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.

Proud Pakistani, again.

With all that has gone wrong with our cricket in the past year, the worst has continued to engulf the land of Quaid-e-Azam in general. But there is something that has brought some relief to the agony instilled by the politicians and the hypocricy of democracy in the 3rd world country called Pakistan. It is the win over South Africa.

I have not followed cricket for a while and gave up playing a few years ago. This was primarily because the team I supported was an inspiration to watch and play but their regular loss was a heartbreak which was just too much to bear. The issue has never been with the loss itself but with the attitude. A fighter's dream is to fight not to win or lose, but when a sport becomes a game it becomes an excuse to go down without a fight, a shame to lose. In spite of my un-heroic act of not supporting the sport I have however, always wanted the team to win. I did not contribute heartily by following every game, remembering all records, or being just a fan who sits in the corner with eyes closed whispering a silent prayer when Afridi raises his bat or when Akmal slacks behind the stumps but I have always managed to somehow keep it and see it green beyond everything else.

I am one of those common people in Pakistan who take it to the streets, opposing politicians when they sell our resources to a world that does not care or dancing without reservations when Pakistan wins the honor. I realize once again that no matter how cruel the world order, I was, I am and I always will be a proud Pakistani.

Chronicles of the trimester - Part 3

Took the Thalys train to Brussels. Paid a lot more than I wanted to because the smart “me” didn’t book the tickets in advance. And because I am a “sheikh”, I took first class which would have made sense if the distance was like 4-5 hours. It was just an hour to Brussels. I made myself believe that it was worth the money paid until the bank statement came through at the end of the month.

There isn’t really much to do or see in Brussels, except the gothic style city centre. That too is just a few hours of visiting and then it gets boring. Trying out different types of waffles was an experience. I did eat a few chocolates but kept my appetite for them until the next day. I took a cycle tour of the city which was good because there were people to meet from other countries.

I was treated very well by the hotel staff.

How? Because they upgraded my room without me asking for it.

So? It was a bit of a surprise because:

Reception guy: “Sir, have you been our guest before?”

I: “Here, no, but I always stay in the Accor group of hotels. I was staying in Ibis in Paris before coming here. It’s the budget hotel chain in your group of hotels. I am a privilege card holder as well”.

I said this with so much confidence, that he actually believed me, and smiled. I realized only a few minutes later that I was standing in Intercontinental which is a completely different hotel chain.

Bruges:

Took the train to Bruges. Yes, VIP again.

My idea of Bruges was that of a fairytale town after watching the movie “In Bruges”. It definitely lived up to the expectation. The air, the buildings, the chimes, the canals, the streets, the shops, the river, everything seemed like the inspiration for the “land far far away” in Shrek.

The streets were filled with chocolatiers. I bought some for family and friends. I asked the lady at the counter if she had any without sugar for diabetics and she was happy to help. When asked if she had something without alcohol she gave me an uncanny stare and was silent for a few moments. She was really nice after the first hiccup and was able to mix some chocolate pieces. I was not really bothered what she was mixing as I knew she understood. After coming back home I realized why was she not happy with the entire non-alcoholic idea – choice was limited. I bought a 1 KG box of non-alcoholic chocolates that had only 4 types of truffles and some black/white chocolate. The best ones had the heavenly drink.

Chronicles of the trimester - Part 2

How many books can I write? None, because no matter how much I try to characterize, words will be too feeble.

I was planning to stay for three days but ended up staying for six. Before getting there I was sceptical because everyone talks about it as a city of:

- romance,
- a little more romance
- then a little more: honeymooner’s haven

That is fine with me – everyone has their opinion - but for someone travelling alone (that too primarily for business) and free, going to a romantic city (multiplied by 3) is not really “the” first choice. Nevertheless, a colleague (who could be trusted because he has been all over the world) encouraged and also explained that I could walk alone without people staring at me. For me the ultimate love story would be that of Heer-Ranjha but neither Heer nor Ranjha ever left Punjab. With that in mind I planned a few days in Paris.

The experience called Paris is alive and perpetual. It lives two lives – one during the day, and one during the night. Expensive? Yeah. Worth it? Hell yeah!!. There is just so much to see and absorb.

I stayed in a hotel at the base of the Eiffel Tower so it was really easy to just walk to it when I wanted. And I did, twice - once in the afternoon and once at night - and both the times I took the stairs as opposed to the elevator.

(Above) View from the balcony of my room.

Some pictures from that experience.

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The Louvre museum: I walked in the museum for about 6 hours and realized that I had covered only about 1/4th of it. From the infamous mystery of Monalisa to the beauty of Venus de Milo, there are paintings, sculptures, antiques, from all over the world. It was the first time I experienced western art and I must say that at times I had to be really liberal to appreciate it.

