In Sanity

rizvi

your public is wonderfully tolerant. they forgive everything except genius.

ABCD

dont need to say more ..

Rizvi:

Nicely written. Too disjointed for my taste though. An abstract tapestry is moving if its various strands are each strong & profound but it comes across as deliberate and contrived if the threads are weak & inane. Don`t mean to be harsh... just honest.

I did find one aspect of this piece a little disturbing though...

I think everyone`s contemplated suicide at some level. Very few actually try and a vast majority of those who do deliberately ensure failure. Then there are those that have the misfortune of having someone near & dear try and succeed... or `almost succeed`.

To those that are acquainted with it... suicide is neither romantic nor sensual. The circumstances under which a person finds the necessary conviction to slit his own wrists are extremely dismal and depressing.

Only in pretentious or hallucinogen-assisted writing do people kill themselves because `they are in love with themselves`.

You know why Ricky Fitz in American Beauty says, ``Some times there is so much beauty in life that I think I cant take it anymore``? Because he`s smoking pot!

Latif Chappu.

t-bhai #15, ``.what is that oozing out in spurts?``

it is the blood oozing out of my ears from my slaughtered brain while i was reading your post.

apkay luvs meray sar kay uper say, ander say, aur kaat-tay hue guzar gaye

;)

Zehra,

By ``this too shall pass``, I mean the utter helplesness and senselessness of it all. Been there, saw it through (only to be revisited -- wake up calls??)

Sure, embrace the despair all you can,... but stop short of wallowing in it.

Things WILL start ot make sense, if not seem any more acceptable... that`s when you could say you`ve found lost and found God. But you have to find that out for yourself... beyta! :)

about the one-time idol... oh yaar... aise baate publuck maiN nahiN battana chaheyeh... uss shux ko achhi nahiN lagaygi!

rgds,

P.



slink... would you say the feeling is like mutual??

Re: F. Zehra Rizvi and her ``In Sanity``

It`s quite noticeable that it`s ``In Sanity`` and not ``Insanity.``

``My ayah began to put mirchi on my fingers before I went to bed.``

- You should get a coke bottle.

``The matter is that I was born Muslim and never got to decide. At 23 its past the age of decision.``

- No, you don`t get to decide when you`re 5 or 10. But at 23? Many cultures, including Muslim, consider that adulthood, free to make your own decision.

``they`ll kill me.``

- Trust me, no one would. Some would say good riddance.

``I want out.``

- Please, here`s is the door. It will be someone else`s filth.

``I invite all my lovers one by one to invade me``

- Otherwise known as a gang bang.

This essay is, in true tradition of Hanif Kureishi, another piece of excrement masquerading as literature.

Wonder what the ``F`` in F. Zehra Rizvi stands for.

Z,

regd my earlier remark that .. ``You are (were?) suffering the existential angst that any sensitive, contemplative, realistic, basically uncompromising, rather idealistic, strong-enough-to-feel-one`s-vulnerability type of individual will often suffer.``

I forgot to add ``looking-to-ssuck-the-marrow-of-life`` as a compound adjective up there...

Then again, maybe I subconsciously sensed some ambiguity with one of the verbs there`` :)

rgds,

P.

PS. ditto slink`s remark

U know reading your work felt like someone had just read my mind and put it up on the site...i guess what I`m trying to say is that its by far the most brilliant piece of work that I`ve read on chowk in a long time...more so because I cud relate to it...about the shaadi bit..here`s an insightful(?) lil observation...99% of desi gals go thru the eternal `shaadi karr lo warna bhudi kunwari ho jao gi`...but if u just flick em (the rishtas) left, right and center, it`ll go away...just like it did with me (or so i believe!! hehe!tho im not a bhudi kunwari mind u =p)...on a more serious note, you`re not insane...perhaps you`re the only sane one in this fake madness! take care and keep writing...look forward to reading more stuff from you...luv, samina =o)

Urstruly and Zehra,
I just wanted to let you know that
Noshi Gilani, who is a resident of the San
Francisco Bay area is thankfully still very much
alive and well and continues to remain one of
the finest Urdu poets resident in the USA.
The person Urstruly was possibly thinking of was
the late Perveen Shakir.

