So me..not.

Ayesha, listening to Diliwali Girlfriend:
"Kabhi soft, kabhi rude, killer tera attitude"

Ayesha: "Rida apa that is so you!"

I hate Mondays.

Blaring some Audioslave to keep myself awake. This is what I look like at work right now. Yes I just drew myself.

Epic autocorrect fail of Dec 17th

*On text*

S: Bahamas 
Me: Wtf?? 
S: That was meant to be "buhahah" Epic autocorrect fail

Shut up when I'm when I'm talking to you

I wish I could act all cool and say that it was The Beatles that got me into rock n roll music but if I'm being honest, it wasn't the pioneers of rock n roll but it began with Linkin Park and (I can probably save some face here) Aersomith. Oh don't judge me - everybody knew the lyrics to In The End like the back of their hand. It was like Eminem's Lose Yourself - you couldn't help but know it word for word. Hybrid Theory is perhaps one of the most memorable albums of that time (I'm downloading it as I type this). So they don't make bands as epic as The Beatles, Soundgarden and Nirvana anymore but I'd rather have Linkin Park than all the other bullshit you hear on the radio these days. 

Listen to Hybrid Theory here : http://grooveshark.com/#!/search?q=hybrid+theory

Clearly not a neat freak.

Me, furiously filing, stapling, organizing and un cluttering all the paper and files on my desk at work. Also, generating a lot of noise in the process that takes me almost an hour to do.

Co-worker walks in after I'm done: "Look at your desk! It's a mess!"

I give up.

Damn you.

I won't cry myself to sleep, like a sucker. 
I won't cry myself to sleep, if I do, I'll die. 
I pray your life is sweet, you fucker

Damn you.

"I miss your smile"
I cried because nobody misses my smile. 

Baby A

Almost 2 year old nephew hops into my room, stands mesmerized staring at the Kurt Cobain poster on the wall and then exclaims: Mamoo! 

Nooooo!

Wasim

This post is by one of my very good friends, Danyaal - who is not only a great writer but also an excellent poet. He sent me this and I absolutely had to share this here. Also, if you think Dan should start his own blog - comment with "Dan is stupid and needs to have his own blog!" Thank you. 

It was mid-November and I had just finished up at the gym. Stepping back outside and walking in Karachi’s cool night breeze was the most rewarding part of it. On my walk home, I used to stop at Master Juice and have an ice cold strawberry shake - sitting and just sipping away thinking about all my troubles and how difficult this life is. Sitting there, I would dream about everything I wanted life to be and thought of ideal circumstances that would make these dreams a reality.

As I was sitting there dreaming, I saw a little boy standing in the middle of the road stretched out in front of me. He was staring at me and wouldn’t stop so I waved at him to come and sit with me. He carefully walked across checking the road for cars. He was a poor little boy under  the age of 10. 

He walked up to me and said, “Jee sahab?” 

I asked him why he was standing there and he told me that he had lost the cloth he uses to wipe down cars with along with the money he earned that day. He didn’t have any money to go home with and his mother would be very disappointed in him if he went home without his earnings and cleaning cloth. One of the older boys had beaten him up earlier and took everything from him. I asked him if he was hurt and he said, “Nai yeh choti moti chotein toh lagti reh ti hain sahab magar aaj ki kamai chaligayi” 

I offered him a milkshake and he smiled from ear to ear asking, “Kailay ka pi sakta houn?” 

I ordered him a banana shake and we sat there talking a while. His name was Wasim and he lived with his mother and 2 younger sisters. His father had left them a couple years ago and now Wasim was “Ghar ka mard” as he put it and had to take care of his family. His mother worked as a maid in a few houses during most mornings while Wasim looked after his sisters. When his mother came home, Wasim went to school and after school, took a rickshaw to Defence to clean cars as “yahan paisay achay milte hain.”  

At no point during our conversation did I feel like I was speaking to a 9 year old child. He was very mature and quite aware of his responsibilities. He knew why school was important and was saving up so he could eventually send his sisters to one. I asked him why he didn't work at a store or with a vendor. He said he had trouble memorizing numbers and mixed instruction confused him. For this reason, when he tried working for a vegetable vendor he could not memorize “pyaaz 50 rupee kilo yatimatar 40 rupee kilo” and the different divisions of weight and currency made things worse. 

The poor kid was dyslexic and that became more obvious as we continued to talk and as he tried explaining his problems. I inquired about school and he said he is a couple of classes behind because of the same problem but he is slowly getting the hang of it.

