Images

It is almost 8 evening in Mississauga.I am walking outside. There is an urge to get out the house and walk on the pavements. I can not see the rain I can only hear it.
I look at the side walks. The whole paraphernalia is shouting of change.
The rain has baptized the land and has taken away the signs hate wave had left few days back.
I think about her. I do not know any thing except the tit bits I have heard.
I have seen her. If not in reality but yes I have seen her elaborate pictures.
The one in which she has posed, the one in she was happy.
I have seen her laughing captured on the lens.
The thoughts get mingled up in one way or another.
There is a sense of solace about the rain. It is appeasing and yet haunting me at the same time.
Last few months had been a torture. There was a ghost of a real person in my home.
I never realized that, the presence of his wife will be painful. Wife of some one I loved years back with fervor and some one I hated more than I had loved some one whose name was partially attached with mine.
There were comparisons, introvert ones. We are civil people. We kill indirectly with words . The innuendoes.
The gossips.
I look at my aunty gee few days back.She stared at my frame. I know I am tall for a brown girl and vigorous exercise has transformed me into a tall, huge female.
You know what you are very pretty .You should dress up, men do not love brains.
I know she has skipped the fact that “his wife is an iv leaguer” and that she is ugly according to their standards if not his.
I am taking pleasure in both facts.
A woman with a glossier credentials.
He had actually out witted me. I try to remember our last conversation. But we never had conversation we always exchanged nods.He hated my words, I abhorred his presence.
I think about all the men in my life again. The real men who fall for the women on podium. The men who were bewitched by some thing I can not fathom myself.
The un real virtual men I met.
The men I fall for.
But then nothing was real in my life in any way.If I was too sweet in one world I was too bitter and hostile in other.
I do not trust men. I am a prisoner of my own experience.
Was she a perfectionist?
The pangs of jealousy and anger are back.
I was never a possessive woman.
I see a picture again. It is probably taken on some family gathering. The only picture which had erupted in raw hatred for a sheer stranger. My amman is sitting on one end.
The sofa is blue. Same one we had in the living area.The one I used in countless exams, sitting and studying all night. I remember the time I helped amman choose the color.How the heck this has landed here?
On one side is my amman on other she,with a distance and a braod smile resting her hand on his shoulders.
Are they lovers?
A perverted thought crossed my head.
But why do I hate her?
The fact that she was sitting, people assumed years back was my place. Or am I jealous of the love?
I felt redundant at the moment with a quotidian existence.
The steps have taken a pace. I am almost running on the side walks with a heavy heart beat.
It feels like some thing is burning inside me.
I can not understand it.
I move towards the track. There are some high school kids playing soccer. It is still drizzling.
Why should I hate her?
She was no one?
She is no one?
It is just a ghost story.
I am feeling like a ghost rider. Soul less, moving in the time tunnel.
I think about the life ahead.
I can not think.
Every thing feels like oblivion. Dead, as if the sentence of life is finished with exclamation mark.
The pain is now picking pace with my steps. I wish I had a cigarette.
There is urging to sit down and smoke. I have stopped smoking months back.
The only addiction I carry is of mere caffeine.
Apotheosis.
Perfection.
Love.
Success.
Ambivalence.
All the words are shouting on me.
Does she has a copy of green?
A funny thought.
She is a social science student, might have never heard the word econometrics let alone the book.
I feel elevated on the silly thought.
There is another thought. A wish ,to stab her.
I am shocked on my thinking process. I feel soul less.
I can feel the heaviness in my jeans.It is the only pair of designer jeans I own.
I laugh on the fact that I seek the perverted pleasure of wearing expensive stuff once in a while.
I should have changed in some thing more comfortable.
I do ‘nt care.
I am moving on the track again.
I think about”T” again.
I feel I have lost the battle of life in a way.
The player tries to kick the ball.
My red shirt has lost the color in a way.I feel as if I am drenched in sweet not water.
I feel as if I am burning.
There is a blunt realization. I know I have a raw sensuality.
I might meet him again for a cup of coffee. I like his wit, his humor his shark like corporate manner. His wit is acquired, probably from court room.
I can not comprehend any life with him.
I hate down towns.
I hate the corporate life.
I think about my sister’s analogy.
Railway tracks.
The ball in the ground is now on side track.The sky is black.
There is a urge. I want him to be here at this moment.
In some raw act I pull my hands out and touch my lips.
I am astonished at the act.
How will it feel if he touches?
Perversion..
More perversion.
There is a desire.
Naked ,blunt and open.
It is raining now.
I wish I could touch the lips across his.
I smile on the fact that I am inept in all the matters of flesh.
I will tremble probably or run away.
The rain has stopped.
I am all wet.
I have been walking for 2 hours in circles.
I feel as if my life is moving in circles as well!

