There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made.

~The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien

In the beginning there was a river. The river became a road and the road branched out to the whole world. And because the road was once a river it was always hungry.

~the famished road, Ben Okri

[ karhi. ]

1/4 tsp. rye
1/4 tsp. zeera
1/2 tsp. lassan
karhi patta (about 5-6 leaves)
1 green chilly (fat, uncut, stemmed: the non-"chilly" variety.)
1/2 tsp. haldi
1/4 tsp. red chilly powder
oil
salt

Batter
1/2 cup dahi*
3/4 cup besan
1 tsp. salt

*preferably just a little tangy, borderline sour. the kind which can cause a bit of a tingle in that area at the back of your mouth.. the space between the ear and the jaw bone... where it is always nice to kiss and be kissed.
put the ingredients for the batter into a mixing bowl and add two cups of water. process the mixture anyway you like- fork, spoons, whisks, electric beaters, food processor- as long as you've got the lumps out.

heat oil in pan. considering you're going to be pouring in a good three four cups of water, make sure the pan is large. and make sure its hot. and make sure the oil is just the right amount, at just the right temperature. three-four tablespoons at medium heat for five mins should do it.
at this point, you reach a crucial juncture in family history. my mother only likes onions in moderation. my father was weaned on them. so my dadi would always throw in half a small chopped onion at this point until it turns from coral-pink-white to transparent-honey. in my opinion onions add great texture to just about anything, but if you dont agree, proceed to the next step.
toss in the rye and zeera. the flame should be low at this point, so as not to burn the stuff. add lassan paste. stir for a bit, then throw in the fat chilly. at this point something or the other is almost always burning, so add a bit of water. add red chilly powder and haldi, and then pour the contents of the batter while stirring. add another cup of water.
and then we add the karhi patta.
if you live in some far flung corner of the world that does not have karhi patta growing just about everywhere, youre going to have to settle for a dried/fried variety. drying and frying, while both excellent ways of preserving flavour, cannot compare to fresh karhi patta plucked from your (or the neighbour's) garden. unfortunately, this is where instructions cannot guide you anymore. to know how much karhi patta it will take to make the perfect karhi, you have to rely on intuition. does it smell powerful, potent- does the scent rub off on your fingers? does it kiss the back of your throat? then three or four big leaves will suffice. do you have to lean in, close your eyes, open your mouth and inhale before you can taste that faraway flavour of heat, lemon and spice? then you should throw in at least 6 leaves. it all depends.
stir the karhi for a minute. then leave it on a slow fire to cook, covered. check after five-ten minutes, it should thicken. check for salt, and then leave to cook for another twenty minutes. serve with rice, khichri* or eat plain, with bits of bread.

*for best results, scoop khichri into a mound on your plate. very carefully create a hole in the centre of the mound, to make a well. pour karhi into the well. and then mash the whole thing up.
while it is uncertain whether this does anything for the taste, two 3-year-olds (now 20) will testify that it does enhance the experience.

Satellite

ending,

beginning- the

sum of parts and the whole

leave; enter, fight

escape. Blend, mix

dance and play and

hurt each other, so gently

that they laugh in

astonishment. No tears.

tears are for flavoring kisses

of farewell, so sweet but

so incomplete without

that sad, salty trickle of

fear… transit room boarding

passes loading space shuttles

flying off into the great unknown

and both of us remain

here but I’m still alone

without you, spinning

satellite. more moving

more pushing shoving

take no luggage,

leave no bags

of love, and

sorrow

all the memories of

walking down empty

morning beaches, finally

figuring it out… memories

of the times we never

had.

[ if you haven't, go hear it already. ]

Saying I love you
Is not the words I want to hear from you
It’s not that I want you
Not to say, but if you only knew
How easy it would be to show me how you feel
More than words is all you have to do to make it real
Then you wouldn’t have to say that you love me
Cos I’d already know

What would you do if my heart was torn in two
More than words to show you feel
That your love for me is real
What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldn’t make things new
Just by saying I love you

Now I’ve tried to talk to you and make you understand
All you have to do is close your eyes
And just reach out your hands and touch me
Hold me close don’t ever let me go
More than words is all I ever needed you to show
Then you wouldn’t have to say that you love me
Cos I’d already know

What would you do if my heart was torn in two
More than words to show you feel
That your love for me is real
What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldn’t make things new
Just by saying I love you

~Extreme

in the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade and he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him ’til he cried out in his anger and his shame i am leaving, i am leaving, but the fighter still remains... yes he still remains.


li la li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li, li lalala li la li, li la li, li lalala li la li, lalalala li....

