Featured

simply the best job of my life

the simplest way to offer yourself a little greenery!
Azeem’s garden kitchen: the simplest way to offer yourself a little greenery!

started in October this year and will end in the middle of January.

I worked as a cook’s assistant – chopping vegetables, pounding spices and washing dishes – for Azeem Amarshi, the owner and chef of Dhanyaa, a vegetarian Indian takeaway 2 minutes on foot from the Lausanne train station. I only get to work there for four to five hours every afternoon, but they’ve been the best hours of the day these past few months, time spent learning, learning – and panicking that I’m nowhere near being deep enough a receptacle to avoid losing most of what was imparted.

I suppose it doesn’t “technically” even qualify as a real job, more of an internship really. But who cares!

The point is that I learned:

  • how to prepare kohlrabi (and made its acquaintance in the process), leak, celery stalks, carrots, Brussel sprouts, purple cabbage and occra
  • the most efficient method to do large quantities of dish-washing without a dish-washer
  • all about rice-washing (not talking about washing rice here)
  • how to wash and dry a chef’s knife
  • how to wash and drain mushrooms and spinach
  • how to get at the leaves of swiss chard for washing and chopping
  • what goes into his wonderful chai masala
  • how to make carrots-in-orange curry
  • the simplest way to prepare garlic for Indian cooking: grate it!
  • how to use asafoetida – basically, never in combination with onions and garlic
  • the quick way to make the most delicious pakoras
  • his tofu burger recipe
  • how to make energy balls from “dry fruit”
  • how not to cut potatoes
  • the fascinating history of chia and how to make a simple desert with it
  • about the various kinds of yoga and meditative practices
  • also, a little about letting go, about freeing oneself from the weight of the past and the future
  • about Gary Crowley and his passing of the jelly
  • about living, as opposed to conforming to images, as opposed to the pretence of control

During this period, I had two week-long panic attacks during which I was unable to work or even let Azeem know when I would be coming back to work. Both times, he allowed me to resume work. Quite naturally, the second time around, he advised me to get serious help for my anxiety issues. So, I saw deep compassion in practice, not just towards me, but in his absolute acceptance of everyone as they are.

Update: I forgot to say that Dhanyaa closes definitively on Saturday, January 18th, passing the baton to Crock-en-Stock, a group of passionate “alternative-foodies” (as I tend to think of them), who dove in at the last minute to preserve rue du Simplon 13 as a vegetarian address. They plan to take the alternative logic further, use only organic ingredients, and offer vegetarian recipes of their own invention as well as those inspired by other cultures (other than Indian, that is), in addition to raw food supplies and vegan dishes. So, if you’re in Lausanne, drop in any day between the 4th and the 18th (Sundays excepted) and sample the amazing food and the “vibe” of the place!

Featured

The quality without a name

This wild freedom, this passion, comes into our lives in the instant we let go.

It is when all our forces can move freely in us. In nature, this quality is almost automatic, because there are no images to interfere with natural processes of making things. But in all of our creations, the possibility occurs that images can interfere with the natural, necessary order of a thing. And, most of all, this way that images distort the things we make, is familiar in ourselves. For we ourselves are, like our works, the products of our own creation. And we are only free, and have the quality without a name in us, when we give up the images which guide our lives.

Yet each of us faces the fear of letting go. The fear of being just exactly what one is, of letting the forces flow freely; of letting the configuration of one’s person adjust truly to these forces. Our letting go is stifled, all the time, so long as we have ideas and opinions about ourselves, which make us hug too tightly to our images of how we live, and bottle up these forces.

So long as we are still bottled up, like this, there is a tightness about the mouth, a nervous tension in the eyes, a stiffness and a brittleness in the way we walk, the way we move. And yet, until one does let go, it is impossible to be alive. The stereotypes are restricted; there are very different configurations. The infinite variety of actual people, with their vastly and utterly different forces, require a huge creation, to find the resolution of the person: and in finding this resolution truly, one must above all be free of the stereotypes.

