Noobus-Douchess, Winter, Me and I.

In one of the many inspired dead-ends,

I ran till I was short of breath

To the most loyal of my imaginary friends

I  could only ask sounding close to death:

'Am I wrong...

Because more and more, seemingly,

Even with somebody along...

Life's a glorified journey from A to B.

And thinking this I spend my days.

To face the lacking, I try my best.

To see different I distort my gaze.

I don't want to think that I have less.

Hence I give more of myself to the cartoon.

And dull my sense of achievement with novelty.

Yes it will dry and cake and will turn maroon,

But first my blood will be purple through policy.'

He gave me a hug,

A short imaginary one.

Not an intravenous drug...

It was awkward, gay, un-warm and un-fun. 

'If only you were simply insecure,

You psychoanalyze yourself in your own damn song.

Perception and ambition have no cure.

A phase is annoying but nothing's wrong.

You can try your best to have a fit,

As you grow skeptical I adopt your way,

You can stand here feeling inadequate..

Or console yourself that satisfaction is a cliché.

Lets procrastinate another season,

Small joys I wish you,

What more do you need as a reason,

Than the latest manga issue?'

I suddenly needed some space

I asked him to state our defining characteristics

In the confusion I left the place...

Its a weird thing, which I hoped to fix.

So since then I have lived and lived and known.

A cup of tea is but a comfort,

 I microwave it again and again to have it thrown.

And I refuse to have a favourite shirt.

Noobus-Douchess found me at last.

Found me no more meaningful a year later.

And before I could run he asked really fast:

'Why let go, my curious debater?'

I felt no obligation to give him another chance.

I may one day accept weirdness as vain.

What bothers me is knowing only waltz as a dance...

Because this was the poem that showed I was sane.

Times Noob Roman

All posts will now be more legible.
I do not write 'falsafey'.


Kazuya.


See? You read that?


Heinz.


Ergo is just a fancy way of saying therefore.

Yung uns

I will have you know that some of the most awesome people in the world are really old.
I routinely indulge...YES INDULGE.. in bizarrely vague as well as strictly systematic intellectual quirpy, irony-laced, skeptically hopeful, insightful, introspective, profound, extremely profound conversations with OLD PEOPLE. OLD People are AWESOME. I ditched my best-friends one time, to stay at their place to have a long inconsequential conversation with the grandfather. He was really cool okay... Better than a trip to the DVD store and garlic mayo fries. I mean...Can we rename old people as Rhetoric Machines....or ...Anecdote Treasure Chests.... Normal kids dream about their dream fantasy foot-ball team or Awesome Super-Rock Band... I want to hold a workshop. With a panel. And on that panel I want Umberto Eco, Chomsky, Anwar Maqsood and Zia Mohyeddin...and say something like..... "Satire...Discuss"......... *SITS BACKS WATCHES THE MAGIC*


Buttttt I doooonnntttt waaaannnnaaaaa turrrnnnnn 20!
Ugh...Man-child.


Danial keeps bugging me that I can't be a dinosaur.
Well fuck you guys!
It has already been established that on a blog, for me to definitively state that which I am is a lost cause.
But I realize that the non-egotistical side of my intellect, comes from a a very curious and blunt inner-child who broadens my perspective greeeeeeaaaaaaaatttttttlllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. 


Dear inner-child, I know I'm 19 years too late..But do you need some fudd? Oh...*poke* Goddamnit ...The box said food-for-thought was enough....


We were doing free-writes.
A couple of friends and me.
They are younger than me.
Yes I get along with younger people.
But I felt sooo old. For the first time. I mean, there is a limit to how much you can ride the mentor band-wagon. 


Fine so the idea was that you had to keep writing. Freely. And I was so slow on the uptake. And was so skeptical I was. Which I am usually not with poetry. But I was. It was this annoying persistent tick. A yearning for a system. I mean...FREE WRITE? What gives.
And there they were so full energy jumping around.
And I was searching awkwardly inside my head: I NEED a smoke, I wonder when my next Law class is, maybe I should wear socks!, If I rhyme this line I'll create the ABB structure which I do not want, what the hell?, Maybe holding a cat will inspire me!...


I mean....I put the Aneous in Spontaneous.....Or I used to...


