To Abbu…. This November.

Chatting with an old friend a few days back, conversation led to something which made me realize that I have dedicated a large chunk of my life, to copy/ please/ impress my father.

Old friend: Remember how we used to sit at the back of the class and would throw chalks?

Me: Oh yeah! Throwing chalks used to be our goal of life. And I was a helluva aimer. If life was all about throwing chalks, I would be unbeatable. I couldn’t see the blackboard clearly but knew my target :P

O.F: Lolz. You used to see my notebook to write. You never wore specs.

Me: I still don’t wear them.

O.F: Ahan.

Me: Yea. You know father doesn’t let me.

O.F: Oh yea. Your father thinks your eyes are too pretty for specs.

Me: You are still bad at sarcasm.

O.F: You still do what your father likes, even at this age.

Me: No. That’s not true.

That WAS true. In my heart, I knew, that was true. I have always tried hard to do to everything my father does/says/likes/approves.

I still remember, in my childhood when abbu would shave, I used to stand next to him and ask to give some of his shaving gel so that I would shave too. He would always refuse, and I would always quick to take some of the foam from his face and apply on my own. Once, while I was doing so, father said, “Beta, it is not for girls, why do you do it?” I replied, “Beta is for not girls too, why you say it?” He laughed and said to mother, “Look at her age and her answer.” To which mother answered, “Your mother tells similar stories about you too.”

That WAS true. My dadi used to tell that abbu was the most stubborn of all the kids. Whenever any guest would visit their place and dadi would serve them tea, right then, my father would ask for it too, and would keep insisting if asked to wait. Afterwards, my dadi would take the kettle and pour tea directly from it in his mouth. But he never learned his mother’s lesson.

However, dadi tells that he was very particular about learning his school lessons. He was most intelligent of all the kids. You know, like there is always ONE uncle in every family, who had studied under god knows how many street lights, walked miles to reach school and then walk miles back to home, started earning at a very early age, continued studies side by side, got scholarship abroad, designated high post and made it big. A self made man. Yeah the Perfect Memoir Material (PMM).

Well fortunately or unfortunately, in my case, that PMM happened to be my father. So, the minute you open your eyes, you are told father’s story more than that of Cinderella’s. He is the only male figure in the house, so his influence was even heavier on me.

I always wanted to copy him. He loves cricket. His blood pressure is directly proportional to the performance of Pakistan Cricket team. The higher target Pakistan loses the match with, the higher his blood pressure goes. I used to see him, in my childhood, sitting in front of the TV screen and advising the players on which ball to take reverse sweep and on which to straight shot. So, to impress him, I would listen to the commentators more than watching the match, and would memorize all the cricket jargons on the sport page. And now, I can tell when a no ball was supposed to be a Yorker and when a half hearted short on a loose ball could have been a sixer.

He is very passionate about politics, national and international. I personally think that he and Sheikh Rasheed were bros in the last Janam. As he every now and then gives his precious predictions about political scenes. He also happens to know all the inside stories, ranging from Pentagon to NIS to ISI to what not, he knows- it- all. I used to be stupefied by his political sense when kid. I would always make a point to sit with him when 9 bajay ka Khabarnama or Hard talk would be on, listen to what he had to say. He would be happy when the two shows would come, back then. And now, he is always very happy. Yeah, unlike other people, he NEVER complains about the influx of political talk shows, he is in fact the happiest man on the planet to have them. And because of him, now I start to get mood swings, when I don’t get to watch these full of crap and good for nothing political shows.

Once, I saw his photograph reading a book. I inquired if he reads. He said that he used to. And it was then that I decided to gulp as many books as I can, in this lifetime.

He never wore a T shirt or a safari suit, men of his generation like to wear, for that matter, he always wears button downs. So, whenever I would shop, I try to get at least one button down.

He is repulsive about long hair. I never let mine grow below my shoulders.

He once said to me that he doesn’t like make up, as it makes a face more like a pastry than anything else. I never wore any. And tried hard to come to terms with my looks as they are.

He watches WWE because it is for real “rugged” men. I NEVER gave a second look to men who are not rugged.

He was a James Bond fan when young. I watched all bond movies I could get my hands on.

He likes white. I always have my room painted white.

