Meeting World; In Red and Black

Okay, I'm kinda low as I start this off, and as usual have no idea where I'm taking this post.

Observations:

Patriotism is cool. Nationalism is cool. Your own university-ism, clique-ism and party-ism is cool. Community-ism  is not. I dont know how positive all of this is. Cool kids like their country, they follow Imran Khan, may not know of his policies, may not go to vote either, but for now, putting down your country is a no-no, of the wearing- joggers- with- a-shalwar proportion, totally not cool. Which really isn't saying too much. And this just might only  be the people I know. Which goes on to show everyone, being with me does make you awesome.

Yesterday, someone told me they missed my writing. Best moment of the day, I didn't realize how much I needed that pick me up, till I got it. They also said they liked my hair. And thought I was pretty. They are a female and we're both straight (for the benefit of a lot of people overly keen on me hooking up with either gender).

God bless them.

Also, I won elections for the Girls Sports Society. Unopposed. Thanks to the people who told me they've been supporting me, though, that number way outstripped the actual number of votes. But, well, I still love you all.

I now need a vacation. Im exhausted. And not doing too much either, except for maybe in my head, which makes it more real than the tangible reality around me.

Oh I attended a lot of weddings. Im sure there was a lot of girl-marketing there too. I also pray that my "attitudexx" and "mod-RUN-ness"  has kept me safe. My friends' wedding yesterday was a pleasant change from that though. Good time. There were many chicks there from my university, mostly seniors. The way we finally settled down, was in groups we maintained as we did back in the university cafe. After the pleasantries exchanged of course. A special round of applause to all those of us sporting heels over two inches long. Its way harder than it looks. And a special shout out to massi, sporting a sharara AND heels.

I looked quite aurat too, if I may say so myself.

I started this post yesterday, and hopefully will finish today. But nothing notable about today really. Except that our Brands teacher told us that in order to counter Katrina in the LUX campaign, Malaika Sherawat would be a viable bet. For some reason, that stayed on my mind longer than it should have. 

I just lost a post worked really hard on. FML. And I just might commit murder today too.

Chocolate chahyay.

Me and Him.

When I was a child, of around 7 years of age, I remember going to bed every night, praying I'd wake up as a boy. And every morning, I really and surely expected to wake up different. I never did, but then come night, I'd have the same prayer again. I was never bitter, a few hours awake and I was distracted the way only children can be. I wanted a different life, but I wasn't blind to how good I actually had it. I don't think I ever formally thanked God, prayers really been something I haven't learnt to stick to yet, but God was a friend to be loved. He was the one who took care of me when mom was angry, who made sure I found the Snickers bar my folks hid and protected me from what was beneath my bed every night. He didn't punish me. Every time I fell from my bicycle, I learnt how not to steer. Mom and Allah Mian were the first two entities I called out when I was sad or hurt.


22 years of age. 


I don't call out to mom. I call out to the friends I was lucky to be blessed with.


After that, way after that, I call to God. But mostly I remember Him when I'm really sad and nothing else helps, or really happy and I am afraid something will jinx it.


However, I'm mostly bitter or angry. And I'll take that out on food, or sport. Or God. Thats the excuse I'll give for not praying. The days when I actually need to give myself an excuse that is. When stupid conscience starts poking. 

Like right now. But I'm not moved enough to kneel just yet. 

Koi mujhay

Badnaseebi. The saddest, and most redundant excuse there is.

You kill me ? I KILL ME!

All those missing people, you know what, they're more than numbers. They've been on this planet for years and each of them, their presence and now their absence, effected multiple social and personal relationships.


Fuck we're cold. And you know what, we will be till it touches someone important to us. But we wont do much beyond lament and cuss.


However, let it touch a big gun, with political and social clout. Then there might be some action.


Let the industrialists and the workers be. Someone, go for the bureaucrats and the MNAs and the MNPs.


Kill/kidnap the right people.


We just might see change.

