Hey there! Pt. 2

Take off your shoes. Don't worry, this is dirt, but it's clean dirt. Like the Earth. The un polluted, pure parts of the Earth. Walking on this will actually make you feel better. So anyways, come on in, lonely soul. Yes, we have established the fact that you might not be a lonely soul. But if you are one of the rare people who have found their soulmate, please hold your tongue. You wouldn't want to offend your host? Especially since you are in the host. I mean in my brain. But here we are, and off we go once more on the tour.
So I know last time our goodbyes were a bit rushed and abrupt. What can I do? Management had a fit. Management was still so against having you over again. But what can I do? I had to.
So that's the path we took last time. This time, Management told me to lay out the rules before we went inside. I know, tedious. Anyways: just don't touch anything, ESPECIALLY A MEMORY, and keep to the path. Stick with me because trust me, you do NOT want to get lost in here.
So I thought I would take you to the Insomniac Sector. This is where I am when I can't sleep. You might find that this is covered with crazy colours, but that's just how it is. So come over here. You see this tube? It's like a tunnel but I don't think anyone can fit down here (even if you are skinny and small enough don't try it) but this is also the most unfortunate connection. This connects my brain to my legs. In other parts, similar hollow tubes connect my legs to those other parts. So basically, when I can't sleep, I get this urge to move my legs, hence the tossing and turning. Moving on, we can see over here how the Bad Memory Sector is linked to this part too: every stupid and cringy thing I may have done or said is revisited and re-evaluated. As you can see: the Over-Analysing Sector is also connected. The Fear of The Unknown and The Fear of the Near Future are also located behind that black box. The Fears are actually part of this Sector and we just provide connections when they are required in other Sections or in other times. I can't open this black box in your presence. I'll tell you what it contains: an overwhelming concentrated colour fusion. Opening this will keep you awake for hours, until you feel as if you are loosing yourself and your soul into this. After that the Colours will trick you into the Void. Here, the Void will strip you of your identity and defence. The Void will strip you until you are raw and bare and then it will target you with everything you have ever avoided or defended yourself against. You think you're so smart that you can just choose to not go into the Void? Do you not know of the sinister nature of these colours, enticing you with their ways, luring you in into a seemingly merry world and then… The Void. Many a man has lost his sanity here. You remember when I took your coats at the door? I didn't just take your coats. I took away your material existence. So take a look at yourself. What are you? A bare soul. Vulnerable. So the only material existence here is the one that I possess. Nevertheless, let us continue!
Any questions? No?
Your sanity?
My sanity? You see, this is my brain. My brain is the guardian of my sanity. So yes, I have been in the void, and yes, I have survived it.
The insomniac Sector gets its own access to the Eyes. You know the little innocent light of the street lamps outside which slips in through the tired old curtains and dances on the ceiling? My brain stares at the light until it reaches the intensity of the Sun and becomes unbearable. Aah the connection with the ears: this is what makes me think that my brother breathing in his sleep sounds like a train going around in my head, whistling away in my ears.
This is the overall-over sensitivity of the entire body: usually, I can sleep anywhere no matter how hard or soft it is. But in insomniac times, the slightest bump feels like a huge knife trying to pierce my skin.
Over here, this is the Past and opposite this is the Future. I spend a lot of time inside these rooms. The space in between is (quite obviously) the Present but I guess during Insomniac times being in the present gives me anxiety, even though the anxiety is in anticipation of the future….
So here we are in the Conversation Room. Here I go through any conversations I may have had, online or offline, and think how I could've answered differently or said something wittier if only I had taken an entire insomniac night to think before I answered. Not that there's something wrong with what has been said. But what's an insomniac night without over-analysing and worrying about something completely useless and unproductive, right?

Anyways. I don't want you to start thinking you know everything about me or atleast about this Sector. There's lots that has been left unsaid. It's safer that way. That's the door right there, if you want you can leave, if you want we can have a coffee or something. It's up to you but I won't show you more. I think this is enough for this time.
So what do you say? Coffee or "Rab Rakhan"?

