Masquerade

By Sarah Nabruq

Living in Pakistan was like a 24/7 roller coaster ride for Sarah. Following into her fathers footsteps she just picked herself and her family up from the comfortable, cosy and predictable British life only to land herself among people who not only thought and acted differently but despised her guts and truthfulness.

Her experiences which were penned over a decade, takes you on an emotional journey which grips and entertains at the same time. The heroes and villains that cross her path come to life as she moves through time.

A misfit and a rebel, she continued striving for the causes she believed in: only to end up in deep troubles which started to threaten her loved ones. After surviving blasphemy charges, terrorism and corrupt power she reluctantly withdrew but refused to be a silent witness against all the injustices of the world she had lovingly embraced.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Aug 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496988218

Sarah Nabruq

‘She is limited edition. Th ere are no copies.’ Many can now utter a sigh of relief! Driven by patriotism, she drives everybody around her insane. Her personality, passions and writings are all interrelated. Coming from two divergent worlds, holding two deviating degrees- Organic Chemistry and English Literature, her tale is thus both instructive and cautionary, fi lled with lessons about character, leadership, and values. Experiencing the Chemistry of life in Pakistan, diluting her sorrows by mixing with passions, evaporating her worries by writing and forcing people to fi lter their corrupt fi lled mistakes did not bring her crystals of happiness but stones of sorrow. Like a scientist she continues to teach, empower women and put egoistical males in their proper places.

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© 2014 Sarah Nabruq. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse   14/8/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8820-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8819-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8821-8 (e)

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Contents

September 2002

October 2002

January 2003

20/2/2003

5/4/2003

April 2003

June 2003

10/2/2004

14/2/2004

1/9/2004

26/12/2004

2/2/2005

October 2004

31/10/2004

10/11/2004

9/9/04

3/11/2004

13/12/2004

5/2/2005

12/2/2005

March 2005

April 2005

27/5/2005

8/10/2005

29/11/2005

8/12/2005

Mr Munawar Ch

15/12/2005

19/12/2005

26/12/2005

1/1/2006

6/1/2006

14/1/2006

13/2/2006

16/2/2006

18/2/2006

20/3/2006

21/3/2006

27/4/06

1/5/2006

25/9/2006

14/9/2006

29/9/2006

5/10/2006

October 2006

6/10/2006

6/11/2006

10/11/2006

12/11/2006

13/11/2006

17/11/2006

November 2006

December 2006

18/12/2006

19/12/2006

20/12/2006

21/12/2006

22/12/2006

23/12/2006

24/12/2007

25/12/2006

26/12/2006

27/12/2006

28/12/2006

29/12/2007

Saturday 30th December

Sunday 31st December

Monday 1st of January 2007

Tuesday 2nd January

13/2/2007

18/2/2007

9/3/2007

11/3/2007

25/3/2007

1/5/2007

16/5/2007

27/5/2007

8/6/2007

8/6/2007

12/6/2007

3/7/2007

18/8/2007

21/8/2007

2/9/2007

2/9/2007

9/9/2007

17/9/2007

22/9/2007

30/9/2007

11/10/2007

18/10/2007

2/11/2007

6/11/2007

29/11/2007

5/11/2007

17/12/2007

20/12/2007

27/12/2007

17/1/2008

30/1/2008

11/3/2008

February 2008

March 2008

11/5/2008

6/4/2008

9/5/2008

4/6/2008

21/6/2008

23/8/2008

23/8/2008

5/9/2008

9/9/2008

21/9/2008

6/10/2008

9/10/2008

11/12/2008

28/12/2008

17/1/2009

31/1/2009

26/2/2009

8/3/2009

15/3/2009

22/4/2009

27/4/2009

29/4/2009

1/5/2009

7/5/2009

8/5/2009

13/5/2009

10/6/2009

11/6/2009

21/6/2009

15/9/2009

18/12/2009

1/7/2010

10/3/2010

8/4/2010

27/4/2010

4/5/2010

16/5/2010

28/5/2010

22/6/2010

27/6/2010

5/8/2010

24/8/2010

31/8/2010

5/9/2010

12/10/2010

1/11/2010

11/10/2010

19/11/2010

9/12/2010

10/12/2010

14/12/2010

4/1/2011

15/1/2011

24/1/2011

17/3/2011

28/3/2011

23/6/2011

9/7/2011

10/8/2011

October 2011

29/11/2011

9/1/2012

January 2012

February 2012

March 2012

18/4/2012

19/4/2012

20/4/2012

April 2012

21/08/2012

31/8/2012

October 2012

1/11/2012

10/11/2012

7/10/2012

October 2012

January 2013

18/2/2013

19/2/2013

9/3/2013

19/3/2013

20/3/13

23/3/2013

5/5/2013

10/5/2013

11/5/2013

August 2013

January 2014

May 2014

Dedicated to

Amber Anwar ul Haq

A Rebel in Pakistan

Who taught me how to survive in a world where POWER is the SYSTEM & MONEY is the Religion

