And so where was I? After all the boys left and the cigarette smoke faded as best as it could and the dark circles  under my eyes slowly-but-surely started to appear. After the books were mentioned, goodbyes said, arms caressed. After we talked about all that was sinful and wondered about the definition of the word and why it was so easy to wrap our tongues around and then fell into a silence that was  more than comfortable.

And yet, where was I?

I think I was happy.

So here's to you. 

Jack's Mannequin and the inevitable 'general update'

So December came and went and now here we are. The eighth day of a new year. It's freezing, by the way. I know Karachi winters aren't exactly London-like affairs but it's all the same to me. I don't like the cold generally.

December was sort of a blur. Dealing with being single again, the inevitable Oxford rejection, reading Lolita (an absolute masterpiece, by the way) going to the beach, hunting for warmth in a perpetually cold house and watching bits and pieces of the L word.

I got sick this December because I kept going up on my roof as soon as the sun had set. Best time of the day. I never even minded the cold. However apparently the cold minded me hence the cough and fever.

Then there was Wikileaks. Which nobody seems to care about anymore. Also I Googled 'Blashphemy Laws' almost everyday. Yes, December was hella eventful.

As for January. Well, there may be a protest. Let's see.

A bit of summer love because I really miss the sun. And really like this song.

Here's to a good year =)

Today

I realized I fucking love postmodernism.

Today

I said 'Eid Mubarak' to the guy I buy pirated dvds off of. He was so taken aback that I wondered if he thought I was impolite.

Envy

Looking back on it
Perhaps I should have left
Or simply retreated
Behind the rim of my coffee cup

Today my reflection stares back at me
My unkempt hair, my bitten nails
Their nails shone with perfection
As they clicked on skinny glasses
The television blares in the distance
My reflection raises a mocking eyebrow
At my old sweatshirt, my unadorned lips
The television flashes advertisements in my face
I close my eyes and remember
How their perfume preceded them
As they wafted through the front door
Caressing but never noticing its worn carvings
How their heels commanded attention
As they ordered frappe-somethings
Sniggering at the waiter’s hideous uniform
Blind to the jeans fraying under that starched apron
The television boasts of some fairytale in a bottle
I’m not even listening
I brush my hair
Ignore my reflection’s unblinking gaze
And leave
The rusty doorknob silently applauds me

We met that girl at the coffee shop again
She knew we were laughing at her
But she turned around
And smiled at us anyway

I wish I had her smile

As cliche as this is going to sound

I'm standing in front of one of Karachi's most popular restaurants. For the past three hours, four of us have approached every single person about to enter said restaurant, smiled and said 'Hi. We're from Karachi Relief Trust. Help us collect money to buy provisions for the flood victims.'

Some of them have scowled and stepped away. Some have ignored us entirely. Some have stopped, smiled and reached into their pockets. We have learnt to target certain people. Men and women in their late 20's and early 30's give generously as do families. Teenagers and old men are stingy. Ironically, most mullahs cut us off mid-sentence and walk away.

People exit the restaurant, chattering and laughing. Worlds away from the flood yet somehow bouncing back.

A five year old walks up to me, empties her pockets of all the change she has and proceeds to put it all in the box. She asks me where all the money is going to go, a look of genuine concern on her face.

Karachi never ceases to amaze me.

An Excerpt

Part of one of our 'fuck everyone/everything. we're awesome' conversations. (Ali Bhojani and Amna Chaudhry)

Amna says:
you should always try everything at least once
except rape

ali says:
hahahahahahah
rape and crystal meth

Amna says:
YEAH
and jumping off a cliff

ali says:
amen

Amna says:
what else?
reading war and peace
nobody should ever try that
i bet even tolstoy didnt even read it back to look for spelling errors

ali says:
reading war and peace
you shouldnt play with matchsticks
or scissors

Amna says:
this is turning out to be a long list


ali says
okay so you should try most things at least once

After Midnight

She sat in the corner of the bar, smoking a cigarette. She had walked in not ten minutes ago, completely alone. A woman out with no male escort with mere minutes left to midnight. Unheard of.

She wasn't waiting for anyone either. She didn't check her watch or look around whenever the door opened like the girl in red who had been waiting at the bar for her next. She just sat there, smiled politely at the less drunk members of the bar and smoked her cigarette. In time she asked the bartender for a newspaper. He frowned slightly but passed her one and she treated him to a real smile. He went back to polishing beer mugs, wondering why a young woman with her hair just so and her silver lighter would want a newspaper. They never read papers. Not till they acquired reading glasses anyway. 

It wasn't for show either, the newspaper. She skimmed the headlines, opened it to the columns page and leaned forward so the light shining from the dusky bulb above her head would catch the minute words. After about twenty minutes, she looked up and smiled at a man who had been watching her for a while.


He had dropped his girlfriend home after dinner and had come straight here. Anywhere was better then home these days. His mother was staying with him for a week.

Ten minutes later he had bought her a drink and was sitting at her table. He glanced at the column she had been reading. It was heavy stuff. Politics. Some History. Written by the esteemed R Bishop who wrote about such things.. Not a women's writer and not what women read. She saw the look and laughed.

'Yes I understand all of it, down to every last word. Don't you worry darling.' She spoke to him as if he needed to be taken care of. No woman below forty had ever spoken to him like that. It unnerved him slightly.
'I read him too. He seems to know what he's talking about alright'
She smiled. 'Yes.' she said and paused for a little while, 'He certainly does.'
'They've had some trouble with him. He's been censored many times apparently. For being too...'
'Radical. Yes I know.' She finished the sentence and nodded.
 He noticed the ring on her her finger.
'You're married?' Lose your husband after dinner did you?' He smiled to cover up his disappointment. She was lovely really, with her silver lighter and auburn hair.
'Not at all darling, I just happen to like wearing a ring on this finger.'
He raised an eyebrow, searched her face for signs of sarcasm. She smiled back.
'I don't look the least bit married do I?'
He shook his head, took out a cigarette. She lit it for him. Casually. As if women lit cigarettes for men all around New York. 


