The story of Mai-Kolachi

I recently had to write a story in 200 words and I wrote this.. granted, in a hurry but later on, I kind of liked what I wrote. 

Once upon a time, at this place where I stand right now, solid ground, I would row my boat down the Arabian Sea, humming the song of *‘Inqilab’ under my breath- my voice blissfully blending with the thrashing water underneath and almost hesitantly, with the lull of the air, whooshing past me. I looked around and saw what others could not see. What the villagers saw as water and but, water all around, I saw as road to a completely different world; beyond.

They saw boats as boats, I saw adventure. They saw fish as fish, I saw trade. They saw you as you and I as I but for me, a different story was strewn across the sky. People would call out my name: “Mai Kolachi, Mai Kolachi, come back, it is getting dark”, they would call, but I would row, row and row. Like a woman on a mission, I would row.

Could they still not see what I saw? I wanted to tell them to stop for a second. I wanted to tell them to put down their hooks and tools, to put down their shoals, their leathers, to come row with me, row along and imagine how it would be, if we pushed, pushed back this part of the sea…  imagine how it would be, to build here a big, big city…

That was once upon a time ago, at this place where I stand right now, solid ground.

*Inqilab is an urdu word for Change.

According to an old legend, Mai- Kolachi was the first of the inhabitants of Karachi who started the first fishing community by the sea

Of hearts, loyalty and trust

Scratch that

Of Friends

I was always a bit of a hermit; easily confused for arrogance, my weariness or neglect rather, to socialize and make friends deluded all but me. Which brings me to how: I was always, always, always looking for me-time.

I was always looking to get away even with that limited number of friends who I loved and trusted and who loved and trusted me – and I shouldn’t take this from them- who bore me, who tolerated me, who took care of my mood swings and childish attitudes and complaints and my constant whining about everywhatever and laughed at all my jokes which laced with sarcasm. I would vanish off for hours without telling anybody; sometimes go hide in the computer lab, just to be alone. I would deliberately walk around the entire place, in the rain with my phone turned off (freshmen year comes to mind!). Funny how I always wanted me-time then.

Funny how I do not want it anymore

I had a flair for drama. I thought me-time was all deep and dark and mysterious and broody and sexy. It was maybe something I did not do deliberately, but I know I did. I wanted to wallow in the darkest moments of self-loathing and self-despair, I did not want to share, I did not want to sit and talk, I wanted to run away, far, far away. When I did talk to someone, it was  always a relief but – and although I don’t think I am a masochist- I never voluntarily talked. I would brood. And brood. And brood. And my idea of funny was dark cynicism which essentially threw stones at the world for just be-ing.

Oh don’t get me wrong. I still throw figurative stones at the world for being but I have come to accept it and I constantly find myself berating the old-me for being such a pain in the freaking arse! I find myself craving for the happy lull of friends around laughing at the fart-sound the couch made when someone sat on it- simply that. I find myself craving to reach out and put my arm around their shoulder in half-a-hug, laughing at something. I find myself needing someone who can sit infront of me so I can be negative and cynical and sarcastic and between all that, a little wise, a little funny, a little insolent. 

The irony of growing up is that you really want to be growing down. You dislike long dupattas (while you made saris out of them in youth), you want to cut your hair shorter and shorter (while longer hair was your ultimate dream as a child)… But I digress.

What I want to say is: I miss my friends. Yes, given that some of them are busy, some moved on, one turned out to be talking behind my back and then denying it (typical of so many girls!), the oldest one “cannot do this anymore” and the more recent one ”cannot do this anymore” either; I don’t know if I miss these friends or just miss friends, period.  

I guess I miss the innocence that friends bring with them; the sense of -in retrospect- gullibility that you can trust them, love them, be loyal to them and they will do all of that in return. I miss the ease with which you can rely on them, just call or message or mail and take up with them where you last left off- even if it was months back or just a day, not to forget their absolute acquiesce of your attitude and your odd sense of social etiquette including but not limited to, eating with your mouth wide open in sophisticated restaurants and talking to salesmen in a very fake but impressive british accent…

I always thought friendship, like love was about sacrifice. Doing things for your friends, being things to your friends… but sometimes I find myself thinking, maybe like all other things in the world, friendship is about selfishness, no different. You are friends for yourself, not the other person. You want more than give, you put conditions and time stamps on your feelings and you are constantly measuring, calculating, counting what you did and what they did and how they disappointed you.. never the other way around. What a scary thought that is.

… So if there were those who ”cannot do this anymore”, maybe it was my fault afterall.

