History
Words once said can not be taken back. Deeds done can not be undone. Mistakes made can not be corrected. History can not be changed. The past is gone, we have to us the present which turns to the past with every tick of the clock. Every second we live, every breath we breathe is only but a moment. Each of which defines us, makes us and shapes us and with it the future. Words said, deeds done, mistakes made – lessons learned.
But history is nothing but a record, it is a recollection of moments called memory. And memory is selective, we remember what we chose to and forget what does not appeal to us. History is therefore written not by the actors who are part of the play but by the observers who record the events. Observation, again, is selective. We see what we want to the rest drowns in the sound of the next tick of the clock.
So what we have of the past is not how it unfolded then but how the history books reveal it to us in the present. Lessons learned but forgotten, future shaped but destroyed. Words written but smudged, thoughts spoken but slurred, deeds done but forgotten, mistakes made but amended; history made but written.
Urdu Adab ka Janaza
Ik zamanay tak apnay khayalata ko angrizi main qalam band kernay kay baad hum nay soocha keh inhe khayalat ke akase Urdu zaban main bhe kerne chaye. Akhir yeah humari madari zaban hai aur is ka bhe hum per haq hai. Chunanchay, apnay dostoon ke iltajha kay bawajood, khe hamara Urdu main likhnay say Urdu adab ke moat waqay ho jae ge, hum nay is zaban main bhe apnay khayalat ko tehreer kernay hai pukhta azam banna leya. Ab sawal yea paida howa keh shuruat kee kidher say jae. Ik taraf kalaam likhnay ka khayal aye tu dosree taraf ik afsana. Akhir main soocha keh moqay ke munasabat say shair kahee jaen tu yea ik acha pehla kadam ho sakta hai. Wesse bhe angrizi main likhnay ka agaz bhe ma badolat nahin shaire say he keya tha.
Is silsalay main hamaray ik dost Rabbani sahib nay bhe hamare kaffe madat ke. Becharay akhir main khud he pachtae, liken merray nazarye say un kay pashtanay main Urdu adab ka ik nihayat he nafees adeeb/shair apne is silhayat ko pehchanay kay kabil howa. Rabbani sahib say mushwarat kay sath hum nay apna pehla shair porra keya, jo keh kuch essay hai
Ankhoon he ankhoon main keh deya, mujhay tum say peyar hai
Kahan ho mere sanam, terra intezar hai
Is shair kay filmi rujhanat kay mutaliq humain kaffe took jhook ka samna kerna para. Albata, is say bara masla yea tha keh humari ik qaribi dost bhe isse naam say pukare jateen hain. Ab shaire kernay ke thane hai Urdu main, aur sanam ka naam istamal kernay say hitchkichayen. Yea baat kuch munasib nahin lagte. Leken ab jab shair kehnay ke thaan le tu is tarhaan kay masiall tu paish ayeen gay. Almia yea hai keh is khayal kay sath bhe hamara dosra shair kuch essay kaha gya
Talo-e-aftab say terra intezar hai sanam
Gul-e-kanwal per aa gya ab, mager teree ana na mani
Is shair say humain kaffe shurat hasil howe aur tareefen bhe sunnay ko mileen. Chand logoon ka tu apni angrizi main likhay gye tehreeron ka taruf bhe hum nay is shair he kay ziryay keya. Dosra hum shair kum keh rahay thay aur un pay logoon kay tasurat zeyada sun rahay thay. Sath main khayal aya khe koi takhalus bhe chun lenna chaye. Rabbani sahib nay ik daffa “sexy” ka lafz tajweez keya tha, liken humain is ka wazan shair main bethtay maloom nahin howa. Khair, mukhtasir alfaz main yeah kehna sahe ho ga khe humara takhalus nay tay paya.
Ishar ke kami kay bais hum nay ik din beth ker chand bachkana shair likhay, jis main say ik ka ziker na kerna zayadte kehlae ga.
