Sex. Pakistan. Women?..

Its funny funny stuff that I am seeing around me. I also read this Newsline article but I never bothered finishing it cause it was just that awful. I hate stereotypes and cliches and this is all there was to it.
I was a late bloomer and I didnt know anything about sex until I was 16. It was in college that I was "educated" by my dear friends, amidst a ton of giggles and dirty jokes. I had by the time already figured out bits and pieces. I came home, asked my Khala. She heard my side of it and answered my questions. My Khala is not a hoitty-toitty, Gucci and LV wearing sort. She's a house wife and just another mom. Traditional yet liberal. She didnt make a big deal out of it and also laughed at a few of my concepts. She didnt scare me or tell me that I should be ashamed of it or not ask any questions. It was just a normal thing.

I was strictly required to keep a distance from my male cousins and friends, but that was only in the physical context. I was still allowed to hang with my male cousins and friends. The only thing my mother stressed on was maintaining a physical distance. Yes, at that time I found that to be very embarrasing more than anything but now I understand her reasons. Simple.

I have been asked about my virginity and I find that to be a very intrusive question. I choose not to answer that one. I think it's my business and that's that! I don't ask anyone about their sex life until its a very close friend and well, ... if she wants to discuss... Yes, I crack jokes about sex. They are funny.. but no, i dont do that with ever Tom, Dick and Harry ( no pun intended..)

As far as romantic relationships are concerned I have never had to experience any form of pressure on that front. No boy tried to convince me or pressurize me into doing some thing I wasn't comfortable with. They all respected my boundaries and my comfort level.

I am sexually liberated but I am not a hippie. I don't believe in "free love", and "Sex is a natural phenomenon and shouldnt be denied and repressed", I think me jumping every pretty-boy-ass I see would result in a disaster rather than happiness and joy. I don't think me deciding to hang on to my hymen is anyone's business. Also at the same time I think there is way more to a person than their virginity. I also believe that, just like the rest of the world, in Pakistan people have all kinds of sexual preferances and that yes, generally we don't like to talk about it in the open but that doesn't mean that we are uneducated in that area or we are repressed. Its just a comfort thing and no more!

Mommy Love

Me and Didi (my mom) have that kinda mother-daughter relationship where most of our conversations are high-pitched, and consist of screaming and shouting. We are very different in the way we perceive life and everything which comes with it. We are a lot like each oher in our conflict resolution methodology; we scream and loose our tempers easily. I've seen my friends and my cousins being completly horrified by such scenes, which pretty much everyone around us have witnessed. The mother-daughter bitch-fest happens to be quite scandalous for most of them. I don't remember losing a nights sleep over our issues. They had permanent residence in my everyday life and if I started feeling bad about my behaviour or how she was not agreeing with me, I would have had a nervous breakdown by now. For sure!

but yesterday she called me to discuss my mayoun details and we ended up having a fight. I was with a friend who was obviously disturbed by it. I forgot about it after five minutes.

...and then I went back home and my sister told me how she had taken Amma to the hospital. Recently she had started getting these boils which looked like a folliculitis infection, all the time. So the doctor told her how it wasn't that but how she wasn't well and that it was all related to tension. The tension she had from my upcoming wedding. The tension she had from making sure I had every single thing one could think of putting in a kitchen. The tension from thinking of new colors for the rest of the dowry clothes she was making. The tension she had of worrying about the budget and making sure I had everything. My sister gave her a lecture on how she was being insane and that considering I wasnt very into the whole dowry and shadi thing anyway, she needn't do everything that she was doing while driving herself completly insane with all the worrying, the dowry-accumulating process required. and you know what she said?..

She said that when she got married due to the circumstances under which she got married (long story, for another time...maybe) she didn't have a lot of furniture and things. The house she went to after she got married had a bed, a table and a few chairs and a lot of emptiness. She told my sister how hard it was considering she was coming from a house which had every single thing... and so she didnt want me to have that tainted early-marriage days. She didnt want that I be living in an empty house or asking my in-laws ( who will be living upstairs from me) for kitchen ware and stuff all the time. She wanted me to be happy. And so it didnt matter that I wasn't supportive or appreciative of it all and that I was still giving her a tough time and that I was still throwing tantrums and all that. It was okay as long as I was happy.

So now I have a heavy heart... and guilt...and a ton of sadness. For all the times I came late. For all the times I wore inappropriate clothes (according to her, mind you) . For all the times I screamed at her and said mean stuff. For every single time I was a disappointment ( which comes out to an approximate  3,4 times a day..) ..and For myself cause I will not get to take love forgranted the way I have had the leisure to do so all my life.

Unconditional and Selfless Love is gonna be a once-a-week thing instead of being there all the time.

Morbid Innocence ....

In my Social Studies class, back in 8th grade we used to do this weekly assignment, where the teacher would give us numbers and then that night we had to watch the PTV news and note down the headline corresponding to that number. Next day in class we had to talk about that specific headline and conduct a mini-discussion.

Now sometimes some kid would forget to note it down. Sometimes the entire class would forget. Such were the ways of me and my friends, back in the day.

...and I used to have a very simple ass-saving formula for this.

I used to always write about sucide bombs in Palestine. Since almost everyday there was one. It was like a little joke. People killed in Kashmir and Suicide bombings in Palestine happened everyday. You could bet on it.

..and now when I see bomb news on CNN, I can't stop and wonder if that's what my country has become for the rest of the world. Something they change the channel on... "just another bomb blast in Pakistan"..

...and that kills me.

Lazy winter mornings...aaah

Having a career is great. Being driven for 'more' is awesome too. Not to forget, them business suits; now that's some serious cut-throat sexy!

but there are days, when there's winter breeze blowing outside and the sun is out, shining. I can imagine me in my jammies, lazing out in the garden. Eating breakfast, full of cheese and cream and maple syrup. Contemplating watching a movie in my bed, or reading a book in the sun... or maybe a pedicure.

and then taking a nap cause all the thinking would be the most stressful thing I would be doing all day and I would need some rest.

and on days like that... I almost don't see anything wrong with a life sans business suits, blackberries and outlook.

Photograph, taken from here

'Something' to write about ...

There's something about a Man who tells a girl she's beautful when she hasn't taken a shower in ten days. Knowing she has been crapping water for days and has a body covered with she-fuzz, he still tells her...

...and gives her a foot massage even when her feet are dirty..and let's her win in wrestling every time...

...and picks her up like she's a bag of potatoes but then puts her down gently...and laughs along with her when she's laughing at him... and forgives her everytime she fucks up...and understands that she's damaged goods but still loves her like she's brand new.

There's something about such a Man...

Its the same Man, who holds back the hair from her woman's face when she's puking her gutts out. The very same man, who makes that woman forget all the wrongs she did in her life, cause she got this one thing right.

..and that something is what makes me so crazy in love with you, my darling

...and makes me want to not go home without you.

...and puts a smile on my face a gazillion times a day.

POP!...

...Goes another of my childhood bubbles!

Enid Mary Blyton

(11 August 1897 – 28 November 1968)

To each his own...

Nothing about that idiom is hard to grasp,eh?

What is it that people find so hard about the concept of 'Personal liberty' and 'freedom of choice'? Why is it that Man has found water on moon, but liberty still sounds like an urban myth? Its the 21st century and still there is a need for me to be sitting here, writing about this when I could be comfortably sipping my tea and worrying about bomb blasts and terrorism?