Of Traveling and Thoughts.

Entering Lahore after a long journey, Lahore welcomes you on the Mall Road with a big "Welcome to Lahore" sign, right next to the University of Vetenary Sciences, the first major landmark on the Mall. This is also the saddest part of the journey out of Lahore, as after that the Lahore City ends. However, when we left Lahore this time, we didn't take the Mall Road. We were on it, and we saw the High Court, the GPO, GC university, the town hall to name a few of the classic buildings. But then we went on another road, so I never saw the "Goodbye" sign opposite the Vet University. If we had, we would then have found ourselves in Shahdara, which although is not part of the Lahore city, but part of the District Lahore. After that comes the river Ravi, or what is left of it anyway. The Ravi is a rather historic river but is now dried up. In fact, in an old mazmoon I had read, the writer had declared the Punjab (Punj meaning five and aab meaning water i.e. Land of The Five Waters or Rivers) as having only four and a half rivers, meaning the Ravi was only half a river. If he had been alive now, he would have declared Ravi to be a canal instead of a river. (Or a collection of puddles)
Nevertheless, that is not why I had decided to write. As you may have guessed, I am travelling. And leaving Lahore is so hard! No matter where I may live, my heart shall forever be here, in this city. I have been reading a book on Lahore which is a little boring to read, but it is full of information and has only increased my love for the city.
However, our journey does not end at Lahore. We are going North, so hopefully the weather will be nice! I need a break from this heat and humidity!
Traveling is not an issue for me. But all those hours in a car, with my little brother!! I had had a nice breakfast in the morning just so I wouldn't have to eat during the journey, because that makes me feel sick. And just as we left Lahore, the brother decided to have some crisps. And the packet was opened. The smell filled the air. Already, I had been trying to not think about the air in the car and how everyone was breathing in this limited space. But then the smell!! Every breath I took seemed to take the smell inside, all the way into my gut where my breakfast lay ready to come out via anti peristaltic movements. However, I survived. Then came the chewing. Endless chewing with an open mouth: the one thing I cannot stand. I tried to tell him once but he ignored me. Never mind, I told myself. Think of something else. And now he put the packet away and started biting his nails!! The other thing I absolutely cannot stand! However, I could not loose my cool. If I did, the journey would be ruined, and I didn't want that to happen.
At this point I decided to check where exactly was Chitral Gol National Park because that is also a place I would like to visit someday. However, my mobile internet was not working. Perfect! This network never failed to disappoint me. At this point I decided to update my dear readers (that's you) with my current situation. And that's about it.
Another thing I don't like about trips like these is the inevitability of the need of the bathroom by the human body. Anyways. I might do a "Hey There! Pt. 2" while I'm in the car. Or I might not. The Motorway is the most boring road in this country!
Wish me luck. Remember me in your duas.
Until next time,
Rab Rakhan.

Dark Clouds

Dark clouds have turned day into dullness. A magnificent wind blows, entering this window and exiting that window. It is so dark I cannot read, yet I have not switched on any lights yet. The darkness corresponds to my mood. For days now, weeks, the weather had been the same: either oppressive heat with unbearable humidity, or continuous rainfall still with humidity. Why should I call a continuous rainfall “still”? It was so. Everything was still. Days rolled into weeks, weeks into months, and yet all was still. Utter monotony. I sat on the floor, amidst cotton amd nail polish. Looking out, seeing the hours while away, away to be lost in monotony. People ask: are you well? Yes, I am well. Well enough. I have everything I could need and more: monotony. An unchanging routine with no chance of excitement. No prospect for difference for another year or so. People are dying around the globe, death visits the neighbors and here I am. Perhaps the most ungrateful of them all? Perhaps just human? Books find me a way to escape: sometimes the past, sometimes in lands so far from my eye and yet, as soon as we come back, the sameness returns, the circumstances are still, our ways uninterrupted. We have done so much and yet nothing. Looking out I see a freshness in the green of the leaves but I know as I leave the house in accordance with my routine, I shall come back to find even that stale with dust. Sometimes the rain intensifies, sometimes it calms down, sometimes it even stops. I know I have a lot to do and not enough time, yet I know if these words are not penned down they too will be lost in the vast expanses of my thoughts. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. When I prioritise something above words, I am punished by their loss. Yet writing deprives me of words too. This is sometimes pleasant: no words to think of, a clear mind, a consciousness. However, sometimes it has the reverse effect: I am overburdened with words and they keep forming until I have no alternative except to put my mind at rest: sleep. But all this does not relieve me of the current monotony. Seeing the time, however, I realise that I have nothing new to offer to anyone. I am NOT depressed, or upset. These feelings have now turned into cliches and irritate me to an extent that is unbearable. Perhaps you wouldn’t understand, but try living your entire life with the female species of this society… particularly the Homo sapiens. Felis felidae would make a nicer alternative for this society but that has other problems and anyways, I have yet to write about that another day. Anyways, as I was saying, I am not upset or anything, I am just tired of the same sameness that engulfs my world, even though the Earth is in chaos.