Arc de Triomph: Amazing views from the top of the streets all around.

Lost: Literally I was and I did not mind it one bit. I didn’t even know what area I was in as I walked for hours just trying to figure out how to not find my way. Everything I looked at looked back at me waiting for me to ask a question or experience it. (Disclaimer: I am only talking about monuments, museums, and cathedrals etc, not Moulin Rouge or the streets of Paris after midnight). What was I looking for? Hard Rock Café.

The transport system in Paris is commendable. I thought Londons’ was the best, but Paris is by far easier and better in terms of reach.

A day before I was to leave, I went to Versailles – a palace near Paris with miles and miles of garden all around it. I think I walked around at least 5-6 km and it still had more. I will not say much, but will let the pictures idealize the experience.

I didn’t feel losing out on the romance. What I did realize (and was a revelation only after I left the city) was the number of single tourists in all the places I visited – one.

Chronicles of the trimester - Part 1

No, the title has nothing to do with anyone's first three month's of pregnancy. It just means that I have not written a blog for a while so I thought I will put all of it together and seperate it in parts - something like Lord of the Rings.

Why am I writing a blog now? Because I am down with fever and internet is not working. So, I am taking this opportunity to write something even more worthless than I have in the past and that too in MS word. I am done writing but will post one by one - like Lord of the Rings.

I have been around in Dubai and travelling too. Yes, travelling has taken most of my time. Its nice to see the airport once in a while but to see it every other day is not my favourite experience. Where will the need take me next, I need to wait and see. So far I have been to:

Manchester, Paris, Brussels, Bruges, Amsterdam, Kinderdijk, The Hague Keukenhof, Barcelona, Kuwait and last and definitely least, Riyadh.

Every place has had its charm and has been a revolutionary experience – one way or the other. I am tempted to write about each one of them in detail, but then I don’t feel the need to let out what right now is just mine.

Manchester: Nothing fancy about this city, but I did visit the Red Stadium at Old Trafford. They lost in the premiership to the purples (and I had both the shirts but was wearing the purple because it had my name on the back – cheesy, I know) but the stadium was worth the visit. The tour took us around the stadium with details about the history, the plane crash and how the Reds went bankrupt.

For the first time, I tried foam ear plugs because my friend – the snoring bastard – would not let go of the idea that he got the hotel room for a cheaper price (he works for the hotel) and therefore could do whatever he feels like. It was good though – the ear plugs, not the snoring.

People say it’s a good city, but I have my reservations. Perhaps because the weather was bad all through. I was told that the party scene in Manchester is amazing. That was something we "really" wanted to check out but then instead ended up watching Monsters vs Aliens in 3D. Women were also surprising – no matter how cold, rainy, stormy the weather, they were dressed scantly ALL the time.

Food was good. With the number of desis in the UK, one can never go wrong with desi food.

Logically scientific reason

It makes no sense. I dont understand. Maybe its the common man's thought which is why I cannot see any further. Any wrong in this world is a result of human mind going astray in action. Then comes the process of realization. And that too is not a source of remorse but a justification for the action. Its an unusual way how the human mind carves logic to justify without any say from the emotions.

The mind analyzes through the best ways possible - a gift given only to humans. It comprehends conflicts and differences - both require reasons. It reaches a state of confusion because all conflics have a reason but not all reasons can be understood. In its quest to know more and get to that indisputable reason, it enters the black hole of conflicting thoughts about the conflict, trying to identify where and what went wrong. It finds nothing. Shackled in its own need to seek, fear takes over. Confusion reaches a state of uncertainty making it question its very existence. Nothing left to reason with now. Just find something, just blame anything.

Everything has a scientific reason - even conflict within human mind. This reason did not exist in the past, but there were other reasons with valid explanations. Human hearing had reasons, surely not scientific but reasons nevertheless. The human mind's need to question led to a scientific reason which in reality always existed but not in the same words or context as it does today. Some of that reason was provided by religion or a belief that had no words or concrete explanation or logic that could stand on its own however, then it did and it did not require the false support of science that changes evertime something fresh and appealing replaces it. That questioning led to some of the best discoveries and simultaneously lost out on some of the best beliefs the human mind could understand.

In its quest to find the truth the human mind is no more satisfied by its logic that it puts forth based on a belief or religion. Why? Because it sees the never ending conflict within the beliefs & the religions and that leads it to wander aimlessly in the black hole coming out confused and shattered without an answer thereby looking for some temporary solace which it finds in the ever changing reason of science which keeps it guessing and fascinates its need to know more while simultanesouly blaming religion for the conflict which in reality only existed because the human mind could not understand the true depths and decipher the true logic and reason for its very existence.

