Becoming Immortals

Chapter 19.

The 29 People

What a ride it's been. You know, no matter how hard I try to be sad about things (depressed hungry artist - not a role that requires the LEAST dedication in the world), I keep gravitating towards creative COLLABORATIVE artistic endeavours involving so many wonderful people that it actually makes it hell easy to stop thinking about your own problems and start wondering about how good others have it.

They're not one and the same thoughts. They really aren't.

I think I'm the only person I know who's mastered the art of ignoring himself. It doesn't phase me as much as it does others seeing ME on tv. Just do something weird and wait for a camera to show up I say. And seeing as this here is a man who recently ingested cherry lip balm and once sprayed Hugo Boss into his throat to make his friends laugh while he secretly cried on the inside, I don't see why my friends are at all surprised that someone did a piece on me for local television.

Unless they're wondering how it's a report on something thats actually worth their while...and not something like eating a fingertip full of cocoa butter.

Which I ALSO did just recently.

And no, it doesn't actually TASTE of cocoa.

I was talking to a friend just a while ago. "We shoulda caught up some more man. It's a shame you're famous and have to travel around."

Famous? Yea man...it's a shame most of that travelling's done in a fucking TRAIN too.

Yes, Razzle Dazzle Em' folks...and they'll make you a star. But as soon as the lights go out and you hang up the pants, you find yourself, early the next evening, not being able to keep your balance in a loud rattling metal box on rails, bumping shoulders with a man called Altaf Hussain (and no not THAT Altaf Hussain. False prophets don't travel by train) while he harasses you to buy some dinner off him, claiming he's the absolute highest authority of the train's FOOD AND DINING DEPARTMENT.


Which, incidentally, two carts down, is just ANOTHER loud rattling metal box on rails. But this one has a stove. Gas operated. Smart.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Not that you'd know, but this was a bit from the train ride BACK from Lahore. Not TO Lahore (Yes, I travel in STYLE), and even THAT'S getting ahead of myself. Let's start here.

About a year ago, a production company led by a very headstrong woman decided to put up the broadway musical CHICAGO, for Karachi City. Using live mics and a kickass band, the show broke pretty much every production benchmark in this country's history, not only in terms of ticket sales and popular success, but in terms of the level of sound and lighting work that went into it's execution, a theatrical play had never been worked on to such an extent in Pakistan. This later resulted in wild acts of jealousy from traditional old men who wear diapers and touch themselves while reading urdu literature. I mean, I'm all FOR maintaining your national identity, but it's clear to me now that FANATICAL EXTREMISM is not an issue related solely to RELIGION.

I was a part of the production. Played one of the acting roles. A lawyer. A man who knows the legal system even better than he knows how to direct a jury's emotions to suit his case. Someone who makes 5 thousand dollars per client (which in the period shown, is a HELL of a lot), and guarantees a win for every case he takes on, as long as it's for a woman.

He's successful, doesn't doubt his skills in life and a real winner. This was going to be a tough role to play.

I went to my friend. A lawyer. Asked him if he could give me some insight on how to approach criminal law.

"First things first. Ya don't take a case you think you'll lose. Don't want that on your record. If there's even a chance you won't win...ya don't take it."

I can do this. I can be a complete dick. If only I can stop thinking about the fate of that hypothetical dude I just threw to the dogs to keep my own record clean. My friend catches me drifting into a very curious state about whether or not that fictitious character I just denied my services to is going to be ok.

He places his hand on my shoulder. "You have NO idea what I do for a living...do you?"

This was REALLY going to be something.

Every play I've ever done, I've tried to take something away from the character I play. Something good. Every play except this one I did in school where I played a TREE. Yes, not too many dimensions to explore there. I was a tree. That spoke, and for some reason everyone else in the play was totally ok with that. It wasn't the most REALISTIC of plays, I promise you. Atleast give me an awesome emotional DEATH scene at the hands of a lumberjack or something. I coulda SHONE that night, MAN! The point was that some school kids go back in time to the land of the dinosaurs, and the ones guiding them through their journey are these 4 talking trees who obviously started telling future generations of seedlings to start keeping their secrets to themselves since trees are just boring as shit nowadays. Seriously, try having a conversation with one of them today. They're always bitching and moaning about the time Farah and Amir carved a badly fashioned heart shape with their initials into their asses using a sharp knife despite the fact that the girl was sucking someone else's dick at the time. Nothing magical, yknow?

...

Anyway.

I feel I didn't do a good job as a lawyer. Sometimes, you just wanna be bland (otherwise known as classy) but then that fat kid with a comedian's disposition deep inside your heart pops out and all hell breaks loose. I was playing this character like a fuckin' schizo on acid. He was never relaxed, or very charming or debonair in any way. He was loud, obnoxious and weird. He would resort to slapstick comedy if it didn't mean falling on the floor in a 1200 dollar suit. I say HE because I really don't think it was me on that stage during the performances. But thanks to a seriously talented bunch of people around me, the show went on to be the biggest thing since talking trees.

Ah rehearsals. Someone recently called me a PROJECT WORKER. One that puts his full focus and attention on a single job and completes it before starting another. I feel I do this so as not to let any distractions taint my passion for the work at hand. But when I truly search my inner soul, I realise it's all for one much larger and more meaningful reason.

I'm lazy.

So obviously, rehearsals being the one thing I DO in a day became my complete routine. Wake up. Grab two beers. Become someone else for a few hours. Easy enough to do. I guess the pay doesn't suck either.

It's a funny thing though, this theatre business. I'm sure there was a time in the history of this country when people got into it just to entertain. But it's fast turning into a proper business. Thank God I'm not yet involved in that aspect of the work. It's hard work selling anything in this world anymore. Especially when it's not a lie. The original plan was to go straight to Lahore with the new run, but during a 4 day festival called The Rafi Peer Festival in the same city, someone with less than 5 friends on FaceBook looked back at his life and wanted to be remembered for a few hours, and decided to blow up a large firecracker in some parking lot, creating a slight scare within the city limits.

