I am abandoning rather concluding this blog solely because I think I have grown from the phase that constituted a previous era of my life that is when I wrote Ribbons.
I hope, Shafiq, you read it some day.
I hope, Shafiq, you read it some day.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
5:02 PM
"Agar doctor operation ka bolay to mana kar dena," you would hear one auntie advise the mother-to-be.
They were going to induce contractions. She is on term, 38th week of gestation and AC is SGA with no weight gain this week.
"Chaar bajay admit honay ka bola hai," she said, "yaar mujhay bohat darr lag raha hai."
"First time for everything, good luck!"
"Sana, Surah Maryam parh lena please ek baar."
She left at three and got admitted, the doctor attended to her and told her that they will move her to the labor room at six in the morning. She cried a lot, she hated the beeping, the taste of disinfectants in her mouth and the white coats swarming from one end to the other. They seemed inhuman. She couldn't relate to them, she didn't even trust them. She the mother to be.
She the mother.
They were going to induce contractions. She is on term, 38th week of gestation and AC is SGA with no weight gain this week.
"Chaar bajay admit honay ka bola hai," she said, "yaar mujhay bohat darr lag raha hai."
"First time for everything, good luck!"
"Sana, Surah Maryam parh lena please ek baar."
She left at three and got admitted, the doctor attended to her and told her that they will move her to the labor room at six in the morning. She cried a lot, she hated the beeping, the taste of disinfectants in her mouth and the white coats swarming from one end to the other. They seemed inhuman. She couldn't relate to them, she didn't even trust them. She the mother to be.
She the mother.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Gar Mujhay Is ka Yaqeen ho
Why don't I want to write anymore?
Why did I write in the first place?
I sign into my blog every day. I click on 'new post'. The blank white box stares at me, eager to sate the aggression these haphazard alphabets have aligned themselves in penitence for. I stare at the cursor blinking at me for minutes. I click 'Sign out'.
There was a time when ideas were fluid. The flaring dance of the fingers and the para-dance that is the sound each hit produced would some how decipher before my eyes as my own thoughts. Random. But mine. My thoughts, mine. All mine.
I have none. Any more.
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho meray hamdam, meray dost
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho kay teray dil ki thakan
Teri aankhon ki udaasi, teray seenay ki jalan
Meri dil-joee, meray piyaar se mit ja-ay gi
Gar mera harf-e-tasallee woh dawa ho jis say
Jee uthay phir se tera ujrha howa be-noor dimagh
Teri peshaani say dhul ja-ain ye tazleel kay daagh
Teri bemaar jawani ko shifa ho ja-ay
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho meray hamdam, meray dost
Roz o shab, sham o sahar main tujhe behlata rahun
Main tujhay geet sunata rahun halkay, sheereen
Aabsharon k, baharon k, chaman zaaron k geet
Aamad e subha k, mahtab k, sayyaron k geet
(Faiz)
Perhaps the life in me is the absorbed energy waves of personalities in my surroundings; a consolidated part or is it all the life I have?
Lock her up somewhere and she is lifeless. Let her out and she reflects.
Bounces, shines, flies. So lives. The life in her, the reflections.
Up stairs on the third floor, the marbled, dusty, corner that she often found herself crippled in, she could smell the frozen axoplasm. She rubbed her scalp, massaged it, covered it up. Kept it warm. Peeping, passing diagonally in mid air, the rays hit her toes. She glared down at them. Tinkled her toes. Warmth!
She walked out side chasing the gleam, ripping through the cold out under the glassy sky. She didn't know something that lifeless can leave an impression that too so purely warm on her. A shaky pigeon with head dumped in feathers gave her a look. She didn't know something that couldn't even speak to her acknowledged her. Genuinely pleasant.
She lived.
She moved deeper and into the assembly of those who could speak. She sat on her mount in the corner among countless mounts of countless lives that were meant to be comprehensible. Right after the rush of genuine anger the disgraceful incidents of radiation of those countless lives on her that killed her she sat with frozen blood this time.
She has never felt anything that wasn't pure. Anger. Love. Patriotism. Indifference. Perhaps that's why she should go back to the state of her frozen axoplam because she rather be dormant than be negatively influenced and corrupted. Until she returns to normalcy, of course.
Parwardigaar nay sab sehal kar dya Sana kay liye.
Siwa-ay Sana kay.
Meray bus ki bat nahi, meray humdum, meray dost.
Tum geet sunao, Bintul.
Shayad main behal hee jaaun.
<3 <3 <3
Why did I write in the first place?
I sign into my blog every day. I click on 'new post'. The blank white box stares at me, eager to sate the aggression these haphazard alphabets have aligned themselves in penitence for. I stare at the cursor blinking at me for minutes. I click 'Sign out'.
