Damnation

The little girl smiled at her father through the car window, waving back at him from the confines. The father held back a sigh, and put his best face on to wish his child goodbye, the mother sitting in the driving seat, trying not to look in his direction. The little girl's expression changed from a smile to a straighter face when she realised her fears were real, her father wouldn't be going with her. As the car started crawling, her waving became less enthusiastic and more lost, waving like one does to clear thick mist or haze. She cocked her head in the direction of her father for as long as she could and when the car turned a bend, she was gone.
The father let a tear drop down his cheek, he had never thought it would really come to this. Everytime, separation seemed a possibility, he thought such things happen to people in movies, and not normal people like him. Normal people who go to the office, work hard all day, come home, have a beautiful wife waiting, a beautiful daughter to tell stories to, things for these people seem perfect. Perfect but all of sudden they're made to realise life isn't a movie. Things could go wrong all of a sudden, and could stay that way. Happy endings aren't a compulsion.
He turned his back on the road, almost making a metaphorical statement as to never get out of seclusion again. But he knew picking up his pieces was the important thing to do. Yes it would sting, but it had to be done. He'd see his daughter again, maybe after months, but she'd never be the same. She'd know she could live without her father. She'd have understood that he was never an essential part of life for her, he thought. And then, he'd remain a nominal figure in her life. She'd call him dad, but wouldn't be with him. How unlucky to have someone who could care, and let them go.

He went inside and looked at his wife's picture, her flowing name of hair took his heart away the first time he had seen her years back, and now it brought only painful memories. Her eyes looking at him, though now he knew they had stopped looking for him anymore, her nose her lips, all belonged to him once, now seemed part of a beautiful portrait. Her slender hand underneath her chin gave him aching reminiscences. He remembered the hand from all the long walks around the endless web of streets, pointlessly roaming around, hand in hand. He remembered the hand from the first time he asked her out for marriage, the first ring he gave her, the first promises they took, the first time she held their daughter, the first day she took her to the new school, but most of all, he remembered the hand that signed heartless piece of paper, that decided his Damnation. He hated every bit of the picture and he loved every bit of it.
All this was too heavy for him to hold back so he let go. The walls listened in silence as his tears slid down his cheek into and around the slit of his lips. He sat down, half embarrassed at his weak self, at his helplessness.
That very moment he questioned his beliefs about his ego, his own selfishness, his selfrespect. He wished he could turn things back, and he'd be more careful. But life doesn't give two chances to everyone. He knew he had burnt all his ships, and the ashes were slowly being swallowed by the sea of time. One day, he'd probably learn to live with it, but this wouldn't be a solution. This'd be another kind of Damnation!

innerself

It’s no use running away from yourself. One day, your inner self is going to catch you or at least catch up with you. No use lying, ducking behind excuses, hiding behind unimportant stuff and small talk, no use telling yourself you can go around your problems, no use playing hide and seek, no use covering your face every day with fake emotions, trying to bury the real ones underneath the skin, no use trying to get used to compromises that are infact not compromises at all, utterly painful conformities, no use thinking things should be left the way they are, no use pitying yourself to the extent that you start feeling good about the pain, the problems. Its all futile. In the end, you’ll be sitting back trying to relax but won’t be able to. That’s when you’ll realize that the mistake you made all through has taken so much of yourself away, your faith, your trust in yourself. You’ll realize what you’re going to do now should’ve been done ages ago, should’ve been done from the start.

But its never too late to take a look in the mirror. Its never too late to befriend yourself. Its one of the easiest things to do as well if you realize.

Of children and men.

The world seems meaningless to a bunch of twelve year olds, jumping about their set of marbles, watching them go east west north south on the earthen floor. Their clear and hazy bottle greens sharp contrasts to the pale earth, making it easy to spot their slightest move. As one sits and powers a Finger-slingshot, aiming at another kid's marble, the other children watch in anxiety, one of them in fear. If it hits, the aiming kid gets up and rejoices, the owner of the hit marble clenches his fists at his luck, but the effect is cancelled out. In a second or too, all glee all gloom turns to concentration for another round of marbles, and emotions.