After he finished his shake, we walked to a nearby store to buy another piece of cloth. The only time I felt like I was with a kid was when he saw the mini sponge/wiper thing that the kids have at traffic lights displayed at the store. He excitedly started jumping and begged me to buy it, “Sahabpleej who wiper bhi dila do”

After buying the cleaning supplies, I gave him what little money I had left and put him in a rickshaw headed home. Upon my request, he promised me that he would come see me again the next day at Master Juice. I was there every night at Master Juice the next three days but Wasim did not show. I was a little worried but on the fourth day, I was in the neighborhood during the evening and getting in my car after buying some groceries, when he came sprinting shouting, “Salaam sahab!” 

I was relieved to see him and he seemed pleased to see me too which was nice. I asked him why he didn’t come to Master Juice and he told me a very disturbing recap of the night after I had first met him. 

He was waiting for me at Master Juice the night after our first meet when another man started talking to him. He offered to buy Wasim new shoes and asked him to get in his car so the excited boy, expecting shoes, did what he was told. The man drove Wasim to a nearby alley and attempted to sexually abuse the boy. Luckily however, he bit the bastard's hand and managed to get away. He avoided Master Juice a couple days, afraid he might run into the pervert again. I drove him to Master Juice and introduced him to the waiters so that they can look after him for the time he waits for me during the evenings.Wasim and I started having supper together at Master Juice a few nights a week. Spending time with him made me appreciate my life a lot more. My troubles started to seem meaningless in front of the struggles this child went through every day. 

A couple of months later, Wasim’s mother married another man and he came to see me one last time before leaving for a different city. I was glad that at least with this change, his circumstances will now become a little better. At the same time though, I became grateful for what I did have. My circumstances didn't change throughout any of this but for some reason, hearing Wasim’s perspective every night made my days seem like a walk in the park. I was back to where I started and once again just complained and dreamt of solutions to my problems without having the power to actually change my circumstances.

The fact that somewhere the boy is still having a hard time living day in and day out lost its effect very quickly, once that connection was lost. The mind again started to think about how much better off A or B are compared to me. Questions like why me? Why can’t it be easier, simpler? Or even why is he always picking on me? They all started coming back to mind more often. I know people are much worse off than me but why should that even be an excuse for me to feel good about my situation? Why is it so difficult for everybody in the first place? I am probably going to hell for how ungrateful I am but I seriously get very angry with God sometimes at how unfair this life is. What did Wasim do to deserve any of it? It isn’t even by choice! We just end up on this planet and have to work with what we get. I understand that I am privileged and should be thanking God day and night for all that I have but at the same time, I have been beaten down so hard so many times that I question a lot of what he has in store.

Maybe in the future, I will realize why all this was necessary and begin to see why it had to be so difficult. Like my friend Mujtaba says, “It is a test and was always supposed to be difficult. We were never promised an easy life and so shouldn’t expect it to be any less than the painful struggle it is.”
I guess that’s why faith is hard to hold on to at times. However, some events make things worse. Wasim’s life made me more grateful for mine but it also led me to question God’s plan a lot more.

You know who you are

It bothers me. Bright sunshine outside creeping its way up from behind the tiny gaps in your curtains. The smell of tea, the sound of shuffling feet on the wooden floors, the swish of cloth and the freshly baked banana bread. It was always banana.

You're asleep, I don't want to wake you. I make small talk with your mom, run my finger over the dusty picture frames whisking through the past in a few minutes. Tiny faces smiling back at me.

I look around your room, feeling at home. It is not clean. It is untidy with clothes covering every surface, make up heaped in a pile on your dressing table, one half of your pair of red high heels lying on the floor - the other; nowhere to be found. Then there are the books and your precious book shelf, the laptop humming quietly.

I shove a pile of clothes away from a comfortable spot on your beige couch. I pick up some fashion magazines lying on the floor and flip through them; waiting for you to wake up. You jolt up from the bed just like you always do. It cracks me up.

"How long have you been here?" you ask looking around for your glasses and gathering your pile of bushy hair on top of your head.
"Only just arrived" I lie.

A day of sorrow. Brought together by pain yet moving far apart. It continues today.

We were not many things. Best friends, confidants, companions, late night phone call.
We were many things. A sanctuary, a wonderland, a comfort, outcasts, real, familiarity, similar story.

Now, we are nothing. It bothers me.

How to survive in the world of advertising

1. Point out things that do not matter and make a big deal about it

For example, the shade of red on a poster needs to be the "right" red. If it is not red enough, you must huff and puff, throw your fists in the air, stare down at the graphics guy and act heartbroken in front of the top management. The management MUST know you are losing sleep, have dark circles under your eyes and are absolutely appalled at the stupid colorblind graphics dude for not getting the red right! I mean WHO DOES THAT!? 


2. Re-do everything

This will really get you far. After taking feedback from your supervisors, re-do the design (that took the graphics dude 20,000 hours to produce) with changes to the design that probably won't make much difference to begin with. Staring him down will help too. 




