Pretention

Why pretend to be happy when one can be sad and honest?

Why can't I just enjoy the pain in my life and be open about it without being judged?

You!!!.

Yes YOU!!! Don't you feel any pain? Have you never been broken? Are you not... human?

Yet you can't go to the next line without feeling pity and disgust for the one who writes! You judgemental fool. Look inside you! What do you see but darkness and misery? What do you feel but pain and sorrow?

Take a fucking gun, put it in your mouth and pull the trigger or cut a vein or two for all I care but be strong enough to face the truth within you. We live in a fucked up world and you are as much a part of it as I am. So live not to judge. Instead live to rejoice the fuckedupness of our existence. Live to embrace the absolute pointlessness of it.

And you shall live fully.

A Dialgoue

Jackalovich is a youth in his mid-twenties who is full of questions and curiosity about life. He goes to visit his master Provoski who is the Makeesay of his time.

“Greetings Master” Jackalovich gestured his hand in some kind of salutation “How fare you?”

“I am well, like always. What brings you here child?”

“I am in pain. I want peace”

“Define ‘Peace’!!” the master replied in a laid back tone.

“Well peace is when I’m free of pain”

“And?”

“And that’s it I guess”

“Are you not free of pain when you are happy?”

“I am master”

“So is it happiness you want?”

“Well yes if you put it that way.”

“But hear me well child, for happiness is not peace”

“What is peace than?”

“Peace is a lack of everything but itself i.e. when there is no happiness, emotion, energy, sadness or anything at all, there is peace” the master took a sip from the cup of wine on the table and continued “You see the pure life energy exists in equilibrium and tranquility. Every now and then the life energy transcends into the material world in the form of a living being. After we die, we go back to the life energy from which we are born, and thus can be in peace. But this life is not meant for peace. There is no equilibrium here. Only struggle and pain”

“That means there is no point in longing for peace?” Jackalovich asked, obviously a little disappointed by the lecture his master had given him.

“That is not entirely true. We should long for many things and also strive to achieve them. But instead of wanting freedom from your pain, you should embrace it, make it your strength. And remember that Ultimate Peace is our final destination. So for as long you are in this world, enjoy the pain a little.”

Jackalovich nodded in silence and left the temple. He had his answer but many more questions still remained.

Bayahath Terevich: A Deck of Cards

Bayahath Terevich frowned as he let go of the last coin in his hand. He was a man born of deceit and surely losing is not an option for the likes of him. Yet it was done. The bet was lost and he was but a fool to have thought that he’d win.

It all started when the Fool came to the good town of Kuttiyanagar. The good people were amazed to see him. The Fool with all his tricks and songs; was a complete package. Kuttiyanagar was not a place frequented by many visitors and the townsfolk needed amusement just as a malnutritioned  African kid needs his vitamins. Bayahath Terevich was indeed happy to be in a place like this, where his cunning could feed upon the mediocrity of the people and yield him some coin. So he strategically placed himself in the center of the bazaar where all the streets met, just alongside the statue of the “Kuttiya” who had given this town its name.  On the sidewalk children chased chickens and hawkers shouted as they tried to lure in customers.

”Hear me O’ good people of Kuttiyanagar” Bayahath Terevich cleared his throat and then started his sermon, “ Hear me as the Kuttiya bears witness to this day where I  stand and offer something that has never been witnessed before, truly a good offer I make to you. I will show you a trick of cards and the man who understands it will get all my fortune. But if no one can decipher the magic in my hands, every single man and woman of Kuttiyanagar will give me a gold coin for my skill and courage”. The crowd slowly gathered at his feet. Some looked at him with excitement and utter awe while others displayed their hatred of what seemed to be a classic case of mockery of their wits.

