The zoo of my mind

Say much...

2010-02-25T14:15:00.004-05:00

Talk about the death of thoughts...or the magical moment in the cosmos where you have thoughts to put to the proverbial paper, and the time to actually do so. I think it would be a little extreme to say that there have been no thoughts in over a year. That would actually be sad, more then anything else...and a complete submission to the gods of compliance and work force slavery.

A lot's happened in this past one year, and a lot of it is waiting to happen, like you can see something as you approach the corner. Kind of like vaporized breath.

Priorities in the ever changing glade keep doing what they do...change.

Maybe I will visit sooner this time, and then, maybe I won't.

I guess music inspires me, and today it was a weird little song from this French actress / singer / disappointee called "I'll kill her".

Jolting the fickle heart!

2009-01-23T12:55:00.002-05:00

The economy is bad. But you already know that, everyone knows that. This is the time you get docile and do all that you can to hang on to the job you have! No time for throwing tantrums at work, or being overly individualistic. Come on, I mean my manager got laid off five months ago and is still looking. So Mr. Nayyar, hang on to your job, and hold tight. Major turbulence expected ahead. And yes the ride is going to be exceedingly bumpy, and no-one should be surprised at surprise landings into the Hudson river, miraculous or not!

So this morning, I am sitting quietly in my cube, after disagreeing with my current manager on almost all his suggestions, and feeling good about myself. And suddenly I get a call on my cell (not my direct line at work, but on my cell) by this gravelly voiced Renee! Now I am a huge fan of Joni, and if she were to talk to me, she would probably sound a lot like Renee. So I am instantly hooked.

"Hello Mr. Nayyar, this is Renee from the Global Account Team"
"Oh, hello, how's it going?"
"Good, thank you. I was calling because we were just sent a request to delete your work and email account."
"Uhh...what?"
"Well we got a request to delete your account as you don't have a manager listed to report to in the system. Are you still on the payroll?"
"Uhh...I don't understand, as far as I know I am on the payroll sitting in my cube, checking and sending email about the work I am doing. And I haven't been informed I am being let go."
"Oh, okay, so it must be a miss-communication. Could you tell me the name of your manager?"

--I tell her the name of my manager--

I am thanked and the phone is put down. Not even mentioning that this little conversation would haunt me like the scariest moments from Exorcist, not the new crappy one, but the old, "haunty" one!

Like any rational person, I run to my manager (via messenger of course) and ask him, in a not too subtle manner, am I being let go? The manager of course gives me the regular reassurances, and it's probably a mistake, because my last manager was let go, and they probably forgot to change the system, and so on and so forth!

Needless to say, I needed about 2 hours to recover from this, and my fickle heart was jolted into this bleak reality of the tumbling economy! I am counting on you Mr. Obama to sort all of our lives, and cure all ills. No pressure though! :)

But yes, if I ever had a conversation with Ms. Mitchell, I am sure she would sound a lot like Ms. Renee. So I shall take comfort in that, and head out of work tonight to enjoy this weekend as a happily employed man! What shall come, will come, and will be handled accordingly.

Communicating...In response

2009-01-19T11:59:00.001-05:00

Difficult questions all! Aren't they?

Could you have done anything else? Yes, you could have, we could all have done something else, but then it would have been something else. You know, if not this, then it would have been that, and so on and on, into the vertigo inducing spirals of what ifs.

But this question, "Could I have done something else?", plagues me constantly. There are many decisions I made that I want to take back, but then, with the information at hand, and the (quadruple) standards drilled into us, I guess the decisions I made don't surprise me, just make me a little sad. Perhaps I, too, think of going for it and putting an end to it. But it's always a fleeting notion, always blocked by too many rational questions, like who will find me? Probably my wife. How will she handle it? Will she spit on my dead body? Will she try to emulate me? Will she curse me for being so selfish? What should I be wearing when I go for it? Should I go all natural and go out with nothing but my skin and bodily excrement on me? Should I dress up in my best suit, shave, and then shave into my veins? Should I be wearing my watch and silver ring (which I feel is now just an extension of my hand)? Should I leave a note? And should that note try to solve all the worldly problems? Or should it just say "Thanks for reading and fuck you very much!".

But more to your point. The decisions we make because we're too young, too shackled by our society, too ignorant, and basically too prone to the emotional black-mail which comes to our proud (albeit seriously misguided) nation too naturally! Well I wish you rebelled at that point. I wish you chose the way of the martyr. I cannot but imagine the possibilities emanating from that very choice. We hear a lot of things, like true love never wants anything in return. Well that is total hogwash! True love is the most selfish, self-indulgent emotion we experience. The sacrifice emanates the from fear of failure and the fear of cantering around only our own existence.

Do I think you'd be happier had you made different choices? I seriously doubt that. We are who we are, and if we are (which you are) people who try to think, evaluate, and fathom emotions and feelings...we're always going to be disturbed SOBs. We'll always have regrets, and passions for possibilities, which once realized, would lose their glitter, for we'd be evaluating some other possibilities.

At some stage, I decided to quit smoking pot, and a friend decided to keep on smoking pot. Our lives have turned out quite differently thus far...but does that really matter? We're both still consistently plagued by misery, but in completely different ways.

This Chinese Billionaire recently killed himself because he lost about 5 billion dollars. He still had 8 billion left. So was it rational for him to end it for losing 5 when he still had 8? Well in human terms, yes! And a big yes at that. We don't evaluate our lives in terms of what we have, but on what we've lost and missed out on.

But of all the insanity of the preceding paragraphs, I am convinced about one thing. You are a great human being! Not because you always do the right thing. Not because you always possess the courage to make the tough decisions. And not because you're the Christ of our times, bearing crosses that are not yours to bear. You, my dear friend, are a great human being because you consistently indulge in the most basic of traits that make us human. You question. And you keep on questioning, even if the questions you're asking are impossible, insane, and out right demented!

Love you for that!

Dawning of a new year...

2008-12-31T11:33:00.003-05:00

So here we go again! The usual resolutions plague my mind as I step through the door to welcome 09, and bid a tired and much needed good bye to 08.

This has been a bad year in every sense of the word to the whole world. If there is a mother nature and a mother earth, they would both be putting their feet up with a big beer in their hands, and taking a deep breath.

I am actually excited by the dawning of this new year, as I feel change in the air (not an Obama reference). A make or break sort of a moment. I'm not too optimistic about the change, but a change is needed anyway, good or bad, but change nevertheless.

The process of growing up is actually a process of accepting change more graciously. The more gracious you become in your acceptance, the more grown-up you are. Gone are the final days of high-school where you would sit down on your favorite bench, stationary in your resolve to hold time hostage. Gone are the promises of always being this together. Gone, too, is the feeling of irrepressible loss and heartbreak. Everything changes, but most of all, we change. Given the current state of affairs I feel we all need to change. Change into beings more in tune with empathy, or change into such heartless shits that nothing matters but us.

Boy! Isn't self-preservation just lovely. It can take us places we never thought we'd visit, and justifies our being there in the most resolute of manners. Heck, given the proper opportunity, it would even justify buying a house in Newark and settling there!

I guess I am very lucky to be saying good-bye to 08 with plans of celebrating new-years eve to the wee hours of the morning, and then sleeping though most of the first new day of the year. Heck, I could have been scampering about trying to save my life, not even aware, or rather conscious of the dawning of the new year. So yes, I do feel truly blessed with good fortune (albeit bad or no hair).

So to follow tradition, here are a few of my new documented resolutions...

I will quit smoking
I will talk to more strangers
I will be more self-absorbed (notice, please, the focus on "I")

My other resolutions are in my head, and will remain there (hopefully not getting lost in the pot-infested labyrinths of my brain). The rest, as they say, is history and the making of it.

A 4-Month Hiatus

2008-12-17T16:21:00.002-05:00

So, I've been away from this world for 4 months. Well not completely away, as I did come to the blogs I like to follow, but I did try to refrain from making my presence felt. The endeavor, however, had more to do with eternal procrastination then being pseudo-intellectual.

Everything has changed in these last 4 months. The earth is now a completely peaceful place. All the wars have ended. People have stopped fighting, lying, cheating, and moralizing. There hasn't been an un-natural death in these past 4 months, and you can now only die from smoking or boredom.

All the former members of Led Zeppelin have embraced the existence of God and are now working to erase Lucifer from their memories. On the other hand, Pink Floyd's "Lucifer Sam" will now be referred to as "Our adoring uncle Sam".

Children can now speak to strangers without the fear of being touched in their naughty places. The word rape has been removed from all dictionaries, as it is not relevant anymore, and no one understands its meaning.

The Israelis and Palestinians packed their bags and have gone fishing. Of course they are fishing on the principal of catch and release. The fish hooks are made of jello instead of pointy metal. People have stopped eating meat, as animals have equal rights now.

The terrorists are collaborating with Disney to make a new animated movie about grilling "humus" in caves.

The armies all over the world have been disbanded, and all the released soldiers have revived the hippy culture. They're all currently writing a book titled "A 1001 uses of pot".

The only worries now are the worsening state of the Carolina Hurricanes, and what the whole world should do with this newly found euphoria.

I, in the meantime have sprouted wings and am taking flying lessons with pigs...

Happy Birthday my Love!

2008-08-14T01:02:00.000-04:00

August 14th, 2008. 61 years old. In human terms 60 is the age where you retire and look back at all your accomplishments. In terms of a nation, I feel 60 is our 20. A mere exit from the violent and uncertainty of the teenage years. Just about graduating and looking onto the kind of life you will be leading. Today I don't want to get into that. I don't want to discuss where we are, and where we're headed...

I just feel that I am blessed to be back in the country I adore, that too on her birthday. I'll try to do what a very dear friend always asks me to do...simplify things. So I will try to simplify my emotions.

I love the national anthems, new and reworked playing all day on TV. I can listen to Amanat Ali singing "Aye watan pyaaray watan...paak watan..." forever. His voice, the poetry, and the tune, stir up things inside you, that you never knew existed! I feel proud to be a Pakistani every time I listen to this milli naghma.

I love the big flags tied on cars and motorbikes (even though the realist in me feels they are quite unsafe). I love the way these flags flap in the wind as the motor speeds down the highway. I love the jubilant expressions on the faces of the drivers of these cars and bikes. For one day, they forget all their worries, and just go out and celebrate.

I love all the kids in my street who buy little paper flags strung on strings, and decorate their houses with them. And then put up the biggest flag they have on their house. I love they purity of these kids. They love their country, and grow up thinking it is the best place to live in.

I love the elders in my family, who tell stories of partition, and every year make us realize what it meant to leave everything to pursue an idea. What freedom means, I feel all of us, who were born free, can never truly comprehend. For can one truly understand love without losing it?

Above all, I love Jinnah, the man and the concept. I love watching his stock footage on TV, I love the way he talks. I love every quote of his that is displayed proudly on all our channels. I love the heavy drawl in his voice. I love the way he stands, and then moves his hands while he speaks. Heck I even love the way he smokes his cigar. If only all our nation took to him, and tried to mold themselves in his ways. For you never have to be perfect, and you'll never get everything right. But as long as you're pursuing your beliefs honestly, it doesn't matter what those beliefs were. You get where no one thought you'd get to!

I love his sister, right besides him, always. A notion of utter equality and respect. That too in the 30s and 40s, a time when the free world was still stuck in segregation and gender crushing. I love the confidence she exudes, and the confidence she gives Jinnah, you can see it in all the grainy footage. I love the stable head on her head. If only all the men and women in our nation molded themselves after this lady.

I love the fact that I still hope to see this country as probably Jinnah and Fatima saw it. I love to be able to see her true potential. I love that I still have hope, for at the end, it is always hope that prevails.

Coming back

2008-08-06T07:31:00.002-04:00

So it's been a while that I've been in the city I love and breathe. It's been a little weird as far as home comings go. First off, I didn't feel the usual tingling that accompanies me on the Ohh so long flight back home. This time it was just getting from one airport to the next, until you get to the airport you set out for. And when I finally got back, I was just in a daze, surrounded by all my family, smiles on their faces, and long drawn stories on their lips. Somehow I feel I am still in that daze...a little lagged out of reality.

It also doesn't help that they've changed my city so much, in just one year. Gone are the roads I grew up on, and learned to drive on. All replaced by quasi highways, with motor cars racing by, avoiding a nest of bicycles, and kids playing cricket. Traffic has somehow gotten ruder with the advent of the roads of the new millennium (which I feel was a bit delayed here). While the traffic now moves at a furious pace, the people are still where I left them. The topics of discussion still remain the same, modern Islam vs traditional Islam, new corrupt politicians vs old corrupt politicians, political and economic uncertainties, etc etc.

Parents are a huge comfort as always, but every time I am sitting with them, I keep thinking about going back. The food poisoning didn't help either. Neither did the lying personnel at Wateen that I dealt with. Wateen is this company that provides high speed internet connectivity, or at least they claim to provide it, and shower you with glorious extensions of truth, and outright lies. All told to make you feel the way they think you want to feel. Like the girl telling the boy she still loves him, when they both know love died a long time ago. The good thing is that little episode is now over.

But still that little daze, and that little discomfort remains, nagging at the back of the mind, like an old injury that never fully heals. I am hoping that the little excursion I am planning with my oldest friends would help. I guess I'd be able to say more about it in 6 days or so.

This is getting depressing...so time to end this to return another day.

The Fast

2008-06-24T14:37:00.003-04:00

He looks at it for a while when it is passed on to him. He can relate to the smoldering paper, dying a quick death. The thick mush of smoke that is witness to this short-lived existence. He brings it to his mouth, and breathes in as hard and as long as he can. The smoke fills his lungs, and he tries to keep it there; a tear trickles down his left eye. He needs the smoke to find the nesting place it needed in his lungs. In a bout of coughing, he loses it all. It dissipates with the thicker mush. He does, however, note that the colors are different, as they merge.

...

He swims deep beneath rolling waves. He is lost in the labyrinths of coral caves. He is also hunted by the echo of the distant times. In his case it isn't just a singular echo. He is the tyrant, the abused. He is what is, and what will ever be. He is beyond all his quantified failures, but also beyond reprieve. He is both master and slave. His focus drifts to the music. He grabs on to his favorite note. Holds on to it for dear life. The note plays on repeat in his head. The song moves on. He has finally held on to something.

...

His pants are unzipped. He looks around and he is castled in white marble. He looks down, and he sees the commode. He is in the toilet. He closes his eyes to get his bearings. He can hear Jimi violently strumming his guitar. Yes, it's a jam. A jam back at the house. He wants to be in his house. He wants to be at Woodstock. He needs to be among the few who never made it out. He wants to be the rain that nearly ruined everything. He comes back to the moment. Flush. Wash hands. Dry hands. No towel. His friend's mother's bath robe would do. Shirt tucked in. Belt buckled. He walks out.

...

He passes it along again. The symmetry maintained. Like the two-part circus. Puff. Puff. Pass. He looks at her now, and he can hear the cracks in the perfect facade. She's wearing too much makeup. Her perfume suddenly suffocates him. The jasmine smell is a thick cloud of Nitrogen around him. Chilled to the bone. He needs to get out.

"Where are they?"

"They're looking for the toad."

"The toad?"

"Yes, it jumped off the marble slab, and into the rose bushes."

"Should I go help them?"

"They'll be back soon. They've already uprooted most of the bushes."

"Yeah, I guess it can't hide for much longer."

...

He mind drifts back to the note. The realization that he let it slip away. Again. It's all sand. It's all getting out now. He needs to let it all out. He needs to throw up. He tries to get up. His knees buckle. He grabs on the waste basket. Kneeling into it, he let's it all go. Wipes his face with the palm of his hand. His mouth tastes of vomit. He collapses back on to the futon. His insides hurt. He needs to prepare for the Chem ATP. What was supposed to happen to the litmus paper? How do you control the production of ammonia? How is she preparing for the exam right now? What is she wearing right now. This was a bad idea.

...

His throat is dry. He can feel cracks opening up. He will never be able to talk again. They will find him. They will take him. When they take him, he won't be able to call for help. Who would he call for help. Behind the cap of music, he can hear something. A distant call for prayer. It keeps knocking down his silent wails. He can even make out the words.

Assalat-u-khairum minnan naar

Assalat-u-khairum minnan naar

...

He needs a drink of water before it's too late. There are bodies scattered about him on the futon. Deep, oblivious slumber. The human stench overpowers him for a moment. He is almost thrown off balance with an urge to hurl. He already did that. He manages to get up. He looks around in the illuminated darkness. The bottle in the corner of the room. He uncorks it. He takes in a large gulp. He needs to quench his thirst once and for all. The dry gin burns up everything inside him. He feels it ripping through. It is his Barium meal. The Barium meal you could feel, but not see. It's not a Barium meal at all. It is his last meal. Supper. He collapses.

...

Slowly, his eyes creak open. Like the back door to the havaili. His head feels heavier then usual. His clothes stick to his body. He can't feel his arm. Slowly he flips around. He can feel a million needles sticking into his arm. He likes it. He feels alive. Taking support from the wall, he slowly gets up. His legs don't give way. They are good legs. They are true to him. He thinks of the old man. He thinks of his sea. Cursing his left arm for not being as true as his right arm. A smile works its way across his face. He walks up the stairs.

...

"Sleeping Beauty finally got up! Come on, we got breakfast from Niazi's."

"You guys go on ahead...I'm fasting..."

The man and his dog, and rose sunglasses...

2008-06-18T23:04:00.003-04:00

[A distant shot of a man wearing a fedora, walking his dog on a pier, in black and white, the sea merging with the coast somewhere in the background]

Woman: Beautiful, that man and his dog.
Man: Hmm..
Woman: They walk alike
Man: Yes, they do. Do you know Giacometti, the sculptor?
Woman: Oh, yes. He was hansome.
Man: Well, Giacometti once said: "If caught in a fire and I had to choose between a Rembrandt and a cat...I'd choose the cat.
Woman: "..and then I'd let it go."
Man: Did he say that too?
Woman: That's what's so wonderful.
Man: Yes, it is. Between art and life, he said he'd choose life.
Woman: Beautiful.
Man: Yes.
Woman: Why did you ask me that?
Man: About Giacometti?
Woman: Yes.
Man: Because of the man and his dog.

It's amazing how most men remember things that sound good, but it is the women who remember what makes them so beautiful. And yet, somehow, both of them get the point!

A perfect end to a perfect day...I am a big sap for lush romances...so "Un homme et une femme" was a perfect ending to my day yet again. Now I will go to sleep, and all I have to do after I wake up is to buy rose colored glasses! :) They remind me of John Lennon (Beatles, not the commie) somehow, and I don't know why!

Mr. Plant, Ms. Krauss, please wait for me...

2008-06-05T16:55:00.004-04:00

Concerts I've always wanted to attend, but probably (in most cases definitely) won't:

Led Zeppelin
Pink Floyd
Jimi Hendrix
Joni Mitchell
The Beatles
Nirvana
The Who
Janice Joplin
Guns N' Roses

Led Zeppelin didn't happen, but I was able to get a ticket for the Robert Plant and Alison Krauss concert coming to the RBC center. Now I just hope he sings "Going to California", even though it is a Zeppelin song. And I know "Kashmir" will be a bit much for the kind of concert it would be.

Now all I have to do is to wait for July 11th...and that is going to be tough!

Who Dies...

2008-06-02T11:22:00.007-04:00

The place of my childhood
The place of my birth
Long quiet roads shaded by trees
The city surrounded by the cool comfort;
Of the ever-green Margalla Hills
The quiet evenings and bustling mornings
The emptiness and calm over the holidays
Serene paths and long walkways
Ice-cream cones and cappuccinos
Afghani jewelery and old book shops
Long strolls in the night
For nothing ever did go wrong

Peace and quiet
Love and warmth
Of friendships and love
Of family and friends
The feeling to belong
That urge to evolve
Jokes told; laughters shared
Memories made and passions exchanged
Mango parties and Aabpara karahi

Rock pools and QAU huts
Friend eggs and boiling tea
Hiking up Track 4 and sprinting down
That cool milkshake and paani-poori
Lying on the roof, feeling the rain
Nothing could go wrong
Nothing would go wrong

Bomb-blasts and shattered limbs
Extreme thoughts and broken hearts
Feeling scared and eating in
Curfews and genocide
Army actions and suicide
Promise of heaven to create hell
Show card illusions and lost souls
Lost lives, wives and kids...
Lost wills, smiles and now just chills

Who dies but the security guard
On minimum wage with his smelly feet
Four or five kids
And family back home
Making 4000 a month
Eating left-overs to send all the money home
Still singing songs in the evening
Telling stories of a freedom fighter grandpa

Who dies but the stories that were told
Memories that were shared
Jokes that were made
One dead and four or five to follow
More left-overs for the ones left over
That surely has to be good

Who dies but the good wife
Prostitute yourself woman to support your kids
Living in perdition, perdition awaits
No promises of heaven for you either, my dear
Swallow your grief and make small talk
Don't tell your story it would only kill the mood
Do what you can until you are strangled by the righteous neighbor
Or the honorable brother
And the kids of the whore, well they can go fuck themselves

Who dies but this illusion of peace
Hope and joy
Laughter too, shall run its course
Blank stares and muted thoughts
Don't say too much, for you too, maybe next
Say you believe, even though you don't
For saying otherwise shall get you death
But live on in this dead world
No hereafter for you my friend

Who dies but this city of dreams
For she too was just a dream
I hear she was a nice young girl
Born in the 60s she was just learning to run
Ice-creams and milkshakes
Paani-poori and cappuccinos
Aabpaara karahi and old book shops
They're all still there
Barely alive inside her belly
But you shouldn't go, better stay inside
For all this was always just fluff...

Go on you fuck
You militant man
Strap on yourself
And give us another pop
There's another security guard
That miserable sod
Working for the devil
Stick a fork in him, he's done
The nerve on him to hope for a good life
A full life...
To marry, have kids and sometimes smile
That stupid stupid, audacious prick
Singing songs in foreign tongues
No heaven for him either, not even hell
For this was his heaven, which turned into hell
That stupid grandpa
That freedom fighter
He should have known better
For he never, did really matter

Who dies...but a little of me
With all my limbs
And all my thoughts

Who dies...but a little of you
My sweet little girl
For you never belonged

If I had a heart - encore

2008-05-28T10:46:00.002-04:00

I finally bought the new Joni Mitchell album, on the sort of a day you should buy a Joni album.

It began with picking strawberries. There is something rhythmic about walking through a strawberry field. Measured, light steps, hunched back, hands rifling through the plant, ever so gently. You don't pull on any strawberry you like. You hold it gently and wait for it to come away into your hand. If it doesn't, you move on. A bit like life isn't it...

Then there was a destination-less drive through the country side just outside of Cary and Apex. Farms upon farms, and in the middle tractors taking down trees of a hundred years in a hundred minutes. Elegantly huge signs posted up for the penultimate luxury living. A fence put up to shield the prospects from the murder of the forest that lived with itself in peace forever. Every now an then, spotting a crude, hand-painted chart put up annoyingly close to the construction sites, saying, pleading, "Stop Cary from taking over our farms / lives / ways of living". A sickening contrast, showing that the battle had already been won by the big industry, and all the little specks, and small farmers would soon be made to move off. Some with a juicy bone of enough money to retire in pseudo-luxury, others just forced out by building pressures.

Next stop was that wonderful old book shop in Franklin Street. Where you can sort through arrays of books, reeking of eras gone by, some falling apart in your hands. Sifting through books in the company of cats that don't smell like cats, but like old old books. You can feel the wisdom and peace that lies within the books in their eyes, and in their lazy sprawl. I bought more books then I would have time to read in the near future, but somehow their just lying there on my table gives me a certain reassurance. That this existence is somehow about a little more then I think. And there is always the possibility of a wonderful surprise. Not the surprise of a birthday party thrown in your honor, but the surprise of a flower blossoming in the wrong season.

And then I walked into the used and new music shop right across the street. Arrays of Jazz music, Blues scattered about, records of years of yonder stacked up with all the dust. Somehow I found my way to the M's and there it was, the album I had been meaning to buy. An album that I nearly bought in NY City, but was dissuaded by Alina. But then that wasn't the day or place to buy a Joni album either. Standing inside a Starbucks on Times Square, surrounded by Big Yellow Taxis, and feeling mother earth dying just a little bit more with that unnecessary car's exhaust.

But in that music shop where the owner actually knew every record, CD, LP he had in his store, and he knew the music. Somehow that felt the right time to bring "Shine" into my life.

We heard the album on our way back, before stopping in the middle to eat the strawberries with cream and sugar borrowed from that coffee shop. I have been listening to it every since. And I feel at peace with myself for now. Questions of right, wrong, belief, heaven and hell don't bother me. I am just hoping this feeling will go on just a little bit longer.

If I Had A Heart
by Joni Mitchell

Holy war
Genocide
Suicide
Hate and cruelty...
How can this be holy?
If I had a heart I'd cry.

These ancient tales...
The good go to heaven
And the wicked ones burn in hell...
Ring the funeral bells!
If I had a heart I'd cry.

There's just too many people now
Too little land
Much too much desire
You feel so feeble now
It's so out of hand
Big bombs and barbed wire
We've set our lovely sky
Our lovely sky
On fire!

There's just too many people now
And too little land
Too much rage and desire
It makes you feel so feeble now
It's so out of hand-
Big bombs and barbed wire...
Can't you see
Our destiny?
We are making this Earth
Our funeral pyre!

Holy Earth
How can we heal you?
We cover you like a blight...
Strange birds of appetite...
If I had a heart I'd cry.
If I had a heart I'd cry.
If I had a heart I'd cry.

Remembrance

2008-05-25T17:20:00.002-04:00

Christina G. Rossetti said it better then I could ever so I won't be saying anything...

Remember
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

I dreamt my life last night...

2008-05-24T22:36:00.005-04:00

The wind howled in my ears, and the trees, just like the grass, were kissing the ground. Water was pouring from the skies, and bouncing off the ground. I could feel the loud thuds of heavy downpour on my head and the back of my neck. Some water seeped into my ears as well. With eyes squinted I rambled on, in my hysteria, not really looking for shelter, but just wanting to feel the rain a little more violently. I couldn't see much, but I could hear the hut's tin roof clanking away into the wee hours of the night. It was as if all the spoons, knives, mirrors, and dishes from the Beauty and the Beast had come over to celebrate the end of the never-ending drought. I ran in the direction of the loudest clamor and hugged the worn-down and soaked wooden wall, made up of tree trunks of surprisingly similar width. And suddenly I was thinking about the death of all these trees to make up these four walls, to provide shelter to one or two. But the tree trunks stood resolute against the gushes of wind.

And all of a sudden I had this urge to run away from there, far away from there, and then I was in Mrs. Boxworth's sixth grade music class, auditioning for the chorus. I was making an utter fool of myself in that bright room with the somber looking piano, trying to hide my crush on her, and at the same time trying to sound not too unpleasant. Unsure if I should lean against the piano, I just stood there with my arms folded, and eyes still squinted. The sun in Spring Valley always shone very bright on a clear March morning. And then I was thinking about the walk back from the school. It would be very cold, and the kids would be mean to me again. I would be Saddam Boy to them. Strange that I only found out about Saddam after I was called his boy, strange as I wasn't even from his country. And I needed to leave again.

And in that very moment I had grown a couple of years, and was playing cricket with my friends from the street. They would soon close the play-ground to build the market, so it was very important to play as much as we could. At-least we'd still have our naala which smelled a little funny. Mother said that it was always less them a mile from you wherever you went in Islamabad, and that it wasn't form swimming as the water was dirty. But it didn't seem dirty, just smelled a little. I played the ball to the off-side and ran for a single, and collapsed to the ground before I made it to the other end. It was as if someone was sticking out a needle right under my right kidney. Soon this guy in a white coat was telling me about my appendix, and how they had to do something right away, and I needed to run away again.

And then I was in the old book shop in Jinnah, rifling through as many books as I could, and making sure I didn't spill my coffee on any. Shabbir chacha had already warned me not to. But he let me drink coffee in his little shop, as he said I wasn't like these other kids from my school, and my parents had taught me respect. Hemingway sounded like a cool name, and I decided to walk out with the old man and take his sea with me. It looked small enough to finish in a night, and then my parents would think I was studying for the Math exam. Besides I couldn't call Zeeshan up at night as he would be talking to his girlfriend on the phone and tell his mother that it was me. And now it reminded me of her and I wanted to be gone from there as well. I wanted to be all grown up, and I wanted to have a full stubble like all the other guys in class, well not all, but most of them. Maybe I should try shaving with my uncle's Sensor Excel again.

And there I was walking down that crooked path right across from the Covered market, that lead to the two swings on the left. I was on the swing and my troupe of four were all walking and swinging around me. We were speaking of everything, love, life, parents, and that really cool show about that group of six friends in New York, and the ever alluding GPA. I was told by my true friend to focus more on my assignments, but I convinced her to just let me copy. She disagreed but I knew she would let me copy anyway. And then it was decided to go to the dhaaba that was at the end of the crooked path, for a cup of tea (or two) . And then I was thinking about that dog that came out of the house with all the flowers. It wasn't that I was scared of dogs, I just never liked them very much, at least that would be my story and I would stick to it. But I decided to walk in the middle of everyone just to be safe. And I knew that I needed to move on.

And then I was sitting in that hall full of people, all of whom were facing me. The fancy shayrwaani kurta was suffocating me and the turban was just outright silly. To top it off, Nasir bhai (my barber) had bleached my hands without saying what he was doing. So I this brown dude with blond hair on his hands, wearing a funny outfit, facing the crowd. The mike in front of my looked like a viper, and I wondered if the dude with the big beard would ask me to recite the third kalma. I should have learned it, and I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass someday. Or at least I should have shaved my goatee, for there was this sect that had goatees that weren't considered Muslims.

Shit!

I was thinking of what the sect was called and the Imam was talking to me. Well at least I wasn't being quizzed, just made to affirm my beliefs. And then I was looking at the papers in front of me and the yellow Piano pen lying on top of them. I would make the biggest decision in my life, and sign it off with a freaking Rs. One-Fifty, Piano-shitty-ball point pen. I needed to get out of there.

And then I was hugging the soaked hut again. The wind was as loud, the downpour as thick, but I felt still. I was in a state of complete heartsease. It was as if I could hear every drop of rain on every surface in the vicinity. Kind of like the first time I smoked pot. I wasn't awkward, anxious, or uncertain. I was just there.

There in that moment, that fake, hallucinogenic moment, which felt more real then my life in a very uncanny way.

Breaking down

2008-05-20T11:34:00.003-04:00

I read something by someone today that got me thinking about the web of relationships that we create around us. Specially in the context of relationships that die, some violent deaths, and some that surrender to the slow embrace of inevitability. Some leave us with a comfortable longing, and some leave us shaken up to the core, scared of even a mild breeze.

But no matter how they end, they leave permanent markers on us, like stamps on our existence always reminding us of what was. Changing us, and forever taking away that little innocence that stems from blind faith and trust. Leaving us just a little more cynical, and little more circumspect.

