Party's Over?

I think the world is coming to an end. Well, that may not sound like the most circumspect thing I've ever said, mainly because the world's been coming to an end since the day it was created (or evolved by a creator). My fear composes itself from realization that we're living in a period of transition that is seeing increasing scarcity of natural resources, human population explosion, animal extinctions, unimaginable natural catastrophes, unparalleled greed and most of all, deception. It will be unbecoming of me to not mention that the ridiculous divide between the ruling elite and the rest-of-us is becoming wider than ever before; although that may not directly lead to the end of the world but according to some experts, famine will be the cause of the next world war. Whatever may happen, it's important to know that we're living in interesting times. The party is most definitely over. And if one day it all comes crumbling down, don't say I didn't tell you so. But till then, remember one thing - Live, live your life to the fullest, live every moment and value it. And do your part to give back to this world. Glory awaits those who take initiative.

A story of love..and its reality

They stand alone on the rooftop of a famous restaurant, overlooking the beautiful view. It is pouring rain and they are drenched. There are no guests on the balcony anymore, even the waiters have run off for cover. The two are unmoved as they stand near the railing, looking over in the distance, the lightening that falls furiously on to the ground followed by the delayed sound of thunder. To the left, the handsome Badshahi mosque with its overwhelming minarets, just to the right the Shahi Qila (Lahore Fort), 500 years of history and the monsoon are greeting just the two of them tonight.

He has never seen anything like it. He is at a loss of words to say to her, except that at this moment in time, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world. She smiles, but he is not sure if she's smiling at him or just at the joy of being soaked in the monsoon rain. She's always talking about how much she likes the rain. In his mind, he wonders if he wishes there was someone else instead of her here, or if she wishes there was someone else with her right now?

For him, this is destiny and he believes everything happens for a reason. He wanders off into his mind full of questions while appreciating the beauty of nature and the age old history in front of him, he wonders if hundreds of years ago, someone before him had been here and experienced the same feeling of perplexity and wonder. They look out with a different set of eyes, while possibly looking at the same objects, but they are seeing different ideas and wondering different prospects. Being drenched in the rain makes her so happy, she can hardly stop smiling. He wonders what's going through her mind? But he can hardly read it. He hates rain, and under normal circumstances he would've left her and the balcony to find cover long ago. But he doesn't on this night, he understands that this does not happen every night. A city of 7 million people, and just the two chosen to be here. This was a moment of perfection and to share it with her, must have a significance. A few words of Iqbal's Saqinama cross his mind:

"Pila dey Mujhay Woh May Pardah Soz,
Keh Aati Nahin Fasl-e-Gul roz roz!
Woh May Jis Say Roshan Hai Zameer-e-Hayat,
Woh May Jis Say Hai Masti-e-Kainaat!"

Pour me the wine which burns the veil
For the season of the rose do not come everyday
That wine which reveals the essence of life

That wine which intoxicates the universe

He has been wondering about life, existence, struggle, and spirituality. He ponders deep about higher spiritual meanings and signs from the one sitting in the skies. He smiles at the thought that if you want to make God laugh, tell him you have plans. All his plans of the way he decided to not let any girl in his life, from tonight will be saturated. He will drink the wine once more, for the seasons of rose do not come everyday. It's too late to run now. A deep breath in with his eyes closed and out again. Let it be. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, is it there? The feeling that he has realized. Does it exist in her? How can he tell when she conceals it so well behind those eyes.

Those eyes, ah yes, those eyes are what did him in, in the first place. Like a river so deep that you want nothing more than to willingly drown in. Brushing his teeth with a glum look on his face, these are the first thoughts that rush through his mind every morning since that night a year ago. No, it wasn't her eyes. It was those long discussions they had about baseball. Baseball!? Yes, about how much she loves the Red Sox, she is from Boston afterall. When was the last time he had a fruitful discussion on pitching rotations and save percentages with anyone, let alone a girl. By now he's putting his clothes on, getting his books and items together, a quick glance at the cellphone - text messages from people, but none from her. That night a year ago was the last time he heard from her. Looking in the mirror as he fixes his hair, he catches the reflection of his bloodshot eyes. Another night spent talking to the next girl he met. A smirk on his face, now Zara is a good catch - she's pretty, she's going to be a doctor, she turns heads when she walks down the road - but she's just not her. The dominant hemisphere of his brain tells him that if he mentions her to Zara again, he might as well prepare himself to see that boat sail too. His heart, begs to differ. All this too, has happened before. It's just a repetition. They come, they listen, they feel sorry, they become friends. Nothing gained, nothing lost. He's okay with that.