There was a time when ideas were fluid. The flaring dance of the fingers and the para-dance that is the sound each hit produced would some how decipher before my eyes as my own thoughts. Random. But mine. My thoughts, mine. All mine.
I have none. Any more.
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho meray hamdam, meray dost
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho kay teray dil ki thakan
Teri aankhon ki udaasi, teray seenay ki jalan
Meri dil-joee, meray piyaar se mit ja-ay gi
Gar mera harf-e-tasallee woh dawa ho jis say
Jee uthay phir se tera ujrha howa be-noor dimagh
Teri peshaani say dhul ja-ain ye tazleel kay daagh
Teri bemaar jawani ko shifa ho ja-ay
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho meray hamdam, meray dost
Roz o shab, sham o sahar main tujhe behlata rahun
Main tujhay geet sunata rahun halkay, sheereen
Aabsharon k, baharon k, chaman zaaron k geet
Aamad e subha k, mahtab k, sayyaron k geet
(Faiz)
Perhaps the life in me is the absorbed energy waves of personalities in my surroundings; a consolidated part or is it all the life I have?
Lock her up somewhere and she is lifeless. Let her out and she reflects.
Bounces, shines, flies. So lives. The life in her, the reflections.
Up stairs on the third floor, the marbled, dusty, corner that she often found herself crippled in, she could smell the frozen axoplasm. She rubbed her scalp, massaged it, covered it up. Kept it warm. Peeping, passing diagonally in mid air, the rays hit her toes. She glared down at them. Tinkled her toes. Warmth!
She walked out side chasing the gleam, ripping through the cold out under the glassy sky. She didn't know something that lifeless can leave an impression that too so purely warm on her. A shaky pigeon with head dumped in feathers gave her a look. She didn't know something that couldn't even speak to her acknowledged her. Genuinely pleasant.
She lived.
She moved deeper and into the assembly of those who could speak. She sat on her mount in the corner among countless mounts of countless lives that were meant to be comprehensible. Right after the rush of genuine anger the disgraceful incidents of radiation of those countless lives on her that killed her she sat with frozen blood this time.
She has never felt anything that wasn't pure. Anger. Love. Patriotism. Indifference. Perhaps that's why she should go back to the state of her frozen axoplam because she rather be dormant than be negatively influenced and corrupted. Until she returns to normalcy, of course.
Parwardigaar nay sab sehal kar dya Sana kay liye.
Siwa-ay Sana kay.
Meray bus ki bat nahi, meray humdum, meray dost.
Tum geet sunao, Bintul.
Shayad main behal hee jaaun.
<3 <3 <3
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Thorns
It is an interesting find of life that there aren't many in humans of your age that would altruistically cherish your abilities. It also remains a vibrant truth that if you master some talent, you want recognition for it. It remains not far from reality that others are pulled toward you because of an unusual aspect that you may possess. Amongst creatures that dwell in your surrounding there will always be some drawing close to you or at least making an effort to. These are the beings you tag as 'friends'. And in the midst of living like this for a very long time one word that has drastically failed to project an image before my two decades old eyes is friend.
The problem identified here is that one allows the pulling over person to pull over. Because friends are a choice of yours, you give their stay in your life a chance. Unfortunate is the truth that the more you grow closer to a person, the uglier they will become. A time comes when the rose of brightly shining qualities of one that drew the dweller begins to wilt. When the sharp tips of thorns on your happy rose plant of companionship go bloody, it begins to pain and ache too.
The solutions seem to be that either you and the drawing dweller possess the same qualities to exist like two healthy roses or one remains the flower and the other the pot. It seems tangible that one can become the protecting thorns for you; call me unfortunate when pronouncing this but friends don't really make it to being thorns for the rose you may be or not be.
Have I ever reached to the position of protecting a flower in my life? I have tried.
The problem identified here is that one allows the pulling over person to pull over. Because friends are a choice of yours, you give their stay in your life a chance. Unfortunate is the truth that the more you grow closer to a person, the uglier they will become. A time comes when the rose of brightly shining qualities of one that drew the dweller begins to wilt. When the sharp tips of thorns on your happy rose plant of companionship go bloody, it begins to pain and ache too.
The solutions seem to be that either you and the drawing dweller possess the same qualities to exist like two healthy roses or one remains the flower and the other the pot. It seems tangible that one can become the protecting thorns for you; call me unfortunate when pronouncing this but friends don't really make it to being thorns for the rose you may be or not be.
Have I ever reached to the position of protecting a flower in my life? I have tried.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
A Visit
"To phir kya hasil hai zindagi ka," I asked Aunt as she walked into my living/dining room taking seat on the wooden rocking chair by the kitchen counter where I once studied my books out loud while Amma had cooked in the kitchen.
