“This is my country. I love my country.”

For the longest time a faraway land pled for a pink Summer. The auspicious occasion brought on a false promise of hope and commitment. The foreign vision listed a huge asset as a byline for countries and wonders of the World. Be it Niagara Falls, cryptic road messages, colorful Graffiti and old bridge towns, the fortitude just needed five reasons to crisp the waves and smooth oceans. A Nomad falls in a different constituency. His life is a gold stroke. With private conversations and life of a spherical band, the perfect glide is an art. Going to Bali is a commitment. (Subtle reference to engagements aka Baat Pakki in Pakistan that are a vocal deal until the NikkahBali over here refers to a ring that ponders on commitment.) It has ups and downs which releases yet picks up quickly.


Bibi Asma

The point of location is a vivid indicator of immersion; to respect with a bit of love, honey and intention. A vegetable will still give life if you let it grow. The bass of a hold is hollow; yet fulfilling it is a necessity. The blow torch is a sparkle of life that can be planted out in clamors of sparkle and politesse. Getting in the shell is fast, coming out is a process. It’s built with bricks of determination and bronzed out destinations.

“A book should not cost more than a pack of cigarettes” ~Mr. Allen Lane, founder of Penguin Books.

A wise sycophant will portray themselves as weak. A liberated spirit will walk, run, cycle or even take a bus. They introduce an idea that develops and learns. Millions of people in developing countries have their sense of trust, instinct and belief. If you want to belong to a culture, taste their Onions. They will seclude you from any harm. Indulge with baked tomatoes and add meat and/or vegetable with salt according to taste. My sense of aroma would light up in the northern areas. They grasp a strong hold from behind. A sense of peace that only comes from Home. A six hour bed rest makes up for that. Wrong. A home is not just walls and a rooftop. It’s inside you.

‘It’s not the place, it’s a sense of belonging to pour out all your inhibitions and bring you back with bent knees filled with gratitude.” – Kinza T. S. Monga

A nomad is power and curbs your own. Belonging is not my cup of tea. It’s coffee.

Pakistan — Built in the 1940s, I’m from the third generation of hookahs, boiled eggs and cremated cigarettes butts. This form of socialization will get me to meet an Egyptian student, a Turkish navy officer, a Canadian drummer and my heritage of Jalandhar and Amritsar. From the province of Punjab that is famous for “chul” aka Party, Punjabi blood is raw and vivid. Loud, proud and the coleslaw crowd. Habit of listening is an art and I’m learning every day. Distinction is key yet average is also a number. Perfection is sweet yet overbearing. Molten with strong ‘juggad’, acceptance and tolerance is a protective gear.

Follow the rule or follow the door; one must maintain flexibility and demand. Supply will be limited if it lacks give and take. An open mind is a virtue and wisdom is not a privilege. The hold of control must be let go to allow a trust fall. To be instigated, an idea is cult until broken into tiny shards of glass. Exploring and still learning, from mine to yours.

Image courtesy: YoulinMagazine

Many Indian movies are vulgar in this day and age. In fact I think the Indians have suddenly discovered their exhibitionist side and their public cannot get enough. However the vulgarity is totally wasted/pointless  in most flicks except for this one. The dirty picture follows the story of a young woman who is average looking and an average actor, she just has one thing that can get her into a movie and that is between her thighs. If you think this review is vulgar. dont even bother watching this movie because it shows you all the crass, disgusting and true to life antics that go on behind the making of so many of our “hit movies” of the day.  It  fully covers both the casting couch and the continuous recasting done to make sure the heroine doesn’t get cut from the reel.

Vidya balan has played her part to perfection of the girl next door turned sex bomb. Naseerudin shah is both sleazy and glamorous at the same time as the 80’s leading man, but Imran hashmi is hardly there so his fans will be a shade disappointing. Tushar kapoor is well…completely ignorable.

