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Things Pakistani Girlfriends Say


In all my years (only 20, though I love to use the expression) I have never encountered the situation I’m going to write about here. These facts have been described here after years of bragging and boasting of my friends, making me jealous of them having strong ties to the members of the opposite gender, being of the same age group and not amongst the family. And sometimes these strong ties were complimented by involvement of their feelings making them even more affectionate, and naturally making the ratio and quality of their boasts and brags even higher. All in a nutshell, they had girlfriends, I didn’t.

Love does make a man stupid, I am a witness o this fact. As soon as my friends got involved in their relationships, they started acting strange and the things they boasted about fulfilled the requirement of humor for my mind for at least a day.

For instance a very close friend of mine used to giggle as he boasted, “Usman, you just can’t imagine how good it feels when she asks me for something, like the other day she asked me to send her some mobile credit. She thinks so big of me, she asks this favor every day. She gives me the opportunity to serve her every day :’) I’m so in love”

Most of the friends I come in contact with are Pakistanis and the one’s having girlfriends are almost all in a relation with the members of the same nationality. They tell me the weirdest things their girlfriends say and they think it’s perfectly alright in fact they regard them as cute. Some of them are:

  • The strange names they give to their counter parts like, ‘Jaaaaaaanuuuuuu Babbbbbyyyyyyyyy’ ‘Melaaaa Shonaaaaa’ ‘Koooochiiiiiii Koooooooooooo’ ‘Cocomooooooooo’ cuppycakeeee’.


  • The strange jealousy they have with a female colleague of yours. “Who was she?” o just an old class fellow, “May she rot in the deepest dungeons of hell with Beelzebub”



  • You just got hit by a car, and she says, “Oh my God, Are you all right? What happened” and after making sure that you’re completely alright or slightly injured she utters, “What the hell were you thinking, why are you so careless, what would I do without you, you could’ve died, you don’t care about me, I know its all because I’m ugly and you don’t love me anymore”


  • She texts, “hey baby” it’s perfectly fine. You text “Hello honey” she replies, “Haya karo thoree, auqat men raho apni” (have some shame and stay in your limits)


  • Her birthday, you give her a chanel wrist watch, a teddy bear, a pack of rochers and a big birthday cake. Your birthday, a cheap dairy milk chocolate and trust me, some of my friends say it is the best gift ever as she gave the chocolate with love. Yeah right, Can love be cheaper than this.


  • You forget to text her in the morning at the usual 7 AM, you realize this at 7:15 and you text her, “Good morning honey”, the reply devastating, “Go Die”.


  • Her dog dies, the result, you are comforting her for the next week. Your uncle dies, the result, same.


Once again I would like to mention here that these experiences have nothing to do with me, they are just some of the things my friends tell me. Yet I have not experienced the feeling of love except for when I hear some thing frying in the kitchen or when I see my brother getting out of the car with an extra soda in his hand.


But this girlfriend affair, I’m saved by the nature till now and the ones who are beginning to enter this strange covalent bond, I’d warn them that please, stay away as long as you can.


The Chronicles of a Potential Terrorist (Part 3)


part 2: ( )

Day 106

I am so excited today. Keith is taking me tomorrow to that place he told me about 3 weeks ago. We had a suicide blast at the start of this week which caused an enormous damage. A mosque was targeted this time, yes a mosque. The authors of theses drone attacks are a bunch of goofs. No, not them, our government is a beautiful composure of idiotic brains. I mean this is just pointless. For the attackers, this is just a mere excuse that we are manufacturing terrorists here because clearly a person attacking a mosque and blowing himself up is in no way considered a Muslim, even in some of the extremist sects, which is a very rare instance. So what seems to me is that the authors of the drones are generating these suicide blasts themselves. But why? Why us? We are not doing any thing illegal here. We had families too, our children used to go to schools and leisure areas too. Aren’t we normal people? What crime did we commit? There were no deaths fortunately in the blast, just some minor injuries, as the blast did not occur in the mosque but at its gate. And not even during the prayer time. I’ve been thinking a lot about why did they choose such a time. Why not during a prayer time. It seems that the intent was not to harm anyone physically but just spread terror. I have my mind set right now on the place I’m going to visit tomorrow. Finally I’ll get to help someone, I’ll get to feel the goodness of helping the poor and the suffering. What am I thinking? Am I not poor? Am I not the one suffering in life? What has brought this change in me? I’ve been visiting the graveyard every single day for the past 106 days. If I be completely honest, my children’s graves are the secondary factor that pulls me to the graveyard, the sweet words of Quran’s Recitation being the first. Although I don’t get the meaning of the verses, still the relaxing sensation is unexplainable.

