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.
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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.