Cheeky Quotes

Thursday, 15 September 2016

On flow of love.

An aunt to 10 little ones . I have spent life in their clamour since i was 11 , when the eldest among them was born. The child who today, is the torchbearer of rationality and logic. He grew up with me. And then it was a blur of adorable living toys coming to me, filling my life with joy. The ones who were born abroad , I haven't put them to sleep in my arms , sung them lullabies , told them stories , bought them little gifts every day, kissed their little hands and feet , enjoyed each milestone from the first tooth to first day at school
I haven't had the chance to bond with them. I haven't been able to explore their innocence , know their nature , study their personality and marvel at the little wonders that they are.
The way of life is that the flow of love is from elders to the young. Compare what you mean to grandparents and what they mean to you . Compare how you cannot dedicate yourself to your aunts who took all the time to spoil you in your childhood . Compare how you can never be responsible for your parents as they were for you. This is how it is . You are going to be taken for granted too. As I love the children and spoil them silly , I know a day will come when they love someone and they are so consumed by the need to be with them that their story - teller khala would whose time they crave now would become a nuisance . I know it as I know the back of my hand because that's how we all are. There is no tragic undertone to it. If any nephew or neice of mine reads it in future , I am not going to be soppy about it. Be chill. I hope we always have fun outside of the constraint of the relation (as we do now).
The need for individual growth is embedded inside all of us. It is natural for us to want to realize our true potential. I wish best of the both worlds was possible as at a time. That it was possible to balance ambition and attachments on a scale.

Tuesday, 6 September 2016

The close mindedness of Urdu literature today disappoints me. (If what's being added to it by the female writers who wrote for digests originally can be called literature ). There is no spark of innovation , no appreciation of different characters who think beyond the bounds unless it is a story about their 'beautiful transformation' into pious and nice human beings ( read muslims ). The leap of the writers imagination is within the confines of societal norms.
People are diverse and so are their habits , the point of art , if there is any point of art is to appreciate and reinforce the beauty of individual experience. There are as many ways to live as there are people. There is beauty in the subjectivity of it. And the line between good and bad cuts through our hearts in different ways. I dont know a person who was completely good or one who was entirely bad. But the writers today seem to lack the depth of mind that pushes a person beyond their ridiculous need to paint things in black and white according to their beliefs.   It is hard enough with people but it is totally unbecoming of writers to be so close minded that they open their hearts , and  use their pen to glorify only the characters that attest to some set of morals that they believe in.

Urdu writers today are moral preachers first and writers later . They are so close minded , without any exceptions that it's sickening.  Unfortunately , they still exercise their influence over the society because no one can deny the might of pen. Thus the women in our tv dramas are wrapped in their self pity , crying all the time in the hope of salvation and  eventually they end up winning hearts with their patience . Thus our common woman thinks that following her heart is a crime she wouldn't be forgiven for, a crime even fate would remember.That's what  Substandard literature does: Inspires fear and narrow mindedness in choices.

Monday, 15 August 2016

Limits of fun

I like to hang around people who know how to have fun without feeling guilty. I think I don't remember many instances of having fun without feeling guilty. I know the reminder that the parents were doing so much for us was a true one. But I felt guilty in my heart , guilty before I could ask for one more hour in the park , guilty before I could ask for anything. And I know I would have got anything had I asked for it. But at a young age , I learnt to balance guilt and desire. Seemingly harmless statements such as 'you have had too much of fun already, and still you wont listen to me ' made a way for the guilt.The reminders didn't make me a content person. They opened a trade route between guilt and happiness . Slowly I became wary of too much happiness , too much enjoyment.  Except the enjoyment I got from myself , the leisurely walks into the garden of thoughts. That kind of fun started and ended at my will. I began to prefer it over other things. Because all people have a point of exhaustion. And they usually set their threshold low.

Tuesday, 2 August 2016

The soulful feeling is lost amidst the aspirations for glitz and glamor of wedding. It cannot change when the function is gathering - centric.  Not just the function , when whole lives are people centric. How can two people join hands , in a way of their choosing , comfortable on their common wavelength when it is not a matter between them, where they are not the ones setting terms , not the ones inviting guests.  ( The reason for their passive role is their dependence itself which is another story ) It really is a crowd. And people are there to find things they have done better in their respective weddings , or take note of things that they can do better. I am reminded of a bride and groom on the aisle , saying their vows , in front of adoring people. Because these were the people who were invited by the bride and groom , people who really meant something to them and were  not there just because they shared blood with a common relative : people who could not care less about you. I am reminded of the simplicity and purity of two people saying their vows , declaring their love to each other.
No amount of extravagance beats it , because the glamor can last in the photos, that too just for you.  People move on all the time. And then it becomes what society fought hard for it to not become : a personal affair.  Except it is too late then.

