Wishfully I want…

Right now, at this very moment, as my eyes betray my desire to go on working, I want to go jump off a cliff.

No I dont want to end my life but I do want to attempt that.

As my head aches with a burdensome pain, slowly seeping in through the entire skull, I m tempted to close my eyes. I want to close my eyes and lean back on my favourite chair, let myself loose and embrace the silence. The void of chaos is rapidly filled with fluttering notes of silence.

I want to open my eyes to the dancing of the sea waves, feel the sands in my palms and  feet. I just want to lie there in the sand, against the backdrop of a charming sunset, on its way to a harmonious rendezvous with the deep waters.

As I tilt my head and look out the window into the mundane darkness of an urban housing, there is nothing that amuses my attention but there is something else that I would fancy doing. What pleasure it brings to stand bare feet on the dewy grass in the early hours of a winter morning, away from the conformity of the lives that surrounds us no less than prison walls.

On a sunny afternoon on a regular spring day, I lie down on the tickling grass facing the azure sky. The fleecy, dainty patterns of pristine clouds move into the plainness of the blue like a belle dancer prepared to mesmerise its audience with her effortless gliding.

A bee, a tiny harmless fly, escapes from the dust ridden shelves of my memories and perches on my forehead. The weight burns my skin and I  m brought back to the beautiful confines of what we call life.

In waiting

The head spins

A knuckle breaks

Smiles fade and the night falls.

 

The earth dances

In the splendor of the ball

There is glory, glitter and glee.

 

In the rendezvous of the stars

The eyes gaze and daze

For moments unknown.

 

A fire crackles

Smoke and dust rise

To the flaming scarlet songs.

 

The echo comes to life

Snakes through the borders

Cracking up the soils

Breaking down the hearts.

 

Fireworks 2012

A new year begins. 2012.  I remember in the days of PTV (Pakistan Television)  ( I m not very old but ya before the private channels) at sharp 12 am a prayer for the country was on aired every new year’s night. Today I grabbed the remote flicking through the channels to get to PTV and instead got mesmerised by the amazing show of fireworks from different cities on all private news channels.

News channels’ headlines at 12.00 am : Manchalay mukhtalif shehron mai sarkon per nikal aay (Youngsters have come out in the streets in celebration of new year). I hope that these ‘naujawan’ and ‘manchalay’ add to the strength of the rising youth for the elections that are going to be crucial for our country. The TV screens are crowded with footage of fireworks from different cities in Pakistan. Ah! What an eventful year it has been for Pakistan in particular and the world in general.

A lot happened, starting with the murder of Salman Taseer shaking Pakistan at the very beginning of 2011. Its shocking that time flied by speedily and here we are knocking at the door of another year. Osama bin Laden’s successful hunt for the US and unfortunate event for ‘us’ was another sad/happy/ironic highlight of the year that will go down in history books and will be passed on to generations. Some will awe some will ridicule and some will let it pass by them. I wonder what it is like deep down in the sea!

The political upheaval is a constant chart toppers for Pakistan. 2011 has, however, ended with a taste to savour with a different political force rising to power. Amid criticism and appreciation PTI (Pakistan Tehreek e Insaf) has risen up as a positive and fresh force from the same old rotten faces in politics. It is indeed a welcome change for the optimists, a chance for the pessimists and ‘liberals’ to shower useless criticism on Imran Khan.

And what of conspiracy theories. Ah well that’s a story for another day!

The biggest change in 2011 for the entire world has been the Arab Spring triggered by a lot of sacrifices of lives in the Arab world. The revolutionary wave left everyone in awe. I hope the civil resistance will become an example for a better world in the years to come. I hope that the change of this magnitude will become a warning, a reality check for the super powers, for the stubborn rulers, for the world politics and its dirty tactics to beware of the power of the common man.

So what is 2012 all about? And what was 2011′s story? No 2012 isnt about world coming to an end!  It is indeed about change. About the wakening of the common man through the example of Arab Spring and on a smaller level in the form of rise of youth and Pakistani politics taking a different road (hoping for a good start).

As I come to the end of this benign reflection as 2011 fades away, leaving behind some scars and some cherish-able memories, I say a hearty welcome to 2012. Lastly  a prayer for Pakistan, for a better tomorrow, for a powerful and intelligent youth, for PTI to keep its conscience alive, for Imran Khan to please watch out and if possible read all the posts on Borderline green (a blog about Pakistan)!! A prayer for you and me to keep our hopes going, to keep our faith. A crude message for the rotten onion faced politicians to please rot yourselves away. Ameen.