Idher hum aur udher tum
Ik ke choonch aur ik ked um
Ik aur shair kuch is tarhan say hay
Sitaroon say agay jahan aur bhe hain
Wahan Roti Kapra aur Makan bhe hai
Iqbal ke shaire ka aisay bay darde say galla katna kaffe logoon ko na manzoor tha. Hum nay is ko mazhaya shaire kay zamray main daal ker mazarat chaye, leken ab tak humaray dostoon ka sabar ka paimana labraiz ho chukka tha. Akhir hum nay Urdu nazam ko waqte taur per alwida kaha.
Raita pehlanay ke umang the humare
Yeahan tu damgh ke dahi ban gye
Ab hum nay soocha hai khe apni silhayatoon ka andaza Urdu nasar main lageen gay. Isse silsalay main Urdu adab ka janaza humare pehle tehreer hai. Albata, essa na soochain khe hamara Urdu main likhnay kay azam ko koi thees pohanche hai.
Zamana humain kuch bhe bolay
Hum tas say mas nahin hongay
Rubbish
Another piece of paper floated gently to the ground. Call me crazy, but every blank page has a certain life, for which it can remain exposed to a writer, for something of substance to be produced on it. After those minutes are gone, the page becomes paper; an object for which a tree was once cut somewhere. And I can’t use it once I have that thought on my mind. At the foot of the wall across my desk was a pile of crumpled pages. They were still pages because they had managed to have something written on them. However, just this simple fact is not enough to distinguish them from rubbish. How can a person be a human if all there is to him is filth? How can a piece of paper be anything but rubbish if rubbish is all it has to say?
I don’t understand how people keep their desks against the wall. Is it not extremely mundane; starring at a wall while one has nothing to be put on paper? How will I ever tear off a page and throw it across the room if I have wall in my face? Wouldn’t the rubbish I am trying to get rid of bounce back and hit me in the face again? A blank paper only needs to fall off the table since it did retain its purity. But a page which has ink on it but still doesn’t say anything worthwhile needs to be thrown as far away as possible. The latter had potential and all that potential achieved was to indulge in filth. The only thing it was worth, was to get the mind’s rubbish out of the way. Wouldn’t it be unfair to that page if the waste it has purified the mind off is not tossed away?
We waste so much time in efforts to save paper that we publish every piece of rubbish which bounced back to desks placed against walls. Has it never occurred to anyone that a blank white space in a newspaper, magazine, journal or even a book would be much more useful than an ugly jumble of words? The story of wasted paper is so much similar to that of mankind; the pure are stamped over by the filthy and those of substance are lost because the filth keeps bouncing back to the desks.
Without
A bull without horns. A horn without a honk. A flute without a whistle. A whistle without a mouth. A bell without a ring. A ring without a finger. A wheel without spokes. A bike without a wheel. A mind without a memory. An eye without sight. A glass without a base. A house without people. A tree without a leaf. A bullet without a gun. A clock without hands. A perfume without a scent. A tie without a knot. A garden without flowers. A flower without petals. A blade without an edge. An edge without a fall. A stove without a flame. A book without a page. A room without a wall. A lock without a door. A door without a hinge. A guitar without strings. A drum without skin. A pen without ink. You without him. Me without you.
Stupid fucking people
People are fucking stupid, and they need stupid activities, other stupid people and stupid things to talk about to make their stupid lives seem less pointless than their stupid little brains can comprehend. Where is all this coming from? A show called “Closeted.” First of all, closeted isn’t even a fucking word. What is with all of these new age hippies, who think that they are so damn different spelling connection with a K, using s instead of z when writing things and replacing ks with an x in thanks. Seriously, we have an entire generation who never knew how to spell or pronounce words right to begin with and now they are going down into deeper depths of, hello again, stupidity by following these god damn conventions who someone just as stupid as them came up with.
So yeah, “Closeted.” Which channel is this show being aired on? Dawn News! Way to smoother your already disappointed aesthetics. Dawn is supposed to be sophisticated and what not, with brit English, “am I BBC am I local?” complex going on, and they go ahead and come up with a show titled “Closeted. ” Now what are they doing in this show? They go to different celebrities, put a fucking camera in their closet and show it to the whole damn world.