"Tum abhi se ye sawal kiyun kar rahi ho?"
"Kiyun, sawal hi to hai."
"Ye sawal to mainay khud se apnay 40s mein karna shhoro kya tha," she told me in a plain manner. I think she turned forty last year. She just recently got the hang of the 'plain manner'; it was her dissipated interest in my life that I know she maintained out of sophistication because of the relationship we hold. Neither she had the time to spoil me nor did I spend enough time with her. "Tumne to abhi dekhni hai duniya."
"Shayed," I told her putting two cups of water to boil for tea.
"Tumhara kaam hai abhi, parhna. Ye waqt irtiqa ka hai, mustaqil o musalsal agay barh rahi ho tum, hasil abhi nahi hai, is koshish kay baad hai," she dug into the packet of masala Chana-Choor I had handed her.
"Sahi keh rahi hain, Aunt Baji, aap."
"Aur qurbani kar li tum logo ne, hogaya sab kaam asaani se?"
"Jee, Allah ka ehsaan hai."
"Gosht kisnay sambhala," she asked with a little interest now, perhaps it was genuine.
"Honey Mamu ne kasaee aur zibah ka kaam dekha, Mania aur mainay gosht ka hisaab kiya."
"Baantnay batanay ka kaam?"
"Daadi Jaan walay saray to main Hamu Dada kay haan le gaee thi, aap ka bhi tha wahan," I meant to ask.
"Haan, woh wahi Chaachi kay haan rakhwa diya tha." She got up and asked me if she could peep into the fridge. I motioned her ahead.
"Sana! Itni tameez se chits laga kar hissay bana-ay hain tum nay, I am impressed," she exclaimed.
"Shukriya, waisay sachi baat hai, mujhay ye kaam itna mushkil nahi laga jitna logo se suna tha," I shared with her.
"Haan, koi bhi kaam tareeqay se kiya ja-ay to mushkil nahi hota, beharhal tumhari Ammi ko bataungi fone per, bohat khush hongi."
"Hahaha, please thorha aur barha charha kar kay bateyega."
"Ammi se baat howi?"
"Nahi, woh log rastay mein thay Chicago se wapis aarahay thay," I told her.
"Meri baat howi thi to ro rahi theen," she waited for my expressions.
"I know she does that a lot."
"Tum abhi se ye sawal kiyun kar rahi ho?"
"Kiyun, sawal hi to hai."
"Ye sawal to mainay khud se apnay 40s mein karna shhoro kya tha," she told me in a plain manner. I think she turned forty last year. She just recently got the hang of the 'plain manner'; it was her dissipated interest in my life that I know she maintained out of sophistication because of the relationship we hold. Neither she had the time to spoil me nor did I spend enough time with her. "Tumne to abhi dekhni hai duniya."
"Shayed," I told her putting two cups of water to boil for tea.
"Tumhara kaam hai abhi, parhna. Ye waqt irtiqa ka hai, mustaqil o musalsal agay barh rahi ho tum, hasil abhi nahi hai, is koshish kay baad hai," she dug into the packet of masala Chana-Choor I had handed her.
"Sahi keh rahi hain, Aunt Baji, aap."
"Aur qurbani kar li tum logo ne, hogaya sab kaam asaani se?"
"Jee, Allah ka ehsaan hai."
"Gosht kisnay sambhala," she asked with a little interest now, perhaps it was genuine.
"Honey Mamu ne kasaee aur zibah ka kaam dekha, Mania aur mainay gosht ka hisaab kiya."
"Baantnay batanay ka kaam?"
"Daadi Jaan walay saray to main Hamu Dada kay haan le gaee thi, aap ka bhi tha wahan," I meant to ask.
"Haan, woh wahi Chaachi kay haan rakhwa diya tha." She got up and asked me if she could peep into the fridge. I motioned her ahead.
"Sana! Itni tameez se chits laga kar hissay bana-ay hain tum nay, I am impressed," she exclaimed.
"Shukriya, waisay sachi baat hai, mujhay ye kaam itna mushkil nahi laga jitna logo se suna tha," I shared with her.
"Haan, koi bhi kaam tareeqay se kiya ja-ay to mushkil nahi hota, beharhal tumhari Ammi ko bataungi fone per, bohat khush hongi."
"Hahaha, please thorha aur barha charha kar kay bateyega."
"Ammi se baat howi?"
"Nahi, woh log rastay mein thay Chicago se wapis aarahay thay," I told her.
"Meri baat howi thi to ro rahi theen," she waited for my expressions.
"I know she does that a lot."
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Bukk Bukk
The obvious corruption in the society has stopped surprising me but still saddens me. But people have to shriek, pull their eyes open all the way up to the eyebrows, jaw hung loose, customary words of agreement sputtered here and there discussing the matter for a day, two days, three, maybe a week. It's all forgotten then.
