Scattered Aurora

I take in a deep breath and blow out the twenty candles on an imaginary cake. YAY!! It's my birthday!!! I jump around with joy, and dance around the room. I cut the cake, sing the song, take the pictures even (all imaginary of course :P). And I really really wish a very happy birthday to me!! :D

A certain man planted a rose and watered it faithfully and before it blossomed, he examined it. He saw the bud that would soon blossom, but noticed thorns upon the stem and he thought, "How can any beautiful flower come from a plant burdened with so many sharp thorns? Saddened by this thought, he neglected to water the rose, and just before it was ready to bloom... it died.
So it is with many people. Within every soul there is a rose. The God-like qualities planted in us at birth, grow amid the thorns of our faults. Many of us look at ourselves and see only the thorns, the defects.
We despair, thinking that nothing good can possibly come from us. We neglect to water the good within us, and eventually it dies. We never realize our potential.
Some people do not see the rose within themselves; someone else must show it to them. One of the greatest gifts a person can possess is to be able to reach past the thorns of another, and find the rose within them.

This is one quality of true love... to look at a person, know their true faults and nevertheless accept that person into your life... all the while recognizing the purity and strengths in their soul. Help others to realize they can overcome their faults. If we show them the "rose" within themselves, they will conquer their thorns. Only then will they blossom many times over.

The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "This is for you, Daddy."
The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box was empty. He yelled at her, stating, "Don't you know, when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside? The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, "Oh, Daddy, it's not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They're all for you, Daddy."
The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.
Only a short time later, an accident took the life of the child. It is also told that her father kept that gold box by his bed for many years and, whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each one of us, as humans beings, have been given a gold box filled with unconditional love and kisses... from our children, family members, friends, and God. There is simply no other possession, anyone could ever have, more precious than this.

I have been thinking about the documentary that we watched in class a few weeks back and on which my post, The Catharsis of Torture was based. We couldn't watch the complete documentary due to the emotional upheaval it caused in me and my friends and which caused the teacher to stop showing the documentary citing it as emotionally disturbing in view of our behavior. Although I'm not sorry that I haven't been able to watch the complete movie (knowing my frustration of leaving things incomplete; surprising ain't it) but I still feel guilty. Guilty that I have been able to put it in the back of my mind and scurry back into the escapist world that I have created for myself; my very own private bubble. Guilty that I couldn't face the truth; that my so-called opinions and beliefs couldn't give me the strength to sit through the portrayal of truth however gruesome it might be. But I couldn't and I still can't. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to. Why? I don't know; no idea, utterly clueless. I'm ashamed of myself, of all my high-handed principles, of all my big talks; but it is a shame which I'm willing to live with.

It's strange but I have grown up watching violent and gruesome movies with my dad and bro but in my mind there is a huge difference between a fictional and a true story. Somehow the words ''documentary'' and ''true story'' take the picture to an altogether new phase one which I'm not sure I will ever be able to climb up to. I remember when a few years back when the horrors of the Abu Ghraib Prison and Guantanamo Bay Detention facility were publicized. At first I was very curious as to what was all the uproar about but my curiosity fast dwindled into disgust and horror at the barbaric callousness of these soldiers who are supposedly fighting for justice and peace (huh! what a joke!). After reading a detailed report in the newspaper on the torture of prisoners I started avoiding any stories that gave details on both the detention facilities. I remember not reading a newspaper for like two months afterwards.

I know that some of my readers will be disgusted at my confession and some might even call me a coward but I feel that I don't care. I'd rather live in the beautiful world of my own rather than the real world of horrors.

A couple of days ago I witnessed an incident which considerably changed my thoughts towards the spanking new and "competent" traffic police of Lahore. Out on all showy roads of Lahore their light blue uniforms are clearly visible on the intersections or red lights. The showy roads being Gulberg, Defence, Model town and all the other posh areas.

