Of Emergency Rooms and Ultrasounds

Yesterday, dearest dad of mine (note sarcasm here – it’s crucial to this post that you note the sarcasm) decided to get sick. Violently sick.

Now, any doctor can tell you that in this heat, and economic recession, it is best if one eats home cooked meals. Meals given by cart vendors are unhygienic to say the least. Food spoils before you can say “Faluda”

The funny thing is. My dad is a doctor himself.

So dad ate some weird kerelas and got ill. His entire digestive system got fucked up. Finally he couldn’t take it and asked Mum to drive him to the emergency room in PNS Shifa.

Now mum doesn’t like to drive alone at night, so naturally, I got dragged along.

We went in at 10pm. Blood tests, ECG and and a battery of other tests were conducted. Finally we had to take him to the other end of the hospital for an ultrasound. Since they gave him a strong painkiller, he was quite delirious. Hence, I got to push him around in a wheelchair.

Let me tell you. I hate it when people in wheelchairs randomly stick their arm out for no particular reason. If you want me to turn left, say so. Don’t stick your hand out in the air. Especially in doorframes.

So, the ultrasound department was down a slope. Me and mum were contemplating on letting the wheelchair go and let dad find his way down himself.

We controlled ourselves. Woke up the ultrasound attendant, and got his ultrasound taken.

Now, being a naturally curious person, I decided to check what the hell showed up on the monitors.

It was 1am, I was tired, and sleepy and hungry and headed towards nicotine withdrawal.

Suddenly, this popped up on the monitors. Right next to the liver was this dancing abomination. I have no idea what it was, but damn it was funny as hell. Apparently the doctor in charge felt that the dancing abomination was important so she took a picture of it.

And here’s the picture.

If anyone has any idea what the hell this is, kindly let me know.

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.

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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 First Unmentionable

Didn’t anyone ever tell you there are two topics on this planet that you must never ever mention in civilised public. If you’re smart; if you value your continued existence; if you have any hope of seeing tomorrow; there are two topics you must never ever discuss.

“And what would those be?” Do I hear you ask?

Politics and Religion.

I need to be dramatic. People just don’t get it. Everyone has their own opinions. For this post, we’ll be focusing on politics.

See, a week or so ago, this country experienced a democratic election. Now while that is pleasant to read about, it’s was a totally different event in reality.

You are all familiar with the poll rigging. Since I am from Karachi, my experience with voting was an extremely tiring one. Our polling station never opened. It was supposed to open at 1pm after the delays, then 5pm, then 7pm. Finally I made my sixth round at 8pm, in the hopes that maybe I would finally finish my civil obligation.

I reached the place and guess what, no one was there. I mean have you ever been to a desert? Or Phase VIII? Same thing, yet, the MQM representatives standing near it kept on insisting that voting took place at 1pm and carried on till 7pm.

Right. I totally believe you shits.

Now lets move on to our resident mafia, MQM. Their supporters and bandwagon-ers just don’t seem to understand how a staggering majority of the educated youth of our nation don’t support that political party.

Raise your hands if you know an MQM supporter from our generation (i.e. falling between the ages of 15-25)

Now if said friend is temperamental, puts up display pictures of him carrying firearms, talks about his unit, or brags about what a hardcore bhai he is. Raise your other hand if you agree to at least one of these points.

You look stupid with both hands raised. You just surrendered to this blog. Also, since I can’t see you raising your hands (and thus attaining a level of voyeur that I haven’t reached – or rather would not want to dream of reaching… ever! It’s like chatroulette and omeggle all over again.)

Anyways. Sorry, got distracted. Since I can’t see you raising your hands, I’ll assume you did.

That is what I am talking about. For us, for the “future of Pakistan”, MQM supporters are thugs. That is our perception. We have been brought up with stories of how MQM suspended a paper in Sir Syed, or practically shut down the city because someone died.

Fine, I agree that when MQM was founded, it was for a good cause, but everywhere you look, you’ll see a glaring reminder that power corrupts. The ones in charge of everything are the ones that stray from the path first.

So back to my voting experience. Our sector got a re-poll. And the turnout was pathetic. This little fact made certain MQM supporters I know really happy. So happy that the thought rubbing it in my face would be the best option. It’s amazing how easy it is to shut up the supporters I know with two logical arguments.

A) MQM and PPP boycotted the re-poll and withdrew their candidates. Therefore, everyone voting would be mostly a supporter for the competition. Possibly a PTI supporter. Which means, there was a high chance of something bad happening if even a small crack was found in the security of the polling station.

B) Not 8 hours prior to the re-poll, the PTI VP got shot in front of her house. With something like that happening in the neighbourhood, do you really feel safe? Is the army going to escort you to and from the polling station?

Point out that thanks to these two events, by going to the re-poll you might have just painted a bulls-eye on your forehead, and guess what they do. They devolve into making crass comments about your family and speculations about your sexuality.

Yani, logical argument gaya tail lene.

