The Tree

Deep inside the warm lands, where flowed grand and ancient rivers, stood tall the tallest mountains, where slept the still and silent deserts, where the pasturelands stood proud, lived a boy in a village. The boy did as all the other boys in the village; he woke up at dawn, worked in the fields, went to school, fed the animals and played with the rest of the children in the village.
But all the other boys in the village did not do as he did, for he sat under a tree, a big old tree, the oldest in the village and the horizon that encompassed it. He sat under that tree at dawn for breakfast; he watched the birds get at up first light and sing their morning tune as their search for crumbs and worms began. He sat under that old tree when he wanted to rest from working in the fields and he would enjoy the shade and the fresh breeze that it brought him. He would sit there and think. He would think about his past and the tree’s past. As far back as he could remember, when he first came across the tree, it had not grown much. It still had the same number of leaves, branches and twigs, yet he had grown to almost twice his size. Maybe the tree was immortal.
He would sit there and think about his present and the tree’s present. He would think of why the tree bore no fruit. Maybe the tree was wise. He would think that for a long, long distance, no tree could rival this one. But a lot of boys could rival him. He would also think that the old tree was his tree, but was he the old tree’s boy? He was the tree’s friend, but was the tree his?
This question made him uneasy and he would sit under the tree and he would spend many an hour thinking about it. One day, when he could take it no longer, he decided to ask someone. He asked his friends, they told him to go ask someone wise. He asked his siblings, they told him to go ask someone wise as well. He asked his father, he told him to go ask someone wise. When he asked who in the village was wise, his father said go ask your mother. He asked his mother, who in the village was wise; she said that his father was. He asked the workers in the field and they told him that they were wise, but they did not look it. If they were wise they would not be working fields, instead they would be sitting in the shade and talking in the city.
No one he knew was wise. People he knew were either honest, dishonest or fools. If they were honest, they would tell him to put forward his question to someone wise. If they were dishonest, they would claim to be wise. If they were fools, they would claim their husbands or masters to be wise.
The days went by, and he stopped going to the tree for the question caused him much pain. He would work slow, eat less, not play with the other children anymore, he would just sit and think and worry. His father saw that the boy was disturbed, and he asked him why he would not go to school regularly. The boy told his father what disturbed him and he told him that nobody in the village was wise. His father laughed, as he did when he knew everything, and he told the boy not worry, for if he went to school everyday, he would one day become wise and answer his own questions himself along with those of others.
His father was wise, the boy thought, but not the sort of wise that would answer questions for him. And his mother was not a fool; she was wise to marry his father.
The boy then never missed another day of school. He would be the first one to reach school, and the last one to leave it. His teacher could not help but appreciate the boy for his enthusiasm. He did so one day after school, and he asked him what it was that brought about this change. The boy told him all. He told him of the tree, of how there was nobody wise in the village save his father but he would not answer his question for him and wanted him to be wise, which is why he came to school; to answer his question for himself. The teacher then asked the boy about the question that bothered him. And he did.
The boy thought that the teacher, too, was wise, as he did not answer his question for him. The teacher told the boy, that the tree is not an enemy of whoever does not harm it. Yet it is not a friend of whoever does not harm it either.
The tree gives so much, what does it get back? Thought the boy on his way home and there he found his answer. The next day, he went to the tree to eat his breakfast. He did not eat all his bread and he did not drink all his water. He spilled the water near the roots of the tree, to feed the tree and he left the small pieces of bread on the grass for the birds of that tree, so that they won’t have to leave the tree that loved them so much so as to let them build their houses on it. The boy then knew that the tree was his friend as well.
The boy went and told his friends and siblings that he had answered his question. He thanked his father for the advice he gave, he told his mother that she, too, was wise. He told the workers in the field that if they were wise, they would work extra hard on the fields this year and he told his teacher that he wanted to learn more.
That night the boy slept peacefully after many days. He slept so soundly that even the storm, that kept half the village awake that night, did not stir him in his sleep. He awoke to a morose morning mood in general. The roofs leaked, the firewood was half-wet, the floor muddy along with the usual platter of post-rain problems. None of that would dim the boy’s mood. The boy grabbed his breakfast and walked towards his friend.
When he jumped across the canal, the spot where he would first get a glimpse of the tree, he saw it not. He saw all the other trees, the shorter ones but he did not see his friend. With dread in his heart he ran to where the tree once was and saw it lifeless on the ground; dead birds scattered near and under it, and the homeless ones mourning their loss.
The boy ran home and told everyone of what had happened. It did not seem to bother them too much. They were not the tree’s friend and the tree was not theirs'. He told his father and his mother, they told him not to worry, and that another tree would take root. But the tree was his friend. He told his teacher, and he told the boy that everything in life must one day come to an end, and that the boy should not worry as another tree would take root.
The words of his teacher did bring calm upon him but only managed to do so for a little while. Nobody was the tree’s friend, hence nobody cared. He sat next to the fallen tree in the heat; he sat next to his shade. He thought about the future that he had imagined; his and the tree’s. That when he would be old, the tree would be the same and they would still be friends. He alone felt the pain that day; only he was sad for the tree. If another tree were to take root, would it also be his friend?
The boy did not move from where he sat all day. The longer he sat, the angrier he became at the cause of the tragedy. He was like a boiling kettle left on the stove. An old man sat down beside him and tried to make conversation with him. The boy kept silent. The old man told the boy that he too was sad for the tree, and that he too was angry and wanted revenge but his weak bones would not allow it. The old man said that he would not live long enough to see another one take root and that he would only be at peace when he’d avenged the death of his friend.
Confused, the boy asked the old man how he planned to attack storm and lightning and the will of God? At this the old man laughed, he told the boy that it was not lightning and storm that brought down the old tree, but evil men from far away lands.
There was cunning, vile and deception in the old man’s eyes. Yet only he understood his pain and suffering. The boy did not know whether to believe the old man or not. It was almost dark and the boy got up to leave, the old man said that he would camp next to his friend that night and in the morning he would leave for his revenge.
The boy got home, still sad and silent. That night, the village was to celebrate the beginning of the monsoon season, there was to be food and dance and singing. He got to festival to see that his face was the only sad one among the hundred that surrounded him. It was as if nothing had happened and no one had died. He thought of the crazy old man, untrustworthy though he seemed, but he was a loyal friend to the tree. He thought of the crazy old man and his crazy ideas. And then he thought that grief had stricken the old man too hard. But grief had stricken him too... not hard enough?
The celebrations were cut short by another storm. That night, however, everyone slept soundly. The boy, too, it seemed slept soundly. The storm, however, was just as fierce as the last one. When morning came, the tree’s friend was missing from his bed and so was the old man from his camp.
Months later they found the boy, wounded and taken prisoner in a desert land far away. In the time spent with the old man, the boy was exposed to a cruel world where injustice was law. He then harbored injustice. Any friend of the tree was also his friend, and prejudice and war against the friends of his friends was unacceptable. He then harbored prejudice and war. He let the tree fall; he was not going to let his other friends fall. The old man was his counsel; he had brought him this far.
He would take revenge for all the pain and suffering that he’d witnessed. He felt he was fighting the fair fight, for when he was mortally wounded and was being carried away, he did not fret at all for he knew that after he would be gone, another one would take root.

That's not Cricket.

Throw, throw, throw the ball, gently down the seam
Murali, Murali, Murali, Murali, chucks it like a dream
Bowl, bowl, bowl the ball, gently through the air
Murali, Murali, Murali, Murali, here comes Darrell Hair ... No Ball! - (Cricinfo)

Cricket, a synonym for abysmal in Urdu, is what we will disguss(t) today. Pardon me, I meant Cricket is what we will dis and cuss today. Oh damn! What I really meant was, Cricket is what we will discuss today.
It will be tough though, I'm not in good form, though it's not as pointless as Mohammad Sami's place in the side.
With the greatest regret I'll attempt to mock our team's cricketing skills. Yes, for once that is a bigger joke than their English speaking; is well done by PCB, the boys is presentable off the field. Though not so much on the field, and I wonder which matters more. I present to you the Cricket Dictionary:
Salman Butt: See Imran Nazir
Yasir Hameed: See Mohd. Hafeez
Younis Khan: (Adjective) The act of spanking the bottoms of the team-mates at every bottom.. I mean, every opportunity that presents itself.
Mohdammad Yousuf:(not a verb) Trying to walk in Inzi-imam's oh so nimble footsteps.
Shoaib Malik: (choke/joke) Captain.
Misbah-ul-haq:(noun) Hero to Zero (or vice versa).
Imran Nazir: See Yasir Hameed
Kamran Akmal: (flat out liability) Liability.
Shahid Afridi: (class act) Resumed career after achieving his life's dream of building his own Afridi XI at home.
Shoaib Akhtar: (super-star) Sex, drugs, alcohol and the heart of a tiger.
Rao Iftikhar: (fact) Had batting average of 75 in ODIs. Bowler by profession.
Mohd. Hafeez: See Salman Butt
Sohail Tanveer: (joke) Not right-footed, but wrong-footed.
Danish Kaneria: (aspiration) One inning wonder.

On Votes

In each man’s hand lies the nation’s fate,

Each man is a star of nations great.

-Allama Iqbal-

The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test

Can you hear me now? Am I coming through? Is this sweet and pure and true?
Devil came by this morning, said he had something to show me. I was looking like I've never seen a face before. Here we go now, let's slide into the open door.
Pictures and things that I've done before, circling around me, out here on the floor. I'm dreaming this and I'm dreaming that, regretting nothing. Think about that.
I'm seeing waves breaking form to my horizon. Yeah I'm shining. I'm seeing waves breaking form to my horizon. Lord, I'm shining .
Are you hearing me? Like I'm hearing you?
You know I always lost my mind, I can't explain where I've been. You know I almost lost my mind, I couldn't explain what I've seen. But now I think I see the light.
Lend me your hand.
I'm happy now, I'm too late to find that the images are fading away.
Did I pass the acid test?
You'd better go to bed now...