But still as we move on, we create new relationships, always different from the ones that preceded them, but similar in the sense that they too, shall end. For if the universe teaches us a lesson, it is the lesson of finiteness. How every thing has a life, not matter how long or how small, and with every end comes a new beginning, and the beginning always also triggers the beginning of the particular end. From the Big Bang to the Big Crunch, and from a butterfly's birth to its demise.

Still we find ourselves reaching out into the big unknown, trying to create planned random collisions of minds and if we're lucky, souls. And we, stupidly even, create new monuments on the debris of the fallen castles of our hopes and desires. Fooling ourselves into thinking that we are wiser for the loss, while in reality, we're still the same, just a little more uncertain.

Of course with every end, comes a period of examination. Examining the affects in terms of the causes, and at times building up causes that would somehow heal the bruises left by the wreckage...

Sometimes I feel that I would just get caged in the moment of the latest speculation, that everything would seize to exist, and all possibilities of an end would be taken away by the surge of nothingness. And yet, no matter how hopeless it all feels, I do get out of the all consuming black-hole (thank you Babar for leaving me with this wonderful notion). I start to move again. The small tentative steps of an 80 year old, followed by the mad dash of the blind bull, into the matador's sword.

This poem would be a good end to this, it's by Walter Savage Landor.

You smiled, you spoke, and I believed,
By every word and smile deceived.
Another man would hope no more;
Nor hope I what I hoped before:
But let not this last wish be vain;
Deceive, deceive me once again!

New Things...for Louie

2008-05-19T09:29:00.003-04:00

So Alina's been gone for nearly three weeks now, and I have, in a way settled into this new situation (with some help), as settled as you can get I guess. I guess we all have our own ways of settling down in the situations we find ourselves in, different yellow-brick roads leading to the Wizard, the biggest gimmick of them all!

First, let's make one thing clear. This is not the first time that I find myself in this situation. I have lived with just myself as company for longer periods of time. But that was usually on business trips, cooped up in an extended stay suite of one kind or another. There's this careless dehumanizing affect these suites have. Starting with the essentials, 4 big plates, 4 small plates, 4 bowls, 4 spoons, 4 forks, 4 knives, sachets of bad coffee, a coffee maker. It's like stepping into a little island, where your life has already been laid out for you. All you have to do is step inside. You can reach out and make contact, but it has to be fleeting, like you're just flirting with time, and there's nothing more to it.

Other times it's been with room-mates of one kind or another. That was more like building up a mock family, sharing chores, stories, and ambitions. A family that comes very close, and then disbands with the apartment.

This time, it was unique. Alina and I built a home here from scratch. Got everything from a sofa to a broom. Slowly and persistently we made the two rooms and the two baths and all the blank walls in between our own. Items were hung on the walls, and the sofas were sat in to leave our prints. Eventually the apartment became our own little planet, one that only the two of us cohabited, ventured out of, but always returned to.

Now that I was left alone in this little world of ours, I found myself in unfamiliar waters. A "home" in my book is defined by the people who give it life. And suddenly half the home was gone...on vacation! But what of the other (lesser) half? What does he do. The thought to move into an extended-stay suite came to me, but I rejected it as idiotic, childish, and plain and simple silly. Then I thought of sub-letting our second bedroom temporarily, but that somehow felt inappropriate as well.

So after a lot of thoughtful contemplation, I did what any sane man, in my situation, would do. I got a cat! He's an eleven-year old Chocolate Siamese. Looking at him, I feel that he's been through quite a lot, and yet he still has this weird sense of serenity about him.

A little history, Shamrock (that was his name) was put up for adoption as his last "head of household" developed allergies (she was okay with the four other cats she had), and the alternate would be a short life at the shelter before being gassed. Now Mr. Cat found himself in a situation he hadn't been in before, on the lookout for a new household in the years of his life where he would have expected to slow down, and take it easy. To me, it felt fated for him to become a part of our home. So he came into my life (and eventually Alina's life) last week.

I call him Louie, not the king, but more like "Louie, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship...", and he impresses me everyday. With his sense of cleanliness and hygiene, a hidden need for attention, which is never played out like say a puppy, but a mature reflection really. And the way he's bee sizing me up. At times I feel that he's been evaluating me for the most important job in my career. And then he impresses me with the grace he imparts, be it just strutting around within our home, or scratching the back of the sofa with his declawed paws, or just lying on the cushion besides me, as I show him Casablanca, so he could understand where his name comes from.

So this goes out to Louie, who helped me settle down into this new, albeit temporary, way of living.

My Blogirthday!

2008-05-13T15:31:00.001-04:00

I just realized, this April, it was the 4th birthday of my Blog! Four fulfilling years and hopefully many more to come, in a world that is more at peace with itself.

Beginning with an "I"

2008-05-12T12:35:00.003-04:00

I read a book recently, The Emperors Children; in it there was a notion that you shouldn't begin a letter with an I, because it is too self-indulgent, too self-involved, and too selfish. But the more I think about it, the more I disagree with the notion. I see the world through my eyes, live life through my existence, and interact with people mostly being myself (okay not mostly, but refreshingly - occasionally). Even a prodigious work of art, a colossal book, a great movie, all portrayals from thinkers, visionaries, are eventually translated through the "I" of my existence.

So if I avoid a beginning with an "I", then I am being dishonest in some way. Trying to mimic something I can never really fathom, for I am (for this life at least) bound by my existence. Shallow and paltry it maybe, it is the greatest book, movie, and piece of art put together in my little boat.

Mona Lisa's smile would never mean to me what it meant to Da Vinci, or even to the lady with the smile (smirk maybe), it would always be a reflection of my current thought and desires at that particular moment. Extracted from that moment, it may reflect boundless melancholy or uninhibited elation.

It's like seeing a great landscape, with that externalized sunset over an expanding ocean. The sunset itself isn't sad or serene, it doesn't feel. The ocean doesn't really speak to you, it is just what it does. It's just the reflection of the cycle of existence, the periodic time-table we live by or try to elude. It is us, this miserable branch of existence, caught in our own selfish pity that give feeling, even meaning to what is otherwise just an everyday thing. In the bigger picture, just as mundane as that guy chewing on his finger-nails, or Ahmed, that falafel cart owner on the 42nd. The sunset, the nail chewer, and Ahmed. It's just that the overall consciousness chose to romanticize the first, shun the second, and completely ignore the third.

Ironic that even our heroes, the leader, the visionary, the single mom of two who lives in the apartment opposite mine, our definitions of selflessness, of belief - they were and are, all of them, just as caught up in themselves. The leader leads as he cannot follow, the visionary envisions as he can't get off his ass and fry himself an egg. And the single mother...

Aah the single mother, the biggest miracle of them all, juggling two jobs, the perverted boss, the thankless teenager, the trusting toddler, and a partially senile mother. She does what she does because she doesn't have time to think, to breathe, to really see what happened. It has just become a challenge for her. God spited her, and now she's spiting back! The teenager screams, the boss grabs her ass, the car won't start, and her mom is out for a walk in the rain at 3 in the morning, but she just goes on. Shouts back at the teenager, ignores the boss, catches the bus, shuttles her mom back. Her anger feeds her, and her mistrust eggs her on.

All caught in their own worlds, go on in this unsynchronized symphony. Above all that, and most importantly, they are all interpreted, evaluated, misunderstood, lost, all in my I...so how can I, then begin my sentences, my letters, my thoughts with anything but an I?

Comfortable Thoughts of Uncomfortable Moments

2007-11-06T13:08:00.000-05:00

A lot has happened since the last time I was here, in my favourite part of the world. Alina and I finally moved for one, and it's been a very interesting experience. Doing everything from scratch is something we should all take up every once in a while. The act gives us a renewed appreciation for all that we take for granted. Hopefully that leads to appreciating all the things that really matter down to the air we breathe in.

But as I settle into my new little life, surrounded by my own little needs, worrying about my own little issues...things happen around me at a much larger scope. Things deteriorate slowly with every passing day.

My home country has been thrown into utter turmoil once again. Emergencies imposed, constitutions thrown out the window, people rounded up and jailed. Isn't it surprising that all media is shut off for days to shield the people from really knowing what's going on...it reminds me of the dreadful communist regimes that we were scared of growing up. Where even the most basic freedoms are taken from you. For this current situation where people are scared of speaking their mind just because they will be thrown in jail, where media is controlled by the government and the daily news is just a press conference by the ones in power...how is any of this different from the most suppressive of the communist states.

Live shows...banned.
Discussions...banned.
Anything criticizing the government...banned.
All other points of view...banned.

Isn't it ironic that we chose the path of extremism to defeat extremism. That we propagate fears of our own to distill fears...it's coming full circle in the cruelest of ways. But I guess cruelty is the one thing we have excelled ourselves in over our development as a species. From caves to castles, all the while learning to be just a little more cruel.

I wish I had a river, I could skate away on...

When I call my family now, they avoid discussing anything that's going on, as if they fear that uniformed men will storm in and take them away, and no one will hear from them again. It's surprising that even though I sit thousands of miles away, I know more about what's happening to them then they do. I was chatting with a friend earlier and he said, very matter of fact, that you don't know what's happening unless it's happening to you, and then it's too late.

Back home, somehow life goes on anyway. People drive in and and out of work, still meeting deadlines, as if nothing affects them. The best way to eradicate the fear of zombies is to become zombies, well our fears should have evaporated by now.

But then, I am now just a spectator, seeing through other eyes, my vision always limited by what they want me to see. The true picture seems like a Woody Allen joke now. A little sarcastic, a little narcissistic, and a whole neurotic. Some might even say I have no right to say what I say, as I moved away, left for greener pastures. But then, even as I graze the greener pastures, my thought are stuck with the thorny terrains I left behind.

Before setting out I promised myself to come back soon, but now I wonder if there would be anything left to come back to. Feels nostalgic now...all those care free late night drives, just hanging out in deserted corners of a calm city, a cone in December followed by a coffee. I wonder if any of that would ever come back, or if the kids I watched grow up will ever know that care free abandon. Being totally free, like Superman flying over the Metropolis skyline.

The procession of being

2007-07-25T03:45:00.000-04:00

We are taught that the thing that differentiates us from the rest is our free will. Coupled with that is our ability to reason and something within us that helps us differentiate between right and wrong. As if there was a universal good and evil. Goods and evils that go beyond the petty differences generated though differences in religious beliefs, social backgrounds, skin colours and cultural inclinations. Goods and evils we would all agree upon, powered by free will and the immense ability to reason. Yet these realizations always seem beyond us, while we are caught up in desecrating everything that is not in agreement with our smaller rights and wrongs.

An existentialist sits and preaches personal responsibility driven through free will, all the while saying that we cannot escape our surroundings, while the realists just accept everything around them and try to mould themselves accordingly. Idealists follow their ideal notions and shelter their existence from the practicalities of our existence. All of them are in one way or another trying to figure out existence and more importantly the puspose behind it. Religion makes that easier for us. It starts us out by handing out a few ground rules and gives purpose to existence. Where every good is given to test how grateful and sharing you are, and every bad that is given is a test to your endurance and patience.

sabhi kuch hai tera diya hua sabhi rahaten sabhi kalafaten
kabhi sohbaten kabhi furqaten kabhi duriyan kabhi qurbaten

Where there are religions that teach us to live our lives within this world, never taking leave as long as we are bound by existence, there are those that preach leaving everything behind and pursuing a higher state of being through meditation. No matter what the religion, the basic definition of the right and wrong don't change. The notions of good and evil remain the same.

No matter which extreme the religion advocates, there's always love for something. Love for people, love for a deity, love for freedom from needs, love for that special someone who shares your life, and above and beyond all, the love for the creator who created. But love is considered a necessity to keep us alive, to separate us from the dead. Love, which can be found in the smallest of animals, and love that can be found in the sonnets of Shakespeare.

ye sukhan jo ham ne raqam kiye ye hain sab waraq teri yad k
koi lamha subah-e-wisal ka, kai sham-e-hijr ki qurbaten

Yet in the pursuit of our loves we tend to forget that everyone is pursuing their own love. In the quest of our one true love, all other loves become secondary, less important, expendable...we become horses drawing their carts that can only look ahead blinded by leather pads shielding them from the rest of the world. In our own quests we run over anything that comes in our path, for everything is justifiable. Teenagers dispose off their parents for their love, and parents crush their kids to enforce their own higher notions of love. Masses in love with their own set of beliefs collide with masses that are in love with a different set of beliefs.

Somehow the love that was supposed to bring us together hones our skills at identifying differences and bringing down bridges. Our love makes it a battle for the ends, and the means to those ends lose importance. Irony seeps into everything for even though the eventual goals are the same, it's actually the routes to those eventual goals that we start fighting over. The love of people, life, and beliefs is replaced by love for revenge. History is written down in huge volumes by holders of perspectives and the volumes are stacked in shelves and forgotten. The voices of reason and sanity are relegated to the back seat.

jo tumhari man len nasiha to rahega daman-e-dil main kya
na kisi udu ki adawaten na kisi sanam ki murawwaten

Soon everywhere there is smoke and the smell of burnt souls; souls that are damaged beyond repair. No more is there a possibility of acceptance and no one is willing to adjust with another. The love for revenge blinds us to all realization of rights and wrongs. Collateral damage becomes just another phrase, and body count is just like learning how to count. The love of revenge leads us to the love for death. No more is life appreciated, but only death of the enemy is valued.

Generations are crippled as the stack of bodies grows. A side can only see the losses on their side for the stacks are so high that you cannot look beyond them. Every side now has stories that gut you with a blunt knife. A global gang war is launched where whoever has the strength inflicts damage that reeks finality. Blows aren't meant to hurt anymore, they are meant to obliterate. Current affairs just become a never ending obituary.

chalo aao tum ko dikhayen ham jo bacha hai maqtal-e-shahar main
ye mazar ahal-e-safa k hain ye hain ahal-e-sidq ki turbaten

In the middle of all of this, there is always the optimist. Someone who somehow sees beyond the smoke and hopes that even this will end. That there would be a tomorrow where people would step out of their circles to take in the smell of dawn. When eyes will be serenaded by the sight of a flower in blossom, and a tree in swing. Where ears will dance to the sound of innocent laughter and mindless chatter.

A tomorrow where acceptance will be the most important virtue, where the earth will be big enough to house us all. Where people would step out and won't need to look behind their shoulders. There would be a jump in every step and a whistle on every lip. A hand in every hand, and love for love...

meri jan aj ka gam na kar, k na jane katib-e-waqt ne
kisi apne kal main bhi bhul kar kahin likh rakhi ho masaraten

Life is...

2007-07-04T01:23:00.000-04:00

As a child I remember the first day I went to the school campus on Hill Road. I remember that my mother took a job in Beacon House so that I, her son, could attend what was considered the best school in the country at that time. The year was 1984 and I was just a second grader going into third grade.

I remember we had to wear shorts in the winters. And a big blazer over two sleeveless sweaters meant that everyone in the class looked like they were just wearing their blazers and had forgotten to put on their pants over their knee high navy blue socks and shining oxford shoes. I made friends fairly quickly, for we all shared the same problems, our legs froze in the morning assembly, and we all feared being called up on the podium to sing the national anthem. Going through school all I knew was that I am a Muslim. I didn't know which kind, for Muslim was just a Muslim. None of my friends knew either, and we never even thought about it. For the biggest concern was always to convince our parents to buy us a challi from the challi-waala. I also remember the question popped up in sixth grade when a politician's son joined our class and asked me what kind of a Muslim I am, and I didn't know what he meant.

Life is beautiful...

Over the years I found out the kind of a Muslim I am, but it still didn't matter, for I was a Muslim, and that meant I loved peace and harmony. That was my interpretation of the religion, for all the prophet's stories I read showed how forgiving he was.

I was gone for two years in-between when my parents wanted to leave the country (Zia's time was tough on so many) and I discovered a whole new life in the States. There I made friends from all over. My Jewish home room teacher doted on me, I went to the school prom with a girl who traced her roots to Vietnam, and I was best friends with two Caucasians and an African American. At home I hung out with a boy who wore a turban and had beautiful hair, a Filipino, and a girl who called herself the Chicano Queen! We shared snacks, laughter and numerous adventures around the little stream behind our apartments.

Life is a wonder...

Then one day we packed up and flew back, for home called out to my parents and they couldn't resist the urge anymore. I went back to the same school, still a little confused, for everyone in my family somehow treated me differently, except perhaps my nephew who loved me and remembered me from his childhood. School had shifted buildings (houses rather) and this time I went to a campus on Nazimuddin road. But I met the same friends again, and things became comfortable again. Soon enough I was going to the Margalla campus in H-8 and was part of the first A-Levels batch of our school. Times were great.

My friends and I loved jumping over the school walls and heading to the dhaaba nearby and enjoying numerous cups of tea and their wonderful daal. Smoking was fun, specially sitting on our beach (a little enclave of sand around the famed Islamabad naala). The thought of going to expensive restaurants never crossed our minds for fun was where we all were. Going to Jinnah Super meant having an ice-cream cone or coffee (which no one liked but everyone had for it was so mature to enjoy a cup of coffee). Vanguard books was the best bookshop in the world, but the beautiful original books that were a treat to hold and smell were always a little too expensive for a student like me. But Islamabad housed some wonderful old book shops with an unlimited amount of comic books and novels.

Life is perfect...

Going out to eat at Sams or Black Beards was fun and nothing was pretentious. Dinners at Papasalis were intimate, and going out on a date was dangerous for cops would pull you over and swindle you out of your last dime. Soon A-Levels was over. Everyone had scraped their hearts and knees with love gained and lost and the next step was college. While most of my friends went out of the country, the others left the city. I went into FAST and stayed in the city. Once again as part of the first batch. Our campus was a pretty little house in Bazaar Road. Soon I had made some wonderful friends and walking around G-6 in those pretty little streets ate up all our free time. We spoke of everything, love, music, life, poetry, books...we even discussed our futures or the kind of jobs we wanted.

But things had already begun to change. Sams had closed down and Black Beards was going down. Pir Suhawa was still a wonderful getaway, be it on our bikes or our cars. Going there with the girls in our class was never a problem for everything was always safe and their families never objected to the unplanned excursions. We hiked there as much as we drove, and when the sun went down the only fear was of wild monkeys and crazed dogs.

Life is serene...

University was soon done with, imparting all the wisdom you can only get by burning your hands; professional life began. It was all about hard work. Proving my cousins wrong, who said you cannot get anything without a recommendation from someone powerful or a bribe. Somehow everything worked out, within days I was at a job working my way up the corporate ladder.

Then things started to change even more. The towers went down and I was sobbed watching TV for one of the best days I spent in the City as a kid was on the roof of one of the twins looking out at the world beneath my feet, shouting screaming and running around. Then Afghanistan was ripped to pieces. I realized how a bomb never distinguished between who it blew up, restricted by it nature to just blow up. There were often images of torn limbs and broken babies on TV. This had all been going on for a long time in Palestine / Israel, and even though I felt strongly about it, it was too far away. Unlike the famine in Africa, this was all man-made.

Life is confusing...

Then I travelled to the States after about 15 years. I was shocked by how much air travel had changed. You were not allowed to smoke in the plane, and you were never allowed to relax in the airports. Special Screenings, interviews at five different counters to get in, and every interviewee looking at you threatened, as if fearing that you were ticking and about to go off. I remembered how that last time I came we just got off the plane, got our luggage and walked out into the wintry gales of New York City! This time it took me a little over four hours to just get to the luggage belt.

Over the years it all became routine, and like clockwork I would take off my shoes, belts, remove all metallic objects and stand to be directed like a puppet. Move now, stay extremely still sir, place your feet on the foot marks and move your hands up. I am going to frisk you now sir. Sir could you turn on your laptop please...

Things went from bad to worse, Soon Iraq was ravaged on justification that would amaze an illusionist. London was hit by further blasts, even Spain wasn't spared. Things in the older problem centers kept on going from bad to worse and beyond. Globally it felt like West vs Islam and the fight had just gotten into the third round.

Life is a revelation...

Islamabad kept changing as well. Gone was the comfort of big scattered trees. How the city smelled of an Elven habitat when it rained...all just a fond memory. Trees were cut down to provide security to the heads of State. Barriers were put up everywhere. Suicide bombers introduced themselves to the city. And suddenly (inexplicably) the city got a night life. New, up-scale, ostentatious restaurants where youth gather that represented the elite, the modern, the open-minded, popped up everywhere. I was a bit taken aback how being moderate meant dressing like you had walked out of the latest issue of Cosmo. While one groups of moderates went to this extreme, the other group of moderates that practised their religion quietly grew big beards and became loud about how only they had the right to decide what was right for everyone. Slowly they took the streets and built a fort around Lal-Masjid. Suddenly dreams had were justification enough to go against what was written in black and white in the book.

Life is a nightmare...

Yesterday it all broke out in utter pandemonium specially for the special city. I sat in front of my TV screen helpless at not being able to do anything, not because I can't but simply because I don't even know which side of the BULLSHIT to buy.

Today I feel the same as this city I love. Ripped apart to build all the roads and underpasses, bombed and shot to allow the mercenaries of faithless extremes expression, and broken down to pave the way for a new tomorrow.

Life is...about to change...

- like this city over the past 40 odd years
- like my perceptions over 30 odd years

If I had a heart, I'd Cry

2007-06-07T14:15:00.000-04:00

"My heart is broken in the face of the stupidity of my species. I can't cry about it. In a way I'm inoculated. I've suffered this pain for so long. …The West has packed the whole world on a runaway train. We are on the road to extincting ourselves as a species."

- Joni Mitchell on what inspired her to write this song, which is included in her new album "Shine" the best thing to happen in 2007!

Countdown

2007-06-05T11:22:00.000-04:00

So last weekend was good. Myrtle Beach was a nice excursion even though it rained most of the time Naufal and I were there. But in a way it was good that it rained. See even though Myrtle Beach is an ideal getaway from Raleigh over a regular weekend (just a three and a half hour drive), it is a place that has been commercialised to the extreme.

Somehow everything there is designed to attract the tourist, from the Broadway on the Beach (a very nice spot for the tourists to congregate) to the beach strip where the Summer Sun Festival activities are held. If you don't know, you'd never guess that this used to be a simple fisherman's town. I guess you can still get that feel at Merell's, but you don't feel it in the town in general.

The best part of the weekend for me was when I ended up at the beach at around 3 in the morning. It had stopped raining and I was with a couple of folks I had met just an hour ago. One good thing about tourist towns is that you can meet people just for the heck of it, do your thing, and then bid adieu. But being at the deserted beach was refreshing in so many ways.

One of the people in my temporary troupe was a Native American and I got a chance to do my first Indian war dance, barefoot on the beach. Personally I feel that I have a flair for the shrill war cries, I guess it's easier for people from my part of the world to roll their tongue! But splashing in the beach, doing the little jingle, with a stiff breeze blowing you into the circle, and singing the war cries is an activity to be undertaken at least once in the lifetime.

Also a nice sight for the eyes was this old couple walking around the beach, hand in hand, and talking in whispers all the time. It was testimony to the fact that love can last. Unless of course they were both married to different people and were having an affair far from their homes on the context of some business meetings...

To top it all off, I saw the sunrise. And there's this haunting quality of witnessing a sunrise on the beach, with the strong sound of waves (full moon) and water splashing on your feet. It was divinely providential that the clouds parted just at the right place at the right time for the dark husky sky to turn an emerald blue in front of my eyes. If I weren't so lazy, I'd probably go out for the sunrise every day, but then I guess it would lose its charm.

I finally got to my hotel room at 6 and soon it was time to head back after a quick stroll through the Broadway...

This weekend it's off to the city to meet up with an old friend and just walk around Manhattan, watch loads of movies in limited releases, and perhaps catch an off-Broadway production or two. Oh and yes, Naufal is driving over as well. It's amazing how we keep meeting up over here!

And then, finally I board the plane, Monday night and fly off again, back to the comfort and familiarity of home. Damn I've been missing my family a lot...

I'm leaving on a jet plane....

Some Thoughts & Weekend Plans

2007-06-01T14:36:00.000-04:00

I friend of mine put up a very interesting post about the differences in generations and her near disgust at the "me" generation...and I have been thinking about it.

There is definately a huge difference between our generation and theirs, I for the life of me cannot understand why Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, and all their crop are famous. For me they're just an extended definition of mediocre to no talent. But then I think this is a phase. I am sure we had our share of popcorn stars that disappeared just as soon as they arrived conquering everything.

It took me quite some time to realize the musical genius of Pink Floyd, Led Zepplin, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, etc.

It took me even more time to realize that the world actually goes beyond my personal needs and desires. That there is a whole world out there that needs the basic things that I don't even take for granted, for you must be aware of something to take it for granted.

It was a tricky ride through the teens and early twenties and only now, when the thirties are smiling their big toothless smile at me, that I begin to realize the magnanimity and utter insignificance of my selfish existence. Yes there are people starving in Africa, yes there are people dying by the truck loads in the middle east, and there is this growing indifference to life, and we are practically killing our planet (buy another truck chummy). All of these things are more important then me, and all of us, for they are "about" us, and what we leave for the generations in the future. I guess I always felt about them, and cared for them at some secondary level, but it's only now that I actually try and do something about it!

I just hope that the "me" generation would grow out of the fat jokes and the never ending focus on being cool, and grow into people aware of what's around them, and let that direct their "me" demands...as usual, I am hopeful, you can never take that away from me.

OK, so I am planning to leave work a little early to kick off the weekend I've been looking forward to it ever since I got here. The plan is to head to Myrtle Beach, SC to join in on the summer festivities that are beginning this weekend!

So the idea is to pick Naufal up from the airport, take him around the Raleigh downtown (which I am sure will be a surprise for him as he hails from New York), and then leave for Myrtle Beach early tomorrow morning. I guess for the first time I have taken a lot of time to plan a weekend to maximize the time I have at my desposal, you know, booking a nice hotel on the beach, shortlisting the good restaurants, finalizing the beach activities I'd like to take part in, and looking up the night life in the South Carolina fishing town.

The only thing going against me is the Yahoo weather forcast, rain and thunderstorms over the weekend, and I am just sitting here, hoping against hope that for once they're wrong for the good...

Gone Tubing...

2007-05-30T15:32:00.000-04:00

Finally over the long weekend I was able to get out of the hustle and bustle of normal crazy working life, and accompanied by families of my work colleagues, was able to head out into the tranquility of a river surrounded by hills. It was about a 3 hours drive thanks to the fact that I got pulled over on my way for over speeding and had left my car's rental paperwork in my hotel suite! Thankfully I was able to get out of the pretty little pickle without getting a ticket. Hurray!

The drive over was fairly pleasent made more serene by the wonderful works of Pink Floyd (I can listen to echoes again and again forever...) and the fact that I was not driving. I actually left my car at a McDonalds where I met up with the rest of the troop.

Tubing was something new for me and in hindsight I'd probably have gone rafting, but nevertheless it's a wonderful way to let lose. There's serenity in floating at a snail's pace on a rubber tube, half immersed in water, half burnt by the sun, and just floating down with the slow current between trees and hills on both sides. The sound of soft river rapids right under your ears is a sound to behold and try to put into your permenant pool of recall so you may revert to it when a colleague embarks on a never ending tirade in a never ending meeting.

All in all, this was a perfect getaway following weeks of hectic work. It was just nice to not be able to hear the sound of any cars or computers whirring and messages beeping on your desktop.

You know what, I think we should pick up all the armies (trained and militia) fighting everywhere in the world, put them in tubes and let them float down a river for 4-5 hours. I am sure it would bring things into perspective and they would realize the futility of picking up arms against men and women they've never met before. Better yet, wouldn't it be nice if whenever a nation decides to go to war on another nation they would go tubing instead...

Atleast I won't be repulsed by the news then, for now news has just become a very realistically surreal horror movie.

Today's been a good day, not only have I been able to get a substantial amount of work done, I was also able to try and reinitiate contact with a dear friend I lost track of ages ago. There was a time when my life revolved around the ones I loved, my friends, may family, friends more so then family. And then I got caught up in the professional world. I remember when I started working I lost both my friends and family. There was always a valid excuse to work a little bit more. Slowly I started making more and more time for my family (I guess I need to thank Alina for that as well), and now I am hoping that I'd be able to catch up with all of the friends I lost along the way.

Hey another plan for all the armies around the world fighting on one front or another. Pick them all up, and send them on a mission to rediscover all of their friends and see where they're at, at the moment. Get to know them again, and stay with them until they're as comfortable with them as that old pair of slippers you just won't throw away...

Here's to love and life then!

With God on our Side

2007-05-16T17:18:00.000-04:00

It amazes me how Dylan becomes more and more relevant as time passes us by in a spell of violence, deception, grief, and pain...

I just read this poem again and again, and everytime I read it, I just wanted to up and shout, shout at the guy sitting next to me, shout at my building, shout at my city, shout at my country, but above all, and beyond all...shout at humanity.

Silence now...

With God on our Side
By Bob Dylan (1963)

Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.

Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.

Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.

When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.

I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.

But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.

In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.

Back in Raleigh

2007-05-14T15:20:00.000-04:00

So after a hiatus of about nine months I find myself in the wonderful pre-summers of Raleigh. Got here Wednesday night, rather Thursday morning. And I got back in two stages. First I got back to this city, driving outside the airport was a bit surreal, and staying on the wrong side of the road took a little focus (yes I am in agreement with the British on which the correct side of the road is). The monstrous trees crowding the beltline said a solemn hello in the dark night. They looked friendly in a distant way, a feeling I get more and more from this green city. Even at 1 am on a weeknight the roads were crowded, and it was a struggle of will staying awake and following the GPS lady directing me to my hotel, which by the way is completely smoke free now, so I have to step out of my room every time I feel the need to smoke! I wonder why the voice in the GPS machine is aways that of a girl? I have yet to come across a GPS device with a dude's voice on it...

So in the first step I came back to Raleigh the city. The wind was a very nice cool. It had rained earlier in the night, so the roads still gleamed under the passing cars. All I can say is that you have to experience taking in a deep breath surrounded by trees right after it's rained in the pre-summers here. Quite nourishing for the soul.

The next morning I came back to my workplace in Raleigh. Most of the guys from a year and a half ago were still there, and it was nice to see the year passing on their faces. There were also quite a few new faces to say hello to. The most wonderful thing about this office is that everyone is generally in a nice mood. They all like to chat, laugh, and eat. It was nice coming back to work, and it just took me about an hour to get back on my rusted saddle.

One annoying thing about Raleigh is that mostly the weekdays would be bright, crisp and beautiful, the kind of a day authors write about. But the weekend usually comes with rain and thunder! I wonder what the heavens are trying to say with this?

All said and done, the worst part has been the jet lag. I get up at 4 in the morning everyday and then just lie around, walk around, and smoke around, until it's time to head into the shower and begin my ritual of preparing for work. After lunch, I am just a dead beat, crawling through the last hours of the working day, and then forcing myself to stay awake during my 9 mile drive back to the hotel...

