Time Travelling, Book of Walli, Marla & Love

I am interested in time. Not because it is the most valuable gift you can offer to someone or anyone, but also because it is a mystery in itself. It passes through you and leaves the same instant. Leaving behind some scent, some touch, some memories, and nostalgia.

Since Walli’s character in the book struggles with time too (not a time traveler kinda book though), I am always interested in time movies.

Following are some movies with definite spoilers:

In the movie ‘The Butterfly Effect’, Ashton Kutcher goes back again and again to get something right in past – particularly to be with the girl he loved, but he couldn’t. because every time he moved back to the present, the changes would have been messed up. He never got the love of his life even with the power over time. His final solution to back in time kills himself in his mother’s womb.

In ‘About Time’ Domhnall Gleeson had to make choices or else he could lose a loved one (his father, sister, wife, and children). He was unable to save the marriage of his sister with time traveling or cancer of his father. And a little movement between present and past could change even the face of his children – he actually lost a son because when he came back, there was a different son with different face and personality playing in his home. He had the power, but he was in the losing side of finding happiness.

Then we have Keanu Reeve’s and Sandra Bullock’s ‘The Lake House’. Two people fell in love through letters in their mailbox – same mailbox for each, as the two were living in a different time but in the same lake house. Well, these two connect and find love but with a wait of 2 years without meeting or talking – just writing. And yes, Reeve’s had to dodge death just like he dodged bullets.

In ‘Time Traveler’s Wife’ Rachel McAdams had to oversee Eric Bana, who time travelled unwillingly. He gets the love of his life through time travel, but he had to die early only to meet through time travelling later. Overall, both suffered in their quest for love with time throwing them apart and putting them together involuntarily.

In ‘Predestination’ (one of the finest ones with fine background music) Ethan Hawke travels so much in time that he becomes all of his relatives. His own mother. His own father. And his own assassin. This is a remarkable time travel movie. And the lesson is same, even time in your control is not in your control.

In ‘Source Code’ of Jake Gyllenhaal, he falls in love during the time travel. Every time, he had roughly 8 minutes to stop a bomb and to win love that he had just met and to save her too. It’s a good movie. Could have been one of the best if ending could have been relevant with the present time.

Jake Gyllenhaal has another finest movie, ‘Donnie Darko’. He had to sacrifice himself to save others and his love Jena Malone. Otherwise, she had to die. So, one of them had to die because love was destined to die.

In ‘Looper’, Joseph Gordon, who is a hitman, had to go in future to kill himself. Emily Blunt comes in and there’s a secondary love story. Ends in tragedy though. Hence, even going to future does not answer all the questions.

‘Mr. Nobody’ of Jared Leto is a remarkable movie. As long as you don’t choose, every possibility is possible. Three girls, three marriages, three lives… in parallel. Everything was hypothetical. And there was no peace or love.

In ‘Triangle’, Mellisa George gets trapped in time loop in a ship. I don’t know why but I liked that movie. Its script and execution were different and kept you on toes.

Then there is ‘Click’ of Adam Sandler. He chose to fast forward his life parts which he thought were boring. That included sex with his wife. It’s a funny movie so it had its loopholes.

Tom Cruise did two movies in this genre of time traveling, ‘Minority Report’ and ‘Edge of Tomorrow’. Edge of Tomorrow is somewhat like Source Code where a certain time period had to be played multiple times until the target is achieved.

In ‘Minority Report’, crimes were stopped before they were actually committed through time related technology. But then, there were flaws in the system. This movie was ahead of its time as it was released in 2002.

Lastly, there’s ‘Dorian Gray’ based on the book of Oscar Walide. A beautiful man stays eternally young as time stopped for him, yet the rest of the world moved as usual with time. This corrupted him and his love which ended in tragedy. The evil within grows and he becomes a slave to pleasure and sin. Eternal youth become a curse for himself, as well as society.

Now coming to the book; and our very own: Walli. Our protagonist for years without the complete story. Without the beginning. Without the perfect tragedy to end.

