Passing by the Night – Photo Essay

I can’t believe I’m at this place again. Last year when we were going into the new year, I took a photograph of the last sunset. I hoped in that moment that maybe things would be different, that they would change, I would change, and maybe finally have a resolution.

Oddly enough, the opposite has been happening. Isn’t time supposed to change everything? And things have changed I just haven’t changed or evolved at the same pace.

Maybe I’m suffering from a generic kind of arrested development.

The same things that hurt me three years ago, are the things that are hurting me now. Shouldn’t that change, or is this the lope I’m stuck in. And I tend to end up in the same place, roaming the streets alone at night. The night changes everything. All these streets and buildings, all the lights and no sound. It’s just man-made space devoid or feeling and full of me, but that’s not something to be surprised of since I’m out at four in the morning and midnight.

But coming home and looking back , both at the roads and at time, I have to admit that things have changed. The kids are gone.

And that change that I thought would never come, or never felt was there, is finally shinning through my eyes.

It’s a big step.

It hurts.

But it’s here.

And there is nothing that I can do about it.

Could I go back and change things?

Was it something I did?

I feel like I did so much, and felt so much, and for what?

Can I go back and apologize to everyone? And replace the hurt and the damage?

Or continue to walk on into the night like nothing happened?

I’m always in awe and disturbance with time. I can never decide if it’s real. Last time I was out like this – aimless – timeless – I remember my friends saying all the things I already knew.

I was shaken. Moved to a point of offense but there wasn’t anything to protest.

I don’t protest at all. A girl should at least try, even if it changes nothing.

I’m still here. I wake up like it takes no energy. I break in tears when no one is watching.

I’m alive.

These look like how I feel. I walk through the cold, and my heart is full of nothing but hope and I see my future come up to me, while my past is limping in front of me.

Is all of this distress just because of the weather? Is that it ?

Everything is coming together. In the stillness of the night and the shadow of the dark it’s easy to think of the future. It’s easy to be hurt in the hurt, anything could happen, and no one would care.

But to venture out and visit the past, look out into the future, deal with those spirits that lurk in the streets and then come back having survived, having apologized, having changed. That’s the victory of the night.

Stories don’t change anything.

That’s what hurts me.

It breaks my heart.

I know why we tell stories. We tell them to ourselves, not other people. We tell them to find our solutions, our way to an escape from how we feel. To get away.

To throw out the blood that we don’t need anymore. No more.

This is isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way.

I’ve felt this way before.

I’m feeling it right now.

Of the future I am unsure.

I was so protected.

I am guarded.

I am still and strict in the smile.

My chin and shoulders are high.

My eyes are dead and in flames.

But my voice betrays me.

Sweet solitude.

Where do I go from the end?

Do you feel the same way?

Or the complete opposite?

Can I make you understand how I feel?

I come to them looking hungry for love, but when the glance is returned it’s trying to find a solution.

It’s love that I want – not promises.

Feed

Self destruction will only last you till death
You could be much more
With ambition and hunger
In your blood
Why waste the life and spirit that God wasted on you
And why kill the life the dead decided to see in you
Hunger for anything but food
Is good
Think of the land
Waiting for you
The phool in between the pahaar are waiting for you to step on them
Why sleep
When you could run
And leave something for those who don’t have a clue of how wretched they are
Like the orphan you loved
Like all the stars
That watch
From a far
Waiting
To wish from their hearts
When you finally fall

 

‘Masala Rasala’, my own magazine.

 

 

In this post I want to talk about my new magazine. The site is up and it looks cute, but I haven’t really uploaded any content on it yet, but I am extremely happy that it is actually real in cyber space.

So let’s start with the name of the magazine, which is ‘Masala Rasala‘. Masala is basically a mix of different spices  to give food that extra kick, and Rasala means magazine or better ‘issue’. I wanted something that could be understood in a range of levels just by the name, and this name does exactly that, it rhymes well, bounces of the lips and makes most of friends  laugh when they hear the name. My class fellow came up with as a joke, and well, her joke made it for me. So as a lesson comedy is important…it makes sense and dreams come true.

My content for now will be good,extensive and enlightening interviews. It’s probably the easiest thing we can do for now, and I will be going into good informative and cultural articles that are well written but easy to understand.

I am sure that this venture will open up a lot of doors for me, and that I will be able to give something good back to the community. And if you guys and girls would like to join in and give in articles or join the army when the time comes.

I’ll keep you guys and girls updated about the growth of this magazine, because I would never have got to having a magazine without having this blog.