The great film, Ikiru – to live – describes it in the life of an old man

He has sat for thirty years behind a counter, preventing things from happening. And then he finds out that he is to die of cancer of the stomach, in six months. He tries to live; he seeks enjoyment; it doesn’t amount to much. And finally, against all obstacles, he helps to make a park in a dirty slum in Tokyo. He has lost his fear, because he knows that he is going to die; he works and works and works, there is no stopping him, because he is no longer afraid of anyone, or anything. He has no longer anything to lose, and so in this short time gains everything; and then dies, in the snow, swinging on a child’s swing in the park which he has made, and singing.

(…)

It has above all to do with the elements

The wind, the soft rain; sitting on the back of an old truck moving clothes and baskets of possessions while the gentle rain is falling, laughing, crouching under a shawl to keep from getting wet, but getting wet. Eating a loaf of bread, torn in pieces, hunks of cheese cut crudely with a hatchet which is lying in the corner; red flowers glistening in the rain along the roadside; banging on the window of the truck to shout some joke.

Nothing to keep, nothing to lose. No possessions, no security, no concern about possessions, and no concern about security; in this mood it is possible to do exactly what makes sense, and nothing else: there are no hidden fears, no morals, no rules, no undercurrent of constraint, no subtle sense of concern for the form of what the people round about you are doing, and above all no concern for what you are yourself, no subtle fear of other people’s ridicule, no subtle train of fears which can connect the smallest triviality with bankruptcy and loss of love and loss of friends and death, no ties, no suits, no outward elements of majesty at all. Only the laughter and the rain.

— Ch. 3, “Being Alive”, “The Timeless Way of Building” by Christopher Alexander, OUP New York, 1979

MKS

I
2005, a new round of “cricket diplomacy”, two series, one in India and one in Pakistan, thousands of visas issued to people on both sides of the border.
All excited, my friend gets the visa to go watch the match in Chandigarh.

Quite apart from the mela and the incredible hospitality he experienced there as just another anonymous Pakistani, what marked him most was his visit to his ancestral village. He’d never been there before, nor, it seems had his parents. It was his grandparents who, in the early 1900s, had migrated from the eastern doabas to the new canal colonies in western Punjab. Due to an aversion to marrying outside pre-migration sub-castes, they still retain certain distinctive features and even a specific dialect. So, the approximate directions of his relatives were enough to get him to the village deep in the countryside in East Punjab.

When they realised that he was Pakistani and that his ancestors were probably from that village, they took him to the elders and two and two were rapidly put together – even though, thanks to the two migrations, there was not a single Muslim family left. But his features, the shared accent, vocabulary and expressions, some names his grandparents had given him as references were enough. Their childhood memories came flooding back, of former neighbours and playmates, of people and local legends their parents had told them about.

They then took him to the village mosque, maintained in perfect condition, even better than if it were in regular use! They said, “We said to ourselves, ‘One day, some of our friends might visit us or move back. So, we wanted to be able to say that we had kept up your place of worship in good condition, that we had not forgotten you.’”

(I wish he’d taken some photos for me to post here! In my mind, I see it in this off-white/very pale pink shade with the mini-minarets topped with blue or maybe green. The paint is new, the walls sparkling in the bright sun, the covered section deep in shadow, cool, the open courtyard with the prayer mats deserted at 11 in the morning. The door is wooden, light brown, not painted, upright in its hinges, fits correctly in its frame. In other words, a typical village mosque of the kind I’ve seen thousands of times traveling in the countryside on our side of the border. Just that it would be in picture-perfect condition:) )

II
He loves trekking, hiking, has even done a little rock-climbing. That is to say, he’s connected with nature. And hates littering. None of his friends got it, mocked him for what appeared to them to be his obsessive urge to avoid littering the trails in the Margalla hills he would take them up. They just didn’t get it. I guess it’s one of those many cases where feigning ignorance is so much more convenient than the alternative – making the effort to understand an issue.

