Mehreen A. Kasana is an enchanting enigma, who has built a cult doodle-obsessed following on her blog and is now the epicenter of quite a few troll’s jealousy.
She often conducts doodle-prized competitions on Twitter @mehreenkasana to increase her followers, bribe policemen with lusty doodles and charms her lesbian professors with big bossomed doodlettes to get out of midterms.
Doodle-making is hard work, I tell you! So don't underrate her 'naik niyyat' of balancing this country on a doodle-happy equilibrium, even with a Zardari residing in it.
Reading twitters of everyone begging her of a doodle-this or a doodle-that, I thought, I'd be generous and bestow her with a doodle of her own!
So, here comes the greatest piece of art since Michelangelo's Lisa .....
P.S. I know it's nothing compared to Kasana's doodles, but as I said, doodle-making is hard work and I found out that I certainly don't have much patience for it!
Life is like a game of Minesweeper. There are boxes where you know there is a bomb and you can calculate your steps and move safely around it, but at some points, there is no choice except to take the risk and gamble your whole game and statistics on that one click.
At certain reckless moments, when you just click around randomly, you do make blunders and lose games; those losses could have been avoided had you practiced restraint and care. It sometimes leads to a twinge of regret too.
Victory is always sweet, even if you didn’t break the time record.
But one thing to note is that whether you win or lose the game, you always have to start anew to carry on. It is a clean slate after every ending; the winnings of one game do not carry forward to compensate for the losses of another. You can either stop after that game and shut down the laptop, or you can play more games and better your overall statistics. The choice is all yours!
The three tools that are the basis of human survival in the social enigma of Planet Earth are: freedom of choice, freedom of expression and freedom of movement.
Applying that to the women of Pakistan, you would be amazed that that specie still survives despite it being deprived of all three:
For instance, women are not given the choice of not wanting to cook or be a house maker. They are judged by the roundness of their rotis, rather than the soundness of their degrees. They are told to study a certain subjects because that will ultimately lead to respectable professions, which are not chosen by their earning value but by their ability to attract acceptable proposals for marriage. They have to get married at a certain age, have a baby before the first wedding anniversary and to keep deliberating until a male heir is produced.
A girl is often told off by her elders for being too loud or for dressing in any way that is not acceptable by the social norms. A tomboy-ish attitude is the bane of mothers. Girls are not allowed to express about what they want in their spouses. They are told to accept whatever is given to them, and to say yes to whatever their husbands tell them. Major household decisions, and at times, even the minor ones are not allowed to be taken by women, who are repeatedly told how dumb they are.
Lack of development in adequate public transport systems and harassment in public dealing due to high levels of illiteracy are some of the factors which add to the mental slavery of the women of our country.
They need to ask permission for stepping out of the house, from their parents, husband or the in-laws, till the last day of their existence in the country. These authorities also have to approve the type and degree of clothing worn during the time spent outside the confines of their homes. In 95% of the cases, women are not allowed to venture out on their own, lest they be termed an awaragard. They need to be escorted by a male member, on in extreme cases, a trustworthy (read: married and older in relative age) woman or two.
Places like a car repair shop, a plumber’s workshop or a hardware shop is considered off limits for the fairer sex. They have to beg the male counterparts in their lives if anything is needed in that department.
This inhumane level of dependency of a woman, on the moods of a typical Pakistani man leads to high levels of non-productivity by a major chunk of the population. Not only do women find themselves invalid, it adds burden on the male section of the society who has to be available for their women and their homes at all times. With a whole lot of unskilled labor and brain drainage due to degrees only for dhang ka rishta, no wonder that the International Mental Health Day celebrated on 10th October 2010 emphasized upon the rising ratio of mental disorders in Pakistani women, denial and lack of treatment of which is another case study in itself.
So when I failed my CFA Level 1 exams, on top of an abysmal academic year, which was a new experience for me, I didn't have the guts to admit my failures to my mom over long-distance telephone. Thus, I lied to everyone and said I've passed. Me being super-emotional (still am) and righteous (not anymore), felt extremely guilty and came up with this extremely corny urdu poem on 8th February 2009:
Khuhsiyon ki chah may jhoot ka jaal bichaya tha
Uss jhoot ko sach bananay may aik jhoot aur bataya tha
Tanhai kay unn pallon may aik aansu aur bahaya tha
Phir khud hi apni aasteen se, chehray se ussay hataya tha
Gunahon ki daldal may paiyr kuch aur dhansaya tha
Shaitaan kay perokaaron may naam apna kerwaya tha
Aagay qadam barhatay thay tu peechay hotay jatay thay
Nakaami kay aisay mor per aansu bhi kho jatay thay
Rangeen logon kay railay may tanhai ne saalum nigla tha
Zubaan tu saaf hui, per munafqat ka jhamela tha
Aaj jo qalam pakra, lafzon ne bair baandh lia
Jaisay hi dil azaad hua, khawahishon ne munh mor lia
Kuch paanay ki raah may kuch chahnay say bi haath dhoya tha
Jaisay khizaan kay nangay darakhto ka meri khirki per saaya tha
Jahan waqt aik qeemti sarmaya tha
Pura saal aik kursi pe jhooltay ganwaya tha
Ab khuda se yehi hai guzarish
Aqal, hidayat, seedha rasata, taufeeq ki ho baarish.
