A reservoir of coolness

It is cool to be cool, but one can be too cool, especially during the winters. Particularly when the cool person has an exam to consider.
For some time, I have been thinking about trading off my calm, at least some of it, with someone, anyone.Anyone who might be willing to trade off some anger, some restlessness.
Getting angry at the right person at the right moment to the right degree might be extremely difficult, but getting angry at least a couple of times a month is necessary. The guilt or innocence of the object at which one's anger is directed is totally irrelevant and does not matter at all. Otherwise, one is in the danger of completely forgetting the noble and necessary art of being angry, which is very much required in this inconsiderate world.
The case of being calm is similar. Most of the time, it is quite nice, feeling at rest with life, the universe and everything while blood pressures are getting high left right and center. But at critical times, the lack of adrenaline is dangerous.
I seldom attend college but when I do, I make sure that I go on a day when going is a complete waste of time. College is not a waste of time all the time; various functions are held, too. Occasionally, I attend one of these, too. Again, I ensure that I miss every function that is worth attending.
Afterwards, I envy the people who got the chance to meet the chief guest. I am not exactly a die-hard fan, but I have never met a scholar of his stature in real life.
So I guess I'll just construct some dreams for laying the foundation of the morn, in accordance with his advice.
Missing the interesting part of a literary session is an old habit with my royal friend and me, nothing new in that.
These days I am a fan of Hafiz. Some of the things I do regularly these days are :1. Wish I was literate enough to read him. 2. Recite these line with varying amplitude (warning: poetry ahead, kindly skip the rest of the post if you don't enjoy it):

دل میرود ز دستم صاحب دلان خدارا
دردا کہ راز پنہان خواہد شد آشکارا
در کوئے نیک نامی ما را گزر نداند
گر تو نمی پسندی تیغیر کن قضا را
سرکش مشو کہ چون شمع از غیرتت بسوزد
دلبر کہ در کف او موم است سنگ خارا

The Road Goes Ever On and On

Normal people are scared of fire. Abnormal ones, like yours truly, see fire trails in their nightmares.

Ever since I read The Hobbit, I have sometimes dreamed of gathering my belongings, tying them in a bundle at the end of a stick and going out to explore the big, beautiful world with the stick over my shoulder and an apple in my hand, whistling as I walk along the road. The only hurdle is that I don't know how to whistle-yet.Practically, persistent lifts are a hurdle too, but let us forget about that at the present.

In spite of my horror of social gatherings, large crowds and missing the bus, my friends dragged me to a party that was scheduled at a place quite above sea level. To be exact, I had to drag myself on the mentioned day, since they were too busy dragging their own selves; all the dragging they did to me was done beforehand. We decided to walk there of our own free will.

Walking was the easy part. Then came a wall of rocks and stones; the angle it made with the horizontal was closer to 90 degrees than 75 degrees. It was the fire exit, and I embarked on this vertical path.

I mean no offense to the fire trail; for all I know, it might have been an excellent fire trail as fire trails go. Since I am no expert on the subject, I cannot offer an opinion here. However, the fire trail and I had some serious compatibility issues. My attire did not support the high rate of respiration that an ordinary hibernator requires during such strenuous aerobic exercise. To make matters worse, it had to be supported by a hand all the time; one precious hand that was absolutely required to clutch rocks and stones all the time. My shoes were utterly raaang for the type of walk I undertook. It was while on that trail that I realized how much easier it must be for animals to climb.

I don't remember much about the actual trail itself, except that I made more stops then steps. Quite  a number of time, I liked some particular stop so much that I wanted to stop there for a long, long time. At one of those, I contemplated closing my eyes and sleeping till the evening with my back against a stone. There were some points I took a fancy to, so much so that I considered living there.

The only thing that made me get up was the look of patience on the faces of the people who were unfortunate enough to be the rear guard. I tried to shake them off a number of times, but they were way too decent to leave us alone on a trek. They did not show the dismay and irritation they must and should have felt. They did not mention the word 'drama', and they did not laugh when their laughter would have been perfectly justified. They tried to motivate me to walk on, blissfully ignorant of the fact that I am simply not made of the stuff that gets motivated.

All I can say is this: decent people get eaten alive without a knife and fork in this world.

