Letter to Self

So I admit it, I don't like going to M. A. Jinnah Road anymore. I hate thinking this way and even more annoying is that I'm giving in to this feeling. I spent eleven years of my life travelling by this road: the hustle bustle in the roadside automobile spare parts shops, the dust that taught me to cope with my throat allergies by giving me the gift of immunity, the noise created by the quite unharmonic interference of blaring horns from buses. Spending a good half an hour stuck in the afternoon traffic jam in the heat and sunshine gave me my first few heat strokes, sunburns and then took them away by giving me immunity to that too. That was the academic life I knew, with everything that street in Saddar had to offer - but somehow it's now gone. Till about four months ago, I loved M. A. Jinnah Road just as I always had: my heart would swell up with love for my school as I passed by, the sense of history associated with all the pre-partition mansions would fascinate me just as it did every day I passed by them to get to school, I would feel a rush of excitement with the knowledge that DMC and Civil Hospital are just ahead but it all vanished about two months ago. I went to my school to get some documents attested for the Dow application, loved my school just the same way but not the journey there. I thought it was because of nervousness and stress of the whole application process and the utter necessity to do everything right but I visited my school again, the next day and the feeling was overwhelming. I didn't want to set foot out of my house just because I knew where I was supposed to go! Well, life is good at making you forget about little, seemingly minor problems like these so I remembered this only yesterday when I went to finalize my admission to DMC. M. A Jinnah Road did not make me feel good inspite of all the history emanating from the walls of Dow itself!

I thought being tired was the reason for the bitter aftertaste of the ordeal but now that I have to go there tomorrow for the submission of a few documents and I'm not tired or anything at all, I can't quite comprehend the lack of positivity. I do have one theory, though.

I spent the last two years amidst the glitz and shine of Nixor lights - among the many things that most A level institutions of Karachi offer. Away from almost all kinds of sounds that can be regarded as noise, in fact all kinds of sounds possible - except that of the wind, free from dust but laced with salt, I lost perception of hustle bustle associated with my academic journey. Please don't get me wrong, I didn't wind up in a deserted island but in DHA - a LOT of people live there. In the beginning of my nixor experience, I found the streets too quiet and I can't stress enough on 'too'. They had an almost deserted feel but by the end of the second year I suppose I began to find them peaceful. I was neutral to the non-existence of dust but loved the salty breeze. It was a good change, overall.

So my theory is: I got lost in the high life Defaaaance.

I began to enjoy the quiet, salt and quiet and air conditioning everywhere and lack of exposure to sun, even though that had horrible results. Just two years of not spending as much time in the sun as I did on M. A. Jinnah Road, I started getting sunburnt again, very severely actually. I loved how I could stop by at Zamazama whenever I wanted to and not have to come from home especially for the ultimately rewarding obligation of shopping. Yes, I'm lazy about going shopping. I know there is no "height" in the tale I've related but the phrase sounded great with Dubai in it so I wanted to use it anyway.

I don't mind liking that change because there is a lot more that is associated with the past two years that make them so special, particularly the people I've met. What I do not like however, is my ability to not like the feel of the things I knew for so long as the only elements of my academic journey. I know we discover more as life moves ahead but that doesn't mean we forget the things we loved or stop valuing them as much as we did before. That is what I feel is happening to me. I loved Saddar because that's where everything I knew about the fun of travelling to school and back home began. That is where I discovered the the joy of playing hide ans seek with childhood friends in the churchyard; feeling the happiness that my Christian teachers felt while showing me the lovely Christmas tree even when they had no children of their own to share it with; discovering the interior of the cathedral, appreciating it for its coloured glass in all essence of innocence. That's where I began appreciating people for the good in them; learnt to share the joy of 'tili' before seeing the Navroze table even when I didn't believe in it. That's where I learnt to grow up. It was literally the road to my knowledge of life, travelling by which I discovered the greater part of who I am. What irks me is the fear of forgetting all this because that is the only way I could stop loving it the way I did for everything it has led me to.

It seems like I'm being ungrateful, I don't want to feel this way because it makes me feel like the last two years could have more weightage over the eleven before them and that's not true. The importance of last two years is of its present magnitude because of what they have added to the ones before them, not for masking the past! Moreover, this is also the road to my future, one I have wanted very much and the gratitude I feel for being close to it is inexpressible. That gives me more reason to want to rediscover the pleasantry of good old M. A. Jinnah Road. I hope it will come with tomorrow.


Thanks a lot for reading, means a lot to me :)

It's Here, It's Now

I have grown up so much in a few hours, more than I have in the last one year. Nineteen is long gone, it's a lot more and above that now.

About nine hours ago, I was dreading the immense feeling of responsibility that seemed to overwhelm me as I thought about accepting admission into med school. I felt my easy life floating away into the ocean of NIC numbers, proper signatures, pay order receipts and so much more that was beyond my horizon for now.

