2019, By the roaring waves!, Poems and poetry, Urdu musings

Haar

Meray kuch khuwab hain
Unhe tum khareed lo
Umeedon ke jitnay rang
Zang pakaranay lagay hain
Un ka mai tou kia karun?
Tum samait lo
Beshak khali booseeda bastay me band kar ke chor do
Kaheen phaink do
Magar inhe zinda dargor hotay mai dekh nahi sakti
Ye zimmedari mai sahaar nahi sakti
So isay tum apnay sar le lo
Ye aik qatal meray naam pe
Meray maazi, meray haal, meray mustaqil ke sitaron jugnuon titliyun ka tum kardo
Aur akhir me
Apnay se jurri har yaad
Har baat
Is zaat ka har raaz
Dua, aansoo, hansi, marzi
Jala kar khaak kardo
Meri haar amar kardo



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2019, By the roaring waves!

VOICE

Ouay huay huay yaar. What sadness mashaAllah. Like not exactly sadness – and here I am tryna put on a nice and decent facade – honestly well I don’t like this pronunciation of the word and would rather it be called faCAde please. Acha khair.

So basically I have been somewhat stressed. This time I’m not even talking to the anonymous listener kinda thing though the fact that I was reminded of them today speaks to me about the obvious halat. Other things also remind me of that because I remember being in this phase before. For other reasons but I remember this and I am imagining if this is stronger in any sense now. Because of any and everything at its root.

Do you mind talking about sadness? Is it a hard topic for you? I have been teaching some Japanese students and I give them a few personal writing exercises and man, what an experience that is. Like I am allowed to do that but I won’t cross that line and still enjoy a glimpse into THAT creative side. Pretty wow you know.

Also what else. We have another book fair at university these days, tomorrow being its last day. My voice is kharab suddenly, the kind of it some people like especially. Today we went to a mall. I don’t like malls I dunno why. But we had fun. I guess it’s shopping that I don’t like. And whatever. Etc means ends of thinking capacity aka spare me because I’m not bound to complete this sentence. Uff.

Okay anyway. Here’s to speaking better some other day. Allah bhailay.

OH ALSO I read a book after AGES matlab can you believe that? I had 100% stopped reading – actually not hundred because I tried and all that but it must’ve been like do saal or so. And I read Dan Brown this week. Such a good feel, seriously.

Also I WROTE after so long. Matlab I was going back home and chaltay chaltay I change my direction and there is this huge sports ground and I start in its direction and then I am sitting on that stair type (mundair? but better) and I open my bag, take out enough content until I can pick this black notebook and WRITE. I write in roman angraizi because it’s really a mix of Urdu and English and I vent. Like now but more secretive. And I get it off (only to that very extent as it goes) and bus. I put it all back and continue on my way and take a bus and go home.

Acha khair. Allah bhailay for reals now

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By the roaring waves!

to you,

you don’t know me yet. i wonder what kind of a person you are.

it’s not enough what we see or hear. surface is not enough.

i hope i fall in love with you. everything in, about, of, for, with, by you. head over heels. and you with me.

i hope we deserve each other in the best of ways. and may we find Allah together.

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2018, By the roaring waves!

by the roaring waves

Is it cold where you are? Old question. My fingers are so cold right now I would say they are freezing but it sounds so extra.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE I mean my life is full on doing things with and about me and I’m like what? Am I not supposed to FEEL human and TAKE actions but then I AM taking actions and trying to feel so what is this… SIYAAAAAAAAAPA. What does siyapa mean though? Okay just checked, safe to use.

ANYWAY thank God you don’t get notifs here like on Instagram. Falana posted in a long while. Story omg check it. I remember how awkward it was in the beginning when they introduced hearts instead of plain (y) likes on Twitter and there. Like…. no bro I am not EXACTLY doing that but you know me. Maybe I am.

