Of Careful Observations

What is the Pakistani population’s favourite pastime? Sports? Gossip? Debates about Ninjas and Pirates?

No. Their favourite pastime is to over-analyse stuff and discover conspiracies. Conspiracies that have no logical proof.

A samosa is a triangle, OMG it’s the Illuminati trying to take over our freedom.

That car has 666 in it’s number-plate. It’s the devil’s doing. Lets burn it.

Now as with any political campaign, there will be mudslingers by the opposition. The following picture, started out as a joke apparently by some PTI supporter, but in 3 days, has morphed into something damaging.

Yeah. Let’s all over-analyse a simple hand-gesture and go bat-shit crazy that Imran Khan supports the Illuminati. Well, two can play at that game.

I recently saw a PPP sticker-poster-thingy for their campaign. Since I was without my phone or camera at that time, I never got a chance to take the picture. Nor did the PPP Peeps bother to put it up on the internet for me to find. So I’ll replicate it here.

I asked Furree Katt, who by the way is an excellent blogger, a pretty decent artist, a cat lover, and a fellow cat-food connoisseur. You should really check out her blog AFTER you’ve finished reading this post.

In case your technological ineptitude somehow manages to lead you to a random blog, cross-check the header with this picture. If different, click on this picture.

So anyways, I asked Furree to draw me a rendition of the sticker-poster-thingy. Now this is an exact, albeit cartoonish replica of the original sans text. 

Looks innocent enough. You are wrong. Observe.

Look at Bilawal’s aggressive pose. The raised fist, the angry expression, the blood thirsty look in his beady bespectacled eyes.

Look at Benazir’s happy face, her friendly demeanour, her victory pose.

---

 

Now look at all those things combined. Bilawal is angry, borderline violent. Benazir was winning. The arrow points at Benazir. The trajectory of the arrow is at her head. Substitute the arrow for a bullet, and what do you get?

Bilawal is responsible for Benazir’s murder. Not the incompetent Zardari.

Do I hear you say “Imo, it’s all bullshit. You can’t expect us to believe that”

Well, unlike you, I have a magical dust that turns bullshit into sound logical arguments. It’s called shut-your-face-and-keep-reading.

While I was scouring the interweb, look at what I found.

Which looks a lot like this

Hence:

“Kids, this the story of…

This is merely satire. No need to get your zaarbans and elastics in a bunch.

Of the Binary Family

I just came back from a wedding. I also happen to have a Digital Logic paper tomorrow.

First, lets talk a bit about Digital Logic (God knows I can use the revision)

Digital Logic is basically making finite decisions in the form of a 1 or a 0. Using multiplication, addition, comparison, and inversion you take one or more inputs and spit out an output.

But that’s not important right now.

Weddings are a great place to find out the weirdness of the bride/grooms family. In this case, the wedding was a family one. (Not my cousin’s that’s still a week away) You find out all sorts of stuff. Like who hates who, what a certain person is called behind his/her back. etc.

Anyone one of you who have old relatives will be aware of the obsession people had with nicknames.

• You’ll have an 60-year-old vast entity of an uncle who every one calls “Munnu”
• A grandma-ish person who stares at the face of death every day called “Pinky”
• A thin-as-a-rail uncle who everyone calls “goolu-mian”

You get the point? Now at this wedding I met the kids of a certain uncle of mine called “No-no”.

Now, me, I’m desperate to score an A in Digital Logic no matter what. So, I’ve been studying the subject like crazy. And as soon as I heard “no-no” my brain went into overdrive. I grabbed the nearest person (of my age group) I could find and after explaining the concept of digital logic to him pitched my theory of what No No’s family tree would be like.

Since he’s “No-No” and not “No-No-No” that means he as 3 siblings. 2^2 = 4  vs  2^3 = 8

His brothers and sisters would be named; Yes-No, No-Yes and Yes-Yes, . He’s the eldest of the siblings. Not to mention they should be thankful that they are only 4 siblings and not 8, because if they were 8 siblings these would be some of the conversations their family might end up facing.

Mommy (introducing her kids to some relative) : … and this is  Yes-No-No, he’s in class 6. Finally this is Yes-No-Yes, she just started kindergarten.

Stranger:  Wait, who was Yes-Yes-No?

Mommy (patting husband’s arm) Yes-Yes-No’s not here yet. Maybe next year.

~~!~~

Daddy: NO-NO-YES!! Bring back my slippers! How many times I’ve got to tell you not to tame my slippers.