Who believed in me with all her heart & soul

Who mentored me and nurtured me

And to all the crazy ones who are dying to work for a better Pakistan as they are the ones who invent, imagine, heal, explore, create, inspire and change things.

Here’s To The Crazy Ones. The misfits. The rebels. The trouble-makers. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules, they have no respect for the status-quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them but you can’t ignore them. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who DO!

Jack Kerouac

"Everything tells me that I am about

to make a wrong decision,

but making mistakes is just part of life.

What does the world want of me?

Does it want me to take no risks,

to go back to where I came from

because I didn’t have the courage

to say yes to life?"

— Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes

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Living in Pakistan is like being on a roller coaster 24/7. We never know what is going to happen next. Adventure, excitement combined with horror and fear is a typical day living there. Living in our own country Pakistan is an experience which not only brings us close to the bitter realities but also to face circumstances which are beyond our imagination.

I always took living in Britain for granted, the grey dark never ending winter days, the monotonous routines, the wait for the holiday season, the calm and quiet weekends just bored me until I decided to go and live in Pakistan in 2002, even my favourite food, the steaming fish and chips wrapped up in the paper that smelt of vinegar couldn’t keep me away. Not only did I decide to move myself but I convinced my highly talented, easy going husband Humble, who was so happily settled in his job as an eye consultant to settle in Pakistan. Not forgetting my 11 year old daughter and a four year old son who were just dragged along but couldn’t comprehend why they were never allowed to roam the streets of Lahore on their own at any time.

I could have gone and lived in any part of a sane world at any moment, yet I chose to live in an uncertain world full of confrontations and then I refused to accept what was going around me, that surely was a sign of insanity. In the beginning I missed only fish & chips, the public toilets and shopping isles but as time went on I started to miss everything, the queues at the tube stations (not that I needed to board a train in Pakistan), the easy accessible systems, the British manners and etiquettes and most of all I missed the equality in every sphere of life. I kept wondering which equality did the Muslims of Pakistan believe in that was so clearly defined in Islam and followed by the westerners. I didn’t expect refinement from the less educated people but in Pakistan rude attitudes and bigger posts go hand in hand. I went to Pakistan to contribute, to serve and help people not wanting anything is return. I kept on constantly struggling, boiling and melting at the same time. Every passing day sucked away my energies and I refused to give in. I thought I had found my purpose of life (to serve the underprivileged people of Pakistan) and started to teach everyone around me to find theirs.

Never could I imagine that one gets punished for doing the right things, for telling the truth, for refusing to bribe, for bowing down to corrupted power. After a decade I’m feeling drained, depressed and damaged, totally out of love with the country that I had embraced so lovingly ten years ago. I breathed Pakistan, I lived for Pakistan, I was head over heels in love with it until I got a kick. In 2002 the love for Pakistan took over the love for my family and now the love and safety of my family has taken over the love of the country. It pains me that my heart that was so full of love is now filled with frustration, disappointment and sadness. I was told over and over again that merit, justice, talent, values, honesty, reasonableness, equality, sincerity and responsibility does not work there, I never listened to anyone and continued to blow my own trumpet of morality. I failed to believe that a society which does not believe in moral values can even exist. The biggest dilemma is that most of the people in Pakistan choose to be dishonest, they lie, they cheat, they give and take bribes and all this is done under the pretence of circumstantial & societical duress.

Being a Muslim is the only virtue required to live in Pakistan, having a Pakistani Muslim’s attire is more admissible than having a character. Credibility is associated with the show of one’s faith and not one’s actions. Everything is inside out. Courts are places of influence rather than Justice, educational institutions are businesses aimed at certain strata of society rather than knowledge, hospitals are places for gaining private patients rather than treating the sick, police stations are places of power against the under privileged rather than easing the crisis, mosques are places of breeding terrorism and intolerance rather than enlightenment and WE are proud to be Muslims in a Pak (clean) land.