His biggest strength is in juggling more than a couple balls at once. He's stays motivated in college regardless of the shambles that his personal life is in. He can somehow keep everything neatly organized into compartments and treat each accordingly. He makes firm decisions and sticks to them once they are made. He decided a few months ago that the girls he meets from now on won't get any more attention than any of his close friends. Irum is a close friend, someone whose been through thick and thin with him. "Sooooo... what's goin on between you and Zara?" is Irums first question in college. She must think he's over her by now. All she's getting in reply for her query is, "Zara は偉大な少女です、そして私は彼女と一緒に時間を過ごすことが好きです" (Zara is a nice girl, and I like spending time with her) as he rushes off to class. His rule no. 28, if you can't give them an honest answer, leave them confounded in translating a foreign language, in this case Japanese.

When the universe conspires against you, when the stars and heavens align to leave you with nothing but a feeling of helplessness and an inconsolable desolation. You can only try but you can never really make anyone understand how you feel. The resolve for his discomfort lies in his own abilities. He knows that. He never thought he would fall for her. It was supposed to be a friendly dinner. Little did he know, the nature, with the forces in the sky would give rise the formation of the dark clouds, the firece wind and the waters colluding and transmitting a force so strong that it will change his outlook on love. A force he accepted to revel in, and a force he believes in.

He dreams and ponders, he spends his time meeting friends and other women but no one can make him feel the way she did. To him, she is the one. But to other's, he is just stubborn. They don't understand. How could they. They weren't there. They wish they were there.

He spends years waiting for her, falling in and out of touch with her. But never truly with her. What she is, is a fragrance of a rose that belongs to another world. She lives in this world, but her world is in her mind and in that, she tries to make everything as perfect as she can. Sometimes he wonder to himself if she is an angel? How could she not have felt anything that night? How she kept so composed? How could that night even happen!? And why with her? The only girl who said no to him in his life, had to be the one he had been waiting for all along. Some of the people she has touched have changed forever. She has a way like he has not seen. The nonchalant attitude, the smile that lights up a thousand suns, the unwavering strength in her belief in religion, the perseverance in her work and the love she has for people she knows. He is just another hopeless bug attracted to her illuminating aura. Why wouldnt he be? He has met hundreds of girls in his life - but no one like her.

After years of waiting for her, he comes to a sense of knowledge about love. He realizes that love is a very personal and a deeply intriguing part of ones life. Love can not be rationalized, imposed, or subjected, it just happens. It does not have to be between two people to be complete. The passion burning in his heart for the girl of his dreams didn't create any smoke or show any signs of regressing, it becomes a long yearning in the form of a fire that uses time as fuel. He now believes, that, this is the way it is supposed to be. That, the love he has in his heart and mind, needs not to be a mutual feeling. She needs not to be a part of his passion. She needs not to be with him to make him love her any more or less. She just needed to exist for him in a brief moment of his life, for him to become a believer again.

Wouldn't you?

(This story is not based on real events :)

Photo from: Syed Abdulhasan Rizvi

http://www.flickr.com/people/sahrizvi/

There is a secret in Lahore.

Outside NCA, Mall Rd

Badshahi Masjid

Cuckoos Den

Gurdwara and Badshahi Masjid

Government College

Mall Road

There is something about Lahore. There's something in the streets of this city that is a secret. But just when you think you have it figured out, there is something missing again. We often try to figure it out, what is it about Lahore that keeps us so intrigued?

The Lahore I've deciphered in the past 6 years is one that has everything to offer. From tolerance and beauty of its people, to all its imperfections. I made it a point to explore the city in and out and often subjected to all forms of transport available. There is something mischievously funny about pulling outside Café Zouk in a rickshaw, or being harassed by the guards at Avari despite being a gold member. Afterall, who could imagine a group of foreign medical students muttering away in their English accents with each other and then bargaining in Punjabi with the rickshaw drivers for overcharging us Rs.50, all the while talking about how we need to stop eating at Fujiyama because it's getting too damn expensive.

There is a comfort of being at ease no matter which corner of the city you're in. 9 out of 10 people you meet will look angry to you, but if you smile at them they will always smile back. Zinda Dil enough for you? I've walked through Landa Bazaar twice - no problems at all. People will say, why on earth would you ever want to go there!? Well, why wouldn't you want to go there!? Why wouldn't you want to see what the fuss is all about? It's an amazing place. Surprisingly clean and endless mazes of inner streets with thousands of small shops all selling clothing. A market free of name brands and devoid of bastardization from corporate giants. You can almost taste the freedom.

I've walked the famous Heera Mandi. I've seen the dancing girls and the pimps and their lucrative offers. I've imagined Mick Jagger and Salman Ahmad walking about the same streets after 1996 Cricket World Cup Final. I've seen the walls that guard the city of Lahore, the history that repels from their stature never stops intriguing me. I've seen the Gurdwara and the Badshahi Mosque side by side, and I've often stood ontop of Cucoo's Den overlooking the view and wondered how beautiful the religious harmony must have been in the 17th century, when the Sikhs and Muslims never dreamed of a separate homeland for each other.

