Feraline

The night of 10th August..

Monday, August 13th, 2007 | Blog | 10 Comments

It was fun. We were all completely drenched from the giant wave and running around all through the show screaming and yelling about tsunamis and phones with salt water in it. People around were looking at us like we were crazy.

I haven’t had that much fun in ages. It was the perfect end for such an enlightening night. Well, it wasn’t really the end of the night but that’s all I am going to blog about.

Dum spiro, spero

Wednesday, July 4th, 2007 | Blog | 7 Comments

What is fear?

The Oxford Dictionary defines fear as an unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm or the likelihood of something unwelcome happening.

How do you define fear? Can you call it the feeling you get when you watch a horror movie and envision the monster coming for you when you lie helpless in bed at night? Is it the feeling you get when you are sitting squeamishly in the hall waiting for your exam results, wondering what lies ahead? Or is it the feeling you get when you realize that everything you have ever worked for, everything you ever wanted and could have in the future lies in the unmerciful hands of fate?

Or is it the feeling that you are loosing everything you ever achieved, everything you may ever in my life achieve, all your dreams, aspirations… everything gone with a blink of the eye?

Fear, I think, should be redefined. What it really means is lack of hope.

I have felt the claws of fear gripping at my neck, gleefully feeling the slow painful beat of my jugular vein against its unrelenting grip, and I have barely made it through, scathed, hurt, broken up, but alive. And with that, I had hope that perhaps the worst is over, the worst is done with and I can go out and smell the sunshine again.

Fear is when there is no hope. And when there is no hope, there is no use of life.

Behind these eyes..

Wednesday, June 13th, 2007 | poetry | 9 Comments

Behind these eyes
I’m alone inside
My broken heart
My soul’s suicide
Behind these eyes
I’m shattered inside
Can’t you see the tears?
Don’t you hear me cry?

The Brilliant Idea

Monday, April 30th, 2007 | mini-story | 7 Comments

The brilliant idea struck him, like most of his brilliant ideas, while he sat stoned in the corner of Ahmed’s oh-so-clean bathroom, blinking stupidly at a cockroach that was making a slow painful journey up the wall in its search for food. A hint of a noise and he knew the sneaky little motherfucker would be gone, in the blink of an eye, like lightening. For some stupid reason, it reminded him of Nisha. Yes, she was an annoyingly quick-witted one, she was. But that didn’t really surprise him. He couldn’t take his mind off her; most things reminded him of Nisha these days.

And that’s when a brilliantly formulated plan just walked into his head, half of it was most surely the pot, the other half his utter lack of sense [or maybe that last swig of vodka]. In any case, he got to his feet in a rather unsteady manner and announced sluggishly to his audience, Ahmed and Maaniu that is, that he was going to write Nisha a letter.

“Dude, you’re nuts!” Ahmed told him in an offhanded manner, crunching biscuit after biscuit of some shit called ‘marie’ or something, watching a game on the TV. He didn’t seem particularly concerned about it. Ahmed was the one closest to being sober.

The biscuits reminded him of Nisha too because her first name was Mariyam. Wait, that was some sort of actress of something. Maybe it was Ibrahim? Nah, it was definitely not Ibrahim. It didn’t matter anyway; the important thing was that it reminded him of her again. Bloody bitch had infested his head!

He walked over to Ahmed’s computer and opened a new notepad file and laid his long fingered hands on the keyboard.

“Uh, where do I start?” He asked stupidly.

“Its usually Dear something,” Ahmed told him expertly as though this was something he did everyday.

“Like Dear Nisha?”

“Whatever you wanna call her!” Ahmed waved his hand around, emphasizing the unimportance of proper naming.

He grinned at his friend’s brilliance and wrote down a few words. He loved how tidy his handwriting looked.

“Tell her you like her tits!” Maaniu called helpfully from somewhere inside the heap of blankets that was Ahmed’s bed.

“Sheesh, how stupid can you get?” Ahmed asked loudly. “That’s sure to piss her off!”

“Well, I don’t get it!” Maaniu argued. “We can tell them that they have pretty eyes and they go off their rocker, but we can’t talk about their tits! That’s like taboo. Why the hell man? Its just physical features, both of them!”

Obviously tired after his little speech, he disappeared into whatever hole he had crawled out of. Ahmed went back to munching his biscuits. He sat for a moment, awash in the glow that comes often when you look at people who are so much stupider than you are. He marveled at his utter superiority over the rest of the male species for a few minutes and then went back to the letter.