And here I am now, welcoming the feeling of responsibility in its entirety because medicine is just that - the responsibility of patience, perseverance and so much more.

Transcendence

I strolled to the outside, wondering what I could do to please the one on the other end of the red and black. With failure to find what I was looking for, the effort of thinking so intently by pushing away other thoughts left my brain absolutely blank. Just when that inability to please was about to push me into the now almost familiar gorge of dejection, I fell into the valley of bliss as I realized there was glitter at my doorstep. I stepped into the moonlight, too gleeful to be afraid that it might vanish, like most other beautiful moments in life. I left my foot there, waiting for it to be completely immersed in the glitter, waiting patiently for the magic to mingle in my blood and reach my soul before lifting my face to savour another image of God's wonderful gift.

This light was the one I considered most precious after the light of faith. For as long as memory permitted me, it had illuminated the lanes of my memory, trains of thoughts and my porch. I waited for the end of summer when this moonlight would give life to the exterior of my bedroom, when it made me feel protected in its halo. But that protection was not the sole reason why I admired it so much. It had a lovely companion that I waited for throughout the year.

Slowly I allowed my entire body to embrace the moonlight. Inching ever so slightly into it, so I could absorb all its magic, I began to lift my chin to finally see that magnificent orb. The light filled my eyes and I witnessed the radiant halo and then finally its source. 

The best part about a full moon is the very prominent star of light it radiates in four directions. Look more closely and you'll notice that it not a four cornered one but there are paths radiating in four more directions, like how you make eight slices of pizza. I know that's probably the worst analogy one could use but it’s simple, for once. Actually it’s not about a closer look but just tilting your head in different directions so different angles show the different paths.

When I couldn't stare at the moon for longer because it seemed to be burning with a blue flame/glow (which is just my eyes playing tricks so that they can survive another few years), I turned to the other far-from-earth object of my affection. Venus, as you might have guessed if you've read my blog since the beginning (you don't really need to personally know me for that). It first seemed that Venus was in the wake of the moon and they were playing a game - not the flirtatious kind that Greek mythology creates between Apollo's celestial love and Venus but of an innocent, childish nature, that is a shade of their stunning white purity. Venus seemed so small next to the full moon, so distant but yet in its wake, as if the moon made an effort to extend its halo of protection to Venus as well. In spite of its small size, Venus stood out bright and proud, guarding its identity with its twinkle, not even slightly inhibited by the moon. Complimenting each other, free from the envious urge to outshine the other, together they travelled through the fabric of time and space and I thanked God for giving me another chance to witness this courtship and feel such joy. Yes, I call it courtship because when I see them, the joy I feel seems to be what it must be like to be in love. I know that's VERY cliché and I could probably be strangled for using it but that is how I feel. I have never been in love, I don't know what it’s like: if it’s really how people describe it and whether Wordsworth was actually inspired by Venus to make a connection but that really is what I feel when I see this pair in the sky in its unearthly, majestic glow. This feeling I get, this joy and happiness I feel to my core of my soul is probably what love feels like, to say the least. Once again, apologies for the clichéd connection. I do respect Wordsworth a lot for his urge to defy clichés and I can not imagine comparing myself to him (for a million reasons apart from the fact that he was a  poet of inenerrable profundity) but if I had lived before Wordsworth, I would have used Venus and then I would be winnaaar. 

Salt

I was once told by a friend and recently reminded that "Sometimes what holds you together and tears you apart are the same thing".

It was like a tight slap in the face. A tight slap that just appears out of nowhere as soon as you turn your head; a slap before which the wind doesn't touch your face to warn you about the fall from the cliff of self-esteem.

I was floating in a sea of emotions, watching the dance of the crystals on the water's surface. The day had been tiring but very constructive, as I saw it and the sea was where I decided to retire for the night. The crystals danced with the current, intoxicated by the touch of moonlight. The sky was clear- like my heart. I liked clouds but I was grateful for this clarity because I loved the presence of the moon to make my picture perfect. Absorbed in the moment as if I belonged to canvas, without thinking, I let go and then it hit me with a huge splash. Yes, the icy water rose and slapped me. I whirled and hit the ground face down.

I thought it would carry me away and I would lose the parts of me that it hadn't already claimed. I waited for the wrath with eyes closed because I was afraid the sight would be too agonizing. The water receded, leaving me with a bleeding nose, sodden in self-loath. I tried gathering what was mine, the bits of self-esteem strewn across the surface among the shreds of glass that looked no more like crystals. I groped around, making frantic, vain attempts to grab on to them before the salt burned them and they disappeared. I stopped as I smelled my blood, which was no more a surprise than the consequence of trusting the angry sea.