Ras

Zehra

naalaique@netscape.net

urstruly, nope, took the inspiration from my
own life...is noshi famous? any good?

im still alive though all those emails of DONT
DO IT ZEHRA!! are really gratifying.

farzana, guilt, kaisa guilt, kahay ka guilt? i like
what you did to the shirt...didn`t mean it but i
like it now.

PM...remind me who my idol was...i forget.
(seriously).

i don`t know if my identity has so much to do
with it as much as...helplessness.
but again, do you see that sometimes there
doesn`t have to be a nice packaged reason
why. not everything can be explained away
into something safely familiar. it can`t be all
that easy.

``this too shall pass`` well, why should it? why
not i take it apart, think about it, bathe in it, and
not just let it pass? koiee koh-koh ka game
thouri hai kay dh`kka diya and its somebody
else`s problem.
wow, i really miss playing koh koh.

thanks everyone.
rizvi.

Dirge

from the author of From the Table

to luXsrzs (all seven of them: others kindly ignore)

...where is luXsrzs...where are they...all seven of them...anyone really?...where is 911...duck...it could be anywhere in the innards of any inner city...or out in the suburbia void...or the 911 could be farmed out to far off lands with cheap labour pools...who gives a duck...the query is where is 911 when you need it...or...really it matters the least where they are...has anyone called them yet?...the bleeding...what is that...it can’t be blood...it isn’t red...ugh...has someone called 911 yet?...where is my cellular...duck...I don’t have one...will someone please?...duck, duck, duck...why am I so leery of ducking ‘I’?...wasn’t there in Rehmat’s Pakstan...to me it spoke volumes...the I is volatile, dangerous, egoistic, hazardous, radio-active...a killer...to be handled with derisive wariness...and is invariably always mishandled...tends to run amuck...living we don’t learn to handle the handles...colloquial?...so be it...the downfall of many is the mistreatment of their I’s...eyes, too...we seldom exercise full control over...use?...no control...has more premeditated deliberate-ness about it...almost a casual death wish at times...so imperceptible yet so distinct...like animals I have been cursed...to hear what normal folks cannot...so...why cannot we duck this I?...oh, we inadvertently and unknowingly do try...my query was on a conscious level... why don’t we make an effort at least?...or hit the delete button on the ego control panel more often?...has someone called 911?...yeh kya keh rahi hay?...nahin...kya likh rahi hay...so easy it is to drown in a sea of I’s...living we don’t realise how dead we are...so...so from Ayesha’s table I rose and went to that newer sub-division of the newer city...she wasn’t there...then went to the older area of the older city...what is it with folks...is yaari only upon demand?...there I go on yet other I’s...ensconced, elevated and protected and well fed egos begging love and understanding when they need it...am sure of this.. this will be read...every word...am unsure of my response...will cross that bridge if and when we come to it...so...it is nice to be dead...you can cross frontiers and time zones instantaneously and effortlessly...saw you in the older city, uncomplaining...and others...then came back here...pain and hurts abound and attract me...so I go from pain to hurt...and digression to digression...pain to perceptions of it...the p...and loyalty, love, life...make it l... the p & l of life....it is not an accountant’s statement...it is the balance of life...our paramount individual life...digressions...they are getting to be associated...almost a trade mark...not copyrighted...interesting how most of us claim exclusivity over pains...our pains are ‘it’...they stand out... overwhelm any pain down the centuries...ugh!...as if we own the patents..... number 098765432123456789....worldwide...little do we know mother of all pains has enough off-springs to satisfy the needs of several worlds for several milleniums...we should all re-learn the fine art of reading...between the lines...what makes us think our pain is greater than others?...yours greater than hers...or his...or...greater or smaller...I suppose the intensity is what matters...affects on individuals...or the perceptions of painful effects...when we come to this realisation it becomes easier to share the pain...to deaden the effects...digression over...in that room can see all of you...sometimes together...other times separately or with others...smoke, music, small talk, animated discussions, engrossing, engrossed, bites and biting...is that innocent looking hurt you by the pillar?...or is that...who is that in the corner?... and the one over there?...in that corner...in that other city...or the one across mountains?...so when did we learn life ducks?...almost with an inaudible sigh...life heads life...haha...and moves...dissolving...perceptions in perceptions of pain...as in yours, hers, his, mine, theirs...same with loyalty...again...perceptions as in perceptions of loyalty...as in yours, hers, his, mine, theirs...same subjectiveness...then why this inability to reason and add perspective?...why this urge for the blood to flow...that is the ultimate cop out....mother of all surrenders...have you not learned the greatest lesson is to love pain to make it disappear?...not blood letting...what is taking them so long?...irony is once you learn to love pain it doesn’t hurt...but if you love love it hurts...oh how... and in how many different ways...the flow is easing a little...am not a medic...but the pale face means you are gathering your bags...damn those medics...please wait, can’t you for a few more minutes?...what is that oozing out in spurts?...it is not red...why this urge to embrace the great equalizer...that is what death is...the final, ultimate, unalterable frontier...but not so...see I went there and came back...but from experience I can tell you...living in death is dull...there are no anguishes, scars, fights, victories after death...I hate the monotony...ofcourse there may be millions enjoying their houris...but thanks not for me...I’d rather be alive...but then I was never satisfied here either...so it may well be all conjectural...the meaning is always elusive...whatever it is...just beyond grasp...kuch samajh nahiN aata....jaisay yeh paRRhnay kay baad hum ko kuch samajh nahiN aata... and hopefully tumko bhee...and how...and having experienced peace I cannot recommend it either...the ultimate nirvana is not for everyone...certainly not for a bhatakti rooh...and no...I don’t tell tales...not the same ones...crap or ghost...not for me, both...forget the shirt...it is all over the rug now...will meet sooner than July...

