Meanwhile, In Lahore…Elections 2013 – Hello, Inky Thumbs

Elections 2013

Operating on exactly one hour’s sleep, I got up to single-handedly change the fate of my country. Or at least that’s what all the news channels said I could do.

“The country’s in YOUR hands, you must bring the change.”

Change…what? As a purely subjective yet officially registered voter, I felt I was in a good position to stamp my opinion and not think about it twice. I wasn’t initially going to vote, but a friend changed my mind by saying my vote would just go wasted and I should feel more responsible towards my country. 

On the TV, some old man with an impressive beard was talking about “swing voters.” Explanation: People who keep oscillating between political parties and don’t know where their loyalties lie, even to the time of giving in their vote…that was me.

My enthusiastic Imran Khan supporting mom and I, her sullen brooding child drove over to our polling station. On the way I did notice a few things. For one, the shiny apple red Metro Bus that runs in the city. I saw the gleaming stations, the walkways, the signs, and the people to whom such a system must be a luxury, preferable to walking on hot summer days that Lahore is too generously endowed with. I started to think. Voting for Nawaz Sharif might not be a bad idea, would it? He solved a major transport problem, after all.

Further on, I saw a gleaming back jeep sporting four PTI flags, and also happened to notice (no blame here), the extremely cute guy driving it. So then I reasoned, Imran Khan had somehow motivated the complacent ‘young people’ of Pakistan to get up at 8 am, and go cast their votes. The voters for PTI generally seemed more sophisticated, educated, tea drinking and Ray-Ban(s) wearing people. Plus, the supporters for PML-N seemed not to know the difference between a tiger (their actual mascot) and all varieties of cheetahs, lions and cougars…My vote fluctuated back to Imran Khan and his red and green campaign.

When we finally got to the heart of the city, three police trucks lined up in front of the car, chock full of barbed wire, bats and some particularly vicious looking policemen. Added to the fact that there had been bomb threats by the Taliban threatening to stop the elections, I got properly frightened. What kind of country was I in, where democracy was thought to be the enemy? Therein, I decided not to vote at all.

When we finally reached the polling station, I saw the vote casting sheet and spied a really cute ostrich symbol. I didn’t even know which party it belonged to, but I thought it looked adorable and thought of stamping on it. However, after all was said and done, and I was standing behind the flimsy cardboard cutout that was the ‘polling booth’, I realized I was just exhausted  Tired out from the constant shifts, tired of my parents supporting different parties, and people telling me what to do. I thought about it for two seconds. The Metro Bus wasn’t a solution – it was a band-aid. Pakistan needed more vital things. Imran Khan was willing to address the core issues, the ones that mattered. And the ostrich was a ridiculous symbol for politics, since its a giant bird that ducks its head in the sand…

Stamped on the bat and walked out. Still subjective. Still half glass empty.

I have no delusions about the future of this country.

Ha.

*These political parties are the only ones that matter to me. The other ones weren’t worthy of being mentioned here.

Hold My Hand, You’re All Alone. And Now, So Are We.

How do I tell you what loneliness is?

Loneliness is standing in the middle of a raging thunderstorm, and being caught up by the noise inside your head.

It’s that time between day and night, when the day has begun to pick up it’s things and leave, and night is still a distant event.

Loneliness is aggressive, it fights; the strongest are often the loneliest.

Its being someone else’s support, holding them fiercely  willing them not to cry and wishing desperately you were in their place.

Loneliness is binging, starving and laughing. Its a mental state.

Trying to find solace in empty people, and empty words because the ones who matter – don’t.

Loneliness makes artists, happiness ruins them.

It’s too late to turn back now, art is the best form of loneliness.

Masala Tea, And Indian Memories

I wonder who among us doesn’t occasionally sit down and have tea with their memories. The past, whatever it is, just is. Or was, whichever is more appropriate. Memories are a strange and wonderful thing; sometimes you remember perfectly, that chunk of recollection is there in your palm, and yet at other times you embellish, add on to it, mould it in some way. Whatever the case here, I’ve decided to sit down and invite my memories to tea, in hopes of nostalgic conversation.

