Wednesday, April 30, 2008

George: Callie told me she loved me, I just sat there. I wasn't ready, but now I'm gonna die, and I'll never get the chance to say I love you back.
Derek: Do you? Do you love her?
George: Maybe. Eventually, I could. One day...soonish...
Derek: Soonish. I will love you soonish? [laughs]

Grey's Anatomy, Episode # 301

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

'There was no such connection'

Parveen Shakir
Translated by Professor Alamgir Hashmi

There was no such connection between us.
Your shoulders held up no roofing.
I guarded no courtyard.
There was no promise to chain your feet.
No reassurance gripped at my wrist.
You were free
like the desert wind.
The paths were all your wishes' ways.
I, too, I see
had full use of my loneliness.

But today when you
switched your path to avoid me,
it seemed to us as if
you had not been faithful to me.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

X: I seek poetic expressions to describe love, but often they seem inadequate, and sometimes plain shallow. These are moments when the heart wants the truth about love and all verbosity only undermines the emotion. You are not the sunshine of my life or the waves in my ocean, because love isn't these things. But the truth is that for the past few hours, since the moment i woke up, i have been thinking about you, to somehow describe what i feel for you. Perhaps 'I love you forever' smacks of exaggeration to you. Maybe it does, but the truth is that as much as it is humanly possible, i want to love you and share my life with you till i die. Let the world say that the poet lies, but without you life is hell and you are my heaven.
Distinction is often made between outer (physical) and inner (mental) beauty, and to a great degree it does remain valid, but at some moments, it appears to me as if the distinction is being blurred, and it becomes impossible to determine which part of the beauty is physical and which is mental, and the person just appear to you as beautiful. Not beautiful from inside, not beautiful from outside, but just plain beautiful. Perhaps it sounds absurd, but i guess it is not possible to relate to this unless you have experienced it too, and if you have, then you'd know what i am talking about. But of course, beauty is a product of both subjective and objective perceptions, so the sort of beauty you perceive depends on your state of mind as well.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! I come not to bury Caesar, but to unearth the enigma of the very author of Julius Caesar! If you have any breath, be prepared to lose it now! If you thought fiction can beat facts, think again! I present to you the mystery of William Shakespeare! *drum roll*

Read my cover-story "The Mystery of William Shakespeare", published today in Us Magazine:

Thursday, April 24, 2008

My colourful rendition of Pablo Picasso's 'Blue Nude'; made with crayons.

Bree: "You shouldn't listen to a woman who's just had her heart broken. We tend to lie."

Desperate Housewives, Episode # 112

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

G: If i had to name you after a constellation, it would be Cygnus.
A: The swan? Why that one?
G: Because it has a long neck. :)
Addison: [to patient's parents, who is brain-dead but pregnant with a child] The problem here as I see it, is you want to use your daughter’s corpse as an incubator. That’s the problem!
Derek: A little sensitivity would be nice here, okay? (Addison looks at him in disbelief) They love their daughter. They don’t want to let go. Alright?
Addison: What they're doing is not about love, Derek! It’s- it’s- well, it's like you.
Derek (suddenly angry): Excuse me.
Addison: Like how you pretend to love me, but really you're just using me to fill some need you have to be a good guy.

Grey's Anatomy, Episode # 225

It hasn't felt like this before
It hasn't felt like home before you
And I know it's easy to say but it's harder to feel
This way
And I miss you more than I should
Than I thought I could
Can't get my mind off of you
I know you're scared that I'll soon be over it
That's part of it all
Part of the beauty of falling in love with you is the fear you won't fall
And I hate the phone
But I wish you'd call
And I miss you more than I should
Than I thought I could
Can't get my mind off of you

Joshua Radin, The Fear You Won't Fall

Sunday, April 20, 2008

"There is not any memory with less satisfaction than the memory of some temptation we resisted."

James Branch Cabell

Friday, April 18, 2008

Facebook users will really enjoy this video!

Summer Love
By Muhammad Awais Aftab

With a touch of hand, a flick of eyes
You took my heart, my mind
My body, my soul
You said our love's vesper bell would never toll
But it lasted just a summer

The autumn wind, so fit for love
Would have welcomed us on the orange path
As we walked among trees, grand and tall
You said it would never fall
But it lasted just a summer

I had looked forward to winter nights
When our sighs would freeze in air
And love would keep us warm
You said it would never lose its charm
But it lasted just a summer

The spring rose would have longed for me
To pluck it up
And place it in your hair
You said it would never wear
But it lasted just a summer

It was in treacherous heat
We met, we shared
We loved, we burnt
Now my broken heart would never mend
You said it would never end
But it lasted just a summer

[Published in Us Magazine today]

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

"It would seem that when a culture lacks monsters to kill, civilizations worth fighting for, or ideas to advance, men seem to dissolve in effeminate idleness, making the art of love their main profession."

James Weigel, Mythology

Monday, April 14, 2008

Dr. Bailey: I sat up one night. Middle of the night … and I knew I could do this... I still don’t know how I’m gonna do this but … I knew I could do it. You just have to know and when you don’t know then no one can fault you for it. You do what you can when you can, while you can. And when you can’t, you can’t.

