THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING: BY MILAN KUNDERA

THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING

 BY

 MILAN KUNDERA

THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING: BY MILAN KUNDERA 1984

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It rarely happens that as soon as you finish a book, you start reading it again from the beginning, This is what happened to me with this book.

Watching me go through some  'metamorphosis' at this time of my life, my son gave this present to me.

It is a genre not known to me from before, the philosophical fiction.

Milan Kundera is a perennial Nobel candidate. He is a Czech national, lived through the vicissitudes of Russian invasion, left the country and is now a French citizen. 

There is a story but then there is the philosophical axis. It is there on every page. You can read any page out of the book. and it will stand alone like a day book. You will get something out of it, even if you have no idea of the story line running along.

It basically is a counter argument to the Nietzsche's concept of  'eternal recurrence of the same'.  

Simply put, Nietzsche put forward a possibility that there can be a limited number of occurrences and in the infinite time, they have to keep on recurring.

Milan argues against that, claiming that the burden of eternal recurrence is very heavy. It will keep the individuals down as they have to carry this burden. As we often say we have the burden (or baggage) of culture, history, religion, family values etc which keep on burdening us as time goes.

Once one is relieved of this burden, life will be very light and easy to handle.

Then he tells a story.

During the whole story, he builds the philosophical argument and the reader slowly falls into the trap of his argument. That is the beauty of the story.

Prague Spring is perhaps the first of the 'Springs'. The Arab Spring in last few years gets its name from Prague Spring. "Spring" because there was a period of political liberalization with the hope of better times to come. It did not happen then and it did not happen with the later 'Springs', including Beijing Spring a decade later and Arab Spring in early 2010's. 

Story itself is based in his home country, former Czechoslovakia, in late 60's and early 70's.  Now a former Soviet bloc country, it was the time when the communists were in charge and Soviets invaded as communists started to think of spring and openness. Result was a total crackdown and a despotic dictatorship. 

It bore a lot of similarities with the time I grew up in Pakistan. Similar kind of totalitarian government, although not communist, but still dictatorial. You see the same application of deep state tactics. We see how a successful professional, a surgeon, gradually goes down the social and economical ladder and in the process, realizes the burden being shed and feels the happiest and lightest towards the end. 

The protagonist's character reminded me of many people around me. I have seen some good friends who started with a good worldly life and then life dealt them a bad set of cards; especially a friend who has lost the privilege to work as a physician and is now a state guest. 

Czechoslovakia was a modern country, socially and economically more advanced than USSR and when the soviets moved in, they faced an advanced and liberated country, including its women. The interaction was interesting and eventually let down the cultural and social level of the nation. It was a more oppressive ideology taking over and dragging the whole culture down with it. Again something which we have seen happen in our backyard in our own lifetime.

A few deep observations I could not resist not to share.

Citing the examples of characters in the novel, he mentions four type of people who long for different set of eyes, which could be a sit in for need to be noticed. 

One, who long for unknown set of eyes. These are the fame seekers, like artists etc. They feel happy that many people know them, even if they are not close to them in real life. They bask in that limelight, even if it they are under real or imagined scrutiny by the secret service and deep state. They thrive in that.  

Second are those who long for many familiar set of eyes. These are people who want to be popular in their own circles. They are the one who throw parties and be sure they are talked about all the times. They are heavily dependent on others for their happiness and have to actively maneuver that popularity. 

Third are those who want to be in the eyes of those few whom they love. They are the lovers, who want to please only the one they love and do not care much about the rest of the world. 

Lastly the fourth type are those who look for the eyes of those who are  not present there. They are in search of ideal and look for approval of their ideal even when no one is looking. They are the dreamers and idealists. 

Another astute observation is about the two type of men who have many relationship with women.

One are those who look for one women in every women. You see that most of their women have many things in common and their friends some times call all of them by the same name. They soon get fed up by one women and move on. They earn the reputation of being unfaithful by their women. 

You can see the examples of these men in people around you.  At least one popular national leader of Pakistan has that trait. All his women look similar in some ways. 

The other type of men are who look at each women in a different way and want to explore that uniqueness about that person. They have more passionate relationship and even when they move one, there is not that sense of abandonment by their women.

Another great quote and I am paraphrasing. If the powerful are too weak to kill the weak, the weak should get strong and leave. 

How you are defined after death is largely dependent upon your heirs, form the inscription on the tomb stone to how and what you felt in the last days of your life. 

