It was a sunny winter day. He was waiting for her in the park. On their fixed bench. A slightly cold breeze disrupted the leaves from trees time to time. He had the tea pot ready, as he always brought a tea with him and a pack of cigarettes. After waiting for her for over half an hour – that was typical of her – he saw her coming. He smiled. She smiled too, with her teeth and gesturing apology for being late, but actually not apologizing. Never did. That was her way of existence.
He stood up for her and they shook hands. She sat down and the two hugged. Reluctantly, like always, but longingly. Making sure the other one knows that the other is there for the other one. No scent, as usual, he thought. Though Jasmine was there, he felt.
She brought homemade sandwiches. He always loved her handmade tasteless stuff. However, while sipping the tea, she always thought the same. A terrible teamaker.
She undid her shoes and felt the grass under her feet. He looked at her from time to time. After thinking for ages, he took her hand in his and caressed her the way grass was caressing her feet. He always held her hand. She never resisted. He always thought about it before moving towards her. She never hesitated. Yet, there was this awkwardness, that remained even after the embracement, between the two. And perhaps, that was the beauty of the two. Always thinking of the other one first. Always being present for the other.
Knowing each other for years – directly – and being connected to each other since forever, the two had exactly the opposite roles to play to each other. In her down days, he gave hopeful speeches to her. In his down days, she would stand for him likewise. One was always leading the other. The two had a spectacular way of existing in each other’s lives.
The two talked about their lives. Their stories. Their moments of happiness and how they missed each other in different times. The two shared all the details about their unparallel lives.
He slightly moved close to her and put his arm around her shoulder. She sneaked in him and tilted her head on his shoulder. This is not even a shoulder, she thought while resting.
After sipping tea, he lit a cigarette. One cigarette at a time for the two. They exchanged turns and talked about their past. The past was not a haunting story for them anymore. It was passed. Long gone. They made fun of their past traumas and how bad moments shaped their lives to this.
After all, the two were sitting there in the park in a good sun with a nice grass under her feet. The two were having a good time. Both were well settled in their careers and had a joint account too. For a future destination to travel together. The money was there, enough for a long local trip or a short foreign trip, but the two kept on delaying it due to different domestic reasons.
He kissed her forehead from time to time. Arranged her hair behind her ear. Never missed a chance to touch her. They kept talking. Argued. Fought too. Did all the coupled things.
Before sunset, after it was getting too cold, she stood up. He too. They packed things and both started walking towards the parking. Towards another short break. They will meet again. Next week. Here on the same bench till the end of the winters.
He stayed and looked at her while she reversed her car and left. The new car. She finally had one last year and it is as impeccable as her. He stood there watching her and then her car and then nothing.
He stood there a little longer and tried to remember her. Was she there? Did he actually talk to her? He tried to remember the whole conversation, like he remembered the first conversation in the secluded park. He looked into his hand and tried to remember and feel if his hand held her hand, touched her hair, her ear, her cheek just a little back? He tried to remember the kiss he gave her on the cheek just before she left.
He stood there till darkness. Smoked two more cigarettes in the complete existential crises. The headache was pinching more and more. He was total clueless about his present – the future – there in the parking lot.
He pulled his phone and checked the last messages and the call he made on the bench. He looked at the screen for some seconds and then smirked. Perhaps. The whole existence is an illusionary delusion.
For you, a thousand times over.
For me, never.
Author: Saki Nama
Writer.
Scratch
Not an inch to claim.
Not a soul to name.
Not a breath to spare.
Not a footing to share.
The world revolves like a circus around.
You reach the destination, no memory to be found.
No people.
No place.
Because,
There’s not an inch to claim.
Some nod and get.
Some wink and achieve.
Some smile and have.
Some point and reach.
But, no. Not he.
Perhaps a random parking space.
Or a no-man’s place.
Or a library without a soul.
Or a pit with a deep hole.
To scream the guts out.
A complete mental breakdown.
So to resume the journey again.
To reach a destination without a memory to be found.
MDCAT 2023
Good luck to over 66,000 MDCAT students today. See! You all won’t qualify. There are not that many MBBS seats.
Some will miss the test today.
Some will be asked to leave the center.
Afterwards, a whole lot won’t be able to score competitively.
And it doesn’t really matter in the long-run.
Your life will settle and will make its path on its own. Like a river finding its way from mountains to plains to all the way to the ocean. The final destination.
I too had my share of missings. Couldn’t opt the field I wanted to. Couldn’t get to the college I wanted to (that’s also because I forgot to apply there). Couldn’t even think to apply for the university of my choice because of very low marks in FSc (63%). The only focus was to finish library books in the university (which I did pretty well), and passed out with 2.52 GPA. Failed Preci when I scored 65 in Essay in CSS. And the next time when I passed it all, couldn’t manage to be on the final merit list with an allocation. That CSS journey happened without any teacher, any academy, or any book.
But. Nothing matters. It hurts in that moment. A lot. But then there is this awakening and you get to know how foolish you were going to stay otherwise.