Grey's Anatomy, Episode # 213

Saturday, April 12, 2008

The Risen Christ Appearing to Mary Magdalen by Rembrandt


by Linda Pastan

In ethics class so many years ago
our teacher asked this question every fall:
If there were a fire in a museum
which would you save, a Rembrandt painting
or an old woman who hadn't many
years left anyhow? Restless on hard chairs
caring little for pictures or old age
we'd opt one year for life, the next for art
and always half-heartedly. Sometimes
the woman borrowed my grandmother's face
leaving her usual kitchen to wander
some drafty, half imagined museum.
One year, feeling clever, I replied
why not let the woman decide herself?
Linda, the teacher would report, eschews
the burdens of responsibility.
This fall in a real museum I stand
before a real Rembrandt, old woman,
or nearly so, myself. The colors
within this frame are darker than autumn,
darker even than winter—the browns of earth,
though earth's most radiant elements burn
through the canvas. I know now that woman
and painting and season are almost one
and all beyond saving by children.

Friday, April 11, 2008

The Photo Album
By M. Awais Aftab

He was sitting in his personal library reading Sartre's Nausea when he heard the shrill, complaining howl of wind outside, as if the wind goddess was venting out her anger. He put down the book on the side table, took off his reading glasses and walked up to the locked window. He hadn't seen it ajar since… he couldn't remember the last time. With a strong jerk, he yanked it open. An eager burst of cold air greeted him, and he shivered in reflex. "Huh… it's cold!" slipped out of his mouth without warning. He stared outside at the starless horizon. The night was like a young maiden with dark hair -- dark like magic, dark like memories. He had never felt comfortable in cold, and even now his chest, a chronic victim of bronchitis, was suffering from the merciless hammering of the arctic air, but somehow he was tempted; like a priest caught in the glutinous gaze of a prostitute. He felt the warmth being sucked out of his limbs. The goddess was fuming indeed but it was the frosty nature of this fury that mystified him. Something was out there; and that something was trying to tell him something. He didn't know how long he stood there like that; the chilly fingers of the tempest playing with his body.

Time had frozen but not his wall clock, which announced the arrival of midnight with mechanical indifference. That striking broke the mesmerism of the moment, and he drew back. His hair ruffled, his skin pale, his mind confused; he panned his gaze around the room, searching for some unknown item. And he found it, the electronic calendar on the far corner of the shelf displaying the date. He spoke the date aloud, and the gale shrieked in affirmative. He sat down on the couch, weakened by the realization. So many years had passed since that day. He shook his head in disbelief.

Slowly, he rose and staggered to a closet. The stiffness of the lock bore witness to the dark, ancient moments caged inside. It was a prison of memories… memoirs that had gone delinquent and needed to be incarcerated. With shaking hands, he took out a photo album, clad in a dark binding. Sitting on a chair, he flipped the cover with hesitation. It was a moment of asking the old questions again, questions which had no answers. Every picture in it had a story to tell -- tales of love, sacrifice, and tragedy. There were relationships that just died away; there were intimacies that were brutally murdered, there were affairs in which he was the victim. "Why is this particular one so special?" he wondered; perhaps because she was still a mystery, perhaps because he had never understood her. She had walked away with silence, and that silence still permeated his existence. Like a wild question mark, she drifted along every sentence of his life. Like background radiation, she was always present. Would he ever encounter her again? He did not know, but he would not complain even if he did not -- an enigmatic, unanswered love was something he could live with; something which would make him still ponder when he would have forgotten even the names of other women. He would always ask himself the question, "If she didn't love me, why did she come back, only to leave me again?" He would remember her as the woman whom he had failed to understand, who had always left him perplexed, who had defied all his precious axioms of human behaviour. He closed his eyes and began to hum a song that came out of the memory attic:

"Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find
You and I collide…"

And without realizing, he drifted away into sleep. The photo album was still on his lap but the spot on which it was opened was empty; there was no picture on that page.

[Published in Us Magazine today.]

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

'A man who cannot enter your heart, cannot enter your eyes.'

Tehmina Durrani, Blasphemy
Today i am getting a chance to do something which i don't get to do very often: feature the writing of another fellow writer. It is an article by Dure Aziz Amna, a dear friend and like a sister, and offers a mixture of political insight and wisdom of a fairy tale. The ideology of the article is, of course, purely hers, and does not represent my views. Read it for yourself, and feel free to comment.

The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land

Dure Aziz Amna

Once in a far-off world, there was a place called The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land. This land, as can be deciphered from its name was a lovely, truly lovely place.