Kitsch is excessive sentimentality and thus is considered in poor taste. In its metaphysical meaning is the absolute denial of everything which is unacceptable. We do that in all belief systems. For example, man is created in the image of God but God cannot have alimentary issues ( Intake and output); every thing is best in a Communist society, ( or for that matter, in a religiously devout society) and so on and so forth. Some people dwell in it and others try to run as far away from it as possible. 

And so many more astute observations like that. 

It was pure joy to read the book and recommend to anyone who has not read it and likes the philosophical axis of everyday life experiences

Visiting Zahid Imran

While waiting in the parking lot, sitting in an old yellow school bus, I watched other visitors board the bus. “No tobacco products, no cell phone, no guns”, was the mantra the bus driver repeated each time a new passenger entered the bus. I was told not to have more than twenty dollars with me, all in singles or in quarters, so that the vending machines can be used. This was the parking lot of the Maxwell Air Base where all the visitors have to park their cars to go to the Federal Prison Camp, a minimal security prison, and wait for the shuttle. My friend who dropped me there noticed that most of the visitors were white. It somehow strengthened his faith in the system, or was it just an observation!

I wanted to be there at 8 in the morning, at the time of the start of visiting hours, so that I can make use of all the time I had but could not be there before 1030.  I had to stay overnight in Atlanta, where I met another friend after seventeen years and could not leave earlier. 

I thought, for how long I knew Zahid Imran. It was early 80’s and as a young idealistic student in medical college at the vulnerable age of 21 during military dictatorship I was involved in student politics at Nishtar Medical College. We, the Liberals, had more than a verbal argument with the pro-government Islamic Jamiat party. As a result, we were on the run from the law enforcement. We found shelter with the fraternal anti-government student group, the Eagles, in neighboring Quaid e Azam Medical College, Bahawalpur, some sixty miles away. That is where I met Zahid Imran. He was a few years senior, very passionate in politics and very cerebral. He had the power to engage you and make it very hard to disagree with him.

We remained in touch for a while. I moved on to Rawalpindi and we both migrated to USA. Years later we met again at one of the APPNA meetings. He was still an activist at many levels. Some fires are never extinguished and things you are passionate keep engaging you. That was true with Zahid Imran.  In his life as a successful psychiatrist and in his more than twenty years of association with APPNA he remained in the vanguard for social justice, rights of the disenfranchised and assisting the needy.

We have worked together on many issues of social justice. In APPNA politics, however we often found ourselves supporting different candidates. That did not come in the way in our mutual work ranging from issues of young physicians, restoration of democracy and justice in Pakistan, opposing military dictators of all stripes, women rights, and prisoners’ rights.

If one doesn’t pay attention to details, things catch up and that is what happened to him, in a nutshell. After more than a decade of locking horns with the feds, he has landed here. He is in this prison for almost two years. Bureaucratic inaction and personal inertia take their time and now I am here to visit him.

Maxwell Air Base is at the location where the Wright Brothers opened a flying school. Many overseas Airforce pilots come here for training. I know one classmate from Pakistan who was here. At the other end from the entrance is the Federal Prison Camp, perhaps on land leased by Airforce to the Bureau of Prisons. All the visitors to the prison have to be prescreened and to undergo background check. A bus takes the visitors from the parking lot to the prison every 15 minutes on weekends, the days of visitation, from 8 to 3.

While waiting in the bus, I recalled often long telephone conversations we had over all these years. The length of calls grew exponentially when he was in the middle of his court battle. He was passionate and convincing that he is right and is being slowly framed. In the end, he realized that he is against the most powerful force on earth which is hell bent on destroying him. He acquiesced.

I was the only ‘brown’ person in the bus. My friend was right. Most were Caucasians. Most were putting up a happy face, kids and senior citizens included. Here was a young mother with a toddler, there were two teenagers with a grandma; mostly people were in a group of two or more. Riding through the Airforce Base reminded me of movies where military base are shown. They don’t look much different from many cantonments in Pakistan, but here you don’t see them in your daily commutes. After going through the base, we reached the camp.  It took a long while to fill the forms and get them cleared.  You sign a paper that you do not have any medicines, explosives, tobacco products, electronic gadgets, telephones, cameras etc.

The computer system was down, and all the applications had to be hand processed. Then there was a door and I entered a long big room, not much different than an airport lounge. People were sitting on leather chairs facing each other with tables in between, and food from vending machines being consumed. And at the other end of the room was a lawn where people were sitting on benches and walking around the inside of the wall. The only difference you notice, between here and elsewhere, is that every group of people had a male with dark green pants and half sleeves shirt; that is the inmate.  It looked real and surreal at the same time.

