Dark desert

With your eyes closed, the serenity in the sound of silence is so peaceful that you get absorbed in its intangible existence - as if something eternal has hypnotized you and asked you to pledge for no return. The occasional hiss of the wind springs you back to reality but the need for more makes you wish for the time to come to an end.

The scintillating stars, like fireflies, stuck as shadows ahead of the dark and boundless sky, wait for you to sight them and combine them, to make them look like your world and give meaning to their existence. They die in front of your eyes reminding you that forever is nothing. They cast an unbelievable spell of uninhibited beauty that you can only feel but cannot touch because it reaches as far as sight can take.

The light of day will take this away. Let me dream in this darkness.

Face of love

jeena kaisa pyar bina [what is life without love?]
is duniya mein aaye ho to [now that you have come to this world]
ek duje se pyar karo [love each other, one another]
jeena kaisa pyar bina [what is life without love?]
is duniya mein aaye ho to [now that you have come to this world]
ek duje se pyar karo [love each other, one another]

look in the eyes
of the face of love
look in her eyes
oh, there is peace
no, nothing dies
within pure light
only one hour
of this pure love
to last a life
of thirty years
only one hour
so come and go

(Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan & Eddie Vedder)

Childish excitement

That's the feeling when you get a gift of a lifetime. The excitement takes away sleep, makes you do things you would never conceive of otherwise, brings smiles at unusual times just because you thought about it all over again - something the world does not understand. Yes, with time the excitement recedes because the focus turns to preserving the gift and cherishing the good fortune forever. If you are smart, you would invest time in it and make sure it brings a better future and happiness over a lifetime rather than a short lived season.

But it scares you too. It makes you realize what its worth. It tells you that its a lot more than you had thought and if you don't care for it, it will fade. It takes you back in time, reminding you of what 'never was' and makes you appreciate what 'is'. Worse, however, is to know that you may never get it - just like the setting sun gives the illusion that it is fated to be in the ocean, but is actually destined to be alone.

I want to live in this dream of anticipation, hoping that one day I will wake up and have my gift. I know, my childish excitement would have no boundaries but I know once I have it, once its mine, I will take care of it, and keep it for myself, not for a season, but for as long as I can.

Time Bomb

I'm a ticking time bomb

Waiting to blow my top

No one would ever know

Not until I blew up

No one would believe it

He was such a normal man

Shake their heads and wonder why

If Martians fell from the sky

What would that do to god?

Would we put the weapons down

Or aim it up at the sky

No one would believe it

Except the fucking nut jobs

They laugh and cry

"we told you so!"

Baby when I get home

I want to believe in Jesus

Hammer in the final nail

Help me pick up the pieces

When everything starts to fall

So fast that it terrifies you

When will you hit the wall?

Are you gonna learn to fly?

No one would believe it

Except for all the people

Watching as you fly away

Baby when I get home

I want to pick up the pieces

Hammer in the final nail

And lean me up against jesus

Baby when I get home

I want to believe in Jesus

Hammer in the final nail

Help me pick up the pieces

Baby when I get home

Help me pick up the pieces

Hammer in the final nail

I wanna believe in Jesus

(Dave Matthews)

Living the fantasy

Its not that it happens all the time but there is a strange disguised happiness in all of it. Its like the happening called 'a smile', without really realizing it happened. And when the realization does strike it brings another smile only this time its different. Its the belief that the dream is a reality - at least because there is an image to it - and no one can take that away. Maybe the story is different every single time but the reality of the matter is, that its nice to be in it; its nice to know that it can happen even if its just a mere illusion of imagination.

I live different lives somewhere in the the small secluded zone of my imagination. These lives are mine and mine only.

The daring, silent terrorism

Television has changed a lot in the past few years. Gone are the days when it was a privilege to have one at home. I remember when my parents bought one exclusively for our room, we would brag about it all day in school and look down upon other kids who had only one television. Now however, it is a necessity - just like every other material need in life which starts as a luxury but ends as a need.

