Baji tagged me and now I'm it. I prefer to be a she. Not an it. But eh, here are my not-so-brilliant answers to the 'stick.'

You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?

You mean, which book do I want to memorize to serve as a living record? Gosh. With a craptastic memory the likes that I have, I don't know if I should volunteer to preserve anything great. I'd just get it mixed up in my head. I'm going to cop out and pick something easy – short, sweet, lyrical and fun - Now We Are Seventy-five, by A. A Milne. I'm already the Owl, I might as well become Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore and Tigger.

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

Off the top of my head, in my current state of cynical oldness, none that I can think of. You shoulda asked me this when I was a gushy teenager. Now, all I can say is I admire a lot of characters – Ivanhoe, Mercutio, Kim, Sherlock Homes, Phineas (A Separate Peace) and many more that have way more mettle, courage, ability and determination then I'll ever have.

The last book you bought is:

I don't do much book buying in Islamabad. I usually stock up when I go to Karachi, where I can get classics for 25 rupees a pop, but I haven't been there for a while. Here, I usually borrow or swap. The last book I actually paid money for was Vanity Fair. It was interesting. Not as good as the other stuff from that era, but I liked the insight it gave to society and morality and the very subdued humor and moralism that Thackery quietly laces through his story.

The last book you read:

I've been re-reading the collection that has been my library for the past five years. It's a huge mix of popular fiction, classics, anthologies, fantasy, westerns and anything else I can lay my hands on in Pakistan for a reasonable price. I'm not a reading connoisseur so much as I am simply a gourmand *urp*. I'll read nearly anything once. But yeah, my latest re-read was Gogol's Dead Souls. My latest first-time read was Paulo Coehlo's The Devil and Ms Prim.

What are you currently reading?

Lots of junks. To answer this question, I had to flop on my bed and hang my head over the side. Underneath and beside my bed there was a toppled over pile of things that I read before I go to sleep. Others were found under my pillows and blankets. My 'currently reading' bunch is a constant revolving door. Right now, it's The Brothers Karamazov, Peace Like a River, Things Fall Apart, Star Wars Tales of the Bounty Hunters (desperate times call for desperate measures *blush*), and Moby Dick.

Five books you would take to a desert island:

Maududi's Tafhimul Quran, cuz nothing beats the word of God.
Khalil Gibran's The Prophet
The Norton Anthology of Short Fiction
The Complete Websters Dictionary – you'd be surprised how interesting a dictionary can be when there's nothing else to read.
101 Ways to Get Off a Desert Island (if such a book exists)

Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?

Hemlock - I like adding to the endless pile of obligations that overachiever manages. That, and I suspect she reads stuff.
Mossy - That's what you get for trying to be invisible. Chores. Huzzah.
Crayon- It'll make her update.

Being the second-youngest in my family, I'm not very kid-friendly. It's not that I don't like kids. I do. I just don't know what to do with them. The ones that talk aren't that much of a worry to me. They ask me questions, I give them stupid answers, they laugh and tell their mommies I'm a nutter. I've helped educate a whole generation of nieces and nephews in Karachi with a firm grounding in nonsense. It's the ones that don't talk or don't talk well, the 0-3 year-olds, that make me nervous.

I guess I'm just not very experienced with them. Unlike most desis, who have extended family members coming out of their ears, we grew up sort of away from our relatives, which killed my chance of being acclimated to little people. What practice I do have with kids is at the guest level – half hours of holding them when they're happy, passing them off when they cry, talking nice, making faces and being cheerful. And for years I was spared even that much interaction, as for some odd reason, most kids would take off crying at the sight of me or at least be too petrified to bother. Vat, me scary? *raises eyebrow*

Lately though I've been spending a lot of time with little kids beyond my shallow realm and comfort zone. Or maybe it's that I'm seeing them with adult eyes for the first time. Hearing babies cry inconsolably and seemingly without reason, watching three-year olds melt-down cuz they want to eat soap, having to play mind games with toddlers so they don't paint the walls green, trying to feed an uncooperative 8-month-old who hasn’t figured out that he's upset is because he's hungry and trying to 'reason' with bebe minds has been eye-opening.

Let anyone who doubts the existence of God try to manage a child for a week. They are strange little creatures – loud, demanding, confusing, trying, inconsiderate, unreasonable, helpless and useless – and they are completely dependent on you. When they're hungry, you have to feed them, when they're dirty, you have to clean them, when they bored, you have to play with them and no they will not just for once get up and fix their own bottle. To me, the fact that the human race has endured and mothers everywhere haven't gone mad or donated their children to science is a testament to the fact that there is a higher power.

I am always amazed by the patience and strength of mothers. My friend Crayon tells me to quit looking awe-struck – "It came with the kids," she says. "Don't worry, when you have yours, it'll kick in." She, like my friend Imaan, maintains that they are the most unlikely of mothers, who never before childbirth suspected themselves of having that maternal instinct and selflessness. And yet, they have it. Beyond all self-interest, selfishness and even self-preservation, most mothers inexplicably put their children first. Enough have, anyways, to bring human kind to its unprecedented population of 6.4 billion.

And it really is lucky for babies that they're just so damn cute. They've got it all going on – giant eyes, soft skin, pudgy bodies, big heads, little toes, cooing noises and wiggling fingers – adorability in the extreme. I mean really, how else could they survive? Imagine if babies were born ugly and knobbly. Would you put up with all that grief for something that looked like an old potato? Nah, you'd chuck it out on its ear.