Forward March....

Now, adult/parental whining with respect to their children/younger charges often have very similar themes. One of them being where your folks tell you how much harder their lives were, and how we take for granted our cars and drivers when they had to cross rivers to get to school, only to be pulled out because there were so many other pressing responsibilities. Never mind the alternate times when they reminisce about how once they played on the streets well into the night, choc bars on the roof at 2 am, and how aunt will tell you your dad flunked his exams, and your mom was as much of a tomboy as you are, if not more. 


Kids from the late 80s and the 90s, including myself were polite, our folks were strict with us. On the other hand, our later born siblings, the end 90s and the 2000s batch, facilitated by the fact that their old man and woman had grown, well, older, turned out to be sassy, cocky twits with ready comebacks, and the guts (in lieu of a Ramzan inappropriate word here), to blurt those out. And ofcourse, more "guts" for rebellion too. 


For instance: 


Scenerio 1: Dad and then 13 year old brother, year 2002.


Dad : "Hum tou parh nahin sakkay, issliay ab main aap ko itni achi school bhaij raha hoon takay aap parhlou"
Bil : *respectful silence and nodding*
Dad: *stern tone* Now I want an A in Math next time, you're a memon's son for Gods sake. And no playing for a week.


Scenerio 2: Dad and now 11 year old Monkey, year 2011.


Dad : "Hum tou parh nahin sakkay, issliay ab main aap ko itni achi school bhaij raha hoon takay aap parhlou"
Monkey : Haan tou papa, kya huwa agar main fail hota hoon, apnay bachon ko tou main Harvard bhaijoon ga"
Dad: *amused laughter* My son is so haazir demaagh. 


The rest of us, *stunned*

The primate thats going places <3

Click here for more on Monkey. 

Wasted.

He was recruited because he was the first one that came for her. Also, they figured he would be the perfect, paid and perfectly obedient “partner”, for want of a better word, for their less than good looking, aging, all of 23 years of age, daughter. He was ten years her senior, but that was not out of the norm for those days. He was illiterate, from a lower class family and prone to swearing bouts. All the better. She was bitter and rude. Her mother needed someone to stick around the house; he was the perfect ghar-damaad. She was inconsequential.

They hated each other, they hated everyone else. They never did anything to help themselves, nor anyone else. They separated, lived together, lived on her extended families earnings, they lived on nothing. They barely lived, with an existence that one wouldn’t wish upon an enemy. Many tried to help and gave up. No children and the social stigma of adoption, relatives who had given up on them, and with only each other to gnaw at, every day was like the other, with the same expletives and even violence.

We went there often when our great grandmother, her mother, was alive. It was depressing, despite the free cheap candy. The place smelled, inexcusably so, even to our accustomed noses. There was a new servant every time, each one leaving rather quickly either due to the master or the mistress’ uninhibited anger and fussiness.

Her brothers, one was my grandfather who had been in a vegetable state for 5 years before his death two years ago, for the longest time ever had considered themselves absolved of her responsibility, mostly due to their own mother’s orders, but maybe just because it was easier than fixing things. His family never interfered either, beyond providing him a meal once in a while, and a reprise from his “home”. They were both alike in so many ways, and couldn’t stand the sight of each other. My great-uncle, another of her brothers, God bless him, though somewhat ostracized from his family for “turning Christian” turned out to have the most humanity, spent time, money and health in trying to improve their existence. Within a month of his first visit, things went back to their dreary normal. His second visit had her operated for gangrene, lodged in an attentive relatives’ house with a nurse and physiotherapist. She spent six months there. It was a blessed estrangement for the husband and wife. However tongues started wagging, and “concerned” relatives staged a reunion, they went back to living together in their small apartment. Within a month, the house became the sty it always had been, and they went back to being at each other’s throats.

He started having health complications. The lack of hygiene, routine and any care in his life took its toll on him too. His family was not affluent enough to offer him permanent residence in a care facility. Her family paid for his hospital stints, did all they could, but could not give him an extended reprieve. He spent some days in the hospital, his condition deterioting enough to require a ventilator and then made a miraculous recovery. Carelessness, addiction to ghutka and general negligence had him back in the ER.

He died last night.  

I have never seen either of them with a zest for anything except each other’s throats. They were never happy. They weren’t evil, but they were both inhuman in some ways. Life hadn’t been good to them. They weren’t good to themselves.

She’s alive. Alone. I wonder what it’d be like to be her. When everyone was doing all they could to save his life, she was the one who wanted the ventilator removed as soon as possible.  Maybe she didn’t want him to go through pain, or maybe she just didn’t want him. His initial recovery changed nothing, and now after his demise I have yet to see how life changes for her.

This is a waste of existence. God save us from this. They weren’t evil. Maybe just really, really unlucky. 

Please recite Fatiha, may he have a peaceful afterlife.

And dua, so that she has peace the remaining days of her life. 

Nothing

People smoke, drink and gossip socially. Im lucky enough to be a part of multiple groups of friends who are social “nothingers” . We do absolutely nothing.

We talk about stuff in our heads which may or may not actually exist, and stuff in and out of our systems which definitely does exist. We don’t know everything about each other, but we don’t even need to, because deep down where it does matter, we’re all always there for each other. We respect the need and affinity to not tell all, but at the same time if anyone did, it wouldn’t get to a third person. We’re all broken in our own way and stronger despite or because of it. Journeys haven’t been easy, but that’s part of the beauty of it.

No judgment, a maintained level of perverted interjections in the conversation and a fascination with the weird and absurd, this is perfection.

I’m blessed.  <3

Counting blessings

Reasons to be happy.

• I have my health. Albeit a little too much of it, courtesy all the Jellicks, Cheetos and brownies.
• I have an extremely irritating, adorable and adoring baby brother, even though he does things that make me want to bang mine, or his head against the wall.
• I still have friends, who while they probably want to strangle me for it right about now, still listen to me whining. 
• I have money, and a lot of "acceptable " things to spend it on, as soon as I get time. 
• Materially, there's little I want for.
• I remembered God today. I'm taking it to be an indication that all is not lost yet.
• Im still young. I got to make mistakes, and now I realize I got what it takes to fix them.
• I still can make it up to so many, for the way I've been. I still got that chance.
• Im blessed to be adored. Im sure Im hated too, maybe more than Im loved, but there are those who I know would, and have, done everything under the sun for me.
• I can forgive finally. The bitterness seems to be gone now.
• It could be worse, and it isn't right now.
• I'm talking to her right now. And we don't always keep in touch, but then when we finally do, its like we never let go. 
• I have this.
• Summers soon. And its only up from here. Theres a lot more this damn lifes gonna give me. I'll be giving back too now.

Yes, there are  a lot of corny cliches here. 

Regret and Sorrow.

When you know what could fix you,
Is lost in a bridge burnt.
Regrets aren't as heady as the sorrow,
Selfish need more the cause of remembrance than love,
But thats life you say, you cant hold on to everyone
They aren't worth holding on to
Right now is life too, and its got its ups and downs
Regrets are for losers they say,
But then, what of sorrow ? 
Hidden it is a thing of beauty, poetic
Revealed, it makes one tiresome, 
Sorrow is inevitable, regret isn't. 
But then, what about 
When you know what could fix you,
Is lost in a bridge burnt ? 

Nightcap. (Part 1)

He can’t sleep. It’s the middle of the night and he wants to go to the bathroom. But there’s something underneath his bed. He’s only safe as long as he’s on his bed, under his blanket; his fort's never failed him yet.

He really has to go though, maybe if he jumped off the bed, as further away from the bed posts as he could, he’d be out of reach of whatever’s hiding underneath it. His brother’s sleeping next to him, with a peaceful expression and steady rhythmic breathing, oblivious to the danger. Of course, he is the one who’ll worry for him; it’s his duty to protect his baby brother.