The sound track is also quite good, the song “ooh lala”  is reminiscent of a kishore ditty but my personal favorite is “ishq sufiyana”

If you want an in your face, tell all, raunchy and funny flick go for this with lines like ” tum mujhe aise dekhte ho jaise marinated chicken ko tandoor dekhta hay” it will tickle many of your senses.

6/10 stars would have been 7 if the ending was not typical.

Indian movies are usually bad copies of good films, with a little slapstick over the top raunchy humor and some good old singing around the trees bits thrown in and off course the melodrama. Rock star though is a dish with a very different taste. Ranbir Kapoor plays the struggling wanna be rock icon to perfection, specially with the vacant hurt look when is needed.  The musical influences at khwaja sahabs dargah and the qawali bit just goes to strengthen the spiritual development of this character.  The heroine of this flick Nargis fakhri is not upto par as far as acting skills are concerned (few people would be in this instance with ranbir) but as far as comic delivery and the looks are concerned she bowls over every siren in the book today.

The movie takes you through different phases of a icons life and the terrible and bitter truths behind the faces we all idolize and the struggles they go through behind the scenes.

So if you want to watch something intense, dark and fun at the same time go for Rockstar you will not be disappointed!

Karachiite ranking 8 out of 10 stars

I had been meaning to write for a while but you know, work, life, travels.

So, when I first came to Karachi, I used to share a flat in Clifton with an old friend and her new friend. It was terribly complicated. I had five years more than the new girl but they had been living together for two years. So I was defensive to begin with in the first few months. They (these two) had lots of other friends that I didn’t know (I knew no one in Karachi other than cousins and family friends with whom, initially, I was reluctant to share my laissez faire sensibilities) and they all used to live in the same building or around; they used to congregate every evening, playing Pictionary and I used to sit in the corner, wondering when I would be fired from my law firm since my boss wasn’t looking too impressed in early few weeks. I was missing the pubs, smokingup or doing anything that was not so bloody kosher. I mean we were all in our early 20s and without parental control but here were these men and women, failing to procreate or do anything fun.

They, the gang, as they liked to call themselves, were all imports from other parts of the country. All in Karachi to work for the MNCs and the other big set ups that made up the city. They had gone to big schools, had big ideas and all were on hunt to find the perfect mate to settle down. I used to dread coming home everyday to face their incredible drawing skills. They were very good people. I hope they remember me as fondly, as I remember them. But what struck me was that they would not engage with the city. They would order in from boat basin and hang inside and play. And I was going mad. So, in 2003, Karachi had the air of being very safe. No one I knew had been car jacked or robbed. The last murders of people I knew had taken place in 1986. I had just financed a KIA Pride. I was my own boss from 6 pm to 8 am and hence, to avoid coming home to the happening bonhomie, I started taking sneakers to work and would change into tracks and drive from work to Zamzama park, which was referred to as the General’s park . It was not as constructed and had an air of risk around it. I was harassed countless times . That didn’t bother me much. I am much tougher than I look. Occasionally, to alter the routine, I also went to Nisar Shaheed Park in Phase IV. That hasn’t changed much. It was not covered with stones and was smoother. I used to bump into my uncle a lot and we d talk about Musharaf, legal profession, pharma industry, Nihari. But soon the brisk walks or trots in these parks lost their charm. So, to make it more fun, I started going to sea view; I would park the car at one end (close to the Village restaurant) and run from one end to some distance along the beach. It was breathtaking. There were the camels, the popcorn walas, the early daters (it used to be still evening by Karachi standards, even past 7 30 pm and we are speaking of late autumn months) and I felt utterly free and safe and no one would give me a second look. I became friends with a flower kid. He’ d give me a rose every day.

