Mufasa was HOT!

I went to watch the world renowned award winning musical, the theatrical version of the Lion King released as a movie in 1994. We got our tickets from a website that gave us the best prices. When we reached the hall in Covent gardens we realised why the price was so special. We were the very first row in the hall, supposedly with Limited View. I felt a bit cheated, I really wanted to enjoy this performance. Ayesha and I used to plan years ago in Lahore that one day we will watch this together in London. How could I get a Limited view seat? Bah! As the performance began I felt a surge of happiness, something I had never felt earlier at a performance. It was as if I was communicating with the actors/ singers. If I’d smile at them during a song, they’d smile right back at me. If I would woo hooo them they would beam back at me. The mere fact that they were acknowledging a hooligan like me, made my day. it is so satisfying to be able to tell a performer how great their performance is or to say the least, just let them know that their work is appreciated. That’s all they work for at the end of the day. Recognition. Fame. Love from their audiences. (yeah yeah those gobs of cash for being a flower at the left atrium!)

The performance was mind blowing to say the least. I missed Ayesha and Lala like a mad woman! I kept wishing and making a mental note that I’ll bring them here soon and go watch Lion King with them. They would be overjoyed to see such an awesome puppetry gig. It is just astounding, the way they have put together everything. Everyone MUST watch this theatrical performance and not just once will do it justice. I promise myself I’ll go again… many times.

 

Ohh okay, coming to the topic. Mufasa was hot! The guy exudes sex! Woo Hoo! ;) The sonorous voice, the deep throaty laughter, the love for his little cub, that face… Perhaps his characterisation made him that way and I have a thing for lions ROWWRR :P Anyway, I assure you, no animals were hurt at the performance last night, at least not by my hands. Mufasa certainly was the hottest. I saved my biggest howl for his bow at the end and since we were sitting up front he did look my way and smiled *dies*

Lion King was released when I was twelve. The right age for Lion King, not too young to miss out on the important messages in there, not too old to let it pass being an animation (though at twenty-six I savour animations far more than I did earlier in life) Last night I saw the Lion King after many years and realised, there’s still things that make sense. It is sort of prophetic, like Little Women. Something or the other seems to make sense at every age in life. I derived such stuff from it yesterday that I never even noticed at an earlier age and it helped me smile.

Dry Spell

I hate it when I’m unable to write. It is my way to breathe through the days I don’t even want to breathe. These past couple of weeks have been hectic to say the least and looks like it isn’t getting better any time soon. Upside  of living in a popular holiday destination, Summers are always a whirlwind. I love every bit of it. I love having guests over, taking care of people, having fun, missing them when they leave. Not quite love that last bit. The child inside me still wants everyone to stay and never leave.

I have been writing bits and pieces in my little notebook that I keep in my bag, in illegible writing as the underground tube sways and swings. To make up for lost time, maybe this post can have what I have been feeling all the time I haven’t been spilling my guts out here.

June 17, 1105 HRS, 2009

Kaisay bitauun haaye, baali umaryaa

Eleven years since I lost Abba.

He would’ve hated me had he been alive today. I’m everything he wasn’t. No. He could never hate me. Even if I was wrong. He’d tell me off. Fight with me all the time but still love me.

All these years I kept wishing to see him and dada jaan in a dream but to no avail.

June 21, 1339 HRS, 2009

I am self sufficient today. Not missing anyone. I’m here in a train with my iPod and the world doesn’t mean a thing. I’m enough for myself. Please God, don’t take my friends away from me. Those occasional human emails keep me going. Please don’t deprive me of singing, or writing, or thinking. Give me enough money to make the days go by. And an occasional trip away from humanity. You know what I’m talking about…

July 02, 2009

Was at Wimbledon for the past three days. It was beyond awesome.

Went there again today. Ate at the Grid Inn till we were about to puke. Murray lost. What a shame? I’m a little sad for England. Craziest ever train ride to Notting Hill Gate. With Sukhbir and a lot of other very patient people. Sara and I had our laughing fits while cramped up like cattle, with my bum against someone else’s and someone’s boob in my face. Exciting.

I’m very upset. About Life in general. What did I do to deserve this? I’m still vulnerable I guess, even after being bashed around like crazy.

Check when get home*

- Karaoke night

-hdeverything.co.uk

-starbucks for jobs as per sara’s orders

-TFL for jobs as per my own rant, things need to be fixed!!

-Creative writing workshops

-lose weight

July 06, 2009

Went to Camden today. LOVED it! Felt at home. Wacky, tacky, so Beatles!! All over the place! As in literally. I just LOVE it. Felt in my own skin. Bought a top. Very funky. Love it to bits. Actually looks good, despite my humongous biceps. Got my Tarot cards read. I don’t know how they work, all I know is they turn HUNDRED percent right every time I get them done. They helped me breathe again.

