tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28855055944361947062024-02-19T01:48:56.514-08:00The Inner Voice Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-65968278442398967442023-02-24T20:43:00.001-08:002023-02-24T20:43:22.647-08:00Ghorakh Dhanda (A confounding Conundrum) <h2 style="text-align: left;">Excerpts from the lyrics of the song Gharakh Dhanda - loosely translated </h2><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I sought you out, looking at many a place <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">For a single sight, a mere touch of grace <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">So many have perished in your pursuit, their
existence erased, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">yet to no one, have you left a trace<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">You do not exist yet emanate through
universe’s every strum <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">What are you if not a confounding conundrum?
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Those lost in your love may be the only
ones to have some hope, some light<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">While the places of worship remain bereft,
a broken heart offers your sight <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">If you do not exist, why insist on denying
you? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">for rejection too confirms your presence,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">That which I call “self” what is it if not
the reflection of your essence?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Had you not presented yourself in my
thoughts, how is it that I concocted of your Omnipresence? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">What are you if not a confounding conundrum
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">This sense of wonder has captured me, a perplexing
painting imbued in meaning <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Unable to understand this mystery, this game
you have set up from the beginning <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Imprisoning my soul in the prison of this
body, with death as a guard supervening <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Guaranteeing free will, like wings to a bird,
you have spread the net of destiny quarantining <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">After decorating this universe so
beautifully, you have conspired to one day set it ruining. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">What are you if not a confounding conundrum
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">You claim to live beyond time and space..
and still you meddle into the human world<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Good, Evil, Heaven and Hell, I wonder what
is the point of these words hurled? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Adam commits the crime, and you punish his progeny,
yet you claim to be the most Just <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">You gave humanity earth’s vicegerency, despite
the havoc they cause, your judgment we must trust?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">To reach you is why you say you created us,
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">But everyone’s eyes you have kept yourself hidden
from, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">What are you if not a confounding conundrum?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-2213796316712629512020-03-04T02:25:00.003-08:002022-05-26T00:19:16.468-07:00A journeying soul... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The beginning of this year has been so special! with so many opportunities to explore and rediscover subjects I have always been inspired and mesmerized with... of mystical, of human condition, of love, of music, of losing one's self, of finding meaning, of being in the state of awe, of taking it in and so much more....<br />
<br />
Really proud to play a role in creation of a performance that touches all of above and so much more this Adelaide Fringe.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLRYof3tFu3vd6v3pcjv7_Iiiq0w3hlUCjZ_chyXGXVcKJaR2AZ1QNEUX5V28fzIj5BjVkxWnI5e0t8t6MW1UZAAmBdA9oPDuKGLQ1n8L8yq-TMyH8U2oaKZVktuSOnZk-uIH6tsuivXh/s1600/thumbnail_FB_IMG_1583317744499.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="960" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLRYof3tFu3vd6v3pcjv7_Iiiq0w3hlUCjZ_chyXGXVcKJaR2AZ1QNEUX5V28fzIj5BjVkxWnI5e0t8t6MW1UZAAmBdA9oPDuKGLQ1n8L8yq-TMyH8U2oaKZVktuSOnZk-uIH6tsuivXh/s320/thumbnail_FB_IMG_1583317744499.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9G1VzDJ8Rw&t=2642s" target="_blank">The Sufi Music Highway!!!</a> </b></h3>
Thank you Farhan for thinking my writing worthy of being the weaving thread to the mesmerizing journey you guys took us to...<br />
<br />
Below is the text of the story I weaved with the brilliant musical performances... the un-referenced parts, my feeble attempt at poetic representation of a soul's journey.... <br />
.......................................................................................................................................................
<br />
<br />
Come listen to a tale both new and old<br />
Of a soul on a quest, to make it whole<br />
<br />
Along this highway the Sufi walks
Of his journey we listen to as he talks<br />
….<br />
I wandered through years of existence and<br />
One day
when I sat lonely considering what’s the point of it all?<br />
I bowed to the higher power, asking why am I here at all?<br />
<br />
I said, “I have lived a great life! I have been happy,<br />
and in sadness I have seen myself fall<br />
<br />
I have been in love, I also have seen my heart break,<br />
I have been the jester, I also have tasted loneliness’s ache,<br />
I have experienced poverty at its worst,
I also have been an affluent rake ,<br />
<br />
But through it all I have never been able to shake, <br />
A feeling that I miss something, there has been a mistake,<br />
Someone calls from within,
but there’s a veil that makes everything opaque ,<br />
A thirst that never quenches,
a question, what do I have at stake?<br />
<br />
so I beg the higher power to help me seek
or at least show me the path to take<br />
.......<br />
<br />
It was as if my prayers were heard, that night I slept in peace and dreamt..<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">I dreamt of a strange place, and I don’t know how I describe to you what I saw. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">I was surrounded by love struct souls yearning in sweet agony, smitten in awe, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">by fair, tall, heavenly maidens with tulip lips, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">Their bewitching beauty causing havoc on the already desperate souls. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">Such a strange place, this heavenly sight </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">where God is the conductor and his beloved the light… </span>*</div>
<br />
...... <br />
<br />
But it was a dream and I had to wake up... oh how I longed to go back to that place,<br />
I must search for the path that takes me back to the heavenly grace!<br />
<br />
So, I read, and roamed, and sought for people who may help me find my way.<br />
Then one day I came across Attar, and here’s what he had to say.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">“Do not imagine the way is short; Vast seas and deserts lie before His court. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">Consider carefully before you start; The journey asks of you a lion’s heart. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">The road is long, the sea is deep – one flies, First buffeted by joy and then by sighs; </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">If you desire this quest, give up your soul, And make our masters court your only goal. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">Love made me clamour for the journey’s start. I set out on the Way, a noble deed! </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">Hardly had I begun, to myself I concede, “A leader’s what I need,” </span>**</div>
<br />
Not just any leader, the master of all masters Ali indeed." <br />
.......<br />
<br />
My first and most important lesson, Love…<br />
<br />
Rumi said,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">“I have this friend I have this cave </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">I am gutted by love </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">You are that friend, You are that cave </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">My lord, don’t cast me off” </span>***</div>
<br />
and Arabi, he saw the face of God everywhere he saw,<br />
<br />
And Attar, he said,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">“The lover is a man who flares and burns, Whose face is fevered, who in frenzy yearns </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">Who knows of neither faith nor blasphemy, Who has not time for doubt or certainty </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">True lovers give up everything they own, To steal one moment with the Friend alone” </span>****<span style="background-color: #cccccc;"></span></div>
<br />
......................................................................................................................................................... <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
The End for now... </div>
<br />
Maybe someday I will write of other lessons :)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<br />
* (the highlighted text is an attempt to translate a famous poem of
Amir Khusraw sung as Qawalli often, its called Nami Danam Che Manzil. I
tried looking through translations but I didn’t find a poetic one and so
decided to give it a go… I hope my Persian speaking friends wont think I
have butchered it 🤞)
.... <br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
**(direct quotes from, “The Conference of the Birds”, Penguin Classics by Farid al-Din Attar, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
the last verse is change a bit to fit in the needed scheme.. change in pronoun and of the word from agreed to concede) </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
***(Rumi quoted/translated by Annette Dumbach in “Rumi: Swallowing the Sun”, poem ref 62) </div>
<br />
<br />
****(direct quotes from, “The Conference of the Birds”, Penguin Classics by Farid al-Din Attar) </div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-89395084159874530752017-08-09T07:45:00.000-07:002017-08-09T07:45:05.233-07:00ماڈرن عشق (attempting poetry after a long time)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>ماڈرن عشق</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">چاہت کی باتیں وغیرہ وغیرہ</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">محبت کی راتیں وغیرہ وغیرہ</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ہمیں بھی بتاو، ہمیں بھی دکھاو</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">قصے ماڈرن دیوانوں کے ہم کو سناو</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">جو ہم نے سنی تھی محبت کہانی</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">وہ جس میں تھا راجا، اور اس کی رانی</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">خوابوں کی بستی، اور رت بھی سہانی</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">لبوں پے ہنسی، نہ کے آنکھوں میں پانی</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">اپنے دل کی دہلیز تو نہ پھولوں سے مہکتی</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> ٹھنڈے لہجوں سے سانسیں کیسے دھکتی؟</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">معصوم خواہش وحشت سے در کو لپتکی </span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> جب اسکی آنکھوں سے دانش کی برچھی چمکتی</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">سن کے راہ محبت کے قصے فسانے</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">عشق کی وادی چلے ہم بھی بن کے دیوانے</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">خساروں کا چٹھا لگا دل بنانے </span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">پریکٹکل لایف کا پاٹ جب لگے وہ سنانے</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">نہ دھڑکن تھی بہکی، نہ بجلی سی کوندی</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">دل کی بتیا نے بس اپنی آنکھیں لی موندی</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">چاہت کی باتیں وغیرہ وغیرہ</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">محبت کی راتیں وغیرہ وغیرہ</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184;">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="283">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p> Transliteration</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Chahat ki batain wagera wagera</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
muhabat ki ratain wagera wagera</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
