Sunday, November 28, 2010

Haphazard

Sometimes I Wish I Could Laugh In The Restroom

Today I happened to enter the restroom, in a wedding hall and some guy was in there whistling while he was doing his business. A guy who followed me in must have decided that whistling in the bathroom seemed fun so he started whistling. Of course, he couldn't whistle the same thing as the first guy, even if he knew the tune, because that would be gay.

So anyhow, I guess the first guy doesn't like the competition so he starts whistling a little bit louder. Now I've got two guys whistling different tunes in the bathroom with me, one of them a little too loud, and then they finish at about the same time and leave (the whistler that came in with me did not wash his hands), that was funny I swear.

I'm washing my own hands and as the door closes on the other two guys I hear a quiet whistling starting again.
I found it funny. But you just can't laugh in the restroom, that would seem weird.

Unsaid Words


When one knows that a friend is distressed, and one doesn’t quite know how to console, provide some kind of solace; tell the friend, that everything will be fine, that this too shall pass, but one just cannot find the right words, then what does one do?

There are different kinds of friendships; in some one can say just about anything, finding words and expressions is not a hurdle at all, but then there are those other friendships where though the feelings may run deep, the persons involved do not indulge in actually expressing them. The mode of communication is mostly mutual raillery, pulling legs in harmless jest, where resorting to words to express sentiment is embarrassing. Though the concern and care essentially remains the same. Where so many things have been left unsaid, the harsher facts of life were left undisturbed, where one pretend like pain and sorrow were mere trifles. Well, not pretence exactly but yes one try not touch topics which could hurt or haunt.

Then how does one use words of solace? If I know that my friend is the resilient type, that he/she would emerge stronger from his/her tribulations, and still I want to let him/her know that I'm here, that I know and I understand, but I find no words and I resort to silence and hope that my friend has heard my unsaid words, prayers and understands.


How Thought Bubbles Play Tricks On Your Mind

Human mind is a complicated, yet a very sensitive creation. Regardless of the fact that my blog is entitled as 'Life is Beautiful', I'm about to write something that would me you believe as if I'm fed up of my life. It's just an illusion, even for me. My life is perfect. Still my mind tells to that there's something wrong with this morning. Right now I'm trying not to ponder, not to wait for the words to emerge. I'm trying to let my fingers do the composing. It's a feeling that I'm about to describe in words.

Another morning and yet there is a difference. There used to be a time when one used to wait in eager anticipation for the next year. Now, again something is different. There is a sense of misgiving, a vague unrest, fear about passing years. Its not about age, wrinkles or grey hair only. It is about slowly reaching the edge of something which has no beyond. It is about coping with life's uncertainties which are certain to follow. Its a feeling of the ground below slowly slipping away from under your feet. It is about being pushed further on towards a horizon I know not. It is about unfamiliar sights and sounds and sensations, ahead is not as well as behind me. It is about forgetting to linger in the present and letting the shadow of the future mar the light of now. In spite of trying to grab new experiences, seeking things to look forward to, still there is a feeling of time running out,there is acceptance and yet there is a question mark. There is a feeling of 'what's the point anyway'? These thoughts are not deliberate, they're uninvited guests whom I do not want to welcome into the threshold of my mind and yet they remain waiting at the door. Even if I slam the door shut, I know they're there on the other side. I can hear them, waiting.

I'm not sad, I'm not gloomy, I try to laugh aloud, but I can hear the hollowness in my laughter. Every moment, every experience, every thought, exist while reminding me of transience.


Too Much Information?

