Posts Tagged ‘Flashback..’

Fizzy Time…

Posted: November 9, 2009 in Random Moments...
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Time is messing with me. On any given day, I’ll forget that this dimension of me and my parent’s relationship is quite old. I forget because before this – this tenderness and affection and deeper sharing – there was a friendship where we communicated a lot and regularly hung out for dinner and casual visits to our relatives. And while back then it was that and nothing more, with no idea that it would blossom into this – this so sweet, so exciting, so hopeful – the truth, it is clear now, is that we were building something that in this new stage of our relationship has given us a sense of comfort and knowing that makes it feel like “we” may be new, but we have some good roots sown beneath us. The relationship has now entered the phase where parents are your best friends. No strictness and No Nagging.

My memory of some friends does not go back just a couple of months; it goes back further, to all the personal things we’ve shared, the fun nights grabbing some drinks, the meals we relished, the adventures we took together, the times when a simple idea (i.e., “dinner”) turned into hours and hours and hours of us talking, talking, talking. There are hundreds of email exchanges, and – at last count – well over 4,000 text messages between us. These people are called the FAMOUS SIX. There are words, so many words – covering the mundane, gossiping, expressing hurt and anger and uncertainty and wonder and shock and giddiness.

There all these things – things that ultimately can’t be quantified even as I try to do so here – that give me this sense that we are solid and further along, from a closeness/knowing each other’s perspective, than might otherwise be true of people who have been hanging out for a couple of months and now I could challenge anybody “we are die hard friends”


Ah, that blasted damage. I could easily tell myself a lot of rational stuff about that damage, and how it was central to one (very, very messed up) individual; but the thing about the damage is that it went deep. It was too many years of hearing the same shit over and over, of being treated a certain way – and after a while, the damage won. I was utterly defeated when I lost hope. I didn’t believe shit of what my luck and hopes had devoted so many years to drilling into me, but the effects of those words and the treatment of life broke me. I’ve been shadowed – even as I’ve felt better and stronger and less stressed and more hopeful than I have in many, many years (possibly ever) – by that damage, and by this big, scary question: what if everyone else will always see me as these people did? From there, it expands: what if I’m silently being judged? What if I’m undesirable? What if I’m too talkative, too bossy, too boring? What if I’m unlovable because my room is a mess? What if I’m not interesting enough or my interests are lame? What if my annoying habits are just too unbearable? etc., etc., etc… The paragraph was coded but concerned people would understand as I don’t intend to reveal everything on this open forum.

This is the thing I’ve been able to conclude about the life that was mine: it was made clear, in every possible way, that every single thing about me was judged, and that I was rejected in various ways for those very things. I’m not even exaggerating that. I could give a list of specific examples, but honestly, it would be too humiliating.

Does no one ever get truly accepted for who they are; and is everyone seriously judged for every. Damn. Thing. – For choosing long hair over short, or for not possessing about being thin, or for lavishing too much attention on technology and not dogs?

I gotta tell you, I’m wondering if I’m crazy right about now.

Time. A real chance. As we grow into our relationship with friends and family, as our feelings deepen, I have faith that the damage will continue to diminish.

Because surely, I can’t ask people to staple a sign to their forehead, assuring me that there’s no judging going on, no intent to reject?

Or can I? Would that be too weird?

I heard people quoting:

People are never bad…it’s just the time that makes them bad.

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Noah and His Ark…

Posted: October 23, 2009 in Flashback..
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I’ve waited until the end to write about my friendship with my father. The joy of discovering male friendship is clearest in that friendship because it took an era to appreciate it. A father is not a pal — he is the figure of authority and stability. For my part I was lucky that mine lived to see me when I grew into an adult, and that together we found we shared interests and forged a genuine friendship.

My dad was above all a sole proper tier. I never knew how much he slogged to earn every penny and bring it home, I always thought we were rich and lately (4 years back) I came to know we belonged to the middle-class of the society. He never said “NO” to my wants; even the cigarettes I used to smoke were a part of his earnings.

