vagina monologue from the land of the pure

dear chief magistrate:*

have a feeling
you have no ears
nose
eyes
or heart

for the one
beneath whose feet
your prophet said lies heaven

vagina
for you
is lust
procreation
or sub clauses

your suo motos
are laughable
and agenda driven

your are one of them
effectively overlooking
not seeing
hearing
nor noticing
travesties in your domain
(soommun boookmun....)

am i bitter
no
traumatized?
no
driven?
yes

the world knows
my brother sodomized
the world knows
their deflection
the world knows
what the panchayat declared

the mixed sperms
in my vagina
played havoc

still do
in my mind

and

sitting in your ensconced chambers
wearing black
you ignore the turmoil
and highlight the sub clauses

this violated vagina
shall prick your conscience

correction
should prick your conscience

if

you had ears
my screams would echo
for ever

and when you lie down
nightmares of your daughter
suffering indecencies
will haunt you

this is my prayer
and curse

* am not addressing you o Allah. that'll be another time
____________________________

In fairness and for full disclosure: you should also read Mukhtaran Mai: the other side of the story by Bronwyn Curan

As the author of a 2006 book on the Mukhtaran Mai case and a former Islamabad-based Western female news correspondent, I must raise a voice of dissent amidst the shrill reaction to the Supreme Court’s acquittal of 13 of 14 men accused in Mukhtaran Mai’s case.

In 2005-2006, after many months painstakingly poring through every police statement, medical record, witness testimony, and cross-examination transcript in this case, coupled with multiple visits to Mirwala, Jatoi and Dera Ghazi Khan for extensive interviews with members of both sides of this case, I reached the same conclusion as the Supreme Court has in 2011. [for more click here]

ik aur tazabzoob / another existential dilemma

ik aur tazabzoob

hum hain YahaaN
woh hay wahaaN
darmiaN ik khaleej
b'zaahir jo hay
na qaabil e ooboor
laikin daikhiyay
yeh cyber sitam zareefi
oos nay kaha hello
aur hum muskurah diyay

:)

another existential dilemma

distances unfathomable
seemingly unbridgeable
chalk it to cyber irony
at the hello
i smiled

:)

random disclosure

maldives is
but a little boy
in uncaring hands

singin' the same songs

Photograph by Rod March, U.S. Geological Survey

not only

in the middle of rab al khali

is the sun merciless, brainless

faithless

fiery fire makes the round
around weary necks
wrinkled foreheads

the dogs have stopped crying

runny nosed children do

but what do they know

of despaired despondency?

in mahogany lined rooms
or dhurried chambers

lethargic legends logicalize

dropping morsels of faith

sprinkled with restrained disdain
and scent of crisp notes
over the lands of
terminal tribulation

bit by bit
bite by bite

cascading chaos
over parched

hibernating misery

again

and you and i

will write and repeat
the same songs
faithfully, faithlessly

in mahogany lined rooms
or dhurried chambers...

what was that thought?

what was that thought
that snaked
in night's subconscious revelries
as the body turned and tossed

remembered the parched throat
and the drink that assuaged it

remembered to remind self
to remember
as have lost so many thoughts
to the glare of the unmerciful sun




as i stare











at the screen












and sip
what was steaming hot once





and try to retrieve that lost thought
and made a promise to self
to keep a pad and pen handy

and
smiled
have made that promise
so many times...

Thank you Moin Akhtar

thank you moin akhtar
thank you for going prematurely
swiftly
without whimper
you had a great innings
sprinkled laughter and smiles
amongst the dull and dreary
with panache and grace
you were lovable
and decent
we adored you
and will continue...


(and now time for a commercial break)


what is it in human nature
more so in desi drift
that we rise and sing songs
in unison
after we're left behind?
behaving as the living-dead

in days to come
we will gather at our favorite
cyber watering holes
and sing paeans, write panegyric eulogies

for
shahinshah e ghazal mehdi hasan
bulbul e hind lata
malika e ghazal farida khanum
artist, writer, actor anwar maqsood
writer, actor, broadcaster ziya mohyeddin
little master hanif mohammed
the queen of pop asha
thespian yusuf khan

but for now, we keep our peace

(commercial break is over
over to you now)

cafe pyala

recommend this blog:)

Come in, have a seat, sip some steaming chai from our pyala and enjoy. Cafe Pyala is named after the famous dhaba in Karachi known for its great tea and being open at all odd hours of the morning. But of course it's a metaphor for the ability to sit with friends, share, rant and discuss the goings on in the global pyala around us.

on the knees

praying

pleading

blowing

gardening

searching

singing

seemingly unconnected

This pic is courtesy Beena Sarwar.

For the uninitiated - the rickshaw says "Will grow to become a Corolla."

Fricruptions continue in the Great Arab Reawakening 2010.

Yawning is empathetic, I learn not pathetic.

Khurram Hussein writes about elephants in our midst.


and Cyril Almeida talks about the hippopotamuses in out midst.

I wrote:

temporal3

if there is to be progress, BOTH the elephants and the hippos have to be reined in

Back to the query: what would they like to grow up as?

Deafening silence.

khamushi ka raaj hay her soo
is aah o fugaan kay shOr maiN

ba husrat ya bay husrat
naang paa ya paa b' jolaan
is bazaar e zindagi maiN
youN guzar jaatay haiN