i have, as it turns out, yet again managed to get myself into this situation:
waiting for a red eye flight in a few hours, unable to sleep, and yet so tired i could pass out any moment, with the only thing holding me back being the prospect of not ever waking up in time if i fell asleep, and missing the flight. and all along with this, the attendant lifting up of healthy inhibitions on blogging too freely.

as they say, deja vu all over again.
and all for the second time in less than two weeks.

has it ever happened that you end up outside the watan and exhausted after a full day and night’s chatter, end up listening to good afghan music in the early wee hours of the morning and you feel your heart is overcome with strong feelings for this country -which, incidentally, you can’t understand why you even remotely like, leave alone love with a passion. and especially if the singer is someone like zahir huwaida, and the song is, let’s say, something like the timeless classic
شنیدم از اینجا سفر می کنی
and the lyrics by bariq shafiee equally good, and you are overcome with this incredibly powerful sense of nostalgia. a bewildering amalgam of the sublime and the surreal.
a feeling you cannot describe -and however cliche this sounds, this, i am convinced is one of those few right instances to throw this in.
and all of this to someone cynical, and when it comes to spotting and pointing out cliches and cheesy platitudes, ruthless and unforgiving.

do yourself the favor of watching this song on youtube -i don’t dole out many youtube links on this blog, but this one i want to put here in case i want to return to it. and while there are those ubiquitous bollywood frames, all the same, do a momentary and voluntary suspension of disbelief and cynicism, and also look for that scene of the daar-ul-aman in 0:35 (i see the ruins of the old palace six, and sometimes, seven days a week as i go to work a few hundred meters away from it, and though sometimes i forget, at other times, like when i am looking at this clip right now and listening to this song, i have a distinct understanding that it has stood there for the past nearly 8 decades, and that it has seen better days, and hosted great receptions, and sheltered kings and emperors, artists and performers, soldiers and spies and in its later life, stray animals and drug addicts.)

and, by the way, as you plan to listen to this song, and if you are an afghan undergrad student abroad still in your sophomore year or lower, keep a box of tissues close by.

otherwise, if you are out of school and working, or worse, working where at times it involves sitting across warriors turned peacemakers and spooks turned scholars and lawbreakers turned legislators, and chattering away all day until you cannot take it anymore because people are so fixated and cynical and do stuff out of habit more than anything else, then in that case you don’t need the tissues. but still listen to the song because otherwise it is a slippery slope where you will change and change and change and before soon you will not even enjoy listening to the song, and you will cease to understand why others enjoy it and then you won’t recognize yourself no more and delete this blog and what not.
you must hold on for dear life to some of these things.

i should, at some point in the next ten minutes, try to begin packing for this trip too. or else i will keep talking to myself like a madman ad nauseam -in the process imposing my restless conscience and melancholy soliloquys on innocent bystanders and readers.

also, and in case you were wondering because of that earlier post, the missus could not join me here because, well, i had brought over the brief that contains both of our passports. silly me.

شنیدم از اینجا سفر می کنی
تو آهنگ شهر دگر می کنی

also, for a diversion, take a look at this:

another world is just a wish away

otherwise, life is good. it goes on. shopping still proves therapeutic. water against the skin still feels great. polite people and people with character are a joy. there is scope to be thankful -thanks god for the vanity fair magazine and annie leibovitz photography, for instance. and packing is still a pain in the neck and a fucking waste of time.


~ by safrang on March 25, 2009.

6 Responses to “tired-ii”

  1. Hamesha, you are just a great writer.. especially when you are tired :).. kidding.. you are always a great writer.
    I love this song and this singer.. I had a huge crash on Howaida when I was younger.. and yes, I know that feeling, that feeling of belonging and longing that is against any reason and takes you over when you know that there is not much left in that country to like or have a passion for.. but still.. it happens..

  2. ………merpeople? (merpersons?)

  3. “also, and in case you were wondering because of that earlier post, the missus could not join me here because, well, i had brought over the brief that contains both of our passports. silly me.”
    –if I were her, and denied such an excursion, I would advise you seek asylum wherever you are right now. That is just out of concern for your possible inability to stand the musht-o-laghat that may be waiting for you.

  4. dear haesha,
    what do you think about this:

  5. sorry for misspelling hamesha

  6. dear haatef,
    i wrote something on safrang quoting the brooks op-ed. see
    for my thoughts on this -and the krauthammer quote on your blog. thanks for sharing.

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