A couple of my friends helped me by giving me their hand. Smothering the voice of their heads, they helped me up when it told them to kick me down. They did not take advantage of my blind trust, which is a novelty (the trust thing, let me clarify) and led me along the right path when they could have led me anywhere.

That trail went ON, and forgot to get OFF.Maybe it had a volatile memory and its power went out.

After I had truly understood the meaning of forever, it ended suddenly, reinstating my maxim that all things end eventually; I had begun to be rather suspicious of its validity. Ghalib's thousand journeys to the raqeeb's door might or might not have been an infinite loop, but this one had seemed close enough to one.

The rest of our adventure consisted of more walking then climbing. The view was nice at times. One could see lots and lots of trees with beautifully symmetric leaves. The houses in the valley looked as far away and small as ordinary life. We did not come across any form of animal life, not even birds. At some places,the path was hardly three feet wide. I looked down and thought about how easy and convenient it was to fall down from such a place. It was there that I started compiling a list in my head, a list of people whom I intend to take with me to that place one day.

During our walk, for fifteen exciting minutes, we thought we were lost, since there was not a single human being in sight . Twice, we had to decide between two paths, all by ourself. But eventually we again caught up with the rear guard, or maybe they caught down with us. Some old-fashioned people e.g. parents consider walking alone in such places to be highly perilous. In a logical world, I should have been able to show my unscathed self as a counter proof. However, this being a highly illogical world, I must remember to edit my story when I tell it to my mother.

In a logical world, four girls would not be counted as being alone either, I guess.

So-we walked. And walked, and walked. Then we walked some more. Still, we were far, far away from the destination. We tried all manners of walking : slow, fast, with hopes in our hearts, with a dejected tread. We walked as if in a daze; we walked with a painfully clear mind. The gist of the story is: we walked.

Eventually, we  reached the place where the party was being held. We spent most of the time staring grudgingly at other people who were receiving their orders.We discussed the merits and demerits of many people as eatables.  We all remembered that we had forgotten our breakfasts. Though I hadn't forgotten mine (never have, never will), I pitched in just for the sake of unity. We thought about our lunch-to-be for such a long time that Hafeez's words seemed to come truly from our hearts (and stomachs):

اگر تو اتفاقاَ مل بھی جائے

تری فرقت کے صدمے کم نہ ہوں گے

Our lunch finally arrived and we wolfed it down it with a number of human timers ticking on in the background. Then we raced downwards, dragging another innocent person away from his lunch.

At a traffic signal, we encountered a child of about seven or eight who was selling a bouquet of flowers. The roses were red and fresh; the child was pale and dejected. He must have been cold too, since he was not appropriately clad. The pessimist in me smiled at the bitter irony. At times, I fail to see the entire point of human civilization for a fraction of a second. Then I conveniently shut my mind down.

The most interesting thing on the way back home was a possibility in the plan that I might have to wait by a road for some time in the dark of the night. There are always a number of people willing to offer a lift to one in such places, provided that one is a lone woman, but it is not considered socially correct to accept their offer. My mother is the only person I am ever afraid of, but a more socially apt friend of mine who was following my plan detested the idea of me waiting on a road.However, her nightmare (and my adventure) was averted, since I did not have the opportunity to wait at the stop.

There is one thing I can say with certainty now: it was definitely an adventure as adventures go, and it involved a lot of planning and cooperation from a number of people whom I did not bother to thank. Being a natural critic, I see the rest of the world through mistake-tinted glasses. Really, its not my fault.

 

