Jugal Bandi

‘A philosopher’s importance lies not in the correctness of his views, but in whether his ideas move men to action’. Some, irrespective of the earned knowledge or ignorance, go beyond their personal misery; an uncharacteristic feat cutting straight through the realms of both sense and fiction. One such man I met last week, painting his world with a butterfly wing, unaware of whether he was humanizing colors or were they just transcending him into a mystic. A mythical self that could trail any path, as for his curiosity, tangled stories producing nothing but experience are to be found everywhere.

Every story has its own color, but only for a meager fraction of time. It changes, as the subjectivity of both sense and fiction finds peace in confusion. Every story is colored by its interpretation, as you would know; black can be the color of love, and white may well signify both ‘nothing’ and ‘everything’ at the same time.

Why are you scared?

Shikwa

Acha beta

Bob Marley

Aur Hum Na Maarein!!!?

Life in a Metro - III

You probably don't know about it, but we have something so common within; it seems like a proverbial enclosure of identities. Yours and mine.

......

In a city like Karachi, your individuality is completely insignificant. Irrelevant because tangled images and their descriptions do only connect with obscurity and unqualified abstractions. Life here, dwells on common grounds. Love me or hate, I would always find a place to exist. I shall always contribute. Nothing in a city ever dies; this prevailing numbness makes everything immortal.

Progressions

“What is in mind is a sort of Chautauqua...that's the only name I can think of for it...like the traveling tent-show Chautauquas that used to move across America, this America, the one that we are now in, an old-time series of popular talks intended to edify and entertain, improve the mind and bring culture and enlightenment to the ears and thoughts of the hearer. The Chautauquas were pushed aside by faster-paced radio, movies and TV, and it seems to me the change was not entirely an improvement. Perhaps because of these changes the stream of national consciousness moves faster now, and is broader, but it seems to run less deep. The old channels cannot contain it and in its search for new ones there seems to be growing havoc and destruction along its banks. In this Chautauqua I would like not to cut any new channels of consciousness but simply dig deeper into old ones that have become silted in with the debris of thoughts grown stale and platitudes too often repeated. "What's new?" is an interesting and broadening eternal question, but one which, if pursued exclusively, results only in an endless parade of trivia and fashion, the silt of tomorrow. I would like, instead, to be concerned with the question "What is best?," a question which cuts deeply rather than broadly, a question whose answers tend to move the silt downstream. There are eras of human history in which the channels of thought have been too deeply cut and no change was possible, and nothing new ever happened, and "best" was a matter of dogma, but that is not the situation now. Now the stream of our common consciousness seems to be obliterating its own banks, losing its central direction and purpose, flooding the lowlands, disconnecting and isolating the highlands and to no particular purpose other than the wasteful fulfillment of its own internal momentum. Some channel deepening seems called for.”

- Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values

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Image: Orwald

What Matters...

Four generations reside my home; from ninety years old grandma to my year old niece, all under one roof. How does it feel? Fun, hectic even chaotic at times but an absolute privilege in its true sense. Something that really deserves to be valued and treasured. Each day, I get to see life's full circle; when both my grandma and niece look for help to get them to the other room. Its a beautiful transition to observe really; and completely awe inspiring to think that almost a century stands between them.

How have things changed in these eighty odd years? How different, in principle, will life of my niece be from that of her great grandmother.

The world around us has radically changed in last couple of decades, no question in that. But how has this change affected our inner selves is highly subjective and variable. Our values, traditions... are they evolving from the curse of barbarism or heading towards it? Is this an escape? Or a salvation. Are we sowing right seeds for the future?

Generations before us have seen unbelievably rough times. My parents, their parents. It makes me sad at times; to see how atrocious life has been to them, and they to each other. But it gives my life a direction too, never allows me lose my way. When I take my mother's wrinkled wobbling hand into mine, I see that it is not just because of her age... it has really been a tough journey. I take pride in how I have been brought up but that hasn't blinded me. Well, not completely would say. I recognize those beautiful loving faces surrounding me, and all that hard work they have put in to see us through.

When I was in school, my father never came for those parents-teacher meetings. It felt strange. I don't remember when was the last time he asked me what I really want to do in my career or life ahead. But today when I see my brother giving extra attention to my nephew's education, I feel that this man, my dad may not have done everything right but yes he did sow seeds of evolution somewhere on the way.

My nephews and nieces will have a better life than us. We, the generation of present have to ascertain this. The non-negotiable integrity, the character should evolve, even in this precarious world of modernity.

Gloom

We dwell in our minds. Perceptions that keep on growing, evolving from infinitesimal notions to monstrous egos and ideologies. When I see around, I see my people tumbling in conflicts, debating endlessly, molesting each others sensitivities... crushing lives, trouncing minds and squeezing hearts in their nonsensical and absurd state of fury. It isn't a zero sum game really; you don't have to lose for me to win, you don't have to agree with me on everything to be my friend.

Facebook is an interesting space to be in. Some day back a friend updated his status 'Finally.. justice has been done. LHC has given death penalty to Mumtaz Qadri'. 10 more minutes.. and another one came.. 'AllahoAkbar.. Ya Rasul Allah tere chahne waalon ki khair..'. Hmmm. Interesting. One day you travel with a bunch of colleagues with loud music, next day you are with a person petrifying you with his halal haram stories. Now I don't really know or care why people think/believe in a certain way, but I absolutely abhor to be in a place so torn between extremities, so blunt and distastefully crammed that it offers not even a tinniest hole to breathe. Suffocating. Utterly nauseating.

Every child is a born artist, he has this magnificent way of seeing things. Blue red green yellow.. all colors are sharp then. May not be bright every time but nevertheless, all of them are distinct.. all of them are important. As a child grows up, a strange phenomenon takes over.. opinions begin to capture him, judgments are seeded in his naive mind like a surgical conspiracy. It is difficult to survive really. They throw you in a cage and ask you to fly. Believe in yourself. Can you imagine the agony of a girl who has to make her mind, force herself prepare herself to marry someone he doesn't even know. Or a woman who has no option but to have sex with a person she hates so much? Like a person who beats her every other night?

Stay blessed before it kills you.

image: seafoodmwg

One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Intrigued by that enigma, he dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her.”

― Gabriel García Márquez