Archive for Arts

Faraz

Day 10,207 – Monday – 03 Bhadra 1930 – 22 Shaban 1429 – 25 August 2008

Today, a great light has been lost forever. Ahmed Faraz. A great poet of Urdu. A great man.

Urdu, our society, our culture, our civilization and our people have lost a great presence. The loss can not be described in words.

The ever resounding noise in the background, Keht ur Rijaal, intensifies.

apnay maghmoom kivaron ko muqaffal kar lo

ab yahan koi naheen, koi naheen, aaye ga

But most of all, it was our love for him that will be lost, the love based on his contribution,

aur faraz chahiyen kitnee muhabbatain tujhe

maaon nay teray naam par bachon kay naam rakh diyay

We have lost a great man today, it is very unfortunate that in our day and age no others take the place of the ones lost.

We hope, we hope to see another Faraz, another Faiz, another great poet. We hope.

Juices

Day 10,116 – Monday – 05 Jyaistha 1930 – 20 Jamadi ul Awwal 1429 – 26 May 2008

Life has been all about juices lately. Creative, Orange and love.

I had decided that I will change things about my life. I will do things I have not done. I will do things that challenge me. Not like my fucking work, which can be done properly by a monkey, after a bottle of whiskey, or three. I wanted to learn a foreign language and learn to either sing or play an instrument. As per the rules of my life. Mr Jalaluddin had to be absolutely confused about everything and every element of life. It took me one year to decide amongst French, Persian, Turkish and Italian. I agree this list is very strange and knowing me as an absolutely psycho should not have even allowed you to ask the question of why this list is wierd. I decided that I will go for French. The reason? My friend joined the classes and dragged me to them as well. Not at all as exciting a reason as anyone can hope for. Definitely not as exciting as hot French men daubed in Azure paint running naked at the language training centre. If only!

I also wanted to learn either to sing or to play the Guitar, Drums or the Tabla. Again, as per the rules of engagement, one of my friends told me to “Grow the fuck up and learn to sing”. Of course that was simply because he wanted to play the Guitar and wanted to play music with me without having to share his Guitar. But, all in all, in the end. I get to sing. Yay! Jalal, you are an absolutely stupendous idiot. Oh shut up!

The Creative juices have started to flow.

As part of my overall strategy to improve my life, and my health. And to ensure that I do not turn into an overgrown fat hag that is bitter and does not get any sex at all, I have started to change my diet and exercise. The only change in my diet is that now I eat as many fruits as I can get my hands on, so all other items of food have gotten reduced in quantity now. And I exercise by going for a walk/jog for forty minutes a day. It is doing me good. So, as per this new development I have had the opportunity to taste fruits and fruit juices all over the city. I am absolutely in love with fresh fruit juices. Just a random example will the the Orange juice at Dunkin Donuts, it is extremely frothy, but is amazing.

The Orange juices are amazing.

And now, to the most, wicked, cruel and absolutely naughty detail. Now, first of all, any or all of you, who do not want to know sexually explicit or disgusting details, please avert your eyes, because I promise this is not a pretty sight. The rest of you, enjoy to your heart’s content, because I feel absolutely ecstatic in bringing this information to day. Today, I had semen on my shirt. It was mine. A tiny mishap during my morning routine. I didnt realize it before I got into my car. Then I knew. I got so excited by the sheer vulgarity and perversion of the action that I spent the whole day extremely over excited and hyper productive at work. I was at least twice as productive as I am usually. I am such a slut!

The love juices are flowing as well!

Oh, and yes, I am absolutely in love with Mark Wahlberg.

رات

Day 10,066 – Sunday – 17 Chaitra 1930 – 28 Rabi ul Awwal 1429 – 06 April 2008

Although not upto the standards of Urdu poetry, prosody or grammar; it is special to me, and it is mine.

البتہ اردو نظم کے اصولوں پر پوری نہیں اترتی؛ لیکن، میری ہے، اور میرے بہت قریب ہے۔

اب یاد کی نیلی چھائوں میں
اس رات کی ہر اک بات رہے
جس رات کو دل بھی دھڑکا تھا
جس رات کو آنکھیں مہکیں تھیں
اک خوف تھا ہر اک بات میں جب
اک جیت تھی ساری رات میں جب
جب چاک گریباں کر بیٹھے
جب حال اور ماضی کر بیٹھے
اب یاد کی نیلی چھائوں میں
اس رات کی ہر اک بات رہے

Exposure

Thursday – 23 Zilhaj 1428 – 14 Pausa 1929 – 03 January 2008 

I have no fucking idea why, but for some reason this post on my weblog will  have to be read in a proper British accent, since that is how I have been reading and writing it.