He was not there. I looked around and then settled for a seat. Later he told me that they do not get any official notification. Each prisoner knows through personal communication that he is getting a visitor so he has to be attentive to the announcement on the loudspeaker that his visitor has arrived.  Otherwise he would miss it. Many of the 800 or so inmates do not get any visitors at all. Most of the inmates in the visitor hall were locals or have local families in the neighboring states.

FPC is a working camp. That means all inmates have to work. In fact they share a nominal amount to pay for their stay. It is 25 dollars for most, for Zahid it is 50 dollars. Monday to Friday, excluding federal holidays, they have to work. Zahid has some health issues but still cannot get away from some kind of manual labor. Currently he is assigned mess duties, and has to clean the tables and serve. That allows him to interact with more people. He had a hard time getting out of the kitchen duties. He has a bunker bed and fortunately he is on the lower level and does not have to climb the bed. There is TV but closed during day times. Fight for the remote is as aggressive as it can be at home with kids, if not more. Some inmates have newspapers delivered and that is how he can read what is happening in the world. Smoking is not allowed in any of the federal prisons. So smokers have extra punishment to deal with. 

They earn money for the work they do in the prison, but feds take a share out of that towards the 40M+ he owes to them.

He came out of the door. Looked just the same, gray thick hair and a bit heavier that I thought he would be. He was in his usual self, full of energy to talk and talk endlessly. He talked most of the time and he was, I think happy about it. He was very thankful to all those who had send his messages through me, which I had forwarded ahead of time to him by email, so that he could think about them and respond in due course of time. He told me about his life inside, his interactions with fellow inmates and the guards. As usual, it seems that he has created an image of himself which is helpful to him but has the potential of putting him in trouble. Any minor offence will add extra time. He gets two months a year break each year for good behavior and is hoping to be out of the prison by the end of 2020.

Going in he lost everything he had. He lost his house, savings, bank accounts, even the life insurance he had, was forcibly surrendered and its cash value taken by the feds. Even if he had liquidated any of his assets in the last ten years, feds could get hold of it as it might be considered an attempt to evade paying the feds.

After coming out of prison, life is not that easy for an ex-felon. You cannot vote, cannot work in many places (federal government may hire you however), and cannot get many public services. One may have restrictions on travel abroad, cannot have a gun (in fact if you are in company of someone with firearms, even if you do not know it, you can be imprisoned), lose parental benefits and jury duty. He had surrendered his license so he may be able to apply for one, but cannot see Medicare and Medicaid patients. He cannot earn more than minimal allowance as he has to pay the 40 Million dollars or so, which keep on adding up on daily basis as the interest keeps on increasing. He tells me that there are over 150 thousand restrictions on felons so they are never free and never become full citizens.

He is not clear what he will do once he is out. He had met people in prison who are passionate about prison reforms. Jesse Jackson Jr was there, he is out now. He would like to get his license back, even he cannot earn much out of it. He keeps himself updated on his field.

It is a minimum security prison, all inmates have less than ten years to go before they can be accepted here. Most are sentenced in so called white collar crimes. Some come here after serving a longer sentence at another place. 

He is hoping to be transferred to a similar facility in Louisiana close to Houston so that his family can easily visit him. For an outsider, it is a long way to be there. Montgomery has an airport but has to be reached though one of the hubs of American Airlines or Delta. Federal officer was surprised to see my NY driver's license.  Most of the visitors are locals.

He gets visits from his family. His wife is in Houston and it is a long trip to be here. After going through all the paperwork, I met him around noon time and had to leave at 3.

All his life he has been in the business of helping people. He is still doing that. He tried to help one by contacting others to come to some kind of rescue. He has no money, he cannot be somewhere for someone, cannot picket outside the symbols of powers like Consulate offices and Congress.

He was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he belongs to what is considered a privileged class. He has always been an "awami", a peoples' person, but no one including him would have predicted that he will be where he is and do what he is doing on daily basis. 

It broke my heart to see all that. I managed to keep smiling. 
He has managed to keep his head high.

His wings are cut but his spirit is still buoyed up.


----------------------
I visited him on May 14th, 2016

Seeing A Picture On Facebook/ A Poem

Seeing A Picture On Facebook
A Poem

In 1980's I was part of an organization called Proud Pakistani, a group of young men and women with a commitment to make a change . In 1988 I moved to the USA. Recently I saw a picture on Facebook. Thanks to Muhammad Ahmad Abdullah for the photo.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=565726783563298&set=t.100003779457312&type=3&theater

It took me back to those times. It was a time of dreams, aspirations, friendships, commitments, disappointments and betrayals. All these thoughts culminated in this poem. 

I hope that readers able to relate to it. 