Reason - A justification provided by the human mind to make peace with itself.

JoBurg

Flying emirates was a treat. They have re-done their inflight entertainment system yet again and now even economy class passengers enjoy bigger screens and a big number of channels that I could not count. It was pointless to take my IPOD and a book because they have pretty much all the latest songs and books are boring anyway.

The happenings:

- I wathced the 3rd day cricket test between Australia and South Africa. After some time it got boring and I realized why 20-20 is such a big hit. The Wanderer's cricket stadium is a great place to watch the game, especially when two of the world's best teams play against each other on a day locals called "the Fanatic Fans day"

- I asked a staff guy at the stadium where to get the tickets and while talking to him the gum fell out of my mouth. He didnt laugh at me but I could see that he was controlling. I controlled my human reaction and did not look down at the deceased gum and think 'what just happened'. I can say with confidence that I was not embarassed.

- Walked more than a kilometre in rain and thunderstorm. With groceries in one hand and a travel bag in another. I was not bothered about the rain. It was the thunder that worried me, primarily because it shook the roads.

- Because of the cricket match the roads are filled with cars. They are parked everywhere; on the road, on the walkways and every other corner that will not block the traffic. I watched a guy being beaten up by a mob for trying to steal a car. It was about 10 metres from the hotel window. This is how the police arrived:

• Two lady police in a small suzuki alto. No they did not stop the mob, they were just trying to understand what was happening while the guy was being beaten up.
  
• Four policemen in a pick-up-type-four-wheel-drive. They looked at the crowd as they landed scores of slaps on the accused
  
• Three Policeman in a big-truck-type-car. They didnt do much either and the crowd was free to beat the living shit out of the thief.
  

This scene reminded me of the police in Pakistan. One reason, I thought, why all 3rd world countries get categorized as such.

- I have never eaten more from Nandos in my life before. They are planning to start a loyalty program very soon in my honor.

Konya insected

It took me more than a month to plan the trip. It took into account the fact that I was travelling alone and meant that I cover as much area as possible so as not to get bored - from Istanbul to Cappadocia to Konya to Pammukalle to Kusadasi to Selcuk (Ephesus) to Izmir to Bergama and back to Istanbul. 11 days in Turkey and there are lots of things to talk about. I however, find only one extremely Bollywood - joy, tragedy, climax and a happy ending. There are no songs in this story but a soundtrack - an unusual diffused fusion of music with instruments ranging from OUD to guitars to nothing.

After a few days in the beautiful villages of goreme and urgup in Cappadocia - where I had the privilege of watching a "Sema" ceremony which was very commercial but I kept quiet and made myself understand that even dervishes need food - I took a bus en route to Konya. One of the largest cities, Konya was my motivation to go to Turkey and pay my respects to the Sufi saints Mevlana Jalauddin Rumi and Mevlana Shams Tabraizi. Deportation/Iguazu (Babel) soothing my 3 hour bus ride.

Getting off from the bus, "tourist" was written all over my face. One of the most conservative Muslim towns my plan was not to stay for more than a few hours in Konya. Not because of any other reason, but because I had a lot of land to cover. Konya's bus stand was no less than a domestic airport without airplanes but huge Mercedes buses all around. I realized I had no map, no sense of direction, no understanding of the Turkish language (except Teshkur Edirime i.e. Thank you) and no way to explain "I need to know the way" through hand motions (I'm not Italian). Another realization struck: where to leave the luggage for the next few hours? Asked a few people around and one super human understood my version of English and guided me to the storage facility. No, he did not point, he took me there.

Luggage free, I walked out of the bus station without any hesitation not knowing where to go. I had no intention of renting a taxi and instead took a Dolmus (the local bus transport). It didn’t take me long to explain to the driver where I wanted to go. Why? Because I had "tourist" tattooed on my forehead and I mentioned Rumi which made it really easy. I had to adjust myself in the small seats. A lady got into the bus and smiled - she too knew who I was.

Dolmus took me around the city. After about forty minutes of Bhullay Shah by Junoon and Abida Parveen I reached the tomb of Mevlana Rumi. Stood in a queue and got the ticket for the tomb and the museum. My seven year old dream was about to be realized and the joy was beyond words. Visited the museum, prayed Fateha and left without taking any pictures. The idea was to absorb the experience.

