You and Me

It isn't mine, nor his. It's ours. For the first time in my life, It's ours. I think...no...I know...i'm in love.

There is an image, in my mind. He is lying on his bed, awaiting me. The filtered sunshine is falling on his back from the window. He is wearing that shirt I love and a smile. I could sit and stare for a lifetime.

I think of you. You make me sit. You catch the stray hair falling on my face and place them behind my ears. You hold my face in your palm and stare. I want to capture that look in your eyes.

I love the way you look at me.

I sometimes fear waking up. Maybe he doesn't exist. Maybe I needed someone like him so much, I created him from thin air. But then I touch him, I lye in his arms, i feel his lips on my face and I know he's real. I know he's mine.

I didn't think love like this existed. We aren't in a rush. Everything is smooth and easy. I help him get along in life, he pushes me on my way. Yet, we wait a while to stare into each others eyes for what seems like forever.

I don't care how long you and I last. I've already had the time of my life.

Debaters and Co: sounding like they know everything even if they don't since 1963

So after two hectic days, LUMS IV is finally over. No wait today are the semis and the final. Over for me that is.

After two tears of training for debates, we realized two weeks ago that there was no point if we didn't go to competitions. The academic year thus started with LUMS IV 2010.

In the afternoon on Friday, the two teams assembled. The usual enthusiasm was evident. No one had read any newspaper in the previous week, I had forgotten hoe my debates notebook and our only resource were two TIME magazine copies that Saman had found in the trash. While Nada located the driver and the car, we read those. North Korea was facing new sanctions from the US and china had become the 2nd largest economy in the world. That was enough for the day. After Osheen prepared for the long trip to LUMS with 10 Bubble Your Name chewing gums, 3 fruit juices and a bottle of water, we were off. On the way we discussed every one's non existent love affairs with some male debaters we could name, with the usual loud and clear 'fuck' and 'sex' for the driver to hear.

Upon arriving, we were dropped in the parking lot. We stood in the sun, acting like tourists, even though three out of the four of us had spend significant amount of time on the campus. Luckily we found a KC teacher there (weird I know). As she happily approached us from afar, I quickly narrated a fart joke that involved that very same teacher. Only I laughed. Apparently no one finds fart jokes funny. Not even if they are cracked in the staffroom.

Three hours and 5.5 million perverted jokes later, we were given the topic.

THW allow political parties to designate certain pre-election clams as binding promise, the breaking of which would trigger immediate free elections.

Total prep time was 15 minutes. 6 and a half minutes we spent trying to note the long topic down. For the next 3 and a half minutes we looked for the room (which was actually a closet) and so prepared our case in 5 minutes. We got third and after that we were free. I hung out with a friend and discussed the usual girl stuff about evolutionary biology and the co-relation between intelligence and aptitude.

Early the next morning the second round started.

THW give foreign residents the right to vote in general elections.

The only issue was that the only research i had done the previous night was how good the KFC hotshots taste. The debate was about foreign residents, I talked about immigrants. I had a bad case, plus the unpleasant FC boys were standing in their seats and laughing loudly at every word I said. Can be distracting. Anyway we got 4th that time. Sorry, my bad.

Third round began after 2 slices of pizza.

THW allow doctors to actively lie to their patients in order to create or augment a placebo effect.

Finally I got some form back. Mid way I even got angry and started pointing at those cute little aitchisonian boys who're just so annoying with their pink faces, annoying interjections and simplistic arguments that one could thrash but can't.

With the fourth round came the real fun.

THBT the answer to democracy is more democracy.

Now mischief was in the air and I decided, lets play wit the topic because we're totally cool awesome experienced debaters. After some outside help (ahem), we decided, lets define democracy as free trade......FREE TRADE!!!!!

