Flash back—ancient Rome.
“Kill!! Kill!”
Gladiators, superb fighters trained with weapons of their choice, are fighting in the arena for the pleasure of men and women sitting in the stands loving the sheer spectacle of it all. Each stroke of the sword, each jab of the spear, whips the people into frenzied blood lust. The result for the spectators, side bets won or lost, and a little recreation; for the gladiators, a fight for survival.
Flash forward—USA.
“Get him! Knock his head off!”
MMA fighters pummeling each other—kicking, punching, wrestling, as they try to smash each other into oblivion. The time has changed; the people have changed; the ingrain brutal nature of man has remained the same—the love of violence.
Boxing has rules; wrestling is entertainment; Mixed Martial Arts or MMA is just savagery. Admittedly, MMA fighters are in the best of condition and well trained, but seriously have you ever watched a fight and thought about what was happening? In the United States, sports in general, caters more to blood and guts rather than finesse or just athleticism. We are breeding a culture of violence; we are breeding a ‘thuggish’ culture.
Imagine if you will a bar, a street, or any public place and someone picks a fight with you. Any physical confrontation, and the chances are, you can be arrested, and put in jail for assault and battery. However, if the purse is right, for your pleasure, a fight can be arranged and fighters paid to wreck mayhem on each other. Because people are paying money, and the fighters are playing by the ‘rules’, it is not deemed assault; it is not breaking the law. Such a staged fight is called entertainment. Forget that they are still inflicting bodily harm; forget that they still end brain damaged; the fact is that they have given us entertainment. This is justifiable battery.
How different is this from the Roman Arenas of yore? How different is this form of barbarism? How much have we advanced in our taste for entertainment? Is it any wonder that our children are affected by this ‘thuggish’ culture?
Am I crazy or are the values of our society wacky? Talk to me!
Riaz Sahibzada
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
What will people think?
“What will people think?”
This is a common refrain of most people when asked to do something out of the normal. We all want to be perceived in our own ideal image. We buy a car, not because it is convenient, but because we want it to reflect our image. I know of a person who bought a gigantic house, not because she needed it, but because it went with her image.
“You cannot blame Mr. X, because he was intoxicated at that time. This was not Mr. X’s real personality; it was the liquor that was talking.”
Excuse me, I beg to differ. Strong liquor or drugs tend to drop the barriers that we have acquired over the years. We adopt a veneer of culture and suavity, because we want our neighbors to look at us in a particular way. We live for what people think about us, even though they may not be giving us a second of their time; we just think they do. When the fear of people not recognizing us for what we are banishes, our true selves come out.
Remember when the lights went out in New York, a few years back? People of all walks of life: young, old, middle class, poor—all breaking into stores; all carrying away anything that they could. At that time and place, morality was on temporary suspension; religion on hold; and decency on the back burner. There was only the moment, and a time to get whatever you could lay your hands, because nobody was watching. Law was temporarily suspended, and under the cloak of darkness, people allowed the beast, ever lurking under the surface, come charging to the forefront.
In the United States, and indeed the word over, on a regular basis, people will go to their places of worship; they will read their prescribed book of worship, but do they really believe? Are we just feral creatures that need the strong hand of the law to keep us in check? Do we just keep up with appearances, or do we have an inbuilt sense of decency? Events all over the world would dispute this; when in a mob mode, like jackals, we will howl for blood, without reason, without a real sense of justice. What do you think?
Am I crazy, or is the world wacky? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
This is a common refrain of most people when asked to do something out of the normal. We all want to be perceived in our own ideal image. We buy a car, not because it is convenient, but because we want it to reflect our image. I know of a person who bought a gigantic house, not because she needed it, but because it went with her image.
“You cannot blame Mr. X, because he was intoxicated at that time. This was not Mr. X’s real personality; it was the liquor that was talking.”
Excuse me, I beg to differ. Strong liquor or drugs tend to drop the barriers that we have acquired over the years. We adopt a veneer of culture and suavity, because we want our neighbors to look at us in a particular way. We live for what people think about us, even though they may not be giving us a second of their time; we just think they do. When the fear of people not recognizing us for what we are banishes, our true selves come out.
Remember when the lights went out in New York, a few years back? People of all walks of life: young, old, middle class, poor—all breaking into stores; all carrying away anything that they could. At that time and place, morality was on temporary suspension; religion on hold; and decency on the back burner. There was only the moment, and a time to get whatever you could lay your hands, because nobody was watching. Law was temporarily suspended, and under the cloak of darkness, people allowed the beast, ever lurking under the surface, come charging to the forefront.
In the United States, and indeed the word over, on a regular basis, people will go to their places of worship; they will read their prescribed book of worship, but do they really believe? Are we just feral creatures that need the strong hand of the law to keep us in check? Do we just keep up with appearances, or do we have an inbuilt sense of decency? Events all over the world would dispute this; when in a mob mode, like jackals, we will howl for blood, without reason, without a real sense of justice. What do you think?
Am I crazy, or is the world wacky? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
Friday, September 11, 2009
When the world stood still, and heroism showed its real self
Whoom!
The building shook; we looked at each other absolutely stunned.
“What the heck was that?”
September 11, 2001. It was a day that will always be in my mind; a day when the world, for most people who were at the Pentagon that day, came to a standstill. I was lucky; I was at the other end of my office, which was located in the E-Ring of the Pentagon, next to the Main Command Entrance. If I had been in my office, would I have been here to tell the story? I don’t know; life plays strange tricks on us. Call me a fatalist; it just was not my time, but for others the bells tolled vociferously.
As I recall, there was less panic and more a sense of urgency. Without thinking, most people ran towards the explosion, not away from it. People young and old, male and female, quite unthinking, went to help the handicapped, the hurt, and the distraught ones. It was a day, which highlighted the true character of the American people—people who braved the debris of broken masonry and bent steel; people who went not once, but over and over to drag an unfortunate colleague; people who had no equipment. Their only goal was to pull their comrades from the wreck of the hell caused by twisted minds.
Was it only eight years ago? In retrospect, all I can think is: why do we only show our best side when the chips are down? Why can’t we apply the same approach to everyday problems? Maybe I am a dreamer, but dreams come true. Maybe, this country will once more rise out of the ashes of polarity to the new beginnings of a unified nation. Maybe Democrats and Republicans will look at the problems as Americans and not party enthusiasts; maybe, we will pull together for the good of the people, not the good of certain sections of the people. Maybe, all of us can look forward to a better, cleaner, and more giving United States.
Maybe! Maybe! Maybe! I can dream, can’t I?
Riaz Sahibzada
The building shook; we looked at each other absolutely stunned.
“What the heck was that?”
September 11, 2001. It was a day that will always be in my mind; a day when the world, for most people who were at the Pentagon that day, came to a standstill. I was lucky; I was at the other end of my office, which was located in the E-Ring of the Pentagon, next to the Main Command Entrance. If I had been in my office, would I have been here to tell the story? I don’t know; life plays strange tricks on us. Call me a fatalist; it just was not my time, but for others the bells tolled vociferously.
As I recall, there was less panic and more a sense of urgency. Without thinking, most people ran towards the explosion, not away from it. People young and old, male and female, quite unthinking, went to help the handicapped, the hurt, and the distraught ones. It was a day, which highlighted the true character of the American people—people who braved the debris of broken masonry and bent steel; people who went not once, but over and over to drag an unfortunate colleague; people who had no equipment. Their only goal was to pull their comrades from the wreck of the hell caused by twisted minds.
Was it only eight years ago? In retrospect, all I can think is: why do we only show our best side when the chips are down? Why can’t we apply the same approach to everyday problems? Maybe I am a dreamer, but dreams come true. Maybe, this country will once more rise out of the ashes of polarity to the new beginnings of a unified nation. Maybe Democrats and Republicans will look at the problems as Americans and not party enthusiasts; maybe, we will pull together for the good of the people, not the good of certain sections of the people. Maybe, all of us can look forward to a better, cleaner, and more giving United States.
Maybe! Maybe! Maybe! I can dream, can’t I?
Riaz Sahibzada
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Establishing an Afghan Desk: qualified personnel only, please!
The year, 2001; the place, Pentagon.
“Professor, can you please go to the Afghan Desk, and talk to the newly appointed Afghan Head.”
“Sure,” I said to the Deputy Chief of OCPA (Civil), a political appointee, and a good friend.
“What am I supposed to be talking about?”
My friend asked me to just feel the Head out. I agreed, and went out to do his bidding. At the Afghan Desk, I introduced myself and was taken to the person in charge. I was expecting a grizzled veteran of Afghanistan; I got a young man of about 30 years, very pleasant, and very nice to talk to. Wow! He must be a real hot shot to be sitting in such a chair; probably graduated top of his class in Political Science. Boy! Was I wrong?
He was an Afghan, so I addressed him in Pashto. It turned out that he did not know a word of Pashto, and said so. I switched to Dari. His answer was more astonishing, “I am trying to learn that language, but I barely know a few sentences, so could we speak in English?”
I looked across at a white gentleman with rather grey hair, who was with him in the office. He shrugged his shoulders and in fluent Pashto said, “Don’t look at me? I just work here.” It turned out that this person had spent some time with State in Afghanistan.
“Have you ever gone to Afghanistan?” I asked the Head.
He said that he had never been; besides, he was American and didn’t like to be associated with Afghans.
I could see that the conversation was going nowhere, so I took my leave from both of them and went back to my friend in OCPA. Then I related everything to him. He looked at me in absolute amazement.
“Are you serious?”
Yes, I was; the government, I don’t know?
Am I crazy, or is the world wacky? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
“Professor, can you please go to the Afghan Desk, and talk to the newly appointed Afghan Head.”
“Sure,” I said to the Deputy Chief of OCPA (Civil), a political appointee, and a good friend.
“What am I supposed to be talking about?”
My friend asked me to just feel the Head out. I agreed, and went out to do his bidding. At the Afghan Desk, I introduced myself and was taken to the person in charge. I was expecting a grizzled veteran of Afghanistan; I got a young man of about 30 years, very pleasant, and very nice to talk to. Wow! He must be a real hot shot to be sitting in such a chair; probably graduated top of his class in Political Science. Boy! Was I wrong?
He was an Afghan, so I addressed him in Pashto. It turned out that he did not know a word of Pashto, and said so. I switched to Dari. His answer was more astonishing, “I am trying to learn that language, but I barely know a few sentences, so could we speak in English?”
I looked across at a white gentleman with rather grey hair, who was with him in the office. He shrugged his shoulders and in fluent Pashto said, “Don’t look at me? I just work here.” It turned out that this person had spent some time with State in Afghanistan.
“Have you ever gone to Afghanistan?” I asked the Head.
He said that he had never been; besides, he was American and didn’t like to be associated with Afghans.
I could see that the conversation was going nowhere, so I took my leave from both of them and went back to my friend in OCPA. Then I related everything to him. He looked at me in absolute amazement.
“Are you serious?”