"How could he have done that," my cousin asked discussing one the recent epidemic of a news.
"Did he not for once think about what he was doing, did he not wince," Nadia is a talker too.
"Forget him, what are you doing to prevent abnormalities from sprouting in your circle," I asked in a cold, the deepest voice I can do. I had been listening to their conversation for over 45 minutes pretending to check for split ends.
"Nahi, Bajjo yaar, us ko ehsaas nahi howa hoga," she was so adamant.
"Aur the police gave him shelter!"
"Look! There is no doubt that what he did was a heinous crime and we all agree that he should be punished. We are all disgusted which is important because it shows we are alive enough to be affected when something is wrong, but what difference is discussing 'I can't believe someone can do such a thing' for hours constantly repeating the same sentence you have uttered for at least twenty times now. Now, let us talk about ourselves." I could see the two ladies growing irritated by my incessant attempts at turning the subject at them. Clearly, what they had in mind was a nice chat over the crime, throw in rumors about it, waste another good three hours, have tea and go home and repeat the cycle with a different bunch of people.
"Bajjo, kiya usko koi farq nahi parha hoga ye kar kay?"
"Kiya tumhain farq parhta hai meri urgent request of abstaining from littering se," I asked in a disinterested tone.
"Per woh to itni chhoti si baat hai," she was amazed at how I could relate the two topics.
"Exactly, jab tum itni si baat register nahi kar sakteen kay ye ek ghalat harkat hai aur stubborn ho apnay action kay baray mein, to issi ehsaas ko magnified kar kay kisi bhi amal per, level per fit kar do. To jis tarah tumhain ehsaas nahi hai ghalat sahi ka, beshak woh ek seemingly harmless level per hai, ussi tarah kisi aur insaan ko kisi harmful level per nahi hoga. And in your little endless discussion here you are oblivious to our literacy rate and efficiency of law enforcement agencies; it's funny."
"Mujhay to neend nahi aee ye khaber sun kar," she decided not to comment on what I had said.
"We as individuals give chance to inappropriate things to flourish by ignoring them on a manageable level," I had to go on, "tumharay mohn mein paanch saal se chhalay ho rahay hain, kiya tum ney beetle-nut khana chhorha? Kiya tum parhi likhi nahi ho? Ya tumhain lagta hai chhaliya nutritious cheez hai? Ya tumhain itni si baat samajh nahi aati? Ya tum arhiyal ho?"
"Bajjo, main folic-acid le rahi hun," she gave me the impression as if I was being offensive, so I did not repeat the lecture on self-treatment.
"Look, I am not trying to ridicule you, and you should consult with a Doctor, I am just raising a question to all of us, including me, that what do we do to fix things in our circles except for toppling over in evening chats a crime another has committed based on similar attributes we as a society are equiped with."
"How could he have done that," my cousin asked discussing one the recent epidemic of a news.
"Did he not for once think about what he was doing, did he not wince," Nadia is a talker too.
"Forget him, what are you doing to prevent abnormalities from sprouting in your circle," I asked in a cold, the deepest voice I can do. I had been listening to their conversation for over 45 minutes pretending to check for split ends.
"Nahi, Bajjo yaar, us ko ehsaas nahi howa hoga," she was so adamant.
"Aur the police gave him shelter!"
"Look! There is no doubt that what he did was a heinous crime and we all agree that he should be punished. We are all disgusted which is important because it shows we are alive enough to be affected when something is wrong, but what difference is discussing 'I can't believe someone can do such a thing' for hours constantly repeating the same sentence you have uttered for at least twenty times now. Now, let us talk about ourselves." I could see the two ladies growing irritated by my incessant attempts at turning the subject at them. Clearly, what they had in mind was a nice chat over the crime, throw in rumors about it, waste another good three hours, have tea and go home and repeat the cycle with a different bunch of people.
"Bajjo, kiya usko koi farq nahi parha hoga ye kar kay?"
"Kiya tumhain farq parhta hai meri urgent request of abstaining from littering se," I asked in a disinterested tone.
"Per woh to itni chhoti si baat hai," she was amazed at how I could relate the two topics.
"Exactly, jab tum itni si baat register nahi kar sakteen kay ye ek ghalat harkat hai aur stubborn ho apnay action kay baray mein, to issi ehsaas ko magnified kar kay kisi bhi amal per, level per fit kar do. To jis tarah tumhain ehsaas nahi hai ghalat sahi ka, beshak woh ek seemingly harmless level per hai, ussi tarah kisi aur insaan ko kisi harmful level per nahi hoga. And in your little endless discussion here you are oblivious to our literacy rate and efficiency of law enforcement agencies; it's funny."
