Monstrous Act Four – The library period continues – Pornography had begun and ended too

29^th March, 2012 (Most pathetic memory ever!)

Grade five, Green- B*****h**** School System, Walton Campus

{Substitution in grade five, section green}

Continued... (Last part! yay!)

I wanted to pull my hair out by that time. Only two periods had passed, two more periods and the lunch time was still to go.

During lunchtime, a transfer student, U, had his bench placed by my seat. He had come from Dubai and joined the school a month back. I had not noticed him in the mayhem before. He did not talk to anyone. All through the break time he drew pictures, scribbled in his drawing pad or just remained quiet.

I was talking to him about his previous school when A came up to me and offered a Leechee toffee that I at once accepted and started chewing. I never keep toffees in my mouth to suck and simply chew them away. A didn’t just let go of his toffee; he saw me chewing and came back. “Miss you’re not supposed to bite it!” He snapped. I ignored him and kept talking to U. Once the break was over I told the class to settle down but lunch had revived their dampened spirits, if they ever had been dampened. They were now worse than ever. No matter how much I pleaded them to remain in their seats they jumped on the chairs and pushed their tables to create a pandemonium.

A: Miss you keep talking to him. Why do you keep talking to him? He will draw you too.

Me: Isn’t that good?  You should sit with him and share the book you’re reading with him. Come.

A: MISSSSS!?

Me: What (I could actually sense something really bad in the way he said MISSSSS)?

Enter H

H: Miss A is right. Don’t talk to him. He’s not good. (And off he went after this declaration)

A: Do you know?

Me: No. I don't know. Please go back to your seat.

A: Miss, miss, he draws…*whispering*…bad drawing miss. Very bad drawings.

Me: (I turned to U)  Aww. It doesn’t matter; you’ll get better. You know practice makes a man perfect. Keep doing what you’re doing.

A: BUT MISS. HE DRAWS GIRLS WITH NO CLOTHES MISS!

-pause-

Me: (Speechless) uhh?

(I am very sure I had the most stupid expression on my face ever encountered by people on this planet)

A: And do you know about ESS-EE-EX (S.E.X) miss? He talks about it miss. You know when I sit with him. S.E.X miss. Do you know about it?

-pause-

Me: (Speechless) uhh?

Enter (again) H

H: He does miss.

The girls that were victims of H before now sided with him, seconding all claims made by A and H about U.  

I looked at U and he had the most evil grin on his face, or may be my brain preferred to hallucinate rather than tolerate what was happening in real time. Anyway, the hallucination was equally shitty. I could see bloody rapists in all of them.

That was all I could tolerate folks! Don’t expect any more from this story, I left the class and asked their class teacher to arrange for another substitute. That’s where the story ends. :P Not everything has to have a proper ending. Some things just end …. thuss! :P LOL. :P

Cheerio!  :P

Moral: Give a good thought to your capabilities of rearing children before you produce them, otherwise don't bother. There's already enough garbage around.  

Men are funny people

18^th April, 2013

There is going to be an international conference at NIBGE so we're usually not expecting any teachers to take classes, let alone Dr. FL. Quite surprisingly, he came to the class today, set up his laptop and then excused himself to fetch his flash drive.

After waiting for some time:

J (A pushtoon senior): Aaj Dr. F ki class nhi hona. Ap sab fereee o.  

A: (Perfectly mimicking a pushtoon accent) I am a dictatawr but I louve daimocracy. :D :P

Men...funny always. 

Monstrous Act Three – The library period continues – Pornography begins with a Finger

29^th March, 2012 (Most pathetic memory ever!)

Grade five, Green- B*****h**** School System, Walton Campus

{Substitution in grade five, section green}

Continued...

A had been gone from the class pretty long now. I was sure he had gone to his mother but he came back with a smug look on his face and a book in his hand.

A: Look miss, I got The Ghost of Canterville to read.