Yes, I was; the government, I don’t know?
Am I crazy, or is the world wacky? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Selling emotions is good business
“This, sir is an ideal box for a beloved relative. Feel this material; it is genuine satin. There is heavy padding underneath it; the padding, let me remind you, is made of special foam; your relative will be lying on a cloud. And the wood is polished with built in veneer. This, sir, is the best that money can buy; it is the ultimate in respect for a departed loved one.”
The man was dressed in a dark suit. The place was quiet and very somber, as befitting a funeral parlor—an expensive one at that. Solicitous, grave, and very respectful, he talked to my friend John like a butler of bye gone days. I had accompanied John after many protests, for funeral parlors give me the creeps, but I came with him for moral support. Before setting forth to the parlor, John had looked me in the eye and said, “By no means are you going to say anything that might be construed as humorous, clear.”
I was very clear. I had no intentions of being witty or sarcastic; this, after all, was not the place for humor, and I could relate to the time and place, but this bag-of-wind was just getting to me. The final straw was when he told John that the casket had pneumatic holes in the casket.
“What are they for,” I asked.
“So that enough air can circulate through the casket,” he said rather sententiously.
“But the man is dead. Isn’t he?”
Both gave me dirty stares as if to say, “Spare him Lord, for he is a heretic.”
Why must we go to all the expense of taking a dead body; dressing it up in the finest of clothes—clothes that the person might never have worn in their lives—not even in their dreams? Are we honoring the departed or expatiating our own sins? Maybe, I am crazy, but the last time I checked, all revealed religions having father Abraham as an ancestor emphasize the temporal nature of the flesh. The soul is immortal and goes on into the afterlife. “Ashes to ashes; dust to dust……” So what is with all this over-hype in dressing the body up as if it is on the way to a big old party in the sky? How is this any different from the pagan rites of placing a sword in a warrior’s hand; slaughtering his war steed, and placing him by his side; and putting all his jewelry on him to help in the other world?”
When did we get away from the simple pine box and the solemnity of real grief? When was this replaced by the sheer hypocrisy of what passes on for grief?
I was relating the above anecdote to my friend Ike recently, and he shook his head, “Man, you are naïve. We had to change the entire cloth of a casket because the shade of the cloth was off by.001 percent.” “What”, he went on, “will the dead person open his eyes; look at the cloth, and say the dye is off color?”
I mean, am I crazy or is the world wacky? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
The man was dressed in a dark suit. The place was quiet and very somber, as befitting a funeral parlor—an expensive one at that. Solicitous, grave, and very respectful, he talked to my friend John like a butler of bye gone days. I had accompanied John after many protests, for funeral parlors give me the creeps, but I came with him for moral support. Before setting forth to the parlor, John had looked me in the eye and said, “By no means are you going to say anything that might be construed as humorous, clear.”
I was very clear. I had no intentions of being witty or sarcastic; this, after all, was not the place for humor, and I could relate to the time and place, but this bag-of-wind was just getting to me. The final straw was when he told John that the casket had pneumatic holes in the casket.
“What are they for,” I asked.
“So that enough air can circulate through the casket,” he said rather sententiously.
“But the man is dead. Isn’t he?”
Both gave me dirty stares as if to say, “Spare him Lord, for he is a heretic.”
Why must we go to all the expense of taking a dead body; dressing it up in the finest of clothes—clothes that the person might never have worn in their lives—not even in their dreams? Are we honoring the departed or expatiating our own sins? Maybe, I am crazy, but the last time I checked, all revealed religions having father Abraham as an ancestor emphasize the temporal nature of the flesh. The soul is immortal and goes on into the afterlife. “Ashes to ashes; dust to dust……” So what is with all this over-hype in dressing the body up as if it is on the way to a big old party in the sky? How is this any different from the pagan rites of placing a sword in a warrior’s hand; slaughtering his war steed, and placing him by his side; and putting all his jewelry on him to help in the other world?”
When did we get away from the simple pine box and the solemnity of real grief? When was this replaced by the sheer hypocrisy of what passes on for grief?
I was relating the above anecdote to my friend Ike recently, and he shook his head, “Man, you are naïve. We had to change the entire cloth of a casket because the shade of the cloth was off by.001 percent.” “What”, he went on, “will the dead person open his eyes; look at the cloth, and say the dye is off color?”
I mean, am I crazy or is the world wacky? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Lobbies:Truth in Advertising
“Eight of ten people, in a study, said that Brand X can give you ----.”
And, as a friend of mine put it, “The study was conducted by his brother; his sister; and a host of cousins.”
How many times have people heard claims like that on TV? All marketers emphasize the superiority of their product over their competition. That is fine; after all, it is what advertising is supposed to do—sell. My beef is with the downright scams in advertising.
Take for example, the Acai Berry, a plant that is supposed to make you lose weight very rapidly. If the FDA has not approved it, why is it on the market? Especially, why should it make such unsubstantiated claims? Am I crazy? Shouldn’t there be laws against blatant dishonest claims? The Acai Berry maybe the least innocuous of marketing products; other Ads can be harmful, and even downright dangerous; yet, they are allowed to continue. Pharmaceutical companies after all sell billions of dollars worth of medicine, and for the most part, these companies offer tremendous services to the human race. They spend time and resources, and should get their just rewards. My beef is not with that; my beef is with Ads that sell nothing but lies to gullible folks.
It all comes down to lobbies. We are apparently a government of the lobbies, by the lobbies, and for the lobbies. The word lobby, as used by us in the US, is wonderfully euphemistic. Corruption is taking bribes or furthering the cause of your immediate family or friends: furthering the cause of a particular group is perfectly legitimate, as long as they are a registered lobby. The stronger the lobby, the greater the influence, the greater contribution to a party or a person’s political ambitions. Is this not corruption?
“Pshaw! You are indeed naive,” said my friend. “No, it is perfectly permissible, because the law allows it.”
“But the legislators, through money paid into their campaigns, are ones who might have benefited from these companies. Thus, their decision could be tainted at best; or worse, deliberately biased, because they have been paid for—one way or the other.”
I could see that I was going nowhere with my friend, so I ask you:
Shouldn’t the government put a stop to such dishonest marketing? My feeling is that when they don’t, it raises red flags; when they don’t, we lose our trust and faith in the government. When the Senators and Congressmen and Congresswomen realize the rights of the people; and when they legislate accordingly, then only will the people think of the government as for, off, and by the people. We have lost our trust in the government, because it is not our government, but a government of the lobbies.
Am I crazy or do you see it the same way? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
And, as a friend of mine put it, “The study was conducted by his brother; his sister; and a host of cousins.”
How many times have people heard claims like that on TV? All marketers emphasize the superiority of their product over their competition. That is fine; after all, it is what advertising is supposed to do—sell. My beef is with the downright scams in advertising.
Take for example, the Acai Berry, a plant that is supposed to make you lose weight very rapidly. If the FDA has not approved it, why is it on the market? Especially, why should it make such unsubstantiated claims? Am I crazy? Shouldn’t there be laws against blatant dishonest claims? The Acai Berry maybe the least innocuous of marketing products; other Ads can be harmful, and even downright dangerous; yet, they are allowed to continue. Pharmaceutical companies after all sell billions of dollars worth of medicine, and for the most part, these companies offer tremendous services to the human race. They spend time and resources, and should get their just rewards. My beef is not with that; my beef is with Ads that sell nothing but lies to gullible folks.
It all comes down to lobbies. We are apparently a government of the lobbies, by the lobbies, and for the lobbies. The word lobby, as used by us in the US, is wonderfully euphemistic. Corruption is taking bribes or furthering the cause of your immediate family or friends: furthering the cause of a particular group is perfectly legitimate, as long as they are a registered lobby. The stronger the lobby, the greater the influence, the greater contribution to a party or a person’s political ambitions. Is this not corruption?
“Pshaw! You are indeed naive,” said my friend. “No, it is perfectly permissible, because the law allows it.”
“But the legislators, through money paid into their campaigns, are ones who might have benefited from these companies. Thus, their decision could be tainted at best; or worse, deliberately biased, because they have been paid for—one way or the other.”
I could see that I was going nowhere with my friend, so I ask you:
Shouldn’t the government put a stop to such dishonest marketing? My feeling is that when they don’t, it raises red flags; when they don’t, we lose our trust and faith in the government. When the Senators and Congressmen and Congresswomen realize the rights of the people; and when they legislate accordingly, then only will the people think of the government as for, off, and by the people. We have lost our trust in the government, because it is not our government, but a government of the lobbies.
Am I crazy or do you see it the same way? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Thrones and Mansions: Colossal Egos
A month or so ago, my friend Stan Smith sent me a few pictures of the resident ruler of ______.
The palace was something out of the Arabian Nights. The bathrooms were the size of most homes—the opulence was unmatched. It was almost as if imagination’s dam had over flooded and completely submerged any semblance of sanity. The final blow was the fleet of cars on display before the mansion—one, a silver Audi—that’s not silver as in the color silver, but solid silver.
What’s with this opulence trip? Thinking about it gave me a headache. So I ask you to stop and think for a moment: all the founders of the major religions lived their lives essentially as ascetics, or threw off the trappings of power and money, as in the case of Moses and Buddha. Yet the followers of these religions, at least their stewards of power, live in luxury that the laity cannot even fathom. Am I crazy or is the world wacky?
Look at all the Churches, mosques, and temples; look at all the gold, silver, and materials that have gone into creating these edifices; are they monuments to the Supreme Being or monuments to our colossal ego?
If we can really study their lives; if we can really see their simplicity; if we can stop being so hypocritical; if we can really understand their message; if we can accept everyone for what they are, and not what we think they should be, we can be a much better world. To do this, however, we would have to go past egos—that I am afraid is going to be a hard sell. Moses walked; Jesus rode a lowly Ass; Muhammad rode a camel—none of them ever sat on gilded thrones—their stewards do. Strange, isn’t it?
What do you think: am I crazy or is this entire setup wacky? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
The palace was something out of the Arabian Nights. The bathrooms were the size of most homes—the opulence was unmatched. It was almost as if imagination’s dam had over flooded and completely submerged any semblance of sanity. The final blow was the fleet of cars on display before the mansion—one, a silver Audi—that’s not silver as in the color silver, but solid silver.
What’s with this opulence trip? Thinking about it gave me a headache. So I ask you to stop and think for a moment: all the founders of the major religions lived their lives essentially as ascetics, or threw off the trappings of power and money, as in the case of Moses and Buddha. Yet the followers of these religions, at least their stewards of power, live in luxury that the laity cannot even fathom. Am I crazy or is the world wacky?
Look at all the Churches, mosques, and temples; look at all the gold, silver, and materials that have gone into creating these edifices; are they monuments to the Supreme Being or monuments to our colossal ego?
If we can really study their lives; if we can really see their simplicity; if we can stop being so hypocritical; if we can really understand their message; if we can accept everyone for what they are, and not what we think they should be, we can be a much better world. To do this, however, we would have to go past egos—that I am afraid is going to be a hard sell. Moses walked; Jesus rode a lowly Ass; Muhammad rode a camel—none of them ever sat on gilded thrones—their stewards do. Strange, isn’t it?