The danger of this medium is that I become so comfortable sharing my thoughts, opinions, insights and foibles that I cross the line into recklessness. How much is too much information? I continue to be surprised at what other bloggers share on their sites. I don’t think I will ever totally lower my filter, and I wonder if my writing is any less powerful because of this decision? On the other hand, isn’t it awfully self-important of me to think that anyone even cares what I write about? :P


Peace.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Chocolates And Childhood

When I was a kid, we never bought chocolates in our family very often. I am sure none of us did, waiting for the opportune moment as kids when some certain nice guests would show up, and in the process of gulping in tea, would take out few bars of chocolates from his pocket. It is funny how you noticed the elevated rectangular thing in his pocket all this while, yet you were not allowed to seem too eager or keen. You were supposed to look coyly at your parents, seeking silent permission, when they would accede, provided the chocolate wasn’t too expensive. Then, you would be expected to thank the guests, accept the chocolate, yet still not open it or eat it in front of the guests. Like a nice kid, you would put it in the fridge, and forget about it. The guests wasn’t supposed to know that the moment the door closed behind him (after thanking him again for his kindness and chocolate for the 113th time now), I would spring in action, somersault and jump, cross 7 mountains and 13 rivers, and sprint to reach the fridge and grab that bar of chocolate. Had that guest been forgetful, he would have witnessed a very nasty scene of chocolate all over my hands and face on his way back to collecting his forgotten umbrella or car keys. Something quite contrary to the image that had been portrayed for the last couple of hours.

Our family used to be unique in another way. Chocolates were never divided amongst the two siblings. It was always divided equally into 4 shares. 3 out of the 4 shares went to my brother, my dad, and me respectively, while mom would have a bite of her share. Then, she would again distribute her share amongst us. Our family didn’t believe that chocolate was meant for kids. It was meant for everyone in the family. That included my grandmother as well.

it’s clear from advertising from the latter part of the nineteenth century that whether the companies like to admit it or not, children were a major target audience for chocolate. The industrialisation of chocolate production meant that it could be made cheaply available to the masses, and this, coupled with innovatory methods, meant that the chocolate manufacturers were able to make very child-friendly products.

Anyway, the third thing was 'the taste of chocolates' never lingered in our mouths. No sooner did we finish our share (and mom’s share, and anything remaining, depending on who was stronger), we were expected to go brush our teeth. All my milk teeth removed have been attributable to my dental cavities. Last I heard, my childhood dentist who had made a small fortune out of the fee my dad paid him, and his son is attending a college in London. Yet as an incentive for the painful process of tooth pulling, I always bargained, argued, bickered, and have fought for more chocolates. Of course as dedicated chocolateers we would like to think that all chocolate is good for us (‘a little bit of what you fancy’ and all that). 

The taste of chocolates in my childhood, if I remember correctly, used to be much sweeter. This was perhaps because both quantity of consumption and the frequency of buying were powered in the hands of my parents. Even though I knew I had 8 small bars of chocolates in my share, I couldn't finish it off in one go. I was expected to save it for days till most of it either went to the ants or into the neighbour’s child’s stomach. Self-sacrifice and controlling greed were virtues that always stood with monstrosity against my chocolate munching. Things got worse especially after my little brother sprouted teeth and learnt to talk and complain and cry because after finishing my share, I would always eat his share. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t very fond of chocolates, the chocolates still had to be there every time I opened the fridge just to tempt me and torture me and teach me qualities such as self-restraint. 

The chocolates of those days were very different from the chocolates of today. Not only were there less choices and less brands, there was a clear distinction between what chocolates must be had on what occasion. And while I write this, I can’t help but salivate profusely, thinking of the different memories of my childhood these chocolates bring back. The link between chocolates and me was so strong that at times it seemed as a right rather than a luxury. It has so many things wrapped up in it: Deliciousness in the moment, childhood memories, and that grin-inducing feeling of getting a reward for being good. Life without chocolate is like a beach without water. 

I'd like to dedicate this post to my closest friend Mashaal Irfan, who is a chocolate lover herself. For her 'if it ain't chocolate, it ain't breakfast' and she thinks that there's nothing better than a good friend, except a good friend with a Chocolate. :D


Peace. 

