Burnt By The Shadows In The Scorching Heat.

Touching a beautiful flower and finding it be poisonous, getting sliced into tiny bits by tender wings of butterflies, walking in the scorching sun barefoot and getting burned only by the shadows.

Life has shown it all and more. It’s a funny world I guess where people much younger then you, bounded in strings of relationship, even those who where in your arms when they were just new borns, come up from behind to plant their poisonous daggers through your heart.

Indeed cowards, who say they cant stand you but in fact they don’t have the courage to face you. They will be dead-silent when they will be around you, forced by their guilt they flinch and wince with fear of being notice, pretending not even to exist, shielded behind a show of arrogance.

Fools, what bloody fools. They think they have concurred something substantial by harming, undermining disgracing you but in fact they have just lost their share of love, their chance of contentment, of being felt alive. Oblivious of the fact they it is they them selves who will be left alone to be haunted by the horrors of this world and to fight the demons in the end all alone.

But what else can be expected from people, people who have been long dead, devoid of all feelings, of the joy, beauty, of love and devoid of their soul.

Sensitively Insensitive

Waking up after a good night sleep and with the tender nascent cold morning breeze, even before my first cup of coffee I hear people shrieking of pain and misery. Some somewhere have bombed them, some one shot bullets at them some one today had locked them in an air tight container with a promises of a better life ahead, some has burned their homes, killed their parents, their loved ones.

The tender morning breeze, instantly turns heavy, with stench of last night’s bloodshed, and starts mourning over the misery and sufferings of the innocent. And the ocean screams and shouts begging us humans to stop – ” For God’s Sake Stop” .

But we humans are dead – so dead that although we hear all those deafening painful screams we conveniently turn a deaf ear to it all, turn up our iPods drowning to death any traces of feelings, what so ever is left in us and carry on nurturing a growing our selves while we know thousands more will suffer for our inhumanity today – too selfish to care for any of it.

My first cupper is empty now, enough time I have devoted for the day being sensitive, Ill just get dressed up and have a brunch at that fine expensive hotel, will drink the evening away and will dance till late night. I have a busy day ahead I better get going.

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Untitled – A random vent out

It was not a very large space and that too on the second floor of an office building, and climbing all the stairs may leave you panting but once we walked through that wooden door, the warmth of this fabulous space would take away any signs of stress, what so ever from your whole body. Yes I am talking about “The Second Floor” where today the last cup of coffee was served, and yes Indeed they are moving to a new location nearby but there will bet it will take some time to finish. The place Void of all it’s furniture, the coffee machine on a different location, temporarily placed on a table to make a few last servings and A couple of customers walked in, “what happened ” Zaheer Bhi said ” We just served the last cup of coffee here, we are closed” and they replied “Where will we go then ?”

Yeah exactly where will we go till the new place is furnished and becomes functional ? Where ? Where will those students study, where will we get to have such brilliant conversations ?

This place is where I met the most amazing people I know today, writers, poets, singers, social human right activists, film makers, artists, VJz . The floor introduced me Mohammed Hanif, the wonderful writer, and I good Punjabi speaker to I learned, Musadiq Sanwal and his excellent singing talents, the Mirza Sahiban he sand that day over the harmonium. Basharat Peer a journalist from Indian administrated Kashmir, whose brilliantly written book “Curfewed Nights” which I am currently reading and falling deeper in love with it every day. And David, Bina Shah, Sehba Sarvar, Bina Sarwar, Mushtaq Ahmad yousufi, Zehra Appa, The list goes on….. All the events, talks, readings and events and then the quality time we spent discussing, reading, learning and enjoying the freedom to say and express without being judged or disrespected. Where students studied for hours without being disturbed or asked to be customers to be able to sit and study.

And the amount of love Sabeen had put into this place, taking care of the finest of It’s details, decorating every wall every corner with some thing interesting and actually thought provoking, the posters, the slogans, the magazines, the soft-board in the toilet and the pin board in the alley.

