for sorrow was a noble thing...

When my sorrow was born I nursed it with care, and watched over it with loving tenderness.
And my Sorrow grew like all living things, strong and beautiful and full of wondrous delights.
And we loved one another, my Sorrow and I, and we loved the world about us; for Sorrow had a kindly heart and mine was kindly with Sorrow.
And when we conversed, my Sorrow and I, our days were winged and our nights were girdled with dreams; for Sorrow had an eloquent tongue, and mine was eloquent with Sorrow.
And when we sang together, my Sorrow and I, our neighbors sat at their windows and listened; for our songs were deep as the sea and our melodies were full of strange memories.
And when we walked together, my Sorrow and I, people gazed at us with gentle eyes and whispered in words of exceeding sweetness. And there were those who looked with envy upon us, for Sorrow was a noble thing and I was proud with Sorrow.
But my Sorrow died, like all living things, and alone I am left to muse and ponder.
And now when I speak my words fall heavily upon my ears.
And when I sing my songs my neighbours come not to listen.
And when I walk the streets no one looks at me.
Only in my sleep I hear voices saying in pity, “See, there lies the man whose Sorrow is dead.”

calculus and cheese cake

The hypnotic hush of crashing tides will take me back to you,
So I keep the safest distance from these tides I’ve come to rue,
If the setting sun and northern star will raise an eye to me,
I’ll whisper lies and sever ties, your sunsets I shall flee...

But then wiser men will whisper, that the stars are here for good,
So hired gnomes will snatch my recall; hired gnomes that can and should!
These simple measures, time and tide, are waves on crying sands,
And these pictures etched in fickle clay are prone to slights of hand.

I ask myself on nights retreating, is this the boy that I once knew?
Is he subsumed by his surroundings? Is he waiting on some cue?
Can he hear his inner voices or is he reading off your script?
Has he resigned to whims of angels or is he still Mohican ripped?

So if the spoils should lay before you, I’ll be a martyr to your cause,
Untimely death so unbecoming.... and for effect I’ll take this pause. (pause for effect)
Yes life itself has been quite humbling for the boy who lost his muse,
But if I could, for just a moment, let me explicate my views...

If these stars should burn much brighter, if they should take me back to you,
Then I’ll embrace each dying ember in this sky of satin blue,
If the waves that whisper softly, whisper you with every heave,
Then I’ll stand till next December, I’ll stand till you believe...
And if these setting suns should tear me apart, with each impassioned hue,
Then I am your constellation, and I’ll remind myself of you...

Noon - Dec 2010.

this night of power.

i envy my cousin. he assures me that he misses nothing. that he lives in the present with eyes always set on the prize. me, not so much. i miss things. i miss people too.
when we were younger, all my fathers’ siblings would come to lahore to celebrate eid with their parents. on the night of the 27th of ramzan, all my cousins would line up in mummy daddys hall and maheen would lead the prayers... ishah and then nafals for as long as our spindly legs would permit. then we'd crash, complete knackered.
tonight, many years later i feel my zeal has dwindled. May be all forms of compassion have been replaced by patriotism. May be this patriotism is affected too. these are transitional years. It’s the patch of bad road before the long stretch of highway.
sometimes, during assembly i make a silent prayer before i get into the drone. is this the line i was set to tow? i feel that in doing so ive been written off. written off too soon.
there is an idea simmering inside and believe me when i tell you, the only thing that you'll ever need in this life, is an idea.

Paul.

Students file in, pockets full of mischief and glee. They groan as handouts are distributed in class. "Sir, but its the first day" they plead. "Lines of Symmetry!" I order in an orotund boom. Silence ensues. I am pleased.
I list the types of polygons. "Octagon; eight sides. Octopus; eight tentacles." I paused for a moment. "Which octopus received considerable media coverage this summer?"
"SIR, PAUL!" said the class in unison, smiling as they did.

A year has passed since I've been teaching. Today, I am content. Yes, still I have many aspirations. Theres that elusive degree, theres that foreign posting, there are houses and cars and college funds. But today, these are not my worries. Today, I am the alpha and it is my turn!

this place, that year...

