India? No! Sindh∂is? Yes!

The recent laws in India

Going to India 2 or 3 times a year seemed normal a few years ago, but the recent rules have mede this impossible. Although the new High Commissioner from India has promised that things will get better (good luck to him!), it won't be until laterlaterlater in this year. On the other hand, what happens laterlaterlater is not something all of us can decide now, actually, with the extreme right wing been given the powers to stand up in our elections by a Commission: People are still trying to understand what they are committing to, though many people I have met seem to have very similar ideas about why this is happening.

No point discussing this here, for Democracy does mean differences of opinion, so I will let their opinions stay … but I may try to change them in conversations, though. Democracy, right!!!

•

The first thing that happened was my 'Indian' niece, Sahar Zaman, who ran a lovely Art Program on TV, is a wonderful Artist and Designer, and runs a News broadcasts on TV, refused to come to Pakistan (for a School of Tomorrow Conference) because she thought it would be dangerous here. The Media in India obviously supports this view, so I could not change her opinion.

(Media here is - er, was - better,
but it's also headed that way, either by choice or by force.)

Months later my niece decided to host a show on her grand-uncle (and my Chacha Jania), playback singer and film actor, Talat Mahmood, in 2 places in India (so far)

Talat Mahmood & Sahar Zaman

I so wanted to go. I called her up to ask for the dates — and she said I shouldn't try to come because of 'various reasons' (I won't mention all of them here, though, but lack of Visas was one of them.)

Jashn-e-Talat Announcement

•

Her lovely husband, Dhiraj, who is also an Artist, Traveller, and a Designer of the strangest of things that attract a lot of audience, is now holding a Mango Festival in Art and probably has good mango stuff to eat there, too, apart from his delightful Mangoes. I am sure I could have gotten Dassahris, Lang∂ās, Lakhnavva Safaedās, and much more if I went. 

Dhiraj Singh

•

But a NO is a NO and I can't travel to India again

until some miracle happens.

(Actually that doesn't ever happen!)

•

Sitting in Karachi hasn't been too bad. I've had delightful Dassahris and Lang∂ās, here, and despite being constantly reminded that its against my Diabetes (it's not!) I eat three mangoes a day: Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner. And my sugar count remains ok.

3 Mangoes a day is fine!

•

A little digression - but still about mangoes and diabetes: I used to check my blood sugar count every three months, since my father was Diabetic. So I discovered that I was in the beginning of Diabetes. Rushed off to a Diabetic Expert as fast as I could. She told me that I should eat from a list she gave me. There were no Mangoes on that list. I was teaching at Hamdard University, heading a New Media Class, and used to eat Mangoes everyday during our lunch with my Vice Chancellor, Dr. Qazi, who was also a Diabetes patient. (He was a wonderful man who died recently.) The Diabetician told me that if I didn't eat mangoes this year my life would get me 2 more years. Shit! I left her and went back to eating mangoes. Can you imagine 2 more years of life without mangoes?

• 

Dr Qazi - we all miss you!

•

These days my life is full of delightful Sindh∂is, sent to me first by Umer Khan of Champion Mangoes. And you can even send them to USA.

Umer Khan

•

This was added to later by

Hana Tariq and Zawwar Taufiq

of Beyond The Classroom,

a piece by Qasim Aslam that started as

The History Project and has now spread much further!

Hana Tariq

Zawwar Taufiq

Finally, a large crate was sent by Marvi Mazhar (from her Mangoes grown in her gaõñ). She's a lovely Architect and loves preserving heritages. She did the CAP's National History Museum in Lahore (Karachi will also take place, some day, IF the Sindh Government[?] agrees …)

After having done so much work in Karachi (take a look at the Cantt Station, folks) and in parts of Sindh. She also runs PCCC, a place worth going to if you are in Karachi. 

Marvi Mazhar

•

Happy Summer, friends!

… and Peace, forever!

Shamim's gone …

Dr. Syed Shamimuddin Ahmad

My closest friend

died

at

21:29

yesterday.

Fidel Castro: Dead at 90

Fidel Forever — 25.11.2016

Today I have seen many programs on TV, posts on the Net, emails, and a lot more on Facebook and Twitter, telling us how good Castro was, as well as how bad he was. We have seen Cuba mourning and eyes loaded with tears … and the Cubans in USA jumping with joy that he is dead.

Should my opinion of him and his one-time partner, Ché Guvera (who's picture people from Communists and Revolutionaries and Liberals and others post everywhere … and wear his T-Shirt Image in colleges and on the streets) change?

