And stay down...

You again ? Come on give up, throw in the towel, even Ali would not be rumbling or dancing anymore.

This is not resolve, this is plain stupidity.

Is there even a point to this anymore?

What are you trying to prove here and to whom? Is this you showing off ? Are you trying to be the cool kid in the class ? This isn't high school anymore I hope you know that.

Those grim eyes freak me out man, smile a little and definitely try to live a bit.

I know that look, oh please carry on with some bull shit story about how you never cared about anything. You didn't choose the cool life, the cool life chose you.

Carry on, I might have forgotten a word about that story. Yes, I did roll my eyes at you.

You lack, what's the word i'm looking for ? Help me here? Ah yes, exactly, consistency.

I would classify you as a quitter. Oh come on don't make that sad face, I know a quitter when I see and you my friend are a class A quitter.

But hey, if you got to do something make sure you are good at it.

Did i hurt your feelings ? Oh please go ahead tell me how you are determined and this time it won't be the same.

If I got a dollar for every time you say ...

Five dollars is fucking right mate, and what's worse is you know it was 5 times.

Why bother.

Don't give me this Johnny Cash Mambo Jumbo - he had support who have fuck all - maybe me, but I ain't willing to move a limb to help you, for years I have seen you crash and burn and I don't want to be a part of it anymore.

Oh what are you going to do punch me again ? Remember what happened last time ? Did you at least feel better ? Go on give me your best shot.

Thought so. At least you have grown a little wiser.

Listen mate, I'm done watching you suffer. If you go ahead from here, its you against world. 

My advice ? Quit while you can, it's not in you anymore. And soon you won't be able to pick yourself.

Writer. Pffttt!! Stop kidding yourself. 

You were average at best and it's gotten worse and worse and worse. So give it a break, take your fingers off it and don't bother anymore. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

That's it, good boy. Press the shiny button. 

Wasn't so difficult was it now ?

The 15 inch glass between them went blank. As he moved away, the man behind between the plastic and glass knew this wasn't the last of him he saw.

Some men don't know when to give up.

I'll throw it all away

" You knew me well enough - what did i want back then ? "

Meh.
Really ? Meh ? You do realise i'm seeking help - now how many times does that happen.
Get over yourself - the world does not revolve around you.
I'm the morning and the evening star my will shall be done, no come on seriously - i need a few answers
I don't have answers, also i'm not the one you should ask them for - its you always pretty much - you throw things away
Hahahahaha, really ? You think i make myself miserable on purpose ?
Well, not on purpose - maybe subconsciously or something like that
LOL! so you believe that i like to ruin my life
Yea pretty much - though ruin would be too strong a word - its more about drama you like drama.
Ups and down you mean *raised eyebrow*
Potato, Potaato. You proclaim that you get bored easily with people, groups etc. You do know thats not the truth.
Oh wise one tell me the truth :)
You are bored with your life and with who you are - you don't like who you are - you hate yourself.
Ouch ... so thats what you genuinely think I am
Sigh . I hope that one day you figure out that you are this as well. Anyway, i gtg mom's calling.
K thanks bye.

Log out.

What did she mean - I hate myself, she thought. Took a glance in a mirror and all she could see was self love - what was that word he thought, ah yes, narcissistic. Grabbed the white board marker and went up to mirror - slowly wrote in plain bold stencil like handwriting 'Narcissistic'. Better she thought and capped the marker back.

Plop she let herself fall, marker in hand lost in her thoughts. Hate myself. Hmm. Why.

Uncap marker - stretch left hand out. Unhappy with my life. "Paint" the index finger nail. Admire it the perfect layer of black marker on it. Paint rest of them. Helps in creativity she thought. Pick up the phone. Open the phone messenger - scroll through the names. Never mind. Too much of a hassle. Put it down. Feel alone. Alone. Finish nails, wry smile. Excellent. Opened phone again, think for a second and throw it away.

'Hey how art thee' the phone beeped.

Stare at the phone for a long time - how am I - think think about this do this logically and systematically. Flash a fake smile to the phone, convince the phone you aren't lying - good let the fakeness slip into your body, let it travel inch by inch to your fingertips.

'I'm awesome - how art thou ? ' the obsolete machine sent it back.

Type - lies - more lies - further lies - become comfortable with lies.

'Nice to know you are doing good'

'Cheers - later'

At least you stick to your reality when it comes to a certain things.

Life becomes mundane - you settle in a routine - you see things around you collapsing they don't bother you. Then you crave ups and downs - ah drama - you sly cheeky bastard you crave drama.

Whore. Attention seeking whore. Love seeking whore. Spotlight that's what is everything about, just being in the spotlight.

It is no pursuit of happiness - this is pursuit of self satisfaction.

A canvas with a gleaming fresh sheet - open the palette - brand new paints. She looks over it - takes out a pencil - makes a rough sketch all over the the white gleaming reflection of her.

The rough draft  - the word rough makes her snicker. Brushes away the locks falling on her face, few strands had green and orange specks in them. Mind in the gutter as a mentor would have told her. " Your problem is you can't think like normal person - be smart - don't waste your talent and for what it's worth get your mind out of the gutter."
"Frankly, can I be frank with you ?" - smirk
" Yes, as long as you wipe that smirk of yourself'"
Smirk disappeared " I like standing out and being different - what is the point of being conforming to something that everyone thinks work. Here is a lesson in literature for you - I want to take the road less traveled."
"You're a smart kid - make smart choice - this is not a lecture but a plea. May God's love be with you."

