Blogger. Why dont you have a mobile version like wordpress? I'm
increasingly tempted to change over every day.

Not that I have much of a blog nowadays anyway.

E-Bay Diversifies!

Grown-Up's Candy

How do you know
that you're growing up?
Some count your silence
Others the depth of your voice
For some it is to strangle
Your hurt in lone-corner-shadows
Silently smiling unrelenting
No sheen in your eyes and
No curve upon your lips
Have you tasted murder?
It is the flavour
Of falling grey dusk
Tinged
With memories sweet.

Subtle, aren't we?

Disclaimer: no, despite my reputation, this is NOT my car.

Miss me?

Please continue in that case.

This is not a blogpost.

I, a 24 year old man, live the life of a 13 year old girl. God help me.

Don't Read This

Those who know where to look
Can tell that the walls are hollow
My angel
Despite all your efforts
to convince me otherwise
That they are as solid as they ever were
I can see the hairline fractures
like no one else can.

Smile for me my darling
That specific exquisite smile
It is tinged with the scent
Of the springs final blossom
Crunched underfoot
(I find it ironic how beauty
Is most poignant right after its massacre)

Laugh for me
My precious
That special laugh
The one you conjure up
From that faded grey plane
Where faith and desolation live
Side by side

They say that one gulp
From a special well
shall eternally cure us
Of all thirst
Its water (so cool so sweet so pure that it is sacred)
Drips from your eyes.

0_0

Written on a sialkoti wedding card:

Your presence will make this a hilarious and cherishable occasion for us.

Yeah.

Sachai

Dear Sirs and Madams,

Although this is somewhat against my character, I envy you. In no
small way, I envy some of you. Intensely.

Love

-Ali

Shoes

Not my best work... But I think it makes an interesting point. Kya
khyaal?

Cheap imitation leather shoes
They walk so many miles
Each scratch and scuff and crease
Reminders of a persona
Forged through experience

The finest red hide and hard heels
They've walked few miles but travelled
Thousands burning thousandyearoldbones
They carry a tag that state
natural creases and scratches and scuffs
May appear on the finished shoe
Reminders of a persona
Feigning.

Not Much Subtlety Here...

Sometimes it becomes very very difficult to hang on. No money. No
friends. No work-I-enjoy, no respect, no growth. But what is it that I
hold on to? Even if I let go, there is no place for me to fall. I'm so
completely, utterly, trapped.

...but it feels just like I'm sinking, and I claw for solid ground...

No one I can confide in here (Precious, I would have exploded by now,
if not for you) there is no place I can turn to for a bit of numbness-
at least. I can't leave the house without being asked where I'm going,
or by when I'll be back. Nothing is being learnt. Nothing is being
accomplished, except at the most agonizing snails pace.

I was happy before I came here. I was sought after, respected.

Now I'm constantly criticized for my cloths, how I walk, how i talk,
my diffetence in values,for being 'dheela', not keeping in mind every
desire that most people my age take for granted being sacrificed for
those I love.. Fuck all of you. Bhainchod. Fuck you fuck you fuckyou
fuckyou
fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyouFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU

FUCK.

YOU.

PRESUMPTUOUS.

NARROW MINDED.

COMFORMIST.

CONTROLLING.

SELF-RIGHTEOUS.

BASTARDS.

*breathes*

And he said with a look of particularly elegent sadness, tinged by a
dash of pity '...what would you, beta, if I died tomorrow? Do you know
how malicious the world is? How would you survive?'

Thank you father, for the vote of confidence.

Who?

Not Moses, nor pharoah
Not Fire, nor water
What is there to ask who you are
Bulleh
When we both know
That identity itself
Is but a facade of context

3-0

30 followers. :-) How'd a weirdo like me get to be so popular?

Probably cuz you guys are just as weird :P

*narcissistic ADD hug to all*

On Ramzan…

Sometimes its the simplest comments that make you reevaluate. A few days ago on my way back to the office after praying Zuhr, a worker from the packing table in the factory came up to me in his good natured friendly way. We shook hands and he asked about my fast, and me being me, i told him i was doing well and keeping busy. What he said after that made recalibrate my attitude towards this month. The weather that day was terrific. It was partially cloudy and the bits of sky that were visible were a vivid tinge of blue. A constant cool breeze was blowing, easing the tribulations of going without water.

He said ‘Aaj rozay ka mazaa nai aa raha- woh muqabla nai hai. Zor nai lag raha’ (Todays fast isn’t satisfying. There is no struggle,  I’m not having to work hard)

That, perhaps, was the most simple and poignant reminder I could ask for regarding this holy month. We often forget, in the midst of the constant hunger, cooking oil commercials, and iftari buffet deals that fasting isn’t about food. It isn't about water. It’s about empathy as well as about embracing a sort of physical and spiritual poverty. It is about sacrificing our desires, of denying our natural temptations and through the pain finding an enlightenment, a peace that exists beyond these physical parameters. It’s about conquering our nafs.

You can fight this battle out of social necessity or blind religious conviction, but it only truly matters when you believe in what you are doing.  When you enjoy the struggle, when you discover the poetry within this paradox. The point is not to fast because you have to, but because you are willing to fight that fight.

Yellow

So, I’m writing this from Microsoft's Windows Live Writer application. Rather nice actually. You get to see EXACTLY what your blog post will look like- theme and all while you write directly into it as if it was MS Word!

Ali the likey.

Red

How can you hear
Red?
It is lifeblood
Flowing yet spilling
It is fire
Warming yet burning
It is the hue of your lips
So full and succulent
Frowning so invitingly

But how can we hear
Red?
Red is that tiny gasp you emit
With my mouth upon you
Red is My deep throated growls
As I wax overwhelming
Red is your every involuntary moan
Swept up by the urgent flickings
of my tongue
Red is the symphony
Of when our bodies meet.
Red is our rhythm
Our beat
Our orgasmic release.

Ironies

My mother gets incredibly angry at me when I tell her she has anger
management issues. LOL!

One of those.

Condescension from those you admire the most hurts like a bitch.

I'm over it now. There is the significant possibility that 'we' (As
superfluous as the concept currently seems to be) are no longer
friends. Whether or not that is true, time will tell. Either way,
things will never again be the same.
I'll keep my distance. I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted.

Congratulations.

Taggiyan Toogiyan

This, incidently, is the first time I've ever been tagged. Anyhoo-
here goes! (forgive the formatting- this is being typed on my phone)

Five Favourite Words:
1. Maelstrom
2. Cabaret
3. Quintessential
4. Eye. I. Aye. (phonetics) :-p
5. Debonair

Favourite fictional characters

1. Yoda
2. Me
3. McGyver
4. ALAN SHORE!!!!!
5. Jimmy the Hand (Riftwar Saga by Raymond E. Feist

Words that should be banned:

1. Kid
2. Whore
3. Maybe
4. Banana (for no greater reason than to annoy kasana)
5. Yo (Especially when its said by desis being all wannabe)

Books:
1. The God of Small Things
2. Gitanjali
3. Lord of the Flies
4. The Art of War
5. The Return of Merlin

Five Quotes:

1. (While trying to convince a certain someone to lose her virginity
to me) I want to boldly go where no man has gone before!

2. (While putting down an opponent who was all style no substance
during a debate) Somehow, someday you may become a masterful debater-
but for now you're simply a masterbater.

3. Life is like a shooting star, it don't matter who you are, if you
only run for cover it's just a waste of time. We are lost til we are
found this phoenix rises up from the ground and all these wars are
over. (Dolphins Cry by Live)

4. I pray to You, yet quake in fear- lest my prayer be granted-
Rabindranath Tagore

5. Don't bully me with your politeness- Yann Martel (The Life of Pi)

I could probably think of a thousand more if I wasn't so lazy. :-p

Five things you're passionate about:

1. Good conversation
2. True friends
3. Good food
4. Good reads
5. Good writes

I tag:

Maryam, zatanxgirl, kasana, marina, and anushay

The world is most interesting. Amusing in its irony.

Today I discovered that someone I consider to be an idiot considers me
an idiot.

Duniya gol hai, pappoo.

Displacement

Know now, youngling
This is not the land of deciduous forests
Where you were born
Our rains are not as your rains
Cold and gentle affairs
Ours are torrential and fickle
Like some wild beauty
Freed after eons of restraint
Carnivorous. Carnal. Cancerous.
This is a place of swaying palms
And fiery sands
Sweaty hands
Youngling
Know where you are.

...

Little brother. You break my heart. Really, you do.