Far from a true Muslim (but a proud non-believer of moderate muslimism) I still decided to pray in the next-door Selimiye Mosque. As soon as I raised my hands for takbeer tragedy struck. My mind only understood the idea of a needle piercing through the socks and the reaction was so sudden that I had to balance myself so as not to fall. I did not challenge the natural human instincts and immediately looked what was under my foot. In less than a second I knew my brain signals were wrong and tried to comprehend nature's sense of humor. It was an insect that bit me through the socks.

It was excruciatingly painful and this time the tattoo on my forehead read "agony". I had forgotten about prayer as I could not stand. A gentleman in the mosque saw this and looked at me but didn’t say anything. I had to read his eyes (yes, with no other method of communication I had to learn this) and limped towards him. In that split second of silence I realized I was alone in the country and murmured a prayer.

I: "Assalaam o Alaikum (I refrained from "Hi" because it was a mosque), can you please direct me to a hospital"
He: ""
I: "ummm, you know, a hospital, a doctor?" (Referring to a doctor's coat through hand motions. No, that too does not make me Italian)
He: " 'said something alien with a nod' " and directed me outside the mosque.

I walked out of the mosque not realizing that there is worst is yet to come - I had to wear shoes. After a bit of an effort (on the first thought: promising that I will pray 5 times a day, and on the second: ok I will try my best) I walked out looking for a hospital. In most tourist places in Turkey, they have a police cabin outside the main site to keep those who need a bit of easy cash away from tourists. I went to a policeman and:
I: "English?"
Policeman 1: ""
I: "Do you speak English?"
Policeman 2,3: ""
I: "I need to go to a hospital, can you help?"
Policeman 1,2,3: Pointing towards Policeman 4
Policeman 4: "Yes."
I: "I need to go to hospital, I was bitten by an insect (I wanted to say animal but then refrained from it for some reason) inside the mosque"
Policeman 4: "Oh insect, what?"
I: Tried to explain with my hands what an insect is and even made it walk
Policeman 4: "You go doctor? "
I: "Yes please, thank you, please can you tell me the directions?"
Policeman 4: "Pain, pain?"
I: Surprised by the question I thought to myself 'No, there is no pain, I just have a habit of going around tourist places and getting bitten by strange creatures and whine in pain in front of a policeman asking for directions to a hospital'. Got a hold of myself and said: "Yes"
Policeman 4: Spoke to Policeman 1,2,3 and called another policeman who was the supervisor. Spoke to him about something - apparently explaining what happened.
Policeman 4: "Ok, you come"
I: thinking what? where to? Prison, no way!!! What did I do?
Policeman 4: "No, you come"
I: "But what have I ....... "
Policeman 4: "No no, you come"

The supervisor got the police car and put me in the back with three other officers along with me for maximum prisoner security. The only thing going through my mind at this point was that Pakistan and Turkey have good relations, so if I contact the embassy they might help me get out of jail. I saw the Turquoise minaret-like dome of Mevlana Rumis tomb and kept silent. Meri Tauba meri Tauba (NFAK) running in the background.

After about 15 minutes of driving we reached a huge building. I ran my eyes around to understand the surroundings. Something was written in Latin on the building which I could not read but my mind understood "Police Station" - police cars on one side, regular cars parked on one side, ambulances on one side. What? Ambulance? I looked at the Latin language on the building again and saw a crescent and a serpent wrapped around Asclepius' rod.

Accompanied by four Turkish policemen, I entered the hospital with full protocol. And yes, that meant that I got preference over all other patients as I was treated like a VIP (“Mein hoon Don” playing in my head). I waited for a few minutes (which I thought is not acceptable to me anymore because I was the VIP with bodyguards visiting a hospital) on a bed in a room that looked like an operation theater. A male nurse walked in and asked what happened. Again, I had to get my hands into action and show him how the insect looked and how it walked. To my surprise and fear, he pointed to a picture on the wall - a spider. I am not arachnophobic but the idea of being bitten by one (a black widow perhaps) was just not something I was planning to be fearless about. I vehemently denied the possibility and ignored the nurse as if he did not exist.

After talking to one another, the policemen and the nurse realized that it’s the patient they should be talking to. The nurse paged the doctor immediately who was out for lunch. They moved me immediately to the doctor's room. Women in Turkey are not that bad looking but a doctor standing at 5'8" was just something that had to be admired. As I looked at her the pain obviously started receding. (Nothing else matter (Metallica) playing in the background). However, after coming back to my senses I figured she was speaking only to other Turkish men and ignored me completely. She too could not speak English. My heart felt the pain and the stinging sensation came back – in my foot of course. She analyzed my foot which was weird for two reasons:
1. as a man I could not see a woman analyzing my feet not only because I was not her "majazi khuda" but also because it was against the chivalrous me
2. normally, I am the one who analyzes

She looked at the police officers and said something in a foreign language. One of the policemen asked me: "Do you have pain in back?". I looked at him surprised and scared. I thought to myself that maybe I should have accepted the theory of being bitten by a spider because this spider's venom (or whatever spider's bite has in it) affects the human spine and then paralyses the body, so the starting point is pain in the back. I said: "NO, its ........ its ...... my foot that hurts ...... not ..... my .... back". The Policeman: "Oh sorry! yes, yes foot, sorry English not good". The pain was still bad, but I was fine about it now after knowing no other part of the body would get amputated.