That line - May God's love be with you - stuck with her, resonated a chord and became a mantra. The cheeky smirk appeared again - uncap the marker - The mirror read 'May God's love be with you' as well.

From the corner she could see the half complete rather rough draft of her painting - the two reflections were on the opposite ends of the color palette. Rather than worrying her it made her smile. On her life. On her existence. Her mentor would be ashamed. She was ashamed. All the moving reflection was conforming.

Smart choice - eh ?

Small steps

Life should be a sine curve, not straight and boring, it should have it highs and lows makes it more worth living, he proclaimed while absently playing with his unkempt locks. Those around him gave the unkempt boy a look of utter be wilderness. You just did not say that, the pompous girl said while wagging her around. Hey listen, i don't want a boring life ever, but if that's what you want ... I guess it sucks to be you,he shrugged and ran a hand through them shining locks and walked away. What a weirdo, she bitched about him as he walked towards the football field. But he's so yummy, added the girl with cheeks that you just wanted to reach out and all. Puffy you slut get over him, he's not interested in anyone but himself. Argh, you guys I'm just saying ....

A genuine smile remained on his face as he flipped the pages of the album - it was only yesterday he thought. The hair flick was still the same, the locks gone replaced by messy spikes, it looked neat they said, he couldn't be least bothered. Puffy cheeks, she was just cute on the exterior or maybe he was an asshole. Like always he settled for the latter bit. Quick glance in the mirror, a smirk to himself - somethings never changed. Egotistical, self centered and self admiring asshole, perfect he thought maybe he should keep that as his about me on facebook. Had a small laugh at his own expense. Flicked the page.

Come here boy !! The number 16 jogged over to the sideline. Put it in the god damn zone, how difficult is it ? Let your wingers do the rest. The team is losing because of you, pick up your game and stop being so selfish. Like a mirror shattering, his confidence was reduced to finger cutting dust. Anger fueled him on, the knee aches and pains were forgotten. What followed was a blur, the man in a beard and 3 quarters weaved passed two of his team mates, his feet moving at the speed of light. Slow down, Observe, slowdown, observe. He squared him up, wait wait wait - slide. The man in the beard flew into the air, the numero 16 got up and charged to the other side with the ball at his feet, skipped past one, skipped past another he had a clear sight of the goal - switched the ball to his favored foot and before he could pull the trig someone pulled the ground from beneath his feet and tumbling he went to the ground. He got up dusted himself - the coach was barking some orders screaming delta freekick delta freekick, he picked the ball and told the captain its mine. Delta free kickkkkk! He turned to the coach and nodded and chuckled on the inside, like I would fucking know what delta is. 2 short steps, a swing of the boot, a poetic thud of the football connecting to human flesh and watch it curl into the net - he ran to his bench and slide in front of his coach and put his index finger on his lips.

The only private university to qualify for HEC, the voice of the announcer still remained fresh in his ears. His family on the field - brothers in arms willing to take a hit for him. Camaraderie beyond words. As they sipped on hot chocolate in a little cafe in their home town discussing their future, he and his main partner in crime on the field - number 8 - would fondly recall the glory days. They talked about everything and yet nothing, I guess it was a normal conversation between two men nay young adults. Life walked by them as they had the most productive hours of their last 6 months, the only movements involved their talking mouths and them lifting cups.

Both were doing their own thing now - corporate lifestyle and business environment was not conducive to being in contact but they were still each other's boy and nothing could change that. The train of thought was derailed by the elder and huger version of him - bearded face, heart of gold - hey runt he smiled crookedly as the other turned up from memories to face him. We are waiting for you to start dinner. The runt smiled and nodded, will be there in a minute. The huge him left, he tucked the album of memories - flicked his non existent locks, stepped in to flip flops and stepped out of his room. Trust us, the poster with two hammers screamed from the corner, as he turned off light. Trust us - the line he heard his most, disappointments most of them. The light escaping through the crack of the door was blocked - the room turned dark and the poster was lost in the darkness.

Lazily he walked to the dinner table, smile on his face. Not the usual omnipresent mask , human smile, human flesh. The flip flops still grazed the ground, the slouch was no there anymore. Corporate lifestyle. The proud mama looked at him and was glad to have him in her presence. Her eyes reflected love and care, her youngest - all independent and all mature - sharp, non slouchy and proper. The love poured into a smile, baitho beta. His presence had put the chatter to an end. He nodded politely, so what was everyone saying - he tried to resume the chatter. They all smiled back - happy, happy to have him existing in his life.

So the doctor said give him an ultrascopic.. the eldest went off on a roll dropping technical terms like everyone got them. They all nodded at the right moments, showed shock appropriately and made angry faces when required. He sat in the corner - just smiling and observing. The man of the house was pointing in the direction of 3 things and saying that. The elder him was trying to make sure that everyone was getting everyone and he was not getting annoyed, a tough task. The ladies were chatting oblivious to everything. He sat in a corner, observing - he felt it even if for 5 seconds - even if it fluttered away. He knew if just for 5 seconds what happiness was.

