The Blank Spaces
Tonight, unlike many others, I really am here to try my patience and stretch my endurance to the limit to write a piece that is very close to my heart… and no, it is not a criticism on the current president of Pakistan: “Janab” Asif Ali Zardari (Bhutto). Although now that I have mentioned this, it won’t take but a minute to rejuvenate one’s memory and recall how “Janab” Bhutto didn’t seem too pressed to leave Sarah Palin’s hand after not one, not two; but three handshakes and then offered to embrace her in one of his arms- around- your- entire ass- hugs (numerous of which our dear “Miss” Sherry *Shereen to some* Rehman has undoubtedly tested and apparently approved). And while one’s memory is being jostled as it is, also a gentle reminder of what our “Janab” Sahab Bhutto wrote in the guest book at the Quaid- e- Azam’s mausoleum where “God” and “strength” were spelt as “goad” and “strenth” respectively. Such is the state of affairs (Affairs: state affairs and no, nobody is pointing a finger towards “Miss” Sherry Rehman here).
Anyway, what’s done is done. Pakistan’s majority decided that they’d rather have a wolf- in- a- sheep- skin as their president than to redefine the term: democracy, and now, atleast I can sleep well at night knowing I wasn’t a part of this horrendous act of sheer stupidity. Also, “Bhutto aaj bhi zinda hay!” *yawns*
Now, since I said that this article is NOT about the political status our country enjoys (quite uniquely, if I dare say), I’d better start to my point here. You see, this friend of mine is here (in the Federal Capital) from Lahore (yes, u guessed it: the food street city) and is finally trying to make something of himself that doesn’t put his family name to shame and his father’s face in a not- so- becoming shade of red. He’s ecstatic; working for the people who are organizing the RBS 20/20 Cricket series this October and enjoying every minute of the late night working hours he’s putting in. Sometimes, he calls at ludicrous hours wanting to assemble a team of graphic artists (if anyone is interested, please let me know), mascot designers and others. When he finally does decide to sleep, he has to walk atleast 2 km from his work place to his apartment (each being in Bara Kahu) where upon he is faced to his room mate (code name: The Great Tragedy), who not only listens to Pink Floyd (ALL THE TIME) but also insists on strumming his guitar while he’s in the holy act. And the next morning brings the same walk and the same grueling working hours for him. But he’s doing what he’s doing because he “likes” it. One does wonder why men never show the same commitment to their girls (mothers, wives, daughters etc)
Then there is another friend: He just completed his med studies and is now in the nauseating practice of 24 to 30 hr shifts where he has to pull marbles and pebbles out of children’s noses (children whose parents should really be boxed in the ears for providing the young ones with ammunition in the first place). Sometimes his highlight of an entire week is a football game (soccer for our American “friends” who keep bombing innocents at our borders). He sounds tired usually, hardly ever complains about things (except for the time when a pathan bhai came to him with a dead cockroach in his ear) and basically passes each hour as it comes: sleeps when he gets the time, eats when he realizes a girl is not responsible for the swooning of his head and texts back religiously. Sometimes, he even manages to update his blog. He keeps doing it because that’s the only thing he’s being asked to do (If only our president: Janab Asif Ali Zardari Bhutto and our prime minister: Gillani- Something would realize the same fate).
I would also like to mention another friend of mine. He just left for the UK or the Great Britain (whatever your poison maybe) for his masters. The last time we met up, he seemed more interested in lighting his cigarettes than in listening to my incessant chatter (so what if I kept calling him a cradle snatcher or a child molester just because his mother had her eyes on a 16- 18 yr old girl for him?). Initially, when he had shifted to Islamabad around 5 ½ yrs ago, he had absolutely hated Islamabad: The Beautiful. As far as I’m concerned, his friends were shit- movers at that time and it was their entire fault! Anyway, we became good friends just a few months before he got his credits transferred to some high- five university in UK where he went on to get fabulous scores. His dad’s a big shot in something- I’m- not- sure- I- should- mention (but be assured, he doesn’t work for Taliban or Fidaeen- e- Islam) and he basically enjoyed sharing the laughs with me when people made fools of themselves trying to impress his dad. When he again applied for masters in UK, he got accepted by the university of his pick and off he went to a cold and sad place, yet again. He went away to make something credible of himself so when he does decide to have an opinion about something important, people listen to him and not just chant, “Bhutto aaj bhi zinda hay” over and over again.
