Archive for karachi

Talk the Talk

Day 10,290 – Wednesday – 26 Agrahayana 1930 – 18 Zilhaj 1429 – 17 December 2008

So, the other day, I met up with a gay friend of mine. Nice guy. Very very good looking. Single. And looking. So, if you are interested, drop me a line. He has all of my good qualities, and to top that off he is fair, beautiful, well built and charming. So, a very good catch. Applications are welcome Monday through Friday from 1900 hours to 0900 hours and even during the day timings on the weekend.

So, two young gay guys, both single and looking, in the same car. The discussion on homosexuality was inevitable. We discussed all the different sorts of guys one meets. How society has shaped them. And how they behave.

There is the i-am-pure-top guy who is an absolute dick, extremely desirable, but completely deflated after an initial burst of producing interest in oneself. And yes, if you are not going to give a blow job, and touching cum is disgusting to you, dude, you are str8, so stop fucking guys simply because you could not get a girl (this is not meant to offend guys who are actually gay and have feelings similar to what I have written above). You can blow me or get the fuck out of my bed.

There is the i-am-oh-so-effeminate guy who is an absolute woman, says he is masculine, then plays with his extremely well maintained eye brows and bats his eye lashes at the waiter shamelessly. Ok, so when we were talking on the phone, why the fuck did you have a fake voice? And why the hell did you tell me that everyone tells you that you are so str8 acting. Dont you think I will see through the ten pounds of hair product, obscenely manicured eye brows, incredibly slated gait and demeanour, and the eye lash batting. Oh please! Dont lie to me, and if you did, you had better sleep with the waiter.

There is the i-am-so-fashionably-cool guy who is in showbiz, says he cares about people and is down to earth, but he has the ego the size of my dick when it is erect (read huge) and the huge flowers on his shirts make him look incredibly gay, and yes, everyone knows that you are gay because your clothes scream it out, and to top it off, if you make fun of my French Pronunciations, you are an elitist dick, even when you are mis pronouncing every Urdu word by default because you want to make sure that you dont seem like you know the language spoken in your city by 99.5% of the people.

There is the i-am-so-emotionally-needy guy who would want to talk on the phone all the time and thinks it is romantic and not creepy, but he doesnt realize that there are people who have jobs and lives and will greet you at 7 pm by “did you remember me now after the whole day?”. My reply until now was, I am so sorry, I thought that since we talked on the phone for two hours last night, one hour of which I was begging you to let me go, I can not call you till seven today. My reply, from now onwards is going to be, shut the fuck up and suck my sugar frosted dick, biyatch.

Oh and yes, sorry, but the quality of your skin is not the only good thing about you. Brainless idiot.

We also decided that in spite of these, and oh so many other negative stereotypes there are many good guys out there, we have both been with some.

And then we started discussing which hotel in Karachi is the best. For having sexual trysts in. We did not reach an agreement. I liked Beach Luxury and he liked Hotel Mehran. Oh well! Maybe ill try it next time.

Karachi nights

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

From 0006 last night to 0614 in the morning.

The night; the senselessness; the reparte; the thoughts; the heat; the campus; the desire; the foreboding; the ultimate question; the weather; the hope; the morning; the ideas; the exchange; the excitement; the emotions; the city; the roads; the tour; the mosquitoes; the feelings; the opening up; the driving; the dawn; the expectations; the wind; the fears; and the feeling of absolutely unbridled youth. Everything. Completeness. And more. Beautiful.

Oh my God. Wow. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Wow. Oh my Fucking God! Wow! Fuck!

Smorgasbord

Sunday – 16 Safar 1429 – 05 Phalgun 1929 – 24 February 2008 

My belief in the existence of a supreme being, lovingly called God from now on, has been strengthened in the past couple of days. I have suddenly been put through a set of extremely varied experiences since Friday morning. I am sure this God person wants to show me ways to love what he has created. If only he worked this hard to get me sex with Mark Wahlberg, I am sure my belief in him would be awakened beyond all previous records.

So, I go to work on Friday. Over excited about how things are working out, doing my mental calculations. And then a sand storm hit the city, and wham, I am in the loo coughing, sneezing and feeling miserable. My boss thinks I am trying to avoid work. And, I am trying to tell him that he can get a clue from my red eyes and the fact that I have tears dripping from my chin that there is something wrong with me. No, you idiots, slow brained cows, I was not crying, I got a fucking eye infection. I hate infections of all kinds. Though I do like the odd cold, makes me feel sexy. Perverted; but sexy.

