When 150 hearts beat as one...PULSATION 2012

 What happens when you put a hundred and fifty people of different shapes, sizes, colours, countries and mindsets in a single room, and ask them to stay there for 5 years?
Optimistically, it can be a happy story where everyone unites as one big happy family. Practically, we just end up hating each other, a situation that worsens in a female dominated class.
What begins as a misconception about a certain someone, grows to become a rumour and ultimately, seals a person's image forever. Credibility isn't the criteria. Compatibility is. But who can talk of compatibility without a certain level of interaction? So all we can do to judge a person, is to go by how  they're dressed, their demeanor and vibes. NOT CONCLUSIVE.
So there steps in Pulsation, our annual college fest. Organization, competition, victory, defeat...hand in hand with truck loads of fun!What began with furious arguments regarding the naming of our batch ended up with 150 jubilant students screaming:

When we score, when we scream, you wish you were on our team
                             Gooooo Spaartaans!
                                                    
Spartans. Yes, that's what we all are. Warriors, of both the body and mind. 150 Spartans draped in dazzling blue...electric! 150 students standing tall with the flag fluttering into the summer wind, united under one big banner: SPARTANS-2012.                                           
                                                                       
Day one, I remember, kick-started with the usual drag of a march-past followed by speeches upon speeches under the harsh mid-October sun. Nothing to dampen our spirits though.
The evening saw an energy packed boys' Volleyball match, which we lost to our Postgraduate uncles.
The first match however, had lain the foundation of our girl cheer-leading squad and the ever-so-unique slogan that went on to become our winning mantra. A great fight by the boy Spartans, and a promise to claim the trophy next year. Amen.

                                     
The sporting fervour continued for another six days, and by 13th of October, team Spartans was proudly placed second on the Basketball front. The girls cricket team amassed immense support and respect, having crushed our reigning seniors, the Warlords of  2007. Coached under our very own all-rounder Mohammed Abdul Ashraf, both the girls and the boys team excelled at the sport.


                                                                                   
                           
  Football became another feather on out hats, with the seniors assuring us of the championship in the following years. Sometimes, as freshers, you only have to compromise and walk ahead.
Kaushik Dandanak emerged the star player. Ah! I see the big-daddies trembling at the name itself ;)What came next was probably the most enjoyable event during the fest. Kabaddi...naturally restricted to the tougher male species. Some epic moments, raw force and mind games...a game high on adrenaline. We didn't win, but we didn't give up without breaking a few backs. Haar kar jeetne waale ko hi Spartan kehte hain boss ;)

                                                                                
                                           
Boys' Basketball came as a silver lining, after the dismal performance by the girls' team. They bagged silver and the girls lost their throats. Syed Adnan shone as the play maker and Omer Qadri as the hoop-dude. Excellent ball control, quick speed passes and fantastic co-ordination did the trick. On the individual front, Anam Sultana- a dear dear friend-clutched a bronze in the 100 metres sprint. Proud girly moment.
                                        

                                          
                                                                                                                   
    
Nearing the end of our festive week, came the literary and cultural competitions. Triggered by Omer Qadri and myself coming second in Debate, the topic being:
"Should rural service be made compulsory for medical students."
Team Spartans had Nida Fatima speaking for the motion, and Omer Qadri speaking against it. Excellent rebuttal from Omer, and full points for speaking were awarded to me. Vying for gold next year, InshAllah.
The winning streak continued with me winning gold in sketching...a basic job that seemed to work.
The  winner's torch was then carried forward by Naila Iqbal, who claimed two golds, one in the Memory Game and another in Photo-editing. Neat, classy editing. Not over-done, but executed to perfection.


                          
                               
We summed up our days with a smile of happy contention. We succeeded in establishing our presence, gave to the college a mere trailer of the potential within us.  The full movie, shall be released gradually over a span of 5 years. But wait! That's not all!
Down with all the competitions, the Spartans settled back to watch the better looking classmates walk down the ramp. Such professionalism, such panache...I often wonder if medicine is the right field for them. Flaunting everything, right from casuals to wedding wear...they made the outfits come across even better than the designer's conceptualization! Mohammed Wajih, Abdul Raafey, Hari Prem, Mubeen Babu, Ansari and Anas bin Siddiq came as surprise packets with each new sequence of the clothing range.
The story is still to continue. Most of us, who had almost dozed off in the middle, were woken up for a pleasant surprise. Random people simply ran up on to stage and my favourite song began to play. Even before I could jerk myself up to watch...the crowd, comprising exclusively of my batch mates, began dishing out moves like Jagger! It was a FLASH MOB!
Beautiful in it's concept and immaculate in it's execution, the flash mob became the highlight of Valentino 2012. The mob saw the birth of amazing dancing talent, that was probably buried under years of  ignorance and textbooks. Commendable job, under the expert eye of Akram, the choreographer from TNT-2010.


