Clairvoyant...

She had liked using big words. He had thought it cute when she would use a word whose meaning she did not know. He would laugh, and she would blush and withdraw into herself, always swearing, "you're evil!" His knees would wobble and he would want her to stay frozen in that moment forever.
In their intimate moments together, he would place his head in her lap, and she would run her hand through his hair, slowly, staring into space, and he would raise his head and ask her what she was thinking. She would simply shrug her head and lower it near to his, and whisper, "ashmaaaaar." She had always pronounced the "s" in his name as "sh" and lengthened the "a" when they were alone. He would rub his cheek against her shalwar, and would close his eyes again, the touch of her finger in his hair sending him to strange lands, where he rode dark horses, and rescued beautiful ladies from evil ogres.
The first time they had made love was in his home,when his family had been out of the city for a few hours. For a year before that, they had only had a platonic relationship, never once straying as much to kiss each other. They had talked to each other throughout each night, had spent countless hours together all over the city, but never once tried to touch each other. That day too she had just come to spend the day with him, and they had just sat and talked for hours. When she had got up to cook tea for him, he had sat in the lounge and stared at her back as she prepared the tea for him in the adjacent kitchen. When she had brought the tea for him, he had held her hand for the first time. They had not cared for the tea after that, quietly undressing each other, and falling into each other's arms. He was very careful not to hurt her, and she had held onto him very tight, her arms wrapped around his back. He had placed his lips on his breast and the had slipped into another world.
From then onwards, they had discovered somethign new, every rendezvous (another word she had love using) had included love-making. A lot was said through the simple things they had done to each other.
It had been in one of their intimate moments when he had his head in her lap and he had asked what she was thinking that she had used another big word. "I'm clairvoyant," she had said. He had laughed and tried making fun of her, but the melancholy look in her eyes had stayed as she said, "I don't see you and I. I don't see us. I don't see anything ever happening."
Six months later, her parents married her off to a wealthy friend's only son. Asmaar had been rejected because he still had no clear future. His ideas had been vague, and her parents had felt he did not hold enough promise. They had met one last time, and had not made love, but had sat together, and cried for an hour before she left.
She really had been clairvoyant.

It's Time...

It's time to revisit you, my dear...
It's time to let the hurt subside...
It's time to tell you all that's been...
It's time to let the words express the feeling...
It's time to forgive, my dear, not forget...
Conversing with you...

Wandering...

There's something about unplanned trips to places that are essential parts of your memory. They have been there in my mind for so long, and when I walked through them this evening, I was amazed at how long it had taken me to come back to them, when all along, they have been so near.For two evenings now, a friend and I have, on the pretext of hanging out, driven around town, without any plans, and have ended up enjoying ourselves in that strangely sweet way that unexpected events have of influencing us.This friend of mine was my class-fellow in 4 and 5, but never a friend. Now, after almost 11 years, we have rediscovered each other in this strange place where we don't essentially belong, and it's like meeting a really old friend unexpectedly.Khair, on Thursday, we ended up exploring Fortress (not the exhibition, though) for shalwar kameez for Eid. We went there twice in the same evening. Imagine! We also walked through Liberty and dupatta galli on the same night.Tonight, it was much more fun. We ended up on the Mall for no other reason than that we had NO plan whatsoever of where we wanted to go. He said Chaman, and just driving down Mall, I said Lawrence. So, we ended up taking a walk in Lawrence Gardens.Night-time and Lawrence brings back happy memories. This evening, the slight chill in the air made the walk special. We didn't talk, because we were overawed by the silence, the serenity.From Lawrence, we drove to Chaman, and all along the way, the Mall was lit up as I have always remembered it near Eid. From Chaman, we drove down Beadon Road, onto the Mall, and then Avari because my friend decided he could not relieve himself in public.From Avari, I realised home was near, and the beckoning was too strong to resist. Drove into Bibi Pak Daman, and parked right opposite my old home. From there, we walked to the graveyard. From there, we walked into the mazaar. Offered fatehas and then walked through a bazaar that I had visited so many times for so long. Just rang a bell, and caught up with old neighbours, and gossip. Felt like home after a long, long time.Once out of there, I decided to take a look at Garhi Shahu, and drove through the main road. The bazaars were not empty, but not crowded either, which was shocking. Taking the Infantry Road, we drove into Cantt, then ended up on airport road, and I decided to test the limits of my CNG Mehran. Turns out, it touches 100 on good roads. From there, we ended up going to Gulberg and F1-Traxx. Although we ran into a few unwanted people, the night was spent talking with friends, cigarrettes, sheesha, sundaes, and shakes on the table.I don't want to plan anything, but one night along the canal, and through the posh areas, and then a couple of nights in the REAL Lahore, should complete the experience.Yeah, old, familiar places are calling to me.

