Friday, 19 June 2015

I had never really loved nature. The thought of it really suffocated me. The tourists seemed vain to me.  The rains bored me. Until I got to experience this:
It was the summer of 2011, a very tantalizing and depressing one, indeed, for I had to take exams after exams. I took my second year Board exams and right after my last paper, with just a single vacation for spending at home, I started taking my coaching classes for the entry tests.
The more depressing thing was that I was not allowed to watch T.V. at all, or use computer. I would be mostly discouraged when I sat in the evening with my family for having mere a cup of tea with them. Life was boring, indeed, and I would sometimes get a feeling of death.
One day, I went to the terrace for some fresh air. It was then I found out some really weird thing on the adjacent tree near the railing. The tree had grown over and the branches touched our railing. At a strong stem near the branch, there were many flies sitting upon one another. It was a very strange sight. I mentioned it to everyone in the dinner and they thought they should have a look at it. When my mother saw it, she told me that they were honey bees. Since I had never seen honey bees like this before, so near, I hadn’t recognized them.
The sight of them would do something to me. They were so much together and formed such a black image that they seemed something like jelly, some semi-solid substance. Many a times, I imagined taking out a  knife and  cutting off this whole compact black mass off the branch. They made me depressed, annoyed, something I can’t put in words. They made me feel severely obsessed and suffocated.
One day my sister and I were looking at this swarm of bees, I told her how I felt about them. She told me not to feel so, and that it was a very good sign, a sign of good omen and luck, or happiness. It was nature’s miracle. I couldn't quite modify my thoughts about this sight, yet I kept observing it at a safe distance every now and then. The bees did nothing of harm or discomfort; rather they did their own work quite peacefully. I became so used to them that it became my habit to check on them. When I got bored of studying, I would go there and watch. It became my sole entertainment then onward, and I would get some change of air as well.
The bees kept growing in number day by day. The mass like thing got so big that it occupied almost the length of an arm. This whole layer of bees was attached to the tree only to the branch in the top, and the rest of the layer hung in the air. It was so big and flexible, that when even the slightest wind blew, it moved. Indeed, it was nature’s miracle!
This went on for about a month. Then one day, out of this very strong habit, I went to the terrace to see the bees. I was so absent-minded that despite I saw that the bees were missing, I didn't respond. I just saw the tree but nothing came into my mind. I resumed my studies, and it was then I realized what I had seen. I quickly went to the terrace again and found out that the tree trunk was as clean as anything. It seemed as if the bees had never even been there. There was no mark on it. The whole swarm of bees had flown somewhere else. It was sad for all of us, especially for me because it was my sole entertainment, and only then did I realize how much I had loved the honeybees, how used to I was.
From then onward, I see God’s art in everything, even in the internal design of a freshly cut tomato, or a fruit or anything else. I have been a sheer fan of rains and cloudy weathers since then. I love meadows, greenery, cleanliness, water and mountains. Nature is miracle! 

Thursday, 21 May 2015

Maybe you can afford to wait. Maybe for you there's a tomorrow. Maybe for you there's one thousand tomorrows, or three thousand, or ten, so much time you can bathe in it, roll around it, let it slide like coins through you fingers. So much time you can waste it.
But for some of us there's only today. And the truth is, you never really know

Monday, 11 May 2015

                                             "Laughing with"

                         No one laughs at God in a hospital
                         No one laughs at God in a war
                         no one's laughing at God
                         when they're starving or freezing or so very poor

                        No one laughs at God
                        when the doctor calls after some routine tests
                        No one's laughing at God
                        When it's gotten real late
                        And their kid's not back from the party yet

                       No one laughs at God
                       when their airplane starts to uncontrollably shake
                       No one's laughing at God
                       When they see the one they love, hand in hand with some one else
                       And they hope that they're mistaken

                       But God can be funny
                       At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke, or
                       when they crazies say He hates us
                       And they get so red in the head you think they're 'bout to choke
                       God can be funny
                       When told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
                        And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini
                       Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
                       God can be so funny
                       Ha ha