There won’t be time travelling in the main plot. Nothing like that. But there would be ‘snapped’. I hope the book will explain this indirectly and you will get the crux. You know, you should write that book that you always wanted to read. The perfect book of yours.

In all this time-travel movies and scripts, I am unable to manage time. Days are gone without writing a word, and then a good day comes with free flow of words. Still, target is to end it before the summer ends.

Lastly, we started this from ‘love’, which actually doesn’t exist. It’s a subjective concept. Pretty selfish. With obsessive compulsions. Lying and cheating. And zero patience.

Imagine, a Marla comes in your life. Sparked. Connected. Hence, love. Now what? Obsession? Complete control of the other? Slavery? Contract? Never-ending chemistry? How messed up this concept of love is. It’s gagging. It gets you by the neck, chokes you, suffocates you, you can’t even breathe properly, yet you can’t die.

Just pray, no one meets Marla in the straight time flow we have. Else, you have to go back in time to kill your own self. Or you have to go in the future to murder your ego and self-respect. Because Marla will choke you if you won’t succumb to her control, obsession, and selfishness. She wants all in all. every bit of you and every second of your time.

If that’s love, it’s worth avoiding. Worth burying.

Walli – Chapter 11: The Inferno

Congratulations. We’ve made it this far into 2025. Through pain. Through misery. Being pathetic. Being miserable. Being the scum of the universe. With the same consistent tragedy since 2014.

Yes, there was a breakthrough. In December 2015 that lasted till June 2016. But who shall answer and who should be punished for the sin committed uninterrupted from August 2014 to December 2015?  

If I wish to drag you for 17 months to eternal abomination, will you understand that?

Will you get my urge to do that?

Will you relate to the gratification I would taste then?

Will I attain nirvana afterwards?

Will I be God then?

I object.

Yet, I pronounce you all to eternal punishment in the ultimate hellfire. You do get that need of God? When He can burn, and He shall. Why not burn you all forever and ever and ever when He can? What else would He like to do?  

Divine Deviations. Like Revelations.

Who shall we hang now? For 2016 to 2025? And how? Hang till death yet death unpermitted and a body jolting by the tight rope forever. And ever. And ever?

God punishing his creation, humans.

All other creations serving humans, being slaughtered in millions everyday.

Then God judging humans on bestowed pain and misery.

Then God deciding the fate on missteps taken during tragic times.

Then…

I object.

Change the subject. God is dead.

No, He isn’t. The one who wasn’t born can’t die.

That’s your creation.

Humans punishing their creation, God.

Hanged. Punished. Buried. Then what? Who shall bring back the decade of alienation? Who should be punished eternally? For whom shall I ignite the fiercest fires of the inferno that I have made in a parallel universe?

You thought I was sitting idle? No. I plan and make heavens. Then I renovate them into purgatories. And then I bestow my final artistry of transforming them into infernos. What else could I do?

To whom this finest inferno may concern. To whom? Imagine your ‘Sabr’ tested by ‘Sabirs’ – relentlessly – for over a decade.

But then, things aren’t beautiful anywhere else too. See your own miserable existence. See the children being butchered. The civilizations being evaporated. The bombs being dropped over cities. The missiles striking hospitals. Ambulances being ambushed. Children dying of AIDS. ICUs of hospitals getting short of beds.

And blood.

Murder. Murders. Mass murders. Genocide. War. Wars. So much blood in streets, on TV screens. Still shortage of blood. Everyone is asking for blood. More blood donation. Need more. Want more. Bleed more. Save more.  

Save more? Lives!

Why don’t your patients die in peace? Why don’t you let them go? Why do you cling them back to this life? Is it your selfishness that you want the sick patient to stay in your life? Just because you’ll miss them. Pain of distance. Distant pain. Or is it about the unknown world ahead we all don’t know about.

Oh, you know. You do. You know everything about hereafter. Fine. Then let them go. Let them be free of this body, this world, this misery, this pain, these medicines, these wards, these circus of blood donations. Let them die.