Seven or eight white scalped men take their chairs in the southern corner of the park, chatting incessantly, unfazed by hundreds of people walking and jogging about them. They sit down in a ring, call the waiter out for a round of tea and then shut the world out of their minds. For them, the world consists of 60 year old retired men, and women. One of them begins narrating an experience, another one joins in, another cuts it out, another diverts it to another more engrossing experience, subjects change, its like shuffling through a deck of cards, no one knows the next topic. For a moment or two, one or two of the old men get into a heated arguement, the rest donot wish to stop them, for two reasons. First maybe this heated arguement reminds them all of younger times and secondly, they all know that thanks to bad short term memories, this arguement would remain an arguement, and the very next moment, life would be normal. The waiter distributes the tea and leaves, the ambience not the least altered. Its like the whole scenario is taking place in a bottle, the cover of which can only be removed from the inside.




A kid from the marble playing group and an old man from the tea sipping gang are walking down the small street. While neither talks about their little worlds, they connect. They walk hand in hand. The grandfather knows the boy wont understand what they talk about all day, because he's yet to see most of it. And the kid knows that his grandfather won't understand his love for marbles and would scold him, maybe because its been a long time he hasn't powered a finger-slingshot!

TO OUR LOVE

70 gruelling minutes, and it has come down to this. The score 0-0. Chances missed will be regretted. A match that challenges the physical strength of each one of the players, each one giving the match their everything, heart, body and soul.

Players and spectators line up for the penalty shoot out. What an unjust end to one of the best matches, leaving it all to chance. What a cruel way to end it.

The last penalty kick, team mechanical has already missed one. One kick of the ball separates tears and hope. If shamsu scores, electrical wins. The somalian coolly taps the ball to the right of the keeper. The players in blue erupt in celebration, those in red, hang their heads.

I quickly turn around, and walk back to where my clothes lay and start dressing up.

What a match...this is why we love football, its the most emotional game of the world, it takes you to another world. Whether you win or lose, with every match, every pass, every moment you love increases. Skills, become meaningless. Your determination, love and passion is what gives you wings.

This goes out to the greatest game in the world, and every player who lives the spirit of football.

Feel good inc.

He crosses the road, with one thing in mind. To be one with the one thing he loves the most. He steps ahead, takes strides, worries, shrugs and does everything to dispel any memory of his past. The darkness adds to the mystery of the moment, to the pleasure of oblivion. The mountains stand tall behind him, the oceans vast and deep infront. The salty smell of asphalt punctures the otherwise numb nerves, giving him a reminder about some of the good things about life. About where does the road lead to? Goes into one big road? Which goes into another big one and another and another? Until it becomes one great road. Does it really have an end? As he steps back and forth about the place he's standing on, he tries to retrace the steps of another person, who perhaps has never been there. But if its one great road, maybe somewhere else in the world, maybe on a road just like this.
His eyes search for an unlikely mirage, for any kind of illusion. Hallucinations, he doesn't like. A dark shadow, leaps at him slowly blotting his heart out until the heart's ready to produce shadows of its own. To haunt other people like him to surrender one day, give up hope, and cry to the music of memories.
This isn't the life he dreamt of. Its better or worse? Noone knows.its just a question with an insignificant answer, so why bother? Every day is different from every dream.

Anoinkyalylylom

Do we all need an anchor point in our lives? Right now, i really feel i need something to hold on to, something to be my anchor point. I dont know what that exactly means but the word Anchor describes the thing i'm searching for at this point of time. But what exactly is it?
I tried to find it out from Mahru. She said, get married. Then she said, make yourself your own anchor point, i didn't understand both the ideas. How that'll bring a centre of gravity into my life. I know she prolly was kidding about both the ideas, but i wasn't. I've always loved change. But change without a centre of gravity goes on to lead one astray probably. Maybe.

Goatee

My goatee, my goatee, my goatee has finally finally grown to the point of no return, yes, no stopping from here on inshaAllah...i might post a picture sometime soon inshaAllah, right now i'm getting conflicting comments from everyone. People hate it, and people like it...but i accept it makes me look a little scary, coz its gone pretty long!

Lahore, Pakistan.

