Thursday, 6 October 2011

something new

Hello my old and new readers! I have moved here

Tuesday, 4 October 2011

Fear that stops

The problem to most of our failures in life comes from the fear of it. At every important turn in our lives when we are making significant decisions, the unknown hidden fear related to our decision clouds our vision. Hence stopping us from taking a step towards it. We may not realize it for its not easy to accept that we are fearful of something especially of things we want the most.

In the course of my journey in life and on accounts of bagging a number of regrets along, this is something coming from a bit of experience. It is simple things such as swimming from example or pursuing some other hobby. There is the fear of failing at it. In someone's life it is the fear of rejection from a beloved, the fear of being called a fool in a room full of presumably intelligent people, that you think know more than you, the fear of applying for a job or a scholarship pondering unnecessarily on the negative.

Why? Because in all the cases there is the fear of rejection, failing, losing but we hardly realize that it is always worth a shot. It is better than trying our luck at something than regretting it later just because we didnt try it at all.

One of my fears may seem ridiculous but it has been so. I have had this love for calligraphy for a long time. I have been a good sketcher and thought that it wont be too hard to get good at this art form. Its been 3 years since I have randomly tried to work on certain calligraphy pieces, bought the pens and books to learn from but never finished anything. Somehow a tiny bit of fear lurked somewhere whispering ' what if I hold the pen and start writing and fail to create a beautiful piece'. The fear of failing in my own eyes, of realising that I cannot get better at it always held me back.

Little do we think that its worth a try. Unless we try, we wont know and when we try, there would be one less regret. At least we would have given it a shot. 

Wednesday, 17 August 2011

Journey with Harry Potter

‘What made you take out these after such a long time? And I see you are hooked onto them again.’ said my mother a little amused. I looked over my copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and smiled at her.  ‘Mama, I was always a Potterhead you know’ I said as she walked out of the room.
After 2007, when the final book launched, my Harry Potter book collection some pirated and three original copies quietly found their place in the rack along with other books.  This year as the final installment of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows film part 2 came out and became the talk of the town (actually the world) the sleepy Potter fan inside me woke up with full zeal. Hence these days I’m found with a Harry Potter book in my hand around the house.  
To some it may seem totally pointless to go on talking about something which is now over. However, love has no limits does it? Justified or not, as a true Potter head from heart and soul, I can never thank J. K Rowling enough for giving us a glimpse of the wonderful fantasy world.
 It seems that the marketing of Deathly Hallows part 2 has triggered the Potter fever back into the minds of people, young and old. A lot of my friends on Facebook started putting up statuses about the final film being an awesomely true magical entertainment. Film reviews opine the same. Many who never read the books have expressed that they loved the movie. Even the book fans like me, who have found that all the films on the series could never do justice to the books, seem to have immensely loved the movie for a change.
The timing of the Potter series coming out couldn’t have been better. The first time I was given the first part to read was in 2000 though the book was initially launched back in 1997. Like all the things that come a bit late in Pakistan, so did the knowledge about these books. It is interesting to note that while the first book was released in 1997 in UK, it went to US a year late and so did the second book! Considering this it’s not bad that Pakistan eventually caught up to the fever not too late.
I remember my brother randomly found Harry Potter and brought it home. I read a first few pages and put it away by my bedside not finding it as interesting as my brother. I opened the book again sometime later and then there was no putting it away. When Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows came out, a happy me was standing in a queue in England at midnight to wait for a copy of my book.
What makes us sad to part ways with it is that we literally grew up with an ordinary boy who went onto become extraordinary. A friend of mine said that maybe the next generation will not experience the books as we did. They might not be able to adore the books or wait every year for Rowling to finish her work on another one.  The amazing thing is that it’s not only a children’s book. Though aimed at a younger audience, the books and the story, its adventures appeal to everyone. I have grown up brothers and cousins who were in their twenties when the series started to come and they were found engrossed in the books with equal anticipation.
 The magic of  the novels was such that it made us fear and hate Voldemort and we as readers too took our time in shifting from saying  ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ to ‘Voldemort’. We felt pain with Harry as went through his ordeal of fighting evil. When Harry and his friends hated Malfoy so did we. Gilderoy Lockhart was as irritating to us as they were to Harry and Ron though Hermione dotted Lockhart. Bellatrix gave us goosebumps and more reasons to hate her.  As harry and his friends discovered their strengths and weakness growing up, we discovered ours too. Our hearts broke as we read that Sirius Black had died.  We eagerly waited for next part, contemplating and discussing among friends, hoping for Sirius’s comeback. There is so much more that connects us muggles to the fictional kid’s adventures. There is nostalgia and reluctance in saying good bye to the fantastical world of Hogwarts, good and evil wizards and magic spells.
Another thing that made Harry Potter special was the themes that Rowling used very intelligently. The books spoke out about some very valuable things in life, like friendship, honesty, bravery, standing up for what is right, the battle between evil and good. There was a lot of food for thought from wise characters like Dumbledore. One is the end note of this post.
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live” Dumbledore to Harry in Philosopher’s Stone.