Excerpt from song lyrics, by Regina Spektor

Monday, 27 April 2015

                                  THE NIGHT OF LUCK

Night had strolled in, bringing with itself the stroke of utter hopelessness as usual. That mere beam of darkness for the past one decade had seemed to Joe as if it would suck the life out of him any minute. One good thing yet prevailed about the darkness though, and that was to grab some very good sleep after the battlefield of the day, after having no such thing to lose that he would fear to death. Yet he felt very empty this night, because he had lost Flora tonight.
Flora, who happened to be his colleague at the workplace, had always encouraged him and motivated him to feel good about himself. She had said one evening after work to him,
   “There is nobody else you would wish to be like or to be friends with when it comes to the down parts, Joe. Because it is you, and only you one can count on, no matter whatever you are.”
This wasn’t true of course, he had always thought so. Because Flora was there for him, she told off the others for him. She had stood there with him when everybody else had considered him dumb and clumsy. But why had she all of a sudden turned him down? Why had she, Flora, done this to him when it was the matter of his promotion, the most important thing in his life? He had wanted to be a ‘smart’ one too. And there she was, fully contented, smirking at him after passing her vote of no confidence in him?
Anger had raged, now he fully understood everything. Of course there were this ‘stupid survival of the fittest competition’ and ‘jealousy’ to attend to. He would never understand people in the first go. He wished he could!
Whatever it was and whoever Flora was weren’t the things Joe wanted to think of at the moment. He would always be clumsy, dumb and unfit among all those smart and well-fashioned people. So why bother? All he wanted was to get rid of this stinging hot weather and empty stomach. But he didn’t feel like eating anything at all. Joe walked along the streets, towards his empty apartment. Then suddenly, having no urge to face that dark and disappointed place again, he sat on the footpath. He felt too tired and old for his age. Happiness would never even kiss his life, he was a born sorrow.
All blank and tired, Joe kept staring at the opposite street light for a very long time; the light was unfocused though, for he was somewhere else. He was slowly and dreamily coming out of his thoughts, for his gaze was being disturbed by something unusual, a yellowish light getting stronger with those tiny moments. It took him a while to realize, but the instant he realized, his senses started working very fast. A building had caught fire.
Joe jumped to his feet and started running towards the place. He couldn’t see anybody outside for it was past midnight, and everybody was surely asleep. He could only see an old poor guard to get through the situation. Joe couldn’t make sense of himself but he was being very fast. The first thing he did was to call the Rescue. Then he started working on his own, and tried his best possible efforts to get through the fire. But the fire was an extremely vigorous one and the smoke very dense. He told the old guard to alert all the surrounding areas to get out safe. He then tried the back side and found it less dangerous comparatively, so he went inside and found everything in fire. He almost burnt himself with the wood falling from the threshold and after some time, he could feel many burns on his skin. But Joe wouldn’t surrender because it was the real test of life, and the burns were worth it! Joe kicked the locked door, but couldn’t open it. He then kept kicking it, until at last it opened, about time. Joe found the couple asleep with their two babies. Dead or fainted, he was not sure of, nor was it the matter of question at the moment.  All he wanted was to carry them out safe, to keep them from the cruel fire all around them.
Joe tried to carry the kids first, and in the second round, he tried some water and his jacket to just make his way out of the fire, to the rest. He did succeed, and it wasn’t as easy as it sounds. He had put his life at stake for it. He had received severe burns and gone through a lot of hardships. On the final return, when he had rescued all the four, he found out that the rescue team had arrived by then, ready to do their work.
It took Joe sometime to take a proper breath and begin to feel everything around him. He finally checked the victims and found out that despite some burns, they were all alive. With the entire neighboring crowd looking at him with gratitude, for he had saved their lives too – the guard had told everyone so. He was still there, describing Joe’s heroic efforts. He got the first Aid, meanwhile the Media were taking pictures of him. Joe couldn’t believe what he had done, but all he could feel was great. Later, he got back to his apartment, and could sleep a sound and satisfied one after a long, long time.
The next morning when Joe got to work, he found out that everyone’s tone had changed towards him. He found his picture on the page of newspapers, that, he had noticed on his way to office. Everybody was praising him and some even proposed to befriend him.
But the silver lining to all this was that the government had announced a great reward for his noble services. That day was yet to come, and he was feeling ecstatic already.