One day, I got up early and went for a run around 6 AM. It was an utterly different scene that early, no cars, no camels, no kids. A police van was doing the rounds. It was the van and me. So I braced myself and did what I had to do. And got out of the car and started running. And very soon I saw that the van was trailing me slowly. I was on the beach but I could see that it was following me. It was one of the eerie pre dawn hours when, the KMC garbage pickers had not come out. There was nothing I could have done at the time. It was just me, and the sea that could have provided some protection. My car was parked on one end. I could not turn around because this Police van was with me through out. I can’t remember if McDonald was around at the time. I can still remember the horror of what I felt at those moments. I was trying to remember all the past crime reports that I had come across that week. I could not remember anything but knew there had been incidents. I wasn’t afraid of attack so much as I was afraid of being taken away for questioning. I didn’t have any identification and had told no one that I was out there. I was not carrying my phone and my parents with all their military connections were in Morocco. That was it. I was about to become a statistic; I am sure I was convinced of it at that time. I know kept running. But then, I remember, the van stopped and one police guy came out. He started hollering. And it was clear he was shouting at me. So I stopped turned and walked to him. He was your generic Karachi Police Cop. Moustache, paunch, red eyes. He asked me what I was doing there at this time? Asked to see my ID (I had none). Then he stared at me long and hard. I heard snickers from the van, (there was one more in the front and maybe one in the back). Then the police man started on the idiocy of people in Karachi. He spoke at length on how people like me were asking to be raped and killed and create all sorts of trouble for him and his brothers. He asked me if a fisher man had decided to attack me what could have I done (it was not appropriate to tell him then that the only threat, I faced was from him). Anyway, it went on and on and he asked me what I did. I told him I was a lawyer. He said he had a kid in A levels and that was it. That’s the end. He walked me back to the car and asked to see the car papers (and I had none of those either-I kept them in the office for some moronic reason). He gave me another lecture and went.

Soon afterwards, I discovered some mischief makers in my fraternity and that was the last time I got up before 6 AM. I no longer know where the two roommates are and how life has panned out for them. And  for the life of me, I can not remember a single name from the other members of the gang.

The End.

Keh Dena… A Tribute to Albela Rahi

Posted: October 31, 2011 by Rai M Azlan in youtube
Tags: , , , ,

Many years ago, a lean young man came to Karachi from East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) with hopes of better future in the music industry. He started his struggle with gigs at a cafe located on Tariq road, Karachi. Later on, this young man appeared on TV with his guitar, his only companion in this city, on Sohail Rana’s music show for children kids show. Who knew that in future this young man will become the pioneer of pop music in Pakistan, his Albela Rahi was the official beginning of pop music in Pakistan. We know this Albela Rahi as Alamgir, One of the most electrifying performers Pakistan ever produced.
After giving many hits to Pakistan music industry he moved to USA where he still takes part in concerts even after his serious health issues, he is suffering from polycystic kidney disease. He is fighting and have immense passion to live and music even when both of his kidneys are failed and he is living on dialysis every week.
A few days back a video teaser appeared and became talk of social media town and when the full version was revealed, it became viral. I am talking about OST of Mangoes the series by SB Productions. A sound track sung by Kristie Yung, a Canadian singer singing in Urdu made it viral and the presence of Alamgir with his ever-fresh voice became reason for this video to become a hit. This is a re developed version of Alamgir’s Keh Dena, in case you have not heard the real version enjoy it in the youtube content below.

I must say that Kristie Yung version is very well made and she along with the whole team has successfully paid tribute to legendary Alamgir. More on that using tabla in music created an interesting flavor of this version. In case you missed it take a listen.

Now some serious talk Alamgir needs to undergo an operation and this energetic performer is fighting hard and raising money for his treatment by himself with concerts. He is an artist and he must be appreciated in the best way here using this platform I request to please spread the word so that more and more people can contribute in his fund so that he can live healthy life again. in a recent interview he said “I’m trying to raise funds for my treatment and if God wills the people of Pakistan will respond as they always have, with love,”. The Kristie Young’s version is available at iTunes and the proceedings from the purchase of this song will go to Alamgir’s Health Fund.