Stupid fucking people, catering to stupid fucking people, with stupid fucking entertainment concepts. What a way to waste TV time, I think they would have had done a better investment if they would have just handed out the budget of the show to a poor kid sleeping on the sidewalk. Imagine, our lives are so fucking boring and so fucking sad that we need to entertain ourselves by going through someone else’ wardrobe. Hell, I will fucking understand if I was actually there and I could run off with a 501 or an Armani jacket. But its on fucking TV for fucks sake. What possible satisfaction can you possibly receive from it?
Speaking of disappointment, even Dawn News is producing stupid fucking shows, for stupid fucking people so that they (people) can go around running in a ferris wheel of entertainment like a fucking gopher and totally ignore the fact that mother fucking Zardari is the elected President of the country. I mean when the fuck did this happen? Were you aware of it? Of course you weren’t, you were busy with your sad fucking life and watching Simon insult the latest jackass who couldn’t sing but well “Mommy thought I could.”
But why blame the President right, this is democracy, this is about making someone from among us part of the government. Well you have democracy, you voted for him and now you have Mr 10% taking his cut again. A stupid fucking President, chosen by a bunch of stupid fucking people.
We live in a world full of stupid people, who socialize with other stupid people, who get married to other stupid people and then have stupid fucking kids. Since they are stupid, they don’t use condoms and eventually they reproduce like bunnies. They procreate among themselves and spread STD, and yes I am calling the byproduct of their fornication, that is, the new generation of stupid fucking kids being popped out, STDs. This is stupidity spread through unsafe sex. 50 years from now, these stupid people with all their procreation would take over the world. Though, one might argue that that has already happened.
But I don’t mean to burden your stupid little brain with the realities of life nor do I mean to attack your intellectual short comings in anyway, oh no, wait a minute, you are too fucking stupid to either take offence or be burdened by the truth. For you, this was just another form of entertainment like Survivor, eating roaches for a better tomorrow. It’s not your fault, nature intended you to be stupid. God really doesn’t agree to the fact that we are all equal. But that is another conspiracy for another day.
Bitches and Assholes
Some time back I saw a book titled “Why men marry bitches?” It was just a passing glance, didn’t really get to read anything about the book. However, the first reaction it had in my head was, “We marry bitches? I don’t think I would.” Before reaching this judgment though we need to decide the criteria for labeling someone a bitch. Is she the woman who would bite you in the ass first chance she gets, the one who would poison you with venom on her lips just because she thinks that is a good way to betray you and who still comes out alive to watch you die? If that’s the bitch we are talking about, she doesn’t need to get married. Unless of course you are a power house.
Then there is the bitch because she puts out, is easy, is the bimbo with fake breasts and all she really knows is to moan in bed. A bitch, yes. But would you marry her? I mean okay a backseat fuck, totally understandable but that is where in ends no? Well, at least that is where it should end. Definitely not one you would take to the altar.
Which brings us to the third type, now this ones a bitch because she can do things we can not. She is powerful on her own, she’s in control, she’s is assertive, she actually has more wits than you, hell she is even dominant. She is a bitch because you are fucking scared of her. “This woman might be sitting on my seat of I don’t do something about it.” So you have to call her a bitch, not because its her fault but because she is so good at whatever she does you can not accept it at all. Let’s just call it a self defense mechanism, a very bad one but nothing else to blame this one on. Men in general are scared of powerful women, because hell we lose control and losing that makes us think we have lost everything. Maybe that is why most men prefer stick shift over automatic transmission; control.
Now coming back to the question which started this all, “Why men marry bitches?” As far as I see it, irrespective of the category of bitch that book is talking about, we do not marry bitches. One is out to get us, the second is a slut, the third hell she scares us.
So yeah, another question now. And this ones from us men, “Why do women like assholes?” Just like there was a reaction of, “we don’t” in my head when I read the marriage question I am sure a lot of women would have the same response right now. But hey, fact’s a fact, every prick, douche bag, jerk off, dick wad etcetera etcetera would have a hell of a woman (or in some cases, a handful) all over him. No I don’t have reasons for my observations. I am not going to write a book about it but had to be asked.