I've seen the beauty of the seasons that Lahore offers. The winters are normally mild, but it does get cold enough for sweaters and jackets in the mornings and nights - nothing can equate to the feeling of the warm sun and a hot cup of chai after morning lectures at Allama Iqbal Medical College. Sitting in the lawn and soaking the sun never felt any better than this time of year, also equally satisfying is huddling around a gas heater early in the morning. Winter also brings with it certain foods that Lahori's prefer seasonally. Fish is a big winner here and while Bashir may still be the best place to eat fish in Lahore, healthy competition is brewing elsewhere too. My personal favourites of the season are gajar halwa, petha halwa and the best of all saag. The beautiful spring always brings out the bloom in Lahore; more so in my neighbourhood of Cantt. Polo matches with a 5:1 ratio of girls:guys in attendance is always a spring special. The intense heat of the summer from May to July is often unbearable, but a thandi lassi refreshes you like nothing else, and also puts you to sleep like a baby. Afternoon naps are a tradition in Lahori summers. End of July and onwards, the heat is coupled with the boisterous thunderstorms of monsoon season, the relief from heat is blatantly obvious when rain comes pouring down, it is visible on everyones faces as their mood is elated and the traffic also increases accordingly. Everyone wants to enjoy the good weather by being outdoors. But the minute it rains too much, everyone will gal-galoch WASA for their laziness after all the water refuses to drain. Funny how it works.

All the little towns inside Lahore and their offerings, Iqbal Town, Faisal Town, Garden Town, Johar Town, Wapda Town, Gulberg, Defence, Shah Jamal, Gawal Mandi and any other prominent place are all imprinted in the back of my mind like a map. Heck, I even went to Tollington Market in Ichra once.

Has any other city in India or Pakistan combined produced more talented and diverse individuals that have shot to fame in their respected field of work? Faiz Ahmad Faiz, Allama Iqbal, Imran Khan, Wasim Akram, Atif Aslam, Ali Zafar, Salman Ahmad (Junoon), Aitezaz Ahsan, these are just some of the prominent name that come to mind. There is a bustling energy and fusion of a culture that Lahore creates in itself. Its this unabated energy which gives rise to such free thinking and innovative artists and scholars. The sufi poet Bulleh Shah roamed these streets trying to search for the meaning of life. Shah Hussein expressed his love in poetry whilst wandering the same Lahore. Shah Jamal spread the spirit of Islam from Lahore, and his deciples still sing and dance in his memory. One of his most prominent followers is Pappu Saeen - a folk artist like no other who showcases his amazing talent of dhol-playing while high on bhang every Thursday. A show you won't find anywhere in the world. To see the deciples in a state of fanaa is a sight to behold. Lahore is and has always been a focal point in the history of South Asia, a secret that's only known to those who have dared to enter the city and explored. Its intensity is palpable in the creativity of the people it has produced, and the proud institutions that produced them.

From the ancient walls of Government College and King Edward Medical College, to the recently built green and quiet campus of LUMS, a pioneer of excellence in business education. From the immensely talented art students at NCA to the newly built liberal arts university, Beaconhouse. From the crafty UET to the worldclass presenters in fashion design from PSFD (i.e HSY, Maria B, Munib Nawaz). From the fine grooming received at Aitchison College to the distasteful Lahore American School. From chana-poori at Capri to roasted chicken from Rahat Bakery, from eating various types of potentially unhygienic food from street vendors to the fine dining and drinks at the luxurious restaurants, from the corner shop barbers to the reknowned hair designers, there is something special being offered at just about every corner of Lahore. From the smug socialites to the genuine joy on the faces of street children playing together - there is a secret in Lahore that keeps the equilibrium in steady state. There's a love that calls for it's people to rise, there's a scream that awaits for it's people to evolve, yet Lahore remains a mystery that may never be solved. And the love for that mystery burns the fire inside every Lahoris heart.

Outside my house in Cantt

These are all pictures that I took. Don't even think about stealing any.

Said Chaudhry

twitter.com/saidation

Flood Relief Diary - Day 4

Day 4 (Sunday, 29 August 2010)

Today, we head to Daira Deen Pannah, a town about 20 miles South of Paharpur, to continue our medical relief efforts. Our driver, Shafkat, carefully maneuvers the ambulance that carries the medicines and three of us doctors, one nurse and one dispenser, over the torn roads and bridges; the bumpy ride has made me quite nauseous. I normally don't vomit easily but I'm quite close to it right now. We reach a point in the road from where we cannot move any further—a good chunk of the road is completely missing. A few local villagers respond to our dis

tress call and come rushing over to help. They diligently repair the road by p

lacing bricks and shoveling dirt onto the sidetracks so that wheels of the ambulance can just pass through the crater. Dr Tariq chats up the local villagers and collects important information about the area—thus helpin

g us to figure out where we can go to find the most number of flood-affected people.

We soon arrive in a small community of about ten or so houses. Everything has been obliterated by the floodwater. And yet, the

re are still a few villagers sitting quietly on manjis. They are most definitely happy to see us, and quickly rise to offer us their sitting places. We start unloading the medication and supplies from the ambulance to setup our camp as the local villagers help spread the word about our medical teams presence in their village. It did not take long before hundreds of people gathered around us and many more were on their way towards the camp. It

astounds me that even in the remotest of areas so many people can assemble so quickly when the need arises.