A meddling six year old is standing to my right, leering over my shoulder curious as to what im doing. Finally, he says "yeh aap kya kar rahay hain?". I ignore him. I'm not feeling very amicable. He presses a key on the keyboard to illicit a reaction. "fuck off, kid" i whisper under my breath. He complies.
Im sitting in the wateen internet terminal booth at the allama iqbal international. My flight has been delayed and this booth makes me reminisce. I sat in this booth three years ago. Again, on my way to dubai. Again, composing something that i wished i hadnt.
I have no illusions and misconceptions anymore. I am not the boy that sat in this cubicle three years back. Then, i wrote something to a friend describing what I hoped was in store, describing what I hoped the future held. Yes, hindsight is twenty twenty but I couldn't have been further from my ambitions and expectations...
I'm perceptive. It's a gift. I picked up the nuances in your voice. I know it didn't happen the way I had hoped and this time i refuse to resign myself to 'the all things are for the better' generic rationale variety. Its time to take my destiny in my own hands.
My greatest fear in the world is being forgotten, is falling and not getting back up. A man's worth is measured by what he did with whatever little he had. Its time to get the ball rolling. I should be able to do that, given my penchant for footy.
Watch this space. Nothing, nothing... not black magic, not death threats from terrorists in rahim yar khan, not the discouraging words of nay sayers, not the hajooj majooj... nothing under the sun is going to keep me down.

somehow this don't feel like home anymore...

Your heart's on the loose
You rolled them seven's with nothing lose
And this ain't no place for the weary kind

You called all your shots
Shooting 8 ball at the corner truck stop
Somehow this don't feel like home anymore

And this ain't no place for the weary kind
And this ain't no place to lose your mind
And this ain't no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Your body aches
Playing your guitar and sweating out the hate
The days and the nights all feel the same

Whiskey has been a thorn in your side
and it doesn't forget
the highway that calls for your heart inside

And this ain't no place for the weary kind
And this ain't no place to lose your mind
And this ain't no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Your lovers won't kiss
It's too damn far from your fingertips
You are the man that ruined her world

Your heart's on the loose
You rolled them sevens with nothing lose
And this ain't no place for the weary kind

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zelvaxvTaUk

conquistador

In his search for inspiration, he turned each stone a thousand times,
he turned to gales that blew by oceans, tried to rid to world of crimes,
but noble quests, you’ll often find, will claim the soul of he who ventures,
and leaves one old and cold and lonely, with just Alzheimer’s and his dentures.
when he reflected on his vices, shot the shit and cut the trim,
he peered inside and then discovered that the anachronism was him.
Had he not walked that pavement, had he not said those words,
Had he not scarred that tissue, shared a view with lonesome birds,
Then our feeble hearts and heavy heads would spin a brighter hue,
They’d still be wedding bells and oyster shells but just no me and you.
So tonight I am Neftali, and those saddest lines are mine,
And yet we pick out sheets for cousins and choose eateries to dine,
we talk to strangers with conviction, receive our dues for what we give,
We exist from days to eons, when do we ever live?
Tonight, the flaming question was the stutter into verse.
Was the broaching of this issue that I'm sure has made it worse,
But then the quest for inspiration, keeps me pacing moonlit pavements,
So excuse the impropriety of these verses, the fickleness of these statements.

Noon May 10.

g'nite and g'luck!

last friday i was rushed to the hospital and doctors concurred that my ruptured appendix warranted immediate removal. Today, almost 10 days later, i pulled the stitches out. There is a scar on my stomach. It hurts sometimes.
The house is full of family. im glad school resumes tomorrow. mocks are looming. the o level exams are drawing closer. i hope my students do well. I've given it my all.
mariam asked me write something for a competition on social responsibility. i suggested she should do the presentation on the re-socialization of acid victims. she agreed. I wrote the essay for a batch of brownies.

