Who let the dogs out?

I thought I would leave these topics for some time but then they do something, and you cannot miss the content. And if nothing, I am blessed to see the comedy of bureaucrats on routine. And I love that. I would choose this comedy any day over Abhishek Upamanyu. Kidding. That was sarcasm. A language I haven’t mastered.

You know, they tried to get criminals from Katcha. Katchay kay daaku. Police planned to circle the area and the military planned to come from the top. When you come from top, it’s called riding. Anyway, it failed. Couldn’t do anything. And that’s just one area. Land on all sides. Neighboring no other country or sea. Nothing. Just two pathetic forces at display of disgrace.

And then, they thought what they could do? So, they had a fight. I totally love that. When villains are fighting each other, I just enjoy the show and I like blood. But I want equality in that too. The damages should be equal.

Police getting beaten up by the army is not an unusual thing. It’s a usual act. Happens routinely. Sometimes, the entire police station is turned upside down. It’s a sad thing. Officially, I condemn. How dare they?

Happy? Ok!

This would bring nothing. You cannot take those who have the ultimate authority and monopoly over violence. That’s our military. They don’t care even if they have to kill on live TV. They install cameras in your bedrooms. They kidnap anyone anywhere. They can make villain hero and a hero villain overnight. They have it all. All the expertise to win locally, yet to lose otherwise.

Remember that incidence when a Wapda lineman was killed for disconnecting meter of an army officer? Tell me what happened afterwards. Nothing. At least, they didn’t kill anyone now. All they got is bad publicity and you may never know if they wanted it intentionally or not. This we can never know because, after all – they are duffers too.

Having said this, His Highness – being His Highness- condemns this officially and would direct the authorities to submit a report. Otherwise, I loved that. How couldn’t I?

And how couldn’t you?

Last thing. I wrote some different (and serious) stuff in the last 6-7 days. You didn’t notice. Now, because an idiotic act of least interesting people / institutions has been mentioned, you will outpour your emotions. Like a crowd. Or maybe not, because this has been mentioned.

Those 50-60 people who read those words… are the beautiful minds.

Eid & Tragedy

If a tragedy strikes during the Eid days, all the remaining Eids become tragic afterwards, till death do them apart. Eid brings pain and nothing else afterwards. Be it Eid of Summers or Winters. It hurts.

A traffic warden died yesterday. On chand raat, while on duty. Had a three-year-old daughter who was taken away from him by his wife. He was supposed to meet her on Eid day. Apart from his cumbersome father’s role – and a professional duty – he was a son too. A brother too. And a father figure as he helped his mother raising her other children. And just when he settled his siblings, he departed. Was not allowed to settle his daughter. Was hit, crushed, and left. Died. Or murdered.

For you, it’s just a statistic. A number. A traffic warden. Not the traffic warden. A father. Not the father. A son. Not the son. A brother. Not the brother.  

Or it can be a newspaper story for you. A TV ticker for any news channel. Newspaper story will die in a day. Tickers will end in two days. And that would be that. A life gone by. Crushed and dusted.

A life that was already tragic for a father and his daughter, ended just like that. And nothing happened. No earthquake. No tsunami. No eclipse. No apocalypse.

The left ones will mourn every chand raat from now onwards. And every Eid too. That’s how some Eids are. Tragic. For a lot of people.  

And that’s how our lives are too. Just like a cat crossing a road and getting crushed by a vehicle. At random. With no dots to connect and with no loss to grieve except for the scratches on the bumper. Or maybe not a cat, as it sounds fancy. Maybe a dog.

There were some right here with us on last Eid. Their profiles, numbers, DPs, and memories are still here; but we can’t call or talk to them.

We had it like they will always be here. As we take everything for granted until terminal illness finds its ways.

Then there are so many others who left us in our small span of life. The number of funerals we are destined to attend are decreasing every passing year. Until our own funeral. Which doesn’t occur to us. Because we shall never die.

Eid is one occasion where we go to graveyards and say our salaam. Fateha can be a beautiful gift one can offer to the deceased ones. It travels from the land to the heavens even there is no… connection.

Broken people, broken dreams; some with health issues, some breeding cancer deep inside, and some just having another Eid but nothing like the previous one when that particular loved one was around and sitting right across the sofa. Where do they all go?

Where has the father gone? Where is the mother? Open the old cupboard and sniff and try to get that one shot of their scent. Long and slow breaths and you will travel through the times to a hug that you have been missing. Smell has a memory. We don’t realize it until the perfume is gone.

Where is the aunt? The uncle? And the old man who used to sit at the bus stop?

And where are the kids? Sons? Daughters? Eid Mubarik? The parents who lost their parenthood cannot be happy for a moment. They can be seen laughing and smiling but they are not those laughs and smiles. No Eid or happiness can bring back their joy of life ever again.

Only kids can have a happy Eid till they are carefree and clueless. But not all kids. Naru cannot have a happy Eid. His mother died in pursuit of his father who is missing… like other missing people… in the deep hell of this deep state.

So many holes. So many pains. Yet, we stand and embrace and hug each other like we are actually smiling with happiness. Maybe we do! After all, we are all born with hypocrisy. I know. Wrong word.

Some are financially weak, and Eid makes them even more vulnerable. The better-off offering more Eidi to the kids and the weak ones being exposed around. Happy Eid!

And those old folks who made us, and the old lady who kept us warm in her belly for nine months, and the sofa with a missing spot and the cupboard with the scent, and the bricks in the house, and the leaking tap in the bathroom… everything has a missing. Everything has a missing point.

Some of us run away from the bricks and the cupboards and the sofas as we don’t want to travel through time while time itself is sneaking away right through our hands like a fistful of desert sand.

Mirage! This is all a mirage. Tell me, how many years since 2018? I can count to 2. See! We are a missing point.


This is how we are supposed to carry on the burden of legacy and humankind. Evolution. Reproduction. Death. Decay. Without a choice. Without consent.

So, Eid Mubarik! With all the pains, nostalgia, time travels, and missing points. The Sofa across you is empty today. Your sofa will be empty tomorrow. And you think you two will meet afterwards when both the sofas will be empty and that’s the point where…just kidding. Let’s not open the pandora box today.

Not today, Zarathustra!

Remember those who are not with us anymore. Say a prayer for them.

And meet those who are with us. Show them how important they are for us and for this entire world.

May Allah be happy with us.

May people be unharmed by us.

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.