[ forgive me a cruel chuckle. ]

who'dda thunk i'd be endorsing F-16s.
i guess i know how they felt when women could finally smoke in public. its terrible, it shouldn't be done, but if it means thumbing the patriarchal system, i guess you'll get a grin out of me.
so, while hello kitty and the like have apoplectic fits, allow me to introduce you to the new face of the Pakistan Air Force ...

Saba Khan
'Equals'

The air force academy is still male-dominated, and it's not clear what the real feelings of the male cadets have been to the induction of women onto the fighter pilot programme.

Officially, most have welcomed the move.

But when one male cadet said the women should be shown compassion, female cadet Saman Ahmed was swift to say they were there to compete on equal terms.
"We don't expect compassion, we don't get compassion, and we don't want compassion," she said.
And this confidence is not without reason for Cadet Ahmed has already won praise in her engineering studies, beating both men and women.
Her excellence is not confined to the classroom, either.
During a rifle exercise, I watched as she shot all five bullets right in the bull's eye.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/4533367.stm

so from the thousands of women who cradled their babies in one arm and their kalashnikovs in the other and faced the men in their war machines, we now have women flying the war machines. historically, wars have meant greater participation for women.. but so have revolutions. and its great (i guess) that women are now, "finally" part of this whole mad war, but they've been part of the revolution for so many more years...
in reterospect, the last thing we need is die-hard feminists going like "yay, we can be fighter pilots now, patriarchy's finally dying out, pakistan's finally become more moderate".. for god's sake, no its not. hatch as many "conspiracy" stories you want (musharraf wants the army to be looked upon as "liberal," theyre making a few concessions to the west, its just affirmative action, whatever)... ultimately, stuff like this just distracts us from the real battle.

roger dat, houston. over and out ;)

[ a corporate story. ]

so one morning in good old lums, we open our eyes and see this



and this



and this



and this



now, naturally, those of us who
a) know that advertising, selling or endorsing tobacco within 5 miles of a university campus is explicitly prohibited by law
b) dont like a bunch of ugly men with puppoo sideburns and shiny white teeth staring at us
were obviously very, very annoyed. and many of us are smokers, however we know that at the end of the day tobacco is tobacco (a carcinogenic drug, not a pretty little plant), PTC is big tobacco (affiliated with the British-American Tobacco company), and the only reason THEY still have a business is because of their advertising, governement pay-offs, and our dedicated chain smokers. so lets be honest. if PTC wants recruits to sell, manage, manufacture and advertise their tobacco, we'll give em something better. many many very very happy happy SMOKERS!!!! :D

at the end of the day, it was just a move to slam the hypocrisy of our administration in their face. for those of us who know lums history and the babar ali foundation, we know that this joint was established as a manufacturing plant for yuppies. in the 80's big business needed dedicated young managers in their outlets in pakistan, and the Lahore University of Management Sciences was set up to provide just that. for those of us who study here, it is becoming increasingly obvious that the highest bidder owns the walls, pillers, arches, and any other sqaure foot of advertising space in this uni- no questions asked- while our societies scrimp and struggle to get a single banner or poster up to advertise a sports tourney, or a mela... and even those are confined to specific softboards. this isnt the first incidence of corporatization of this campus: PnG, unilever, Nestle are in our faces twenty-four/seven. and you might argue that- well, what do you expect- a business is a business. yes, but then people's power is people's power. moreover, while some people might not be aware of the creepy underbelly of happy-happy brands like Nestle and PnG that own everything from your butter to your toothpaste, the tobacco issue is blatant.





thanks.. adeel, emad, izhar... good work :D

i made the poster in the labs at about 12. qasim and i got it signed by azmatullah (it says "SUPPORT British-American Tobacco," after all) at 1, and by 1:30 there were thirty of these all over the place. at 3:00 ammara decides that confining ourselves to softboards is useless, and slaps one on one of those standing banners that you see there. very effective. you know where it said "you know who you are, but who do you want to be?".. she took a piece of paper and wrote in huge letters "CANCER PATIENT", and stuck it at the bottom :D
twenty minutes later, a huge suited booted guy comes around, does a double take at the poster and rips it off, shaking his head, muttering "this is such bad publicity.."
twenty minutes later, the posters mysteriously reappear... :P

by 5 pm, everyones confused. who put these up? who keeps putting these up? qasim and i go around and meet the PTC guys... salaam, shake hands, take pics etc :P
azmatullah came running up at that point, with a bunch of torn down posters in his hands. apparently, some MBA faculty member had FINALLY gotten it, and called azmatuallah up and asked him to take them down.... beychaara, he was obviously very confused and kept asking us.. iss mey kuch ghalat to nahin likha hai?