Zehra,

It is a well-penned article. Any inspiration from Noshi Gillani? I think her (life &) death caused this domino effect in lady writers to write about death, suicide, and other macabre subject matter. Is that so?

A perfect illustration of PAP meets Reality bites. Trust me my dear heady days lie ahead(pun intended).

later

-sac

P.S. PAP: Pakistani American Princess.

re ROmair #274:

I thought you were simply out of touch with reality when you talk about Pakistan. I am more inclined toward a less charitable view now. Aitzaz Ahsan may not fit the mould of the traditional Chaudhry Hashmat shown on TV, yet his family owns more land than most of the so-called feudal landlords in our previous assemblies. Actually the portrait painted by ill-informed folks like you about the cruel self-serving feudal belongs to a bygone era. Land simply serves as a symbol of wealth. Most feudals are deeply entrenched into industry, beauracracy and even the military through clever allocation of capital and inter-marriages. Their new generation has been mostly educated abroad. They are one of the many sources of problems in Paksitan. Yet their nuisance is only bettered by one other institution. The guardian of our idealogical and geographical borders-The Army.

later

-sac

Zehra, my dear:

You have just released me. From the burden of self-consciousness that I continually deny behind the façade of defensiveness that sometimes manifests itself as indignation, often as untold sorrow. I loved your poignancy, but even more your courage to be able to say it. I do so too, but I suffer from post-masturbatory guilt, so to speak. I hope you do not. Or do you??

Oh, it is never past the age of decision (you are much too young) – there is always time to make up your mind and retract and retract and relive the jerky past. “The matter is the men I loved and those that loved me. We coordinated it all wrong.” Yeah, sure!

You wrote, “I’m wearing the new shirt I bought yesterday. I’m trying it on again, to make sure I love it just as much today as I had yesterday.” Were you talking just about a piece of clothing? A shirt? A life? A person? A shared moment? A screwed-up moment? I know you are in a ‘different’ place, but we can be where we are and feel different, be made to feel like aliens, with horns, horny…whatever.

I want to kill myself, you say. I said that too. I almost did. You like your smell. I like mine too. I am always sniffing, and imagine I am already in heaven.

With feeling,

Farzana