Another friend of mine is the exact opposite: he wore his scruffy boots (well, not so scruffy), walked up to the people in his house and told them that he’s just not interested in going away for further education. From what I can safely presume, that decision must have not gone down well but he did stick by it and is now working here. Not surprisingly, most things I remember of him are from a couple of years ago. I remember how many things he said made sense when they shouldn’t have. I’d like to believe there hides in him a rebel (not the conventional I- really- want- to- see- you- getting- screwed- over- because- you- didn’t- listen- to- me) but another kind that brings about small changes in how people think until those small changes roll themselves up in a snowball that keeps getting bigger and bigger and certainly more noticeable. He never says much and sometimes when I say a lot, he just looks away; patient but utterly miserable at the same time. But he doesn’t flog me, neither does he snap and tell me to shut- it. He’s this way because he realizes how terrifyingly big the world is and how humbly small we all are.
Nothing would be complete without mentioning another brilliant existence in my life. He’s like a small grass- cutting machine who has realized that being loyal to the grass would benefit only the grass and put rust on his blades. After several years of practicing forgiveness and pardon (and from what I hear; his calm demeanor was sorely tried), he’s just turned himself to an I- am- happy- to- ignore- you- out- of- my- life person. He managed to get rid of the cancer from his life, cancer that was eating its way through him and now hangs around some other bunch- of- friends who hate his old bunch- of- friends and have nothing in common. I don’t know how happy he is or if he is content with his life now because I just stopped calling him. Contrary to what many believe, I didn’t stop being contact because of anything that happened. I just stopped because I realized I was neither a part of his bunch- of- friends nor his new ones and suddenly I didn’t have a spot there anymore. I miss him, terribly. He really is special.
Another one I’ve known for quite some time now also manages to have a whole paragraph written about him. For someone unbelievably nonchalant, he sure does manage to carve out a space for himself in most people he knows. Absolutely brilliant and disarmingly charming (only when he has had enough sleep), he has a huge fan following. I remember him when most girls would lament about him not paying “enough” attention and ALL boys calling him names because apparently their “attentions” weren’t the ones the girls wanted. Coming from where he came from, he did turn out to be beautiful in an unexpected sort of way and managed to sail through the worst of his years. Hordes of people around him will probably never let him fail: even the least of which he doesn’t deserve.
The last person I'm going to mention is this post is the one who made me so predictable for himself. He was everything a girl could ask for while growing up: attentive, smiling, charming, funny, protective and certainly not a pain to look at. He etched the person I am today and I will be forever grateful for what little time we had together. I remember him as clearly as a memory of seconds ago where he’d steal my punch lines and make totally sadistic jokes on them, where he told me in detail how attending an all- girls school was “such a waste” and where he forced a smile while he ate the first ever cookies I baked- on an open fire without any pan. You tug at my heart still and you keep burrowing in my soul as each day passes by. I hope you’re safe and loved wherever you are and finally at peace. May our God rest your beautiful soul in eternal blissfulness.
Anyway, what’s done is done. Pakistan’s majority decided that they’d rather have a wolf- in- a- sheep- skin as their president than to redefine the term: democracy, and now, atleast I can sleep well at night knowing I wasn’t a part of this horrendous act of sheer stupidity. Also, “Bhutto aaj bhi zinda hay!” *yawns*
Now, since I said that this article is NOT about the political status our country enjoys (quite uniquely, if I dare say), I’d better start to my point here. You see, this friend of mine is here (in the Federal Capital) from Lahore (yes, u guessed it: the food street city) and is finally trying to make something of himself that doesn’t put his family name to shame and his father’s face in a not- so- becoming shade of red. He’s ecstatic; working for the people who are organizing the RBS 20/20 Cricket series this October and enjoying every minute of the late night working hours he’s putting in. Sometimes, he calls at ludicrous hours wanting to assemble a team of graphic artists (if anyone is interested, please let me know), mascot designers and others. When he finally does decide to sleep, he has to walk atleast 2 km from his work place to his apartment (each being in Bara Kahu) where upon he is faced to his room mate (code name: The Great Tragedy), who not only listens to Pink Floyd (ALL THE TIME) but also insists on strumming his guitar while he’s in the holy act. And the next morning brings the same walk and the same grueling working hours for him. But he’s doing what he’s doing because he “likes” it. One does wonder why men never show the same commitment to their girls (mothers, wives, daughters etc)
Then there is another friend: He just completed his med studies and is now in the nauseating practice of 24 to 30 hr shifts where he has to pull marbles and pebbles out of children’s noses (children whose parents should really be boxed in the ears for providing the young ones with ammunition in the first place). Sometimes his highlight of an entire week is a football game (soccer for our American “friends” who keep bombing innocents at our borders). He sounds tired usually, hardly ever complains about things (except for the time when a pathan bhai came to him with a dead cockroach in his ear) and basically passes each hour as it comes: sleeps when he gets the time, eats when he realizes a girl is not responsible for the swooning of his head and texts back religiously. Sometimes, he even manages to update his blog. He keeps doing it because that’s the only thing he’s being asked to do (If only our president: Janab Asif Ali Zardari Bhutto and our prime minister: Gillani- Something would realize the same fate).
