Thoughts

Not Saying Goodbye To Harry

2011-08-01T00:08:00.001-07:00

Let me make a confession at the very start: When a friend excitedly yapped on about Gringgots and Muggles after the first book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was released, my immediate reaction, despite being a children’s books junkie (something I remain to this very day) was far from enthusiastic.

I mumbled something about the fact that JK Rowling had basically stolen the plot from Jill Murphy whose Worst Witch series, first published in the 1980s, tell the story of the bumbling Mildred Hubble who attends Miss Cackle's Academy for Witches. So what exactly, I argued, was the need for such a commotion? After all, it was hardly an original idea. And so, I dismissed the thought of reading it without a thought, deeming it a case of ‘been there, done that’.

It was at the prodding of yet another friend in college (I was in my 20s at the time) that I began reading the first book. And the rest, as they say, is history. I was spellbound. I had discovered a world that was a wonderful combination of Blyton’s school stories and her Magic Faraway series, replete with magical creatures, magnificent spells, extraordinary sub-plots, thrilling games of Quidditch that transported – nay, floo networked and pensieved – me into the magical realms well beyond my imagination.

By that time, in 2000, the fourth book Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire had been released, and I had the pleasure of reading all four books in one fell swoop, forgoing many a night on the town – in New York City of all places – for the simple pleasure of discovering more and more about Harry Potter; learning more about the wizarding world, wondering why on earth there was no magical counterpart to the internet (I privately reasoned that it could be called the Wizarding Witch Web – giving a new twist to the world wide web we cannot do without) where Harry could have just Oogled the name Nicholas Flamel instead of wasting so much time in the Hogwart’s library.

Of course, the icing on that very magical cake was the fact that the movie adaptations of the series followed, the last of which Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, was released just last week, which many Potterphiles like me watched at the cinema even if it meant catching the 12 am show.

However, even though the movies were received enthusiastically by people across the world doesn’t mean that they were flawless. After all, the case of a movie bringing to life each and every detail covered in these wondrous books is never likely. But we forgave the filmmakers for changing the colour of Harry’s eyes from blue to green; and although we all missed Peeve the poltergeist, we figured that it was a small price to pay to see Hogwarts, in all its glory, come to life with such intricate and spellbinding detail; to see the floating candles on the enchanted ceiling, to ‘meet’ Harry and his ‘best’ friends Hermione and Ron; to watch his professors, which included Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall in action.

And although it was difficult to deal with the fact that the actor Michael Gambon, who played Dumbledore in the first two movies, had passed away and was replaced by Richard Harris in the consequent movies, we realised that it was even more painful to witness Dumbledore’s death as he lay in that cold, white tomb.

However, while the first three movies managed to stay true to the story, under the swift direction of Christopher Columbus and Alfonso Cuarón, perhaps because the books were relatively shorter, it was the fourth and fifth movie adaptations that disappointed many a Potter fan. They ran like documentaries; racing from one magical encounter to another, devoid of the nuanced, storytelling aspect that made the first three movies such a treat. Thankfully, eventually under the direction of David Yates, the last three movies regained the trust of many a Muggle, keeping them fervently waiting for the next one.

Of course, other than the directors, it is the actors who ensured that the films were enchanting. In addition to Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson (who played Harry, Ron and Hermione respectively), the stellar cast included Robbie Coltrane, Maggie Smith, Alan Rickman, Helena Bonham Carter, Tom Felton and, of course, Ralph Fiennes (who played Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco Malfoy and Lord Voldemort respectively), who gave memorable performances that truly brought to life JK Rowling’s diverse characters – from the pages of her books and right on to the silver screen. Perhaps one reasons for this was the actors were primarily British, and thus were able to lend an aura of authenticity to their characters.

But the movies, especially the last one, were special to many Hogwatrisans, because it meant that they didn’t have to say goodbye to their friends Harry, Ron and Hermione just yet, even after the last book Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released in 2007.

All that, of course, has changed. The last movie has been released. There will be no more – at least that is what JK Rowling says. And other than perhaps reading The Tales of Beedle the Bardthere is no way to connect with the magical world of Harry Potter. Other than perhaps playing the video games, or visiting the theme park, The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, in Orlando, Florida. (Good luck with getting a visa!)

Then again, there is always the DVD to the last movie that one can wait for – it will, hopefully have some deleted scenes we can savour.

Or, of course, you can always start re-reading the books and then re-watch the corresponding movie. That’s something I have started to do. Because I am not ready to say goodbye just yet.

First published in Books and Authors, July 31, 2011

Us vs. Us - Or Us vs. Them?

2011-01-18T00:14:00.000-08:00

Following the brutal assassination of Salmaan Taseer, it seems like everybody has something to say.

And the most popular debate that has emerged, specifically throughout the English language press and social networking sites, is the “us vs. them” debate. (“Us” being the liberal, English speaking elite, and “them” being the rest of the people of Pakistan, who are lumped into one fanatic category.)

There are proclamations that “they” are all fundos, all ready to kill in the name of Islam. “They”, you see, are the majority. And the proof in the pudding for this scenario is the fact that when they called a rally recently, they, all 40,000 of them stood up cheering on Malik Qadri, because “they” represent the millions of fanatics that supposedly live in Pakistan.

Of course, there is no proof of this. There are no in-depth, quantitative surveys that have been – or could have been – carried out since January 4^th. And yet, it seems, that everyone except the teeny tiny elite, is a fundo. Surely, this in itself is a broad generalisation? An example of stereotyping an entire nation’s majority without any proof at all?

After all, the majority could equally well be the silent moderates as it could be the supposed Islamic fundamentalists. But of course, researching or looking into the story an in a comprehensive manner would be too much trouble. So we, the English-speaking minority find it much easier to label the “urdu medium” majority a band of would-be killers and terrorists.

Of course, engaging in conversation with these mad, lunatic zealots is out of the question. After all, the only thing that makes them tick are time bombs and explosives. So we remain in our self-made bubbles, and rest assured that really, the problems in our society has everything to do with them, and definitely not us. All we can do is update our Facebook and Twitter accounts, and perhaps attend a vigil or two!

2010

2010-12-30T09:23:00.000-08:00

It's been a long year. And not a very productive one, either. I don't think I have done much that I can be proud of, in terms of accomplishments.

And other than a trip to Thailand and Gwadar, I don't think there were too many exciting moments either.

But still, there were some fun moments, with some close friends. Some friends grew closer, and not too many drifted away.

There were plenty of things I wanted to change - things that I have not been able to change, or do anything about. Primarily because of my own inherent laziness and averseness to change; and the fact that some things are beyond my control.

But hey, contrary to what people may say, life is long. God know what may happen tomorrow - and living in Karachi, this city that I cannot grow to love, you actually don't know what may happen tomorrow.

Am finally reading something other than "chick-lit" (I call it Lad-Lit) and re-reading children's stories -- I am actually reading Sophie's Choice and am surprised as to how engaging it is, despite the palpable, infinite sadness that the book exudes from time to time.

Yet, I remember when I met William Styron a little more than a decade ago, having seen the movie, I told him that I had read the book; and nice man that he was, he said that I was a very bright young man, who he thought would go far. How wrong he was!

Anyway, let' s hope I get through the entire book. If nothing, I'd have accomplished that!

A case of "I blog, therefore I am"?

2010-12-07T04:06:00.000-08:00

Yes. So instead of thinking about blogging, I am going to start blogging again.

(If nothing, it will be better than staring at the television and watching a gazzilion episodes of a TV show whose characters' lives I know more about than those of my own real life friends.)

So, here goes.

Why is it so much harder to pick up from where I left off? I remember, wayyyy back in 2006 when blogging was considered the in thing to do, I could blog and rant about anything and everything. I blame Facebook! But that too has gotten rather boring. The same people have the same things to say. But that, perhaps, is the problem with life in general: THE MONOTONY.

Everything gets boring after a little while. Whether it is your friends, your work, the TV shows you watch (oh dear god - i need a life), the books you read, the people you meet, the restaurants you eat at... they all end up BORING YOU.

Well. This wasn't so bad. Maybe I will return to blog land soon.

Blughhhhhhhhh

2010-07-22T09:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think that we just go through the motions of living just to pass the time. Perhaps because we really have no choice but to do so.

