Too many thoughts and too much chaos
Words buzzing in my head
Feelings and emotions
Dreams and hopes
Tears and fears

A noise playing all by itself
A darkness hiding nothing but itself

There was a time I could cry
There was a time I could talk
There was a time I could write

Today am bereft of all these escapes

Catharsis is a remote possibility
May be no expression can heal these wounds

The scars always remain
I scratch them just to feel alive again

I bleed occasionally
I scratch deeper
I feel scattered pain
I cannot trace its origin

It hurts to have so many stitched pieces for a soul
It hurts to know I hurt no more


another long idle sunday

this old friend dropped in...crazy cooking...lots of talking...catharsis...idiocy...weird theories...strange ideas about life love and so much more...love you babes...it's a joy to know that we can still sit and celebrate nothing but temporary insanity

apart from that...still in love with ghalib...still reading singh bit by bit...ghalib's delhi has so much to it especially when singh writes about it


A 'blasphemous' cartoon and so much talk.

I am none to talk for I am not a believer. Yes, you are right. I cannot empathize with Muslims. I was born a forced outsider. Overtime I have given up on trying to be a part of you all.

So here goes what the outsider sees. I see a cartoon. I do not find it funny. I do not find it offensive too. It's just a cartoon. Even children know not to take one seriously. Then why fret over it so much.

I was out with friends last evening when parents called in one after another, each one panic stricken.

'They killed two people on the Mall road'
'They put the assembly on fire'
'They are looting a bank and torching the remains'

They? Who are they? How about a moment of honesty here? How about taking responsibility for once?

WE killed two people.
WE put the assembly on fire.
WE looted a bank.

Yes, WE, the blessed followers of the dearest prophet of God. WE, the believers.

I learned an important lesson yesterday. A lesson that defines me for who I am. A lesson that draws the lines of discrimination that no similarties can erase.

WE, hold religion dearer than ourselves - dearer than the two men we killed - dearer than the assembly that mocks representation - dearer than the national bank.

I felt afraid yesterday. I felt betrayal and disbelief.

These roads are paved by my tax money. These green belts adorn memories of my journey. These trees have given me shade on hot summer days. These traffic lights have blinked for me time and again.

This is my city. This is home. Why must I feel afraid in my own city. Why must I feel afraid in my Lahore.

On a less sentimental note I fail to see how it all adds up. We killed our own to defend a face maligned by our own deeds. We played right in to the trap. What better way to prove the prophet as a messenger of peace than killing your own people and torching your own buildings.

On account of being a heretic once again, if I happened to be the prophet, I would value human life above my name. Since your prophet must have been more chaste and righteous thn me, how can you ever explain this carnage in his name?

P.S. Two days back I asked my students how many of them felt strongly about this whole cartoon business. Half of them raised their hands high and stiff. I asked next as to how many have seen the cartoon. All hands dropped within a second. I remember witnessing the same when an instructor at college asked how many people want salman rushdie stonned to death.



I know can stir affection with a little effort but affection comes without trying doesn't it?