The Chemical Brothers feat. Richard Ashcroft - The Test

Deal, No Deal.

The lull before the storm is a phrase that's become obsolete in politics. As the much anticipated general elections are, apparently, just around the corner, the political climate is anything but lull-ly; it's stormy.
BBG (B.B. Jee) is negotiating deals. And the 'innocent' brothers are relying on pure brute force and street politics to seal a hypothetical deal. However absurd both of their positions may sound, they still thrive on popularity.
For one, it's difficult to comprehend how two individuals can reach a deal where more than 1.4 billion individuals are involved. It's not democratic; which raises the obvious question of why the deal has the good blessings of the time-and-again-proven-to-be-nothing-short-of-idiotic American government officials.
"Let's strike a deal. You rule and let me stay too." The important question of the democratic process of voting seems to have brushed aside by a murmurous "oh pfft". BBG, these days popular in the farce known as the American media, has made significant progress in the popular game-show known as "America's next top puppet". The winner signs a deal, and as a bonus gets their corruption charges dropped.
The last bit is a punch line echoed by absurdity. It ought to be a difficult fact for non-smokers to swallow.
There's no grey area in such a scenario. Any entity, barring the independent court (holler!), that mentions 'dropping of corruption charges' is, as 2 + 2 would suggest, corrupt itself. Shame on you BBG and SSG (Commando)! if you want your charges dropped, contest them in court.
Today's headline read "No Deal". Seems like BBG's Swiss accounts are far from bankruptcy status,as she's confident that she can survive for four more years without taking any bribes and/or the like. Hence, judge Judy, the jury and common sense rule "Guilty as charged" to the previous charges of corruption because BBG did not win any lottery (whether the Prime-ministership is a winning lottery ticket or not is debateable).
Come play the game some other time. For the winner, we have a luxurious four year trip to Islamabad with unlimited access to the tax-payer's money transferable to numerous bank accounts in Zurich.
For the Runner-up (who has played this game before), we have four more luxurious years in exile... oops, we have four years of vacationing, sponsored by our dear friends known as the tax-payers. If, for some very, very odd reason, that does not materialize, we also have for the runner-up a not so luxurious yet memorable stay at the infamous resort known as the Montgomery Jail.
And now a word from our sponsors, "We will liberate eye-rack".
Time to divert our unimportant attention to the not lucky players of the game, who are in the ill-favour of our sponsors. Those too 'innocent' for the game; the one and only, no wait... no double duo of the 'innocent' brothers. Not happy with their winnings of the stay at the resort, the brothers decided to abandon the game show and not play again for another 10 years. They even signed a deal/contract with another network to that effect. However, now that the new season is about to commence, the situation is drastically changing. The producers of the game show at WhiteHouse productions are still displeased with the misconduct displayed earlier. If the innocent brothers do decide to cause havoc, they will displease their new beneficiary as well.
So, what do we do? What do we do?
About what?
About eye-rack!
We weight
We wait!?
We weigh in our options and we ummm sign NO DEALS!
Look what they did to eye-rack after they signed the deal. They took them off the air (maybe a little too literally).
The storm is afoot. The die is not cast yet; no deals are signed. Let's keep it that way; uncorrupt. The votes should count, and more importantly the votes should be counted.
Thank you for watching Deal- No Deal, let's hope nobody wins in this pig-fest ordeal.

Troubled Minutes and Dark Thoughts.

He lay in darkness. Since the electricity had decided to take a break, he could only hear the clock, the sound of which was otherwise... invisible. There was only the ticking, no tocking. No talking either. He lay on his back, almost motionless as if out of humble fear. He lay there till he could deciphire different shapes in the code of dark. He saw the lamp, in shape but out of life. The chairs, the window, the clutter in the corner, he saw it all in shape but out of life and colour. He felt lesser fear and more comfort. He recognized his room enough to make an educated guess of what lay where. He could not, however, make an educated guess of when the electricity would be called back from its recess.

Electricity, a fool's paradise almost a century ago, is now an economist's inelastic good. Kingdoms and empires were built and held strong without electricity forever before a hundred years. And yet if it's taken away now, life becomes still. Electricity is the equivalent of a beating heart, and maybe within a few years, in more ways than one.

Thoughts like these hardly ever bothered him. He was busy in demarcating the point of discomfort; the level of moisture that his shirt ought to reach in order to prompt him to get up and change. In the darkness he picked his nose and rubbed his finger on his shirt, he WAS going to change eventually; showing no confidence in the electricity's loyalty. And with fair reason, electricity acted like royalty, often sought and seldom found.

As the ticking grew monotonous it grew fainter. The beating of his heart now took center-stage. He thought of the phrase, "heart skipping a beat". And he tried, oh so hard, to skip one. However, he could only manage to make his heart beat faster and faster.

He was awake, but he hadn't moved much. He lay there like a twig in a puddle, ready to embrace whatever future it may have to endure. The negative tone and the word 'endure' reflecting the pessimisstic nature of the man. He had already thought of seven different deaths which he might end up enduring in the blackness of dark. None of them, though, was suicide and half of them involved the super-natural. Black was his favourite color, but he was secretly afraid of its essence.

Once he had completed the gory list, he decided his least favourite was getting bit by a snake in his sleep. That thought had distrubed him a great deal on an earlier occasion. He decided however, that he did not mind dieing of shock. Yes, he would not mind that.

So, he said whatever prayers he could think of and he started preparing himself for a shock.

Luckily the shock that came did not kill him. The electrical shock was back; electricity had returned. In less than a minute he had disposed off all of those ill-thoughts and changed his shirt. In another minute, the only sounds you could here from his room were that of the air-conditioner, the fan and himself. The clock became non-existant, like all that supported it; a nail in the wall.

And ( just for fuck's sake) he lived happily ever after...

well said

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/6902368.stm

Pearl Jam

"Well then, sit down, my friends, and I'll tell you everything I've just learned from a book on Ceylon and the Cingalese."
Ned and Counseil sat down on a couch, and the first thing the Canadian asked was: "Monsieur, just what is a pearl?"
"Ned," I answered, "to the poet, a pearl is an ocean tear; to Orientals it is a drop of hardened dew; to women it is an oblong jewel with a glassy sheen which they wear on their finger, around their neck or on their ear; to the chemist it is a mixture of calcium phosphate and calcium carbonate with a bit of gelatin; and finally to the naturalist it is merely an abnormal secretion from the same organ which produces mother-of-pearl in certain bivalves."
Source: 20,000 leagues under the sea by Jules Verne

Sattire Attire part II : Carpe Diem

"There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures."

Source: Julius Ceasar (Shakespeare, William)

Inspired by the Shakespearean influence, our friend in the hat was thinking along similar lines; Carpe Diem. The other individual in the hat asked for the bill, and he followed suite. He left his companion, Dmitri, with the customary responsibility of the change and tip transaction and he made for the door. The closer he got to the exit, the less speedily he walked; not with the intention to intercept the other individual but to confirm with his vague reflection in the glass that all was shipshape and Bristol. Satisfied with his appearance, he walked out into the shelterless world, the thoughts in his head replicating a sort of a Brownian motion getting more and more restless as the target of his attention approached the exit. At this point, had the thoughts under his hat been material they would have knocked his hat off. Such was the intensity and volume of ideas, bitter and sweet thoughts.

He had stood in this position before, both materially and mentally. And every time he had done so he had failed himself. His pessimistic half had always prevented him from initiating a dialogue with a party of interest. So much so, that Dmitri dealt with his responsibility with added laziness everytime; so as to give our hero ample time to procure an excuse for his failure. Today, Dmitri decided to deal with the issue in terms of pennies, for the other individual in the hat seemed to have the grace of a queen and the charm of a circus master. From the moment she'd walked into the diner, she'd had a gravitational pull effect on our friend analogous to the Earth and the Sun's. He was drawn towards disaster, thought Dmitiri, like a moth to a flame. All the while that Dmitri was counting pennies and contemplating the unpleasant, all of our hero's thoughts had converged into one: Carpe Diem.

Today was the day that he was going to seize. Words unspoken are words unheard. Words unheard are words unheeded to. Suddenly their eyes met and , surprisngly, he seized them this time. Not letting go of the initial connection established, he took off his hat, as was customary for gentlemen to do so in times of morality and civil behaviour. As he did so, his thoughts set free; they abandoned him and flew away, leaving him speechless and palefaced. All the poetry and somberness in his method and movement left him. All that she could do was giggle at the our hero's misery. Prompting our hero to abandon his campaign and retreat. He put his hat back on, dumping the plethora of thoughts back into his head...

Dmitri had counted the change and sorted it out in an alternating head and tail sequence. When he looked up, to his surprise he saw two hats moving away from the diner, not in oppositte directions but not too distant from each other either.

Touch is Touch

O ye Dastis!

Remember that touch is touch. Baptize yourself in dastiism, for that is the way prescribed. Touch is touch, and let it be dasti. Be dasti and be touched. You will reach the Nirvana of dastiism and be aware that there is no better state...

Be dasti in your ways.