But it's not luck is it. Neither is the coincidence that with the birth of children, women become magical 'mothers.' There's no such thing as luck. It's all divine wisdom, from The All-Knowing, All-Aware. Subhanallah

A couple years ago Subway launched an ad campaign centered on Jared Fogel, who lost 245 pounds eating nothing but their sandwiches. Recently my friend Vora blogged about Scott Caswell - a documentary maker who lost 20 pounds eating McDonald's healthier options. He was trying to negate the findings of the film Super Size Me, where Morgan Spurlock trashed his body, gained weight, lost hair and got depressed by eating nothing but McDonald's meals.

These kinda diets are pretty popular for the lazy and unimaginative seeking a quick fix for weight loss – my kind of people. This got me thinking - I should invent my own version of the fast-food diet. What with my new boredom with food in general, I should quit wasting my time (slaving over a stove) and money (eating at restaurants) and just go for the lowest common denominator of cheap and effortless. In Pakistan, that would be shack-food - the bun kabobs, chaat and gol gappay sold on carts and at road-side stalls where refrigeration lives only in legend and hygiene is a four-letter word.

For the next couple months I would have to eat nothing but junk gleaned from shacks and stalls until I reach my goal weight, or death, whichever comes first. Breakfast would be a roti washed down by a cup of tea at my nearest dhaba (hut-restaurant). Lunch would have to be portable and easy so I'd opt for a bun-kabob, which is a lentil and beef patty on a bun or a roll paratha, the Pakistani version of a burrito. For dinner I could either have chaat – chickpea salad topped with sweet and hot sauces and fried crisps – or gol gappay – the famous round-roundies. Dieters can also whet their whistles with their choice of freshly-squeezed juice, limka (lemon soda), aloocha sharbat (plum drink), lassi (yogurt shake) or rabri milk from said purveyors.

Though my diet is not scientifically sanctioned, I'm fairly certain I can guarantee serious results within a month. After the first few days dieters are likely to be struck down with their first bout of diarrhea resulting from perished perishables. Those with weaker stomachs have probably already been battling appetite-killing heartburn from their first meal of greasy breakfast bread. By the second week, the diarrhea, if not treated, will have mutated into full-blown gastroenteritis. A good case of this is sure to help you drop at least 7 pounds. A complete three-week course of this favorite bug will have you at least three pant-sizes smaller. And as a rule of thumb, do not see your doctor. He'll only interfere with the weight-loss process.

Results for the second month are variable. Depending on the season, menu and cook hygiene, a thala customer has their choice of typhoid or intestinal parasites to add to their gastric woes- er... wonders. Both have the benefit of loss of overall body weight. Experienced dieters recommend the intestinal parasites over a typhoid case, as weight loss from dehydration is more temporary in the case of the second. The parasites, through gastric distress and food absorption, are considered more effective. One month of either illness is expected to add another 10-15 pound loss to devoted dieters who avoid meddling medical treatment.

By the third month very few followers of the thalay-diet will have avoided the eventual Hepatitis A infection. If you haven't managed to catch it yet, a drink from the nearest canal should do it, and if none is nearby, then try a handful of dirt. Hepatatis will accelerate your weight loss rate by a good extra 3 pounds a week. As a down side, it does turn you an unattractive shade of yellow and can cause some damage to your liver. But an ugly liver is a small price to pay for a sleek figure and the yellow can always be minimized with artful makeup application. As a plus, the nausea and vomiting from any brand of hepatitis will kill whatever remains of your appetite.

If you've survived to the fourth month you're probably the envy of all your fleshy friends. The dehydration, malnutrition, irritable bowels and heartburn from the thalay-diet will have melted off any unwanted body fat, and maybe some of wanted variety as well. No worries, because you know fat is for losers. And if you've been drinking untreated milk products from the corner cold-drink shack, you may even have tuberculosis, which can be a treat when you cough up your lungs along with any superfluous organs and membranes. One lung is worth at least five pounds, which is as good as a dress size.

At this point, if you want to continue your weight loss, we recommend self-inflicted appendicitis, as surgical removal of an inflamed appendix will bring your weight down by at least a pound. If you've already removed your appendix, try a limb. To cut corners and come closer to your pie in the sky goal, followers of the thalay-diet can also seek out cholera and crimerian-congo hemorrhagic fever, which though risky, can work like a charm for eliminating unwanted body fluids like blood.

Sounds like a plan man. A gross plan, but a plan nonetheless. Now all I need are some guinea pigs to try the diet on so I can film it and release it on DVD. It'll be the first documentary/horror movie. Any volunteers?

I just woke up from a 3-hour nap thanks to my cough and cold medicine. One of them makes you sleepy, the other one makes you restless, so what I got was three hours of ten minute naps. Now I feel like an elephant has been bouncing on my ribs while an octopus was squishing my brain. Yuck. If this is all slightly unintelligible, than your forgiveness please. I'm a med-head right now.

So about Lahore. It was fun. It always is. But it was also madness and haphazard in the extreme. I shall 'splain why.