On Tuesday I was driving to my friend's place who happens to live at the other end of Lahore. On my way, from the airport to Walton, the police brigades in their dashing new uniforms (read sarcasm) could be seen standing attentive and alert on all roads. But further on their absence on the traffic polluted areas of Kainchi Chowk and link road was noticeable; made even more so by a middle aged man, standing on the green belt of Kainchi Chowk, with a whistle in his mouth, directing the traffic and doing a brilliant job. Maybe he was a druggie or maybe he was just plain mental but he brought the blaring irresponsibility of the traffic police to the forefront.

I have traveled on those roads a few times and I never saw a policeman there either directing traffic or even sitting around in his car enjoying a respite from the midday sun. Is the traffic police's duty limited to only the posh areas where the only vehicles are cars, bikes, vans, and rickshaws. What about the roads on which the vehicles are not only those with horsepower but those run with horses and donkeys as well.

It's quite shameful to know that a drug addict or mentally handicapped person had to stand up to make us aware of what is missing because we who have our noses so high up in the air can't deign to notice anything unless or until a scene is created.

P.S. The man with the undesignated mental status also appears on Kalma Chowk to direct the traffic, according to my friend. He wears mustard colored trousers and a green and mustard checked shirt.

So much has changed in so little time. As I sat on my pc tonight working on my research paper, something kept on tickling my conscious mind...but evaded my grasp and scurried back in the dimness of my subconscious whenever I reached out for it.

Then it suddenly struck me what was missing: cricket!!

Every Saturday night, a group of young boys play cricket on the road in front of my flat, till early in the morning. Although I've never harbored an interest in cricket or hardly any other sports for that matter, but somehow every Saturday night I was drawn to my window by their way of welcoming the weekend. The enthusiasm with which they played and their laughter and boisterous comments to each other would always add to my enjoyment. I can not put into words the feelings that I had when I saw them playing. The one emotion that stands out from all others in my mind was that of thankfulness and gratitude for a free nation where no matter what anyone says there is still a sense of security that allows these youngsters to come out and play the night away on the roads. Tonight the absence of those young players has brought the point home to me much more forcefully than those bomb blast could ever could: We are no longer a safe nation, We are no longer free, we are no longer clean. We have been sullied by our very own brethren. Our future has been taken away from the very people who claim to be our brothers by religion.

As I sit and try to think of what my future will hold, my mind plays a blank screen. Are we even going to have a future, my mind prods my intuition. Will those boys ever come back and play on these roads again? Will I even have a window to watch the road from? Or will we just end up in a grave or if we are unlucky, like the millions of other victims of war-ravaged countries?

The laughter has died away with the faceless bombers and we are left in a quagmire of trepidation, where every step we take is haunted by fear, every breath we take is overshadowed by hopelessness and in every smile there lingers pain. Confusion and hesitation dodges our every move and the carefree life we lived is gone forever.