                                                                                                                                                

               

                                   
                       The Grand Finale on the 15th of October saw a huge turn over of people, all dressed to kill. Decked up in typical Hyderabadi party wear, we sure made heads turn. The evening began with prize distribution, song and dance with small humour segments interspersed here and there. Habeeb Qadeer, a renowned stand-up artist on the Hyderabadi comedy platform performed for over 45 minutes, very energetic and very well appreciated as well. What added charm to the night was the Qawwali. Authentic Hyderabadi Qawwali, performed by experts in the field. They belted out some entrancing sequences and had the crowds tapping their feet in a bewitched trance. The naubat became the icing on the cake- very, VERY impressive.
With good food and great company, time flies! And so it did, by 11:30 pm, the evening was just beginning to gain fervour.
It felt like I was back to square one. 150 students in one hall, for the next five years. But after the week gone by, the cat has jumped over to the other side of the wall. It is no longer a bunch of kids involved in back-biting or gang fights. We ended up as good- if not great- friends.
The Spartans bid good-bye to a week full of merry making to walk right into the snare of the upcoming exams. But the shift in moods was undeniable. We ceased to look upon each other with hostility (if there ever was) and distrust. Misconceptions seem to have been brushed aside, and we became open to meeting up new people.
Team Spartans is just beginning to gel. It is only a matter of time where Team Spartans will cease to be just a name...it'll be an identity for the entire college to reckon with. A syncitium of sorts.This is me signing off, so until next time:

GOOOOOO SPARTAAAAANS!
                                                                                   

Writing: A 7th Sense.

My blog is for my people.
Anybody who adds to my life, anyone who helps me get by...is here.
I don't write because I want attention. I don't write because I want to be called as the 'girl who writes well' by the 'junta' I don't give a damn about. I write only because there are people who deserve to be written about. There are certain things I cannot just say, either because the emotions are too complex or too sensitive to be corrupt using words.
People write fashion, art, music and philosophy. I, write people.
I love literature because it helps me understand people and their reactions, which I would not have understood otherwise. Literature releases me from the shackles of silence. My pen, my paper, my blog...all  the instruments I use to make myself heard. Not as an act of cowardice, but as an act of intrepidity, an act of valiance that needs no propaganda. It's just my words, my voice. Everything I write is intimately interwoven with the reality of my life. Every word bears a part of my existence. Every sentence that goes into my writing, is a testimony to everything I face with each passing day.
The words floating in my head, although haphazard, put my life into focus. When I think, I think in the form of words. When I imagine, I imagine in the form of whole sentences. My writing is a mirror which shows me my life, and also to the ones who might wish to see.
I hold my writings very close to my heart and at a very elevated stature. My life is not an exhibition, it is not a fair, where you can buy, sell and have fun. My writing, is all that I have of myself.
My essays fill me with pride, like a mother who swells when her child excels. My articles make me aware of my existence, and the responsibility that one shoulders, when one deals with words. Yes, WORDS. The most potent tool of the wise. I love words, because of the clarity they bring to life. How seemingly unexplainable phenomena fit into our mind, how we grasp the exact nature of our surroundings...everything, in the form of words.

I write to discover myself. I write to understand the world. I write, because I must.

Of Nadal and a Prawn

*Please play the video and proceed to read*

They say that the ability to forget is the greatest blessing in disguise from God. Shit happens, you brush it aside. It keeps coming back to you and you try your best to ward it off. You struggle with it, you try to shield yourself from it, you try to run away. Each time, it only gets stronger.
Then there comes a point where you've exhausted your resolve. A point where you've reached your carrying capacity and can't handle more. A point where it is easier to just give up and say 'I quit.'
THAT is when it'll leave you. It'll fade into some recess of your mind and leave you to face the emptiness within. It'll create a void that is so intense, it'll shatter you. Though on the brighter side, the memory won't come back to haunt you. Those beautiful will memories walk away, and leave behind some nasty scars.