I would also like to mention another friend of mine. He just left for the UK or the Great Britain (whatever your poison maybe) for his masters. The last time we met up, he seemed more interested in lighting his cigarettes than in listening to my incessant chatter (so what if I kept calling him a cradle snatcher or a child molester just because his mother had her eyes on a 16- 18 yr old girl for him?). Initially, when he had shifted to Islamabad around 5 ½ yrs ago, he had absolutely hated Islamabad: The Beautiful. As far as I’m concerned, his friends were shit- movers at that time and it was their entire fault! Anyway, we became good friends just a few months before he got his credits transferred to some high- five university in UK where he went on to get fabulous scores. His dad’s a big shot in something- I’m- not- sure- I- should- mention (but be assured, he doesn’t work for Taliban or Fidaeen- e- Islam) and he basically enjoyed sharing the laughs with me when people made fools of themselves trying to impress his dad. When he again applied for masters in UK, he got accepted by the university of his pick and off he went to a cold and sad place, yet again. He went away to make something credible of himself so when he does decide to have an opinion about something important, people listen to him and not just chant, “Bhutto aaj bhi zinda hay” over and over again.
Another friend of mine is the exact opposite: he wore his scruffy boots (well, not so scruffy), walked up to the people in his house and told them that he’s just not interested in going away for further education. From what I can safely presume, that decision must have not gone down well but he did stick by it and is now working here. Not surprisingly, most things I remember of him are from a couple of years ago. I remember how many things he said made sense when they shouldn’t have. I’d like to believe there hides in him a rebel (not the conventional I- really- want- to- see- you- getting- screwed- over- because- you- didn’t- listen- to- me) but another kind that brings about small changes in how people think until those small changes roll themselves up in a snowball that keeps getting bigger and bigger and certainly more noticeable. He never says much and sometimes when I say a lot, he just looks away; patient but utterly miserable at the same time. But he doesn’t flog me, neither does he snap and tell me to shut- it. He’s this way because he realizes how terrifyingly big the world is and how humbly small we all are.
Nothing would be complete without mentioning another brilliant existence in my life. He’s like a small grass- cutting machine who has realized that being loyal to the grass would benefit only the grass and put rust on his blades. After several years of practicing forgiveness and pardon (and from what I hear; his calm demeanor was sorely tried), he’s just turned himself to an I- am- happy- to- ignore- you- out- of- my- life person. He managed to get rid of the cancer from his life, cancer that was eating its way through him and now hangs around some other bunch- of- friends who hate his old bunch- of- friends and have nothing in common. I don’t know how happy he is or if he is content with his life now because I just stopped calling him. Contrary to what many believe, I didn’t stop being contact because of anything that happened. I just stopped because I realized I was neither a part of his bunch- of- friends nor his new ones and suddenly I didn’t have a spot there anymore. I miss him, terribly. He really is special.
Another one I’ve known for quite some time now also manages to have a whole paragraph written about him. For someone unbelievably nonchalant, he sure does manage to carve out a space for himself in most people he knows. Absolutely brilliant and disarmingly charming (only when he has had enough sleep), he has a huge fan following. I remember him when most girls would lament about him not paying “enough” attention and ALL boys calling him names because apparently their “attentions” weren’t the ones the girls wanted. Coming from where he came from, he did turn out to be beautiful in an unexpected sort of way and managed to sail through the worst of his years. Hordes of people around him will probably never let him fail: even the least of which he doesn’t deserve.
The last person I'm going to mention is this post is the one who made me so predictable for himself. He was everything a girl could ask for while growing up: attentive, smiling, charming, funny, protective and certainly not a pain to look at. He etched the person I am today and I will be forever grateful for what little time we had together. I remember him as clearly as a memory of seconds ago where he’d steal my punch lines and make totally sadistic jokes on them, where he told me in detail how attending an all- girls school was “such a waste” and where he forced a smile while he ate the first ever cookies I baked- on an open fire without any pan. You tug at my heart still and you keep burrowing in my soul as each day passes by. I hope you’re safe and loved wherever you are and finally at peace. May our God rest your beautiful soul in eternal blissfulness.