"Mujhay to neend nahi aee ye khaber sun kar," she decided not to comment on what I had said.
"We as individuals give chance to inappropriate things to flourish by ignoring them on a manageable level," I had to go on, "tumharay mohn mein paanch saal se chhalay ho rahay hain, kiya tum ney beetle-nut khana chhorha? Kiya tum parhi likhi nahi ho? Ya tumhain lagta hai chhaliya nutritious cheez hai? Ya tumhain itni si baat samajh nahi aati? Ya tum arhiyal ho?"
"Bajjo, main folic-acid le rahi hun," she gave me the impression as if I was being offensive, so I did not repeat the lecture on self-treatment.
"Look, I am not trying to ridicule you, and you should consult with a Doctor, I am just raising a question to all of us, including me, that what do we do to fix things in our circles except for toppling over in evening chats a crime another has committed based on similar attributes we as a society are equiped with."
Friday, November 11, 2011
Hard Being Great
"I don't want to backbite," I had shaken in disgust.
"What are we doing? We are growing into aunties."
"I want to be great!" I had earnestly said.
"Yea, real modest."
The human eye is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It particularly bothers me a lot when people opt for contact lenses with colors and blemishes disrupting the original sequences. The strength of the pull of a personality rests within the eye. What generates that pull? Perhaps, the idea of running through a person's neurons, riding on their visual impulses. And how pulling is a blind eye since you can't ride on its impulses? The pull is not for it being alive but for you being alive, a blind eye pulls for its beauty and your chance to discover it without being exposed - so the blind eye pulls not because you are riding on their impulse but they are riding on yours. A blind eye that you discover with all of its poses, reactions and behaviors, you know. But the blind eye doesn't have an idea; you create a mystery.
Any who, that is not what has been on my mind and kept me from taking a dive in the ocean of no where. It has been being incapable of depending upon people. Now, I am already working upon the fact that I am a difficult person to work with. In spite of the slacking, abstract, easy going attitude, I actually like things disciplined with excellent communication in teams. So, they are two apparently opposite sets of traits. It is like the sense in chaos. It is like the drill in ionizing radiation. And, I do know I have a tendency to detach myself when not in team.
I have had this so many times where my team tells me how reliable I am, but that is never the reason why I take leave. The reason is because the team fails to be dependable enough for me. This is where I need to become flexible? May be. This is definitely where the team needs to know I mean business. And not confuse my relaxed demeanor with ignorance and carelessness. Now, this is exclusively for the team, in cases otherwise I actually don't care.
On the realization my sister had said,
"O! You are so like Ian Somerhalder in Vampire Diaries, out of controlled badness with control."
"Um, that's love crap of a not even real-blood sucking freak."
"Yea, you!"
"That's not real!" I pleaded.
"Yea, you!"
"Sure."
I was going to talk to him, but he is not accustomed to having such awkward, as he would name them, conversations. He is fixed with silence. I can just picture him growing so uncomfortable, looking at me with a blank face, trying to come up with a thought, a where-to-begin look. After the spell would be warded off by me with a loose invisible dusting gesture of my hand, he would probably think how crazy I am. On the contrary, I enjoy such folding over one dimension to the next, expanding conversations. He is someone I can trust and I know he trusts me enough but it seems short of longevity; it seems susceptible to death because of another that doesn't get my way of being in a team and vise versa. So, I decided not to talk to him breaching my own rule for a perfect team, killing communication. Although, I have very strong reasons to be talking to him; I am back-biting which is such an impediment in attaining my immodest desire to be great.
If I was going to have a one on one session with him, I would begin with,
"I am indebted to you for changing your life, giving up the golden period of your youth, taking such a burdensome responsibility and you being someone I can trust, but what is it that you owe me?"
November 9, 2011
"Suno, idhar garhi mein betho," he told me.
"Kiya? Kiyun?" I had an idea, I just didn't think he would do something about it.
"Chal na!"
"Um, okay." I went sat.
"Mohn kiyun bana hai tumhara?"
"Mera mohn bana howa hai?" I could not believe that.
"Haan, kal se," he said.
"Yaar, koi masla nahi hai, bus off ho jata hai mood kabhi." I assured.
"To contorted shakal kiyun bana kar rakhi hai?"
"Aisi to koi baat nahi hai, aap bataein aap ko yaqeenan lag raha hoga aap kaheen na kaheen involved hain is sarhhay howay mohn kay peechay tabhi aapne baat chairhi hai, aap bataein aap ko kya lag raha hai," I couldn't believe the fact that if I don't talk it out with him, he actually figures there is something wrong. It was a happy feeling. Yup!
"Haan, per mujhay kuch dikh nahi raha issi liyay pooch raha hun," he said.
