Thursday, July 31, 2008

What better time to ramble, when you're up to your ears in work. Especially when you haven't met a deadline of a thousand words per day and you're writing about garbage. Sometimes I think it would just be fun to come up with theories for a living, like classic anthropologists, but then we became smarter and decided there is no absolute truth and we had to worry about ethics and staying true to the community being researched. Its a load of crap, most of this ethics business anyway. I'll explain later.

I couldn't agree less with Ammara of how I still haven't gotten over the shock of inflation in Pakistan. I went to have a Zinger the other day and paid 240 rupees instead of the good old 180. Oh well. In spite of having 40 rupees in my wallet (my compensation is that its the 31st of the month), I am secure in knowing that I can still afford to buy 6 samosas, in case I am on the verge of starvation. Speaking of which, I just gobbled up someone's Zouk leftover's which I 'found' in the fridge this afternoon :) I hope Ali doesn't read my blog, because I am in no mood to own up ;)

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Lemonade on Tuesdays

The same staircase up,

To a cozy grey cubicle

Empty water bottles and gum wrappers

But different finger marks on the reset buttons.


The same sound of footsteps,

Ill-fitted suits and baggy pants

But unrecognizable faces, cut and pasted

Onto familiar backdrops.


A television ad jingle

A warm windowsill

A dusty pavement

A rusty gutter lid.


An ice-lolly

An iPod earphone

An elbow in my side

An accent of your choice


A freshly painted speed-breaker

To slip on,

Another laugh-able story

Inspired by expired Milo.

Saturday, July 05, 2008

One Rainbow A Year.

This is a beautiful song I heard yesterday, and I am probably behind the times for watching Jab We Met for the first time last night, but oh well. I have my excuses.

"aao ge jab tum saajna
barsay ga saawan jhoom jhoom kay
do dil aisay milengay"

Romantic notions of rain, barsaat and monsoon usually (always) tend to backfire on screen. Like the clinging saris, and splashing in the grass scenes in Love 86. Although, I like the jhoom-ing effect. My fondest memories of barsaat involve the preliminary andhis, us three cycling in the front lawn in circles against the wind, nahaofying in the baarish with Afhsan and Qaiser Ali who was less than a year old. When I accidentally gave him a kiss on the cheek because he looked so adorable, like a bheegi billi in his mothers godi, and later realized that I had kissed the cook's son. You're not supposed to do that, apparently.

I'm still waiting for the first proper rain of the season, and considering the off-beat weather of the world this year, a downpour wouldn't surprise me. But then again, nothing really surprises me, anymore.