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I know a little bit of a lot many things. I know how to wish upon a star, and how to communicate with the softest cloud up to the seventh heaven. I know how to make silent exchanges with the moon, and how to hold my breath and make the 11:11 wish. I know the leaf wish spell, and I also know the finger twining trick of wish making. The ways of praying. Keeping my beliefs alive. Just in case...

So basically yes, I know several of such sorts of things; I have practiced them and memorized them. So I have a lot to do when the lights are off. And there's just me and the serene stillness of the night.

...And when I am done doing all of it, I am blank. Comfortably numb; numbness, that unknots my stressed veins and sooths my bones. It's the kind of peace that I am not getting these days.

The time tells me its twenty past three, yet I can't sleep. I can hear my name being called by a fragile dream that needs to be saved; and not just that, but something that needs to be searched and found and held safely. Despite the illuminating laptop screen, it’s dark in here; but then, despite the darkness, it’s not dark in here. It’s contradictory. This place is noticeably glowing with dim lavender lights. The little wisps, that are creating vivid trails, and something tells me that I should follow them…

*Putting it less dramatically: I am up at this odd hour because I have got to study. I have been focusing on the text, doing quite well, but then came along this golden butterfly and I got carried away with the gold dust fluttering off its waxy wings.*

.... This is the height of surrealism. I don’t know what this state means, I am clueless of what am I really doing here and I have absolutely no idea when and how everything went this… Haywire. All I know is that I need to gather everything, and write. It has been over two months since I have written anything, and I already feel like I’ve lost the touch. I guess it’s the changing weather. Winter is making itself comfortable; spreading its tentacles that have begin filling the air with nostalgia. And I can wager I am not the only one who feels nostalgic at the end of the year, or who thinks that winters happen to infuse the concentrated feeling of déjàvu! ––––No? Really?! Tsk! Never mind.

Four more days before the commencement of the last month of the year 2013, and with that my fourth semester would officially come to an end. Can you believe it? I still remember my first day at the university. That all-by-myself, ‘grown up’ feeling; which didn’t last long enough. Where did the time go! I don’t know how this works. Time keeps running out of our hands and we fail to do anything about it. There was so much I wanted to do, which for one reason or the other I couldn’t. 2013 feels like a dream, the same fragile dream that I’ve been struggling to keep captive. But like dreams, time as well cannot be kept enslaved. It slips out, do whatever you can.

The only way you can treasure the time is by spending it well. That’s what I’ve learned this year. To pursue a dream you first need to believe that it’s real. Similarly, to hold and preserve time you must make every moment that you spend worthwhile. There were lots of thing that I had planned to do. But well. Lots of things didn’t happen, or turn out the way I had thought. But then again, I somehow managed to squeeze out quite a few precious memories, which are worth it.

When this year had begun, I had nothing to look forward to, just like I had nothing in mind when I began writing this post, except for a handful of beliefs. The ultimate driving force that helped me get through. And speaking of belief, I’d like to mention that the wisps have disappeared. This is one of the things about wisps and auras and dusts, or pixies and elves, or dreams and hopes; you stop believing, they stop appearing.

Perhaps I should switch back to my surrealism, since the post seems to be turning into one of Buddha’s lectures from Vedas.

But I'd rather sleep.

So, now that I’ve filled the blank space with a few disjointed words, I feel a little less dreary. And OH! Speaking of dreariness, I might as well mention about my date that I have tomorrow with Peter Barry. It’s going to be intense, I can tell. The idea of a long walk by the shores of  Beginning Theory feels awful wonderful. We’ll be having Liberal Humanism for lunch and Psychoanalytic Criticism for supper. I am so totally not excited.

p.s: I think I’d most probably be writing after the exams now. A mandatory new-year’s post with a changed layout, of course! If I wouldn’t be too lazy, that is.

October, Anjali Sharma, and Limo Paani

You know how messy it gets coming to the end of the year? When the semester is at its toughest and you seem to have ran out of almost everything –coins, paper pins, ink… Stamina –And seem to have dropped almost everything; pens, books, papers.. Hopes. When you give up drafting those flop study-time tables which by coming to the end you learn are of no use. When the schedule is so tightly packed, you absolutely fail to make out time for ‘people’ around and across; and they complain. When your thoughts are all jumbled up, pace irregular, and time too limited. When you have just SO many things to do, that you end up doing absolutely nothing. Yeah, THAT. 

Two more months, and yet another year... Gone.

It is once again that time of the year, when I find myself standing amidst the unknown fields of nowhere. I have a thick pile of reading to do, a whole stack of papers to fill and a heap of writing assignments to work at. And along with that, I need to take care of my hair (which is falling out like crazy) –please, it’s a serious matter. And of my skin (which has quite badly darkened due to sun exposure) –I am not a beauty conscious or a fitness freak, but hey, it hurts! And of my diet and health (which is declining rapidly). And of my social life (which has recently passed away) –a moment of silence please, at its sad demise. Thank you.

October has begun; the sun has however not yet ceased to torture us. The thin cotton-ish clouds scarcely ever show up, and, even when they do, they are of no help in blocking the brutal sun rays. The deepest, most desired wish that I am yearning for (after a series of other most desired wishes), is of rain. I earnestly wish to wake up to a heavy downpour, and , like always in times like these, get drenched to the bones and twirl and whirl in the swishing cool water like Anjali Sharma… Running free of all the shackles and ties and boundaries, leaving behind all that burdens a soul so fragile; but, sigh, it wouldn’t happen, because of a great number of reasons.

Reason#1:  I am (sadly) not Anjali Sharma.
Reason#2: It doesn’t rain in Octobers in Karachi. Or in Octobers. Or in Karachi.

Yes, there are only two, but they are big enough.

The purpose of this post is however not to record my rants and ramblings.

You know how sometimes a little moment of joy, a tiny adventure, a new experience, a spark and a genuine smile can practically make your day? Yes.  Hence, the motivation to write this post.

Walking from our department all the way to the university gate, that too in this heat and that too at this rate of talking, our throats had practically dried out. The water cooler at the bank had karwa paani, of which, by the way, I had taken a huge sip in sheer haste; later I spat it out. Nauseating. LITERALLY. Blekh (I hope it wasn’t cancerous. I am obsessed with cancer these days. Not that I’d die. Because, oh well, a couple of days ago a friend saw me in her dream where I died, which according to the interpretation implies that my age has increased. Pfffft).

Anyways. Back to the topic.

To help quench our thirst, a friend very confidently, with that follow-me-l-know-where-heaven-is attitude walked us out of the university gate and introduced us to a kind, and indeed a very noble gentleman.

The Limo Paani Waala.

A wooden pushcart (quite like that of street vendors, in a poorer condition though) draped with green plastic sheet, having small greenish-yellow lemons arranged at the top of medium sized kachay drinking glasses that were lined at one side, a slab of thick ice at the other and the noble gentleman at the far end dressed in a faded brown cotton shalwar kameez, holding a citrus squeezer in his hand, awaited us; accompanied by a few flies, under the neem tree that had little birdies resting at its tiny branches. Unhygienic? I don’t think so.

Unfortunately, couldn't click the picture of the real limo-paani walay bhai.

As mentioned quite many times, I am not particular about things. If there is something that I like, I like it and I’ll have it. No questions asked and no unnecessary concerns. It is always fun to try up new things; the weirder, the better.

--Yaar tum yeh piyo, bohot mazay ka hota hai.

-Bhaiya, kitnay ka glass hai?

-10 rupay. 

Affordable. Might as well take another glass.

-Bhai mujhay thaili mei dijiyega.

--Mujhay glass mei.

---Mujhay bhe glass mei!

--Yaar, tum yeh piyogi nah, tum roz aogi peenay. Itnaa achha hota hai!

-Behen,who dega tou piyungi nah?

--Haan piyo, bohot achha hota hai.

---Teeesri dafa bol rahi ho yeh baat tum! In bhai ne publicity karnay ka commission diya hai kyaa?

--Tum piyo tou saheeh!

-SHUT UP!

(She intentionally does this, just so to annoy us).

We sat at the footpath under the shade of the same neem tree with limo paani ke kachay glass and (in my case) limo paani ki thaili. Qingqi rickshaws, public buses, cars, bikes, carts, pedestrians, all went by eyeing us for a second or two, and then moving on carelessly. In this heat and in this rush, nobody cares what people are up to, as long as they’re minding their own businesses.

The chilled, energizing limo paani went tickling down our dry throats, giving start to a very random conversation.
(The conversation has been cut short and details omitted, because; #1: they are embarrassing. #2: they require a long contextual background. And #3: they wouldn't make sense). 

-I wonder where we’d be five years from now.

--Khairiat hai?

-Shushh!

---Yeah, I wonder the same…

--You have lost all the right to express uncertainty, miss engaged! We all know you would be married, and most probably a mother to a couple of troublesome kids!

---I am so going to miss this! University is fun, don’t you think?

-It definitely is. Gets quite tiring though, but I like it here.

---Would you remember me after like, 10 years from now?

-That would depend.

---Why, whut?

-Yeah… I think I have brain cancer. My brain cells are dying, I think I have Alzheimer’s…  I hardly remember stuff!

(All three of them): Oh shut up you!

---The other day you had stomach cancer!

--Yeah, and day before you had skin cancer!

-LOLLLL! Of course I would remember you. I have had the best time of my life with you guys.. Umm.. well… Skipping the early few months..Yeah, close enough to best.

-We’ve done some crazy, hilarious stuff together! Remember walking barefoot to the gate in heavy downpour?

--LOL! One of the things I had alwayyyys wanted to do!

-And that song? Mai Tharki Hun?
--Sharminda nah karo!

*fits of laughter*

--And Teri Yaadein?

*Another fit of laughter*

--Remember Sir Irfan’s comment? “Tum fauth tou nahe honay waaleen?”

-OHMYGOD! It was so embarrassing!

--You have LOST written all over your face!

-WHATEVER!

---Remember how bizarre things were exactly a year ago?

-Yeah.. I was ready to give up everything to run away from here.

--And from us.

-And from you guys, yes…

---I am glad everything’s settled.

-So am I.

--So am I!

---So, where were we?

-Here.

--Here.

-Mera limo paani khatam –

---Shush! I meant, let’s get back to the topic we were at.

--You want us to get back to your shaadi ka topic, right? Huh. Self-obsessed.

---NO! I want us to discuss (pointing) ‘her’ shaadi ka topic –

-OHMYGOD! Guess what?! ‘Somebody’ returned from the coma…

--Who…?

-GUESS!

--POKE?

-YESSSS!

*a monstrous fit of laughter*

--LOL!! What timing! Why don't normal things happen to you?

-I know, right?

--Pehlay nahe hosh aasakta thaa?!

---LOL! Tch tch tch, wait till I tell ‘people’ about this.

-Who people?

--AH! I KNOW WHO SHE’S TALKING ABOUT!

-WHO?! Oh, wait…–

---Luc –

-Shushhh!

--No no, complete your sentence–

- –SHUSHHH! I’ll throw this limo paani at you!

And with that, we went about sharing another whole lot of crazy stuff and some super-personal jokes, and laughing like retarded seals at some insanely unfunny things. We tend to laugh at the most silly things, because that is what you do, no? Being the passengers of the same boat, saving each other from drowning; and making the most out of little moments; because it is these little moments that matter the most.

Covering the long distance in a cheerful ride back home, a sudden realization that had always been there but too shy to ever show up, finally revealed itself; we, as people, are not free. This way or the other, we are bound by certain sets of values and bind by certain kinds of roots. Roots, that prevent us from crossing the lines, keep us on track and move us all in a circle that we're all connected with.
Hence, in situations like these, when imagining yourself to be Rahul Raichand's free spirited Anjali Sharma is not an option; a little gossip, a lot of laughs and a glass of limo paani is ALL what you need to get back working again.

A Little Magic Would Do

One of those nights when the urge to write has dragged me out of bed, and here I’ve come, bringing along with me tangled loops of very limited words. And a cup of tea.

I have a blank space before my eyes and a keyboard beneath my fingers, and I am struggling, believe me I really am, to assemble my over flowing, vague, ambiguous thoughts properly in a manner for you to understand. I really wish to fill this empty space with well organized words like baskets filled with berries... Or glasses filled with wine… Or the air filled with sweet fragrances of young flowers... There’s so much I wish to say, so much I can't.

And as I sit here, intently following with my gaze the frenzied wisp of smoke rising from the hot tea and noticing its gradual disappearance in the stillness of the night, contemplating on where to begin from, my eyes have encountered the silver light streaming straight through the window, falling at the maroon floor.

The moon. It is the moon, and it is painfully beautiful tonight. Compelling me to quit on this struggle and carelessly sit at the cold marble floor, under the silver light. I sit near the window pane, gazing through the vast sapphire sky, witnessing the shimmery drama of the zillion stars and staring at the moon. A broken verse bearing a strong association suddenly echoes at the back of my head, a warm smile of special someone comes alive, and I continue staring the moon in my search of finding more images…

It is amazing to just sit back and observe how the tiny twinkling stars communicate. They seem small and weightless, but their soft violet radiance bears a sensation that is priceless! Perhaps this is how I had always classified certain joys of life. Small, but priceless. I don’t know what it is about absorbing the soft silver light to the bones, it just endows the magic that I need to enter the stupor of ecstasy where despite the unsettling gloom; I suddenly fall in love with everything around me.

In the air stirred the mist of permanganate purple, deep cobalt and pale silver –colors of my aura, as Aziz would put it – just about the right combination of magic dust that was needed to renew the day’s lost smile and almost diminished hope.

So. I decide to bend down, and carefully gather the small fallen pieces and set about binding them back together to that one whole. Because that ‘one whole’ is definitely worth it.

Euphoria: II

Read Euphoria here.

The first ray of sun painted the navy sky amber and everything changed. The orange dissolved into its lighter shade gradually turning into bright day. The darkness was gone. Her delight was as bright as the glowing ball hanging from the blue sky.

The beautiful maidens, clad in colorful embroidered dresses came dancing; celebrating her love. The street was cleared for her arrival. Huge Multi-story Tibetan brass butter lamps and a number of miniature clay elephants painted with traditional patterns were arranged on either side of the walkway as a welcoming gesture. She was being welcomed with adherence to the traditional culture. The citizens of the city of Euphoria were all gathered up at the spacious balcony of the grand fortress, showering down flecks of colorful shredded fiber, glitter and rung at her and her fays that faithfully followed her.

  

Ever since she had arrived, she hadn’t spoken to anybody, yet they communicated with her in a way. They whispered and introduced themselves to her. The sensational sea waves came touching her feet and the soft breeze went by blowing the locks of her hair, assuring security. A bank of clouds appeared to not let the sun burn her skin, promising protection. The salty fragrance of the ocean and the aroma of wet mud roused up to her, pledging comfort. The winking star up at the clear cobalt sky, the peeking moonlight from behind the soft clouds, the tall canopies of bottle green colored trees, the free flying feather, the herd of twirling pollens… Each of them, one by one, came down to her making a promising vow.

The sketch of her childhood had faded… but traces of certain habits were still intact, of which she was entirely unaware until this moment; when while walking down the walkway, she felt that familiar urge to stop, and glance back; like all those previous times in all those previous years… The door from this distance didn’t appear as charismatic as it had that evening, it was sealed. Yet still, the air from behind that door somehow managed to sneak in and linger around her, like dark shadow. She stumbl.       r own gown but a hand caught her before she could fall…

* * *

Her eyes dawned upon the stranger, and she felt a thrilling sensation gush through her veins. The voices that were ringing in her ear whispered something… Something chaotic. Something meaningful. Something unknown. All those emotions she had felt at the sights that enabled her to appreciate the lush greenery, the mighty mountains, the springs and fields, the rivers and the oceans, the vast skies and the gray shades, the pouring rain and the blowing wind; all the mesmerizing impressions she had ever known, were overwhelmed by the powerful aura of his mere presence. She could feel the weight gradually lifting, permitting her to fly as high as she wants. She clearly knew what this was. It was evident from her eyes, even visible in a little bit of her smile. It was the smile that touched her eyes; her face radiated that ethereal beauty, the kind that had put the queen moon in envy. The smile was a gesture of thankfulness. She was, what they say, in love. Her love was strange. Not so easy to be defined in words they commonly use. Passionate? Romantic? Conventional? Traditional? If you really ask, her love was exceptional. It was an unspoken love, based on the grounds of unshared feelings. A love that was void of expressions, but stronger than them all. It was the kind that most would fail to understand. It was a love as innocent and pure as a newly blossomed bud; a love apparently so delicate like a silver thread of a spider’s web, but stronger than gold wires. It was love, and not an obsession. It was a warm impact, and not a cold influence. Moreover, it was not just an impact, but an inspiration that compelled her to reach for his extended hand having the entire realm of Euphoria witness it…

With maidens dancing around like beautiful Apsaras in raining glitter, the air was filled with cheerful noises. The moment was carved with every minute detail on russet sheesham by the noble craftsmen, marking the beginning of another journey in the city of Euphoria.

Her journey had begun henceforth. From the grand door to her final destination, she knows a number of doors bearing different spells await her. She feels like a river, a river that has a long way to cover; a river, with a direction nonetheless.

Read Euphoria III here