f Notes from the Underground: 2009
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Sunday, March 29, 2009

Cocoon of unscrupulous narrative

Something is terribly wrong here, I was reading technology and IT related news on this internet forum by the name Pro Pakistani and in their buy and sell section they are actually allowing ads for Chinese and Japanese girls for 5000 bucks. It is illegal, and the advertiser, the pimp, has the audacity to give his name and number. Where is law enforcement? Where is the team who is supposed to install my DSL connection? Well, lets leave that here and move on.

There was a colourful and somewhat naughty sense of celebration in her house that day. On such days, jokes and taunts that maybe considered disrespectful on another day are deemed acceptable, even enjoyable. Not only boundaries of acceptable humour are crossed but also the bar restraining physical contact between the opposite sexes is raised. Plenty of women seemed under the influence of somewhat unfamiliar anxiety they experienced at every wedding, they were so full of emotion that a crush years ago could reignite in an instant.

It was Raheela’s wedding, and even if she hadn’t been in contact with Nasir for no less than three or four years she somehow got his number and invited him at the last moment. Actually, she invited him from the marriage hall where her barat was to arrive any minute – so it was pretty last minute to the last minute. Nasir got the call while he was sitting on the kitchen counter with Neelum,

“I was trying to fix the computer chair, you know, the big black one…that’s when you called.” Nasir was telling Neelum while smoking over coke himself and handing over a Fanta to her. Neelum had called him earlier and wanted to know if she could come over to his place because she needed some help with a term paper; some deep analysis of an animated film and references made in it about colonialism then later connecting it to the role of cinema in contemporary society as a tool of imperialism. It wasn’t touch difficult, Nasir would enjoy doing such a thing without any extra reading. He could write that term paper in a jiffy and might as well enjoy it.

There was an eerie silence at Nasir’s place, there had been construction going on all day long and now that it was turning dark and the labourers had left the sudden subdued calmness felt strange. Nasir had completely forgot about Raheela's earlier call; he didn’t like to attend weddings anyways, and staying at home with Neelum over seemed like a much better prospect. He knew very well that this term paper was the last thing she had came over for, and she knew very well that if colonial studies had anything to do with why they were in Nasir’s room plugging in the computer.

Monday, March 23, 2009

crumbs of indigestion

It was the first time Fred had been to a place like this, he couldn’t make any sense out of it. First of all what was this place and secondly what was he doing there? The sun had just started to make its way through the night sky, if you looked towards east you could see the darkness of night being shattered by early morning sun. It surely was a place on earth, and it certainly was no dream but just to be sure Fred first pinched his right forearm but then thought that everyone pinches the right forearm to ascertain reality and maybe this action is entrenched so deeply in his mind that he may very well be doing it in a dream. As a second test to establish reality Fred stood on one leg, right one, and started counting – 1-2-3-4-5- crash! He felt like he was falling from great height, his heart was racing, he was falling down fast and a grotesque death seemed certain. He was screaming so loud that he felt his lungs might burst out, his eyes were filled with water; he had never felt so scared in his life, of course not, because he had never been so close to death. Thrash!

Fred woke up with a stutter, not felt as much by the body than his mind, his heartbeat so loud he could hear it over the noise in the street below, his throat was so dry that he couldn’t breathe, he started coughing and felt his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Finally, the realization came that it was just a dream and he was in his room – the darkness of the night had long been shattered, in fact, sun was now giving way to the murky red of the evening. In another hour or two, the dark night will reign again. Fred was relaxed now, he turned with hopeful eyes towards the glass on bedside table; it still had some water definitely no less than two days old.

For past few days, even weeks, he hadn’t had any contact with either Helen or Stephanie. But the more time passed without hearing from them, the greater his thoughts wandered through the intimacies of times gone by. It’s nice to hear from someone you have spent some good time with, an unexpected call from a friend or an associate from the past rejuvenates your mind. Things were moving from bad to worse with each passing day. Fred’s indifference to his own destruction; playing onlooker who’s scratching his head, was causing him to wither at an even faster pace.

