Thursday 22 November 2012

Tribute, Late and Insufficient


I am late, very late indeed in paying this tribute. It is about Mr Ziauddin Ahmed, my grandfather. If I start by his achievements, I would stop never. So, I better tell about his love for me.
At the age of 4, I left home with him for a 15 days trip, never missing my mother which was apt for any boy.
On his deathbed, he was telling me how important it is to get educated. Indeed for someone, who lost his father at the age of 3, he couldn't complete his formal education. But in my 30 years, I have seen very few, if not none, who can compete with his knowledge. He once told me that, he used to read from 10 pm to 3 am every night after handling his business day long. Finishing and recording 10 books in his mind tells all what kind of a thirst for knowledge he had.
I attended school very late for he believed he can teach better than those teachers. My academic records, if you have seen it, may certify his confidence was justified. It was him, with his unending dedication to education, told me to appear for my MBA interviews properly.
So many love stories end with death. I lost him when I was 24 and now I am 30. Never during my failures, my dark days, days when I feel I am living for no purpose, he fails to visit my dreams and tell me what to do, which direction to move.

I remember, when I passed my MBA from a reputed institute, few days later, he came in my dreams and said, I am so happy, but its time to go for PhD. I never went, I know my limited qualities and I am ashamed to meet him, even in my dreams. How I wish he was here, giving me confidence of doing the undo-able, like he did during the MBA entrance exam. I have lost my force, my way, my direction and my guide.

Now when my marriage is a failure and both of us considering divorce, when I am probably on the verge of losing my job, he just visited me today. He was sending me off to England, for three years, and hugged and cried, saying, what if I don't live enough, what if I die before you return, this might be our last meeting. And I was crying hugging him. Even death couldn't stop him from taking my care.
I am Indian, and I don't want to pretend to be something else, I don't believe in wearing the Peacock feathers to be a feather. If I am a crow, I am proudly so. Telling this because, once my grandfather, who never attended high school, pointed out 16 grammatical mistakes in a single leave application. The applicant was a girl with her master degree in English.  

Sunday 11 November 2012

Draft Redesigned

It is weird,strange and almost unbelievable the perception of myself I donate to some innocent souls. Perception, as the dictionary states(well, I checked dictionary to be sure that this is the correct word), is ¨apprehension by the bodily organs, or by the mind, of what is presented to them¨. What do I present to some friends and followers which made them claim like, you are a wiki (which certainly I am not except if wiki has changed meaning recently and means idiot now or immense sarcasm is used of which I am doubtful) or you have an idea of/answer to everything. Well, I dont deny it completely since I generally have exactly ¨an answer¨ to everything asked, and it is nothing else than ¨I dont know¨ or some variants of it.
It can prove one thing, as the cynic may point out, that I am surrounded by hypocrites.Why would they say it, I ask back, as I hardly am beneficial, financially or otherwise, for anybody. The cynic goes back silent or mutters something which arent for printing for sure.
The jealous enemy fills in the slot left vacant by cynic, and says, because you are among a bunch of idiots. I must protest against this derogatory comment against my elite group of followers ,who more often than not follows me because they want a good laugh, free of cost and gets it just by being near me and observing,and I do. How can you be alone correct and all my followers wrong? ohh I see, it is because they preferred me over you, isnt it mate? The silenced enemy retreats.
But how on earth I answer myself!! Why do I receive those comments? For one thing, have never, in any way whatsoever, tried to prove my superiority over my followers and most of my this inactivity or laziness arises from the deep rooted belief that I cant, even after my most sincere efforts, prove I am better than anybody in any aspect.
Well, as the last resort, I tried to ask one of my followers, who happened to be online, and I received, the answer as following(pasting from chat):
Rose: yes you are
Rose: discussion is over
Rose: hahahahaha
In a flash, finally I understood the greatest mystery which puzzled me since the inception of my relation with italki.
Thank you italki, thank you my followers, you are the best.

The Eternal Dilemma

It is often the eternal question, to be or not to be. The future holds the key and as we are as unsure of the future as any famous astrologer, we just don't know which way to take. The worst thing is to reach old age, know very well life is spent for once and all and regret making wrong choices. So powerful is this cycle that we never really get out of it.
 Whether to become a sportsman or an engineer? My heart wants to be a sportsperson, my father,with all his goodwill and desire, wants me to be an engineer. I can take one way really. What should I do? At the age of 65, should I regret being an engineer or being a sportsperson? this overwhelming question bogs us down. The indecisiveness takes over.
 There was a time when I used to think that there should be some unfulfilled desires, those only if make life so much more interesting. But now when I am standing on the verge of a decision which generally people takes only once in a lifetime, I am with this dilemma whether to push a bit more with positive hopes or to break free. Which will not make me regretful? I don't want to regret that I didn't try any more nor I want to regret that I tried all life in vain.
This indecisiveness has gripped me so strongly that I have stopped living a normal life, both sides are pulling me with equal strong forces. God, show me a way, I want to die as a happy man.

