I am getting married :)

Not always, what we dream of, comes along with a sense of belonging. And many a times, what we just get, comes with that sense of belonging, ONLY we don’t want to belong there. We want to feel, that sense of belonging, for the dream castle, we have been building for years. But we can’t. We, inadvertently, feel belonged in that shelter, right behind us. But desires don’t concede. Desires want the castle, to live and to surpass all the bystanders. But feelings keep going back to the shelter, to feel the belonging. This mutiny in the realm of heart, is as much horrendous as it sounds chic, in theory. You wish, you could void any of the two contracts, except that you end up breaching both of them.

Your heart yearns for the castle. The castle you fancy throughout your childhood, while playing with your imaginary friends. The castle you envisage during your teenage, when making big plans with your pals. The castle you think about, at night, in your bed and keep thinking about, until you fall in the trap of beauty sleep. The castle, about which you expound in front of others, jestingly but mean it the most secretly. The very castle, where your would-be life is all ha-ha he-he and more awesome than Barney Stinson’s.

And at the same time, heart finds it hard to betray the shelter. That shelter protects you when it starts pouring, and you have no where to lodge because the castle is still under construction. That shelter has always been a source of solace when you get exhausted. That shelter that is the place to unwind yourself when hopes are dashing on the opposite direction. That shelter you have always relied upon–You, subconsciously, believe that it’s-always-gonna-be-there. And you know very well, the treason against the shelter will seize you with a fit of self-odium. You don’t want that.

But you don’t want the shelter either. You want the castle. You just don’t feel you belong there. You think of leaving it unbuilt. But then again, you think perhaps, you will feel you belong there once the castle is built. And the feeling for the shelter, that was there through thick and thin, will erode itself.

What-if is better than damn-it.

What exactly was I thinking when I said that “2011 would be full of changes?” “Change” most definitely wasn’t exactly the “in” word, a year ago. And I won’t explicate why it IS now. Enough of Immi. So, when I said that 2011 would be full of changes, did I really sense that? Or was I just making myself feel good? I tend to envisage the events that are going to take place in the up-coming year. Somethings just to make myself feel good, somethings just my instincts and somethings just to let the truth bite me hard. Some of them, comes out as per my prediction. This Linda Goodman phase of me, happens at the start of every year, for some years. Last year was no exception. So as it happens, 2011 was all about changes, and I am not talking about the political life of Pakistan, but MY very own. I don’t know, I am entralled. Not necessrily for ALL the changes that happened, but by the accuracy of my vaticination. Good, bad or ugly–here are the “changes” of MY not-so-changed life.

1. I got my driving license. No big deal? Well it IS for me. Because I got it after 2 long years of struggle driving. My father, finally, decided to contribute in the terror on the roads, in Karachi. YYYYYYAAAAAYYYYYYY… I got my life’s first license… to kill.

2. I started attending weddings. And finally let the world of wedding ceremonies, witness the very painfully typical girl in me. That very girl, under whose eyes, every bride has to go through postmortem examination, and the groom, always, ridiculously flunks in the good-looks department and subsequently proves an excellent material for the kind of jokes which aren’t so funny in the essence but magically makes, everyone- on -the -same- page, laugh hard . And that very girl, who is NEVER satisfied with the food and the sitting arrangement.

3. My schooling friend got back in my life, after 3 years. So now technically, I can not grizzle about not-having-friends-in-real life. How sad. Being a little less depressive. Damn, slowly and gradually I am becoming weary. WOW… What a change.

4. From half day, swivel chair life, I shifted to all day bed life. Gotta lap top. Whoa!!

5. I worked, well sorta, voluntarily, for the first time in life. And soon realized that world needs iDelete, iInvisible and iBlock gadgets in real life. However, the catch word is, that, iWorked.

6. I put all my simulated oh-I-am-a-big-girl attitude aside, and played like crazy with my laaj dularay, jaan se pyaray (marhoom) bakray, at my rooftop, after years.