I find it very contradictory that Pakistani Muslims who are willing to sacrifice themselves in the name of our Prophet (PBUH) have nothing in common with him. They backbite, lose their temper at the drop of a hat, swear, throw trash everywhere, consider every corner a pee joint, point fingers at everyone, hold sexist views and love staring at women (covered or uncovered). They insult everything that is associated with Islam and claim to be the Muslims of the highest order.

Like AliceI from Wonderland I couldn’t make sense of the new world around me:

‘I’m not crazy, my reality is different from yours. It would be so nice if something would make sense for a change.’

My knowledge and understanding of Islam as a religion of humanity was let down by the Muslims living in the so called Islamic state of Pakistan. I could never imagine that one day I would be proud of my faith which I learnt from the British society where the spirit of Islam is practiced in the true sense.

Being brought up in the typical English society, I was always reminded by my parents that there are certain things that we as Muslims, followers of Islam do and do not do. My dad another insane lover of Pakistan always told us stories about his homeland where there was no moral degradation, where people were not allowed to drink alcohol and mix freely with women and where marriages had sanctity. He painted heavenly images and narrated words from the Quran which brought out the real meaning of being Muslims. I was fortunate to fathom the meaning of Islam at quite a young age and imagined living in a society based on the true principles of Islam. My father moved to Pakistan in late 1970s but at my young age I was n’t exposed to society as such. My school life and college life was only limited as such and then as I got married I was again in UK. I guess the childhood fantasies stayed with me while I entered my practical life in London. Having a daughter added to my anxieties to escape into a world where moral values were upheld as narrated in our religion. For me the only thing that started to matter was to lead an Islamic life in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. I idolized Quaid-i-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah (the founder of Pakistan) who laid the foundations of Pakistan on the concept of Islam. I had no wisdom to foresee that Pakistan which claimed to be an Islamic republic did not know what it meant. Pakistan has its own Islam, not the one revealed by Allah, not the one which Jinnah understood but that which is practiced and preached by the religious clerics. They observe customs and rituals many of which pre-date Islam and think that they are part of our religion. Every cleric brings forth their own version of Islam and who so ever dares to question is either titled as an Infidel or is sworn out of the circle of Islam. I guess it was fate that I was to learn the hard way.

I came to Pakistan to fit in and struggled to be one of them, despite swimming opposite the currents I swam for the shore. Time and time again I was reminded that I stood out of the crowd and I hated to hear it. I was reminded subtly, ‘This is the way things are done here. You need to think like us and behave like us.’

I grew up in a country where things were different, where people of different colours and faiths lived in harmony, where talent and ability were valued and where conflicts and differences were celebrated. Sometimes I felt like a peacock in the land of penguins but I believed in bringing a change in the society through education. Time and time again I felt as if Gallagher Hateley and Warren H. Schmidt wrote their book ‘Peacock in the land of Penguins’ about Pakistan.

Unlike Perry the Peacock who was headhunted from the Land of Learning to the Land of Penguins I went to the land of Penguins uninvited with a dream of making a difference.

Some people thought I had Pakistani potential and would make things better, and in the beginning, everybody seemed happy and welcoming. But like Perry I was too loud and different from most of the people. As time went by, it became a challenge for the people who were the most conform, traditional, security-minded, and consensus-seeking to accept how I thought and acted. They thought that I should become like them, but all I wanted was to be accepted for what I believed in.

Some educated people thought I was a much-needed breath of fresh air, tried to persuade me that it would be far easier for me and my unique results to become accepted if I adopted the Pakistani ways, lowered my anxieties and stopped being so stubborn. My other ‘migrated’ friends developed different strategies for becoming agents of change in Pakistan but I couldn’t. Time and time again I failed to realize that my future was in another land - the Land of Opportunity. Pakistanis said they valued diversity, but their actions spoke otherwise. I stubbornly stayed to change the land of penguins into a land of opportunity.

And in time they realized that the Land of Opportunity is more than a nation - it is a state of mind. The Land of Opportunity is an attitude. It is being open to new ideas, willingness to listen, eagerness to learn, desire to grow, and flexibility to change.

I went to live in Pakistan when Musharraf was in Power- a man who seemed bold enough to tackle the problems but forgot what he was capable of and fell a victim to his own desires of power. I came across a few who supported him and felt that most of his supporters played a role in the downfall of Pakistan.

