Memoirs of a the Great Southern Land... NOT Australia

This is against my better judgment. And somehow I have this false hope that no one will ever read this; or at least no one who knows me differently ever will. This isn't a Catholic confession (surprise surprise). Neither is it a brag-trip about my South African escapades (though some might find a bit of Mustanser Hussain Tarar here - will explain later if I still feel like it).

I'd been planning for this trip for quite a while. Top on the agenda was Teazers. Ever since the trip was announced I'd been looking forward to the gay(not) abandon with which those sweet ladies shed their clothes. I'd actually gone and spent hours planning in detail exactly how to make the most of it. More on that later though. I'll try to follow the chronological order in which I fell victim to my digress desires.

(I hope you've stopped reading by now)....

The deep shovel's brought out some pretty vivid (read boring/insignificant) details about the whole trip. They add nothing to the plot, are sadly narrated and yet I insist on writing them (Maugham I am not).

Set off to the airport only to realise that my boss had left something behind. Detoured. Long line at the FIA Immigration counter. The Officer's sickening attitude. Made us photocopy some meaningless papers before he let us go. I hope his wife would give him some sex. These fuckers need to get it out of the system. Met Nabeel from A.F.Ferguson & Co. (AFF). People who hang around me often complain that I know 'too many people'. Not really something I can help actually. Been to two great institutions: St. Patrick's High School, Karachi and AFF. The network's just grown from there. Plus I also don't suffer from the insecurity that people won't remember me. They do (and which complex is that, they ask).

If you are still there either you are one soul with nothing to do or extremely curious. Both good. I am warning you though that you'd be utterly disappointed. If you're a guy the Teazers link above could open quite a window for you. So LEAVE!!!

Breakfast in the plane. Insignificant. Air hostesses - the same. It was a short flight so I did not fall prey to the temptation of getting any free alcohol. Dubai airport. The Red Shirt pulled me over to the sport shop. I was hoping it wasn't a Man U shirt. Had a strict budget meant for naked South African women. The Man U kit would've put a considerable dent in those coffers. Still it was the England shirt and I promised to get one before the World Cup. It's an eight hour flight from Dubai to Johannesburg. My only previous experience with long international flights had made sure that I was very comfortably dressed. (Loose-fitting tracks and sandals against the suit I'd worn on the way to Casablanca). My boss had some very stiff formal shoes on and he was very lucky to find a very nice casual shoe. (Un)fortunately they'd run out of his size and after a considerable wait (there was not much else to do) we finally bought the one on display. He's been thanking his stars ever since. My 'tour-guide' in SA was supposed to be a colleague (dare I say friend) from Karachi - Sameen Gul. The least I could do for all the promised entertainment was to buy him some cigarettes - two cartons of Dunhill Lights.

Yet another embarrassment waited for us at the immigration counter at Dubai. All passengers with Pakistani or Bangladeshi pass-ports were asked to stand aside while they were scanned for authenticity. Presumably they were in order. Luckily the flight to Jo'burg was in a much larger jet, but still eight hours take their toll. I can't get to sleep during flights. Perhaps it's the idea of missing something good. (WHAT???!!!). For a city which is quite the financial and commercial hub of SA, the airport was quite shabby. The lines at arrival were long and reminded me of the one I'd encountered at Karachi. People had painted quite a scary picture about Jo'burg so I was hanging on to my bags for dear life. Even when one of the security officials hinted at opening my bags paranoia stuck. Luckily we were allowed to proceed.

There's a part of me that refuses to give up on my becoming a good Muslim. I think we call it conscience. On a very serious note (would've even looked out of place) I'd like to believe that Allah hasn't written me off completely. Hence my conscience still pokes it's little head up and reminds me of who I am (or should be). Why I write this is because one of my first memories of the airport was a sign pointing to the 'Muslim Prayer Area'. A sign that I not only 'ignored' but the antithesis of conscience kicked in and I told myself the 'real reason' for being in South Africa. I suffer from this lack of self control which seems to get aggravated as soon as I leave Karachi. Perhaps why I've never really considered living or working abroad. I think I need to come back home to someone from the family letting me in. I NEED to be tethered.