hamain bhi batao, hamain bhi dikhao</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
qissay modern diwanoon ke ham ko sunao</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
jo hum ne suni thi muhabat kahani</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
wo jis mai tha raja aur us ki rani</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
khwaboon ki basti, aur rut bhi suhani</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
laboon pe hansi, na ke aankhoon mai pani</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
apnai dil ki dehleez tau na phooloon se mehkty</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
thanday lehjoon sai sansay kaisai dehakti?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
masoom khwahish wehshat se dar ko lapakty</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
jab us ki ankhoon sai danish ki barchi chamakti</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
sun ke rah-e-muhabat ke qissay, fasanai</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
ishq ki wadi chalay hum bhi banke diwanai</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
khasaroon ka chitha laga dil banane</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
practical life ka paat jab lagai wo sunanain</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
na dharkan thi behki, na bijli si kondi</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
dil ki batya nai bas apni aankhain li mondi</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Chahat ki batain wagera wagera</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
muhabat ki ratain wagera wagera</div>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="283">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p> Translation</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Stories of desire, etc etc</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nights of love, etc etc</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
tell me those stories, show me those nights </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
narrate the tales of the lovestruck in modern times </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
the tales of love that I have heard (growing up)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
the ones in which there was a prince and his beloved</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
the ones where they lived in the land of dreams and happiness</div>
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Smiling all the time with no tears in their eyes</div>
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But my own path was not showered with flowers</div>
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how does one feel warmth of passion when one's tone is ice cold?</div>
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My naive desires run for the door in bewilderment, when you attempt to slay them with the knife of rationality</div>
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when I heard of the stories of the path of love</div>
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I also ventured there being a fool</div>
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But my heart was only left counting the loses</div>
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when you decided to lecture me on practicality and rule</div>
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(In this story of love) neither the heart skipped a beat nor was there a flash of lightening</div>
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the light of my heart instead decided to extinguish itself</div>
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of stories of desire, etc etc</div>
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Nights of love, etc etc</div>
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Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-7677513224680370512017-08-03T21:04:00.001-07:002017-08-03T21:07:46.994-07:00Let it go? or keep holding on...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As parent I constantly struggle with an urge to somehow show, emphasize and even prove (to myself, as well as the world) how my child is unique, different from the lot, very special... do you recognise the feeling? vicious cycle of the desire for them to be different, followed by dread that I expect too much, followed by the judgement that I am no better than the parents constantly judged by good Hindi films wanting their kids to become only doctors and engineers leading them to live lives of great wealth and no meaning? maybe its just me.... but I swear everytime i meet a child whose name I cannot pronounce my heart jumps with joy for finding a comrade...<br />
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Normally I behave well within the normality curve..., I enjoy her watching cartoons like Tom and Jerry without raising eyebrows about the violence within, Doremon despite its possibility of ruining her chances at awesome spoken Urdu and premature understanding of boy-girl relationship dynamics. I spoil her with a sugar treat pretty much everyday, still feed her with my hands and let her have a tablet... I am guilty of doing pretty much everything listed in the new guide to bad parenting for kids with super potential!<br />
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But frozen strikes a different chord. Its so out there, its so commercial that everytime my daughter picks something with Elsa or Anna on it I just cant help but shake my head at the power of market economy in influencing my 5 year old's choices in life. Everyone has Elsa shoes, and Anna dress and a pencil with frozen characters and a nightdress with Olaf and this and that and having to listen to "let it go all" the time in the car... (i am starting to rant)<br />
<br />
So only yesterday, I opened my daughter's school library bag and found a book with Elsa and Anna on it! my first reaction (out loud too), "why did you bring a frozen book?, we know the story!!! you could have picked something else, something more meaningful" and she said, "but I wanted to read Elsa Anna story so I got this one"<br />
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Reluctantly I opened the book and started to read, "When you and I were little, we were close as we could be. I was happy you were Anna, you were thrilled that I was me."<br />
<br />
And we had a chat about rhyme, picked be and me, brought in other worlds like jack and mack<br />
<br />
then we read on and the book talked about the story of Elsa and Anna, yet again from a fresh perspective. It talked about how Elsa and Anna were different, one calculated another wearing her heart on her sleeve, one organised another clumsy and how in their difference they both hoped to have a sister that was more like themselves. Life would have been so much easier for them if they were alike... but then they recognised all the ways they complimented each other because of their differences, something they were only able to see when they both acknowledged the love they had for each other.<br />
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I was blown away towards the end of it... i was sold to the narrative once again despite the capitalistic reality of the frozen brand. Or perhaps I was blown away more because of that. I am scared of the power Frozen brand has on my daughter who often wants to buy all things Elsa, but in its shadow I marvel at the power Elsa and more importantly Anna can have on forming her person. Feminism and rethinking truelove undertones evidently and elaborately discussed but about difference? what of accepting the other, such a wonderful narrative to discuss the idea of difference as a point of dissatisfaction, conflict but yet a point of complementarity once you acknowledge the other with <b>love</b>... is it a lesson in relationship management? multiculturism? accepting contradiction within oneself? battle of heart and mind? helping kids make sense of why their folks argue and then make up? helping her see Anna's magic was greater for her magic was to come forward and accept vulnerability and continue to show love?<br />
<br />
I dont know how many of these ideas I will be able to touch... but I do promise myself that for the next whole week, this book is rented from school in her name, we are reading it everyday. And talking about it everyday!<br />
<br />
I continue to fear brand frozen, but I shouldnt let its story go... its normal for her to love Elsa and Anna for everyone loves them and maybe in the process of acknowledging that love she will aspire to be open to many ideas of a more balanced society they have to offer.... <br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.scholastic.com/teachers/books/frozen-a-sister-more-like-me-by-barbara-jean-hicks/">The book itself "A sister more like me" by Barbara Jean Hicks</a></div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-33159726839481004862016-11-24T02:58:00.000-08:002016-11-24T04:10:17.237-08:00New Canvas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Starting a new life; its exciting, its exhilarating but most
of all its intimidating as shit. Its been a while since I have last written and
while there have been moments in last month and a half when I have almost
thought I should start a new blog and call it moving to Australia, I don’t really
think I can get myself up for it. It would be fun though, to record all the hilarity,
confusion and struggles even for small things such as choosing a new brand of
tea can be like. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Too many firsts despite this not being my first time moving
out and starting over. All through it all whats fascinating is how two people
that are both me, but both so different coexist side by side, constantly
rattling within one body. One, which keeps pushing for how great this is, how
exciting to start on a clean canvas, lets paint it bold, lets run around in the
wilderness, lets enjoy what you have gotten yourself into, yes its scary but that’s
the fun of it. Lets walk the path shrouded by greens everywhere, deserted and
oh so beautiful just coz of that. And another; hesitant, intimidated; wanting
to curl back into the comfort zone of what is known and safe and (and this
really sucks) is missing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">While them two bicker, I feel a third me constantly going
through a fr</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">eeze burn. Being high and being low all at the same time. Oh but
this isn’t the first time I have felt this way, not knowing its place in the
world, the wandering soul keeps wandering, keeps exploring, always abandoning the
safe zones and then missing them terribly. But there is beauty in this pain, a
beauty which like mirage of freedom is too tempting to not attempt. Freeze burn….