Today, there isn’t any remorse of those missings. Nothing at all. Never left a room like an idiot with a standing ovation. And this matters to me the most. Because when I see those who are what I wanted to become, I feel peaceful. I am way better off with the world I have inside my mind.
Anyway.
It looks like I am writing for those who are not going to make it. Maybe because I can relate to them more. This way, you can relate to me as well. That’s the sad part.
Good luck with life. It’s messed up no matter what.
Rasputin
Once upon a time, a Chief Justice went against the Boy. The boy got angry and dragged the chief by his collar and threw him out of his office. This angered the law fraternity.
They stood up. Turned around. And burned the citadel down.
The boy had to run away out of the country with a tail between his legs. Didn’t face courts again even when he was ordered to be hanged till death.
That was a time of martial law. Direct martial law. Nothing in disguise.
Today, the Chief Justice isn’t even ready to take such a risk even though he knows a whole majority will stand with him. But no. No my dear.
And this is not a time of martial law. This is worse. This is the devolutionary process passing at a uniformed pace.
But. Don’t worry. Just wait and watch. Countries and nations pass through these stages before becoming something. Nothing stands forever. Neither good nor bad.
#SakiNama who was about to become #Rasputin but was denied through transparent polling.
The Art of Selling 101: Sugar
First, you make sugar. With cheapest labor. Subsidized electricity. And rent seeking.
Then you share your output with the cartel members. Numbers. Tons.
Then you export the sugar. Best is Afghanistan. The whole logistics get its undue share. Particularly the boys and the bureaucrats.
Then, sugar shortage is created in the local market and is widely publicized. Which isn’t even a lie.
And then, you import the exact same sugar that you had exported. At much higher rates.
This is how this business of sugar works here. The same has been successfully experimented on rice and wheat in past. Ideally, it’s one commodity per season. You don’t do all in a single time. No. Don’t be a greedy idiot.
This was lesson 101 on selling a product. Twice. It’s B2B to BC Selling.
Boys give free pass and route to such exports. Like Ehsan Ullah Ehsan got. Oops! I didn’t intend to deviate.
Since deviated already, have you ever wondered why it’s always Narowal or Sialkot sector that gets firings from the neighbor? Why not Lahore? Is it because DHA is just over the border? Or is it also a business of war working like a cartel?
Buzz off mate! I said no oops-i-did-it-again today.
Anyway. Bureaucrats do all the redtapism to make the impossible, possible; without a burden on conscientiousness. The only burden they afford is on national exchequer.
While these subsidies on elite businesses are generated through extra taxes on everything that can’t be taxed. The politicians approve these subsidies. To divide a blame of wrongdoings, they approve such things through cabinet meetings.
That’s the crux. You can arrest one man. But you cannot arrest a whole cabinet.
That’s how the cartel and its logistics make money.
By the way, a big bureaucrat died recently. Yes, all praises. In awe. Obviously. Death of a big gun is always heart wrenching. But that death reminds me of an incident that happened in Punjab not long ago. Pretty low but nothing unusual from a usual bureaucrat. That has been mentioned here on this page. But for now, offer your condolences and prayers.
Hush now. May you all rest in peace too.
آپ سب آزاد ہیں
آپ سب آزاد ہیں
اپنے بند دریچوں میں
اپنے گھر کے اندھیرے میں
اپنے سسکتے خواب میں
آپ سب آزاد ہیں
اپنے چھپے رازوں میں
اپنے جنونی خیالوں میں
اپنے انجان امراض میں
آپ سب آزاد ہیں
اپنی مسجد میں
اپنے مندر، کلیسا میں
ان سب کو ڈھانے میں
آپ سب آزاد ہیں
اپنے چھپے مسلک میں
اپنے مرتد سوالوں میں
اپنے مزہب کی سزاؤں میں
آپ سب آزاد ہیں
اپنی محبت میں
اپنی نفرت میں
اپنی یک طرفہ آزمائش میں
آپ سب آزاد ہیں
اپنے رنگ میں
اپنی نسل میں
اپنی خسلت میں
آپ سب آزاد ہیں
اپنی جزا میں
اپنی سزا میں
اپنی قضا میں
آپ سب آزاد ہیں
رخسار کو چھونے میں
ہاتھ کو تھامنے میں
گھائل ہونے میں
آپ سب کو یاد ہے
جب سدرہ المنتہیٰ تک آپ کو لایا گیا
لازوال حسن دکھایا گیا
اور پھر پٹخ کر زمیں پر مارا گیا
اور پھر پیغام نازل کروایا گیا
کہ آپ سب آزاد ہیں
آپ سب برباد ہیں
The New Woke
Bajwa. He’s the most democratic Chief I’ve ever seen.
Pizza. No. He’s clean. I’m satisfied because he has written a letter to me. He should head CPEC and make Papa John proud.
Ghafoor. My 5th Gen good boy.
Faiz. Umm! Too chief to be good.
Three years have passed? Jesus! Didn’t realize that. Let me move the constitutional amendment for you my boy. Ask Faiz to bring all the parliamentarians in agreement.
Asma Jahangir died. One less traitor in the country.