One hot day, coming down a trail, merrily bantering away and munching on chocolates (or maybe it was chips), they passed an Australian who saw his friends throwing empty wrappers down the hillside. They didn’t notice it, but he turned around and went right down all the way till he located the offending wrappers – and then brought them back up to the group. He handed them back to the surprised young macho men, saying only, “This is your country.”

It was one of those “I told you so” moments for my friend, and though it took a white person to get through to them (via our mental slavery to all things white), he remains grateful that the message did get through!

embrace!

Just now, my friend Jareer shared with me a beautiful article on fearless joy:

Eventually, by working with an area I feel safest, the forest, I discovered I could let go of expectation, of desire, and when I did I experienced a greater freedom. Now, I can enjoy the forest fearlessly, because I no longer have those attachments. Joy that comes out of equanimity doesn’t have the heavy weight of happiness with strings attached. Fearless joy is lighter, totally free. Amazingly, there is no fear of it disappearing.

I like the image of the butterfly in the open hand. Even better  are those butterflies that flit from flower to flower. Butterflies are most beautiful when they are free. It’s a wonderful metaphor for me to remember when I find craving or attachment underlying something I  enjoy. Can I recognize the cause of that craving, then let go of the craving, and hence enjoy it a free manner,with equanimity?

I don’t know if I’ll ever achieve that in all areas of life, but in the places I have totally let go, I noticed that I embrace with abandon, fearlessly and tirelessly.

http://secularbuddhism.org/2011/08/10/embracing-joy-and-sorrow-fearlessly-by-letting-go/

The image of the butterfly reminded me of the old poet in Rumi’s poem (that I think it’s time I shared with more people) – “without weeping or laughter […] beyond words and telling”:

Omar and the Old Poet

The harper had grown old. His voice was choked sounding
and harsh, and some of his harp strings were broken.

He went to the graveyard at Medina and wept. “Lord,
you’ve always accepted counterfeit coins from me!
Take these prayers again, and give me enough
to buy new silk strings for my harp.”

He put the harp down for a pillow and went to sleep.
The bird of his soul escaped! Free of the body
and the grieving, flying in a vast simple region
that was itself, where it could sing its truth.

“I love this having no head, this tasting without mouth,
this memory without regret, how without hands I gather
rose and basil on an infinitely stretching-out plain
that is my joy.” So this waterbird plunged into its ocean,

Job’s fountain where Job was healed of all afflictions,
the pure sunrise. If this Mathnavi were suddenly sky,
it could not hold half the mystery that this old poet
was enjoying in sleep. If there were a clear way
into that, no one would stay here!

The Caliph Omer, meanwhile, was napping nearby,
and a voice came, “Give seven hundred gold dinars
to the man sleeping in the cemetery.”

Everyone understands this voice when it comes.
It speaks with the same authority to Turk and Kurd,
Persian, Arab, Ethiopian, one language!

Omar went to the place and sat by the sleeping man.
Omar sneezed, and the poet sprang up thinking
this great man was there to accuse him.

“No. Sit here beside me. I have a secret to tell you.
There is gold enough in this sack to buy new silk
strings for your instrument. Take it,
buy them, and come back here.”

The old poet heard and realized the generosity
that had come. He threw the harp on the ground
and broke it. “These songs, breath by breath,

have kept me minding the musical modes of Iraq
and the rhythms of Persia. The minor zirafgand,
the liquid freshness of the twenty-four melodies,

these have distracted me while caravan after caravan
was leaving! My poems have kept me in my self,
which was the greatest gift to me, that now
I surrender back.”

When someone is counting out
gold for you, don’t look at your hands,
or the gold. Look at the giver.

“But even this wailing recrimination,” said Omar,
“Is just another shape for enclosure, another joint
on the reed. Pierce the segments and be hollow,
with perforated walls, so flute music can happen.

Don’t be a searcher wrapped in the importance of his quest.
Repent of your repenting!” The old man’s heart
woke, no longer in love with treble
and bass, without weeping

or laughter. In the true bewilderment of the soul
he went out beyond any seeking, beyond words
and telling, drowned in the beauty,
drowned beyond deliverance.