Ché Guevara

NO!!!

My encounter with Cuba has several things that I can recall.

Each one has been better than the other.

•••••

My first encounter was when I went to Cuba on my ship as a Merchant Navy Captain. We walked off the ship to get into the main city, but all we had were US$. We thought anybody would change them. But there was no shop around. The three of got on to a bus and offered the money to the driver who said he couldn't take US money. We said we had no other money and wanted to get to a bank to change this. He asked us to sit down.

Then, he put his hand in his pocket, brought out some small change, counted it, and put it in the ticket money box!!! His own money! He said we were guests and didn't have the money. He had the money and was paying it for us, since he can't take us free.

Wow!

•••••

My second encounter was going out into the city (after we had changed our money) and walk around the place, watching people eating ice-cream, smoking cigars, singing group songs on the road, dancing everywhere. They lived quite happily, it seemed to me, despite the fact that they had problems buying most things that we take for granted in our lives.

•••••

My third encounter was to go to the University with the ship's agents. He knew Che's daughter, Aleida Guevara.

Aleida with Fidel and Ché

She was wonderful and I remembered her telling us about her father who left them to go to Bolivia when she was 4 and was killed when she was only 7. Like her father, she is a strong Marxist. A Physician, she has been part of Cuba's growing interest in Education and Medical facilities, which I will talk a little about later.

(Aleida Guevara refused to go to a mass Pope Francis would lead during his historic Cuban trip, saying it would be “hypocritical” of her to be present.)

•••••

Many years later, my daughter was at Hampshire College and had the option of going abroad to Paris or to a place in Cuba for a year's studies. When she wrote to me, I suggested that she go to Cuba. After all, I said to her, that Paris would probably be Paris when she comes out of College and she could visit it anytime. But if Castro died, Cuba wouldn't be worth visiting, somehow. So that's where she went for a year's studies.

•••••

Meanwhile, in Pakistan we had the worst Earthquake in history. More than thousands died. Thousands lost their homes. 

(I was in New Delhi, having breakfast at Tarun Tejpal's house He had gone to the bathroom. I felt a small jolt. He came out, wrapped in his towel, and asked f there was an earthquake. We got out of the house and many people were coming out and looking everywhere. New channels told us that there areas had been hit in Kashmir. No news of Pakistan, of course. I phoned BITS - Sabeen's and my software company - and found out that life has been much worse in Azad Kashmir.

Not just worse, much much worse, as I discovered three days later. A member of our team, Ziad Asim, had lost several members of his family and was now working at BITS on a software to bring people together in case they wanted to contribute goods to the earthquake victims. I asked him why he hadn't gone home. He said there is no place to go to. Everyone is dead. Sabeen was organising for places collecting the goods to be put on our website, so that people could deliver their goods there.)

Cuba sent us Doctors and Medical Aid facilities and Equipment that flew in every few days and added more and more. We were filled with their people here. They even sent out Pakistanis that they couldn't treat, locally, right into their own hospitals in Cuba. Even our daughter was called to translate some of the patient's broken-Urdu into English for the medical program workers there.

Had this earthquake happened in Cuba, would Pakistanis have said anything other than a few minor 'sorries' in the press. After all, our 'bosses' in the USA would hardly have been happy even with that!

•••••

Later on, when I was in Pakistan, Dr. Ghazala Aziz - a friend and a Doctor - was working with the people supporting the earthquake victims. She decided to hold a concert of Indian Classical Music stars, Shubha Mudgal and her husband Aneesh Pradhan, in Karachi to get money for these victims. 

Aneesh& Shubha

Shubha and Aneesh arrived here with their team and we had a concert that was lovely. The next day we took them out to the French Beach, with Farid Ayaz and Abu Mohammad's group so they could hear a live qavvaali at a hut that had been arranged.

I decided to call my daughter in Cuba so that she could listen to Shubha on my iPhone. She was a great fan of Shubha and Aneesh. A voice answered. I couldn't recognise it. So I called again. The same voice said, with some difficulty, "Abi. It's me. I have fallen down. Hurt my back. Badly. I will be tested again, tomorrow. Please call again." - Stumped, I called Dr, Hasan Aziz (Ghazal's husband) out from the crowd. He spoke to her and then told me that I should try and get to Cuba.

Ghazala gave me a number of a Doctor from Cuba, who was now in Pakistan. I called him and he said, "Don't worry about the Visa. I'll get it for you. Just get me to talk to the Doctor in Cuba and if he says you are needed, we will fly you out, asap, in one of our planes." Imagine — a Doctor willing to help me out, in the middle of his own work at the earthquake site. 

