The second coming

It is inconsequential, yes, but I feel I should say it out loud after this long hiatus. I have thought of changing blogs, of starting a new one, but I like this one. It suits me. Its accompanied me for years, sitting there silently like a diary waiting for me to come crawling back- and here I am, much obliged, thank you for waiting, for never complaining, for never asking where I have been or what vices I have been up to. But since I mention it, I should explain: the only vice I have dabbled in since I last posted here is life. Life and life itself, it surrounds me, nay, it is me. And I have dabbled in it like only a lifeless person can, being dragged along by it, rather than living it, but that is about to change. I intend to take it by its horns, like I used to, fuck settling, I am in it for the gusto, the glory, the sheer essence of it all.

So there you have it, the essential- What I am and what I intend to be. Fuck being scared. I am sick of being scared. I want to live. Rich or poor. Alone or surrounded... I want to fucking live.

There, I said it.

The sting of insignificance

I remember when I was a teenager, around 15 or 16 years old- definitely less than 17 years old, because the memory is of my Qatar years- there was a certain party I went to. There was always this uncle who would try to trap me into arguing with him, but he was all sorts of fun so many a times, we would duel it out. I would feel like an adult, and my dad would usually feel ashamed by the end of the night.

On this particular day, we got into a heated debate in the room. Not me per se, but the people in the room. I was just in the house to grab a drink but the ferocity of the words being exchanged caught my attention and I stood back and stayed. I disagreed with most of them, in fact all of them, at least in one way or the other. There was a moment of silence at one point, everyone taking stock of what had been said, family relations, professional ties made them stutter for a second.

I spoke up and went on a rant. Perhaps because they had already said too much, they didn't say much. I weaved a tale, and as my own thoughts progressed while I spoke, as they do usually while one is debating off the cufff, I reached a conclusion in my head which I could not ignore. I stuttered, I had to say it, but I didn't know the reaction I would get. I was young- and the emotions of others are usually a passing thought at that ago- so I gave it no heed and said what I thought was logical as per the thought process I had just laid out.

"... we will be lucky if Pakistan exists in five years time"

Out of nowhere, I felt a slap hit my face. My dad had gotten up at some point, had ended up next to me for some water and had listened standing next to me. I remember that slap stinging harder than many others- it had a force to it i had never felt from my dad. The elders in the room started talking amongst themselves, some of the younger kids that had been leaning into the room giggled and I walked away feeling miserable.

Eleven years on, my words still sting. But they are truer today than ever before. Somehow, I do not think I will be sidelined in that room again, or that my dad will admonish me in the same manner this time around.

Its funny that theoretical exercises carried out by foreign governments within the confines of their training rooms wake Pakistanis up more than the truth which is all around us (Link) - that we are disintegrating as a nation, with no one holding us back. There is no unity amongst us, we are Punjabis or Sindhis much before we are Pakistani. I hear Sawat, Parichnar, Hangu, Peshawar, Balochistan, Lahore, Karachi- I never hear Pakistan. I wouldn't have noticed it because I know these places, but ask an Indian or a Bengali or a Egyptian or a Syrian or an Iranian or a Filipino- they will never say Aleppo or Cairo or Kerala or Manila first. Pride has dissipated from our history.

The educated of our nation decide to leave the nation days after they first experience the winds of the West. Back home, these people are derided as having left for women, alcohol and general malaise- but thats not true. They leave because once they step out of Pakistan they see for the first time in their life, the whole world going one way and Pakistan descending into another. They equate themselves with the rest of the world, because just as the rest of the world, they too want to improve, become better. But when they picture themselves with this attitude within their own nation, they are left with no choice but to consider a parting of ways. And so it is that Pakistan has lost its most ambitious people, its most educated youngsters- its promise has left, leaving behind a wilting population too un/miseducated to understand the game being spun around them, too power-less to have their voice heard, and too stupid to realize that someone is stealing from them again and again and again.

Chaos is Pakistan. Even the best of days here is the saddest of days somewhere else in the world. And many Pakistanis realize now that it will become much worse, and no one profers a caveat of 'before it gets better" anymore.