Ouch! Wow... But... Dark… Strangers are scary… Perhaps until they become acquaintances…
perhaps even after that. Wanderlust…. Awe. Home…. Freeze burn …. .. .. ouch!</span></div>
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Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-76191603907400095782016-07-05T08:10:00.000-07:002016-07-05T22:34:08.331-07:00An unnamed not-so-fairytale<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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He sat there, waiting, like everyday. Since morning at 7 when he woke up he had an odd feel that something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it. Everything was as it always was. When he woke, as usual his mother had already laid his breakfast. His young wife had placed his clothes where they always were. The dishes clattered as always in the makeshift kitchen on the side. He sat to eat his breakfast and as always his mother started talking about how she needed more money to run the household. Now that his wife was expectant they needed more food, more milk, more money so that some of it could be stashed away for the baby to arrive soon. </div>
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He listened, as always, quietly, chewing his breakfast slowly. Breaking his bread with his teeth, bit by bit, nodding every time his mother took a pause between her morning jab about how little they had. If it wasn't for the nagging feeling in his gut, everything would have been the same, as always. But he didn't feel quiet right today, he tried to figure out what was it that was not as usual? what was it absence or perhaps presence of which has stirred this strange anxiety in him. A ripple in his otherwise placid life. </div>
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He searched his wife's face for a hint, for something unusual, reconfirmed with her about when she was due. She wasn't due for another four months she said looking almost offended at his lack of concern for the baby. He changed, left the home, still thinking of what bothered him. He looked at his mobile phone, "8:30" it said, he was out of the home at the usual hour of the day, He unlocked his fruit cart from the usual parking spot in the shared compound and went about his business. </div>
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He stopped after walking the usual 30 minutes to his usual spot, started unpacking the oranges from the crates he had packed last night. He looked at his phone again at usual 9:30 am he was all set to start another day. The wait has started, it was another hour before the first customer arrived, "how much for the oranges?" "the same", he replied, "a dozen for rs. hundred". "Thats too much", the man exclaimed. He played the futile game of bargain, at least that will keep the customer here for a few more moments. He finally sold a dozen for rs. 80, taking his time packing them, anything to keep him busy for longer. </div>
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By 12 in the maddening heat of the city, he had forgotten all about the nagging feeling he woke up this morning with. Sitting under the meager shade of his fruit stall. he waited, hoping to land another customer soon. At three he took a short walk asking the hawker next to him to keep an eye on his stand. He wandered aimlessly. The day wasn't any different since morning, he has sold a baker's dozen of oranges since morning. Each transaction a calculated 4 minutes 35 seconds with what seemed like eternities in between. But this was his life, everyday he waited hours before he could sell the target amount of fruits to make enough profit to last another day. </div>
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His life was a sum of hours of perpetual wait salted with instances of gratification. As a new born he had to wait until his <i>baba</i> was done to be served his moments of suckling, as a child too he was served food when <i>baba</i> was done. He would have gone to school but then <i>baba</i> died leaving a widow and a four year old behind with a destiny to wait. After <i>baba</i>, he waited the whole year for Eid, the only time his maternal uncle would come with a full serving of biryani, the only meal of the year when his heart contented before his plate was empty. His uncle would also bring a cheap toy as Eidi which would last him a few months until it broke.</div>
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He also waited for a few moments of quiet that lay between him drifting off to sleep and his mother starting to snore softy. This was the only time he could see no lines of worry on his mother's forehead, it was the only time she would shut up, not completely but enough to given him a few minutes of peace. </div>
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He also waited seventeen years, saving every penny he nicked from his daily wage from <i>ustad</i> to make enough to afford himself the ability to have his own employment. He had thought this would be a turning point in his life. Now that he was self employed, amma would finally feel adequate enough to task for Tabasum's hand in marriage. He would make her compensate for everything he missed out in his life. She would submit to all his whims, fulfilling all his demands like an obedient wife, showering him with unconditional love that he never felt his mom had the time to. </div>
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It seemed that fate has finally granted him some immunity, Tabasum was all that he had dreamed of, an obedient, loving wife with patience of a saint. She listened to him endlessly, paying attention to everything no matter how trivial, fulfilling all his wishes no matter how impractical. One time just to test her limits he woke her up in the middle of the night asking her to squeeze him fresh orange juice. She looked surprised but obliged nevertheless. All was well for a couple of months, until he found out that she was pregnant. </div>
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The wheel once again began to rotate backwards, Tabasum was sick most of the time, unavailable for his whims, amma's concern for money had tripple folded and thus was her rant about it as well. He still remained hopeful, he wanted the baby to arrive. This was one entity he wanted to wait for, "unlike baba I would let Tabasum cater to his/her needs first", he thought to himself. "I will also help out in looking after him/her" he promised himself. "It would be someone who would wait for me to come home, my wait would finally be reciprocated", he thought excitedly. </div>
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All was well, however he didn't feel right this morning. While strolling, he was reminded of the nagging feeling pulling somewhere deep in his subconscious mind. He wanted to go home, stay with Tabasum. "What if she needs me to take her to the hospital", he thought. But he had to make the target amount if he wanted to be able to afford the baby. After all he had his phone with him, if there was an emergency amma would call him home. He convinced himself to go back to his cart and managed to stay and sell for another few hours before he could not take it anymore. It was almost as if he was being called by someone, he had to go home. He started packing his cart then thought otherwise. "I could always sell on the way" he thought and started to move. </div>
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He moved towards home, the vendor next to him quizzically looking at him. "I have to go home early today" he explained. His fellow gave him an understanding nod and pretended to be occupied. Moving forward he was able to sell a couple more dozen of oranges and almost thought it was a good idea to keep moving. At least it wasn't a perpetual wait, he felt better as he walked along the road and decided to take a longer route home thinking that he might be able to match his target after all. </div>
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On the far end of the bridge that he was now climbing he saw a similar sight. Aaqib sat at the edge of the bridge, his head in his hands, his legs folded across his chest. Many called Aaqib a mad man, he was very handy when he was in his senses which however wasn't the case most of the time, He knew Aaqib saw things, talked to beings that were invisible, fought with his inner demons out loud, but he also knew Aaqib as an intelligent listener. At times when he could not take it anymore, he actively sought Aaqib who willingly listened to his rants offering him a cigarette while also telling him its not good for him to smoke. Twisted man this Aaqib was, when he sought solitude he would vanish for weeks and then suddenly make an appearance in their lives fixing someone's faucet, or stove knob or something. The very next day women would steer away their children as he screamed and kicked unseen demons and then often, one would find him on this bridge, legs crossed, face in his hands.</div>
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He moved towards him, in exchange for a few oranges Aaqib will share his cigarette, a story or two and maybe an advice on how better to run his cart business. Perhaps, he could talk to Aaqib about this nagging he felt, he would know, with his inner demons and all he seemed the most equipped person around to consult. He approached Aaqib, he looked different today, there was something about his posture, it almost seemed like he was crying. He came forward, called his name, in response he heard him grunt, muffled sob, almost a groan. "<i>Aaqib tu theek hai</i>" he called out. Aaqib didnt look up, he came further close, now worried for the man. "Aaqib" he called again. He looked up, his face twisted with pain, he grunted asking him to leave. He came further close attempting to put his hand on his shoulder trying to console him. Aaqib further backed into the wall, "<i> Jao, Jaaaao! Jao!" </i>he said to him. "Please", he whispered to someone invisible next to him then he looked at him stern and asked him to leave. He didn't go, instead offered him a hand to help him up, Aaqib took the hand, looked at him in the eye and begged him now to not leave him alone. He promised he wont go anywhere. Aaqib hugged hum tight, said thanks and jumped off the bridge with him still strangled in embrace. </div>
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Aaqib the madman died that night, as for him, fate was never this kind. He waited on the single bed he was placed three months ago. His son was named Rustam by his mother, who often stayed by his side constantly talking to him about financial worries. Tabasum was too busy taking care of the baby and finding whatever means of income she could scourge. The fall led him perpetually immobile and as always perpetually waiting. </div>
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Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-12261747556545402562016-04-14T01:13:00.002-07:002018-05-23T16:28:30.065-07:00Brown bagging fear itself... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have been wanting to write this, but I have considered, reconsidered and then do what I ultimately do when some part of me disagrees to express an opinion about something. I hang it in the air hoping one fine day I would express it but that this day is not it.<br />
<br />
I took my notes, I made a mental outline, and I put it in pile of to write things where thoughts gather dust and eventually get buried somewhere deep inside of me. <br />
<br />
And it would have been the case if this morning i didnt wake up to <a class="ProfileHeaderCard-screennameLink u-linkComplex js-nav" href="https://twitter.com/Shehzad89" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: rgb(245, 248, 250); color: #8899a6; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 14px; orphans: auto; outline: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none !important; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">@<span class="u-linkComplex-target" style="text-decoration: underline !important;">Shehzad89</span></a><span class="u-linkComplex-target"> </span><span class="u-linkComplex-target">talking about </span><span class="u-linkComplex-target">sanitary napkins, women, social embarrassment, oppression and patriarchy. And I felt I needed to add another keyword to all of this, "fear". </span><br />
<br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target">And I write this as an expression of coming out coz it makes me as vulnerable. And I share it for the sake of all 13,14,15,16,...32 (and still counting) year olds who have felt and not expressed the intense fear in that, out of nowhere, sudden moment that shakes you down to the very core of you regardless of how strong you are.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target">Here goes....</span><br />
<br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target">Its 9:30 am, I am driving to work. I have just dropped Adiyah to school and am almost at work ready to start (hopefully) a productive day. I am passing through a residential lane, that I often take to avoid the traffic on the main road to work, when I hear a honk behind me. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target">A biker, first thought "<i>Double to nahi hai" </i>cant be snatcher. I move to the side thinking he wants to pass. Looking in the rear view mirror </span><span class="u-linkComplex-target">I see him fiddle with something on the patrol tank. "Probably a pack of biscuit", I think to my self. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target">The man parallels with me instead of passing, looks at me, I am now confused thinking, "I didnt offend anyone while driving today why is he trying to communicate rather than passing". Then I see him make an interesting eye contact. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target">He looks at me, gestures between his legs and gestures back as if saying, "wanna have some". </span><br />