Tuesday 8 May 2012

Can you explain?

When Oscar Wilde stopped composing people asked him the reason. He replied, when I didnt know, I wrote; now I know so I dont write anymore. Without claiming to understand what he exactly meant I may use that excuse as well as you may have noticed in my every writing I talk of things which I dont understand at all and thus I keep on writing. This is no exception and so if you are tired of phrases like ¨Ï dont know¨, ¨I dont understand¨ then you may stop reading right at this dot of time because I am again going to talk about love, which although I have felt and come under the influence of, never actually understood. But why be harsh on myself? Who understood this feeling and went on to explain it completely and fully!

We had a maid who had an unusual life by Indian standards. She was married and had a little son when she eloped with her childhood love and married him. She took her son with her and they were living together. At this point of time, she started to work for us. The kid wasn't too attractive, often used to be sick and always whining.
The news came as a shock. We, in our family, knew that the stepfather doesn't like the kid (well then which step-father does!) and often slaps and shouts at him (I forgot to mention, the kid was around two and a half years old). Little did we guess that one day, in a drunk state, he would beat that little kid so badly that the kid would die.
The news spread like fire, local people stopped the fast and quiet burial the stepfather arranged, local police were informed and soon they arrived. People also had some fun slapping exercise (this is the cruelest part, people behave like they finally have a chance to have some fun by harassing the culprit rather than to express the anger against the crime done) but what surprised me was the attitude of that woman.
Silent she was, no tears, no crying, no nothing. I was there (don't ask me with what intention). She was rather sympathetic when crowd physically harassed her husband although not being too expressive. People called her a witch, a heartless bitch, the cruellest mother on earth and many other chosen unprintable names. At that moment I also agreed because, after reading and experiencing mother´s love for her kids, it was almost unbelievable that she wouldn't have any visible grief on her face.

It was after few months, to be more specifically yesterday (yes, I couldn't forget the incident and often wonder what happened to that couple in police custody because the stepfather later confessed his misdeed) a new thought hit me. What we saw was a cruel mother, biggest display of heartlessness but on the same time we saw a crazy lover who couldn't stop loving and caring for,forget hating, the killer of her own son. The display of complete lack of love towards her son was also a display of unwavering love towards her life partner.

Once again, I must say, I failed understand what love is. Once again I accept, like always, love, like many other divine issues (life is one) can only be felt not understood. To understand love is to be God. For us, it is just a chance to witness the new colours love can take and keep your eyes wide open for you don't know when in which shape love may appear.

Friday 20 April 2012

When You Miss Me

Like every other winter, this winter came. The migratory birds started flocking in. They always take rest for a few days here, in this city before going further east. It suits their need to weather. Never do they mingle with local birds, they look upon them as someone who has been city-pent for all their life. The migratory birds are better, they have seen life, they have seen the world, they know how it looks when snow fills up the world. They pass colourful cities.mountains, rivers. They fly over the ocean, they know so many cultures. Some of them can speak so many languages. Compare it to the life of the local birds of this city, dreary,same old routine. Wake up, eat, chirp and go to bed exactly where their ancestors slept.
This bird came too, with the other migratory birds. They have landed here tonight. Tired from the long distance they flew, they probably will see around the city, to see if anything has changed from last year. Nothing changes actually. It is always the same, be it any city. But this is his first trip. He was drinking the beauty of unseen world with open wide eyes. Can world be this much beautiful? All summer he has herd from his mother and now he was watching. He was singing the hymn in praise of the almighty which his mother taught him when he was a kid.
Tired, he found a place a bit away from the parents, after all he is grown up now. Watching the star filled sky and remembering the journey which was nothing less than a colourful vivid dream, he soon fell asleep.

Next day, he woke up early. All city must be seen, ohh nothing must be missed. He saw the parliament, strange round top it has. He saw the market and so many spices people are buying. The aroma was best he ever inhaled. He saw the big ground where lovers sit and talk endlessly. It was rather late when he wanted to take a bath in the nearby river.

He went there, choosing a good spot away from the crowd. The local birds were all bathing that time. He cant understand even a word they are chirping. He searched and searched for a somewhat lonely place. But alas, these local birds have made it their national bathing time perhaps. Giving up he started bathing near them, ignoring the envious and curious gaze he was receiving from them.
Suddenly he heard a song. This was perhaps the best voice he ever heard. He stopped bathing midway and tried to find the singer. Soon he spotted her. It was a local bird, not as gorgeous as his own clan, sitting on the branch of a riverside tree and her bath was done. She was jerking herself dry and singing. He forgot bathing. Not only the local bird was the best singer he ever heard but also there is a charm of simplicity around her. She wasn't pretty but so cute. She wasn't much colourful but in her simple look there was an appeal which his young love filled heart couldn't deny.