Last night, I was restless, I wanted to be exposed to new ideas and experiences. Either due to, or, in spite of my weight and physical odiousness I ended up being exposed to new ideas. I ended up watching two movies last night. I liked both of them.

First I saw Ratatouille and fell in love with Anton Ego. In love. And by love, here, I mean, butterflies, spring, meadows, gargoyles and the Seine. The whole package, love and psychosis.

After that I saw The Squid and the Whale and I found it absolutely amazing. Amazing. So, whosoever reads this, is directed, to first designate me as the image of masculine beauty and perfection in the deepest core of their existence, and then, to definitely do go and watch this movie. Preferably followed by a quick and beautiful snog.

As if this was not enough, I picked up a book of short stories and read an absolutely amazing piece of distilled beauty. Aldous Huxley. The Gioconda Smile. This time around, you are ordered to stop reading this moronic rambling of a twenty-some-thing psychotic homosexual idiot from Karachi and get the book. Buy it. Download it. Borrow it. Or steal it. But; get it now. Shoo.

Or, you can find it here.

Melancholia

Tuesday – 17 Shawwal 1428 – 08 Kartika 1929 – 30 October 2007

To start off with, basically, wow. Has been long.

At first I thought that I was having my periods and that had thrown me completely out of my emotional balance. But then I remembered that men dont have periods. They basically don’t have any excuses for suddenly becoming emotionally insane. Except the usual female complaint of being “just pigs”. So I will use that. I am just a pig. And mind you, Pigs can have half hour long orgasms. As it can be seen I use a situation where I find my life completely miserable and a mere shadow of an exitence on the surface of a rather wavy pond and turn it into a source of immense envy in the hearts of others. Yes, half hour long. Not me, Pigs.

So, as some of you might see from my previous emails, I have been extremely depressed because of my state of being gay in Pakistan. No acceptance within my family or society. No chance of leading a gay life. No chance of being happy by not leading a gay life. Do not believe in cheating on my wife or fiance. Do not believe in sleeping with men if my family does not know or approve. More contradictions in one sentence than I am used to hear from some of the more imbecilic of my colleagues when I have to stop them in each sentence and tell them that they are just not making any fucking sense.

So, I have seen the whole of “3rd Rock from the Sun” in the past two weeks.  I just love the show, and by that I mean, I love it to a level considered taboo in most societies. And, I am reading Hardy – A pair of blue eyes. I absolutely adore Hardy. His works capture my life in ways that are haunting and relieving at the same time. After this I will read Tess. I loved Jude and the Mayor of Casterbridge.

And, in the ending I think I would like to say that most probably my depression is coming to an end. Or maybe not. Too early to tell. But I just hope that if my depression does continue I do not want to spend sixteen straight hours in front of the television just to not let my mind wander off to any other ideas.

Oh, and yes, if there are any eligible Lesbian women out there looking for gay guys to marry. Send me a fucking email so we can finalize the deal woman!

Poetry

Sunday – 01 Shawwal 1428 – 22 Asvina 1929 – 14 October 2007

 جوش ملیح آبادی

سنو اے ساکنان بزم ہستی، ندا کیا آ رہی ہے آسماں سے
آزادی کا ہر اک لمحہ ہے بہتر، غلامی کی حیات جاوداں سے

Josh Maleehabadi 

Listen, o denizens of life, to the sound emanating from the heavens,
Every moment of freedom is better than eternal life of slavery

محمد ابراہیم ذوق

زندگی ہے یا کوئی توفان ہے
ہم تو اس جینے کی ہاتھوں مر چلے

Muhammad Ibrahim Zauq 

Is it life? Or is it a tempest?
This life is my undoing

Nasir Kazmi

 منگل – 19 رمضان 1428 – 10 اسوج 1929 – 02 اکتوبر 2007

شاعری کی دنیا میں ناصر کاظمی ایک ایسا نام ہے کہ جس سے شدت احساس منسلک یہں۔  ایک بہت واضع احساس محرومی۔ زندگی کی تلخیوں کا اس طرح ذکر کہ ان سے مانوسی کا شائبہ۔ افسوس، بہت افسوس۔ اور ایک ملال جو کہ ہر طرف چھایا ہوتا ہے۔ جیسے کہ سردی کی صبح اکیلے گزاری جائے اور بالکل سکوت میں دل ڈوب رہا ہو۔

جب ذرا تیز ہوا ہوتی ہے
کیسی سنسان فضا ہوتی ہے
ہم نے دیکھے ہیں وہ سناٹے بھی
جب ہر اک سانس صدا ہوتی ہے
دل کا یہ ہال ہوا تیرے بعد
جیسے ویران سرا ہوتی ہے
رونا آتا ہے ہمیں بھی لیکن
اس میں توہین وفا ہوتی ہے
منہ اندھیرے کبھی اٹھ کر دیکھو
کیا تر و تازہ ہوا ہوتی ہے
اجنبی دھیان کی ہر موج کے ساتھ
کس قدر تیز ہوا ہوتی ہے
غم کی بے نور گزرکاہوں میں
اک کرن ذوق فزا ہوتی ہے
غمگسار سفر راہ وفا
مژہ آبلہ پا ہوتی ہے
گلشن فکر کی منہ بند کلی
شب ماہتاب میں وا ہوتی ہے
جب نکلتی ہے نگار شب گل
منہ پہ شبنم کی روا ہوتی ہے
حادثہ ہے کہ خزاں سے پہلے
بوئے گل گل سے جدا ہوتی ہے
اک نیا دور جنم لیتا ہے
ایک تہزیب فنا ہوتی ہے
جب کوئی غم نہیں ہوتا ناصر
بے کلی دل کے سوا ہوتی ہے

Renascence

Monday – 18 Ramazan 1428 – 09 Asvina 1929 – 01 October 2007

Ok, so, I am back. Same fucking stupid old me. Hiding behind a barrage of moronic jokes, embarrasing aphorisms, terse diatribes and subtle satires. And of course add a smidgen of sarcasm, vice, stupidity, psychosis and a whole lotta Jalal and we are back to normal. No more psychological breakdowns over why I am a pansy and why won’t my family accept me as a flower or fruit or whatever it is that you people are calling it nowadays. I will not sulk. I absolutely refuse to sulk and live in a vegetative state gaining weight and feeling sorry for not having ever the liberty to live like I want. I will live life to its fullest. Starting from now. After I watch Transformers that it.

Even though I am engaged and will be getting married in the summers next year and will start to have kids “as soon as naturally possible” and have as many kids as our limbs can hold, I feel a very strong overpowering urge to keep a pet. Something strong and manly yet docile. So it is like da mayn. But, I am it’s lord. Oh dear, I have gone too far havent I. Yes, yes, I know I need to go hunting or have a fist fight on a road or something because my innate latent violence hormones are raging in my blood right now. And, as per past definitions of yours truly I am completely against violence. I think I need to be spanked properly tonight.

Oh, and yes, this is just so seriously not about Transformers. I mean, the stupid high school guy, the brain less army guy and of course Optimus Prime. None of them was cute enough to grab my attention to the screen. Of course the story line of a movie like that can not be better for the brain than lets say eating shredded plastic strips can be for your stomach. And, oh, my, fucking, God, those stupid fucking brain dead imbecile comments like “There is more to them that meets the eye”, “why are you here” and “what do you want” with the fucking camera giving close ups of the actors who are bathed in sunlight as if they have asked something important. You stupid fucks. I used to think about more profound things when I used to contemplate my vomit at age 3. Who the fuck wrote the script for you. Can you please ask him to read my blog: in a rating of proper English, depth of thought, profoundity and ability to communicate properly it ranks 12,883,789,783,838,239,283 amongst all English documents produced to date including scribbles from first graders and sentences spelled out by animals running on snow while pissing. And, it’s writer thinks that your writer sucks like a baby calf about to die of thirst.

The action scenes were very good, but they were too fast. I am sure I would get a better rush if I can see something move rather than see hunks of metal flap about faster than I can move. I mean, have you ever seen women flick their eyes at men. Eyes can move fast! But if I can’t keep up with Optimus Fucking Prime being smashed across my screen, there is something seriously wrong with how the movie is thought out. And for God’s sake can you put in some sort of a hot guy and a hot girl and make them show a little bit of skin so people dont just get up and walk out of your movie. Morons. But, all in all, I think I found the guy’s car robot quite attractive. Does this make me weird?