7. I finally got over with “cool”, I am all AWESOME now.

8. My cousin added me on Facebook. And now I am treading on the Facebook-family-feigned-fun territory. He, by the way, is half responsible for my fascination for suicide. He was (is?) a typical dadi’s chahita – ankhon -ka-tara type. What does, dadi’s chahita-ankhon-ka-tara-s do? They prank, they tease, they pick on you, they utter any harmless word in sucha evil manner and that’s enough to burn you from head to toe, and they always, Always, ALWAYS have ONE favorite target. His was me. He is half responsible for why I hate my name–the way he used to sing “Mahi Yaar di Gahroli bahardi” with both his hands up in the air, whenever I would be around, still haunts me. He was one of the first people who made me realize that I am ugly–kali lambi churail, pathi ankhon wali and sokhi sari were my, a few popular nick names, bestowed by him. He could fortell my relationship with the world –by calling me hari mirch. And somehow, my childhood would be less happening and I would have small stock of memories, if he was not there. Met him, this year, after years, and things are “almost” the same. I mean, he didn’t feel an inch of hesitation grilling me. And I sulk and wish I could still scream, “ABBBUUUUU dakhien issay”. But I must say, he has grown into a very mature, sensible and responsible person. Yeah. And a person who reads my blog.

9. Some of my prayers got answered. Never, in my life, any of my prayer got answered. First time, my prayers got answered, when I needed the most.

10. And there were a few more. But the problem is that it’s hard to make them as interesting.

So barring my father’s heart attack episode, it was overall a smooth year. No fiascos, no big disappointments and no intense lamentations. A pretty smooth year, in fact good in parts. iLike it. I deserve some good moments. I am a cool person. And you know, I think that… Oh wait. Did I say cool? MAKE THAT AWESOME.

Anyways, iThink that… this year would be… iDont know. iCan’t predict. iDontWantToPredict.

Let this year….suprise me.

-

Have a wonderful year ahead my vigilant readers. I hope and wish that this year will shower you all with, AWESOMENESS. And all that you pray for.
Be happy, always.

No kidding.

On 25th Dec, Imran Khan conducted a huge rally at mausoleum of Quaid, Karachi. It was estimated that over 1,00,0000 people showed up there. Though it’s a different issue altogether that the mausoleum has capacity of 50K to 60K people. It is also said that Imran Khan managed to gather a crowd bigger than that of Lahore’s. Again, it’s a different issue that Karachi IS bigger than Lahore (by all means), and people from all over Pakistan, travelled to attend the rally, so they were not just Karachiites. Anyhow, the rally was a marvelous success. And the PTIans can now bask in success.

But behind every successful rally, there is a long list of people to thank. And in the case at hand, MQM tops that list.

Anyone without bias and with a pinch of neutrality, would agree to it. Because deep down inside, we all clandestinely admit that, if MQM hadn’t wanted it, it would never ever have happened, not even in thousand years. Imran Khan could hold a rally, because MQM let him. Imran Khan’s rally was a success, because MQM let it be.

For those, who would refute it and argue that it would be MQM’s loss, had MQM created any hurdles. I would first advice them that you are lucky, now is the winters. Kindly avail this awesome opportunity for yourself and eat almonds. Because you really need to. It will improve your memory. How in the cruel world, can you for 12TH MAY 2007? Your trite and boring but a supposedly winning argument?

It was the time when MQM supported the leader, whole Pakistan hated. It was the time when didn’t pay heed to baghi-s (rebels) like Aitizaz Ahsan ( where is he now BTW? Attending a wedding? I head he is writing a autobiographical, “baghi se baghbani tak”) , whole Pakistan was following.It was the time when MQM scorned the Cheif Justice, whole Pakistan was worshipping. And it all resulted in, the city’s—that MQM rules–roads being blocked and well, being blood baths. Needless to mention, how conveniently everyone jumped on the bandwagon and blamed MQM. I won’t argue here, that one needs to be extra ordinarily stupid to create mayhem in his own governance. Anyways, so ranging from TV anchors to print media to street opinion, it was MQM-didn’t-let-CJ-to-hold-the-rally. The anti MQM sentiment went to another level and even beat the anti American sentiment prevalent in Pakistan. MQM was to Pakistan what Muslims are to America and what America is to Muslim countries.