July 07, 2009

Stepped out to buy Rizzi’s birthday gift. Wandered off Oxford street and got lost, ended up at Regent' street. It was five minutes to nine. I saw Hamley. The doors were already closed. I could see people inside buying childhood. I wasn’t allowed in. Time gave me up. De ja Vu blurred my vision.

July 08, 1235 HRS, 2009

Dropped Saro off at the airport. Cried last night sitting outside Youmni’s office as she smoked. She was a good distraction from my broken life. I was being selfish.

As I hugged her one last time over the railing at the airport, the train journeys flashed before my eyes. All that’ll always remind me and make me crack up like a lunatic, sitting alone. Bund street, Baaank, the mosaics at Tottenham Court road, Knightsbridge and our trip to Harrods. Our pact to CATCH an ‘Arbaa’, the handsome HANDSOME chiseled features guy who we fell for on a crowded train, TOGETHER! Wimbledon, the redbridge station where we’d ALWAYS get stuck. Dragging Little Elly all the way from Old street. How we’d run out of cash ALL the time. The lovely lovely Camden, the tarot card woman. How we missed out on the cafe outside Leytonstone, how she knew Oxford street better than I did.

How I love her…

Just Beat it…

 

 

Michael Jackson.. dead. I don’t know what to think. I’m in a very blank place and just want to write for him. He and I had a common important year in our lives. 1982. When I was born in July that year he was working on what moved on to be the biggest studio album of all times “Thriller” which sold phenomenally and stands as a benchmark of sales to this day.

In a time when music was synonymous with Michael Jackson. If not all of it, perhaps just 75% of the music you would hear would be him. He was the King of pop. He was iconic. I just feel awful using past tense for him in itself. We grew up listening to him. All the way through Billie Jean and his moonwalk, Beat it, Thriller, History, even his advertisement jingles. He was a musical statement in his own self

As much as he entertained the world, his own life was no short of a tragedy since the word go. The simple lack of childhood altogether growing into the trials on child sex abuse and what not, he was jarred by sorrow and mishaps.

We didn’t treat him right. The world threw him around. The contemporary media was very cruel to someone who contributed so much to the world of entertainment where we can easily attribute an entire era of music to be simply Michael Jackson. We didn’t give him back the smiles he gave us. We did not pay him back for the moments of joy he gave all of us with his music. On the contrary his life was a constant struggle. We judged and we kicked and we judged again and we kept dissecting his life.

For once in my life, I’m having trouble writing because I keep going blank with shock, numbness and extreme sorrow. Today, music died. A good man is with us no more and I don’t have anything else to say except his own song where little did we know, his life will go on to abide by…

They're Out To Get You, Better Leave While You Can
Don't Wanna Be A Boy, You Wanna Be A Man
You Wanna Stay Alive, Better Do What You Can
So Beat It, Just Beat It

Wohi Hai Subah…

I have grown up on cricket. Like some grow up on hash (enlightenment my naive friends!), others on Barbies, many on masking the truth when it begins to raise it's dark side. I grew up on cricket

As a child, Mama (my uncle) had a huge poster of Imran Khan in his room drinking Pepsi wearing a headband, looking HOT. That's the guy I fell in love with. I remember sitting with my Nani and watching test matches. We used to place "Jhhaarroo ke tinkay" under the TV trolley so the 'other' team's batsmen don't stay too long. (it's a totka that if you place the thin sticks from an indigenous broom under the chair of a guest who's stayed too long, they'll leave soon) She would pray and swear simultaneously and I learned that from her so nobody don't blame moi!

Mum was up to her eyeballs with trying to teach me the whole Ayat ul Kursee but I would laze around, not pay attention, not learn it. I memorised it for the World cup final 1992 (it did come in handy later through life in accompanying my cousins playing carom, that's all I could do in carom, sit and pray!)

Imran Khan was God, Wasim Akram was second in command. Our players never looked more handsome than the 1992 World cup final. Whether it was the Melbourne weather or the noor that my and the nation's repetitive Ayat ul Kursee gave them, they were all glowing. Perhaps it was my hormones acting up but do 10 year olds have naughty hormones? I don't think so... maybe I did... knowing myself.

