When a new food-chain franchise hits a two-storey building on M M Alam Road, the “modern food-street” lives through days and days of traffic jams and unending queues, and all in good spirit. For essentially the people are coming there to get there tummies filled with some juicy sauces or some exotic froth drinks. Likewise, when a Ted event hosted by Kinnaird College on November 7, 2015, the need, rather the greed to cater to our empty, gurgling selves begins to simmer down. Hundreds of applications are filled and a mere proportion of them are the fortunate ones to get selected as the “attendee”. It was a starry night-sky when I got my acceptance email. Frankly, I didn’t know what a Ted talk was a mere few weeks back when I was filling its form; “the questions were quite challenging and invigorating” – that being the only reason why I submitted it, and a friend’s persisting insistence of course.
The speakers were rather interactive with the audience, not in terms of gauging a verbal response from the latter, rather being driven into delivering a very inspirational speech, by the steady and sturdy focus of the audiences’ ears and eyes. It was a treat to watch the spectators being fully immersed in may it be listening to Raza Naeem’s reading of Manto’s essayor Forman Symphonic Strings playing “Spanish Alley”(Three Musketeers) en un violin. The theme for this event was “Redefining Limits”, and in the words of one of the speakers, Arfa Chaudhry, “I got inspired not by the positive remarks I received, rather the negative criticism sneered at me”.
Nabeel Qadeer’s idea of “exceeding your own expectations” was visually explained, on a projector screen, by a mountain-cyclist risking – from the tiny camera recording his ride through no visible tracks to his own life – everything, in short. For limits were being defined to out-do yourself. Raza Naeem’s dramatic narration of Manto’s “Allah ka badda fazal hai” (By the grace of God) highlighted the norms of society – from music, art, literature and even the newspapers – would be censored and banned to literally create a ‘land of the pure’, and ironically, this became readily acceptable by its people. Even today, the most peaceful channel on our cable television is PTV!
Roohullah Gulzari, a graduate from UET despite his Hazara ethnicity stood out with just his words, expressing his desires directed towards a peaceful reconciliation among the natives, focusing mainly the youth. He himself became an emblem of his own theory: a young lad who blogged his opinions – for whom the pen was surely mightier than the sword.
Saifullah Minhas, a 21-year-old junior at LUMS whisked away waves and flames of enthusiasm, of inspiration. He narrated his story worth-saying stellar, which was not “an over-night success”. Driven with the motivation of not closing down their “khokha” come what may, they closed it down. For 10 days, the other three founders and he listed down their errors, and in the twilight of their business-cessation, they outgrew their faults. With no employee at hand, and a mere PKR Rs 20,000 cash, the foursome were compelled to tend to their “nutella naans” and “cheese naans” all by themselves. In hindsight, their closure was the focal point of their building success today.
Forman Symphonic Strings, an ensemble of musicians studying in various departments at FCC comprised Hamza Butt, Muhammad Hassan Haider, Qasim Zafarand Azriah Wilbur John. A bio-chem student being the lead violinist of this fledgling band, Butt diligently explained their on-going journey, which brought them here today. Playing in the grounds and beside the café at FCC on weekends with no one to sway with their rhymes, apart from the spurring sparrows in the azuresky, or to yield themselves, to relinquish their earthly souls to those “principles of harmony”, these euphonious artists of lyricism made tunes worth a lot more than a timeless dime.
Haider the fiddler, a literature student, in his throaty, theatrical voice claimed “Ladies and gentlemen, we made noises: loud abrasive, scratchy noises” every time he drew a bow across the strings, till his tunes were finally honed. His skillful rhapsody with the violin resting on his arm got transported to his rhetoric, “Ladies and gentlemen” every time he made a similar appeal to the ever-eager audience, accentuating a laugh or two from within them, on it.
An hour long break was granted to the audience and the speakers, because everyone had exhausted their glucose in speaking and listening to the high-ended enthusiasm built inside Hladia Hall. Eat Out Loud, a food truck company had its truck parked in the basket-ball court and they had chocolate cupcakes as a complementary dessert for every one present on that occasion.
Arfa Chaudhary and Rehan Bashir, two speakers from completely distinct provisions of life were two encapsulating speakers. The former a national taekwondo black belt champion along with being an accomplished sitarist, having performed at Nescafe Basement’s Season 3, with the latter being a cousin of Kamiar Rokni, a designer at The House of Kamiar Rokni and a kathak dancer, emphasized on one essential subject: how our pretentious society plays an immense part in defining us being a woman and a man, respectively. Rehan Bashir, along with his three musicians redefined his scope of being a man.
