Wednesday, December 06, 2006

the problem with being you

Recently I was shopping on my own when I happened to enter a familiar shop run by a team of Iranians. I was actually looking for a shirt to buy and as season '06 of football approached, I decided it'd be better to get the new football shirt/shorts kit done with along. As I was browsing a slightly younger salesman approached me and pointed me in the direction of the kit of the Iranian national football team, then started, then hesitated, then started, hesitated again and pronounced the obvious. A lot of times I am not a very big man but sometimes you fleetingly realize that there is a responsibility on your shoulder which has to be obliged very quickly.

I had absolutely no intention of ever buying the kit at that moment but I displayed an encouraging smile nonetheless and carried on the conversation for another five minutes or so, promising I would give it a thought as I exited the store. There are a lot of times in my life, or atleast what I describe to be life, that somebody will come and tell me that I'm either being a jackass, idiot, wierdo, boring, or simply just stupid. The example I cited above was to give us all a reason of thought – the boy was simply being himself when talking to some slightly younger and how many of us would actually lend it that split-second thought? I am not trying to brag but I appreciated the fact that he put his fears on a backstage and showed me the item despite knowing he would not get paid for it. That was simply him.

Another boy of my age would read this and say, “Husain, stop acting too mature,” and possibly brag on about how boring I'd be when put easily enough we are all the same underneath with all the same abilities of reason; whether we choose to outline outselves deep, cultural, daring, bright, funny, shallow and so forth. The truth is in today’s world there is hardly any appreciation for what a person is and what a person can be. What a person was is never the answer but looked at upon the most for quick book judgement.

The world is driven by the want for more and more money that will buy you everything in the world but a smile from deep down inside the heart. Today’s world is driven by people all over the globe fulfilling that objective of multi-corporate companies and running around in pursuit of the bills more than a marathon runner could ever dream to train, like dogs without a sense of smell and owls without eyes. Nobody has time to give to anybody else and when it is it is usually a short burst of good-heartedness that is short for the good reason that we have to catch up to the blinded owls and so on otherwise we land up nowhere, much like they would be if they stopped to pick up somebody from the ditch.

Nobody has time for anything else nowadays but when generosity is showered we receive whatever you can imagine gold could not fetch, and lots more beyond that. Nobody ever has the time to realize that he can be and allow others to be what they are. I’m not saying I have a solution and the truth is there really is no mass-spread verbal antidote to it except maybe the reflecting of oneself.

So for once, and hopefully maybe even twice and so forth, let’s remember that it’s OK for people to be themselves, especially ourselves, as we too, a lot of times, skip to be someone we’re not just because of those handy printed paper rolls coming in, or to know why there was ink-stains all over the school and office walls in five-minute-gossip groups, why she was made prefect or promoted over me or to try start fighting for no good reason.

That night, as I sat on my chair, for a few minutes I wondered on whether I really wanted a kit of the Iranian football team. It didn't take very long to reach the same answer I had previously concluded with and maybe, probably, he never knew that had I fulfilled my promise. But to me, it was a much more of a feeling than any other I had achieved the whole day.


Thursday, November 16, 2006

Coming back to the original.

Ever come one of those days when you just start having suicidal-ly-bored thoughts? Granted, almost everyday, but I’m talking about those boring ‘one-liner’ kinda days = the ones where you’re bored on top of bored, or bored to bored, or bored because you’re bored…however you want to look at it ( which also includes bored sideways, and yes you can get that with pepperoni and anchovies, NOT). Well fear not, I’ve come to save the day. Well, atleast I think I have…

The thing that always struck me about writing good blogs or journals is how a person writes it (like, you didn’t know that!). For me, you’d always have to use those adequate amount of tongue-splinging words, a pint of humour from the bottle and to just be that bit “touché”, to generate real interest who take their time to come and rate you mentally – in other words, read your garbage out of interest, or boredom. And it just seems, for reasons of sort, I have been able to re-conquer my English and imagination barriers after a series of bloggers-block (no, those ones have been deleted…) in order of late. It feels strange, like that aunty you never had; a mystic feeling – when it happens. Worm-infested apples after shining ones. Writer’s guilt. This is beginning to not make sense…

Sometime ago, actually, I wrote a review of absolutely no relevance in my mates Greg’s blog when he went on ranting about McDonald’s Chicken staff working in banks picking their nails. There was just that something – a desire – this uncanny atonement to go and in Almighty ‘RAWR!!!’ power, go and write that there and then. And not only that either, but even this. Dribble the ball, shoot from half-court and get that three! Rather than just the normal two. So what did we learn today? Never follow my philosophy. It’s Evo-Screwed, battered and Mars-bar filled.