The doctor analyzed my foot again and needless to say she felt that I felt that her feeling my foot was an unusual feeling for me. She looked at the policeman and said something which he translated to something I had not expected at all: "Doctor say, nothing wrong. We go now".
Me: wo wo wo wo, "Nothing wrong? But I am in pain".
Policeman:"She say she give panadol but nothing to do".

Yes, it was beyond disappointment. Not because I wanted to see more of the good looking doctor, but because I felt stupid for wasting everyone’s time including the law enforcements'. I thought, 'wait a minute? Maybe they wanted to take me to prison after visiting the doctor, just like it happens in movies'. I looked at the doctor with the "puss in boots" look asking her to stop them from taking me away. She obviously was not bothered.

The policeman helped me out of the hospital and put me in the car. I could see my future behind bars. I was wondering if my dad would pay to bail me out. I had my doubts. After driving for about 20 minutes one of the policeman asked where I was from. Reluctantly I said: "Pakistan". Everyone heard that. Turned around and looked at me. I was sure I was going to Guantanamo Bay and cursed myself for not saying Iceland or Congo or Brunei. That thought however, lasted for a split second as all of them smiled and were really happy to know that I was Pakistani. That reminded me once again of the good relations between the two countries and I could now hope for freedom. Soon, we reached a place that looked very familiar as if I had been there some time back. Looked further and saw the turquoise dome of Rumi's tomb. The policemen dropped me back to the same place with a smile and lots of best wishes.

I had a 6 hour (which lasted 11 hours) bus ride to Pamukkale and the pain receded completely after about 7 hours - without any panadol. I was happy I didn’t die, or lose my foot or go to jail, but more than that I got a true flavor of Turkish hospitality and that too from the police. Soon I was to realize that this was just the start.

Summer wine

Someone I dont know much recommended this song written by Lee Hazlewood with vocals from him and Nancy Sinatra. Although not much of a classic music lover (I dont even know how to define the genre and if there is a genre like that) but this song just caught my attention in every sense of the phrase.

An unusually mystic tone justifying itself to be seductive and addictive at the same time - a combination that has made me listen to it over and over again, and then once more. The recommender mentioned rightly: "dangerous but gentle".

Nancy has the same lines all through the song as if she has a purpose that has to be achieved, a reason that will not change, a storm that cannot be stopped and she simply reiterates the fact by repeating it. She defines in a mystic tone what she has to offer and what she is made of but no one knows anything for sure. Lee's part of the lyrics create a complete image in the mind as he falls into a trap which he willingly accepts the next day, and yet begs for more.

The recommender also mentioned that although the song begins with Lee's voice being dominant but ends with Nancy in full control as if her purpose was served and there was no reason to stay anymore. "Summer wine" however, remains a mystery.

One can create a picture in one's mind after listening to this song. I tried to take it to a different level where the imagery is not given a complete form but is left somewhere in the middle for the human mind to think but not reach a conclusion thereby keeping its mystic elemens intact. Tale of an affair? Maybe. Monalisa smile? Perhaps. Tango Argentino? Definitely.

Leave.

Numbers that I have been thinking of for a few days:
--------------------------------------------
33: years lived here
28: years of work for the same people
13.5: weeks of sickness asked
0: days of extended leisure
--------------------------------------------
10: minutes to let go
0: expectations
--------------------------------------------
Strange how some people get treated at the end when all they thought about was the respect they would earn and deserve. This place has given a lot for all these years, and took it all back in a flash leaving nothing but a sense of disbelief, a present which is a reminder of nothing but past glories and a future that is uncertain and pale. It is sad definitely, but it could be worst. Yes, hope does not fade and those who have been there know that.

Go ahead, judge me!!!