If you’re still reading this post, lets make one thing clear. I do not support any political party for one reason. Everyone is being led by a dumbass in one form or another. A fugitive, An illiterate, A cricketer, and so on.

Spread the word. Keep your political affiliations to yourself. We don’t want to hear about them. If people like me do, we’ll reduce you to petty name calling and reduce your arguments systematically.

There is a hidden agenda to this post. I am making you more receptive to new ideas. This is important because as soon as Furree Katt makes those images I asked / she offered, I’ll be back to piss another party’s supporters off.

Of What The Hell Did I Write Back Then

Making a comeback is hard. You have to will yourself to write meaning full shit. Well, somewhat meaningful. I mean, I never wrote stuff that shattered mountains or split lakes.

Anyways, Blogger brings out the narcissist in all of us with it’s tracking options.

Imagine my surprise when I saw this:

Apparently, I somehow struck a goldmine when I wrote the Fair Skin post (click on it if you haven’t read it or don’t remember it)

See, turns out that single post, got visits from all across the globe. 473 unique hits is a big deal for me. It’s the kind of thing that makes me happy to write more nonsense just for your entertainment.

Of Being Back… Probably

You are probably reading this because

A. You got it in your mail

B. You’ve subscribed to this blog, and this sudden update piqued your curiosity.

C. You stumbled upon this page by accident.

Either way, lets start by having a moment of silence for the most special person in my life.

Cocoa Beans was a truly remarkable cat. For 10 years, she was an integral part of our family. The glue that held shit together if you will. Like most cats on the internet, she loved boxes, preventing people from working, terrorising small animals and pretending she was human.

She was smart. Extremely smart. She could tell time just by looking at the clock, knowing whether or not it was safe to drag someone out of their bed for food or whether someone was late etc. She knew which days of the week were designated outing days for her… Hey, she was smarter than most cats I’ve seen.

This one time, she was sleeping in her box-lid bed on the parent’s bed. Half-asleep, dad kicked the box (including her) nearly off the bed. She got up, calmly stalked up to his face, slapped him hard and went back to sleep. Morning came and mum told us about the incident. Dad had an inch long gash running up his nose. Cocoa gave him her worst death glare, the kind that can be interpreted as “Come at me and I’ll fuck you up”

Sadly, all good times must end. Two years ago, she got lumps on her belly. The vet declared them to be benign cysts and removed them. They came back. Got them removed again. The third time they came back, he re-evaluated his earlier diagnosis and claimed that she had breast cancer. To make matters worse, he couldn’t operate on her again. The previous operations had removed many of her lymph nodes. Any more and her immunity would be compromised.

So the only option that remained was to keep her comfortable for as long as we could. When the time came, either she’d pass away on her own, or we’d have to put her to sleep.

That’s how she spent the last three months of her life. In a bloody collar. A collar that restricted her movement, caused her to bump in doorways, and made her push her box off the bed when she wanted to sleep in it.

Incidentally, this was the last time we watched Doctor Who together.

So anyways, During the end of October 2012, her wounds broke, and her condition got worse. She started to slow down. We rushed her to the vet, to try and stop the bleeding.

You know how you read about remarkable animals who do amazing feats? Well, she didn’t save Timmy from drowning in a well, but as the vet pointed out, she shouldn’t have been able to move for ages considering the condition of her wounds.

On the 1st of November, 2012, we had to put her to sleep. She fought hard, never showing us any weakness irrespective of the fact that she was in constant pain.

It’s been 6 months since then. I wonder if it gets any easier.

Thank you, for the wonderful time.

 

Now that I’ve successfully managed to ruin your mood, I think it’s safe to announce that I’ll be trying to make a comeback. Enough with the hiatuses.

Of Birthday Celebrations

This isn’t another post about how pathetic my birthdays go. I guess we have clearly established that.

What I want to talk about today is the way certain people perceive birthdays to be.

Yes, I am talking about the people who see birthdays as getting one year closer to death. These people are usually religious and/or believe in fate. For them, it is fixed when you will die. So naturally, they treat birthdays as a countdown…to DEATH.

Unfortunately, neither I nor any of my friends have a family such as the one I mentioned, so I am going to imagine a scenario as to how birthdays would go in a family such as that.

It would be a very depressing birthday. Every time someone would wish the kid a happy birthday, like clockwork the mother would start to cry. The father would look sorrowful. Utterly Depressing.

Now, in case you want to try this out with your kid, I have a few suggestions as to what you can get him/her as a present.

• A plot in the best graveyard you can afford. (It’s still real-estate.)
• Plant some nice trees next to said plot.
• Give away all his savings to charity (securing his ticket in heaven.)
• A trip by train to where-ever your religion permits you to make a pilgrimage to.
• A goat, cow, or camel to be sacrificed and the meat distributed to the poor.