Let your parents die. Let your children die. Let your siblings die too. Why do you raise children clearly knowing that they will suffer. Why don’t you wish them peaceful death at an early age so they may sleep in peace among their toys and colorful dreams?

You won’t. You can’t. Even when you know the ultimate truths of life, you bring and raise children and you love them and hug them and inhale them and bring to them whatever you can only to leave them in the unlivable world afterwards – where these children must transform themselves into evil giants to survive.

Your every decision – in any direction – a misdirection.

Those who die in hospitals suffer more than those who die in a drone attack. Those who get a direct bullet shot in brain suffer far less than those incubated in air-conditioned private room. Twenty instant deaths in bomb blasts have a cumulative less suffering than those who are wounded in the same blast and tend to live for some decades.

We know that. Yet, we ignore that. We choose pain. Intentionally. What we see is all we know. What we don’t see is a horror story of a more painful eternal life. Even with all the beliefs, blind following, no questions and no answers; we have sincere doubts.

With the minimum words and without a book, if I may have made the point about suffering enough – I hope you may suffer. You may suffer in life. And you may suffer in death. Your existence may become unbearable for your own existence.

May you feel trapped in your body.

May you die of the exhale from your own lungs.

May your words wrap your own tongue.

May you wish for death.

May you live forever.

Walli – Prologue to Chapter 11

Do you wonder when you see a wrist with multiple, shiny, parallel, horizontal scars? Blade Marks or wrist cuts. Maybe you don’t. Why don’t they look unattractive?

Behind every cut is a story. Obviously. Could be anything. Lost love. Breakup. Goodbye. Death. Depression. Something.

Mostly, it’s love. Lost love. About the one you think is the one until the one becomes ‘the lost one’ and so… blade marks. Idiotic. But a huge portion of literature and poetry has been all about love, which has its branches and breaches deeply rooted in lust; but we prefer to call it love.

Writing, talking, and thinking about lips. Gait. Voice. Hair. Complexion. Height. Eyes. No one’s talking about the intellectual capacity of the other one or the conversations that talk beyond the universe. Maybe because that is not what love is.

There’s no ‘one’. Neo was the last ‘one’. Next is… wait.

Anyway, back to the blade marks of the lady behind the counter. Offering ice cream. Wonder how she executed the whole process? To let the pain bleed. Leaving the body. Making tiny paths through the sink. Dumping. Into the gutter.

Yet, pain stays. Because it cannot be bled out. It needs to be kept inside. It needs to be nurtured. Taken care of. Because it stays.

109 billion have died so far in this world. Your ‘one and only’ can’t be from those 109 billion. ‘The one’ must be alive in your time zone to initiate a love affair, that usually starts from lust. You can call it crush. Or cuteness. Or whatever your level of being an idiot is.

Comes the current 8 billion. 4 billion is the other gender. Then 3.99 billion are those you never meet. In the end, it leaves around 50 or so options. Out of which, max 5 would consider you as a partner. And then comes the one. Can lead to divorce. Pretty strong chances. Or it can be a suffering prolonged till one of the two dies. As vowed.

What if you find love later in life? After marriage? Then what? Extramarital affair? For the one?

By the way, if you convert ‘the one’ with ‘another one’; you may score a century.

The algorithm that runs the systems has its errors. Some errors are as idiotic as poetry. There is no ‘one’. It’s an illusion. That’s fine though. People must have reasons to live and reasons to die. I have some. Cigarettes among them.

However, Walli has a major reason. The one in which he has specialized with comprehensively crafted research of 11 years. It will be 11 years this April. This pain starts with M. It’s all in the name of M. Remember that story?

In the name of MARYAM!

When Socrates had to die to live forever.

When Mansur Al Haj had to be insulted to be elevated forever.

When Nietzsche had to get insanely mad to become Übermensch.

When Hussain had to bleed to live for generations to come.

And when Dante had to leave for hell so he could write divine comedy.

Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember Walli? He breathed on your neck for some time.