Before you hedge those bets you placed against me
Be reticent of fortunes they foretell
Your verbal defecation I can't wash away despite myself
Your vanity it seems has served you well

You're so quick to choose the path walked by the righteous
So you can go and nest among the weak
The innocent observers will refuse to find the lie within
Renew the disappointment of the meek

You're no Jesus Christ
You're no Jesus Christ

Put the gun in my mouth and pull the trigger
I feel so alive here
Put the gun in my mouth it tastes so bitter
I feel so alive here

You're no Jesus Christ
You're no Jesus Christ

You keep taking over, I keep rolling over
I can't take it anymore
You keep taking over, I keep rolling over
I can't take it anymore

You're no Jesus Christ

(Seether)

The Teller

As an individual whose past generations have lived in the sub-continent and the arab world, respect for women comes naturally because of the amalgamation of geographical and religious cultures.
Yes, this means:
- I will leave my seat when I see a "lady" in the bus

- Never take the dedicated "ladies" seat in the bus (which is always in the front) even if I am on crutches. Also, no "lady" will ever give her seat after seeing me in that condition (no, I am not sexist, or rascist, or meanist or any "ist", its a plain, simple fact!!!)

- I will not stand in the "ladies" queue at the counters for bill payment, in hospitals, for visas and immigration, at the police, etc even though there is hardly any "ladies" waiting and the one serving at the counter is looking at a pocket (or purse :S) mirror to check her latest Christina Aguilera look.

- Give the "lady" with 7 kids my place in the queue even though I had been waiting for two hours for my turn and she just arrived. She will take her sweet time with all her kids running around the place. Occasionally she will look at me with a fake smile with something like "What are you looking at? Suck it up biatch! I was here before you :P" written all over her face.

- If I dont give my place to the "lady" in the queue, either:
a. the person in-charge will give her my place and look at me with "Shut the $%#$ up, I can do whatever I want!!"
b. other men will become her brothers and look at me as if I am responsible for giving a bad name to "MAN"kind and I dont know how to care for my sister and her 7 children.
c. other women will look at me and think maybe he got home schooled and had no women in the house, or never got any education in the first place.

- Hold the door for the "lady" at the hotel, at a restaurant, in the elevator, entering the car etc etc

- and the list goes on.

The point of all these scenarios is simply to re-iterate to myself and to the few who read this blog, that I have ultimate respect for women and chivalry is my middle name.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I went to the bank yesterday for a payment (no, I did not stand in a queue and no lady asked me to sacrifice my place for her).
The first lady (from the wonderful land of the locals) I met: "Hi!, mam, I need to make a payment". -- Chivalry Points = 2, I was nice to her, and I said Hi first.

First Lady: "Sir you need to see the teller, do you have the account number?"
From my wallet I took out a card that had the 16 (or 1600, makes no difference to me because I cant memorize either) digit account number and showed it to her. She pointed me to the teller and I smiled. -- Chivalry Points = 3, unconditinal smile from me while she did not care

Second Lady (first teller, from the wonderful land of the Philippines): "Yes sir, how can I help youuuu?". No smiles, pretty obvious that she was not happy to see me, which was surprising cause I never took her place in any queue ever.

Me: "Hi!, mam, I need to make a payment to this account" handing her the card. -- Chivalry Points = 2. I was nice to her, and I said Hi first

Second Lady (first teller): "Sure, ok". I realized at that point, that to make a payment, in normal circumstances, people need cash. Since there was nothing wrong with the circumstances I went to the atm to get some cash. After coming back I realized that she had already filled out the form with the account details etc.

Me: "Sorry about that. Thanks for filling in the information" -- Chivalry points = 2, I said sorry (even though I was not at fault and ....... come to think of it neither was she, but I will give myself some credit anyway because this is my blog) and also said thanks.

Second Lady (first teller): "Sir, you need to sign here and make the payment there", and she pointed me to a teller sitting right next to her about 34.8 cm away.

Me: Smiled and said "Ok, thank you", and I walked 34.8 cms. Chivalry points = 3, unconditinal smile from me while she did not care.

Third Lady (second teller, again from the wonderful land of the locals), too busy doing her own thing and ignores me completely. -- Chivalry Points = 2, I waited for her without losing it.

After some time she realizes my presence and says: "How can I help you?"

Me: "Hi, mam I need to make a payment" with a smile obviously. -- Chivaly points = 3. I was nice to her, and I said Hi first even though she ignored me.

Third Lady (second teller): "Yes, ok, how much?"

Me: I told her the amount.

Third Lady (second teller): Got up and went to her boss sitting behind her for something. At the same time I noticed the 9-inch (ok, I exaggerate but it was at least 5 inch) heel she was wearing and that too when she was all wrapped-up in an abaya. Realized that simplicity and hypocricy go hand in hand, kept quite and looked down. Chivalry Points = 10, I did not check her out and looked down.

