The Word of mAn[S]o0r

When you think about it, stress is just a fiction of your imagination. Unless you specifically focus on something, it cant really get to you…

Only, the human body doesn’t see it that way. The subconscious has a very funny way of manifesting things which are brewing just under the surface, and when it bubbles over, it comes to the surface with such intensity that you are left wondering what the hell just happened.

I’ve developed a capability, or at least i think its a capability, to filter out certain thoughts, events and actions happening around me, a technique I call selective amnesia. It was based on the principle that if i don’t focus on it, it cant affect me. Over the years, I’ve been  using it and advocating this technique to all and sundry as a very good method of living life. To quote a character, emma, from one of my new favourite tv show hotel babylon, ‘you’re making me unhappy charlie, and im a happy person’ just before she broke up with him, one shouldn’t let anyone or anything, much less any thought, to make them unhappy.

The principle is sound, and it serves me quite well in most cases.

Then there are some cases where it just breaks down… where the subconscious, bubbling with repressed feelings, finally tips over the limit and gushes out in a tepid mess of emotions. Suddenly, you see murphy’s law coming true all around you, that ‘anything which can go wrong, will go wrong and in the worst possible way’ and you look for scape goats, you look for someone to place the blame on and you search for that sliver of hope to keep your sanity intact.

It can’t be you, you rationalize. After all, you weren’t even thinking about it… and that nothing has happened in the last couple of weeks, months or even years which would justify things going wrong for you! but if you aren’t careful, this very rationalization consumes you… to such a degree that you are lost within the world of make believe that selective amnesia gave rise to.

You don’t see the forest for the tree’s…

You don’t see the underlying causes…

You just lash out and whoever’s near or dear…

And you start twirling helplessly in the vicious cycle that your life has just become…

.

.

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until you forget about it and move on, because you’ve mastered the technique of selective amensia.

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not really sure how much of this post applies here, but im going to post it anyway. i read a very interesting quote on this comment thread which goes something like this

Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not using it in a fruit salad.

so very true, for those who would understand its implications!

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this is taking longer than i thought………

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I’ve been associated with metblogs for over two years, consistently blogging local events in a manner which would consistent with the theme of the site.

Lately, however, they’ve lost their charm. For an organization which promotes ‘localization’, they’ve much to learn about what it means.

You simply cannot impose your will or your style onto the world at large, without taking in considerations local culture, traditions and norms. And of course, your local readership.

With the rollout of their new platform, the powers that be decided to impose commenter registration. Why? In answer to ‘flame wars’ which were happening in a few select cities. Karachi was one of them. But has the situation changed? No! The people who were flaming are still at it, now armed with accounts, they continue to molest authors, bash each other and be, in general, a rowdy lot.

Who’s affected? The casual reader, who could’ve become part of the commenting crowd, but is now turned off by the fact they will have to go through an ardous registration process, as well as remember yet another password!

Many other cities around the metblogs networks have also been crying out against this, on the forums, on the mailing lists and on their own blogs, but what does the HQ have to say?

Put up or get out!

Personally, i cannot give my time and writings to support an organization which seeks (in literal terms) to dominate their will onto others. In this fashion, they’ve literally become an ‘american’ business, rather than a global business.

I had fun while i was there, and have made a group of very good friends whom (inshallah) i’ll carry on with for life. However, i’ve chosen today to resign from the network and bid farewell to the insidious rulings of the clique which i no longer choose to be part of.

Good bye metblogs!

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only one more to go…

not bad for a one week period, if i do say so myself.

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Simli dam is one of those gems, hidden deep among the mountains, that this region is so famous for. I wanted to write about my last trip to this wonderful, peaceful reservoir but couldn’t so here goes.

Once you leave the Islamabad highway, and cross a variety of farms down the long winding road, you come across a barrier where you would have to prove your identity. Simli dam is a sensitive area, because it supplies the water to the city of Islamabad. Therefore, its not open to public, however you can get a reservation if you have contacts within the CDA.

After crossing the barrier, there’s a short climb up another winding road to where the reservoir and guest house are located. The whole feel to the place is authentic, even rustic. With British era construction style rampant along the northern regions, it gives you a little taste of Britain all on its own.

Once you get up to the guesthouse, a breathtaking view greets you. On one side, there is the reservoir, a lake as far as the eye can see, with a calm surface and gentle lapping sounds, it takes you into a whole new region of relaxation within yourself.

On the other side, is the deep expanse of the green hills and valleys allowing the eyes to exercise.