And Contextual Literary Reference Plagiarism is something that bothers me!
I told them this.
*blank*
I will elaborate on this later... It has become quite common... I will explain this new phenomenon... But see?????? Stuff like this bothers me now. The extent of my previous oldness was calling stuff that other people liked overrated (which I have healed from and would like some appreciation).


But seriously! It is as though I have been growing older without  knowing it.
I do not age.... I procrastinate :(     
I mean life is fun, there is so much I wanted to have done by now...  


Hence the name change. Can't cling on to Adolescence anymore. But...


Bitch please, I will always be a dinosaur.
Rawr x)

Writhe

Hospital rooms are very comfortable places if you're one to exploit sickness to its fullest. He was. Let us imagine:

That the windows, which ordinarily bestow a pleasant view of expensive real-estate with green trees and a reasonably tended duck-infested pond, WERE TO SHUT WITH THE MANIFESTATION OF TONNES OF LAYERS OF IRON FORGED INTO AWESOME TOTALITARIAN BLOCKADES WHOSE VERY PRESENCE SETS AFLAME THE CURTAINS ONLY TO TESTIFY TO THE AWESOMNESS OF THAT WHICH HAS JUST SET IT AFLAME!

The seal on his windows by this sheet of collossal density appeared to have been constructed out of the carcass of a warship hull. The exact reason or unfortunate coincidence of this would dawn in a minute. Bolts intimidatingly tight prevented the passage water as well as air:

THOSE VENTS WHICH ON THE FIRST TWO DAYS MADE HIM UNEASY AND PARANOID ENOUGH TO SUSPECT THAT HE WAS BEING SPIED ON ARE NOW THE EXTENSION OF SOME INDUSTRIAL GRADE SUCTION PUMP.

And before the patient knew exactly what was transpiring, the air was sucked out his room. Completely. The grandeur of the flaming curtains lessened as the lack of oxygen extinguished them. They swished quite languidly, perhaps suspending their own disbelief: Hospitals usually use blinds.

What vaccuum could be conjured in such apocalyptic fashion being accepted for what it is, without question? The desire to breathe is a very motivating in dispelling curiosity it seems. The patient wasted no time in trying his door. It was open.

A long corridor, cinematically tainted a grim blue with a shimmering light?

We'll see how perceptive a pseudo-intellectual is when you cut his air off.

There it was a deserted brightly lit and pleasant hospital corridor: a vacuum. In a vacuum:

You do not explode. Your blood does not boil. You do not freeze. You do not instantly lose consciousness.

You do not instantly lose conciousness! You do not! The patient realized this for every second that he looked a down a brightly lit and pleasant hospital corridor. For every second that a traffic of million thoughts conducted itself at warp speed inside his head. For every second that his nerves descended into an animalistic  turgidity. 

It has been only 15 seconds since the air has left the building. 

Realization is a beautiful thing.

Down that same corridor lay the means to stay conscious.

The vacuum was not absolute; so the patient found out by entering every door. He had but a precious second to inhale before the air was sucked out of every room.


The patient was subject to the human search of help; the subconscious inability to accept that any second we could be completely alone. Okay, fine. He's paying a lot for intensive care in a Hospital...not that unreasonable to expect assistance.  'YOU ARE ALONE YOU MOTHERFUCKER! YOU BETTUH EVOLVE! YOU BETTUH!' bellowed the speakers as though singing the awesome part from Ace of Spades by Motorhead.


 The patient did not even have the sense to define his predicament as a vacuum as a seeping irritation descended in his ears while he stumbled across room for room. Disbelief etched into every speck of redness in his eyes. He felt the pressure on his skull, of a thousands yawns at once as he scavenged for air.The end of the corridor was right there with a door. Not an ominous door in itself but carried for the patient the immense burden of the unknown; of the beyond. He never tried to vault through immediately while there was air to be had in every room.

Before going ahead, the patient would have ordinarily (as ordinary as this situation could be made) taken a deep breath. He sadly substituted this with putting his head momentarily against the door. He wedged down the steel-rod and ventured forth!