"Okay." I didn't know what to say, where to begin, if I should begin at all. Roles had reversed. It was the first time I had decided not to talk. Then after a quick arrangement of thoughts I decided to open my mouth on the subject first and for the last time and before I could start he said, "Jaisay Imaan hai, tum meray liye waisi ho, meri beti ki tarah, you can trust me."
"I already do."
"What are we doing? We are growing into aunties."
"I want to be great!" I had earnestly said.
"Yea, real modest."
The human eye is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It particularly bothers me a lot when people opt for contact lenses with colors and blemishes disrupting the original sequences. The strength of the pull of a personality rests within the eye. What generates that pull? Perhaps, the idea of running through a person's neurons, riding on their visual impulses. And how pulling is a blind eye since you can't ride on its impulses? The pull is not for it being alive but for you being alive, a blind eye pulls for its beauty and your chance to discover it without being exposed - so the blind eye pulls not because you are riding on their impulse but they are riding on yours. A blind eye that you discover with all of its poses, reactions and behaviors, you know. But the blind eye doesn't have an idea; you create a mystery.
Any who, that is not what has been on my mind and kept me from taking a dive in the ocean of no where. It has been being incapable of depending upon people. Now, I am already working upon the fact that I am a difficult person to work with. In spite of the slacking, abstract, easy going attitude, I actually like things disciplined with excellent communication in teams. So, they are two apparently opposite sets of traits. It is like the sense in chaos. It is like the drill in ionizing radiation. And, I do know I have a tendency to detach myself when not in team.
I have had this so many times where my team tells me how reliable I am, but that is never the reason why I take leave. The reason is because the team fails to be dependable enough for me. This is where I need to become flexible? May be. This is definitely where the team needs to know I mean business. And not confuse my relaxed demeanor with ignorance and carelessness. Now, this is exclusively for the team, in cases otherwise I actually don't care.
On the realization my sister had said,
"O! You are so like Ian Somerhalder in Vampire Diaries, out of controlled badness with control."
"Um, that's love crap of a not even real-blood sucking freak."
"Yea, you!"
"That's not real!" I pleaded.
"Yea, you!"
"Sure."
I was going to talk to him, but he is not accustomed to having such awkward, as he would name them, conversations. He is fixed with silence. I can just picture him growing so uncomfortable, looking at me with a blank face, trying to come up with a thought, a where-to-begin look. After the spell would be warded off by me with a loose invisible dusting gesture of my hand, he would probably think how crazy I am. On the contrary, I enjoy such folding over one dimension to the next, expanding conversations. He is someone I can trust and I know he trusts me enough but it seems short of longevity; it seems susceptible to death because of another that doesn't get my way of being in a team and vise versa. So, I decided not to talk to him breaching my own rule for a perfect team, killing communication. Although, I have very strong reasons to be talking to him; I am back-biting which is such an impediment in attaining my immodest desire to be great.
If I was going to have a one on one session with him, I would begin with,
"I am indebted to you for changing your life, giving up the golden period of your youth, taking such a burdensome responsibility and you being someone I can trust, but what is it that you owe me?"
November 9, 2011
"Suno, idhar garhi mein betho," he told me.
"Kiya? Kiyun?" I had an idea, I just didn't think he would do something about it.
"Chal na!"
"Um, okay." I went sat.
"Mohn kiyun bana hai tumhara?"
"Mera mohn bana howa hai?" I could not believe that.
"Haan, kal se," he said.
"Yaar, koi masla nahi hai, bus off ho jata hai mood kabhi." I assured.
"To contorted shakal kiyun bana kar rakhi hai?"
"Aisi to koi baat nahi hai, aap bataein aap ko yaqeenan lag raha hoga aap kaheen na kaheen involved hain is sarhhay howay mohn kay peechay tabhi aapne baat chairhi hai, aap bataein aap ko kya lag raha hai," I couldn't believe the fact that if I don't talk it out with him, he actually figures there is something wrong. It was a happy feeling. Yup!
"Haan, per mujhay kuch dikh nahi raha issi liyay pooch raha hun," he said.
"Okay." I didn't know what to say, where to begin, if I should begin at all. Roles had reversed. It was the first time I had decided not to talk. Then after a quick arrangement of thoughts I decided to open my mouth on the subject first and for the last time and before I could start he said, "Jaisay Imaan hai, tum meray liye waisi ho, meri beti ki tarah, you can trust me."
"I already do."
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
A Curious Cascade
Last night when I laid in the dark listening while staring at the light from my neighbor's window seeping into mine through the sober-pink net drapes Amma had specially gotten made, my phone on the side table blinked. I picked it up and read a message,
"Agar koi aap se flirt karay to...
...
...
....
.....
......
To karnay do yaar!