A truly breathtaking sight, and one which pictures will never do justice.

A nice relaxing tea with parents and cousin, talking about nothings, eating good food (our cook really knows how to make sandwiches!) and laughing and merriment all around.

The trip was capped with a stroll along the reservoir bank, and down the winding road with its tree covered canopies, beautiful wild flowers and all the scents which make the mountains a truly beautiful place to be.

(If possible, i’ll upload some pictures later)

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A great poet, Zeeshan Sahil passed away a couple of days ago. I met the gentleman only one time in my life, at a reading that was held at t2f. He was in a wheelchair, had to be assisted by a couple of people, yet even that did not diminish his charisma. If anything, it added to it. Although i didn’t understand much of what he read, the parts i did understand were mesmerizing.

It was also the day a new chapter of my life had started. How fitting that chapter also closed with the demise of this great man.

Good bye Mr. Zeeshan, you will be missed.

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nature always wins!!

(from the movie, the wedding crashers)

so true!!

more on this later….

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Her words created a rift, realized the ultimate dread within me and caused me to react uncontrolably with not just anger, but with white, searing, blinding rage. It was the ultimate unforgivable sin, those words. Yet they were said with such callousness as if reading out a label from a milk carton without remorse and without the understanding of the damage they caused.

They were then termed an ‘unfortunate selection’ only to be used a little later with the same malice and intent as I originally percieved. The target was different, so the damage was minimal… yet it brought back memories of the rage.

Today, there’s a blackout. A void powerful enough to suck any and everything within its reach. Even love, or whatever was left of it, is not safe. Neither are the scattered pieces of the once perfect life and the perfect dreams we shared.

The story has taken on an unwanted twist. While barreling onwards at a 100+ kmph, it now faces the treacherous twists and turns of a winding mountain road on a foggy night.
The last bonds are being severed, the union terminated. The unwanted call has come through… The dreaded outcome is being realized.

The void is growing larger, darker and even more powerful.
Its threatning to eat up the threads through which we weaved our future, one by one, unraveling the complex,intricate knots.

In retrospect, I have come firmly to believe what I already suspected a long time ago. I am not allowed to feel, for to feel and to express those feelings form the basis of the ultimate sin in the eyes of the beloved, throwing you down from the alter you once stood on, to the depths of the dust beneath their feet.

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what happens when some simple words, spoken at the wrong time, to the wrong person can set off such a disastrous chain of events that everything you’ve worked so hard to setup seems to come down like a deck of cards… a red hot, smoke emitting, smoldering… deck of cards.

an unfortunate choice of words they were called… a simple misunderstanding the matter was discarded as…

but the biggest element which was not considered were just how dear the matter was to his heart. the fact that his feelings counted for nothing, that his reaction was termed as despicable and the consequences squarely on his shoulders made him out to be the bad guy. the one who wanted to breakdown the process, shove it aside and destroy whatever that was left.

he wasn’t all bad.. neither was he all wrong. he did react, but no matter how much ‘over’ she claimed, it wasn’t over. he reacted to the words, the insinuation, the insult… and he reacted to what he saw was a future… where the next times the words were spoken, they would be spoken not him, but to whom they were actually directed at. in a fit of anger, impatience and (maybe) negligence, the future self of them would have an inferno on their hands. for from that moment, there was no turning back…

that is what he saw in his mind, and that is what he thought he would preempt.

but then, a ray of hope shined through… the sensible words from an enlighted person, the matron dealing throuhg love, the matriach of prosperity and even divinity itself. her words brought him back to the now, told him that the future was still not written, and that history was before him to learn from and to take steps not taken before, for they already knew the results of the paths treaded upon.

she taught that pre-emption was a good strategy, but not the way it had played out. that safety and security of the unit was of far less consequence than that of the collective, and that no matter what he thought of it now, he was part of the collective. and that he must now care for the safety of it, and provide security to those within it. for everything that happens in that collective, then stems from knowing that there is security within it. that society may twist and turn all that there is to ply after the favour of the conceited, but to twist and turn it within yourselves was only allowing them control.

her words were soothing, and slowly he started to heal. the time spent scratching the scabs, ripping them out just to watch them grow again… only to scratch them out… the endless cycle was now coming to an end. the hurt was diminishing, and the pain subsiding… he starts to see clearly again… and destruction is not on the cards…

all it took were words…

because all it ever takes are words…

there is never an unfortunate choice of words my dear…

because only the words themselves are left at the end of the day.

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