Temporal March 9, 2005
Tags:
Kaun Si Uljhan Ko Suljhaatey haiN hum?
[Warning: offensive language and subject matter.]
* * *
Pyaray dearest:
Yaara what is it with men and me? -- after Sunil married that mullani bitch he grew a moustache-less beard -- I cannot tolerate that pseudo pious look
-- I attended this religious function -- the mullah delivering the lecture was cute -- yaar I don’t recall the last time I had seen a man with surma in his eyes – I was intrigued enough to say to myself I must have him -- and guess who he screwed that night?
Yaar these buggers have no faith or belief system, really – Jawwad literally moved in with his musalla and tasbih -- not that he fiddled with the rosary much in private or use the prayer rug for that matter-- interesting times I had with him -- learned how to twist Islam to satisfy almost any whim -- he was insatiable, oddly attractive and so much in control -- this ayat means this and not that -- chalo bhayee, theek hay -- achcha, achcha theek hay -- but I have never known religion to be twisted so blatantly -- so much for the inherent flexibility of Islam -- oddly my respect for Islam survives -- despite all the cuckoos in my life -- I have retained a healthy skeptical respect -- sometimes I fear my attitude -- my self -- though mostly I am at peace -- this is a simultaneously frightening and rewarding experience -- and I feel so close to the Ultimate Force -- being, god, Allah -- I feel ready -- do I make sense?
I will be leaving shortly to let you to come to terms with your dilemmas -- I have but this one -- chalo bhayee jao -- Khush raho ahl-e-chaman hum tou chaman choRRh chalay -- you were the first person who aroused my curiosity when there were no uljhans in my mind save one -- but so much has come to pass since -- what do you make of this?
Damn -- it looks as if it is cloudy out the window -- not really -- the cancer has spread to affect vision in one eye -- staring at this keyboard with one good eye how can I so easily forget -- oh how we block perception to suit us -- listen, I will put you out of your misery soon -- promise -- perhaps another month or two?-- and then you can bring roses to your pyari without incurring any guilt -- promise? -- but when it happens I want to be cremated -- no two ways about it -- my Allah will accept me -- don’t know about yours -- don’t really care now -- don’t want to think about it -- feel like echoing Saqi Farooqui on board that ship that was carrying his family from Chittagong to Karachi when in mid storm he went up the deck and yelled heavenwards, " O God! O Saalay! Take this fucking storm back. Take it back." He listens -- He listens -- all you have to do is talk to him -- Oh back to Jawwad -- he left to find his god -- I became a laughing, taunting, challenging failure for all he believed in -- I disoriented him -- despite all his faith and dua’as and wazifaas he could not hack it -- living with me -- I was too weak to pursue him -- I couldn’t give a fuck by then yaar -- what was it Ghalib said about when one has to die then why…?
You say “stop this cuntfession, you fucking bitch, stop this, you are driving me crazy!” sweet words, never thought I would hear them from you, you anal retentive bhenchaud, I still love you and am glad you are coming out of your puritanical fucking shell now -- oh next month is your anniversary, you told me you were going to St. Maarten -- so I will clear the deck for you before then -- go and try to relax and get the past few months out of your mind -- reflect by those gorgeous sunsets and sunrises and those eternal confrontations of the serene silence of the shore and the roar of the ocean -- so tonight I will go -- I will walk, trudge or crawl into the garage and turn on the engine -- see you there next -- so love E for me -- tumhari pyari -- Oh, I just remembered -- what will you do with my ashes? Sprinkle over Delhi, Lahore or Ajmer? Immerse in Indus, Ganges -- no, no -- put me next to the Ghalib books on your shelf, promise...
* * *
From the as yet unfinished sequel The Other Half.
[ ....the ashes are on the shelf. Don’t know what to do.]
________________________________________________________ _____________
copyright temporal
Grateful acknowledgments for Harris Khaleeque and Khalid Sohail for permission to use from their works. * * *
Pyaray dearest:
Yaara what is it with men and me? -- after Sunil married that mullani bitch he grew a moustache-less beard -- I cannot tolerate that pseudo pious look
Yaar these buggers have no faith or belief system, really – Jawwad literally moved in with his musalla and tasbih -- not that he fiddled with the rosary much in private or use the prayer rug for that matter-- interesting times I had with him -- learned how to twist Islam to satisfy almost any whim -- he was insatiable, oddly attractive and so much in control -- this ayat means this and not that -- chalo bhayee, theek hay -- achcha, achcha theek hay -- but I have never known religion to be twisted so blatantly -- so much for the inherent flexibility of Islam -- oddly my respect for Islam survives -- despite all the cuckoos in my life -- I have retained a healthy skeptical respect -- sometimes I fear my attitude -- my self -- though mostly I am at peace -- this is a simultaneously frightening and rewarding experience -- and I feel so close to the Ultimate Force -- being, god, Allah -- I feel ready -- do I make sense?
I will be leaving shortly to let you to come to terms with your dilemmas -- I have but this one -- chalo bhayee jao -- Khush raho ahl-e-chaman hum tou chaman choRRh chalay -- you were the first person who aroused my curiosity when there were no uljhans in my mind save one -- but so much has come to pass since -- what do you make of this?
Damn -- it looks as if it is cloudy out the window -- not really -- the cancer has spread to affect vision in one eye -- staring at this keyboard with one good eye how can I so easily forget -- oh how we block perception to suit us -- listen, I will put you out of your misery soon -- promise -- perhaps another month or two?-- and then you can bring roses to your pyari without incurring any guilt -- promise? -- but when it happens I want to be cremated -- no two ways about it -- my Allah will accept me -- don’t know about yours -- don’t really care now -- don’t want to think about it -- feel like echoing Saqi Farooqui on board that ship that was carrying his family from Chittagong to Karachi when in mid storm he went up the deck and yelled heavenwards, " O God! O Saalay! Take this fucking storm back. Take it back." He listens -- He listens -- all you have to do is talk to him -- Oh back to Jawwad -- he left to find his god -- I became a laughing, taunting, challenging failure for all he believed in -- I disoriented him -- despite all his faith and dua’as and wazifaas he could not hack it -- living with me -- I was too weak to pursue him -- I couldn’t give a fuck by then yaar -- what was it Ghalib said about when one has to die then why…?
You say “stop this cuntfession, you fucking bitch, stop this, you are driving me crazy!” sweet words, never thought I would hear them from you, you anal retentive bhenchaud, I still love you and am glad you are coming out of your puritanical fucking shell now -- oh next month is your anniversary, you told me you were going to St. Maarten -- so I will clear the deck for you before then -- go and try to relax and get the past few months out of your mind -- reflect by those gorgeous sunsets and sunrises and those eternal confrontations of the serene silence of the shore and the roar of the ocean -- so tonight I will go -- I will walk, trudge or crawl into the garage and turn on the engine -- see you there next -- so love E for me -- tumhari pyari -- Oh, I just remembered -- what will you do with my ashes? Sprinkle over Delhi, Lahore or Ajmer? Immerse in Indus, Ganges -- no, no -- put me next to the Ghalib books on your shelf, promise...
* * *
From the as yet unfinished sequel The Other Half.
[ ....the ashes are on the shelf. Don’t know what to do.]
________________________________________________________ _____________
copyright temporal
Footnote
[From Saqi’s interview curtsy Khalid Sohail, Toronto, February 1999.]
I and my brother traveled in a seven-storied
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