Last week Abez said she wanted to go to Lahore. A blogger friend of hers was coming down to get married and that was one party Abez did not want to miss. She made plans with our friend Crayon, called up Hemlock - our very own Lahori kurri - and asked if they could come and visit. My mom said she wanted to go too, making it a full house in Crayon's car. I intended to stay home and bum about. Everything seemed good to go. Then Abez developed a cough that began sounding like bronchitis and on the day of the trip, she woke up with one of her mondo migraines.

Suddenly everything was up in the air. She couldn't or wouldn't go, for fear of vomiting on her fellow passengers. This, despite the fact that Crayon's adorable 7-year-old Choti assured her that "Well, I don't mind if you vomit on me. My little brother does that some times." With an offer like that, who can refuse? Abez, apparently. She didn't want to risk it, but insisted that we had to go, no postponements, to attend the blogger wedding. So that left me, the unexciting and anti-social Owl, to attempt to try and take her place.

Sigh. I don't make a good Abez. She's perpetually smiley and has good ideas. Smiling is something I save up for special occasions, like um, world peace, and though I do have tons of ideas, they're all for my own amusement and thus can't be recommended to anyone with good conscience. But my darling Abez, from her fluffy sick bed, had weakly called out, charging me – "Owl, take you and this noise and GO TO LAHORE OR ELSE!" Did I mention she looked threatening? I should. She did. So I went.

We made it to Lahore in good time, fuelled by chips, jellies and energy drinks (chai for me, Red Bull for the Crayon). Hemmie and Demi-Hemmie welcomed us at our usual rendezvous point and led us 'home.' I can't exactly remember what and when we managed to do in the two-and-a-half days but I have a faint recollection of it.

We:

Laughed and talked too much.
Tried to give each other sage advice on our various problems.
Ate nothing healthy.
Somehow managed to have two meals at McDonalds in two days.
Accidentally screamed profanity at the wrong bus full of gaping morons (oops).
Clocked maybe two hours of sleep each.
Dyed each other's hair (Hem, tell Demi her revenge is sweet).
Turned my fingernails purple.
Did our own voiceover for the fascinating human study of bored YOUFF at Hot Spot on a Saturday night ("Engine revving and sound system assault are both considered the siren call of young males").
Attended the Mehndi of a fellow Amreeki Muslim blogger where we pretended to be her proxy family ("Ji han, ham larki kay taraf say ain").
Were all variously tickled by the tiny fingers of Choti and her brudder.
Shared germs (COUGH!).
Kept each other entertained.
Drove home.

It was fun. Tiring, but fun. And, in the usual vacation/ road trip tradition, now I gotta say thanks to Hemlock and Crayon.

Hem no matter what you say, you're an awesome and obliging host who's great with kids – two things I aspire to. When you weren't looking I was taking notes on how to distract a three-year-old with a car fetish without resulting in a high-speed auto chase. And when are you going to share your secret to getting a crying baby to giggle? That and pretending McDonalds tastes good. ;)

And Crayon, woman, you rock. I have such respect for you for your patience and love for your kids and your generous nature. Thank you so much for sharing your kids, your car and your time with us. You're right, the trip was a learning experience. Now I know first hand the strength and honor of motherhood. Subhanallah.

Dear Blogistan,

I'm back from a weekend in Lahore. Twas much fun and Inshallah I'll tell ya'll about it sometime before the idiots who run my memory throw it all out with the recycling. For now though, I gotta take care of some unfinished bid-ness, namely, answering all your gracious questions.

Monologist:
"what's something so uniquely crazy about you?" Something uniquely crazy about me? Er… Um… I greet people with 'karate CHOP!' It's just their luck that my hands are NOT lethal weapons.

"if you could change the world, what changes would you make happen?" If I could change the world in one fell swoop, I'd pick up Bush and his band of hateful Neocons drop them in the streets of Fallujah and wait for justice to be done.

"if you had a magic lamp what would you wish for?" I'm not a wishful person. I dunno why, but when people ask me what I'd want if I could have anything, I rarely can think of an answer. But I suppose I'd wish to have great knowledge, then I'd wish to be given a position of power to utilise that knowledge, and lastly I'd ask to be always given Hidayat to know what is right.

"DO you believe in love?" Do I believe in love? Is it like aliens? Or poltergeist? Or Bush's brain? Do you either believe, or not, and then have mad conspiracies to go along with either side? As a Muslim, I'm all for conspiracies. It's our life's blood. So I'd rather be contrary and say I believe in the idea of love, but not in its Hollywood representation.

"How's the weather there?" The weather is cold and wet – NAP WEATHER! I woke up today, did all my editing at lightening speed and then stealthily crept back into bed before anyone noticed. Yay!

"does abez still live with you?" Yeah Abez is still with us, but not for long. If she continues to drive me nuts any longer I'm going to personally launch her, via trebuchet, to the hot sands of the Arabian Peninsula, from whence her husbandfriend can come and rescue her from the belly-dancing scorpions at his leisure.

"what was memorable about your childhood?" Two things stand out most in my blurry childhood memories – visits to Pakistan and visits to my grandmother's house. Both of them were amazing adventures that I think helped shape me – Pakistan with its wild lawlessness and grandma's with its beautiful welcoming security.

"how many countries have you visited?" Depends on your definition of 'visited.' When I was a kid I'd happily rattle off, to my Chicago-bound school friends, all the amazing places I'd 'visited.' I think my running count was 9. What I didn't tell them was that they were all airports. My dad is a true desi, which means that you only travel if you're going to visit a relative. Thus I've only really been to the US and Pakistan, and very recently, the UAE.