Having slept through the day Fred was now lying down thinking over things to do this night, and how would these things change his life forever. It was something Fred was really good at; his dreams while he was awake were a lot more coherent and most of the time he remembered them as well. He would make rounds on the roof, or lay on the bed with his back to the wall – it was while he was alone that he thought over each step of his life reaching one milestone at a time without taking any liberties that dreaming allowed him. He had planned his whole life to the most intricate details in so many ways that it was impossible to keep track. He had been a fighter jet pilot, and exceptional one through training and the backbone of air defense during war. He had been a star cricket player, saving many a matches for his country under extreme pressure. He had also lived a life of no-good rock star, getting old with each passing years but never growing up eventually succumbed to death by sex and drugs, but dying in the lap of his sunshine lover – messing with her long hair, kissing her warm lips… all for just one last time.

That’s how it was: imagination with no boundaries and unlimited choices. But even then Fred kept his planning as close to reality as possible, that is what made it so infectious to him; having no borders but still applying restrictions sometimes out of respect for someone at other times to give equal opportunity to other characters in his world. It’s a world with vastness beyond measure in this world’s realm, it’s easy to loose the thread or to miss the continuity – so don’t go on reading over and over again if you have.

Friday, March 13, 2009

a picture of me

History proves that if you put your mind to it you can materialize any vision, same is the case with creating an image of a person whom you have never seen physically. Although, the second hasn't been proven but let's just say that it falls under the category of history in the making. You read physics? Well, I'll explain how that creation of image is possible without black magic or witchcraft. There's a whole branch of physics which deals with the properties and behaviour of sub-atomic particles, you break down an atom into electrons, protons, neutrons etc.
Just like everything breaks down to an atom, similarly electrons and other sub-atomic particles break down into 'quarks'. Now hold that thought for a moment, although it's been some time since I came up with this theory but I still remember the books I was reading when I came up with that theory - maybe it was given in one of the books but that I don't remember now. I was reading at the time, about five years back, "The Quark and the Jaguar' and couple of Tim Allen books..aah? yes! "Don't stand too close to a naked man' and 'Am I really here?'
Alright, the theory kinda goes that quarks - since they are so small - tend to behave like particles and waves at the same time. So, I will be keeping it real short because I feel like watching a movie, quarks are free of any restrictions when it comes to travel; they don't need a medium to travel through like light. Every point in time, with every breath I'm exhaling quarks from my organs in multiples of millions or trillions and these can travel without any restriction of distance or physical barriers. Also, since they are just roaming out free in the air their is no chance of turning them into energy so they'll remain free as matter forever. And that forever really defines forever. It means that I share the matter of anyone i.e. from Einstein to Hitler to god forbid whores in the street of Paris.
Ever wonder why your mother senses you are in trouble even when you are in another city captured by the Talibans in the foothills of Himalayas? Quarks baby, we share the most quarks with our mothers and quarks of every matter resonate at a distinct frequency. Quarks of the metal my computer casing is made of resonate at a distinct frequency. The quarks I'm composed of resonate at a different frequency but I share maximum number of quarks of my mother resonating at another frequency thus the feeling of anxiety she feels if I'm uncomfortable - well, my relations with my parents aside; generally speaking.
So, fatima...there you are. I suppose we live in the same country if not the same city which means we share a lot of matter from each other and I'm quite share that you will succeed in creating an image of me. Anyways, I'm flattered by your interest however I prefer to leave this blog without my mugshot. So, if the butterflies in your stomach don't let you sleep at night then send me an email and then sure you can have my image in jpeg rather than quark.