Think of a day when you wake up and just be able to 'be'.

To wear the clothes you want to wear. To study at the school of your choice. To work in the job you have been dreaming of all your life. Be whatever you want to be.

A day when you don't have to worry about upsetting your parents or scandalizing your peers.

A day when the frustrations in your life are all yours and not ones, which were handed to you, gift-wrapped by Mama, Papa.

A day where you roll down the window, sit hanging from it, getting wet in the rain, without having people brand you as a slut.

A day when you can be. No questions asked.

A Few of My favorite things...

I have seen 'The Sound of Music' a million times atleast. All my childhood I was singing Do-re-me, Sixteen going on Seventeen, So Long, Farewell...

Loved every single thing ... Could never decide which Von Trapp kid was my Favorite ...

It is one of those movies whice everyone should definitly watch.

Now I have another reason why its still up there, in my list of ' a few of my favorite things'




So wrong, in such a delightfully so-right way =)

Blogging Shockers

Its things like this which make Blogging oh-so-fucking-awesome.

Click on image to see it more clearly.

You've been tagged...

Everyone whose reading; You have been tagged and you better respect that =D

also leave the link in the comments section.


1. You can ONLY answer Yes or No!
2. You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages or comments
you and asks!

Now, here's what you're supposed to do... And please do not spoil the Fun. Copy and paste this into your notes , delete my answers, type in your answers and tag as many of your friends as you'd like to.

Then see what happens

Fallen asleep at work/school? YES.YES.YES

Held a snake? NO!

Ran a red light? yesh

Kissed anyone one of your Facebook friends? Yes

Been arrested? No.

Kissed someone you didn't like? no!

Slept in until 5 PM? yesh!

Been suspended from school? YES

Totaled your car/motorbike in an accident? no

Been fired from a job? no

Sang karaoke? Yes

Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? *sigh* ... Yes

Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? haha.. yes

Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Yes

Kissed in the rain? No

Sang in the shower? yes

Sat on a rooftop? yes

Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes? YES

Broken a bone? No

Shaved your head? no

Blacked out from drinking? no

Played a prank on someone? yes

Felt like killing someone? yes

Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? Ohhh yess

Been in a band? no

Shot a gun? no

Tripped on mushrooms? Yes

Donated Blood? no

Eaten crocodile meat? no

Eaten cheesecake? yes

Think about the future? YES

Believe in love? yes

Sleep on a certain side of the bed? yes

Do you think I should try "Unconciousness" now?..

In 2006-09 we have lost around 10,000 lives in Pakistan due to various acts of terrorism*

You know how people often say "I have blocked that out"... referring to some all-time-heavy, bad-ass, painful memory which they like to not think about.

Yeah, so I dont do that... I can't .... Or maybe I can... Just never tried it out.

However I do have this place. Deeeep inside my conciousness. So deep, that place is that it can also be referred to as an almost-sub-conciousness.

I normally visit it when I am womanscaping my...whatsthewordforvajajayIcanuseandmaybenotembarrasmybrotherincasehereadsthis ...she-garden???... Other then that I can't think of anytime when I needed to go there ever.

Now I do. Everyday.

I somehow can't think of a better way to deal with all thats happeneing. The blasts are everywhere.

Newspapers. Blogs. TV. Random conversations in the office kitchen. E mails. SMS's

I hate doing that random head-google I do, everytime I hear about a blast.... Who lives there?.. Is he okay?... Does Bestfriend273621 live in recentlybombedplace in lahore?..

I hate sending the head-count sms's.

I hate that traffic jams make me nervous.

I hate that I switch the channel when I hear blast news.

I hate that I felt guilty about partying on Halloween.

I hate that the other day I thought twice before posting a comment on my friend's profile. I became edgy right after I typed ''Have a blast''...

...and yeah that place. Its not really working like it did before ...

Who could have thought something could hurt more than that!



*Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Violence_in_Pakistan_2006-09

One, Two...Fifteen...Hundred?

Do we say yes to one, out of need?...

I have been in love, more than once. I have been in like quite a few times. I have had many crazy crushes...and by that I mean, bat-shit crazy crushes.

I have had bat-shit-crazy crushes turn in to "like'' and then into ''friendship'' and then into ''love''...

...and from all that I have experienced, I have come to the conclusion that monogamy is more of a need than it is human nature. Human nature is to reproduce and for that purpose it is not biased. I do not think monogamy comes naturally.

Its just a need.

Its a need because human beings are also very jealous. So we tend to stay monogamous as to avoid complications in our romantic relationships.

Also I think we would all be rather fucked up if our parents gave in to their polygamous , promiscuous sides. Although, to be honest me and my siblings turned out perfectly normal with two Momma-dears instead of the normal 'one', but that is beside the point.

So end of the day, the concept of "the one" is just their to sell Hallmark cards, Movie tickets and Popcorn.

There are plenty. Not just one.

And in a perfect world, where people did not get jealous and kids could grow up to be normal, balanced and productive human beings irrespective of how many partners were there parents juggling, I think we would all be leading much interesting lives. Full of late night booty calls and fiery "firsts"...

Live-traffic and fellow bloggers

This map widget is interesting.

Before when i wrote, I just did it. Wrote. Without thinking about who would be reading it and what would they be thinking of me?...

Until I got this live-traffic widget.

There's a certain someone who reads my blog from Tanzania. He or She is probably the only one out of the entire continent of Africa.

..and Canadians dont like me much. I mean more people from US of A or Europe read my blog than them.

...and the South Americans. They are like so not aware of me. Until recently i had like no blip on that continent... then someone from Brazil discovered me.

... Someone from Afghanistan was reading my blog just the other day.

I wonder who they are? .. What did they think about my blog?.. Did they laugh, cry, smile, shake their heads?...

But the Tanzania dude/ - ette I am majorly curious about.

...When war becomes a possibility.

It was the after-dinner time, and my family was lazing around when we heard a blast.

and another one

and another one

and another one

and another one

By this time we stopped counting, wore shoes and were out on the street...

and so was every single person from our neighbourhood. The kids, the parents, the grandparents, the servants, the odd guests ... everyone was on the street.

and you could hear panic. The odd "Allah reham" (God, Have mercy) or "Allah-u-Akbar" (God is great)

We called our brothers, who live close by.. and they were as confused as we were ..

Nothing was being shown on the TV initially ... after a while one channel ran a "Rawalpindi may dhamakay" (blasts in Rawalpindi)

but no details ....

Everyone was freaking out. We were calling people. People were calling us. My mom was shaking. We thought it was a war, cause there had been at least 8,9 blasts...

It was half an hour before we found out that those weren't blasts. Those were cannon shots to honor the visiting Turkish PM.

Fucking cannon shots!

An Ode to All the about-to-be-Married

He is a raconteur

His eyes tell tales

Anecdotes and Stories

Of times I dont know of and never will

He is a minstrel

His voice tells tales

Without saying anything.

Of things I dont understand and I never will

He is a magician
His aura tells tales
Full of unholy things and passionate nights
Of happenigs which I haven't experienced and I never will

He is a raconteur, a minstrel and a magician

Whose not mine

and never will be

Bubbly: A story of identity exploitation

In a small town, in another age, there lived a girl, with a fiery outlook and crazy curls.

She jumped and hopped and screamed and shouted and laughed a crazy laugh. Such was her life.