For me personally, this collapse, when it comes - if it comes, because as a human i still do hold a sliver of blind hope- will be earth-shattering. It will siganl the end of everything that has defined four generations of my family. It will be the end of one part of my identity, no matter how many times I will scream it in people's faces, it will not make sense to them, I will be a refugee who got out while the going was good. My children will call themselves Canadian, they will hide the fact that once their families used to belong to a nation that chose to kill itself. 60 years on, we will be whittled down to a paragraph in a history book.

Insignificance- that is why those words stung so hard when they were uttered by a 16 year old to a group of grown men.

They sting me too, I swallow before I say them too, but the truth is we will wither away in history, a blimp in the cosmos, overtaken by time- insignificant in our existence and forgotten in the annals of history.

27

It is a surprise to myself that I am about to write this, this is a path much less taken these days, but it has to be said, in fairness to my own actions.

This year, I made progress. Amidst the blinding melancholy of yester-year, amidst the sappy funks and the down and outs, I managed, to my own surprise to progress in life. I now have a job I do not hate, am doing well at, and lo and behold, I even feel like I learn something everyday.

27- inches away from death. An inch closer yes, but inches away. I hate stupid questions like what is your birthday wish for this year, but someone asked me this a few days ago, and I had a really hard time answering. I've had enough of asking for world peace, its a pipe dream, I've wasted so many years asking for it, I might as well stop trying. I'd love a DJ Shadow concern though, but still, with no ecstasy around, it would just last for a few hours, and then the memories would fade.

But then I thought about it, and then some more. Finally, on my way back home, I hit upon it, something that I have always wanted but never been close to. Now I am closer to it than ever before- a house of my own. A place which I buy, decorate, and which houses my memories.

A home, my birthday wish this year is to buy a place of my own in Toronto. I'd like to give it on rent, let some other sucker pay for it.

Its probably not going to happen this year, but from this day on, that is my birthday wish for every year. A place which I can buy and where my parents can live when they grow old. And I ca grow old. In the next three years, I'd like to do that, take advantage of the bad economy and get myself a place at a nice price.

And so it is, I will spend this year just like I did the last 26, wishing for something beyond my reach, failing at times, succeeding at others, all the while living this life, inches from death.

The allure

To start again..... is impossible. The thought caresses my membrane everyday, and everyday I shove it away as impossible. Yet, it keeps coming back- an incessant fly bent on wrestling with me. Its unnatural, this thought, of leaving behind all the emotions, and striking a bell to sound the advent of a new day- ground zero. No etches in the sand, no scars on the mind, just the bliss of the beginning... unnatural these words that even consider it, unnatural this thought that even entertains it. How can one emotion forget the last, be unaffected by what came before? Impossible.

Yet this buzzing around my mind continues, a droning echo, it leaves me restless all night, leaves my lips dry in the morning, a cold swet of possibility lines back at all times. I am famished by its hunger, I yearn for its arrival. But there is nothing more to come other than the sad thought that will build upon this sad thought. With each hopeful breath, the wall becomes ever-harder to climb.

Dubai: Part 2

I come across men everyday, men I do not know, will not see again. Taxi drivers. Sometimes, they are quiet timid types, sometimes boisterous and curious. They drive me to work and back from work. They wear the same shirts and always call me before they get to my house, unable to read the directions on the screen- they call me and speak in a broken tongue of Hindi, Pashtu, Urdu, Arabic and of course English to get the directions. They are uneducated most of them, those that are not are just victims of cruel old fate. They hail from India, Pakistan, Nepal, Bangladesh and a myriad of Arab nations.

We talk of many things. They speak in plain tongues, its no holds barred once they establish I am not an undercover out to get them. They all speak of the same thing, though none has yet come out and said it plainly- their own souls. They are the drivers to the world, they see it all, the bad, the ugly, the disgusting, and sometimes even the good.

They see men slime on women, they see women slime themselves, they see life at its most base. They speak of their dying souls indirectly, using cliches to hide their anger, to deflect any thought that they are way too human for this, that this is killing them, that if they were not here, they would be happy. Anywhere, but here. Fate, once again.

Some are impervious to the soul drenching around them, some are way too aware. They mutter prayers under their breath, hope that the next ride will be a quiet one, that they will get to say a few kind words, and hear perhaps just one in return. In this way, their life continues, the pendulum swings on. This city keeps on breathing, a manic breathing in the daylight, a slow painful heave at night.