No-No-Yes: Abbu! No-Yes-Yes took them! You always blame me!

~~!~~

Teacher (accepting project proposals): Yes…No…No…

Yes-No-No: Yes Miss, you called me?

Teacher: No! I wasn’t. …Yes…No…Yes

Yes-No-Yes: Yes Miss?

(both are twins)

~~!~~

So that’s how I see my family. Thankfully the guy I had grabbed just stared at me and then smiled politely. There could be worse things he could be named No-No-No-Yes, with an entire cricket team backing him up to beat the hell out of me. I doubt he would then let me explain the concept of Hexadecimal to him.

Of Con-Men and Kurosagi

In this world, there are three types of swindlers…

Those who defraud other people out of their money….

 

Those who deceive others by manipulating their feelings….

 

 

And then, using these two as his only source of food…

 

…is the ultimate swindler in history…

 

…a swindler of swindlers…

A year ago, I saw an 11 episode series about swindlers. Kurosagi. It’s one of those awesome shows that keeps you guessing what will happen till the last moment. Old school plot progression that fleshed out the main characters each episode all the while juggling new ways to evade the good guys, and bringing the smack down on the bad guys. Not to mention the soundtrack was amazing

 

(I’m a sucker for good stories and soundtracks)

 

So naturally, after watching Kurosagi, I became a bit more educated in the various conspiracies around me that wanted to cheat me out of my money. Some investment people came to work (yeah this story is that old) and wanted us to invest in their organization and recruit other members to invest too. Basically a pyramid scheme.

 

Fortunately I saw an episode of Kurosagi where this exact scam took place. I remember yelling Sagi! and walking out of the auditorium (which in hindsight is what probably bought me into the sights of the upper management as an employee they could do without)

 

By the way, Sagishi is a swindler or a scammer. Sagi hence is scam (Ataka, correct me if I’m wrong).

 

The reason I remembered this is because I nearly got scammed twice today. In the span of one hour.

Would Be Scam #1

I was at Corporative Market looking to buy a framed slate with Quranic Letterings on it. Loh-e-Quran if you want to be really technical about it. Mum forced me to go buy it since a family friend living abroad wants two.

So I found a sober, decent looking one at a roadside stall at an intersection. The owner was a springy elderly gentleman. I asked him if he had another one in stock. Now the slate cost 300/- and I had a 1000 rupee bill. So, he asked me to give him the money and he’ll go get me my second slate. While he was doing that, he asked me to sit by the stall and keep an eye. Wore his jacket and went.

 

I sat there like an idiot for a few minutes, and suddenly I feel the urge to hum “Daite Daite Senorita” . . . which I remembered happens to be the theme for Kurosagi. My mind started to work in overdrive with turbo-boost.

• The guy asked me for money before delivering the goods.
• He didn’t let me follow him.
• He wore his jacket and went (it was quite warm at the time)
• He slipped away without telling any of his neighbouring roadside stalls to take care of his stall.

Now for the next 15 minutes I was freaking out. I half expected the real owner to walk up to the stall and ask me why I was sitting there. I even contemplated taking that one slate and making a run for it, but the tailor from the nearby shop was staring at me (which further reinforced my being scammed theory)

 

Finally the old dude came back. With another slightly different slate. Honestly if our craftsmen had their way they’d cover every single picture of the Kaa’ba with glitter and mirrors (forgive my blasphemy but if you saw the Loh-e-Qurans I saw, you’d be saying the same thing.)

 

In short I didn’t get scammed, but the possibility existed in spades. Also note, if you ever go to buy Loh-e-Quran there are two variations. A 15 block one and a 9 block one. Who knew?

 

Would Be Scam #2

 

Finally with one slate in hand, I was heading home. The problem with being poor is you have to depend on buses to get you places. Buses also have a habit of being late or at times unreliable. So I went asking every Taimur, Dilawar and Hamza where I could catch Z-2 from.

 

I was in the middle of asking my 13th Dilawar when a Hamza rudely interrupted me asking me how weak my eyesight was. (I hate being a Leo – fucking curious as a cat)

 

I answered, which probably in Hamza land… (btw these names are a stretched out play on Tom Dick and Harry in case it escaped your mind) …meant lets start with an “OMG True Story” type routine.