What if the wrist is clean? No blade marks. No wound. Nothing. Only blue veins neatly passing through the system that generates those illusions? Does that mean no story? No blade marks, no pain?

Some bleed once. Some bleed twice. And some bleed forever. They nurture their pain and keep it near their heart as a sacred message for the heavens and hells together.

Have you wondered what if you die with these cuts? Don’t you care about the trauma you give to the pain? Don’t you want to keep it alive? Don’t you want to live by it? Stand by it? And finally, die by it?

Walli doesn’t have blade marks. But he has a story. That story starts with M. And it lives without through the reddish trails of the sink. It lives.

And she lives too. Among you.

Walli – Introducing John Doe

He’s John Doe.

Those who love John, love John.

Those who hate him, hate him.

Nothing can change this, except a rare epiphany that strikes in some minds that’s not even an epiphany but a junk spark.

Those who loved John, loved Jane too. His wife.

But when Jane took divorce, the lovers turned into haters.

Interestingly, the haters started to love Jane afterwards.

Are you getting it? It’s all about the topic of your interest. Or disinterest with interest. Right now, the topic is John.

Those, who love John, see their algorithm altered according to their love for John. They see more loving videos. More loving content. Everywhere. With music. With a little eroticism and goosebumps.

Similarly, the haters see their algorithm altered otherwise. They see more hating videos and more hating content all over their social media. With music. Less eroticism and no goosebumps at all.

Hence, love is being intensified as much as hate is being intensified. The two poles are poling apart. Further and further. The differences are becoming wider. Disagreements will turn into hate. And hate will turn into abuse. Then violence. Then another religion. Another sect. another nation. Another demand for another separate land in the name of freedom that will gag the residents sooner than they think.

The crux is: no one is ready to think otherwise. No one is ready to look beyond the newsfeed. No one is ready to view the alternate version. Everyone is becoming more intensified version of him/herself.

John can be anyone. Or anything. John can be a politician. A celebrity. A sports star. A speaker. A model. A religious podcaster. John can be your religion. Your patriotism. Your nationality. Your pain. Your misery. Your anything of any interest available in public domain.

Who is your God? Have you ever looked for other Gods? Shook hands with them? Had a tête-à-tête. Or a rendezvous? Random meetup in a mosque or a church? A temple or a tomb?

What is your religion? Ever dared to read some other religions? The similarities? What religion introduced all the major concepts of Abrahamic religions? Any coincidence? Any question? Any if and but you get in your brain that shivers your backbone?

What has your politician done? How is s/he so different? How is s/he so great? How did you become a blind follower of love or hate? Weren’t the greatest ones in the past known for the biggest blunders too? Those greatest ones died too early and couldn’t see what the aftereffects did to the generations to come.

Your piece of land, your country; any different than the rest? What’s so special about it, apart from you being born here? A random X and Y mess.

Your cyst. Your cancer. Your disability. Your inconsistent heartbeats. Are those specially yours too? Patriotically loved and owned?  

Your race. Your color. Your identity. You know you are the superior and chosen one. Yet, you also know deep down that you are the same decaying organic matter, and you were never superior. In fact, you were the child of a less god. You finally know.

Empathy.

Look on the other side. Travel the bridge. Or make one. See for yourself. See the one you hate. Talk to the other god. Sit in the strange temple. Listen to the liturgical music of Church. Listen to the ones you hate. Read the ones who are banned.

Billions came and billions went without an impact on this minor second of history of our interstellar. What matters is: NOTHING.

Walli have prayed a million times. To be rejected a million times. Of course, for his own good.

I object.

He travelled to that anciently modern city of underground railways and saw her and looked for her. And found her. She turned. She looked back. Just when he thought a million-and-one prayers have been heard after a million rejections, she talked back.

She turned and disowned. She told him that he doesn’t exist. He doesn’t matter.

Now tell me honestly, does that matter?

Absolutely NOT.

I object.

And he wished for one last wish so he may burn this whole interstellar into ashes for the history of NONE.