The more i want to write about what's happening around me, the more it seems i've lost the ability to write. Such heavy is the air in my country. Such dark are the times.
We, who got this country as a gift from Allah, who rewarded our forefathers for their sacrifices, have failed to keep its flag up high. We've shamed it in the world in every way possible.
We begged.
We killed our own people.
We cut our own country apart.
We fed on it every single day.
We pulled eachother's legs.
We desecrated our judiciary.
We dishonoured our parliament.
We forgave people who ruined this nation.
We gave the reins of our country into the hands of the most corrupt people.
We defamed our greats, our legends, our saviours.
We shunned popular opinion.
We crushed our poor.
We fed our filthy rich.
We promoted racism, class boundaries, prejudices.
We lost all our morals.
We let go of our legacies.
We discarded our culture.
We transformed our country into sheer mockery.
We did all we could to insult it.
We let go of our forefathers.
We forgot our history.

But alas, we couldn't stop at that,
WE ATTACKED OUR GUESTS! we couldn't provide them with security...we pakistanis who took pride in calling ourselves the most hospitable nation, we deemed it more appropriate to give our governor more security than our very honourable guests from SriLanka. What a shame.

We are sorry. We apologise to the entire SriLankan nation for hurting their trust. Our policemen were martyred trying to save you, maybe that'll show the purity of intent we have.
But think about us, at this moment. We as a nation have been destroying ourselves, with help from outside.

To Mahela Jayawerdene and his men,
we really are a hospitable nation, but we are victims of terrorism. Our friends are their enemies. Whoever these culprits are, they've been making us walk the plank everyday every night. We're sorry you had to go through the trauma, we'd have given as many people as needed to save our guests the slightest bit of discomfort, but sometimes a mixture of badluck and ignorant rulers makes that impossible.
The entire pakistani nation loves you for saying that you'll be back to pakistan. Even if you never come back, saying that is enough.





"ye jo wakt hai mere shehr par,
isse izn day k safar karay,
isse hukam day k chal paray,
meray aasmaan se dur ho,
kisi maujzay ka zahoor ho"


bun to gaya tha Pakistan.
Ab uth k rahay ga pakistan.
Pakistan Zindabad.

Mera mulk, may hukamraan, may shatir.

Ye jo beess crore hain,
jehl ka nichore hain,
tareekion may doobay huay,
dil b inke chor hain,

inko tu daba k rakh,
neend ka jaam pila k rakh,
uthay to sehla dijiyo,
khauf tu inmay basa k rakh,

ba shaoor jo in may uthay to,
zehr pyar se pilao to,
khamosh wo b ho gya,
jabar, agar phir uthay wo to,

ye jo tera mulk hai,
ye teri hi to milk hai,
karachi lahore teri zameen,
tere khel ka maidaan to hai,

ye jo sab ghareeb hain,
inke kya naseeb hain,
zindagi maut maut zindgi,
ek dairay may muheet hain,
to inko tu pisaey ja,
mustaqbil ko inke khaeya ja,
khoon sab nichore lay,
khazanay apne bnaey ja,

ke ye jo tere log hain,
kuch in may bas tere log hain,
pait or niyyat bharta ja,
paisay k sab ye log hain,

tjh ko bura bolain to ye,
keh day tu inse datt k ye,
beess crore ko sula dia,
kya kumm hai mera kamaal ye?

(inspired by habib jalib's main ne us se ye kaha)

The journey

Cutting through the river of time is a tiny vessel of existence. Our existence. As we grow up, our ship moves through thick and thin, through crest and trough, looking at hundreds of rocks that either mark our way letting us know how far we've come or stand in our way, making us think of ways around them. I wonder how many of us have stopped at these very rocks long enough to forget they're not their homes. Certainly, i've done that, i've let somethings grow on me to such a frightening extent that in the end, it was impossible to differentiate myself from them, to uproot them from my body and soul...i anchored at the wrong whirlpool, and i got stuck. I'll do that again, and again and again, against my own will, and again...till one day, accidentally, i'll either have a broken anchor, or will have an appropriate place to drop the weight. We all live to see that day, some of us have well defined goals, others just have indicators that let them know that probably they've come close to realising their goals. But some of us, wander around without aim without direction. The problem with this kind of people is that they're happy to be lost, they are oblivious to the greater causes that this long journey was meant for. They start off, party on their way, and all of a sudden, come to a halt, no land nearby, they're marooned. Depressing...there's noone around, only vultures flying over the corpses of dreams that were never dreamt! And then, lives of such people become lives no more!
Some of us, make ourselves a bubble. In that bubble we take in all the other ships boats that we want and leave out undesirable. Then, that bubble in itself becomes a small world, and slowly the outside world fades away. Untill one day, an iceberg strikes the bubble, bringing down all the ships inside it. That iceberg could've been avoided, had the ships not been blinded by their protective bubble, had not been in a fall sense of security. But now, all that remains is a broken world of triviality, a bird flies overhead, looks at it, and all it sees is a spec in one corner of a huge river.

