snowflake

Neo V!

2012-01-25T04:58:00.001Z

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

2011-12-25T08:46:00.001Z

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.

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Wrong analogies

2011-12-22T15:59:00.001Z

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.

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Oh Vienna

2011-12-04T19:58:00.002Z

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

2011-11-28T04:16:00.001Z

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.

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Good Pandas outnumber the baddies!

2011-10-16T19:51:00.001+01:00

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.
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Moon

2011-10-11T17:14:00.002+01:00

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...
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Steve Inc.

2011-10-06T09:37:00.001+01:00

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

2011-08-07T21:10:00.001+01:00

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

2011-07-29T00:23:00.001+01:00

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.
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Tried to make me go to Rehab

2011-07-26T13:13:00.001+01:00

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

2011-07-08T22:57:00.001+01:00

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

2011-06-27T06:53:00.003+01:00

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

2011-06-15T18:44:00.000+01:00

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.
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Tooth paste gives you backache

2011-06-14T09:57:00.000+01:00

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!
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Dheemo Dheemo Madhuro ri Baaj re Baaireeya

2011-06-05T18:25:00.001+01:00

Happy Birthday

2011-06-01T00:14:00.000+01:00

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.

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I Did

2011-05-27T21:19:00.001+01:00

‎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.

2011-05-22T08:01:00.001+01:00

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

2011-05-21T20:34:00.000+01:00

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
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Saabun ki Shakal Mein| Baita.tu.tau.nikla.keval.jhaag| Jhaag| JHAAG

2011-05-19T19:35:00.001+01:00

Heartbreak stuck on loop

2011-05-19T17:31:00.000+01:00

He pulled a daddy on me. He's more of his twin than his own twin is.
The world is always right. They'll get their way. No matter what. I come second. Always.
I will suffer. Even if I'm wrong. I will. I thought all of that was over. My only mistake is that...I don't know. I don't know where I go wrong.
I still love him. Just like I love lala.
He is my Karachi daddy.
Maybe that's where I go wrong
I can deal with being wrong.

As long as there's Pakola.
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To Flash Mobs, With Love

2011-05-14T19:38:00.001+01:00

I have had a humongous crush on Flash mobs since the beginning of time. Been sharing the ones I've loved with friends, a few on my blog too I think but I just Stumbled Upon this little baby and fell completely and utterly in love. It has all my favourites and a few more.

FLASH MOB CENTRAL- BIZZARE BYTES

I think they missed this one. With all the love I have for the Beatles. I know most people are off key but Music is love and love is music. It all makes sense. As long as you "remember to let her into your heart..."

Damn I'm talented

2011-05-09T12:09:00.003+01:00

a) everyone gets fucked over now and then. You don't need to feel alone.It's a party. Trust me
b) Whatever fucked you over, start looking for positives in it. If I can find positivity in my suicidal bouts I'm sure anyone can find positivity anywhere in the world
c) can't say this enough, throw self pity out the window. It's worse than cancer
d) Live for yourself. Parents, siblings, friends are good to have. We are born alone and we die alone and this life is about an individual. Not families or groups of friends.
e) Live every day as it comes. Stop aiming big and/ or long term. Aim for little happy things day in and day out. Bigger Ambition will come to you itself
f) Stop struggling and start flowing through life. Live. Don't just survive
g) Embrace change. Get obnoxious. Surprise yourself every day with doing something positive and new. Its fun.

I think I just wrote a book on self help. I'm talented

Whoa Cecilia! [TGIF]

2011-05-06T13:58:00.000+01:00

Friday Doldrums

2011-05-06T10:28:00.000+01:00

When there's so much more to do
And your eyes turn into lead
You will pass out only because you're tired, you still can't sleep.
What fun is it anyway? Sigh-ness. Friday is my dead day. Bhai namaaz parhni hai. Wuzu karo bewaqoof larki. Utho. Nahi. Dead dead dead. Through squinted eyes and the comfort of a qwerty keypad, I type away. Two chairs make a lovely bed. I'm still awake. Alpal is still distant. I don't know what's wrong with him. I hate losing him. I hope everything is ok. With work and home and shit.
Backache kills. ZAK came back from Hindustan yesterday. Its one of those things. Like I told M. I don't usually miss people when they are geographically far away. Its only when they come back and I see them, I realise oh God! So long since we last met.
In other news I feel Sami can only call out "Babar" somehow I hear him calling out for Babar all the time. He just did. Again. Office is so mellow when people aren't here. Its peaceful. I saw shahi tukra in my dream. The one I had at Q mamu's. Uffff. They seem to be the answer to all problems in life. They're ah-mazing!
I need to sleep.
Now

Disclaimer: written in an absolute stupor and rising body temperatur. No coherence guaranteed. Not that there ever is. But still.
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mine. MINE. Hear it? ALL MINE!

2011-05-04T07:47:00.000+01:00

Loved this one for what seems like eternity.
Just can't get enough of you. You damned song- not!
Orange room, recording equipment, acoustic guitar...
Saturday morning and it's time to go..
Baby you'll get me through the rest of the week. You will.

Optical Delusion of Consciousness

2011-05-03T20:26:00.001+01:00

Studying physics should not keep you from thinking beautiful.

A human being is part of a whole, called by us the “universe,” a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separate from the rest — a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few people near us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.

— Albert Einstein

Ahhahhem!

2011-05-03T19:16:00.000+01:00

This pollen season is really killing me. I never needed my throat to emit such a high pitched note on a daily basis to actually give a rat's ass about what plants having aerial sex might do to me. Now that I have to care, its seretide every day. Also never have I so eagerly waited for June. In my life. No seriously. Anywhere in the world. June's a bitch. I could never find anything nice happening in June. Apart from a few super important birthdays. June is good for nothing. However, I find another jewel being added to its repertoire. Ending of the plant sex! Yay! So that it may cease trying to reproduce with my throat. Okay that sounds just plain wrong. On so many levels.
I walked barefoot on the roof of Hindu Gymkhana tonight. With the artist billa. Hardly artistic. Rather phhattoo billaa. Artist billaas don't think, just do it. This whinny little thing just kept crooning from here to there.
Dada jaan's quiet love for cats perhaps translated into my El Myrah type crazy cat love. I want to adopt all stray animals. Thanks to the big guy's frankness, I almost always a cat and/ or a litter under my bed (ahhem FML!)
I love the karachi breeze. Makes this past year worth its while. Its beautiful. My love for wind and storms make me wanna go storm chasing. Sigh. Some things one must do in order to simply live with a wider smile each day.
In other news I think Faalsa in the fridge may have germinated with the ras malai. It was khhatti. I still had it. Its ras malai. Its sacred. Period.
P.S I only have Biology on my mind. Everything is pollinating in my head and now I feel the stigma of my heart pulling me towards mint chocolates. Life with a horrible throat's still called living!
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Email Blogging, Loved Ones, Cars set ablaze and then some

2011-05-03T08:57:00.002+01:00

Communication was this easy with him back then but things change

Internet's been acting funny at home for a day or so. I didn't care much. Till I actually needed to talk to dada jaan.
Terrorist killed, political party worker killed. Okay the latter set the city ablaze. How sad is that. Instead of celebrating the culprit of such nuisance in the world coming to an end, everyone ran for cover. I saw cars burning and my old instincts kicked in. Couldn't relax till everyone I know had confirmed safety. Amean's response took the cake. Cousin's was sweet as ever. Crayola man was crayola as ever. Begum's a jaan. I was most worried about them. Newly-moved-backs always get me concerned. Everything must seem so much more horrible than what it seems to us. Them poor things. Alpal's mad at me. I hate it. But he promised he'll be fine so yes. I'm hoping. I miss him. He better get his act together soon. He was fine and safe. I figured out. Babies frolicked and jumped all over me. Met them after so long. "I will go to she's school", said a beaming baby boy who just got into school. Adorable little munchies. I can have them for breakfast. Khay is a jaan. I think they'll be fine. I love them both. Just because I can. Yelled at A uncle. Later I thought he might kill me but then that's okay. As long as he got home safe and sound and called me to tell me "pohonch gya huun bhai!" I don't care if everyone ends up hating me. I need to do what I need to do. bas. Not a peep from back home. Typical. So so typical. I'm not saying a word now. It's not like I expect any attention or parenting from them but seriously. When exactly do they at least act responsible? I'm not heartbroken really but I'm definitely a little sore and reaffirmed on my "tau jitna hai bas utna hai" stance. Which is when I missed dada jaan's overtly cautious and overbearing nature. That used to feel like family. Stifling, annoying, tell-where-you-are-at-all-times but so loved. I hate this laa vaaris bullshit.

I am turning into him. I realized. When I yelled at K to get his ass home and let me know. Specifically then. Or was it everyone else. I always wondered Amman and lala, neither of them are anything but carefree. What makes me so 'out there'? It's those damned genes that failed to get me them grey eyes but got me the crazies.
Home phone number is now unlisted. I can't do my cuckoo routine of nine rings and satisfy my foolish heart. I needed to speak to him. I do that through my blog. I feel he reads it. I mean Allah mian's got to have macs and shit up there in the heaven. Ain't no party without wi fi baby! Discovered email blogging. I remember making the email address on blogger for the purpose. Ages ago. Actually put that to use.

It's so cool. And liberating. I can write any time now. Though I still prefer Windows Writer. I think it rocks but yes, the liberty of blogging when I feel is just beautiful.

Just that when I post using my phone it comes with the silly show off my BlackBerry Smartphone tagline. Which is quite a brain itch but I think Dada jaan won't mind it too much. As long as we're talkin'

P.S. I love him. Forever. Which is a long time.

P.P.S I'm email blogging again. Just because.

All my love

2011-05-02T19:17:00.000+01:00

"That soft weight of your hand on my shoulder
That warmth of a quick hand squeeze
And if I, for a moment, thought you aren't with me
Every time I don't know what to do, I won't know how to live.
I miss you
Yet, not quite.
You had to go but you never left."

It's time for another dream. I'm losing sight
Sent from my BlackBerry® Smartphone

Jab Tak

2011-04-28T20:53:00.001+01:00

And we all fall down.

2011-04-28T13:32:00.001+01:00

I met MB after over a year and obviously he was concerned how I was doing. He saw me, loved me, cheered me on to have survived and so well.

Just the thought that I survived made all those thoughts come crashing down at me.

I block out. People, memories, bad stuff, I block out.

This one I thought I had healed and sealed instead of my usually denial strategy.

This didn’t help. I don’t think I can ever hear this song without crying.

Which is why I never hear this song any more

I hate crying.

It hurts and is soppy.

And foolish.

Like lala always says. If crying ever solved any problems I’d be the one crying the most.

I can’t believe I can’t cry any more.

Just this song. It has to go.

I don’t love anyone. It was just all that hard work to love that went to waste. Absolute waste. The years of my life that should’ve been carefree were far from being that. Stupid me. Some of us aren’t cut out for relationships. Almost dysfunctional. We love too much. Do too much. Then fall the hardest. I should’ve known. I don’t want to love anyone. I just don’t want to. It’s like running out of gas. Only that this time I fall, it’ll be total and irreversible combustion. But then that’s what I thought the last time. And the last and the one before that. I somehow seem to survive. Which is not fun.

Sometimes you really wish things can come to an end. Life can come to an end. You’re tired of running. Tired of life. Tired of smiling. Tired of cracking jokes. Tired of everyone around you. All these words seem so familiar. I’ve been here before. And a long time. Walked right out of it and on, then why am I back here? Maybe this is what the crude reality is. I qualify to empathize with a hamster on a wheel. His life must also feel so much fun.

*Heartache*
Don't want to do anything. At all.

Just work, NAPA and Shapes. Bas.

Mein thhak gayi

Life is quite fun when one is ME

2011-04-24T21:35:00.001+01:00

ke sag e koo e sher e yazdaanam

choon Ali Shaikh e mann Zabardastum
Mann Ghulaam e Ali Zabardastum

the last twenty four (rather, forty eight!) hours have been whipped around samosa excursions, quick trip to NAPA, work, sleeping M, mesmerising qavvaali, evaluations, some more qavvaali, empenadas, a little bit of tooth paste, King chips and lamenting visas rejected and those to be applied for.

Samosa makes my stomach go funny but I like funny. So I don’t quite mind. Semi circle around town for semi circle samosas was totally worth it. I saw jalebis and missed Lahore. Shah Jamal Urs and piping hot jalebi and andersay ki goliyaan. You can take a girl outta Lahore, you can’t take Lahore out of a girl. So unlike a man. I digress. SO completely. The jalebis tasted funny. I still had them, like what the hell man! My stomach hopped skipped and jumped at the fifth samosa I think and I was so thirsty through the qavvaali. I always try to escape Abu & Farid sahab’s eyes through qavvaali. It’s like they catch hold of you and then you’re taken a prisoner for the rest of the verse. Too much limelight for this little bacterium. NAPA feels like home. I whizzed around showing (off!) the place to M and making her writhe in jealousy. The last straw came quite unintentionally but yeah, it took the cake. the world doesn’t need to know but haha M :P.

I don’t feel like I cannot live anywhere but any(specific)where. I think I can live anywhere. Like I told S today, I carry my home within me. It doesn’t matter if I’m in Lahore, Karachi or London. I’ll make myself at home. I don’t miss Lahore. I love it. Even the pavement feels like home but I don’t miss it. I have enough to keep me occupied here and attract my love and affection.The sea, the air, the traffic, all people/ drivers eager for me to swear their predecessors’ souls back into their bodies for them! I wanna go see R. Why do we need visas? Why can’t everyone just go for picnics in a park anywhere in the world, with little lemon tarts and jelly centered swiss rolls? I’m gonna have my mint chocolate and start trying to sleep otherwise I won’t be able to sing tomorrow. In my world, you sing every day. Strenuous, vein popping, migraine evoking, brain shattering singing for 2 hours. Every day. To get to that graduation day I have waited for since forever. I just never knew.

Rumi sukhan e kufr na guft ast o na goyad
munkir na shavaidash
kaafir bood aan kas ke ba inkaar bar aamad

Life is a lot of fun when one’s ME. Full stop

Apnay Be-Khwaab Kivaarron ko Muqaffil kar do

2011-04-05T22:02:00.001+01:00

Google Much!?