Day 108


Keith is wealthy man, as I found out during the 4 hour drive to Muhammad Khel, another area of Federally Administered Tribal Areas, up towards the north from my village. Mohammad Khel is one of those areas which is constantly hit by drones, just like ours but it has more recognition in the country for it is very famous for the lamb curry made at a local restaurant there, hence the reason for the rehab  camp so the NGOs working for so called charity will extract more fame. The journey was not boring, we mostly talked about the therapy and how it helped, with occasional cigarettes, smuggled from Afghanistan, Marlboro formerly known as Phillip Morris. There was not as big a camp as I expected, some 70 – 100 people residing under it temporarily until the NGOs help them find a replacement for their demolished houses in result of the attacks. Keith was right. To help them, these people just like us, is like restoring our lives, or at least trying to see the happiness in other people’s eyes which our eyes are lacking for a long time and surely which is not gonna appear any time soon. Keith and I were the only ones who were amongst the victims and were also volunteers to help others. No one knew that except us. Keith told me he had found the place about 2 months ago when a friend of his came to visit him in our village. His friend being a Muslim had a long beard, and wore thick spectacles. He wore a woolen cap at all times, or at least for a day and a half we stayed there. But there was something about this man, something very different than other Muslims. His attire and expression was not at all polite infact his voice was a bit scary. His words, never illogical as he justified every thing he said by a logic afterwards. We stayed the night at his house, a big single story house, barricaded by big fortified walls having burges in them. Barbed wire ran over them. I was surprised at this and upon my asking Keith, he told me that his friend also very wealthy, rented this place for the rehab. I woke up at night and I noticed that Keith was not present, I went to the hallway, and I heard laughter and talks from another room nearby, peeking in I saw Keith and his Big Bearded friend. Keith was drinking, I’m quite sure of that, his friend also had a glass in his hand but didn’t seem drunk and the glass was almost empty. I went back to our room and slept after staring at the roof for at least 40 minutes. When we were leaving the next morning, His friend, Mr. Daud Khan asked me that did I enjoy my stay here and how did it feel to help the others, I ddint lie, it was pretty good. After a long long time I felt alive again. And I thanked him for his hospitality and even after the little event during the night, I promised him that I will come again next week because I want to be able to make something out of my life again. Keith is not the sort of person who doesn’t get your gestures and body language quite easily. Upon his asking I told him of what I saw at night, he smiled and said, Daud Khan will never drink, but his hospitality is remarkable, as he specially arranged it for me. He was just having a soda. I believed him, or maybe I wanted to believe him. But I was certain of one thing, I would see a lot of Daud khan in the upcoming weeks as in my life, I had already started a new chapter of my life in Mohammad Khel.


Day 109

I have started my first Surah of Quran Today after an inspiring and amazing story that how Quran calms the heart I heard at therapy today. I want to be able to pray too, and I’m certain one day I will. I learned a very good thing about Keith today, he listened to the story of Quran very calmly and smiled at the end and clapped too. This is how a man should be. But at my shop today two of my regular customers, a gardener and Kamal Khan’s brother just gave me the hint that I should keep a little distance from Keith. You never know about these Christians, they said, they may turn out to be the sepents under the flower. I felt bad about them, look at how Keith listened to the story of Quran with such patience, while us Muslims, we cant even stand them. I’m feeling a little down today, probably will miss therapy tomorrow. At least Daud Khan is not like them, I mis judged him, he is a man of honor. I wish I could go to Mohammad Khel again very soon.

To be continued…

The Chronicles of a Potential Terrorist (Part 2)


( part 1 : )

Day 82

The past 4 days have been better than the last two months. Keith and I have really started to bond, I don’t know why but he has this strange sort of pain in his eyes that just keeps me going to make him happy and on the other hand it gives me a reason to survive a bit I guess because, the agony he has faced is somehow or the other similar to mine. There was another attack on Wednesday, they hit a school this time, and the two customers at my shop were saying “luckily there were only 2 killed and half a dozen injured. Only the watchman and the janitor killed while the pedestrians on the street were merely bruised”.