Until next time, stay hydrated.

Rab Rakhan. 

(P.S. If you happen to be a female of the species mentioned, please do not be offended, I was referring to the females found in my society that I face. Just like when I do my post on the females of Felis felidae, I shall be referring to those of my society too. I should add that this post reflects my mood for this passage of time, and that almost none of my posts reflect my “permanent” moods or stances on anything, if such a thing exists. Also if there is someone genuinely depressed or upset, you have my sympathies. I was referring to all those people who have turned this into cliches. May Allah bless us all with His bounties. Remember me in your prayers.)

Dew Drops

Her eyes wandered off, leaving the book in her lap deserted. Her eyes looked, unseeingly. She saw neither the huge buildings and houses, nor the luxurious shopping malls on the way. What she did see, though, was that leaf about to fall off on that majestic tree. That white puppy, wagging its tail, running off to the unknown. The trees as they awoke and greeted each other – a greeting heard by her ears only. That bird, the sun shining off its beautiful grey-brown body, flying past hastily. She gulped in the fresh morning air greedily.

A last glimpse in freedom.

The bus took a sharp turn and she had to grasp the handle bars to maintain her balance. The bus conductor turned around and faced her suddenly.

“Do you have a bus card?” He asked harshly. She nodded dumbly.

The bus stopped suddenly. A few girls alighted from the bus. The ones who were standing sat down quickly before the bus started again. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want this to end. Because if this ended, then that would begin. And she did not want it to.

She tried hard to hold on to this moment. She tried her best to stop time, somehow. Somewhere, somehow, she would be able to. She could but she couldn’t. Somewhere in space, perhaps, time would listen to her. All she needed was the speed of light.

She opened her eyes. The trees on the canal bank flew past her. She knew the next turn would be the last… for now. A sigh she had been holding in for so long escaped her lips.

She looked at the time. Half-past six. The roads were almost empty. She wished desperately that somehow when they reached the college, she wouldn’t have to go in. Instead, maybe she could roam around these road ways, discovering places she did not know before, exploring the unknown, the adrenaline rushing through her veins…

The bus was stopping now. Her friend tapped her shoulder.

‘Let’s go. This is campus 1 and 2,’ she said softly.

She nodded. And then got off the bus. It had begun.

 

The Idea of Ideas

A thought can never be yours. These thoughts, they have a mind of there own. They can choose where to appear, and who utters them. A thought is never yours until you utter it or write it down. It’s the same with ideas, too. You have an idea, but you choose to keep it to yourself. then someone else says the same thing, and you tell people how that idea or thought is yours, but nobody believes you now. You cannot convince them. The idea is lost. But then, you have another idea. You tell it to the masses, they do not doubt your originality for a minute. No matter how many other people say they had the same idea, the idea is now attributed to you. Forever. It is yours.

P.S. This idea about ideas is not mine. Wasif Ali Wasif was the one who introduced me to this. He is dead now, but is truly one of the most inspirational writers in the history of Urdu literature.