For Now…

3-4 years down the road, PMLN would be facing these laws / amendments that they happily passed in recent days. They will soon be crying, like they did in the past, but then they won’t have anymore support for their crocodile tears.


Some of the seniors would be jailed. By the same powers beyond the judiciaryudiciary. They won’t have as much support as they once had when NS named Bajwa and Faiz in Gujranwala in 2020.


They will again shout and make noise for democracy. And votes. And human rights. And freedom of speech. Blah blah.


And they will be eating their vomit. Again. Without a shame.


That’s also the first political maneuvering that Maryam Nawaz has learnt from her father. That is: when in doubt, lick boots.


PPP will never face such a thing. Since BB, they learned never to stand for democracy. Bilawal roars in the parliament from time to time, for civil supremacy, but that’s an act they perform in theaters only.


Wait. Don’t go. His Highness isn’t finished yet.
If IK will get a chance – somehow or someway – he will do exactly the same things he did to empower boys. He will replace SS and no one will feel a change.


Because this is all we have. These three and the second in tiers – like PMLQ, MQM, BAP, etc. – are all from the same origin. Even LeJ, TTP… leave it. You can’t handle the truth.


Remember the extension? Apart from the 21st amendment of 2015, these politicians never stood united. Except for the extension in 2019. And if you look closely, the two were the same things and these kids were ordered to behave united.


Unite them. Pass the rule. The divide and rule. How cool!


Anyway.


Before you shed another tear for the one in jail at the moment, he never shed any for his fellow parliamentarian – Ali Wazir – who remained in jail for over a year in his tenure. He didn’t give rat’s ass for anyone except himself.


Dead bodies blackmailed him. Never listened to the atrocities that happened in the whole western belt. TTP came back in action. All he did was nothing except to stand with the perpetrators, until tragedy started to emerge in the mirror.


Smoke and mirror. Smokescreen. Too bad.
It’s a repeat telecast. It will happen again. Heroes will become villains. Villains will become heroes. However, in reality, there won’t be any heroes. Only villains. To be ruled by the Lucifer.


Faiz said, hum dekhain gay. Wo din. Jiska wa’ada hai. Hum dekhain gay.


But he missed that there is another promise too. A promise that was made with the Lucifer. To rule the world. With evil and power.


We shall see. For sure. It’s a promise. But we shall not see that to be fulfilled here. Not in this world.


All the Prophets stood for the same. Then all the philosophers too. Thinkers too. Marx brainstormed all his life to make an equal society. Writers. With words. Aimed for justice. Activists. Revolutionists. So many. So more.

Yet, here we are. After thousands of years of struggle, the struggle is exactly the same. With the internet, modern devices, mass transit, banking, modern economics, fast food, globalization, space travel, and everything around us; the struggle for the basics is exactly the same.


Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to keep going. As incorruptible. As clean. As a person you once read about in a good novel.

That’s all. Till you will be called. To stand up. To turn around. To burn the citadel down.

ProNUNciation

It’s not Cillian as in Sicily. It’s Killian Murphy. As it’s Kylian Mbappe. That’s the pronunciation.

By the way it’s ‘pronounce’ as it is. But when it’s ‘pronunciation’, it’s proNUNciation. Not proNOUNciation. Because it’s not noun. It’s unnoun.

Like in desi ‘fees’ it’s already plural. ‘Feeses’ is not a word. It’s feces. But that’s another world altogether.

That’s the best His Highness could do. Thank goodness he’s not a teacher. Would be His Lowness.

Still want to learn English from the one who doesn’t even know the definitions of adverb and adsense? Or the types of tenses and the tensions they amass?

The Purple Lighter

A story could be written on that particular lighter. A story could be written on each cigarette lit up by that lighter. Then on all the lighters. And all the cigarettes.

But that lighter was purple. Like the book: the color purple. Only one cigarette has been flames by that one. No. Two. Two cigarettes. At the same time with a small interval of time that was passing through the black hole.

And that’s that. No story could be written on that lighter. No more cigarettes to be ignited by this one. It’s going in the archives without any spark. Or flame. Or shadow. Or anyone to blame.

