A DRIVE TO
MISSISSAUGA/TORONTO AREA
(A Travelogue,
Nov. 2002)
Stephen
Gill
Mississauga and Toronto are the hubs of cultural
activities in Canada, next to Vancouver
in British Columbia. These metropolises are the hubs of business activities as well. Most of my friends
lived there. It may take a drive of two hours through the nerve-wrecking rush
hours to see any of them even
within the city. Moreover, streets as
elsewhere in Canada, become
messy in winters. It takes time to put on heavy jackets and boots before
going out. On certain days
one has to wear warm gloves and
cover heads and
ears to be outside even for five minutes. The passing cars often splash the mud on the windshield. This needs special precautions, such as having enough fluid in the tank to clean the front view, and the
wipers to be in
reasonably good shape.
Moreover, the
defroster should be
working properly, and still
better if the rear windshield is also
defrosted.
There are risks if one has to walk even with special
boots. Just weeks
before this visit, a
friend of mine in Cornwall slipped while removing snow from his car. Every time he tried to get up, he
slipped back because
of the ice. It happened about
9:30 in the morning in the parking lot of his own
apartment building. He remained in
cold for about fifteen
minutes before someone
spotted him to call an
ambulance. He could
have frozen to death if it
had happened in
the night. Luckily he
did not suffer any fracture. Several Canadians break
their bones every year due to slipping. He was in his early eighties and lived alone
like the Canadians who are able
to renew their driving
licences every two
years even in their nineties.
Driving on the highway
in the snow in traffic-chocked Toronto and Mississauga is
sure to invite misfortunes.
To be on the safe side, I keep a
blanket, candles and matches in the car
in long drives. Surprisingly, one
candle can keep the inside
warm if the car
breaks down on the highway. It is prudent to carry
a scrapper and
a shovel to remove the snow if the car gets
stuck. The best is to remain inside the house in bad weathers. A good weather in one city does not
mean it would be good
also in another. Moreover, the weather
may change any time in spite of the prediction of the weather man. This is a partial list of
the extra cares to be taken in winter that discourages me to be on the highway.
I have been to the
Toronto and Mississauga area several
times as a speaker and also as a poet even in the snow season. I never felt
the urge to write about those
visits as did this time in November
2002, although my former literary visits
were equally important as this visit
was. One reason for this visit was to have my two additional poems
sung and added to my album called
AMAN. The singer had developed melodies
and selected music for these two
poems. It needed
the sittings of
five to seven days with the
singer for his rehearsals in my
presence. Considering the distance of seven hours, my
heavy schedule at home and the
snow season, I waited for something
else to combine
with this trip to make it more worthwhile. That opportunity came when
HAC Ministry from Hamilton invited me
to read at their first
national gathering of Asian poets and singers on November 16. The organization of Hamilton
asked the Writers Union of Canada to sponsor my
reading to pay
travel expenses and an
honorarium. A day before
that, PEN Canada was
arranging a gathering at the University of Toronto for which I was selected to
participate.
The PEN reading was dedicated to those prisoners who had been
behind the bars the world over for expressing their personal opinions. Due to the pressure from the national offices
of the
Pen, several prisoners
had been released
by their governments.
A stream of constant
pressure from abroad
works because national
governments of the third world countries, particularly of India
and Pakistan, are sensitive to any criticism that appears about them in
the Western media. PEN Canada is the national body of International
PEN founded in 1921 in England. The organization is committed to defending
freedom of expression guaranteed by
Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and enshrined in
Section 2 (b) of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms of Canada.
As soon as the Hamilton reading was approved
by the Writers Union of Canada, I began
to select my poems to read and
the telephone numbers of my friends I wanted to see. I phoned
some of them about
my arrival. I left Cornwall on November 14. The next evening, I presented a poem
on democracy at the gathering
of PEN Canada before an
audience
that represented
the multicultural nature of these two cities.
To any new visitor, every street,
shopping plaza and high rise apartment building would confirm that these cities are multicultural in every
aspect. One can see women hiding their faces behind their scarfs,
men in their ethnic dresses, and people of all colours and languages mingling and
laughing in the same crowd. This area can boast of publishing multilingual
weaklies, including the Arabic, Spanish, Chinese,
Urdu, Panjabi, Hindi, Italian and other
languages.