3. Hold a meeting

Can't decide whether the background should be blue or dark blue? Hold a meeting. Is the header on the website too big? Hold a meeting. Was there a spelling error in a presentation of a total of 118 slides? Hold a meeting. Having a mid life crisis? Hold a meeting. Also, make sure the meeting lasts a good 2-3 hours with a whole lot of quotes about life.

4. Make a presentation

Want to communicate with anybody else in the office? Make a presentation. I mean seriously - want to suggest where to have lunch? Make a detailed presentation outlining the pros and cons of 50 places to eat. With pictures. Want to tell the client you can't make it to the meeting? Promptly engage all employees (who could be doing something more worthwhile with their time such as ACTUAL WORK) into preparing this presentation and then sending it out. Feeling like green as pigeon shit with a toe swollen the size of Russia? That's right, make a damn presentation about it.

Happy selling!

Abused.

She folded her arms nervously looking around to see if anyone noticed her. They did. Her hair was sticky and matted to her forehead in an unconventional way, her eyes sat in a pool of tears and her shoulders twitched from time to time. She clasped her hands in her lap and bent her head down low so that the people passing by couldn’t see her face. She squeezed her hands and then released immediately because of the jolt of pain that ran through her fingers. She touched her face lightly and instead of her usual creamy soft skin, she felt what felt like a bump on her cheek. She popped her collar and sank further into her jacket. She looked out at the snow covered street laid out in front of her blur as she sighed and a cloud of fog appeared. For a moment, she smiled a small smile at the memory coming back to her.

“Sarah! Sarah! If you attack me with another one of those, you’re dead!”

“What? This?”

“That’s it now I’m coming at you with this gigantic snow ball. It’s perfect”

“Nothing is perfect. This world will never be perfect”

“True but this moment right here with you is pretty perfect..”

“Really?”

“Hah! Got you!”

She found it remarkable that she could still muster the thought of those rare happy memories despite all that had happened. She clutched onto the handle of her suitcase giving herself a few more minutes. Her hands were frozen cold and the purple bruise on her hand stood out even more against her pale skin. Her lower lip trembled. It was the same hand he had put their engagement ring on. She knew she was stalling, she should have been gone by now. This fact was confirmed when she saw him running up the street calling out her name. She just sat there waiting for him to reach her.

“Sarah! I’m sorry please. Come back home. It’ll never happen again”

“I know.” Lie.

“I don’t know what came over me, you pushed me too far. Why must you argue?”

“I don’t know”

“Well I’m sorry but it wasn’t just my fault. Just come home, I swear I won’t do it again”

“Okay.”

And she let him take her home. Again.

READ ME.

Sometimes when there's nothing to do I try to find some things to do. I come up with a whole lot of ideas - each seemingly interesting but then something crazy will happen like somebody appearing at the door (and yes, that's crazy when you're not expecting it while sitting in your pink velvet pjs singing along to Meredith Brooks at the top of your lungs) and then I'll think all those awesome world-changing ideas suddenly aren't all that. 


This is why I'm not famous yet. I had the whole idea of writing an album with songs that had sad and pathetic lyrics like Adele that would make you hate your existence and wish you were the dude inside the green Tellytubby because imagine that as a day job! Okay, just picture this - you get to wear the green Tellytubby suit (and admit it you always wanted to know what it would feel like to be in one of those things) and you run around like a moron doing moronic things and you get paid for it! What more could you possibly want from life? 


Often when I was studying for exams and my younger sister would be watching the stupid show, I'd go in a trance cause the Tellytubbies suck you in and they don't let you go till the show actually ends. This is when I started wondering how much the dudes inside the 'tubbies get paid for doing this...

He's sexy and he knows it.

Anyway, got a bit off topic there sorry. Are you still with me? Good. So the reason I'm writing this after God knows how many months is because this was my bright idea for the day. I thought to myself; hey I'm done with work and I've watched every youtube video about Duffy I could find (including one titled Man vs. Swan which was highly recommended by a co-worker..which obviously was not related to Duffy ahem) so why not blog? So here's a blog post for the sake of blogging because I don't really have anything to post about - just the random thoughts in my head. I feel a bit like Holden now. Actually if I were to write a book, it would be a lot like The Catcher In The Rye. Don't get me wrong; I'm not trying to say I can write a classic. Just saying how on earth did THAT become a classic? I do love Holden and the first half of the book but the rant is just annoying after a while isn't it? this person is talking constantly without making any sense that reading it becomes a major pain in the ass and you want to put it down but you just can't wondering what the fuck will happen to this kid in the end? Aaah, I should take a hint then. Later. 

