Senate OKs $50 billion more for wars - Politics - MSNBC.com

Senate OKs $50 billion more for wars - Politics - MSNBC.com

Just a fraction of that money could help me get to Harvard, Sloan or UPenn or any of the other Ivy League business schools. Or a fraction of that to an Afghan or Iraqi student. I haven't met Iraqis but I've met a lot many Afghans who could use a good education. Let it not be one of the Ivy Leaguers. Let it be any school, college or university even in Pakistan. But no. Let's fight a war. Kill poor soldiers and civilians because soldiers fight for their countries without asking questions and civilians are of course just collateral damage. In fact, everything's collateral damage.

Or let's say, since they can't give a fraction of that money to fund my education or that of an Afghan or Iraqi, they could give that fraction to the people who've lost jobs due to Katrina or build houses for them, maybe?

Or maybe they could give a fraction of that money to help build a medical and teaching college in Kabul or Kandahar to help eradicate diseases and illnesses related to war and poverty that plagues that nation.

But war is more important. When all the people are dead, we won't be needing those fractions to spend on them.

Though it's an illogical conclusion, but those $50 billion are money well spent.

As for the soldiers and civilians: rest in peace. And for their families? I don't know. Would a sorry help?

Bandeewan

Bandeewan literally means lost. It means that stage before dying, where one is hanging between life and death.

That's how I've felt for quite a long time.

A person becomes bandeewan but for a few seconds; some unlucky ones might be so for days, but who heard of one who was in such a state for years?

When there's no way out, I just stop looking.

To My Rival

To My Rival is a poem by the renowned late Pakistani socialist poet, Faiz Ahmed Faiz. I really couldn't capture it's beauty even if I tried. The real fun of Urdu poetry is reading it in Urdu. It's like Persian poetry. However excellent the translation, the actual essence is lost. The intoxiation that is found in Persian can never be found in the translation. Nonetheless, Faiz is essentially an Urdu poet. Here I've tried a hurried translation of one of his very beautiful and famous poem, Rakeeb Se (rakeeb=rival in love, se=to/adressing someone, rakeeb se would loosely mean adressing the rival in love).

To My Rival

Come let's sit together, because attached to you are the memories of that beauty,
which had made this heart the house of fairies.
In whose love we had forgotten the world
And made the end a novel, a fantasy.

Those ways have known your feet,
which her intoxicating youth fancied;
Through which have passed processions of her splendor,
Of which these eyes have been idol worshippers.

Those lovely wafts have played with you, in which
the sad scent of her raiment still lingers.
The light of the moon has radiated on you through that entrance,
Which still holds the melancholy of nights past.

You have seen that forehead, those cheeks, those lips,
in whose imagination I have lavished my life.
Those forlorn and mesmerizing eyes have been raised to look at you.
YOU know why I have squandered my life away.

On us the favors of the sorrow of love are mutual;
Favors so many that I may lose count.
What we have learnt, what we have lost in this love,
None could understand other than you, even if I tried.

I learnt humbleness and devotion to those deprived;
Hope and loss, the meaning of pain and sorrow, I learnt.
The trials and tribulations of the underdog I learnt to understand;
The meaning of cold sighs and yellow faces, I learnt.

Whenever the helpless sit and weep, whose
boiling tears sleep in their eyes,
The eagles snatch crumbs from the mouths of the weak
They come down in calculated flocks.

Whenever in these bazaars, the flesh of the laborer is sold
Then the blood of the poor is spilt on the roads.
A fire boils inside, burns my heart, don't ask!
I cannot seem to control of my heart then...

Just a Change of Seasons

In a clearing, there's a Jacaranda tree standing alone.

The foundations for a house are being laid around it now. A well is being dug in what will be a lawn in the years to come. Red bricks are lying neatly in stacks.
People are going here and there.
The Jacaranda tree is standing silently: watching. It is mesmerized.
That was Winter.
Now it is spring. Purple flowers carpet what will be a driveway a year from now. A truck unloads sacks of cement.
The flowers are running here and there in the silent breeze. As evening approaches, the men leave and a lone light goes on.
Carcasses of Jacaranda flowers are floating in the well.
Many years have passed. The driveway is red tiles that look nice in the sun.
The well is gone. There is a fountain in the corner, where there is a miniature bridge surrounded by cacti. Empty deck chairs are casting silhouettes in the moonlight.
Leaves and dead bougainvillaea bracts are littering the slightly golden lawn. Soft, white mattresses are being trundled out of the house. The sweeper is trying to sweep all that he can but autumn won't let the lawn clean.
Women are left standing in the lobby. The men are moving out of the gate, past the soft, white mattresses, past the Jacaranda tree.

Only the Jacaranda tree knows that it is just a change of seasons.

Trying Not to Be Earnest OR The Importance of Not Being Earnest

I have decided. Now I just have to stick with it. :D

I'll try to be funny. Yes, I will try. Or I'll "Just Do It"... I have been accused of not being funny, of being arrogant (an accusation that stems from the first) because I only smile (with a slight twist of the mouth, which makes me look horrible, apparently) and that I never say anything. How can I make people understand that I have nothing to say?

