In awe of Coke Studio...

The other day, someone who read my blog (I know it’s hard to believe that just like it’s hard to believe you are reading now!) concluded that I write less and complain more. Well, I told him I've got the divine right to rant and he, the divine wrong to get offended. But I guess he had a point. My writing is bleak and I ought to apply the positive elements too, and most importantly, try to project myself as less of a loser than I already am.

Movies and Music are my closest friends. Since I’ve already done a bland piece on cinema, I’ll try to replicate its *success* with a on songs. No, no, I won’t be listing out ‘20 Names in Music’. That won’t happen for a very simple reason: I don’t know much about music except that it’s almost like a medicine that puts the heal in health. So here’s what I’ll do. I’ll just talk about the songs I got hooked to lately and what makes them so special.

Before I get started, I must confess I’m smitten by Coke Studio. For those who aren’t aware of it, go Google it. It’s one of the finest things to have ever come out of Pakistan and you can’t afford to miss it. There are hundreds of musical gems flowing thanks to this TV Show. And one such song that has been at the top of my personal chart is ‘Mori Araj Suno’. This song by Tina Sani is electric, to say the least. It is Sufism meet God meet Tina Sani meet talented musicians meet Sufism. Perfect harmony.

Besides, do check out Nawai Ney. It is a melting pot of flute, violin, drums and everything else that pitched in well with Tina Sani’s tuneful voice, powerful words and the chorus of three pretty girls. Needless to say, Sufi music has this unexplainable purity that engages mortals with our so-called Creator and back.

Arieb Azhar’s Husn-e-Haqiqi too belongs to the same stable. Here, Khwaja Farid-inspired lyric questions the vanity behind naming Almighty and draws parallel between nuances that goes unnoticed in our day-to-day existence. And then there is also his Na Raindee Hai which extols the virtue of truth and invokes the supreme power as well as Bulleh Shah in the concluding line. I’m in awe, is a gross underunderstatement.

Add Arif Lohar & Meesha Shafi's spirited Jugni and Zeb & Haniya's Afghani folk number Bibi Sanam Janem to the list and you're a fan for life. And please let Sanam Marvi's Pritam tickle your musical curiosity.

For those who aren’t Sufially-inclined and found the aforementioned reccos dull, either go stab yourself with a plastic knife or try Damien Rice’s The Volcano and Rootless Tree. The haunting but assuasive cello at the very beginning sets the tone for the song and the two beautiful singers with melancholic swagger do the rest. 

Enjoy.

Expression of Depression

There’s something about depression that grows on you. Maybe it’s depression itself. Maybe not. You keep on falling down and down to a point of absolute comfort. You are zoned. Most of the time, you take a U-turn and come back to your senses and deal with the fall. But sometimes, you just fade away.

Once in a while, life makes you realize you were born to be depressed. Of small things. Of big things. Of nothings. But you’ve got to be depressed to be part of the crowd. Perhaps, you are not content with the way you look or smell or think or express. And worst of all – no wait, worstest of all – people think they know you. It’s like you are a guinea pig in a huge social experiment. Society is, after all, an invisible layer of stress, constantly wanting you to act in a certain way or the other. But at the end of the day, no can harm you more than you. That’s an unestablished fact.

We keep chasing happiness only to realize it was peace of mind, not happiness, we were after. No wonder sadness is never out of fashion. It’s always there around the corner waiting to pounce on you and won’t give up until you yield to its magic. A big part of the problem dwells in our mindset too. We shape our desires and ambitions and worldly hoo-haa-haa according to elements encircling us. We are never really free, you reckon?

Some of us confuse depression with disease. Even science wants us to believe so. Well, it’s a personal take but if depression is a medical disorder, then happiness is too. Shrinks may not agree as they are too busy stuffing you with drugs that go smoothly with your hollow system and your supremely f-ed-up mind.

We are facing our own creations. Moreover, sadness is underestimated for all the power it holds. In reality, it is more powerful than happiness. A happy moment doesn’t stick with you for long. Blame it on biased amnesia but that’s how it is. Smiling randomly reminiscing about gone good days doesn’t take place much often but crying hoarse over how life had been unfair in the past is quite a famous exercise.

As usual, there was no straightforward intention to come up with this piece. Just plain depression at not being able to come up with anything better.

Of His Own

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He knows not how to win
nor to break hearts asunder,
all he does is speak his mind
leaving the devil to wonder…

He gets alone wherever he is
and secretly cries his eyes out,
while enjoying the noise of a distant smile
calm as a cold and cold as a clam…

He is not what folks think
as they aren't worth the trouble,
has no reason to do otherwise
for he tells no truth, he tells no lies…

He rises under the sun
and sweats in the noon,
kisses the sweet breeze
and sleeps with the moon…

He's well aware of death
as well as the mysteries breathing beholds,
yet he wants to try his best
to keep his chin up when he falls dead…

Quite or Quit!

I’m thinking about my job. Gotta quit either one of them. OK, I quit thinking. Bad jokes apart, this is a serious issue. Nah! Don't worry. I'm not going to advocate nihilism-hedonism-combo-supershit philoSOURphy here though I'd love to do exactly so but I'll try not to. What I really want to do is convey the importance of getting a proper job which one LIKES. The type where you don't have to ask yourself, "Is my job worth the piss I'm holding back?" Nevertheless, the term 'workaholic' doesn't apply to you if you don't like your job. As streetforward as that.