<br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target">I am often surprised at how much thinking human brain can do in nano seconds because it couldn't have been more than that. I think simultaneously, "why is he offering me a biscuit?" "oh no wait! thats not what he is offering" "fuck why the hell is my heart sinking, I am 32 God damit why am I shaking like this?" "Oh let me teach him a lesson" "no but what if it goes the wrong way" "<i>aisi ki taisi womens bill zindabad" </i></span><br />
<br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target">He crosses me still looking at me while he cuts into an alley on the left I look at him, my mind made up... I gesture him "Yes". I want him to turn around, I want to somehow get back at him. I reverse my car which by this time has moved a bit further up from the alley in which he went. He turns around, in my effort to reverse I am standing perpendicular in an alley; he comes behind me I confirm, "<i>Kia de rahe thay" </i>He understands that I will cause trouble, I reverse further in an effort to scare him (oh wait a minute in that moment I wanted him to fall) I miss... I turn... he runs.... and I chase him. </span><br />
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<span class="u-linkComplex-target">Hoping, only hoping, to catch a glimpse of his face and to click it with my awesome always available camera, my phone. I dont get it, what I get instead is this </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCOCl-8Cu6QnrHRdADgfoTEC5la0dB1Kip9KLb7k7hN8YrMp32ZPmvSyn366OhLN1AmYKFpu3A5IqfRYIhXhBBwp7Kwe95rLwZ_Y3Kfb6OEdnJl8RjGcwVeFGW-npaLJqv2WmmpDx6IKa/s1600/2016-03-25+09.33.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCOCl-8Cu6QnrHRdADgfoTEC5la0dB1Kip9KLb7k7hN8YrMp32ZPmvSyn366OhLN1AmYKFpu3A5IqfRYIhXhBBwp7Kwe95rLwZ_Y3Kfb6OEdnJl8RjGcwVeFGW-npaLJqv2WmmpDx6IKa/s1600/2016-03-25+09.33.01.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Defeated... once he disappear after chase of good 4-5 minutes into a random alley, I head back to work. Still shaking, now trying to justify my shaking being caused more because of anger than fear. But I keep thinking about it, I kept thinking about it for the whole day but I didnt think of what it did to me only.<br />
<br />
What I thought more about was what it would have done to a 14 year old me, it would have caused me trauma at 14. How do I know? because I have been through a less intense version of a similar story when I was 17 and it was traumatic even then, because I have heard similar stories friends (who didn't feel as vulnerable to come out at that spur of the moment in our 30 year grown up talk) and what it did to them at that time.<br />
<br />
My first instinct was to think how I will protect my 4 year old from such traumatic experience that she might face in next 10 years or so. My second thought, what about all the girls I have taught or I still teach?<br />
<br />
And it sucks that I can probably not do much to protect any of them in real sense.<br />
<br />
All I can do is come out and show them that it happens to me too. That they are not alone, and if they see nothing wrong with me (hopefully) then there is nothing wrong with them. And most importantly I want them to know that It gets better. Not that it changes but your response to it has the capacity to change.<br />
<br />
I dont get dysfunctional when I am intimidated like this, I instead almost on autopilot stand up for myself and fight back knowing that when I stand up they run away like coward little wussies. <br />
But I thought further, and what I could not get my head around was "why". Why is it that some people would do such useless things that lead to nothing but instead just makes the other person immensely scared. Like what is it that one gets out of casually touching the opposite gender in the wrong places at a crowded bazaar? or by cat calling or by touching or pointing to your genitals to scare the shit out of someone.<br />
<br />
It cant be for any practical reasons, I am yet to meet a woman who felt aroused by any of the above gestures let alone be attracted. So while it is sexual in connotation it inst really part of the mating game. So then what is it? I guess I should thank <a class="ProfileHeaderCard-screennameLink u-linkComplex js-nav" href="https://twitter.com/Shehzad89" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: rgb(245, 248, 250); color: #8899a6; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 14px; orphans: auto; outline: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none !important; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">@<span class="u-linkComplex-target" style="text-decoration: underline !important;">Shehzad89</span></a> for giving me the right word for it, and from now on I will use it everytime #brownbagging :).<br />
<br />
<br />
So heres what I am gonno do, I wont feed further the cycle of social control through intimidation on my end. Instead what I will do is try to fight back. I will fight back with vengeance and with a tool I carry with me everyday, my phone. <br />
<br />
Ever since I acquired a phone with a camera I used to have a funny little trick to get rid of guys who fancy following women around. I would pretend to click their photo and talk on phone with someone.<br />
<br />
Now I tell you the following lot is not a very intelligent one coz without considering the mp size of my mobile camera they would all steer away after diligently following me for a few miles as soon as they saw me pretending to take their photo.<br />
<br />
Anyway so once I got the current phone I have which actually can take high res photos that can be zoomed for an outcome I actually started clicking. I dont know to what outcome I took their photo but this incident had motivated me to bring these individual out in public who will hopefully be "<i>Baap-Bhai</i>" of someone.<br />
<br />
And I invite all the girls who have ever felt intimidated by these scoundrels running around on our streets to next time take their photos and publicly share them. Hopefully some of them will realize what they do when publicly acknowledged. Here are mine...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGs3fOOD5yYJbopSrN4tqGetI9DzVvE71-2On-5HruLbDqvcj7v2IjOOJZC274HKxmjoxm6VyK0xVUGsTOKfAI_YUIv7HX24rKhHnkxkchoDyAlWLwCEXQtTRUFJ8sckxSsAIkWykQVj4y/s1600/2016-03-25+09.33.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGs3fOOD5yYJbopSrN4tqGetI9DzVvE71-2On-5HruLbDqvcj7v2IjOOJZC274HKxmjoxm6VyK0xVUGsTOKfAI_YUIv7HX24rKhHnkxkchoDyAlWLwCEXQtTRUFJ8sckxSsAIkWykQVj4y/s1600/2016-03-25+09.33.01.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr Biscuit guy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ41vGcvEG_FQz-AyGmqW12JNPbxunAeVT2qUQGS0uFJblqRbob-z9h2mt-7y3IRUPkZsVhnuXnio6yOuN8ThxlgB3_DO_f_8LttBHsFVwWplesgLPzR1vtBIaiGJiBbPDQnfAlZOOSqv8/s1600/2016-03-04+08.57.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ41vGcvEG_FQz-AyGmqW12JNPbxunAeVT2qUQGS0uFJblqRbob-z9h2mt-7y3IRUPkZsVhnuXnio6yOuN8ThxlgB3_DO_f_8LttBHsFVwWplesgLPzR1vtBIaiGJiBbPDQnfAlZOOSqv8/s1600/2016-03-04+08.57.41.jpg" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbttcSODsSvP7mwh8CojYPPGGy9ejNSDBDog6rvZfYxMIdory07ifXc2nOclO2BnBZB2YtnIuFrN0r83XsM-j9J1OzH2GvyMI2ejthHWmvX2aYxAMbvq_FJyrvJ-03d6XcSNZ1avEakxN/s1600/2016-03-04+08.57.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbttcSODsSvP7mwh8CojYPPGGy9ejNSDBDog6rvZfYxMIdory07ifXc2nOclO2BnBZB2YtnIuFrN0r83XsM-j9J1OzH2GvyMI2ejthHWmvX2aYxAMbvq_FJyrvJ-03d6XcSNZ1avEakxN/s1600/2016-03-04+08.57.47.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr trying to find something between his legs guy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCGR_Bv-NPv7dBeEF9tmlUihxhB51Ld4IRjkfYnhgpIm0-tKkIOp-5MwAVfaCc6R2Rst5175ekIhQzLO-43pcM97HL_nTBlE0nmD2OGZgz8pi4XOPlETieboDKTkHpna-v1XLc8oLFW7x/s1600/2016-03-15+09.05.38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCGR_Bv-NPv7dBeEF9tmlUihxhB51Ld4IRjkfYnhgpIm0-tKkIOp-5MwAVfaCc6R2Rst5175ekIhQzLO-43pcM97HL_nTBlE0nmD2OGZgz8pi4XOPlETieboDKTkHpna-v1XLc8oLFW7x/s1600/2016-03-15+09.05.38.jpg" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXSJw9Dz5tDbm37eIYbazT8WsGPMdRyeyrhZJc8b2yC4Dxylnk2Iyzi55bi-2pJWzRDdgPQPJ_f7-wS8bi7d03qKC5baO6C7AfNZwpXPV3kkLChFmzYeXh44ECuYmak3LxMJHX-qI6uBb/s1600/2016-03-15+09.05.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXSJw9Dz5tDbm37eIYbazT8WsGPMdRyeyrhZJc8b2yC4Dxylnk2Iyzi55bi-2pJWzRDdgPQPJ_f7-wS8bi7d03qKC5baO6C7AfNZwpXPV3kkLChFmzYeXh44ECuYmak3LxMJHX-qI6uBb/s1600/2016-03-15+09.05.41.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr Half Face</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now I would love to make a facebook page to allow a portal for all to share photos of their perpetrators but am not the page maintaining kind, so please feel free to make one and tag me on it so I share future trying to scare me idiots! <br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target"> <i> </i> </span><span class="u-linkComplex-target" style="text-decoration: underline !important;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="u-linkComplex-target" style="text-decoration: underline !important;"><br /></span></div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-73929709029531488782016-02-15T21:45:00.003-08:002016-02-15T21:45:43.782-08:00My bliss my curse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It is you,<br />
Only you...<br />
Who possesses<br />
The power to melt away<br />
Slabs of ice I take so long to build around my heart<br />
In hopes to be numb,<br />
to be safe<br />
But with a single touch you fill me up<br />
With warmth<br />
Reminding me that there is nothing<br />
Worth numbing<br />
<br /></div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-61092798123938822792015-12-24T12:39:00.000-08:002015-12-24T12:39:45.009-08:00One day the little enchantress will know the power of the craft she is so naturally potent in!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I take out the flash cards hoping we will go further in recognizing the opposites. Secretly also hoping it will help her memorize the shape and texture of all words we read and see. But she? She gives me this<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrjUs-vS74mxSGAIn8KUHryZlhURgeayaWO1gLx6HuNmAhxDwEdU4U26_JDbEA-DiuGgdLqsiciZAv_Pgh-ni1wbn_Bkpc0PLrTkfy8vw7AaIHDcLZ0xuKA2QF8xp0tGzLIsMU19sFeOr/s1600/T230232+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrjUs-vS74mxSGAIn8KUHryZlhURgeayaWO1gLx6HuNmAhxDwEdU4U26_JDbEA-DiuGgdLqsiciZAv_Pgh-ni1wbn_Bkpc0PLrTkfy8vw7AaIHDcLZ0xuKA2QF8xp0tGzLIsMU19sFeOr/s640/T230232+%25283%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
And I say.. Dia look this is a..?<br />
<br />
Dia: Giraffe mama<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Me: yea and see they are two this one is (pointing at the taller one)<br />
<br />
Dia: This is maamaa giraffe<br />
<br />
Me: right.. this is Mama so she is tall. And the baby giraffe is?<br />
<br />
Dia: Smallerrrrrrr<br />
<br />
Me: yea and also he is short right<br />
<br />
Dia: right he is short<br />
<br />
Dia: and baby giraffe loves to run... and every time mama says slow down baby giraffe you are going too ahead of me you will get lost.<br />
<br />
Me: Ahan.. (wondering where is this going... please dont go all Freud on me there are more stories coming)<br />
<br />
Dia: But the baby giraffe runs faster and faster and mama comes behind slowly she is tired :(<br />
<br />
Me: wow thats such a nice story isn't it.<br />
and she says no this is not a nice story because the giraffe runs and doesn't listen to mommy. and I am thinking ... "is that morality" or is it just her way of telling me that she recognizes all those times I tell her to slow down that running far away she is testing her boundaries...<br />
she doesnt give me much time to think and draws another pair<br />
<br />
Dia: Look mamma a finished apple<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8lCQzBmwDOB88JcksyAAVL7EuNE-hxvMuUVaKF-z3R-5CfOorVQX6bIcFWEsKG65rPE4hNKo5dtIM7ri0y6ac6ZloGHL9k-7dEqoBWp0XzTG4BBzzihSFUqtVf7mMclrYpbWiNHE3V-B/s1600/apple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8lCQzBmwDOB88JcksyAAVL7EuNE-hxvMuUVaKF-z3R-5CfOorVQX6bIcFWEsKG65rPE4hNKo5dtIM7ri0y6ac6ZloGHL9k-7dEqoBWp0XzTG4BBzzihSFUqtVf7mMclrYpbWiNHE3V-B/s320/apple.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Me: yea and look at this one this one is?<br />
<br />
Dia: whole<br />
<br />
Me: yes and its also an apple that someone may have just started to eat right? so start and finish<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Dia: yea start<br />
<br />
Me: (wondering if i will get lucky with another story i ask) Dia so do we have a story of apple?<br />
<br />
Dia: yeaaaa<br />
<br />
Dia: One day Adiyah was hungry (am absolutely marveling at her start). And she went to the dressing table to look for noodles (why dressing table? why not kitchen? noodles because that what she was eating when we were doing this activity)<br />
<br />
