Stop ignoring Kucinich!

I don't care if most of America and all of television media consider Dennish Kucinich a nutjob -- his speech at the DNC deserved at least a few minutes of airtime on cable TV, so joyfully dedicated to 'election historians' and coverage of sullen Hillary supporters.


Instead of sticking with good old CSPAN that broadcast the convention SANS the historians and commentators, we decided to support the usually wonderful PBS which, sadly, turned out to be way too dedicated to David Brook's analysis of whatever it is that he thinks he's analyzing. When it wasn't letting David Brooks analyze whatever it is that he thinks he's analyzing, its anchors imitated their more glamorous peers at other cable TV networks in incessantly theorizing about what Hillary will say and how Hillary's supporters will feel and what Hillary supporters needed to feel. As much as I love Lehrer and Ifill and Woodruff, they can't just talk over the entire ten/fifteen minute speech of a recent presidential candidate getting the crowd on its feet right behind them, right as they speak.

Predictably, Hillary's speech was the only uninterrupted one throughout the day other than keynote speaker Mark Warner's speech. Poor Mark Warner, who made a pretty decent speech, was ignored largely by the commentators who even then just couldn't finish analyzing what Hillary will say and what Hillary's supporters will feel.

BOO! Watch Kucinich's speech here.

Chomsky on Pakistan

AAJ TV - February 2, 2008

Eighteenth Century Toilets and Writing for No Reason

So there were no desi food stalls to stuff my face at, no green flags, no national songs. Just my crystal clear memory of torn little paper flags kissing the ground, and buildings wasting electricity in the name of celebration. But looking so criminally beautiful in the process.

Instead, over the weekend, there was my family (insert smiley here) and George Washington's darkly sparse mansion: gaudy paint, thousands of acres of beautiful slave-grown plantations, unmarked graves of the slaves who had toiled at them, and eighteenth century toilet drawers. Literally drawers actually, removable and all.

Also, the incredibly dull air and space museum...how does aviation history manage to be so supremely fascinating and supremely dull at the same time? I figure it's punishment for not getting in line for the simulator rides and relying on the engines for entertainment instead.

I suppose you could call that a rather productive weekend. And today, I'm home with the rare chance to sign in here and write aimlessly for a change, without feeling once that my sole prowess (?) should be contributing toward my economic progress at this time of the day.

It hasn't come to this yet, but for certain types of flighty individuals, the best way to end up hating the things they love to do most, is to acquire them as a profession.

Happy independence day

August 14, 2008 -- Happy independence day to all Pakistanis (and to all Indians who celebrate their independence tomorrow).

So I'm trying to find out what homesick Pakistani-Americans in DC are doing this weekend to celebrate, it being my first independence day as one. I need something to anchor my once-a-year patriotism with -- basically stuff my face with food at desi stalls blasting forgotten national songs and forget that really, there is way too much to feel cynical than optimistic about this independence day. As it's been for a long, long time.

World's Worst Person Decides to Go into Marketing

'I'm Thinking...Marketing,' Says Horrible, Horrible Man

New York, July 31, 2008 — Twenty three year old Louis Deenan, undeniably the most detestable, loathsome individual ever to walk the earth, willfully decided Monday to devote his miserable life and all of its awful ambitions to the field of marketing. "I think it's the career path that will best utilize my networking skills and my ability to think outside the box," said Deenan, whose smug, gloating tone and shit-eating smile just make you want to punch his goddamn teeth in. "So I'm definitely thinking marketing. Either that, or PR." Deenan's mother refused to comment on why she didn't abort the despicable pile of human excrement when she had the chance.

Reported by The Onion

Mamma Mia: Good for Laughs, Chest Hair

So Mamma Mia!...was an unlikely choice for a movie I'd go to the theatre to watch. Not just because it's a bag of sap and some seriously over-the-top acting (although that should be my prime reason) but because it's a musical. Musicals and Madiha don't go together, not even when they're oscar-nominated, artistically gory ones like Sweeney Todd. But I gave in to the secret, appropriately-ashamed Abba lover sitting inside me. Who knew? (I didn't, for one)

Ironically, I hadn't heard more than three or four of Abba's songs before watching the movie with both of my sisters in law this Sunday. I'd only heard a few: Thank You for the Music, Mamma Mia!, and I fail to remember the third one. But I always hummed along them whenever I heard them. In all of the bubblegum pop I've had the fortune to hear in my life, their brand was definitely the hummy-ist (Most hummable? Hummy-ist sounds better). And then I saw that gynormous advertisement in Times Square a few weeks ago and felt the silliest and strongest urge to go watch. Some advertising.

