Time to Say Goodbye!

Ammar Bin Yasir

Dear Readers,

The past three months have made me a celebrity of sorts in my mini world – a blogger with a small but regular readership. I can’t thank you people enough for being there. For reading my blog posts regularly (no matter how pathetic they were at times) and taking the trouble to comment on them; for being honest with those comments and helping me improve myself  as a publish writer with your apt encouragement and criticism.  I know I sound like a star cricketer with millions of fans, retiring from the game after an illustrious career. But trust me, for the first time in my life, I can relate to that feeling (sounds like an outrageous overstatement? Just get it over it for the last time!).

I’d like to thank Ms. Sadia Mehmood for coming up with this ingenious idea of letting us do something creative, interesting and stimulating. As a veteran internet user, I knew what a blog is, but never had any idea how it works and the fun behind it. Maam, thank you for making the course a fun-ride. Tehmina, our editor and administrator, it was your magic management that kept our blog miles away from all sorts of gisch-pich. You’ve been a wonderful team leader and manager. We are proud of you. To all my team members: Shumaila, Saman, Maimoona, Aden Atiya, Gufran, Sidra, Ayesha and mommy – Tehmina, I’d like to say that although it would be immodest to claim it so openly but deep inside we know that we are the best!!  

Good Bye!

NOTE: This is the last post of Chooran Chutny. Thank you all, for your time and feedback. We are surely wiser, then when we began three months ago, and hope that we formed a tiny bit of your lives that you are going to miss. Adios!

 Chooran Chutny Team

The longer you wait, the worse it gets

Ayesha Ahmad

Woohoo! This one last post and then none to worry about. Yes! I am finally and thankfully done and over with, with this assignment!

This very thought fills me with a gust of triumph and makes me heave a deep, deep sigh of relief.

Now this post, which I am currently trying to work on, was actually due like a week back. Why did I fail to submit it on time then, you ask?

Well, it is not as if I am incapable of writing down my ideas in a compelling and a clear manner nor is it that I do not have anything interesting to say. In fact, I have efficiently managed to produce a couple of fine pieces (at least that is what the appreciative feedback under those pieces convey to me). The only factor which keeps making me fall behind is my awful habit of putting off work beyond the due date. You got that exactly right-- I am a procrastinator. Big time!

It is solely because of this terrible procrastination that : (1) I could not make it to History's terminal examination last year (imagine the height of carelessness!); (2) I do not give in my assignments on time and end up losing marks which could have been easily attained; (3) I do not study for mids and then have to sit for an extra hour during the finals for a makeup; (4) I still have no idea about what to study for the exam in which I have to re-appear although I have only twenty days left until the exams start; (5) the moderator/ 'bossy' team leader of this blog assignment is furious at me and would have kicked me out of the 'strong and supportive' ( as quoted by Saman Hashmi in her blog "My blogging experience") team long time back if I were not one of her beloved friends.

Although I have become familiar with this flaw in my personality, I still make no such efforts to overcome it. I say so because even this very post almost did not get written.

Just when I was about to begin writing, I thought of looking up for a quote to make the introduction have a good hook and the 'like' tab on one of the quotes pages led me to Facebook, the much addictive networking site. I soon found myself stalking my friends' profiles, because of their weird yet appealing status and profile pictures, only to find out that I have already wasted more than an hour as time simply vanishes into thin air while facebooking. From there I landed on to Tribune and the things which I never bothered giving heed to started grabbing my attention like Afridi buying a cattle farm and the cases of Dengue fever in Pakistan to name a few.

The realization that another hour of delay might contribute in the rejection of this post struck me like a gush of cold wind when I received Tehmina's( the team leader) text message asking me if I had sent my post to her.

And now here I am trying to collect all my thought and expressing them in an intelligible fashion although I had almost started at 3 and it is 7 already!

Mr. Edward Young, you were so right! Procrastination is indeed the thief of time.

The Wait-mile

Maimoona Ejaz

Long gaps between classes in university can turn out to be dreadful. The entire library is, somehow coincidentally, always full when you have to wait for hours for a class and your only options involve either sitting in the scorching heat or in a small common room with an out-of-order air conditioner and a flickering tube-light. The only thing you are left to do for the remaining half of the day while you wait for your next class, is unwillingly be in the company of gossiping peers and over hearing their exaggerated stories.

Such breaks can be particularly terrible for students who are new to a specific place, don’t have anyone to talk to and can’t seem to fit into the scenario. They know that they have to wait for the class and no matter how long the wait, for the time being they have to sit alone, staring at others pass by, with their face in their hands trying not to fall asleep.

Some students, however, take their gaps for granted. It’s the only time of the day in university when they don’t have to study, can have a bite or two and can get their mind off the burden of their regular classes and workload.

The other groups of students who can’t be missed out are the nerds. They’ll study for a test all day and all night, during their breaks (whether they range from one hour to four hours) and still say that they won’t pass.  The worst part of the day for the nerds and the best for the anti-nerd-non-serious group is, when the teacher who was conducting the test doesn’t show up. All the efforts of the hard-working students go down the drain within split seconds while the others rejoice.