The majority of diseases were skin related today. Mallay is a Sirai

ki word for a rash, and there were plenty of people coming to us with mallay. Suspected cases of malaria, gastro and respiratory diseases were also coming in big numbers. However, what concerned me most was not so much the symptoms already apparent, but the extremely large number of flies that were surrounding us. The biggest carriers for the transmission of water-borne diseases are flies. I imagine that at night there would be an equally astounding number of mosquitoes.

I look around and see stagnant water in all directions, the hot sun is now baking the polluted water, and the flies and the mosquitos must be busy multiplying by the thousands. The water needs to be sprayed, but there is just too much water to be sprayed and not enough money or emphasis on such preventative medicine work. Preventative medicine is a branch of medicine that is very crucial at times like these but unfortunately, it is often neglected in third world countries. Truly, the people here have no choice but to either leave their homes (or whatever is left of their homes) and move to relief camps or become sick by a plethora of possible infectious diseases ravaging the areas. Muhammad Akram, a local villager explains, "People refu

se to leave their homes because they are afraid of dacoits looting whatever is left of their belongings." Once again, I'm overcome with the feeling of helplessness and despair for the people here.

We might handout medicines today to the people who are here, but what about the sick old woman who lives maybe a kilometer away and cannot walk to the camp?

And what if tomorrow more people become sick, will there be a team visiting this area again? What if someone has a reaction to the medicines? These are questions no one has answers to.

We begin our relief work by looking at more patients with malaria, gastroenteritis, and various skin diseases. Children are often afraid of doctors (as is the case everywhere in the world, after all—we might give them an injection, and we all know how much that hurts!). So I usually let them play with my stethoscope. It always helps them become more comfortable and also helps to improve the doctor-patient bond with children and their parents. After treating victims in need of aid in the area, we packed and left to setup camp at the next scheduled site.

We were now en route to the Taunsa Barrage, which is located roughly 12 miles southeast of Taunsa Sharif City, located just west of the Indus River. The barrage provides water for irrigation to two million acres of land in Southern Punjab. 65 gates control the flow of water and the river happens to be uncharacteristically wide for a river. I am also told that a breed of dolphins specific to this river is also found here. I hope i see one! As I walk down the barrage, looking over the ledge at the fast flowing water and wondering if anyones tried swimming here, I suddenly find that I cannot take the rising heat and so I quietly head back to the ambulance—only to find hundreds of people surrounding Dr. Tariq, a medical officer in Dermatology at Jinnah Hospital, Lahore. I quickly join Dr. Tariq and we start diagnosing and prescribing medicines for the patients.

Among the patients was a police officer, Mohammad Zaman, he tells me about the lack of medical attention that this area has received, and that most of the villagers have had no medical attention. Zaman’s symptoms are in line of malaria as well. Back up police staff is needed while those in the front lines recover from illness—but no such help will come for Zaman. Another patient, Majeed, is 45 years old and after examining him I have come to the conclusion that he has ascites, most likely from ch

ronic liver disease. After initially denying, he admits that he does indeed have liver disease and wants for me to provide him with medication. The treatment for chronic liver disease requires further investigations and often a hospital admission for treatment. Our ambulance carries medications for the most basic treatment for the major diseases that are encountered in flood crisis. I repeatedly explain to him that he needs to go to a tertiary hospital; the nearest being in Multan. But my advice falls on deaf ears, he is disappointed that I do not have any medication for him. Majeed eventually leaves in a bitter mood. There is no time to run after him as there are many more people waiting anxiously and often impatiently for their turn. I move on to checking other patients but I hope for Majeed's sake, that he does go to a hospital soon.I move from one place to another, with a mob of people following on my heel. It is another scorcher of a day and since I'm fasting - I am now very...very thirsty!

Late in the evening, I often wonder about the patients I have provided treatment to in the day. I think about whether they will recover or not? Did I overlook someones symptoms? Did I neglect someone? Did I listen? Is someone having an adverse reactions to medication I prescribed? It is a much different atmosphere and work conditions out here than in a hospital where you have time and resources to do all the things that you want to before prescribing a medicine. A local doctor had earlier advised us to not give antibiotic course for more than 3 days because "if the patients recover, they will stop taking it within three days anyways and if they don't they will stop taking the medicine around the third day". Majority of the people affected by the floods are of poor socioeconomic status and for it's often difficult to make them understand the importance of completing the course of an antibiotic. In the end, we can only do the best we can.

I am extremely tired from working endlessly in this heat & humidity. Once again, we end c

amp just before sunset and head back to our temporary lodging. Dr Tariq repeatedly says "jhulo jhulo" which means "hurry hurry" in Siraiki. I've learned a bit of Siraiki too. Tomorrow, there will be more work but it will also the fifth and last day of our rotation as we head back to Lahore tomorrow night.

