Monthly Archives: October 2010

Bikhra – Mustufa Pervez

Mustufa Pervez has come out with a new single. Listen, enjoy and share! πŸ˜€

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Tears – Rain of emotions?

The village was very peaceful and quiet, and the light mists were solemnly rising, as if to show me the world, and I had been so innocent and little there, and all beyond was so unknown and great, that in a moment with a strong heave and sob I broke into tears. It was by the finger-post at the end of the village, and I laid my hand upon it, and said,’ Goodbye, O my dear, dear friend!’

Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had had cried, than before – more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle. If I had cried before, I should have had Joe with me then.

Extract from Great Expectations – Charles Dickens

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My recent indulgements in MS PowerPoint

Lately, I’ve been working much with MS PowerPoint. Although, the presentations I make are nothing spectacular … but they sure are time-consuming, considering the fact that they all pertain to medical sciences and as everybody knows, medical terminology is quite complicated and tedious; anyway, following are the presentations on which I’ve toiled long and hard [You must be wondering why medical presentations? My sisters happen to be doctors and it has always been me who makes the presentations for them at PowerPoint]

Note: This is also my first time using Scribd; which though may sound to some of you quite normal, but I assure you it is abnormally painstaking to use it with my obsolete net connection.

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Beginning always has an End

Bloom does the scintillating flower from the lackluster bud;

Only to wither and fade into a mass of broken petals.

 

Rise does the smoldering sun from the gray horizons;

Only to sink back once again into the vale of darkness.

 

Emerge does the frail butterfly from the dreary cocoon;

Only to crumple pitifully in the embrace of death.

 

Flow does the frolicking river from the mountain-gully;

Only to lose its existence in the forceful waves of sea.

 

Grow does the rich-canopied tree from the gloomy seed;

Only to be stripped bare with the arrival of autumn.

 

Gather do the rapturous clouds from the wisps of vapor;

Only to pour rains and disperse into nothingness.

 

And, raise does the stolid man from the bawling new-born;

Only to live a fleeting life and finish off in a wooden vault.

 

 

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The Days of Terror – Part III

9:00 am to 3:00 pm, 28th December β€˜07

Morning arrived with more news of bloodshed and mayhem. Despite the curfew, heavy firing could be heard from all nooks and corners of Hyderabad, the city that blazed in the upwelling of rage and chaos that had followed the shocking assassination of Benazir Bhutto. Smoke from the innumerable burning cars and shops silhouetted the skies as a dense tenebrous cloud; drenching the city with uncertainty and fear. Benazir Bhutto had been assassinated; and the rogues and hoodlums seizing the opportunity of the widespread anarchy, looted and plundered the shops and set flames to any car that came in their sight with no qualms at all.

Huddled in my bed, my ears could distinctly catch the sound of firing in distance.

When I finally succeeded in shaking off the last vestige of sleep that lingered in my eyes, I got to learn that my father and a neighbor planned to beeline through the back alleys and get some essentials – eggs, flour and bread – from some store that had the audacity to open that murky, bloody day.

Anxiously waiting for my father’s return, our fears were anything but assuaged by the frenzied reports of the reporters who had sallied forth outside, despite great danger to their lives, to project the bloodshed and riots – their delirious comments as to how the situation was gradually worsening, were indeed sickening.

It was a feeling of pure relief when Baba came back home safely; laden with eggs and such.

That morning my would-be brother-in-law in a rush of adventure also managed to escape the throes ofΒ  the bloodthirsty men and reached home safe and sound; this secure return further helped to smoothen our foreheads, furrowed as they were with worry for our loved ones.

Meanwhile, Hyderabad continued to smolder in ashes; the orchestra of firing that subsided in a hush at times, soon resumed moments afterward in a rapturous symphony.

Aftermath

It was to be a few days, until some semblance of order was established. And an effort was made to fathom the damage inflicted by the riots.

The amount of losses sustained by the city was staggering. Dozens of people had been killed, countless cars torched with furious flames, many small and large business plundered and set fire upon, schools damaged and ransacked, restaurants smashed and looted – carnage that had spilled on the streets of Hyderabad had left its indelible mark on the city’s prosperity.

And even now when more than three years have passed since the assassination of Shaheed Benazir Bhutto, the mark still remains: gorged and mocking.

And would remain so, for years to come.

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… I’m back!

And I guess the title explains it all πŸ˜›