Immediately there was a gust of air in his face! A frosty stale smell of old cold air, without regard for his weariness, slamming itself into him. Breathable air! A cold mix of industrial and organic wastes made into a  gas! Breathable! He descended down the stairwell. It was slippery. He tested the air as he treaded carefully.

The smell was not sharp, a dull smell not kind enough to dull him. The patient descended with a disgust not for the smell but with the idea of getting used to it. 

He grasped at the railing and felt the icy sliminess that he found at his feet. Such sadistic a cold it was that remained in his feet as the cold slime clung onto him. A cruel cold that does not freeze the slime completely, a cruel cold that is not sharp enough to keep him alert, a cruel cold without the decency to numb him. A cold that absorbed him into itself and yet not drain him. A cold that was here to stay and was distinct from the smell that the gas had within. A component of the gas he breathed as he went. The patient was dizzied not by the odour or the cold as he was by the dynamics of their presence. The degree of their impact on the constitution of his environment... Ratios. Now of all damn times. 

Chapped. Chapped to the core he was as he stumbled to the middle of the stairwell. He looked down in the center of the stairs to see how far down he had yet to go. He didn't know that he was in the line of fire of the source of the smell. He puked. A lot. There he lay with his stomach pinned on the railing, his hands barely gripping it, belching away his survival instinct...

There shot down from above, in the same center of the stair-well...his own puke...which he puked down...on his head...from above...fancy that? 

He lazily gritted his teeth...almost in anger breathing from his mouth his teeth wedged together tightly...

Slipping down the stairs was a regular occurrence after every few steps...the icy railing made his skin stick...every time he slipped, he ripped off tiny bits of his skin...pleasant tingling sensations...

Another door...

He fell against it... Unsure and unaware. Let there be relief...

He didn't remember pushing down the handle...perhaps because he did not feel himself doing it...


Normal air at room temperature.
It was a generic room. As generic as a generic room could be...with a sound vacuum..
The remains of slime on his bare soles slid him across the generic floor of the generic room. The screech echoed throughout the room and left as alone as he was before. 


There he sensed a presence...A faint thing with existence...Existence: a faint thing...
It was there but only just...Or are generic rooms alive?
Beating...Existing in beats. Less faint as he walked across like a refugee...A source of something was as good as anything. 


He was barely alone! He did not know what a paradox he was about to be faced with...Something that would  be a sign of life yet the deadest form of loneliness....An empty solitary wall, generic...A wall-clock...The heart of the generic room. The beating source...ticks...so many ticks. Every tick now causing ripples across empty space, infecting it with claustrophobia...


He slid across the wall and sat down. A generic fall for the defeated man. 
In a few hours he would wake up the same patient of a generic malignant tumor the size of a pea in his normal hospital room...He would stab himself in the brain...He hated details. 

Love: the STD (AABBCDD, no balance in lines whatsoever)

I heart you very much,
I heart you as such.
Because we hearted throughout the night.
We hearted in the dark and in the light.
And now it squirts hurts.
Because you forget,
That was as good as it gets.


We laughed a lot,
We laughed at what we sought.
Because it was fun to not sit straight,
Funner to laugh now and make sure it gets too late.
And now its sad,
We're back in a time-zone,
You can whine, but time never leaves you alone.


You poked and prodded,
I poked back and nodded.
Because I felt, so numb.
Was there ever a remedy so dumb?
And now its pointless.
There's no stupid dance,
To which I'll give a chance.


This entire time, I had flu
Flu, cause of which I didn't sniff glue.
Because you were a high and more.
I wouldn't have left, wasn't sober enough to walk out the door.
And now its dull.
There's a hangover in my soul,
Don't know if I preferred the heart with a hole.


What we had, was small.
If we had it at all.
Because you're not sure if you'll stay,
And I need more to stop me from going away.
And its over.
For myself, I'll find perfection,
Because next time, I'll use: emotional protection.

TERAWATTS? GIGAWATTS?

So much energy is consumed each day, a daily attempt to shut down our minds and cause pain to our bodies invisibly.


No, I have made barely any new posts and those of you who read my notes on facebook will find nothing new. A sad way to kick-start a blog. Ah, but my creative juices are stewing and have yet to flow. This very post is a revamp of something that I wrote before in eager hopes that one day I would need it.