the next day, at 6:30 we meet the vice chancellor (they still dont know we did it, we went voluntarily). he informs us that sending such confusing messages was unethical on the part of the miscreants.. that some society should have endorsed it.. and that "if you have an anti-smoking campaign, ill be right behind you!" they LOVE the idea of these little channels of communication ... they wont support dissent, but they'll loudly tell us to "voice your opinion". dont have protests... have debates, have little little petitions with lots of nice signatures. they wont answer straight... there was no mention of responsibility of the admin to the students, no.. "the students can start a program where you make one smoker into a non smoker everyday!!" ohh goody gumdrops i feel so much better knowing that its so freaking easy getting hard smokers to quit gee whiz thank you for your ignorance, sir...

hassan j and qasim kept their cool and decided that the green light to "express any opinion" is all we really needed. and we will start an awareness campaign about smoking. however, i still maintain that there was no time, during this whole process, to make our point in any way other than what we did. we went in with the explicit purpose of embarrassing and slamming both the PTC (for sheer audacity, if nothing else,) and the LUMS admin (who probably thought no one would notice, that no one would care...). and we'll take your debates, and your petitions, and we'll make you honor them, no less.. all in good time.
but this was just sneaky. touche. :)


nausheen... thanks so much for the pics :)

[ mmm.. ]

there's something about the

look in your eyes

something i noticed when the light was

just right

it reminded me twice that i was alive

and it reminded me that

you're so worth the fight

im beginning to notice how much this feels like a waking limb, pins and needles

adecadeago, i neverthoughtiwouldbe, atwentythree, onthevergeofspontaneouscombustionWoe-is-me.But iguess thatitcomeswiththeterritory; anominouslandscape ofnever ending calamityI need you to hear, I need you to see that I havehad all I can take andexploding seemslikea

so pardon me while i

could you show me, dear?

killthequeenandcrushthehive

[ this funk the feelin that you stay for ]

Fellas, I'm ready to get up and do my thing... I wanta get into it, man, you know.. Like a, like a sex machine, man, movin' and doin' it, you know... Can I count it off?

One, two, three, four!

Get up, (get on up) get up, (get on up) stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up) get up, (get on up) get up, (get on up) stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up) get up, (get on up) stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up)

Wait a minute!
Shake your arm, then use your form
Stay on the scene like a sex machine
You got to have the feeling sure as you're born
Get it together, right on, right on.

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

Hah!

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

You said, you said you got the,
You said the feeling,
You said the feeling you got to get
You give me the fever 'n' a cold sweat.
The way i like, it is the way it is,
I got mine 'n' don't worry 'bout his

Get up, (get on up) stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up) get up, (get on up) get up, (get on up)

Bobby! Should I take 'em to the bridge?
(Go Ahead!)
Take 'em on to the bridge!
(Take em to the bridge!)
Should I take 'em to the bridge?
(Yeah!)
Take 'em to the bridge?
(Go Ahead!)
Hit me now!

Come on!

Stay on the scene, like a sex machine!
The way I like it is, is the way it is
I got mine, (dig it!), he got his

Stay on the scene, like a lovin' machine
Stay on the scene, like a lovin' machine
Stay on the scene

I wanna count it off one more time now
(Go ahead!)
You wanna hear it like it did on the top fellas?
(Yeah!)
Hear it like it did on the top?
(Yeah!)
Hit it now!

Get on up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get on up, (get on up)

Stay on the scene, (get on up), like a lovin' machine, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

Taste, (get on up)
Bein', (get on up)
Taste, (get on up)
Bein', (get on up)

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Stay on the scene, (get on up), like a sex machine, (get on up)

You gotta have the feelin, (get on up)
Sure as you're born, (get on up)

Get it together, right on, right on
right on, right on, (right on, right on)
right on, right on, (right on, right on)
right on, right on, (right on, right on)

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

And then, shake your money maker,
Shake your money maker, shake your money maker, shake your money maker, shake your money maker, shake your money maker, shake your money maker

Get up, (get on up)... get up, (get on up)... get up, (get on up)... get up, (get on up)... get up, (get on up)

Huh!

Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)
Get up, (get on up)

Can we hit it like we did one more time, from the top
Can we hit like that one more time
(One more time!)
One more time!
Let's hit it and quit! (Go ahead!)
Can we hit it and quit? (Yeah!)
Can we hit it and quit? (Yeah!)
Can we hit it and quit? (Yeah!)
Hit it!

~ James im-black-n-im-PROUD! Brown

“
One of the (sub)-themes running through Woolf's [A Room of One's Own] is the "convention... that publicity in women is detestable." As a result, "anonymity run's in [women's] blood. The desire to be veiled still possesses them."
”

~Kofi Owusu

remember once.. i had asked you.. if were alright for me to cover myself (as i often do, when going to the market, when stepping into public spaces) and we agreed, that yes, i can and i may...
but you must detest it. as much as they detest your presence in their public. and by THEM yes, i mean men, and women who agree to live by Man's religion and Man's economy and Man's rules... made by that Man-God, the Tyrant...

[ opp. sector u, dha, lhr. ]

And the women tug their hair
Like they’re trying to prove it won’t fall out
And all the men are gargoyles
Dipped long in irish stout

The whole place is pickled
The people are pickles for sure
And no-one knows if they’ve done more here
Than they ever would do in a jar

This could be rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or rome
’cause rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone
Anywhere alone

And everyone is blonde
And everyone is beautiful
And when blondes and beautiful are multiple
They become so dull and dutiful

And when faced with dull and dutiful
They fire red warning flares
Battle-khaki personality
With red underwear

This could be rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or rome
’cause rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone
Anywhere alone

The whole place is pickled
The people are pickles for sure
And no-one knows if they’ve done more here
Than they ever would do in a jar

This could be rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or rome
’cause rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone

This could be rotterdam or anywhere
Liverpool or rome
’cause rotterdam is anywhere
Anywhere alone

~beautiful south

the bullet hit the back of her at the exact instant the coffee cup touched her lips. in all honesty it was absolutely fascinating, the way it seared through her skull so that you could almost hear it straining against the metal, bone and flesh and carving another door at the end, smashing straight into the unsipped-first-sip of gently steaming coffee.

and i do believe she heard the explosion as it happened. and that if you reassembled her face, stuck it back with elfy you'd see that her lips were twisted into the first smile in a long, long time. and if you'd known her for many, many years before, you'd realise that the only way you could possibly know whats inside her mind was by putting a bullet through her head. i peered inside, half expecting to see the hard, heavy locks and bolts she used to keep everything to herself. half expecting to see a mind undergoing metamorphosis, struggling to become more resiliant, more insensitive, more... 'male'.

i dont think she ever realised that there was a paradox in her ardent misogynism. she wasnt the profound sort. she probably didnt even realise that she was battling aganst her femininty to get ahead, snapping out ideas, flaring at the slightest provocation. rage is a wonderful thing. only the truly violent can understand the rush of irrational anger, the exquisite, trembling fear of having gone too far- it feels like running off a cliff. it feels like the air would, if there were only air around you. then you fall, of course, but you'll be surprised at how thick skinned some professional violents can be. she found herself addicted to this game; her addiction grew with the number of people who began to fear her moods, respect her dedication... loathe her acerbic tongue. and because we still live in the real, un-politically-correct world and prejdices are woven into the fabric of our skin, these traits were seen as, if not completely male, then definately less female. ruthless. thats the word. thats what she was going for- ruthless. minimum family, spartan living conditions, no husband-kids-and-a-dog, and yet people in movies always handled it so much better. the charred fragments of her brain revealed nothing of the hunger and fatigue every day, every night. they told nothing of the fact that no matter how far you went in this world, you would always only be second-best. and that you could never possibly excel at a game in which they tailor to their own suiting, and make their own rules. and if there was a fuel to this fire, it would be the rage she felt evertime someone felt sorry for her. or helped her. or said "dont push yourself so hard"... they might as well have said "you cant handle it".

but, she reflected, none of this would be revealed by a bullet. or an axe. or anyother weapon designed by man to spilt her head into half. gentler, subtler, much more powerful forces of love, compassion, friendship were left undiscovered by her and those around her.

the coffee cup left her lips and was set carefully on the table. two strong arms folded firmly before her as she leaned closer, fixing the man in front of her with a peircing, cool glare.