Karachi Fountain

Posted: October 26, 2011 by sharmeenalikhan in Uncategorized

My blog today is the first paragraphs from the book I am attempting to write (and failing at it) and the fountain in the blog appears only in the last para. The reason I am putting it here in the blog for the Karacchiite is because the city serves as the inspiration for this book and my friend Shirin says this is perfectly acceptable and because the book is  based in Karachi. The time frame is the 80s. I am trying my best to avoid populating it with any overtly simplistic cultural reference points; other than Gen Zia and general sense of security and tolerance (despite G Z). There are no Walkmen in this. Karachi in the 80s was very different from  Karachiof the 2000’s. I used to come here for summer breaks from any cantonment my father happened to be posted. It was always (and perhaps remains) an epitome of modernity.

Here goes:

“On one of the hottest days of August, Saira Hafeez hunts out a blank notebook from her mother’s study table and starts her first and last story collection. The day smells strongly of fish and human waste; which is never uncommon in Karachi.In the previous one year, she has begun to experience lust and faithlessness in equal measures. Her moral confusion is immense. The object of her lust and love is older, shameless, an officer. He has taken full advantage of Saira’s moral weakness, indecisiveness and curiosity. In his hands, she has been a pendulum of easy virtue and hysteria. He would have been court-martialed because he had faked a medical report and has been on a long leave of absence from his Unit.Much later he will get off the hook on account of the plane crash. And people will briefly be occupied by things other than moral and petty crimes. But only briefly will Pakistan’s collective attention shift away from this.

To spare herself the agony of moral ambiguity, she will write these stories. In these she will likely find good characters; and bad. But Saira, naturally wants them to be clearly good; and clearly bad with no confusion. However, as all stories go, it will be impossible for Saira to control her characters’ choices. Her heroes and heroines will acquire independence, almost from the very conception. She will fight this. She wants complete control. But her characters will be ambivalent. Her characters will be free from her authorial binds. And you know what she will do. She will find the stories vile and deciding this, she will put on her dark glasses, take her bicycle, ride from her defense house to the sea view (because Karachi in the 80’s is golden) and she will throw what she will genuinely believe is her notebook into the sea where, unknown to Saira, a blue turtle has been living. The turtle will swallow what she has thrown and that will cause its instant death. This blue turtle, who would have been the last known member of its specie, would have gone on to give birth to three other turtles, two boys one girl. They would have, through copious amounts of incest, continued the blue turtle’s family for another fifty decades–but Saira, who is as ambivalent as her characters, will have prevented the depravity of this incest, but, would have done little to enhance the richness and diversity that makes up our world.”

I am making attempts totake the narrative further in the arena of moral ambiguity. There is an adulterous love affair, a military fellow; there are houses with an ancient oak tree in North Nazimabadbut where the air still manages to bring sea smells. I have written about 80,000 words sitting on a bar table that used to be in my apartment in Clifton Block 2. My apartment on the 8th floor used to overlook the sea. I could see the Karachi fountain; on most days this used to be shut. The Karachi fountain had cost the city hundreds of lacks of Rupees but malfunctiioned because, I hear, a fish got caught in the machinery. I believe that it got fixed but it was a repetitive problem. Every weekend, there used to be car rallies in front of it, by the beach. This city of lights would let nothing prevent its sense of life and fun. Not even a few fish.

The art of speaking

Posted: October 25, 2011 by Kinza Tahir in day to day
Tags: , , , ,

Ever been at a loss of words? Just don’t know what to say? Sitting in a crowd or a meeting, your name is called, people want to hear your opinion, and you are like huh? Don’t worry! You are not the only one who has faced this situation.

I have faced this many times, in fact, people even stopped asking me! It used to be such an embarrassment, then a 100 lectures later, from friends and family, I decided to speak. Speak for myself, for my betterment. What I did?  When I was in a group of people, I would listen intently for a first few minutes, grasp all the info in my mind and make sure that the topic which was going on was very clear in my head. After someone had finished their statement, I would give my opinion! Or sometimes in discussions, I cut people off in midway because I believe my ideas will make a bigger impact. I make sure that I don’t repeat an argument, that is utmost important. Or else people lose respect, you can add more to an argument, but shouldn’t repeat it again.