A walk down memory lane

Somebody mentioned Orkut yesterday and I decided to go through my old profile that I hadn't seen in ages because who uses Orkut anymore? Anyway, I had a blast reading all the testimonials and I decided to blog them before some weird shit happens and I lose them forever. Here are the testimonials I wrote for my friends back in A levels. These people made the A level years memorable and these are the people that came and went from my life..although some of them have still managed to stick around for this long. Oh and I used everbody's latest pictures so everybody looks hot :p Haha. Also, this is in not in order of importance or anything. You all are unimportant equally.

I know I have missed a lot of people; some who deleted their Orkut profiles and some of who didn't exchange testimonials. They also made A levels special for me and they know who they are.

Zehra Ali Khan

Zara...argh!Zara's really dumb, stupid, annoying, incredibly clumsy (she almost always trips, falls or bumps into someone everyday), has no common sense whatsoever and tis perpetually confused about whether her parents named her 'Zara' or 'Zehra'. But she is so much fun to be with because half the time I'm laughing at something stupid she did that day! She's become one of my best friends. She has the best hair...it's so straight and I the world wonders how she manages to set it the way she does EVERYDAY! You're a freak Zara! Oh and today's her birth day..so happy birth day...and please get a new haircut, get destiny's child's new album...arghhh get a life! But seriously, I am completely incomplete without Zara. Sometimes when I sit and think about the near future, I wonder how I'll survive after we part ways...Zara's taught me to be simple and open-minded, to always look on the bright side, to not get upset over trivial things and to shut up when it really matters.Thanks for putting up with me Zara. You'll always be one of those people I'll remember when I'm eighty.

Jovairia Awan

"Dupattey ka palu idehr ka udher hai" Jovaria's title at the farewell and she sure as hell lives up to it. JAA! I love this girl to bits. Jovairia and I won't see each other for days but when we do we'll talk as if there wasn't an interruption of the few seven-eight days. We don't need that whole social drama of calling each other up all the time or hugging each time we meet. We get along wonderfully despite that. I love her even more so 'cause she always has an ear for my theories no matter how disgusting (ahem ahem fart anyone?) JA's one of the coolest people I have had the fortune of meeting. She's downright attractive and she looks gorgeous in black! Damn, that sari! was hot! She's got this bold side to her. She'll be the only girl in Beacon with the her eyes lined with thick black eyeliner. She's got a creative mind. She's improved loads since I saw her Art stuff the last time. I'll remember you Jovairia. You are seriously one of those people who can do whatever they set their mind to. I'm not just saying it, I've seen you do it :)

Taimoor Leghari

He's a great guy - just don't get too close. Zehra, Taimoor, Ammar and I have done the stupidest things during our Economics and Business classes (remember the laetter, humari bechari shakeela aunty and the cousin meetings?) It was the only thing that kept us from falling asleep during those classes.

He has a unique sense of humor (read very very lame). He's one of those self obsessed so called 'rockers' who think every girl wants him - but Taimoor takes it to a whole new level - he thinks guys want him too. He has these weird mood swings: one second he'll be going 'daffa ho' and the next he'll be writing down lyrics of his favorite tunes. Tipu is a talented artist type banda. He might be an intimidating sight, with his wild hair to this aggressive air that one gets from him, but he isn't really. Some people from A levels will remember him as Taimoor the shoda, Taimoor the daku or Taimoor the marasi..I shall always remember him as Taimoor the friend. Honest. 

Zarak Khan

I have no idea what Zahra is talking about down below because Zarak is definately not adorable! Infact far from it. He's a pathan's pathan: short tempered and rude. In school, he wouldn't talk to me for weeks if I threw his bag (IF YOU COULD CALL THAT LUMP OF FILTH A BAG!) off the benches! Which only made me do it more often of course. He also broke my fifth pair of glasses and didn't talk to me for a week! I MEAN YOU BROKE MY GLASSES AND GOT MY BAG DIRTY TOO! If anyone should've gotten mad, it should have been me! Koi logic hi nahi hai!

If you ever walked into beacon, saw a guy in a fist fight, it probably would have been Zarak. If the guy later started singing "dil dey diya haaai jaan tujhey deeein geey" then its definately Zarak! If you're still not sure, if the guy goes "shap att!" then congratulations..you've had your first conversation with Zarak. Even with all this crazyness, its been fun. He can be funny and it's been a rememorable year, this one. Will miss you.

Zohair Iqbal

The testimonial that he wrote for me is very special to me and  is the only reason I did not delete my Orkut profile. We wrote these for each other on the 8th of October 2005 at around 2 am and that was the last thing I ever heard from him. At 9 am, Margalla Towers collapsed during the earthquake taking Zohair's life.