Back to what happened though. Headed straight to the money changer window. I'd done specific research on Teazers rates. Knew exactly what a lap or table dance would cost. The money changer was just the first step towards the ultimate goal. Even in retrospect I can't find any fault in my single-minded quest for something I'd been obsessed with since a very early age: PUSSY!!! I remember early school days when I'd go to any length to try to get nude women pictures. And over the years I'd had more than my share. But somehow the real, living, breathing specimen was still the golden fleece; pun intended.

A very friendly African gentlemen held our name cards up. We'd been 'programmed' to be wary of all our dark-skinned friends. (I hate mentioning the colour of skin when describing someone, especially when it could lead to a negative connotation, and more so because I LOVE African (dark) women... but more on that later!). We were being very careful with our luggage and money as we got out of the airport, which was as unimpressive from the outside as it was inside. The cars however were like nothing I'd seen here. And while we waited for our ride to show up I counted numerous super luxury cars leaving the airport.

The ride to the hotel was uneventful. Noticed how clean and green everything looked. Our hotel, the Airport Grand was another revelation; never let websites fool you! On the way over I'd seen the Ceaser's Palace, where another colleague form Pakistan, Dr. Tauseef, was staying. It was natural to assume that our hotel would be something on he same lines, and the website had suggested likewise. It was anything but. The corridors were so narrow that two people couldn't walk side-by-side. I was booked into a non-smoking room. When I requested a change I was sent across to the other side of the hotel, away from my boss. This was very good because I respect him and didn't want to put him in to an uneasy position in case I did anything I didn't want to advertise to the world. (Then why am I writing this!!!???).

The room was very small too. First time ever I'd been in a hotel without a mini-bar. So my plans of charging the booze to the room, ala Rabat, were foiled. Looked at the room service menu and there wasn't anything halal on it. Some people call this hypocrisy. I differ. My view is that breaking one boundary doesn't necessarily mean I should break others. So while alcohol was a boundary I'd broken years ago, I'll NEVER Insha Allah break the halal food barrier. (Although I think the cognac steak at Flo does have cognac - but then that's the alcohol barrier and I need to fix it). The prices revealed a rather interesting fact: beer was cheaper than water! Something to do with the fact that tap water was WHO certified and was perfectly drinkable. I ordered a Castle and while I waited browsed through the TV channels, hoping to find some of South Africa's glory. Unluckily none of the channels had or promised anything.

As anticipated my beer was late in arriving and I had to call thrice before the knock on the door. I wasn't carrying any change so I had to sign for it to be included in the bill. This was yet another self induced paradox. I was pretty open about my habits with some people at work, yet with others I didn't want knowing what I'd been up to. So out of dread that it might say "BEER" on the bill I paid for all future alcohol out of my pocket. Coming back to the Castle: it was wonderful. Advertising does reach beyond borders. I've seen many a match on Super Sports advertising the Castle logo and I guess it was combined affect that caused my first 'infringement' in SA.

Beer for those lucky enough not to drink is an acquired taste. I think it was my initial fear of throwing up perhaps that's made me couple beer with smoke. Anyway my first beer was cold and very tasty. I looked down from my window hoping to see some luscious beauty in a string bikini but alas this fantasy never came even close to being fulfilled. All I saw at the pool was an aged gentleman reading the paper.

I was glad that my boss was quite literally at the other end of the hotel. He's an extremely nice man and I didn't want to have a situation coming up where either of us was uncomfortable. That also meant that I had to leave him alone when I went for my escapades. But there were none planned for our first night there and I joined him for dinner.

Although the trip had totally drained me out the thought of going out to explore the city still excited me. At about 8:00, ridiculously early by Karachi standards, we set out. We asked the hotel receptionist for directions to the nearest halal food joint. She wasn't sure but suggested that we try out the East Rand Mall, quite close to our hotel. I rather naively asked if we could walk over, to which a bear of a man replied "If you're looking for arm to arm combat you could". Now I hail from Karachi and that alone makes you 'brave', but the gentleman's words hit the spot and killed any adventures of the sort that we might have had. So much so that my boss stuck to these till our very last evening there and we couldn't explore the Mandela square. But more on that when we get there.

A guy at the concierge saw our predicament and drove us to the mall in his "taxi". The exclamation because their definition of a taxi is what we call a van here. Sunday is usually a dull day here too but down south the city was dead. We got to the mall in about five minutes and had to agree to a king's ransom in advance for a secure ride back. There were about 10-15 couples hanging outside the mall but the colour of their skin somehow made them scary. (I hate writing this. I still refuse to discriminate between humans based on something as silly as race - BUT - the people had told us such scary stories that my judgement was clouded over and I couldn't tell the harmless from others).

There was a small food court offering a variety of cuisine. Old faithfuls Pizza Hut and KFC were also there but I chose to be adventurous and decided to walk around a bit before deciding what to eat. All the shops were closed but I stubbornly walked about looking into shops. Stupid move because when we came back PH and KFC were shut and the rest of the places didn't have any halal food. We returned to the hotel 400 rands poorer without having eaten anything. The last resort was the hotel's own restaurant. We were told that the beef and chicken were okay to eat and dinner was rather uneventful. At about 9:00 we retired to our rooms, my South African fantasies yet unfulfilled. I stayed up for quite a while hoping for MNET to show something worth jerking off over, but zilch.

I'd made quite a reputation getting up vary late after long hauls. Simply couldn't afford that again so had both the mobile alarm and the wake-up call. Strangely I got up before either. It must've been the sun. I woke up to some very pleasant sunshine on all mornings, something my own bedroom doesn't offer. My mum had made it a point to press all my shirts knowing that I can't so I was quickly ready and down for breakfast. Lo and behold my boss was already through his breakfast making my efforts look in vain. Breakfast is my favourite meal. I love the variety hotels offer and make it a point to eat as much as possible. Our ride for the day, and indeed every day afterwards was a silver 'taxi' driven by Johan. It was in the van that I found out that our trainer was a lady who happened to be staying in the same hotel as ours.

The Reckitt office was quite close to our hotel. The receptionist was very pretty. In fact ALL the women in the office were. No wonder the business is doing so well. Time flew during the first half of the day. We'd requested for a halal lunch and they mustered up some nice fish for us. (Hopefully halal). What made this first session rather remarkable was that it was the only time during our four days of training that we actually understood anything.

Luckily I don't remember any more details of the course that day. What I do remember is the anticipation that hung over me the whole day for what was to come later in the day. We finished off at about 5:30. Tracy, our colleague from Finance, had planned a "dinner" for the guests. The inverted commas because she picked us up at about 6:00. They do things rather differntly there.

Dinner was another funny story. Don't quite understand why we are forced into having the same food we flew away from. Earlier in Morocco too our first meal was at an Indian restaurant, here too our hosts chose to treat us at an Indian restaurant. What's the point I ask? But in fairness I think with our 'qualms' about what we can and can not eat they play it safe. Just an observation. Besides this IS a diary of sorts and I can write what I bloody well feel like. Food too was interesting. I ordered biryani and got spicy rice with chicken and pulses in it. Not quite what I had in mind. To be perfectly honest though ALL I had in my mind was to get out the bloody place to the evening's entertainment. The ladies polished away a bottle of white wine. Tracy was driving and I was secretly hoping she took her alcohol well. On the way back she missed an exit and we drove around hopelessly lost for quite a while. Wonder if the wine had anything to do with it. Sense prevailed and she called her fiancé to ask for directions. I think it was Nawaz, one day into the city, who finally recognised the route that got us back.

A point here about Nawaz. My honest admiration for his absolutely brilliant mind. When we were issued out boarding cards at the Dubai airport he looked at the numbers and figured out that going south we'd have the sun in our eyes. Lo and behold it was as he'd sid it would be. I can't ever even try to understand how he figured it out. All I know is that he's the sharpest man I've ever worked with and even trying to emulate his quickness would be a a waste.

I'd met Dr. Tauseef at the RB office and we'd agreed to pick him up at about 9:00. Sameen was luckily on time and we set off to the Ceaser's Palace. Presuamably Doc had nothing better to do while he waited so he downed about five beers by the time we arrived. That had him in quite the mood for the evening's entertainment.

Some of our colleagues had been to Teazers earlier and given us some pretty interesting guidelines. First of all you should not attempt to get the best of the lot. It's the girls who don't look quite as good who make the most effort to please you. Made sense! Also to feel maximum impact of their efforts you ought to wear thin shirts. As I'd said earlier I wasn't sure how severely my mechanism would be affected by the whole thing. If the excitement got the better of me I could've got into quite a stick spot - pun intended again. So I used some simple Pakistani ingenuity and wore a condom.

Author's note: It's been over a year and a half since my last post. In this period so much has happened that I can write for months. Quite significantly England got knocked out of the World Cup, as usual, at the quarter final stage. They also gave away the Ashes to Australia and the Rugby World Cup to South Africa. But all this has it's own place in history and may be on my blog. For the moment it's back to Teazers and my South African escapades. A normal person would've lost some of the memories after such a long time. I haven't! Even if a reader doesn't believe me I wouldn't give a flying fuck would I. Nobody is supposed to read this and if some poor souls do then they better not question my version of events. It's true.)

We set off. I can safely say I was the most excited of the three. Sameen had been there quite a few times before and Doc was, well, quite experienced. Married and also he'd also gone to these bars elsewhere in the world. But trust a guy to be cool. I was just keeping it all under cover, as well as I could. Smoking as the car sped down the highway. The roads were very fast and Sameen shared a rather interesting anecdote. As per SA law if you are caught speeding over 180 km/h (the speed limit's about 120 km/h) you not only get a ticket, you also have to spend a life in jail. A poor guy sped and died. Not your usual crash though. On his solitary night in jail he was raped by the inmate, contacted AIDS and later died. What a way to go!

It took around 40 minutes to get there. Most distances there were like that. A measure of the size. I didn't quite know what to expect but had seen enough movies to expect it to be an out of town and sleazy. This was neither. Was in a square with some high class shops and even a restaurant. This is how different they are from the rest of the world. Teazers live up to their claim of 'the tease without the sleaze's.

(to be continued.... I'll edit this later)

BACK

Xanaxoverload brings a rather dead me into action. Quite surprised to read that my mental ejaculations are anything but and xanax has actually added my page on http://www.desighetto.com/. So true to my descent (Pakistani!!! - Indian???) I should panic under the limelight and either get a bad case of writers constipation or write such horrible stuff that you stop reading completely.

Narrow minded me (one word I find extremely funny other than judgmental), I can talk about just : 1) Cricket 2) Sex 3) Food 4) Football (Manchester United, the FA, EPL, Champions League and Real Madrid) and 5) My warped logic on life and religion. (I've not included books in the list - a mark of my diminishing relationship with paper).

So take your pick and let me know what I should write on.

We take requests!

(dedicated to xanaxoverload)

Faith Lost.... and restored

سورة الزلزلة - سورة 99
بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
إِذَا زُلْزِلَتِ الْأَرْضُ زِلْزَالَهَا
وَأَخْرَجَتِ الْأَرْضُ أَثْقَالَهَا
وَقَالَ الْإِنسَانُ مَا لَهَا
يَوْمَئِذٍ تُحَدِّثُ أَخْبَارَهَا
بِأَنَّ رَبَّكَ أَوْحَى لَهَا
يَوْمَئِذٍ يَصْدُرُ النَّاسُ أَشْتَاتًا لِّيُرَوْا أَعْمَالَهُمْ
فَمَن يَعْمَلْ مِثْقَالَ ذَرَّةٍ خَيْرًا يَرَهُ
وَمَن يَعْمَلْ مِثْقَالَ ذَرَّةٍ شَرًّا يَرَهُ

THE EARTHQUAKE, CHAPTER NO. 099
With the Name of Allah, the Merciful Benefactor, The Merciful Redeemer
099.001 When the earth is shaken to her (utmost) convulsion,
099.002 And the earth throws up her burdens (from within),
099.003 And man cries (distressed): ‘What is the matter with her?’-
099.004 On that Day will she declare her tidings:
099.005 For that thy Lord will have given her inspiration.
099.006 On that Day will men proceed in companies sorted out, to be shown the deeds that they (had done).
099.007 Then shall anyone who has done an atom’s weight of good, see it!
099.008 And anyone who has done an atom’s weight of evil, shall see it.

Need I say more...... and what could I say. The Master has spoken and His will shall be done. Some would still question 'why the women and children?', 'why the innocent?'. But isn't that the point to begin with; that all of us will perish and be asked to give an account for what we did in our time here. So the innocent go away to the happier place and get an easy thoroughfare. For the one's that remain homeless and destitute - just a small warning to those of us who ignore Who's Incharge!

Who do you blame for a natural disaster. For those of us with some claim to faith we'd just take them as a sign. One promised by the One Who doesn't break them. Allah's wrath comes and sweeps away. Be it New Orleans - where the Mardi Gras mocked all that was ordained, or Islamabad where the modern pharaohs make their will the law, Allah's say is final! To the thinking, fearing this would mean something... for the rest.....

Faith Lost

As the earth shook and the flock scattered most didn't have the time or capacity to lock up as they fled - they returned to looted houses. Those far away wanted to rush back home to help or just mourn the loss - they faced the government railway's corrupt officials who wanted to be bribed for a ticket; soon their brethren in the private sector caught on to the opportunity and doubled bus fare. The simple tradition of Muslim burial needs a two meter sheet - they too are at several times the price. To cap it all the great leader of the nation visited the sites - only to see all work cease for two hours. Believe me I am physically sick as I write this. I just can not understand the loss of all values known to man. All in the face of something that is meant to awaken them to be different. Sham efforts by the government, senior officials claiming that the death toll is under 1,000 and the ever lucrative trade of relief funds. Makes you want to........

Restored......

I would still be in the state of drawing room critics high and holy had it not been for the first hand experience of the last two days (and people tell me I missed the real thing - Praise Allah). A blood camp at Karachi saw scenes I never believed were possible. I'll be the first one to admit that we indulge in stereotyping and the 'burgers' in that area are at the receiving end of a lot of our jibes. Yet these same 'burgers' had lined up to donate so much blood that the camp had trouble keeping pace. Men and women alike. Very very decent indeed! They have perhaps cleared my mind of a decades worth of grime about their attitudes. Way to go people!

And to cap it - yesterday! (I am really going to let the rambling rip now; so if you've read so far be warned). I had 'given up' period! Given up on ever seeing the people of Karachi do anything positive. I'd been disillusioned over a good 18 years. First the MQM came and swept people off their feet. Karachi that was known for it's educated middle class moved amass at the call of one man who made them believe that just because they (or their ancestors) weren't born on this soil does not make them inferior. The same man spoke against the moern apartheid quota system and millions of youth saw this as their only hope at being treated equally with the rest of the country.

I am not sure which came first. The corruption or the loss of focus but gradually the dream started disintegrating only to see the pigs wear the same clothes as the masters (Animal farm anyone!!!) and ever since I had witnessed the youth go down like anything. These people were only interested in internet chatting and porn, looking for opportunities to get 'lucky'. Trying to beat each other to the latest mobile phone and Nike tee-shirt. As the belts went below the under-short elastics somehow so did the whole social structure with it. You'd see people cheating in exams and proud of it. My teachers at St. Patrick's actually cried when they told me of how 8th graders would threaten them of their connections. The fabric, if there was any, was getting badly soiled.

And yesterday I saw these very people work their arses off at the PAF Base. They were madly off-loading trucks as they streamed in one after the other. Sorting out the goods and repacking them as hordes waited to load the containers ready to move off. It was hot and dirty and there were hardly any facilities for these guys and gals but they just went on and on. The military people were actually just bystanders, perhaps as amazed at this change(!!!???). Since the days of the MQM (not the one we know today) I had not seen people young and old working so hard with no personal benefit involved. And again they said that I missed when they were really working. I am so happy to be off my self-created-holier-than-thou-pedestal! I can perhaps again claim that I am one with these people.

