May 30, 2014 § 4 Comments
Its interesting that you started a discussion/thread/blog chain about unrequited love. Because the subject, though interesting, doesn’t really command much of our attention in our daily lives. Or maybe its true about me more than others.
May 28, 2014 § 3 Comments
You’re reading this because either you’re a follower of my web space, or because it has been shared with you.
You’d know that I do a lot of guest posts right? I mean it’s good to let other people write for your blog, while you sit and whine about the world issues. 😛
So anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about certain things. And I’d really like you, the reader, to contribute with respect to your opinions or ideas.
To begin with, let’s pick up unrequited love.
What’s your definition of unrequited love? Have you been at the receiving or the giving end? Has anyone moved you so much that it changed your ideologies? Do you think it’s bad?
Anything and everything is welcome. A story, a one liner, a poem, a quote, an incident. Anything.
This isn’t a writing challenge. You’re very much entitled to ignore this post and move on with your life. The idea is to understand your understanding. And nobody’s going to judge you for it anyway.
Or , if you have something to say, drop an email at firstname.lastname@example.org .
If you know someone who’d be interested, do share.
Happy writing. Happier loving. 🙂
P.S. No time limit or word limit. But I’d be happy if you could revert while I’m still curious!
May 20, 2014 § 11 Comments
I remained emotionally entwined with Erica, and I brought something of her with me to Lahore – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I lost something of myself to her that I was unable to relocate in the city of my birth. Regardless, the effect of this was to pull and tug at my moods; waves of mourning washed over me, sadness and regret prompted at times by an external stimulus, and at others by an internal cycle that was almost tidal, for want of a better word. I responded to the gravity of an invisible moon at my core, and I undertook journeys I had not expected to take.
Often, for example, I would raise at dawn without having slept an instant. During the preceding hours, Erica and I would have loved an entire day together. We would have woken in my bedroom and breakfasted with my parents; we would have dressed for work and caressed in the shower; we would have sat on our scooter and driven to campus, and I would have felt her helmet bumping against mine; we would have parted in the faculty parking area, and I would have been both amused and annoyed by the stares she received from the students passing by, because I would not have known how much those stares owed to her beauty and how much up her foreignness; we would have gone out for an inexpensive but delicious dinner in the open air, bathed by the moonlight beside the Royal Mosque; we would have spoken about work, about whether we were ready for children; I would have corrected her Urdu and she my course plan; and we would have made love in our bed to the hum of the ceiling fan.
I have also been transported in ways that were no less vivid but far more fleeting. I recall once, during the monsoon, watching a puddle form in the rut of a muddy tire track beside the road. As raindrops fell and water filled the banks of this little lake, I noticed a stone standing upright in the center, like an island, and I thought of the joy Erica would have had at gazing upon that scene. Similarly, I recall another incident, after I had a collision on my scooter, when I returned home and stripped off my shirt to see a livid bruise on my rib cage, where hers had once been. I stared at myself in the mirror and touched my skin with my fingers and hoped that the mark would not soon fade, as it inevitably did.
Such journeys had convinced me that it is not always possible to restore one’s boundaries after they have been blurred and made permeable by a relationship: try as we might, we cannot reconstitute ourselves as the autonomous beings we previously imagined ourselves to be. Something of us is now outside, and something of the outside is within us. Perhaps you have had no comparable experience, for you are gazing at me at a raving madman. I do not mean to say that we are all one, and indeed – as will soon become evident to you – I am not opposed to the building of walls to shield oneself from harm; I merely wished to explain certain aspects of my behavior upon my return.
– The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Mohsin Hamid.
May 2, 2014 § 1 Comment
I Volunteer to Die
Whenever you are on a long romantic drive
And see the Tricolour proudly flying high
See that somewhere far away, a soldier stands
Weary in deserts or in some distant foreign lands
Protecting the tricolour from any of the foe
Standing tall, proud whether it’s heavy rain or snow
He keeps wondering what he might have done
If he had not chosen to carry a gun
Even when he is overworked without a shade
Soldier is a patriot who is born and not made
Sometimes you might think he has a bad attitude
But maybe that is because of long periods of solitude
He faces bullets and embraces death many a time
So that his countrymen and women can peacefully dine
You may think for him this is just another task
He did not do it as a job but for his love for Tricolour was unsurpassed
He may lose a leg stepping on a landmine
To see those kids smiling across the borderline
For your freedom he always fights to keep
So that tranquil and in peace you can sleep
You may often condemn for him being wrong
But still for you he will always stand strong
While you have right to denounce him and complain
He will keep fighting for you in the pouring rain
Soldier is not a label for anyone to purchase or borrow to woo
It is the greatest honour to him, like soul for the body hidden inside you
A soldier is very tough indeed
To stand tall whenever there is a need
He also feels sadness, pain or sorrow
Not always looking forward for trials of tomorrow
The cost of a soldier may be very high
Your support and love for them you should never deny
With sadness hidden deep he holds his buddy’s hand
As they breathe their last on some mortal sand
He is not high headed what you may think
Will give his life for you with not even a blink
You may ask again
Besides a soldier there are others who take the pain?
Then what is the difference, why he thinks so high?
He will smile and humbly say….
Neither I hold the sky nor do I think so high
For you “I volunteer to die….”
Pankaj is one of the few people I’ve come to know from Twitter, whom i really respect. He is an amazing writer, a great father and a wonderful husband. Get to know him here! 🙂