*Fast foward*

So elections in 2008 took place (precisely after 8/9 months of the incident) and whoa, guess what? MQM won a landside victory from the City of Flyovers ( exactly 21 seats from Karachi). And 12th May talk goes on.

The fact is, the voter of MQM is loyal and won’t shift for three reasons. 1, Mustafa Kamal. Name is enough. 2, They have seen and heard about horrendous operation clean up against Mohajirs. 3, Mohajirs have (rightfully) this being cornered mentality.

So, no matter if it is 12th May or IF it WAS 25th Dec, nothing could/would effect MQM’s votebank. Karachi belongs to MQM, and always will.

Therefore, Imran Khan should not be stingy and insecure and should thank MQM, for its bounteous goodness, open mindedness and welcoming behavior.

Having said that, I wish IK all the luck in the world. I am pretty impressed by their demonstration and campaigning. And I am pretty confident that IK would win from Punjab and Khyber, the two provinces badly need some change and some development and some flyovers and some REAL malls.

Best of Luck Imran Khan.

-

PS: I apologize in advance if anyone’s offended, I was just trolling. Been a while.

So now we know what IK means when he speaks about “change”. He means that EVERY ol’ and tested politician would be CHANGING his/her party to PTI.

IRP (Orkut): Orkut, or pricisely IRP is in its death bed, And I am sobbing. I have a choice to stand up, and take a leave. But I don’t “want” to move. I feel home there. It is, in fact, my virtual home. Home with a lot of mirthful moments and equal amount of atrocius ones. Home, where I am myself–good, bad or ugly. Home, that has been a source of constant support in my weak moments. Home, that brings out the 9 year old in me. Home, that takes my stupidity as far as it can go. Home, where many tried to expel me and ludicrously failed. It’s home. Home is your first institution. You learn. You keep learning, till walls come down. I am going to stick around, and let the walls come down.

Schooling best friend : I H.A.T.E. HER. She, to date, holds my-worst-best friend-ever title. She knew the art of putting a gun on your shoulders, taking a shot and letting the target not know it was she, but you. She was the sort who, when going down, oh forget it, even when not going down, makes a point to take you down. She was a personification of Pakistan’s Government. Only crises happens if she happens to be a part of your life. Time that I spent with her, is engraved in my mind. Don’t know why. Or may be I do.

She was my first best friend. First-s are First-s. You just can’t get over your first-s. Be it anything— first cell phone, first salary, first love, first marriage, first child, first etc. You just can’t get over your first-s. Because with first-s, there is a chain of first-s involved. Especially, the feeling, of having– that later-s can not replace or touch on.

School : Okay— I had a smooth time and good friends when I was graduating. But somehow, those days, haven’t really made a mark in my life. Nothing reminds me of my B.A times. However, at least 15645454 things in a month, happen that conjure up my school memories.

I have lived my high school life to the fullest. It was full of cold-wars between “popular groups” and acts of “belligerency” in breaks. Going out of the way to look good and ending up being a calamitous laughing stock for the whole school (Yeah I had got my hair streaked golden and used to wear blue contact lenses. It’s okay, IMAGINE AND LAUGH). Fretting over what to wear on various events that would take place, and how to stand out from the other girls. Doing stupid things and considering myself KWELL. Giving nightmares to teachers and enjoying it. Messing up with people and having no qualms about it. Being a brat and being proud of it. Living through the most vilest events, dire consequences, enthralling times, savoring moments and what not. My high school life is what you see in those teenage dramas. The good, the bad and the ugly—everything in my high school life, was at its extreme. Perhaps that’s why, despite that if I was given a chance, I would NEVER EVER live it again, everything that happened at high school is still crystal clear on my mind and occupies a larger chunk of my memories, because they all were at their extreme level. Only things that make it to the memory lane, are those which happen at their extreme level. Good, bad or ugly.