Strange things happen. The migratory,whose clan didn't consider the local birds worthy of greeting even, fell in love with a local bird who was nothing. He flew to her. She was amazed, she was surprised, she was shocked. She also has never seen someone so handsome nor someone has ever praised her beauty so much, leave apart her singing. For she was just one of them, an ordinary bird, destined to live within the city boundary forever. How can this happen? But before they realize they were in love.

They stayed there for long time. They talked little and watched each other more. And when her parents came looking for her,they were surprised to see her with a migratory. Rather awkwardly, they took her away. She promised to meet him early morning of the next day at the same place.

That night none of them could sleep.

They came like they promised next day. She was so shy but love removed every barrier. She taught him her language and she had to sing again and again for he was almost begging her to sing nonstop. She took him to places known only to local birds, she explained local culture. She even introduced him to her friends none of them could say a word out of sheer hesitance and surprise. Everywhere they went, amazed eyes of the local birds greeted them. But when did lovers cared? They lived a dream day of heaven.

The evening came, next day the immigrants were to leave. They stood facing each other, on the same branch they met for the first time. There, he first took her hand and kissed it. She shivered but how will .she hide the tears! He wiped the tears,¨call me whenever you miss me¨ he said, ¨ for how can I be away if you call me, I shall come¨. The day was like dream of heaven and the night was turning out to be a nightmare of hell. ¨I shall wait for you¨ the local bird said. ¨See,only few days and soon I will be returning from there and we will meet again.¨ the migratory bird said.
She left before her parents come looking for her, he accompanied her to her nest and waved good-bye.

Early next morning he left.

The local bird realized one thing when he left. They haven't asked each other´s names. How idiotic, she giggled at first, I shall ask it when he comes during return journey. He is idiotic too, he doesn't know the name of the girl he loves.

Days passed. He flew to further east, and then they spent all three months there. He cried alone when he learnt that the flock comes through one route and returns via another.

He went back to where they belong and waited for her call. For if she calls, he would fly even a thousand miles alone , just to be with her. The call never came.

The local birds wanted to call him but she didn't know his name. She lost her charm, she sang not ever again. Alone and sad she counted days,weeks and months for his return. Finally, when she couldn't take it any more, she started going to the same branch where they met first and sing the same song she was singing when he came to her. She thought ¨when you miss me¨ is his name because he has said, call me ¨ when you miss me¨ . So, with all her heart, she used to sang, ¨when you miss me¨. The voice was so sad that the tree cried, the bank cried, the river cried. ¨When you miss me, when you miss me, when you miss me¨ she called out.

She still sings, wake up during early morning, and listen carefully, somewhere near your house, she is still waiting and singing, ¨When you miss me, when you miss me, when you miss me, ¨

Friday 13 April 2012

Why I believe in God?

Even at the mere suggestion of it, I jumped awkwardly and ran away almost invariably always,taking His name. ¨Oh, my God, no, not me¨ is how I expressed my inefficiency generally. For how can I write on something on which I am no authority. But, friends can be persuasive to the extent of emotional blackmailers and even worse a nagging pain in the neck. I finally decided to write this piece to alleviate the pain I am having in the neck for last few days.

Why I believe in God? The easiest way to answer this everlasting enquiry is to follow the principle ¨ offence is the best defence¨ and ask, why shouldn't I believe in God. To avoid the ohh-I-knew-you-wouldnt-answer-directly smile from my opposition, I am,albeit somewhat reluctantly, dropping this idea.
I chose to be a theist, after knowing and seeing and judging every piece of proof forwarded by both sides myself. Does that make me less logical? No. Believing in something which you cant understand doesn't prove you illogical. For example, I never can understand the mathematical proof of famous formula by Einstein, E=mc2. Should I deny to believe in it? I may do so, at the risk of getting ridiculed by this very scientific clan which often calls me illogical for believe in God without any empirical proof of His existence. I dare say, many of Stephen Hawking´s theories, esp about the 5th, 6th dimensions are not empirically proven. Why then the same minds bow to Hawking and shouts encore encore (in French).?
This universe, which is very orderly, yes I staunchly support what I just said and extremely orderly if I am pressed further, can not be the be outcome of some haphazard cosmic formations. I mean to say, every plan needs a planner, no plan is unplanned. How can this so very minutely planned system, be it ecology or spatial alignment of cosmic bodies or the arrangement of atomic particles, come into existence without having a definite planner? What you call that planner? I call Him, God.
Another point, which I learnt not from anybody but thought about, is the first life. OK fine, the big bang happened, some illegible permutations and combinations took place and this earth came into existence. How life came on it? Science does answer so vaguely that it is not even worthy of the time and effort spent on it to learn it. Lets analyze this a bit ´scientifically´.