There’s no story.
No touch.
No tip.
No spark.
No tobacco.
Hence, no ash.
Nothing for this lighter.

Only history of an untold story.

Manuscript of Sadness

Sadness is saddening. But lucky are those sad women on whom men write words and pages and books and poems of sadness.

For a sad man, there’s no one. Just like there are words and pages and books and poems on motherhood, but almost nothing on fatherhood.

He would be eating a sandwich on a lone bench in a lone park and someone would take his picture that would make some rounds on social media and that’s all.

Unlucky sad men. They have to write sad words and pages and books and poems for themselves; as well as for women.

No one’s going to write on him except himself. And that’s how, men become a tragedy. Either for themselves or the entire society surrounding them.

میں بھی بہت عجیب ہوں اتنا عجیب ہوں کہ بس
خود کو تباہ کر لیا اور ملال بھی نہیں

Then comes crime. And punishment. And abusiveness. And suicide. And harm. And chaos. And a death. Of a filthy man.

Ideally, everyone should have a manuscript written by someone else. A manuscript written individually for each person by the opposite gender. A manuscript of sadness.

For instance, His Highness writing Marla’s sadness in his words for her in her scenario. Giving his words a voice of hers. Marla would be happy with this sadness. Isn’t it? No. She may not. She may not like a certain chapter of the manuscript and that’s how it would go in vain.

But then, someone would find that manuscript after years or decades and that discarded piece would become a classic piece of literature. With that same chapter to be considered as a magnum opus.

However, the reality of the two remained sad regardless of the millions that publishing houses are going to make on their suffering. Because they… got nothing.

And perhaps you got nothing as well.

Tragic Miss

Being a man is a tragedy. Either for himself or for the society around him.

Being a woman is also a tragedy.

Being a non-binary is another kind of a tragedy.

In fact, being is a tragedy. To be is a tragedy. Only not-to-be is not a tragedy.

Singles are unhappy.

Doubles are also unhappy.

Triples are happy though, but that’s not a long-term setting. Why did I mention that?

Anyway, married ones are definitely unhappy. Everyone’s unhappy. So, everyone is relatable. Socially.

And with that, nothing. I forgot the eulogy. Sorry, epiphany. I forgot the epiphany I had at Jumma. What a miss!

Mint Margarita

One of the biggest modern day robberies in restaurants is of Mint Margarita. They charge as if they are offering Margaret with the Mint. Prices are like Rs.300 or Rs.400 per glass. Some places offer the same for over Rs.500.

All it has is iced water, mint, 7-Up and lemon. Some may add salt. That’s all. After some sips, there’s only ice hitting your brain more than your thirst. But people are obsessive about this particular drink.

Same goes with the lime water. A little cheaper than Mint Margarita but more or less, it’s nothing but a robbery.

Anyway, one has to drink something. Even water isn’t at regular price when you are inside. But still, it’s water. It is what it is. Like – or unlike – Coke.

Dear consumers! There’s no Margaret with Mint Margarita. It’s just iced mint. Stop being obsessive about it. Her.

The Need of Validation

Most of the times, you know you are wrong. Guilty. But still, you want a person to tell you that you are right, and that person is all right with you. Friends usually cover this aspect of life for you. You tell them your state – with or without missing pieces of information that makes you guilty – and they validate it. If they don’t, they don’t stay your friend eventually.

There is a shortage of friends today. So, therapists and psychologists cover this part. In future, Artificial Intelligence is going to cover this superbly with perfect answers that you always wanted to hear. Particularly, when you were wrong.

Friends can go rogue sometimes. They can be honest and lethal by telling you your wrongdoings, which you know already. But the sessions where you pay to be listened will never tell you that you were wrong. It would be idiotic of them to lose a client. A bird. Coming and paying for validations.

With that comes a whole new industry worth billions of dollars. That is going to be modernized from traditional approaches. From informal friendships to formal sessions to AI.

That’s all for ‘validation’. That’s how important it is for the majority of the people. This need has upped with social media and modern devices.