•••••

The next day I got a call from Cuba. my daughter spoke for a while and then the Doctor spoke to me and said that she'd hurt her back but was out of danger. She'd have to stay at home for 5 weeks and would not be able to return to her work at the University. He'd visit every week and I could call his home number and ask about her. There was no need for me to come there.

I was glad that she was out of danger, though worried about her back. It later turned out that she'd hurt her vertebra in three places.

I was happy that she was being looked after by these people.

•••••

Four days later I got another phone call.

This was from her professor.

(I am quoting from memory and through what were, then, really happy tears. The words may not be quite right, but the gist is.)

"Dear Mr. Kidvai, your daughter is a wonderful student but can't attend her classes any more because of her hurt. I wanted your permission to visit her every two days and teach her what she has missed in class … so that when she finishes her course, I can give her the same test. I am sure she will pass. But I need your permission to do so and would like you to speak to her house people that it is OK by you."

•••••

I come from an area that, many realise, is known for its friendship and the way we treat our new and old friends. But this, I was never prepared for. I cannot say "Thank you" often enough to the Cuban people. May you live in Peace.

Etymology - 1 (Kind of …)

OED 2 Volumes with Magnifying Glass
Contains the full OED Compacted.

Etymology is the study of the history of words, their origins, and how their form and meaning have changed over time … and I am in love with it. If I ever had the chance to choose a career for life, Etymologist would be it.

•

Of course, I never did choose a career for life.

•

I started wanteing to be a doctor, like my father (Abi) - but not because of his real influence. Born in 1940 to a doctor - who had been recruited in late 1943 to the British Military Service in WW2 - I travelled to several cities (in and outside India, and to parts that later became Pakistan) with him until the war ended. 

There were no children in camps but Abi insisted that Ummi (my mother) and I had to go along … and was granted permission to do so by the Army. So I was the only child around. The first trip I went to was when I was 4 years old.

With Abi I went fairly often to Hospitals where he treated several soldiers who were injured, some almost beyond belief. I saw nearly dead soldiers and even saw a soldier die before my eyes. I never seemed to fear death. In fact the oldest memory I have was that my Nani (maternal grandmother) died when I was 3 … and I remember that event so clearly. When she was gone, I was told that the angels had taken her to a place to cure her. That was what 'dead' meant to me for years.

In the middle of the war we went to Calcutta for a few days holiday with my Khala (Vaseem). It was there that sirens announced planes coming down (Japanese, I was told) to bomb us. We hid under tables. I was told not to pick up sweets that they may drop, because eating them would cause us to die. Don't know if that was to scare me or it was real.

There were two things I did remember from the camps: One was the day we were celebrating Victory. A young soldier climbed up a long set of stairs and jumped into a pool of water underneath. He missed. Fell flat a couple of feet away. And was dead. On the spot!

Before that death, I remember my father and his colleague discussing a man whose head been pierced by some bullet marks. His colleague, perhaps his senior, had said that they couldn't treat him as it was too close to the brain and there was no way that he would survive the surgery. I often thought of that. I even asked my father, who drew weird pictures on a piece of paper to show what a brain was. But I couldn't really understand.

Later on, just before the 1947 Partition, I was in Budge Budge where my Khalu (famous Indian hockey-player, Asad Ali) had been posted by the Customs.  I saw a few dead people floating down the river because of Hindu-Muslim riots. The river was just across the street. My childhood friend, Sattar, a servant 3 years older than me, was playing football with me and he kicked it so hard that it went across the street, right into a winding part of the Hooghly River. He rushed and bent down the floating bushes to pick up the ball and threw it right back after showing it to me. It was the head of a dead child he had picked up by mistake.

So I wanted to be a doctor as I grew up. A brain surgeon was what I wanted to be. Life at colleges were tough. I got thrown out of one; I walked off the exams in the second one. That'll be in another blogpost that I write. 

Abi was getting severe heart attacks during those days and I couldn't have lived off his money for long. Another year at college. Five years at Medical School. Two years of Internships. Several years of setting myself up as a Surgeon. No way!

I told Abi the only one of two lies I remember telling him: I had done well at my exams and was going to get a First Division. (The second lie I won't get into.) I then said I was going to sail away on a friend's father's ship to Chittagong and meet my cousin there … and come back. I wrote to him from Chittagong that I had actually joined a ship and was in the Merchant Navy now. He was most upset. Again, that'll be in another blogpost, too.

