In Sanity
Zehra Rizvi March 7, 2001
#1 Posted by Chotu on March 6, 2001 7:12:03 pm
Zehra,
I`ve never been to French Roast, heard about it though. Is it open 24 hrs like L`Express?
By the way, whacky article. I think I need to read it some more to figure out what is generating the negative emotions. One is only a hypocrite if they want to be. But I know it can be difficult coming from a Pakistani background - particularly for women.
Peace
I`ve never been to French Roast, heard about it though. Is it open 24 hrs like L`Express?
By the way, whacky article. I think I need to read it some more to figure out what is generating the negative emotions. One is only a hypocrite if they want to be. But I know it can be difficult coming from a Pakistani background - particularly for women.
Peace
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#2 Posted by Asim on March 6, 2001 7:20:31 pm
Whats up with all these fine upstanding well educated writers, sepcially of the female variety, on Chowk writing such macabre pieces.
Is there not anything worth writing about about the beautiful life, as opposed to the gruesome death sketches which have been hitting Chowk at an alarming rate.
Surely the well fed, foreign travelled, distinguishing Pakistanis abroad are not miserable.
Asim
Is there not anything worth writing about about the beautiful life, as opposed to the gruesome death sketches which have been hitting Chowk at an alarming rate.
Surely the well fed, foreign travelled, distinguishing Pakistanis abroad are not miserable.
Asim
#3 Posted by scout on March 6, 2001 7:48:52 pm
i shouldn`t have read this. like the weather in new york wasn`t bad enuff.
gandi bachi :)
gandi bachi :)
#4 Posted by Ras Siddiqui on March 6, 2001 8:09:27 pm
Hmmmmm....
A very happy Eid Mubarak to all Chowkies.
Ras
#5 Posted by hobbyty on March 6, 2001 8:30:51 pm
Ms. Rizvi:
Be the heroine of your own life. Don`t waste your time thinking ``this hurts so good``. If you think you`re going to regret it, that`s your signal to do it. Create some regrets, what`s life without regrets? Ride`em girlie! And please, don`t you stop writing.
Be the heroine of your own life. Don`t waste your time thinking ``this hurts so good``. If you think you`re going to regret it, that`s your signal to do it. Create some regrets, what`s life without regrets? Ride`em girlie! And please, don`t you stop writing.
#6 Posted by Zehra on March 7, 2001 1:51:18 am
chowk staff, my darling chowk staff...editing issues to point out.
the section where i go into the ``the matter is...`` each sentence has its own line. the prom queens didnt get their own line. hurry before my temporal bhai jaan comes and scolds me for sloppy editing. i can already see things in this piece that will just pinch his butt :) we all live to pinch his butt though :)
thanks for putting it up..wasnt sure if it was too much for you guys.
for he who asked, french roast is 24 hours....i just get coffee and mashed potatoes there...they give you bread with it...jannat hai.
hobbyt...ap ko nahin maloom, main aik full time raaj kumarni houn.
rizvi
the section where i go into the ``the matter is...`` each sentence has its own line. the prom queens didnt get their own line. hurry before my temporal bhai jaan comes and scolds me for sloppy editing. i can already see things in this piece that will just pinch his butt :) we all live to pinch his butt though :)
thanks for putting it up..wasnt sure if it was too much for you guys.
for he who asked, french roast is 24 hours....i just get coffee and mashed potatoes there...they give you bread with it...jannat hai.
hobbyt...ap ko nahin maloom, main aik full time raaj kumarni houn.
rizvi
#8 Posted by PM on March 7, 2001 9:17:43 am
Zehra,
I could try to comment on this piece from a literary standpoint, but would probably sound -- and be -- phony. Suffice it t say there are traces of your one-time idol here. This is compelling reading, macabre and disjointed as it was in places.
I don`t think any of your despair has solely to do with your identity crises as a Pakistani-American, though that probably seems the most likely source. 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 would`ve added `while growing up`, but I`m not sure that ever stops. Neither am I certain in any degree of the stage I am in that process.
