The Idea of the East

In the wake of another terrible tragedy here in Lahore I was tempted to write a cynical post about the phony idea of the 'mystical east' and, more importantly, of how the cancer of violence and extremism has spread in the so-called Muslim world. But at the moment I'm simply too sad to do that. Instead, there's Bulleh, always Bulleh, for what it's worth. 

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Though I hate to say it: Virat Kohli is world-class. His breadth of vision almost creates space on the field and his mind is so 'present' and centred that other people always seem like bit parts in the unfolding drama, the story that he's writing. Inzamam was a genius, for sure, but Kohli, let is be said in hushed words, is another one too.

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There have been many shocking attacks over the years and this ranks as one of the worst (What does "ranks" even mean? Words, of course, buckle and slide, lose their precision under such circumstances).

There is something terrible in that first picture, raw grief etched on the faces, the woman on the right in the pink head covering completely speechless, bemused. These faces could be from a painting, from a scene 10,000 years ago. Nothing much changes in the sordid and grim tale of human history. The hands, the hands reaching out to protect or simply touch loved ones, the hands open in desperation, resignation: "Lord, why this?"