God hates us all

- The title is borrowed but apt -

He gasped for air, out of breathe - nay, his throat was choking something inside was giving up. The refresh button was clicked in the hope that somehow what he saw was not the truth. Quick gaze around, all of the rest were immersed in studies - ah yes the mid terms were around the corner. The one in the glasses looked at him and smiled - he politely nodded, stopped himself from breaking the laptop - no violence he thought. Shut the lid of the laptop and walked out of the room and walked into the other. Handed it back to her, looked at her - told her goodbye - resisted the urge to break her. Left, broke himself.

The smoke circle emerged from his mouth and grew bigger, she put her finger through it and destroyed it. A smile crept on her face, not the cute one he remembered but a rather devious one. He was over thinking this, but he did wonder that if the smoke circle resembled a heart ? His thoughts shrugged, in any case he didn't possess one so all was good , right ? As she disappeared into oblivion, the sinister smile stayed back. Oh cruella devil, what a game you played.

Besides her, what else do he like ? the question bounced off humongous white pillars. Sire, upon investigation we found out he doesn't like wine, replied back a meek voice. A huge stick pointed to a human body - so let his liver be, boomed the voice. What does he like ? friends ? - yes sire - shift him into a foreign country, new people new area and shred his confidence while you do that. Hehehe, snickered the meek voiced one, good plan he thought. Sire, I also found out that he dances a lot and loves to play football, proudly proclaims it to be his life. Take it away from him, take his life - the stick fell on a knee. The cracking of the knee was followed by laughter.

The ball rolled perfectly for him, he kicked it with his entire force - something odd happened, he heard an audible snap. Feeling started disappearing from his leg, he gave it quick rub while hobbling . The corner of his eye focused on the gleaming trophy. Fuck this and be a man, his conscience screamed, he limped for 2 seconds and then soldiered on. The feeling in his leg returned like blood rushing back in a sore area - the shining gleaming trophy was won, the cost for the victory was still unknown.

The cute lady smiled and spoke, walk towards with your knees bent. He oddly smiled, a fake one. She knew that too, he was scared. With his knees bent, he took a first step - searing pain, collapsed on the floor. The doctor tried to help him up, he shoved her to the side, pussy his conscience screamed. He staggered back up, tried it again and fell again. Stop please she said, you can't. Handed him a paper and said this is your bible, worship it for the next 20 days. The rest of the conversation is a blur - all he remembers is MRI - Operation - Meniscus - Football never. It ended on a pathetic note, all i want is to be able to play lady. She politely smiled and patted his shoulder.

They fenced, he would keep losing his technique and leaving open gaps but he didn't know when to quit. The majestic one kept on wining and laughing. The other refused to give up - no one could take his life away, or if you could he wasn't going out without a fight.

Digital world

The headphone popped out from his left ear, the speakers on the moving plethora of wishes boomed " Abawa bu tuglak- Doors closing."

He silently fixed the earphones, the world turned mute again. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the voice of Bono saying 'Sometimes you can't make it on your own', an ironic smile crept on his face. The annoying red light called to him again, he stuffed the bold one back in the holster. Resolve. Proud. Resolve. Proud. Resolve. Proud. The red sirens danced, seducing him with their curves and luscious locks, blowing kisses and winking to entice the young man. Resolve breaking.

Flicked open the holster, out came the bold one. Loathe. Self hate. Whats up. Loathe. In the metro goin to the mall, U? Self hate. Weak.

Angry, he put up a curtain in front of the red sirens. Oddly satisfied. The sirens took bono with them as well, a wise exchange ?

He looked up, yes a world did exist beyond that 3 inch screen. People without dps or pps but actual faces that had changing expressions and not duck pouts. Maybe he should initiate conversation with one of them he pondered-but what do you say to someone new? Hi whats up ? Hi kiya scene hai ? Whats the scene? Options, options too many options. No Walls, No Information, no mutual friends. Real people. Real conversations.

Pan from left to right, faces-different expressions different stories no text/status/130 characters to describe them. One thing ruled common through all of them, everyone was fixated on a screen from 8 inch to a touch 4 inch one. Heads bowed, not paying respect lost in their digital worlds as life passed them. Smiles on faces, hoping for a reaction for the technology known as an lcd.

He closed his eyes and imagined, no lcds, no walls, no statuses. He opened his eyes, the couple in front of them were chatting and not just lazily flicking through their phone and barely noticing each other. The guy reached out and fixed his lady's hair, gave her a sweet peck on the cheek, smiled, they seemed happy. The girl diagonally across had a book in her hand, she would occasionally look up and fix her glasses, the cover read " Bright Shiny Morning".

He approached her and sat down next to her, and started talking " Great author, great book". The girl looked up from her book " Ahan, you a fan ?" " A massive one, can't wait for the new one" " He is magical despite being a fraud" " He's a story teller a genuine one" the boy smiled. He extended his hand the name is Ralph, Ralph Witt" " Jennifer Philips, nice to meet you, rare to find Frey fans these days." The boy grinned. They chatted for a while till the plethora of dreams halted at the desired location, the boy took the girl's number and said he'd call her maybe they could grab a drink or something. The girl politely smiled. This wasn't hard he thought to himself.

