Sundays are Slow.
they're also suffocating.
but i bet you already knew.
i am.
exasperated would be a good way to describe it.
want-to-pull-my-hair-out-and-run-naked-in-the-streets would be another.
insanity is not a disease.
it's an attitude.
im thinking naked running would be classified as insane.
or they might just mistake me for a PETA activist. theyre fond of bare wrinkled skin as much as i have a penchant for the same, albeit for different reasons.
alot of people i know are mad at me right now.
for things beyond my control
i did not write my own fate. i did not choose my family.
i know they frustrate u. they frustrate me too.
and you and you need to understand i belong to BOTH of you. im half you and half you. dont do this immature tug of war about me, and then get mad at me for it too.
Aghhhh.
i want to punch someones face out right now.
my own would be a good idea.
insanity is in unacceptable, self-destructive actions.
watch me.
-eeda
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
po-yem taimeeeee..
If only I had the immortals' potion if only I had
A new soul to give you, if only you'd wake for a moment,
To see and to speak and delight in the whole of your dream
Standing right there by your side, next to you, bursting with life.
Roadways and public places, balconies, lanes in an uproar,
young maidens are picking flowers to sprinkle on your hair.
My fragrant forest full of tens of thousands of roots and leaves,
how can I the ill-fated believe I can ever lose you?
My son, all things have vanished and abandoned me back here
I have no eyes and cannot see, no mouth to let me speak.
-Yannis Ritsos.
*sigh
ima sucker for E.m.o
-eeda
If only I had the immortals' potion if only I had
A new soul to give you, if only you'd wake for a moment,
To see and to speak and delight in the whole of your dream
Standing right there by your side, next to you, bursting with life.
Roadways and public places, balconies, lanes in an uproar,
young maidens are picking flowers to sprinkle on your hair.
My fragrant forest full of tens of thousands of roots and leaves,
how can I the ill-fated believe I can ever lose you?
My son, all things have vanished and abandoned me back here
I have no eyes and cannot see, no mouth to let me speak.
-Yannis Ritsos.
*sigh
ima sucker for E.m.o
-eeda
Saturday, April 18, 2009
the...
.....gifts
so.
after this blog automatically erased itself, i decided to hold a ceremonious chehlam in memorium.
that lasted a week.
so.
screw that.
i shall re-write. yes.
yes so my bday was no no big bash kinda thing.
but sweet and mellow and intimate, like how it should be.
2 candles on my cake, 10 years a piece.
having people sing for you and making wishes on plastic 2 inch chinks of wax is not as exciting as it used to be.
the gesture was appreciated though, i felt like a part of the family.
as much as that is possible with His presence. She made Him give me my gift. Personally. With His hand-writing.
Little retribution, but i shall pretend it was his request for forgiveness as much as it was their gift, I do not want to hate the man for his blinding ego, aside from the other reasons.
o, and shazi aunti got me a gift card.
and their daughter made me a card.
and gave me a little stuffed puppy with a pink dress! :) Cutieness!!
Drug sent me a lavender sleep-care package. and professional Arts supplies. because for those of you that dont know I like to draw. Alot. ALL the time.
and an emo card.and his tshirt. but we shall shush about that one. =)
needless to say it was. AWE-Shum!
Armie called. and DJ. and Sandy. and Mum and Dad. and the Gramps. at 4 minute intervals.
at 6 a.m.
It was good though.
Just the thought that you occupy the 0.0000000000001% of someone's memory who actually lodge your birthday in their mind and take the time out to call,internationally, which is a hassle on its own..
means A-lot.
I went out with my friends for lunch. To a Greek Place. To have Greek-Arab Food.Dressed Bohemian-ish. and later to have Italian Gelattos. Followed by a trip to the Canadian coastline.
multiculturism FTW.
and ..hm.
60 notifications on facebook from random people I barely knew even existed
in 6 hours.
bloggie friends wishes. :)
ubee made me this.
emoness!
it was awesomee!! thankooooo!! and yes he read it too haha ..like u asked.
and
hm.
cantthin kof more.i cant wait to finish writing this accursed bloggie to get it over with. gnna write a new one next.
