A secret combination of eggshells

A room as much as a blog is a work in progress; the urge to reinvent is there cyclically at some point where you start realizing how your niche in the different worlds you occupy has begun to prescribe your behavior. At times the witness to routine, the accumulation of a lifestyle- usually the nanny of discomforts - becomes stifling. I get so distracted in my room I can’t read there unless the colors fall completely silent and that only happens at night. I can’t seem to focus and it’s stretched the body sideways from distraction. Almost like being pulled inside a vacuum cleaner from your hair ends.

Winter in Karachi: Armies of quiet, dry air brushing cheeks with fingertips; Five o clock drive back from work today surprisingly showcased a sun buttering each tree cleanly through the canopy of the infamous coconut trees outside my house I could already see the manicured moon, at five; heaps of smells mounts and with no resistant moisture bumping into them, the motes of bubbling tea, watered earth, scented cocoa soap, crusty red powdered fries and fabric softener turn to cushion fractured moods. The exciting clink of weddings in the air (Bunto alone says she is making wedding dresses for 200 brides this winter in Karachi), the rug fests in front of heaters to be looked forward to and paper-cup steaming coffee on the sand slippered steps at the beach gleaming silver under the white lamplights, Everybody Loves Raymond on the laptop curled up with a misshapen pillow and tea. My insides are already sepia with tea and latte overdose.

I ran into a white boy (couldn’t distinguish from the accent) at the check out counter at Liberty buying my monthly Dalrymple and he preened to me he had all of Dalrymple books signed by the author. At some point in the conversation he said he hadn’t read a single one “but the fellow was around so I thought I may as well get it signed, he wasn’t really famous then, didn’t seem important” I flounced off in a huff not so much at the dismissive treatment of W.D. as the indignity of having books in your library that you have not bothered to read. Book consumerism fairly escapes me, I intimately know each book in my library and have just chucked out the ones I didn’t like and know I will never read again.

I usually try to go to Espresso meets an hour earlier so I can sit, read and have my coffee loyalty card stamped. So far I haven’t been successful because I inevitably run into hosts of people I know and usually have not been in touch with for ages (I think one reason mean guls are so significant to me is because they are only people I don’t disconnect from the minute I’m away from them). This Saturday was a pleasant surprise-actually had fun running into the three guys and one girl. Met that rare exceptional graduate who actually enjoyed his work. Saba and I usually feel like such pariahs when we speak enthusiastically of what we do and maybe that is why I’m so paranoid about talking about it in public now (also because people don’t really understand what it means, the only reason that can explain MBA marriage proposals. I wish for the MBA factor to be a quiet single digit statistic) because it’s just not in with the group-think to be enjoying your work at this stage. Most people I know are suffering from some major college hangover and as much I enjoyed LUMS, I have to make the distinction that it is Lahore I still long for, not the university.

These are a few books I'm trying to get rid off, in case you want them cheaply you can bum them off me: The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Milan Kundera); Morgan's Run(Colleen McCullough); The Lonely Sea (Alistair McLean); Orlando(Virginia Woolf); The Hungry Tide (Amitav Ghosh);Battle for God(Karen Armstrong); The Mistress of Spices(Chitra Bannerjee). Stuff I have 2 copies of so I'm going to sell the not so nice ones:Bedknobs and Broomsticks (Mary Norton); The Scarlet Pimpernel(Baronnes Orczy-who else?);Little Men(Alcott).