Sometimes I just want to hit fast forward on my life -- and see where it takes me. If I don't like what I like, I would rewind, redo. Probably.

I could do something constructive rather than remaining bored, irritated, and discontented with most things in my life.

But what would the fun be in that?

Ophelia's Song

2010-04-30T23:21:00.000-07:00

Where the daisies laugh and blow,
Where the willow leaves hang down,
Nonny, nonny, I will go
There to weave my lord a crown.

Willow, willow, by the brook,
Trailing fingers green and long,
I will read my lord a book,
I will sing my love a song.

Though he turn his face away,
Nonny, nonny, I will sing,
Ditties of a heart gone gray
And a hand that bears no ring.

Water, water cold and deep,
Hold me fast that I may sleep.
Death with you is hardly more
Than the little deaths before.

Excerpted from Killing Mr Griffin by Lois Duncan

Back with no bang

2010-04-20T10:28:00.000-07:00

Looking back on the years since I began to blog, I realised that I was much more regular before. And it got me to wonder why I stopped. Was it because once printed, my thoughts seemed rather silly? Or was it that I just became plain lazy? Or more of a private person.

Oh well, God only knows. What I do know, however, is that blogging is rather therapeutic - and serves well as a venting platform more than anything else.

Actually, the more I think about it, I have to say that Facebook is the culprit. With Facebook - and Twitter too, to an extent - I do all my venting, so there's not much left to vent about. But since of late I have been feeling rather blah and restless, perhaps it is time i blogged more - and hopefully about more interesting things than my petty, petty thought!

So, point of this silly little post, is that I will now try and blog more. But hopefully, will actually end up writing things that people will actually read!

A world beyond

2010-02-06T12:23:00.000-08:00

As I look upon the earth from far beyond,

I see the red skies of a world beyond.

Don’t ask me to remember what was before,

All I can tell you is that there is a world beyond.

A world where the skies aren’t blue,

Where the sun doesn’t ever set,

And where the stars still shine bright.

It’s where tomorrow meets today,

Where yesterday segues into today.

Where the past meets the present,

Devoid of regret.

Where tomorrow is bright,

And yesterday is no more.

Winter nostalgia

2009-11-10T10:25:00.000-08:00

There’s something about winter – or its onset – that makes me very nostalgic.

Although I am usually one to constantly look back, winter makes me do so all the more.

There’s just something about the chilly air that makes me want to go back in time.

Not that I would change a whole lot; but yes, there are some things I would change if I could.

Sometimes it just seems that the past is where I find solace.

But perhaps it is just pure romanticism…

One year too many

2009-03-20T23:24:00.001-07:00

I just realised that it has been nearly a year since I blogged. And then went through the archives, dating back to 2005; which really seems like a really, really long time away. Only to realise that some things have changed; some haven't. The players have changed; my position within the game has improved considerably, to give me more control; the objectives have, too. But the game, sadly, hasn't changed too much. Talk about stagnation!

Blogged with the Flock Browser

Back... without a bang

2008-03-24T21:49:00.000-07:00

It’s been a really long time since I blogged. God knows why, really, since I am certainly not one of those ‘busy’ people who don’t have a minute to themselves. I have always managed to make time for the things I have wanted to. Still, as they say, better late than never.

Yesterday, the new PM was elected… or something to that effect. And today’s newspapers have gone on and on about what a ‘momentous’ and ‘jubilant’ day it is for all of us.

Hmm… call me selfish, but my main concerns are quite simple, really. I’d like to go home without feeling like a mob will attack every time I see crowds gathering on the streets… I would like to go home knowing there is electricity for the entire day and night… I would like it if the streets were cleaner and greener, giving my eyes some sort of relief from the hideous state of the city, with construction sites being set up in the most inconvenient areas…

Hey I would love it if there was cleanliness and comfort to be found in the city other than in my home, office, and coffeehouses and restaurants… Sounds like a tall order, huh?

The Gold Digger, the Feminist and the Perfect One

2007-09-08T01:37:00.000-07:00

Weddings, for many people, are lively events – from the mehendis to shaadis to valimas, full of songs and dances and good food and all. Not for the singleton though, especially if they have “reached a certain age”.

This certain age varies. If you are female – then you probably should have been married off the minute you turned 18. And if you are male, then 24 onwards.

If you are 30, then you’re just past the hill, and beyond help, unless it is marriage to someone ancient, divorced or, actually, you can marry anyone or anything as long as – if you’re lucky – he/she can walk.

At weddings, it seems, that all your loving relatives, friends and not-so-dear aunts all suddenly realise that there is a problem that needs to be addressed ASAP. The problem being, your single status. This is especially obvious if you’re at the wedding of someone who is younger than you – then you have to answer questions like “why him and not you?” or, “He is five years younger than you! I guess he’s got the right idea about life!”

However, being a single man is much better than being a single woman. (Sorry ladies, it’s just the way it is!). But then again, not much better. The minute some aunt realises the fact that you’re single, look remotely human, have a stable job (or who cares about the job anyway?) then things start looking better.

All of a sudden, you have a truck load of aunties coming your way. At first you don’t understand why they are making it a point to come and talk to you. After all, you only know them through your mom’s sister’s husband’s (let’s keep it simple: your uncle’s) sister’s twice removed cousin.

It’s only when after exchanging pleasantries (“oh you’ve grown! The last time I met you were five, fat and running naked in the garden trying to pull my daughter’s pigtails!”) which lead to them introducing you to the daughter in question that it dawns upon you: they’re sussing you out to see if you fulfil their dear daughter’s requirements.

Ah, then you’re introduced to the Daughter. And she fits into two possible categories.

The Seemingly Marry-me-now-I-am-desperate Type
This type of female is all starry eyed and unable to stop weeping at the sight of the newly married bride and groom. She looks towards you with adoration… thereby thoroughly killing the challenge of pursuit… and not challenging you intellectually at all. She has probably wanted to get married since the day she hit 16, possibly got a BA because her parents forced her to, and her ambition is to probably possess the biggest car, the biggest house, the biggest ahem…

But... I digress. This woman is probably every Pakistani man’s (at least the typical man’s) dream come true – but at a high, high, cost that will certainly not decrease with time, since her appetite for jewellery will be rather insatiable.

My advice: RUN! Or, on the other hand, if you do want a seemingly docile bride who will iron your socks, tie your tie in a Jaya Bachchan from Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham fashion, then go for it, thinking, “Hmm, this woman will bear my children, clean the house, and has no ambition… hmmm…”

But hey – as they say, there’s no such thing as a free lunch – since this kind of kind female will make sure that you spend every single penny of your hard earned wages on her!

The Don’t-touch-me-I-am-too-cool-for-marriage Type
This female is of the other variety: she probably smokes (and not just cigarettes) to show that she is soooo modern and “with it”. She definitely works as the head honcho at wherever she does, and she probably has a lot of single friends – both male and female – who she parties with on the weekend. (and every other weeknight.) She has probably burnt all her bras – and broken some other male precious possessions as well.

And she will probably look at you as if you are an insect that she would love to crumple with her stiletto. Of course, this variety of the female species will make your heart melt… you think behind this tough façade resides a woman who ultimately wants you to protect her, and eventually keep house for you and raise your umpteen children. (Munna, Munni, Rinku, Tinku, Bablu and Babli.)

However, this is the sort of woman you want to RUN away from – but only if you’re possess the popular desi mentality that women are slaves and should stay at home like good girls or they should be beaten up now and then – not too harshly of course, but mainly because if they get a fracture, the housework will suffer.

But hey, if you happen to be one of the very few, free-thinking equality-applauding males (ahem… good luck to you… you can look forward to your mom constantly telling you after marriage that you’re not a man, you’re a poodle!) then you must try and make conversation. For instance, talk about women’s emancipation, tut tut about the state of sexual politics and that sort of stuff, and you’re bound to impress her pants off (and literally… hopefully!)

And… The Perfect One
Did I say two categories? I meant, of course, three. The third one of course, is the Perfect One. She is rare, very EMT (English Medium Type); ambitious in a way that challenges you, beautiful in a way that complements you, aggressive in a way that excites you, and thoughtful in a way that melts your heart.