Abi died in 1963. Didn't even live to see me pass my exams and get a reward for having topped the International Navigation marks. Then they suddenly decided to stop giving the official awards, so my Merchant Navy College Head, Captain Safdar, gave me a TimePiece-cum-StopWatch as my gift.

•

Many of my loves and passions come to me from Abi: Classical Music, Eastern and Western; becoming a voracious reader in English and Urdu; love of and the writing of Urdu Poetry; watching Cricket & Tennis; being totally in love of Science; a passion for correct languages; fighting for Human Rights; loving the truth; even crying in movies :(

We were poor, too. My father had left the Army after Partition, had serious medical problems himself, had a few odd jobs but coudn't continue at his clinic so there was really no money in the house. Ummi was amazing at how she managed to make the loveliest dishes with what little we had - and kept not us but every visitor asking for more. She knew how to make the food we loved out of everything she could get. I used to always tease her about how she managed to put water into everything and make it expand into a lovely, large, edible dish.

Abi's love of books never died. On days when he did go to the clinic and made some money, he'd give most of it to Ummi … but he always bought another book. For himself; for Ummi; and for my birthday gifts. He said to me that if I were really hungry I could tighten my belt and survive another day when food would somehow arrive. But a book was a book. "It gives you pleasure whether your stomach is full or empty …".

•

One of his loves was Dictionaries. We had many of them. Farsi, Arabic, English, French, German, Italian, Spanish. Old and new. He loved words. … and that, too, came to me.

Which is why I really should have been an Etymologist. 

•

From the Merchant Navy, after 25 years of service, I came back to Karachi (Ummi's illness and the birth of my daughter after 14 years of marriage) and set-up an educational computing company, Interface, the first of its kind in Pakistan. This arrangement, bad as it was, moved me (with a lot of difficulty) into opening Solutions Unlimited - a consultancy that now runs with my wife heading it. I founded Enabling Technologies, which produced the best Multimedia Software including CD-ROMs in Pakistan. As an Apple-only company we even produced our first CD-ROM for IBM! (That's going to be one of my blogpost, I promise.)

In the meanwhile I also joined Hamdard University and taught for three years until the first Masters came out. Jehan Ara and Sabeen assisted me at some lectures, too. My best student was Syed Ali Hasan, who is now one of our great animators and now also runs a 3D Printing company.

While this was on, I began drawing cartoons for The Friday Times. You can see them here. Do see the first few, anyway. I'll add more as soon as they become available.

My companies — when they started — had my wife Nuzhat, Sabeen, Jehan Ara, and myself … and none of us had taken Computer Studies in our lives, except Sabeen at school. And she had come to my company for further studies. Her KGS Computer Teacher hated her. From Sabeen's exam papers some pages removed when they were sent to UK … so she failed the subject. Efforts by her father, Tallat, proved that this had happened. An act on his part (probably bashing up the Principal!) was probably stopped by Sabeen's mother, Mahenaz, who was teaching at KGS Kindergarten.

The remaining three of us learnt computers on our own, using a BBC computer and then moving on to a 9" Mac. Nothing comes even close to these two systems.

Later on, Sabeen — who'd joined us when she was 14+ as a student and stayed on until she formed PeaceNiche-T2F — and I decided to open Beyond Information Technology Solutions (BITS), partly in association with the Kasuris. They soon left, dedicated as they were to Education, and I owned the company.

Jehan Ara - who had joined us when she had come back from Hong Kong - said she'd rather not be part of this. So we split half of the company: She continued Enabling Technologies and is now the head of Nest I/O and P@SHA.

Sabeen soon became a Director at BITS (as a gift for her years of service with me) and continued with me as a Consultant to some ventures that we occasionally took online (including our work at Tehelka/India and a leading paper in Afghanistan), despite running her new organisation extremely well. In fact T2F is now considered a standard here and elsewhere.

•

This ended with Sabeen's assassination on 24th April 2015.

Like me, Sabeen was never afraid of death.

Listen to a TV Program about her.

•

I am sorry I have bored you with this rather long drawn-out preamble. I promise I will move on to Etymology - 2 as soon as I have the time. If you like what I write, you'll find it enjoyable.

Read (and hear) this — and tell me what you think

I am not a believer in supernatural things

but I had to write this … and play two audios for you.

•

Perhaps you can tell me what you think is wrong.
Or right.

•

I had a maid that we employed.

Her name is Zahida.

She has a husband and several children.

The children include a married daughter … who has 5 children.