Lucky? Merely bruised? What is this world coming to? What is this land of my forefathers coming to? The pity and pain for the loss of a single life has been banished to the deepest dungeons of our hearts. The two closest beings in my life have passed away due to these attacks and even I cant empathize with them, those little innocent souls, wondering what to play next, desiring to adopt the profession of a pilot when they grow up, excited about the day they were going to start their college, but feeling the pressure of that instant when the rocket hit, that fire, that blast… I can’t, my imagination stops me from going any farther. I haven’t been able to write and missed the entries for the past 4 days because the day after the last entry, I think it was a Tuesday, I went to Keith’s place after the therapy and forgot the journal there. Keith did not come to the therapy for 2 days, and when I knocked on his door the next morning, no one came out. I thought he had left the village yet again. But the next day he turned up and told the group that he was ill. I asked after the therapy that I went to his place but no one was there, I told him that I knocked several times. Then he said he remembered faintly that someone was knocking on the door. It was obvious that he was lying. I’m dead sure that he tried to bail again but something pulled him back. I wonder what that is. I asked for my journal and he brought it to the therapy next morning.

Day 83

Abdus Salaam, the young guy who used to sit next to me before I started to sit with Keith, has not been attending therapy for the past 3 days. This is the thing I’ve begin to like about this therapy. The brotherhood, its restoration after a long time. We have started to care for each other for instance the day I went to visit Keith, Aslam Ali accompanied me, and helped me by occupying my mind with little puns and riddles. The force that compelled him to accompany me is the brotherhood I’m talking about, and even the reason why I went to visit Keith in the first place is the same. But every rose has its spikes. Aslam Ali once again accompanied me to the residence of a member of our group, Abdus Salaam, the call centre employee at a telecom company franchise nearby. This time, upon our knocking the door, it opened a bit by itself. My companion said that we shouldn’t go inside, it is against the morals. But I did not have a good feeling about the appearance of the house. It was all dusty and lacking fresh air. The windows were closed. There was an upper story, which we approached slowly and wishing that we were imagining things after confirming that there was no one present at the ground floor. It only had one room and an open terrace. Slowly we walked to the door of that room, knocking it gently at first then banging it brutally. Aslam Ali was screaming out his name, and I was not sure what to do. After a very long minute, we decided to break it down. The door was not locked by keys instead only a steel wire was wound around the door knob and the nail in the wall, as if it was a last favor from Abdus Salaam in this world for the persons who discovered him hanging from a rope tied to the fan. This was the first corpse I had seen, the cause of which’s death was strangulation, voluntary or involuntary. How lifeless he looked, eyes closed, a bit of his tongue between his teeth, face bluish and the red marks around his neck. He did not have a beard, Aslam Ali however had one and it was soaked with tears at the moment. I grabbed him and bolted out the door as fast as I could, but during this act, my eyes caught something on the door, it had a carving on the inside, not the type that is done by the carpenters or the manufacturers of the door but a carving that looked like it had been done by a nail or a knife. It read:

هيله من يم، مرګ ښه احساس کوي

I hope there’s a better feeling in death

He was buried next to his parents who were killed in the first ever attack experienced by our area. Kamal Khan’s children and wife were there, yet again reciting Surah Yaseen.

Day 84

Therapy was cancelled today, after the incident yesterday, at the graveyard we all thought that it would be better if we just take a day off. The carving on the door has been bugging me and it did not help me sleep last night. The carving itself, or the words are not the things occupying all my attention but the feeling when he would have wrote those words, what would he be thinking, how did he drink the last glass of water, how did he write for the last time, how did he breathe for the last time deliberately…

I went to Keith’s place today, he was drinking. I did not interrupt him, nor did I express any opinion on his act. We didn’t talk for a while. During the time we were in each other’s company yet solitary, I was thinking how does he drink? Hi father passed away a long time ago. He has been living here among us, and as far as I know, there is no vendor. But these people have their links, and I decided to let the matter go. I finally started talking, and asked him how he was doing. He was good and after making the formal small talk, he snorted as he tried to joke about not being able to offer me the drink he was consuming. And just like that the incident was forgotten for some good 40 50 minutes until the topic of therapy came up and we both went a bit silent. I was about to leave when he blurted out that he lied about being ill, and he had gone somewhere. I behaved impassive and asked where did he go then? “It’s a rehabilitation program for the victims, I go there to help once in a while. It relaxes my soul” he said. Upon my asking that why did he lie about that, he said that if people were to find out that the village situated about four hours’ drive from here are being facilitated with a rehab program, they won’t like it and neither would they like the fellow who drives 4 hours to participate.