YAY.
O happy day.
I think i needs sleep.
and my third cup of chai.
toodlieeos.
-eeda
so.
after this blog automatically erased itself, i decided to hold a ceremonious chehlam in memorium.
that lasted a week.
so.
screw that.
i shall re-write. yes.
yes so my bday was no no big bash kinda thing.
but sweet and mellow and intimate, like how it should be.
2 candles on my cake, 10 years a piece.
having people sing for you and making wishes on plastic 2 inch chinks of wax is not as exciting as it used to be.
the gesture was appreciated though, i felt like a part of the family.
as much as that is possible with His presence. She made Him give me my gift. Personally. With His hand-writing.
Little retribution, but i shall pretend it was his request for forgiveness as much as it was their gift, I do not want to hate the man for his blinding ego, aside from the other reasons.
o, and shazi aunti got me a gift card.
and their daughter made me a card.
and gave me a little stuffed puppy with a pink dress! :) Cutieness!!
Drug sent me a lavender sleep-care package. and professional Arts supplies. because for those of you that dont know I like to draw. Alot. ALL the time.
and an emo card.and his tshirt. but we shall shush about that one. =)
needless to say it was. AWE-Shum!
Armie called. and DJ. and Sandy. and Mum and Dad. and the Gramps. at 4 minute intervals.
at 6 a.m.
It was good though.
Just the thought that you occupy the 0.0000000000001% of someone's memory who actually lodge your birthday in their mind and take the time out to call,internationally, which is a hassle on its own..
means A-lot.
I went out with my friends for lunch. To a Greek Place. To have Greek-Arab Food.Dressed Bohemian-ish. and later to have Italian Gelattos. Followed by a trip to the Canadian coastline.
multiculturism FTW.
and ..hm.
60 notifications on facebook from random people I barely knew even existed
in 6 hours.
bloggie friends wishes. :)
ubee made me this.
emoness!
it was awesomee!! thankooooo!! and yes he read it too haha ..like u asked.
and
hm.
cantthin kof more.i cant wait to finish writing this accursed bloggie to get it over with. gnna write a new one next.
YAY.
O happy day.
I think i needs sleep.
and my third cup of chai.
toodlieeos.
-eeda
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Ze return.
of ze dramah Queen.
*play Frankenstein music on cue*
i'm on the brink of wanting to cry,
like drama-queens bawling hysterically in teen movies (think Clueless, Mean Girls)
when they break the proverbial manicured bright pink nail.
i wanna push Everything away.
i wanna push Everyone away.
and not cuz im having b.o issues or anything.
I'm on such a self-prescribed guilt-trip and its weighing me down so intensely I can't seem to function.
Like.
('cuz i have to give an explanation for anything which is not to say I question the possible intelligence of my readership if it so exists, but that it's more reflexive of my own crumbling brain standards rotting away that need to name,define,explain,visualize,smell,sniff,touch,caress,cuddle and lick other words to fully understand their meaning.)
so. i cant function
like a coffee machine which makes third class coffee out of the best roasted Brazilian beans cant function. you know? sort of like you have the resources but you STILL find some goddamn ingenious way to fuck up.
yeah. That.
I was the make-everyone-happy girl. I can't stand this make myself-happy persona. I need to stab it into shreds.
Kill Eeda.
starring not Uma Thurman cuz she reminds me too much of a blonde ostrich,
but starring our very own brown fob me.
no, honestly though. I wanna push a certain someone away so I can make my khala and ammi and this and that and the entire fudgin paki community happy cuz thats what they Want, nahee?
The Desi Bholi Bhali Bimbo.
that's one too many B's.
Bitch starts with B too.
I miss being the B, albeit incognito.
Behind the masked internet screens I could lash out at the world with half-churned out sarcasm and a larger-than-life tragic life storyline that made people crumble to my feet.
NOT.happening anymore.