Slightly happy with the small victory - he took his phone out and texted her " I am an Alcoholic. I am a drug Addict. I am a Criminal". He smiled at his cheekiness - and put the phone back. Beep beep.. beep beep.. " Lol. Creeper. You could have mentioned that before you took my number.""Dinner on me, tomorrow ? :)" "Hahahahha, usually people don't ask out someone after them that they are a junkie, a thief and an alcoholic, but what the hell - where are you taking me?" " You decide I suck with planning and i don't want to plan."

Shake it up

He stepped out of the bathroom, upper torso naked lower torso shrouded in a purple tower. The steam from the hot shower tried to follow him out and give his emergence into the room a whole WWE feeling. Fan chants and pyrotechnics were cut short by the door being shut and the steam hitting dead wood.

The mirror reflected a dashing young man with a chiseled body, he ruffled his hair - the long locks he had were no longer there. Eyes of the reflection met those of the man. Eyes, genuine surprised eyes. Lost. Lost. Alone. The reflection smiled,mocked and flicked his long hair. He punched it. Broken mirror. Bleeding knuckles. Shocked man, cracked reflection.

Bandaged hand did a full windsor tie. The smile on his face was gone. He buttoned his 3 piece and left the flat. The cute lady who lived opposite his flat was already there, and had punched the elevator button. She smiled at her, a lively genuine smile. He nodded. They didn't know each others name, they never bothered. The smile and nod was a daily weekday ritual. She was the cute lady, he was the broody man. The elevator opened. He motioned her to go first, "ladies first " said a cheeky kid with messy hair to his elder brother in his head, the voice became more distant as he stepped in. "Ping" beeped the elevator and the doors shut the faint memories.

Red digits kept ticking, he kept looking at himself. Still vain still ego centric, no something was slightly different. The eyes weren't just admiring, they were looking for something in the reflection. 29... 10... G. He stepped out motioned a taxi and went to work, looking sharp and corporate.

The black door stood in front of him as the taxi drove off, he buttoned his middle button put on his mask and stepped in. Blue screen, black chair, think , type , call, smile. Repeat. 8 pm, he stepped out, walked back. Borrowed songs, a newly bought blackberry, similar food. Had a chat with the person who served him food, similar nationality. He walked back, coke in hand. Walked among tall buildings, felt small. Was small.

Turned the key, sanctuary of peace awaited him. Laptop, him, semblance of friends and a book . He was agitated today, shut his laptop, changed in to bright yellow shorts. Stole a look in the mirror, he was there again-non bandaged hands taunting. Look away. Avoid conflict. Open door, step out. He grabbed a towel and scampered out. Stepped into the elevator pressed "S". "S for ... " a cheeky teenager smiled to an embarrassed girl. The memory was vivid this time he had to shake it off. "Ping" went the elevator as it touched the S floor. He climbed the stairs to be greeted by calm serenity of blue clarity-aqua. He took off his shirt, dove right in . Peace hit him. Relaxed. Not stressed. Free. Himself. No what was himself. Who was he. Not relaxed. Annoyed. He stepped out he was there again, smiling at him taunting looking at him from the calm of blue that provided him serenity. Veins pumped anger, his eyes narrowed. He stared at him for a while than spat at it and said 'jibe matere picku'. The smile of the other him turned into a smirk. Look and walk away. Better man ?

Or stay and fight. He turned,ran and dived headfirst into the blue. Shattering the other into a thousand tiny ripples. He smiled. He could do that. He could fight back, just like that. But there he was again, back with the smirk. Smiling up at him, matching his every stroke with his own. He went deeper, closer. Until an inch remained to separate them. He willed him to make a move. To leer him. To smirk again. To call the flames always just beneath the surface. The other did not even blink. If anything, he looked ...in pain. His muscles were tightening, his teeth clenching. He was looking more and more like who he really was. A shadow. A ghost. Paling by the second. A bubble escaped his mouth. One crawled out of his nose. And then the chest opened, unleashing the pearls of air trapped within.

It all happened at once. The shadow was flailing, blurring, fading. He had done it. He shut his eyes. For once and for all. Put an end to the smirks, the leers, the nagging the jibes. He could be in peace now. He could be happy. Then why was he suffocating? Was it not the shadow taking its last breath? Then why was his head lighter? Perhaps the loss of the shadow's weight. He opened his eyes. It all happened at once.

He burst the surface, panting. Gasping. A thousand needles piercing his belly, yet he was relieved. He looked around. Did the other make it? The mound on his shoulders was gaining its weight back. He looked around again. His labored breathing was subsiding. Silence. He started his swim back to the edge. With a smile on his face.

'Change' for my thoughts

I love Football. Its the only thing i am passionate about i guess. For me its the ultimate team game. Part of the reason i love it could be the fact that i don't mind bleeding, sweating and giving that extra inch for the team. But that is where the irony kicks in.

In reality i suck at being a team player, i like doing most of my things on my own and dare i say i love being by myself as well. I am proud at being a 'One Man Team'. When the day ends I'm only looking after one person that person being me.