Wow! I feel so much better now.

Clashing Sounds

Sunday – 09 Rajab 1424 – 16 Bhadra 1925 – 07 September 2003  

i was told that i am a freak 5 mins ago. by my mom. i was listening to my music. usually the problem is that childrean listen to NEW forms of music and parents dont like that. here. i listen to classical forms of music and my mom calls it a cacophony of clamourous sounds. go figure.

well i listen to classical and semi classical south asian music. the raaga. the ghazal. the thumri. the geet. now that the background is done i will proceed.

currently everyone at my home laughs at my music and calls me dead man. lots of eye rolling and messaging about it all the time. that is not it. except for everyone in my house. everyone i know in person laughs at it as well. it seems that my music is so strange that everyone laughs at it. my musical choice has been the topic of many a joke and comment even places where i wasnt present.

well this is ovbviously depressing. i havent come across any one after my university who is nearly my age by about 20 years and shares my musical taste. well i dont know what to say. their loss. a man screaming your loss in the face of 100 % of the other people his age and beloging to his country.

what the FUCK! is wrong with me. why the FUCK do i listen to classical or semi classical music. when people laugh at it and say who died why are you listening to this. and people have actually started laughing when i told them what i listen to. i mean come on. i think given a choice the social stigma will be more for me due to what i listen than due even to my sexual orientation.

oh he is gay … too bad … but he is a nice person.

WHAT !!! he is 22 and he listens to ghazals and raagas … KEEP AWAY FROM HIM !!! i dont want you mixing with people like that.

i am terribly depressed. i seem to be fond of something that can only be seen as an affliction. it is so horrible and terrifying that people shy away from it. it is so ridiculously funny that people laugh alond at its mention. what the FUCK!!!

i am very very depressed. i cant be gay. now i cant listen to my music. why the hell cant i get even a small break. what the FUCK!!! music DAMNIT it is only MUSIC !!!

Roohi

Sunday – 09 Rajab 1424 – 16 Bhadra 1925 – 07 September 2003 

i saw a drama today. “roohi” casting ‘talat hussain’. well lets just say that anyone who can understand urdu. who likes beautiful things. who can appreciate a drama. has to watch it. if you dont watch it you will lose something. you will lose something. watch it. please. i beg of you. watch it.

the acting. oh dear dear lord. the acting. talat hussain and the girl. it is wonderful . the subtle subtle hints. the hints that i can understand as a pakistani. the ghazal being played at a certain point and the wording telling you what is going on. the music being played to heighten or dampen the mood. the way the actors had small … minute eye movements and worlds of meanings that they held in them.

the subtle subtle things. and the big big meanings. barefoot in the library showing casual as opposed to formal. the way talat is shown and the very very subtle things in which i can see a man who has the morals of a pakistani from a well educated background and who grew up in 1950s and 1960s. oh it is a wonderful drama. you have to watch it. have to.

i am in a wonderous mood right now because of that. it was like i was touched by a ray from heaven. the beauty. the aesthetic. the touch. the feel. the desire. the passion. the ‘haya’. the ‘hijab’. the aura. the whole feeling of the art of drama touching the epitome of sublime beauty and me watching it. and the ability to share it with someone else, in this case my cousin. it was wonderful. i hope all of you as wonderous evenings as i had today.

pakistan has a very rich tradition of tv dramas. until the late 80s pakistan saw only one tv channel. pakistan television ptv. and they used to show a drama every night between 8 pm and 9 pm. there used to be 4 quarters in a year and 13 episodes in every quarter. there were times when between 8 pm and 9 pm the streets of karachi used to be deserted. throughfares and main roads were emptyish. everyone used to watch the dramas.

and they were excellent. in the script. in the acting. in the directing. in the sets. in the expression. in the settings. everything. they used to be excellent. the art was carried to new heights in pakistan. tv drama. called “drama” lovingly by millions of pakistanis. it was our art. we mastered it. we took it to its zenith. the drama reached its peak in the 80s. tanhaaiyan, waris … well known pieces of art.

unfortunately the art of the drama has gone down now. maybe itll resurrect some day later. but by god it was a marvellous time while it lasted. i hope comes back.