Time and time again,
concocts her sweet sounding scent,
this illusive brain.
Time and time again,
concocts her sweet sounding scent,
this illusive brain.
We know that I keep myself – and my private life – isolated from my blog posts over here, but I’m just gonna turn slightly carefree of that for a while.
Alright so, getting on, like I had previously established Avantika, I was totally taken back by this award nominee from you. This act of nomination might seem like a casual one to you but holds much prestige in my eyes, so thank you so much; that really comes from the core of my heart.
Getting appreciation and a bit of recognition for our works is both a dessert and a catalyst for us humans, I believe. And yes, let me say the cliched (but true) lines as well: Never had I – since the time of initiating this blog – imagined that I would get to see this day where I’d be receiving such awards and the frequent, heartwarming compliments from this wonderful blogging community. Have to follow certain rules for it though. The rules for Mystery Blogger award:
Display Award Logo On BlogList
The Rule Mention Creator Of Award & Provide A Link
Thank The Blogger(s) Who Nominated You & Provide A Link
Say 3 Things About Yourself
Nominate From 10 To 20 Bloggers
Notify Nominated Bloggers By Leaving A Comment On Their Blog
Answer 5 Questions From Nominee
Write 5 Questions For Your Nominees
Share Your Best Post
(3) Have already done that, www.smilyavu.wordpress.com.
(4) Three things about myself (brace yourselves for having me take advantage over the vagueness of this rule).
1- I’m chewing an eviscerated piece of bubblegum while I write this down at 3 in the morning (*smirks*).
2- (Alright, let’s get a bit serious) I’m working two part-time jobs while studying simultaneously as of now (Alhamdulillah).
3- Covert, skittish, flippant -> ME. Oh, and a wicked, unruly sense of humor do I possess.
(5) Here are the bloggers that I’m nominating:
–www.thegeekgirlsforum.wordpress.com: Although we have not really interacted, I have an adoration with her way of writing; would really like to know her more as well. She’s someone whom I genuinely feel should be read more.
–www.seharimtiaz.wordpress.com: This person, gosh! She’s a mind-boggingly crafty writer of Urdu, and her works… I could do no justice by saying anything about them. Read it for yourself (if you can read Urdu) and you’ll see what I’m talking about. She’s someone whom I feel should be read more also.
–www.arminhas.com: I’d be honest and say that this person’s blog has been quirky and controversial one for me. Though, the way it blends oddly dark art with writing, it strangely mystifies. One with an open mind might wanna give it a go.
–www.blogellabyujwordpresscom.wordpress.com: What to say about Uswa. She is an old schoolmate of mine and someone who’s been in touch lately. Is an admirable person really, and apparently the only one who could, for me, make girls’ fashion and cosmetics stuff an intriguing content to follow and read!
–www.thecrimsonquillofmine.wordpress.com: My Piscean brother and a dear friend Moiz, who has a surreal mind and a rather surreal hold over words. His writings usually tend to emanate that dreamy feel and you’d wanna drown into it. Just… work on your occasional errors, Moiz.
–www.verbalseductionananya.wordpress.com: Ananya’s blog is what it promises in its captivating blog name; a verbal seduction. She’s another whom I’d fancy knowing more.
–www.theycallmemaham.wordpress.com: Maham, another old schoolmate of mine. She has an enchanting way with words. Her ideas, her thoughts, her views, are commendable. She actually could be listed down in the ‘reasons why I wanted to start my own blog’. Literally, Maham.
–www.fromchaostocatharsis.wordpress.com: Ah, last but never the least (the most, rather), here’s Miss Zainab; my inspiration, my motivation since as long as I could remember. I know that I can come up with a date if I really focus, but I really don’t want to, because entertaining the thought that she’s been there since the start gives joy. Z, you’re a mentor, really – one of the reasons I stand over here with a blog to my name (however mediocre). Her works are chilling, I mean it. She is probably the best writer I have interacted with all my life and we both know that she has won a ton of awards (both virtually and practically) I still am nominating her. People should really remember Zainab Syeda Halepota’s name because one day, Inshallah, she’ll be out there as a star writer (her blog’s currently gone private).
We are standing there
from where, news of our own self
does not to us come.
… Dying in desire
for death. Death keeps appearing,
alas, does not come.
With what face will you
be reaching Lord’s house? Shame till
you yet does not come.
ہم وہاں ہیں جہاں سے ہم کو بھی
کچھ ہماری خبر نہیں آتی
مرتے ہیں آرزو میں مرنے کی
موت آتی ہے پر نہیں آتی
کعبہ کس منہ سے جاؤ گے غالبؔ
.شرم تم کو مگر نہیں آتی
Made a little haiku poem out of last 3 stanzas of Mirza Ghalib’s legendary ode – which coincidentally – terrifically – reflects my current state of devastation.
Pages like dried leaves; Forget-me-nots in-between.
You might as well grab me by the neck and shove me against the wall for all I care. I’d slam but the only protest you’d hear would be the dhuk sound from the wall. That’s it. I can’t help it when my legs would stop carrying me forward like this – when I’d be lost in some heavy daze. You’d bump and stare eerily at me. You’d nastily roar at me.
Satisfied? Took it all out? Would you now move on?
…Because my mouth won’t be freeing any hostages. No lies trembling out of these starkly painted lips. No false apology. My form says enough. Too smoky, my eyes, shielded with a lack of focus. Foreigners; all of your voices, drained out, I swear. And I’m so aware that they are.
So. Fucking. Aware.