Friday, November 26, 2010

The Unfortunate Sex Life of the Banana

I was watching the Discovery Channel lately and I found out some interesting facts about bananas, which I would like to share with you guys in my own words, as I have nothing better to do. So this is what I learnt from that program. The humble banana almost seems like a miracle of nature. Colourful, nutritious, and much cherished by children, monkeys and clowns, it has a favoured position in the planet’s fruit bowls. The banana is vitally important in many regions of the tropics, where different parts of the plant are used for clothing, paper and tableware, and where the fruit itself is an essential dietary staple. People across the globe appreciate the soft, nourishing flesh, the snack-sized portions, and the easy-peel covering that conveniently changes colour to indicate ripeness. Individual fruit or fingers, sit comfortably in the human hand, readily detached from their close-packed companions. Indeed, the banana appears almost purpose-designed for efficient human consumption and distribution. It is difficult to conceive of a more fortuitous fruit.

The banana, however, is a freakish and fragile genetic mutant; one that has survived through the centuries due to the sustained application of selective breeding by diligent humans. Indeed, the “miraculous” banana is far from being a no-strings-attached gift from nature. Its cheerful appearance hides a fatal flaw; one that threatens its proud place in the grocery basket. 

Now here comes the boring part.The banana plant is a hybrid, originating from the mismatched pairing of two South Asian wild plant species between two products of nature, the former produces unpalatable fruit flesh, and the latter is far too seedy for enjoyable consumption. Nonetheless, these closely related plants occasionally cross-pollinate and spawn seedlings which grow into sterile, half-breed banana plants. Some of you might say,''I remember being taught in Biology, ages ago, that the banana was triploid, i.e. three sides. Freak of nature it certainly is, but yummy as in banana cream pie." Right? Some ten thousand years ago, early human experimenters noted that some of these hybridized unexpectedly tasty, seedless fruit with an unheard-of yellowness and inexplicably amusing shape are also an excellent source of carbohydrates and other important nutrients.

I'm not a banana freak by any chance, so don't get any ideas. The point of this short post was just to share an interesting fact that I learned so that next time when you eat a banana, you should know there's a purpose for everything that happens. I hope this was informative. Enjoy your next banana. ;)

Peace.


Scams, Spams and I.

I've been like an alien to blogs and articles until a friend of mine started writing blogs about her life and experiences which attracted me a lot and are pretty interesting too. She asked me that why don't I start writing blogs. At first I thought she was kidding or making fun of me because frankly I'm not very good at writing all this kind of stuff. Well, she was very much serious and kind of convinced me to start blogging, in a way (she does that all the time). I asked her what to write about and she told me I don't really have to be as good as HER to write a blog (just kidding), I can write about anything that's in my mind. So, I gave it a thought and realized that there is so much information that I come across that is truly useful and I don't always have time to write an article. In many cases the ideas don't require an entire article anyway. Blogging seems to make a lot of sense as an actual time saver for me.

I remember the time when my inbox used to be filled with scams and spams from different blogging sites. That reminds me of the numerous Nigerian email scams I used to get, before web-mail providers started offering better spam protection. I once decided to respond to one. The scammer claimed to be a member of some African Royal family who fled during a military coup and was supposedly being given asylum at a church in Dublin. He wanted me to help him retrieve his $60 million fortune, for which I would receive something like 20%. I played around for a few email exchanges and made him think I would help, then asked for an advance on the money,which he ignored, of course. Finally I wrote a very excited email telling him about a friend of mine whose father works for the U.S. embassy in Ireland and had agreed to help him after I showed him all the emails I'd received from the 'Prince', which was a lie of course. The guy sent me back a furious email telling me the whole thing is off because I'm unprofessional and untrustworthy for telling others after he'd asked me to keep our correspondence a secret. Good times!