Source: The Wisdom of Dastiism Chapter II Vol VI

Sattire Attire part I

"You've got me there" said the man in the hat, referring to some pun-ful personal attack by the gentleman sitting on the other side of the table. The comment whizzed past his head like an arrow aimed at an apple. For his sight and conciousness were the slave to another hat in the diner. Not wanting to be rude, he did not abandon his companion. Well, atleast not literally.
The other hat grasped his attention by the throat and did not let go. He was done with his food but had not asked for the bill; he wanted to time it such that he would have an oppurtunity to make acquaintance with the other individual in the hat.
"What's with the hat? Why are you wearing it indoors?" inquired the companion. "It's not just a hat, Dmitiri, it's a thinking hat. Keeps my thoughts from flying too far off, keeps them close to my head" was the witty reply.
What his thoughts were, could only have been guessed by his companion. But we shall be generous enough to share with our audience. It is ironic, however, that the thoughts which the companion was attempting to guess, were guesses themself. Everytime he guessed what the thoughts of the other hat might be, his hat would keep it close to his head. In a way, his companion was guessing at guesses.
All hats hold thoughts. Once you've worn a hat, be it imaginary, and if chance wills you to wear that same hat again, there is a recollection of thoughts which has to be sorted out before new thoughts can be inducted into the hat. Hence the term "Thinking Cap". It makes you think and sometimes about things you've thought already thought of.
When I blog I let my hat do the typing. Ofcourse it's the Pakistan Cricket cap in questions, as all silly thoughts can be associated with it without much friction. Silly is to that hat what yolk is to an egg; intrinsic.
It's interesting to note what thoughts magicians harbour, as it enables them to pull rabbits out of their hats. Vegetarian rodents they are, them rabbits, nibbling away their leafy fodder bit by bit, at lightning speed.
This is a divergence anthem which I intend to pursue at a later time.
Merci .

The Wisdom of Dastiism: to be at sea.

Some ships are made of gold
Gold ships
Some ships are made of silver
Silver ships
The best ships are made of friends
Friendships
But the dastiest ships are made of guys
Guyship
Let the guyship save you!

The Wisdom of Dastiism: marcS

"O fellow Dastis, when you chance upon a washroom with no urinals, it be best that you SCRAM!(fast!!)"

The Wisdom of Dastiism
Chap IX Verse 32

Facts of Life => Fact of the day part 3 : Bye, babe Bunting, Good till hunting

Wasting time. One of the few things which are easier to do than to claim. Easier as a verb than as a noun; wasted time. Unless, you emphasize on one word, "wasted" time. But I guess that reverts back to the former (verb). So much for pseudo-philosophy.
Out with reality. Real problems. Like the distance between you and an accessible not-so-public-bathroom. That's a real problem. You only start keeping track of accessible not-so-public-bathrooms after you've had uh.. an experience.
The experience in question is, obviously, not a pleasant one. Even more unpleasant than wearing a red fur coat, and pretending to be Santa during Christmas in Australia. For the weak hearted, pray don't proceed. For the weak bladdered, this might come in handy. Not making any suggestions about MY bladder here obviously.
Like they say, the pros con and the ears have corns. With the love for rain forgone, chiky chiky bon bon. Mid-blog rhymes are my specialty...... not!
Borat jokes are though..... not not!
The reason why I do not prefer shoes with laces is... knot not knot not knot not knot not.
Tongue twister eh? But not really, the K is silent.
Anyways, as a certain Mr. Carebear would say " My care-o-meter is off " . Now, if a certain Miss CareBARE were to say that, MY care-o-meter would've gone off the charts.
What's this straying from the topic and forgetting about the poor bladders. And so it starts with:
Food from 'Bomber'. Ironically, the food in question is just impossible to fuck up. Or so I thought until that unfortunate yet eventful day. Who fucks up chicken fingers? Who can ruin chicken fingers, even after trying to do so?! Chicken fingers are like rubber, they're supposed to be... uhh (encountering difficulty in drawing an analogy)... you get my drift I suppose.
Anyways, reverting to the really tense past-tense... even before the bill was on the table, the food from 'Bomber' had started its bombardment, and in no subtle way. The insides of my stomach were getting tossed around like a half-filled barrel on an old ship, experiencing the very NOT charming Pacific weather. I know, I fucked up a knot joke.
After the time on my watch read 'quarter past eternity' the bill was payed with an illegible amount of tip and under the circumstances, the waitress should be glad that my care-o-meter was still on. Then came the awkward goodbye.
"I'm going, bye. I'll see you in half an hour."
No need to wait for a response. Ha ha.... No need?!?! Time was gold then, in fact, I got it wrong, time was like money for food; not a luxury, an absolute necessity without which I could've been subject to ample social embarrassment.
And so the dash began... and I planned on saving the best for last. Yes, the big explosion after the bombardment. But time's stopped acting like a luxury. I'll have to fill you in on the much anticipated ghastly details some time later. I know you'd rather this than the pseudo-philosophy... aah yes the token of time's goodwill... and the lonely flower by the riverbank...

It's Noon time.

http://justthenirealised.blogspot.com/2007_02_01_justthenirealised_archive.html

(haha haha haha)

The Red Sea

"...But Captain, since you have seem to have made a special study of this sea, could you tell me the origin of its name?"
"There are many explanations for it , Monsieur Aronnax. Would you like to know the opinion of a fourteenth-century chronicler?"
"Yes."
"This writer tries to maintain that it got its name after the passage of the Israelites, when Pharaoh perished in the waters which closed in at Moses' command:

'As a token of this wonder

When the sea was rent asunder,

Turning red, it was then known

By the colour it had shown."

20,000 leagues under the sea - Jules Verne

What's up? Nothing.

There's much to share. But talk often, we don't. And then the words are left behind in the infinite web of time as could-have-said memories which fill the widening ridge and distance.
"What's up?"
"Not much"
There's always an unsaid story...

Why do people blog?

Ho (hypothesis naught):
To write about something profound and dramatic, which rarely occurs. Hence, overly simplified situations are portrayed in an overly dramatic cloak, suggesting overly profound meanings with an overly buttered up vocabulary.
Hi (hypothesis one):
To check by how long they can delay their trip to the bathroom as a result of writing non-stop.
-->
-->
Apply K distribution and find out the value of c for a 95% confidence interval. Then, drown in a well and/or watch Hostel.

taroB

A word of advice. Do NOT watch Borat with relatives. Even if you're sitting 5 rows away, at the end of it when you're bombarded with the "What nonsense" and questions asking you whether you enjoyed it or not, it's really hard to lie and say "No, I did not enjoy the perverted humour" with that stupid, overlit smirk on your face. Atleast, don't suggest watching it, but DO watch it.

Banned

Asif's banned. Shoaib's banned. Might as well ban cricket.
And verdict should be passed on the basis of law not the moral code. Intikhab Alam on Shoaib Akhtar, " occasionally smokes...he drinks (alcohol), is sexually active..." like 99% of the cricketers. Ban the PCB.

Cisco Disco Molvee

Still funnay. Even after 20 viewings!

a trip to the mosque...

The feeling can only be described as guilt. Like when you plagiarise and get credit for it. Upon being aware of the fact that there's free food for iftar at the local mosque, my first visit to the place of worship came about. Never ever had I any intentions to visit. But if you're brown, the word 'free' is kryptonite. An empty stomach contributes is key as well.
An empty stomach, in fact, is very very evil. Alot more is spent during grocery shopping. Everything looks apetizing and delicious and edible and the impulse factor is high. And because you can't actually eat anything, you imagine it being eaten as you put the items in your shopping trolley. Those chocolate chip cookies looked delicious, my instinct actually forced me to buy those overpriced cookies. Now, 5 days later, they've expired and have to be thrown away. What a waste. The waste list is long, and I'd not like it to be brought up and published. Enough about empty stomachs.
The initial evil plan for the evil-doers was to wait outside till the namaz ends and then join in afterwards for the feast. The guilt-factor in that scenario was too much. The rain saved me from being mutinuous and the gang moved through the empty parking-lot and towards the entrance. In an attempt to take the shortest route possible to shelter, I looked to enter the mosque with first door that came my way. And I was almost startled when I read the sign that said "sisters entrance". And it said so without the apostrophe. The temptation needle had ticked beyond 90 degrees, but refrained from bringing it up with the rest so as to keep the sanctity of the place.
Upon entering the mosque it became apparent that we had pretty much missed the prayer, much to the joy of the gang. A few moments later, a young bearded man approach and put forward the question, "Brothers, would you like to pray in congregation?" . He too had missed the prayer. I walked after the man to pray in congregation. and then I prayed in congregation. And finally, I was taken to where the free food was being served.
Free food has a taste of its own. And it's NEVER bad. Pigging out is not a good idea when you're surrounded by pigs. You don't want to them to start pigging out... so you refrain from triggering.
Upon entering the feast late, obviously I had to deal with problems that had to do with scarcity of plastic spoons and seating space on the floor. After taking a small helping from the dish that was being passed around, I became the quiet, passive observer standing in a corner. That's when I was accosted by the old man who was carrying out the proceedings in an almost non-orderly fashion. He asked me, incorporating the word 'Brother' in the begining of his sentence, why I was not seated. As he asked me that question, I felt as if I was surrounded by prying eyes and nodding heads. I told the old man that I do not have a spoon and that I was looking to be helped in that regard. He motioned his hand towards his mouth and said "take hand!!!!" and then pointed towards some space on the floor on the eating mat. The nodding heads nodded harder.
Two things befuddled me. The fact that a 60 year old man called me brother and, more importantly, the fact that I had to eat korma with my hands. Roti and Rice exclusive. Luckily some rice managed to make their way towards me.
After sorting me out the old man then turned to the other bystander and asked of him why he had no plate nor spoon in his hand. The bystander was obviously performing the act of takaluf... hahaha takaluf with free food, must be canadian born was the thought that revolved around the eating mat. The old man, though, put forward to him the ultimatum. That either he grab a plate and eat or that he grab a pot and serve. The bystander was not judged and was accepted when he chose the plate.
I meantioned pigs earlier. If you've witnessed the mannerisms of most men at wedding dinners, you would not be alien to the sight that was before me. Nor was I. But this one man. He'd be the KING of wedding-eaters. The King Pig. When the old man came back to finish off with the korma, the last bits of it, he asked if anyone wanted any of the little korma that was left. This King wedding-eater, shot up from halfway across the room, made to the entrance, his plate half-full, being observed by other self-proclaimed kings, their jaws nailed to the floor. He hopped and leaped and made his way to the door and just managed to drop one piece of meat. The old man, however, was no flimsy dictator. His eyes immediatly shot fire and his reproach reached a new level of sting when he said " This is the house of Allah! What do you think you are doing!??!?!"
The King, however, payed no heed. There was silence among the other fifty 'brothers' towards whom the reprimand was not directed. But the king, calmly and coolly as if nothing had happened, quickly nodded towards the pot, his mouth too full to ask for more. That was like a sign for me, to make it my last visit to that particular mosque. They serve free food everyday and I have not visited since. I should be superman.