This me would be a symbolism of disintegration, of disinterest; the contradiction of enthusiasm. I’d walk not – my legs’d take me. I’d eat not – this mechanical mouth’d tear, chew, swallow for me. There is a country-wide gap between what I’d be feeling and what I’d be expressing.
Hollowed am I. Not a gutted fish, an eviscerated fish. I wonder if fishing might just turn out to be exactly my thing? The empty hours of stretched stillness. Then the sudden jerks.
Just my thing.
In the finishing of my reports, attending of my calls, submitting of my works, there would be a robotic monotony; my voice, a distant cavity (during my day job). Still, my real one at least. And nobody makes me laugh; nobody can make me laugh.
These glorious sunsets and I would have tedious staring contests. They’d depart first, hence they’d blink first, hence they’d lose (I can sit unblinkingly for millennia. Seriously), though sometimes I’d wish they don’t…
Sometimes I’d wish the sun never goes down.
(But when it does…) And when it does… when this crossing of my life is trampled over… something is sunk behind… and something entirely else is afloat on the surface.
See, I can scan past all these morphing faces, these lifted masks, these sick realities (and this time I’m actually interested in all of them) – eyeing me as if one flashy look is enough to read me wholly. No fam no. It works the other way around.
It is at night when you wolves come flowing out, showing your true thirst; howling wildly. And oh how much I love letting you seek pleasure in the illusion of decrypting the enigmatic ‘me’. The illusion of you using ‘me’. You’re the one above, no? No. Way down below in reality. Look at your eyes. I spot a hundred grammatical errors in them…
Whatever your nightly hedonistic labels would be for me, your mornings would have more or less the same. To put it in one word; “Meretricious”. Aww, poor you. You thought you’d have the last laugh, no? See how the filth of your forms is now moving into your tongues? your vocabulary, growing trashier like a sewer. Is this the part where you throw me out of your house? No? Uh oh, I’m laughing now. A desolate, sardonic, broken laugh because you’re a joke (what? I never said nothing can make me laugh).
Aha! So this is the part where you throw me out of your house…
لگا کر آگ سینے میں، چلے ہو تم کہاں؟
.ابھی تو راکھ اڑنے دو، تماشا اور بھی ہوگا
“… And then it began to settle in me, you know, the solemnity of the situation…
“I mean I’m there, right in front of her while she has another of her… attack, and it’s… it’s crushing to see. I feel like… like I’m being gutted like an animal.
“She’s there, right in front of me, roaring and screaming with glittery eyes and a… a body personifying agony like she’s… she’s s.. seizing and… sh… shivering so hard, with her hands flailing vviolently and all – an utterly beautiful disastrous mess, really… Imagine looking… imagine the one you’re madly in love with going through that… Imagine…”
He sniffs and carries on.
“I’m right in front of her… and my heart falls into a pit when I ssee her like that; my throat squeezes shut and I cannot gulp down this this… stupid lump that has formed in it. My legs go weak and I’m… ffeeling like a wreck who’d fall to the floor any second now. Breathing gets hard… I can’t breathe but then it hits me you know. That I have to be strong here, that… I CAN’T fall apart as well when she’s like that.
“So I manage to breathe in deep and I, with my slightly trembling hands hold her. I hold both of her shoulders and I say, “shh shhh… It’s all okay now,” and I’m surprised that my voice doesn’t shudder. She still screams and tears are gushing down her face and she’s sobbing and pushing me away and I want to hug her so bad but she’s just not… she wouldn’t let me then, I knew.
“So with the same illusory calm voice I ask her to look up into my eyes, and after a couple of times of asking, she does, and I don’t know what she sees but she just stills, stills you know. Her Her features soften slightly and then I’m parting strands of her hair off her face. At the same time I ask her, “look at me and tell me if you think I’ll abandon you, ever?” and she doesn’t say anything but her eyes glare into mine and I think she’s lost… but she’s actually there. I feel a ghost of a nod and I’m, so I’m cupping my palm against her cheek and I rub it softly. She, you know she… hah, she actually leans into my touch and she starts to sob; she becomes demure like a little infant and she… sobs and I’m watching her.
“Next she opens up her eyes and they’re filling up with tears again and I sense her opening her lips to say something irrational again, but before she does that, I grab her face gently, pull it up and her face rises upto mine like smoke from a flame and then we kiss. And there we are… I don’t know, floating over skies… It goes so deep and so sensual and for so long that she’s quivering and I taste her tears in my mouth and you know, then nothing like that. Then it just, stops being a kiss. It’s something more. It’s it’s like I’m pulling out the… all the vile things from inside her – I’m exorcising her – and giving her back her real loving spirit.
“So when we pull back, her eyes are still closed and I can see that she’s tipsy and still reeling from all the sensations and it takes a good part of a minute for her to finally open her eyes and she says, you know what she says? She says, “how do you do that?” and I freaking smile. She’s smiling too and I’m like, God yes! this is my treasure – the best possible kind. And after that you know, I feel that it was all worth it. The pain, the… the the torture of watching her fall apart in shreds. It’s just…”
“It’s ineffable… It’s all just worth it. Being with her, being the reason for her repair, makes all the pain worth it – no, it makes it nonexistent. As if it wasn’t there. Just… worth it.”
A few second’s pause follows. Then his friend replies, “By God, man. That’s just what it really is. That’s love right there…” then he continues,”well, what happens after that? After the er… heavenly kiss?”
“After that…?” The man sighs, averts his gaze and his friend sees a vague blush creep up his cheeks. He bites his lip and closes his eyes and then turns to him, opens his eyes and the next thing he says, he says in a different, more breathy voice,
“It’s all actually more than worth it, man…”
It’s when he winks that his friend gets it.