Neo V!

SO I needed to treat myself and I changed the genre of phones I usually indulge in. Going from my strictly utilitarian BlackBerry, I have leapt into the world of Android. Open Source Apps rock! Everyone's makin' some. Think of ANYTHING there ACTUALLY is an app for that. Really. Happiness prevails! Sigh

A Dream I Dreamt About Sports

I dreamt I went to the Jalsa today.
Just felt the need to document this. It's way too interesting for me to not save this. Apparently I stood up to Khan and said all of this.

------------------------------
So. You say you'll empower the common man through literacy and basic necessities. I didn't even need to hear your mandate to say this. Fairly textbook promises yet relevant and useful if they ever materialise. But then you say you'll fight the US for the drone attacks and other atrocities, boycott their help and build Pakistan on your own. A clear lack of foresight and diplomatic demeanour. Not justifying drone attacks, simply denying your stance. Why? Because you jump to heal the symptom and not the ailment.
Your repeated visits to Waziristan, body language, embracing their local attire speaks larger than the words you use to deny the fact that you are pro Taliban. Every time you have been posed with the question of your stance on Taliban and Shariah system, diplomacy oozes out of every pore of your body which is nowhere to be seen when you speak of the US of A. Either you're intentionally bad mouthing US because you're part of an undercover plan of theirs and wish for nobody to have the slightest idea of your soft spot for them or you truly have the Talibans wrapped around your little finger since the day you come to power and the Shariah system is slapped across what's left of the land of the pure, Taliban will be sitting in Islamabad. This will of course help your party's VP whose heart and chair is close to the cause of eliminating all Pakistani Ahmadis.
Remember one thing Mr Khan. You are capable of standing up against your closest peers in your party. You're a leader, not a team player. You'll weed out those who disagree with whatever you do once in power. The open door policy is only active till the run upto the elections because you need people till then. I smell dictatorship in your presence. I smell cannibalism in the name of power. You'll take the country as far from a secular Pakistan as possible. You have no plans, no focus and scanty research. You don't care about building the country you wish to build a palace in Jannat ul Firdous for your Hereafter. Not much different from the Swiss Bank accounts I say. All focus is on 'me' and not the people, the masses, the country.
Let me tell you one thing. You might win. With all the crazies joining your party and you not refusing to even one of them, you're only collecting quantity not quality because you don't need quality since you believe in only getting to the top and the team doesn't matter, only you do. I can create an online event today with a date of your coming to power where a jalsa this big or larger will come burn burqaas. Not as a sign of offence to the religious belief but to shun the oppression you'll slam down on us. Taliban do not belong in Pakistan. Jazz does, happiness does, art does, beauty does, tourism does. Burqaa is not who we are, a strong, confident free woman is. The day you let Taliban in we will start burning them alive wrapped in burqaas. We owe this to our unborn kids so beware Mr Khan, this is not a herd of sheep, we are a nation, with our thoughts, with our integrity and our direction, lost for now but we'll regain it. Either play along or handle the ball.

Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

Wrong analogies

Why do other people possess the ability to make you feel awful. Or otherwise? Why does their opinion govern my mood, my life, my will to live or lack thereof?
As much as we keep telling ourselves that it's us who allow others to impact our thought process, we don't. Why would we intentionally want to hurt ourselves? People do mean things and it affects us. Period. It's natural and prevalent. We're human and it hurts. It makes or breaks our day.
People need to be nicer. Which they won't.
Living is only hurtful.
Just like another popular belief. Time heals all wounds. It doesn't, it deepens them. With time your grief matures, you become more accustomed to handling it better rather than throwing up at the slightest reminiscence. The wound is deeper and better set. Hurts more when probed but you've lost the innocence to cringe. Maturity makes you smile through it all.

Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

Oh Vienna

My dream since I was 17 has been to travel to Vienna.It was only once I had seen why, did I understand what pulls me there. As I saw Amadeus again after years, life pulled a "Little Women" on me. The recent music classes and my minuscule knowledge only helped unravel a little of what was a ball of fine, silk thread. It's a long road.
It is but the madness that inhabits one's self that liberates the brain to create. To achieve the unthinkable, to master what is not known. Losing what mere mortals word as sanity to the sublime zenith of the birth of a masterpiece and many to follow that never faint, wounding the bosom of history such that time may never heal.
That insanity, the passion, the oblivion to all surrounding bloody "necessities" and the lunacy leads to creation at par with that only of God
and that is all I must do, if I do one thing before I die.
Mediocrity is an act punishable by torture through witnessing one's own self fading away with time. The only place there is, is at the top. The rest is all a nine to five ritual.
Morbid, decaying, fermenting, wet autumn leaves.

