Ink!

14 Nov

This universe is magnificent. It’s enticing and beautiful, and out of all the material and nature that co-exist, humans surprise me the most. .

Look around you. There is so much of miscellany in gray matter, in hearts, personalities and other argots embedded in literature. Every single person imbibes a discrepant story – an anecdote that is a mess of emotions, responses, wars, dreams and decisions!

Yes, a mess. Wrecked.

This turmoil is amazing, you and I are amazing.The glitches and deficiencies that we have are curtained and compensated by the prodigious influence we have on minds. We destroy and reinforce moods. We shatter and mend each other. Romanticize, hate, admire and ignore – dimensions that we en-kindle consciously and sub consciously.

 

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Have you ever pondered about how much you prevail in other people’s lives?

People may think of you when shaky hands dwell over a cigarette in an hour of desert, when a song comes up, when they read a recommended book or revisit rotten albums. Do you ever wonder about conversations and tales that you might be a part of and you’ve forgotten or alienated?  I wonder, do I still breathe in the minds of people that I don’t talk to anymore? How many times in a day do I pass through someone’s head?

This is addiction.

These thoughts have now built houses in my voice box. They are there, content and glazing.

Eventually, there is one sentence that settles me down.

We’re ink. Volatile and permanent at the same time. We fade, yet our presence remains beyond question. Oh humans!

 

Saudade

14 Sep

 

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‘How come they have alphabets in mathematics?’ – I uttered.

I sneaked through the tall window repeatedly to confirm my soon to be planned allegation.

Laughing – naive to the concept of Algebra. Ironically, I was on ice that I was right and I could have launched a campaign on ORKUT about how absurd the teacher of class VI D was.

Walked back to my classroom to be seated on that wooden chair where desks had our scribbled FLAME game, the famous crushes with a icky heart emoji in the middle, the value of Pi that was too volatile to remember and never the less, the ‘Da Vinci’ sketches of each other and our teachers. The joy of calling ‘ASALAMUALIKUM AUNTY’ in chorus and the merriment of achieving a star on the title page of chapters. That life was nonpareil.

That phase ended.

I delightfully welcomed the teenage hood. A chapter where you eventually learn the meaning of the word privacy. The urge and turmoil suppressed the innocence or allow me to call it, ignorance of childhood and I discovered my self in detail.

That phase ended too.

And here I am today. At the brim of mature-hood, yet an ephemeral period. Remote to what I should be doing. Every single moment of reclusiveness makes me experience nostalgia of school and college days. Of people who’re no more, of opportunities which use to shine, the immortal ‘ifs’ and the withering present. I am miles away from satisfaction. Prisma, snap chat, Instagram, Facebook, twitter, whats-app – yet forsaken.

Sad no? it is. Interludes romances past more than future. It is how desperate I am to shrink and be 12 again. Arcing under expectations, wasted by grades and levels, hunting for people to talk without acting – the voids are expanding. Absences penetrate through me, like thread through a needle, everything I feel is stitched with its color. I am still not able to express what I need. There is a fire within us, no body pauses to swelter themselves at it. They pass by only seeing a wisp of smoke.

Give us time, give us a pleasing present. As much as I miss school and college, my childhood and teenage life – this phase should be no different. This age, is only a number. Painfully visible and entirely ignored. Give us space, permission to make mistakes and apologize, a lacuna to be better some other time. Don’t ask us to be best TODAY.

The most incommunicable piece I’ve ever written, comes to an end.

 

 

A Note To Myself.

12 Aug

Dear Me,

DEAR E

I know you’re fetching all the elfin thoughts in your mind, putting your neurons at work. Unpaid jobs are seldom sane. I can feel that right now (Bleak laugh). My brain demands steep wages once in a while. This time, the rumination is a little different.

I know that the past few months have been frenzied. The details are edgy and skittish and there is less of philosophy that can spill it out into words. Don’t induce anything, don’t compel yourself to look for ways to lessen the load. Just let it be. Your horoscopes are silent. This stage can be fugitive or eternal.

You’ve had friends darkening your moonlight. It’s okay. That’s one color of life. You’ve had expectations undergoing apoptosis. That’s okay too. They have that engraved in perfect literature. Don’t expect and be happy. You’ve had days when you were beyond your swing of pessimism and was sure that the light was on it’s way, for real. I can’t count times when I’ve seen this much consistency in your will. Thumbs up for that.

Eventually, Overthinking slayed it all. I now believe that it’s not a choice that you’ve made. It’s how you’ve been wired. This waveform that you ride by is crazy. At the Peak, you’re determined to put things into right place, and then you fall to the crest where picking up bits seems impossible. Don’t wait for this to end. The eclipse will be followed by a deathly sunset and you’ll be too inhuman to feel what it’s like to stand still and static. Nature has its fixed rules you know.

You should be glad that you gave yourself an unusual siesta, try and stretch its span in future. The fact that this is your last academic year as a typical student in an institute is provoking you to experience all the bliss that you should’ve sensed in the past 17 years. It’s too much for one year, but an overload of happiness should never return rejected. Go for it, embrace it. The odds will remain. The hitches will be painful, but this time of life will never come back!

Let this light come to you. Don’t wait for all the negativity to fly away. Monsters will visit you any how. If you’re waiting until you feel talented enough to make it, you’ll never make it.

 

Calm waters.

6 Jun

Charmed by the dishonest shore, I want to stroll in style, bare foot alongside the blueness.. I want my eyes to shrink the calmest show and treasure it with so much of energy that it can battle the wildness of anything that I might come across. Without warnings, of course.

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I want my hair to waltz with the breeze, and my scarf to sway with whiff. I want the arctic water to kiss my feet and leave behind a souvenir, a sea shell that can bring me music. I want to see the finest sunset, and witness the fusion of one shade of orange into an enemy shade of purple. I want to be an eye witness to the most extra ordinary marvels of lord, in the most ordinary of situations.