Me: {Although I wanted to punch him in the face, I tapped his cheek} You’re such a good boy. {Surprisingly enough he started reading it at once and remained fully absorbed in the book no matter what H and his minions did around him.}

Since I was busy with A, H availed the opportunity and created a mayhem in the class. There were rubber bands flying all across the classroom but the rules of the prodigious school dictated that I tolerate and try to calm them down “verbally.” I applied the verbal method and being a blessed loud-mouth I managed to calm some of them down until something stung me on the back of my hand. Now I lost it and went straight to H and grabbed him by his shoulders. I brought him to his chair and started shuffling in all his pockets to find four to five rubber bands. There was not a single voice in the class; I knew I was not supposed to touch any of them. They did not know that of course but all of them knew something –out-of-the-place had happened. In a minute I had collected all rubber bands from H and his minions and had them comfortably wrapped around my wrist. Whenever one of them spoke I broke one rubber band. This was another good method of quieting them down.

YET ANOTHER PROUD MOMENT OF BEING A BITCHY TEACHER!

The class was finally quiet. H had his finger on his lips. A was reading his ghost book. Some children were quietly playing games. Others were drawing or writing. A called me towards him to ask something. He had difficult word “stealthily” and wanted to know the meaning and pronunciation. It took me hardly a minute to have a tiny conversation with him about the word when a girl from H’s cluster cried, “Teacher H is showing me the finger.”

Me: THE finger? {I was shocked out of my wits to know they knew about THE finger in grade five.}

Me: Which finger?!? {I didn’t want them to have the impression that I knew what showing THE finger meant and that it was a bad lewd thing.}

Girl: The middle finger, miss. You know it is bad miss.

Me: It doesn’t matter baita, It’s just a finger. {I cajoled her, although I knew how lame it sounded and glared at H to stop doing what he was doing. H gave me a malicious look knowing I wasn’t in the position of stopping him from showing fingers}

H: Miss what? I was just keeping a finger on my mouth like you told. {He actually puckered. H now put his middle finger on his lips and grinned out of the corner of his mouth. He turned towards the girl in front of him while he kept looking me in the eye. I was shocked at how that fifth grader was daring me to stop him. I had had enough so I went to him and pulled his hand off his mouth.

Me: Stop it H, STOP DOING WHAT YOU’RE DOING!!

H: Ma’am I was just saying, God is one. Allah aik hai. I can say that with any finger. Is that wrong?

What could I say to that?

To be continued...

Monstrous Act One – Now starts the library period

29^th March, 2012 (Most pathetic memory ever!)

Grade five, Green- B*****h**** School System, Walton Campus

Substitution in grade five, section green

Background story

F: One of the bitchy co-coordinator’s (S) daughter and the headmistress’ (M) son study in that section so you have to keep yourself “a bit lenient.” Let them have their way. {She pointed out a fat pushtoon who was pushing girls in the corridor as the latter one. I had no idea who S’s daughter was.}

I was there to monitor them only as per instructions for four consecutive periods including the lunch break in which I graciously allowed them to talk, play or do whatever they felt like doing without leaving their seats or raising their voices.

At first, everything went well until…

Monstrous ACT ONE – The library period

{Majority of the students did not want to go to the library because they had “pending work to do.” Since, those little minions were the bosses so it happened their way and we stayed in the classroom}.

A (M’s son): I want to go to the library.  Don’t care if the others don’t want to go.

Me: Please go to your seat baita and read a book from the class library.

{A glared at me with a fiery look that was too fiery for his stupidly funny face as if he never expected what he heard and…left the classroom…anyway. So much for a teeny-weeny bitch of a teacher ordering HIM around? Sarcasm, folks!}  

A: {After a while, he peeked in}: I’m going to the library anyway.

Me: {Breathe-out = Yep. Foock you-self!} {Real time: Meekly} “Okay baita”

To be continued..

28^th March, 2012

Grade Six, White-Islamiat assessment, fourth checkpoint-, B*****h**** School system

(Splash bench on the Sixes floor)

After the exam when I took, or more precisely, snatched Javeria’s paper she started crying. All the girls gathered around her, giving me snappy looks. What else was I supposed to do? All I had been hearing was rules-this and rules-that for a month. Taking her paper with everybody else at the fixed time was apparently the proper way of following the rules. I left the class after patting her on the cheek and wheedling her that she’d already filled two sheets while others hadn’t even used-up half of their first.

Right outside the classroom, I ran into my sister and told her the situation. “Oh you shouldn’t have taken her paper. Just give it back and let her complete it.”

“What about the other students I took it from. They’ll want it back too.”

“Javeria’s an intelligent girl. Give it back to her only. Call her out of the class or something to complete her paper,” was my sister’s smart advice.