* * *

The first thing she did when she came into school was show the piece of paper, or love letter for lack of a better word, to Sheila and Mary.

“Look at this!” She said with a grin, shoving the letter into their hands. The two of them began to read it and Mary soon dissolved into giggles.

“Who the hell wrote this?!” She asked between giggles, “I need to give him an award!”

“A couple of brain cells would suit him well,” She answered in a half agitated tone. “It was Fazal”

“Its sort of adorable in a way you know,” Mary said, cocking her head at the words on the paper. “I mean, you can see he really means what he’s saying,”

“Yes, you think he’s hot, we know, thank you” She snatched the letter out of Mary’s hands. “But I’m not about to let him get away with this! I’m going to confront him!”

“Confront him?” Sheila repeated, looking excited at the idea.

“Yes, I’m gonna go upto him and ask him….”

“…what the hell is the meaning of this?” She bellowed angrily. Fazal was sleeping soundly with his head on his desk. He rubbed his eyes sleepily as he looked up. Nisha shoved the paper under his nose. He gave her a vague smile and took it and gave it a lazy look.

* * *

“What the hell is the meaning of this?”

She was standing surrounded by her friends and who-not. He thought for a moment that he was dreaming. But his dreams are never really this good. And he usually messes up her face in his dreams.

She shoved a piece of paper at him. He smiled and took it. Why the fuck would she give him paper? He had books of his own, and most of the pages were blank anyway. But it was a letter. He couldnt bother reading it so he smiled [as politely as he could] at her again.

“Is this for me?” He asked her sweetly.

“No, that’s the ‘love letter’ you sent me” She said and people around began to giggle. “Is there something wrong with you you crackhead? You dont understand simple english?”

An outburst of laughter this time.

“Love letter!” He repeated stupidly. He looked back at the paper, full of mushy words and such. And the idea that had come to him suddenly came back into his head.

“Tsk, tsk!” He said and started chuckling.

“What in the world is so funny?” Nisha demanded. She seemed to be enjoying herself.

“You’re such an attention whore!” He said, shoving the paper back at her. A collective gasp went through the crowd as he said the ‘W’ word. Nisha’s mouth fell open.

“How dare you!?” She said.

“How dare I?” He said and chuckled. “Nisha, baby, next time you decide to write yourself a letter and say it’s from me, at least try to spell my name right!”

And he was right. It read, in clean print, Fazaeel, not Fazal. And now it was Nisha the crowd was giggling at, she was the one they were taunting, her audacity, her embarrassment. And he watched gleefully as she hung her head in shame and fled.

Revenge is sweet, isn’t it?

The Maldivian (Phallic) Monument

Wednesday, April 18th, 2007 | Blog | 22 Comments

I’m usually a very neutral person on all accounts but sometimes, I find things that truly piss me off.

Like the giant lipstick.

After seeing the tongue-action in maa’s blog I went and had a look at the ‘Tsunami Monument’ myself, and as I stood there staring at the enormous slab of marble and metal, I felt my blood bubbling away.

It has been three years since the Tsunami hit the Maldives, leaving chaos in its wake, leaving so many mourning over those who would never see the sunshine again, and even more estranged with little less than their health as all their earthly possessions. I’ve seen the pictures, the footage, and the real scenes. I’ve seen a mother cradling the corpse of her baby, her expression as blank and dead as the child’s. I’ve seen infants with eyes that were jaded beyond anything you can imagine. I’ve seen an old man and woman wailing over the body of their lithe and strong grown-up children who didn’t survive while they did. I’ve seen children staring with blank eyes at their dead parents….

Three years since all this took place and everyday, they keep saying with sunshiny smiles upon their faces that all those people are being provided shelter and good food and all that jazz. BULLSHIT! We all know they are not! I’m not saying that the Maldivian government can immediately provide all those affected by the disaster with the commodities and luxuries that they may have had before this disaster. I’m saying that they shouldn’t have wasted a rumored three million rufiyaa to build a fucking oversized phallus while there are people living in tin houses with little or none of the accommodative luxuries we usually take for granted. Like a comfortable bed, 24 hour electricity or even proper running water! {The best part is, no one gives a bloody shit about it. Its like living in a grayscale TV sitcom. ‘OKay, they’re in trouble, who cares, people die, people suffer,whoop-de-doo, so what else is new?’}

Is it really that important to build a ‘Monument’ so people can stand and stare at it in awe and remember the natural phenomenon that wiped out a good amount of lives and the mental well-being of a large part of our population when there are children who aren’t being educated in good conditions and people who can’t get a single night’s sleep in peace?