I'm sick of things. I want to forget everyone and just enjoy the rainy blue skies like a midnight grey velvet cloth held up with cotton buds and purple shimmery sequins.
Breathe eeda.
Everyone and their MOMS out there right now is trying to make me happy. Birthday parties are being planned out, get-togethers and gifts and long-winded we-will-miss-you's and extra-squishy hugs and surprise birthday-presents shipped over 2000 miles and midnight-random-mommy-phone-calls and somehow im STILL not happy and I want to push it all away because somehow someway Im letting them all. down down down down down.
i need a coffeeninininini.. a cappuchinononono.
there's one too many I's in this post.
Idiot starts with an I too.
so does Utter.Mindless.Bullshit.
okay. it doesn't. but I wish it did.
-eeda.
of ze dramah Queen.
*play Frankenstein music on cue*
i'm on the brink of wanting to cry,
like drama-queens bawling hysterically in teen movies (think Clueless, Mean Girls)
when they break the proverbial manicured bright pink nail.
i wanna push Everything away.
i wanna push Everyone away.
and not cuz im having b.o issues or anything.
Expectations.
ACK-pectations.
ACK-pectations.
I'm on such a self-prescribed guilt-trip and its weighing me down so intensely I can't seem to function.
Like.
('cuz i have to give an explanation for anything which is not to say I question the possible intelligence of my readership if it so exists, but that it's more reflexive of my own crumbling brain standards rotting away that need to name,define,explain,visualize,smell,sniff,touch,caress,cuddle and lick other words to fully understand their meaning.)
so. i cant function
like a coffee machine which makes third class coffee out of the best roasted Brazilian beans cant function. you know? sort of like you have the resources but you STILL find some goddamn ingenious way to fuck up.
yeah. That.
I was the make-everyone-happy girl. I can't stand this make myself-happy persona. I need to stab it into shreds.
Kill Eeda.
starring not Uma Thurman cuz she reminds me too much of a blonde ostrich,
but starring our very own brown fob me.
no, honestly though. I wanna push a certain someone away so I can make my khala and ammi and this and that and the entire fudgin paki community happy cuz thats what they Want, nahee?
The Desi Bholi Bhali Bimbo.
that's one too many B's.
Bitch starts with B too.
I miss being the B, albeit incognito.
Behind the masked internet screens I could lash out at the world with half-churned out sarcasm and a larger-than-life tragic life storyline that made people crumble to my feet.
NOT.happening anymore.
I'm sick of things. I want to forget everyone and just enjoy the rainy blue skies like a midnight grey velvet cloth held up with cotton buds and purple shimmery sequins.
Breathe eeda.
Everyone and their MOMS out there right now is trying to make me happy. Birthday parties are being planned out, get-togethers and gifts and long-winded we-will-miss-you's and extra-squishy hugs and surprise birthday-presents shipped over 2000 miles and midnight-random-mommy-phone-calls and somehow im STILL not happy and I want to push it all away because somehow someway Im letting them all. down down down down down.
i need a coffeeninininini.. a cappuchinononono.
there's one too many I's in this post.
Idiot starts with an I too.
so does Utter.Mindless.Bullshit.
okay. it doesn't. but I wish it did.
-eeda.
so.
I JUST had a boom-smack-WHA?© revelation.
yes that phrase is copy-righted.
...my blog's become too pretty in the emo ima-transgender-looking-for-silicion-double D-implants try-too-hard sense of the word.
sorry for that. really.
what happened to the good old non-PC, non-PG rated and non-coherency model of utter Eedadom where things... well, lets just say a Chesire cat on steroids with a foul-mouthed 4 day hangover and a whoopy cushion for a TopHat wouldnt come close to the randomisty i was liable to exhibit.
stupid thinga ya know.
like transparent stiletto heels?
efF politess.
i still refuse to swear fully unless im on a sugar/anxiety/bad mood times 1000 high.
so.
from now on ill. blehhhhhhh..
blabber.
efF blogger Norms.
i shall wear my undies on my head and grow out my hair and dye it red. like a hooded bandit with a red moustache peeping through the hood.
yo. whuchu zink about zat?