Sadly, this woman usually resides in the minds of men, she comes out from her slumber only once in a while, resurfaces (she’s a bit of a tease), and then disappears.

Maybe at weddings, the lounging area should be divided into three separate areas bearing the categories I just mentioned. That way, everyone gets what they want: The desi man gets the gold digger, the seemingly pro-gender equality guy gets the bra burning feminist, and the perfect man gets the perfect woman.

Here’s hoping!!!

Published in DAWN

Rain!

2007-08-11T00:15:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the damned rains, I haven’t been home in THREE days. It’s ridiculous! Is this the so-called economic boom that everyone seems to be talking about? We talk about gourmet dinners, coffee shops, cell phones and laptops and iPods, and yet life comes to a standstill when the rains come. People die. Is anybody listening?!

Blogword: Life

2007-05-30T18:10:00.000-07:00

I am tempted to quote the following:

“Life is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Or I could say,

“Tujhse naraaz nahi zindagi, hairaan hoon… tere masoom savalo’ se pareshan hoon.”
“I am not angry at you, life; I am merely worried by the innocent questions you continue to pose.”

Or I could say, “Zindagi ek safar hai suhana, yahan kal kiya ho kisne jaana.”
“Life is a faboulous journey, who knows what will happen tomorrow.”

OR, I could even say,

“Zindagi ka safar, hai ye kaisa safar, koi samjha nahi, koi jana nahi…”
“Life is a journey that no one understands…”

I fear that I am prone to believe the more negative ones, rather than the positive ones.
Or maybe not.

Blogword: Now

2007-05-11T09:32:00.000-07:00

Now is the time to watch the Aurora Awards... :)

A Story

2007-02-14T05:00:00.000-08:00

Remnants of a Rainy Day

I still have the umbrella, even though I do not think I have ever used it. I have had it for more than three years now, and even though it is tattered and torn, something prevents me from throwing it out.

Instead, I let it hang by the entrance of my apartment. Sometimes, an unusually keen observer – usually a woman I never hope to meet again – spots it, and exclaims in a pretentious manner, as a final act of seduction, perhaps, “My, what an interesting looking thing…”

I choose to ignore such apparently excited views, and just let these insignificant women out of the door, and try to forget the fact that I had spent a night, or a few hours, with them, sometimes hoping they will forget too. Most of the time, though, I don’t really care if they do or not. I have other more trivial matters to deal with, you see.

But after they leave, I realise that the emptiness I am constantly trying to overcome, to fill, has never really left. And when I look at the umbrella, I am reminded that, in all honesty, things really haven’t changed as I once hoped. Although the present is now somewhat bearable, it is tomorrow that I am still afraid of.

But enough of my pseudo-intellectual bantering. I am anxious to relive the once-glorious past. Which was, literally, in another country. The fabulous US of A. In the centre of the world – New York City, the big apple as it is often vulgarly referred to by many an uncouth individual. A city where I lived for most of my adult life, where I led a life that many envied – a so-called “successful” life, with a coveted apartment in Manhattan, a swanky car and a happening job in IT.

Oddly enough, despite all its glory, I had just had enough of NYC. It wasn’t just September 11, it was everything. I was tired, exhausted, of everything… and everyone. Life had become a monotonous and uninspiring, a negative sort of affair, filled with the same people who talked about the same things at the same places over the same drinks.

And the celestial city, which I called home, and loved more than life itself was beginning to gnaw rabidly at my insides, making me even more cynical. I wanted to run to somewhere far, far, away. And rather than just thinking of escaping, I decided to actually do it. I decided to end a life. Mine. My life in New York.

I made a decision: to move. Far, far away. Where there would be no more reminders of the past, where the shadows of yesterday would not brim into today, where I could start anew, forget the mistakes I made, and attempt to take control of my life instead of being a mere spectator.

Surprisingly, ending a life wasn’t as difficult as I had thought. Perhaps death isn’t as difficult as you’d imagine, perhaps it is better to end it by yourself, rather having death thrust upon you.

Of course, there was the matter the fond farewells to deal with. It wasn’t that hard saying goodbye I realised – all you had to do was follow some insincere hugs and kisses with comments such as, “we’ll stay in touch,”, “of course I will come back…” and even, “I’ll will always love you…”. (Of course, getting some nice goodbye presents was the best part.)

The more difficult aspect of leaving ending a life, in all honesty, was getting rid of the all the things I had accumulated in the process of staying true to the good old material American way of life.

Being computer savvy – hey, I was an IT yuppie after all – I had taken pictures of my many belongings, such as the furniture and electronic items, placed them on Craig’s list, in an attempt to sell them. Within a week, most of the possessions I had accumulated, each of which I had bought myself with careful thought and affection, were sold. And I managed to raise a decent amount of cash.

Only the smaller television, and some knick knacks remained.

That evening, it was a Friday I think, the phone rang, as I was about to hit the shower. I instantly figured out it wasn’t anyone I knew by the thick, Indian accent, one that stressed on the T’s and D’s. (“Do you hawe a Telewision for sale?”).

I made an appointment for 7:00 pm (I had a drinks ‘thing’ at 8), explained the directions to my house, and figured I had a deal.

7:30 and no one in sight. Damn Indians, I thought. Never on time. That’s why all us South Asians have such a bad name… we can’t ever be punctual. I peered outside the window, as if willing the man in question to appear instantaneously.

It looked like it was drizzling outside… a sort of unexpected, soothing shower, when you can tell that Summer is flirting with you, telling you that Spring, with its constant Wintry showers is about to leave, but not without letting your hopes down many a time.

I poured myself a stiff drink, lit a cigarette and figured I’d wait another ten minutes. Just in case the curry smelling fool would arrive. I needed that TV out, and money in my pocket so I could splurge at a bar tonight, and maybe even get a hit of X in the bargain if I could manage it.

Just then there was a knock on the door. God, didn’t the guy see the damned doorbell… or hadn’t he even heard of the invention of electricity? Damn Indian.

I chugged down the drink… whoa… and opened the door.

I had been mistaken, it wasn’t just a drizzle; it had been pouring with rain, judging by the way the street looked. Hues of pink sprawled across the blue sky, and the golden rays of the setting sun seeping through the clouds. No rain now. Just endless pools of water on the ground, attempting to mirror the sky’s cerulean mysticism.

In front of me stood two creatures, dressed in cheap, transparent raincoats, sharing an umbrella, looking like something even the dingiest cat wouldn’t have dragged in. Not even in any one of its nine lives.

The man was dressed in jeans and T-shirt that was tucked in a little oddly, showing off a bit of a paunch, while his much younger sidekick sported a well-used shalwar kameez. Her hair seemed oiled and was tied in a tight plait. With what looked second hand trainers. They were holding hands and as soon as I glanced down, they pulled away almost immediately, as though they had been engaging in public orgy.

“Yes,” I barked. “You here to see the TV?”

“Yes,” smiled the man, showing off his white teeth.

“You’re late. I’ve been waiting for more than an hour.”

The woman apologised. “We are sorry we are late, but the bus got delayed.” Her accent was less pronounced than her man-friend’s, although she spoke in a rather halting, sing-song manner.

Why didn’t you just get a friggin’ cab? Don't you think I have anything better to do than wait for two curry-smelling Indians who will probably not even buy the damned TV ‘cos they are so friggin’ cheap? I was going to ask. But thankfully, for once, I stopped myself in time. Before I said things I regretted much, much later. Before I said things that I couldn’t possible take back, things I would have to live with for the rest of my life, even after it ended.

I walked towards the lounge, and could hear cheap rubber soles squeaking on my well polished wooden floors. “Here’s the TV,” I said in a purposely booming manner, pointing towards the object in question, as if assuming that the dim-witted duo wouldn’t be able to identify it themselves.

“It’s in mint condition.”

“Does it have a remote control sir?” asked the man. Ah, he’s not all that dense after all. What’s with the sir, anyway? Should I ask him to wipe my shoes now?

“Yeah. Somewhere. There’s so much shit here, I’ll have to look for it if you give me a second.”

