From The Top Of My Head


For the past so many days, I’ve been wanting to write. Desperately.

And the testament to the desperation are the numerous drafts sitting in the All Posts section. Including this one, so far.

I wanted to write about so many things but things got in the way.

Time has started running away from me. When there was time, there were no words. And when there were words, there was no energy.

Soldiers died. Indignation and uproar was created; action was taken. Finally, a stand was taken. Maybe. You can’t be too sure of anything these days. People kept dying, crimes kept happening. The politicians kept up their talking. Nothing can stop them. If anything, it became even more outrageous. Oh wait, I think they are beyond that. And it’s all a conspiracy anyway. Just like the Boy who Cried Wolf – he was framed!

And we have also become an undemocratic nation, haven’t we? I mean, banning an international news channel…what guts we seem to have acquired. How dare we deny freedom of speech in any way. Even if not doing so meant we are axing our own metaphorical foot. Oh, who cares what a bunch of terrorists say!

The best possible thing to do is to divert attention by floating around a memo that may or may not have been written by the named author. And if that doesn’t work, we always have one actress short of a brain and short of publicity. What she isn’t short on is skin, ladies and gentlemen. So why not show it off a little and stir up the hornet’s nest a little more?

Not really. For that, we have our president to thank for mysteriously going for some check-up in Dubai in the middle of the night. Abandonment or a real ailment, I can guess as much as the next person and I don’t blame you for being nervous. All I know for sure is that he definitely knows how to have all the attention focused on him.

But too many bytes have already been spent on these topics. I wish the process of writing was cathartic. Even just a tiny bit. But “words” on a piece of screen don’t really amount to anything. They just remain bits of code, forever lost in cyber space. Otherwise, they just evade you and all you can do is watch silently the new catastrophe that awaits you.

Or else, there is always That 70s Show to amuse you.

No To Slave Government


That was one of the slogans of the protesters gathered at Liberty roundabout. I only managed to read one as I passed them on my way home, half an hour ago.

Yes, there was a rather small bunch (so far) of university students, dressed up against the light cold weather, holding a peaceful protest against the NATO attack on one of Pakistan’s bases. Just standing quietly on the perimeter of the roundabout, hoodies up, facing the busy market place, holding their signs and rallying forces.

Sure there needs to be noise. But the noise will only be effective when it is not painful for anyone to hear. Bangs and smoke are  usually the distraction, not the real magic.

I highly commend their effort.

And any anger that I felt at once again being stuck in traffic immediately vanished.

It’s the least I can do, considering I’m not standing there with them right now but sitting cozily in my room, having a snack, and writing this post which won’t even probably be read by many.

NO to slave government! NO to slave government! NO to slave government!

Twenty Four Beats


Beat.

One. Two.

Twenty-four is not a big number.

Three. Four.

You can count to twenty-four in a matter of seconds even less than half of twenty-four.

Five. Six.

Only, it becomes a really heavy number once it is twenty-four heart beats that are no more.

Seven. Eight.

Dead for their country, in an unprovoked attacked by NATO helicopters and fighter jets, as they manned their posts.

Nine. Ten.

Quick, sharp response from the Pakistani government officials and condemnation all around.

Eleven. Twelve.

“Culprits” banned out of an airbase.

Thirteen. Fourteen.

Decide to block NATO supply routes indefinitely.

Fifteen. Sixteen.

Protest! “Sovereignty” under attack.

Seventeen. Eighteen.

Oops. NATO and US officials say they will investigate fully.

Nineteen. Twenty.

NATO chief tweets condolences.

Twenty-one. Twenty-two.

A tweet is better than another raid.

Twenty-three. Twenty-four.

Twenty-four is not a big number.

Beat.

Minus twenty-four.