Everyone had to say a lot about her, but most of the time, the one word they chose for her was 'Bubbly'.

They all thought she would live like that! a big happy life. In their defense, there was no reason to think otherwise.

Growing up she learnt a lot of lessons.

Lessons of forgiving.

Lessons of loving.

Lessons of being the bigger person.



Until she met a boy.

Who she couldn't forgive, who she couldn't stop loving and who took away the bigger-ness from her.

But somehow the jumps got higher, the hopping became bouncier, the screaming got screech-ier, the shouting became more frequent, and the laughs became louder.

...and people continued believing that she was 'bubbly'.

Tum Itna Jo Muskura Rahe Ho

Kya Gham Hai Jisko Chhupa Rahe Ho

Aankhon Mein Nami, Hansi Labon Par

Kya Haal Hai Kya Dikha Rahe Ho

Ban Jayenge Zehar Peete Peete

Yeh Ashq Jo Piye Ja Rahe Ho

Jin Zakhmon Ko Waqt Bhar Chala Hai

Tum Kyon Unhe Chhedhe Ja Rahe Ho

Rekhaon Ka Khel Hai Muqaddar

Rekhaon Se Maat Kha Rahe Ho

Tum Itna Jo...

How "Sweet Dreams" caused me Nightmares!

I read this Sweet Dreams book when I was 14,15.

...and I remember I cried and I cried. Read it many times.

There's something very sub-continentish about our ideals about love. The concept of pleasure in pain; The pain we experience from love lost. We romanticize about it. We find baykhudi in hijer. Our self-actualization doesn't start until someone comes and literally kicks us in our metaphorical balls. We love drama and tragedy. Happy endings are just not for us.

May ishq-e-kainat may zanjeer ho sakoun

Mujh ko Hasar-e-zaat kay sher say rehaiee day

So we read Meer-Dard, Mir, Ghalib, Faiz,
and we wait to be torn apart.
The Joy we find, in the misery we experience. All in the name of love.


So my 14 year old heart was touched. When Paul Strobe (the hero of P.S I Love Yoy, Book No 1, in the SweetDreams series) died, I could almost not bear the suffering of Mariah...and at the same time I dreamt of loving like that. Uncontrollably.

Hakh!


Uncontrolable love.

Hijer


Mehboob ki aankhain, Mehboob ki zulfain

Somebody should have intervened. Told me how that stuff drives a person bat-shit crazy.
To the point where making a coherent argument seems equivalent to climbing Everst on an empty stomach...and how you loose your self respect. Your ego. Your dignity.

How you become bitter. Or the way pop culture sees it, you develop "commitment issues"...

How you talk about the power of positive energies and optimism, yet you know that you see everything more critically. Deep down inside you become a cynic and you remain one.

That stuff, "that thing called Love"... its not what dreams are made of. Its what makes up a Nightmare!

Islamic University Blasts.

Two blasts in Islamic University, one in the girl's campus and the other in the boy's..1 girl killed, with many being injured.

this one hits really really close. I went to IIUI back in 2002.

Someone bombed a school.

this is just sick. plain, simple sick!

OverLoad's Pichal Pairee and my all-over-the-place album review

Overload comes out with their second offering "Pichal Pairee", which surprisingly is available for download ...

Hailing from Lahore, they are primarily a Rock band, but if I had to be more specific I would classify them as a Bhangra Rock band .... and yes, I just coined that.

Meesha's vocals will flirt with you; The music, the guitaring, the drums, the dhool , will unashamedly seduce you. Woe you. Charm you. I wanna wear a big frilly skirt, open my hair and go wild alternating between headbanging and doing bhangra. The music is stimulting in oh-so-many-ways, both right and wrong.

So i think everyone should check it out.

The Official Overload Website

Having said all that, I saw them perform back in April. Since they had won an award for live performance, I had high expectations... and they did not come up to them. I hope they carry on working on their live act. They need to improve in that area.

My favorites: Saat Mein, Amjad Khan, Vichar Gaye and Dhol Bajaye ga.

Pichal Pairee is an interesting name, however the song wasn't all that... and neither was the video (minus the parts with the drummer in 'em)

Incase you're interested here it is

Disclaimer: My opinion might be a little biased. I had some major hots for Farhad Humayun (back from the Noori days). A suited dude, on drums can do that to you!

Lines, Lines...and some more lines.

So many lines I have crossed in the past few years.

Some with cart wheels, loud yippies and hurrays, weirdly stalked with post yippy-hurray sadness, yet there was a strong sense of accomplishment.

Some with heart break and tears.

Lines which divided love from indifference, life from death, post-teenage from adulthood.

The lines I couldn't wait to cross and lines I didn't even know existed until they did.

I have noticed there's this gravitational pull in those line-jumping moments. Your mind keeps going back to them. You keep reliving those memories. Nostalgia, as they call it. Shackles and chains is what comes to my mind.

The way I see it if its memories of loss, of pain or of sadness, then you keep getting hurt, again and again; the same disappointment, or at least some fraction of it haunts your days and your nights, leaving scars which grow deeper and deeper...

If its the memories of good times then you keep comparing the present with the past. Lust for that same thrill, that same high might drive you crazy but it never gets you anywhere good... Again you find yourself, knocking on that big-bad door of disappointment.

These lines.

I know if I have to cross even a few more, it wouldn't be long before I cross that one.

The one which divides sanity from insanity.

Hey you! Here's a Love song, just for you....

(Gringo, this one is dedicated to you)

It was after one of the long pauses. You were quiet, trying to find the right words .. or maybe cause you were hesitant.. and then you said

"Please don't hold it against me. but I can't live without you".

... and I was quiet. I understood the dichotomy of emotions. The hesitance and the love. The ugly beauty of it. You wanted to declare your love for me without paying the price for it. Putting up with the crap-side of romance, is not every one's cup of tea.

Long after you broke my heart and we were having one of our pretend-to-be-just-friends talk, I randomly asked you to make a blind promise... and I told you it wasn't going to be anything hard.

You said "I don't make promises".

"oh yeah, you don't".. I said with dripping sarcasm.

You laughed an unexplainable laugh and said "Shuker nahi kerti?'' (aren't you thankful for that)


My love, you just didn't get it.

...that love in itself is a promise. a promise wrapped in forever, sprinkled with unconditionality and total acceptance. Its a promise of complete, no-questions-asked forgiveness. If you feel it, you scream about it from the top of the hills and you whisper it to yourself, late at night. Love is the smile, you smile, when you're sleeping.

..but you just didn't get it

So I sit here, eons later... and I pray that may you live with that innocence, which smells of ignorance forever. May you never wake up in the middle of the night and rethink your life and your actions. May life always be a straight road for you; no curves, no bends. May you never feel sorrow. May you never ever experience the hurt of losing someone you loved ( my definition)...

May you never have to stop in your tracks and look back.

Yeh mera Pakistan hai, Yeh teray Pakistan hai?

I have wanted to write about this since forever.

Every second day I get a forwarded email. One day it will be addressed to the Muslim Ummah, asking them to stand-up and understand their 'place' in the world. (that of the international morality police?). Some days its about how muslims are being targetted all over the world, especially in the 'West'. During times when tensions with India are running high its videos of hindu extremists beating up muslim students, or some hindu Indian student giving out a patriotic speech, which in our part of the world means just yapping on racist and bitter comments about the 'neighbouring' country.