I met Susana Molinolo,
who spoke English without any accent but her last name appeared to be
ethnic. She worked
as a secretary in the office
of the
PEN. She took
pictures while I was presenting my poem.
She mailed
that picture to me for my personal file. During the social hour, I met Metin Ciyayi, a Kurdish writer. I
was amazed to know something about the one of the oldest culture and literature
of the Kurds in our brief meeting. He invited me to their next gathering of
writers. I contributed later my poems on peace to their web site. I went
to the Pen
reading with a Pakistani
writer, Dr. Rashid Gill, a poet
who contributed articles regularly to the Urdu publications of Toronto area. The political
situation in Pakistan and how it affects minorities is the subject of
his special interest. He is not related to me.
The weather was fine when I left Cornwall on November 14. Two days after that I had to go to Hamilton from Mississauga for my next reading. It had started snowing
from the morning. I hate to drive on highways on such days. One can be
careful, but not all drivers are. A
minor slip on the highway, where cars
sped at more than one hundred
kilometres per hour and traffic
is high and
everyone seems to be in a rush, may land cars in the territory of undeserved destiny. It was a drive of about forty minutes
from Mississauga to Hamilton.
Due to
the heavy traffic it takes an hour and
even more. In bad weather, it takes longer for a person like me because I do not drive fast. At the same time I am anxious to reach much
earlier to be able to feel relaxed to
enjoy the event.
It was the same address in Hamilton
where I had given a talk two years before.
This time it was the presentation of my poetry
in Urdu, national language of
Pakistan that is understood widely in
India. According to
the printed program there were twenty-nine artists to participate. There
were eight poets, including
Ayub
Din, Anil Dass, James Malik,
Dr. Rashid Gill, Swapna Shail,
Isaac Wilbert, Dr. Dannis Isaac, and Stephen Gill.
The rest of them
were singers and musicians, including Neeraj Perm,
Albert Kamran, Reuben Arthur, Sam Arthur, Newton
Peter, Edward Nelson, Solomon Gill, Samuel Inyat, Parkash and Olive Masih, William Masih, Vishal Reniga,
Ropi Romero, James Luke, Sanjay Lal,
Javed Jamil, Ch: Iqbal Mujahid, Austin Raj Rattan, and Yousaf Murad.
Out of
the town participants included Swapna Shail , a prominent
Hindi poet born in India. She
read Gumshuda (lost) that was a
sensitive rendering of a raped
girl. Swapna
is an eye-opener in this poem
as she is in most of her poetry. She openly lashes at hypocracies. Swapna sang also
one of her
own compositions. She was from Ottawa, the
capital of Canada. I went
there from Cornwall, a city close
to the capital. People know Cornwall also because
of its nearness to
Montreal, a prominent city
of the province of Quebec.
Poets who went
there from the
surrounding area of
Hamilton, included Dr. Rashid
Gill and Dr. Dannis Isaac. Dr. Isaac is a respectable playwright
from Pakistan. Other poets
included James Luke,
Isaac Wilbert, and Anil Dass.
Among
singers, Yousaf Murad went
from New York, and Austin Raj Rattan from
Mississauga, Ontario. Reuben Arthur from
Hamilton, an accomplished young
artist,
played tabla
with several singers.
The event was attended by more than two hundred and fifty people in
spite of the unfriendly weather. They were entertained with South East Asian
snacks. The participants were recognized with plaques handed by Rev. A.G. Van Aek.
There was also a group photo. The person responsible for organizing this memorable
evening was Pastor Salim Arthur. Encouraged with unusual success, Pastor Salim Arthur had
decided to repeat this event every year.
At the social hour, several admirers expressed their
hope for similar groups
to provide platforms along the same
line to encourage artists from the
region of South East Asia. I presented a long poem about the situation of human
rights in Pakistan. The demons of minor flaws concerning the
organization were overpowered by the brighter
aspects. I was cheered
with frequent clapping that
made me feel
that my poetry was being
appreciated.