Iman ali : Arz kia hai:

Jalnay walay jaltay rahien gay,
mai sada Iman Ali se milti rahoon gi.

OKAY… Whatever. I have reasons. First, she is not just another good looking model but has a very distinctive face. Secondly, she IS intelligent–a rare find in models. Third, there is an aura of independence and astuteness about it. Forth, she is a self-made lady.

Fifth? meri ek dost thee graduation mai, uss ki ammi ke jab mujay dakha tu bola tha kay mai Iman Ali se milti hon. TADA…

Okay, I like her since my schooling. Because of all 4 reasons mentioned above.
Reading the end first, ALWAYS : Since I have started reading, I read the end first. I like knowing how things are going to turn out. Save me, from heartbreaks.

Tribune : No, it’s NOT for burger kids who don’t have a political sense or enough knowledge of the surroundings. It is for everyone who believes in liberalism, freedom of speech and being updated. Instead of making extra effort to intellectualize and ending up being a bore, most columnists there, talk to the point and in witty manner. Their reporting style is chic and advance. Their business page is smart and innovative. And you feel FRESH just by looking at it, for the paper has the most vibrant face.

The Notebook : Okay for those who like my class mates thought that the film/movie was an exaggeration, like my friends believe that it was too good to be true and everyone I talk about movie say overblown, PUH-LEEZ SHUT UP. Because you have seen the movie and yet not seen it.

It was pretty real. However, exceptional. Exceptional, yes it was. But exceptions doesnt mean that its not reality.
For one, they do get parted. And both for their own reasons. Allie for her urban life style and Noah , for several reasons. First, he had no future in big town, he knew he was meant for small town. Second, somehow he wanted to make things big on his own, and moving with Allie would mean her father’s assistance in every step he would take. Third his self respect and manly ego was badly hurt and utterly shattered. So both for their OWN reasons and OWN sake, do call it quits.

Then Allie comes back to him, because of the void in her life. She had a fiance and all, but he wasnt compatible for fiery , hyper, idealistic, overtly emotional. prone to react over petty matters used to be dependent and suffered from too much attention only child, Allie. What he sees in Lon, is a guy who is well settled and well established. A guy who can provide her a perfect life. ONLY she secretly admits , not perfect love. But still, like any other girl, she shuns all those idealistic and dreamy thoughts and goes for the perfect life. But one event leads to another and one day she finds herself standing outside Noah’s play. It was rather destiny than anything else that she was there.
But even then she tries to fight back the destiny for the luxurious life, like in real life people do. But at some point we all have made decisions, that werent feasible for pragmatic reasons but we DID it, cause we were emotionally convinced and felt personally about them. Like this coat I bought for Rs 5,600.

I hope, my emotional decision to buy the coat would turn out to be the same. And I look wonderful too.

Blogging : I thought, may be, I would eventually quit it. Considering all the hate comments, that I approve with a stone on my heart. But couldn’t. I think it’s to do with my immune system.

Staying up late : I tried. But morns aren’t for me it seems. Morns are for others’. You live for yourself, only in nights.

Nodding and stutter : I DON’T KNOW WHY. Despite having a persona of over confidence and overtly self assured, I fumble, repeat words and speak too fast. Heaven (if there is one, that is) knows how much I have practiced to speak eloquently and assertively. But ALAS…!!! I already feel bad for Your Honor.

I HATE YOU MEHER BUKHARIII. I HATE YOU. THANK GOD, THANK OH MY GOD, THAT YOU ARE BUKHARI WITH U AND NOT O!

Rachel McAdams:

Whenever anyone would say how beautiful Rachel McAdams is, I ALWAYS used to mention that not only she’s very beautiful but also has the aura of intelligence and independence about her. But I was wrong. Because an intelligent person makes intelligent choices. And Rachel McAdams goes for “makes” instead. I lament getting my hands on Morning Glory and Midnigh in Paris this year. This lass, only sees the casts, makers and script of the film, and not the role that she is getting or the effort she needs to put in. I realize her great works aren’t HER great works. CREDIT goesssss to the directors and well… her pristine beauty.