What do you think: am I crazy or is this entire setup wacky? Talk to me!!
Riaz Sahibzada
Monday, August 24, 2009
Changing Face of Fashions and Mannerisms
“Let us go out to a really fancy restaurant. I am in a mood to dress rather formally, have a great dinner, and enjoy some good big band era music. No casual dress, please!”
“Fine,” I said “but the times have changed. People do not dress for dinner, no matter how fancy, at least not in Baltimore.”
The year was 2004. It was our wedding anniversary. So, if my wife wanted to go to a nice formal restaurant, who was I to deny her that pleasure? I started calling the different places near the harbor that met my wife’s criteria.
Years back, when I was a young man, it was unthinkable for anyone to be dressed in their pajamas and go outside to pick up the newspaper. Such an act would have raised the ire of one’s neighbors. It was just not the done thing. Back then, people also dressed to go out. Then, while we slept things changed. All of a sudden, norms of good taste, as T.S. Elliot put it, were totally lost. We were now going through a generation of startup companies mushrooming at an unbelievable pace; instant athlete millionaires; country, rap, and rock artistes that were raking in money as if printed in their basements. Thus, like the Boston Tea Party, good form and taste was thrown overboard. With the changing of the guard, understated elegance became the prerogative of the dinosaurs.
“If you’ve got it baby; flaunt it.”
And the purveyors of these products sure flaunted their money.
“Bling” was “In”.
Restaurants quickly jumping on the trend, in absolute, groveling servility, relaxed their rules. No matter how highbrow you pretended to be—money talked. The new order had money; the old did not. The old order dictated fusty ties, suits, and formal dresses; the new generation dictated track suits, cut outs, giant diamond crosses, and rings that required dark shades to reflect the glare.
So here was I with a major problem. How do I tell my wife that what she considered dressing up for dinner was in this day and age an anachronism? She probably thought that I did not want to go to the trouble of dressing up. I bit the bullet, put on my best charcoal stripped suit, and went to a restaurant located in the Hyatt Regency, overlooking the National Harbor. The food was good; the ambiance was perfect; the diners were all very nice, except they had on jeans and T-shirts; and we looked very much out of place in our stodgy clothes.
Next day, I thought about the present day generation and fashions in general. Why, I thought to myself, do people go about showing their underwear with their pants around their knees? It has changed the normal walk into a shuffle—many a person trip and fall because of the low hanging jeans restricted. Why do they go about holding their crotches in public as if they have some venereal disease, or an itch that will not go away? In our days, people dropped their pants for two reasons: to get a shot in the behind from the doctor or to cohabit with someone. So what does showing your behind stand for? What repressive childhood experience is this supposed to represent?
Finally, shouldn’t there be a rule against indecent exposure—I know it was on the books some time ago. I guess, maybe, we have too many things that are more important. Maybe, I am crazy dwelling on such a minor aspect of life, or maybe the world is wacky?
What do you think? Talk to me!
Riaz Sahibzada
“Fine,” I said “but the times have changed. People do not dress for dinner, no matter how fancy, at least not in Baltimore.”
The year was 2004. It was our wedding anniversary. So, if my wife wanted to go to a nice formal restaurant, who was I to deny her that pleasure? I started calling the different places near the harbor that met my wife’s criteria.
Years back, when I was a young man, it was unthinkable for anyone to be dressed in their pajamas and go outside to pick up the newspaper. Such an act would have raised the ire of one’s neighbors. It was just not the done thing. Back then, people also dressed to go out. Then, while we slept things changed. All of a sudden, norms of good taste, as T.S. Elliot put it, were totally lost. We were now going through a generation of startup companies mushrooming at an unbelievable pace; instant athlete millionaires; country, rap, and rock artistes that were raking in money as if printed in their basements. Thus, like the Boston Tea Party, good form and taste was thrown overboard. With the changing of the guard, understated elegance became the prerogative of the dinosaurs.
“If you’ve got it baby; flaunt it.”
And the purveyors of these products sure flaunted their money.
“Bling” was “In”.
Restaurants quickly jumping on the trend, in absolute, groveling servility, relaxed their rules. No matter how highbrow you pretended to be—money talked. The new order had money; the old did not. The old order dictated fusty ties, suits, and formal dresses; the new generation dictated track suits, cut outs, giant diamond crosses, and rings that required dark shades to reflect the glare.
So here was I with a major problem. How do I tell my wife that what she considered dressing up for dinner was in this day and age an anachronism? She probably thought that I did not want to go to the trouble of dressing up. I bit the bullet, put on my best charcoal stripped suit, and went to a restaurant located in the Hyatt Regency, overlooking the National Harbor. The food was good; the ambiance was perfect; the diners were all very nice, except they had on jeans and T-shirts; and we looked very much out of place in our stodgy clothes.
Next day, I thought about the present day generation and fashions in general. Why, I thought to myself, do people go about showing their underwear with their pants around their knees? It has changed the normal walk into a shuffle—many a person trip and fall because of the low hanging jeans restricted. Why do they go about holding their crotches in public as if they have some venereal disease, or an itch that will not go away? In our days, people dropped their pants for two reasons: to get a shot in the behind from the doctor or to cohabit with someone. So what does showing your behind stand for? What repressive childhood experience is this supposed to represent?
Finally, shouldn’t there be a rule against indecent exposure—I know it was on the books some time ago. I guess, maybe, we have too many things that are more important. Maybe, I am crazy dwelling on such a minor aspect of life, or maybe the world is wacky?
What do you think? Talk to me!
Riaz Sahibzada
Thursday, August 20, 2009
We were ‘Cool’ before ‘Cool’
The picture was faded. The people staring out of the grainy picture were definitely true to type, sixties types: handlebar mustache, long and blow-dried hair or huge ’fros; flowery shirts with very high collars, and large, extra wide flapper trousers over platform boots.
Yes, the picture perfectly captured some buddies of mine and I. Looking back at that photograph, and others in that now musty old album, sent me on a wonderful trip down memory lane. We were ‘Cool’ before Cool; we were also ‘Cats’ long before we morphed into the present day ‘Dogs.’
“Hey, Cat?”
“You dig it. Groovy, cat.”
This beautiful and highly expressive language by cool cats has now been replaced by the ‘Dogs’ and their rather aggressive expressions.
The sixties generation was laid back; today’s generation wants instant results; the sixties were non-violent; today’s generation our antithesis; the sixties was about jazz, rock, and living in a world of euphoria; today’s generation is about hip-hop, rap, and an attitude of live hard and die young.
Perspectives change; fashions change. Yesterday’s fashions are something to laugh at. Did we really think that we looked good in that suit, in that dress? Oh yes, we did, as the present generation think that they looked good. The common denominator in this beat is that every generation has their cool cats or big dogs—the leaders in high school, you know what I mean. Coolness has always been ‘IN’—whatever coolness is? The young were always divided into the studious (Read as Nerds); the square (Read as those who believed in Duty, Country, Honor—principles that required discipline), and the cool cats.
As time passes, the roles reverse: the cool ones normally are the low ranking employees, if they have jobs—the nerds and squares are CEOs, senior bureaucrats, and high ranking military officers.
Tamper your cool and be a little more nerdy and square if you want to get ahead in life.
Yes, the picture perfectly captured some buddies of mine and I. Looking back at that photograph, and others in that now musty old album, sent me on a wonderful trip down memory lane. We were ‘Cool’ before Cool; we were also ‘Cats’ long before we morphed into the present day ‘Dogs.’
“Hey, Cat?”
“You dig it. Groovy, cat.”
This beautiful and highly expressive language by cool cats has now been replaced by the ‘Dogs’ and their rather aggressive expressions.
The sixties generation was laid back; today’s generation wants instant results; the sixties were non-violent; today’s generation our antithesis; the sixties was about jazz, rock, and living in a world of euphoria; today’s generation is about hip-hop, rap, and an attitude of live hard and die young.
Perspectives change; fashions change. Yesterday’s fashions are something to laugh at. Did we really think that we looked good in that suit, in that dress? Oh yes, we did, as the present generation think that they looked good. The common denominator in this beat is that every generation has their cool cats or big dogs—the leaders in high school, you know what I mean. Coolness has always been ‘IN’—whatever coolness is? The young were always divided into the studious (Read as Nerds); the square (Read as those who believed in Duty, Country, Honor—principles that required discipline), and the cool cats.
As time passes, the roles reverse: the cool ones normally are the low ranking employees, if they have jobs—the nerds and squares are CEOs, senior bureaucrats, and high ranking military officers.
Tamper your cool and be a little more nerdy and square if you want to get ahead in life.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The many voyages of Sinbad: When cheap costs you dearly
“Seven Hundred and Fifty dollars for a round trip flight to Mecca!!”
“Are you out of your mind?”
When I first heard that there was such a flight to Saudi Arabia and back, I was shocked. I thought that my wife must be wrong. There has got be some trick to this—maybe some hidden clause. You see, tickets in the spring to Saudi generally run around fifteen hundred dollars—seven fifty made us salivate. After confirmation, we immediately went into action: we sent the money to the agent; we got our inoculations (100 dollars a piece); and we sent our passports for visas.
After these formalities were over, we checked on the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia’s web page and found that Umrah (pilgrimage) visas were free. The travel agents had initially charged us a two hundred dollar fee per person. His reasoning being that they had to get the visa from Riyadh; the visa was not free. When we pointed out that is not what the web site said, we were given some garbled explanation and told that he would only charge us 187 dollars. At that point, we figured let the agent have a break. It turned out to be one of the worst experiences we had. The entire saga, and saga it was, is too long to document in a blog; suffice is to say we were had. We did not get our visas in time; we could not go.
Now came the next part. The agent said that the airlines would not give us all our money back, because we had not let the airlines know about the cancellation in time. He had the cheek to say this after assuring us that everything will be fine, and we will board on time, even if he had to hand carry our passports to the plane. Well, the lack of full refund did not go over well with us. At this point, we insisted on getting our money back and asked for a full refund along with the money for the visa. We would chalk up the poor service to experience. However, appealing to reason did not help; appealing to good sense did not work; and appealing through friends got us no results. It turned out the Sindbad had sent many people on many splendid voyages controlled by him—people who through sheer frustration, gave in to work on the agent’s schedule, rather than their own. We were not going to take this lying down. I thus drafted a detailed letter and threatened to take him to court. After Three Months, he paid us every penny.
It was the worst experience that I have ever had with a travel agent, and as my wife put it:
“You can use the power of the pen, what about those who cannot?”
Have you ever had such an experience? Do you think IATA needs to have stricter certification of travel agents? What are your thoughts? Talk to me.
Riaz Sahibzada
“Are you out of your mind?”