I gain a silent faith from these men. They may seem fearful, but it is only because they value their own sanity, they may seem weak but its only because they are cowed day and night by the worst of what this city has to offer, they may disparage other cultures and peoples, but its only because those people have shoved them hard. They may seem strange, but its only because they have dealt with society at its lowest, and who would be normal after that, day and night of that?

They work 14 hour shifts, each and every day of the year, bar none. If they fall sick, they have to go to a company doctor, if the meter in their taxi busts up, they have to sit at home and wait for it to get fixed and then make up the hours. They get 30% of their daily earnings, the rest is taken by the company. They live in labor accommodations, five to a room. They drive people from Five-star hotels day and night to executive meetings night and day, and if at the end of it, someone, some kind soul slips them an extra five for their troubles, you should see the smile that creases their pained expressions. 14 hours days, each and everyday, at the end of the year, they get a month off to go home- broken men, returning to realize that all they do is not enough for their family, that they must work harder. But how?

In the taxi, I sit silently in the back seat, usually prodding with questions here and there, and I let them talk. Sometimes they ask me where I am from, and sometimes I lie to that question. I told an Indian once that I was Indian, he told me how horrid Pakistanis can be. I told a Pakistani once that I was Egyptian, he didn't say another word the rest of the trip. Yet, I gain from them. It is their experiences in this city, in this world that shapes their actions.

Its a strange feeling to get out of a cab at 8:50 am and know that you have acquired one man's thoughts, you have read a book that will haunt you the rest of the day. They speak in plain tongues, they hide behind cliches yes, but their words pour plainer than all the people around them, that lie and claw all day.

I gain faith from them, perhaps because there isn't much else these days.

Dubai: Part 1

People come to Dubai with eyes wide open. They are on vacation, they are buying second homes, they might even be here for business, and all the while, they are wowed. Everything is big, its clean, its beautiful, its safe, its all impressive from beginning to end.

But just as they enter city through the airport gates, get whisked by in the airport's especially allocated, clean taxis, just as they race towards the west end, close to the Marina, the golf courses, the western restaurants, the delectable cuisine, the money-making companies, the yacht clubs and the five-stars, just as they zip by the rest of the city, they leave behind the truth. The darker sobering truth about this place which once someone knows about, they are most sure not to return to their original opinion of this pictureque place.

This is the world that lives between the highways, the one that has constant traffic, the one that has men living in close quarters, sometimes 8 to a room, a world where food costs a pittance to make, a world far off from the glitz and glamour of Marina Walk- where 60 dirhams will buy you a feast for you and your friends, while it would barely have got you fries with your burger in the west end. This is the side of town where people are driven from their homes on a daily basis, because as they do not get paid enough, they have to share rooms and bathroom, unsafe according to the government, which runs them out of this situation to save them, but leaves them destitute without a place to stay, and a whole world to support back in their home countries.

These are the places where the poor live- they are paid a pittance, some as low as 700-1000 dirhams in a month, in a country where the monthly payment on a bottom-line Toyota Yaris is no more than 900 dirhams. These are the people building this nation, they slave 4am-4pm, and so does the next shift, they work through sun and heat, they have sand blown in their faces all day, constructing multi-billion dollar development, then at shift end, they pack into TATA buses by the scores, sit 3 to a seat and are hauled away to labor camps to sleep, sometimes seven to a room. Any curspry conversation with any of them will tell you this, but who is asking- no one. These are the poorly fed, the forgotten of this land who are yelled at like dogs, treated like chattel and deported if they so much as say a word.

People who come here are first filled with wonder, then they start questioning why their nations are not able to do this, then they justify that with the same reason that has been given the last ten yars- it must be the oil, everyone is using it, and these people are making money from it.

Sadly, thats not true. This country, like others in the region keeps growing because it is still allowed to treat some people like cattle. It has a hidden underclass of immigrants who have nothing, will have nothing, and thus will keep working till their backs break. Consider this, in a three year period, a whole building can be raised from the ground up- during this time, the cheapest expense to the builder will be the labor cost, not the rented machines, not the concrete or the fixtures, the labor, human capital willing to do anything for a morsel of money, which allows them and their family back home to claim that they live, albeit one day at a time.