Friday, 17 June 2016

The best suited profession to me was law. I would have been a lawyer.  I have questions about that,  I would have picked very selective cases about which I was convinced that I was not defending a criminal (individual or mentality ).
But the need to settle things , the itch to pin blame , the hunger for conclusion , the problem with 'settlements'... I could make a profession out of it.
Sometimes it's more liberating for me to rationalize and find that I was at fault in a situation , because I am the only person who is in my control. When I own the blame , anger goes out where acceptance comes in , the path becomes clear.  Because now the things are under my control.
I can see where the cracks are , I call fill them in.

It is frustrating. And very hard for me to feel that an argument with a worthy person was not seen to its end. That some ends were left loose. That no conclusion was drawn. That whatever emotion the other person has settled on is not an informed one.
Sometimes long after a conversation has taken place ,one  that did not lift my heart , I think of a point.  And when I do , I want to say it to the person. World is free to interpret it as an obsession, as my inability to let go. What they don't understand is that I want to reverse the entropy. I want to instill some system in this chaotic world. I want words to have more value than people are willing to give them. I want to fix the loopholes in narratives. But it's always not under my control. I have to leave it to the people to see the cracks.

Monday, 13 June 2016

A writer ends his story on the note of some conclusion.  Some moral , some longing , some irony , some solution. He/She ( I wish there was a common third person singular pronoun so that I wouldn't have to  write He/She so often) would avoid an abrupt ending. Such a book wouldn't sell. Such a story wouldn't have a take home message. And before all this , such a writing would not satisfy the soul of the writer.

I, however , am confused. And unlike the past my thoughts will most likely come to an abrupt half of surrender.  Off the top of my head , after the killings in Orlando, I am thinking that  the design of a human life is so random. Yet we entitle ourselves to dreams and ambitions. We believe in a bigger picture. Some buy the religion. Others just join the different causes. Because we want a bigger picture.  As a doctor , I have seen death very closely.  I have seen life to be at mercy of an emergency tray. I have felt the pulse becoming feeble under my fingers until it disappeared. I have seen a horrified helplessness on the faces of people when they learnt that the two way communication with someone they love has been aborted for eternity. I have seen my fellows , my colleagues attributing this to the design of a God up there in sky. I have seen them take refuge in their convenient camps of wishful thinking. I have felt the rage choking my throat at their audacity to explain what cannot be explained. And the explanation of which does not have any meaning. You would know too if a body went cold in front of you. Everything that person said or did becomes meaningless. You will totally detach yourself from the feeling that it was a living person slowly. That is why it is so scary if a person , supposedly dead , would wake up. Because we just want comfort. Even if a person is dead we want the comfort of knowing that he is dead for sure. We want certainty.  Madly , we chase It. In ideals , in people, in relationships , in belief systems. We have zero tolerance for uncertainty . Thats why people believe. So that they can attribute their losses to will of a higher being orchestrating a bigger plan. That's why we don't stop to question why we are told that we are better than others ? How all what we have been told could be a lie ? How our lives might not be operating on a design ? How it could all be random. Random like you drinking a can of coke and a bullet hitting you in your head, numbing everything you ever felt.

I don't know what's the place for empathy. I think people can either operate on empathy or on principles.  Because the two paths don't intersect.  I live by the way of principles because the lack of boundaries in empathy horrifies me. I empathise with a robber who robs because he is hungry. Why I shouldn't empathise with a serial killer who kills because of his misshapen psychology ? Why I don't empathise with animals.  They are killed to feed me ? Where is the limit because If you look at it, every crime has a motive and one that feels very real to the one perpetrating it. I see the things close to my heart in black and white so I choose to stay aloof. I choose to hug principles defiantly because the lack of boundaries in empathy is frightening.  I am not selfish but I don't assume the right for people's welfare on myself. When I take away the burden from my shoulders , I feel the pain of people in my heart. It is a beautiful paradox of my life. I don't think I am supposed to help people. I don't suppose I am supposed to do anything , actually. This sponatenity makes me act in humane ways ( or ways I know to be humane in that they don't hurt any human in life or property ) but this spontaneity has also led human beings to be reckless and act in disregard for everything but themselves

There is nothing certain in life . I want to see certainty in love.At all times , in all weathers.  Which is probably  a mistake if you take certainty to mean something fixed and certainty does not mean things should happen as they are supposed to. How can it meant that when there's no way things are supposed to happen. Certainty is in the concept. It is in the background to the foreground. It's when you love the raw materials regardless of how the finished product turns out. And even though it's totally uninspiring and dull to look out of a window and see a staircase and unpainted back of a home, there is an option to paint the window in the picture of raindrops , clouds , and unlimited horizon. It will be perfect. And perfect never means what we are conditioned to believe is perfect. Peace is good but I have known some fights to be the closest to heart because they were are an act of catharsis. They revealed the beautiful self behind the facade.  Love can be faked. Fights can hardly be. They are the most genuine things that humans do.

I disapprove of idealism , not with a sneer of knowing better. But as an act of giving up to the random design of the universe. I don't know if any cause is worthwhile enough to commit myself to. I have one dear, short, uncertain and random life that I am holding onto very dearly. I allow myself to think for myself. I allow myself to speak for myself.