All Luck Needs is a Prayer

20/05/2012. Sunday this weekend was a boring one, but only until the evening, when Hania, Teyni and r.a.k. returned to Faisalabad and broke an exciting news. They blabbed and chattered about a short-film competition that was going to be held soon in Lahore. The Snipers had explained everything concerning the event last Saturday. So the three pests had thought the story out on their way home that weekend.

With every little detailed conveyed to the rest of us, it was at last decided that the video was going to be made.

For the main role, we needed someone who was both a good singer and had an aptitude to give a star performance. We also needed a child with the same qualities. Then a person fit to act as a typical father was to be looked for. After a lot of thinking, overlooking and rejection, we at last came to choose the perfect people for these characters.

21/05/2012. Monday. A hundred eyes looked for a fat guy…and a skinny one. Where were the two? We had only five days for making the video before Saturday, the dead-line for submission of our creation. Now, due to their unfortunate absence, we were left with four. However, the next day, both the fat guy and the skinny guy were talked into the concept of the video.

That night, as I pulled a shirt out to wear the next day, I realized it was all too black. A scarf. I need a good scarf, I thought to myself. But where do I get it? I scanned my wardrobe. I pictured in my mind a black and white checkered scarf that would go perfectly with the shirt. Nobody had it. I asked all accessible seniors, but no one owned a checkered scarf. Disappointed, I tried to accept the dress as incomplete as it was. As I got in bed to sleep, a thought suddenly woke me up. I knew who had a black and white checkered scarf.

23/05/2012. Wednesday morning. Warrior got me the scarf. The camera was focused and the cast was in action. We pleaded the worker in charge of the auditorium to unlock it for the shooting.  He succumbed to our stubbornness at long last.

The stage lights were perfectly positioned for shooting the “concert” (it sounds funny because all we had was ten people to act as the audience to wave their hands about in the air wildly as Faiq, the skinny guy, performed without any instruments, music and microphone arrangements  :P ).

As we saw Faiq arrive for the first scene of the video, his casual clothes spoiled the enthusiasm for a moment. We tried to convince him to borrow a more “superstar”-like shirt from a hostilite friend.

“Like what exactly?” Faiq asked us, confused.

“Dark.” said Hania, just as I said “bright”. This confused him even more.  :D

“What do you guys really want, dark or bright?”

“Dark.” said Hania, again as I suggested “bright”.  =D

“Dark and bright.” Hania suddenly summarized. Faiq blinked helplessly.

Avoiding a time-taking task, he at last bluntly asked for Warrior’s scarf that rested on my shoulders like a beautiful, patterned snake. I made a face. I had struggled to get a matching scarf for my shirt and giving it away as soon as I had worn it was no justice. Understanding the situation, I reluctantly handed it to him for his role. As the camera rolled, I realized that a mere Arabian scarf had changed his whole get-up,  accessorizing and adding to his otherwise informal dressing. I was pleased with myself. :D Had I not forced Warrior to find the scarf, what would have become of the main character of our video?

We were on our toes for the next couple of days, struggling to complete the five-minute video. It was a tough time for everyone. A little disappointment followed our decision of expecting perfect acting from a boy who worked in our hostel: his face was frozen in a permanent grin. He kept laughing in the scene where his father died, and in the short time that we had, seven takes of the same scene irritated Warrior so much that at last he begged for mercy.

“How many times are y’all giving me a heart attack?” he asked.

“Just one more time!” would be our answer. :D

24/05/2012. Thursday evening. The uncle in charge of Aazam did not allow us to take him away for the video again, and only when we made a hundred promises to bring him back to hostel in time, did he finally agree. Again, all he did was smile…

The major problem we were to face was the editing. Video-making was a first experience for all of us. We tried downloading a couple of editing programs, but the load shedding was forcing us to surrender. The sun set with such misery, that we found no hope in the night that followed. Warrior had talked to an experienced senior, but concluded without any luck. It was midnight and the editing program was downloading at snail’s speed. We were all freaking out. We had just one day for shooting a couple of more scenes and editing. Was it possible for first-timers like us? We begged for mercy as the power was lost for the millionth time in the day. Fate seemed to be against us. The download stopped. The heat was frustrating. I tried calling friends, who could help, but suddenly there occurred a network problem and the call would not connect. So many “catastrophes” in one night ruined all the enthusiasm we had started the project with. We looked at our anatomy book with remorse, thinking: struggle for nothing. Hania broke the silence with another sad remark.

“Just think what we would’ve been doing right now if we hadn’t taken this impossible responsibility on our shoulders.”

“We would’ve been studying anatomy for our sub-stage, munching on snacks and chatting.” R.a.k. commented. We hadn’t studied a single word.

It was three in the morning and still no sign of power. I gave up. R.a.k. fell asleep. I lay down beside her.

25/05/2012. Friday. I was so hopeless, that I refused to shoot any more scenes. However, when r.a.k. told me Gohar had downloaded an editor successfully, I realized the value of hope. When we’d all gone to sleep last night, Gohar and Aymi had taken another chance. And that chance had worked. I relaxed in the afternoon as r.a.k., Teyni and Hania struggled with shooting the last scenes in college. I was preparing myself for the editing that was coming my way like a spinning cricket-ball. In the evening, Gohar told me some basics of the editing program. The rest was easy to work out. Gohar’s mind was full of ideas like always. She showed me an impressive sample of some editing she’d done to test the program, and that motivation pushed me through the whole night. Teyni sat beside me for a pretty long time, choosing a variety of modifications, r.a.k. and Hania were there to give suggestions to improve the edited piece. Everyone was all eyes and all ears till their stamina could support them. After everyone was sleeping soundly, Ayesha I. came and sat beside me. Though she had brought her B.D. along, she helped me through the rest of the video. When I shut the p.c. down, it was six in the morning. My mind was saturated. I updated Warrior with necessary information and collapsed in bed like an eighty years old Einstein.

26/05/2012. Saturday noon. I woke up to screen my eyes against the unexpectedly bright sunlight pouring in through the window. I looked at the clock. Oh my… SUB-STAGE! I had made up my mind last night that I won’t be giving this viva because I didn’t know the anterior mediastinum from the middle mediastinum, and dyspnea from dysphonea. My sketch book wasn’t complete either, but that guilty feeling of leaving a test was hammering in my head. I got up, got dressed, and ran to college. I asked about for a sketch book. Teyni gave me hers. In fifteen minutes, she put short facts in my head. With the confidence of a winner, I sat down in the chair the teacher offered me. He asked me for my anatomy card, but I had no idea I was supposed to bring it. He then told me to show him my sketch book.

“There you go…my sketchbook.” I smiled and put the diagrams in front of him. He, instead of Going through the diagrams, flipped the book back to the first page. My confidence shattered and my heart sank in my mediastinal cavity. It seemed as if he freaked out to see some other roll number on the book instead of my own. However, I wasn’t wrong, and he really did freak out. He called another girl who would tell him my right name and roll number. He (like any typical teacher) shared the situation with another teacher who was also taking viva in the same office. I happened to be his student. Luckily, he took my side. That luck also owes me gratitude for bunking dissection and getting to prepare a presentation as detention, which had impressed my teacher such a great deal, that now he was forced to say kind words in my favor even when I was wrong.

My viva started. None of my answers were incorrect. In the end, he threw at me a ball that was hard to play. I surrendered. Hence he found a chance to say “you haven’t studied at all, I’m still going to pass you, but you haven’t studied.”

After college, I sat down again with the editing program, showing everyone the work and asking for the flaws. R.a.k. and I struggled hard for five whole hours, staring at the screen with tired eyes. At long last, our video was completed. It was almost eight on the clock, and I realized I hadn’t even changed out of my uniform since I’d come back from college.

We had completed Mission Impossible in a mere week, and if there’s nothing more I learned, I at least realized that all luck needs is a prayer.

The Little Things Give You Away

Everyone is judgmental. Some go for the first sight, some wait for time to bring them the answers. Yet, there is a blind side that everyone ignores, which is why perception matters. Some see the glass half full of water, and others as half empty. An apprehensive mind can never think positive. Sometimes you just feel like climbing the highest mountain, and then merely jumping down. That is how spirits rise and fall.
The world inside of a woman is wild. No matter how much she looks like she is bathed in the summer-sun, her soul is wet through. When expectations are not lived up to, a woman simply changes her perception. All transitions are painful. Disappointment always means she is building walls around herself. Her screams are silent.
Expressions always suppress the fear of risking the truth. They clear misunderstandings and give space for reaction. They bring the storm to an end. Only when the tides crash, do they submit to gravity. Silence only rises the tides above the sea, and ego higher than self-respect.
Express yourself, be an open book. Crystal clarity in a person's character is what's beautiful about them.

Breathing In...

The week had depressed me to torturing heights, from books to social burden. Circumstances had at last taught me that the truth isn't always crystal clear. People are judgmental and the most obvious explanation is never correct...apologies do not make up for a broken heart and puzzles cannot be completed until you find the last piece.

As I settled in the bus to head home, my sister called.
"Do you mind a little drive-through directly after we pick you up?" she asked keenly.
"Oh, of course not..." I assured her, leaving half my thoughts unspoken.
I don't mind this at all. I actually need this. In fact, we can go shopping. Shopping is my medication.
I shut my eyes.

Time passed like a snail. The two hours to Lahore never seemed to end. I asked the Lord how much more he was going to make me suffer before some rest. The answer came to me as distraction. Hence I looked out the window, soothing my eyes with green and gold...

...I hopped in the car as soon as it arrived in the parking. My little sister hugged me as a greeting and gave me a self-made card. I was too tired to open it, and slid it in my pocket. We reached the mall, and I dashed inside to heave a long, deep sigh of relief.
Clothes! Lots of clothes and a fresh splash of color! Flashy lights and large air-conditioners! This is divine! I hugged my luck with a word of thanks. My sister eyed me with a little pity all the time I feasted my eyes upon the designer dresses, shoes and accessories. She could see how desperate I was to be free, and now that caged monster was breaking the chains. With every dress I tried on, and every shoe I slipped my feet in, I felt better. The hurt seemed to get less. So much for an ordinary girl.

As soon as I saw the Sweet Factory, I ran to get my bags full... jelly, marshmallow, sugar belts and what not.  I grabbed a few bars of chocolates from a shelf, and was out with the heavy bill and millions of shopping bags, the mall's hideous logo gazing like a dozen eyes at the world.

I unlocked the car, stuffing everything on the back-seat. before I could settle myself in the car, the air brought about some sweet music. I turned around to see a man play the flute.

The flute...always magnetic. Magical. The music melted in my ears like butter, and my heart melted likewise. My dad was calling out to me, but I think I couldn't hear him. I walked to the music. The player was sitting in the corridor, leaning to a pillar. His eyes were shut tight, a frown crossed his face every now and then as the music rose and fell.

The flute...I sat down in front of him, leaning to the opposite pillar, listening with attention. A light breeze blew my hair away from my face. My brows descended and my eyes sought darkness to feel the music leave a pleasant impact on my mind. The agony rose to its peak, the heart sinking, the pain erupting from the crater: my eyes.

The music stopped abruptly. I looked around. The man was gone. He had left my soul dancing like a maniac, celebrating the freedom, the escape from all the sorrow I had piled up inside me.

I shuffled my hand inside my pockets, suddenly remembering my little sister's card. I opened it.

"Dear Mina,
I miss you when you go. I hug you to be happy. I wish I could hug you everyday.
Hamayal."

For once, the spelling mistakes she made were to be forgiven. I looked at the cover of the card. She had drawn two stick-figure girls holding hands, and two BIG, RED hearts.

The Randomness and the Skill

"Sajni"...The song is always new when you hear it in his voice. And yes, Awais Butt adds the magic-music all along.

A song, dedicated to PMC mates...by Kamran Hussain Hashmi

The Family Charade

Fast forward one day at my house and all you’ll hear is a high pitch chirrup. :D

It’s us, talking, arguing and wailing. From “what’s for breakfast today?” to “I don’t want wallpaper in my room!”; from “Hey! Stop singing this song!” to “Don’t hang out with EVERYONE in your class.”…and yes, I end up being grounded.

The clash of ideas is inevitable, and so are the consequences that follow (like I told you, my being grounded). :/

However, one thing bonds us all together as a family, and that is my dad’s old car. :D

Charade, sparkling like gold some twenty years ago, as my dad knelt down on his knees beside it to propose to my mom. (=

Charade, as they drove across the green fields together, looking forward to seeing life as a welcoming host.

Charade, as my elder sister and I would fight for the front seat after school, and would end up both squeezed together, one of us a serious obstacle for my dad as he tried to change gears. However, I would always wonder why the goddamn gear had to dance about for the car to move forward.

Charade, when a third baby arrived, who was another volunteer for the front seat. =/ I remember how we once annoyed mom to an extent she told us she’d have to put the front seat up for auction if its demand doesn’t fall. As children, that actually shut us up. :D

However, our golden charade was pushed to a side in our hearts when a brand new white car with flashy lights took its place in the main garage. =( It’s golden paint faded, and the windscreen was blinded by a thick layer of dust…the ignorance was heartbreaking.

Charade entered our lives again with a new boost of energy…a boost that sent the car smashing right into the fence. :D Yes, my elder sister was testing the race. My sweet father was encouraging her as she gave her first try to starting a car.

There came a phase of another boost of energy, this time smashing the car right into the gate of the garage: I was learning the gears. :D

Then came a time when mom realized that Charade needs to be thrown away…it was quite true, for now when someone would start the car, the whole car would tremble, and at a speed-breaker it would seem like the body of the car would break open in all directions. :D

My dad refused, I refused. We both care about the memories Charade has added “gold” to. They are priceless, so is my parents’ Charade, my sisters’ Charade, OUR Charade, because this is not just another car, but this is the Family Charade. =)

Teyni Saved Me

At university level, you can never judge your test paper to be good or bad. The moment I came out of the examination hall after giving in my "upper-limb-stage" answer sheet, I knew I'd done the best I could and now deciding the mercy was all up to dear God! Then, I'd forgotten all about it...

For one whole week, Aymi had been praying for the result to arrive. We'd all scream and wail when she'd say that, and everyone used to refuse to say "Amen". However, we all knew that the snake had to shed it's skin some day, and it finally it did last Wednesday. It was a nerd I overheard, whispering to her friend, and the word passed around in the Physiology lecture hall. By the time the whispers caught my ears, I was caught by Sir's vigilant eyes, shuffling about uncomfortably in my place, and was sent OUT OF THE CLASS. =D I obeyed his orders with a screwed face.

The humiliation of being sent OUT OF THE CLASS had blown my mind so, that I forgot all about the stage result. I appeased my fiery soul with some Japanese music. =(

It was when I saw the first years storm OUT OF THE CLASS to the Anatomy department, that I remembered I had once taken an "upper-limb-stage", and the whispers suddenly made a lot of sense. (dumb me :D) I joined the storm like another spec of dust uniting with the swirling wind.

Girls pushed and shoved one another. In the background, I stood still with an eyebrow raised: wow, these guys are really keen to know their marks. Nerds!
I looked to my right, r.a.k. had her fingers crossed at her heart, eyes shut, as Hania read out her marks. Suddenly they both screamed. "We both passed! Yay!" All around, I saw girls hug one another, some just turning away with a heavy heart. Both extremes depressed me.

Where did I stand?

I plucked courage to make my way through the suffocating crowd, as near to the notice board as I possibly could: the wild mob kept pushing me back like there was a ten-minutes sale about to start. :D

Where was my roll number? Where was it? Oh, it's right there. So they didn't miss me out, eh? I saw, slowly.
Two figures...that added up to...sixty-four...sixty-four?


SIXTY-FOUR???

Out of a total of two hundred, I had failed at sixty-four marks? Was that how bad my stage had been? I recalled my viva. Yes, it had been horrible. I had rightly argued over the course of a nerve with a grim-looking teacher, whose long, black moustache had evaded me. That's all I had been staring at throughout my viva. :D

So he'd failed me. Good revenge, I thought.
I decided that the day was extremely unlucky for me. With my face hung, I walked out of the Anatomy department, to walk into Aadi, who seemed happy.
"How's your result?" she asked.
"Don't ask, they've failed me at sixty-four." I was really upset. She hugged me.

Aadi's coaxing words had made me feel better. That was when Kamran passed by and reminded me of the result AGAIN. =/
"I failed. Sixty-four." I told him too. He shook his head in pity.

Teyni dragged me to the dissection hall. There, I had to confront more happy faces. It was when I shed a tear that Teyni knew I had expected much more of myself. She took me to the notice board, ensuring me I hadn't made the right calculations.

What EXACTLY could be wrong with simple addition? But Teyni knew. She knew because she is an angel. =)

"Sixty-four..." she read.
"There, I told you!" I exclaimed, but she read further.
"...plus FIFTY-SIX!!!!" she suddenly squealed.
"What does that make?" I asked her coldly.
"It makes one hundred and twenty, you IDIOT!"

My eyes popped out of my head. I couldn't believe I had been dumb enough to ignore half of the result, and believed that I could actually fail like THAT. But then again, at university level, you can NEVER judge your test paper to be good or bad. =)