That is why this country keeps progressing, its not the oil- its the fact that they can still treat people like shit. This stopped long ago in other places, and hence those place are prone to progress and recession, prone to middle-income homes etc. This does not happen in the Middle East, there is no down, its always been up and up, from the first moment of independence till now, this place has never seen a recession.

Take a detour into Deira, Bur Dubai or Satwa and you will see the real Dubai. This is where the city breathes and sleeps. Stay on the other side and you'll bre amongst the leeches, the people that feed off the others, living a pricey, comfy life at the expense of others.

Married

I'm not sure what to write. I just want to. What, I don't know. Words, my only solace. I actually want to scream, but at whom? Me probably. The love of my life, married. The guy next to her, luckiest man alive. She, stunning in her pictures. Me, shattered by my own inadequacy.

You can live your whole life declaring you're the shit, you can live a false existence in your own mind, pigeon-hole yourself into your own world of comfort, but someday, you will be snatched from your sorry, stupid dream-like trance and your reality will be bared naked in front you. Somewhere a relationship status will change, and you, a month later will moan in agony at your utter stupidity, at your complacency, even as you sit there, doing nothing but typing.

That is life, a sad life, yes, but its life. Now you have nothing to think about but settling. Fuck fate. I hate fate. Fate makes me sick to the core. It is the vile pill I believed in falsely, that bored itself into the recesses of my brain, even as she went on with her life. It disgusts me, I disgust myself for having taken fate as my saviour. I hid behind it like a man afraid of seeing himself in a mirror and now, I look at the man in that picture, envious of him, unable to blame him, it is me he smiles at, he taught me a lesson without meaning to, he snatched what was dear to me, without ever knowing that I had once wanted to claim it.

I feel sorry for myself. I am so stupid, so utterly stupid. All those years I allowed myself to languish, I found reason after reason not to tell her. And now, the inevitable has happened, she is married and I, well I the fool I am wish her nothing but happiness. How chivalrous, how grand, how fucking stupid.

The love of my life. In another man's arms. I am not jealous, no, I am infuriated. All those nights I cursed my inability to tell her have come rushing back. I have no one to blame but me. No one to live with, but me. No one to share this with, but these words. No one to talk to, but scream at myself. I want to scream, but my throat is unable. I want to cry too, but my eyes continue to blink in fury. I am unable to show emotion, once again.

Love of my life- There is a song that encapsulates this moment, but even that eludes me. There is a book that tells this story, but I don't remember it touching me as much. There is a tale of woe that has been told like this before, but in it the maiden was not as fair and the lover was not as sad. I am distraught. I cannot sleep tonight, I don't think- or perhaps I can, just as I have before.
I thought I had more time- what a fickle notion. September 6th, worst day of my fucking life, without me even knowing it.

I used to say I don't regret. Now, I cannot help it. I regret it all. I regret not telling her I liked her. I regret not screaming it from the rooftops. I regret not being a better man. regret every moment I spent in her presence, because as such, it was a moment wasted. She was perfect for me, I regret not telling her. I regret that I have nothing but words. I regret putting myself in this position.

You stupid stupid man, you inadequate son of a bitch, you did this to yourself.

I'm sick of this echo

Loneliness is a creeping disease. You don't see it coming, one day you're the belle at the ball, the next day, the whole house is empty, all the drunks have left and you are by yourself, your own house echoing the screams of your heart.

How do you even come to terms with it? Who would you even admit it to? Yourself? But that is the problem in the first place. Someone passing by, a kind soul could notice your pain, they could offer you some aid, but by now, you, the lonely soul have become so used to your loneliness, so utterly useless at being good company to others, that you will drive them away y your sheer inability to be pleasant in polite society. On the other hand, the person heping you could be a particularly kind person, and they could stick by you even though you act a mute in their company- but that, that is just pity on their part- and not even lonely souls like to be pitied.

So here you stand, unable to embrace because you have only heard your own ideas float your mind for so long, unable to understand because you have spoken only your own tongue for so long, yet fully aware that you are lonely- its a vicious circle that keeps your thoughts.
You stand at the cusp of panicking, imagine yourself screaming your secret from the rooftops, holding back each time, lest your own voice break the silence you have grown so comfortable in.

