Why does not the world not rot in hell?

Does it seem I live in a world where headlines don’t bother me at all? That’s why I cared not writing even a word on the London blasts? Or the Ghotki disaster? Or the earthquake that jolted the city but was not enough to get itself registered on my scale? Or the Harry Potter mania? Or His Doggyship PM’s speech to the nation last night? I do blog. Mentally I am blogging all the time. And that is when I don’t even have to pause for a minute and check if my fingers are fast enough in transferring words and thoughts onto the screen. So. I blog. Regularly. Sometimes as much as six times a day. Or three times in half an hour. But tangibility escapes them all. But I am sure all my blogs are great. In fact, I believe that the blogs I have not blogged yet have to be the best and best saved for my own self. It does not really matter whether or not I can recall them at will. See. That is what I meant. The moment I sit down with intentions to actullay commit words to a proper readable blog entry, it’s only nonsense that manages to escape the grey recesses of my mind. My mind has a mind of its own and mins everyone else’s business but its own.
So.
There was this pic I came across in the papers a day or two after Potter mania made headlines. It reminded me of another pic I was stupid enough not to save. But more on that later (or not).

These Bangladeshi street vendors are seen in this pic by AFP Photos, peddling copies of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. The quality was grainy even in print and there was no mention if it was the original high priced edition or the pirated, cheap version. Somehow I doubt if street vendors would be selling the original version. That has to be found in air conditioned, swanky bookshops. Where pre-ordering options were available. Salesmen all but bowed to your purchasing might. Offered discounts on purchase of merchandise on credit cards. And the kids (or adults) lining up to get their hands on a copy of HBP would’ve probably come to the bookshop in a chauffer driven air conditioned car.
So. The book(s) in this pic has to be pirated version. I wonder if the kid peddling this had an idea of what he held in his hands.A publishing phenomenon? What was on his mind? To sell the stupid heavy book off - wondering why anyone would want to way that much money for some cheap paper instead of buying some food - and get some money to take home? I wonder if these kids could read at all. I wonder if they were caught in the jubilation that heralded the release of this book. I wonder if they were happy only because it meant more demand for the cheap version and hence some more money in their pockets. I wonder how they may spend the money they earn from such book sales. I wonder if they go home and tell their parents how some stupid girls and boys had gone ga ga over a cheap print book and bought multiple copies of. I wonder if they talk to their parents at all. If their parents are alive and concerned of what their kids are upto.
Sometimes these disparities just get to me. And I want to quit everything. It is not fair that one kid can spend an obscene amount for a book and another hope that there is a demand for its cheap paper version. I want to jostle up everyone I sight, slap them till they see this depravity all around us and actually do some work. I want to kill myself for not doing enough, I feel for them, but my feelings don’t feed these kids, it does not ensure them a childhood they are entitled to. I feel worthless, not capable of anything save an occasional festering. I rant and rankle here awhile and go back to my routine. I really hate myself.

Someone please rescue me from this self loath and do me a guest post.

Wanted

This blog has come a full circle. Of sorts. Some two years after version one under a diffrenet moniker this time of the year version three seeks to commit to digital memory, again, my limited understanding of lunch. Staring at me, positioned between the telephone and the monitor, I have a red box of ‘original’ flavored Pringles. And that is my lunch today. It is worse than two years ago when my three course meal had Kellog’s Corn Pops as an appetizer, Pringles as the main course and Kit Kat for dessert. There were days when a Zaater Manakesh was the main course and Pringles relegated to a side dish. But Pringles was, in those days of trying to survive all by myself, a staple diet of this dietary challenged specimen of humanity. The last part is still under scrutiny. But. So. I remain innocent until proven guilty of being a human. I could also berate the weather, call it be-imaan and all, as in te song: Aaj mausam, bara be imaan hai…bara be-iman hai, aaj mausam. And there it would end. And it would never be sung in the same chirpy, coo-some, romance laden way. For starters, I sing terribly off key, of course it does not keep me from exercising my vocal chords and others’ auditory senses and patience. If I were to sing this song, an apt ode to the fickle weather, I would shout at the top of my voice, shout as in scolding for the weather having cheated. You see, when I started from home it was beautifully cloudy, breezy, pleasant. And now, it is brilliant harsh sunlight. And since I chose an outfit with noticeable white in it, the very idea of a walk out in the sun makes me squeeze my eyes shut. That white blinds in the harsh sunshine. Where is that rain the morning clouds heralded? Blah blah blah…
Anyone suggest something for Acute Attention Deficiency Syndrome? I don’t want to update ‘nemore.
So, Wanted Desperately: A guest post will be more than welcome.

Why?

Why did the rooster cross the road?
It waited and waited till it thought it was too grown up to answer this question.

Wish I was not lazy to not take out my camera and photograph this crowned fowl proudly strutting about mid road.

why?

My best friend's wedding

7/7/05 Camera: BenQ DC 3410 Email this photo Permalink my best friend`s wedding.

of MMM and prayers

While growing up I had a firm belief that there was an MMM, Muttahida Muhaz against Me (United front against me) with Pop at its helms and his sons all eager office bearers. Mom and sis were honorary members, with teachers being called on invite. So, the whole world, as I knew it, ganged up against me. Of course at that time my world was limited too. Cut to present when I know that the world is a huge place and has many many people in it (yes, that’s a ten year old’s speak) and it still feels the same way. Look at this one for instance. Pop’s bro, my CJ is taking his whole family for Umrah, his sister, my PJ is going with him. And I give her a list of special duas for me: As follows:
That I get a job at the UN Secretariat in NY and work my way up towards being the first woman, Muslim and youngest Secretary General who arm twists all these stupid world leaders into straightening up their act.
Or I get head hunted to a top slot by some TN NGO that does actual work and I am part of something big and meaningful.
Or I get selected as a UN Special Rappoteur on Media Affairs and go about the world talking some sense into the otherwise money minded myopic media moguls.
Or I find a sponsor for my dream project which, expanding internationally, leads to the above.
Oh, did I mention I wanted to have a Nobel Peace Laureate suffixed to my name?
Or I land an enviable job at the BBC and move to London, preferably as a travel correspondent so that I get to see the world. Extended paid vacation.
Or I win a jackpot and can retire somewhere in Northern Pakistan and churn out one profound work of words after the other, leading to a Nobel Prize or at least a Booker.
Or that I get a real scholarship and actually pursue it for higher studies at an institute known for its program. That of course paves way for all of the above but the last, which can be a stand alone. And this would be the most urgent, most needed prayer.
And the list continues.
But, what does my PJ threaten me with? That she would pray for me. And I know what that would be. So, now, it’s my prayers against hers. And my Mom and Pop’s and Grandma and Grandpa’s and uncles’ and aunts’ and cousins’ and friends’ and colleagues’ and well wishers’. If all these people wish one thing for me and the course I have charted for my life is entirely different from it, what does it mean? I was right all along. There is an MMM. The whole bloody world is conspiring against me.