obvious

There are so many things about me which are obvious. Like the fact that I can not learn how to be diplomatic. If I dislike some one it is evident from my behavior I will simply ignore him/her without any reason, means I can be highly unreasonable at times.
I can never be sugar coated and I can never pose in believing what I do not believe in any way.
I suffer because of this personality disorder called blatant truth and I hurt people more viciously than any one can even imagine.
If you are my friend and i came to realize that you have been lying to me in any way,i will just walk away without even giving a chance to give explanation.
One of my close friends is asking me about her love interests. And I replied that the guy is a jerk except that he has a hero like looks.
Truth some one ought to put a grain of reality in her head.
At times do not need advice they just need to be reconfirmed about the fears which are true.
Last night one of my mother’s very close fried was invited on tea. The conversation led to expensive diamond rings and the so called branded clothing in Pakistan.
During serving tea I just said that marriages are based on love not on carats of diamonds.
I had a real bashing from my mom on making that crazy desi lady realize that bragging is not appreciated every where.
But I should practice shutting my mouth at times.
Hypocrisy, false modesty and vicious intentions make me sick at times. In North America I find it a daily revelation at times that women who wear scarf /niqab and then act as they are the most modest women turn out to be the most corrupt ones.
In my own school the psf gang who wear scarves are termed to be easy women by my Arab friends.
Three dates and the girl is all yours.
What.
I was horrified at my friend’s statement. Yes it was bit exaggerated and bit over stated but it is true.
And girls who are with scarves turn up to be wives of really good people. No doubt desi men are not only irrational they are fools as well.
Even though I am not judgmental and I always keep my views open.The conclusion is any one who makes a great show of religion has no humanity at end of day.
Any one who is telling you that he/she is modest is implying in other ways that you are not.
There fore it is good to be judgmental at times.

So I am fretting over my application. I still have 3 more months to file the formal one .However the real question is where to apply?
I am going through the dillema of choosing between us/canada.
I know queens is my first priority followed by university of Toronto and then western.
But every one is asking me to apply in us as well. Duke is still a big crush.
The whole story ends on availibility of advisor and funding.
If I get the federal funding again then definitely I will stay in Canada.
I guess I have started liking the place. The domestication, the fact you know people and your family is here.
It is one reason I do not want to move to us though I have an option..
Still.

so the study marathon is almost at end. I am trying to revise the stuff i have learned over a period of two weeks.There are some new facts,some old theories and yes some really interesting insights.
When the course started i thought i have started hating theory.Taking more courses in statistics and econometrics had really zinced my memory.
I enjoy working with numbers and econometrics fulfills my desire to do programming once in a while.
But this course is evident of the fact that i am still really good in theory and public policy is a natural strong area.
These days i am writing my proposal for phd admission and in first place i was thinking to major in econometrics but now i guess i might take financial issues in developing nations as my second major.I am oscillating in between subjects.
I fell in love with things easily and then discard them ruthlessly.
Whether it was my eternal love for bio chemistry,my endeavor for learning programming or my fling with medicine,every thing ended like a teenage crush.
The only thing that had remained is my utmost love for change.
Economics is promising.It gives an insight,a model and a solution.
It is stimulating and challenging.
It is impressive and tough.
And yet i love it as much as i still love him till this day.
Two things will always remain in my life..
His memories and yes numbers...