Funnily enough, the posts are going in reverse chronological order...they get older....I think I wrote something 'relevant' way down...The U.N fan-fiction...second post probably.
Wave after wave of psuedo-intellectuals crash against a stubborn country. One that I live in. Mary, Mary..quite contemporary.


What advantage do I have...why do I have the audacity, the arrogance to feel that I could make any difference, the tiniest dent?




Next project -- Well, I want to do projects. A play, two plays actually! The script for one is a work under process. The second one torments me inside my head. But it just occurred to me...I have been feeling physically assaulted more and more all year.


Much luck to those who manage to feel pep, vigour and enthusiam...I feel ASSAULTED.




Im exhausted...

Because winter crept up on me (12-12-08)

It was dark yet the moon was full that night.
So I guess it wasn’t that dark and there was the light.
Blue darkness, my shadow and I could just stare.
My shadow? My shadow? Why did I care?
Cared because it’s fucking eerie to realise,
That the eeriness didn’t bother wearing a guise.
I stared back at the moon, its shiny wide open mouth.
Drenched in the shiny excretion I wanted to shout
It lied to me, just like when I was drenched before.
It’s been a year since the lie, and I haven’t gotten my score.
To score! A few tiny steps towards success, nothing more.
Every tiny step that I fail, and procrastinate in this empty shell.
I fail, because there's chapped lips again and I already fell.
Fallen low, because of every deja vu without any progress.
I console myself, no progress but I haven’t any less.
Nothing less, but the weather's too cold for me to be content.
Aspirations of coldness, cause I'm supposed to be hell-bent.
Inadequacy to aspire too small, without much bloodshed.
12 months gone. Its sensual epitome resides in my head!
Again! When you’re unsure if the familiar sensation is old or new.
My dry, year-older skin, cracked, no moisture in the air or dew.
Just a whip that cracks a familiar pain, so sharp and unwelcome.
Like a painful pill or over-eager whores, pick your cliché or your scum.
I've made a song about the clichés that I console myself with each day.
Things should have been done; my self-esteem wouldn’t have gone away.
Going where? Asked the moon with sly splendour that I can’t beat.
My tardiness exceeds my own slyness, so with the moon I can’t compete.
To compete? In submission the white deity finally made me bow.
I have nothing to validate myself with anymore, or maybe forgot how.
How lost have I been each year in this silent season that I use to contemplate?
Silently, the plans were never put into action; never did I clear my slate.
In a worldly state, of more materialistic dimensions, I simply had nothing better to do.
So I chose a simple task to think of the year ahead, so what say you?
And as I kneeled, I did what I'll do again and said,
Try again, its not over until we're dead.
There was too much to achieve that we never started dear.
So much to achieve, if only to begin, but there's always next year.
Fuck this, I didn’t really fail, I was about to start you see.
Too soon, I only stopped because winter crept up on me.

Maybe the rabbit

Every fruitless search,
Of smurf muffins and cakes.
Every annoying place,
Where the coke's not baloo.
Makes me think about,
How maybe you ate the rabbit,
In your attempt to not eat it.


Every weekend not spent,
In the many society parks.
Every toddler spared,
From my super-sonic-merry-go-round.
Makes me think about,
How maybe you ate the rabbit,
In your attempt to not eat it.


Every crayon I break,
Because I have a crooked grip,
Every smudge of black,
On my almost perfect yellow sun,
Makes me think about
How maybe you ate the rabbit,
In your attempt to not eat it.


Every second you waste,
Keeping me on hold,
Every cracking sound,
As you punch rubber keys,
On an ancient phone.
Makes me think about,
How maybe you ate the rabbit,
In your attempt to not eat it.


Every frustated sigh you point out,
Before I say 'nevermind',
Every insult that must be explained,
Because the fancy words are also empty.
Makes me think about,
How maybe you ate the rabbit,
In your attempt to not eat it.


Just admit it,
You ate my rabbit.

Her shirt's not that skimpy hey

They show up at the same KFC,
Make the same loud jokes about Chicky.
Its really annoying when you have to try,
To ignore those idiots as you eat a fry
With them's a girl who seems really sweet,
Wonder why she's showing off her teeth.
She probably just got her braces off,
Cause she ordered something really soft.
As I look at her, trying to generalize,
Then pretty soon I realize:
I'm sure she has a secret wish to be
A more meaningful nobody.
So stop bugging me about my latest crush okay,
Her shirt's not that skimpy hey!