In its quest to rule human hearts and provide entertainment, it started ruling human minds. But I digress - I will leave that topic for another post. This post is about the direction which was (perhaps) envisaged for television and the various 90 degree angles it took to never be able to come back on the path, which ideally should have been a fulfilling journey to some sort of a destination; this is about the destruction of a completely sane society with the introduction of 'Reality TV'; this is about a promise to never watch Jerry Springer ever again and yet - unintentionally - ending up watching "Living on the Edge" hosted by Waqar Zaka.

For years we've been told that one should not judge others for anything - no contest there. However, that in turn - over a period of time - has led us to accept more wrongs because "we are no one to judge" and should just “shut the fuck up” and live our lives as mules or worse, as slaves. How can we just accept Reality TV shows like "L O T E" as a form of entertainment when all it really provides is a medium to destruct innocent minds that do not understand the consequences it can have on their lives?

The despicable behavior of the host (who is also the executive producer) and an equally appalling conduct of the contestants - usually lasts a few minutes before they accept the dare - has baffled my imagination beyond proportion. It’s disgusting to say the least.

If this is what modernism brings to a society, I’d rather be a conservative camel that cannot survive outside the desert and is happy living with the minimum water it gets. This is not reality TV, this is silent terrorism that breeds in the minds for a period of time before unleashing itself and destroying the society as a whole.

The Local Teller

Lately, I have not been going to the same branch. Time has not really been my best friend. Last time I met her, she was really busy and pretended I did not exist. No, I did not make a move or even try to behave in a certain way - of course I remembered the chivalry points I had earned last time. This time however - like every guy out there - I was pleasantly surprised.

Most offices are closed on Saturdays except banks and certain companies that believe people who work for them are workers and not employees. I walked into the branch and was happy to see there was no other customer waiting. Realized my good luck, I moved forward quickly. As I got the cash out I heard someone call out my name prefixed with the traditional Arabic welcome "Ahlan!". I looked up and realized she remembered my name.

In normal circumstances I would not be bothered. Not because there are lots of other women who remember my name and another one would just be like a drop in the ocean, but because I know its part of their job to be courteous to customers. But this was a local Emirati woman who wouldn't bother remembering her closest friends name let alone a customer.

The conversation as I remember it:

She: "How are you? How can I help you?"

Me: "I'm good, how are you? Just wanted to make a payment."

She": Sure sure" She took the account number and the money.

Me: "You are working on a Saturday?"

She: "Yes, what can I do, lot of work"

Me: "Yeah I can imagine. Things are not that good nowadays anyway"

She: "Where are you from?"

I started turning red (more like pink but that's a girly color so I will live in denial) which was something I felt that she noticed. Got a hold of myself and thought of my response. In a flash, I thought of all the past responses that I got when I've answered in complete truth: "ohh, I thought you were South African", "You're travelling to the UK, I thought you were English", "Are you Lebanese", and the worst "you don't look Pakistani". So I had a few choices.

Me: "I'm from Pakistan but I was born in Dubai". I had to create some connection and even though I knew where she was from I still asked: "where are you from?".

She": I'm from here. Why, I don't look like from here?"

Me: "No, no, of course you do". I realized if there were points for asking dumb, irrelevant questions, I'd have the highest points, hands down. Recovering from the fall my next question had AWESOMENESS written all over

Me: "There is no name tag, what is your name?"

She: Looked at me with the look that said - at least to me - 'it took you so long to ask?' "ABC"

I heard the name and thought of one person who has the same name: my mother. I thought of telling her that, but realized that might just murder all my chances (even though I am very sure there aren't any). Instead, I gave her the most traditional desi response taken from a typical Bollywood movie: "thats a nice name". She looked at me with the look that said 'cant you do any better than that?'.

I left the branch with a big "L for Loser" written all over my forehead. It took me minutes to forget about the incident. I still feel however that the movie is not over yet. I plan to visit the branch again for another payment at the end of the month.

