Post-ROTMUN Blues.

I’m still overwhelmed by this past weekend that has been ROTMUN. I’m glad I don’t debate, it wouldn’t have been the same participating (as part of The G [that's how it shall be referred to henceforth. Not worth being typed out in its entirety.] team at that. Shudder, pls.) as being on the organization team. Great events, great people, horrible music, great lighter-stealing opportunities, whatta weekend. More detailed posts highlighting certain events once I get more coherent. For now I’ll just say.

Shit yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar.

Moments I have Abstained From Cracking Dick-and-Ball Jokes.

Mum: So tell your sister to take care of it.

Me: Us se handle nahin ho ga.

Mum: Us se kiya cheez handle hoti hai?

Me: …

Eid for Dummies.

I have compiled a list of all the Eid Specimens I have yet encountered in my short life, boiled down to three categories which have stood out most distinctly for your convenience. We’ll keep the Jews and other non-Eidsters out of this, for now. Though I can think of a few things that could be attributed to them, but that’s for another post and another time entirely.. Further species and division suggestions are welcome, unless they fall into an already existing category. Here goes.

The Dawat Hoppers: My parents and the rest of the Khatri Community all fall into this. Having close-knitted families, or just competition in the society, they attempt a humanly impossible number of visitations at relatives/neighbours/friends/acquaintances/or just random people who might *get offended* (read: mull over losing a [SHALLOW]compliment). I don’t know if it’s just to check out/show off Eid clothes (as if they don’t already know each minute little detail beforehand, or they never surreptitiously saw your suit at the darzi’s to make sure they had better ones) or judge culinary skills (like that’s necessary: for some reason peoples’ sense of proportion and sugar get interfucked and muddled beyond edible stages), whatever the reason, Dawat Hoppers feel this fussy need to spring from place to place and fidget worse than.. okay Imagine Spiderman getting an erection in Spandex. Now double the momentum. yeah.
Caution: DO not invite out of courtesy, unless are willing to host a whole new train of visitors.

The Awami Ghar: most families and extended families I know have a certain meeting point, an Open House that welcomes Brothers to Sisters to Sister’s Friends to their Friends to absolute Strangers. Such Houses exhibit a great food storage capacity, or an impressive maasi Brigade, or an unusually large number of females, and more often than not very very good cooks (hence the positive attraction). Also the amount of potential Eidi to be obtained by the Huge throng adds to its appeal.
Caution: Rishta Aunties loiter here. Approach/Avoid as appropriate.

The Gamer Chaddas: So called because their only two commitments on Eid seem to be cruising around the house in chaddas and playing GTA or some other shitty game on a console. Such soles are usually deprived of festive laddoos but they appear to make do with ordering McDonalds or something similar. This just in, jamming is also practiced by this cult of deviants, and they have now added sinful music-making activities to their repertoire. Although entirely detached from tradition, they seemingly get more Eidi than those few who labour to kiss hands by the dozen and wish Eid Mubarak in thee most jovial manner they can assume to perhaps obtain just a little more of that pretty polly handed their way. In other words, they have it easy.
Caution: Do not make yourself known; extreme jealousy may lead to unwanted consequences.

The As-We-Please Diners: Uncommon but not unusual, a rare breed which retains some amount of Free Will on this occasion (Something I can only eternally aspire to), and determines it’s own lunch and supper based on a general referendum or whatever the fuck. I was recently informed of a certain friend dining at a JAPANESE restaurant on the first day of Eid, and feasting on DEEP FRIED ICE CREAM (whatever the fuck that is) and pursuing similar plans for the other two days as well. Like, dude [read: blood boiling envy]. My family assumed a tentative membership into the As-We-Please Club yesterday for my father’s birthday, a situation which is otherwise characterised by no liberty whatsoever to choose eateries over dawats.
Caution: Keep yourselves relatively unknown; mild jealousy may lead to unwanted consequences.

————————————-
*Post might be updated in between dawats as/and new categories emerge/make themselves known/are sent my way respectively

For all yo Pathan Birathers

I have nothing but unhealthy, hot hot passionate, frivolous, unabating, filthy anal love for these guys. When’s the last time you saw something this epic?

When’s the last time you saw someone partying this hard? Seriously.
Jiggy like the Kocha? Word.

When life gives you Lemons.. pass them on:

{Since I’ll never read Harry Potter the same way again:}

<JonJonB> Purely in the interests of science, I have replaced the word “wand” with “wang” in the first Harry Potter Book
<JonJonB> Let’s see the results…

<JonJonB> “Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” asked Harry.
<JonJonB> “Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wang in half an’ everything

<JonJonB> A magic wang… this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.

<JonJonB> “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wang. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wang for charm work.”
<JonJonB> “Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wang. Eleven inches. “

<JonJonB> Harry took the wang. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wang above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls

<JonJonB> “Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wang, tapped the lock, and whispered, ‘Alohomora!”

<JonJonB> The troll couldn’t feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry’s wang had still been in his hand when he’d jumped – it had gone straight up one of the troll’s nostrils.