It was an epic win to say the least. I remember praying nafals multiple times during the match...thank God I didn't bow to the TV showing Imran Khan, I was quite capable of such bohemian acts even back then, but yeah Nani was stronger, less ill than she is now, I would've gotten physically beaten up so no chance. My dad would've supported me...anything to annoy Nani :)

I still remember how they carried the trophy around the stadium, such joy, such an adrenaline rush and that sexy chinky smile...Imran Khan.sigh sigh sigh The trophy was something straight out of the heavens. The crystal globe against the green shirts, never was there such a beautiful contrast
Everything about those times was fairytale-ish
I remember the song..ohh the song!!

The World is coming down
The Flags are up
Who's gonna be Number One
Who's gonna take out the Cup
Who will be
Who'll be the King
It's a Once in a Lifetime chance
Who'll rule the World
Gotta see who rules the World

...We ruled the World

Intoxicated with success, we moved on. Along with mad studies, cricket always lingered like a constant. Not that I was a nerd, I would very conveniently skip a study routine for a cricket match and go sit with Dada jaan to watch it so Mum and Dad can't even imagine barging in and budging me. It sure did pay off being friends with the Supreme Court ;) We would bet on cricket like professional bookies, just that we'd win food instead of money! We're all foodies. I can't relate to non-foodies, I don't think I even know any. Cricket and food and more cricket and skipping O level Math (ekh!)

My next love was Saqi boyyy! Saqlain Mushtaq with his lopsided grins and the ultimate googlies!! Ohh the times of googly! This was the time when a great Love for the W Indies grew in my little (quite spacious actually, to this day!) heart. I started wearing maroon more often along with the Goth trend back then, black nail paint and dark eyes. My ultimate love remained team Pakistan. For mere eye candy I would sometimes turn to other teams but there was this allegiance to the home team and a strong belief that whatever, wherever the championship may be, the cup is coming to good ol' Pakistan.

I used to know my Yorkers and bouncers and spins...I knew the nine ways a batsman can be shown the finger (I SO wanted to write this line, just for the pun) I knew my test cricket like the back of my hand, I even kept scorecards for a while.

Then I was forced to grow up, oodles and oodles of studies and work and what not. My boyfriend hated the fact that I would yell "Gooo Saqi" or "C'mon Mushiii" in the middle of a conversation he would be trying so hard to inch towards romance. I guess I always have been a man at heart. Anyway, all these powers combined Captain Planet had to turn attention to life other than cricket. I promised myself that I won't think cricket till I'm done with the first three years of my career and my studies are mostly completed and I am headed somewhere in life.

As I took a break, over the years, Pakistan cricket team's little worm on the graph started moving downwards. All through this time there were allegations, fights, ball tampering, match fixing,retarded selections and what not in the holy name of corruption. I never like Shoaib Akhtar, he always reminded me of a salamander though he was sensational at what he did, fast bowling! It's a good thing I wasn't following cricket. I would've been heartbroken.

All those years behind me and now I reverted to cricket through the Bollywood version of cricket/ tequila shots, the IPL. The time spent with my Uncle in the hospital we would laugh and cry over mundane but IPL and the Vodafone Zoozoo Ads made life worth living. We would have a blast over the not even frickin' serious matches. Anything to see him smile..

I started following Twenty20, matches, Cric-info if miss the matches but I started following cricket. It was like a dead beet flower pot all of a sudden showered with water and pollen and all the fertility it could ask for! Pakistan was going lame to be honest. I felt like beating them all up. Freaks! They think they're cool when they swish their hair like Prince charming from The Shrek and get stumped!!?? Hell no, they look ugly. I had no hopes for the team but suddenly something happened. they rose. In the middle of the championship, they decided to start playing the game. As usual the lamest way that if Tom kicks Harry out of the championship and Dick beats up Tom we might end up somewhere. Very characteristic. Very laid back, couch potato strategy if there was one at all..but yeah it worked!

Before we knew it Umer Gul (my newest baby;) was making and breaking records, the team strolled over to the semi finals! Some close to heart friends back home got me tickets to the semi's when we weren't even sure Pakistan was headed there. This was my third ever match in a stadium. First was Pakistan Vs Bangladesh Gaddafi Stadium Lahore, Pakistan won. Second I was working my proverbial behind off so I swear I don't remember now who was playing or who won, I know Pakistan was playing because I categorically wore green. I love the thrill of the stadium...I am a loud person..I savour my solitude just behind loud sounds and truckloads of humour and laughter. I love everything festive! Stadiums and cricket matches are just that. I stepped out and bought a green and white T shirt from Mango. The right green was very important, South African shade was a no-no.