P.S. Kindly do not judge me on this. I'm not the same person anymore!
P.S.S. Everyone still thinks I cleared my CFA Level 1 and are baffled at why I'm not studying further.
Another bundle of quotations that I found scribbled here and there in my papers. They might have meant something at that time. For now, they are just old memories and meaningless words. Nonetheless, here they are:
Deeper natures never forget themselves and never become something other than they were ~ Kierkegaard
Music should strike fire from the heart of man, and bring tears from the eyes of a woman ~ Ludwig Van Beethoven.
If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for passionate sense of potential – for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints; possibility never ~ Kierkegaard
I know I promised of regularity but then I realised that you are just a mere blog afterall. If Zardari can get away with so much moolah, I can turn 180 degrees on my measley, half-hearted promise too, and nobody would be any the wiser.
In direct, clear words: Stop nagging the hell out of me! I would post something when I really really have to. Just because I have a blog and I have a couple of posts all written and edited in my mind, does not mean that I would actually make the effort of publishing it online. I am not going to apologize for my procrastinating laziness.
So, I'd see you next time I'm suffocating of boredom, and not a moment sooner.
When an ex-rebound fling of mine (with whom I have to precariously manage a platonic relationship with, due to numerous reasons) text me out of the blue and tell me I resemble a pornstar (Eva Angelina), is it justice enough that I crush his balls with a nutcracker?
I just spent the whole of the last hour watching a classmate-from-school's friend's husband's random videos!
P.S. Have you noticed how facebook is now compacting the notifications. Like, if five people have commented on the same friend's status updates, it's going to come up as one notification. I don't like that. Having double digit notifications made me feel good at the end of a tiring day!
I am such a sucker for horoscopes. Its the first thing I look for, in a newspaper or a magazine. While browsing www.msn.com, www.msn.co.uk, www.horoscopes.com, I read all my daily, weekly, monthly, career, money horoscopes. And then the chinese horoscopes (I'm a rabbit) and Numerology (Number 5). In recent times, I have stopped reading Love horoscopes (because for me, they are totally irrelevant), Tarot card readings (because they look a bit fluke-y to me) and Teen horoscopes (because I'm not a teen anymore *sob sob*). The start of any new month is exciting for me for hopes of interesting times, change of weather, new birthdays , pay day, but especially because the new monthly horoscopes would be updated (pathetic, na?)
My most favorite horoscopes were published in the London Paper, which was a free evening paper that I used to grab from the guy outside London Bridge Underground Station on my way back from university. Sadly, London Paper couldn't fight the Recession and had to eventually wind up.
However, the most interesting fact is that the minute I log off these horoscope webpages or turn over the pages in the newspapers/magazines, I forget what the horoscope said and carry on. For the life of me, I never remember a word of any of the forecasts that I read.
Yesterday, Xeb talked about embedded patriotism and how her parents decided to stay back in Pakistan, when all around them people were flocking to Canada. This made me think back to the beginning of this decade when my parents didn't take the plunge to shift over either. I wished the reason behind it was patriotism too.
It was not. It was indecisiveness, and ego fusses over petty issues. They still haven't decided.
Here's a toast to 25 years of non-stop bickerings, moodswings, constant shouting, ego maniac-ism, control freakishness and lack of trust. I wish I could have brought you a cake and pretty cards and gifts for your Silver Jubilee Anniversary this October. But you guys just make it too hard for me to dine with you.
Yeah, thats why I have been eating alone for the past 10 months. I didn't want to be impolite and tell you on your face that eating with you guys, or even being in the same room, is a torturous experience.
Have you noticed how most of the women in Pakistan have what might be considered the 'appropriate' hair length?
Fashion trends in Pakistan are constant-er than the constant in Dot Physics, including hair length. Short hair are a big no-no in the monochromatic fashion-dom of Pakistan. However, gone are the days when it was considered criminal (with a good dollop of superstitions) to see a girl's hair being snipped off with a pair of scissors. The midway consensus is, i guess, the 'boob length'.