If you feel you want to be the one leading a conversation, then what you can do is find out the most popular topics these days, be updated on them, start it and give your perception on it. Make sure you don’t bore your listeners, don’t give the impression of ‘I-know-it-all’ but be polite as well as LISTEN to what others are saying. Maybe they have additional news regarding the ongoing topic. Listening is the tool. When you will sit in a different group of people, you have the info from before and can now share it with others.

When giving your suggestions, make sure you don’t go crazy! As in screaming and not even bother listening to what anyone has to say, that is just wrong and offensive to others. It is unprofessional behavior and manners. Some people can’t help it, their voice is just loud, they should be talking delicately. It gives a good feeling to others and even themselves.

Confidence and self-belief are most important, they need to be your top priority. Even if you feel very nervous, don’t show it on your face but keep it relaxed! That is what your competitors want, for you to break down, but don’t give them the satisfaction at all. If you are about to speak in front of public, do discuss every point with a trusted source like a normal conversation you have with friends.

Speaking and listening with inner exploration. That will be your key!

Beef Bulgogi and Bar talk.

Posted: October 23, 2011 by sharmeenalikhan in Uncategorized

I moved to Karachi one week after 9/11 or 11/9 as we should really call it. With a masters of laws, a year in Brighton and three pairs of boots and not a single shalwar kameez, I was due to start working with the Law firm within a week. In this time, I had to set up my room, in my best friend’s apartment, buy a car, learn to manage driving on the Karachi roads, get me a working wardrobe.

For me, Karachi used to be a city of summer holidays. I had never lived here and was unprepared for its pace. I could not deal very well, with the number of plans and people that one could have in the course of the single day. We were in our mid 20’s, the three of us, sharing a very beat up apartment by the sea, and we had all the time in the world to meet, mingle and get to know other like minded individuals. The other two were from LUMS and had access to a whole layer of junior management of corporations on their speed dials. I was more isolated. I had not grown up in the city and did not deal very well with the early cliques, even the young lawyers managed to have because of the Grammar School or St. Mary’s connections. It was harder for me to penetrate their social circles and I really didn’t, until I began to date one of them. How I had met that young man was because the Inns of Bars in England had a workshop and that set the meeting ground.

So I had started dating him and through him, I finally met other younger lawyers. We used to get together for lunches. He would invite a few friends from his office, I would invite a colleague. We would go to the Korean. People would invite friends of friends. And so on a Friday afternoon, when most of the city took a long lunch break, a few young lawyers would meet at the Korean.

This Korean restaurant, located near the Schoen circle is the only place I know that serves beers, even during Ramadan. I know this may be removed by the reviewer here (Faisal) but it is what it is. It served beer and the most amazing sweet potato fritters with chilly chutney and the noodle beef soup with a half fried egg-which if memory serves me right was called Bulgogi. The restaurant has the spiciest Kimchi and a very well priced Sea food pancake. It is an unassuming place. It is nothing more, than a canteen really. But on any given Friday afternoon, it hosts a whole range of corporate types: with the suits, cigarettes beers, and all of the corporate secularity or perhaps pragmatism.

We spent hours and hours Friday after Friday drinking and eating and blowing our well earned Rs.15000 or even Rs. 20000 for some of us. We became a circle of young lawyers. I eventually went to a different firm; acquired more friends. Our circle expanded.

One day, I had decided to go there for dinner. I was shocked at the transformation I had seen between a Friday lunch and a Monday dinner. The waiters were the same; the pet dogs of the owner the same. The menu was the same. But it was eerie on how silent it was. It had an air of being positively creepy with its tube lights and shrimpy smell. I never really went there for dinner again; the excellence of food notwithstanding.

Our circle, as it were, became more aged. We became seniors. Some of us became partners in the law firms our fathers had started. Some of us moved to internal legal positions which paid better. Our clothes became more pressed. The Korean increased the prices by Rs. 20 on each item. The beers became more expensive. We got married. Divorced. Married again. We became incestuous in our legal community. Some of us started smoking. Some of us started going to Shapes regularly. We were no longer the first batch that year. Other new entrants came in to the legal community. The Korean remained constant. The lunches remained part of the scene.