After 45 minutes of news reporting about new year, excessive repetition, the private channels need to keep their excitement into check. No room for a little genuine prayer for the country? Ah the good ol’ days of PTV :p

Another year begins…2012

originally published on www.borderlinegreen.com

It beats…

I nudge myself its time to break out of the cocoon I have been hiding in for so long. When and how time flied by, I know not. The comfort zone seems  suicidal and yet I lie here undisturbed, untouched. The world around me keeps picking up its pace while I sit here all by myself and watch the world go faster and faster with each passing day. I m static. My entire entity seems to be at an uneasy rest. The static ness of  my existence is only contradicted by the beating rhythm of my heart, muffled under layers of thoughts, scars, indifference. It beats and beats silently, loudly, mildly and sometimes like a child at sleep.

The year is coming to an end. The mundane heartbeat calls out to me and I ignore it, enjoying the pleasantness of the quiet shell. It beats faster and louder, a bird calling for its flock. I pay no attention, though being at unease constantly. Time will pass as it is fading away now and the rhythms of my pumping organ will learn the boundaries of their new space. For what new will be achieved if I pay heed to the whispers of the one that carries the weight of my thoughts, the heaviness of my soul, the grief of that which has past, my many battered dreams it still nurtures… I think, yet I choose to be numb, indifferent, occupied by the facade of ‘doing something important’ .

One morning I found the rebellious heart nudging me more than ever. For a moment I felt it has escaped the confines of conformity, I felt helpless and powerless to find myself caught off guard. The rebel seemed to be the victor, leaving me behind, static and withered. The moment seemed to last forever until I realised that it was there, beating though rather harder than ever before. I took a deep breath to calm down the stressed muscles of the rebel. But I realise that it is perhaps too late. The damage is done beyond repair. It has truly been a victor, successfully pumping seeds of resistance throughout the complicated web inside, secretly using blood’s pathway…renewing strength, hope, life, freedom into the very pores of my existence…

Going back to where it began

It is hard to imagine someone ruling a whole lot of population for over 42 years! It would take some courage and stamina to lead people for such a long stretch of rein along with building international relations and handling world politics. Apart from all history involving Gaddafi, his regime and the ups and downs in world politics; sadly he failed to uphold the oath he must have taken after the military coup to take charge of a country, its people and serving them.

Whenever the world and international media turns its hawk like attention to the Muslim part of world, one has no choice but to detest the acts carried out by the representatives of the Muslim and Arab world. The world witnessed the end of Saddam Hussain and looked gravely at Muslims around the world, perceptions formed. Today as another tyrant meets his humiliated end, internationally some more perceptions are formed. What do we do? Do we join in the celebrations of the Libyans and the Holier than thou NATO forces, super powers etc? Or do we take stock of our standing in the world as Muslims once more. Or even better  should we totally detach the once existent Gaddafi to be one of our brethren.

Can we call him a Muslim leader ? Was he in fact even bothered to think in terms of what a Muslim ruler should be like? In fact its a bit futile to  think of someone as mighty as Gaddafi in the parameters of religion living his life in the riches of it, clad in strangely designed huge and expensive fabrics. People called him crazy and there are stories too. But whatever he was crazy or sane, did he deserve the death he got?

A maimed body already soaked in blood was dragged from his hair on the streets of Sirte. Whatever his crime, did he deserve to be humiliated the way he was. Wasnt shooting him enough? If he was wanted by Interpol and International Criminal Court, why wasnt he taken there instead of being murdered. To further create drama out of the events leading to his death, the burial is being delayed, there are speculations and 5 to 6 versions regarding how he died. What is the point of ‘post mortem’ when he was killed during the fight between NTC and his supporters…What’s  more, the bodies of Gaddafi and his son could find no better place for ‘jewels on display’ ritual than a meat storage facility.

A Muslim leader’s one very basic quality is that he is not someone out of reach. People under a Muslim leader know him, they know he’s for real. Someone who is there for his people and they can take their complains to him. An oft recited example that readily comes to mind is that of Hazrat Umer. Ironically, the Libyans that queued outside the meat storage where lies the lifeless power holder, said they had never seen Gaddafi in real life! Some even got their pictures taken with the dead bodies, really?