Then comes Saturday, I go on an interesting date, the guy does NOT like me. He does NOT like me at all. AT ALL. I am sure you all see the excessive capitalization. I liked him. But, he DEFINITELY did not like me.

So, to get over that, I went to a book store. My old nemesis. I have to decide on a small amount, and then try not to exceed ten times that figure. But, this time I really did go overboard, and bought books worth about 23% of my take home salary and about 16% of my total salary. Crazy, weird, insane? Yes please, with an added dollop or fat free creme. And this is exactly why I have to take someone else along with me when I go shopping. I would max out my card buying stupid cup holders when I know I dont need them.

I think ill just put up a huge sign on my office table “Therapy needed here”. Because, as of now, I dont feel anything else can define me so well.

And then, I went crabbing at night. Amazing experience. The whole family went. And of course, eating at least 25 crabs and 25 shrimp is not a general human’s idea of fun, but when you have practically frozen solid because of the full blast cold freeing winds the only thing you can think of is eating. Eating to your heart’s content.

Ugghhhhhhh. I think I need to sleep today!

Madness

Wednesday – 22 Zilhaj 1428 – 13 Pausa 1929 – 02 January 2008

I do not refer to my unbelievably fickle nature with depression and sadness. Over the past couple of months I have been fighting very hard against my moods of depression. I would like to say that at any given time I am either a man of happiness and sunshine or of sadness and lamentation. And in that period of time I see only that particular taste of time till the end of time. Fickle I would agree. But, it adds tastes to life not expected by so many. And of course of the recently polled 149 friends, family, colleagues and acquantances 134 declared me absolutely insane and unpredictable, 10 said I wanted to seem different and hence overacted, and of course 5 wanted to go to the bathroom and said “To hell with your questions overly fat and irritating bitch, where the hell is the can???”. I rest my case.

The madness I refer to is what I see around me. My country, my society, my people, my land. I met with a very dear friend from Hyderabad. Yes, yes, I know, only people above fifty are allowed to use the word dear friend, but, fuck off, grow up, go kick yourselves in the nuts, I will do what I want to do. He was telling me about the absolutely insane violence that took place in his city. So did it happen in Karachi.

My cousins, who were in from the US forced me to take them out on the New Years Eve. I didnt want to go. I did. I saw everything. What had become of my city. The closed shops. The dark streets. The empty roads. I cried. I cried in the car. They asked me what it was. I stopped crying. They can not share in my pain. I needed someone who loved those streets as much as I did to be able to understand.

And here, I would like to share with you all something that went through my mind during a split second of the drive. I am walking across the India – Pakistan border.  When they try to stop me I run across it and declare “I demand political asylum because I am an Agnostic and the country behind me is a Taliban / Warlord hellhole”. The Indians do not say anything. They look at me with understanding eyes and let me walk on. I cross the guards. I look back. I look at the gate on the border with the Crescent and the Star. I know that my country descended into chaos. Another Afghanistan, another Baghdad. I saw it happen. And as I looked back across the border, I felt the pain of loss. Loss of each element of my existence. The sum of my being defined by a symbol that had restricted my world to what I ended up learning to love so strongly. Ghazal singers and Sufi Rock. Dawn newspaper and tv channel. As these images go through my mind I start walking back towards the Pakistani border. Something pulling me back. Towards destruction. Towards oblivion. But, the ability to think and process and decide rationally had left me. There was only one thing. Pleasure and pain, and the knowledge of eternal pleasure in the company of what I know and accept. And as I walk towards the border I am torn into two, one who wants to grasp at the last dying embers of what I love and cherish and hold above everything in the world, and the other who has the knowledge that seeing the destruction of a part of this whole would finish me. Yet again, as in my personal life, I am torn between two paths that both lead to oblivious destruction, I can not choose, and I can not decide, they are both right and they are both wrong. Am I only trying to run away from the questions by forcing so sudden a decision? As I walk towards the border, I fall down. I break down. I start to cry. A sound comes out of my throat like the primeval cry of an animal in pain. I dont know where it is coming from. Maybe it is coming from Pakistan. Maybe. And the images flash at me with increasing intensity. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan singing Pakistan Pakistan. The Azan of the Muazzin from my old home. I fall to the ground. Old late 80s PTV song / jingle that was played before the Khabarnama. I start to pull my body across the gravel towards the border. Jinnah Mausoleum along the MA Jinnah road covered in a soup of Rickshaw vomit. I know that I am going to die. Sunset from the Clifton beach on a winter afternoon. I know that I must cross the border before the inevitable. The large pothole on the road to my house due to which I had to drive on the wrong lane each and every day. I scrabble like a mad man on the gravel, making a lot of effort but little progress. The Kabab Fry from Burns Road. The Indian guards who had tried to stop me have just now let me be; they understand. Nayyara Noor singing Faiz Ahmed Faiz – خیر ہو تیری لیلائوں کی. I think my hand has hit the border; and now, I can finally die in peace. I turn over, on the border. Saadat Hasan Manto. Pakistan Paindabad. And all is peace forever.

