a little pensive today.

it's like i've swam a channel of memories in the last half hour. Old places, old memories, old feelings. i sit somewhere in the middle of the Leontief Paradox, wondering about old friends and where they are now. my mind never does this much fishing when there isn't a textbook around.

spring's popped out of the gray. i still haven't changed, it's still my most favoured season. there's a flock of pigeons who've made the A.C. their veritable home. they scratch and bump and coo as they please, breaking the silence of my Salvadore and Krugman.

three weeks at home, and i'm reminded of why Lahore was my first love.

the sooty rickshaws, the trampled ching-chis, the peddlars going electronic, the sunlight hitting through my window, tracing patterns on the marble, throwing a ginger tint into the room...

lahore, lahore.. you are so precious!

Islamabad is my kind of city.

It's unsettling to think any place other than lahore could sweep me off my feet. but this capital, i tell you, i could picture spending life here.

there's the slow haziness of the days. people under proper traffic regulation, giving you way, wearing their seltbelts, never touching that horn, being pleasant and pleasing. there's a familiarity in the streets and sidewalks you pass. the homely feel of the khaiybans, the crawling greens and patches of residential areas that seem to be put there by mistake. The charm of G6, my favorite sector, the rich red of its make-belief sidewalks and the earthiness of its down-scale homes.

the slopes and dips of ataturk avenue and the calm of a 1 am drive. you seem destined to run into acquaintances here though, what with just a handful of haunts. but you take you time through islamabad. the city lets you savor itself.

the boars, are both fascinating and frightening. i mean, some grow as big as tiny bullock, and praddle about freely during the night. stories of maulings flood your brain, as you stare, intrigued, by a creature that speeds on by like a motorcyle.

just the ability to stroll the city through the nights, walk its pavements and traipse its sidewalks, unafraid. to sit on its benches, able to look up at the wide expanse of the sky, and think of such things as Possibilities. to enter a coffeehouse and smell real roasting coffee beans. to just be and let be.

and to be here with friends that fit you like a glove. trying out the likes of ginseng teas and potato leak soups and unheard-of bands and tucked-away farmhouses.

the city is like a sunday afternoon in the spring. it eases by, it flows through.
you never have to play catch-up.

the sunshine streams in through the window, filling up the room. while bron-y-aur stomp plays on the laptop.

i kinda feel 18 all over again.

i woke to the tiny footsteps of rain.

October barely out the door, yet islamabad can boast of doing harsh winters. Fall isn't here yet. They tell me unless the sidewalks go crunchy with leaves and orange with color, it's technically still summer. Showoffs.

Lahore's become a transit city. A place i crash at at the odd weekend. A city I can only spend 35 hours in, at best. I miss the Punjab University version of fall. When red hibiscus flowers still pop out, when the leaves go golden honey, and touch out to you. When the colors and sensations help you tune out everything else outside your periphery.

K thinks i should write more. I think he's right.

Onward to Karachi.

vencer por la locura!

the crackle of an electric wire
on a spitting summer day,
the crows perch unsteadily
tiptoe and stagger--
            and then the air goes flat

sometimes it just takes the right song, or the right fruit, or the right sunlight to create a moment of magic.

maybe it's just the feel of the wind filtering in through your window, or the recollection of summers past, spend lying on your belly consuming tolkein and apricots, or of people and smiles, and tiny scars that mark their faces.

the days are now filled with old songs, list-making, shopping, packing, compacting, and a little bit of daydreaming.

i think i will miss lahore terribly. i love my "village pretending to be a city" city, and the colors, and sounds, and the street food, and the easy temperaments, and the angry drivers, and the choked roads, and the feel of the sky, as the cedars and oaks and hibiscus trees hit out at it, and the constant stream of students and backpacks that are scattered about the city roads, and the city in the rain, and the memories now tagged to so many spots.

i'll miss my city.

"i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart)"

it's hard to sum up a lifetime in a blogpost. especially a lifetime that flashed by in six months. i didn't blog about my time at CSA, being too busy being knee-deep entrenched in it - but i'm glad i captured all the worthwhile moments that made this last half year such a deep scar on the soul.

the words Bolan, Mehran, Khyber, Fatima, Syndicate, Attachments, Mess, AD, Extension Lecture etc. will never mean the same again. for all the sleeping through classes, and hiding away cell phones that were banned under the DG's orders, dodging violations, and studying for exams a night before. the computers in the library that creaked as they worked, the syndicate rooms where the airconditioning was never turned off. the faculty room where fresh untouched new yorkers waited to be fondled. the steps on the library, and the mugs of coffee and pieces of homemade chicken, while we talked about Postal and Sindh postings and KP boys. the academic block as a meetup point, and the old commoners i memorized while waiting. the peering into the bulletin boards, the filling of my water bottle, the long walks through AD lane, as the wind shuffled past. the Admin block steps, and the kamikaze lizards, and the suicide dogs, and the rats - ooh, the rats! passing underneath the dancing corridor of mehran, where shakira would be blaring out, and sitting at the badminton courts after a long 2 am matchup. the cafe benches, the gym steps, that secret spot in between khyber and punjab house.

and then the dining out, feeling extraordinarily unprobationer-like, flashing our probie card at checkpoints and nakkahs ("this is the only misuse of power i'll allow myself!"), spending the entire nights talking about life, love, dreams and the little bubble we were trapped in.

so there it is - the synopsis of the last six months. nowhere near the justice it deserves. and nowhere near the depth and love of all that i found.

"and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)"

it's raining in CSA. that means an immediate flooding of the pathways, and a concerted struggle to find dry spots to hop through. AD lane awash in yellow and rain. the pavement infront of Fatima I turned into a full-scale moat.

three more days and it'll be the end of Common Training Program.

the ladies are slowly stewing their luggage away. one can see rooms cramped with cardboard boxes as you glance through open doors. theres an unruliness in the grounds as the mad rush of clearances begin.

these six months have changed my life. and right now, the future's looking beautiful.