Clampdown

The judge said five to ten-but I say double that again,
I'm not working for the clampdown!
No man born with a living soul
Can be working for the clampdown!
Kick over the wall 'cause government's to fall,
How can you refuse it?
Let fury have the hour, anger can be power
D'you know that you can use it?

The voices in your head are calling
Stop wasting your time, there's nothing coming
Only a fool would think someone could save you
The men at the factory are old and cunning
You don't owe nothing, so boy get runnin'
It's the best years of your life they want to steal

The Clash

RamaDan

An empty stomach precedes an empty mind. I have nothing to write and nothing to write about. The last couple of hours of the fast are the most absolutely useless, the marginal productivity of a being tends towards the negative. I have tactfully, and probably not too smartly, overlooked the fact that now I have to prepare my own iftari and instead I'm blogging. The end result being the adaption of the 'Bismillah Halal' policy. The policy in question states that the chicken, be it brown, white, black, yellow or orange is a muslim chicken once the holy words are recited before the feasting of the beastling. The holy words may not necessarily be called upon if the chicken in question is brown ( good probability that it's halal ).
Bloody vegetable samosas. Technically, the curse is void. "Vegetable" samosas cannot be "Bloody". Anyways, vegetable samosas are a total waste of stomach space.
Also, I can never comprehend why we've been taught the word as Ramzan where as the whole world has to pronounce it as Ramadan. I hope we're not saying it wrong, or worse, doing it wrong.
Well, some of us do anyway. I always thought that during a fast one of the battles one fights is to curb one's anger and control one's tongue. Today, I inquired from an esteemed colleague of mine, whether he was fasting or not. The reply was along the lines of...
"Haan bhenc-toot- meri b-toot- pha-toot- gaee hai "
In retrospect, I think the B-Halal policy works.

vous comprenez?

je ne comprends pas!
je ne comprends pas!!
je ne comprends pas!!!
je ne comprends pas!!
je ne comprends pas!

The Rain Song

It is the springtime of my loving - the second season I am to know. You are the sunlight in my growing - so little warmth I've felt before. It isn't hard to feel me glowing - I watched the fire that grew so low.
It is the summer of my smiles - flee from me Keepers of the Gloom. Speak to me only with your eyes. It is to you I give this tune.Ain't so hard to recognize - These things are clear to all from time to time.
Talk, Talk - I've felt the coldness of my winter. I never thought it would ever thaw. I cursed the gloom that set upon us...But I know that I love you so.
These are the seasons of emotion and like the winds they rise and fall. This is the wonder of devotion - I seek the torch we all must hold. This is the mystery of the quotient - Upon us all a little rain must fall.
Robert Plant (Led Zeppelin)

Yan can cook

And so can I. But only matar-palao.

Stumped

Think about walking down by the river in an abundance of unnatural silence. Think about being accosted only by harmless insects and unnaturally silent falling autumn leaves. It seems that on first impact with the earth the leaves have finally reached home and rest. Have they? Have you?
In the image of a blue sky with familiarly-shaped scattered white clouds, unstoppable and uncontrolable running water winding its way to the end, surrounded by an infinite carpet of lush green and dewy grass with the umbrella shade of thick tall trees blocking the horizon, have you reached home? In this image can you nap? Or would you prefer napping with just the imagination?
What brings you peace of mind? The peace of mind or peace between borders? Can you rest without the remote-control in one hand and the airconditioner on the wall? Can you rest with both hands empty? Are you dependant on today? Would you rather choose the imagination or would you rather choose today?
Do you want to pluck an apple off a tree or order from a menu? Where do you reach home and tranquil? How dependant are you? Would you rather choose today over paradise? Or has paradise changed? Does it have playstation?
Stumped.
Will there ever be any rest...

Ekoj

What do you call a banana that wears a vest?
"A banyana"

Confession

I saw Sonu Nigam perform live. All the valid excuses in the world can't acquit me. Point and laugh, assholes.

Yo Bush!

Bush: Yo Blair How are you doing?
Blair: I’m just…
Bush: You’re leaving?
Blair: No, no, no not yet. On this trade thingy…[inaudible]
Bush: yeah I told that to the man
Blair: Are you planning to say that here or not?
Bush: If you want me to
Blair: Well, it’s just that if the discussion arises…
Bush: I just want some movement.
Blair: Yeah
Bush: Yesterday we didn’t see much movement
Blair: No, no, it may be that it’s not, it maybe that it’s impossible
Bush: I am prepared to say it
Blair: But it’s just I think what we need to be an opposition
Bush: Who is introducing the trade
Blair: Angela
Bush: Tell her to call ‘em
Blair: Yes
Bush: Tell her to put him on them on the spot.Thanks for [inaudbible] it’s awfully thoughtful of you
Blair: It’s a pleasure
Bush: I know you picked it out yourself
Blair: Oh, absoultely, in fact [inaudble]
Bush: What about Kofi [inaudible] his attitude to ceasefire and everything else … happens
Blair: Yeah, no I think the [inaudible] is really difficult. We can’t stop this unless you get this international business agreed.
Bush: Yeah
Blair: I don’t know what you guys have talked about but as I say I am perfectly happy to try and see what the lie of the land is but you need that done quickly because otherwise it will spiral
Bush: I think Condi is going to go pretty soon
Blair: But that’s that’s that’s all that matters. But if you, you see it will take some time to get that together
Bush: Yeah, yeah
Blair: But at least it gives people…
Bush: It’s a process, I agree. I told her your offer to…
Blair: Well…it’s only if I mean… you know. If she’s got a…, or if she needs the ground prepared as it were… Because obviously if she goes out, she’s got to succeed, if it were, whereas I can go out and just talk Bush: You see, the … thing is what they need to do is to get Syria, to get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit and it’s over
Blair: [inaudible]
Bush: [inadubile]
Blair: Syria
Bush: Why?
Blair: Because I think this is all part of the same thing
Bush: Yeah.
Blair: What does he think? He thinks if Lebanon turns out fine, if we get a solution in Israel and Palestine, Iraq goes in the right way…
Bush: Yeah, yeah, he is sweet
Blair: He is honey. And that’s what the whole thing is about. It’s the same with Iraq
Bush: I felt like telling Kofi to call, to get on the phone to Bashad [Bashir Assad](9a and make something happen
Blair: Yeah
Bush: [inaudible]
Blair:
Bush: We are not blaming the Lebanese government
Blair: Is this…? (at this point Blair taps the microphone in front of him and the sound is cut.)

The Best in the WORLD

Before the world cup started, Lippi told Cannavaro that if Italy were to make it to the World Cup Final, it would be Cannavaro's 100th appearance for his country...
You don't loose on your 100th appearance. Italy are the best football team in the world. Better than Brazil, Argentina, Germany, Portugal etc. It's a proven fact. They are world champions. Any one who chooses to argue has definetly had a hard pill to swallow this season.
All those who are of the opinion that the italians dive... only the french dive in the world cup final to win a penalty, oh so talked about. They don't play the boring game because they do not play in the English League.
P.S. What was Zidane thinking? Wanted to make headlines one way or another? So out of character...

On a roll

mahir says:
haha
mahir says:
necessity is the mother of invention
mahir says:
and profit-margin is the father
****- says:
okay SHUTup

Smells Like Team-Spirit

FORZA AZZURRI

7.6 reasons to still care

The sun was out and blazing, it was just another ordinary day with clear skies. No one was aware of the darkness that was about to ensnare everyone for the years to come. That’s the thing about earthquakes isn’t it? You don’t know when they’re about to hit you. There is no warning and not everyone is blessed with the sophisticated machinery that could throw caution to the cruel and hard wind.

You know it’s going to rain when you see dark clouds and grey skies. You know it’s going to snow when it’s really cold. And you expect there to be fog when there’s due and moisture. You don’t expect earth-quakes. Sometimes you don’t even feel them. They come and go while you’re asleep and the next morning the late-night owls ask you whether you ‘felt it’ or not. Yes, sometimes you don’t feel them but sometimes you don’t get to…

She was worried if there was enough salt in the food. The delicious aroma of spices explored the kitchen area like a ghost in a tower. She brought forth the spoon to face her gustatory test. There was enough salt and she was tempted. But she was waiting for her husband to come home. She’d see him after three months. He was a soldier and was serving far away from home. The anxiety and the excitement had kept her awake for most of the night and as a result she got up later than what she had planned next morning.

Cramped for time, she was cooking with her best dress and jewelry. Looking and cooking her best at the same time. She looked at the clock and breathed a sigh of relief; there was still plenty of time before she could start expecting him. Everything was going according to plan, everything was perfect. She looked outside the window; bright sunlight. A blink of an eye and then there was bright darkness. It was perfect no more. Muzaffarabad had fallen. One tick of the clock separated the city and the Ghost Town.