Always, my relatives wanted to tell me what a great man my father was. Everyone in the world knew that — he never made a lot of money, or invented a new product, or pioneered in box-making, or taught a young genius, or had done anything worthy of note. But people would tell me this man is a river of knowledge and if you are his son then you must me proud to have him as a guardian. Every one believed him as a fine business man, best father and a genius husband.

So do I. When I had fever, he would sit by my side and was concerned of my illness, whenever I was down I heard mom calling, dad called to ask, how are you now?

But to me in childhood he was less a saint or hero, more an ordinary guy with too many faults. He approved of nothing that I did, disapproved of almost everything, and let me know in a loud voice where and how I had let him down. As he was also strikingly handsome, soft-spoken (generally) and a self made man, his employees would fear him as he was stern at work. I’ve never regularly been to his factory but had heard him talking to mom quite often.

Still, none of his works made much difference to me. I wanted him to be like the other fathers in town, with plenty of toys and encouragement for his boys. If I wanted to skate, I had to learn by myself. So, too, if I wanted to hangout, or skate or go to beach, I was either restricted or these luxuries were compared with my academic results. Now when I grew up I see my sister’s attitude towards her children and now I think my father was very right.

But if I wanted to be a big man — honest, trustworthy, capable of doing what I said I was going to do — why, I imitated him.

Because he was busy growing his income, he had little time for his boys. For my part, I respected him as a father, an entirely self made man and a man everyone in town admired, the man my mother, considered as the best husband. Like many of the men of his time and place he was a stern disciplinarian with impossible-to-reach standards. He was old-fashioned in every way, including keeping up his clothes, the fragrances, the dressing, and the car in the approved and finest manner possible — which meant we had to work harder. We did it all, and today we agree among ourselves that these were the best things we ever did.

We had his guidance, complete and without question, as long as we did what we were told, but what we never felt we had was his friendship.

Dad would never come to the sports I had in school or attend the PTM’s, He didn’t much care about how well I did in sports — our mother, who never missed a game, did — but he always insisted that I took the toughest academic classes and never did well in them.

As I got ready to graduate from high school, in 2006 at age nineteen, Dad very much wanted my brother to major in business administration but he never insisted to me to do anything he wanted, may be because I had always let him down.

When I planned to be an entrepreneur, I was actually imitating him, he was disenchanted, I was now past the point when he would kick or spank me, so he let me know how he felt verbally. I had promised, and he had told my mother. Now he was dishonored. Still, it was my life and I could lead it the way I wanted — but my way wasn’t his.

Dad always told me”You are not made for business; you would definitely suffer one day”.

The words caught me up. It had never before occurred to me that I could do such a thing as add to the sum of the world’s knowledge. Once at the end of that lecture I went up to Professor and told him that I wanted to do what he did for a living, and asked, “How do I do that?”

He laughed and replied, “Stick around and I’ll show you.”

Right after, I went down to the registrar and told him that I wanted to switch to a Social Science major. He said that was fine with him, so long as I wanted to go on to graduate school in Social Sciences. Fine with me, I said.

My brother didn’t help much. He, too, found medical to be not to their liking, all that chemistry, physics and the like. That left Dad without a successor.

My father, who always talked about religion with me or anyone else, replied that he agreed with me. We used to sit and discuss religion and he would force me to offer daily prayers and simultaneously do all the social work I was into. I regret ignoring his advices.

By this time it was clear to me that he knew more about the religion than I did. On his own, he had embraced my interest and read deeply about the religion. His newfound support of what I was doing was the most important thing in my life.

He had always been somewhat rigid, insisting that I do as I was told and toe the line. I was keenly, gratefully aware that he had made an exception for my embrace of history. By the late teenage, after my brother went abroad for higher studies, I was left alone. This was the time when I thought I could have my father as my best friend.