The one strong memory that comes forth sings of a foreign land, of earth beneath my feet that felt alien and familiar at the same time. It reminds me wistfully of a December morning when I stood toeing the line that divides my country and no man’s land. And I was thinking that surely, this was a girl thing, that men just weren’t allowed there in that strip of red earth and wasn’t that just something? I was also eleven years old and an idiot. We walked over that line, stepping over manmade borders to India, the land of masala chai, Shahrukh Khan and Bollywood dreams. I thought the earth would move, or someone would spontaneously burst into song, but none of that ensued. We simply walked over into another country and…took a bus. How is it that you step into another world, and don’t pause to think; this is another country, and the heart that beats in it isn’t the same? However at the time I recall thinking about how cold it was and that I should’ve worn the extra sweater mom had asked me to wear, even if it was brown and gross.

So we took the bus to Amritsar, and ended up in these tiny twisting streets. The one thing I remember about Amritsar was the sound of it: the clatters and yells and barks. Needless to say it was sort of a blur, what with me being shy and not deigning to look out of the bus window, less someone spotted me and yelled “Pakistani!” I was a stranger, and yet I felt like I had lived here all my life. I hadn’t gone to India alone; we were a group of people, and the ratio of guys to girls was unfairly portioned out, with way more boys than girls. Even as a child, I always got on better with guys; girls had a whole dramatic side to them I didn’t quite understand. Boys were easy, boys were transparent. If he liked you, he’d punch you on the arm or throw a pebble at you. Not like girls, with their snide whispers and fake-shy looks. So I made friends…in a way. In my way.

And what sits patiently waiting at the fuzziest edges of my memory is our trip to the Taj Mahal, in Agra. I remember feeling not so well, and ignoring my body’s warning signs to the fever that would soon spread. Instead, I took off my shoes like everyone else, and walked on the slick, freezing marble that makes up the monument, looking about me in a dazed way, as if there was too much and I couldn’t take it in. At one point, we stood underneath a tree that I thought was covered with brown dead leaves, and I felt sorry for it. However, an aged Sikh man pointed out that the ‘leaves’ were sparrows and I was looking at them open mouthedly, like the most naïve child in the world. I (no other word for it) freaked when they all flew away, and remember thinking that inanimate things might be alive, and I just hadn’t noticed them and maybe all of India was like this: surprises layered on surprises. And living breathing life had been hidden to look like dead rotting leaves. It was a most confusing thought, and I left it at that. I also got a high fever after that, which caused me to sleep with my mouth open, so there you go. Illness makes you mental; although as I always say, there is no definition of normal.

India was an experience, from buying Boro Plus to looking at authentic haldi, to sitting in cramped train bunkers, to being stranded on a Delhi train staition at two am, to visiting a dispensary with an amused nurse and a generous, comfortable doctor, to seeing the Red Fort blanketed with squealing brown monkeys like flies on honey, to staying in hotel rooms and sleeping on rugs, to going to Mcdonalds and eating vegetarian Big Mac and so much more. Oh, and to playing UNO, relentlessly, over and over, and over.

My memories keep me going.

A Controversy For Your Collection, Mr. President

Dear (Mr.) President of the USA,

(controversy, obviously)

I’d like you to trade places with me for a day. When you’re in my body and start to live your life, you’ll inevitably notice a lot of things. First off, you will wake up in stifling heat, your bedclothes pasted to you, by glue it’d seem. You will be perspiring freely and the humid Lahore weather won’t help. All of a sudden, you’ll get an idea. You’ll go turn on the air conditioner, expecting a chilling blast of cold air, and instead you’ll get…nothing. The AC will be quiet and I’m sure, so will you. Every hour on the hour the power will go out. You might be watching TV,  taking a shower, the power doesn’t care. Power outage will happen during weddings, parties and funerals.

Moving on, you’ll meet people in my house. You’ll meet the nine year old maid who was told that her mother died because Satan possessed her; (she was schizophrenic, but that’s our little secret, isn’t it?). You will see the drive to learn, to get educated. And you will also see the non existent funds available for free education. She was 6 years old when she started working to support her family, because her brothers both died from typhoid. What hospitals would treat them? Who would’ve given them beds to rest in, or vaccinations to buffer them from the world? Because you see, in this country we keep breaking, but we can’t afford to heal.