I now understood that the sky was clear in fear of the rising waves, to make way for the storm; not to honour my wish.

11. I've tried having a burger for Sehri but not Iftaar but I have a feeling it tastes better in the latter part of the day. Perhaps you could enlighten me?

12. I was searching for pictures of pretty white horses. No, not unicorns or Dora's ponies but white stallions and this is what I found among the images. I couldn't help being interested because this just reminded me how far we have come: from horses to cars named after them. You know what really pleases me about this car? In spite of achieving so much, we haven't forgotten our source of inspiration for the origin of cars. If Ferrari remembers to praise white stallions, we should too.

13. To make the note lighter, let's fly away with the bubbles. Pop, pop, pop! Don't miss out on the lovely colour spectrum that dispersion creates because each bubble is a magical little world and all of its colours are precious.

14. Chocolate cookies! And they don't look burnt or any more crisp than they should be because they seem to have been baked on a colourful spring evening and not at 2 a.m. I WANT!

15. Quasars, radio galaxies or white holes. Call them whatever you'd like to because they are the next best thing after my dear Pulsars. A picture speaks a thousand words and there are quite a few pictures here.                                                                         Is it just me, or are the Quasars actually colour schemed to match my blog??? ZOMG ZOMG! *excited face*

16. I've never done anything quite so eccentric, other than riding in a truck with my class mates. I thought I could give this a try, leaving out the guns and all, of course. I will take the roses, however.

This is the most decent picture I could find of this 'term'. Makes my blog look evil? Please please?

17. OHMAIGAWWDDD!!!! Who doesn't love chicken wings??? Maybe I'll try having them for Iftaar.

Mujhe roza nahin lag raha, okay?

ZOMG! ZOMG! ZOMG! NOM! NOM! NOM! EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! FOODDD!!!

18.  Hawaiian shirts! I'm gonna get one too. But I like Rio better. Do you think the Rio people will mind if I wear a Hawaiian shirt to Rio? Nah, I guess they're nice and hospitable and all.

Also, I want some bling. Okay, not really. But IT'S SO SHINY!!!! OHMAAGAAD MY EYES!

 

19. JALEBI! What more can I say?

20. Miscellaneous happiness : D

Cower

It rained so hard.
We ran for cover.
We hid.
It found us.
It hurt us.
It bored holes-
In the sky
In the shades
In the walls
In us.

It ran on the ground
It didn't seep in;
It only ran out
Gushed out
Out of us.
It rained on us.
It rained around us.
It rained through us.
It rained without us.

We ran
We kept running;
We kept crying
Crying for help
Crying in pain;
Sighing in vain
Drenched in rain.

They saw us.
From their windows.
Under the lights
The mellow lights
The warm lights
That blazed like fire
With stifled ire
Ire we held
In our hearts
Ire that held
The lights on fire.

The rain went bad
The crowd went mad
We looked around
We looked within
We were drenched.
In red.
The rain was red.
Yes, blood it shed.
Our blood.
Then came a flood.
A flood of lies.
A flood of cries
The flood of blood.

They filled their cups
They raised their cups
They made a toast
They laughed
They chatted
They shopped
They stopped
They looked
Out their windows
Out of their world
They checked:
We were reduced
Reduced
As of yesterday
Reduced to sacks
Reduced to numbers
Reduced to ashes.

They resumed:
They fed
On our tears,
Tears we shed
As we bled
With the rain.
They were satiated.

The Origin of Embers

Poison escaped my lips, fell into the cherry coloured drink that glowed with life and the glee it promised. The drink blanched and turned to ice, black because the poison drank up the vibrance of life.

The fragments of the train of thought funneled into the stalk of the glass and settled in distant crevices in the game of hide and seek. I found it all the more challenging to retrieve them and put them together for the dynamic show because the ice clenched my fingers in its crystal claws. Harsh, they pricked my lips so they bled, as if my blood was the sacrifice needed to rekindle the flame of life in the drink. The ice seeped into my blood and reached my heart, employing its signature clenching task. I froze with pain and fear of what this meant was done and due.

The ice became an inferno and boiled my blood to its origins; burned my heart to embers.

It rained ashes all night till the dawn came grey and dismal. There was no rainbow because there was no light. There was no nectar, there were no butterflies.

Dynamic Dreams

According to Wikipedia, a dynamo (from the Greek word dynamis; meaning power), is another name for an electrical generator, generally means a generator that produces direct current with the use of a commutator.


You are like a dynamo. 


Your passion for knowledge is your strength that will generate a current of great magnitude in your life. You will generate it for yourself. Nobody or no place will do it for you. Favorable circumstances, yes, shall be provided by these people and places but they don't have the power to generate anything from anybody, except money maybe. The spark lies within you, in your dreams. That is where the power that is your essence, originates. Just hang on to those dreams with the rope of faith and soon sparks will be flying all around you, like fireworks in the night sky and newly born stars emanating from a nebula.