Diseased Till Deceased

-Infectious Crumbs-

The doctor with a southern accent had seen Fred every now and then for over a decade now; whether it was a migraine attack or the collection of respiratory infections (Sinusitis, Bronchitis, Pharyngitis etc). While Fred was lying on the emergency ward bed he couldn't help but think that it was too early in the day to be in a hospital as a patient but the pain just wouldn't go away. It had been a week now and he was feeling this unjustified pain in the back of his head. He told the doctor with the southern accent that it only hurts when you press it or if you turn the neck to any side. It was the pain the kind one feels if one were hit by something hard and was recovering from it - and that is why Fred thought it was unjustified the pain had just come out of nowhere a week back when he got up after a long time in bed.
The psychologist had told him that he was not sick, it was a 'brain thing' as he said. His brain had convinced itself that blood production was unnecessary, there was no physical ailment to cure all Fred needed was to knock some sense into his brain and convince it otherwise. He had never been healthy physically so to speak but managed as it was, but after a week of no new blood he had acquired a white angelic aura around himself and a dream like texture in his skin.
He was struggling to eat, since metabolism was rendered unnecessary by his brain there was never any hunger. Fred practically wished to feel the longing for a heavy meal but it was not there. Three weeks had passed now and he could now feel the blood travel through his veins, like water rushes in a web of vessels to keep its level. Three weeks and Fred hadn't had a single idea about how to convince his brain of the right thing. The doctor, not the one with the southern accent but a psychologist, told him that it was not something he could cure, in fact there was nothing to be cured; he explained it to Fred as his brain's need to establish his authority - whatever knocked that idea into Fred's brain.
"You will not survive without blood, every tissue of all organ including yourself by the way will die." Fred stood in front of the mirror talking to what seemed to him now his own ghost. The dreamy texture of his skin now seemed nightmarish and angels would mind if his ghastly white aura was described as their attribute.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

What's that?

Four am in the morning, it’s been many days since I last went to my office. I’m scared about all the bills – finances are going through the roof. Father is sick, got his face burned while lighting up the geezer. God damn it! About a fortnight or so back, I was walking on the roof thinking about one thing or the other. Just walking on the roof as I’ve done occasionally since that roof’s been there. There was a nice cold breeze, something I love about the nights in this season. It was a dark night, no moon and the stars are only read of in the books now. There are no more stars in the cities anymore. Well, anyways, my old man walks up the stairs and doesn’t like watching me this late in the night on the roof with a cigarette hanging on my lips. I ask my old man what brings him out of the warm bed at around three in the morning and to the roof, he tells me hot water isn’t running because maybe the geezer is out. I thought why in the lord zeus’s name we need hot water running at this hour, and I realise it’s not in Zeus’s name but Allah’s name we need the hot water running for ablution. I ask the man to let me do it, but my old man was grumpy about the cigarette and so he just shove’s me off telling me to go on with whatever I’m on to and he’ll take care of the geezer himself. I had no choice but to fall back.
I noticed it was taking longer than it generally took to light the damn geezer on, and pops is the god of housekeeping mechanics you know. So there must be something funny with the geezer, but it is dark I’m sure he can’t see a god damn thing. Suddenly, there is this huge flame whooshing out of the damn geezer and going off in a flash. Damn! The guy’s got his eyelashes burned and his face all red. But it was taken care of immediately and luck or god whatever he’s fine now.
I’ve mixed up all these word files, there are some unpublished ‘crumbs’ that I can’t find. Oh! That reminds me: Fatima if you are reading this, I thought my email address was shown in my profile but if it’s not then it follows: ironheart19@gmail.com. The title certainly refers to a terrific book, the damn thing blows your mind away! It’s the Bible of existentialism I say – anyways.
-Later