Another day, another bomb blast; this time around twin blasts in different places at the same time: one in model town and the other, as usual, on the Mall. In the annual graph of terrorist blasts in major cities in Pakistan, the red line goes up another notch. The news channels have a field day, with every channel giving a different number of casualties and injured in both the blasts. Not to worry, at least most of them will have the same number by the 9 o'clock news. Same is the case with how the blast occurred: most news channels reporting that an explosives-filled car smashed in to the buiding with two suicide bombers inside, while others reporting that there was no car and they were on foot or on bikes. But they all agree that these were definitely suicide bombings (no surprises there). The saddest part in all this violence and drama is the fact that not only can we just stem this tide which is rapidly enveloping our country, we have even stopped being shocked by these violent bombings. We have become so desensitized by all the violence and horror that its just another bomb blast for us. We surf the net and channels and gather all the facts and info yet we hardly spare a thought towards what the families of the victims must be going through. The number of deaths are not some innocent victims for us they are just meaningless statistics on our television screens. We are more interested in the blast and how it happened, rather than how many people died. Even the news channels only show how and where the bomb happened and throw in a little figure for the number of deaths before moving on to their correspondent who once again goes over how and where the bomb blast occurred.
I remember the day there was a blast near our college. We weren't even harmed or anything just scared as we heard the three blasts. I can still sense the panic and fear that had taken residence in the air of Kc that day. When i got home, I remember thinking to myself that somehow things are going to change for me now. Whenever i hear about another bomb blast i really won't be able to act like just another spectator but I will be able to feel the fear and the anguish as if i were there. But I was so wrong. I have gone back to being that just another spectator. I didnot even cringe at the destruction portrayed on the tv. And today i gained another insight on being a human. Who are we to call the suicide bombers inhumane and heartless when we are no less. We are just as cold-blooded, just as cruel, just as hard-hearted as they are. The only difference between us is that we don't go around blowing ourselves up with countless other people. Do we spare a thought for who the victims of those blasts were unless they are related to us? No, we don't. Surprisingly, I doubt the suicide bombers do either. Do we think about what the families of the victims and what they would be going through on losing one or many of their loved ones? No, we don't. Funnily enough, the suicide bombers don't either.
''Casualties'', such an aloof word for the deaths of all those innocent bystanders, doomed by circumstance and the perfect living, or maybe i should say dead, example of ''in the wrong place at the wrong time''. All that we do is throw this word and its subsequent number at our government and accuse them of making our country a fertile breeding ground for terrorism. I think now it's time to give more thought to the victims and their families and even for a minute observe silence in the memories of all those who have left us behind in the wake of these terrible bombings.

Scared...sooo scared...i try not to think about it but its still here...in my mind...trying to drill itself firmly into my skull...i shake my head to dislodge them but more take the place of the fallen... their little hammers go bang bang inside and i hit my head on the wall in an effort to minimise the other pain...BIG MISTAKE! now i've a blood-sprouting brain to contend with...i can see their nasty little smiles as they wreak more havoc...i dump my head in a bucket of cold water....nothing helps not the cold water seeping into my nose and my ears and not the silly running around the room...the shovels are out...the digging has started...panicked i run around faster...the scraping grows louder...my hands are getting out of control...my will is diminishing...i can't hold out any longer...they are soo much stronger now and in soo deep...i lose control...the final barrier comes down...CRASH!!! the deed is done...the brick shatters the glass pane into tiny little glittering diamonds...i stare at the stars as the tiny prisms reflect light...they subside laughing their evil little laughs...going back to their hideouts to think of new evil plans...i turn around and see her standing in the doorway staring at me horrorstruck...she can't seem to stop moving her gaze from the shattered glass to my face...defeated i point a finger to my mind and say:

Oh Allah, I don't know of all the challenges this woman has,
But you know everything...

I hear her silence,
You hear her plead,

I see her laughing,
You see her tears,

I see when she gives,
You see what has been taken from her,

I see her appearance,
You see the scars in her soul,

I experience her faith,
You know her doubts,

I ask that You give her everything she needs
And bless her abundantly this year and for life.