Security issues of cities in Pakistan are generally a major cause of these gaps as well. Students keep on waiting for their teacher to arrive and the teacher doesn’t tell the students as they themselves are uncertain whether they will be able to make it or not.

Gaps between classes can be rather unpredictable and one can only feel its true essence and pain when one experiences it. To be on the safe side, a favorite book or a newspaper or even a music player should be kept in the bag at all times. Who knows when you might need it? If not, then you are always welcome to sit and look around!

Operation Clean-up

Tehmina Qureshi

 It was ten-thirty at night when I received a text from Ahsan Bhai yesterday, to bring a sponge and detergent  today.  He wanted everyone to contribute and have the annual "operation clean-up" (no pun  intended) in the department. 

For our readers who haven't seen the department, let me describe it a little for you. The department is two years old, has a nice cone shaped cap of blue glass on the top that impresses all the new comers. One enters a big atrium that has corridoors on either side, and the back door straight up front. The atrium has black couches in its remotest corners and a few benches that keep moving inside and out the back. The atrium is always a buzzing with activity and also shelters the IDPs of other departments which ironically do not allow students to sit there if they don't have classes. So everyone turns up here, at Mass Communication, to eat, get Photostats, sit, talk or smoke.

So I was telling you about the Operation Clean-up. The department had gotten especially dirty lately. Hence, Ahsan Bhai, was badgering us all to clean out the department bit by bit this whole week.  Once everyone gathered in the morning and had their fixes of the bad tea that is sold at our little canteen, sponges, buckets, detergents, brooms were brought out, and a few of us attacked the Paan, tea and shoe stains on the pillars. While some were busy scrubbing the grime off the pillars others thought of removing the cobwebs that hung above them. My friend Sidra Gufran had brought a pink feathery duster which looked really cute when she climbed her little-self onto a chair to wipe the cobwebs off, but it did only that. The cobwebs were as resilient as the students who were cleaning them, and swayed this way and that but mostly stayed in their places.

 Seeing all the ruckus that was being created and how everyone had taken over hos job, the janitor thought of bringing the water hose inside. Once he did that, he thought of spraying the walls with it to get it off the cobwebs too. To be honest we were surprised at his efficiency, but then we figured out he was probably thinking of the week's holiday that he would get once this gets done.

 The water hose was the turning point of the whole operation. The water made it expand laterally and charged everyone into washing every bit of the atrium. Walls, corners, windows, floor, stairs was hosed off by Suleman, Fahad, me, and the janitor. While Fahad and I fought for the hose, Suleman provided the sound effects to match the barrage of water coming out from it. Every lizard that came out of the corners was chased till it ran out of the department or beaten with brooms.

 The IDPs and people not from the department came in to witness this spectacle and stood right in the middle of the atrium to take our pictures. It took a couple of sprays on their shoes to make them understand that they are getting in the way of our project-of-the-year. Our friends who were content with only watching, got themselves complimentary sprays of water on their clothes as well. Our Photostat man on the other hand, watched all this in absolute terror.

After all the water was wiped off, and the confused IDPs were able to walk to the canteen again, and things normalised a bit, somebody piped up, "Aaj to bohot maza aaya! Ab agla safai din aglay mahinay!". Then we went to the famous Sufi and stuffed ourselves with food. Cleaning had tidied up our appetites too!

Hurrah for student week

By Sidra Rizvi

I had been waiting for the student week to begin ever since the semester started. Not that I was interested in the events it offered; I was more excited about the class timings. As per notice, all classes were supposed to be over at 11. And since usually I have to wait till 4 o clock to go home I looked forward to this week more than anyone else.

So finally on the 25^th of October student week officially commenced. Different departments held different events to attract students. Some organized ‘melas’, some had food stalls while others made use of a microphone (or is it a megaphone?)to speak out some wise words to students who otherwise ignore them.

                                                                                                                

And then there was the department of Mass Communication. In its defence two of its three planned events were cancelled. Still not to be left behind, the over zealous Mass Communicators held celebrations like cheap day, cultural day and the not so famous blue day.

People were supposed to display their best cheapest look; however majority opted to look pretty instead. And some looked just the same. Credit goes to the first year students who went really creative with their costumes which were ingenious to say the least.

The drama festival was the planned event that went really well. The chief guest was Mr Qazi Wajid along with Mr Qasim Jalali. Clips from an old drama ‘Ba Adab Ba Mulazheza’ were played and then these two personalities talked about their experienced during this drama. Some questions were raised over the current dramas being played on air and them being no match for the old dramas.

The blue day was just a simple day where everybody had to wear blue. Some rebellious souls chose not to follow it and wore yellow instead. They were all generously forgiven for this offence and since they were in yellow, their ‘mayoon’ ceremony was held in advance. Students belonging to God knows which century sang old wedding songs, while the younger generation trying to keep up just clapped.

The cultural day started with students dressed up in various cultural dresses. Some were Sindhis, some were Punjabis and there were some Somalians too. Some students then all belonging to different cultures then sat in the middle of the department and peacefully began playing ‘carom’ and ‘ludo’. The wide variety of cultures mixed together left one wondering how great it would be if this country with all its colourful cultures too would unite and work (or play) together.