They talked for a while. She asked him about his job and how he liked New York. She didn't giggle girlishly for no reason, only laughed when he said something funny. She ordered another drink. When he tried to pay, she batted his hand away airily and told him not to be ridiculous. It was past one when she glanced at her watch.


'I'd best be leaving.'
'Why?' He was sorry she had to. He could have watched her laugh the whole night really.
'It's late and I'm simply exhausted from work'
'Alright'
She patted his hand and stood up to go. He got up too.
'It's been a pleasure. It really has.' She smiled and turned to leave.
'Wait.' The word escaped his mouth before he could stop himself. 'I never even asked you your name.'
She laughed again. 'Why, you already know it darling. It's Rachel. Rachel Bishop'


She was gone before he could say another word.

Rain

It was raining when she finally woke up. She lay there for a while, staring out of the window. A shiver ran through her spine and she smiled at herself. Surprised. Rain didn't excite her usually. It belonged in the hearts of beggar children and old women remembering what felt like first love. The rings on her bedside table reminded her that the nobody in her neighborhood would care about the sound of rain lashing at the window. They'd worry about their cars and how their kids would get to school.

She walked out into the living room and realized that nobody was home. Her hands shook as she unlocked the back door.

She stepped outside. The rain greeted her like a long lost friend, falling gently on her face. She caught a few drops on her tongue. It tasted the way it had in the old village.

She laughed.

oh and this

I'm going to exhaust myself so I won't think anymore.

More later. Promise.

Ash

Sure you're telling me this now. I'll check back with you soon. Then you'll look away embarrassedly, maybe stare at that cigarette you said you'd never smoke.

He flicked ash around for a bit, smiled and walked away.

I'm back

It's funny how when you lose something, you look around desperately to find people who are worse off and when you do find them, you never quite know what to say.

Here's to me smiling again. And here's to a summer that should be amazing despite what it promised.

It's Alright, It's Okay

Yes, Atomic Kittens. Deal with it man.

I woke up at four pm today after finally falling asleep at eight in the morning. Oh Lord.

Norwegian Recycling FTW. Youtube 'em.

Changes

Sleepless nights. Fewer phone calls. Midnight Youth. Ego blasting. Newer interests. SocioandHistory. Untold stories. Beginnings that are new now but could have been older had I given them a chance.

Reveling in the luxury of uncertainty.

I catch myself smiling sometimes and don't quite know why.

More later =)

attempts to define

This is me and this is you and this is how it's been. I'm going to pause here and hope you imagine a blank because the truth is, I don't know how it's been exactly. I can't simply categorize it and then push it away indifferently. Seeing everything you do and analyzing it in terms of my classification. My narrow minded, depthless opinion of you. No. Not anymore.

So how has it been in terms of feelings? I'd quote Shakespeare. Something about Caesar and the stars. But I can't remember it right now. It was beautiful though and the first time I heard it (You walked in, silenced us all, looked straight at me and said it out loud) I couldn't understand it but I felt like crying.

People shouldn't be cynical about Shakespeare but that is another story.

But you and I, we're not another story. We go beyond any sort of classification, any secure category. We are the times you tell me about your day. We are the books we've both read and learnt from. We are the laugh we share after I have said something that somehow manages to be incredibly mature and naive at the same.

We'll laugh like that again someday.

But for now and for the record. I really miss you.

Irony

So

Can you actually read my mind? Not in a Killer-esque manner, my expectations aren't that high just yet. They probably never will be either. But what if I screamed a thought? Yelled it right out loud? That should wipe the smile off your satisfied face, should properly halt the conversation, you may even turn and never look back. There would be an awkward pause in the very least. Except there won't be. Because (some sentences should just start with reasoning) of course, the screaming will remain in my head.

Funny how I'm always telling other people to be more expressive.

It doesn't matter much. Minds aren't meant to be read anyway.

Just because

Today I spoke to someone who I thought used to mean a lot to me. I say 'thought' because he still does. It wasn't awkward at all despite the fact that I always find Skyping awkward. He still knows exactly what I am about to say which is something no one else really does.

I didn't realize before I spoke to him today that I miss him. I think he knows that. And I'd quite like to think that he misses me too.

Off stage

When I saw her later I couldn't quite believe it was her. She was wearing far too much eye makeup for one thing and it made her look gaudy. When she was on stage, the make up wasn't even noticeable because her eyes were distracting, sparkling wickedly whenever she made the audience laugh. Her clothes had seemed alright on stage too but they didn't make sense now. All that unnecessary glitter. I noted that she had lines on her face that makeup couldn't hide, her hair was a mess which is funny because I swear, it had seemed fine when she was performing.

She sipped her coffee, completely unaware that I was looking at her. No less than ten minutes ago she had been full of energy. She had stood on stage, used her hands a lot and successfully held an audience's interest for a whole hour. Hell, she had made them laugh almost non stop for a whole hour. Not an easy feat.

She was just a performer and was bound to do normal things like sit alone, drink coffee and look tired afterwards. But there was still something oddly sad about the whole thing.

Benassi

He's going to dazzle and daze me really. There will be bright lights and sunsets. Fireworks and looks across rooms. Careless whispers and less glorious moments. Times when I'll be driven to distraction. When I won't sleep nights but somehow stay awake mornings.

And he won't even know.

There are times when I am overawed by knowledge. The depth of it. The diversity. The shades and colours.

The fact that I lack it on so many levels. And the impatience that comes with knowing that.

I should scold myself for such pretentious writing.