Sunday, 14 August 2011

May you live long

My heart goes out to my country. Yes I love Pakistan. Despite the cynic in me, I love  her soil, her rivers, her mountains, her unmatched scenic beauty in the entire world. The entire year I complain and whine about all the things that are wrong with my land. Its the politicians, corruption, nepotism, religious sects and their divide, load shedding, shortage of water, the non tax paying heartless goons, the ugly label of terrorism, low literacy rate and a long list of nerve racking problems and crisis . 
There is a rush of anger I feel when something or the other goes wrong with Pakistan. I hear myself not being happy with Pakistan and like many of us, I too dream of fleeing to greener pastures where life would be secure and stable. But I realise that every time Pakistan faces a downfall, every time it bleeds, every time people point fingers at it, it is not my dislike towards her that makes me go red in the face. It is because I immensely love the land where today I live and breathe and it pains me to see her getting hurt and maimed at the hands of corruption, lies and deceit and elements hell bent on tearing it apart.
No matter how much I try or think that I cannot love a place that is ridden with innumerable problems and turmoils, there is an invisible umbilical cord that ties me with Pakistan's soil. It is something in my blood that rushes through me every year as 14th August approaches and forces me to reflect on myself and the situation around.  
It makes me think about the hundreds of selfless people who migrated in the dark of the night, in the early hours of the day, on their way sacrificing their lives and loved ones. And it is no easy feat to push your own daughters and sisters down a train or a well or see your fathers and brothers been killed by daggers by unknown faces only to protect your integrity, to safeguard a newly born land. Our people did this. They died in hope to keep the newly born Pakistan alive. My heart goes out to these people, their pristine souls and their bravery. 
So what is it that draws us far from the spirit of our elders, far from what is the heart beat of our lives. For me its the lies, the dishonesty, the double dealings, unfulfilled promises of the so called leaders, the blood of my brothers and sisters that dries up on the roads and streets after 'terrorist attacks' and easily gets forgotten by us all. It is this and much more, things very basic, things that are the right of the citizens; something that people in many countries take for granted but the poor in this land can only dream of. 
I reflect today and tomorrow and pledge yet again to stay true to the heart of Pakistan because when it skips a beat, my heart too goes restless. It must be realised that we need to unite. Cliched as it may sound, we need to look deeper into the meaning of uniting. We need to look past our sects and languages and provincial boundaries. We need to mend the divides that scar our ideology today. We are Pakistan, one country. If a man in up North gets killed, if a youth is denied a job because of nepotism in Balochistan, or if a sick dies on its way to the hospital owing to the traffic block (read: VIP passing) we all should feel the same pain. We are one. We need to make efforts honestly and courageously in our own spheres of life, if we are doctors, artists, scientists, or simply housewives, we need to think Pakistan.

Tuesday, 9 August 2011

Cursing the dead

Finally being on Twitter does come with benefits. For all the time that twitter has been here, on this planet earth and making ‘waves’ in peoples’ lives, it’s today that I have understood how it actually works. This would definitely make me sound technologically handicapped but then you cannot expect everyone to know everything !  one thing that sort of makes me shift in my sofa is the ‘@’ sign on the twitter page, I mean so many of them together makes twitter look a bit shabby doesn’t it? Ok, I see eyes glaring at this piece. Brushing my digression aside, today as I opened Twitter for an umpteenth time sometimes from mobile and sometimes from laptop, hoping something ‘out of the world’ will be waiting for me, I found something bordering on interesting.  Tazeen, the blogger of A reluctant mind, now quite famous in blogosphere and twitter had a tweet about someone putting up Zia ul Haq’s album on FB (another of our favourite past times).

One click on the link, opened a huge album, all dedicated to the memory of Zia ul Haq. There were around 70 pictures.  First thought, Ok so there are people who create photo albums of dead people on Facebook other than their own posy ones? Second thought was triggered by the name of the album which had Zia’s ul Haq and ‘Shaheed’ mentioned together. Ahan, I thought. Pause. I clicked and clicked and clicked.  All black and white, brilliant white where Zia’s teeth shone. Third thought, ok so Zia had met almost the entire world’s leaders with his 32 set of teeth, his flashy smile at the press before he actually died and went onto become shaheed. Fourth, he was exceptionally happy in all the pictures taken in east, west and south. Luminous, even in black and white contrary to what we have heard and read about Zia’s regime.

Nothing new there, leaders new or old, dead or alive in Pakistan have all been on foreign tours and a lot of them while their people suffered in one way or the other.  And a lot of people say whats the big deal? So do the other leaders of other countries across the Arabian Sea (where lies the legendary Osama bin laden or is it in some other mysterious waters) lavish in foreign tours and mingle with pretty ladies and gents in suits in prospered lands than their own. No big deal there. True. Sad. Sad like the sorry state of our land of the pure.  
With innumerable crisis invading us and our country, we the people, quickly restore to curse the dead or the living of the politicians for that gives us some room for catharsis. This chap/ lady, whoever the brave one was had done the opposite. Perhaps a big fan of great politicians he/she thought better of the pictures than I did. A look around our flourishing media and you will know what I mean. Everyone from journalists to common man to rival politicians- everyone is busy cursing and blaming the dead Zia ul Haq for the party of terrorists having a holiday in our land today. However, we are not that insensitive now. It’s not just the poor shaheed chap but also the ones who still breathe, albeit in green pastures far from the troubled soil of ours. The question is, is it wrong and immoral or unethical to go on bashing our politicians ? I say no because we too have to survive in these dark times be it through verbal attacks or parodies on TV or something else, as long as it doesnt do much harm.
Hence, I go back to my tweeting and facebooking. I think I missed writing ‘pun intended’ in a lot of sentences for a) it sounds cool and b) because I meant it.

Sunday, 24 July 2011

Story of the Lost Bag

We all have a story about our bag(s) that we have lost once in our life at least. Personally I have lost many things let alone a bag. For example, a wristwatch, mobile phones and even a laptop! Though I totally regret the mentioned losses( each of the them calls for a story) but what I don’t regret but rather sort of cherish is the story of how I lost and also found my bag. I think the reason this story has found its way into the ‘cherish able memories’ is because I eventually found it.

This was once upon a time back in 3rd or 4th grade. It was a bright sunny, in fact a hot summer day. The school was dismissed and we were free to run and play while we waited for our bus/van. My routine was to put my 5kg school bag in front of the white fence near the school gate along with my water bottle and run towards the playground. This is what half the school kids used to go. Hence there used to be a party of bags squeezed together within 10 minutes after school hours.

That day it got a bit unusually late for my van driver to pick me up from school. By the time my van’s uncle came and easily found me jumping around in the fading crowd of kids, I ran to pick my bag. But lo and behold what was that? My bag was nowhere to be found! I looked and looked and panicked; my bag, home to school books and notebooks, stationery - the treasure of life. What will I do without it? How will I take my exam? Who took my bag and why? Tears were already crowding my eyes as I helplessly searched.