<JonJonB> He bent down and pulled his wang out of the troll’s nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

<JonJonB> He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wang, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wang at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them.

<JonJonB> Ok
<JonJonB> I have found, definitive proof
<JonJonB> that J.K Rowling is a dirty DIRTY woman, making a fool of us all
<JonJonB> “Yes,” Harry said, gripping his wang very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding…. Any second now, he might hear his mother again… but he shouldn’t think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn’t want to… or did he?
<melusine > O_______O
<JonJonB> Something silver-white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wang

<JonJonJonB> Then, with a sigh, he raised his wang and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

<JonJonJonB> ‘Get – off – me!’ Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncles sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wang.

My anti-drug is Porcupine Tree’s Fear of a Black Planet, an album about drugs. Hmmm.

Ramadan High

What is cool?

Spotting Gumby while traveling down the Zamzama street then jumping out of the car then running back down the road and crossing over to the other side, into the street he walked in, following him into some obscure juice shop in the corner of that street and ganging up on him like a bunch of squealing fangirls. Ooooh yeah. Personally, it wasn’t so much the thought of meeting Gumby as actually running across that road that brought on the adrenaline rush to my very very uneventful life and high/maila-time deprived self.

My general teacher looks like The Joker. Which kind of sucks because everytime she opens her mouth I end up imagining her with green hair and creepy ass make up which leaves no room for taking her seriously, which sucks further because this is bloody general we’re talking about, which I really do not wish to screw up.

We start acrylics tomorrow. As intimidated as I am by the various most strategically positioned paintings adorning the walls of that school, the prospect is yippee exciting. Andddddd I gottay Palette knife today. Zhomg I’ve always wanted one of those thing dhen-chuuuuuuuu.

New art supplies make me horny.
Want frikkin ramadan to end.

FAIL.

Okay so I’ve had three Urdu classes until now (one double period), and I swear to god I have never hated my being with this much intensity ever before. Love the language, but it’s like fucking Grade-6 Urud classes all over again. Same old topics, same old 12-year-old mentality of students. And since there’s just five of us, and hence all forces exerted are interactive, the room BURSTS with this dawn of the dead kind of a looming gloomy feeling of utter zombie-vada which can kill anything from GossipGirl-loving-dudes to Morse-code-communicating-Einsteins’ brains. AND I FUCKING LIE IN THE MIDDLE ZONE (balance, ho.).

I am going to give it all I have, and I mean All, to convince the headmistress for a switch over to Econ. Pajina may be arranging for a congregational prayer (in this holy month of Ramadan) for my sake (yes that’s how desperate I am), and any added effort on an individual basis will be. kickass.

If I don’t get this by next term, I’m an incompetent little choot who’ll FAIL at life.

Highlights of the KGS Orientation

Actually, screw the plural, there’s only one thing worth mentioning.

Us NewGs (“New Grammarians”. The species that on the admission front are a part of the school but are not quite, to put it in a way, socially accepted as such.), are being most mercifully favoured by the students’ council. This year the prefect body has, in an attempt to (and I quote from the headgirl’s speech) “ensure that the transition (from old school to new) is as smooth as possible”, evolved a “Buddy System” of sorts, whereby each prefect is appointed a couple of NewGs as “Buddies”. These “Buddies” have bonding sessions once a week, where Matters of Great Importance are discussed. These range from social problems to navigational problems to educational problems to psychological problems if necessary (or so I assume).

Much like the Southpark Accountabilabuddy system, except, you know, in this case it’s more to ensure general social well being as opposed to keeping homosexual tendencies at bay. Yeah.

What was my reaction to this? A clean, plain What. the fuck. Honestly dude, I mean yeah, that’s charitable and thoughtful and all and great but, you know, forced counseling sessions? Not the coolest shit. I’m sure a lot of people might find this useful, but the most my “Buddy” can contribute right now is tell me where the library is. Lucky for me, I kind of already know my “Buddy”. And he’s not the pushing kind. I’m just wondering what else is in store.

As excited as am I to explore new grounds, and the KGS building is quite amazing in this regard, New School kindof sucks. Too many people, and way too many people I don’t know. And WAY too many insufferable people. But anyway. Shutting out abilities for the win.

What did I do sitting in introduction class while people were filling out data forms? came up with political party names from the Class Section initials. The First years are divided (and my invention) as follows:

K – Karachi
G – Grammar
S  – School
T  – Tainted
L  – Leftist
R  – Retro
M – Movement for
W – Women.

I know absolutely no one in my section. Which is actually a good thing..

Art class on Monday. I can take any amount of discrimination, shunning out, whatever the fuck those choots met out so long as my art class is good.

Registering (and drowning subsequent depression with Basshunter songs)

Did. it. Today. Paid at Grammar, no going back now.
Actually, there is, they said they’d refund it by the first day. MEH.

Went with my Cousin’s wife and Cousin’s dad because dad was busy. Traveling with my Khaloo is so much fun. Suddenly he goes:

“There were three lights blinking on the CNG indicator. Now there’s not even one.”