(cross Brooklyn Gangstah with Romanian Vampire aka Cullen's great grandaddy.)
YEEhaw for liberation of the so-called suppressed female-dom of creatiwitty
dum di dum dum.
me thinks alot of beobles will wonder whatever happened to ze good old me after this.
wait, what beoble?
eeda you conceited.... *bonks head.
i shall now pass out listening to the voice of the love of my life, my hot sexy nasally rimmed-glasses adorned and full-bottoned shirt 70 year old prof, Russel Day.
Day i love you every da... redudant.
cheerio my. er.
alot of youze have just unsubscribed so i cant cheerio to my stalker/follower list, now can i?
look? butterfly!!
*passes out*
-eeda
I JUST had a boom-smack-WHA?© revelation.
yes that phrase is copy-righted.
...my blog's become too pretty in the emo ima-transgender-looking-for-silicion-double D-implants try-too-hard sense of the word.
sorry for that. really.
what happened to the good old non-PC, non-PG rated and non-coherency model of utter Eedadom where things... well, lets just say a Chesire cat on steroids with a foul-mouthed 4 day hangover and a whoopy cushion for a TopHat wouldnt come close to the randomisty i was liable to exhibit.
stupid thinga ya know.
like transparent stiletto heels?
efF politess.
i still refuse to swear fully unless im on a sugar/anxiety/bad mood times 1000 high.
so.
from now on ill. blehhhhhhh..
blabber.
efF blogger Norms.
i shall wear my undies on my head and grow out my hair and dye it red. like a hooded bandit with a red moustache peeping through the hood.
yo. whuchu zink about zat?
(cross Brooklyn Gangstah with Romanian Vampire aka Cullen's great grandaddy.)
YEEhaw for liberation of the so-called suppressed female-dom of creatiwitty
dum di dum dum.
me thinks alot of beobles will wonder whatever happened to ze good old me after this.
wait, what beoble?
eeda you conceited.... *bonks head.
i shall now pass out listening to the voice of the love of my life, my hot sexy nasally rimmed-glasses adorned and full-bottoned shirt 70 year old prof, Russel Day.
Day i love you every da... redudant.
cheerio my. er.
alot of youze have just unsubscribed so i cant cheerio to my stalker/follower list, now can i?
look? butterfly!!
*passes out*
-eeda
Friday, April 10, 2009
Nikalna khuld se aadam ka sun te aaye the lekin
bade be-aabroo ho kar, tere kooche se hum nikle
-Ghalib.
So.
Picture this:
you're mysteriously zapped into a love story. The main female character, (let's call her Juliet how excitingly original oh my), who has psycho psychic abilities and she tells you she already knows her tragic ending: the lovers are going to fall apart eventually.
What do u do?
1. Eat a cookie.
2. Tell Romeo to stop because the ending is not gonna work out.
3. Tell Juliet to tell Romeo to stop because the ending is not going to work out.
4. Tell Juliet to stop being a drama queen and have some faith.
5. Eat another cookie.
6. Seduce Romeo by dancing the nude macarena.
7. Eat a grape. Scratch an ear.
8. Book appointments with a Psychologist in how-to-deal-with-breakups.
9. Complain that there's no more cookies. Rant. Ramble. Clutch your cheeks and tear your hair out.
10. Slap me. (no, not eat me.)
I think i'm going to do 1, 5,7, and 10-times-three. In that order.
I really have no faith. Honestly.
The What-ifs are so consuming they shatter all the oh-my's and I-like's!
It's more like an unending mind vomit of oh-shit's.
You'reNot what I wanted and notwhat i wanted and notwhatiWanted...when reality peeks through.
when i think straight.
when i'm out of cookies and hence, there's no blinding emo.
Then I eat another Cookie.
Haey.
Must.Study.Psychology.
gr.
more crap later as i scoop it out of the shitty wasteland that is my daily life.
('cuz laxatives are the way to go babayyyyy)
ew.