Suddenly, the van driver called out to me from near the gate. Apparently he had found my precious bag (he knew how the bags of his van’s kids’ looked like). I quickly made my way soon to be disappointed that it wasn’t my bag. Only that it looked like mine. Aha! Now it made sense.  There must be a student with exactly the same bag as mine. The girl who most probably took it, thought it to be hers! Silly girl! The problem, however, persisted. What do I do? How do I find the non chalant, careless girl? Then came to my rescue the calm driver uncle.

On his suggestion we opened that girl’s bag, found her homework diary and from there got her home number ( as kids we used to fill all our home details in homework diaries, mobiles didn’t exist then plus we were kids!). Since it was not age of cell phones, my driver uncle had to call the girl from the school office and first explain ‘why we were making the call’.

It was already late and on top of that, the girl hadn’t gotten home! So I had to take her bag home with me worrying and crying all the while about my homework due the next day. It felt like the end of the world.  Came the next morning and I thankfully found the girl in school and exchanged bags. And yes I got a new bag from ‘abroad’ to avoid having same bags as others: p (just made that up)

Now as I look back at this silly episode and compare it to bigger problems we have to face as an individual and as a nation, I feel nothing but hopeless. There are a lot of unwanted baggage that we as Pakistanis carry and feel burdened by it. The bag of load shedding, the bag of drone attacks, and the bag of tried and tested politicians and the bag of terror we as Pakistanis carry each day of our lives and then question is it our war or is it not? For one we are not able to get rid of any of these bags no matter how much we want. Sadly no one is going to come and mistakenly think it theirs and take it away…

Monday, 27 June 2011

Bon appetit a tous

Yes. I am back, yet again to my very own blog. It feels good to call something your own. Just as I had thought and knew, I would go on to start the post with a totally random thing. I think I need to sort of renovate this blogging space of mine. I have come in the early hours of the day, during the awfully hot summer afternoons and sometimes way late into the starry night to have a look at this webpage - the space of my thoughts and ideas, no matter how lame. Of late every time that I have clicked my way here, peaked in and thought - 'Great! I have nothing to write about'. Though there is always, ALWAYS a thought up in my mind. 
However, though I dont want to sound the problem child here but I need to admit it loud and open that I have been whining quite a lot lately. And I mean  A LOT when I say it. There have been days when I wanted someone to pull me out of the ocean of despair and dejection and depression. 

The simplest solution was to just lay in my bed, stare up at the ceiling, it too seemed like a feat of tremendous effort to me and then just drift off...only if I knew the direction of 'drifting', it might have helped. Or had I only tried. 

Then I happened to watch Julie and Julia, the movie only a few hours back. It did the trick. I have this interest in baking, something that I havent shared on my blog and now feel I have done injustice to no one but myself. As my creative juices shot up, I thought to myself, why didnt I think of this before!! The story was about an American woman Julia Child who went onto become famous by teaching the Americans the art of French cooking (through her books, later TV shows) and the blogger Julie Powell who cruised her way through cooking by using Child's recipes. Both ended up writing books and becoming famous for something they truly enjoyed doing. 

As for me, I love baking though I cannot claim to be very good at it. Baking is one of my recent interests and so I have tried my hands at cookies, cakes and muffins, apple pies - nothing out of the world but its edible. And people smile when they eat what I bake - an acknowledgement to my bearable baking. 

After the movie session, I feel revived from my past deliberate plunge into the ocean of *beep*. There is still something I can do and get better at IF I remain consistent because that is something exactly both Julia and Julie did. 

The resolution is to remain consistent at all the things I m trying to do in life. *sigh* 

Sunday, 29 May 2011

Peeling off the layers...

Why have I gone crazy?
Seriously if I knew the answer to the above, I would never put it up for my own humiliation in front of whatever little audience/readers I have on a lonely blog of mine. Lately I have noticed some symptoms of craziness surfacing up all over me.

What has led me to question my lost sanity? This summer afternoon as people hide in their air conditioned room, I too sit in the bliss of this cooling machine as long as the electricity allows me and wonder; have the dams suddenly been filled with extra water?

