Life's Sense Of Humour

I promised myself, if ever I am to fall in love, then I shall fall in love with a funny man.
Someone who undertood my sense of humour.
Life has a quirky sense of humour.
I should like to crack my own jokes, thankyou very much.

The only chance for me to fall in love is if and when I got married
But what if that didnt happen?
What if I spent my entire life waiting and trying for that to happen?
Would that be it?
How do people deal with living half a life?

I am 22, going on 23. And the reaction I have to the whatever magnanimity of life there is; "Is this it?"

There is a constant search for something that isnt there
I dont know what is missing
But the small talk depresses me
The conversations that are dragged on for no reason depress me
People who have no deeper understanding of what I am and where I come from depress me

And the thing is, no matter how long or short a while you may know each other, spiritualism and a deeper  connection is a gift granted and not earned.

Its a gift
essential for survival
Well, at least for me

As a dear friend once said to me, whenever I find such jewels, I collect and keep them safely by me.

And such jewels shine when there is no light around me
When the hollow inside my soul is haunting me
These jewels sparkle and reassure
That I am not alone

What if there is no jewel like that for me after all this is over?
What if there is just the hollowness of my soul
And the haunting calls of depression

There are people who have hope
And passion
And at least a little zeal
For the future

I am not one of them.

There are little lessons
Little but important lessons
That I have learnt

To never trust a person who talks about other people to you
Who backbites
Who takes you into his confidence
Because you are no different to him than any other person

So conversations must be gauged before they are released to be suspended in air
Forever

I have learnt never to trust a person who spends too much time adorning his 'zaahir'
If the 'baatin' is beautiful
There is no need to adorne the zaahir

If the insides are hollow
And ugly
And you keep on telling others what a bad person you are
Then you dont really believe that , do you?
You just need a pat on the back

"No honey, you are not a monster." Is what I must tell you
And lull you back to sleep

But life has a quirky sense of humour, doesn't it?
Those who are beautiful must live in the darkness of disbelief
And the bejewelled must be praised till there is nothing left of this world

So when I crack my own jokes, I am the only one laughing.

That One Person

Influence over a human mind is an art equivalent to black magic.
To me, its blasphemous. Downright punishable.

Then again, how can you control who has control over you?
How can you foresee the consequences of acquaintance, projected well over five six year?

When you meet a person who is later to become the master of your thoughts, you never think that you are going to let them handle you.
You never think that their words could make you happier than you imagined.
And you most definitely never think that you are going to become an emotional slave to them.

But what you do think at that moment
is how nice they are
and then as yet a free person, your thoughts drift back to the rut that is your life

I believe that there is always this one person who has more influence over your feeble mind than all the rest combined.
There is this one person who is meant to turn you around and change your life altogether; be it beneficial or suicidal.
And that one person doesn't need time to do all of that.
Because in matters that deal with psyche, we are helpless.

You can know someone your whole life, and you can love them more than life itself; but they may never have that kind of power on you.

Influence is a gift you give the next stranger down the street.

Packed with fresh strawberries, and not to forget your life for safe keeping.

Influence blinds you to the extent that stranger could be a thief found in the company of nobles, you would make his work easier by giving him the key. Sparing him the trouble of breaking the lock.

Easy, peasy, Lemon squeezy


Life is struggle
Between what I want
And what I should want
Its a struggle between my urge to be happy and influences forcing me not to be

The stranger is in my mind
The stranger is the ruler
Of winds and waters
Of tears and laughters
Of sleep and death
And the stranger has a will of his own
So utterly independant of mine
That I have bruises
All over my mind

I hate the person I have become
Its too late anyway

LOVE LETTERS

In a typical world
with an ordinary outlook
and a vision through a peep hole
just a peep hole, mind you
this word is a taboo to some
a fantasy for some
and a reality for some

To be honest, in a setting so remarkably monotonous in its vision, there is no chance at all for many of us to come across a love letter.
Addressed to them or anyone else

Having a pen pal has always been a fantasy of mine. At the time, I just wanted to talk to someone who doesn't know much of my situation so that I can start anew.
Little did I know that a pen pal can be so, so much more
They help you grow, spiritually
They lift you up with just words

There is a comfort in knowing that there is someone who can talk to you about all the deep stuff and it will never get awkward
that they will even understand the turmoil of my souls, hidden in between lines
that a friend like that can ask just the right questions, at just the right time

I have been lucky enough to find one.
And to have received a love letter

here is an excerpt from one of my ever favourite letters from my friend;

"Because Love is not always a reward to be won by utmost virtue. And Love is not always given as a gift.

                                                        But because Love, is a moulding force. A shifter; A changer. A perfect-er. 

Love is no different to gravity;

Love is no different to the electromagnetic interplay of particles;

Love is no different to a mighty river surging through a valley, carving it's way amongst the earth;

Love is no different to the wind that rattles the heart of clouds, mountains and the people that live on them...

Or to the sun filling an empty warehouse that has been locked up for ages with not a soul to trespass.

Love turns darkness into light. Rigidity into softness. Selfishness to sacrifice. Numbness to a festival of sensations. Grief and trauma into to ringing laughter that overflows from the brim of your eyes, no matter how tired and stone-like they might have seemed before. 

And that is why, 

   you (and me) truly and completely deserve Love.

Because appreciation, admiration, friendship, sincerity, compassion, selflessness, understanding and loyalty is nothing other than your birth right.

And those who do not, consciously or subconsciously, understand this fact (both for you and themselves)..those people do not deserve a role in your life. A place in your thoughts or an accommodation in any corner your spirit.

And that is why I love you as a friend, so fully and unconditionally.

And that is why I try to cling to you, in time of need.

And that is why I try to never give up on you.

Or whatever minute contribution I may have in your life; this is the reason why I was able to have it."

Thank you for being so pure, HajBaj.

A Break Up Letter

Most of us would claim to have loved someone dearly at some time in their lives

For me
"The City Of Blinding Lights"
"Manwa re"

There are streets that strike me hard with a bout of nostalgia even though I am right here.  They are right here.  There is no past to be nostalgic about.

There are people who make me want to stop time and let the future die,  past be forgotten and present be stagnant.

There are places that make me visualize a time far ahead of today in monochrome, always in monochrome,  when I will come back to see them again and they won't be the same.

There is yearning, nostalgia and hope
There is love, sadness and heartbreak

This is a break up letter
A year ahead of time
A little all over the place
But when you love too deeply,  this is just how long it takes to leave it all behind.

To my life of today;
There is sun, and there is hope
There is laughter and there is joy
There are friends and there is love

There is a never ending noise on the road, the sirens of ambulances that are normal background noise, the yellow street lights that are more beautiful than the stars.

There are trucks playing Naseebo Laal that pass by your window at 5 in the morning,  in exams,  making you pause for a while as you try to decide whether it is the same song from yesterday or not.  There is the smell of somosas with too much turmeric in them
There is the periodic rant of Chana Chaat vendor in the canteen
There are windows milling with students on some days
There are windows,  deserted on other days

The walls I remember,  display posters of KDS, KAPS and Akhuwat
The zero point I see has pigeon shit all around its pathway
The grounds have a life of their own
The grounds buried in red flowers
The grounds buried in sumbal

The football zooming over head as you walk past the water cooler
The mazaar to your right that you never visited
The plaque that remembers Osama Qamar

The white domes of your destiny
The place that many have yearned for
The place that made many
The place that changed many

I have been shattered here before
I am alive again
It has seen such great things,  I am but a speck of dust in the desert of its greatness.

I imagine my ghost becoming a part of its halls yet I know even without me,  it will be fine
I imagine myself being remembered here yet I know that not a moment shall pass before I am forgotten

My mind has been marked-nay-etched- too deeply by its existence 
My existence is nothing but an imagination to this place

I am a ghost and this is where I shall dwell
But for now,  if I have to leave,  I know it's my choice

I blame you for forgetting me while I am gone
I blame the people I know for moving on
I look at their faces,  jovial and alive, and I envy them
But it is I who has to leave
In the most classic terms of a break up,  it's not you,  it's me.
I never dare overestimate my importance that even a stone will stir as I break my heart and leave for the world

Yet one can hope
It is a goodbye to the life as I know it.
So
Till next time

EVALUATING THE DAMAGE WORDS HAVE DONE

Too much soul-searching
Too little finding

There is a corner in my head where all the words are stored
The good and the bad
The nice and the hurtful

And I am in full possession of all my faculties as I utter them
I know the implications of all of those tiny little words that I speak

ASSALATU KHAIRUM MINAN NAUM

I had promised myself I will not post until the end of my exams

This is not the first time I have broken a promise to myself

It's quite routine to be honest.


Do I feel guilty about it?


Then again, how often do we really feel guilty about something?

NOSTALGIA

Have you ever grieved the loss of your older self?
Have you cried for a part of a person you were a while ago?
Have you?

Its cliche
Its been-there-done-that.
It is very very annoying
how we all wish to turn the clocks
reverse the tides
turn the direction of winds
just to glance back

But it is a life governed by what if's
Could have's
Should have's
Ought have's

Its a terrible way to live.
But in nostalgia breeds self-pity, self-reassurance
It is a poor attempt to give your self esteem a boost
to make yourself believe that it wasn't always so terrible
that I wasn't always this sad

What is life if lived in past?
That you keep reliving the memories in moments that you should be just living?

SANDS OF TIME

Sand on the beach
Sand in the desert

Sand dunes made and unmade by the wind
Footprints made and unmade by the sea

And I sit at the shore, look at all this with my eyes wide open and mind completely blank.
Why didnt I see this before?
Why dont I know the truth when I have seen it a million times?

Temptations

What does it mean to be 'human'?
In the truest sense of its word, with all its slights and shortcomings, its prizes and consolations, displayed (correction:splashed more like it) across the canvas of your life?
What is it?
Think about it
Or don't
Its up to you.

I don't think I can handle a sad answer to this question.
But you can very justly ask me why would I ask such a question if I know this isn't going to end all rainbows and butterflies?

Maybe when you are too 'okay', you need some reality check. Something to ground you back to your roots.

There is never a perfectly justifiable excuse to why we do things.

What is it to be 'human'?

TRUTHS

How can the dreams be so truthful?
Reality is more blissful , allowing you to turn a blind eye to it just as you please. Dreams are far beyond your realm of power, of reason.
How I wish they weren't so truthful!
How I want my peace of mind.

But life isn't perfect.

We have to fight the beasts in our dreams, then and only then we can wake up.
Then they come back to haunt you in daylight. Reminding you constantly, lurking just out of sight, so that you never forget they are there.

I don't want dreams. Or perhaps we can trade our dreams, you and me?
For what is true for you will be naught to me and my truths will seem ridiculous to you.
How unconventional. How convenient.

THE CHINESE ART

When you press upon a matter so hard in your mind that this matter -the problem is all you can think about. Trust me pal, you are no where near solving your problem. It becomes an obsession. Your maddness. Your own jail. Your own personal hell.

Fire burns you out. It tears your flesh bit by bit. The cheering voices of the Demons craving for a little more sorrow, a little more pain on your part. And you accede, you fulfil their cravings. But, you have no choice. You almost never have. Its your jail. Demons are the love of your life. You cannot say no to a wish of theirs. Demons can kill you but you dont care.
You burn, You pine, You perish.

HOW LITTLE DO WE GROW UP WHEN WE GROW UP AT HOME

I had thought I would write a poem.
I re-thought it.
Words come easier to me now.
So I wrote something. But not a poem.

Words are one way of giving yourself out. The most exposing way there could be. With proof and all.
And to take refuge in a box made of glass had been my mistake. One of many.