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.

Staying human around terrorism

I wonder how many of us now consider bomb blasts just another inconvenience. Just another uncomfortable incident that has happened to someone else, someone we didn't know or care about. The death tolls keep rising. One below 30 is considered minor, nothing significant. If you need attention, you have to kill at least a 100 these days. Every news channel runs the same story, the same grotesque images over and over again. Journalists and reporters interviewing injured people, asking them what they feel about the incident. People like us watching back home can read the silence in their eyes, but the reporters can't. People avenging their murdered loved ones by killing other people's loved ones. It's almost like we have ceased to be human. One stops before even starting to make sense of the world around them. After five minutes of coverage, a reporter repeats 'So and so channel was the first channel to bring you this exclusive news.' Their insensitivity disgusts me. How they manage to think money while people die makes me lose faith in the world.

I remember the Marriot blasts. It had followed many before it aswell, except this time I felt uneasy. I said to myself 'these people are one of us.' I am ashamed, for it took a blast that killed the rich, for me to realise that much was wrong around us. As if the poor, who die everyday, are anything but one of us. They are less human with lesser rights to exist and live a full life.

I could not utter a single word for an entire day after the Islamic university blasts. So many of my friend's friends had died. These were young individuals with hopes and dreams. Young girls with expressions that told a story being driven to the hospital were shown on all channels. Yet, the event wasn't brutal enough to keep students from enjoying the unexpected holidays. Facebook was full of cheerful messages about how the youth had decided to spend these days off. People are dying. It's about time you start caring.

I recall a Bob Dylan song in which he sings 'How many deaths will it take till we see, that too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.' Joseph Stalin put it in words that make us cringe; 'One death is a tragedy, a million are just statistics'. Close your eyes and think about it. There are stories behind every single death; A women with a young child waiting at home, A boy engaged to be married, A grandfather who loves his grandhchildren, An only child studying to save her family from the slums. Who are we to treat them all like a figure. They are gone. Their loved ones will never see them again. never. We don't have the right to forget about them the next day. We don't deserve to move on.

I sit here thinking, there is nothing I can do. I can sit at home and wait it out while students just like me are being killed. It can happen to you, and to me. The one thing you can do is hope. You can hope that innocent civilians cease to pay the price for the mistakes of their leaders

Woman and things in general

I'ts been a long time coming. Don't seem to find the time to sit and write things down. General things really but, they've been nagging me for quite a while and I wish to finally let them out. After all, writing has always been my vent.

I'm beginning to judge women who aern't feminists. How can you not be? How can you get used to something thats so infinitely unfair, so obviously unjust and so painfully perminent. It is because you are born in those chains that you are unable to see? Are you unsure as to what it might mean if you stood up for your rights? What rights? whose rights? The only thing you will see in the eyes of justice is laughter and you will hear it say 'human rights are for humans. Stop wasting my time.' Ironic how the statues on every judges table is that of a blindfolded woman holding the balance.

Everytime you feel a wrong has been done to you, do you die a little inside, untill you have completely departed and are marely a hollow shell who has thrown away her dreams like letters from a boy you once loved. Do you crush your heart in your palm and put a stopper in your brain when you yourself blame a woman for a crime she hasn't committed? Does every woman forget? Do they all die inside? Do they not wish to give their daughters a better life? Do they not wish for things to change? And yet we are running in circles. We are silent spectators. We have become guilty of the crime we had to fight against. We are teaching our daughters to close their eyes and stop dreaming. We are but like a begger tapping on the men's car's windows. A short lived inconvenience that goes away once you ignore it. We need to become a noise, a shout, a scream.

I wonder why women don't wish to let go of their little heaven in the kitchen to go out and work. Some don't get the permission because their men can't allow a loosening of control, even if the family is financially crumbling. Others lack enough education to get a decent job. But there are those who don't fit into these categories and yet are sitting at home, wasting their capabilities. They proudly work in the kitchen and discourage their sons and husbands to lend a hand (when they rarely do decide to do something themselves). I believe women feel like queens in their kitchens. It's the one place where they are sure they know more then the men in the house. But these women feel they belong in the house, even when their children have grown up. What a waste. I wonder what other utterly unproductive and senselessly irrational things can become a part of our beliefs if they are taught from an early age. Actually I don't wonder, I know.

If being a feminist is believing in the notion that women are not doormats, then by all means i'm one. I am a man-hater, not because all men are born assholes, but because they are too busy enjoying a status higher then women that they conform to traditions without bothering as to what the consequences are. I'm too moderate a feminist to even give men the small amount of credit I do give. I wonder if, in the baking heat of Pakistani summers, they think about us women everytime they wear shorts. Obviously not.

One of these days I wish to stop waxing my arms and legs. I hope I find enough courage in myself to block all the 'yucks' and 'ewws' thrown my way. All women reading this, think about it for a minute. What benefit do you achieve from going through enormous amounts of pain every 20, 25 days? It's not like a one time painful procedure which will rid you of hair. NO. They will grow back. every month. again and again. You will bear the pain and waste money every month. The wax will burn your skin and you will clench your teeth. Yet, you will sit through it again, happily. Why? For what? Just so that men think you look better? The women who say 'it makes me feel good and clean', sit down and think about where that feeling comes from. So tomorrow, if men tell you to chop your arm off because you look sexy, will you do it? How convenient that men 'look great natural' and we have to thread our eyebrows, wax our entire bodies just so that they can tell us how great we look. Puck that.

Breath-taking is the word

My grandmother was sick, so was my mother and I was over worked. Dad came home and told me we were going to Kashmir. I stood there, trying not to feel too good because i knew it was an impossible plan. 'But dado? the car? your work?'. everything worked out in the end though. We were to leave on thursday, 25th june, at 6pm.

Our first stop was Pindi, my nano's place. Three of my mamos live there. One of them is rather odd. We arrived at around 10pm, had dinner and sat around for a bit. Suddenly everyone got up to go to their respective beds. Knowing I was to sleep downstairs, I said 'lets go upstairs'. Obviously we weren't going to sleep. We just had one night. In comes my wierd mamo. 'Beta, achay buchay raat ko nai jaagte. shaabaash, sou jao ja ke.' So yeah I turned around and went upstairs. My favourite cousin and I sat down to complain about boys and our parents double standards, how marriages were crap and why i had no scars and she seemed to have too many. i was lying awake when a friend messaged to inform me about Michael Jackson's death. dead. Just like that. One image came to my mind in that moment. check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWeyLLzyIUw&feature=related @ 2:47. I haven't seen that much emotion squeezed into a name. Well afterwards we stole food from our mami's fridge and stuffed ourselves. Slept for an hour and in came ama to wake me up. Seven am on Friday, we set out for Kashmir. It was a 5 hour journey from Islamabad. We got lost in Islamabad and luckily found men who had the best sense of direction ever. My dad asks this particularly wise wagon driver 'Rawlakot jane ke liyay kis teref jayien?', and the genius answers 'Gujrat jayein, wahan sey left turn ley lein'. We laughed for half and hour after that. Our first destination was Kahuta. It's the area where the atomic energy plant is located. Apparently it's hidden between mountains. All we could spot were snipers and anti aircrafts along the mountain top. The road that led to Kahuta was smooth and beautiful. Covered with trees on both sides (awsome moment no.1). We stoped for breakfast. The locals were nice enough to play english songs for us. Must've been thinking 'burgers from the city'. There I ate oil with bits of omellete thrown in. Promise.

We continued our journey from there to Rawalakot. In between we stopped for petrol. I really had to pee and there was only a washroom for guys. In the mountain areas, women don't even pee. Thats how cool they are. So i went in and sat down on the comode. Then it started to rain. Actually the shower had automatically opened. Since it had opened automatically, there was no way to shut it down. So i pee'd and took a shower there. came out with the right side of my body wet.

Throughout the way, I could see the damage done by the earthquake. Broken bridges, cracks in houses, land slides. One half of most mountains had broken up. Most of the road was blocked with boulders. I could'nt help but imagine the sound of a hundred mountains cracking, bridges falling, concrete breaking. all within a few seconds.

On the way, we found Kishore Kumar's CD. It was badly scratched but we managed to listen to one complete song. 'Chingari koi bhurke'. It was one of those songs which you've heard many times, you even remember the lyrics and yet, you've never really payed attention to whats being said. So I payed attention and fell in love. (awsome moment no.2).

After 5 long hours, we reached our destination. Lake Banjousa. I have to admit, I was a little disapointed by it when I arrived. I think I was drunk, blind and mentally retarded then. It was beautiful. We went to our rooms, rested for a bit and came out. Our hotel was on a separate hill. There was a path between the woods that led to the lake from our rooms. Hidden between trees, It gave you that feeling of being on an adventure. Met a bunch of ducks. Fed them frenchfries. The food was okay. We couldn't complain though because there was only one hotel in the whole Banjousa area which served food. The menu was 'chanay ki daal, anything with chicken and thats it'. There was Biryani, Kurhai and Broast. So we had kurhai and daal. Both sucked ass. after sufficiently stuffing ourselves, we decided to trek. There was a 1 foot long track along the edge of the lake. In someplaces it was extremely steep and I felt i'd slip and fall into the lake and die but that didn't happen. dad held on to my hand everytime i slipped (awsome moment no.3). Sohaib, my brother, slipped slightly though and ended up wetting is shoe and sock. Gave me a heartattack. At night time, we played pictionary. Me and dad, Sohaib and our cousin. Dad and I lost everytime.

The next morning, dad woke me and mum up at 5 am. it was the perfect time for

photography. I doubt I can explain that scene in words. There was no human being in sight

for miles and miles. Lush green mountains fading in the mist. Clear, sky blue water. Birds

chirping. (awesome moment no. 4). Went further up to the streams which lead to the lake.

The water was ice cold. dad said it'll make me sick so i refrained from diping my feet into it.

I came back then and took a cold cold shower. We prepared to go furthur up the hill to a place

and sadly I can't remember it's name. On the way, we turned on the radio. Due to the height

of the area, we could catch FM 89 signals. Luckily, Michael Jacksons tribute was on (awsome

moment no. 5) It was a tough, steep climb and cars could'nt reach it. At the top, there was a

buffalo. She didn't seem all that happy to see me, considering the wierd

noises she was making. I became all phunay khan and went close, shwoing her my tongue along

the way. They say 'Aqel bhuri ke bhains?' well the bhains was totally larger in this case. I, being

such a genius, did'nt notice where the darned thing was tied, or how long the rope was. So

yeah I was chased to madness. At the very top, we met a local family. Nicets folks around.

They saw us coming and made orange juice for us. They even asked us to stay with them and

have dinner. Mum even made one of the aunties pray for my rishta. Cheap, I know.

It was getting dark so we decided to head back. Drunk though we were from orange

juice, we took the wrong turn and ended up in a starnge place where the road ended entirely.

The road was broken and it was getting dark and I pooped in my pants. Like a toy car, honda

City bounced around on the rocks and I vomited my heart out. We all came back alive though.

Then in the evening we had hot fries near the lake. It was dark though and dad missed a step

on the stairs. He twisted his ankle pretty bad. I pee'd again. We stayed up playing pictionary as

dad rubbed huldi and hot oil on his ankle. It smelled like shit.

On the third day, we were supposed to return home. Dad decided to wake me up early

though. We decided to walk to the lake. It was 7 am. Dad and I rarely go anywhere alone so

this was a complete nature-loving-father-daughter-experience. He photographed, I looked

around. He asked me to pose, I made faces. He climbed rocks with a twisted ankle, my heart

stopped. For the second time in my life, I realised I'd die if anything ever happened to him.

Later everyone woke up and packed to head home. We decided to stop at duriya-e-jhelum

for a bit before we headed to islamabad. When we reached the place, Sohaib decided to climb

down to the edge of the river. I started following, acting all cool and adventurous. Midway, I

suddenly cme back to my senses ans realised the path I was walking to was less then 1 foot wide

and on my right side was the raging river. Beneath my feet was slippery dirt which often slipped

from under my feet. I managed to reach the edge though. The river was dangerously beautiful

(awsome moment no. 6). It was really hot at the time and the rocks there were burning hot. As

soon as i touched the water with my feet, i withrew them however. The water was so cold, It

could freeze you to death within minutes. I turned a deaf ear to my parents screaming from

the top, demanding that we step back. I kept standing for a while, staring at this flat rock

that I felt like sitting on. I decided I should sit and stop being a whuss. The second my bum

touched the rock, a heaver wave came soaked the whole rock. I screamed and got up and

Sohaib laughed his ass off. It was time to head back. Climbing up that foot wide path was harder

I decided to Hold onto the rocks on the side. Just in case. I stepped on the dirt path, midway,

Hld on to the rock (or so I thought). AS soon as i lifted myself, the rock in my hand turned out

to be dirt. It broke off and I slipped. (Awesome moment no.7) I didn't die though. So I didn't

slip all the way down. dad held onto my hand and I climbed back up.

Dadi had called to tell us the weather in Lahore was excruciating. Luckily though, through

out the way back, the sky ws covered with clouds. Perect end to a perfect trip.

..End of year one..

Often people look back an say 'Hey, it wasn't so bad at all'. My thoughts are slightly different; 'Down with the fucking bastards. Rot and burn in hell and i hope the devil farts in your face while you're at it.'(apologies but one needs to be informal for that impact). I have to admit the year has passed rather quickly. I had heard that days spent in jail are long and painful, so i am naturally surprised here. But i guess the pain made up for it. 

I have never in my life seen such incompetence, irrationality, arrogance and lack of organisation. Except ofcource in the government ID card office. The same lack of interest in the work being done, the same unexplained arrogance. Like a clerk who is over-worked and under-paid. I still don't get where the arrogance comes from. I have to admit, the college is teaching us how to face the world because this is what the world is like. Suddenly there is a serious deficiency of air conditioners, everyone is unnecesarily rude to you, you have to stand in line for everything and, most importantly, nobody gives a shit.

I remember the first week so well. The first two days went by with a general excitement that comes with new things. I was prepared to put everything behind me and take Kinnaird up as a challenge. I wore a constant smile, ignoring the shit thrown my way. On the third day came the realisation. It struck me like a knockout punch from a heavy weight boxer who had a special reason to be mad at me. Four years. Four years. Four years.

I will never foget the day i sat near the fountain and cried like the sky was falling. The free bird had to wait a little longer. I just sat and watched from behind the big iron locks with rude guards patrolling and unneccesary rules to keep you in line. This couldn't be right. Couldn't be.

Rules. rules. rules. For every move i made, every word i said, every turn i took. Teachers telling you what to wear, guards telling you where to sit and where to go, aunties telling you what to eat and where to eat it. I was in grade school again. A frown here and an abuse under the breath there and all was fine. Every day i went home thinking 'I won't come tomorrow'. I did though.

I passed the first semester with 3A's, 1B and 1C. Grandma called from pindi, Khala from peshawar, to congratulate me on my great achievements. All I had achieved was a trophy for using 1 brain cell and still passing everything. I just waited for inspiration to come.

I must be blind for I fail to see the bright side. First year is over and i'm at home, knitting mufflers. I'm wishing to attend art lessons but the decision now neatly lies in my Dad's file of all things his daughter isn't allowed to do. *smirk* i'll have my way one day.

" Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be so hard"

Alone

I walk alone. I can feel the cold rain on my shoulders. Raindrops that were resting between my hair are sliding down my head, onto my neck and down my spine now. Like a tear that no one wants to wipe away. You let it fall because you don't wish to hide them anymore. The rain is cold, but my skin is colder. It's like my body does not even bother warming itself up anymore. It lets me merge with the cold wind. I become invisible and unfelt. It reminds me of the fact that I can' hold someones hand and make them feel warm and cared for. I'm in need of warmth myself. I stare at the ground. Follow brick patterns with my eyes. I look at my shoes. I hold my bag close to my body, like a pillow thats armed to protect me. I'm not sure from what. I walk back and forth. I walk fast, pretending i'm actually going somewhere. In actuallity, i never am. I keep checking my phone, pretending to be busy. In reality i just check and recheck my empty call history. I store msgs, so I can read them when i get sick of having nothing to do.
They tell me they saw me reading in a corner. They ask me why i was reading on a funfare of all the days. When everyone else was dancing and eating. I just laugh, never answer. Maybe because even i'm not sure. Maybe that fact that i'm a social outcast is still hard to accept. Maybe dancing and eating is really all there is to life.
The what-ifs that clog my brain have brought me to a point where over-thinking has become a habit. I have to come up with the most novel idea. it has to be perfect. Otherwise i deserve to burn at the stake. Maybe i'm too hard on myself. Maybe I've punished myself for too long. Maybe it wasn't my fault.
I clasp my hands together. Each one feels colder then the other. They want to be held by someone who can melt them. On second thought, they'd rather freeze to death.
I can hear the cold, loud wind. I can see the bamboo tree being shouted at. I can see the leftover rain on my window. The freezing cold sends shivers down my spine. Ones you feel when you hear a song that reminds you of something forgotten. Maybe it's trying to remind me of something too.