Distances Do Matter

It all started one day. I was surfing at popular gay social networking website Manjam when a message pooped up into my account but knowing what kind of pathetic pick up lines and horrendous visual content it might be having, I simply ignored it. But before logging out, I checked my inbox and found a long message which wasn’t lesser than any epic of gigantic proportions. I was pleasantly shocked after reading that mail as that the guy seemed quite comfortable with himself (which is quite unlikely with the crowd at Manjam), not into a quickie (again a rarity) and thus didn’t qualify as a cheapster(s) (who are in abundance at Manjam). I replied him back, in the similar fashion, with a detailed descriptive personal statement (as if applying for any Graduate program). Pura pura story teller haun na main bhi.
In just a week, we exchanged numbers, started talking and doing cyber sex. Yes, Cyber sex….. now don’t react as if you are learning this term very first time. You may find it lusty or obnoxious but sweety it’s very much real and prevalent among humans. Khair, resuming my story, we exchanged pics online, added each other at facebook and vow to remain with each other. He was almost 800 miles away from me and still we used to talk and text as if we live in the same town. We used to talk what we were doing, where we were going, what we ate, whom do we befriended with and with whom we had a row. Than there was familial stuff, how badly our parents treat us, the latest homophobic encounter we had, the book we were reading or the movie we watched and loved.

Those were very strange, unexpected days for me. At times I would start wondering that all his love, appreciation and passion for me is momentary which will wither away as soon as he would see me(because i think i am not that attractive). At others, I thought myself the luckiest person on earth who is being, pampered, owned and loved by someone sensible and sensitive.

He was almost two years younger than me and lived very far away. And I guess these two basic reasons were the root cause of our fights mostly. He thought I was too much egoistic, controlling and inconsiderate whereas I used to consider him immature, demanding and over-emotional. We thought of breaking up for at least three times before we finally parted our ways. I still remember when he used to say, “My janu, my Hadi.” Ahhhh haaaaa…………..

Somehow, we couldn't manage to meet each other in spite of our desperation and longing for it. A few days back, during a heart to heart talk with my friend, I got senti when he said that if we have ever met than things would definitely have been different. And i know it is true. Distances do matter. Our life isn’t a fairy tale; the kind of pressures and stresses we all have to face in this roller coaster ride, we call life, demands for someone dear who is also near to us.

From the past few weeks, I have been going through a personal auditing phase, so looking in retrospect, I thought of the way we ended up and felt like apologizing. Therefore, I texted him and we both kind of sorted out the issues. It was fun. Now while writing all this i remember that whenever he used to say that he would die without me, I had always replied him back, “Tum nae maro gay, koi kissi kay liye nae marta.” (You will not die, no one dies for anyone.) And look, we both are alive and happy(i guess).

Photo Courtesy: Ivan Cash

I Hate Luv Storys.....

I was talking to a friend last night and she said, "I read few of your post because you sound too political, serious and depressing". So, I decided that instead of giving you serious Bhasahan everytime, I must also give you a light hearted snippet of my imperfect life with this movie Yatra I had a day before.

As usual, I was working in my office when Ainu, the lady love of my life, called me up and announced her plan to watch the matinee show of I Hate Luv Storys. Obviously I protested that I can’t leave like this but to any avail as she was adamant to see Imran Khan’s stupid skin show. Thanks to the marketing team at I Hate Luv Storys and the ever ready media for creating this pseudo hype as I didn’t find anything attractive in that kid’s skin show.
Now, after the call, I started brooding over my early departure from the office. Whom should I declare dead? Hmmm…I was thinking of everyone under the sun but that was too risky as my colleagues will start presenting their condolences which I can’t bear. Or should I act like been poisoned by a jealous colleague? But being an innate Sharif insan, I went straigh away to my boss and told her the real story and amazingly she complied with my request.