This was one place which was ours, which we knew we will not be kicked out of also for reasons of Class distinction ( What ever the word “class distinction” means) . This was one place where we were given a true sense of ownership. Where when the Mac book got stolen we all felt the pain, and when there was a pencil mark on the white wall we felt bad and when we saw that table which was slightly burnt because someone left a lit cigarette on it we felt sad.

I remember it was a bloggers meetup at which Sabeen had mentioned her plans to setup a coffee house, with a library and hold literary events, a space for open conversations. And then around a year or so later T2F started it’s services, No it was never meant to be a commercial space and NO It was not at all pseudo, the tears when it was announced that the landlord has asked us to move out, were real, I cried, we all cried and It was not a Fucking Drama !…

I don’t know if this is even a blog, or even if this all makes any sense but today I just want to sit and cry the emotions are too high and the thoughts are too random… But I really don’t care.

View more images from T2F here

P.S sorry if I miss spelled any of your names

Celebrity Gossip

Sad and sorry was how I exactly felt when I saw a picture of “Lindsay Lohan” crying when her handbag went missing, I really don’t understand what’s the fun in enjoying to see celebrities specially female celebrities in misery or in odd postures or situations. And it’s not just in the US, just few nights back, in Karachi I spotted an amateur photographer at a concert trying to capture one of the female performers when she bent down to pick up a piece of paper, there was nothing to see but he did try his best to capture “something”. And indeed we have seen personal pictures of celebrities and even politicians and there sons and daughters poured out on the internet just to have maximum clicks on someone’s stupid Google ad.

What surprises me more is the fact that not a single person asked any of these sick people to have a life and learn to behave instead people add spice to such websites and blogs by leaving their cheap remarks and comments.

Our sick behavior of treating them as some sort of a public property leaves them no privacy in life, we keep them under a keen observation and take advantage of anything, the slightest of it the moment we get a chance. How insensitive it is that the very celebrities we otherwise claim to adore, love and respect get disrespect, hatred and humiliation in return from the very people they spent there whole lives entertaining.

Is that what our celebrities deserve from us ? This is the question we shall all be asking our selves today.

The Clog

I opened up the lid and there it was, a clog, a huge clog made of mingled chains of words, thoughts emotions. GOD, it was huge, there were tears pure as rain drops, pain so sharp it would cut through the hardest of all metals, desires so daunting they would have made me shriek, all of this mixed with some confusion, depression and aggression and bounded together in to a huge stinking blob of letters, words, sentences, dripping of lethal poisons, looking so meaning less.

I think I removed it or have I just moved it so some words could slide out and make some sensible sentences ? Don’t really know.

Freedom !

A lock on my gate , and a lock on your gate, the occupants of your home free in there’s and mine in ours but yet to visit one another they need us to unlock the gates.

I refuse to choose war over peace.

Star Voice of India, a music program, a final episode of which aired a few moments ago was turned into a patriotic drama today. It is not bad to say how much you love your country, but at a time like this, and with songs which say we will not take this sitting down, with visuals of war and the song with lyrics which are to provoke the nation to raise up and go to war… Ironically the songs have a similar effect and response on this (Pakistani) side of the border too.

For once would this commercial media learn to spread harmony, love and talk about fighting the terrorists and not another whole country which they think is their enemy. And do they think if they nuke A bordering country they will actually achieve something .. ? I mean if today it is Pakistan then tomorrow it might be china or Taiwan or the Tamil Tigers from Nepal. ?

Seriously we still love the talented people who participated in the Star voice of India, we cried when Hashmeet Singh died, we all were shading tears when we were looking at the dead bodies and blood splattered all over in Mumbai terror attacks. We were all with India and the victims of the terror attack, we are still and a few fools cant change our sympathy for those innocents who lost their lives.

The terrorists wanted us to fight, they wanted to start a chain reaction by killing about 300 people, a chain reaction which might take countless innocent lives both in India and Pakistan, hundreds and thousands might just die on a flick of a button, we all know those who will die will only be normal peace loving people, who would never raise their hands to hurt anyone on either side of the border. Yet we are engrossed with the idea and proudly promoting it that on that side of the border live all demons…

Yeah I know such ventures do cash in very well for the media but I must warn that such practices do backfire with catastrophic results. We must understand that to kill a hand full of terrorists a full blown war is not a solution, it is it’s self a problem. I hope they would understand.