2011-03-25T20:41:00.001Z

I sometimes google my name to see where all I appear on the web. Checked images today. Made me smile

My pictures from the past few years, a photo of Farid Ayaz qavvaali, a Celebrating 100 years of Faiz poster, a friend’s photo, a picture of
Burger Corner in Lahore, a flower, a mosque in Turkiye and a sign that say “You’ll live forever”

What more could one ask for in life? :)

Of jewelry-nostalgia, buckets full of tears, real friends and endless laughter

2011-03-17T18:25:00.001Z

I had a lovely evening. It was however messed up by a few later but I had promised myself during the good part that I will blog about it and so here I am. I went shopping. After what felt like ages. I think the last time I bought clothes was at Baqr Eid. Anyway. So yes I loitered into Sarwana just asking around for any new jewelry and the guy asked which of the piercings? Don't let that brain of yours wander off, i have two piercings in each of my ears and one in my nose. the nose and the upper ear ones are dormant for a very very long time now which is what I told the guy and guess what! He said here let me check and pop! pop! pop! He got them all ...umm... functional...for the lack of a better word :)

In walked a young girl with who seemed like her mother and aunt. She thought I was having my ears pierced. Jittery, flustered in a high pitched voice she asked me oooh does it hurt too much? "Not at all!" I said. "Though I'm just 'refreshing' mine even when I got them done, didn't quite hurt much. I remembered when I first got mine done. I was equally nervous. Just that I was a shy little kid who was scared of asking if it'd hurt too much and just bit back on my lip fiercely just to let it go a second later realising oh well, it wasn't much of an issue was it?

I helped her decide which nose pin she should pick, we ecstatically agreed on the same type. It was such strong nostalgia seeing her like that. High spirited, asking if it hurt, nervous yet SO SO wanting her nose pierced, asking immediately if she looked like a maid once it was done. That was all SO nostalgic! A lovely, LOVELY feeling. Little do I remember, for every smile, mother nature makes me cry a hundred tears. As long as it ends in my friends singing the song of my soul back to me, reminding me of who I am. I can cry. Buckets.And for as long as you want. I can

Khudaavundaa

2011-02-14T20:26:00.001Z

Some raag combo mated with my heart and got me humming... Khudaavundaa. Yeh kaisi aag see. Jalti hai seenay mein. Tamannaa jo. Na poori ho woh kyun. Palti hai seenay mein.

Perhaps my issue is the real fact that I don't have any wishes of my own. As a strict pattern I get sucked into other people's inclination and adopt their love as mine. When those get rained on, it really hurts because the effort to adopt it is added to the intensity of making it work. Have I stopped loving? Did I ever? Yes I did. That last crush when I was 16. Was the last. Since then I'm just thrown around wherever life takes me. You want me to love you, I'll love you (and in full throttle mind you, I am a hard worker) you want me to leave. I'll leave. The past 10 years tell the same story over and over again. My esteem died with my grandparents. I was crushed. And crushed. And crushed. Over and over again. So much that I forgot my own decisions, my will wandered off in the ruins of my being. I really shouldn't have lived on. There really is no point. My voice is also cracking on high notes. Makes me more miserable. I want to love, I love to love but no one is worth ME falling for them first. Living in an empty yet crowded world is depressing. I think I need another Xanax tonight.

“…Na jaanay yeh shab e gham. subh tak kya rang laayay gee.”

Happy Valentine's day.

Reset

2011-02-11T08:03:00.002Z

I hate addiction. The more I am prone to being fixated onto things, medicine, caffeine, nicotine, people, the more I loathe it...and then I strip the wax patch off. It hurts but time works like slow poison. I am my own addiction. I am my own family. I am my own life. Bass.

Phir koi aya Dil-e-Zaar. Nahi koi nahi

Rah-rau hoga kahiin aur chala jaayega

Dhal chukee raat, bikharnay laga taaron ka ghubaar

Larrkharraanay lagay aiwaanon mein khwaabeeda charagh

So gayi raasta tak tak ke har ik rah-guzar

Ajnabi khaak ne dhundlaa diye qadmon ke suraagh

Gul karo shame'ein, barhaa do mae-o-meena-o ayaagh

apnay bai-khwaab kivaarron ko muqaffil kar do

ab yahan koi nahi, koi nahi aaye ga...

Running Kites As We Unscramble History…

2011-01-06T07:15:00.003Z

Khaled Hosseini, a doctor settled in California Los Angeles but an Afghani to the core reveals himself in his first novel The Kiterunner . In the days of blooming English fiction writers from the subcontinent, Hosseini is a refreshing addition to the lot representing the country of his origin. The novel is an experience in itself, for quite some time after reading it; I just could not bring myself to be able to read anything else at all. It is powerful and vigorous, paints vivid pictures of what actually was the insider viewpoint starting from the Afghan monarchy to the Taliban days.

The story gives an insight to the real tragedies of Afghanistan, tainted with the moral displeasures and guilt tainted lives of the characters themselves. The plot revolves around a privileged and an under-privileged child, breathing in the same household, growing up together, motherless, with fathers sharing a somewhat similar relationship as them. Amir, the son of a rich and popular merchant, Baba and his Hazara playmate Hassan, son of Ali, Baba's lifelong servant, grow up together flying and running kites, with the pinnacle of their childhood excitements being the annual kite-fighting tournament. Amir to prove to Baba that he has what it takes to be a man and Hassan, to prove his love and loyalty to his only friend Amir. This is where the story swerves into action and the going gets tough. Though Amir has always twanged with jealousy of his servant play-fellow holding a place in his father's heart that he seems to have never reached up to, the afternoon of the kite-fighting tournament brought an experience jarring enough to disconcert their lives for good. Amir fell short; the privileged one was suddenly lowered way below sea level and the servant boy rises to the summit of patience and silent love. Amir's juvenile attempts to rinse him of the guilt he brought upon himself ended up conjuring more scars on his soul, making things worse. Soon after the emotional catastrophe the family faced, the Russians invaded and they fled first to Pakistan and then finally took asylum in America. The getting accustomed to American ways and the "settling the unsettled at heart" ways of the true Afghans at heart, are beautifully depicted by the author. Amir, all grown up and married gets a call from Kaka Rahim Khan, his father's best friend and goes back to his homeland to find Hassan and his family just to come across a raucous range of truths and the revelation of his true relationship with Hassan. In the course of his journey back in time, fate brings him face to face with the villain of his past and the cause of his lifelong trauma, the burden he carried with him since the age of twelve and the next of kin of his devoted, all-time silent sacrificing lover once again lives up to the lifesaving predisposition for Amir that probably just ran in his blood.

The story has very strong glimpses of being a part-autobiography as it shares strong similarities to the author's own life. The hero rearing from Kabul, the hometown of Hosseini shared a father with a more or less same social disposition as that of Hosseini's father and a mother who had taught Farsi. Their political asylum in the U.S, the tough times his father had to face and subsequent close ties with the Afghan community there is also illustrated in the story line. Every character has its own disposition in the account. The blindly jealous Amir turning into a guilt-trapped being forces you to sometimes wish you could jump inside the setting, shake him up and show him what to do, whereas Hassan's insanely loving, sacrificing and persevering loyal nature sometimes makes it tough to decide whether to breathe or gulp down the tears that keep rising to the throat. Baba's adamancy and Ali's silent dedication to his master and his son unravels to bring him to heights unachievable as the story moves towards its latter half.

There are various places in the flow of the plot where adrenaline levels defy the human capability of producing the hormone in the first place, such as the picturesque description of the kite-fighting contest, to the skirmish between the two families leading them apart, right down to the touching instance of Amir stumbling upon an old man who tells him more of his mother than his father ever did. The scene that sends cold shivers up your spine is when Amir encounters Assef in Kabul while looking for Hassan's son. Witnessing the misfortune that Hassan's blood transferred down genetically makes you go raving made at fate for once. As I mentioned in the beginning, the true picture of the insider's viewpoint of Afghanistan comes undone in this story which at times astounds you, taking your breath away at the half truths and fallacies we dwell, believing in. It is absolutely exquisite, the way the saga disentangles the unspoken Afghan history, the perspective we foreigners have been deprived of all this time, intertwines with the emotional upheaval amongst the characters in quite a burlesque way. Weighing meticulously you realise there's a satirical connection between the two that remains unblemished till the end. This is a novel worth every tear that it brings to the eye and every heart that beats to the rhythm of life.

Definitely a must-read for it gives you the pleasure of a well-written, literarily high quality narrative as well as heartrending accounts of what has been happening under our nose, of which we're still quite unaware.

The Kite Runner
by Khaled Hosseini
W Borders Original Voices Award 2003
Our Price £7.99
Bloomsbury Publishing 2004
ISBN 9780747566533
Format Paperback 336 pages. 198x129 mm.

WHOA! Been a year?: 2010

2010-12-30T09:56:00.006Z

Unlike 2009, this one just whizzed me by. It was almost as if my emotional self was hovering outside my body. Post traumatic numbness perhaps but I just don’t feel like referring to 2009 or the preceding years as trauma. Unfortunate but a learning experience (many, so to say) yes but not as important in my life as a trauma might be. Like losing grandparents, or losing focus in life etc. That’s traumatic. Not men. Yes, painful but no, I won’t give them enough importance as to call them a trauma. The entire experience of making mistakes might just edge into the periphery of trauma definition. How could I make a mistake sort of a trauma but yes, this is a very important learning (which I am still trying to gulp down) I.can.make.mistakes. And it is okay. This is where 2010 comes in which, for me, was almost like a friend described men (don’t I just love them, they keep popping up in the conversation ever so often). They have peripheral vision till a certain age after which they kinda open up and say Ooooh so this is what this means! So 2010 was my eye opening year. I can have fun, I can let my hair down and be myself. Everyone does not have to like me. Not that this one has ever bothered me, I have always been an “I’ll do what I’ll do” sort but still I would put (useless) restrictions on myself, primarily feeling bad about my crazy side and keeping it tucked away. Yet, so many still found me insane and obnoxious. The fact, I realized was, I can be who I am and it’ll still be O.KAY.
So 2011 will be more about relaxing and letting go. Of preconceived notions about myself and the perception of those around me. Cynical about the cynic inside me, it is now time to let go of everything I consider oh-not-so-appropriate, or blah or what the? It’s okay to be happy when you make someone happy, say no to j-j-j-jaded!

Taking it slow and steady.

Do what keeps me happy no matter how crazy it may sound to everyone.

Start Driving (so I can go to the beach when I feel like it!)! FML

Remember, nothing ever sounds outrageous to my parents or sibling. We are a crazy bunch. I muck up when I disconnect from them. They’re pretty much okay with most things I do. All the crazy ones and few of the sane ones too.

Have as much cake as I want. Skip a meal the next day. Yaad se.

Judge myself a wee bit less and spend more time smiling than worrying over what my phuppo’s neighbour’s grandson’s chachi had for dinner that gave her gas! No seriously, I do this.

Clean my room. Or not.

Not to let anyone convince me I’m less than great coz so many people believe that I am. I am second to none. I owe this “attitude” to my friends

Pray more. Been erratic. Must pray more. Keeps me happier

Sing more often. Keeps me happier :)

Write. Be more organized with all that I write. Channelize and write.

Eat less steak and cheese. For the love of God. Stop!

P.S. I love my life for its mundane issues and rapturous joys. :) Here’s saying good bye to a year that was quite a bag of mixed nuts.

The Aging Heart

2010-12-24T09:39:00.000Z

I wanted to go to this talk when I first heard about it but somehow it completely slipped my mind on the day itself. Showed up just because.

Aging brain and Alzheimer’s still never connected it to Abbaa or even remotely remind me of him, strange, how it didn’t. It should’ve struck right then but I guess it has been quite a while. Does time make you cruel and insensitive? Ya phir dukh ko khyaal se mehev kar daita hai? Either way, I forgot and I fell into an abyss of guilt and pain as soon as Maheen Adamson started her talk and everything started rushing back to me like yesterday. The slurring speech, the hallucinations, the nail digging loss of control, the memory lapses, the eyesight… Abbaa is perhaps my only question mark for God if I ever get a chance to ask. Or perhaps I didn’t know him enough.

That one hurts.

I love him more than a lot of people I know a lot more than I knew him. Is that why I love him? Ignorance? Or was it his never ending bias towards me? No one else mattered as much as I did. No one loved me the way he did. Well. This last one might be a bit unfair to many but he had his own distinct way. Maybe it was his diary we found last year that documented most milestones of my life as a toddler. Aaj momo ne pehla qadam uthaaya, Aaj momo ne “Abbaa” kahaa…etc

How I used to go insane trying to figure out a cure, somewhere in the world; if there was a cure. Any medicine, any treatment, research, any prayer that could bring his eyesight back. He couldn’t see me. I feel self-centered saying this since he never saw Minoo & Mina. Ever. Only heard them. But me? I was his Sumbul. I was different. I know I sound arrogant and somewhat not-quite-nice but my connection with him and Ammi was one that no one else shared. First grandchild is blessed with the first burst of love for this new relationship…and a lot of pain when they get snatched away. I see Ammi in pain and I cry inside. For her, yes but more for what Abbaa must have felt if he were around. My Urdu is what it is because of him. Over my life I’ve graduated from being ashamed of my good Urdu to being indifferent to being happy inside about it. Whatever it is, it’s because f him. I sneer and am cross at younger sibling and cousins when they are any less than being perfect at it because I don’t know another way to live in this household. I feel they’re cheating on Abbaa. It’s not their fault. I take too much for granted.

A part of me wants to find out if there’s ever a cure for what he had and still keep looking and searching, also because it became a second nature doing that. The passion and keenness towards finding out every new step ahead in the field is a part of who I am. I’ve done it all my pre-teens and teenage. It’s just me, to want to know the aging brain.

On the contrary I might just die of pain if they find a cure now…

Yeh Jafaa e Gham ka Chaara

2010-12-01T11:09:00.000Z

It would've been three years, had we persevered a bit longer. Would've been three years had life been a little less crazy. Three years had we been born sane and life was not the learning grounds. Three years if we had meant what we had said. Every time. Each single time. It would've been zero years had I thought before I leapt. Zero if I had the respect I hold for myself today, Even though it is still a long journey and I have just bought a new nike bag. Zilch pain if I trusted my first instincts. I haven't learned my lesson. Some more pain is in order. Some people never learn certain things. It's as if the concept slips off the surface of understanding. Never penetrating. That however ensures a constant level of pain in life. One you just have to live with.

"God grant us the... Strength to get up and try again even when we feel it is hopeless."

Serenity

2010-11-28T14:47:00.001Z

God, grant us the...

Serenity to accept things we cannot change,

Courage to change the things we can, and the

Wisdom to know the difference

Patience for the things that take time

Appreciation for all that we have, and

Tolerance for those with different struggles

Freedom to live beyond the limitations of our past ways, the

Ability to feel your love for us and our love for each other and the

Strength to get up and try again even when we feel it is hopeless.

~ Reynold Niebuhr

It wasn’t too bad after all

2010-11-21T21:45:00.001Z

Self analysis (read: grilling, re-analysis, re-re-analyses) is something I never seem to cease to subject myself to. I want to slow down, give myself a break sometimes but I somehow end up scrutinizing everything I do in the light of what happened, lets say, two years ago to have affected my judgment today, or my biological state, or the lunar cycle. I just realized, it’s getting me wound up a bit too often and that too, over petty non issues. Not good. At all. Things do work out at the end of the day. In some ways my old self is returning. It’s good and bad. Good because I’ve clearly stepped out of post-trauma hiccups and bad because I might be repeating some silly mistakes that got me there which makes the tough times a bit of a futile exercise if I really haven’t learned from them.
Sitting in the moonlight and not being able to see the moon almost made me cry. What the hell? Am I this weak? Or was I just hungry? Or too sad? And why, if so? See? More analysis. Why can I simply not accept a certain emotion and let it be instead of finding out why and trying to fix it? Tires.me.out.
Then there’s the random happiness that crosses my path in ways unadulterated by any thought process conjured up by my hyperactive brain.It’s moments like these that make life worthwhile. Following the photograph courtesy my baby Saadiii are excerpts from my little notebook

Monday November 15, 2010
2050 HRS
2nd Pillar towards the right from the Metro Cab stall
Allama Iqbal International Airport

And there was music once again…

Slowly I felt like blood returns to numbed feet. The tingly feet. I have the power to step out of the crowd without moving an inch.
Last I was able to do this was in London. Covent Garden. Sitting on the floor. iPod plugging my ears, blaring with Noori, Des’ree, Oasis, Habib Wali Muhammad, back to back, scribbling in my notebook. Blissful.
This is my city. The soil I was carved out of. It’s almost surreal, as if a lost connection’s just started to make sense, circuit connected. I don’t really care if the omnipresent Lahori men gazes surround me. I’m sure they can feel the Bhatti growl in some spectrum. No wait, spectrum is for light. What’s for sound? Well whatever it was for sound like spectrum is for light. The word’s slipped my mind.
I’m sitting on my baksaa. The poor guy is buckling under me. Must.Lose.Weight. This man is actually important and I’d really want to keep him for some time.
There’s fog in this country already. Jeez. Wake up Tropic of Cancer.
Kedaar blares in my ears as the airport information system resonates in the background. I’m dressed in my favourite dark blue kurta that matches my jeans. Well. Not exactly. but close. This moment is the most beautiful I’ve experienced in quite a while. I love the floor. Ground. Land. I can give up all furniture in the world to just be able to sit on the bare ground with my iPod and notebook. Somewhere without direct sunlight but subtle warmth & cool breeze to complement that. If only I coudl trap the smell of the sea to travel with me to the Old Lahore streets, where I could sit on Jumma Khan’s doorstep chewing steaming hot naan as I scribble away.
Fog. My old favourite thick, worn out, shawl that still smells faintly of naphthalene, a mug of frothing coffee with a no-falling-ill guarantee tag. A clip that’s large enough to hold all my hair & small enough to not slip off…

Saturday November 20, 2010
2158 HRS
Seat 57H
Pakistan International Airlines- PK307

I’m on my way back. A day early. Mixed Feelings. It’s like… I dunno. Moving to Karachi was a great big step for me. I love it. I love my life but now I miss LHE as well as LHR. As if my heart wasn’t already split in two places. i had to add another to the mix. Why does everything have to hurt so much? is it the hormones? Not really. I have begun missing LHE roads already. I know as soon as I land in karachi I’ll fall right back in love with my new home but Lahore will always be an added heartache. Why do I have to feel EVERYTHING? & SO much? I’m missing Ayesh. I’m missing sherry and our endless gossip. endless. Ammi. Amman Lala. Abba & Dada jaan’s graves. No other place can constitute what these people make a place. Home.
I can’t breathe without the ocean. Karachi flows in my blood now. Can.not.let.go. Especially with…Oh whatever…never mind :)
London I miss for the rains. The trains. The streets, the parks, the spring, the freedom, the aimless bliss. iLove. I do. Regent street. Hyde Park. Covent Garden. Guitarists. musicians, tube stations, Marble Arch, Tottenham court road, Baker street,, Love, affection, in the air. I Love my real life Ginn Reader.
I’m glad I’m going back home but I’ll miss home and I wish I get to visit home. if I make any sense at all.

Farewell to shore

2010-11-09T16:41:00.001Z

I sit here on my oft ignored terrace on a windy last night in this house. The two and a three quarters of a room, the blue stained glass in the kitchen cum living room, my few pictures on the wall, my refrigerator, my television, my sofa. their respective corners. I grew fond of it in a matter of weeks if not days. I have a million and one reasons to move out. All make sense. I just have one to stay back and it makes no sense. It was home. My love for “Hareems” comes with the name I suppose. I feel like I’m being ripped off a rock I was hanging on to with my claws but my new place shaping up gives me some respite. It’s cosier. It’s Me-er(if that is even a word) I want to reduce the maasi time in life and increase the writing time…and the sleeping time… and the movies time… and the sleeping time… and some more time. It’s not that my new place is where the wind cannot reach me or it is far from the moonless nights or all the loveliness of tonight, this beautiful night on my terrace. It isn’t. It might be something far more beautiful than this…but this…I’ll miss. This house taught me a lot about myself. I might seem like a packrat (to myself), I am actually struggling to get out of it. score! I might seem like a crazy messy punk, again, to myself, I fall ill when the surroundings are dirty and I actually get stuff done on my own. Without my mum. I can. It’s painful…and I crib but I do eventually get by. I can’t live without a piece of 54-A/5 Mcleod road Lahore-5. Ever. Anywhere in the world. Thus the lugging of the sofa.(mental note: change upholstery soon. *groan*)

As I move farther away from the shore, I move closer to home. Torn between the two I settle somewhere in between, craving balance. Shifting gears, wanting life to slow down on me and let me savour the moving earth. Life is beautiful if we only have the time to slow down and smile for a day well spent or a joke well said or just a laugh well laughed. Bigger things go wrong. They’ll keep going wrong too. It’s the little things that keep the feet happy. So switching on “Hung” episode 7 season 1 perhaps followed by “Mad Men” episode 1 season 1, followed by “Weeds” season 1 episode 1 maybe. I sink into the wall behind me and let the windy night embrace me.

Sensational

2010-09-27T09:30:00.001+01:00

“cheese crumbs spread before a pair of copulating rats will distract the female but not the male”

Dadi Jaan

2010-08-20T14:23:00.001+01:00

Recently I’m reminded of Dadi jaan in more ways than usual. I guess I’m missing her cool presence now that I have time to focus on myself as a person. She was all about herself. In an awesome way, if I may add. I never saw her less than perfect while she was healthy. A perfect woman. Never a single loose cuticle, or a chipped nail. She would cook all day. Huge meals. One of the few things I got from her are the pot sizes. Yes, I lack the ability to cook for less. Altogether. Loved throwing parties. That’s my dadi jaan.
She loved cacti. Our home was laden with different types. I spotted one of them at Mohatta the other day.

Missed her so much. She would’ve loved the place. I could imagine her climbing the stairs with her hand on her knee cracking a joke and all of us would be falling down the stairs. Haha. She was so cute

My girl at the salon fought me to make a slight arch in my eyebrows last time. Despite my usual strict instructions to only clear stray hair since I suffer from a lack of eyebrows altogether, I still let her. Dadi jaan was all for arch eyebrows! It just made me smile (and my eyebrows a little bald-y)

My first nail colour was a clear one. From Swiss Miss. The fat bottle. I still find that bottle nostalgic. Of course dadi jaan gave it to me :).
Her nails were always painted. Flawless. I got my nails painted a colour that I would never wear but she’d be delighted to. Her love for daughters was no secret. I wish in the grand scheme of things she finds out she left plenty of daughters back here.

Yes. I have dadi jaan’s feet too.

Once upon a fucked up time I

2010-07-12T20:44:00.001+01:00

I’ve never written or expressed anything about the first. Never did I think it’ll happen this abruptly. Funny. I still can’t stand him.

I wanted to go to a friend’s profile page on Facebook but ended up writing his name. The spelling. I only realized once I had typed it and thought what the hell was I thinking? The truth is, I wasn’t thinking anything. At all. I backspaced it all out but ended up writing his full name again. No search results. Thought so. He was all about anonymity and tough privacy settings. Even back in the day when we hardly had any such forums. His wife’s page popped up instead. At least what I thought to be his wife. 6 common friends. Oh fuck. Please don’t let THIS be her. I groaned inwardly. 317 friends. View All. A is the first alphabet. Didn’t take me too long to get to his page. There was a picture of a baby. I could see the mole at the back of his neck.
I am a rude lover. I’d throw away if I like someone and if they keep coming back till I notice them that they’re still around, then I give them a shot. No matter what crap they’re made of. Perseverance was the only key to get to me. Simple. As easy as it sounds, the tougher it is. Men don’t forget an insult. I’m a man. I should’ve figured it out. Even in a gay relationship, one of them is the mellow one.
Also I’m a rude ex. Once I drop a hot potato. I never look back. I severe all contact. I become indifferent in the true sense of the word. Even hearing through common friends what’s up in their lives has no effect on me whatsoever. I’m being absolutely truthful. I know it’s tough to believe but yeah. here I am persuading cyberspace. I honestly just clam up, shut down and move on. I don’t believe in sitting and wasting precious time over spilt milk. The show must go on. If I move on, at all, so help you God. I move on.
I found out about him getting married. No emotion. Honestly wished him the best in my heart. Heard about his kid sisters achieving stuff. Was truly happy for them. prayed for them. Honestly. It somehow never bothered me if an ex was doing well. Neither did I ever feel the need to keep a tap on what they were up to. The farther, the better. I found his wife on Facebook by plain mistake amidst an absolute stupor. Just got inquisitive about if he’s doing well. His own picture won’t have done anything to me. His profile picture was his baby’s. Who clearly resembled him.
I wonder. And I wonder hard. It never bothered me in the past eight years that I dumped him. Those painful three years perhaps ripped me of all the esteem and sense of self respect that I could conjure up in a lifetime. He was mean to me. All along. I left him. Fair enough. Is the need to reproduce really so integral to a woman’s existence that it turns her into a shameless prick that has no self value. Or is it really me just wondering if I had put up with his abusive ways and dragged along like I had for those three years, that baby could’ve been mine (and thus much cuter, sorry, I’m sorry but yes. Much cuter)
I so don’t want him. Just the thought is repulsive. It’s just the kid. What the fuck is all this about?

This is how we do it

2010-07-08T21:40:00.001+01:00

Sometimes you don’t really need much to be happy.
Correction. Most of the times you don’t need too much.
Just need to spot your PMS before its over so you can understand that you’re not really a bad person, its all those evil hormones.
Just need to cry with a friend in pain to know life is worth living
Just need to be ecstatic at seeing friends happy as you fake anger and jealousy
Just need to hold back when you know someone is different. they don’t always have to know
Just need to do big stuff at work and end up feeling giddy on crack once its all taken care of
Just need to smile back at the mirror when you think you’re not looking quite as horrible as you usually think you are
Just need to surprise someone with something they’re not expecting to hear. Crack them up!
Just need to do something obnoxious in the middle of something totally serious. Or something completely sane in the midst of insanity
Just need to look at the ocean and say yeah, this is why I’m here :)
Just need to sing to yourself and get high on life
Just need to lie lifeless in bed and watch series friends give you as homework
Just need to play the guitar even if you sound horrible and your fingers hurt like they’ve been run over by a road roller
Just need to not correct people’s English. Once in a while. Just once. Perhaps. If you can manage.
Just need to draw in those claws and for once not need to defend. Perhaps for a bunch of milliseconds.
Just need to… allow yourself to be happy. You do have it all hiding beneath the Mount Cynai-cism

Happiness= Multivits!

2010-07-07T01:37:00.001+01:00

Like a friend puts very aptly, you’ll find a pill for everything. Actually, I probably will! I’m not a crazy pill popper, I usually even avoid an Aspirin unless I’m unable to function with my once in a while killer headache but one thing that I’ve learned from experience. Give in when you must. Avoiding medication does not make you heroic. Just plain stupid. Take a pill if you feel ill. Period.
I just realised the stark difference in my mood after sleeping for a good few hours that it’s just fatigue that makes me crabby and cynical. Well. Most of the time. I need to start on my Multivitamins again to keep myself going and to keep myself FROM snapping at every-living-thing-that-communicates.ps
Well. a pill and perhaps an image search on gorgeous celebrities. Happiness guaranteed if you throw in a dash of the Arabian Sea.
Life is good. I’m just ungrateful when dead tired. Sorry Allah mian, but yeah, whatever.

Mori Araj Suno…

2010-07-05T22:04:00.001+01:00

M just told me my dark circles have darkened. I told her I slept like a drugged animal day before yesterday. She made a note that we shall cut a cake to that next year. I get the point.
A bittersweet day. After working closely with my team, I submitted the first reports for my new work place to the region. I was happy, but then had to rush back to work minutes after I reached home. I tried to force M to buy everything obnoxious at Zaynep Market.
I like spelling it like that. Lately many of my friends/ acquaintances have been to Turkey and my home feed is flooded with images from Istanbul & Antalya. It reminds me of the time that I was hopeful about life. Stupid, ignorant yet foolishly hopeful. I needed to look inside me. Like the runaway bride, I always liked it sunny side up because the other person did. Killing myself when I wasn’t meant to be killed. I was too free spirited to be so amiable. I was a wannabe good girl only because I had so fiercely led myself to conform to this rigid good person image that I had cooked up inside my head.
So I tried to sell her colourful racket grips, a bumble bee swimming cap, bright yellow football shoes, tennis balls, some stupid serum for the skin. She just kept laughing and fiercely punching the ATM machine at Agha’s. She’s a good cookie. We saw half of a very sad drama. Ugly people, excessive conversation. Kill.
Jeevain phaahay vich koonj kurlaandi ay… Been there done that. Like I say. Never again. I’ll work on keeping myself happy. However I have the memory to duel a goldfish at spelling bee.

Meinu shahi nai chaayedi… mein te izzat da tukkar mangnaa haan. This one made me cry. Almost all day.

Faiz is Faiz. Will always be. A love affair that’ll never end. I promise.

I don’t ask for anything any more. At all. Just free me of the judgments. The stereotypes. The dogmas. I don’t need a man. Or a shoulder to cry. Dammit there are no tears. Not any more. Is it so hard to stomach? There are no weak moments. So stop bringing up my past and tsk tsking. I love my past. I won’t have my life another way. Whatever it was. It is me. Whether it hurt or not is my problem not anyone else’s. Let me be. For cryin out loud just let me be
Somehow my happiness is a tough one for most people around. Maybe they’re used to the action film of a life I lead. They love to see me fight and struggle. Just to stay alive. There is nothing to pity about my life. So stop the effing rishtaas and trying to hook me up with people. Buy me a bag of popcorn, a litre bottle of vimto and a map of Karachi and fill up my car’s fuel tank.
Oh and Shutup too, while you’re at it!

In Memory of MJ

2010-06-24T20:56:00.001+01:00

I can’t believe its been a year already. I remember it like yesterday. In the middle of everything known falling apart, I abandoned every worry of my life and Google-d TMZ crazily, since all TV channels in England were repeating that TMZ is the only website confirming the death of the Pop icon and all that they called him. whatever. Michael Jackson dead. I missed Ayesha. So much. Our childhood “Can’t Beat The Feeling” routine on Eid visits and Pepsi. Apart from a subsequent long chat where I broke it to her that my marriage was slightly less than perfect, this was the only occasion that we had a long heartfelt online conversation.
The first ever mass email she sent out. EVER. simply saying

"Can’t believe it actually happened even after the whole day"
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/8120181.stm

MJ was one of the few phenomena that connected us. The otherwise disjointed, completely misfit, totally poles apart sisters. Very few things bring us together but those that do, do it quite strongly.

Here’s something that some people around the globe are doing to remember him. Might as well hop on the bandwagon.

The Glove Lives On

On 25 June 2009, the world lost a legend. His name is Michael Joseph Jackson, the King of Pop.
Let us keep him in our memory. By making his presence felt in the World Wide Web.
To mark his 1-year death anniversary, we’re transforming the mouse cursor into his trademark sequinned glove on our webpage. We hope you could do the same and join us in remembering Michael.

The glove was a symbol of his artistry, genius and magic. Our tribute is a beautiful and simple gesture to honour his music and contributions that made the world a better place.

If you have a website, portal or blog, we would love for you to join us in this movement.

Karachi, T2F, Dance Weekend et al

2010-06-23T10:10:00.004+01:00

In the midst of all "have-tos" of moving and a baby new job, I usually force myself to find time to go to this little joint, a place where I know the way to but my driver manages to get me lost in such unique directions that even I lose orientation along with my temper. I guess he's not getting the hang of my silent treatment. Must.change.strategy.

T2F is where we cried together. Bhattis are not known for public displays of emotion, rather any display of emotions. We don't cry, we don't say we love each other. We're like the rugby team. We beat each other up, verbally and physically, we kick around those we love the most, we eat and we live. Few months ago we got together for my taya's memorial. His choicest of friends and a handful of us. The place was comforting, almost womb-like. We all cried at different points in time without any inhibitions whatsoever and walked out looking like crap, still not caring. That's no stuck-up elitist hangout. That's the second floor.

Once I moved to k-town, I kept visiting the place for book readings and this and that. Somehow it always reminds me of the memorial and its warmth.
This past weekend I attended a Dance & Piano recital by promising young adults. It helped me smile wider.

A beautiful performance fusing eastern classical dance into ballet, at times you were torn apart whether to just close your eyes and listen to the piano notes flowing like a little waterfall in the middle of heavens/ nowhere or keep your eyes peeled to not miss a single page of the story being told by the dancing lovers. They were beautifully moulded into their characters, every breath waltzing into another, they lived out a simple innocent courtship of a relationship, to be or not to be.

Shortly after, I saw the film Step Up 2. Guess this weekend was a bit intense on dance. In completely different genre, both sang the same song. Do as you please, when it pleases you. Surely it unfolds unto you what makes sense to yourself but every time I behold a dance performance, it teaches me one thing. Fly. Breathe. Live. What will be, will be and if you cease being yourself as you do, there will come a time when your wings will wither away, your breath will be caught short of itself, your life will shrivel to mundane. The stars in my eyes will die.

In this exquisite performance, Suhaee, Rajab and Danish yet again reminded you of hope, new beginnings, to absolutely anything. A new road or the end of what was never there.
Take your pick and love.
Yourself and Life.

(Photo Credits: Zaheer Kidvai)

No

2010-06-09T23:43:00.001+01:00

I won’t miss you today. Never. It always has to be your birthday. Not today.

You are with me. You are me. You can’t leave. I am you.

Dumm Ghutkoo…

2010-06-09T14:41:00.001+01:00

If you’re a true Lahori this one will make you shudder for a second. I don’t mean the crowd who don’t know Lahore past Liberty and Defence Y Block market or for whom food street means Defence H block market & walled city means Cuckoo’s, Mian Salli’s Haveli or attending a fashion show at the Fort. I mean the ones, who have paced the Mall road, or rummaged through books at Ferozsons and Lion Art press, shopped at Anarkali Sunday bazaar, or had Falooda, that towering glass of Lassi complete with the makhan ka paerra (knob of butter) or just thanda doodh in the middle of the night from Purani Anarkali Lake road, walked the roads of Muhalla Munjj kuttaan, had Nihari from Waris road Paisa Akhbaar and a lot of other To-Dos to qualify as a hardcore Lahori.
My love for Karachi exposes me to extreme levels of guilty pleasure. I have just (very happily) moved here a month back and something inside me felt totally traitorous to have perhaps ditched my city by liking another to the extent of calling it home and actually feeling that too. Vungaan charhaa lo kuriyo, mere Data de darbaar diyaan... and I lost all orientation and balance for a split of a second. Everything in that moment was still yet moving so fast I could feel my blood curdle.
As much as I love Karachi and shall continue doing so, I (do not) regret to inform you; you can take a girl out of Lahore, you certainly can’t take Lahore out of a girl.

Happy Birthday

2010-06-01T22:05:00.001+01:00

Don’t have much to say today. Just missed you like hell. All day long.

I don’t know if the pain of losing you will ever dampen but yeah, I’ve learned the art to distract myself.

Still miss you. Tons

Not a single man who can come close to the man you were. I’m not surprised I’m a misfit.

Happy Birthday big guy.

Computerised Identity Crisis

2010-05-31T22:28:00.001+01:00

Seat 23D ED 407
LHE- KHI
May 31, 2010

Air Blue blew me away on this outgoing flight. KHI to LHE. Feels good. Calling it an outbound flight. Calling Karachi home. I started missing it on my way out the front door Friday morning as I wheeled my suitcase out to elevator
Fat courteous man sat next to me on my (finally) PIA flight. Food was awful (as usual) but I still had it (as usual)
Oh this one’s ready for departure. Table goes up, twisty sticks down.
In a bit.
Procrastination aka tired.like.shit.
My heels ache. Been on my feet since 10 am right up to 6 pm.
Sitting on a brick (branding my ass. For good) outside NADRA Office for 3 hours straight, I struggled to find something good about the situation…and then the man next to me burped. Loud & ripe. I added a meagre PKR 12 grands to damages due to mental torture to the feasibility I was whipping up in my head to be a responsible citizen. One who tell the government every time she gets married and each one of the times she gets divorced. Every single time. Promise. Amongst other things of course. Like changing my temporary/ present address to Karachi and my permanent address to Lahore’s. My maiden-address i.e. SO. The feasibility eh. Other things on the list included tickets back and forth between LHE & KHI, my pay for the day(s) off I needed, wrecking of image by that being a brand new dabbaa-packed job as yet, the damages for the man with an X ray vision who just couldn’t stop staring at my (non-existent) boobs, the guy who I named the epitome of B.O. & adding another hefty chunk of mow-nee(money) to the statement as another shining star examines my ass, scratching his balls. Delightful.
The only negative entry in this statement will perhaps be the boys singing twinkle twinkle little star and Humpty Dumpty as we waited outside NADRA office for either Power outage to kill itself or the server to get up and running which seemed to have been on a vacation. Also the boy who named the Naqaab clad service provider at the window as ‘Daku Rani’.
Lahoris rule when it comes to slapstick extempore humour. They also rule at sticking their chest out & fixing their guns as they stare without batting an eyelash at your boobs and ass, flicking their gaze back and forth almost poetically.
Exciting.
We’re a horny race. If only the men in this country were half as attractive as the women my eyes might also have been glued to a ripe ass and a quality crotch.
I think I need a vacation. To Turkey. Or Lebanon. Nothing like Halaal booty to ogle at.

A girl needs her eyecandy too now doesn’t she?

touchdown. More later *muah*

Home. Night. Late. (so what’s new?)

Clearly i digress. So yeah, let me not whine about the provincial differences and how the computerised divorce certificate was not even available in Lahore yet and Karachi NADRA won’t budge without it. I finally did get to submit my CNIC to be computerised-ly divorced, single and frikkin’ ready to mingle. La Vita e Bella I tell you. Just that I can’t quite sleep even after drugging myself silly. Work tomorrow morning. Must. Sleep. Now.

Intangible

2010-05-21T19:48:00.001+01:00

There are things that are defined. Even if they aren’t tangible in the true sense of the word, I consider them to be. Like sadness. Or anger. Or happiness for that matter. They’re finite. They have definitions. You can say for certain if you’re sad, angry or happy. You feel it and you know.

Then there are things that are not as simple. When you really can’t figure out what you’re feeling or what someone is thinking at a certain point in time. Like a very dear friend said, well, he knows what he said but yeah it made me realise the way some people operate in life, infact the way everyone operates in life is indecipherable. You don’t feel it. Hardly ever. You can’t Google it either. All that is intangible.

Everything that can’t be Google-d… is intangible.

“Choosing your battles..” Yeah baby :)

2010-05-08T18:38:00.001+01:00

As I walk over to the city by the shore..I choose my battles. I pick up the pieces and I smile through all that seems cloudy.

I am my silverlining …

(courtesy a new friend :), i bumped into such an apt song. Could it be that some important moment of my life would not have a song? Musical it is :-D)

You’re a good soldier
Choosing your battles
Pick yourself up
And dust yourself off
Get back in the saddle
You’re on the front line
Everyone’s watching
You know it’s serious
We’re getting closer
This isn’t over

The pressure’s on; you feel it
But you got it all; believe it
When you fall get up oh, oh
And if you fall get up eh, eh
Tsamina mina zangalewa
Cause this is Africa
Tsamina mina eh, eh
Waka waka eh, eh
Tsamina mina zangalewa
This time for Africa

Listen to your god; this is our motto
Your time to shine
Don’t wait in line
Y vamos por todo
People are raising their expectations
Go on and feel it
This is your moment
No hesitation

Today’s your day
I feel it
You paved the way
Believe it
If you get down
Get up oh, oh
When you get down
Get up eh, eh

Tsamina mina zangalewa
This time for Africa
Tsamina mina eh, eh
Waka waka eh, eh
Tsamina mina zangalewa
Anawa aa
Tsamina mina eh, eh
Waka waka eh, eh
Tsamina mina zangalewa
This time for Africa

Orchestra…

2010-04-24T14:38:00.001+01:00

Dhol and clouds roaring, soft percussion of raindrops pelting at the windowsill. Almost initiates a bhangra in my heart. Sparrows come hide under the shed over my window, softly chirping, adding to the music

“Milya yaar urree roshnaii
Milya yaar urree roshnaii
Dumm shukraanay da parhiye
Sajan naal Mela Kariyey”

Dancing in the rain suddenly becomes inevitable

Joy

2010-04-17T18:27:00.003+01:00

The way I jump for joy is bowing.

Bowing before Him, who made all of this happen

That is my jump for joy. When I’m caught in mid-air soon after a leap of faith & swirl and twirl like a ballerina before i settle to the ground.

So I pray.
By the sea that I love and in a busy corner of a recording studio, or outside mian jee hotel.
I pray at every place that makes me ecstatic.
I pray on the cold floor that helps me sleep in the midst of load shedding galore as I slip off the heat-emitting spring mattress.
I pray in Badshahi Masjid for I can’t forget the excitement and pain all jumbled up, blisters in feet from the smouldering concrete floor but stars in eyes reflecting the grandeur of what they beheld.
I pray in an ice cream shop, Marblestones or Moven Pick perhaps. That’s what makes me happy.
I pray out on the terrace in the middle of a dust storm. All trees swaying as if they’ll uproot, wind strong enough to carry me away (and that’s really saying something!)
I pray at the foot of a mountain coz it’s so beautiful it makes me wonder what an exemplary artist the Big Guy running the show is.

I pray in my room because that’s where I retire, crawling into its lap.

I’m at peace

Kya Hai Pakistan?

2010-04-08T13:12:00.001+01:00

I keep hearing this a lot and over the years, now it’s getting to me.

“Dude, you don’t belong here”

“You’re different” (I snore at this now. Loudly.)

“You’re more London than Lahore”

“You’re a fiercely independent woman not conforming with the norms of our society”

“You’re funny, you sure you’re a Paki? (THIS was offensive!)”

“Seriously? You’re from Lahore?”

“Bibi Pakistani society mein yeh nahi ho sakta”

“Our society is not as radical as you are”

“Kuch Pardesi germs lagtay hein”

“I don’t understand you, why would you not do things the way you’re supposed to” (multiple and I mean MULTIPLE times)

the worst and most heartbreaking thing that I have heard to date, when I was 14. “Leave and never come back”

Not in any order of preference or occurrence, these are the top of mind things that have been said to me in the past twenty seven and a half years of my life beginning early teens. Time and again I have been told in a way or another that I don’t belong here.

Let me recap a bit for you. “I was born here!” read that? clear enough? Another one for you to fancy “I lived here ALL MY LIFE” cool with that? I guess not.

Pakistani culture. The society norms. What are they made up of anyway? The way people live..right? Why can’t we open up and see around us, the way people live in Pakistan today, the kind of people living here around us instead of those that once used to live here. This, today, is Pakistan. I’m a Pakistani. Don't I have a right to be able to relate to my country and be able to say that I’m a Pakistani without any judgments or second thoughts? It took 107 years to accept the NWFP as the Khyber Pakhtoonkhwah, in equivalent human years, I think I’m mature enough to be accepted now. Is it only the politically correct, prim and proper, diplomatic hypocrites that define us or do we intend to get better one day? When do we mature as a nation, opening up doors for diverse people within the tightly bound doors of our so-called culture? I know I’m different, weird and crazy for some, I get it. Do you take my passport away for that?

To be nobody but yourself in a world that’s doing its best to make you somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight

-- E.E Cummings

The Buffalo Phenomenon

2010-03-30T11:12:00.004+01:00

They don’t give you way on the road if you travel to the rural areas. It’s their domain, you deserve to muck up your car in the fields, and the road belongs to them. Yee Haa!
Dark and hairy, pretty eyes though buffaloes are blamed for more than they’ve done. Owning the road is the only malicious activity I can think of blaming them for

Jiss ki laathi uss ki bhains
Whoever has the upper hand has the last say. So whoever can beat up the poor dear, can have her.
Sounds almost like a woman in the olden days (Difference being you can sell one’s milk the others, no one will wanna buy!) So if women are stronger today and would beat you up in return instead, would you accept a buffalo beating you up if you force it by the proverbial stick? Ouch!

Bhains ke aagay been bajaana
This rips the animal off any rights to aesthetics whatsoever. Why can't a buffalo respond to music? I object!
Not fair at all. I'm sure a buffalo will enjoy the music and give more milk than usual.
I think I've read a research somewhere that says so. Or was that about cows? In Australia? Hmmm

Bhains churaayi
Apparently buffalo is a very prized possession. Apart from being an income generating unit in its self I don’t see any emotional attachment to it really. Yet we refer to being in the bad books of someone as if we’ve stolen their buffalo. Is money everything? Apparently yes. Any questions?

Moti Bhains
Now this is mean, like totally.
A poor buffalo has never been given a choice to be anything but fat.
Have you ever seen a size zero buffalo? Even the carcass of the dead animal would be size 10 at least (in buffalo terms)

*Any comments in love of this unsung hero of a species will be appreciated*
Go Buffaloes!!

Bringin’ sexy back :P

2010-03-15T16:14:00.001Z

Sorry people at large but since this is my blog. My personal space. SO people I would’ve loved to stalk had I been a stalker, have a special place in the Archives. Here’s to March 2010

*sigh*

Bryaning through teenage

2010-03-10T18:25:00.001Z

Heaven. Stumbled upon the song after almost a decade. (Casey did justice. On American Idol. I shall stalk him for a week or so.) Sounds almost naive now but yeah, was the rage back then.
It brought back memories of half-baked love, growing up, lying in the dark in sammy’s drawing room on the carpet and listening to the song on the loop for hours at end. Letters, giggles, thinking we’re so grown up, thinking THIS is it at every crush. Let me clarify, that would be me. I always think this is IT! (Why drag sam into this? Haha)

The concept of heaven is more thrown around than the controversy of Dolly Parton being a blonde. It is supposedly a place where we all laze to death, just that we can’t die again. We don’t have to earn for food or stuff, everything is provided. We just sit back, relax and enjoy things. I am assuming we eat like a hog yet don’t gain an ounce since no one ever mentioned a gym up there! Like ever! Or free liposuction for that matter! We will be young forever so no issues of this cream and that face wash.

I don’t want heaven. If that’s what it is, I don’t like it. I’m no neat freak. I need my clutter around me to be able to sleep at night. My books, my cream, my glass of water. I need to keep needing. Water in the middle of the night, ponds cold cream more for the nostalgia less for use. I like the early morning rush that arrive precisely 2 minutes before I have to finally leave the house when I’m gulping down the glass of water I so hate and yelling at Ayesha to tell me the time, half throwing up the water when she rounds up the time to the nearest five minutes! Every second is counting and she rounds up minutes! Bloody laid back Artishts! I enjoy the struggling, the earning, the sense of achievement. No, my heaven is a place with great gadgetry for me to work on, yummy Macs and sound systems, recording studios, instruments...mmmm...Yeah!! Perhaps a few Budget sheets to make, might add to the magic :)

I couldn't hold back the urge to dig up 'Unplugged' by Bryan Adams. Lie in the dark and turn it up to a volume that Junn bhai used to define "Itna ooncha ke kalaija phhatt ke hath mein aa jaye" :))
I remember lying in the bedroom upstairs in dada jaan's house, with lala's gigantic speakers, blaring out Summer of 69 till once they actually toppled over! (That wasn't funny. scary)

Then when I turned eighteen, my mantra, my PASSWORD for my emails for a very long time :)
18 till i die. Boy I loved that one.

a 'lil bit of this - a 'lil bit of that
'lil bit of everything - gotta get on track
it's not how ya look, it's what ya feel inside
I don't care when - I don't need ta know why

18 til I die - gonna be 18 til I die
ya it sure feels good to be alive
someday I'll be 18 goin' on 55! - 18 til I die

I have a natural knack to be a grown up. Since I was a kid. Seriously. Like my dad very aptly defines, you're Mom to the world. I am to this day. Mommy, Mama, Ma, Amman, that's me for many of my friends but yeah, deep down inside, I know for sure... someday I'll be 18 goin' on 55! :)

Then the mellow sweet sweet love.
*sigh*
It was blissful to be seventeen
Young Love

You shoot the moon
put out the sun
when you love someone
(I guess my lights are on a constant flicker here!)

or perhaps the firm belief in

just a li'l love...can change it all

Those perceptions keep rocking back and forth. Still learning.

Perhaps..:P
If ya wanna be bad yeah you gotta be good!

Losing faith in this one, maybe bad is the name of the game, almost tempted to try :)

The album pirouettes to an end on the number closest to my heart. I'd sing it all the time. Lying alone in my room, feet intertwined in the bedpost, tousled messy long hair, sing it till Ayesha would throw something at me. Sometimes I'd be lucky, others, bruised. She hates me getting stuck on songs. To this day, she does. (Except David Garrett, she has the hots for him! There it's out Ayesha, people she is straight! Yes she is!)

I swear to you-I'll always be there for you-there's nothin' i won't do
I promise you - all my life i will live for you-
we will make it through
forever-we will be
together-you and me.

Oh n' when i hold ya-nothin' can compare
with all of my heart- ya know i'll always be-right there

I believe in US- nothin' else could ever mean so much
-you're the one i trust out time has come-
we're not two people-now-we are one-
ya you're second to none forever-we will be

together-a family
the more i get to know ya- nothin' can compare
with all my heart- ya know i'll always be- right there

forever- we will be together-just you and me
the more I get to know ya- the more i really care
with all of my heart- ya know i'll always be...
ya know i really lave ya- ya nothin' can compare
for all of my life- ya know i'll always be-
right there

load of crap.
Yeah but I still love the song
Indulge in Naivety. It is perhaps a lot similar to what getting drunk might feel like.
Guards down, vulnerability up, complete stupor.

I love Bryan Adams
Call me cheesy or whatever, I can never outgrow the Adams phase of life.
I don't want to :)

Old Man & The Sea…

2010-03-04T19:31:00.001Z

Waves pulling me closer, rings of surf lightly caressing my ankles, sand softly kissing my feet as the water recedes, I walk a couple of steps into the ocean in a trance, driven to the edge like an infatuated teenager. Didn’t feel like waking up just yet.
The ocean whispers sweet nothings, luring me into its charm. The unfathomable sea and the brightest moon I had seen in a while worked together tugging at the crustacean within me as I swept my feet across the malleable floor of sand redone every now and then. Warmth of the ocean almost arouses me, the musky air that sensuously envelopes my form, touches me deep within.
The moonlit beach will outdo Bethlehem any day for I see God in the waves. Moon beams conjure up the silver city at my feet, in my eyes, at the horizon, all around me, right to the end of where my sight may take me.

I found peace. Peace within myself.

In a very unusual way…

2010-02-20T22:23:00.001Z

In a very unusual way one time I needed you.
In a very unusual way you were my friend.
Maybe it lasted a day, maybe it lasted an hour.
But, somehow it will never end.
In a very unusual way I think I'm in love with you.
In a very unusual way I want to cry.
Something inside me goes weak,
Something inside me surrenders.
And you’re the reason why,
You’re the reason why
You don’t know what you do to me,
You don’t have a clue.
You can’t tell what its like to be me looking at you.
It scares me so, that I can hardly speak.
In a very unusual way, I owe what I am to you.
Though at times it appears I won’t stay, I never go.
Special to me in my life,
Since the first day that I met you.
How could I ever forget you,
Once you had touched my soul?
In a very unusual way,
You’ve made me whole.

Reminiscence

2010-02-17T12:41:00.001Z

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

- غیاث الدین ابو الفتح عمر بن ابراهیم خیام نیشاپوری

read it first around seven years ago.
a surge of devotion, as my soul clamped onto it.
every moment I lived, reminded me that I may not lure it back
if only I embrace it, I will never shed another tear
since "..nor all my tears wash out a Word..."

and, having writ, moves on...

Au revoir (Goodbye, till we meet again)

2010-02-10T07:28:00.002Z

Many years ago I lost my grandfather and I thought the world should end precisely just now. Today years ahead in time, I scavenge archives for the same words to exude fortitude. It still reminds me of dada jaan, so today as I mourn Gul uncle…is it possible to mourn him? I guess not. Neither was it possible to mourn dada jaan. It’s all just a waiting game I suppose.
These words below are what kept me going all these years and continue today as I feel myself enveloped in dada jaan’s enormous hug. He’s with me, all the time. That’s how I live

Death Is Nothing At All
Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way that you always used. Put no difference in your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was, let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval,somewhere very near, just round the corner.
All is well.
Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)
Canon of St. Paul’s Cathedral
As for Gul Uncle, he was depressed for a time long enough to make up for everything sad in the world. He looked forward to his death way before his illness. Men don’t come this brand any more. He was in love with his wife till his last breath. Meanwhile he lived. In every living thing, he lived. It was excruciating to see him give up and pain beyond words would grip every inch of our hearts as he spiralled down over the past year but if he could still say something to us, I reckon this is what it’d be

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

Of beautiful birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,

I am in a quiet room.

I am in the birds that sing,

I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I do not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye

I miss you. Every morning. When I can’t flash the Alien Peace Sign to say good morning or just see you looking cute with your new glasses but I’m glad you’re with dada jaan, Razia aunty and dadi jaan. I hope you have wi fi in heavens coz now that you have time I introduce you to my blog. I want you to read everything I write. Every little puny thing. (hoping Allah mian got you a macbook air!)
Tell dada jaan I love him. There is no one like him.

Sunday of sorts

2010-01-31T16:34:00.001Z

Sitting on my jaa e namaz since Maghrib, half clad in chaadar yet still in my pyjamas, basking in front of my little heater that makes my face flush and my ears go light pink. My laptop blaring out “Riots on an Empty Street” I daydream about a recording studio one day not too far.

I love my life when I can leave my chappal in the bathroom and walk out barefoot as Bob Seger sings “Against the Wind”, yes that would be me.

I don’t trample people on my way, I just have my own little path that just has space for one…

Life creeps by…

2010-01-29T15:44:00.001Z

One, two, three, four...

2010-01-27T05:46:00.003Z

Singing with Adeen yesterday reminded me I never saved this in my box of memories here :)
Leslie Feist is officially "so cute" :)
Sigh, the simpler things in life makes it all worth the hassle to breathe :)

And then we have ... :))

Discomfort

2010-01-26T18:39:00.001Z

Change Management I would suggest?
I paced back to my old place, twice like an injured cat. It was Zuhr. I needed to pray but was wary of the open plan I had just moved into.
I love it. The cubicles are all wood instead of part plastic/ glass crap. Cool stuff. And the walls are higher than usual. I like my corner.
I get to make a log who goes to the washroom how many times in a day :P
I also get to choose between visitors discriminating on the basis of hotness who I'll help find someone they're looking for and who I'll direct to someone else for the needed help. Clearly if I had been functioning on this logic I won't have been helping much people at all *groan*
Prayer time brought with it such a weird feeling. I'm the last person to not be confident about absolutely anything on the face of the earth. For the oddest reasons, I felt so vulnerable and exposed having to pray in plain sight of people. I am usually a secretive prayer. (or should it be prayerer? hmmm new word? :D)
I pulled out my jaa-e-namaz out of my laptop bag and placed it next to my laptop. Sat there staring at it as if maybe it'll stand up and dance for me. Nope no such luck.
I realised the hypocrisy of our existence. I am not afraid of being spotted with my iPod in public but am I ashamed to be seen praying?
No. Ashamed isn't the right word. It is perhaps what a handful of friends and I were discussing over lunch one day last month. Why shouldn't or can't women pray standing next to a man or ahead of him in line? Is there such a rule? and if yes, then why does it exist. My simple explanation was, men would check out women's asses. Not a very happy feeling. But then if Federer or Nadal were praying in front of me I would check out there's as well! Point simply being, it would cause distraction from the namaz itself which is the most natural, normal and human thing to happen.
Growing up with an instinct to gather myself physically and psychologically as I pray, focusing on just one existence being that of God Himself, I was perhaps just losing focus in such a an open setting that shook me up so bad that I actually sat there not doing anything just staring at my jaa-e-namaz in utter pain since I really really needed to pray!
Eventually, I did pray there, setting up chairs all around me for some level of comfort but I was astonished to feel so gullible about something. I almost felt innocent (sheesh! Big word!)
This is what life is about. It all boils down to the same reality, the purity of faith and submission is what reveals the strengths and weaknesses we're playing around with.
I have no sane, logical explanation for this but in a funny way, I never want to stop feeling flabbergasted about this. It keeps reminding me of what a basic human I am even after the complications life throws my way.
Yay for the ounce of normal!

What Sticks

2010-01-25T15:36:00.001Z

Life it seems to fade away..drifting further every day
Getting lost within myself...nothing matters no one else

I think I was in grade eight or so when I first heard this. Lyrics caught my fancy

Abhi kuch din lagein gai
Dil aisay sheher ke paamaal ho jaane ka manzar bhoolne mein
Abhi kuch din lagein gai

I was much younger when I heard this one. Much younger; yet it stuck to me like Cadbury's Eclairs stick to a molar

Mein zindagi ka sath nibhaata chalaa gaya
har fikr ko dhuein mein urata chalaa gaya

At family get togethers usually weddings, I was planted in the middle of the crowd and bombarded with requests to sing by older cousins and khalas and mamuuns. Eyes tightly closed, quivering lips and I would sing my heart out, engulfed in total lack of confidence. This song was one of those

People should really screen the songs children are exposed to. Sometimes they stick to their lives and never leave...just making more sense year after year

2010 and what follows

2010-01-02T18:27:00.001Z

It's the easiest to pick out the worsts in the past year, sadly. So yes, lets do the non obvious.
I went to Wimbledon saw Federer, REALLY
Actually saw the PK cricket team do a turnaround act in the cricket world after a long while! Witnessed it, in the flesh. Definitely an experience worth living for.
I saw Jeff Dunham LIVE and am part of a video montage that's up on HIS OWN website
how cool is THAT?
Lost weight, enough to keep me happy for quite some time :)
I promised myself no cynicism this new years', past year hasn't been the bets I've had but I've been through bad times fairly more than my years would suggest. As I lay in bed surrounded by a colourful array of cough medicines, DVDs, music CDs, chocolate wrappers, R&B blaring out of the speakers, thumping the ground under my mattress, soothing my aching back, munching on my timeless favourite Cadbury's Crunchie bar almost in slow motion, staring into space right through the roof & walls the world seems to fool itself to build around me trying to confine me within. Little does it know, my thoughts are born with wings..and added gadgetry to leave everything & everyone behind, sooner or later. Sometimes even myself.
The radio begins to sing.. "I can still recall, our last summer"
Funny. I can't recall a single untainted season. Just little moments. Totally rapturous.
Like when I wiped ice cream off the little Chinese kid's face on the tube she gave me a big smile sporting all three broken teeth saying thank you!
Or when I played teacher with that kid on the plane last week. He flunked me in 'sums' & made me do extra dictation and colouring. Won't you kill to have my life?
Or when I just sat in Clayhall park on the bench that read "dedicated to ... a great wife, mother & grandmother"
Or the joy of seeing them pack nine toffee brownies, all for me...
Or seeing Gul uncle smile the biggest smile I've seen him sport in a while when I stayed back for another night
It's almost sudden revelation that I realise the only person who is ever able to make me happy is myself and not all the people I look towards for happiness. Or have been looking at. For so long that I don't even realise I'm not just looking at closed doors, I'm staring at doors that never opened in the first place. Perhaps just walls I've persuaded myself to believe into being doors instead.
Most people are born with this self realization or learn it early in life, on their way.
I am still struggling with my lessons.
My true happiness lies in knowing the unconventional edge of my life. Something I've hated for most of my life. All I ever remember wanting was to fit in. Be part of the crowd and get lost in mundane.
It makes me smile that I'm not another run of the mill life out there waiting for the next sane milestone to come hit it instead of packing bags and setting out choosing the path to follow and change it if it doesn't make sense. Chase a shooting star or a dream. Same difference
This Year, I embrace myself.
Normal, Abnormal
Right, Wrong
Sane, Insane
I am planting my own garden instead of waiting for someone to bring me flowers & killing myself trying to earn them
PS I think flowers are overrated
& the high of being alive is totally underrated
Take it from someone who's been closer to taking her own life away than you've been to most things. Totally changes perspective.
Now if I may be excused... I have a life to plan
Mine.
All Mine

Eyecandy Stalk Check, Weddings and other animals

2010-01-02T18:21:00.001Z

Won't lie, I've always had an eye for candy..:)
I don't have any qualms admitting it. We all do it, some admit it others don't. Well I belong to the former group.
After a very long time in my life I have actually started to like myself. Perhaps the first time ever I'm like, okay with the way I look. Lost weight, had a daring haircut (yes a flick is daring for someone who lived most of her life in a waist long braid and that's that!), have the right friends that keep supporting my ever staggering self esteem. All signify new beginnings; or perhaps old burials. Whichever, it propels me forward. I didn't really hate being eyed by Londoners in a funny way, I'd be scared shitless if they'd look at me for more than a certain while or simply start to shrivel if they'd get off at the same station as I would but yeah it felt good being noticed. No complains. Unless they would start a skirmish (OH GOD How could I ever forget that one! Ughh *shudder*)
This past week I attended a wedding. No. This isn't just it. I skip weddings, I usually do. Very proudly. After many many years I attended all events of a wedding (which was big for me really) ranging from dholkiis right up to the Valima. It was a friend who I just couldn't say no to. She'd give such a deadly Syntax Error that it'd curdle my blood into last week's custard dehydrated in the fridge! And yes I love her to bits, well that too :)
This past week was a calorie-laden workweek with evenings squirming into late nights at wedding functions in the midst of a swift developing winter. It ends leaving me feeling fat, extremely tired, abused by raunchy stalkers and coughing my guts out blipping in and out of a fever.
I digress, about the Eyecandy, I have firm FIRM belief that this country is stripped of any leftover bits of eyecandy that it ever flaunted. I wish I was around when my Granddad was young, he was a bit of a hottie but then my grandma was way hotter than 6 Mes put together so yeah, wouldn't have worked.
This one tip that I picked up from my dad, enjoy eyecandy but do NOT let the subject know you're checking them out! Sweet Jesus, it seems like men today learned silly nothing from their dads! They stare at you like nobody's business, till you actually think you left part of your dress home and keep staring at you even when you stare back as part of a lousy attempt to put them to shame. They certainly have some pakhtoon tribe flowing in their blood where everything is just their right and women must succumb to it. Even if it is eyecandy that they observe, the.woman.must.obey
Due to the excess weight loss I had absolutely no clothes fitting me so either half and hour before the event I wassitting with the sewing machine cursing my waist line or would be cursing the tailor for doing a shoddy job when I threatened him into stitching me a new outfit in a day.
Either way, I was cursing. Very cathartic I must say, though it'd leave me feeling a bit sickly but I think it was all for a good cause.
Then there are the aunties who eye you for their son, or their sister's son, or their brother's son or their neighbour's son, or their neighbour's brother's son or somebody-they-haven't-yet-come-across's son, but they do eye you. I love bursting their bubble by doing something totally obnoxious and seeing their faces. Sometimes I wish I could share with them my favourite Random Sex quote..*Sighs*
My sister's friends call me Mary. The "There's Something About Mary"'s Mary. Only that alongwith the freaks, I attract freaky aunties too. Truckloads. We can have a stampede but the clincher remains the fact that I almost always end up not knowing what's happening all around me, which is so Cameron Diaz. Only that I'm not a blonde. Though I do have a flick now, but nah, which remidns me of this other person a colleague used to call Cameron Diaz and I used to check her out with the gang of guys I was a part of. I think I've checked out women more than men in my life, like I usually say..I is a boy!
Everyone is out on an eyecandy rampage, whether it's men, ME, aunties or half drunk uncles (bad visual from a wedding last year, see this is why I don't go to stupid weddings!). What we easily forget are the tricks of the trade. The rule of the game is subtlety which the raunchy bastards now ignore and we have to clean up after them. You feel like you've walked into Ichhra bazar, preferably naked and looking good too.
Disclaimer: This was a very disturbing note. Please remember, I am high on Actifed P. Very high. And a friend ignored me, so very sad too. I shall kick him tomorrow but I will forgive him, even though I know he won't feel sorry for half a second!! ..but it's okay. See? I'm stoned.
Sigh..I is the lovings beings the backs

(Monday December 14, 2009-Facebook Notes)

Gul Un’

2009-12-20T13:25:00.001Z

I just tried suggesting your fan page to people on my Face book list. All of a sudden I felt disgusted and irritated. They don’t know who you are..no one does. Most people don’t. Neither do I. All I can feel is who I know you to be. I am horrible at sad writing, or sad anything for that matter so I’ll try to make this as expressive as possible. Can’t write. cannot talk. everything kinda’ slipping right now I’m prone to babble so lets bullet this out

- You’ve been a constant in my life
- I’ve never been totally at ease with you yet I’d always come back to be bashed around.
- You’re like the scrooge I cannot tear my heart away from. Your cynicism drives me up the wall but that does nothing whatsoever to the way I connect with you. Actually I doubt if we even have a connection. (well apart from our first born woes and love for Punjabi English movies and funny advertisements that we came across in many of our hospital sessions)
- I can’t forget the look on your face when you saw me talking all sane and serious to someone at the bank.
- I always cry when you kiss me good night..(later of course)
- Our alien peace sign that counts as a good morning, is just the best morning i can ever have
- You’re perhaps the only person on planet earth who’d slap me and send me into an uncontrollable fit of laughter
- I love your disgusted face look. Don’t care if you’re disgusted, you gotta have that porridge dude!
- I love how I can talk about dada jaan and dadi jaan with you without being uncomfortable because you get what I say. You really do.
- Being with you, Sara, Kamil & Samra is where I’d wanna be. More than anywhere in the world, for the past 8-10 months. Just so I can see you all the time. That’s all. Just for myself
- I love you..tons. I honestly don’t know why but I’m kinda stuck here in this huge pile of mush.
- You’re Gul un’ Some call you that from Gul bhai jaan, Ayesha and I call you that from Gul Uncle coz someone told us you hated the word Taya when we were kids!

You’re just part of the scene I like to call life. You have no choice. You have to get up and walk and start kicking us all around so we can breathe right again. Need you to growl and grumble so the sun can shine. There’s so much you need to set straight. For starters we still need to ridicule Kamil a bit more so I can laugh like a giddy kid! We have to go to Barbecue Tonight and have ribs, we have to have that mulligatawny and gag at hummus eaters! You need to keep questioning everything I do and all that I don’t. I need to feel that stress at the back of my neck thinking what and how you’ll drag me to hell at what I’m doing whenever :D

Above all, Big bein awaits you in Lon Don Ton.. :P

Oh hell just get well soon, I don’t know another way to say this now! Enough! I’m coming to fight with you again *hug*

Old Quiz redone!

2009-11-28T21:51:00.001Z

Cleaning out my old email box that I hadn’t been to in a while I stumbled upon this little quizzy thing Wajiha once forwarded me. It surprises me how I haven’t really changed much at all over the past 4 years, rather ended up making the same mistakes in life. No wonder I am where I am today. It is November 2005 I think, I was 23 and going through my first divorce process. Rebellious, fiery and adamant on changing the way I look at life. Wish I had stuck to the plan.

Okay, here's what you're supposed to do .. and try not to be a pain and spoil the fun! Just do it. Copy (not forward) this entire e-mail and paste it into a new e-mail that you can send. Change all of the answers so that they apply to you. Then, send this to a whole bunch of people you know *INCLUDING* the person who sent it to you. The theory is that you will learn a lot of little known facts about your friends.
It is fun and easy (and totally pointless!)Make sure you send your results back!!
~*YOU*~ *
What Time is it now?: 07:12PM it is 02:11 am but it’s okay :)

What is your name? Hareem Sumbul it is still the same, really

What does your name mean? Khana-e-Ka'abah's 4 walled enclosure/ A Flower that grew out of martyrs' blood. this too
Who picked out your name? My dada jaan (Grandfather) and this
What colour are your eyes? Black this too
What size are your shoes? differ from shoe to shoe, usually in the ballpark ov 7-9 it is finally 9, seven doesn’t even look at it
What do you like about yourself? My ability to make people laugh :) Yes I still like this about myself
What do you always get complimented on? hmmm, used to be my hair before i started to cover my head, now nothing. Well lets see my pictures, writing, singing, LAUGHTER, definitely not hair any more :)

What is your worst quality? I think too much this remains the same, I still wish I could stop my brain
What are the last four digits of your phone Number?: 7576 7301
Do you think you're cute? LOLZ not even remotely!!this of course is the same

Hair colour? Black this too
Do you wear contacts? Nope and this
*Living Arrangements? at office most aprt of the day, come home to parents and sis just to sleep AND this
*FAVOURITES*~ *
Favourite Drink? apple nectar/ cranberry juice Water

Favourite Alcoholic Drink: none this is a constant
Favourite Month? November March it is, Spring time :)
Favourite Food? Nihari Aaah, this and many many more
Favourite board game? Monopoly this remains
Favourite Clothing Brand? not a brands kinda person, stoic believer in tailor-made clothes Okay yeah THIS has changed, I have developed a liking towards brands and I love most names. Mango, Zara, East, Next, Uni Qlo and many many more

Favourite colour(s)?: Blue, blue and oh, did i mention Blue? CONSTANT :D
Favourite animal? Giraffe THIS too *huggss a Giraffe virtually*
FAMILY AND FRIENDS*~ *
Do you have more girl or boy friends?: both I guess, used to be boys but lately I've turned girlish :)
Who are your best friends? Don't believe in Human Best friends, (no not aliens either!) it's just God this remains a constant forever, everytime I digress I get a tight slap in the face

Are your parents together? Yes Yes
How often do you get together with the rest of your family? Every other day this too
Do you tell your parents or your friends more? My friends And this

Anything special about your parents? Nothing i can really put my finger on They are who they are and I have to learn to accept them, but I have realised that I love them like crazy. I just never knew it

Siblings and their ages?: One sister, 21 this too, except that she’s 25 now

*YES OR NO*~ *
You 're a flirt?: Wasn't one ever, maybe am now Hahaha, I’m taking lessons but I suck at it

You're slutty?:Certainly not this remains the same (Thank God)
you're Mean? wish i was.this too
* You like someone? everyone :P and this too

* You dance in front of the mirror? All the time!!! Not at all!! LOL

* You can keep secrets? Sure thing same same

You sing in the shower? Sometimes, but not too loud, just humming. this too
You liked Britney Spears? Nope hmmm, I have softened a bit for her really
You've liked a cousin? Yes groan, wish I could undo the past LOL
You've been in the opposite sexes bathroom? Never this remains thank you God!

You've seriously hurt someone? Yes yes
You've been hurt seriously? Yes this too
You get your way? Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't.and this
You're willing to try new things? ALL THE TIME this too
You've cheated on a test? OH YEAHHHH!!! :D this too

*RIGHT NOW*~ *
What are you wearing? grey trousers, dull green sweatshirt aaaah I miss those clothes! I’m wearing a black lower and a bright yellow Uni Qlo T shirt :D
wot r u listenin 2 ? Yeh jafaa-e-gham ka chaara- Abida Parveen Sings Faiz Nothing
How are you feeling? Really sad sigh, wish this could’ve changed over time LOL
What are you doing? Sulking over a few things Coughing like mad
What are you eating? Nothing nothing yeah
how many people are online? seven (7) Seventeen (17)
How's the weather?: Cold this remains
Whats on your mousepad? nothing, it's plain On my laptop
What books are you reading? A Farewell to Arms- Ernest Hemingway Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (for the umpteenth time and still not tired of it)

~*GIRLS ONLY
* What perfume do you use? Escada Sports Ayesha’s unisex Benetton perfume

What's in your purse? loads of stuff, my hair brush,my little book of me, my medicines, my cellphone, my office keys, polish remover, cotton swab, lip balm, lip gloss, kajal, face wash, tasbeeh, pouch, wallet, listerine strips, nail buffer, a pair of ear studs for emergency dressed up look and a lot more that I'm forgetting Oh dear I’m afraid the list got longer. Lip gloss, pair of earrings for dressing up, eye pencil, office drawers keys, home keys, cell phone, my notebook moleskin type, my Wimbledon chunky pen, my comfort rock, my diamonds that I don’t wear any more but still need in my bag all the time, Claire’s hairbrush, Clinique lip balm, wallet, paycheck deposit slip, a tissue from Pret a Manger, my Waterstone’s membership card and God knows what else not

Tall or short boys? Height's not an issue More like, no guys thank you *groan*

Blonde or brunette guys? Brunette Purple hair would be…?

Long hair or short hair on boys? Short No hair, how’s that? LISTEN! No men!
What do you find annoying in a guy?: They think they have all the brains God could possibly give out!! I don’t wish to think on these lines, we’re all misunderstood, I’m sure they’re great in their own view. Nothing annoys me any more. I live with my parents and breathe too. What could possibly be annoying for me :P

What's the first thing you notice about guys? Eyes Okay yes I still see the Eyes, can’t help that
~*GUYS ONLY*~
* Whats in your pockets?:
Boxers or briefs?:
Blonde or brunette girls?:
Tall or short girls?:
Piercings on girls?:
Long or short hair on girls?:
Good or bad girls?:
What do you find annoying in girls?:
What's the first thing you notice about girls?
~*OTHER QUESTIONS*~
What was the last movie you saw? King Kong
What did you have for dinner: Nothing
What movie do you really want to see? Ten things I hate about you

Tell us about those scars? What scars, probably scratched mosquito bites Surprisingly yes scratched mosquito bites it still is
your favourite place to travel? to Islamabad and back, very relaxing this remains it
What did you last dream about? Classified info Don’t even remember when I dreamt last

What was the last thing you ate? Paaye. Pizza
If you were a crayon what colour what would you be? light green white
Do you like the person that sent this to you? I love her to bits, why? I SERIOUSLY don't know!! But i love her mmmuaahhh**** :) Yes I still have the same to say about Wajiha, *groan* some things never change now do they :)
Are you too shy to ask someone out? err ... yes!! Not any more, just that I don’t want to really
Scary movies or happy ending? Happy ending definitely this remains
Summer or winter? Neither, I like showers, monsoons, weeeeeeee!!! this toooo!!!
Relationships or one night stands? Relationships, if at all Neither
*Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla this remains of course!! :D
Do you want your friends to email back? Yes, but don't really mind if they don't. this too, i really don’t bother
Who is most likely to respond? I'm kinda moofed, but I'd love to see everyone on the list respond Ain’t no list
Who is least likely to respond? I truly have no idea N/A

What did you do last night? Nothing cried and messaged a friend at 0130AM like a dork!
Anything else you want to add? Take me as I am, don't expect me to change, I've done enough molding and adapting for the past 23 years, not any more. So stick with me if you truly love me for who I am or you're more than welcome to leave. this, was a clincher. 4 years ago I was struggling for the same and today I stand right there, not a step ahead. I need to learn, I need to implement and not fall for someone and make a doormat out of my being once again. I don’t even know if I have learned my lesson yet or not. I hope I have

Eid within

2009-11-28T15:36:00.001Z

Sometimes too much light makes you cry
When the smiles make you cringe and the laughter reminds you of a time when you meant every bit of it.
It’s when the buntings follow your tears down to the ground and the smile follows. Not knowing another way to live can be stifling
I digress…I missed Eid this year. I miss the unconditional happiness it always brought with it, for it failed this time round. I failed.

Decisions decisions decisions

2009-11-28T15:31:00.001Z

I feel like a teenager. The nobody understands me, banging doors stage of life has made a roaring comeback.

A recent session with relatively new (yet in no possible way any less of) friends got me thinking.
Am I really a spoiled brat?
I don’t hurt anyone, I don’t step on other people, I do what I can to make people comfortable unless they start to encroach into my existence, even then I fight back the urge to become a doormat and facilitate their acquisition of my life’s entity. I have a twisted way of loving my friends and they understand it and return the favour. It’s like Pebbles and Bam Bam. I bash you, you bash me, we are a happy family.
Yet I just want finer things in life.
I needed that reality check and I love them for giving me the stun gun but it really got me thinking. Is this where I went wrong? My body complains if I don’t treat it right which qualifies as pampering in the eyes of the world. Holding myself back from the so-called luxuries that I have been treating as basic human rights since almost forever, makes me crumble. Am I too much of a softy?
Do I always want too much all the time? How much is too much? Should it not vary from time to time in life? If yes how do I define it? Why can’t I spend all of my pay? Why can’t I save it all? Do I really not listen to anyone? There are times I don’t speak up when I should and that’s what always got me into trouble but when I do, I am defined as being spoiled. I am head strong. You can not just tell me to do something, I need a bit of convincing and I tell you if I agree with you or not. Does that make me a really bad person? I am my own toughest critic, I am anything but kind to myself. Yet, I am spoiled?
I think I still need to keep striving to learn how to live

No charge for Awesomeness

2009-11-27T20:03:00.001Z

Imperfection is yet another level of achievement. Just watched Kung Fu Panda a second time. I saw it on the big screen earlier. Nothing like it, Tai Lung made my popcorn shiver. It is phenomenal how situation comedy can sometimes address just what you face in real life.
It’s okay to not have it all. It’s fine to not be perfect. This is a lesson I am slowly inching towards learning, yet believing in yourself and the yearn to achieve greatness is something no one can take away from you…if you have it to begin with.
Po teaches us to hold our head up high, even if we are not the prettiest thing to look at (fat) and have our weaknesses (food) for its only our weakness that we may turn into strength with simply a twist of a chopstick (dumpling training at the lake of sacred tears)
It’s okay to be an outcaste sometime and still believe you rock. Yet stay grounded, there ain’t no charge for awesomeness

Winter rain

2009-11-14T22:39:00.001Z

A handful of motiaa thrown around in my hair, a bottle of water with slivers of ice and a slice of lemon, feet clad in my pink and white woollies, propped up against the window sill. Waiting for the rain. Water calms me.
I want to know what I want, what I thought I need is what I think I want but do I really need it so bad or even at all?
The wants skirmish with the needs and they both shrivel away. Tempted to choose to ignite the fireworks but the chance of getting burned holds me hostage.
Somehow, dying seems the easiest way to live

Death Sentence

2009-11-11T16:20:00.001Z

I just found out why they break the pen
it is tougher to write your own
to tell why you hate yourself
and why you deserve what you don't want
another dimension of pain
just when you think you've seen it all
and then you survive

Packages (UN)Limited

2009-11-09T07:51:00.001Z

I am reminded of my youth and first job a lot these days. I miss my thin self, my clothes that won’t fit me any more and all of that. I remember making separate wardrobes for work and evenings out. wearing half sleeves at work or anything remotely revealing was equivalent to going to work in the nude. People would stare you exactly the way they would if you wore red in Muharram. Thanks to my loco and VERY Virgo boyfriend back then, I wasn’t allowed to wear any makeup (jeez I really do have a collection of MEN now don’t I?) so yeah, I was this terse looking very thin girl, who was very intense when it came to work and work alone, who liked to only talk to men in high places and not speak to the guys her dad’s age (who would hit on her every half a second in a conversation). I feel for them and their midlife crisis. Enough to push them in the boiling bubbling Pulp so we can make corro-wall out of them!

The Paper Stores people hated me more than I hated sesame street ending and that’s saying something. They won’t even say salaam when passing me by in the production area cause I was deceptive. I was this pretty young kid who sashayed her way into their offices one morning brightening their day up…for the last time….ever. Following that were slave drives reorganizing of the entire stores and ass hauling activities led by the devil who wore Prada. Well..more like hush puppies but yeah. Devil indeed. I remember killing the Stores manager once and dragging his metaphorical corpse on my way back to my office with my boss. He never expected me to be so vocally profound with expressing how exactly I felt like in presence of a true waste of protoplasm. Following that he decide i was ready to deal with all the animals on my own and never accompanied me on any of the meetings with the department heads. Hate him for that to this day. Food and agony aunt sessions with Mr B, girl talk with Amir Anwar, dry humour with Jun bhai, kicking around Hasnain, endless fights with Wajiha, cleaning Moeez’s room and yelling/ singing sessions in the car with Usman and Mariyam! The chham cham sessions and samosas at the slightest hint of rain winking at us from behind the clouds. How we once got Moeez engaged and sent mithai all over the offices. Life was so good! Not to forget SARDAR KI CHAI!!! Anybody remembers? :P

I remember my ulcers and how my friends ensured no spices in food and harrowing restaurant staff for it or getting ice cream for me whenever they went out to eat and I was stuck at work. Ranging from locking up inside the bathroom and bawling my eyes out right up to telling a man my father’s age how useless his existence was, I learned so much there. I got so much love by the end it was unreal. Considering how much of a maverick I am, they all did a great job at loving me.

I laughed too much. I still do. I won’t stop. I refuse to believe that this is a lesson that life wants to teach me. I will not be the quiet girl at the back of the class, only because it just isn’t me. Life has thrown me around like a picket fence in a tornado but I still bounce back just like that gravity doll that you just punched. The harder you punch it the stronger it comes back up. Right back at you life!

Packages remains unlimited for me. I think that was my university. I was pretty, I ate a lot without gaining an ounce, I learned a lot about life and work and I came out of there with the best of friends I have to date.

I couldn’t find any picture form those times, how sad. Just this one from a cousin’s birthday. trust me I used to laugh the same way at work and not just birthdays! I still do :))

Obsession 21.3

2009-11-09T06:46:00.001Z

Latest crazy, Dobara Phir se. Noshi’s recurring mention of this song has brought this back up in my playlist with a bang.

It’s an expression of a lover (like me) totally wacko, trying to lure a girl to come with him not offering her any security or any false promises. Whatever will be will be. It’s more of a Punjabi Que Sera Sera addressed to a woman.

Mai jaana dil nu paana, chan di chandni lai challay jiday naal
Mai jaana dholna tu chal vay meray naal
Fhir paana, jo vi aana
Kaun vekhey tera haal
Marr jaana, rai jaana
Aai leekhan di aai chaal

It makes me wonder how I wasted so much of my life trying to do the right thing, living sanely, do this, don’t do that.This is proper, that is not. This is appropriate lah dee daa. It just all makes sense to me. How senseless it is when you tie yourself down. Being a little loco helps me relax. At least I’m being myself. I do what I please, live a way that suits me and me alone. If I don’t like the artists at home and their clutter makes me cry, I don’t have to take it. If gossip and small talk is synonymous to nails dragging on glass, well I can choose not to be in that company. I CAN just get up and walk off without thinking what they’ll feel about it. I do exist. I decide what I do. Wow. That sounds relieving does it not? Seems like I had myself chained up for too long. I can actually feel I belonged in the 1800s, what on earth was I thinking?

I am liking my new life and looking forward to an experience of a lifetime. I want to sing my heart out, play the guitar till late at night and still wake up in time for my day job. I want to make my own music. Creating something out of nothing must be a very liberating experience.

Seems like my Mahiwaal was norms and mostly useless dogmas. I agree, a lot of them make sense and are necessary for civilized living, but not all. Not when they start riding up your breathing space and close you out of life. You have to be able to live before everything else. At least that’s the bigger picture I see. So well, I walk off with my whatever will be will be banner, off on the road that leads to nowhere yet everywhere. Define my few goals in life and the rest will take care of itself.

Aaja mere vairray Sohni Chad De Mahiwaal

Breaking the norm

Yep. That would be me. yes. Precisely.

… after all
marr jaana reh jaana
ey leekhaan dee ay chaal

Dobara Phir Se - Acoustic
RadioReloaded.com | Download thousands of MP3s

Way tu mairi gall mann le soniye
Mohniye
Sohniye
Vakh hovey pyaar
Peer ghat honiye
Mairi mann moniye
Chadd sarey khairey
Hunn tu chal ni meray naal
Aaja meray vairey, Sohni chad de Mahiwaal
Mai jaana dil nu paana, chan di chandni lai challay jithay naal
Mai jaana dholna tu chal ray meray naal
Fhir paana, jo vi aana
Kaun vekhey tera haal
Marr jaana, rai jaana
Aai leekhan di aai chaal
Way tu meray vall takk le soniye
Mohniya
Sohniye
Kak hove yaar
Jind na vakh honiye
Mairi mann moniye
Chadd sarey khairey
Hunn tu chal ni meray naal
Aaja meray vairey, Sohni chad de Mahiwaal
Mai jaana dil nu paana, chan di chandni lai challay jithay naal
Mai jaana dholna tu chal ray meray naal
Fhir paana, jovi aana
Kaun vekhey tera haal
Marr jaana, rai jaana
Aai leekhan di aai chaal

Feel Good Music :)

2009-11-07T08:06:00.001Z

WAREHOUSE FOR RANT

2009-11-04T04:16:00.002Z

Boy would I love to have one of those or what!
Just down the road from our factory/ Plant, this morning (between Jack Johnson and Carlos Santana on my iPod) I spotted this and couldn't resist marvelling at it.
I'd love to have a warehouse dedicated to ranting. I can go there and rant my heart out, not that anything ever stopped me from ranting anywhere else in the world. I rant to my heart's content, trust me I have my audience but wow, this is called respecting yourself.
thumbs up!

This is a clip I've loved for a while now, it just occured, I haven't SAVED it on my blog yet. Here's to a good morning :)
Like Wha'eva'!!!!

Of Epitaphs and Gravestones

2009-11-03T17:10:00.001Z

Most of my route to my new work place takes me through what very closely resembles FarmVille, an app on Facebook most of us have managed to pimp our souls out to. I honestly mean setting alarms and reminders for harvesting raspberries and pumpkins in the middle of the night or in the earliest possible hour of the day. I can never EVER complain that I can’t wake up for Tahajjud like EVER. Another one written down on the left side of life.

The long drive gives me a lot of time to think. Just random thoughts. I realised I have this strange respect for the dead. I’ll be singing my heart out in the middle of a road trip, or yakking my guts out in the middle of an argument or perhaps just music blaring out of my iPod and zoning out into the other dimension I call home but as soon as I spot a graveyard, everything stops. Whether it’s the graveyard between Leytonstone and Wanstead tube stations or the few graves we pass in the middle of fodder fields every day on our way to work, the Turkish royalties buried in the heart of Istanbul or the cemetery in the movie Before Sunset where lies the anonymous girl. I have to pray for them. Pay my respect. I sometimes feel I respect the dead more than those alive.

The next level yet remains a mystery unsolved but the wee marks they leave behind make me wonder. They’ve been there, done that. Literally everything. Done with their lives. I strongly believe in every life, long or short, you have a circle to complete.

We are here to add what we can to life, not to get what we can from life- William Osler

It differs amongst us. The lessons that we have to learn are different. Those dead, certainly learned something we haven’t. They made their mark and moved on. Their struggle ends. Ours continue. They have carved their gravestones, we have to write our epitaphs yet. Let’s see, what would I want to be on my gravestone? For starters I want to make it. I want it in cobblestone. A mosaic of pebbles maybe.I want to do a mini landscape thingy for my grave. With a few morning glory plants and a white rosebush. Perhaps a peach tree shadowing over.

something I read somewhere… “She danced on air”

or as Omar Khayyam says
“I came like Water, and like Wind I go”

or perhaps just

“Here lies imperfection with all her poise, in life and beyond”

Important Note: Beware. I’ll come back to haunt all who EVER scared me with horror stories through my childhood as well as grown up life. I mean it! :P

Love Thy Self

2009-11-01T14:44:00.001Z

I just could not hold back securing this piece on my blog. It belongs to someone else but speaks a language I have now begun to understand

My First Love
by Deborah Batt (From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Divorce & Recovery)

You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.
~Buddha

Dinner finished and both my sons decided to return to their uncompleted homework. As I cleared the dishes from the table, my mind prepared the agenda for the evening: clean the kitchen, put out the garbage, take the dog for a walk, and fit in a moment to relax on the couch before bed. But, as all mothers and wives learn over time, agendas need to remain flexible in order to inject the unexpected, and tonight would present the epitome of the unexpected.

My husband and I proceeded with our rehearsed dance of post-dinner clean up. I put the dishes on the counter while he proceeded to move them to the dishwasher. And then, out of nowhere, he said, "I can't do this anymore." I responded with my usual acceptance of his lack of interest in the dish dance and told him to go do whatever else it was that he needed to do and I would finish on my own. He said more emphatically, "No, I can't do this anymore." He gestured his arms repeatedly in an outward motion from his body, pointing his fingers toward me and then back at himself. Mindlessly, I continued to place dishes in the dishwasher and began to run the water in the sink for the pots and pans.

"Deb?"

"Yes?"

"I said that I can't do this anymore. You and me."

Numb. His words felt like a semi slamming into my chest at 100 miles an hour. Paralyzed. I couldn't speak.

Later, the wisdom of others told me that I must have known, or at least seen the truck coming at me from a distance. But, on this night, at this time and in this place, I had no idea that my husband, my first love, was asking me for a divorce.

In the span of the next five month period, I attended my sister's wedding, bought a home, signed a separation agreement, hosted my son's French exchange student, celebrated my son's sixteenth birthday, changed titles on deeds, got a mortgage, lost twenty pounds, refinanced a car, maintained a façade of "everything's okay" and, finally, moved from the marital home.

Four months later, my son left to go to France for his portion of the exchange and I was able to breathe--into a paper bag. I was hyperventilating. I cried for three days straight. I tried to make sense of the whole mess. But, nothing would make sense. And I came to realize that it really doesn't need to make sense.

Love is a funny character in a book that is written by an often pathetic author, who is idealistic instead of realistic, and enjoys the melee of passion and apathy and the thrill of an unfulfilled destination called fate. The book has been written hundreds of times with ample editing, subject change and plot alterations, but there appears to be no prediction about the ending--except that the heroine in this particular story could learn how to chart the course of this tale toward a horizon worthy of the triumphant spirit of her new found depiction of love.

Years of caring for others had caused me to ignore my own needs. Oddly enough, I came to the realization that I did in fact have needs. I needed to feel warmth and love. I needed to feel accepted and that I somehow belonged. I needed to feel respected and honored. I needed to feel happy and content. But, most of all I needed to feel that the one person in the whole world who should love me the most would love me the most, regardless of the mistakes that I've made. Someone who could accept my faults and praise my strengths and make me feel everyday that I was the best that I could be.

My search began with the typical path chosen by those leaving a significant relationship: dating. Your social circle shifts and your married friends are happy that they now have a new "single" friend to introduce to their newly divorced friends. The thought of having a new relationship was enticing. And the thought of starting the relationship process all over again from the beginning did seem exciting. Everything is new again; the first date, the first kiss, the flowers and the dinners in romantic venues. Holding hands with someone new seemed more exciting than the last three years of my marital bedroom practice.

However, there was usually something missing from these short term affairs. My love life was becoming a Seinfeld episode of "man hands," "close talkers," and "low talkers," notwithstanding the occasional episode of Sex in the City's bad kissers, adulterers, and noncommittal types. Some were funny, others were smart, some philosophical with upscale taste, and some just basically gorgeous and wonderful to hold. But, ultimately none gave me the satisfaction that my heart was craving. None could make me happy or give me fulfilment. I decided maybe I was better off alone.

And alone I was. No invites to dinner or social events included that proverbially announced and "guest." My cats became my confidants and heard about my day's events and the hardships of being a single woman in today's world. I became engrossed in the art of "puttering," cleaning drawers that didn't need to be cleaned and reorganizing cupboard after cupboard. I took tennis and horseback riding lessons and learned to speak French. I started to read more and speak less. I discovered meditation and learned quickly that I really wasn't that good at it. Nonetheless, I still tried.

And then one day I was standing in front of my dresser mirror and caught my reflection. The soft light of the bedroom gave my skin a warm glow. I cast a flirty smile to the mirror. My image returned with an alluring grin. The reflection was far from perfect but, it was me. And what I had come to learn of myself was wonderfully endearing.

I was socialized to consider the needs of others as paramount to my own. Not the best approach when ultimately I am responsible for my own happiness and fulfilment. Some lessons take time to learn. And although I don't think that I will ever come to the point of forgiving my ex-husband for the disruption that he created in my life, divorce and time have given me the ability to forgive myself for not choosing to be my own first love.

courtesy: http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2009/10/My-First-Love.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER

Not-so-ready to mingle!

2009-11-01T05:40:00.001Z

Ran into a portion of Before Sunset on Filmax. All of a sudden I feel so happy. I can relate to the girl so much more than I ever could earlier. Relationships. They’ve never been bad people. The men. They were okay, pretty okay, but never did I experience a connection. Yet, every time I broke up the hurt was unbearable. I am on my own and happier than I’ve ever been (I was about to write happier than I’ve been in a long time but it got me thinking, I think I can use the term ever very safely) Like she says, being on your own is a much happier place than being with someone pining for more love or not getting what you want out of that relationship. The stress and the depression would make me lose perspective of life which was much more than what was going on in that one relationship which in turn would make me do things I otherwise never would.
Isn’t that life? The more mistakes you make the more you learn? I have learned so much from my not-so-perfect past that I look forward to a very bright future. I am on my way to loving MYSELF, nurturing MYSELF, helping MYSELF grow. Perhaps I’ll get what I want from a relationship from this affair with myself. Hopefully a lifelong one.

Not much longer…

2009-10-20T12:52:00.001+01:00

Aashiaan attacked...Dobara phir se

2009-10-15T21:48:00.001+01:00

Mera ghar, Meri Jannat
yeh meraa Aashiaan…
(My home is my paradise
this is my Abode)
Old Urdu Film- Devar Bhabi song (Mera ghar meri jannat)

…mar jaana reh jaana
ay lekhaan dee ay chaal…
(Whether we die or live
is the move of the divine fate)
Noori- Song (Dobara Phir Se)

the bombs won’t let me sleep
faces clad in dastarkhwaan kapra swim in my head
I am not scared
just wondering
what next
individual lives
mere minions
the jumping terror-spreading jack
”Tay-Dein’s” into the frame
sporting a reshmi azaarband
perhaps a zip pocket in his shalwar that holds change
human.
flashbacks in my head
MS pushes Abba
He falls in the doorway
chiselled on my heart is the pain that tainted his face
Robber nudges Qais Mamu for money
the child he healed once
stands in front of him shoving him
‘jo hai nikaal dein’
something deep in my heart stabs itself
as I feel blood dripping inside of me

The moral to the story goes
never leave your heart
in a box locked up with cold cold ice
never leave your heart alone
Butterfly Boucher- Song (Never leave your heart alone)

Terrorist attack the entrance of my house
We have breakfast in the backyard
We are able to laugh as people stop smiling around the corner
for good

pani barsaa yeh dil tarsaa
(it rained as this heart yearned)
par jab beeta thora arsaa, mein ne rona chor diya
(but as a little time passed, I stopped crying)
Girtay patton mein aas hai bhari
falling leaves brim with hopelessness
Kal naa aaye gee kabhi
tomorrow will never come
Zeb & Haniya- Song (Rona Chor Diya)

steel is in the air
as I lick my parched lips
cold and static
metal is what I taste

Temporal deadzone where clocks are barely breathing
Yet no one cares to notice for all the yelling
All night clamor to hold it together.
I want to play don't wait forms in the hideaway
I want to get on with getting on with things
I want to run in fields, paint the kitchen
And love someone
And I can't do any of that here, can I?
Imogen Heap- Song (First Train Home)

Courtesy: Daily Mail

Blood drenched arrows…

2009-10-09T09:33:00.001+01:00

barkhaa ke laakhon teer
dil par kis ko sahuun mein
barkhaa ke laakhon teer
kis ko sahuun mein

Heard this song with Twinn on the radio, he made me notice the lyrics. Just the first stanza. As I found it simple yet an exquisite way to put it, he struggled to explain how it was simple yet powerful. Almost as incessant and compulsive as myself about understanding and explaining a certain thing in an exact way that I get it. I hardly listened to what he was saying, I liked the music and Naad e Ali's voice, reminded me of that of his dad (Shehryar Zaidi)

I downloaded it and heard it end to end. Something strung a note inside me. The whole thing, not just the lyrics. The music enveloped my being as the lyrics gave words to emotions swimming in my head. I feel dumb not being able to put such simple feelings to words. I guess that's the way I am

I could hear my heart bleed silently as the notes intertwined in the monsoon arrows I lose count of.
This song will be very strenuous in the middle of a rainy day

I sent a text as I cried silently and then felt extremely stupid. Quickly sent another funny one to dissolve the earlier one's serious content. Neither got a reply. I hated the fact that I told a friend I cried (especially when I know he'd be hurt to find out). When exactly will I get over my useless, petty hangups? I feel guilty for being so clammed up with friends who care so much. Feel miserable at the dumb text...still.

Tere bin ab jauun kahan yuun
kaisay jiyun mein...

Why does it still have to hurt so much. When will I move on?
Clearly patience has never been one of my handful of virtues.

Sing my mind…

2009-10-08T08:31:00.001+01:00

Barkhaa ke laakhon teer…

Randoms with a backdrop of Soppy Indian songs (One time show only!)

2009-10-05T22:34:00.002+01:00

Actually saw videos of songs only heard, putting faces, thumkaas and expressions to the words that I grew up singing. Especially Je Je shive Shankar, kaanta lagay na kankar. The ultimate wedding song and it never occured to me that it was actually out of a movie. Very interesting I must say.
Singing is part of who I am. Too much songs also tend to over fantasize life for you. They make things seem so simple. Unless you're talking about "I'm cleaning out my closet"

Dil hai chota sa, choti see asha
masti bharay mann ki, bholi see asha
chand taaron ko, chhoonay ki asha
aasmaanon mein, urrnay ki asha

Was just talking to this friend today and we stumbled upon what we want and what happens and then how we unwant it and end up with the things we once wanted but don't want any more by the time we get them. Life is like a major Business Process Re engineering project. Unfreeze, re engineer, Refreeze. Whatever your comfort levels are, they're bruised and bashed up and you end up developing newer corners to settle in, Life indeed is a long lesson in humility now is it not? Perfection-ista. That's what I was. Every nook and corner cleared, no mistake, no forgiveness. Never forgave myself for the littlest of things in life and then I fail. I fail life yet once again. All I wanted was a simple life. Simple things. Nothing complicated. Was it too much to ask for? I guess It was. Everythign got as complicated as it could...and more.
Well it isn't too late is it? Like ever? This is the time for my new beginning and I'm all geared...I think. Something cuts me deep inside. I think it's sorrow. Clearly I don't like it. Like I say, I don't do sad. I have to live. Why? Honestly I have no clue but I just know I have to. All these BPR processes couldn't be for nothing now could they? I have to follow through from the ebb to the flow, need the crest when bore the trough if you know what I mean. This life will now boom from its recession baby

Apni choti mein baandh luun duniya

The sadness monster pulls on my heart as The silly old indian songs laden program moves on to a number I sang so many times in the car after I got married and times before that when I'd be out on a date. I always loved this song.It was so precise and true.

asks for a promise never kept...

Ho chandni jab tak raat deta hai har koi sath
tum magar andheiron mein na chhorna mera hath

Somehow the car has always been a place where I sing better than anywhere else. Maybe it has something to do with our early morning sessions that we'd have with my dad when we'd go to school or be driving out of Lahore on a weekend simply because it was raining. Also because it's dark in the car and I'm still gripped by the fear of being in the limelight. Lack of confidence gets the best of me.

And then comes the sexy song of the times passed. I find the lyrics and notes of this song quite sensual really. Even though they aren't.
Well, maybe they are.

Gulabi aankhein jo teri dekhiin sharaabi yeh dil ho gayaa
sambhaalo mujhko o mere yaaro sambhalnaa mushkil ho gyaa

With the saxophones I think and the heroine in bright purple silks of course in the ever blooming rose garden and the jumpy dance moves I'm so glad I caught this song on video. It's so much fun.

Then come those that I HAVE seen, just because they were relased in my adult independent life and I didn't have my dad breathing down my neck or ghooro-ing fiercely through walls at me switching to an Indian Channel. my ultimate favourite

Ay Massakali massakali
thora matakkali matakkali

colourful kites and canvas white pigeons with eccentric dance moves.Somehow this song takes me on a subliminal ride across the dimensions. It's off key notes and the sideways approach to everything implied and not said actually steals the show. It's one of those loop plays on soppy indian song days for me.

Every moment of my life now is making me realise that heyy...I am a human. I am an individual. And a very interesting one at being one (I know the sentence shouldn't begin with an and, don't bother me!) In the past ten years it was as if I had lost my existence. I was absorbed into someone or another. The funniest part was, I was still referred to as a rebel. How on Lord's green earth did I manage to do that? I amaze myself every day you know. Perhaps because I would succumb to most of the changes expected of me and then try to stick to my bohemian self in some little way which would outrage people around me. Clearly I am enough for myself, no room for another in my life now I guess.
No one can understand me better than I do and I just began exploring myself.

I'm hot! The world can go to the frigid hell!

Phupho-dom

2009-10-04T18:26:00.001+01:00

The epitome of being a phupho is eating remnants.

No, not just any remnants.

Well-sucked, juicy, spitful of morsels that have visited the inside of the little angel’s mouth are the only ones that qualify. These, only for your facilitation also include liquids they’ve washed their spitty hands in.

It’s only the salivary baptism that gets you to the zenith of Phuphodom and are you then fit to be called a Phupho. These include half filled glass of water milky with the little hand full of Farley rusk mush that she didn’t want any more or mashed banana that wasn’t welcome. These also include everything you’re eating that she wants to pounce on and suck all half digested mush for you to be able to chew on easily. Such considerate little babies are what take us to a higher level in life.

They end up giving us the real pleasures in life. They show us life is worth more than what we sometimes myope into seeing it for. Is that even a word? I think I just made it, anyway. There’s a selfless love, a feeling that you just want to rip all the few good things about your life and give them to that little salivary gland just to see her smile once more ... and forever.(aamiin summ aamiin)

It’s amazing how the brother you’ve hated and secretly planned murder for all your life (only in return to the way he’s annoyed your guts out at every possible instance) comes up with a little person who you fall in love with almost instantly. All that you need to take your heart away is a toothless smile and little pudgy arms spread out wide followed by an outburst

“... CAT!”

Think Pink!

2009-10-01T20:41:00.001+01:00

My grandma and an aunt are breast cancer survivors. This places my mom and aunts at a high risk for acquiring it. I cannot tire of telling them to get themselves checked regularly. Even if they never listen. I wish they do. Some day.

It was scary. Even if we say okay great they survived so it’s cool. No it’s not. I can never forget the crazy feeling of the mere thought of losing Ammi (my grandmother). I wish I never have to experience it for a loved one again. Ever.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Spread the word figure out if a friend or relative is at a high risk for it and nudge them to schedule regular checkups.

Here are a few useful links to read up

How often and when to start?
Usually it is suggested to be careful if you have a family history of breast cancer and begin checking regularly for lumps and unusual masses at an age earlier than recommended (i.e. before 40 or 50) However there are no set rules laid down so as to when should young women having a family history begin getting regular mammography or any other screening tests. This topic is well debated

This entire month my blog will sport pink… add yours to the list too

To all those affected in one way or another by breast cancer

Hurt

2009-09-30T21:47:00.001+01:00

Grey’s sometimes gives words to what you feel

Survival instincts

“That's how you survive. When it hurts so much you can't breathe, that's how you survive.”

When you’re least expecting…

“The very worst part is the minute you think you're past it. It starts all over again..”

Lost. Confused. Tired. Lost sense of right and wrong a while ago.

Quite dead.

Blank.

Numb.

Grief

2009-09-29T13:05:00.001+01:00

Is it worse when you lose someone who lives or when you lose someone to death?

Love sets them apart.

If we believe in life after death, you live with the ones who pass away. You die for those who live and move on. This death hurts you till you seem to live. Life goes on, they say.

It doesn’t.

Wracked with pain, you breathe till you mourn your own death and let them die…