Plucking all the courage he has, he makes a dash for it, a heavy thud where his feet touch the floor. He rushes to the bathroom and quickly closes the door behind him.

He hears a stirring, some grumbling. He’s woken up daddy. Daddy won’t be happy about it. Daddy might start screaming at him any moment now. A stinging blow across his face or back isn’t unexpected either. It will most probably be more than that.

It’s time for the commute back from the loo to the bed, he slowly opens the door, hoping against hope daddy isn’t outside.

Daddy isn’t outside. He thanks the God his mother tells him to thank. He’ll be a better boy from tomorrow so that daddy won’t want to send him away to that boarding school for bad boys. They scream at and hit bad boys like him over there.

He’ll make daddy proud someday and daddy will tell everyone he’s a good boy. And daddy will hold his hand and take him everywhere and tell people he’s daddy’s son.

He tiptoes back to the bed and from about two feet away jumps back up on. He jams his knee into one of the wooden posts and lets out an involuntary gasp. Thankfully not a very loud one. Daddy says only girls cry and gets angry when he sees tears. He rubs his knee to numb out the pain. He’s back in his blanket, safe and sound for another night. He slips out his hand, feels around for his brother's, clasps it and drifts into a peaceful sleep.

Next morning, mommy wakes them both up for school. He hates school but hes a big boy now and won’t whine, it annoys both mommy and daddy. His little brother, being a baby, is allowed to do so. Breakfast is a sandwich again, he doesn’t like sandwiches but mommy was very angry when she found the half eaten remains at the back of the TV lounge cupboard where he hid them.

Daddy is awake early today.

(This is my first attempt at fiction. I wrote it quite a while ago though. Part two of this coming soon IA :) )

Pre Exam Babble

I love how I want to write, right before the exams. Once again, I have nothing to say, but at least procrastinating here, I'll have something to show for it afterwards.


Firstly, and this is merely because I have no idea where this post will go, I can now type without looking at the keyboard. Yes, almost three years at university, and I finally learn a worthwhile skill. Yes, I am not here as much as I used to be, Im lazy. If anyone actually cares.


I think Im trying too hard here. I should just set another episode of Outsourced to buffer, yknow, since I took all of six hours to go through slides of two chapters of MBR.


This is too much effort right now. Actually, Imma go on typing just to see how many errors I make.
So, yeah, lets talk, pretending someones here. No one ever is actually. God Im such a downer today.


BLEKKKKHHHHHHHH


And somebody gonna get a hurt real bad soon. You ll know who you are, and its very likely you didn't check here for the heads up.


Stupid strike. Stupid exams. Stupid dogs who make me look bad.


Im completely sober right now. Promise.


Id end this post, but then that means back to staring at MBR slides.


The massi didnt come today. I chore-d. Not that its noteworthy, but just saying. I also have cash in my wallet again, and nothing to spend it on. I wish retail therapy excited me as much as it excites most other chicks. I wish I was the hard working type like most other chicks. I wish I get outta this lousy wistful phase.


Enough of self reflection, I'm  very rarely interested in what goes on in the other persons head, unless its connected to me, so I'm not gonna put anyone doing me the courtesy of actually reading the BS I just spouted through anymore of it. 


If mom catches me watching Outsourced I wont be able to use the Im-studying-leave-me-alone alibi anymore and she might make me help out. But I think she wont. Catch me that is.


I cheated during the Econ quiz, the second or third time since the tenth grade Ive done so. I dont even feel guilty about it right now. Though I cannot honestly brag about having an active conscience anymore. And I do not know how to spell "conscience" correctly. Not blaming my newly realized typing skills, but just my bad spelling ability.


I bought the MBR course book today, finally.


And then I lost it. Within a span of 25 minutes. On the walk from the photocopier to the gate.


If You're laughing up there, its not funny. And please get me an internship. Without a pawwa. And take me for a swim.