Thanks to Rafiuddin Raz Sahib for his guidance in rectifying poetic errors. 

فیس بک پر اک تصویر دیکھ کر

اس  جہانِ مجاز کے  پرچے

ہر ہتھیلی میں پھڑپھڑاتے  ہیں

روز و شب اس میں دوستانِ من

نت نئی سرخیاں لگاتے  ہیں

رنگ و رعنائ کے جریدے میں

ہر گھڑی اک نئی عبارت ہے

کوئ  سنجیدگی  میں ڈوبا ہے

کہیں معصوم سی شرارت ہے

یونہی اک دن ورق پلٹتے ہوئے

ایک تصویر آ کے  ٹھہر  گئی

لے گئی مجھ کو اس زمانے میں

روز ہوتی تھی  اک  امنگ نئی

ایک گاڑی ہے چند لڑکے ہیں

ایک  صحرا ہے قحط سالی  ہے

ایک  تنظیم  کا  حوالہ  ہے

نام  میں کام  میں  نرالی  ہے

اے وطن ہم نے بھی گزارا ہے

وہ زمانہ کہ  خواب بنتے تھے

کہ  معطر رہے  تیرا  جوبن

مرغزاروں سے پھول چنتے تھے

عہدِ ناداں کے خواب ہوتے ہیں

خواہشِ  سرعتِ جواب لئے

ان کی  تعبیر  ہو  تو  سکتی ہے

شرط  ہے وہ  ہزار سال  جئے

ایک احساسِ فرض کے ہاتھوں

تیرا   چہرہ   سنوارنا    چاہا

ہم نے ورژے میں جو کمایا تھا

وہی   قرضہ   اتارنا   چاہا

کسی لاغر کو  آسرا  دے  کر

کسی  بیمار  کو  دوا  دے  کر

کسی  مجبور  کو عصا  دے  کر

کسی مغرور  کو  دعا  دے  کر

وہ  جو  مثلِ ازل اندھیرا تھا

اسے   وہ  ہی   پکارنا  چاہا

اور جب بات بن نہیں پائی

ہم نے  سورج  نکالنا  چاہا

ہم مویشی چرانے  بیٹھ گئے

دل میں تصویرِ وصل  ِ ہیر لئے

پر وہاں   انتظامِ  کیدو تھا

نفسِ کینہ  زبانِ  شیر  لئے

کچھ  جواں فکر  نوجوان ملے

وہ  جیالے شریکِ خواب بنے

ان سے میں نے بھی حوصلہ پایا

اور نئی وسعتوں  کا  باب بنے

کچھ زمانے نے مجھ کو سمجھایا

اور کچھ  راستہ  طویل  ہوا

جو مرے حوصلے بڑھاتا  تھا

رہ بدلنے کی  وہ  دلیل  ہوا

فہرسِ رنج گر ہے طولانی

گریہَ  چند  لا محالہ ہے

زخم جو آ پ نے لگائے ہوں

ان کا درماں ہے نے مداوہ ہے

وقت   اپنا  اثر  دکھاتا  ہے

یونہی  منظر  بدلتا  جاتا  ہے

دھندلکےمیں سجھای کیا دے گا

یاد رکھنابھی بھول  جاتا  ہے

جس کو  ہم  اپنا  عہد سمجھتے تھے

وہ زمانہ  گزار    آیا  ہوں

اور وابستگی ہے غیروں سے

کل میں اپنا تھا اب پرایا ہوں

کام سے جب فراغ ملتا ہے

بزمِ  آوارگی  سجاتا  ہوں

ہے  جہانِ  مجاز کا   پرچہ

ورق پیہم پلٹتا  جاتا  ہوں

کیا  خبر  جادئہ  تحیّر  میں

کوئی  ایسا  مقام  پھر آئے

کوئی تصویر آ کے رک جائے

اور مجھ کو وہیں پہ لے جائے

وہ جو اک وقت ہم پہ گزرا تھا

تیرا   چہرا   سنوارنا   چاہا

اور  ورثے میں جو کمایا  تھا

وہی   قرضہ   اتارنا   چاہا

اپنے موروثی اس فریضے سے

اپنا حصہ نکال  آیا ہوں

بوجھ اسلاف کا اٹھانا تھا

اپنے بچوں پہ ڈال آیا ہوں

ان کو تھا مان اس رفاقت پر

بیچ  پیچیدہ  ایک  موڑ  آیا

وہ  مجھے  مثلِ رہ  نما   سمجھے

میں انہیں  راستے میں چھوڑ آیا

ناصر گوندل

حلقہ اربابِ ذوق

نیو یارک

 2016،  6  مارچ