I always would team up with you, when mum, you and I used play cards. And play my cards as per your directions, even if my instinct says otherwise. Avoid mother’s red face with anger and gaze at yours, to catch a hint, if you are pleased with me.

All my life, I have tried to make you happy with me. So, I may have ridiculously failed. But is it elusive to acknowledge my efforts? I mean seriously, if I had put so much effort in my studies, I would have gone places. No kidding. But you never reciprocate. Perhaps, you were busy learning so many other things in life that you didn’t have the time to learn how to take love.

But I have lot of time. And you should know that I am a shameless overtly expressive person. So today, on your birthday, when I wished you birthday and said that I love you, your thank you with half smile response, didn’t disappoint me. Your restrain can never disappoint me. I love you and always will.

Happy Birthday to you, Abbu.

I feel blessed to be raised by you.

Wrongdoings of poor — A taboo?

While I do realize that being a poor in my country – Pakistan—means being denied of your rights outright, and being pushed and pushed again than pushed some more until you are off the cliff. In my heavily humble and highly personal opinion the under privilege class, is equally corrupt if not more, just like other classes, in Pakistan.

As I said, they are wronged, but does that make them right? Moreover, does that give them a right to do wrong, just because they are being treated wrongly?

My answer would be a big NO.

It does not. In fact, the ones who are denied their rights should better know about the rights and the wrongs, because they have been through it.

Besides, everyone is born with a basic sense of right and wrong. So, being uneducated, lack of facilities and poor circumstances, are lame excuses in favor of the poor.

It always amuses me when I see people bashing the elites, and getting frustrated on the fact that they get away with it, because they are privileged. I feel tempted to ask them, what about the poor ones, who get away with their wrong doings plundering lot of oh-but-they-are-poor sympathies of your and mine.


How conveniently we tend to overlook the fact that, middle class and elite class may not be as enthusiastic to go out and vote as the lower class is, in our country, but they also happen to be the ones, who are sold on elections, to the same corrupted politicians, who had turned their backs from all the promises they did, in their visit in the past elections.

Anyone with a tad of political know-how, and not weak memory, would know, our “apparently” Prime Minister’s appearance, groundbreaking of Rs 1.25 billion Sui gas supply scheme, announcement of the free bus services for the labor and peasants, and acceptance of the all development promises that were made, in the rally of the fake-degree fame, Mr Dasti. We know what miracles happened after that. And needless to say, that it doesn’t have the honor of being the pioneer act. Buying voters from small towns and villages is a common practice by the politicians. Lower class sells itself and votes. The politicians don’t speak or take measures to eradicate the corruption from lower class because it votes or well, sells.

The misconducts of under-privileged class goes beyond the territory of elections and step in our routine boundaries. There is at least one theft by servant story in a month, you read or hear. Also, you would come across also many “aunties” complaining how their things get disappeared which they suspect being stolen by their maids but since, it is just a suspicion, nothing can be done about it. The dealings with the servants to get them to work properly and the monthly perks that has to be provided so that they work well, is another matter, which is wrong in the essence.

Besides if you are going to get your work done, related to PTCL, KESC or any other organization, where you first have to deal with the clerks, I have yet to know at least one person, who would have gotten his work done without filling in the pockets of the “staff.”

And no you can’t complain to the higher authorities. As workers in small scale jobs have unions. And they tend to act as blackmailers, when questioned and confronted. Ranging from sweepers to labors to shopkeepers to any other small scale work field, all their work leads to dirty roads and streets, weak infrastructure, poor quality products etc.

It is all vivid. It is all there, in front of us. Yet we don’t or well, can’t speak on it.

Because “they” are poor.

I can’t help but question, a country where corruption is drenched in the grass root level, can democracy even be our last option?

A thought # 6.~

Wherever you are sitting right now, just look around you and count all the things in red.

Now tell how many things in blue, are there?

Can you answer that? quickly?

I bet… even if you are wearing blue, you couldn’t.

In our pursuit, we overlook so many things, even if they are right in front of us—tall and wide. We never realize that they exist.

And when it hits us, what we actually need, is what we’ve left far behind, as we never knew it was there.

We should always examine closely all the things that we have, mull over what we need, mull over some more and then some more, weigh it properly, and THEN, GO FOR IT…!!