Its about time I started keeping a diary. Till then, well, this space is mine for the abusing.


Fack. Forgot to buffer Outsourced.

Techno-Logic

"Along with the standard computer warranty agreement which said that if the machine

1. didn't work,
2. didn't do what the expensive advertisement said,
3. electrocuted the immediate neighbourhood,
4. and in fact failed entirely to be inside the expensive box when you opened it,

this was expressly, absolutely, implicitly and in no event the fault or responsibility of the manufacturer, that the purchaser should consider himself lucky to be allowed to give his money to the manufacturer, and that any attempt to treat what had just been paid for as the purchaser's own property would result in the attentions of serious men with menacing briefcases and very thin watches."

 --Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman, Good Omens

Dirty Lawn-dry.

Lawn, early spring, in terms of priority, takes precedence over most other things in the Pakistani woman’s life. These include the sanity of their male counterparts, household responsibilities and the general rules of etiquette and social norms bred into them from birth. An exhibition sees the classiest of auntis don Wonder Woman/Maula Jutt personas. Their behavior ranges from excited to positively, strait jacket-requiring deranged.

And it’s not just the clothes, lawn and lady hunting have started going together hand in hand. Lawn is the obvious reason for attending an exhibition. As for the latter, well, rishta auntis have termed these exhibitions to be good hunting grounds for fresh, single and available meat, rich/financially sound too, considering the exorbitant prices the clothes cost, and the perceived  ability and tendency to buy a dozen in a go.

True story, at the Sana Safinaz exhibition at the Expo Centre last week, women were so uncouth that the designers themselves spoke against the behavior of their clients, while implying there will be no more exhibitions, atleast by their label in Karachi. Kudos Karachi auntis. Now do the same at Al Karam, Gul Ahmed and JJ, let’s rid our city of this menace for good.

Women jumping and fighting to get to their prints is pretty tame. This particular exhibition saw a woman hit the cashier with her slipper because he apparently took too long in the bathroom and she had to wait to get her precious prints. Yes, shoe flinging, previously reserved for problems of Bush and Zardari magnitudes, now used to treat cashiers who take their sweet time in the loo. Another woman had an official by the throat because the print she was in line for finished by the time she got to the reception desk. Telephonic conversations overheard include a woman telling her husband she couldn’t do lunch for him that day because she was at the exhibition, another arguing with someone (who may safely be assumed to be her harassed hubby) to let her stay an hour longer after all her flight to Islamabad was a full hour and a half later that day, and she got the blessed prints she wanted.  A woman, who wanted to get out of line in order to make an exit and pick up her kids had to make a show of tearing up her tokens before the ladies let her pass through, just in case the sneaky creature was trying to get ahead in the queue.

The side it brings out in women and the traffic jams in the city aside, another major peeve I have about lawn is the fact that 13 year olds wear the same prints as 25 and 45 or even 65 year olds. What happened to dressing your age? Are all these big floral patterns and fussy laces really meant for young girls? Few things more abhorrent than the current trend of 14 year olds caked in makeup, raccoon eyed and pasty faced, with their hair fried in chemicals, does one really need to add to that with lawn? Being 21, yours truly thinks twice every time she’s face to face with these colorful creations because she is one of the Lord's vertically deprived creatures. And then you put 13 years olds in them, isn’t puberty already awkward enough?

Further, these outfits are NOT cheap. Also, about a hundred other ladies will have the same outfit, and for the next month, wherever you go, at least six other ladies will be wearing the same print as you, in the same color. Why would you put your (or your dads/husbands) wallet through that ordeal and then have another half a dozen women clad similarly?

As for lawn and I, once upon a time, life was beautiful. Lawn exhibitions were a time for me, along with my cousin Omair, to be sitting in coffee shops within close proximity of the mad houses, making fun of the ladies inside, which included our mothers, aunts and grandmother. We’d eat, Omair wouldn't let me pay the bill (a flawed habit of his I vow to change) and wait for the rest of our party.

Now stay on that horse and don't let me
see you around these parts again.

Like all other good things, my spell of blessed detachment from the ordeal ended. And just mine at that, now that Omair goes to work, he is fully exempted from this tribulation. On the other hand,  my family(the ladies) decided that it is an abominable hitch in my character that I hate shopping, lawn leaves me cold and the bit of common sense I announce  when I say it’s just clothes, well, that’s down right sacrilegious. I must be dragged along whenever they get their hands on me.

So, since my protests count naught against the determined majority in my family this year, I implore to all those who can make it happen, by whatever means, make bombing threats if you have to, stop the damn exhibitions!

And it did all pass

Hello blog.

I miss you. I miss the attention, and the coherence that penning down my thoughts brings to aforementioned thoughts, whether I post them here or not. I’ve been really busy, but I think of you all the time. And you’re not the only one I’ve been neglecting lately. Its about time I got my feet back on the ground, and my head and heart into the people and things I love. You’re in that list, but it also includes so many more elements. And brain, its about time you shut up, you mess up everything, and God knows I have really nothing to complain about these days (Alhamdulillah and Mash Allah). Exams, well, screw you, pointless exertion and stress, I am too smart to be restricted to what you deem appropriate. Health, welcome back, I’ve missed you. Cricket, thank you. Dunkin Donuts please don’t ever be mistaken into the fact that its you I like. Sid, I love you, and I’m sorry for being away, you deserve better, and be patient love. Bul, I miss, so much. Nemo, you’re a doll. Sarah, I owe you. Fuzzy, thank you. Football, it’s about time I took you by the collar. Table tennis, I miss you enough to cry. Bil and  Moose, I saw the card, youre both morons, and you both made me cry. Chocolate, I love you; please stay away from my thighs. Red headed-ness, Im glad we’re back. Levi's, best, even if still slightly long, pair of pants, ever. Special children, I wish I could protect you from the world, you're all so amazing. Sprite, you took way too much outta me. Drama Fever, you were fun, but I’m glad we’re over. Sense of achievement, welcome back. Swimming pool, take me back. Past, go back, present, you really are a gift, future; I’ll cross your bridge when I get to it. 

God, thank you. And sorry. 

And I’m not gonna edit this to appear cooler or upbeat or less corny. This is me. I like me. After so long, all over again. 

Peace.

(P.S. In reference to the tittle; http://www.wscribe.com/parables/pass.html )

Past, Present and Pakistani

This nation needs to grow up. We have a tendency of equating our favored leaders with saints. All their faults or shortcomings, or any incriminating(to us) habits, are white-washed and/or overlooked. This is ingrained into us from early years. It is beyond our mental grasp to envision that great men are human. For instance, hardly ever does a history book by a Pakistani author ever mention the fact that Muhammad Ali Jinnah used to drink. One understands how it may, in younger children encourage the habit of drinking, but what is surprising is that fully grown men are fed the same. Why is it so inconceivable that the man’s personal life or shortcomings may actually not take away from his “glory”, his achievements and the country he gave us? After the O level/ Matric and A level/Intermediate levels of education in this country, very few institutes actually emphasize study of the subcontinents history. Many of our derivations from our history are thus limited to the view of XYZ author with very little critical analysis on the reader/students part. I personally remember a History class where I was taught that the day in 1974 when Ahmedis were branded non Muslims by the constitution was a great victory for the Muslims/ Muslim clergy. I remember thinking of it as an awesome occurrence. Much later I realized how misplaced it was for me to feel glee where a constitution or law dictates something as personal as religion and whether someone is a believer or not.