<3
-eeda
ps. the above questionnaire was serious. answers required.
bade be-aabroo ho kar, tere kooche se hum nikle
-Ghalib.
I can tell the Fuuuuuuuutureeee. And it ain't prehtty...
(i dont wanna break ur heart)
So.
Picture this:
you're mysteriously zapped into a love story. The main female character, (let's call her Juliet how excitingly original oh my), who has psycho psychic abilities and she tells you she already knows her tragic ending: the lovers are going to fall apart eventually.
What do u do?
1. Eat a cookie.
2. Tell Romeo to stop because the ending is not gonna work out.
3. Tell Juliet to tell Romeo to stop because the ending is not going to work out.
4. Tell Juliet to stop being a drama queen and have some faith.
5. Eat another cookie.
6. Seduce Romeo by dancing the nude macarena.
7. Eat a grape. Scratch an ear.
8. Book appointments with a Psychologist in how-to-deal-with-breakups.
9. Complain that there's no more cookies. Rant. Ramble. Clutch your cheeks and tear your hair out.
10. Slap me. (no, not eat me.)
I think i'm going to do 1, 5,7, and 10-times-three. In that order.
I really have no faith. Honestly.
The What-ifs are so consuming they shatter all the oh-my's and I-like's!
It's more like an unending mind vomit of oh-shit's.
You'reNot what I wanted and notwhat i wanted and notwhatiWanted...when reality peeks through.
when i think straight.
when i'm out of cookies and hence, there's no blinding emo.
Then I eat another Cookie.
Haey.
Must.Study.Psychology.
gr.
more crap later as i scoop it out of the shitty wasteland that is my daily life.
('cuz laxatives are the way to go babayyyyy)
ew.
<3
-eeda
ps. the above questionnaire was serious. answers required.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
the pride/bane of women?
defense mechanisms.
You are in love with me, I shall make you perplexed.
Do not build much, for I intend to have you in ruins.
If you build two hundred houses in a manner that the bees do;
I shall make you as homeless as a fly.
If you are the mount Qaf in stability.
I shall make you whirl like a millstone.
-Jalal-ud-din Rumi
roll up the world and push it away.
breathe.
-eeda
breathe.
-eeda
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
anomic.
.
Existential nihilism-the belief that life has no intrinsic meaning or value. . With respect to the universe, a single human or even the entire human species is insignificant and without purpose and can make no real change in the totality of existence.
i have lost myself.
i don't know who i am or what i am anymore.
i don't know what i believe in.
i don't know what opinions,values,morals,right or wrong means.
i know about God, i'm too ashamed to face Him and ask for help.
i don't know if I can do what He expects of me.
i don't know if He'll forgive me.
i don't know if He'll give me what I'm fighting for, when i feel like i increasingly don't deserve it.
i don't know whether what i'm fighting for is even worth it at the end.
i don't know if i can cope with an erratic family anymore.
i don't know if i have any patience left.
i don't know if i have any strength left.
i don't know what i want.
i don't know who i want.
i don't know if i want you as bad as you and your entire family want me.
i don't know who i want to be. not now. not in the next second. not tomorrow. not next month. not next year.not for the rest of my life.
i don't know what eternity means. i cannot be scared of what i don't know.
i don't know how to heal.
i don't want to howl.
i don't know my future.
i don't want to know about my past.
i don't have a present.
ignorance is not bliss.
i only know this
i am scared.out.of.my.fucking.mind.
i hate not knowing.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Catharsis I
I remember....
I remember, when I was 3, I toddled up to my Chachus bed at around 3 am and insisted that he take me to the park. He said no.
My other Chachu said no too. So did my dad. They had work in the morning, and it was time for me to sleep.
I went to you and nudged you awake.I asked.
Without a word, You drove me out and placed me in the swing. You pushed me back and forth till your kindness weighed heavy on my tiny brown eyelids, and I fell asleep.
Next morning you lectured your sons for Callous Insensitivity.