My Oscar speech on my blog’s first birthday.

A very very happy birthday to my blog. Today, it turned 1. 1st birthdays hold their own significance. They bring a lot of joy, contentment and an urge to do more and do better for the guardian. And it did the same to me. I am very happy today. I had created plenty blogs in the past, but they never lasted for more than 3 months. Somehow or the other, blogging would transform from an enchanting business to a wearisome one after a while. But THIS blog, surprisingly, has proven to be a record breaker. MasAllah, it is now 1 years old. And it would not have been possible without you all.

*Dramatic pose*

Yes, my friends and not so friends, whatever my blog is today, is because of you all. I have to admit, I am spellbound by your endurance and courage, like REALLY REALLY. Considering the amount of typos, errors and mistakes, one can possibly find in my posts, I truly believe that you all have to be special (no pun intended). I mean I don’t read me (Yeah! Now it all started to explain? RIGHT). Just thank you so much for everyone who ever dared to read whatever I “try” writing.

And well, there are some people with extra ordinary endurance and courage, who visit my blog frequently and throw encouraging comments. I think they deserve my special thank you. So here I go,

Scooter onderdelen: Though Mr Scooter, you came, comment and went. You have quite a role in making this blog, completing its 1st year. You are the FIRST EVER DARING COMMENTOR of this very blog. Thank you, Thank you so so so much. I don’t know who you are, where you are from, but you and your splendid words for my blog, were honey to my eyes. Thank you so much. I will never forget you, Scooter.

Tanzeel: We may not be the best of friends and, we may not chat on regular basis, but you are somebody who I trust and can always count on. You have always corrected me wherever I have wrong gone and have always supported me wherever I needed. I am indebted to you for your frankness, sincerity and encouragement. You were the first person, among the people that I know, to comment on my blog. And I was truly delighted to have you here. Because you are vastly knowledgeable and witty; that’s why your opinion always “matter”. Thank you.

Zunoon: Juno, my friend, despite having a girlfriend, takes out time to read my blog. Thank you so much, I know your schedule is too tough :P Anyways… I want to tell you that your Juno like ways to observe and comment on things, have always amused me. Your opinions always have some surprise element in them (whatever that might mean). I have to tell you that I like the way you think and then utter. Stay the way you are. It really makes you stands out of the crowd. Thank you for being there.

Hani: You and I are north and south in disposition and personality, but something connects us. And I can’t be enough thankful for that. As your non-judgmental attitude, philosophical thoughts and caring tendencies have always been inspiring. Thank you so much for your precious words, they helped, just like always. You are a very beautiful human being. Thanks for being yourself.

Mariam: The surprise package :P It’s really cool to actually read so strong opinions from someone who I had seen hardly speaking at orkut. I respect you for your knowledge and views. Thanks you.

Roqayya: You are the FIRST person who ACTUALLY commented on my FIRST ever complete short story. I have to say, it is because of you that I have actually started taking this short story business seriously. Just thank you so much for the comment on my story and other comments as well. You are definitely going in my memoir.

SДНІВZДDД: You are a very nice and simple person. I really like your blog and
replying to your comments. I believe that you want to work a lot for the humanity, I wish and hope that you will. All the luck in the world to you. Thank you.

Yasser: You are one experienced blogger. I respect you a lot but this is true that I equally enjoy arguing with you :P That’s because you are one formidable person.

Hania Ali: Miss you are ONE of your kind. My valuable discovery from orkut :P Your poise and naivety make me smile. Thanks for reading my futile thoughts.

Indiajones: One of the few Indians that I respect. Sir, kindly update your blog. And thank you.

Jalal Hb: It makes me feel really good that my blog is visited by a serious and wise personality like you. Really, thank you for bearing with my non-serious write-ups. Really.

Nida: Thank you for your nice comments. I like the way you comment – precise and yet it has every detail.

Abeer: You are a very impressive girl. I think you should write more frequently. Thank you for your comments.

Ugly shoelace: You are hilarious. I amazed how you keep with your sense of humor, being surrounded by people with horrendous diseases. Your blog is one of my favorite blogs. Thanks for reading and commenting.

Beat one: Thank you for your occasional comment and regular reading.

Mano: You are a very sweet girl. I was much surprised when I learned that you read my blog. Thank you so much. I am truly honored.