Waves cover the old man.

Nothing more can be said of him.

He has shaken out his robe,
and there’s nothing in it anymore.

There is a chase where a falcon dives into the forest
and doesn’t come back up. Every moment,
the sunlight is totally empty
and totally full

جیسے

چائے (یا ہنگامی حالات میں کَوفی) میں ڈبوئے بغیر بسکِٹ کھانا۔۔۔ اس سے زیادہ بد ذوق حرکت شاید ہی کوئ ہو۔۔۔ سوائے اِس کے کہ دال چاول ہاتھ کے بجائے چمچ کانٹے سے کھائے جائیں…

(It’d be hard to imagine anything more uncouth than eating a biscuit not dipped in tea (or coffee, in extremis)… except eating rice and daal, not with the fingers, but with spoon and fork!)

Self-respect

There’s an amazing bit of dialogue in Bajrangi Bhaijaan. It’s in the scene where Bajrangi is being tortured in a prison cell by Pakistani some un-named “counter-espionage” organisation in order to extract a false confession from him. The officer-in-charge eventually recognises Bajrangi’s innocence and decides that if Bajrangi is consigned to a life in limbo in Pakistani jails on false charges, he would consider it an insult to Pakistan’s honour – something he could not tolerate.

In this video, one brave Pakistani woman reminds us with simplicity and quiet determination of our duty to protect the weak and vulnerable sections of our society – without which we cannot claim to be responsible citizens of an honourable society.

I invite you to stand with those of us who believe, in the words of V, that “while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning and, for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth.”

Fighter

The following is an ode in prose in memory of one of the major influences on my life. What he faced, what he faced down, were far far greater challenges than I am ever likely to face.

Iqbal Bali
A tribute

My dear friend and a great revolutionary, Mohammed Iqbal, affectionately
known by all his friends and admirers as Bali, died on 19 June in
Rawalpindi following complications after major heart surgery.
How does one talk of this man so full of energy? For me it is impossible
to imagine Pindi without him. For the last forty years he was the moving
force in all the demonstrations and meetings held in Pindi to promote
democracy in Pakistan. In this article I will talk about how I knew him
and about some of his political ideas. The activities that I will
highlight pertain basically to the period from 1969 to 1989 when I
worked closely with him. I left Pakistan in 1989 and withdrew from
taking active part in the democratic movement because of personal
reasons and because of the collapse of the left and the trade union
movement.

Bali’’s political activism goes back to the days in the sixties when he
was a radar technician in the Pakistan Air Force. He got into a lot of
scrapes while in the air force as he stood up to officers who mistreated
ordinary airmen and fought for the rights of the latter. Several times
he was punished for this.

He moved to Pindi in the late sixties when he was immediately involved
in the 1968-69 student movement against the Ayub Khan dictatorship. At
this time there was a rebirth throughout Pakistan of socialist and
Marxist ideas inspired by the great Vietnamese resistance and the
student movements in Europe and America against the war and for greater
democracy. Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto was also riding this wave with his
slogans of “roti, kapra, makan”. In Pindi too there were many people
discussing the concept of reviving a communist movement. Bali was part
of a group of young idealistic people wanting to overthrow the
oppressive capitalist social order in Pakistan. There were such groups
consisting of intellectuals, students and workers springing up in all
the major cities.

He worked with the People’s Labour Front (PLF), newly founded in Pindi
by Riffat Hussain Baba (now at PILER in Karachi) and Nazir Masih
(Secretary-General of the Municipal Worker’s Union of Rawalpindi).
(Sadly Nazir Masih, another great figure in the workers’ movement in
Pindi, died many years ago). In its heyday the PLF was the main trade
union federation for the major industries of Pindi and Islamabad,
including the large Kohinoor Textiles Mills on Peshawar Road. The PLF
played a leading role in negotiations for workers rights. There was many
a heroic battle that should be recounted by others. During his PLF years
Bali ran study circles with workers and wrote pamphlets and helped to
distribute them and to paste them on walls around the city. He was
always an activist who did not like long theoretical discussions and he
wanted to immediately get into action.