As quietly as it had arrived the student week died away into oblivion and classes once more were scheduled to take place regularly.

Dear Chooran

 Sidra Gufran

I am bored of writing about the university, I know it is our beat, but let's face it, it's been over done to the core. So, I thought for a change, I would write about something that would benefit mankind in general (read: my class fellows, juniors and some seniors).

We've been doing this assignment for over two months but nothing has been said in class about basic blogging ethics. Or, if there was then, I was probably taking a pleasure stroll in my very own lala land.

A follower of this blog, once brought me at the edge of my nerves by instigating and re-instigating me to reply to his comments, in the name of “basic blogging ethics”. I ended up fighting with him. Follower one, Sidrah zero. But thank you follower, because you made me explore a couple of links on blogging ethics since I belong to the Google world. So, yes, reading a couple of links on the topic automatically makes me an expert who can write a blog on it.

I also like to consider myself a journalist, so I reserve this post to journalistic blogging. The Society for Professional Journalists relates in its rule book “responsible bloggers should recognize that they are publishing their work publicly, and therefore, have certain ethical obligation to their readers, the people they write about and the society in general”.

Credibility is a must for blogging. This is one organisational structure where you are your own gate-keeper. Check and recheck your facts before you publish it. Your published work is like carving on stone. So never delete your post. What you've have posted is there to stay, and that it is why it is a good idea to think and rethink before you hit the publish button.

Do not lie about your identity, misquote a fact, rephrase a fact as an opinion or plagiarise it. It is true that the more eyeballs your content manages to roll, the more comments and followers you attract, but this is where you draw a line. Ethical journalism is ideally what we all are here to do.

Anonymity raises questions. So remain transparent about your identity. Own what you have written, and if a follower points out a mistake, accept graciously. The followers your blog attracts are basically like minded people who share similar perspectives gathered all together on a platform. Therefore do not disappoint them. Actively engage in comments and use this space to interact.

PS. With this one last post Chooran Chutney comes to an end. Followers and commentors, thank you for making this little venture a success. Chooran, you were a good candy. Ciao ragazzi.

Water trouble

By Shumaila Rais 

 I want to share a an interesting experience of mine with you.

One day our chair person, Rafia Taj, came and asked me, “Shumaila department mai Pani araha hai k nai?”  I was very surprised to find out that the chair person knew my name. I was confused. “Ji ma’am araha hai”, I answered in total bewilderment. 

 Actually this “pani scene” was a big fat joke amongst us friends. I could not understand how the chair person got to know about a joke that we shared, and to come out and ask me about it!. Let me share the pani scene with you guys.

There was shortage of water in the department and weather was very hot as well. We could not buy water bottles everyday because it gets expensive. We were thirsty, frustrated, and angry. So we went and nagged the "chamcha" of Rafia Taj, as we like to call him. Initially I went and told him that there was no water and he should something about it. I went again. He listened patiently. Then afterwards one by one every one of my friends went up and told the same thing till thhe man started shouting, "Mujhay pata hay pani nahi aaraha hay! Humayn bhi paani chahiyay hota hay! Nahi pata kab ayega pani! Mayn koi pani wala thori hoon!". There was still no water but we had managed to state our case, get rid of our frustration, and make that man go crazy which was the most pleasurable thing out of the whole situation which made us laugh till our stomachs hurt.

After a few days when the water problem was solved, the spoon-man came and said, “ab app ye nai bataeyay ga k aj pani araha hai”. 

Portrait of a writer as a writer

By Atiya Abbas

I am staring at the blank page before me and I am thinking about what to write. And then it hits me. Yes! A stream-of-consciousness piece would be a great idea. Of course, I cannot liken myself to the great stream-of-consciousness masters, James Joyce or Virginia Woolf but hey, it is worth a shot.

I once did this exercise for literature; trying to write freely about the senses with sustained attention for 10 minutes. I wrote everything about the fan and people coming and going to see how the action of the mind works and now, I am suddenly thinking as to why I didn’t take literature as a major or even a minor. I tell everyone that I wanted to keep a passion a passion, but shouldn’t one make a career out of what they love? That’s what most self help books say. I love literature…whoops there I go again staring into space, playing with my hair thinking about what to say because all this is starting to sound very clichéd. Think, think, think Atiya, what more can I say? Why not write about the blogging experience (now, there is something we have heard of before)? Nah…but I was telling Ayesha today that I don’t want this last piece to be about goodbye and all that because this is something that could materialize into something new if we try.

Wow, re-reading it again it does seem like a muddle of thoughts. I can just picture my fellow bloggers going through this, crossing out and fixing sentences, seeing how it is shaping it up. Sometimes there is a method behind the madness, but in writing there is no method, there is that ‘Eureka!” moment and sometimes it is “the sound and fury signifying nothing”…Oh way to go Atiya, literary references, that will make you sound so smart, NOT…and now I pause again thinking if that is too self-absorbed and weather my tone is coming off as sarcastic just like I want…don’t know if this will stay in the blog piece or not. Maybe by the time it goes up it will be completely changed. So there you have it, thoughts in their all their raw nature…I think that line in my brain just went straight now.