Kathak is one of the elitist forms of dance, being a sacred realm of discourse for many communities in the subcontinent. Sitting in the left wing of the audience, my mind throbbed with painful accusations whenever it went to raising an eyebrow when I saw a man dancing to the tunes of “Ta – Dhai – Dega` – Dega` – Dhai”; stamping his feet in accordance to it; the “chan chana` chan” of the “ghungaroo”.
If I may, why does this dance always lose its divine rhythmic essence and takes us back to the steaming sin-streets of “androon shehr”; it enchanted part of the audience while meticulously extracting a questionable stare from the other part? Why is this dance which, inherently like a ballet, requires a precise foot movement and a grace in your upper limbs considered an appalling performance by a man of this stature? Why, in its very light, do the very same critics, on a very pressing note, attend “Mehndi” functions and participate in its paraphernalia with complete vigour and exuberance? Probably because poor, old, classy Kathak has a history attached to it? And our wedding dances are still in the process of forming an even more formidable history? Let’s backlash and blame time now, for traveling so enticingly slow, for it certainly has made a larger population fall for the ordinary dance, so to say.
Returning to the event itself, in the words of our youngest speaker Arfa, the other day, “It’s amazing how you never find a brilliant person who does all those things at once”, while pointing a finger to herself. All said in good humour, the ones listening to her had a real good laugh.
Once back inside, Ambreen Zia’s strong, riveting strings on feminism were enough to break a round of applause from the female and the male audiences. A formidable woman who had challenging ambitions was sufficient herself to stir within the thoughts of the attendees, a vessel of righteousness and integrity for the women. Her self-driven motivation was focused not only in the alleys of Pakistan and its suburban areas rather the streets and creeks of Middle East’s hub, Turkey.
Saba Mohsin, an autism mom, made the said disease something to look forward to. For the sake of her three year old son, she joined him in his depraved state of mind, by taking a prescribed pill which would make her alienated from the world and its limitation, only to be united in the peripheral existence her son lived in. She countered the “monsters” in her life as she shunned the snarky scorns from the people around her, friends and family inclusive. Why is it that a person who steps out of bounds must be defined as out of bounds? This – this lack of acceptance in our up-bringing feeds these slugs who suck the delightful nectar of life out of them.
Bakhtawar Bilal Soofi, the grandson of Dr M A Soofi, wasthe founder of Next Generation Pakistan (NGO) and a lawyer, was quite an advocate for the equalization of education institutes in Pakistan. He was one of the few speakers that evening who were able to prick a nerve in the audience, when he made them raise hands if they had ever been to a madrassah, or a public school for that matter. The meagre, or at one point, nil hands raised was a defining moment for the audience, who could feel their own stares gazing disapprovingly at their drooped shoulders.
Noor Rehman, who was selected as an attendee speaker had a very intrinsic approach to re-evaluating our usage of words and phrases. A casual word that is mostly on the tip of our tongues, “I can’t” is actually more powerful than people realise. It’s what determines how we see ourselves and how we reflect on our actions and achievements. Like she said then “It’s what makes all the difference between looking in the mirror and seeing a person with pimples, or personality”. Quite an analogy, one would say, but all’s fair when it is clear. She went on to emphasise, “Instead of saying I can’t, we take a second instead to think ‘can’t I?”. Because if we’re going to talk about redefining limits, then we should take a second look at the phrase that defines those limits in the first place”.
The speakers concluded on that note, followed by a group picture of the speakers and the crew. A huge round of applause from every inch of the circular hall, one for the other, and that was adieu for all.
One does begin to contemplate if they are the other being, sitting on the other side of the hall, and being on the receiving end, rather than the giving one. In all its essence, it certainly remains quite stagnant to sit in one position and have your ears and eyes strained by the red and black theme of TEDx. But what made this year’s event hosted by Kinnaird College superbly remarkable was its infusion of distinct performances like Kathak, orchestra of violinists, dramatic reading. It took the event on a pretty high note of singing, a fairly extravagant manner of performing arts and a visibly strong yet subtle swoops of smooth dancing.
When a father no more remains your hero, not because he was caught in some filthy act but because he was trapped in an even grotesque cage of old-age; when an elderly guardian is no longer beside you to supervise; when there’s no one to lay down your uniform for school in the morning; when that someone is lying on a ventilator and you don’t know whether to keep him alive that way, or to listen to the savage berths of your heart and have it taken off, such moments, they redefine you; add another layer to you; another mask, perhaps. Or, they strip you off your vulgarity. You can fly off in eternity in both these monarchies. The sage would savour them for they are like shooting stars, never to be seen again and gone just too soon. Those who do make a wish there and then, are blessed with the gift of hope, of belief, and in a world like today’s, which in essence remains no different than Nietzsche’s, hope n’ belief are rare commodities.
