Ahoy!

I started blogging with this blog. This was my first blog, but then studies, a buckload of exams, career choices suddenly popped up and I pretty much forgot about the blog. recently, I've gotten back to blogging. Here's the address  my new blog:

http://www.tiliclearmyhead.blogspot.com/

Hope you like it. :)

                                                

Doggone

You’ve probably heard of the proverb, “every dog has its day”. Well, I never thought I’d ever use it for a dog. The dog, in question, is a bigger-than-usual black Labrador.

‘Hey Its got red eyes!’ cries Nihaad, his spectacles magnifying the wide eyes behind them.

‘To hell with its eyes! Take a load of its teeth!’ exclaims Samir, gripping the tree branch so firmly his knuckles turn white.

‘Come on, guys! Its just a bloody dog! What could it possibly do?’ says Khushhal. Everyone turns to stare at him pointedly.

‘And why don’t we just throw you down?’ yells Hasan, from his perch on the branch above me. ‘You could be , like, extortion money for dogs.’

‘Hey, shut up! No one’s making a dog-biscuit from my brother!’

That’s me. Fortunately, this is my narrative, so I can edit out the tremble in my voice. And the comments of others relating to it. Sue me for fabrication.

‘Anybody knows anything about dog-training?’ asks Samir, sounding slightly hopeful.

‘Does anyone look like they know?’

‘This is Pakistan! Even those who own dog don’t know anything about training them!’

‘Not true! I know this old man in my block, who can make his dog fetch stuff for him.’

‘Can you make it fetch something, Hasan?’

‘W-What! You… You’re gonna play fetch with it?!’ says Nihaad, with a note of hysteria in his voice.

Before anyone replies, I speak up. ‘Hey, guys… I think I got it. All we gotta do is wait for it to go take a piss. It'll probably trot over to those bushes over there. Then we hop down to freedom.’

Silence.

‘Sounds good.’

‘Yeah. I hope it drank lots of liquids.’

‘And ate a whole garbage buffet.’

‘I hope it licked clean that bottle of laxative I threw out yesterday!’

‘This is stupid!’’ cries Khushhal. Ignoring everyone glaring at him, he continues, ‘I mean, it’s a dog! A bloody animal! It'll just piss on the tree trunk!’

Silence again. I can tell no one is willing to let go of hope.

‘…Or not,’ says Khushhal, finally succumbing to hope, like everyone.

HALF AN HOUR LATER…

‘It pissed on the damn tree!’ mutters Khushhal.

‘Man! I thought even a dog needs privacy for such stuff!’ I say, with disdain.

‘Well, firstly, Its an animal. And Its Black.’ Says Hasan, matter-of-factly.

‘What?!’ yell Nihaad and Samir in unison.

‘I read somewhere that 70% of people caught urinating on public property in the US, are Black.’

‘You read such stuff?’ says Samir, incredulously.

‘Yup.’

‘Dude, that’s pretty racist too.’

‘Not if I say it. I’m Black as well.’

‘Hmm… fair enough.’

‘No! it’s still racist.’

‘Yeah? Well, sue me.’

'How do we know you even read that?!'

‘Guys, what’s it doin’ ?’ says a perplexed Nihaad, eyeing the blasted dog.

‘I think it’s stretching.’

‘For what?’

‘Its probably gonna try climbing.’

‘oh,’ says Nihaad, relaxing a bit. Then, as the realization of Hasan’s reply sets in, he yells, ‘What?! Not on my watch, it aint!’

Before anyone can stop him, he breaks off a nearby twig and thrusts it at the hound. It utters a frightening growl.

‘Yikes! Was that… was that… a roar?’ squeaks Nihaad.

‘Nah! Just a growl. Get a grip. You’re shaking so much you could set off the Richter Scale!’ scolds Hasan.

‘You don’t “set off” the Richter Scale. That’s grammatically incorrect,’ says Khushhal. Once a nerd, always a nerd.

‘Forget the freakin’ Richter Scale, he’s gonna bring down the tree with his jittering!’ yells Samir.

‘Oh crap! It's looking at me!’ gasps Nihaad. The guy’s clearly freaked out.

‘Duh! If anyone squints real hard at you, you do look like a dog bone,’ says Hasan, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

‘I think the dog heard that. Look, its squinting!’ quips Samir. Nihaad yelps.

The dog barks thrice and sits

‘Okay… I guess that’s the “throw Nihaad down, please” signal,’ says hasan, looking pointedly at Nihaad. The poor guy goes into vibrator mode again, shivering so violently that the branch he is perched on, creaks in protest.

‘Come on! Give the guy a break, will you?’ I snap.

‘Yeah, ‘cause if this branch breaks, I’ll go down with him!’ mutters Khushhal.

That’s when we hear another bark. As we all gaze in the direction of the bark, a brown bitch trots into view. It makes its way to our tree.