I saw Clive Lloyd *faints* (the Maroon wearing Goth inside me surfaced and I wanted to wear metallic skulls in my ears, a silver ring in my nose and walk the railing till he comes and catches me but then I settled at zooming in and taking a photograph)

As the teams were warming up I was sitting there grumbling, seething, promising myself out loud that if they muck up this match after all this drama of warm up and lateral squats and running around the playground I will stand up front and swear at them so bad they'll forget their lineage!!

The Match began. Won the toss Pakistan team chose to bat first, boundaries after boundaries but quick dismissals of batsmen led me thinking they would surely muck it up, the non existent Prince Charmings surfacing in each one of them, damn the shampoo companies that keep patronizing them, they forget they're out here to play ball!
Then they started picking up pace, my fearful hatred started crackling, softening and melting away. It was a turnaround but till absolutely the last couple of balls of the match, we were lingering at the edge of our chairs. When the screen flashed 14 runs from 2 balls, world was a beautiful place. We were rapturous, Dil Dil Pakistan blaring out of the speakers around the Trent Bridge Stadium, the entire place was singing along at the top of their lungs. The road outside was blocked, it seemed like 14th August The Mall, Lahore. There was traffic jam and the Dhol waalas and Never ending bhangraas, it was insanely ecstatic. Like the air was up for disco!

It felt like I was that 10 year old..17 years ago who reverted to Ayat ul kursee sitting in her living room rocking in anguish (and the need to pee that MUST wait till the trophy was won!). Swearing at the players under her breath but praying all the while. I’m SO back in the game baby!!

The Pakistani team steps up tomorrow for the Finals to the place where cricket was born; Lords. Just wish they put up a fight, even if they go down, they go down fighting. Make it a match worth talking about for the days to follow. Don't let us down you morons, I only swear at those closest to heart!

Like every cricket enthusiast crossed with a high potency dosage of patriotism injected, I wish we win, I wish we bring this cup home. It's been long since Pakistan team has shown the world a glimpse of the glory it was once known for.

It's been long but

Wohi hai subah phir se
Wohi silsilay phir se
Chhooyein Aasmaan phir se
Phir se wohi ho yaqeen

Hum se hai yeh Zamana
Duniya ko Hai dikhaana

(copyright PepsiCo Pakistan)

Departure

"11 June 2009 0536 HRS
Sitting here thinking I've lost the battle of life, leaving behind what seems like the only silver lining, I head towards the eye of the storm where only the quiet of death prevails.
It is as cold and peaceful as the eye of the thunder out there.I'm at the periphery. There's hurt, there's endless pain, there's everything but the will to live.
A Filipino plays on his weird gadget '...whisper words of wisdom...Let it be..' Wish I could; but that is the answer to everything... as if anyone gave us a choice than to be fine
Ashhad u annaa Muhammadur Rasool Allah...
Azaan for Fajar... :)
Whether I live or die... life goes on"

Of Friends and Sharing…

I’d be the last person to tell someone my problems, this one time i did. For once I relied on people. A few, not too many but yes it pleasantly surprised me they were all there for me, just the way I’d be there for anyone. A fear of potential indifference leading to offence loosened up but still, it was just this one time… no guarantees for the future. So I return to my shell, thanking all my loves profusely, yes they’ve been very kind but…

Abhi

kuch din lagein gai

Dil aisay sheher ke

paamaal

ho jaanay ka manzar

bhoolnay mein…

Filmi, very Filmi! :P  No crap really but it’s just that I’m a bit sticky with this poem.

I just love it. I remember it from the soundtrack of an old play Parosi with Khalida Ryasat. These few lines just stuck to my life ever since. Seems like MY life is stuck on a loop play.

Someone switch it off please!! I’m tired…

Fars far away

We randomly got in touch and excitedly planned about me staying back that I was already working on and Fariha dropping by like she already had planned.

Seeing her after what seemed like ages, though really weren’t so much more than three or four months just made me happy. Somehow geographical distances pokes the sad nerve… and hard.

We started out for work but ended up at Chatkhaarey being the raving foodies that we both are, munching away merrily on Pani puri, qeema samosas, sharing that one legged biryani, stuffing our faces later in the day with sheermaal and chicken qorma (God bless our digestive mechanism!).

From the tailor, to glass tower all the way to Aashiana for random but EXTENSIVE kapraa shopping to Adnan's home for tea (where we had his adorable read edible kids with green tea) I tagged along like a happy little butterfly as she went around being herself, pulling out papers in pink folders with measurements of every window. She always reminds me of myself with the notebook ticking off the To-do lists, the measurements, the tactless bargaining and always ready to pose for a candid photo!

She does quite a lot for me just by being around, gives me hope that I will survive. Being the way I am I can still brave the world :) The little ticky pack Fariha is growing mashaAllah, running around almost ALL the time making the cutest faces at the camera and turning her little back at Fariha whenever she wants to take a shot! She is the apple of my eye. I still remember the times we’ve had at Pepsi Lahore Office when I’d carry her around trying to make her stop crying and would play songs by Bryan Adams on my phone for her. We all would take turns with her if Fariha was busy, good memories. She had a cake fest today, I could’ve eaten her up instead of the cake and the other goodies but the samosas were sensational and thus I was distracted.

Saying goodbye was tough. I’ve never been personally close to Fariha. Perhaps we got to know each other better through each other’s writings and not by working together. Whatever got us together, it was strong enough to make it sad to part today. She gave me the warmest most wonderful hug ever as I left and I promptly returned the favour. It was great to see her. Like I was still connected to the world. It was sad to say goodbye because I know I’ll miss her more than ever before, especially after relating with her on so many newer not-work things. We kept waving at each other endlessly as the car backed up, turned around, backed up again and moved for a final time. Every time the angle changed we’d wave again. I’ll miss you Fairy-ha… I’ll land at your place some day unannounced just to chomp away at yummies and talk about curtains and fly away before you know it. See you soon

I cry, I laugh, I live…

Today is my favourite day. I think I haven’t had a better day in my life yet. This overwhelming happiness is coupled with heartache so strong it’s physical. I owe it to a dream I memorised.

Just realised, elation with deep sorrow gives you an unmatchable high. It intoxicates you, yearning for more and more and more…Won’t ever wish for happiness, neat.

meeting is such sweet sorrow
cause someday we may have to part
hush don't you make a sound
you're gonna let me down

I cry and I laugh and then I cry again. I love the fact that I’m a dreamer. My dreams keep me going, I sometimes wonder what life without them would be like. I don’t think I’ll be able to live unless I cry and laugh back to back, sounds loony but yes that’s me. I’m at my peak of creativity and human when I’m with me, in my nothing box.

Okay so I’m not even a woman, thanking my stars every second not to be part of the crowd, yeah! I actually have a nothing box.

Imagine there's no heaven
Its easy if you try
And no hell, below us
And above us, is only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today.

Over the years I have befriended my tears. I cry at the miniscule-st of things and then sometimes hell breaks loose and I am at a loss of tears. It’s that deepest ebb of sorrow that I have actually begun to enjoy, then I laugh and then… I sing. Uncontrollable raptures of singing my heart out. There is no feeling that measure up to singing for me

Toray bin jiyaa gaaye na
aaye naa chayn
toray bin katay kaa se din, kaa se katay rayn
ankhian mori, taras gayiin
baras gayiin, toray bina
kahiin laagay na, bairi jiyaa raa
samjhat naaaa

The language touches my heart, I grew up hearing Ammi speak puurbi. It’s an integral part of the subconscious me. Add some music and it passes tequila shots by light years… I lose myself…and that’s saying something.

aas wohi dil mein liye
iss arzoo mein hum jiye
tera hath thaam ke
lo hum bhi chal diye

 

O’more O’more Omo oo ore!!

 

O more O more O mo oo ore!

I just love this advert. It is cheesy, retarded, the words are so street kid lingo, the ‘ohh please cheap’ talk. Yet, this catchy CATCHY ad tickles your fancy in half a second. The kaleidoscope of outrageous designs and colours is snazzy to say the least and it is certainly attractive not just for children but also for everyone who grew up in Pakistan hearing the pigeon kabootar and other Urdu English mixed terms!

What I love the most about this piece is the fact that it is FUN and so Pakistan! We hate it all; the street shit, the dearth of education and basic decency, the corny local jokes, the lack of privacy, the lack of a sane life of your own choice, the retarded male dominated crap, the sweeper who stares you like there’s no tomorrow sending you spiralling into deepest depression (yeah I go way off track, welcome to my blog!), the Fuchsia and magenta silver and gold in the tropical summers, the wannabe cool dudes with car windows rolled down sporting high bass music at the top of the poor gadget’s volume which makes you feel like a dear dear friend once said “Kalaija phhatt ke hath mein aa jaayega” and a hell lot O’more! There’s still that edge about this country, perhaps it’s the roots aching or something, however cheesy or ‘oh so unladylike’ something is, there’s a strange level of acceptance that comes from within us and hell it’s strong.

The O’more Ad has all these elements. The fuchsia magentas and crazy colours, the beat, the English Urdu mix that is simply an integral part of our lives unless we decide to run away to another country where they won’t understand every alternate word of the medley we turn our conversation into!