There is no life on earth. Mathematically, it would be denoted as, Life = 0. (We may also use the set theory but I will certainly not dwell there to keep this simple)
Now, Some time after, there is life, mathematically again, Life = 1.
Now, how can we make 1 from zero by using zero only. The answer is simple, by multiplying it with infinity. And lo, there you have God. Didn't in every religion God said, I am infinite? And for the transition from ¨no life¨ to ¨life¨ i.e. from zero to one, we needed the touch of infinity, the divine touch.

(Mathematics experts may say, why not, 0+1 = 1. The answer is again simple, where from this 1 came, my learned logical friend that you are adding it to zero? Arent you forgetting, on earth life = 0.)

I was about to write my next point when Pasha, who was idly dragging cigarette with eyes fixated on what I am typing, said, you know what my friend? God isn't a theorem but a hypothesis. You cant prove him like a theorem, but believe Him like you believe in a hypothesis and you can prove everything else.

My pen dropped....

Saturday 7 April 2012

Its raining here

Its raining again here. I woke up at midnight missing you.The window was open beside the bed, I let the wet moist air to hit me, to keep me awake, to remind me of your absence more. I let them make my eyes moist. Sometimes it feels good to be sad intentionally. At least the feeling is true, far from the artificial smile and happiness I receive from materialistic tangible pleasures.
Do you still remember when we ran under the portico of a roadside building when it suddenly started to rain? For the first time we were together and the area was in complete darkness. The slanted rain still hit us and we were shivering. Standing close to me, I remember, you were watching my eyes sometimes.
I remember, may be you don't, I used to walk in rain, without caring, just to reach you on time.I still do, just this time, too hide my tears. Yes, I know Mr Chaplin said this, but didn't he say it wonderfully?
Or my incessant poems and songs, you never were tired of those. Some self-made some from poets de la creme. Your watching me, saying, you will catch cold, you never care about your health....when I coughed just now I realised nobody says those anymore.Or may be there is still your memories, who whisper. I still smile like I used to do those days, ye jaan bhi agar nazar karoon to kam hai (even if I gift this life, its nothing.)
It was raining the evening when I said, I love you.
It was the rain who witnessed your acceptance.
It was again raining when you took my permission to leave for the last time. That day, it rained hardest. Or was it the sky crying ?
Aise hi rimjhim aisi fuhaarein aisi hi thi barsaat
khudse juda aur jag se paraye hum dono the saath
fir se wo saawan ab kyun na aaye
-- Majrooh
(same was the drizzle same was the rain same was the weather
away from the worlds and far from ourselves, we were together
why it doesnt now rain the same again )
I still wait, like I used to wait when it used to rain and you used to be late. I had the belief you would come. I still have the belief. Just this time I know my belief is wrong.
humko malum hai Jannat ki haqeeqat lekin
dil ko khush rakhne ko Ghalib khayal achcha hai
(I know the realities of heaven,but
so stay happy, O Ghalib, its best to pretend)
I hope its raining there too and the rain will write this message on your doorstep but till you read them, new rains will wash those away.

A Letter

Hi there
Writing this letter because I just want to write. I hope you are well, still smiling and making the world shine brighter. How are you? Just like the same like old days? In my imagination, you are. Guess what, I still see you in the dress you wore for the first meet,when you took my heart away with a mere casual glance.
I feel alone sometimes. Hahaha, yes, I can guess, what you would say. You have lots of admirers Aseer, why will you miss a dull girl who left you while you were begging her to stay with teary eyes. But you see, sometimes someone leaves and the place is never refilled.
I know you left me, you know you left me, the world knows you left me.It was perhaps our destiny. Who can fight it anyway? We fought,at least I did. I failed,thats another issue.
The last bottle of perfume spray you bought for me, I never used it after you left.Sometimes I open the cap and smell it. Reminds me of you. The unexpected gift, bought the shine in my eyes, which reflected from your eyes and I was basking in that glow. Hey, do you still remember or just giggling at a crazy man?
Yes, I didnt give up smoking, I know I am bad. You hated it and I gave up while you were with me, but since you left I resumed again. The blue smoke, when the cigarette burns idly, draws your face in the air and before I can quench the thirst of my eyes,it goes away. Damned smokes. Hey, but I promise, when I meet you again, I give up smoking. Or perhaps I will not be able to smoke.
I still make bed for two, and like my weird habit, I wake up and find myself on your pillow.hahaha, Old habits die hard. Ohh my, didn't you hate me for the sleep!
I have changed job, by the way. Did I inform you in the last letter? I am not working anymore in the corporate, you hated it. I remember getting late on our anniversary and I had no word to say sorry. I now teach students, little kids at home. I try to make them a better human being, not an engineer or a doctor. Wish, I had one of my own. At 43, I have started to feel lonely, and yes, old a bit.
Before I forget, The rose plant you planted, 3 big red roses are at full youth on it. I kissed them secretly last evening, imagining I am kissing you. Hope none saw me doing that, else they would have called me one insane old maniac hah
I know,like my all other letters, you will not answer. So I will keep it in the diary. Anyway, which postman can deliver a letter to the other world! I hope you are happy there. I hope I come there soon and meet you again.

