Excerpts From Monsoon Adolescense
Friday, November 19, 2004
Page 15 - Cigarette Rituals
Omer rips apart the brown, spotted paper on the cigarette as he is done with his double-o. He slowly tears the paper, so as to inflict maximum pain onto the thinned wooden bark. Give me pleasure for I give you pain. He tears the paper into two, then four, then eight, before he throws them into the toilet bowl. He then grabs the foam-like substance concealed within the paper from its blackened end and proceeds to tear it into two, then four, then tiny little strips of thin, frayed strips that resemble mattress-foam in colour. He throws them with the cigarette-butt paper and watches with half-amusement, half-boredom as the toilet juice dissolves the remnants of the cigarette butt. I will not leave any sign of me behind. He is not famous. It may be that when his life at last comes to an end, he will leave no more trace of his soul on this earth, like a stone thrown on the river leaves on the surface of the water. That it may be that the way of life that he has chosen for himself, may have an ever growing influence over his fellow men, so that long after his death perhaps, it may be realized that there lived in this age, a very remarkable creature. He turns to look at the ashtray perched on the windowsill and smiles as he turns the other way to face the mirror...
- posted by Mumra @ 9:21 AM 0 comments
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Page 36-37
“So technically, you jumping on conclusions took away from me the most special thing I ever had, something I never wanted to give up, something I never even thought I’d had to let go, something straight out of my wildest dreams, you took it away from me on just a slight misconception…? Scherezade, how dare y…”
“Your Reason and Your Passion are the Rudder and the Sail of your sea-faring Soul.
Therefore let your Soul Exalt your Reason to the Height of Passion
So that It may Sing;
And thus your Freedom when it loses its Fetters
Becomes itself the fetter of
A Greater Freedom.”
Omer’s statement was muffled by Scherezade’s lips on his. She had pounced from the chair, turned to face Omer, her eyes piercing his as his words did her, and she silenced his protests because she finally realized that she was not the only one who was hurt, that Omer had to go through much more than her. Atleast he said he did, and this time it was enough for her to believe. Her hands find their way to Omer’s neck, and then make their way to his hair, ruffling them as Scherezade’s fingers cringe
in ecstasy. Omer’s hands are still by his side, thunderstruck by what had just happened.
- posted by Mumra @ 8:37 PM 0 comments
Prologue
Tum Khuda Ki Baat Kero. Mein Khudai Ki Baat Kerta Hoon.
Aur Tum Kiya Jano.
Khuda Ki Khudai Kiya Hai Aur Uss Khudai Ka Khumaar Kiya Hai.
Kehta Hai Tumhara Rabb
Ke Aey Ibney Aadam!
Aik Teri Chahat Hai
Aur Aik
Meri Chahat
Par Ho Ga Wohi
Jo Meri Chahat Hai
Bas
Agar Tu Ne Apnay Aap Ko Sapurd Ker Deeya Uss Ke
Joh Meri Chahat Hai
Toh Mein Baksh Doonga Tujh Ko Woh Bhee
Joh Teri Chahat Hai
Par Agar Tu Ne Nafarmani Kee Uss Ki
Joh Meri Chahat Hai
Toh Mein Thakaa Doonga Tujh Ko Uss Mein
Joh Teri Chahat Hai
Bas
Phir Ho Gaa Wohi
Joh Meri Chahat Hai.
(btw, this is Hadees-e-Qudsi. I HATE Jawad Ahmad. :P)
- posted by Mumra @ 8:32 PM 0 comments
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Page 44 - Ch 07
In every love lies the seed of our growth.
Those who love more, the more enlightened they are,
The more they have been able to overcome the preconceptions
Of their era.
To sing, to laugh, to pray out loud;
They have danced and shared what
Saint Paul called “the madness of saintliness”.
They have been joyful – for those who love conquer the world
And have no fear of loss.
True love is an act of total surrender.
To love is to be in communion with the other,
And to discover in that other,
The Spark of God.
“Munawwar, get me that number you dialed yesterday… yes… the Lahora wala”. Abubakar Javaid rests on his bed with a hot cup of tea in his other hand.
“Yes sir. Please hold on…”
He did not know why he was doing this. Omer was here, so why did he call Lahore? He was beginning to think it was a bad idea when…
“Hello…?”
“Hello… Adeela…?”
“Jee, aap koun?”
“Adeela, its me… Abubakar…”
“Oh… hello Bakar. How are you?”
“I'm fine, how are you?”
“I’m good too. How are you? Are you taking care of yourself? How is the weather in Islamabad?”
“Yes, I’m well, I’m eating okay. The weather here is very hot, can’t wait for the rain…”
“You never could, Bakar, you always loved the rain…”
“So I did…”
Tense silence. Maybe I’ve said too much, Adeela thinks.
“So… how’s Omer…?”
“He’s fine. MashaAllah he’s grown taller. And what is with his beard…?”
“It’s a new fashion I think. He has his holidays, so I don’t see any reason not to let him not keep it…”
“Chalo… fine then…”
“Don’t you like it Bakar? I think it looks good on him…”
“Haan haan… yes, it does…”
“Bakar… are you sure…?” “Yes…”
Again, at a loss of words.
“Bakar… are you okay…?”
Nothing.