Tragedy! Thousands dead and countless homeless. The Doctor in Islamabad watched the news with horror stamped on his face. His jaw had anchored. It dropped and it stayed there. And he thought of those who’d been destroyed and had no help; those too far up North and away from the infrastructure. He was a doctor, he would help them. But who would bring them here? No one? Alright, he thought, he’d go there himself. He invited a couple of colleagues who were just sniffing for the like, they packed up some supplies and they were off to be the saviors.

They saw human civilization brought down to its knees, close to the dust of the ground. There was no rich or poor, no walls to separate a household from another. Everyone was poor, everyone was homeless. There was no hurt or healthy. Everyone was hurt. There was death in the air, death of man but hopefully not human spirit. There was death all around, but there was worse. There was crumpled life. They rescued a man from the rubble by cutting off his leg. He would’ve died if they let him be. He was not given the choice of life, he was unconscious. They saved him, they cut his leg. His family under the debris, did they do him a favor? Dilemmas like this were scattered all over the place like sand on a beach. Who was to play God here? Who was playing God when this happened?

They hadn’t planned this out too well at all. They were short of medical supplies and trained hands, hell they were short of hands. They headed back to get both, driving by hundreds on the road who’d lost everything. The exodus has begun.

She awoke to hell. There was no fire but it was hell. She was stuck under her dilapidated house. She didn’t know whether her legs and feet were burnt from the hot food or broken from all the concrete or both. Agony gripped her perpetually. They say that if one withstands pain for long enough, one gets used to it. It’s not true. When your house falls down on you, pain always hurts anew; it’s always as intense as before every time you realize that you have broken bones and a broken house. It’s always in the foreground. Like a surprise every second.

On top of the pain there was the hunger and thirst. She wished she had more than just tasted when she checked for salt. She herself was not aware of how many times she had passed out and woken up. Her eyes felt heavier every time she came to. Her arms swelling up to stiffness. She awoke to a choice; she knew that if she passed out again she wouldn’t come to again. She had to choose whether or not she was going to struggle for life or quietly accept death. She thought of her husband and she chose life. She did not know that her husband was under a landslide an hour away from the was-home. And you don’t survive landslides.

She awoke to a choice but she awoke because of a commotion. She could hear footsteps and talking and shouting. The rescue teams, she thought. She struggled to get her swollen arm through the tiny gap on top of her to catch someone’s attention. A man came and said something she did not understand. Maybe she’d damaged her hearing too. Though, he did sound a lot like a familiar foreigner. He grabbed her arm and started pulling. Pain seared through her shoulder and she tried to pull back her arm but his grip was too firm. She cried aloud in pain but the pulling did not abate. She soon realized what he was after. He wanted the rings and the gold bangles on her swollen arm and fingers. They wouldn’t come off, her arm had swollen to such an extent that they possibly couldn’t. She could feel her skin slowly being peeled off by the metal. And then she heard herself scream so loud that she thought she’d deafen herself, she did for a split second deafen her whole world. When she opened her eyes next she saw herself in a pool of blood and her arm reduced to half. She survived, she lived but something else in her world had died; human spirit.

Their second trip lasted much longer and was much more successful than the first. They had more supplies and more doctors, more hands. When they were going back they were worried about where to find more supplies and help. They only had to get to the clinic to find a small truck filled with supplies ready to go. Everyone had heard of what the Doctor had gone to do and everyone wanted to play their part even if God hadn’t, he thought, God was testing them? The first trip lasted a few long hours, the second lasted a couple of days and now they were headed back.

He’d always wanted to ride in the back of a truck and this couldn’t have happened at a worse time. This couldn’t be punishment he thought as he felt the wind in his face, he felt refreshed as if after a lifetime. Why would God punish these people? He should punish him, almost atheistic he was. The Doctor battled his thoughts in his head as he rested it against the edge. Little did the doctor know that he was indeed about to be punished. A Cobra, black as death was loitering near his head, by the railing. And just as it was about to strike at its prey one of his men struck at it with a stick and it fell off the railing and onto the road. Onto the road? No! It fell on the Motorcyclist’s helmet, he was already struggling with all the medicine bags that he was carrying and at the point of impact he lost control and fell.

They came to an immediate stop. The doctor rushed to motorcycle to check for vital signs. But as soon as he got to the injured man he saw a face smitten with snakebites. And he cursed everything around him, for a good man who was out here helping these helpless people on his own, had died for no reason. His eyes fell on the bags and he thought they could make use of his supplies on all the towns that they would come across on their way back. He opened the bag to a stench so bad that it made his olfactory sense want to collapse. Inside he found arms and hands, swollen and adorned with blood and gold…

The death that killed thousands which came silent as night during day time, not only just brought out the animal in many, it also brought out this amazing side which can only be described as human. It happened a few months ago but a house takes more than a few months to build. The question is, how long will it take for a city?

The earthquake was recorded at 7.6 on the scale, the death toll in thousands. Where were you when it had happened, at home? So too were the thousands who died. You lived. Was it for a good reason though? Some survived and lived, give them reason, let that be your reason.


[Thank you BQ, for the title]

Random LaLa

Apple, twist and soda. Tissue bright delight. Rainbow, dress and savage. Three floors of flight. Random random random. La LaLa LaLa. Fathom tathum fathom. Honey tikka kabab. Intoxication in clouds. Of the backward alphabet. Don't, no and never. When's the what time to get. No further questions please, I am in exhaustion phase three. Honorary members of the cloak, only hot women can save me. I want to digest abstract philosophy. Paint the scars on skin. Turn from lemon to lemony. Trees and badgers akin. Rest in peace Yoda, elderly Jedi Knight.

Look away girls

http://www.pkblogs.com/danibhai/2005/10/womencant-live-them-cant-live-without.html#comments

This is so funnay.

The spring, moraine, fort, loo, farm and the lady finger

Dry beyond exhaustion I stepped aside for the old-man. Everything was ancient about him but his eyes. He mocked my youth with them and said "thuk gaya??". Just as I was about to reply my eyes fell upon the otherwise unmissable load of wood on his back. I was speechless and pointed to my bottle of water as I shook my head, indicating that I was just excercising the proper manners of drinking water; sitting down. It was then that I re-realised that a blow to one's ego is enough to rejuvenate. I shall come back to this after I've described the horror of the 2 day bus-ride to our destination. The ride to Karimabad was spent in a haze, with short-term anticipations of food and long-term anticipations of clean, humanly accessable/useable toilet facilities. The trip made sure that we don't anticipate either ever again. The one night stay at Bisham is probably my worst night this year. Now I know how homeless people feel. Having no place to sleep and eyelids dropping by the weight of several anvils. Also, it was the first that I was introduced to the 'Aalo Anday' dish. Eggs and Potatoes. Yuck is the first thought that comes to mind. But I wasn't thinking when I ate my first roti. The first plan of action upon reaching Karimabad was climatizing. Acclimating oneself to the umm washrooms and the water that resides therein. Cold showers with grey water. It's clean drinking water they said. I did want to believe them but water's supposeds to be nothing but crystal. Then there was the Baltit fort, which I visited twice. Once with friends and the second time with friends and the Chief Justice. The guide was clearly more relaxed the first time. He was making jokes then. The second time it was the Chief Justice who was making the jokes. Almost everyone laughed both times. The Trek to Rakhaposhi's basecamp was indescribable. Tired and alone, having eaten just a brownie for breakfast and carrying a miscalculated amount of supplies, I enjoyed every bit of it. Even when it was raining and I had no waterproof clothing. You walk better when you're tired. Four hours was the turn around time and I went all the way. Almost all the way.
The first climb was all sand and dust and rocks and wind. You asking yourself "why am I here?" is inevtible. But patience bears sweet fruit, as the walk for the next couple of hours can be described as nothing short of magical. Walking almost at the foot of snow capped mountains, apparently at an arms reach, has to be magical. In short, I'd do it again. But the end, the last climb throug the moraine along with the weather caught me off-guard with my time calculations and I had to turn around but not without another view fixing itself at the back of my mind. The walk back was uneventful, except for a donkey urinating in a stream. And on my climb down from the huge compilation of barren rock and sand I met the old man who inquired if I was tired. He was carrying five times the load I was. I pretended (oh, so badly) that I was fit and that I had just stopped for a water break.
The Trek to Ultar Meadows the next day was pretty much uneventful except for the initial dangerous climb onto the track. I don't have the vocabulary to elaborate on that bit, and I don't want to bore my self by writing about it. Skipped.
After this trip my knowledge about precious and semi-precious stones has increased ten-fold. Err I won't elaborate on how though... not now.
The return stop at Bisham was another high point in the trip. I decided not to sleep the night again and make up for lost sleep during the bus ride to Islamabad. We climbed down to the Canadian-like artificial beach next to the hotel and the dam construction. It wasn't even sunrise and the water was COLD. There was a late realization that I was walking in the river Indus, that's a thought. I put my foot in Indus. All ten toes.. hence in-'dus' . These names make sense all of the sudden. This wasn't really a beach, it was a riverside.. literally.. but I'll call it a beach. It would beat most beaches, especially the Clifton beach in Karachi. Bisham Beach.
At Islamabad we witnessed the most avidly anticipated wait for food at KFC. Nothing more, nothing less.
The should've been easy ride to Lahore was torturous thanks to horrible music and dead battery on my mp3 player. Not being ungrateful, I'm glad I didn't have to sit through the repetitive Abrar ul Haq tape and the circus that came along with it for the other four fifths of the way. Not meaning stamp on anyone's feelings but that's just not for me.
Upon reaching Lahore one felt relief and grief. You never associate the two with the city. And after that I slept and watched the World Cup. Forza azzurri!