There were mountains which stood tall and white
And rivers which gushed with might
Deserts with winding tails to tell
In short a lovely place to dwell

But you see, this breathtaking beauty had been bestowed at a price. The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land had come into being after a lot of its darling people had given their lives for it. And when their sacred blood soaked into the land they had lived and died for, it granted to the area a shimmering beauty, a vivacious energy.
There lived in The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land many people-some good, some bad, some both, some none. There was however one man who was known by all the inhabitants of the land, a man who had risen above all of them-he was the creator of The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land. They said of him that he had great conviction and dedication, they thanked him even after years and years of his demise, they prayed to God to be as good to him as he had been to them. They truly loved him, as if he was light if they be moths, as if he Rain if he be the parched earth.
Then there was another man, also an inhabitant of The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land. Actually, he was a poet. And aah, what a poet! He dreamt and wrote, he felt and wrote, he sighed and wrote, he cried and wrote. Entrancing though his eloquence of language was, what was even more striking was the deep love he had for his country, which shone through every verse of his. He cared for his country and made no efforts to hide this fact. However, in The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land, this was a huge crime. When you cared for a people, you were honest to them. And truth at the time was one of the most despicable sins in the land. As this man himself said, the land had a ‘tradition of submission, whereby no one could walk with his head held high’.
For such and similar outrageous statements, the poet spent many years languishing in prisons. However, his reaction is best summed up when he writes: ‘On this heart there is every stain except that of shame’.
Some years after this man had died too, there rose on the scene the third man of my tale. This man felt that The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land was too less beautiful and too less unfortunate. He decided that something had to be done about it. Although his favourite colour was brown as he often wore clothes of that colour, he tried to paint The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land a deep, frightful black. Slowly at first, he at last erupted. Erupted like a huge grenade, crushing everyone around him. Now he openly started a Machiavellian drama-trying to throttle every throat from which issued a voice of dissent against his cruel rule. So much so that any inhabitant of The Beautiful, Unfortunate Land could be taken to the gallows if they dared to utter a word against him. But you see, the Brown Man was a little batty. It is indeed easy to silence one irritating voice, two, or three of them. But when millions of voices began to oppose the Brown Man’s repressive regime, he knew that all hope was lost, that when a whole nation had been stirred there was no way he could continue with his brutal rule.
And then the triumphant inhabitants of The Beautiful Unfortunate Land (which was much less unfortunate now that its people spoke out) celebrated. They danced and sang their unique ditties, they laughed and they clapped, they bowed in thankfulness to God and cried out of sheer joy, not at a single man’s defeat, but at a whole nation’s victory. And although it is untrue they never had any problems again, they definitely were able to have one word deleted from the name of their land, which was now simply The Beautiful Land.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Karl (Patient): [to George] But sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, they just can't love you back in the same way. Believe me, son. Living with a woman who can't love you back ... way lonelier than being alone.

Grey's Anatomy, Episode # 211

Monday, April 7, 2008

on deviantART
Inspired by the song Amaranth by Nightwish

Saturday, April 5, 2008

I just read the impressive manifesto of L. James Hammond on his website. Very wise words:

'The Philosophy of Today is both a religion and a philosophy; it satisfies both spiritual needs and intellectual demands. It has given up on traditional religion, monotheistic religion. It doesn’t believe in a Creator God, a Ruling God, a Judging God. But it also is wary of atheism because it believes that the universe is suffused with energy, power, mystery, even a kind of consciousness. Thus, it isn’t exactly atheist, and it isn’t exactly theist; one might say that it defines god in a different way, or calls god by a different name.

The Philosophy of Today is akin to Eastern worldviews, such as Zen, insofar as those Eastern worldviews are both a philosophy and a religion, and those Eastern worldviews are neither atheist nor theist (in a Western sense). The Philosophy of Today heals the rift that has sundered philosophy and religion since the time of Descartes. Religion has long been based on faith and revelation, while philosophy has been based on reason. But our religion isn’t based on faith, and our philosophy isn’t based on reason. We’ve brought religion and philosophy together, and we base both of them on intuition, feeling, and experience, as well as reason.'

Read the complete manifesto here.

Friday, April 4, 2008

The response of my very kind and nice friends when they saw me in Shalwar Kameez today :

* 'Masha Allah!'
* 'Aaj tu juma parhnay ka plan hay!'
* 'Tum musalman hogaye ho?'
* 'Syed bananay ki koshish kar rahay ho ab!'
* 'Suna hay tum ne kal apnay ghar main philosophers kay but torr diye hain!'

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Well there's not a lot for you to give if you're giving in
And there's not a lot for you to feel if you're not feeling it
You bring it up and bring it in and we'll get you fixed up in no time

What I wanted most, what I wanted most, what I wanted most
Was to get myself all figured out
And what I figured out, what I figured out, what I figured out
Was that I needed more time to figure you out

There's not a lot for you to give if you're giving in
And there's not a lot for you to feel if you're not feeling it
You bring it up and bring it in and we'll get you fixed up in no time
Cause this love is all I have to give
This love is all I have to give

Tegan and Sara, Fix You Up

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

I saved a seat for you! :)

"I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life... to put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." [and, i'd add, not loved. :) ]

Henry David Thoreau

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Saad: Do you have any interest in Tennis?
Me: Well, mujhe pata hae ke is main love hota hai!

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