there are times when I feel like quitting blogging...it is one of those times...

You are what you dress up to be...

The receptionist just asked me if I was a Muslim. All because I've started covering my head with a dupatta.
Back home(read Karachi, Pakistan) I always covered my head when in public, not a proper hijab but all the same I made sure I had a big dupatta draped all around me.
Both, as a student at the University at Karachi and later, as a journalist, I frequently traveled on public buses. I started wearing an abaya for some months but then the April/May heat of Karachi made me put it aside. I thought a big dupatta could serve the purpose as well. So in Pakistan, that was my usual hulya, even when some of my friends suggested I change it for a tad mod image, I refused to do so. I felt secure and more comfortable that way. When I went to Bangkok, I never felt the need for that kind of covered clothing, that is not to say I wore short skirts or tank tops, proper, fully covered, modest clothing that made sure I blended in with the crowd. A shalwar kameez, my preferred mode of dressing always had Bangkok dogs following me! When I came to Dubai, it was mix of both, shalwar kameez, long tops/kurtis and pants. What I did not do here and never felt the need to do was to cover my head as I did in Karachi. But five days ago, I felt like I should and so, for the last four days, I have been seen around with my head covered. And today, Annie, a Chinese receptionist at the Business Centre asked me why I covered my head? Was I a Muslim? While I felt proud to say “Yes, I am a Muslim,” I was also struck by the fact that anyone could take me for someone else. I have now decided that even if I am against an exhibition of my religious beliefs, I would take to covering my head, with a scarf, dupatta, whatever. I am and would remain a Muslim and want all the world to know me as one…those who stereotype…let ‘em!

Looooser!

yeah, yeah, call me a loser, call me a nutter, call me what you may...some days back I blocked my own Sim and had to get a new cell number..then I have my MSN ID hacked...the latest? I have misplaced my office keys somewhere...if not for my Assistant who has spare keys to the office, I would have been sulking outside...but the lost key chain also has the office drawer keys...with all that money in the drawer...I am lost!!!
What is this happening? Just are getting worse by the day...I end up in deeper troubles each day...why? what? how? IS that a sign from Allah that I have been here enough? That I should pack up and head back home? Why me? Why? Why? Why?

Think no more

got this idea just as it is pack up time...
since it has become my wont to simply post all my cynical outpourings here, should i then change the name of this blog from the soliloquist to:
Pearls of Pissdom....?
Well, i do sound pissed most of the time...no....you are too kind...
have a nice weekend...

PS: Almost forgot...today is 9/11, the day History was changed? Dunno
Dunya nay teri yaad say begana ker diya
Tujh se bhi dil fareb hain ghum rozgaar ke...

I do recall the time when I went home from office this day two years back and witnessed my family gaping open mouthed at the TV...and later cursing the PTV people as they cut out the live transmission and tuned in to some other thing not even significant of a mention here (I also don't remember it, to tell you the truth...)
It was something you could have assumed was in league with Tom Clancy's work but this...and the accusations that freely flowed a mere hours later of the attacks...and the concern for a friend residing near the Pentagon...I had forgotten it all...that is what my life has shrunk to...day in, day out...and tune out, most of the time...

PPS: that was quite a long PS haina?

Brand new mobile...well almost...

I got meself a new mobile number today. A loss of 185+30 Dirhams. I had foolishly blocked my previous sim. Lesson to all: Don't vere fool with the security settings of your mobile sets.
The friend I had got my cell number (sim card) from was a true pillar of salt, left me to my own when I needed her help. If a friend in need is a friend indeed...does it mean she is no longer my friend? Since she was the one who had gotten it for me, only she could have gotten it unblocked but she said she could not do so, gave me some cock and bull story...in the end I was inaccessible for more than 10 days, apart from the time I spent in the office. Very inconvenient, ask my parents!
While still on mobile woes, check out this post on mobile security. Hope it does good for many.