And then, finally, it occurred to him that it is not the swag or your degrees and competence that matters, whatever matters after all is that you make a better understanding of yourself and your life, that you know the real meaning of it, love your fellow beings, and make their life easier just as yours. Petty issues never occurred to Joe anymore, for he had build belief in himself, the belief that the incident had given him. 

Monday, 3 November 2014

ENGLISH LITERATURE THROUGH THE AGES English Literature is one of the richest literatures of the world. It has vitality, rich variety and
continuity. As literature is the reflection of society, the various changes which have come about in English society, from the earliest to the modern time, have left their stamp on English Literature. When we study the history of English literature from the earliest to the modern times, we find that it has passed through certain definite phases, each having marked characteristics. These phases may be termed as 'Ages' or 'Periods', which are named either  after the central literary figures or the important rulers of England, literary movements, and sometimes by literary historians after the centuries as well. It is essential to keep them in mind in order to follow its distinctive characteristics during the various periods of development in literature.
A brief note on each of the Ages is given:
The earliest of the phases of English literature started with Anglo-Saxon literature of the Angles and Saxons (the ancestors of the English race) much before they occupied Britain. English was the common name and tongue of the tribes. Like other nations they sang at their feasts about battles, gods and their ancestral heroes. It was in these songs of religion, wars and agriculture, that English poetry began in the ancient Engle-land while Britain was still a Roman province.
Though much of this Anglo-Saxon poetry is lost, there are still some fragments left. It expresses another temperament and way of living; it breathes the influence of the wind and storm.

The Normans defeated the Anglo-Saxon King at the Battle of Hastings and conquered England. This Conquest inaugurated a distinctly new epoch in the literary as well as political history of England. It effected a wholesome awakening of national life. The people were suddenly inspired by a new vision of a greater future.The Anglo-Saxon lost their initial hostility to the newcomers with time, and all became part and parcel of one nation. The Normans not only brought with them soldiers and artisans and traders, they also brought scholars to revive knowledge, minstrels to celebrate victories, or sing of adventure and love. Old English poetry disappeared and Romances, talking of heroes of by-gone days, chivalry took place. They deal with the stories of King Arthur, The War of Troy, the mythical doings of Charlemagne and of Alexander the Great.  
The major poets of this Age are William Langland, John Gower and Chaucer.