Brothers and Sisters:

This one TV show I LUBED truly, madly, deeply. I was obsessed with the show. The show was almost sacred for me. BUT WHAT THE *^^&%%$$%#%R^&%*&^*&^&^%%$^&&*&*^)*&%^$$#$# SEASON FINALE. NOT A SINGLE EPISODE WORTH WATCHING. It was like putting apples and anaconda together and getting them married and showing anthropoids as their kids. At times I felt if Ekta Kapoor was trying her hands on American television and making fusion — United States of Dhotistan.

Mission-To-Get-Me-Married-Wali-Aunty (MTGMMWA):

Not that I was ever fond of her but I never knew that I was capable of hating someone more than I hate facebook. Just a few words, while my father in the hospital, from her to my mother: ABIDA ki shadi kab kara rahi ho? And my hate for her, has gone to a whole new level. They say, hate changes the person. And TADA… I am changed. Hate has turned me into a poet. Here’s my little work:

My hate for you is a blistering occean of fire,
Pushing you into its flame is my one and only desire.
May you turn soon into an ugly loser vampire,
So I can take wooden stake and stab the ^%%$$#$&^&*^*&*&^%$$@##@@#@#$#%$# OUTTA YOU.

Rose beauty parlor:

Yeah. Whatever. Used to go there for facial, waxing etc till the mid of this year. I dont go there for facial waxing etc anymore. People laugh. Also, Rose beauty parlour services have gone to ditches. So I left going there. Now I go to some other beauty parlor. HOWEVER, even the new beauty parlor services didn’t help in making me look a little above than bearable on the eyes. But anyways, I hate Rose beauty parlor now. BUS.

Sprite:

Well, almost. Have become a lil health [read: skin] conscious now. I feel sick. I feel now that I am cheating on me when I sometimes having it. However, less so. Switching to Pakola. Only one thing is keeping me from Pakola. Back in my B.A. , my group friends used to call me, Pakola type girl. What does that mean? Well THAT I leave it to your imagination!

My Internet crush:

I could write a book on him. I would fantasize, dig and stalk him. He was one of my majoristestest crushes and ONE and ONLY internet crush if anything of that sort exists. But it MUST, because I had an internet crush on him. Anyways, so he was (is) exceptionally intelligent , unbeatebly witty and extra ordinarilly tough. AND I was clean bowled. I still remember how I used to spend hours and hours reading all his posts/comments that he would post on different forums and finding out other sites he would participate at. I was lit-ra-lee converted into Sherlock Holmes. And I was virtually suffering from multiple personality disorder. Because I, well, kinda sorta converted into that heroine of trashy urdu novels, who talks to her imaginary hero. And God knows what happened this year. I am myself astonished by my stoicism for him. On second thought, may be I know too. May be that’s why crushes are crushes that they wear out eventually. They just need an excuse to wear out. Sadly, mine got one. Tough luck.
Ah… NOT mine. It’s HIS!

Admiration for Ashton Kutcher:

Do I really need to state the reason why it has gone to never comeback? Just one thing Ashton Kutcher, whenever anyone questioned your acting skills, I would always rebut with ferocity and assert: Have you ever seen Ashton Kutcher’s acting when he has to show restraint in any scene? No one can ” restraint -act ” as briliantly as he does. Needless to say I wouldn’t bother now.

And this is for thou…
Man, infidelity thy middle name.
Learn something from your doppelgänger (read: dog)
and have some shame.

The other day, on my way back home, at traffic signal I saw this guy, around 13/14 years old. He was one of those 4700 street kids in Karachi, who clean windshields. And YET he was NOT one of those!

I was looking around that he caught my attention. He was sitting on the footpath, looking here and there, rolling his cleaning wiper in his hands–busy in his thoughts. His cloths were old but clean. His shoes were dusty but laces were properly tied. He unlike those street kids, didnt rush to the cars the minute they stop. He was rather sitting. And thinking. And he looked different.