The last day of the festival went on regardless. And I hear the turnout was very good.

The man who blew up the firecracker now masturbates at home with other fanatics watching. These men are his four friends on FaceBook.

The show got delayed. And because of another KIND of political mess, the dates promised to my producer by our venue were taken away from us, since someone wanted to use the length of their career in theatre as a force to tip the scales in their favour and perform at the same venue instead of us.

Artistic politics. Error. Does not compute.

But true entertainers never back down from their responsibility to the people. So a plan was executed to create an open air performance stage with audiorium seating from scratch. While this happened...I sat on my seat...and scratched.


I wish this was all good news. But due to the open air venue, and a location partly used for wedding engagements of the worst kind (by which I mean mehndi's hosted by very very rich people), on two of the performance nights, there were mad distracting noises coming from the entire area. The only problem I really had was keeping in rhythm with the band for my songs while a KATAKAT maestro at the back showed exactly where the name of that most delicious dish comes from. Even THAT would've been okay if he would've taken a copy of the script and kept his cooking in time with the songs. But hearing that shit go on in the back made me an even worse and more confused dancer than I usually am, and that COULDN'T be good for future ticket sales. Incidentally, Lahoris call katakat, TAKA TAK, and everytime I asked anyone why, I lost another friend there.


Yes, sectarianism, folks. We beat down religious minorities for so many fucking years that when we became a depressingly predominant Muslim state, we finally ran out of things to bitch or have differences about within ourselves. Hence, TAKA TAK.


So, on that day with the barbecue wedding going on at the back, every single actor and actress went home smelling like Chicken Tikka (Now I feel thats how I like my women). I thought about how long it had been since I had one, as I picked up another cold hard french fry from a little red box with a huge yellow M on it, marinated in my tears, and chewed.


I wonder if they call it fast food for the speed at which they pay off health inspectors to shut them up about how shoddy the preparation of these food items must be. You know you're in trouble when you lift off the top bun of a McDonalds burger, and are now looking at something that looks pretty much the same going INTO you as it would coming out.


Mickey D's. God bless em' for being one of our main sponsors.

Now stop killing people with cholestorol.

Well we finished 9 days in Karachi. After a fun number of mishaps and broken voices, fevers, lost tempers due to other people's stupidity, etc. On the last night, much alcohol was consumed as a celebration. To most of the cast, it was actually MORE booze than they consumed on a daily basis.

Amateurs.

SO! A 3 day break, and then onto the road to take the show to Lahore. Here's where the FUN started. I was now BEYOND broke. Seven days of a city that I don't call home stared me in the face. I opened the dvd case of a film called Suspect Zero, now empty because after 20 minutes I tossed it out the window, realising it would be my new temporary hiding spot for all the cash I've made doing various questionable things on AND off stage over the past 5 years. Which sums up to less than a crooked cop makes in a single night.

One thousand rupees.

It's the last thing I do before leaving the house, grabbing that grand. Before that, packing. Which was shoving 4 shirts, a couple of pants, an insufficient number of clean undies (which I found out in Lahore), toiletries and a tiny Buddha statuette into a bag with a handle and wheels on it. With all due respect, I only buy those whenever I see em' cuz apart from Santa Clause and the Gautama, I've never really seen an overweight man who smiles about his obese condition. Encourages me, so it IS a spiritual thing...fuck off.

Getting to Lahore was more of a chore to the others. I spent most of it dreaming. Despite the advice of people who pretend to care about you, I downed 6 sleeping pills with a beer, because obviously, I'm not able to swallow the pills without a beverage. I woke up conveniently near the time we were supposed to stop at the station.

Rubbed my eyes, checked my breath. Yup...I'd been out a while. I hate those brief moments right after you wake up from a sleep so long Van Winkle would start taking notes, when you don't know if you're hungry or if you gotta go to the bathroom. Lahore was colder than my ex-girlfriend's reaction to ma calls, mates. We loaded ourselves into taxis and reached the Avari.

Ahh, Avari Hotels. God bless em' but could a place be more shady? A place that sells privacy to people from all round, wanting to stop over a few nights and enjoy themselves without having to face the issue of being near any people with decent morals. Long carpeted hallways with the smell of sin creeping out from under each dimly lit doorway you pass in the night. I often took a walk at 2 or 3. The carpet felt nice on my bare feet. It was the closest to any action I got on that trip.

Some people had the energy on the very first morning start exploring, whereas I was aware it's a lot like Karachi only with bigger, louder and slightly more hospitable people. I think day 2 I went to the zoo. It was the only place I'd actually been to a year earlier, during Ramzan, when for some reason even the ANIMALS looked like they were fasting. Especially that crocodile that hadn't moved since I'd seen him a year earlier. I could swear it'd travel a much greater distance in life if someone killed it and turned it into a fucking shoe.

I kept mostly to myself, like I always do. Few people care to join in a conversation I'm having with myself. Although everyone's welcome, and my imaginary friends usually make that very clear. I think people are just racist.

Ah, the Al Hamra. Hall 2. Where decades of classic theatre has thrived in this great city. You could literally smell 7 year old passion off the chairs in the back rows. Wouldn't be surprised if an aunty or two had slipped out a tit or four on this stage. I say tit or four because I've seen a naked Punjabi woman...and that ain't just two tits. I was standing on a damn landmark.

