"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