Traditional boredom

There is so much that I want to do but that is not what this is about. This is about the so much that I can do and yet I prefer living in a comatose shell not wanting to get out. Take for instance this very webpage. I've not written anything for ages. Not because I've not had the time, but because I've just not really taken a step towards really doing it.

That is a classic case of boredom. But I - as instilled in my nature - take it to a whole new level. How? I'm not really sure if it's something I would want to explain in too much detail. The idea is simple: I want to get out and let myself believe that there is a lot that I can do primarily because I have the time, the energy and above all the need.

The random colors of my life

I will never understand why. Everytime I look I see something different. There are times when I feel I should change it, other times it just reminds me of myself lost as a spot in the splatter of colors.

Maybe that is how I look at life: colorful but distasteful. The brush can paint, the hand can guide, but it can never be perfect or absolute. So maybe there is no point in painting it at all. It should just be left unchanged and maybe covered with mortal needs of life to give a feeling that its ugliness has a reason or try to hide its very existence.

There are strokes that define aspects. What aspects? Aspects of me and the reality that is, or aspects of that which should have been, or aspects of that which is not and I am happy that it isnt? I have no answer and no reason to find one. It does have a background, a purpose, a reason, something to turn back to if the colors of the foreground lie. Its the source that keeps it alive. Maybe its the source that is discolored and makes blemishes of sins and wrongs apparent.

I see small blotches which are relieving because they are big in number, but the larger strokes take away the limelight and I cannot see beyond. Maybe that is how people look at me? Maybe that is how I look at people.

There is one color that stands out and on top. It reminds me of all that has ended and all that will come to an end. It gives the true view of the source even though it has nothing to do with it. It is red.

Monalisa cannot add anything because she gets idealized only at midnight. The rest of the time she gives this hope that I will unravel the mystery that she and only she knows. I always forget to see her at midnight.

Another year, more realities, worsening human, restless soul, still uncertain and everything fragmented. I see my life on this wall with Monalisa incomplete.

The caravan of winners

Last night was crazy. There has been a lot said and written about the gallantry of Pakistan team and the effect it has had on the entire nation. I dont feel like writing about that, but about what we did after Pakistan won.

After the game last night, a series of messages started floating and a plan was set to meet at Zabeel Park. About 5 cars with 20 Pakistanis met up to just have fun and make the night even more memorable. I have never listened to Jazba Junoon more in my life, driven like Schumacher, shouted and screamed on the road. For some reason everything seemed justified.

We left with the hazard lights on, Pakistan flags covering the cars. Those who didn't have any flags made do with team shirts. Songs - Jazba Junoon and Dil Dil Pakistan - were so loud that zombies would want to return back to the corpse while the unbearable, continuous car horn annoyed and amused at the same time. Other cars joined the caravan - randomly on the road - and what started as a small group became a protocol for a foreign president (I would say Mugabe but then in Pakistan it could just be a cheap bureaucrat)

There was no route to follow as is normally the case in such situations. There were however two purposes: to praise and glorify Pakistan and make sure that it's neighbor remembers the win. As a person I believe more in friendship and peace than war but when it comes to cricket I just strike out all the rules and the rivlarly becomes beautiful.

After visiting a few places in Karama the caravan headed to the Pakistan consulate. There, at 22:30, the guard was fast asleep. After hearing the noise he woke up, stumbling all along trying to put on his hat. No sir, it is not the President of Pakistan but a bunch of cricket hooligans - only peaceful. He was an arab so had no idea what was going on.

Next we covered Meena Bazar, Lamcy and Pakistan association. We were stopped by the police who threatened to impound the cars. Someone from the caravan spoke in arabic and they let us go. Like me, no one else was bothered (or gave a shit as I thought then). It was as if after the win we had nothing to lose.

There were people dancing in the middle of the road without fear of being hit by a car or as is the case in Dubai, arrested by the police. A bunch had a dhol - I leave the rest to imagination.

In most cases excitement is a controlled emotion or can be controlled. But there are times when no one knows what or why. In our case no one wanted to know what or why. It was just fair, right, honest and fun - just like Pakistan's win.