Taking the ironies further, I love writing, but i'd never be too concern about grammar or following the ethics of writing. I guess that is the way i was raised up I had a lot around me to choose and to follow, clearly drawn lines that gave me 'options' to pick what was right what was wrong. Ironic, having options but not being able to choose.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming my parents or anyone in my family. This is not a me against the world type of post. Its more to do with the choices being limited and restricted in our society. What if i wanted to grow up as an artist or musician or video game designer. I know for a fact my parents would have backed me up, but the world would have snapped me. As a kid it becomes difficult taking on the world and telling them you dream of being a footballer or rock star not a banker or doctor or engineer. Enable them don't limit them a line my dad still repeats, for that line I am eternally grateful. Whenever the world tried to snap me in half, they were the castle who would guard me. They made me who I am, without them I would be nothing.

In short.
Thank you parents.

My Soul Has No Price.

He stood in a line, uncomfortable. Stuck between two near men. He looked around trying to judge his competition. The other two seemed content, comfortable and confident. He shifted his weight, wiped the sweat from his temples; generally a confident arrogant pompous young man, he seemed anything but that at the moment. The pretty boy in front of him fiddled with his coat pockets and pulled out a cigarette, he turned and asked him and the other boy if they had a light on them. They both replied in negative. Non smokers the pretty boy thought, he gave them a smirk and in his head concluded that only real men smoke. He fiddled again in his pocket and after an effort that seemed to last hours produced a lighter from his pockets. He lit up his cigarette and breathed a sigh of relief. The boy in the middle realized he was going to smoke away the tension, he relaxed a little seeking relief in the fact that he wasn't the only one tensed. The pretty boy finally took his first puff and smoked it away while gazing into the distance. It seemed like he was living somewhere far from this place and you could almost be fooled in thinking that this man was a thinker, a soulful thinker. He looked at the pretty boy again, he hadn't thought of him as a thinker. Quite the contrary he thought something was wrong with his eyes, not in vision vise terms but there was something off about them, he just couldn't put his finger down on as to what exactly.

He turned to the one behind him in the line, for the sake of comfort lets call him Daddy's Boy. He though seemed confident on the exterior but a closer look made you realize he was anything but confident. DB(Daddy's Boy) kept on muttering to himself in English, made you slightly uncomfortable. What was DB doing he thought, was he praying ? turning to the lord at this moment of need ? No no, he wasn't praying the mutterings didn't sound like prayers rather they sounded like an interview. Oh so he was pre-planning his interview. Oh DB what a foolish strategy that would be he thought and out came his arrogance yet again. This was the real him. He slouched to his right side and ran a hand through his hair, he was a done deal for this he thought. If nothing works he'll just charm them; this thought came from his flawed opinion of himself. In his own head he was quite the charmer, but sadly only in his own head.

All of a sudden, the air smelt different. No no that can't be right he thought, it was just his head playing games with him. But this smell was really familiar ... it was almost like someone was smoking weed. He took a loud audible sniff to make sure that it wasn't his head playing games. The pretty boy upon hearing the sniff turned and said want a hit ? And extended his joint to both of them. He was yet again declined by both of them and he again met them with the same smirk that said pathetic losers. Pretty boy was smoking up before an important interview he thought , surely this border lined on craziness or was it a mechanism of relaxing himself ? In all honesty it wasn't a method to soothe anything, it spoke volumes about PB. He was always like that, slightly on the edge. He rarely cared about what people will think about him and today was no different. Though did get a lot more weirder when PB decided to sing ghazals out loud. Was it because he was high, no no it couldn't have acted this fast or could it have? He was trying to come to some conclusion of sorts with regards to PB's behavior when it all came to a sudden halt. PB threw the half smoked joint on the ground and just walked off. Leaving the two behind slightly dazed. But if you asked anyone who knew PB, this was to be expected. He always was about himself and never about others. He was a self indulgent young angry man who at the end of the day couldn't care less about responsibility or anything serious. You could bet that he was the type of person who could spend his entire day in front of the mirror.Only one thing was of importance to him, his own desires. These few lines sort of summed him perfectly.

With Pretty Boy out of the picture he realized that the competition was lessened and his odds had definitely risen. But his momentary happiness was shot down by the brute reality, he was the next in line for the interview. He suddenly became very uneasy and felt suffocated in his formal wear. The collar of his dress shirt tighten around his neck, he unbuttoned it to give him breathing space but surprisingly or not so surprisingly it didn't help at all. The breathing problems continued and these problems were to increase ten folds.

He turned to see if DB could tell that he was a nervous wreck but DB seemed preoccupied with his phone and looked almost as panicky as he was if not any more. Who was he calling he thought. Maybe a friend to ask something or his girl so that she could wish her luck or maybe his mom for prayers ? All these questions were answered when DB said " Hello dad." Ah he was talking to his dad, must be seeking advice. DB gave him a suspicious look and lowered his voice. Something didn't seem right, what was DB up to, judging from his discomfort and lowered voice it was obviously that he was up to no good. He strained to catch DB's words and when he overheard him saying " At an interview... Please take care of it for me", his worst fears came true. DB was using his daddy's authority and power to get an underhanded advantage. He gave him a stone cold stare and felt like punching him. It took much restrain not to harm him and only once again in his life will he show so much restrain but that's a story for another time. DB seemed more confident after the phone call, he was smiling with his shiny bright white teeth showing off in all their glory. Oh how i would like to knock those teeth out he thought, he was so angry that he forgot about anxiety and everything that came with it.