Maybe it`s just a realization of the realities of the world, in more than the abstract way we once ``understood`` them. It could be the start of greater awareness if handled delicately, and faithfully, without killing it with inappropriate, unrealsitic optimism. As the good Books and the Byrds,say ``There is a Time, turn, turn... to every season, turn turn...``
This to shall pass, Zehra (and maybe revist) ... But faith will lead you home.
(I`m assuming we have a common, if inarticulate notion of `faith` here)
Warm regards,
P.
I could try to comment on this piece from a literary standpoint, but would probably sound -- and be -- phony. Suffice it t say there are traces of your one-time idol here. This is compelling reading, macabre and disjointed as it was in places.
I don`t think any of your despair has solely to do with your identity crises as a Pakistani-American, though that probably seems the most likely source. 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 would`ve added `while growing up`, but I`m not sure that ever stops. Neither am I certain in any degree of the stage I am in that process.
Maybe it`s just a realization of the realities of the world, in more than the abstract way we once ``understood`` them. It could be the start of greater awareness if handled delicately, and faithfully, without killing it with inappropriate, unrealsitic optimism. As the good Books and the Byrds,say ``There is a Time, turn, turn... to every season, turn turn...``
This to shall pass, Zehra (and maybe revist) ... But faith will lead you home.
(I`m assuming we have a common, if inarticulate notion of `faith` here)
Warm regards,
P.
#9 Posted by veeresh on March 7, 2001 9:17:43 am
I never knew Pakistani women (look, nothing to do with religion, Kashmir or beauty parlours, see?) were ``like that`` till today. I never thought Indian women were ``like that`` till I grew up (I am still 16).
Bravo lady, just goes to prove that even fellatio transcends borders. I have this great vision for peace, it consists of us importing (natch!!) colonial houris who will stand at the border between our countries giving head or giving ass . . . instead of selling guns and aircraft.
Purrfect . . .
Bravo lady, just goes to prove that even fellatio transcends borders. I have this great vision for peace, it consists of us importing (natch!!) colonial houris who will stand at the border between our countries giving head or giving ass . . . instead of selling guns and aircraft.
Purrfect . . .
#10 Posted by anNy on March 7, 2001 9:17:43 am
My dear Zehra,
``My Amee to my Abbu: Bechari ka kya karengay? Abbu to Amee: Shadi. Amee to Abbu: Be serious. Abbu to Amee: Shadi.``
For me there was a point when I quite enjoyed these conversations…I reveled in them…my ``wierdness``..i`m different u hear? Not like all these other stoopid lil gurls who`ll dress up for prospective muminlaws..such losers really..and besides I`m a helluva lot gorgeouser…then there came a point when I realized there really was no way out..i tried hard..so hard to get what it takes..to fit the mould..to make them happy, maybe..but so deep-rooted it was that inspite of giving it all I had I could not..now I just feel sad...all the time...amma and abba...these are beautiful people and they deserve better..a better offspring..amma no longer bothers telling me about how nice looking the latest rishta is or how rich or what lovely ivy league heez from..she just looks at me sadly before telling the lady on the line that no..the girl is not ready..at 19 that`s still okay…5 months from now when im 20 it`ll be but another story…but all of this doesn`t really matter..what matters more to me at this point is my amma and abba…that they after all the budtameezee, swearing, lieing, disgracing, fighting they still love and pray..and they hurt
``all she`s done for me, the pains I`ve taken to do the opposite, yet she loves and prays for me. God bless her``
u`ve put it better..may He bless them all
``I`ve painted my toenails red. I like it. They look sexy. My mother will try hard to take it all off though before sending me off to God. Red never comes off properly``
I took it off after abbaz 2 week agony got the better off me..its peeking from under the bed next to the green pringle ka dabba as I type
``The matter is that I was born Muslim and never got to decide.``
Is that really a matter for you? I know I tried to make it one..i questioned a lot of things..zabardastee ka at times..but at the end of the day I realized that all those majlises and Quranic surahs being belted out regularly at home had made my faith stronger than I would have liked..Surah e Rehman still manages to bring tears to my eyes...everytime
``A Pakistani Shia`a woman.``
Now this bit made me fall of my chair..ammaz convinced this is I writing nefarious thing under but another pseodonym..red nail color, nose ring SHIA! If you would please mail her and do the needful…and next time you`re in my part of the world you must drop in…I`m next door neighbors with all the imambargahs that there are..;o)
you told me sometime back you enjoyed my piece..it took you back..yours helps me face stuff I try hard not to..