I stayed in Karachi for ten years. The Korean was the only one that remained consistently good. It never once disappointed in its ability to serve contraband or excellent Kimchi. I know its owner had spent a month in Jail for this. One of my to do things in my next visit to Karachi is to go there for Lunch. My other is of course to go to Foot Comfort. Another best for Karachi; but maybe for another time.

The novelist – chapter 2

Posted: October 22, 2011 by Karachiite in The novelist
Tags: , , , ,




“You really cannot be serious” she looked at her husband in a mixture of shock and more than a little bit of nervousness as they sat at the real estate agents office. A dingy mixture of island green artificial carpet and too bright yellowish walls.

“Well if you have an idea that wont let go, you might as well follow through no?” Jalal said as he thumbed through some house guides lying next to them on a singular table like nobody had touched them in months.

“Jalal when you said one day I thought it meant one day in the future after we had visited this place half a dozen times and gotten ourselves immersed in it enough to make a rational decision you know? Like rational people do!”

“Hmphh if I had been so rational I would have never asked you for your hand woman” he quipped

Zarmina scrunched her nose in mock distaste as she thought of her life before and after the asking part, she had always been a pragmatic person careful and thoughtful but when the scruffy writer with his flair for the dramatic had come calling she had not been able to say no. He had been a storm that had wooed her dated her and then married her, even now she got emails from some of her friends who could not believe that she had married a writer.

“Ahem” the agent cleared his throat as he walked in and looked at them with a glance that was used to looking over couples that came here and fell in love with the place. A fickle love that lasted nay a few months after which the endless trail of paperwork began again to get them back to safer shores of stability.

“New are we”?

“Yes new but we already love this place, have you been in this field long?” Jalal looked at the old tanned man with enough creases in his face to resemble the bark of an old tree and his clothing as colorful as his office, a white shirt and light blue sarong.

“ Long enough, my names sammy” he nodded at the man and then at the woman besides him wondering why in the world a vision like her was with a disheveled mess that her hubby represented.

“You see my husband, well he likes this place and so we thought we would you know check out some options” Zarmina said, before her hubby could open his mouth again, she could smell impulse usually a mile before he got it now.

“Some options. Yes well this place has plenty of options from here to tangalle” here being galle fort where they now had as their starting point “why don’t you guys tell me what’s in your mind”

“A beach house! Something with air and sunlight and welcoming spirits” blurted the mess his mouth open in a wide grin

“Yes well my friend there are many sorts of beach houses here, as you know we are sitting right at the edge of a long coast line” Always the beach sammy thought for these fools, the towns were cheaper and ten minutes away but no we all must have some mutated version of a fairytale at our doors to complain about after a month tops.

“Maybe we can just look for now” Zarmina ventured with a smile to sammy.

“No no zari you know I’m serious, I want to do this”

“Might I suggest something?” said sammy “why don’t you do this, there are some rentals available on the strip, lets take a look at something a bit more temporary before we rush”

Zarmina liked this man more and more by the passing second, obviously he was not out to make a quick buck on her husbands insanity but was presenting a more sagacious plan.

“All right but that’s just for starters” growled Jalal. He hated it when this happened, people saw things zaris ways instantly and he never got his way anymore. It was almost like they could not see him there at times.

“Right settled then, now have a nice day and here is my card, come by in the morning and off we shall go hunting for your little beach house”

“Great” smiled zari nodding with appreciation

“Ok” mumbled Jalal as they got up and he swiped the card from the man walking out before his wife into waning sun.

With zarminas usually efficiency they arrived the next morning right on time, in fact 14 minutes before it and waited outside for the agent to arrive. As Jalal silently brooded and his wife waited, the agent drove up in a rickety old station wagon. He pulled down his window after turning the handle a couple of times till there was air between the top and his chin and shouted

“So you guys ready?”