But then there are the crazy ones. Who doesn’t want validations. Even when they are wrong. Some even seek invalidations. Or they are indifferent. And they carry their boats, a little better than others, and keep a low pace towards life. And sometimes, they make an impact too.

Sidrah-tul-Muntaha

Through ups and downs

Further down to pits

From highs and lows

Lower to the lowest

From the misery of existence

From the fear of oblivion

From the old-world order to the new

From sultanates to McDonaldization

The questions are same

The issues are same

The pains are same

The love is same

The departure is same

The idea of being is same

From shaking hand at hello to not letting it go at bye

With a fear in heart and a little shivering in spine

From the curls of a cigarette to dismissal after the last puff

Like a whole life of a tooth, from birth to decay

The journey is same

The travelers are insane

Some, an inch taller

Some, an inch shorter

That doesn’t matter in holding hands

A little awkwardness before an invention

A little tension before the new rise

Yet, no body to stop because it’s the time of a new idea

A new beginning

Like the first kiss, a dry one

In a humid weather to give way to a spring

To another journey of the same life

To another decade beyond the early decades of freedom

Towards the unknown, from the unknown

To the destination inside the womb of the grave

Coffins are same

Death is same

Beyond death is the unknown

Unknown is same

Who cares beyond death? Beyond unknown?

Perhaps we all do

In this journey

From known to the unknown

Towards a single destination

The ultimate dream of the promised land

Sidrah-tul-Muntaha

And beyond that is nothing

Lists

In the last scene of ‘The Trial of Chicago 7’, Hayden takes out a document in the court and begins reading the names of the 4, 752 U.S. troops killed in the Vietnam War since the beginning of that trial, in front of the Judge. That was outrageous because the Judge asked him to be brief.

Hayden did that because each name was not just a name but a whole life. A person. A person who lost life for nothing.

Each name was equal. Regardless of political affiliation, religion, race, creed, caste, color, or whatever.

The same should be the voice here in Pakistan.

Each and every missing person should be equally known. Whereabouts of everyone should be traced. Trials should be public. And nothing should be against the constitution.

I know. I know.

Some we may not know.
Some we don’t agree with.
Some we despise for their opinions.
Some were supporting exactly what they are going through now.

But some were asking for basic rights.
Some just said a few words.
Some were just taken out for nothing.
And some were nothing more than a collateral damage.

Deviation: tagging a human life as ‘collateral damage’ should be the 1st sin of all the deadly sins.

Nonetheless, in the end, they are all victims. They have been deprived and robbed. So, they should be remembered and should be voiced with equality.

Debates can take place again when they are out. You can still disagree with those you want to.

We can’t bring back those who are already dead or killed. Those who lost everything. Buried or not. Unidentified graves. Mutilated or not. We can’t compensate their families.

But names of all killed and buried in that line must also be known. There should be two lists.

A whole lot never accepted that this actually happens. They didn’t see. They didn’t hear. Hence, they didn’t speak. Now that time is long gone. Everyone knows that this happens.

So, remember all. Each and everyone. And speak without discrimination and hypocrisy. Particularly for those you despise or disagree with. This will help to evolve.

Off Spin

Every summer, I imagined tilting the earth. Like spinning the earth a little – like you off spin in cricket – shifting the southern countries more towards the equator. Resulting in north and south poles – both – moving closer towards the line of equator.

A little more into this and there will be heavenly weathers here. Longer summers in Scandinavia and Europe – imagine beaches of those races, jeez – and people here suiting themselves more into abayas.

The tragedy of insanely hairy people in hotter countries would also be over with this off spin. For heavens! All genders have moustaches here. Duh!

Then I imagine a little more… but comes back to the basics. What is stopping the earth from a little off spin? No one. I’m not.

This was supposed to be the plot of my book. With a little off spin, the whole dystopia was transformed into utopia. It was going to be His Highness’s 2084 after Orwell’s 1984.

But then, who would like to waste words over a herd?

And what if the earth is going to have a little off spin someday; without a plot and a book?