He was determined now to win this and only for the sake to wipe that confident broad smile of DB and to show him talent and hard work can overcome anything. A look of desire and determination overtook his face, this was the game face he talked about to everyone when they said he was the self appointed jester of the group. He buttoned up his collar and stood dead straight for the first time since he had arrived here. If this was a Japanese anime you could imagine motivating music playing in the background and him, obviously being the hero, delivering a speech that spoke about his clan values, his worth ethic and his sad childhood. Then jumping in the air and kicking every bad guy's ass before touching the ground. But sadly this wasn't an anime, this was the real world. And the real world is a bitch, that too one with a cruel heart. Determination and hard work takes you far indeed but money can buy anything in this world as was to he find out.

A lady walked out of door right in front of them. He thought she was going to call him for the interview, he quickly recapped his 3 strengths and 3 weaknesses. But what she said took both him and DB completely off guard. She announced out loud that the position that was up for grabs has been filled and they weren't required anymore. But how he wondered, no one gave an interview. He even questioned the lady she just said a good enough candidate came and got it hence the rest of the interviews were not necessary and hurried back in before she could be quizzed again. He hung his head in shame, he was disappointed and broken. DB was equally shocked he was talking on the phone again, presumably with his dad. He kept on shouting on the phone obviously he was as displeased as him. They both were so close but in the end even a millimeter seemed too far. Rumor has it the person selected barely made it through from university, didn't have the necessary interview skills or test skills but what was of importance was the fact that he had a dad well placed in the government. And what was of more importance was the fact that they choose him, he may have loved them or it was his dream thing, but a union is only possible if both parties agree.

It made him doubt himself. He looked into the mirror and thought, was there something wrong with me ?

Bullet Proof

Button your lip and don't let the shield slip. Take a fresh grip of your bullet proof mask. He hummed along to the tune of "Paranoid Eyes" while shaving. After splashing his now clean shaven face with water, he looked in the mirror thinking which face to go with today. He turned towards his right a shelf of human face masks lay there, arranged nicely with little tags on them. He picked one up, the label read "Lost in thought", maybe today he should go with that. Everyone will think he's worried or has something on his mind, might make for a good conversation or two, who knows the hot co-worker he always wanted to talk might just ask him whats on his mind. He put it back in its place, it wasn't that mask's day. How about the "Happy Go Lucky" mask he thought as he carefully examined the fine details of the mask. His favorite, you could forget the problems of your life and just smile around no one can see beyond that happy face, but what happens when your problems catch up with you ? No no not even this one he concluded and put it back in its place. His eyes set on one and immediately he knew this one was it, he took off the tag and put it on. One final look of the mirror; perfect he thought, and he walked out of the washroom with a tag reading " Angry" on the ground. So what was his real face everyone wondered, who was he in real life. Legend has it that no one knew the real him or for that matter what he even looked like but me i am believer, i think someone made that dreaded journey and actually found out who he was. For the rest of the world he was a happy go lucky guy. Pity they couldn't look beyond that paper thin mask.

Ideal Modus Operandi

Today, I'm not angry or pissed off. Today I don't write to vent ( or maybe i do ) and today i definitely won't be sarcastic ( pronounced sarcostique by a friend of mine). I won't bullet through this one, this piece would deserve my time. It will be by far the sanest piece of writing i ever write and it definitely won't be a figment of my imagination cause it did happen and i was witness/actor in it.

My brother and I were going to drop him off to a friend's place he was Lahore bound. As the car wheels rolled and my brother insisted on singing Soul sister out loud and being behind the wheel, our path was stumbled upon by a blind man standing on the edge of the road. Our collective first thoughts were he wants to cross the road and we should help him. The car was brought to a halt i stepped out of the car and walked up to the old blind man, I told him its fine I'll cross the road with him and it'll be okay. Only to have my assumption shattered,he asked me where i was headed as he had to go to some GCC Lab in F-7. Call me any less human or make me insensitive my reaction was oh no he's asking for a lift and given the situation these days i was slightly uneasy. I immediately hated myself for being uneasy and i pushed the thought away, the poor guy was blind he needed help and what an insensitive fuck i was being. I told him, give me a minute let me ask my brother where we are headed, because i was pretty sure we were headed in the opposite direction. I told my brother he wanted a lift to F-7 and asked him where we were headed. He simply said it doesn't matter jack where we are going, bring the man to the car.

As guided the old man to the car, he rained down every possible good wish on me and my family. He kept doing it in the car till my brother insisted that he please stop and it was enough and we were actually going that way (which i later found out was a massive lie) and it wasn't a bother for us. The old man said a brilliant line which i must write down before i forget it. He thanked God for making him blind because people like us were his eyes, we made up for the lack of sight.

The search for the relatively unknown GCC labs began, just to keep the conversation happening the blind man kept on asking things from us. Upon reaching Jinnah Super and after asking a few people we were told that GCC labs doesn't exist in F-7 and no one had a clue. The blind man insisted that we stopped the car and went to some shop and asked. Though this made both of us very uneasy, we started to feel like something was out of place and didn't make sense. After inquiring from several shop i got the same answer from everyone, the shop doesn't exist sir jee. I rushed back to the car, hoping to find it in one piece, hoping to find my brother alive etc. A lot of things were rushing through my head as i ran back to the car, though to much relief everything was the way i left it. Fuck my untrustworthy-ness my mind screamed, i felt sick from the inside, disgusted by myself. I sat in the car and told the old man that the labs didn't exist and if he had a paper from the labs or anything it'll help massively. To our amazement/surprise he pulled out a report collection slip from his pocket. I took the slip from him i found out two things that massively disturbed me. Firstly, the labs were in F-10, far off from F-7, and secondly the test happened in Sargodha. What was this man doing here with no money and no one to take care of him ?