Ameen

What is hate? or rather who is hate? Is it just an emotion that we mortals feel or is it an entity in itself. Is hate the being who broke us down, who disillusioned and disappointed us to the extent of shattering us into a thousand little pieces? Or is hate the one who took away all our hope, and left us in the proverbial tunnel where the light at the end is a train. Or yet again is hate the one who told us the truth; who shook us up and thrust the bitter truth into our face; who slapped our faces with realizations that we are worthless and not fit to enjoy this world or the next even. Who is hate? Is it just a simple emotion that we feel with an intensity towards something we dislike or is it something more. Or is it just an unwillingness to do something, an excuse to wriggle out of a chore. Or is it a repulsive mask behind which we hide our true feelings, cliched as it sounds?
I looked up the meaning of Hate and the first thing my eyes centred on was the word passionately. It seemed strange to me to see this word here in connection with such a negative word for I've always viewed passion in a very positive and strong light. I don't know why but somehow i revere this word: passion. To me it denotes something that is undescribeable, a feeling so strong so intense so powerful that it is unmatchable. Even till today I've yet to really use this word in its true glory, where this word would unleash its fervor and breakout in a paraoxysm of rapture in the mind of the reader.
But when i think about it can you really feel that passion for someone and say its hatred? Hate is never completely hate until you stop feeling even a teeny-weeny bit of any other positive emotion for that being. Hate, I believe, is too strong a word to just throw away in any context. In the normal usage of this word, it is initiated typically by anger, or disappointment, or the need to hide behind a mask.
We hear so many true stories of years of hatred dissolved in a moment of helplessness. But was it really hatred? or was it just some sort of a way to keep your distance, to erect barriers between yourself and the ''hated''. Are we humans actually capable of hating each other? Is it just another of our socially-bred etiquettes of survival? Is it all a farce?
I'm still searching for my answers...

This post is going to be considerably smaller in comparison with its part 1 as the second experience was brief but hurting. The second of those would-be-but-were-not life changing experiences was my accident on the road (:D) yesterday on my way back with Zd from Nairang. I slipped on the greenbelt and hurt both my knees :'( *sniff sniff*. And the best part was that Zd helped me up made sure i was alright and then immediately started crossing the road in the midst of the oncoming traffic. When in the middle she realized i wasnt with her. She immediately stopped. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TRAFFIC. And started shouting at me to come on. I kept screaming back at her to go on and that i would cross when the traffic stopped. Thank God common sense penetrated her mind and she got safely to the other side. A few minutes later i crossed the clear road smoothly.

Word of Advice Zd: You DO NOT stop in the middle of the traffic and hold a shouting conversation with a friend on the other side. EVER!

P.S. I now sport two big bruises on both knees but lucky for me no anti-tetanus was needed. Long Live denim jeans :D