“I’ll take you there someday if you want me to” he said. Sure I replied, why not.

To be continued…

part 3: ( )

The Chronicles of a Potential Terrorist (part 1)

images (4)   Any resemblance of events or persons in this article to the real life is purely coincidential.

Name: Azmat Khan

Birth Religion: Islam

Age: 27

Marital Status: Divorced (2 children)

A Drone victim. The wife finally agreed to hand over the custody of children, killed in a drone attack two weeks after the gain of custody, he was out in his general store (a shopkeeper) when he got the news.

Day 75 (after the incident)

25 other houses have been hit by the drones till now, and my beloved friend Kamal Khan has passed away in the latest. They said that all of his body has not yet been discovered. When are these attacks going to stop. How many times will I tell them that money is not going to replace Amir and Asma, the light of my eyes which these savages snatched from me. How many times will I have to tell them that there are no terrorist activities going on in this area, we are a part of Pakistan as well, why are we being neglected, why is there no governmental shoulder present for us to cry on. I don’t know why I come to my shop every day, why am I earning money, what is my reason to live? But I guess this is what Islam preaches and teaches us, Life moves on, we have to be patient. But all I ask is why, why us? How many more of us? How many friends, brothers, daughters, sons, parents will it take? Is it ever going to stop? I have not seen or sensed a single argumentative or strange activity here in the past 27 years of my life, then why are they even saying this? Are we not a part of Pakistan? I have been going to a therapy sort of session for the past week though. I started writing the diary after that, and I can’t lie, its helping. It isn’t basically a therapy, just some of us, aggrieved by the attacks, sit in a circle, talk about our life after the incident. I know all of them except the one who started the program, Keith, he isn’t a Muslim, and doesn’t talk much too. Just asks us all turn by turn to share and keeps to himself the rest of the time. He shares his thoughts and events at his turn, does’nt mention the incident he weeps of. No one does, and no one presses any one to discuss that matter, no one’s curious, because none of us wants to keep that in our memory. I haven’t been praying for a long time now. I hope that changes, I want to know how being pious feels, I want to know the force that compels us to prostrate before Allah 5 times a day, I want to experience the feeling they call ‘Inner Peace’.

Day 76

I talked of the sales and the purchase of my goods at the therapy session today, and explained how the business runs. every one applauded, how dead I felt inside, asking myself why are you being applauded at, you don’t live in this world any more, you don’t know anything about the profits of your sales for the past 2 and a half months now, but I managed a dead smile, every one replied with a smile too, except Keith, he gave me a brief stare and then went back to looking at the roof and applauding apathetically. I saw on the news today that our Prime Minister has finally passed a statement condemning the drone attacks. I wonder if that will make any difference, because no one actually has ever visited this place, no politicians, no leaders just some NGOs providing us a little food and taking a lot of pictures and videos. I still don’t get why they give us the food, we aren’t starving, at least not for food. Keith as I found out at the beginning of therapy, was living in the area for quite a long time, and he is the one who started the whole program so I guess the guy has been a victim of the attack for a very long time because I simply can never think of doing such thing, not even after a whole year. I saw Kamal Khan’s little daughter today, she and her mother were sitting beside the grave of my late friend when I went to my children’s graves. They were reciting ‘Surah Yaseen’, form the Quran. They looked so much at peace, their faces were patient and they had stopped crying. I have however not stopped crying. Every night, every morning, the only time I’m not crying from my eyes is when I am writing or when I’m at therapy. At that time, only my heart’s crying. Allah help me, for I can’t see what am I going to do, I have no faith in life.