She drove to my office and almost threw me in her car and while considering herself to be a Superwoman with invincible speed, drove both of us to the theatre before the movie started. But the whole journey has its usual ingredients like Ainu asking directions for the same theatre where we have seen dozens of movies; everyone crossing our way was been blessed with curses and abuses and the usual panic associated with socially challenged people(us). After driving at the speed of God knows miles per hour, we finally reached at our destination. We actually ran from the parking lot to collect the ticket but before that we both were checked by security personnels. As I was been man-handled by guard whom I would give 2.5(Tip: Adding decimal to figures make you more authentic) on 10, I cried out to the officer that she got bomb in her large bag to which she honored me with fine words of her I am unable to share here. After collecting the tickets as we were rushing towards the hall, all of a sudden, she realized that she badly need diet coke and popcorn to go through this cinematic experience so went to the tuck shop and got required props. While holding coke in one hand, popcorn in the other and ticket in my mouth, as I entered the dark alley leading to hall a not so happening ticket checker took ticket from my mouth, tore the required piece down and put in my pocket smilingly.

After settling down, the first thing I noticed was the generic freshness Sonam and Imran have brought to the screen. From its catchy title to the on-screen chemistry between the leads, is a success story, all the way. But the most striking thing I noticed was the shots, and the excellent camera work done by Ayananka Bose et al.


The basic idea was novice as Punit Malhotra, the writer and director, weave the storyline around Imran’s maxim “I hate love stories.” Although it was expected that in the end, he would defy his ideology and will fall for none other than our female lead but the way plot was developed and executed, scene by scene, one kept on expecting what would happen next. That’s an achievement for the new comer Punit who mantained viewers' interest intact. The idea of movie within the movie and usage of famous dialogues from Karan Johar productions was a treat for his fans. And let me confess I am one of them. The way those moments were recreated and ridiculed, while I was getting nostaligic and happy, is a highly appreciatable work.

Moreover, I haven’t heard so many lesbian references in any Bollywood movie before as I laughed my heart out when all of them were directed towards Imran. I strongly believed that Sonam should have married her childhood love till the very last scene between them, where Sameer proposed her. But I changed my mind; when the writer made me realize that he didn’t even know that she like red flowers, holy shit. If I would be in her place, I would have created a huge drama there and slap and beat him up and run away, which precisely she did (without creating potential drama.

As far as music is concerned, I liked the title track as well as Bin Teray by Shafqat and Sunidhi but for me the hallmark was Baharaan Baharaan by Sherya Goshal. It is such an amazing track that as soon as I reached back at my place, I took my bed spread and while flaunting it like a duppata, started dancing and received fully loaded comments from my sister who thinks that I sing and dance awfully. At the same moment, I was also getting nostalgic as I remembered, how much I used to deny love at first sight and how I was grounded. I was re-experiencing that same euphoria of first love when everything seems so happy and gay. And Baharaan Baharan was making me relive it……

Baharaan baharaan huya dil pehli baar ve
Baharaan baharaan ki chain to huya faraar ve
Baharaan baharaan huya dil pehli pehli baar ve…..

Data Darbar Blasts

The Thursday night’s callous assault at the shrine of Ali Hajveri (R.A), the holiest place in Pakistan was not like a regular suicide attack to which most of us are attuned and immuned to. This attack bears repercussions of high magnitude affecting all sects and factions of the society. Even I have heard for the first time in my life, angry populace roaring “Shehbaz Sharif Kutta haye haye” all over Lahore, which is a highly unlikely and unexpected thing.

Living in Lahore and being a staunch Lahoriate, reverence and love for Data Sahib has been transmitted to me through my genes. And it’s impossible to rule out the impact of Data Sahib from my life and from the lives of the people associated with me. Although, I have paid a few visits to the shrine but the tremendous affect I experienced, the vibes I felt, it was completely out of this world. I have spent hours, literally, watching the pigeons eating grains there, the way devotees cry, pray and show their respect to the great saint. I have even experience a rain, a very happy and joyful rain, in the very courtyard of the shrine where devotees were bombed. I had sat down and wept in that very courtyard where after the blast only the dead bodies and blood can be witnessed.