Whose to blame? You. Who can change it all? You. Who is too comfortable? You. Who is too afraid? You. Whose to blame? You. Who can..

This shall remain un-posted

Dated: Aug 3/08

As I have grown older, its been to my own surprise that I have become more set in my ways- where I used to be all over the place, I am now happy to be where I am. I have not given up mind you, not at all, there has been nothing to give up, I have merely just become older, perhaps a bit more stubborn in my ways.

This too is a changing state, I know. Thus, a yearning has crept in, a yearning to record this too, to chronicle these days as I have my flexible past, to talk of this rigidity with the vigor that I still possess, lest it too leaves me behind.

So starts this log again, unsure of itself, finally put into words after months of turmoil.. shall I write? shall I not? Do I dare? Do I dare not? The doldrums have become unsettling, the clang of the written word harps to my soul, and here, slave to my own unspoken thoughts, I write.

I see that I have already weaved a tale with nary thought yet said.

So it begins..

Just write, don't stop.

Dated: Aug 1/08

A harmony of pen and thought, disrupted by the gloom of the everyday. Yet, force myself I must. Imagine these keys are portals to my blood, tapping my veins for its thoughts. This page might fly in the wind, but these words are bonded by my inner being.

Thinking is too much right now, too tenuous, too unfulfilling. Too much clouds my mind for there to be any thoughts streamlined. So I write, anything, just words to fill the void- a stutterer who has much to say, but no one stays around long enough for him to utter a syllable.

Has it been that long? That long since I wrote a full sentence to make a point? Has it been that long since I poured my soul through a funnel of words? These fingers are moving faster now, proof that they too have been kept captive- getting used to the satisfying drone of keys clicking again, how easily they can fall into a rhythm of their own making.

This dam is about to burst again. Its waiting to spurt a hole. This is not a journey begun anew, just one after a long respite. Silence has been my companion through this time. I have been my own silent diary, keeping meticulous notes, lingering in my stares, hushing my own thoughts dead- but I am alive, my mind buzzes.

Dear Govt. of China, Go frack yourself.

Before I begin, I'd like to state clearly a realisation that dawned upon me a few days ago. It is as much a societal observation as it is a critique of my own way of thinking in the past.

I for one, have been so consumed by utter hatred for American foreign policy in the decade where I have held the wherewithal to understand it, that I have focused on far too narrow a foreign landscape. American foreign policy has been the primary focus of my wrath, because it has affected me the most. My people, whether that group comprises of Pakstanis, or Muslims have been so negatively affected by America that at least till now, it has been impossible to come to grips with the sheer breadth of their injustices against us.

I have spoken out on other issues, indeed I would even say that I have informed myself about them. But admittedly, and much to my own chagrin now, I have ignored much else in the world, instead opting to focus my loathing, my toungue lashings for the one country that has destroyed this world more than any other.

But this state of affairs is about to change. No longer am I letting other nations have a free ride because they seem like a better alternative. Because no one, repeat.. no one in power is better than the one before. Pax Brittanica was just as bad as Pax Romanica (sp?), and American hegemony is just as bad as any notion of Russian hegemony.

Which brings me to China. Needless to say, China is on the cusp of global power. This power will most definitely not fall into China's lap as easily as everyone seems to think, but it will happen sooner or later. Once this dying economic giant that is America whithers away, having grasped at every last strand of power it can, it will be China's turn.

And since that day seems closer today than ever before (see: 9/11 and everything after), it is high time that we stopped giving China a free ride. I have made this mistake, and so has the rest of the world. We have been critical, yes.. but only tangentially. Only once in a while, when a particular notion of Taiwanese nationalism pops up, or when the issue is tabled by a Hong Kong grievance, or perhaps when the Dalai Lama comes along to make a spiritual speech. Or maybe we do read the BBC everyday, and have seen the Human Rights Watch reports and the please by Amnesty International for intervention, regardless, our focus has been sporadic, far too lenient for a country so entrenched into the global economy, and too mild mannered for any change to actually come along.

This nonchalant attitude towards China, whether it is because we are unaware of its inner workings, or whether it is due to the fact that they are not ruling us yet, therefore we have more important things to focus on, or whether it is because we can't afford to make them angry at us, has to stop. They need to stop getting a free ride.