The shows went well. The cheers from the 29 people in the audience proved this. All honesty though, the news that we were in Lahore spread like a gay dude's butt cheeks and by the last 4 nights, the halls were near packed. Lahori audiences are awesome. They're so much louder. And it's so much more fun to make them laugh. One night, after the show during the part where everyone stands around waiting for everyone in the audience to tell them how fucking good they were, an old man stood up and apologised on behalf of his city for the crummy turnout the second day. He said if we had known more about it we woulda been here cuz' the show was so damn awesome. Said he'd IMMEDIATELY go home and tell everyone he knows about it for the coming nights to be more full.

Everyone was happy to hear this. Except for me, who was thinking about how dodgy the word IMMEDIATE even IS to a 70 year old. And how many friends could he possibly have who can even move their hips far enough to get to the theatre?

I'm being mean, but I'm making most of this up.

One of the nights, on our way back to the hotel, I was intercepted by a man who handed me a card and said he was interested in talking to our producers. The largest print on the card said "Famous Singer" then it had what looked like a totally fake ass name alongside it, and a number. I will keep that card forever, for a completely different reason than Famous Singer Imran Tasheel would've wanted me to.

A usual number of bumps and hiccups later, our Lahore run was finally over. In the middle somewhere I came down with a HORRIBLE fever and a cold. I advise anyone falling victim to that most time honoured ailment to not, repeat NOT try having a combination of Chicken McNuggets and horse tranquilizer in an attempt to get better. Although being on the tranq does numb your tongue enough to actually bear the taste of the nuggets. But overall, I give the experience a 12. Don't ask out of a total how many points, but I swear most of the bad things that happened there I probably drank away into a corner in my mind anyway. What do I PERSONALLY remember about the entire time I spent being a part of this thing? Let me tell you:

I met a girl so tiny you'd wonder how her body could contain a heart so big and a mind so developed. On finding out she's in charge of lighting cues, you'd wonder how she'd even reach the control panel in the lighting room that overlooks the stage. It'd become clear when you'd see the five chairs she stacked up together to make a seat high enough to atleast watch what she's doing.

I met a man so convincing as a woman that his real name started sounding like an alias. I almost considered asking him out, but then I remembered the obvious reason I never would. Too tall. *For the sake of the last joke, the writer has accepted any risk of sounding like a homosexual. However, he would like to clarify that he is not. But it IS true that he hasn't been in a fight in a very, VERY long time. Think what you will.*

I met a girl with the voice of a superstar. Laughter came as easy to her as insulting people does to me. Most of the time she wouldn't stop unless people joined her.

I met a man who sings and composes with such fervour, I remembered I had an ego because it stung for the first time in years.

Five musicians did the work of fifty. They;ve been playing their respective instruments so long it was easier for them to make valid points in conversation using a B sharp rather than actual sentences. Masters of their craft, and one of them had the whole idea behind alcohol down PAT.

Women with the voices of angels looked out over me each night of the show. They were dressed to kill, but their songs brought life to the stage.

Mad lights. Wild costumes. Hilarious dialogue. Captivating songs.

I met a woman so beautiful in every way, that a glow came from up top where your forehead's supposed to be. When she screamed, it'd feel like hell not being able to reach her...and dancing with her to me was what swimming in a warm batch of M&M McFlurries is to a fat dude.

I met another man very convincing as a woman. By then I had gotten better at pulling off a MAN's skirt than anyone ever should be. It was a disturbing ice breaker.

I met a man with a heart so broken he'd glue it back together with lies and denial if he could.

I met a girl so driven with passion, she could start thunderstorms with her voice, and her anger could burn holes in the wooden floors we practiced on. When she danced, the human body seemed to make sense again.

I met a girl like a tiny little planet, filled with stories and experiences. So talented she could be headlining in Vegas. Instead she'll just own THIS town.

I met a man so quiet and calm, he reminded me of a slight breeze. I think back now, and realise I've actually had more stirring conversations WITH a slight breeze than I did with this guy.

I met a man who became a very good friend, but I stayed the same. Distant and uncaring. Dodgy and depressed.

I met a man who gives himself even less credit than I give myself. Or HIM for that matter.

I met a girl who could play 3 different characters more easily than I played ONE.

I met a girl even I had to avoid looking at on stage from fear that I might smile and muck up the line right after she shoots me an angry look.

I met a smart man who isn't taken seriously because of his good looks. He complains about it to ME, a man who isn't taken seriously for the exact opposite reason.

I met a man so funny, even I remembered what it was to laugh big.

I met a girl whose eyes show suffering, hidden by a smile so strong the corners of your mouth would reach for your ears without even asking your brain first.

So many people, and I love them all. Though a wise man tells me I use that word way too loosely, and that I've forgotten how to show people affection through kind gestures and the LITTLE things like remembering birthdays and favourite foods anf personal issues they asked for advice on.

So it's nice I suppose, that good people never REALLY die. Maybe I'll get a chance in eternity to show them my gratitude for running into this old man's life.

Y'know most people with a terrible memory have a certain list of the kinds of things they tend to forget. Stuff that would otherwise be very important to NORMAL people, like work deadlines or your grandpa's name.

I have a list. But I know this. People who come together to make miracles come alive on stage, and tell stories of heroes and giants that inspired words and songs being written about them, will NEVER make that list. It's these people I feel honoured to have worked with. It's these people, that through their love, their talent, their dedication, their skill and their intelligence, manage to live many lifetimes in a single one. And in my opinion, that can only be considered as the CLOSEST we've ever gotten, to becoming immortals.

They made life worth living those many months. I advise you to find the ones in your lives too. And disappear in the thought of them, before you find yourself making the very HUMAN mistake of loving one more than the other.

Live forever. All of you. I know you will.

The Public's Face

Chapter 18.

Suffering From An Open Mind

Delusion...its the only way into Glendall. A place where creatures like man have proven they can live in harmony within their different races and cultures. Everything you know around you, is just a little bit better in Glendall.