still now, only yours
I

Tuesday 20 March 2012

Aimless Writing

Lately, I have received a comment that I often write without aim and without knowing what I want to say. Protesting, let denying apart, is the last thing on my mind. I, on the contrary, want to thank Roselu, my ardent and sincere follower for reasons best known to her only, for this minute observation.Wonderful insight you have.
I wonder often, how logical or ethical it is to write without a purpose or aim and to my utter dismay, I find it quite influential in the history of literature. Absurdity, which may be a close ally of aimless writing, was the only ingredient of Alice In Wonderland, wasnt it?Or, the Italian revolutionary poem writing technique by the new renaissance poets. Cut a newspaper article, word by word, mix them, pick them on a random basis and keep them pasting on your notebook and, somehow, you have a poem ready with possible needs of grammatical rectification. As poems are often placing words in a way never before so this randomness in choosing words were not far from the much more conscious efforts of known poets like Hafez, Ghalib or Hikmet.
Poems are poems, they cant be described, like I said to Roselu a few days ago, on which of course we disagreed (for anyone will disagree with such an absurd claim) and had a good discussion. My point was poems must be felt not understood but the problem was with my overtly simplified statement. Indeed poems needs to be discussed but not in a way to impose the teacher´s interpretation of the poem on the student but gently and subtly explain the nuances which the young mind may fail to grasp at the first go. A poem is a thought or a feeling which the poet himself has explained best in the form of the poetry. How absurd can be explanation of an explanation!!
Big words bore me, tire me and most importantly beat me. So, lets go back to the usual trivial,unworthy and really forgettable writing style I originally have. After death of a great modern poet, people found a scrap of paper in his pocket and felt it was his last masterpiece. In the ceremony when people were bestowing best respect on him, they read aloud the last poem.
few cigarettes, two toothbrush
please get the clothes from the laundry
deposit school fee without fail
potatoes two kg, onions one
.............. A shrill sound from the recently widowed wife came and said, that is not poem, it was my note to him before he was going out, he was forgetful lately.
That is what I make of modern poetry and poets and, mostly the admirers.
Cheerio all

Inseparable

Although we are inseparable
It doesn't stop them from trying
Burning with jealousy,unfounded
When they watch you lying on my chest
The sun burns you
Transforms you into vapour
Takes you high up beyond my reach
Transforms you into white clouds
Then the strong breeze
Carries you across continents
There, on valleys and on mountains
on treetops and vast fields
You come down crying
Rushing through endless channels,canals and rivers
You plunge on my chest again
You return to me, to be mine again
We yet again become inseparable
We again become one.

Destination

When we walked
We had a vision
In our youthful strides
We had the energy of a stallion
We can change the world
We also will
Ranting and chanting
We moved ahead
Slowly came the crossroads
Some went right and some went left
We shall meet again
We promised each other
Then again and again
Crossroads came
And people were divided
We made promises our parting gift
And moved ahead
The vision became hazy
The destination still far
In the tired strides
I still tried to conquer
Then suddenly I turned back
To find a companion to rest
I was alone and very alone
All of them were gone.

Urges Untamed

Times are there when we feel this urge, or these urges. First of these urges are completely illegible. Our minds, however sharp and analytical it might be, fails pathetically in deciphering those urges. We just feel the need of something without any understanding, or even a hunch for the sake of it, what the need is. We fiddle with ideas, or with things in more desperate cases, considering extremes, toying with impossibilities. Clueless we remain on our course of action for we certainly are unaware of the need of the soul. Question arises, is it really the soul asking for it? Or, is it just a mere whim, a passing fancy? No answer satisfies us. We try to divert mind, get frustrated, vent our anger on someone or something, ranging from the ashtray to the girl friend via the pet cat, completely irrelevant with the cause of the frustration, We later do apologize but at that moment we don't care and moreover it is not the point of this blog. How do we end this span? Or better wonder how this thing, whether it is some urge unidentified or a whim or some fancy or even may be some hormonal or chemical dis-balance in our brain as some overtly scientific mind will put it, leaves us finally? Well, while some find shelter in addictions of various types, some prefer to seek refuge from the divinity and some just sleep.
I used plural all though this blog, and may face some questions on my authority to do so. But, it is one of those urges on me and I certainly do not care right at this moment but I of course shall welcome any comment of whatsoever type.