Its strange and interesting to see how we always run back to our roots, to a place we feel safe, home especially in the case of Gaddafi. The tyrant of 42 years finally collapsed at the handsof NTC while the world watched the mobile phone footage of someone with great power reduced to nothing but an insignificant and powerless creature soaked in his own defeated blood. What was interesting is that he died in his hometown Sirte…

As children our parents used to lecture us that if we got lost in a crowd we should go back to the spot where we started off from given the possiblity that one of the parents would go back searching for us at that place. Gaddafi went back to where it all began. His hometown, his brithplace where death eventually welcomed him. It ended where it began. Nothing more, lets bury him in Sirte. He’s done the damage and so have other political figures in world politics, some are still alive and well respected, why not atleast respect his remains…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

originally published on http://www.borderlinegreen.com/2011/10/23/going-back-to-where-it-began/

Lost and Found

I wanted to start my posts here on a happier note. I m not sulking, I m quite a happy person just that I have to often go around looking for it. Its usually the ‘lost and found’ matter.  But I’m rather disappointed by the ‘randomness’ in life. At first it was something of a positive thing but now its just vague… isn’t it?. At random?  I m on the verge of losing my sanity I think. Or perhaps I m just thinking too hard over somethings that beyond my level of control. Hence wasting away my time and energy. I need some fresh air, some clarity of thought.  Before any of the seasoned writers on WordPress start thinking of me as a nutter, need I explain I m not. Just a ‘lost and found’ phase that is looming over the horizon of my self-hood. Lost and found I say because my existence seems to be hanging in the middle of something stupid. A realm that perhaps doesnt exist. And if that realm is  non existent then so is my reality. It is ironic that being a person with an OCD ( obsessive complusive disorder) someone bound to organise her property into carefully thought out and neat categories and piles is meandering with a confused state of mind.  SO what is the solution to this bizarre problem hmpf? Not the ideal post but I’m hoping that this will give way to some clarity excruciatingly needed in my space of existence.

New beginnings

Blogging is not a new medium for self expression to me but there comes a time when one wants a change. It was time for something new in my journey into blogging, hence I found a place for my writings here

Fear that stops

The problem to most of our failures in life comes from the fear of it. At every important turn in our lives when we are making significant decisions, the unknown hidden fear related to our decision clouds our vision. Hence stopping us from taking a step towards it. We may not realize it for its not easy to accept that we are fearful of something especially of things we want the most.

In the course of my journey in life and on accounts of bagging a number of regrets along, this is something coming from a bit of experience. It is simple things such as swimming from example or pursuing some other hobby. There is the fear of failing at it. In someone’s life it is the fear of rejection from a beloved, the fear of being called a fool in a room full of presumably intelligent people, that you think know more than you, the fear of applying for a job or a scholarship pondering unnecessarily on the negative.

Why? Because in all the cases there is the fear of rejection, failing, losing but we hardly realize that it is always worth a shot. It is better than trying our luck at something than regretting it later just because we didnt try it at all.

One of my fears may seem ridiculous but it has been so. I have had this love for calligraphy for a long time. I have been a good sketcher and thought that it wont be too hard to get good at this art form. Its been 3 years since I have randomly tried to work on certain calligraphy pieces, bought the pens and books to learn from but never finished anything. Somehow a tiny bit of fear lurked somewhere whispering ‘ what if I hold the pen and start writing and fail to create a beautiful piece’. The fear of failing in my own eyes, of realising that I cannot get better at it always held me back.

Little do we think that its worth a try. Unless we try, we wont know and when we try, there would be one less regret. At least we would have given it a shot. 

Journey with Harry Potter

‘What made you take out these after such a long time? And I see you are hooked onto them again.’ said my mother a little amused. I looked over my copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and smiled at her.  ‘Mama, I was always a Potterhead you know’ I said as she walked out of the room.

After 2007, when the final book launched, my Harry Potter book collection some pirated and three original copies quietly found their place in the rack along with other books.  This year as the final installment of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows film part 2 came out and became the talk of the town (actually the world) the sleepy Potter fan inside me woke up with full zeal. Hence these days I’m found with a Harry Potter book in my hand around the house.  

To some it may seem totally pointless to go on talking about something which is now over. However, love has no limits does it? Justified or not, as a true Potter head from heart and soul, I can never thank J. K Rowling enough for giving us a glimpse of the wonderful fantasy world.

 It seems that the marketing of Deathly Hallows part 2 has triggered the Potter fever back into the minds of people, young and old. A lot of my friends on Facebook started putting up statuses about the final film being an awesomely true magical entertainment. Film reviews opine the same. Many who never read the books have expressed that they loved the movie. Even the book fans like me, who have found that all the films on the series could never do justice to the books, seem to have immensely loved the movie for a change.

The timing of the Potter series coming out couldn’t have been better. The first time I was given the first part to read was in 2000 though the book was initially launched back in 1997. Like all the things that come a bit late in Pakistan, so did the knowledge about these books. It is interesting to note that while the first book was released in 1997 in UK, it went to US a year late and so did the second book! Considering this it’s not bad that Pakistan eventually caught up to the fever not too late.