Some past old memories were a blast; we six used to sit together in our parent’s room which we called the Noah’s arc and talk on general topics, those times were amazing. It was until that time when my elder sister got married and migrated to the USA, sooner or later my brother planned to shift abroad for higher studies and my younger sister to got married. Now dad is the grandfather of four cute children. Those days were like life had sugar contents in it and now it seems someone had mixed salt in the tea.

My mom, who belonged to a very rich family, a family full of geniuses. She got married to my dad and tried to adjust with him, this was when my father migrated from Burma to Karachi. She is an embroidery freak and was an awesome cook once upon a time. I always had that feeling that mom and dad both admired my elder brother the most and I was left behind, may be because I always brought ignominy to the family.

I never want to travel abroad or leave my parents; I am currently working to make them by best friends. The future of the family seems to be a little blur; it seems we are heading towards a dark endless tunnel. I always had a feeling that after my parents, me and my younger sister would live together and our other two siblings would meet us once in a year or two, that means walls of formal behavior rising to the horizon.

My dad, a steadfast friend. He was my first and always most important friend, I don’t know if he thinks that way or not but I want life to give me an opportunity to die for him. I didn’t learn that until the end, when he taught me the most important thing that the love of father-son-father-son is a continuum, just as love and friendship are expansive. If everyone would be like my dad, literacy would never curtail.

Weeping Tears…

Posted: October 13, 2009 in Flashback..
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The first blog was a hit fit, still I forgot to mention some very important people in it, and I would try getting over with it in this one. Actually I had risked everything in life, may be for fun, honor, adventure and to show off. Whenever I screw up things I always had God standing by my side and helping me out of the quick sand. If I rank people who have helped me in life then the super power stands first, though I am unthankful to him and betray him every time, he gives me chances and I always ask for one more. Muneeb Shahid, a very good friend of mine, passed away three years back in a cross fire between political enmity, he wasn’t given any chance, life moves on and we one by one head towards our final destination, I may die tomorrow and people may forget me with their past. Sami Iqbal, another victim in this world, who died of a car accident last year, he never knew karma would get him so early. This seventeen year old lad wanted to be an engineer but Alas! Life deceived him in his teenage. I may be next. People say Satan has a long life and so do I, I agree to it but God doesn’t grade me as Satan.

Life is a bitch, a statement said by almost everyone, as this world is termed as tyrannical. We ourselves have made it cruel. You bully a dog and expect him, not to bite. This world and dog are synonyms. I, being a patriot respect my country but have we done anything for it? We are born like a cowards and die like one; even if we are courageous we blame our parents or family for not letting us be a patriot/work or die for the country. We get to live in this world only once; life is short, so live like a soldier and die like a martyr. Fahad Raes, another part of my life, was caught by the Pakistani agency and was blamed of involvement in terrorist activities. This man had courage and was a true patriot. The definitive torture by the brutal forces made him insane and thus he landed in a mental asylum in Hyderabad. This guy has been left alone since 2007. No one has seen him since then, just because of the fear that we may get caught in the same case. A man who dosent even know the meaning of terrorism is caught in terrorist activities. I still love my country but hate its contents. You leave your home every day with the intention of not returning again, you’ll either get killed, kidnapped or raped, and if incase you return your heart is broken, someone has either ditched you or you just saw the real faces of life.

When people walk away from you, let them go, your destiny is never tied to anybody who leaves you and it also doesn’t mean that they are bad people, it just means that their part in your story is over. Life is like a story book; divided into chapters with multiple characters and you never know what will happen next. We got independence in 1947 but we got dependent on corruption. We screw up lives as if it is nothing for us. People are killed in a brutal manner as if this country has become a slaughter house.

A preventive war, to my mind, is an impossibility today. How could you have one, if one of its features would be several cities lying in ruins, several cities where many, many thousands of people would be dead and injured and mangled…. That isn’t preventive war; that is war….. It seems to me that when, by definition, a term is just ridiculous in itself, there is no use in going any further.