The amazingly slanted version of history fed to us during our school and college years needs to be re-written, Muslim rulers were not saints, there were major imperfections there too. Mughals were not paragons of virtue, Ghazni demolishing Hindu temples not an act of bravery (or even ethical) and Gandhi wasn’t the anti-Christ. Please accept it, or atleast analyze tradition and narration with a modicum of common sense. Yes history is written by the victors, or the natives, but it serves a purpose other than self glorification. The altered version of history fed only breeds further the self superiority complex, which in turn leads us to cling on to our past achievements more than we should.  On a related note, we need to get over our past too. It is not enough that our ancestors did great things; it’s about time we did some ourselves or built upon and furthered those achievements. As for blaming the previous two generations, they did what they did, get over that too.

Nobody is perfect. Get over Taseer’s drinking and Imran Khans “playboy” past. Instead of concentrating on their personal lives, and whether they down their pizzas with beer rather than Pepsi, why can’t you examine their public policy and conduct instead? There was a divide in the nation over the views concerning Salman Taseer’s murder. Interestingly however, more people were of the view that he “deserved to die” because he drank rather than the corruption allegations against him. 

The saint and the sinner ?

Another problem with us is our method of forming opinions and then airing them with the enthusiasm of a child on a sugar rush. Everyone has something to say about everything whether they really know enough about the subject or not. A few phrases catch on and everyone suddenly has the urge to air uninformed opinions. “Responsible media” is another favored catchphrase, but really, my dear enthusiastic Facebook-ers and bloggers, how is anyone of us being “responsible” when we air our unresearched and attractively revolutionary and leftist opinions? And no, going through a topics relevant Wikipedia page is not enough information on it.

Grow up, move on. We have a lot to be proud of, in the past and in the present and InshAllah will in the future too. However, it’s about time we face the facts and learn to think for ourselves. History is less exciting than fiction, but it is what it is, exaggeration of certain aspects of our past while skimming over the rest robs us of the learning and lessons that may be acquired from it. And yes, sounding knowledgeable is a useful talent, but actually knowing about something is so much better.

Women in Sikhism

Of a woman are we conceived,
Of a woman are we born,
To a woman are we betrothed and married,
It is a woman who keeps the race going,
Another companion is sought when the life-partner dies,
Through a woman are established social ties.
Why should we consider woman cursed and condemned,
When from woman are born leaders and rulers.
From woman alone is born a woman,
Without woman there can be no human birth.
Without woman, O Nanak, only the True One exists.
Be it man or be it woman,
Only those who sing His glory
Are blessed and radiant with His Beauty,
In His Presence and with His grace
They appear with a radiant face.

 Guru Nanak, Raag Aasaa Mehal 1, Page 473

All that glitters...

Driving on from one destination to another with the radio on. Coke Studio's version of "Alif Allah" by Arif Lohar and Meesha Shafi blares out.

Person: Arif Lohar used to wear clothes more glittery than most female artists

Me: Abida Parveen STILL dresses worse than a dude, laikin aap donon kee awaz check karain (check out the voices on them)

Life ensues


I miss this place. I cant use a PC (or a cell phone or read) for too long, atleast not under my mothers watchful eye, because it strains my eyes and I had laser eye surgery two days ago. Now, no more lenses or glasses for me InshAllah.

I'll be back. Soon.

Additions to wishlist:

A decent Paki World Cup performance
Steven Tyler
Blasphemy by Tehmina Durrani
Passing grades.
A talking parrot


Peace.

And...

This was one of my Facebook notes, before that profile got hacked. These are some of the wisest lines Ive ever read, and right now, I think, the best advice I could give myself as well as a few people around me.

After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning and company doesn't mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open, with the grace of an adult, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure... that you really are strong,

And you really do have worth.

(forgot the source)

Grrrr-umpy

This is now going to be my profile picture here (as it is on my Facebook profile as well).

This is so me, because;

·        Grumpy. ‘Nuff said.

·        It has enough red and old (fading) in it (In relevance to my blog tittle)

·        Dwarf=Me. Just another bane of my existence.

·        6 brothers. I have three brothers and atleast three cousins close enough to be termed  brothers.