When I looked at Aishwarya and Anvesha singing today, despite the choice of songs, despite the tone of the program despite every single sentence which talked of hating Pakistan, which talked of war, my love and affection for Aishwarya, Anvesha, and the common people of India and Pakistan was undeterred, unchanged because I refuse to surrender to the plots of those terrorists who know nothing but to spread war, terror, and hatred.

Is that all so difficult to see ?

How can we ever thank you enough…

Yesterday was Saturday night, I had been up chasing after my playful cat, commenting on a picture featuring some of my friends, reading a few serious blogs over the blogosphere, and designing an application form for KMB all night.

So obviously I woke up at noon, and as usual for a technology geek, still in bed I picked up my cell phone to check my emails, but instead an sms which had arrived an hour or so back caught my attention. It was an invitation to join a few old school friends most of them “December Pakistanis’ to visit out beloved school principal Madam Najmi. I haven’t met most of these friends in years so seeing them together was an offer tempting enough not to say no to and to top it all a visit to our dear principal, this was an occasion I wouldn’t want to miss for anything.

I had a few unimportant plans for the evening, which were quickly moved, and I was all set to be carpooled to our destination.

During our drive from Gulshan to Clifton to our destination, the old school crowd, all six of us backed like the sardines in a tin gossiped and talked of the old days, the silly questions we asked our teachers and even sillier crushes, the stupid games and mischievous activities we indulged in while at school and all the memories of the silly us kids were refreshed.

For a moment we were not who we are but the same silly kids wrapped in a sense of nostalgia, back at school but with a realization ” Oh! God How silly of us it was”. I guess that is the part of being grownup.

At our principals home, we were greeted with great love and affection, a strong feel of warmth I am sure we all deeply felt. And Madam Najmi’s bright eyes were even more brighter, full of affection and love, glittering with a contentment, for her hard work and the love and knowledge she had given us has nurtured us into fine gentlemen.

For Madam Najmi, it has never been about money, she wanted to bring out the best in every single one of her students, she wanted them to be intellects, different from the crowd. Of course the school also won for her some bread and cheese, but had had to survive, and yes she could have been a multimillionaire only if she would have commercialized education in her institution but rightfully this she never did, which was a very bold decision, because she always remained focused and never lusted for money.

In the end when we were leaving her place to head back home, I realized that this fine old lady has given us something that we cant ever repay for, she has given us that fine personality, that fire to continue, that passion to look minutely into the finer details of thing in life. She is the person responsible to bring that fineness in us which set us apart, she has brought the best out of us. We were fortunate to have her as a principal and even more fortunate to have her with us today.

Right now I am at a total lost of words, my true feelings cant simply be described by mix of some 24 alphabets. I could only but say thank you, but we can so not thank her enough all our lives for what she has given to us. May her love and affection always be with us.

Boss with brains, the size of a pea.

I am totally sleep deprived and too tired right now for anything but I have to get this out of my system, I just have to tell this to some one or I wont be able to sleep.

Well I was at this beautiful art exhibition yesterday when I noticed a reporter, his press card boasted his employment with one of the cities leading English daily and he was asking people their opinion about the exhibition I noticed he didn’t had a photographer with him so I asked him what visuals would he be using for his news report of this opening of the exhibition. At which he replied that he has a CD of the images on display and a printed catalogue of the art work, pictures out of which would be used for the purpose. So I replied that the visuals will then be only about the art work and not the opening of this exhibition, I then showed him this image which was in my digital camera at the moment and asked him wouldn’t this image, or something similar would make a better visual shot for the story at which he said something that totally shocked me. He said ” after looking at this picture my boss will say half of the image is out of focus, and he cant use it”. At this statement I decided to remain silent because after that anything said to guy would have been useless.