On another note a friend from back home remarked that I don't write the way I used to. I admit, my posts here aren't that creative exactly, it has become so mundane, more of a kvetch diary than what I had so thoughtfully and lovingly named myslef as when I started this blog business...Soliloquist...hambug...do you think I should change it to...boring, ordinary useless online grumblings?
see what I mean, I am no longer creative enough to think up of a good enough title!!
and to think that I was once a journalist with more than 10 bylines per week!!
Shame on me then...

Traffic woes in Sharjah

This Sharjah traffic is such a nightmare. We left my place at about ten past eight, went around circles for nearly an hour before managing to clear the Galadari Underpass. The usual 45 minutes drive from Sharjah to Dubai Media City took double the time…one and a half hour! That is one of the pitfalls of opting for residence in Sharjah. All the same, I can never bring myself to live in Dubai. For some odd reason, the city seems to be suffocating to me. It makes me feel insecure, as if I am lost in a place I am not sure off. As if the whole city is balanced on my head and leaves me with no space…Sharjah seems more like home, friendlier, decent, livable, not to mention affordable. Still on a lookout for a place of my own. Have many options. Al Nahda is seems to be a good place but it is so far removed from main Sharjah, even the cabbie takes ten dirhams from there. The only plus point is that the apartments there are cheaper. The closest place to go out to being Sahara Mall. The other one is in Al Khan, new buildings, well within the range of my pocket, but not a much populated area, not sure if I would like to venture out at night by myself, to Al Tawun Mall, the closest place to head to…No again then. The last and my most favored option is a residence in Al Majaz. I love the area. It is right in the heart of the city, nice, decent people living in there, close to Sharjah Corniche and Al Majaz Park, I can go out for walks each night. The City Centre is walking distance and most of all, it is a straight road towards Al Mulla Plaza, the notorious border point of Dubai and Sharjah. My biggest concern in here, well the apartments are priced a bit on the high side, I don’t mind paying more for quality, as long as I can FIND some place in the area!

God, I am in a tight spot. The aircon does not work so my room is now renamed "Hell", its previous name was "Depression".
I had fiddled with my cell phone and blocked the sim, so have to get that thing sorted out as well.
Life is a definite downhill for me these days.
Work is great but after works...sigh...
mushkilain hum pe apri itni ke aasan ho gaeen
Let's see if my sabr pays off...

Car Brothers

Yesterday was RakhshaBandhan, the hindu festival when sisters tie a Rakhi on their brother's hands. I am not a hindu but this festival always appealed to me, a celebration of a very noble, pure and sincere relationship. And what did I do this
RakhshaBandhan then? Why tie a Rakhi of course :) Actually I know of this very nice Hindu guy who does a car lift, in fact I commute to work with him, everyday, from Sharjah to DMC. A decent bloke. So first thing I inform him of in the morning is that Rahul I got a Rakhi for you...and he was taken by surprise...anyways, in the evening I tied the Rakhi on his hand. And now a gift from him is due :D Of course it wasnt about gifts, I am glad I have found a brother here, and that was my way of showing that I really appreciate his noble actions and thoughtfulness when it comes to all 4 of those he takes in his car lift.

Ahem, for those of you who still have the time to read through all the fluff that I write, and are even remotely interested in my current employment status, I have been offered a job, with another one waiting for a go ahead from me, now I wait for the go ahead from Daddy Dearest and then will OK the one that might entail a change in my residence status... curious, intrigued, well, watch out what happens next in the life of The Soliloquist. :D

And why can't someone pay me for this very blog that I so diligently update...:-?

Have added myself to the burgeoning ranks of unemployed, disgruntled youth in Pakistan, not that I wasn't so already, with nothing in black and whit confirming my job with my ex emplyers and not a penny to resemble or come close to a pay check, I was left with no course of action but to fire...my employers...and here I am disconnected and sniff sniff...