Zohair is a crazy man. And when you give Zoahir a guitar what you get is utter madness! It's a lot of fun trying to figure out how to play the stupidest pop songs on the guitar and then singing them on the top of our lungs so much so that everyone in school has started thinking that we're insane! I hate Zohair because he has the lifestyle that everyone wants...no parents around to nag him, his own car, etc! And he cannot help rubbing that in everyone's faces every opportunity he gets. I have yet to see him get upset or angry about something. He's always in a good mood; always smiling; along with his bald head shining in the sunlight...and that sort of rhymes! He makes his own food and does his own laundry. And yes Zohair, you do not know how to rinse your uniform very well...it smells of detergent! Zohair, I have had the best time with you singing songs, making up our own stupid ones that we could only sing in a room full of deaf people, sharing ideas and just having fun. You're a special person.

Bissmah Mehmud

BISMILLAH-HIRAHMAN-NIRAHIM! Haha one can't help but introduce Bissmah like that..that or Maasi. You can take your pick. Bissmah drinks nine boxes of grape juice everyday. She follows 11th grade guys around in the scorching heat of the sun. She sits on the red benches for hours. She switches the fan off when she does her physics practicles.She has the best hairstyle...MUAHAHAHAH ok sorry, I shall not go into that story...although do ask her about it...very amusing...She's my biggest fan! She'll put a smile on a sad face cause she's so full of lame things to say that it gets funny after a while. Bissmah has been a synonym to the word 'Chuss' throughout our A levels and we thank you for that. 

Ahmed Durrani 

I don't write too well under pressure but I'm gonna try and write this anyway 'cause I'm too nice. (And beacuse Durrani held a gun againts my head) Everyone who doesn't know Durrani thinks of him to be this bad boy who thinks he's too cool for everyone else. In reality, he's the funniest when he warms up to you. He has the special ability to diss with a complete mortifying effect. You'd want the earth to just open up and swallow you. Trust me. It is that bad. Just don't diss him a lot or else you'll be left defenceless in the face of his razor sharp wits followed by cruel laughter.
I cherish the time we spent together. We managed to discuss more important issues like our current plans, hopes and future careers. Oh yes, he has a huge girl fan following in BMI-G.(Gun's still there.) He always looks trendy and in fashion.

Aneeqa Sarshar

Aneeqa's a brat! She's like one of your seven year old cousins who always mess up your room. She's so tiny, you don't see her coming. Aneeqa has enormous, magnified eyes, fly away, ginger hair and RED freckles.
A list of Aneeqa's favourites:
1.Her favorite topic of discussion is the'EYE' (yeah try reading between the lines all you want people, you'll never get what I mean).
2.Her favorite activity besides being A MAJOR PAIN IN MY ASS is taking people's shoes and throwing them in the middle of fields or dangling them on a pole (whatever more convenient).
3. Her favorite birthday present was the one I gave her of course.
Alright, the good stuff: She sings alright. She'll get better as she's picked up a few pointers from me. Erm,I dunno what all the fuss is about. I've known her for while She's alright.Naw, you rock midget! PS: stop terrorizing kids!

Zubaana Shafqaat

Zubana's the sweetest. She's a silent observer. She has the most grounded personality. She's friendly to the core and she has the most amazing shade of brown for her hair. She is the cutest and has the most adorable dressing sense.

If you want to be in on the latest gossip, run to Zubana. If you happen to be the one the gossip's about: RUN FAR AWAY FROM ZUBANA. Trust me, the world will know in about five seconds of your confession.

Zubana, I know you'll miss me the most when we leave Beacon ( you say it often enough :D) but I'm gonna miss you too. Where else am I gonna find someone who starts every sentence with "Did you know what happened..."

She's the babe of the present batch. You've been so much fun to hang out with. Your parties, the free lessons in school, to checking out potential in Beacon (conclusion: we're the only potential it has!). Haha. We've done it all. Will remember you when I'm in my fancy-ass uni and you're still stuck in Beacon! Haha. Luv ya.

 Daanish Qureshi

Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me? :D Right back at you Daanish! Thanks for ruining my yearbook! Daanish; our resident Joey. I'll send you a 'razayee' on your birthday :D (God, you did crack me up with that one! lol) I shall miss singing with you Danny boy. Humara duet cha gaya tha! Gonna miss you loads. You're one of the most original, problem free people I know.

And Daanish, STOP TALKING TO PEOPLE ABOUT FARTING! IT'S FREAKING THEM OUT. Not me though. We will write a book together about that. The masses need to be educated. And write a song about it too. "smelly fart smelly fart why do you smell the way you do?" Will miss you.

ps: hot cross buns! hahaha

pps: I still have to sign yours.

Yearbook! The yearbook, you pervs! What were you thinking!

