CSS – Essay, English & The Intellect

Passing essay paper of CSS exam is a different game. You have to be on next level (of cramming contemporary essays) and then to pray for the luck.

Out of 10 topics, you have to go for the one. And 80% of people go for the same topic. Because thats the exact one which was in all the cramming books.

Like, give them a chance to write on women empowerment, and you will see 20,000 feminists writing the exactly same thing, at the same time, at the same day, with the same quotes.

And then 99% fail. Isn’t it amazing?

Then comes the ugliest part: those who pass – the top 1% cream of Pakistan – become ACs, DCs and Secretaries. Who issue poorly drafted letters and make a joke of themselves in public. The same public they degrade and avoid.

Like DC Lahore.

Apparently, the cream is rotten. There is no top 1%. The game is for nothing but a ‘pakki nokri’ with a house, a car, some staff and some lickers. All of them joking about the ‘intellect’ behind his/her back.

See any public department. Pick any. Transport, education, health, revenue, lands, planning, development, higher education, communication, works, roads, IT… any.

You will see the clowns with lickers all around, nodding and agreeing to rotten ideas. But the joke is on you with your money and your assets.

Establishment, is after-all establishment.

Now a personal story:

His highness appeared to test himself, without any book or academy. When the whole world was writing about China being taya-abu, his highness opted for “Blasphemy”. Wrote personal views and used not only English and Urdu quotes, but also Punjabi poetry.

Guess what? 65. That’s what his highness scored in the Essay. Fortunately, failed Preci and became forever indebted to The Lord for not becoming a suited-booted-joke.

But sometimes I do think about jokers all around, agreeing to my out-of-the-box and game-changing ideas, and praising my intellect and philosophy of life. Who cares what they say behind my back? Losers!


You have the right to express your views. To dissent. To criticize. To disagree. But if your views ignite hate, violence, and discrimination; then you don’t have the right to express. Because then, you are violating the social space. People die. They die daily. But a dead person doesn’t become respectable or beloved just because he’s dead. That’s emotional instability. Rizvi ignited hate, violence and discrimination. He spat venom against Edhi. He romanticized those who spilled blood. He asked people to go on a killing spree during Faizabad dharna. He distributed religious certificates based on hate. Then, all of a sudden, he left his flag and was cooled down. Rs.1,000 per head were distributed by the boys. That’s exactly where Qazi Faez Isa came. Anyway. According to his own words, he was ‘directed’ by someone to go and sit in Faizabad. He was about to reveal ‘who’, apparently. We know who. Everyone knows. That’s not the point for now. The point is: even his love for the Prophet Muhammad PBUH was directed by someone behind the curtains. You were outplayed with religion this time. Like you were outplayed with patriotism, motherland, goosebumps, and treason other times. He came on stage all of a sudden. He conquered the twin cities within no time. He divided the vote base to make a playing field for the selectors. Then he became dangerous. Not needed anymore. Was arrested, labeled, discarded, and dusted. Routine story. They are made. They are used. They are flushed. Simple. The number of people at the funeral. Well, is that even an argument for anything? Go and check history of funerals. The numbers have nothing to do with any argument. I am not going to compare his funeral with another funeral. Not into analysis. But do consider herd mentality. Nonetheless. Nothing more. Nothing less. Anyway, a person died, which is sad. His philosophy didn’t, which is also sad. ﺩﺷﻤﻦ ﻣﺮﮮ ﺗﮯ ﺧﻮﺷﯽ ﻧﮧ ﮐﺮﺋﯿﮯ ﺳﺠﻨﺎﮞ ﻭﯼ ﻣﺮ ﺟﺎﻧﺎ ﮈﯾﮕﺮ ﺗﮯ ﺩﻥ ہوﯾﺎ ﻣﺤﻤﺪ ﺍﻭﮌﮎ ﻧﻮﮞ ﮈﺏ ﺟﺎﻧﺎ On the other hand, those who made us this stupid and irrational; are enjoying new laws. Saudia is on its way modernizing. MBS met Netanyahu, according to the New York Times. UAE is amending its laws in accordance with Europe. Everything is moving 180 degrees there. They don’t need illiterate warriors to fight blindly in the name of religion anymore. Soon, we are going to be left alone. We will be left alone with swords in hand. What we will do then? Where will we direct our anger? Who will we kill? Bank managers. Students. Doctors. Random people. Ahmadis. Christians. Blasphemers. Some these. Some those. Who cares? Bulleh Shah doesn’t: عاشق ہویوں رب دا ہوئی ملامت لاکھ تینوں کافر، کافر آکھ دے، تو آہو آہو آکھ Believe whatever your like. Follow whatever convinces you. But let the idea of diversity and acceptance prevail. Be sad on the demise; but don’t forget the narrative he propagated throughout his shelf life. They may act as your guide but they are not taking you home. Because even their guidance is directed.