I was supposed to snatch exam-sheets from everybody else when time was up because they were below average students, while an exception was to be made for the already above average students. In what world does that sound sane? What contorted form of class system is being injected into these children? They’re hardly twelve years of age and they know when to use their tears, with whom to tell a lie and when to shut-the-teacher-up by misbehaving. They are so shockingly conscious of their superiorities and inferiorities and also know how to deploy them in front of a person who’s there to teach them. I remember what a loser I was as compared to them in my sixth grade. Time is bound to change but sadly enough for the coming time we are preparing a generation with the lowest morals and humanity possible. It’s been a month in this school and how these children are being reared up and what capabilities I have seen in them are shocking. There are about 27 students in each section and there are 9 sections in total. What will happen when these roaches crawl out of their nest and spread in the world? I don’t know if I want to survive till their maturity. As I would say to K, “K mai mar jana chahti hoon!!”

The nymphs scare me.

Nayee tahzeeb k ganday anday

Tuesday, 28^th March, 2012

Grade Six Red, B*****h**** School System, Walton Campus

Miss you’re from which college.

Me: GC University

Oh really? Wow. When I grow up I want to go there for my F.Sc. you know

Me: Oh please. People like you don’t go to Government College baita.

[Since the start of the class, they had been accusing me of using the “F word” and had not listened to a word of magnetic field I tried to teach them. A substitute teacher is not worthy of respect after all.]

Ha ha miss. My nana’s a brigadier. I’ll bribe my way in. What do you think?

Me: Dream on kiddo. Bribery doesn’t work at Government College.

Soch hai miss aap ki. This is Pakistan; everything works here. I know.

Me: Okie-dokie. Good for you.

If I were allowed to talk in Urdu, I would have said:

Patli pithi walay ullu k pathay, lanat hai tumharay baap per, tumhari maa per, tumharay nana per aur tumharay school per, aur Allah himat de humain is qaum ki anay waali nasal ko bardassht kernay ki!!

Bangladeshi Foooodd

I was going through some of my old photo albums and I came across these from my visit to Bangladesh in June-July, 2011. Hopefully, there's going to be travelogue on the visit Insha'Allah.

We had this fish for Lunch at BPATC, Dhaka. It was weird to see the fish staring at us while we ate but it tasted good, no doubt. The fish was mashed and mixed with daal I guess.

Departmental snacks for visitors.

Coconut and cucumber. Didn't really make sense.

This is the national fruit of Bangladesh: Jackfruit. It was something in between a mango and a watermelon. Didn't like it all.

During the fourteen days in Bangladesh I never ate this dish. Sorry! I come from Lahore and I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a predator, in fact a kuker-ator.

At the terrace of the Vice Chancellor's residence at Jahangirnagar University, Dhaka. Laal Mirchii.

Soup.

Mayfair

The butterfly may not be so sure,

She's nascent, blue and shyly pure,

I hang on her limp wings;

She carries me away.

They hang on to me

And pull her down.

Pull me down.

Let he go, they tell me.

Slowly, creepily they reach my knee

Up my shoulders and

And on my cheek.

I let go of her,

She let go of me.

Definition of a Moron

There are idiots like me who nag Allah to give them a job and when finally someone calls them they don't take their call because they are too lazy to get up and pick their phone. The word for such people is 'Morons.'

He scoots on it

Daddy's coolest ever Scooter!!

In 2012 people will judge you through the number of text messages you send them. Sad but true. Or maybe i'm the only one going through this sad turmoil.
Grimm's fairy tales has been a good companion. Long live QiOO mobile at project gutenberg or whatever it is!

In love with the Gun i.e., Gewehr.J.E. - PART ONE

Where there is blood there is life and where there is a woman there is love. No matter how much I deny the fact that science is my only love, and shall be till eternity, if Z were here today she’d jive seeing the woman in me that has now come out and for whom science is no more the only love, but a scientist has snatched the crown.

I had written my dissertation and had nothing else to do those days but to scrape up the ashes of it, finding my own mistakes, knowing them again, writing, cutting, re-writing. It had been my baby and was delivered while I endured all the conventionalities of childbirth from cramps to green puke, in every non-physical way possible. Mary was the first, but not by any means the last to experience the marvel often associated with her. We all dissertation-writers were.