‘Renaissance’ means the Revival of Learning, and it denotes in its broadest sense the gradual enlightenment of the human mind after the darkness of the Middle Ages.
There was a Revival of Learning in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The essence of this movement was that man discovered himself, and that “man, so long blinded had suddenly opened his eyes and seen”. Along with the Revival of Learning, new discoveries took place in several other fields. Vasco De Gama circumnavigated the earth; Columbus discovered America; Copernicus discovered the Solar System. Books were printed and philosophy, science and art were systematised. Scholars flocked to universities and the old authority received a death blow. Truth only was authority; to search for truth everywhere.
The reign of Queen Elizabeth I is of remarkable importance, since Renaissance is chiefly marked by the tenure of her rule, which is why Renaissance Period is also called the Elizabethan Period or ‘The Golden Age’. The most remarkable achievement during this period was in the field of drama. The significance lies in the fact that they brought the educated class into touch with a much more highly developed kind of drama, than the old English play. Poetry in the Renaissance took a new trend. It was the poetry of the new age of discovery, enthusiasm and excitement. Under the impact of the Renaissance, the people of England were infused with freshness and vigour. Prose began to be used as a vehicle of various forms of amusement and information, and its popularity increased on account of the increased facility provided by the printing press. Books on history, travel, adventures, and translations of Italian stories appeared in a large number.
The chief and worth-mentioning authors in this age are University Wits (a professional set of literary men of which, Marlowe was the central sun), Shakespeare (thirty-seven plays and 154 sonnets) Ben Johnson, Spencer, Christopher Marlowe.
THE PURITAN AGE (1600-1660)
It may also be called the Age of Milton who was the noblest representative of the Puritan spirit. Puritan movement is marked by the rebirth of moral nature of man which followed the intellectual awakening of Europe. It stood for the liberty of the people from the shackles of the despotic ruler as well as the introduction to morality and high ideals in politics. It aimed at making men honest and free.
During this period, due to the severe religious principles, poetry became metaphysical. The chief exponent of the school was Donne, followed by Cowley, Herrick and others. However the greatest personality is Milton. This period was rich in prose, some of the great prose writers are, Milton, Bacon, Burton and Sir Thomas Browne.


This phase in the history of English Literature is called Restoration, because monarchy was restored in England, and Charles II, whose father had been defeated, came back to England from his exile in France and became the King.
With his arrival, all restraints and discipline were thrown to the winds and a wave of licentiousness and frivolity swept the country. So they renounced the existing type of Poetry and demanded that they should follow the style to which they had become accustomed in the gaiety of Paris. They began to imitate French writers and especially their vices. Consequently, the Elizabethan spirit, lust for adventure and knowledge, all became things of the past.
Poetry became more satirical, realistic, and written in the heroic couplet of which, Dryden was the supreme master. The theatres which had been shut by the Puritans were now re-opened. The plays took a new form, lacking in emotional approach to life, poetry and form but prose. Moreover, it appealed to the aristocratic class only. Prose reached a mark in this Age.

It is also called the Classical Age in literature. As the writers of the eighteenth century in England tried to follow the simple and noble methods of the great ancient writers, they began to be called Classical writers. So the english writers rebelled against the fantastic style of writing prevalent in past ages, and they demanded that poetry, drama and prose should follow exact rules. But as they followed the ancient classical writers only in their external performance, they lacked their sublimity, essence and grandeur, so they are called pseudo-classicists.
The Romantic age is the most fruitful period in the history of English Literature. It is a movement which started against the neoclassical school of thought, and was marked by the publication of the 'Lyrical Ballads' by Wordsworth and Coleridge in 1798.
In Romanticism, primary importance was given to the Artist’s feelings and freedom of expression. The essence lied in the fact that literature must reflect all that is spontaneous and unaffected in nature and in man, and be free to follow its own fancy in its own way.
No age in English Literature produced poets as those belonging to this age. Moreover, it was the age of revolutionary change, not only in the view of the character and function of poetry but in the whole conception of the nature of man and of the world in which he found himself. The escapist, Keats, the imaginist, Coleridge and many other poetic giants like Wordsworth, Shelley, Byron, Southey all belonged to this age.

