WHY

circles

2011-10-18T23:32:00.001+05:00

the green vine drips down, and i stare out the window watching the bees buzz in and out. what a perfect summer, sans wind. lahore drips with serenity, little boys swimming in a cold nehr, wasps stinging playing children, cuckoos calling and millions of birds whirring overhead. my numerous nieces and nephews play outside, much like my cousins and i did when we were little and my grandmother lived here instead of my parents. we've moved one generation on, my grandmother passing, my parents moving in, and now my kids, and my cousins's kids play in the garden like we did. circles while standing still.

when i was very little, on those rare occasions when i was allowed to go play with my grown up siblings and cousins, my mother would stand at the window and watch me. i would look over occasionally and be immeasurably reassured, and then immeasurably embarrassed years later when i thought i was too grown up for that. being the youngest has its down side.

the house was very different then, but so much the same. trees, real trees that you never find anywhere else. trees to climb, trees to fall out of, trees trees trees. trees with bugs you wouldn't want to go near, but invariably of you got pushed in starting outraged shakaits to adults. bicycles, races, kho kho, baraf pani and some unknown game called garden garden. do my kids today play the same games? the squeals, laughter, howls after scrapes and outraged fights over imagined injustices sound the same regardless. my youngest, so tiny, just having learnt how to walk, is running with the older ones, not even realizing what the game is, running towards the den instead of away. she falls often, and my heart breaks a little bit as she picks herself up on her chubby legs and brushes grass off her tiny little hands, and keeps on running. so little, yet so big. once in a while, she too looks over at me, as i stand at the floor to ceiling glass window watching the garden.

six letter word beginning with F

2011-10-18T19:02:00.003+05:00

we're on a boat, the sea breeze whose memory haunts me in other cities is ever present, gently ruffling hair, blowing beautiful beautiful clouds over a pink and orange sunset. its a work thing, and even though we all bitched about having to see each other after a long hard day, we're all thrilled and a little giddy to be there. what a view. what great weather. its one of those evenings where summer is ending, and hints of the winter to come blow in the wind.

z is there. chatting with a group of people he doesn't know, as comfortable as a fish in water. i would die a thousand deaths if i left his side in a crowd i don't know. he says something, and the entire group laughs till their sides hurt. the new guy breaks away to get a beer, and happily jostles me at the cooler saying "hey your husband is hilarious!"" eyes shining with the fervour of newly meeting z. z has that effect on people. people tend to talk to me and be pleasantly surprised i'm not as bitchy as i look. z they love at first sight. like i did. oh well.

i'm watching the fish swim close to the surface, the pink reflection in grey water, and the wind in my hair, and my very pregnant stomach finally at some measure of peace after sitting cramped in front of a desk the whole day. a perfect ending to a long day. i sigh in contentment. just as z breaks away to go to the cooler, i feel something stir. "z!" i look over. he's noticed my expression and is already walking towards me. "i feel the baby kicking!" i whisper so others don't hear and get weirded out. i'm thrilled. i read somewhere there's a 50% chance of losing the baby in the first 6 months, and i'm convinced that one day i'll wake up and the baby won't be there. but its there right now. kicking! i didn't even know it had legs!

"wow baby!" z says, putting his arms around me and both his palms on my baby bump. he feels the kick too, and gives an awed choke. we're cheek to cheek, looking at the sunset, and i sneak a look at him. his eyes have this pole axed expression that says "wow, we made something real". he'd been worried looking at ultrasound alien lumps and not feeling anything fatherly.

right there, he gives me a quick kiss. on the lips! in front of work people, and boat wallas and everything! and i'm grinning so hard i don't care.

and then people come over to find out what the fuss is about, and there's a round to the upcoming footballer to be, and general people feeling my tummy to feel the bump and by then its too late baby is apparently exhausted and silent therefore in my tummy.

2011-10-10T03:14:00.000+05:00

a little clot of light. born. emerges in the world ten fingers ten toes. and creates a thread in the tapestry of the world. a unique shimmery color - a mix of the parents making a different color. bringing so much hope, so much aspiration, so much absolute sheer love. grows. into an angry, infantile teenager, stupid, ignorant, cringes when it thinks back to its youth. mature. still so much to learn, so little known. life knocks you down, you must learn to get up. old. wisdom, in a body burnt away. a husk, too little to pass on, too much still to learn, such a limited time you come to terms with your own mortality. and you die, curled up in the fetal position you were born in, a little clot of light, and the generations of humanity continue. death.

eternity.

2011-02-08T17:55:00.004+05:00

she's slouched on the conference table, stifling a yawn. the unbelievable drone continues mercilessly, assaulting listeners. end this presentation please, will six minds. oblivious, the CFO continues pointing out his dept's trajectory, as everyone aches to move on. unbelievably, a hand raises. parted hair, pristine white shirt, black thick rimmed coke bottle glasses, he actually asks a question, which the presenter thuoghtfully pauses the slides from finishing and answers the question.

god in heaven kill him now, she thinks. she hears someone talking outside, and listlessly hopes its a diversion. the bubble of sound approaches the small room, words like "saab nahin aa saktay, yaay aap kya kar rahey hain!" garble through the walls. "aik second aik second" comes a quietly authoritative and strangely familiar male voice. the sounds are still muffled, and she's still puzzling over what could be happening outside when the door opens and unbelievably there he is, striding into her conference room, wearing the custom made "banker" shirt she bought him, tie flawlessly in place, holding a GINORMOUS bouquet of pink flowers. lilies. babies breath. roses. chrysanthemums. he's taking the four purposeful steps towards her - her brain inanely has a wild errant thought how did he know where i was!?" her mouth - and the mouths of some people around the table- gape open. like a bunch of seals puckering for fish at sea world, and her husband holding some bass to toss to them for treats. dear god in heaven tell me this isn't happening! she still doesn't know where to look, frantically looking around the table for an explanation. none comes, but behind him, magically revealed, are her giggling office mates. it all make sense.

he's reached her now, and there's no denying it. he must be here for her. before she can even say hello, he's reaching down, and kisses her cheek and says "happy birthday darling". the table erupts in polite claps as he hands over the flowers. how did they get the chrysanthemums that color? her boss is stifling a smile. there are a few smirks.

he turns and says - "thank you afshin for letting me do this (afshin! he called my boss afshin!) Sorry for interrupting the meeting, it was my wife's birthday and I couldn't miss it!"

happy birthday! happy birthday! people echo, and i think i start seeing spots of black as i physically start to die of embarrassment. thank you, thank you, i manage to utter. i try to smile, but must look ghastly because one or two people look quite startled.

"I'll pick you up whenever you're done?" he says when the hullaballoo hums down. i can only bobble my head silently, like a stupid car ornament.

"bye everyone" and ducks out.

the room is silent. my face is red. i have dripping flowers all over me, which i quietly kick under the conference table.

everyone looks a little confused, but the director says chalo kaafi excitement ho gaee, ab wapuss kaam ka time

like a tennis match we turn our heads to the cfo.

he arhemms, and then mercifully continues his drone.

salmaan taseer

2011-01-17T21:26:00.002+05:00

when JFK was assassinated, did american's say "what a horrible nation. why do we live in this shithole. lets get out of here"?

till we respect ourselves, no one else will.

2010-12-26T16:03:00.002+05:00

Dear girl in the blue car from clifton,

you were gang raped. by people you probably met at the party. you pissed them off, your own morals are in question, but the crime - the most heinous that can happen to a woman - has happened to you. this is the darkest time in your life, and you will never be the same again. your life will be forever effected by this, and for many many many years to come you will re-live this in your head. i do not know if you have a family, or friends, or a support system. but i do know this - something that you cannot see surrounded by corruption, and stupidity, and immorality and death threats - there is a silent mass around you, people like me, parents, peers, and normal human beings in general, who have heard this story and have been as shocked as i am. we support you. we want to help you. and in the absence of knowing you, we are sending you our prayers and wishes that you get over this trauma. that you realize that you have the power from the very thing that has robbed you entirely it. get even. go public. come out of the closet and the dark basement you are locked in. name the m*therf*ckers. get their photographs to the media. tell your story, no matter how macabre. they are wrong. what they did was wrong. accuse them and hold them for what they did publicly through every forum known to you. and you will turn the tables on them. drag their names. the names of their families. and the names of their friends and anyone who knows them. no matter who or what they throw at you, you will come out victorious because the truth is on your side.

or you can wait. gather strength. and deal with this yourself and in time their karma will catch up with them in this life or the next.

be strong. you have more friends then you think rooting for you.

2010-12-07T20:40:00.032+05:00

she's young. and beautiful. skinny, tall, waif-like neck and impossibly ethereal genes. her thighs - the bitch - are a teeny tiny handspan wide. only youth can achieve that skinniness. something about getting married and getting lots of sex makes you fat. or age. or just a stagnant lifestyle catching up to you. so much work to look like a put together human. have often found myself wearing full makeup in mid-day, in order to just look like i used to when an unwashed ungroomed early twenty yr old with luminescent skin and shiny brown straight hair.

but i digress.

this is the story about love, young love. the kind that makes people feel they've discovered it for the first time. the kind that makes people feel that financial issues are not a problem. that crazy families can be dealt with. that a lack financial management, that stinginess, that the hint of temper that leads to wife beating later on is just a minor character flaw. minor. so minor.

they meet. she wants to use the phone. he's the only one at work at that hour. she's an intern. so is he. so cute. she forgets about him in a second.

he's in front of her. he holds the door open for her. her heart stops and door opening is never ever the same for her again. she is forever greatful to door openers as they remind her of him. forever and always.

he approaches her amidst a group of fellow interns. they've been gossiping about the cute boy, and lo and behold, there he is, adorable, formal pants, white pristine shirt, good shoulders, bass voice, asking her if she could help him out please?

flattered - very flattered - that's she's the chosen one, she goes in, and helps him fix the brochures. takes ages. they start chatting. so cute. SO cute.

he takes her out to the restaurant upstairs. she orders fries, and then watches him snag a friend and beg him silently and ferociously to give him the money to pay the bill. he thinks she can't hear, but she can and she's smarter than average. she laughs inside, but preserves his dignity.

he changes jobs, and takes her to two new restaurants the next day. he doesn't want to drop her home. so sweet.

they drive around for ages. their favorite spot is dunkin donuts. they go there everyday almost, and stay till its closed. he looks heartbreakingly good in a white tshirt. lean. tall good build. and the shoulders. my god the shoulders. they're waiting in line, and she's chattering away about some charity drive she just went to and she looks over and he's staring at the white City FM 89 flood relief bracelet on her wrist, and reaches out a finger - over the span of his personal space and into hers - and touches her wrist, little electric currents coursing through her hand down. the one spark literally fizzles off her, and he's reverently one unmoving fingertip touching her wrist to see if she's real because he loves her so much.

he sits with a cap, shadows from his eyelashes spiking out across his cheek, and he's champing on a red straw, and if she hadn't been in love already, she spins head over heels. she can actually feel the moment in her heart, tumbling painfully. white tshirts. his. forever and always.

they're sitting in the cold - and winters were always special to her, even as a child - and she now knows its because she was to meet him twenty plus winters later, which is why she loves the cold so much. the air is crisp, the wind biting. they're freezing on the outside terrace of a pizzeria, very close to one of the first restaurants they went to, which is now shut down 4 college years onwards. her family is moving, and she's decided that its not enough to be with him. that the lack of financial means, the difference in social standing, it just can't be. she's moving, they can't do long distance, and that's it. her parents have kindly suggested some banker in london, who seemed so nice on paper. so grown up. so marriageable. who was she to think this would work. but the words can't come out. she's sitting there, and there he is, hers. hers entirely even though they haven't done much more than hold hands all this time. the memories reach up and choke her. the words just don't come out. kindly, because he knows her so well, he already knows what her decision is, and helps her. tells her what she was trying to say. and gives her flowers - white roses - and tells her she would be his one and only love always.

she gets home and cries and cries, and knows as fajr resounds at day break that she won't be able to do it.

she tells her mother about him. the parents meet. her parents lovingly try to tell her the difficulties she'll be facing - it will be a tough life baby. are you sure? are you sure they ask. and even years later her throat chokes when she thinks of what they saw, and what they had hoped for her, and how stupid stupid stupid she was at thinking she was the first to discover this feeling. how stupid stupid stupid young she was. how much she cried and thought of that when he fought with her, when the mother in law caused fights, when the sister in law caused fights, when he, her beloved, darling love, when his face and personality twisted beyond all recognition kicked her, slapped her, choked her, and then dragged her out of the house in her pajamas threatening to throw her out.

how far had they come. how different they had become.

the therapy. the separation. months apart for the first time in years. how her heart broke every minute, every hour. when he came back, how relieved she was, because even despite the hate, despite the screaming anger, there was still so much love. how could she let anyone else touch her again without thinking of him? how could she ever imagine comma-ing into someone else at night, without thinking of him? how could she ever go to a home that didn't have him. her heart told her so clearly, so clearly, what her head had hoped she wouldn't see for her own good.

they get back together. it takes years and years and years for the scars to almost heal. the change. his change. his growing up to the man he used to be, maturer, better, loving, forgiving.

they reach their stride, grow comfortable with their flaws. the fights are less now. less bitter. more easily forgiven. his lack of financial management less irritating, she now works around it. her temper less devastating, and he now jokes her out of it.

they try for a baby, and a few bad years later, they have one beautiful beautiful one. three months later, a mistake, and then nine months later, they have the second baby. life changes, completely totally utterly while staying exactly the same. it is no longer her and him, this man, but her and her children. their constant utter demands, the complete and total feelings of fulfillment in when they are fed, diapered, changed and asleep. raising, teaching, loving, feeding. the work. the heartbreaking loss of leaving them for even a few hours. they grow so very fast. husband forgotten. poor man. daddy. baba. not a bread winner, not really an authority figure, but very very good at winning hearts. she is the bad guy, the authoritarian who rules with an iron fist - he is the one who they play pranks with, who they're naughty with, with whom they do impossibly messy things that mama has to clean up later. which she often doesn't. the exhaustion.

she wakes up at 5:00 am every day. packs the lunchboxes. irons the uniforms and the clothes the damn effing maid never does on time. feeds the kids. dresses the kids. drops them to school. comes back. feeds herself. dresses. goes to work. husband somewhere in there using up key bathroom space. making his own breakfast and sometimes hers god bless him. coming home. conference calls on NY time while the babies sleep. movies. some time for snuggling when the children don't want water, or don't have nightmares, or don't want daddy to read to them, or daddy to sleep with them to save them from the monsters.

soon, so very soon, they're old enough. ducklings becoming swans. did she have all these issues when she was 12? she didn't remember asking her mother this till she was 20! so young, so old these kids. so adept with video games. she used to be good at that, when did she lose the hand eye coordination?! she always thought she would be the cool mother - when did they start thinking she didn't know anything! their father sails through their difficult years, and he tells her their secrets at night, as they comma into each other every night and talk in murmurs. the youngest is in love again, but its just an infatuation because he's the most popular boy in school. the son is obsessing about sports, but one his friends apparently made out with a girl. she marvels that the kids tell him these things, can't imagine herself ever telling her beloved parents this kind of stuff at any age.

school, college, alone. they're alone again. joints creaking. her surgery was painful, but he was by her bedside every day every hour, not letting the kids spend the night because that was the key time. post surgical complications, but she pulls through. they curl up on the hospital bed, even though his tummy gets in the way now and there are a lot of tubes going into needles into her arms. they watch the sunrise out of the hospital window, and think of the days gone by, the kids, the internship where they met.

he has a heart attack when he shouldn't have had. the doctors misdiagnose lung disease, and he slips away in a hospital bed very early. she weeps for weeks, railing and screaming like she never has in her life. she lives alone. when the come to visit, their beloved mother is a shell for so long. railing about how he left her. how angry she is at him. she can't sleep at night, where is he? why has he left her? she stacks pillows, six of them, one on her back, one on her right, one to hug, so that in the middle of sleep perhaps in the warmth she will dream of him and they will be together again. where is he, how could he have left her?

then there he is again. there is a little baby boy, her grandson. the first in the family. and there he is again, in the baby. the eyes, genes holding true. her darling. her beloved. how she misses him every second of every day still. they name the baby after him, and then as new life builds within the child, memories of her husband, her true love, her soul mate, ease with each passing moment.

she sits at his grave, years and years of widowhood later. women visiting the graveyard so frowned upon in Pakistan. but there she is. to talk to him. to grow flowers at his grave. and a tree, bursting with flowers the same color as his white tshirt.

one night, a long time later, too long she tells her kids and grand kids and old servants. too long. she quietly suffers a brain hemorrhage, and joins him, her beloved. they rest in peace, finally together, side by side, white flowers dotting their graves.

2009

2010-10-17T22:58:00.000+05:00

happy birthday

We walk into the sunset you and i

We don our wings, fly into the sun

As they melt and we fall into the ocean

Pegasus comes to rescue us

And takes us to the mount where fire is hidden

We kiss, silhouetted against the jewelled expanse of the country

And then on winged sandals race home to the fortress

Where our children grow and play

Gone are the days of adventure

Gone are the days we snuck around stealing food

Making love under the covers

Hands on mouths to keep from giggling

Shushing in secret

Gone are the days of foolish youth

where spending was more important than saving

where winged chariots set fire across the sky

having water fights between cars on main roads

crazed bystanders soaked by accident

gone are the days of internships

I am the hated dept head in a shitty nonprofit

you await your annual bonus

and make your subordinate slaves go through the terrible rites of passage

we kiss, silhouetted against our bed, familiar and kind hands

holding for comfort

each touch a reminder of the millions of other times

play acting

to regain the unfamiliarity

we fight about buying cars and mortgages

not about the rumour she heard from him and told me

or the rumour he heard from her and told you

we have grown up you and i

yet still remain children

nostalgic about our future

2010-09-20T10:49:00.002+05:00

who are we. these tortured english speaking and writing minority brown people, pakistani bloggers still subjects of a british crown of the 1700s. unbeknowst to ourselves, hating our browness, hating everything in our country, so that the british could rule us through simply creating an education system that would turn us against ourselves.

much like our BBCD exports, who hold their little version of quaint, dupatta covered, women enslaved version on Pakistan from whatever era they migrated, we, the so called evolved pakistani's hold on our slice of victorian england, where "merchants" or people who actually had to work for a living were totally uncool and actually turning up for college classes and studying was soooo passe. victorian england where there were galas, and balls, and may queens, and formal dresses. where tradition was to rag new students, where peerage or who's family is who was poured over by women hoping to snag a good husband. where family money harkened back generations of landholding, where the people living on the land tilled it for the land "lords" who maintained country seats also maintained a london house for living in the city. where "seasons" in summer and winter months happened, and men were sent after school to a trip of europe to learn of the world before they embarked on their (military) career. where sport was hunting, and wagering on card games, and crazy races of horse chariots. where people of nobel bankrupt families (who the hell would actually pay attention to the farms gods sakes) married into merchant's daughters who came with big dowries. where the worth of a man was not in his worth, but in his name and his income.

how much of this is human nature, and how much our colonial legacy? the world seems to have evolved into a non-smoking, hard working working class reaching to maximize potential.

who are we, these self loathing, english speaking pakistani minority who want to emigrate out to whatever airport will take us.

who will we become?

2010-03-16T11:43:00.002+05:00

we're driving down a main road, and z says "who the hell is that" i turn and see nothing, except for a servant on a cycle gone wobbly

"should i turn around? i think its a girl"

"ok i guess"

she's in the dark, on the road, in the way of servant cycles. she's wearing skinny jeans, regular tshirt, and is high on something. she stands up, tries to walk, and then sits on the island in the middle of the road. we stop the car - "do you need help?" i ask

she doesn't understand me

i try in urdu

she says "what?" in a british accent

"do you need help" i try again

"f**k off i don't need any of you 'elp b***h" like oliver twist and his bad cockney accent

at a loss as to what to do, we sit in the car for a second. then helplessly, we start driving. then we reach a checkpoint, and against every single instinct, z goes in to tell them about her. terrified they'll accuse him of being involved. i call 15, and in a shaky voice, tell them about her. maybe that would be some kind of check, hoping i'm not condemning her to something worse than servants the road. then cars of drunk men looking for a good time in tinted cars with loud disco music reverberating on woofers. your average rapist out for a good time on the weekend.

an hour later, shocking me out of the niggling m my evening has sunk into, the police call back. "this is inspector blah blah, from sector boat basin. they've sent her to an eidi home for women, its the third time they've found her. her family is in canada.

and too shocked that the police actually called back, all i can ask is "if she was in DHA, why does she come under your jurisdiction"

he pauses amid happy resolution report in surprise, and then says "umMm" embarrassed, i answer for him "you must have been the closest one available?" another pause "yes yes" pause "i was the closest one available"

i shut the phone.

2009-12-15T00:52:00.001+05:00

shes's wearing a rizwan beg, traditional red for the mehndi, walking into this beautiful old song that belongs to the times of black & white tvs, elegant women with dupattas on heads and regal matriarchs who ruled with fists of iron over havelis. the decor theme is large, extravagant and beyond, new age maharaja's, combined with mogul architecture and imported flowers. she is surrounded by family, and clusters of friends, over-averagely stunning good looks associated with the rich & privileged. on stage stand the groom and his friends, he is regal in the deep cream white and rich red stole that signals the grooms side. as the girl and entourage walk in, dignified, solemn, girl looking down, held by brother. they reach the crux of the stage, a few steps away from the steps. startling everyone, he walks down, past the initial people. he meets her face to face under the dupatta. she looks up, eyes kohled against tradition. he holds out a hand. startled, her eyes fly to her parents, finding her father away from the crowd. then, without any hesitation, she holds out her own hand, the mehndi colored feligree meeting the cream white of the sherwani to the beautiful tune of chalte chalte. the friends let out a collective sigh. they walk up together to the stage, and sit down to hold court to their well wishers.

passing of a stranger

2009-10-26T12:26:00.002+06:00

my first day at tbc i went to yousuf sahib khan goth an hour so out of karachi. we were on this road destroyed by wheel deep sewage, and then we turned off into the jharis. there was matti everywhere, all sand no buildings for as far as the eye could see. there was a building in the distance, and because there was no road to speak off, we were making our way through the bushes any way we could manage.

i got off once we reached the site, and a blast of desert air hit me. the sky was blue, it was very hot. and in front of me was this stunning breathtaking beautiful four story bright red building. rising out of the desert where there was nothing for miles.
next to it were some very small mud huts, and a few children in uniform were nearby.

i couldn't speak. to have this amazing piece of architecture here. it spoke of love. every wall, every curve of the staircase, every window, was designed with aspect of beauty but sustainability and functionality as well. The classrooms were full of light and air. Perfect.
I didn't know Arshad sb at all, I have probably met him two or three times in the time i have worked at tbc. however, i feel like i know him through his work, through the 500 school buildings he's designed as a labor of love across Pakistan. And I feel privileged to have come across them. You are all extremely lucky to have known and shared a life with him. He has left his legacy, and a great one at that. May God bless his soul. Ameen.

passing of a stranger

2009-10-26T10:22:00.002+06:00

"Excuse me. Can I speak? Thank you.

I'm sorry to interrupt the proceedings. I didn't know A at all, I have probably met him two or three times in the time i have worked at here. however, i feel like i know him through his work, through the 500 buildings he's designed across Pakistan.

my first day at tbc i went to yousuf sahib khan goth an hour so out of karachi. we were on this road destroyed by wheel deep sewage, and then we turned off into the jharis. there was matti everywhere, all sand no buildings for as far as the eye could see. there was a building in the distance, and because there was no road to speak off, we were making our way through the bushes any way we pleased.

i got off once we reached the site, and a blast of desert air hit me. the sky was blue, it was very hot. and in front of me was this stunning - no breathtaking - beautiful four story bright red building. rising out of the desert where there was nothing for miles.

next to it were some very small mud huts, and a few children in uniform were nearby.

i couldn't speak. to have this amazing piece of architecture here. it spoke of love. every wall, every curve of the staircase, every piece of tile. it spoke so much of how much he has left behind, so for those loved ones today, I would urge you to think of all the wealth he left behind, the long lasting legacy, and be re-assured that he will live on in his work. Thank you.

.

2009-08-21T14:18:00.002+06:00

027.016 And Solomon was David's heir. He said: "O ye people! We have been taught the speech of birds, and on us has been bestowed (a little) of all things: this is indeed Grace manifest (from God.)"

027.017 And before Solomon were marshalled his hosts,- of Jinns and men and birds, and they were all kept in order and ranks.

027.018 At length, when they came to a (lowly) valley of ants, one of the ants said: "O ye ants, get into your habitations, lest Solomon and his hosts crush you (under foot) without knowing it."

027.019 So he smiled, amused at her speech; and he said: "O my Lord! so order me that I may be grateful for Thy favours, which thou hast bestowed on me and on my parents, and that I may work the righteousness that will please Thee: And admit me, by Thy Grace, to the ranks of Thy righteous Servants."

027.020 And he took a muster of the Birds; and he said: "Why is it I see not the Hoopoe? Or is he among the absentees?

027.021 "I will certainly punish him with a severe penalty, or execute him, unless he bring me a clear reason (for absence)."

027.022 But the Hoopoe tarried not far: he (came up and) said: "I have compassed (territory) which thou hast not compassed, and I have come to thee from Saba with tidings true.

027.023 "I found (there) a woman ruling over them and provided with every requisite; and she has a magnificent throne.

027.024 "I found her and her people worshipping the sun besides God: Satan has made their deeds seem pleasing in their eyes, and has kept them away from the Path,- so they receive no guidance,-

027.025 "(Kept them away from the Path), that they should not worship God, Who brings to light what is hidden in the heavens and the earth, and knows what ye hide and what ye reveal.

027.026 "God!- there is no god but He!- Lord of the Throne Supreme!"

027.027 (Solomon) said: "Soon shall we see whether thou hast told the truth or lied!

027.028 "Go thou, with this letter of mine, and deliver it to them: then draw back from them, and (wait to) see what answer they return"...

027.029 (The queen) said: "Ye chiefs! here is delivered to me - a letter worthy of respect.

027.030 "It is from Solomon, and is (as follows): 'In the name of God, Most Gracious, Most Merciful:

027.031 "'Be ye not arrogant against me, but come to me in submission (to the true Religion).'"

027.032 She said: "Ye chiefs! advise me in (this) my affair: no affair have I decided except in your presence."

027.033 They said: "We are endued with strength, and given to vehement war: but the command is with thee; so consider what thou wilt command."

027.034 She said: "Kings, when they enter a country, despoil it, and make the noblest of its people its meanest thus do they behave.

027.035 "But I am going to send him a present, and (wait) to see with what (answer) return (my) ambassadors."

027.036 Now when (the embassy) came to Solomon, he said: "Will ye give me abundance in wealth? But that which God has given me is better than that which He has given you! Nay it is ye who rejoice in your gift!

027.037 "Go back to them, and be sure we shall come to them with such hosts as they will never be able to meet: We shall expel them from there in disgrace, and they will feel humbled (indeed)."

027.038 He said (to his own men): "Ye chiefs! which of you can bring me her throne before they come to me in submission?"

027.039 Said an 'Ifrit, of the Jinns: "I will bring it to thee before thou rise from thy council: indeed I have full strength for the purpose, and may be trusted."

027.040 Said one who had knowledge of the Book: "I will bring it to thee within the twinkling of an eye!" Then when (Solomon) saw it placed firmly before him, he said: "This is by the Grace of my Lord!- to test me whether I am grateful or ungrateful! and if any is grateful, truly his gratitude is (a gain) for his own soul; but if any is ungrateful, truly my Lord is Free of all Needs, Supreme in Honour !"

027.041 He said: "Transform her throne out of all recognition by her: let us see whether she is guided (to the truth) or is one of those who receive no guidance."

027.042 So when she arrived, she was asked, "Is this thy throne?" She said, "It was just like this; and knowledge was bestowed on us in advance of this, and we have submitted to God (in Islam)."

027.043 And he diverted her from the worship of others besides God: for she was (sprung) of a people that had no faith.

027.044 She was asked to enter the lofty Palace: but when she saw it, she thought it was a lake of water, and she (tucked up her skirts), uncovering her legs. He said: "This is but a palace paved smooth with slabs of glass." She said: "O my Lord! I have indeed wronged my soul: I do (now) submit (in Islam), with Solomon, to the Lord of the Worlds."

- Surah Al Naml

2009-07-20T10:02:00.002+06:00

we're stopped at a traffic light. i watch as a girl walks to middle of a patch of sunlight next to the road, and starts taking her clothes off (!). she wriggles out of her pants, pulls off her sweat shirt and tshirt, and revelas a teeny tiny bikini. then, just as you please, she casually takes out a book, flops down on the grass, and then, of all things, starts to study (!).

by the time the light changes and we drive off, i am a little awed, a little scandalized, and mostly feeling fat and very very covered.

***
i'm so used to being polite and smiley, i automatically wave a thank you to the car that stops as i pass it on the zebra crossing. the man stops, puts the car in park, rolls down the window, says something terribly sleazy, and whistles (like in the comic books) for the next 20 unbearable seconds it takes me to reach the end of the street. i hope no one else notices, but i am the only one jay walking and the crowd on both sides watches me walk the guantlet in indifferent amusement.

***
we're in a bus in a meaner city, i'm with my mother and her friend who is baby sitting us today. a man asks "hey are those real diamonds on your sunglasses?". my good old city girl reflex screams that the man wants to rob me, so i politely but firmly say "no no" and tense for combat. even when he says "whachu doin later tonight?" i'm still poised for pepper spraying him, and very honestly say "i'm with my mother right there" and there is ami beaming oblivious to our interchange in all her mommy-esque glory. his jaw drops slightly, looks at me and thats when i realize he was trying for witty repartee and not telling me to hand over my wallet.

it takes me two stops more before i see the humor in that foiled conversation.

i don't understand

2008-10-31T16:59:00.002+06:00

you bastard motherfuckr

you cunt faced bitch

you bhenchod haramzaday

you randi kanjri chootia

fuck you fuck the party i'm not going, you fucking asshole

you fucking bitch you think i'd go with you anywhere!?

two very pissed off people sitting in two different rooms, one awake with rage and fatigue for most of the night, and ill with lack of sleep the next day

--------------------

what the hell are you wearing? i'm not going with you anywhere dressed like that!!

what are you fucking talking about!! i'm wearing SHALWAR KAMEEZ to a WORK DINNER you fucking moron. stop making excuses and get the fuck dressed we're late.

fuck you i'm not going.

FUCK YOU!

she goes alone fuming

--------------------

she's lying flat on the bed in her shaadi clothes staring at the ceiling.

a cousin walks in: ' z is asking why you're taking so long?'

she says: 'tell z to go to hell'

cousin gapes, mother in law gapes, mother freaks internally but calm outward. warning eyes falling unheedful on stubborn rebellious daughter

daughter goes with friends to wedding, selfish bastard stays at home

-------------

10:30 am: ring ring

my heart. my love. you need to be ready by 9:30 today do NOT be late pumpkin

fine

12:30 pm: teet teet

just a reminder. 9:00 today. love!

ok

3:28 pm : ring ring

what!

what time will you be getting home my baby we'll need to be on time

you call me one more time i'm slashing your tyres tonight

6:00pm

you really need to leave my love? its cutting it close

(you *&@"!?,#$) its important baby just 10 minutes

745 pm

you're late! i told you you'll get stuck in traffic! how vould u hurry hurry hurry!

830 pm

they leave, her hair unstraight ironed and social anxiety ignored

--------------

1045 pm another day

she's trying on her 8th outfit

stressed

annoyed

is it the pink or the white you annoying man

pink baby

the glass of disgusting scotch in his hand clinks a bit as he appraises the view

she makes an annoyed tsk decides to wear the white and slaps on some make up. aware they had to be there by 1030 pm.

she's just finished her eyes and is holding her lipstick when he come behind her to use the bathroom

she opens her mouth to make a guilty sniping comment before he starts the usual lecturing, when lips meet warm mouth

words muffle into her throat

they back into the cupboard lipstick falls to the floor and hands come up and enmesh into his collar

her consciousness reduces to one puddle of need

'whenever u're ready let me know i'll be in the living room'

And then 4 days later, he says he wants a divorce.

2008-06-08T11:36:00.002+06:00

since no one seems to be writing, i'll just have to do it myself. humph.

the trees forked across the line of sight, a web of criss crossing birds, leaves and oak. she lay listlessly in the heat horizontal on the sofa, watching disinterestedly as two beetles in holy matrimony slowly, painfully crawled their way across the glass. clouds rolled past, beautiful blessed relief, stunning in the weather change they bring.

rain. rain rain rain and the skies weeping, in joy not sorrow as the world rejoiced with it. i would like to think that men, sweaty and tired after back breaking minimum wage labor also looked up from their dusty bread winning and looked up at the sky and smiled as the first drops broke loose and provided amazing coolness in the oppressive waves of heat. I know for a fact that children broke out from their roles as adult street hawkers, as primary household earners, as naan wallas and seven year old fridge repairmen, broke free and ran, ran ran stripping their tiny man sized kameezes and throwing them at the side of the nehr and jumping, canonballing their first world counter parts would call it, shalwars huge and inflated with comical effect as water and air met in places where the sun doesn't shine, and abandoned the vestiges of hard labor that the third world enforces on them, and they became just that - kids in the rain, washed of all responsibilities.

2008-05-20T22:15:00.002+05:00

I’m not the sort of person
Who falls in and quickly out of love
But to you I gave my affection
Right from the start
- The weakness in me, Joan Armatrading

She’s working elbow deep in clay. Sweat drips off her forehead, which she doesn’t notice. She is intent on the impending figure that will emerge from the clay. She’s trying to spend herself, emotionally, physically, so she falls exhausted into dreamless sleep.
So she can’t think.
******************
The electricity goes around 4 times at night. She is woken up by a thunderstorm, beautiful wild rain pounding amid lightning on old brick roofs and 300 year old trees.

She walks the house at night with a flashlight, checking doors and windows. Drenched in sweat, not a drop of breeze in the house, she lies on the sweltering mattress and kicks off the 6 pillows and spread eagles herself so that there is no overlapping flesh to cause puddles of sweat.

Dreams of going back to school, a reunion, but its actually just him. In a room in the beautiful old building that haunted her childhood. Holding her, swearing he loved her, so convincing her foolish stupid heart believes him again.

And again, every time she lies down, she feels the gaping void. She can feel, feel him on the other side of the bed, where she used to reach an arm out to reassure herself he was there, and be unbearably comforted by his solid warmth.

Freezing in a too cold AC, and rolling over to him in the middle of the night so she could be find warmth. Persuading him to open lift an arm, and be enveloped in delicious heat, held safe between hard lines of stomach muscle and bicep while he snored unbearably reassuring in her ear.

Of waking up in the middle of a dream with a smile, because two three pillows hugged back.

Of going to sleep tangled together, of trying to escape to a quieter corner of the bed where snores didn’t crash so close, and have his arms tighten around her, not letting her go. Of lying awake and staying right where she was, because it felt so right.

Of waking up to the perfect breakfast in bed every day, a prayer and time to do pursue every dream she could ever have wanted. Of being back and being so taken care of, so unconditionally loved and supported, that she never wanted to leave to the awful place that broke her wings and her heart.

How can you have everything yet still want something so bad for you?

2008-05-13T00:32:00.003+05:00

you fucking bastard give me my money and my life back

----
the police come to the door. she opens it, and blocks their way. they show her a piece of paper. she shakes her head. they don't believe her, and have to firmly come in.

there is the sound of crying, a shout, something breaking. a man yelling, cursing. they come out again, with him sandwiched in the middle. the woman is crying in huge silent gasps, burying her face in the the yellow kitchen duster in her hand.

the neighbours are watching.

"can you believe the broad? he clocks her one, gives her a fresh black eye, and she's crying for him!"

- nora roberts

------

bastard

2008-05-07T21:40:00.004+05:00

its funny how the end of a marriage can mean nothing, and a lot of it

the view is breathtaking
the 12th floor seems quite dizzingly high in the third world landscape
the white lights dot the edge of the water, spinning out to pin pricks of probably frantic fishing activity miles away

standing in the wind, hair and clothes being whipped into pleasing streams behind her, she stands, watching, inhaling the beautiful city.

far far away tiny people go about their night life - a maid closes a curtain in a window far below, a boy walks like a little action figure on the ground to the car.

a little miniature painting, put on for her benefit.

is this how God feels, so high in the sky?

looking down at us little insignificant specks, hurtling, full of self importance and pompous problems which mean nothing, being ground to ash and dust in cosmic seconds, living out a giant chess board of good against evil while happily oblivious in the matrix waiting to get the next quarterly promotion and the next annual bonus

maybe we're all just as pathetic as the spineless bastard.

scary.

2008-04-29T20:49:00.002+05:00

as you grow older your knowledge becomes inversely proportional to your assurity that you know everything

nothing, i mean nothing is as bad as this. except maybe for the stuff that led to it.

her pony tail jauntily swung in time to her step. in the awful sweltering heat she was an oasis of cool pink and white, sun blocked and lip glossed, shading eyes behind yummily gaudy Dior. Every single man turned and gaped as the vision passed, and, more discreetly, so did the women.

bravely, she sat outside in the wall of humidity that was May heat. under one tiny umbrella for shelter.

alone. finally. and greatful for it.

bastard.

to picture # 9

2008-04-13T20:48:00.002+05:00

it was all still so new and shiny.
i picked out my new and shiny blue jewelled outfit and wore the giant diamond thing from the shaadi.
we made it to the car only half an hour late, you mellowing your annoyance at tardiness with a glass of scotch (ew)

we noticed in the car that your tie matched my outfit (revoltingly honeymoonish coincidence)

we went together. no anxiety of being stranded alone without a table, no making desperate chit chat with wondering strangers.

gelling instantly with a table of friends. the best friend and beautiful makeup and outfit a cherry on the evening. T next to us pointed it and said smile, and we both scrunched together - me giggling like a loon and you - my god - you. smouldering semi smiling, hesitant yet so sure.

of the hole in my heart.

bastard.

2008-04-11T20:59:00.002+05:00

we can be

drifting swirling twirling whirling
like a small stick in a little brook (forests and pebbles and enid B)
running water
flushed down the toilet of life

or rise up
like a turd floating against intuition
and fight

only then can we change destiny

2008-04-07T02:09:00.004+05:00

where do i start? where do i begin?
fully sated. clothes hanging in neatly ironed soldier rows in the cupboard. considerate servants, healthy atmosphere of positive well being. four options for each gourment meal, glass walls overlooking breathtaking vistas, pressure pump showers, beautiful 1000 sq yr gardens and fairy benches to sit on in cool grass when the electricity goes. beautiful.
being loved unconditionally.
having people you trust catch you in the safety net of their well wishes.
being cocooned in the womb.
suffocating in the pain and hurt caused to all.

sunday morning i'm waking up / can't even focus on a coffee cup
having time to read all you want. having time to keep up with your friends.
having time to watch all those backlogged movies.
reading, writing, exploring tentative talents.

Don't even know who's bed I'm in
hoping. waiting. gnawing uncertainity. would it? could it?
can someone new be found? is it possible?
memories. delicious thrilling warmth snuggling under covers against the outside world
being kicked outside

suddenly

where do i start? where do i begin?

2008-03-31T01:24:00.001+05:00

I was wearing a silver mask I had made myself that evening – it was shiny silver, flamboyant pink swirls (to match my wonderfully fun & scanty shirt), and over the top sides that winged out way beyond my face.
He had grabbed one of the free masks that they passed out at the entrance.

We hadn’t been out in such a long time, I loved every expensive second of it. I came out of the Ladies (very nice, extremely miraculously huge and clean) and he was waiting. We were having some normal discussion about food and where to find it before we entered the noise and darkness, and to make a point, he grabbed my arms and shook me and said something like “I need food dammit!”. We were standing close as we usually do, I automatically leaned my arms on his chest as his hands slid from my arms to my waist. I was saying something like “well baby we’ll get food first then” and as my face leaned up to his, I noticed the slack jawed stares from the corner of my eye from the people at the entrance desk, gaping at the unaccustomed display right behind them.