Dia (cont): but there were no noodles on the table instead (she used the word "<i>balkay" </i>i was so proud lol) there was an apple.<br />
<br />
So dia ate the apple until it was half done and here is the rest of the apple (while pointing at the finished apple)<br />
<br />
Me: Oh wow now this was a nice story wasnt it?<br />
<br />
Dia: yea mamma you liked this story?<br />
<br />
Me: yes i love you story<br />
<br />
This time i pick another pair and say, "Look dia, whats up here"<br />
<br />
Dia: Oooh look at this ship one is <i>Nazdeek </i>and another one is sooo far<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge36-6D4mQmOC6nKvEpkwYS-JktJI7liKIKcjHNx7U4uqCA-4SyjmT0CX_OgjcmNHbgBCETGAA5z7jRSvsMgty0vzwBvo29A1mrKiRN77RKy_BOnnLUnQxYDvtH_fruJOkjZaQt6uSCDK1/s1600/near.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge36-6D4mQmOC6nKvEpkwYS-JktJI7liKIKcjHNx7U4uqCA-4SyjmT0CX_OgjcmNHbgBCETGAA5z7jRSvsMgty0vzwBvo29A1mrKiRN77RKy_BOnnLUnQxYDvtH_fruJOkjZaQt6uSCDK1/s320/near.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Me: right and <i>nazdeek </i>in english is? 9and she gives me a quizzical look... its almost funny how she can still not tell which words are English and which ones are Urdu.. but am kinda glad for this blessing)<br />
<br />
Me: its also near<br />
<br />
Dia: Oh yea near and far, and mamma you know<br />
<br />
(and I could see another story coming in....)<br />
<br />
Dia: when the ship for near they shouted common Adiyah hurry up lets get on the ship but i could not reach to the ship on time<br />
<br />
Me: and then?<br />
<br />
Dia: then when I reached close to the river the ship was far far away and I said "wait i want to go also"<br />
<br />
Me: oh o, then what happen<br />
<br />
Dia: (she makes her voice dramatic) and then mamma i jumped in the water and swam swam swam until i reached the ship. Then i climbed up the ship but you know what<br />
<br />
Me: what<br />
<br />
Dia: the ship was made of wood and when I jumped on it I hurt my knee<br />
<br />
Me: oh o, did it hurt<br />
<br />
Dia: yes but I am ok now, I am so brave<br />
<br />
Me: That you are my love!!!<br />
<br />
This was the next pair<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNqXRNKORHKU_YIHhxn7L9s2sHG5r-OEUxjf-WhSiz50Mtyg7On9quf7tTOiaOt12SSlsO4BR-Rz1zX1rbP9UI83i-lE6h7mrZ0fDVdUVshlsFxJYSXC7IWBfAuQM-sosdVP492YWYDuT/s1600/cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNqXRNKORHKU_YIHhxn7L9s2sHG5r-OEUxjf-WhSiz50Mtyg7On9quf7tTOiaOt12SSlsO4BR-Rz1zX1rbP9UI83i-lE6h7mrZ0fDVdUVshlsFxJYSXC7IWBfAuQM-sosdVP492YWYDuT/s320/cat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
now you guess what the story went like.... a hint... it had a dream sequence lol....<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-62187357489948000502015-08-14T04:11:00.004-07:002015-08-14T04:24:00.249-07:00آزادئ پاکستان<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: right;">
آزادئ پاکستان</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
سب کی چمکی ہے دکان</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
کہیں پہ بیس کہیں ہے تیس</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
کہیں انیس سے سینتالیس</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
سیل پہ لگائ سب نے لان</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
اسکولوں میں ہے سیلبریشن</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
فیس پر ہے انفلیشن</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
چینلوں نے بند کی ان بن</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Masala tv changed the slogan</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
پاکستان سے کرو پیار</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
پر کهانے بناو مصالحہ دار</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
مانا کہنا ہے بیکار</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
کہے بنا پر رہنا بار</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
آزادئ پاکستان، ویلینٹان یا ہو رمضان</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
سب سے پہلے تهی دکان سب سے پہلے ہے دکان<br />
<br />
<br />
Azadi-e-Pakistan<br />
Sab ki chamki hai dukan<br />
<br />
kaheen pe bees (20), kaheen hai tees (30)<br />
kaheen unees se saintalees(19-47)<br />
sale pe lagai sab ne lawn<br />
<br />
schoolon mai hai celebration<br />
fees per hai inflation<br />
channels ne band ki an ban<br />
Masala Tv changes the slogan<br />
<br />
"Pakistan se karo pyar<br />
par khane banao masalezar"<br />
mana kehna hai bekar<br />
kahe bina per rehna bar<br />
Azadi-e-Pakistan, Valentine, ya ho Ramzan<br />
sab se pehle thi dukan, sab se pehle hai dukan </div>
</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-26474717422340875712015-08-05T05:02:00.000-07:002015-08-05T05:02:09.899-07:007 things we should be thankful to Exams for...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One awesome thing that I am required to do as a full time teacher is to sit through hours of nerve wreaking boredom that exam invigilation brings with it! Anyway here I am after 2.5 (which feel more like 25) hrs of not doing anything but staring at a group of students taking their final exams with a fellow teacher. My only job there is to ensure that they mind their own <i>exam </i>paper and not others. Watching them write frantically looking up every now and then to glance at the wall clock and act as if the final hour of doom is approaching I keep telling myself, "whoever said time is relative was absolutely right."<br />
<br />
Anyway so after what felt like eternity, I am done with my duty, I hand over the collected papers at the examination office and take the stairs down to my office. On my way I cant resist overhearing students that sat in my class discuss a particular accounting question and how one girl had gotten the answer wrong. As she does the usual, "<i>array yaar" </i>business around it one of the boys comments, "If you had sat at the back with us all you would have too gotten it right". I look up to him as hes caught mid sentence realizing a second too late who was passing by.<br />
<br />
I am torn between what to do and I end up pretending I heard nothing as I see him making that awkward face we all Pakistanis make when caught red handed for a crime we consider to be too small to be a crime really.<br />
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For the rest of the day however I couldn't help but think about how I should thank exams or perhaps more appropriately thank how exams are often conducted for undoing so many things we teachers try to do throughout the term. With the power of marks/numbers/grades behind them this great tool called exam teaches our students so much more about learning and the approach to it than what I can.<br />
<br />
So, as i marvel at the student's ability to elude me rather than marveling at what they have learned during the term I thought i might as well write this post for my fellow teachers as "x number of things they should thank the idea of examination and the way its usually conducted in our academic scene"<br />
<br />
1. We should thank exams for teaching our students that dishonesty is great specially when marks are involved.<br />
(be it a sign language created for MCQ confirmation, to one's ability to look at teacher in the eye and act so genuinely surprised when pointed out for cheating that the teacher starts having self doubt...)<br />
<br />
2. We should thank exams for making students believe that the outcome is more important than the process<br />
(an therefore, if they got the answer right the means with which they got it wont matter)<br />
<br />
3. We should thank the exam for helping students develop an understanding that a momentary reproduction of knowledge is a greater goal than internalizing and evaluating what they have been exposed to<br />
<br />
4. We should thank the exams for making our kids look at us as not people who genuinely care about their growth, development and learning but as tricksters who try their hardest to create confusion and chaos in their otherwise uncomplicated lives<br />
<br />
5. We should thank exams to help emphasize the importance of one right answer, written in one particular way, hand written in pretty writing over a standard word count.<br />
<br />
6. We should thank exams for ensuring that out students understand that time will always be against them and the champion is not the one who takes his time but instead one who masters that time by doing it the fastest<br />
<br />
and kind of all of this together <br />
<br />
7. We should thank exams as being the unyielding part of the system of education that manages to somehow disseminate knowledge without really teaching at all... a system that sees mistake in inability to demonstrate knowing rather than seeing mistake in how knowledge was arrived at<br />
<br />
Haram kamai halaal ghost all over again...</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-28674367153687972522015-07-26T17:06:00.000-07:002015-07-27T02:10:13.374-07:00To my fellow flat dwellers <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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تمهاری اور میری بالکونی کے ساته اجیب رشتہ داری ہے</div>
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تنہائ کے وہ لمہے جو ہم نے اس سے بانٹے ہیں</div>
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وہ تمام اداس نہیں لیکن</div>
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دکه، یاسیت، نہ پوری ہونے والی خواہشوں کی تمازت</div>
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محبتوں میں بهیگی مسکراہٹوں سے کئ زیادہ ہے</div>
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اس ایک کونے میں</div>
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رات کے اندهیروں میں</div>
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تنہائ کی بانہوں میں ہم جی بهر کے روے ہیں</div>
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گلی سے گزرتی گاڑی کی ہیڈ لائٹ کو بلامقصد </div>
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کسی سوچ کے حصار میں دور تک</div>
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کیا ہے follow</div>
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اکیلی سوتی چیل کی </div>
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پہ رشک کیا ہے independence</div>
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تاروں کو نہیں آسمان کو دیکهنا</div>
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نادانستگی سے </div>
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پے جلتے بهجتے بلب کو تکتے جانا radio mast</div>
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خود سے سوال کرنا</div>
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سردی سے لڑنا اور پهر ہار جانا</div>
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باور کرانا کہ آزادی اپنی بولی بہت اونچی لگاتی ہے</div>
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ایسے میں بالکونی گهر کے دائرے میں</div>
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کے صراب کے wilderness<br />
مناسب کر لیتی ہے</div>
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For my non urdu readers<br />
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Transliteration</div>
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Somewhat translation </div>
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Tumhari aur meri, balcony ke sath ajeab rishtadari hai </div>
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Tanhai ke wo lamhai jo hum ne us se bantay hain</div>
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Wo tamam udas nahi lekin</div>
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dukh, yasiyat, na puri hone wali khwahishon ki tamazat (heat)</div>
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muhabaton main bheegi muskurahaton se kai zyada hai</div>
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is ek kone mai</div>
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rat ke andheroon mai</div>
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tanhai ki banhoon mai , hum gi bhar ke roye hain</div>
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gali se guzarti gari ki headlight ko bila maqsad, </div>
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kisi soch ke hisar mai, dur tak follow kia hai</div>
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akeli soti chial (eagle) ki independence pe rashq kia hai</div>
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taroon ko nahi asmaan ko dekhna</div>
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nadanstagi (unintentionally) se radio mast pe jalte bujhtay bulb ko taktay jana</div>
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khud se sawal karna</div>
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sardi se larna or phir har jana</div>
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bawr karana (to convince) ke azadi apni boli bohat unchi lagaty hai </div>
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aise mai, balcony, ghar ke daire mai wilderness ke sarab (mirage) ke munasib kar leti hai </div>
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you (flat dwellers) and I share a strange relationship with balcony </div>
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the moments of loneliness that we have shared with it are not all remorseful however, </div>
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sorrow, longing and unfulfilled wishes hold a greater share than fulfilled moments of love and completion </div>
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this one spot bears witness to </div>
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many dark nights of solitude, of countless tears </div>
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it bears witness to unthinkingly following the headlights of the car until it disappears somewhere in the dark </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
it holds the jealousy we have felt for the independence of the solitary eagle sleeping across </div>
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it has seen us look at the sky and not search for the stars</div>
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and the blankness of the stare as we keep watching the flashing light on the radio mast in distance</div>
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it has seen us question ourselves </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
fighting the cold, and then giving up </div>
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it bears witness to our resignation for the high price independence puts on itself </div>
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settling for the mirage of the same that balcony has to offer within the security of home... </div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-72338048536677104562015-04-27T03:16:00.000-07:002015-04-28T05:13:02.427-07:00America Jaisa: Like America <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21.3px; margin: 0px 0px 1.35em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A couple of days ago I had an important work event scheduled early in the morning. </span></div>
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" 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src="data:image/png;base64,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" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Being me I had to rush and had no time to do breakfast so I thought if I order food to get delivered it will arrive by the time I get ready and this way I will get to eat and leave early too. </span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin: 0px 0px 1.35em; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> To all those who are aware of my constant cry about my weight please stop shaking their heads and think about how jealous you are of the fact that in this part of the world you can get McDonald's to deliver breakfast at your doorstep </span><span style="font-size: large;"><img alt="" src="data:image/png;base64,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" />... yes I know you can almost smell the yumness of Mcmuffin and and hear the crunch as you almost chew into that goodness called hash browns but let me get back to my story which offers more than a juicy borrowed bite from the company me and my daughter jointly love to devour under the disappointing stares of our health and nutrition continuous beloved friends and family members.</span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin: 0px 0px 1.35em; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So after i quickly ate my breakfast got ready I dashed out of the door grabbing the accompanying cup of coffee to finish on the way in the car since I cant do scathingly hot beverages without burning my taste buds. </span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21.3px; margin: 0px 0px 1.35em; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I walk into the lift, there is an uncle there already (hes around my father's age).. I nod at him in acknowledgement he nods back. I would have been perfectly fine spending the next few seconds in awkward silence strangers go through when sharing an elevator but apparently uncle is not so he attempts to talk and he says, "Aaj kal to Pakistan mai bhi sab America jaisa ho gaya hai" (tr. These days everything i Pakistan is also like America) and am like, "hmmm" and thinking to my self "<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 107%;">seriously
uncle! I mean I understand how elderly are always about well-meaning ill
comments but I dont even know you and you can look at my sleeveless outfit and
thin strip of dupatta and can go ahead and comment on how I am not very
Pakistanily dressed?... I mean you have the right to comment but how politically correct is it to do it in front of me but since when is the dad crowd politically correct... (long chain of thought for a 5 floor lift ride but i guess brain does think with the speed of light) </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 107%;">So here I am silently judging an uncle who is obviously not so silently judging me when he interjects my chain of though with an additional comment, "bhaga doori itni ho gai hai ab yahan bhi theek sai beth kar nashta karna mushkil ho gaya hai" (tr. life is so fast here also now that you cant really do breakfast in peace) I respond, "haan sahi baat hai" (tr. yea thats true) and walk out of the lift with my deflated balloon of parochiality... </span></span></div>
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Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-41931929902881047982015-02-09T04:30:00.002-08:002015-04-28T05:13:50.846-07:00Perspective <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">اپنے ہی قید خانوں میں</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">زنگ زدہ قفس لگے دروازوں کے پیچھے </span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">کھڑکی سے جھانکتی میں </span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">آزادی کے دن گنتی ہوں</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="cg5m-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$cg5m" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="cg5m-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$cg5m.0:$cg5m-0-0">apnay hi Qaid Khano (prison) main</span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="9ooud-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$9ooud" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="9ooud-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$9ooud.0:$9ooud-0-0">zang zada (rusted) qafas (lock) lagay darwazon ke pechay</span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n.0:$5141n-0-0">Khirki se jhanki main</span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n.0:$5141n-0-0">Aazadi ke din ginti hoon </span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n.0:$5141n-0-0"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n.0:$5141n-0-0"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="5141n-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$5141n.0:$5141n-0-0">tr.</span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="56tkm-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$56tkm" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="56tkm-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$56tkm.0:$56tkm-0-0">In my own prisons </span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="24r2f-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$24r2f" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="24r2f-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$24r2f.0:$24r2f-0-0">behind the doors with rusted locks on them </span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="6inms-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$6inms" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="6inms-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$6inms.0:$6inms-0-0">I peak through the window </span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="7n4m-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$7n4m" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="7n4m-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$7n4m.0:$7n4m-0-0">counting days to my freedom .... argh the translation kills it!</span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="7n4m-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$7n4m" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="7n4m-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$7n4m.0:$7n4m-0-0"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="7n4m-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$7n4m" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="7n4m-0-0" data-reactid=".2.1:3:1:$comment10152743269040777_10152743281330777:0.0.$right.0.0.0.0.1.0.0.1.0.$7n4m.0:$7n4m-0-0"><br /></span></div>
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Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-4422607933459034002014-12-30T21:14:00.000-08:002019-12-30T14:04:04.948-08:00احمقوں کی جنت (fools's paradise)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In dark hours of the night<br />
Those in love erect for themselves<br />
A fool's paradise<br />
A place where in each others warm embrace underneath layers of cover<br />
all problems are solved, all distances resolved<br />
a place where all plans, ambitions and ideas too<br />
become possible and dreams come true<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-39613602241318576532014-12-18T02:46:00.000-08:002015-04-28T05:15:05.524-07:00Work in progress <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="rtl">
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Work in Progress </span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">زات کے جهمیلوں میں اکثر میری جان</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">تجھ سے کی محبت کہیں کهو سی جاتی ہے</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ان لمحوں میں تیری باتیں، تیرا لہجہ، تیری آنکھیں</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">جو خهوجتی ہیں مجھ میں، میری خاموشی بهی </span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">وہی سوال دوهراتی ہے</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">اور اس سے پہلے کے تمہاری یا میری سوچ کی سمت میری چپ تے کرنے لگے</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;">میں آئینے سے کہہ دیتی ہوں</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I need to work on this! </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For you, for me, for us</span></div>
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Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-57330778226970125032014-12-16T20:44:00.000-08:002015-04-28T05:16:02.680-07:00Noha<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Very little memories you retain as parents when you are
growing up with a child but since yesterday it seems I can’t help getting into
cycles of maintaining books of all that I had experienced as a mom in past 3
years. You know the most vivid memory I have is of the wrist pain I constantly
complained of when she was about a few months till she was old enough to crawl
and all. It hurt, it hurt enough to dig a space in my forgetful long-term
memory I can still feel the pain and I look at her and the pain gets justified
somehow despite being strong enough to remain in my bodies memory. We’ve been
listening to titanic from past few days and just last night while we were busy
mourning trying very hard to not pass on our misery to her we heard her sing
along “once more you open the door” all tuned up all the right words and just
then we had an unsaid eye-contact conversation saying so many things to each
other “wow, is she really singing all of this” (while she is still matching
tunes in the background, she doesn’t know the words anymore she’s just
humming), “don’t say anything she will be distracted and become conscious” “God
Dammit shes singing titanic!” and then another wave of black suddenly overtook
it all ….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am not reaching out to anyone today I am too stricken to
think to talk to complain to show anger most of all I can’t find enough
strength to be even angry I am just in that zone where I start grappling with
what I saw on tv for seconds coz somehow I can tolerate it for more than that
making all these sounds as if the anchor is crying shit man! I am just
sitting here and my heart freezes every 10 minutes with one and only one
thought “she goes to school too you know” it just stops functioning, my brain gets
blank I don’t feel anymore I remain in it not being able think about
anything while involuntarily rubbing where my wrist use to hurt. And then I get
a grip wipe of my tears stand up and try to do something productive only to
feel the same shiver after a bit of time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I can’t reach out to anybody, I cant tell anyone that I feel
their pain because you see I am a mom and I just don’t have the capacity to
imagine anything like this how the hell do I know what you are going through
where mere imagination glimpse of what it may look like has been shattering me
since I heard the news. I beg for forgiveness for not being able to reach out
but I am sorry I cant! You see I cant even dare to put her name here! I cant
even dare to write what her relationship with me is I cant even jinx it there
so I wont empathize and know I will have stop judging all who are using
whatever means they have to reach out, to express , to condemn, to show the
other side, to remind us of the children of thar, or of those who get killed
every day on streets of Karachi, or the boy who was killed in Faisalabad, you
see I agree that we go through tragedies every day and we are used to counting
how many dead now but I am sorry I cant be that parson right now coz you see
she goes to school too and this mantra that I am begging my head to stop
repeating is not letting me compare this to anything its made me dysfunctional,
I cant be resilient , or dheet or dead or numb right now coz all I want is to
shut the world curl up and remain motionless.
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-34429181710191208092014-11-06T04:03:00.001-08:002015-04-28T05:16:58.862-07:00Bidirectional.... is there an ancient learning embedded within after all?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Wow<br />
<br />
I dont know what to call this particular post but just something that touched me so deep somewhere that its hard for me to get out of that wondering, "I am so intrigued" mode. There is an urdu term for it for which I cant think of the right translation right now... I am finding it hard to get out of the "حصار" of this encounter. Oh here i go rambling about the word choice again ....<br />
<br />
So this is what happens. A colleague of mine was due to present a research he had pursued with the rest of the faculty members. Now his topic was of corporate governance and using some secondary corporate and governmental data sources he had accumulated 5 years worth of data for more than 1000 US based public companies to examine governance practices. The whole premise or what I understood of it was of examining the nature of relationship good governance practices/ endeavors have on questionable practices from governance point of view. Now with all the tests he ran his conclusions were the craziest ever, With all the statistical tools he used he was able to derive a bidirectional relationship between the two variables. Putting it in non fancy language... i love playing around with the newly and not to mention partially learned statistical/quanti language... thou shalt not be vain :))<br />
<br />
Oh well putting it in non fancy terms he suggested that with all the indicators he took to identify good governance practices from questionable governance practices or governance concerns there seem to be a reciprocal relationship between the two. Simply put they both become causes of each other. Governance concerns would yield good governance practices but at the same time good governance would create avenues for raising questionable governance practices. And this is where it got me thinking? forget about policy implications and recommendations what is freaky is how very Ying Yangish this whole thing sounds. <br />
<br />
You see in theory you would implement good governance practices in order to ensure questionable practices were limited if not abandoned but if they reciprocate than the underpinning is that good breeds evil as much as the evil leads to good. How very conflicting but how very "Human". Show me one man who is without a dichotomy within and I would give you a dead man... the beauty of Human beings being that entity that lies in between, always in transition, always in some shade of grey is just so amazing. And we transcend this to organizations we create also haha<br />
<br />
Remember that feeding the right wolf story? (if not see here<br />
http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/TwoWolves-Cherokee.html)<br />
<br />
but isn't it that the digestive tracks of the two wolves are connected? what if they feed off each other what if they only exit in twos never one?<br />
<br />
How do you attain that which is your true human potential while negating half of who you are? its all if i put it in censored way "intercoursed", lol.... oh i just didnt want to say fucked up ... oops i just said it :)<br />
<br />
I dont even know who I should be thanking (sarcastically obviously) for messing up the good old right and wrong for me! In the world of Wicked the evil green witch is justified.....<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-65599320416400428462014-09-28T12:02:00.001-07:002015-04-28T05:17:32.720-07:00Of maids, my role and child labor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
The other day I took Adiyah, my daughter to sindbad the local family entertainment center. for my North Americans its chuck e cheese of karachi. Now adiyah is really fond of the indoor playground there and this one is not really made for 2.5 year old its for the big kids u see with tall slides, multiple floor climbing and all. It's all soft play but being me I feel I can't let her do it all by herself until she is at least five. So I paid for two people and joined her in the play. Now am not much of a play type but I love to watch her go from one part of the gym to another and encourage her to take the scary ones too. So after a lot of running around in hunchback at most spots I was kinda glad when she settled for the ball pit. Now while I would relax when she was the only child there I was often on guard as older and more, let me put it gently, enthusiastic ones would jump into the pool and kick in as if their life depended on it. They quite resembled the frantically paddling non swimmers in deep water too. Anyway so while Adiyah is doing her thing in the ball pool and me doing mine a little girl not much older than dia (she'd Max be 3.5 ) jumped in the pool followed by not so well kept 11-12 year old who was probably accompanying her. Now this little girl looked at me strange while entering so when she decided to get out of the pool I gave her a small smile. She couldn't resist asking then and blurted out "are you her mommy? " while looking in dia's direction. Her milky while complexion complete with chubby cheeks, the pretty pullover she was wearing above all her almond eyes gave her a very "its hard not to like me" aura but what got me was the utter confusion in those adorable big eyes as she asked the question. When I nodded affirmative the confusion rose further and this time she stutters slightly not in hesitation or discomfort but more out of "i don't understand you" factor and she asked "but where is your maid?" Out of her rush to reach the other side of the playground she didn't stay back to further inquire but I could see her leaving with a contemplating look on her face with my reply of "no I don't have one."</div>
<div dir="ltr">
She left and I am sure she must have forgotten all about our little chat by the time she had left the playground but she remained in my thoughts with her innocent question. A question I kept thinking I must answer with more than "no I don't have a maid". While she may be too young to understand what I say now I hope one day she would understand my replies </div>
<div dir="ltr">
Answer to the little girl I don't know the name of </div>
<div dir="ltr">
"dear little sweet as Angel looking girl, you asked me if I don't have a maid after you saw me playing or keeping watch for my daughter at a play gym you perhaps often come accompanied by your mommy's little maid. While I replied no I felt a little inadequate and I feel there is a need to if not justify then perhaps explain my answer. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
No I don't have a maid but while it has a bit to do with me not being able to justify the cost and financial strain it would yield. I think I don't have one for many other reasons. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I don't have a maid because I don't think I can see myself employing an 11 year old to work for me. It's just not right and I hope when u grow up you would know why not. <br />
But even if for one second I did have an 11 year old maid, oh for heavens you know what no I won't have a little girl working for me for arguments sake either. Lets assume that even if I had an 11 year old niece or nephew who I could have in that play gym with my daughter I would still find it very difficult to let him take care of my daughter </div>
<div dir="ltr">
First because even I In my 30s find it difficult to always be watchful and protective while still allowing her to explore undisrupted how can I trust some one two decade younger to do this job well? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
Besides shouldn't an 11 year old be enjoying the playground as much as you? Rather look after you in such tempting place isn't it just outright mean to expect a child to babysit another in such environment? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
But little one let me break a secret worth more than everything else written here even if I could with all my requirements find another to babysit my daughter there I think I would choose to still be there with her for I am there not out of obligation but of love. <br />
Did I tell you this was the first time I saw her climbing a floors worth of stairs all by her self and work her way down such big slide? She did it all by her self after a couple of times of me being there to climb with her. Did I tell you that while I fidgeted with worry my heart expanded to double with joy when she accomplished this? I think I skiped the moment she ran through I tunnel expecting me to do it after her and when I got stuck with my big mommy body in that tunnel she held out her hand saying "mamma aap ko help chahiye (mama you need help)" I swelled with pride when she jumped in that ball pool and started to through balls everywhere after watching a couple of kids doing that and while I may sit here missing out on all the shopping I could have done trust me little girl I am not missing out on anything I value anywhere close to all that development, laughter, thrill that I see my own little girl under going. I want my girl to share these moments with me little one for I am selfish and in my selfishness I hope these precious little monents will help us through times ahead when she is cool and i am too old and too old fashioned and we may not have lots common to bond over </div>
</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-37101096116881000012014-08-30T10:02:00.002-07:002015-04-28T05:17:56.938-07:00تو مجھ سے مانگتا ہے جو <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: right;">
تو مجھ سے مانگتا ہے جو </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
وہ مجھ میں ہے رہا نہیں </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
میری زات کے آۂنے میں جو شخص جھانکتا ہے اب</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
اسے میں کبھی ملا نہیں</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
وہی مگر ہے اب یہاں</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
اسی کے سارے راستے، اسی کی ساری منزلیں</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
میرا کوئ اتہ نہیں، کچھ بھی پتہ نہیں</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
مجھے راستے نے کھو دیا، اسے سنگ لے کے چل دیا</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
تو مجھ سے مانگتا ہے جو، وہ مجھ میں ہے رہا نہیں </div>