Lah time flies. This new year is so new so new ke bus. Everything is changing mashaAllah se. Jabhi ye haal hai but then wesay bhi ye haal hai. I can’t wait to announce all three things that are happening but then where should I do that first? Facebook, Insta, Blog? My choice would be tanha bara sa maidan, maybe in front of the beach. NO ONE ELSE. Wahan mai cheekh cheekh ke pooray aasmaan ko batadungi. We all wanna run away at certain points in our lives. There was a cool word for it too. Khair whatever, what was this blog about again?

 

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By the roaring waves!

Eight years? Bus?

Oh haaai, happy wordpress-versary to me. It’s been EIGHT WHOLE YEARS OH MY ALLAH!

I mean, that’s a lot. I just saw this notification and felt compelled to write a post. How much I have changed in these years and so has this blog and my relation with it. The PEOPLE, most of all. They were all such stories.

I don’t know, it was different back then of course. My current state is somewhat like my last post. My current hobbies are different than the old ones. Today I talked with a friend and after so long felt so free to speak whatever I had in mind, zero filters. I really needed that. It felt liberating even when I was being so vulnerably weak-ish. It is important, I guess, to have someone listen.

She was very surprised to hear that I don’t read books anymore. I don’t know, it doesn’t feel that bad to me. I’ve accepted it. I can’t.

I wrote a darkish story after a long long while and I’m so glad I did. I had stopped doing that COMPLETELY after two ridiculous comments. That was liberating too.

Today I really wanted to write. I would have, but I lost inspo somewhere in between. But it would have kinda only been an effort to go back to this place in my mind so I’ll just read it and leave you with a link:

♫heart·strings

Yep that’s all. End of weird post. Who still blogs?

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2018, By the roaring waves!, Photography, Proses

This place, this time.

Some evenings are so breathtakingly stunning you don’t want them to end. Ever. And as everyone else is packing their stuff back in the car while some are already reserving their seats — so ready to return to their homes — you run back to the sea and the sky and the sand asking for one more infinite minute. That is your home.

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2018, By the roaring waves!, Event, raw and rough

Another gold moment

… except that I haven’t shared the first one yet. But I’m doing it now, okay? Let’s start!

Spoiler: It’s about university. And becoming a gold medalist. Twice.

Okay so remember when I posted that ‘when you’re happy and you know it’ kinda post about happy news and desi reactions and all that? I totally meant to share the news itself as well later but… you know me, and I know me, and well, yeah. So what happened was that I topped from my department in my BA (Honors) course. And then, now that is, I topped again in my Masters. Woohoo, Alhamdulillah!

What were my subjects? Glad you asked. Because it’s funny I never shared anything here. Yikes, I mean. I always meant to, though. Just like how I always meant to write about my vacations last (se bhi last? will have to check) year, about meeting some fav people from the blog, about university life itself, about this and that and everything. I had to write. (And I did, y’know. Just not here. Just not on a paper or a screen.) Also, obviously, I had to write about why I didn’t write any of those or whatever which is getting boriiing now AND ANYWAY WE WERE TALKING ABOUT THIS GOLD MOMENT which means this should be a happy post and yayyy virtual cakes and all that. We were talking about my subjects?

My main one was URDU. YEP. Could have you guessed? I actually just tried to master (like, well technically I did just that so yeah?) my own language and I am super happy about that right now. My side subjects (also called minors/ subsidiary subs) were English literature and Psychology. And in the same duration I also did a two-year certificate and diploma course in Persian language. So as it looks, I was completely surrounded (entangled? absorbed?) with languages and literature, and then cultures and histories and zindagis and everything. It was a good time. Wait. I miss university.

But I also can’t wait for the good adventures ahead Inshaa Allah, and some day I’ll update you on that. Sup, you?

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By the roaring waves!

Letting go

Hello, you.

My friend texted me to say she saw me in a dream and misses me. I couldn’t help but feel awfully helpless remembering I saw you in a dream too. How I wish I could tell you.