I went to places like that as a kid. You wouldn't need to actually walk. You can go there any time you like.


I think I used to go there because making up a fictional world of my own was better than living in one created by smart people.

Why aren’t the right things important to us?

Right now, a woman on the BBC is forcing correspondents in India to say that terrorists in different part of the city have taken PARTICULARLY British and American people hostage. She keeps asking each person she speaks with, to first and foremost, if they ever wanna be aired on the BBC, claim that the reason is particularly against what the western world represents. She just needs them to do it for a while…till the west gets bored of the story…taking away just what they heard in the beginning.

That terrorists against the white man are at it somewhere in this world again. Unstable regions.

Somehow, we don’t know who these people are, but hunches from the local police or admins are going for the ol’ Islamic fanatic of course. The footage they keep showing…is of a hundred people looking like they’re crowding the front doors of a hotel in a very disorganized way…but helping some people who’ve been shot in clearly visible spots on their bodies into ambulances.

America and Britain condone.

Now they’re hearing from the British governments. Official statement. We need to kill terrorists. It’s those terrorists again. Extremist stuff goin on there.

A gay looking Indian man is suggested by the reporter to say whatever he’s trying to suggest. It’s that they were looking particularly for whiteskins. He does.

A cop whose been shot is carried away. His arms remind me of a weaker version of mine. And I’m not a cop. Far from it. I’ve had no training either, clearly. He’s acting like he’s on K or something. Look at him.

Ordinarily…I wouldn’t be bothered by anything happening anywhere. But right next to this clearly troubled region that now requires much attention and intervention…is MY country. Our religious people aren’t harmful. They’re like the Amish. They really are.

If there was a camera recording just enough footage before, and its still and ongoing situation….why isn’t there any more footage? What on EARTH is going on?

I’ll tell you.

A bomb went off somewhere in Lahore some days ago. Because of it…my idea of entertaining people was delayed for a month. I’m not happy about this. Because these people…don’t…exist. And they’re STILL winning.

I was wondering what it was, y’know. Why I haven’t felt like I’ve had anything to say for so long. I’ve been thinking way too much. I suppose I felt this as a last resort to say something. The reason I didn’t sooner?

I don’t think it does anything. Speaking out. Writing things in blogs. Marches down a bunch of city blocks. Charity gatherings and functions. Public appeals.

There IS no public in Pakistan anymore. No one sees the kind of horrible FARCE we’re being turned into in the eyes of the world…no one cares. Why should they?

We’re just waiting.

Maybe it takes a hundred people to make us snap. Maybe it takes a thousand. Here’s the idea.

Don’t come into this region.

Behind me, the woman on BBC asks them to please PLEASE say they were particularly looking for people the US and Britain sent here as martyrs.

No. Not martyrs. Diplomats. Whatever.

They still don’t know who’s responsible. The damage has been done though. No one really asks about who the dead were.

No one asks why that police officer looked like the heroin addict he’s supposed to arrest.

No one counts the population in the slums of Mumbai city.

They do this all the time. And we don’t laugh. We never laugh.

They play a game. And the world watches and says, “Wow…I wonder what’s happening inside. I just heard a blast. These damn terrorists.”

No one responsible. No crazy dude sitting on an oil barrel with an uzi in his hand making a cell phone call…talking to someone about what they perhaps even WANT…since as it stands right now…they’re just a bunch of dudes who ran into a hotel, threw some grenades in random places…and shot some people. Now they’re holding them hostage…but as the guy just suggested…even thought they have no idea who it is…they’re probably willing to die.

If I click post on this blog right now…everyone in that hotel will die by the end of this.

But I won’t. I’ll instead hope that I didn’t pass that fine line between mildly amusing and downright BORING and you’re still reading this…long enough for me to ask you…

Someone comes into your house tomorrow morning…and tells you and your family how you’re going to start living all your lives from this moment on. You are to adopt his language…his clothes…his idea of good music…behaviour…food…and law.

He tells you it’s in the interest of letting you be you…only…more FREE.

He’s right.

But he doesn’t say please. Instead he walks right in and starts. So you ask him to leave. And he does. But he doesn’t look right in the eye.

So then he goes and stands outside your window and calls his friends. They make you watch them toss things into and wreck your apartment with various ideas and chemicals and bombs. You throw things back and tell em to piss off as much as you can…but they always come back and wreck your shit more.

Then they offer to clean it up for you. THEIR way.

Would you be weak about it? Or still say no?

I wonder if I’m seeing things that really aren’t happening or just suffering from an open mind. I wonder if we jumped from stereotyping people as terrorists to calling it racism SO quickly…it actually made us OK with what happened in the first place…long as it’s not ALL of us anymore.

2 hours. No idea why the cameras aren’t rolling. Isn’t WORLD news anymore. It’s all we needed. Now they’re reporting a good thing happening in some European country. And now, 25 kids in Nigeria are dead again.

Fine balance.

I don’t know how long it’ll take for the world to feel it’s ok to invade us and start fixing things now…but I just hope someone tells me the plan soon because…I’m not falling for it anymore. These bombs outside the Rafi Peer festival. Something very fishy going on. Truly religious people actually DON’T care if some colourful idiots are dancing somewhere in a stadium.

Apparently…all it takes to create a sense of security is a bunch of cops on a road and NO order this time for a suicide attack…likely plotted by the same people who put those cops there in the first place.

Ah, puppets.

03:51 now. People just wanna know what’s going on. They’ll believe anything they’re told. So it’s Muslim fanatics. Let’s wrap up the day. We don’t know what they want. They just randomly bomb things and kill people. They come from across the border. A little place called Pakistan.

And yet…no one wonders why some people just randomly walked into a situation they have no way of walking out of. Not one witness. Not one phone call. Nothing.