Metamorphosis

Change is the only constant factor in this world, and it brings at least some spark to lives which are otherwise tightly clamped at a dc level.
Great changes often occur quietly and modestly, and without any prior warning of any kind.
Personally, I have noticed a tendency to revert back to old habits on a periodic basis. Had I still been a fan of self-made theories, I would have hypothesized that people change significantly after every ten years, but I have completely lost the ability to tolerate arguments without any logic behind them and theories without any proof. You know it is a sad world when people list logical arguments under the 'barriers to effective communication'. A recent mental bug I have caught says that people who have opinions must express some of them at least.
It has been some time since I embraced the ideology of 'think nothing, hear nothing, speak nothing'. While the strategy is recommended in particular situations, adopting it as an all-time maxim is dangerous in many ways. Simply putting your thinking and speaking processes on hold can act as a drug that numbs the senses more and more every day.
When you do not express your opinions clearly and articulately, people assume that you have none. When you do not use your tongue, it is generally understood that you do not possess one. Gradually and slowly, you just become a colourless, voiceless creature who is just a creature that lives and breathes; nothing more, nothing less.
Regard about others' opinions of my self has not been a sore point with me for most of my life, but due to a strange combination of hollow reasons, I altered my manner of thinking. Completely unnecessary, I tell you.  with other people and learning about the world.
To while away the time during the recent exams, I started watching the Bond movies. Casino Royale is my most favourite one so far.
Maybe I'll elaborate the hazards of keeping quiet all the time one of these days. Right now, I must sleep since I have to watch Skyfall afterwards.
I considered the idea  of saying one sensible thing for every ten senseless ones I say. The problem is, if I impose such a restriction upon myself, I will have to keep quiet all of the time.
The world will be a less cheerful place, then.
A nice shair I recently came across is:

مصیبت کا پہاڑ آخر کسی دن کٹ ہی جائے گا

مجھے سر مار کر تیشے سے مر جانا نہیں آتا

The minimal path problem

Finding the minimum path in a graph is a problem that occurs frequently in different situations. A well known algorithm for solving this problem is Dijkstra's algorithm.
To get an understanding of this algorithm, I tried watching a couple of lectures and reading some descriptions on a number of sites. The most detailed and easy-to-understand material I found was a sample question, explained thoroughly at Dijkstra's Algorithm example . Before stumbling across it, I did have some idea about this algorithm, but it did not have much to do with the real thing. (Update: this link doesn't seem to be working any longer.Pity)
I was introduced to Wodehouse by a friend while in school and I have been an avid fan since. The Jeeves books are the best of all, but I have not been able to find all of them in the local bookshops I usualy haunt.
Incidentlly, I was also introduced to Agatha Christie by the same friend. Now there are a number of her books that I have seen in every bookshop in Saddar, my usual resource, and none besides. When I had finished all the available ones, I searched for others and recognized the pattern. There are some including Black Coffee, 4:50 from Paddington, Nemesis that one can find in every shop.
Talking of books that one can find in every bookshop, there is sometimes a book-of-the-time that every shop offers you. Some time ago, it used to be the twilight series. The last time I went, there were A Song of Ice and Fire books in the most noticeable places. There was some other vampire series too, vampire diaries I guess, that had glossy black covers.The covers were nice.

The end of another glorious vactaion

The golden, glorious holidays are gone,every single one of them. Never to return.
As can be expected, there is a gloom that surrounds everything on this last evening.
To be honest, I still have some power that I have exercised on previous ocassions. Much time has not gone by since I gave myself almost a week of holidays. It was quite a nice feeling, I lazed around for another week and felt happy with myself and the world.
This time, it is not possible, since I have been asked to present myself on the appointed day by some quarters which are too high to ignore.
I read some interesting books , the most mentionable of which is an Urdu one .It was lusciously thick and I hope I can finally embark on a study of Urdu literature.