I want you to know that it’s been immensely long but I am going strong, and yep, it’s because I crafted another challenge for myself of which already a large part has been spent but still, still your name comes up everyday in my mind, and though I’m trying, I cannot forget you enough because I heard enough means letting go.

Letting go means cutting open and slicing out a part I’ve kept so close.

It’s amazing how this is! Because there’s no real string (like a real tangible truth) binding these. These, as in, this thing in the heart and your place in the…heart? and the future that holds neither. Wow, what a thing to bear.

Hello, you.

The only way this can really reach you is when you claim it yourself. Which is another way of saying: agar wo pooch len hum se kaho kis baat ka gham hai// tou phir kis baat ka gham hai agar wo pooch lain hum se. Oh okay, I just added this one because it wouldn’t leave me otherwise. You get the point.

I sometimes search for you amid crowds When I write again it won’t be about you.

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2018, By the roaring waves!

half a string

On the third floor of the building, halfway through the long, long corridor were two connecting stairs. When we sat there, the sun was almost setting. We felt tired, and another mix of emotions with no particular name. A feeling of togetherness, a feeling of uncertainty, of hope, of struggle, of what it meant to us. Everything. It was like we were on one of the most important points in our respective lives, one that didn’t have much to do with the other — in fact, nothing — save for the fact that we were friends. And we were in it together.

We knew it was either a dream-come-true situation or nothing. We could have it, or we couldn’t. But there was also a third case.

“Maybe, it’s for only one of us. The other will return and later on say that they know it was for the best. They will sound very convincing, will ask you to actually believe them that they are content, that it doesn’t matter, that they’ve realised the wisdom behind ‘why not’…”

“But it won’t be true.”

“Yes, it cannot be. Know that deep down it will hurt them enough to never say a word about it. That something will shatter anyhow.” The same happened.

But there was also a fourth case.

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2017, By the roaring waves!, Paintings and Scribblings, Poems and poetry

Keeper

Secrets are gifts. They don’t belong just everywhere. A secret lives where lives Love.

I have my grandmother’s stories within me,
and my mother’s, and yours—
Why do I have yours?

I have someone else’s anger, a tragedy from another place in time
Where I wasn’t, where I’ll never be – except in the future of their past
that is already a memory
Numberless faces read out their stories and not one I could tell not to
Like I could not tell you

“I don’t want your stories!” I scream now when it’s too late—
Waking up from a dream, and sleeping into another
Why do I still find you near?

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2017, By the roaring waves!, Poems and poetry, Proses

Spots of No light

Everything is fine. Outwardly. Where out is the edge of earth I’m standing on; inside me is a lava. It’s ready to erupt but wouldn’t—you’d think my body is brave enough to hold it but really, it’s the sight of uncountable blisters already on my skin that quiet it.

Before me lie fields and fields of night.

I can’t make sense of it, but sometimes I run, telling myself it’s still some direction even if I don’t know it. Alas, I find myself back where I started, my struggle wasted on dark space, and my already tired limbs.

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2016, By the roaring waves!, Proses

The sea calls

The waves were full of voice unlike the world around them. Everywhere was silent, and the only other sounds were so soft you wouldn’t mind them. Like: the stars’ gentle sparkle, off on, off on, creating silver splashes in the vast water; the moon’s direct beams falling on its rubber surface like a spear cutting right through; my own breathing in harmony with each swift move of the said sea. It was only a matter of present, the moments synced to the space, emitting the same power: of might, of being the only thing that mattered.

Life is not a bed of roses. You say that like it’s a good thing. If I am not happy slash I feel really bad about something, there must be a way to make it right. You can’t shirk that responsibility and simply put it on those look-good quotes. Because first of all, I never asked for a bed of roses. And if that’s what you want to bring up, tell me why it becomes important only when I most need a rose? Life’s not fair, life’s a test, life’s a this, life’s crap. I don’t care about that, I care about now.

I walk further into the benevolent stretch and find the waves welcoming me. Singing more joyfully, as if meeting friends was a custom for them too. I look down and smile, and then half sit. My hand meets water and a shiver runs through me.

Why am I still scared? How could someone be aware of something and still be unable to get out of it? How can you not be your own magician, tricking life to set on the right zone again?

There’s no direction when you are standing between waves. There is just immensity. A compass self-connects to the tick tock of the heart, and there the music stays, for as long as the heart lives…

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By the roaring waves!

جواب شکوہ

In the Nuance of Light

یہ خط ‘ ایک ساتھی لکھاری کے خط “تمہارے نام” کے جواب میں لکھا گیا ہے۔

ابھی کل ہی احمد ملنے آیا۔ بڑا ہو گیا ہے۔ بالکل میرا ناک نقشہ ہے۔ بس آنکھیں تمہاری ہیں۔ ثمینہ دفتر سے رات گئے لوٹتی ہے۔ وہ آیا تو گھر میں بس میں ہی تھا۔ اور تمہاری دو بُھوری آنکھیں۔ رات کھانے کے بعد ایک عجیب سوال پوچھنے لگا- ‘کیا آپ کو اب بھی امی سے محبت ہے؟’ میز پر سکوت طاری تھا۔ پھراس کا سوال ہمارے بیچ دلدلی مچھر کی طرح بھنبھنانے لگا۔

یاد ہے بچپن میں ٹائم مشین کے بارے میں بہت سوال کرتا تھا۔ کہنے لگا پاپا اگر آپ ٹائم مشین سے پچیس سال پیچھے لوٹ جائیں تو کیا اس بار خود کو بدل سکیں گے؟ مدتوں بعد اس کی زبان سے یوں ‘پاپا’ سننا مجھے بہت اچھا لگا۔ تم تو جانتی ہو رات کا کھانا سگریٹ کے بغیر…

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By the roaring waves!

In Search of Ghalib

“Dil hi toh hai na sang-o-khisht
Dard se bhar na aaye kyun”

“Everything around us said Ghalib. Everywhere we looked, there was Ghalib. Every moment we spent there, it was with Ghalib.”

“Maybe, the hearts of men are made of bricks and mortar. Perhaps, compassion and remembrance are just words.”

Best post ever. I traveled to a place where I couldn’t have gone otherwise (at least not in a long while) and this journey through words was exhilarating. So, so amazing.

Sulphurman

(Warning: If you find my normal posts tiring, do not read this. This is so mind numbingly long that it might kill you. And if you still go ahead, don’t haunt me after you die.)

Place: Delhi

Time: 5:00 PM

It was a hot day. Despite the departing sun, the temperature was still somewhere around the mid thirties. My friend Gaurang checked his watch. Wiping the sweaty glaze off his forehead, he asked, “Do you want to go?”

“Of course, I want to go. But I’m afraid the place will be closed by now. They won’t allow us inside.” I sounded as disappointed as I felt.

“That’s immaterial. This is Ghalib we are talking about. Even standing in front of his closed doors would mean the world to us.”

He was right. We had planned this trip for some time now. Visiting Ghalib ki Haveli was one of our most…

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2015, By the roaring waves!

Shutting old doors

Illusions. Mirages. Fantasies. There comes a time when you need to let go of the unreal things and start life anew. A friend, who wants to keep anonymity, wrote this piece a few days back and shared it with me. I like it because of the different perspective it gives and because sometimes, only written words can help you understand what nothing else can. This gave me hope.

There comes a time when you give up
Your old dreams, your unachieved goals
And surrender yourself to the reality.
No, not because you’re afraid or scared
But at some point in the chase
You get tired of running
Behind the unattainable.
You get tired of seeking shade
Under a mirage.
But remember, that moment of
Surrendering is not the end.
It’s far from being one.
It’s an opportunity,
A door to a new possible world.
Shut the broken unbolted door
With humility and grace.
And break open the new door
Take in the whiff of fresh air.
End the previous chapter
With the notes of complacency.
Start a new chapter,
With the ink of belief and faith.
Trust yourself.
There is a whole new universe
Of dreams spread out,
Waiting to be fancied.
And bazillion stars waiting
Impatiently to get into your
Bottle of fantasies.
And the instant you realize Continue reading

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By the roaring waves!