In other countries, the moment even the smallest disaster strikes, everyone is already trying to bring their lives back to normal. Even in a place as close as Malaysia[Check Gwynciar's blog] they do their best to get donations throughout the entire disaster and afterward; they dont just stop after sometime and ignore the people baking themselves to crusts because they dont have shelter. There are people in the Maldives living like refugees, in their own damned country. And instead of trying to create a better living environment for the people who were affected by the Tsunami, our beloved government wastes millions to erect a phallic lipstick on the beach…

Musing Bloggers

Tuesday, April 17th, 2007 | Blog | 13 Comments

I’ve been trying really hard all these days to try to come up with something interesting to blog about but nothing came to mind. And while I mused about this, I found myself asking a question out loud in my head.‘Why do I blog?’ which was answered by a prompt and defensive ‘Because I can!’ So I asked myself another question (less capable of invoking my inbred defensive mechanisms)‘Why do other people blog?’

For some reason, the obvious answer (because they can, hahaha hee hee, hilarious) didn’t come to me. A lot of my blogger friends have told me why they blog. Because they need to release all the pent up anger inside of them. Because they need a place to make anonymous friends and many more reasons like that. But are all bloggers shy, lonely beings who need a keyboard to release their brilliant personalities? I THINK NOT. Are bloggers all angry, frustrated and looking for a chance to beat imaginary people into bloody pulps? I refuse to believe that too. So what’s the answer to my question?

Some one I know once said that bloggers are look-at-me people. Apparently, we are all attention whores.This maybe right in the case of some bloggers (such as yours truly) but I happen to know there are some who are truly looking for anonymity. So it all comes down to one thing. We’re all so different, but we’re all basically looking for the same thing. To be heard. To be appreciated. To make people listen to us. Are we trying to feel important? It doesn’t matter whether what we want is to feel important, have our voices heard, or simply scream ‘YOU SUCK, I DONT’ in a myriad of ways, all bloggers are alike.
 
So why are some bloggers called ‘hardcore’ bloggers? Is it because they write two times a day about important things like politics, religion, sex and such? Is it the amount of comments they get, the number of hits everyday, the time they have been a blogger? Or is it the fluidity of their words, the hilarity of their jokes or the magnificence of their everyday life?

Why does something as anonymous as a bloggers community have this food chain? Why can’t anyone do anything in this world without being judged and compared?

I hate rats!

Monday, March 5th, 2007 | Blog | 5 Comments

I don’t hate rats because of the usual (prejudiced) they are ‘eww’ and ‘hairy’ and all that. I also don’t hate rats because they go scuttling around the house at the wrongest (yes, I realize this isn’t a real word) moments making the baby go crawling after it thinking it’s a funny hairy car either.
The reason why I really truly hate rats is because they have an INSANE LONGING NEED TO CHEW EVERYTHING THEY LAY EYES ON!

The first time a rat ever got into my house as far as I can remember, it decided to make dinner of my left toe! Yes, it BIT MY TOE!

The next time a rat got into my house it made a chew toy out of my favorite pair of heels. Can you see why I hate rats now?

And the last time, which would be yesterday, a rat got into my house and tried to eat my sister’s parrot! Yes, the blind one. The poor thing was sleeping when it came and just bit it! What kind of an animal would bite a poor defenseless blind parrot? (yes, I know, a hungry one, but don’t interrupt the anguished wailing) She was bleeding and squawking in fear and pain. We called dad and he told us how to bandage it and all but I think she’s poisoned. Her leg has turned purple. They’ll probably have to amputate her!!

I hate rats!!! And to think I used to cry when daddy killed the buggers.  I’ll probably still cry if I see that but I wouldn’t be kicking and screaming at him to let it go free anymore. It’ll probably go ahead and chew something else.

Like my turtle!!

I know my turtle lives in a water bowl but a rat might just be stupid enough to jump in there and try to bite his leg too! After all a rat did manage to wriggle its way into my shoe closet…

Excuse me while I go teach my turtle self defense mechanisms.