A day in central mississauga...

So I am in central library Mississauga right now. The local library across the road is closed for Sunday so this place has become my abode for 5 hours.
I am one of those library addicts who can not study in home/room. I need a space and paraphernalia which shouts on my nerves study. study..Study.
So amman dropped me at central around 12 :45 and loud sounds welcomed me in front. There is some festival going on here and I am already having headache because of all the noise around.
So I waited in library foyer for almost 10 minutes and there I met one of the most cutest Chinese kid.(well this course in Chinese economy is also effecting my socializing skills.
So this kid was standing with his father near the stairs I was sitting with a bag full of books and a heavy laptop(I hate the weight of my hp).
He came near me and started staring on my glass bangles touching and playing with them. Same way mommi use to do.
In vacations I have the liberty to enjoy the sound of a glass bangle because in academic year the sound fills the silence of class whenever I write on the board during the tutorials.
So I allowed the kid to play with the bangles then tapping my sandal heals and clapping.
He smiled came forward and hugged me.
It was one of the sweetest feelings in the world.
Working with kids..(I worked as a kindergarten teacher some times back), is one of the most pleasurable feelings. After teaching elder kids(university going) I came to conclusion that teaching at higher levels is though challenging but emotionally boring.
The drama of a kindergarten class has its own pleasures.
The laughter, the sound, their smiles and yes the way they express on top of their innocence can melt any heart.
The day definitely started with a very nice note.
I am missing the days I spend with mommi playing with him, baby sitting him but now what I remember are memories to cherish than memories to weep.
Well I have the paper due in a weeks time I better get back to the world of mao,deng and hagel.

Bitter note....

The day which started with laughter and optimism is ending on a bitter note.
The more i know people around me (men in general) the more i am becoming evasive to relationships and the word love.
The mean ness and the lust (venality of emotions which i call it some times) have decreased every thing into glossy credentials and Greek god looks.
Some times i wonder on one of my very close friend’s remarks that life as a dumb blonde is very easy.
The time other person start knowing that you are some one with opinion, thoughts and yes the power to make decisions things get into quagmire leaving you with many dead end questions.
I use to perceive that his rejection was timely. That i will grow up as a strong person out of it. But now I realize that one incidence has created a ghost in me.
I retrieve even before the other person thinks to hit the ball back in my court.
I am a lousy player. in tennis as well as in real life...

Of free times and old dramas...

I grew up watching ptv dramas.Ahat,aroosa,kasak ,dhop kinare,sitara or mehruniisa but yes my all time favorites khawaja and son.
I am in Toronto these days and I was sipping tea when my mother just exclaimed.
Change channels its arifa siddique.
And so here we were watching the old time classical khawaja and sons with its vibrant humor and a classy original portrayal of old lahore’s life.
The sentences are not only humorous but original.
The drama portray the life of a simple Pakistani household which is predominantly female with just one brother and a neighbor who has the cheesy crush on him.
The story moves from the gloomy alleys of old Lahore to the vibrant glamorous life of new money.
The social change in the core of Punjabi society, tradition dying in transition. Old values being over ruled by the new doctrines.
The sets are original, so is acting in one way or another.
It is one of the best productions of Lahore center.
Drama is definitely dying in Pakistan. Specially tv drama.
These days geo is telecasting the premiere of shoaib mansoor’s movie and I was wondering why is media blind to the deterioration of drama.
Ptv productions these days look like copy cat version of ekta kapoor filmi dramas.
I some times wonder who wear these kinds of dresses even in urban Pakistan.
Originality is overruled by glamour and fantasy.
We need a revival, cultural, intellectual and yes philosophical.
80’s were definitely intellectually productive when ptv had to bear the censor ship of a dictator.
I am wondering what has happened to media in these so called FREE TIMES.