I cannot understand (and perhaps this is why I am spurred on to write this out) how the world can sit idly by when clearly China is breaking every rule in the book when it comes to Tibet. Tibeatans have been peaceful, willing negotiators since 1959. Other than sporadic outbursts, they have been the calmest of protestors, the most peaceful of dissidents, and still, they have been trampled upon, their economic rights have been squashed, they are denied their rights time and time again. Whats more is that China has done nothing to resolve the situation for almost 50 years and now, has the audacity to declare that the Tibetan movement is being facetious, that the Tibetan leadership is orchestrating a sabotage!

So what? Who the frack said Tibet could not become an issue in 2008? What makes your Olympics so fucking sacred that no one can air a grievance. Why should Tibet not raise the issue now? This is the most coveted time in China's recent history, it would be utter folly not to publicly shame China now. I can't understand why even one world leader has not stepped upto a podium and actually asked China why they continue to oppress a people even though they claim to uphold Olympic ideals on the other hand.

Yes, this is sabotage. Yes, this is a conspiracy. Yes, we are doing this on purpose. Aren't you? China should get off its high horse and actually do something about the aimless lip service it has provided to the Olympics, nay to the world.

The Dalai Lama has given up claims to Tibetan independence, he asks now for autonomy. That too, through negotiations. Tibetans have lived under oppression for nearly half a decade since they laid down arms in 1959, they have recieved nothing but shame since.

So what I don't understand is how we can continue to allow China to release this obviously bogus press statement, this editorials in their Communist rags that clearly falsify the issue, and yet we let them blame one of the few people that actually stands for hope and peace in the world.

For far too long, the world has allowed China too much of a leash, and it is time we tighten our own belts and decide whether we too are going to stand up to the bullshit, or whether we wish to have the other side lie to us on our faces without doing much about it.

Negotiate Tibetan autonomy now.Address the plight of Muslims.
Apologise for the massacres of the past.
Free the thousands of illegally arrested protestors in Chinese jails.
Free the hundreds social workers who have worked to better the lives of Chinese people, from one-child policy activists to farming representatives.
Release all illegally detained prisoners.
Stop killing thousands of your own people for petty crimes against an unjust state.
Allow journalists to access all parts of China, all the time.
Meet every standard expected of a Olympic hosting, developing nation.

And then, perhaps you can save face at these Olympics. Otherwise, you can make as many beautiful stadiums as you want, have as many fountains in your Olympic village as you want, you don't impress me.

Your size, your might, your economic potential means nothing if you cannot meet the basic quality of life expected for a human.

From bad to worse

I am sure that for those looking in to the politics of Pakistan over the past few weeks, the situation seems to be impoving. I mean, we have had a dictator defeated through democratic means, a coalition formed between two bitter rival parties, and the emergence of not only an expansive coalition, but also the first ever female speaker of parliament in the Muslim world, to be followed by the nomination of a Prime Minister, a man steeped in politics and respected by many (not including this writer).

These are positive developments, and even the news agencies covering these important milestones are having a hard time injecting a dose of reality into these proceedings. It all seems so well planned, so well executed, and most of all so hopeful. So while some (emphasis here) people in Pakistan celebrate, while news agencies are unsure how to interpret the events, and while the world's leaders are just coming to terms with the fact that Pakistan is once again being ruled by a parliament rather than the military, this writer would like to excuse himself from this rosy picture, and indeed, like to parade his pessimism onto the scene.

For those keeping track, Pakistan's new ruling coalition comprises of two party leaders both convicted of fraud and corruption, not to mention they probably trade stories of how they spent their respective times in jail. Both of them also have a few friends in common aside from wardens and jail guards, ie. industrialists that have run Pakistani economics for nearly two decades. Asif Zzardari and Nawaz Sharif both stand at the forefront of Pakistani politics not because of their own good deeds, but due to the allegiance they have shown to the wealthy of Pakistan, people they have supported through shady deals, under the table discounts, and assistance through foreign aid. They have built there careers on such acts, and this recent rise in their fortunes isn't any different. The problem is that the media is unable to report all these incidents, because curiously, all the court cases against these criminals have been dropped, dismissed, or just plain not pursued anymore. Suddenly, these much maligned figures are the saviours of Pakistan, and even scathing articles in the NY Times have failed to shatter the glimmer of hope and goodwill that surrounds them.