A friend of mine, who always look come up with any paranormal and spiritual explanation for every event texted me after the blasts that, “Its’ a sign that something really bad is going to happen”. I couldn’t reply her back than but for the next three days, I witnessed my city in moaning over the way the sanctity of the holy shrine has been damaged. I was traveling when I heard, an elderly bearded man saying “Kinay khush naseeb sun o lok jeeray aani pak jagah tay mar gaye" (How much fortunate were all those people who died at such a holy place) to a young bearded man. I don’t know what happened to me but in the split second, that scene turned out to be of a terrorist camp where youngsters are being trained for such terrorists attacks. It also remembered the visuals of the bombers who all had beards and I felt so much uncomfortable at that very moment that I pressed the bell and come out of the bus. Although, I dropped out the bus but I so much wanted to ask that old man whether he had thought, even once, about the suffering and pain of the families of the causalities before getting jealous of them.

I also wanted to ask that angry mob involved in burning tyres and throwing stones at the police and rescue workers while they were conducting a rescue and search operation was after the blasts. Why they were creating hindrance in the rescue process. Instead of staying there and agitating, they should immediately go to the hospitals and donate blood for the victims.

I was wondering why didn’t Data Sahib, a saint of such a high stature and caliber, display any Karamat to stop this bloody event happen. To this my friend replied, “You know it’s a hub of pedophiles and sexually frustrated men so how can a saint display Karamat to save such filthy people.” He was mouthing out a bitter reality but it’s also true that Saleem Akhtar, a volunteer khadim of darbar, lost his life while trying to get hold of one of the suicide bomber. Indeed his sacrifice, resilience and devotion for the Data Sahib will always be remembered.

Now the question is, are we all going to keep quite and let this event make a part of our terrorist history without demanding justice? Is this going to be a momentary uproar and protest, which will die, as the time will pass? It’s a very important question for which we all need to answer responsibly.

If you ask me than I can’t trust the current administration. How can I trust that Chief Minister who in March called on the Tailban not to attack Punjab as his party shared some of their ideas. How I can believe such a provincial Law minister who campaigned at a by-election alongside a leader of a banned sectarian organization (Shipa Sahaba). How can I get justice from that administration who has given £ 650,000 to Jamat ud Dawa? How can I look up to such a governor who is too much occupied with his ulterior personal and political motives?

This time we don't want to listen arguments and counter arguments or to think over explanations and in depth analyses. We want real practical dealing of this problem. I was literally turned back when I saw GEO Tv's 50 Minutes live from that same courtyard of Data Darbar where just a day ago, several individuals were killed and hunderds were injured. That show was the most standoffish, insensitive and shameless contribution of media personels where the host and the religious big wigs all were just saying how bad the incident was? Did we need that show? Not really. Its time to seriously address the situation with an unbiased, progressive and rational approach before we even exist to do anything.

Photo Courtesy: Express Tribune

A Gay of No Importance

It has been an audacious and difficult decision for me to finally come out and accept my gaiety. Coming out has seemed like deliverance from my every sin, for which I will be pardoned and will start living happily hereafter.
But I forgot that life isn’t a fairy tale with a King Midas with a golden touch or a magical kiss which can transform a toad into a handsome prince. I used to think that my perennial tears for being unaccepted and unloved would be gone, as my queer folks will take me in with arms wide open. But it turned out to be a different story. I was unaware that my gaiety has to go through a lot of litmus tests before I could be certified as an Authentically Valid Gay.