".... i refuse to compromise on this..."

so much blood i'm starting to drown
runs from cold to colder
time to time the sky's come down
to help me lose my way
tears and lies for answers
you and open veins, god knows i'm gone
girl i just want you to
come on down
lord it's a storm and i'm heading to fall
these sins are mine and i've done wrong, oh babe
come on down

long gone day
mmmm, who ever said
we wash away with the rain

see you all from time to time
isn't it so strange
how far away we all are now
am i the only one who remembers that summer
oh, i remember
everyday each time the place was saved
the music that we made
the wind has carried all of that away

long gone day
mmmm, who ever said
we wash away with the rain

so many tears i'm starting to drown
the rain in heaven's all come down
silver spoons affix the crown
the luckless ones are broken
fears and lies for answers
you and open flames
god knows i'm gone
and i just want you to
come on down, hmmm

lord it's a storm and i'm heading to fall
these sins are mine and i've done wrong
i want you to, oh, i just want you to
come on down

i fear again, like then, i've lost my way
and shout to god to bring my sunny day

~mad season

:: gems ::

"...And I begin writing again. Word by word, the pustules erupt. The infection begins to drain. Such a fine motivator, is guilt. Type type type, tap tap tap, may I have this dance? It doesn’t matter that I’m out of practice and out of step. It doesn’t matter that I’m silly, selfish, self indulgent and misinformed. So is George Bush, and he rules the most powerful nation on earth. "

~Shandana Minhas, Chowk Tale




think about that. just before you hit "Publish Post".

[ allah hafiz. ]

a long december and there’s reason to believe
maybe this year will be better than the last
i can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leaven’
now the days go by so fast
and it’s one more day up in the canyons
and it’s one more night in hollywood
if you think that I could be forgiven...i wish you would
the smell of hospitals in winter
and the feeling that it’s all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
all at once you look across a crowded room
to see the way that light attaches to a girl
and it’s one more day up in the canyons
and it’s one more night in hollywood
if you think you might come to california...i think you should
drove up to hillside manor sometime after two a.m.
and talked a little while about the year
i guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
and it’s been a long december and there’s reason to believe
maybe this year will be better than the last

i can’t remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
to hold on to these moments as they pass
and it’s one more day up in the canyon
and it’s one more night in hollywood

it’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean...i guess I should

~Counting Crows.

Never smile at a crocodile
No, you can't get friendly with a crocodile
Don't be taken in by his welcome grin
He's imagining how well you'd fit within his skin
Never smile at a crocodile
Never dip your hat and stop to talk awhile
Never run- walk away; say good-night, not good-day
Clear the aisle but never smile at Mister Crocodile.
You may very well be well bred
Lots ot etiquette in your head
But there's always some special case, time or place
To forget etiquette.
For instance:
Never smile at a crocodile
No, you can't get friendly with a crocodile
Never run- walk away; say good-night, not good-day
Clear the aisle but never smile at Mister Crocodile.

:D

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brings back so many memories, for some reason. of school, of singing in the car, in the days when we were three, and not two. before ali azmat shaved his head, before they fired brian, before salman ahmed delivered his "the thing about peace is.." speech. when they were rebels. the gang that went to the farm on the 14th of August listening to Neend Aati Nahin and Dosti, came back listening to Mitti.

in lamhon key peechey.. koi to hai lamha aisaa bhi
jo beganaa bhi hai apna bhi..
jahaan thehray ye lamha, wohee say to aagay jaana hai
jissay soocha hai usko pana hai

jaaoon mein.. jaatay pal say aagay jaaoon
paaoon mein.. aagay jaa kay usko paaoon, chahoon,
aagay hee jaaoon mein..

and then my favorite... kabhi niklun gaa subha, shamon sey..


...
the best part of having a room of your own is slamming the door and taking off your shirt before you do anything else. if you're wondering why its so important to be stripped shirtless as soon as you enter your house, ask any man...

Then take me disappearin' through the smokerings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time,
far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees,
out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea,
circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

~ Dylan.

yayy... i knew it... :D (thanks n'sheen.. :))
"What Disney Princess Are You?"

Ariel
You can swim, flip, dive and be one with fish...WHY DO YOU WANT MORE?