For the social hour, I set up a table in the hall where tea was served
to display some of my books and the cassettes
of my Urdu/Hindi poems that were sung by Khaled Saleem. I was happy to meet
the persons who came to talk to
me. At the same time, I was
getting nervous when I looked out of the
window. It was still snowing, covering the ground with
a thick layer. Obviously it was
not safe to
drive on the highway. At night, it is not easy to see if the
roads were ploughed or still covered with snow. If
wipers fail for any reason, it is not easy to pull
the car to a safer spot when there is
a maddening traffic to the right
and to
the left. The problem is compounded
if the driver is new to the area and it is night and
the rush hours. The signs are partly covered with snow that make a driver
more nervous. Under these conditions, one wrong turn becomes
extremely annoying.
Afraid of hitting the highway, I began to
think of phoning a hotel or motel
for my overnight stay. Often I looked around
to see if there was a friend who would ask me about my stay or if there
was a telephone
close by with a directory. I also thought of staying in the car in the church parking
lot if worst comes to the worst. I do this on the
highways when the weather is terribly risky. I park my car at a gas station and
even sleep. I appreciate the Canadian arrangements to locate these gas
stations in large
safe areas with restaurants and
other facilities.
Sleeping in the car when tired in a long
drive and when the weather is harsh solves problems till it is morning and
the weather gets
better. I flatten my
driver=s
seat to be able to straighten
myself. It is hazardous to keep the car running because of the possibility
of the emission of the carbon monoxide.
Therefore, I turn off the
ignition when it is hot. It gives a
reasonable sleep for a while. When it
gets cold, I let the engine run again.
Wide areas of restaurants are comfortable to sit and move around. While I was in that frame of mind, something happened.
A person approached to shake
hands. He told me enthusiastically that he was reading about me and my articles
with interest. He also told me that his wife was anxious to see me. Soon he
left and returned with his
wife who looked like
Chinese or Vietnamese. While chatting, he asked if I was going back. I said the weather was bad and I did not know
what I was going to do. He took his wife aside to consult for a while, and then turned
to me and said they would be pleased to host me that
night, although they had a few guests.
It was a prayer answered. They suggested me to follow their car. I wanted more time to meet people.
After all that is
one reason to be in social atmospheres. Gatherings provide opportunities
to meet people personally. Writing is a lonely profession. Social evenings
provide diversions that writers and poets need like anyone else. Moreover, cultivation of public relations is
also important for success. That is
a way for writers to make more contacts.
I accepted their
invitation with thanks, asking them to allow me another hour or so. I
would take the directions over the
phone if that would
not be late for
them. They did not mind. That
person was Emanuel Gill from Pakistan and his wife Larence from Phillipine.
When some persons began to mop the floor and put the chairs in order and women
began to pack utensils, I asked
Pastor Salim
Arthur to give me directions to go to
the house of Mr and Mrs. Emanuel Gill.
He phoned them
on my behalf that we were on our way.
Their meticulously clean house was palatial. So was the heart of Mr
and Mrs Emanuel Gill. They were humble. Larence
Gill was a hostess
beyond comparison. The food was appetizing. They introduced me to their guests Mr. Qamar Khan, his wife
Sarala, and Vincent Nadeem.
The Gills were retired nurses. Mr. Qamar Khan was a registered nurse and a
diabetes educator in Toronto. He
was a delightful conversationalist with
a mine of knowledge about human
rights situations in Pakistan. His wife Sarala was a pharmacist.
It was a
pleasure to be in the company of warm and intellectual
souls. Most of our talks centred around minorities in
Pakistan and India. We
agreed that the countries where minorities are not happy cannot enjoy
peace because it is a prerequisite for prosperity.
Next day, Pastor Salim Arthur
phoned to ask me to be their guest that
night. At their place, we had a singing party till late in the evening in which Mr. Yousaf
Murad sang ghazals, kawalis, Heer in a typical Panjabi way and
other songs. He was accompanied by Reuben Arthur with Tabla.
The next afternoon
I interviewed Pastor Arthur Salim for my book.
He was tortured
in Pakistan by
fundamentalists and police for
his religious beliefs.
Police damaged his four ribs. He managed to escape from Pakistan with the members of his
family.
It was November 19 in 2002. The snow from the sides
and house tops began melting. It was
cooler, yet
sunny and pleasant. I came back to Mississauga to my sister Josephine. Next day in the evening, I went to Khaled Saleem, singer of
the first album of my Urdu/Hindi poems.