You talk to a girl – let’s call her Pari – for some time. You haven’t happened to see her, yet you talk to her daily on the phone. Then she disappears. She disappears because she was unable to own you.

After some months, you talk to another girl – Hira – and she is exactly the same person you talked to before. But not entirely the same. The identity is different. And this time, you happen to meet her.

You talked to two different people; perhaps the same. Yes. No. She was the one.

You talked to one, met another one; and both were the same.

You know, men want variety. They talk about it all the time. ‘Change’ and ‘biryani’; not ‘daal chawal’ every day. But then, men are always looking for the previous one. “The one who got away.” They are forever striving for nostalgia. Maybe they live in nostalgia too. Who knows their psyche?

Always trying to get a whiff of the breeze they inhaled a decade back at the beach.

Back to Pari. Oh! Hira. The same person. She knows you already. And as is likely, she disappears again. Because you could not be owned. You were not conquered. Her agenda was to own you, and your agenda was to escape.

Such a clichéd story: A random call. Random sharing. Random meetup. Random disappearance. End of story. No? No.

There is something to be said about being nostalgic in the present. Sensing and fearing a future without the beloved. You are going to lose this person right in front of you. Who you just met. For the first time. And for the last time. After the first touch. After the first kiss. After the first breath. That’s it. Nothing to follow. No seconds. No second touch. No second kiss. No second breath.

Are these lies? Like everything else. This life, this breathing, this space, this whole coding in a virtual platform? Oh! Pain is real. It can be felt. It nurtures and evolves on its own. We all have our share of pain in different shapes. And we are kind of addicted to it. Because that is the only thing we own. And sometimes that is the only thing we know. Pain. Very personal pain.

But even pain is nothing more than some angry brain cells.

See the other side of the human spectrum: special people. Above all of us. Above politics, above consumerism, above religion, above philosophy, above love, above lust, above everything. They are happy. Just happy. They don’t have eternal pain, like us who are actually handicapped and mere consumers.

Rooh / nafs / soul is dependent on a body. Complete human body. Religion simply dismisses differently abled people as they will not be judged in the Hereafter. Fine. But there are questions. Rooh depending on a body completely rejects the idea of soul. There is no soul perhaps. Just a system. Working and evolving.

One cell splitting into two. Two into four. Four into eight. Myopic microscopic evolution.

Or one cell is ordered to split into two. Two into four. Four into eight. The design.

Sigh! Don’t want to drag to the point where a story becomes blasphemous.

Eyes see a person. There is a chemical response in the brain. Curiosity. Love or lust, whatever, is a biologically intrigued chemical reaction. Mood, mood swings, temper, very intelligent anger, everything, is a chemical reaction. And then a whole human body, an object not to be objectified, is talking to you on the other end of the receiver. From chemical reaction in the brain to frequency signals on the receiver to decoding of wavelengths by the ears; love is born. Give yourself a break.

Reminds me of Merovingian’s causality scene of the Matrix. Everything is coded and hence can be manipulated, accordingly.

Back to her. Pari. Or Hira. Or whoever’s Zia she was. Two persons. Two cities. Two names. Yet, one.

How does it feel that you talked to one and met another one; who are exactly the same? That was the story that caused chaos in a dead sea. Some phone calls, and some social media snapshots – welcome to the modern world. What remain are some pictures to see. Sleazy pictures. No second touch but a possession forever.

The pictures remain, the person does not. The story remains, the voice does not. The stories have evolved. Now Ranjha isn’t running madly to save Heer. Romeo is already dead with nothing in hand. Now, the modern-day-Ranjha sneaks onto Instagram, takes screenshots, and keeps on reliving the past. Eating himself like the tail of a snake.

Why do men need to relive and die again and again, yet looking for variety at the same time? Are they still in an early evolutionary phase? Will they ever be stable? How they long and strive to see someone naked for months and then keep on reliving the moments where they were able to save some sleazy shots? Isn’t this digital-lust pathetic?