Going on in the day, you’ll meet the woman who comes in to cook. You’ll hear her story – she lost a husband in one of the numerous Shia Sunni feuds that happen almost day to day. You’ll see that we are as much the victims of these as anyone else. No, we don’t go around conspiring to drown our own religion every day. Just like in your country, you have Redneck Christians who would skin their daughters for even looking at strange boys, we have mullahs. We have fanatics. But fanatics don’t have us. Differentiate. Our ugliness is exposed, aired out everyday in the 5 o clock news, while yours’ remains hidden under layers of fireworks, bald eagles, Uncle Sam posters and bacon.

You think our hearts don’t bleed? Beards or no beards, burqa or no burqa, we’re people. You know, just like you? But after you listen to a hundred of grief filled stories, all you get is mild ear ache. Because everyone here has a sob story, everyone has suffering. I’m one of the lucky ones, I got education, I got opportunities. Hundreds of people lose lives because in view of the Bigger Picture and the Greater Good, one life doesn’t matter.

We’re in the midst of elections, and so many don’t know who to pick. Why should we put our fates into alien hands, who will take and never give back?

But what’s the use? I’m sure your life isn’t a picnic either.

XOXO

Ginny Weasley, Meet Real Life

So, my best friend and I (in a particularly twilight zonish bout of insomnia), were complaining about how girls in books never have to go through regular life. Okay sure, so they have a lot on their plates, what with Dark Lords, Dragons, and lumpy spaghetti. But as with the Harry Potter series, there’s magic, but how does it impact regular bodily function?

Let me explain.

In the books, Ginny is running around creating Dumbledore’s Army, smothering people in bat bogey and just swishing her red hair everywhere.

 A more realistic version would have been…

“Ginny looked in the mirror and winced. She’d slept late last night; the DA Members Reunion had gone on till 3 AM. Some people needed to learn when to stop, she though as she studied her face. The dark blue almost bruised looking dark circles she had acquired weren’t doing her complexion any favours but the worst was still to be seen. She tentatively looked towards her eyebrows and groaned inwardly: they had grown into a miniature forest. What with reunions and dropping her children off to school and wand practice, she had forgotten to get threaded. And horror of horrors, she had a brownish line of fuzz on her upper lip that needed to be dealt with, not by magic, but hot wax. She felt masculine and awkward, and knew her trip to the salon had been put off too long.

Pulling off the bed clothes, she looked down, expecting to see spotless sheets, and found a reddish smear. No, no, no, she thought. Not today! Now she’d have to stop by the store and pick up some tampons, and she already felt like a fuzzy mess. This day was getting worse by the second, and when she left the house, she didn’t even bother with make up. What would be the point?”

Now the thing is, Ginny is supposed to be an example of a strong female heroine, who in her boyfriend’s absence, founded a club and did lots of cool magic. But wouldn’t every girl be that, if she didn’t have periods or facial hair or shaving her legs to worry about? I mean, if I could get out of bed with flawless red hair and no spots or hair to worry about, I’d start setting up clubs too.

Zara, we need to write a REAL book.

Be My Friend, Lisa?

If anyone has seen Girl, Interrupted and not loved it, I would like to know them, and teach them a thing or two. Talk about moving chick flicks.

However, the point is, Angeline Jolie is absolutely stellar. Her character in the movie, Lisa is a sociopath with neurotic tendencies who has never gone into remission, and so is quite dangerous. She’s overtly sexual, inappropriate, fierce and literally nuts. She forges a friendship with the new girl in the institution, Susanna (Winona Ryder), and immediately takes over her. Due to their promiscuous natures, they become best friends, in whatever psychotic sense of the word.

The point I want to make though is, that despite her neurotic disorder and problems, I would kill to have someone like Lisa as a friend. She’s fearless, doesn’t give a thought to convention, and wants to be a professional Cinderella at Disney World. 

Girl, Interrupted basically blurs the line between normal and abnormal, and proves that everyone has good in them, no matter how wrong the wiring in their brain might be. 

Angelina Jolie completely deserved the Academy Award she got for Best Supporting Actress, because even though her character is a less than normal (whatever normal might mean), she’s lovable, strong, wild and careless. New role model?

After all, some insanity is good for the mind.

 

Dial 800-TAMPON (Or When A Psycho Calls)

*ring ring*

“Hello, who is this?”