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Bad Parenting

It makes me believe in family planning and birth control like a religion, you know what it is? It's bad parenting. Don't ruin a dozen lives, ruin a couple! Stop breeding dysfunctional humans; they will disappoint you, they will plague the society, they will ruin even the good ones. Oh! how malleable they are: the children. They can be turned into anything like clay in expert hands of a sculptor. It's time that you learned that, it's high time now that you have bred about a dozen dysfunctional ones, parenting is not only about love. Love is an emotion full of flaw: it induces sacrifice and selflessness but can't sustain without requital, without requital it holds you in contempt. I will not talk of the privilieged ones in society, at least not until I've talked about the underpriviliged ones. Because I've to address my kind first, critique of the others can wait.
   All those who weren't priviliged to have lives carved out for them made their own lives, I appreciate there efforts. They rose from being an illterate villager to ranks in army, multinationals and even abroad. Maybe it's the element of struggle that made them so emotional, I guess struggle does make you emotional. You can fiegn all the indifference you want, you can boast that you have seen so much in your life that nothing can surprise you anymore but there is something rooted underneath it, far deeper and far more important. Only a man with great insecurities would rob life of its character of surprise, he will lie that life has ceased to surprise him.
-Later 

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Carpet Crumbs - Ants having a midnight snack

The bus had surely been once under the use of military, you could see the camouflage paint on some parts of it. Some parts of the bus were painted in horrible bright colours, that is over the camouflage you have yellow, red and orange. It looked like the bus was blown by some sort of an explosive and burned to its potential. It made no sense to park such a thing – flat tyres with burned rubber and ash black axle – in front of the kindergarten section of the school. Fred spent his first couple of years at that school for children of the military personnel (so did the author in a parallel universe). The memories of those years were like images recorded on a strip of damaged movie reel, and there was even a whole year (Fred’s first grade) missing from his memory.
Why am I even thinking about it now? To cover my guilt, maybe? Fred had promised himself that he will not take another one of those toxic opiates till Monday morning but it was only Saturday night and he had had three joints heavy with them. What can you expect of others when you don’t even keep the promises you make to yourself?
Helen and Stephanie were studying further, and so was Nancy and so were many other whores. Man would they turn out to be some real elite corp.; the illumanati. Everyone, more or less, it seemed had found their place in this world. It was only I, Fred thought, who stood on alien ground – I had lost my place in the world by going in search of it.
His father used to beat him even when he was old enough to beat him to death, but he never even looked with a scornful eye towards his father no matter how irrationally he behaved. Fred’s parents had a large collection of children, and like all parents they loved the lot of them. Oh! They loved their children alright. You look at the lives they had led, and you knew that they had done nothing but sacrifice all their lives – saving each penny for their children to use. Too much sacrifice, disappointments (without exception in every child) and old age was enough to spite them for what remained of their lives. They had sacrificed all their lives alright, they had loved their children alright – but parenting has more to it then just that, and it was not hard to prove that they had failed at being good parents. It was the same with all other parents belonging to their class; village folk worked hard to set foot in the city, established themselves honestly and reproduced without foresight. This class of people now lives somewhere in the lower echelon of middle-class; there are more then enough of them around.
Let’s be fair: it’s easier to contextualize events and the mistakes committed in the past once years have gone by. In hindsight, it’s easier to condemn our mistakes and foolishness – if we knew at the time what we know now we would’ve hardly made the same choices. The day Fred left Nancy, it’s irrelevant even if it was the other way around, it was evident that his life was going downhill for a while – you just don’t get romantically involved with a woman like Nancy and get on with it, after such an experience all roads lead downhill.
It was a bright sunny day in December of some year, probably the same year Hilary Clinton fought for presidential nomination or it was probably the year Senate elections were going on in Pakistan, whatever the year that bright sunny day in December was a good day to be fooling around with an internee on top of a skyscraper. A woman who has no scruples and considers charming a senior with her femininity is the kind of woman we need on that rooftop. Pink, I think the colour is called baby pink. She was wearing pink and I would say she conformed to the all the statistics of feminine attractiveness Fred learned through a documentary on National Geographic called ‘Naked Science’. But enough already about that sunny day in December over on the skyscraper, before Pink and Fred burn each other in the heat of stars only they can see.
Needless to say it was a nice day for Fred, and all around he felt that his life was finally getting back on track he desired. This was an alien feeling to him; to feel rather satisfied and content with the way things are going. Again, needless to say, the whole contentment thing was a façade created by the sunny winter day and Pink didn’t help. On the contrary, she only added to the lure of life’s charm Fred desired. He wanted to share his feeling of joy and excitement, the cool breeze and the height of the rooftop had made him loose sense of third person perception. It had intoxicated him to the level that he could no longer observe himself, he was not cruelly conscious of himself as he generally was – a consciousness he considered a disease. For that moment he felt free, excited and human. Like a boy who was just handed over the toy he wanted. Then suddenly, his phone rang. It was a friend either Stephanie or Helen; caller’s good luck she found him in an uncharacteristically jovial.