“Behold” Bayahath continued “Behold this great art that I have learned from the magi of the eastern lands”. And then the fool started to shuffle his cards. He selected a young child of 8 from the audience and made the little one select a card from his deck. The child was then asked to show the card to the whole of Kuttiyanagar as they stood still and expressionless. The card was then gently put back in the deck that Bayahath held in his right hand. After a brief moment of shuffling here and cutting there, the magician clapped his hands sandwiching the deck in between and voila! The entire deck was gone. Disappeared into thin air, as it might have seemed. The crowd clapped and there were chatter amongst them. Shock and awe? “The real trick has only just begun” Bayahath announced with a mixture of sarcasm and pride in his tone, “I see that there are 52 men in the audience and each man’s destiny lies in a card that he must now face. Put your hands in your pockets you good men of Kuttiyanager”. All the men in the audience put their hands in their pockets as the women peeked with keens eyes, at the men close to their vicinity. And each man in the crowd found a card in his pocket that he took out and held high in his hands. Bayahath Terevich smiled and announced boldly, “as for the card of the child, look at the face of the Kuttiya”. There it was. Pasted at the nose of the statue just like an ugly patch on somebody’s eye. Bayahath was happy for a trick well-performed “and now for my coin if no one can tell me what I just did and how I did it”. His hopes were a shattered when the crowd suddenly burst into a huge fit of laughter. A laughter so wild that, it made his bones shiver. The one thing Bayahath failed to realize was that Kuttiyanager was a town famous for its magic and it was the birthplace of all magic in the realm of Jhagistan. Deciphering a mere card trick was child’s play for a people who could use their magic to make entire castles appear out of thin air. Alas! It was too late. Now Bayahath Terevich had to do away with all his fortune. His dreams shattered because of his ignorance. “Bloody Nasreen” he cried “You will have to wait my love before I free you from the clutches of the evil hordes of Chawalikis. Wait you must my dear… wait for me”

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

To You, Rain

Imagine a tiny droplet of rain. Imagine the journey of this tiny droplet, which I believe is just wonderful as it starts from up there and ends right here, on the ground.  Just some food for thought: what do all these tiny droplets feel like while they are on it?

Well rainfalls in Lahore are just awesome. Yes they truly are. Especially the part of the city where I live is quite green. So it adds to the awesomeness. Anyways, the story goes like this;

Its 8:52 PM and an hour ago, I was sitting home and had absolutely nothing to do. So I decided to go for a walk. There is a small market in the neighborhood and it normally takes me around 15-20 minutes to get there on foot. So that is where I was heading. As soon as I got there, guess what, it started drizzling. And it didn’t take the drizzle brizzle much time to turn into some heavy monstrous rainfall. This was followed by an obvious attack of panic, confusion and cluelessness as to what should I do next…

…. 10 minutes later, I still stood where I had stood earlier, thinking what to do next. I could have called home or taken a lift from somebody. But I just didn’t. And then I thought, it had been a while that I did something crazy all on my own. So I took the radical decision of walking home in that heavy rainfall. And I did it. I stepped in the storm and starting walking home.

As I walked home, for the first time in my life and I’m not exaggerating it, FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, I felt free. I did not care that I was getting all soaked up or that my cell phone would probably fry its brain because of all the water or what would my mom say when I get home and ruin her new rug with my wet feet. It was just absolute freedom. I saw people running for shelter and cars passing me by in a hurry. But I was a free man. And a free man is never in a hurry to do anything; he walks at his own pace.  This is what we all need. Freedom! Freedom from our own selves!

And I also realized that you don’t need to be in love or be with someone special to enjoy a wonderful moment. The entire world can be your company if you want it to be.

So as you read this, I don’t know who you are, where do you live, what clothes are you wearing, what physical and mental deformities you got, what heinous crimes you have committed against humanity, what shortcomings you have, what religion you follow and whether or not you like me at all… I don’t care. I just want you to know that YOU! are the most amazing human being in the world. Whoever you are, you are just beautiful! in your own unique way. Because out of the 6 billion people on the planet, you are just one and 99 is never a 100. So that’s it.

Oh and btw want to know what those tiny droplets feel like while they are making that journey I was talking about? Well they feel happy and joyful because they know that they might end up making a confused and cold person, happy about life! ;-)

Danny Vuojosk Part I – The Problematic Scenarius

Warning: Explicit language, reader's discretion is advised.

On a fine Sunday afternoon, the Great Makessay was meditating. The vibes of communist energy were flowing through his mind, body and soul. The Great Makeesay was on his way to redeeming his destiny of deliverance of mankind. He was sitting at a coffee table in the Mall of Lahore, which is a really good place to meditate as it is dwelled upon by the pure of heart and spirit; the most beautiful of this beautiful Russian city of Lahore.  Provoski’s deep nirvana was broken by a sudden voice. An intrusion! Behold! An angel had appeared before him…

Greetings! Oh Great Makeesay! The leader of communism! The rising red star! The successor of Lenin! The master of virtue! The messiah!