The journey to F-10 started, i kept of trying to push my thoughts to a side but i couldn't despite all my concerted efforts, i came back to the same questions. What was this man doing here? What was his name ( yes we hadn't bothered asking his name) ? Whose report was this? How did he get here ? With no money and no one to take care of him how did he expect to reach his destination? Its like he was reading my thoughts, he spoke of how despite no money etc he had faith that he'll reach because of his Namaz and his kind Lord. Wow, talk about having blind faith in your Lord was my first thought, maybe he knew about more things than me or maybe he was more religious than i was ( i am no bench mark though in all honesty) were the following thoughts. As we traveled to F-10 he kept on trying to give us road directions, which made me believe that he's been here before. This jigsaw was missing quite a few pieces and it didn't make sense at all.

As we neared our destination, i decided to tell my thoughts to fuck off, which after quite a struggle they did. Upon reaching the labs, I guided the man to the diagnostic center. At the entrance he told me i should go as he can take it from here and we've been kind enough and my brother was getting late (which was becoming kinda obviously from the numerous calls he was getting during our drive). I insisted that it was not a big deal and I'll help him out. Both of us were stopped at the entrance by a security guard who asked us may i add rudely that what we wanted. The old man told him that he wanted to collect a report and told him the story of us giving him a lift etc. He said that he had told me to go as he can handle it himself from here. He was replied by a very mocking smile and tone from the guard who said how will he hand it from here he'll fall down the stairs and shit. I so wanted to wipe that mocking smile of the guard's face. He ticked me off to a level I've not been ticked off in many years. But i somehow decided not to create a scene. I asked him where we had to go and after receiving his short answer i got to work. I was soon joined by my brother at the collecting point of the lab. The old man asked us to leave as we were getting late. He insisted for a long time, and after a long talk my brother threw in the towel. As we bade him farewell, I was left with just two thoughts, 1.Fuck this world for the lack of time and the busy schedules we have and 2.How much I hate this world. I inquired my brother as to why he threw in the towel and didn't drop the man back home ? He replied in something that sums up this entire piece of bull shit. He said in an ideal world he would have waited for the guy to pick up his report and then dropped him off. But this world isn't the ideal world its a bitch. He was already very late as people were waiting for him so that they could leave for some wedding in Lahore and he wasn't very comfortable with the idea of just me in the car with the old man. He said call me any less human or call me cruel but this world has shaped us in a way where we are like this, insecure.

Today I end on a note, which a usual emo 16 year old would end any written piece. Fuck this world, fuck our lives and fuck this whole messed up system.

William Wallace, Freedom and Pakistan.

Freedom. Ah its a miracle. Being free is one of the greatest attributes we have. I remember watching Brave heart. William Wallace giving his men that speech, giving his life, his goals, his dreams and everything for that idea of a free life. Because no more will we be ruled by the Brits they cried, before charging to meet the English in war. When my country was created there were no speeches. There was no war, swords, horses or William Wallace. But i guess the spirit was the same, the enemy was the same and the goal was the same, as Wallace put it aptly " Freeedooommmmmmm". Yes thats what our ancestors yearned for and gave their lives for.

Free Pakistan. A dream come true for a million people. A goal for which millions bled, millions suffered. But it was all worth it the reward was sweet. Us, free citizens of a free country. Free to live our lives. Free to speak our mind. Free to choose our religion,scratch that actually free to choose our sects? Religion what a massive problem it was for us, the Indians wouldn't let us practice our religion. They would persecute us, throw pigs in front of us and kill us for being Muslims. Now no one will do that, they'll be no more killings on religion. We'll all be safe when we pray in our mosques ? Free to surf the internet, check mail and google? Free to decide our leaders ? We aren't bound by any chains? We don't have mafias running our land. We live our lives just the way we want them. We have a bright future, we aren't crumbling apart and we don't live our lives on false hopes...

Dear Oxford, when you define freedom in your next edition of the Oxford dictionary. In the example of that definition please use " Living in Pakistan".

Aim-less

Mood fixer. Trouble maker. Reliable.Dependent, logical and reliable described like that by many others. He surely wasn't rational when it came to his own life. Slacked off a majority of his life, believed in putting his enjoyment before everything else. Wasted talent was the line most often repeated to him. Couldn't give a flying fuck about it. He was what he was and he was his own man. Nothing could change him. Numerous came and tried and numerous failed.

But I'm sure he had a goal in life or some desire ? Whenever asked he stated 'to make people happy and to bring a smile on their faces.' But this line was always repeated with a strain on his face and only if you paid proper attention to the minute details you'd realize he was hiding some details, something that he had buried long ago. Maybe he truly had started to believe his own fabrications.

Highway to Cool?

He was conman. Smoked a pack a day. Thought of lies every day. For what? For acceptance, for coolness and for the kick he got from fucking people's mind. In a few words he could be described most appropriately as a mind fucker (as sick as that might sound). Till this day I'll never understand what fun was there in fooling people who trusted you? You, me and everyone around him were outdone by him at least once. I guess that fact single handedly sets him apart from us, knowing him he'll get this inscribed on his tombstone ' Outdid all of you fags, Best Regards The Coolest Cat in Town'.