Each river has its conquerer, except this river of time. God has created it in such a way that it can act as an antiseptic to wounds or provide a current to ride on but it cannot be overcome by humans. The reason probably is that all our goals our destinations are there along the way in the river, we've to work within the boundary to realise our dreams.

Annihilation.

"From dehumanization to arms production,

for the benefit of the nation or its destruction,

power is power, the law of the land,

those living for death will die by their own hand,

life's no ordeal if you come to terms,

reject the system dictating the norms,

from dehumanization to arms production,

to hasten the nation towards its destruction,

its your choice, your choice, your choice,

peace or annihilation!"

a perfect circle

Bad hair day

I love change, and i have variable hairdos every single day. For some reason i cant reincarnate any of my hairdos and eventually, everyday, they turn out different, variations of my own hair. That is a good thing and a bad one in itself. Good in a way that i dont have too many consecutive bad hair days. And bad in a way i dont have too many consecutive good hair days :(

i see so many people, some of my friends, who have such constant hairdos. It appears to me they take their hair off when they go home and stick it back on. Obviously not true, but seems really like it. Pamy, majid, butt, anas, and the list goes on, and i wonder why they dont get bored of their hairdos. Maybe its me who's weird, or maybe i forget what hairdo i had on the preceding day or something like that, short term memory loss...though i guess i use a pretty good brand of hair products, garnier is nice aint it? Not showing off, totally not...just wondering how to bring this bad hairday to an end. A little water?

weird stuff

I always wonder about a lot of stupid things in my mind. Just pointless stuff that fascinates me, like when I take my glasses off I equate what I see to what a normal person would see on a computer screen with messed up pixels, or I always try to make sense out of the number plates of cars, phone numbers, id card numbers, roll numbers and every number that I come across, I try to connect stuff like that. Then sometimes, I just sit there, and try imagining time as a solid dimension and feel it passing through my very skin, gives me a creepy feeling that I sometimes like and sometimes don’t, depending upon what I had been doing in the preceeding moments. Sometimes I just lie on my bed late into the night and pray to God to give me a punctuated sleep so the night may seem longer than it does if you sleep soundly. Whenever sitting idle, I try to connect all the sounds around me, I try to imagine them as a part of one symphony played by time and space and almost everytime, I find a rhythm that keeps me occupied.
I wonder about lots of other weird stuff too, but at the end of the day it gets me absolutely nowhere. But I understood one important thing about myself from all the sessions I’ve had with myself, that the more I wonder, the more I am at ease with my own self. Its great to be around so many people, I realized the importance of friends many years ago, but its also extrewmely important to have yourself around you. To live a life where you are not emotionally dependent on any other human.
I know this is something that fundamentally seems impossible but it isn’t. we need to realize that whatever happens, people walk in and out of our lives. Some come closer to us than the others, but that is just state of mind, which is not impossible to alter. Time, as it passes, it alters the state of mind, it takes the effect of people out of it. Only when you stop being emotionally dependent on people can you break free of your little bubble. Otherwise, people, the closer they are, the stronger they bring you down if they do. But Allah has given all of us a parachute, so that when we are in freefall, we can always slow down. If we practice hard, we can even stop in mid air. That is the feeling that very few get to experience. To be able to stop in mid air, to free yourself from all forces, and that too taking advantage of your grief. That is one difficult stunt, but its not impossible. Grief and lonliness, we need to realise are just states of our fickle mind. They are nothing real, just reminders that yes you are alive. Like pain. Pain goes away as soon as you start ignoring it. Like itching, same thing. Like all other feelings that tend to bring you down. They carry with themselves a message, that you can break your fall, and you don’t need someone else to do it.
We should thank Allah that He has given us the ability to be emotionally and in all other ways dependent only on Him. In reality, we actually are, only we fail to realize. And we give so much attention to our own states of minds, that more often than not, give us false answers.
I’ve realized that humans, are all alike, they’re all like me. The only difference is that I can train myself to be always around for me, obviously with the help of Allah. But people will continue to walk in and out. I know, I’ve been downright dejected a number of times because of people, but I know that was a part of the learning process. Relationships, might continue, might end. You cannot waste yourself in hope or despair about people. There’s a lot more to tend to. This world, this universe is expanding, its growing, let’s not make our hearts smaller. Whatever happens, life goes on.