Amna Waheed

Amna's down to earth most of the time but when it comes to a little embarassment, she can be downright violent. Amna, you do embarass easily. She can be uptight at times. But then again so are the best of us. One can be drawn to her kind-hearted eyes not knowing that they conceal a wicked sense of humour. And wicked she can be. But then her concious takes over and she's back to sensible Amna. She may seem reserved and quite but she is quite the opposite when she warms up to you and one should consider yourself lucky when you get there. If things don't turn out her way she cries at the top of her lungs (that was for everyone who thought she was mature!) Her inner beauty shines through like a beacon.
 Amna's an amazing friend (cliche coming up): she is friendly and full of life.

Life is a cup of bad coffee.

Sometimes I feel like I have so much to say that when I get to it, I'll really let them have it but when I actually get to it, I decide I really don't have anything to say that hasn't already been said fifty thousand times before. Will fifty thousand and one times really make a difference? Right, thought so.

As you go through life, you learn a lot of things - and unlearn a lot too. One of these is that silence is necessary - especially when you're being pressured to speak out for various reasons. One of the most common will be to get a reaction out of you. I, two years ago, would have probably done exactly that - react loudly. But, like I said, you grow up - sometimes in a couple of weeks. Or maybe it takes you as many as 730 days to wake up and smell the coffee. But after 730 days, you know for sure that it smells bad and that's not how you want it. At least you know that much beyond any doubt. Still, knowing something is bad for you provides little comfort doesn't it? What do you do next? You're used to the bad coffee for so long, draining it into the sink will require some strength - besides lots of other things.

The best you can do is drain it away and throw away anything associated with it. If it wanted revenge for being drained away, the way it made you feel would probably be revenge enough.The coffee will never know, but it has affected you in ways it can't even imagine.  How can it? It's not real. It doesn't feel. It doesn't have a heart. It's just lying there waiting to be used by someone else. And used it will be.

You will try to forget and one day, maybe you will forget. But you will never forgive the bad taste it left in your mouth.

Grey.

The sky is grey, the sand is grey, and the ocean is grey. I feel right at home in this stunning monochrome, alone in my way. I smoke and I drink and every time I blink I have a tiny dream. But as bad as I am I'm proud of the fact that I'm worse than I seem. What kind of paradise am I looking for? I've got everything I want and still I want more. Maybe some tiny shiny thing will
wash up on the shore. You walk through my walls like a ghost on tv. You penetrate me and my little pink heart is on its little brown raft floating out to sea. And what can I say but I'm wired this way and you're wired to me, and what can I do but wallow in you unintentionally? What kind of paradise am I looking for? I've got everything I want and still I want more. Maybe some tiny shiny key will wash up on the shore. Regretfully, I guess I've got three simple things to say: Why me? Why this now? Why this way? Overtone's ringing, undertow's pulling away under a sky that is grey and sand that is grey by an ocean that's grey. What kind of paradise am I looking for? I've got everything I want and still I want more. Maybe some tiny shiny key will wash up on the shore.

College pt 1

Rania rushed up the stairs clutching her books tightly in one arm; her scarf flying in a dark blur behind her. She was late for class again. She found it impossible to leave the warmth of her bed on such December mornings.

 She checked her cell phone for time. Ten minutes late already. Shit! Just as she looked up, she saw her friend Adnan approaching. She bent her head lower and quickened her pace for Adnan always felt like he had something to say and said nothing.  

“Rania! Class? Late?”

Of course he would spot her given her luck.

“No Adnan I just like running up these stairs with this brick of a book, it’s good exercise”

“Uh...Making fun of me again Rania”

“What? No, I’m serious. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing than running up these damn stairs at 9 in the morning”

“Okay, okay stop. Come have chai after class”

But she was already running and he had to shout over his shoulder at her.

Adnan was a sweet guy but he was as annoying as he was sweet. He was incredibly shy which usually left him tongue tied in front of people he didn’t know – especially girls. He often made uncomfortable conversation which just made him feel awkward and so he usually kept to himself. Adnan, however, had no problem talking to Rania and wasn’t necessarily a good thing because most of what he said didn’t really make sense to her. She wasn’t entirely sure how they became friends – maybe it was their mutual interest in The Beatles. He was usually the butt of most of the jokes because he didn’t realize what was going on but Rania would tell others to let him be. Maybe I’m too nice she thought and shuddered, who’d have thought?

She received a text message from her best friend Hamza which read: The Fatty is pissed. He won’t mark your attendance. You’re dead if you try entering the class muhaha

She could not afford to miss this class because she had to submit her assignment. She held her breath and opened the door to her class.