So here sits an ordinary Pakistan, unable to decide which criminal to support, hapless at the fact that no one else except another non-party affiliated Pakistani can understand his plight. While world leaders praise the death of a dictatorship, this writer knows that the lesser of two evils has passed, and the real threat has suddenly risen up, not outside Pakistan looking in, rather from within, looking outwards, chomping at the bits at the chance of controlling a nuclear state which a lot depends on over the next few years.

Already the rhetoric from these new leaders is alarming, already they are strategising as to how to get their hands on more money. Most notable is their declaration that they will negotiate with militants. Ha! These militants wish to annhialate you, don't you know? And thats the crux isn't it, they do know, but what they want is more funding from the US, so they have already started posing as if they intend to walk off the path, hoping that America will do what it always does when it comes to Pakistan, throw more money at it.

So while the BBC is trying to come up with a solution as to how on earth to actually show these devils for who they are, these people have quietly taken over. They have posed as the democratic alternative to Musharraf, the dictator. What is a pro-western news agency to do, show the dictator as the better option? What is a democratic govt to do, even if they want to point out that criminals are taking over? Nothing. So the world sits silently by, hapless just as many Pakistanis are, watching as the situation goes from bad to worse.

Three months ago, Musharraf was the worst it could have ever gotten, then came the fateful days after Benazir's death (no, criminals are not assasinated, they just die), and now we have this, two wolves in sheep's clothing, in a partnership of convenience which will last just as long as one of them is sick of splitting their profits.

I usually end with a hopeful sentence, or perhaps even a question that might leave you in thought. But there is no hope here, and there is nothing left to be said. The writing is on the wall. There are only the silent lamentations of every Pakistani I know.. a quietitude in the discussions which are now whispered. Everyone knows this is bad, no one wants to admit that it happened on their watch.

Even the usually attractive newscaster on Geo TV (an Urdu news channel) seems to have the weight of the world on her petite, usually proud shoulders.

Here's to ten years of shaving

The real date is sometime in April, but I'll never remember to post this around that time.

At this point in the facial hair battle, this soldier of manhood can report a slight shadow on the face, albeit limited in this soldier's case due to controlled shaving expeditions, sometimes as an adaptive measure to fend off the cold, at other times to scare smaller, fairer prey into cowering as the soldier walks by on the street.

Average time of beard retrieval is found to be 4 days. However, a propererly scary beard takes 7 days.

Current facial status: 8 day beard.
Shaving prospects: None sighted.

Money grubbing nitiwits

BBC headline: Poland "agrees" to host US missile shield.

Whatever man, seriously?

We live next to them and we don't like the idea. And fuck that bullshit about agreeing to it in principle, whatever. The govt of Poland knows exactly what it just agreed to.

Are Polish people even aware what their govt just signed them up for? This is just an extension of how blindly Poland has followed (and has had to back peddle on) US foreign policy.

This shield is just one part of a larger group of shields planned around North America, making it one part of a vast (now) cross-Atlantic defensive weapon. The defensive argument is reasonable at best, but however you look at it, no good can come of this, I mean seriously can it work out in any way better than as it is now, status quo- no fucking shields!

But the real question is, Why would Poland take this dubious honor? Its going to take global flack for it, yes. Its going to be ostracized by the EU? Maybe. But what does it gain?

The answer is clear, directly or indirectly, the one thing in it for Poland is money. Maybe they're getting jobs, maybe defense contracts, whatever.. somehow, it came down to money.

So we called the Polish govt at the least, a bunch of wolfing hounds, selling their country's airspace to a foreign country's bidding, in the end playing nothing but the convenient fools in what is clearly a US-run operation.

But what of the US?

Lets take it at its best angle, lets say the US did have all good intentions, and in fact wanted to thank Poland for their honorable duty besides America in the war on terror. Strange way to thank your faithful friends- put a large, targetable, integral part of a weapon system on their land, where there has been no significant unrest, and where they are having trouble coping themselves with their own internal issues, thus militarizing (not so coyly) another state even further. So in the end all America had was another larger weapon, and all they could give to their own peaceful allies was the prospect of more war.