</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-72039289508640831462014-08-03T15:09:00.000-07:002015-04-28T05:18:36.546-07:00Metaphors Metaphors.... incompatibility <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I am playing with my daughter and here comes another chain of thoughts i couldn't get myself to ignore....<br />
<br />
I am trying to show Dia how to shoot at a magnetic dart board we bought for her long back which she only used to identify Dora for the longest time. But now she is gaining interest in the fact that darts have magnets on them and if she throws them from a distance towards the board it still sticks/ Just when I thought she has got the hang of it and I am about the celebrate another tit bit milestone she starts to try and join the two darts which obviously are two similar ends of the magnet and are repelling each other.<br />
<br />
Now she is really interested as she tries to push them together and they refuse and keep moving forcing her hands to paddle and she goes "mamma look" with her quizzical stare meaning to ask me whats going on. And me being me I try to teacher her a fancy word saying, "Dia this is what we call repelling, the magnets repel each other" but she probably didn't pay attention as the fact that an object is not moving as per her desire was something definitely more intriguing.<br />
<br />
Then just like that she handed them to me as if trying to say you try and I tried. I tried to put these magnets together, I forced them the same way she was poor little magnets scummed a little to my 70 kilo pressure and I was under the illusion that I have put them two together triumphant i looked up only to realize that a slight lapse in my attention and they had once again separated despite the force i was still applying.<br />
<br />
I played this game for a bit and then thought maybe its better just the way it is, sometimes we are just incompatible and it doesn't matter how much effort, how much force we put to make certain relationships work, the fact remains that every single ripple no matter how small would not only put us apart again but will also make the effort put in place go all in vain. Maybe sometimes its just better for some relationships to not exist and for some people to remain apart.<br />
<br />
We as individuals for various reasons try to put these relationships right, sometimes bound by self righteousness, other times for professional courtesy but also sometimes out of love and desire. We try to change, we try to mend ways, we put too much effort, we suffer as a consequence but we try too hard to not give up, we try too damn hard sometimes not giving up and losing ourselves in the process.<br />
<br />
Am sitting here thinking while my daughter has moved on from the dart board to the doll house, "How is it that I teach her this? how is it that I teach her that it is better to try not put together things that repel due nature?"</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-50845062639707424012014-07-17T13:24:00.002-07:002015-04-28T05:19:08.222-07:00very much fana in a bubble <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have been meaning to write this for a while now but here goes.<br />
<br />
SO the other day I was sick, as in cold/flu/or whatever form of illness that makes you absolutely dysfunctional because you have a constant headache, absolutely blocked nose and a state of mind that is up for only one thing sleep! After a couple of days of suffering with no improvement my mom forces me into a room set with a steamer and a towel and shuts the door. She even took my mobile phone away, considering that I am of age this deed seem like a violation of my freedom. Nevertheless I was forced to take steam and thats when this stream of thought just kept going<br />
<br />
So i am face down in the steamer exposed to very hot prickling sensation covered with a towel and I am thinking, "This is like a bubble, my very own isolated spot where I am forced to sit due to circumstantial issues and while I may have had various things to do at this very moment I am kind of glad that I am in this bubble right now and I know its good for me" this is when I started to draw comparison of undergoing the process of steaming to the feeling one reportedly (reportedly as in I have never experienced it but apparently all accounts that I have read or heard of tell similar stories) gets during the process of meditation unleashing the kundalini shakty or whatever arabic name we might want to give I think I will stick with <i>fana. </i><br />
<br />
I am starting to think in this very bubble that I am right now, I am alone, submerged in hot now not so prickly whiff of water turned gas. I am enjoying this sensation, its finally helping me breathe a bit, finally clearing my head a little and while I am barely aware of what is outside that bubble, if i put my mind to it i can be all continuous about it. It was in this moment when my daughter just walked into the house after her excursion to the park and i could make out her voice though fumbled and I could hear her footsteps approaching the room I am locked in. Suddenly, I find myself in a situation where while a part of me wants to call her out to come in so i can hug her and ask her how her trip to the park was another part of me is telling me to stay put and keep taking in the steam as this can wait. My consciousness exists at two planes now, one much earthy while the other somewhere else lost in all the vapors around me and thats when it got a bit freakly similar to what I have mentioned earlier.<br />
<br />
I started reflecting upon how even when I knew the steam would be the best thing i could do to myself in such sickness i kept procrastinating it trying to find other means of getting better or just complaining how miserable i felt all this time knowing all i needed was the good old vapor machine. Isnt that what we do? when we know our solutions remain in divine we keep filling our lives with promising but not delivering alternatives? sometimes, too busy to sit still and reflect and other times to pretentious to put the label of religious on our selves. But all this time knowing the ultimate solution lies somewhere else, somewhere very close to us, not so pleasant and easy to go through but definitely promising in terms of outcome.<br />
<br />
Until, we are forced by circumstances to just do it, circumstances that even take away your mobile phones the ultimate attraction. And once submerged, we start looking at the world from within our very own bubble still there but barely there. Your mind being able to focus-defocus as per its own bearings. You are still very much in the world but not really there only until the steam gets too much to handle, its starts scorching you again and you are suddenly reminded that its time to go back to the world. You flip the towel to find the world that is still the same but you have changed, a little less headache, a clearer respiration and a longing to go back to that warm place that was your bubble.<br />
<br />
</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-61346214078032910022014-06-11T17:57:00.003-07:002015-04-28T05:20:18.505-07:00Early Morning Jibber-Jabber <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought I will be able to see the sun rising from here, I guess
not. My flat on the fifth floor I thought was high enough to give me a nice
view of the sun rising with the rest of the buildings in the vicinity being
short but all I saw was hues of blue and some pink and there it was the day turning
on like a light bulb. Why do I vividly remember being able to see the sun popping
out when I was younger? Was it my childhood imagination or is it that the
nature has also decided what a waste of effort it is to inspire someone from
this city. A city where the biggest miracle of life has lost its value,
becoming part of everyday collateral damage why would the sun bestow its grace?
Oh but it scorches throughout the day being right there all gold and blazing hot?
Then why not unveil its serenity in the gentle delicate manner in the hours of
day when people wake either because they to get inspired, are too disturbed or
parent a child too young to have a predictable sleep schedule. Which one am I? Why
was I seeking the sun? I guess I don’t know but latter sure was the reason why I
woke up in the first place the prior perhaps why I couldn’t go back to sleep.</div>
</div>
Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-34165142423369361232014-03-08T15:41:00.001-08:002014-03-08T15:41:10.103-08:00خیال<div style="font-family: MarkerFelt-Thin; font-size: 26px; text-align: right;">اجیب لگتا ہے کہ یہ خیال بھی دل میں آیا </div><div style="font-family: MarkerFelt-Thin; font-size: 26px; text-align: right;">کہ تو نہ سہی کسی اور کے لٴے بھی</div><div style="font-family: MarkerFelt-Thin; font-size: 26px; text-align: right;">یہی سب تو کرنا ہوگا ہی</div><div style="font-family: MarkerFelt-Thin; font-size: 26px; text-align: right;"><br></div><div style="font-family: MarkerFelt-Thin; font-size: 26px; text-align: right;">Found this entry dated April 2012 ... Titled "dedicated to STEP :)" </div><div><br></div>Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885505594436194706.post-42185126123914562162014-03-08T15:03:00.001-08:002018-09-10T16:51:59.073-07:00لاحاصل کی تمنا کی<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="font-family: MarkerFelt-Thin; font-size: 26px; text-align: right;">
لاحاصل کی تمنا کی</div>
<div style="font-family: MarkerFelt-Thin; font-size: 26px; text-align: right;">
ضد بھی کی، بہت ضد کی</div>
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خود سے لڑے، اوروں سے لڑے</div>
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ہاتھوں کی لکیروں سے لڑے</div>
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آنکھوں میں خواب ستاروں کے</div>
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خواہش میں پھول بہاروں کے<br />
میں ہم لے کر چلے direction </div>
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چاہت کے دیے انگاروں کے</div>
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سب پا بھی لیا، پر کھو گئے ہم<br />
بیاپارِ دل نے رکھا نہ بھرم</div>
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چادر،ہستی، روح و زعم</div>
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سب تول دیا پر نکلا کم</div>
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لاحاصل کی تمنا میں، لاحاصل کو جب پا ہی لیا</div>
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دل نے بلاخر تب جانا، لاحاصل کیوں لاحاصل تھا</div>
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Nadia Rahimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14471155344658421431noreply@blogger.com1