“Fifteen minutes late! Why can’t you people take your classes seriously? If I can be on time, so can you”

He was one of those annoying old fat farts who lectured about everything under the sun other than finance – which is what he was there to teach. Annoying Old Fart’s belly usually entered the room first – it was more swollen and bloated than any pregnant woman most students claimed they had ever seen.

“Sorry sir” she mumbled.

“What did you say?”

“She said sorry sir,” Hamza called out from the back of the class.

Idiot!

“Aap kia commentary kern eke liye bethey hain class mein? Woh bhi chappal pehen ke! This is against the dress code! Get out! Both of you! NOW!”

Rania knew better than to argue so she just left quietly. Hamza followed closely behind her laughing.

“Laugh all you want now that we’re both failing the course!”

“If I fail, it will solely be because of my foot gear”

They both looked at each other and burst out laughing. After catching his breath, Hamza asked, “Chai?”

“Adnan is saving me a cup”

“What?! Is he approaching? Where is he? Should we run for cover? Let’s hide in the library Rania”

“Knock it off!  You are so immature...we can’t have chai in the library”

“Did someone say Adnan’s approaching? Hide me!” They were joined by their friend Zainab.

Zainab was the smartest girl in university with a ridiculously witty sense of humour that Rania had instantly loved. She was also incredibly helpful and Rania could swear that she had tutored almost the entire college during her time there – everyone came to her for help.

“Adnan alert! Adnan Alert!” Sharyar came running out of the cafe signaling them all to walk in the other direction. They all turned around but Rania slapped Zainab and Hamza’s arms and they grudgingly started walking toward the cafeteria again.

“Sherry you know I love you but you have to be the most obnoxious person I know,” Rania said rolling her eyes.

Sherry just smiled shamelessly in response. He was the most laid back out of all her friends. He loved few things in life: girls, Sound Garden and weed. He was really cool and he looked it with his unruly, shoulder length hair, rock music t-shirts and the tiny stud in his left ear.

Rania looked around to find an empty table and spotted Adnan sitting with Ali in a booth at the far end of the cafeteria. As the group approached, Ali who was looking dazed smiled with relief.

“So where’s our chai Adnan?” asked Zainab as she sat down, “I need some high dosage of strong tea before I step into MBR”

“I’ll just get it for you Zainab...Rania you too right? Okay”

“Thank you for that. If I had to listen to another word of incoherent mumbling, I’d be driving back to Gulshan...”

Suddenly Hamza recoiled next to Rania and she turned to see that he had been elbowed by none other than Neha. Neha was tiny and extremely hyper; you never saw her coming. She managed to slide in next to Hamza and said sweetly, “What’s wrong?”

Hamza groaned and everyone laughed. The first classes for the day had ended and the cafeteria started to get crowded.

As the group waited for their chai, the level of activity and chaos increased. Early morning hellos were exchanged loudly across the cafe. Sleepy students dragged their feet noisily to get a bottle of water to go or wait in line for their turn for chai.

Unoccupied chairs were dragged – and some occupied ones too, books were slammed down on tables creating big piles as conversation flowed in and got louder. Amidst the crowd of students stumbling in, the group spotted their friends; the Ahmed brothers.

Bilal Ahmed had a cool stride and shook hands and waved at acquaintances. He wore what he usually wore – his blue and red plaid shirt, faded jeans and a genuine smile. He was one of those people everyone liked instantly. He was funny and the best guitarist around for miles.

Osamah Ahmed was the elder one and he was just as talented. He had strong opinions about some things and sometimes one-on-one conversation with him got too intellectual for everybody else but he was one of the first friends Rania had made at university. He was also known to be very moody.

“Dih guys. Wad’s up?” Osamah always had a cold – it could be the boiling month of June but Osamah came with a cold. His nose was always red and peeling because of the poor quality, pink tissue he used. At times, Rania had urges to grab some Vaseline from Zainab’s purse and dip his nose into it. His poor nose was practically screaming, “MOISTURIZE ME!” but the dude didn’t notice.

“I’m gonna get you a friend egg. Did you have breakfast?” Neha asked sweetly.

“Doh..I’m fine”

“I wouldn’t mind one myself. Let’s go get some Neha”

Bilal and Neha returned a few minute later with Bilal’s breakfast. As Bilal chatted to a few friends who walked upto the groups’ table, Osamah sunk into the booth with a surly look on his face and didn’t participate in the conversation taking place at the table. He looked uncomfortable and finally with a scowl he turned to his brother and said, “Unda khao, undey ki boo aa rahi hai”

“Haan, added to the Osamah ki boo” Bilal quipped back and everyone laughed. Osamah slid in lower in his booth and Neha elbowed him playfully. The cafeteria started emptying out as students headed to their classes; the second session for the day.

A month later.

