Blogword: Life

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

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

A Story

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!

wednesday blog word: complete

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

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

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

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

Wednesday Blog Word: Decisions

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

Will this be enough to inspire me?

Remnants of rain...

view from the jailhouse i call my workplace...

After the storm.

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

"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

"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

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

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

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

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

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.