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.