THE NEW YEAR

February and January have always been 

And will this time around be

The deepest and brightest hint of blue 

Because it was the blue sea spitting out foam where you lived by 

The shallow sea side 

By your bedside 

Where you hid away inside 

I’ll have the sky and the air blue 

Just for you 

And later this year 

I’ll  have the grass and a forest lands 

A rich green and gold 

Earthy, sober and  serene 

For the child if you please 

And I hope that by November again

All will fade down and burst 

Like dots black and white 

Getting around Saddar

 

I keep on wanting to be consistent with my work and timings, but I seem to oppose myself on almost everything. I put writing of  for days and days, until the idea steams up in my head as something worthless- old-fashioned almost.

I could give up everything and not care one bit, because of the tremendous numbness. A numbness I have to relate with writing, with feeling, with a sense of something gone but not fleeting.  But I have my moments of strict motivation, where I feel unaccountable to my mistakes and I resume to chase my dreams, like its nothing, like I do not always leave them at the door.

 

A couple of weeks ago, I went out again on an expedition  ( shopping trip), out in my favorite city, into to the smaller areas where the people go to. It is in narrow streets, which have a very old Lahore feel to them.

You can find things which of  a good quality and cheap, you can see a lot of people, all of whom know each other. Basically its all friendly, nostalgic and full of stories and potential . And as far as my intended jump into photo journalism, I haven’t really got around to interviewing people, or doing proper investigation type work. Because for now I just want to master taking good pictures, and being more confident in the streets and being able to frame a story. Then maybe after that I can make vlogs and films.

Any way, here are few picture I took at Saddar, in my attempt to capture people and time. I hope to do more in the future and help the people in any way I can. But I want to preserve and protect what is there also.

The shapes, food, friends, smells, rooms and colors. I don’t want the people hurt, but we do keep on getting hurt . We should be happy, God should permit us that, we should be allowed to be happy. We have earned it. It not right to go on being  happy  for a while just to be bombed down.

I want our safety back, I want peace of mind, I want the numbness away.

 

All The Holes

​

Summer wishes will mix well with winter dreams 

Soft fantasies will add with cactus coated causes  

And all will be forgotten 

Deleted from the system of the universe upside down 

 And it makes no sense that

Even hell will freeze over

That fathers and sons 

Will leave eachother  

That friends will stab eachother 

Yet they fall perfectly into place 

It is sad to be that young 

And to just not exist  

But perhaps in death 

All our dreams 

All our ambitions 

All our loves 

Mean nothing 

Hurt all the more that not having them 

Perhaps death can hang so close that we  feel it in the room 

And perhaps heaven is so near 

That we breathe in that cool air

A late blossom

When you’re a kid
Its fun to play hide and seek
Even if the place is no rain forest
Just three rooms
But you everthing just seems bigger
Full of mystery and possibility
Behind curtains or sofas
Under the table
Or inside the cupboard
Anyplace you can find
Resisting the urge to laugh
Or talk to loud
You loved attention
You loved playing with the pigeons
Falling asleep on the couch while watching cartoons
Waking up to the sun in your tiny  bed
You liked attending parties and having to be dressed up and making new friends with no effort at all
While the grown ups talked in the living room
You ran all over the house and talked sense about absolutely nothing
And the thing you wanted most was attention
From everyone all the time
Then you eventually got older
Maybe you took longer than everyone else – a late blossom
You didnt want to be found anymore
You had to talk business and plot out your sentences paying extreme attention to the other person
You had to let go of your parents hand , even if they say they will always love you
Success will buy you love
No more attention needed
Maybe just from one person

On muffin tops and Love handles

I was in the car driving home. It was a hot day and I was tired as hell so I decided to sleep , trying to ignore the nausea of spending the whole day sweating,  breathing the humid air to being waved in the flat face with the sharp sting of the air conditioner.
Laying my head against the window thinking about last night or small bits of it , slightly smiling . I have this habit of remembering cute moments and smiling like a shameless idiot . Its the best thing .
But it didn’t last long – a sudden tapping made me open my eyes .A woman was outside on the other side of the window  , preseing her heart out for pennies, but before I could respond we drove away .

Fat . Fat is a great source of energy that we get from several food groups. It is a layer of insulation under  our skin and over our muscles . And according to many opinions of the modern world,  magazines ,tv shows , men women,  boys and girls and the multiple tormenting voices in my head – its highly unattractive.
I was a chunby child , an overweight teenager , and I’ve been fat in general – but it doesn’t matter where I go from here , because I will always be fat .
Even if I do lose my extra pounds I will still be fat .
Try  not to take me wrong please – I know that a lot of fat cannot be a  healthy option , and Im not in any denial. I know that the general world looks upon it as ugly . It dounds shallow and rude in writing – because the world is shallow and rude in experience,  no matter how much they sugarcoat , ignore or deny it . They hurt. I won’t be surprised to hear if some people commit suicide just because of body image trouble.
So I thought I should finally take some time out and talk about my twenty years in this body , that has haunted me.
I think girls all over the world regardless of background feel the need or pressure to be beautiful – especially when they are small and think photoshopped pictures are real or when are growing old and are constantly beating themselves up about it .
Everything sort falls down or comes back just to the way you look .
Enough about that – back to me.