"During conscioussness and intoxication, mysterious forces within myself and outside, have danced to the tunes of my will, and the symphony of my determination to make them dance has never faltered or fallen weak"

---- I got too lazy to write Day 5 and 6 but I think one day I will...

Flood Relief Diary - Day 3

Day 3 (Saturday, 28 August 2010)

Day three of my journey consisted of distributing ration to a small town on the outskirts of Layyah city.

I get onboard the truck that I had organized earlier in the week to be sent from Lahore with the help of my uncle Arshad, CEO of Rahat Bakers in Lahore. We had two volunteers who would drive the rations, and two further volunteers (employees from Rahat Bakers, Sidiq and Nadeem) to help with the distribution of the goods when we reach our destination—Karore, a town 30 miles from our lodge. I jump on board the truck. The ride is slow, as the truck can't speed past 50km/h and there is ofcourse no a.c. I'm already sweating profusedly and looking ahead to whats going to be a long day. I distract my mind from thinking about conditions Im facing, and look out at the countryside. Nadeem happens to be a local of the area and his knowledge proves to be indispensible. He gives me startling insights into the supreme feudalism

that reigns in these remote areas, the types of people that live here, and the customs that are followed. It is apparent from his anecdotes that racism is very much still at large; and on more than one occasion, explains Nadeem, he has been turned down work despite having a certified diploma as an electrician simply based on the fact that he is not an original native but a Muhajir. A prolonged meaningful silence is all I could offer Nadeem as I try to understand his struggle.

It seemed that on our way to Karore several men sensed the presence of ration in the back of our truck. They proceeded to intercept us and it became quite difficult to get away from them, and given the circumstances, we were lucky to have we managed to get away from these people without being mauled roadside. When we reached Karore, the locals ushered us to a mosque not but 10 minutes away. Large, overpowering walls on all sides and two iron-wrought gates welcomed us into the refuge. Several men had volunteered to help with the distribution and the bigger problem of controlling the crowds. The mosque had been given to the people as a place of refuge, as the area surrounding the town of Karore was heavily flooded. I felt safe at the mosque, the volunteers had called upon people who were affected by the floods and very quickly, long lines of people waiting to get food were formed.

The problem that truly bars aid from reaching the victims of the flood consists of two things: First, all of the food that comes in is now being looted by local gangs and even average people who have been struck hard by the inflated prices of food and basic necessities in the country.

These are people who have not really been affected by the floods, but are still finding it easier to grab a bag full of ration rather than going out and looking for work. So, in the end, it becomes difficult to get aid into the right hands. The second thing that truly bars ration from getting into the right hands actually lies within the system of distribution. While at the mosque, it soon became evident that the administration of the mosque was staking a claim of the ration being distributed. I found this to be quite pathetic but I did not let it bother me, for I had not come to Karore to make a name for myself amongst the locals. I came, today, to make sure the flood victims get the ration they deserve, regardless of who hands it to them. The men in charge of the distribution at the mosque were actually, intermittently placing some of their own people in the lines to collect ration. It was apparent that a few bags instead of being taken out the gates were instead dragged into the back rooms of the compound. So much for the honest mullahs.

I stopped the distribution for a while and had Nadeem check the ID cards of every person who came to collect ration. This checking slowed the process of distribution but it made sure the ration went in the right hands. 600 packages were brought from Lahore, and each contained 10 kg of wheat-flour, 1 kg of rice, lentil, sugar, rice and 250 gm of pickles. The cost of the entire truck was roughly $4,000. The process of handing over so many bags was slow and tedious. And I was disappointed with the blatant corruption that occurs even in times of need. Where government does not steps up to help, ordinary citizens must, and when ordinary citizens come to the aid of

people without the support of government backed bodies like the Police, we must make do with what we have.

I went to pray Zuhr, and prayed to Allah (SWT) that with whatever happens, the majority of the ration goes into the hands of the people who truly need it. And as luck would have it, soon after Salat, the ex mayor-elect of the town, Mr. Malik Umar Olik, (who also happens to be the brother of the Minister of Agriculture), arrived on the request of my friend and offered to take us into the more deeply affected areas. We still had about 450 bags ration in the truck. And I took this as a sign from God, answering my prayer, and we were off to the affected areas in absolutely no time.

It was an hour into driving South when we were greeted by sights of destroyed villages, and sights of men, women and children working on trying to rebuild their houses with the limited supplied they had. Mr. Malik invited me to sit with him in his SUV, I was much relieved to be seated in an air conditioned car again. The truck and Mr. Maliks gunmen followed us as we drove deep towards the heavily affected areas. We stopped intermittently to hand out ration to the destroyed small villages that were on our way. Mr Malik briefed me

on the situation in the area, "the water was just coming from all directions, we raised a levee on one side, but the water would just find a way from elsewhere. We were really helpless". More than once our entourage had to stop because the road was not fit for the truck to pass. On one occasion, we had to wait about half an hour for the local villagers to bring shovels to fix the road enough so that the truck

can pass. More than once, I wondered how on earth would a truck pass over a certain point but to my surprise it never failed to do so. I was convinced that God is pulling strings and the old quote that God helps those who set out to help others is actually proving itself. At one point, a man named Allah-Baksh came rushing towards us and said that he had desperately needed a tent, but unfortunately we had none. All we had was ration for him. With the constant raining, it becomes even more difficult for people like Allah-Baksh to sleep without a roof. There is no place to cook and no place to use the washroom.