Bhenchod! can’t you see I’m meditating? You accursed and ugly angel. For indeed you are very ugly. Your wings are ash black, your nose is deformed, your eyes are squinted, you have a bad breath, you walk without grace  and you walk as if you are limping. I swear on Lenin, you are the ugliest angel I have ever seen. What do you want from the Great Makeesay?

Forgive me O master of communism, I did not mean to disturb you but its my duty to warn you of the imminent danger. Your case is lost. The revolution CANNOT happen. You should go back to the communist heaven, to where you came from! Russia is no longer worthy!

SILENCE! Madarchod! How dare you feed me with your pessimism you monstrous angel?

O Great Makeesay, take a look around yourself, you are surrounded by animals and reptiles. These are not people. These are Vuojosk’s children… They are dogs and bitches and reptiles

And Makeesay Provoski lifted his eyes to observe his surroundings and was horrified at what he saw for it was truly a very graphic and gross sight:

He was surrounded by hundreds of animals. Dogs, Bitches, Reptiles… all of them mounted on each other as they licked, bit, defiled and molested each other, without any discrimination of species. A thousand clitorises ripped open. A thousand penises made their way into what seemed like caves of reptilian birth.  This sexual frenzy went all over the place, in the shops, on escalators, even outside the mall, in big cars, in small cars, on motorbikes, amongst dogs, bitches and reptiles of all classes, rich, poor, everyone… in entire Russia.

MADNESS! MADNESS! MADNESS!!!

O Great Makeesay! You cannot deliver these people. Voujosk is their Messiah! They only want him and not you. They want… The Danny Voujosk!

And Makeesay Provoski just stood silent before the ugly angel. For he did not know who this man was! Who and what! Danny Vuojosk?

To be continued…

Mystery (The First Answer)

Once upon a time, I was a lost traveler. I had set out on a path which I didn’t know or think, could lead me anywhere. It was indeed an endless search, with seemingly no objective at all.

Tired and exhausted, I continued for years. I searched the very souls of the people I met in the course of my journey, I desperately wanted answers; the purpose of my existence. I searched caverns, islands, castles and all the places within or beyond my reach. I found nothing! No hope at all. And just when I was about to give up, I saw an ancient monastery far away, at the horizon. Through the fog that surrounded me, it only appeared as some massive dark structure. But as I continued towards it, gradually the darkness gave way to light.

I entered this fine and magnificent building and was admitted as a monk.

As expected, I bombarded the Grandmaster with my questions who gave me my first lesson; a lesson of patience and perseverance. “Learn my child”, he said “the answers lay within your own soul; you just never looked deep enough”. And then he told me about the mystery of the universe and the power it holds. The power that is at our disposal and it is our right to master it, provided we prove ourselves.

The universe consists of Four Elements; Earth, Fire, Water and Wind.

It is the mastery of these four elements that can give us immense power and ultimately the mastery of the universe. But the universe is only willing to give us control over all or one of these elements, if it deems us worthy. If an unworthy soul was to get hold of the elements, it would only bring chaos and confusion to this world. Therefore we have to wait until we are ready. The universe picks its sages with great care and they have to pass many tests before they are given a chance.

So it dawned on me that God tests us not because He wants to know how much substance we hold inside, as He is all-knowing and all-wise and already knows everything. He tests us so that one day we may be ready to yield the great power and use it to fulfill our destinies. He created this universe, so that we learn to master to it!

The power is indeed the power of light. It can only contribute constructively to “Life”. Darkness cannot co-exist with light and therefore the power is completely pure and divine, void of any corruption or dilution.