"Will you ever visit new york and meet me? " If I go down and visit the Californians, I'll have to go and visit the East-Coasters as well.

"Why is your family so awesomely cool?" Because we're heavily edited. ;)

Moiz:

"what do you think about dreadlocks?" Dreadlocks – good on your head but terrible on your arms. Thank you. That will be my epitaph.

"what was the most recent action (yours) that might be considered wierd/whacky by conventional minds???" Hah hah, you know, I don't really do things for their 'weird factor.' It's more like I do stuff and then later on I hear my family making fun of me because it apparently was an odd thing to do. Eh. To each his own.

Take for instance, last night. Last night I really REALLY wanted something sweet. But, in this house where a health nazi reigns (me!) there was none to be found. Poetic justice. So I went in search of things what could substitute for a dessert. First I ate a bit of jam on bread. It was ok, but not what I wanted. Then I found the chocolate syrup. I drank a squirt of that, but it had no chewability. Then I opened up the pantry and pulled down all the jars. From one I pulled out a handful of raisins, added some unsweetened coconut, a bit of raw oatmeal, some pistachios and lastly a pinch of sugar. I shook it all up in my palm and threw it in my mouth. I musta looked nuts as I stood in the dim kitchen with coconut all over my face and in my hair, madly looking for a sugar high. Abez came in and laughed at me. Was I appeased, no, but my tongue was too tired to carry on.

Ayan:

"How do you feel about the war of 1812 and its impact on the greater Eurasian lands, and the isolation of Russia?" I feel too strongly about the War of 1812 to dignify your question with a response.

"And as a corollary, how much longer do you think muslims will continue to claim Napolean was a convert?" I dunno if Napoleon was a convert, but he was definitely a convert-able. France's favorite megalomaniac emperor, with the simple touch of a button, could go from hand in shirt, to (for those special evenings out on the town) hand out. Amazing!

"Do you think that defenestration is a proper way to deal with opponents?" Defenestration not only is an excellent way to deal with opponents of nearly any size (French, bay, storm, Palladin or casement), but I also highly recommend it for old food, smelly socks, misbehaving children and rotten potatoes.

E:

"Who do you think is cooler, batman or superman?" No question about it, Batman is it. Why? Cuz for a while there back in highschool I…. .WAS….. BATMAN! I think it had something to do with a cape I once wore, a favorite T-shirt and a Snickers commercial.

"if you could have cake or ice cream (only one) which would you choose?" If I can't have both, then you can't have any either

"do you prefer sand to snow?" I know as a near-Arab, oppressed veiled female, camel jockey etc., I'm expected to dig sand and all things sandlike, but I don't. It's scratchy and blah. At best, all you can do is wet it, form it into balls and chuck it at your enemies, or friends if you're so inclined. Snow though, that stuff is versatile. You can eat it, wear it, sleep in it, sled on it, build with it AND chuck it. Awesome.

"which do u like the most, pigeons or rats?" Hmm… flying rats or the earthbound variety…. I take the latter. I like rodents. They're furry and sniffly and great fun.

Baji:

"what is your name?" It is Arthur, King of the Britons.
"what is your quest?" To seek the Holy Grail
"what is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?" What do you mean? An African or European swallow?

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!)

Awright kids, that's all. I must end this head-enlarging dialogue. You will now be returned to your regularly scheduled program. Thank you. Good night.

~Owl

Whoa, you know for the first day the letter post was up, I got nuttin. Twas pin drop silence up in here. My withered little heart was crushed. Or rather, it would have been if I wasn't laughing so hard at the irony. Disinterest is what I deserve.

Some of you eventually took pity on me and did send some questions. Now I must take the time from my seriously *cough* busy life *cough* to deign to answer them. So vast and pressing are the nature of the queries *COUGH* that I have to break them into chunks, lest their self-gratifying responses eat up all blog space.

Let us begin...

Nazia asks "are you going to quit your writing blogs?"

No, until I find myself in possession of a life, I will continue blogging. And knowing me, that could be a wery long time.

2scoops:

"When are you getting married?" When the flying pigs come home to roost.

"What's your favorite candy/chocolate?" Nerds are the stuff. I lush them, with their crunchy sourness. My favorite chocolate, which of course must be in a league of it's own, is anything with peanuts and peanut butter. Yum

"If you had a million gajillion dollars what would you buy first? and second and third?" If I had a gajillion dollars, and that somehow was a valid numerical value, I'd buy my parents a lovely house in the UAE to retire in. Then I'd buy-out Pakistan's corrupt bureaucracy and military, get them all one-way tickets to the US and send them off with the hopes that they'd find work in the govt there;). And last, I'd buy myself my own island, preferably Rappanui, where popcorn would be the national food and there'd be a seven-day weekend.

"Will you ever come to California and visit me and Yasmine and Arshad and Somayya and Bean?" Dunno if and when I'll ever be able to go to California. For we Mid-Westerners it’s a scary place full of people who speak valley-ese and live in sandals – very unnatural. But if I ever do get down to the US again, and have money to spare, I'm definitely going to try and see both coasts.

"What do you think about women leading mixed prayer?" About women leading mixed prayer… I dunno. I've read a bit from both sides and I can see the points each make. As far as my limited knowledge goes right now though, I don't think it's a necessary fight. It doesn't seem worth it to potentially divide our already divided Ummah over something that looks superficial. Allah will deal out justice in the next life if we have been short-changed in this one.