Fix your Routine

I woke up at 6 A.M. yesterday, for the first time in five or six years. I don't think I want to do it again. There are only a not-a-handful of things that one can pre-occupy one's self with at such an hour.
One can either
- Stay in bed... an ill-advised activity, can lead to harmful levels of frustration.
- Turn off the air-conditioning and then stay in bed... that just speeds up the process of reaching harmful levels of frustration.
- Don't watch tv. It's just depressing at that hour.
- Re-check your sheep count.
- Go for breakfast with other jet-lagged friends
- Think before you ink.
- If you're in Lahore, then eat.
- If you're not in Lahore, then wish that you were.
... there's nothing else worth doing more.

On East-London

I'm forever blowing bubbles
Pretty bubbles in the air
They reach the sky
And like my dreams they fade and die
Fortune's always hiding
I've looked everywhere
I'm forever blowing bubbles
Pretty bubbles in the air

- [ Green Street Hooligans ]

Today's Tune

The Cure - Out Of This World

I'm so alive

This is just a small and simple piece on one of the greatest shows that I've ever seen, be it live or on dvd. More might come later.

The evening of May 9th, was probably one of the most memorable in Toronto's History, It was in mine. Pearl Jam kicked off their world tour in ideal fashion; brilliant. The performance was rated as one of the best that Toronto has ever seen, earning them 4.5 /5 stars from a local newspaper.

That's one less thing off my "to-do list before I die". We were afraid they'd mostly play songs from their new album but they played pretty much everything. Though, Alive was a very very pleasant surprise. They ended the show with a double encore. Probably their last show in Canada.

Random Rant

This.... this has been long overdue.
The power of the media is unimaginable and unquantifiable. What comes to your mind when you hear the word "terrorists"? What image comes to mind? Even we, being muslims, picture muslims. That is how powerful the media is. It hypnotizes beyond the borders of loyalty. The force is both latent and unpretentious. The tragedy of today is that this weapon is in the wrong hands and it is being put to the wrong use. This weapon of mass destruction destroys minds and this thought is aptly depicted in movies like V for Vendetta and Rung De Basanti, though being part of the mass medium family we come at a paradoxial crossroads of what to believe and agree with.
One can either take the easier path and disregard all that comes through, except guy soap commercials, they're a genuine article of stupidity. Not as genuine as Fox News, but that's got a political element which makes it ummm Haram.
Skin colour and religion does not wield one's actions, circumstances do. The media conveniently turns a blind eye to the circumstance and completely blows out of proportion, like a mole-hill mountain, the effect of the cause and circumstance. The idiots don't realize that this exercise may itself result in a circumstance/cause.
If you label a people as such and you treat them like it, what choice do you give them? There is no other option for them but to be terrorists because at the end of the shitty day they'll be treated as such.
Terrorists have no nationality. They can be a group of individuals, a corporate organiztion, a government, a military, they can take any shape possible and terrorize other normal people who are just trying to make a living in this world. Terror is just a cloak they wear. They are not even people, they are not human. Why don't terrorists terrorize each other, why does it have to be innocent people? Why do terrorists target and label innocent people as terrorists?
CNN and all the other news agencies are being managed by a bunch of pigheaded fools. The main function of a news broadcaster is to broadcast news and NOT opinions. Opinions mould news, opinions fabricate news, opinions make terrorists and opinions give them power. I just hope that one day I wake up to the fact that the UN has grown a pair of balls because right now, it is America's "Polly, I wanna give the cracker to Iraq. Is that ok with you?"... "Squaawk!!". Rat guts.
They report bits of important news and opinions, they don't report circumstances. That is why western news channels make me sick, though Geo should do something about their "Aik din Geo ke saath" host. The guy has a permanently goofy facial expression. Be it "Suna hai aap nai qatal karwain hain?" Or "Aap ki favourite hindustani adakara kon hain?" the guy keeps the same something's-up-my-ass face.
I yearn for guy soap commercials on eid, they are low budget but honest. AND there's a double pun involved too. One last query why does Ptv air news in Arabic in all four provinces? It has been the cause of many-a-sleepless afternons for me. William Wallace is a hero now, he was a terrorist then. Why can't these bastards learn from their mistakes?
And I do recommend V for Vendetta.

Rung De Basanti

Sometimes they try too hard... they really shouldn't.

Today's Tune

Radiohead - Thinking About You

Pablo Honey (1993)

Self-titled

"How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign’d."
-- Alexander Pope, Eloisa to Abelard.

Senza Fine ( Without Aim )

Senza fine

Tu trascini la nostra vita

Senza un attimo di respiro

Per sognare

Per potere ricordare

Cio che abbiamo gia vissuto

Senza fine

Tu sei un attimo senza fine

Non hai ieri

Non hai domani

Tutto e ormai nelle tue mani

Mani grandi

Mani senza fine

Non m'importa della luna

Non m'importa delle stelle

Tu per me sei luna e stelle

Tu per me sei sole e cielo

Tu per me sei tutto quanto

Tutto quanto io voglio avere

Senza fine

La, la, la, la

Senza fine

Dasti-Nation Destination

Toronto, May 9-10 : Pearl Jam world-tour opener for their new album getting launched on May 2nd.
What do the wise words of Dastiism say ---> Dasti!

Must hai!

Zaroori!

"Hell" Yeah!

[Tickets in hand]

Summer part 1

There's always a huge list of things that you plan to do with your friends "this" summer. Somehow, it never happens. Summer activities don't root themselves in the plans made during the pre-exam season. And for good reason too. During the pre-exam period you're too mentally drained to come up with something worth doing. You unintentionally plan bad. Most of summer is lazed away and hardly anyone regrets that fact. Anyways, I remember one bad plan that we had planned out for the summer of 2003.
One day during an ill-fated Wednesday mid-day break, Saed is bubbling like an egg almost boiled, he's got a plan. " Yaar tum logon nay wo movie dekhi hai? Simone?"
Stating the obvious we all say "No"
"Yaar bari fit hai, Al Pacino hai (at this point Saed gets the acceptance-nods from everyone) aur pata nai bohot fit bachi bhee hai uss mein (at this point Saed gets rapt, undivided attention)"
"Tau bus phir theek hai, we're watching this movie, saath beth ke, bara maza aye ga"
Bara maza indeed.
We didn't go through with this plan that summer. But all of us did watch the movie on our own at some point during summer. And everytime anyone watched it, they did think about this ill-fated plan of Saed's and laughed "hahah Hum ne YEH movie dekhni thee?!" .. but no one brought it up hahaha. I've held my peace for long enough.
Somethings, like most things, are better left undone. One should best sweat and play soccer and sneak out at odd hours of the night and go to gas-station shops to grab snacks or the ever reliable cock and bull street. Lahore is the greatest city in the world. You can't starve no matter what the time is. Only Lunar-month matters.

Why me?

Evolution Dasti

Many, including experts and sexperts, have been baffled for eternity when it comes to one of the greatest questions of all time; What came first? The egg or the chicken?
Arguments and counter-arguments proposed by all and sundry and mondry have led to.. zilch. kapata. nothing.
And yet there is the humble numble me. Humble in disguise, numble in... well there is no such word. Not any that I am aware of anyway.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, then there is me... and me with the magic dragon.
Z (not me) : "Yaar King Kong mein bhagwaan ka kya role thaa??" x5
Just felt like recapping that bit of memorable memory. So about King-Kong.. I mean the chicken and the egg, Dastiism has shown me the way. Hours and days and weeks of procrastination.. uh I mean powerful, profound, depthful meditation has shown me the way to the secret of the universe. I (dot) E (dot) . EYE (dot) EEE (dot). AIY (dot) IYY (dot). The chicken came first obviously.
It's just something you have to think about before answering it, unlike most other things. It's a matter of Mind over Matter or even Matter over Mind, which ever way you want to think about it. Doesn't matter whether it's the chicken on top with the brain (mind) or the egg at the bottom... never "mind".
The main 'trick' to the solution of this problem is that, if the egg were to precede the hen, t'Hen' who the hell would engulf the egg in their feathery ass. No! The dinoaurs do not like the idea and nor do I.
The idea about feathers on asses that is, not sitting on eggs.
Now, if the hen were to land itself on earth first, we'd already have a feathery ass AS WELL AS the source of the egg. AHA! (or atleast half the source).
Now the question is, what caused the first egg to be born? A simple philosophical question about cause and effect. Think about it in whichever philosophic atmosphere that makes your brain cells most active, in the cold winds of the classical school of thought or the warm light of the romantic. Was it a rooster or was it the same phenomenon that caused Mary to give birth to Jesus. The Rooster seems to be the appropriate pick for the roster and this where I would like to stop thinking about cause and effect. And this is why I am not a big fan of philosophy.
Z (not me) : "Yaar King Kong mein bhagwaan ka kya role thaa??" x5
Aaah yes. That's better.
And what of Darwin's Evolution? That we were a bunch of monkeys before we ended up as what we are. Then what are we to become a million years from now? And the fact that there are still a bunch of them monkeys that did not change at all suggests that monkey's are stupid. Hence, no room for progress, or regress. Theory flawed.
Also, monkeys evolved and bananas didn't? Yaar waqai mein King Kong mein bhagwaan ka kya hi role ho ga. AYE (dot) EII (dot) Ha Ha (exclamation mark).

Watch a movie

Do you want to eat a bag of chips?
Or drink from a bottle of water?
Are the shoes the same colour?
Is there enough light in the room?
How much do you smoke in a day?
Do you think gardening is a good hobby?
The laundry machine distributes the amount of minutes at its own will, does't it?
It's March and almost spring time, how come there's still snow?
Should every question be answered?
Does belief in the concept of belief aid believing?
What does alacrity mean?
A credit balance on your phone-bill means a good thing?
When was the last assignment due?
Lays or Ruffles?
What's your favourite Flyod album?
Should every question be asked?
Where's my other sock?
What time does the cafe close today?
What's the date today?
Why is everyone blind?
How do you know you're colourblind?
Where do you get that?
Ever been to a circus?
What's your top score?
Do you draw?
Do you want to be famous?
How much?
What's the price?
Do you think?
How much?
You think you have to read on?
You don't.