When the Gulf War happened, you called my father in Saudia, and told him.' I dont care whether you stay there or not or what happens to you! send me my grandaughter or I'll come and get her myself!'
My mum and I eventually flew out. Dad stayed behind during the war.
When I was 1, I had a splinter that needed to be removed. While I was crying in pain, I drowsily muttered your name.
1300 miles away, you heard me. You called mum and asked her if I was okay, you had a feeling I was in pain.
You sent me cartons of Go-Go masala overseas because I had a special fondness for it.
You cooled your chai in a little saucer and let me have all of it because I would bug you that I wanted some too.
You let me sleep next to you between you and dadi, even though I kicked you and punched you out in my sleep. You laughed about how difficult it was to extract yourself from beneath me in the mornings, but you never complained.
One night I had a nightmare while I was sleeping with ammi and abbu. I must have been 5 or 6. I woke up, grabbed my blanket and instinctively walked to your room. I took one look at your sleeping face, and lied down, and went to sleep.
I would give you your medicine every night before I went to sleep. I would sit at the foot of your bed and press your feet.
During very hot summer days you would sit with me on your lap outside the house. You would have a big cooler of ice-cold juice next to you, which you would give out to random passers-by as they walked past us. You would tell me that above all, kindness is what makes us human.
They carried you in on a metal/wood casket. They laid you down in the middle of the drawing room, as if making a public demonstration of you sleeping.
You were draped in white, like an angel. Like a halo your frail white hair. You were smiling, like the kind of smile you'd give me before you tapered off to sleep. The quite shy smile and the twinkling eyes.
But your eyes were closed. I couldn't see the twinkle.
It must've been something sad. Why was it sad? You were just sleeping weren't you?
Everyone was crying. Abbu was crying too. Abbu never cried.
Somebody told me that you were going away, but that couldn't be true. You would never do that to me. You, who would fly out to the other side of the world to be with me,
you, who named me and made me who I am,
you, who could not bear to see me disappointed,
you would not disappoint me.
They took you away, You didn't come back.
and I cried because everyone else had. I didn't know what forever meant.
After a few days, dadi gave me a handkerchief that belonged to you. Silken brown with green swirls. Subtle, yet full of life.
You.
I have carried You around with me since then. I keep You in a small white box with a red lid and gold engraving on the cover.
I take You out to hug You to myself when I'm happy. I take You out to wipe my tears when I cry.
You and I have grown old, traveled, learned and lost together.
for You and I are sown of the same crisscrossing green-brown threads.
You are the green shadow, i am the interwoven brown soul.
January 2009
Karachi.
All this I told you as I stood before you.
The concrete pavement beneath my feet, the marble canopy above your eyes.
The lush red rose petals, the fragrant joss-sticks, rose-water drenched soil,
the sights and scents I associate with you.
My tears ran amiss and sunk below me to touch you. I came here to see you again Dadu.
It's been a while, and i know i can't wake you up to take me to the park at 3 am anymore,
but I still really miss you.
....
Dadu. It's been nearly 14 years, and I'm turning 20 very soon. It's been a while, but there are somethings that become imprinted on your soul, more familiar to you than your own name.
As I'm sitting here staring at the red and gold box sitting on top of my dresser facing blankly at me, I confess that I haven't forgotten a single bit, and that dealing with your loss is something that still stings me sometimes.
This was my attempt to seek to remember the beautiful in you,
the beautiful in you which is now a part of me.
-eeda.
I remember, when I was 3, I toddled up to my Chachus bed at around 3 am and insisted that he take me to the park. He said no.
My other Chachu said no too. So did my dad. They had work in the morning, and it was time for me to sleep.
I went to you and nudged you awake.I asked.
Without a word, You drove me out and placed me in the swing. You pushed me back and forth till your kindness weighed heavy on my tiny brown eyelids, and I fell asleep.
Next morning you lectured your sons for Callous Insensitivity.
When the Gulf War happened, you called my father in Saudia, and told him.' I dont care whether you stay there or not or what happens to you! send me my grandaughter or I'll come and get her myself!'