The Ghost of Ramadan Past...

When you were able to have concrete thoughts of your own, and understand things for the first time, one fine day, your grandmother would tell you that something called “rozay” was approaching. You were not told the fine details of whatever that entailed. The only information you could glean was that you were going to have Rooh Afza, milk, “aloo ki bhujiaa,” and “parathay,” for something called “Sehri.” Also, that in the evening, everyone would get together for something called “Aftari” where again you would get to eat lots and lots of food, the attractions being “samosay,” “pakoray,” “chaat,” and more “rooh afza.”
So, you learnt to expect some culinary delights. You heard strange voices from the mosque loudspeakers all day. The early morning siren woke you up and you wondered if India had attacked again. Then those alien words would come from the mosque that you learnt were Arabic and religious. You got up, and saw your elders have what looked like a mini-feast. Sometimes, you saw them have heavy food like “nihaari,” “hareesa,” “paye,” and at others, simple leftover food from the previous night would add accompany greased “paraathay.” You would want to join at that strange hour that you had not known even existed. You would eat with them, and then watch in fascination as they performed strange exercises on prayer-mats. You learnt that that was called “namaaz” and when you were a little older you would also learn to offer it. Since the hour was unfamiliar to you as a child, you would gape in wonder from the “sahun” at the early morning sky. You would wonder why there were stars and daylight.Much before the siren, a man with a drum would pass through the streets, beating the drum loudly, and asking you to wake up. For some reason, he always said the words so fast that you never caught the exact sentence.At school, you were asked if you were fasting. You would say yes, and then you were asked what you had for sehri, and then weird discussions would follow on what the fast entailed. You learnt to your amazement that you were not supposed to eat or drink all day. Children’s minds would work heard to understand the “masaail” of religion.When you went out with your mother to the bazaar, you would shout and wonder aloud why you were not being allowed to eat ‘dahi-bhallay’ from Nila Gunbad, or drink juice in even your own car.The evening would come and you would see another feast laid out, this time much more elaborate, a mix of colours and tastes. You would jump with joy, and almost always overeat. You would sleep early as your elders spent their evening and night in religious rituals. The same routine would follow for a month.As you grew older, you learnt from your calss-fellows that whosoever was not fasting was “kaafir,” and will burn in hell. You learnt the finer details of the fast. You learnt that there were idiots out there whose religious bigotry had them pronounce judgments about your beliefs and your adherence to ritual. You learnt that whereas it was better to stay quiet about your fast, there were people who would just not stop boring you till you gave them an answer. And so, later on, you learnt to react in various ways.You read heart-moving stories, and listened to “qawaaliaan” where stories were told of the poor little boys who fasted for the first time, and before opening the fast, passed away for thirst. You read that as their mothers would cry, a beggar would knock at the door, ask for iftari and if obliged, would touch the child’s forehead, and lo and behold, the child would come alive again.The month of Ramzan, to me, symbolizes a spiritual journey. The whole month used to have a distinct smell, a distinct taste, and a distinct feeling. The whole month had a certain euphoria, whose culmination was the Eid.Ramzan in Bibi Pak Daman and all such places still is a festival, a celebration. In Cantt, in three days, I have not felt like Ramzan. These big houses, these rich people do not know the spirit of this month. I repeat, this does not feel like Ramzan!Here’s a fun incident I heard from a friend about his first Ramzan. He somehow formed the idea, that since you could not take any food IN, you could not pass it OUT either. Half an hour before Iftari, then, he quietly tells his mother, “I need to go to bathroom, but there’s still half an hour left!” I can imagine his mother’s surprise.Childhood innocence does make Ramzan extremely special.

The City Moves On...

For three weeks now, I haven’t slept at night. I haven’t left home at night. I have been afraid. Tonight, as if, in the aftermath of the storm, the silence helped settled.
I walked out tonight. The road was quiet. Occasionally, a car would race past. The wind was still. The leaves were not rustling. Nobody was around. The silence, the serenity, everything added to the beauty of the night.
Strange, I’ve noticed the night after a long, long time. It’s still beautiful.
The night breeze carries the slightest hint of the approaching weather.
The city moves on...

Helicopter Loss

Apparently people are no longer glued to their tv sets.
A MI-17 HELICOPTER CARRYING RELIEF GOODS CRASHED TODAY. THERE HAS BEEN RAIN AND HAILSTORMS IN THE AFFECTED AREAS. UNFORTUNATELY, THE SITE OF THE DISASTER COULDN'T BE REACHED TODAY.
This is a problem that will now surface time and again, as weather worsens in those areas and efforts are made to reach far-off places, where helicopters cannot normally travel.

The Lost Generation...

600 BODIES HAVE BEEN RECOVERED FROM THE DEBRIS OF A GIRLS' SCHOOL IN GARHI HABEEBULLAH