Slow and steady wins the race?

Three tortoises, Mick, Alan and Les, decide to go on a picnic. So Mick packs the picnic basket with beer and sandwiches. The trouble is the picnic site is ten miles away so it takes them ten days to get there.
When they get there Mick unpacks the food and beer. "Ok Les Give me the bottle opener."
"I didn't bring it," says Les. "I thought you packed it."
Mick gets worried, He turns to Alan, "Did you bring the bottle opener??"
Naturally Alan didn't bring it. So they're stuck ten miles from Home without a bottle opener. Mick and Alan beg Les to go back for It, but he refuses as he says they will eat all the sandwiches.
After two hours, and after they have sworn on their tortoise Lives that they will not eat the sandwiches, he finally agrees. So Les sets off down the road at a steady pace.
Twenty days pass and he still isn't back and Mick and Alan are starving, but a promise is a promise.
Another five days and he still isn't back, but a promise is a promise. Finally they can't take it any longer so they take out a Sandwich each, and just as they are about to eat it, Les pops up from behind a rock and shouts........
"I KNEW IT!......I'M NOT F*CKING GOING!"

One at a Dime

T: "Yo, I'm going down to get water from the vending machine"
Me: "Yea ok. Take your dime... I mean Time.... same difference"
T: " HAHAHA...HAHA"
Me: "HAHAHA...HAHA"

You're probably lost. In order to remedy that let's take a trip back in time to 4 am Sunday morning outside W residence.
As Me and T enter the building flying high, we turn right to look at the two vending machines and we know that it's munchies time. Before I go on any further, I would just like to mention that this is the super-abridged version of the story. But every single bit is true.
It's 4 am and all cafeterias on campus are obviously closed. The vending machines catch more than just our attention.
T:"How much change do you have on you?"
Me:"I don't even have enough change for my bus ride to the subway station. I dot E dot I have no change"
T:"I have 3 quarters, let's go check out the vending machines, I'm starving"
Me: " Me too "
There are two vending machines. One is for drinks worth 2 dollars each. The other is for snacks worth 1.25 dollars each. And we have 0.75 dollars. Just our luck. After scavenging through the room we find 2 more quarters, bringing our grand total to... TADA !!! One Snack.
We go down to the vending machines and put the five quarters in the snack machine.
T:"What do you want?"
Me:"Everything"
T:"Right"
And then T hits the return button and we get back our change. Except that instead of the 5 quarters we put in we get a loonie (one dollar ) and a quarter. Nice.
Me:"Hey let's try it on the drinks machine and see what we get"
T puts in the 1.25 into the drinks vending machine and hits the return button. Out come 5 quarters.
We, by the way, are still starving.
Me:"Hey let's see if we can move all of the loonies from the snacks machine into the drinks machine and all of the quarters from the drinks machine to the snacks machine"
T:" Haha!! Let's do it!"
That's pretty much all that happens for the next 2o min and my stomach is about to turn into a vaccum when it hits me...
Me:"uhh T?"
T:"Yea?!??!" (really hyper now...)
Me: " You do realize that the drinks machine only changes the loonie... we don't really need to put the extra 25 cents in..."
T: " Haha! True!! "
So, T puts in the loonie and hits return. As the transaction is being processed...
T:"But the machine does give us back a new quarter..."
Me:"True..."
I put in the lone quarter and hit return... no sound but that of air. We lost our quarter and any chance of getting anything to eat.
Me and T: "Fuck!!"
Just as I was resigning to the fact that I will have to fill my stomach with tapwater... somehow, after multiple tries of putting in quarters and hitting return we get our fifth quarter back.
T:"Yaaaay!"
Me:"Ok no more fucking around, let's get something to eat."
T:" Ok.. but let's just try this one last thing"
T takes out a dime. We now have $1.35. We put it in the snack machine and hit return.
*Clink* = Loonie
*Clink* = Quarter
*Clink* = Dime
Me:"Phew! Ok now I suggest that we get the..."
*Clink* = Extra Dime
T: " We're fucking rich!! "
Me: " I don't believe it... do it again"
We try again, leading to the same result.
Me:" Do it again "
Same result.
Me: " Let's see if we can make this machine run out of dimes... "
5 Minutes later...
Me:" Dude... you know what this means? We can get a snack and a drink!"
5 more Minutes later...
Me:" And now we can get a snack and a drink each! ""
Many more 5 Minutes later...
Me:" Ok stop, we don't plan to feed India. Let's eat I'm starving "
T: "Ok let's just get our trophy dimes"
*Clink*
*Clink*
T:" Ok, now, what do you want? "
Me : " Everything "
T : " Ok! "
We discovered a way to con the machine. I don't know how many dollars worth of snacks and drinks we had that night. You could say we earned more than the minimal wage-rate per hour. It was a miracle under the circumstances. The biggest Happy Feeling I've had in a long time. Truly heartfelt. Nothing feels better than robbing a vending machine and doing it legally. It's no crime to pick up a 5 dollar bill off of the street.
Anyways we eat our fill and go to sleep. Next morning T comes into my room...
T: "Yo, I'm going down to get water from the vending machine"
Me: "Yea ok. Take your Dime... uhh I mean Time.... uhh same difference"
T: " HAHAHA...HAHA"
Me: "HAHAHA...HAHA"

Bollywood

This is... funny.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8871250999510070138&q=bollywood

I can't say more, just click.

Quotes of the day From the boys

Sohaib Mehtab every now and then - " Am I the ooonly wwwunn?"
Kaas about Asim raising his hand - "Madam Asim ka khara wa hai"
Stud boys - "BAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEEAE"
Bart retard - " I will find your center of gravity... and I will squeeze it" ( Followed by muffled laughter ofcourse)
Thaila, don't know what prompted him but - " Mama "
Everyone every now and then - "Kal universal?"
H2Commerce in reference to an old student - "Madam he was a thief, actually no... he was a cowthief"
Everyone every now and then - " Madam field-trip "
Azar in math - " Sir sir sir... cycle wala is point pe aa ke kya karay ga? "
Limpy - " Well sair, get to your books "
In response everyone under their breaths- " Bhenchod "
Hamid taking responsibility - " Sir, we weren't thinking..................straight"
Prince in response - "What you weren't thinking? Get out of my college"
--------
However, the most CLASSIC incident took place in the General Science Econ class taught by Mutroo.

Our beloved friend and fanatic klepto Sheeda, unable to bunk this particular class due to some dirty politics played by the teacher ( Mutroo would complain to his parents if there was hanky panky ), would routinely fall asleep in the front row. The front row was never his place, he did not belong there but he had to oblige to Mutroo's 'humble' request and sit right under his nose, quite literally.

One fine day, and the only day that I ever remotely regretted moving from General Science to Commerce, Mutroo was giving his usual lecture on subject matters which did not concern Economics. I remember after my first class with Mutroo the only five terms written on my notebook were, " Economics, Oscar Wilde, Invisible hand, Cuba and Pearl Jam. Pearl Jam I wrote on my own after my attention span would've rather tended to Barbie Doll cartoons. And when I went through my notes for the first test... I suppose it's understandable as to why I didn't do well.

Anyways, one fine day Mutroo suddenly wakes Sheeda up, " Mian Ahmed Rashid!!!!!!!". Sheeda jolted up from his innocent slumber, his eyes alert, his innocence no more. Not knowing what fatal blow might come his way, his legs shaking. "Tum apni beewi ko apni anniversary pe kya do gae?" inquires the man infamous for disliking any form of well-cut, well-made hair. Sheeda caught completely off-guard, doesn't know what to say. Apparently Mutroo had wandered off into the realm of romance.
Sheeda was hoping that his silence and utterly blank face might prompt Mutroo to pass the question onto another. But that day was not to be today. "Socho socho, L se shuru hota hai!" hinted Mutroo. As soon as that was said, Awais and Ochi, who by the way were also lost in innocent slumber, turned to look at Sheeda with huge smiles on their faces. Sheeda was pretty sure that that thing that they were thinking about was not what Mutroo was asking about.
"Jaldi batao, L se shuru hota hai....." Says Mutroo getting more and more excited and along with him the rest of the class too, for different reasons obviously. But not so obvious to poor Sheeda. And then Mutroo finally realizing that Sheeda will not move a muscle decides to help him out some more.. " L ke baad U aata hai.." And that was it, that was the trigger.
There was laughter, continuous, roaring and constant. Sheeda couldn't believe what he was being asked to say. What he would give to his wife on their anniversary, it begins with an L and then there comes a U and then...
"Itna soch kya rahay ho, Batao batao jaldi batao" said Mutroo at his usual lightning speed. And then, Sheeda decided to say it out loud, the pressure was too much, "Batao batao", everyone else in the class telling him to do the same, Awais and Ochi all over the table laughing their asses off. The image of chaka prancing about distracted him for a split second but... It was on the tip of his tongue, he could feel it getting there all way from the bottom of his throat. Sweat on his forehead, he was about to say it when suddenly Mutroo turned away with a distressed look on his face... "Tum usko LU-xury good do gae...tsk tsk ye bhee nahin pata tumhein". The anti-climax induces alot more laughter. And poor Sheeda exhausted through and through goes back to sleep.
While all this was happening, somewhere in the backrow, two intellectuals were revising all that they had learnt that week.
"Yaar capital kya hota hai?"
"Islamabad"

In the waiting line

Wait in line, till your time. Ticking clock, Everyone stop. Everyone's saying different things to me, Different things to me. Everyone's saying different things to me, Different things to me. Do you believe, In what you see. There doesn't seem to be anybody else who agrees with me...

Do you believe, In what you see. Motionless wheel, Nothing is real. Wasting my time, In the waiting line. Do you believe in, What you see.