I have nothing funny, intelligent or remotely interesting to say. I love to listen but no one believes that. I say, why would you but you better! Or else you'd also think I was proud and arrogant (the question arises: why would I be that for, but that's for another time), which doesn't really matter this way or that but still...

The main point was about trying to be funny so I've decided that I'll use my MSN Spaces spacethingamajig for posting whatever funniness enters this head of mine, if ever!

Do you have to let it linger?

She told me to just let it go.

It's not that easy.

Especially when you're holding onto nothing.

I have been wondering lately. If everyone's the same, then does it matter whom you're with?

Sooner or later, everything will end. At least in this world. To finally have found the answer to that question that I asked many years back, is unsettling.

Is there any redemption?

There's none.

And when I look at my life, I know there won't be any in the next either. There's none for the fallen. Will people think about the woman she was? Will they? Will someone sigh, will someone try to wipe off their tears when they think about her?

Colorado lawmaker: U.S. could �take out� Mecca - Politics - MSNBC.com

Colorado lawmaker: U.S. could �take out� Mecca - Politics - MSNBC.com

Wow! Now that's what I call freedom of speech and nice thoughts. That's really how we should make friends.

Shame.

Mein Yahan Kyon Houn? (Why Am I Here?)

I don't have the answer to that one. Why are you here anyway? Purpose? Reason? Redemption? Faith? Purposelessness? Nothing? Faithlessness? Intelligence or a lack thereof? Love? Hate? Emptiness?

GOD?

YOU?

ME?

what?

Relax. Laugh a nervous thankful-to-God laugh.

I was only kidding. (:

Tum Yahan Kyon Ho? (Why Are You Here?)

Because I'm not feeling well and just have no idea what to do about it. A couple of nights back or maybe it was three, doesn't matter, had to take three tablets to bring myself some rest but felt groggy for the next couple of days (or three).

1. Xanax
2. Lexatonil/nal (forgetting the spellings right now)
3. what was the third one? I think it was either Synergy OD or something else but I just don't remember.

Oh yes I had to take a fourth one too. But that's for stopping my hair from falling and my nails from getting bent and brittle and God knows what else. Yes, I'm getting bald and old at the very ancient age of 24. And no I'm not saying that because in my head there lives a fucked up hypochondriac. The worst thing is that I'm a girl. Only now do I realize that. Quite late. I can't even wish to die. It's too early to die but then again. No, this is not self pity. I just needed to get this out of my system. To maintain it's integrity. *laughs* It's like passing feces. You have to do it or you die.

Went out yesterday, in the scorching afternoon heat and lu (hot wind). There was no ice cream in half of Peshawar (that would be University Town and Hayatabad). Let me be more honest about the truth: There weren't any nice flavors in the bricks and the buckets. Wherever we went there was only Vanilla. VANILLA! VANILLA! VANILLA! How one hates it when it's plain vanilla! Oh and this was the first time in many months that I went out with my cousins or let's say went out at all for relaxation only. It was fun even though my head was boiling and so was theirs. Went to the videoshop to find it closed. So we headed to the old bookshop, which sometimes sells these rare and/or old editions of rare and/or old books if you're willing to rummage through the dust. :D Spending time in a bookshop or a library are the happiest moments of my life. Though I was sneezing but I forgot all about it. I always get a strange kind of high among books. Khair! I was going through the titles when viola! I came upon an old volume of plays by Bernard Shaw. At that very moment, I'm sure my mouth must have been hanging open. It wasn't exactly in mint condition (doesn't matter because I don't plan to sell it or anything, God forbid) and the pages with the date of publication were missing but from the cover, I judged that this might be from the 50's or at the very latest, early 60's. Of course, I could be wrong and it could be much older. But I was happy. Pure happiness it was after such a long time. Such uplifting and pure joy. Inexplicable! Then I found a 1930's edition of another book. Then came the real prize. :D An original and rare edition of Milton's Lycidas. Oh my God! Oh my dear dear God! With introduction and notes AND in MINT CONDITION!!! It might be said that my resultant breathlessness might have been due to the moldy nature of the shop and my asthma but I say it was due to this serendipitous discovery. Yes, serendipity it was for sure. In this happy state of mind, I moved to the section on philosophy. Found a book on Marx and Engels. It's a good thing none of my sisters were around to admonish me against making a whole library of books about these men. :P Anyhow, it was that same state of euphoria that led me to the Urdu book section. I was looking for nothing in particular. Then Manto and Qudsia and Ashfaq Ahmed passed through my mind. I was looking here and there at nothing in particular when I just had a glimpse of a red cover (talk about seeing red) and something really interesting written on it. I couldn't believe my eyes. I took out the book from the shelf, had a closer look at it to make sure that what I'd read was correct. Hahah! Palwashay was the name of the book. It's a most funny coincidence. Not because the book isn't good but because I never thought I'd find a book that carried my name. It was a Pushto translation of the famous collection of poems by Iqbal called Bal-e-Jibreel. So, I added it to my shopping cart and thus my happy adventures at the bookshop come to an end. And all these books for just Rs. 600. Even though, as a student and non-paid worker, I find this a bit too much but well! It's better than when I used to get a lot less books at my father's expense for a lot more money. (The bills always amounted to more than 10, 000 or so at a time). As for myself, I can't even afford to go to those shops anymore. (: It's funny in retrospect but it makes me happy because you can never get first or rare editions from the big expensive shops. After that we headed to this place where they sell this sweetened milk, which is super cooled. I'd never had a taste of that before but the cousins insisted. I must admit it was refreshing but still too sweet for my taste. On we went with our universal search for ice-cream all the way back to Hayatabad, at long last we did get ice cream but not exactly the flavors we were looking for. Yeah, I know, this is not a matter of worldly importance but it was just something normal in such a long time that it seems significant. And mostly because I felt like an alien who is being shown around the earth. Finally found an open video rental in Hayatabad (will be writing about that one of these days) and rented a dvd, which had 5 movies on it. I was feeling lucky about it but when I played it later in the evening, I was disappointed. Camera prints! Pirated crap. That's what we pay for in my lovely country. *laughs* But I watched all of them or let's say most of them.