In our next destination, we were greeted by hundreds of awaiting flood victims. It did not take long at all for the distribution centre to become chaotic—people were climbing on top of each other to get to the front of the ‘line’. Furthermore, sweltering heat and the humidity and fasting made it difficult for me to even stand. With stagnant water on both sides of the road, the humidity was really becoming unbearable. The other volunteers handled the process of distribution as I stood aside and observed, hoping that I wouldn’t collapse. I was one of the few people fasting as it seemed like most people were not. It was around 3 PM, and it was the most humid moment that I had ever experienced in my life. These central parts of Pakistan experienced some of the worst heat and in late August, being out in such weather is a recipe for disaster. It wasn’t long after that my legs began feeling weak, I kept telling myself that it'll be over

soon and I'll be drinking cold water as soon as the sunsets. I received a text message from a friend asking how things are going, "where do I begin explaining?" I thought to myself. I didn't bother replying back at that time.

I had heard the azan for Asr and had found someone on a motorcycle that gave me a ride to the nearby mosque so that I could pray. When I returned, the size of the mob had grown exponentially—word had spread quickly to the adjacent villages and people poured in from all over the area. Again, the distributors collected all the ID cards they could at first, and then began calling out names and hanging out bags to people one by one. ID cards were returned at the end, this process made sure that the same person does not receive more than one bag. Just before sunset, we had given away the entire ration; we drove away quickly in order to open our fasts. Mr Malik's gunmen were in the back of the truck and rigorously monitored and maintained order. I am thankful to them. Just before sunset, we had given away the entire ration. I felt sorry for the many people who had waited and not received. We sped away towards Karore again where we opened our fast – local fish was on the menu and it did not disappoint at all. I returned to the rest house at around 9 PM. Tired—but content, I shared my experiences with the doctors at the lodge.

Our tea session after dinner were always intellectually motivated, we discussed how difficult of a job it is to help the right people. We would also discuss the problems plaguing Pakistan. What I enjoyed the most was that the other fellows were not inclined to discuss the rising number of problems, but more interested in discussing solutions for the problems that Pakistan is facing. I was never bored in their company. Tomorrow is back to setting up medical relief camp somewhere near Taunsa Barrage. Already dreading the long drive but looking forward to helping people. Good night.

Flood Relief Diary - Day 2

Day 2, Friday 27 August 2010

I'm. up early for sehri, contemplating if I should fast or not. I ask for advice, Dr Tariq seems like a cool guy, he's quite funny and intelligent as well. He tells me I should fast and if absolutely necessary, I can open it and take my antibiotic. I follow his advice, pop a Tylenol with an Augmentin, some food for sehri and I'm back in bed. I wake up around 8am again and I feel like the fever and my sore throat is subsiding. I'm ecstatic and looking forward to getting down to do some real work today

After wasting the better part of the morning trying to find directions as to where we should set up our medical relief camp, we are well on our way to Paharpur, a remote town about 40 miles south of Layyah. There is foliage again. In the middle of the sodden desert, fauna and flora dared to grow. The stubborn nature of the surroundings surprises me and I was very sure as of yesterday that we will see nothing but dessert—but as I’ve come to realize with this country time and time again—I was wrong. Deception runs deep. Endless cotton fields, hanging gardens, the exquisite Sheesham tree, and fruit-dangling mango and orange trees adorned the countryside. This was the beauty that has, for the most part, been awash by the destruction of Mother Nature.

The past couple of years, I have seen a lot of natural disasters affecting the world on TV. The Haiti earthquake, the Indian-Ocean tsunami, and the Chile earthquake have all provided gripping photo and video evidence of the destruction and chaos. But for what I'm about to get into for the next few days, no one can prepare anyone for it. It will surely be a trip that I will never forget & I already know this.

We begin our drive towards the flooded area in our ambulance. With us, we have a very limited medical supplies and rations. Three medical doctors, including myself, a nurse and a dispenser, were on duty to help those in need.