“OhmyGOD hun I’m so glad you’re home! I have to tell you something dynamite! Ok so I’ll start with what happened yesterday!”

“- excuse me? Wh-who is this?”

“HUN I have no time to play your little games right now, just listen to what I have to say. Shut UP!”

“Umm…wrong number.”

“Oh please. Anyway as I was saying, I went to Eman’s house yesterday and her brother was there. I swear he was checking me OUT girlll, I was so excited!”

“I don’t know what you-”

“Don’t interrupt me, its rude. Anyway yeah. He was ogling me like cuh-razie! I was just like freaking on the inside but I played it cool you know. if ran to the bathroom and fixed my hair and everything!”

“…who’s eman? Who are these peop–”

“Hun shut up. So I fixed my hair and then I came out and guess who I found? That suh-lut Mahnoor was standing there talking to HIM. OH EM GEE *dramatic squeal*. I was so mad pissed!! Well anyway I told her to get out but it was eman’s house so she got mad at me. God these girls and their drama!”

“…uhh bye, wrong number.”

*phone clicks off*

*…ring*

“H-hello?”

“WHY would you close the phone on my face? Omg are you high or something??”

“Umm no, I don’t know-”

“Whatever. So listen. Her brother kept staring at me and I KNOW he wanted my numba girl! So I slipped him a paper with my digits you know. 21^st century gal and all that jazz.”

“I-I really have to go now.”

“Okay hun I’ll finish the story quickly. So I waited for him to call me but he didn’t and I thought you know, he must be gay or summat, but then later I just found out that I gave him my grocery list instead of my number! Poor guy must be goin’ to buy tampons right now. Well it was so mad funny! Ok bye then hun! See you in school! Muah muah!”

*phone clicks off*

*silence*

“What. Just. Happened…?”

-Confusion.

Blogging For Squirrels…And OCD

An ode to blogging.

-

To the fish in the river, and the fish in the sea

“Why do you live in water?”

“Ahh, you’d be pretty shocked if we walked, you see.”

-

To the kangaroo (addressing her pouch are we)

“Why do you keep little joey chest to chest?”

“Because then I can’t possibly misplace him, maybe?”

-

To the squirrel scurrying around, alert and busy

“Why do you gather nuts and acorns all year?

“Ahh well it saves me from boredom, and delinquency…”

-

To the Obsessive Compulsive housewife, as she sets place mats for three

“Why do you straighten the pepper shaker vigorously?”

“I can’t help it if it collects lint so dreadfully!”

-

And now me, and why I blog.

Well I blog because

I want

to one day

make the transition

from a blogger,

a thought collector,

and become

a Writer.

-

5 Disney Movies I Found Disturbing…

Okay so when you’re a kid and your parents pop in a Disney movie with lunch or supper, you get all excited. A fantasy land with cartoon characters and singing and dancing! What could be better? However, now that I’m older, I’m beginning to see those movies in a new light…

5. ALICE IN WONDERLAND (1951)

So, Alice takes a trip down a magical hole, chasing after a white rabbit that’s wearing a tailcoat and pocket watch. And after the whole fiasco ends, she wakes up and realizes its a dream? Yeah right. More like LSD. I’m so sure that instead of just having an overactive imagination, Alice smoked some mind warping drugs and went on a bender. That has to explain the weird characters, and especially the Queen of Hearts, who was about as gentle with her husband as a Black Widow spider. Also, she appeared to have several gender related issues.

Oh and the caterpillar was definitely smoking some sort of hash to be that creepy. The whole film was a colourful bright and entirely drug drenched affair.

4. TARZAN (1999)

When I saw this film again, I was struck with some very alarming thoughts. Tarzan, raised by apes lives in a jungle and wears a tiny loincloth. Plausible, yes. The perfect 8 pack, also plausible. However when Jane meets him, and falls in love, it’s clear what has happened. She’s from a typical British background, and was raised to sip tea and make polite quips about curtain fabric etc. Meeting Tarzan, it’s obvious she finds his primitive and rugged form quite alluring and ‘falls in love.’ Really? She gives up her dresses and bone china tea sets and settles down with a smelly jungle man who can’t even speak the same language? Talk about cultural barriers…

Also, HOW is Tarzan perfectly unshaven? Creepy. And lastly, what will Jane do when she gets her period in the jungle? Ape made tampons..?