On 25 March 1971 Yahya Khan postponed, under pressure from Bhutto, the
Army and sections of the ruling class, the inaugural session of the
newly elected Parliament in which Sheikh Mujib’s Awami League had a
clear majority. Bali never forgave Bhutto for his role in this clearly
undemocratic move by Yahya. The group in Pindi (this included Bali) was
one of the few on the left who opposed the subsequent army action after
Mujib declared the independence of Bangladesh on 26 March 1971. I
remember that he and I were in Commercial Market, Satellite Town, on the
evening of that fateful 25th of March when we heard Yahya’s announcement
on the radio and we turned to each other and whispered: “This is the end
of Pakistan”. The consequences were obvious. Pakistan broke up and
Bangladesh was finally liberated in December 1971 but not before the
Pakistan Army perpetrated genocide in Bangladesh with probably millions
of deaths of innocent Bengalis. Bali opposed the army action and helped
to print and distribute leaflets against the military action. He also
took part in wall chalking against the army action in Bangladesh. This
was dangerous work but he was never afraid of being arrested.

Bali was not only active in pro-democracy and anti-dictatorship
movements but he was also a convinced anti-imperialist. He was
particularly incensed by the US war on the Vietnamese people and took
part in concrete actions against US interests in Pindi in the early 70s.
He also took part in an action to protest a particularly savage bombing
of a school in Vietnam and later in another action to protest the
bombing of Cambodia in the spring of 1970.

When Bhutto became President in December 1971 many on the left were
taken in by his rhetoric and had hopes that now Pakistan would be moving
towards socialism. Bali however was very clear about this. He did not
take the easy route of either joining or supporting the populist
movement represented by the People’s Party. He saw immediately that
Bhutto, although popular, represented the landlord class of Pakistan and
could not be relied upon to solve the problems of workers and peasants.
He believed that there should be an autonomous workers’ and peasants’
movement and that one should be working towards setting up a genuine
communist party. His seeing through the slogans of Bhutto was a
characteristic of Bali. A self-educated Marxist he could immediately see
through the rhetoric and could get to the core of an issue.

Although Bhutto talked about workers’ rights his government soon ran
into conflict with trade unions. He sent in police to break up strikes
and to evict workers who had taken over factories when owners tried to
do a lockout. In Multan several workers were killed when police fired on
them. The conflict with the Bhutto government intensified when Bhutto
introduced his labour laws, which were clearly not in the interests of
the working class. Trade union leaders were harassed and arrested and
this included, Riffat Baba, in 1973. The new labour laws and the
crackdown of labour unions by Bhutto and later Zia-ul-Haq led to the
collapse of the workers’ and trade union movement in the middle and late
70s.

Bali was one of the few on the left who supported the Baluchistan
insurgency between 1973 and 1977 not only by the usual propaganda
efforts but also by concrete material aid, which was not very large and
was mostly symbolic to show our comrades in Baluchistan that not all
Punjabis supported the army action there. Bali and his comrades were
isolated on this issue in the Punjab. Bali was instrumental in finding a
safe house for a Baluch comrade who had to go into hiding in 1973. This
was all highly risky work but again Bali did not hold back.

After 1977 when Gen. Zia-ul-Haq took over as dictator, Bali was as usual
at the heart of protests and propaganda against the dictatorship during
these long dark years which cast their ominous shadow on us even now. He
was an enthusiastic participant in the election boycott movement
proposed by the Movement for the Restoration of Democracy (MRD) in 1981.
At one point the MRD offered mass arrests in Rawalpindi. This turned out
into a farce because of the cowardice of the parties allied in the MRD.
The plan was to offer mass arrests voluntarily at a certain point in
Raja Bazar at a certain time. At this time the area was full of police
as expected. At the appointed time Bali issued forth with a placard
raising slogans against dictatorship and for democracy but not a single
worker from any party followed him. Of course he was immediately
arrested. First he was taken to a local thana and then taken to the
infamous dungeons at the Lahore Fort.