Weakness begets Strength

Note: I was tempted to call this post 'stringth' just to amuse Eeda
and Neeli. :-p

The weakest link is often the one most blessed with opportunities to
grow. The scrawniest child is most often picked on, he is the one who
learns to fight intelligently. The artist scorned continuously delves
into his soul trying to bring about more vivid colors, previously
unseen facets. It is always the weakest man that is the most harshly
tested by adversaries. In being tested again and again, he is
presented with opportunities to grow- again and again. That, perhaps,
is the blessing of weakness. It intrinsically presents the opportunity
to become strong.

I'm basically only writing this because I've started playing football.
And. I. SUCK. :-p

Note to Self

Sometimes events are enough to make you wonder, despite all your
obvious ability and confidence- whether you're being underestimated,
or you're overestimating yourself.

Wake up, Ali. Stay alert. You're being ground upon multiple
touchstones. Don't let yourself down.

TwoSome. Lonesome.

The Tamarind trees talk
Of whispering white wisps
And of Dreams dreamt during
Daylight's dawning

Simple-sandaled streets
Laugh at lovers lost
Their finite fires dwindling, albeit
Physically flaring

What do you want, oh wanderer?
We keep all our kisses concretely connected
And every laugh and lick is littered
With loss

Leave us to ourselves.

So we've done it again
This trick we have
Of turning love to pain
And peace to war

We're just ash in a jar

-Turn and Turn Again by All Thieves

CrazyLady

Subtle, aren't we? :-p

Yes, I removed the automatic signature. Although I'm still sending
this via the same phone. ;-)

Well?

Subtlety and understatedness isnt always a good thing. Kya khyaal?

Sent from my iPhone

Breaking

My angel
You beckoned me
With broken wing
And, chained
by my circumstance
And ignorance
I did not come

My heart shouts for me to ask
And yet it shames me
To request from you
Such sacrifice
As not to love me any less.

You, who warmed my shivering
And gently tended to
my each and every bruise
You, in whose arms my respite lies
You, in whose heart I dwell
How could I not be there?

I deny the urge
To mutilate my insides
Only because I know
That you love me
More than me.

Sent from my iPhone

Counter Attack

Today, you're on my turf- and I hold every advantage. Let's see what
you do this time.

Sent from my iPhone

Echoes

I'm not really sure whether or not I'm finished with this. Help me out?

You would not be
so quick to judge the
shallowness
Within her
If
you could see
The depths
of her pain
And Tribulations

Is it her fault, then
That she is she?
Couldn't it your own
Mistake?
You being you?

And You would not judge
The lightness with which
She treats all those around her
Had you been privy to the weight
Of her every unanswered question
Unasked.
Haven't you the very same fear?
Of being unmasked?

Yes, she is hollow
Because she is deep
And closed to the outside
Her every scream echoes
Every syllable bounces
Reverberates
Molecules away
from your conciousness
Waiting for something within you
To resonate.
With her restlessness
So that you may both make
A stronger echo

Sent from my iPhone

Uloo ka Sancha

Have you ever thought about the sheer intricacy and depth every life
contains? If one starts to think about the individual ingerdiants that
come together in order to create an individual- the infinite
complexities become mind-numbing. And that's only scrathing the surface.
So, when life within itself (and human life, I'd say in particular) is
so deep a phenomenon, and looking at this from a spiritual POV, would
God damn a life for just a singular mistake?
If, after all, we are God's creation and he is omniscient,
omnipresent, and all-powerful, if he is al-razzak- the provider of
all, then every single person represents an immense spiritual
investment.
And yet we all choose to stereotype each other- and indeed even
ourselves. We judge and pass our own judgements and our own internal
fatwas, obsessed with the peripheral and usually not bothering to look
any deeper than our tempers and social dispositions demand.
If you look around, you realize, after looking at the sheer intrinsic
diversity of the people around you, that God probably didn't make a
mold. And neither should we.

Sent from my iPhone

But what about those of us who take longer than a minute to mate? I
mean seriously- even paulo coelho put the average at 11 minutes. I
like to believe that my incessant running has improved my stamina to
levels higher than the average bear, if you catch my drift. ;-)

RicketyArts

Thanks alot to UB and RicketyArts for the new banner! Whatcha guys think?

But dude- plz send me the pdf? I want to play with the font :)

Ae Sapnon k Saudager...

Anyone know where I can acquire a killer instinct? A bit of intense,
motivating jealousy/pride? The desire backed up with the ability to
put anyone in their place?

This isnt usually the problem, you realize. I'm just fairly out of my
element here.

Et Tu, Brute?

It's a good thing that I generally have enough faith in myself,
mother. Faith that I can take care of myself. Faith that I can see and
avoid my own pitfalls. Faith that I can understand and withstand all
that they put before me.

I thank God for the faith I have in myself, mother- since you seem to
have none at all.

...

It's becoming difficult again, and in this situation I wish I could
come to you for guidance, for understanding. Yet all I see in your
eyes is judgement and insecurity. So please tell me, I beg of you, how
is it that you expect me to be unwavering and strong and always in
control when I have nothing at my back? I posess some brains and the
slightest penchant for braun, yes, yet neither in sufficient quantity
to prop me up on its own. Yes, I'm weak. It would be rather nice if I
had your help and didn't have to worry about handling you and your
fragile ego.

I'm the son here. Why is it that it's always me that has to handle you?

Wiping the grime and sweat off my brow..

He holds many advantages, yet the reason I am behind is only my own
weakness. This lack of aggression and initiative- a certain lack of
competitiveness and a preference for camaraderie that often blurs my
shine has made me stumble once again. .

Man up, Ali. You're in the game now.

Lucidity in the Haze

This is actually a rewrite- but I think the difference is rather marked. :)


There are few things as profound
As feeling your own pulse

How often do we forget
that we live
while we live

Caught up in
and distracted by
battles fought
both inside and out

Yet isn't it nice to remember
that breathing too, can be voluntary
if you but think of doing it.
a strange paradox, no?
That such a vital function
is executed without your thought
with nothing more than
subconscious consent?

there are few things as intense
as feeling your own pulse.

How often do we forget
that sometimes it is
reason enough to run
simply because we can run
and the fear of falling
skin scratching bones breaking
is forgotten as
the wind
rushesinyourface
and the blood
poundsinyourveins

-----

There are few moments as profound
as those immersed in
bittersweet nostalgia.
Of moments stolen in
secluded tables in empty restaurants
when eyes behold
bright emeralds and crimson
where dull browns and greys
were thought to dwell
and when one discovers
signs of the divine
among the interactions
of dust motes and sunlight
arched eyebrows and hidden smiles
curry-covered fingers

as we let each day of our lives
pass us by, we realize

that nothing is sweeter than the past

and that all the world is mirrored within.

That few sights are as beautiful
as those taken for granted
in crowded bazaars
slathered in sugary syrup
and dunked in urgent teas

Few sounds are as haunting
as your mother chanting
halfmumbling rhythmic prayers
at the crack of dawn right when
you're half dizzydrowsydrifting
between her and the muezzin

and there is no scent
like the scent of newly damp earth
in the first monsoon rain.

2009

2009 shall be remembered. Not as the year of constant explosions. Not
so much as the year the judiciary got reinstated. Some may reminisce
that it was the year when so many businesses shut down, people became
homeless, and that it was the year that Pakistan had the greatest,
most ineffectual and corrupt idiot in history as it's head of state.

But for most of us, it will be the year we finally won again.

Tell me this isn't AMAZING.

You. Just You.

It rains, and
In your hands
I am like a plastic kite
Flying alone on the afternoon
Of a particular spring festival
Drenched within the security
Of being plastic rather than paper
I dance in the rain, with abandon like
Some doe-eyed young woman
On the verge of ripeness
Only slight inncocence retaining

It rains
And in your hands
I dance among the clouds
Like a moth gone berserk
Trying to decide
Which one of your candles
I should give myself to
And I become joyfully oblivious
Of the water that drenches me
And acts as a road for lightening to strike
Of the heat it will exude which
Melts even the best of white plastic
Leaving it charred, stained
Like you, after my selfishness
Shall be played out

It rains
And in your hands
I shall cherish this flight
And keep it close to my soiled bosom
This breaking that I have promised you
Shall be, perhaps
The greatest of my sins

I have no doubt that
A woman's love lies
So much closer to divinity
For what else could see
Within this hollowness
A hallowness?
Who else could find littered
Within this rubble of weakness
Shards of sacrifice?
It is the divinity
behind your gaze that grants
This dust any honor
It is your heart that can see
Within this sin
Virtue wreathed

Phone Sex

Got your attention, huh?

So, this is my absolutely inappropriate disgusting post that I'm going
to put up because I have acute writers block. And because I find it to
intensely amusing. So, this is what phone ex in Urdu would sound
like. :-p

<i>Are you wet?</i>
Kya tum gili ho?

<i>I'm hard for you. </i>
Mein tumhare liye sakht hoon

<i>Gimme a kiss. </i>
Pappi do.

<i>I'm cumming!</i>
Mein aa raha/rahi hoon!

<i>You're so tight. </i>
Tum kitni tang ho.

<i>And what if I gave you a little lick over there..?</i>
Aur agar wahan tumhein thora sa chaatoon...?

Any suggestions? :p

Bakwas.

So generally speaking, my dad isnt much of the gift giving/buying-the-
kids-random-stuff kinda guy. The exception arises whenever he's in
Dubai (almost always in transit) and both me and my brother are
usually rather keen to take advantage. If nothing else, I can almost
always weasel out at least a cologne.
So yesterday, after much careful debate, I sent my dad a text asking
him to bring me a bottle of some cologne called 'Cuba' (which I've
never heard of, but was recommended by a friend that is an absolute
cologne freak) and some nice shirts.
So dad keeps a separate sim with him for international travel- a
number that is very similar to his local one- in order to avoid
needless international roaming charges on unimporant/unnecessary calls.
Unfortunately, I texted to his local sim. He probably got the text as
spoon as he landed.

Dammit.

Support Sis-tem

So sadia... Could you please come back now? Pretty please? :'-(

I long for the self assurety that only comes to man with a significant
balance in the bank and with a few meaningful contacts in the pocket.

We'll get there. Sooner than later.

Bhains ki Aulad

4 weeks. 5 days a week. 500 calories per session- minimum. Walking/
running 5km and climbing 60 stories every session. A roti and a half
per day- down from 4-5 rotis per day.

Not a single kg lost.

Fuck this.

The Best of Artisans...

Sometimes it feels as if
The stitches you've used
To hold me together
Are stronger than what they bond
And somehow, if
The essence of me that is
You residing within
Should ever tire of this Spartan abode
You will find that your welds are stronger than the steel of my heart

Verbatim. FML.

A list of things my extended family says:

1. The cost of education in Lahore and London are about the same- aur
mahol Lahore mein zyadha ganda hai (When a certain chachas own son is
old enough to start thinking about college- and after sabotaging my
chance of going to the US despite being a MUCH better student than his
son)

2. Jo log shaadiyon pe apni betiyon ko dance karnay dete hain woh
beghairat hotay hain (My parents vehemently agree- yet another reason
I dont allow my friends and family to mix)

3. America kapray sab say sastay (I.e. Inexpensive) hotay hain- poori
duniya main. Pakistan se bhi sastay.

4. Mugs k neechay rakhnay k liye plates (I.e. Saucers) hotay hain.

5. (While discussing ppl using mobile phones to watch porn, the fact
that my phone has 8gb of memory comes up. I retort by telling the said
chacha that his son has a 60gb iPod touch) Woh toh mein ne apni safe
mein lock rakha hua hai.

6. Humara karobaar koi parha likha banda kar hi nai sakta.

7. Bachon ko achhe/mehnge school bhejna fashion hai.

8. Mein sirf river island, zaras, aur next k kapray pehnta hoon.
(Later when cloths of said family member were sent over so we could
give them to the household help, most turned out to be fake levis stuff)

Dil maange more?

Beckoning Strangely

I have the strangest feeling that it would not take much to make me
fall in love with Karachi- despite my deep running affection for Lahore.
There is something about the sheer magnitude of activity, the
metropolitan atmosphere, the significant sense of constant
instability, the grimy grit and poetic urban decay that calls out for
me. For this soul living in this tiny city in the north of Pakistan.
This unknown city seems to beckon like some painted-oiled mistress
from a public harem. The earthiness only adds to the grandeur.

Ascension Genesis

Let me fester
let me grow
In your veins
let me flow.
Until I become
a cancerous scourge
And silently smile at you
In understated- yet complete
victory

Let me twist
Let me pull
let me divide
Let me rule
Until I become
Your fullstop authority
And stare impassively back
At the flybuzzing of your ineffectual passion

Stab my back
While you fall
Watch me smile
While you crack
I have already
Surpassed your existential parameters
And look down upon you
From a perch that you know not
exists

Poondhi ki Recalibration

I've realized, strangely enough, that I've been most successful with
women when hitting on them never crossed my mind (other than my
obligatory and customary flirting-beghairatly-just-for-fun) and I'm
starting to think k attitude thora zyadha rakhna chahiye. :-p

Haina Precious? :-p

Sialkot Zindabad!

I PROMISE that I was just passing by!

Masalay wala Masala. No Masla. No maska. Only Chaska

Steamed chicken and veggies in oh-so-desi masala with garlic-brushed
breadsticks, marinera sauce (spelling rather poignantly corrected by
weird cold blizzard person) and spaghetti. The stuff in the glass is a
sprig of fresh mint straight from our home garden, which was
subsequently drowned in masala lemonaide. :-D

Objects in the Rear View Mirror by Meatloaf

Tell me these lyrics aren't amazing.



The skies were pure and the fields were green
And the sun was brighter than it's ever been
When I grew up with my best friend Kenny
We were close as any brothers than you ever knew
It was always summer and the future called
We were ready for adventures and we wanted them all
And there was so much left to dream
And so much time to make it real
But I can still recall the sting of all
The tears when he was gone
They said he crashed and burned
I know I'll never learn
Why any boy should die so young
We were racing, we were soldiers of fortune
We got in trouble but we sure got around
There are times I think I see him peeling out of the dark
I think he's right behind me now and he's gaining ground
But it was long ago and it was far away,
Oh God it seems so very far
And if life is just a highway,
Then the soul is just a car
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And when the sun descended and the night arose
I heard my father cursing everyone he knows
He was dangerous and drunk and defeated
And corroded by failure and envy and hate
There were endless winters and the dreams would freeze
Nowhere to hide and no leaves on the trees
And my father's eyes were blank
As he hit me again and again and again
I know I still believe he'd never let me leave,
I had to run away alone
So many threats and fears, so many wasted years
Before my life became my own
And though the nightmares should be over
Some of the terrors are still intact
I'll hear that ugly coarse and violent voice
And then he grabs me from behind
And then he pulls me back
But it was long ago and it was far away,
Oh God it seems so very far
And if life is just a highway,
Then the soul is just a car
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
There was a beauty living on the edge of town
And she always put the top up and the hammer down
And she taught me everything I'll ever know
About the mystery and the muscle of love
The stars would glimmer and the moon would glow
I'm in the back seat with my Julie like a Romeo
And the signs along the highway all said,
Caution! Kids At Play!
Those were the rights of spring and we did everything
There was salvation every night
We got our dreams reborn and our upholstery torn
But everything we tried was right
She used her body just like a bandage,
She used my body just like a wound
I'll probably never know where she disappeared
But I can see her rising up out of the back seat now
Just like an angel rising up from a tomb
But it was long ago and it was far away,
Oh God it seems so very far
And if life is just a highway,
Then the soul is just a car
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
She used her body just like a bandage,
She used my body just like a wound
I'll probably never know where she disappeared
But I can see her rising up out of the back seat now

Sometimes my mind says 'savour is while you can'. At other times, it's
just in denial.

Immortality

This was published a few months ago in Exnihilo Magazine. Never got a chance to put it in my blog. It's very abstract, but I like it. I miss being able to write like this.



Blank minds and blank pages
hibernate together as thoughts
dreams and ideas collect outside
in a snowstorm flurry falling,
burying them
inside their own malignancy

the elements are too harsh to face
and snow angels are not at all angels
So we lie inside where all is
(and we are)
Obvious, Oblivious


Tattered rags that were once pendants
flap about upon the thinnest of reeds
forced to bend and warp
in warm and humid winds
as transparent seas float about
in waves
rotting them from within

once colors bold and bright
pigments and meaning
bleached
as ever changing winds flay them

unbreathing, conceding

And they shout out their hymns
in voices as grizzled as their faces

‘for our love we shall die’
‘for our love you shall die’

know they not that to love is to live?
yet for them to fully live
others must die

For what is a woman that cannot beget a life?
and what is a man that cannot take a life?
their love and them

irreverent, irrelevent
ethnocentrically benevolent

crystals liquidized
display your sight and engage your mind
with something other than what you believe
for who can know the treachery
or the darkest of intentions
within this glaring light?
for it shines
only to make

shadows

beneath your handsthattype
behind your eyesthatsee
permeating the beauty
they work together to create

entwined, refined
forward.back.rewind

What is immortality,
but a collection of lives?

Disguised
Surmised
Survived

Tick Tock You're Dead

Life has taken on a strange, agonizing pace. Work is far less intense than I'd like it to be, yet there is no room to do anything but work while I'm at the factory. I keep my head bowed and act like I'm doing something since I'm under constant scrutiny, but without having been given a definite place and function, I can only flay about pointlessly, superfluous. There is no way I can use the spare time for other activities. As for the rest of the day, there is so much I want to do that 24 hours seems to be the most stringent of deadlines; I find myself wishing that there were more hours in a day.
There is so much that I want to achieve, so many things left to explore and experience. Sleeping feels like a waste of time- I don't sleep more than 6 hours on average anyway. Rather unfortunate, isn't it, sleep being a biological necessity? I could do so many things that are so much cooler. Activities that are so enriching, that help me grow.
Such a shame.

Behind These Eyes

I long for the day when I will be comfortable enough with life to say
things to people like I say them to myself when I'm alone.
How many would guess the fear behind this exterior? How many would
flinch upon looking behind all this false bravado? How many would look
beyond the peripheral and see my strength in standing hear unblinking
despite all I have ragingburstingfrothingbirthingdying inside?
And when. When. When. When will I, on the deepest of levels, trust
myself enough.
If you could look inside your own soul, would you like what you saw?
Would you even want to look?

Sapnay

I had a weird dream the other night. I snuck into a celebrity's hotel
room and cleaned out the mini fridge. After that I befriended him and
made him pay for coffee. Obviously had it been a dream about a female
celeb, I would've opened more than just the mini bar in her room. :-p

Landing in London- 3 Doors Down

Recently rediscovered. My current powerplay.

I woke up today in London
As the plane was touching down
All I could think about was Monday
Maybe I’d be back around
If this keeps me away much longer
I don’t know what I will do
You've got to understand it’s a hard life,
that I’m going through

And when the night falls in around me
I don’t think I’ll make it through
Ill use your light to guide my way
Cuz all I think about is you

LA is getting kind of crazy
New York's getting kind of cold
I keep my head from getting lazy
I just can’t wait to get back home

And all these days I spend away
Ill make up for this I swear
I need your love to hold me up
When it’s all too much to bear

And when the night falls in around me
I don’t think I’ll make it through
I'll use your light to guide my way
Cuz all I think about is you

And all these days I spend away
Ill make up for this I swear
I need your love to hold me up
When it’s all too much to bear

And when the night falls in around me
I don’t think I’ll make it through
Use your light to guide the way

Cuz all I think about is you

Sibling Seperation

I never really realized how much I love my brother until he went to
boarding school. The seven years that I spent alone were intensely
lonely- there us nothing quite like sitting at a house where you live
alone watching your friends leave one by one- knowing they all have
people waiting for them at home. It's a strange sort of loneliness.
Intense and gnawing. Being pertpetually single didn't really help
either. LOL.
But now, living at home, just me and the parents, the house is so big
and empty without his insanity, his tantrums, his random and ready
laughter, and the genuine love and ingenuity with which only he can
manipulate us all.
He knows infinitely better than I do; how to get money out of dad, how
to make mom laugh even when she's on a rampage, how to make me smile a
certain exasperated smile that only he gets.
I virtually raised the kid- which, looking at his randomness and
general insanity, is rather obvious- and his presence has grown on me
to an extent that sometimes we feel symbiotic. Every time he leaves to
go back to boarding school, I feel like a very real part of me is
ripped away. Empty.
Miss you bro. My stupid gopher. :-)

Enlightened Thought of the Day

There are so many people in this world who need a good fucking-up; yet
there are so many perfectly fine people who perchance get fucked.
Hence, the world not only suffers from unequal distribution of income-
it also suffers from unequal distribution of fuck.

Pliss mujhe batao

*nasal feminine voice* Does this blog make me look fat?

Kya bakwas hai

Why does posting from my phone absolutely ruin all my formatting? I
mean, fine I don't bother reading through posts even once- hence the
typos and spelling mistakes but at least my punctuation and structure
is generally ok! Sheesh.

The Bearded Menace and Japanese Racecar Drivers with Hot Sisters

Ok- kill me, but I actually really liked the speed racer movie. Its all... Heartwarming. Yay. Ooh, and the Japanese guys sister is HOT.

So, I managed to soldier through by writers block and write something mediocre- which I subsequently sent to my journalist friend in amreeka (who incidentally is an alumnus of ColumbiaU, xeb) for feedback. I ended up writing something like 500 words although the people at huffington post only asked for 150- but that should be OK because they don't seem to be too strict on word limits. Although I do think the article itself needs to be 'filled in' and given more argumentative structure at this stage, I like the conclusion that I've come to- that the Taliban are as much a symptom as a disease, and that inherent hatred of the US and all things related is a major factor for this extremist movement gaining as much momentum as it has- but issues like illiteracy and poverty are at least equally to blame. At the end (borrowing the words of the said journalist friend), I've said that the Taliban have become a sort of counterweight for the US in the eyes of some. A new, fresh approach- one that genuinely tries to benefit the people of this nation- is required to remove this stigma of the US being a malicious anti-Pakistan, anti-Islam force (Although we can't completely ignore some actions in the past that have made such opinions rational). In essence, the Taliban do need to be defeated, but in order to defeat them, they must be made redundant.

I'm trying to write a blog post about pakistan for the huffington post. kuch likha nahin ja raha. :-/

Ew.

My brother is eating kulfi. Which in itself is fine. He added in some
peanut butter- which didn't make sense with me, but was kind of
understandable.
Then he decided to slather Tabasco sauce all over it. :-/

The Distance of Proximity

Do you know what it feels like
To fly with another's wing?
To be illumined
by someone elses candle?
To be drenched in a stranger's tears?
Do you know what it feels like
To feel the harshest wind blowing
To search desperately for that
Slightly depressed hollow in the ground
So you can sleep peacefully curled into
It
Like a lovers bosom or like
A mothers womb?
I know not the rhythm of your eyelashes
When they look at me in bewilderment
Nor the treble of the tremble of your lips quivering in my desire
But I know that even then
In the midst of all this anarchy
Brethren to all this cacophony, I've been a melody
Floating, falling, feeling, searching
For your ear so I may sing to you melodies
With the sound of the moonlight falling on velvet and the harsh echoes
of lonely steps on the asphalt
In their frail flapping
I pass into your dreams
Flying on your wings
And I kiss you
Warmly, slowly
Lingering
Before I set the world ablaze
With your candle and pray
That some stranger will someday
(when even your dreams of me
fade(seep) into your subconscious)
Bless you with tears

Too Close For Comfort

According to local info (from my rather well connected family) four
children were arrested today by the police. Apparently they had come
down from isloo, bought school bags and city school uniforms, and were
planning to masquerade as students and enter the campus with the
morning tide of incoming kids. Only their bags weren't supposed to
carry books. They were supposed to carry bombs.
All of my cousins go to that school. Some of my school teachers still
teach there.
And now I'm hearing multiple rumours of a bomb going off in some
school here. This sleepy, boring city where scissors and footballs are
made is being given the harshest of wakeup calls.
Please let the rumours be just rumours. This is too close to home.
This is too much anarchy in this slow-moving world.

Yeh random toh nai hai

Britney spears has taken over my mind. I like chainsawing aliens. Yes
Sanaa, little green ones too. Why am I saying this to you? You don't
even read my blog. Hmph. Sadia I wish you were really my sister and I
could rant to you all the time. Precious, lubju. Marina and neeli are
hot. So is xeb. Eeda pagal hai. She should talk to me more. Yeh
attention-maanging anonymous person kaun hai? Ajeeb aurat. Yawns.
Scratches tummy. Somebody should buy me a liposuction for my birthday.
I don't want to sleep. Or work. I want my camera. And food. But not to
get fat. Kya bakwas hai. Kuttay machhar biting like bitches. LOL.
Kasana ko pyar ho Gaya hai. Bechara larka. He should always wear a
jock strap. Picks nose. UB, try using punctuation only when its
needed. Aur koi achhi si larki phassa lo. Shaadi kar lo. Do stuff that
generally makes babies but fail on purpose. Unless you want to
actually have babies. Mein mama ka sabse favourite baby hoon. But she
and dad need to give me space. I wish I had friends in this city. This
city sucks. I like my new Honda city though. Adjusts masculine
implements. Runs hands through hair. Mein ne thin crust meat lovers
pizza khana hai. With jalapenos. Bahaut sari coke k saath. And I want
to buy loads of books. Tum saari auratein itni pretty cheezein kyun
likhti ho? Dekho mein bhi pyara likhta hoon. Ok? Ok. Taliban saare
pagal aur tharki hain. Love marriage buraeu khol diya mushtundon ne.
Despo Kahin k. Mein bhi pretty ho jaon ga. Patla ho k. Yawns. Snores.
Night. Lubjubyebye.

Pimp my Donkey Cart.

Im addicted to my morning coffee and sooper. Sooper sab se ooper.

Strangely enough, I got paid. So now I can only complain about being
paid like a matriculate, and not a graduate. Too bad.

Poor Little Ali

I've lost a follower. :-(

Fragmentation

Her eyes shone with the oncoming of uncontrollable moisture when she
saw the first fragment to fall from that ivory statue she had carved
so painstakingly, so lovingly, that it had filled with life. He had
filled with life as if he had been a never-used candle and she was the
flame.
The chip fell from where, no one could see. Nor could they figure out
which one of them was in more pain.

Coping, but Cracking

I'm not a demanding person, I like to think- and I'm also someone who
manages to quickly adapt to wherever they are. I'm not in the habit of
complaining, and have an inherent need to manage with what I have. If
I'm not happy somewhere, I at least find contentment, or if nothing
else, indifference.
The more I try to deny it, to ignore and smother it, the more it's
hitting me in the face.
I'm. Not. Happy. Here.
I'm. Not. Happy. Like. This.
Its getting harder and harder to bear.

Cheap Pyar <3<3

Me while trying to convince a friend to lose her virginity to me:

I want to boldly go where no man has gone before!

I think its working. *govinda style dance moves*

Cheap Sialkoti Pyar <3

Sent by one of my stalkeresses about 4 years back. Returned by mom
today with a major glare.

Shanaakht

Our country is a fascist mess. Yes, that's exactly what it is. The aspirations, the ambitions and hopes and dreams of the many are perpetually held ransom by the egos of a few.
I've been meaning to talk about this for a long time- but unfortunately, i don't have much to say that hasn't already been said. Barbaric reactions to educated, passive, and otherwise peaceful freedom of expression is somewhat of a cultural necessity. It seems to bring out the paranoid opportunist in those in power.
In 2005, i was a student in the Punjab college of business administration- also known as PCBA/PICS. I was also the coordinator (Read: president) of the Media and Cultural Club- which was the sole student society on campus worth mentioning right then. That position effectively made me the most prominent student on campus.
On the 15th of February, a member of faculty viciously attacked a student on campus- one of my members, leaving his finger broken in three places, his wrist hyper extended, and his back bruised in the shape of the professor's hand prints (The professor was a large and powerful man). The student endured all these things as well as punches and slaps on his face and kicks to his stomach.
The following morning, an 'inquiry' was launched. The student was hospitalized, and the professor came and went to his lectures on campus like nothing at all had happened.
The students were obviously disgusted and decided to have a token protest- knowing full well that the draconian administrative culture of our college would strike at us relentlessly if we were to have a strike. So, being the wise and cautious students we were (and at my urging to not get too passionate/violent) we decided to have a token protest- meaning that we did everything normally, attending classes et al, but with the addition of wearing paper badges reading 'next time, it could be you'.
To make a long story short, me, and two friends were expelled as 'ringleaders'. and two girls were heavily fined for daring to talk to the administration about this.
The story ended with me petitioning the governor (Khalid Maqbool- awesome man) for an independent tribunal and being reinstated (along with the rest of the expelled students).
But the point is, the same fascist mentality is exuded. I remember how hard i had worked for my club and college, and how broken hearted i was when they did this to me- and my heart goes out to Amean J., Sharmeen Obaid, and the rest of the organizers, because i know what they are going through in exponentially more intense.
The fact is that this feudal mentality (I refuse to believe that PPP supporters just 'showed up'- this looks obviously orchestrated to me) of ours is dooming our entire country. A so-=called liberal party has shown its ugly draconian underbelly.
How can we, as educated and well exposed citizens, not condone this?
Please dont give me any male chauvinist crap about honor and women, and 'shaheed' benazir bhutto.
The fact is, that the truth, by its very nature, defies the tst of time. It defies the test of circumstance, and of opinion. If PPP supporters truly believe that Benazir was that great, something like this should not faze them in the least. We are, after all, talking about the same woman who laughed at Ali Saleem's parody of her live.
Yes, i do personally hink the photo itself was in bad taste- but that is completely besides the point. It was an opinion- and by the very basic intellectual respect of thought- deserved to be expressed.
Shame on us.

Sins of the Father.

I know you try your best and sometimes even beyond that. Its quite
unsettling for a child, the realization that you aren't all-knowing
and semi-omniscient. That you aren't always in control and that you
too make the most intense of blunders.
But I know you do all that you can, heart and soul. Its just the
nature of our relationship- one in which probably no mortal man can be
perfect.
Yes, it was unsettling, all those years ago, when I realized that you
were only human. It was unsettling, all those years ago, when in my
anger and relative youth all your flaws became as apparent as the
crags within a newly broken stone under the noonday sun.
Time has smoothed my perception, however, and taught me better. Even
you, so selfless, so ready to sacrifice, so strong and steady within
your beliefs, even you are human after all.
And I love you. And I forgive you. Even for forcing me to make all
these sacrifices- my freedom, my love, my education, my love, my ego,
my love. My love. I love you still, despite having to fight tooth and
nail for freedoms my peers take for granted. Despite not being allowed
to have even as much autonomy as many women in our patriarchal
society. You coddle me, and often suffocate me, make me feel lame and
helpless, and impotent. But I know that wherever I am, you are there
with me. And I forgive you. And I love you. And sometimes, I even
understand.
I thank you for all these sacrifices you've made- whether or not the
reasons behind them were logical or well founded. They were sacrifices
all the same.
Yes, our bond is deep and profound- how quickly, in my heart I go
through a thousand different emotions for all you do. Some darker than
the deepest buried chip of ebony to never have seen the sun. Some as
radiant and brilliant and almost as blinding as virgin snow on a clear
winters morning.
And yet you teach me so many things that I would not do to my own
children.

UnMasked

My hands are tied
Along with my feet
my mouth is gagged
Stifling the secrets I keep
What do I have to offer you,
Angel
Apart from dreams of daydreams
Coming true?
What have I to offer you then
My angel?
Nothing for me,
and even less for you
My eyes are bleary
Dark is the night
My limbs are weary
Yet long is the fight
I have too much on my hands
My precious
Even though you've done naught
But lighten the burden I must bear
How do you find me to be so beautiful
I ask myself, my beautiful
Despite these all these scars I wear?
Grains of sand are rapidly falling
In this hourglass we call fate
There are no intersecting lines
You see
No probabilities of 'us' to contemplate
So I ask you now
My angel
What will you do?
What will you do
when I tear your world apart?
So what will you do then,
my precious
What will you do
When I break your heart?
I stand before you
Meri jaan
Completely unmasked
And ask you let me go
While you can
Buy the only reason that
I even have the courage to ask
Such of you, my precious
Is because I already know you can't.

Hello

I list many links from my blogroll when I changed my theme- and even
after that, a lot of links mysteriously disappeared. If I've missed
you in the sidebar- give me a comment please!

Sometimes, when you try to sleep it off and realize that a good nights
rest has done nothing to sate the anger and frustration, you realize
how real the anger and frustration really are.

Fuck My Life.

Yesterday was payday. I was the only person not to get paid. And I can't even ask. I'm fucking 23 and I'm 'supposed' to get 10k a month. I've made 10k in 3 days- back when 10k was actually worth shit I wait. I actually wait for a 10k fucking handout. And now apparently I dont even get that. My life very often feels like a waste. A. Total. Utter. Complete. Waste.

Phass Jao.

The scientists lie
In all their twisted theories
Obsessed with coloring
within the lines
The truth, however remains
My heart
The stars are nothing
More than mirrors,
My Precious.
And in all the universe
you are all that shines.

Postsecret makes me tingle. Yesitdoes.

The Greatest of Foes

Ones greatest enemies are not external, nor are they usually blatantly obvious. Individuals are rarely specifically malicious towards one another. Rivalries and hatred generally are often derived from various combination of personal traits as well as circumstance. The synergy of the two must be emphasized because individually they are much less potent as interactive catalysts. In other words, sometimes you are hated for just being there, and sometimes for just who you are- but most of the time, its a combination of the two. But if we look somewhat deeper, we can see that even in the more potent third scenario described above, hatreds are often derived- and the source is, in the deepest sense, usually internal rather than external. The catalyst of the catalyst resides within your very core- in the initial muscular contraction of your beating heart, in the deepest particle of your marrow.If we conquer those obstacles, we are defeating the sickness. The disease. Otherwise, its only the symptoms that we address.
Most of the hatred that we feel are reflections of our own inabilities. We are all our own greatest enemies. In my case, at the moment, my extended family are nothing more than hurdles. Yes, they are malicious and inconsiderate and in many cases seem to lack just general courtesy and and any moral base- but the fact remains that if I am intelligent enough to know the bases of their offense- I should be able to create a relevant and effective defense. But battles like these are the most difficult to fight, as they involve continuous metamorphosis, a great deal of psychological clarity and agility in order to win. But they are also the most rewarding.My greatest enemy right now is not circumstance. It is not any single or group of persons.
It is my impatience. It is my tendency to ignore and forget the details. It is very often slight absentmindedness. But it is not lack of passion. It is not lack of fire. Nor is it lack of intelligence or perceptiveness.

I. Shall. Win.

Shit Write- bu' wha' da haiwl!

Grazing rocks know no remorse
they find their pastures
even in the barest of soil
yet end up where the green
is lushest
more often than not.

But where are the beasts of burden
bearing the brunt of this escapade?
Can they not whinny or neigh?
Can they not rear and kick?

And there lie the lying leeches
inches away from all
'tis not completely their fault
that they are this way, although it mostly is.
They suck and sip and rejoice in their inneffectuality
and know not rock from beast
they sit idle, injecting paralytic juices
and enjoy their harvest.


Someone save this country!

Vroom vroom

Let's start off with a quote:

My brother while watching 'Lost' with me:

But she's his husband!

*sigh* the curse of being quasi-bilingual.

Anyhoo- intensive training in Quality Assurance starts for me today. I
have one month before the current manager of 17 years goes on a four
month leave. I will be responsible for pretty much the entire
department while he's gone.
This is an awesome chance because the timespan not only allows me to
learn the nitty gritty- but also implement my own changes. I probably
still won't be paid jack shit... But thats not really Yue point right
now.

Accelerator floored. Gear shifted. Clutch released.

Muzak pliss?

Someone recommend some good music. Lyrics have to he awesome- and
please don't make it too heavy. LOL. Thanks.

If you have my email, bhejo there!

[(cons)(des)](truction)

There is a strange kinship
Between mason and soldier

Broken hearts build no homes
But what of the homes
That break our hearts?

Written absolutely spontaneously as a reply to huma imtiaz's latest
post about the 'adultress' girl being beaten. Remember God when hurt
causes beauty. Yes, I like this write.

Bhangra time!

I finally got my new car! :-D yay! Now for the stickers... :-p last
chance offers for dudes and dudettes in Lahore! I'm actually very
serious about this entire thing. :-D

Japani Maroonda

So dad comes back from a very major business trip after meeting with
clients from all over the world. As usual, he comes back with a
plethora of gifts- Egyptian leather stuff, baklava (yum!), dried
fruits and nuts from Iran, Belgian chocolate, a pair of nikes :-p a
paperweight, and this very elegant looking box with stuff in Japanese
written on it.
Apparently, its some kind of Japanese sweet- so all three of us with
our khandaani sweettooths became QUITE excited. After ooh-ing and aah-
ing at the very Japanese paper box sns wrapping we very carefully
unwrapped one piece of our prize...

... And it turned out to be maroonda. Maroonda and peanuts. (for the
less desi among us, maroonda is a very typical desi snack made with
molasses and toasted rice. Kinda like rice krispies. Snap, crackle,
pop, baby) yup. We got all excited over maroonda. Me and my mother
fought over- with me spilling the nuts while she locked up the
chocolate in her paise wali almari- maroonda. Maroonda! Yay.

Yup.

Its a sad day when a guy has to be afraid of his own employees/
servants/whateverthefucksomepoliticallycorrectfuckerwantstocallthem.

I'm having many such days. Need to figure something out.

Anokha Laadla

I probably shouldnt be talking since I have every attention of
covering the back window of my soon-to-arrive car with plastic wrap
and then tape on 'paindoo prince' in bright red and driving around
Lahore playing naseebo lal songs at full volume while wearing my green
and purple rubber wig. Might also write 'raging Rajput' somewhere as
well. Anyone wanna join me? :-D

I. Am. Evil!

My immediate family thinks I'm careless and forgetful and boring.

The truth is that I can't relate to them more often than not. And that
I'm actually just lazy- forgetfulness is always a convenient excuse.

On Love and Loss Assured

God created you
I,
Us,
From clay

Tell me then,
If I ever (lost within the confines of the thought that I shall lose
you as surely as I love you)
Traced your picture
(with my blackened finger
And unadultered tears)
In the grey dust of urban decay...

... Would you feel my caress?

Alpha-Male

The weather outside was sweltering, and the shade of the entrance was welcome respite. They asked the mustachioed man at the entrance for his office and were asked to sit down in a simply furnished- but clean room, relaxing in the artificial breeze of the twin ceiling fans gracing the ceiling.
After about 12 minutes, at almost exactly the time that they were supposed to arrive (This man had a widely renowned reputation for punctuality- and they knew they were much more likely to be in business if they followed his example) Mustache came to escort them to his office. He led them down a hallway in the administration block of his tidy business empire.
Many different tales were told of this man. Some said that he had splintered away from his khandaan and contemptuously gone his own way. Others say he had been forced into the position. Still others said everything in between. But none of that really mattered. This was his domain, and one thing everyone did agree on was that he had earned it. Brick by brick.
The door to his office was of dark hardwood, carved into a fascinating yet minimalist symphony of curves and edges running in lanes that twined and intertwined tickling the eye and the mind. They both looked at each other and took deep breaths. It was now or never.
Mustache opened the door and they walked into a well lit and spacious office sleek with black leather furniture and dark wood accentuated with polished steel. The air smelled lightly of coffee, musk, leather, and power.
He sat upright in his chair, alert and in control, wearing a slate grey shirt over pitch black pants with his hair gelled back letting the intensity of his eyes dominate. He asked them to settle down in a surprisingly understated and polite voice. Folding his hands over the gleaming wood of his sprawling desk and giving them an attentive half-smile he listened to their proposal.

* * *

One of the men was into his fifties- almost twice the age of the individual they were making their sales pitch to, but his voice carried slight tremors that normally weren’t there, and the palms of his hands were slightly moist. He knew his gimmicks wouldn’t work here, and that he would have to be uncharacteristically honest. The man they were here to see could pick out lies from a man’s voice like he could ascertain the perfect gestures and tone of voice needed for any situation- effortlessly.
He started to make his pitch.

* * *
He was focused and direct- a killing bullet in flight shot by the most skilled of snipers. He always got the head shot. He wasn’t much of a talker by nature, but he made sure that whenever he talked, he was heard.
He often smiled to himself with how strangely he had amalgamated into his surroundings. In a place of ostentation and extravagance, he had made his mark with a certain understated opulence, of being comfortable with his wealth. He had replaced the loud outraged threats more indigenous to the area with soft but firmly succinct facts stated in a steely cool voice. He was all about cool precision and strategic dominance. His warfare wasn’t about flooding the opposition with greater numbers and better armaments- his was David felling Goliath with a single pebble through the eye. He never had to raise his voice.
So he listened patiently and silently to the two veteran salesmen in his office. They were intimidated, and they had every right to be. They were in uncharted territory after all- and their territory was one that he had long learned how to deal with on his own terms.

* * *

He watched the salesmen walk into the CEO’s room and grinned slightly, smoothing his mustache with his fingers. The boss had a way of dealing with people that defied the status quo. Age especially- a weapon older individuals often tried using on him, proved to be ineffectual in front of his polite but matter-of-fact manner.
But here was the interesting thing- despite always being in control, always dominating, the boss had a way of making the situation one in which everyone left with a smile on their faces. It occurred to mustache that the Boss was almost always referred to reverently and respectfully- although occasionally with deepest scorn by those who had tried to play the power game with him. All in all, he was respected by many, and hated intensely by few. And he played by his own rules.
Mustache smiled as he sat down behind his desk. The salesmen would get fair deals, but ones that were in favour of the Boss. He knew how to deal with them in their territory. On his own terms.


Not my best of writings but hey- i tried :P (I'm not really a prose kinda guy)

Tota Tarot

Painting Dreams with Lightening

Memories of the past
Seem to sneak up on me
With the subtlety
Of the very first raindrop
To hit your eye
before it rains
And with all the gravity
Of lightening flashing
Flickering
On a pitch black night
Putting for miliseconds
Into sharp relief
All the dreams I dreamed

The crash of thunder
Is like an audience applauding
A specifially excellent scene
In a tragic, comic, cynical
play

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I HAD to steal this from Sepia Mutiny. It is so funny!

La Italiana

We put merinera sauce on the Garlic bread so that certain women
*cough*khizzy*cough* can't accuse us of using pizza hut products. :-p

Getting my hands dirty

After spending 3 hours sorting extracting forceps. My jeans and face
were also rather grimy at the end. To tip things off the workshop is
pretty warm. I'm not complaining though. My mind is constantly at work.

If you're all up there doing what I think you are doing...

You dig your graves deep. You dig them deep indeed.

The Starting Line

It is time.

So I finally have a designation: Asst. Manager of QA.

The workers generally consider Urdu speakers and educated people to be
flawed mummy daddy idiots with no practical skills.

My extended family would like nothing more than the oppurtunity to go
apeshit on me in front of my father with him being powerless to say
anything.

Oh, and I'm still grossly underpaid.

They do not know who they are dealing with.

The more you push, the more I bounce. The more you criticize, the more
I learn. The weaker you want to think I am, the stronger I shall become.

Its my time to shine.

Sin

My Sunday indulgence.

Pizza and pizza loaf.
100% homemade. Stuffed with ground chicken, black olives, mushrooms,
onions, and bell peppers.

You know you love me. >:-)

Dear Elven One,

I'm looking through photographs of your shaadi. I can still understand
why I fell for you the way I did.
You look beautiful. Radiant. And happy.

Mashallah.

Take the best of care.

-Someone who doesnt really matter anymore.

Food and the Laws of Seduction

What if I fed you
Warm sticky syrupy soft
Sheeray walay gulab jamun
On a chilly night in early spring?
What if I looked into your eyes
Reflecting the stars like
They contained constellations
within their own depths?
What if I saw a drop
Of amber syrup trail lazily
down the side of your lips?
(its difficult to eat tidily when you're smiling)
What if I told you
(the corner of my mouth twitching
with ill-concealed mischief)
That we're out of tissues
And kissed you clean instead?

Dieting Made Easy

Fine- the rice was my indulgence for today, but its been double rinsed
to be free of starch, and all of this has been prepared with a single
tablespoon of olive oil. Not too shabby, eh?

Color Me, but my form is my own

Color me red
Color me blue
Color me however
The fuck you want to
Color my flesh
Color my bone
Color all the callouses etched
In this fortress that I've grown
Color my heartstrings
Color my mindlings
Color my twisted tendon taute
They are your bindings
Color my tongue
Color my eyes
Color in with merciless strokes
Eveything that you despise
Color my love
Color my lust
Color each hiddensecret crevice
So that I only me trust
Color my pride
Color my spine
Color me slowly getting up
Its my Time to shine
Color my waist
Color my height
Color every scratch and bruise
I'm ready to fight
Color my fire
Color my flame
Try and color in your every desire
You'll have only you to blame.

You may think you have me off balance, overwhelmed. But all your prods
and pokes are only stokes.

I am the flame.

I Sing This Song to Impress Chicks

and it hasn't failed yet :P

It's really really frustrating. I have nothing to my credit. I am beingt forced to play the waiting game. I've been waiting for too long.

letmeshine

letmeout

letmego

patience

patience

patience.

Walcome to our hotal

Ali is 23 years old. He is an MBA from a halfway decent university. He also has quality management and project management certifications. He's rather well spoken, not too bad looking, and actually fairly smart.

The business his family owns is a rather prosperous one. It's doing well despite the economic situation. It's even profitable despite loadshedding.

Ali was working in a marketing research company a few years ago. Things went rather well. he was working part time (Four hours a day- including lunch break) making 10k a month, and was offered a managerial permanent position. Back then, Ali was in the middle of his BBA degree. He only had A-Levels as a qualification back then.

So he imagines that it is quite reasonable to be rather despondent that now, being 23, well qualified, and generally quite competent, his extended family offers him 10k as salary for this month. After 3 months of deliberating and not paying him at all.

Yay.

An Attempt to Rewrite What I Lost

They drifted to each other. They drifted and joined like two pieces of forgotten driftwood in the middle of an ocean so tranquil that your mind makes up subtle baritones of menace just to fill in the silence. Infinite lapping waves caress one another in harmony as if each one is a musician plucking notes out of nothing more than the air around them, living and dying so quickly, and yet despite that being in such perfect harmony that they meld together like the cells on your body so flawlessly that they become a singular being. Therefore, there were actually only three entities in existence- the both of them, and the sea. This meeting, this joining had thus been inevitable from the start.

There is no destiny, no fate. There is no road, no destination. There is only desire.

They held on. They held on like the last two leaves on a formerly lush oak when the fist breathes of winter has started to blow and all of their serene green has been vanquished by the oncoming onslaught of passionate reds and oranges and weeping crimsons. They clung on with hope ever decreasing, by the half of its half of its half of its half. But you see- therein lays the beauty of halves- the half of even the most miniscule of something, is still something. So they held on, like the last two monks of a nearly-extinct order lost and possessed by the imaged of their own fading grandeur.
Of all emotions, hope is perhaps the most beautiful, and even within the myriad variations of hope itself, there is nothing as exquisitely divine than hope despite obviously overwhelming odds. There is a strange sort of poetry in hoping against hope- in continuing the battle despite everything being lost, in being the captain that goes down with the ship. All that matters in that moment is the battle itself, all that exists is the incessant throbbing in your veins.

Sometimes you fight to win. Sometimes you fight to avoid losing. In either case- all that matters is the fight.

The fell apart, but not into two- instead they came down like the tails of two meteorites like incandescent space dust that is divine yet still dust all the same. They fell, both of them, like two beautiful glasses crashing on a crystalline marble mosaic. All was shining yet all was broken, and who could tell which piece belonged to whom? In that seemingly random design of shattered glass upon unforgiving stone, a strange beauty was beheld. In the crash that signified their embrace, poetry was born.

There is no destruction, no breaking, no flaws. There is only beauty and perception. Thus every look is precious.

Silence.

Why are you so afraid of silence, silence is the root of everything. If you spiral into its void,a hundred voices will thunder messages you long to hear.

-Rumi

Silence. Is that when naught is heard, or when naught is said? In either case, the messages I long to hear will be as music to the deaf, or articulation to the mute. Silence, is the root of all, yes, but do not all roots aspire to create blossoms?

My Road to Billionairedom

Plan #1:
Kidnap midgets and sell them on ebay.

Plan #2:
Offer cyber gigolo services on Second Life.

Plan #3:
Invent productivity enhancing hardware- the first of which is a toilet
that mechanically extracts shit from factory workers hence decreasing
the time they spend shitting. Cannot be used on factory owners because
they're full of shit to the extent that their internal mass consists
almost exclusively of shit, therefore removing their shit would
involve removing all their innards.

Plan #4:
Engineer bollywood style rescue of the zardari daughters (from thugs I
arrange myself) and reap the rewards.

More coming soon.

Paper sucks.

I wrote something really nice down on a piece of paper. One of my very
few prosaic writes.

I lost the paper. :-(

Dear Sri Lanka

I am ashamed. I apologize. I weep.

Sunday home cooking

Eat yo' hearts out muthafuckaaaaaaass :-D

Fullstop.

Looks like I trusted you too much, tigress. I confided in you about
someone I was genuinely concerned about, and now I've lost the trust
of a friend. A friend that I care deeply for.

I shall not make that mistake again.

And to think that I considered you to be the wise one.

Sent from my iPhone

Bittersweet Inevitability

Elven one. Slender one. One with eyes so deep that thousands could
drown in their depths. Your dholki was today and unexpectedly enough-
the pangs I felt were most significant.
One of the wisest people I have met told me to learn to be happy for
you. God bless you. Stay happy. And stay strong.

Sent from my iPhone

Defiance

I understand that its hard, and that you love me. But, firstly, its not at all fair that you are making some of the most important decisions of my life without even bothering to take me into confidence.

You might have to make a stand- and you've never been very good at that, but remember please that it is about time that this happenedand your faltering here may have me financially enslaved for a large portion of my upcoming life.

I will not be enslaved. If you fail, i will be forced to break these chains- even if that means causing you hurt, or causing them humiliation.

You sacrificed. I worked. We've been through so much despite them- I will not pet them reap the fruits of what I have become. They gave me nothing and they shall have nothing.

I will not be enslaved.

Daehoidar

I don't care if it hurts
(it already does)
I wanna have control
(over me with yours over you)
I want a perfect body
(don't we all?)
I want a perfect soul
(is it beyond redemption?)
I want you to notice
(more than you already do)
When I'm not around
(I'm never around)
I wish I was special
(but I already am)
So fucking special
(fuck special)
But I'm a creep
(and you like me anyway)
I'm a weirdo
(more than necessary)
What the hell am I doing here?
(where else can I go?)
I don't belong here
(need to run away)
I don't belong here
(run away back to you)

Sent from my iPhone

Roman Urdu's been institutionalized baby!

I've come to the conclusion that, for some strange reason, my hair
always looks better in Lahore.

Whenever I think of all the things I want to learn and explore and do...

... Life seems to be horrible short.

On Gastronomy and Morality

You know how you're not supposed to judge things as much for their
origins- but for what they are?

I ate this delectable desi dish on my first 'bari' Eid in Pakistan.
Found it to be absolutely delicious. Later on, I asked my mother what
it was called.

'isse ojri kehte hain, beta'

And then, I found out what exactly ojri IS. But by then, I had already
decided that this dish was yummy. Now I couldnt go and abandon it just
because of its origins, now could I?

I now have a moral obligation to eat ojri. Otherwise, I will be
visited by the ghosts of goat innards following me and calling out
'munafiq, munafiq!'

Yes. Gastronomic morality.

Sent from my iPhone

Fat boy says
Wouldn't it be nice
If I could melt
Myself like ice?
Or outrun my skin
And just be pure wind
Oh fragile flame
Sometimes I feel the same

-fat boy by jewel

Sent from my iPhone

Miscommunication

I thought that
We had discussed
That its so much
Better
To be unsaid
But not unheard
Rather than unheard
But not unsaid
But life's a bitch
Isn't it?
Poochu.

Sent from my iPhone

I. Want. To. Be. Alan. Shore.

In case you're wondering why- its because if there was some sort of kungfu or words, he would be the grand master. He can overwhelm opponents with a flurry of words that are too quick, aggressive, and poignant to refute or simply take you out by uttering three words after you finish your long winded tirade that make so much sense that they force the entire image you've so painstakingly created in front of everyone to crumble into the exact shape he desires them to fall into.
And then, there's the fact that he's always in control of the situation, unwaveringly confident, and hilarious in his dry, sarcastic way. And his timing and mastery of subtle nuances, are impeccable.

I SO want to be alan shore. Maybe throw a little confucious into the mix too. (not the confucious widget on this blog, mind you. We're talking Tao-ish wisdom, baybah!)

Identity

To be known is to have your face posted on a board in roadside village
with too many hands and not enough things to grasp. Where everyone
knows your face but no one knows your name but can see and judge you
through nothing but the shine in your gaze and the skill of an
overpaid photoshop artist and the skill of some youngling that knows
how use google images.

To be known is to have clandestine text based conversations with
someone who has never seen you face knows not the inches on your waist
and has no guarantee of your name and knows not the specific melody of
your voice nor the rhythm of your breathing but can recognize you
through your acronyms and typoes and that part of your soul that is
unadulterated by preconceptions and come out only as phonetics upon a
glaring electronic screen so sterile yet it cannot hide the universes
that your words contain.

To be known is to be partially naked. And partially annihilated.

Sent from my iPhone

Of Loving the Transitory

Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break
them. Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed.

I am certain that the priceless wealth is within thee, and that thou
art my best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel
that fills my room.

The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust as death; I hate it, yet
hug it in love.

My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet
when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be
granted.

-gitanjali by rabindranath Tagore

Sent from my iPhone

Btw

Oh, and to all the bloggerladies- you know who you are. Stop writing
so well. Makes me rather jealous. Oh yes it does.

Sent from my iPhone

For the tonsils and the appendix

Do not, for even a second think you have me in your grasp. Or that you
ever shall. I am far above all your delusional squabbling. Every push
you give me nudges the door so that it is closer to closure. The
dragon you've never seen is stiring. I am the darkling that shall
devour all your light. I am the iridiscent flame that will shine in
colors opposite to your own so that your wretched ugliness is clear
for all to see.
We are all made of millions of shades of grey. I've always tried to
show the white- but I have plently of black to share. I am not a man
of infinite patience. My name is Ghafoor- but I can never embody such
godly qualities.
You shall see the flame. And the ice.
And all will become clear when time has measured your worth against my
own. After all- I have, by the grace of al-Ghafoor, always been
frightfully good at things I put my mind to.
This will all be to your loss.
You have no idea who you are dealing with.
Pray that you never need me. I shall salt the wound that you present
for healing.

Sent from my iPhone

MeSoSesky

Dad thinks I'm mummy-daddy. But I'm totally alpha male. I am so alpha!

Someone tell dad that his beta is alpha. Yup. :-p

Sent from my iPhone

Banishment

The word 'cute' has been hereby banned from this blog. All female
offenders will have to engage in some sort of sexual escapade with the
blog owner. All male offenders will have to engage in sexual escapades
with each other.

Cute is a sucky word. Dont use it!

Thank you, and have a nice day. :-D

Sent from my iPhone

MushyStuff

To all the three women that held some portion of my heart.

The first one, the elf. I dreamt about you last night. I ran into you
and your sister- and finally managed to congratulate you on getting
engaged. Threw in congrats for your upcoming marriage too- since
you're getting married next month. My feeling for you were very very
deep- after all, you were my first. As immature and imperfect as it
all was when it occurred, it was rather beautiful. Even if you never
admitted it, I know I had you at the end. Before circumstances took
over and reality came to full boil. If I ever get the chance, I will
be there for you. In a selfless, healthy way. I honestly hope you have
a happy marriage. But forgive me if some remnants of your memory
remain. After chasing after you like a chhichora for a year and a
half, despite extreme zilalat, I deserve that much at least? After
all, you were the first girl I fell for. And God damn it, I fell flat
on my face.

To the devil, know that I call you the devil out of affection and not
vindiction, despite our last conversation when you tried so hard to
scar me. All you ended up doing was sullying your own memory. I've
hated myself enough to know what aspects of me deserve hate. Those
weren't them. But I'll remember you fondly- and sometimes I will
regret saying no. But know that, if you had held on just a little bit
longer- you wouldve had me. The walls were cracked. I'll remember you
fondly as well- you were the first woman who made me feel loved.
Desired. And for that, I'll always be greatful.

To the third, the tigress. You had me, like you've had so many before
me, enthralled. I was stubborn and refused to dive in before I knew
where you stood. As wise a move as I've ever made. I realize you may
not be over him. And I realize that you may need something to fix. I
am not him- and I fix myself. But you're so beautiful- moreso in mind
and soul than in body. There is a certain paradox in your physical
fragility. You are so strong, mentally and spiritually. But I could
see the hairline fractures that you were repairing. And I could see
behind the veneer of your troy-like fortress. I could see the Helen
behind the walls. But you see, our timing was all off. It was too
early for you, and too late for me. You reintroduced me to God. You
showed me a glimpse of who I want to be at a time where I was flailing
uncontrollably, walking down every path I could see without a goal in
site. You have given me so much that you do not know.

All of you have.

Thank you.

And in a very real way, you each hold a piece of me- an identity of
who I was only for you. There will never be another elf, another
devil, or another tigress. you each have a special niche in my heart,
and I ferverently hope that I have one in yours that is as cherished
and respected as you are to me.

P.s. Tigress, I'm a rather stubborn man, as you know. You'll hide it
and smother it. But I'm pretty sure I'm in there somewhere. I havent
quite given up :-)

P.P.S. I really hope you dont read this. :-p

It's Been a While Since I Rhymed

Let’s talk about lenses glaring
Let’s talk about today
Let’s talk about sunlight flaring
On a crisp winters day

Let’s talk about hope
And let’s talk about death
Let’s talk about the unknown mountain
Paths
Between your heart and your head

We talk about love and pain
While we make preparations for war
Inside we’re all so fragile
Yet vain
So strong yet armored to the core

And it’s been so long since I rhymed
And it’s been so long since I dined
With you
In the middle of the salty sea
Over a dish
Of freshwater fish
Just you and me

Let’s talk about the past
And let’s talk about regrets
Let’s talk about the last
One
In the list we’ll never forget

Let’s talk about forgiveness
And let’s talk about tears
Let’s talk about the joy of letting out
Hurt bottled up for years

Let’s talk about friendships
And let’s talk about books half read
Let’s remember the chapters we liked
And the rest
Be strong enough to shed

And it’s been so long since I rhymed
And it’s been so long since I dined
With you
In the middle of the salty sea
Over a dish
Of freshwater fish
Just you and me

Let’s talk about ‘us’
(I said to fate)
What’s with all the fright?
I just find it so hard to bear, it replied
Traveling between fall and flight

Let’s talk about anticipation,
then.
And let’s talk about fear
Let’s talk about the farmer awaiting
Black clouds
After toiling the entire year

Let’s talk about talking
And let’s talk about finding
Let’s talk about walking
on
Without the destination being binding

And it’s been so long since I rhymed
And it’s been so long since I dined
With you
In the middle of the salty sea
Over a dish
Of freshwater fish
Just you and me

‘It’s about time we started, then’,
You stated
With a hint of deepest affection
As I sat down to a feast
With you,
My own reflection.



Let’s learn to love ourselves!

Wah wah!

Written on the wall in the packing room at the factory.

Photopoetry

So- here's a concept I'm experimenting with. Pictures and poetry.
Havent gotten the poetry part quite down yet. LOL. But tell me what
you think.

I've heard this life is overrated...

... But I hope that it gets better as we go.

Sent from my iPhone

I know I'm overreacting somewhat. But if, especially after last night,
you're still not going to learn anything....

Fuck you.

Sent from my iPhone