While I sit and absorb my family’s chat, the blaring television and allow my eyes to dart on the laptop’s screen; sleep starts to creep its way up my feet. The intoxicating cool air from the cooling machine succeeds at dragging me to blissful dose of afternoon nap. I resist. I succeed in beating the overwhelming luring spell.
After an hour of fighting with my deranged, lazy nutty self, I am still sitting in the room with the cooling machine, spreading its spell of delicious druggy sleep. My eyes are still on the computer screen with my ears open to the sounds around me. Once in a while I pitch in my opinion in the family discussion and comment on the bullshit on television. Unfortunately I have done little as far as accomplishing my little tasks, like reading, writing and skimming through newspapers online.

This is the point I realize that I have lost whatever sanity was left of me. I do this every time.  I make pious resolutions of doing this and that only to fail at getting things done.  There’s got to be some limit to what disasters humans can do! It would save me a lot of my brains and time!

Certain dilemmas, unanswered riddles of life, unaccomplished goals, I don’t know what but it is something big, something ugly that always, ALWAYS, hinders my focus, my concentration. Lately my poor time management, lack of interest in things I am supposed to be good at, short attention span has led me to believe that I m growing senile ! This should be something scary for a woman my age!

Now as I reminisce about what has gone by, it is hard to believe that I, the lame lazy person that I m today, was actually a capable person of some merit. In very plain words, I have sucked in life quite a lot of times. However, there was a wave of potential energy in me not long ago. Yet it is near to impossible for me to recall the times when I had the efficacy of considerable amount!
SO ? Where has all the enthusiasm for life vanished? Why have I accepted the senile side of me so easily?  The discovery of my ‘new’ benighted self is astounding but what is more astonishing is that I have ceded  my intellectual territory to an unknown fear. 

The conundrum continues...

Sunday, 8 May 2011

A letter to my mum

Dear Mama,

There is something special about you. Something very special that I fail to put into perfect words.
It was a very fortunate day when I first saw you beaming at me. I was crying and wailing when you picked me, a bundle of wrinkly and pink little thing. My existence was tiny and fragile but it meant the world to you. I remember that there was warmth and promise in your eyes that our relation would last beyond our lifetime.

The day you brought me into this world, the day I saw you, I knew you would always be by my side; sometimes scolding me, sometimes laughing with me, sometimes sharing my pain and tears. I have run into your arms in moments of weakness and come out with renewed strength. As a daughter I have disappointed you many a times, you have, however, never lost hope in me and always guided me through thick and thin.
It puts a smile on my face when I recall the many times I have put my head in your lap and looked up at your serene face and felt that my world is here, with you, in your warm and nourishing love.

 It was only the other day when my hair semi wet were rolled in an untidy chignon and mama you came with a brush in your hands and that annoyed look on your face. Like always you told me how lazy I have become and started brushing through my hair. I have read somewhere that having someone to brush through your hair is one of the pleasures of life and rightly so!

Though a grown up now, I still come to you when I m troubled and lost and without any shame, I shed my tears; you take them away from me.  Every time you lift your hands for prayer, I know you pray the best for me. I cannot imagine to have been through life so far without your wisdom and your caring heart.

For all the times that I have let you down, that I have not listened to you, that I have not been a good daughter; I want to apologize. Regardless of my short comings, you have always come to save the day. This piece of writing is only a small token of my love, nothing compared to your abundance of love that you shower on your children equally.  Mum, you are the best!

lazy mubi :)

Saturday, 23 April 2011

Momentary purposelessness

I picked up the above phrase from one of the articles on a news site. Shamelessly I thought it quite fitting for my own long pending post here. Its alarming that the last piece of writing I left here was in January. I half abandoned the world of blog, forgetting how important it was to me in the past few years that I found and nourished my love for writing ( not that I m a scholarly one for that matter). I have been locked up in a self made bubble of many hurdles, now that I think of, created out of my own imagination. There is still a vague but strong feeling of being lost in a Grand Canyon of my clustered thoughts. Time and again I have reminded myself of the need to break the illusionary bubble for it is doing me no good. I cannot put the feeling to words, either it was defeat  or simply a lack of purpose that glued me to my suicidal comfort zone. I preferred it there, doing nothing and merely being a spectator of my surroundings, close and far off. It feels good, sitting in your own space with no one bothering you  even if its about your own bed creaking indicating of a 'bed accident' in the near future. Its intoxicating once you give yourself in to the aimlessness of life.