There's always a Price to pay...

Ayesha Ahmad

Our mentors, teachers, seniors, counsellors, and employers have always advised us to get involved in extra curricular activities and attend as many workshops as possible. As more the certificates, the finer your resume`. Therefore, when there was this workshop on investigative journalism, organized by the department, we were all too eager to become a part of it. The enthusiasm was not only due to the new tactics of journalism that we were going to learn but also because of the attainment of the much desired certificate without paying even a single penny in the name of the registration fee!

So, when the clock struck eleven on Thursday two weeks back, I bunked my dreadful History class and, with a lot of fervour and zeal, headed towards the auditorium with two of my other friends who were nearly as excited about this event as me. Upon entering the cool, air conditioned room, we soon realized that we were late, and in order to get room in the front we ended up cramming ourselves on a two-seater. After all the hustle and bustle, when we looked around, we saw people with neat blue folders, ball point pens, writing pads and other accessories like dandy bookmarks and brochures to name a few. That bit got us agitated but after going through some oddities, even we managed to get our hands on those 'captivating' supplements.

Once we settled down and felt that we were ready to get the knack of this amusing branch of journalism, droopy eyes and discreet whispers made us conscious of the tediousness revolving around the whole space. This interesting yet idiotic realization was followed by the hideous photo session via cell phones and incessant laughter over the wierdest matters. So much so, even the guest speaker took notice of this and shook his head while looking at us for a wakeup call. However, as stubborn as we are, we kept ourselves occupied with our crazy nitty gritties without paying any heed to whatever was going on around us.

The refreshment box given at the end of the event indeed made all the boredom worthwhile!  

 

Foreing students discuss their concerns with KU's Media Officer

Aden Dahir Salad
Karachi, October 27, 2010: Foreign student representatives from various disciplines of Karachi University met with the uninversty's Media Representative Officer to discuss their problems.

Meeting was held at the Administraion building Media Representative Officer of KU, Farheen Zehra, presided over the meeting. Other issues discussed included academics and envioronment.

Ms. Zehra sympathised with the concerns of the students and promised to forward them to the student advisor of the varsity.                       

The representatives highlighted their major problems of language barrier and lack of basic facilities in the hostels of both boys and girls. 

My blogging experience

Whoopee! As soon as I’m going to hit the send button this blog assignment will be over. Nothing can make me more content and euphoric than this thought! Not that I hate this virtual world of blog but it still gave me creeps because its purpose was purely academic. 

Eager, as  I am to get rid of this assignment,I’m not really sure how it would feel like not be part of a very strong and supportive team. How would it feel not to have a bossy team leader who has imposed hard and fast rules for meeting deadlines and making you work on time unlike the way you have done your assignments previously? How would it feel not to wait for the bittersweet, encouraging feedback on your posts? I wonder what it would be like. And my instinct says I will miss it. 

This blogging business turned out to be a whole new experience for me. At the beginning I had difficulty coping with it. It was not just writing and submitting your posts, it was more about being logical and creative about your writing, being aware of the readers’ interests, especially being patient with the weird, illogical comments of anonymous users. Still I’m grateful to all of them who commented whether to criticize or encourage. As I got to learn a lot from the feedback I received.

 All in all, it was a bittersweet experience. I feel obliged to thank our course in charge to have given us this opportunity to articulate our thoughts openly without any restrictions. One thing I’m sure about is everyone who had done this assignment is going to feel nostalgic about it someday.

Eyes on the Prize

By Atiya Abbas

A couple weeks back, there was an interesting debate raised in the “Media and Modern World” class. Of course, being in that class it always means that there will be some interesting nugget which will provide food for thought.

Miss Sadia Mehmood said that once you fashion your lives around long-term goals it will be easy to bypass any small obstacles in your path in the present. In that journey one has to be selfish in order to achieve something. One class fellow piped up that why should we be selfish? That is not the correct way. We should be helping all those who need our help and take everyone along.

Pondering on it, I feel that once we don’t define our goals, we will be left blaming present-day hurdles for all our problems. Nowhere can this lesson be more aptly learnt than in KU where every effort to do something good has to pass through a series of “red-tape” in order to get somewhere. One has to get this signed, get that application, some attestation, some stamp, some letter in order to take one infinitesimal step to getting somewhere. It this journey that truly teaches us the importance of long term goals and remembering that to get through this, whether “this” be a compulsory class, or walking for miles to one department to get facts for a report or visiting sponsors for a seminar is all adding up to the master goal one has set out for themselves. To illustrate I can give the example of two of our class fellows. If they had thrown in the towel thinking (like I was guilty of) “Fine, that teacher is not available for the recommendation I wouldn’t bother applying for the scholarship” they wouldn’t be in the U.S today gaining new experiences. If at that moment they thought “I don’t want to wait till two! It’ll take forever!” they wouldn’t be looking at the bigger picture. That “big picture” is what Miss Sadia taught us to define for ourselves in class that day.