Somehow living out of a suitcase in an insensitive hotel, where everyone smiles at you, as if by programmed logic is getting tougher for me. There was a time I really enjoyed and looked forward to this (mind you I still enjoy my little excusrions), but settling in both mentally and physically gets a little more taxing with every trip I take.

But it's nice just to be able to lay on a sofa, looking at the ceiling, listening to the music Alina would never let me play on a loop. It is tranquil. To be able to choose to move only by necessity is a nice little detour from an otherwise hectic and mad life.

So put out the lights (just leave the dimmest one on), play some Floyd, order some wings and just dwell in your thoughts. Day dream, philosophize, or just think about that Sienfeld episode...life is good. Just miss my family and friends terribly, but then there always is a dark side to the moon, what say Mr Barett, Gilmour, Mason, Waters and Wright?

Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again.

2007-05-03T06:08:00.001-04:00

Best opening line in a book ever? Perhaps...

Well yesterday I also dreamed of this old shabby house with high ceiling, thick brick walls painted with "choona", and those old heavy fans that had a five foot pipes separating them from the ceiling. The floors were made of tiny red bricks, and the stairs had wooden planks on their edges to minimize chipping and maximizing life. The roofs were supported by double T girders, and all the wiring was external, with wires running (clamped on thin wooden strips) all over the walls. The electrical switches were those big black monsters that would produce a loud "click" whenever switched on or off. There were rectangular windows at the top of every wall facing outside, which were operated by two strings, one attached at the top (to open) and the other at the bottom (to close).

It was a crisp summer after-noon and most of the adults in the numerous rooms of the mini-"Haveli" were either asleep or relaxing under the monotonous cool of the noisy and shaky fans. Seven children aged six to eleven ran around the house in groups, always chattering, always laughing, always quarreling. They seemed to be at every place at the same time (except inside the rooms, as that was grown-up territory). The little group was lead by a girl with green eyes and pig tails, dressed in a pink, knee length frock. Her knees supported as many bruises as the boys. Plans were being hatched to sneak the sugar out of both the kitchens and taking it to the sugar candy man. He doesn't charge you if you bring your own sugar. The group divided into two, one headed by the girl and the other by a boy just a little younger in age. His hair was all over his face and baked with mud in patches. Always moving it was as if he was eying everyone at the same time with his small, keen snake-eyes. The boy lead his team upstairs, while the girl decided to hit the kitchen on the ground floor (easier escape route). A few minutes and they were both back with big jars of sugar, eyes gleaming and stomachs growling at the mere thought of sugar candy...

I grew up in that house and we moved out about 17 years ago. But never have I explored anything as I explored that house. I knew every loose brick in the floor, every stair that squeaked at night, every hidden passage. I knew that the coolest place in the summer evenings wasn't the single air-conditioned room, but was under the water tank. A miserly space of about 3 feet wide and half a foot high. I knew the best routes within the house for avoiding my angry grandmother. I knew the complicated staircase by heart, and could easily get creative in getting down without using the stairs (for stairs could be blocked by the elders to end the getaway...

Seventeen years on, whenever I dream of a house...it's always this house. I keep changing in my dreams, and so does my life and the context, but the house remains the same. An old squeaky, shaky house that's somehow became the house of my dreams...

Persuasion

2007-04-27T01:23:00.000-04:00

Recently I had the pleasure reading a book that I had read about a decade ago, "Persuasion" by Jane Austin. In 95, when I read the book as a 17 year old, I remember getting extremely annoyed by the inability of Anna and Capt. Wentworth to say what they feel. The implications of the society created by the author suffocated me as a reader, and I felt that the characters were very unreal and "bookish". There was this constant feeling that if only I were in the character's place, things would have been so different...

What I got from the book this time around was however completely different, it was as if I was reading a completely different book! Perhaps the person reading the book was a different person altogether. This time around I wanted to escape into that very same society of that many years ago, where means of transportation were actual horse powered carriages. Where you'd announce your visit a week in advance, and the notion of being intimate with someone was considered an extreme anomaly. The place where the worst you could do would be to say something improper, or let your guards down at the wrong time. Where limitless effort was spent on maintaining your dignity, and the most important thing was being proper.

I was impressed by how Anna respected her family (who were complete gits, effortlessly placed into the stereotypes we know so well) and let go of what was so close to her heart without ever actively wanting appreciation for the sacrifice. And how she justified the changes that took place in her physical and emotional self as something very acceptable to her being. Her passion to keep Lady Russel happy charmed me. For that meant respecting and loving someone your mother respected and loved over respecting and loving her own desires. I was silently enthused by the way she handled the spoilt brattiness of Mary, and how completely ignorant Mary was to what she really was.

I was bowled over by the penetrating intricacy of Anna's climactic exchange with Capt. Harville...words, reasoning all the while meant for Capt. Wentworth, to finally make him understand, without being macabre enough to say what's in the heart without any feeling of circumstance!

Anna says with a smile "Yes. We certainly do not forget you so soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions."

Capt. Wentworth's reply in the form of the letter was as amusing, and the battle within the sexes aptly taken to its inconclusive completion.

"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in
F. W."

"I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never."

I can see how so many people today would be offended by the gender roles professed throughout the book's journey, but times have changed so much, and we should all appreciate this change. A change that has brought the immense good of liberating women from the shackles of unjust rules and given them the opportunity to express themselves honestly. But with this change we also lost all that was beautiful and serene with that time long gone...

My father (on rare occasions) speaks fondly of the evening he spent in the grounds of the Taj Mahal, and he lovingly recalls the time when it was only the smallest of pleasures that were pursued. How differences in age, gender, thought and occasion were always given preference to all else! He is still sometimes surprised when a 13 year old bursts into a barrage of diatribes directed at their parents. My father is the link I have to that time (for I sincerely believe that we in the East lost track of what was near and dear at least a 100 years after the west). A link I somehow want to freeze in my heart, and to somehow always keep alive. Somehow it makes a lot of sense now to fold my feet when an elder is sitting nearby, or to get up whenever a lady enters into the room.

I only wish we could slow down to the pace of our forefathers and appreciate the value of things said in indirect ways always ensuring never to offend.

There is this strong belief within me that were we to revert to the ways we did things in those times, we would definitely sort out a lot of problems today. Maybe the news channels just for once won't have any unnecessary deaths to report in so many corners of the world. They might report how the world leaders took a day off and went to some lake to have tea, and how they just sat and occasionally chatted about the kinds of birds in the area, and how the winds were changing directions...

Stillness; Tranquility & Melancholy

2006-12-17T07:10:00.000-05:00

I was going through my old email and got stuck on one sent to me by a good friend speaking of tranquility and melancholy.

It read:

Goya (Spanish artist) believed in the stillness of life and that purity lies in tranquility. Being malancholic is a good sign according to Shakespeare it provides one with the opportunity to learn about themselves.

The belief in the stillness of life... to preach that purity lies in tranquility...I remember saying in reply that tranquility is a hypothetical concept that cannot be achieved. And here I am thinking over it again. Tranquility...to be in a state totally free from stress and emotion.

Escape from the boundaries of stress seems relatively easier, I mean if nothing works, there is always marijuana! Enough of that and you would have forgotten all the stress you ever felt, BTW I am in no way advocating its use, for anything achieved through smoke is eventually just smoke. A temporary blimp that leads you to a greater state of whatever you were trying to escape. Anyway, escaping stress is possible, if only in the moments before you go to sleep or wake up, when you are in a state of half slumber, totally at peace with everything.

But how can we ever escape emotion? There is always some form of it hovering above our existence. From the raw to the most refined, we are always feeling them. Getting elated and then tumbling down to the bottom less depths of remorse and sadness, snarled with guilt. Every breath we take we feel a new emotion, so much so that it feels like emotion is life. The basic essence, the complete picture. Every reaction, no matter how matter of fact is somehow based on some emotion. To serve...to protect...to betray...and to abandon, just ends of the same spectrum. Then how can we ever escape emotion?

Does a person lying in a 25 year coma feel emotion? I don't know, and it would be a little difficult to ask the comatose for the answer. But me, in the here and now, and in the has and been; I have constantly felt emotion. Some variation of this jigsaw puzzle has always been at me, urging me on, tugging me along, and then crippling me and putting me aside, before even a complete blink of the eye. It amazes me how fast the brain reacts, before you can even blink an eye, you know that it's all over. You are completely shattered. The end...and the long wait to the new beginning.

So how would Goya achieve purity, for how could he ever feel absolute tranquility. Once again it's coming back into agreement with Shakespeare. To keep discovering one's own self through the mechanics of melancholy. Delving deeper and deeper into the abyss leading to complete Nirvana. But that comes at a price as well. The price of slowly, steadily becoming a recluse. Achieving absolute removal from the moving and alive...but then, nobody promised that you could buy the cake and eat it too!

There's this little gem of a poem by Mark Strand, "Keeping Things Whole" that would be a good ending to this post...

Keeping Things Whole

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.

A conversation I had with myself recently

2006-11-08T01:13:00.000-05:00

"So where are you going?"

"In search of the new and the unknown."

" Hah...where is this new and unknown?"

"Hmm...at someplace I haven't been before."

"But why the search for the new and the unknown, why not the comfort of the tried and familiar?"

"Human nature I think."

"But isn't human nature finding comfort in familiarity?"

"Well...if that was true then we would still be stuck in the stone age."

"How can you say that?"

"Well that was the familiar then, but it was the quest for the unknown that took us from there to central air..."

"But if that is human nature, then how do you ever settle down?"

"I never said we ever find peace in settling down?"

"You know, finding that perfect other, falling in love, settling down...the whole shebang..."

"If that were the case, then all the great love stories wouldn't have been tragedies."

"There must be some great love stories with your typical rom-com ending..."

"Yes, but all your rom-coms end where life begin! Name one great love story that went to a complete conclusion with that sort of an ending...better yet, no need to search for a great love story with that kind of an ending, name one person you know who found the perfect other and settled down happily ever after...it's always moving on in search of something new and unkown followed by that!"

"So what does that mean?"

"Nothing I guess...eventually all of us feel the killer need to settle down in the comfort of what we are familiar with, but our instinct says otherwise..."

"In other words...we're fucked aren't we?"

"I guess...but whatever man!"

The first of a kind

2006-11-07T04:53:00.000-05:00

I left the States with the notion that I'd be going back in two weeks. A quick trip back home, some family fun, and then back to the work base. However three months down, all I can say is that I cannot help but marvel at the unpredictability of life! A family emergency, some changes in organizational focus, and a Ramadam later, I find myself headed for Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. And the change in destination couldn't have been a bigger contrast. I have spent my last few days applying for visas, and finding out about the kind of Hijaab I would need for Alina. But the good thing is that you can still smoke over there, given that a "shurta" doesn't stop you who might go on offensive yelling "forbidden...forbidden".

But the best thing is that I can go for Umrah, and if luck sides with me, then for Hajj as well...I have my fingers crossed for that, and I have a feeling that God's calling me to His land for exactly this purpose. However there's this whole different agenda of a CRM implementation. But whatever happens, I am sure this would be an experience to remember. With all the contradictory feedback I keep getting, I am not sure if it would be an experience to cherish (about 70% of the ppl I know feel it would be that) or an experience that would make me shiver! My poor colleague who had to spend about 20 hours in jail, still shivers at the mention of it.

But I guess that can be said about any place you visit, given the direction we're taking our world in. I am trying hard these last few posts to keep away from that, for everything just seems like another futile exercise. I guess the key is to live for the completely mundane things. So right now my ambitions reside in watching Babel, buying my first SLR camera (which I keep promising Alina, I won't let her use), and having that perfect cup of coffee. And ever since Naufal went sky diving, I've added that to my list as well.

So once again I am packing all my bags, this time Alina's along with mine, and am getting ready to head off into something that is completely unknown for me. But I guess this is the essence of traveling, going into the true unknown!

Once again I prepare to leave the familiar for the totally new. It would be sad leaving the beloved roads, trees, heck everything of Isloo. But the trick is to think of it in terms of 3 months...3 months and I'll be back here, getting ready with the rest of Isloo to welcome the sweltering summers again.

Camel markets and mud castles, desert sand and crimson skies, here I come...

Optimistic fool!

2006-11-02T06:27:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I remind myself of Candide, that foolish optimist created by Voltaire, it's just that I haven't stumbled across lands where gold and diamonds are treated like trash! But right now I am calling myself an optimistic fool because of the state of Pakistani cricket, and the fact that I am still rooting for them in the world cup!

The biggest blow was dealt to me today, with Shoib getting a 2 year ban and Asif walking out with 1 year. But the first ban is very important for me, for that would mean the end of a highly erratic (they don't get any more mercurial then this) career and one of my favaourite cricketing personalities.

Here are a couple of articles about the flawed genius I liked. Why do they feel like obituaries?

The wings, they have been clipped

A tale of intrigue, injuries and incidents

Not only has Shoib's removal dented Pakistan's chances with the world cup, it has indeed lost cricket the biggest showman it had...but still I feel there is hope for this injured side, for it is in adversary that they sail the smoothest!

Yesterday as I sat in the comfort of my home, I too felt like a smooth sailing ship. What was that ship Prince Caspian sailed in the Narnia books? Anyone? Just like that wonderful little ship, facing all sorts of adversity but still amounting to one heck of a journey. It's wonderful how this trance like feeling can just come over you for no reason at all. And then you float away in it, like in a Pink Floyd song specially if you've had some quality weed.

Right now, I am sitting at work, and am trying to recreate that loving feeling, but even though I know how it was, I really can't visualize it in my brain to recreate it. But therein lies the charm of such feelings. Their unexpected arrivals, triggered by the un-named mysteries of this world. Once you feel it, you feel like living forever and ever, just in the hope that it might come again. Like falling in love and how sweet, warm and fuzzy it felt, and then hanging on to that love in the hope to encounter that loving feeling all over again!

Next time then...

I hate being irregular!

2006-11-01T01:34:00.000-05:00

This might come as a surprise because I have been very irregular in my favourtie pass time for the last 2-3 months! Somehow blogging hasn't come easy, and the excuse is the same, not able to blog when I want to, and then when I can, I don't want to...

But here I am now, and let's live in the here and now. The way things are going in the world, I believe in this age old wisdom more and more. Just day before 86 people, mostly children, were blown up to find one terrorist. Somehow life is a price we are always willing to pay. I wonder what we can do to increase the worth of life, for there was a time when I thought that the notion of having an ice cream in the freezing December nights of Isloo was enough to realize the it's worth. Foolish me!

So Eid came and went, and this time I couldn't indulge myself in my ritual Eid post. But it was fun, filled with family (and I mean lots of family, say 38 ppl in my little home) and a whole lot more of utter chaos. Just the way I like my Eids! Having the misfortune to spend an Eid here and there on my own in some lone corner of the world, I have really begun to appreciate all that my family offers me. Usually I am baffled by the feminine need to spend endlessly on clothes and shoes, but the dress Alina got made for Eid made me think otherwise...it was worth it! BTW am still baffled about the shoes!

And just last night I got back from a whirlwind tour of Lahore (usual excuse...cousin's wedding). In 24 hours, I managed to attend a wedding, hang out with all the cousins I was missing, treat the missus to what the Lahori's call "bun paluster" (it's an egg and chicken burger made in butter, lots and lots of butter, and you have to try it, for I cannot explain it), worked over my cell phone, tried the famous Jhelum fish (caught an hour before consumption, trust me that's the only way to eat fish), enjoy countless Kishore songs that I grew up loving, pick small cute fights with Alina, and for a change manage regular prayers in between! Even though my head is still spinning from the whirl wind tour, it seems worth all the whiles. I'll admit that it's been sometime since I have been totally at peace with myself and my surroundings, and during the last 24 hours, I was just that. It seems I need to be on the road and travel around a 1000 kms withing 24 hours to do that.

Oh yes, and my travel bug is alive again, now it's off to Saudi Arabia. Good thing is that Alina will by my side this time around, and I have heard wonderful things about the fried chicken they have there! The only problem I foresee is that the application I will be working on and all the data is going to be in Arabic, and I can't speak a word of it, but that should be fun, at least it should make up some interesting posts.

Naufal sent me his sky diving pics, and all I can say is wow! Even since I have received the pics, I have been trying to figure how he felt before, during and after the jump! I guess freedom unlimited. Even though you're still in a trance of gravity, you are free to look upon the world like the heavens.

All my friends seem to have settled into nice rhythms. Babar is settled back in Isloo and on a land buying spree, Aijaz is running around as always, all the time catching up with life (we had another discussion in the long list of discussion to make some sort of a movie), Zeeshan is on the edge with the new business absorbing all the stress like a black hole, Ali's good and "nikahofied", MA is his usual self, and it's been raining Naufal in Syracuse!

And there's something big brewing in the background, which I'll bring into the blog world when it's confirmed.

So here's to hoping that I can bring some consistency into my wonderful world as well, and start blogging regularly...

Have fun...and live in the here and now

The reason we love Isloo...

2006-09-28T03:27:00.000-04:00

Day before yesterday, as I was lying around at around 4 pm to steal some shut eye, to pass the final hours of a fast that refused to end, I head a sound that in Isloo means perfection. The sound of thunder capped with the wheeze of a strong strong breeze. And by the time I got up (after 15-20 mins) everything outside was new. There was a sudden chill in the wind, the sky was a violent shade of crimson, with glistening clouds scattered in the sky, reflecting the pure light from the sun. Everything alive and green had miraculously found its one true color, and there were countless shades of green on display. And above all, stepping outside was accompanied by an urge to walk outside! All in all, the perfect Isloo day!

The perfect Isloo day is the one day that convinces you to spend the rest of your life in this city of wonder. That one day which is enough to counter any argument thrown by any lover of Lahore or Karachi, or heck anywhere in the world. But somehow there's more to it. I spent about 6 months in Raleigh, a city a lot like my Isloo, with the same sort of temperamental weather, and long stretches of lush greens. And I never once felt truly at home. Yes I did agree on more occasions then one, that if I were to move, I could move here! But the moment I set foot in Isloo (about 2 months to the date) after a 12 hour delay, I was at peace. I somehow knew that everything would be just fine. Whoever said "familiarity breeds contempt" should think again, because familiarity, in my case, has bred a love of epic proportions.

That night, quite late, I went to the roof of my house. By the time the breeze had gotten stronger, and the smell of jasmine (planted lovingly in our backyard by my father) was mixed in the wind, where every few seconds, you just felt like breathing in forever, for everyone who knows, knows that nothing compares to the smell of a jasmine plant at night.

But as I was saying, it was nice to have that perfect Isloo day again, and even nicer that I was here to see and feel it for myself. For even though hearing about the perfect Isloo day, and creating it in the mind, is no doubt a great activity, but it can never ever beat the feeling of actually being there.

So here's to being here then...

Breaking tradition

2006-09-25T04:52:00.000-04:00

So for the first time in my short blogging life, I am about to copy a forwarded email to me on my blog. See normally I am the guy you hear bitching about all the useless forwards we get everyday. I am the guy who is known to have called the person up on more then one occasion who sent me a forwarded email to give my (little) piece of mind.

But here I am copying a forwarded email. I asked the person who sent me the forward to give me the name of the person who wrote this (and permission) to put this in my zoo. Unfortunately the person who sent me this did not know who wrote this, it was just a nameless forward, heck even I might have written this some sleepless night! But if you've written this, then please let me know, for I would definately want to read your blog!

Anyway enough by me...here goes.

Close your eyes.....
And go back in time....
Before Internet, VCD and DVD.
Before semi-automatic machine guns, joyriders and crack ....
Before SEGA or Super Nintendo or Video Games...

Way back....

I'm talking about Hide and seek (Chhupan Chhupaee) or Barf Panee or Dodge the Ball in the park or on streets.
The corner shop, Butter Scotch Candy, Mitchells Milk Toffee, Jubilee, football with an old can, jumping in enormous puddles, Building dams
The smell of the sun and fresh cut grass, Mayfair bubble gum, A POLKA ice cream pop cone on a warm summer night,

Wait......Watching Weekday 5pm evening or Saturday Morning cartoons... short commercials, The Tom and Jerry, He-Man, Captain Caveman, Voltron,
Walligator, Danger Mouse and Pink Panther.

Staying up late for Knight Rider, Air Wolf or Power of Metthew Star, Watching nice Urdu Plays like Un Kahi, Tanhaiyaan, Sunehray Din, Aangan Tera.

When around the corner seemed far away, and going into down town or Liberty Market seemed like going somewhere.

A million mosquito bites, wasp and bee stings.
Sticky fingers.
Walking to school, no matter what the weather.
Running till you were out of breath.
Laughing so hard that your stomach hurt!
Jumping on the bed.
Pillow fights.
Climbing trees, building igloo Ice Lollies out of tiny amounts of snow.
Spinning around, getting dizzy and falling down was cause for giggles.

Being tired from playing...
Remember that?

The biggest embarrassment was being picked last for a team.
Water balloons were the ultimate weapon.

I'm not finished just yet...
Eating raw jelly, orange squash, ice popps.

Remember when...
You knew everyone in your street - and so did your parents!
It wasn't odd to have two or three "best" friends.
You didn't sleep a wink on EiD Chaand Raat…
When 100 Rs. was decent pocket money.

When you'd get a coke for 4 Rs.
When nearly everyone's mum was at home when the kids got there from School.

It was magic when dad would "remove" his thumb.
When it was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at a real restaurant with your parents.
When being sent to the head's office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited a misbehaving student at home.

Basically, we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn't because of drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc. Our parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat!
And some of us are still afraid of them!!!

Didn't that feel good?
Just to go back and say, Yeah, I remember that!

Remember when....
Decisions were made by going "eeny- meeny-miney-mo."

"Race issue" meant arguing about who ran the fastest.
Money issues were handled by whoever was the banker in "Monopoly".

The worst thing you could catch from other person was germs, and the worst thing in your day was having to sit next to opposite sex.

Having a weapon in school, meant being caught with a catapult.
Nobody was prettier than your Mum.
Scrapes and bruises were kissed and made better.

Taking drugs meant orange-flavoured chewable aspirin.
Ice cream was considered a basic food group.

Getting a foot of snow was a dream come true.

Abilities were discovered because of a "double-dare".
Older siblings were the worst tormentors, but also the fiercest protectors.

If you can remember most of these, then you have LIVED!

Welcome me back!

2006-09-21T05:53:00.000-04:00

Let's just say that I am glad that my time off is finally over, and Thank God that it's ended in a happy ending, leading to many new beginnings. And I guess I can only blog when I am coming into work on a regular basis, because when I'm off work, the only time I turn my machine on is when I want to watch a movie or listen to some music.

This past month I have been feeling the rippling effect of life at its best and heavens at their ironic most. Where one thing leads to many other things, and they in turn do the same, and suddenly your circumfrence is filled with ripples, and you're just running around catching one thing by it tail, and colliding head on with another. And when finally it's over and things slow down, all you can do is to just collapse for a day or two hiding behind an attack of allergies, and just hope that if you sneeze and sniff enough, maybe, just maybe everyone would leave you alone!

But now it's all better since I have started coming into work again, and life suddenly makes more sense, I guess it's the comfort of familiarity that I am enjoying right now.

Good thing is that I still don't have a deadline to pack my bags and go, so enjoying Isloo from the comfort of routined life is quite fantastic. I would however appreciate if the climate changed for the cooler, because now the heat is getting on my nerves! But I guess the way we're molesting our environment, we should get used to much worse. What was the Al Gore documentary? It shold be compulsory viewing for all.

But on a much much better note, finally the Israeli offensive on Lebonan has been halted and the senseless killing ended, at least for the time being. Come to think of it we live in mother earth, and earth being life's mother, it isn't surprising that mother earth is contemplating assisted suicide (assisted by our cars and industry of course). For show me a mother who can stand so many murders of her children and I'll show you a person who has never lied.

But the trees are still green and the wind still soothing...and as long as we have that I guess we'd eventually be alright, for I guess our lives are lived in small moments of peace and utter joy.

See you soon...

And the smile gets bigger

2006-07-26T16:14:00.000-04:00

Nothing like a trip back home to get your mood out of the gutter! I am flying back on the 2nd and everyday some more energy fills the deepest crevices of my shallow existence. Everyday I plan a little more of the things I want to do when I get home. I chalk out in my mind the places I want to visit with my family. Or where and when I want to just hang out with friends. And all the food I'll savor.

It's the little satisfactions that you find at home that light up everything. That make it all worth the while, and I have always craved and searched for these small satisfactions. Like that perfect piece of cheese cake.

Our ability to associate and then dissociate from things around us astounds me. Traveling back home is traveling to the comfort of all the loving associations you grew up with, and that's very easy to do. Even someone who hated his/her home and moved out before you could say eighteen can adjust back home easily. But we're equally good at dissociating ourselves from our homes when the need arises to pack up the bags and move on to a new frontier, always with the hope of coming back home. I think it's this hope of coming back home that gives a soldier the strength to pursue something totally senseless at the war front.

I leave my home assisted by this energy to pursue something a little less senseless, the pursuit of job satisfaction. See for me a job cannot be just something to make ends meet. It has to be more. Believe me I've tried that work to live approach, but I can't work it. I always lose interest and all willingness to work myself towards anything, and eventually it's not the job that suffers (for if there is a deadline, then it would be met), but my personal life that goes down the drain! So it's this juggling act that needs to be conducted while balancing yourself on a thin rope, crossing the Niagara falls.

But my home calls out to me everyday now, and every night I dream of it. The cool breeze on our rooftop, the comfort of my real bed, the kindness in the eyes of my family, and that comfortable feeling of hanging out with friends who've grown around you, and have seen you grow all the way.

Ever wonder why movies about coming home are always more soothing then the movies about leaving home. Because no matter what happens, unless you live in Jack the Ripper's street, that journey back is always going too be good, sweet, and nurturing.

So depressed by this world (there are still people dying everyday in the middle east, and no one seems to care), and bit by a goose (yes, true story, no one else got bit by a goose at Duke Gardens but me this Sunday), I am actually looking forward to something. Looking forward to the warm embrace of my home...

I'm leaving on a jet plane...

The misery of our times...

2006-07-17T15:40:00.000-04:00

It's been days now since India was hit by the train blasts accounting for the end of 200 dreams and all the dreams associated with those 200 dreams. And Lebonan keeps on being hit by bombs, killing civilians going about their lives everyday...

I haven't been normal for many days now, but then I haven't been normal for quite some time now. I spoke to Girish about the attacks the night it happened, and all he had to say was don't think about it, there's nothing we can do. And come to think of it he was absolutely 100% correct, what can we do, or rather what can anyone anywhere do, but move on.

But how can one mould himself to not think about this blatant disregard for life, which if anything increases by the day. In all probability it can only get worse from here and we're running out of people like Mother Teressa, and are breeding maniacs in the line of Hitler.

I hate to say this, but very soon we'd have a date for every month to feel bad about, 9/11, 5/7, 7/11 and so on and so forth. And I am not even talking about all the wars that are being waged which practically are just different forms of genocide!

There is this constant feeling of suffocation with me, and I can't seem to break out of a sort of ttrance that's come over me. My work is suffering, and life seems to be dwelling in a gutter. I feel as phased out of everything as that angel from "Wings of Desire" longing to touch and feel, but unable to do so. However in my case it isn't the inability to touch and feel, but the fear of what you'd actually touch, and how you would eventually feel. At times like this being in a comma like daze is a blessing. But there's always a longing to touch and to feel.

There's no more escape in the movies, books feel artificial, and air is just a fabrication, and don't even get me started on TV! Maybe I'll start running again, yes I should definately do that, run off into a new and unknown direction, leaving all the towns and cities behind me, where all I hear is the sound of my feet falling on all kinds of ground, and all I feel is my lungs working over time to make up for all the cigarettes.

To reach that state where the mind becomes devoid of all thought, and just works to create more resolve...

The afterlife and eventual resting place

2006-07-12T10:44:00.000-04:00

So after receiving an email from a friend asking me what I thought of the afterlife I started thinking about it all over again. I hail from a religious family, who practice their religion quietly and with minimum disturbance. So growing up I was instilled with strong notions of faith, and as I grew up more they were slowly morphed into a rigid set of beliefs.

Very important among them was to have faith in afterlife, and I think most of my life I liked that particular belief. In more ways then one, it gave purpose to this life, but as I grew up even more, I realized that it also laid life out as a program (not TV, but say C++) and defined it in terms of things to do and not to do. Again I have no qualms about that as most of the “to do’s” agree with the generic sense of morality that I now feel prevails on our tiny planet.

But somehow we have found ourselves in a time where the promise of a good afterlife makes you walk into places and do extremely stupid things, in the name of a goal far greater then life itself. Now that is where I draw the line. Not in a million years can I even begin to feel that, that is a path worth pursuing.

I don’t know what my exact thoughts on afterlife are, but I can at least say what I want. I would want my soul to fizzle away the moment I stop breathing. I would want it to evaporate into thin air and not become part of any cycle. Remember all the cycles we’re drilled with in class. The oxygen cycle, the water cycle, and so on and so forth. And then there’s the circle of life from Lion King (even though even that was more of a cycle)…so no part in any form of a cycle for me, just the quick and peaceful fizzle.

And I am not among those who long for the long infinite, I like the fact the I have a finite existence, just seems more manageable. Would I really want to go on forever in utopia? No I won't! Neither would I want to go on forever in the bonfire of the vanities!

I do however like the notion of being buried. But I would prefer to be buried in a wild rain forest where I can become part of the trees and the weed. No cemeteries for me please, with the well trimmed grass and neatly laid out walk ways within. It just feels so much better to become part of something dictated only by the laws of nature (rain forest) and free from the limiting limitations of mankind! And besides no one would visit to pay respects, and that would be great.

I don’t want the people who have seen me alive and laughing and breathing to be looking at a tombstone and a hump of mud and trying to relate to that in terms of me. So let me just say now, that is not me. The “me” was what you knew, loved or hated, or were indifferent to, but that tombstone and hump of mud…definitely not!

Serenity now!

2006-07-07T12:55:00.000-04:00

So a wonderful little vacation over, and finally back into my working groove...

One would think that I'd be thinking of all the wonderful places I visited, and reliving them in my mind. I guess that'd be what a normal person (per say) would do after a vacation. Think of that wonderful tree in the middle of a park, recreate the peace of mind found in that exquisite chapel! But here I am, thinking about this person I ran into on one of the many local train rides.

Let me tell you about this person first, and then I'll get into why I keep thinking about him. So we boarded a train in Boston to head to Harvard Square, and this person comes in and sits close to where I am sitting. In his late forties, he pulls out a Disk-man (is that the correct word? Or is it CD-man? Doesn't really matter though does it!) and a brand new 50 Cent CD with it, still in its plastic wrapper. He tries to rip the plastic cover and fails, and then asks our friend from Boston if she has sharp nails. At that moment Naufal intervenes and takes the CD to help open it. Finally Naufal and I double team to rip the plastic cover by use of our car keys. And the open CD is returned to the person. Now this person puts on these hi-fi headphones (I think they were Sony), which are supposed to drown out all wordly noises and leave you with the "noise" (sorry no other word in my vocabulary to describe 50 Cent) of the album.

