Category: Fragments

The continuous moments of pain without a break for months. And when the prayers will be answered, I will not forgive. I may not forgive. I will not be able to forgive. Maybe I’ll forgive.

Or maybe I’ll be forgiven.

Maybe He wanted to save someone from murder. So He jolted the earth to change the plans.

Or maybe He saved a child from abuse today. 10 is our daily national average. 9 for today. 1 saved because the abuser panicked because of the earthquake.

Or maybe He wanted to put fear in the heart of that shopkeeper to sell honestly today, as one of the buyers coming today is His special.

Or maybe He wanted to save the lady from domestic tortures from tonight. Who knows?

Or maybe He wanted to give a short break to that guy who was having a very hard and long day at work.

Or maybe He wanted to put fear in the heart of a mob who was going to burn down a temple tonight.

Or maybe He wanted us to call our parents today.

Or maybe He wanted us to have a cigarette break.

Or maybe He wanted us to talk about jeans again.

Or maybe He just jolted the whole region just to make us afraid.

Or maybe He was having fun with our big egos. Mild jolts without a string attached.

Well, dear Lord! These tricks work for a couple of hours. We go back to our baseline within 24 hours.

And – even though we know You can do things – such manoeuvres are not appreciated. Thank you.

She wished to be a punk rocker with flowers in her hair.

He prayed for her to be the one, so he could listen and see her daily.

But then, the residents of the world don’t live by their wishes. They rely on prayers.

How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!

The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!

Each prayer accepted, each wish resigned?

Herd!

His Highness gets your attention when he calls you an idiot. Or dumb. Or herd.

It’s like Jerry Maguire’s “You had me at stupid”.

The fault definitely isn’t in his stars. It’s the other way round. Around.

It’s nothing personal. It looks like but it isn’t. Just want you to read a couple of small paragraphs. So you may disagree. Or even hate. But you may not be able to ignore.

A poor woman was passing with her three children, laughing and blushing; and you realize it’s not about poverty at all. Not even if some are without shoes.

But other times, you see poverty ridden faces, freckles, hunger, unliveable homes, and medical problems; and you realize it is all about poverty.

There was a big banner of a big landlord contesting in upcoming elections under which the woman with three children was passing. That landlord has everything. Yet, the banner was all about begging for votes. And you realize, poverty is not even in the equation of begging.

And finally, all of a sudden, it’s all about death. The milestone. The full stop. The laughter will die. So will the hunger. And poverty. And begging. And everything.

How important is life? We know that. But death is more important. It’s an end to everything that causes pain. It’s an end to everything that gives vanity. And pride. And the develish desire to keep poor poor. And rich rich. And sick sick.

A laughter is about a joke. A joke that can make you laugh once or twice. Or thrice. Then it dies. A pain isn’t a joke. It never dies. It never tires itself away. But if you look in your past and relive the painful moments, they don’t feel painful anymore. They feel nothing. And sometimes, they feel just like another joke that lived it’s life.

But then there are some perpetual pains. That live forever. Makes you numb. You don’t even need a drug when you nurture your everlasting pains.

That poor woman laughing with her three children, is a woman who lived that moment. Before death. And the landlord shall face a defeat. Will become a defeated face in his society. And he won’t be able to laugh.

And I would stay the same, looking outside my window for faces and feces all at the same time.

Guess who had the last laugh?

Death. For everyone. To everyone.

When Marla wraps her fingers around a cigarette and lights the fire in dark mode, and inhales the first puff of the fresh tobacco; you feel the urge to meet her. Cross her and come by again for eye contact for a conversation to happen. That never happens.

But whatever happens, happens in slow motion. Black and white.

Only the smoke remains afterwards. That you can inhale. Second-hand smoke of Marla’s cigarette. A fine epilogue, nonetheless.

As Eminem said:

I can’t tell you what it really is,
I can only tell you what it feels like.
And right now, there’s a steel knife in my windpipe,
I can’t breathe, but I still fight while I can fight.

This is how it feels after vomiting – anything and not just spaghetti – when clean smoke passes through your throat after burning – not Rihanna’s burning of inside flames – of paper wrapped between your fingers. Politely. Elegantly.

Obviously. Throat is temporary. Smoke is permanent. Or vice versa! Smoke and mirrors. Smoke and mirrors.

Eh!

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn?
Well, that’s alright, because I like the way it hurts.
Well, that’s alright, because I love the way you lie.

There are always disagreements on religion, politics, culture and every other thing. That’s fine. Agree to disagree. But there are things which are oddly amusing. 

