The Women

Women in Saudi Arabia do not occupy public space. This realization came to me when I was sitting (yet again) inside a mosque being pushed around by a million women who all of a sudden seemed to just not be there any more.

What does occupying public space even mean? It must be clarified that these women are physically present. I mean you see them everywhere. But not in every sense of the phrase 'occupying public space.' I've mentioned before that Saudi women cannot show clothes, hair and skin. I can see a forgettable part of their faces. I cannot tell how much they weigh, see breasts or legs or arms or birthmarks. Is that even enough to remember a person by? It certainly makes them far more difficult to remember. Mission accomplished Saudi government?

Women in Saudi Arabia are not allowed to have a sense of style because they must all look more or less the same, they cannot drive, cannot smoke, walk with their eyes lowered, they do not walk alone and must act a certain way. They glide in and out of their houses, clothed mostly in black, saying little to strangers and leaving little impact. They are not allowed to leave an impact.

Women in Saudi Arabia do not occupy public space and as I watch these hordes of chattering women surrounding me I wonder if they even know it.

Notes on Saudi Arabia - 4

Past Fajr and I had been good for exactly a day and a night now. It was time to get out. Shrugging on an abaya, hastily pinning on a scarf and exactly half a minute later out of my hotel and onto the streets of Madinah. The sun had risen by now and the thousand stalls were laid out.

Women do not walk alone in Saudi and I wound my way through the streets hoping that I wouldn't attract any attention. Never look an Arab man in the eye. Even if he's really good looking. Also never look a policeman in the eye.

A boy in shorts grinned and waved at me as I walked by. He called out 'I've seen you before.' and I turned around to frown at him. 'Yes.' He said, smiling because now he had my attention. 'In the mosque. Your scarf was falling down.' But of course.

He asked if I smoked and I took a cigarette. 'When you are with me it's fine, you can smoke. They'll think we're married.' He said nonchalantly (I almost choked) 'When you are alone you must hide the cigarette under your scarf.' I nodded, pretending to speak little English. 'You haven't asked me my name but I will tell you Muneer Isaac. From Palestine. Are we friends now?' A laugh escaped me. He smiled, encouraged, and I realized he had no idea exactly how beautiful he was.

We sat there, on a random street in a side of the city that was almost empty of tourists and talked. He was studying to be an engineer and had moved here three years ago. He asked about my life and gradually I opened up. Sentences turned into stories as I told him about Karachi and how I may be in London next year. He was the first person to ask me whether I was scared to go.

Hours later, I got back to the hotel. This city too, despite it's effort to dismiss them, had it's secrets.

And so I'd made a friend.

Notes on Saudi Arabia - 3

And there is confusion more than anything, chaos more than everything. A thousand languages uttering the same thing again and again and again. So many people, so many places. And all for what? To be part of something bigger than themselves. And even though I disagree with this entire affair on so many levels, there is one tiny part of me that understands it. The need to be this way. Why we cling to what is familiar, what is ritualistic and safe.

It's strange really how it repels and attracts me at the same time. I wonder how everyone else feels right now.

Notes on Saudi Arabia - 2

The dressing will probably never cease to amaze me. Saudi women have got to be the most resourceful women on the planet. They can't show skin or clothes or hair. They can't even show half their faces sometimes. So what do they do? They dress up what they can show. Their eyes are always perfectly lines, they wear the most gorgeous abayas and they walk in these mincing little steps that can only be described as attractive. In short Saudi women are actually really goddamn alluring.


I claim that every city I've travelled to breathes differently. I'm not quite sure how Madinah breathes just yet. Dusty hot air, kajol, countless blackberrys. It breathes in ritual and the azaan, mosques by the dozen, a thousand stalls and a whisper, a promise of magic. But not quite religion, not really faith and hardly ever God.

Notes on Saudi Arabia - 1

Madinah

The women here are never alone. They're either with their husbands, weighed down by their many children or they travel together in parties of four or five and never less. I've been here two days. They come to the mosque for every prayer. Never alone. I wonder if there is time to think of God.

I certainly haven't given the concept much thought since I've been here. The days have passed in a blurry haze of desert heat and headscarves and going to the mosque every so often. I haven't really even been alone till now and now I'm looking, hunting for a pen and watching the man sitting on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette with barely concealed envy. Not just because of the cigarette but because he can. Can sit on the sidewalk and smoke a cigarette and not have to worry about his greasy hair.



The Masjid al Nabi is a little like a sports bar. Everyone goes altogether too much, drinks something from a tap and seem to be overwhelmingly fascinated by a phenomena that I am not completely comfortable with. And of course, if we continue to draw parallels between sport and religion, everyone judges you harshly for not being equally enthralled. And so while I sit here on the steps of the haram as the sky fades to a milky purple and the women around me bow their heads in prayer, I catch some looking at me sideways and knitting their eyebrows together.

A very fancy, very crowded sports bar.


It's a little intoxicating being here, watching all these women and all these headscarves rise and fall at the same time as if they're part of something bigger than themselves. It's a little scary that I find that comforting.

More later.

En route.

I'm not so into pilgrimage. In fact, until about five seconds ago I wasn't even entirely sure how to spell the word.

And yet today I am getting on a plane and flying the five hours to Saudi. To perform Umra. With my parents. Abaya and all.

Okay so that came off as a little angsty but I can't really write and youtube 'how to pray in Islam' at the same time. In the past three days I have learnt how to recite the four quls, pray, cover my head and perform wuzu. All the things I was taught at six, abandoned by twelve and now, six years down the road, make as little sense to me.

