Archive for Arts
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.
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.
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
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.
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!
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
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
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