1. Creep (stupid movie, no storyline, only watch if you want to finally make up your mind about committing suicide)
2. Constantine (didn't look anything like the comic. Hello! Constantine is Mick Jagger! So where in the bloody hell does Keanu Reeves look like Mick? So as an adaptation of a comicbook, it was a horror! The soundtrack on the other hand sounded nice.)
3. The Pacifier (this is for kids: not older than 5 or 7. Or retards! Sorry that's politically incorrect, but seeing that those were the people who wrote, directed and produced the movie, it should be watched by the same kind as well)
4. Diary of a Mad Black Woman (if you want to get diabetes, it's better you watch this movie otherwise, totally skip it. Goodness! The dialogues made me want to puke: Knight in shining what??? I'm not cynical, I like those goofy love stories, where I can sometimes shed a few tears as well but this? OH MY GOD! It's better to watch an Indian movie or soap rather than watch this movie. Huh! At least one gets to see hot desi chicks {I know I'm politcally incorrect this morning :D}.)
5. Hitch (Now here's a movie that I might like. I have to get the master print to watch this one. Seems like a good one!)

There! That's all out. Whatever I actually wanted to say has as usual been lost in this flood of foolish words. Just wanted to say that nowadays, I laugh a lot. It's not like the pretention of old days (few months back? a year back? two, maybe three years...?). It makes me feel amazing. It makes me feel young. Not young by a couple of years. Not young like I'm 20. Not even young like I'm a teenager. It makes me feel like a child. Free of cares and I'm loving it so much but at the same time I'm afraid that I might lose it. This brings back my gone-before-time youth. It's not as if I am old in the sense of being aged. Or maybe I even am but leaving that aside, what makes one young? It's the feelings. Or it's the need to feel feelings. It's the need to laugh like a fool over nothing and everything. To giggle uncontrollably. To be mad without a reason. Not mad as in worthy of being committed to an asylum but mad as in ready to do anything. Let it be the most non-sensical thing. It's the whimsy, the capriciousness. It's the flying in the air. The freedom of thought. Yes, it's the laughter of freedom. Free happiness. It inspired me. It made me want to write again. Something fresh and beautiful. Not about sadness and loss but about being. About moments. I don't know what I'm saying and I don't want to know. I want it to be like that. Peaceful and happy. I wonder if the end is near.

Returning to the Garden of Eros

I think I'm getting better. Healing myself or maybe there's someone or something that's healing me. Then again I wonder if it's healing or an illusion of that? I have been sick for a while now. Getting better always takes time but it also means to leave everything. It means time away from friends, from things that I liked to do usually like photography or painting or just lying down for a rest. Now I'm always sleepless. There's always a storm in my soul nowadays. Or let's say in the past few months but it seems to be subsiding now. Can I say now that I am getting better? That I am getting back to life. Am I in contact with a human being or is it just a dead person like me? Can I have life back into this body? I keep wondering. I think so much it gives me a headache. Then I get feverish all over again. How the rest of my life is going to be effected by that is yet to be seen but it has put strains on my relations with others. On top of that is all the stagnation that plagues Peshawar. At times like these it gets to me in the worst fashion. Am I sick only in the head or is it really a bodily ailment? Heart disease eating the mind? (: I wonder. But I'm getting better and I have to see how long it will last. Can it last forever? This comfort. I have been digging a trench of hate and now when I look over my shoulder I see a mound of love. Could it be love? Or is this mound just a grave for the body of love. I don't know. I think about God. Do I love You God? Do I? I don't know. I have claimed love in the past. So many times, for so many people. Friends, family, earth, this cause or that. But do I love You? What have I ever done for Your love? What have I given in the way of Your love God? I don't know. I am thinking.

What profit if this scientific age
Burst through our gates with all its retinue
Of modern miracles! Can it assuage
One lover’s breaking heart? what can it do
To make one life more beautiful, one day
More god-like in its period? ...

Garden of Eros by Oscar Wilde