I felt a tad bad. I took out some bucks and waved to get his attention. He finally saw me but didnt move. I showed him money so that he would understand. But he kept staring in the air. It was like he was deciding whether he would like to take the money or not. I tried to read his eyes. There was a battle going on. It was a battle of pride and want. It takes a lot of valiancy and nerves to be in the battlefield, it’s hard; I know. I admit. But trust me it’s not easy to be a battlespectator. It’s the most excrutiating way to realize what you lack, what you never had and what you can never be. Outside arrows hits your diginity rather than your exterior. Anyhow, it’s always interesting to see who wins.

And guess who wins here? His pride. Some one from the cars behind mine, called him out. He instantly dashed towards the car.

And I kept staring in the air. And thinking. And feeling. And realizing.

In my 26 years of hard work and endless effort to be different, I was actually shallow. Very very shallow. It’s not like that I had never admitted it earlier. But the reality would check me out so hard, that I never expected.
It just hit me that you don’t have to have a luxurious life to build a strong personality, access to information for your thought process and voguish cloths to stand out. None of it make you different. You are different when you have a mind of your own. He was different. And I felt so shallow.

In hindsight, I think I always knew that I am shallow. And that’s exactly the reason why I decide to wore a mask of all fancy adjectives, like anti-social, simple and thoughtful. But the truth is, I am not anti social. I am actually a very insecure person.

Did I just admit that? I did.

I stopped meeting my relatives because there are three kinds that are found in my family.

1. Successful.
2. Beautiful.
3. Both.
And needless to mention…well. So yeah, I am insecure about my looks and brains. And I realized that a large part of the world is comprised of the above mentioned 3 types. Rest who are like me, well I don’t know about them. But I can tell you about me. So the rest me, one day discovered a fancy word anti-social. I found fascinating. I tried to search for its family. And WHOA! Its family had even more fascinating members, like recluse, hermit, solitudinarian and what not. iLiked it. So I collected all the tools and fixed them in my system. And thought I look different. Different than what lies underneath the mask.

It was good. But not good enough. So I went on and explored something that not having it, can make me REALLY look different. Yeah! That something is something that can make you look different from what you are but not from what others are. Okay in simple English, it’s make up. I never miss a chance to say or to show that how much I loathe make up. Just to get a OH-that’s-so-rare-for-a-girl-you-are-so-simple response. And that is enough to make me feel different.

Being a typical girl, I can’t alleviate my obsession with cloths and shoes. But I understand that I can for make up. For one simple reason. I don’t know how to do it!

But if you look at it, here I actually turned my weakness into strength! How very thoughtful of me? Yeah I know. My bookshelf is full of all those thoughtful philosophers who inked pages and pages and pages and pages and didn’t care about the effects of it on the enviroment. Yeah. I READ PHILOSOPHY. Political, ethical, logic and aesthetics. Have you ever met anyone who likes to read? Yes. Have you ever met anyone who reads fiction? Yes. Have you ever met anyone who reads non fiction? Yes. Have you ever met anyone who reads philosophy? Umm, hardly. YAY.

So, that’s what I read. Alongwith all the other regular types that I mention in low tone and all the trashy feel-good novels which are hidden in the lowest portion of my closet. Because I am too thoughtful to be displaying them like that. Frankly, that’s the only way I can appear different.

So, different is the mask that I wore. In my vien attempt to not to be the person, I realized, I was, long ago. But no matter how bewitching the mask is, the mask had to be taken off when the party is over. Sometimes by people, sometimes by circumstances and sometimes by your own self.

So get ready, my next post series would be written by me without the mask. It would be all about obsessing over cloths, shoes and cloths, being catty about relatives, endless and worthless socializing, mundanity of thoughts and all the shallow talks. Because, I admit. I am a shallow shallow girl, in this shallow shallow world!

Umm…I don’t mean to say that this wasn’t the case before. But…anyways.

There is ONLY one difference between friendship and love. And that is, friends are replaceable.