So anyways – coming back to original. What do I mean? Well, remember that first journal that I wrote way back (‘mazing I can still inch my brain onto the date in all respect of itchiness, but of course that’s only because I can remember the terrorizing, nail-biting exams that were ruining my life then) – that first one on nothing of the mincing PC rubbish in all due respect journals that followed? Well I just decided, for one and all, with all the feeling again, to give that one a memory and return to when good journals used to be fun, informative, and simply class – the good ‘ol artful ways of going *bang keyboard, bang!* that would just rock. With lots of complaining and lots of smiling.

take care everybody.


Saturday, November 04, 2006


"Habari!" :- The typical way of saying “Hi!” in Swahili. Swahili, my mother tongue, originated in one thousand-something and irritating people since. Swahili is actually called Kiswahili, but everybody prefers the short form thingy. “Habari!” actually means “Hi, how are you?” at different point of times. So when you get the jest of a “how are you?” in there, you can most respectfully reply by saying, “Zuri!”, which relates to conveying a positive reply. And just to clarify things a bit, the very-famous-very-popular-thanks-to-Walt-Disney sentence, “Hakuna Matata!” also originates from the same, recited by Timon and Pumba in spectacular style. One thing to sue Walt Disney Corp. for: Making it sound so comical. C’mon, it sounds so childish now, after The Lion King debuted it to the world. Imagine you go to a person and he has a problem, and you just know he’s going to tick when you try and console him, but suddenly “Hakuna Matata!” just pops right outta your mouth. He’s probably going to look at you like he’s looking at the world's most disgusting cockroach. And that's probably going to be the last thing you see if it's Chuck Norris. So, we can all unite to sue Walt Disney Corp for a 1.3 billion dollars. Oh wait, does anybody even use the term anymore? What am I ranting on about? The goodness of ranting or wasting other people's time? Oh well, there goes my chance for the 1.3 billion dollars. But give me chocolate, and I'll be happy. It's rather too obvious I've written out of boredom but please drop by a comment or compliment on my work, any suggestions or just requests for anything perticular ("certain periodicals", you may call it).



Monday, September 11, 2006

One Week Quite Unlike.

So we're discussing football. Walking, walking to the end of the gate that leads out of the park. Before we parted I abruptly said, "keep me noted." A week later we meet again, he says "your name is down." 'Okay', I thought. 'This is going to be busy.'
And so it was. As the week-long sports festival for the questionable purpose of Unity opened I realized I didn't quite know anything about volleyball. Me, being me, told me, 'you'll pull through. How hard can it be?'

So I was there. Journalist for this week-long sports festival held for the questionable purpose of Unity, but hey, I wasn't going to question. There were different countries. For the sake of simplicity there were white people, brown people and black people. I'm a bit of everything. You can call me multi-national. Yeah right. No, really.
Anyways, I needed a camera. On cue come the American cousin who doesn't like her new one because it's too big. "Perfect", I thought. This hasn't ever happened before, but I know what to do. Craftily seducing her to lend it to me, I use it. At the end of the week, it's mine. I had to part with a fair bit, but it's mine. Finally, I had a camera. Then I just went insane.

And I loved every single moment of it.

Oh man, photography was the bomb. It just was.

An approximate? 1000 pictures. I took nearly 1000 pictures in that one week. A one week filled with glass and grass, atmospheric pressure muzzling from every corner. The thuds, something being hit, kicked, out of happiness or anger, both being held in utter concentration, captured in my photo. A picture is worth any number of words.

I even had those yellow-cover things, the ones professional press photographers wear in FIFA matches. They said "PRESS", though admittedly that went a bit wrongly at first =)

Two days after it kicked off, me now perfectly synced with the game, I was told I had to start covering the words. "Writing?! I don't know how to write, man!"
Coveting the day I could have my revenge on this despot, I started covertly hatching plans alongside sentences that - (to my surprise, came naturally) - could be a potential winner in my perfect article.

It was a hectic schedule, but I had the whole week of school off, and heck, I wasn't going to start complaining (so early : )). Being there from 2 PM, I had language issues when the Canucks came over, they kept saying "this year the cup is ours!" Wonder what that meant...?

THEN it really got hectic, in the nights, having to exercise my throughly-exercised leg mucles running from one end to the other, I made my way from one end of the club to the other not quite singing the most graceful ballad you might've (not) heard, a click here, click there, run to the other side to upload the photos and come back exactly five minutes before all the ridiculous languid fine sportsmen got tired at 20 out of 21 game points, and devise yet another press-winning story.

At the end of it all the service was flanked by a massive barbeque, the losers got a bigger share. : )