3. PINOCCHIO (1940)

Hmm. I have just one main concern with this film. And that is the sheer disturbing fact of Pinocchio’s existence. Geppetto ails for a son, and so builds a wooden one? Umm, how does that add up? The normal process of procreation involves a man and a woman, and babies. Or has life taught me wrong? Because Geppetto here, instead of looking for a wife to have a son with, makes up a wooden version and then what? Waits for a miracle to bring him to life? Is Geppetto gay? Because as far as I’m concerned, he constructs a wooden doll and spends all day talking to him, just waiting for a fairy to show up…

Once Pinocchio becomes a ‘real boy’, he travels all over town with a cricket, just so he can learn how not to lie? Conquering one of the deadly sins is laudable but why is that the focal point of the film? Is there nothing else left in his life?

2. SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARVES (1937)

Alright, so I understand and can go along with the film to some extent. Evil stepmother hates pretty stepdaughter and wants her killed because of her own insecurity. Huntsman softens and lets the girl escape. Okay, then it gets strange. Snow White promptly finds a random cottage and cleans it…obsessive tendencies much? Moreover, she lives with and keeps house for seven dwarves… Inasmuch as there was a pastoral state of innocence, she stays with seven men and that too, quite cheerfully.

As if this wasn’t disturbing enough, the Queen transforms herself into an old hag and shows up at the cottage, offering Snow White a shiny red apple, a piece of which gets stuck in her throat, causing her death. Umm, Satan anyone? And the forbidden fruit? A loved Disney classic basically retells Adam’s fall from Heaven, with Snow White as Eve. Why are there scary Biblical images in a kids’ movie? Lastly, the Prince shows up and rescues his princess. He does two things. One, he saves her from dying, and two, he saves her from having a permanent Adam’s Apple, and becoming a man…

1. HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME (1996)

There is a reason why this film disturbed me. It wasn’t made for children. Claude Frodo, a lecherous  debauched priest was certainly not your average run of the mill kids’ villain. What made me uneasy was the expression on his face…his eyes screamed RAPE in every scene of the film. I will address this issue in a moment.

But first, Quasimodo. I’m certain that watching a hunchback who lives in a bell tower and is most certainly schizophrenic (the talking to gargoyles bit) is not healthy for children of any age. A child will get depressed at the morbid imagery and life story of the character.

Back to Frodo. When he sees Esmeralda, who’s made out to be a gypsy, there is a whole musical number about how evil and wicked she is. During the song, there are lewd images being drawn in the fire, clearly pointing to the fact that Frodo hates her because he simply wants to nail her, and can’t. Repressed and depraved sexuality in debauched Catholic priests is a widespread topic, but why is it shown in a kids movie? Yes, we know Frodo wants Esmeralda and that she represents free sexuality and femininity and Virgin Mary while the Church only looks upon Jesus, but why is this portrayed in a Disney cartoon classic? So so disturbing.

Broccoli Yes, Ryan Gosling No

The ‘I Am Sort of Weird’ List:

Basically, I’m different from a lot of people my age, and here’s how.

1. I love love LOVE broccoli. With cheese, without, steamed, boiled, mushy, anything.
2. I don’t like Ryan Gosling. Repeat. Do not. Never have, never will.
3. I think about things on various levels. For eg, I picture myself in the other person’s shoes, their mom’s shoes, and their dog’s shoes…Slight exaggeration of course.
4. I do not believe in marriage. I realize this shows my immaturity, or rebelliousness, or whatever. I just don’t see a point in it.
5. I don’t believe in staying alone, especially away from family. A lot of teenagers require personal space, etc…I never have. I’ve grown up very close to my sisters and parents. 
6. I believe in being a graceful person, and feminine. I was born a girl, and I’ll act like it. No swearing loudly, yelling, nagging, or ugly drinking, Ever.
7. I don’t wear rose coloured glasses. I know the world isn’t pretty and pink, and I’m okay with that. I know people fall apart, people fight, people kill, people betray. It takes a lot to shock me.
8. I believe in silver linings. That’s a contradiction, but I believe that everything has a good side.
9. I find frogs adorable. And grasshoppers. And ladybirds. 
10. And…I don’t like odd numbers, or uneven lists.