She came back and then started writing something on the paper which was filled up by Second Lady (First teller). Its not like I have a problem with looking at women but I feel a little out of place knowing that they feel uncomfortable if a man is looking at them while they are busy doing something. Human behavior is at the peak of its honesty when it knows that no one is watching. However once it knows that someone is watching, it gets very conscious. So I continued looking down on the table or the pen or something wherein she got a feeling that I was not looking at her.

She looked up and saw me staring at the paper. I dont know what went through her mind, she smiled. Chivalry Points: -27 because she smiled and I was dumbstruck thinking "what went wrong?" or a part of me wanted to believe or think "what went right?".

I think she felt that I was checking her out. Nevetheless, I looked at her and gave her half a smile because this was very unusual and as a person who has ultimate respect for women I could not just stand there and let my chivalry go down the drain without giving her a response. She then looked at me, and smiled again. I gave her half a smile. She then smiled again. I gave her half a smile. She smiled again. This happened 6-7 times (and for some reason I tell myself that it happened many more times). I wanted to believe there was a connection but then snapped back to earth and just ignored what happened. Chivalry Points: -400, she smiled, and even though I smiled back, it does not count because she is a lady.

After the smile and the half-smile episode, to my surprise, she asked me the one thing all men want to hear from a woman at least once in their life. "Sir, can I have your name and phone number?" In normal circumstances such questions dont make a difference to me because I really dont care giving out my phone number to anyone especially to women (or ladies). Not because, "Oh!! nothing unusual, I am so cool anyway" but because I know that they will never call or there has to be a very non-flirtitious, non-romantic reason for them to ask my number. In this situation however, circumstances were not normal. I had the backing of all the smiling behind me.

In anticipation, I asked her for a pen and wrote down my name and phone number. I realized only after a few moments that it was the same form that was filled up by Second Lady(First teller) and I was writing my name and number in areas on the form that said "Customer Name (required)", "Customer Number (required)"

I left the bank without any hope. I narrated this story (with less details of course) to a friend and he was so negative about all positives that I had thought about. He said: "Maybe she took the name and number to call the police because you were checking her out".

I've not received any calls yet and for some reason I am really happy about that.

Letter to Al Danube Building Materials

I was not pissed off at all - seriously.

To: info@aldanube.com
Medium = Email
Subject = Advertisements
Purpose = Realization of the truth

Hi,
I was just watching the cricket match between Pak and Sri Lanka and had the misfortune of watching the latest Al Danube advertisement.
I understand that Al-Danube is not doing bad in terms of profits, but after looking at the lizard ad it makes me wonder if the managment puts in some of those profits towards advertising. Before this it was the "fish and water" ad which again was one of the most pointless ads I have ever seen on television.

I believe Al-Danube has gone leaps and bounds in making a mark in this market and I am sure there is a lot of respect for its products, but making ads that have lizards and blood dripping after they fall on a carrom-board with family all around is not really something that will make you win business - that is only if winning more business is the purpose. Especially in these times when the real estate is not doing too well, I think the management should understand the value of advertisements. The ad is generally gross when watched but it adds icing to the cake when one is having lunch.

I would like to suggest, that if you really want to advertise your brand, you should spend some money and hire someone who would actually understand your brand and put in the effort to make it pleasing for the audience. Also you should spend some money in hiring a company that makes better graphics. If not, you should give that money to your employees as bonus and not spend on advertising at all. That would help your brand more.

Your other ads were despising enough, this one is just horrendous. I can only pray for your brand in these difficult times.

Israel and the bank hypocrisy

I hate conflicts. I feel there is a resolution to everything if the agenda or purpose is to find a solution. In the wonderful historcal case of Israel-Palestine however, that is not true. Neither Israel nor the Palestinian leadership are really looking for a solution and the world watches people die everyday either from the backstage (USA, and other supporters of Israel) or as audiences (Saudi Arabia, arab/muslim world and non-supporters of Israel). Condemning the act has brought about nothing but casualties for the people of Gaza and muslims in general all around the world. Action requires balls from Costco (as per Russell Peters) to stand up and either fight or take diplomatic decisons by stepping on a nerve or two. Who says that the muslim world is not supporting Hamas and Hezbollah? Of course they are. By providing them with rockets that do nothing but paint the faces of Israel soldiers black.

In the wake of these attacks by Israel on the army of Gaza that has "top-of-the-line weapons and computer systems used and recognized worldwide" some interesting decisions were taken by Barclays bank and Lloyds TSB - both have presence in Dubai. Initially the news was reported in a local newspaper The National that gets published out of Abu Dhabi. No other local newspaper published the news. How do I know all this? Someone I know works for the bank and of course the internet.