My mum and I eventually flew out. Dad stayed behind during the war.
When I was 1, I had a splinter that needed to be removed. While I was crying in pain, I drowsily muttered your name.
1300 miles away, you heard me. You called mum and asked her if I was okay, you had a feeling I was in pain.
You sent me cartons of Go-Go masala overseas because I had a special fondness for it.
You cooled your chai in a little saucer and let me have all of it because I would bug you that I wanted some too.
You let me sleep next to you between you and dadi, even though I kicked you and punched you out in my sleep. You laughed about how difficult it was to extract yourself from beneath me in the mornings, but you never complained.
One night I had a nightmare while I was sleeping with ammi and abbu. I must have been 5 or 6. I woke up, grabbed my blanket and instinctively walked to your room. I took one look at your sleeping face, and lied down, and went to sleep.
I would give you your medicine every night before I went to sleep. I would sit at the foot of your bed and press your feet.
During very hot summer days you would sit with me on your lap outside the house. You would have a big cooler of ice-cold juice next to you, which you would give out to random passers-by as they walked past us. You would tell me that above all, kindness is what makes us human.
They carried you in on a metal/wood casket. They laid you down in the middle of the drawing room, as if making a public demonstration of you sleeping.
You were draped in white, like an angel. Like a halo your frail white hair. You were smiling, like the kind of smile you'd give me before you tapered off to sleep. The quite shy smile and the twinkling eyes.
But your eyes were closed. I couldn't see the twinkle.
It must've been something sad. Why was it sad? You were just sleeping weren't you?
Everyone was crying. Abbu was crying too. Abbu never cried.
Somebody told me that you were going away, but that couldn't be true. You would never do that to me. You, who would fly out to the other side of the world to be with me,
you, who named me and made me who I am,
you, who could not bear to see me disappointed,
you would not disappoint me.
They took you away, You didn't come back.
and I cried because everyone else had. I didn't know what forever meant.
After a few days, dadi gave me a handkerchief that belonged to you. Silken brown with green swirls. Subtle, yet full of life.
You.
I have carried You around with me since then. I keep You in a small white box with a red lid and gold engraving on the cover.
I take You out to hug You to myself when I'm happy. I take You out to wipe my tears when I cry.
You and I have grown old, traveled, learned and lost together.
for You and I are sown of the same crisscrossing green-brown threads.
You are the green shadow, i am the interwoven brown soul.
January 2009
Karachi.
All this I told you as I stood before you.
The concrete pavement beneath my feet, the marble canopy above your eyes.
The lush red rose petals, the fragrant joss-sticks, rose-water drenched soil,
the sights and scents I associate with you.
My tears ran amiss and sunk below me to touch you. I came here to see you again Dadu.
It's been a while, and i know i can't wake you up to take me to the park at 3 am anymore,
but I still really miss you.
....
Dadu. It's been nearly 14 years, and I'm turning 20 very soon. It's been a while, but there are somethings that become imprinted on your soul, more familiar to you than your own name.
As I'm sitting here staring at the red and gold box sitting on top of my dresser facing blankly at me, I confess that I haven't forgotten a single bit, and that dealing with your loss is something that still stings me sometimes.
This was my attempt to seek to remember the beautiful in you,
the beautiful in you which is now a part of me.
-eeda.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Growing Up and Growing Old is
Not the Same Thing.
December, 2008.
Karachi.
The sheer humanity of a train station.
The people are the journey.
The people are the stamps, the tickets, the scars.
Life stories of poverty and misery, arriving on Platform 11 at a quarter to two.
The certain pervasive hopelessness that blackens the broken gate signs, the ticket booth,
the red stamped seat 41, carriage 20.
The glittering dream has unraveled away from them,
like snipped nails.
Like snipped nails this train station: old and dirty,
forgotten and forsaken.
Weary eyed travelers, weary eyed visitors,
like the odorous, cramped waiting room of a hospital
collectively receiving news of death.
Like a collective hopeless sigh this train station.