I can just picture it a few days ago at an award ceremony somewhere to honour US allies...

Host: Here now to announce the winner of the "Best US Play Puppy" category, is Pres. Bush!

(enthusiastic cheering from the Taiwanese, British, and Saudi supporters)

Pres. Bush: I'm honored (smirk) to, oh hell... Poland! Here's a shield! You're officially our bitch now!

New Orleans is sinking...

Its been a long hiatus, but after a further delay of about 18 hours, I've come to the conclusion that if i am ever gonna make a return, its gonna be today.

So here we stand. Yesterday seems far away to me. Just a day has passed, yet I feel that paradigms have shifted. My morning ritual of checking just the main headline on BBC before i go onto other more productive tasks was the most arduous five minutes I have experienced in quite some time.

Benazir Bhutto, dead. How did this day of all days bring such a melancholy smile?

She deserved it, to tell you the truth. She stole billions from Pakistan, and let others steal billions. She destroyed the lives of countless families, villages, and peoples. There would never have been justice. There still isn't, but this apprehensive smile, it just won't leave my lips.

I don't know who did it, or more importantly why they did it. But its done. And tonight, their tongues softened by warm chai on this cold, helpless night, Pakistanis from Sialkot to Rawalpindi, from Karachi to Gowhat and Lahore wonder what agony the next few weeks will bring.

Don't get me wrong, Pakistanis everywhere knew this was coming. It was just a matter of time. Till two months ago, Benazir was in cahoots with Musharraf, which consequently broke down, leading to Benazir running her own election campaign under the blessings of the USA, according to my sources.

Something was gonna happen, and then this- cold, calculated, a message sent and received clearly. Tonight, 2/3 of Karachi sleeps with breaths abated, while the rest prowls the streets looking for blood, stragglers of the celebrations in some opposing stronghold. A collective conscience told Pakistanis something was gonna happen, the levy would break. And so it has, or it will soon enough anyway.

It almost sounds ironic to wish that she rest in peace, her death will bring so much more death. And thats the only though about this morning's headline that soured my mood.

enuff said

In Iran, we do not have homosexuals like in your country.

- Ahmedenejad

the spirit of the age is revenge

Perhaps egged on by our own upbringings, or perhaps cowed into believing at one time, what others believed to be true, whatever the reason may be, we, as a society have embraced revenge all too lovingly. I speak of America of course, but general pronouns are generally more polite.

Man, I believe, in some circles at least, has gotten so strong and able, that he now lusts for vengeance when hurt or when disobeyed. Men now think of themselves as executors of the ultimate justice. Exacting revenge for however they have been wronged, bringing their wrath upon peoples rather than persons. Man thus fancies himself as the righteous undertaker of god's work- a crusader. Men doing the work of God- the notion may be utterly fanciful to us- but far greater men have succumbed to far lesser lusts.

By his own rules, by his own beliefs, this man has strayed off the path. For it is laid down in every scripture, attributed to any god- Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.

Man is foolish in his greed, in his blind lust, in his soul he is now hollow. Fear left him long ago, and nowadays, death is comfortably far away.

malignant sorrow

The echoing thud of the door. The tall shadows down the corridor, the long stare across it. The sound of my own steps clip clops off the walls. The slowly dying plant in the badly lit kitchen. The obsessive scrubbing of a kettle, the lost lustre of a soul refusing to shine.

the valley lies below

Eyes closed, hurtling downwards, blades of grass crumpled. Never saw it coming. One day, it became too much to swallow. A hiss emanated from a corner and then, he was never the same again. The realization too deep, too coarse to soothe.

Hurtling downwards, feet skidding off pebbles, unable to hold on- the mezzanine before the final thud.

just a few timid steps

There is beauty in the silence behind the din. The sun marches on, ever westward. This smoke lingers thick amongst its blinding rays.

The mirror tells a tale of a face aged, seemingly innocuous tracks criss cross each other on a surface bleeding dry, telling the tales of times past. No need for a verdict, the effect of all that has happened is evident in the sag of the face, the utter depression of emotion, all evident- just take two steps towards the mirror. In the binding sun, it tells its own tale.