This daughter had terrible anaemia

and has been given blood several times.

•

But that did not cure her 'actual' problem …

A few months ago Zahida took leave to go to a Pir Sahab's Dargaah because her daughter was now speaking in a lisping voice and made strange noises. The girl said in a pseudo-masculine voice: "I am a 'Hindu' who has taken possession of this girl".

Every time there was a Qavvaali she'd listen for a bit and go into a Dhammal (a dance that happens at every Pir's grave) and would fall flat on her back by somersaulting really high. No hurt, though. She'd get up and do it again. And again. Until she fell asleep. Then the 'Hindu' would go away and she'd wake up and speak normally for a bit. Then the 'Hindu' would be back.

I told her, "Pir to mar gaé haéñ. Voh küchh naheeñ kar saktay. Doctor kay pass jaao." (The Pir is dead. He can't do anything. Go to a Doctor.)

My wife also set an appointment for her to visit a Psychiatrist. But Zahida said that Doctors can't help. "Yeh to 'andar' ki cheez haé." (This is an 'inside' problem.)

Zahida's husband had been well and used to drive a borrowed Motor Rickshaw. He had suddenly stopped eating - except for very small things - about 7 months ago. He was getting weaker. He left the Rickshaw and refused to work, lying in bed all the time. Made the family even poorer. That was another thing that the 'Pir Sahab' had to 'cure'.

Zahida left and came back.

This is what she said.

A few days later she brought her daughter to my house. She spoke with a childish lisp. Often it was difficult to understand. I said at one point , "Tüm zameen par baéth jao, baytee". (Sit down on the floor, girl.) She yelled, saying "Maén 'Hindu' mard hooñ. Baytee kyooñ kah rahay ho?" (I am a Hindu Male. Why are you calling me a girl?)

An hour later Zahid came up and asked me to play Qavvaali music as the girl wanted it and was shouting in the kitchen. I went down and put on my iPod. Within minutes she started trembling and then started to jump. I saw her do this three or four times. She'd somersault really high and land on her back … and then would do it again.

I came up (also feeling a little scared that she'd damage hair back). After 20 minutes Zahida came and said I should shut off the music as she was asleep. I did. In a few minutes she woke up and held her mother and said "Chalo". (Let's go!)

A month later Zahida went back to the Pir with her daughter.

When she came back, this was her story.

I am still sure that this is not really possible.

The beatings and the cruelty that the daughter received at Pir Sahab made her scream … but the Pir said (and Zahida thought) that it was the 'Hindu' that was screaming. Imagine being beaten with your hand twisted behind your back. Constant pushing and thumping on your head and back. Hitting.

The chimgaada∂ story is a figment of Zahida's imagination (as it was for the attending team). That's obvious. But was the girl putting all this on? Was the father putting all this on, now that he is well again and has got a job?

Sounds so strange.

•

As far as I am concerned, Zahida firmly believes everything that has happened … and says so. The Pirs are tricksters, there is no doubt. Nothing will help the girl in the long term, I am sure.

Unless she is somehow part of the trick.

•

FOUR MONTHS LATER UPDATE

Zahid says her husband is well.
So is her daughter.
The Pir Sahab's Chayla (Student!) has done his work.

•

I await your response!

The Greatest Qavvaali Book

I have a lot of books on Qavvaali from several publishers. They are, at best, small volumes that deal with a particular Gharaanah, a group of qavvaali performers, a small collection of Farsi Poems (I am sure there are Urdu, Punjab and Saraiki versions available). None has the ability or the range that this book covers.

The title of this remarkable book, by Dr Hasan Aziz,

 is Kalaamé Aarifaañ.

Pushed through its collection and printing by his daughter Ayesha (His son, Arsalan, and wife, Ghazala, also appear in smaller letters in the dedication), this is an amazing collection of the poetry of Sufis and Mystics. Their whole family loves this genre and hold regular qavvaali sessions at their place.

It took over 10 years to write Kalaamé Aarifaañ and the book is unique that it is in Urdu and English. It features the poetry, the transliteration, the meanings in English and Urdu, and the tafheem and taffseer as related by episodes and legends of the Sufis and Mystics.

The book is recommended to be read from right to left - traditional for Eastern books, and the English version is on the same page(s).

Kalaamé Aarifaañ has, apart from a remarkable collection of the famous poems on Persian, Urdu, Farsi, Saraiki and more — plus the writings about them — a lovely glossary, a starting comment, a timeline of the people mentioned, and a remarkable wonderful history of Qavvaali. All of them are, again, in English and Urdu, as are the words of Fehmida Riaz.