You could also play fun games like “Lets-Meet-All-Your-Relatives” where you go to each relatives house and tearfully proclaim that your kid has one year less to live or “Who-cries-last” where someone puts happy birthday on loop, and you all listen to it.

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Seriously, to all the parents who refuse to celebrate their kids birthdays because it’s a celebration of being closer to death, you guys are idiots. With the level of crime and over all uncertainty of life that is increasing day by day, you should be celebrating life.

Of The Most Annoying Thing Couples Do

Being a third wheel sucks. But, it’s still bearable as long as the two people you are with don’t make you feel like you are the third wheel.

I should be studying for my exam. I really should.

So, instead of doing the right thing, I’ll make a post after nearly a year of silence.

I’ve been silent partially because of the shit load of work I need to do in uni, and partially because I hate the new blog template and the old one is obsolete so I can’t find it anymore.

Sorry, I was going to tell you that thing that couples do, that pisses me off. And this isn’t one of those “I saw one couple do this once upon a time so I will rant about it” – I constantly find various couples doing this.

Two options remain. Either I rant about it, and link them to this post. Or I start staying at home, like a hermit crab.

 

Keep in mind, the timer is purely cosmetic. There was no actual timer built into the couch.

So yeah. They merged into one dual-headed entity. Now, I don’t mind if you start sucking each other’s faces off. I’ll just leave, light up a cigarette and catch the next bus home. What really gets me is the conversation that follows.

Not only do they repeat each other’s sentences, which is like talking to a cave that echoes everything back. They act as if they’re an age old married couple that is there to offer sage advice. That, or I am sitting across them being cross-examined because I asked for their daughter’s hand in marriage.

If any third wheel is reading this, please share this link with that couple. You can thank me later.

Of Helment Cat

My cat gets really annoying at times. Really really annoying.

Of Billowing Clouds and Dust Bunnies.

Recently I started smoking again. Not a big deal you may say. I was matter of fact, clean for a whole freaking 5 years.

Well, firstly, I get bored by one brand pretty quickly. Hence my "bedsheet of fame" up there. Secondly, my folk found out about it.

Since the way they found out about it was amusing, I decided to do a post on this.

Yes I am self-centered.

Notice the carefully arranged boxes. There is a small box in the foreground. That stupid thing was the cause of the cat getting out of the bag.

Have you ever tried to keep a cat in a bag? I did once and the results were interesting. Cats don't like staying in bags. They jump out as soon as you put them in the bag. So, one must wonder, who the hell came up with this weird analogy?

Lets try that again.

That one stupid box was the one that spilled the beans.

Have you tried to spill a can of baked beans? I accidentally dropped an open can of Heinz's on the counter, that I just finished opening. Hardly two or three beans came out. Another weird analogy.

Someone in Uni told me how despite it's cheap price and butt ugly packaging, Capstain was a good brand. So, I being ever curious, decided to try it.

I remember smoking at midnight, an hour and half later I came down for water. Mum was up. Came to the kitchen to investigate what the racket was all about. 6 feet away, and her eyes narrowed into slits.

*sniff* *sniff*

"Cigarette pi hai?.....disgusting"

And she left. My mum could give Wolverine a run for his money.

So, come morning and mum refused to talk to me for the next week. When she did however start talking, the first thing she did was give me a pack of Gold Leaf (that she confisicated from my room a year ago, that I nicked off a uni friend of mine) Yeah. She gave me a year old pack of Gold Leaf. I have been handing out those old stale cigarettes to uni mates all day long. Hopefully that will deter them from begging for smokes.

My mum confuses me.

Of The Independence Day

Let me start off by telling anyone who is hoping for a review of the awesome Will Smith movie: “Here there be no aliens”

Today marks the 64th year of independence for Pakistan. 64 years of freedom. And every year, the same scenario takes place.

Right off the bat, at midnight, everyone in Karachi goes bat-shit insane! We have fireworks, drunken teenagers screaming and speeding down dark and deserted roads, gun-toting maniacs emptying their munitions into the air (which later falls back down with the gentle pitter-patter of pointy, hailstones – and we don’t have hailstones in Karachi)

At Sehri, I turned on the telly to hopefully catch a good movie. All I saw was religious banter, and the occasional patriotic song. One song in particular caught my attention. Or rather, one verse of that song.

“Chaand Meri Zameen, Phool Mera Watan”

Literally it means “Moon, my Land. Flower my Country”

Then I slept.

A recurring nightmare later, I woke up, and the logic was never clearer.

Due to some trans-dimensional rift in the fabric of our universe, we poor Pakistanis are not on Earth.

We are in fact on the moon. See, here’s where the song’s verse’s first half actually makes sense.

1. The Moon, has no water. Neither do we.
2. The Moon, has no electricity. Neither do we.
3. The Moon, has no gas. Neither do we.

We are definitely on the moon.

So we really can’t blame KESC, WAPDA, SUI or ZARDARI for any of our problems. It’s all about location, location, location.

We do however have one thing to be proud of.

Exactly….