He listens to this album for about 15 seconds, takes off his headphones (irritated), and goes on about why one should never buy expensive headphones. Now I understand that not only did he buy a new CD, he also bought the equipment to listen to this CD on the move. So we are looking at a considerable dig into the pockets. Now with every passing moment this person is addressing us in a louder and louder tone, and the surprising thing is that he gets louder in high-spirits, as if he's chasing his overjoyed puppy around the park! It's as if he's had a few too many happy pills. Anyone who commutes frequently would understand that this particualar situation can get quite uncomfortable, you know when someone barges into your space and takes over like he's known you for ages and you're the best of chums!

So we do the only polite thing, and start talking to each other in Urdu, and block out everything outside. See you don't always need 50 dollar headphones and a 50 Cent CD to do that. And our ploy works. Now this person focuses his energy on a kid sitting across from us, who unfortunately rips the corner of a meaningless advert on the train and starts rolling it into a ball (an action not at all in the good graces of our person). And this person takes on the kid quite agressively. Again in a lively and a "game show host" kind of a way. A minute later he has the kid showing him what he's carrying in this carton he's carrying. And the poor kid is taking out things from a professionally packed box to utilize minimum space with maximum items. The saddest thing is that the kid is doing this to convince this person that he doesn't have anything in the box that would blow up! And you know that once he takes stuff out of the box, he won't be able to pack it in again.

At the next stop the kid gets off, and now I am wondering if this was his actual stop, or did he just get off the train for te sake of getting off! And before we can onbserve any further antics of this person, we also get off at the next station.

Now one would say, why do I keep thinking about this person. I don't keep thinking about this gentleman for the things he did and said, even though they weren't all to gentle, but it was just the way he did all these things. In a bright as sunshine sort of a way. As if he'd just come out of the Munchkin land of Oz. Or rather he's in some sitcom where even the saddest of moments are dealt with (in)appropriate punch lines.

I keep thinking about him and wondering what needs to happen to you to bring you to that stage in life. Where you're close to hitting the big five O, and are struggling to become beer buddies with the people on a train in a city where everyone is in a hurry to get off the train and head to their own little egg shells.

I think of this as a big tragedy, and a future that might be in store for any one of the people I know, including myself. I tried to ask my friends if you were asked to write a story about this person, that would end with this person sitting in this train, trying to rip open a 50 Cent CD and ripping a kid apart just because he could, what would your story be like? Would it reach this stage with a Scrooge like indifference, with the three ghosts of christmas past, present and future about to make their visits? Or would it be a tragedy of epic proportions, where a person dissolves into oblivion by the incessant cruelties of our just society? A society which is moulded to honour never standing out (remember the Perfect Citizen by WH Auden)!

And I can't stop thinking about this person. I keep making up these different stories in my mind that all end with this person sitting in this train, doing these particular things, and the camera fading away into a night, shifting from a close to long shot of the train, going off into the night...

And with every story comes a completely new set of causes and effects and their very own retributions. But I guess the biggest fear at the back of my mind is that, am I headed in this same direction? With my baggage of failed relationships and failing relationships, would I be sitting in that train, doing these strange and encroaching things, as the camera fades away into the night! How am I to make sure that the choices I make today, don't take me closer too that tomorrow.

I guess I just want the Frank Capra ending over the ending of say "The Black Narcissus"...

As Cosmo Kramer would say ... "Serenity NOW...Serenity NOW...Serenity NOW" ... I would be willing to pay a considerable price to just be thinking about the falls and the food right now, but I guess you are what you are...

Next time then!

Four cities; Four days - And Go!

2006-07-06T12:06:00.000-04:00

And finally I am back, after a small vacation, which I consider was long due for me! So here I am sitting in front of my computer, with soar legs and a stiff back. My head is still a little dazed, and I guess some part of my brain is still at work trying to digest all that happened since Saturday...

So I started out at 3 am on Saturday, with a hot shower and a close shave. Thankfully the cab arrived on time and I checked into the airport terminal on time, for a flight, which was also on time! Everything was so on time, that I nearly missed my flight when I decided to have a little breakfast before boarding the plane. So eventually I had to run out of the terminal, waving my hands furiously, to stop the air hostess from closing the airplane doors. But eventually I made the flight, and when I landed in Rochester, good ol' Naufal was waiting for me at the airport! Again on time!

(This is like describing someone else's trip, as my trips never go on time)

So we drove from Rochester to Niagara, and were at the falls by 3 pm. I guess the gods were in a good mood as the day was bright and sunny (even though the forecast said rain). The Maid of the Mist and Cave of the Winds were great. I guess the ferociousness of the falls can make a believer out of anyone! There were moments of absolute Nirvana on the tracks that flirt with the falls taking you closer and closer (but never any cigar), where the soul is lifted beyond the grip of the worldly realm. I guess a picture of Naufal that would always stay in my mind would be him on his knees, sitting under the spray of the falls (Hurricane point on the Cave of the Winds), for a moment just disconnected from everything, floating away without a care in the world...

The falls seemed very different from what I remembered. I really don't think they could have changed the falls that much, so it must be the difference in the pictures a boy retained in his mind in the year 1989, and the pictures the pudgy bald guy stored in his head come 2006!

Another interesting person I came across there was this spray-paint artist, he had a disability in one hand, and was working with his son. Using stencils, blades, and hands, he would make quick pictures of the falls, interpretted in different lights, and I guess even on different planets...I bought one of his pictures for Alina, let's see what her artist bearings say about the hurried work of art!

So completely drenched, a little cold, and totally exhausted, we left for Syracuse. I remember that by the time we got there, it was an extreme effort to head into Naufal's dorm of sorts. I say dorm of sorts because it isn't a dorm, just a little house, practically on the SU campus, packed with "gaanjed up" (I think that's the latest expression) students, going through education at its best!

So after barely 2 hours of sleep we left for Boston. This time the drive was much longer, and in bigger patches of inactivity, where you just get on a highway and struggle to stay awake!

Now Boston was a surprise for me. It's like one of those towns you find in fairytales, with uneven roads, and little homes popping up here and there. At least that's what I got from the place where our hotel was. It was like we suddenly drove into those little spots they talk about in Europe, where life is preserved against time...

This is when we met up with our guiding angel in Boston. Now our angel didn't really know the exact routes and roads but she always had an idea of where we were headed. See she hasn't been in Boston for long, and I guess when you're doing your masters in some form of multi-media, you don't get much strolling time! And if ever there was a strolling town, it's Boston.

So led by our angel we took a self guided tour of the Freedom Trail, walked though a serene park, ate in the hustle and bustle of Quincy Market, walked on the harbour where you can taste the water in the breeze, and had a nice little meal sitting out in the open in some nook of Harvard Square where this guy played songs out of the 60s and 70s on his guitar. O and we also visited a lot of churches, with amazing windows laden with Gothic art. To sum it all up, I think I fell in love with Boston, and all it took was a day.

What's so great about the town, well hundreds of small restaurants that aren't part of any big chain, history going back to the time it all began in this part of the world, uneven roads with unplanned construction, glistening harbour, and a small city breathing life in general!

Very reluctantly we left Boston the next day for Syracuse. At least this time we were able to sleep for at least 5 hours. The drive back to Syracuse was followed by a quick university tour provided by Naufal, whose every third sentence was "I don't know what that is". I guess Syracuse is the kind of a campus that grows on you after a while, but I wasn't there long enough for it to have had any real effect on me.

So this short tour was followed by a long bus ride to NY City, which as expected was packed with people from all over. Times Square was the same as I remembered, even got the exact same feeling I used to get there, and Gray's Papaya hot dogs were still the best in the world. The trip to the Guggenheim was very refreshing. Even though Zaha Hadid's architectural scketches didn't make much sense to me, paintings by Kandinsky, Pollack and Van Gough were as entralling as ever. This was the first time I saw the works of Kandinsky, and his "Landscape near Murnau with Locomotive" is for me one of those painting that can draw you in, and then not let you go. It's like the landscape explodes out of the canvas.

The trip was eventually concluded by our missing the bus, and in turn my missing the floght back to Raleigh! And of course we only missed the bus by just 5 minutes, so the missing of the bus was preceeded by mad dashes into and out of subways, running madly on the roads, bumping into everyone, requesting people to let you through, and so on and so forth...

So here I am eventually, after an 11 hour bus ride, still a bit dazed, but more relaxed then I've been in a while...all in all, a great holiday comes to an end!

Next time then...

It's finally time!!!

2006-06-26T15:58:00.000-04:00

The fact that I was born in 1978 and Richard Donner brought Superman to life on screen that very same year must mean something. It was six years later that my uncle brought home a video for us kids to watch, and the title just had a triangle on it, with a big "S" inscripted inside it. I am amused when I think of the VCR we had back then. It would auto-eject the video every 20 minutes, and it was one of those pop out players, with a remote control with a wire! And the small screen of the TV, always flickering and whobbling (bad picture tube they said).

But the next two and a half hours or so were and would always be beyond words for me. Let's just say they were followed by years of jumping off of my parents cupboards onto the bed yelling "Supperrmannnnnn", and always landing with a thud, never taking off.

My love for Superman only grew when I saw Superman II, but somehow it lacked the wonder of the original. As I would grow older, I'd realize that II was just the hacking together of Donner's vision by a completely short-sighted studio puppy. But never the less, Superman I & II helped me get to that wonderful place in childhood, where all unreasonable dreams can come true the very next day. I don't really remember when I realied that I might not be able to fly like my buddy Kal-el in this life time at least. But yes, some of the wonder of Superman was lost on me when I eventually saw the movies they called Superman III & IV. After I had seen III, I was of the opinion that they couldn't possibly do any worse. And then I saw the Quest for Peace, and a very important human trait dawned on me. Human-beings can always do worse! There's great wisdom in realizing this little snippet. However I do own both III & IV on DVD, I mean if Reeves, Kidder, and Hackmen agreed to work on them, then who am I to complain!

The timing of my entry into this world should have made me a Batman fanatic, and Burton perhaps single-handedly created a complete and unique universe. I really liked Batman, but my barometer for super heroes was already set, and even though Keaton and Basinger were good, they were never Reeves and Kidder. And Nicholson could never bring to Joker what Hackmen brought to Luthor! So even though I liked Batman, I still dreamed of myself as being Kal-el, just waiting to find out that I am a visitor from another planet. Heck I was so motivated that I still have excellent reflexes. I am the best person to have around if you drop something and hope that it's caught before it's shattered...

Such was the love for Superman that I actually started reading. I read every Superman comic I could find, until I was seduced by the world of X-Men and Spidey. Over the years I progressed from the world of comics to the worlds created by Dostoevsky and Dickens. I would stop reading comics eventually, and be excited only by a book that would call out to me from a shelf, but that comic lover would always live on. I realized that every time I drift to the comic book isles in airport book shops, and every once in a blue moon, even pick one out!

And then, in this grown-up mould, I read the news that they're making Superman again. No I heard this exact news more then once, but this time, what excited me was the associtation of this person called Singer with the project. And then more and more things happened that got me more and more excited and jittery, like a drunk waiting for his glass to be filled again. I found out that the musical score would be brought forward, and the new music would base itself on the original's roots. I found out that the movie would pick up after II and we would all try to forget III & IV ever happened. I found out that Spacey is the new Luthor, and Luthor would finally be bald through most of the film and not wearing wigs. All these facts were exciting for me, slowly building my frenzy to boiling point, counting down hours to the showing of Superman!

But rest assured, I have my doubts! Even though I am overjoyed by how much Routh looks like Reeves, there's always a voice at the back of my mind when I watch the trailer..."too young...".

But my biggest doubt is the Kidder replacement in the form of Bosworth. Even though on her worst day she can't possibly ravish the character like the Smallville series did, but can she be that cynical, chain-smoking and all the while mesmerizing woman from the real days of Superman? And believe me, no Superman can work without a Lois Lane that rocks the show.

But tomorrow night, I'll make my way to the theater for the first showing of Superman Returns, breaking my rule to not go out for too long on a working night. I'll get there half an hour early to get that seat in the middle row and middle column, and would excitedly wait for the magic to begin. During the wait I'll keep picturing Superman catching Lois and the helicopter, and saying to her don't worry, I've got you, and Lois firing back, "you've got me, but who's got you!"

See I won't walk into the theater to be convinced that a man could fly, Donner already did that for me, but I would walk into the theater to feel a love in the lines of the love I found 22 years ago, in front of a whobbly television with a flickering screen, and a manually tuned VCR which would pop-up videos after every 20 minutes or so. The little screen would be replaced by a giant curtain, and mono sound would be replaced by Dolby Surround. And the effect of the movie won't be shattered every twenty minutes.

But the person sitting in front of the screen would be much more cynical and bitter then the kid who would jump to pop the video into the VCR every time it popped out, all the time shaking with excitement...

My mind wanders...

2006-06-23T14:07:00.000-04:00

...as another week whizzed past me. It was the same amalgam of work, rest, restlessness, and brief encounters with insanity. And I am looking at another weekend, about two and a half days of really nothing to do. Away from home, and living out of your suitcase in a hotel, you learn to live with that quite efficiently. A rhythm is found, and is slowly practiced into routine, and eventually a life-style.

I have dedicated a few posts to how I am sick of the routine, and a scheduled procession of affairs that repeat themselves like night after day. But if I really do hate that, how do I keep finding myself in a procession of repeatable, mundane acts that formulate my days and nights, and eventually my life. If I really look for excitement, and the satisfaction of not knowing what the next moment may bring, why don't I, as Nike says, Just do it!

But then how does the adventurer feel about his life? Does he not feel that the constant of excitement in his life has become a routine thing...

I think we as a species relish in routines and our dissatisfaction. And combine these two qualities and you have the 21st century man. Always bickering and blaming everyone from God to the roach infestation in the kitchen cabinet.

I have always found myself at places around the globe, where I wouldn't generally expect to find myself. I've lived in a foot of snow, scorching deserts, the comfort of small towns, and the madness of metropolitan centers. Yet, in all these varied places, I have discovered routines and followed them, like a zombie at times. These routines have varied from place to place, as if out of the lives of completely different and un-related people. Some commonalities throughout though, like a good book, and fairly recently, this blog. From what I've seen, I guess the place you inhabit defines you as a person, you live by the unspoken rules that govern that particular pie of the world. You discover things you like doing under those rules, and find the things you have to do to get by, that you eventually become indifferent to.

For instance would I be thinking these very thought at this very moment, if I were on the opposite end of this globe? But that's an unfair question, whose answer is always limited by circumstance.

The purpose of this diatribe is not to reach any conclusion or even a satisfactory moment, but just to document how I feel right now. At this very moment. But even this moment is governed by where I am in life, philosophically, theologically and most importantly (based on what I see it right now) geographically.

In all our efforts to break free throughout our history, we have always found ways to bind ourselves to principles and rules that dictate our existence. Be it the creation of a religion, or Nietzsche and his existentialism, or the geographic divisions we put up, these have all been in so many ways, ways to formulate rules to command our lives.

I guess it all boils down to relativity. Be it that you lead your life by principle, or lead it by breaking all principles...you are in effect just obeying principles, just principles of different natures...

Have a nice weekend!

Perspectives...

2006-06-15T13:00:00.000-04:00

So yeserday was a very interesting day, where specific events got me thinking about completey unrelated things, which I wouldn't have though about if the events hadn't happened.

Yesterday Raleigh got its share of Alberta. So while the Hurricanes were planning to play against the Oilers to take the Stanley Cup (which wasn't to happen, at least not yesterday), hurricane Alberta was saying hello to the general public. It wasn't like trees were blown out from their roots by gnashing winds, it was more of a long laborious downpour, coupled by fairly strong winds. Nothing that Islamabad doesn't train you for, as a matter of fact, I have seen much much worse there. But what got me thinking...lets get to those events...

(BTW this doesn't mean that at all other times I am not thinking, I am a thinker, just that I am not thinking about the things that I was thinking about yesterday)

Well first the electricity in our office premises went out. And it was pitch dark, except for a few generator powered lights! And then power kept coming and going the whole day. And if that wasn't enough, the roof at our office started leaking. And no I am not kidding!

So the whole day went by, with no power, and dripping ceilings. More then 500 man hours down the drain! Hailing from a third world country, I am used to these things. Even though the roofs don't usually leak there (see we contruct using brick and concrete), but power is quite often the issue. But when this sort of a thing happens there, we are prepared, with emergency power supplies, and planning, like using laptops instead of PCs, giving you 2-5 hrs of electricity independent computing power. Over here the situation was completely different. The whole day went by and nothing could be done...

What I got to thinking as a consequence was why do 3rd world countries remain 3rd world? Is it a lack of resources, or is it something a lot deeper and sinister. I think we have ample resources there, but like the power supply, the enthusiasm and commitment to excel is intermittent. What impresses me most about my american friends is that they're stable, and extremely consistent. They would keep going, like a pair of Duracell batteries. While my friends in Islamabad may finish 5 days work in 1 day; they might also spend 5 days doing nothing. Here they would just keep on working consistently, and in the long run this is what would seperate us.

When the electricity goes out here, the servers all crash and work is halted, and no one does anything for one complete day. But they would return the next day to pick up where they left off. When the same thing happens in Pakistan, we would bust our guts to get work done on the insane day, come up with brillant solutions to keep the wheels turning, but by the time the next day arrives we'd be drained and incapable of doing anything.

So next time I get an email from our Kenya office saying we'd be out of contact today due to power failure, I'd interpret it differently, and look at the whole situation as one big balancing act.

I am not really sure where I am trying to get with this, but I am sure that there is somewhere you can get with this discussion, a place that would hold the key to why there's so much of a difference withing the communities on this planet.

Always in awe...see you later...

The kickoff

2006-06-09T15:21:00.000-04:00

So finally the 2006 World Cup is underway. As expected Germany crushed Costa Rica, but to be honest the game wasn't as one-sided as I expected it to be. Just says that I have to go eons on the road to football wisdom. But my favorites remain the same. For me, it's going to be a Brazil-Italy showdown on the ninth day of July! But my dark horse of the tournament are Ivory Coast. I am sure that if they get out of their Group (with Argentina and Holland), they would at least make it to the last four.

It's quite shocking how diluted the World Cup impact is in the States. This morning, in a conversation with a co-worker I said, "So the world cup's finally begun", and his response was "Huhn?", and I said, "Well the football world cup...I mean soccer world cup...", to which his response was, "Well this is Hockey country..." and that was that. SO...so much for my plans to be part of some football (no I will not call it Soccer) hooliganism! But there's hope. At least 3 guys in the office worked from home today, and guess why that was...

I have been in an unusually great mood these last few days. I guess weather has a great effect on me, and it's been great. Specially today, it's one of those picture perfect days that come around a few times in a life time, where something special always happens. So far it's been ordering the wrong lunch, getting into a little spat with the wife, and missing the opening ceremony. But I have hope, the day's just too great to not pick up. So I sit on, waiting for my miracle.

It's the kind of a day on which Raphael painted, the guy whose paintings were so perfect that they some how seemed unreal (to me at least)! The sun's out, a light breeze is blowing, and the temperature is just perfect to sit outside, and heck, maybe even have a bar-be-que! I guess I'll just find my way to some Brazilian steak house tonight.

Saw this wonderful little movie the other day called "The Puffy Chair". I believe it was an entry into the Sundance festival, and was probably made on a month's salary, but it was just one of those films about the journey which just make you want to make movies. It's incredible how rare this sort of cinema has become. Hey I don't mind the X-Men's last stand, I am actually really looking forward to the new Superman movie, but every once in a while, just give us these little gems, that make you sit through the end titles. As Mastercard says...priceless!

So let's see what this weekend has in store for me...I've taken on this habit to drive away and get lost somewhere, and then get directions from all gas stations on the road to make my way back.

Have a nice weekend!

The return journey

2006-06-05T13:20:00.000-04:00

Illness isn't good, it's perhaps one of the 5 worst things that happen to us in our lives, and the worst thing is that an illness can take so many shapes and forms. Physical or mental, whenever you have it, you feel like the bottom of a well that hasn't been cleaned since the end of mid-evil times.

I have been down and out for the past 8 days or so. Even though the illness was nothing too serious (just a nasty flu and high fevers), it was extremely inconvenient. See no matter how comfortable your bed maybe, you can get tired of lying in it. But whatever your illness, the most interesting part of it is the return journey. I feel that when you fall ill, you start traveling into a dark, cold, uncomfortable hole. And every passing day takes you deeper and deeper, until you start losing track of time and reality (of course both these entities are extremely relative).

And then begins the slow process of recovery, a.k.a. the return journey. Slowly and not too steadily you start finding your way back. There are many wrong turns, which take you back instead of forward. But eventually (if you're lucky enough) you find your way out of the hole. This coming out of the uncomfortable darkness is the healing of the physical being. But then the light around you suddenly blinds you, and your brain shuts down. You cannot see, you cannot breathe, you cannot even begin to fathom this place you've emerged to. And now you begin the mental part of the healing process. The mind slowly makes up its mind to face the light, and slowly you open your eyes, and learn to keep them open. Suddenly you become as perceptive as a 4 year old, taking in everything you see, observing even the minutest details, all the while bringing yourself up to speed.

And then, you are at the same pace as the world around you and start making up for the time lost. This in a way ends the mental part of the healing as well. So in terms of both practitioner and psychiatrist, you are healed.

This is how I've felt every time I fell ill, and recovered. Up until now I have been lucky enough to find my way back. Wait luck isn't the right word. No, I have been gifted enough to find my way back. And even though I detest falling ill, I love this journey back, which brings with it some small moments of total enlightenment, or Buddha moments as I call them, where everything just falls into place, like that perfectly timed cover drive on a seaming and swinging cricket pitch!

Let me just be thankful right now, for keeping me in synch. I would just wish that these small moments (the basic essence of life) would last me forever...

Someone wrote me about the special bond they share with their brother, how they just know, without having to say anything. I just wish this bond could be made our global village, and not some hi-fi telecommunications company, that takes over everything with their cheap cell phone, cheaper talk plans, and vulgar adverts.

I am thankful though of being aware of such a bond and that it exists. I guess hope is the answer to all our follies and inadequacies as the supreme race on this planet. Our supremacy only overshadowed by our stupidity!

Have fun...

Is it possible...

2006-05-23T16:46:00.000-04:00

So I was thinking...

Is it possible for two poeple, let's even say strangers to meet and form this link where they understand each others thoughts, and can communicate without talking, or even minimalist gestures. I am saying not even a change in the expression on the face! And yet a full and meaningful conversation takes place.

Don't take me wrong, I am not on the lookout for some psychic abilities of reading minds, I don't believe in that. However the way this could logically happen is:

A meets B. A thinks about what B is thinking and replies to that thought. Now the thought that A thinks up for B is totally on the money. B meanwhile imagines A's reply (which also happens to be completely correct), and responds. And we go back to the beginning and continue from there, and so on and so forth, until they say goodbye, or no, they don't say anything, just walk away.

There a pure moment just lived.

Is this beyond the realm of possibility or is it just a procession of perfect coincedence...it think it's the latter.

Heck it might even happen to us many times in a day, we just never find out, I mean we can spot a person looking our way, lost somewhere, and for a while we look their way, getting lost in-turn in our thoughts, thinking up their thoughts!

Well this was too nutty a thought to not blog about...

Next time then!

The in-between time

2006-05-22T12:37:00.000-04:00

So I have been away for over a month now, and in-between I have been up to a lot of things, refreshing and sweet! So I spent about 3 weeks of my absence on a trip back home, and well the people who go home for a little while after quite a while would agree that there's nothing better then that. My trip home included some much needed family time, a bit more on that later. As a matter of fact, I went out to meet with my friends just twice during that period, and that too for only a couple of hours.

The first was a trip to meet Aijaz (who was still in a full leg cast, having broken his ankle attempting some stunt in a hotel lobby in Cairo), and the other was to visit my school friends (a bachelor party for Kashif, another of my friends ready to take the leap of faith)! And apart from this, it was all family. Trips to the homes of my cousins, uncles and aunts, and of course my in-laws. Wonderfully cooked meals, and long talk sessions with the people I love and cherish so much (every time I leave home my realization of love for them increases).

And then there was a 2-day trip to Gharial (for those not acquainted, it's a rest house a bit further from Murree), and it was great. The walk with Alina on the terrace would always stay with me, one of those little memories that remind you of how great it is to be alive! And then there were the impossible projects that I undertook in the time I was there, and fortunately they all came together at the last moment. Long live Gudday bhai, who's always there to walk the extra mile with me, in the sweltering heat of a pre-summer in good ol' Isloo. I don't know how I can get anything done without him besides me...

And of course, finally it was time to leave again (for another stretch of 3 months that go on forever). And leaving the second time is always tougher then leaving for the first time. The walk from my home to Zeeshan's car leaving for the airport was perhaps one of the longest in my life. It's so surreal to watch the faces of your family disappear in the rear-view mirror...I can't think of many things sadder then that.

Thankfully the return journey was very un-eventful for a change. No delayed flights, no missed links, just 30 hours of airport transit and the claustrophobic economy seating-cabins in the airbus. And of course the airplane food, which is specifically designed to make you want to look forward to the meals beyond the journey.

So finally I reached Raleigh, jet lagged with blood shot eyes (see I cannot bring myself to sleep in an airplane). And slowly things are getting back to normal, I still get up at 4 in the morning, and just want to drop dead at 3 in the afternoon, but I am coping with it. But the worst thing of all is when I sit in the hotel suite and go through the TV channels, just missing the hell out of my family, and the food, and the roads, and the trees, even the burning Isloo heat of the pre-summer!

This time I did a lot of watching at the airport terminals, I mean just choosing a spot in some corner, and looking at all the passengers running in and out. For me the Dubai airport is the best place to take up this hobby. It is ideally designed to watch passengers coming in and out of terminals. And they never seize to fascinate. There would be everyone one from the hyper excited by air travel and the possibility of new lands to explore, and the zombie drone, going through the motions in slow motion, not really concerned about the destination or the journey, just going through it, like a mandatory breathing exercise...

BTW Raleigh is just spell binding at this time of the year, and even though we've been moved from the comfort of individual rooms to the discomfort of office cubes, I still get to look out of the window, off into a sea of greens. That is one blessing I am really thankful for.

I also saw some interesting movies recently. I would recommend "Friends with Money" to everyone, but just don't walk into the theater expecting it to be a comedy, for it is not, what it is, is a very personal study of relationships and friendship, and the human reactions based on that.

I also saw "Water" the end to a sort of trilogy by Deepa Mehta (Earth and Fire the first two links to the quasi trilogy), and in some weird way, the movie reminded me of another great movie, "The house of green papaya". It's not nearly as good, but you can watch it for the performance of Lisa Ray and Seema Biswas, and some beautifully shot moments (I really want to go to Sri Lanka now, that's where they shot it, due to the protests in India). And I still don't understand why this movie was considered so controversial, anyone remember "Prem Rog" that movie made by Raj Kapoor about widows in India, and not only did he take swipes at Hinduism, but he didn't even spare the caste followers within Muslims.

And of course I saw "The DaVinci Code" and no matter what the critics tell you, the film is an excellent adaptation to the novel, and as far as novel adaptations go, this should be ranked very high, for it stays true to the source material. And heck I can watch Audrey Totou in any movie and I'll always enjoy it just because she's in it. I meangive me Fast and the Furios: Tokya Drift with her in it and I'll sit through the film with a smile on my face. For those curios, go and rent "Amelie" and "A Very Long Engagement".

Well enough for now, hopefully I'll be back sooner this time!

An ode to "Wings of Desire"

2006-04-12T17:46:00.000-04:00

I was in a very strange place yesterday, I guess I am there today as well. And it was soothing to read some excerpts from a German movie called "Der Himmel Über Berlin" or in English, "Wings of Desire".

I'll just copy them here, and let you think about them as well...I'll copy them in the order in which they appear in the movie, for I guess that would seem more appropriate...

And what do you have to tell?

Cassiel: Sunrise and 7:22 a.m. Sunset at 4:28 p.m. Moonrise at [....] Twenty years ago today a Soviet jet fighter crashed into the lake at Spandau. Fifty years ago there were the Olympic Games. Two-hundred years ago Blanchard flew over the city in a balloon.

Damiel: Like the fugitives the other day.

Cassiel: And today, on the Lilienthaler Chaussee, a man, walking, slowed down, and looked over his shoulder into space. At post office 44, a man who wants to end it all today pasted rare stamps on his farewell letters, a different one on each. He spoke English with an American soldier--the first time since his schooldays--and fluently. A prisoner at Plotzenzee, just before ramming his head against the wall, said: 'Now!' At the Zoo U-Bahn station, instead of the station's name, the conductor suddenly shouted: 'Tierra del Fuego!'

Damiel: Nice.

Cassiel: In the hills, an old man read the Odyssey to a child. And the young listener stopped blinking his eyes.... And what do you have to tell?

Damiel: A woman on the street folded her umbrella while it rained and let herself get drenched. A schoolboy who described to his teacher how a fern grows out of the earth, and the astonished teacher. A blind woman who groped for her watch feeling my presence. . . . It’s great to live only by the spirit, to testify day by day for eternity only to the spiritual side of people. But sometimes I get fed up with my spiritual existence. Instead of forever hanging above, I’d like to feel there’s some weight to me. To end my eternity and bind myself to earth. At each step, each gust of wind I’d like to be able to say "Now!," now and now and no longer say "ince always" and "forever." To sit at the empty seat at a card table and be greeted if only by a nod. Whenever we did participate it was only a pretense. Wresting with one of them...we allowed a hip to be dislocated, in pretense only. We pretended to catch a fish, we pretended to be seated at the tables and drink and eat and we were served roast lamb and wine. In the tents out there in the desert, in pretense. Not that I want to beget a child or plant a tree right away, but it would be quite something to come home after a long day like Philip Marlowe and feed the cat. To have fever. To have blackened fingers from the newspaper. To be excited not only by the mind but, at last, by a meal, the curve of a neck, by an ear. To lie! Through the teeth! To feel your skeleton moving along as you walk. Finally to suspect instead of forever knowing all. To be able to say "Ah" and "Oh" and "hey" instead of "yes" and "amen."

Cassiel: For once to be enthused over evil, to draw all of the demons of earth from passers-by and chase them out into the world (Damiel blows). To be Savage!

Damiel: Or to feel, at last what it’s like to take your shoes off under the table and to stretch your toes, barefoot, like that.

Cassiel: To be alone! To let things happen! To remain serious! We can only be as savage as we are absolutely serious. To do more than observe, collect, testify, preserve! To remain a spirit! Keep your distance! Keep your word!

When the child was a child

When the child was a child
there was the time for questions like-
Why am I me
and why not you?
Why am I here
and why not there?
When did time begin
and when did space end?
Isn't life under the sun just a dream?
Isn't what I see, hear and smell
just a vision of a world before the world?
Does evil really exist?
Are there people who are really evil?
How can it be that I who is me wasn't there
before I was
and that one day I who is me
shall no longer be what I am now?