Walli – Chapter & Year No. 10 (from Jinnah Library)

If you get the nerve of the universe, the way it operates and functions, you will know that Walli wasn’t insane. He was a bit odd at times – fine, all the time – but not insane.

He was there, passing through the Mall Road in 1866 when the foundation was being laid – just after a year of the Museum. He doesn’t remember what he was doing in that life. Maybe he was going to the court. He was a judge, yes – he was a judge. A lord. Or maybe he was fighting a case which ultimately led to the formulation of the Guardians and Wards Act of 1890.

You don’t know Walli at all.

Time was at his disposal throughout the times. You may not get it till you get the bending curve of the gravity that spreads through out the space making it stronger around the denser beings; but then everything adopts new rules just outside the giant black hole. For you. These are all just objects to mess your cleanest measurement tools, for example time.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Simple. 60 seconds a minute. 60 minutes an hour. 24 hours a day. Simple. Clean and straight. But no.

Forget 1800s.

All of you cannot see 1990s again. Saddening, isn’t it? Some of you may not even had seen it at all. It was the last decade of evolution. A halt in 2000s. Devolution since 2010s.

You cannot imagine the beauty of 1980s.

You cannot ever witness what it was like in 1960s.

You cannot smell the flowers of 1910s.

You cannot understand the glimpse of her mole on her neck when she’d be angry, and her neck stretched a little upward… that was 1822. You cannot see that. Yet, Walli had the courtesy to travel through all these times and moments to be trapped in a single action that he didn’t commit but to become a slave of his own self for the generations to come. For another glimpse.

For a glimpse of a newborn girl, a decade back.

For a glimpse of the crawling baby, a year later.

For a hug, a year later.

For a long uninterrupted chat, a year later.

For a long stare, a year later.

For another crusade, a year later.

For the 3rd temple of Jerusalem, a year later.

For the demolition of all the holy places all over the world, a year later.

For the first conquest of the one who was awaited by the massive crowds, a year later.

For the final revelation that it was a very harmful and bloody joke on you, a year later.

10 years it is. It is not. The time doesn’t run as linear as you think. It bends around the denser objects… like Walli. I wish I could explain but you got only five senses. Or six as you claim at times of being a complete waste of DNA.

What would be the 7th sense? Or 8th? Imagine. You cannot. Because you have only 5 senses and they will never let you think beyond them. Hence, you will never ever understand anything, except the joke that’s on all of you. Glamorous one.

Anyway, he saw that white structure coming out of the garden like trees making their own way. Upwards. It’s always upwards. Against gravity. Pillars were raised. Like nails on the land. The ceilings and the two halls were designed in the Victorian style with chandeliers in the halls. The Raj looked into the work, and they did their Victorian jobs really well.

Have you seen Bahawalpur Library? Nothing. Mentioned it for no reason.

Later in years, Walli saw that structure turning into nothing. Renamed. After Jinnah. And nothing more. Became a library of random books. Not a place worthy enough to be called a library.

But then this structure is too precious for Walli. He saw that from the womb. To this. From 1886 to 2024. The first draft of the law of the guardians and ward act was written around this structure, not inside. And just like knowing it for over a century, he couldn’t own it. Couldn’t give it a name. Orphan. Orphaned.

Ignore those irrelevant details.

Have you held a hand between the aisles of books? The hand, that must not be left ever again. I know you cannot relate to this part of human behavior – hint: devolution – when only one hand was supposed to be held forever. Walli’s case is different though. He had to live a number of times to hold different hands, but in the end, it was also for one hand that he wanted to hold one time before ending his journeys through irrelevant and parallel times.

You can also debate that there was never a time of holding one hand ever. Irrelevant debate.

Have you ever heard how wasteful time is in itself? Of all the creations, the most wasteful is this: time. A ridiculous concept that does not even exist. Anyway.

Let’s cut the story to today. Imagine, Walli sitting in Jinnah Library’s main hall in the year 2024 to write a brief history of M. It was all about M. Not the library, not the Victorian style, not the Raj, not the gravity, not the denser objects, not time travel, not even time… but M. Maryam.