However, if in reaching that master goal, emotions get in the way it can spell trouble. And they will, there is no doubt about that. We are all human and to not feel would make us lesser beings. But remember that sometimes a cry for help from an esteemed one is just a plea from them to listen. Be that listening support and everything will take care of itself. People know what they have to do, you just have to be there to listen and let everything take care of itself.

If one truly wants to learn what goals are and how to achieve them, a semester at KU is enough for teaching them that. It is a crash course in personal development and you won’t even have to read all those self-help books in order to attain that sense of achievement!

Your Plan-B is my Plan-A!

By Tehmina Qureshi

 I felt a surge of anger as the girl, sitting beside me in a workshop, described her saddest moment when asked by the moderator. She said that not being able to get admission in a medical college on merit. So, she came to Mass Communication instead! Journalism, which has not the remotest connection to medicine, was her second choice. It was her plan-B.

 Same is the case with about 60% of the people who come to study Mass Communication. In my batch, out of 40 people, more than 30 are girls. No offence to anyone, but approximately 25 of them did not intend to study Mass Communication at all. For many of them this was their second choice, after medicine or any other field. There is another girl who took admission and studied for a whole year. A year later she sat for the test for medicine again, and left. Apparently she wanted a place to spend her "farigh" days and she did that at the cost of someone else's place on merit for admission in Mass Communication.

In the workshop I talked about earlier, almost all fell down to social sciences after their merit fell short for medicine. Almost every girl's saddest moment was not being able to study medicine. All I wanted to do was jump from my chair and ask them why in the world didn't they try again? If they were doing it because of family pressure then shouldn't they be glad that they were saved by fate from studying something that they did  not want to for the rest of their lives?

  For these girls, journalism maybe just another subject to study to have a degree. For me it is something I want to do for the rest of my life. My plan-A, is their plan-B.

Here it is

Mohammed Ammar Bin Yaser

That day Sir Humair Istiaq explained the concept of ‘nose for news’ to us. It’s one of the essential characteristics of a reporter: the ability to smell and question any wrongdoing around him or her that is usually overlooked by a layman, and put it in perspective by exploring the idea in detail then developing a story out of it. The idea hit me. I thought it’s actually easy to intelligently write about anything as long as the facts are correct and the story can be put in perspective.

I came home excited but caught cold, and my head started to ache. My nostrils got blocked so I was unable to smell any object whatsoever, let alone situations. In other words, I was sick so I didn’t feel like to write. But I didn’t stop toying with ideas. I thought I should write about the interminable load-shedding we bore on Wednesday. But then thought no, it sounded clichéd. They happen all the time. I wanted to unravel some juicy scoops about departmental corruptions that are open secrets among students in the department but are never written about or discussed formally. Then I thought, I shouldn’t get entangled in needless controversies.   

But I didn’t give up. I thought I should dream up some phony news story and let it go. Something like: Somali Student Claims to be Obama’s Cousin. And make a hilarious news report out of the headline. But I wasn’t in a funny mood. So I sat down with a single purpose in mind: to write a blogpost not more than three paragraphs long, that is coherent, intelligible and which crisply explains my situation. And here it is.

Somali Medical Union conduct a seminar in KU

By Aden Dahir

A one-day seminar on diabetes and hormone diseases was organized by Somali Medical Union Pakistan, Karachi chapter, which was held in the University of Karachi this week.

The monthly awareness seminar focused on how to deal with patients having diabetes mellitus and how the disease can be prevented.  The speakers gave consultations and suggestions regarding diabetes and emphasised the need to hold such awareness programs regularly.

 The chairperson of Somali Medical Union Pakistan, Dr. Farah Mohammed Shirawe, presided over the program. Students from Pharmacy, and MBBS, including post-graduates delivered presentations and lectures on the diabetes and hormone diseases.

SMU was formed in 2001 and holds one such awareness seminar once a year.

Our Wise Old Neighbour from Iran

By Sidrah Gufran Roghay

If you have been a part of the department of mass communication then it is impossible to miss the merry go lucky owner of the busiest corner of the building, with his twinkling eyes and charcoal curls that he sometimes ties in a pony tail. One of the earliest persons to come to the department, way before the office staff and at times the sweepers and known for his sing-song  "Kya Lain Gay Aap". Students love him for his honesty, wit, and sagacity that several years of studies cannot buy.

As a first year when I was new to the department I was impressed by the way he would always dust his shoes before he entered, pick up dustbins that lay fallen down and give free advice to passing students. There is a whole corner of his canteen dedicated to personal belongings of students, for he is trusted by many.

Many a times he would talk to me about how media through sensationalization was depriving our nation of hope. For a man who had hardly received any formal education I found his arguments solid, having weight.

Wanting to know more about his life I decided to have a heart to heart with this lovely man, our Abdul Bhai. I know he belongs to Iran since he is always talking me into lending him my little Alto to visit Iran. I must add at times I am tempted to do so. Often he tells me about the adventures of the journey. "We sit in a four-wheeler, which charges twelve hundred per person. It takes about eleven people at a time. Once we reach the border we drive very fast, for if an official catches us we're in for deep trouble. Once inside Iran, no one stops you."

He tells me he was born in a small village Niqoor, in the Balochistan province of Iran. Since there hadn't been any rain in the area for several years and he largely cultivated for a living, he along with his family decided to migrate to Karachi.

And when was that? Well this was one hard question for him. Bad with his dates he twitches his little button nose, and reminisces the past. "I witnessed the 65 war in Karachi, so it must have been somewhere around 1958", he recalls. Barefooted and empty pocketed then, he started his schooling in a government school in Shantinagar, where he had hardly completed grade nine when he traveled back to Iran to work as a cook's right hand on a small fishing ship.

Fate brought him back to Karachi. Its funny how he remember dates according to the political situation in Pakistan. "I came back when Bhutto Sahib was hanged, in search of a better job prospect."

After staying in Pipri for three years where he earned a living through dispatching sacks of rice, he came back to Karachi. This was when he finally entered Karachi University in 1982. He started working in the Central Cafeteria. He talks about the good old times when the campus was a vast desert full of thorny bushes, wild animals, and few departments. My favourite story is the one about the  deadly snake; he calls it an annaconda, which took lives of many dogs (and not humans). This he recounts is the sole reason for the decline of dogs in Karachi University.

After another couple of years his roots called him back and he returned to Iran.

His journey too and fro from Iran is a regular part of his life, and narrating each trip will simply bore my dear readers, so I fast forward it to the time when he entered the department of Mass Communication. "I came here three years back. Khursheed Sahib brought me here. He's the clean shaved fair guy who sits in the office." He secretly confides to me that he thinks he is very handsome."

I count back to his date of birth, which was roughly in the mid fifties, and I realize he must be a man in his mid or even late fifties. His short, petite body, brisk gait and happy face largely minus these years from his face. So what is the secret behind your fitness? He breaks into his well known chuckle and remarks "meri khushi meri sehat ka raz hai." He never gets angry he tells me. "I never shout at my children, and I hate people who beat up their children."

And what is it that you like about Karachi University? He laughs then stays quiet for a very long time, and then shares his wise owl wisdom with me. "Theres nothing I like or dislike about the university." Difficult to comprehend I decide to leave this matter to the reader's comprehension, and with this wise note I sign off. This was my interpretation of the life of Abdul Bhai, our well loved canteen wala from the country next door!

Storm in a teacup

By Sidra Rizvi

It all started with a simple question; "does everyone in your group have equal number of blog posts?" Then the dark clouds gathered. Lightening struck, and the thunder was heard as far as the chair person’s office. 

Another usual class of ‘Media in the Modern World’ had begun. Tempers flew high, fingers were pointed, some tears were shed and of course careless giggling was audible.

The storm had officially hit the classroom. Tea spilt everywhere. The famous symbolic teabag was seen flying in the air.

Questions about who should do what, and who should accept responsibility were circling around. The importance of every single mark was discussed. The need to work as a team was stressed upon. Comparisons between everyday instances and experiences during the blog assignment were made.

Everyone was busy sharing their opinions. It was then the Chooran Candy bloggers began feeling left out. They were missing the entire action. Some were busy messaging, some were yawning wildly while some were looking hungrily at the contenders, wondering if they too will get a slice of the wedding cake or a sip of the tea rather.

As more dark clouds assembled, claims of controversial unposted blogs were made. Not wanting to miss the tea party, a student plunged into the cup head first. He did not make it out unscathed however. A link between him and the previous plunger was tried to be established, and all efforts failed.

The questioned asked above was still left unanswered while many more sprang up. "Is it important for everyone to submit an entry on their appointed day?" was the new question. "What would happen if he/she failed to do so?" was part ‘b’.

An example of an empty seat on a bus and its competitors was given, which satisfied some. Others merely grunted, some laughed since they had nothing else to do.

 While the deprived candy bloggers still unable to take part, decided that they must come up with something to fight about in the next class. Whispering quietly to each other they scheduled an audition and rehearsal later in the day to determine who can play what role.

Amidst the heated discussion and the erupting ashes from Mount Etna promising the forthcoming lava, the creaky door opened. The teacher for the next class peeped in. Time stopped. An eerie silence overtook the class. As if with a spoon, the storm in the teacup was stirred away, and preparations for the mid term began.

A " Good " Student's University Life

By Saman Hashmi

Getting admission in your desired University is like a dream come true, but you never know when this dream transforms into a “nightmare”. Speaking of dreams, I had a dream once, of higher education in the most preferred- University of Karachi. Now I wonder whether I dreamed about studying or not to study at all.

Let us have a peek into lives of apparently ‘good’ students. Being ‘good’ students we will never know the schedule of our classes but you can count on us when it comes to our friends’ birthdays. What else is more important than robbing our friends of every single dime by forcing them into treating us at Pizza Hut? What else is more compelling than attending late-night Sunday party, ignoring the upcoming test the very next day?