Both of them literally died on the spot, especially the woman, as I said shit. I rolled my eyes and ignored their shudders, and started looking around for the damned remote control. Miraculously, I had actually put it in its place, on the centre table. Turning the TV on, I passed it to the woman. Unfortunately, the TV turned on the last channel that I had been viewing, which happened to be the playboy channel. The woman turned crimson, while the man, half-tempted to watch, merely averted his gaze.

For some reason, even I felt a little uncomfortable, and swiftly snatched back the remote and changed the channel to something more respectable. So uncomfortable, that when they asked me how much it would cost them, I quoted a lower one than I planned.

“Well, are you okay with the pricing?” I asked.
Almost instinctively, they looked at each other. Apparently they communicated without words.

“Yes, yes, we want it,” they said in unison.

“I can call my friend now and he can pick it up it that’s okay,” said the man.

“Yea sure its fine. But I gotta go soon… can he hurry up? Or will he be late as well?”

“No, no, let me call him now. Can I use your phone?” (No cell phone, I noticed)

I was tempted to point out the grammatical error in the sentence he had just uttered (may I use your phone?), but managed to stop myself in time and pointed towards the cordless.

He called his friend, murmured something quickly in a language I didn’t understand, and then told me his friend would be there in ten minutes. (“He works nearby, and he has a big car.”)

Then came a pause. Not being the type to make hypocritical small talk, I poured myself another drink, but was nice enough to ask them if they wanted one too, to celebrate their idiot box.

“No, no, it’s still early,” said the man, while his wife silently appraised the remaining things in the apartment, gazing longingly at my trendy kitchen.

“She is new to America,” explained the husband, “She is staying home these days, but will soon get a job. But she gets bored, so I am thinking we should be buying a television set for her.”

“Good thinking I said,” obviously disinterested. I glanced towards the woman, who was now looking at the spice rack.

“Oh you keep zeera, and haldi and dhania!” she exclaimed.

“Well yes, whenever I feel like a desi meal.”

“Oh you seem so American… where are you from?”

“Um, Pakistan I guess.”

“You are going back there?”

“Well not really back there… never really lived there.”

“Oh you will be so happy. Your mother will take care of you and family is family. These Americans are so cold and mean. Always wanting to be quiet and clean and neat. No fun. Not one of them plays in the rain, you know. All of them have umbrellas.”

Apparently, this woman didn’t take much time in opening the floodgates of woes against America.

“Why did you come here then?”

A pause. “I got married.”

The woman nearly blushed, not in an annoying and idiotic way like a Bollywood heroine, but in a demure one.

Her husband then glanced at her pride. “She is adjusting,” he said, “she has learnt how to use the washing machine already, even though it has only been a week since she came here. And I am teaching her how to use the cash register at the 7-11 where I work, so she can get a job too.”

Wow what ambition.

There was something about the couple that I didn’t understand. Maybe it was because they seemed to be so happy, despite not having much. (I mean, no cell phone, no cab fare and no TV up till now…). Or maybe it was because despite the fact that they weren’t in the best of places they were adjusting and living in their own little world, instead of going all out and trying to adjust like many of the immigrants that America houses. (Maybe I was one of them too…?)

Maybe it was the alcohol, or god knows what, but I told them to help themselves to the stuff in the kitchen, the spice rack, the Tupperware. Expensive items that I had brought, being brand conscious and all. I had thought that I would take them with me, but something told me the couple would need them more.

“Oh, see, Nikhil! This is how we Asians are to each other. We help each other out when we can!” The woman excitedly began to collect the stuff in a shopping bag.

The doorbell rang (no more knocks… maybe the friend was a little more with it.)

Within minutes they were gone, but not after thanking me profusely, calling me brother “bhaiya” and what not. I poured myself yet another drink, called a cab and headed towards the bar, washing the whole incident off me… for that time, at least.

But a few days later, as I began packing the life that I had built all by myself into a few boxes, I came across the couple’s umbrella. They must have missed it, but chosen to let me have it.

It hangs, as I said before, near the entrance of my apartment. It has been more than three years since I got it, that rainy day in May, and sometimes, it smells like the rain, promising new, clean beginnings that can allow you can start anew, to forget the past, and be comfortable with the thought of tomorrow.

I think I’ll let it hang there for a little while longer. Or maybe I will throw it away. It is, after all, tattered and torn.

I’m not sure though.

She's Out!

2006-11-22T00:26:00.000-08:00

wednesday blog word: complete

2006-11-06T11:29:00.000-08:00

It was a typical Karachi evening. After the hot glaring sun, the tired city was attempting to rejuvenate itself with a rare breeze, now that the day was complete.

The sun was setting at Sea View, and already, the nighlty crawlers were emerging. A gross sight, over weight women and men… men with their portly looks and overgrown moustaches scratching their groins publicly without any apology; women dressed shabbily, slouching behind their men, with at least three children in tow; with the sound of the azaan, they covered their hair, if it wasn’t covered already, and urged their children to hush. The ragged children, with smeared faces, dirty hair, chewing on something… ignored them, and kept walking on the dirty sand, not knowing the pleasures of the French Beach that lay just less than a half an hour drive away.

On French beach, a crowd was beginning to emerge. With blaring music, foreign beer; or murree brewery vodka bought from a tucked away lane in zamzama. The music began, ignoring the sound of the azaan that was blaring despite everything. The inhibitions lessened, the dancing began. It was Saturday night, after all… time to forget the long week of working, stress, and other social callings. It was time for a line… cocaine was back, after all.

Back on sea view, a different line emerged. The crowds of lumpen proletarians gathered, they were all the same – dirty, slimy – mailas – wondering if they could afford pizza this time – peeeza – they yelped, I want peeza, on TV everyone eats pizza yelled the children. Stand in line yelled the man from the pizza hut van.

The pan stains drew blood on the dirty sand, while they waited in line… the bhutta burnt; the malish walas jiggled their wares, the man with the monkey called Shah Rukh beat the monkey forcing it to dance, and the camel and donkey men tried to get customers.

There were no monkey walas on French beach, oh no. Yes, a donkey or camel man was there now and then, after all the rich kids also liked these humble past times, but here they got paid a lot more.

But the children were long gone and as the cold November air pricked them, they bid audieu to the French beach, without knowing what audieu meant, of course.

Thus the day ended, complete. Until another one began the next day. The same day, the same night. Until tomorrow. Until today.

Wednesday Blog Word: Lal

2006-10-11T02:41:00.000-07:00

Lal meri paath rakhiyo balaal jhoole lal aa,
Sindhri dah,
Sehwan dah,
Sakhishaa Shahbaaz Qalandar, Shahbaaz Qalandar,
Haq sakhishaa Shahbaaz Qalandar,
Dama Dum Musst Qalandar, Duma dum musst Qalandar,
Ali dum dum de andaar, Ali dum dum de andaar…

So bored am i.... blogthings.com rocks

2006-09-26T09:49:00.000-07:00

You Are a Dragon

You are very charismatic and incredibly popular.
People are drawn to your energy, but you are a very difficult person to get to know.
You are very active - you are usually hard at work or play.
You enjoy drama, and you enjoy anything unusual or eccentric.

What Mythological Creature Are You?

Control

2006-09-26T09:46:00.000-07:00

You Are 80% Control Freak

You are a pretty major control freak, though you may not know it.
While your confidence is inspiring, your bossy ways tend to scare people off.

Are You A Control Freak?

Rainy Friday Night

2006-09-10T21:58:00.000-07:00

Wednesday Blog Word: Decisions

2006-09-06T00:20:00.000-07:00

Should I have McDonald’s for lunch today?
After all, I vowed to myself, three weeks ago, (unsuccessfully) that I would refrain and stick to “healthy” food.
But after running around the office for three hours straight I think I deserve it.
Should stick to a regular meal?
I can also make sure I swim an extra 10 laps to cover for the super sized meal.
Should I have a quarter pounder meal?
Or a McRoyale?
Decisions, decisions.

Wednesday Blog Word: Inspire

2006-08-23T02:13:00.000-07:00

Will this be enough to inspire me?

Remnants of rain...

2006-08-18T04:05:00.000-07:00

view from the jailhouse i call my workplace...

After the storm.

