She Caught Me In Her Knicker Drawer ...

She caught me in her knicker drawer,
I woulda run, but she blocked the door.
This awkward scenario I hadn't planned,
Caught with her knickers in my hand,
And with a pair upon my head,
Jumping up and down on her bed.
As she stood there, at the door,
I saw her bottom jaw hit the floor.
Then she started to grind her teeth,
Caught red-handed: a knicker thief!


Now, the girl whose room I was in,
Was a well built sort, threw the javelin.
And she didn't just do it for a bit of fun,
She was the country's number one.
With little effort she could knock me out,
There really wasn't any doubt!
Slowly and calmly she closed the door,
And prepared to knock me on the floor.
As she approached to give me a slap,
I thought: 'Oh God, Oh Jesus, Oh Crap!'
There I was, wearing her bra,
I admit I looked a bit bizarre.
I cowered down upon her bed,
Ready to be smacked in the head.

In desperation I said, "I'll explain,"
"I couldn't help it, you drive me insane."
Suddenly her raised fist dropped,
She slowed right down, then she stopped.
In the position I found myself in,
I'd have to talk to save my skin.
So I gave a grieving confession,
I told her I had a knicker obsession!
And so to avoid such grievious pain,
I took off her bra and began to explain:

"Now please don't give me a thick ear,
But you happen to have a very nice rear.
It really is a lovely sight,
But I haven't been staring at it ALL night.
I'll admit I had a few sneaky peeks,
But that mini-skirt almost shows your cheeks!
and as it's white and a little see-through,
Not many could ignore such a fine view!
And as for that pink g-string,
That should be illegal that thing!
Being perfectly rounded and perfectly sized,
Your backside had me hypnotised.
It didn't even take much beer,
For me to notice your lovely rear!
I have to tell you love: you're blessed,
As the night went on I grew obsessed!
Then I realised I HAD gone too far,
But, like a magnet, I was drawn to your bra!
Now there really was little doubt,
The way you were dancing, they nearly popped out!
It really is an amazing thing,
How that material holds 'em in.
And that pinkish colour looks really good,
It clearly does the job it should!
I know how they can sometimes slide,
And you girls have got your bits to hide.
So, staring at your bum and chest,
You can tell, I got a bit obsessed!
And as you moved across the dance-floor,
I felt a pulling from your knicker drawer."

Now I know I hadn't done it quite right,
But I'd kinda said she looked nice tonight!
To save myself what really mattered,
Was for her to feel somewhat flattered.
A minute went by, nothing was said,
I took her knickers off my head.
An ugly silence had got in the way,
I didn't know quite what to say.
I clambered down from off her bed,
And said the first thing that popped in my head:
"Fancy a game of hiding seek?"

"No I don't you bloody Freak!!"

Then she chucked a book at me,
She suddenly seemed quite angry.
"Get out of my room,Get out of my house!
And give me my briefs, you dirty louse!
I want to know with who you came,
And for starts you can give me your name.

"O.K. sure, I'm Munna in pot,
I came in with the jesipinder bot."

"Well, frankly Munna, you're an absolute shit,
And I'm telling everyone you're a perving git!
I know your twisted little game,
I'll make sure everyone knows your name!
That way all the girls will make sure,
You don't get your hands in their knicker drawer!"

Not waiting to stay and be insulted,
I jumped out of the window, and quickly bolted.
I wasn't going to wait around,
To have my head smashed on the ground!
I ran away at terrific pace,
Not letting anyone see my face.
My mates woulda been in for a shock,
And I'd have been a laughing stock.
The girls would all have given me stick,
They'd call me pervy, weird and sick!
That reputation could really hurt,
To have your name thought of as dirt.
To be seen as a pervert would be a real shame,
I WOULDN'T have that slur on my name,
If my names not Munna in pot.

Which, of course, it's bloody not!

Mera pyaar ...

I dedicate this song of aamir zaki to some one really special in my life ... though things never worked out but still aamir zaki says it all for me ....

mera pyaar tumhara,woh gher hamara
tuuta hei,bikhraa hei jeise sitaara ...
yeh awaaz sunley na, merey gitoun mein tumm...
woh ilfaaz chunley na, jo hojatay they ghum...
mera piyaar tumhi ho, tumhi tou hoo....
jaaanaa....
mera saath tumhi ho,tumhi tou ho...
bhulaana naaa.....
mera piyaar tumhi ho...

waday,iraday , keise bhulaadeinn....
tuuta hei jo dil, royee,rula dey...
merii awaaz sunley na,mere geeton mein tum ...
woh ilfaaz chunley na,jo hojatay they ghum...

mera pyaarr tumhi ho, tumhi tou ho ....
jaaana....
mera saath tumhi ho,tum hi tou hoo...
bhulaana na...

mera pyaaarr......

mera pyaar tumhi ho,tum hi tou ho ....
mere saath tumhi ho, tum hi tou ho ....