 

 

 

This blog is ofcourse dedicated to F, Y and M.A; always and forever, there :)

Picture credit: beautifulineverything.com

Of late nights, cigarettes and tea

Back in college, every night was a late night, spent sometimes in an air-conditioned computer lab pretending to study or  sitting under a tree, on a wooden bench, pondering over the philosophy of existence, with a malbaro light hanging onto dear life from the two nimbly forefingers which would otherwise be pointing people out and laughing at their immature, obviously juvenile behavior at such a time of the night… Whether or not they were climbing a tree like a monkey is another story…

…criticism of the other and tolerance for, went queerly hand in hand here…

… also went, overdosing on tea, not drugs, sometimes falling asleep on the said bench, unawares, sometimes falling asleep with head onto a friend’s lap, amidst discussions into the epistemological approach towards modernity and post modernism or the loopholes in Descartes‘ ontological argument on the nature of God…forgetting in the morning who had the better argument but does that matter really?

Actually, back in college, every night was an early morning. We wouldn’t get tired of cup of tea after cup of tea till the head started to hum happily, singing songs of spring, asserting that sleep was something you did when you were done with life. We weren’t. And to proof the tea-effect right, we would roam round and round and round the campus, watching the miracles of nature unfold as we roamed: huddle of girls and boys sitting on the grass by the pavement playing hopscotch, sticks and stones or sometimes simultaneously singing out-of-tune lullabies to each other and giggling mischievously (even the boys!)

… another group sitting in a dark corner, cult-worshiping, head bobbing, lap thumping while one of them (the clear leader) plays the guitar with a passion reminiscent of the Zeppelin days, covering songs the likes of Pink Floyd and Coldplay (but, I never heard anyone play Meatloaf, what a pity!) … yet another corner has a couple, a literal ‘couple’ of angry birds demonstrating their anger at each other- rather civilly- by throwing dirty stares at one another, the female bird is the stare-master, hands down… and ofcourse, in contrast to these birds who are in dire need of anger management are the very familiar, the very beloved, love birds unashamedly, unabashedly canoodling away in broad moon-light….

…not to forget, lying squat in the middle of the road, on a speed breaker, a girl; spreadeagled, enjoying the view of the sky while one or two of her friends sit by her side, waiting for the stunt to be over and her philosophical bubble to burst so they could all go have a cup of tea…yet another one…miracles of nature indeed.

And the night goes past like that, without any care or worry. The research paper that had to be written will be written, the project report that had to be analyzed will be analyzed, between tea cups upon tea cups and an occasional indulgence of an extra puff, all the work will be done because the night, my friends is still young and shall remain so…

Infographics 101

If I don’t go through an infographic every day, my day feels strangely incomplete. I absolutely love  them. But beside loving, I think they are extremely useful and prove to be a great tactic for marketing; they demonstrate data in a unique fashion that makes you want to

a) keep referring back to it

b) susbscribe for more and similar like it

c) share

Here is an infographic on how to create infographic of your own. You can try it for your business, for your class project, for your blog or just share.

 

 

Produced by Voltier Creative

Related articles

• The DYI Guide To Infographics [INFOGRAPHIC] (marketingpilgrim.com)

This way or which way?

When I was little I used to scorn and point fingers at my sister for being a dreamer and not a do-er. I used to tell her how she was always planning, how she was always saying she wanted to do something but never really ended up doing it, or stopping in the middle and starting something else, procrastinating, digressing, hopping about, confused, resiliently so but confused… The funny thing is, she turned out to be the focused one with a mission in her head and the road to that mission all smoothly mapped out. Yes, there are bumps in the road but she is well-navigated.  

I find myself wondering whether I am a go-getter or not and If I am a go-getter, what have I ‘got’ uptil now. I have so many dreams, no, I have too many dreams, I want to do too many things at the same time so much so that I cannot possibly fit them all in together, so much so that I haven’t yet been able to realize even one of them. I get these out of the world ideas on what I want to do, then what I need to do pops in and tramples over the want screaming ‘think about the need, think about the need‘ but just then, another want jumps in, starting to prick at me like a strategically placed itch making me relent to the notion that I just might be confused. (which I am not).

I used to think that if you didn’t have a passion for anything, life would be useless. Passion for something, anything at all, even collecting stamps or watching birds (although that sounds awefully boring) gives your life an existential meaning like nothing else can. I have passions. Maybe too many. And instead of giving meaning to my life, they have turned it a bit topsy-turvy, swaying this-a-way and that-a-way, hypnotizing me, being a honest-to-God pain in the ass, if you may.

I cannot prioritize, I can not put them on a queue, I cannot choose one over another. I try everyday to make a connection between the many different roads that I want to take and sometimes, I really feel I am getting there but most times it is very difficult to find common grounds between so many, many things I would love to do- how narrower and narrower the ‘common space’ becomes as other ideas make entry. Lets just say you do not want to be in my head right now..

Maybe I need to separate love from like, dreams from fantasies, need from want, plausible from the less plausible and so on. Instead of freedom, maybe I need restrictions, limitations, boundaries, more boundaries.

But I still cannot help but think (read: dream) how perfect life would be if it were timeless. I could do anything: If not this, then this, or this or this; or even better, I could do this and this and this and this.