Cousin’s wife and I: “.. No, there’s two of them blinking.”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t see any.”

“erm yes, they’re  there.”

“okay.”

A little while later..

“what if I take a turn here and go from PIDC?”

His Daughter-in-Law who has a set way of doing things and gets paranoid and starts hyperventilating if they’re done differently: “No. We will go straight.”

“But I could have gone from there..”

“Let’s just go straight now, okay.”

OR

“oooh. Remember this park. We will get A.B.(his grandson) here.”

“okay.”

“So I’ll go from the main road now.”

“No, just turn into the street, we’ll go the way we came.”

“But what about that road, where does that lead?”

“Just turn into the street and I’ll tell you.”

Clearly, he’s an adventurer.

Orientation tomorrow. Let’s see how bad it is.

The following was entered, quite surreptitiously may I add, by my unbelievably khwaar sister in one of her countless (vain) attempts to outdo me. It was made to look like I wrote it. Excuse that last sentence please, she is a victim of severely low self-esteem.

I think my sister is the coolest thing on the planet and if I was even given a chance to go back in time and be someone else, I would pick her :) Also, she is a chootiya.

yea. my name's in the highlighted area somewhere.

It’ll only be so long before I get my own page.. (h)

Although I’m not quite sure how to feel about being mentioned in affiliation with.. ahem.

And so it came to be.. [UPDATED]

Ak: Then take the safer option, go to Grammar.

me: yes see part of me says that too, but then another part of me says screw security. I’m just waiting for one part to dominate the other.

Ak: flip a coin.

me: part of me says that’s a good idea, another part says it’s stupid. waiting…

Ak: You. have too many parts.

…

me: coin says Grammar.

Ak: well, at least your sister will be happy.

——————————————————

I’m taking the plunge. Though I’ll probably regret it two months into school. Eternal misery and depression, come to mama.

[UPDATE]

Amanullah: YOU WILL GO TO GRAMMAR bus chup. First year may you’ll only give math and psych. And that’s not very awesome for uni. And take Eco not Urdu. And see. Sara’s there. Fiza may tum ko maroon gi.  Shut up and go to grammar.

MAR DALO MUJHE.

[2ND UPDATE] Bohat drama ho gaya. I’m condemning my life to eternal hell and going to Grammar. Oh shit that’s drama too. BASICALLY, I’m done with this shit yo.

I’m Just Thinking Out Loud(?) Here, Thanks.

I’m thinking of screwing Grammar and registering at Lyceum for the following reasons:

- Free periods
- More involvement in extra co-curriculars (which I know will be absent on my part in Grammar)
- Registering at Grammar now will feel like a betrayal of the lovely Vice Principal of Lyceum who so generously granted me an extension for my registration deadline
- Lyceum starts next week, Grammar the week after. And I’m so shit bored sitting on my arse and doing nothing, I might as well go with the school starting earlier.
- the proximity to Cafe Coffee Day is irresistably inviting
- it will feel so. fucking GOOD.

Now, for the Inner Battle.

Problems with Lyceum:

- Their art department is, so I’ve been told, not one of their strong points.
- I might not get the fourth subject I want, i.e Politics and Government, but that’s not too much of an issue currently.

Problems with Grammar:

- I’ll have history, without a choice, which is alright I guess but I’m not too sure I’ll make it out alive with such a hectic course (large-scale learning, not one of my strong points)
- I’ll have to take either Urdu, or Economics. Apart from the same problem as above, with Eco I’m bound to get tired of it pretty soon, and Urdu would be interesting and I don’t really mind it, except . I’d rather do something else. And I don’t want to screw my brain over once again. Art + History + Urdu = recipe for brain mince.
- I don’t fucking. want to go.

Add to that the accounts office at Lyceum keeps calling me up and blackmailing me:

“So, are you still interested in Lyceum?”

Dude, you did not.

The only thing I current have to look forward to right now is the Khala Brigade coming over tomorrow and showering me with pretty pollies (read: money) for my straight As. I’m already conspiring as to what illicit pursuits to invest this money in. Arrangements are already under way (khikhikhikhikhi)

Fuck man, this sucks. No, that is not my perception, it is an absolute truth.

UP Dates.

Got into Lyceum. Grammar forms out on 12th. Lyceum needs me to register tomorrow. Have sent application asking for extension. Major application hysteria in progress. Am Fucked Up. This Sucks. Frikkin Hell. Want to go to Lyceum. But Lyceum art is weird. Grammar art room very sexy. Dilemma here. My result in disguised form:

Hetrosexual Alphabets.

Will probably not be blogging the rest of this month unless something that absolutely must be told comes up.

Best thing that happened today –> UMME THE HANEE GOT ME PRISMACOLOUR MARKERS OMG OMG OMG OMG SHE IS AWESOME I FUCKING LOVE HER SHES MY ECCENTRIC LITTLE SHITHEAD AND SHE COOL, YA HEAR EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE