Friday, June 30, 2006

Internet religion.

I am a Muslim. A non-practicing one. I don't pray a lot. I rarely visit the mosque. I believe in God. I trust the goodness within us. I would prefer watching the moon coming up slowly and caressing the stars, rather than chant hymns, a thousand times. I reckon, God does not need that mindless murmuring from us. Organized religion cheeses me off. Region – to me -- is an intensely private affair between God and man.

I chanced across a riveting web-link today. It is a quizzical page. Worth it. You answer a couple of engrossing and engaging questions. The computer does the rest. It gives you the option -- of which faith you are closest to, in your heart and soul. And thought.

Guess what, I got a tie between Islam and Paganism. Contrasts again, but thats me...Unconventional!

Why don’t you try this out? It’s fun. And yeah…you don’t necessarily need to change your faith after the results.

With Thanks, Pragya


Thursday, June 29, 2006


I don’t want to be overpowered by emotions.

I’ve heard the words before. I know the exacting meaning they convey. There seems to be a liberal dash of restrain, some amount of pain and a delicate sprinkling of logic to them. Imagine loving such a bloke. It provides the person a perfect get-away. A clean-chit. You can’t blame. You can’t complain. Period.

In hindsight it is perhaps not a bad idea not to be overwhelmed by emotions. Unnecessarily you loose sleep. You begin to dream. You start caring. You tend to be protective. Quick reveries occur to you. Suddenly you feel tasked. You begin to like daffy things you disliked most of your life. That is what darned emotions can do to you.

Dale Carnegie was one of the biggest thinking heads of his times. The American once said to a massive audience: When dealing with people, remember you are not dealing with creatures of logic, but creatures of emotion. Somewhere Carnegie attempts – and probably manages to – put his finger on the exact mash. That is because each stealing glance, every act of laughter, whenever the heart races fast, when we clap, as we shout, as we canoodle -- we unknowingly nip an innocent slice of that sacred sentiment, called emotion. Logic comes in much much later.

Then there is a soft globule in us. We call it heart. The heart is forever inexperienced. We may attempt to grow. Grow up. Grow rich. Grow wise. Grow smart but the heart always remains inexperienced. Unpolished. Curious. How many times our mind says no to something but the heart gets tempted? You may have a mind of your own but the heart…. it understands no logic.

In reality life is hard. Tough. Mean. Skewed. I reckon, the unreal is often more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they too die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on. Nothing can take away -- for instance -- certain forbidden memories from me! Like prespiring badly on a hot day, moiling, just to be besides someone.

You can't barter certain things for all the gold in the world. I won't be selfish because one's emotions aren't programmed that way. All the Virtuoso, Encounter, Incisive, Allegro tasks don't teach this simple paradigm.

I don't really know when emotions took the better of me. I am not the least apologetic. Yet some people do reason the very premise of emotion. Marquis de Vauvenargues, the 17th century great French philosopher and moralist says: Emotions teach the mankind to reason. They perfume our lives.

End of it all, I can’t have a say in someone’s life. The decision to stay away. To hold back emotions. Never let them out. Never fathom other's sentiments. May be I never truly understood what love is. May be I never will! Poor me. All I know is that your heart is my piñata.

I am sure vocabs aren't always that good. You’ll have to look up for Piñata!


Wednesday, June 28, 2006


blog layouts

blog layouts

I like the word 'indolence'. It makes my laziness seem classy. I don't feel like to write these days. No writers block. Just plain indolence. Instead, I will beam you a couple of pics. One of my best mates, a cabalistic-colored lamp and a sweet girl!

Tanseer: In some swanky hotel -- in Almaty, Kazakistan!

The Mystery lamp: A lovely pic by a friend

Pragya: Letting her hair down in a comely grab


You have a mail!



If you cannot be a poet, be the poem.


Tuesday, June 27, 2006

The Seductress!!!

Volkswagen's production delays are finally over and the Bugatti Veyron 16.4 is ready to hit the road. The car sports a W16 engine fed by four turbochargers, can go from 0 to 100 mph in six seconds and uses unique cross-drilled and turbine vented carbon rotors that draw in cooling air for braking. Top speed: 407 kmph

Sizing me up!

Not in those climes where I have late been straying,
Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deem'd;
Not in those visions to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd:
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd
To such as see thee not my words were weak;
To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak?

George Gordon Byron, English Romantic poet
Born 1788, Died 1824. I think he is still dead!
Celebrated author of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage and Don Juan. (My fav)

I have been thinking to write a ruminative piece about me. I often jot about others in these pages. How about putting up an honest assertion about Sam, I doodled? I reckon, it is difficult to label oneself. How does one size himself up? Destiny’s child is one milder way of saying how I see myself. Flower-kid!

I love nature. I love friends. I love birds. I love Music. I love the rain. I love the feeling of being loved. To love. I hate vainglory. I seek no glory. I am not overtly ambitious. I have no concrete plans for the day after tomorrow. That may a negative trait but I am being scrupulous here. I am not the one who is going to die for his beliefs because I may simply be wrong.

I only listen to those I respect. Most people bugger me. I do assert. I am impassionate and intense. Utterly romantic. A tad wild and mostly protective. I revere loyalty.

I can be fascinatingly faulty. Childish beyond belief. Socratic and quizzical at the same time. In one quick breath. Daring the world yet docile to a charmed inner circle. Both impetuous and indolent. Contrasts, yep but that is me…always unconventional. Always longing. Thinking. Reasoning. Romping. Always loving.

I may appear gloomy -- at times -- but am more happy than any other. I tend to get impatient with the mediocre and fickle-minded. I know it may sound eccentric, flamboyant and controversial to some. But I don’t care two hoots.

I am all-inclusive. Friendly. Too emotional, too conflicting. Too introspective. I don’t like crowds and am more likely to rubbish most of the social institutions and societal norms. I believe in God but organized religious rituals don’t really excite me.

I may well be an exile.

I value freedom, more than anything else. One's own space. Liberal values and still liberal mores give me a far greater high than all the crass glitz and glamour around us.

I seem to have transcended my sexual identity. I love madly. Ardently. Like Lord Byron.

Love me or loathe me. But that’s me. Honest and regal.


Monday, June 26, 2006

Week-end Pixs

Wasy and me: He is tense because the sky is overcast!

Amidst all the lights, I steal a glance!

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Can't stop lovin you!!!

The first time our eyes met
It is the same feelin I get
Only feels much stronger
I want to love you longer

Every word I say is true
I remember all your moves
I remember you!!!



Distance never separates two souls that really care, for our memories span the miles and in seconds we are there. Almost. But whenever I start feeling sad because I miss you I remind myself how lucky I am to have someone so special to miss.

There are many things in life that one wants to keep masked. I often have this stupid -- crying -- feeling at the most strangest of occurrences – many of which are simply outside of my control. I cry rarely, yet I do. Boyz don’t cry, I suddenly remember. Guys don’t want others to see them emotionally feeble.

Then we cry inside. At least I do. Can’t tell you why. There are times when one has to be really concise. One misses. The rain softens you even more. The beats skip fast. You pretend to be a toughie. It is a very different innervation. Like a mystical experience.

I am sorry, you’ve to be a little touched to feel it!


Saturday, June 17, 2006

Only if....

Only if I could fly
I would hover round thee
Only if dreams came true
I would never let you go
Only if flowers grew in snow
I would pick all of them for you
Only if time stood still
I would freeze in your thought
Only if week-days were off
I would just color portraits of you
Only if pebbles were diamonds
I would stack them up for you
Only if it rained forever
I would walk you for miles
Only if life was magical
I would surprise ye always
Only if God gave me another life
I would not stop loving you!


Thursday, June 15, 2006

Here I come

Still good!

Human-interest stories always fascinate me. I love the power of emotions. The sanctity of sentiments. Truthfulness of soul. There is hardly any evidence of this mix in my native land – Kashmir. Though the place is beautiful and so are most its people, physically. However their spirits are often not too beautiful. I cannot take their artificial beliefs. The chicanery they harbor. Hang me for it but I have this brew of affection and aversion for them. Most of them – and that leaves out a small chunk – will talk to you cleanly, like the sharp edge of a knife. Cold and hot at once.