It all means the same thing. How today's muslims are tortured souls. Its just a We Vs them situation. They hate us. They want to bang our daughetrs, take our money and burn all copies of Quran. We will always be in a state of Jihad.

I find all this majorly repulsive, extremely high on hypocrisy, low on the spirit-of-Islam, rich with hate, bigotry and propoganda and utterly and completly void of the teachings of the Quran or Sunnah and not to mention, the biggest threat to Islam , there is.

This small incident comes to my mind. When we were young, we had christian servants. Once we had a few guests over who asked my mom, on the dinner table as to who had cooked the food. My mom told them that she had made the main dishes and how the servants made the chapattis. Then to our horror, they asked if there was any bread in the house, as they didnt eat food which was cooked by christians especially rotis as you touch it while you cook it. I can still hear the uncomfortable silence.

For me, on the risk of sounding pretentious, its very simple. I believe I have the right to live with respect and dignity, and that I have the freedom to make my own believes. I believe that I should have the freedom of speech and not be faced with bigotry or any form of discrimination from anyone based on the choices I make with respect to my life style. I believe I have the right to live in a just society, which is based on the humanitarian principles of equality, peace and love.

I dont think these rather simple and very universal concepts should be made available just for me. I believe every single person REGARDLESS of their ethnicity, religion, cast, race, language, social class, sexuality, political and social affinities etc has the same rights. No exceptions. No 'whats','buts' and 'ifs'. Every single human being under one umbrella.

Especially in Pakistan, the land of all things pure. We found this country on these very principles. We understood how it felt to be discriminated against. We sacrificed our lives, our families, our assets for this land because we believed in the importance of equality and justice.

Now the real slim shady please stand up and tell me how did we get from there to the Post-Blasphemy-Law Pakistan? To the Pakistan which allowed for Gojra and Shanthinagar incidents to take place? To the Pakistan which has, especially for the past 30 years, permitted ostracizing the Ahmadiayyas and robbed them of their basic rights?..

The Pakistan which could allow for the arrest of four innocent school going boys without even a pretense of justice, let alone a fair trial based on witnesses, proof, and .. a lil common sense?

Sometime back I caught this awesome show 'What would you do?' by ABC Primetime in which different mock situations are made and then through hidden camera the general reaction to those situations is recorded and later on discussed. They did a series of these on racism, and how people would react if they saw racism against Blacks, Latin Americans and Muslims etc. I am putting up the video, where a Muslim girl is denied services in a bakery, and the anchor, famous ABC correspondent John Quiñones then goes and questions different by standers about how they felt about the whole experience.



This video literally brought tears to my eyes, for a simple reason. No girl this age should be subjected to such cruelty. No one, for that matter deserves this kind of treatment.

Now if you show this video to the majority of our masses what will be the end result?

They will shake their heads, and cuss out the west and how the poor muslims have to put up with this kind of treatment everywhere.

Will this make them ever stop and rethink the way they treat the non-muslims around them?.. Does any of you know of a single Pakistani who is aware of the racism which exists in our own country? Against the Afghan refugees?..Against the Bangalies back in the 70's?.. The mahajirs?...The Shiates', Ahmadies, Ismailies, Qaddianies?...and what about the Hijras?

We as a nation really need to stop with this. Its weird how noone addresses how relevant this concept is, in today's Pakistan. How bad we need a serious reality check?

I remember the wave of repulsion I felt when I first heard the story of Mr Gul Masih. For those of you, who haven't

"In November of 1992, Gul Masih, a Christian, was sentenced to death after having remarked innocently about Mohammed’s marriages. His neighbor Mohammad Sajjad, a Muslim, had made a comment stating that the Virgin Mary must have been a prostitute. Masih, in turn, replied he had read "that Mohammed had 11 wives, including a minor." Sajjad decided to file charges against Gul Masih who was then sentenced to death.

It is notable that Gul Masih had made these remarks in a private conversation, without premeditation or any deep-seated malice, clearly without any political intent, yet received the death penalty. Gul Masih's comment had merely followed the remarks of Mohammed Sajjad, and were in keeping with the tone set by Sajjad. But while Sajjad was never charged with 'insulting' Gul Masih's Christian religion, Gul Masih's seemingly harmless and perhaps factually correct rejoinder had led him to a death sentence. "

Copy pasted from: http://members.tripod.com/~INDIA_RESOURCE/ifpakistan.html

It is time that we start doing something. (it was time a long time back, actually..maybe back in the 60's). If nothing else maybe talk to the people around us. Maybe start with a pinch of awareness and a dash of tolerance.

But something REALLY needs to be done!

Today.

its that time of the year again.

when I give myself the luxury of wallowing in the past. Lust for the times which can never be brought back.

I think about that one time. When i prayed for something crazily, the way only a 20 year old, in love for the first time, can... and about how he granted it....in that grand lavish way, only a God can; Making it all the more transcendent.

...and then taking it away like that too. Making an anecdote out of my entire life. My very first love.

I savour the flashbacks, which i play in slow motion. I have favorites.

Like this one time when we sat in the swing, behind your apartments and sang 'Can't take my eyes off you'.

...and the time we drove up to peersuhawa... there was nothing but just plain white snow all around. I was wearing chapals and it still didnt matter.

...or that one time when you talked me to sleep. You understood that i had to sleep and i had to ''not-hang-up'.

... or the million times you bought me Mentos and Big apple without me asking you.


...especially the time you surprised me on Valentine's. The corniness of it all. How you indulged me and graciously understood the romantic quirks and notions I held, you being my first love and me-being-me.

..but most of all, I keep replaying that last conversation we had. How mundane it was. How we had a mock argument about Scarlett Johansson. How you kept asking me to let you sleep and how i kept insisting on 'Friday night being an all-night-talking night'. How you told me that it was not Friday but Saturday. You had work on Saturday, na? I wonder if I had not talked to you for that long, maybe you would have left for work on time. Maybe you wouldn't have been inside. You weren't supposed to be at home.


...And the smile you smiled when I would do the "Saady, tum mujh say Saadi kero gay?''

So many of them ..

So today is the day when i go through my day, Half sniffling, half giggling. Today I let myself be the girl who worshipped you. Today I let myself be miserable and I let myself have another portion of my heart fizzle out. Today I let myself feel all that I had stopped feeling, some intentionally and some unintentionally, after you were gone.


Just for today.

Saad Iqbal

Died: October 8th, 2005

I am walking ... and walking some more

Not knowing your destination doesn’t suck all that much. No matter which road you take, you’ll get there one way or another.

Definitely, doesn’t suck at all…

A Slip of Tongue...

Diana Dors was a English actress from the "Elizbeth Taylor,Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly' Era. She was one of the many stereotypical blonde bomb shells, "Uk's answer to Marilyn", who made it big, thanks to dye-jobs, and what-their-momma's-gave-em.

(For the record, She was an original and she slam-dunked the blonde bimb thing long before Marilyn, its just MM shot to fame before Diana got the chance)

Now Diana's real name was Diana Fluck. The following Paragraph I am gonna copy/ paste directly cause its just that-much-awesome


“They asked me to change my name. I suppose they were afraid that if my real name Diana Fluck was in lights and one of the lights blew...”

According to Dors' autobiography, she was once asked and readily agreed to open a fête in her home town of Swindon, England. Prior to the festivities, Dors lunched with the local vicar, during which she informed him that her real name was Diana Fluck. The vicar became somewhat worried about his planned speech. After lunch, they arrived at the fête at the appointed time. The vicar, totally unnerved about mispronouncing "Fluck", introduced Diana with these immortal words:

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you our star guest. We all love her, especially as she is our local girl. I therefore feel it right to introduce her by her real name; Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the very lovely Miss Diana Clunt."

...living happily ever after

Are you one of the about-to-get-married ones?..

Are you sick and tired of talking about crockery, cutlery, 'electronics', 'whether you are living with your in-laws?', 'your bridal', 'your choice of photographer/ caterer/ mehndi walli/ parlour/ decorator'...

Are you getting cold feet, thanks to all the aunties/ uncles who have been telling you nut-busting stories of how bad being married can be?

Is it the first time in your life that you are spending money by the tons on yourself and you are just not getting that retail buzz you get from shopping?..

Here's what you should do:

Elope. Go on honeymoon. Make a crazy ass sex-tape. Leak on internet . earn big dough. Live happily ever after.

Call me.

tell me how it goes.

Current status: Freakingly Rantish

I am a libertarian. by that I mean, I believe in freedom and liberty and that I am opposed to any phenomenon which might interfere with a person's right to the two.

So, its because of that I hate Goody-two-shoes. Yes, there are some exceptions. Like my sisters, and some of my close friends. My mom even. The problem I have with them is simple. They are always on their Moralistic-high-horse. They have a holier than thou, sanctimonious, over-exaggerated pietistic attitude , which can kiss my perky lil ass any day, any time.

They make my life inconvenient, cause the society (read: sad sorry asses) judges me according to them. Their behavior, their choices, their life style become a standard for which I am pressurized/ coerced/ forced into withholding.

...and I just truly don't want to.

My list of Under-rated goodness

I already mentioned my love for lists some time back. Today when I woke up it felt like it was a listy kinda day. After scratching my head some and random cyber-doodling here it is...

The List of Under-rated stuff. Things which are quite ass-kicking but somehow haven't gotten the kind of attention and loving as they totally deserve

(all of you who read this, feel free to add your items in the comments section...)


Sex God
Kunal Kapoor, especially in Meenaxi…yum yum yummy..

In this here,..makes me wanna curl up in a foetal position and only think of him and nothing else ( @ 2:51, sit up straight and pay attention!)

Sex Goddess
Vanessa Ferlito- That Lap dance in Death proof.. friggin hot.. how come guys aint goin gaga over her? ..

A Good Guy
What's wrong with being a good guy?.. Having morals,values and principles. Having manners. Saying 'Please', and 'Thankyous'. Not polluting?..a plant lover can be sexy too, ya know!

Black Beauty
A woman who has come to terms with the fact that she is dark-skinned. They are a rarity..

So I jump up&down and do a happy dance, when i see one on tv.. I am a big fan of her, and her, just cause of this one reason.

Pen and Paper
I started keeping a journal when I was 9. I wasn't very regular and there are phases I totally have no parchment-al proof of my life, but whenever i sat down with a pen and a paper it was magical... Maybe I am just a narcacist, but seeing my own writing, those curvy g's and f's, was at times almost therapeutic... For me, writing has that personal touch, a sense of historical importance, which printed form just can not provide.

...and then them hand written love letters. The joy of just holding an envelope in your hand. The power they have! an ugly bugger, a complete jackass, a faggot, or even a drag queen can turn you in a blubbering bimb made of cowdunglookalike putty with a clumsy scroll on a piece of carelessly torn out paper. No amount of emails, sms's, tweets, or facebook posts can compete with the kind of magic, papyri jujuism unto you.

Blogging
It never fails to amaze me how there are so many people, in today's tech-savvy world, who are not aware of the concept. Everyone knows Google, Orkut, Facebook, Linkedin, Twitter but Blogger/ Wordpress etc, are still relatively unknown... Why?.. Go figure..

Women Athletes
I know there is some huff and puff about Maria Sharapova, and then Anna Kournikova (..but that was cause of a very obvious reason) but seriously... the women athletes, as a demographic have some serious sexy business going on...

How can the world forget to ooh-aah about a serious hot chica driving a seriously hot car, nevertheless be a champion indycar racer!!!....

..and the female wrestlers?... They are the exact sort of trashy girls, all you boys dream off... I mean, I wanted to put some pictures up for referance ...but...ermm ... they werent many kosher ones I could find ... but like google em. you'll get what I am talking about (Mickie James, Velevet Sky, ODB - she's nasty btw, Angelina Love etc etc)

Urdu Literature

You have been dealt a bad hand when you open your eyes in a third-world country, like Pakistan. Political turmoil, terrorism, load-shedding, extreme cold and hot weather ( not ya'll Karachites!), staring idiots, hypocrisy, no good concerts... the list goes on.

.. but there are upsides too. Infact to be honest I see only two. Mangoes and the Literature. What is life if you haven't read Ghalib, Faiz, Meer Dard, Meer Taqi meer?.. or Banu Qudsia, Col. Muhammad Khan, Sufian Afaqi, Umera Ahmad? ..

Its not a perfect childhood if it didnt have Umro Eyar, Taleem-o-tarbiat, Aank Macholi, Kamran Series in it, I tell you.

Incase you are one of the million who missed out on that and now are too old for it, trust me on one thing; Make sure your kids don't do the same..

A Lover's Lullaby

Has anyone sung you to sleep?

If not, consider yourself lucky. Cause in the delphic dark of the night, when all you can hear is him singing and your heart beating, ever-so-slowly, there hides a magic, oh-so-enchanting. The juju of his voice will never leave you. It will follow you around day-in, day-out. It will echo in every hushed murmur crossing your path. Its in the random breeze of the day, which leaves nothing but still air behind.. and you wanting more. Like a bad jingle on the radio, it's always there, playing so innocently in the background of your life, yet driving you to insanity. Slowly. Gradually.

So never let him sing to you.

Never.

Ever...

Didja know that...

Pam Anderson wrote a letter to President Barack Obama requesting/ suggesting legalization of Marijuana.

She has also suggested that people found guilty of child molestation should be castrated.

Did you know you could just write a letter to the President of the United states?... like, no special stamps or letter of referances needed. All you need to do is pick a pen and a paper and thats pretty much it.


Cool stuff na?..

Empathy, anyone?..

My dad's a Mahajir. His family migrated from Bhopal to Pakistan. My dadda was soon-after posted to Interior Sindh and it was in Nawabshah that my father grew up. An Urdu-speaking bloke, in a serious hard-core Sindhi environment. I am not going to go into the details of the kind of bigotry and racial discrimination he, and his family had to face, but to put it mildly it wasn't really very easy for them. The quota system, in the education as well as political situtions caused a great many hurdles in their educational/ professional development. Adding to the whole bit was the feudalistic political situation. The Sindhi wadera's who would get elected to public offices would hire their mazzaras straight off instead of basing the selection procedure on merit. So there were job opportunities taken away, promotions held and deserving scholarships taken away. I'm guessing this is not what my Daddi, daughter of a known lawyer, was expecting when she left behind a life of leasure, an aging father, who refused to leave his city, and her eldest son, so there was someone to look after her dad.

My father, his siblings etc grew up to be much-respected citizen's. Loved and admired, by all. The episodes of racial discrimination from Bhutto's time, acting as anecdotes which didn't do much, other than add a little flavor in their otherwise rather regular lives. There is no bitterness. No racial hatred. Nothing.

...but that's one family, who chose the jo-Allah-ki-marzi-Way. One boy, who chose to chuckle away the rejections and the hatred.

...while some got affected in worse off ways. Who were provoked to a point where they forgot the tehzeeb, the taleem, the terbiat, the entire cultural inheritance, passed on to them by there forefathers. They chose to not 'let-go'. For them it became a matter of pride, of honor, of self-respect.

Then some of them I guess chose to speak againt it. Some sharpened their pencils and took to writing. Some sat on the street corners and argued endlessly over cups of tea.

...then some chose to push a hand... or hold someone by their collar... or slap someone across the face.

Some boys thought of taking up politics. They saw themselves to be the next El Che's of the world. the inequality was too much for them to make peace with. I guess thats how APMSO was formed...

... But a bitter and cynical man can do a lot of harm. Want, for revenge can drive a sane one, insane. Haven't we all felt that?..

...then there is also the whole "power corrupts" phenomenon. The times changed. the oppressed became the oppressors...

I guess what happened after, we all know..

Tis sad, that this had to be ... but why do people not go and look for those who actually gave birth to this all...

Can nobody actually understand where this comes from? Is rage and anger and frustration such alien concepts, that no one can empathize?...

How do you hate the Man who stole only to feed his hungry child, at home?

How do you always chose the right path?

How do you not let rage make you go insane?

How do you put an end to this vicious circle?...

Will someone ever let history be our teacher?...

A quote of Hazrat Ali comes to my mind. I don't remember the exact wordings or the source but it went something like :

"..a society can exist infinitely if its based on kuffer, however a society based on oppression and injustice is bound to be doomed."

Disclaimer:

I do not support MQM, or any other political party for that matter.

I do not think taking up arms is a solution to anything.

Chala Aaya, Teray Dar Par: Toh Bera Paar Kar Dena

On graduating, I realized that there were so many things that I had wanted to do and I never got around doing cause of my crazy socializing habits, along with the tons of assignments that always had to be turned-over the next day, and stupid papers which had to be written down, or exams / quizzes/ assessments which had to be studied for.

So i made a pledge...

...and made myself a list.

Books which needed to be read

Movies, which had to be watched

Wardrobe, which needed sorting out

Library books which needed to be returned

and then the most important; educating myself about different topics which I always was curious / interested about but never bothered with. The first one on the list was religion. I wanted to finish the Quranic translation. Read the Bukhari, Tirmidhi, Ibn-e-Majja. Read up about the history of Islam and all the different schools of thought.

Luckily or unluckily, my job wasn't very demanding and therefore Thanks to that and a super-fast Internet connection I got 'on' it full-time. Now the thing with information (knowledge, wisdom whatever you wanna put here {yes, I'm aware they are different concepts}) is, that it's addictive. You click on one thing, then you come across ten other un-heard-of-concepts or controversies-you-didn't-know-of, that you didn't know existed before and ... so it went on.

A little back ground.

I belong to a very religious family so religion was always a part of my life. As far as my take on religion, my believes, my opinions were concerned, while a lot of them were based on what I read myself, most of them were based on my dad's take on religion and his dars. My dad took his time with religion. His mother was a writer, a preacher, a teacher and basically a daddi-version-superwoman. So he , like me, also had a religious upbringing. Yet he didn't just absorb it all without first doing his research, taking time in finding faith and making his opinions. Like father, like daughter, I decided it was time I started putting some energy into the whole religious-faith business.

So I fasted. I prayed. I read and read some more.

I thought I would finally be sorted in the religion department. For once know what it actually meant to be a Muslim...

But I found more contradiction. Unrest and confusion. Questions with no answers. Questions which lead me to my first brush with bigotry and a different kind of prejudice... and gradually losing the faith, as i knew it. My aqeedah crumbling, like I never thought it would.

I guess as of now I am an Agnostic Islamic Theist. Its a never-ending journey, the quest for the multitudes of 'absolute truths'. I still try and look for answers. There is a perturbance, which is a constant. I know there is hope, yeah?... *Sarcastic/ Ironic smile*

I wonder how it happens to so many people though? How it comes to them so naturally? With the same ease, as one learns to breathe. No doubts. No confusion. I look at their face and I wish I could have that. The peace.



I always thoughts that religion was the means to an end. Suddenly I don't know what that end is anymore? ...

Check out MUST hai!

I was rolling on the floor laughing. Maniac Muslim dishes out some serious in-the-mosque humor. Some definite click-now material.

On being Meera

I didnt know the percentage of complete dykes on my facebook list, until now...

Every second person is sharing this video link and then leaving vile comments... How can some body's misery serve as fodder for your laughs, is beyond me?

Having personal e-mails you exchange with your partner, plastered all over to be viewed by everyone you know, along with complete strangers... That asks for sympathy and respect and not rolling of eyes and smirks...

Disclaimer:

... i did debate on whether i am supposed to put the link up or not... *scratches head* ... and I decided if anyone read this
a) they would have probably already seen the video I'am talking about
b) or they would just youtube it.

so whether I put it up or not wouldnt really matter..
thought I should clarify.

a quarter life crisis...

The worst part of growing up is turning into the very person you dreaded becoming. Seeing all your ambitions faltering and you donning the dreaded mackinaw of pragmatism. The realization that conquering the world ain't that easy and that the-best-case-scenario is that I will get married, look pretty on my wedding day, have kids, send them to school, retire and live to see them well-settled and happy; I will be mediocre and my life will be a cliche.

I wish we weren't told fairy-tales as kids.

I wish there were no dolls and barbies.

I wish I wasn't spoiled by love and care.

I wish I didnt have a life of leisure.

Cause now fairy-tell endings seem like cliches. Everything which can be bought has been bought and so I have no reason to strive for anything. The evilness and ugliness of this world, the wars , the droughts, the cruelties have made me indifferent. I have stopped believing that I will one day change the world... or even touch a life....

Growing up never seemed so sad... and I haven't even crossed 25

Say No to H.O.P.E

Hope is a real bitch sometimes.

I often use the phrase “to torture a cliche” before using clichés, but “hope is all we have” is one cliché which tortures me, cause I know that hope happens to give it to us, oh-so-often; We being the fuckups that we are, tend to just over look it all the time.

For instance the “lusting after the un-getables”. Who hasn't indulged in the pop phenomenon? We all do that, be it the pragmatic, office-going, soccer-watching men or the doe-eyed, chickflick-watching, she-bimb-idealists. The belief that a “positive outlook leads to a positive outcome” is all well and good but what’s causing the problem here, is that people think hope is synonymous to having a positive outlook. So goes the vicious circle of people making themselves miserable after Men-&-Women-they-can-just-never.ever-get, losing their self-respect, dignity etc etc in the process and becoming blibbering-pathetic masses of flesh, objects of much *tsk,tsks* from the folks around them.

That’s not the only time; remember the time when you (or someone you know off) had to study for that A, which was the only way you ( or he/she) would get into the college of your (her/his) dreams but you (he/she) stayed up all night playing games on your ( his/ her)X-box or talking to your (her/ a few "his") boy friend. It was cause you were hoping you would still get it, right?..

Oh, oh… what about the time when you chose to not go the activist-“socially aware”- “go green chanting” way, back in college?... you just hoped that the right leaders would get elected, and the planet would some how be rescued. HOPEFULLY!



You see where I am going with this?..

I could quote some other lame ass arguments which you can probably refute with one example or another but that’s not the point. The truth remains, that there are times when you should be hopeful and then there are also times when you need to quit with it. You need to make peace with the fact that there’s no hope. The inevitable remains what it is; Inevitable! What’s important is to learn the difference between the two. In the latter situation, hope just fuels denial and then a bigger disappointment than what was inherently coming to you. Believe it or not, there are people contemplating putting a bullet through their head, just cause they chose to hope at some time in the past. Hope, is not all that the old proverbs / idioms/ pop-culture references etc make it sound to be.

So make your life easier; learn to say no to Hope ...

today is a funny day.

My first major crush was a boy, oh-so-cute in the navy blue school jersey.

He had the centre parting, which was all the rage backintheday. The dark, silky bangs used to do this flapping thing when he would walk (think Salman Khan from Maine pyar kia days). To torture me a little more than what was needed, he would run his fingers through those hair, everytime I would cross him... Ever so lightly, like he knew I would if I could..

He had dimples.

and back then just the hair and the dimples were enough. Enough to drive me to raving mad, obsessiveness.

The first time I saw him, it was 31st of August... an odd 11 years ago.

Its funny in so many mundane ways...

... how nothing ever came out of it. (Also rather fortunate, if I say so myself).
...and how my life has changed so much.
...not to forget, how much I cried about absolutly nothing (which is how I would refer to this love affair of mine) . The year you turn 15 should be dealt with more care. Every day, every moment counts.
...also, how so much time has gone by.

Errr...a blog post

If inspiration was dependant on a perfect weather, yesterday’s weather would be it. Right out from a fairytale. Yet as it happens to be the case, NOT. I just spent the entire day mopping around and sulking.

There’s nothing worse than a sulky, moppy 25 year old on a pretty day, with hairy legs and upper lips.

I wish I had nice lips. Like the sort which look yummy, when coated with lush red lip paint. Aaah, the magic of red lips…

So I understand the importance of pretty lips, but I still can not be sympathetic to the idea of cosmetic surgery… its revolting, and to be honest apart from Shilpa Sheity, I don’t know any actress Indian or Amreeki who looked better after plastic surgery..

I feel bad for actresses though. It must be insane when your job depends on the way you look. Must be scary. No wonder they all hyper with alternative lifestyles and dieting and all these disorders and going in-&-out of rehab… crazy, I tell you!

Sometimes when I am sitting on dinner table with all us 7 siblings and one or two odd cousins who come over every day and then an ever-present xyz friend whose over for one reason or another, I often try to do this activity whereby I try to judge everyone from a third person’s point of view and I always draw the same conclusion. They are all crazy. Not in a weird, run-for-your-life kinda way but in an extremely endearing, quirky kind of way….but crazy they all are…

I love my family, mild sarcastic jokes apart. They are great. My judgement might be biased, but seriously… they are wicked! .. I cant wait to start my own..

So yeah… hmmph..

I think I need to stop now.

Unsave me

I came across this one a long time back.It is Deadlaahyyyy

Steal away the softness from my eyes.
I want your fingerprints on my thighs,
The rainbows you leave there
When I taste your blood on my lips.
Cruel savior-
Make me beg.

Starve me-
Feed me the emptiness I crave,
Please- kiss me with your teeth.
Fill my head with your throat-sounds,
Primal
To chase away the void.

I cannot stand your gentle hands.
Unstained,
They stroke so tenderly,
And though I ache for you
To score with pointed fingertips
The smooth skin of my hips,
You do not.

Bruise away my bitter deeds
Like I long of you.
Tarnish me
Sweet prince,
Rid me of damned innocence,
Flay me with my longing
So hollow-
My raspy yes is barbed within my throat.

Red welts on ivory skin,
Black oceans of bliss
Your name, carved deep enough to scar.
These things I want-
For you to make me nothing,
Free me from myself,
Blind me so that I may see you,
Choke me so that I may breathe.

Of a Horridable Night and the Drama that ensued

It is slightly inconvenient; I have so much to blog about and yet just not enough time and the temporary lack of resoucres is being a pain in the ass.

So I guess, without any further ado, I start with my tale of the night of horrors.

Those of you who belong to islamabad, would know how rare it is that our town witnesses a decent concert. So when I heard that Noori was planning to perform along with Qayyas ( a pretty decent under-ground act with a cute lead, who also amazingly enough has a great voice), Jal (blah) and another underground band ..*scratches head*..resistia or something like that, I was obvioulsy excited. Ever since coke studio I have been craving to get some live-Noori in me. So after some sms-forwarding I managed to convince around 5,6 other friends and we were get-set-go.

Due to some logistical issue and all that-always-happens-before-a-grand-night-out, we managed to get to PNCA an hour late. The court was full of the regular people you normally see at such events, loitering around. After some socialiing we found out that Noori, and Qayyas wouldn’t be coming as the cheques 3D-marketing gave them bounced back and so they have decided not to play. There were also some rumors about how everything had been managed and now they were coming but there was going to be some delay. So we decided we would also join in the rest of them loiterers. Finally around 11:40 there was some commotion and everyone started pilling in the arena. It must be 12:00 when we managed to push our ways through the crowd, get our tickets punched and go inside. 12:10 is when the gates were crashed and by 12:15 me along with my friends were out in car park ready to head out. Let me mention that till then no one had started performing.

If you are envisioning me with a big sulky face stuck in a cussing rut and swearing at “stupid stupid Pakistan”, you get full marks for imagination and all, but I can bet me-pretty-behind, that you just cant conjur up the face I made when I opened my car boot ( actually my friend’s) and saw nothing inside, as even I cant expalin it.

Now I had gotten to the concert with a friend who was planning to leave early. So on getting there, I had put my two bags, in another friend’s car. One bag had my laptop, a hard-drive, USBs and random offical papers. The other one had my personal belongings , my wallet, and my cell phone, which had died out on me initially ( hence the decision to leave it in my bag).

So getting back, my friend, open’s his boot and is welcomed by an eerily empty boot.

He stares a little, scratches his head a little

I stare a little, scratch my head a little.

He looks at me.

I look at him.

He says,”Didn’t we put your bags here?”.

I say “Didn’t I put my bags here?”

Finally he goes to look inside the car and that’s when he gives out a small man scream/yelp. The tiny backseat car window had been smashed in. After that we pretty much knew what must have happened.

Now I might not sound like it, but in situations like this I am rather calm. Especially if I am with the Little S and the Big S, as they tend to really, and when I say really I mean REALLY, panic. Therefore being the mother hen, that I am forced to become, I have to be more in control. So I called the office people, elder brother, police connections, etc etc and got back home to a mom, who had given herself a nervous break down in the mean time. I would add more, but I think “Mothers in crisis” is a topic of its own which I shall in due time elaborate on, but right now I’m just moving on…

I also need to mention the my bank people are effing insane. Pubes with days old donkey crap on em.

So I am driving home and I call my bank’s helpline. Along with other things, one of the things I carried in my bag was my cheque book. With that lost, along with my bank statements, ATM Slips and my ATM card I pretty much had no evidence of the fact that I indeed have a bank account with their bank. Also I did note down my bank details once… on my LAPTOP!!! So when I call them to cancel my ATM Card, they ask me my bank account details and reiterate the whole nine yards of why I don’t have my ATM number or my account number, to which they tell me they can’t do nothing. I volunteer information such as when were the last few times I withdrew cash, and my middle name and my mother’s name and my date of birth and my NIC number but no, they refuse to do so. Is it me or is it just complete inefficiancy on their part?

The next day which ensued was not any dramaless than this one.

I went to the bank and got the bank stuff done. Normal, normal..

Then I got to office and found out that the I-9 police had found my bag. "Where, how, when" would be conveyed once we got there. So I along with some office security people went to the I-9 thana. On getting there, we were taken to meet the officer, who had found the bag, lying on the road side near H-8. He looks at me and goes :

“Bibi, app ka baig milla tu hum ko tu tension he ho gaee! Hum nay soocha ager baig hay tu kaheen qareeb may koee katti-putti lash-shash bhi paree ho gee”

Translation (loose) : “ Miss, when we saw the bag we got all tended up as we thought if there was a bag lying around like this then there must be some chopped-up dead body too”

Now, like previously mentioned, I am a brave one however the braveness ( or is it bravity?) has limits.

Where did the days go, when people would offer you a cup of tea and then render upon you the bad news, with sorrys’ and pleases’ and thankyous’ nicely sprinkled all over?

…and no, it doesn’t get any better than this

… after this little episode they ask me to sit in an office while my-office-security-people do the official paper work. The office has poster’s of all the unknown dead bodies found in the area in the past decade. Somehow, I am guessing the natural reaction to that would be” Thankyou God, for not making me one of those” … but, No. That would be sane thing to do.

What I do is wonder how it would have been had something of the sort had happened to me. So I was on the road of giving myself an angina attack when I heard a girl scream. Since I was already too traumatized by the whole event I just couldn’t bring myself to get up and go see what was happening. Turns out some 19-20 ish girl was forced into a nikah (on the phone) with some relative of hers in Saudia Arabia. She was probably already in love with someone. So she decided to run away with the object of her affections. The way it pretty much always happens, the police tracked her down and she was brought back. By that time an FIR had been logged, and now she has some hudood ordinance thing going.

Bleak. Bleaker. Bleakest. More Bleakest. Most Bleakest. Most Bleakest-tareen!

Finally I was handed my personal bag, sans my cell phone and the money. I run back to my office to pick my new laptop up (finally a some-what-yayy-moment) and then I run to service centre to pick my replacement sim.

I finally get into my car so I can go back home. Get some much needed tea & mommy hugs, only to have my car (let me add, FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME)refuse to start.

I.Kid.You.NOT!

What do I do then…

I think I am gonna let all of you guess this one…

A Blogging Affair

So I didn’t see this one coming… but here it is , staring me dead-pan, into my eyes, with a quite disapproval, conveyed through the slight pendulum-ish leftrightleft shaking of the head…

I have a blogging crush.

Let me start from the beginning.

I landed on his blog through some randomofficehoursbloghopping. The guy is self-obsessed, sexist, obnoxious, and has all the qualities of a modern day Narcissus, not to forget he is a budding musician and has made a few videos, which have supposedly been played on all the supposedly cool music channels. In other words, he is the metaphorical boy-your-mom-warned-you-against… and is a disconcerting cross between the boy-my-best-friend-made-me-swear-off and the ones Dr. Phill-&-Oprah-shake-their-heads-at

My first reaction to his blog was of obvious shock and mild outrage. “Whatay prick”, I must have thought to myself. I think I even wrote a mean ass comment and didn’t send it. The next day I went back to it, and also forwarded the link to some of my friends. By that time I had surfed through all the archives, but horror of horrors, I felt a something-something-fluttering in my something-something, which I vehemently ignored.

The next thing I know, I was hooked.

I was perturbed, to say the least by what ensued....

I searched for his profile on facebook! .. Then Orkut

Then Google..

Went through previous blog entries in a more systematic manner, to ensure I don’t miss any

Read everyone’s blog, who sounds like he knows him

Called common friends and questioned them about him

Waited for his posts

Was sad when there were none… like majorly-miffed-OUT-sorta-sad

Listened to love songs… First alt rock, then classic rock, then blues, then jazz..

Filed newspaper clippings: article in magazine has a whole paragraph about him.

Day dreamt

After being sick of checking the blog to see if there were update, found out about RSS Feeds. Called ten people to figure it out. Got RSS.. *yesss!!*

And Now I have started randomly commenting too … always giggly..always good stuff ..*puke.puke.puke*
…

I can carry on, but if I do, I will have no other option left but to put a dagger to my heart… and No I do not wanna be a modern day Ameinias

Someone. Anyone. HELP!

A tale of two eyes and some lost moments...

They say our eyes are the windows to our souls….

I remember that look…

Semi-sitting, semi-lying down. After some random conversation, there was a silence and that look. It said so much. I tried to resist. I know it didn’t look like it, but in the few milliseconds before I gave in, there was much inner conflict….

And that first time …

It was everything a first kiss should be, and so much more. I left some of me, in that instant, in that room, somewhere in the corner of that beautiful mouth.

There were tears in your eyes, when I left that day. The glistening, the sparkle of those two beauties; How did you expect me to move past that, ever? How do you hold what happened after, against me? How am I supposed to make peace with never having you look at me like that again?

The soul that I saw that day, was it nothing but just a lie, or a figment of my imagination? If it was so, then why did it feel so real?

Guess you were an exception...

Vicky Razaion or Quratulain Nafees kee janib say, app sub ko JASHAN-E-AZADI MUBARIK

So I am home, chilling and trip-hoppin all over the blogesphere and I bumped into some serious nice independence day- related stuff… and not a single of them clichéd or corny … I hate them obviously, the way I hate everyone who makes me feel so inept at this whole writing thing … but I am still posting them here so go check it out..

Minerva talks about her Independance Day in a foreign country , which is funny, like she always is... but this post was just really really nice..

then there was Americanising Desi with this

and then there was a classic . It was nt the blog entry itself but an earlier post which was mentioned in this one … Levels of awesomeness = skyrocketin

Happy independence day, my blogging minions :)

Annie Mama

I was ready to be a mother at 18, yet at 25 marriage still seems like something I don’t want to rush into. I am the Paladin of selfishness, the great defender of that thing called ‘personal space’, so obviously, the rather innocuous word ‘shadi’ scares the bejesus out of me.

But children...

The pitter patter of teeny tiny feet, and their big (taken after me) hazel-brown eyes (taken after dad), with that twinkle (taken after Big S & Little S) which would light my days, my nights. My life painted in baby blues, powder pinks and sunny yellows. The first steps. The first words. Me as someone’s mama. Soul elevation.

They would gurgle, like the little S used to when she was a kid. They would be all nakhras like the Big S used to be at that age. If she’s a girl I’ll keep her hair long, and I hope she has Little S’s silky golden ringlets. I’ll enroll her in ballet school. A mini-me me in a tutu. Dancing. Singing. They would be artsy, undoubtedly, what with me, Little S and Big S making up their momma-brigade.

If it’s a boy I’ll get him a fancy Mohawk. I don’t know what little boys say and do, but I know he’ll be great. Like father, like son.

For once I’ll be able to love endlessly and not give a damn. No heart break. No rejection. No worries of tomorrow, at least not the sort which eat away at your soul.

And now I have another reason