"What living Islamic personality/scholar etc do you respect the most?" I don't follow very many living scholars. I have attended lectures, listened to tapes and read books, but I'm not much of a groupie. My Islamic upbringing and self-education has been very catch-as-catch-can, so I'm not very well versed in the who's-who of leaders and scholars. I do respect Haroon Yahyah for trying to explain religion through logic and science. My favorite scholar is Maududi, though he isn't living. His Quranic translation with tafseer is amazing.

"Do you have any really funny jokes?" Jokes? Nah, that's Abez's department. I'm too scatterbrained to remember jokes properly. I just tell stupid stories about myself and the world at large.

"What foreign languages do you speak?" I speaka da Urdu, da very exotical English and its lesser known cousin Minglish and a wee bit of very terrible Arabic.

Dawn:

"Is there anything you'd like me to bring you from here?" You're too sweet. Really. But I'm never comfortable asking for people to bring me stuff. Thanks for remembering me though.

"What do you see yourself doing 10 years from now?" Dude, 10 years from now?! Will I even be alive then? Fine, in ten years I'll be 32, soon to be 33. I expect by then I'll either be chasing after a career or married, or a compromise between the two. I'll probably still be in journalism, but I wouldn't mind if that changes. And I hope by then I'll have a real degree. I know this is all very general, but I've really got very few corporeal ambitions. I just take life as it comes and try to make the most of whatever options are presented to me.

As a Muslim though, I hope to be far and away from where I am now. I don't want to be as egotistical, angry, impatient and destructive as I tend to be. I want to have moved beyond my own petty emotions and finally learned how to control my harmful compulsions. I want to be a pillar for my loved ones, someone who loves generously, forgives easily, teaches, respects and honors those around them. I want to be patience and virtue.

"If someone asked you the same question 10 years ago would you have been right? even close?" Hmm... what did I want to be 10 years ago? As a good little semi-desi 12-year-old, I wanted to be a doctor. Then I wanted to be a mad scientist. Later I thought I'd be the president. I haven't managed any of these things. And back then, there was no way in hell I'd even admit the possibility of me being married. Nope, I was a certified, turtified boy-hater and wasn't going to be any cootiful boy's domestic house slave. I never considered journalism as a career and never had the faintest interest in it. Journalism was for meddling Lois Lanes. I didn't want to be Lois Lane, I wanted to be Superman. And I wasn't yet a conscious Muslim, so I had none of the personal goals related to Islam I have now. So I guess little remains of the 12 year old Aniraz.

(up next: Monologist learns the secret of artistic license, Aniraz shares her epitaph with Moiz and Ayan gets window dressed.)

Dear Blogistan,

How are you? I am fine. The weather is very nice. So how about that local sports team? ….. crap, this is all I can remember about Grade 6 letter-writing with the terrible Mrs Reece. I'm going to have to wing it from here.

Degrouchyowl has been around for two years now, in one way or another. Holy moly. Seriously, for She of the Two-Second Attention Span, this has got to be a new record. Too bad it doesn't count for anything – can't cash all my bloggetyness for money or even a Chuckie Cheese kaleidoscope. And with no money, I can't even BUY a Chuckie Cheese kaleidoscope. Bummer.

But eh, in honor of my blog's oldness, and my own lack of brain power this cold and icky Ved-nes-day morning, I'm going to let you guys put some questions to me. Not that I've been stopping you in the past or anything. Nope, there is no angry horde banging down the gates of Château de Château with pressing questions like "DO YOU RECYCLE?!?!" For the record, no, but I do BIcycle. It's much the same. But rounder.

So yeah, ladies and genmen, bloggers and blurkers, you may ask me some junks if you like. And if you don’t like then you're all horrid vermicious knids. And I of course, reserve the right not to actually answer anything I think is just too weird. Hey, maybe this could be like a Dear Abby thing, but with irresponsible Owl-esque answers. I'm down for that.

And if you don't want to ask me any questions, shoo, I don't blame you. I mean come on, is there anything I haven't already nitpicked, dissected and shared on my blog anyways? Nope, nothing left, except my thoughts on The Grand Dust Bunny Conspiracy. But that's just too personal, so don't bother asking. So if you don't wanna jump in and throw queries my way, then read this (and yes I forgot to insert the link before), chump. It's good for you.

Now I go in search of sugar.

Be excellent to each other,
~Owl

Say: I seek refuge with the Lord and Cherisher of Mankind, The King (or Ruler) of Mankind, The Allah (for judge) of Mankind, from the mischief of the Whisperer (of Evil), who withdraws (after his whisper),- (the same) who whispers into the hearts of Mankind, among Jinns and among men (The Holy Quran-114)

Writing stuff that's personal and highly subjective is damn hard. I try to avoid it. But I thought I should try and write about this. If it's weird, lets blame it on the Germans. They've had it easy for too long.

Shaitan is a booger - a low down filthy little whisperer who does nothing but egg us on for the pleasure of seeing us trip up and make ourselves look stupid. He undermines our faith, fills us with dissatisfaction, stokes our anger, feeds our lust and plants seeds of disturbance in our minds. Unfortunately though, we rarely realize that it's him that's goading us, and instead we take his suggestions as our own thoughts or emotions.