Soloman (cont.)

2007-05-14T00:59:00.000+05:00

She reached him, carried on five slaves only. it could have been a thousand if she chose it, but something about the whispers around this man spoke to her dreams. she had to know more about the light.

He stood when she crossed the last dune, unable to help himself. his mind blanked for a second, and he understood what it meant to be mortal, truely mortal, in a way God had not been able to show him before.

She almost gasped in shock.
Her chair. In the middle of the desert ten days away from where she left it. What was the meaning of this trechery?

"There are more things in heavan and earth your highness" said the strange man standing near her throne

the gold shimmered in the desert sun, almost as blinding as the gold headdress if she knew it. then suddenly - it was gone.

the priests and advisors edged nervously together. what was the meaning of this? was this an attack?

"what do my dreams mean? what does this mean. who are you" she whispered

"i am a messenger of the God of all the worlds. Worship him and only him, and be saved in this life, and the after life."

"heretic" hissed the men around her, priests and advisors alike.the guard tensed around their spears.

suddenly, as they stood surrounded by nothingness for miles around them - started up another whisper - "believer" "believer" "mesenger". a thousand voices around them, coming from nowhere. around them inside their head.

priests and slaves fell shrieking to the ground. "what is the meaning of this magic." she shouted

"not magic your highness. more than that. worship my God. i have shown you. your dreams have shown you. belive and be humbled before him before it is too late for your nation. "

the voices in her head screaming, not knowing, not liking being forced, not listening to her heart and soul but her the depths of the inner being as dark as her skin - "never" she whispered

"i have given you ninety eight chances your highness. i sent letters and emissiaries, all of which have been killed or slaughtered. i have shown you signs and given you warnings, but still you do not believe. but believe this, God has cursed you. God has cursed you and your people. their nobleness will not survive. their stature, your stature, will account for nothing. they will be the slaves for a century and more till the end of time and you will be bound to the sand to view the downfall. i will give you one last chance, the ninety ninth, repent now, and God will forgive you, he is oft forgiving and most merciful..."

2007-05-14T00:40:00.000+05:00

lahore lahore lahore
how you call to me. you are my adopted city. the city of my late orphaned childhood, the city where i went away and the city where all is green and the roads are clean and the parents are happy and the house has no economic terror and no sex and no happiness or sadness just oceans of comfort to drown in while playing golf and swimming and contemplating taking up tennis again
of teaching and loving it
of gathering pots and pots of money and spending spending spending on anything my heart desired
why did my heart desire this?
sitting, unsated, frustrated, awake, unable to sleep as he snores in my ear, the only caring being a tobasco bottle retrieved from upstairs at dinnertime and much appreciated
where are my promises?
where are my three meals a day?
where are my back rubs and my cuddling and my stolen kisses and unearthly wonderous lustful amarous attempts at my virginity?
where?
where?
where are we? why are we here
why am i here
where did we go and why can i go there too?

2007-03-12T21:45:00.000+05:00

This is where it started

I am dead. I have died. I have drowned in a pool of electric blue, looking up at the hole of light and I reach for it, lungs dying, hoping praying cringing reaching, and missing, still underwater, unable to breathe choking taking in water one more breath no air, blissfully not shaking anymore at peace, in silence, black hair floating, face down, not moving anymore staring at the dark

We are made up of silences you and i
The silence when we first saw each other across the only phone in the building, I blinded in spiritual shock, knowing, knowing, the blinding light, the uncertainty, the lying, the childishness. I loved you then, more than possible, you burnt like an afterimage into my soul, making me search for you in loneliness forever after. I am a one man woman. I cannot find you in anyone else. I have looked.

And now here we are, in our happily ever after. The fights in the dripping ceiling, the angels crying at our stupidity, me packing, ready to do, ready to die and return to the ashes, shopping, shopping, shopping, one thousand not enough, not two, not four, not ten, not fifteen to finish the loneliness in one blow, to get the courage to rip out my heart and leave it behind and go to the nurturing perfect place that I know will heal me

And then the crazy psychotic man following me to our house, me not being able to find my phone, groping in my bag, mentally terrified, wondering if my doors are locked as he speaks to me through the window with his crazy vacant rapist empty eyes telling me to get out of the car, and you answering after two bells, coming, coming, running, hitting, beating, nearly killing

I still hated you for killing me. How could I ignore your bashed knuckles, your shame and horror at your mindless rage and stupidity and base blind hatred. How could I not heal you, how could I not hold you to my soul and make you whole again as you wept, in fear and horror and self hatred and gratitude that I was ok

How we love each other you and i? how can we break and make each other and break again, and leave and threaten to not come back and know what no matter what happens, we will never ever be able to leave a room alone ever again

alas poor anabelle

2006-08-08T23:57:00.000+05:00

god i love this guy.
its a little weird because he was born a century ago. but oh well.

2006-07-18T22:38:00.000+05:00

i'm not going to bother. everything that can be said has been. but i can't resist: i predict that at the end of it, when the dust eventually clears and the petrol prices are at Rs. 110 /liter, it will be told history as a great strategic offensive that changed the map of the region; or it'll be told as the greatest war of independance every fought. if anyone is left to tell it to that is. i see the hezbollah as the balkans, and it frightens me a little that i'm on the wrong side of the fence.

the nearest spiral galaxy was in view, so to honor the soltice of the orbit, the star deck roof was transparent and held no educational filters. the fuzzy pinpricks of light against the startling navy blue background suspended in deep space made the spectacular view.
but no one noticed.
they hurried to their tasks by the millions, like the thrumming ant colony they had been modelled after. They dutifully ignored idiocyncrasies like the view and the weather, or the startling spectre the main deck was with its layers and layers of interconnecting bridges that spanned over a hundred stories.
Such was the life of the hard ones.

Just one thin cellular wall away, lived the softs. Allowed to exist in zero gravity, they were balls of jello like energy, lounging seemingly aimlessly in the spectacular incubator that was their womb. They studied nothing but the stars, and the orbits and the planets and the teeming life that lay just beyond their reach. And the one question that every soft dwelt upon, the one burning question that seared their existance, was "WHY". Till they found the answer, they would not stop.

It had not always been the case. in a previous reincarnation of the planet, the two had shared completely different planes of existence. but the fourth world war had shaken more than the land, and so the two beings had been forced to co-exisit within the same realm and confines of the ship. the virulent hatred against the softs was instinctive and absolute. the hards plotted, schemed and strategized to destroy the softs in any way possible. the experiemented and captured and tortured and planned and re-planned. but nothing ever worked, and so after a millenia of trying, the hards finally evolved and decided to throw the softs into a dividing compartment where the two would never interact. and so it had been for a millenia of a millenia more.
*****
Life was hard in the Ship. One could only put their head down, and bustle about and complete their job plans till they died, and there was a certain solitary and noble satisfaction in that.

JZ320 whistled along his way across ramp divider 56th on Main. He had five communicators wired into the portals of his brain, and a mobility device connected to the energy source in his spine. his job plan was fairly low level and stress free, he had to maintain the cellular Divider. He donated his superior DNA once every month to the wall, and allowed it to ferment and grow for one solstice. His job plan, like everyone elses, was encoded in his DNA. he happily whistled his way to the donation chamber as his several communicators beeped and buzzed, home delivering sensory data from all across the ship directly into this brain.
****

sarturo focused his aura to his surroundings, and waited. sure enough, like clockwork, the busy little hard bustled into the connecting chamber.
the stars were right, the galaxy was near. it was time.

****

Jz320 felt strange. he felt! after connecting to the donation chamber, he had experienced an alien energy flow, and then his form had changed somehow. the deep internal cellular structure of his DNA slowly unwound, disconnecting the communicators and the mobility device without his knowledge. the jello filled him, consumed him, filled him to bloating till his outer shell cracked and bulged like old chewing gum.
it was like a virus. the second his job plan completed, everyone on the ship was exposed.
in a matter of seconds, everyone was infected.
the hards fell wherever they were, choking, suffocating, stuffed to the hilt of their coverings with jello. how had they escaped the divider? why?!

****

the ship thudded gently into the blue planet. as the teeming masses spilled out in bewilderment, the last of the softs that had remained behind fulfilled their last function. they imploded the ship, and the shock wave spread across the planet, fossilizing the indiginous species for inspection at a later date.

****

recursive right

2006-07-08T21:24:00.000+05:00

this feeling of near throw up seems not to have left for three years now.

i'm sitting at my cubicle, its all a bloody mess, the man standing waiting for me in one of the nicer vendors. by nice i mean he actually is relatively less of a lying cheating scumbag out to fleece me of my budget in any way he can by making any kind of promise he can because promises don't go in writing and can't be legal. sometimes i think thats what every single person is out here to do. strip and rape any available surface, scrabbling for any last shred of flesh clinging to carcasses killed by the heat like the vermin we are as a nation. this will just continue till we finally get blissfully bombed/taken over by a superior more organized and probably more ethical race.

so there he is, at least having the decency to get the orders delivered at the time stated, and following up with integrity and efficieny and a little bit of flattery (it works). except his shipment failed my quality test. the warehouse passed it - i haven't.

my fingers hover over the keyboard, as i get ready to type the letter that will get him kicked off the panel. i feel like i'm drenched in slime regurgiated from his filthy belly. he's very apologetic, his excuse makes sense even to my now suspicious mind. writing out the form will get him screwed, legal action, kicked off the panel and he'll lose the Rs. 3 mil or so he sunk into the shipment.
i'm leaving in two weeks, the brands have been handed over, i have no loyalty to this giant evil corporation that eats souls and spits them out for breakfast.

no one, i mean no one, will ever know if i don't submit it. i don't know of anyone else in the department who's ever followed the procedure and filled one out no matter how bad the case.

i close my eyes, and press send.

this feeling of near throw up seems not to have left for three years now.

i hate surprises

2006-07-06T21:14:00.000+05:00

standing in a garden at midnight is weird.
its hot, its humid, you can smell the heat in the air. a fountain rustles in a corner, something slithers in the bushes making your heart die and your soul shrink bracing itself for the disgustingly repulsive crawl of legs.
but the mission is paramount. for king and country.
you a little girly foot shake type jig hoping that the bloody thing in the bushes stays there. you ignore the sweat making tracks down your stomach, you lean forawrd hoping for a breeze, but this stupid city has none.
is it worth it?
just as your faith wavers, just as the rustling gets joined by unidentifiable creaking and whirring, and a scream is building in your throat and you're about to go runningstarkravingmadoutofthedarknessandintoLIGHT you see a light come down the road.
the signal! are those cretins even there? how long have you been there?you flap your arms wildly near the window (its the signal!!). nothing happens. bloody simple minded short attention spanned fools. you hop over to under a window (so strange to stand on the wrong side) and rap impatiently at the idiots within.

you see the yellow cracks though the curtain extinguish. the car lights are almost at the gate.
is there time to run inside?
too late. car driving in. you make a judgement call and stay put. damn the plans. flexibility is key. you can sneak in afterwards.

he brings the car into the curving driveway, way too fast as usual. she's sitting in the front seat, co-conspirator and part mastermind. i giggle silently, because i feel like we're ten (and they're five) and at mamoo's huge rolling mansion playing hide and seek in the trees again. we used to play with walkie talkies shaped like care bears. why did we not find that strange?

the car doors slam, they say something, voices murmuring across the lawn and don't reach the shadow of the tree i'm standing behind. i can see them through the branches.
and suddenly, while they're laughing the carefree cackles of youth, he grabs her arm and pulls her into him, and plants a kiss!. on the lips!

my mind shuts down in shock. i gasp loudly, but it doesn't cross the lawn. i straighten up, my first thought "are they crazy the chowkidar will see this isn't karachi what are they DOING" and the second is "oh my God YUCK why did i have to SEE that" and the third overlapping "oh my God since when" and then "oh my God why didn't i see this way before" and "oh my God its been happening for so long how OBVIOUS"

and revolted to the core of my being, they leave me alone in the lawn at midnight.

i hear the yells of celebration erupt a second later, lights coming back on, front door left open, and i run really fast and go in throughthe kitchen and pretend i was there all along no one will notice the timing.

i can't hug them in celebration though. its too creepy. and positively incestuous in my book, but i guess what a perfect story book ending for them?

but they're such babies though! MY babies!
yuck yuck yuck YUCK.
eW. why did i have to see that. WHY!

2006-07-05T18:45:00.001+05:00

i can never remember usernames. i'll remember the damn password, but bloody usernames are beyond me. and most bloody sites don't have reminders for usernames. bloody hell. i'm destined to get this damn newsletter forever.

she sits at the desk, feeling slightly bloated and more than a little nauseated. Flies buzz irritatingly past her ear, her coffee cup, her monitor.
the flat screen blurs in and out of focus. the video feed jerks and breaks with third world connectivity, and she tried to frown in concentration at the voice.

but it doesn't really matter because she'll be leaving in a week. such a shame. not.

2006-07-03T21:21:00.000+05:00

ok i want to re-edit that last stupid post.
this is what happens when you forget how to write (struck by lightning bolts of writers block)
my words seem to jumble into repetitive words and hitch and pitch and lose their grip on the rain wet tar of concrete roads.

i'd stopped writing because he kept sneaking into all my words, turning them into wet candy floss hearts and fl0wers mush. and i have my pride, i'll never blog such drivel.

but this post is for all those in the tunnel. there is hope. its been around a year now, and my world has spun more than one revolution around a sun.

the gaping black hole of emptiness is gone. the hitch and stride of a day of hard work has meaning. how can i describe how the sun shines for me, how the rain falls so i can run screaming crazily happily through it? how can i write about how a drop falling off a leaf can hold so much beauty that i cry?

i'm sure it can be because of any given reason. for a work you love to do, for a friend you love to have. for me, it was love in itself and that is what i am here to tell you despite my lost ability to write.

love exists. whatever anyone tells you, don't listen. there IS a perfect happy ending, there IS that snow white picket fence, there IS that stomach flipping, electric bolt giving, giddy mushy madness with another person despite all your flaws and their flaws that survives for so long that you know just know it'll last forever and are still unbelieving when it does.

don't listen to anyone who tells you it doesn't exisit. don't listen to anyone who tells you it only happens once. and don't listen to that inner voice that slyly whispers saying you don't desearve all this.

embrace it. wait for it. your time WILL come, i am living cynical shining happy proof.

but remember that men are manipulative bastards for all that :)

this feels weird

2006-07-03T20:29:00.000+05:00

i almost, almost wrote to him and told him that i was in love, crazily trancedentally optimistically posititively in love, but that if i had one wish (and wishing for other wishes doesn't count) i would wish that my one true love could write like he could.

that his random words would make my soul twist and eyes blink, suddenly alone with words again in a world where all holes had filled and all emptiness had fused into the white care bear stare.

but the electricity went, which is rare in this place where the generators are infrequent, the trees are green and the roads are new. and in that profoundity where all blips and hums and haws go silent and the alien rumble of distant cars and rishaws become louder, the moment was lost.

but it was enough to bring me back here, down a forgotten twisted lane of memory. Which in itself is no mean feat. and for that i salute him.

yummy

2006-02-17T00:38:00.000+05:00

my new passion is Lays. salt and vinegar. the green ones. yummy.

going at midnight for the third time to the supermarket just to pick them up. and getting noodles, pancake mix, shower scrub and new shower gel in the process. yummy.

of standing at the cashier insisting on paying myself, having a six year old little girl looking at me in total wonderment, amazed at my credit card, car keys and ability to buy groceries at midnight all alone. with an expression of awe, and an almost disbelief that she could ever achieve such great heights one day too.

back rubs are yummy too.
snuggling under covers, warmth against cold AC air. jean clad legs intermingling, naked arms intertwining to shut out the artificial cold. yummy.

stepping outside into ever present restless wind, whipping hair into eyes as ears adjust to the sound of the sea.

feeling sand sinking ankle deep.

sitting in a board room, kneeling incongruously on the alien floor only ever stepped on before, leaning into the silent stand, bend, stand, kneel of prayer. sitting for a stolen ten minutes of a crushing brutal rapacious day. watching out of floor to ceiling windows from the top floor while squatting in reflection, looking at balcony plants being torn by the wind outside. hypnotized by the serenity of the wharf as a seagull arcs over a boat buffeted at its standstill. wrapped on a ray of rare pale sunlight in utter silence, eternity poised in the restless wind.

i had a dream. in a giant cafeteria looking out onto a huge green valley, complete with rainforest blanketing the mountain sides and a waterfall and snaking river off into the far distance.

of being in heaven before life started. of sitting on a long table with all of humanity on it. opera in the background. starting and stopping like musical chairs. the objective being to hold hands in the split seconds of silence, and hold onto two partners for the rest of the song, for the rest of life. of watching mesmerized the ocean of criss crossing hands. of reaching forward in the next silent gap, and latching both hands onto him.
of the archangel himself pausing at the incongruity. at the ingeniousness of humanity. how can someone change the rules and just hold onto one person? he’s more conventional, holding onto two. the music restarts, too late to change, all eggs in one basket.
the opera reaches its crescendo, the people stir, awaiting the next change. she waits poised, but notices he isn’t looking at her. he’s struggling, but his attention is waning, eaten by the other hand he’s holding. he’s going to leave her. she who broke convention never broken by humanity before, broke it for him. she weeps, and he weeps for her.

when the music changes, he changes hands.

she wakes.

making hay

2006-02-07T22:30:00.001+05:00

for Z: i can't help it.

i’m bored. i stifle a yawn. then turn to my favorite pastime of late. i look casually over to the head of the bed.
his hair is a little sweaty, and rumpled adorably. sitting from my vantage point, I can sneak a look at his face, and something about the pleasing set of dark eyebrow against pale tanned skin makes my heart give just a little skip.
he’s stretched out against the headboard, intently watching his Discovery behind my head somewhere to the side. I sit at the foot of the bed, our legs mixing at the knee at a perpendicular.
he suddenly notices me looking and I’m a little embarrassed at being caught. but then his gaze meets mine, and he does that look. like he knows.
how does he do that?
“Can you change the channel please?” I say out of the sheer awkwardness. and, well, because I want the channel changed.
he looks a little surprised. “But, but….baby! that the gobbeldygook car being blahdiblahdiblah car made in lalalala car land”. his hands gesticulate in excitement as he says "car". he looks hopeful, and tries to find a similar spark in me. his eyes flick longingly back to the TV.
I keep looking at him.
he looks at the TV. and then he looks at me. and then his eyes soften just a bit. he sighs. then hands me the remote.

I happily flick to BBC/star world/channel V/comedy channel. the sun is shining.

j'adore.

a whole new can of fuck up

2006-02-04T00:06:00.000+05:00

i don’t want to wear your tshirt to sleep today. i don’t want to wear the clothes i’m wearing right now. i want to jump in burning hot running water and scrub the humiliation, embarrassment and stupidity off myself.

i can only wonder WHY i sadomasochistically choose to stay in a relationship that is making me feel so bad about myself.

i don’t know how to deal with you when you get upset. i can’t, i can’t open my mouth and allow the smooth oily words you want to hear to pop out like giant regurgitated pills.

and when i stare at you miserably and try to make fumbling apologies that involve me verbally prostrating myself before you, and you continue to look stonily unmoved, i feel helpless with lack of knowledge on what to say or do.

and in that ocean of not knowing anything and fumbling around in the dark, i do know one thing. any longer, and i’m not going to take it. i do know, that if we continue like this, no, if you continue to be like this, get hung up on stupid unimportant things, and make me miserable and teary and get satisfaction out of my misery, i will end this.
these are not the foundations lasting relationships are made on.
make your choice.

happy pre-valentines week to you too.

happy valentines day

2006-01-30T23:41:00.000+05:00

he tiptoes in holding his shoes in his hand. the dog gives a little whimper, then continues to sleep.
he slowly opens the door.

the lamp is on throwing the room into a pale yellow glow. shadows everywhere. he looks around, hoping she’s not awake and waiting, and hence angry.
he notices the blanket askew, and figures she’s gone to sleep. he heaves a sigh of relief. guiltily promises to come home early the next week, after the project is launched.

she’s curled on the bed, arms incongrously flung in childish abandon of sleep. he strips down to his boxers, too tired to change. he snuggles into her warmth, and as always, even in her sleep she curls into his side in perfect harmony. he kisses her forehead fondly.

suddenly he notices her lacy lingre. a small part of her notices how deliciously sexy she looks.
red lingre? alarm bells go off in his brain. he fumbles for his PDA, and sure enough his calender schedule says valentines day in a bright red capital letters.

fuck.

sexual healing

2006-01-23T15:29:00.000+05:00

relationships with a U rating are painful for several reasons:
(EFFECT 1)
manifested upon (i) the people in the relationship themselves
manifested through (i) fights, racy banter, physically violent reactions to otherwise normal stimuli (wresting match over who gets the last toothpick anyone?)
cause: acute sexual frustration.