Today is a long summer afternoon, trees under the new summer sun are giving off long shades, hot breeze occasionally blowing the curtains away from the window.One such slow afternoon of many winds ago, I remember sitting in my cocoon of self destruction, gazing into the blank canvas hanging in mid air. My limbs tired of an exhausting peregrinate, eyes tight and watery and jaws locked from holding my lips together against the dusty desert wind. I gave in, closed my eyes and drifted into reverie's labyrinth. It was a momentary purposelessness that felt inviting, a favourite pastime anyway. Day dreaming, brain trying to gathering thoughts from as far as north and south pole, oil thirsty long strands of hair swaying to the fan's cool air about my face. Nothing felt wrong about the slowly creeping in of the intoxication of the momentary purposelessness that stretched into hours, day, weeks and months right before my eyes.

Capable of more than being a breathing organism, I remained a silent spectator of the revolutionary winds that invaded the world, the price hikes, natural disasters, socio economic maze, lives and deaths. I chose to remain mum on issues that mattered to me directly or indirectly. For it felt like a trivial phase about to pass into oblivion, a train waiting to depart at any second. The train's engine became the background sound to my existence. I was to get on the train anytime, just didnt know when...

The delirium is soon to follow or maybe it is what I m talking out of...

Monday, 17 January 2011

2011, what to expect from it

Is it the mid of January already? What? Seriously? And in no time this year will flash before our eyes and we will be reading the last page of 2011, the farewell. 

My last post was a rather heartbroken tale of material loss filled with anger and regret  and a tiny bit of hope in the backdrop as 2011 began. Today when I checked for any updates on the neglected blog, the comments there put a smile on my face. A batch mate, Amna (always goes through the torture of reading my writings hehe) wrote how she has lost some of her stuff and man do I salute her! She lost so much more than me! Then another valued reader, UTP had left a comment “you should be a stronger person after such an incident... my grandpa used to say... when something like a theft happened... "He needed it more..." I think he was right... in all cases...”   Indeed I feel that I am a stronger person now and it delights me how grandfathers and elders are so right. After all the hugs that my mother could give me, she said something on the same lines. Maybe those who stole needed it more than I did. Well enough of introspect I guess. It’s another year, another day and another story awaits us.

The rate at which days are passing by, in no time will we be lamenting our half done tasks, lost ‘to do’ lists and hopelessly catching up to the deadlines we set for ourselves as the year began. Before we start regretting more of our actions and reactions in the story we weave around us with every new day, it is better we remind ourselves of the follies we have already committed ( yes I use the word ‘committed’ since I feel, it puts the impact that ‘committing a sin’ clause can).

 At the beginning of a new year or while promising some resolutions though already knowing their fate even before the first month ends, many of us would ask the million dollar question - what is the mantra of living a better life; a life with less anger, less failures and more accomplishments, healthy relations and so much more.

From all the failings, like many of the readers must have had, I have learnt, that the backbone of cruising safely through life is attitude. Maybe we have read and heard this before. Ya ya attitude right!  Followed by a scornful laughter but it is true to some extent if not all.

We need to tailor our attitude towards life. A lot of things that come to us in life is because we unknowingly attract them. There are energies all around us and this brings us to the law of attraction of the Universe. The energies that emerge from us attract the energies of the Universe. If we emit positive energies, we will attract positive force from the Universe. No matter what religion we follow, most of us believe in the doctrine that a divine energy created this Universe. In Islam too we believe that our Creator asks us to pray to Him for what we need and wish for. That we should always hope for the best, we must avoid falling towards the negative and hopelessness. The long trail of ‘ifs’, ‘I wish’, ‘why me’ ‘another failure’ and ‘I m hopeless’ can easily be controlled if only we channel our thoughts with a clarity of our mind. Channeling our thoughts in the right direction gives way to the right attitude. Things that we think about and that keep us occupied become reality. Unconsciously first we create the thoughts and nurture them either positive or negative and see them turn into reality. We are in control of our life. We are the beings of love, intelligence, success and a lot more good things but at the same time we are also beings who have the power to nurture anger, failure, and revenge. Hence it is entirely on us, either we make it or break it. Whether we are optimistic or pessimistic generates from the kind of attitude we carry in life.
Bernard Shaw said “imagination is the beginning of creation. Imagine what you desire and desire what you imagine and finally you end up creating what you desire.”  Thus we need to imagine the best in life in order to transmit healthy positive vibes to the law of attraction. We can only expect from 2011 what we want it to be.