It beautifully depicts the anal nature of our people… where they will just be breathing down your neck, no matter what you do, or you don’t or if you don’t even want to do anything!! Privacy? None what so frikkin’ ever!!

Ho khushi mein sath aur ghum mein paas har koi mausam bin koi reason O’more (people!) O’more (people!)O mo oo ore (people!)

Two thumbs up Engro Foods!

‘May you have many more…’ a letter

I’ve been sitting here for the past several hours wanting to write something about you and your birthday but am at a loss of words. Your little ‘kaaki’ is in such a mess without you big guy. You have absolutely no idea.

I miss you every minute, every second of my life. I manage to make a mess out of perfectly normal situations, I guess this one runs in the family, right?

Your baby is not well, I’m trying to help take care of him for you the way you took care of dadi jaan. I still look back to figure out how you would’ve done what had you been in my place. I wish you were around, you would’ve set him straight in a jiffy! I’m trying to be you, but I can’t. I’m failing miserably, missing you all the more.

You were big and strong and you knew how to tie shoelaces, you had big hands, biggest feet ever and big ears too, you had the smile that would make the room smile right back at you, you had the laughter that would crack up the world. Your strength was equally contagious to say the least, I long for that feeling. I yearn to wake up to hear you swearing at someone, or just throwing that mouse out on the road in the middle of the night for me. I miss the forbidden samosas and that red kheer :) I miss the Indian movies, the cricket matches, the endless betting and the poetry sessions we’d have. You were stern, crude, bad tempered but soft just at the right places. I am today who I am because you thought I could be. I miss the connection. I miss the phone. I call up our home number and just wait for nine rings hoping you’d pick up before the tenth, like you always did. I’m so lost without you. I want to hug you and tell you I love you. I’m somebody today. I’m a grown up and all those things you used to say about life, that never made any sense, actually do make all the sense in the world now.

I so wanted to come with you when you left, I still won’t think twice given a choice. It’s no fun without betting on cricket and television channel reception, you know.

If I could be half a man as you were, i think I’ll have lived my life. Come see me sometime big guy, I could use a hug

Happy 95th

Love

Sumbul

 

 

I’m just out to find the better part of me…

I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
I’m just out to find
The better part of me

Still exploring myself, no matter what whoever says I can’t accept a compliment. That is an art I yet have to master. I can fool around acting all princess-like but deep down inside I know… I am not much. Just out to find the better part of me. Everything I do, or want, or can’t do without has to be wrong

I’m more than a bird…I’m more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It’s not easy to be me
Doing anything remotely good or being strong seems like such a great pastime to the onlookers. It’s more than that.

I wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
'bout a home I’ll never see

Never had a home, only temporary places to rest before moving on; never will have one either. I will just keep lying, I reckon

It may sound absurd…but don’t be naive
Even Heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed…but won’t you concede
Even Heroes have the right to dream
It’s not easy to be me

Giving perfection to the world gets you into a lifelong battle with who you are and what you have to end up doing. less than a decade ago, I dropped medical science because of ‘bloody’ reasons and today I end up wiping it, seeing it, helping stop it. I never went to cancer hospital because I thought I’d lose my nani there, just the way I lost my nana. Ended up there later, had to be stronger than I was deep inside.

I wipe tears when I want to bawl, I make reality happen for others since I only have dreams. My dreams are what keep me going. Gives me a reason to live, it still isn’t easy…

Up, up and away…away from me
Well it’s all right…You can all sleep sound tonight
I’m not crazy…or anything…

Everyone can lie low, relax, I’m around. They all know I’ll rise to the occasion and take care of everything

I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
Men weren’t meant to ride
With clouds between their knees

I am human too, I need to throw tantrums, be unreasonable, be upset over a broken nail, sometimes not know what exactly to do in a situation, I crave for all of this. I ache to be helpless in distress

I’m only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
inside of me ...... inside of me ...
inside of me ...... inside of me ...

I’m only a man in a funny red sheet
I’m only a man looking for a dream
I’m only a man in a funny red sheet
It’s not easy ...
It’s not easy to be me...

I’m just a Plain Jane beneath all the strength everyone lauds and applauds. I crave to lie in the park, staring at the sky, watching clouds. I want things to take care of themselves, I don’t want to do anything and yet everything to fall into place. I want to walk the embankment, looking for myself in the characters that stand there for laughs, the sax player who plays like there’s no tomorrow, every wild daffodil that I see

, the small coffee shop that helps get over the chill, the child that runs ahead of his parents. I look for another dream. I’m still looking…

Chronicles of Karnia-I

I landed here in the early hours of the morning following an evening thirty-three people were killed in the city. My flight from Istanbul was beyond uncomfortable with two ‘Karachi Uncles’ on both sides, with their elbows sticking out hardly leaving any space for me to breathe, one of whom was extremely interested in my life history. I didn’t have the energy to fuss.