When the child was a child
he choked on spinach, rice pudding,
peas and boiled cauliflower,
and now he eats it all
and not just because he must.

When the child was a child
he once woke up in a strange bed;
now this happens again and again.
Many people seemed beautiful then,
now very few do at all.
He had a precise picture of paradise
and now he can only make a guess.
He couldn't imagine nothingness;
today he trembles at the idea.

When the child was a child
he lived on apples and bread,
it was enough then and still is.
When the child was a child
berries fell into his hands and they still do.
He felt shy in front of strangers
and still feels the same.
He waits for the first snow
and is still waiting.

When the child was a child
he threw himself with spirit into his games,
and now he masters such involvement only
where work is concerned

This, finally, must be serious

This, finally, must be serious.
I've often been alone but I've never lived alone. When I was with someone, I was often happy but it seemed like a coincidence. These people were my parents, but it could have been others. Why was this brown-eyed boy my brother, and not the boy with the green eyes on the opposite platform? The taxi-driver's daughter was my friend, but I might as well have put my arm around a horse's neck. I was with a man, I was in love, and I might as well have left him and walked off with the stranger I met in the street.

Look at me, or don't. Give me your hand, or don't. No, don't give me your hand and look away.

Tonight is the new moon. No night can be more peaceful. There won't be any bloodshed in the city. I've never toyed with anyone, yet I've never opened my eyes and thought 'Now, this is serious'. At last it's becoming serious.

I've grown older. Am I the only one who wasn't serious? Is it the times that lack seriousness?

I was never alone, neither on my own nor with others. But I would have liked to be alone. After all, to be alone means to be whole. Now I can say it - as from tonight I'm alone at last. I must put an end to coincidence.

The new moon of decision! I don't know if there is destiny, but there is a decision. So decide! We are the present day now.

The whole town, the whole world is taking part in our decision.

We two are now more than us two.
We incarnate something.
We are sitting in the place of the people and the whole place is full of people who are dreaming the same dream.
We decide everyone's game.
I am ready.
Now it's your turn.
Now you've got to decide.
Now or never!

You need me. You will need me. There's no greater story than ours - a man and a woman. It will be a story of giants - invisible, but transferable, a story of new ancestors.
Look, my eyes. They are the picture of necessity, of everyone's future. Last night I dreamed of a stranger. It was my man. Only with him could I be alone, open up to him, wholly, wholly open for him, welcome him wholly into me, surround him with the labyrinth of shared happiness.

...being understood...to your son...

2006-04-10T16:45:00.000-04:00

How difficult is it exactly to be understood? You know, how much does it take to have your intentions, needs, and thoughts to be interpreted in an honest manner?

Remember that time when everything was just jumping in the puddles, ringing doorbells and running away, eating as much candy as you could? And then came the time of ideals and perfection. Where love was true, friendship was integrity, and the biggest act of cruelty in life meant cheating on your homework. Slowly but steadily all those visions of "the perfect world" were ripped apart, layer by layer, like peeling an onion in your hands. Ripping open each layer, until you were left with nothing in your hands, and tears in your eyes.

Why is it now, that the noblest of intentions are taken into contention and ripped apart by sarcasm and this increasing sense of pessemistic negativity? Where the word "pure" can only be related to a bottle of "Le Blue" sparkling clean water.

I feel plagued today. I feel like leprosy today. I feel like a virus eroding everything, and everyone around me. I feel like a plague that would eat up humanity in one giant gulp. And that gulp will be followed by the most overdrawn and understood silence.

I feel like an Eskimo who is picked up from the poles and dropped smack in the center of the bustling roads of hot and humid Karachi. Being drenched with this sickening coating of sweat. Losing myself in the blurrs of life, complimented by the strokes of heat. Being dehydrated and seeing the world go blurry, and then like a picture tube blowing its fuse, converging into this bright white spot in the middle of the screen, and finally dissolving into total darkness.

Why is it that now, not only can I not be understood, I have also been gifted by the gift of being unable to understand another soul? Why is it when someone says something to me now, I start analysing it for the worst possible outcome. Like a paranoid doctor getting the flu, and starting out from AIDS and working his way down, eliminating the deseases in a top-down manner, from the most treachourous to the least. All the while being enveloped by his own paranoia...

I want to be able to take a smile for what it is. A simple and noble gesture, inclined to make you feel good. I don't want to take that smile and take it apart with respect to the conditions it was given under.

I want to buy a chocolate sundae and eat it whole, getting my fingers and mouth dirty in the process of consumption. I don't want to look for a napkin everytime I drop some on my clothes, or get some on my hands. I want to be there, in that moment of pure joy that came with eating a larger then life bowl of ice cream.

I want to close my eyes, and be understood once and for all, as who I am, what I want, and how I feel...

I want to close my eyes, and understand all those who love me, and matter to me, simply for what they feel, how they came to be where they are now, and who they actually are to themselves.

I want to take them as they are, without any intention of modification in terms of improvement, and I want to be accepted by them for who I am.

Do I really give a fuck about the things I think I give a fuck about? Or is it the things I have pushed aside that I really care about, but am too fearful to open the Pandora's box? Is this true for everyone I know?

I will survive today knowing that Babar had a son, and there's another couple out there who would make sure that their child will grow up to respect life, and value things that have real worth. It's the thought that their son would walk out into the world when he comes of age, and will walk out knowing that as long as people have the ability to change, this world that we, their fathers are ravaging, can change.

He would walk out from his home, with a sparkle in his eyes, and would take on all that is not right, and make it right. He would carve that little niche first, where human-beings will feel human. Where laughter would be cherished, and intentions praised for their goodness. And that little niche' will spread into the whole world like light overcoming night.

I would survive today...hoping and knowing that a better tomorrow exists, and would come. Where even I may be saved from my own fallacies. Where even my soul will be resurrected; out from the evils of contempt and hatred and into the warm shores of understanding and being understood...

The 90 hr Week

2006-04-03T13:54:00.000-04:00

So yesterday I completed working for the equivelant of more then two weeks in one week. I guess the 90 hr week for us (that is the "I am actually" working class) is the equivelant of a double hundred scored in a test match, or a perfect game pitched in baseball.

Unfortunately our equivelant comes with twice as much labour, but no accolades. There are no record books that keep record of my counter-parts accomplishing this feat, there are no congratulatory signs put up in coffee shops. Just the good ol' feeling of being high on dope without actually doing dope. Yes that's how I feel right now. And the way things are going, I might be able to accomplish another 90 hr week in succession. And that would be a first for me. I have never before acheived two consequtive 90 hr weeks. So let's just wait and see.

By the way, I am at a client site, and let me just say that the client sites I am used to are cement plants, fertilizer plants, conglomerate HOs. So ending up in a client site which is a casino is a very nice change. So the walk from my cubicle to my hotel room includes two water-falls, about 20 shops, all selling merchandise that no one needs, but everyone buys any way, complex array of slot machines and black jack tables, and numerous couples falling in and out of love or lust! Whatever is on the menu for the day.

So yes, I look forward to this walk that I do twice a day, just for the excess of experiences jumbled up into a mere 10 minutes. And I intentionally walk as slow as I possible can, just to savour everything. Oh and in the middle of it, I also pass through the Star Treck galaxy version of the employee area. Complete with a cafeteria serving 5 cuisines, deserts, and salad bars 24/7, and the hustle and bustle of 25,000 people of every ethnicity imaginable bumping into each other.

I think a novel can be written about this 10 minute walk. It would start out with a fairly ordinary Joe getting up in the morning and dragging himself into the shower, and end by our Joe ending up in a 5x5 feet cubicle, complete with two computers and a notebook. But I am sure if anyone ever reads this novel, it would be for the things in between.

Sort of like the reason we live our lives, for the little things in between. Those rare moments of honesty that come and go sooner then you can say welcome, my kingdom.

I am missing home and my family more and more everyday, and not a single day passes before I want to bid adeu, and just walk (rather fly) away. The thought that keeps me going is that the sicker I get of all of this, the more fun it would be touching home base.

Wow! There must be a greater plan of things, as I was writing this confession of missing my family, Alina just called, and well...just made my day talking to me!

So send out your best pitcher, this batter is ready to blast it out of the park...

Till next time then.

When it rains...it pours

2006-03-20T23:05:00.000-05:00

So it feels like the heavens are emptying their water supplies tonight, I guess they want to recycle the whole load. I don't really remember the last time I walked in such a persistent and adament downpour. One where the raindrops are thick and heavy, and each one of them hits the ground or whatever it can hit with a 'thuddish' plop. And the rain falls to the ground in a perfect array of perpendiculars, unharmed by wind.

It's the sort of rain where even after you've gotten yourself under a sturdy solid roof, you feel that you're getting wet, and those thick drops are thudding on your being, engulfing you in totality, not even sparing a single spot of your soul.

It's like all the Greek, Roman, and Hindu gods got together and decided to have a collosal water fight, and instead of throwing plastic bags full of water at each other, they decided it would suit them more to hurl complete rivers, and as a consequence all of us little fellows trapped within the insanities of this earth got drenched.

If it were a bit warmer, I am quite sure I would have found some excuse to just walk away for a mile or two in the rain, humming all of my favorite oldies, jumping into a puddle of water every now and then.

So I attribute confining myself to the hard labours of work at 12 at night to it being too cold to get wet in the rain.

Ahh...who am I kidding, I'd still love walking into the crazy downpour and witness the excellence of nature rebounding on my being, first-hand! Yes sir, no secondary account would do.

So I completed another book by Michael Cunningham today, "Flesh and Blood". I believe this is the first book he wrote, before "The Hours" and "A Home at the End of the World". It is raw (an observation I take from my good friend Girish), and perhaps the most jerky of his other narratives, and perhaps lacks in a certain finesse, but again his ability to sink into the human psyche left me spell bound, and unable to do anything for a good while. Yes, it is one of those rare and precious books that leave you in a trance lost among the characters, grieving and rejoicing in their losses and accomplishments. Simple stated Mr. Cunningham has the gift of words, which if used appropriately is perhaps even more effective then Superman's x-ray vision, and can look through anything, even lead!

So to anyone who chances by this post, do read any of the three books I've mentioned above. Let me just say that these aren't happy books, these aren't conventional books, they might even be shocking, but yes, as studies of human emotion, I haven't seen anyone do it better.

And let me end by taking a quote that was posted on Vovvi in a recent post, I don't agree with the 11-70 age difference, but yes, there is something to it!

"At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies."
-- PG Wodehouse

Here and There...gathering things

2006-03-14T14:23:00.000-05:00

For the last two weeks, I've been down the all so familiar tunnel of over working myself. And I still can't see the light at the other end of the tunnel. So I guess the only thing I can do is to resign myself to the fact that I'll be stuck in this state of permanent exhaustion for a while to come. I am here right now, writing on my blog, courtesy of the thing I was working on, going into an infinite state of limbo! And let me just say...stay there...

There've been numerous moments in the days gone by when I really wanted to write something down, but was usually to involved in the work at hand, or too exhausted to sign-in! My only reprieve has been reading the blogs that I like to read (I will try adding a link on my blog, so here's to walking into the unknown).

I've been thinking about many things, of which I can recall some. One night I started thinking about the things that can make a grown man crumble in self-pity and dissolve into a strong current of tears. And I thought of quite a few reasons, and somehow all of the reasons came down to one thing. The loss of something dear to you. And I don't mean "dear to you" like your zippo, but I mean "dear to you" like the air you breathe in.

See the problem is that men in general are on the slower side when compared to women. OK, before all the men in the world pull out a guillotine, give me a moment to clarify. I am not saying slower in terms of doing algebra, or negotiating turns at break neck speed. I'm saying slower in terms of realizing what's important to us. I've seen so many men walk through a passage of life with someone without ever realizing how important that passage or person might be to them. On the other hand I feel that women are blessed with the ability to recognize 'that' what really matters and go the extra mile to appreciate it (which in the case of man-woman relationships often translates into the man running away).

But...getting back to the point, us men, we live through with something that is wonderful and as important to us as the air we breathe in, never appreciating it, and always appreciating a pizza or our favorite couch over the "as important as the air we breathe in" thing! But through my own experiences and of my friends, I have realized that there is a way by which we can be made aware of the glitch in our priority system. And the only way to do that is to take that thing away from us.

Now do you see why "the air we breathe in" is such a perfect example for us, the slower half of the world! Deprive us of air, and we'd know how much we need it. And when this thing, that we need so much without ever realizing, is taken away from us, we fall down, crumbling in self-pity and dissolving in tears. This is something that would make the grown man cry...

And it boils down to loss. Absolute, pure, and concentrated loss...

So here's my petition to the other more efficient half of this world. Please realize this short-coming of ours, and accept us in spite of it. For otherwise we'll be left with nothing but an endless array of potential gone bad, and moments gone by.

In the past couple of weeks I also thought about the things that make me happy, that give me the little pleasures that I guess are the fuel that keep me going. And I made a sort of list in my mind. Now this might sound a bit corny, but hey, I don't give a damn!

The List of things that make me happy in the smallest ways
(Not in order)

1) Early morning dew in the winters. I am speaking of the dew that transforms a simple garden into Superman's fortress of solitude as soon as the sun comes out.

2) Sound of a child giggling. I speak here of the giggle of the baby with no teeth, that's usually accompanied by a frivolous flow of saliva.

3) The heads in front of you in the cinema. OK, try this out as an experiment, next time you go to watch a movie, seat yourself in the back of the theater, and when you're totally into the movie, stop watching it. And just look at the many heads that're popping out of the seats, all focused on the screen. I like to do this and imagine the expression on the face at that very moment.

4) The smell in the kitchen when you're deep frying French fries.

5) The smell in the kitchen when you're baking a cake or something similar.

6) The sound of rain on a tin roof.

7) Lying face-up on the ground, looking up to the skies on a clear night, with no clouds and no moon.

8) An honest moment. I speak of the moment in our lives that comes quite often and then cuts down its recurrence frequency. I speak of the moment when you are totally spell-bound by something, and you lose complete focus for a moment.

I can probably go on with this list, and all I'd need to do would be to remember the last time I just smiled for no reason, and recall the trigger for that smile, and move back from there.

But alas "it" has returned from the (not so) infinite state of limbo, and yes, I drag my self (kicking and screaming) back to work.

O and yes, watch Shopgirl, I liked the film for its simplicity, effect, and Claire Dane's performance.

Later then.

Yesterday Revisited & The Diary of Anne Frank

2006-02-23T16:14:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I came to blog on two consecutive days. I just spelled consecutive with a 'q' in the middle, and kept wondering why the word looked wrong! So cheers to my state of mind!

But here I am, on a second consecutive day, blogging my heart's worth. I wonder, what people did before there was blogging? Well they wrote in their diaries. Heck even I've tried doing that. I remember I started in 7th grade, right after I read the "Diary of Anne Frank" (rare admission, I cried). But somehow that was difficult to do.

It's not always possible to have your diary with you when the mood strikes to let it out. I guess it worked for Miss Frank because she was confined to a small apartment, or was it the attic? I guess I need to read it again. But yes I do remember losing interest in eating for a while after I'd read that. Even Kit Kats didn't appeal to me for a while (ok, not for a long while, but definitely for a while). Back to what I was trying to say. So with a diary there's always this requirement to have it with you when you need it, and trust me, if you carry something around with you everywhere you go, there'd be lots of interested parties in the content. Now a laptop, now that's an exception to the rule. Specially if you do what I do. You are always expected to carry it with you. And hence the perfection of this science called blogging!

See now I can hook up whenever I want to say something, or even if I can't connect to the wonderful world of the internet, I can always write something down in one of the many word documents I have floating in my machine, and then post whatever I feel like posting when I can go online.

But the real reason that I'm back here today (yeah, like you really need a reason, I mean all you need is some free time at work) is to elaborate on what I was talking about yesterday.

See Miss Frank lived in the 40's, and her life that I am sure would have been full of enormous possibilities was cut short by the insanity of one man. Fast forward more then 60 years, and tell me what's changed?

Nothing.

Think again!

Hmm...

The way I see it, now we not only have to cope with the insanity of one person, but with the insanity of countless maniacs. Who've all somehow managed to secure places in the world hierarchy where they can effect our lives by a single sentence they utter.

See now we're just ending lives that I'm sure are as filled with enormous possibilities as was Miss Frank's. Sometimes we do it in the name of God, sometimes in the name of land, sometimes in the name of democracy. But in the end, that's what we're doing.

I think murder is deplorable in all way and forms . But somehow I can understand why one of the two people who know each other, hate each other or even love each other may decide to go the way of Dirty Harry, and pull the trigger. But I can't understand how an individual can enlist into what is essentially a boot camp, and after 4 months there walk over to some border far off, and pull the trigger on someone s/he doesn't even know!

Why would you do that? Did you ever think that maybe if you were made to sit in a bar with the person you just pulled the trigger on, and allowed to talk for just 5 minutes, you might have ended up the truest of friends. Friends who pass the test of time and situation! But no, you just pulled the trigger on someone, because they taught you to do that in the boot camp...

Miss Frank, I know the worst possible form of horrible happened to you, but you were contending with the madness of an individual, while we're coping with the senselessness, the inanity of society as a whole! In your time the whole world realized the inhumanities in the actions of the mad man, whereas in my time, the whole world has transformed into a mad man.

Jonie Mitchell's dog eat dog comes to my mind...

I'm very sorry for what happened to you, Miss Frank, but I am glad that you weren't born into this era...

In this time of freak decisions, and rapid professing of love lost forever, I just want to sit for a while and breathe. Breathe an air that doesn't smell of innocence lost, never to be found again.

So Miss Frank, while you wrote in your diary, we blog. And while your diary was recovered (by your father who who survived I believe), our blogs will probably be lost forever. And to tell you the truth, I have no idea how many Anne Frank's were lost in this incessant desire to enforce our rights and wrongs on everyone out there.

We don't live in a society that's improved! We have invented instant coffee and forgotten how to enjoy a cup of coffee. We have taken our healthcare nearly to a point where we can even battle death looking it in the eye, but we've forgotten how to value life...

Let's all just sit down and listen to Sinatra sing "strangers in the night", and let our nights be places where strangers can meet and where magic happens...ahh hope, a fool's hope, but hope nonetheless...

Maybe later.

To Bob Dylan...

2006-02-22T10:52:00.000-05:00

Hmm...so today is another day. It's dull, gloomy, sad and depressed. The consistent drizzle, which feels like an unbearable constant from a scientific experiment gone horribly wrong. You can still hear the sound of the wind cutting through the high strung trees of Raleigh. But today the sound is entwined with that of the dogged, persistent rain...

On another day, I would have woken up, looked out the window, and walked out my room, skipping in my walk, whistling the tune of a good love song!

But today...somehow I woke up, looked out the window and I just wanted to keep on looking out. Something was pushing inside of me, urging me to stop moving, stop thinking, perhaps even stop breathing, and just watch the slow downpour merging with the world I live in. Somehow I thought of all the bombs exploding, bullets firing at that very moment. I could hear the laments of a mother losing her child, of true love ripped apart in the name of glory for God! It was like the war had moved into my bed room, and I was in the middle of an insane cross-fire, somehow shielded from physical harm. But every passing moment eroded me emotionally...

And I thought of some Dylan songs. See it's in moments like these when listening to 'Blowing in the wind' helps me find my bearing. Helps me to realize that nothing, no cause nor effect, can ever justify firing a missle! After all, the only thing worth doing in this world is respecting life in its entirety...

Dylan's probably been writing songs and making poetry forever now that appeals to the general common sense, that appeases the mind into a realization of the hopelessness of war.

Here's the song I hum in my head whenever the current affairs of our globe get too much to handle.

Blowin' in the Wind
by Bob Dylan

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
And pretend he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

I guess the answer really is just blowing in the wind...O I am sad today, and O how I want to wake up tomorrow in a world that is at peace with itself. A world that allows life to prevail. A world free of all prejudice. A world relishing in nature, humming soft cradlesongs to all who inhabit it...

Is there anything more foolish then being foolishly optimistic? But that's what I am right now, and I hope I remain this way for the remainder of my days.

Here's to you Mr. Dylan, for you've been preching something that all of us as a global community should have embraced centuries ago...

Travel horrors, jet lag, and WORK

2006-02-16T16:24:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: I don't really use bad language here, but you'd find a bit of it in this post.

Well let me start off by saying that finally I am sitting in the bright and sunny comfort of Raleigh, NC! How I got here, and all that's happening is a completely different (and at parts quite weird) story...

See I took off from Isloo as planned, and landed in Dubai as planned. No delays, no plane going bonkers, no passenger carrying a 2 foot sword in his walking stick (again all the things that I've witnessed in the flights I've been on). So I landed in Dubai, feeling good at least about the flight working out, of course when you leave your family for 3 months, it does kind of boil down on you!

And then I checked into my Dubai-JFK link. Again on time, with the boarded passenger area filling in slowly. All seemed well until the flying time came and went, then it was 1 hour, 2 hours, and finally after a 3 hours delay, we took off! OK, now the airline had already started losing its mind at this stage. First they kept announcing that the three flights coming in from India were delayed! But why are we delayed because of that was the question that came to my mind, which was answered by the fact that about 70% of the passengers were coming on the flights already delayed! And then they started announcing that the reason for the delay was actually bad weather in NY! OK, a bit weird, but...can happen!

So 3 hrs delayed, we finally took off! And we flew and flew and flew! I know, I know, it was supposed to be a 16 hr flight! And then the dreadful announcements started coming! Dear passengers the weather in NY still hasn't improved, but hopefully it would get better by the time we land. Dear passengers, NY is reportedly in the middle of the second worst snow storm in the history, but hopefully it would clear by the time we land! Dear passengers, NY is a no go, and we'll actually be taking you to Dulles Airport in DC!

SHIT! DAMN! FUCK!

OK, so we changed routes and went on to DC! And the plane landed, and I along with the other 300 passengers on the verge of a break-down due to constantly sitting for 16 hrs; started getting our things together. And then came another announcement. Ladies and Gentlemen, due to all the flights being re-routed to DC, the airport is busy, hopefully we'd be able to get a hanger in about an hour. Strange I thought, cause the airport was literally empty...

So we started waiting, and we kept waiting...and we waited for 4 freaking hours! 4 hours of inactivity, stuck in that little plain! And O yes, I'm a smoker! AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

OK, so finally we move to a hanger, go through the entry point, and we have to re-check our luggage, as Emirates has to take us to NY! Kill me! Kill me now! Get the most blunt knife you can find and just KILL ME!

Now the plane's supposed to leave at 3.30 am for NY. And again we check our luggage in, and walk into the boarding area. We sit, and wait...and we wait...and then...well we wait some more! Now the story is that the crew flying the plain has to rest as they've used up their flying hours, and the other crew is on their way. And of course they're being driven to work by an absolute imbecile, who took the wrong exit! Alright, now my mind is just ringing warnings! This can't be happening! Heck it doesn't even sound logically possible!

So finally the crew arrives, after another 4 hours wait, and we take off for JFK! We land, with an hour to my next flight, and I have a big smile on my face! Man, I'll finally make my link to Raleigh! And then we begin to wait and wait and yep! You guessed it right! Wait some more. Reason being that Emirates is so small an airline that they only have one hanger, and we can't dock until the other plane gets out!

Guess what, I miss my link, as we keep sitting in the plane, waiting for it to freaking dock the port! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

So as we land, we're told that Emirates is going to arrange our links and put us in a hotel room to rest! OK, but dude, I just want to get to Raleigh! How difficult is that! So I get my luggage (btw my bags were the last out from the conveyor belt) and walk into the long queues to get a next flight outta here! So I am told that the next available flight leaves in about 7 hours! So I get a hotel pass, and rush off to finally take a shower, begin to feel a little like a human being, eat food that doesn't taste like cooked tooth-paste, and if I'm lucky, get a hour or two's rest! So far so good, and apart from the freezing cold (I feel like my arms are going to fall off after being frozen in the -20 degree NY cold) the plan works! I walk into a hotel room, check my email, get a (sing with me now) long long long and hot hot hot shower, change into clean clothes, fill myself up with edible lasgania, and get two hours worth of sleep!

So I get up, quickly grab everything, forget my belt in the hotel room, and get the next available link to JFK. I go through the US security screenings, where they do everything just short of poking you with sharp objects, and walk into the boarding area! Guess what! MY fucking flight gets delayed all over again! Yep, someone up there is seriously pissed at me! So I wait and wait and wait, with the added pleasure of gates being opened to let in freezing cold gushes of wind! And finally our flight takes off (btw the delay was attributed to the crew not being there again), and yes we're 3 hours delayed again!

And finally I hit Raleigh at 3 am and take a cab to the hotel, and just crash to sleep. After unpacking of course and lining everything up neatly, see I'm a freak for that while traveling! And yes! Since it's a week night, I get up at 7, after hardly a few hours of sleep, and rush off to what's going to be my work site for the next 3 months!

And a long excruciating day at work begins! But there's solace, the team I'm working with are extremely friendly and homely sort of people, and they're competent as well, and hard working to top it off! Quite a rare, if not an impossible combination to find (my working friends would agree with me)! And at around 7 in the evening, I finally head home, and well wake up the next day, to begin what's hopefully going to be an easy schedule of working as much as I can so that I don't have to sit in that hotel room forever. And every now and then, finding time to explore Raleigh, and all the wonders it has!

So here's to another my kind of trip coming to an end, with me, surprisingly, amazingly, astoundingly, unbelievably, still in one piece!

And yes, I'm missing my family and friends like anything!

Next time then!

A Resounding Win---& a foot long smile

2006-02-01T07:17:00.000-05:00

Wow! Now what a game that was! 4 days of pure unadulterated fun! I don't remember the last time a test match took me to such tenter-hooks! I mean it didn't even go all the way to complete 5 full days, but it was just excellent!

OK, maybe the undue excitement can be attributed to the fact that we won, I mean that's the reason for the foot long smile on my face, and it refuses to go away! It's just a wonderful feeling!

You know what I feel like right now, I feel like Butch Cassidy in the bicycle scene, where he takes his best friend's sweetheart for a ride in the farm! Raindrops keep falling on my head, they keep falling...

O and yes, it was the biggest win by runs in the history of test cricket. So what did we have in this match from Pakistan's side? An early collapse, 34-6 would you believe. Then an act of defiance against the tides of favour by Akmal (100+), Razzaq (40+) and Shoaib (40+). Then we had a fully carnevourous bowling performance, with all the seamers doing their bit and then some. Follow that up by godly batting in the second innings (the top 7 guys getting at least 50 each, world record btw) including one sparkling hundred by a lad trying to make his way out of his uncle's BIG shadow. And for everyone who said that they're batting so well because the pitch had gotten dead, there was a less then three sessions bowl'em out display to conclude the proceedings, ofcourse it included a glorious batting display surrounded in devestation (Yuvraj going to get his secind test match ton).

The result, you have the biggest win by runs in test history.

Of course there was the end of the match celebration and good ol' Inzi when asked about his back saying "we are fine now!". That one's going to stay with me.

So here's to an exciting conclusion to a test match lost in the first 10 over, and then slowly, painfully, aggressively, labouriously won back! And won back in style.

I'll come back after the euphoria has faded a bit and I've seen the highlights for today (speccially looking forward to Yuvraj's second ton, that should be a treat).

Have fun...

I'm leaving on a jet plane

2006-01-25T23:42:00.000-05:00

So another year and another travelogue to be initiated. I don't know how, but the last 3/4 years have seen me bounce around the globe with no real reason. And since it's a new year with so many new resolutions (that mostly won't be kept), it is also the right time to pack my bags and fly away.

This time it's to Raleigh, NC, and it is work related. Duration is still not clear to me, but I think it can be anything from a month to 6 months! I really do hope it's the first. Because I think a month would be enough for me to get some substantial work done and exhaustively see the surrounding areas so that I'm able to write-off another city from my checklist.

I'm sure that I've mentioned more then once that I love travelling, it's just the idea of living out of a bag that really fascinates me. Not really too many worries (apart from the meeting of the mandatory deadlines), and no real plans. And the instant ability to just walk away in no direction with no destination. Just being there in the moment.

But as the years pass me by, this urge to pack up and leave, though still there, does diminish in intensity, and I won't be totally surprised if it's gone completely in the next 5 years. But again I won't be surprised if it's rejuvinated and alive then, I guess then I'd know that the nomad in me won't die before me.

But yes, it is a wonderful feeling to be able to get these oppurtunities where everything around me changes (for the good or bad is irrelevant here), and what this does is that at the end of the day when I come back to all those I love, it's like I'm getting together with them after ages of agonizing seperation, and it's the first date all over again!

So here's to this wonderful plan called life, and to all of us living it day by day, finding ingenious methods of evolution with every passing moment.

It's like swimming off into the ocean, I mean from the beach it looks so amazing, all mixed up with the sun and sparkling with energy and a promise of ever lasting youth, and then you begin to swim away. The water around your body tugs and pulls and pushes you, giving you a complete curtain of safety...finally the limbs begin to tire and the breath starts to get irregular. You start contemplating the return to the shore. And slowly you turn back, this time not swimming with all the energy you have, but with the experience of a man who's tested the waters many times over the years. Conserving all the energy you have, making the most distance with the minimum effort. And finally, after an eternity, you reach the shore, and for a moment you just feel the sand under you feet, and the air in you lungs, still standing waist deep in the water. And suddenly the beach is the surest thing you've seen and you fall in love with it all over again. It's the love you have for your home, for where you belong too, for the beach is all that and more, it's also your portal to the unknown, a way to escape whenever things get too well defined.

So my little trips, they're just that, they're the swim off into the ocean to taste the unknown every now and then, but it's the beach I am coming back to, Allah willing!

Let me leave you here with the song I hum everytime I swim away...

Have fun!

I'm ... I'm ...

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standin' here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye

But the dawn is breakin', it's early morn
The taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn
Already I'm so lonesome I could die

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go

I'm ...

There's so many times I've let you down
So many times I've played around
I'll tell you now, they don't mean a thing

Every place I go, I think of you
Every song I sing, I sing for you
When I come back I'll wear your wedding ring

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go

Now the time has come to leave you
One more time, oh, let me kiss you
And close your eyes and I'll be on my way

Dream about the days to come
When I won't have to leave alone
About the times that I won't have to say ...

Oh, kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go

And I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go

But I'm leaving on a jet plane
(Ah ah ah ah)
Leaving on a jet plane
(Ah ah ah ah)
Leaving on a jet plane
(Ah ah ah ah)
Leaving on a jet plane
(Ah ah ah ah)
Leaving on a jet plane
(Ah ah ah ah)
Leaving on a jet plane
(Ah ah ah ah)
Leaving on a jet plane
(Ah ah ah ah)
Leaving on a jet plane
(Ah ah ah ah)
(Leaving) On a jet plane

WHOOSH...was that Eid that just passed us by?