The transition from college to university life is like reallocating from a pond to an ocean. There are no uniforms, no early morning assemblies, (apparently) no homework, no PTMs (Parent Teacher Meetings). Or you can simply put it as: your imprisonment is over! You don’t have to wake up at 6am sharp, anymore. Your new sun rises at 8 am. There are no teachers, but elderly, qualified, hard-working (don’t remember anymore adjectives) professors. Well, that’s something else that when they come and scribbles something on the blackboard and utter some unfamiliar words, you doze off, snoring unaware of the world around you. Similarly, purpose of notebooks changes; they are for playing tic-tac-toe or chatting with your mates rather than writing. Libraries are considered to be haunted houses. ‘Good’ students like us don’t even dare to think entering into such forbidden places.

A ‘good’ student kills time bunking classes, sitting in cafeteria, or simply goggling around if nothing hits. The principal is a ‘dude’, whom you have never seen. You imagine him to be an old, bald-headed guy with spectacles. Of course, while some students never get to meet this man in question, there are other unlucky ones who meet him often, more often than they desire! Believe me, it’s not a very good experience.

Do you know simile of graveyard? I know, it’s lecture halls and classrooms. But soon ring tones from every corner can be heard, or paper planes start flying over your head. A chalk will land on your book and that haunted graveyard has been converted to a disco-of-sorts. University hours end, and the mob goes for lunch, after that to the shopping malls, parks, etc. and finally home. Then you always have time to watch movies and talk to friends on cell.  What about sleep? Well, that is managed in the class the next day. But later comes an announcement that it’s an off tomorrow for some boycott, or simply because it’s K.U. So you now have entire day to doze off at home.

Jokes apart, university is about doing something useful while enjoying it. I believe university life is the time, when one can learn a lot of things apart from academic education. As it is said that we live and we learn. So here we not only live but live to the fullest, adding experience to our lives and employing them whenever needed. This is when you can be of maximum help to your friends, your society, and your country. Because you are the future, the tomorrow, the revolution that can change the world. Each day at university is an experiment, and the result of each such experiment is experience. Use this experience to move ahead in life. In this way we truly educate ourselves.

I have nothing to write, but I have to!

By Shumaila Rais

My blog-fellows covered almost all the good topics. Therefore, I don’t have any good ones to write on. But as this blog is a part of an assignment, I have to write and email something when my turn comes, to my group leader. 

According to our Ma’am, writing is not a big deal. Whenever any of us talk about it or ask about a topic to write on, she says, “Blog likhna koi mushkil nahi hai, sirf teen paragraphs likhne hote hain sirf teen paragraphs, kuch bhi likhdo bhai”. Once she said, “Why isn't anyone not writing an article on this stupid sentence?? (That was written on the gate of class room),  and recently, my class fellow failed to submit his article. Then she said to him “why are you not writing on this tea bag?? (Which was lying on the floor of department but it was not inside or nor outside? )."

Writing is not so difficult but writing on a specific topic is an ordeal for me. Perhaps I am not used to  it. The most difficult thing is to decide and interesting topic to blab on. Well, Ma’am Sadia Mehmood is a teacher and for me she is a good one, but writing on anything is easy for her say,  but its not that easy for us students. Even many good students are now sick of this blog writing. But I am dead sure about that fact that these writings will definitely help us in our professional life. With that hope it will be my second last article after that I have to write just one more. So I have start thinking about the topic for last one.

 I am not in the mood to write anything more so I think I should finish this article. And I know most of you, or perhaps all of you won’t like it but as I mentioned earlier I have to write because it’s the only matter of marks for us!!

The Call of Nature

By Maimoona Ejaz 



A tiring day in class, a boring lecture, a self-praising teacher; combine them all and you get the usual university day! Every student has been through this regardless of his age, gender, country of residence or grade. Its days like this when you wish you could run back home, take a break or a nap in class, or, if conditions get real bad, you may even want to BUNK.  These are some of the instantaneous solutions that might come in a normal student’s brain. Doing so, however, can get them in a lot of trouble. They need a place where they can be free, Utopia, a safe haven, going to which won’t even be a problem-The washroom!

This is a fact throughout the world; no teacher can deny their student from going to the washroom. Students these days misuse this “weakness” of teachers. Going to the washroom is a mere excuse to get out of class these days. Students tend to take “the long way” from and back to the classroom so that they can escape more time of their lecture.

Some students, however, think differently. They wish not to miss even a fraction of a second of their class as even an atom’s bit of information may come in the examination. They go to the washroom just to respond to the call of nature and try to do it as fast as they can.

The worse part of the day for both types of afore mentioned students: An engaged washroom! What will the ultimate nerd of the class and the backbencher do now? Neither can the studious kid go back to his class until he accomplishes his “mission”; nor can the non-serious one find a good place to spend his time without being in danger. The even worse part for both of these types of students- they have to be with each other, unwillingly, in the same place, for the same purpose: waiting for one of the occupied ones to become vacant. The intellectual and the non-serious of the class are most likely to despise each other. What could be worse for them than being together? The uninterested type may answer this one themselves. As for the serious type, they may end up crying by something that most would consider a plain practical joke; being locked INSIDE the washroom!

Reading between the lines

By Aden Dahir Salad 

The art of reading between the lines is as old as civilisation.

