and all of them offered without me asking.) That is the goodness of this place. As soon as I overcome the cultural differences, perhaps I will be able to better convey what I am experiencing.

Until then,

Alia

Land of the Pure

I am here. In Pakistan. And I am still at a loss for words as to how to convey its intricacy to you. I feel as if if I have a very large responsibility upon my shoulders, as I am aware how many of you are eager to hear what I am experiencing. I may be the only voice for you all to hear besides those treacherous leeches we call the media. I am a bit attached to this place already, and I feel quite betrayed by what I have been seeing on all those news channels. Not because what they say isn't true--but because of the degrees to which they emphasize such incidents. But I will not complain of the media because that is a waste of time.

Pakistan is complex and wondrous and beautiful. I have felt such a span of emotion in these last few hours, that I am still not so sure what I think or what I feel exactly. But I am in awe of this place. Perhaps because it is so different than what I had ever expected and yet, so familiar. And in India, I did not feel so much a foreigner (because I am Indian!)--but here I am really feeling like an outsider (as much as I act that I am not!) I feel that this country is really living.
I am in a funny place--I don't often trust my initial impressions, yet I am comfortable with my naive sincerity.

I had some trouble with India immigration on the way here and was quite flustered and panicky as I was making my way. Luckily, I made a friend with a beautiful Ismaili woman on the flight who recognized me from khane the day before. Thank goodness for her! She really helped me make the journey. I was missing India terribly until we made landfall in Karachi, and then all of that was pushed aside. I began to immediately absorb all the beauty and hustle bustle and it really is something.

My uncle and aunt have been very loving and hospitable and I will be staying with them until I begin my internship Monday. We went to the seaside where hundreds of lower to middle-class families spend their time enjoying their Saturday afternoon. The beach was a carnival--with pani puri stands and children selling flowers on strings. There were camel rides and vendors selling roasted corn with chili and lime. There were monkeys on leashes, horses, cotton candy stands, and children playing in the water. Pakistan is like a dessert. Especially in the Sindh province where I am staying. The terrain is rocky and sandy! It is quite windy as well, so there are sandstorms and the dust gets everywhere! I am quite sure I am still covered in the grime, as I can feel it under my eyes and on my skin.

Alot of men and women have been staring at me. But I do not think it is anything rude or dirty. Rather, I feel that people are curious as to who I am and why I am here. I have really tried to blend in by wearing Salwaar Kameezes at all times but even then, my freshman excitement is quite noticeable.

I shall post some photos and let them do the talking.
Also, a note to everyone: Thank you all (Gabe, Ishita, Dan, Imrahn, Katy, Nyssa, Spoorthi, Robyn, Nitin, & Shruthi) for commenting. I know I have been dreadful at replying and keeping in touch. As soon as all gets settled, I will make sure to reply to you all. And to all the other readers, please know that I am flattered that you are viewing my thoughts and very grateful for your support. This is all for you!

Mumbai

You will never truly understand India until you visit and that is something I began to understand as soon as I spent my first two days here. Engrained in the environment is the mellow happiness that is ubiquitous here. I spent all yesterday in the entertainment (Bollywood) capital of India, Mumbai (formerly known as Bombay because of British control, hence Pune/Poona and Kolkata/Calcutta.) It has approximately 15 million people and is the 5th most populous city (people per square km) in the world.

It is hot and moist--crowded and diverse. Dirt and dust rise in clouds getting trapped in your shoes, blackening your feet. Hundreds of Gulmohar trees brighten the surroundings with deep orange blooms. The flowers and full and soft. The food is nourishing. And my goodness, the Mangoes! Here they are warm and pulpy and sweet.

I spent the day with my cousins, Ulil and Alykhan--who are both Indian males which was quite advantageous because I am ostensibly foreign and female. We visited Prince Aly Khan Hospital, a hospital staunchly involved in the community for medical care to the needy. The conditions there would have shocked any American doctor because the life, the people, the mentality--the whole "jing bang lot"--differs in ways that some Americans would find at detriment to the patients. I do no think this is carelessnes, but looser stringency placed on formality. Because it is a hospital that provides general care to those whom are living in poverty for 40 rupees (approximately $1 US for a 2 hour general consultation,) it is quite apparent that the doctors here are doctors because of who they are and how they have come to fit naturally into such a role. Because, at the end of the day, despite all the hard work and generosity, in some hospitals there are still hundreds of sick and dying crammed into the waiting rooms or the available hospital beds. On the other hand, hospitals here are incredible in their scope of care. An average doctor in India will see anywhere from 15-50 patients per day and those who are poor automatically receive free treatment with the proper government papers.

