freedom is the freedom to choose whose slave you want to be.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006


Finally, I find my voice returning.

In bubble-induced calmness am I living it right? and the answer is an overwhelming, resounding YES, threatening to spill out of my head, coming out of my mouth instead I sing along, it oozes from my pores as satisfaction.

A strange nervousness runs through my nerves, my fingertips tingle, my voice is shaking. This is my first vacation from work. This is my second home, over lunch I was thinking today of how steaming mugs of coffee first thing in the morning in the winter how Ali P. and his camera how violent, sudden moodswings, how many months now? So will my pc stay germ-free when I'm away for three whole weeks?

There is a koiyal in the trees behind the parking lot behind the creche singing all day long, and somehow it sounds so wrong, koiyals are supposed to sing in the languid heat of Karachi, not the piercing heat of Islamabad, they are the first thing I wait to hear as soon as I get there, opening mess-bathroom windows, eucalyptus swaying in the sea-breeze, a koiyal in Islamabad is cheating.

Ammi and Papa 30 crazy years I am awestruck and humbled and in wonder.

I think I might be unearthing treasures flashes of old and new inside and I think I'm scared to step out but I'm beginning to feel whole.
Bliss, and yet not quite.


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