2006-01-13T02:10:00.000-05:00

Hmm...so Eid was a breeze. Well it just seems like yesterday when I was sitting in my cubicle, packing up, readying myself to leave my workplace for three whole days! Eid-ul-Adha break. Leaving work, the three days seemed like a while, time enough to get through the qurbaani, mingle with the family, sit with some friends, and get some alone time, where I can just lie down and indulge myself in the latest addiction (namely Scrubs) on my laptop.

Or so I thought!

Well the first day of my mini vacation started really early, Eid was the next day and I still hadn't gone out to get me a goat. So Mr. Fraz got up early, had nothing for breakfast, not even the obligatory cup of tea, and away he went. Well the whole day was spent in the goat market, from goat seller to goat seller, trying to find a nicely sized goat at a good price. Did I not say that a barely year old goat this year cost about the same as a fair sized car installment. Well come evening, and the task was accomplished. I had finally found a goat I liked and was driving home with it in the back seat of my car. Well for the inexperienced at goat buying, lemme just say that driving alone in the car with a goat freaking out in your back seat is quite the experience. But apart from a couple of goat sneezes on my neck apart, the ride was fairly smooth. I just had to pull over twice to drive some sense in my goat (to the laughing out loud pleasure of little girls in cars passing by)!

By the time I got home, I was so exhausted that the getting of goat food was left to my father, and I headed down to my bed, but sleep was never on the cards. See when you exhaust yourself beyond recovery, the human body refuses to go to sleep. So I moved around in a full blown zombie mode.

Before I knew it, it was 7 am the next day and the alarm to get up for Eid prayers had gone off. So forcing myself to the shower, and then into my newly stitched Eid clothes, I was standing in the mosque, going through the Eid prayers (and I only went into rukuh once, when I should've stayed up in qayyam). After the Eid prayers it was the obligatory hugging Eid mubaraks to all the people I could see and didn't know. Which was then followed by the butcher hunt for the qurbaani.

But as soon as the butcher arrived (who by the way was in more demand than the latest Angeline Jolie movie), all sense of time and taking it easy evaporated. I didn't even know it and the qurbaani was done, meat divisioned and about 20 members of the family over at our place. And well do I have to say it...guess not.

Again bed time came early morning, and the next day (the same day as a matter of fact) I was off to visit my inlaws. Needless to say I came back late late at night, and well before I knew it, my alarm clock was going off and it was 7 am.

Time to get up, get a shower and race off to work.

So even though I did make time for family, a brief visit to some friends in between, and for the goat, the alone time with my favorite sit-com on my notebook...well that's just a sweet sweet dream, a dream I look forward to, and a dream that perhaps is the driving force behind my going on thorugh the day!

But hey, just spoke to my program manager and I'm off to home early today, but guess what, to my aunt's place, where hopefully with all the madness I'll find time to watch some cricket and enjoy Pakistan cashing in on the good start...

Eid mubarak everyone!

Paradoxes

2006-01-06T02:09:00.000-05:00

Would I be totally out of line if I say that my life is nothing but an intricately weaved paradox, day in and out? Really! All attempted resolutions to any and all problems I might be facing at that time eventually contradict another belief, another resolution, another solution.

Every attempt to alleviate the state of being is, well a paradox in its simplest form. In effect we just contradict our own better sense to end in a situation that might, just might, result in a quick laugh, a heightened feeling of existence.

Similarly every decision I make feels to me like a colossal contradiction to my purpose of being, or whatever the seers thought up most recently.

I mean we've built up this fluid society which induces life in phases. Childhood - where you do without thinking at the expense of some serious damage, and a thrashing from an adult here and there. Student life - where you now start out at the montessary level, and depending upon how much external factors effect you, continue to college / university or no level at all. This is followed by a more ambiguously defined phase called practical life. This is where lives in general differed between men and women in societies like ours, but now that difference is fading, like it did in the West, before disappearing altogether. Mind you, I have nothing against or for this change. It's just inevitable in my books, something that would happen sooner or later.

This phase of life is where the paradox of life goes to its maximum level, where literally every step and breath introduces you to a completely new set of contradictions in their own terms. But we tudge along, learning, delearning, falling, getting up, getting bruised and being run over every now and then. This is where we lose any and all perspective we ever possessed in the relatively pure realms of childhood and student life.

We begin to get driven by an ever consuming hunger to grow and prosper, into what, we really don't know. I mean growing into an entrepreneur is really knowing what you're going into, that's more of being in some state, rather then a state of being. We set goals for ourselves which are examined in every interview we ever give, and well, sad as it is, these goals are usually more meaningless then a rerun of Beavus and Butthead.

The next phase, Post Retirement Life is still quite unclear to me. I've seen quite a few variations in this (perhaps to add to my own confusions). I've seen sage like retirees who're there full of wisdom and truth, who smile these little smiles every time you appear in front of them in pursuit of the latest bout of madness.

And then I've seen people in this phase of life who get so mad that you can't make sense of a thing they say. Or there's the type who becomes so uncertain that they don't even know what they're uncertain about.

Now see where I started from and where I ended up...
tsk...tsk...tsk

To all the things I overlooked

2005-12-26T06:03:00.000-05:00

One thing that fascinates me is how the things, moments, and people I overlook in the pursuit of my latest obsessions, come back to me and become so integral to my life. By contrast how the things, moments, and people I pursue with all my might somehow fade away into nothing. And now when I think about this specifically, I can pinpoint numerous such things, moments, and people who I can put into either one of these categories.

I've gone through high school, college, university collecting things and wasting them, remembering them and forgetting them. And now I can remember so many things that were in my life, but are no more, and I want them back so much, but to no avail. It's just a bitter pill to be swallowed. Like a soldier who loses a limb at war, comes back, regrets his loss and moves on, with whatever he's left with.

Memories on the other hand are simpler to manage, yet so much more complex. I'm sure that with proper levels of concentration I can trace back all the major and the not so major moments in my life back to when I was a toddler. There are so many moments that I've laid to rest in the farther crevices of my mind, many probably lost to eternal hibernation. And then there are memories that haunt me day in and out. That flash past my eyes unannounced, without any sort of proper or improper warning. And when I come out of these flashes, I'm out of sync with whatever I was doing, and then the desperate effort to get back online. So many memories that stayed with me are of moments that I deemed of no consequence, yet they've grown to be a part of my definition. And all those moments I thought would be the moments to cherish and fall back upon in times of trouble, are just lost or even if they're not lost, remembering them doesn't trigger any strong emotion.

It's like remembering how the dimple on a person's face was shaped, and forgetting the face alltogether. Or remembering a particular peice of inconsequential jewellery the love of your life wore on a similarly inconsequential day, and forgetting all about her. Am I actually making any sense? I really don't know.

Finally the people. The trickiest of all the overlooked classifications. So many friends I made, so many enemies, and so so many people I ignored all throughout. And so many people that I overlooked, who've somehow entered back into my life, or I, theirs, and we've gelled all over again. I'm grateful to all these people for ignoring what an asshole I'd been all the time they knew me.

I guess one of the major reasons we get along with the people we ignored a long time ago and meet after a while is that "sort of" connection we share. It's knowing that this person saw me when I was a whatever, and I knew this person. And look what the sands of time have done to us...

So above all, here's to all the people I overlooked in my stupidity, and who've re-entered my life, adding more and more value to it everyday, and also to those I overlooked and yet haven't made an entry into my life, but will definately do so when they feel the time is right, and my vision broad enough to appreciate them for the fabulous people they are...

Take care!

Learning how to fly...

2005-12-23T01:45:00.000-05:00

I'm standing dead in the center of the rooftop of a 152 story building. A stiff breeze is blowing, and I can see birds of all kinds flying around me. Slowly, but confidently I walk towards the edge of the building. All around me is the metropolitan of high-rise buildings. None as high as the one I'm standing on. Traffic and people on the roads are like fuzzy dots in a faraway dream. The earth is silent, but for the sound of the breeze and of the flapping of the birds wings.

I look about me, not really looking at anything in particular, yet taking in even the minutest details. The smell of the world at that very moment fills me in, into the deepest depths of my existence. I can feel all the hope and joy everyone is feeling then, but then suddenly, without warning all the despair, anguish, grief and anger rushes over me, and the hope fades away amidst all of these angrier emotions...

For a moment everything stops, and is stuck in its own momentary eclipse, as I get up on the boundary wall, and tip-toe to the very limit of the building. A hair's width keeps me on the certainty of the strong steel structure of the building that I stand upon, seperating me from the boundless freedom lying beyond.

Some birds look at me, wondering what a neanderthal is doing on the precipice of freedom. I feel that they mock my being shackled by the chains of gravity, that glues me and billions like me to the surface of this world we so lovingly destroy everyday.

I take in a deep breath, and feel the oxygen filling into my lungs, it's a moment of comprehensive euphoria, suddenly I feel free...free of everything, even the hold of gravity on my soul.

I close my eyes, and let myself go. I let the wind take hold of me, to take me to places far and wide, places that haven't been set foot upon, places hidden from all the searching eyes of life.

I feel the essence of life flow through my body, even the minutest part of my body is suddenly alive, filled with this electrical energy. I open my eyes and the world is a haze about me. Everything seems to be moving at the speed of light, and I seem to be stuck, in the essence of that particular moment.

Finally, at the moment of extreme finalities, I learn to fly...

I learn to let go...

The crispy winters

2005-12-20T02:47:00.000-05:00

What happens when you go out of the house at 2 o Clock at night in just your boxer shorts, in the dead of the December cold? Quite simple really, you get a cold, and then come all the relatives...

But I'm back up now, and well I'm just loving the crispy cool of this season. The cool breeze, the ferocious winds, the skeletons of trees, left bare by continuous sessions of freezing temperatures...warm mugs of tea and coffee, and the occasional walks in the leave ridden roads...

Tell me how can you live in this weather and not fall in love with it. Well all over again I'm in love with the Islamabad winter. I guess the feeling is so much stronger because my last winter was spent in a desert, and there sweating mildly instead of insanely usually identified the cold season. Ahh...it is good to be back.

Come to think of it, there's hardly anything about the winters I don't like. Let's be bolder and say that there's actually nothing about the winters I don't adore. Tell me honestly, can little kids cuter then they do wearing tonnes of knitted clothes, and hats, and ear muffs, and mittens, and on! Can life ever get fresher then it is early in the winter morning, washed up by the nightly dew. I guess if they bottled dew to sell, I'd be the number one customer.

So here's to a wonderful season that's Allah's blessing for us all. Let's eat it all up and remain thankful anyway...

Next time then.

The Happy Absence

2005-12-08T00:10:00.000-05:00

Usually an inability to post isn't a very god thing, but when a sabbatical arrives that is induced by continuous productive work...now that's a different story altogether. See because now that I'm sitting on my blogger window and speaking nothings, it isn't with guilt for being away (as usually is the case), but with bright contemplation.

Quite a bit's happened since the last time I was here, most importantly I was finally able to lift myself out of the quick-sand that was the last post. And as usual it was utterly consuming work that came to my rescue. But rescued I am!

So Pakistan finally won a test series, and what a win it was. Sweet! Utterly sweet. And the best thing was that the win wasn't induced by individuals sparkling brighter then diamonds, but by everyone chipping in with whatever they had. And when I think of the Pakistan's Cricketing future, only good things come to mind, except for when I begin to think of when Inzi retires! At that point my logic retires as well.

Yes I am one of those people who need to see the bad with all the good in the world. If everything is perfectly fine, and life is filled with happy moments exclusively, I do begin to panic. Because if there's nothing to worry about then I can't really enjoy the things that exist to nullify my worries. Yes you can reach for the gun under the pillow and shoot at will...

This for me is birth season, everyone seems to be waiting for a birth of some sort. Aijaz and Babar wait excitedly for their young 'uns to pop into this world and deprive them of sleep for the next umm...20-30 years. Zeeshan waits for the birth of the company he's so diligently working to launch. Naufal waits for the birth of his MS period, and extremely excited about really leaving home base for the first time. And of course Alina, being the arts major that she is, keeps giving birth to these pieces of art, which are excecptional more often then they are ghastly!

So the season of birth trods along. And a merry season it is. Row...row...row your boat...gently down the stream...

My inner nomad also begins to call out to me, and the urge to travel is building within me with every passing day. I keep lowering the barometer by making small trips. The weekend before, it was the chilled, fall ridden valley of Abbotabad. And the trip on a helicopter around all the northern areas, distributing relief goods was perhaps the best change in the history and life and self induced changes. Besides a city turned crimson by autumn is perhaps the most satisfying sight for the soul.

This weekend I'm planning a trip to the historic city of Lahore. But I'm sure if it comes through, it won't be as out of the world as the last outing into the oblivion. But hey, it's better then being stuck in the 40km circle of professional life (home - office - home - some relations - some friends - home - and then office). I would have empathised with Lion King more if this were the circle of life they sung about! But of course that wouldn't make kids giddy with joy, perhaps it would have made them bleak with worry about the process of growing up...

Isn't it amazing how we can get used to our current state of physical being. And at this very moment I'm strictly speaking of our physical self. Kids are happy with how they are, and training themselves to perfection in the art of using umbrellas to unlock doors, the youth is never quite satisfied by pushing themselves just a little bit more everytime, and always getting to the other side of the Meridian. The ones stuck in the middle years, keep oscillating happily between the youth's pattern of irrational existence, and the elderly restful lives. And the elderly keep putting on anti-aging creams, and keep smiling broadly, their faces disappearing in a bush of wrinkles. And the dead, well don't really know what they're upto, but if this life is anything to go by, then they too would be quite content with their states of being. Of course the occasional quirk is justified every now and then!

So long then...have fun!

Death of Marlborough Man

2005-11-14T22:43:00.000-05:00

Standing tall at over six feet, clad in a black jeans, and denim shirt, hair in a great state of disarray, a Marlborough lit in his hand...That's how I'll always remember you, Mr. Tahir Saleem, The Marlborough Man...

I would like to call you Sir (but you asked me not to, hence the name Marlborough Man), as you would always be the greatest teacher I ever had, and never do I want any teacher to be better then you...for you deserve this distinction, if anyone ever deserved it! A good teacher teaches you his subject with honesty and dedication, you went beyond that and taught me life. You weren't just a teacher of Physics and Mathematics, but you were the professor of humanity, humility, morality, sanity...

Let it be known to all that this post is dedicated to a person who dedicated his life not only to his loved ones but all those he didn't even know. A person who would get late for work and take all the bullshit in the world, to help a stray dog who got hurt. His everyday was a new definition of sacrifice. Though the ones he loved never were able to love him back. Oh I want to climb up on rooftops and scream...shut everyone up...stop everything...burn it all to the ground. I want at this very moment my existence, and all existence to end, and end in salutation to the end of what was the definition of pure human thought in this era of inhumanity...

I don't even know how you died...why you died. Why does a 30 something man, strong and sturdy, die? I will find out, or find as much as I can...

Oh how I wish I could have made that trip to meet you. A trip I planned so many times, but always delayed it, for how could you go anywhere! But gone you are! And curse myself, I always will for not making it...

I would always treasure that notebook you gave me, with all the little tidbits of wisdom you gathered, and probably wrote yourself.

I would never forget you saying "I was too far out all my life, not waving, but drowning".

I would never forget you singing "Babuji dheeray chalna, pyaar main zAra sambhalna" (Mister, walk slow, in love watch your step), with that knowing expression...O that knowing expression...I can see you now...

I would never forget the omlettes you made for me in butter, whenever I went over to study at your place. Professing that I need all the energy I can get...

How can I ever forget that your door was always open to my stupid bickering, about loves lost, hurdles faced, ambitions lost and found...your smiling face and words and actions of encouragement. Making sure that I was 100% all over again before you let go...

How can I ever forget the day you came over on your new Motorbiike that you loved and cherished! And then how can I forget when you sold it in a instant when your younger brother asked for a car. I can never forget you smiling that knowing smile when I couldn't make sense of your actions...

How can I ever forget us grooving to the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, cigarettes lit, books spread about in complete disarray, completely exhausted after a series of most complex mathematical problems...

I'll smile everytime I think of your explanation of wearing two pairs of socks in the death of the summer. "Yaar dau juraaboan kay beech main cigarette kee dabbee rakhee jaayay to kharaab naheen hotee..." (A pack of cigarettes would always be safe if you place it in-between two pairs of socks)

Remember the time you let go of the girl who was your life for the sake of your brother and father, so that you may be able to support them and fulfil the promise you made to your mother! (I said this is so damn filmy) O so stupid of you!

How can I forget the time you showed me the picture of her kid (married and settled while you yourself were still nowhere)...My heart still breaks to bits as I move back into that moment of 11 years ago, just as it got shattered then...

But then all the time that I spent mesmerised by the person that was you, I remember feeling that you must be from another world, whose root was based on innocence of thought and not on basic childish selfishness, as ours...

But you are gone now...I wish I could accompany you on this new journey...for everything feels lifeless to me since this morning that I got the news that you're dead...

How can you have died and not let me know...How can your death not be the biggest tragedy of this millennium...How can life still function...

How can I write about you and be satisfied that I expressed myself about the loss that I feel! How can I ever comprehensively talk of you the person, the teacher, the guide, the friend...

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Of Lamps, Lamp shades, and Spiderman

2005-11-10T06:46:00.000-05:00

Each passing day reaffirms my faith in God's great sense of humor! I would never have considered myself to be the sort of a person who specially goes to the market to buy a lamp, let alone, go into the market and get one made specifically to order! So I guess you can understand my sentiment behind writing this blog dedicated solely to my day yesterday. Cause not only did I get a lamp made to order and played the role of a chief architect in its design, I also got a special Spiderman cake, again made to order.

And all this becomes even stranger when yesterday was a holiday (Iqbal day), and I prefer spending my holidays tucked up in a comfortable couch watching a favorite movie, if not holidaying in some remote area in the northern mountains.

So for all those (lost) souls interested in reading this blog, let me try and clarify my erratic behavior for yesterday. Well the seed for ending up in a shop analyzing the chief principles in play behind lamp design were sowed 8 months ago. 8 months ago, I was officially married, and that too, to a fine arts major. So now I hope it all makes sense, and all thee who read, can also realize my future of finding myself in so many more situations where I would never expect to find myself in! The good thing, however is that these sort of (un)timely adventures can act as an aphrodisiac for life as it happens. On the flip side I can end up to be the man who went up a hill and came down a mountain, whatever that means!

Now over to the Spiderman story. Well that came about thanks to my 5 year old nephew, who wanted a special Spiderman cake on his birthday, so off I went on the Spiderman hunt, and ended up sitting in a bakery going through various kiddy coloring books looking for that perfect Spiderman pose. Well the cake was a big success, but the ride home wasn't as successful. See by the time Spiderman got home, one of his legs were broken, and being Spidey, he had shifted to the very edge of the cake boundary, giving him a squeezed sort of an appearance! And finally the kids weren't as enthusiastic about cutting Spidey up as a birthday gesture.

So yesterday with these two erratic events, and about a 150 km drive around the city split up during the course of the day, ended in the wee hours of the night. And it was after a long time that I went to sleep as soon as I hit the bed.

Next time then...

Deriving Sense

2005-11-08T04:07:00.000-05:00

Somehow it's perceived that as you add years to your real-life experience, you're supposed to develop a better sense of sense. Your awareness barometer is supposed to show a steady increase in value as time goes by. But does this perception really hold any true value? Or is it just like believing in some stereotype and realizing too late what a fool you've made of yourself!

See I've been privileged to be spending a lot of time with our young'uns recently, and their sense of sense amazes me constantly. Sometimes I actually feel that I should sit one of them down (given that they can sit still long enough, amazing reservoirs of energy) and discuss the most complex issues pertaining in my life. It is their instinct to recognize the simplest solution that is remarkable. I guess as we mature and supposedly add more and more convolutions to our brains, this sense to spot the simplest solution (which is almost always the best solution) begins to elude us. As I guess we are in pursuit of solutions of Einstenian proportions.

I was recently watching a serious thriller, where the hero was facing and in turn beating extreme odds when my 4 year old nephew stated, very matter of factly "why doesn't he just stay in his house". And that was it, the best possible solution. Sit back in the comfort of your home, light a cigarette, watch a nice show, and relax in that one comfortable couch...but then, that would have been one dull movie (unless you're a big fan of the crappy reality TV).

I guess as we add years, and hopefully increase our intellect quotient, and develop a far-sighted approach to things, the things right in front of our faces go out of focus, and we end up contemplating the next 80 moves in the game of chess when the game can be won in the very next move...

So much for that, maybe some more at some later stage.

In my other world...Alina begins her mids in two days...Babar plans on a more stable plan for himself...Aijaz keeps fighting the good fight against fatigue and to help the earthquake victims...Naufal gets his visa approved and is on his way to Syracuse...Zeeshan keeps taking those little steps to reach that elusive step where he cuts the ribbon of his new company...Dad recovers from flu...Mom keeps forgetting to take her medicine as if the forgetfulness itself was prescribed by the doctor...And I, well I just keep coping with the new world.

Next time then...

Rocking away with life

2005-11-07T02:13:00.000-05:00

Well it's been more then a while really, and quite a bit's happened in this more then a little while. Ramzan came and went, Eid came and went, a new job, but one thing that refuses to leave the inner crevices of the mind for even a few minutes, the mind and life shattering earthquake!

On the morning of the 8th day of November, life was changed forever for many Pakistanis, myself included. When I was rocking across my office on the 4th floor by the earthquake, I never thought beyond the time it would be over. Yet slowly but steadily the news of the devastation started to reach us. Bit by bit, like that Chinese torture where they drop water of your forehead, one drop at a time, until all control over the mind is lost...

It was however heartening to see the Pakistani people lift themselves up to the occasion. To see students, professionals, kids, the elderly all go the extra mile and then some to do whatever they could to assist in whatever way they could. A relief camp was established at my office. Work was suspended for 10 days, goods were collected, money was collected, and detailed plans were made to send the relief to the hard struck areas. Every night 4 trucks loaded with relief goods were dispatched.

I took two trips to Muzaffarabad for disbursement of relief goods. I thought the clips shown on TV were excruciating, but being there, in the stinch of rotting corpses, where roof upon roof was layed out flat on the ground gave a whole new perspective to the word excruciating. Everyone we met had lost something / someone. In that warped reality when someone said "I'm fine" it meant s/he'd only lost 1-2 family members, and were pulling themselves together to help others who'd lost their whole families. I saw women and children with bruised bodies and broken bones, just sitting there, unable to reach any hospital or help otherwise.

But what I felt most strongly over there was an absence of God, it was as if all divine assistence was abolished, and little insignificant people were left to tread the stormy waters on their own.

I can write on and on about this and still not be able to convey what I saw there, and all that I felt there...so...move on.

After two years I spent Ramzan back at home, and that was comfortable. I guess you can never get pampered enough! And Eid was a nice quiet family affair as well. It was my first Eid after being married, so it did feel a bit wierd at times, but the overall effect was quite soothing.

And then I switched my job as well. This time to a place where I feel I can spend the rest of my professional life in peace, working away quietly.

On numerous occasions I felt the urge to get online to blog, but there was always something to stop me from going there. Now I feel sad, because of so many thoughts that are lost, maybe forever...

Let's try and be a bit more regular now.

Professions

2005-08-27T05:56:00.000-04:00

Someone posted a comment asking for my profession, and guess what, it got me thinking...

Ok, it's been three days from the first sentence to this one. No, no, I've not been meditating all this while, just been too damn busy, work and otherwise. But here I am now, with a moment to spare and a thought or two swirling in the head. So let's get to my profession.

Can I classify myself as having a singular profession? Is my profession the job I do? Or does my profession go deeper into my belief system?

Would I call XYZ my profession? Afterall I graduated in XYZ, have been working in the XYZ industry for the last 5 years or so, and most of my friends are working in the same field. So I guess as a working professional, yes XYZ can be termed as my "field", but not profession. Profession would be variations within the realm of XYZ, or not...

Now let's dig a little deeper. As defined by Word Web profession means:

Noun : Profession
1. The body of people in a learned occupation
2. An occupation requiring special education (especially in the liberal arts or
sciences)
3. An open avowal (true or false) of some belief or opinion
"a profession of disagreement"
4. Affirmation of acceptance of some religion or faith
"a profession of Christianity"

As far as 1. goes, I can't really identify myself with any singular body of people. I've always been bad belonging to any specific community. To cut a long (and tedious) story short, let's just say, there usually are numerous disagreements, at the grass root level. So as per 1. I have no profession, and the way things stand I won't in the near (or distant) future.

As for 2. one way to look at it would be how I linked myself to XYZ, but that's a loose linkage isn't it. I mean can we call it special education in the Doom generation. As far as special education is concerned, I remember taking special sex-ed classes which were mandatory in our elementary school. So does that make me a professional sex maniac? I certanily hope not! So this definition can only result in inaccurate interpretations...hence...move on.

Coming to 3. now. Well I am quite often described as having a big mouth, so I keep finding myself in situations where I am strongly professing some belief or opinion. Anti-religious-blindness, Pro-movies, etc etc. I guess when I believe in something I believe in it quite strongly. But this way I'd have as many professions as problems in life. Dare we start counting? Perhaps not!

Alright, at 4. finally and this is the last one. I am simply not able to accept in totality any religion or faith, try as I may...But again loosely binding ourselves to this definition, I would classify myself in the "profession of Islam". But again an Islam which wouldn't conclude in the ending of lives at some point of conflict, so I guess I'm outta there as well.

So my friend, whoever you are, do you understand why I say when I say that I have no real profession, and please do not take offence if I say that neither do you, or anyone else. For simply put, such hard and discrete boundries do not gel well with such a malleable and analog concept of life.

Next time then...

P.S. Started my MS yesterday, and it was very wierd being in a classroom after a hiatus of about 5 years. So let's see where we end up this time...I guess the fun (as always) lies in the journey...

Yesterday they buried a man in the graveyard...

2005-08-09T06:19:00.000-04:00

Yesterday they buried a man in the graveyard; apart from that it was the perfect Islamabad day. I’ve always maintained that this little city of ours is at its zenith right after it has rained, when the thick cover of clouds is still sheltering the land from the sun. Well it was just that sort of a day. An assortment of all kinds of clouds meteorologists know of hovered above the ground, moving around lazily, enjoying the soft breeze that smelled of all things green and alive. Do you know that the human eye can identify more shades of green than any other color? Well it was all those shades of green at display, every shade working its way into the soul, through the eyes, adding to the calm of existence.

Yesterday they buried a man in the graveyard; the cars moved about making that noise that they make when the roads are still wet and sparkling. People on motorbikes and cycles, and all the pedestrians hurried home, or wherever their short journeys took them, trying to outrun the downpour. People in cars drove slowly, as if trying to delay the getting home bit, and just moved about slowly, harmoniously, taking in the sweetness of a cool day in an otherwise smoldering month of August. Life progressed in sync with the rhythmic ticking of the clock, both biological and planetary. I guess it would never go out of sync from that rhythm, for its destiny would always be there to ensure that.

Yesterday they buried a man in the graveyard; the progression was filled with the usual attendance of the mixed assortment of the residents of the capital city. Cars, big and small, new and old, all came to a stop, and people of the same description popped out. Some were bleak, others chatted happily, passing a comment here and there about how lovely the weather was. Some mourners looked as if they wanted to be buried in the grave with the soul departed, others just cursed their luck for having to walk in the mud to the grave just after it had stopped pouring. All the usual rituals were carried out, everyone gave a piece of their mind, and somehow it was all said and done without any serious outburst.

Yesterday they buried a man in the graveyard; I got to thinking that this could so much be my burial ceremony. I would expect the same mix of people. There would be those who would feel a great sense of loss at my departure, those who’d think of me that particular day and then move on with their lives to forget me forever, and those that would come just because they thought that I would have come to their burial as well. The same sense of chaotic reflections would drive my body to the grave, and then, like magic it would all be over. Slowly people would move out and head wherever their minds would take them. Perhaps someone would stay back at my grave after everyone would walk away. Perhaps speak a few words to me personally, and then walk away. Eventually they would all resume moving at the speed of life.

Yesterday they buried a man in the graveyard; there was this sense of doom in a particular home. Life ended for a select few along with the deceased. Life also went on for the same select few, with just some minor adjustments and one major adjustment. People paid their respects in whatever manner they deemed most appropriate. Quite a few eyes rained monsoon, many noses were blown, numerous footings were lost, and lots of hugs were disbursed. Somewhere in that mix, sighs of relief were also released. Somehow food was also arranged and a meal worthy of being a wedding dinner was had. Stories consisting of fond memories were told, many true, and many made up. Many felt it their duty to help out, to be there. A great sense of commitment was felt, which would, in most cases be forgotten with the tides of time.

Yesterday they buried a man in the graveyard; I wanted it to be me…

Comfort zone

2005-07-30T06:09:00.000-04:00

So today should be interesting. Meet one friend before he leaves for Italy. Meet another friend who's visiting and before he heads back to East Taimoor. Meet the relatives who are coming over to visit. Sit with another friend and finalize the vision and mission statement for the company he is about to launch. And do all this while all you really want to do is lie down and think about the passing of what has been one of the most hectic and killer weeks in the recent history of weeks. And of course half the day is already gone, and the second half is flying by at blinding speed.

Right now I would just want to find my comfort zone, which I feel I've misplaced, get into it and hide from the rest of the world, and come out only when using the john is absolutely essential. The problem is that somehow I've misplaced my comfort zone and there's a constant feeling that I'm standing on the pitch holding a broken bat with no helmet or pads, and facing successive deliveries from Shoib Akhter, Brett Lee, and Shane Bond. Just place yourself there and you'd find me standing besides you.

So even though the idea of a comfort zone seems exciting, just imagining how it looks like seems far fethced at the moment, let alone reach it and reside in it. Wasn't there this theory of guardian angels, well if there are any such angels, then I really need my angel this very moment! Otherwise the consequences would be quite nasty and un redeemable.

By the way, why is redemtion such an important issue. And what's all the focus on issues all the time, what not focus on the non-issues for a change. Why even want to focus at all. And then why are these wants plaguing us? And then why are we scared of things that are capable of plaguing us? Don't even get me started on the fears that scare us. And then why do we always need to get started. But then why is there a constant bearing of needs in our lives? And what's with these lives we live so enthusiastically...

Get a drift of my mental state?

Well good luck!

Getting back at it

2005-07-14T00:21:00.000-04:00

There's nothing like watching the movies you love to get yourself back into the gear you believe is the right gear. So yesterday evening I spent with the movies I love.

The cinemactic evening was inaugerated with Almodovar's "Talk to her" that took me to that deep dark place, that I'm sure Almodovar knows quite well. After that it was "Cinema Paradiso", that little Italian treat. Followed that up with helping Alina out in the kitchen with a Pakistanized version of some Italian dish (not trying to hog any credit, basically I just blended boiled potatoes in milk with lots of black pepper and salt). And if you think that was enough, after stuffing myself to the point of resembling a boiled potato, I ended the night with a very late night showing of "Amelie"! Alina saw the film for the first time, so I kept nagging her about how lovely Audrey Totou and every frame of the movie is, I'm sure there was a moment where she would have preferred to smack me with a pillow case stuffed with horse shoes...

So today, sitting at my office enjoying my morning cup of tea, I can sit and just write at lesiure, ahh that lovely feeling.

Yesterday was an interesting day. Work was busier then usual, that means I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown (reminds me of another Almodovar film), the sky was filled with clouds and not a single drop of rain fell, and the evevning saw the spell of rain come to an inevitble end. And I came across a random blog that I really liked.

I've always felt that a blog should be the reflection of the everyday ordinary life, whish is just so special. But it should be more in the head then out there in the physical world. I don't really know if I'm making much sense, but at least I know what I'm talking about, so bear with it. It was a blog by an aspiring writer caught up in the hassles of London, and keeping up with the crazed traffic. Somehow I got to reading the posts and kept getting hooked on them.

Would it make sense if I say that I can actually be that same person in a different situation / life? Well the posts gave me that sort of a feeling. Specially there was one post written in the wake of the heart wrenching London bomb blasts. Without permission of the author, I'm going to reproduce a small portion that really made sense to me.

You see, people who live in London are like cockroaches, tough, mean, survivalists.
...
Using this word 'freedom' over and over again as if it meant something. I decided this word freedom that we are supposed to be defending is actually a mistake, it should be 'wealth' or 'money' because that is what the rest of the world is pissed off about really. It is power games isn't it? The fight for power, because no one is really free when there are governments that do not represent the will of the people. DOesn't the world want less carbon gases in the environment? Does Bush change his policies? Is he reallly concerned about his 'economy' or his own ties to oil companies and profit?
...
Everyone was chatting, undeniably calm, smiling, happy to be alive.
...
'Freedom' wasn't something we felt because we were western, but because we were happy to be alive, anywhere, even if were in the Middle East. None of us felt the democracy, because how can we be democratic when our media manipulates the way we think? I kept thinking that terrorism wouldn't survive without the media, and vice versa, a sort of paristical relationship.
...
I don't blame the terrrorists for their anger. The middle east has a lot to be pissed off about. Hell, a lot of the world does because of the West. Look at Africa, South America. But I do feel that everyone is one, and that we cant see each other as enemies, as others trying to take away our 'freedom' because as we all know 'freedom' is only a buzzword, an illusionary thing that the 'other' is trying to steal because we want to see them as the enemy. There is no enemy, only ourselves to blame. As Janis Joplin sang 'freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose'.

I'd say I feel exactly the same about the situation, except I'd go on to say that I don't blame the terrorists for their anger, but I do hold them responsible for the ways they employ to vent it. Getting even with a baby in a pram is just never going to be justified in any way or for to me. But the "one"ness of everyone, yes! Why is it so difficult for us to accept that, and rejoice in the thought. I guess the reason would always lie somewhere in-between the differences in faith and belief. Freedom has actually become just a buzzword. It's like a million flies buzzing it without really knowing why they're doing what they're doing or what they expect to convey.

Why is it that the more progress we make in-terms of getting to know things, we move farther and farther away from the simplest of truth? Why do we keep losing our hold on rationality? Why do we keep getting automated into strips of program to be run?

But I'd always be hopeful, cause I feel there is hope, that's why we still exist, cause the day we stop existing would be the day hope would end.

Next time...

Bad news

2005-07-13T06:14:00.000-04:00

For the last month and a half, I've been extra-ordinarily lazy. Ever get the feeling of being always tired, no matter how much or how little rest you get. And frankly I'm quite sick of it. Alright I love to just lie down and relax with a good book or a movie, but I want to feel fresh doing that. Couple that with a series of not so good news.

I mean how're you supposed to digest the fact that your best friend at 29 is diagnosed with sugar, and would be spending the rest of his life a diabetic! That's just not fair. There was a time when a piece of news you got was of a new bike, an admission into a dream university, reciprocation of that youthful true love, oh I can just go on with this list. And somehow "news" now has turned into the discovery of being diabetic. It's not the bad news I'm bitching about, but the fact that there's nothing much that you can do to help out, and you end up going into hiding because you wouldn't know how to react appropriately. I mean getting into an accident is bad news, but tolerable as long as you know that you can help out in the "nursing back to health" process.

But I'm sure like all great lessons, it would be learned how to behave and all that comes with it. O how I wish I could do something meaningful to help. Like finding out why the damn body stops producing something like insulin, and then maybe finding out how to get it back to producing it again!

See news like this affects you in so many selfish and altruistic ways. I can't even begin to explain all that. But the real fuck up is that nothing would be the same again. No matter what they say about life taking its own form and moulding you with it, it would never be the same again. There's always going to be something at the back of all minds concerned, whenever an ice cream is ordered, or the body bruised. O how I want to take this away, and make it all disappear into thin air, even the bare memory of it.

But hey I haven't got it all that bad, compare me to the guy who got the sugary news, he has to live with that brave persona, and laugh it off every single time! Or his wife, who has to make sure that everything is balanced from this day forth. Worst yet the parents, who probably feel that it's their turn to catch an ailment here and there, but not their kid, who's supposed to be at the peak of physical and mental fitness. Oooooo the irony of it all. I mean it's always when you find out about something like this, you realize that you've left all your cigarettes in the car! Laugh it off up there!

And then there are always the always gleeful pieces of shit (myself included) who want everyone to look at the bright side, and who always find one. I mean fuck off, you can't just term a side bright because it isn't as dark as another side. So take your happy faces and shove 'em! That's as much directed to me as to that cheerful ass on the road, asking humanity to smile!

But then I guess it would be like this hence forth, the new "normal" so as to say. The latest version of "right" in this version driven age of information!

"Smile, you're no more on Candid Camera, and oh yes, you're diabetic. Now don't worry, just never eat anything you want to eat and you'd be fine. O and also don't fall down or bruise yourself, and come on! You'd be just fine..."

O this is so fucking messed up! How about the old lady on the moon singing me a song now.

Gar kay dushwaar hay har kaam ka aasaan hona
Aadmi ko bhee moassar naheen insaaan hona

Sanity...Insanity

2005-06-06T06:18:00.000-04:00

Remember that slapstick Jerry Lewis comedy, Orderly Disorderly, I don't remember it that well either, but am just thinking about it. I don't even rememeber the plot (like Jerry Lewis films had any plots), but still the name keeps ringing in my head with some vague pictures of Mr. Lewis in some totally uncomfortable position.

Yesterday I was humming a song that I have never heard in its entirety. I hate that song, it is a totally worthless and idiotic song, yet last night, until way way past my bed time, I kept humming it, until I had to get up all over again and go out to smoke, with mosquitos to keep me company (really want to invent a machine that would bite them)...

Very often I start humming this jingle from this really really excruciatingly stupid ad. It keeps doing rounds in my head. Until my head can't do anymore rounds.

Nearly every night I plan to remember the first thing I see when I wake up, and every morning I forget to notice it, and by the time I remember that I had to remember noticing that first thing, I've already forgotten about the first thing. Back in the saddle again...

The only dreams I forget as soon as I wake up are the ones I really want to remember forever, but then when do I decide which dream I want to remember forever, when I forget them as soon as I wake up.

It's always after I've said something rude and offensive that I decide not to say it. Over and over again.

Recently I've been doing so many of these sort of things, you know things you don't plan on doing but end up doing, and realizing that you have no control over them. And then you keep on doing them, until they get bored of you and move on!

Welcome back to blogging for me, it was a very interesting and lovely vacation, and I didn't miss this at all, but hey you can't really live without it now can you!

Will get a lot more personal the next time around...

Have fun.

A day...

2005-04-03T06:07:00.000-04:00

Ever had that day where you wake up in the morning all fresh and ready to take on the world. In the best mood that you've woken up in quite a while. You spring out of the bed, sing in the shower, cut yourself shaving, and nearly hop-scotch to the office. And then suddenly your barometer goes down. Everything just slows down and starts to drag around you. Eating you up in its slow, yet certain movements. An immense effect of haze created, your being engulfed in it.

Well this has been my day so far, started out at such a high note, without any reason, and then turned into one of the most excruciating passages of time in recent memory, again due to no particular reason. It's events like this that make me think that discovering one's self is quite a task. See the way I perceive this is that there must be some reason for the mood swings the size of the suez canal, it's just that the reason (or reasons) are hidden, and beyond the waking reach, perhaps lying in the subconscious, drifting farther from reach. And the more I try to figure out the rhyme and reason, further the logic drifts from reach...

It's ambiguities like these that make me want to meet the Divinity behind all of this, to just be able to stand in the presence and get answers to these emotions.

It's really peculiar how all religions speak of all the major problems, and never once come to speak of all that lies in between. The little things that we feel day in and out, every moment of our waking existence. The things that I feel make us what we are, and keep up our evolution.

My problem is most definitely these little things, and due to these I can never reach a decision on the bigger, more obvious, clichéd things. I'm not trying to justify myself, or redeem myself, just saying what I'm feeling right now! And that can’t be too big of a crime now can it?

What say about this?

Till next time then...

Familiar tracks

2005-03-15T01:42:00.001-05:00

It's been a while hasn't it, nearly a month. Have I been too busy, or just plain and simple "just" busy? Not really, I mean the usual day or two of utmost insanity, followed by the mundane rituals of monotony. But things have generally been following an expected path of events and lack of events. I guess it's just that I didn't feel like writing anything, that would also explain my falling behind on email correspondence.

So what's up! Well I guess the most important event of an adult life. I shall be getting married in exactly a month from now. Wow! Me getting married! I guess some part of me would always feel like that semi-hippie college student who would never find out the meanings of the words like relationship, belonging, responsibility! Some part of me would always want to feel like those little white flowery things, I don't know what you call them, that you find floating around in the air in the summers, taking the ride of their feathery lives even when there is no wind at all. But the most important thing is that most of me is actually looking forward to this event, every moment of every day! Most of me really anticipates this stage of human evolution, where you go from the me to the us.

What's wonderful about all this is that I really cannot say exactly when, how or where was it that the most of me changed its mind to begin wanting this change. So I move on to this wonderful moment in my life, with my head held high, and brimming with a truly great kind of hope. Just like you'd look for warmth out in the cold in a January night of Islamabad.

Don't laugh, but marriage for me is like sharing your lunch. You get less of the lunch for yourself, but actually enjoy the eating together more then the food you eat.

And it relates on so many levels. See living alone (like eating alone) you can have all of your life to yourself, in your own terms. But when you share your life you live less of it doing exactly what you want to be doing at every particular moment, but you actually end up living your life. Like when you go out to eat with someone, and it doesn't really matter where you go to eat or what you order!

On another level, just like you need to grow up to appreciate the worth of sharing your meal (I mean who remembers enjoying sharing their favorite chocolate as kids), you need to grow out of yourself to embrace this concept of marriage. To accept the wonder you get from it with open arms. To realize that even though you're not having all of the wonderful leftover chicken sandwich, you're also not gobbling it down to get it over with!

Marriage is a lovely proposition to all of us who belong to the part of the world we call East. We actually begin living together after we get married, so after marriage the highs of the sudden change almost always over shadow the lows. There's always this sense of mystery, this constant state of finding out the little nuances of another living being.

Compare that to the scenario where you've already been living together, have already tasted all the highs and lows. In this situation a marriage wouldn't really signify anything, but a legal agreement to be allowed to fight over a stupid coffee mug if things go wrong. With an added incentive to get to know some wonderful lawyers in the process! Charming people, lawyers...really!

Spoke to my parents yesterday, and the white wash is almost complete. Funny thing is that a white wash has become as much a part of our weddings as the mehndi or the dholkee! But I'm sure the parents would be totally exhausted by shifting around all the stuff from one room to another to accommodate the 21st century artists who come in smelling of stale tobacco and turpentine!

Spoke to Alina the day before, and she's doing pretty fabulously juggling the semester with all the wedding mayhem. Still running along very gracefully. I doubt if I can ever be as composed in such circumstances!

Spoke to Babar the day before the day before, and he was just chilling out at a beach with Osama, wondering what the whole world was doing on their weekend! Keep it up brother.

Zeeshan's still stuck in Karachi, and I guess would be there for the wedding for just 2-3 days. Seems like this whole world has gotten busy all of a sudden, including me!

Oh and I read this wonderful book by Michael Cunningham, "A home at the end of the world". Finished it last week, and still cannot get Claire, Bobby, Jonathan and Alice out of my head. I'm sure most people I know would burn the book half way through, but it struck all the right chords, I guess it was the reality of the characters which was just too unbearably real. I don't think I've ever read a better study of human emotion, and I've read some.

So long then...

A little read and some ruminations

2005-02-22T04:53:00.000-05:00

Let me start with a little abstract from Nightfall by Isaac Asimov. Sorry for any and all copyright infringements (not really)...

He was going mad, and knew it, and somewhere deep inside a bit of sanity was screaming, struggling to fight off the hopeless flood of black terror. It was very horrible to go mad and know that you were going mad - to know that in a little minute you would be here physically and yet all the real essence that was you would be dead and drowned in the black madness. For this was the Dark - the Dark and the Cold and the Doom. The bright walls of the universe were shattered and their awful black fragments were falling down to crush and squeeze and obliterate him.

Well a friend recommended Asimov to me (and thank you to that friend), and it was a read very well worth the while. It's amazing how you can take a simple idea, like the affect of darkness on people who live in complete light and do not know what night / darkness is, and make it an elaborately complex and truly engrossing tale. During the course of the book, I had this constant feeling that I was being made conscious of the things I'd always been aware of. Another aspect of this science fiction book (even though I never felt it was science fiction) was the humanity of its characters. All the five major characters were flawed just like all of us are, and yet they chose paths that were beyond themselves, beyond their own petty needs and greed...paths leading to what we feel is heroism, and somehow conclude to be a bit out of our reach.

It's always heartening to read about an average Joe going on, on a journey, which when viewed at microscopic details is just an series of everyday decisions that all of us make. But when you view it at the highest level of abstraction, it is a marvel! An act of extreme heroism and valor. I've always preferred these Joes over say Super Man. And I guess the reason for that is quite obvious.

But I truly feel that we need these small doses which re-establish our faith in humanity as a whole, because without it we just become directionless, self-sufficing zombies. Now these small doses can come in all sorts of forms, religious callings, small everyday observations, or reading a book that was written decades ago for some completely different purpose, but served this purpose anyway...

See as long as I can carry forward this hope that someday we would have a world without armies, without violence, theft, cruelty (both physical and mental), I feel I can carry on with this life entrusted to me. You might laugh at the naivety of this thought, heck even I might be laughing at it a week from now, but really, it just boils down to this. To be able to have faith in the goodness of our race of homo sapiens (which the dictionary defines as "bipedal primates having language and ability to make and use complex tools"), and to be able to surrender to it. See if we believe that the essence of every new born is goodness then why should this ideology be considered naive. It's always better then living with some nihilistic delusions, and letting them take control! See for me these wars being waged in the name of peace would never be anything but nihilism.

I for one believe in society and hopefully always will...may Allah be with me.

Welcome back

2005-02-13T02:06:00.000-05:00

We never give a flu or a cold much importance in our lives, they're like those uncles who you meet every other wedding you attend. Whose hands you shake warmly, with big and nearly honest smiles, and then move on. Most probably to the table that's serving the pudding! Well this past week I was hanging out with both the uncles, cold and flu, accompanied by their school chum, the fever. This was perhaps the most elaborate rendezvous I've had with them. I am sure my mother would have some horrid memories of some encounter I had with them as a toddler, but this is the one for me as far as my memory is concerned. Which isn't really something to brag about, memory I mean, to site an example a friend of mine sent me back a substantial amount of money, saying she owed me that money, and I still don't remember how, why, when or where!

Three cheers for me...

So finally today I said farewell to these uncles, and dragged myself to work, and dragged myself in nearly the literal sense. Amazing how lazy you can get with just 3 days on the bed. Couple that with the re-runs of all your favorite shows (there was even a special of Mork and Mindy), and you never want to leave! O I wanted so much to just break the alarm clock and go back to my dreams in techni-colour (for a change)! And another good change was the smell of the morning air, and only the people who've breathed in it would know how refreshing that can be.

Who am I kidding, I'd still have preferred to be in my room, just surfing channels and catching Sienfeld and Mork&Mindy re-runs...

So what've I accomplished since last time I blogged:
1) Desert Safari (fun at place, like dune bashing and camel rides)
2) Full recovery from viral infections (a craze in changing weathers)
3) Before Sunset (a complete post shall be dedicated to that)
4) Other movies that I really wanted to see, Sideways, Black, etc (all good, very good)

The rest of my world, well the whole family is busy with the wedding preparations, Alina I'm sure is on the verge of going nuts, balancing the wedding and her semester, Aijaz on cross-roads of a major decision, Shaan chilling out in Khi and probably still wondering what he's doing there, Shah g learning the ropes in Australia, and Babar, well we both know how we feel, so...

Next time!

A little break

2005-02-05T23:43:00.000-05:00

The funny thing is that we always keep trying to break the monotony. Little moves are made, strategies thought up, plans brought forward, all to break that dreaded monotony! See it's just not the "mono" age anymore. This is the "hi-fi stereo" age, where everything has to be dynamic and constantly changing. I guess our acceptance and appreciation for each other has ended. Is this the reason that now when you hear marriage, you automatically think divorce? When you hear of some blossoming high-school romance, you know it's doomed! Even friendships these days have somehow become fickle, and keep changing at a mercurial rate!

See I remember my grandmother and how happy she was getting up at 4-5 in the morning, offering her Fajr prayers, reciting the Quran, then heaving two pieces of bread with tea...Every single day I saw her do that (of course until she lost her sight, and then her mind), and still when I shut my eyes to think of peace, I can see her sitting on her little bed, her little hands going over the large version of the Quran. Her copy of the Quran was just huge, the biggest I've seen yet!

She never complained of monotony, she never rallied with her neighbours for equal rights, she never even complained when she was treated like shit in her last days in this world. It isn't that she wasn't educated, her very early morning routine was followed by a late morning routine of reading the news paper, always. She was fully aware of all that surrounded her, all the changes happening in this world about her. I think (even though I'm not sure) that she was there at the public address in which Liaqat Ali Khan was shot. I'm sure she was there every time a new KL Saighal film was released.

See she was at peace with her life, she didn't long for change, she knew how to appreciate how wonderful things were as they were. And it's not like she had it easy. Lost her husband quite early. Then saw her grown son at the peak of his youth die the most tragic death. She was also witness to some extreme financial upheavals. But she trod on, steady and sure. Always calm, at peace, and loving it. Not trying to overcome any monotony but just making most of whatever was thrown her way.

And now, now I see all these friends, family, people in general around me. All have one thing in common, they are all restless, as if trying to break free from earth's orbit. I am probably front row among all these people, who want change, but have no idea what that change is.

See even the movies we love are the ones in which something unexpected happens, and even our reality shows have nothing to do the with the reality of life. We just see glimpses of the changes we would love so much in these shows.

I guess the solution to all this is slowing down, we are moving too fast to feel what we are feeling at the moment, we are always interested in what lies ahead. I guess this is the ideal time to take up fortune telling as a profession. A Masters in Palmistry or something, because everyone is interested in that, and there's definitely a big buck in that!

But I feel that if we slow down, relax and just look around us, and fully absorb all that surrounds us, this restlessness would seize to exist, and then maybe, just maybe, we'd all be like my grandmother...

Happy with what we have, and not dying of desperation for what we want!

OK, that's enough bleak thoughts for now! Hey, not bleak, but hopeful thoughts! Yeah right!

So yesterday my mother and Alina went over to buy the bridal dress for Alina, and also evaluated the options that would make me resemble a clown the most on the wedding day. That must've been fun.

Hey Osama showed up out of nowhere, on an 8 hour notice, and well, this week should be nice! See the monotony broken. Ha ha!

Had a nice long chat with Babar today, and want to save some portions with me, so I'd just paste them here.

fraz_nayyar: waisay when usama called me day before at night and said he was coming, i thought u'd be giving a surprise as well, kay daikh fuzzay main aa gaya, visa lag gaya
mbabarhaq: kaash
fraz_nayyar: wohee na
fraz_nayyar: kaashhhh...
.
.
.
fraz_nayyar: yaadaain...
fraz_nayyar: waaday...
fraz_nayyar: awaaz daytay na KAASHHhhh...
fraz_nayyar: ha ha
mbabarhaq: uffffffff how good were all the khookas and our meeting
mbabarhaq: even if we met once a week it really provide a lot of comfort
fraz_nayyar: haan, and i never really appreciated that fully
fraz_nayyar: the importance of just sitting there with the flies and cups of tea and sub standard cigarettes!
mbabarhaq: qasam say
mbabarhaq: lying on the manjees
fraz_nayyar: hai! aur woh jo baan kay nishaan par jaatay thay haatoan par
fraz_nayyar: ustaad g cheeni thoree ghat rakhna
mbabarhaq: uffff kitnee freedom theee
mbabarhaq: raaat koo 12 bajay muree bike per
mbabarhaq: sounds like a fantasy
fraz_nayyar: i just took a very very long breath
fraz_nayyar: jaa rahay hain, urtay huay
fraz_nayyar: burrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
fraz_nayyar: babar token daaal
fraz_nayyar: beech main taqreebna game over bhee ho gaya tha
.
.
.
fraz_nayyar: waisay babar honestly, ab naheen lagta aisa time phir aayay ga
mbabarhaq: yup lagta tu yoon hee hai
mbabarhaq: but if we get together tu who knoes
mbabarhaq: might get the energy again
fraz_nayyar: haan yeh to hai
fraz_nayyar: waisay energy kee jab zaroorat partee hai to nikal hee aatee hai!
mbabarhaq: woheee na
mbabarhaq: ufff v swam all the way to my place
mbabarhaq: and worked non stop for hours and hours
fraz_nayyar: ha ha
fraz_nayyar: yaara woh to main bhool hee gaya tha
fraz_nayyar: nobody wud believe that waisay
mbabarhaq: threw away our mid term paper just like that
fraz_nayyar: that we swam to ur place wearing our boots
fraz_nayyar: haha
fraz_nayyar: got a 1 in that course
fraz_nayyar: waisay i blew away a mid twice, once with Aijaz, and teh otehr time with u
.
.
.

But the game never got over, and well that's good isn't it! Is it?

Next time then!

A short story...

2005-01-27T02:25:00.000-05:00

Demons by Ross Parson

Down on the hard, wet, sand, a man raced past, disappearing into the night fog. Their eyes followed him, then turned to watch for his pursuer.

"Just his own demons, I guess."

"Got any yourself ?"

"Just you sweetie."

"He'll run out of beach...or breath."

"Or, hopefully, demons."

"I guess it's always a race"

Of Death and defiance

2005-01-24T07:34:00.000-05:00

Was just chatting with Aijaz, the usual mindless banter of two people stuck in office with not really much to do for the day, and somehow, we struck upon the topic of death. Yes it was discussing the death of Parveen Babi, a glam doll of the 60s and 70s of the Indian cinema. Well she was found dead in her apartment after the neighbours complained of a collecting pile of news papers and milk bottles outside her house. She had apparently been dead for over two days, due to either a medical overdose or gangrine.

A stralet loved by millions, fantacized about by thousands, found dead, all alone, probably rotting. Once deemed the most beautiful woman of her era, now long forgotten like some small act of kindness.

An excerpt from the chat:

Mohican says:
haan waisay parveen babi's death depressed me, lying dead in flat for over 2 days
Mohican says:
no friends no family
Mohican says:
i wudn't want to go alone, i wud want to be surrounded
Mohican says:
no
@ñKÂHi ® says:
you won't die alone
@ñKÂHi ® says:
I know that
Mohican says:
i take that back, i guess death is something you should experience in the privacy of your company and none other
Mohican says:
what do you say?
@ñKÂHi ® says:
haan it is a personal thing
@ñKÂHi ® says:
maghar you won't be alone
Mohican says:
waisay at time of death i;m sure we wudn't even give a shit if we are alone or not, we'd just be thinking O SHIT! we're dead! ha ha
@ñKÂHi ® says:
"office mayn aik adad bed hona chahiyay" quotes Omair Hameed, my office seat neigbour
Mohican says:
ha ha! true, waisay right now i really want to stretch my back, not sleep, just stretch my back
.
.
.
@ñKÂHi ® says:
wish someday tu waapis aajaa yaar
@ñKÂHi ® says:
before this life goes waapis
@ñKÂHi ® says:
pata nahin I don't believe that we will live long
@ñKÂHi ® says:
anyways....
.
.
.
Mohican says:
same here buddy, either that or we'd live one of those extremely long, never ending lives
.
.
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Mohican says:
no moderation, just extremes
@ñKÂHi ® says:
yup
@ñKÂHi ® says:
agreed

So that was the brief conversation we had, that's left me thinking, or rather pondering death. Questions like would I be petrified when my time comes? Would I shit in my pants? Would I even be allowed the dignity of being dressed when the time comes? Or Would I be waiting for it patiently, knwoing that the time's come? Would I be full of grace leaving at the departure gate of this planet?

I've witnessed a few deaths in my life, people that I loved quite a bit. The first was my grandfather (father's side), but I was really too small to realize the implications. But I remember it was a fit of tremendous rage to remove all the intravenous drips and the catheter. An old old man getting up with a furious burst of energy pulling all these cords out of his body, and then in a moment just going limp, falling back, face totally devoid of expression. The doctors termed it a major heart attack (or was it a stroke)...

Second time I witnessed death was when my grandmother (mother's side) crossed over to the other side. This time I was a bit older (though not that much), and in all reality much more attached to her. You see in her failing times she stayed in my room for a while, and it was nice to have her there, although she had forgotten more or less everything, but did recongize a thing of two when I pulled some act to cheer her up or just shut her up...oh I am so sorry for that...

I remember death coming slowly to her. Doctors had already sent her home, nothing they could do...I remember her breathing most, I mean she was breathing, then the breathing got quicker, louder, and then even louder. At the end it was the breathing of an 18 year old after a 20 mile run. So strong, I never thought her frail chest was capable of that. And then it ended in these little wheezes.

She drifts away...

Third and last time was the recent past, when my favourite uncle passed away. Now this was probably the most paranormal of all. I was staying with him at the hospital in the nights, with his son. I remmeber he was taken to the hospital in very bad shape, and he improved there, became stable. It's strange how weak the lungs of these tall strong men were!

Anyway the doctors even sent him home for Eid. So that he could spend it with family. The eid was good, the ending of it wasn't. I remember him asking me at the end of the day that he'd just need two more days of my time, and since he was doing so well, of course he meant two days to recovery. Right sure. So late that night we took him back to the hospital. Exactly two days later just after he was in the best of spirit; he got off his bed, came sat with us on our bench, complimented the slippers I wore, and then he got up and sat down on the ground. We asked him why he was doing that. His reply was simple, he did not need beds anymore! Exactly two hours later he was dead, exactly two days after he asked for another two days from me. What I remember about his passing was that in his last moment he did not break eye contact with his younger son (they always had a special link, like from a De Maurier novel), and just kept looking into them, without blinking as life lost him. But he was always calm and collected, looking into the eyes of his beloved son...

Now how would this inevitable passage be for me? Would it be in the bounds of a rage? Would it be when I am scared witless and shaking? Would it be that I'd know the time's come and accept it, and move on? Of course I can't say! I hope it's the last, but I'd never know till I know I guess! Ha ha. But the question I'm thinking about mostly is that would I want the ones I love and cherish around me at that moment?

See death is probably when you are most vunerable after your birth. Totally defenseless, in the middle of the grandest stage, stark naked, having forgotten all the lines and the name of the play! Now the people I love, I adore are also the people I hope love and adore me. And with love and adoration comes respect. I would want them to respect me the way I respect them. And I would want them to remember me as I am today, looking up to the rising sun, running hard...the good run.

I wouldn't want them to remember me at that final moment where I'd probably have no control over myself...

So yes, when it is time to go, I'd rather go alone, walk the final walk with myself to give me company. And if it's an exit that is graceful then I would always remember that about me, and if not, then I'm sure I'll keep my own little secert!

Time shall tell!

And Eid flies by

2005-01-22T00:56:00.000-05:00

Hmm...that was quick (and thank God for that)! I am sure I've said this more then once, but I'll say it again, these sort of festive events should only come when you are with your family! And by family I don't just mean my wife, my parents, but the whole crew of about 35 people. My aunts, uncles, cousins, and their kids! Everyday I realize how much I love them, and how much they mean to me.

Now to come to this Eid. I guess the highlight would be when we went to offer the Eid prayers at 7 in the morning, and it was drizzling, with a strong wind. Ofcourse I had brought no warm clothes with me. (Come on, how cold can it get in a desert! Answer to that, pretty cold!) But I think even if I had my warm clothes with me, I would have avoided them. See it's just brilliant when the cold morning wind breezes into your soul, with a little bit of rain. Ummmmmm...delicious!

So Eid was good, and Waseem chacha (Alina's uncle) and family made it really comfortable for me, bless them! And chachee was kind enough to make some delicious vegetarian food for me, respecting my vegetarian habits for this time of the year, and well, the food was enticing, in an honest way! See when the food is good then half the battle is won, more then half for me, ha ha. Ofcourse the reel of family pictures kept floating in front of my eyes, and I had my low moments, but hey, that WAS due to happen.

O and I also finally went to the famed Global Village, and even that was better then expected, or atleast the death defying rides sure were! See what they have going there is that the area marked for the festival is considered a globe, and different countries are mapped onto it! Just think of a country and it's there, and watching all the different cultures, their music, their clothes is quite a heartening experience. I mean you grow up reading geography, and about all these different countries, but to see people from all these countries gathered together in a 4 square mile radius, Wow! (that's my assumption, don't go by it, most probably it totally inaccurate)

See I've always been aware that this little planet of ours is a big place, but that night I was conscious of it. All these people from all these countries, so different in so many ways, and yet still the same. Once again I plead to this world, stop the Goddamn senseless killing! We're all more or less the same, then what's the freaking point! OK, I am not going down that tunnel right now.

Yes, the rides, well I did manage to sit in this totally exorbitant ride, one of those "take you to the threshold of life and death" experiences. See you are encapsulated in a roller coaster kind of chest cover (and thank God for that), and are rotated at furiously fast speeds in a ginormous vertical circle, in both clockwise and anticlockwise directions, and the seat you are sitting in is also rotating, in all possible manners of rotation. Totally like earth's trip round the sun, just a lot more erratic and out of control. And to top it off, yes, it was drizzling, and to feel tiny droplets of water on your face at that height and speed...hmm...what was that expression? Ha ha.

You know when I came over to this desert, the one thing I dreaded most was that there would be no rain, and well, it's rained here, it's hailed here, it's been a combination of all sorts of my favorite violent weather.