The Odyssey

I'm gonna sing what I want
Gonna do what I want
Gonna live in the sky
On a na.tu.ral high

In the quest for the "truth", the "reality" our "true calling" and all those fancy shmancy words we keep hearing and aiming for, day in and day out, we forget the beauty of aimlessness and the importance to dwell.
Through a forced bed rest, I half-heartedly escaped the corporate world for almost a week. They say, you should do one thing you're afraid of, every day. Through excruciating pain I did just that. Treading the forbidden grounds always buries you in the murky swamp of guilt. If you're just careful enough to not hurt anyone, you realise those boundaries are superficial and self imposed. Letting go may not help you focus or find that "purpose of life" but it sure helps you live.
Polishing off a giant bar of chocolate might make you gain a few pounds and give you a couple of zits but rumour has it that chocolate triggers the brain to produce endorphins (or serotinin, or dopamine) which is what the brain produces when you make love. Something that feels so beautiful can't be all that bad.
Day 1 as I unleash my wayward spine unto the world outside. Let's see how they do.

Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

Good Pandas outnumber the baddies!

Being with only the greatest friends ever for the longest time, made me forget that the deceitful co-inhabit this world with us too. I had forgotten about betrayal, hypocrisy and back biting amongst friends. Or so-called friends if one must use the F word :)
Makes me cringe and smile both. Cringe-mile! Not a mile long cringe, just don't wish to call it syringe instead. Yikes!!
I smile at having the best friends ever.
In the whole wide world.
That is what helps me distinguish the conceited ones from the cool lot. I smile at this alien feeling at being betrayed. Been so long that I've been blessed, this almost feels like just another bad dream.
Thank you Allah mian, for the naivety that comes with the bliss of awesome-st friends in the world who save you from all the pain, catch you when you fall and laugh at you when you cry.
Yell at you if you still don't stop crying.
Order food, ignore you and play Katy Perry if you still don't stop crying.
That's when you stop crying and start eating.
And pillow fighting et al.
Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

Moon

Full moon promises a handful of white flowers stitched together clinging to her wrist where begins the translucent skin that led to her elbow. A little kohl peeking from the corner of her dark eye smiles at the soft clink of the two glass bangles intertwined with the flowers.
It is seldom that the moon rises with thy heart.
Perhaps this day marks a rapturous celebration in a parallel world...
Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

Steve Inc.

I’m unable to work. I still vaguely remember seeing the first Mac ever when I was a kid. Thank you Lala for telling me the story of Steve Jobs most nights instead of how mother goose crossed the hill or some shit like that. Then the mac got lost in the shifting and moving, don’t remember what happened to it. My second encounter was at Packages Limited Art Department. Just looking at a mac would send chills down my spine. Something none of the other ‘accountants’ ever even noticed. “Acha CPU screen mein hee hai? Yeh safaid hai, acha hai” [head-desk]. Yes I put people in boxes. Sometimes.

He had 56 years. Less than most people usually get. Looking back on how he spent it makes me think. So hard. What am I doing with my life? Not only am I wasting it I’m not happy with it either. I’m not dreaming enough. All of this makes me feel as if Jobs is looking at me sternly. His Stanford speech from 2005 was prophetic.  He was family. Inspiration was a word invented for someone like him. Just the fact that I am unable to function since this morning speaks volumes. Even his death has sent me stumbling into an array of thoughts. WHAT am I doing with my life?

"Your time is limited so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

 ~ Steve Jobs

I love how he begins a sentence with And. I love it.

Steve Jobs was more than an Innovator and the brains behind the most revolutionary brand and all of that. He was an absentee mentor. My conscience that always kept kicking me. “This is not what I love” This is not what I love” at work. “This isn’t life” This isn’t life” on weekends. I don’t like a 9 to 5 job. I am a 24 hour worker. Give me something I’m passionate about and I’ll be up in the middle of the night working on it, week after week, tirelessly. I have. My research project for my BSc in three weeks instead of three months, cooking for Ayesha’s surprise birthday, baking/ marinating a turkey at thanksgiving, learning the Circle of fifths and notating a song, figuring out an old song on my guitar on a whim, working on Budgeting techniques, figuring out the insurance template spreadsheet for 3000 employees, making macros after macros, embroidering all through the night only because it’s Eid tomorrow or writing endlessly just because. Some of these may sound interesting and exciting to people, others, completely boring, especially the finance bits but that’s who I am. All of this and more. I tire out when I lack passion. 

I loved another one out of the same speech that Sh had up on her Facebook status update.

"You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."

~ Stanford commencement speech 2005

If I am using Safari on a Windows 'contraption' that has to say something about Steve Jobs. Yes, you will be missed thoroughly. With every swish and swoosh and double finger mousepad click. Yes.