Besides, there were people who came, commented, some of them commented again and then again, and NEVER looked back. However, they all are important enough to be thanked by their names, SO, Thanks a million Samy, Mehreen, Ali, Hashim Nauman, Sarah B. Haider, Sonia, Aftab S Alam, Shahid, Nishu, aneezy, Naveed, variable, Christie greenie, Jaded, Corrupt, Usman, Mano, Hina, Just another earthling, Shirazi, Ebonie Moorehead, business lending, asharsidd, Shahid, eva, arsh, Mirko Filipovic, Ammar Zafarullah and whoever I missed.

Thank you everyone. I have no words.

Happy Birthday to my blog. I wish you all the happiness in the world. I hope you make it big one day, and make all your readers proud of you.

May you live long and prosper.

Happy Birthday to You

Happy Birthday to You

Happy Birthday Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday to you.

May you have many more

May you have many more

May you have many more dear Blog

Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.


Like Harlequin Romances.

The royal ring.

Finally, after much speculations, umpteen verdicts on will-they wont-they, numerous bets and eccentric rumors, Prince Williams got engaged to his longtime sweetheart, Catherine Elizabeth Kate Middleton.

Prince William proposed to Kate Middleton in October during a vacation in Kenya. According to Kate, she half expected it but was surprised when Prince Williams gave her the ring. And with a YES in capital letters (capital letters is actually my own hypothesis), she accepted the ring.

It’s an oval shaped sapphire surrounded by diamonds ring, which once-upon-a-time used to be so lofty in the third finger of Lady Diana.

The ring more than its monetary value, holds a great emotional significance for Prince Williams, he proposed with his mother ring to make sure she (Lady Diana) “didn’t miss out on the excitement”, in his own words. However, the lacuna is too extensive to be filled by a ring.

Anyhow, the ridiculously expensive ring is being called a jinx by the long nose clan, understanding. But I beg to differ. I mean look at them– the sophisticated, ambitious and gentle William and the sensible, modest and girl-next-door look Kate Middleton—they had been dating for eight freaking years, seriously who in the world dates anyone for more than two months now-a-days or if somebody is too busy to find a new fish or male fish (?) for that matter or with respect, is excruciatingly ugly/loser then it’s a different issue altogether. But they are pleasant faces with nice personalities, and here we are talking about eight years; No, I will rephrase, EIGHT YEARS? You have got to hand it to them. They are two sincere people who love each other.

However, the journey hasn’t been as sincere to them. It’s not easy being a royal, and it’s so not easy “belonging” to one. Back in 2007, Kate’s mother, Carole Elizabeth, at Prince William’s graduation Sandhurst military academy, was chewing gum and Kate said to the mighty “pleased to meet you” instead of “how do you do?” caused quite an uproar within the premises of the palace and in the media of the land of Mighty Queen. And that led to a brief break up of the love birds, as per speculations.

Besides, Kate’s middle class background and the fact that she doesn’t hail from a royal family, have been a subject of much concern. She has often been compared with Lady Diana, and much pressurized to act like her. Not to forget, Your Highness snobby pals, who would throw jokes on her mother’s old job as a flight attendant. Yes my friends Britain is a very status conscious society, they have mighty egos and even mightier flaunts. And how can I not mention, the hero leaving for the war in Afghanistan and the heroine waits for them back home bit? Moreover, the hero coming back, in one piece, proud and smiling.

But all’s well that ends well, as Shakespeare says. And that’s why I say it like Harlequin Romances.

Wish them both a very happy life together and forever.

PS: Is this only me who thinks that Kate looks like Katie Holmes?

PSS: I hate the ring. Thank god its no more on Lady Diana’s hand.

Winter blues.

I have yet to understand how exactly winters are associated with romance, as per popular believe, both of them go hand in hand. The wretched glorification of romance in winters, in poetry, prose and plays, is beyond my comprehension. In fact, I ask, can people not see and feel the darkness, the dryness and the laziness that winters brings? They all make nothing but a mountain of glumness, right in front of you.

For me, wintertime has always been excruciatingly depressing.

I don’t think it would come as a shock if I say this winters hasn’t proven otherwise so far. Although I tried hard to make it a little different, I decided to start S.O.C.I.A.L.I.Z.I.N.G. And with that decision, opportunity came running to me.

The winters came first with an outright warning for me to not to apply for internships anymore by dad—as his motto goes— finish studies first, and then the news of sudden death of my mother’s best friend’s husband. I have known auntie sinceI opened my eyes and her two daughters and I were friends in childhood. When I was told about his death, the first thing crossed my mind was what his two daughters must be going through. And the second, what the other two daughters from his second wife must be going through. Yes, (late) Uncle decided to exercise the luxury law, Allah (swt) has bestowed upon his gender, after he was disappointed with the arrival of his second daughter with auntie. Life is funny. His second wife didn’t do any better. Anyways, so I told mother that I would attend his daaswa’an (10 days after the death) and left her astounded.

When mother and I reached at Auntie’s place, Milaad had already started. I met auntie and, she promptly hugged me. I was seeing her after over 10 years. It was then that it hit me that age is even more cruel than world.

She made me sit beside her. I saw people there, and found most them quite multitasking, as they were listening to milaad khuwa’an and talking at the same time. Little did I know that I would be one of them, really soon.

I was engrossed in my own thoughts, pretending to listen to the milad very carefully, that somebody sat next to me and said Salam. I looked on my left and quickly recognized it was Auntie’s elder daughter. I condoled with her and then again got immersed in my thoughts. After a while, she nudged me, and asked, “What are you thinking.”

I was caught off guard but composed myself and said, “Umm…no I am listening to the milad.”

She gave me a dubious look and said, “Oh but you are very quiet.”

Wait till you know me.
“Ah no. Just you know milad is going on.” I smiled.

“Hmm…you can speak.”

Yeah sure! Can I speak on your father?
“Alright then…What do you study?”

“I did bachelors and was thinking to pursue masters but sudden abbu’s death” *Pause* I nodded, she continued, “But insallah next year, masters in political science. What about you? What keeps you so busy? She seemed very interested in me.

“Well, I read law. Doing LLB (hons).”

“OH WOW. LLB. GREAT. You really look like a lawyer too.”

Wait till you see my marksheet.
“Oh thanks.”

“You know, this lady in my neighborhood was a criminal lawyer. She used to get death threats. That frustrated her husband so much that he asked her to quit the job but she didn’t. Later he divorced her.”


“Actually they were too much. Poor lady.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“Yeah. You know she fought my auntie’s case.”

“What case? What happened to her?”

“Oh you don’t know? My auntie was married to this man, who later we found out was mentally ill. Only Allah knows what we had to go through to get auntie out of that mess. Those were horrible days.”

“Oh I am sorry.”

“Yeah, yea but everything is fine now. Auntie got married again and her second husband is a very nice man.”

“Hmm.” This piece of information got me pensive. I don’t even know what she said next. My mind was filled with the thoughts of this friend of mine, who I recently learned that have taken divorced, and her reason was similar too. Her news shook me. From engagement to courtship period to wedding ceremony, I had seen her in all. She had shared a lot of stuff with me. It was too hard to handle that news for me. However, I found solace in the fact that she has moved on and doing very well now. But world is as deceptive as it gets.

“Abida… stand up.”

“Huh?” I turned and looked at mum.

“They are reciting Saalaam. Stand up. Have you forgooten?” Mum looked furious.

“Oh.” I stood up hurriedly. As it happens, right after salaam, everyone shakes hands with each other. So I turned to shake hands with my mother. But she didn’t look happy on me shaking hands with her. Instead she directed me to this lady, sitting next to her and grinning on the lines of Oh-I-know-you. I forwarded my right hand to her, but she was rather interested in my left hand. I looked at mother in surprise. But she was pretty content out there. Mother said, “Show her your palm, she reads hand.”

“Huh? Mother.”

“Do what I said.”

“Please. It’s embarrassing.” I begged.

“What embarrassing? No one is watching you. Show her.”

“NO.” I tried to pull my hand all in vein. “Look… I don..”

The lady was already examining my hand.

Mother asked the lady curiously and gleefully. “Tell me when will she get married?”

The lady smiled and said confidently. “By the end of the next year.”

“Really?” She looked happy. “There are a few proposals, they are good, but her father wanted her to finish her studies first and…”

“Mum you never told me that Auntie’s sister got divorced? They were deceived; her husband was mentally not sound?”

Somehow my harmless question got her angry, she said, “You are a brat. I did a mistake to let you come here with me.” And then she started on what an ungrateful child I was. And that continued till we got home.

Then I threw up, mum thought it was due to her lecture. But when I was taken to the doctor, he said that I had food poisoning, along with fever and flue. And he gave a horrendous list of meds to take, which are supposed to cure you, but the excruciatingly heavy names of them can kill anyone on the spot. I thought I welcomed winter pretty well. It’s been over a week that I am on those meds; they seem to work so slow on me or may be I am too hard to handle for them.

However, at my end, it’s not only about taking those poor meds; it’s also about how they are given to me. Yeah, actually, it’s my father who gives me those meds, and he has his ways of giving. He holds a capsule or a tablet and makes attempts to put it directly in my throat, lest I would throw it if he put it in my mouth. And he investigates about my life.

There are two times in a year when father and I have long talks, one when my exams are going on and the other when I am sick. And in both the seasons, I feel quite the same—cynical.

So as the tradition goes, he got on with the usual conversation, which I was trying to avoid for a month now. He asked the question I feared the most, “So when is your college commencing? They are delaying the classes too long this time?”

I thought a monosyllable could rescue me, “Right”

“Did you call the college?”


“What did they say?”

So he won’t let me go that easily? Why is he an engineer? Why didn’t he take up law instead?
“Actually…my college has dropped this program.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they are no more accommodating this course.”

“What? Why?”

“Budget issues they had.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? What are you going to do now?”

“I didn’t tell you cause…I mean… you see… yeah…Actually I didn’t want to disturb you. And I will self study.”

“You will what?”

”Self study”

“You do realize what you are talking? What was your GPA again?”

“Abbu I will work hard this time.”

“That’s what you say after every result. Anyways, did you call the other universities who have this course?”

“I mailed them. Admission closed there.”


“Last month.”

“When did you know about your college?”

“Last month.”

“When did you call the other universities?”

“Umm…this month.”

“And I wouldn’t even ask what took you a month to inquire about other universities.”

“Why not?” I just got curious and regret it now.

“Because that’s what you have done all your life. Your laziness and carelessness has no limits. You will regret later. You will see.”

“Abbu I think you are taking it too far.”

“I am taking it too far? You know it well how important this year is for you. You need to increase your GPA, else you won’t be eligible for bars.”

“Abbu I said I will work hard. Like REALLY REALLY. I will work hard so much and will prove it to you that I am not what you and everyone thinks of me. I will be on TV one day, giving interview about my big achievements. You will see and so will everyone.”

“Look at yourself, you are still not serious. Be done with your stupid jokes already. Do you realize your situation?”

“Abbu I do. But do you realize I am sitting all day at home, I got no friends, no social life and don’t go out. I am in a mess.”

“You are yourself responsible for this whole mess. You never study, never work hard, never do anything concrete, you just sit and want everything to work out for you. That’s not how it goes. Success comes to those who work for it. You have always been lazy, inconsistent and unambitious. That’s why you have to sit all day at home now, no friends, no social life and no chances to get that A on your marksheet. You created this mess and now face it.” And with that humiliating speech, he left the room.
And I thought, just because I didn’t have to study under numerous street lights, walk miles to go to school and do a part time job for the fees, I am not hard working? Just because unlike him I had to switch to different field of study, I am inconsistent? Just because my college has ditched me without a warning, and now I have to sit at home all the time, I am unambitious?

Thank you dad for the adjectives! Really helped in my illness.

So here are the winters and here is my life. Sitting at home, “trying” to self study, dealing with bad news, tackling with my hopeful mother, having no friends, no social circle, humiliated, unwell, unemployed and unassured.

Ladies and not so Gentleman, I take all the pleasure to let you know that within a few seconds, I am going to inaugurate my debut cuss at my beloved blog. Kindly hold your ears, and here I go…

@$#%&&&*(^*)*()&&%^#$@!#$#%^&*&)()__|+)|)_*&%^##!@~#$$%#%$&^%&^%&*(^&*(^&*)^*(&&^$$@@!!^%$%$^%&^(*)+(+)&+&+)(*&& MY LIFE…!!!