Friday, February 06, 2009

street talk

This will look somewhat different because the font is different. My room is just above the street, so I can hear all sorts of noises all day long, and in the night, and during the times in between. My neighbour, the house opposite mine, has a small shop set up inside his house. Generally a guy of about 40 is attending the shop, but when he is not around his frail old father keeps the business running. The problem with the old man is that he's really old, weak and in the grave just above his neck (higher then chin but lower then nose). I usually avoid going there when the old man dealing because he takes too much time. First, it takes a long time just to tell him what one wants even if it's just a pack of biscuits or a couple of cigarettes. Secondly, the old man then moves slowly towards the item i.e. when he finds it. The trembling old fingers drop the article at least the same number of times you had to describe your purchase.

I hear a young girl from the neighbourhood, sounds no more then 10 years of age, say in a hurried low voice,

"Baba, chota packet condom day do." (Uncle, give me a small pack of condoms)

She says it again, this time a bit louder and again and again and couple of times more. For one reason or another old man fails to understand her. She shouts, it sounds as if after moving a few feet back,

"Ammmiiiiiiii!! dukan tay Sohail paiyjan naye nay baba gee nay unhaa noo smajh naee aa rahee condom hunee chayee day nay ya baad chay lay awaaaaaaan." (Mommmm! Sohail isn't at the shop himself instead Baba Gee is there and he doesn't understand condoms. Do you really need condoms now or can I bring them later?"

Now from what I hear from the street, it seems that the mother addressed was standing in the street herself, she goes,

"Chawlay! dafa hoon! ander aaa! aiwee! Chaleee gee!" (Fool, get outta here! Come back home, of no use, senseless)

Thursday, February 05, 2009

stale bread crumbs more

Crumbs - 03 

That year, this is the year Fred had impressively long hair but terrible wounds on the scalp, he spent many nights in fear of the unknown. That's what he told himself; it is the fear of unknown. All this time Fred knew that no such thing existed, not in our normal daily lives there isn't. To say that one is afraid of the unknown only shows the intent to mystify the fear – it increases the horror of your boogey man or the old hag flying around on the broomstick or whatever you are afraid of. Fred was afraid of not knowing how to get rid of a disease he had imposed on himself, and in not knowing he kept on inflicting more of the sickness upon himself.  

            He awoke with a stutter realizing he was not in his own bed; Nina was holding his right arm with an irritated expression adorned with a loving smile,  

"Stop scratching your head! You do it so cruelly." She whispered in his ear laying a kiss there somewhere as well. But now Fred couldn't go back to sleep, he never really could if once disturbed in his sleep – but that condition was only relevant if he was spending the night at one of his lover's abode. Nina was the present favourite. They had met a couple of months back and it was evident at the instant of their introduction that they were to become really close friends. It was that close friendship which eventually got Nina in bed with Fred. He got dressed to leave as quick as he could – he couldn't stand himself staying at Nina's an instant longer than he desired; it made him irritable and mean like he was in a hangover.  