I remember my brother randomly found Harry Potter and brought it home. I read a first few pages and put it away by my bedside not finding it as interesting as my brother. I opened the book again sometime later and then there was no putting it away. When Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows came out, a happy me was standing in a queue in England at midnight to wait for a copy of my book.

What makes us sad to part ways with it is that we literally grew up with an ordinary boy who went onto become extraordinary. A friend of mine said that maybe the next generation will not experience the books as we did. They might not be able to adore the books or wait every year for Rowling to finish her work on another one.  The amazing thing is that it’s not only a children’s book. Though aimed at a younger audience, the books and the story, its adventures appeal to everyone. I have grown up brothers and cousins who were in their twenties when the series started to come and they were found engrossed in the books with equal anticipation.

 The magic of  the novels was such that it made us fear and hate Voldemort and we as readers too took our time in shifting from saying  ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ to ‘Voldemort’. We felt pain with Harry as went through his ordeal of fighting evil. When Harry and his friends hated Malfoy so did we. Gilderoy Lockhart was as irritating to us as they were to Harry and Ron though Hermione dotted Lockhart. Bellatrix gave us goosebumps and more reasons to hate her.  As harry and his friends discovered their strengths and weakness growing up, we discovered ours too. Our hearts broke as we read that Sirius Black had died.  We eagerly waited for next part, contemplating and discussing among friends, hoping for Sirius’s comeback. There is so much more that connects us muggles to the fictional kid’s adventures. There is nostalgia and reluctance in saying good bye to the fantastical world of Hogwarts, good and evil wizards and magic spells.

Another thing that made Harry Potter special was the themes that Rowling used very intelligently. The books spoke out about some very valuable things in life, like friendship, honesty, bravery, standing up for what is right, the battle between evil and good. There was a lot of food for thought from wise characters like Dumbledore. One is the end note of this post.

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live” Dumbledore to Harry in Philosopher’s Stone.

May you live long

My heart goes out to my country. Yes I love Pakistan. Despite the cynic in me, I love  her soil, her rivers, her mountains, her unmatched scenic beauty in the entire world. The entire year I complain and whine about all the things that are wrong with my land. Its the politicians, corruption, nepotism, religious sects and their divide, load shedding, shortage of water, the non tax paying heartless goons, the ugly label of terrorism, low literacy rate and a long list of nerve racking problems and crisis . 

There is a rush of anger I feel when something or the other goes wrong with Pakistan. I hear myself not being happy with Pakistan and like many of us, I too dream of fleeing to greener pastures where life would be secure and stable. But I realise that every time Pakistan faces a downfall, every time it bleeds, every time people point fingers at it, it is not my dislike towards her that makes me go red in the face. It is because I immensely love the land where today I live and breathe and it pains me to see her getting hurt and maimed at the hands of corruption, lies and deceit and elements hell bent on tearing it apart.

No matter how much I try or think that I cannot love a place that is ridden with innumerable problems and turmoils, there is an invisible umbilical cord that ties me with Pakistan’s soil. It is something in my blood that rushes through me every year as 14th August approaches and forces me to reflect on myself and the situation around.  

It makes me think about the hundreds of selfless people who migrated in the dark of the night, in the early hours of the day, on their way sacrificing their lives and loved ones. And it is no easy feat to push your own daughters and sisters down a train or a well or see your fathers and brothers been killed by daggers by unknown faces only to protect your integrity, to safeguard a newly born land. Our people did this. They died in hope to keep the newly born Pakistan alive. My heart goes out to these people, their pristine souls and their bravery. 

So what is it that draws us far from the spirit of our elders, far from what is the heart beat of our lives. For me its the lies, the dishonesty, the double dealings, unfulfilled promises of the so called leaders, the blood of my brothers and sisters that dries up on the roads and streets after ‘terrorist attacks’ and easily gets forgotten by us all. It is this and much more, things very basic, things that are the right of the citizens; something that people in many countries take for granted but the poor in this land can only dream of. 

I reflect today and tomorrow and pledge yet again to stay true to the heart of Pakistan because when it skips a beat, my heart too goes restless. It must be realised that we need to unite. Cliched as it may sound, we need to look deeper into the meaning of uniting. We need to look past our sects and languages and provincial boundaries. We need to mend the divides that scar our ideology today. We are Pakistan, one country. If a man in up North gets killed, if a youth is denied a job because of nepotism in Balochistan, or if a sick dies on its way to the hospital owing to the traffic block (read: VIP passing) we all should feel the same pain. We are one. We need to make efforts honestly and courageously in our own spheres of life, if we are doctors, artists, scientists, or simply housewives, we need to think Pakistan.