The bank put a seal on accounts that had any links to the Palestinian cause or support for Hamas. Most of these accounts for obvious reasons belonged to Muslims or Muslim organizations who would send money to aid the people in Palestine and other countries. No reasons were given. When the news was published, an email was sent out to the staff detailing what "should/should not" be said if customers ask questions reagarding this issue. British Muslims called for boycotting the banks but for obvious reasons nothing happened and everyone got busy with the New Year celebrations.

If that was not enough, a new rule has come forth. Every transaction made to the bank from an account that has a Muslim name (particularly Mohammad or its variants) has to go through the sanctions department before getting approved. There is no start/end limit to the amount. Everything shoud be reported even if the person is not a bank customer. That is correct. So if I have an account in BankA and I sent some money to Barclays and my name resembles a Muslim name (which is very easy to find out nowadays), I should be reported. The staff is asked to get names, passport number, phone number etc whatever possible. They have also been given special instructions through emails sent in FAQ format to handle dissatisfied customers. When asked by the staff that this is not appropriate and whats the rationale behind it, no reason was given. Of course, no reason is needed because it is understood by default that the name is Islamic.

For obvious reasons I was a bit furious. After some thought I figured that the Israeli attack on Gaza started on Dec 27 and the news was published on Dec 28. Obviously the account(s) were closed before Dec 27 unless they were closed the same day as the news was published. The US has done nothing so far to stop the fighting but in return has rejected UNs call for a truce/ceasefire. The Bush administration is leaving and blaming Hamas for starting it whereas the incoming President Obama is not really bothered about what is happening. Oil is at its lowest and no word is coming out of Saudi or other oil rich countries except condemning the attack which goes hand in hand with the no-balls-to-do-anything theory.

I would not be surprised if it all stops as soon as Obama takes the Oval Office. Maybe this is just an opportunity for Israel to "play" a little before the new US president takes over or maybe, Bush just wanted another chapter in his retirement book - something that sounded better then "Muntadir Al-Zaidi taking a shot at the president with his shoes".

Run

Run. If I knew where, I would. Its a bright start to the tunnel but the light has dimmed so much that I cant even see where it will end. No matter what I do or try, it just does not help me go through. I can walk back to the start and find another way but why should I when I know the destination is different. I have asked, time and again and yet there has been no answer. Disappointment has its consequences but complete darkness is not what I had expected. Ah!! you human, take a look at the bright side. But where is the bright? Should I just live in the glory of the past? Was that real glory or a mistake of my imagination? If I dont know what to do, what do I do? Ah!! the wait is like a thorn - cuts and pierces through slowly inch by inch. Ah!!! the patience - a fairy I dont want to know anymore. If no one can help, who should I ask? I ask, when my plans come to an end.
I had prepared for the worse. I am no more.

The year - then, now and then again.

I have blamed time for its existence and unusual ways of bringing change. Pondered a bit on the idea and realized that I have never and will never, understand the purpose of its existence. It never stops, never turns around and can not been seen but only felt. Its path is forward and straight and it does not digress. Once gone, it leaves a sense of disbelief in the human mind making us think where it went and what was lost. The only rationale for it to be alive is to ultimately end itself.

There is a “right time” and a “bad time”, both close friends taking turns in human life to bring about change. Their combination inflicts conflicting change on human lives. If “right time” is alive and ends, it’s the start of “bad time” for some, “right time” for a few and nothing for others. If “bad time” is alive and ends, it’s the right end for the one living it, but could be the start of “bad time” for another. Do they really exist and are responsible for bringing about the change, or are they mere units of imagination called ups and downs of life?

As the sun sets and a new dawn waits, the strength of my inner pessimism wakes and shouts in despair reminding me of the time that was lost. There have been gains, but that is a satisfaction of the body which will wither as its time comes to an end. The loss on the other hand stains the soul and makes it brood over that which cannot be, that which can be, and that which could have been.

Words are a mirror to the mind, while the face and voice are a mirror to the heart. Together they explore the loss and rattle the soul. With words weak, face pale and voice trembling my mirror reflection gives me nothing.

What is, cannot be. What can be, is not. That is the puzzle. That is the game. That is the joke. That, is time.

No, I don't feel a thing
Life's going by me
But still I say
Oh God I'm making the same mistakes

Low?
I'm on empty
Try to erase all the bad times
Free?
I don't seem to be
My soul remains tied to your life

Every breath you breathe deep
I feel you circulating through me
I'll never forgive myself again
I'm so sick and tired of making the same mistakes

God help me
God help me
God help me

(Because of the corruption in the human heart)