About You

Have I ever tried to describe you? No I havent. For how can mere earthly words, put however glibly, describe something divine? You are no earthly common mortal human being like I. When the most virtuous angel was embodied in the prettiest flower from the garden of paradise, you came into existence. Not that I have tried not, to praise you but whenever I tried, sigh, you took yourself miles and miles above the reach of any earthly word. My meek efforts ended in failure always. The words are angry at me, I am angry at them, for they think I am making fun of them and I think they are making fun of me. I beg your forgiveness. I can not write about you. Just allow me to watch you because I drink life force with my eyes watching you, because I still can not believe such a beauty can actually exist, because i am crazy for you, because you rule my heart.
I tried my best words to tell you what you are and now that I have failed again, let me tell you something I manage, I LOVE YOU.

Full Circle

If life is a circle, like it is claimed, then why oh why we must work so much! I mean, see, from physics we know that, work is done only if the object has moved and thus if we come a full circle, although we are sweating and panting, we have done no work. I know the flaw in this argument but lets not skin a hair especially when physics is hardly my point of discussion here. Life has a full circle, we often claim and a higher percentage of those claims are proud ones. Do we realise, technically, after all the hard work, we have achieved a perfect zero? Time to wonder and ponder, eh?
The world will go on, when Faiz is gone exactly like it goes on when Faiz is here. Yes, Faiz will be replaced like everyone else. It is natural, logical and unavoidable because Faiz was a replacement for someone else too. In our characters, there is hardly any individuality, we rarely do something which none has done before.This process of replacement, the ultimate achievement of zero makes me wonder, after what am I running! Does it worth the chase at all? I dont know but I want, I seriously want to know.

Heading Nowhere

Not everyday and certainly not everyone receives a request from the follower to blog, especially, if he/she is someone as petty as I with writings as banal as mine. I accept I let my emotions scribble themselves in italki lately but receiving a request to write something was the least expected thing.
Writing doesnt come naturally to me or may be it does. I am not sure because I simply dont know what or who is a natural writer and what is natural writing. I just know how to let emotions vent themselves in an incoherent way. Well, thats what is being called my writings nowadays by some followers.
I tried hard, for example today, to write on demand. After thinking and pondering(well, brainstorming isnt a word I am comfortable using) about my possible subjects,( possible here doesnt mean the subjects I can write on, possible here means those subjects I can write on and still dont get laughed at) I reached a perfect void. In other words, my brain and my mind bluntly denied me any distant dream of writing and obliging my followers.
Then came the idea of translation, how about translating some of my old writings into English. Not that the idea was completely drab or ridiculous but well then, you have to consider my level of English as well, which often receives sympathy if not empathy. More often than not, I am stuck completely and grope for words, then give up, shrug and say, you know...well..I mean.... Thanks to the stars, most of the time destiny and the ill destined person who is trying to converse with me saves me the blushes by pretending that the listener has understood.
Why not become a plagiarist, some may ask! Only way to be original is to know how to hide your sources well, they argue. I, rather surprisingly, agree. But to become a plagiarist, you need to have some sources. hiding which you may sound original. This is the time when I regret most for using classes to sleep or watch pretty classmates of opposite sex, or even considering study as best sedative and books the best pillows.
All options gone, I am still clueless and completely lost. This is just an explanation to those followers why I cant oblige them today. Call it a bad day at work guys! You know and I know how great a writer I am but today just not in mood.
I thank all my followers and the occasional italki surfer who will read this mindless jugglery of words. Stay tuned..more garbage to follow in subsequent attempts.
Stay safe, have fun, be blessed you all.

Determination

I was angry of you. So very angry. Will not meet you, will not greet you,determined I was, will not talk to you. I found a thick book on spirituality to console my heart, to divert my mind.
Then the ears are so obstinate, they listened to and for every faintest sound made. Is that you? The eyes never listen to me, they checked the time and murmured she is never so late. The hopes denied to die, she will be here any minute.
Then I heard you coming. Your rhythmic footsteps approaching. My determination is weakening. Your fragrance is reaching me from far. I gripped the book steadfastly. No, I must not talk to you.
You came, and the same old thing happened. I looked up, and when our eyes met, the book, like always, fell from my hand. I stood up again, to take you in my arms.

