As We Are

Shit I'm out of words again. It's funny how each one of us has a story to tell. And words don't always fill in for us.

I want to do many things right now. I want to take a stroll down the memory lane, write a good short story and go to sleep. A long cozy sleep with dreams of you. I know mushroom dreams are meant to be broken. But that doesn't mean they don't exist. Nothing wrong with a bit of wishful thinking. Don't you think?

And oh its how I wish. I wish and I wish and I wish. I wish for so much to happen. I realize now that sometimes, being alive, is the single most difficult task at hand. This is how I am. This is how we all are. Atleast at some point in our lives. For me this point comes a little too often.

I have only this much to say. Peace.

Summer Love

Summers are fun. Even in a God damn third world country. You are sweating down your ass. And no amount of cocaine or good music can give you peace. You need shade. You need love-yah. You think you got game. You are foolish. You are a self-loathing individual suffering from arrogance. That’s how people come these days. They come in shiny attractive boxes. Low quality and huge price tags. There is no fucking consistency in the production line.

Driving around town in your old car with a half-smoked cigarette, you realize many things. Some are good and some are bad. But every realization takes you one step closer to your goal. You are hungry for something. You are hungry for love-yah. Hunger only grows. You are an animal. You want to rape and molest the world; over and over again. This is who you think you are. But you are not that. You are worse. Much worse.

And after a while... you stop giving a fuck. You know. Things run smooth sometimes. There are no speed breakers on the highway. But not everybody is driving the fast lane. There are snails in the race. Snails that you can nail. And rabbits too. Never miss a good fuck if it comes to you. But you still miss it. Coz you need love-yah. You ain’t no fucking sex monger. You want purity. You want something real.

Summers pass and you quietly retreat to your hideout. A stack full of cheap Murree beer and 70s blues records. That’s all you need.  You need love-yah. Don’t ya?

Slaughterhouse For Babies

Deep within the serene abyss of my mind, exists a slaughterhouse for babies. It has 9 chambers. Following is a brief account of what happens there.


Chamber 1:
There is a pack of hungry hyenas. Subjects are thrown in from a small window in the ceiling. The animals are skilled at their noble task. They slowly and painfully rip the subjects into little pieces.

Chamber 2:
There is an executioner with a sledgehammer. A conveyor belt carrying the subjects passes through the centre. Subjects' heads are crushed into bits.


Chamber 3:
A conveyor belt carrying the subjects into a hot tub of molten lava. What happens next, requires no explanation.


Chamber 4:
A 100 meters deep pool of electrocuted water. Subjects are thrown in from the top. They are reduced to skeletons before they can ever hit the bottom.


Chamber 5:
A conveyor belt carrying the subjects passes through a huge chopping machine. Subjects are chopped into little pieces.


Chamber 6:
Subjects are thrown into a 500 meters deep pit. The experience is meant to break each and every bone in their body.


Chamber 7:
An executioner with a small razor blade. Every hour, a subject is thrown into the room. It is the executioner's task to slaughter the subjects using his blade. He is encouraged to use his creativity in making the process as painful as possible.


Chamber 8:
The cold storage room. Subjects are allowed to freeze to death. There is obviously no shortage of ice cream here. Eat all you can, you little ones.


Chamber 9:
It has no door, no windows and absolutely no way to get out. The walls are unbreakable. There is no light. The author is locked in this chamber. He has the key to shut down the entire facility. 


The pathos must be understood. Otherwise, the puzzle will never be solved.

Ko-Hat - I

The Air Force Officers Mess (where I live these days) is a quite place old place. Almost as quiet and old as the town of Kohat which hosts it. The mess building itself dates back to the British era. According to the official records, it was constructed sometime back in the year 1924. Years of renovations and re-renovations have obviously gotten rid of any resemblance to old British era buildings that this place might once have had. But with the right kind of eyes, you can still see the old British dance parties, complete with all the Gora officers and their wives/girl-friends dancing away to the ballads of those times. And with the right kind of nose, you can probably smell some whiskey too.

Well here's the interesting bit. People tell all kinds of stories about the officers mess especially the bachelors blocks. Stories of hauntings and what not. The sort of things that you'd naturally imagine about any place with a bad paint-job. The most famous (and my personal favourite) is the legend of the Wing Commander*. 

As soon as I got here, everyone told me that the Ghost of a dead English Wing Commander who used to live here during the British Raj, roams the blocks at night. The cause of his death is not certain. There are varying stories and sometimes different versions of the same story. Some say that he was a paratrooper and died when his parachute failed to open on one of his routine para-jumps. The result was crushing. He fell head first on the ground from a height of 5,000 metres. His head split into two halves on impact. Poor guy probably died on the spot. Now he roams around looking for any living paratroopers. So anyone wearing a para-wing is bound to get his ass whooped (Luckily I don't see no para-wing on my chest). The other story says that he died while he was cleaning his pistol. Apparently a mosquito went in through the muzzle of the gun. As he tried to peek in, he pulled the trigger by mistake, shooting himself in the eye. "Never clean your pistol in the blocks Saab" is the warning that comes with this one. Another story involves him being eaten alive by wild KPK goats while he went hitch hiking on his own to the mountains.  There are countless other narrations, which I don't have the time to quote right now.

Needless to say I don't know what's the real truth behind these stories. Whether or not there is actually a Ghost in the blocks is also a matter which requires further investigation. But I'm sure about one thing and that is; Kohat is no place for an Englishman. Dead or not-dead, if the local Pathans were to find out, they would surely take him to the mountains and let him have it. The North-West style!

