I’m Malala?

I am sure most of you have heard about the brutality Malala Yousafzai went through recently. For those who don’t know, she’s a teenager from oppressed Swat Valley, Pakistan. She was awarded the National Peace award for Youth.

Malala among her female companions was shot by member of Taliban for she’s committed the grave sin of speaking her mind; she used to write blogs for BBC about her life under Taliban rule. In her blogs she advocated for girls’ education and women rights.

“This is disgusting they shot a child because she wants her rights?” I complained to my friend Ali

“I don’t like people who complain” he coolly points it out for the hundredth time using his as-a-matter-of-fact tone (well, we were chatting but I can still tell his tone, perks of being childhood best friends)

“Pakistan needs a major sanitization, it is filled with pricks!” I continue to blabber my frustration out

“Let’s go to Swat and preach there; you and me?” he quips

“What? So, they shoot us too?” I fire back

“So, you are scared to die?” he interrogates

“Hell, yes I am” I admit shamelessly

“Then don’t complain”

Yes, a Royal shut up followed.

And it got me thinking how this little girl had so much of courage at this tender age to fight for her right. It is so easy for people like me who are living in their cocoon to protest against the government at the slightest thing that goes wrong, but make zilch physical efforts to do something about it.

I came across a post reading “I’m Malala, I’m Pakistan” and to think about it now I am indeed a part of Pakistan, a part which lives comfortably and fights prejudices in a cushioned zone of her own, but I’m not Malala. I don’t possess her courage, to live between the wild and provoke them. That requires courage. Applaud for this little girl and people who protect and supported her.

This is not a heartbreak; this is a heart failure

I recently encouraged my friend who is going through a heartache to write her feelings down, my efforts brought out some touching wordings (yes, my friend bled her heart out) Enjoy xx

"Whoever's going to read this will probably think that this love destroyed my life, but it is very probable that by the time you get to read this, I will be over that person, and I wouldn't even remember half of the things I'm feeling now, but until then, I will not stop writing, I will not reread the lines, and I will not edit, until I feel that every little shred of emotion my 

alcohol sunken heart is feeling now is shared with this blank page.

This is not a heartbreak.

You need to with someone to get heartbroken; you need a break up. She didn't even grant me that. Fuck closure, I didn’t even get a beginning.

I'm the girl with the umbrella when the newscaster predicts clear skies, I am the person building a bomb shelter during peace time; I over prepare for love. No, I am not being your average pathetic, heart-broken girl who is so in love with that one person that she would blame herself for everything that went wrong. It was in fact, no doubt, my fault.

All I wanted is to be allowed to love her, to adore her, to blow rose petals on her soft, creamy 

skin, to stare into her blank eyes, with a few words and a bottle of white wine between us.

All I wanted to do is lay naked with her, leave my weightless fingerprints on her pearly sides. Typing this down sounds ridiculously mundane for someone like me, I despise romance, I despise the effort people put into romanticizing things that look blank and ridiculous to an outsider.  

How many times I've heard Robert Plant singing "if the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you" in my head while thinking about her.

This is a heart failure.

I was ridiculous!!! So ridiculous and so delusional. At first I was me; logical and sensible. I knew what it was and didn't ask for more, but it wasn't long before my tiny frontal lobe started wandering off with silly ideas. Her frontal lobe is much bigger, I give her that; she thinks logically, she doesn’t follow silly impulses; she's cold, and strong and so beautiful…

Oh the times I've tried to analyze this, to use the reason I throw in people's faces when discussing religion or politics, the same reason I've used in my previous relationships that began and ended on my terms. But not this one, this woman has left me Dazed and Confused, Trampled Underfoot, and every other Led Zeppelin song title… She was the reasonable one;she was the Black Magic Woman

I got exactly what I've been looking for; I was so tired of sweet, emotionally stable people, I wanted mystery, unavailability and firmness. She was all that, but it backfired and blew up in my naïve face.

Whoever's reading this, I will not go into details of what took place and what lead to my current state because you will not understand it, and frankly I don't want to embarrass myself even more.

Song is over, thought I'd have something more to say"

I am a woman. Jewel me Not.