 

He has a son, who had a –6 when it came to his vision. And you wouldn’t believe it, after a full herbal treatment he was back to 20/20. Hamza then told me about these herbs I was supposed to get from some guy from some shop. Sounded interesting but the herbs he told me about went over my head. So, I ended up following him through an alley to this guy’s herbal medicine shop. Hey, atleast I was cautious enough to firmly grip the 8 inch long micro-Phillips head screwdriver I bought moments ago, ready to take an eye or something if he started to undo his zarban.

 

Shady medicine shop. Hamza asked Taimur #14 to get a bottle of 60 rupee herbal paste. Sealed and it even had a hologram on it. wooo! Since I seemed interested, Hamza got Taimur #14 to add the necessary herbs in to the sealed bottle after breaking the seal. About one and a half tablespoon of something that looked like white pepper went into the paste, and roughly the same amount of powdered ginger. Hamza ‘authenticated’ the herbs by dabbing his pinky in the powder and rubbing it on his gingivitis infested gums. How drug-dealer-ish innit? 

 

Apparently these powders were given out in doses costing 30-70 bucks per dose. Guess how many doses in a tablespoon? 11 freaking doses. Taimur #14 was busy mixing what looked like flour (what is it with powdered herbs and white? Where is the shocking pink herb or the sparkly diamond dust)

 

Hamza, now running at full steam, was busy mixing the “medicine” and telling me how I’ll be throwing my glasses away in a month’s time. He took a butter knife from somewhere and scooped some of that slimy green goo and told me this was the required dosage.

 

Just then, totally grossed out by the paste, I looked at the receipt book Taimur #14 was filling out. The paste and three powders were currently at 580 or so. I faked a coughing fit and headed out the door for some “fresh air” I heard Hamza tell Taimur #14 to add the anti coughing herb (which I’m guessing would be Plaster of Paris.) Still ‘coughing’ and with Hamza following me, I quickly walked out the alley.

 

 

 #1 is where I found Hamza. #2 is Taimur#14’s shop. Blue is my escape path trying to lose Hamza. #3 is where I finally stopped (it is, in fact, the next road) I didn’t double-back intentionally, I got disoriented. –_–  

Of Being an Asshole on Bakra-Eid

I’m really happy today. I’m happy because I’ve started to write again after such a long time. And I'm writing because I’m happy. I. happy cause I got to talk to Hime.

HIME!! <3

It’s not like I didn’t have anything to write about over the last few months. I had a ton of opinions I wanted to pollute the web with, I just didn’t feel like writing.

I’m so freaking tired most of the time that I don’t even want to type anything. I have a few dozen letters I want to write to a friend of mine, but I can’t even bring myself to do that. Second Semester has been so shitty you have no idea.

• I hate Bakra-Eid.
• I hate the smell of poop that fills the air.
• I hate how people leave their cow/goat feces on footpaths and you have to walk really really carefully.
• I hate how those stupid mindless animals keep bleating over and over again in the middle of the night (I’m trying to sleep for fuck’s sake.)
• I hate how Eid Namaz is followed by a priest praying for the entire freaking world, one person at a time, can’t he group humanity and offer one prayer for everyone?
• I hate how the feces on the sidewalk are replaced by blood on the first day of Eid.
• I hate how you don’t get any money on this Eid

All in all I hate Bakra Eid.

So, three days ago, I was walking around my neighborhood trying to do any last-minute shopping. Considering the amount of homework I’d been given to complete during this 5-day long Eid Break, I was in a really bad mood.

I saw a cow. . .

Well, not this particular cow, but I saw one, surrounded by little kids oooh-ing and aahhh-ing over it’s majestic (lazy, smelly) self. Petting left and right, photo-op sessions, you name it.

Feigning interest, I went over to the kids. I asked the youngest one, as sweetly as I could, to tell me the name of said cow.

“Raju” came the meek reply.

“Raju? That’s quite fitting! Look at that majestic beast! Did you name him that yourself?”

“Brother did” said the boy.

“Can I pet him?”

“Sure!” chanted the kids, obviously happy that I was taking an interest in their cow. They even showed me how to pet him

I looked deep into Raju’s big black eyes, and in loud yet gentle voice (so that the kids could hear me) I spoke to him with soothing words:

“Raju, tomorrow a man will come, and he will slit your throat, you will bleed. If you’re lucky you might be able to kick him and walk a few feet with your head dangling by a few inches of flesh. You might even vomit once your throat gets severed. Next year they’ll bring a relative of yours and kill him too….”

I made two kids from the group cry. The rest were looking at me in horror.