I realize it's almost been a month since my last post and I miss writing here. It's the only place I can say whatever the hell I want to without really caring about what someone on the receiving end will say - not that I'd normally ever care what anyone would say. As long as I get my word in. 

The past month has been pale compared to the previous WC months (Pakistan's tour of West Indies is terribly boring) so not much cricket for the time being. Also, I was a little worried about the IELTS exam - mainly because the practice material had been lying with me for weeks and I hadn't even touched the stuff. So it left me with some nervous tummy aches (and farts) and just the overall apprehension before an exam. I looked through the material just the night before and practiced the listening section hours before at a friend's. Time management is important - specially during the reading section. Anyway, the exam was fine. My favorite part was the writing section where the topic was music - I couldn't have asked for a more comfortable topic to write on. I might've enjoyed that. Okay. I enjoyed it a lot. There. I'm an IELTS nerd. 

Gyming  has been reduced to three or four days a week - somehow, even though I am doing absolutely nothing these days, I end up not being home. Through no fault of my own..and end up missing the gym. It really is a terrible feeling; the feeling of guilt. I am going to try to be as regular as i was before that is 5-6 days a week. Also, if my mom would have it her way, she wouldn't let me go at all. Usually I rush out of sight and out the door with her yelling in the background along the lines of: "Shakal dekho apni! kitni dubli ho gayi ho bus ker do ab!" I don't know why but moms seem to be on this mission bestowed upon them by God to feed their daughters parathas, pooris, halwas, naans and everything else that makes you gain 800 calories after you're done eating it. But, my mom is awesome. She is more like a close friend who I can share almost anything with. I've seen some mother-daughter relationships where daughters aren't comfortable enough to share stuff with their moms - which is such a shame. When I'm confused - she'll say out loud how I really feel and I'll realize that she's right. Also, I gossip with my mom about people I know..my sister finds it weird but it's a blast really. There are few people who I really open up to and mom probably tops that list.

I've been working on this short story..but I've been if-y about whether or not I'd share it - but oh well who cares I think I will. I hope I keep myself committed to this thing and keep blogging.

Already, Pakistan?

Writing this down is probably the hardest thing in the world. Maybe a week or two weeks from now, it wouldn't have been this hard but I feel like this needs to be done now. Just a day ago, we were all so happy to see that Shahid Afridi cut out on main Shara-e-faisal but last night, after the biggest semi final any sports event has seen in recent times, its legs were cut off and later this afternoon, it disappreared altoghether. Now, I would like to believe here that this is not the attitude and thoughts of most Pakistanis; this absolutely must not be our take on what happened. 


Words cannot describe what the last month has been for me. I have felt so much in these 30 days. If something made me unhappy or upset or when I felt like there was absolutely no hope in anything else, I would think, "Yaar, cricket to hai na!" I knew I could switch on the tv at 2pm and watch cricket and forget about everything else. 


On a bigger level, have we ever seen our nation united about anything else like this before? Have you forgotten already how much we've enjoyed this tournament and how many memories the cricket team has created for us? The face paints, the sea of green on the streets, the jerseys, the naarey baazi, the patriotic quotes and facebook status updates, the match screenings,  the bhangra at every wicket taken by the Pakistani team, the green nail polish, the patriotic songs all of us hadn't transferred to our ipods and cell phones in a long time, the heavy discussions, predictions, opinions, the healthy competitve jokes with our Indian friends? I have enjoyed every bit of it. And for this, we have to thank the eleven men who made it happen. Let's face it, without cricket and the way the team performed, we wouldn't have had as much fun as we did during this time. They got this far when no one expected them to and for this, I still support Team Pakistan and Pakistan cricket. 

Voodoo child

Life is a funny thing. Sometimes, you feel like there's bird poo all over you and any where you look, more bird poo is is thrown over your head. And this is no ordinary bird poo either; it's like the pigeon poo in texture but it's much bigger in size. The size of, say, a monkey's fist. So it's kind of like a paste of pigeon poo thrown at you like snowballs. And it keeps on coming. It's like you're walking in Trafalgar Square and it's raining poop! So anyway, while you're bathing in yellow, life shows you something else. You see a pathway. This pathway is green with grass that's fresh and it smells like an old friend. It's also comfortable and you enjoy walking on it..you know sometimes when you sit in your lawn or in a park, you feel comfortable and glad that you did sit in your lawn, rather than the couch in front of a TV, after four years or so. So you get the feeling I'm talking about. So you walk very slowly, savoring the feeling of the freshly manicured and familiar blades of grass; it's that feeling of walking down memory lane: bittersweet. You may even smile and cherish the moment - for you know, it won't last forever. But it's nice to know that that grassy pathway will be around when you need it.