I saw her at that ugly park,
She stayed until it was really dark.
Actually sitting on the grass,
Not worried about the green stains on her ass.
Fine she whined to her dad,
How the sewage water smelled really bad.
She didn't touch the creaking swings,
Forgot to live because of a rusty hinge.
So I pretend to read my book as I figure her out,
But its easier to give her the benefit of a doubt:
I'm sure she has a secret wish to be
A more meaningful nobody.
So stop bugging me about my latest crush okay,
Her shirt's not that skimpy hey!


You cant get a deccent cinnabon anymore,
Because Déjà vu has closed its doors.
And the coffee at Espresso isnt even nice,
So what's her excuse for a place so over-priced?
She got a raspberry muffin and ate it,
At least she admits it was overrated.
Walk past her table because I have no style,
I trip and look up, surprised to get her smile.
Right there, I could've run out the cafe.
But I decided to talk to her anyway:
I'm sure she has a secret wish to be
A more meaningful nobody.
So stop bugging me about my latest crush okay,
Her shirt's not that skimpy hey!

Things you notice as an Otaku

1) THE EYES, yes the big googoo eyes which japanese anime/manga artists use to compensate for their own plight of tight slit for eye-holes. Astro Boy which was called Atom in japan (the various remakes of which we all - some us are quite familiar with) was the first anime to achieve regular broadcast in 1964). In black and white, the robotic boy-wonder Astro had large black-eyes which contributed to his child-like determined expressions. Yes sadly animation in Japan was largely Disney inspired, but took a sharp turn into forming a separate dominant identity. I first saw Astro-Boy's dubbed version of the 90's coloured remake when I was 11 on K-tv.




2) You are aware of the various terms that are used to define "ENERGY LEVELS". Reiatsu for bleach, Chakra for Naruto, HP in Pokemon, Chi in Street Fighter and Energy Levels in Dragon Ball Z. Should you make the mistake of ever confusing the terms in the wrong Anime Universe...yes your friends will never let you forget it.


3) Seals, Bankais, Ultimate fighting techniques, lay it all on us. Every anime with a hint of combat, will require an UNDERSTANDING OF COMPLEX ABILITIES, the dynamics of their limitations and progressive magnitude. You could be the biggest dumbass in Economics and have problems with graphs, but you will notice "I do not understand! How can Hitako's mushi mushi baygo be so comparatively ineffective against Shitako's Oyo Tse Chiyo, when in season 3, Seiyu's Okinawan is also a fire-based attack overpowers Shitako's Oyo Tse Chiyo which may be stronger in terms of the level of Yukai but it fails because its an Ice-based attack. It simply not logical." (Note: Okinawan is a type of doughnut).


4) NOBODY UNDERSTANDS US, a persistent theme in this note and a problem of variable significance in our lives. People just don't like that we talk about weird sounding names and use alien words as verbs and adjectives. I don't know. It bugs them. Some people just like to be preppy. Some are genuinely concerned that we get so worked up about Shinra Tensei.


5) BOOBS.


6) Point 5 HAS NOTHING to do with Point 4. Though it does get annoying when your parents suspect that you have an Asian fetish.


7) BRUISES AND BUMPS are really huge in a comic context but nobody is more adept at making cool battle damage than manga and anime artists. Pain in the former context is portrayed as squiggly vibrating lines. In the latter situations pain is portrayed through deep cultural music and omitted syllables and the subject in pain will have lush wavy hair flowing in the wind.


8) FOUNTAINS OF BLOOD are the brain child of Asian concept artists for movies. It was translated onto the manga and anime medium. The last resort attack of all anime characters who don't die in vain, they spray their enemies with pints of AIDS infested blood. Seriously make blood baby watch some anime.


9) A CONTRADICTION OF POINT 8 in older classic ninja anime. Less flashy. If you slice someone in half, they will remain intact for quite a while and manage an arrogant smirk before their next movement makes them fall apart. This applies to the modern anime counterparts as well in situations of dramatic clashes when two opponents speed towards each other. Their exact impact will be a blur. Only after they have moved past one another will the victor be determined as after a full monologue the loser will explode.