Some of the comments on the posts are, “are you seeing the hidden agenda?” Another one is, “do you know who is behind this page?” Some comment with the knowledge of the unknown like, “he is sitting abroad”. Sometimes, the vagueness is like, “this page is being foreign funded”. “Thank you, I am unfollowing your page”. And my personal favorite, “this writer has some serious mental issues”. 

First of all, you’re welcome. The pleasure is all mine. 

No, I don’t have an agenda. At least not hidden. If I did have one, I would have opted to write in Urdu to reach the masses. I don’t. I don’t want to and I don’t intend to. 

No one is paying me. There is no AdSense (or whatever those clicks-based-stuffs are) on my website. It’s a simple website with my words on it (not all of which are posted on the Facebook page). There is no funding and I don’t desire any. I want to write as freely as you are free to unfollow this page. 

No, I am not sitting abroad. I however, quite enjoy this idea of people guessing my locality, stupidly. Although, why is there a problem if someone is sitting abroad? People go abroad. It’s normal. Some for education, some for work, some for safety, some to party, and some to run away from their local responsibilities. People have reasons.  

Anyway. I am not abroad. Not my taste. Was there once – for education – but am back. 

I know the taste of being a second-class citizen abroad. Being a Muslim and that too from Pakistan is a thing not liked by the West. In buses. In trams. At airports. In stares. In looks. In avoidance. So, it isn’t my way to live like that in a land where I cannot have cheap cigarettes with the freedom to throw buds at will. 

You don’t know the pleasure of throwing the bud out in the air like Tyler Durden; while smoke is still in your lungs – heaven inside. If you do know it, you are as free as His Highness. 

Nevertheless, I can relate to how people here feel when they are treated as second-class citizens; based on religion, caste, creed, and ethnicity. We don’t like Africans and Chinese here. We don’t treat Christians, Hindus and any of the non-Muslims at par with us. Even our government hiring is ugly when the post of janitor is specifically mentioned with a particular religion. 

Deviation.  

Then there are those who think I have some mental issues and some personal problems with Pakistan and Islam. Well, I may have mental issues. Never got checked. Maybe someday. You and me. Me and you. Unhappy together with a shrink. 

Having personal problems with Pakistan and Islam is somewhat a true allegation. I am a Muslim and I am a Pakistani. So, yes I am personal about Islam and about Pakistan. And I have problems with wrong interpretation of the religion and the doctored history of Pakistan. So, yes. There are problems and they are personal. 

And the person behind this page! 

Lo and behold! His Highness. The one and only. And not yours truly.   

This page is just a page, without any will in particular. Maybe to inform. Maybe to share knowledge. Some literature. Some personal views. And some personally owned and created stories. Nothing more.

Imagine! If this page is deactivated, what will exist? Maybe some ideas, some information, some knowledge. Not a person or a brand. That’s the ultimate dream. That’s a V for Vendetta kinda thing without Natalie Portman.

Give Tyler Durden a Guy Fawkes mask and that will be His Highness. Please, be seated. 

I do receive lovely and beautiful messages. Thank you. I try my best to reply to every single message I receive / read; even when people abuse and accuse.  

I know there are people who disagree and don’t like my views. It’s completely fine. Even when you disagree harshly. That is one of the purposes of life: to co-exist with all the disagreements. Agree to disagree. 

But those amazing ones – mentioned earlier in the post – are the ones who give His Highness a chance to enjoy some good smirks. You are an asset. A national liability though, but an asset for me. I learn from you; to not become you. 

Before leaving: there are actually people who challenge the things I have learned. So, I unlearn, unfreeze, and re-learn. People come up with strong counter-arguments and sometimes with strong objective information. So, yes. You people help me as much. 

Thank you for all the guesses and the love and the hate and the accusations and the appreciation and everything. 

Stop rolling your eyes. No one finds a brain that way. 

I wasn’t even born when “Top Gun” was released in 1986. Tom Cruise became a global star and Air Force Planes became a sensation for both men and women. The inverted plane maneuver is still one hell of a scene to watch.

It’s 2019. Trailer of “Top Gun: Maverick” has been released. Tom Cruise is the lead cast again. It looks promising though one shouldn’t bet against classics like that. But that isn’t the point.

In those 30+ years, while Cruise remained the lead cast / hero on screen, we went through the whole cycle of life. From Azaan in ears to passing through never-ending midlife crises.

Some of us got fat. Some went bald. White hair. Decaying skin. Decomposing. Some are unhappily married while others went through divorce happily.

Anyway, we hope, with our flop lives, that this movie will be a hit. We, the crowd, don’t like our stars to fail though our stars – our other stars – rarely align themselves.

“I’m going to need a beer to put these flames out.”

P.S. This one is for you. Not me. Because I ain’t bulky or bald.