Anyhoo, so I saw the movie, not the advertised broadway musical because I love Meryl Streep more. It's silly as hell, contrived as a twenty year old musical usually will be, and plus it's poorly directed. But listen, those songs...they make you want to get up on your seat and dance. Or at least sing along under your breath and shake a little if you're in a movie theatre (recommended). And a couple of hours of mindless laughter, watching Collin Firth pull another man into his arms and Pierce Brosnan tear off his shirt (and then dance in a chest-open spandex suit) is worth the ten bucks.

At all other times though, you find yourself marveling at the nerve of the film-makers casting a male lead in a musical who cannot sing to save his life. Which also made me think of the following points:

1. Why can't the prime difference between a movie musical and a broadway musical be having the option of casting non-singing actors solely based on their acting/dancing/box-office value? And giving a job to a lesser known voice-over singer. After all, Broadway actors won't carry a Hollywood movie, Hollywood stars will. Why be a stickler for a rule that can ruin the musical aspect of your musical? There's too much to lose!

2. Is Pierce Brosnan the only hot 55 year old in Hollywood with the full chest of hair defining the Abba-era? (Maybe, which explains why he was cast despite his pain inducing singing)

Oh whatever. PASSED, for guilty pleasures are the most fun:)

P.S. Warning: The writer's perception of the musical might be seriously flawed, since she was laughing throughout the movie, even through the mother-daughter weepie scenes. Serious Abba fans and moms with daughters might not want to use this review as a fair valuation of the movie.

Dancing Fool

Don't know much about dancin'
Thats why I write this song
One of my legs is shorter than the other is
'nd both my feets too long

-Frank Zappa in "Dancing Fool"

The Cartoon Mocking the Cartoon

Now here's protesting done in style:). Gotta love Tom Toles.

Much ado about nothing

So there's the expected hue and cry over the latest cover of The New Yorker which shows a cartoon depicting Obama in the oval office, dressed in the republican-fantasized MuslimTerroristAttire (good detail. The shalwar is just a tad above the ankle). Bumping fists with him is an angry Michelle Obama with a menacing afro, touting a machine gun and caustic smirk that seems to transmit a call for the white man's blood. Burning in the fireplace beside them is the American flag.

I personally thought the cartoon was funny when I first saw it. It isn't much of a work of art really, that should even warrant the disussion that it has sparked. In fact the joke's rather simplistic. A no-brainer for the average reader of the sophisticated magazine; just poking a bit of fun at the the outrageous Obama rumor-brigade run by the right-wing media and politicians throughout the country.

The cartoon would have made no story if it had in fact been limited to the eyes of the readers of The New Yorker which, incidentally, is not even usually available at your average newsstand, especially not to the innocent, easily-led sheep in the rural heartlands of America.

But as it goes, it's four months to the election and anything smelling of Obama controversy is tasty meat for the media at this time. Obama campaign issued a hurt, angry response; Obama supporters called for an apology and rejected the 'satire' arguement. Some furiously explained why an exaggeration of untruths about Obama does not compare up to older cartoonic depictions of exaggerated truths about Bush and Cheney that have graced the magazine's covers in the past.

Of course, many left-wingers are less perturbed. That's The New Yorker for you, they say. They're just making a joke which isn't even very new.

Here's what I think: I understand the fears of Obama supporters, that the monstrous Fox News and its followers won't get the satire and instead probably end up using the cartoon as their desktop backgrounds to remind them of Obama's general badness.

Yes, they will.

But, as Taimoor pointed out to me earlier this morning, the publicizing of the cartoon keeps Obama on the cover and for most part, does make everyone who might have forwarded an Obama rumor email in the past look like an idiot. At least to the others, if not themselves. Unfortunately though, satire is not the most popular medium of information and most popular media like Fox News are very literal and easy on intellectual stimulus. So for all those who watch Fox News for News, nothing much will change. The cartoon will just be a minor reinforcement of beliefs which weren't going anywhere anyway.

For those who don't watch Fox News for their news though, one look at the cartoon should just make them smile derisively and consider the ridiculous in the Anti-Obama rumor machine. Again, a minor reinforcement of an opinion they probably already had.