As soon as I sorted out all my confusions and apprehensions regarding my orientation, I started hanging out with queer folk, especially gay men. In the beginning, it was a full throttle exciting and emancipating experience, because without being fake, I could talk, walk and behave the way I wanted. But slowly and gradually, as I learned more about my community, I realized that the dynamics of gay culture are making me an outcast within an outcast group.
Being brought up in a traditional middle class Pakistani family, religion has always been very important for me. That’s why I searched extensively for alternative approaches regarding sexual minorities in Islam, and began to reconcile between my religious and sexual identities. I realized that my gayness is hard-wired into my personality. It can't be changed and why should it be changed? It’s a manifestation of my Allah's diversity, rather than a moral failing.
I have always envisioned a life of love, intimacy and commitment in the context of a religiously alive traditional Muslim community. But the first criticism I heard from my queer folks was that I was gay and still Muslim, and homosexuality is against Islam. The question would have carried different connotations and I might have addressed it differently if my detractors had been straight; but it sounded really odd and obnoxious that gay Muslim men were not only continuously nagging me over it without having any sound academic Islamic knowledge but were also abusing other gay men and claiming severe damnation for them. It was completely out of my comprehension: why should I take this crap form sexually active gay men who, after a quick shag, try to guilt you about how wrong you are to be gay! One incident I can never forget in which a bearded guy, in an fervent effort to save me from hellfire, told me gays should get capital punishment and are severely damned by God – he himself is a sexually active gay man. I definitely deserve hellfire because I can never be this hypocritical, condescending and absurd.
Several times I have been confronted over the gay sexual roles. Whenever my folks asked me, “So what you are, top or bottom?” I have always replied that I am neither. But they refuse to accept it at first and later look at me with such suspicion that I feel myself naked or alien. But believe me: I am neither, I feel neither way. I am politically and temperamentally against this dichotomy. For me it’s just like mimicking the sexual politics of heteronormative society which puts men in the powerful position of having the right to penetrate and women in a passive role, available for penetration.
I can’t find the logic of replicating this template for developing relationships in a gay context. It’s so paradoxical that at one side we are rebelling against the gender roles conceived by a patriarchal society but on the other we are still conforming to them. I have faced a lot of spoken and unspoken pressure from my queer peers to conform to a role, any role, and work accordingly or otherwise I will not be able to find a guy. At times, it’s so distressing that I can’t muster up courage enough to raise my voice among the highly eloquent and enlightened queer fellows.

Moreover, I am neither as loud as a bottom nor as straight-acting as a top. I don’t even like the idea of being versatile, versatile top or versatile bottom. Can’t I be just a gay and gay only without being anything else? Once I was hanging out with a very dear gay friend of mine and in the moment, I laughingly propositioned him. Firstly he started laughing as well, but when I sounded serious to him, he said “You know Hadi, you are a really nice guy, but you see I like straight men and you have few feminine characteristics so I just can’t be with you.” Honestly, I didn’t like his reply, not because I was dying to get into his pants but because of the way he disapproved of me. Every day we are discriminated against and ridiculed by straight men, and still we are dying to sleep with them. We might as well accept the bitter reality that the majority of gay men do have a preference for straight men because we are the perpetrators as well as the victims of internalized homophobia.
I am also an over-weight gay guy who has to listen repeatedly to, “Jani, go to gym and lose some weight. It will increase your USP (Unique Selling Point).” I don’t know why gay men are so obsessed about looking good. They want you to be either a twink or a beefed up guy, otherwise you are not eligible for the ding dong! I am neither and I defy being either, and that’s why I’m a loser (as my folks call me).
I question that if I am an overweight Muslim gay guy who doesn’t believe in the dichotomy of gay sexual politics, then does this make me a lesser gay? Am I a mortifying blemish on my community which needs to be ignored or, better, cut off? How can we, staunch believers of the idea of diversity in nature, be so bigoted about the diversity within our own kind? While rebelling against the heteronormativity, don’t you think we are creating a homonormativity of its own kind, which is usurping the expression of many fellow queers? Let me tell you that I am not going to be intimidated or hopeless and I refuse to be a gay pariah. I may be a gay of no importance but at least I know who to be: ME.

(The article has been published in the July 2010 issue of Chay magazine)
Photo Courtesy: Bathroom Story by Iaijo Mod