Bulleyshah .... Waris shah ...

aa bulleyah chal authay challiye,


jithay baithan saaray annay...


naa koi saadi zaat pechaanay


te naa koi sahnoo manne


masjid dhaa dey, mandir dhaa dey, dhaa dey jo kujj dhainda...


par kissay da dil na dhaeen, dil wich Rab rainda.....

-

-

raataan jaagan, karan ibaadat.. raataaan jaagan kuttay...

tey ton uttay.


khasam apnay da darr na chadd-day,

bhaanwein wajjan juttay.. teython uttay...


---------------
(Heer Ranjha)

Aj akhan Warris Shah nu

Kithon kabran wichon bol

Te aj kitab-i-ishq da

Koi agla warqa phol

Ik roi si dhi Punjab di

Tu likh likh ware wain

Aj lakhan dhian rondian

Tainu Warris Shah nu kahan

Uth tak apna Punjab

Aj bele lashan wichian

Te lahu di bhari Chenab

-

-

*sigh*

				     MRS. GUMP

                        Well, I happened to believe you make

                        your own destiny. You have to do the

                        best with what God gave you.



                                    FORREST

                        What's my destiny, Momma?



                                    MRS. GUMP

                        You're gonna have to figure that out

                        for yourself. Life is a box of

                        chocolates, Forrest. You never know

                        what you're gonna get.



[thats life in a nutshell if you really think about it, in a goofy sort of a way...]

Black Warrant.

The dawn after the battle
The destruction is evident
The ground littered with corpses
Rotting away slowly
Their body as well as memories
The wind blows softly
The sun rises slowly
and slowly.....

Sab jhoot hei ...

Im just in love with this song and just had a fight with brother like friend relating athiesm.(i'll definately write about it shemrez)

Kuchh aiteraz hai, kuchh ikhtilaf
Gar aaj iss mushkil mein daal hi diya hai
Tau suno, suno keh mein aik jhoot hoon
Aik moon bolta, moon phat jhoot
Mein bhi aur tum bhi... jhoot

Yeh gird-o-nawah kai pech-o-kham
Yeh tajasus-e-dil-o-dimagh
Peer-o-alam, ustad-e-muhtaram
Yeh raasta dikhaney waley
Sab jhoot hein, jhoot hein,
mein bhi aur tum bhi ....

Yeh baatein shayad samajh na paao
Keh nazar faqat shanas hai
Mustarid roshnee ko sach jaanney kee
Haqeeqat maanney kee

Alfaz kai madar mein alfaz hee alfaz hein
Alfaz kai is bhanwar mein alfaz kee talash hai
Alfaz sai tau soch hai ....

Yeh baatein shayad ab bhi samajh na aayen
Keh yeh alfaz bhee tau jhoot hee hein
Sab Jhoot hein, mein bhi aur tum bhi

Gar aaj iss raat nai parda chaak kar hee diya hai
Tau suno, suno - aur sun lo
Keh yeh raat iss dil sai zuban chahti hai
Yeh raat subah-e-tareek sai panah chahti hai
Har woh soch jo alfaz sai mashroot hai
Yeh raat uss soch kee karee saza chahti hai
Yeh raat har uss halat kee maut chahti hai
Jo ishq kai badlay khuda chahti hai
Yeh raat... IRTIQA chahti hai .....

P.S. : danish bhai its a honour for me to know you =]

No Blog...