Nine to five, Living lies. Everyday, Stealing time. Everyone's taking everything they can, Everything they can. Everyone's taking everything they can, Everything they can. Do you believe, In what you feel. It doesn't seem to be anybody else who agrees with me...

And I'll shout and I'll scream,

But I'd rather not have seen,

And I'll hide away for another day.

---------

(Zero 7)

Garden State

"Hey Albert?"
"Yeah?"
"Good luck exploring the infinite abyss"
"Thank you... Hey! ..... You too"
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!!"

Ambivalence. The OR Operator.

I don't know what I deserve. The end of one long road, the begining of another. Which road is for me I do not know. Is it best to move on? It certainly won't be easy. Once you're on a road for a while, you get to know it well. You know where the cracks are and you know where it's smooth. You know all the turns and you know every piece of shrubbery and every tree. And every stray dog and every stray cat. You know where the old man with the fancy car lives and you know where to park for good shade. You know where to go and where not to go. You know where it starts and where it ends. The road is your home of all roads. But do you want to leave and move over onto a whole new highway? It's hard to let go but sometimes roads are shut down. And then you're down and out, but there IS lots of it about. So let go... I'll need a map though.

Sacrilege of the Sacred.

The proper method, as taught by Dastiism.

O Dastiest of all Dastis!! Let it be known that it is a duty unto yourself and a duty unto Dastiism that you make the sacred vow four times. Once for the truthness of a love so clear and pure that you could , for your whole lifetime, be left marooned in its dearth.
Once for the bland tool of money, not for its richness, for you are not avaricious, but because the destiny of a Dasti is beyond that of scraping for worldly currency. But remember the Dastis cannot be bought, the Dastis only buy.
Once for fame, though you need it not, but is there ever a better motive?
And once for charity, to lift more than an eyebrow and to spread the light over the darkness of a tarnished soul. Are we not Pure, Philanthropic, Illustrious, Chariatable... Dasti?
Be wise in your choices. Be as you were born to be; Dasti.

Source: The Wisdom of Dastiism Vol III Chapter IX

Hmph!

The Two Women Theory

O dastiest Dastis, let it be known that there are only two of the oppositte kind. The women who want you, Dastis, and the women who will want you. Know this and walk into the abyss of the unkown future with your head immersed in awareness of this law of the world. Go in peace and emerge victorious in all of your endeavours and misendeavours. For that is the way of the dastis as prescribed by Dastiism.

Source: The Wisedom of Dastiism Vol II Chapter IV

Fearless

Ponder...
.
You say the hill's too steep to climb,
Climb it!
You say you'd like to see me try,
Climb it!
You pick the place and I'll choose the time,
And I'll climb the hill in my own way,
Just wait a while for the right day,
And as I rise above the treeline and the clouds,
I look down, hear the sound of the things you said today...

.

(Fearless - Pink Floyd)

Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit.

Ok my internet's messed up. Yes, in Canada but that's cause I've been sort of banned from Resnet for using shareware programs. Bah Humbug. Starting the blog off with The Who's Overture. First week at Loo can be aptly described in two words, heretically hectic. It put me to sleep at 10 pm for the first couple of days. I still have trouble making it past mid-night. Can't really argue or bitch about it, I asked for this.I stocked up, but I have a feeling it'll run very short, very soon. My consumption has almost doubled, clearly opulence is not something that makes life easy; it doesn't exist. Food is comparitively cheaper, which means I can eat four to five times a day again but this time without feeling bad.I'm going to stop comparing now. Background music's changed to Junaid Jamshed's Us Rah Par. I seriously underestimated the quality of this song, it's brilliant. Probably his best or maybe it's just the fact that I'm listening to it after a long time. Though anything's better than the chinese ballads that my neighbour tries to sing. Yes, the walls are thin. I wonder what he thinks when I'm listening and 'enjoying' Noori's dobara phir se (acoustic). He thinks nothing!!! because I don't sing along. HA! I was supposed to start and finish unpacking today. I've been here a week and I just started unpacking today (Friday), that's how hectic it's been. I'm halfway through unpacking and this blog. Don't know which one I should be done with first. O hell, I'll wrap this up first and I'll do that tomorrow. Atleast my Floyd posters are up on the walls.
Did I mention I hate unpacking? Just making sure: I hate unpacking. The mood's changed to Sigur Ros's Njosnavelin (Nothing song). The band sang this song in a language that they themselves invented, that's why you can't find any lyrics or translation to the lyrics of this song. Incredible.
Oh yea, the showers suck. I love lamp. I love you. Casablanca. Freedooommm! 2% Milk. 20 Rs. note. mcfussto.blogspot.com . Shine on you crazy diamond.
Just a few things I wanted to recap before I went back to my pseudo unpacking (sleep). Do me a favour, say my name out loud and also tell your mom that you wet your bed.

Where commerce begins all ethics end

On an early Monday morning when the sun had just risen, I found myself walking down Tranquility Avenue. I slouched past the mandar, I strode past the Principal's lane and I entered the domain of the Barry Block, a modern day torcher cell.
I went on, past the age-worn benches and the desolate tree. Up the stairs, one... two and three. And then I looked to enter the first room that I saw; The H2 'Commerce' classroom. As I placed my foot beyond the thin line which meant either freedom or sheer nonsense, I had this sinking feeling that now there was no turning back. This was going to be the begining of a long, long day.
The situation inside the classroom was that of complete chaos and utter confusion. Azam was singing, being backed up by a few more in the front row. The back-benchers on the right were having a engrossing discussion on which is a better "educational" institution, LGS defence or LGS defence?
The back-benchers on the left were fast asleep, not getting disturbed and returning the favour except for an occasional snore. Then there were the 'odd ones'. You could recognize an odd one as soon as you saw one, I don't need to go into the details of the 'odd ones'.
After the 'odd ones' come the outstanding students. Do not be misled by the title, the truth is far from it. If you are of the opinion that the outstanding students are intellectuals with books, you are sadly mistaken. Only the 'odd ones' carry the books. They, supposedly, don't carry the intellectuals. The outstanding students, however, were perpetually convinced that they could learn more from the outside of the classroom than from the inside of it.
The outstanding students basically comprised of a horse and a tomboy. Unfortunately, these two could never achieve the feat of being "respectfully" excused from the classroom. Which brings us to our next group, the group that has never entered the classroom to begin with. And so they never will, so we will leave them out of this discussion.
Sitting adjacent to the Noon choir was the band of brothers. This bunch always sticks together through thick and thicker. Nothing could distract the band, in fact the band was usually the main disctraction. Immune to all paper-shelling, plane crashing and feeble cries of 'shut up!', the band just did what it did. It did its thing and its thing is quite arbitrary.
Amidst all the potential circus, stood alone someone in pink shouting at the top of her voice. She remains unheard. Respect.
"This must be the Business Studies class", I said to myself. There was not a sign of ethics, not even a beacon of hope of finding any. Not in the band, nor the choir, not even in the 'odd ones', who were with there books by the way, not even in them.
Questions upon questions, excercises upon excercises were piled upon us like another brick on our backs to carry for miles to recess. Every red mark on our notebooks felt like a whip, destroying our previous hard work and compelling us to work harder. Brutally tortured and overworked, everyone looked forward to the promiseland of the 'Break Time'.
I felt so stretched out during recess that I felt as if the wild horses who were trying to tear me apart had grown wilder with the passage of time. I felt that the rope that bound my arms and legs to each horse had grown thicker and thicker. The band could have survived the thickness, but I certainly could not. I decided that I needed a hotdog.
I made my way to the crowded cafeteria. There I came across a group of short people trying to jump as high as they could to touch the tip of the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. They all jumped in vain, in fact they all jumped into my path and startled me. I was expected to walk on without getting as much as a 'sorry!'. Now that I was familiar with the norms, I didn't bother waiting for one either. Not realizing that they very well might be expecting an apology from me!
People here were worse than pick-pockets. They would sneak up on you, yes, but instead of picking your pocket, they would downright pick you up! And in the end you would have to pay for that little joyride. So by the time I rode my way to the counter, I found out that I could only treat myself to a hotdog. And so I did.
I took a bite and it tasted revoltingly of nothing. That was strange, I must've been dreaming. So I took another bite leading to the same result. Sorry, did I say 'treat' myself to a hotdog? My bad. And I thought I had the most sophisticated gustatory sense. I needed to check, in fact I HAD to check but I could not afford it.
So I had to swallow my pride, just as one swallows coke to quench their thirst. Hmmmmmm refreshing!
I swallowed my pride and picked someone up. I didn't ask for money, I just asked for a bite of the 'club'. The someone was a junior ofcourse, what could be more unethical? Robbing a blind man? Dammit why didn't my mind work this fast then. oh well..
The 'club' hit me hard as it tasted of nothing as well and so did the lumba(long one). I'm referring to an eatable, so wipe that silly smirk off your face. As a result I had a fair bit of an idea of what the chicken toast would taste like. Well, even if I didn't, I wasn't going to try and find out. Mainly owing to the fact that the chicken toast has no chicken on it!
As a result of this lingering I did not hear the bell ring and I got late. While walking leisurely... I mean sprinting back to class I was stopped by a perfect prefect who told me to bend down. I did as I was told for he did look menacing. I then thought to myself, "This is outrageous! What possible pleasure could they derive by viewing the backside of a man..."
I thought no further.
When I finally reached the classroom REALLY late, I was informed that I had been bestowed the honour of being declared an outstanding student along with the horse and the tomboy. I remained outstanding till the end of the day without being offered as much as a glass of water.
That day I promised myself not to venture beyond Room no. 1 as I could tell things were not going to improve further down the corridor. But then again, promises are meant to be broken. Whether you are on this side or that is irrelevant because Where H2 Commerce begins, all ethics do end.