(Dedicated to the youth..... there's hope yet!!!)

ONCE IN A LIFETIME

I COULD PERHAPS WRITE THE WHOLE BLOG IN CAPS. But I'll let sanity prevail and just fill up my diary with the the Ashes memoriblia that I've collected over the net.

'Where were you when England won the Ashes?' I'd asked everybody who'd bother getting through the bore. My answer : 'At work - where else!'. But it wasn't as bad as it sounds. I was in the cafeteria watching the whole show. Wrote to EVERYBODY and got back some pretty interesting replies!

Now for my Victory Chronicles. Legend has it that the great Steve Waugh had remarked "You've just dropped the World Cup" when Gibbs dropped his catch in the semi-finals of the 1999 Cup. His then team-mate might be living the same words for the rest of his life. When he put down KP at 15 no one, including the 'hubris' (what say you now Sir Boycott?) himself wouldn't have known that he'd poke a further 143 daggers into the Aussies. I really don't know how much longer he can continue to pull and hook fast bowlers of the front foot - The King Viv Richards has done it his entire life - but while it lasts it would be great to watch. And now he's put his bat where the mouth is by scoring the highest number of runs (473 at 52.55 with a massive strike rate of 71.45). We can now also forgive his dropped catches (6) in the series. With those big mitts he'll hold a few.

And now to the king of Spain, Gilo, Ashley Giles! Somebody in the selection committee has his head screwed on straight, a rarity! With the press and people calling for his head after the Lords debacle it took courage and some common sense to keep him on. And while he might not be your Warne he got some pretty crucial wickets (10) and runs (155 at 19.37) not to forget the 5 catches. Considering England's battery of fast bowlers it was hard to keep your respect but Gilo did. The grit he showed when the younger and more capable Geraint Jones collapsed was highly commendable and pleasent to the discerning cricket eye. He remains the sole proof for me of somebody who sought psychiatric help and got his life turned around as a result.

Contrary to the selectors beliefs (and they won so who's complaining) Paul Collingwood could have made quite an impact on the Ashes. And he was hitting centuries at will on the County circuit. He could very easily be the unsung hero of the Oval Test. Unless you have my microscopic eye you are quite likely to forget that the time he spend at the crease defending was crucial to the outcome of the match and the Ashes. I hope they bring him to Pakistan for the Bell that refuses to chime. But sanity and especially long stints of it are not something the English selectors are known for. Just ask Thorpe. The victory would have been far more comprehensive had he been there.

And now to the man who could safely call the Ashes his! Andrew Freddie Flintoff. You needed somebody to take on the entire Australian side and he did just that. Most wickets (24 at 27.29) punctuated by the continous aggression of the yesteryear West Indians proved to be the biggest dent in the Aussie armour. And how's Adam Gilchrist for a bunny? His runs (402 at 40.2) came when they mattered. He epitomizes the new England team of heroes with their feet on the ground. Ian Botham said this before the Oval Test:

"Win or lose the Ashes, I'm going to find the best bottle of red wine in town and present him with it."

There have been comparisons of the two throughout the Ashes but they are if anything extremely accurate. Although Freddie still has quite some way to go.

To answer xanaxoverload....

Xanax asks why I love the game of my colonial masters..... What masters??? I am using the PC invented by them that runs on software THEY made that runs on electricity THEY got out of water and coal!

The religion I follow originates from Arabia.... most of my favourite food has an Indian origin!

Point of the matter is that quality in anything will always attract followers. And the world has moved on just too much for me to be restricted by barriers of country, race, religion or such to determine what I like. And I don't honestly care what people of any country might think about me... I still love them all.

The oracle spoke too soon though and as I write Australia are 192-1 and unless the weather saves them England are against the wall. At the Manchester derby United haven't scored as yet and it's almost the end of second half. Not to forget that Ms Sharapova also lost last night! So much for sporting euphoria.

The oracle has spoken........


The toss turned the right side up and Eng-er-land are batting! Collingwood comes into the side at the best possible time and the test match of the century is well and truly on it's way. A day to be remembered for sporting delight as Andre Agassi recovered to the kind of victory only he can muster up. After losing 3-6, 3-6 he recovered to 6-3, 6-3 before taking the final set 7-6. Why I like aging have-beens is a mystery to me. To quote Jean Kerr "I am hopeful about the past and nostalgic about the future".

The oracle says 450-500! We are approaching lunch and England has 109/3. Trescothic's promise of the century yet unfulfilled. Bell didn't ring yet again. Vaughn is perhaps too confident after his 160+. Maybe Straus could do it. Upto Messrs. KP, Flintoff, Collingwood and Jones.

For once the Beckham boys escape the scythes of the press as no self respecting sports journalist can be bothered with their 1-0 loss to Northern Ireland. Shaun-Wright squandered so many chances that it got boring. Sometimes I wonder if Sven is really the right person for the job. He's a very level-headed guy and with the cult idols that are the England football team he does a pretty decent job. But England haven't done anything substantial for an ice-age and maybe it's time for change.

(The self-contradiction - Sven vs Agassi - is quite evident!)

apologies to the non-cricketers reading this. I still treat the blog as a diary more than anything else and it's virtually impossible to talk about much else at the moment. (Found out that some people actually read my blog and for that I am grateful).

Tossing and turning.........

Could one small thing actually be that inspiring? An Erma Bombeck title comes to mind: "If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What am I doing in the Pits". So there I was, in the pits. Melancholic for all and nothing. The perfect Antonio! The past month or so had brought one misery after next. First my sister got mugged, then I did. Woke up to the sound of someone being looted at gun point right outside my window; all the while lying there waiting for the gunshot. So I had my reasons.

Then this happens. I wake up on Saturday, for once not for work. With eyes still not fully awake I turn on the tele and there she is: Bipasha Basu in all her glory! And just like sometimes a sudden jerk would bring a long dislocated joint into place, she brought me out. Don't know much about her. Haven't seen any of her movies. But somehow the cliché "Life is beautiful" came to mind and here I am the clichéd lark! Not everyone's idea of a beauty with dark and large features but she's been my tonic.

Went on my annual pilgrimage to the Paramount Bookfair. I can still remember the days when I'd wait for my birthday. Not really caring about the day itself but sure in the knowledge that my dad would give me money which I'd save and spend at Paramount. Used to do the most ridiculous of things there: look for copies of the same book with the lowest price tags and sometimes actually fooling them by changing the stick-on tags. Stole a book too. Years later actually went there and had to go through quite an ordeal to get them to accept money for all my "crimes".

While the world moves to the Da Vinci code and the likes I bought Aesop's Fables, Alice in Wonderland, Alice through the Looking-Glass and Collected Stories by Edgar Allan Poe. He's considered the guru of the macabre so this would be an experience. Though the first story pointed yet again to my absolute lack of European languages, something that I must correct if I am to enjoy some of the better books.

And now to the title (I love you Asher Noor for bringing me this outlet!). When the two captains head out for the toss tomorrow it would perhaps be the most important flip in cricket for over a decade. No one has come closer to challenging the Aussie supremacy and if they escape I doubt if anyone would. For order to be restored England must win. The toss is crucial. The side batting first would be at a great advantage. A 450-500 score could well secure the Ashes, for either team.

The oracle in me refuses to speak. It could really go either side. England have been chokers since time immortal. Australia haven't been this badly dominated for a while. Enough of this ranting! Tomorrow will tell the tale.

Dedicated to Asher Dude

"Who's incharge here", asks Cryrus the Virus.....

" I am" , says the Captain

(BANG.... [shoots him])

"Now who's incharge?"

"You are" - (Con-air)

NOT my favourite movie! Just something I suddenly remembered being so utterly off the controls. And in all honesty I think I am risking being shot down by the One Incharge. So Sir, forgive my initial mistake. You are Incharge!

As I write Freddie is steaming in again. How's Gilchrist for a bunny!

Sporting Delight

Things are getting much better! England won. Freddy's heroics have overshadowed contributions from Trescothic, Straus, KP and Giles while some hide in the shadow - Vaughn, Bell and Hoggard.

Just like any bully the Aussies don't take a counter attack that well. Not many have tried and even fewer succeeded but to beat them at their won game (or what they've made their own) you just hit them back. To be perfectly honest Ponting just isn't anything like Waugh. Yes he'd still hit a century to quiet the critics but somehow doesn't have it in him to toil two days at the pitch. He's just not seen enough loss to know how to cope with it. So maybe what I am saying is that defeat actually builds character. But the well rounded lady (the politically correct euphemism) is still sleeping, her singing cameo weeks away.

And not to forget last night. Although I dozed off to the point of no return and am not too sure if the match was even on TV but Man United made it all look easy again with a 3-0 win over Debrecen VSC. Boy's own story as Rooney, Ronaldo and van Nistelrooy scored. Two more week to confirm Europe.

Saturday against Everton who took a 1-2 loss yesterday against Villareal. And of course before that the third test tomorrow.

Life should be like this more often.

That's that.......

My life made easy! Whenever I come to a place in life where things need to be sorted out this one small prayer makes it all better. So much for the art of decision making!

O Allah! I seek Your guidance (in making a choice) by virtue of Your knowledge, and I seek ability by virtue of Your power, and I ask You of Your great bounty. You have power, I have none. And You know, I know not. You are the Knower of hidden things.
O Allah! If in Your knowledge, (this matter) is good for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs; immediate and in the distant, then ordain for me, make it easy for me and bless it for me. And if in Your knolwedge, (this matter) is bad for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs; immediate and in the distant, then turn it away from me, and turn me away from it. And ordain for me the good wherever it be and make me pleased with it.

Don't just do something, stand there........................

No matter how many times I read this I still get the giggles. Or more what Mrs. Henderson would've like me to call my paroxysm of delight. The comment was made by the English press who for some queer reason (in my days it still had a decent meaning) went after the ECB all guns blazing after the loss against Australia.

But what makes it funnier is that it so truly expresses my lifestyle. I can still laugh at me! Somehow the inertia never leaves me. And while life moves on I just follow the great motto: don't just do something, stand there.

If dreams were horses......

Old Trafford, Manchester United's home, would be a stable. The theater of dreams has seen more dreams come true than perhaps any other sporting venue in the world. After the near miss last season (Paul Scholes we still love you) Man United faced yet another debacle in the Glazer takeover.

English football is perhaps more rooted in tradition than anywhere else. Club rivalry has almost cult status. And like all things football nowhere is it greater than Man United vs Liverpool. But how bad is it really?

If England and Real Madrid star Michael Owen does come to us (why hide it - I am United till I die) can the fans actually forget his breeding ground - Liverpool. And would the signing of the year for Sir Alex actually make the fans forget and forgive Glazer.

The dreamer in me says yes....yes.........yessssssssssssss!!!!!

Apologise... for what????

How would you react if someone comes up to you and says "Hi! I have brown eyes and I am very sorry if that disturbs you". That's how low the self esteem of the entire nation has sunk. Are jeans really the most comfortable things to wear and is the left hand really better for eating!

I am no stickler for tradition but quite frankly fail to understand the inverse correlation between the neck line and the liberated Pakistani woman.

Could we possibly not just be ourselves. Different - forget right or wrong!

And aren't the floundered few who don't (or can't - take your pick) emulate the rest being lead to explode. Pardon this very sick pun!

Animal Farm... again

Some of us took pride in the fact that one of our school mates (in perhaps the widest possible stretch) of the word had actually got us rid of the corrupt and useless government of Nawaz Sharif. Pervez Musharraf - a man we stupid dreamers saw as the solution to all our governance issues. Someone who was one of us and who actually stopped at the traffic signals like any of us.

Some seven years down the lane the 'only truth' of Pakistani politics remains. He now goes around with more protection than Fort Knox and is a nuisance to the whole of Karachi.

So much for the child who once would have collect his ice-cream on the St. Patrick's Feast day!

He's now as equal as those pigs George Orwell saw in the communists.