2 of them are dead. By tomorrow…you won’t be keeping up with this news further than the newspaper that gets printed and sent to your own home…tallying correctly with the news on t.v.

Even if these TERRORISTS speak out about what they want…you’ll never know. They’ll be dead by the morning. We’re still hot on the suicide idea.

04:30. Some terrorists have now been arrested and detained. They never want to talk to authority. Why don’t they say something to the public? Saying too much? Police wanna beat the right words out of them? Who ARE they?! Why don’t they want to talk right at the publics face?

I’m pissed enough to wake up and start caring again.

Tell whoever you can. Leave us alone.

Or come get your revolution.

I’m clicking post.

A Few Rehearsals

Chapter 17.

Whoever You Are

I was in a theatrical play a good while ago. It was titled DON QUIXOTE...based on Dale Wasserman's "Man of Le Mancha". It went...well. It was a musical so about half a year ago when I auditioned, I asked if we would be using playback vocals. We weren't. And as far as memory served, I hadn't seen anything like that having been done here before...so...to anyone who knows me well...that was reason enough. You know, show people how it's DONE. We were to perform it at the Arts Council Karachi.


The people I met through the experience were a strange lot. Such good people and so confused as to how a man like me can actually be so loveable yet often behave the way I do. Everyone was wondering if I'll ever even keep in touch. Guess they've heard things about my loner lifestyle.

Anyhow, the show got subjected to reviews. Not PEOPLE reviews. CRITIC reviews. Which seems inevitable though it's never the reason anyone should actually DO something. But I suppose it IS something of a job to give opinions. There were good reviews and bad ones. Particularly from some dude who didn't quite understand why he was being made to cover a play for DAWN that day when he had so much ass out there to chase and never get his hands on. So many parties to attend that he never got invited to. Plus I think the AC went off for a while the night he reviewed. Plus he has a seventeen year old girl's job which perhaps doesn't meet up to all the levels of that wierd trianglular diagram showing different degrees of job satisfaction that they made you memorise in Business Management class for A levels.


Along with myself, one fellow performer, who played the nervous but happy go lucky sidekick Sancho Panza, had the honour of being tested like lab rats for the opening scene where a 30 foot ladder is brought down from the centre of the stage to have US climb down FROM it. I remember telling him, "Dude, if you slip, fall and break your neck, don't worry, I'll improvise.". And despite the whole BREAK A LEG culture, we actually made it down that ladder safe and sound each night. Now the only problem I saw left was that I was on stage in front of complete strangers, and I was wearing a shirt with frills, and lowers that only reached down to my calves, and the entire outfit was made of velvet.


BLUE velvet.


I understood a thing or two about make up as well. Apparently, no matter how talented you are, or no matter how much make up school might have attempted to give your life, often enough you WILL resort to Cherry Blossom's white shoe polish to make people look old. Our incredibly hard working and superbly gifted make up artists, however, didn't want to put that polish on MY hair for some reason...so, naturally, they started slandering huge amounts of the same beige coloured TV STICK make up they applied on my face just minutes before, straight onto my head. I say naturally, because it seemed like they knew exactly what effect they were going for. I tried not to laugh about this. Which was relatively easy when I reminded myself about the clothes I was wearing. It's always funnier on someone else.

There was a line in the play where my character speaks his full name with such pride and conviction, that the higher authority among the prison riff raff is indeed FORCED to reply, "OOOHHHHH...a GENTLEMAN!"

I wanted to say, "Well, more GENTLE than MAN as you can see from my pants.", and then move onto my ACTUAL line...but I didn't. I didn't want to confuse anyone on the very first night.


By the fourth night, my voice was gone. Which is deathly for a person who has to sing about 5 songs during the performance. And reach the back row CLEARLY over the sound of AMPED accoustic guitars and a friggin DHOLAK and some tambourines and clackers. Or clappers, I'm not sure, but if I spend any more time trying to remember what that little thing was called I might turn into a nerd and shoot myself. But it all worked out for the best. After every performance, though I hate the whole MEETING people afterward thing that everyone does, all I could ask any ONE of those many people who came and shook my hand, or patted my back afterward if they were reasonably older than I am, was whether or not the volume of my voice was high enough to reach clearly, whether or not the lyrics were fully understandable, and most of all - whether they were any sort of authority ON this or not - if my singing was any good.


All comments pointed to yes, which was exhilarating, but I can't help but think if it was just that no one really wants to get you down after a performance by raising their palm, tilting it from side to side and saying, "Eeeeeehhhh...there WAS this ONE part....". And if everyone was just in such a fun mood after the thing that they didn't really feel anything was missing. But I trusted them. I'm usually my own worst critic. I downright hate my work...from my writing to my drawing to my acting to my singing. So this time, I just trusted THEM.


The show eventually had a CLOSING night. Not having to go for it's rehearsals or the actual performance the few days after wasn't wierd tho. It was actually VERY relieving. Once that curtain went up each of those five nights...the only thing I had keeping me from passing out was looking into the eyes of people playing characters I had grown to love. Those eyes kept me from losing my balance. From mistrusting the good in this world. From turning into a man called Alonso Quijana. Now...a month I don't meet them...and that's EXACTLY what happens.


I don't do things for the same reasons someone else would do that very thing, you know? When I close my eyes...sometimes...I don't even see black. I don't make money off my art not because I think it corrupts the process, but moreover because I just don't know how. I don't know how to put a price on something you did, since I've only ever done I actually just felt like doing for no reason other than my own spiritual ones. And money never makes it to that VERY exclusive list.


But I'm trying to fix myself. Even if I have to keep coming back to this stupid senseless page to remind myself to CONTINUE fixing myself, I'll do it. But I'm losing too much too fast in my life. And my greatest fear is soon becoming that after a while, I won't really mind losing every single thing I ever had. Because THAT'S what I'll remember my life as BEING. I wonder if we really ever find what we look for in life, or just change what we're looking for so often that we eventually end up telling ourselves we have everything we might ever have wanted.