4:117 Allah did curse him (Shaitan), but he said: "I will take of Thy servants a portion Marked off;

"I will mislead them, and I will create in them false desires; I will order them to slit the ears of cattle, and to deface the (fair) nature created by Allah." Whoever, forsaking Allah, takes Satan for a friend, hath of a surety suffered a loss that is manifest.

Satan makes them promises, and creates in them false desires; but Satan's promises are nothing but deception. They (his dupes) will have their dwelling in Hell, and from it they will find no way of escape. But those who believe and do deeds of righteousness,- we shall soon admit them to gardens, with rivers flowing beneath, -to dwell therein for ever. Allah's promise is the truth, and whose word can be truer than Allah's?

Ah well, as irritating as he can be, one thing has always been a very pleasant reminder for me – Shaitan can cause you no physical harm. He has no power but to suggest. He cannot hurt you except to convince you to hurt yourself. He is nothing but a pest and only has until the Day of Judgement to harass mankind before he gets his own.

I was reminded of this the other day after stupidly watching a gothic thriller. In it the devil was shown, as he usually is in the West, as being a rival to God with power all his own. He is tangible and terrible in their representation – absolute evil – and able to kill and maim. They give him the power to hurt the righteous and show people as being at the devil's mercy despite calling on their god. I found it all very disturbing.

After watching the movie, I was relieved that Islam teaches us not to fear Shaitan. Only Allah is worthy of fear, as all power originates from Him. Instead we are told to revile Shaitan, to curse him and to deafen ourselves to his suggestion. Our examples to emulate are like those of a certain companion of the prophet, who, when Shaitan saw him walking one way, would turn tail and walk the other. The Devil knew that this, one of the most upright men of faith, was too strong to tempt and would only insult him for his suggestions.

In the Quran we are advised in Al-Araf that: O ye Children of Adam! Let not Satan seduce you, in the same manner as He got your parents out of the Garden, stripping them of their raiment, to expose their shame: for he and his tribe watch you from a position where ye cannot see them: We made the evil ones friends (only) to those without faith. (7:27)

I went to sleep laughing at the movie and the idea of a powerful devil. That night though I had one of the most terrible nightmares I've had in my adult life. It was bone-chilling and surreal – my worst fears realized and me without the power to stop it. I awoke shaken and terrified. It took me nearly an hour to calm down and think straight. When I finally did, I understood. This was Shaitan, showing me that as much as he was just a whisperer, what a great threat that was for those whose defences are down - the weak, the nafsiati, the broken, the carnal – and the sleeping.

We are told in a Hadith by Abu Qatada that the the Prophet (peace be upon him) said, "A good dream is from Allah, and a bad dream is from Satan. So whoever has seen (in a dream) something he dislike, then he should spit without saliva, thrice on his left and seek refuge with Allah from Satan, for it will not harm him, and Satan cannot appear in my shape."

The beauty of power is that it exists in the hands of only those who you give it to. If you give Shaitan no power over you then he has none. Instead know that your lord is Allah - The All Powerful (Al Muqtadir) The Granter of Security (Al Mumin), The Protector (Al Waliyy) and The Responsive (Al Mujib) – and in turning to Him and trusting in Him, all your needs are met. My fear vanished once I remembered this that morning and the grip of that terrible dream went with it.

If a suggestion from Satan assail thy (mind), seek refuge with Allah. for He heareth and knoweth (all things). Those who fear Allah, when a thought of evil from Satan assaults them, bring Allah to remembrance, when lo! they see (aright)! But their brethren (the evil ones) plunge them deeper into error, and never relax (their efforts).
(The Holy Quran 7:200)

So Abez has been married, for about, um, 20 days and I'm already being bothered. Bothered by whom, you ask? Them – they the people that are trying to get me married off. Yep, them.

I wonder, when a girl gets bumped up a step on the ladder of marriagability, how does the world know. Do I look different? If there's any change, it's definitely not for the better - I grow more and more sour-faced. Do I sound different? Just more irritated, I'd wager. Do I SMELL different? *sniffs* *dies* Abez says I smell like fresh meat. Time to switch deodorants.

It's not that I'm against marriage in theory. It's a fine institution for those who need to be committed. I'm just against the way it tends to be done.

Case in point: When fathers-in-law fall in love

Mr X meets Mr Y at a dinner party. They are supporters of the same political party, followers of the same religious school of thought, speak the same language and have similar ideas about righting all the wrongs in the world. Oh and they both support Pakistan's cricket team and hate turnips. They hit it off. The evening is non-stop man-chatter. They talk and talk and can't get enough of each other. Each is blown away at meeting someone so like themselves. Turns out Mr X has a daughter. Mr Y has a son. One casually mentions their offspring's singleness and his fervent desire to find some noble family who… you get the picture. The other reciprocates with a delicate giggle. It's fate. The stars must have been aligned that night.

Problem: Kids are rarely like their parents. I know the saying is the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree, but that's only in the case of dutiful nuts with little compulsion to keep on rolling. Ornery ones like me – stubborn, rebellious and determined, we purposely roll away. And even if the acorn is much like the tree, that still means little. They may not want a similar acorn from a different tree. What's the fun in that? And sometimes the acorns just aren't interested right then and there and would prefer to be left alone.