This was his longest period in jail. While in the Lahore Fort he was
beaten up and tortured with cigarette burns. He was interrogated both by
the police and the military intelligence services. But he was courageous
under this torture and did not name a single one of his companions. He
flaunted the fact that he was a communist and would remain so. They
asked him specifically about me. He laughed it off by saying that Dr.
Faheem was one of these intellectual leftists who came around to trade
unions and took part in demonstrations but did not do much and was not
taken seriously by the workers. He also told them that we were family
friends, which was true. I think he saved me from being arrested at that
time by laughing me off. Actually he was afraid at one point in his stay
at Lahore Fort that I had been arrested. While he was in the Fort he
heard one evening that they were bringing in three prisoners from
Islamabad, all of whom were professors. He inquired whether one of these
had a beard and the answer was yes. He thought this is it. Faheem has
been arrested. It turned out not to be true. The three brought to the
Fort that day were Jamil Omar and two other teachers from Quaid-i-Azam
University who were arrested for pasting pro-democracy leaflets on walls
in Islamabad. Jamil had a beard at that time. Iqbal told me that
although he was sad that these three had been arrested but that he was
relieved that I was not one of them.

On his release from jail after many months he continued to be active.
Even in his darkest years in the nineties when he was in severe
financial difficulties he never lost hope. To overcome financial
difficulties he went as far as Baluchistan to earn money doing physical
labour. On his return he plunged into his pro-democracy activities again.

Not only was he involved in demonstrating, writing pamphlets but he was
also very keen in promoting enlightenment and secular, rational thinking
in his neighbourhood. He set up several local educational committees
under whose aegis scientific lectures were delivered to local
townspeople. He even had the astrophysicist, Prof. Asghar Qadir, give a
talk on the origin of the universe, the big bang, black holes and all
that. His living room in Angadpura, off Saidpur Road, near the thana was
the meeting place for progressives of Pindi and was an obligatory halt
for visiting leftists. I remember long evenings discussing revolutionary
practice and theory, Punjabi and Sikh history, poetry, world affairs
with Bali and his friends. These evenings were spiced by the excellent
food served by his wife, Salma, and by liberal drinks of the fermented
kind.

On my return to Pakistan in 2005 I found Bali to be as active and
enthusiastic in the struggle for democracy as before. He was
particularly happy to note that there was a new crop of young people in
Islamabad and Rawalpindi who were imbued with Marxist ideas and were
beginning to organise workers and peasants for a democratic,
anti-capitalist struggle. The 2005 earthquake found him in the forefront
of mobilising aid for the affected people. With funds raised in
Islamabad and abroad he helped establish a school in the Siran River
Valley near Nawazabad, north of Mansehra. I remember climbing up to 3000
metres to survey a badly hit village and later carrying aid up to this
village, both of us unaware of having bad hearts at that time! We were
both struggling with our breathing and we could have popped off at any
time! Anyway we survived. All the time that we were in the mountains he
would keep up his democratic and anti-mullah propaganda and try to
convince people that the best response to the disaster was not to become
dependent on outside help but to rely on self-help. Sometimes his
anti-religious jokes were so strong that I was worried that this might
incite the local people to whom he was talking.

This brings me to another aspect of Bali’’s character. He was above all a
committed, life-long Marxist. He often said, “I was born a Marxist and
will die a Marxist”. But beyond that he was a democrat and a militant
atheist. He was always carrying out propaganda against religion and
mullahs in whatever company he found himself in. One of his favourite
texts was Bhagat Singh’’s article “Why I am an atheist”. But there was an
interesting contradiction in him and that was that he had a soft spot
for Sikhism. According to him, his forebears were Sikhs. He would often
quote from the Sikh gurus and would even sometimes give the Sikh
greeting “Sat Sri Akal”. In his later years he always wore a Sikh
“kara”. Once he explained to me that he did not regard Sikhism as a
religion but as something pointing out the “dharma”, one’’s righteous duty.