            The worst one can do to one's body is to make it dependant upon chemicals – toxic chemicals. It ruins the minds ability to engage in thought and body's ability to respond to the mind. That is what scares the living God out of such a person and without God there is every demon still present in the unknown, every ghost still there to haunt you, all phantoms of the evil still there planning to strike but no holy spirit you can turn to for salvation since you have already kicked your God out of here, thrown it in some dark alley of your past so it may rot away with other trash – positively God must be dead by now.     

            There are acts which shape a man's future during a time when he doesn't even know its importance. It's during the later years of adolescence that one's interests shape the adulthood he chooses for himself. Fred felt music closer than his heartbeat; it was in the dark concert halls where he felt the most alive. Apart from music he also loved films, he had a gift of watching films and noticing aspects of the screen no one could've thought of: he was the perfect audience of a filmmaker and of a musician. So it's not surprising that he picked up his manifesto for his adolescent life in a movie about a musician he liked. It was something the musician had said, "Live your fears and then you'll have none left – Finally you'll be free." Or something along those lines. It's amazing that how an innocent interest in movies and music mixed with the universal rebellion, we've all waged against our respective surroundings during teenage, can leave your adulthood scarred forever. Never did Fred know that living his life in the manner advised by Morrison will take him where he was headed - where he was now.  

            It was the year after his graduation, he knew that although apparently he had made it – graduated and had a reasonably gifted professional career for those times – but it all stood on the edge of a cliff. In that year he realized that how naïve his manifesto of past years was but he couldn't change what had become of him. The choices he had made, the things he had done, the experiences he had had, the indulgences he had chosen for himself – all based on that manifesto based on so trivial interests. It was now that he realized that all our lives there are so many things that we don't do out of fear, but when there is no fear, there is nothing left to do. 

            It was during these times, he turned occasionally to his harmless flirting with Helen to lighten his heart. In stupor of his chemical addictions he would lighten his heart by sending flirtatious messages to Helen. He loved the woman as an artist loves his own creation – for it was Fred who had brought out the woman inside Helen, the soul she had incarcerated deep inside her body was lured out of its prison to mingle with the woman on the outside. For their years together Fred and Helen would flirt – as I mentioned earlier, even on Valentine's – without any hint of falling for each other. That's how it was supposed to be. She resisted the temptation, by denying it altogether and Fred did it by reminding himself of his position in life: on the edge of the cliff. The tacit agreement was always to abide by.  

            Words, once they have escaped the threshold of your lips remain no more your words. They are now the world's to play with, perceived and intercepted to their liking and you have no right to do anything about it. More harm is done by speaking than by staying silent, I've learned. I learned it through experience, mine were trivial in nature where in case of Fred the damage was more than he could repair. Words have caused more pain than silence. Fred couldn't believe his ears while Stephanie read a badly written script, in a brutal voice naked of any expression or emotion – even sincerity. She called. She said her words absentmindedly and hung up. Horror! Horror! 

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

More Crumbs

Crumbs -02- 

 

Helen was, certainly was, a shy and timid girl, certainly girl. For Fred it was the autumn of crocodile tears, when for a month he had to wish, yes that is true sometimes the most you can do to attain something is wish, to gain access to a world he was not entitled to for two reasons: he was poor and secondly because he was really too young. But we are not comparing the two, since it will be an unjust comparison. She was rich without knowing how to care, her mind completely void of the concept of beauty and femininity. I daresay, but she was innocent to the point of being unknowledgeable about necessities of being a woman and dumb to the extent that she couldn't distinguish praise from sarcasm. But what saved her from general humiliation was her unique characteristic of having been saved from loss of innocence at her age. 

Helen knew what the woman 'Helen' was and that saved her a lot of embarrassment. In days before Fred had started his work on unearthing Helen, she was a loner. She generally chose to keep to herself and spoke only when there was no way out, and even then too with great effort and visible embarrassment. After a while she befriended, or was befriended by, a lovable little doll of a woman Stephanie and another girl Maggie. Apparently Maggie was (just like her name suggests) the stereotypical fat friend who would tag along wherever you may take her, another one of those loyal to the extent of idiocy. Friendships are built upon common interests and characteristics, for these three the common factor was varying brands of innocence and their shared embarrassment owing to the lack of their feminine beauty. Maggie was fat and far less intelligent than Helen; she was good for her self esteem.  