The Unending Game

This… ♥

Random Thoughts

Sea

As I stand on the sea-shore
With waves washing my feet
I drown into my pensive lanes
As I see them retreat

Million forms of the formless
And yet they are the same
Million colours of the colourless
Playing the same old game

Thousand waves that strike a day
Trying hard to gain some land
Endless efforts go in vain
Invincible stands the rule of sand

And then to roaring seas I ask
“What do you boast of all day
There is no song of glory to sing
You try in vain, the world does say”

Smiling at me the giant said
I seek no songs, no glories, no praise
All those are transient, they come and go
It is the joy that forever stays

Where is the joy you talk about
In this never ending game?
Never shall you gain an inch
The land shall forever be same

What…

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By the roaring waves!

Dil ishq main be-payan – Ibn e Insha (دل عشق میں بےپایاں)

Ali's Journal


دل عشق میں بے پایاں، سودا ہو تو ایسا ہو

دریا ہو تو ایسا ہو، صحرا ہو تو ایسا ہو

 

اک خال سویدا میں، پہنائی دو عالم

پھیلا ہو تو ایسا ہو، سمٹا ہو تو ایسا ہو

 

اے قیس جنوں پیشہ، انشا کو کبھی دیکھا؟

وحشی ہو تو ایسا ہو، رسوا ہو تو ایسا ہو

 

دریا بہ حباب اندر، طوفاں بہ سحاب اندر

محشر بہ حجاب اندر، ہونا ہو تو ایسا ہو

 

ہم سے نہیں رشتہ بھی، ہم سے نہیں ملتا بھی

ہے پاس وہ بیٹھا بھی، دھوکا ہو تو ایسا ہو

 

وہ بھی رہا بیگانہ، ہم نے بھی نہ پہچانا

ہاں اے دل دیوانہ، اپنا ہو تو ایسا ہو

 

اس درد میں کیا کیا ہے، رسوائی بھی لذت بھی

کانٹا ہو تو ایسا ہو، چبھتا ہو تو ایسا ہو

 

ہم نے یہی مانگا تھا، اس نے یہی بخشا ہے

بندہ ہو تو…

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By the roaring waves!

367

No clouds, no stars, no poetry. No artificiality. Nothing sad, nothing good. Just plain feelings. No union dances, nothing in ecstatic motions, nothing to give pain. No hollow words or worlds. No cuts or bruises, nothing purple. Nothing red, vibrant, orange, yellow. Nothing dark or black either. Nothing about the unattainable ‘you’ or the challenging obstacles or the dried pens or broken canvases. Not even about the cold wintry nights or the absence of moon. No, nothing about December either even if it fills you with something… like, something. No somethings or nothings or somebodies or nobodies. No, no. No screams, tears, not even silences. Stop announcing everything. Stop bothering even, stop letting it bother YOU. Stop stopping even. Stop stopping the stopping, stop thinking the thought thinking of the thought thinking thinking of the thought. Woah get lost!

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2014, By the roaring waves!, Poems and poetry

The mad man.

The traffic is high
the night is dark
but the mad man
doesn’t care.

He runs madly
and carelessly
by the roadside;
his feet bare.

A bottle in his hand
and tears in his eyes
he drinks as he runs,
amidst anyone’s stare.

He is mad, so he is free
and no one questions
his authority.

He can kill- if he likes
he may not, if he mustn’t
No chains bind him at all;
of reason nor responsibility.

Tears block his vision,
so for a moment he stumbles
but this doesn’t make him stop
or go against his decision.

The mad man keeps running
and the world begins to fade
the traffic soon dissolves
in a hazy, unknown shade.

No one knows where he ended
what his quest was, what he wanted
but they say in a planet of madness
only he had life comprehended.

Maria Imran.

Related post: (In)sanity.

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