Write now im listening to outside,the melodious accoustic guitars,the adulation in the voice is just so absolute. I remember when i first started to play ... I was "da man", yeah "da man" actually means alot to me ... I tried to be one of the benevolent stars in our music industry but never cliched away, probably "da man" was more of "the men" for me =/,but Its all good.
Lately alot of musicians are coming up, for example take Aatif(no,im not comparing ur peindooness with me),the ex-Jal vocalist,the present playboy hottie(according to him),the dream guy of jalpari and you never know, the dream guy of many hypothetical women(no im not trying to be a sheeda tulli) is COMPROMISING on his quality, Jalpari VS Aadat as precisely it is,is not upto my expectations,ex-Jal started the work with a superb fastidious track(which was aadat) but after going through some enumerous fame dissorders, they break up(sounds romantic eh ?) but are they both compromising on there stuff ? YES according to me, Jalpari = Aadat = Jalaadat is not what i was planning to see though ...but i do think,Jalpari guy, you can do alot better if he just dont COMPROMISE on some stuff.
Few days back,some one told me to see this new video about honor killing by some guy on Indus Music but the point is was he trying to show the enormity in our culture ? or was he trying to say honor killing is bad by showing a husband mesmerised his wife ? this video is more of an enigma for me.Because the epitome of things(which is honor killing for our generation) isnt equivocal. Are we trying to be so erudite ? or Are we trying to be the life savior putars with mustaches on our face ? ..... the answere is simply NO... "idiosyncrasy" is simply upto its maximum level in our generation(whether its an old one or its the present one,we're all same.)
But what exactly is our ideology behind "honor killing" ...... ? =/

Trust I seek and I find in you

Every day for us something new

Open mind for a different view

and nothing else matters

-Nothing Else Matters - Metallica

But ...... .... ..... .... *fades away*

No Blog...

Write now im listening to outside,the melodious accoustic guitars,the adulation in the voice is just so absolute. I remember when i first started to play ... I was "da man", yeah "da man" actually means alot to me ... I tried to be one of the benevolent stars in our music industry but never cliched away, probably "da man" was more of "the men" for me =/,but Its all good.
Lately alot of musicians are coming up, for example take Aatif(no,im not comparing ur peindooness with me),the ex-Jal vocalist,the present playboy hottie(according to him),the dream guy of jalpari and you never know, the dream guy of many hypothetical women(no im not trying to be a sheeda tulli) is COMPROMISING on his quality, Jalpari VS Aadat as precisely it is,is not upto my expectations,ex-Jal started the work with a superb fastidious track(which was aadat) but after going through some enumerous fame dissorders, they break up(sounds romantic eh ?) but are they both compromising on there stuff ? YES according to me, Jalpari = Aadat = Jalaadat is not what i was planning to see though ...but i do think,Jalpari guy, you can do alot better if he just dont COMPROMISE on some stuff.
Few days back,some one told me to see this new video about honor killing by some guy on Indus Music but the point is was he trying to show the enormity in our culture ? or was he trying to say honor killing is bad by showing a husband mesmerised his wife ? this video is more of an enigma for me.Because the epitome of things(which is honor killing for our generation) isnt equivocal. Are we trying to be so erudite ? or Are we trying to be the life savior putars with mustaches on our face ? ..... the answere is simply NO... "idiosyncrasy" is simply upto its maximum level in our generation(whether its an old one or its the present one,we're all same.)
But what exactly is our ideology behind "honor killing" ...... ? =/

Trust I seek and I find in you

Every day for us something new

Open mind for a different view

and nothing else matters

-Nothing Else Matters - Metallica

But ...... .... ..... .... *fades away*

Kiss and Say Goodbye..

Its 2 a.m in the morning and Im completely out of words, what do I write ? I dont know .... Im trying to reconcile my soul,even Geo isnt that erudite for me, or may be im too maudlin about certain things i.e Politics.
What do they want ? ITs strange how do our loved ones soak you deep down your souls,and why dont we say NO ? bcuz we dont want too , we love it , dont we ?

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours,
we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
and nothing else matters ....

-Nothing else Matters - Metallica

In a mendacious world we try to change our selves, but are we really changed ?. Everything is more of a rebel for us .... .... .....This is got to be the saddest thing of my life,I won't be able to see you anymore,because of my obligations (My obligations).And the times that you had,we've been meeting here everyday and since it's our last day togetherI wanna hold you just one more time ....Have your time and walk away,don't look back.I wanna remember you just like this,let's just kiss and say goodbye ......

Day: Sunday
Posted by : HKB. :P

Love is there ...

When he opens his eyes
and gives you a smile,
love is there.


When you hold him tight
and kiss his little hands,
love is there.


When he speaks his first word
when he takes the first step,
love is there.


When you ask him
not to do bad things,
love is there.


When he gets hurt
and you soothe him,
love is there.


When he gets his degree
and lifts you up,
love is there.


When he gets a job
and brings you a gift,
love is there.


When you show him a girl
and he says yes,
love is there.


And when he puts
the little angelin your lap,
love is there.


When you get old
and he brings you home,
love is there.


When you kiss his forehead
and hug him hard,
love is there.


Standing by your newly made grave
as he stares up and looks defeated,
love is there.


As he cries for you,
every single night.
As he misses your,
every single touch.
Love is there.


Posted by : Crappy dude # 1 :]

Pakistani Undergrads in US/UK. =P

The inspiration for this article is an observation by someone on some website regarding the large number of undergraduates in the US/UK from Pakistan. This is one more manifestation of a poor country with rich people. What follows is a description of some of these undergraduates grouped by some common characteristics. Please note that I have limited myself to undergraduates only. The graduates, post-docs and other “professional” students will be dealt with at some other time.

1) Kids with parents settled in the gulf or Saudi Arabia:

These kids form the largest contingent amongst the undergraduates of Pakistani origin. Generally more docile and amiable than their true-blooded homegrown cousins, they are one notch below the ABCDs/BBCD's in terms of being confused. They rarely have strong opinions on any subject and they are able to adapt themselves to their surroundings very quickly. Most of them go to middle-tier schools with solid engineering programs that allow them to find jobs after graduation very quickly. Some of them opt to go back to their adopted homelands. Many get married to ABCDs/BBCD's since they have a vast connection of cousins and aunts spread all over the two coasts. While in school they are not really interested in getting laid (its a mystery) and therefore are able to graduate in time. Don’t expect them to be stimulating conversationalists or intellectually too gifted. They do make very good friends though.

2) Kids with parents in the middle-ranking bureaucratic or political cadres:

In 9 out of 10 cases the parents are corrupt and therefore able to afford the twenty grand or so every year that little Johny needs in order to get the label of “foreign qualified”. These kids usually end up in one of the many state colleges in the northeast, midwest or west coast mainly because an aunt or uncle lives nearby. This breed is frequently very nationalistic with flags of Pakistan and giant pictures of Imran Khan pasted next to Van Halen on their bedroom walls. They are always in search of that elusive double or triple major that would land them in the big leagues at the graduate level. By the time they realize that a double major in Economics and Math and minors in Philosophy and History from Chico State equals a diploma in wine-tasting from Harvard or Cambridge or Oxford, its already too late. They frequently return to Pakistan where Papa sets them up with a packaging plant in Kot Lakhpat and mama takes care of their bursting libido with an 18-year old from an equally corrupt family. The source of their angst lies in their general inability to get laid. To achieve this glorious end they first try and become very active in the local chapter of the Pakistan Student Association. Disappointed (rebuffed?) they move on to the Indian Student Association. Everyone knows them but alas no one sleeps with them. They deal with their frustration by becoming the most ardent and religious Pakistanis. Books by Wolpert or Ali Sharaiti are strewn all over the floor in their apartments (along with cases of empty cans of Budweiser from last night). This class of kids should be avoided at all costs because they, unfortunately fulfill the description of “If they could, they’d sell their mother” uttered by some sage in the US/UK.

3) Kids with parents in the high-ranking bureaucratic or military cadres:

These kids are the most rabid Pakistanis you will find anywhere. Beneficiaries of the state largesse at the grandest scale, they have every reason to uphold the decaying heap of trash that their parents have helped create. Some of them do make it to the elite schools while others toil in little college towns of the midwest. This is the class that can afford to let their kids buy Ferraris that they park outside their dorms at BU,London or Florida State. Some of them do excel in their chosen field of study and are then picked up by the corporate mandarins of Citibank or ABN Amro and then placed back home to use Papa’s connections. Life is literally a breeze for these children of privilege. They get laid almost every night (ok every other night) with partners of varied backgrounds. They end up marrying within the clan though. Sometimes they don’t go back home for years making their way up the corporate ladder. Its when their daughters start talking about Jenny and Margaret (and Rachna!!) and their cute boyfriends that things start getting interesting.

4) Kids with feudal, industrial or political backgrounds:

The bright ones are almost always at the ivy-leagues while the rest party away at the University of Miami/Cardiff University/University of York(yorkshire),UK. Generally low-key they know that the destiny of the country lies in their hands and they prepare accordingly taking courses like “Horse breeding for beginners” or “Bloody revolutions: A Faustian analysis” in their sophomore year. While their more plebeian classmates toil away doing summer-internships at Mckinsey or Goldman Sachs, they are busy learning the nuances of Shakespearean dialogue in the leafy confines of Princeton.Oxford or Ann Arbor. They are beginning to demand their pound of flesh earlier and earlier. The progeny of one of the biggest feudal families master-minded a power-generation scam with the aid of a World Bank bigwig while still a junior at Harvard. Another one now serves as a minister in the federal cabinet. The gentleman’s claim to fame (besides the nobility of his birth) is his good looks and his numerous affairs with models on both sides of the South Asian divide. Viva Pakistan!!