In the Blood

I was searching for an old cover story I did for the Kolachi pages to use as a writing sample, and found this instead (why is Yahoo! search suddenly more effective than Google? This is highly disturbing). I think I wrote this after a visit to Macchar Colony in July last year, during the shooting of a documentary with some friends. This forgotten piece is making me a little nostalgic, and a little amused by my own reluctant love for the city of candle lights (courtesy Tazeen):


In the Blood

By Madiha Waris

A recent cartoon in a local daily depicted a man's family drenched in unspeakable gloom because he had just been posted to the city of Karachi. Very funny, you'd say, if you didn't yourself happen to be a resident of 'the city of candle lights', as a friend refers to it. Although we have been used to being an object of fear and wariness for the world for decades, it seems like derision and ridicule are the latest emotion our city evokes in the hearts of the world. No worries -- we shall take that, too, in a rain-sodden stride.

Someone said the other day, and this is no science but purely an individual's own philosophy, that when things can't get any worse, there's only one way to go from there: to get better. You can easily counter that by saying they could also remain where they are and not get better at all. However, despite cynicism pouring in like the cyclone that just touched the coast, I'm going to stick with that lone ranger's philosophy and be optimistic. Things can't get any worse for Karachi right now, they can only get better.

Last week, my family finally suffered the 'real' thing, which (as we had always assumed earlier) only happened to the less privileged. We had no electricity for 32 hours. Things weren't all dark -- thank God for generators. However, as the hours slipped by and the generator threatened to die, a strong premonition gripped us. Have they forgotten us? Did they really just switch our power off and go off on a vacation? Where the heck are 'they'? This was the real thing. That feeling of abandonment that most Karachiites have experienced at some point of their lives: we finally felt as if we had really crossed the hallowed gates to the land of the forsaken.

Make no mistake: I have been through adversities that only happen to Karachi residents before. I've been abandoned at Numaish Chowk by my rickshaw driver amidst burning tires and petrol pumps following a bomb blast; I have suffered with millions others through the man-killing rollercoaster that is this city's public transport system. I've even taken up a futile fight outside my house with a long haired MQM worker who led a slogan-painting drive on our freshly painted wall in broad daylight. The phrases 'only in Karachi could this go unchecked' and 'only in Karachi could this idiot drive' have graced my mind more times than I can count. The only number that exceeds that is the times I have planned to escape this city forever and never come back.

However, I am astonished and a little betrayed by own sense of justice to find, that like some of your blood relations who annoy, degrade and hurt you again and again and yet find a place in your heart, I can't shun Karachi. Karachi is, alas, in my blood. With its screaming bus horns, pain-in-the-butt motorcyclists, silencer free rickshaws, ubiquitous potholes, waterless tanks, ugly as hell apartment complexes and countless other vices, this city is a permanent splotch on my life that I cannot remove.

It may sound naïve, but each time an outsider condemns, ridicules or dismisses Karachi my dormant patriotism comes into action and I become the optimist that I don't really feel like being most of the time. I think it's the same feeling that engulfs a lot of Pakistanis when Pakistan is dismissed as a failed nation -- which is often. It's a mulish disregard for intelligent forecasts of doom by the global pundits that is shared by the light sufferers to the worst inflicted in this country, and most of all by the often forsaken Karachiites.

Some friends and I got a chance to speak to a few groups of children living in several shanty towns in Karachi lately, during the making of a documentary. These children, all studying in schools run by different non-profit organizations, were refreshingly articulate, intelligent and ambitious. They all wanted to do great things in life, and they all had a unanimous agreement on the fact that Karachi, and by association Pakistan, was a difficult place to live in. They named a host of problems to prove this, ranging from poorly made roads to load-shedding, water shortages, and nobody ever cleaning the streets. Most were especially sick of the frequent strikes (which force their schools to close), and people burning tires and blocking the roads all the time. One of them especially hated the fact that people are not 'nice and respectful' to each other and are always fighting in the streets.

However, when asked if they would like to move out of Pakistan and live somewhere else in the future, surprisingly, only two raised their hands. They all wanted to travel of course; see new places, sit in (and preferably fly) a plane. Popular places to visit included Saudi Arab (where some of the children had relatives living) and the U.S. -- but then they wanted to come back and live here. When we wondered why, one of them, 11 year old Habib, smiled and answered sagely, "Yehan sab apney hain. Bahir waley kabhi apnon jaisay tou nahin hosaktey na."

And that, fellow Karachiite, is about the only explanation I can think of for this wretched city having forced its way into my once happily unpatriotic mind. There is no explanation this article can offer for the KESC's uselessness, for the murderous falls of the city's hoardings, for the hundreds of deaths in the past week, for the lawlessness and despair that rules this city right now. Affinity to lost causes, rooting for the underdog or idealism -- call it what you may -- but we all need something to get by.