                                                   

I still recall so vividly how we had sworn to be the best of chums till the sun cooled down. Today, the sun shines on hotter than ever, over a friendship gone cold. There were promises of sticking together through thick and thin. We managed the thin, the thick got the better of us.
There hasn't been a conclusive ending to the friendship, not yet. We've laughed through the 'log phase,' smiled through the 'lag phase,' preparing now for the declining phase. It'll come, eventually. It doesn't need to be put into words, it needs no lengthy conversations. It is only a wedge that'll pierce deeper and deeper and finally split us into two separate entities. It'll happen so gradually that no one will notice. It will only feel like a needle pricking the heart, only a few seconds at a time, until the infarction sets in.

You'd been by my side when no one else was. You were there when I didn't notch up good grades. While I felt like running away from the rest of the world, I wanted to walk straight to you. When I stayed up all night, you made sure I never did it alone. Even if it was just a text message, you'd give me the confidence to put aside everything and fall asleep. The sun HAD to rise the next morning, right? You were happy, I was happy. You cried, I did. I've never felt a greater association with anybody else before. Both of us know a bond has been made, sealed. It is another matter though, that we longer acknowledge it. We choose to ignore it like it never happened.

I recall measuring my life in terms of  'your birthday,' 'your niece's birthday,' 'your sister's birthday,' 'your parents' anniversary...' EVERYTHING was prefixed with 'your.' It was only a year back, that the 'you' preceded the 'me' in my life. The 'you' isn't here anymore, it took the 'me' along with it.
My bestie, my secret-keeper, my 4am friend, my LOL friend...you filled in every spot! Though on the downside- I do not think I can ever find a replacement.
The present scenario boils down to me being grateful for the wonderful time together. My mother- always the biggest, unflinching support in my life- taught me to absorb all that is good and to leave out the dregs without much botheration. This advice today, gives me the motivation to go on. Things aren't like what they were before, but that does not mean they can't be better. I know you aren't here, but the memories you've left will outlive you. I will smile as I recall them, not cry. I will be glad it happened, not crib because it's over.

And for all I know, you will still be only a text message away. One day, you will muster the courage and say 'jaande jaande. Bol nadal, watsup?'
I'll fight. I'll ask questions, I'll make a scene. Only because I love it when you defend our friendship.
That day will come, a friendship as gleaming as ours, can never be dull for long.
Until then, I have treasure trove of memories to smile at.

Whoever said the capacity to forget is a blessing?

Me. My demons.

I'm tired. And I don't know why. I'm bored. And I don't know how I should tackle that. I'm worried, because I'm used to it. I'm low, because I just CAN'T help it.

I'm clueless. After having spent two filthy years constantly talking and thinking about 'marks', 'results' and 'ranks' my brain is starting to retaliate. I need a break. I need to unwind. I need a place not polluted by wretched people and their money making schemes. In the past two years, I believe I've withered- as a person. I've deteriorated. My talent has begun to rust. Ofcourse it's not important, because you can't measure talent in terms of marks. You can't assign ranks to talent. You can't say "Mr. A is a talent topper and Mr. Z failed in talent." It is quite humorous though that 'topper' is not a word that exists in the Oxford. It's only a matter of personal convenience. 'Bottomer' would be a nice antonym to go with it, wouldn't it?

If I say I haven't painted in two years, you'd laugh.

"Why is that so important?" You might ask.

Ironically, I wouldn't have the energy to explain.

I long to prop myself on my bed with a novel and read till I've exhausted every library in the world. But ofcourse, shouldn't I be spending that time over Physics problems?

I crave to feel the hundreds of tiny grooves that run all over a basketball. The muffled scratching of my pencil as it romances the paper as I pour out my life through it. The smooth strokes of my paintbrush that caress the canvass as I add colour to my black and white story. My Utopia.

How does one vent the frustration?

The pillow? Too soft. The walls? To weak. Tears? Limited.

Maybe I need to go deep-sea diving. Or on a mission to outer space. Oh I just need to get away from humanity.

I've had enough of dying in life...for once, I yearn to LIVE life.

The agression stems only from the knowledge, that NO ONE inderstands. I need someone to draw courage from, as the courage in me is fast dying. I want some one to say "Fuck the rest of the world, I'll see you through."

All I need to progress in life, is security. Make me believe it's garden so I can shut my eyes and walk through the Sahara. Make me believe my parachute will open at the exactly the right time as I jump off a plane. Tell me that there WILL be someone to hold me even as I fall.

        

I want to make mistakes. I want to make them on my own. I wish to learn my own lessons, not to be spoon fed.

"This is right, this is wrong"

No, thanks.

