Wednesday, August 10, 2005

The Funeral

I went to the funeral for two reasons. The first being the fact that my mother forced me too. Of late she has been able to strike the fear of God in me. I don't know when it happened, but she terrifies me now. I thought I'd gotten over it by the end of my O-Levels, but it's back and worse than ever now. Her word is law. The second is that funerals, by their nature, are spectacles. I, incidentally, am an avid watcher of spectacles.
It rained a lot that day. Lahore, per usual fashion, was flooded in a matter of hours making the drive from my house to the funeral home longer than it should have been. My father was driving, and my mother was in the passenger seat. I was alone in the back seat. My sisters can deal with my mother much better than i can.
"You should have had your clothes ironed."
"We didn't have enough time, mother."
"Perhaps if you'd woken up earlier."
I stayed silent. It was best to avoid confrontation when she was so obviously saddened and ridiculously edgy. It took ten more minutes of complete silence to get to our destination.
"Make sure you don't smile when you're greeting the mourning. It's inappropriate."
We entered the home to the sound of wails. My grandmother was standing in front of her brother's corpse weeping silently. She was gently stroking his hair. She looked up to see me and her daughter, but then continued to stroke his hair. Her sisters were huddled around the body too, some crying louder than others. The deceased's daughters were nowhere to be found. We later found out they were all upstairs. They didn't want to see the body.
The rain didn't stop for the next six hours.
We prayed two hours after arriving.
The sheer number of people meant the prayer would be outside. In the rain. The coffin was brought outside and placed on the lawn. It sunk a little in the wet mud. We then prayed. It took a long time, longer than I would have thought. I wasn't certain of the way this specific prayer was meant to be offered. I just stayed silent.
The cemetery was right behind the house. The body was hoisted atop the shoulders of the deceased's nephews and grandsons and taken away to the cemetery. I didn't want to go. But I had to. The spectacle would be unbelievable.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

iPod, uPod.

"We release close to seventy-five a year."
"Unfortunately, rehabilitating them is quite hard."
"That's true."
"Most aren't collected by their families. They don't want them back."
"Also true."
"We don't do the electric stuff here."
"No, we believe it to be wrong."
"Only kindness."
"We feel kindess is very important. They respond better."
"That's why we release seventy-five a year."
"That's men and women. Not just one sex. Although women do do better."
"Yes. Their natures are more malleable."
"Easier to change."
"A lot of them just die here."
"But not more than the number released."
"I'd say perhaps fifty die a year."
"That's men and women. Not just one sex."
"As you can see, we are rather large."
"One of the largest of the region."
"They are bathed once a day. They are fed three times a day. They are made to pray five times a day. Finally, our staff checks on them at least seven times a day."
"It's quite methodical, actually."

Sunday, July 24, 2005

The Two Best Songs In The World

"Learning to Fly" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.
"Can't Get You Out of my Head" by Kylie Minogue.

I don't like music which wants me to think. That's nothing but stupid. Music should not make me work, and I am a fierce believer in music being our slave instead of the other way round. I don't want to have to think about gang wars in LA (Thank You, Mr. Shakur) or the desolate condition the world is in right now (I see you Tears for Fear and Dave Matthews). It's stupid of them to think that by making someone like me think they're going to change everything. Far from that, it only makes me irate. I'd much prefer a stupid guitar riff that I can simply sing along to in my not too pretty voice. Is that too much to ask Bjork?
U2 is the worst, most horrible thing to have ever happened to the planet Earth. Someone needs to go and kill Bono pronto. That man makes my blood boil each time he appears on my television screen. I'm sure he's everyone idol because he's helping the Africans. Well guess what I don't give a shit, his craptastic music has made me think far more than anything should ever have made me think. I thought less for any and all exams I have taken in my lifetime. Stop It. Stop It you fool.
Finally, I picked the above two songs because they have nice enough melodies and inane enough lyrics to allow me to remember them. I can sing along to them. I can SING to them. And not think. I don't like thinking. I just don't.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

99 degrees fahrenheit, feels like 110.

That's according to
I'm bored.
And you're ugly.
Why is it so bloody hot?
You're still ugly.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Today I Did Not...