We offer Friday prayers in a random mosque and decide to survey the area nearby where the flood has hit. We are directed by a couple of locals and as we head in the direction of the flood hit area, I could see a levee, a pretty big one at that. "That levee is the reason why our area was saved from the flood waters" exclaims Rehmat, one of the locals who has jumped in the back of our ambulance to give us a guided tour. As soon as we pass over the levee, the devastation is visible in every and all directions. Crops are destroyed, houses collapsed, domesticated animals roaming freely. Water is everywhere (except the narrow

and badly damaged road we travel on. Every odd kilometer or so, I see a person walking alongside the road, and I am not sure where they were going, as there was nothing in either direction for miles. And yet, that fact seems not to faze them as they continue on their way with their heads held high. Male children wore shalwar kameez, with

surma lining their eyes and a rumaal placed carefully on their right shoulder. This must be the traditional southern Punjabi attire. They walk somewhat aimlessly on what is left of the damaged road, but they all have a very similar characteristic about them—a fierce resolute of surviving one of the worst catastrophes to have hit their nation, and perhaps the world. It is visible in their eyes—the determination and courage with which they faced their predicament. The constant ingenuity of the human soul to overcome the slings and arrows of life and find purpose to continue living proved to be an animate part of life in these regions. These people did not lose hope easily. And I found myself wondering whether they even knew the extent of devastation the flooding had caused. But then again, we were only at the tip of the iceberg—a small region in a very large-scale disaster zone.

My mom gave me two boxes of granola and Nutri-Grain bars. I'm supposed to eat these for Iftari and Sehri during the relief efforts to avoid having to eat any foods that might put me at risk of gastroenteritis. But of course, I couldn't help but notice the hungry children who walk about, and as we drove by, I quickly started opening up boxes to begin distributing the bars. Most of these children have probably never seen a granola bar in their lives.

This is where I met Amjad, a strikingly confident 10 year old, who told me he has not eaten a full meal in two days. I watched as he quickly ate the one peanut butter granola bar I gave him, but then I just had to give him another one. I try explaining to him what peanut butter is, but there is an obvious language barrier. Oh well. Within the twenty odd minutes since I had started handing out the bars, I started to feel a sense of complete utter contentment. More content than I had been for months. And I started wishing that I had packed away more so that I had had more to give.

After our initial survey of the flooded areas, we head towards the relief camp in Paharpur. There is a camp set up at a girls’ school, which was on break for the summer holidays. Flood victims who had their homes destroyed have occupied the classrooms and are provided

ration and most importantly a roof over their head. Upon our arrival, we distribute clothes and shoes my parents and siblings had packed for the flood victims. I receive my first glimpse of the difficult task of distributing goods to victims. Many people would take one thing and hide it, only to return again for more. It was difficult to remember so many faces. After doing our best with distribution of clothes and shoes, we moved to the make-shift medical clinic. We are overwhelmed by people who need immediate and urgent medical assistance. Impetigo, scabies, malaria, conjunctivitis, boils, allergies and other waterborne and infectious diseases were some of the more common cases. And since our team and I were fasting, we became very tired, hungry, and thirsty very quickly. There is no electricity in the area, no fan or air conditioner to help with the brutal heat and humidity. Hundreds of people huddle around us and it's becoming difficult to find even air to breathe. It was our simple principle to help anyone who had come for medical aid. And in less than 2 hours, we had provided treatment to roughly 400 patients. Among the patients was Muhammad Sher Ali, who walked 5 kilometers through the flood waters and over the levee to find medical aid in the relief camp. Ali's wife and three children had all fallen ill without any treatment for a week, their symptoms resembling those of advancing malaria. I am cautious in giving him medications because I'm afraid he won't be able to understand the therapeutic doses for the treatment. There is also a language barrier between majority of the patients and myself. Although I can understand and speak Punjabi, the native language here is Siraiki. We try our best and give Ali the medicines after explaining to him the dose regimen for children and adults in his household. For him there is no choice but to take medicines back to his house and pray that his family gets better. Roads to his house are covered with 3 feet of water. The condition of his family members is as such that they can not walk so far. I remind him that its imperative that he tries to get his family to a local hospital asap. Feeling of helplessness and despair are all around us. As Ali Sher left the room, he looked destitute and dejected and I felt as helpless and grief-stricken as I was happy and cheerful a few hours earlier while handing out granola bars to kids. We left the camp before sunset and returned to our lodging for Iftari and much needed rest. Tomorrow will be a longer day.

Flood Relief Diary - Day 1

Here's my experience from the medical relief camp in the flood affected areas in district Layyah, Southern Punjab, Pakistan.

Special thanks to Gulzab Nawaz for helping with editing.

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Day 1 (Thursday, 26 August, 10)

THE LAND OF THE PURE

There is always some comfort in seeing the slow and peaceful progression of life in the countryside. The lush and green fields of this land, Pakistan (literally: land of the pure), remind me of the simple hopes and aspirations held by the people who inhabit it. The different shades of green sooth my eyes as I continue my journey to Layyah, a district in the province of Punjab. Layyah, of course, has been hard hit by the recent Monsoon flooding. The Government of Pakistan’s Provincial and National Disaster Management Authorities have estimated that nearly 17.2 million people have been affected by the flooding, and approximately 10 million are in dire need of immediate humanitarian assistance.