5) Kids from impoverished aristocracy:

This is a very interesting group because in most cases they are extremely bright but deeply melancholy. Pakistani in name only, the job of improving the family finances has been placed squarely on their inadequate shoulders. Englishmen with brown skins (or pale-white skins since grandpa married grandma Rosy while at Cambridge) they have to finish their pre-law or Economics degree with flying colors in order to enter the exalted halls of Lincoln’s Inn or Merton college Oxford. They are like the sacrificial lambs who’ll be married off into one of the nouveau rich families of Chiniotis or Arains in order to revive the family fortunes. One sometimes feels sorry for these guys because of the quixotic expectations of their families and their strange acquiescence to their demands.

6) Kids from middle-class backgrounds.

These come in various varieties. The usual variety does his FSc/Bsc from some college back home, takes one semester’s worth of money from his parents, forges letters detailing the family finances in order to get a US visa and ends up in New Mexico state or in Manchester,Birmingham or Bradford. These kids are very enterprising. The deliver pizza everyday, staff the college library and take 20 credit hours every semester. Some of them burn out and take a year or two off working full time at Red Lobster. Others are always in the process of transferring from one school and one major to the other. It usually takes them 6-7 years to finish up school. They are generally easy-going and predictable. They have a large circle of friends of various ethnicities and they are more than likely than any other group to marry non-Pakistanis. In most cases they are not that ambitious and are therefore resigned to a life of middle-class existence.

The shining stars of this group come from schools like Aitchison(but im different =P) and Karachi Grammar school. Different from most of the population in these elite institutions, they are the ones you hear about getting perfect scores on their SATs and achievements. They are the ones you will find arguing about Sartre’s dilemma or Camus’s unfinished novel in the local coffee-house till 2 in the morning right before the exam on DFTs and Shannon’s theorem. No surprise that the only perfect score on that exam happens to be theirs. They frequently grow shoulder length hair and sport goatees as a mark of individuality (or neurosis). The adventurous ones have been known to get tattoos or piercings in unmentionable places. They have an affinity with their Indian counterparts in that they are generally allergic to taking showers. Despite all these maddening attributes (at least to more normal folks) they invariably have beautiful women as girlfriends. Mostly blonde, soft-spoken English majors from places like Greenwich or Bloomfield Hills, they dote on their exotic boyfriends like manna from heaven. These associations don’t last for too long since mama suddenly appears on the scene with pictures of the most nubile ladies from Kinnaird or St. Joseph to set our budding Einstein straight (in more ways than one!!). The surprising thing though is that these kids seldom fulfill their promise in the real world. Instead of founding companies or going back home to set up sweatshops like Wipro or Satyam they toil away in relative obscurity at Cisco, HP or Merrill Lynch. Maybe given a little more time things will change.

7) Women undergrads from Pakistan:

They are for lack of a better word an entertaining species with various sub-species. There is your bohemian brat from Lahore Grammar school to your catty all-black attired Madonna from Convent of Jesus and Mary. Their most enduring trait is their abhorrence of Pakistani men (somewhat understandable). If good looking, they’ll have a pack of admirers of various nationalities hanging on to every pearl of wisdom that emanates from their exquisite lips. If ugly, same thing except that the attitude is twice as revolting.

This species is usually found in the liberal art colleges of the northeast and the midwest. Colleges that have decided in their infinite wisdom that they can change Islamic Republic of Pakistan by giving generous scholarships to the downtrodden women of that crazy country. A horde of these women have returned to Pakistan having figured out that their lives are not meant to be slaved away in some corporate behemoth in the US of A or U of K. They are meant to be pampered by the servants and knights in shining armor (substitute rich) of good ole’ Pakland. NGOs and various English publications are the most common haunts of this species. May God give peace to those taken prisoner. Amen!!

This is a lengthy subject and instead of incriminating myself unduly I shall cease and desist from elaborating the viles of this cunning creature any further. My advice usually falls on deaf ears anyway.

8) ABCD/BBCD kids:

This group confused as it is has achieved some remarkable things. They’d probably be even better off if they went back to Pakistan and saw the romantic notions they have of a fairy land destroyed by their own experiences. Its extremely rare to find an atypical specimen of this variety. This homogeneity is a testament to the diabolical child-rearing skills of the Pakistani expatriates.

9) Others:

Please enumerate them in the replies section.


Posted By: tataman. :P

His Sad Eyes ...

The signal turned red and I stopped the car. The song that the car-tape was playing did not quite amuse me, so I proceeded to change the cassette. Just then, someone knocked on my window. Without lifting my head, I knew who it could be. `Damn these beggars`, I thought to myself. `Bumbling pieces of human ass, filled with fake tales of helplessness and no self-respect`. It was precisely what I had always perceived of them, although at that moment there was certain antipathy in me. The hard day at work was affecting me

I looked up involuntarily and glanced at the window. Something stirred within me and made me look at the boy on the other side. He was hardly nine or ten years old, with disheveled hair, dark skin… and those eyes… the sad eyes; a crest of pain and struggle and a life hardly worth living. I had never seen such eyes before. They were, as if, a window to his being. I stared into them, almost trying to find something cheerful; a light, a shine maybe. I found none. He said nothing, just stood there with his hand outstretched, letting his eyes do the talking.

As if overcome by a spell, I reached for my wallet and took out a 5 rupee note. `No`, a voice within me said. `You will only be encouraging the child. You will only be encouraging beggary. This is not worthy of a human being

The signal turned green and I found myself in an anomalous conflict. The more I looked at the boy with sad eyes, the more I was moved to help. My dogma related to such people, however, held me back. Finally, I decided. I put my wallet back into my pocket, stepped onto the accelerator and sped away.

That evening, while I was sipping my tea, standing at my balcony, watching the sun set, leaving behind a golden trail on the sky, those eyes came back to me. The sad eyes. The eyes that said nothing yet spoke so much. `Was he really in need?` I thought. `Should I have given him the money? But why? Even he could’ve been a fake… these are trained, incorrigible beings`. But those eyes… those innocent, sad eyes… My friend came behind me, stood by my side, sipping her coffee and asked what I was thinking. I told her.

“Oh come on! Don’t get messed up with such frivolities.” was all she said.

Two days later, I stepped out of fm's 89 building. I had left my car at a mechanic’s and had to take the bus home. I walked to the nearby bus stop and waited. I glanced around at the people that were waiting with me. Across the congregation, sitting on the sidewalk was the boy with sad eyes. With his head down, he was counting the coins in his lap. Without much effort or thought whatsoever, I found myself standing beside him. He was engrossed in his activity. I sat beside him, on the sidewalk.

“What’s your name?” I enquired softly. For no conspicuous reason, I was having a conversation with him. He leisurely looked up, and I gazed into those eyes again. They seemed sadder than before

“Ajju”, he said and started counting his coins again.

“How old are you?”

“What do you want?” he said defiantly, still counting his coins.

“Nothing” I said, wondering to myself what indeed was it that I wanted to talk to him for. “Just wanted to talk to you.”

"I don’t know”, he said after a brief silence. “Amma thinks I am eleven.”
He had finished counting his coins; he put them in the side-pocket of his qameez and looked at me. `He doesn’t even know how old he is`, I was thinking, again and again.

Why do you beg?” I asked.

Maybe I wanted to know if these incorrigible beings indeed had a reason for their occupation. “What does your father do?”

“Amma says he died when I was very small.” I waited, expecting more from him. He remained silent.

“Why do you beg?” I asked again.

“I have a sick mother at home, sahib.” He said, louder this time. “I have two elder sisters. Amma says I have to get them married. There was an elder brother who ran away from home because my father used to beat him a lot. I am all they have. That is why I beg.” This was a nine-year-old talking to me.

He seemed much older, much more mature. “You can try working somewhere… at a mechanic’s shop maybe. You don’t have to beg you know”, I said, reforming. “You are a human being. You have some respect, don’t degrade yourself, son.” I saw my desired bus halt on the road in front. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to talk.

“I tried working at a garage, sahib. They gave me fifteen rupees a day. You can’t even buy a breakfast from that. If anything went slightly wrong, they didn’t pay me at all. I earn more through begging. I collected forty-seven rupees today. We can at least eat tonight.”

“But…”

“Sahib”, he cut me short. There was something ideally mature about him. “It is easy to live in furnished houses, sleeping in comfortable beds, driving in cars and eating more than what you should eat everyday and then talk about human respect.” His eyes were glimmering now; and I listened as he spoke. “We know no such comforts. We wake up everyday wondering if we would be able to at least eat well during the day. Our worry is surviving… day by day… My worry is my mother and my sisters. Tell me sahib, if your mother was in trouble would you think of saving her in whatever way possible or would you judge your acts and do only what earns you respect?”

I had no answer. I was caught in his eyes… and his words. “How old ARE you?” I uttered.

“Sahib, I never wanted to beg. I envy the kids in those cars with books and strange things in their hands. I wonder why I couldn’t be in their place and they in mine. But what else can I do?”

“But you lie and fake for that”.

“Yes… for me, the lies are a lot closer to the truth”, he said, a faint smile on his face. “And if it helps my mother get her medicine, I would not mind lying my entire life. Would you?”

I looked at him. The eyes still had the same posture. “Are you lying right now?”

He stood up, getting ready to leave, looked at me and said, “Even if I am lying, it is because people like you are moved more by my lies than by my truth. So, does it matter??”

He walked away, leaving me stare after him. I wanted to stop him and talk to him more. But I was thinking hard… recalling our conversation, trying to notify a point that would support my stance. His eyes, I was sure, were not lying. I stepped onto the next bus that stopped and headed home. That evening, as I and my father were carrying out the everyday ritual of my tea and his coffee at the balcony, I found myself riveted with those eyes again. The boy nearly had me believe whatever he said; he had almost made me change my beliefs. My father asked me what I was thinking. I told him. And I told him I wanted to help that boy.

“Since when did YOU stumble upon the beacon of light?” he said with an expression I could not quite comprehend.

“Are you mocking me?” I asked.

“No”, he said, putting his cup down and taking my hand into his.

“Admiring you… All your life you have seen hundreds of these people but I have never seen you like this before.” I looked at him. His eyes had a question in them. A question I was asking myself; What HAD the boy done to me?

“I don’t know”, I spoke gently.

“I guess I never tried to be this close to reality. And he took me there.” I clutched his hand tightly. “He is so innocent… he reminded me of my baby brother… my brother in rags… and those eyes… I’m sure he wasn’t lying.” “So what do you want to do?”

“It is not only him. There are hundreds of them out there; begging, stealing, collecting swag from garbage, working at garages, selling items nobody cares to buy, getting beat up; all in a bid to acquire a lone day’s meal, a single day’s survival; and then there are the fake ones for whom begging is a crafted profession. Their sentinels push them into it… their limbs are broken at times to make it look realistic. We cannot know who is truly in need and who is not.”

“So do we give them the penny when they beg for it?” he asked.

“No. It will only hearten them. When they start earning more, would they want to quit?”

“But if you don’t… things would only get worse for them… aren’t they likely to get into crime and drugs?” he countered.

“Not always”, said I. “But we can help these children; if every one of us does his part… they won’t have to beg”.

“I respect that”, he said, looking directly into my eyes. “But how many lives CAN you change?”

“Is one life really that insignificant?” I asked, looking at the horizon that had swallowed the sun completely. He went silent. I felt him pat my hand.

It took me thirteen days to find him. Serendipity has its own bizarre scheme. I searched for him at various signals, bus stops and streets but never saw him. He knocked on my window one day on the same signal where we had first met.

Now the boy has changed… and so have his eyes, where sadness strives to creep in .....

-----

Posted By : Pervaiz Musharaf :P

Subah ki nazum ...

Translated from an ancient Urdu poem

I woke early one morning,

The earth lay cool and still

When suddenly a tiny bird

Perched on my window sill.

He sang a song so lovely

So carefree and so gay,

That slowly all my troubles

Began to slip away.

He sang of far off places

Of laughter and of fun,

It seemed his very trilling

Brought up the morning sun.

I stirred beneath the covers

Crept slowly out of bed,

Then gently shut the window

And crushed his fucking head.

I'm not a morning person

Time : 12:30 p.m

Posted By : Manninder Singh.

Paranoid ...

I think I'm paranoid...
And complicated.
I think I'm paranoid...
Manipulate it!
Steal me, deal me...
anyway you heal me!
Maim me, tame me...
you can never change me!
Love me, like me...
come ahead and fight me!
Please me, tease me...
go ahead and leave me!

Date :23/10/2004

Time: 10:44 a.m

Posted By: Some crapy dude. =]

Deer Diary ...

Deer Rukhsana(my diary) :P
As hard it seems, but its not that hard ... how do i know ? random guesses ? are you geting me ?whaatt ? you are'nt ? *clear throat* now are you ? yeah you are, sweeeettt .... so let me tell you something new deer rukhsana.

I'm a loner,

I'm a loser,

I'm a winner,

In my mind.

I'm a bad one,

I'm a good one,

I'm a sick one,

With a smile. - Stupid Girl - Cold.


As Mobby started his journey with his mind profusing his soul,As he could easily hear the erudite words of his father in his mind,This is his story,as it goes around with the time, tickling up, tickling down and he can see his youth passing by shadows of the truth,sincerity,friendship and mellifluously love.Those words -- Those days and his dreams, culprite by the involvement of time,he can see everyone around him,Moby can see everyone abashed by him and yet they say they adore him,how untrue ? but let him tell us,his part of the story,This is just a beginning my friend as he's abjected through every path of his life and now he lies profound down in the mud and he can sense through them....

It was a nice a day,As he started his journey towards his school,playing a slow track in his car hymning,


Meri Awaaz Suno, Mujeh Azaad Kero
..................
.......
.................
Meri Awaaz Suno, Mujeh Insaaf Do.


As he was praising the song,Hamza called him, "Hello," and he said in an acerbic voice, "Kidhar hai (Where Are You)?".For a moment Moby was astonished because this guy just met him two days ago and while he reached his school, the day was beautiful as it seems, wind was blowing, thrieving against his chest hairs as he started to walk towards his class room.
In the afternoon, Moby started to stare at the bright sun; the rays were so strong that they were piercing his eyes, but he could not look away, fearing that if he did something bad would come to him, it was like an omen, his eyes hurt, he did not know what he was trying to do for so many years, all he knew was that he had to do it, maybe he wanted to beat the commotion that the sun was stronger than him or perhaps he wanted to be a record holder in the Guinness Book, it was always like this, to be someone, to be famous; my conscience rarely provoked him, he always did what he felt like but there were times when he felt helpless and that is something he in no way could be partial to, he was a man of will power or so he thought....

I'm the Devil

If ever there was such a thing

The results of much too drugs many

What you're seeing

I'm a mind fuck

completely disgusting

(im what?)

I'm a human mutta

being I'm a dog -Psycho - D12

He was about to find out, as he giddily watched his pirate friend flail madly while falling towards his car.
"Sorry about that!" I called, not sounding sorry at all. In one fell swoop I had rid myself of two problems. One was the curiosity of my car -- they do floatlike a boat, but only if they tread water. Otherwise they're just like any other human being, buoyant to a point, but otherwise helpless -- and the other: annoying religious solicitation
Honestly, he hadn't expected his friend to be missionary. Mercenaries, yes. Missionaries, no. It was completely out of character! And that drivel they spouted... creators, hah! No one had believed in polytheism since... well... some folks still believe in it, but they're backwards and not worth thought.
While pondering his very politically incorrect thoughts, something unimaginable happened. It was...wickedly. Hamza leaped from the wharf and gave chase. Moby was cornered !! ...... (to be continued , miltay hein break k baad =P) ....

roll me away

"...and as the sunset faded i spoke to the famous first star out.... i said next time... next time we'll get it right..."
-Roll Me Away, Bob Seger and The Silver Bullets Band

beans!

beans beans good for the heart
the more you eat the more you fart
the more you fart the better you feel
so make it beans for every meal...
:P

Colorful...

I know I can be colorful

I know I can be gray

But I know this loser's living fortunate

Cause I know you will love me either way

I've got to be honest

I think you know

We're covered in lies

and that's OK

There's somewhere beyond this

I know But I hope

I can find the words to say

Never again no

No never again ....

Are'nt I going to be me ?

JENNY

Do you ever dream, Forrest, about

who you're gonna be?

FORREST

Who I'm gonna be?

JENNY

Yeah.

FORREST

Aren't I going to be me?

-Forrest Gump

Posted by :ahmedk (not butt sahab)

Time: 12:25 a.m

Lust

lost as our lust memories

emborided in our dust

our truth is some surrealistic fanstasy

a vivd dream may appear to be

a hypocritical act of nature

pouring bleach down my future

now it's stainless and no guilt is left behind ...

Time : 1:49 a.m
Day : Wednesday