Seize the day

"When I first heard it, I thought someone said 'Seize the Dead'. I was repulsed. Disgusted. I wanted to throw up on the sidewalk but refrained for the sake of propriety. But then I realized what a beautiful thing it is. The who idea has a struck a chord with me. I am going to buy the movie tomorrow and visit the library, too, so I can further my understanding of the uniqueness of the idea...." and then Talha stopped, his wavering tone losing its pitch completely.

He never figured out the right time to stop. Like our actors when on stage. Our the Moulvis during Friday sermons. But we had taught Talha to stop. Like Pavlov's dog. We had proved to him the undersirability of his thoughts. The uselessness of his emotions. The impotency of his cries. We had prepared him for failure.

"Have you been to the Netty Jetty flyover, Talha?" queried Yaasir.

"Yes, any brainwaves you would like to share?"

"Stand on the edge. Try to encapsulate all that you can within one glimpse. The liners in the dock, the oil tankers, the wrapper atop the wave, the buoy and the blinking lighthouse, the small island in the middle and the distant horizon. Enjoy the silence. Savor it. See how everything happens in the stillness of the night." Yaasir just needs a reason to speak.

"And?" Talha was confused. As usual.

"Tie your left leg to a heavy stone and take the plunge. Jump off the top, superman. And land with a swish. Whatcha say to that, dumbfuck?" chortled Rizwan. Rizwan liked trampling on the trampled. No dying man should ask for Rizwan's help.

"I've to go somewhere. I'll see you guys later," and Talha left.

"Where do you get these hangerons from?" asked Najeeb.

"Bridge kay uss par!" Ganja intervened.

"Abay haan. Another reason to be prejudiced. He's from Gulshan."

"Gulistan-e-Jauhar, actually. Gulshan still has certain areas that have spacious houses. Gulistan-e-Jauhar is all about high-rise apartment complexes. Ant-hills. The home of the decadent bourgeosie. Their sloth is only exceeded by their apathy. Living life in a vaccuum. But I hear, the girls like to fuck. Which is always a good thing. Going with the natural order of things." Yassir knew when to stop.

"Is Nan-na Dallal from that area, too?" Silent Bob asked, without looking up, busy rolling.

"Thats what the grapevine says. But he surely is the biggest pimp of the city. Apparently goes around in a Civic with a Town Police Officer.. Has the hottest of whores."

"Would you buy sex?" questioned Najeeb.

"As long as its a good bargain." Shamyl had to reply. Had to be ahead of everyone else.

"So you won't even pay lip-service to religion anymore?"

"Religion is the opiate of the masses," said Shamyl. He was wearing a 'fcuk' shirt. Ironic. They are in vogue. So it the Marxian quote. Everybody who is anybody has used this quote.

"And the proletariat will die of the bubonic plague," chimed in Chaudhry. Chaudhry was generally vague and difficult. He walked with a stagger. He laughed with difficulty. And he never loved. He was too skeptical for his own good. Everyone who believed prayed for Chaudhry. Chaudhry prayed for the Candomble priests in Brazil. He was weird, ya'know.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" quizzed Shamyl. Everyone answered when Shamyl questioned. But not the new friends. Which pissed off the old friends. They could see the dichotomy.

"That the moon and the sun and the earth will be in a straight line. And the wolves of Cernogratz will howl."

"And we will listen to the 'dark side of the moon'."

"No. I'll go to Gora Kabristan, find the northern most grave and take a piss against the North wind. Who's joining me?" Chaudhry had a lot of weird ideas, too.

"I'll go with the Delta Boys. Counter-terrorist. Chaaka karooon ga. Knife out your guts and feed them to the vultures." Saim wasn't weird. He was proper.

"Parsi bachi kiya phasa lee, now he's going to feed everyone to the vultures. Is Parsi Colony bridge kay iss par aur uss par?"

"For clarity's sake, there are quite a few Parsi colonies. And Zoroastrians are rich mother-fuckers anyway. The one in Mehmoodabad, which has the 'Tower of Silence', without the vultures, is full of rich-kids, who drive decked up cars which aren't Suzuki, and generally go abroad after finishing high school. Then there's the one in Bath Island, where Cowasjee also lives. They are as posh as one gets. But this prosperity is offset by the two other communities, Panchaitwadi behind Mama Parsi School in Saddar and the one at Pakistan Chowk. Then there's one in Soldier Bazar, too, where quite a few conscientious Parsis live, and most of us have been there for tution sake. So that's five colonies that I know of. There are a few more, too, one behind Rainbow Centre, near the Fire Temple that is next to TitBits. Have you been to TitBits, anyway?

"Fuck the Bits. All I'm interested in is Tits. What the fuck will I do by knowing about the geographical displacement of the Zorastrian race. I had a Parsi girlfriend once, and she knew how to fuck. But she was anorexic. Which is a turn-on, too. But tell me, why do Parsi women work up a sweat when involved with someone not from their community? It's as bad as a Khatmal babe refusing to blow your flute because your ancestors supported the Sunni Tehrik." Chaudhry liked being politically incorrect.

"I guess I know." Chutto replied.

"As long as you keep yourself confined to the fire-worshippers, okay. If you intend to illustrate your answer by discussing the mating habits of earth bound humans or the blind Nigerian dolphins trying to tell us of our inevitable doom, than thank you. Your visa has expired anyway. Return to your native leper colony." Yassir liked being funny. He didn't like being a failure. It's ironic. Catatonic.