I'll figure it out myself. Experimentation is the path to discovery. I take my life lessons seriously. I've been reprimanded, even hated for my mistakes. Only if there was someone to love me for the lessons I drew from each of them.

 I have immense faith in the Almighty and His plans for my future. All I need, is a hand that I can hold on to as I face the unknown. I'm not afraid of what lies ahead. I'm just afraid to face it alone. Give me a hand and a hug- and watch me tranform into Hulk!

Shesto

Funny. Smart. Reliable. Trustworthy. Polite. Aware. Realistic. Charming. BINDASS. Shaista Siraj is all this, and so much more.Which begs the question: Who is Shaista Siraj?
Shaista Siraj, is exactly what her name means: Polite. Desires support and encouragement in all her goals. Extremely dedicated and very intelligent.

If I were a wizard, and if I were to produce a Patronus, my happy memory would definitely include Shaista Siraj and her kid.
So many happy memories and so much fun. Good times. :) I've always had a certain level of comfort with her. I could share just about anything with her, without the fear of being judged or disapproved of. She is a gem. Genuine and VERY realistic. 

She once hit me on my knuckles. Something no one EVER did. She did that so that today, I can proudly say I cleared my Math Boards with flying colours. Yes, she tutored me through my worst nightmare. I'm ever indebted to her. Looking back, I think our little of our brainstorming sessions with a contented smile. Yes, her efforts ushered me through what seemed like an unsurmountable challenge. Ever grateful.

She gave me mini treats and our little evening junk feast...was to die for. She made the best French fries and garlic sauce. Not to forget, the soup that I loved to gorge on.
And since I'm talking food, how can I NOT mention Pani Puri, Samosa Chat and Maggi...oooops, Top Ramen? Love for food brings people closer. True story. ;)


Party planner. Party organizer. Party executor. LIFE OF THE PARTY.
Sans Shesto, any party would be a congregation of bored souls wondering when Shesto
would be back. Sleepovers. Parties. Rain Dance. With her, everything is a riot.
She is a fun bomb. ATOM bomb.


What I'll miss about her?
The fact that she always kept a straight face and heard all my nonsense out. Ever so patient, ever so beautiful.
An inspiration. She taught me how to make the best of both worlds. When there were days she talked to me about Islam and Hadeeth...there were also days when we drooled over Harry Potter, Vampire Dairies and SRK. She is the only person who let me read the DaVinci Code without batting an eyelid. Anyone else, would've blown me up. What more? We watched the movie together! How I'm gonna miss talking to her about the next addition to  the Dan Brown series or trying to figure out the plot of an upcoming movie. And of course, our secret "let's go watch a movie" missions...that were NEVER successfully executed :P


What next? Here you go:
 
BOOKsoulMATE! I have never bought or read a book without thinking, "Shesto should read this too!" I'm in awe of her multi-tasking abilities. Cook. Work. Play. Laugh. Bring up a tornado. Smile through all of it. Yeah, Shesto does it all, without breaking a sweat. She's a rockstar all the way. 


I've learnt so much from her. Though I'm sure she knows nothing about it. Surprisingly, she hasn't even noticed that she figures on my list of "Inspirational People" on Facebook.
She has been a tremendous positive influence for me. DARN! She is perfect. :) 

As Tony Morrison puts beautifully:
A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves - a special kind of double.
Ah, so that should answer your question.
Shaista Siraj, an inspiration. A guidance.
A sister I never had.

In the study of Science, I've learnt to find Philosophy. Heisenberg was right. One can never be certain about the turn of events in Life. So much so, that even atoms at the microscopic level scream of this reality. "Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle," for anyone else would just mean a series of painful equations. But ah, oblivious they are to the fact, that Science-is Life.

 As a student of both Science and Art, I have come to appreciate the nuances, the finer details of life. Right from studying the venation of a Ficus leaf for an art exam to physiology of the same in Botany tells us so much about life. It's all one big network. Science, Art, Math, Literature...all proclaiming the same Universal Truths, only viewed from different angles of  the same kaleidoscope.

It's fascinating really. How this huge supine yet dynamic monster of a Universe functions. How the littlest of object serves its own function, in its own way...yet controlled by that One Supreme Being. Iam often intimidated at my nothingness in this world. We know that the Human species is the most advanced in all the world. And YET, we are just tiny dots from the window of an aeroplane. What might we be, from the Highest Ascent, The Seventh Heaven, I wonder?
Who would've ever known that qualities of one minute bacterium would go on to produce food for several thousands of people? Or that a butterfly would mime another, mightier butterfly just to save it's skin- or rather- wings? And how about a lone pine tree somewhere out there bracing the blizzard in the Arctic that sheds it's toxic leaves, to eliminate other vegetation around it? Allelopathy, Science calls it. Philosophy calls it The Survival of the Fittest. A military officer would call it Defence Stratagem. I would call it Allah's Genius.