I'm emphasizing on the likeability factor as I ain't particularly someone who is very much happy with his job profile like majority of my fellow-employees in this universe, aliens included. I'm not exactly excellent at what I'm doing but I'm not the worst case scenario so I can say that I know my job better than the back of my hand. But then, what the heck do i need to know the back of my hand for, eh?

Throughout my sorry life, I always wanted to be somebody. And I'm still not THAT somebody. It's like a fading reverie where I see opportunities being gutted right in front of me. In reality, I'm rather busy writing stupid pseudofunny lines and feel like a monk with a monkeyish grin. I may not be as hopeless as this piece is turning out to be but trust me, one must get a job one dearly loves. Although it's hard to believe I too used to love my job from the bottom of my fingers once. Today when I look back, I wonder if they drugged me or something. You see transcribing is not the world's best job and transcription is hardly known outside our small thriving circle. Honestly, my job and I are simply destroying each other but we both pretend as if we are unaware of the fact. Plus, the nocturnal nature of my work doesn't help much. There is hardly any social life left of whatever was left before I left diurnal existence. No, Social Media doesn't count! And the ugliest part of all: I'm getting screwed by my job while my cronies are getting laid.

Maybe it's time to quit. But what next? I don't need this stupid job as long as no one mentions money and I'm wearing a pocketless trouser. My parents won't allow a 24 year old crazy son to stay at home tied to his PC watching never-ending movies. That is just not happening. So I guess I'm at the crossroad of my life. Perhaps, I should go back to what my forefathers used to do – farming. Not a bad idea to be frank but I'm not harboring that Lucky Ali moment. At least, not yet. On a second thought, I must become a fisherman and go back to the sea. After all, according to Darwin, that's where we all come from. On a third thought, I guess I should escape into the deepest of jungle and fulfill the penultimate dream of emulating my childhood hero Mowgli's life. But again, I guess I'm too old for that kind of nonsense.

Enough of trivializing the "serious issue" I noted in the very first line. Maybe, I'm overreacting as usual. Maybe it's just a phase and like all other phases, this too will burn out. Some days it feels great to have a job. Apparently today is not such a day.

Whenever I'm in office I keep reminiscing about all the stupidities I committed and how little I learned. Anyway, it's never too late to improve, quit or die. Or write another futile piece and undo whatever you blabbered in the previous post.

P.S: Just thought of doing something more insignificant than my job. Hence this blog post. *cruel laughs*

Boredomination

Boredom is the most happening thing on this planet. And I'm sure it is not restricted to humankind alone. Seen birds and animals doing nothing but trying to be still? Exactly! That's what I'm talking about.

As far as I know there are 24 hours in a day and out of these 24 hours, about one-third is spent on sleeping in its various forms. And that leaves less than 16 hours to "live". So the real question is how much time is actually "lived" and not "bored". Now don't get into etymological pogrom and insist that even being bored is part of the grand scheme called living process. Trust me, it's not. Living is to be alive, not zombified. In fact, we shouldn't worry much about nuclear proliferation when boredom proliferation is a bigger and more immediate threat to our existence. That sounds like exaggeration, isn't it? No, not really.

Roughly put, boredom is like being in a quicksand; the only difference is you don't sink. You are not aware when it strikes you but once you feel it, you want to escape it. Unless of course if you are working in an environment (read: office) where there is no such thing as an Escape button. And worse, if you are working graveyard shifts where your eyelids are put to test almost every single night and very thin line is left between being bored and being asleep. And then when you're caught napping on the desk, you exploit philosophy by saying "Eyelids are not meant to carry such burden of boredom!" and then you're promptly fired from the job. Happens.

I love talking about workplace and all the vagaries attached that pass of as occupational shite. Given a choice, boredom is anytime a favourite against workdom. Not many come to work to work. Most of them are here for the pay and if given an opportunity, they'll do everything but work. Any given day. You don't have to be a communist to know this. There are millions of us who would rather be bored to death than worked to death. So you see, now people are ready to get bored given they don't have to be productive at the same time. There are companies where employees hardly grind but stream videos online and spent time on social networking sites as if it will make their company's quarter-end graph kiss the face of sky.

You should be working in my office to know what different levels of boredom can do to your brain (or lack of it). Very few things may pique your interest when you're at the top of Mt. Boredom. But it's a good thing. Sometimes. Like you come up with stupid lines that you decide to tweet thinking, "Lo! There I break the code of this universe!" and then get back to fighting deadline. Under its spell, your mind is not completely dead and is gifted with the power of imagination. You think of better things in life than toiling for bread and butter – both of which you don't eat ANYMORE! But that's how it is. Everything gets boring after a while. Pessimism seeps into your soul and wait for the day your stupid heart will get bored of creating its beautiful beat music.

People have this very pathetic habit of taking credit for things they have nothing to do with. They all go ballistic when they are bored as if they invented boredom. Take a break. Breathe. It was always here. We are just passing through.

P.S. Since you are reading this crap, I owe you something. The tripe above doesn't make sense. I know. I wrote it as I was bored and so thought of boring you too. Anyway, do you hear that? That's boredom talking in a deeper voice.