I'm in another play now. Don't want to jinx it by saying too much. But I will say this. I like acting. It's an escape that cannot be matched by any walk in a forest or even helping a stranger push his car when it stalls. And as of recent, because of something that I intend to explain and post soon, not for you, whoever you are, but so I can find words to describe this madness inside of me, I feel acting is something that just helps me forget who I am. Because the more years of my life that pass, the more I dislike what I'm becoming. I prefer being someone else. Even if it IS for a short while, a number of performances, a few rehearsals.

Five Days

Chapter 16.

By Higher Authority

Something very strange just happened. The birth of a revolution perhaps. When people lose their minds completely and want answers to questions they can't even phrase anymore, they will take to the streets to find them. Shops are shut down all over Karachi and it's very likely that as I type this, many innocent people are becoming the victims of senseless violence and rage running throughout the city. Since no one outside of the political scenario even knows whose blood it is they even WANT to get on their hands anymore...they just want to get away with bloody murder.

The problem, I now feel, with Pakistanis in general...is that they don't know enough to be able to satisfy themselves through rational thinking. Sometimes I fear the problem is that they just don't appreciate people on tv getting away with killing a lot of innocent people, when deep down inside the heart of every true Pakistani, lies a closet killer...I write this because I think it's a sick truth about our people. We aren't uneducated...we aren't indecent...we aren't confused or misled by higher authority...

We're murderers. We LIKE the thought of killing. We're all a sick bunch of killers. And life goes on that way. Whether you're fighting from the provoked end or the end doing the provoking...we all just want in on the killing. People just need something to DO here. Someone fucking help us...get us a few new MALLS or something...more video games...anything. Anything.

When one person dies in this country, the first thought of anyone who knew them is to get blood. Someone's blood. Just anyone. They like the pain inside their hearts to show on the faces of others. Through the scars on old, aging skin and faces which laugh in the face of today's events, because, depressing as it may seem...they've actually seen so much worse.

Yet, life...will go on...the country is falling to pieces...but it's happened so often now it's almost routine. Everyone knows to get into their houses and stay there till the gas pumps around the city open up again...no questions whether it was all made up or not...whether people planned this and blamed it on a religious fanaticism group so that they get rid of a threatening candidate for control of power, ALONG with having just cause to start bombing guilty landlords in the south west. Two birds with one, single, shot from a bullet. So many more people will die...and its going to be treated as normal behaviour of course...just a result of just another famous face being shot to death. Yes, life will go on. Murderers just need a reason to get out of the house and get angry and something. That's all. We prayed for death and destruction, secretly...a guilty pleasure we dare not reveal...and it came in this form this time...but...someone or the other is always MORE affected by the death of someone else aren't they? But it's okay...we shall treat it as just another statistic caused by some made up belief that maniacal mythical bearded men with AK 47s in the north are organised and smart enough to plan and assassinate key political figures in the major cities of the south.

Not to mention that this probably puts a real DAMPER on many upcoming artistic endeavours around the country...because people are too stupid to see that things like music, paints, colours, theatre, and just a little bit of laughter are pretty much the only things that will save us in the eyes of God...if He's even watching over this place anymore of course.

The Pakistan People's Party's hopeful candidate for Prime Minister of Pakistan, Madam Benazir Bhutto, has been shot in the neck, and killed. Rest in peace, dear lady. I can't imagine anyone having done enough evil to deserve death at the hands of a MORTAL judge, but I hope for everyone's sake that your death had some divine role to play in the future of this country.

There's a lot of tension out there tonight, but nothing a few glasses of New Year's booze won't get rid of. This is Pakistan. I give it five days.

Lying Little Fuckers

Chapter 15.

Bombing Our Poor

I was always interested in other cultures. Not particularly to the extent of actually going and VISITING them...because that would require too much time away from my room where I have the unaltered freedom to, at ANY time, lie on the bed completely naked with jello on my balls.

Raspberry...

So I always tried to pay attention whenever they told me about other cultures, yknow? THEY as in anyone, anything and everything. And everyone. Most of it obviously comes from television...so you kind of get used to TRUSTING that the most don't you. And not in the "I AM A MINDLESS MORON (as opposed to the OTHER type of MORON? What does that even MEAN?!?) WHO WILL BELIEVE EVERYTHING I SEE!" kinda way...but more like I will TRUST it to be what it's always promised to be. You know it's a lie when one of the little news scroller at the bottom of some BOOB of an American news channel says some shit like:

BO, MH: WE WILL NOT SUPPORT AMERICAN STRIKES ON TERRORIST CAMPS - Pakistan President Musharraf

Which actually meant Ol' Mushi didn't want em' to start BOMBING our POOR (despite the long term benefits)...yknow...on account that they haven't DONE nothin'. That's ALL he did, folks. He stood up for the poor. Instead they made it sound like as if a terrorist regime that THEY invented...is actually "threatening their country and it's people and their freedoms...and a little ASSHOLE of a country called Pakistan is not letting us bomb shit to get results. Maybe THEY'RE also terrorists." Luckily...our country's last line of defense, the average state ratio of seventeen horny jobless males to each rapidly corrupted female, makes us SUCH a bunch of losers that they don't even want anything to do with the natural gas. OR the marble!


Which...of course are probably the only two half unique things we can call our own NATURAL resources or products or whatever doo daa terms describe what you already know I'm talking about in a business and industry management college textbook written by a man who never had sex.