2006-08-18T02:23:00.000-07:00

I think I was one of the few lucky people I know who wasn't subjected to the madness of the storm last night. I got home just as the rain worsened, and knowing that I was just two minutes away from home, I decided to drive around like a mad man, for the next half hour, feeling the rain without letting it touch me for even a second, listening to Breathe Me… called a friend, who had the urge to wear a red sari and dance-I advised her, that no, red is not the colour to wear, it’s white-for a Chaandi moment… after which she told me to strip and dance in a pair of white shorts, which I somehow managed to refrain from doing… (somehow)

Getting home, settling down with a cup of freshly brewed coffee, a cheese omelette and Grey’s Anatomy made me realise how easy it is for all of us to ensure our safety, and shut ourselves off from the rest of the world.

Still trying to decide if it’s a good thing or not. Feels like a good thing. Is it?

Wednesday Blog Word: Free

2006-08-15T20:59:00.000-07:00

"Give me freedom or give me death."

Although i am sure freedom in Rand's view didn't mean a Musharrafed Pakistan, and morons riding motorbikes with the damned flag... but oh well... misplaced patriotism has its rewards too, I am sure...

Wednesday Blog Word: Space

2006-08-08T22:34:00.000-07:00

"I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York's skyline. The sky over New York and the will of man made visible. What other religion do we need? I feel that if a war came to threaten this, I would throw myself into space, over the city, and protect these buildings with my body."

Dominique Francon, in Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead

Wednesday blog word: Rain

2006-08-03T01:23:00.000-07:00

Sitting in Lahore for the past week, i missed the rain...

But you can not mention rain without mentioning all those Bollywood divas dancing in the rain.

My ultimate rain song is "Jaane do na..." from Saagar, which was picturised on Dimple and Rishi... but second best would have to be Zeenat in Satyam, Shivam, Sundaram...

Wednesday Blog Word: Believe

2006-07-26T23:28:00.000-07:00

I’d like to believe in lot of things.

Some are petty – like believing that I will soon be rich and famous.

Some are pseudo-philosophical – like believing that we are on this earth to fulfil a purpose, and after our body dies, our souls transmigrate into another –

And yet, what I can not believe is that life is a given circumstance.

I do believe that there is always the option of death.

Wednesday Blog Word: More - Aur

2006-07-19T01:34:00.000-07:00

Aur bhi dukh hain zamane mei mohobat ke siva
Rahatain aur bhi hain vasl ki rahat ke siva
There are more sorrows in this world other than love,
And joys other than those of an embrace...

Wednesday Blog Word: Wish

2006-07-12T21:35:00.000-07:00

Now I wish it would rain down

Down on me

Oh yes I wish it would rain

Rain down, down on me now

Oh girl I wish it would rain down

Down on me

Oh yes I wish it would rain down on me now

Wednesday Blog Word: Enough

2006-07-05T10:08:00.000-07:00

I have had enough of stupid kids coming in my way when I am swimming laps.

I have had enough of giving them sarcastic looks-makes me feel like a crabby old man.

I have had enough of the shitty traffic this city offers.

I have had enough of letting things and people get to me and sucking my energy.

But despite it all, one thing I can not get enough of is myself.

Wednesday Blog Word: Choices

2006-06-28T01:07:00.000-07:00

They say that the choices that we make, shape our personality and, consequently, our destiny. I say, the choices that we can not make, or those that affect us and yet are not ours to make, shape our destiny.

Tuesday Tumbles

2006-06-26T21:33:00.000-07:00

It's only 9:30 am. The weekend daubechary still linger and hammers in my head. Seven hours to go. And can not have McDonald's again, since had it yesterday - plus a complimentary fries I screamed blue murder for. SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS SEVEN HOURS

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Frozen Fire?

2006-06-22T04:25:00.000-07:00

There is a silence within me for once. For once, the voices have stopped. Stopped clamouring loudly enough to be heard – for at least some time. Time has gone by… the season has changed. Changed to a horrifying level of angry fire. Fire that is alive within me… within my heart.

My heart tells me to go off and wander, once again. The problem is, I never stopped wandering… never stopped at one place to savour its flavours. There was a hunger, a lust, a greed to wander further and further away from the one thing I was scared of, but the fiery fear froze me.

And so I wander, looking at the springs, the deserts, and I don’t accept them and nor they me.

I wander around but I am not lost. After all, for a wanderer, there is no home, no anchor and perhaps no stagnancy.

There is only fear – and promise what a new day will bring.

Wednesday Blog Word

2006-06-21T09:35:00.000-07:00

Two

“Two trees, gloomy water, Saucy Jane and Maggie knows.”

If you have read the famous five, you will know what I am talking about.

Wednesday

2006-06-14T01:07:00.000-07:00

Half the week is over. Deadlines have been met. and boredom still prevails, waiting to be overcome. Is there anything such as real excitement in life? Or does everything eventually become predictable and dull?

Humph

2006-06-11T21:49:00.000-07:00

Tis another Monday morn. And after a brilliant weekend, it seems somewhat of a letdown to come to the hospital ward I call my office. The tubelights, the upcoming deadlines (some have been past) and half-full - or half-empty? - glass sitting in front of me do nothing to motivate or excite me. But oh well, it is only ten to ten, so maybe there is excitement that may come my way later on in the day. Until then, all I have for comfort is a cuppa coffee.

Coming back to life

2006-05-13T07:58:00.000-07:00

It seems like i have come back to life after an extremely long time. Not that it is as great an experience as one would think. It is the realities - the harsh ones - that hit you first, the same frustrations... the same problems, and the realization that things are still, sadly, the same.

But then again, perhaps coming back to life is supposed to give you a refreshed appreciation for all that life stands for; but that’s perhaps too idealistic an idea. However, such experiences do, in some ways remind us of many things that we may have forgotten about ourselves, and remind us that that there are still many things that we can still, despite all the cynicism, appreciate and enjoy.

Or, for that matter, remind us about things that we do NOT enjoy. And that’s what has hit me recently: there are many things I wanted to do with myself, that I had forgotten down the line, and become obsessed with the very things that I despised in others.

It seems that all I have started doing is spend my own time, whatever I have left for myself, as a way to kill it-rather than to spend it on myself, for myself, I end up using as a means to spend it as quickly as possible, as opposed to actually enjoying it.

Surely, that’s not the way to be? Shouldn’t we spend the little time we get away from others’ demands upon us in a way we want to spend it in, rather in a way we think we should spend it in? Or, for that matter, spending time alone? Why has that become an almost scary thought?

Candle Land

2006-04-10T13:19:00.000-07:00

There is a stillness in the night that is almost palpable. The glow of the Candles is surreal, and it seems that there is something they are trying to convey to me.

Something through their flickering. Something through the shadows they throw upon the walls. Something that I know already. Something that I have, perhaps, forgotten. Or something that perhaps I have chosen to forget… that something that lingers in the windmills of my mind. But perhaps I can not remember what, because I really have not forgotten it.

The shadows that the Candles throw are truly mesmerising. It seems they are not talking to me anymore, but amongst themselves.

One, the one that stands in the centre, the Green One, seems to be most talkative. She dances in the jar she sits within, and does seem a tad bit restless. She mingles with the others, with her Green melon smell.

The White One on the left (on the Green One’s right), Vanilla, is rather surly. He seems to be just be fulfilling his destiny tonight, … his destiny to burn tonight. He is rather apathetic and disinterested to all that is going on in Candle Land. Not for him the Melon’s gossip, and not for him, the Azure One’s serenity.

Yes, the Azure One is enviably, undoubtedly serene. Calm, with the scent of citrus and lavender, he sits there quietly, absorbing the Green One’s chatter, smiling self-indulgently. Even the White One’s surliness does not affect him.

Together, White, Azure and Green form a compelling story that only they know of, a story they want to share with me. But I don’t think I have the ability to understand Candle Talk. At least, not yet.

However, surprisingly, I am not irritated with my inability to understand the Candle dialogue. It is a dialogue that echoes within the windmills of my wind, and I respond to it. Without understanding it. It’s pure submission, it think, of the purest kind.

Acceptance and with it an understanding… a comprehension of something I may not fully understand, but something that I derive comfort – dare I say joy? – from.

Ad Bad

2006-04-04T21:02:00.000-07:00

Oh God,

I have been working on two ads for more than a week now.

And still haven't finished.