Another case: In search of Aaminah Haq

Aunty J has a son. At 35 he's hit all his targets – masters degree, second-tier job, car and bald spot. Now all he needs is a wife. His mom knows exactly what she, er, he wants. Her favorite magazine "Thing" ran a lovely bridal suit spread last month and she was hooked. The center spread was gorgeous – stunning outfit, great lighting, wonderful background, exquisite flowers – perfect. She's cut the whole page out, along with the model who exhibited it, and has been carrying it around in her purse, idly holding it up against passing young females. Once she finds a girl who fits the mold, she'll hone in for the kill. The girl has got to be between 5'7 and 5'8, 20-20.5 years old, fair, thin, looks good in Maria B's bridal fall collection and if she freakishly resembles supermodel Aaminah Haq, then all the better.

Problem: You can't judge a book by its cover. People in general and females in specific have this forgotten attribute called personality. It's highly variant and somewhat important that one match the personality of the girl with that of the boy. Some have other bits, like beliefs, character and life ambitions. If all you're looking for is looks, then you totally deserve to end up with a psycho axe murdering beauty queen.

Another case: Buying the race horse

Mrs P has a son. He's not particularly smart, moneyed, handsome or accomplished. But that's only because he hasn't met the right woman. Mrs P knows his blossoming into Fabio is dependent on her finding him a wife. She has some killer bait to get him what he needs – their family name. She dangles it over the heads the advancement-savvy parents - "Yes, you too can be a -----! For only three easy payments of $9,999 you can join the ranks of the elite. Not only will you get respect, approach and the ability to make cops to pee their pants at the mere mention of your name. Act now and you'll also get this free fridge magnet!" In return though, she demands that the girl either be a doctor, engineer or MBA, have a foreign nationality, a sizeable dowry and be willing to shift abroad after marriage where she can expect to work to earn his keep. If the girl's lucky, she gets to keep the fridge magnet.

Problem: If a bride is merely a commodity or a cash-cow, do the in-laws retain the legal right to dispose of it when it ceases to be profitable? Does the husband ditch the wife if she suddenly becomes ill and cannot continue to provide the benefits her new family purchased her for? Or, if the in-laws come across a better prospect, do they ditch their current horse and seek the other? It is, after all, all about winning the race. Isn't it?

So many situations, so many problems, and so far to run. The theme song to my life is "Catch me if you can." The chase is on and I'm a-runnin.

BJP culpable in Gujarat pogrom
By Kranti Kumara

Fresh evidence has emerged that demonstrates that the February-March 2002 pogrom against Gujarat’s Muslim minority was orchestrated by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), the dominant partner in India’s then coalition government, and its Hindu-supremacist allies.

K.R. Narayanan, who was India’s president at the time of the Gujarat events, recently told a Malayalam-language magazine that he implored Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee to immediately deploy the army to Gujarat with orders to suppress the anti-Muslim riots, but the BJP leader ignored his pleas. “If the army had been given the powers to suppress the violence,” said Narayanan, the Gujarat riots would never have escalated into a state-wide convulsion that left more than 2,000 Muslims dead and 150,000 homeless.

....(read more)
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Israeli authorities fund rogue settlements: Official report

JERUSALEM, March 8: Israeli authorities have methodically helped to build scores of unauthorised Jewish outposts in the West Bank, said an official report set to embarrass Prime Minister Ariel Sharon's government.

The authorities either turned a blind eye to or helped finance scores of the settlements, according to extracts of the Sharon-commissioned report that were published in the Maariv newspaper on Tuesday.

...(read more)
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(This will do until I get my technosavvy Abez to re-work my blog. Anyone know how to set up a running banner with changeable links to articles? Or maybe I can put up a seperate column for news articles? If'n you smartos know how to do that, cuz lord knows I don't, I'd be much obliged. Until then, read up!)

Not blogging for that week or so was an interesting experience. After the second day I'd completely lost all compulsion to open my blog. Towards the end, I didn't even want to restart it. But I have.

Why? Cuz this is a commitment and I'm the kind of crazy fool who sticks with a commitment come hell or high water. That read like a bad dialogue from a dime-store Western. And I got to publish it anyway! Yeehaw! Let that be reason alone for why I keep up with this thing.

See this place, I made this. Heehee. :D I don't make much, much good anyways, but this is something I made and I kinda like it. It's crazy and weird and unpredictable, sorta like me, and apparently, that works. Whodathunkit.

When I started blogging I had few ambitions for what I wanted to get out of it. Mainly, I just wanted to harass my sister Abez, in true little-sisterly tradition. As I went along, I picked them up like the sillyputty that I am. I wanted this to turn me into a better writer, person, Muslim, activist and emoticant. Is that a word? It is now.

Just before I closed this place down I had decided maybe I should GIVE something too. Ask not what Blogistan can do for you, but what you can do for Blogistan. Every so often, when I'm sick of being lazy, I publicly trash myself and my blog for being a waste of time and endeavor to do more. We simple person walk in circles. Don't look at me like that, I bet you do too.

This time I decided to try and make this place a resource. It's already a billboard for my complaints and random retardedness. It's out there in cyberspace, plastered with little of value to those who take the time to decipher my scrawl. It'd be no skin off my back to occasionally share it with the work of those less complacent than myself – real writers and journalists. If I share my billboard, maybe they'll share their cool. I can always hope.