Here is a perspective though, maybe when the book talks of bitches and I talk of assholes the label is not being put on by the opposite sex. Maybe, women who see other women with lets say a catch, in jealousy end up labeling that woman a bitch. “Can’t take away what she’s got, lets slander her.” In which case the categories of bitches I just listed up there stand void, because that is a man’s perspective, not a woman’s. Similarly, when us men see a bloke with a hot one we call him an asshole because he’s got what we haven’t. Way to burn my earlier observation, but just because I am presenting this argument, doesn’t mean I agree with it.
I leave it to you folks to add perspective to this one.
From Others to Pakistanis
Since my father was in the Army, I have lived my childhood in different parts of the country. In Army the general trend is that an officer is posted to a new designation every two years and that basically ends up in travelling from one part of the country to the other. In essence, because of my father’s profession I have lived in every province of the country, have seen the diversity of the Pakistani culture first hand and have seen and experienced various places of the country.
I don’t like to divide Pakistan on the basis of Sindhi, Baluchi, Pathan etcetera. However, for the purpose of argument, I have to do so here. Among all the places I have lived at and have had friends at, hands down the most hospitable of the people have been the people from the NWFP. They would go out on a limb for you just because you belong to some other part of the country and therefore by default you have become their guests. And by god, among all of their humbleness and conservativeness they would make their guests feel like royalty. It doesn’t take a huge dinner or a sprawling mansion to do that, their warmth is in their attitude, their claims of tum tu mera bhai hai (you are my brother) and in the humility when they addressed my mother or sister as behen (sister). One needs not to have any doubts about either of the brother or sister claim, because the respect and love was extremely prominent.
We have travelled a lot by the GT Road and there have been various occasions when our car has had a flat tyre. I don’t recall once that me and my dad had to change it because some Pathan truck driver would always stop and change it for us. Not just that he would be practically offended when my dad would offer him to pay for his services. Sahab, ab humain hamare mehmannavaze ka paisa dey rahay ho (Sir, you are paying me for my hospitality…)
I talk about the people of the NWFP today because in the world of war against the terror the same race and the same province of which people I have the best things to say about are being slandered. Right now, I am speaking from my own experience and interaction with these people and as far as I can see, something went very wrong somewhere. As much as these people were proud of their Pathan race, heart and soul they were Pakistanis. From my childhood perspective it takes somewhat of a wild imagination to see the same people as people who would kill innocent civilians all over the country.
What I see today is that even when most of us have never stepped out of our birth city. We have opinions, ideas and judgments on people belonging to other provinces. No one has ever had any long-term interaction with each other but a general division continues to prosper based on baseless notions. I have said this before and I will say it again; in the last 61 years our major achievement has been the birth of a generation which on quite a few levels is beyond schism, which is beyond division, which is a generation of Pakistanis. What is sad is that the baseless notions which cause schism continue to trickle down from the older generations and continue to pollute the one hope for unity.
If we could all do one, just one simple thing for our country this year – Not categorize our nation on the basis of stereotypes, not divide each other based on the geographic location and not think of cultural diversity and division. If we could form our opinions based on facts rather than what we perceive others to be, they would not be others anymore. Let us change ourselves from others to Pakistanis.
…then it rained
It was an evening like any other Karachi evening. Only it had drizzled the night before and I expected better weather. It was a drive like any other and then moods started to change. It drizzled again, drops washed against my windscreen. The sky told the same old story, a cool breeze, a few drops of rain; Mother Nature being a tease again.
Then it all changed, the evening turned dark. I see the clouds turn shade and descend to us mortals. I drive straight to them, “I fucking love the weather,” I tell her and I drive into what seems like the Heart of Darkness.
The wind turns into a gale and then it happened. The skies pour, the wind slaps water against my car, the thick drops sound like pellets against the roof, the wipers throw off gallons from the windscreen, the trees sway, the roads flood, everyone flees for shelter. I step out for a mere moment and am drenched to the bone. The sun is there, somewhere above the overcast, but all that pollutes the pitch dark down here is the lights from the cars.
