Asia

Pakistani flood victims take destiny into own hands

When we met Khaleda Bibi, the heavily pregnant mother of one was brimming with excitement. 

It wasn’t because an international TV crew had come to film at her remote village in central Sindh province that excited her: it was the person who had travelled there with us.

With us was Tasnim Akhtar, a Karachi housewife who - for the past 32 years - has devoted much of her life to volunteering for the needy.

It had been a long while since the two women had last seen each other, and there were smiles and hugs all around as they caught up.

They had met only a year ago, at a make-shift relief camp for flood survivors. Tasnim would go there every day to hand out basics like food, water, soap and clothing, all of which she paid for out of her own pocket and with donations by friends.  

The women she met, however, soon started asking her for other necessities like medicine or cash. In some cases, they even begged her.

Norman Surplus, the Gyrocopter Man

I was not having a particularly good day.  To be honest, I can’t even recall why.  All I know is that my head was pounding, and I wasn’t sure how long I would be able to stay focused and carry on working.

We were driving several hours north of Manila to meet a chap named Norman Surplus - and it was the only time he had to spare. I was sure glad he did.

His energy was infectious from the start; his smile enough to brighten any day. This was clearly a person drunk on life - and rightly so.  His was an extraordinary journey, and we were lucky enough to be there to witness it.

“I’ve been extremely fortunate,” he said. The statement meant so much coming from a man who was told in 2003 that he had a 40 per cent chance of surviving another year with cancer. But he did survive, and how.

Here was Norman Surplus now - eight years later - flying around the world in an attempt to make aviation history in an odd little machine called a gyrocopter.

Mumbai's painful deja vu

"I can't believe this is happening again," my friend Radhika tells me over the phone, as I ask her how she's doing.

She's usually a stoic person, a hardened journalist who's been living in Mumbai for years. She's seen and lived through bomb blasts, communal riots - even floods. But the serial blasts on the evening of July 13, 2011 has brought back painful memories of November 26, 2008. And they've softened my tough friends' guard.

Like Radhika, several Mumbaikers have been jolted back to a harsh and sad reality: that their city is still as vulnerable as it was in 2008. No matter how many promises are made of safety, they still need to watch their backs on local trains, buses, cabs even markets.

The Karachi I remember

When Pakistan became an independent state in 1947, its first capital city was Karachi. It was the first port of call for international shipping in an age when aviation was used by few.

Over the years, it attracted both the educated elite and workers in search of employment. Many decided to make it their home. When Pakistan split from India, a great number of Muslims migrating to the new country came to Karachi for the same reason.  

The city soon became an epitome of unity. Muslims, Christians, Zoroastrians and Hindus intermingled and lived side by side. I remember, during my days in school, no one ever asked anyone who they were, and everyone took pride in the fact that they were all patriotic Pakistanis.  

Sadly, the past is another country.