Confidence is the measure of moral fibre in oneself which makes him stand tall chin up in front of the mirror. When someone pretends to be accommodating and overtly understanding it shows his lack of confidence and an insecurity regarding his person. On the contrary, arrogance and indifference also depict a person's deeper feeling of how unsure they are about themselves. Fred will be a difficult one to asses because characters that are born as a need to provide a universe to the protagonists are metaphors themselves. However, Helen was undoubtedly one belonging to the former category of people those who hid their real souls, their actual feminine self, covered behind a facade of understanding and even defeat. 

Out of the blue let me introduce to you Nancy. Nancy woke up everyday thinking of one guy or another she could've slept with, it wasn't like she was not attractive; dark chocolate complexion, long tresses flowing as low as her waist, heavy breasts and proportionate ass made for a figure many women desired before reaching puberty. Though she was a little heavy around the waist but that was one flaw all her bedmates accepted on account of her comfy breasts. Nancy was the only child of her parents, rich parents I might add, and that gave her the choices she didn't know were worth ages of hard work. As soon as she realized that she is a woman, nothing seemed to be an obstacle in her way to explore what womanhood had in store for her. It was that curiosity that got her into bed with men, average in most ways, early in her pubescent life. Flirting became her favourite sport, and she was not afraid to take play dangerously. So at the time she enters Helen's universe, she had more experience at the matter sex than Helen's mother. The idea of sexual intercourse being a concern of proverbial heart is a incredulous one, whoever in the history of mankind thought of relating love with 'making-love' was either having a laugh or didn't know any better. Has anyone ever thought of a celibate as a symbol of hatred or fear?

Monday, January 26, 2009

crumbs of a midnight snack

-Crumbs 01-

Fred was not in his right mind when he decided, finally, to come to office. He couldn't keep his eyes open without forcefully stretching each eyelid with concious effort, all he could hope right now was that it pays off. He couldn't sleep last night, he had had been having trouble with his sleep cycle but it wasn't that bothering him last night. He missed an old friend. She was beautiful and charming, all night he longed for another chance to see that disarming smile of her lost friend Helen. Thinking of Helen, he was also reminded of Stephanie who was unbelievably innocent for our times and short too.

Now who flirts with another girl on Saint Valentine's Day while holding the hand of his girlfriend? I'll tell you who: Fred. It was a day, like many other, he couldn't forget for so many reasons. Of course its significance as the Valentine's Day was there but that, that is a subject for another chapter or maybe even a separate book, was not what kept him up all night. It was how he remembered Helen, it was a time when he was inspired by the woman in Helen; but Helen was a woman - what did he mean by another woman inside her? Was it to imply that Helen carried a being within her who was somehow different from the woman Helen was? For obviously, if the woman Helen was allegedly carrying inside her just a replica of the woman Helen was then there was no reason for Fred to be inspired by something intangible.

He had an eye for the kind of lady Helen had inside, he knew the soul she had buried in her bowels, if released, would make Helen shine with immaculate feminine brilliance on the outside. He remembered the days when he couldn't stop but contemplate ways and means of setting that woman held inside Helen free - he would fall on his knees the day that woman came on the outside and embraced the woman Helen was. He knew it would be the prefect union of body and soul.

Fred wasn't no day-dreamer when it came to the affairs of the heart, so he set out on a mission to emancipate the woman, he so wanted to hold, from Helen's reserved body. At this point, describing the task as a mission amounts to being unjust with Fred, for it really wasn't a difficult task for a man of his niche'; it was more a like a playful activity aimed at bringing to fore the sensual, desirable and scintillating woman Helen held hostage deep in her bowels. Helen was keeping her soul hostage from mingling with her body, both alienated each other and Fred had met both; the body in person and the soul without body's permission and knowledge. Now Fred and Helen's soul, the woman inside her, were conspiring together to make Helen yield to the high of being one with her soul.