·        This is really the expression I have these days. Because,

(a) Financial management exam (and exams in general)

(b) A succession of bad hair days

(c) Things you would love to know and never will (stab at faux mysterious-ness)

(d) Things i would love to vent about but wont in order to preserve your sanity.

·        Stick in the mud tendencies

·        Inflated sense of self importance.

·       Tears, or any other intense show of emotion (excluding my trademark very loud, painful to bear, happy-high), look extremely out of character on me. Which is a good thing. 

• The messy house these brothers had, the messy part would be my fault.
• 
  

  Grumpy DOES care. So do I, kindof.

Extremely anti social but at the same time kinda lonely, company’s too much effort right now. Which is why I'm here.


I choose to relate to a dwarf rather than a princess, I wonder what that really says about me

I just really like talking about myself.  ( Not related to the statement directly before this).

Sorry, if this was a waste of your time, I'm wasting mine too if thats any consolation. 

Actually, I feel marginally happier now.

So, what dwarf/Disney character are you ?

Love

Snippets/ Word Vomit

Another random post just so that I don’t stop the habit altogether like I’ve done so many times before.

Financial management is deep. Seriously. And when my distinguished professor teaches it, though I don’t really pay attention, I can feel what he says is important. I feel humbled and unworthy of such knowledge imparted in my presence, henceforth I leave class. To be there is to be too close to the sun.

"Had you spent time in READING the chapter,
you would have been able to do this question
in 1/4 of the time you spent here."

I shall take up this course again when I am on the final rungs of self actualization. Till then, I will not soil the book with my unworthy attention and sully the beautiful numbers and figures and the unintelligible language and concentrate on the doodles I scribble around the text. Actually, to come to think of it, no that’s my Accounting book. Thank God, such blasphemy, the sheer sacrilegious nature of the act of spoiling the blessed Financial Management text book; I shudder to think of the consequences. (See right for actual photos of the comments on my Mid-term exam paper.)

"Dont you FEEL anything??"

Further I am not emotionally developed enough to fathom the intricacies of this subject, I should see more of life before I tackle it. I shall endeavor to do so during the time I have when I walk out of class, which I shall now do more often. I pray I succeed, and one day, I will fathom Finance, maybe even enough to take on the CFA level 1.

However till then, to be on the conservative side, I shall stick to marketing.

From the loo at the oldest business school outside of North America. This was right above the commode.

I just really liked this one.

Now, another example of life hitting you when you’re down. Comfort eating is just as fattening, if not more so, than any other kind of eating. Further, it really is unfair, food you stuff down your throat at a pricey place, just to get a clean plate, or to get your money’s worth, should really not affect the calorie counter. As shouldn’t, and this is very desi-specific, the swimming in oil savories you have to devour just so that you don’t hurt Aunti this-or-that’s feelings.

People who fill up their plates at weddings and then waste food, (and seriously, loading plates because you"re worried it’ll run out? WTH!) I hope that not only what you eat, but also the edibles you waste, go straight to your thighs, or tummy or bum, whatever stings most and looks worst. And may you have an upset tummy the next day to boot.

I have awesome friends, I really do, but people, there are certain things I do for love and attention when I’ve had a rough time, fuss over me, please don’t go intellectual on me. Case in point, I announce to the world that I hate pain, and the response I get is not asking me how I am (I had a bad fall today) but rather how pain is good, and, I quote, 
"Pain is the difference between human reality and a false perception of Gods we think we are"
THAT DIDN'T HELP! Yes, that’s the way you are, and yes I am intellectually capable of understanding and answering to that, and I love you all, but I am, at times, a small minded child who should be tended to as such.

Finally, and this is long overdue,all the people who keep asking me when I ll put up something, or give me feedback and constructive criticism, I LOVE YOU. ALL of you. Thank you for taking the time out for this. To quote Lambert, “Thanks for loving me, Cuz youre doing it perfectly”

Peace.