Its strange when so-called fashionistas try to cover up their lack of dopattas by splaying their hair all over the front of their kurtas.
On the contrary, they might be doing so to attract attention to their curves. An example of this might be an episode of Mathira's late night show on Vibe TV, where a pervert asked her to take her hair away from her front, so that he could feast his eyes.
Whatchya say to that: is it their notion of modesty or are they trying to divert attention in a subtle manner, to their assets?
I have been thinking of starting to post again, but I'm still in the process of convincing myself. I have a barrage of excuses with which I have deluded myself that I need an expert help on tweaking my blog page.
I want to divorce the Kay of me from the cursed Tee-ness. Atleast for my blog.
One thing that I do regret is posting my link in other people's blog's comment section, so that they might accidentally come back to read me (no matter how lame it might be). This blog is extremely private and I don't want anyone to lay their eyes upon it *filmy ishtyle*
I have loads of retrospective posts and updates to do. Hopefully will catch up if mood be! The moodswings are my Lord!
Yesterday was seriously bad! With 8 bomb blasts in beloved Lahore, everyone was scared to death! When bombs start blowing right up your backyard, there is no other way than becoming a scared piece of whimpering shit!
Today was a befitting aftermath: deserted roads and a lifeless Lahore. The terrorists got what they wanted. Crippling local economy, sucking the soul of the city, they must be feeling like Gods after seeing the panic and fear last night! There must a million other avenues these blasts must have affected, directly and indirectly, but I was thinking of those petty theives who earn up their 'dihaaris' in the evenings when the eating-out and shugal mela that is the cultural identity of Lahore, is at its peak!
These sneaks are as much a part of our culture as eating out. Subconsciously, one is trained not to flast their Iphones in public, or open up your window when talking on a cellphone at a traffic signal. Tidbits like leaving your wallet in plain view in a locked car or travelling alone(especially if you are a girl) with cash, is a big NO NO!!!
When panic such as yesterday's, result in people sucking up their lollipops in their houses and barren bazaars, how do these 'thugs' survive? Do they starve in their homes as well? Are they among the unfortunates blown up too? Are they as against terrorism on the major level as the next door plumber, given that they use the same tactics on a smaller scale to earn their 'livelihood'? Does attacks like these make them question their scruples and cook up some morals in them too? Would there be conflict of interests if their was one big trade unions of terrorists in all categories? Would minority rights be protected in the face of jack-assing international terrorism?
When winters are like bygone dreams of a past era and you've got nothing better to do on lazy Sunday mornings than painting your nails, you take greats pains to get the desired results. 3 to 4 layers of Dry Martini By MAC; several minutes of paitence and blows to let the layers dry and then painting li'll red hearts on them, using No 7 polish and a pointed toothpick. I couldn't paint them on my right hand because my lefty aint as stable as I'd want it to.
Apologies for the bad quality of the photographs though! *coffee cheers*
Pappu is a nine year old from slums of Orangi Town, Karachi. He belongs to a lower class family. His father is a riskshaw driver and mother stitches clothes for some extra money.
His favorite pastimes include spending time outdoors with his friends playing Qanchay (marbles), Patti (foosball) and Dabbu (carom board). He also loves to scare cats and pick up fights. He is a smart child but his future seems bleak because he is not getting any kind of direction at all right now.
He is smart; has a potential, will be a responsible member of the community.
But sadly, the way he is going on, he is going nowhere.
Pappu represents the underprivileged children belonging to low key areas of Karachi.
They could be responsible members of the community when they grow up but the path that they are taking would take their potential to waste and make them a liability to the society we exist in.
Lets help numerous Pappus out there. We can put them in schools and help them mould their lives to the best of their potential. So, Pakistan can also get advantage from them in the long run too. We want to make our society a better place and what better way to do it than educating the underprivileged, whom we know would grow up and be an important part of us. We call this phenomenon, Pappuism.
Help us promote Pappuism. By promoting Pappuism, you would actually be helping pappus to realize their potential and bring forth their talents on the world stage along with them educating their households.
I had to prepare for an exam of chemistry, but I was busy in the mystery, of knowing about Shakuntala's history: why did she wear a tee, and sat beneath the Banyan tree. Dug a moat around the tree and filled it with her pee; then tried to sell it as hot coffee. 24/7 she sucked a toffee, and stuck her chewed gum at the back of her knee. Once,she got her bum stung by a honey bee: cried out loud,"Just look at me" People were like,"oye bibi, "kuch te sharam ker ni" Baffled, I wondered why did we, in the name of help,offered her the house of thee.
