migration

And there, next to me, as the east wind blows in early fall, a season open to great migrations, are those lives, threading the air and waters of the sea, that come out of an incomparable darkness, which is also my own.

paradise seemed further away than India, but Hell had become a bit closer

You must regard this deviation from your plan as part of the adventure that you sought when you decided to embark on it in the first place...Absence of certainty is its essence. People...who choose to shun the mundane must not only expect, but also enjoy and profit from surprises.

Butterflies have always had wings; people have always had legs. While history is marked by the hybridity of human societies & the desire for movement, the reality of most of migration today reveals the unequal relations between rich & poor, between North and South, between whiteness and its others.

As we encounter each other, we see our diversity _ of background, race, ethnicity, belief _ and how we handle that diversity will have much to say about whether we will in the end be able to rise successfully to the great challenges we face today.

Rucksacks. What do people whose life stops here take with them? Makina could see their rucksacks crammed with time. Amulets, letters, sometimes a huapango violin, sometimes a jaranera harp. Jackets. People who left took jackets because they__ been told that if there was one thing they could be sure of over there, it was the freezing cold, even if it was desert all the way. They hid what little money they had in their underwear and stuck a knife in their back pocket. Photos, photos, photos. They carried photos like promises but by the time they came back they were in tatters.

Now we__e guests in a faraway land nearly 40 years on. No trees, no cool breeze, no best friends. Only endless days spent in sending SMSs...

Even the new things thatI less than know,I keep trying, did againuntil perfect.

You are...the embodimentof immediate good karma.The equalizer between bottomfeeders and the sanctimoniouscogs in the system.

You stand for what is right-for the patient and the staff.Pressures of work may down you,maybe bent but not broken.

Bob, I am grateful for yourThree letter name.It's another reminder of homeOf a world predictableOf a life I had.

[Y]ou, one day, will knock lips with Turkish-coffee-clad veils whose beds our kin must tuck in misty-eyed.

Haris...as a naive migrantwho just moved here,relying on you tapered worries.

A bracing wind swirls about the boy and alights gently upon his shoulder to gape frightfully at droplets of fate joined infirmly to a sweep of atmospheric and lunar forces far beyond their capabilities to resist. He takes a long, deep breath of air__leansed through its migration__nd he closes his eyes.Scattered waves roll back in to the sea.

You can leave your place you are sitting at without leaving that place either by playing music or by listening to music! Music is a migration to the unknown!

This Heart at Peace is My Homeland. (Su Shih)

I have grown up listening to my grandparents_ stories about __he other side_ of the border. But, as a child, this other side didn__ quite register as Pakistan, or not-India, but rather as some mythic land devoid of geographic borders, ethnicity and nationality. In fact, through their stories, I imagined it as a land with mango orchards, joint families, village settlements, endless lengths of ancestral fields extending into the horizon, and quaint local bazaars teeming with excitement on festive days. As a result, the history of my grandparents_ early lives in what became Pakistan essentially came across as a very idyllic, somewhat rural, version of happiness.

Some people are so much heaven to the square inch that life is simply hell, when she leaves you in order to go south for the winter. (Yes, women are people too, sometimes even threee.)