I am not a CREATIVE person, perhaps.

My creativity ends with making a raspberry jam sandwich, and a cheese-and-tomato sandwich.

Besides, if the sandwiches taste so good, who gives a shit about copy writing? :)

Hoping for Spring

2006-04-03T09:37:00.000-07:00

Technically speaking, spring begins on March 20 with the Spring Equinox and ends on June 21 at the Summer Solstice. However, here in Karachi, the seasons don't seem to have much of a meaning. It's usually hot, dusty and humid, although thankfully, it isnt much of the latter... yet.

I personally love the spring. Not only does it remind me of the infamous spring breaks during college, it heralds the coming of summer, for one thing, and marks the end of grey winters... altough winter in itself has its own charm.

But anyway, i sit here in front of the computer, hoping sring will emanate-- the spring of unknown suprises, and even, perhaps, passions and joy.

Here's hoping.

curiously uplifted....

2006-03-31T19:39:00.000-08:00

I'm grossly cheerful, even though its like 8 o' clock in the morning and I am already in the office. I was listening to two ghazals this morning... many would find them depressing, i found them curiously uplifting...

"Ulfat ki naee manzil ko chala...
Yun baahen daale baahon me...
Dil tornaywaley dekh ke chal,
Hum bhi to paraye hain raahon me..."

Another verse in the same ghazal:

"Hum bhi hai wohi,
tum bhi ho wohi,
ye apni apni quismat hai...
Tum khel rahe ho Khushion se,
hum Doob gae hain aahon me..."

This one was written by Qateel Shifai, according to a freind.

The other was another ghazal/nazam - i dont know the difference... sung by both Nayyara Noor and Shehnaz Begum-

"Gham e duniya se ghab ra kar,
tum he dil ne pukara hai
kahan ho tum?
Chaley ao,
mohobat ka taqaza hai-

Na hai faryaad hoto' par
na ankho mai koi ansoo
zamaney se mila jo gham-
zamaney se mila jo gham-
usse geeto ne gaya hai-

i have no idea who the brilliant writer is- anyone?

BTW- J/J/D - sorry guys, you'll have to wait for the translation. ;-)

AGh

2006-03-27T23:00:00.000-08:00

I'm growing old. Couldn't get out of bed until much later than usual, got stopped by a policeman for running a red light, despite my threats i had to pay him off -- 200 rupees which I could have used for a Mickey Dee Meal.

the path

2006-03-27T00:33:00.000-08:00

The dark demon has vanished, although I can still feel his presence.

It's almost as if he has ceased to exist and yet there is something that negates and contradicts that thought.

I still feel the power overwhelming me, and the fact of the matter is I think I like being empowered -- not overpowered. The darkness engulfs me, and it no longer scares me.

I am familiar with it now, and am no longer lost. What I have to do is find the path that will take me to my destination, but the destination, you see, is the problem.

There are so many here, and choosing one is very difficult. It is not up to me though, to find the destination, I can only go where I am told to go. It is no longer easy to find my way though.

The paths are dark but there are some small, lamps on the way. They are tricky though, they change colour and they also vanish and never return. And that is what I have to overcome, so I can return to the right path where I can, once again, feel the yellow sunshine among the green leaves of joy.

That path, I am told by the dark demon, is still there... it leads, as I recall, to the top of a hill, where the wind blows, and the sun shines all the time...

Workin Work

2006-03-25T09:22:00.000-08:00

I've been at work for the past thirteen hours or so. Sadly enough, despite my complaining, I didn't detest it, even though my dinner plans were fucked, mainly thanks to a congenial co-worker. But then again, the thought of a beach Sunday and dinner later with an old, dear friend cheers me up. However, if I am called in to work tomorrow, there will be hell to pay.

the dark demon

2006-03-17T19:52:00.000-08:00

The Dark Demon returned last night. Actually, this was the first time I recognised him. There was almost something familiar about him, as if we had known each other for centuries, but there was an awkwardness there as well.

He knew me too well I thought, and tried to close my mind's eye so that he could not reach inside. But it was too late.

He knew too much; but I wasn't scared. Perhaps I should have been, but I wasn't. It was a relief, actually, to not have to hide anything from anyone anymore. It was as if my mind was, actually, an open book and now it was easy to be myself.

My longings no longer seemed pathetic. They were no longer just mere longings - they were passions, and they were not illusions anymore, they were realities. But part of me was scared. Who was this, who I must have known for centuries? Was it just another me?

Or was it someone who had been with me, even perhaps guided me. But no, he didn't guide me. He was just a mere spectator-perhaps he even had the power to control me and I just didn’t know it... until now.

Ah, Heaven

2006-03-16T22:07:00.000-08:00

The weekend looks good... mainly because after two years I have managed after many trials and tribulations to attain Sue Townsend's Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction. Hmm, maybe I will read it on Sunday while I am at the beach and look all pretentious. But then again, who gives a shit what others think?

Dancing in the Dark

2006-03-14T23:16:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, writing something that expresses yourself isn't even worth doing, since someone has already expressed it so well for you way back in the day.

I get up in the evening
And I ain't got nothing to say
I come home in the morning
I go to bed feeling the same way
I ain't nothing but tired
Man, I'm just tired and bored with myself
Hey there, baby
I could use just a little help

You can't start a fire
You can't start a fire without a spark
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark

Messages just keep getting clearer
Radio's on and I'm moving 'round my place
I check my look in the mirror
I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face
Man, I ain't getting nowhere
I'm just living in a dump like this
There's something happening somewhere
Baby, I just know that there is

You can't start a fire
You can't start a fire without a spark
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark

You sit around getting older
There's a joke here somewhere
And it's on me
I'll shake this world off my shoulders
Come on baby, this laugh's on me

Stay on the streets of this town
And they'll be carving you up alright
They say you gotta stay hungry
Hey baby, I'm just about starving tonight
I'm dying for some action
I'm sick of sitting 'round here
Trying to write this book
I need a love reaction
Come on now, baby
Gimme just one look

You can't start a fire
Sitting 'round crying over a broken heart
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
You can't start a fire
Worrying about your little world falling apart
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
Even if we're just dancing in the dark

Hey, baby

Grouch

2006-03-08T20:21:00.000-08:00

I am in a grouchy, grouchy mood today.

Even this mug of coffee hasn't helped.

Hopefully, everyone will have enough sense to stay away from me.

i am free!

2006-03-07T06:07:00.000-08:00

I am free at last. I hadnt realised how much of a bloggantic - i just coined that phrase - I have become until today, when, despite working for a newspaper, i was told by a common friend that the blogs have been blocked by the PTA. I am so fucking angry that i could probably kill someone. (well, not kill, but you know what i mean.) Well, have lots to blog now (even though it will now be just for the benifit for my friends abroad and those in Pakistan who are desperate enough to use other means to access my page). But anyway. Have to place my second Sehwan sojourn pictures and impressions. I'm excited. :)

BLOCKED !!!!

2006-03-06T22:59:00.000-08:00

MY BLOG HAS BEEN BLOCKED! BY THE PTA OR A SIMILAR DIMWITTED ORGANISATION! WHAT UTTER ASSES!

Stupidity Strike

2006-03-03T03:33:00.000-08:00

Another Friday without McDonald's. This is just plain pathetic. Not to mention annoying.

A Perfect Sunday

2006-02-27T03:40:00.000-08:00

1:00 p.m.: The Perfect breakfast...

With three brand new episodes of the perfect show...

Followed by a perfect beach day...

Shit, if only every day was a Sunday!

Lights out-

2006-02-26T20:51:00.000-08:00

Saturday late night, the lights went out. And my laughing Buddha was the only one who enjoyed it!

Shabana Azmi and Farooq Sheikh

2006-02-25T00:30:00.000-08:00

Met them in Karachi. For the report in Dawn, click I met both of them--and interviewed them for Images and Dawn.

www.dawn.com/2006/02/21/local8.htm

Will post up the interviews by Monday.

Me looking all guppoo...

Brain Freeze

2006-02-20T19:54:00.000-08:00

All I can say is that I can't wait for this week to end. Already. It's already Tuesday and there's so much to do. Aah, they say, that's what you get for strethcing yourself so thin. If only I did stretch myself thin!!!