Trains to go places except each place is like this place.
No 'anywhere but here', for everywhere IS here.
Faded green camouflage-print carriages,
carriers of people's souls
holes.
The monster rolls in, a lazy serpent.
Snaking its ways through the dirt and mud and murk,
hissing stress,
steam.
Rolls in and closes its weary tired eyes.
Despaired wrinkled faces sigh out in swishes of black chadors,
dusty blue shalwars.
Here is like Everywhere,
anywhere else like Here.
there is no destination.
It cannot be a journey, if it does not have an end.
Amidst tired eyes are orbs,
Gold young eyes cradled in weary arms.
Gold young eyes that find glitter
in the cobwebbed eaves, the mildewed ceilings,
the shattered television, the bent metal mug of chai.
Gold young eyes shimmering
like pearls.
Like pearls this train station: like an oyster this world.
Like an oyster, their tiny leather seat
on an overcrowded, overburdened train carriage.
Like a pearl, the 5 rupee coin clutched between small fingers,
like Hope,
their innocent faces.
..............................
so how can it be the end?
I wrote this on the train station waiting to pick up somebody, while I was in Paki over the winter.
To say I was overwhelmed by the palette of colors, the diversity in people, the vivacity in their faces..is an understatement.
I cannot come close to capturing that feeling, but if i could,
I would like to go back sometime and sit on the desolate, broken green bench, perhaps occupied on the other end by a homeless malang, drink chai straight from the nearby dhaba,
and write about the poor lost souls that wander around me.
Yeah.
Now that i've had my calling, ima head to bed.
cheerio,
(not the cereal, I prefer good ol' Nesquick like the spoilt lil kid that I am.)
-eeda
Not the Same Thing.
December, 2008.
Karachi.
The sheer humanity of a train station.
The people are the journey.
The people are the stamps, the tickets, the scars.
Life stories of poverty and misery, arriving on Platform 11 at a quarter to two.
The certain pervasive hopelessness that blackens the broken gate signs, the ticket booth,
the red stamped seat 41, carriage 20.
The glittering dream has unraveled away from them,
like snipped nails.
Like snipped nails this train station: old and dirty,
forgotten and forsaken.
Weary eyed travelers, weary eyed visitors,
like the odorous, cramped waiting room of a hospital
collectively receiving news of death.
Like a collective hopeless sigh this train station.
Trains to go places except each place is like this place.
No 'anywhere but here', for everywhere IS here.
Faded green camouflage-print carriages,
carriers of people's souls
holes.
The monster rolls in, a lazy serpent.
Snaking its ways through the dirt and mud and murk,
hissing stress,
steam.
Rolls in and closes its weary tired eyes.
Despaired wrinkled faces sigh out in swishes of black chadors,
dusty blue shalwars.
Here is like Everywhere,
anywhere else like Here.
there is no destination.
It cannot be a journey, if it does not have an end.
Amidst tired eyes are orbs,
Gold young eyes cradled in weary arms.
Gold young eyes that find glitter
in the cobwebbed eaves, the mildewed ceilings,
the shattered television, the bent metal mug of chai.
Gold young eyes shimmering
like pearls.
Like pearls this train station: like an oyster this world.
Like an oyster, their tiny leather seat
on an overcrowded, overburdened train carriage.
Like a pearl, the 5 rupee coin clutched between small fingers,
like Hope,
their innocent faces.
..............................
so how can it be the end?
I wrote this on the train station waiting to pick up somebody, while I was in Paki over the winter.
To say I was overwhelmed by the palette of colors, the diversity in people, the vivacity in their faces..is an understatement.
I cannot come close to capturing that feeling, but if i could,
I would like to go back sometime and sit on the desolate, broken green bench, perhaps occupied on the other end by a homeless malang, drink chai straight from the nearby dhaba,
and write about the poor lost souls that wander around me.
Yeah.
Now that i've had my calling, ima head to bed.
cheerio,
(not the cereal, I prefer good ol' Nesquick like the spoilt lil kid that I am.)
-eeda
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)