Of this and that

All these merging sounds, cross-fading


Tranquilising and traumatising my soul

I sit quietly as a vase in the corner

Doing nothing new, nothing great

Was it all I could do on earth?

or is it all I deserve to get in life?

it reminds me of my sins though

and my shyness, my attitude

will I ever wake up to life?

or am I expecting a magic?

My questions have all the answers

Whose Line Is It Anyway?

Sometimes I think I have hit a writer's block. But it seems I have hit a readers block instead. Last week I got 5 very thick books to prepare for an exam. The first book I tried to read at 11 pm had small font size, bad cover design and a sleepy reader. The second one, which I tried the next day, was an epitome of bookish language galvanised (to use such a word) with all the trite pharses in the world. Being an editor and paid a neat sum for simple writing, I could not tolerate it for more than an hour and had goosebumps. I am yet to try the other 3 boooks!

Taj Mahal

Oh tomb, oh tomb...
What you remind me of is not the queen ...
and her king, and their kindgom...
Oh tomb, oh tomb....
You remind me of my little grave ...

----- Arshad Rasool

It's good for nothing!

Ki mere qatl ke baad us ne jafaa se taubah
Haaye, is zode_pashemaan ka pashemaan hona

A Dog's Life

He died a miserable death. But then the worse thing that's killing me is that he lived a worse life. Unlike most pets, he wasn't much cherished by many in the family. He wasn't patted day in and day out. He wasn't fed the fashionable foods. He wasn't trained to top agility. He wasn't allowd into the main courtyard of the house. He lived in a largely-dark room outside. Would give you those appealing one-eybrow gazes everytime you pass by his room. And if you happened to call him, he would not jump in joy, because he hadn't much energy left in his last years and also because he was tied up all the time. The only time he was unchained was at nights - to guard the house. That was perhaps the only relation of his being to the family. What a selfish world! He had a programmed schedule to go out. Measured few steps to excrete twice a day, not for enthusiastic walks. And he also took them like a robot - with no heart, though he liked freedom like anyother being. But he didn't fight for it, because he knew wouldn't get it. So he had taken to a sad look, which no one realised was killing him from inside. He would usually sleep all day long, and a cat or a mouse would often tease him for his freedom, rather the lack of it in that dark room, which had turned into the death row cell for him. Not to mention he didn't have an AC in the hot summer nights. The snow-loving Russian breed would sizzle in the dark room under a lazy fan, which sometimes people would forget to turn on.

All said, it reminds me of a desire to live a life like his. Humble, low profile and worthless!

P.S. He died of nervous breakdown on 30th October 2008

A New Day in Life

What stopped me for years to get up early has just vanished. My eyes are open - not a tinge of sleep bothering them. May be my eyes have opened for something - not this blog of course. Welcome to my blog - Soft Corner - for every little and soft thing in the world that do not seem to matter much, but actually do.
Arshad Rasool