Patargata -  125 miles south of Dhaka, Bangladesh. There's little left of the huts along the coastline. From the the wake left behind the cyclone, Azahar Ali climbs over heaps of destruction, barefoot, wearing a yellow undershirt and a "dhoti".

Patargata - Azahar Ali looks like a farmer, his skin darkened by years under the sun. He must be in his 30's. Bead... [Read More]

I am running out of something, besides the ozone layer, oil, the middle class gap, and my hairline.

 
I'm running out of time. They say the end times will come when the days get shorter - is it the end of time?

 
 
    7:30 am - Baby wakes up, we bring him to our bed from his bedroom, if we're lucky he gives us another half hour to lounge.

 
    8:00 am - Coffee in bed, baby's doing back flips, and the cat wants breakfast.

 
    8:30 am - Breakfast table, we're munching on cereal and eggs. Baby's testing his pitching arm with the eggs.

 
    9:45 am - Gym, drop off baby at the gym romper room. I'm off doing my routine, Sonia's doing cardio for an hour.

 
    11:15 am - Home, baby's dozed off in the car. Put him to bed to nap. Shower, I head for my office (at home), Sonia's checking her email, and working in the kitchen. I work on voice-overs for a new commercial we're producing for a national client.

 
    1:00 pm - Baby's up. Diaper change (she does it), and Sonia's working on something for lunch. I continue working on the voice-overs, and getting through emails.

 
    1:30 pm - Lunch. Baby continues to practice pitching food at the window, the floor, the cupboards, and the cat. The cat is not amused.

 
    2:45 pm - Back to work in the office, Sonia's doing housework and other chores. She's also cooking a meal for guests for dinner. My boss and his wife are coming over, he's heading to Pakistan in a week, and wants me to tell him what Pakistan is about. Even though I was born there, I'm like a fish out of water, but I agree to try and give him my input.

 
    3:00 pm - Radio Shack, ... [Read More]

View the image here.

When I was a child, I often wondered how it could be that God created Hell? If God loves us more than a mother loves a child - then how could he let anyone enter Hell?

The picture is an AP picture that I stumbled upon on Arabisto.com a few days ago. Among the headlines, it is just one of thousands like it. Another incursion, another struggle, and another story remotely familiar. Between the emails, meetings, ringing phones, and busy schedules, I paused on this picture. I saved it to my desktop. I opened it, and stared at it. Why is this one different than the others?

I could write a volume of what I see in the father's eyes, or the mothers. There's a sense of remoteness and unflinching care of their own condition. Both appear to be fixated on something other than themselves. I can only guess how deep his wounds are in his head, shoulders, and other parts of his body. She's covered with bandages, her shirt is soaked with blood, how badly is she hurt?

It's not their state of shock that captures my attention, it's what the mother carries in her arms. The fragile bundle she's carrying - this has to be the reason they seem unconcerned for their own state. What are they thinking? Is help coming? Or is it more harm?

I'm fixated by the fragile bundle - this is what made me save the picture. This is what reminds me, now as an adult, why God in all of His wisdom, created a Hell. His Wisdom and Knowing set the scales of a Hell and Heaven, for what we demand. Of course, there's no other way. How could He not create a Hell?

When baby Zak slammed his little hand in a bedroom drawer, I instantly dropped whatever it was I was doing without thinking. In a couple of seconds I ... [Read More]

Enter high pitched eerie music. Lights dim, and the sound of a small rodent scurries across the floor. Shadows abound, and a radiator steams along a long narrow hall. From an open door, a naked foot appears into view. The naked foot leads to a naked thigh, which is leading to a saggy naked ass entering the room. Now, for the money shot - I get a full frontal assault from a man who's spent way too much time sitting behind a desk - his wrinkles and sagginess evidence of a desk jockey.
 
Ok, minus the dramatic music, and shadows from my mind, and you get to see what I see. I don't see just one naked banker, I see a naked banker, a naked insurance guy, a naked blue-collar guy, a naked black guy, a naked white, they come in all shapes and sizes (and wrinkles). And I see them everyday!
 
It's polite not to stare, not that I'd want to - if I have hopes of retaining what's left of my appetite for the day. I'm at the Chattanooga YMCA, today I finish my weights, and then hit the lockers - where inevitably I'm surrounded by old wrinkled butts. They come from every corner, they're there everyday. Some of them in a hurry, and some of them loitering, talking about last nights game, one leg on the bench. Talking. Dangling. Talking and Dangling.
 
It's the most normal thing in the world. That's relative. Culture is relative. As much as I darn near come close induced vomiting, I walk into the lockers, it's the most normal thing in the world to Westerners. One's standing in front of the sink, running the hand air dryer through his hair - and of course, when he's done with his hair, he will use the dryer in places that should have a leaf or something.., anything covering them. Another one's toweling himself off.., and that towel becomes leg floss - the same towel that gets washed and handed out to everyone. I get off the couch, where I sat to put my shoes on, a wrinkly butt takes my place, and sits where I sat - of course buck naked.
&... [Read More]

Monday morning, on another weekly flight from Dallas to Chattanooga. I’m working as a project manager with BearingPoint for a client who’s trying to get a new healthcare site up for July – I’ve been in Chattanooga every week since January this year. Client’s great to work with – actually one of the best client’s I’ve ever worked with, it’s a church-going group, and they couldn’t be more hospitable to us consultants. Its’ a rare treat – and I’m enjoying it.

American Airlines flight 3473, we’re flying above the clouds, and of course, I’m thinking about films again, films, films, and films – it’s amazing how your life gets so absorbed in something when you finally find what keeps you excited. Making money at it, is a whole other story. I’m thinking about all the new projects I want to get off the ground – easier said than done, when I’m trying to balance a full-time job, traveling out of state every week, spend time with Sonia and baby Zakaria, and the constant little things that come up in life that are unplanned.

Still, I try to fall back to the highlights of filmmaking, to look for motivation to keep going – the money will come. I’t ain’t really about the money though – because I’m making plenty with the job I’ve got now. It’s a great gig – but I need something more.

I remember the first time “American Ramadan” aired on television. It was on Thursday, Sept... [Read More]