If wishes were horses than beggars would ride. I've been lead to believe that saying makes sense, so it stays. What I mean to say is, I need more than good intentions. I need help. If you guys come across interesting stuff – be it news, literature, editorials or photos – chuck them my way. I have an email address hidden somewhere around here. And anyone wanna tell me how to change the format of my layout so I can have that 'read more' button? *grins winningly*

So here's to better things. Maybe not bigger, but hopefully better.

*Scene 1 - Foyer*

My dad comes home and starts coughing. He's cut off mid hack by Owl saying "You're catching a cold. You know what that means? It means you're going to have bronchitis tomorrow if you don't take your medicine tonight. Where's the syrup?" Scrunching up his face in something that looks suspiciously like a pout he answers "I'm not sick, I just ate a carrot too quickly." I answer with a stern look that had he seen, probably would have reminded him of himself. "Carrots don't make your voice sound like that. It's a cough. We have to take care of that." I go to find his cough medicine.

*Scene 2 – Kitchen*

After slaving over a hot stove for the past hour Abez calls downstairs "Dinner's ready." My hunger having already reached critical mass, I waste no time setting the table. "Oh wait, dad's not home yet." "Really, where'd he go?" "I dunno, but we should probably wait for him" I whine, "But you know him, he'll find some friends to talk to and stay out late, completely unaware we're waiting. In the meantime, I could die." Abez sighs and turns down the rice. "That's true. Well we should wait five more minutes anyways." We eye the pot of cooling lentils and groan.

*Scene 3 – Dining room*

Dad does return before the food gets cold and his daughters turn to cannibalism. The food is taken to the table. We sit down and realize my mom isn't with us. Abez calls down the stairs "Mom, dinner's ready." We hear no response. "She's watching TV," abbu explains. "Aren't you hungry?" Abez calls to her. "I'm watching American Idols!" momma pleads. "But we're ready to eat," we answer. "Can't I just have my plate in front of the TV?" Abez sighs in defeat. "Fine!"

*Scene 4 – Family room*

Abez and I sit in the computer room talking. Mom and dad are in front of the TV. Their program ends and something else starts. "What is this?" my dad asks. Mom, who is wearing the headphones that are plugged into the TV answers "Dunno." "It looks dumb." "Yeah." "She looks weird. Is this a comedy?" "No, it's reality TV." Abez leans over and says "You guys, that stuff is trash." I second the protest "You guys were raised right! Stop rotting your brains!" "Don't you want to turn it off and go play scrabble?" They shrug "Awright awright. We're going!"

As they trudge up the stairs, one pinches the other and calls it moral support.

*fade out*

It does happen you know. You become your parents. And apparently, they you.

I have been feeling majorly crappy. Life is drama and I'm not always a willing player. I prefer to exit left, if you catch my drift. You know the saying when the going gets tough, the tough get going? Well in my instance it's when the going gets tough, the Owl wanders off and absently does all the crosswords in the house, lives on mainly raisins and sleeps too much.

But Alhamdullilah, things are looking up and Inshallah will continue to do so. Stuff can only be bad for so long before the storm stops, the clouds part and the friggin sunlight starts giving me headaches again. I'm tired of the rain. Bring on the headaches!

Even with stuff dreary, count on your friends, and sometime even random strangers, to make you smile.

Here's to Chai, who briefly went AWOL from her high-demand life to drive half way across town to our Chateu de Chateu just to check up on us. She showed up at the door with consolatory ice cream and a hug. With only a few minutes the spare, the girl managed to make everyone laugh, dole out some general good cheer and then dash off again. So the celebrity, that girl.

I got the biggest laugh from my favorite maker of pocket monsters – Choti. She's the sort of darling who could star on her own "Kids say the darndest things." Upon seeing the usually bland Owl in some seriously gaudy party face-paint said "Um, you look funny." How so, I unwittingly asked. "Well, you look like the wife of a robber who's always yelling after her husband to rob more houses. Then she goes and shouts a lot at the restaurants and drinks too much. And she's always getting him in trouble. He doesn't like her." *blinks* I'd be crying if I wasn't laughing so hard.

My little brother, who I will force to live vicariously through my blog until I can somehow convince him to get his own, also gets major props for making old stonyface crack a smile. He came home and told us this story. "Today when I was at the gym this guy walks up to me and says 'You look like one of our prophets.' I was like really? Which one? And he was like 'Jesus.' I was like 'What makes you say that?' And he answered 'Your beard and your hair, though it needs to be a little longer.' I asked him if he was sure and he said 'Yeah man, I would know. I've seen him. But don't tell anyone.'" Since then my bro insists on being addressed as Jebus, to which he gets smacks all around.

Mucho thankyous to my fellow manic volcano Crayon – who takes it upon herself to ply us with pizza, sandwiches and donuts so often we wonder what she's getting at. Fat friends is all I can guess. But thanks all the same woman. When we leave we're going to have to relearn how to cook. Or export you. ;)

May Allah bless the random dudes who fixed my car when it broke down. I love that about this country. All I had to do was pop the hood and stand there looking perplexed and the next thing you know I had my pick of volunteer mechanics. These guys pushed The Replacement Car downhill, then uphill, poked all the wiring bits, poured water in all the things that wanted some and finally got the engine to turn over and stay running. I was briefly worried that they'd steal the old bucket of bolts, but Abez reminded me that they'd have to make it run first, and if they did, they could probably have it.

And of course I'd like the thank the academy, the little people and Elvis. And the academy of little Elvises…