Then I asked myself, “Have I reached the end of the road by knowing all this?” No I haven’t! Because knowledge alone means nothing unless and until it is used to achieve what is meant to be achieved. Therefore my journey is not finished yet. Rather it has only just begun…

That One Person – Part II (The Zahir)

According to the writer Jorge Luis Borges, the idea of the Zahir comes from Islamic tradition and is thought to have arisen at some point in the eighteenth century. Zahir, in Arabic, means visible, present, incapable of going unnoticed. It is someone or something which, once we have come into contact with them or it, gradually occupies our every thought, until we can think of nothing else. This can be considered either a state of holiness or of madness. (FAUBOURG SAINT-PÈRES Encyclopedia of the Fantastic (1953) Excerpt from The Zahir by Paulo Coelho)



I first came across this term “Zahir” when I read a book of the same name by Paulo Coelho. I am using it here in this article because The Zahir defines the ultimate obsession for me. The state of absolute and final madness, from which there is no return.

Yes she was The Zahir for me. She still is. And perhaps she’ll always be. Maybe that’s not true. Maybe I am just too weak to think of anything else. Maybe I’ve surrendered my mind, body and soul to her memories. Maybe it’s a phase. Maybe time is a perfect healer. Maybe all “Maybes” are just lies that we feed to our sad little souls to keep ourselves from falling apart.

I vividly remember the moment I first saw her. The color of clothes she was wearing. That look on her face. It runs like a film in my mind. As a matter of fact all her memories do. And If you ask for my honest opinion on the whole film-like memory process, it is quite painful. Painful enough to bring me to a state, which even by my standards, far exceeds madness.

I am sad and I’m hurt. I can safely say that my soul is battered and bruised. My heart is broken into pieces. I sometimes cry when I’m alone. Sometimes I have to hold back my tears when I’m around people. Sometimes I have to kill myself to stay alive. Because I believe pretention is worse than suicide. In pretending to be happy, we are punishing ourselves more, as we are hiding our true emotions and feelings, just for the sake of others or perhaps for our own good. Yes I have died. Or at least something inside me is dead. And I know it will never come back. The aura of those times, is gone forever…

Do I hate her? No I don’t. I have no reason to. You never hate “that one person”. You always love her. That is the mysterious power of love. You keep loving the person who hurts you. You try and condole yourself and give justifications to your mind for that one person’s sake. Justifying her actions to be right. And her actions were right, at least in the end they were.

So I will write no further parts to this article in the future. Because I know that there is no end to it. Also I believe that the beauty of writing (good writing) is to leave some room for the reader’s imagination, to deliberately leave certain things open to interpretation.

But the problem is that The Zahir can’t be forgotten. It stays with you. I believe it stays for all eternity and I truly hope for that. Because what you can’t get in this world, you hope to achieve in the next. So Maybe “That One Person” will be there in everything I write or do… Maybe… at least so I choose to believe!

The Song Remains the Same

I started listening to Zeppelin at the end of my first year at LSE. Before that I had heard a few songs, famous ones. But it was only after listening to each and every Zeppelin record to date, I came to the conclusion that there is none like them. Nor will there ever be anybody who comes even close. Album by album, song by song, Zeppelin picked me up from the ground and battered me against the wall mercilessly. Destroying and rebuilding me each and every second of my life.

 I have always been a rock fan. During my teenage years, I was more into grunge. Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains and that kinda music. Oh and a little metal too. Iron Maiden was amongst my favorites. Music inspired me, spoiled me, and gave me a reason to dream big. But after my teenage, as I stepped into my twenties, I almost lost interest in everything and music didn’t really move my feet like before. As a matter of fact life itself had lost its touch. There was nothing exciting for me anymore. And then suddenly, there was light, there was Led Zeppelin. There were songs that I could listen to for hours and days continuously and still not ever lose interest. Zeppelin’s music rekindled the spirit in me and that too with a bang. I grew my hair to my shoulders. I knew I was making a fool out of myself in the eyes of the world. I looked hideous but it was alright as long as I was following the footsteps of the great Zeppelin. I didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone. Such was my love for their music and what they did.

Gradually I also developed as a musician. As my guitar skills grew, my appreciation for Zeppelin’s music grew along. I could now understand the brilliance of their music in a better way. All those cool drum rolls that Bonham used to execute so effortlessly, those soul ripping guitar solos by Sir Jimmy Page, that groovy but deep Bassline by Jones and those crazy but melodious vocals by Plant. And it was the bluesy feel in Page’s playing, that developed my interest in the genre, I must admit!