Motia

Somehow, Motia and the need to do something important will always lead to dropping everything and resorting to my blog. Have to study. Exams from Wednesday. Don’t even know the complete syllabus. I will flunk on the basis of my attendance (or lack thereof) anyway.
Three gajray..two lacing the door handle, third sitting next to my face on my pillow with Emma. Every now and then someone likes my Facebook status demanding solidarity against a misogynistic event in Lahore. I draw in a deep breath of motia freshness. It fills me up. My astrology report says tomorrow is tough. Some planet is going retrograde and confronting, I don’t know, Pluto perhaps. Eyes cringed shut, I nestle my nose in the white petals tickling away, breathing life in. It’s almost as if the scent of the flowers spread powder pink and ice blue manga illustrations through my otherwise black and white pen & ink sketched lungs. Whoever retrogrades, Motia will help me through it all. Selective flashbacks. Frock daaman, chock full of motia, running around the porch at ammi’s, then meticulously stitching them together on an asli pari ka dhaaga (cotton thread) whiter than the moven-pick-vanilla-white flowers themselves.
I can marry Emma, Motia and my Pillow.

Early Morning Monsoon Love

the soft patter of rain, punctuated by the occasional thunder, muffled through the heavy curtains and the dark. Somewhere in the distance, rain seems to fall like a fat outlet connected to a fire hydrant, almost as if I left the tap running. Dried jasmine next to my pillow for my phool qahvaa, marries the faint smell of earth seeping in from the window.
The air conditioning seems a bit much as rhythmic thunders interrupt the now stronger shower outside; the ambience hums a lullaby. I can almost hear the bougainvillea bantered around like a playful kitten pouncing back to where it was before the loving slap. Feet so cold they are beginning to itch, as I curl my toes digging into the sheets. Laptop keeps me warm.
Insomnia has an answer.
Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

Tried to make me go to Rehab

Amy Winehouse passed away. Found dead in her London apartment. Somewhat pulled a Heath Ledger I suppose? I refuse to read up on what happened and useless investigations to follow. All that matters is that she’s no more. Neither is Heath Ledger.
What hurts is, when Heath Ledger passed away in a similar fashion, there were more people in tears than hurling abuses for being troubled.

a) Is she being assaulted post death because she was a woman? In which case, shame on the world. With a capital S. Go curl up and die.

b) Do we discriminate against people who are troubled? In which case we need to curl up and die quicker than in case a)

Shame on us if we have no consideration or empathy for a person who has issues in their life. What guarantees are we born with that our life will be a perfect one? What right does anything that we have had by default give us that we can abuse people who do not have that luxury? This is worse than the rich and poor race. It is no surprise that someone needing help, refused it. So many of our so called “normal” people refuse to accept their problems and simply resort to shift the blame, hurling crap at whoever is close by. Happens all the time. Life throws a lot of mess at you. C’est La Vie. You deal with it or you don’t. That is personal and if you are unable to, it is unfortunate yet does not give anyone the right to look down their nose at you or judge you. We don’t get judged for catching a cold now do we?

She was a beautiful, strong yet sensitive woman. Lived her life with her head up high and died the same way. When I see Amy Winehouse I only see a go-getter. No one could convince her to do anything except herself. That’s a strong woman. Of course the world hates her. It hates all strong women.

No Concern of Yours

I love you,
and it's no concern of yours.
Without pre-conditions,
or regard for our flaws.
I cut the strings of hope,
I ask for nothing back,
True giving unconditionally,
No demands broken, or stacked
upon this love I give,
preference is not imbued.
No response to receiving,
or ever fulfilled anew.
This giving doesn't feel good,
it transforms and unites.
An expression of our nature,
not bestowed to excite.
From a natural state of being,
I'm your ocean and your shore,
I extend this love to you,
and it's no concern of yours.

 

P B Shelley (I think)

Cello Tape and kick off

I'm cutting cello tape for the girls while they're packing boxes
Me:  " kitna lambaa duun"

(And suddenly burst out laughing)
M: "jitna bhi lambaa de do"
(Laughter)

A while later she asked for more tape, so instead of asking her size again I started laughing
M: "chota bhi chalay ga"
J: " meri tau situation aisi hai kuch bhi chalay ga"
Me: (start singing) "mein tau ainvien ainvien ainvien ainvien lutt gayaa"
We all burst out laughing

J's closure
"Its not the size baby, its how you use it"

The only reason I like weddings perhaps. Cello tape jokes and the like. Or R's funny noises from behind her hijab as she sings. Been eating like a pig, I think my stomach is funny now. Monday has hit me. And I feel like slapping it back. Like really slapping it.
Good morning my ass

Stronger

What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. We tend to forget the condition that begins the sentence. If it doesn't kill you. If. What if it does? Sometimes things just go overboard. Little things just make loud sounds, walls start closing in on you, breeze chokes you, like your lungs are being squished beneath an anvil.
What if I don't want to be stronger? Or strong at all? What if I want to be weak? Why do I have to be strong?

Sometimes being stronger is worse than being killed by it.
Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

Tooth paste gives you backache

Monday June 13, 2011
Quiet
Lazy morning
From behind eyelids unable to lift themselves, I reached out for the tooth paste. Press. Nothing. PRESS. Nothing. Oh crap I left it open again. *head hangs in despair*
Oh come on you damned thing. Another burst of the little energy that I could muster up and a pang of unbearable pain in my lower back caught me by surprise. What in the...? I mean, I can understand my thumb popping a joint but backache?
I decided to treat it harshly. The back of my eyeshadow brush worked as a perfect suppository.
Good fuckin' morning!
Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

Dheemo Dheemo Madhuro ri Baaj re Baaireeya

Happy Birthday

June 1.
Happy birthday. I miss you. Every second of my life when I see myself fumbling with reality and rolling along with apparent grace. I miss you. Keeping face never losing composure. I miss you. Unfathomable wrath and rising blood pressure. I miss you. I value myself for being you.
Bohot din ho gaye. I miss you
I'll have a jet sport as your birthday cake.
I love you.
Like no other.


Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

I Did

‎Then you stumble on tomorrow, and trip over today
I think you're gonna be just fine
(so don't worry baby)
Would you be wonderful if it wasn’t for the weather
(so don't worry baby)
I think you're gonna be just fine

Past, Present, Past Tense: Kalma Chowk.

There was a time when there was just a small round tuft of grass surrounded by a hand span high wall of concrete and that marked the unnamed round about that led from the garden town model town area to the liberty side of the Lahore world. That’s it. No complications. Nothing. Just an intersection of the main boulevard extending into the nameless road and the great Ferozepur road. That’s that.
One fine Sunday morning on our way to dada jaan’s place we saw cranes, those pole-y structuires they put up right before building anything and all that jazz. Some people were trying to build something there. Controversies followed. It’s in the shape of Tahira Syed’s hand, Nawaz Sharif meant it to be designed this way. To me it was cool coz it had the first kalma written on it and you could see it if you go all around. Secretly I always wished we had to go the the extreme other side so we’d drive all around it and I could read it and go “whoopieee” inside.

Courtesy : JZakariya
We grew up with Kalma chowk being an integral part of our every day route for a very very long time. It was just there. Just like the sorry ass politicians of our country, the beautiful GPO building, the Lahore Museum, NCA, it was just always there.
Every telling-your-way- around- the-city would include “so you go straight from Kalma chowk…”
It’s a part of Lahore. It is a part of my Lahore. I haven’t read up on why how or who approved the flyover. I don’t care either. something was definitely needed for the crazy traffic there. I agree. That still doesn’t lessen the pain I feel knowing they uprooted THE Kalma chowk alphabet by alphabet last night, like an unwanted weed.

I don’t know why things like this have to happen. Some things in life just sprout up, out of nowhere, you don’t quite need them at the time but slowly they grow on you. You get used to them and then they’re snatched away in such a grotesque manner that you’re left with a void in your heart. Yes this may seem extreme in case of a building or a structure but when over the years it becomes a landmark you can’t just take it away. You cannot just take my home town away bit by bit and turn it into something I will fail to recognize when I go back because I will. That spot, I will not recognize.
I find this graffiti of sorts, the way it washes away part of our heritage. Or what perhaps would’ve been part of our heritage one day. It had the potential to become part of history but before it could get even close to that we had to get rid of it.
Kalma chowk took a bit of my home away with it. Bas.

Xany Sometimes

You sometimes drug yourself because life's been crazy and you haven't had time to sleep. Or just sleep enough. Either way you haven't had enough sleep
Other times you do it to escape. To escape from the real world. From pain. Or possible pain. Or just speculative pain. Maybe. Maybe not. Trust issues or real deception again. Heartache needs to be numbed.
Mind games. Honesty. Betrayal. Loyalty. Love. A joke.
Sometimes brain just needs a pill. That little pink pill is perhaps the sincerest friend I've ever had
I love food. I love to love. I love sleep. And its the pink pills that I can't sleep. Okay. Now I'm messing my sentences. I never maybe I dunno what I'm sleeping
Ok
Bye people
Mmuah

Life it seems to fadeway.
Driftin further everyday

Muaah to the world
And silence
Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone