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!