Day 77

The therapy session was good today, I went a bit late, the only seat empty was next to Keith’s so I sat with him today. We ended up talking after the therapy session. He’s a pretty honest and straight forward person. I didn’t ask, he just spoke it all out when he saw me with no wedding ring on my finger. He thought I didn’t marry so he said “Good job there, you choose wisely not to marry” pointing to my finger. Upon my informing him that I got married and divorced, he told me his story, and for the first time after almost 3 months, I felt bad for anyone other than me. His father came to Pakistan a a long time ago, and had some problems with immigration and couldn’t go back. He had a wife, he was married for 6 years, living in the nearby village, he found out that she had been cheating at him with a friend of his for the past 4 four years. He had no children, but he loved his wife sincerely. So even after finding that out, he closed his eyes of everything and for 4 years he had been living with his immoral yet beloved wife until the drone attack killed her in front of his eyes. But the saddest bit of his story was that his wife, dying in his arms, called out the name of her other lover, the friend of Keith. And after the whole incident, he did not know either to feel grieved or angry. He has moved several times to different villages to get away from things, but all in vain. When he moved here he thought this was the place where there were more people like him, more of the drone victims. And after a lot of thinking and consultation with others had started the therapy. The tears that dripped from his cheeks when he was telling me the story still had the image of his wife in them, even after finding out the differences in strength of their love. how can a person be so strong yet entirely weak. Why am I going to a therapy? Its for people who want to live. Do I want to live? Do I want to find a meaning in life? Is there any hope in my heart? I asked Kamal Khan’s brother to come to therapy, he replied, “I find the best therapy in prayer”. How I envied him.

To be Continued…

( part 2 : )

The One That Got Away Cover

A fragment from the acoustic cover of the song ‘The one that got away’ by Katy Perry. Feedback required.


Hey there delilah cover

A simple but fairly beginner and amateur cover of the song hey there delilah by the band, PLAIN WHITE T’S


Do help out with feedback

Can you solve the mystery? (Part 1)


Based on true events

A girl was friends with a guy in the city of Faisalabad, Pakistan. She was a university student, doing her masters in business administration. The guy was employed in a bank as an accountant, and was earning a good salary. Now the girl had started to feel something in her heart for the guy for quite sometime now and she decided that it was time that she let her feelings out. So one pleasant day she informed the guy of her feelings, but surprisingly for her she was turned down as the guy had his interest elsewhere. But if there’s one thing this girl had, it was consistency. She did not lose hope as she and the guy very close in terms of friendship. On the other hand, the man was not surprised at all as he had suspected this for sometime now and was prepared for this.


This situation continued for a long time, she insisted, he apologized as it could never happen. Fed up of all the insisting, he turned off his cell phone and changed his number. This had an adverse effect. She started calling the phone at his residence, which led to the involvement of his family members. They all got to know what was going on now, they decided to return the favor and inform her family members of the situation so they would at least stop her from creating all this fuss. But the situation got worse as the girl’s mother took the girl’s side and insisted the guy’s family to consider their relationship.


This continued for some time, then one day, frustrated from all the phone calls, the guy’s family along with him went to the girl’s house and strictly forbade them to contact them again, threatening to involve the cops in the matter, ironic because they were about to get involved anyway.



The guy got a phone call from the police station the next morning, informing him that the girl had committed suicide as she shot herself in the temple. They wanted him to come down to the station and give in his statement. Devastated from the news, he went to the police station the same day and found out what had happened. After his family departed from the girl’s house the previous day, the girl still insisted and cried in front of her family. Ultimately the girl’s strict parents kicked her out of the house as she had caused them enough trouble, more than once caught talking to different ill reputed men in the neighborhood, seen by many reputable family friends which caused the overturn of the family’s good reputation and now this incident at the night screaming and crying loudly waking up the whole street. She went to her widowed rich paternal uncle’s residence after the kicking out. And there the next morning had shot herself in the head. He gave them the required statement and left the police station.


He somehow after 2 days felt a bit relieved that the matter had ended and he could finally start fresh. The same day in the evening, a police officer came knocking on this door demanding his arrest. Confused he went to the police station with the officer and found the reason.


The autopsy report:


The gun found at the spot of the SUICIDE belonged to the paternal uncle of the girl, it was empty, and as it showed, there was only a single bullet in it previously which was shot at the girl’s temple. The shot had been fired from more than 15 feet away. The girl’s body had some struggle marks around her wrists but no prints, the gun only had the girl’s prints on it.


The paternal uncle had claimed to see the face of the guy from his window, didn’t remember it distinctly but he said in his sleep he got up for a second or two and saw the face of the guy.

The guy on the other hand did not have a strong alibi as he was sleeping at the time and no one except his mother and sisters could vouch for him and even they were not present in his room.


He had the strongest motive to kill, the parents, although who had kicked her out, were still parents and would be the last ones to be suspected, the angry brother who always had to face embarrassment as his friends and the society made fun of his sister and him or the paternal uncle to whom the gun belonged?


Can you solve the mystery? Who was it?