I wrote my dissertation and plagiarized during the process to feed the fetus so it’ll come out perfect, referencing on the way to rectify my inevitable and innocuous sin. Frank et al., Radivojac et al., Xu et al., Xue et al., Ahmad et al., Matunis, Melchoir, Terrell, Voronoi, Gramatikoff, Shinbo, Schwartz, Kawashima and among them was Gewehr, J.E., Someone, M. and Someone-else, R., 2007. Bioweka – Extending the Framework of… and so on and so forth till we reach the page number of the publication which is not- though it was once- my concern anymore.

Problems are like viruses and the solutions that we put up for them are fairly similar to vaccines which may sometimes be nothing more than attenuated or tortured viruses themselves. An insignificant problem to solve a significant problem, I must say. Let’s just say that my dissertation was the whale, an extremely big problem which I solved by cooking up tiny problems of weather data for WEKA, reducing or increasing the number of instances I used in the data. Sometimes when the attenuated virus [which here is the protein/peptide data I was working with] wouldn’t do I simply killed it altogether. I forged data. It was surprising how the best accuracy was always achieved with forged data, over-estimation they call it for prediction models. My forgeries changed me to a pro at what I did. I knew Waikato Environment of Knowledge Analysis in and out. Atleast ‘in and out’ to a level that a below-average first-timer bioinformatician is supposed to know. The teeny counterfeits in data helped me know where the bigger problems in my project lay and on completion there was not a shred of fake or redundant data. Squeaky clean you can say.

There was a time when I wouldn’t sleep for many nights in a row, staying up working on something. It wasn't all when I had already spotted, caught, cut, grilled and eaten the big-fat-whale. Waikato Environment of Knowledge Analysis, or WEKA, was not my problem anymore, BIOWEKA was! Gewehr, J.E., with his supervisor Zimmer, R. Did I hate them? I did, till then I wasn’t sure of their sexes so I sometimes cursed them as men, sometimes as women. The link of BIOWEKA’s availability teased me with its name: sourceFORGE. The thing was out of my reach until finally I gave up the idea of it and completed by dissertation without any such thing. [To be continued..]

Dedicated to Madee http://madeehahassan.blogspot.com/

16

Problems are like viruses and the solutions that we put up for them are fairly similar to vaccines which may sometimes be nothing more than attenuated or tortured viruses themselves. An insignificant problem to solve a significant problem, I must say.

I Killed My Mother

It had been 22 years of what D.H. Lawrence narrated in the ‘Rocking Horse Winner.’ I sometimes felt as if I had gained the third eye during that time. The exact words, movements, expressions, timings, moods, etc. of the members of the household were un-explainably predictable. Life was a consistent déjà vu.

When the weather is too calm, a bit too calm, you can hear its quietness maliciously gnawing and snaring at you. It tells you a storm is on its way. Relationships are quite the same. Too much constancy can lead to the arrival of eccentricities that all of us face regarding the beloved. After all, we know them too much. Pushing the truth away does not change anything. A bit of loathing in love does not harm it; it’s merely a fulfilling completion. Shreds of hatred lament the time when love would be gone altogether, and loneliness will bury its claws deep inside of you.

On a day like that, when things were unreasonably stagnant, I killed my mother.

There was nothing very special happening that day, just my father’s 60th birthday, my sister’s dinner with her colleagues and my exam preparation. Echoes crying for money reached my ears several times a minute. I didn’t care to see which of them came from the walls of the room and which from the flesh filling its corners. Somebody slid the cupboard. The television blared with the loudest sound possible, possibly a desperate attempt to tune out other sounds raging through the atmosphere. It was a war.

New clothes became the cause of dispute. My mother was bent on delaying sewing clothes for my sister. She needed some rest and said she’ll do them later. That pissed K off. K was the feeding hand of the family. Nobody held her off like that. A few minutes earlier she had added to my information that I had done a very mean piece in telling mother that the dinner had been delayed, which I had done most innocently, otherwise her clothes would have been sewn by then.

My mother walked around the house. Deaf. She was immune to the angry grumbling; opening, closing, smashing of the fridge; banging doors; tsk tsk-ing at the walls, doing nothing, something, everything, things. She did ‘doing’ until her veins gave way and sweat dripped off of her forehead. It was because of her children, us, and she lay down. It was time to knit another elegy in memory of the dead.