I love being me. :D

Of Stellar IQ Levels Around Me

Yesterday, during English class, our teacher decided to split us all into groups of three and wrote down a list of things on the board

a pen and papers	a bottle of Pepsi	ointment
matches	a nylon tent	20 meters of nylon rope
an axe	a knife and fork	a saucepan
a blanket	an atlas	knitting needles
a camera with 5 rolls of film	radio with batteries	Flashlight

The dire scenario that the teacher presented was that we were all going to board a plane and we were allowed to take 8 things with us. The plane is going to crash on a deserted island and we’ll be stuck there for an indefinite period of time. Needless to say the 8 things each of us chooses has to help us survive.

Once each of us had made his/her list, the teacher wanted us to come up with a group list (by convincing others to agree to our logic why we chose something) then two groups were merged with the same concept, and so on and so forth till there were two lists in the entire class. Leaders of both groups had to come up and present their reasoning and make one final list.

Easy eh? Hardly. As soon as the class started with the exercise, you could hear 4 very sane people sigh out loud and curl up into a fetal position.

The basic aim of this exercise was to develop one’s reasoning, listening and speaking skills. Throw listening and speaking down the drain, the reasoning was enough to make us 4 cry.

So, the gas canister (who happened to be in my group) suddenly decided to take knitting needles with him. Why? To sew up wounds. >.> Yeah, I can so imagine taking a knitting needle and using it to sew up a gash. Why not take the axe and chop off the offending appendage as it is.

Now, everyone in this class is on his/her way to become an engineer. So, naturally one would assume that problem solving is a key attribute to becoming an engineer.

The majority of the class rejects useful items like:

• Radio (“who will listen to FM91 on a deserted island” and “the batteries will run out”)
• 20 Meters of Rope (“what will we tie with it?”)
• an axe (“it will get rusty, knife and fork better”)
• a flashlight (“we can make a fire” and “batteries will run out”)

You can use a radio to transmit morse-code, or scan incoming traffic for any sign of incoming planes etc. You could use a rope to tie logs together to make a makeshift raft or erect a bigger structure for more people than a nylon tent. . . oh well.

I’m sorry people if I seem like I have a stick up my ass. But honestly, can you blame me for wanting some level of maturity from these people. Its like I never left work. I’m still surrounded by little kids who want mommy to do everything for them.

Of Innovative Transvestites.

Ladies and gents. These days, we face a serious crisis. Transvestites, and people dressed as transvestites. Didja know, ever since that creep Begum Nawazish came on T.V. more and more transvestites on the streets begging.

You can bet half of them are perfectly normal guys, who could be working but, they have to find an easier way of earning money.

Okay, so most of the Pakistani population (The educated ones atleast) are freaked out by the very sight of transvestites, So we get rid of them. The man portrayed in the picture is one of the more prime examples. Not only does he have two perfectly able legs, he's got a deep manly voice (which he does nothing to disguise), and he's got a crutch that he uses to lean on. (the crutch serves like one of those walking sticks that you use for show)

I get the fact that people will do anything to make ends meet. But, pretending to be a transvestite? That's low.

Oh and I have no idea if this person was really a man or not. I took the picture after seeing him use his crutch as a walking stick.

Of Obesity by Willingness

The other day, I was buying my Gran's monthly supplies of meds and stuff (Yeah.. ain't I such a sweet heart?)

Anyways, next to the meds was a shelf dedicated to health products and stuff. And this caught my eye.

We proudly present to you: "Mega Man Junior: Body Building Formula for your Munna"

Man. The Americans are worried that their kids are growing obese and we are making products that make our kids obese. Yaar, shove a McDonalds down their throat every day. Just look at the box. That fat kid punched his way through the box just to be on the cover! And though you can barely make them out, the kid has BOOBIES. And I am really sorry, makers of "Mega Man Junior" but that kid doesn't hold any semblance to a muscular figure, ITS FAT. LARD. BLUBBER. I can show you 10 kids who are like that without touching your product.

And honestly, do we really need 'pehlwan' kids? Wont they just turn into bullies? Or big blubbery kids with a soft center who get picked on by everyone. As Nadia's Driver said to me once, "Beta, Jaan banani hai tau do roti khao, rozana." Feed the kid two rotis and not fast food if you want him to get strong. Or, throw things at him so he gets good at dodging blows. I happen to be a sucessful dodger, thanks to Oji-san.

And sorry for the picture quality. It's hard taking covert pics with a cellphone.