When I first heard that there was such a flight to Saudi Arabia and back, I was shocked. I thought that my wife must be wrong. There has got be some trick to this—maybe some hidden clause. You see, tickets in the spring to Saudi generally run around fifteen hundred dollars—seven fifty made us salivate. After confirmation, we immediately went into action: we sent the money to the agent; we got our inoculations (100 dollars a piece); and we sent our passports for visas.
After these formalities were over, we checked on the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia’s web page and found that Umrah (pilgrimage) visas were free. The travel agents had initially charged us a two hundred dollar fee per person. His reasoning being that they had to get the visa from Riyadh; the visa was not free. When we pointed out that is not what the web site said, we were given some garbled explanation and told that he would only charge us 187 dollars. At that point, we figured let the agent have a break. It turned out to be one of the worst experiences we had. The entire saga, and saga it was, is too long to document in a blog; suffice is to say we were had. We did not get our visas in time; we could not go.
Now came the next part. The agent said that the airlines would not give us all our money back, because we had not let the airlines know about the cancellation in time. He had the cheek to say this after assuring us that everything will be fine, and we will board on time, even if he had to hand carry our passports to the plane. Well, the lack of full refund did not go over well with us. At this point, we insisted on getting our money back and asked for a full refund along with the money for the visa. We would chalk up the poor service to experience. However, appealing to reason did not help; appealing to good sense did not work; and appealing through friends got us no results. It turned out the Sindbad had sent many people on many splendid voyages controlled by him—people who through sheer frustration, gave in to work on the agent’s schedule, rather than their own. We were not going to take this lying down. I thus drafted a detailed letter and threatened to take him to court. After Three Months, he paid us every penny.
It was the worst experience that I have ever had with a travel agent, and as my wife put it:
“You can use the power of the pen, what about those who cannot?”
Have you ever had such an experience? Do you think IATA needs to have stricter certification of travel agents? What are your thoughts? Talk to me.
Riaz Sahibzada
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Happy Hour: Social Clubbing, Networking, and just hanging Loose
The bar is lined up two and three deep. Voices are raised in good cheer as round after round of beer and other forms of spirits in different glasses are hoisted in cheer. It is ‘Happy Hour’; the drinks are half priced; the appetizers half priced, encouraging excessive drinking and eating; and tills Kkkkkchinging constantly gobble up the money proffered in grubby, and at times unsteady hands.
Welcome to the world of the average worker in the United States. These houses of good cheer act as psychiatrists’ couches; they are the interludes in the crowded subways of the modern workers lives. Here the great herd of workers—men and women—spend a little time sharing their thoughts; sharing their grievances; and unburdening their souls to anyone willing to listen to them. This is their comfort spot; this is the place for social clubbing, for both those who have a job and those who don’t; this is the place to hide from problems that need to be swept away in the bottom of beer mugs, wine coolers or other spirits. Alcohol—substance abuse that is ‘IN,’ because the lobby is in; alcohol that can be advertised openly on electronic and print media as long as the caveat: “Please drink responsibly,” is printed on the containers. Right! And the students on campus follow that to the letter; right, the morose, depressed, and others who drink to excess, never take it out on their family or kill people in countless accidents; right, they act responsibly because they are told to act responsibly. Am I crazy, or is the world wacky?
When the family hour was replaced by ‘Happy Hour,’ culture took a different turn. Somewhere down the line; the family became truncated; somewhere down the line; we forgot to communicate with our children; somewhere down the line, the term husband or wife got swallowed up by the all engulfing spouse—whatever the hell that means.
When communication breaks down; when we do not measure up to success; when we cannot have the perceived ‘American Dream’ of a two-car-garage home; we take solace in the easy way out—the bottle and the company of strangers that act as standby friends.
We had family and friends, when we had ‘Blue Laws.’ When ‘Blue Laws’ were enacted stores could remain open on all holidays and weekends. This effectively destroyed family life. I say, if you want to have a better and more understanding society, repeal these laws. These laws were created to pander to the greed of corporate America at the cost of family life.
Riaz Sahibzada
Welcome to the world of the average worker in the United States. These houses of good cheer act as psychiatrists’ couches; they are the interludes in the crowded subways of the modern workers lives. Here the great herd of workers—men and women—spend a little time sharing their thoughts; sharing their grievances; and unburdening their souls to anyone willing to listen to them. This is their comfort spot; this is the place for social clubbing, for both those who have a job and those who don’t; this is the place to hide from problems that need to be swept away in the bottom of beer mugs, wine coolers or other spirits. Alcohol—substance abuse that is ‘IN,’ because the lobby is in; alcohol that can be advertised openly on electronic and print media as long as the caveat: “Please drink responsibly,” is printed on the containers. Right! And the students on campus follow that to the letter; right, the morose, depressed, and others who drink to excess, never take it out on their family or kill people in countless accidents; right, they act responsibly because they are told to act responsibly. Am I crazy, or is the world wacky?
When the family hour was replaced by ‘Happy Hour,’ culture took a different turn. Somewhere down the line; the family became truncated; somewhere down the line; we forgot to communicate with our children; somewhere down the line, the term husband or wife got swallowed up by the all engulfing spouse—whatever the hell that means.
When communication breaks down; when we do not measure up to success; when we cannot have the perceived ‘American Dream’ of a two-car-garage home; we take solace in the easy way out—the bottle and the company of strangers that act as standby friends.
We had family and friends, when we had ‘Blue Laws.’ When ‘Blue Laws’ were enacted stores could remain open on all holidays and weekends. This effectively destroyed family life. I say, if you want to have a better and more understanding society, repeal these laws. These laws were created to pander to the greed of corporate America at the cost of family life.
Riaz Sahibzada
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Carpe Diem
He sat there on the bench, a young man: quiet, disheveled, utterly lost. He appeared to have reached the end of his tether. The baking sun had long since gone to its rest; the street lights were trying to act as designated hitters for the big hitter. It was the time when loneliness is heightened, and so too is depression.
As he sat there wrapped in his thoughts, an old man slowly approached him.
“May I,” said the old stranger.
“Be my guest.”
“Worries?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank God for worries. See, the only people that do not have worries are the ones in the grave. Problems, bills, worry—these are all something that keep us alive. Count problems as blessings because they keep your juices flowing. ”
This happened to someone I know; someone who almost did not have a person to talk to him; someone who did not realize the beauty of life; someone who was that close to calling it a day. Years later, I wrote this poem that tried to capture the essence of that remarkable incident.
Carpe Diem
Tramping through the woods,
on a bright summer day,
I inhale large gulps of the clean fresh air.
The only sounds are the schussing of the leaves,
and the occasional trilling of a bird.
A leaf breaks off,
slowly riding the current of air,
dipping and rising,
finally falling to the ground,
to be tramped by other feet, some day.
Above,
in the clear blue skies,
the falcon hovers against wispy clouds,
a grim reminder to the unwary fish
cavorting in the cold, clear waters of the lake below.
Searching in the dark,
turning over muck and filth,
refusing to accept the sun.
Creatures of the night,
surviving in the shadows.
living our lonesome, lonely lives
in the crowded subways of time
Riaz
As he sat there wrapped in his thoughts, an old man slowly approached him.
“May I,” said the old stranger.
“Be my guest.”
“Worries?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank God for worries. See, the only people that do not have worries are the ones in the grave. Problems, bills, worry—these are all something that keep us alive. Count problems as blessings because they keep your juices flowing. ”
This happened to someone I know; someone who almost did not have a person to talk to him; someone who did not realize the beauty of life; someone who was that close to calling it a day. Years later, I wrote this poem that tried to capture the essence of that remarkable incident.
Carpe Diem
Tramping through the woods,
on a bright summer day,
I inhale large gulps of the clean fresh air.
The only sounds are the schussing of the leaves,
and the occasional trilling of a bird.
A leaf breaks off,
slowly riding the current of air,
dipping and rising,
finally falling to the ground,
to be tramped by other feet, some day.
Above,
in the clear blue skies,
the falcon hovers against wispy clouds,
a grim reminder to the unwary fish
cavorting in the cold, clear waters of the lake below.
Searching in the dark,
turning over muck and filth,
refusing to accept the sun.
Creatures of the night,
surviving in the shadows.
living our lonesome, lonely lives
in the crowded subways of time
Riaz
A nation of couch potatoes: A nation of all you can eat
It was late evening. The house was quiet; everybody was either reading or asleep. I was watching some taped round of the many golf tournaments that I have on my TV, my usual want, before going to bed. All of a sudden, I see a middle-aged man eating a 12 egg omelet with bacon and cheese. The commentator in the background states that this man will be travel across the country and try to scarf down all the specialty foods on the various menus, noted for their prodigious size: the biggest hamburger, the biggest sandwich; the biggest steak. Man Vs Food! Wow!! While I was hearing this, the man raised his hands, like a champion boxer who has just knocked down his opponent in a world title match. Double Wow!!!! I would hate to be his stomach; worse, I would hate to be his arteries.
The sun rises over the rather gray morning. In the background the birds chirp to herald the new dawn. Slowly and gradually, as the camera pans to the path along the river, I can see people moving around. People from all walks of life; old people, young people, men, and women of all sizes and shapes, as they go through their morning ritual of gently exercising and exerting themselves in Tai Chi moves. It is 7:30 in the morning, and I am watching my favorite show, “Sunrise Earth.” As I revel in this peaceful portrayal of nature, I see a small comment at the bottom of the picture: According to a survey, 71.7% of Chinese are physically fit; the same survey puts the US as 65.5 % obese.
In the United States, we have everything, and we certainly indulge ourselves in everything. Look around you. We are an ‘All you can Eat’ generation,’ and it shows. We over drink, over eat, and over indulge. It is said that the three biggest industries in this country are Food, Diet, and Diet Pills. What does that tell about our life style? We are couch potatoes that will spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on watching games, never playing games. We will eat to excess, and then try to get a quick fix—diet. We are the “eat all you can” generation; we are the “buffet generation”; and we show it.
It reminds me of the obese gentleman that went to a nutritionist about his obesity. The nutritionist made him a detailed plan and said she would like to see him in three months. When the three months were up, the patient came into the office and was weighed by the nutritionist; he was twenty pounds heavier than the last time.
“Are you sure you kept to your diet?”
“Yes,” replied the patient.
The nutritionist was nonplussed and decided to observe the patient at his home. She came to his house in the evening. The man asked his wife to give him his supper. The supper was a gigantic affair. After finishing everything, he turned to his wife: “Could you now give me my diet food?”
Our approach is the same; we are not willing to make an effort to change our lifestyle, and the ads on the TV certainly do not help. They all promise us a quick fix.
“Use this pill and the weight will simply melt off you!!!”
“A clinically proven trial showed that taking brand XX showed that people lost 30 pounds in two weeks.”
What all these diets do not emphasize is eat proportionately; what all these diets do not emphasize is use less fat; and what these diets do not emphasize is exercise. If they did that, they will lose the billions of dollars that they are earning at the cost of their gullible consumers.
It is all about the lobbies. Cigarettes are cancer causing; therefore, there is a warning from the Surgeon General on every packet and they are not advertised on TV. On the other hand, every year there are more deaths caused by drunk drivers; yet, there is no label on any alcoholic drinks and the ads on the TV show how much fun you can have drinking.
The sun rises over the rather gray morning. In the background the birds chirp to herald the new dawn. Slowly and gradually, as the camera pans to the path along the river, I can see people moving around. People from all walks of life; old people, young people, men, and women of all sizes and shapes, as they go through their morning ritual of gently exercising and exerting themselves in Tai Chi moves. It is 7:30 in the morning, and I am watching my favorite show, “Sunrise Earth.” As I revel in this peaceful portrayal of nature, I see a small comment at the bottom of the picture: According to a survey, 71.7% of Chinese are physically fit; the same survey puts the US as 65.5 % obese.
In the United States, we have everything, and we certainly indulge ourselves in everything. Look around you. We are an ‘All you can Eat’ generation,’ and it shows. We over drink, over eat, and over indulge. It is said that the three biggest industries in this country are Food, Diet, and Diet Pills. What does that tell about our life style? We are couch potatoes that will spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on watching games, never playing games. We will eat to excess, and then try to get a quick fix—diet. We are the “eat all you can” generation; we are the “buffet generation”; and we show it.
It reminds me of the obese gentleman that went to a nutritionist about his obesity. The nutritionist made him a detailed plan and said she would like to see him in three months. When the three months were up, the patient came into the office and was weighed by the nutritionist; he was twenty pounds heavier than the last time.
“Are you sure you kept to your diet?”
“Yes,” replied the patient.
The nutritionist was nonplussed and decided to observe the patient at his home. She came to his house in the evening. The man asked his wife to give him his supper. The supper was a gigantic affair. After finishing everything, he turned to his wife: “Could you now give me my diet food?”
Our approach is the same; we are not willing to make an effort to change our lifestyle, and the ads on the TV certainly do not help. They all promise us a quick fix.
“Use this pill and the weight will simply melt off you!!!”
“A clinically proven trial showed that taking brand XX showed that people lost 30 pounds in two weeks.”
What all these diets do not emphasize is eat proportionately; what all these diets do not emphasize is use less fat; and what these diets do not emphasize is exercise. If they did that, they will lose the billions of dollars that they are earning at the cost of their gullible consumers.
It is all about the lobbies. Cigarettes are cancer causing; therefore, there is a warning from the Surgeon General on every packet and they are not advertised on TV. On the other hand, every year there are more deaths caused by drunk drivers; yet, there is no label on any alcoholic drinks and the ads on the TV show how much fun you can have drinking.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Of Lobbies and Responsibilities
Remember the young shooter at Virginia Tech? Remember the horror we felt when we heard about the many young people that were lost to parents, sibilings, and relatives? Yes, it was caused by a gun in the hand of a mentally unstable person. However, do you think he would have obtained a gun in any other 'sane' country? Hell no!! He killed people, because he had mental problems. He should never have been allowed to get a gun; he got it. The parents must take blame for his mental state not being addressed; government instituitions must take responsibility for letting someone like that slip through the cracks and obtain a firearm. It is about responsibility.
We are not a society that likes to take responsibility for our actions. It is easier to blame the government, the police, anything, but ourselves. Over the recent years, there have been a spate of crimes on University campuses, high schools, and other places. Most of these crimes involved shooters; most of them involved young people addicted to hours of surfing or talking on the internet; most of them, almost totally unsupervised throughout their young adult lives. As parents, we are too busy to earn enough for a bigger and better home, a bigger and better car, a bigger and better position in life to see the most important treasures we have--our children. As such, we pass off our responsibilities of raising our children to teenage baby sitters. Is it any wonder our children reflect this neglect? When parents think that they can pass off their responsibilities on to others, then there is something very wrong in our society. Thus, when a crime is commited by a teenager, or for that matter, any older person, we once again gird up our loins to fight for the total annihilation of anything remotely resembling a gun. Before I get any further into this ‘treatise’, let me assure most of my readers that I am not a member of the NRA. Indeed, I may be at the other end of the spectrum, or pretty close to it. However, saying, “Guns do not kill people; people do” is euphemism par excellence. Most gun owners are responsible. They know what guns can do; they know the consequences of irresponsible actions; they know responsibility and accept it. And to me, that is at the heart of the question—responsibility.
The NRA emphasis responsibility regarding guns, I grant them that; however, what they do not want is licensing of guns, or at least licensing which means a thorough background check. That is irresponsibility. The government is equally to blame in not initiating thorough checks. I live in Maryland and can just go across to Virginia and obtain a gun--any sort of a gun, as long as the price is right.
We need to remember our lessons, because we will have problems in the future. These problems are going to be compounded as the soldiers come back from Iraq and Afghanistan. After going years deployed in battle zones--battle zones in which it is difficult to differentiate between friend or foe, you will have stressed-out people. Guns in their hands, with their level of expertise, especially in these hard economic times could bode major problems for society. Unless, we, the NRA, Congress and law enforcement are on the same wavelength, all cities in the US could be in serious trouble. It happened after 'Nam; it can happen again.
It is all about responsibility: parents, Congress, and special interests.
On this one: stop lobbying for personal interests; lobby for safety.
We are not a society that likes to take responsibility for our actions. It is easier to blame the government, the police, anything, but ourselves. Over the recent years, there have been a spate of crimes on University campuses, high schools, and other places. Most of these crimes involved shooters; most of them involved young people addicted to hours of surfing or talking on the internet; most of them, almost totally unsupervised throughout their young adult lives. As parents, we are too busy to earn enough for a bigger and better home, a bigger and better car, a bigger and better position in life to see the most important treasures we have--our children. As such, we pass off our responsibilities of raising our children to teenage baby sitters. Is it any wonder our children reflect this neglect? When parents think that they can pass off their responsibilities on to others, then there is something very wrong in our society. Thus, when a crime is commited by a teenager, or for that matter, any older person, we once again gird up our loins to fight for the total annihilation of anything remotely resembling a gun. Before I get any further into this ‘treatise’, let me assure most of my readers that I am not a member of the NRA. Indeed, I may be at the other end of the spectrum, or pretty close to it. However, saying, “Guns do not kill people; people do” is euphemism par excellence. Most gun owners are responsible. They know what guns can do; they know the consequences of irresponsible actions; they know responsibility and accept it. And to me, that is at the heart of the question—responsibility.
The NRA emphasis responsibility regarding guns, I grant them that; however, what they do not want is licensing of guns, or at least licensing which means a thorough background check. That is irresponsibility. The government is equally to blame in not initiating thorough checks. I live in Maryland and can just go across to Virginia and obtain a gun--any sort of a gun, as long as the price is right.
We need to remember our lessons, because we will have problems in the future. These problems are going to be compounded as the soldiers come back from Iraq and Afghanistan. After going years deployed in battle zones--battle zones in which it is difficult to differentiate between friend or foe, you will have stressed-out people. Guns in their hands, with their level of expertise, especially in these hard economic times could bode major problems for society. Unless, we, the NRA, Congress and law enforcement are on the same wavelength, all cities in the US could be in serious trouble. It happened after 'Nam; it can happen again.
It is all about responsibility: parents, Congress, and special interests.
On this one: stop lobbying for personal interests; lobby for safety.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Miracles are everywhere: we need to open our eyes
Life is beautiful; living in this country, we are blessed more than most. Yet, we continue to bemoan our lot. Times can get "Ruff," and our "green" can get lean, but we still have a lot to be thankful for. Look for the silver lining, and you will find it; look for doom and gloom, and it will envelop your life.
For the past year or so, I have been an avid fan of the program 'Sunrise Earth'--it comes on HD at 7:30 in the morning. Watching the sunrise over different parts of the world, I cannot help but be awestruck by the beauty and richness of the planet around us. We can envy people living in mansions, dressing in fabulous clothes, and driving fancy cars and say why me Lord? Why couldn't you have given me all of that? But would we have had the time to enjoy the beauty of the sun rise, with all the accompaniment creativity of the Master; would we have the time to sit back and enjoy some deep personal time with ourselves, as the sun slowly fades away into the night? Probably not. Quit complaining about your lot; look around you; you are rich beyond your imagination; all you have to do is open your eyes.
DAYBREAK
The faint silvery color
washes the blackness of the night.
In time,
the dark background is slowly brushed away
as from a giant palette the Master dabs a few more colors
in effortless strokes,
across the canvas of the night,
heralding the dawn of a new masterpiece --
the day,
the other half of the circle.
In the roost,
the cock crows to the world at large,
flapping and fluttering its wings,
like an outdated Model T,
having its engine wound
into sputtering life.
The plump, well fed hen,
shakes itself from the eggs
she has been setting on,
all through the night.
From the dark brown shells,
the little yellow heads crack their way
into the pristine light.
Even and odd;
pairs, living, working;
the one feeding off the other.
In nature,
there are no opposites;
the many become the one;
the one makes up the whole.
Man,
wishing to be different,
pandering to the myth
of his place in the sun,
seeking to change the equation;
either all evens or all odds.
Never realizing,
even and odd; night and day;
each an important component
in the structure of the whole.
Riaz
Bowie, MD.
Write me, if you have been charged by nature. Peace out.
For the past year or so, I have been an avid fan of the program 'Sunrise Earth'--it comes on HD at 7:30 in the morning. Watching the sunrise over different parts of the world, I cannot help but be awestruck by the beauty and richness of the planet around us. We can envy people living in mansions, dressing in fabulous clothes, and driving fancy cars and say why me Lord? Why couldn't you have given me all of that? But would we have had the time to enjoy the beauty of the sun rise, with all the accompaniment creativity of the Master; would we have the time to sit back and enjoy some deep personal time with ourselves, as the sun slowly fades away into the night? Probably not. Quit complaining about your lot; look around you; you are rich beyond your imagination; all you have to do is open your eyes.
DAYBREAK
The faint silvery color
washes the blackness of the night.
In time,
the dark background is slowly brushed away
as from a giant palette the Master dabs a few more colors
in effortless strokes,
across the canvas of the night,
heralding the dawn of a new masterpiece --
the day,
the other half of the circle.
In the roost,
the cock crows to the world at large,
flapping and fluttering its wings,
like an outdated Model T,
having its engine wound
into sputtering life.
The plump, well fed hen,
shakes itself from the eggs
she has been setting on,
all through the night.
From the dark brown shells,
the little yellow heads crack their way
into the pristine light.
Even and odd;
pairs, living, working;
the one feeding off the other.
In nature,
there are no opposites;
the many become the one;
the one makes up the whole.
Man,
wishing to be different,
pandering to the myth
of his place in the sun,
seeking to change the equation;
either all evens or all odds.
Never realizing,
even and odd; night and day;
each an important component
in the structure of the whole.
Riaz
Bowie, MD.
Write me, if you have been charged by nature. Peace out.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
His Own Plumber: A Second Opinion should not be limited to only Medicine
“Dad, come and look at this.”
The tone and voice boded no good. I quickly ran downstairs, for it was my son’s voice and it was laden with alarm.
When I reached the basement, I realized there was substantial amount of dampness in the basement.
“What happened?”
My son told me that at first they thought someone had spilt a glass of water and ignored it; however, over a couple of days, the basement was getting wetter and wetter.
This was no time to tell the children that they should have reported the problem earlier; this was action time. I immediately called my insurance. The young lady that was assigned as my claims representative asked me to call a plumber right away, because they wanted to eliminate the problem of water main break. I called Myplumber, figuring that with such a name, they would be on the side of the customer, right.
The plumber showed up quickly, and I thought my instinct was right. I love people to be on time; it shows professionalism. My anxiety went down. The plumbing doctors were here; the wounds will be diagnosed, and the correct solutions prescribed. The expert, he was confident as all get out, took a look in the mechanic’s room, which I had led him to, just in case it was from the air conditioning pipes or water pipes coming from upstairs, and immediately ruled the air conditioning out.
“No,” he said, “This is definitely from the water main. Sometimes, the builders—in this case Ryan Homes—tend to lay inferior pipes. Under pressure, the pipe gives way.” His solution; run a 30 foot pipe from the main, under the floor of the basement, through the garage and connect outside to the main water supply. The total time involved for doing all of this two days; materials and labor involved, seven thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars. O, by the way, the charge for coming to the house 79 dollars, which would be adjusted into the final bill.
I told the young expert to talk to his manager and see if he could get a better price, for even though the pipe he was suggesting was the best that was ever made, it was still a little excessive, and I did not thing my insurance would buy it. The expert said, he had already conferred with his manager and that was the bottom line price. Sorry, but the company could not do it for less.
With some trepidation, I call the claims representative; I must say a very helpful young lady, and ran the estimate by her. When she came to the house and took a look around, she agreed with me regarding the high dollar value of the estimate. She sent me a water mitigation company to clean the place and sanitize it. She also recommended a different plumber for a second opinion. Two days later an older man showed on my doorsteps. He went around checking a few things and then came back with his diagnosis. According to him, the air conditioning pipes were blocked and the water pipes from the upstairs bed room were slightly overflowing into the basement. Solution: snake the pipes, about thirty feet; time one hour; total bill one hundred and fifty dollars.
It is four days now and there is no sign of water. I am now waiting for the carpet to be carted away and replaced with new carpet. So the question here is: Did the plumber give me a crazy solution and excessive figure because he thought the insurance may have their own people? This way he got to keep seventy nine dollars for ten minutes!!!!!! Nice work, if you can get it. Should there be a law against such a thing???
Talk to me if you have been through something like this.
The tone and voice boded no good. I quickly ran downstairs, for it was my son’s voice and it was laden with alarm.
When I reached the basement, I realized there was substantial amount of dampness in the basement.
“What happened?”
My son told me that at first they thought someone had spilt a glass of water and ignored it; however, over a couple of days, the basement was getting wetter and wetter.
This was no time to tell the children that they should have reported the problem earlier; this was action time. I immediately called my insurance. The young lady that was assigned as my claims representative asked me to call a plumber right away, because they wanted to eliminate the problem of water main break. I called Myplumber, figuring that with such a name, they would be on the side of the customer, right.
The plumber showed up quickly, and I thought my instinct was right. I love people to be on time; it shows professionalism. My anxiety went down. The plumbing doctors were here; the wounds will be diagnosed, and the correct solutions prescribed. The expert, he was confident as all get out, took a look in the mechanic’s room, which I had led him to, just in case it was from the air conditioning pipes or water pipes coming from upstairs, and immediately ruled the air conditioning out.
“No,” he said, “This is definitely from the water main. Sometimes, the builders—in this case Ryan Homes—tend to lay inferior pipes. Under pressure, the pipe gives way.” His solution; run a 30 foot pipe from the main, under the floor of the basement, through the garage and connect outside to the main water supply. The total time involved for doing all of this two days; materials and labor involved, seven thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars. O, by the way, the charge for coming to the house 79 dollars, which would be adjusted into the final bill.
I told the young expert to talk to his manager and see if he could get a better price, for even though the pipe he was suggesting was the best that was ever made, it was still a little excessive, and I did not thing my insurance would buy it. The expert said, he had already conferred with his manager and that was the bottom line price. Sorry, but the company could not do it for less.
With some trepidation, I call the claims representative; I must say a very helpful young lady, and ran the estimate by her. When she came to the house and took a look around, she agreed with me regarding the high dollar value of the estimate. She sent me a water mitigation company to clean the place and sanitize it. She also recommended a different plumber for a second opinion. Two days later an older man showed on my doorsteps. He went around checking a few things and then came back with his diagnosis. According to him, the air conditioning pipes were blocked and the water pipes from the upstairs bed room were slightly overflowing into the basement. Solution: snake the pipes, about thirty feet; time one hour; total bill one hundred and fifty dollars.
It is four days now and there is no sign of water. I am now waiting for the carpet to be carted away and replaced with new carpet. So the question here is: Did the plumber give me a crazy solution and excessive figure because he thought the insurance may have their own people? This way he got to keep seventy nine dollars for ten minutes!!!!!! Nice work, if you can get it. Should there be a law against such a thing???
Talk to me if you have been through something like this.
Monday, August 3, 2009
How not to use reason and still win a discussion?
Sitting in front of the TV, my usual evening pleasure, my thoughts sometimes fly out all over, like well-documented streams of conscious novels.
One day, I had one of the news channels on and heard a discussion, or what purported to be a discussion—it was something one would associate with a squabble in a fish market, rather than a rational discussion amongst ‘educated’ and well-paid experts. The quality of debate, the tone, the demeanor, and the general language reminded one of the school yard.
My daddy can whip your daddy.
No he can’t, ‘cause my daddy is the strongest person in the world.
No he ain’t.
Yes, he is too.
Although these words may have not been used, yet the logical development of each person’s argument was as puerile, emotive, and substantive as third graders trying to prove their point. The argument was all about out-shouting the other person. I left the TV on, while my thoughts flew back to my childhood. I had grown up in a very Victorian household; it was a highly structured and disciplined one. Each evening, after supper was over and the dishes cleared from the table, my father would generally start a discussion between us five siblings—actually, there were six of us, but my youngest brother was years younger than the rest of us—the discussions would run the gamut of topics. From international affairs; some poet or his or her work, eastern or western, it did not matter, something. We had to have a discussion; it was something we were all into. My father had one rule for the debates or discussions: Raise your voice; lose the argument.
Today, as I watch TV talk shows—I rarely do nowadays, because the hollering, and screaming, particularly on FOX is a sure formula for a headache—I ask myself, is it me, or has the world suddenly become wacky? What happened to rational discussions? What happened to facts and logic? By the amount of shows, and many people on the panels, there appear to be experts galore; however, the few times I have surfed between these talk shows, all I got were panels that were loud, crass, and totally illogical. In almost all cases, it was about ad hominem, rather than attacking the problem. Yet all of these opinion-spouters are apparently highly educated. I mean, am I missing something here?
Why can’t educated and rational adults have a well-thought discussion and then leave it to their target audience to decide? Isn’t the job of the panel to inform the audience? After hearing all of the hot blown up on most of these shows, ask yourselves, how informed were you about the subject before and after you hear each speaker blow his or her particular trumpet?
If you have not been edified, I have a suggestion to make. Simply stated, let us all unite and insist that all TV panels must have a judge presiding over all discussions. Thus, if anyone deliberately defames, vilifies, or slander, anyone on the panel or amongst the audience, the judge could hit him with fifteen days in the cooler. This will ensure that the panelists do their homework, rather than hollering and screaming, but then they will become, The Bill Maher Show, and we can’t have that, can we?????? We need to have the O’ Reillys, the Limbaughs, and other of their ilk, after all—that is entertainment, right!!!!
Riaz Sahibzada
One day, I had one of the news channels on and heard a discussion, or what purported to be a discussion—it was something one would associate with a squabble in a fish market, rather than a rational discussion amongst ‘educated’ and well-paid experts. The quality of debate, the tone, the demeanor, and the general language reminded one of the school yard.
My daddy can whip your daddy.
No he can’t, ‘cause my daddy is the strongest person in the world.
No he ain’t.
Yes, he is too.
Although these words may have not been used, yet the logical development of each person’s argument was as puerile, emotive, and substantive as third graders trying to prove their point. The argument was all about out-shouting the other person. I left the TV on, while my thoughts flew back to my childhood. I had grown up in a very Victorian household; it was a highly structured and disciplined one. Each evening, after supper was over and the dishes cleared from the table, my father would generally start a discussion between us five siblings—actually, there were six of us, but my youngest brother was years younger than the rest of us—the discussions would run the gamut of topics. From international affairs; some poet or his or her work, eastern or western, it did not matter, something. We had to have a discussion; it was something we were all into. My father had one rule for the debates or discussions: Raise your voice; lose the argument.
Today, as I watch TV talk shows—I rarely do nowadays, because the hollering, and screaming, particularly on FOX is a sure formula for a headache—I ask myself, is it me, or has the world suddenly become wacky? What happened to rational discussions? What happened to facts and logic? By the amount of shows, and many people on the panels, there appear to be experts galore; however, the few times I have surfed between these talk shows, all I got were panels that were loud, crass, and totally illogical. In almost all cases, it was about ad hominem, rather than attacking the problem. Yet all of these opinion-spouters are apparently highly educated. I mean, am I missing something here?
Why can’t educated and rational adults have a well-thought discussion and then leave it to their target audience to decide? Isn’t the job of the panel to inform the audience? After hearing all of the hot blown up on most of these shows, ask yourselves, how informed were you about the subject before and after you hear each speaker blow his or her particular trumpet?
If you have not been edified, I have a suggestion to make. Simply stated, let us all unite and insist that all TV panels must have a judge presiding over all discussions. Thus, if anyone deliberately defames, vilifies, or slander, anyone on the panel or amongst the audience, the judge could hit him with fifteen days in the cooler. This will ensure that the panelists do their homework, rather than hollering and screaming, but then they will become, The Bill Maher Show, and we can’t have that, can we?????? We need to have the O’ Reillys, the Limbaughs, and other of their ilk, after all—that is entertainment, right!!!!
Riaz Sahibzada
Friday, July 31, 2009
The Wonderful Art of Procrastination
Procrastination is a fine art. All of us are experts in this form to some degree or the other. By and large, I consider myself to be an expert; but I dare say that there are people who may consider me to be a novice. If there are people out there who consider themselves past masters at this on-going art please share your thoughts by commenting on this blog, or make a committment that you maybe someday get around to it. You know what I mean, someday????
NOT TODAY
Some day,
I am going to shake the world:
some day, but not today.
Some day,
I am going to fix that roof.
I am going to get the nails and shingles;
work right through until it is over.
They will look at it, my neighbors.
It was easy, I will say, with a shrug of my shoulders.
You can do it too.
Pontificating is so much fun, isn't it?
Someday, but not today.
Someday,
I am going to preach the brotherhood of man.
from the minarets of every mosque,
from the pew of every church.
Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism,
and maybe, just maybe, even atheism,
I am going to trumpet it.
Sing high; sing low; but sing out, I will.
Someday, but not today.
Someday,
I am going to flood the world,
with earth-shattering ideas,
something - I know not what,
but I have them within me.
Let me out they cry;
powerful drill bits driving
through the protective layers of the subconscious.
Time and opportunity, yes, that is what I want.
Don't we all?
Some day, but not today.
Someday,
I am going to approach him,
the person I hate most in the world,
my enemy.
Across a crowded room,
I am going to stretch my hand to him.
Wrapping him in a warm embrace.
I will call him brother,
cauterizing centuries of ignorance,
with the cleansing power of love.
Someday, but not today.
Someday,
when I have more time:
no living to make, no bills to pay,
free from the mundane:
stop at the market to buy eggs,
appointments made, or promises broken.
That day I will leave my mark on the world:
find the answers to all the wars;
find the serum to that incurable disease.
NIRVANA!!
I am not making excuses, I swear I am not.
You watch and see -
Someday,
but not today.
NOT TODAY
Some day,
I am going to shake the world:
some day, but not today.
Some day,
I am going to fix that roof.
I am going to get the nails and shingles;
work right through until it is over.
They will look at it, my neighbors.
It was easy, I will say, with a shrug of my shoulders.
You can do it too.
Pontificating is so much fun, isn't it?
Someday, but not today.
Someday,
I am going to preach the brotherhood of man.
from the minarets of every mosque,
from the pew of every church.
Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism,
and maybe, just maybe, even atheism,
I am going to trumpet it.
Sing high; sing low; but sing out, I will.
Someday, but not today.
Someday,
I am going to flood the world,
with earth-shattering ideas,
something - I know not what,
but I have them within me.
Let me out they cry;
powerful drill bits driving
through the protective layers of the subconscious.
Time and opportunity, yes, that is what I want.
Don't we all?
Some day, but not today.
Someday,
I am going to approach him,
the person I hate most in the world,
my enemy.
Across a crowded room,
I am going to stretch my hand to him.
Wrapping him in a warm embrace.
I will call him brother,
cauterizing centuries of ignorance,
with the cleansing power of love.
Someday, but not today.
Someday,
when I have more time:
no living to make, no bills to pay,
free from the mundane:
stop at the market to buy eggs,
appointments made, or promises broken.
That day I will leave my mark on the world:
find the answers to all the wars;
find the serum to that incurable disease.
NIRVANA!!
I am not making excuses, I swear I am not.
You watch and see -
Someday,
but not today.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
What sportsmanship?
What sportsmanship?
Recently, I heard a conversation of radio personalities that decried the absolute horrendous state of sportsmanship in the entire United States, particularly so, on the playing fields of our universities. It appears that at a certain university in the Southeast, during games, visitors were showered with plastic bags full of urine. Shocking, you say. What’s so shocking about this? In the United States, we are conditioned to revile and debase the enemy. Whether the enemy is competing against us in sport, business, or anything else for that matter, we must not only put them down; we must crush, demolish, and annihilate them. Then we must rub their faces in the dirt and give them a final contemptuous kick to punctuate it all. We must not just win; we must humiliate. Anything else would not be ‘macho’ enough; and that dear reader, is the bottom line. For Pete’s sake, even golf, which was so far perceived as a game for sedate seniors has got into the act? Look at the ads for Nike extolling raw power. Am I missing something here? This sort of mentality is already having a tremendous affect on the individual, the community, and ultimately the very essence of our societal psyche.
This reminds me that about twenty-five years ago, I coached tennis to young adults. One day, while teaching a potentially budding prospect, I witnessed an exhibition that was nothing short of obscene. I had volleyed back a hard hit forehand shot to my erstwhile student, which he could not retrieve. The young man went bonkers. He threw his racket, cursed worse than any prostitute bilked of money for services rendered, and stomped in rage. Finally, he stopped to catch his breath. Quietly putting my hand on his shoulder, I asked whether he thought that he was so good, that he should return every ball, or whether there was just an inept dummy across the net from him.
“I am sorry coach,” he said. “It’s just that I was mad at myself.”
“Setting high standards is understandable, but not at the cost of making an idiot of yourself or your instructor.”
From childhood, we have been taught to win at all costs. If you cannot come first, if you cannot earn gold, if you cannot win the big one, you are a loser. Thus, out of ten athletes in a track event, only one is a winner, the others are all losers. Extending this analogy further, we are saying that the majority by far, in this as in other things, are losers. Am I missing something here? Are we saying that since we had to pull out of Korea or Vietnam, that we are a nation of losers?
Another case in point is that of The Buffalo Bills. By reaching the Super Bowl four times in consecutive years, a plateau that to my knowledge has not been achieved by anyone in either the American Football League or the National Football League, they showed consistency, determination, and an inexorable drive to win seldom matched by any professional team. They proved themselves winners many times over. However, through either bizarre circumstances or that on that day the other team played better, the Buffalo Bills lost all four times. Today, they are perceived the biggest losers in football. By labeling them as losers, we are sending a wrong message to the people, particularly our younger generation. The message emphatically states, “You must win at all costs.” Is it any wonder that a significant number of teens, either drop out of college or are stressed out? Ultimately, they find their niche with gangs or become social pariahs.
Maybe, my education was wrong, since I was taught to respect the dictum, “To honor while you strike him down the foe that comes with fearless eyes.” Nevertheless, it was the principle of a European nation that did not do too badly over the past two hundred years. It was a principle that underscored the absolute necessity of giving it your best effort. Then, and then only, could you walk away with your head held high, without whining, without crying, maintaining your dignity at all costs. In life, most often than not, we are going to face adversity. These are the times, when we need the solidity of learned stoicism. This is the real essence of survival. That when the going gets tough, our survival depends on how well we can suck it up and continue. We need to hold up the image of an Ajax, who knowing that death was imminent on the morrow, since he was going up against the gods, begs the night to go away, so that the world could see what he was made of. Again, the image of a Macbeth knowing that his world was in ruins hurling his defiance at life:
Blow wind; come rack.
At least we will die with armour on our backs.
This is what we need to emphasize to the younger generation, an indomitable spirit that defies anything life can throw at it. Certainly, a part of it is that winning is important. However, though reaching the goal is the dream, the dream should not be at the cost of lying cheating, and other underhand means, which appear to be the bible of most coaches in our schools and universities. We need to emphasize the principles and personal deportment of a Dean Smith, a John Thompson, a Pat Summit, John Wooden and other like-minded coaches. We need to stress that winners are not just those who win the fight; rather, winners are those who show how much fight is in them.
Riaz Sahibzada
Recently, I heard a conversation of radio personalities that decried the absolute horrendous state of sportsmanship in the entire United States, particularly so, on the playing fields of our universities. It appears that at a certain university in the Southeast, during games, visitors were showered with plastic bags full of urine. Shocking, you say. What’s so shocking about this? In the United States, we are conditioned to revile and debase the enemy. Whether the enemy is competing against us in sport, business, or anything else for that matter, we must not only put them down; we must crush, demolish, and annihilate them. Then we must rub their faces in the dirt and give them a final contemptuous kick to punctuate it all. We must not just win; we must humiliate. Anything else would not be ‘macho’ enough; and that dear reader, is the bottom line. For Pete’s sake, even golf, which was so far perceived as a game for sedate seniors has got into the act? Look at the ads for Nike extolling raw power. Am I missing something here? This sort of mentality is already having a tremendous affect on the individual, the community, and ultimately the very essence of our societal psyche.
This reminds me that about twenty-five years ago, I coached tennis to young adults. One day, while teaching a potentially budding prospect, I witnessed an exhibition that was nothing short of obscene. I had volleyed back a hard hit forehand shot to my erstwhile student, which he could not retrieve. The young man went bonkers. He threw his racket, cursed worse than any prostitute bilked of money for services rendered, and stomped in rage. Finally, he stopped to catch his breath. Quietly putting my hand on his shoulder, I asked whether he thought that he was so good, that he should return every ball, or whether there was just an inept dummy across the net from him.
“I am sorry coach,” he said. “It’s just that I was mad at myself.”
“Setting high standards is understandable, but not at the cost of making an idiot of yourself or your instructor.”
From childhood, we have been taught to win at all costs. If you cannot come first, if you cannot earn gold, if you cannot win the big one, you are a loser. Thus, out of ten athletes in a track event, only one is a winner, the others are all losers. Extending this analogy further, we are saying that the majority by far, in this as in other things, are losers. Am I missing something here? Are we saying that since we had to pull out of Korea or Vietnam, that we are a nation of losers?
Another case in point is that of The Buffalo Bills. By reaching the Super Bowl four times in consecutive years, a plateau that to my knowledge has not been achieved by anyone in either the American Football League or the National Football League, they showed consistency, determination, and an inexorable drive to win seldom matched by any professional team. They proved themselves winners many times over. However, through either bizarre circumstances or that on that day the other team played better, the Buffalo Bills lost all four times. Today, they are perceived the biggest losers in football. By labeling them as losers, we are sending a wrong message to the people, particularly our younger generation. The message emphatically states, “You must win at all costs.” Is it any wonder that a significant number of teens, either drop out of college or are stressed out? Ultimately, they find their niche with gangs or become social pariahs.
Maybe, my education was wrong, since I was taught to respect the dictum, “To honor while you strike him down the foe that comes with fearless eyes.” Nevertheless, it was the principle of a European nation that did not do too badly over the past two hundred years. It was a principle that underscored the absolute necessity of giving it your best effort. Then, and then only, could you walk away with your head held high, without whining, without crying, maintaining your dignity at all costs. In life, most often than not, we are going to face adversity. These are the times, when we need the solidity of learned stoicism. This is the real essence of survival. That when the going gets tough, our survival depends on how well we can suck it up and continue. We need to hold up the image of an Ajax, who knowing that death was imminent on the morrow, since he was going up against the gods, begs the night to go away, so that the world could see what he was made of. Again, the image of a Macbeth knowing that his world was in ruins hurling his defiance at life:
Blow wind; come rack.
At least we will die with armour on our backs.
This is what we need to emphasize to the younger generation, an indomitable spirit that defies anything life can throw at it. Certainly, a part of it is that winning is important. However, though reaching the goal is the dream, the dream should not be at the cost of lying cheating, and other underhand means, which appear to be the bible of most coaches in our schools and universities. We need to emphasize the principles and personal deportment of a Dean Smith, a John Thompson, a Pat Summit, John Wooden and other like-minded coaches. We need to stress that winners are not just those who win the fight; rather, winners are those who show how much fight is in them.
Riaz Sahibzada
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Is the World Wacky?
Is the World Wacky, or am I Upside down?
Of “Accaints” and Color
In 1971, I landed at JFK airport, New York. As I exited Immigration, I heard the lady say to a colleague, “Boy, do these foreigners have strange accents, don’t they?”
I shook my head and kept on moving, after all, what else was there to do? I had heard that Americans were funny that way. I hurried to the taxi stand, and approached one of the taxi drivers.
“Excuse me sir,” I said, “Could you guide me to the American Airlines ticket counter?”
The man was kind enough to give me the correct directions. As I walked briskly to the terminal, I shook my head. Boy, I thought, smiling at the rather pleasant black man, these West Africans certainly have a heavy accent. What most probably I did not hear was the taxi driver talking to one of his mates. Had I done so, I would have found that they probably were saying the same thing about me.
Puffing a little, since I am not in the best of shape, I finally arrived at the American Airlines counter and asked whether I was in time for the shuttle to Baltimore/Washington International. The white man, from what I dare say, some part of the Deep South, looked at me seriously, and in a rather loud voice, slowly explained that I was in time, and that the plane would be leaving in half an hour. He than asked me to take a seat in the lounge. To add to the rather loud voice, which was grating enough, was the very slow way he enunciated each word. I was dying to tell him that I might be a foreigner, but I did understand the English Language; indeed, I had taught it to the English. It was not his fault. After all, don’t we all talk a little slowly and very loudly to people who are not native speakers of the language? I guess, in his own way, he was trying to help me as much as possible. It was just that I was different from his normal cup of tea.
What is it about an accent that seems to make us pass an unconscious judgment on each other? Why do people assume that as long as they talk slowly and loudly, the message will get across? The person at the receiving end is not deaf, nor is a person of a perceived accent, a total moron. It is just that they have an “accaint.” From quaint Irish, Scottish, and Welsh, to tonal Far Eastern and pidgin flavored West Indian, to any other country or region that the British came in contact with, we all have an “accaint.” And, I must add, thank God for accents; otherwise, the world would be stiflingly same, like the beige fashion that was very much the “in” thing in the better part of the eighties.
Maybe, I look at the world through colored glasses and colored thinking; thus, I see before me a kaleidoscope of color that people would like to put in tight compartments of whites, blacks, browns and grays. I would like to look at the world as a gigantic impressionist painting full of life: of horror and beauty, of debilitating sorrow and enervating joy, of depth not superficiality, and of life as it is meant to be lived and enjoyed like an old fashioned medieval feast.
That reminds me, for almost thirty years we were known as colored, until one fine day, just as reestablishing certain political boundaries, we were given the joyous news that we were no longer colored. The powers that be probably expected us to go jumping for joy, screaming, “Hallelujah!” Funny, nobody ever did, or not to my knowledge. Maybe, it was not such a big deal after all. By the way, there was a strange interpretation of this new freedom, depending on the country we resided in, we were now either white or Asian-Americans. All of a sudden, it was decided that if they have an “accaint,” and they come from the same continent, they must be the same people. Euphemism, after all, is a wonderful blanket that covers up for a lot of nothing. Unless of course, somebody had a bit too much liquor, and then we quickly reverted to the “bleeping wogs who steal our jobs and our women.” Suffice is to say, I still say I am colored, and I can prove it by the many shades I have. At least, it is easier to prove color, than the lack of it. After all, if you have a little black and a whole lot of white, you are still colored.
Talking of color takes me back to another era. Maybe I dreamt about this, but years back, there were constant references, quite contemptuously, to people with part Native American ancestry as “breeds.” Time and the systematic elimination of the Native American have now taken a different turn. Today, most white men, whether they have any red blood in them or not, will proudly introduce themselves as part Cherokee or Cheyenne. As I said, time certainly changes one’s perspective, doesn’t it? The color bar is also flexible in some cases. I mean, in South Africa, under apartheid, the Japanese were given temporary white citizenship!!! Business can be a strong motivator for changing principles. And, look at the new classification of the Arabs and the Israelis as white, talk about the Emperor wearing no clothes.
I mean, did I miss something here, or is the world wacky?
Riaz Sahibzada
Of “Accaints” and Color
In 1971, I landed at JFK airport, New York. As I exited Immigration, I heard the lady say to a colleague, “Boy, do these foreigners have strange accents, don’t they?”
I shook my head and kept on moving, after all, what else was there to do? I had heard that Americans were funny that way. I hurried to the taxi stand, and approached one of the taxi drivers.
“Excuse me sir,” I said, “Could you guide me to the American Airlines ticket counter?”
The man was kind enough to give me the correct directions. As I walked briskly to the terminal, I shook my head. Boy, I thought, smiling at the rather pleasant black man, these West Africans certainly have a heavy accent. What most probably I did not hear was the taxi driver talking to one of his mates. Had I done so, I would have found that they probably were saying the same thing about me.
Puffing a little, since I am not in the best of shape, I finally arrived at the American Airlines counter and asked whether I was in time for the shuttle to Baltimore/Washington International. The white man, from what I dare say, some part of the Deep South, looked at me seriously, and in a rather loud voice, slowly explained that I was in time, and that the plane would be leaving in half an hour. He than asked me to take a seat in the lounge. To add to the rather loud voice, which was grating enough, was the very slow way he enunciated each word. I was dying to tell him that I might be a foreigner, but I did understand the English Language; indeed, I had taught it to the English. It was not his fault. After all, don’t we all talk a little slowly and very loudly to people who are not native speakers of the language? I guess, in his own way, he was trying to help me as much as possible. It was just that I was different from his normal cup of tea.
What is it about an accent that seems to make us pass an unconscious judgment on each other? Why do people assume that as long as they talk slowly and loudly, the message will get across? The person at the receiving end is not deaf, nor is a person of a perceived accent, a total moron. It is just that they have an “accaint.” From quaint Irish, Scottish, and Welsh, to tonal Far Eastern and pidgin flavored West Indian, to any other country or region that the British came in contact with, we all have an “accaint.” And, I must add, thank God for accents; otherwise, the world would be stiflingly same, like the beige fashion that was very much the “in” thing in the better part of the eighties.
Maybe, I look at the world through colored glasses and colored thinking; thus, I see before me a kaleidoscope of color that people would like to put in tight compartments of whites, blacks, browns and grays. I would like to look at the world as a gigantic impressionist painting full of life: of horror and beauty, of debilitating sorrow and enervating joy, of depth not superficiality, and of life as it is meant to be lived and enjoyed like an old fashioned medieval feast.
That reminds me, for almost thirty years we were known as colored, until one fine day, just as reestablishing certain political boundaries, we were given the joyous news that we were no longer colored. The powers that be probably expected us to go jumping for joy, screaming, “Hallelujah!” Funny, nobody ever did, or not to my knowledge. Maybe, it was not such a big deal after all. By the way, there was a strange interpretation of this new freedom, depending on the country we resided in, we were now either white or Asian-Americans. All of a sudden, it was decided that if they have an “accaint,” and they come from the same continent, they must be the same people. Euphemism, after all, is a wonderful blanket that covers up for a lot of nothing. Unless of course, somebody had a bit too much liquor, and then we quickly reverted to the “bleeping wogs who steal our jobs and our women.” Suffice is to say, I still say I am colored, and I can prove it by the many shades I have. At least, it is easier to prove color, than the lack of it. After all, if you have a little black and a whole lot of white, you are still colored.
Talking of color takes me back to another era. Maybe I dreamt about this, but years back, there were constant references, quite contemptuously, to people with part Native American ancestry as “breeds.” Time and the systematic elimination of the Native American have now taken a different turn. Today, most white men, whether they have any red blood in them or not, will proudly introduce themselves as part Cherokee or Cheyenne. As I said, time certainly changes one’s perspective, doesn’t it? The color bar is also flexible in some cases. I mean, in South Africa, under apartheid, the Japanese were given temporary white citizenship!!! Business can be a strong motivator for changing principles. And, look at the new classification of the Arabs and the Israelis as white, talk about the Emperor wearing no clothes.
I mean, did I miss something here, or is the world wacky?
Riaz Sahibzada
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sickly Weeds
Sickly Weeds?
Without fail, every morning I wake up, grasp my cup of coffee and sit on my deck. As the first gulp of scalding hot mocha hits my system, from a grouchy pachyderm, I become a tolerable human being. Then, stretching out in a deck chair, I enjoy the lover-like kisses of the early morning zephyrs and the smell of the lush greenery -- although, for a while, last summer, the lawns looked as if they had taken the brunt of a major brushfire. The powerful effect of the summer morning troika: time, place, and coffee, speeds up the metamorphosis from the early morning caveman syndrome into the final product that is Sahib.
Now I can look at my neighbors on both sides without a shred of malice or an iota of envy. Their lawns are thick, luscious, and so beautifully manicured. It is an obsession with them, but you know what the psychologists have to say about that! Anal fixation, right! They invest time, money, and backbreaking effort in trying to maintain the façade of a beautiful lawn. Why is it that humans always have a love affair with the weak and the useless? Grass is green; I give you that. However, how is it any better than weeds? First, weeds are survivors; they are tough. One can try as hard as possible, but weeds can take a licking and keep coming back for more. You would think that humans would be proud of weeds; they are inexpensive, green, and tough as all-get-out. Perhaps, more than anything else, it is their toughness that seems to irk us so much. After all, we do not go out into the woods and simply destroy the weeds. No! Looking at the beautiful natural landscape of the world around us, we savor every moment of it. In nature, everything is lovely. We never say to ourselves: Man! That bright yellow flower does not go very well with that purple colored one. But, get us to talking about clothes and decorating ideas, and we are adamant that reds would not do, or any other color that appears to raise the flag for us. Am I missing something here? What makes a decorator say that one color will do, and another will not. I do not seem to see them question God (Or maybe, I am not privy to their conversation with Him).Without fail, every morning I wake up, grasp my cup of coffee and sit on my deck. As the first gulp of scalding hot mocha hits my system, from a grouchy pachyderm, I become a tolerable human being. Then, stretching out in a deck chair, I enjoy the lover-like kisses of the early morning zephyrs and the smell of the lush greenery -- although, for a while, last summer, the lawns looked as if they had taken the brunt of a major brushfire. The powerful effect of the summer morning troika: time, place, and coffee, speeds up the metamorphosis from the early morning caveman syndrome into the final product that is Sahib.
Pardon me Master, but I do not think it was right to have made the sky azure blue. Shouldn’t there have been a touch more of aqua to it, or even a hint of cobalt? And the desert, definitely more camel beige! There is too much pink in it, too Victorian; it clashes with the skin of the people. Come on!
So why do we have this thing against weeds? I say, let them remain and it will be easier on everyone’s pocket. Besides, they do grow everywhere; maybe they will grow on us also.
When I read this to my wife, she had a real chuckle over it. Then putting her hands on her hips, she looked me in the eye and said: “Write what you want, but I want my lawn like the neighbors.”
Ah! Well! You can’t win them all.
Riaz Sahibzada
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