Welcome Back Viru…

…and Endi Joltsmann.

by Khadim Hussine

Wow, what an innings! Or so I’m told.

I missed it, and only heard about it after the fact. From all accounts it was a blistering performance and signals the much-awaited rejuvenation of arguably the most devastating batsman in world cricket… Chris Gayle, KP and MSD notwithstanding (not to mention Afridi Lala and Hawaldar Abdur Razzaq). The good Master Endi Ji has, of course, commented on the performance; inevitable, in light of his well-documented exaltation of the Delhi Destroyer.

Some excerpts from Endi Ji’s latest Confectionery Stall blog entry on Cricinfo:

Virender Sehwag has blasted his way into the cricketing history books often enough during his captivating career. He has written entire chapters about fast scoring. He has helped his country to the top of the Test rankings, and to World Cup glory. He has set new benchmarks in the illustrious athletic discipline of most-slowly-trudged singles. Now he has clattered the highest ever one-day international innings, becoming the second (a) human being and (b) stocky Indian wizard to score an ODI double-hundred. Of all great batsmen,

I don’t get lost because there is no plan

written by Shireen Rehmat

So this young fella, Moin Khan, has got it into his head to ride his 600cc Honda CBR sport bike across the world. Or at the very least from San Fransisco, USA to Lahore, Pakistan. This brave road warrior has, since July of this year, survived highways, byways and any number of underpasses, and even a potentially fatal road accident – but remains wonderfully upbeat and committed to his journey, and to his mission of boosting the image of Pakistan and Pakistanis wherever he goes.

He is presently recovering from the aforementioned accident, which occurred in Western Romania a few weeks ago, and should hopefully be back on his merry way in the coming days.

He was asked recently if he got lost very often, as he didn’t have enough cash to invest in maps, let alone any kind of GPS-driven satnav system. I love his response: “I don’t get lost because there is no plan.”

You can keep track of him through his facebook page. The Chowk Circle wishes Moin all the best and we look forward to hearing of his adventures along the way.

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>>> Update – Here are a few links to blog posts on the intrepid traveller

• Interview with Moin Khan
• Moin Khan’s Big Adventure
• Moin Khan’s ‘Different Agenda’
• From America to Pakistan

My word!

by Tehmina Begum

I have just had a look at the two lists that the Pakistan Telecommunication Authority (PTA) has issued containing, respectivey, Urdu and English words and phrases that are considered objectionable and use of which will render any SMS containing them to be blocked.

To be fair, the PTA has, since issuing the lists, stated that they merely represent the kind of words which might be considered for censorship. The final list is yet to be announced.

Apart from the usual smattering of expletives of the mc/bc variety contained in the “Urdu” list (which includes words in Punjabi and other languages spoken in the federation) are a few choice gems. I’m particularly thankful to the PTA for expunging the word “taxi” (in Urdu but not in English). This horrendous word is an affront to all taxi dilevar, oops sorry, I mean kiraey ke dilaver the world over. Also to be found is

We need more prim (and proper) ministers

posted by Jaggu

Text message sent in by viewer of Aaj Subh with Savera* − whose guest was former Karachi Nazim, Mustafa Kamal:

mustaf bhai plzz plzz plzz aap prim minster ban jaen na

The “na” at the end really underscores the poignancy of the entreaty, no?

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* The epsiode was originally telecast in October.

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It’s time…

It’s time for all good people to come to the aid of the party set

written by Shireen Rehmat

Today I saw a red and yellow sunburst Gibson Les Paul and thought, “How insignificant I am.” Musically speaking, that is.

The bodacious hunk wielding this radiant piece of instrumental sculpture resembled a dusky Woody-Harrelson-on-steroids, though his nervous demeanour and horn-rimmed specs recalled nothing so much as the young Woody Allen.

In pitch perfect Bhakkar brogue he said his name was “Wraich, Sheeda Wraich,” then proceeded to perform his entire repertoire, which consisted of chords E through G. Reluctantly, he admitted he was in the market for a guru to help him pursue his musical education. Fascinated by his instrument (and his pecs), I mumbled a casual What-Everrr.

He was reluctant to answer questions about his instrument, try to pry as much as I did. (I’ve always had a fascination for guitars, ever since I saw Michael J. Fox invent the duck walk in Back To The Future). Turns out the guitar was a fake. A cheap knock-off. A Siam sham. That was obvious the minute I took a closer look at it, the legend “Gipson” hitting me square in the face. Aiyoma.

I was so disgusted that I called an emergency session of the Executive Committee of S.N.O.B.

Extreme Measures

[Editor’s Note: This piece was written in mid 2001, shortly before the Semitic exhibition of aerobatics that changed the world (or at least some of the more or less easterly regions of it). With the dubious blessings of the Arab Spring taking centre stage in the big top of the World Media Circus (motto: “There’s a punter born every minute”) it acquires renewed significance in relation to the ongoing trials and tribulations faced by Pakistan and Pakistanis.]

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Extreme Measures
(or “Can Pakistan spawn its own Talebanesque regime”)
by Khadim Hussine

“The Taleban Islamic Movement has been received and welcomed with happiness and open arms by the people in more than two-thirds of [Afghanistan]. There is no doubt that the Taleban Movement will be received and greeted with cheerful tears in the rest of the country that is, unfortunately, still under the yoke of the forces of oppression and despotism.”
From the Official Taleban Website (www.taleban.com)

We humans do not seriously question our freedom until it is severely challenged by an external force. In general, whatever a peoples’ overall liberty relative to a given benchmark—the commonwealth of Western democracies or, the anarchic liberty of, say, certain West African tribes—they learn to survive and find some degree of contentment within their environment. It is the natural adaptability of human beings.

