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