 The brain we have is unconscious.  We read a lot of handouts during mid-terms and terminal papers but after the paper all the handouts and dates are automatically eliminated from the brain storage. The reason is clear... WE ARE NOT READING BETWEEN THE LINES... There is a number of students who are reading between the linestoo, but the majority leads.

The intensity of reading is strong, we have internet, online library,traditional library and so on. But the internet is for Facebooking, Twittering, Live messenger chatting, and Yahoo! chatting. That means Wikipedia has no chance until the assignment submission date is near, and at that time you see the students are texting each other and asking questions like, "what did Sir Moons say in class? What is the submission date of Sadia Mehmood’s assignment? What about Sociology paper?", etc. After that, Wikipedia and Cyclopedia are their best friends till the assignment is submitted. After that the students will go back to Facebooking and Twittering.

Being a student is a fantastic job. I am proud to be a student, I am also very proud  to be a Mass Communication student. Dear classmates this article is just about the funny life that we are in. The encouragement comes from Aden, your classmate from Somalia, that just reading  between the lines and not out of them.

                                                     

Every single student in the department caring some books or handouts along with his/her cell phone, the handout is carried but not cared while the cell phone text message is carried and cared.

H.I. & I

By Ayesha Ahmad

It was the dawn of another typical, slow-moving day in the department. Our valued seniors were either busy cracking up on every lamest joke by their idle peers, sitting on the benches which now have mites stuffed in their matresses, or getting tea/coffee from the canteen which is always suffering from food deficiency . While, us, the know-it-all juniors were busy strolling the entire department for the sake of increasing our public relation or to have some brainless tete-a-tete with the newly arrived juniors (except for me, that is).

As for me, I was 'almost' busy sofa-napping when all of a sudden, without any such warning, we all saw Humair Ishtiaq on his way for his 'media and society' class- our major course for the third semester. 

Now for people who are not familar with Sir Humair Ishtiaq, he is an asset to our department. Besides being one of the most esteemed teachers, he is also frequently talked about amongst the Mass Communicators to be as the only teacher who actually makes them do something practical.

Alright, I wholly acknowledge the fact that this teacher of ours is an expert in his crafts but, in my eyes, he is also an expert at being EXTREMELY boring. And to top it off, the moustache under his nose hardly help in understanding the words mouthed by him.

So getting back to where I was, I told my partner-in-crime, Sidra, that I was in no freaking mood of taking his mundane class that day. However, she managed to pull me inside the class nevertheless, and made me sit cozily on a seat next to hers. I was sleepy as it is.

Actually, I am one of the biggest sleepy heads you can find. I sleep whenever I can, whether I am bored, sad or angry as I find it relaxing and all my worries just seem to fade away. Sleeping is my hobby and I find nothing weird about that.

So, while Sir Humair continued with his 'unidentified' approach towards politics, I ably engaged myself in being driven to a  world of wonderland which was filled with fields of daffodils and houses made out of candy canes. Yes, I had fallen asleep once again! And that too in front of Sir Humair...imagine the complexity of the situation.

 I was the pointed out, humiliated, and was asked for giving my face another wash as if that would have made any difference. Simply put, I was kicked out from Sir Humair's class. I, being helpless, first apologized and then eventually left the class for a cup of coffee from that food deficient cafe.    

 

The “sense” of touch

By Sidra Gufran

It was a “farigh” day at the university when after the Math paper I was perched on a bench at the smoker’s corner talking, to some class-fellows about regional politics, coffee and organ donation. Across the glass door, inside the department, there was another group sitting, discussing “Aafia Siddiqui”. It was one heated discussion. On the stairs by the canteen a blog meeting was going on. And somewhere (I heard) a group of girls with a complaint about a teacher was vowing to go to the chair person and get its rightful share of marks which they thought they deserved.

As the clock struck twelve, (the sub-continental superstition attaches special meaning to this) a “kho kho” wave spread through the department. Within seconds two teams were formed, queries about the rules and “what is kho kho?” to Bengali born friends were answered, and people were dragged to positions.

The game began.

“Kho per kho” was the strategy adopted by the standing team. The kho was passed on to the “plan starter bhai”, then a short guy who is also famous as my twin, and then a fair, spiked dude. He reached out to grab a tall, bespectacled girl and then stopped in mid air and declared, “Isko pakrun kaisay?”

There were torrents of laughter. And then a well respected senior solemnly proclaimed that he could pat her on the head. Like Muslims comply to Mufti sahibs we nodded our heads in unison and got back to our positions. The game resumed.

The same spiked fair dude was running. Amidst the hullabaloo of people shouting “kho karo” he stood behind a girl and announced “kho!”.

She remained unmoved.

He shouted “kho” again, this time louder.

She did not budge.

 “Why are you not poking me?” came the innocent reply.

Laughter broke again. While the former remained adamant on the fact that he will not touch a female the latter insisted that this was against the rules.

Negotiations began. To touch or not to touch, that was the question! Suggestions of using a ruler and handkerchief were thrown at the poor guy. After much hue and cry the game began with renewed fervor...and then the “guardians of faith” propped up  and declared “kho kho” was “fahash”.

We all dispersed.