Ye hi to din hain!"
I laughed and asked my flirt, I mean friend, her definition of flirting.
"Good question," she said, "depends upon the level of beghairti."
"And what is that level of beghairti?" I asked.
"Anything against Allah's order," she went on.
Since sleep had hopped down the balcony; I could see it on all fours running toward the trees. I decided to have a late night survey.
"What would be your definition of flirting," I asked the girls around 2:00 AM.
Reply # 1:
"Jitna suna ya dekha hai, without pure love/loyal intentions in heart kisi ka peechcha karna, tareef karna, taarh na. Algharz giving importance just for passing time. Jhoot hon jab sab shown feelings, probably that is what flirting would be. Ye sab flirt kay baja-ay sach bhi ho sakta hai, but intentions in such a case would be very different, pure, strong, etc."
"Acha," I said.
"Kiyun kisi ne chhairh dya kya, itni raat mein aisa sawal," she asked.
"Na, na. Kadda chhairhega koi," I told her.
"Fikar na kar, chhairh dega koi na koi!" She went on.
"Hahaha, dafa! So ja," I told her.
Reply # 2:
"Flirting would be exhibiting behavior that shows you like someone. A flirty glance, unnecessarily being nice or jokey. When it happens you can spot it easily!" She said.
"And how would you differentiate that with true love," I asked.
"Well being in love is totally different; without trying to sound like a sappy romance novel. Love is just an overwhelming feeling of care for another; the emotion runs deep. Flirting is showing another person: 'Hmmm I'm interested in you'. Love is: 'I want to spend the rest of my life with you'. I hope that makes sense," she explained.
"Yea, it does," I said appreciating the explanation.
"You don't have a rishta deal on your head, do you," she questioned.
"Damn!"
"Flirting usually is not serious, just playing around. Love is always serious, the real deal. And love doesn't happen over night. Love can develop too. Flirting means a temporary fleeting emotion with not a lot of heart to back it up. Love can, however, evolve. You can learn to love someone given that you have enough time," she explained, "If you meet with someone who tries to impress you, that is flirting but over time if he starts knowing what you are thinking before you say it, can gauge your mood and does what he can to make you feel supported then that is most likely love."
"Learn to love, I like that," I told her.
Reply # 3:
"Well, kisi ko dhoka daina, ditch karna flirting hi hoga excessive emotional interest kay baad," she emphasized.
"Sahi," I answered.
"Khairyat?"
"Haan, out of curiosity pooch rahi thi."
Reply # 4:
"Tumhain raat kay do bajay flirting kahan se yaad agaee?" She said.
"Lol, socha survey kar kay dekhun, ap log kiya kehtay hain."
"Flirting is superficial interest, sirf dikhawa, bina serious howay. Matlab khud ko kisi shakhs mein committed na samajhna," she said.
"Hmmm."
Reply # 5:
"Flirting is the only talent a guy can't include in his resume despite having years of experience!"
"Hahahah! Right."
"Where is this coming from?"
"Out of curiosity."
Reply # 6:
(The corniest, Laali - hahahaha)
"Ya Ilaahi," she exclaimed, "pata nahi."
"Agar koi aap se flirt karay to...
...
...
....
.....
......
To karnay do yaar!
Ye hi to din hain!"
I laughed and asked my flirt, I mean friend, her definition of flirting.
"Good question," she said, "depends upon the level of beghairti."
"And what is that level of beghairti?" I asked.
"Anything against Allah's order," she went on.
Since sleep had hopped down the balcony; I could see it on all fours running toward the trees. I decided to have a late night survey.
"What would be your definition of flirting," I asked the girls around 2:00 AM.
Reply # 1:
"Jitna suna ya dekha hai, without pure love/loyal intentions in heart kisi ka peechcha karna, tareef karna, taarh na. Algharz giving importance just for passing time. Jhoot hon jab sab shown feelings, probably that is what flirting would be. Ye sab flirt kay baja-ay sach bhi ho sakta hai, but intentions in such a case would be very different, pure, strong, etc."
"Acha," I said.
"Kiyun kisi ne chhairh dya kya, itni raat mein aisa sawal," she asked.
"Na, na. Kadda chhairhega koi," I told her.
"Fikar na kar, chhairh dega koi na koi!" She went on.
"Hahaha, dafa! So ja," I told her.
Reply # 2:
"Flirting would be exhibiting behavior that shows you like someone. A flirty glance, unnecessarily being nice or jokey. When it happens you can spot it easily!" She said.
"And how would you differentiate that with true love," I asked.
"Well being in love is totally different; without trying to sound like a sappy romance novel. Love is just an overwhelming feeling of care for another; the emotion runs deep. Flirting is showing another person: 'Hmmm I'm interested in you'. Love is: 'I want to spend the rest of my life with you'. I hope that makes sense," she explained.
"Yea, it does," I said appreciating the explanation.
"You don't have a rishta deal on your head, do you," she questioned.
"Damn!"
"Flirting usually is not serious, just playing around. Love is always serious, the real deal. And love doesn't happen over night. Love can develop too. Flirting means a temporary fleeting emotion with not a lot of heart to back it up. Love can, however, evolve. You can learn to love someone given that you have enough time," she explained, "If you meet with someone who tries to impress you, that is flirting but over time if he starts knowing what you are thinking before you say it, can gauge your mood and does what he can to make you feel supported then that is most likely love."
"Learn to love, I like that," I told her.
Reply # 3:
"Well, kisi ko dhoka daina, ditch karna flirting hi hoga excessive emotional interest kay baad," she emphasized.
"Sahi," I answered.
"Khairyat?"
"Haan, out of curiosity pooch rahi thi."
Reply # 4:
"Tumhain raat kay do bajay flirting kahan se yaad agaee?" She said.
"Lol, socha survey kar kay dekhun, ap log kiya kehtay hain."
"Flirting is superficial interest, sirf dikhawa, bina serious howay. Matlab khud ko kisi shakhs mein committed na samajhna," she said.
"Hmmm."
Reply # 5:
"Flirting is the only talent a guy can't include in his resume despite having years of experience!"
"Hahahah! Right."
"Where is this coming from?"
"Out of curiosity."
Reply # 6:
(The corniest, Laali - hahahaha)
"Ya Ilaahi," she exclaimed, "pata nahi."
Friday, October 28, 2011
Kuch Pagalpan
Baaz auqaat tumhain khud ko ankhain dikha kar ek baat se mana karna parhta hoga. Kiyunkay tum khud ko dhamki deti hogi kay main falan falan kar bethungi. Ya tumhain aisa mehsoos hota hoga kay tum falan falan kar beth sakti ho, ya kar bethogi.
Tab.
Tab, tumhain khud ko aankhain dikha kar poochna parhta hoga,
Acha?
Jo tum soch rahi ho kar sakogi?
Kar sakti ho?
Himmat hai?
Is kaam ka faida kiya hai?
Aisa karnay se tum barhi duniya fatah kar logi!
Wah wah ho gi tumhari.
Surkhuro ho jaogi Amma Abba kay agay, aakhirat mein Allah kay samnay!
Tum karo ye, zaroor karo.
Tum ye karo aur barbaad ho jao.
Karo! Shauq se karo.
Jaao.
Ye guftugu tumhain sochnay ka waqt de deti hogi. Tumharay marz ki tashkhees kar deti hogi. Tumhain sahi aur ghalat mein farq karnay mein madad deti hogi. Phir dobara jab aisa koi moarh aata hoga jahan tumhara bas na chalta hoga aur waswasay aur besaropa khayalat tumhain niggal janay kay liye apnay siyah hathon se tumhari taraf lapaktay hongay tab. Tab. Tab tum unhain ek sheeshay kay murabbay mein qaid kar kay apni soch ki 'synapses' mein dobara phailnay se rok deti hogi. Kiyunkay faisla tum kar chuki hogi us kashmakash kay baad jo tumharay ander thi; tum aisa kuch na karogi, na kar sakti ho aur na hi tumhain karna chahiye.
Tab.
Tab, tumhain khud ko aankhain dikha kar poochna parhta hoga,
Acha?
Jo tum soch rahi ho kar sakogi?
Kar sakti ho?
Himmat hai?
Is kaam ka faida kiya hai?
Aisa karnay se tum barhi duniya fatah kar logi!
Wah wah ho gi tumhari.
Surkhuro ho jaogi Amma Abba kay agay, aakhirat mein Allah kay samnay!
Tum karo ye, zaroor karo.
Tum ye karo aur barbaad ho jao.
Karo! Shauq se karo.
Jaao.
Ye guftugu tumhain sochnay ka waqt de deti hogi. Tumharay marz ki tashkhees kar deti hogi. Tumhain sahi aur ghalat mein farq karnay mein madad deti hogi. Phir dobara jab aisa koi moarh aata hoga jahan tumhara bas na chalta hoga aur waswasay aur besaropa khayalat tumhain niggal janay kay liye apnay siyah hathon se tumhari taraf lapaktay hongay tab. Tab. Tab tum unhain ek sheeshay kay murabbay mein qaid kar kay apni soch ki 'synapses' mein dobara phailnay se rok deti hogi. Kiyunkay faisla tum kar chuki hogi us kashmakash kay baad jo tumharay ander thi; tum aisa kuch na karogi, na kar sakti ho aur na hi tumhain karna chahiye.
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