“Bakar…?”. Adeela searches for her ex-husband’s voice. Maybe he’s gotten busy with something else. Maybe he’s indulged himself into something more important. Maybe…
“I miss you Adeela…”
Yet again, silence. Too bad Abubakar could not see the sad smile on Adeela’s face. She missed him too. All because of his stubborn arrogance, she had lost the love of her life. She remained silent enough for Abubakar to realize that she missed him too; only, she fell short of admitting it verbally.
“So… tum batao… aaj kal Lahore mein kiya ho raha hai…?”. Bakar eradicates the silence.
“Nothing Bakar. Its as boring as Islamabad. Aiman’s coming over for tea in a while. Her shift at the hospital’s going to end in about an hour…”
“Oh… sorry if I’m disturbing you… I can call later if…”
“No no its fine, its perfectly…”
“Nahi nahi, I’ll call you when Omi’s back, theek hei? Uss se bhee baat ker lena, I’m sorry if I disturbed you…”
“Bakar, you know its perfectly fine to talk right now… uff… oh well… jab Omi aey kehna ke call zaroor ker lay. Itni ayyaashi na karana ke woh apni ammi ko bhool jaey!”.
Hearty laughter. Adeela could always set things straight, even when things were so bad. They hadn’t talked since two months.
“I’ll call you when he’s back, theek hei? Please take care of yourself.”
“You too, Bakar.”
“Allah Hafiz”
“Khuda Hafiz.”. Adeela kept the receiver to her ear for a bit longer, thinking that if she would stay that way a bit more, and if it was really quiet, she would hear him again, hear him tell her how much he loved her, how much he still loves her. She looks towards the carpet in sadness. Even the echo had gone now. What she was unaware of, as Abubakar was of her sad smile when he told her he missed her, was that Abubakar Javaid kept the reciever intently to his ear as well. He had pressed the engage button with his index finger; the one he now used to wipe away the solitary tear that had fallen onto his cheek…
Bleed, There's a void in my brain. It holds a place inside
Bleed. But dont tell her I’m afraid
Bleed. But keep the truth aside...
Bleed, feel your skin give way
Bleed, sense your blood sway. Embrace the freedom, your soul's desire.
Bleed, and behold the fire
- posted by Mumra @ 1:35 PM 0 comments
Page 26
Michael jots swiftly, almost hastily onto a tissue paper. It reads;
Good evening ladies and gentlemen...
Welcome to tonight’s terrestrial infamy...walk into the hall of
Bleeding crescents and the oh so wonderful doctored intellect...
Followed by a love course of divine mime and vintage deranged-high..
The attire for this evening is celibest insanity,
Them shoes of
Oppressed realism, Cupid’s serpentine licked bow ties seem always best
For confessional occasions such as these...
Black coats, sire? No... Never! Purple lavender hats are all we need
To bring out the whipped clown...
And so commences what they all strive so indignantly to forget...
He completes the elegy with his signature at the bottom, neatly folding the tissue paper, and placing it inside his pocket. He takes his glass of Coke in his hand once more, and notices Omer as soon as he’s done quenching his thirst. Omer, with a glass in his hand, a smile on his face, is eyes lost into the very space we lose ourselves in every now and then. Lunar sight, grant me second sight. Lunar light, I allow you to grant me second sight. Micheal smiles. Another aerial vibe captured by his corral, another aura stamped on paper.
- posted by Mumra @ 1:31 PM 0 comments
Page 22-23
“…And the best part was when I replaced all the v’s with w’s so lovely sounded like ‘laoly’ and… hey! Are you even listening to me?!”.
Omer jerked back to reality and turned to face Mike. Unbeknownst to him, he still had a smile on his face, his right arm raised limply, waving meagerly, both of which Michael pointed out.
“Hmmm… dazed look… weird smile… looks like you’ve got it baadd..”
“Hmm.. Wha? Sorry… got what?”
“Hahaha! You’re in love, fool!”
“Bloody nonsense. Why don’t you stop your bakwaas, Mike?”
“Aley chiknayy! C’mon, lets go. The afterparty awaits. Your other friends I’ve already invited. Come on na yaar!”.
Michael nudged and pulled Omer, and a couple of quick, calculated steps kept him from falling. As he made his way towards the other hall, he could see the car Alyzeh got into pulling out from the parking lot. He could see a familiar figure in the back seat. So it wasn’t a dream after all. Omer shifts his gaze to the ground, hiding his over-pouring glee as he watches the occasional dark grass recurring and his feet progressing. He can’t help but smile. As the doors to the hall open, the people inside start cheering wildly. Omer joins in the vigorous clapping and hooting, realizing he was with the star of the show as he steps into the crowd in reverse. The mortal applause drowned out that of the stars and the heavens. Little did Omer know that he was the star of their OWN show…
My Aborted Happiness,
My Captivated Agony.
So Deep is my Wound, So Heartless are my Intentions.
How ruthless is your Cause?
How damned is my Fate?
I worry for my faith, For it seems to be Fading.
You cut me real deep. I’m wounded.
You turned your back on Me. I’m neglected.
You raped my soul. I’m vulnerable.
An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop, they say.
I’m deprived of innocence.
You looked at me with Eyes so Penetrating, I’m dying inside.
You made me think I was Special.
I’m paranoid.
You made me think I would be Treasured. I’m bleeding inside.
Fucked up ninth grader, huh?
- posted by Mumra @ 1:27 PM 0 comments