“A woman is like a jewel, she needs protection from thugs”

So you agree? If, yes then think again and question.

When was the last time you saw a jewel walk, talk, laugh, breath? Or it felt something?

I find it amusing when women are referred to as precious as jewels; it is like saying we carry you on because you are a good cry for publicity.

Women are human beings and they have the right to speak, write, wear, breath, study, in short do-what-ever-the-f*** they want to. Don’t compare them with shiny objects you keep in your vaults, they are here to live like any other being.

Broadcast wisely, Crackberrians.

Do you love me? If you do, then stop for a second and forward this to at least 10 people in your Blackberry Messenger list and prove your love for me.

Sounds out of context, aye?

Now how about we go back and take a moment to think about and appreciate the entire patient race that has suffered million time from religious the “Broadcast-fit”.

First it was emails, text messages, then social websites and now the abuse of your BBM service.

Here’s a munched shot to explain my current state (a picture says a thousand words, they say?)

Another broadcast I received some days back read (and I couldn’t have said it any better myself), “I am sorry that someone broke your heart. But you are subscribed to blackberry service and not a therapist” 

Ta-da ~

Marriage Mania (Tick Tock)

I’m turning a quarter century old in a months’ time, for my friends it is just another reason to celebrate and for my family my biological clock couldn’t be ticking any faster.

I hail from Lahore, Pakistan. My city has nothing to do with the thinking of my family, it is more of a social pressure aroused by old long lost traditions which everyone complains about but does nothing to put a full stop to.

Most of my cousins were married at the tender age of 18 or 19. I’m one of the mutated cases, who have managed to hit 25 without a kid or two. Two years back I was asked by a bride, “Don’t you feel like getting married?” My reply was, “Um, No marriage comes with a lot of long terms side effects”. After a nervous laugh the bride was lost in her deep thoughts.

I find it unfair that a girl is pushed down the road of commitment at such a young age (a common thing in South-East Asia). Before they learn know themselves they find them-self moulding to the ways of others.

Getting back to me, besides me risking the golden opportunity of motherhood, I’m flawed. I don’t know how to cook, clean, sew, or any of the skills that a perfect bride is expected to know. In addition to the list i speak my mind, i don’t like depending on people and I’m not afraid to pick an argument. Oh, boy I’m doomed and I’m going to end up getting beaten up by my husband if I were not to change my ways.

Another thing that I constantly hear is that they wish for me to find somebody who would understand me. You see after preaching fails, prayers are all they can give. I don’t understand why people find it so hard to believe that you can be happy & content without “someone special” in your life. Why are we always tying the idea of happiness with romance? Maybe, it’s hard for us Disney-Bollywood affiliated society to separate the two concepts.

To me happiness (currently) is getting a tan and perm, “No no no no beta (child) do whatever you want to after you get married”, responds my horrified aunt.

Horrified? Oh yeah, didn’t I mention being tanned is another reason my biological clock is going to tick longer than it is supposed to (since marriage is supposedly easy for girls who are “fair & lovely”)

Doctors to be or Butchers ?

I have been maintaining my silence over this issue for some time now. Rapidly, I’ve been coming across a “cool-trend” (or so they think) to be found in Medical students.

It all started a few hours ago when I received an inbox message on my Facebook account from an old colleague (Note: He’s currently a medical student). And out of curiosity i just clicked on his profile and RIGHT THERE lays a man cut open by Doctors and his gang of students on the Cover picture.

I felt highly disturbed and disgusted by the act of it. My initial thoughts were what are we becoming doctors or butchers? Since when is this a victory to gloat about? How are their seniors even allowing them to take such shots in the first place? I would like to quote Abdul Sattar Edhi, “We have become educated but not human”.

I always have a very high regard for doctors. To me they are heroes, who fight to save the mankind. And this increasingly “modeling” trend to be found in the future doctors just portray them as those ‘Hunters with their helpless kill’.

The world is losing its human side. Remember the time when we criticize journalists for splashing dead bodies over the news? They do so because “Drama sells”, but what exactly are these new army of doctors trying to sell? Probably attracting future patients? “Oh, please come to us we are going to cut you open and allow our students to pose with you like you are our kill?”

Pathetic.