Determination

I was angry of you. So very angry. Will not meet you, will not greet you,determined I was, will not talk to you. I found a thick book on spirituality to console my heart, to divert my mind.
Then the ears are so obstinate, they listened to and for every faintest sound made. Is that you? The eyes never listen to me, they checked the time and murmured she is never so late. The hopes denied to die, she will be here any minute.
Then I heard you coming. Your rhythmic footsteps approaching. My determination is weakening. Your fragrance is reaching me from far. I gripped the book steadfastly. No, I must not talk to you.
You came, and the same old thing happened. I looked up, and when our eyes met, the book, like always, fell from my hand. I stood up again, to take you in my arms.

Illusive Perception

It is weird,strange and almost unbelievable the perception of myself I donate to some innocent souls. Perception, as the dictionary states(well, I checked dictionary to be sure that this is the correct word), is ¨apprehension by the bodily organs, or by the mind, of what is presented to them¨. What do I present to some friends and followers which made them claim like, you are a wiki (which certainly I am not except if wiki has changed meaning recently and means idiot now or immense sarcasm is used of which I am doubtful) or you have an idea of/answer to everything. Well, I dont deny it completely since I generally have exactly ¨an answer¨ to everything asked, and it is nothing else than ¨I dont know¨ or some variants of it.
It can prove one thing, as the cynic may point out, that I am surrounded by hypocrites.Why would they say it, I ask back, as I hardly am beneficial, financially or otherwise, for anybody. The cynic goes back silent or mutters something which arent for printing for sure.
The jealous enemy fills in the slot left vacant by cynic, and says, because you are among a bunch of idiots. I must protest against this derogatory comment against my elite group of followers ,who more often than not follows me because they want a good laugh, free of cost and gets it just by being near me and observing,and I do. How can you be alone correct and all my followers wrong? ohh I see, it is because they preferred me over you, isnt it mate? The silenced enemy retreats.
But how on earth I answer myself!! Why do I receive those comments? For one thing, have never, in any way whatsoever, tried to prove my superiority over my followers and most of my this inactivity or laziness arises from the deep rooted belief that I cant, even after my most sincere efforts, prove I am better than anybody in any aspect.
Well, as the last resort, I tried to ask one of my followers, who happened to be online, and I received, the answer as following(pasting from chat):
Rose: yes you are
Rose: discussion is over
Rose: hahahahaha
In a flash, finally I understood the greatest mystery which puzzled me since the inception of my relation with italki.
Thank you italki, thank you my followers, you are the best.

Dream

I have a dream.
you and I alone
in a room
near the sea
and power goes off
raining like end of days
and thunders striking
we have closed all windows
but one small window has broken glass
and the cold air is hitting us
the sea has gone crazy
waves are as high as our desires
only source of light and warmth is the fire burning in the fireplace
you and I, standing in the middle of that dimly lit room
I hold u
and pull you close softly
can you not come?
the minimum distance between us is removed
our bodies touch
I hold your face in my palms
the best beauty in the world
my world is in my hand
I bend little to kiss you
your soft lips
my lips touch them
you don't protest
I kiss you
my lips say I love you
you respond to the kiss
as if your lips saying I love u too
my one arm goes around your waist
to pull you closer
giving me courage and giving me hope, you don't protest
our bodies pasted against each other now
outside, sea is roaring, it is deafening us
the thunders are announcing the beginning of a new love story
inside, you and me, locked in kiss
and none else exists in the world for us
we exist for each other only
nothing is true except you and I
we kiss passionately
our arms hugging each other tightly
as if promising, only death can open this embrace
...................................... Dont wake me up, ohh don't wake me up.

Saturday 17 March 2012

What´s in a name!!