‘The damned thing called for reinforcements!’

‘I bet that’s its girlfriend.’

‘Hey, that’s Mrs. Alvi’s dog! I’m so telling her!’

‘What? That you saw her dog dating another dog?’

‘Let’s pray we don’t have to watch doggy coitus,’ I say, grossing out at the thought. ‘Surely, my “dogs also need privacy” theory is flawed.’

‘Uh, guys? If that’s its girlfriend, who the hell is that?!’ shouts Khushhal, pointing.

Looking to where he's pointing, we see a slightly smaller white dog also making its way to our tree. It joins the duo, which by now seem to have bored of sniffing each other.

‘That can’t be theirs!’ says Hasan, skeptically.

‘Who cares, man! I’m just glad its small.’

‘You’re right Hasan, the coat colour of the mother and the offspring should match.’

‘Oh, come on! Where do you come up with such stuff?’

‘It was an FAQ in OCR.’

‘Dude, that was a hypothetical situation!’

‘Hey, am I the only one worried about getting down from this darn tree?’ I shout, silencing the others.

‘Well genius, got another bright idea? Are we gonna wait for all three of them to take a leak?’ Hasan shoots back.

‘Guys, something just crawled into my shirt,’ says Nihaad, alarmed.

‘Relax, its probably just an ant.’

‘Or it could be a scorpion.’

‘Aaaaack!’

‘There are no scorpions in Karachi, for god’s sake! You can ask Khushhal.’

‘Khushhal…?’

‘well, apart from the one Mum killed in our store last year, yep,’ replies Khushhal, innocently.

Nihaad starts quaking uncontrollably. There’s a creaking sound and the branch on which Khushhal and Nihaad are sitting, suddenly shifts downwards. In the two minute silence that follows, everyone shares wide-eyed glances, two stunned to speak.

‘Do you think this branch’s gonna break?’ asks Samir, voice meek with terror.

‘Uh, we didn’t hear a crack, did we?’ whispers Khushhal.

CRACK!

The Branch gives in, taking Khushhal and Nihaad down with it. Samir, who is perched right below their branch, leaps off to avoid getting clipped by the falling branch. Fortunately, they’re airborne for only a short length of time, so there are no broken bones. They land right on top of small dog. The dog yelps and moves out of harm’s way just as the branch and two very terrified teens hit the ground with an ominous thud.

Thankfully, the thud scares the life out of the other two dogs as well. They speed off after the white dog, who by now, is a tiny spec in the distance. By the time Khushhal starts swearing, they’re long gone.

‘Well,’ says Hasan, as he leaps to the ground. ‘If I knew that’d work, I’d have thrown a couple of you off long ago.’ ;)

By

NADAL HADI

Picture courtesy google

Work best left to the writers...

I've always been fascinated by writers of fiction. The characters they dream up. The plots they weave. The worlds in which their characters reside. so I decided to give it a try as well. As soon as i penned down a rough draft, I knew this wasn't my thing. ;'(
I got the first inkling of failure when I made the mistake of naming the main character, after my brother. But the character i had in mind, was everything my brother was not. Not to mention, my brother was bent on being a major pain in the backside, those days. That pretty much killed my enthusiasm of writing a book, especially one about him. Hey, I'm not Newton. Gravity hits him on the head with an apple, and the guy starts proving it exists. -_-
After a few weeks of plot-making and scene setting, I read Eragon. I'm no critic, but next to Paolini's plot, mine seemed like the product of an earthworm's imagination. A very, very, unimaginative earthworm. Paolini staged whole battles, whereas the best gunfight I came up with ends when my brother farts on a naked flame, setting fire to a room full of "bad guys". Paolini's protagonist, Eragon, kills the Shade Durza- a power hungry sorcerer, possessed by spirits he unsuccessfully tries to enslave- by stabbing him in the heart. My protagonist puts an end to his nemesis, by falling onto him from a two-storey drop. Who needs weapons? =S
That's when i realized, there was never gonna be a shelf, with a book written by Nadal Hadi, on it. =P

Reading improves...?

I really don't know why people keep saying reading improves one's proficiency in the language. It never did for me. And i love reading. I've got like a whole shelf of 'em and more in two big cartons stacked away in our store 'cause there was no place to put 'em. And yet, my English sucks. It's pretty persistent about that too. =P  But i stopped correcting people making that statement when i made the mistake of correcting my English teacher. Bad idea.

I'm amazed at how some people have never read a book without any compulsion. i mean, reading has become such a routine feature that it's just really hard to imagine someone who doesn't.

i feel pity for those poor souls. they have no idea what they're missing out on. Or maybe they do, but can't do anything about it for some reason or the other. You can't pass judgement based on your thoughts and beliefs. It's never wise. :)