Saturday, 1 January 2011

Bye bye 2010! thats the door, just leave!

Another year has come to its end. A new day is waiting to greet us with a mild winter sun peeking out of the massive caravan of clouds and fog. When I started thinking about the 'last post of year 2010' there were still a couple of weeks left in December ending. When I started writing the title and a few lines there was just one day left till the new year. I ended up hitting the 'save' button instead. Technically I m a  bit late in writing the 'last' post of 2010. Writing was never this tough for me. Some days I thought, I have lost interest in what I chose as a career, the line of journalism. To revive my lost enthusiasm for writing, I instantly go to my 'how, why, where' guru, the Google. It always ensures that this feeling is just temporary. Soon the writer's block will end and I will be back to normal. *sigh*

 This time even Google didn't have the answer to my otherwise described 'writer's block' condition. It was something else. I knew why I wasn't able to write for more than a month. I knew it all along. It was the excruciating feeling of loss that had send me into my shell. It was like the end of the world ! Nothing seemed to matter much. I was hiding in bed, under the warm blanket and thought this will last till eternity and  I will leave the world with  a broken heart and zilch in my 'will' for my next generation.

 I think I m now brave enough to come out of my cocoon and write what I should have written long ago to rid myself of the angst chained deep inside. The tragedy  was that I lost a laptop worth 70,000 Rs along with a hand-me-down mobile phone, wallet, cash, ID card and other accessories in an imported bag from my university during a class lecture while I was in the same room. All my data, thesis work, writings, pictures, songs, everything said bye bye to me and within seconds they vanished almost in front of my eyes thanks to the asses who are on a stealing spree this season. So I went saying  %$$#@&^#  *beep* *BEEP* and glaring at every person with the eye of suspicion.

The epic episode of the robbery/ theft is going to go down in history books for my generation to come. I was crying, panicking, running to trace the thieves with my head spinning and repeatedly saying 'I cannot imagine this to be true'. Now that I recollect the fateful day, I realise the extent of my stupidity and the amount of tears I shed. if someone 'consoles' me about the mishap, I give it a good laugh and narrate the entire incident and the events that followed as if it just happened with one of the characters in the story I m writing.

The idea was to rid myself from the burden of losing some of my precious and valuable things. The more I think about it, it makes me feel not so me. Since when did I start to fuss about 'material' things.  I lost what I claimed to contain half of my life's data. But then what? It was destined to happen that way. What was I gaining from emotionally breaking down for days and regretting the necessity of taking laptop to university.

I may never get my stolen stuff back despite all the efforts made to trace it and neither can I teach the moral less gang stealing others' property a lesson. What else can you expect from people when the rulers of the country are no less than thieves themselves. Its not that other countries are crime free or that the people of my country are evil but the ratio of getting justice drops when the people at the top have excellent moral records. Nevertheless, I realised I cannot complain and whine and hide myself from the big bad world only because I faced this. This could happen to anyone. In fact this happens to a lot of people every single day around the world.

Though I cannot claim to be a 'changed' person after the horrible experience. I sure have realised that there are people suffering from bigger problems than me. In my own country many innocent people lose their loved ones to bombs, ethnic violence, drones and what not. Some people lose their new born babies and children to natural deaths or to pedophiles. What is my loss in comparison to the loss of human life?

As I come to the end of my catharsis filled post, I m shameful of the fact that it took me so long to pen this down. Lastly, IF anyone has reached the end of this irritatingly long whining post, seriously I feel for you. But nonetheless, happy new year! I m more than happy to say GOODBYE  to 2010...need I explain why? :p


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