It was a lazy Monday afternoon last week, I sat comfortably on the recliner at my house. Frustrated by my inability to study for the medical licensing exams. I turned on the t.v. Naturally, the default channel was a well renowned Pakistani news channel, watched avidly by my parents. Watching the devastation on tv repeatedly for days, made me think that I might use this time during the holy month of Ramadan to do something productive. "I cant study anyways" has always been a good excuse to do other things. I called up the airline and booked my seat for the following Friday. I was in Lahore in no time, after flying for more than 16 hours, I went straight to Allama Iqbal Medical College (the college I graduated from last year), and met with principal Dr Javed Akram, a notable philanthropist and one of the nicest teachers. The teaching staff of Allama Iqbal Medical College and its affiliate teaching hospital Jinnah Hospital were the first to respond to the flood crisis, sending in teams of medical doctors to flood affected areas such as Layyah, Jhang and Muzafargarh before any other organization. 25 teams had already rotated through different areas on five day rotations. They provided much needed medical relief to flood victims. Inspired by my colleagues and teachers work and most importantly by the words of my ideal, Dr Salman Ahmad (guitarist for Junoon, UN HIV/AIDS ambassador and the author of "Rock n Roll Jihad"), I knew what I had to do. And so here I am, sitting in the back of the Allama Iqbal Medical College minivan, speeding away with other doctors and support staff to the flooded areas. I am, where I want to be.

But I do not see any evidence of flooding just yet; instead I am greeted with sights of children flying kites, and men hard at work on canal-side wheat plantations. Cattle and livestock roam the streets at a cumbersome pace—eating whatever sort of vegetation they can set their eyes on. They still remain the most important asset to the villagers and losing them would be great loss for the fragile local economy. Ponds filled with water prompt up from time to time and date trees stand handsomely every few meters on the island that separates the motorway. The bright city lights have made me weary and systematic, and so I let myself go in the vast richness of this land.

Every now and then I let my eyes wander to land upon a lonely man sitting along the roadside, taking a break from his often long and hard labor. And I wonder to myself, what his life must be like? Does he find happiness? And if so, is he better off in his small village than those of us who have the freedom to roam the world?

The sunlight is diminishing and the clouds are becoming heavily constricted within the sky, and so of course, we must be nearing Faisalabad. I have never been there—but it is well known as the hub of materials manufacturing and as one of the most affluent cities in Pakistan. There’s not much to see, textile mills litter the street corners and then there’s the odd man in a Ferrari honking down a street filled with rickshaws and horse-drawn-carriages.

It is a few hours later when the effect of tylanol wears off and I wake up to a dreaded feeling of cold, I've been sick since yesterday.. I simply cannot take the bitter air of the A.C. anymore but I have to keep calm, as there are others who are also traveling alongside myself in the cramped minivan who are basking in the ambiance of cold AC air. I look outside, the greenery of central Punjab has been replaced with the endless dessert. We are very much nearing our destination. There are no birds in the sky; seldom, there are patches of subdued greens—which are inhabited by the people living alongside the motor way.

Our minivan’s driver, Nawaz, recklessly overtakes cars on the narrow road, which seems even too tight for a single car, and for the life of me, I am not sure at all how cars are managing to drive forth from the opposite direction. Cows and goats are replaced with desert animals (and at one point I spot a gang of school kids merrily playing cricket and being watched very intently by a lone spectator—a camel). It is hard to believe that even the dessert has been hit with the floods. And according to some of the locals that we had met on the way, it has been raining every day in these southern parts, a real testament to the unrelenting and changing weather pattern of the world.

We finally arrive at our rest house, which was once indeed, a rest house; around when the British used to rule over these parts. Now it looks more like an abandoned house which may collapse on itself any minute. A scary looking house erected in the middle of nowhere, paint worn off, water leaking from one side, stray dogs running about, a lonesome cow tied to a tree a few feet away, lush green fields on two sides, farms on one side, and a canal on the other. "Bhoot-bangla lug raha hay" [Looks haunted] , was Dr Tariq's first impression. That raised my eye brows momentarily. My mind travels back in time to the same time last year, the crisp bedsheets of the beautiful Hyat Regency in downtown Montréal for three days, or the Hilton Garden Inn in Times Square last month. I'm a long way from the comforts of the material world - but I am not dazed, this is what I chose for myself. We walk into the resthouse and the first room I see has a single bed, and is as dirty a room as I've ever seen in my life. The driver made no complaints putting his bags down and claiming it. Avoiding the other rooms, we go straight to the master-bedroom, which has one king-bed and an A.C. Doctor's, being of higher social stature, claim the room without even uttering a single word. It was just understood by all as to who will reside in this room for the next few days. Arrangements are made for comforters to be placed on the floors so all the doctors can relish in the cool air conditioned room, the dispensers and the nurses show little reluctance to this seggregation of classes according to job qualification. Such is life here. People are genetically predisposed to mental slavery for which they show no protest. Iqbal tried relentlessly to make us come out of this mental slavery and fight for our rights. I'm too tired and too sick for anything more, all I can do is collapse on the comforter laid down for me and other junior doctors on the floor. I pray that I recover from the flu bug so I can do my share of work to the best of my ability.