The Victorian Age started from 1832 with the passing of the first Reform Act, 1832. It is normally divided into two parts: The early Victorian age and the late Victorian age. It was a fact that England was fast turning from an agricultural into a manufacturing centres, and gave power to the middle classes. It is rightly called the Age of Industrialization. Child labour was condemned and steps were taken to diminish them. We can very much find this issue being highlighted in the novels of Charles Dickens, who belonged to this age.
The writers and poets considered it their duty to bring them back to religion, and so there work is more moralistic in nature. Robert Browning, Mathew Arnold, Alfred Tennyson are the famous poets of this age.
Sometimes Victorian literature is thought of as stuffy and morally oppressive. However, it is also very imaginative and emotional.  It also uses realism to show the plight of everyday working people.
Some of the most famous authors of this period are Charlotte Brontë , Emily Bronte, and Charles Dickens, all English writers. During this time the novel became the most important literary work.
The Modern Age in English Literature started from the beginning of the twentieth century, and opposed the general so called ‘hypocritical’ attitude of the Victorian Society. Nothing was considered certain and people strove for  realism and meaning of life. They did not take anything for granted; everything was questioned. Divorces and domestic disturbances’ rate increased, and so the meanings changed. Standards of aesthetic appreciation also underwent radical changes.
Modern poetry exercises a great freedom in the choice of themes. Gone were the days when it was  believed that the job of the poet was only to create “beauty”. They wrote both about beautiful and ugly things, about human feelings, about the sad realities, about World Wars, about pessimism and humanitarianism. Optimism and satisfaction became things of the past and man was considered a “hollow-man”!
Even the new dramatists gave up the old style of their predecessors and began to treat in their plays the actual English life. The characters in their plays are constantly restless, questioning and dissatisfied.
Some of the novels adopted the technique of stream of consciousness. All the part traditions and norms were broken and the writers focused more on the character’s inner mind and psychology rather than the actions and plot.
Science made massive progress but the Darwinism and other such theories (which challenged religious beliefs) greatly welcomed the doubts and skepticism.  

Postmodern literature serves as a reaction to the supposed stylistic and ideological limitations of Modernist literature and the radical changes the world underwent after the end of World War II. For many Postmodern writers, the various disasters that occurred in the last half of the 20th century left a number of writers with a profound sense of paranoia.
Postmodern philosophy tends to conceptualize the world as being impossible to strictly define or understand. It argues that knowledge and facts are always relative to particular situations and that it's both futile and impossible to attempt to locate any precise meaning to any idea, concept or event. Postmodern writers were greatly affected by this philosophy.
Similarly, at the core of many Postmodern literary writer's imaginations is a belief that the world has already fallen apart and that actual, singular meaning is impossible to locate and that literature, instead, should serve to reveal the world's absurdities, countless paradoxes and ironies.

Postmodern literary writers come from all across the world. It is not specific to writers from any particular region or culture. There are thousands of writers and literary works from all over the world which are considered 'postmodern' by critics and scholars.
We are still living in the post-modern era. Ever wondered what will come next?

Saturday, 12 October 2013


people say 'like father-like daughter'. like her father- like Malala. but let me clarify that I myself have been a victim of Swat terrorism, because we lived there. our school was blasted. i still rem the conditions how mentally i felt disturbed with everything. i think that i would have literally fainted if i had ever happened to face militants one-on-one. 
and i was really inspired with the courage of this girl who just came out and told girls to continue their education. you people know nothing. you people live in big cities,
and know very little about militancy  i would have agreed to your points here if you guys had even dared to face those TORTURING moments. and her father? what to tell of her father? when there was a war situation in Swat, the Grid station of Mingora was being blasted. and there was like no light for TWO MONTHS (including Ramzan) Mind you, two months are not two days. Her father, who was unknown in the media at that time, and though he was not much resourceful, provided electricity by buying a big generator and provided water to the people.
and i won't talk about the rest, but she was a really brave girl, because i know and i have faced that situation, you people haven't. so please, if you people can't tolerate some good words in her case, at least stop talking ill of her, or abusing. after all she is a girl, a respectable girl.
we all Pakistanis are too good at criticizing and making judgements at others. I even saw someone telling that she belongs to Finland. and her real name is Jane hahahaha. 
guys, let's get over it. why don't we, in person, take some steps for the betterment of this country? we are the youth, the cream of this country. let's get united, forgetting this is responsibility of govt. etc. let's work hard, and be honest! let's pray for our country, for those thousands of people who are killed by drone attacks, bomb blasts, target killing, everyday. 
A sincere message
Regards, Fari.

Friday, 30 August 2013


when hopes die
when dreams shatter
when everything seems bad
and i feel like crying
but then, when
earphones on
music turned up,
nothing else matters..