O and I also took my uncle's kids with me, so it was my group of friends (all in their mid to late twenties and some into their thirties) and my uncle's son and daughter (in their teens, son 14teen, daughter 18teen). And I just watched in amazement how these two sects (if I may be allowed to call them) blended in. See we in our late twenties are really missing that wonderful college / school life, and we haven't totally forgotten about it, and can't but go back. And the residents of the teens can't wait to graduate and enter the so called adult life, job, apartment, car, etc etc. So for a change both the sects were totally fond of each other, and admired each other, and above all, wanted to be each other! That's why I was wondering if I can call them sects, cause you hear sects and the first thing that comes to mind is undiluted bouts of loathing. And most of my friends went to the same school as my cousins were now attending. The same school, the same syllabus, just about a decade ago! Wow! And at the end of the day the only difference was that the idols changed, the fashions changed, and the rest, all the same. Even some of the teachers survived. And you can always spend weeks talking about all those teachers you thought were from Mars ten years ago, with these teenagers who think they are from Mars in present day!

And yes, boys and girls are like totally different species in their teens. See as time passes by, I think the male and female specimens learn to co-exist, we find out things that both can go through with a smile on the face, and we keep on doing those things, and of course there's the rare boys night out and the girls night out, to bring back some sanity! But in the teens, well, in the teens...

The boy (under the knife of my observation) was just keen to tell the universe how brave, and strong and fearless he was, and how no rules existed for him. How the "sun was totally uncool, and the night was it!" And the girl, well she was totally bent upon showing how grown up and mature and adult she is, and of course how she feels that Hillary Duff is the most intelligent person in this world! OK, now that's taking it a bit far...But to sum it up, I guess the girls want to carry more of a Katherine Hepburn (we still love you) aura, and the boys want to be more of 2 Pac figures. Disagree anyone?

I guess this is enough rambling for now.

Oh and Eid Mubarak!

Fading / Dissolving

2005-01-18T01:11:00.001-05:00

I've been meaning to come to blog, an activity that's fast becoming my favorite. But somehow never got around to it. Not that I didn't have time, but because had too many thoughts and didn't know what to do with them. It really is true that the lesser you talk the more you think, and I've been doing that for some time now. Mind you, I do not speak of constructive and "help the humanity" thoughts, but just thoughts, one coming and another fading, while the other dissolving into another becoming a new thought, and then a newer thought.

Am I making sense?

When was the last time I lay down, flat out, on the ground and conjured up shapes out of scattered clouds? I swear I saw a dancing ballerina the other day in the sky, after so long, so so long! When was the last time I admired migrating birds, and marveled at how systematic, determined, and focused they were? I swear I saw a whole flock of them, darting through the skies like a speeding arrow! These days I've been doing all these things, doing all this because I'm not saying much, but thinking a lot. Does it all add up? Ever?

Last weekend I went to the movies with Yousuf and Faryal, and their lovely daughter, whose recently learned to walk (well about 2 months recently). And now when you go out with her, there's no stopping her. She does not want to be carried any more, she just wants to carry her self far far away on her own two little feet. In these last two years I've basically been watching movies every time I go to the cinemas, but this time I went to the movies, where the objective really isn't to watch the movie, but to enjoy the whole charade! Of course Mano went bonkers in the second half of the movie, and from then on, there was a movie going on, on screen, and another (much more interesting and entertaining) movie going on on the seat next to mine. You just couldn't contain the kid! Bless her! I wonder if anything can be more refreshing then the tantrums thrown by kids...I'm sure Yousuf would disagree who missed the ending of the movie because he had to go out of the cinema with the kid!

Last night I got home quite late (after an unsuccessful attempt to resurrect a system from viruses), and was totally drained. Had a hard day at work yesterday, and then the failed virus removal exercise. But instead of walking into my room and hitting the bed immediately, I just walked around, in circles literally. The same roads again and again. And it felt good, just doing the rounds of the streets of my neighborhood like a security guard, making sure that everything's in place.

So Eid's coming up, and I remember mentioning in some previous post that I was looking forward to two things, one new years, and two the Eid. At new year's I was supposed to have a blast, and at Eid I was supposed to get depressed. Well I guess I can still keep the second of the two promises! I'm just thinking what everyone would be up to right now back home! Yep, I have a full picture, and I really want to put it to words right now, I guess it's too difficult to describe. See too many words in every language describing actions, and too few describing feelings, and things that are just felt...

Is there really a state of contentment, where you can just sit back and be satisfied? There always is something to be achieved, some level desired. Words from Babar come to mind right now, "simplify life"! Simple! You're running after too many things, you're thinking about things that you shouldn't really be thinking about. Just simplify it all. But it's not really that simple is it! At least for a bloke like me. If there's some classification between thinkers and achievers, then I'd definitely be a thinker, and not a thinker like Newton, who achieved because he thought, but a thinker like...well like someone like...me I guess. But there's so much I want to do, and I don't mean things like "I want to be CEO of my own company in 5 years", but things like living on a farm, raising cattle, working in a factory, write a book, make a small little movie on that book, sharing all this with someone, and sharing that someone's experiences too, and so much that I can't even think of right now. But it would come back to me.

Whenever I look into my mother's eyes I see so much that she wanted to do, so much that she could have done, she could really have been a wild soul, living life in the moment. But..ahh always a but! I think she made a choice somewhere along the line, she chose, and she lived up to it, and she's still doing just that at full blow. I think that's how it always is "running before time took our dreams away..."! Floyd! You can always refer to Floyd.

But I still want to hang onto my dreams, and live them every time I can sneak them into my life choices. Is that possible? Well there's only one way to find out isn't there.

Live on...keep fading, keep dissolving, keep living!

O and happy birthday Zeeshan!

Thick Clouds

2005-01-11T02:58:00.000-05:00

Have I ever mentioned how fascinated I am by highly eccentric (and a tad violent) weather? Strong winds, thundering clouds, dazzling sun, harrowing night chills! I can fail to understand how you can sit and enjoy a tranquil sunset on a calm beach, I mean it's great, but compare that to walking up on narrow paths made of mud, putting in all your energy to go against fierce gushes of rain trying to knock you out. How can you feel more alive then when you walk through a blizzard with eyes closed and ears feeling like houses; or walking into a raging sea, jumping up every time a big wave comes? Can anything match that feeling you get when your feet lose ground, and your insignificant existence is totally at the mercy of these giant water boulders smacking into you.

Today I walked into my office in one of the best moods in a long time by a long shot. Reason. Well nothing special happened, it was the usual night (some TV, some yabbing, and a few cigarettes), and the morning was the same as well. Except I got out of my bed a bit late and had to rush through everything to get to work on time. But on my 20 minute walk to my office, I got treated with absolutely wonderfully powerful weather! Thick clouds running overhead, constantly being replaced by newer clouds, the sun never allowed the opportunity to show its face, and the most powerful winds I've seen in a while; winds against which you have to really button up your coat all the way. Winds in which to walk you have to bend yourself to the "ruku" position in prayer.

Feeling life first-hand. Every sense of the body enhanced, all information coming in discrete packets (and that too achieved without even the slightest influence of marijuana!). I think I could have walked on forever today, well not forever, but to my demise definitely, and when I'd have left, it would have been with a happy heart. A joyous exit, what can be better then that now!

And the best thing about the walk this morning wasn’t the weather or the marvels of God. (Extremely thankful for both though). The best thing for me was that I was on the verge of jumping with joy. I could have walked up Mount Everest this morning, and would have sung Sinatra songs all the way up. Let it snow people! No matter what age you are, I guess to feel like this is always that special treat kept for the grandest occasion.

I’ve been sitting at my desk for the last 4 hours (well most of those hours, had my medical today, so…) and still I am forcing myself to keep sitting. I don’t think my professional colleagues would appreciate the sight of a balding guy, slightly on the chubby side, bouncing around the office.

O and Junaid also sent me the “MA does the Twist” video from his wedding dholkee last month. And well all I can say is that nothing compares. Man MA I am sure you give Travolta a run for his money (or definitely his sanity)! I wish I could have the video played on all stations on this little planet of our for a whole day. It’s just too damn funny.
And the sight of all the boys doing the all Punjabi Bhangra, fused with the night club additions of what I think they felt is a turn-on for the ladies. Yes Zeeshan I speak of your 2-Pac meets Shirley McLean moves! A big no! Well missed out on some amazing times. O and please someone, help Naufal find his groove!

In other news, well I’ve lost touch with the proper world for some time now. I mean I do speak to parents nearly everyday. Alina has performed a disappearing act however, but I guess that’s due to her exams (good luck for those). And the rest of the boys are just AWOL!

Done for now!

of moments and consequences

2005-01-06T00:43:00.000-05:00

Is it really true that a single moment in one's life can define it as a whole? That a single moment can trigger a complete doctoral degree of consequences, that in turn defines your fate? The answers to that I do not know, and well I don't think I'll ever "really" know. Reason being that life, like most things in this world is never an exact science. It is an artful representation that can be interpreted in infinite ways. So I can never be sure that my experiences reflect the experiences as a whole, and are not just some anomaly of the standard, if there is a standard, that is. And we can just go on and on with argument and counter arguments and have a session of the parliament at our hands, so much talk, so much toil, and so little to show of it!

But what I do know is that you can live on for years and not really go through any real change except for the methodical change that time induces. But eventually you are exactly the same person. And what I do know is that you can be strolling around in no specific direction, with no specific thoughts in mind, just a song or two doing rounds in the head, and WHAM! A single moment, a single sight, and you are off your feet, completely off track, shooting off in some completely new projectile trajectory. And that moment, that particular instant can have the direst consequences in your life, good or bad...

Now this moment, this epiphany, if I may call it that, does not have to be something out of the ordinary. It can just be a toddler trying to hold on to his mother's coat to keep up, an old man sitting on a bench, completely still, surrounded by rushed movements that are always out of time, out of breath. It can even be an some self-involved, ostentatious kid feeling all important in some slick designer wear. Things that you see and witness every day, and don't give a second thought to. And these things at another time stop you in your tracks, dead still. Or they can just register themselves in some hidden depth of your mind, and then pop-up out of nowhere someday, and again stop you in your tracks, dead still.

If I want I can recount many such moments in my life, that somehow had an effect on me. Things that helped me (or rather forced me) to reach particular decisions. Decisions that affected my life and the lives of those attached to me. And what follows now is a series of consequences, bundled with a few more moments. Sort of like the circle of life! Again I don't know, and I guess I really don't want to know. See for me it's like the stuff inside a girl's bathroom, stuff that you're always better off never finding out about!

At least that's my bearing on it. But no matter what the moments, no matter what the consequences, what really matters is the journey, what we call life. See I've begun to feel that you really have to live it right here, right now. Of course there's the life after death to look forward to, but we keep saying stuff like get out of your past, it cannot be changed, forget tomorrow, for it's too uncertain, and just live in today. So why not apply this theory to the comparison between life and the life after death. Why not relish and bathe in the joys of this life. And I guess if I have any new years resolutions then this would be it, to appreciate every moment, and cherish every consequence.

To love in sickness and in health, till death do us part.

Hah!

Only then can you belong to me

2005-01-05T00:28:00.000-05:00

These lines resonated in my head as I walked out of the cinema yesterday. Yes I had finally seen the Phantom of the Opera (the Lloyd Webber & Schumacher version). And after quite a while I left the multiplex with the movie still doing rounds in my head. The last time that happened was Eastwood's Mystic River.

Now I know that there have been a zillion versions of this classic, but I never got around to seeing even one of them. Yes I remember listening to Webber's score for the first time in, when was it, I guess somewhere around 98. And it had quite an effect on me. And I only heard one piece of music from the broadway show (the one used in the movie for the song "the phantom of the opera is here...", don't knwo what its called). And it was always powerful in a haunting way. Have been humming it every now and then ever since.

But what caught me about the movie (apart from the brilliant sets, costumes, lighting, effects, mesmerizing back drops, and seemless filmmaking) was the human emotion involved. The biggest drawback of musicals is that they seem a bit out of reach (note I do not say far fetched, I don't consider them far fetched), and it's always difficult to relate to them. I mean how many of us can see ourselves sitting in our studies and singing to our friends "why can't a woman be more like a man". And "My fair lady" was the first musical I saw, see my dad's always been a fan of both the Hepburns, and yes it was love at first site for me as wel. I've never seen the current heroines (beautiful and talented as they are) illuminate the screen like Audrey Hepburn did, and let's not even begin to compare them to the Katherine Hepburn (holy grounds for me)!

OK, getting back to the point now. Yes, what I was saying was yesterday I actually felt part of the whole charade. I actually felt that I was standing there among the hundreds of extras. I could feel the irony of the masked ball sequence inside of me, and at the climax, I could feel the cool of the Paris undergrounds. And yes, at the end, I was a bit shook up, specially the monkey and ring sequence between Christine, the phantom, and ofcourse a monkey! And it wasn't at all funny.

It is amazing when at the end of it, a movie can make you feel sorry for a murdering, possessing, raving madman, who if born with a normal face could have been the high-light of his era, the greatest catch, the biggest shot. Even though the character of the patron, Raoul, is depcited as more of a dim wit (and somehow I feel that wasn't intentional), and perhaps the only actor that you fail to notice on screen. But yes, Emmy Rossum as Christine was just divine. Oh and the pleasent surprise was that she was a link from Mystic River (in which she leaves an impact in the 3 minutes she gets on screen), the last movie that came outside the theater with me, in my head.

I guess my excitment for the movie also has to do with the fact that I haven't seen the earlier versions, and there'd be many saying that it was terrible, and the best was the "so and so" version. But it was definately a worthy experience for me at a time of not so many worthy experiences, as a matter of fact worth another show as well. The movie can be seen just for its climax, the masked ball, and the snowy rooftop sequence with Paris in the back drop.

Gone now...

That loving feeling...

2005-01-02T23:50:00.000-05:00

Remember the Righteous Brothers saying "you've lost that loving feeling...no it's gone...gone...gone...woooooooohhh...". Well sometimes I really feel that I've lost that loving feeling, that brings bundled with it loads of passion. Another day to describe it is saying something like "...well with the passage of time...".

Yesterday I was sitting with my new found acquaintences, and we were all discussing what can now safely be termed as our youths. Everyone (even the most withdrawn and aloof) had amazing stories to tell. Stories that somehow you don't believe, nodding your head with a smile and saying inside "yuh right!".

I mean who would believe that you would walk on a 12 inch pipe about 30 feet above an raging flow of water, tip-toe your way to the very center, sit down, and well, just smoke. Reason for that, "I liked the view of the stream from there, plus it made for a pretty good picture". I guess one wouldn't, but I always would because I was one among four who attempted this.

But believing in these stories isn't the point. I was doing the nodding and laughing inside bit myself yesterday at another's story, when this incident came to mind. This with so many like it, from round about the same time. The point is that in our youths we are these complete nut cases, not afraid to do anything, filled with a passion for life. What the Brothers would call "that lovin feeling"!

Even love then was this amazing and perfect thing, and all high school romances would last a life time. No horrid memories of the past seeping in to totally ruin the good moments of today. Life was ahead of you, and you would live forever. There would never be an existence of the Achilles' heel.

Fast forward to present day. Well you would never walk to the center of the pipe, and if you see some kids attempting that, you'd just smirk and think what's the future of this world which would be run by these doped up, delusional $%&^%&...

That loving feeling has been replaced by extreme caution and sensibility. With a consciousness about the future, and a sense of responsibility nullifying our every natural instinct.

You've lost that lovin' feeling...
Whoa, that lovin' feeling...
You've lost that lovin' feeling...
Now it's gone...gone...gone...wooooooh...

Next time then!

P.S. Tsunami death toll nears 200,000 now...

A dawning new year and nature's wrath

2004-12-29T07:54:00.000-05:00

Another years tumbles and rumbles while running to an end. A year gone by in a flash. It still feels like the 1st of January, and waking up in a strange apartment! Having a warm mug of coffee at the small little cafe and sharing with my best bud (yes Zeehsan that's you) the exciting possibilities this new year brings! And now it's December, and the very end of it! Wow!

The year's been fairly good, I mean no serious bruises or crashes, just a somehwat merry ride through the whirl-wind 365 days. Some days excellent, some terrible, but most just out right indifferent. Many memories from small moments this year will hopefully stick with me forever, and many, hopefully I would forget, in time. Sighting a deer in the backyard at the earliest hours of a chilly morning, and staring blanky at the roof of a room, lost in a perilious quest for that ellusive bit of the peace of mind. Finding strength in someone's eyes, and finding out first-hand what Julies Ceaser meant when he said what he said before it all ended for him, you too.... Somehow every year turns into an amalgum of such memories, memories that you cherish, and memories that wake you up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat.

I just wish the year hadn't come to a conclusion being witness to perhaps one of the most catastrophic displays of nature's wrath. More then 23,000 dead in South Asia (mostly Srilanka, India, and Indonesia) due to a series of tsunamis that came without any warning (due to the strongest earthquake ever guaged), but perhaps a deep gut feeling of something terrible about to happen. But I guess most of the people who felt this gut feeling would feel no more, ever! After a long time I saw the news for nearly half a day at a stretch, and finally got up when I couldn't see another dead child being carried away, another woman beating her chest screaming at the skies as if waiting for an answer, another man breathing, but lost in death's tow.

It felt to me like a reminder from nature as to what really matters at the end. It's not the dream job that we work ourselves to exhaustion for. It's not the clothes we buy, or the cars we fantasize about. It's not about tall sky scrapers that we build. But at the end I feel it's about still being able to feel hurt and crushed just because someone else somewhere got hurt, got crushed. But still as humanity we keep the killing rampage alive. Thousands dead, people who don't even know each other going at it with everything to bring the other to an untimely end. Incredible really how in so many ways we are still stuck in that stone age, where murder happened for the best part of the animal's dead body. Nothing's changed but the clothes, and some cologne.

Here's wishing a peaceful new year to all of us, where the crazed fucking leaders of this high-tech world get some sense, and appreciate life for what it is. Just life!

Gone now...

Rain in the Desert

2004-12-27T06:16:00.000-05:00

There have been many theories about when the desert looks its prettiest. Sunrise, sunset, during a sand storm, etc etc. Now all of these moments have their own beauty to them, as a matter of fact every aspect of nature has a beauty to it that is unique to it. But for me the desert is at its most mesmerizing when it rains. Rain to a desert is like a drink to a man stranded in sea, or like sunshine for a person lost in the depths of tha rian forests (or just stuck in England).

It has been raining for the past two days now in my part of the desert (which has more or less transformed into a metropolitan city). It's gotten a bit chilly, and thick gray clouds have covered the skies, and refuse to move on. Rain's come down in its various forms, heavy, thick, drizzle, mist, and every form has been breathtaking!

So Christmas came and went and like all non-christians I was dissapointed when I found out that there's no holiday for non-christians. But the day came and went without much noticable change (I mean last year I was in NY city and there the air breathed christmas), except for a few Santa caps here and there.

But I am looking forward to new years and the Eid-ul-Adha, the first to have fun, and the second to think of my family and miss them!

In other news of my world, my parents, Alina, and all the other family have headed out to Lahore to attend my (distant) counsin's wedding, and since they all went in one bus (specially hired) I am sure I missed out on some brilliant family fun. I hope they're enjoying the wedding as much as I am enjoying the rains.

Have been speaking to Aijaz quite often, and he's doing good, and I hear that the wedding anniversary went quite well. Babar finally moved to Saudia for the new job, but still hasn't been hit by the first pang of the king-size depression!

Oh and Pakistan is doing farely well in the secong test against Australia, but I am still quite doubtful how they'll hold up against them for the next 3 full days. Hopefully better then they did at Perth. I think I could've done better there, but it just wasn't the "boys" day, plus Inzamam's bad back. Do the math!

Next time then...

Finally moved...

2004-12-22T08:48:00.000-05:00

Well I am definately not talking about being moved emotionally or anything, but finally I made the move to the newer (and economically more viable) apartment. The moving process was pretty much the same, and my body isn't extra-ordinarilly stiff from hauling all the luggage yesterday. Isn't it amazing how you just keep on accumulating stuff, and you only appreciate the amount of junk you've collected when you have to move it! I guess one of the real ironies of life (compared to kids starving and being bombed all over the world. Yeah right! Sure...)

So last night was that perfect first night in a new place, where you lie down early to start the new day from the new place all fresh and rosy, and can't shut your eyes the whole freakin night. And since I am sharing a room with someone for the first time (well the childhood memories in poverty of living in one big room with complete family doesn't count). Well ok, I'm sharing my room for the first time in my grown up life, and I've always been a bit peculiar about the state (or rather statelessness) of my room. So I guess that was another reason for not sleeping at all last night, and right now, at the end of the working day, feeling like a complete Zombie.

But you know the most amazing quality of the human-being (note to my college English teacher (Mrs. Butt), I used the whole word, and didn't go all American on it), it's our ability to adopt! I mean really pick up a guy (or gal) from the deepest jungle of Africa, and put them on the north-pole. The person would learn to first stay alive, then move from day to day, and eventually feeling alive on the pole (north I mean)! So like all mortals, I would also (iA) learn to do that.

Till next time...

Yesterday, as I packed...

2004-12-21T02:44:00.000-05:00

If you are made to move quite often, from place to place, one apartment to another, you just get used to it. It just becomes another drill (like those PE class exercises that you know by heart), and you just follow the motions. These clothes in this bag, these items in plastic bags, a bag for shoes, a bag for books, and so on and so forth.

But yesterday as I was going through the same motion (again moving to a different apartment), I opened Pandora's box, or in my case a small plastic bag, with lots of old letters, cards, and some photos. And I thought that since I was so ahead of time, and packing in such a systematic and organized manner, why not take some time out and go through this little bag I carry around the world with me. And I got up again after about two hours, incapable of doing much, in a haze...

There were letters that friends sent me some 6-7 years ago, right after we had all made the big leap from finishing 12th standard to entering universities, all around the globe. Letters stating the thoughts of that age, letters looking for purpose of life, trying to find meanings in what we felt were just meaningless existences! I even found some letters that I had written at that time, but never got to posting them (even the reasons for not posting them were clear in my mind)! Oh and these weren't emails, these were proper letters that you buy stamps for and put in a letter box. I was, well both touched and embarassed, touched by the honesty and rawness of emotion, and embarassed by the consistent use of profanities, words that I guess I wouldn't even think of thinking now! There were some pictures of first loves, some cards sent on various occasions held solemn by us, birthdays, new years, new home, etc etc...

I have been lucky to have not really lost touch with (most) friends that I held dear to me, and they are still there in my life, not with the same intensity, but definately still there in a very meaningful way, or with grown intensity. I could actually see them growing with each card, with each letter, and wondering how wonderfully powerful this life is, and how we become completely different people without even knowing it. I think if I were to run into myself 10 years ago, well I wouldn't really like the person, and at the same time I would be ashamed by that person's honesty and simplicity of thought and action. Amazing how we start with no barrier between thought and action, and eventually build up the great wall in between, the great wall of analyzing pros and cons of a particular action, the great wall of wimpering out of action, scared of the consequences.

As I sifted through these letters I also thought of all the letters that I cannot find, all the cards I misplaced, all the loved ones I lost... Even with all the friends that life retained for me, there were numerous best friends, friends for life, the big pact friends who just got misplaced, like some artifacts you keep on your shelf that just disappear one day.

I closed the bag, packed everything in carefully, carried on with my packing and completed it, smoked about 2-3 cigarettes at a stretch, and went to sleep. And as usual got up at 7.30 in the morning, went through the daily ordeals, and am sitting here, all dressed up for work. But still I am thinking of all those wonderful friends I lost touch with, wondering what they are doing at this very moment, wondering if they still dream the same dreams, or have their dreams changed. Wondering if they, at this very moment, are happy and content with life, or are they sad and lost. Well I wish you all that I lost somehow, are actually happy and satisfied, still as gregarious as you were then, and that when you lie down your slumber is peaceful, and you dream nice dreams. I really don't know if I wish to meet you again, cause I guess it would be too damn painful and sarcastic, being a stranger to a person you knew the ins and outs of! Hah! I guess that is the essence of life.

Now to the people who I haven't really lost touch with. Babar flies for Saudia tomorrow, headed for a new job, a new career, a new and modified existence! I can understand what you must be going through tonight Babar, the excitement, the sadness, the fears, etc etc... You might not admit, but I am sure it's all there. And somehow I also know that it's all going to turn out just fine!

My good friend Aijaz celebrates his first wedding anniversay today! Wow! I guess a day to cherish, a day to make some new resolves and stick by them. A day to decide that this life is wonderful, and we'll just make it better.

Junaid, someone who I somehow always keep on hearing about, and speak to every once in a while, he has his Nikah today, and what a wonderful feeling that is. Nothing can even ever compare to it.

Alina would be finally fully recovering from her cold and flu, and trying to look good for the presentations, assignment deliveries and all the deadlines!

The whole family would be panicking, completing the last moment preperations for the big family wedding (a distant cousin of mine). Packing and un-packing stuff, remembering and forgetting things...

And the rest of them, well I am sure you'd be running hard and bright against life, not letting it overtake you and defeat you...

So a trip down memory lane, and then back to work...WTF!

Have fun!

A new day, some old thoughts...

2004-12-14T08:02:00.000-05:00

Now is this impressive, or is this impressive, back to blog on a second consecutive day. How's the day been, well the usual really, some meetings, lots of discussions, some grinding work, and an overdose of black coffee!

You know it's been nearly four years that I've entered what we call a professional life. Workplace, deadlines, colleagues, and a paycheck to sum it all up. Companies have changed, job descriptions revised...but the essence still the same. Wake up at a particular time, clean up, change, head for work, get off at a particular time, head home, change, hang out with friends (mostly just hang out with yourself), watch a movie, read a book, visit someone, go to sleep at a particular time, and then...well wake up the next morning at a particular time. And after a time you even stop feeling that you've lost all feelings, and have just numbed yourself to everything. (Right now the lyrics to "Comfortable Numb" by Floyd are just circling my head...is there anybody out there...).

You grow up, working hard (or atleast pretending that you are working hard), get a class education, rebel and hate your parents guts every now and then, graduate from an institute that manufactures robotic humans who would fit into a particular mode of work, and then wham! You are into the cycle of the working man's plights. And then you can even at times, sit on the sidelines and catch your life pass you by in a blur. Ofcourse going through all the routines that are expected of you, family man, marriage, parent, and always remaining a child, and looking for a mother / father figure who could just teach you to walk again. Or just teach you to tie the shoe laces, how to cross the road. Sometimes this urge to be a toddler just supersedes everything, and you try to go back to the land of Cerelac and cereal. But no matter how powerful your imagination is, you are always jolted back to your current (lack of) existence, and then...well you start circling again.

I remember this monologue from "Before Sunrise" (watch it if you haven't) where Hawke's character just starts on how sick he is of himself. I mean like there's this one person (that's me myself) who's always been with me, on the day I started reading the Quran, the day the finished reading the Quran, the first time I had a crush on someone, the day any thing of any significance ever happened, I was there with me. I am sick of myself, and for once I'd want to go somewhere without myself! Quite a dream huhn! But that was Before Sunrise, and so many sunsets after that, I really don't know. I mean is there a hidden clan of pagans who know what they want, who have everything figured out, and they get together secretly to laugh at jackasses like us, who haven't a clue, but still conform to all conformities! Ofcouse there are those who reject these rules setup by society, we often call these people rejects, or losers, but hey, it's not like they are in very good shape. I mean they aren't really very great people. But who knows...

There's this Auden poem called "The unknown citizen", read it, and you'll know what I'm talking about. As a matter of fact I'll paste it here!

The Unknown Citizen
W. H. Auden

(To JS/07/M/378 This Marble Monument Is Erected by the State)

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Installment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace; when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

It's amazing how you can express this fear that we all have, so beautifully that I can't even begin to critique (wrong spelling right!). But what the f&*k, I mean to what purpose! It's amazing how you can say "what the f&*k" and ride yourself out of any situation, no matter how bad it looks...Some very powerful words there, "what the f&*k", I must say! Hah!

Later then...

2004-12-13T07:22:00.000-05:00

Wow! How long has it been? Exactly seven months since I last came over. On my first post I remember mentioning that this is the place where I'd come to pour out the overrunning thoughts! My place to come to peace with this world. I hope that doesn't mean I've had no thoughts for the last 7 months (blonde jokes anyone!)...

Well hopefully it's not that, but let's just say, I've had stuff happening that had me distracted, and thanx to the ever deteriorating state of my (f$%^ing) mind, I eventually forgot that I even had a blog...tch tch tch...such a touching story.

Well I really don't have the strength - which I feel is really just reserved for watching movies, reading a book here and there, and meditating (about Salma Hayek of course) - to go into all the details. Let's just say that I am still in the same continent, and everything else has changed. But don't get too excited, by everything I don't mean that I've stopped losing hair, hey, that's still on its way out! But new country, new job, new room (not yet there to call it home), and new everything. Just the perversions, confusions, and uncertainties remain the same. And as usual, none of this change was planned (by me atleast), and just happened, and I just followed course.

Referring to the piece of poetry Aijaz (who used to be Ejaz) directed to me...

Pat-jhar kee dehleez pay bikhray, baychaaray pattoan kee soorat
Hum ko saath liyay phirtee hai, teray dheyaan kee taiz hawa...

And "teray" being God, and I guess He (ok, ok, or She) has been taking me from place to place, and I just follow orders like the leaves (that fall in autumn) follow the orders of the wind...but that has a good feeling to it, I mean not a lot of tension to it...

So some confessions..."there is no place like home", starting to make sense to me now, "Pakis rule!", I'll be a true, comprehensive patriot by the time I go back (if I go back that is), and SHAH G, I am so damn fucking sorry for not getting in touch with you before returning to Dubai (o and that's where I am now)...Hopefully I'll make up for it someday. But given my current state of mind, I really don't know when (and if) I'll be able to do that!

Well let's not burn out this newly renovated passion to blog now all in one go, even though I think I can just keep going right now...

Till next time then...Hah!

2004-05-13T01:16:00.000-04:00

Hmm...about 14 days since the last time I blogged, but atleast this time the reasons attributing to the delay aren't just laziness and procrastination, this time I was actually too involved in too many things (story of my life I guess).

So what's happened in these past 14 days, well the news of all, I've bought my first very own car, yep, mine mine mine! Hyundai Excel, sedan, and pretyy cool as well. And as happens with every second hand car you buy, ever since the day I bought it, I've been trying to bring it into a better condition of being everyday. My first experience of our talented mechanics as well.

Office has been hectic as usual, and everyday I get up with renewed optimism to meet all my deadlines, and hey, I'm even meeting a few of them. But work is good, no more of that monotony of staring at some code editor window, waiting for something to happen. Now it's a better mix of a lot more things.

Then in the last 14 days there were the usual occurancs of milaads and outings with friends and family. But the strange thing is, this time the occurances of outings with friends have been the most rare. Strange huh!

Till next time then, will try to be more regular. Yehh right!

2004-04-30T02:49:00.000-04:00

Today, at 11.45 pm I created my blog, well as a matter of fact I just found out about this concept today, thanks to Babar, who is forever adamant that he's the simpleton from a village! I really don't know how regular I would be in this, but it's a good feeling to have a place you could visit and just pour out the over-flowing thoughts from your head.