I shifted nervously in my seat as the students murmured. I rose slowly and a hush cast itself over the entire class. “Hello, my name is Natasha and I’ve done my B.Sc in Neuroscience from the Government College, Lahore. I will be teaching you Human Behaviour” I said in a confident tone; an introduction that would have sufficed for any other lecturer on that floor... but I knew that this class would still be curious. There was an unanswered question, a five ton elephant in the room that was begging elaboration. “How did she get those scars on her face?” came an almost inaudible whisper.
The completion of my bachelors threw into sharp relief my age and eligibility. My parents started weighing the merits of potential suitors and after much deliberation decided on Ameen. More than anything else he had remarkable potential. His future was bright and held prospects that would be rewarding. I felt it. He wanted good things for both of us. My parents were gleaming. They ordered Mithai and distributed it to the entire Mohalla.
A few days later I answered a knock on the door. It was Furqaan, a lecherous juvenile that would eye me every chance he got. ‘My father isn’t home’ I told him. He leered and rammed the door open. I fell to the ground. There was hate in his eyes. Evil had crept into his soul and was manifesting itself before me. I was terrified. “If I can’t have you, no one can” he spewed.
It felt like molten sulphur searing my flesh. I screamed. I cried for my mother, my father. The world was on fire. Violent hazy spirals punctuated by my own deafening shouts. I staggered, I stumbled, I cried and cried. Could no one hear me?
My eyelids felt heavy. I could make out silhouettes through layers of bandages. Everything was blurry. God himself was blurry. I slept.
I woke. Indistinct chatter intermittently broke the silence. I could make out only words and phrases. Bechari... acid victim... skin grafting... but they’re never the same. I slept.
I woke. The doctor had a contorted countenance as he removed the bandage. The silence only broken by the clipping of his sheers. He finished and it returned. I thought it had returned forever.
Days turned into weeks and years. I would keep myself locked in my room. I knew outside that my parents were crying, that slowly inexorably they were turning into gaunt spectres with only gaunt thoughts to sustain them. I cut all correspondence with Ameen and resigned myself to my own convoluted existence. Two and half years in something happened.
Initially my scepticism and apathy was so thick that she could have cut through it with a kitchen knife. Initially, I felt that her sessions were some infantile temporary fancy. Some graded class assignment, an interesting subject for a term paper... but with time, consistency, compassion and endearment she made me lower my guard. She broke through. She spoke to me of the less fortunate. She spoke to me of God. She spoke to me of all things, from the very trivial to the deeply profound and in due course, colours excited me once more. I saw the hand of god in the drizzle, the chirping of birds in flight, the smile on another’s face. I felt the warmth of my parents, their undying love and compassion.
The rays of the sun filtered through the yellow glass of the Roshandan and fell on the floor. There was silence. Only the occasional yell of the milkman making his rounds so early in the morning. The world beckoned and the truth is I was scared but knew that this was the final stroke that would slay my demons. God gives us hope and most of all He gives is faith. I drew a deep breath and with a silent prayer opened the door and stepped into the world.

well, it was short notice and its been a while since ive written anything at all. mariam will probably take the pictures from depilex smile again foundation. hope she does well.

itll probably be a month before football resumes. sigh. the lake is empty. the days are empty too. no matter. i must content myself with dreams of grandeur. until we meet again, adieu.

on illusions being dangerous things...

I feel like someone threw a switch and put life into 'automatic' mode. This I am saying because most of my days are already planned beforehand. 'June 2004, paper 2, question 11'. Predetermined. Planned. No room for discussion.
Its the same with football. 'Playing Tariq's team tomorrow at 845. be on time and bring monthly charges of Rs. 800/-' comes Bhindi's text message. Planned to the T. I drive to music I've already heard and speed past the hills that I know by heart. 'Sir, question 11 please' springs up Asad. 'I knew it' I tell myself.
Let there be a minutes silence for the untimely demise of spontaneity... or am i grieving too soon?
When one resigns oneself to living life on 'auto' it takes a spark to bring the said person back into the realm of impromptu . A bolt of lightening. a surge of high voltage. Have I been electrocuted then? I thought I had been.
But you see, if life has taught me anything, anything at all, its to take all things with punches of salt. Punches being slightly bigger than pinches. Again prudent. I walk on egg shells, always tread lightly and sometimes I wonder if I am still capable on being electrified through this well insulated veneer.
As the plot unravels, the only thing that is certain is, 'time shall tell' that it shall, in a manner of speaking, 'take its toll'. But for whats its worth I finally understand what Linus Larrabee meant when he said, 'save me Sabrina fair... you're the only one who can.'

skillz that thrillz!!

so there i was familiarizing myself with the ball they have given me. it was a size 3. smaller than the standard size 5 and as such harder to control. so red bull, the sponsor gave all the participants the aforementioned fizz. djuice gave them shirts.
now, i have seen my share of free styling but honestly, the creativity of that lot was astonishing. one participant balanced the can on his forehead, placed a ball on top of that and in one swift motion balanced both on the base of his neck! wow! i wish i was that good. There were pathans that had driven in and irani boys that talked fast and juggled even faster. long story short, i was in heaven. i did every trick i knew in the 2 minutes they gave me. hehehe... itna maza aya. music (sexy bitch :D) blared is the background. the crowd clapped, hooted. i kept on thrillin with me skillin.
so far... the new year is going well. not is a single moment without magic. i even scored the equalizer in the dying seconds yesterday. let there be magic!