Nevertheless there are instances when one cannot help sketch a smile at the sparkling residues of humanity that still exist in the valley. I was happy to learn people are still good at heart and don’t necessarily view everything through the blinkered lens of religion. When people realize that the indifference to other cultures doesn’t always work. That’s when the spirit of goodness rises and suffuses over every thing small and stupid.

Some things do actually gladden hearts. Here…a news-item, re-produced from Greater Kashmir – Dated June 14, 2006 -- Kashmir’s best English newspaper. (Another matter it is far too mediocre in its style and presentation).


There were no OB vans, none from the army of photojournalists and no security bandobast either. Although sombre, the scene was still heartening—it was Muslims mourning death of an aged Kashmiri Hindu woman.

They outnumbered the Hindus or Pandits at the funeral of Shamoin Gigoo, 81, wife of late Sham Lal, who breathed her last on Monday evening at her residence at Indra Nagar, Srinagar.The Muslims stood calm at the Karan Nagar cremation ground as Ramesh Kumar Gigoo, the eldest son of Mrs Gigoo lit the pyre.

Yesterday it was the family friends, majority of them Muslims, who stood by the Gigoos in their hour of grief, and arranged for the funeral. In turn, the bereaved family, took due care of religious obligation of the Muslim mourners of offering Namaz. The cremation on Tuesday was deferred from 12 pm to 2.30 pm. Later, amidst sighs and sobs Shamoinee was consigned to flames as per the Hindu tradition.

About 50,000 Pandit families migrated to Jammu and many parts of India when anti-India uprising broke out in the Valley in 1990. But the Gigoos, like 7,000 other Pandits comprising 1,600 families, still live in the Valley. The Muslim friends had counseled late Sham Lal and his wife to stay put. “They were reluctant to leave their homeland, they were very nice people,” many mourners said.


Monday, June 12, 2006

America’s dirty pool

The prisioners are being treated humanely at Gitmo.
Scott Mcclenan, then White House spokesperson, Feb 2006

In the end three detainees commit suicide at America’s little den. Last night. Aged 21-28-30. Dejected, Ostracized, Disheveled, Un-charged. An act of asymmetric warfare waged against us, the Gitmo military commander was quick to chip in. For those who came in late, Gitmo is short for Guantanamo Bay, an American prison facility in Cuba. US is currently holding 460 chaps in this dirty pool, on the flimsiest sort of hearsay. Wait…that is not the usual rant from a liberal blogger. Republican Arlen Specter, chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee in the US, Bush’s own cadre, says that.
Source: BBC

Neo-cons of the world may argue – they never argue by the way; they simply talk down to you – that these were terrorists anyway. They have no respect for their or our lives. One of them may have perhaps liked to blow himself up in some busy Isreali city. Or they might otherwise have been shot in a gun-battle with the US army somewhere in the rough terrain of Afghanistan, where most of these blokes were actually picked up from. Tis’ True. However, the very fact that US has been able to bring no charges against most of them -- 95% are locked up with no charges – and has been mistreating the detainees is a testiment to the fact that America has yet again shamed itself. Source: The Guardian,,1795445,00.html

These guys were arrested at random and put up in the hell-hole. Handed over by greedy chieftains for US dollars. American civil liberties union and numerous other human rights organisations have been crying hoarse since the camp was first set up in 2002. In September 2005, 200 inmates at the in-famous Guantanamo' bay were in their fifth week of a hunger strike, in protest at the conditions in the camp and at their alleged maltreatment by American guards. Fifty days without food. 21st century America? The coveted Civil Liberties? Is this a slow death of the famed American liberty, equality and justice, under an inept administration?

One of the guys who finished off his life last night took part in the hunger strike. News is filtering out that his name was on the rolls of men about to be released from the dreaded facility. Alas, he never knew that. No news from the outside world is allowed. No access to books or papers. No contact with the outside world. No wonder Amnesty International, world’s premier human right’s agency calls Gitmo, the Gulag of our times.

The influential Republican Senator John McCain was tortured during captivity in the Vietnam War. He says American prisoners took 'great strength' from the belief that we were different from our enemies... that we, if the roles were reversed, would not disgrace ourselves by committing or approving such mistreatment of them. Driving inmates to commit suicide, by deliberate and inhuman tactics proves McCain completely wrong.

Bush and his team may sound tough, calling the suicides a good PR move. That is savage satisfaction. Sickening violation of human rights. An extreme step like death can't be PR, for God's sake. And...Dignity of the dead? Commander Harry.
What is that, folks?

Shame on you, Monsieur Bush.

Sameer Bhat

Saturday, June 10, 2006


Smile an ever lasting smile
a smile can bring you near to me
don't ever let me find you gone
'cause that would bring a tear to me
this world has lost its glory
let's start a brand new story
now my love
you think that I don't even mean
a single word I say

Smile can be infectious. Some smiles can kill. A smiling face reveals that your mind is happy. I love smiling faces. Even smiling eyes. I know someone who smiles -- if only intermittently -- the most beautiful smile in the world. It ricochets off you if you stand in front. It propels skywards and falls on your earlobes if you stand besides someone. That is what a smile can do to you. Flatten you. Hurl you softly up and -- leave you -- gasping for more. A great smile symbolizes success to me.

I believe success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. I think I heard that before but it doesn't matter. The locution still holds. Some things don't seem to be affected by the progression and ravages of time. Certain smiles are like that! They make you love from the bottom of your heart even in a bad -- loveless -- world.

I am glad someone has more smiles to share. No memory of past can come to a sniffing distance when you have Samy around, as they say. I wish I could do more to keep the smile constant. Beaming. Glowing. I seem to have only these stupid words to offer. Lots of love too. It is my armor. My serenade.

As the Boyz-zone croons:

It’s only words
and words are all I have
to take your heart away

I reckon, there is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.


Thursday, June 08, 2006

Sleep, little eyes

Sleep, little eyes
That brim with childish tears amid thy play,
Be comforted! No grief of night can weigh
Against the joys that throng thy coming day.

Sleep, in the chill!
There is no place in Slumberland for tears:
Sleep that you have no more fears
And sorrows won't pass you for years.

A Mccre adaptation


Wednesday, June 07, 2006

I am a Tramp!

Life gallops on at a reckless pace
I know not where it will stop
The reins are not in my hands
My feet not in the stirrups


If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were. Khalil Jibran, one of the greatest American thinkers averred many many years ago. Not only is Khalil my fav – I have read ten of his books -- his lines are etched in my mind like wrinkles upon a nomad of 100. I’ve no reason to feel unloved yet by some medieval, weird deep rhyme inside me I do. Only at times. I take solace from Jibran’s timeless words. Then there is another dusk.

I was woken today by soft chimes of the cell phone. Still half-asleep, I wished it were that ‘special’ someone saying good-morning, Samy. Long back I used to get such calls. Sweet interludes. Not anymore. It turned out to be some silly girl trying to sell me a credit card. I put my head down on the pillow, the ac-chill wheezing through the room. Do you require the silver tinted, gold-hued card? The poor girl went on. No, I said in a threatening tenor; I need someone to make me feel naughty. The chick hung up!

I tried to close my eyes in an effort to shut out the hurt. There are times when one wants to snort joyful volumes of that familiar scent. The tutting indulgence. The cold combination of garish stuff and bland, beautiful eyes. Innocent face on my bracing biceps. Looking outwards in the same direction without any purpose. Without reason. Trying to find some arcane excuse. Make some reason out of life’s complex turns.

I am a tramp, I am sure. Nobody gets my message!


Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Fanna: Annihilation!

I reckon the title says it all. I watched the much-anticipated flick Fanna during the weekend with friends. Despite a super star cast – Aamir and Kajol – and coming from the stables of Yash Raj – India’s original romantic production house, the film disappoints. It is a pedestrian, dull job by Kunal Kohli, the acclaimed director of Hum-tum fame.

The movie starts off well. The music is good. The cast is impressive. That is it! Titans like Kiron kher, Satish Shah and the funny Jaspal Bhatti have simply been wasted away. A blind girl is unanticipatedly operated upon for sight-correction. Suddenly she starts to see light. Like the 70's crap.

Our film-makers still think the audiences are a dumb-lot. Terribly short of creative tales, they weave ordinary stories with the same old formulae. Fanna, so high on hype is actually low on quality quotient. It does not make sensible cinema. It looks like one big roughhouse. The direction is slip-shod. The screenplay unoriginal. Trite.

The usual Kashmir angle. Terrorists, wanting to nuke India. The elusive trigger. Wild chases. Wasteful expenditure. The bad guys infiltrating the army. Female intelligence sleuths. That is Tabu, for you. Little spattering about history. Don’t we see the same banal theme repeated in C-grade hindi movies so often.

The movie scores at: screen chemistry between the lead stars, that old world feeling of an all girl’s band going to Delhi from Kashmir, great cinematography. And ofcourse Kashmir – ever beautiful! Poland too.

Albeit Kokes may give it a 6/10. Fanna gets a five on ten from Wasy and me!

Pic: Kashmir -- in Summer

Friday, June 02, 2006

Missing you

Cold vapor breath on air revealed
I'm Missing You

Have you ever felt like me? Strange and revelled in someone’s craving thought. In my mastery of the most exquisite eyes I have ever come across on the terrestrial ball -- called earth. Or someone's mastery over me. Or is it some kind of phantasmagoric magic? Misty. Mostest. Mine!

I'll be 26 in four months. Already swollen with life. I feel raw as exposed flesh. What generation must we be, unable to rein in our longings? The MTV gen, as academics prefer to designate those born between 1975-1985. I don't know what on earth has possessed me. I lie and wait for someone to amble across in my life. Slither the flocculent finger slowly upon my brow. My heart pounds in my ears. God, I miss the lone conqueror of five evils. I really do!

The mink feeling tugs at me in the strangest of places – for example in the middle of an interesting conversation or while I am driving – in level 5 – at 90 miles/hour. It shakes me to my innards. Makes me feel like a naughty child who greeds for his share of pie. Something vibrates in me with a living pulse. What that – something is – I can’t tell. Yet it oscillates. Like my dad’s traditional German wall clock that has been cheeping every hour ever since I’ve grown up.

Last night as I drove back home, globs of new rain streamed on my windscreen. In the middle of a cruel summer. Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, ploughing it up like gunfire. A dark sky suggested some storm was building up nearby. In my heart a tempest raged. My hand released the steering and moved to the ubiquitous cell phone. Searching for the button. Clicking it and then letting it go!

I can’t be weak. I can’t seem to allow myself being too schmaltzy. Yet I miss. The rain continued to fall. I could go straight or I could take the next turn home. My heart beat at million thuds a minute. The pulse quickened. The grass outside the tinted glasses of my car looked wet-green and pleased. Trees bent.

I drove home. I am strong. I can go slow. Yet I miss like hell.


Thursday, June 01, 2006

Execution by the Euphrates

There is only one truth about war: people die, Irish playwright Sheridan once remarked. Prez Bush was in South Korea last year -- on November 19, 2005 to be precise. To great cheers and amidst applause he thundered," The Iraqi people are proving their determination to build a future founded on democracy and hope, and the United States of America will help them succeed." Around the same time that Bush was reading his prepared speech, his men were ruthlessly slaughtering innocent Iraqi's in a tiny Iraqi township. Ofcourse no one came to know about the incident till now!

In the republic of doom – that American’s still like to call Eye-rack -- newer, gorier, murkier and grisly stories of horror never cease to unfold. Stories that shatter many myths and illusions about US, a country that prides to call itself the beacon of justice and freedom. Instead, a motley of blood-red heart wrenching tales emerge. The likes of those that put Abu-Gharib’s of the world to shame. This is a terrifying account of the mass execution our GI Joe’s – US marines -- carried out by the banks of river Euphrates.

Thanks to the Time magazine (One of the world’s best and my personal Fav) expose’ the story of Haditha lived on. It did not die. Haditha is a small, tranquil, date-palm town in Iraq. The groves sway in November, giving off resinous scents. According to Time, it began, as so many things in Iraq do: with an explosion. At about 7:15 in the morning on Nov. 19, 2005 a string of four humvees were on routine patrol in a residential area when a bomb under the fourth humvee exploded, killing its driver--Lance Corporal Miguel (T.J.) Terrazas, 20, of El Paso, Texas. That was the provocation.

What follows next looks like an emulation of what the dreaded Janjaweed do to the innocent desert tribals in Sudan, what the Pakistani army did to poor Bangladeshi’s way back in 197O’s, what the Indian army occassionally did in Kashmir in early 1990’s or the March 1968 My Lai massacre in Vietnam, when U.S. soldiers, including members of an Army platoon led by Lieut. William Calley, killed some 500 Vietnamese. That it comes from the US in circa 2006 appalls me. I though such mindless shit was the hallmark of third world armies. of a Bygone era. US marines are considered super-efficient corps with a 231-year record of discipline, values and valour. For once, I am sure that we are not civilized.

The marines at Haditha went on a rampage after the IED killed one of them. They barged into homes, with people still sleeping and sprayed them with bullets. Time says that eyewitnesses heard a lot of shooting. One individual -- Eman, a little girl -- that the magazine spoke with said, it was very early, and we were all wearing our nightclothes." When the Marines entered the house, they were shouting in English. "First, they went into my father's room, where he was reading the Koran and we heard shots." According to Eman, the Marines then entered the living room. "I couldn't see their faces very well--only their guns sticking into the doorway. I watched them shoot my grandfather, first in the chest and then in the head. Then they killed my granny." The troops started firing toward the corner of the room where she and her younger brother aged 8, were hiding; the other adults shielded the children from the bullets but died in the process. Eman says her leg was hit by a piece of metal. "We were lying there, bleeding, and it hurt so much. Afterward, some Iraqi soldiers came. They carried us in their arms. I was crying, shouting 'Why did you do this to us?' And one Iraqi soldier said, 'We didn't do it. The Americans did.'"

The ordeal continued for five hours. In the end 23 bodies lay strewn all over the place. Many wounded. Children massacred, bloodied-walls, smashed dreams, bullet-holes in doors, heads and hearts too. American style. Crisp Hollywood like. Go, go, go. Kill them all. Children aged 2. Hiding behind the couches. Petrified. Crying. Shaking with fear. One small girl sobbing. Cut the clutter. US carbine slug through her temple, the bullet exiting the other side. Never mis-underestimate Bush. The good Christian must be happy. God gave him this dirty task. Liberating Iraq. They say the profanities of faith are most legible in blood. End of it all, residues of dehumanization lay everywhere.

Last heard, the US handed over to the matter to Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS), which will conduct a criminal investigation to determine whether the troops broke the laws of war by deliberately targeting civilians. NCIS guys are currently measuring bullet marks. Nearly eight months after the tragedy occurred. The marines of Kilo Company, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment who killed gleefully that November morning tried to hush up the matter but the truth – as they say – is often too difficult to hide.

I hope they are all send to prison for the rest of their adult lives. As for the poor chaps who got killed, I send a belated prayer. However, I doubt whether God answers prayers these days because the old man was apparently praying when his American liberators put a bullet in his believing head.


If you want to read further on the story, here are the latest Time mag -- June 5, 2006 -- links:,10987,1174682,00.html
Related Sources: BBC World:

Of Longing!

Distant eyes across nigh desires
Unruffled as the tempest grows
Like a robin as you skirl aloud
beats shake upon magical notes
Waffling loyality of your words
fills this heart on quiet dawns
Faint sharpness of thy skin
swims in my loving gaze
Images I carry back home
to lie awake with on dull nights
Eyes from God's own stock
least expressive but most endearing