Nature is sublime. But we humans are the most alluring and the most magnificent creations of Allah. We’re crowned. Then why are we so deprived of the tranquility within?

We have pigments underneath our skin, and graphs of tones and pitches grading voices. We’re born and categorized. Rich, middle class, poor. Black, white, brown. Muslim, Christian, protestant. There is so much to figure out in this non stagnant world, where do I seek calmness and peace?

I am born a human, I am going to die as a human.

Simple and logical. Keep me away from all the chaos and crowd. I am better off as a ‘Human’ and that’s what I want to be good at, this Ramadan.

Ramadan kareem. Cheers.

 

 

Hide and Seek

5 May

 Was never fond of it as an infant. It’s alluring as an adult.

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I hide my flaws, those puny cracks that propagate finely through my soul. I curtain my faults, because I am so white for the rest of the world, a black stain would ruin that deception. And I love myself too much for that. Ouch! I sound self centered.

Once upon a time, my name wasn’t a success story. In fact, I had a feeble account to narrate which was illogical, unreasonable and boring. I use to begin with an admixture of all the known emotions and pitches, but no one hanged around for long. One breath, one blink, one sentence for the most. I mastered new arts of delivering, because I was helpless with the content. Monotonous much, it was MY story. Seeking an ear to hear me, I learned a new reaction, a new expression…. being cold, being numb.

Eventually, I gave up. Curtaining reality, I added everything that people appreciate and wanted to extract from a story. False emotions, tales of sleepless nights, amusing hobbies, sarcasm, failures, successes and what not. Results were instant. Attention, appreciation, companionship, everything knocked doors! I was overwhelmed. Years past by, and I kept on investing in this mysterious skill of transforming bad news into good news.My social media flooded with recognition upon partial truths. Hiding my true self, I was proud of the fake and diabolic me. And I never knew I was.

Now, when I am handful and practically have gathered enough. I seek my true story. All those hidden realities that I never confronted. My honest feelings, my genuine failures, my fair successes. Perfection doesn’t have a threshold, false perfection does. And I’ve reached that. The best and the worst thing about time is that it can’t be reverted back. There was a time when things were so vivid, that there was no room for confessions. Today, it’s other way round.

Like me, everyone else is playing hide and seek with them selves. Ironically, with no opponent. Either way, we win. Either way, we lose. I can’t ask you not to play this game. Because Darwin was accurate in putting forth his theory of the survival of the fittest. But I can confess and share – in the process of seeking my pure story. To be confident in calling it, MY STORY!

 

Tales.

26 Jul

Fancy fantasies with speculations, In quest of solace, arranging all the behaved books in the dimmed romantic shelf, forging the menace to the tiny hopes that reside in our eyes – we move. They tell us, that’s life. It’s no different. Hopes and expectations are not naive, history absorbs greatness of people who’ve had beyond the tiny fence of their eyes. Crediting luck, family support, hard work and all those good things. History never talks about those who were weak, yet good. Those who’ve had there first fall with no one to lift, Those who were agonizingly wounded, and although their hopes never died, they could never rise. At such moments, they don’t expect miracles. They certainly don’t. Sadly, I haven’t known words enough to describe what they wish. For now, It’s just ‘someone’.

And when they don’t see it coming, all those lessons of positivism and rosiness, collapse. In the end of the battle, you either settle with what you have burying what you’ve always wanted, with a smile because everyone repeats the old rotten lessons of bitter experiences. Accepting what you never wished for and stay happily ever after. Inclusive of the word ‘ pretend’ in spirit and latter. The ending remains the same, the story changes.

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“I start to see that I surround myself with broken people; more broken than me. Ah, yes, let me count your cracks. Let’s see, one hundred, two… yes, you’ll do nicely. A cracked companion makes me look more whole, gives me something outside myself to care for. When I’m with whole, healed people I feel my own cracks, the shatters, the insanities of dislocation in myself.”

When no one hears, someone reads. Even the burned stale bits are read as manuscripts. Is the tale of broken expectations and hopes worth enough to be read? That’s on readers. Everyone don’t wear there grief on sleeves.

Day 3 – Lend a hand

22 Jun

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There are some people who’re so abandoned, that God can only appear to them in the form of a lending hand. Whatever tales they’ve always taught their kids about, stories of kind people, compassionate folks, charity, they seek for live examples. There are documents repleted with the facts of what a poor country Pakistan is, and there are plenty who reserve hope in their eyes as they stare their doors, clean their ears, in anticipation of footsteps, of help, of a helping hand.

Contrary to it, let’s appraise our lifestyle. The other, tiny part of our crowd. We spend thousands every day on food streets, buy clothes worth valuable bucks, pay thousands for movies and what not. When you have money, when you work hard, it’s actually fair to spend on self-luxuries if we’re not fond of charity. It’s okay, only after we’ve fulfilled our spiritual responsibility. Our religion ensures circulation of wealth by enforcing the healthy system of zakaat. How may of us are actually conscious about it? For materialistic eyes, it’s a decline in bank balance. For noble hearts, it’s elevating the lifestyle of that poor little fella up there.

Even if you’ve fulfilled your religious responsibility, please think about these people who have seen the worst form of life. It hits hard! Every day, I see people coming on air, pleading for help. They need money for medical problems, to get their daughters married, to build a house, to earn a loaf of bread and what not! Don’t you think that there must be times when they get to enjoy healthy safe food like us? At least in the month of Ramadan?

A little compromise can buy us good will. Please do something for them, as much as you can. And so I’ve decided that I, myself would reserve some share from my pocket money every month. I want their smile back!

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