Pure GENIUS. With the ever increasing exposure that I get towards Science, Art and Literature I have come to appreciate Allah's swt handicraft. Divine. Ingenious. Miraculous.
Why look so far away? Stand in front of the mirror and behold the living, breathing miracle that you are. Every part of this perfectly crafted body has it's own story to narrate. Even the littlest strand of hair grows and falls for a reason. Every cell exists to fulfill its role. There are no "extras." No wastage.



So very often I feel stumped, holding a paintbrush in my hand trying to figure out the numerous shades and hues of a slice of watermelon, or a bunch of grapes. Mystified Iam. Such diversity, and yet so united. And then to think of all these extraordinary feats all accomplished by the flick of a hand. The Seven Days that laid foundation for Seven Generations of perfection.

Sit back, observe and take in everything around you. That gentle breeze that runs it's fingers through your hair, the bright sun that sends a drop of sweat down your neck. A glacier that melts some 8,848 metres above the ground...it's pristine water that meets the river, to finally end, in an endless expanse of beauty. Serenity as far as the eye can see, and beyond.

Absorb and be gratified. Close your eyes and breathe. Breathe out all the anger, all the hatred. Flush out the envy, rage and grief that nags your heart. NO, this world has no space for petty issues. Our life is like the stroke of a brush on a canvass yet to be finished to perfection. Let not our (in)human attributes slash this unfinished canvass like a blade.

This world is perfect. As perfect as it can be. The lens that WE view it through is distorted. Sit up, take notice. There's is a lot to be unraveled. Lots to be uncovered and a whole lot more to be thought about. And I wouldn't be wrong if I say that its all staring at us in right the face. Awaken from this ignorant slumber and rub the fuzziness from your eyes. Initiate. Innovate. Create- TODAY.

The Game

She's mute. He's blind. Worse, they are friends.
She loves him but can never tell him. Already nursing a broken heart, He is blinded in pain. Together, they attempt to alleviate each other's grief. The tension just exists, and none knows why. Tackling it with humour and jest, they've come to live with it.


SHE  loves him unconditionally. Deep within, she knows it's a lost cause. Her future shows her a cul-de-sac, love that she can never hope to receive in return. Hopelessly in love, She accepts Her defeat with silent resignation and tired smiles.
HE lived through his personal nightmare. Losing out on more than He could ever gain, He was certain He would never love again. His only respite comes from Her, so beautifully brave, focused and hopelessly optimistic. He calls Her His best friend. In fair-humoured taunting and innocent abuse they share the most intense of emotions. Together they give the other a smile, a hope and maybe even a reason to live.


She likes it. The knowledge that someone She knows values Her so much. There is not a shred of doubt in Her mind regarding His loyalty. He proved to Her- beyond any shadow of distrust- the honesty in His friendship. Friendship. Never Love.
He likes it. That even when everything was gone, He could look up to her and never be let down. She would smile at him, tell him that it's not the end. She would wipe away that persistent fog in his head and point zealously towards His bright future. She could read Him, know what was ailing him. Then, she would do everything in her power to cut that frown, copy Her smile and paste it on His face.
Two people, facing a storm, each inspiring the other with stories of survival.
Sometimes, many times, She hugs Her pillow and sheds a silent tear. Only She knows the red hot agony that tempers Her heart. How many times will She try to embroider His punctured heart? How many times will He come to Her asking relief from his tormenting past? Because each time He does, He opens up the wounds that She has been trying to nurse all alone. Wounds that haven't had the time to heal completely. Wounds that She dare not tell Him about.
His past destroys Her present. Is She just a medium of distraction? A source of brave words which will only spread light, never warmth? IS HE REALLY THAT BLIND?


The answer, no one knows. Maybe not even Him. 
So this was to be it. She would/could never tell Him. He would/could never see it. Sounds like fun, eh? Try it.
Now all that is left for them to do is carry that pain around. Maybe share it. But never let it go. Because one's Pain was the other's Elixir. Without that, there was nothing.


In shadows they were to spend their lives, because light they couldn't find.
In lies they were to hide, because the truth was harsh, unkind.
And thus continues their story- The Game of the Mute and the Blind.