We are on one page. In fact, we only have one page. It’s so nice to be on that page.
Missing people? We have made a bill. But it’s missing. That means there are no missing people but missing pages.
Musharraf. No, he’s not a traitor. Courts are wrong. Shouldn’t be tried at home. Absolutely not. Nawaz? Yes, absolutely yes.
2013. Rigged. 2018. Free and fair.
Pashteen. Treacherously ridiculous. Ban him.
Tere bin Laden is shaheed. Oh! Sorry. Shaheed.
Dead bodies. Can’t blackmail me. They died because they lived in Balochistan. And those who live, die.
ARY. That’s the only channel offering truth. GEO always demoralizes my boys. Sorry, our boys.
Media is free. As long as it is not critical of my boys. Make fun of me. Slightly. But boys, no. Ban it Pemra. Pick those who do.
Munir. No comments. But I request him to come and talk. Let’s talk. I’m ready for anything. No Faiz? No problem.
Ehsan Ullah Ehsan escaped? Never heard of him.
Ali Wazir? Who? In jail? Must have done something. Some treason.
Bajwa is accomplice. Yes. You are right. Faiz? No. You are.
Moral: No morals. No ethos. No pathos. No logos.
Conclusion: Likewise. Nawaz became democrat as soon as he was kicked in the bum. I became a democrat the same way too.
Herd’s conclusion: See, we are all woke now. IK has opened our eyes and has exposed the boys for the first time in the history of homo sapiens.
Brief History of UnLaw
Case: Minor girl raped and killed.
Evidence: CCTV, statements, autopsy, DNA, everything.
Result: Bail.
Case: 444 encounters by a police officer.
Evidence: Statements, witnesses, autopsies, everything.
Result: Case dismissed without arrest.
Case: Sahiwal massacre by CTD.
Evidence: CCTV, witnesses, statements, autopsies, DNA, everything.
Result: Transfer of murderers.
Case: 144 school children killed in broad daylight.
Evidence: CCTVs, witnesses, statements, autopsies, intelligence, everything.
Result: Mastermind got primetime on TV. Escaped.
Case: A woman’s slogan against terrorism in the country.
Evidence: Not applicable.
Result: Terrorism charges. Bail denied. Prisoned.
Case: A wealthy son killed a young man.
Evidence: CCTV, witnesses, statements, admission of crime.
Result: Luxury jail. Freed.
Case: A judge’s wife brutally tortured a minor maid.
Evidence: Witnesses, medical, statements, everything.
Result: Nothing.
Case: A man asked for peace whose 17 family members got killed.
Evidence: Not applicable.
Result: Jailed.
Case: A foreigner killed 2 people.
Evidence: Witnesses, medical, autopsies, statements, admission of crime, everything.
Result: Escorted honorably to the US.
Case: A blind girl was raped.
Evidence: None. Medical not allowed.
Result: Blind girl jailed for fornication.
Case: A man killed by Rangers in broad daylight.
Evidence: CCTV, video footage, witnesses, everything.
Result: Not applicable.
Case: Missing people.
Evidence: Missing people.
Result: Missing people.
Case: A woman was gang raped.
Evidence: Witnesses, medical, DNA, everything.
Result: “Women get raped to settle abroad.” Said the one who was settled abroad. Died abroad. Buried here.
Taxing Perfection
Still, the doubling of cigarette prices hurt the most. Rs.500 per pack. That was too personal.
By the way, you must have purchased expensive shoes with some fault. Some fine linen with issues. An expensive perfume with a milliliter less in it. A branded phone with error on unpacking. A broken screen of a gadget on delivery. Expired products and eatables.
Something. Anything.
But you will never find a pack of 20 cigarettes short of 1 or 2. You will never find a pack with a damaged cigarette. There is no error. Never. The packaging is clean as a whistle.
You can have a problem with a person for whom you purchased cigarettes, but not the cigarettes themselves. The choice of a person can be wrong. Tobacco, never.
Even then they had to tax the art of perfection. It’s like taxing Lionel Messi for playing football.
The General Problem & Mohsin Naqvi
There are two ways:
1. Invest millions. Campaign day and night. Speak a lot. Bicker. Argue. Work hard. Hold the right testes in left hand. Win elections. Become a CM.
2. Fraud with taxes. Make business. Earn a name. Make a fortune. Sit with the wrong people in the right positions. No need of elections. Hold the right testes in left hand. Become a caretaker CM. Violate the constitution and stay a non-caretaker CM with as much power.
These are the two ways.
Mohsin Naqvi is Way 2 go in Punjab. For now. So good with holding. The chair.
The only difference is the stability. One has to hold. With fear, care, love, and affection without an iota of disgust for the disgusting.
Now over to duffers:
A little face-saving – of the constitution – could have been possible by changing the caretaker setup with another caretaker setup after every 90 days. But no. Constitution doesn’t matter. Face-saving doesn’t matter either. The only thing that matters is: they have the power, and they know how to demonstrate it.
With that, India is over the moon. Pakistan is still struggling with the ‘general’ problem.