You will have your stator with you wherever you go and it will continue to provide its very own field. The irresistible field that will earn you the respect you deserve. The field of your flight.

This is MY FRIEND'S field. Come near it and you'll be TOAST.

All you really need is within you. Stator, armature, heart, soul, dreams and faith. With so much already huddled up in there, how can you make space for fear and dejection?

You know what's the best part about dreams? They are original and they belong to you in all entirety. A product of your mind, a wish that stirs the depths of your soul, dreams never leave your side. You know what's the best part about wishes? You pray for their fulfillment and prayer gives you peace. If they come true, you can experience euphoria but even if they don't, you will ultimately be exuberant. Those unanswered prayers for the fulfillment of a wish will become a channel for your forgiveness on the last day, when forgiveness is what you'll wish for the most. 

With love, From Rio

So I finally watched the movie 'Rio'. Following are the important lessons I learnt since I've watched that movie.

THE EYES!

1.   It's the most pleasantly colourful and adorable movie I've seen in the past two years - or perhaps longer.
 I love 'Blu' , especially his HUGE eyes. They have more depth and sincerity than those of most  our kind.

2.   The term 'monkey business' has a number of connotations. It could be used to describe an act of impersonation or of course, the literal. 

So CHALAAK!

   3. Monkeys are very very selfish and they possess an astonishing amount of knowledge of business. You would expect their brains to be less developed (if you believe in the Darwinian theory, because apparently our brains are better than theirs) but they put their small brains contained in their small skulls to a big use. They are the best in business, actually. Not only did they invent 'monkey business' but they outwit hum ans where trading gold is concerned. They can also negotiate with birds, which is a rather valuable skill considering that their mode of verbal communication is sounds like "Ooo ooo Aaa aaaa".

Impressive taste in belts, don't you think?

     4.  Monkeys can also dance VERY well.

5.  Monkeys have a good fashion sense and they are very innovative in those terms. Gold watches can make elegant belts.

6.You should not lie about knowing how to use a motorbike. It can result in severe injuries and inflammation of the face caused by excessive embarrassment. You can also crush the person seated behind you.

White Lies

    7. Brazilian birds have a great aesthetic sense. They know how to make the most of a beautiful sunset by making the Sakura tree shower and singing along.

8. Macaws are intelligent creatures.

9. Shaista Jamhoori is not a lady. It is a phrase I heard on a current affairs show.

10. 'Clear for men' is a rip-off. It doesn't make dandruff disappear. This lesson was not learnt by self, but taught by a very dear friend through repeated reminders.

11. If I use Clear for men, it would probably clear my head of hair.

12. An article on The Express Tribune blog says that there is a Nihari outlet at Nagan Chowrangi. You can go there with your huge, sweaty, smelly and hungry buddies and learn swear words. You will probably learn to cuss like a sailor soon enough.

   

OHH JALEBEEEE!!!! *shiny eyes*

         13. Jalebi is the best. Khajoor is no match for it.

   

       14. I seem to have lost my sense of humour.

              

 Courtesy: Google Images

Reminders

Just make the retainers an ugly blue!

Bluetooth is a really funny word. It reminds me of blue bubblegum sticking to the dirty teeth of a scary nanny. Like a really scary nanny. I feel sorry for all those children who have ever encountered any such nanny. An even worse image that comes to mind is that of an immensely annoying child having bright blue braces/ retainers fixed to his teeth, like Darla Sherman form 'Finding Nemo'.

This however, also reminds me that I do not know how to use Bluetooth. This does not mean that I'm illiterate, no. It just reflects my recently acquired fear of sophisticated technology. I'm sure it's because of the 'man vs machine' movies Hollywood keeps making. Or maybe not. And recently goes back to a year.

This also reminds me that my sentence structure and hence literary skills have been reduced to bits. I seem to now lack the ability to form coherent complex sentences. I don't want to blame it on CIE or even myself (since I haven't been writing). PEACE.

And I can't remember why I began writing this post.

Window Pain

There's a window.
Yes, a window.
Do you see it?
Don't you see it?

I know you.
Yes, I do.
Who are you?
Who am I?

There's a streak
Of purple
Or is it blue?
Is it the rainbow?
No, it's a bruise.

There's the rain.
Pattering on the window.
Do you see the drops?
Is it blood or tears?
Yours or mine?

They're colourless.
No, you are blind.
Or am I?

There's your heartbeat.
There's your voice.
It's my music.
It's the sirens?
Or is it the silence?

There's the light
The lovely sunshine
It's warm and bright.
Where's the sun?
There is no sun?
It's fire.

The fire of love.
The fire of trust.
The fire of hurt?
The fire or dust?