 پاکستان پائندہ باد

Trajedy

Thursday – 16 Zilhaj 1428 – 07 Pausa 1929 – 27 December 2007

Former Prime Minister of Pakistan, chirperson of the Pakistan Peoples Party and the mother of three children; Benazir Bhutto was assasinated in a suicide terrorist attack today in Rawalpindi’s Liaquat Bagh.

I was at work. Suddenly a very senior officer burst onto the floor, consulted with the two most senior officers on the floor and then started telling all staff to immediately pack up and leave the office. Took two minutes to sink in. Then there was nothing but fear and panic. People were on their phones but the networks of all cell phone companies were jammed. People rushed out of the building in a state of panic and confusion. I got in my car and headed for home.

The city was not right. Things were not as they are. There was too much traffic and there was an extremely palpable quantity of fear and panic. Chaos. Everyone in every car was worried, everyone had rushed out from work to head home, safety seemed elusive at the least, crazy traffic. And then I got home.

And then it sunk in. My country. My people. Me. What a loss. What a loss. I did not support Benazir but I think she was a great politician of Pakistan. What a loss.

Violence in Pakistan has gone out of hand. This is not us. We are not like this. This is not my Pakistan.

Overwhelmed

Monday – 29 Ziqaad 1428 – 19 Agrahayana 1929 – 10 December 2007 

I usually hate to question ancient wisdom and present my own ideas completely contrary to general opinion. But, today I must. There is such a thing as an interesting Monday, or maybe even a very interesting Monday. I shall present a summary of day. I am sure I would be unable to present the day in any manner better than this, since it is very late.

Woke up late on a winter morning. Sleeping in a going late to work is just amazing on a cold Monday morning. And to top all that off it was amazing weather.

Finished two tasks in record time and spent the rest of the wasting time since my manager knew that those tasks take two days. What can I say. I am good at what I do.

Had a good, hearty, healthy and tasteless lunch. Put out every cigarette half way; that is when I remembered that I had to stop smoking from today.

Went over to my previous department for some work. And I saw an absolutely hot guy there. And I mean 10/10. Better than any I have seen in the past couple of months (of course this does not include porn).

Joined the gym in my office building. There is no other way of ensuring that I go to the gym. And add to that my neighbour is also going. Good. Now I can be assured for being nagged to the gym on a daily basis.

Came home and had a beautiful dinner accompanied by rain. Such a wonderful addition to Karachi weather at this time of the year.

Gave a close friend a small birthday coffee party at Espresso. That is a good place. I would recommend their breakfast to everyone and their grandmother’s friends.

Hooked up with an old friend. Made out, and completed a list of activities legally, morally, ethically, religiously, socially and culturally incongruent with how life is lived in my part of the world. Getting laid is just such an absolutely amazing experience. And to top all that off, I just can not resist facial hair. I am such a slut.

So, with the above eight activities completed, the last one being highly highly weightier than the rest, I would have to say. Good day today. And hopefully a good day tomorrow. Have a nice day and enjoy every moment of it. And, of course, do not let go of any opportunity to make out and be a slut.

Jalal – Over and out.

Trajedy

Friday – 06 Shawwal 1428 – 27 Asvina 1929 – 19 October 2007

Two powerful bomb blasts have hit the procession of Benazir Bhutto. More than 120 have died as I sit here and write this. With trembling hands and wet eyes. Such loss of life, again and again and again. And it gnaws at your very soul and sanity. Like waves weathering away the cliffs. Cliffs of resolve and honour and dignity and humanity. Senseless violence tearing apart the fabric of our very lives. One after another a trickle of news and violence in our great cities. Murder, destruction and mayhem.

خون کے دھبے دھلیں گے کتنی برساتوں کے بعد