The dark overcast, the thundering clouds, the flashing lightening, the sound of water; Mother Nature is at her absolute brilliance today and I bow to her majesty. God has to be a woman, because something so beautiful, so aesthetically pleasing, yet so fearsome, so threatening and so menacing can never be the creation of a man.
The Rebel
I would be a rebel, I would break all of your laws. I would walk without shoes and shower without a room. I would fuck without a condom and love without a heart. I would see if you could then find some reason in my madness or pass me off to the psyche ward with chains in my arms. I would cut myself open and lay it on the table for you to sketch on. I would be a blasphemy, a spawn who was left alive for too long. I would shout out obscurities till the break of dawn and I would laugh at your Lord as you put your hands together for His cause. I would smile till I die for you would be at my command. A mere whisper from me would fuel this accord. I would always be a memory and my voice would echo in your halls. For your sticks and stones may break my bones but my words would always hurt.
…and the sadness prevails
We live in a sad country. It’s sadder still that I am actually stating that fact on the record. Things have been all over the place for quite a while now but actually contemplating listing down everything which has/is falling apart just takes the sadness to a whole new degree. One only has to see the first two pages of the day’s paper and catch a glimpse of the news to realize the depths of depravity to which we have fallen.
The democratic government of Pakistan completed its 100 days today. That is a little over three months. The last three months has been the most upset time of the country as far as my memory holds true, or at least in our recent history. Fuel prices have sky rocketed, electricity is scarce, every commodity is almost unaffordable and if all that was not enough, rampant confusion engulfs the nation. The original PPP and PML-N coalition government split to a PPP only government just a few days into its formation. The now PPP-only government has little to show for the last 100 days. It has not been able to address even a portion of the agendas through which they won the seats to the assemblies.
The irony here is that, today, at the 100 days when they should be looking back and strategizing for the coming months, the Pakistan’s Peoples Party held a black day in the memory of Mr. Bhuttos government which was toppled in 1977. Fair is fair, they want to mourn the time when their charismatic leader was at the top, go ahead, but not at the cost of the nation. Far more important is today, when the country’s economy is failing. However, these symbolic activities is all Pakistan has seen in the last three months.
No Pakistani could have forgotten Lal Masjid; the mosque in the capital city which had maulvis acting as vigilante. A year ago after numerous warnings, an army operation was carried at the mosque (which was more of a fortress for the fundos). The imam (read, ring leader) was caught escaping the place in a burqa. Yes, a grown man, claiming to be a pious Muslim was secretly a cross dresser. At least that is what he became in the moment of panic. Before the extremely humorous cross dressing episode we had all seen very tough days. The Pakistan Army lost soldiers as they cleared the place of these fanatic beard bearers. Martyrs left behind little children and young widows. One would say they served the nation good and we are proud of their sacrifice, but alas our government tends to think differently.
Today was the first year anniversary of the entire Lal Masjid episode last year; the Lal Masjid which was cleared off fundos, extremists and militants a year back. Today was the day when we were supposed to honor our martyr sons of the soil, today was the day when we should have remembered their sacrifices. However, things work very differently in the land of the pure. Today was the day of remembrance for the Lal Masjid martyrs, but those martyrs were the criminals and militants who had wrecked havoc at Islamabad for nearly a year. The enemies of the state, who had shot bullets in the chests of our soldiers, were the martyrs who were remembered today by thousands of others like them. The government had an ice-cold attitude towards the families of the soldiers who lost their lives at the same site a year back and supported the mullah circus by sending in trucks of water and crates of mangoes for their entertainment purpose. The fun and fanfare came to an end when a bomb blast in the Lal Masjid vicinity killed 15 policemen and injured near 50.
In short, it was field trip for new fundamentalists to explore the property, reminisce the corrupt lives of similar fundamentalists and even have a sample bomb blast for their entertainment purposes. While the PPP observed a black day, not to reflect on their failure as a government but to reflect on a event which took place 30 years ago. It was a black day indeed but for totally different reasons.