Back Home and DTP sick

Back here in the land of the pure and at work, things couldn't have gotten any worse, the work bit meant here... And it is the same, the cricket crazy nation that we are, the TV next to me is on full blast (now people ought to know why I hear loud, my auditory senses have been dulled!) as everyone watches the Pakistan cricket team, the erstwhile losers play Zimbabwe. It was such a hoot the other day when Pakistan played India and lost and now with this match rain washed, from the looks of it, has no chances, if any, of making it to the Super Six, I really wanted them to lose and not even make it. Serves them right for being so big headed, pace attack, all bull shit :P And to make ammends for failing to mention all the wonderfull people I had met at the DTP in BKK, here is a list and as and when I find time, I would be posting some of their most memorable traits here.
Cass the crackpot, whacky, artsy Aborigine from Australia,
Win a forever sleepy refugee from Burma based in Mae Sot, Thailand
Htoo Chit, the karate dancer and enthusiastic interpreter, again a Burmese freely found in BKK
Banya, the grin reaper, a Karenni (Burma) but doing the rounds all along the Thai Burma border
Sopath, a soft spoken Cambodian never forgetting his country nor letting any of us ignore it
Archie freely friendly stunner from Fiji
Rosario, the Tamil Dalit lawyer from India, who sheds aside all airs after three glasses of beer
Benget, from Medan, Indonesia, pining for home, quietly and always homesick
Fi-3, a winsome IDP from Ambon, Indonesia, on a mission to bewitch as many as possible with that sly smile of hers
Helena, the self proclaimed spokesperson for Fi-3, but with quite a brain herself, quite a sight after 11 pm, full of fun, laughter, and yes, another IDP from Ambon
Kabita, the mother working on Children's rights in Nepal, with her kids reminding her that they too happen to be 'Children'
Mahwish/Rana from Lahore, Pakistan, the reliable, patient, and 'deadly' room mate of yours truly and made an IDP every night for two and a half weeks in room 515 of Chandrakassem Park Hotel, BKK
A-edit-, yours truly, from Karachi
Boyax, the pensive Filipono, a journo from Mindanoa, Philippines
Uncle Abhoud, father figure, heading the Civil arm of the Bangsamoro liberation movement, Philippines
Toby, with his 'heys' whenever we met, a Highlander from Papua New Guinea
George, from Bouguinville, PNG, who had us reeling initially, with his substituting f's with p's and sh's with s's
Kohilan, the reel gentleman Tamil from Sri Lanka (misspelling intended) and last but not the least Rossana another Sri Lankan, who Empress Marketed me wordless. And how can I ever forget Joan, the Graceful lady from UNSW Australia, with her grandma airs and cares who made the three weeks breeze by and of course Georgie another lovely Aussie, steering us smoothly through DTP. Ha, what great and wonderful people, what memories, I may go on and on about them but then stop short in fears of not doing them the justice in words and so, till the day I am sure I can accomplish the deed, they will stay in the most fragrant corner of my most treasured and cherished memories.

Eid?

What a day, days sorry. I have only today logged onto the Web after Eid, not because I didn't want to but because I couldn't. It isn't easy dishing out 25 bahts per hour use of the 'Net when I have never in my entire 'connected' life paid even a pai for it! And I don't want to sound like a kvetch, even while admitting that I am, at times guilty of being one, but...Well there is a whole lot of things I don't like and want to report and bitch about but the blasted time limit again. On another note I, proverbially, asked for it. This trip to BKK I mean, and while there is so much happening each day and so much that I would like to post here, somehow the very idea of coming to a cafe after a mentally draining albeit stimulating training sessions and typing on an alien keyboard saps and sucks, resulting in ignoring this cyber love of mine. Even now, when I would like to go on and on and on, I don't somehow feel upto it, with so much to tell and this 'brain drain', but once I am back, there would be no point in posting long pieces of verbosity with no appreciation of the hard word work, which even now isn't anything to write home about. Since the last post I have become quite good at finding my way around the city, with a bit of urdu, punjabi, english and lots of mime. Have taught some choicest Urdu words to two very darling Indonesian girls, bakwaas band karo (Shut Up!) and gandi bachi (Bad Girl!) and they, in a classic Frankestinian case, throw it my way quite liberally. I have wasted on whole roll on meaningless unartistic photographs and the second roll is just only fine, will have to spend yet more moolah on getting copies of others pix... and if this post seems disconcerted and not my usual self, that is becuase I AM NOT my usual self, the Thais don't drink water, they drink crushed ice and give the same to everyone and that has left me with what I think is tonsillitis. The food story is still a tale best not told, and well, again this is life and I had asked for it.