It was hard to study in those circumstances but I tuned out the quietness. It could tear me up otherwise. I safely collected all of it within me, had been doing that for years. “I need a glass of water.” There was a puff of smoke and stumbling smatters of ‘concentration.’ There are two people outside with you. Can I study in peace so I can bring sacks of green somethings for you as required?

“Water?”

I got up. It wasn’t abnormal. I had to. Religion implored me to do the same. I filled a glass of water from the tap and took it to the TV lounge where TV blared. K was lying on the sofa. Her eyes were not visible behind the sheen of her spectacles, but the lines on her forehead were obvious. Her mouth was tightly pursed, giving her ovoid face a funny look. She had the TV remote placed on her chin, other end of it resting on her chest. One leg sluggishly rested on the back of the sofa while the other was curled dreamily beneath a cushion. Y was enjoying social networking on the laptop.

“Did I have to come from the room, leave what I was doing, because you were busy doing what exactly?” None heard…Anger. Breathe, breathe, breathe. It’s a happy birthday; he’ll be home soon. Breathe.

I was her daughter. Not using the tongue was hard for me. “You could have told her to bring it. She’s not lazy when she needs clothes.”

The glass came flying towards me and landed near my feet. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

What was the matter if one of us used their tongue for a change? We could ask questions as well, say no, mock, moan. We had the brains to get mean too. She was a mother. We will be mothers someday. All of us are daughters, including her.

It was me who chose the largest shard of glass. A face came near. Panicked eyes screamed. Hands pushed me away as I stabbed her mouth, her teeth, and her tongue. I wanted her to bleed everything out, if there was anything left to say, once and for all. I wanted nothing to be left behind.

The world had gone quiet. Peacefully quiet. For the first time quietness didn’t plummet down into its own depths, it hung there, surrealistically serene and beautiful.

A moment had passed while I stood there with the glass in my hand. She took it herself.

It came out of nowhere, “You could have told her to bring it.” I stopped myself quickly and turned around to leave, as quickly as possible.

There was a loud crash. I turned around in a fierce attempt to retaliate only to find her staring at her feet. Expressionless. Shattered glass lay in my feet. Surprisingly a sigh of relief left my lips.

Predictability is good. Prescience can save life because accidents are first-time occurrences. Self-control comes from experience, whether in real or in intuition, it doesn’t matter.

Moti ki Daastan

I had always wondered why I hadn't met a bully in the twenty one years of my life. From what I

had observed in English movies bullying should have been an important part of my life too. I

hadn't experienced it until S or should I mention her with what she should be mentioned with;

MOTI demonstrated it to me. Everyone calls her moti in our house. Trust me in a family with a maximum weight of 58kg

among men (there is only one man!) she should be called Chota Haathi.

Moti not only suffers from severe obesity but the adipose tissue in her body has also squeezed itself right

into the bully nerve cells in her brain, expecially when it comes to our family. We 'turn her on.' Telling my

mom to how old she looks in her non-dyed hair, which of course pisses her off R-E-A-L-L-L

B-A-D, wondering why we don't make new clothes on Eids and stopping me and my sisters in the street to ask why we come home after dark because

universities don't stay open that late are a few of M's weekly tasks.

Moti normally shows up when none of us are home except my mother. The scowl that we receive for

no apparent reason along with constant grumbling about my dad being a miser (which he is SO NOT!) who can't

let his pocket loose are indicators of what has come and gone. I personally feel that the big

crater that Moti leaves behind in my grandfather's old sofa is a good confirmatory test for her

visit.

Well one day she showed up and to her buri kismat moti found me at the door. Inspecting me critically from head to toe

she placed her butt very neatly into the spot where I knew the almost perfect

crater will form. (It makes me cry really. how does she DO that?!) After eying me suspiciously

as I sat on the Divan texting and studying at the same time she rolled her tiny little button-ish

eyes and asked my mother why she didn't do the household chores instead of idling off 'wo bhi

din dihaaray.' It was enough for my mother so she literally scooted off to the store room grabbing

some shawl on the way that she could pretend to iron. She probably thought it will drive moti

away but to her misfortune moti, with great fervour and enthusiasm, peeled her butt off the sofa

and followed my mother.