I lived through the times when the farce democracy seemed to come into existence and a corrupt and and tainted man like Zardari was made a President in the name of ‘Democracy’. It all led to lawlessness and what I see as the start of the ‘Dark ages’ in Pakistan. Foreign traders were scared off due to suicidal bombings, American drone attacks in the northern areas and foreign policies involving grants all led to hatred among people of Pakistan. Due to lack of interest from the government the seed of extremism that was sown by General Zia (another dictator from the 80s) started to sprout and cause trouble. Sectarian killings became an everyday news. Almost all big cities turned into war zones and none of the governments were interested in making things better.

People have often asked me why I chose to live in Pakistan when I’m so troubled about the state of affairs in the country. I guess I got bored of a predictable life, I’ve always loved challenges, since my childhood I always refused to accept something that I couldn’t understand. My mother labels me as ‘A walking trouble’. People have called me ‘Crazy’, ‘centre of A Tension’. I can’t be proud to hold those titles but I have always convinced myself that if raising a voice for a cause is labelled crazy then I’m proud of it. Some have called me a ‘Crusader’ and have advised me to mind my own business as I’m told that I can’t change things. I did intend to change things but after a decade I’m just afraid of losing my own values and principles which drive my thinking and passion.

Despite the fact that everyone keeps telling me that this is how things are, I have failed to accept it. Things are pretty bad, systems are non existent and almost everyone is just interested in money by hook or by crook. Sometimes I felt that that the only religion that most people follow in Pakistan is MONEY and the only system that works is of POWER. We only respect and admire those who have acquired wealth and power illegally. For more than eight years I failed to see the dark side of this selfish and prejudiced world. Not only did I paint rosy pictures of Pakistan but I failed to understand the misery of the common people. I claimed to work with the poor, the needy, the orphans, went out of my way to help them but failed to see the bottom of the pit. I lived in a protected environment and claimed to know it all. I had my fits and phases from working and championing as a modern independent woman who is no less than a man to a so called Muslim extremist where I refused to work with men and to go to such limits as making a ‘Burqa’ compulsory for all girls working in our institution. I had even started to think as Osama Bin Laden as my hero and to go and fight Jihad in Afghanistan. It was a phase of my naiveté. My family thought I had gone bonkers.

I upheld my views and held lectures on morality off and on. I kept teaching merit, rights and responsibilities in my own tiny world which shattered to tiny sharp pieces, never to be mended again.

My encounters and experiences in no way mean to defame Pakistan or any particular person, but they have just allowed me flow my anger through my pen. People who are mentioned in my encounters are not only real but the incidents are described as how I experienced them.

‘Study me as much as you like, you will never know me, for I differ a hundred ways from what you see me to be. Put yourself behind my eyes, and see me as I see myself, for I have chosen to dwell in a place you cannot see.’ Rumi

Even after a decade of wishful struggle, I still want answers: WHY? Why is this happening in our country- a country which is full of natural and human resources? Why can’t people see what is happening around them? Why can’t poor children be seen as humans? Why are we denying them the opportunities to develop? Why is there a lack of education, missing recreation opportunities to play and an opportunity to express themselves freely? Why do we have to employ children when Pakistan has a problem of mass employment? Why doesn’t the highly paid ministry of education, overstaffed bureaucracy and foreign funded selfish NGOs play their part in the lives of the poor children? Why are teachers not willing to teach in Public schools? And why doesn’t the civil society wake up?

When inner values fail, the accountability mode helps, when both fail then we experience Pakistan.

Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.

— J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

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September 2002

I wanted a school for my daughter, Farah where she could feel happy. I wanted her to share my enthusiasm and happiness of my OWN country. A couple of months ago Farah had decided to wear a scarf on her head (Hijab) in UK and had decided to keep it. I encouraged her and told her that once she wears it she would not be allowed to take it off. That was my own notion of Islam at that time. I spoke to another friend who had also moved at the same time with her daughters and she suggested Lahore School for girls in DHA, very near to where we lived. I heard that they welcomed girls with good grades. I knew that Farah is quite a bright student, and will not have a problem getting into the school. It was mentioned that the DHA branch preferred families who were rich and had connections. I only cared about merit.

People in Pakistan, especially those who live in Defence housing society Lahore (one of the poshest areas) are supposed to live according to certain standards, one is supposed to have a driver, a cook, a gardener, some nannies etc etc. My mum had two cleaners (a mother and her 16 year old daughter) to clean the house and a gate keeper only, which I thought were unnecessary at that time. We had two cars in the house, my mum’s little one and my dad’s medium sized car. Nothing posh. I drove my mother’s car because my dad had never liked anyone driving his car.