You`re brilliant..please keep writing…
anNy hussain
annythedud@yahoo.com
``My Amee to my Abbu: Bechari ka kya karengay? Abbu to Amee: Shadi. Amee to Abbu: Be serious. Abbu to Amee: Shadi.``
For me there was a point when I quite enjoyed these conversations…I reveled in them…my ``wierdness``..i`m different u hear? Not like all these other stoopid lil gurls who`ll dress up for prospective muminlaws..such losers really..and besides I`m a helluva lot gorgeouser…then there came a point when I realized there really was no way out..i tried hard..so hard to get what it takes..to fit the mould..to make them happy, maybe..but so deep-rooted it was that inspite of giving it all I had I could not..now I just feel sad...all the time...amma and abba...these are beautiful people and they deserve better..a better offspring..amma no longer bothers telling me about how nice looking the latest rishta is or how rich or what lovely ivy league heez from..she just looks at me sadly before telling the lady on the line that no..the girl is not ready..at 19 that`s still okay…5 months from now when im 20 it`ll be but another story…but all of this doesn`t really matter..what matters more to me at this point is my amma and abba…that they after all the budtameezee, swearing, lieing, disgracing, fighting they still love and pray..and they hurt
``all she`s done for me, the pains I`ve taken to do the opposite, yet she loves and prays for me. God bless her``
u`ve put it better..may He bless them all
``I`ve painted my toenails red. I like it. They look sexy. My mother will try hard to take it all off though before sending me off to God. Red never comes off properly``
I took it off after abbaz 2 week agony got the better off me..its peeking from under the bed next to the green pringle ka dabba as I type
``The matter is that I was born Muslim and never got to decide.``
Is that really a matter for you? I know I tried to make it one..i questioned a lot of things..zabardastee ka at times..but at the end of the day I realized that all those majlises and Quranic surahs being belted out regularly at home had made my faith stronger than I would have liked..Surah e Rehman still manages to bring tears to my eyes...everytime
``A Pakistani Shia`a woman.``
Now this bit made me fall of my chair..ammaz convinced this is I writing nefarious thing under but another pseodonym..red nail color, nose ring SHIA! If you would please mail her and do the needful…and next time you`re in my part of the world you must drop in…I`m next door neighbors with all the imambargahs that there are..;o)
you told me sometime back you enjoyed my piece..it took you back..yours helps me face stuff I try hard not to..
You`re brilliant..please keep writing…
anNy hussain
annythedud@yahoo.com
#11 Posted by FarzanaVersey on March 7, 2001 9:17:43 am
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
#12 Posted by rehanhasanansar on March 7, 2001 9:17:43 am
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
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
#13 Posted by sac on March 7, 2001 10:46:33 am
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.
later
-sac
P.S. PAP: Pakistani American Princess.
#14 Posted by Urstruly on March 7, 2001 11:49:09 am
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?
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?
#15 Posted by temporal on March 7, 2001 1:58:08 pm
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...
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...
#16 Posted by Zehra on March 7, 2001 2:02:29 pm
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.
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.
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- dost_mittar: KaalChakra: This is from your... Terrorism Accused: Is Legal
- sadna: kaal For many years I've... Terrorism Accused: Is Legal