Here i should mention that the room in which we iron our clothes is a small congested room and

also serves as a bathroom for our cat. The cat who is an excellent fart machine and a pro in excreting

the coolest-smelling shit ever! Hence no guests in that area. We, ourselves are used to it so whatever.

So that day moti managed to step foot in the prohibited zone. she tweaked her nose on sensing something

weird going on in that part of the house. She chatted with my mom until she couldn't hold it in

herself and asked in a hushed tone, 'Asma Baji she semel (smell) kesi aa rahi hai?' My mom took

pauses as she improvised a nice story; maybe a dead mouse or man or something . But i planned to take

moti on a joyride.

'Auntie billi ne potty kee wee hai na yahan bohooot ziada aur hum saaf bhi nahi keraatay! aadat jo ho gayee hai." I shouted

from the drawing room.

The earth trembled as hurried steps of an elephantine creature moved away from 'the zone'.

"Haye Allah, meri tau naak hi sarr gayee hai!!!" She wailed. My mother tried to stop moti for tea but moti didn't love us anymore.

It was the saddest day of my life but I got over it. :D I love you moti. I love you so much. <3>

The world is a funny funny place with lots of funny funny people like moti. I still haven't figured out who a real bully is.

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind

The oftener seen, the more I lust,

The more I lust, the more I smart,

The more I smart, the more I trust,

The more I trust, the heavier heart;

The heavy hearty breeds mine unrest,

Thy absence, therefore, like I best.

The rarer seen, the lest in mind,

The less in mind, the lesser pain,

The lesser pain, less grief I find,

The lesser grief, the greater gain,

The greater gain, the merrier I,

The further off, the more I joy,

The more I joy, the happier life,

The happier life, less hurts annoy,

The lesser hurts, pleasure most rife:

Such pleasures rife shall I obtain

When distance doth depart us twain.

- Barnabe Googe

11

How does Kahlil Gibran poondify (i am pretty sure he did or maybe i have a dirty mind) Selma Karamy and get away with it even when her dad Farris Effandi said to him, "Consider me as a father and Selma as a sister," right on the 35th page of A treasury of Kahlil Gibran? I read it till the 57th page!

I would have been banished for doing so. He got away with it because??... I'm Amna Ijaz and he was Kahlil Gibran?

Y: "you just don't get these things. do you? the 'bee-u-tee' of it. petty petty you."

A: Okay.

9

[ACT ONE]

about 5:30 PM. RZ and I are sitting on the dirtiest stairs ever. B (IT man of my magazine) shows up.

Me: hey B!

B: Mje acha ni laga app ne text pe mj se kal rudely baat ki

Me: you guys annoy me!

B: App ko pata hai mai yahan ka (University ka) employer b hon ku k...

Me: APP ko pata hai mai app ki editor hoon?

B: THE smile. App ko pata hai mje yahan kamra b mila hai?

Me: App ko b pata ho ga library k sath wala kamra mje b mila howa hai.

B: app ko....

Me: aur app ko ye b pata ho ga k I can fire you from the magazine?

[ACT TWO]

Biotech class room for B.Sc Hons Final year; Government College University Lahore. K, F, Z, R and I sit in the first row. A comes to present his ass-ignment.

A walks up to the dais all pretty and shiny in his orange sweater. tilts his head very slightly, gapes a little while he takes hints from the piece of paper he has brought along. looks at the class for a second, turns around and takes a long unnecessary stride to write on the white board almost abruptly. The taapic of my presentation is...

Z says something to K. A turns around

Kia masla kia hai app ka? Chup kero werna class se baher chalay jao.

Z: Murmers. Kia? hum ne..kia? howa..? what?

R: Pehlay appnay doston ko chup kerwao!

A: mazaq banaya wa hai app ne. Shakes his hands to make his point clear. takes a step towards us. I am pretty sure from behind his thick rimmed glasses he isn't even looking at us, but seeing how the class reacts. gapes again after saying a sentence and makes a please-appreciate-me slash annoyed face. presentation de raha hon mai. bolay ja rehay hain app log. He shouts.

The 'teacher' finally intervenes.

S: Oye bas kero. itnay baray ho gaye ho phir b aisay lartay ho. khwateen se aisay...bla bla bla.