I saw Tumhari Amrita yesterday. Mesmerising, actually. But what suprised me most was the fact that the audience seemed to laugh at the most tragic moments. When Amrita cries out from help-desperatley-Zulfi just ansewers in his insensitive, self-involved manner by uttering a few self-involved phrases. And the audience laughed. Is it me that's mad or the rest? I fear the former...

Starvation Strike

2006-02-16T22:57:00.000-08:00

Okay, so while the pathetic losers who don't have work will lead a "peaceful" strike after a lengthy Juma prayers session, losers like us, who have come to work will have no choice but to starve, since thanks to the strike, most delivery places are closed.

How unbelievably retarded is that?

So here I sit, my stomach growling... hoping for a Quarter Pounder I know will not be mine... not until tomorrow, at least. Or tonight, If I get lucky- ;-)

For the time being, all i can say is: I'm Hatin' It!!

The cartoons or butter?

2006-02-14T01:06:00.000-08:00

If I hear anyone talk about the cartoons I think I will spontaneously combust. They've been around since September, so why has it taken us so long to react to them? Secondly, by acting like a bunch of morons with violence as always probably just reinforces everyone's belief that Muslims are a thick-headed, dim-witted and violent race. (Of course the fact that we aren’t really a race is irrelevant.)

Well, my main concern is that Lurpak butter will be banned in Pakistan. But fortunately, that hasn't been the case so far!

The Storm

2006-02-13T03:37:00.000-08:00

Is it true, that after all, we are all pathetically human, and as a result, we succumb to the human ability of forgetting or ignoring our respective pasts and immersing ourselves in our present, while admitting defeat to our inability to control our future?

Are we all, after all running away from the storm that threatens us, holding on to whomever we can find? Is it, after all, a question of mere survival?

Zzzz

2006-02-07T01:07:00.000-08:00

I haven’t written in a while… whether its work related or short stories or just plain rambling. All I can say is that I am glad that we have two whole days off on account of Muharram and that I don’t have to get out of bed unless I want to. But no—I shall have to make the most of the two days before the madness begins again and I am stuck at the office late...

I really think I have writer’s block. For someone who usually has a lot to say—or write—I am really out of words. Maybe I have spent them all? Or maybe the verbal diarrhoea has finally been cured. Who knows?

All I do know is that is painful to sit here in front of a computer all day. There’s a whole world out there, I am told…

Not so blue monday

2006-01-08T21:02:00.000-08:00

Hah! I didn't despise getting out of bed this cold morning, mainly because i know that for the next three days i will not have come to in to work on accout of eid.

Aah, tis indeed the season to be jolly, although i am sure a day or two will be ruined by having to meet all those rellies who will tell me how much weight i have lost, or gained, ask me about my job, my cell phone, my car, and when i am getting married...

but no matter. i shall persevere! i shall not let it get to me. (maybe if i keep on telling myself this, it will actually happen.

Well, back to the grind. Seven and a half hours left to freedom... unless, like previous holidays, i am required to come in...

Uff. Agh. Ukh.

2005-12-29T19:53:00.000-08:00

Damn the new year, damn the city, damn the people, and damn me!!!!
I'm coming down with the damn flu and have been sneezing non-stop since i got into my car at the ungodly hour of 8 am. (i was going to add "this morning" but i realised that "am" signifies that anyway.)

The croonings of the Godess Lata managed to soothe me until i had to deal with the incompetence of the office's cleaners. Uff. Agh. Ukh. (say it out loud, you'll know what i mean.

December stillness

2005-12-21T19:47:00.000-08:00

If there is any month in the year that is bound to make you feel nostalgic, it's December. There's something about the month; maybe it's because you know the year is ending. Well, let me rephrase that. ANOTHER new year. Yet another new year. A year that is supposedly supposed to provide new beginnings and what not. All that shpiel you hear from a million pretnentious people. My two cents: HUMBUG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Morning's here

2005-11-02T09:00:00.001-08:00

As anyone who knows me will tell you, I am not a morning person. In fact, it takes me at least two cups of really strong tea or coffee to regain my human self. But perhaps i am growing old, but I have actually begun enjoying the drive to work in the mornings... only in order to miss the chaotic and uncivilised traffic that Karachi (and perhaps all third world 'cities') is famous for, i have to leave the house much earlier than I have to. But it's worth it. Especially today... which began with a dhamaal by Abida Parveen on Lal Shahbaaz, followed by that sexy female Zeenat Aman's old hits. Followed by good old Neil Diamond and Bruce. So perhaps music is food for the soul? It's still early though, and whoi knows -- I'll probably be my usual cranky and irritable self in less than an hour!

A case of Blukh

2005-10-26T10:14:00.000-07:00

Nothing can really describe my true feelings as well as a green emoticon that is sadly not availble on this blog. It's been a long friggin' day. With some ups, then downs, and then ups again. Only to be followed by downs. And the rainbow gold seems pathetic and pretentious; a product of a pathetically immature and idealistic mindset that really doesn't exist. But the starry night still shines when i look up. but perhaps it is this very ability to see the stars that causes all the pathetic angst in the first place.

the rainbow gold

2005-10-22T12:24:00.000-07:00

Its funny how many changes a single day can bring. Amazing really. One can feel so many emotions in a mere span of 12 hours or so. I was irritable in the morning, feeling shitty, lethargic and bored.

As the day bloomed, my irritation wore off. I was frustrated, angry over one particular project that was changed continuously—really, it didn’t seem to end.

But the day was salvaged… I met some friends, like-minded individuals and revelled. This was followed by a drive in a fantastic car—not mine, yes, but the high it gave me was phenomenal.

On the long drive home I was refreshed and charged. I drove with energy, the music blaring- I didn’t care what anyone else might think. I was in my own world, glad to be myself, once again.

As someone once said, paradise is not bought with just mere money… although it does help! Besides, I am still after the rainbow gold.

Inspiration?

2005-10-21T21:32:00.000-07:00

Why is it that some days are filled with energy, laughter and excitement, only to be followed with one that is full of monotony, boredom and a feeling that can perhaps just be described as lethargic as best? It is, perhaps, all up to us to create excitement… but despite all my belief that it is all in our hands, sometimes it becomes way too hard. But at the end of the day, would I replace those few inspiring days and the dull ones that come with it with days that are just mediocre? No – after all, the ability to see the stars can never be replaced. So maybe it’s something I should learn to deal with. But that’s an entirely different battle – settling!

Sehwan

2005-09-28T00:51:00.000-07:00

I visited Sehwan for the Urs of Lal Shahbaaz Qalandar. The experience was, in a word, mind-blowing. Despite being a writer, I am finding it immensley difficult to pen down any substancial thought that can describe the experience. But for now, that's all I can come up with.

Admitting to addiction... and waiting...

2005-09-19T13:17:00.000-07:00

It's nice to know that tomorrow is a day off. After a somewhat long -- and interesting -- day, it was comforting to return home, energised at the thought of not having to wake up at seven o' clock tomorrow morning.

Having had a Quarter Pounder from McDonald's and some heavy coffee in the evening, i had planned to skip dinner, or opt for some good old Kellog's Corn Flakes. But after watching an episode of Sex and the City craving hit me, and i found myself devouring another burger -- a McRoyale this time.

Then, making some tea, I am having it in a cup/mug that is perhaps meant for coffee.

But the fact remains that tea deserves a white mug! No two ways about it.

I photographed some of the figurines we have in the house... a lamp with a man and woman... it's the same lamp Amitabh had in Silsila... and the laughing buddha that stays in my room, sometimes it mocks me, sometimes it laughs with me, but tonight, it seems to be looking at me with wonder... waiting, like i am....

A full moon

2005-09-19T10:48:00.000-07:00

It's a full moon outside... Well, almost. There are clouds as well, and if you somehow manage to drown out the noise that is part of the city -- I have been trying very hard to do so, and succeed from time to time -- you can almost sense beauty, and perhaps even serenity. It's very hard to do so though... it requires you to close all the windows and doors, create your own atmosphere and then look out. And sometimes, if you are brave enough, or, perhaps, energetic enough, you can also go out and search for it. It's hard though, but sometimes, when I am alone, i can almost close my eyes and imagine the sound of the ocean, smell the sensuous sea air and breathe it in. It is there where i find serenity, it is where i find comfort... it is where, perhaps, i find myself.

2005-05-24T10:11:00.000-07:00

a day in may

2005-05-24T10:07:00.000-07:00

So anyway. Life goes on. Sometimes days go by… and I wonder what happened exactly. And then there are others, full of laughs and smiles… with feelings of fulfilment and dare I even say it – happiness?

But then again, there are always money issues to keep me from totally being apathetic to such things, but then again, it motivates me to DO something other than sitting on my ass and doing nothing but whining and thinking of the days go by.

But you see, the days did go by. And sometimes I still wonder if things had been different had I not changed so many things in my life, and parted ways with so many people. I think of them, at the weirdest of times, especially when things are going well and I have a desire to see them...

And the days are not all that bad, there are times when the moon shines and the trees sway to the tune of the wind, like they once did in the desert, amongst the stars. So perhaps, good times haunt us, and bad times just make us who we are. The important thing is to learn… and yes, it sounds pretentious, doesn’t it?

But really, who’s to say what is, or isn’t pretentious. Life deals certain blows and the most we can do, ultimately is to gather ourselves that are left, and rebuild. Hopefully stronger, and ready for the next one.

lonely

2005-04-29T11:59:00.000-07:00

It’s interesting to note that for a city like Karachi, which is sometimes called a metropolis by some, and cosmopolitan by others, there is no place for someone who wants to walk the streets. There is no area, even those that are deemed the “happening” places where one can just walk, shop and stop for a bite to eat, while watching a place that is pleasant, leave alone beautiful to look at.

Why this is the case, no one can really say. Perhaps in their minds, for the elite of the city, there is no real reason for mere beauty. Perhaps all that is needed are the ‘happening’ parties or restaurants where one can mingle with those that belong to the same class and background. There really is no need for any added interaction with anyone else.

For me, walking silently on my own has always been an ideal pastime. Walking the streets of New York, just watching the others passing by, would be an experience into itself. There was no need for another; me and New York would be enough. We’d give each other company, wherever I went, and have a grand old time.

But today, I am undeniably lonely. And perhaps, I have just come to terms with it in the sense that I don’t particularly make an effort of any sort to move ahead, and pull myself out of this loneliness. It is enough for me to blame my so-called bad luck on circumstances and bad decisions, in order to justify the pathetic state that is my life, for the most part at least.

And I can’t help but be discontent about the way things are. There has to be more for me. There is a whole world out there, isn’t there, that is beautiful, invigorating, and perhaps the most important quality – that it is unreachable? Perhaps it is human nature – or at least mine for the most part, to be discontent, snide and nasty about the life I have; perhaps it is only by looking down on what I have can I justify it.

Odd, isn’t it?

Lonley?

2005-04-29T11:58:00.000-07:00

alone or lonely?

2005-04-03T00:14:00.000-08:00

It's interesting to see that despite increased communication technologies, we're still a little more lonely than we were before. I don't know if this is just because as we grow older, we become more choosy, or whether we just become even more self-involved and see our solitude as a melodramatic sanctuary, in which we glorify our existence just for the sake of justifying it.

The Illusion.

2005-04-02T11:59:00.001-08:00

Somewhere far away, there lies a path. The path leads to the top of a hill, where the wind blows, and the sun shines all the time.

That was the place where we sat; exchanging our laughter and joys. We sat there quietly sometimes, without speaking; words weren’t necessary then, our presence was enough. Thoughts could be exchanged by a mere flicker of eyelids.

Then the seasons came and went. Summer left us, and autumn welcomed us with its burnished fires. And then came the winter, when everything froze – as if frozen in time. Only the memories remained and the silences spoke to each other, a thought at a time.

The path still remains, leading to that hill. The sun doesn’t shine there anymore, though. Now the memories grow dim, perhaps reality never occurred. Perhaps it was a mere illusion, perhaps it was all a cruel joke that life tends to play on us, to make us realize the importance of companionship and friendship.

There the laughter rose, friendship was a reality; now it’s a mere memory that dims each day, and is lit again and again by the tired hopes, and is threatened to be engulfed in the mists of sorrow.

an illusion?

2005-04-02T11:53:00.000-08:00

The story is an old one. And yet it lives on. All that happened, happened a long time ago. Or so it seems. Time has gone by and things have changed. I still search for that path, that let to that hill. The hill where the shiny green trees danced under the golden sunshine by day, and the silver moonlight by night. Perhaps it was an illusion, or a mere figment of an over active imagination? I don’t quite know yet.

New York to Karachi

2005-04-02T11:47:00.000-08:00

Walking on the dusty streets of Karachi, he would sometimes think of New York City. He did not compare the two; really, there really was no comparison. He thought of the different moods of NYC, where he used to work in the Empire State Building. He remembered the hurry at 5:00p.m, when everyone rushed into the Subway station at Herald Square.

After work, he would sometimes go downtown, taking the faithful F train to west 4th street, where he found a very different atmosphere. Life began in the evenings here; the air was calmer, where throngs of people entered bars after work. Here, trees lined the roads if he went deeper south. Little cafes, bookstores and bars crowded those streets.

In Karachi, the atmosphere was similar in most places: a feeling of bewilderment engulfed the city. Dust and pollution rose from the streets, where people moved in an utterly chaotic manner, devoid of any organization; they jumped on buses, they hung out of buses. They rode on motorbikes; they hailed the noisy rickshaws and screamed at the erratic traffic. They hooted the horns for no reason; they crowded the streets and tried to cross the crazed roads. They walked slowly sometimes, on those tired streets, and yet managed somehow to keep smiling. There was a different charge in this city, he could not quite define it.

When he went to Clifton, he saw a range of people: some were poor, who had come to watch the sea as a means of entertainment with their families, women carrying their children, ecstatic at being there.

And then there were the so-called elite, who drove nice new cars that were air-conditioned, who walked with an arrogance they weren’t aware of, for this was their backyard, this was where they came on a daily basis with their friends, to talk, to laugh, to “hang out”.

They did not glance at the poor old men who were selling chanas on the streets, trying to make a sorry living. They were oblivious of those people who had trudged from their poverty stricken neighborhoods in crowded buses, to come to Park Towers, to watch the expensive stores and the people in them in awe and amazement, at their clothes and mannerisms.

For the elite, life was a picnic; they did not need to go anywhere else in the world, for they had everything they needed. When He looked at them, he felt more of an alien than ever. He had felt more at home in NYC, where 5 out of ten people were immigrants. He had not been rich there, but he had managed to enjoy the little things in life; he had sat in the outdoor bars in the village, and enjoyed a cold beer. Here, alcohol was an illegal vice; there was no open drinking. Drinking was more of an elitist activity here. He did not fit in with the elite, he felt inadequate with his pathetic little job at a newspaper.

And try as he might he did not have the willingness to change himself, to adapt. For all he had was himself, so he resigned himself to the oblivion of loneliness. Yet, he didn’t feel sorry for himself – why should he? He merely watched and observed this new city which was supposedly his home with the careful and indifferent gaze of a stranger, wondering how these poor people managed to smile, to celebrate and enjoy their lives despite the daily hardships and the disdain they face. He noticed these people more than anything, and wondered in amazement at their ability to laugh. He himself did not remember smiling, let alone laughing since he had come here.

So he sat on the beach, observing the public entertain themselves by watching performing monkeys and taking camel and donkey rides along the dirt-grey sand. The women were dressed in their traditional garb of shalwar kameez, which covered their entire bodies in the wrenching august heat. Some of them were carrying babies in the crook of their arms, and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Again, he gazed in wonder at their ability to enjoy so little; that was what surprised him. To him, the people of Pakistan seemed to have more willingness to be happy, despite their everyday hardships of water, electricity, pollution and dirt. Maybe it was because of these problems that they could appreciate the few carefree hours they spent on this dirty polluted beach. Or maybe they had realized that they only had a few moments of laughter assigned to their lives, and they had long ago decided that no matter what they would enjoy those few hours.

He didn’t understand this way of living at all, it was all alien to him. So there he stood, watching, observing, inhaling this strange way of life of this new city that was now his home.