At the airport a payphone hog as I prefer to call them, tried to sell me a PKR 500 worth of a useless payphone card and I reminded him of all his relatives dead or alive within 15 seconds. Never underestimate a Bhatti’s rage

Walked over to the McDonald’s across the road (yes i crossed the road, me and my baksaa) and ordered a McRoyale. So pseudo, I thought, craving for Halal beef. I was never even a beef enthusiast.

As I was almost done with it my groggy cousin appeared from the dark and stuffed my bag in his car. We were off towards home. He still wanted to know why I was there. I gave him my standard answer, because I wanted to.

A couple of days into my stay, there were additions to the characters in my life. The loser driver we need to keep, the Kami Kazi baba driver who can’t drive to save his life but still insists, the loopy dressing boy who’d come to change the bandage on my uncle’s diabetic foot every day, the obnoxious maid that was in her notice period as I like to call it, the new spaced out maid who keeps bundling my clothes and stuff with Sara’s and an uncle I’ve never known.

One week turned into two, then four and eventually five. Time just whizzed by. This is something I love about Karachi, life just whizzes you by. You don’t have time to kill yourself if you wanted. Even though I've never lived here, I’ve always experienced life per se in this city alone. My happiest, my saddest, my firsts, my lasts, a lot of milestones in my life are all so Karachi. I’ve lived and grown up in Lahore (love every bit of it, don’t get me wrong now) but Karachi is where my heart usually is. Maybe it’s the sea.

Almost five weeks later, uncle is still not as good as I would like to leave him. He doesn’t need me around any more, as in technically. It’s I who needs to spend these extra days to see him improve just a tad bit more. It’s my issue, not about him, it’s all about me. I need this one more week owing to inertia I guess. Another week to drink in the Karachi madness, to spend time with Sara, to hang around Gul uncle a bit more, to be able to hold him, kiss him, help him with anything at all, meet my friend(s) who might show up in town, breathe on my own, live a little more.

I realised a couple of days ago, this is by far the longest time I’ve spent with my cousins, getting to know them. I cherish this trip. In every possible way, with all the sweating like a pig routine,the no-clothes situation, the power failures, the humidity, the fights, the getting wound up and just sad at coming to terms with a post-stroke Uncle, the midnight ice cream feasts with wafers and toasty grilled toffee brownies, the love for green tea and lemons, the stress busters if any, stepping out with my people who would whisk me away for a bit to facilitate survival and breathing of course. It was all so, me.

Another week it is I guess…Off to cook yummy Haleem :) (Yay!)

Hi, this is Daniel Powter and you are?

He teaches me to live.  I’m him and he is moi! My journey down to the end is so full of dead ends and creeping up from under the dying ivy covering the barbed wires that apparently lock my life out every time I think okay this has got to be the end. Ironically now I’ve started greeting my misfortune every time it drops by to say hello. “Hi there. Now that you’re here, life will stick like the icky 2 rupee toffee in my molar following you so what’s next eh?” Like “How do you wish to torture me this time honey bunch!?” Sadly following every setback in life, you keep living. The sky never falls, you don’t even get a tooth ache let alone death. Perhaps just high blood pressure which doesn’t even qualify for a measly medical certificate coercing your work place to let you rest; just forces you to suck it all out of your ‘food life’ making it further morbid for you to want to breathe. You have to trudge through every day life carrying the load of the newly evolved crap, suck it up and smile.

Daniel Powter is the only guy that understands me…Perhaps reacts the same way as I do to my troubles. I have grown out of my teenage banging doors and ‘nobody understands me’ phase. I have realised no one ever will and hell I’m so glad about it. I so don’t want the screwed up world to be able to relate with me. In a twisted way it’ll make me a low life. I just want to be the Hareem league. The league no one enters but me. I’m above and beyond. God made me and then lauded himself. It’s time for a little self praise and a lot of ego pumping. If no one brings you flowers plant yourself a garden, hell yeah Amen!

His Bad Day is my biography. I spend my life looking for the moment I needed the most. It keeps flitting away from me, like a butterfly from one flower to another making you follow on your tip toes faking that it doesn’t know you’re following, just leading you on..and on.

You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost, everything seems to lose its charm after a while, maybe I’m capricious and moody, just very fickle minded but yes the magic is lost as soon as you kick up the leaves. I am a hard worker. I work hard. At work, on life, on people around me. I am not laid back when it comes to relationships but still the magic somehow finds its way out the door after a while. The candle blows out and I’m sitting in dada jaan’s dark bedroom hours after his burial waiting for him to return, just to say goodbye; still waiting.