'Laqqum deenaqum waleeya din' is the only phrase from the Quran that I have ever quoted anywhere. 'To you your beliefs and to me mine' And now, once again, I am memorizing verses that make little sense to me and frankly it seems fake beyond belief.

And I don't believe in rituals. I firmly believe they suck all the spiritual out of everything. And as far as Islamic rituals are concerned, I believe they are irrelevant to my life. There are other ways to find faith. But then again, that's just me.

'Darling' says a friend on the phone 'Don't go as a believer. Go as an observer. You might just be surprised.'

Or maybe I'll just admire the buildings.

Notes to follow.

Ephesus

What remains of Ephesus

The library that led to the brothel

The Gate of Hercules

Rethinking (From the notes on Turkey)

18th July (Second day in Izmir)

Connections will find their way across maps, ride through deserts, swim past oceans. They will fade and be reborn. Differently maybe, but still there. Sometimes noticeable, sometimes misinterpreted, sometimes skittish. But always there.


'What is the caste system in Pakistan?'

I hesitated. How to answer such a question? The sun beat down in the Agora, my family stood around, taking pictures and walking on ancient Greek archways. The Izmir tour guide looked at me. Worlds away from Karachi.

I began 'Well....the flag is mostly green. Except for one column of white. The green represents Islam, the white represents other religions.'

'Ah. All are equal'

I paused again. How to explain what is the most fundamental problem in  my country? Not the economy or backstabbing politicians but difference.

'No' I said shaking my head. "All are not. Most cleaners are Christian. If they are slightly more educated then they become secretaries. Muslims scorn Hindu temples. We are not fair with them'

'But the Muslims are surely united.' He asserted. I nodded. Because to explain would have taken someone far more patient, far more articulate and perhaps even more intelligent than I. It seemed too complex to explain thecountless dividing lines within the Muslim community. Sunni vs Shia. Punjabi vs Balochi. The rich vs the poor. The generation gap. And then the outcasts. The eunuchs, the refugees and perhaps now (once again) the Ahmedis. Too complex to explain when the sun shone this furiously and there were excavation sites to explore.

How could I explain to him that like Mehta's Bombay, Karachi too is schizophrenic? It has multiple personalities, it struggles to understand itself.  Unable to pick it's battles, it chooses them all. All are opposed. All begrudged.

This was a different world. He would't understand.

'And then' I went on, unable to stop myself for some reason, 'There are those who own land. And those who work for them. And the landowners.....'

'Enter politics' He finished. My turn to nod. Here too? I wondered. In this little city of less than three million near the Aegean Sea? Surely not.

Later, at the archaeological museum, I spot a statue of a lion. The label underneath reads 'Aslan.' A memory stirred somewhere and I asked the guide whether Aslan was Turkish for lion. He shook his head, telling me it was Persian and that 'Sheyr' was actually Turkish for lion.

And there again. Sheyr was lion here. Sheyr meant lion in classrooms that were a six hour flight from here.

A man walked up to the guide, cigarette in hand. He smiled. 'Aatish?' I guessed what he mean even before the guide pulled out a lighter.

Had we kept talking, I realized, there were probably a thousand words we had in common. A thousand connections we could make with our Izmir tour guide right there in the museum of that ancient little town. Had we kept talking, I may have told him about Pakistan, about Karachi as it truly was. And he may just have understood.

From the notes on Turkey

15^th July (Third day in Istanbul)

I turned for what was maybe the tenth time. The hotel was probably just five minutes away. It had probably been just ten minutes since I’d left it. My family, blissfully unaware of where I was, was probably still sleeping.

I turned once more and found the main road.  Tourists, locals, people I couldn’t quite place mixed without mingling. All walking the same way but not on the same path. I stepped on to the main road, walked briskly towards the old university. The blue mosque rose against the horizon, the sun began its descent.

Istanbul.

Three days in this city and I’m completely infatuated. The desire to explore this city further and further is strong. To discover old cafes and little libraries.  Find people who not only knew its history but were part of it. To understand the ancient Turkish blood running through their veins.  See how the poor lived. And the rich. And those in between. The more I saw, the more I wanted to see.

‘I’ll live here for a while’ I tell myself now, staring out of the hotel window. Two doors down, a jazz musician plays at a café. I smile as the words dance across the paper and then as the pen sputters for a moment.

Istanbul, Istanbul, Istanbul. I could probably fall in love with this city forever.

16^th July

It is four pm and I’m outside the Lalei Universite, surveying the terrifically old building. I must look slightly odd, a girl in old jeans and a tshirt, staring at a university when the Hagia Sophia is a mere five minutes away.

This city breathes. Not the way Karachi breathes. Not the same dusty streets, quiet anger and loud joy, the ragged feet somehow willingly moving forward. Not the way New York must breathe either; exhaling ink, cigarette smoke, Broadway, schedules.  I’m convinced New York has coffee breath.  No, this is a different high. The city breathes in Western music, bits of English, inhales all facets of what we call modern life and in one long, proud exhalation (Scream? Yell?)  makes all we stand for seem trivial. Their music has poetry, their strange accented English is beautiful, the way they live should be a lesson for us.

Turkish tea, sheesha and history. Mosques built in 1075 are a two minute walk from McDonalds. People can wear shorts one day, caftans the next and no eyebrows would be raised. They pray in mosques older than their great grandparents and go clubbing on Friday nights. 99% of them are Muslim. I have never met happier Muslims.

The fact that a Church and a Mosque stand directly opposite each other is a testimony to tolerance. Neighbors for the past God-knows-how-many years,

Bosphorous tomorrow. More later.

Anticipation

Turkey in less than 24 hours =)

Yes, be jealous.

After all I've heard about the place this trip had better be epic.