Needless to say I don’t know what people may say or think. I’m sure that many of you must have followed a band. Many of you must have known that feeling where you love a song so much that it hurts. For me that band is Zeppelin. For me they are the best band ever. And the four individuals that make up Zeppelin are the greatest musicians in their respective fields. They’ll always be the best.

So anyways I have not been able to listen to Zeppelin for quite some time now. But today I decided to go crazy one more time and I’m having the time of my life. It’s the best rollercoaster ride ever. By the way I’m listening to Communication Breakdown right now. =D

Love and respect for Led Zeppelin. Forever. \../

Accursed Thinker over and out. =P =p

Makeesay Provoski: Part III – Sacrifice

His head held high up, his gaze down on the ground, with humility and a sense of pride, Provoski walked towards the altar of sacrifice. He was lead by Lenin, his mentor and the master of communism who was wearing a red gown with ancient communist symbols drawn on it. A colosseum surrounded the altar which was elevated right in the middle of an otherwise empty ground. Provoski was made to lie down on the altar as the crowd enjoyed every minute of the show. The High Council of Communist Priests formed a circle around the altar while Lenin performed the ritual. The lid on Provoski’s head was opened up. His sanity was sucked out of his brain and turned into a dog. The dog was then held high by an angel on one side and a demon on the other. The beat of insanity echoed throughout the universe. As the drums picked up momentum, Lenin held the sword high and with force, brought it down on the barking dog, splitting him into two halves from his stomach. The ritual was complete. Provoski’s head was closed and sealed. The blood of the dog was then drunk by Provoski’s parents, his friends and loved ones, his enemies and even Provoski himself. The entire event occurred in another dimension so after it was over, it seemed to Provoski, as if he just got up from a beautiful dream. And just a few hours later, he found himself sitting in a plane, heading back to U.S.S.R… leaving the bloodless dead body of “the dog”, somewhere in the deserts of Saudi Arabia…

Thal was a very small town. It had a small Red Army base here which stationed a brigade back then. If you entered the base from its main gate, drove straight,  took a left after about 2 kilometers then took the third street on left and stopped at the last house on right, you would end up at the Makeesay Residence.

The feeling of return was wonderful and Provoski wasn’t lonely anymore. He finally had a human friend. Her name was Frolova. The entire town sung songs of her character and nobility. But Provoski could only see her at school. So at home, he spent most of his time with his blue bicycle which soon became obsolete so the Colonel got him a new better one. It was a red B.M.X, which stayed with Provoski for around 3 years before dying of cancer.

The great Makeesay lived in Thal for about two years. Many great things happened here. After all it was here that Provoski was bestowed with the prestigious “Teeth of the Rabbit”. The exact date of the event is not clear. But it is said, that the ceremony took place sometime during the summers of 1992.

Well the summers flew and it was September. Provoski was preparing to leave this wonderful town. The next stop in his sacred journey was a small town by the name of Naushki in the South Russian state of Balochia. The journey was long and treacherous indeed…

To be continued…

Makeesay Provoski: Part II – Exile

Provoski’s birth was marked by the rise of a bright red star in the sky. The star rose from the south and stayed in the sky for a good seven days. After which, it moved towards north in a very zig zag manner and finally descended upon those, who had no hope of any kind. The event had already been predicted by the High Council of Communist Priests who had read it in their sacred Red Book.

The book also dictated that the Makeesay had to be exiled in order to complete his transition into human life. Therefore 10 months after his birth, at the start of year 1987, Provoski was banished from U.S.S.R and was sent to Saudi Arabia. The land of Arabs. There he lived in a small apartment in the port city of Al-Jubail. His life in exile was spent in the company of his dear friends; solitude, loneliness and realization. His training had begun and the moments he spent there, had a color. They were of the same color as yellow street lights on an empty road at 3:00 AM. Such was the aroma of his reality. The psychedelic images and memories of this time along with others, stayed with Provoski till his demise.

Provoski’s apartment was on 2^nd floor, from which he rarely (if ever) came out. At home he was surrounded by lifeless objects and spent most of his time creating meaning out of meaningless things. Lenin was an occasional visitor. Even the great Makeesay needed a mentor to guide him towards the red light.

It was during these conversations with Lenin that Provoski realized who he was to himself and to all the others around him.

To the evil, Provoski was the anti-Christ and to the good and the faithful, he was the Messiah. Provoski was the ultimate living example of Hegel’s Theory of Dialectics. He was the synthesis of two extremely opposite theses. He was the middle road. Since in order to survive, a man needs to have some evil in him. And in order to avoid being haunted by the inner voice, he needs to be good. With the balanced mix of good and evil, he is able to live a successful and peaceful life with no regrets

To himself, he was just… Provoski!

Time lingered on and it was finally 1990, the year of return. The rituals of the priests had begun. Makeesay had to present himself on the altar of sacrifice before he could come back…

To be continued…

Makeesay Provoski: Part I – Origins

3 February, 1986, a fine Monday morning. Provoski opened his eyes in this world for the first time. His transition into this life was complete. He finally had a body and mind of his own. The nurse who was actually a human re-incarnation of Satan, held him in her soft arms and brought him outside where his father, The Colonel waited restlessly. With big round eyes, Provoski explored the hostile environment around him. Only to realize that it was a maternity ward in some Red Army Hospital. His gaze reached beyond the walls to look at the people of the city. The city that surrounded his birth place was a crazy one. It has only gotten crazier with time.

Karachi, then a part of U.S.S.R, was a calm and quiet place. So calm that it almost smelt of madness. Provoski spent a couple of his early childhood years here. At the age of 2, he already knew that he was going to be a key but hidden player in the affairs of the world and this crazy city will be his base. He also knew that his contribution will never be acknowledged by the masses. They perhaps won’t even know about his existence. But his actions will create ripples across time and space. And history will get deformed and twisted like always.

On his 3^rd birthday, Provoski was crowned “Makeesay”, a title that has only been bestowed once since the creation of mankind. According to some ancient texts, Makeesay means “The Chosen One”. Hence the name Makeesay Provoski.

Silently Makeesay Provoski prepared for his journey ahead. In order to achieve his objectives, he will have to stay in oblivion for years and years. All great revolutionaries have to face banishment and exile. So Provoski too left the country .

During winters of 1990, Provoski returned and settled in the North Russian state of N.W.F.P, in a small town known as Thal, which is just a few kilometers away from another, more famous small town known as Kohat. Recollecting his memories of a time, strange beyond imagination.

To be continued…

Makeesay Provoski: Preface

Dear Readers,

From now on I’ll write a series of articles on the life of Makeesay Provoski (Born 1986, Died 2046). A father, son, husband, brother, writer, musician and academic, Provoski’s contribution to the modern world can never be overstated. His role in the Russian revolution is unprecedented. He was Lenin’s most trusted comrade till the end. At one occasion, Lenin is said to have remarked, ”The revolution could never have happened without Provoski”.

The articles draw primarily from Makeesay’s biography. All the copies of this book were burned and the author was publicly executed. So it was very difficult to get my hands on it. Luckily, I was able to salvage a copy from the ashes.

Anyways I will not write on Provoski alone. Other articles will get their due attention. But as a note, I won’t be publishing articles from the Provoski series on facebook,

So read on if you like.

Regards,

Accursed Thinker

An Ode to Pain

Dear Pain,

I just wanted to thank you. Coz you’ve done so much for me. So much that sometimes it seems tragic to my cold eyes. These tears are a living testament to that. I know you have a special liking for me. Well I like you too. That is why we are always together. You have always been there for me. You were there when I was a little kid. You were there when I was a messed up druggie teenager. And you are still there as I start my practical life. I know you’ll be there even when I’m on my deathbed. You stood by me when everyone else left. You noticed when no one else knew that I existed. I wish I could just rip open my heart for the world to see how much you dwell in it. How much space you occupy in this bleeding pump!

Everything reminds me of you. I can feel you humming along each time I’m singing. You are ringing with each and every strum. I don’t expect others to know about us. How close we are. Its a secret affair. The world will never understand and its not supposed to.

Oh and I also wanted to apologize. I have always been so rude to you. You knocked at my door and I always tried to avoid you. I’m very sorry for my behavior. I truly am. From this day onwards, I promise that I’ll embrace you with open arms. I’ll love you like you love me. I’ll never leave your side like you’ve never left mine. I’ll always keep the door open for you. Til my very last breath! And thats a promise!!!

Yours Truly

Accursed Thinker