karachi nights

the lights were out in the parking lot tonight. the lifts weren't working either- something about residents not coughing up their monthly maintenance bills used to pay for these facilities. the big billboard at the top of one of the buildings was discussed and it was agreed that it had brought home Rs. 1.6 million a year of income to the association as formed under government stipulation.

waqas's father had been the CEO of said association when the money was rolling in. after winds knocked billboards across the city down, the government decided to have them enforced (at the builder's cost, of course) and to have them taxed. once the money- and we're talking massive sums- started pouring in, the suits nearly wet their pants and got greedy.

the obvious reaction to greed of any sort is rebellion. an ego-battle follows where either the parents discipline the child, or the child disciplines the parents. yes, the latter does happen. in fact, it happens more than we realize.

those 'wild kids' that to this day get away with being just... disrespectful. the parents end up serving the child's whim instead of the other way around. at some point, the chubby little thing probably realized that their parents were greedy, or rather hungry for whatever social gain they could see in their offspring.

my daughter goes to harvard. la dee da diddle doo daa.

wondering how i strayed from the building story: the money stopped pouring in and spoilt residents are too used to not paying their bills. result? no lights in the parking lot, and a lift that doesn't work.

FREE-LOADING.

ok so, what's this talk of the americans at KPT? they shifted their embassy? okay...

they have a new one in KPT (I don't know the area exactly, but i'm assuming it's that chunk under/around the netty jetty). okay, fine.

it has a huge underground structure of some sort that extends about 40 floors downwards like that of the umbrella corporation from resident evil.

wait. what?

supposedly, there's also a tunnel linking this bunker-superstructure to the actual port underwater somewhere where submarines can offload marines so they reach the lair without stepping onto the port.

man, i love conspiracy theories when they are this close to him. mai kolachi's right there.

talk of drunken secretaries to ministers and policemen who live out their fantasies at the station. karachi's a diverse place.

my hip friend speaks of another world. it is a prettier world with dance and music. it has alcoholics and those who will trouble themselves to get collectively, and artificially untroubled.

the same forces govern this pretty world, though. there are conspiracy theories and theorists. there is ego and there is disciplining. there is the government, and there is greed.

greed is good, and it should have been the only quote on that paper today.

on a tangent, my dad's question, or one-third of it: how do you explain beauty? (and compassion, and time in a god-less world.)

beauty i've thought about lots. beautiful things may often turn about to be a source of grief and unhappiness.

but where did i say i wanted happiness? or that beauty was linked with it?

we want beauty. it may be sad beauty, or evil beauty. we might reconsider evil, but anything else goes. fuck it, with the english language at your disposal, who's to say anything's evil, anymore. the better lawyer wins.

but yes. i seek beauty. i could push it a whole lot and say beauty is what every man seeks to find. happiness, grief, sorrow and despair are only what the weary traveller meets on his way.

daddy, beauty is the goal that you walk towards, and the path that you walk upon. all that any man really needs, is beauty.

but even as i write, i sense the presence of gibran in my words.

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?
And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?

for the watchmen, beauty is such, and for the injured it is such.

he was a wise man, but with an aching heart like the saeen's. s-baba sits in a stupor of spirits and longing with quiet tunes to pay homage to the beauty that is kept away. he is not the master of this bird yet and she must return whence she came.

but lovers are a sad bunch. they say lots, and worship and ultimately...love. it was the brother who took on brad pitt for the sake of helen, the ultimate BABE. yeup, i'll use capitals for this.

see now i appreciate beauty.

x.

9NOV

I like to think that I've been too busy living the crazy, upbeat life of this metropolitan to have the time to blog about it.

It is not true.

However, if wasting time is part of a precise process that will lead me to precisely what I'm heading towards, then I'm really quite helpless, aren't I?

It's confusing, but think of it this way: what you do decides the future. What you do not do is just as, if not more important. I've been doing little, but there's a lot that I haven't been doing. There's a lot that I could do, but I don't. I'm glad that in the continuum of responsibility, I am far from being completely reckless.

Though that is not to say that I'm getting my jollies off mediocrity.

I sense that my time here may come to an end. It may not, but there is a strong chance that it will. The possible end to this journey is now within sight. I see an oasis in the distance. It is either where I set out from, or it is a place completely new. It may be a mirage, and this desert may be never-ending.

such bland text. crap, even by rambling standards.

you see that, though? The self-doubt is a dead give-away. I am getting weaker by the day. I am slowly but surely heading to the same place that I spent all summer digging my self out of. My family, and the clean, welcome air of Lahore was my guiding light.

I am tempted, with my layman understanding of endorphins, to think that exercise will solve my problems. This may be so, but the problem may be a bit more complex.

Or it may be very simple, a notion that my superego would carelessly dismiss. simple, you say? nay!

Oh, and there's a whole lot of stuff I need to do. A check-list has come into play. If I am really to leave, then I will make sure that I take care of all unfinished business. you, and you...and you.

but mostly just you...

we're being forced to grow older and I don't like it. but if it is to happen, then let me have this last dance. grant me frolick, teenage dreams and absurd fashion. complete childishness is what this would-be adult is asking for.

I need a damn lantern.

x\