Falsa Queen

After a whole semester or working like a dog and an another month of work (which hasn’t begun yet) there’s a list , in no praticular order, which needs my attention. Okay demands my attention.

1. Seasons. Get them in bulk and watch them till my eyes glaze over and I confuse Betty with Serena. Yes, that hard a job, it can only happen if I become an addict.

2. Read the books I have in my tiny library. I have begun to buy books and forget about them. This habit is a recent acquisition. Then buy more books, till I feel saturation. I love *drool* books.

3. Go somewhere exotic for a power break. Like may be for a week, but if it’s Turkey then more than a week. A hundred years, may be? 

4. Begin to frequent gym with a mad devoution. Only that will help me.

5. Meet with my bestfriend, who feels so ignored that she turns around to ignore me. Also meet other friends. And some more.

6. Pick and choose only the nicest summer weddings, the rest are mostly a waste of time any way.

7. Go to the small cafes that I’ve been covetting and never had the guts to try them.

8. Watch Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind and read Gone with the Wind. I am pathetic.

9. Reconnect with God, it’s been long and now I miss Him.

My words don’t so  fail me very often but this time they have. Instead I only have a brilliant smile. It says it all. Thankyousoveryverymuch Allah Mian. Nothing could make me happier. MashAllah.

Read this post in your own sweet time. I’ve been trying to call you, and for some weird reason it never gets through. The landline’s being a mean-monster too. I was just thinking, how we keep talking about meeting each other in flesh and blood. I’d like that you know, it really, supremely keeps me going right now. I’ve been wanting to say so many uninteresting things to you, nonstop, till images and words swim in your head. I can imagine you patiently smiling and urging me to go on till I’ve no energy left. Somehow you always do. The inclination to keep each word, in your heart amazes me. It cheers me up, the thought of you, like a familiar sweet tugging at my heart. You’ve got the passion to devour everything I have to offer, and sometimes, I have very little left for you. Even then, you never ever complain.

But rest assured, I love you.

P.s. (About Y, it’s all going to better than wonderful, I promise you this. I’ll pray, like always.)

P.p.s. (I want the exams to go really well, ok????)

So I really, really wanted this book. http://www.amazon.com/Other-Rooms-Wonders/dp/0393068005 Perhaps not really, but I am a compulsive book buyer. I totally support our local authors even though most desi books lack a strong story line and are reinventions of the hackneyed elitist syndrome. I still do. Any book that has a mere mention of Karachi will make me jump for joy, and reach out to possess it. I don’t want to miss a word, mentioned and printed about this city. I want to know everything that lies in others’ minds regarding my home. Yet I want to walk away and rebuild my home somewhere else. 

Adviser told me that houses can be rebuilt, homes cannot. What can I do, for my children will never be able to smell jasmine in pitch black darkness, taste salty sea breeze, on a night diffused by power breakdown. Generators would have crept in everywhere. They will not be able to visualize countless stories narrated through master storytellers of cassette kahani fame. How would they know who shehzada gulfam was, and why did dark, stormy nights always smell of trouble brewing? They will not be able to see the ride to Clifton beach as a fascinating experience because their vision would have been obscured by Mcdonald’s giant golden arches. What would they know about, Empress Market, Jodia Bazaar or even Karimabad  because of their increasing inaccessibility, or our own lack of understanding towards thier rich past? How would they decipher the pleasure being derived in buying the freshest pomphret is from the shacks where you can squeeze the ice-blue fish’s eyes to see the mahagony liquid ooze out, and pronounce it buyable. Would they even know, that a world exists beyond store bought, canned or packaged fruit? To travel without a guard, without a gun, without worrying about the motorcyclists that looked exactly like mobile snatchers would be unthinkable for them. Karachi, where women dressed up to saunter down the Elphinstone street of Karachi is in ruins, and women certainly don’t dress up anymore. With the taliban threat hovering even more would retreat into their customized cushioned safety zones. This was the city which was washed with water every morning, where processions were organized and safe and people accepted strangers with open arms. Now there really is no water to remove your own stench, processions branch out into riots so media can cash in on them, and if you want to accept people then be prepared to have your own arms chopped off.

How can I call this home when my heart tells me otherwise?

There are times when I want to see the sky, sparkling with multitudes of tiny stars. I just want to count them, loose count, begin all over again. I just want the salty-sticky breeze to wrap itself around me, while I’m at it, and gently guide me towards deep slumber. It surely can’t be that difficult, to sleep for a long, uninterrupted stretch. Can it?

At other times, I want to speak to all those who I love, and not let the time fly. I want the conversations to flow, cool and sweet like water in a stream. I want to hear, and see, and touch the hearts. Hearts distraught. Hearts sick with worry. I want to reassure them when my own heart is shaking with fear. It surely isn’t impossible?

Then sometimes, I want to sit on a prayer mat, in front of the beach, on cold wet sand, and pray. I want to bow my head in submission, and listen to the ocean’s force, that comes from Him. I want to marvel at everything that He created for me to see, so I could praise Him, lavishly, truthfully, and happily.  It cannot be that hard now?

You created this servant of Yours and
brought him into being from a drop of water.
I do not even have the right to say I love You,
and yet I do love You. I always remember You.
I know that even my being able to remember You
is also due to Your guidance. My mentioning Your
Name of Majesty left me dizzy, bewildered, and amazed.

 Is it possible to imagine anyone in this world
loving the Divinity and not becoming intoxicated with
such affection? So great a blessing is affection that
even if its possessor should stray into the wilderness,
the fire of his love would not allow him to feel the heat of the desert.

Should the lover fall into the fire, the heat of his
love would extinguish that fire. The fire of love would cause
the poles and glaciers to melt. If mountains and boulders were
piled upon the back of the lover, the fire of his love would
prevent his feeling the weight of the load. Affection makes a
person forget about hunger and thirst, and keeps him on the road of love.

Sheikh Muzzafer Ozak

Sometimes, it takes a yes from Him to bring a wet sparkle in my eyes, sometimes a no. I know, what it’s like to keep swinging, back and forth. I also know how spinning in circles must feel, like stones being pelted on my back, when I’m cornered, so I can do nothing about the pain, except endure it. I know I have wronged Him innumerable times. Again and again. I know that. But I also know what my end must be like, a happy end. Where He personally tells all the angels to clean my slate, and grant me heaven. I know this because deep down, I’m only really sure of His infinite mercy. He’s not like any other. He can never be. He breathes life into my dead heart, over and over. He cleans it, and holds it in high esteem. My heart? I question myself often. But He does, not because He owes me anything, except for love alone. This is His love, so pure, so powerful, that it moves me. I forget. Yes, many a times, I don’t consider how blurred my blacks and whites are.

He believes in me, a beautiful, poignant belief that in actuality compels me to bow down, out of gratitude. He is responsible for the heavens and the earth, and all things seen and unseen. I forget. I do. How can I, when even I’m answerable to Him alone? I could be in heaven or hell (God forbid) but I want to see Him, and ask Him to forgive me, His forgiveness matters so much that words fail me. For Him, my words, my actions, my love and my life, all seem to pale in comparision. I refuse to compare myself to any other mortal, out of sheer shame. They had what I do not have. But I have faith, and sometimes, this is all it takes.