Bali’’s revolutionary Marxism was not based on some abstract ideas and
was not imported from outside. His views were deeply rooted in the soil
where he was born and that is Punjab. His inspiration for revolution in
Pakistan was not so much the Russian, Chinese, Vietnamese, Cuban
revolutions as the Ghadar Party in India and particularly the Punjab and
its revolutionary activities in the early years of the twentieth
century. He knew everything about that armed struggle in the Punjab
against British imperialism and would talk about that often. More than
Lenin, Che, Mao, Ho Chi Minh, his revolutionary hero and example were
Bhagat Singh and his comrades. He was also exceptionally well informed
about India’’s First War of Independence in 1857. Surprisingly he was
also a keen student of Sufi philosophy and history. In this sense he was
a real son of the soil, although he had read many of the classic texts
of Marx, Engels, Lenin and Mao. But this does not mean that he was
parochial in any sense. He was a keen observer of the revolutionary
movements around the world.

Like most of us, at that time in the late 60s and early 70s, inspired by
Mao, Ho Chi Minh and Che Guevara, Bali believed in the revolutionary
armed struggle and the imminent arrival of the socialist revolution. We
were all idealists but we soon realised that the revolution was a long
way away. Some lost heart at this point and dropped out of the struggle
but Bali never lost hope in the ultimate victory of the workers and
peasants. He, however, realised that the short-term goal in Pakistan was
the establishment of democracy and the end of military dictatorship. In
the last years of his life he came to the belief that armed struggle was
not appropriate at the moment in Pakistan and what we needed was a
peaceful mass struggle for democracy. In this regard he was impressed
and inspired by the recent victories of the democratic movements in
Latin America.

Bali was sceptical of NGOs. He never trusted them. He thought that they
took away young people from the real democratic struggle and corrupted
them by paying them high salaries. He would proudly proclaim that he had
never joined an NGO.

The lawyers’’ struggle of 2007 for justice and democracy against the
Musharraf regime found Bali in the forefront of the demonstrations. He
was to be seen every day in front of the Supreme Court carrying banners
and raising slogans. He printed and distributed pamphlets and organised
the demonstrations. The struggle seemed to have rejuvenated him. In
spite of the fact that by this time Bali had discovered that he had
serious heart problems he continued to be present at the demonstrations
carrying his water bottle and pills. In fact although his heart
condition was quite serious he went on a hunger strike in favour of the
Chief Justice in March 2008 outside the Judges Colony. When I reproached
him for not taking care of his health, his reply was that he was a
revolutionary and had to do his duty and that he was already more than
75 years old so it did not matter if he died.

He was particularly happy to see that there were so many new young
people involved in these demonstrations. In return young people
discovered in him an example of a dedicated revolutionary to follow and
he inspired all those who met him. During the lawyers movement he became
close to the young members of the Rawalpindi branch of the Communist
Mazdoor Kisan Party, CMKP. As far as I know, Bali had never joined a
party before, but these young dedicated workers of the CMKP finally
persuaded him to join the party, which he did in March 2008, at a
restaurant in Islamabad where I was also present. This move gave a boost
to the CMKP in Rawalpindi and Islamabad. His house became the meeting
place for the CMKP. In June 2009 he was elected as the Chairman of the
CMKP Pindi District Committee. Because of his militancy, revolutionary
enthusiasm and untiring work ethic he was also elected as Chairman of
the Awami Jamhoori Ittehad in Islamabad.

During the last year Bali came to the conclusion that Islamic extremism
and the Taliban were the greatest danger to Pakistan. He was quite clear
about this. He, like many others on the left, supported the recent
military action against the Taliban in Swat and Waziristan. However at
the same time he continued to be a staunch anti-imperialist and did not
waver in his stand that the US and NATO should withdraw from Afghanistan.

Bali continued to be active to the end. We will miss his enthusiasm, his
hard work and revolutionary zeal. He will live in our hearts as an
example of a true revolutionary.