On the suggestion of Khaled Saleem I read
first two stanzas of every poem
that were followed by his
music and singing.
It was a religious month of Muslims, called Ramzan. Muslims in
this month observe fast from
sunrise to sunset. They do
not drink even a drop of water. To be able to face the day, Khaled
Saleem and his family would
get up around four in the morning
to eat heavily and break their fast
around five in the evening when they hear Azan, their religious call
over the
radio for their prayer. The
activities of Muslims during Ramzan are
reduced to bare minimum. Khaled Saleem is used to tobacco-chewing. He had to struggle to refrain from this habit. He appeared to have gained his weight
during those days.
Khaled Saleem told me that during the day it was
almost impossible for him to concentrate on any work due to his fast. I used to see him after five in the evening with
two hours of drive and stayed with him till midnight. He used to
do rehearsals when I was there. We often
discussed how to
make the updated album more
presentable. We also shared our views
about the different aspects of
writing, particularly the technique of poetry and other cultural activities. He
convinced me that the top
Urdu poets became famous after their poems were picked up by
singers. The poets who became famous this way
and grew in
demand include Faiz Ahmed Faiz
and Fraz. I
learnt from him how to breathe while giving public presentations. In one of those evening, Khaled Saleem helped me to locate
the telephone number of Naseem Sayed,
an Urdu poet who used to live in Kingston. Once I wrote an article about her poetry.
The following afternoon, I was
browsing ethnic newspapers that were published from Toronto/ Mississauga area, and distributed free through local Indian and
Pakistani stores and restaurants. My sister brought several of them
because she knew I loved to read them.
Most Panjabi and Urdu weeklies present their
news with spices. In one of those Urdu language publications, I read a short
piece, appeared to be part of the editorial, that condemned music, dance and poetry because
these arts are against the teachings
of Islam. It added that the Hindus taught these arts to
the Muslims of the subcontinent of India and Pakistan.
When I met Khalid
Saleem the next evening, he was upset to hear about this writing.
He said the holy book of Islam, the Koran, is written in the poetic
form. He added that Amir Khusru,
a spiritual leader of Islam from India, invented musical instruments, including
the tabla, sitar and kawali,
a form of song. Khalid Saleem
was so much upset that he even expressed his intentions to write to the
government against the publication for spreading the venom of hatred in Canada.
He also condemned the fanatics who came to power in NWFP of
Pakistan for banning music and several good things of life. He appreciated that
the base of nearly every religion is poetry and music. Prophet David and Solomon had been poets. Life would be barren if there is no poetry.
Khalid Saleem was born in a Muslim family in Pakistan and has become a Canadian citizen. He does not talk against
any religion, even a person. He is from a family of singers and musicians. His teachers
from whom he has
perfected these arts
came from both Hindus and Muslims backgrounds. He felt proud to say that his admirers included a considerable
number of non-Muslims. His home is a Mecca for people of every creed
and colour. He is polite, a patient listener and down to earth. These
qualities and his individual way of singing and musical skills have made him a popular
artist.
While going over
ethnic weeklies that
afternoon, my eyes stopped at an
interview that was about Naseem Sayed, author of a
collection of Urdu poems, titled Adhi
Gwahi (half witness). It referred
to the laws in some Muslim nations, including Pakistan,
where the witness of a female is accepted half in court. I phoned to let her know how much I appreciated
her views expressed in the interview.
Those days, Muslim activists had started disapproving gender discrimination. Naseem from Pakistan was one of those activists. In her interview, appeared
in the Pakistan Post of November 27, 2002 on page 35,
she condemned the horror of killing of
women in Pakistan in the name of honor.
The Face Weekly Newsletter of
November 8, 2002, published from Pakistan, mentions AThree girls
who had run away from home were killed by their uncles on their return, their
parents told police on Friday. The parents had recovered the girls from a hotel
in Faisalabad a few days ago. The well-educated cousins belonged to Mohallah Yarookhel (Mianwali) and were between 18 and 22 years of age.
AThe news
spread in the city in no time, but the police were reluctant to register a case
against the influential accused. Finally, on a written complaint on Thursday
night, DPO Rao Sardar Ali
raided the houses of the missing girls. On Friday, he called the parents to his
office where they confessed that the girls had indeed been killed by two of their
uncles. Earlier, the Core Group of Social Welfare Department at a meeting
unanimously condemned the honour-killings and demanded police action in this
regard. According to the complaint, the girls had been tortured for seven days
when they were taken to the bank of Indus and butchered. Their bodies were
allegedly thrown into the river.
A social worker claimed at the core
group meeting that he had met the girls' parents before the murders, but failed
to have them change their mind and spare the young lives.@
The same newsletter tells in the same
issue:
APolice have
registered the murder of three girls in the name of honour without naming the
alleged killers 27 days after the incident. The report was made by a woman
named Sadaf Fatima who described in her application
to the district police officer that the daughters of a tyre dealer of civil
lines, Amanullah Khan, and two hoteliers of Yarookhel, Mazhar Khan and Abdul Malik (brothers), had absconded from their homes last month
and were recovered by their parents from a hotel in Faisalabad a few days
later.
AThe girls
were kept at a house in Yarookhel, tortured for a
week and finally taken to the bank of Indus and killed. It was believed that
the body of a young girl found downstream at Chashma
Barrage was that of one of the ill-fated girls. Since no one owed it, the
police buried it in Kundian as an unidentified and
unclaimed body. Although the news spread in the city in no time, no one dared
report it to the police for fear of the influential accused.@
On December 22, 2002, Dr. Ishtiaq Ahmed, moderator of Asiapeace, says:
“During the last three years the
women of Pakistan have been the most vulnerable and convenient targets of
social and domestic violence. Not a day goes by when an incident of violence
against women is not reported. It was reported recently that a girl in Larkana the hometown of our two-time Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto was stoned to death for daring to dance at a
marriage ceremony. The innocent little girl was attending a wedding and
participated in singing traditional songs. So overjoyed was she by the music
that she danced and forgot the social customs of her area. On seeing her dance,
her uncle fired at her. She tried to escape but was followed by several men who
then beat her with sticks. The poor girl=s nightmare
did not end here. She was then taken to her village where her hands were
chopped off and she was stoned to death.
AAccording to
the news report the killers bribed the local SHO to hush up the matter. It was
only when an anonymous complaint reached the chairman of the district public
safety commission that the police in charge of the area suspended the SHO and
registered the case against the accused.@
Women throughout the globe suffer
abuses because of their gender. These abuses include honor
killing, dowry-related deaths, domestic violence, genital mutilation, and rape
in police custody.
Those days, Balbir Singh Momi, a friend
from the early
years of my writing,
was basking in the sun of his additional recognition by his peers. He had received a Gold
Medal from an organization and plaques from several groups for his services as a writer and editor. Whereas
other Panjabi writers
from the Toronto
and Mississauga area have almost broken their pen, Momi is still using
it diligently. He was editing
the Punjabi section of Nagara
Weekly.
In those days, my visits to Toronto
and Mississauga used to remain incomplete without one or two evenings with Dr.
Solomon Naz, minister of a church who is also a poet from
India. Father of Dr. Naz was a
poet of India. Dr. Solomon Naz is a
keen student of comparative
religious studies. We often talked about philosophical bases of
different faiths. Due to his reasoning and intellectual approach, I
call him Rev. Abdul Hac of Canada. Rev. Abdul Hac was born in the Panjab of
Pakistan and lived and died in Chandigarh, India. He
is known for his comparative and intellectual as well as his philosophical approach to religions.
Dr. Solomon Naz and I read a couple of poems one evening
after the delicious food and exchanged views on those poems.
Whenever I visit this area, I see also Dr. Ned Bijjany, a poet of English and Arabic languages from
Lebanon. He used to edit
The Mawaheb
International, a literary and cultural publication. I always enjoyed eating the Lebanese
salad with him. This time, I asked Dr. Bijjany to make the salad in my presence.
While preparing the salad, he kept explaining me the
importance of each ingredient that I kept
noting down. He told
me that almost
40 per cent of the population in
Lebanon are poets. One of their recreations is to construct poems on
the spot. They normally divide themselves in groups of three or four
persons on certain occasions to entertain the crowd while competing with each
other by completing poems on the spur of the moment. Usually, it takes the form
of questions and answers. The poems have to be original. This process
continues for hours.
The audience is the judge.