(EFFECT 2)
manifested upon (i) loved ones of the people in the relationship
effects (i) excruciatingly embarrassing moments of being part of a third wheel while other two cuddle at the drop of a hat (that chair can only seat ONE, people!), watching while the couple dances slowly to fast songs, being part of a dinner table conversation where the couple ignores you but stares at each other instead
cause: acute sexual frustration

(EFFECT 3)
manifested upon (i) random innocent bystanders near the people in the relationship
effects (i) physically nauseating innuendo filled conversations, surreptitious hand holding and inappropriate footsie playing
cause: acute sexual frustration

moral of the story: after the legal age of fifteen, parents should give children an exclusive annex of their own where they can run wild with no supervision. a box of condoms and a birthing video can also be supplied to health safety and sanity reasons.

me

2006-01-19T16:27:00.000+05:00

i hate her. i hate her because she’s stupid. because she’s dumb. because she’s rigid. because she’s cheap. because she’s embarassing and idiotic and doesn’t read and doesn’t understand me.

i hate her because she’s a know it all. i hate her because she preaches and knows what she wants and likes interacting with people and has great social skills.

i hate her because she’s childish and stupid, and hates pakistan, and seems to have regressed since i last saw her. i hate her because she makes mylife seem pathetic and stupid, i hate her because she doesn’t understand and doesn’t bother to.

i hate her because she’s too stupid to understand that she has a good thing going. that she has a great life going. because she’s too stupid to make the most of herself. she’s too lazy to make the most of her potential. she’s too lazy to get the energy to work at her job like she wants to, shes too irresponsible and she’s completely floating through life with no direction and no idea where she wants to go or where she wants to be. she ends up doing things other people tell her, which isn’t what she wants at all, but she can’t seem to intelligently get out of the traps she lets herself and just crashes and makes an idiot out of herself and is unprofessional. she’s stupid because she thinks too much. because she can’t express herself and it kills her from the inside. she hates herself, she hates everyone around her who she thinks should understand her enough to save her from explaining herself. she hates herself for her inability to have the energy, conviction or the skill to debate anything with anyone to show them her point of view. i hate this one the most.

2005-12-21T14:21:00.000+05:00

When I was around eight, our class teacher made us do this exercise one language class. She said we could write any three things about one person from the class, bad or good.
After a lot of struggle and pencil sharpening and erasing, we were all finally done. Even Turhan had finished. We all had bones to pick with someone or the other. What a great opportunity to legitimately voice them.

We all read out our essays.

They were hilarious. Everyone had a ball giggling on the criticisms of their classmates. Then one boy stood up. His name started with a U so he was towards the end. He didn’t have too many friends, and actually was the son of some teacher, which was probably how he could afford the tuition. His bags were always local and way uncool, and his shoes had the terrible worn out look of hand me downs. Social suicide to a eigth year old.

His essay was different in two ways. One, he had written about a girl who was his friend. Second, he spoke about three good things instead of bad.

He was the only one in the class to do so either.

I remember briefly pausing a moment in awe. In awe of his indifference to social custom, in awe of his ability to just say exactly what he felt like saying without worrying about which classmates would laugh at him. In awe because it was so many years before teenage rebellion would become cool. But that was just a moment. The snickers started, then the teasing, then the “X & U, sitting on a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G”. he had tears in his eyes before home time that day.

Many many many years too late, I salute him. I’m sorry U.

i will survive

2005-12-18T22:16:00.000+05:00

i don’t have enough friends to host a party. thank god. the small talk alone to sustain a small get together would kill me. or drive me to drink. or something.

i walk up the steps into a veranda. the fairy lights are up, the people are quarter way through the bar stockpile, and the hum of general conversation is well underway. glittering strangers.

i grab my champagne flute of juice, and try walking up the steps to the dance floor, but get waylaid by a couple from work. we schmooze about this and that, she name drops and i smile and grit my teeth.

i’m on my fourth group of schmoozers, when it happens. through the melee of people, i see him. conversation blends in, lights blur, and i almost choke on cranberry and preservative. his hair is still standing up rebelliously. he’s holding a glass, talking to a couple of investment bankers we invited at last minute. theres a woman with him.
wife? girlfriend? mistress?
when sound returns to my ears, i hear the end of a sentence on tax reforms and the patriot act not being renewed at congress.

i leave early that night. i’ll make my excuses the next monday.

2005-12-13T00:11:00.000+05:00

we are pathetic, apathetic, self hating single brained fragile fools. we rip open our souls and beg for company, beg for solace, prostrate our prostrates in the hope for salvation.

and we face moments of such profound lonliness that they cripple us.

in a crowded room, amid the hubbub of background chatter. in a bed watching tv with roaming hands, talking quietly shutting the world out for a few stolen hours. on an old sofa talking with a parent at the end of busy day, civility barely leashed with each lash of a bitter word that widens the gap of miscomunication and intolerance. in a restaurant talking to a potential man to marry, watching a beloved adopted brother interrogate and dismiss a poor wishy washy ambitionless man with no calling in life and no verbal skills whatsoever.

these moments sneak up and remind us that our lives are empty and meaningless, that we’re lost in the dark and will never find our way, that for every one step forward there are fifty crevices to fear.

but they are just that. moments. the clock ticks past, and we blink away our moements of mortality. we snap out of it, ignoring the gaping chasms that sit like pink elephants on our chests. we pick up the threads on conversation lost in our musings, we continue to thrust tongues into hidden crevices, and wind up lost causes and move on. and in that very facet of denial, is our greatness.

Saturday night

2005-12-04T00:50:00.000+05:00

i have a couple of sketches I need to complete. I have a report I need to proof read. I have a campaign I need to design so fast it should have been completed a month ago. I need to order my mercahndizing material so that I don’t get raped in this strategy meeting with the sales teams.

My mother has gone psycho. She gets like this whenever the usual fathomless lake of miscommunication between us deepens to an ocean.

She did this before college. Post a-levels. We had all postponed vacations abroad because that’s where we were leaving for in two short months for a future none of us knew about. it had been a year on insane pressure of deadlines and aps and exams and rejections and acceptances. It was a time to rejoice, to heave a sigh of relief over futures secured and a sigh of nostalgia of pasts that would be forgotten. That summer was when everyone let loose. The moon shone, we met up hungrily, craving company in haunts where we knew we ruled, knowing that in the coming months the torch would be passed on and we would be gone, never to hear echoes of our superiority and ubiqitous-ness of youth again. we partied into the wee hours, desperately seeking to silent the nagging voices of nostalgia and fear, desperate to enhance that small niggling spar of excitement of futures unknowns and promises of futures to begin.

She hated it. and a small teenaged part of me still thinks she hated me. a larger part acknowledges the grey of adult decisions.

then came the ocean of sleepless, stress crazed, near suicidal wandering. a deluge of essay writing and assignment and final week after final week, drenching me in reality as i knew it, isolating me, flaying me to the bone till i whimpered and prayed for santuary.

i managed to crawl back. without a tear, head flung back with stubborn pride as always, clutching tight my cloak of denial. Then came my hermit days, and my i-love-my-suffocating-home-i-have-no-life-I-will-unhealthily-try-to-kill-myself-with-familial-bonding.

Then I told her about him. She seemed ok with it, but we were only going out with friends (because we had no where else to go) or driving around with a city to chaperone us. She still called me and had me home before midnight.

Now our lives have parted, homes shifted, priorities and mind games changed. I’m old now. I pay bills and manage bank accounts that I put my own money into. I handle billion rupee portfolios and bitchslap men older than me by decades on a daily basis. I drive to places she’s never seen or heard of, I do things she will never understand. She talks to me about boys to marry to try to trap me into admitting I love someone else, she tries to drop me to places when she thinks I’m trying to seek away to someone elses house. She’s never tried to be my friend, her stubborn rigid paindu hicktown morals trying to beat me with self righteousness over a generation gap.

It’s a time when girls’ parents are often out of town, where indifferent servants retire early and leave the front gate unguarded to indifferent eyes. It’s a time when boys’ parents move away and leave homes and brothers un-chaperoned, and girls routinely go over and bum around ignoring friends and watching tv.

It’s a time that heralds change. It’s a time when things have built to a point where there is no other place to go but shoot out breaking glass hymens of roofs that threaten to smother with protection.

Its time. Its Saturday night.

In the city by the sea

2005-11-10T04:40:00.000+05:00

it hurts. digging in till you're wrist deep in ribs hurts.
you twist and turn and struggle with effort, and then there's a huge gaping splcuk sound and your ribcage heaves open and lo behold there lies the black cavernous heart thumping, bloody, bruised veins popping with the exertion of living.
and you hold it open for him.
he reaches in, with such slow movement that the wait and yearning is almost painful. your breath catches at contact of fingertip with heart.
the fingertip, it reaches through. slowly, carefully.
and your heart, it hurts after such a long time.
blood seeps through the gap. you weep.
you lie in bed alone at night, yearning.
you remember radha and krishna, and understand why radha means longing.
-------
you're both standing in line, you're mentally replaying the order in your mind and calculating how much change you'll probably get. you're holding your wallet in your hand, tapping your leg in impatience. the woman ahead of you seems to be six feet tall, and has the most beautiful children. you suddenly glance over to him, and he seems hypnotized by something. you follow his gaze to your wallet. puzzled, you look at him, but he ignores you.
he reaches forward, slowly, with a fingertip, oblivious to the TV over his head showing some Oxfam woman giving a speech.
he reaches past the wallet stuck in midair in your hand, past your fingertips, and toward the white city fm 89 bracelet on your wrist. you look at his hand as it almost reverently reaches past the bracelets nestled on your wrist, and touches your arm as if its the most fragile thing in the world. as if you're a china figurine, as if you'll suddenly break and shatter and he'll wake up.
he's not breathing. neither are you. one finger touches the arm that’s stuck in mid air that you can't seem to move, touches it as if to see if you're real. as if to test the color of your skin and see if it'll rub off.
"EXCUSE ME PLEASE" the guy behind the cash register says.
you both jump, you guiltily snatch your wrist away and you both step forward and he turns his attention to the guy to order.
you try not to notice the smirks.
-----

he sits splayed across a narrow leather sofa, the concealed light in the wood beam throwing shadows of his eyelashes on his cheekbones. he reaches for his phone, nonchalantly chomping on the red thing they give you mix coffee, and leans over and proudly and shows you a video he took with his phone when you weren't looking.
you're playing back on a screen, intent on your phone, your hair splayed across his chest in a way you don't remember in your mind. he has to lean really close to show it to you, because he's afraid you'll grab his phone and delete that awful clip he took of you saying he was right.
you have to look, and then blink at the mutually embarrassed look you share in a restaurant full of people you momentarily forgot about.
------

you sit in a new restaurant with a friend from childhood you haven't seen in months. the noise and smoke level is horrific, and the waiter is stupider than ever. your sunglasses are on your head and your friend is bitching out work while sipping her vile glass of Perrier. you take a bite of the fish, and suddenly remember him holding your feet in the car to warm them up, and the delicious curl of your stomach flipping at unexpected heat. your friend gives you a strange look, and you suddenly snap to attention and have to make the prerequisite hums and haws of sympathy.
------

you sit awake at night. unable to sleep.
so you write.

shaken

2005-10-13T09:25:00.000+05:00

There were tremors in Karachi as well. It seemed appropriate, because how could a city a thousand miles from the epicenter remain unshaken by the tragedy?

Places have stopped accepting volunteers. The first day when no one knew about the PAF, it was merely disorganized. With the onslaught of teenage and twenty somethings it became a full blown mela with 800 people standing around doing nothing. Then the boredom set in, and the ass pinching and butt groping began. People began to get hungry and eat rations from the donation boxes.
I signed up for a waiting list at the TCF. They have too many people, they don’t want to be swamped with bodies they can’t handle. So I keep giving money, to anyone who would ask in the hope that it will help.
I gave blood, all the while feeling sick with the knowledge that they had no refrigeration to keep the blood of the 500 people they were collecting it from, and that they had no refrigerated trucks to transport the blood to the quake effected areas. That they probably didn’t have all the needles they required and were clearly reusing them. I gave it anyway, and then blacked out at the ATM and then again at sehri the next day. I’d never given blood before.

There are too many lootings, too much anger, too many predators taking advantage of what they perceive as weakness. Shopkeepers raising supplies of medicines, rations and kafans, people looting homes vacated after tremors. Quake effectees robbing trucks before they reach their destinations. People continuing to spend thousands on one meal at restaurants and plan their Saturday nights not shaken by the earthquake that seems too far away.

This is a mess of our own making. We have raised these ass groping, myopic, unidealistic mercenaries because we have been apathetic about social reform. We have raised generations without teaching them right from wrong. We haven’t taught them that queues are civilized, that helping others in need is good, that dirt is bad, that what’s wrong is wrong. This is a failure of people who know better. This is our fault.

I leave for Islamabad tonight. And like when I was giving blood, I know it won’t help. The roads are bad, there is no transportation, and once you get there, there are no supplies or places to stay or things to eat for your relief efforts to be sustainable. They need able bodied men right now, or doctors; people who can carry goods and help people. They don’t need a woman from Karachi who blacked out twice the day before and is there just because she’s held helpless by conscience.

meeting twain

2005-10-06T17:03:00.000+05:00

She bends over the sink and busily scrapes the brush across her teeth, lathering the bright blue gel into a cheery foam that drips down her chin. She notices a bright stripe of red that has gushed across the white froth just as she openes her mouth to spit out.
She coorlies and then opens her mouth and watches the water curl into the drain, making sure she keeps tapping her foot on the orange tiles hoping the vibrations keep the cockroaches at bay.
She gathers the trickles of water from the tap into her hands, and then splashes it onto her face. She puts a tiny amount of the pot of cream onto her cheeks, and then wiggles into her comfortable see-through cotton shawar kameez, adjusting the AC vents so that the blast isn’t directly on the bed. She goes out to get a last drink of mineral water from the fridge perched in their sitting room, and then puts her head into her parents room and says “shabbakhair”.
She makes sure there aren’t any stray mosquito’s to torture her in the middle of the night, and then shuts the light.
She says her ayat-ul-kursi (to ward off bad dreams and what not) as she snuggles into bed, and falls blissfully asleep.

************

Shes talking on the cordless as she watches TV standing in her loft as as she brushes her teeth, and then neatly spits and gargles into the convenient kitchen sink just outside the bedroom partition. She fills a glass with tap water and takes a drink, and then walks over to her bedroom and strips down to a tank top, then hunts around the newly laundered basket and snuggles into fresh boxers.

She hangs up after making plans for next weekend. She slathers her face in night cream, puts eye pads on her eyes, and collapses amid the dirty clothes scattered on her bed, and falls blissfully asleep.

Sometimes. All the time.

2005-09-28T23:42:00.000+05:00

I hate you, I hate me. I hate the world. I hate my parents, and even though I thought I’d never live out this cliché sometimes I hate you too God. I’m sorry. I hate myself.

Hate is a strong word. “I’ve never hated anything you know? We haven’t felt fucking life. The strongest thing I hate now is that bastard for giving me a A- because he doesn’t like me”.
I have no strong emotions in this diluted grey washed out one-deadline-to-the next life I have. I have no energy, I have no friends, I have no time.

Every morning I lie in bed and half asleep I think if I could only wake up now and go to work early then I’ll get the stuff done. Then theres the haze of existance and then I look up at the clock and damn its seven in the evening and I take work home in the hope that it’ll finish. I eat, and then I can’t bear the thought of staring at a screen so I watch a little TV and then I look at the clock and damn its 12 and its time to sleep. Where did two years go?
I have measured out my life in planner pages.

I stay awake long into the early morning hours. I can’t help it sometimes. I need to feel, I need to live, I need time, and the only way to catch up is to wind myself up till I crash and burn and then finally sleep in exhausted bliss. I need to feel. I need to drink, I need to dope, I need anything that will make me feel. Why do princeples remain behind when everything else has been leached away?

I hate you. sometimes. All the time.
I hate you for making me stay. I wanted to get out, i remember feeling the choking oppression. I don’t notice it anymore. I’ve forgotten what it felt like.
You’ve made me into this corporate whore. You made me a slave to evaluating every decision on the basis of a paycheck, you’ve made me sneer at people who still might have ideals (do people still have them? Yeah right). I hate myself for becoming the person I said I never would.
I hate you for your princeples. I hate you for your self sacrificial goodness and the silent fucking matyr you’ve tortured me with my whole life. I hate you for making me feel inadequate, for not doing the simples things you’ve done for me my whole life.

I hate you. I hate myself.

random self involved musings

2005-09-27T22:18:00.000+05:00

Why do I look at you, and why can I imagine some perfect woman for you other than me? I can see you and this unknown woman as a pair; see you two have your first baby, see you buy your first house, see you send your first born to school for the first time. Its sad, because I envy that, I want that, and somehow I know its not with me, we’ll never have it together, with me you’ll just end up delaying your destiny, one of us will end up hurting further down a bitter path of resentment and misunderstanding.
I look at you, and I know you don’t see that now. But I’m used to that. You’ll see in time, and we’ll both pay the price, so its better if you to just leave now. Trust me on this one.

I gave in to self doubt once, and it wasn’t good. I didn’t mind the detour, he was so young and he had years and years before he stopped screwing around and actually found out who he was and what he wanted. When he used to talk about marriage and kids, I would just humor him and play along even though I didn’t see anything, deluding myself for just a small while, and it was nice being so uncharacteristic. When he would talk about ‘feelings’ and ‘where we were going’ I would avoid the conversations so blatantly that he started joking about the girl-guy role reversal in our relationship. I convinced myself it was because he was taking things too fast.

Do I, like everyone else, simply shut people out because they have the ability to hurt? To have expectations is only to be let down? Or is it something more perceptive, does it come from an innate knowledge of knowing people, of knowing myself, and knowing the absolute certainity of how it will end?

DAMN ii

2005-09-27T21:13:00.000+05:00

this is the second time i re-write this so that i don't sound as obnoxious and shallow as last time. worldcall better comply

One of the first pioneers of my blog tagged me. So in the spirit of joie de vivre and fellow bloggership camaraderie I will commence:
(1) 5 years ago: first year college, sleep derived, deranged, derogatory (of life, people, naiveté, men and ideals)
discovered event management, forgot how to draw and write

(2) 1 year ago: first job, hating single digit IQ creep of a boss
still sleep deprived, deranged, and a little less derogatory
discovered retail therapy and decided life was worth living as long as clothes were being sold
forgot how difficult it is to be Alone

(3) 5 songs I know all the words to:
grade 5: ice ice baby
grade 8: Mr vain
o levels: macarena
a levels: bomboleo
college: we didn't start the fire

(4) Snacks I enjoy: strawberries (NO CREAM), dark chocolate, OPTP tangy fries, Tabasco straight from the bottle, carrots

(5) Spend a $100 million dollars on:
Clothes: $1m
shoes: $2.5 m
house: $30m (france, new york, london, italy, spain, pakistan)
cars: $1m (diablo, the yellow supercar, the green little car with the white stripe) :)
investments: $ 98m (microsoft, apple, yahoo, google, anything else my advisors suggest)

(6) 5 places I would run away to:
my bed
in case my bed isn't available: any place my parents are at
in case my parents aren't available: any place with books & a TV
in case books and a TV aren't available: any place with art supplies and a laptop
in case art supplies and a laptop aren't available: any place with a view

(7) 5 things I would never wear: thong, thong, thong, thong, shoulder pads (no connection to thong)

(8) 5 fav TV shows:
it would be easier to mention the TV i would never watch:
the bits in fear factor when they eat gross stuff
soap operas
texas lone ranger
anything with chuck walker

(9) 5 greatest joys: eating, reading, writing/painting, doing math, hugging someone i love

(10) 5 favorite toys: dinkies (sp? the toy cars), the car with the pedals i could sit in and drive, the toy kitchens that actually had running water, the barbie with the cinderella shoes, the hairdryer for barbies

(11) 5 people i'm tagging: hmMm the three people who read this blog have already been tagged. so anyone reading this who thinks they know who i am.. you're tagged :)

fuck

2005-09-22T22:31:00.000+05:00

fuck blogger and fuck worldcall

updated

2005-09-19T23:40:00.000+05:00

The story of Black and White

2005-09-19T21:54:00.000+05:00

Black met White at a party. White was wearing something black and skimpy, and Black was wearing something gangster like in white. They ignored each other most of the evening, but looked up each other on orkut and decided that they were soulmates.
The scrapped each other for a couple of days, and then decided to get married.
Black got a red suit stitched for the occasion. White obviously wore red too.
They ended up living together and going to parties and theatres and plays and operas.

Then White got pregnant and so divorced Black.
Up till now everything had gone according to plan. They had reached all the right steps and done all the right things. They had made all the correct sacrifices to the rituals of the gods of Black and White.
But a terrible tragedy was about to hit the poor Black and White family.
The baby was born, and terribly, the baby was a shade of Grey.
Doctors and Nurses tried to explain to the bereaved divorcee that Grey sometimes happened. That plastic surgery might be able to fix it. White tried everything, but to no avail.
White tried to raise little Grey on her own, but it became too difficult, so she ended up in her White bathtub one evening several harsh years later, and slit her wrists till she sat in a pool of red.

Grey started living with Black, who was a father with a terrible anger management problem.

Finally she grew up one day and while waiting for her laser Whitening appointment met Dark Grey, and fell in love. They married and through genetic engineering had lots of Black babies and White babies, and only wore Black or White. Grey and Dark Grey eventually died, and the Black and White babies continued to live and procreate more Black and White babies who would grow up, fall in love, and wear Red on their weddings.

And so the circle completed, and balance was regained in the Black and White world.

rockstar INXS

2005-09-17T13:45:00.001+05:00

(1) i don't know how Mig gets votes. i really don't. its one more piece of evidence of how mankind should never trust democracy to the masses because masses are stupid. only the intelligent elite should rule the earth.

(2) J.D epitomizes so many cliches. he's hot, and has a "bad boy image" that he first establishes and then feels he can tone down by playing up his family lovin side.
however, because he's so hot, anything he does comes across as phoney and over smooth. J.D. is the asshole you always want to date but maturity and experience teaches you to stamp out any such urges.

(3) Marty is - to put in politically incorrectly - ugly. but that really helps because his talent and brains are then taken to be the real mc coy. (JD might be able to sing (doubtful) but really.. can someone that good looking REALLY have talent?) he's the kind of guy you would never want to date but you would eventually want to marry when you reach a higher level of maturity.

who has my vote? its hard to tell... :) i'm bordering on immaturity and maturity

coffee being

2005-09-12T23:06:00.001+05:00

I had coffee with the archangel, and he said he’d try to pencil me in for lunch with God. The liar.
Sucker that I am, I call up my lunch date and postpone. I get his voice mail instead. I leave a message and hope my voice doesn’t betray my two timing. “Hey Satan, I’ll meet you for dinner instead. Got a client”.

I trudge to work to the yogi’s sublet; my first customer. He doesn’t even bother turning off the TV as he goes about his business, happily dropping maply syrup into the whorls of hair matting his chest.
I try not to throw up as I wrestle coconut oil down his chest, but he’s too busy watching Regis and Philbin to bother.

Next stop with the bored rich housewife who enjoys wearing nothng but her diamonds, and treats her servants and me like we’re animated pets. I overcharge her by the minute, and she happily pisses away her husbands checks as he screws his secretary in the building across town. So trite. I decide to take the day off and go wait for God. I’ve been waiting months for this.

I’m walking, when I get a call from an unknown number, “Hello?” I try to keep the eagerness out of my voice. Is it Him? Could it be?

“Hey darling, there is no way you can cancel on me, I’m having the shittiest morning. I’m picking you up immediately. Where the hell are you?”

Satan! husband. lover. demon.

Exasperating man. If only he wasn’t so sexy. “I’m about to go uptown honey, have to cancel. About to cross over in three steps.” And even as I say it, I can hear the roar of an engine pull up behind me.

I turn around, and he’s jumped out of his convertible, suit and all, and grabs me from behind. “Gotcha!” he nuzzles my neck, and I try not to squeal too loudly on a public sidewalk. Damn.

“Got you a present!” he’s holding a House of Graff box. My knees go weak. I’m sure Gabriel can pencil me in some other time.

I get into the car, and try not to think of the aftermath.

I Will Never Be With You

2005-09-06T23:31:00.000+05:00

James Blunt - You're Beautiful

This ones for you:

My life is brilliant.
I have the worst case of the shits. My hitherto commendable digestive tract has finally been breached by all the crap I stuff myself with regularly (my friends hate me because I’m thin). And then theres the stress and the caffiene and insomnia and the back breaking exhaustion I’m sick of writing about.

My love is pure.I saw an angel.Of that I'm sure.
Ever since I’ve been little, I could always connect the dots faster, catch random patterns in clouds and pea pods and dropped coins. Umbrellas in stars, dragons in clouds, ten dimensions in the air surrounding me with an infinite possibility of ifs. Long before it all became text book in basic level quantum mechanics and cryptography and statistics. Astromony and astrology, chinese leap years and birth years and centuries and after hijrats.
She smiled at me on the subway.She was with another man.But I won't lose no sleep on that,'Cause I've got a plan.
Talked myself into a box. Wrote myself into a trap. Walked into a close ended room, with no space for answers. The haunting familiarity of strangers and the echoing lonliness from best friends long gone till hollow skeletons of friendships remained and rattled cheerily in beach huts not our own and ball gowns long grown out of.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.You're beautiful, it's true.Her turquoise hoop earrings with a high pony tail, his lean stomach hugging ribs and they lounged on the beach chairs silent, thoughts hidden by sun glasses. Idly playing with bracelets on wrists, watching volleyball and shrieks splashing by and the music starting with the generators in the dark. His younger sister and her guy best friend whispering together giggling at the possibilities. Sun slanting through grey clouds, white gulls cawing in the distance and then dissapearing into the sunset.

I saw your face in a crowded place,And I don't know what to do,'Cause I'll never be with you.She picked up a pebble, remembered writing on a large flat beach stone with fabric paint and mailing it to her best friend oceans away. She tried to make it skip, and as always, failed.
He came and sat beside her, “You know, this is so much more civilized then I ever expected it to be”.
“Because you’re an imbecile. Because you never knew me and never bothered to find out. Because you’re stupid and immature and I feel cheated because you showed such promise and claimed to be the one.”
“I still love you.”
“Fuck off”

Yeah, she caught my eye,As we walked on by.She could see from my face that I was,Fucking high,And I don't think that I'll see her again,But we shared a moment that will last till the end.The hash burns holes in brains, the mochiato sozzles grey matter till time slows and bonfires rise as high as the stars and you blink and think you can see the milky way. But you can’t, its only your retinas that haven’t adjusted from city lights and golden memories.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.You're beautiful, it's true.I saw you face in a crowded place,And I don't know what to do,'Cause I'll never be with you.
She’ll be younger, she’ll be impressionable, she’ll think you’re the One and be blind to your lack of any morals. She’ll party with you and drink with you and be cool and fun and not tax your little brain with moralities and philosophy. She’ll wax eloquent on your greatness and make pretty little ego pies for your appetite, and you and your white picket fence and weak mediocrity will continue to populate the earth.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.You're beautiful, it's true.There must be an angel with a smile on her face,When she thought up that I should be with you.But it's time to face the truth,I will never be with you
I slam the car door shut and walk out. I don’t bother saying goodbye. The sand is gone, the music’s over. The ghosts behind every resteraunt and every song and every sandwich have dissapeared. The dots between the cars have been erased and the lines between lonliness yearning and hunger have been washed away.

2005-09-02T23:23:00.000+05:00

he scuttled out like a cockroach. i ignored him because he looked a little harmless and weatherbeaten as he apologetically hovered under my chair.
then he suddenly flicked open wings leapt up in one giant repulsive leap that makes your soul shrink with a replusion only insects can make you feel.
and i lifted my heel and smacked it down. green goop stuck to the base of my arch.
i wiped it on the carpet of ashes, and he bothered me no more.
why do you bother? why do i?

step on a crack break your own back

2005-08-25T22:44:00.000+05:00

exhaustion. pure, unadulterated exhaustion.
stress. coffee fueled, foot tapping, gut twisting frantic stress.
pain. toe pinching, back hurting, sight blinding pain.

traleeleep, traleepleep of the phone, interspersing of the sex and the city dum ta tana of the cell. never ending time twisting body hopping things to do.

me at the end of the day that has no ending: "hi mr. ceo of large catering organization. you sound young, and you have a sexy voice. i think i remember you as the hot senior guy from school who used to date that hot bitchy chick a year junior to me. you've turned around daddy's business and single handedly doubled the organization capital and snob value in the three years you've been working. but i'm delirious from my weekend right now so i'm not intimidated, and i need three quotations for this event we're doing. i need help desperately, and i'm going to run to the bathroom and bawl any second now because nothing is finishing and more stuff keeps piling up and i don't KNOW three people in the entertainment business who i can get the proposals from. no one knows ANYTHING and the bastard who has to handle this has dumped everything on me and is refusing to help me because he's a petty peanut minded MAN with ego issues and doesn't want me to do well"

him: "i completely understand ms. feet. i will proceed to be the guiding light in your day, will tell you exactly what you need to hear and its clear that guy who i normally deal with is a total asshole: you could (a) handle this internally and hire my team to provide food and the hire a third party like X and Y to do the stage and lights, or (b) hire the event coordinator like the one you're in contact with. since your corporation probably has the 3 quotes procedure, in which case you'll need to call up ABC - this is his cell number... and XYZ: this is her cell number. this should do the job.

oh and please don't tell th event coordinator you're dealing with that i gave you ABC and XYZs number. she's going to kill me."

sheepish purely male chuckle like drowning in chocolate.

me: i love you. marry me now.

stress, lies and videotape

2005-08-22T19:55:00.000+05:00

i hate my blog. i hate myself.

this was just a dream so no one get any ideas

the stranger came to me when i was walking in the garden. the first thing i noticed was that he was very good looking, and very familiar at the same time. his eyes were black. i couldn't stop staring.

he simply walked up, and licked my ear. his tongue - it was forked.

"i can give you anything you want" he hissed.

and i looked up, and in front of me was a mirror.

it was a metal plate actually, polished by little hands to a high shine. it distorted my nose, so it looked humungous, made my ears look huge, my eyes squinty, my teeth yellow, my knees crooked, and my back obviously, was twisted like quasimodo.

i could feel his tongue snaking through my ear drum. a hissing sound drowned out all thought.

through all the hissing, my head cleared a little and i laughed with scorn. did he think he could tempt me with looks? i had them, and hated myself anyway.

the tongue, it wiggled further. the mirror dissapeared, and before me stretched vast deserts of lonliness. my knees buckled with the sorrow, the loss, the aching lack of companionship. his nails, they dug into my back, gripped the base of my spine till i gasped in pain, and then he kissed my ear: "you can have anything you want my love. anything"

the hissing... it didn't stop. i was screaming at him to wait. i didn't have time to think. why did i have to? only the desert awaited. temptation of an oasis. no. i would not give in. i've seen the movies. i've read the books. the devil's always slippery.

the tongue is purple. i can see it as it tickles my lower medulla, and i stop thinking.

"yes. you can help me." how do i ask to stop the lonliness? how do i close end this request?

"give me sex"

i hear laughing, shrieks of it. i think its my own. its inside my head anyway. i let him in. i'm the one doing the hissing now.

"ITS DONE THEN" and the deal is sealed.

my arms, they go numb. with horror, i feel them start moving downwards. i'm in my bed, i'm trying to wake up, but its too late. its done. my hands, they do the deal.

i wake up screaming.

2005-07-28T01:11:00.000+05:00

the little girl used to say 7 ayat ul kursis every night. she would say a extra secret 7 ones, would imaging the holy words solidifying into glowing arabic script across the cosmos, and would close her eyes and concentrate with all her being, reach out across the space, and put them in this glowing bag she would lock away in her chest.

she used to pray very often as well. she would go down into sajda and squeeze her eyes shut and her entire being would shrink to one thought and one thought alone: save me from That. Please. Please don't test my faith, I won't be able to stand it. Please God, save me from That.

Then one day, after years and years of planning, the secret bag with the secret holy words was full. she sent her soul to go to God to give it to her mother. she thought it would make a nice surprise when her mother died and then God told her that this is what her daughter had done. it would make her mother less sad about dying.

God immediately told her mothers soul: "this is what your daughter has done. aren't you proud? i will give you the sawab for it, but she will have to wait for her reward" the mother bowed her head in acceptance, even though she had questions, she knew better than to question God.

and then came sad times on the earth, because the little girl grew up and forgot the holy words and forgot about the secret bag that lay empty for so long it lost its glow. and because she started walking the dark path, unprotected by the bag, the words, or any light at all, she fell pray to the devil. he went into her mind, and saw her greatest fear, the one that would make her shatter if she got it. and then he laughed, and sent her That.

but God in His infinite wisdom had obviously forseen this. he stopped time, and called the mothers soul to Him: "you have been praying to save your daughter. you have prayed to save her from any harm because you have seen her walk to the dark path. now is your chance. the cost is one bag of the holy words"
the mother didn't even think. she had created her baby, she would not let That effect her child.
she gave the bag, and in return, bought herself one of That.

it grew in her for seven years before others found it. it started growing outward destroying the tissue and making her sick before they noticed something was wrong. but all that time, her soul had known, and her body was calm in acceptance of her fate.

they gave her surgery and radiotherapy to fix That. and it eventually worked, but at a heavy price.

at a very heavy price.

i wonder what happened to that little girl. i wonder if her life was worth it.

Q&A & W&Z

2005-07-26T21:17:00.000+05:00

to You know who you are:
I’ve burnt everything up and then buried the ashes under the carpet. Haha.
It was funny when you tried to lift it up and only gray dust poofed up to mock your face. Haha.

Let me tell you the problem that stuttering awkward silences don’t reveal: you don’t even take off your masks for yourself. when you live in hiding, how do you expect other people to discover you? until you discover the concept of honesty, nothing will make you feel better. Nothing.

I gave you peace even though you don't deserve it. you came back and took one more bloody thing from me i didn't want to give.
but I’m safe now. Too bad, you’re too late.

Why did you call?

a lion, a witch and a wardrobe

2005-07-24T01:49:00.000+05:00

i just reread the first of the chronicals of narnia :)

for me a lion stands for nobility. a panther, a black one with a startling pink tongue licking its paw, stands for aloofness. an eagle, its beaked nose, stands for the breathtaking wheelies it does alone in the wind a million miles above the world.
i think i could be all of them.

KISS

2005-07-18T23:18:00.000+05:00

why isn't anyone looking into why the bombings happened?
when people have their country destroyed, when people have their families and their lives destroyed by foreign forces, who will they blame? how many terrorists did the devastation in iraq and afghanistan make? how many terrorists from palestine and bosnia are there? when you take everything from an entire nation, what gets left behind?

i hope the british have more evidence than they're letting on. reading the articles it really feels like they just picked a group of four random islamic mullahs and decided to pin in it on them. the only thing they seem to be basing their entire hypothesis on currently is on cctv footage of four guys with bagpacks (woooo terrifying) and that those four guys visited pakistan in 2004 (thats it then! they must be the ones! what are the odds!?).

how will the west get rid of al quaeda? the more people they destroy the more will come and take their place, till the world stands in the ashes of charred nations and smoking guns. how about funding education programs in developing countries? how about "aiding" by not making the guns and bombs the wrong side ends up using?

"with great power comes great responsibility peter"
its sad that even comic book writers know the basic things the leaders of the free world don't

cue

2005-07-17T23:55:00.000+05:00

for self involved monologue:

(1) my scars: there are three obvious ones. the biggest one i don't bother talking about, the second one is a tiny perfect dead circle on my arm a little below where my elbow bends from the inside (wasp sting: payphone, falling into hair then onto arm, being bit, entire being shrinking to vicious burning circle, hanging up payphone because couldn't speak, then sitting on bench to catch breath, couple of days later hearing girl screaming so loud people took her to hospital when it was actually the same type of wasp sting). the third one is a group of tiny half cresents that were made by my sister trying to gouge out a piece of my hand while we were fighting. there are several unobvious ones, most of which effect me in ways i haven't figured out for myself.

(2) my friends: theres a part in war of the worlds (watched the Pakistan "premiere" on friday) where tom cruise and his beautiful butt look out onto a vast vast landscape with nothing, absolutely nothing in sight, except for red bloody guts and dead people entrails. sitting in one corolla packed with nine healthy adults half an hour later, i felt exactly like him sans the butt. i feel like that standing in the middle of a "totally rocking" party, i feel like that sitting in my soulless cubical churning out golden jelly for the queen bee. the only time i manage to erase that feeling somewhat is with a few people, very few people, none of who ease it away totally, but who manage to make the time pass and the loss of someone who understands me easier to bear.

(3) my life: its probably never going to be better, i'll probably look back with envy at the 'golden days' i am defining blah blah. i wake up every morning and look in the proverbial mirror and i know i can say two things: "i love my life" and believe it. in exactly the same tone i could also say: "i hate my life" and i would be able to convince myself of that too. the fact is i am Jaded. I am indifferent to my life to an extent where the indifference consumes on my energy and my enthusiasm and my passion, and pisses on every thing i could ever be interested in. i lie there and make the motions and put up pretenses and society is happy, and every day i think to myself: "one day..."

one day.

women101

2005-07-17T15:08:00.000+05:00

10 easy steps to avoid revealing you're an asshole:

(1) don't tell women stories that start with: "one time i got so wasted i .. ". this isn't high school or college. we're not interested. grow up.
(2) don't tell women stories that end with "and so i beat that guy up". just dont.
(3) don't talk about a movie or a book if you don't understand it. really. don't.
(4) avoid the word "steal". do not share stories about shop lifting, stealing in a resteraunt, or taking stuff out of someones else washer at a laundromat. not cool. not cool at all.
(5) if your driving involves (a) ANY hand gestures (yours or others), (b) horns blaring in your wake (c) you honking at little old ladies driving (d) agressively high beaming the guy in front of you, you need to stay OFF the road. do not have women in the car. they WILL get pissed off.
(6) do not share stories about how you were mean to the nerd kid school. we'd rather go out with him than hang out with you. really.
(7) resist the urge to talk about yourself. resist it. RESIST.
(8) do not scratch any area covered by underwear. none.
(9) wear underwear. please.
(10) shower regularly. anything involving less than fifteen minutes and no soap doesn't count.

Cause: Effect, Socialites: Sleep Vomit, Rumor: Amusement

2005-07-09T01:46:00.000+05:00

Act I: Cause

I’m sleepy, had a horrendous hectic brain sapping day at work and still got nothing done, have to work tonight and throughout the weekend before E gets back on Monday. Am out for ‘coffee’ with A and T1.

(Background: A is highly accomplished, she has the best schooling, ivy league education, filthy rich parents, a fantastic job at the frightening multi national that would have killed the average (wo)man, and is SO nice (comes from being abroad all the time – hi hello thank you, oh I’m so sorry, please, really, hahahaha, like.. totally, like.. maaan, aW…) that its weird. However, I discovered one more thing about her tonight – she is an absolute and total no holds barred Ditz. With her wide eyed, american accented perfect polite small talk is a sweet empty EMPTY head. Oh well)

After two hours of mind numbing non conversation, I tuned out, and am sleepy. I get bitchy without knowing it when I’m sleepy. Which is why maybe its excusable.
We’re about to leave (finally) when A gets a call “oh those guys are coming to pick me up”.

“Guys” enter, sit at our table
(hi long time, yea I know! hello, oh I’m M, I’m S, blah blah)
[insert random chit chat about moving back after getting shot in the leg during a stint in the Marines (non warfare related), polite smiles about stupid jokes by drunk moron who is not funny at all)]

T2: “hey you’re not going to leave I’ve just seen you for the first time in two years man!”
Me: “haha yea right, like we were best buddies before that” (one side order of venomous sarcasm to go please)
T2: “no maaann… we used to.. like.. chill and shit.. ha ha ha”
Me: “well, maybe you should have said hi instead of ignoring me last Saturday.. ‘ha’ ‘ha’ ‘ha’.” (polite smile to go with side order of venom please thank you)
T2 (sheepish.. confused over normal polite tone of slightly bitchy comment): “hey we used to be tight man.. you turned lesbian with my girlfriend! Ha ha ha ha”
Me: “ookkaaay someones really drunk” (oh oh - if he’s brought up M2, then my god he must be gone – time to leave, things get unpleasant when he’s like that) glance at T “lets make a move”
T2: “hey man, great catching up with you you LESBOOO” (T2 yells and people in resteraunt turn to stare)
Me: “you wish sweetie, you wish. bye now” (smile like I just said the most normal thing)
T2: (confused by words and expression disconnect) “bye”
Kisses both cheeks (yuck)

Exit with T, calm, cool and unruffled (sleepy so it helps the indifference)

Act II: Effect

Table with T2, A and M
M: “Hey man she’s hot, set me up with her dude”
A: “hey maaaan, you don’t have a chance. You act like such a weirdo whenever she’s around”
T2: “maaaann she’s a lesboooo, she told meeee”
M: “really? That makes her hotter”
T2: “whatever dude.. she stole my girlfriend”
M: “maan who would have thought”

Rumor spreads, I’m apparently having some wild affair with my (female) best friend.

At least he had the decency to only twist around some weird joke he said to my face. All the other ones have have literally been 200% fiction. In some weird way this was pretty honest and straight up of T2.

Actually wait, he’s too dumb to make something up.

Oh well. So that explains most of the why’s.

random number generator

2005-07-01T22:29:00.000+05:00

(1) "rain lashes lahore - three children and two adults dead".
all i can think is: monsoons are hereeeeeee.. yaay... i hope it rains in karachi too!!!!
(yes i know - i'm a Terrible Terrible person)
(2) "appointment book written over, rewritten over, and then re-rewritten over in different colours this week"
social life - check, lunch plans - check, salon apointment - check, gym routine - check, insane drowning in work till about to die and then some work week - check
(3) wrote something sleep deprived and supercharged on red bull last weekend. my schitzopherenia potential was at its scintillating shiniest:
3a - rare: it was a FANTASTIC party. the music was great, and something about having to drive for an hour to get to the venue brought out the raging party monster in everyone.. by 6 am i couldn't feel my feet, my legs, or any other essential limbs but continued to literally tear holes in the dance floor. something about capris and heels and "still looking so ravishingly put together even after everyone else looks like death". at least everyone was Happy if i wasn't.
3b - medium: it was a night of goods and bads. i discovered O, F and A are still the total sweethearts N said they were. and they're insane people on the floor, people actually stop to look at O move. i wish he was gay and my best friend. had a great time on the roof, looking out onto the moonlit golf course. i only wish i had been there with my party buddies though, i missed having T, J and N my social anxiety disorder crutches. damn you summer vacations! actually damn you after you bring back M to this part of of the world.... and after i eventually get Leave and get to go for my own... ok whatever
3c - burnt: am craving meat because i'm pretty sure i have a sore throat (yes its a perfectly logical leap).. probably because of cans too cold, because of smoke filled ballrooms and sittings in close proximity of three tiresome individuals i wished i didn't know.. or maybe it was the sheer exercise it took to dodge M's Absolut dance moves, smiling and waving a million times at the kid who i kind of know but not enough to talk to, of watching TA making a total ass of himself falling on his face the whole night and most of the morning, or digging my heels out of the plywood dancefloor which pretty much collapsed after a night of hard work... all i can think of right now at 8 am after twenty eight hours of artificial wakefullness: i'm getting too old for this...

again

2005-06-26T06:18:00.001+05:00

warning: you need to be Pakistani to understand the cultural issues being referred to in this post

I’ve been thinking strange all week. I don’t know why.

Currently, 6:16 am, my voice sounds like phatta hua speaker. I’ve spent the night yelling over the music begging my friends to go bloody home because damn, it was an hour long drive back and shit I needed to get home before fajr. Not because I had a deadline or anything, because I wanted to get bloody home before fajr. My parents would be disappointed in the choices I make if I chose to party till then.
On the fourth missed call from my mother (the time it took for me to realize that my phone was ringing, and to then get to distance where I could hear something took four calls). As I dodged sweaty drunken people, avoided patches with sketchy people hanging out in them, stayed clear of a man and a woman who really could not be described as anything other than a hooker, I felt like I was fifteen and I was doing something bad.
When I said hello, I heard my own voice for the first time that night. thats when I found out sounded like a phatta hua speaker. I croaked out a hello, confirmed that I was alive and well, and not raped, kidnapped or being held hostage, and was on my way home from the country club.
The shame propelled me to beg my friends once again to get the hell home, but it was too late, the Absolut was gone, their high was true, and their natural selfishness shone through. Serves me right.
It was a night of dodging drunken acquaintances from school, of warm coke when starving for cold water, of trying on new capris for the first time and realizing they don’t really look nice after hours of dancing, wearing shoes made by satan, and having my hair RUINED by the wall of humidity that defines this city by the sea. It was a night of beautiful moonrise on a brilliant golf course, of an equally brilliant sunrise, of wind blowing sweaty bangs on a break on the roof, of falling in love with a kitten saved from being run over by an armored security truck.
It was a night of finding strangers in good friends, of finding good friends in strangers.

I don’t know why he invited me to this shindig. I think it’s because I’m convenient, because I fit some criteria on his checklist of people to know and that even if he doesn’t feel crap for me he’ll pursue me because there is a severe lack of normal women to hang out with in this city.
Why did I take up his invitation? Why did I spend the night dodging vodka fumes from a mouth too close, from literally dancing out of reach of grabby hands? Maybe because sometimes, it doesn’t matter who it is, anyone will do. (like i said, i've been thinking strange lately)

having written out in black and white this reason for my going to this thing, i can't believe i was capable of that. what a terribly Unpleasant discovery to this strange side to myself.

But i guess its ok, the spell is broken, I’m back to thinking like myself now. I’m six hours too late, but I’m glad I’ve eventually made my way back to being myself.

Welcome back bitch, I’ve missed you.

2005-06-21T00:23:00.000+05:00

I’m lying in bed, I just got back from this coffee plan with a good friend I haven’t seen in a long time.
We sat down in the little little café, she had an iced tea, I had a hot chocolate (so much for “coffee”). As we talked the missing months peeled away and the bridges of differing experiences and living worlds apart narrowed, and the hours whirred away and sleep curled my toes deliciously. I dropped her home, and I changed into my pajama’s, the hot milk still sitting happily warming my belly in the chill of the ac.
I lay in bed, and I thought, if I could blink thrice and get any wish I wanted, this is what I would wish for: that I would open my eyes after the third blink, and wake up next to my soulmate, the man of my hopelessly romantic trashy book seduced dreams.
And what if it came true?
He walks in, exhausted after a days work, and I’ve cooked him the perfect meal in our perfect home. I sit and eat with him, like my parents still do everyday after thirty one years of beautiful concoctions. Then there is beautiful dessert, and after that he tosses off his work shirt to beautiful abs and picks me up and throws me on our beautiful four poster bed and we make mad passionate love.
And then come the thankless hours of a housewife, the chafing of unfulfilled ambition, the resentment of untapped potential, the hatred of ungrateful teenage rebellion.
I lie in bed with my husband, our children grown, our rituals old, our passion long spent. And I think, if I could blink thrice and get any wish I wanted, when I opened my eyes on the third blink, this is what I would wish for: that I was young again, starting out in my career, and getting the neat little electronic paychecks and promotion letters, and sitting long hours with my boss and making presentations to accolades.
And what if it came true?
I’m walking into work, I’m late for my breakfast meeting, but that’s ok. I was up at five to my pilates, and then spent the morning reading the reports and doing the groundwork for the presentations. The breakfast meeting was only PR for my firm, and they’re used to my frantic schedule. I get back and before I know it its lunch, and before I know it, its time for the tele-conferencing. But somewhere around nine at night, after six coffees and a pack of cigarettes and eight missed calls from home, I’m nowhere near ready for the presentation I have to make at the regional HQ day after, and my flight is in eight hours and I have no time for the six other things on the agenda.
And as I sit in my private conference room waiting for it to become nine am in Europe, I think to myself, if I could blink thrice and get any wish I wanted, when I opened my eyes on the third blink, this is what I would wish for: that the years wouldn’t have slipped away from one deadline to the next, that the hours would have stretched longer so I could have done all I have to do and slept as well, that I could go by a day doing things only I wanted to do.
And I open my eyes, and I’m getting ready for a party. I’m laughing, we’re giggling, I’m dressed in this fabulous top and I’ve managed to pilate my ass till its perky and my stomach is flat. I walk into the dark and the lights and the shimmering sequins bouncing light, and my heart rises in happiness with the beat of the music.
And then its morning, days later, I think its been three nights since I slept, and I avoid looking in the mirror because I know I’ll look as ashen as I feel. I’ve tried to keep myself hydrated, but the energy drinks viciously sap my strength in a never ending cycle. I have a lunch to go to, and then a get together and then a preparty. I’ve tried telling them I need to stop, I need to sleep, but they don’t seem to listen, and I’m scared of the gaping emptiness when my phone doesn’t ring and the empty conversation isn’t around to block out the meaninglessness of it all. If I piss them off, who else will I party with then?
I remove the two day old makeup, I look at the baggy lids, the empty eyes, the exhausted circles, the raging physical need for a drink to stop the madness.
And I close my eyes, and I wonder, if I blink three times and my wish were to come true, this is what I would wish for:
That I would be lying bed after a quiet evening with a good friend, with a belly full of warm comforting chocolate milk, and be drifting off to sleep.

2005-06-17T23:43:00.000+05:00

we all had a one hour "training session" today, where randomly selected people were forced to wake up an hour before normal and get together in the cafeteria. we were thrown sleepily together in a batch on ten. the CEO was there, as sleepy as the rest of us. the finance controller, the new girl, the new guy, the HR head, the HR organizer, the contract chick who just got permanant and a couple people i knew and a couple of people i didn't.
we were told one thing: talk about yourself

a little annoyed, a little harrassed about the time and the presentations and the deadlines, we all furrowed our brows and looked to the end of the table to the oldish guy i didn't know sitting at the end.
he introduced himself. i realized i'd spoken to him several times on the phone. he arranged all the transport for my trips back and forth within karachi. i had no idea who he was.
he started working the year i was born. he talked about the company, what it was, what it had become, and the people that had come and gone and the way the culture had changed. i bit my lip and remembered how i had practically treated him like a peon. someone asked him what it was like to listen to so many complaints in a day. he smiled, and said "thats my job". the HR head, wide eyed, asked him about the two Mergers, what it must have been like to live through them. he smiled "the first thought everyone has is: i'm going to get fired. but you put your head down and continue to do your best, because in the end, thats all you have, that you tried your best".
i found out the contract chick who likes cats was actually from Australia. i had no idea. the chick i said hi to everyday was a chartered accountant. the man i thought was from marketing was actually a CA in finance too. the HR head started her career as an airhostess in the years that pilots were the rockstars of the new generation. the CEO thought he would lose his job too when the merger happened. the girls i thought i knew, the ones i see and work with every day had lives and pasts and aspirations i had no idea about.

the session went on for two hours. we all knew we learnt more from it than we had in the collective 150 years of work experience. and we all walked away wondering how we had managed to forget it in the first place

for i have sinned...

2005-06-15T17:40:00.000+05:00

counting from the bottom, i'm pretty far up. i'm not a murderer (i'm sociopathic enough to be), i'm not a rapist, attacker or a molester. i'm haven't defrauded anyone, i haven't skimped my taxes, i haven't ever made a late credit card payment. i'm loyal, i'm honest, i'm princepled. i don't drink, i don't smoke, i don't smoke up (but thats because i saw a man speaking out of a mike because of throat cancer when i was 5).

but counting from the top, i'm pretty far down. i'm pretty strong in my morals and convictions, but feel that my convictions are strong enough to bear with a little bending now and then. i'm not generally a nice person, because people are generally not nice. i don't pray, i don't take vitamins, i don't exercise. i'm lazy, i'm selfish, i'm tired all the time, and when i'm stressed or PMSing i bark at people. everytime i hear the ring of a sony ericsson (my old phone), my heart stops. for every ten minutes on a treadmill, i have twenty minutes of dizziness.

so why do You do this? can't You just give me a B average and let me be? is there something in me You see that i don't? do You think i will triuph after this? do You think i will get my act together, get my life together, start doing all the things i give a vague ounce of thought to and then forget? WHAT DO YOU SEE IN ME!? WHY CAN'T I SEE IT??

testing testing 123

2005-06-12T22:14:00.000+05:00

I haven’t eaten in the last two days, and I’m not hungry. Actually that’s not true, I had a mango after eight years. Juice dripped over the pajamas I haven’t gotten out of the last two days. Now work beckons and the luxury of sloth is over.

I looked and felt like death and told them I’m not coming, but then was passing by after groceries and thought what the hell why not, got a drop off to the resteraunt. I was in my pajama’s and a shirt so old its torn and see through, and my hair was all poofy because I didn’t blow dry it, but I didn’t care. It turned out it wasn’t the four of us, there were five gloriously dressed aquanitances crashing my personal time with my friends. To make things worse, an old flame who still hasn’t forgiven my rejection in the last ten years (seriously) turned up, and then spent the night telling stories of how many times I was mean to him, and then kept asking why I did that to him. Then as if the evening wasn’t down the toilet as far as my social anxiety disorder goes, he then brought up The Party.

The party of so many lasts, the last time I touched a drink, the last time I had fun, the last time I dressed up and felt so bloody good about myself people said I glowed. The last night I spent with the Drunken Bastard by my side. The last night I spent stopping him from picking fights, the last night I spent listening to him hurl abuses at the guys who talked to me, the last night I spent with an illiterate, stupid, uncouth, mannerless imbecile who abused humanity by existing.

I’m not going out anymore. My cell is on silent, and even though my hair is now ironed straight I’m still in my second pair of pajamas. I’ll live out whatever charade is required of me, with as little grace as possible. Fuck it all.

2005-05-30T18:10:00.000+05:00

she sat on her laptop, and chewed her lower lip. she had just come back from this new spa she had discovered. she'd gone shopping in the morning, looked at yet another jewellery store, then picked up the IPod she wanted for her birthday next month. she came back, still feeling empty. even retail therapy couldn't fix it anymore. did she need medication? suddenly, she couldn't take it, she got up, threw the laptop out the window. she tried anyway, it bounced off the pane and shattered on the marble floor. she picked up 5k heel she'd bought last week, and smashed it against the glass till it broke. then she picked up her diamonds, one by one, and flung them as far out into the garden as she could. even that wasn't satisfying. she picked up her DVD player, her DVD collection, and then one by one, her clothes, her shoes, her handbags. gucci, LV mixed with the sana and safinaz and zainab market and itwar bazaar in the garden. when she ran out of things to throw, she stood at the sill, balanced on the ledge on her newly pedicured feet, and willed herself to let go.
the wind blew, a bird chirped, and her intercom buzzed as the sevants and parents discovered her afternoon activity.
she stepped back down to answer the intercom. she chewed her lower lip, and came up with a way to explain the madness.

its one more day i skipped work. i just couldn't drag myself out of bed. i couldn't. it was like i was hollow, my lungs had collapsed in on themselves and there was a giant pink elephant sitting on the space between my ribcage and backbone where God said He blew our spirit in. N would call it a chakra point. whatever.
i spent a minute last night amid my violated blog (i didn't touch the template) with random droppings of bright pink in it, and i went to the Slade and NCA site, browsed the masters program, saw i wasn't eligible for applying for it, and just to torture myself went to the undergrad program site and read about the painting and sculpture majors.
i do this to myself occassionally, i seem to have inherited my mothers matyr gene. as i sit clackling my keyboard to smithereens and ruining my brand new manicure in the process, i can only think of the waste, the indecision, the what ifs and WHY's of where i am and what the fuck i'm doing here, and how the fuck i get out of this wealth encased crap before i drown in it.

i'm on the verge of something. what the fuck is it?

2005-05-29T21:47:00.000+05:00

She was a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend. She had a secret.

It started right after her divorce. It was a new apartment, freshly painted walls, newly installed phone line, an empty bed and long hours of solitude.
She was awake till three in the morning, and when she couldn’t stand the ticking clock and whirring pedestal fan any longer, she picked up the phone.
Who to call at three am?
She remembered her three school friends, giggling in hours of afternoon bliss as they crank called the cute senior boys. She remembered how one guy said her voice was the sexiest he had ever heard.
She picked up the phone, and dialled six random digits. Beep beep bop beep beep beep.
A man picked up the phone, a little sharp, a little curious.
She lost nerve. Where was the funny repartee? She remained silent. A little wide eyed, a little breathless (would he mistake her for a deep breather?). She waited for him to hang up.
“I know you’re still there.”
She was a little startled. Panicked,she sunk a little lower in her bed. Then out of sheer curiosity, she stayed on.
“Is it you?”
Puzzled, she stayed silent. It seemed the best option.
“God this I stupid. Is it you? it IS you isn’t it? look, I’m sorry for what I did ok? what I did wasn’t so bad was it?”
She almost asked him what it was he did.
“ok ok, don’t hang up, maybe your leaving was justified. Maybe I was a jerk. I swear I don’t know how it got that way. All those things you said, they were true, and I didn’t realize that I’d lost you. I’m so sorry honey, I’m so sorry. Please come back. Please”
The man’s voice was choked. She felt the sting of familiar tears herself.
“ok I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you. take your own time, but please, please, just talk to me a little while more, I miss you so much, I can’t take the lonliness anymore.”
She nodded into the phone.
After a pause, he started, “God, I found one of your paintings the other day. The one with the green dragon? I remember you hated it and wanted to throw it away, but I snuck it out of the trash and saved it. I’d stuffed it in the laundry drawer because I knew you’d never use it” The man choked out a laugh.
She smiled.
“I’ve tried to keep things clean, I know you hated my mess. Hell, even I hated my mess, i was just too lazy to clean it up you know? I’ve been thinking about my behaviour a lot honey, and I’m not too proud of myself. I took you for granted. I realize that now. Look, I’m sorry, please, please come back. I’m a changed man, I love you, I’ll never do that again.”
The man broke down, and sobs filtered through the phone.
Crying herself, for her, for him, she bent her head, and slowly clicked the phone back in place.

After she had blown her nose and stared at the clock some more, she clicked on her lamp again. Four am. Beep bop bop beep bop beep.
A woman’s groggy voice this time. “Hello?”
She stayed silent. She bit her lip, her eyes a little glassy with anticipation. Was it possible?
“hello?” a little more alert now.
“honey is that you?”
She waited breathlessly. What would unfold next?
“honey, listen to me, listen to me ok? Please please come home. Me and dad still love you very much. We don’t care why you left. We’ll fix it. please come back”. The womans voice cracked.
A murmer in the background. A man’s voice asking who was on the phone.
The click of a phone being shut.

She lies awake in the bed, hugging her little hobby to herself. She had a secret. She was a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend.

2005-05-28T23:50:00.001+05:00

i remember a time when i was acutely adolescent, and used to go around with this permanant exruciating feeling of embarassment - EVERYTHING just embarassed me - for no reason.

then comes now. i've been stripped naked and attached to an ECG machine while some technician chick comments on my boobs (i didn't bat an eyelid), i've been given a sponge bath (in retrospect i cringe), and i've also walked around with my pants zip undone on various occassions and taken it all in my stride.

then came last Tuesday.

i was at our fancy gym at work during lunch hour, doing butt crunches with our gym instructor mr. fake saudi/american accent. suddenly i don't feel too well. so i get up (after a measly FIFTEEN MINUTES of exercise) and drink a couple of sips of water, and decide to hit the showers because this weird feeling. unfortunately, i reach the shower area, proceed to puke up my stomach contents plus stomach fluid, then go for a shower and proceed to nearly black out. out of sheer mind over matter i manage to grab a towel (visions of being found naked by coworkers - the horror) i proceed to faint on the bathroom floor at my boss and HR directors feet (erk) - i still managed to clutch the thankfully volumnous towel.

throughout all this time, my legs are frighteningly unwaxed.

then i have to walk the gauntlet of shame from which every security guard, every peon, every maid and every single co-worker asks me how i'm feeling, each and every single one of them with this an expression that can ONLY be described as a SMIRK.

my friend from school even called me, because she heard that i passed out in the gym, and somehow nakedness, fifteen minutes of exercise, and my boss were involved.

yoicks. cringe. humiliation. mortification. i think i'm going to change jobs now. anyone takers?

trashy romances and alias overload

2005-05-21T00:50:00.001+05:00

Low, low slung jeans, hastily yanked on as he dives out the bathroom window onto the fire escape. No time. Bare flesh, flat planes of muscle flexing and contracting with each pounding step towards the roof. Breath condensing to steam with each exertion.

The woman abandoned in the bed stretches sinuously, then wraps the sheet around her naked body. Hair rumpled, make-up seductively smudged, her bare feet lazily make their way to the window with long legged grace. She laughs silently. Gooseflesh ripples down her arms as the night wind chills the steamy room. Unbothered, she looks beyond the neighboring high rises and miles of urban landscape. She’s counting the time he’ll be taking in the bathroom. Her eyes rest briefly on the second building from the left. She lifts her palm, and places it on the cool glass, a silent salute.
The third window on the second floor acknowledges the signal with a flicker, then all goes black.
Still laughing softly, she strolls over to the bar, and fills a long flute with straight cranberry juice. She grabs a few strawberries from a nearby bowl, then drops the sheet. Taking a juicy bite and a long sip, she makes her way back to the bed, She lies on top of the sheets, artfully sprawled over luxorious eiderdown, and awaits his return.

The cold slaps his chest, and instantly condenses to a burn in his lungs. He strains with oxygen debt as he takes the last rung, clears the concrete to the expanse of urban skyline. He sees a movement to his right, and recognition barely registers before the leather clad leg snakes up behind his back, and knocks him face first into the floor. Icy steel snicks past his ear and rests behind his neck. For a split second, he freezes. Then he blindly grabs the shoe heel he has eye contact with and pulls. Manages to flip onto his back, get to his feet.
And finds a gun resting point blank on the center of his forehead.
Completely unruffled, her black ponytail intact, she smiles. Her jump suit leaves little to the imagination. “Hey grey eyes, got a good workout with your girlfriend??”
Instant recognition, black hair against pristine white pillow case. Lamplight on creamy skin. He grins right into the gun barrel, and drawls, “nah honey, that was just a warm up. I’d ask you to join us, but she’s a little particular.”
Eyes narrowed, she opens her mouth to speak, but with a flick of his arm her has her throat between his hands. He anticipates the groin crushing knee, and has already spanned one hand around her waist, shoving her too close to do any damage. Standard issue material imprints onto his exposed chest. Legs entangled, pony tail slightly askew, she’s breathing a little heavily. He cuts off anything she was about to say, “why don’t you just tell me what the hell the old bastard wants me to do, I’m running out of time for your little games”.
She tries pushing him away, then gives in. “He told me to tell you that they know you’re here. Leave in the morning. He’ll see you at plan B on the high street on Tuesday.” She pushes him away again, he traps her hand against his heart.
Black eyes stare into grey. “She’s nothing. I swear. What I asked you that day, it still stands.”
She looks away, tries to snatch her hand back. Reluctantly, he lets her go. Watches as she clips on her safety ropes. She stands at the edge of the precipice, poised, black hair darker than the night sky, strands whipping her pale face. Her eyes glimmer white in the dark. She pauses a second, then mumbles something into her radio, and then jumps off the side of the building. Nylon leaded twine whirs as it carries her weight down forty stories to the lights below.

He turns his back, climbs back down. Enters the warmth. Walks over, deliberately draws the shades over the palm smudged window.

He’d just deal with her right now instead of the morning. To hell with the old man and his bloody instructions.

[on edit: poor character development, weak plot, random story line. better luck next time]

2005-05-21T00:43:00.000+05:00

[this is old. there are problems with the tense in the middle. oh well.]

the gash bled spectacularly. bright maroon blood gushed wonderfully down the calf, dripped in rivulets at the heel and puddled underneath limp limbs.

white faced, he blundered down the corridor to her, then stopped. Excruiciatingly forces himself to breath deeply, then gently bend and lift her inert form into his trembling arms.
pristine white shirtfront instantly splotched maroon. rolled up sleeves, the cufflinks she had given him, on the entrance table.

2005-05-17T16:13:00.001+05:00

i've tried phrasing this better, and its just not possible.
you asked me in the car what i thought of him, the love of your life, the apple of your eye, the soulmate you swoon over, and after two years of internally strangling myself rather than telling you the truth, i couldn't keep it in anymore and had to spit it out.
it didn't help that you didn't understand what i meant when i said he's out of your league. it didn't help when you asked what a league was.
i work with him on a daily basis, i have probably spent more hours with him than you did at the university where you were going out with someone else.
he is an asshole. he will go far, because it is assholeness that gets rewarded at work. he is part of the cliched boy gang that sits together and talks about SWOT*s and other derogratory terms in its version of locker room talk. i am there when he tells people that you're too conservative to go to "those kind of things" when both of you are invited to balls and fund raisers (when you've been begging me to get invited for the both of you), and i am there when he tells you his boss is bitch (when she is fair minded and reasonable beyond question), i am there when he excludes only three people from the entire floor but takes the rest of the department out for lunch.
i am there when his boss gives him work, and i am there when he is "working nights and weekends" not understanding why its taking him so long to finish three simple tasks to his deadline.
i will also be there to help you do the wedding prep, to help you pick your outfit, and i will also be there dutifully playing the best friend role at the wedding.

To AKU with love

2005-05-14T21:06:00.000+05:00

My pupils are dilated to huge gaping holes, my iris a thin brown crescent. Hospitals remind me of beautiful red buildings, sprawling lawns, tiny turquoise tiles set in dark paneling, intricate wooden screens dusted daily with nylon feathers. Most of all, they remind me of the lakes, stretching far and wide in a little artificial oasis amid dusty concrete, with majestic unnamed white birds sitting sedately in trees among the rabble of crows, pigeons and eagles. After today, they remind me of emotional blackmail, of yet another pleasant sleepless morning turned nasty, of parents and their standards and their idealism, of their rights and wrongs and hereafters. A reminder of how I am just another spineless soulless insect in the cosmos, weak and selfish, and strangely proud to finally know it.

On another note: Happy birthday Mehreen. I’ve been trying to get your number since I’ve been back. I’m so sorry for not doing a better job and I'm so sorry for being such an ineffectual friend. Love you!

the ugly duckling

2005-05-06T21:50:00.001+05:00

ok i hate this story. i know its badly written, but it was a little therapeutic for me to write it. it was intially a lot longer, and rambled on a lot more about the weird clique-ish "friends", and on the general manic obsessive thought patterns of the awkward adolescent, but i've skipped that because it became boring.

The music is deafening. The wooden floor throbs, vibrations pulsing though to her brain. Her hearing’s been numb for hours. She sighs, then quickly sucks in her stomach again. Her borrowed top would split at the seams if she relaxed (her damn chest is bigger than her friend’s). She has to make sure the top doesn’t ride up from the front though. The zip at the front of her pants turns neon white in the black light. Her mother’s slightly loose shoes make it impossible to move her feet in time to the rhythm. Thank GOD the sixties style is back, or she’d have to wear her flats, which would have been much worse. She discreetly tugs her bra (it was new) but the straps were loose. The granny panties help in sucking in her stomach though. She wistfully looks at her beautiful friends. She wishes she could own clothes like theirs (straight out of teen magazine), but her family spends all their holidays with her grandmother in stupid Lahore.

She sees the class 7 “hunk” pass by in his low slung leather pants and his Valentino shirt. Her heart sinks a little at how good he looks. She feels even more gauche and awkward. She knows that he’d never even give her a second look. He sidles past, through the little gap between her and her friends. He flips them a little hello. They all stare for a second, giggle in unity and say hi back. She feels fat and awkward, and doesn’t say anything because he's dissected the group and has his back to her. Why was he being so rude?
She notices who’s behind him only when he’s almost on top of her. She stifles a groan. “Hi! I’ve been looking for you the whole night! You look beautiful!” She can see her friends snickering behind his back. They get a hello from the most beautiful male on earth, and she gets accosted by his friend. He’s standing too close, she can’t breathe because of his cologne. She can see bits of the fuzz on the side of his lip that he’s missed. She feels like pushing him away, but there isn’t room. A sheen of sweat dots his upper lip. She notices his ears stick out a little, like her cousin's. She suddenly feels desperately sorry for the poor boy, and how scary it must be for him. She smiles at him, but then notices her friends have almost doubled over with laughter. She doesn’t know exactly what they’re laughing at, but she knows it's probably some mean comment about him and her, probably about sitting in a tree or something. She wishes she could change the topic because the poor boy is looking extremely embarrassed, and (even in the dark) his ears are beginning to turn red. He reminds her of her little brother suddenly, who looks like that when he says something he doesn't know is stupid and all the grownups laugh at him. She tells him that she'll dance with him at a better song (to spare him from asking her). Then she turns her back to him and faces her giggling friends, desperately tries to change the topic. She notices that the cute senior they’d noticed at the entrance was coming to their side of the room, and tells them. It works, and they forget about laughing at her.
Unfortunately, the cute senior comes straight for her and asks her to dance. She feels like crying because he didn't ask her friends too, and if she made the mistake for going alone with him they wouldn't talk to her for weeks (for being a bad friend). She tells the cute senior she hates the song and quickly turns her back.
Three boys who's parents rent apartments in London with her friends' parents come by. They don't bother saying hi to her because she told one of them she wouldn't go to the last party with him. Her friends drag her onto the dance floor with them though.

She suddenly notices the time. She almost falls over on the floor. She quickly says bye, then RUNS (loose shoes and neon zip and all) out the house, through the lawn, through the massive driveway to the gate, just in time to stop the bouncer from going in and announcing to everyone her mother is here to pick her up and could she please come to the gate. She jumps in the rattling car, prays no one will be coming out to notice her leaving.

Her mother, clueless, is happily humming along to the tape.
"Did you have fun sweetie?"

diamonds are forever?

2005-05-06T15:00:00.000+05:00

from http://uk.tickle.com/inv.html?inv=3338291767196029092
(stupid link isn't posting as hypertext):

"You're in the market for a sweet-talking, smooth-moving, fit Casanova. This hottie knows exactly what to do and say in any situation. He's quite the charmer. Put him in a room, and everyone flocks to him. He's quick-witted, incredibly stylish, and runs with the right crowd. Is this man ever left waiting in a queue? Not a bit of it. Does he look as though he just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine? Always. This super-suave man is not only a laugh to be around, but he's part of the coolest scene. Whether it's a trendy restaurant or the hottest new club, your man is there. He's a real ladies man. When you're around him, you feel as though you're the centre of the universe. This hip, fit man has got the slick moves and smart lines that keep you coming back for more!"

this is inspired by the comment suggesting men like this can be bought for a couple of lacs. anyone want to apply? i know a client interested in above specs :)

on guilt, disillusion and somesuch sentiments

2005-05-06T11:01:00.000+05:00

i had to get up, have a bottle of blood wrested away from the gross spot on my arm, had to take a crap into a plastic cup and pee (midstream) into a bottle, and then had to deal with the rest of the business in a disgusting bathroom i couldn't even LOOK at. there was obviously no toilet paper, and the blue harpic bottle on the counter that said "leave specimen here" blurred in and out of focus as i contemplated the sadism of fasting and then giving blood.
then came the wonderful experience of dealing with HR morons on the phone about the case of the lost chest xray, and then it was my turn for an ECG. i had all my metal wrestled off me, ("gold is not a metal, you can leave it on" said the extremely well informed technician who had indubitably inflicted her wisdom on a million ECG's yet), and had to have my poor ribs molested by some chatty chick who knew all about my life by the end of it.
my parents missed their morning gym routine for me (guilt number 1), without even asking (they were in their gym cothes and everthing - SO cute). i came home after it was over to drop my mom off (i take her with me as a moral support/verbal punching bag to these occasions - guilt 2), to find my poor cook sweltering in the sun outside the gate, (my dad made him stand there and wait for us) to give me my orange juice box (guilt number 3). my mother insists i come in and eat a sandwich, so i - in a foul mood - do as she says. wait ten minutes (tick tock, an hour late for work - guilt 4), and then comes this beautiful three layer artistic concoction (my mother is a bit like Bree from desperate housewives) with protien, grain, carbs all healthily encased in it. its really nice of her - as usual - and i take a bite but SPIT it out because it has sandwich spread somewhere in it (i can TASTE IT). vomit.
so guilt 5, i have a tantrum, refuse to eat the damn sandwich and its disgusting, fattening, mayo filled secret ingrediant, and storm out. i forget that i'm supposed to leave the driver at home (the bloody fool is sitting in the back seat and i don't even notice he's there), so now my dad will have to find parking on his own when he goes for the meeting (guilt 6). the driver will have to sit in the sun somewhere in the parking lot (guilt 7) for the next four hours till i leave for my lunch plan.
i hate mornings. i hate medicals. i hate the bandaid on my arm, my genreal wooziness because i still haven't eaten after losing my pint of blood (seriously) and i also hate the deep ancient guilt my parents can evoke in me like a sore tooth.
i'm flying out tomorrow, won't be in the city for another week.
happy mothers day mom.

2005-05-05T18:34:00.000+05:00

I am now the proud owner of the earrings I nearly orgasmed over (on the trip I accidently stole the bracelet). What is it about diamonds that is so much hotter than any man?

Indocti discant et ament meminisse periti

2005-05-03T23:21:00.000+05:00

She was sitting in her study having her afternoon tea amid her books and cats, when the fax came in.
“Darling, I’ll be in Fiji when you get this. I’m not coming back. Don’t come after me.”
She stares at it for a few seconds longer than necessary, then goes to his bedroom, unlocks his left bed side drawer, takes out the pistol. There is a rude bang, then a ruder shock, then blessed blackness.

I enter the room late, my eyes are swollen from fever, exhaustion and too much caffeine, and everyone in the meeting turns to stare. He pauses mid-drone for a split second of relief, then continues his presentation.

“Mommy mommy! There’s a man at the door, he says your name is Sarah. I told him he was a stupid head, your name is mommy.”
“Darling, I told you not to talk to strangers, let Beth answer the door.” She goes over to the foyer, and the maid is letting him in. She pauses, a greeting frozen on her lips, lungs freezing in recognition. The twelve steps she has to walk to the door suddenly disappear, and she’s there, right in front of him, then she’s in his arms.
“Mommy! Why are you hugging a strange man! I’m going to tell daddy!”

I snap to attention at the question addressed to me. I shuffle through my papers busily, and say “Do you want X or Y?” I say, shooting blind, because I haven’t heard anything. I hope the man to my left can’t see the doodles in the place where my notes should be. I give the answer, the meeting ends, and we all shuffle to the backlog of immense piles of paperwork.

She’s in an alleyway, its dark. She’s on her knees, screaming. There’s blood spreading beneath him, too much, too fast. The man in grey, the one who shot him, is long gone. She should run, she should try to get away. She knows she only has seconds. But she has to tell him, so she ignores the footsteps hurrying on the pavement. “Darling, darling! They said I had no choice! They have her!! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Then arms are grabbing her, cold steel manacling her wrists, face shoved into the concrete, into his blood. They hit her hard on the back of her neck, she feels a sting of a needle, and then nothing. Mommy! Mommy! Are the last shrieks she hears.

The screen blurs in front of me, the dull ache at the base of my spine spreads slowly upwards. I hit print, the writeup finally done, and put the papers in my out tray and breath a sigh of relief so I can finally head home.

He’s supposed to ignore her, just plant the device in her jacket pocket, then rendezvous with her husband later. Her husband dealt with the business, she was just a carrier. But for some reason, he fumbles at the last second, and she looks up at his startling grey eyes.

They meet again later, as he hides in the trunk of her car as they cross borders. Moonlit nights and furtively exchanged code words, and she almost giggles at how theatrical it all is if it wasn’t so serious.
They laugh plenty later. Laugh irreverently at the irony of having met because of him. Laugh in a bed stolen from a loveless marriage of convenience. Laugh at necessities and promises of youth. Their moments apart become more and more like voids of waiting till they meet up again. Life turned to grey and breath eagerly anticipating mingling with each other in stolen secrecy. The Assignments became more and more difficult to handle because the more they were apart the more they yearned for one another, and the more reckless they became.

I walk on the pavement, and it feels odd not to take a car. The night air is crisp, and stings my nose and cheeks as I huddle into my coat. I stare at the sidewalk as street lamps phase in and out as my boots rhythmically stamp the concrete on my way home.

Was it recklessness or love? Or both? Or was it just burnout, just an escape from the hell they routinely put themselves through for their country? Why had he suddenly learnt to fear the bombs and the snipers, and why did every prayer start with her face and every night end with a silent kiss across the night to her lips?
Why was he standing on her doorstep when he knew it would kill both of them? Why was he selfishly putting her in danger, just because he couldn’t live for another second without holding her, without loving her, without sharing the rest of his life with her, country and agency and secrets be damned?

And he knocks, and a little girl with his grey eyes and black hair stands at the door, and his breath freezes and knees feel weak. And then he knows why he came back.

I open the front door, and don’t bother turning on the lights. The memories wait in lighted corners and I avoid them and scuttle in the darkness to my bedroom and pray for oblivion.

She cautiously decides to meet him again. She’s been dead so long, she needs him to make her live again. Cozy evenings in stolen restaurants and hotel rooms hours out of the way of ordinary life.
The little girl is like him in so many ways. Already at ten, her grey eyes hold his secrets. So grownup she’s almost frightening sometimes..

And then one day she comes home to disaster. They’ve taken away her life, her baby, her only link to him.
A voice on the phone tells her what to do.
She does what they say.
But, even as she betrays her one and only love, she manages to whisper and tell him where to go. Where he will be safe, where he can grow old happy, and she can live knowing that he is alive and well in some corner of the world. She knows she will never share it with him, because she loves him too much, and he husband loves her too much to let her go. The eternal power struggle.
One day, when the child some of age, she tells her. Tells her the secret she has so long harbored, awaiting the time when there can be a memory shared, of one to tell of the memory, and another to hear of it, so that he may live again.

I avoid my eyes in the mirror. The grey is bloodshot, my hair stark black again the pallor of my skin. How long can I live with the knowledge? I look at my face, and remember the man who ruined my family. I stare at my face, as always, and try in vain to find some trace of the brown chocolate gaze and silver hair of the man I truly loved as my father. The bathroom mirror disappoints me once again. My father is gone, and only I am to blame. I look at myself, and see the guilt claw its way through my veins, and I know its only a matter of time before it consumes me.

She was sitting in her study having her afternoon tea amid her books and cats, when the fax came in.
“Darling, I’ll be in Fiji when you get this. I’m not coming back. Don’t come after me.”
She stares at it for a few seconds longer than necessary, then goes to his bedroom, unlocks his left bed side drawer, takes out the pistol. There is a rude bang, then a ruder shock, then blessed blackness.

Caffeine high and no where to go

2005-05-02T11:28:00.000+05:00

the white spaces on web pages are still coming up as grey, and its one more day where i lose my battle with demotivation. my boss can see my screen from where i sit, but i don't care. after five days of spinning out my work much longer than it should last, in redoing all my filing, in checking all my emails and rereading all my blog posts, i return to swatting this one pesky fly that my slightly unhygienic but really nice cubicle sharing person has attracted.
everyone else in the world is busy, and i'm the only idiot in this bustling city who is getting paid to do nothing, and hating it.
i hate having only little insignificant things to do. i'm scared of starting them and having them finish too soon. i hate it. but not enough to actually ask for work, because this little interlude hasn't lasted long enough for me to be masochistic. its a waiting game, me and my boss playing chicken, but i'm going to break down and beg her to let me run her errands soon. someone stop me.

2005-05-01T20:41:00.000+05:00

sunday has almost ended, the hatred of monday has already begun. the dream has almost faded, and i sit in the ever present wind, and my heart hurts in memory.

the insanity spills over into the week, the sameness of work looms, the never ending project deadline filled days continue relentlessly, and slowly i lose the numbness despite higher and higher doses of caffiene.

there has to be more somewhere out there. there has to be a third alternative.

i think i should be careful what i wish for.

can i scrounge together an ounce of remose for one more dead person? for one more tragedy, for one more torn apart dream and family and lovers. how many more must there be before we realize?

2005-05-01T03:36:00.000+05:00

every saturday party seems to be the only one happening in karachi, and unfortunately that means running into the "yuppie" crowd from the social pages. my biggest fear is that i'll accidently be included in the social pages pictures, and then either be labelled "[insert not so famous name here] and guest" (the "and guest" being me). "and guest" is the biggest insult possible, its like saying "yes we have no idea why this weirdo is in the pic, but we can't cut him/her out, and so we're just going to label him/her as the faceless non entity that they are". or even worse, i'll be in the background (so i literally won't even come into the picture) but my absolutely straight unspiked drink in my hand would gain all sorts of sinister connotations when viewed by all and sundry relatives and housewives poring over the Pages every Sunday.
anyway.
they've been trying to set me up with S since New Years. from Z (at one end of my acquaintanceship spectrum), to M of my college buddy days. Z and M don't even know each other, but they both mutually think this dude is "it" for me (whatever). i've been avoiding him entirely, because any decision i make will jepordize my friendship with either one of these girls, and i really don't want to bother.

usually getting dressed gets me in the party mood. I love it, I love my scanty party tops, I love wearing high high heels, I love putting on make up. The more naked the top, the sexier I feel. Its my one way of showing the finger to society, it’s the one way I can break social convention and toss away my full sleeved shalloo work clothes and still not fuck up my lungs or screw my liver.
i was wearing a backless shirt today, and it was shiny and silver. When I first bought it, I tried it on and modelled it in my room every day for a week (it’s SUCH a fun top). Was having an ok-yet-slightly-bored time, S my apparent soul mate was one of the organizers and so was pretty much stuck on bouncer duty (the WHOLE night). T and M wanted to leave early, so MAA volunteered to do driver duty. Except instead of dropping me home (I was last) he kidnapped me, and took me back to the party, and refused to leave until he had danced his high away. And even then, when we were sweaty and exhausted, some idiot handed him a cigar and so I had to sit with him while he smoked it. I was thoroughly entertained by the sheer numbers of pathetic people lining the driveway, wrestling to get in. occasionally some drunk moron locked outside would run screaming through the crowd and toss himself over the gate, or the wall, and then S and his buddies would all intently chase him down and toss the poor sucker right back out on wounded dignity.

We were finally ready to leave (well I was at any rate, forced him to drop me home), and we were leaving, and passed poor S battling back the sea of humanity trying to roll into the vacuum we left. I paused to give him a “oh poor you, don’t envy your job, good luck”, and I can’t begin to describe the look on the poor guy’s face. I don’t even think he heard what I was saying, he just looked at me, with this crap-I-HATE-this-I-wish-I-was-with-you look. I didn’t know whether to laugh or not, so I just said good luck again. Even when MAA behind me came up and thumped his shoulder, wished him luck, and shook his hand goodbye, he was still looking at me. I walked through the driveway (MAA’s sheer size creating a wake I was following), I sneaked a look behind, and some guard was shaking S's arm trying to say something to him, but S was still just standing there, a little dumbstruck, still looking.
it was a little strange actually. I don’t know what to make of it. does he or doesn't he?

dear diary

2005-04-30T01:29:00.000+05:00

This is the third time I’ve tried writing here. I need to write about:
(1) my flat tire and how I can change one (in theory anyway)
(2) working, and how if I have to crunch some numbers from this database we maintain and analyze results A, B and C, I will inevitably use a million worksheets, several obscure excel functions no one knows about, thoroughly comment and record all procedures, make process maps, make a new color coded file and update it, and then automate all the bottlenecks till I have one smooth operation which can be updated in five minutes the next time either A, B or C are required. I do this every single time, justifying the initial time investment because of all the time I’d save later. But really, do I really need to be so efficient all the time? I’ve come up with this word “technolge” (the verb form of technology. My question is: “to technolge or not to technolge?”. Next time, I’ll just waste time blogging and orkut-ing, catch up on my emails, do the job in some old fashioned inefficient manner that abuses the beauty of excel, and just give the thing in. just not be so personally invested in everything.
(3) finally got an email from “best” friend M. (saying the word best friend makes me feel like I’m in class 2). We used to be alike; think being mistaken for sisters, finishing the others sentences, having exactly the same opinion, the works. Post ivy league and NY life, she’s become this total absolute, self involved americanized BURGER (I hate that word), who wants to do nothing other than live off daddy’s money and party/shop in NY, with absolutely no motivation to come back home and try to make the difference she can with her resources and education. Its people like her, my best friend, who selfishly chose to waste important potential by living in a world only because it has better clubs. She could use her stupid architectural degree and help design the stupid millions of hideously made town houses and apartment blocks that are clearly made by mazdoors who’ve only lived in palm tree jhompri’s their whole lives. She could do the fund raisers she’s so good at, or just stay in NY and paint and because famous like she would if she only wanted to, and just bring up Pakistan’s name in some context other than bombs and death. But no, her only mission in life is to get married because she’s about to be put “on the shelf” at 24. She thinks I’m gay for not wanting to settle into a relationship with the first rich fuck who proposes. Did I mention a self involved american burger anywhere?
(4) hung out with good old N, J and T. asked J if he has any sisters (ARGH.. WHAT is WRONG with me – his sisters death thingie is tomorrow). Sat for three hours over one cup of hot chocolate as I went on my soap box about how we’re all children of a fucked up education system that gears us to go abroad, leaving us with the mentality of clerks, forever trapped in the paradox of yearning for white skin and good english speaking skills because of one massive ass colonial hangover. J makes totally stupid naïve statements like we’re a nation of law less people because “we have self esteem issues because we were downtrodden from post mughlai era” and I feel like smacking him because that’s some U of W development econ professor talking who’s clearly never stepped foot in the third world. We also talked about our exes, and nearly depressed ourselves into a coma, till T came and shrieked us out of melancholy. The Caffeine sofa’s are really comfortable, if a little incondusive to passionate debate :).

Have a training session on a Saturday :(, till 8 pm. They’ve tried to make it sound fun and funky, but that’s still a Saturday, and its still a five hour training session. Can I mention Saturday again?
And yes this is self involved, but hey, this thing is supposed to be a diary substitute right?

you got mail

2005-04-29T19:03:00.001+05:00

random update 2: got my first flat tyre today. had six men stop and offer to help. God bless this country and its men (what can i say: today was a day of firsts). i vow not to find the uncle who talks to my chest sleazy anymore, he was very polite and well brought up to offer to help in 50 degree heat with his friday prayers on the line. i watched some random driver change the tyre and i think i can repeat the process, except wrestling it off might take more strength than i have. oh well. another strange thing: i'm turning down my TGIF plan to go for dinner with my parents. i'm actually willingly subjecting myself to quality time. wow.

i got an email from M. we were inseperable in school, to a point where our clique was almost unhealthy. we always knew what the other was thinking, and we both placed each other above even family. she helped me survive the terrible Teenage Angst years.
and for the first time, after seeing it in black and white, i couldn't ignore the fact that we were SO different now her i actually found her thought processes absolutely incomprehensible.

the only contributor to change: her ivy league education, my desi degree.
she's started viewing the world through the incomprehensible lens of an all-american idiot. i'm the all pakistani desi. the twain shall never meet again i guess. sad.

2005-04-28T15:24:00.000+05:00

random update vomited out into the recesses of cyberspace: today all the whitespaces on webpages are coming up as gray. all the printers are on the blink. my cd rom drive is a big toothless hole in my pc. i cut my nails last night and typing is satisfying again.

we went bowling yesterday (didn't have the worst score thank God - i love N), and i invited JAS to the saturday night party but then remembered that N told me that saturday was going to be the day his sister died 6 years ago. oops. i remember we all went to the janaza even though we weren't shia and we didn't know him too well, and then J and M proceeded to have a giggling fit till they cried because an old aunty next to them fell asleep amid the chest thumping and snored really loud.

we tended to do that. the times we were supposed to be most reverent and silent were the times when we always broke into helpless manic giggle fits.
J's mamoo had just been shot because he was about to testify against zardari (in anti PPP glory days), and everyone had stepped out of the social pages to come to the soyem. J was there totally unfazed, stuck a pin in my ass when Aunty came over and i was saying my salaams and some sorry-for-your-loss type line. then we sat down under the oil painting of Jamil's pigeons and wife, and M took a hair pin and pretended to put it up her nose, and all four of us cracked up, then tried to muffle it, and the more we tried to stifle the giggles the more we laughed, till we were crying in pain and hilarity. and then some aunty came by to J (who was in helpless hysterical giggles), and thought J was upset over the death and crying about that, and hugged her against her pointy conical bosom, making J go "ouch, my EYE!" really loudly. and that made us explode into a vicious cycle of never ending side splitting PAINFUL heaves which we tried to hide (i bit on my fist - even that didn't really work).
then i only heard about the time when K's mom passed away. and N got the giggle fits on that one (thank GOD i wasn't there), to a point where she was hiding under a dupatta, silently shaking, looking like she was getting electrocuted or something, and A came up and lifted her dupatta to see what the hell was wrong with her and she ended up spitting up a fountain of rooh afza through her mouth and nose all over him, herself and some poor bystander.

i would like to think that i now have more control over my funny button. i have to confess i almost had a bad moment a couple of weeks ago in the middle of a meeting, but i bit the inside of my cheek till i practically tasted blood. so i guess its been four years, eight months and twenty eight days since my last manic giggle fit, and i'm proud of it :)

2005-04-27T02:38:00.000+05:00

"The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts. "
Bertrand Arthur William Russell

NB: this is *so* going to be my new mantra

2005-04-27T02:01:00.000+05:00

I’m back to not sleeping again. I know I’m going to snap again. Its like being locked in a rollercoaster in a waking dream, knowing its going to end in disaster, unable to stop it.

I’ve gone through the scene so many times I’m almost sick of it. I’m in a room full of glittering strangers, and I have naked feet. Actually, I’ve kicked my shoes off so they can get the fitting right. Theres a whole entourage of them, they're all six feet tall and skinny and beautiful and have this AURA about them that speaks of their navy blue blood lines, fithly disgustingly stinking wealth, and their georgeous georgeous bubble encased lives. I obviously look horrendous because I’ve only just barely managed to sneak out of work, and instead of having the luxury of my car (my mother is having some lunch at our place) I come downstairs to find my father, ten miles and forty minutes out of his way just to pick me up from work, take me to the fitting, wait outside, then drop me back and then go on his way. Its so sweet, I can’t even say anything about his repulsive cigars choking me. I briefly mourne the days of arrogant youth, where I took such kindnesses as de rigeur. Maybe I have grown up a little.
They’re all having some bitchy conversation in between wasted and underutilized apple laptops and ciggarettes, and my fitting is all wrong, and the fucker of a tailor deliberately misses the zip and brushes my breast, then “accidently” fumbles with the measuring tape and gropes my ass. The third time he tries to bend his stupid white haired bony head to an inch of my chest, I tell him to back off. But I say it through gritted teeth, and in a low voice. Because I’m paying 25 grand for this bloody outfit, and he’s the bastard who has to stitch it. Because I don’t want to make a scene in front of the bitch parade. Because i need to come back here in the summer, and stand in line to order stuff for next year.
I almost wish he did something more concrete than shadowly fumblngs so I could then REACT and kick him in the balls or something. But he’s obviously been doing this a long long time, and I’m way out of my league.

I get dropped back, I’ve missed my lunch hour, and feel filthy beyond the humidity and general sweatiness of the weather.

And its yet another night where I lie awake, thinking.

insomnia

2005-04-26T01:30:00.000+05:00

I’m obsessed. I’ve started thinking in paragraphs.I need to stop. I need to sleep.

I have another reason fueling my sociopath-ism. I had a pretty good day today, was all happy, well fed, smugly exercised, was looking forward to the book I had gotten sucked into. my kid brother gets online, and I’m looking forward to talking to him.
then T calls.
to go any further I need to give a little background on T. first off, she has this really SHRILL voice. its like she's permanently on helium. second, she’s a megalomaniac. she only talks to me to have a person on the other end of the phone. I tried having a conversation with her once, and she thought I was picking a fight with her. as long as I make the requisite hums and haws and yeses (hoping she just shuts the hell up and finally leaves me alone), get her invites and chauffer her to social occasions with MY friends, our relationship miraculously stays on good terms. third, she's genuinely stupid. she's one of those people really medium high on text book learning, but doesn't have an ounce of sense otherwise. she's one of those people who is the WORST combination of stupidity and gigantic disproportionate ego. but since she has my phone number and knows where I live, I’m nice to her because I’m a non confrontational type of person. plus I’m generally tolerant of people's flaws, because eventually she's not a nasty person. that goes a long way with me.

she vomits out her entire day. like literally she says: "I woke up at 7:45. I said, OH MY GOD I’m late for my meeting... I got dressed.. I drove to work.. I was ten minutes late for the Monday morning meeting.. I was carrying folders.. I put the folders on the table and everyone looked at me...." (I’m not kidding) and she goes on and on and ON about her day and her job and her work buddies, and I hem and haw at the appropriate moments in good humor because hell, I’m in a good mood why not.
then after wasting a good amount of my time (I am NOT a phone person, anyone who cares to know me knows that.. in six years she hasn't bothered to find out... or she knows and doesn't care.. ), she's FINALLY down to nine thirty and she's finally leaving work and driving back exhausted (yeah.. SHE was exhausted.. ), and then she suddenly changes the topic so fast I kept hemming and hawing till I realized she had actually spoken a statement and required my response.
T: "I’m really pissed off at you for leaving early from my dinner"
me: "hmm"
after a pause
me: "oh. but O had to drop me home. everyone was leaving" (I’m totally confused here, because FOUR of us left together, and we were the last fuckers to leave the damn place, and umM WHY is this an issue!?)
T: "I’m not pissed off at them. actually I am. but I’m more pissed off at you. why did YOU leave. you should have..." (and she continues her monologue of my flaws)

speechless, I continue to hem and haw out of habit, but then get a little annoyed and tell her that my brother has been waiting for me come online for ages now, and I have to leave. And I mentally shake my head, because now by hanging up on her I just gave her fodder to not talk to me, then bitch me out to our mutual friends, then make a bitchy phone call to me demanding an apology a painful long drawn out process map later. this will haunt me for the rest of the fucking week.

My god. the more I expand my social circle, the more I remember why I was such a snob about hanging out with only my friends in the first place.

And I’m still a little speechless. why do women as a species have so many danda’s up their asses?

2005-04-25T21:08:00.000+05:00

"I went into a McDonald's yesterday and said, "I'd like some fries." The girl at the counter said, "Would you like some fries with that?"
Jay Leno

hahahhahhahhaha

2005-04-25T13:20:00.000+05:00

i take it back, we are all NOT the same (re: building a mystery).

i remembered why i don't like people. its because the more you meet, the more you realize that there are some truely ridiculous idea's out there, and there are people who base their entire lives on them.

and that just makes me feel tired.

i'm going back to screening my calls and msn.

I Believe

2005-04-24T12:55:00.000+05:00

I stayed up the whole night after a very long time. this marks the true circle I have completed since I moved away from this house a very long time ago. the pattern is now complete, the thread is now tied, the lines have now been redrawn.
I have re-realized that I believe a lot of strange things:

(1) I believe my entire being can be divided into two elemental wholes. One related to art, I am consumed by it, I am it. the center of my being follows the line of that pastel. a part of me breaks off and is forever encased in the medium I choose to use. Gulgee once said that he doesn’t pray, that he doesn’t need to because “with every stroke of his brush he worships the Almighty”. I think I can understand that.

the other half of my being: numbers. the mental click of rightness when you reach QED. Like a complex dance, the click of the heels, the gesture of the arm, the tilt of the head. The epiphany of reaching the end, bending down, throwing your head down and taking an elaborate bow. That is what I remember of this other part of my being.

These are both fissures that constituent me. Writing is a byproduct, a skill I have learnt by being a lover of words. It only deserves a footnote to who I am.

(2) I believe that there is method to the madness in the universe, that if anyone cares to look there is a hand driving it all, that there are left so many clear cut signs our own insignificance in the cosmos becomes frightening. That we are all part of a cliched massive cosmic struggle of good and evil, which rules every single decision we ever make in our lives if we could just laser off our myopia and see the Whole.

(3) I believe that our habits, personalities and decisions are so ingrained in us that if we woke up with total amnesia we would still think say and do exactly how we do it now without the knowledge and bigotries we have picked up along the way. Because the knowledge and the bigotries reflect us, we shape them, not vice versa.

(4) I believe that people are either Good or not. That it is possible to be flawed and stupid and have several personality defects yet still be Good. There are people behind whose words lies the hiss of a serpant, behind whose gaze lies the black pits of rotting evil. I believe that they can hide behind empty gestures of goodness, but not for long.

(5) I believe (and this one is difficult to say out loud because of the sheer naiveté, the sheer ingénue-ness that is so not me) that someone out there has been labelled as Mine. I will find him. Its not the mission of my life or anything, but it will happen when the time is right. I have seen Too Much to not believe this.

(6) i also believe it is a bad bad idea to eat strawberries right after brushing your teeth :)

Yeah, I do believe in a lot of strange things.

strange

2005-04-23T23:58:00.000+05:00

i went to a jewellery store to check out some stuff, and accidently walked out with a sample diamond bracelet worth 2 lacs or so.
no alarm bells went off, in fact, i strolled through two armed guards and three triple locked doors to get out.

i didn't notice it till half an hour later on the other side of the city.

i realized i had picked up an extra trinket, freaked out, like, FREAKED OUT. i cannot explain the utter horror, embarassment and panic i felt when i saw those rocks calmly nestled in my watch and wrist band type thingies i wear. my heart stopped, my vision shrank to the blinding glitter of 10 pointers. my first instinct was to rip it off and THROW it out the first window because of the sheer embarassment at having been such an idiot. i SHOT up from the chair i was sitting in, upsetting the second jeweller i was at. i immediately wanted to return as FAST as i could so i could get the damn thing off my hands ASAP. my mother stuck around to finish the deal with the second guy while my heart literally stopped in horror as i paced up and down the lobby. i DRAGGED my mother to the car, and drove as FAST as i could back to where we had come from. i was furious at that idiot man at the store for not noticing the bloody thing on me. the irresponsibility! the gall at putting me through the humiliation! the EMBARASSMENT. the STUPIDITY.

i got to the store, practically ran in, overwrought with emotional turmoil, and the jewellery guy is totally unfazed. he hadn't even noticed it was missing. he smiled, calmly took the bracelet, and looked at my freaked out expression and said "don't worry madam, hota hai ".

my mother just looked at me extremely amused by the strange strange daughter she'd raised.

i'm not strange! THEY'RE STRANGE!! karachi is strange!!!!

it never even occured to me to keep the damn thing. maybe i AM strange.

2005-04-23T12:18:00.001+05:00

UPDATE:

the problem: men

the description (stolen from T): men want women to be pamela anderson's in bed and mother teresa's out of it.

the situation: the character traits that would go with either personality types are in opposition.

the question: will the twain ever meet?

2005-04-22T11:56:00.000+05:00

you lying cheating fork tongued REFLECTION of a man
i can't BELIEVE i was EVER that desperate