I was a very bubbly kid – one with too much personality who enjoyed throwing tantrums and was the center of attention,  but compared to other kids by the time  I was about 12 ,it became obvious that I was on the large side . It didn’t bother me when I was younger – but the life long scar seed was buried in me then , without any understanding of it .
Its starts with the way they touch you . Where ever you go people reach out for your cheeks or lightly slap you on the hips or gently tuck you in the belly.
Then comes the duality of certain nicknames , that indicate your chubbiness. Its not bullying just gentle fun , which was always followed by someone older telling you to not listen to them or ‘ dont take what they say to heart ‘ – you know like your part of a the freak show and there is something to be ashamed of .

At school kids can be cruel . Not little kids but the slowly turning into teenager kids . Girls are mean to each other in a hundred different Ways  . I blame their mothers .And mob mentality.
At this stage kids may not pay their bodies a lot of attention as the its still the parents job to make sure they get to school clean . At least that’s how I remember it  .
The trouble of being different , looking , sounding or feeling different swings up around kids eventually when they are treated different .
Then puberty happens .And does it.The panic of finding blood between your legs and on your white uniform . Not knowing what’s going on . I thought I was dying .
These are things girls like to talk about at first , then they stop . Then when physical developments become more obvious – body shaming reaches a new level . You can’t be carefree anymore.  You have to make sure no one sees anything they should not see . But among the hush hush you begin to judge yourself more – now you are more self aware.
A young person – no longer a child . At least that’s what they tell you and you believe them.
By this time you hate yourself – and try really bad ways to shed those pounds . A lot of times you try the simple stuff , like not taking sugar in your tea anymore and then secretly taking medications without telling anyone.
Its a sad point , that nobody actually sees how bad it is .seriously why couldn’t you be like the girl in the movies,  like the ones everyone circled around . Who stood out in a crowd – and probably weren’t reminded every three minutes later that they were fat . That something was wrong with them .

The strange thing is that people dont seem to see how double sided they are. They seem to think that they are doing us a favour , by telling us what we are a little louder than everyone else . But no you’re not . At least not for me . I know that I’m fat . Even those in denial know it – what we  would like is to be noticed for other things about us to .
And another  odd thing society tells you is that – nothing good can happen to you if you are fat . Like all good things are at a full stop because of it .
No one will marry you because you are fat .
No one will like you because you are fat.
They will say things about you.
They will make fun of you – and all the rest .

People with this sense of innocent mockery will mention how much you need to lose weight , for obvious reasons.  They seem to think they are only ones telling us , trust me , you are only one in the hundred.
And some stuff is really strange.
” You’re really pretty you just have to lose weight ”
So am I pretty or not or is your assessment of my looks on hold.
These are also the people who go around telling other people about how much God loves you and how He made you perfect just the way you are . But with you they turn the other cheek .

Its in the very language. I can’t help but feel that I’ve been targeted about my body my whole life . Probably why I dont go out that much , the more you do the more you are reminded of it. That somehow this  is my only prominent feature and its something they would want to talk about or make jokes about ,so , why face the embarrassment.
I’m not running away from it . Its just that I wonder if I was less large the words would be different. Would I have been happier? Someone who is not spiteful of the world ?
I probably would. Its a strange matrix in itself .But thats how it is .
I can try to be nice all I want , but counts up to nothing in this ‘lose weight to get hitched world ‘ . Even if I do lose weight, I think I would just be reminded of how fat I used to be once .
And no – there is nothing spiritually or morally wrong with being fat – but they make you feel it down to your bones. There was so much I did not do because I had a low opinion of myself .

I will always be fat . And you know what its perfectly okay . Its nothing to be ashamed of – it may have taken me a while to realize but its not the end of the world if you are a little chunky and you should let people treat you any less because of what you look like . This world  is about survival and for me being a good person and I refuse to be pushed around about the way I look anymore.  Besides the same people who bullied me about my weight are the same who bullied other people about their skin colour or financial background.
There will be no one to the bullying,  but there can be an end to how much you let it hurt of touch you . I am no less of a  person than anyone else. I may have a few flaws and be shy but they can be fixed .
I’m going to love myself now  . And nobody can take that away  from me .

Culture Claus

Cultural fluidity .
Hi , I want to talk about something that till last month was eating me on the inside , about what my writing sounded like . Basically to a lot of people it did not sound desi enough.
And I agreed with them in the beginning since we all know this criteria for being this , this and that etc.
This is Pakistani that is Indian , this sounds American or this tastes Italian. A martial arts movie has to be Chinese or French kid has to be fashionable .
The thing is  we all have these stereotypes of what some cultures are and  what they are not – but most of the time that idea or perception of what something is , is just for us . Like in most pop  culture depictions India turns into this yoga kingdom without cities where everyone talks and sounds in what Americans accepts as Indian .
Then ofcourse Pakistan suffers the same mistreatment of depiction. There is nothing wrong with the India thing that I mentioned the only problem is that Indians mostly do not see themselves like that – they know how diverse they are when it comes to dialects .
I am tired of having muslims being called terrorists . But its hard to let that image die in the media . It has this power to sort play with the image you have in your head.
Back to my month early problem .

The problem I had was not thinking my stories or characters were Pakistani enough – not that anyone told me that . But generally people in every country are very strict and vocal on what Pakistani , American, Latin, British or Japanese is . Yet at the end of the day how much of your culture plays into controlling what other people are ?
We are all different because despite everything we are raised differently and unique events and studies shape our thoughts and unless we strive to go ahead of what we are told to see – that bubble aint ever going to pop.

Lahore by Night – or just a little

During the early winters of last year , I had found a new wasteful but enjoyable pass time.  Photography was something new for me , it was not something anyone ever associated me with , no , I was always poems , writers , something beautiful from the past , the moon child who just didn’t seem to bloom  like the others had .

And I was not very good in the long beginning,  most of my friends said it was a flop of a pursuit,  but  it didn’t matter , because I was sad and writing was common and lonely, photography was new and full of people.  Eventually I got better and people liked my stuff,  and I spent most of those winter nights praying in strange scenarios for a proper, professional camera. I still dont have one , but one day I might , and when that day comes I’m going to take my picture projects to the next level.

Two years earlier,  I came across this article about Brassi and his Paris de nuit ” pictures.  I fell in love with them , so it was fun when I tried out his concept .
Besides it was better and more applicable for me , since most of the photographers for Lahore jump into the old city or the market areas. I don’t live close to those places , the city is too big and full of excess . So in the night , in the light winter chill with the birthday phone I set out to keep my mind busy with cold hands and heavy white breathing , not to mention the pale shade of berry pink all over my face .

Well ,  I did have fun. The strange part is the streets seemed empty.  I always hear about Lahore as the city that never sleeps and the people just stay busy all night and basically the festivities never stop for them , unike Islamabad.  Islamabad has a fixed bedtime but when I was there the night was just as charming – up there right on top of the mountain restaurant. Monal , everyone loves that place , mostly because of the view and the city lights . Right down on the ground,  dazzling , sparkling like the belly of the sea .
Let me show you.

Anyhow, the food was okay , and the waiters were stuck up and rude. Nothing comes out completely perfect , not even a fancy dinner with an epic view of the capital .

Back to Lahore , I started of with nightime lights and sometimes even cars or motorcycles because I think they look romantic at night.

The roads were silent,  very silent,  so I suppose my attempt of using photography to get more social in the real solid world did not go so well. In the virtual world its like a whole new world opened up for me and I made lots of new friends,  friends like myself.  It was a good playful time with no hard feelings , which is good because whenever things get painful I tend to abandon the whole thing and wipe it out of memory.

Ofcourse as with all arts , you begin to judge yourself.  Especially when everyone seems to be so much better and famous for it compared to you . Leading you to wonder what it must be that you are doing wrong .

But that’s okay . This is probably the point in your life where you get hurt or overwhelmed by the weight of the world , when your parents think its a good thing not to be protecting you anymore . Maybe its good to let you fall and break a little and stich back the fabric with what ever you can find while trying to hide the scars .

The nights were like that to cold ,present , covering yet lonesome . Often you just find yourself alone looking at the people who are going towards the mosque  or going on a walk with headphones on , or some boys driving around a lot faster than they should with the music on loud . Too loud but in a nice way. Somewhere in the dark of the park you’ll find chain smoking teenagers dealing with addictions and being rebellious like we all were . And close to them someone will be on the swings , rocking the chains up and down , a rather cringe worthy sound – you can hear from a far away distance. Back in the streets you can find small kids playing outside their houses while their parents are inside discussing the revolts in Islamabad.  What a time it was to be alive . Like a couple of months ago when it felt anything was going to happen , and maybe it did .

Im still waiting for something to happen. Something to just break inside of me so I wont be dead anymore.  Because even a dead night if full of wonder and complexity.  And that air was full of change which anyone could breathe except me . Stagnant as the sea and hopeless as the desert,  waiting and waiting.

Will it happen ? That moment of closure and growth – or will it always be like this? ;
For the city it will all change , my father reminds me everything when we drive around how much everything has changed since he was young . Fields turned into housing plots and donkey carts turned into cars .
I wonder how much it will change for me .