Another day another adventure

And today we decided that we wud no longer starve ourselves and so with Himmat e Niswan Madad e Khuda, we set out to explore BKK. Oh, btw did I tell what I meant by 'we'? There's this other girl from LHR on her training and her dam is a real ghaneemat. She arrived a whole day after me but we have been real good friends ever since, brought together by the same language and the same awaaragardi spirit in both of us. Yesterday we went off to the Chatuchak Weekend Market, tried out two different stores scouring for anything edible that had the halal mark and did a great many things I would rather not post here and save for that travel peice of mine. Today was a mission sort of an errand, the search for muslim food. After a vain attempt to mime and talk to the hotel people, we decided that a cab was the sole way we could get around to the 'Little Arabia' area in Bangkok where Halal and muslim food could be found. So armed with some maps we wenat out tp chart our own course. only except that the cabbie was perhaps as new to Bangkok as we were. We wanted to go to the Thanon Charoen Krung and God knows where he took us. And as his meter rose, so did our pulse, we have a budge within which we juggle our adventures. At 135 bahts, we jumped out, but not after Mahvish, the girl with me. had her share of fun trying to talk to the guy in Punjabi and Urdu, insistent that he would understand as much of it as English!!! Then we sought more directions, walked out of a winding Thai residential alley, crossed a khlong on a ferry (for a mere 2 bahts, considering the joyous expereince it had been), walked some more and finally we found on muslim restuarant. Again no one understood a wod of english but luckily the menu was in the language we could understand and so it was mime and part 'one this, one that' and we had some food befor us. That the chicken biryani wasn't the most appetizing in neither looks nor taste is another story. Ditto the Chicken Kurma. But all the same it was food we could eat without worrying so it was worth it. Then more askings and this time we came by bus, two in fact and would you believe it, it cost us a total of 7.50 bahts to get back!!! Next time we take the public buses. good enough for us, hum konsa nawaab hain? And know here we are typing away at the cafe, seems like I couldn'y survive without logging on and posting something new here. Till another day, Its good bye from BKK.

I still can't belive that I am here in BKK. Well again, perhaps my protesting stomach shud jolt me to reality. All day yesterday I survived on a packet of Marie biscuits I had the aqal to bring with me. That and the sole tin of Pineapple juice that was there in the room frigde. And today was no better. Still partly starving. Why are the Thais so fond of pork, and octopuses and serpent heads, among other things? Still have to search out a muslim halal food serving place cuz the food here is...Yech! And even if it is not then the smell of it is really off putting...And to add to it, the very place selling some edible looking stuff in the morning, as we walked to this cafe tonight, had a dog being pampered by its owner, one never knows what one may end up eating... Went to the Chatuchuk Market and beared the smells there. The place is quite nice but I have a doubt that they charged us more, us being foreigners. (Yes, there is a place where the green passport is categorized as 'Foreign'!). Ah so much to shar of today's adventures ans so littlte time, Till next time... Ciao. (I still don't know the farewell in Thai :)

Ahem... Would be flying at the unearthly hour of three PST, for Bangkok, on a three week training. While I will try my level best to post the latest in my life on this blog, it still isn't a promise. In the meantime, pray for me, that I go and return to this Land of the Pure, with Khair Khairiyat. The job tangles are best left unattended and I reckon three weeks ought to be enough time for me to decide on my career priorities. Still not sure if I would have a job on return erm... :S Hope for nothing but the best then. Ciao!

Oh what a day!