The Urdu was written by Dr Hasan Aziz and extremely well translated into English by Dr Zarine Mogal. Amazing how two doctors could do all this in their very spare time. Dr Aziz's late brother-in-law did a great job in helping him with the Persian work and the late and dear friend, Imran Mir, supervised the printing and the style of the book.

Photograph by Marvi Mazhar

Pity that Imran died just a few days before the launch. We missed him greatly at Karachi when the launch was done through the courtesy of Getz Pharma's CRP on 6th December. Getz Pharma also helped publish the book.

Kalaamé Aarifaañ will also be launched at

Islamabad on Saturday (13th: Kuchh Khas - 6pm)

and Lahore (14th: Faiz Ghar - 6pm).

In both places it will be sold at a reduced price.

Printed on good quality paper, the hard cover book of almost 600 pages is in colour, with a lovely golden edge of pages, and is offered in a book-safe cover. The size is 10"x13" and the book is an absolute delight to look at.

If the remarkable book was not all, there two DVDs in it. The first one features 6 modern sufi/qavvaali pieces in video from Coke Studio … but, much more important, is the second DVD that features 48 Audio pieces of Sufi Songs and Qavvaalis. An absolute treasure that comes with a small booklet that talks about these pieces.

•

"Isn't the book expensive at Rs 15000", asked a rather rich friend. I thought of the years that went by, the love of qavvaali and Sufi music, the collection of poems, the translation, the tremendous amount of research and writing, the collection of videos and audios, the permissions to have them published here, and the finally delightful publication of the gorgeous book. But I didn't say that to him at all. I just asked him that if he and his wife took out two friends for a good dinner at a stylish restaurant (never mind the rather odd costs of the drinks at home!), they'd spend that much. And the pleasure would be gone in a day or so. The book you'd have forever … and visit it often.

Incidentally, the book will be sold

for Rs 10000 only at the launches.

•

Still not convinced if its worth buying?

Download a PDF sample of the book from here and see.

•

The book will also be available at T2F's bookstall. It will also have a website, soon, put together by PeaceNiche, where new stuff will be added to the book.

The Stone Age is over …

9th October 2014

So off I went to South City H

Put on my slippers

… and lay in bed …

thinking of the surgery.

Was I stressed?  No …

The operation was going to be performed by Dr Mumtaz Maher …

… who is a great surgeon and a lovely artist!

The Pacemaker chap turned up, checked me, and I was fine.

No, this is not Oyster Soup. It's my removed gallbladder!
(Thanks for the picture, Nuzhat.)

In Laproscopy they just cut holes in the tummy and remove it.

Here are my 9 stones.

Here's a close-up of the biggest one I had.

The hospital, which looks like a 5-Star Hotel, was clean. No strange smells. A food courtyard! Surgeon Dr Maher, Anaesthesiologist Dr Jakhrani, various RMOs, and the smart Registered Nurses were all polite.

As far as the Nurse Assistants were concerned - polite that they too were - I was taken aback, when I was feeling less groggy, that the three of them were standing around me and one was touching my left-bottom of the tummy. I had though the surgery was going to be on the right side, so I asked what thy were looking at. The oldest person said, "We are just looking for your Pacemaker. It must be small." I told him that the Pacemaker was large and was under my left shoulder. They uncovered me and saw it and I heard an "Uff" sound. Wish they had been trained to know where Pacemakers are fitted.

Just in case you don't know, this is what my Pacemaker looks like.

• 

So I am now back and resting at home.

Not too much, actually.

Went out for a meal at Gellato Affair that evening.

The shoulder pain is a bit bad but will go away soon.

(That's because they tie your arms in an odd position.)

•

Billie was missing me but is now happy!

I hope this is the last surgery I will have had.

 •

My previous surgeries have included all this:

A collarbone fractured and put into place in Karachi.

Had to be broken again by the doctor since it was bent.

It is now in an H-position.

Shit!

A broken nose at Government College, Lahore,

because the opponent of Kamal Azfar

thought I should not support him

and hit me with a brick.

A Varicose Vein surgery in the UK.

Tons of them in my stomach area had to be removed.

A Prostate Gland Surgery at OMI in Karachi.

A Hernia Surgery at NMC in Karachi.

A Quadruple By-Pass at NMC in Karachi.

A Pacemaker fitted this August at NMC in Karachi.

•

•

If you need to know why I didn't do this surgery at NMC,

take a look here and here.