Closer to home we see, in the Taleban regime of Afghanistan, a glaring example of the suspension of what we today consider to be basic human rights. Over the past five years it has been the focus of growing worldwide scorn. A feeling fueled by a righteous (some would say self-righteous) media barrage of negative publicity which their latest atrocity, the destruction of the Bamian statues of Buddha, only serves to make more hysterical. Their negative image is justified.

There is little to be found worthy of applause in the Taleban scheme of things. Many supporters of the regime, who hail the formation of a “fundamentalist” Islamic theocracy, agree that Taleban tactics are not far short of barbaric.

Lately, however, I have been looking at the Afghan situation from a different angle.

Reviving the art of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat

by Khadim Hussine

In stark contrast to the Pakistan cricket team’s stubborn insistence in recent years on turning that old chestnut on its head, the unit held its nerve last night in Sharjah, achieving what in times to come may rightly be called a “famous victory”. Chasing a modest but significant target of 201 (significant only because the game was the 201st ODI to be played at the Sharjah Cricket Stadium), Sri Lanka failed, succumbing to the wiles of Pakistan’s most mercurial cricketer, who survived a potentially disastrous tumble in the field to polish off the middle and lower order Sri Lankan batsmen with his customary aplomb.

Earlier, Pakistan’s X-man had succeeded in restraining his normal inclination towards feeble savagery to help the team post what the television commentators like to call a defendable total. He ended up scoring 75 off 65 deliveries, following that up with bowling figures of 5 for 35.

The fact that the team, this time around, consisted almost entirely of one man, Mercurial Shahid Khan Afridi, takes nothing away from the squad as a whole. He was playing for the team to win and the team backed him all (or at least much of) the way. Despite his frustratingly cavalier attitude towards not only his batting but his place in the side, his commitment to the team has never, to my mind, been in doubt. One can only hope that he stores his new-found (relative) batting restraint somewhere in the general region of the right side of his unfathomably flighty brain where it might act to curb his natural exuberance.

With a billion stars all around

A craven capriccio in watercolour on papier mâché
translated and posted by Jaggu

I caught you napping in the office yesterday. You don’t know that I did. (I didn’t want to embarrass you.)

You were slumped in your plush recliner – snoring gently – head back – Pert Plus hair a mess – pert nose pointing up towards an emulsion sky – sallow cheeks glowing – gloating eyes shut – crow’s feet out for a leisurely stroll in the park. Your nail-bitten hands, ordinarily hotbeds of nervous energy, lay cupped in your lap, palms upward, as if tenderly cradling a pair of soft, warm chickadees.

I stood silently at the door to your room, mouth open, loopily drinking in the pleasing scene. Able, for the first time since I think I fell in lust with you, to stare longingly, and for long, at your

Just because you’re paranoid…

Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you!

by Curry Mullah

Listen, I must warn you to be on your guard against well spoken, pant-shirted young men and women who will approach you with a smile and proceed to engage you in lively conversation which sooner or later turns to matters of a spiritual nature. Lulled by their sophistication and tolerable English accents, you may think they belong to a new breed of foreign-educated type youngster with a more balanced view of the relationship between the spiritual and the secular than you or I hold.

Do not be fooled.

These seemingly innocuous youths prey in packs on unsuspecting punters in yet another chapter in the sordid saga of the cabal of parties green, and their annoying attempts at brainwashing those of us with better sense.

What is disturbing about this latest attempt to draw us into the fold of organized spirituality is that it displays a level of subtlety hitherto not employed by these un-suited miscreants, who are more adept at

A momentary cessation of that vision thingy

by Tehmina Begum

My eyes are blinded by the darkness on the other side of town, although another of my ilk blinks, complaining of the midday glare and of the inadequacy of the tint on his spangly new Oakleys. I blow him a kiss, which just happens to sound, and taste, like an unripe raspberry: a little tart. By which I mean to say the raspberry is. And him, come to think of it. Though don’t tell the little fart I said so. He has a dark, brooding intensity, and tastes absolutely yummy. I haven’t tired of him yet.

Bespectacled am I too, thanks to the orphaned optician, and myopically wide-eyed, ’cause the dark spectacle has left an indelible impression, some two inches across, upon the yellowing canvas about me – mostly blank from laziness and idle idolatry and wilful supplication to the will of a lot of insecure and terminally sinecured professors of syphilitic invocation, members all of the Society for the Promotion of Sybaritic Devotion Amongst the Great Unwashed.

You may call me

Life, The Univers (Bold) and Everything…

Life, The Univers (Bold) and Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex But Didn’t Realise You Could Ask

posted by Jaggu

And after all these incidents of faux terrorism, what have we learnt? That life in the 21st Century is cheap? Heck, that’s always been the case. Throughout history, human life has been worth little more than your common or garden variety of road kill. Take the ancient Carthaginians, or medieval inquisition victims, or even the displaced Africans of 19th Century United States.

The real lesson here is that human beings were, are and always will be the most vicious, avaricious, self-serving of God’s myriad psychopathic creatures. We are also the most short-sighted – barring Prithviraj the Particularly Myopic Rhino. (Thus the profusion of opticians and optometrists in today’s vocationally-obsessed world.)

I myself have worn specatacles since the age of six (which period in human terms is very long, however you calculate it). Without them I cannot see very well. I definintely cannot drive (safely, anyway). And I have trouble focussing on objectified examples of the opposite sex. But I’ll tell you what: The world does look so much lovelier this way. Blurred and amorphous, I can drink in a view of the world that is subjective, more open to personal interpretation, and which I can make conform to my own personal view of how it should be. In fact, I urge researchers in the field to modify the currently popular Lasik surgery technique, turning it on its head, to convert 20-20 eyesight into chronic myopia.

On reflection,