My reverse evolution

So I seem to be undergoing some sort of reverse evolution, going towards the least fit specie.
The road to the all time misfit is not exactly smooth, but it is one you undertake without having a say in the matter.
The evidence is too much and I cannot possibly document it all. But there is a recent, grim Friday I remember, because it was the day I broke my pen.
Not literally, of course. Who wants to waste a good new shiny blue pen? I can always use it for sketching silly but elaborate patterns on unsuspecting victims' hands\feet\clothes and if I am lucky enough, faces. So I just tucked my pen away, for the poor thing had done a lot of hard work (writing a lot of pages in legible writing which can be read by ordinary beings is no ordinary feat for me.)
For this intensive task, I even put an important assignment aside. As a consequence, I later had to explain to the instructor that yes, my assignment was late, and yes, he could deduct marks for it.
The things I  do for books.
Despite the very hard work, my story failed to fetch a single pamphlet, let alone a book. It probably stood at the nth place in the competition, where n is the number of entries submitted, if I was lucky.
If I was unlucky, or if fate was feeling particularly fair towards me, as in "Let us show this girl some true reality, for she talks way too big' then it probably stood some place in the range of exp^n.
The real world is so real, I'd rather live somewhere imaginary.
 Besides, we went to a literary session and missed the particularly interesting part like we always do.
Recently, I was lured to a party in spite of my reluctance to get up and wash my face and untangle my too-tangled locks by a group of particularly insisting friends and then dumped unceremoniously by the said group. They avoided me before, during and after the party religiously. They even avoided me on the way back, and I had to sit all by myself in the bus.
This sitting alone part is not due to reverse evolution.It has been so since time immemorial i.e. time when I started school. I have always possessed a special force of repulsion and I am secretly proud of it (hey,people even let me cross them in a queue due to this).
The reverse evolution part is related to how I have started noticing these things when I have always scoffed at other people who notice such things (noticing such things or no, scoffing is my usual manner of interacting with life, the universe and everything in it.)
To gain some sympathy, I went to my mother. She said flatly, 'I told you so, tumhari kahani bus aisi si hay' .
At least my friends never say that to my face, and I have shown them some really mad stories, but maybe that is because there is always some electronics or microwave lecture droning on in the background.
 Recently I learned the art of calculating the weight of a couplet. There has been a folder intended for burning in my room ever since.

A nuclear touch

So I have been ordered here, despite my uttering the tujh say bhi dilfaraib hain couplet.
Boy, are they dilfaraib! I had to clean the house and produce some weird compound. Strictly speaking it wasn't supposed to be weird but strange accidents do happen when I enter the kitchen(not that they get me exempted*sigh*).
There is this strange touch I have.Things tend to go haywire when they come too close to yours humbly. You must have heard about the golden touch that a king suffered from due to his greed. In my language they have a phrase that describes a very successful person as someone who touches dust and transforms it into gold. Some opposite power resides in my poor hands.
There is absolutely nothing in my home that I cannot destroy or disturb or break or annoy. I had a fairly reliable printer. At least it was very reliable as long as it was out of my reach.
Then it became mine.
Then it stopped working one day.
I deduced , quite correctly, that it had run out of ink ( I am good at deductions, its just that the practical thing is difficult).
So I fished out a new cartridge and swapped it for the old one. The thing started working but gave me way too much confidence with a printer.
(Hint: injecting me with more confidence is always bad. Always.)
So he next time it stopped working, I tore it apart to no avail. The poor thing currently resides on my table, crawling with cobwebs and spiders. Maybe you, the reader, can shed an imaginary tear or two for its fate.
Then there is my desktop pc. I manage to blow up its os at least 4 times a year. In my defence, I have to reinstall everything from scratch all by myself.
Some time ago the fan in my precious graphic card started whizzing too much. I confidently took it out and oiled it. Only later did I know that you can burn a fan by oiling it the wrong way.
Again, in my defence, the fan works silently as a mouse now.I just hope I don't have to take it out again, for its own sake.
The last time I got someone's out-of-order pc to repair, I let it gather a lot of dust and then fished out its browsing history and showed it to their mom (ouch!).
 For my life I cannot count how many LCDs I have destroyed while doing one thing or the other. Just hand one to me and consider the thing done.
And it is not for want of practice that the daal chawal I cook are always lacking in salt.Or biryani or aaloo gosht or bhindi.
Anything that I cook, that is.
I rarely press my own clothes, but on last Eid I managed to burn my zero-second shirt. (I hid it in my closet and simply took another dress out).
A couple of weeks ago I was trying to kill a lizard nicely, and ended up splattering its blood on the floor and the wall.(I know it is gross)
Some time ago, being a poor person, I was trying to straighten my hair with an iron.Fortunately (for my hair) my mom found out.
I guess I do like experimenting with things too much to be considered safe.
As for annoying people on purpose, I am considering doing that for a livelihood now.
Its this tendency towards self-destruction that I identify with in Mohsin Hamid's characters(he is quite a favorite writer)
You may have read an excellent work titled 'mujhay meray doston say bacchao' by Sajjad Hyder Yelderem.
One of these days I am going to be forced to write an essay 'Save me from my self'.