The point is...you have to read between the lines. This is not NEWS to anyone I understand it...but it IS something we tend to forget in remembering while we see the LITTLE things too...
No sir...it ain't NEWS to anyone...on the scroller...THIS is:

CIA Director Smidgits Cainus to replace Anus Cannibus as Chairperson of DEFENSE after Cannibus drug charges

Oh they're goooood...They're SO good you never watch them work. I'm not saying I saw these EXACT pieces of news...I'm just saying...you KNOW you've read into some outRAGEOUS shit...It never hurts to have an imagination when you're willing to JUDGE something as true or false. Cuz' if you're great enough to JUDGE a story based on what you know...you SHOULD be able to imagine anything is possible. But hell they tell me I've got an overactive imagination. But...when ya think about it...I never got a college education like you...or in the case of someone LIKE myself reading this, well done...I'm surprised you know how to use a computer.

So what was MY education? Cheap in taste but big in budget, commercial Hollywood movies. That's right. I saw enough bullshit to fill the Grand Canyon. I hate that I find a statement like that funny because I know the fact that the Grand Canyon in some fucking shit ass dry crummy desert state in the glorified Hollywood America is apparently the biggest fucking hole on the planet. I have never SEEN this...GRAND Canyon...but I know what I know...I know enough to question shit in my head...that's all I'm saying. It starts all EARLY in life and shit. You know what I mean...you go to some AUNTY's place (For international readers...the term AUNTY is ALSO used to describe beautiful middle aged women...you know...hot mama's...sexy ladies...mom's we'd like to HOLLYWOOD MACHINE!! But not in THIS particular case...this WAS in fact some fat ass...AUNTY) and their kid shows you a picture of him and a suspiciously GRIM looking Arnold Schwarzegger...striking a pose which looks like it's the last thing he did before a bolt of lightning hit him and froze him forever. But that skin...so...real...

Obnoxious Aunty Kid: Look you see?! Me! AND ARNOLD SHFOFFNEYGER...

Me: It's Arnold...SHWAURTZ...EN...EGGER...

Onoxious Aunty Kid: Yea! Him only...Look me him...

Me: Okay...dude....I know I'm meeting you for the first time and stuff...and this MAY be very rude of me...but dude...I don't think that's him, dude.

Onoxious Aunty Kid: VOT?!?! VAI??! VAI THIS THIS ITS THIS HIIIIMMMMM!!!!!

Me: Y'know...if English isn't your first language...I mean it IS cool, seriously...

Onoxious Aunty Kid: BUT VAAAI DON'T YOU THINK IT'S HIM?!?!?!?!?


He was wearing a Madame Tussaud's t shirt. You always gotta watch out for lying little fuckers like that y'know? Sure it BECOMES the story of the time they just fucking went to Madame Tussaud's and got a picture taken in front of a WAX FIGURINE and we all had a fucking LAUGH about it...but initially? They would rather have you believe they chilled with Arnold Schwarzenegger....it's only because you CHALLENGED it, you see?

Why...is the Terminator...wearing a blue shirt with a gay looking colourful woman's face on it?

You HAVE to challenge it.


ALL of it.

Proud to Call

Chapter 14.

Of Our Bodies

What an eid..

Fact. First day of Eid starting from Chaand Raat (a night on which we're used to not seeing an actual CHAAND anymore) till the end of the first Eid night, more than a crore and a half worth of booze was sold in Karachi alone.

Fact. I didn't see any of this booze.

I don't know how reliable my source was though. You ever had one of those friends who exaggerates a story just so it's crazy enough to be possible? That's where I got this news from. I never used to ask people to double check their info...even as a kid. I only recently started treating the internet as a means to find things which contradict stuff my friends say...but I spend so much time alone in my room working out this endeavour, that I don't think I've talked to any of my friends in weeks. But day before yesterday....that all changed. And I'm glad...because I had fun.

We ROLLED! Apparently that esteemed title of an action no longer represents the art of actually, ROLLING a cigarette, filled with some form of herbal drug of course...unless you're fuck bored and have about half an hour to kill before your mom hands you a plate of goodies that you drool over only to find you have to deliver them to neighbours you despise because everytime THEY send a dish which traditionally has meat in it...they replace it with aloo?

Khair so yea rolling...apparently....as everyone now seems to be aware...this represents being on a little drug called ECSTACY. It really is a little fucker of a pill. A little round lie, that makes all your dreams come true...even if it IS only in your head. And I thought I had wild thoughts BEFORE...my God. And I stay away for months at a time between the new found ROLLING nights too. Not because I don't think I can take it or anything...but because frankly it get's in the way of my drinking...and that is something I won't stand for. You thought RETALIN kept you awake. This thing is like forgetting you ever slept, with all the mental harmony produced by seven orgasms with none of the physical effects of actually going THROUGH seven fucking orgasms which include dizziness, nausea, and a sudden urge to be very uninterested in what some chick is saying to you, especially if she's a lesbian you just met.

We went to the beach. THE BEACH YEA THE BEACH! LETS GO TO THE BEACH! I LOVE THE BEACH YAAAR LETS GO TO THE BEACH YES BEACH LETS BEACH!

Fuck the beach...I wanna watch TV...I wanna watch TV on the beach....wheres the microwave? How do I heat this popcorn? Fucking beach...I gotta start up a fuckin' MOTOR generate with DIESEL in it to make two lights and a fuckin' FAN work? This is what that marvellous drive a fuckin' hour and a half long was for? I don't even think this is our HUT! Where's the air conditioning?

So we go to the beach. The only group of friends I'm proud to call just that was there...the WHOLE group...and it was a fun filled night of very loud music and very cold sand. Very good booze and very shiny stars. Very much dancing but unfortunately very few women...but it was Eid...and we had serious catching up to do in the intoxicant department of our bodies, what with all that damage Ramadan had left behind.