In the name of M. You have been bestowed with fortune and the favor of the Lord. Yes, the Lord. Who gives. And takes. Makes you happy. And sad. Gives you reasons to be blasphemous. And then sends unreasonable crowd to burn you. Infidelity.

“I object.”

“Drag him back to his cell where his years will repeat in days.”

“I detest.”

“Send him to the infinite frames of time where the loops will punish him without killing him.”

“10 years, Lord.”

“Your Lord is not done yet.”

“A thousand crimes are forgiven after 10 years, Lord.”

“Your Lord shall not forgive. Not yet.”

“I object.”

“Your Lord doesn’t care.”

“That’s why you are not my Lord. Not today.”

Wait for another year. Because another year, is just a joke in the Divine Comedy of thy Lord.

Walli – Chapter 9 & Blade Marks

Do you wonder when you see a wrist with multiple, shiny, parallel, horizontal scars? Blade Marks or wrist cuts. Maybe you don’t. Why don’t they look unattractive?

Behind every cut is a story. Obviously. Could be anything. Lost love. Breakup. Goodbye. Death. Depression. Something.

Mostly, it’s love. Lost love. About the one you think is the one until the one becomes ‘the one lost’ and so… blade marks. Idiotic. But a huge portion of literature and poetry has been all about love, which has its branches and breaches deeply rooted in lust; but we prefer to call it love.

Writing, talking, and thinking about lips. Gait. Voice. Hair. Complexion. Height. Eyes. No one’s talking about the intellectual capacity of the other one or the conversations that talk beyond the universe. Maybe because that is not what love is.

There’s no ‘one’. Neo was the last ‘one’. Next is… wait.

Anyway, back to the blade marks of the lady behind the counter. Offering ice cream. Wonder how she executed the whole process? To let the pain bleed. Leaving the body. Making tiny paths through the sink. Dumping. Into the gutter.

Yet, pain stays. Because it cannot be bled out. It needs to be kept inside. It needs to be nurtured. Taken care of. Because it stays.

109 billion have died so far in this world. Your ‘one and only’ can’t be from those 109 billion. ‘The one’ must be alive in your time zone to initiate a love affair, that usually starts from lust. You can call it crush. Or cuteness. Or whatever your level of being an idiot is.

Comes the current 8 billion. 4 billion is the other gender. Then 3.99 billion are those you never meet. In the end, it leaves around 50 or so options. Out of which, max 5 would consider you as a partner. And then comes the one. Can lead to divorce. Pretty strong chances. Or it can be a suffering prolonged till one of the two dies. As vowed.

What if you find love later in life? After marriage? Then what? Extramarital affair? For the one?

By the way, if you convert ‘the one’ with ‘another one’; you may score a century.


The algorithm that runs the systems has its errors. Some errors are as idiotic as poetry. There is no ‘one’. It’s an illusion. That’s fine though. People must have reasons to live and reasons to die. I have some. Cigarettes among them.

However, Walli has a major reason. The one in which he has specialized with comprehensively crafted research of 9 years. It will be 9 years this April. This pain starts with M. It’s all in the name of M. Remember that story?

When Socrates had to die to live forever.
When Masur Al Haj had to be insulted to be elevated forever.
When Nietzsche had to get mad to become enlightened.
When Hussain had to bleed to live for generations to come.
And when Dante had to leave for hell so he could write divine comedy.
You don’t remember? You don’t remember Walli?

What if the wrist is clean? No blade marks. No wound. Nothing. Only blue veins neatly passing through the system that generates those illusions? Does that mean no story? No blade marks, no pain? No.

Some bleed once. Some bleed twice. And some bleed forever. They nurture their pain and keep it near their heart as a sacred message for the heavens and hells together.

Have you wondered what if you die with these cuts? Don’t you care about the trauma you give to the pain? Don’t you want to keep it alive? Don’t you want to live by it? Stand by it? And finally, die by it?

Walli doesn’t have blade marks. But he has a story. That story starts with M. And it lives as it didn’t pass through the sink. It lives.

She lives.