I finally put my finger on it.
Why do I not like truck art anymore, when I used to love it before?
I get it now.
I used to love it in Karachi.
Karachi may have its fair share of street violence but the fashion sense of its people is anything but a, "bum dhamaka."
The fashion in Karachi is demure, almost understated on some occasions. You can tell who has taste by how they carry themselves, not by what they're carrying in their hands.
Lahore on the other hand..
There are classy people in Lahore too. My beef lies with the ad nauseum usage of truck art, that of course reflects on Lahoris' general sense of... umm... generosity in fashion.
I have seen truck art in every form here. On tin boxes, in cut out letters of the alphabet, on handbags, on the hems of shalwars, on shoes, everywhere.
Except on trucks. Trucks in Lahore are usually very plain-looking.
It's just not a novelty to seek delight in here. It's in my face, and owned by young adults and middle-aged people alike.
I like(d) truck art because it showed our similarities as a culture spread across a nation that is more long in topography than it is wide.
The truck goes everywhere, across this great vertical stretch of land, and the colors of the truck stand out in the rain, smog and dust-storms.
The truck art symbolises oneness because of similarity.
Enter a barrage of other mediums that have NOTHING to do with the truck art, and yet I see the designs and colors replicated on these surfaces. Without the essence.
How is it without the essence? It gives no credit directly or indirectly to the artisans that created the culture to begin with.
Now it's a border on a hem. Not a safety precaution for night-time driving across the Khyber Pass.
I want my truck art for truck art's sake back.
It's so impossibly hard to try on a pair of white shelled sunglasses and not look like Elton John.
The awkward moment at the polling agent training that you flip an Urdu handout over for the English translation and find none.
When I was a teenager I used to love wearing my brother's t-shirts. I'd douse them with my mum's perfume so I wouldn't have to give it back to him for the day at least.
Fast forward to now, when I do the same with Ryz's t-shirts. So comfy.
Once you get into the workout habit, the healthy endocrines get to work the minute you put your shoes on.
I feel refreshed and excited already.
Not that it's tra la la fun. It's downright painful. And just so sweet at the same time.
Is this what beef-cake tastes like?
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Bismillah
Alhamdu lillah it's been more than a year and I'm still experiencing the benefits of marriage in new ways.
Like myself surrounded by seven books scattered on the bed, looking, waiting for inspiration for the perfect website name that I can not only call my own, but also take ownership of for my lifecoaching as well.
My husband is upstairs watching the European Grand Prix and he logs onto chat. I express my distress at not having a name as yet and how it's stagnating me more each day.
He comes up with a name, and what a snazzy one it is too! Not only that, he gives me a couple of tag-lines. Just like that.
I am overjoyed, we have an animated chat from a room across about the possibilities with that name.
I've now begun to tell him how marriage is a wonder each day, alhamdu lillah. He doesn't reply right away because he's watching the race as well.
Two partners in the same flat, in different rooms with their own tasks, and still the connect. Alhamdu lillah.
I was tagged because I read a blog post to follow some instructions. I kill all kinds of chains, so I guess this is the last link of this particular one. No one is tagged, no pressure, no instructions even. Enjoy.
Finished China Chowk wali movie in less than 7 minutes I think.WHY in all these kab ke bichray, jurrwa movies do both twins, who led separate childhoods in varied environments, BOTH grow up to be stunners? Why can't one be a hottie and the other resemble a blue whale, EVER? Argh!
in·ca·pac·i·tate ĭn'kə-pās'ĭ-tāt') in
tr.v. in·ca·pac·i·tat·ed, in·ca·pac·i·tat·ing, in·ca·pac·i·tates 
To watch The Big Bang Theory without Ryz and still find humor in it.
So I've covered every possible surface area in the bathroom with detergent and have put on my gloves and dampened the sponge to make the place sparkly clean and while I'm rigorously scrubbing away, thinking I'll be done in no time at all, that is the point where my nose starts to itch. So much so that I crave a sandpaper post nearby so I can get rid of the itch and get on with it already.
Sometimes I feel that Lima and I would've been married if one of us were a guy.
I saw this at the Karachi Airport while waiting at the boarding lounge for our plane. This is outside the women's bathroom. Somehow the word usage makes me think that once inside, I'd find chocolate fountains, lots of colorful origami lights hanging from the ceiling, balls of string, and miles of cloth covered with diaper rash cream.
I was in the kitchen when Ryz was watching one of the Matrix movies. I hadn't seen any and so I asked him, "Ryz yeh kaun sa part hai?"
"Yeh sab se acha part hai."