With a blank page I sat, thinking how to go through with this. Apparently the judge had been looking for us for the past 10 minutes. He found us, scolded us and called us in the room. I entered with a blank page. Inside the room, I took the only line of argument we had and broke it in two. Off I went to speak, being the opening speaker of the debate. As soon as i said 'and we define democracy as free trade', the whole closet, i mean room, made that 'KC does it again' face. Our partner team almost fainted while the opposition couldn't help but laugh out loud. I completed my 7 minutes and sat down. On came LGS kinder garden and gave us a definitional challenge. I sat back with a big smile and thought to myself 'now i will enjoy this debate'. The fainting GIKI-A team kept whispering to me 'you have killed us', 'your case is utterly flawed' 'why did you have to drag us down with you' hahahhaa. Man that was hilarious. Anyway the new definition was that democracy is a democratic form of government in Pakistan. On came LSE-D.

'Ladies and gentlemen, This is a fan. A fan is like a cricket ball. and a cricket ball is like democracy because it's for the people, by the people and to the people and essentially that was the case presented by KC.'

LOL I mean shit! I laughed so much my guts came out. Anyway, I didn't like the case they prepared but I was in no position, NO POSITION, to say anything. They claimed Pakistan needed a socialist dictator like Lenin and Castro.

There was no critique so we went off. We could here people talking here and there 'free trade? wtf?', 'oh my god def challenge?', 'who? KC-B?'. So yeah but anyway I found the whole thing to be really funny. Couldn't hide from the coach too long. He didn't cut off our pinkies and hang us upside down though. So all ended well. well..kind of..yeah.

Impressionable Pakistani youth

During the past few years, everything has gone wrong in Pakistan. Our antics in Afghanistan during the 1980s are finally surfacing. Military coups are back in fashion. Every new Democratic rule is making people lose faith in democracy itself. We are stuck in a vicious cycle. Rigid military rule after a coup, a shameful departure, new elections, a corrupt democratic rule, public discontentment, military coup. Then there's the natural disasters. It started with an earthquake in 2005, followed by flood in Sindh, breakage of hunza jheel, and now a country wide devastating flood in 2010. This year the monsoon gave us all it had. In the coming years, it might not have anything to give at all. It doesn't take a Nostradamus to foresee that the future has more troubles in store.

In times like these, the youth seeks meaning. They search for hope. They want to know who's responsible. They need to vent their anger on the culprit. The case here in Pakistan, is that either the culprit is no one or ourselves. Under the circumstances, people need a scape goat. They need someone to point at, an easy way out. They don't wish to blame themselves, nor do they feel the need to collect evidence. Consequently, a new kind of individuals emerge who say what people want to hear. It doesn't have to be true or based on evidence. All that is required is a little rhetoric. Their speeches are charged with emotions. They attract people, specially youth, with their attractive personalities and good oratory skills. They give the masses what they want, not what they need. They openly embrace racism and hatred. With their drawing room discussions and biased knowledge, they try to prove their claims. What needs to be understood, is that they are charmers. We can not afford to become snakes in their baskets and dance to their tunes.
What is wrong with men like Zaid Hamid, Imran Khan, Ali Azmat etc? Firstly, they use data that does not belong to them and do not even acknowledge where it came from. Funny how Zaid hamid is all anti US anti Zionist and yet most of the information he so shamelessly dispels is from Noam Chomsky, a Jewish analyst living in the US. The claims they make about US imperialism and Israel being a terrorist state are more or less true. However, their ultra nationalist ideas about buying rifles and attacking NATO forces head on is both naive and non-sensical. Israel might be a terrorist state with one of the worst Human Rights record, considering the possibility of all Muslims brothers coming together to fight it is absurd. Your Muslim brothers in Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Iraq don't care about you. Nor does your state care about them. OIC has not agreed on one thing since it's creation. But Mr. Zaid Hamid thinks otherwise because his friend said so in their lounge discussion. He plans to go to India and place Pakistan's flag there. Make India ours. You can expect a 5th grader to talk more sense than that. India can slap our asses back to the stone age if it wishes. Plus we've already set a good example by treating Bangladesh the way we did. India must be dying to join a union. Mr. Imran, who is rightly named Taliban Khan, is a mullah with a liberal face. Even though in a country where people like Altaf Hussain, who should be selling balloons in the street, can run parties, Imran seems God sent. However, listen to him closely and objectively and it will become clear that the story is not very different. What kind of a place do we live in where our expectations have sunk so low that we happily accept for president one who can at least read and write, is not a well-known crook and lives in Pakistan.

The point I'm trying to make is that men, like the ones mentioned above, say inspirational things with great vigour. They show us a direction and a purpose. However, everything that sounds nice, is not true. Getting inspired by groundless rhetoric will not provide the solution. Open your eyes and seek what needs to be done.

Impending doom

I must admit, I have never been this productive during summer vacations in all my years. Not only did I finish five books, I also completed a month long internship at HRCP (remind me to comment in detail about that), I won an MUN (yes yes everyone there was at least 5 years my junior), I'm helping the flood affectees through a joint collaboration of the British Council, Faces Pakistan and NCIDE (okay fine not really helping but it's the intention that counts). Also, I'm cooking round chupatees and cutting aloo chips everyday. Quite something for a mere two and a half months?
I will not comment about the flood because a) everyone is doing that and b) I'm not very sad anymore because now I'm doing something for them and c) stress kills.
The books I've read are ones no one really cares about. So I will refrain from commenting on them. I will list them regardless. 1) Wretched of the Earth by Fanon 2) Selected writings of Che 3) Selected writings of Shaheed Bhagat Singh 4) Aam Fiqri Mughaltay. Wait! that's four. I went out the other day and spent bloody Rs 1500 on books (why do we write RS or $ first but pronounce it after the amount?).
The internship at The Human Rights Commission went well. Except, I had to explain to my family what HRCP is. 'Wo jahan Asma Jahangir kaam kerti hein'. and the reply 'oh. wo kisi ka ghar basana nai chahti'. Yeah err. Anyway for the first time in my short and adventure less life, I met a foreigner. Man I've never even met an Indian before. lol. He was Guatemalan. I was inside a cramped room in the basement with him all the time. Then I found out he has a girl friend. Anyway that place, just like everywhere else, was filled with elitist bimbos. While a few of us went to the mess and ate aloo with daal, they ordered in McDonald's. Stupid. I gave my presentation yesterday and it went very well. So that's over and done with.
I'm collecting old newspapers these days. We'll sell them and give that money to the flood affectees. Yes go ahead and laugh. You won't be laughing when we'll be swimming in hundreds of rupees of radee money. No seriously, If you have any, give it to me. I want to win a certificate for most radee collected.
My college starts from the 23rd. On a scale of 1 to 10 of disgust, 10 being the highest, I am definitely feeling a 9 and a half. You ask why. Well here's why. Once upon a time, Kinnaird college hired only teachers with the maximum size of the brain being equal to a peanut. Brain sizes ranging from a grain of sand to a poppy seed were in special demand. Then the principal changed and the new policy demanded that the teachers should at least be homo-sapians. Now the roasted pistachio brains couldn't let that happen so they started a revolt and after false accusation and involvement of thugs, got the principal removed. All this happened last year. So now, on the 23rd, we'll welcome our new principal, who I've heard suffers from sex deprivation. Good luck to me. What awaits is a ban on mobile phones, gate timings as late as 2:30 pm, lesser independent thinking and maybe even shiny white uniforms with head scarves.

Shaad Ama

After reading books and coming across a multitude of interesting characters, I used to wonder why I don't come across such people in my life. They're all around us though, waiting to be discovered.

Perhaps one of the most interesting people in my life has been Mumtaz or Shimshad ki ami, as we called her. She was one of those people who seem like they have lived an eternity. No one remembers her young, not even my grandmother. She always had old, leathery skin, her thin hair were always matted to her head, her veins always stuck out and she never had a complete set of teeth. She came to my grandmother for work in 1967 and never left until she died on 1st January 2008.

She told me once about the partition and he part she played in it. I don't know anything about her childhood. She must've been a troublesome child. She lived within a Sikh community and till the very end loved them through and through. She recounted how she and others would go to fetch water and take care of the herds. People drowned in local canals and chopped their own hands in feed cutters. The village elders did not allow women to roam around outside their houses without a purpose. It was a good life, she said. Her father worked in Australia and sometimes in Canada (she called it kaneida). According to her, they had plenty of money in a bank and land too. In 1947, however, during the freezing of bank accounts and seizure of land, they lost everything. They stopped in a local village near the border till they found a permanent residence. The village folk were kind and welcomed them to their homes. She, and other girls from the village, used to go together to the canal and washed clothes. The young Mumtaz was always the kind who would never swallow their pride. She'd rather starve then borrow. In the village, there was a common wheel for grinding wheat. The women who owned it was a bitter woman and often talked ill to those who came to ask for it. Mumtaz did not like the attitude and refused to tolerate it. Even though she did not have money, she saved up and bought her own wheel. She told me she happily gave it to anyone who asked for it. After a while, a bus moved her to a new and permanent home.

She came into our lives when she moved to Sultan pura on GT road, where my grandfather and grandmother were living with their three children. I'm told that Mumtaz's four children used to come to our house to study. Later, Mumtaz came into our service as well. My dad was in metric.

When I was born in 1988, she was still there. She loved me and my brothers like her own children. Some of my earliest memories are of going out to buy groceries with Shimshaad ki ama. She was known locally as the women with the red basket. She carried this hideous plastic basket everywhere she went. With one hand she held it and with the other, she held my hand. Together, early in the morning, we went together from shop to shop, buying ration for the day. No matter how many trips to the market she took in a day, I always went with her. We never spoke or had any significant conversation during those trips, but I enjoyed it none the less.

In the summer of 1997, my mother had brain hemorrhage. She survived, but barely, so I rarely got to see her. While my mother and father ran around different hospitals in the whole country, I spent my day and night with my grandmother and Shimshaad ki ama. I'm an early riser, so was Shaad ama. She unfailingly came to our house for work and 7 in the morning. On some days I used to be hungry but everyone was asleep. Under the circumstances, Shaad ama took me to her house. There she made me what I desired. She knew I was missing my mother and consequently did all i demanded. I remember the anda parathas and meetha parathas and what not. I wore shirts then because I was hardly 11 years old. The kids in her neighborhood called me 'kuchay wali larki' (the girl in underwear!)

I was inquisitive about her past and would often ask her where she'd come from. She told me she was her first husband's 4th wife. All his earlier wives had died. I'm told that he was one of the most loving men there ever were. The stories she narrated made me fall in love with this man myself. I had never seen him though. He had died before I was born. When she got married, she instantly became sick and did not recover for another 10 years. She could not even bear her husband any children but he still loved her like a man with infinite dignity. She says she had turned into a ghost. She could not walk or do any work because of her weakness. 10 years on a bed. I can not even begin to imagine. Her husband took her to numerous doctors all over the country but nothing helped. She told me that in her desperation, she had even eaten elephant dung! One day,after many years of sickness, her husband uttered the fatal words 'yeh kia museebat hai'. She suddenly felt unwanted and a burden that had to be removed. She secretly packed her bags in the absence of her husband and went off to the train station to go back to her village. Someone called up her husband and informed him that the sickly Mumtaz had left home and gone off somewhere. He instantly remembered what he had said and could guess where his wife could be. Upon arriving at the train station and searching franticly, he found her, sitting alone on a chair. He begged and pleaded and apologized and brought her back home. When finally she recovered, she promised herself to make up for the 10 years she had lost. I must say she did what she planned.

As I grew up, I saw less and less of her because she and her family moved away. She lived with one of her sons, Shimshaad. She had 3 other sons. She refused to talk to one of them because he hadn't payed her back and was mean to her. She was strong enough to not allow him entry into her house when he called. She was a woman of principles, if something's wrong, it's wrong. I admired that so much about her. Sometimes she used to miss us and would then come over to live with us for a while. I will never forget those short lived days. She, my Grandmother and I used to sleep in one room. We all used to laugh together and so hard that often my parents in the next room would get up and scold us. She used to tell us dirty jokes and I swear I felt my insides would explode. Sometimes she used to make turbans with her dupatta and act as a boy. She would sing and act and tell stories. She had learnt this nonsensical line from somewhere and used o say it often 'Hello the bloody fuck ding ding'. To this day I don't know what it meant. One of the funniest things about her was that she was easily surprised and always on the edge of her seat. She absolutely hated snakes and mice and I sadly knew that. Once I got a toy mouse to scare her and she drove everyone insane till it was thrown out of the house. Whenever anyway scared her by throwing something at her or poking her while she was preoccupied, she swore. Loud and clear. Once she was watching national geographic and there was a show on about snakes. She was sitting inches away from the TV and i saw the perfect opportunity. I threw an empty wrapper at her and off she went, flying at least 6 inches off the seat. The profanities she uttered made me blush.

She had a severe heart problem. Two of her valves were blocked. She didn't care though. 80 years old and she'd get off the sofa faster then me. Her heart problem kept growing though. She didn't lose though. She often had insane fits when she'd fight hard to breathe. She asked me to press her heart in rhythmic beats. For about a minute, she looked like she'd die but a minute later she'd get up and proceed with whatever she was doing, like nothing had happened.

We saw her falling apart though,but she wouldn't admit it. When she went home to her village for the last time, she took to the bed immediately. On her death bed, she was restless. The dog was barking constantly and loudly. She called her son and whispered 'let this dog go, he is not letting the death angel in'. Her son went and set the dog loose. Needless to say she died instantly.

For days i dreamt she was still alive. I missed her, I still miss her. I wish she'd come back and share our laughter and achievements. A few weeks after her death, I made my grandmother call her son up. I demanded that he come to our house and bring a certain thing along. I wanted it in my possession. A few days later, he arrived. I saw in his hand instantly the thing i'd ask for; an ugly, badly stitched, red basket.

the future lies ahead

I hate giving titles to my stories or to my blogs or to the songs i write. Anyway I just had leftover chinese rice from last night with desi gheeya. Did i mention my taste buds are dead. I can never tell when something tastes good or not. When i eat too much, i come to the conclusion that the food must taste good.

It's summer time and here I am doing nothing again. Watching movies, re-re-discovering Bob Dylan and biting and kicking every one in the house. Convenient how you spend your year making plans of things to do in the summers an then forget them when the summer arrives. I remember I wanted to write a story but the creative writing course last semester has driven me well away from any form of creative writing what so ever, ofcource assuming that this isn't creative. This summer is all about picking up from where i left off. I've started reading Midnight's children again after I lent it to a friend mistakenly after only reading a few chapters. What a good book. Brilliantly done in my opinion, with a hundred million interpretations. Then theres Bob Dylan. I used to hate him as a child because of his rusty crow like voice. And he looked scary too, considering i was only 10. Then I heard the song rolling stones and thought it sounded nice. He still didnt hit me (what a thicko i was). Then, when i was 19, a friend stumbled across an unknown Dylan track, "If you see her, say hello". When i heard the first verse 'She might think i've forgotten her, dont tell her it isnt so', I was in awe. This guy was amazing. I rummaged through my own hard disk and found his greatest hits. And then it happened, I heard "most of the time". I remember how I couldn't stop thinking about how well written the song was. He had to be one of the best song writers EVER. After describing how he's invincible and in control, the tone with which he says 'most of the time' uhh * dies*. He was in my phone, on my mind and in my heart. Another friend made me a CD, entire Dylan collection. Then i found 'Its alright ma, i'm only bleeding' and 'Pawn in their game' and 'north county girl' and 'Highway 61' etc etc. He's so cool with his 'Dont know and dont care' attitude. How he fusses over a glass thrown in the street and messes up his press conferences with the most random answers and how he rarely laughs. I've also come to really adore that girl Joan. She has everything going for her and yet she has that personality that makes you love her no matter who you are. *sigh* moving on

Every summer I think up a tune while I can't sleep at night. Every time I tell myself, I will make a song. |Needless to say I don't. Last night at 3am, I came up with a tune. It sounded okay so I decided to write a song. Usually I do it the other way round but hey. Anyway I'm on it now. Lets see how it goes. I'm constantly comparing myself to Bob Dylan and thinking 'I should quit before I hurt myself'. Considering that, this will be another one of those fruitless summers.

Why is it that young people are so enthusiastic about everything? I feel i never was a teenager. Wonder where that part went. Now I want to help. In anyway I can. Something tells me the enthusiasm is short lived.

I wish to go abroad for post-Grad. But, so does everyone else. I dream about if often. How id be surrounded by books and multi-cultural friends (what a strange dream to have). Id be able to have fun, stay out late, do whatever I want. Seems to good to be true. Probably is even. I can't even sleep alone at night. I'm scared of the dark and I hate standing in line. I'm this over-protected bum, They'll kill me out there. I'm not scared and am willing to learn how to survive on the streets but whose gonna let me. 21 years old and still dreaming about freedom. What a life we Muslim kids lead. Muslims as in born to Muslim parents. Don't get ideas.

I hate relationships and I know I can't work in them. The moment I step into one, I start having second thoughts. I always have one foot out the door. They aren't my thing, I know for sure.

Ive seen a few good movies too. Need to watch Alice in Wonderland though. Heres a list along with rating out of 10.

a. Whisper of the heart (jap anime) 7/10

b. Grave of the fireflies (jap anime) 8/10

c. Wrath of god (german) 7.5/10

d. The other side of the mirror (on Dylan) 6/10

e. Don't look back (on Dylan) 6.5/10

f. Duck soup (Marx brothers) 8.5/10

g. Religulous (Bil Maher) 7.5/10

Still have Russian ark, Le fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain, Dr. Strangelove, Amadeus and City lights left. A few more german and Bengali ones. I'm all set for the next one week.

So I have become addicted to this mind rotting game called World of Warcraft. I'm level 41 now, i think. I have died more times then the number of quests i've completed. Pathetic I know. Most of the time My soup is just running around trying to find the corpse. Sometimes I get fed up and ask the spirit healer for help. I'd rather bear with the resurrection sickness. though that too is annoying as hell. I've got a new horse and I can wear plate now which is cool. I have a fear of tanking eventhough thats what I'm supposed to be doing. It's just a fear of leading people. What if I pull too many, what if I cant focus the enemy's attack on myself and some bastards kills the healer. Its only a game I know.

My shoulder hurts. Good bye.

Tonight, I am me

Beethoven plays somewhere in the background. He distracts me from my thoughts. The symphony rises and falls. It sounds well composed. But not today. not right now. The joke is funny, but i'll laugh tomorrow. I'm patient, but not tonight. not for you.

I feel a child growing inside me. Every time I feel it, realization dawns. I have grown up. It's time to start worrying. It doesn't feel any different. The child is silent though. Silent and stable. It will feed on my flesh and blood. and one day, when I have fulfilled my only purpose of giving birth to it, it will leave me. and i will force myself to be happy. I have already lived that life.

Should I die ignorant and happy, or aware and mad? Should I care or should I blame evolution and put my mind to rest. There is so much to learn and yet, my mind is cleaning up to make room. I will rise, or i will fall. I will shine or i will fade. There would be no in betweens.

My thoughts are at war. I can hear the clamor, the squeals. there can be no winner. There lies twice promised glory at the heart of it all. There is no wrong. There is no right. Who should lose? and why?

We are all the same. Like five sparrows or seven lizards. Yet, we all wish to be so different. So, at the end of the day, we are merely satisfying ourselves by make beliefs and fairies. Is happiness all you want? even at the cost of the truth? I feel my thoughts wandering.

Love is worth the pain. It's a bunch of chemical signals in the brain. but it's love. Why do we glorify it? Why do I want to be in love at this very moment? Why is my love not sexual in nature when that is all every species on earth is here to do? Why do I feel my heart sink? Why do I miss him when I know better? He smiled at me once. I have that image in my head still. alive. breathing. I never wish to lose it.

Beethoven is distracting me. Making an effort to get rid of him will distract me further.

How does it feel, I wonder, to slip from a height and watch your own death approaching you? When you have time to think. When you have time to grasp the idea of whats about to happen in its totality. Do you die before you hit the ground? I wonder often..

Don't take me wrong.. I'm not suicidal, never was, never will be. The prospect of tomorrow keeps you going. I may not be optimistic, but good things will happen anyway if they have to. I'm sure god will not punish me for not having faith in him.