What was/is cool? That is something that has always troubled me, something that I haven't been able to conclude. Is walking with a slack cool? Baggy Pants are they the in thing? I surely must listen to rap and dance music, everyone does it, and it has to be cool? Is talking in english the coolest thing to do? Or should it be what meesha shafi does, sing in punjabi without getting a single word. I guess punjabi is cool then (considering Imran Khan is the hottest thing in music industry for majority of the nation bar the only Anglish pliss sort). Hey wait a minute then I guess my mom and dad are really cool? They converse with each other in punjabi. Nice!! ( Runs to facebook status - update- happy father’s day to the coolest dad in the world- yay now everyone knows i know which global day it was maybe I should write a witty line with it and my friends will like it and I'll be cool ?). While growing up what puzzled me was how people shifted personalities faster than chameleons could change colors. To attain what glorification? In an attempt to be cool? (Hey wasn't that a will smith movie?) People would do the impossible just to be accepted by people or to be part of some shitty/snobby group. I swear I knew of and still know of people (despite you know growing up and being out of that phase) who'd hang upside down on a cactus tree to be proclaimed the coolest cats.

Maybe I should roll a joint? Smoke it up? Act a little crazy. That’s a sure deal to coolness, because nothing spells C.O.O.L like them good ol drugs. Or you know what works like a charm saying( oh sorry and believing and giving some logic for it. For added effect throw a few big names in the conversation ) I’m an atheist and getting disgusted by any conversation remotely religious, sure to get you in with the cool crowd. And remember keep on reiterating for added effect, you’ll be amongst the enlightened few, people will look up to you won’t they ? Or I should be one of those party people, dance drink drugs? A killer combo, no?

The question arises who sets cool? Me? You? MTV? If it was MTV then being black would be cool. Yes damn it!! I'm almost as cool as 50 cent. Finally some recognition for the skin color in Pakistan. Dressing awkwardly and coming up with stupid lines that if you read them make no sense at all or acting trashy must definitely be cool. Peas, Keisha (is there a dollar sign somewhere) Gaga no offense to you guys.

In my head, the word cool would mean the physical cool e.g the weather is cool or a cool wind blew. That kinda thing. The phenomenon of being 'cool' kinda doesn't exist for me. It never did. It’s too much for my rebellious soul. Coolness is always affiliated with a fad and I never follow fads. At least I know I can listen to the music that I want to, wear what I want to and speak in the language I want to without thinking twice. But you, I’m not so sure about . I’ll end this one with a Christian ‘Bobo’ Vieri quote.

"I'm more of a man than all of you put together,I can walk down the street with my head held high. I can look at myself in the mirror, but you cannot."_ Christian Vieri

Football Loving Pakistan

I love how our country and its herd operates. Come the World Cup all of us turn into Footballing coaches, pundits, analysts and worse is how everyone starts playing the greatest sport to grace this planet.

Don't get me wrong. I love football and the World Cup even. I remember playing football since i was a little kid, I grew up playing football unlike most the kids around me for whom cricket was life. I kinda disliked playing cricket ( Though i still follow the Team Boom Boom religiously). It was for me a little less interactive more like a two man game ( bowler and batsmen). Being a hyper kid i needed a sport with more physical exertion, Football was my calling.

What my issue with this whole situation is, next time i want to hear something about some team or anything like that I'll ask you jackass. Don't come to me after just watching the Kick and Run league popularly known as the Barclay's Premier League and telling me England will fucking win the cup. Fuck off yea! That's my first thought you don't know half the shit you think you know. Fucking Pretender. I swear i am sick and tired of the local pundits and analysts. Next time any team needs a coach please scour Pakistan we have an abundance of coaches here who know 'apparently' better than professional coaches who've been in the game for 30 years. Please its my request to you, don't talk to me about football and the next one of you who says England will win the Cup, I'll fracture your face i swear i will...

The Man is Back in Town

You come back where you have grown up, known every tiny little corner of the area. The place you call home or called home. Sadly, the only thing consistent was me and me still hanging on to this idea of home and of knowing the place. Oh time i fucking hate you, you destroy everything and apparently you heal everything ( which i am yet to encounter).

Here I am sitting writing this junk. Shouldn't i rather be out with my boys ? Making Pakistan proud? On my car ? Hanging out from its window ? That seems like fun everyone does it, should i conform to societal 'norms' be a sheep like most of us. Sadly i think i am a sheep i became one when i logged into blogspot.com, created one of these. I prided myself for being a rebel not doing what others did. It always irked it still does. I hate myself as i type more, but i love writing things like these, i always did i always will. I guess the hating part is a core process of doing anything creative.

I've never done anything creative in which i actually liked the end product. I've hated most of my finished pieces, it's the unfinished ones that i pride about. They give me more room to work with, there is still work to be done on them. Once completed I'll go over them once and after that i just plain hate them.

I'm sick of myself now. I quit (lets hope permanently) With words from someone who i grew up listening.

"For he still smiles, and hes still strong
Nothings changed, but the surrounding bullshit
That has grown"__ Eddie Vedder