Fickle feelings

Wandering around the streets of this city full of life,
the brightly lit embellished alleys of human joy,
sunshine of the most festive sun attempting to bathe me,
in its colours its hues all shades that seem high!

Yet my heart flinches at every step it flips and swirls,
fails to be one with the city of joy,
refuses to mingle with the mingle of emotions,
uneasy, awkward, fickle emotions it wont buy.

A faint yearning one of its kind,
one that looks for things beneath the skin, the cover thats so fake,
one that refuses to be one with the many,
the many who preach love yet nurture and hate.

I walk empty headed empty chested,
like a lifeless body floating on the sea of time,
yet i'm closer to this thing called life than them,
them who stopped searching and couldnot find.

Their smiles carry tears like their cupped hands,
their faces speak of joys but their hearts know its an illusion,
their eyes are pursed but mares try to penetrate,
what they mistake for satisfaction, is confusion!

I wonder how not caring can make you happy,
when something that enormous is missing from everything,
that something that turns these dreams to reality,
puts your heart at rest, true joy it brings.

Wandering around the streets of this city full of life,
i carefully look for what is missing,
but i see void all around me,
songs laborious their hearts refuse to sing.

I wonder if we can bring it back again,
i wonder if the world will ever laugh again,
the sunshine, when will it turn real?
These alleys i wonder, when will they see light once again.

Early morning images!

My dad's reading the Quran. I've to interrupt him to ask for money and to say goodbye, he watches me do my hair and put on a cologne. Maybe he's thinking who am i doing all that for.

My neighbour, Uncle Abdul Raheem is standing outside his gate, in a shalwar and banyan, always doing something or the other, mostly to his small bunch of plants.

The aunty at the corner, is reversing her car out of the garage, going to drop her son hisham off to college. He cant hear properly, but i heard he's a pretty good footballer.

As i cross the gate of the TNT colony, which is adjacent to my street, i look at the Suzuki Dabba which i once had to push as it broke down early morning, and i feared getting late for the bus. In the end, i managed to catch the bus but had to catch my breath later.

At the end of the street, i've to turn right, but i take a look to the left, at that pretty girl's car standing outside her house. Sometimes there is some activity around the car, giving me a little hope of her glimpse but almost invariably, its her father cleaning the car or something. By that time, i get a little restless about my bus, because i've missed it many times due to my wandering spirit!

As i turn right, i see either salman uncle or his father cleaning their blue vespa scooter. Its always an awkward moment as i get confused between waving my hand or nodding my head or saying Salam aloud, but in the end, it never really matters. Either, they dont even look up, or even if they do, the eye contact lasts a second so its over before it starts.

Afnan's bhai's car is always being dusted outside his place. Once i asked him who does it, he said, they've hired a guy to do it,i wondered how khwar but then everyone has their means of earning attached to someone else's needs. Sometimes, just as i'm passing his house, afnan bhai steps out of his door and joins me for a short walk to our stop.

As i look to the left, there's the famous doongi ground, and it always carries a scene which i normally dont get to see anywhere else. There're people running with their dogs and surprisingly, with their lambs! Its a funny funny scene as the lambs pant to keep up with their owners and the owners pant to keep up with the dogs! respectively that is.

Finally, i see a trio walking towards me, 3 elderly uncles, always engrossed in some discussion or the other walk towards me. If they see me, we exchange greetings, but usually they're pretty busy. I only know one of these guys, the other two, i always wonder who they are.

And my bus stop is here. All the above images tag my way as i walk from my place to my bus stop which is hardly two hundred metres away. Its funny how detailed my surroundings are so early in the morning.

But one image i'm really scared of is the bus driving away and i can only watch it from a distance. This happens sometimes. Some freakin times.