-take a very enjoyable shit. it was really violent, and was one of those post-really-spicy-food shits. it burnt my anus considerably.
-wake up before 4 o'clock. i much prefer the nights here. the day is for sleeping through. and i am adamantly sticking to this day wasting. advice from family be damned.
-switch the air conditioner on all day. not of my own accord. the electricity was in rare form.
-look at the stars. because star gazing is for fools. lovesick fools. go stare at your anus.
-see any resemblance between my sister and angelina jolie. that old uncle of mine is a fool. a fool i tell you.
-eat peas.
-drink juice.
-feel particularly politically correct. my hatred for the bengalis got a little deeper rooted. maybe it's just because i don't like them. it's all objective. don't judge. if you do judge, may a thousand anus firing shits befall you.
-not worry.
-not call my mom. who is in london. of all places to be.
-sign my blog, with love.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Are You Ready For A New Sensation?

That's a song by INXS. The band that's the center of a new reality show. Their lead singer is dead. Pity, pity.
Herbie: Fully Loaded is horrid. It truly is. The notion of loving a car is remotely understandable to me. However, the notion of apologizing to a car for hurting its feelings is beyond me. Bad choice Lindsay. Shame, shame.
The weather today was atrocious. It was hot. Incredibly so. I won't do the stupid word repeating thing again, because I can't think of a word to use. (And "hot, hot" is much too below me to be used.)
I inspired a blog.
My sister is watching Herbie: Fully Loaded right now. She didn't see it earlier. What is truly horrid is that the car has eyebrows. The bumpers are its mouth, so it can smile. I wish it would vomit or something bizzare to make the two hours of the movie at least worth it for an instant. It does no such thing. I was happiest during the movie when they almost destroyed the car. Oh the glee that ran through me. The bloody Volkswagen Beetle just destroyed a monster truck. What is this world coming to? I hate you Lindsay Lohan. With a passion.

Monday, July 11, 2005


I particularly despise the Qatar Airport. I am aware of the fact that there is no such thing as the Qatar Airport. I shall still call it that. No one knows what Doha is. The smoking room at the Qatar Airport is perhaps the worst of all the smoking rooms I have ever seen. A little room. With glass walls all around it. It's a bit like being in a zoo, where all the non-smokers come and look at you, point and laugh. It is there that I had my last twelve cigarettes over a five hour stop.
Max was there too. Max is Italian. He introduced himself as Massimo, to which I was slightly put aback. Why is this man introducing himself to me.
"Are you Italian?"
"No, I'm not. But I speak a little."
"Bene, can I have one cigarette please?"
This is why Massimo introduced himself to me.
"I only have these crappy Chinese looking ones, but sure."
Massimo laughs and takes one out. He, however, does not use my matches. He has his own lighter. It is blue with little palm trees engraved on it.
"Grazie. So where are you going?"
"Pakistan is very interesting to Italians. Us Italians, we love exotic historic places."
I didn't quite have the nerve to tell him that Pakistan wasn't really exotic. I just muttered a couple of si's.
"Si, si."
At least we're historic, I told myself.
Massimo then asked me where I was coming from.
"Where are you coming from?"
Longer Puff.
"Where are you going Massimo?"
"You can just say Max."
"Uh, sure, Max. Where are you going?"
He said something that sounded like Sichilly. I didn't realize what he meant until I later examined the itinerary screen. So I just nodded. He was going to the Seychelles. Lucky bastard.
"Alright, thank you for this." He put it out.
"No problem."

The Extent Of Boredom

fareediqureshi: hey hey
MEGAROOGEE: whats up
fareediqureshi: not muchfareediqureshi: you tell
MEGAROOGEE: well springer is HIlarious
fareediqureshi: is he
fareediqureshi: did you meet him?
MEGAROOGEE: i met steve
MEGAROOGEE: but im not allowed to talk to him
fareediqureshi: what
fareediqureshi: why cant you talk to steve
MEGAROOGEE: he doesnt like to be bothered
fareediqureshi: hahaha
fareediqureshi: so how are you
MEGAROOGEE: i went tanning today
MEGAROOGEE: i dont do shit
MEGAROOGEE: what are you doing
MEGAROOGEE: anything fun new and exciting
fareediqureshi: no
fareediqureshi: nothing
fareediqureshi: ioh
fareediqureshi: oh oh
fareediqureshi: i have a blog
fareediqureshi: the links in my profile
fareediqureshi: thats the most exciting thing that happened to me recently
MEGAROOGEE: do you know how much E! i watch
fareediqureshi: i can imagine
fareediqureshi: do you know how much oprah i watch
fareediqureshi: you have no idea
fareediqureshi: i think i watch three hours of oprah a day
fareediqureshi: she is my saving grace
fareediqureshi: that wonderful african american woman
MEGAROOGEE: i hate her
MEGAROOGEE: that bitch