Monday, January 12, 2009

adhori kahani

I wasn't planning to spend this much time in office today, my idea was to punch in and then pick my certificate from school. Well, that seems to be naturally on hold till Monday at least. For tomorrow, I'm hoping to meet Fahad - this business of justice sucks - once you've been through this then you won't have to go through that and that but only that you'll have to go through this twice but it might take longer than it took to go through this before even still. Sounds like BS? Well, my sentiments exactly about the criminal justice system in Pakistan. Anyways, I think I'll be more honest in admitting that it would do him more good if I meet him tomorrow rather than blab about the eternal inefficiency of court procedure - which is all too well known anyways.
"In just a moment, I went from hating her from all my heart to loving her with all my soul."
He paused, and loudly praised the thematic, structural and emotional completeness of the sentence. He read it again. Again. He read the whole paragraph again. Oh! he wouldn't mind reading the whole book again for it would have the same impact. But he knows, the knowledge once gained loses the charm of being recent and with time is turned into a classic as was the book he was reading. Lately Fred had been reading a lot, and he felt fortunate for the time being. If only he could amend that one vice of his past, present and present continuous, but if only...
A wacko once said, you're never satisified with what you have; you will always want what you had or what others have. And that's about as plain as desire can get. Fred could think of himself burning in the fire of the longing for his past, a fire lot heavier and scorching than heat of jealousy. Not long ago, he claimed very cooly that he had lived his life in a manner that at any instant he could state that he had no regrets. Well, now he had one. It was eating him up, no, he did not felt eaten up by his reason for regret but he felt withering away with time like a sculpture made of stone feeling its heart break.
He knew he was falling apart, and it was the feeling of helplessness that made him even more remorseful - so he did what anyone would do. Find a distraction. And there is no dearth of distraction for cultivated minds in our times. He indulged in his passion for reading, for cinema - oh! that reminds me of his friend, Nancy, she was low-key showbiz girl - a couple of movies that tanked, a TV series no one knew about, advertisements that came through indifferent clients in the Agency Fred worked.
"How about we go watch whatever's rolling?" Nancy proposed.
"Well, not a bad idea when compared to nothing. So be there at nine thirty." Fred fixed it without a second thought.
Since coming to Lahore, life had been quite eventful for Nancy. She got to know Fred, whose real name like everyone else's was no more in practice. She confirmed the night's movie plan twice and left thinking about how good an actor Fred was in real life. He is like an actor who is always shifting from one set to another, always in a character. That is what made him so hard to figure out, but, she thought, I'll keep watching him maybe at some point he will lose his concentration. Funny thing was he knows that I watch him all the time like an audience for cinema. Living with Fred for the past three months had terrific, it was cinema verte at its best.
- Later

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

i think i know

When one hardens himself on the outside to bear some grief, adjust to a change or any other likeness he forgets that he hardens on the inside too, if not, then he withers. I wonder how many beings can one conjure up within oneself but on the contrary modern science and humanities are both insistent upon proving that the 'self' is only an illusion. If mind functions without a soul, say I agree that there is no soul in the machine but how do you explain the universal experience of being outside one's physical form. As I write there is a torrent of ides flowing inside my mind, and everyone leads me to many other and there is an interval during which I'm neither writing nor thinking, and absolutely not contemplating ideas. In that interval, which I cannot recollect after I have regained my composure my mind was seperated from my physical form. During that seperation, of which I've no account, I had rid myself of every worry, every happiness, all my desires, all my hate, all my ambitions, all my fears, all my relations as well the knowledge of low download speed teasing me for past half an hour. In that one moment, a nano of a second, I had ceased to exist - either that - or I had multiplied into another self with another set of aforementioned attributes.