I saw a young boy while travelling by rickshaw (indian taxi) in a very poor part of Mumbai. He was naked, stooped on the ground, and pooping. And he had no toilet paper, he was using dirty stagnant water that had accumulated in a shallow area of the ground to clean himself. It is what it is. It is the only life he has known. And while there are incredible stories of people coming out of such poverty to lead very successful lives, such a life may only be there for him in the future. And so, for many, a future is quite bleak--without adequate shelter, food, and even proper education. However, right across the street the case is oolta (hindi for opposite.) There are metropolitan areas, hundreds of shopping malls, women and men wearing the latest fashions and using the best of technology. Hospitals here are still using state-of-the-art machinery, industries are developing some of the world's most advanced products, education is incredible, and the financial markets are thriving. To say that there is class polarity or diversity in India is a gross understatement.

With that said, I am exploring how my project fits in here with the people of India. I have found that many of my friends here in America are very excited or touched or inspired by the project. But I find that this concept in India for some is a luxury. It is an esoteric question without material significance because when it all boils down to the point, exploring such a philosophy will not, to be hackneyed, "feed the children" or "provide medical care to those whom are sick and dying." However, this in no means demeans the significance of such exploration because I think the Bollywood movie industry plays a similar role. (But that discussion is for another time.)

Good night/shub ratri

Anticipation

Tomorrow morning I leave for Bombay and spend a few days there before I make my way to Karachi.

When I am completely new to something, I make the most sincere observations because I have not been around long enough to attract bias. I will have to pay special attention to storing my initial impressions to memory before I begin to fall into the fringes of familiarity.

Here's what Ralphie Emerson says:

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not." I think that sounds really right.

au revoir mes amis!

Or, far more appropriately, fir milenge mere dost!

Wonderful News!

I was awarded the travel fellowship! (Thanks to CMU - Leslie McAhren and Courtney Dow.) 

I leave for Pakistan this coming Saturday, so please enlighten me with any of your ideas! 

CG Douglas "Wrong Way" Corrigan Travel Fellowship

A week ago I submitted a thick-packet proposal (cut down, thanks to Maria's brilliant eye!) for the $1000 Corrigan Travel grant. It rose from my desire to continue the  project which I began in the interdisciplinary studio course Art & Biology taught by Patricia Maurides at CMU. (Good news by the way! I was just notified that I am a finalist and we shall see what we shall see.) 

The project is called Human Being: An Exploration of the Human Body & Soul.

And it is based off this yearning (ever since I began with Dr. G) to delve into the disconnect and/or the connection that exists between the aesthetic exterior of a person and that exquisite essence that lies within. 

And while "soul" has a religious connotation, I find it is indeed the only word (I should ask Dan, if he can think of any good synonyms!) that can convey some sort of driving life force--some fragrant core that comprises people's every desire, passion, idiosyncracy, etc. But I think Khalil Gibran put this best when he wrote in Sand & Foam: "Only once was I made mute. It was when a man asked me, "Who are you?" 

The greatest trouble I am facing is figuring out the means in which to convey this project. It is a mix of two polar ideas (I always want to use the word mezcla, which is the English equivalent of "mix" or "amalgamation," in Spanish but I find "mezcla" is FAR more suited for this concept, because it is a more lyrical term for this notion,)-thus, a "mezcla" of two elements (BODY and SOUL) and I am still ruminating on how to convey all these facets I come across. 

As of now, I will use photography to capture the physical beauty of the people I come across--most likely by asking them to show me their most beautiful feature/body part. And then, I guess I would let them speak a little freely about the body and the soul and how they hold these concepts in their mind's eye. I may barrage them with a questionnaire I have composed, but as of now, everything is in some wispy smoke because it is freeform and I am not so lucid about my strategy. 

But does everything need a strategy? I feel some of the greatest thoughts I've had just come to me after I've let them stew in the back of my mind for a while, (this is why I am such a grand advocate of the subconscious) and then something sort of comes to me whether or not I am completely aware of it. 

So, in essence--I am trying to explore this connection between the tangible and intangible. I will take photographs and connect them to some aspect of their internal being. Is there some question that really conveys some aspect of a person? Is there a certain concept that I should only focus on e.g. love, religion, soul? 

Anyways, please give me your feedback and ideas!