A ends his presentation and now makes for his seat. but the story doesn't end for him..(if only he could take off his shirt, pull one of us out of her chair, pin her to the ground and dance on her for the rest of his Godforsaken life..THAT could have given him the glory!!) He stops when he is going back and says to R (or may be the whole woman community) who keeps writing in her register (GO GIRL!) without looking at him while he does his 'bhonki'

A: Ainda meray doston ko kuch kaha na tau mj se bura koi ni ho ga. i'll slap you!

[ACT TWO B]

Z is talking on text with M, our class fellow and A ka dost.

Z: ?

M: han ye aisa hi hai.

[ACT THREE]

It is about 6:30PM. Z, Y and I are going to the bus stop. a man is coming from the opposite direction. he crosses us.

THUMP!

Me: kia hai Y (who is walking behind me)..I laugh. ku maara hai itnay zor ka mujhay.

Y: mai ne kab mara hai. She makes a sad face

Me: very funny. itnay zor ka maara hai.

Y and I both laugh.

Y: seriously i didn't.

Me: tum ne hi maara hai..pata hai mu..u..j...!! Uff!..did that man...? Haww... dude!! ITNAY ZOR KA MAARA HAI! and on my BUTT!?

we walk for some time silently. disgruntled.

Me: tum ne WAQIYAY mai ni maara Y?

Y: Laughs. oH bhai mai ni maarya tenoo

"My butt is aching," I whisper.

GO MEN! LOVE Y'ALL!

2

A: This is so..glug glug...uh..so..glug

Me: Well..do..

A: Glug..did you make..glug glug..it?

Me: ...please..

A: Glug glug glug

Me: ..not me..

A: Ah!..glug glug glug glug..more?

Me: Sure.

A: GLUG GLUG GLUG

There was lots of white foam with streaks of red in it, coming out of his mouth as he slowly became unconscious..probably for good.

A: (to all) I always wanted him to listen to me more.

A lesson learnt 1

One of favorite bloggers wrote

"Whatever happened, happened because it could have happened no other way."

I want to agree with it but i can't and i won't. Maybe tomorrow i will but today i have that urge to kill anyone who tells me that things happen the way they are meant to happen.

I had spent so many funny moments with F. She never became my friend though or maybe she was. But she was a good companion. We would sit together in all chemistry classes and disturb the class as much as we can. Good times. I liked her even more when she insisted on sitting near me during exams for the moral support that i provided her. There was no joke that we had not cracked. From making fun of my accent to telling her that her clothes had "natural ventilation." From copying down all my lab reports before exam to sharing photos, we enjoyed everything, like two people almost in love. The sad part was that the time when we separated and took our own paths in Government College University started today my friends.

F being a chemistry major student and I being a biotechnology buffoon.

Today was supposed to be our last day as class fellows, not as good acquaintances, but it somehow became one. F sat right next to me like we always did in exams.

F: performance saath saath kerain gai ..PCR machne use kerni aati hai?

Me: haan ati hai, mager sahi se ni.

(Teacher: her koi PCR machine use kerna seekh le abi sab se demonstration ho gi. Everyone gathers around the PCR machine. I and my friend Z stand behind. F is busy talking to the girl who's working the PCR machine. Z and I go sit on a nearby stools with some other class fellows. F is still busy with the PCR.)

Me: (to Z) oye ye F tau gayee. hum se behter mil gaya koi is ko.

Z: ha ha.

Me: Oye F ho group mai k ni?

F: {no response}

Me: F..FF..bas ji ab tau kerna hi ni app ne humray saath kam ap ne..hum se......

F: Amna bas bohot over ho gayee ho tum. Ab mai ne aur baat ni sun-ni.

ME: {There are no words to describe the face that i wore at that moment}

THE END

A lesson learnt at the last day of my life with F..which could have been pleasant..because it was going to be our last day together in college any way. Did she really have to show that she didn't need me anymore? i kind of already knew that. I knew my moral support had always been in forms of "small booti" and even as my written sheet of exam but there could've been a better way to do it. Probably wait for the day to end because that would mean entirely different departments from then on.

I've always cursed Government College University for their "No-allied-subject-in-final-year" policy. It may sounds abnormal but it made me lose my favorite subject. who knew this would teach me the greatest lesson of my life. Homo Sapiens are fat-ass morons no matter what! Yes. Simple as that!

{THIS IS THE MOST PATHETIC BLOG THAT I'VE EVER WRITTEN BUT I HAD TO WRITE IT!}