My daughter’s admission test was arranged, I was so sure Farah would have done extremely well. To my surprise I was informed that Farah was not given admission but the head teacher would still like to see me. I refused to believe it and saw the head teacher. I told her to show me Farah’s tests, she refused straight away and told me that she was not answerable to me or any other parent but she added that if I was willing, I could join her school as a teacher. I got up saying that if my daughter is not good enough for you, then I’m not good enough.

Speaking to my friend, she just asked me which car I drove to school and how many nannies I had in the car, if the driver drove me there. I was told my daughter was refused admission because I didn’t have a big car or a driver- unbelievable. I asked her what it had to do with my daughter’s admission and she tried to teach me lesson number one which I still haven’t learnt. She also suggested that I ask someone important to call the head teacher on my behalf- a sifarish. NEVER, were my exact words.

Lesson 1: Travel around in a big car with a driver and a nanny so that people think we are important and rich. If we are not rich enough we won’t get into certain schools or places, merit or no merit.

I have a loose nut in my head which I used to called conscience, it doesn’t allow me to follow lessons that go against my principles so I decided to travel by bus to the next school.

I taught Apartheid in the history of English literature, didn’t know it still existed in my own country. I was a proud teacher to give reference to the last sermon of our Holy Prophet (PBUH) to the Britishers who practiced it so clearly. It states that: ‘All mankind is from Adam and Eve, an Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab nor a non-Arab has any superiority over an Arab; also a white has no superiority over a black nor a black has any superiority over a white - except by piety and good action.’ This sermon which is so much chanted in Pakistan is thrown out of the window when it comes to practice it. Never have I come across Muslims from any other countries who display their love our Prophet (PBUH) so passionately but the love is limited to his name only. When it comes to practicing the teachings, ignorance rules.

Farah was offered admission in two other branches of Lahore School where I didn’t go by bus but in my little white car.

I joined my father’s trust. The trust was set up by my father in 1980 who came to live in Pakistan when we were quite young. He wanted to make a difference by educating the girls. He chose one of the poorest areas of Lahore, where there was a lot of unemployment and illiteracy. He believed in educating and training the locals. People believed that spending on girl’s education was a waste. My father who belonged to a middle class family was reminded again and again that he didn’t have any sons so no one would carry his name forward. My dad who only had four daughters and no sons, always gave us the best of everything, bought us the most expensive books, taught us English, maths and the Quran himself and encouraged us to pursue any careers we wanted. Never have I heard my parents saying that they longed for a son despite being reminded by the whole family and the society that they had to have one. How ironic that those who used to mock him have passed away without any worth mentioning deeds or name but my father’s name is being carried on by thousands and thousands of children.

The trust was born from a small girls’ school, Trust Girls School. The school started with two teachers and about thirty pupils. The pupils were charged a very nominal fee during the first few years. Within a year the school attracted 300 pupils and the number of staff kept on increasing. There was no girls’ school in this area for miles and the School gave them something to build their life on. The school was registered with the board of Intermediate and Secondary Education in 1982.

My dad who believed in helping the poor and the needy and was blessed with gold fingers. The more he spent in Allah’s way, his wealth kept increasing and he managed to give more. He had the passion to help but according to my mum didn’t have the wisdom to choose the right people. His soft heart made him very vulnerable and he was easily conned.

As far as the school matters were concerned he was lucky to have many competent and honest women who helped him achieve his dreams and passion.

As the school kept growing, in 1990 due to popular demand of the residents of Walton the school was raised to college level and was called ‘Trust Girls Higher Secondary School’. A new Principal Ms Ayesha Ali was appointed the same year to manage the college section and a new building was constructed for them. The results of the school kept on going higher and higher and for the last 10 years our overall results in matric science have been 100% and all the students get 1st division. The popularity of the school had been leading to more intakes and in 1992 the junior school had to be separated and a new Principal was appointed to manage that school. The results of the college’s first badge were so good that in Yr2000 the school was given the status of ‘Trust Degree College’ by the Punjab University.

The junior section used to cater for the boys up to class 5th and then they had to leave and look for alternate schools. The parents had always insisted on the management to open up a boy’s section. Dad never liked the idea of a boys school. I guess he was just staying in his comfort zone just building upon what he had. I convinced him that I would handle anything that comes across. Due to lack of space and insistence of parents a secondary school was set up in the afternoon, which unexpectedly became so popular that the trust had to buy some land at the back of their main premises. A new building was constructed and ‘Trust Boys School’ came into existence in Yr 2001 and was registered with the Education department and the board of Intermediate and secondary education. Ms Sultana was chosen by dad to start off with the boys school. She was a very tall and well built young woman. People titled her as a ‘Thanedarni’ Police officer, -because of her strictness. I liked her and she turned out to be the best person for the job.

My father worked in England for 18 years and set up a Trust in 1993 with his own assets calling it ‘Educational Trust’. The schools and college were put under the management of the Trust. The income of the school was already being spent on the expansion of the trust schools and college. Since the trust has been established all income from the schools goes into the trust account and is spent according to trust rules.

The trust has set up a fund and all orphan and needy pupils not only get free education but are provided with books and uniform as well. Scholarship system is set up which is given to students who top the class. Women especially widows are also given literacy classes and interest free loans to help them get on their own feet.

After setting up the trust, a governing body was set up to help manage the running of the trust. One member from each section of the school and college are members of the governing body and four community members comprise the external members of the governing body. The governors decide the important matters like schedules of curricular & extra curricular activities, dismissal of pupils and staff (in case of misconduct and incompetency), pay scale and rules and regulations of the schools and college.

As I joined the trust I started to make changes especially with the way how teachers taught. I started regular training sessions which were met with quiet protests and denials but teachers had no choice as I was now in charge. I cannot forget one teacher’s remark, ‘I know it all, why do we have to learn.’ My answer was with 12 years of teaching experience in one of the best schools in London, I was still learning. As far as I’m concerned teaching involves continuous learning. I did warn them that working with me was going to be tough but enjoyable. I continued to enjoy and fulfill my mental and emotional needs while teaching and training despite resistance from some teachers.

Dad had just dropped me into the ocean and I didn’t know how to swim. He stayed right behind me and didn’t let me sink but in the first couple of years his vulnerability led him to doubt my intentions, I felt like like losing the grip and I just held tight. Mum’s and Humble’s presence added to my strength in between.

Some senior and old staff members tried to divide dad and me but mum’s wisdom to foresee problems just knitted us together. Slowly and steadily the organization began to grow. Our links, our voluntary work and our trainings with external organizations began to increase and with internet we started to gain positive links which helped our organization gain a very positive name.

October 2002

One thing which has always made me feel restless in Pakistan is the disparity between the lives of the people in Pakistan. I remember Prince Charles of UK once saying, ‘Even if I give away all my wealth I would not be able to finish poverty from UK.’

Poverty is not God given, it is thrust upon the majority of illiterate people by a group of powerful and selfish thugs. It is the unislamic, unjust and corrupt system in Pakistan which has allowed the rich and the powerful to get richer and gain more power whereas the poor will continue to be trapped in the cycle of poverty because the distribution of resources is in the hands of the few selected ones.

It’s really saddening to see children looking for food from the rubbish and then richer children sitting in McDonald’s wasting a lot of food, a child nanny about 8 years of age looking after two younger children, sitting in McDonald’s, the 2 children are brought two happy meals which obviously they cannot finish but the child nanny is offered only a few French fries. I was so hurt that I wanted to interfere but was stopped by my daughter who told me to mind my own business. I could have bought a happy meal for the child nanny. Are we blind to the needs of the poor children or do we not see them as children. This a very common sight where interference from my part is usually not welcomed. I feel irritated, frustrated; helpless in some instances as well and keep brooding over the situation. Those parents who have left their children to fend for themselves are the most to blame because they have robbed them of their childhoods which every child deserves. For the first few years I refused to go to anyone’s house who employed children, I

Reviews for Masquerade

[astrofiammante · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

One of the books that has inspired me ever since I first saw it at the age of nine. A fascinating riddle, a beautiful object and an insight into a the bizarre, coincidence-filled world of treasure hunts where nothing is as it seems and even the makers often don't fully realise what it is they have created.

[deckla_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Drawings are whimsical and evocative. The book is a riddle; well done.

[overthemoon_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Kit Williams has long been a favourite and this was missing from my (small) collection. I have been revelling in the paintings and trying to solve the riddle, but it is too difficult, and I cheated (all explained on the web). I'm glad to hear that KW was reunited with his hare jewellery. Concidentally, just before I read this, I finished a fascinating book called The Leaping Hare, and am fairly sure that KW must have read it as well, as there were similar names and poems in the two.