And the person you see in the picture is the same, yet not the same. The body is the same, yet the soul is different. What would have been a future of such a story? Only unfulfilled love stories are complete. Fulfillment follows disaster. And mutilated stories are not even worth telling. But here it is. As it was. How else to write such a weird story?

Maybe in another life. When they both are cats. Animals.

P.S. I know exactly what I was writing initially but kept on adding some words / fragments randomly in this piece. And look what I made? Noodles! May you make some sense out it. I couldn’t. Maybe in another piece.

Random Numbness (November 2020)

I was waiting for so long.
For a miracle to come.
Hush. Now. I see a light in the sky.
Oh it’s almost blinding me.
I can’t believe I’ve been touched by an angel.
With love.

These are some lines from Celine Dion’s song. No jazbaat intended.

Since yesterday – a new day – there have been some miracles. We have witnessed epitome of logical reasoning; which is jazba. Jazbaat can do shit.

But that’s not the instant case here. IG – not Instagram – is the apex post of a police officer in a province. Who was abducted. From his home. Forced to file a case. Blah blah. At 4-am.

Now imagine Balochistan. Or Fata. Or all the people who are not IGs. People who are no more than locusts; eating state’s crops while being treacherous, treasonous, and venomous. Shame!

If an IG can go missing, theories regarding missing people stand true.

If an IG can be abducted from his home, stories of abductions stand true.

But of course, not everyone is IG enough to get a response like that. Suspended. New postings. New locusts to kill.

This is treason. Someday, on your way to evolution, you will find this definition. I am sure.

Land does not matter. People matter. Land is for the people. People are not for the land. If a land has nothing to offer to its people – other than graves – than it’s worth is not more than that of a graveyard.

As Iqbal once said,
Jis khait se dehqaan ko mayassar nahi rozi,
Us khait kay her khosha-e-gandum ko jala do.

As he also said,
In taza Khudao main bara sab se watan hai;
Jo perhan iska hai, wo mazhab ka kafan hai.

A new day indeed. Quoting Iqbal without checking the exact words. I am bad with poems. Can’t remember couplets. But we all have our references to support us. Right?

But then there is history too. And yesterday was historical, which has negated all your fairy tales. Perks of being duffer. Their own narrative was invalidated . Quashed. Flushed.

Anyway, I am concerned. Not for you. Or you. But I am concerned about those who are going to be the leaders of times to come. Our kids. Our next generation.

People were mad when Trump was losing. They thought Trump was good for them as there were no new wars. Pretty dumb. I say that because these same stunted-analysts never talk about those who started wars at home.
Who were the presidents in 1965, 1971, the 1980s, and during War on Terror? Exactly, hypocrite!

Back to Trump. Well, he was the loudest voice of populism in the world, which was bad for everyone. You want liberals in Europe and America to let you make mosques and let you practice your faith. For that – liberalism – Trump was bad. He was bad for blacks, for immigrants, for health services, for minorities, for women, for the whole world.

He was as bad as you are good at your hypocrisy on liberalism.

So, don’t be sad that a populist has lost. You were a loser even when he was the winner. A patriotic loser though.

Anyway, things are expanding.
With all the disagreements and agreements, PDM has done a pretty nice job. With all their vested interests, they are your only hope at the moment. You can throw them out later on with mere votes. But those – against whom PDM is standing – cannot be thrown out with votes.

Let me be precise, there is this thin line. All you need to do is to step on the right side. Disagree where you may.
Disagree on Urdu and lingua franca.
Disagree on what happened at Quaid’s tomb.
Disagree where you have your reasons.
But stand corrected. That’s all. Let the sun of democracy rise here.

No further judgements. You are dismissed.


Haye! Us zood-e-pashemaan ka pashemaan hona!

Such a sad day for all those who were thinking that IG story was a bluff. Or a fake story. Or a comedy.

Well, it was comedy of errors. The puppet laughed and had no clue what to call it.

All the warriors were busy burying the story as a hoax. Surprise!

A day will come and the sun will rise when you will realize that things are deeper than you think. Just kidding. Such a day won’t come. You will never realize. It’s part of your comedic-neuro-system.

So, go to sleep. They will take care of you and your lands and your IGs.

Keep busy denying. And dying.