10) SWINGING THROUGH THE TREES, effortlessly for hours and having nice long conversations. Seriously they're flying by means of tapping their toes after long intervals onto branches.


11) JESUS NINJAS, they run on water.


12) STRATEGIC EVALUATION OF RENDERED ATTACKS during battle. They wont shutup. Logically speaking Shikamaru is the one who should be bragging about whichever Ultimate attack sequence that was tried and failed and set off a chain reaction to the victory of the good guys. But no. EVERY BLOODY NINJA HAS TO SPEND A GOOD 10 MINUTES WITH COMMENTARY OF THE BATTLE AFTER EVERY SINGLE ATTACK. What if the attacks actually kill them for once. They'll revive the enemy just to explain to them how and why they lost.


13) We eagerly wait for the protagonist to learn and master ultimate ancient techniques, only to find out that once they are put into use during battle, there will be SOME TECHNICALITY that renders them useless. And no matter how "ultimate" they are, there always is a better attack out there. Always. Wait for the plot to develop.


14) Same with main antagonists. AS PLOT DEVELOPS, the older bad guys seem like pansies compared to the new ones.


15) We LOVE fantasy match-making and watching it become reality. I'm still pissed that Danzou didn't get to fight Madara properly.


16) We NEVER fantasy match-make with different anime universes. We just don't. Fine let Iron Man team up with Spider-Man. Naruto meeting Ichigo? What? Ridiculous.


17) The theme songs will have RANDOM INCLUSIONS OF ENGLISH PHRASES! The perfect example is the 1st opening for Shippuden. I remember South Park parodying anime in one episode....the chorus of the fictional theme song in that episode was "Lets get fighting love!" Seriously, whats up with that.


18) How do you know when the good guys are winning? Wait for this music.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjjkHg5FOhk&feature=related

Tom, Dick and Haris JatoiKhanChaudhary

They all arrived on three different dates to the affected area in Pakistan's North. The U.N had characterized it as a greater catastrophe than the Tsunami, than the Haiti fiasco and even greater than the earthquake that took many lives here: nobody was missing the flood (action).




Internships with U.N stamps are gold. "Emergency Relief Provision" under U.N jurisdiction is a whole new level of exaggerated skill in terms of risk-assessment, quick thinking, technical field experience and all the other descriptions that one validates their experiences with. Ironically, the very same practice was employed by many to attain a position in this mobilization.


Thomas Ó Banain, Dick Donato and Haris JatoiKhanChaudhary were to be a part of Bravo team.


Dick was an Italian-American from Maryland. He succumbed to dysentery by drinking the local tap-water and went home. The details of his return journey are uneventful.


Thomas arrived in Peshawar via a PIA flight. He arrived three days later than the reporting time because his ticket was the cheapest and earliest "on-chance" reservation. He had arrived in Lahore via a KLM flight from Belfast. Haris paid full fare two days in advance and reached on the scheduled reporting day.


Because Haris arrived on time, he travelled in the white U.N Hilux to take him to Mansehra along with other personnel scheduled for transport. Thomas's instructions were to go to the Pearl Continental Hotel in Peshawar and wait for two days for the next U.N convoy to depart to Mansehra. But that would mean he would miss his briefing.


In P.C's lobby he met plenty of people fascinated by his Irish accent which was so familiar and yet so new to them. He was included into random conversations as an insider about things ranging from Zionist Conspiracies in the World Bank, the Illuminati causing natural disasters and how much more money Pakistan needed. He was only 19. They were mostly journalists. The masses looked to them for the truth. He just wanted to get to Mansehra within the next 8 hours.


Haris looked for other people from anywhere near Aitchison at base-camp.


A porter had some information for Thomas. He was very discouraging but in honesty told Thomas of one private relief truck heading towards Mansehra that evening. An excessively white-boy travelling through these parts was everyone's liability and concern. Thomas weighed his options. He had come from too far away for there to be any severe consequences for insubordination. He had come from too far away to risk it. He had come from too far away to not do anything worthwhile. A CNN cameraman encouraged it and advised that dollars ensured the loyalty of the truckers. They had all done it and it would be taking away a part of Pakistan with him. Such fuss over a truck ride.


U.N issue field laptops are water and shock resistant. A Thuraya Sat-Phone would allow constant connectivity. Maps were a necessity despite the GPS tracking being hundred percent functional 24/7. Haris wondered if he would get to keep the gear afterwards. Perhaps it would compromise U.N intelligence for them to do so or he envisioned. Every bit of information that he would type in would be stored into a mainframe. "Information is power" he kept mumbling as he explored the functions.


Doodh patti was excellent in taste but Thomas lasted only 15 minutes after drinking it. The warm dairy inside his stomach and the bumpy road lulled him to sleep.


Pakistan posed an unprecedented challenge for the U.N and the world. The needs outwitted the preset protocol. Those in UNDP did not have the means in place in Pakistan to over-come terrain. The terrain of Pakistan over-came UNICEF. Resources were depleted for HCR. Man-power was too scattered for systematic functioning. But hey, this was Pakistan. Fuck procedure. It had always been the case in the Afghan refugee crisis and the earthquake that the mandates of UN bodies kept blurring. The country, by human and divine intervention, just did not allow for regulations to be held in place. Haris was to become part of many cells that could provide light rescue assistance and undertake reconnaissance. Logistical support for all Aid would be handled according to the information they provided.


Thomas's second warm meal since he arrived in Pakistan was given to him at 11 O' Clock in the night. His identification documents were sealed in a plastic casing from which rain drops bounced off into his eyes. The senior field supervising officer had had too tiring of a day to make a big deal out of the matter. He slept in a pop-up tent.


The morning was dark, the day ahead was long. They woke up at 4 in the morning. Provisions of fruit and biscuits served as breakfast. Thomas craved doodh patti. Haris sprinkled sugar over fresh peaches and water-melon. 'Carbs were good' echoed in the camp. Thomas asked Haris to pass him a napkin.


Land-slides prevented the use of many patches of roads. Soon the base-camp would be isolated. The plan was for teams disperse and to diffuse into different base-camps. Bravo team had to take a Southern route towards Abbotabad. This was an extreme and desperate measure. Partially to ensure that they functioned as they went down but mainly to get the novice volunteers to a safe destination...there was liability.


Thomas and Haris loaded their U.N issue gear into the car. They would complete only 20 km of their journey in it. The remaining 30 or more would have to be hiked. Their slow movement would not be an issue; they had to collect information anyway.


The Irish plains were not as thick and dense as these mountains but the obstacles excited Thomas. To Haris, this area was as alien as it was to Thomas. His vacations were restricted to watching concerts in Dubai and buying sneakers in Bangkok. But this was nobody's vacation. Their team leader had a hard time acting as babysitter, regardless of how hard Thomas and Haris roughed it.


They reached a fork in the valley. A sheep herder limped towards them. Thomas seized his first chance to assist. The language barrier prevented him from doing anything.
'You don't speak his language?' he asked Haris.
'No I don't'.
'But he lives in your neighboring province!'
'Well thats ignorant. His mother tongue and mine are two very different things.'
Their team leader intervened: 'Actually if he's from this area he's speaking Hindko which is not that different from Punjabi.'


Salim was a Balochi medical volunteer in their team. His efforts and Urdu allowed them to learn that the remnants of a now destroyed village were now locked in between a mudslide and dead livestock. It bothered Thomas that they had proved so useless at the first opportunity. Haris would be credited with making the distress call with the Thuraya and even relaying the information back to HQ. They now knew that where such a village existed and the route they had taken would soon be over-whelmed by mudslides and another route would be required. Army and NGO workers would be privy to this info. All thanks to Haris typing it up. Thomas felt insignificant but in no way envious.


The oxygen difference kicks in a lot faster when you are hiking. The youngest members of Bravo team learned that the hard way. They were not allowed the three day period for their respiratory system to grow accustomed to the altitude.


To go up the slopes of Kakul tested their determination in more ways than one. The army base was to be their lodging for the next few days. And the Pakistan army was a generous host to the U.N.


Mosquitoes dominated the veranda to their rooms. It gave Haris goosebumps to watch the thousands clustered in swarms.


Thomas left his shoes outside as Haris tracked mud onto the carpet. I'm lying. Neither of them is that stupid.


Thomas stretched before entering his bed. It helps to wake up early.
'Lahore is a nice place to live in?'
'Yes, it is. Never a dull moment there.'
'Culture capital of Pakistan?'
'You read that in the in-flight magazine?'
'Yes.'
'Yeah, you could say that.'
Haris sat up and turned on a bed-side lamp.
'Wonder if the village will have received help by now.'
Thomas sat up as well. 'You can check you know.'
The realization hit Haris and he bounded off the bed to grab the laptop.
'There is no progress report on that village. The GPS has it marked as "distress"...'
'Land slides. They cant risk it.'
They switched the light back off.
'You did good. Don't worry.'
'I guess I did.'
'A flood can be this bad huh?'
'First one I've seen this closely.'
'Never this bad in a century..'
'Who knows..global warming..'
Thomas sat hearing this.
'Yeah, thats what everyone is saying.'
'Its going to take a lot of money to fix this.'
'Money and time. Years.'
'But they're dying of cholera and pnemonia in the mean time."
'Starvation... Whats it like... growing up in a third- I mean developing country..?'
'Bomb blasts every day. Corruption. Lack of education. The works.'
'Ever lost anyone?'
'No.'
'So you have a restricted paranoid life?'
'Hell no.'
'I thought there were fundamentalists at every corner.'
'Yes there are.'
'Intolerance?'
'Indulgence.'
'Have you ever had typhoid or malaria?'
'Chicken pox.'
'Do you go to a state-run school?'
'No.'
'Domestic staff?'
'What?'
'How many servants in your house mate?'
'Uhh...eight.'
'Are you rich?'
'I suppose. But the middle class families in Pakistan have atleast two servants too.'
'You're joking?'
'No. Extremely cheap labour.'
'So it is in China. No servants for anybody mate.'
'Well I come from a political family.'
'Thats a good thing?'
'Why? Why wouldn't it be?'
'I don't know. So honestly speaking how much do the rich give?'
'We're a charitable country. We just are; regardless of everything they say.'
'You have a ridiculous concentration of wealth my frieind.'
'Nothing to challenge the status quo my friend. Nobody is to touch the sugar mills and no taxes on sugar. But yes, we give.'
'Do you believe american agents are actively conspiring within your country?'
'You'd be surprised by how true that is.'
'The flood is an Illuminati engineered disaster by means of satellite bursts?'
'No I think its to purge out the terrorists in the valleys.'
'You're shitting me.'
'Think about it.'
'Hate the terrorists enough to withstand this? Not that you're doing the suffering.'
'Maybe its a wake-up call. We've had plenty of those I suppose. Maybe its the intervention.'
'Yeah good luck with that.'
'I come from a political family. We're targets of terrorism. My existence is not safe with them staying alive.'
'Really?'
'Yes.'
'My family was killed by the IRA.'
'Irish freedom fighters?'
'No they became a political party. Keep up with the times.'
'Sorry. Very sorry.'
'My father was courier for Denis Donaldson. He was marked for execution by Sinn Fein. My mother too.'
'I'm very sorry.'
'Don't be.'
'Wow, so thats a what a political family can be like?'
'He was neutral. Just a courier.'
'Here you can't serve tea without political affiliation.'
'Politics.'
'Charity, relief.'
Thomas sat up: 'There are good people here who deserve better.'
'People get what they go get for themselves.'
'Nobody can do anything horrible enough to reap this. A nation without imperialistic tendencies, exploitative designs and I don't know...North Korea maybe...I don't see evil...Makes sense?'
'No it doesn't.'
Thomas lay back down: 'I guess it doesn't.'
'I thought a disaster was supposed to show us we weren't a world apart.'
'Perhaps we are.'


The next morning Haris awoke to light from the windows. No less than a billion birds were frantically chirping. So early. He sat at the edge of his bed and saw Thomas sitting on the floor. Youtube was streaming a video of a crowd senselessly beating two males. Their screams came in intervals to the delay in the buffering. Sialkot.


They didn't speak a word as they hiked to Abbotabad.