After the resounding success of my last post (ahem ahem) i had thought of taking a little break from blogging atleast till my mids were over. But i guess Fate doesn't agree with my decision and thus I was provided with two blasting incidents in my very boring life. Both of them although would be life-changing for any normal person but failed to do anything for me other than putting me out of action for a couple of days.
The first of these was a bomb blast experience on Tuesday March 4th, in the car park of Naval War College which unfortunately happens to be located in the nearby vicinity of our college. This means that not only were we treated to an awesome display of panic and histronics by the girls of Kinnaird but we also heard the resulting blasts which really shook the building. At the time of the first blast our group was as usual in a computer lab on the first floor. The first blast sounded to me some what like a dull thud as if some heavy thing had fallen from the third floor or something. The first reaction among all of us came from ami, who saying it was a bomb blast, quickly got up and ran outside to see what it was. Mubi followed behind her. Although my first thought was also that it was a bomb blast but lucky for my "tactfulness" i saw the panic stricken faces of mubi and ami and kept my tongue in check. I could hear the ambulances in the background (which although is nothing unusual seeing that there are more than three hospitals in front of our college but today they sounded infinitely more). I could also hear the birds taking in flight in response to the scare of that blasting sound. Mubi and Ami came back in to announce that the dumb girls outside were saying that a door had probably banged shut. Seeing this as my only way to try and calm them down i started saying that probably some table had fallen down from a top story or something of the sort (I can still aee Hina'z and Zd's skeptical faces). I saw a glimpse of momentary relief crossing their faces but then Ami noticed the ambulances wailing and immediately started saying it was definitely a bomb blast. At that exact moment another blast resounded through the building and this time the doors and windows rattled and the tables shook with the force of it. All of us now convinced that it was very definitely a bomb blast, Ami, Zd and Hina took off with mubi and me coming from behind. While passing through the corridors, we both smelled something; mubi smelt smoke and something burning and i smelt coconut. When i said as much to mubi she gave me this look that clearly said this girl is completely gone off her rocker and which made me laugh soo much. I remember mubi holding on to my arm on top of the stairs and telling me to stop laughing and not to get hysterical.
I sobered as soon as i saw Ami's face. After that i don't really remember much except a few highlights. Everyone had gathered in the grounds. Scared faces, distressed and alarmed voices surrounded me on every side. I could smell panic in the air. One thing that i remember clearly at that tine was that not even for a second did my life flash by me or not for a millisecond did i feel anything resembling fear or panic. And that's really very strange, considering me when I panic so easily in the smallest of situations. I have been thinkin a lot about that afternoon but i cannot place my reactions in any reason or logic. We called up Geo and they confirmed that there had been two bomb blasts on the Mall Underpass which happens to be right behind our college. At that very second a third blast sounded. All five of us moved towards the front ground with everyone calling their homes up except me. Actually it was really very funny considering that my mom actually asked me whether i was coming by meyself or should she send the car (I just love my chill family, their attitude was: bomb phatta tou kya hua ;p). The rest is all a blur. The gates being closed by the admin and the resulting harsh words being crossfired between the faculty and the students. I ended up galofying the dean in front of my Majors teacher (as usual). The closed gates pissed off Zd and Hina alot understandably. Zd had her car in college and had to drive home by herself so according to her she should have been allowed to leave. Strangely enough I kept on defending the colleges decision to keep the gates closed and I tried to make Zd understand the point. Hina on the other hand kept shuttling between the both of us. One minute she was with me and telling Zd that it's better for us to remain inside and the next minute she would be agreeing with Zd. I almost persuaded Zd and Hina if it wouldn't have been for one of the faculty members telling the girls that as soon as the Dean cooled down the gates would open. That really really pissed me off. Here i was thinking that the college had closed its gates thinking about our safety but it turned out to be that the gates had actually been closed because the dean was pissed off at the girls who had called up their parents to let them know they were fine and to ask them to pick them up. My reaction to this was coloring the dean up with me explicit vocabulary.
Khair, the gates were opened and soon the college cleared. All five of us gave each other strict instructions to call each other as soon as we all get safely home. I went home by rickshaw which kept on scaring the shit out of both mubi and ami(I still don't undertand why). But thank God we all got home safe and sound and Ami was the only one who didn't msg :@.
Anyways I got home and switched on the tv and viewed the destruction for myself. The havoc and annihilation that these suicide bombers caused in the name of Islam. No religion in this world ever has violence or murders embedded in its faith except for one religion: the religion of power. Power to destroy the lives of so many innocent people. Power to diminish the importance of even one life to so many deaths. For all the supporters of these Talibans and these suicide bombers I have just one thing to ask. What are you fighting for? What are you killing so many people for? What will you do when there is no one left to follow the religion you are so hell bent on imposing. Embracing a religion is not just saying the words that make youa follower or doing the rituals and stuff. It's more about believing and having faith with all your heart. Scaring people and forcing them to convert to any religion doesn't make them follow the religion, it makes them hate it. Killing so many innocent people doesn't make you any different from what those Americans are doing in Iraq and Afghanistan. Every life is special. And why try to hurt people when you can teach them so much with love.

All I want is someone to just take me away from all this and just hold me close and kiss my troubles away. Smooth my brow of the lines of worries and tell me that I am a very very special person and that I’m not worthless; I was made for them. I feel so alone right now. Alone in this entire world with nobody to come to me and tell me they love me. No father to put his hand on my head and tell me everything will be alright; no mother to pull me into her arms and hug my sorrows away, no brother to tease me and no sister to confide with, no lover to be close to and no friend to talk to; no shoulder to cry on. I’m so alone today. I feel so scared, so afraid. It’s a horrible feeling being alone this world and I don't want to feel it any more. Please someone make it go away. Please someone come and take me into your arms. Please someone anyone tell me that you love me. I’m desperate to hear those three little words that mean so much to me. Please take this loneliness away and then don’t ever leave me alone again. Don’t ever walk away. Don’t ever turn away. Be there for me always forever for eternity.