*Wing Commander is a rank of the Air Force equivalent to Lieutenant Colonel of the army.

The Drill

Its been a while since I last came up with something meaningful. It seems my head has stopped working. They call it the "military syndrome". Once you join the service, your mind starts slowly deteriorating until finally it no longer exists. I guess its not that bad coz I can do without it. Can't I? Besides I believe human mind is overrated. Most people die without using their brain even once and they lead very successful lives.

By the way, do you know why most Generals take to golfing during the last years of their coloured service? Yes its the military syndrome. Golf is a very simple game; It requires no use of brain and relies solely on the most basic instinct a man has. You ready your club, aim for a hole and put it in. Bang! You've scored!

However playing too much golf is a curse.  Thinking too much when its not needed is also a curse. That is where my pen-name comes from. I am the "Accursed Thinker". But soon all of this is going to change. I'm going to be a "Mindless Thinker". Wait! ain't that a contradiction? It sure is but who the fuck cares! Its a normal thing in a world so full of paradoxes and double standards. Ain't it?

So anyways you know the drill. I'm coming to back to blogging (hopefully). And you'll be getting some new material to read. Soon!

So keep on reading. 

See Ya.

The Deep Sea Diver

Who am I? What is this world?

The deep sea diver surely knows the answers to these otherwise obvious questions. He stands gazing at the wild ocean before him. Oh how wild you are little ocean. How wild! How Innocent and cruel you are, you mighty! You devouring ocean!

SPLASH!!! The dive! And there is no limit to how far below the surface; our deep sea diver will descend. He goes into the very depth of the dark seas.  He is surrounded by jelly fishes and colorful creatures of various shapes and forms. Glowing and forever changing, the ultimate manifestation of a chaotic and enchanting life force presents itself before him. And the colors? The amazing vibrant colors leave permanent traces on the texture of his existence. And he knows that the traces will remain there forever. So he swims on and the creatures begin to fade away. He looks back at them and waves them goodbye. The depth increases. But his memories are forever vivid and shining. And so they will remain.

Oh so deep… so deep that there is no life around him. There is no light. There is nothing but him and clear pure water, blessed with absolute darkness all around. Absolute stillness. There is no sense of direction. There is no north. And there is no you!

The deep sea diver still dives deeper and deeper. He knows he is heading towards something strange and there will is no return. Because there are things in life which if done, can never be undone. Yet the hardest part always, is to let go. But his thoughts won’t stand in his way. His subconscious must lay bare in front of the world. His feelings must be conquered!!!

Conquer he will!

Go on you deep sea diver… Go on and on and on… never stop…

You splendid & magnificent lonely creature…

Wander like a soul wandering in nothingness, in an open space without boundaries…

Wander like no wanderer has ever wandered before…

And wander forever…

The Excalibur

On his knees the warrior sat. His sword thrust halfway into the ground while he held onto it with both his hands and all his might.  Shadowed by clouds of ash and surrounded by nothingness, the warrior had knelt here since forever but had never opened his eyes nor did he ever speak. He had remained unchanged, unmoved and would seemingly remain so, forever!

The sky, which had been witnessing this constant sight for eternity, could not bear it anymore. So it broke its silence and spoke…

Rise O kneeling warrior, you sufferer, you wanderer, open your eyes, you have suffered for all eternity. Open your eyes and rise. Rise child and hear me out for I have spoken and I shall speak to you with great wisdom… Every man whether rich or poor, master or servant, brave or coward, is a slave.

a slave to his heart. 

a slave to his thoughts.

Rise you warrior! You thirsty warrior. You slitter of  throats. You drinker of wine, blood and ether. You drank, you drank, YOU DRANK! No matter how much you drank, nothing quenched your thirst. Nothing ever will! But a sip of water brought to your lips by the beloved’s beautiful hands.

A wise man once said “Man is the cruelest animal to himself”.¹ I say the same to you O sufferer. You are the cruelest animal to yourself and to others around you. Don’t be so cruel that you banish yourself from your own heart. Revisit your heart, where the beloved dwells.² The beloved shall dwell there forever.

And hear me for I tell you…

A thousand knives are affixed in your back. You are marked by a million scars and an equal number of arrows in your chest. You fought with your enemies, you fought with yourself, and since then you have also tried to heal yourself. But no ether will ever heal you. No book will ever give you peace. You lost soul; only a tender touch by the beloved can heal you. So seek that tender touch you wanderer…

You have knelt here forever warrior. You are at war with time itself. You kneel with your eyes closed but still you never sleep. You have never slept in a million years. And you will never sleep but in your beloved’s soft and comfortable arms. That is the only place where a sufferer can “find” sleep. So find your sleep my child. Find it and you can rest your head and forget.

And I speak to you sufferer. Every man whether rich or poor, master or servant, brave or coward, needs a beloved.

Rise my child from this… Oblivion, Oblivion, Oblivion, OBLIHVIONH!!! But then the sky realized what a fool it had been, to have been screaming like that. Of course only one thing could have compelled the warrior to rise and that was his beloved’s sweet fragenance. And the sky smiled at its own foolishness for missing out on this fact and realized that sometimes the curtain of wisdom is so heavy that it overshadows the simplest of things. Hence one’s actions can easily contradict one’s words.

So having spoken to its heart’s fill, the sky fell silent and never spoke again for now it had nothing more to say.

The kneeling warrior however just knelt there, unmoved and unchanged like a stone statue.

For his beloved had died an eternity ago….

Notes
1.  The wise man is Friedrich Nietzsche
2. Inspired by something similar in the writings of Søren Kierkegaard