Faheem Hussain
The author is Professor of Physics in the School of Science and
Engineering, Lahore University of Management Sciences.
———————-

P.S. My uncle, passed away the same year in the autumn of 2009.

Corporate Social Responsibility

There were campaigns, massive ones, for greater accountability of the giants of globalisation. These were sparked off by terrible scandals, raising serious concerns about the psychological health of C-level executives. Some people wondered if our world wasn’t being run by psychopaths. Not, for example, some pinko public health institution or the ILO, but one of the global meccas of business administration, INSEAD, Paris: The Psychopath in the C-Suite.

But let’s not get carried away by all these good-for-nothing academic types. It was all paranoia as borne out by subsequent events. Who needed “big government”, why revive the spectre of people power when we can simply draw up perfectly pragmatic, ethically sound policies on corporate social responsibility (CSR as it is often called)?

So, as the brave new post-Y2Kalypse world got going and the global “business community” still faced huge protests from the global justice people every time they gathered, whether in Genoa or Copenhagen, the CSR idea really took off – almost a fashion in terms of how seriously large corporations started to take it. It was no longer a question of that cute little email footer reminding the recipient to think of the environment before printing it. No, this time, business was seriously going to reform itself.

Really.

For example, the latest episode from Taylor Farms, California, a McDonald’s supplier:

golden veneer“Multiple reports have documented the failures of voluntary corporate social responsibility (CSR) codes in global supply chains, but less attention has been paid to how they have been implemented in the United States. This report is a case study of how McDonald’s Corporation implemented its Supplier Code of Conduct when it was alerted to violations of workers’ rights to freedom of association at one of its suppliers, Taylor Fresh Foods, commonly known as Taylor Farms. The report documents systematic and serious violations of workers’ fundamental rights protected under international labor standards and McDonald’s own Supplier Code of Conduct to freely associate and bargain collectively at Taylor Farms. Further, it finds that McDonald’s approach not only failed to prevent or remediate grave violations of workers’ rights, it helped undermine workers’ free exercise of their rights.”

The Namal Model-D

Namal Model-D
The Namal Model-D, Mr. Masood’s creation for his son Danish

Last Saturday, Namal announced itself to the software and electrical and electronics engineering industry via a surprisingly big Open House that, frankly, took me by surprise – both in terms of the number of participating organisations and their diversity. We hosted a variety of very intrigued visitors from huge organisations like the Chashma Power Project and the Heavy Mechanical Complex, Taxila all the way to highly innovative start-ups like Groopic where the entire tightly-knit team came up to find out what the fuss was all about.

The other very pleasant surprise were the innovative solutions to everyday issues of fuel and water conservation developed by the EE department as well as the advanced products in computer vision, machine learning and computer networks presented by computer science students.

Of course, I can’t end this post without mentioning the projects presented by my own students as part of their year-long software engineering course😉 It’s been a long time since I felt such satisfaction as seeing visitors interacting with my students and coming away impressed with their work and their products. I just have to mention them: an inventory tracking system for the Namal EE lab equipment; Discover Pakistan, a mobile app to enrich one’s touring experience; a solution to facilitate the final year project effort of Namal faculty and students; Serendipity, a distributed, redundant file storage system for deployment in organisations concerned about data security and privacy issues. Each project has a client and a mentor and it was thanks to these fine people that the projects have that pizzazz.

Still, the most impressive product was a surprise entry: a children’s toy car complete with pedals, steering wheel, grill, front and back bumpers, headlights and rear reflectors and a comfortable driving seat. Total cost of materials: Rs. 2,500, all sourced from within Mianwali district, most of them re-cycled. Mr. Masood, a member of the support staff at Namal, designed and fabricated the car for his son Danish, collecting the materials and working on his project in his spare time. When he found out about the Open House and its purpose, he turned up in the morning with his baby. We immediately adopted it as our showpiece/mascot as a kind of concrete realisation of our approach to product engineering: passion, reusability, a no-frills approach to technology – and colour, lots of colour!