آسکر وائلڈ کے نام

آج ایک بار پھر
مجھ سے میری شناخت کی بابت
دریافت کی گئی ہے
گویا مجھ سے میرے ہونے کی
گواہی مانگی گئی ہے
اور میں خود پر آئد فردِ جرم
کو سن کر اب
بیٹھا سوچ رہا ہوں
کہ کیسے خود کا دفاع کروں
کیونکہ جواب بہت طویل ہے
یا یوں کہو کہ
میری کہانی بہت پرانی ہے
جس میں نہ تو کسی راجا کو رانی ے ملنا تھا
اور نہ ہی کسی چڑیل کو پری سے جلنا تھا
یہ تو فقط حقیقت ہے
میری حقیقت
جو کہ دلچسپ نہ سہی
مگر سچی ضرور ہے
ماضی کی سڑک پر جب چلنا شروع کرتا ہوں تو
مچھے بچپن کے وہ معصوم دن نظر آتے ہیں
جب تتلیوں، جگنوؤں کے پیچھے بھاگتے بھاگتے
مجھے خبر ہی نہ ہوئی کہ
یہ کام میرے کرنے کے نہیں تھے
میرے لیے تو موزوں کچھ اور ہی کھیل تھے
جو کبھی مجھے راس ہی نہ آئے
میرے لڑکپن کی وہ شامیں
جب میں کھلے آسمان تلے
گھنٹوں بیٹھا بھیتر کی گتھلیاں
سلجھانے کی کوشش کرتا رہتا تھا
مگر وہ کبھی بھی سلجھ نہ سکیں
پھر وہ نوجوانی کی راتیں بھی آئیں
جب میں لمبے لمبے سجدوں میں
خود آگاہی کے واسطے
اس کا در کھٹکھٹاتا رہتا تھا
جس کے بارے میں مشہور ہے
کہ وہ سب کی سنتا ہے
میں عفوانِ شباب کی حدٔت کا مارا
بے صبرا انسان اُس سے
لڑتا، جھگڑتا، کُڑتا، مرتا رہتا
اور بھلا کر بھی کیا سکتا تھا
شب و روز اسی ضد میں کٹنے لگے
مگر اندر کی آگ تھی کہ
کسی طور بُجھتی ہی نہ تھی
مگر جب میرا سارا وجود جل کر خاکستر ہوا
اور مٹھی بھر خاک میرے ہاتھ آئی
تب یہ عقد مجھ پہ کھلا
کہ یہی خاکِ شفا تو مجھے درکار تھی
اور پھر میں نے سچ بولنے کا فیصلہ کر لیا
میں چاہتا تو اپنی جبلت کو جھوٹ کے
رنگین پیراہنوں میں چھپا لیتا
اُن سُرخاب کے پروں کا تاج سر پہ سجا لیتا
جو مجھے سب میں مقبول کر دیتے
مگر میں ایسا نہ کر سکا
کیونکہ میرے خمیر میں
سچ کی مقدار کچھ زیادہ ہی تھی
سچ ـ ـ ـ جس کا راستہ بڑا کٹھن ہے
جس پر چلنے سے تن پر سنگ باری بھی ہوتی ہے
اور پیروں میں آبلے بھی پڑتے ہیں
مگر مجھے کوئی خوف نہ رہا تھا
مجے معلوم ہے کہ
رذدیلوں اور دھتکارے ہوؤں کو
بولنے کا حق بھی نہیں ملتا
مگر میں پھر بھی اتنا ضرور کہوں گا
کہ میری تخلیق بھی اُسی نے کی ہے
جس نے باقی سب کو بنایا ہے
آج بے شک میں ایک سوال ہوں
موردِ الزام ہوں، حسرت و ملال ہوں
مگر مجھے اتنا یقین ہے کہ
جب بھی اس کا انصاف ہو گا
میرا شمار ہو گا
میرا شمار ہو گا ـ ـ ـ


(This poem has been published in the July 2010 issue of Chay magazine)
Photo Courtesy: Tomb of Oscar Wilde by Alberto Riol

I Still Love You

“We can’t be together”
You said while sitting on that old wooden bench,
under that lonely tree
which looked so wistful that day
when we met for the last time.
You were ending up everything
and I was starting
hoarding everything down
in to the depths of my heart
which was aching so wistfully,
that day on that old wooden bench
under that lonely tree.
I hated when you reasoned with circumstances
But I was unable to fight with them.
I hated when you planned to leave
But I couldn’t wish you bad luck.
I hated when you paid farewell prayers
Because I couldn’t find “us” in them.
I hated when you were untying with me
Because I couldn’t help falling for you.
I hated you for everything you said
that day when we met for the last time,
on that wooden bench,
under that lonely tree.
But I couldn’t change it then.
And I can’t change it now.
I have been hating you for all these years now,
And while, sitting at that same wooden bench,
under that same lonely tree
I am still thinking of you
I know, down in my heart
That I still own you
That I still love you

(This poem has been published in June 2010 issue of Gaylaxy magazine)

Photo Courtesy: Ivan Prole