Remember the awkward times when suddenly a window used to open, promoting some porn sites with photos of nude girls, from no where and we used to go like, what the hell? So, I was at my grandmother's place with my laptop and I was minding my own business. Back at those days laptops used to be a big deal. My cousins were there too and they were curious as to what I was doing and why I was being anti-social. Ultimate Guitar was open and I was searching for the chords of 'Highway to Hell'. Suddenly, out of the blue a spam page covered my screen. If seen out of context, that page would beg certain questions: Is he perverted? Aren’t there laws about shit like this? My mum entered from behind. I had no idea she was there, but she had snuck up behind me a few seconds prior and obviously saw the pictures. I turned to see her and she pretended like she hadn’t been standing there looking at my screen for the past 3 seconds. “I was just coming over to see … what you’ve been …” she said awkwardly. Then, in that fake voice people use to continue a farce, I said,“Aaaaamm ... Guitar stuff and ...” as I was furiously trying to [X] out of the spam. But I couldn’t [X] out of it and in my panicked state, I forgot how to use my own computer. Like a desperate man caught with his pants down, I held down the power button, turned to mum and said, “It’s a virus kind of thing, ask dad, he knows. Is the dinner ready yet?”  Although she believed me but the whole scenario was very much awkward for a guy like me who always avoid getting involved in such situations.

Well, we have to admit that scams are not just on Internet. We are surrounded by them in almost all the time. Very recently, the DAWN newspaper apparently featured a story that was titled: “Every Week, Two Teens Commit Suicide”. That’s bad. I’m well aware of the fact that troubled minds don’t always seem to find a way out and opt for the (to them) easiest way: ending their life. In my humble opinion, suicide is a selfish way to go. If you think you can make the world a better place by punishing the ones you’ll leave behind, you’re not only stupid but you definitely lack respect for those who love you and are left behind with a load of questions and insecurities. And believe me, there’s always someone who loves you. They might not always show it or say it, but there’s always someone who cares. I'm saying all this because I've made some very immature decisions in life myself.Coming back to the topic. Today, in the afternoon, my doorbell rang and some Afghan fugitive was standing there. The type of beggars you usually see in the ‘big’ cities, holding a plastic-wrapped medical report that states they have seven kids and no home, usually with a paper cup or a can in the other hand. Only this time it was a plastic-wrapped newspaper article that asked to sign the petition against teen suicide. This pissed me off. Not only didn’t the woman spoke English language, she didn’t seem to be alone either. I looked out my door and saw another women on the other side of the street going door to door as well.
I refused to sign. I’ll tell you why.
The other reason why I refused to sign is: I agree that there is a problem with teen suicide, if that article is real (I haven’t seen it myself in the papers I read, in fact this seemed new to me in Pakistan). Heck, I know that there’s a problem, even without that article. But collecting signatures while going from door to door isn’t going to make the situation better. How can any troubled teen benefit from the fact that ‘x’ people are against teen suicide? That doesn’t help the teen, it doesn’t solve the problem and it sure doesn’t make things better. There was no official organization backing this up. If it would have been a recognized organization that went door to door, then I’d have signed, but surely not paid. I wouldn’t have signed ‘against’ teen suicide. I’d only have signed if it was to help troubled teens. If they would have sold a calendar for their organization, stickers or anything like that then it would have been different. But this was clearly an illegal scam where some imported women were dropped off by the dozen to go around and scam some citizens. I should have called the cops, come to think of it.
How can anyone fall for this? It’s so obviously fake. Even more: how can you go around exploiting a weakness like teen suicide? Dammit it’s stuff like this that makes you narrow-minded, I know. I’m not a racist. I agree that everybody should have a fair chance and that some rotten apples can spoil it for an entire community. That you have to look ‘around’ the rotten apples. But man, there sure are A LOT of rotten apples lately. And apparently a lot of naive people too.

Our nation, our people and most importantly our Religion are in great danger just because we ignore so many little things(scams) happening around us. If you can't do anything to stop them,  then please pray to God that He helps us in every situation and that He gives us enough sense so that we can distinguish between good and evil. 



"Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail." - Ralph Waldo Emerson



Be blessed.