As my blue skies fade to grey, my passion’s certainly gone away and I so don’t need no carryin’ on.

I stand in the line just to hit a new low, I fake a smile with the coffee to go, the free paper outside Paddington, the waffle girl at Marble Arch, the rude nurse at the hospital counter, the obnoxious driver I can dissect with a blunt blunt spoon, the cute guy in the train that smiles at me (silently thinking he doesn’t know he’s smiling at death) and so much more. My life’s been way offline. I’m falling to pieces every time and I so don’t need no carrying on. I have my bad days, I take one (or several) down :P

I sing a sad song just to turn it around, I say I don’t know , creeping into my armoured shell that just won’t open up to knocking or the bang clang a clang! I work on a smile, I go for a ride, I’m coming back down and I really don’t mind.

I need a blue sky holiday, actually quite a few, every year to keep me from jumping off a building and they all laugh at what I say. I know I’m this way. I have my own way of dealing with my issues and I don’t need to share my strategies with the world. They’re MY problems, MY answers to questions posed to ME by life and time. I don’t need no carryin’ on. No explanations needed for anyone. NO! No one can break in to me. NO! Keep out!

Sometimes the system goes on the blink and the whole thing turns out wrong. All of a sudden I realise that I’m in the middle of something that made so much sense yesterday yet feels alien now. It’s hair raising, it’s disturbing, it dulls my mind, my blue skies fade to grey and my remaining whatsoever passion deserts me.  I might not make it back and I know that I could be well oh that strong. Now that is so a killer. You know you’ll drag through it all and live to see the next day when you wish you won’t. You keep yelling I quit, forfeit, start a new game, exit for sure but seems like no one’s listening. So I set out thinking where in frikkin hell was the passion when i needed it the most

This is Daniel Powter, and you are?

Heartache

Life gives and takes away… blesses and deprives..

I am a crab.. so is my life. One step ahead two back. Moving forward and receding.

Platform it is. An approaching train is the biggest happiness I have ever come across. It signifies, surprise… the way it appears, defying inertia… the way it breaks it, hope..promising to take me where I want to go.

Where do I want to go? Far away from feeling anything..losing sensation. Indifference as someone dear once said, is one of the two things much needed in life. I want to lose feeling. Hurt, pain, ache, hatred, love, above all.. the hope for a better tomorrow. I feel like a hamster on a wheel, running endlessly. Don’t know where I’m headed, or if I’m even headed somewhere. All I know is I’m running. I’m running like crazy, I’m running to save my life, just running…

I need. I need to stop needing. I am still needing. I have to stop this right now…

Signing out

Shab Bakhair

You and I

Hmmm, I love the acoustic guitar dictating the preamble of this collision

The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you
Yeah

That's life for me, every morning the day is barely beginning but I am already entangled in what it has for my life, my world, my day ahead. Always ahead of time, always trying to outrun the code of conduct, failing miserably. I'm tangled in the unspeakable as I have a few moments to be blasphemous in the midst of my thoughts; the air is barely waking. This is me... this is rebellion.

I'm quiet you know
You make a first impression
I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind

I'm open, you're closed
Where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again

explains all that we feel, that we shouldn't but it does make sense to a spot of our heart, where we are aware of the blasphemy being stepped into but it all fits in a very twisted way. Perhaps the way people step into drugs, or smoking or any of the well known devils that plague the world around us, in their early teens. This is about that juvenile feeling where you know something is harmful yet it feels so right just to step ahead and embrace it.
Only that this just doesn't die with the teens, becomes more of a taboo in our own eyes as we grow into perfectionists the ambience around us is ever so willing to carve out of the imperfect souls that we are...

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find
You and I collide

Don't stop here
I lost my place
I'm close behind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
You finally find
You and I collide

Sometimes all you want to do is lose perfection and play along being second best. To lose control, run far away to a land where no one knows you and you return the favour. You make your own rules, you define your own boundaries.
Start afresh... you finally find and acknowledge, You and I collide. It is instinctive, inherent, calls onto you sooner or later it is what our souls are...imperfect

Beginning from absolute blasphemy and rebellion in a place where i breathe, this songs leads me to the eternal life, my paradise. Where I'm not afraid of falling down, where no words are wrong, where no doubts are to be succumbed to. Where I'm not scared to know I'm always on your mind, where the stars will always shine, where being tangled up in an outrageous thought is okay...I am eager for the beginning of that final life.