After a sleepless and fitfull night, woke up and called up the DTP partners in BKK, shed off all my worries onto their Thai shoulders and waited for a call. Thankfully my contact in Sydney did call me up and for now the trip seems to be guying...coming.. in the right direction. So I may still be heading off to Bangkok. :D On a not so happy note, and to further cement his b******dly attitude, the HR Manager has a chance meeting with me yesterday when I was going out for lunch. And His Mightiness, in an of hand way, inquired if I had received my appointment letter. Of course, I have revelations, and ilham... anyways, went down and the appt letter turned out to be a slap in my face!!! It had the very terms and conditions that I had objected to and was assured that the delay was only because they were fixing that up! What was I do do except tell them that the conditions were not satisfactory for me and I WILL NOT sign the damn contract and I will go off for 3 weeks, do what you can to stop me! If you can give me hell, so can I :P

:S

Its as if my viscera have turned liquids and are sloshing around inside me whenever if I move, breathe, talk or even think. One fine mess I am in... and have not the slightest clue how to get out of it. :S Umm... does that explain my 'blogger's block' for the moment? Or my ignoring my beloved The Soliloquist. I'd like to kvetch non-stop but then again I am so keyed up at the moment, a bundle of nerves that nothing makes sense... Folks, The Soliloquist, with all her high sounding claims of intelligence unlimted has finally lost it. Oh why oh why did I agree to this situation in the first place? And why is it always my fault?

It's a good thing there was a temporary technical glitch that kept me from pouring the most vicious of outburts here. It was so bad, my desperate situation, that I just wanted to walk out of this place. And never come back. It's that maddening, slowy gnawing at my sanity. But then again, if I don't pour it here, what would I do? Would it were that a recorder recorded each utterance, the people here could surely be taken to the courts. They are that conflicting. One day its one thing and the very second day, nay hour, the statement changes. And it drives me so mad that I feel like crying. Breaking down right here, sitting in this rotten seat at this God forsaken Office. After a shaking off the matter of my leave to go for that Human Right's Training course in Bangkok, today my boss tells me that it would be difficult, so soon after my joining, and in any case I would first have to talk to that HR bastard of a manager. That jerk of the highest order is nowhere to be found. And I can't apply for the visa without a letter that I work in this loser organisation! And it's just a week left for me to take that confirmed flight to BKK. What am I to do. Please pray for me and my limited sanity, I need it, desperately.

This Weekend in my Life

I still can’t believe it. That this Saturday we actually went out and saw Yeh Dil Aap Ka Hua, Javed Shiekh’s, magnum opus. And when I had to share such an important piece of news, my computer went bonkers, kaput, partly, fully that I don’t know nor do I care to. For all I was concerned, I couldn’t update my blog for three days, or was it two? Saturday and Sunday, because I didn’t come to the office and the home story you already know. So Sitara bhabi had to wait. And with so much to write about, it means yet another very long read. Hehe, as if it isn’t always ;) Now what is this about having my brother married off to a star? No, the very Easternly garbed, pajama clad Sana was named Sitara in the flick all ladies of two houses had gone off to see Saturday. Pakistani movies, in our family circles, are not to be seen and once when we had eaten the ears off our Phoophi jan to take us to see Samina Peerzada’s Inteha, she sneaked out with her hubby, watched the movie and came back home in such a dangerous mood that we lost all hopes of seeing a Pakistani flick in the cinema. Such is the reputation of Pakistani movies, the very mention of them is sure to be met with a glacial look form the parents and guardians alike. But this one was a different ball game altogether. Going to a cinema to watch a movie had become something of a joke in our family and even before we took our case to the relevant authorities, we braced ourselves for a refusal. Not this time though, heaven knows if they had seen the movie already and given it a clearance for us to watch, but this time the Phoophi jan was ready to take us to watch just this one, and this meant that Mom would have to yield in too, and that Pa would also not veto it since his own sister fuelled the dangerous fire. And so, we all went off to the Capri cinema, right in front of my sister’s teaching hospital, where Tere Pyaar Mein was also screened but we couldn’t go to see. We bought the tickets and rushed upstairs, were shown our seats and take them we did. We missed the opening scenes where Saleem Sheikh looks breathtakingly handsome as a Bull fighter, (the movie is Spain based), the next three hours just whizzed by as I was captivated by the Sana’s enchanting Eastern charm. Surprise, surprise, there were no moments in the movie that we regretted having brought our moms along. None, can you believe it, in a Pakistani movie!! For those who think it to be too much, I tell this, just three days back I had was dumbstruck as I saw Noor thunder to a number in Shaan directed Daku. What she did in the name of dance I can’t even mention, it was yucky and Goodness know what she was trying to do and Heaven knows what the director had in mind when making such frames!! But this one had nothing of that sort in it, save some unwanted scenes that I suggest were enough for the Arab Sheikhs to take the Pakistani Sheikh to the courts. Moammar Rana dressed up as a woman and cons the sheikh to move to a suite. The sheikh did not look a bit like an Arab, and neither did Moammar look like someone to die for. The tastes of Arabs can’t have been that bad, but so much for a director’s liberty of fiction, a bit far stretched but liberty all the same. The story was nothing to write home about, the songs we had heard and turned a blind ear to, so much had they been played on the TV, the acting was across the border inspired, but boy, did Sana look ravishing! All that she was required to do was look pretty, lip synch and sway to a few songs and deliver five minutes of dialogues in total. But all that was enough, I would like to go to the see the movie again, just to see her magic kindle the screen (my brothers, ever full of vitriol, say that her smile alone took up half the cinema screen and her face is so big that it could only fit on the big screen!). And the end was also an idiot’s delight, as Sana’s brother, Babar Ali, the spoilsport, aims his gun at his errant sister and her love, the Salman Khan naqqal, Momy, his best friend whom only moments earlier was plummeted by the hero for wanting the hand of the winsome lady, fires and kills the big brother. The lady instead of seeing and attending to her brother in the last moments of his life, chooses to stay behind and share the ending honors with the two men. Not enough, here’s the punch line, the hero’s name is Falak, the heroine is of course Sitara and the best friend turned foe turned friend and savior again is Chand!! Ha, a whole constellation, and dialogues to match. Sitara Falak per rehta hei, Chand ko girhan lag bhi jae to rehta who falk per hi hai!! Despite this I wouldn’t say no to seeing it again, the magic of the big screen is undoubtedly addictive. Once seated in the dark gallery we never knew where three hours went by. (I have not been to the cinema, because my family believes the Karachi cine-going crowd makes the place a place that is best stayed away from, save once when we saw Jinnah, that too safely chaperoned by two brothers). This time however the crowd was familial, with more ladies and of good bearings too. An experience not to be forgotten. Our next stop after stepping out of the cinema was the smuggle goods hoard, Gul Plaza. Next we went off to Tariq Road. While we have always been four awara kuris, it was the first time that we were tagged by our mothers and now they ought to know why we are so fond of matar ghushting on Tariq Road. Having left home at ten thirty, we returned at six in the evening, and Pa opening the door greeted us with, Oh, so you have returned after all, we had thought you would come in after closing the cinema after the 9-12 show. Not that we would have minded ;) Next day was a Sunday and since I had stayed back on Saturday, I should have come to the office, but I was in such bad humor, my job contract still not in sight that I didn’t feel like it at all. And so home it was, tucked in bed with Lord of the Rings(I'm near the end). Early morning toady I had a call from the people at University of New South Wales, Australia, asking me of my plans to attend the 13th DTP this February in Bangkok. Well, I can’t think of anything else these days and go there I will, even if it means leaving this job. That reminds me, I have to inquire of the status of my application for a leave. The chances that I get one are slim, so soon after joining(a month and a half), I haven’t even been confirmed in the job yet! Today’s Monday and I am here at work, waiting for all the reporters to come in so that we can have ‘the’ meeting. Not sure if I am being paranoid or if I am really being given a tough time here, but all the time it seems that my presence or absence wouldn’t matter that much. The reporters simply shake me off, and the bosses don’t seem too pleased with me. But then again, I haven’t had any opportunity to prove myself as such. Waiting till such a day dawns. Still.

What to do?

I always took this blog to be a reflection of my state of mind as I typed away an entry, and that ranged from some preachy ones to rosy rhetoric, from vitriol to supine, gloss to personal…it was, in all, what I thought, truth as I saw it, and when I saw it. But yesterday as I talked to an old and learned friend, she tried to inject some cyber wariness in me, trying to convince that revealing, nay, advertising blatantly where and what I do for work (or otherwise), isn’t that great an idea. And I did start having some doubts about my obsession with truth, about my life on the ‘Net. This was despite the fact that I had not for the past few days, written anything personal and kept myself to commenting on what was in news and what should have been and was not. But that wasn’t exactly the aim behind this blog and so, to hell with security and privacy concerns. I have not exercised this degree of freedom of speech and expression ever since I was three. Before that I could cry my heart out, say anything that I wanted to and once school started, I was drilled in what was right to say and what was not, all the while limiting my freedom to speak what was on my mind. But I could think unbridled and that I did with relish, so much so that now I feel more comfortable thinking and talking to myself, thus earning the name Soliloquist, for that is when I have no worry or care in this world of what others may think. But it also means that most of my thoughts remain within the safe confines of my mind and the mankind is deprived of some highly intelligent thoughts ;) All the same, writing is the next best thing that I can do without any restraint whatsoever, but then too, to see it in print means that chunks of it are chucked out in the wider reader interest. So where does that leave me, if I can’t speak my thoughts aloud, not all at least, and can’t write anything without accepting ‘editorial’ changes? Then there is the word limit thing, anything that I write has to be at least 700 plus words, preferably 1000 to be trimmed to 700, and despite my ‘waywordedness’, there are times when I don’t think like writing as much and that is what I love best about blogging, I can write what I want, as much as I want and whenever I want. So there : P And yes, I came across a subscription service yesterday and ever eager to experiment, got myself one. My siblings think that I had no such need as I write/blog on a daily basis and anyone who is interested (snigger) in reading this, may know that as well. And so, all they would have to do is log on each day and read away, there being no need for having inboxes inundated with reminders that there's been a new post on The Soliloquist. I refuse to give in though, so the subscription thing stays, with other things I deem good enough to grace The Soliloquist.

Happy New Year

There are a hundred or more things that I'd like to say as the new year starts. But just for a change, I have decided against even a single negative note. And since I can't think of anything without at least a bit of negativity, I can't think of anything else to post today. Perhaps next day, when the New Year euphoria has settled down and reality sunk back, harsh and bitter as it is, I sit down and pour my daily dose of wahi tabahi. Till then, have a joyous new year and may this happy note mark the whole year ahead of you.

Time to Ponder

And it’s the year end again. Time to ‘past forward’, lie back as the sun sets for the last time in 2002, and reflect on how the year had been for you. On the personal front there hasn’t been much, as all relationships went downhill with an increase in professional responsibilities, appended by an ever growing sense of guilt for not giving enough time to my family. Professionally I reached a landmark as the 2nd of April 2002 marked my first successful year as a journalist. After frustrating administrative hurdles and failed contract renewals, I had to move on and join another publication as Asst. Ed. Apart from the salary package that was offered, the job title also had a nice ring to it and so the shift. It also meant mending spoiled habits and erratic work hours for the more respectable albeit mundane work hours, i.e., 9-5, or in my case 10-6. But that too wasn’t enough to keep me glued to the post and come another opportunity, I jumped in at the chance to work as the section head of a new and exciting TV channel. That was exactly two weeks ago from the year end. So far it hasn’t worked out well, as this blog could testify. Still to settle down, make friends (survival without whom is unthinkable), and win the respect of those around me enough to win a breathing space (the atmosphere is quite stuffy right now)…and most of all, find out what are the terms and conditions of my employment! Idiotic as it may sound, I was so excited to join this place I took a headlong plunge into the unknown, untested waters – without even donning a life jacket and without the slightest idea whatsoever of swimming! And that was three jobs in a year, each move for the better (I hope:)). Globally the happenings have ranged from the bizarre to the most hopeful of times, murders and killings in cold blood, violence, gore, impatience, dogmas, paranoia, and just when you believed that the world was necessarily evil, an innocent child’s charming smile brightened up the day. If God hasn’t given up hope with these species, supposingly Ashraf al Makhlooqat, who are we to pass a judgment on the its hopelessness? Each child that is born into this world signifies God’s love and belief in the Mankind and it is with this belief and the knowledge that God loves me a lot and is forever looking after me that I sit down and look towards the sun on its final journey to the West this year – 2002.