Whats in a name, somebody(well, like recursive functions of computer programming, what in his name either!) demanded. I too, believed it like I believe everything said by known, half-known and unknown erudite people of the past, and quoted it, most of the time out of context because either I didn't understand the context or the meaning of this comment, almost like it is out of bible. Little did I know, it will cost me much someday.
Name is something a person loves always, no matter how ugly or meaningless it is to others. Why me! Dale Carnegi himself wrote a complete chapter in it. Not that I understood much of his deep analysis of psychology, but with all my efforts I understood a name is very dear to anybody.
My name, for example, Faiz, is dear to me. Dear and near mainly due to the fact it is the only name I have, People may have spare names, like Chinese have an English name, but not me. I also loved this name, as a kid, learnt to write it in 4 different scripts, practiced calligraphy and all those things people do as a kid.
Problem started when I grew up. For one thing, my local language, doesn't have this letter F. We have one PH and we use it as F too (by the way., this is a handy information, do not laugh IPH people cant see due to the PHOG here in my city). Added to my agony that, we don't have a Z and use J for it(again I saw a Jebra in the Joo shouldn't surprise you). So, my name became PhaiJ which by no means was acceptable to me.
To remove your confusion, I must tell you Faiz isn't a word of Bengali, the local language. Thus badly transliterated and both consonants replaced ruined it like I would have ruined Mona Lisa with a painting brush, if permitted. Also, this name, sounds like Faez with the syllables broken and pronounced singularly. Complex name, did Mr Carnegi ever find anyone occasionally hating his own name?
Many a time it happened that, I spent minutes, trying to help someone here to pronounce my name properly. The conversations went like,
I: Faiz, FA IZ
He: Phaij
I: no, not Phaij, Faizzz
He: thats what I am saying!! Phaij.
I gave up giving free tuition about how to read my name hoping I will be known as Phaij all life. I tried to live with it. At night, standing in front of the mirror, I started saying FAIZ FAIZ so at least I remember the proper pronunciation. I, reportedly,used to wake up shouting FAIZ FAIZ from sleep but well, mothers always exaggerate.
No, the story isn't over. I grew up, confused, having a multiple nomenclature disorder but till now multiple meant dual. Soon my circle expanded. Internet friends from all over the world. Like Lisa from USA, after struggling for 15 minutes and watching me having a great laugh, finally gave up and asked, how the hell do you pronounce it? Well well, I pulled out the best weapon, giving her the Mr Know-All smile, I said, read the FA like in FAN and EZ like some Spanish name PEREZ. Do not ask me the result as I don't have the symbols in my keyboard to represent the sound that came out.
It is a name from Arabic/Persian(that was my assumption really, and I assume just to keep things simple for myself, it doesn't necessarily mean I have a basis to assume) so, I left USA and concentrated on Iran next. Nasrin from Iran, with my best regards for all the beauty she possess, at first attempt, called me Faaeez. The next look that she noticed on my face and the prolonged silence which accompanied it, puzzled her and when she enquired politely If I am ok, I assured her that it was mere the effect of her beauty that has made me speechless. Since then, to every Iranian I introduce myself as Faaeez. A much welcome relief. After two consonants replaced, now I have both the vowels replaced. I prayed to God that night, thanking Him for His mercy.
The list is really unending, and if I continue, you will certainly not believe a man can have so many names while everybody is calling him by the same name. Let me finish with another danger which I overlooked till now.
Faiz, which means blessing(or I hope that was the meaning my parents had in mind while naming me) means Bank Interest in Turkish. Not much later after having my first Turkish friend, (who is the best critic of me and no pun intended here) I came to know my name is a banned thing in my own religion!! Her innocent yet surprised question, is this your real name? Surprised me too when she explained the reason behind her surprise. Meaning was the last thing which nobody confused till now and well, the last defence is breached now. God bless my parents, did they ever imagine this humiliation for me for carrying a simple name which is made of 4 simple letters?
I wanted to end, but, this thing must be included here. A friend of mine, a young budding and enthusiastic linguist came to me after going to German class for 2 days. German is different you know? He was ecstatic and eager to teach me all the German epics he has learnt in two one hour long classes. ¨say for example, they write V but read it like F, like... like..they write volkswagon and read it like Folkswagon. And then their S is almost like Z¨ My heartbeat was increasing, fearing the unavoidable, it is here any moment now!!, I was shaking, and then , right that moment, he said, If I want to write your name in German it would be VAIS.

Any suggestion for a new name guys!!

Wednesday 29 February 2012

Inseparable

Although we are inseparable
It doesn't stop them from trying
Burning with jealousy,unfounded
When they watch you lying on my chest
The sun burns you
Transforms you into vapour
Takes you high up beyond my reach
Transforms you into white clouds
Then the harsh air
Carries you across continents
There, on valleys and on mountains
on treetops and vast fields
You come down crying
Rushing through endless channels,canals and rivers
You plunge on my chest again
You return to me, to be mine again
We yet again become inseparable
We again become one.

Saturday 25 February 2012

gazal 1

meri nigaah e shauq kul beasar to nahi
gaafil wo sahi,hum bhi muassar to nahi

royenge aur wo bhi boot e sangdil pe
neemimaan sahi magar is qadar to nahi

kaise laayein hum unpar qatl ka ilzaam
unki nigaah duniyabi khanjar to nahi

piyenge ab kabhi na us nigaah se
aur jo ho,wo saaqi e kausar to nahi

inkaar hi sahi,ruswai to zaruri na thi
marte araam se,bante yun khabar to nahi

khud apne qaari e haal hone se rote ho kyun Faiz
haal majnoon tha tumse bahtar to nahi