What I seem to love about E is how nothing seems to matter anymore. Someone could come up and slap you in the face and you still wouldn't have anything against him. It's only days later that you would realise what a slam to your honour that probably was and become corrupted once again by these mortal, EARTHLY thoughts...leading you to plan twisted ways to make that dude cry.

No sir, not when you're ROLLING. Everyone you EVER had a problem with seems to be the most ridiculous thing in the world...and you wish everyone you knew was right there with you so you could tell them how much you love them. And when they laugh and tell you you're drunk or ROLLING, for the first time...you might actually agree and not feel bad about it.

The best part about it is how your friends become all SWEET and shit. Like everyones always asking if you want their seat, or some water, or some booze, if you want the doors closed, or the fan off, or ON...people become HELLA accomodating when they're ROLLING...I think it's because no one cares to remember the usual approach to life that most Karachiites have...every man for himself.

Everything seems like a great idea when you're trippin' too. I mean fuck sliced bread...fuck the light bulb...let's throw drops of red bull in the air and see how many each of us can catch with our armpits...that, is the GREATEST fucking idea anyone could EVER have had. Forget abolishing slavery...

They mix and match actions too! "Dude, DUDE! Check this out...hold your head to this wall...you doing it? you got it? okay now...with your head still pressed to the wall...QUICKLY! DRINK THIS RED BULL!"

Anyone listening in will immediately try it as well...its like that old show where that old storyteller tells people of a magic rock he pulls out of his balls he claims to be able to make any soup taste great. He keeps adding things to a pot of boiling water with a fuckin' ROCK inside it....only to suggest at the end when everyone agrees the soup was great, that it was all because of the rock.

Here's a fun thing to do...if you're ever ROLLING with your closest friends...somewhere near PEAK time...go up to one of them and say the following:

"Dude....dude...check this okay? Just fuckin' CHECK it dude...blow your mind it will. See my hands alright? KEEP LOOKING AT THEM MOTHERFUCKER! See the lights I'm holding? Alright....alright keep lookin' at em...you see how they're leaving trails? Keep FOLLOWIN' the lights boy...nothing but my hands....nothing but the lights....you see em? You staring right at em, right? This is so gonna trip you out....Keep watching....watching....now QUICK!


Suck my balls."


Eid Mubarak, world.

An Idiot, and a Tool

Chapter 13.

I represent God

I've been away a while. Not that anyone's noticed. Been busy...yea! I have. Plus someone I talked to recently actually reminded me of this blog. If I remember correctly...I've mentioned my memory somewhere here before...it's not very good...they didn't call me HAATHI in school for my memory is what I'm trying to tell you.



I think I've mentioned I was fat.



Television, friends. The way of the future. The Americans...they understood this a LONG time ago. When they aren't numbing the minds of little babies to dumb down the future generation through BABY TV (Recommended viewing by the Ecstacy Taker's Asscociation of Pakistan, or E. T.A.A.P)....they're using uncannily interesting stories like Paris Hilton's jail sentence to mindfuck the old ones too.



The Pakistanis.



The Pakistani's have finally caught up. Between burqa clad mullah avengers, and cock eyed power hungry judges, we have finally arrived to the point in history which will be an unveiling of what all this was all planned to help us ignore in the first place.



Rebirth.



It is now. The religion...versus the modern culture. I can't really say WHO will win...but it's quite obvious what REALLY happened soon after ...



Religion: Well gentlemen...it's been nearly a century since this country's birth...well actually just about 60 years, but I round to the nearest 100 because my representatives aren't very sharp....and I have realised this. You two are conspiring against me. You think I'm slowing you down. You think I'm...

...bad for the people.

Science: It's not that. It's just that your boys aren't letting my boys play freely...what with the whole...

Religion: Listen...about that Khuda Ke Liye threat....which were technically Art's boys...

Art: And then...THUNDER! Thunder as the camera pans ri...

Religion: And it's not like it made much of a dent. Since your people are all educated enough to know their rights.

Science: Your people don't follow those rights.

Religion: Yes, but I represent God.

Art: WE AAWWWLLLLL do duuuuudddeeeee.....peace...loveee...prosperityyy mannnnn...

Science: (to Art) You are an idiot, and a tool....and after we destroy Religion and his backward ways since you're such a dumbass that I use you any way I please to get the people on my side...I will also have YOU killed off like Science Germany's boy Hitler did back in the day.

Religion: You pathetic souls...you don't really think you can destroy me.

Science: No...not forever. I mean let's face it there's a REASON you represent God. Damned if I know what it is though.

Art: Then...a gunshot.......BLAM! And we annoyingly use a dolly to get the dolly shot with that dolly yea dolly...

Science: So why not just get rid of you for a little while my boys get a little stronger here? Look...long run? You're not gonna disappear...and even when you DO get strong again...you're all forgiving...so you won't try to destroy me.

Religion: No, Science Pakistan. I will not try to destroy you. You will destroy yourself...

Art: VIOLINS!!! VIOLINS!!!

Science: Umm...one of your boys just planted a car bomb outside a theatre. It's the one showing Khuda Ke Liye...

Religion: It was probably some of yours working together to make it LOOK like mine...but I'm such a retard and a pacifist...I'll believe you anyway.

Science: You and everyone else bub...

Politics: Will you shoot the damn thing, already?

Science: You're makin' a lotta NOISE for someone who wants to be quiet about having PLANNED this whole thing, aren't you?

Politics: Don't forget, Science, that my cock eyed vudayra has beaten your military schmo...it's a turning point for my...

Art: Blam! Silence!...Death....

Though I rarely choose to directly refer to politics and religion...words like these will come by more often now. Smaller in strength, but greater in number. That is how I shall defeat you Science, Religion, Politics....I have no problems with your truthful champions...it's those buggers you have in higher numbers that bother me.

Good Night.