“We have been ready for the past 20 minutes, where have you been” said Jalal

“Ahh well at my age my friend time is an abstract thing come sit lets take you for a ride”

Jalal held the door open for his wife and they both slid into the back seat, then after a moment of realization he got out and slid into the front seat next to the old coot as he guffawed over some mental joke.

“ So? Ive lined up quite a spread for you”

With twin nods from husband and wife the agent put his car in gear and they rolled out of the parking lot. It didn’t take them long to hit the beach strip from where they started in galle fort, maybe about 20 or so minutes and they were there, long startling coastline and a strip of estates sitting in front of it with smallish gardens in front and many a palm tree waving in the wind before the stretch of water. As they went to house after house though both Jalal and Zarmina discovered that they were too high fi, totally out of their budget rang and more like little resorts then houses one could live in for any length of time. After the third house the discontent was completely visible on Jalal’s face

“ Look Sammy, this is really not working out for us, is this all you got”

“Well what do you expect, people here invest in these places because they know those who want to rent them will want all these amenities”

“But we are looking for something less grand, you know like a cottage or something” said zarmina realizing she needed to step in before Jalal went postal on the agent.

“A cottage, my lady this is prime beach estate outside the galle fort about 14 minutes from shopping and stores, I don’t think anyone would build a cottage here. Its not worth the investment”

“Then maybe we should look further up the coast” suggested Zarmina with one eye on her husband.

“Ah well then you will have to speak to the natives, I only go as far as the mobile phone signal goes, beyond that its either too cheap or too troublesome the business”

“I think you have done what you could sammy, you can head back now” said Jalal knowing there was plenty of transportation on the road behind the estates in the form of tuk tuks for them to explore further.

“Listen my friend, we may have liberated ourselves from the tamils but that does not mean the wilderness is completely secure” sammy jerked his head towards the clumps of trees one could see in the distance along the beach.

“ I think we will do fine – thank you” Jalal’s tone was icy now; he had taken enough of the glitzy crap he had been made to suffer through all damn day.

Enough will be when I hear screams to please pick us back up, thought sammy as he handed his card to zarmina

“Alright then I shall leave the love birds alone and with a number just in case”

He turned around and walked stiffly to his car, another bloody morning wasted after foreigners who don’t know what the hell they are doing. In and out they went of this strip like the waves before him. He slammed the door and coaxed the engine back to life and left them standing there in a hail of sand and dust!!




To be continued……

It all starts when you begin reading the news. I began today in much the same manner. Headlines, bulletins which try to attract attention with statements that make you wonder what the bother is all about! The one article that caught my interest (after Gaddafi’s death of course) was Hilary Clinton visiting Islamabad, Pakistan.
Well, I firmly believe (wow, looks like I’m giving the IBA interview again) that this time Clinton wants Pakistan to take a decision, that is, if they will support the war initiated by US against militants.
I wonder if this visit will even make a difference since the Haqqani network from Afghanistan will be hard to break down. Pakistan is being forced to crack down this network which is believed to be the reason behind the recent attack on the US base in Afghanistan and the 19-hour siege on the US embassy which is situated in Afghanistan.

Pakistan has been refusing to start anything against Afghanistan. People have been crossing borders, entering into Pakistan and bombing its people, which needs to stop. First it was only Karachi but now other major cities of Pakistan are also facing the cruel terror campaign.

Pakistan has been accused by US officials of playing double game that is having link with the Haqqani network and claiming that they have no clue whatsoever. Clinton has taken a bold step when the relationship between US and Pakistan was on a new low, she has looked at the brighter side, she has looked at peace between the two countries.

Some people have not welcomed with her open arms, but I’m merely hoping that this time around everything returns to normal. Visions do come true. What I would like to see is harmony among the Pak-Afghan-US situation. This issue should be resolved quickly and be pain-free, of course. Here is hope for a better world which should be peaceful, educated AND innovative.