Hmmm... let's see for a change I've not written any new post in the last few days. No no, the blogging madness isnt over it's just that too much drama was unfolding at my house and i just didn't have the time or the peace of mind to write something. But now, now I'm back in college and it's 4.20 pm once again and i'm typing away like hell on the keyboard without any assembled thought or idea in my mind.
Sitting in front of the monitor, seeing it fill up with my thoughts as I type them in, i wait for my friend to get to my college. And as I sit here i start thinking of life (not how pathetic or awesome my life has been, but just life) and i think that we are all so doubtful of our past, at the mercy of our memories for the recollections, yet we still sit down by the heater and think of the good 'ol times. And i think we are so confused about our present, at the mercy of the terror and the baffling "truths'' of reality, but still we wake up each morning, stretch our limbs and contemplate on a beautiful new day (well some of us do :s). And i think we are so unsure about the future, at the mercy of the unknown and unforseeable morrow, yet we badger our better halfs about when are we going to get married (and for singles like me) what will we do tomorrow.
Do we ever sit down and think what if there is no future tomorrow, what if the past is not how we remember it, what if the present is nothing but a passing moment which is in itself a durationless instant. And then does this all inspire us to think whether Time really does exist in these three categories or is this just another human folly. For as Augustine advises us, ''Time is said to be tripartite – one part being past, one present, one future. Of these the past and future do not exist: for if past and future time exists now, each of them will be present. Nor does the present.''
The answer to all these questions is that yes we do think about all three things but only in context to Death do we burden our minds with such philosophies. But even then we just skim the surface, afraid to dive deep into these bottomless depths. The future only stops existing for us when we are no more; the past differs only with the memories of many people after we arn't there to correct them; and the present passes by only with our last breath.

The past ambiguous, the present confused, and the future unsure; yet I live each day!

Yesterday was Dad's birthday and a very very special day for me; good or bad i really can't specify. His 49th birthday (so he says) started with me being awake at 12 at night and even till 3 am but forgetting completely of his birthday (so what's new??). The bad thing was that he was up with me all that time; he was watching tv and i was sitting on the pc. And i still forgot it was his birthday. How bad it must have felt to him. In the morning around 9 am my mom shook me awake and reminded me that it was my dad's birthday and i shamelessly told her that ''yea 'course I remember'' (my only defence is that i was still half asleep). Anyways finally around 1 pm i heaved my ass out of the bed and quickly dressed up and went downstairs. And guess who was the first person i saw...yups my dear daddy. I quickly went up to him hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek (more like on his beard) and wished him a very warm happy birthday. When i think of that moment it really brings a smile on my face and a warmth in my tummy and i feel really really happy (dunno y but happy it felt and happy i was).
Later we went down to see off my Phupo to her car and as there were no plans for his big day (considering the fact that the party planner was sleeping till 1 in the afternoon: read me) i started badgering him to take me to CTC so i could get his birthday cake (ironic ain't it). All the way back home, i took hold of his arm and kept tugging at his sleeve while i alternatively beseeched him and regaled him with threats and emotional blackmailing (the ace threat that i had up my sleeve was that i would set loose my younger sister on him =p). All of a sudden, my dad took hold of my tugging hand and took it off his arm. For a minute there I thought that he was just going to drop my hand but surprisingly he held my little hand in his big one and kept hold of it all the way up teasing me. For me that single moment proved to be sweeter than a thousand cakes and even when I kept on bugging you, I felt tears of happiness gather in my eyes.
Dad, you didn't take me to get your birthday cake but i want to tell you that I love you for holding my hand and letting me feel how much you love me. I love you baba and I just wanna say thank you for everything even for not going to get the cake. Happy Birthday Baba and may you have soo many more Inshallah.
My Phupo got a cake for him in the evening from Kitchen Cuisine; so you see I had my cake and I ate it too =p