I happened to bump into a new blog today the author of whom was as bored as I am and did a Meme as a post. I thought I'd do one too(copy + paste,you know), just to keep my blog breathing. But I couldn't figure out how to sign in to my latest blog. Didn't even remember which email id i was using for this blog, so the fact that I only have a couple of passwords that I keep allocating to all my online stuff, didn't help at all! After trying out all my email IDs, including my mom's, I finally had the sense to click on 'forgot password'. Thus, started the long process of email upon email of account-recovery and password retrieval and warnings of not letting this happen again. Its funny sometimes how these applications (twitter,blogspot,facebook etc) help you with issuing new passwords in such cases and at the same time expecting you to be ethical enough to not do carry on with it if you aren't the intended user.This is what is called "seeing the good in others"! :D Among all this hoopla, my mood changed and now I don't want to do that Meme post. Alternatively, I'm planning to grab my camera (now that i finally have one) and morph this into more of a photo-blog! But, I dont go out much and the place I live in now doesn't have much to be captured in terms of photographs(inside and/or outside).Not as great views as they used to be a decade ago, with all the three-storied cement houses cropping up around us! I'll try anyway.... While I was making random attempts of signing in to this blog, I somehow managed to put two and two together of the username and password of my previous blog! *tch tch at me* I had nothing to contribute there, as I've already proclaimed that blog 'dead'.I didn't feel like playing God and invoking fresh spirits into dead blogs. I would like to link the poem I've posted there as a momento nonetheless:
There's so much random(read: idiotic/spotaneous/silly) poetry that I've construed over the years and left at random places to be picked up by complete strangers,being read and then let them get suspicious about the sanity of the author.LOL.
P.S. Notice how I'm making so many paragraphs today. Feels like my last year in O Levels English! *sigh*
I believe in love the same way I believe in jinns and bhoot.They too, exist even though I havent come across them in my 23 years of breathing on this Planet. Both these things are co-related to faith.
Experiencing them, however, is a totally separate issue and I wouldnt be able to comment on it because I havent been (un)fortunate enough to go through it yet! Awaiting the experience, oh yes, I definately am!
Im currently listening to Piya Dekho Na....from the band Kaavish. I love the timbre of Jaffer Zaidi's voice and the genre that they flex their musical muscles in, is my mainstream 'type'. Previously, I was hooked on their 'Tere Pyar Mein'.They have recently released their long awaited album called 'Gunkali' which is the name of some raag. Their debut single 'Bachpan' has been quite a hit among their avid fans but I havent given it a shot yet. I dont know why, but I'm very apprehensive when it comes to listening to new music, may it be different genres, bands or songs. Im very careful before announcing my loyalties to creative people. And even after I 'like' someone, it is divided on two levels: a) the kind of person they are, and, b) their work. I dont make judgements in conflict of the above mentioned two criteria. Im very unprejudiced as far as that is concerned. Plus, have you ever come across people who study for their exams or write up their thesis glued in to their music or while listening to the radio? you might even be one of them. I, however, cannot multitask in that manner. I can't even concentrate on driving while a radio is blaring next to me with my current favorite score. I get irritated by my limitation at times, but this is just the way I function. Even while writing this blog, which is not equivalent to stating any formulas on metaphysics, I had to pause the 'Uff teri ada' from the new movie of Farhan Akhtar, which is due to be released this Friday, 'Karthik Calling Karthik'.
This is the third time Im embarking on the journey full of pit-holes, called blogging. I hope this time it avoids the inevitable result of deletion. You guys must be wondering why do I keep deleting posts if I want to blog in the first place. There is one simple reason for that: I cant withold privacy when I write. Writing is personal detoxification and it flows at its own pace. I cant decide, propel, accelerate or push it out in a certain, planned way. Thus, when it meanders across unwarranted eyes, it creates hooplas of burnt egos and flaggeration of authority which has resulted in much more than just blog deletions on my part. However, the inconsistent topography of blog-related-fate has not diminshed the 'burning dia' in me of my desire to outpour, yet. Hence, I continue to indulge...
This blog is not about summers or how hot-blooded I am.....its just a random word which from now onwards would be a common adjective to be found dropping from my lips very often. After two years of English summers, Lahori spring does that to you, no doubt! More so if you have oily skin! Aaaahhh, the blissfulness of oily skin deserves a separate post but I think that'll have to wait another couple of months so that I can be extremely passionate about it when I write about it and can divulge the finer aspects of it in greater details. Coming back from London, I tried to arm myself with every possible tool of combating oily skin. From blotting sheets to tea tree oil and setting powder and acid to soak up the sebum, I still cower with the fact that I'd have to make a trip to the b'room every 5 minutes just to make sure I dont look tempting enough for Barack's army to invade for oil reserves.