We are a scared generation – scared to fall in love, scared to comit, scared to fall, scared to get hurt, scared to get our hearts broken. We don’t allow anyone in, nor do we step out and love unconditionally. We lurk from behind the walls we have created ourselves, looking for love and running away the moment we really find it. We suddenly “CANNOT HANDLE” it. We don’t want to be vulnerable. We don’t want to bare our soul to anyone. We’re too guarded.
It’s this movie I just watched (Idk why had I not watched it yet, it’s a release of 2007! But still can’t help myself writing a review) and I’m unable to find the exact words to explain how I feel right now. There ain’t everything that touches your heart so deep that you can’t easily reach out of that deepness.
The movie highlights that no matter what race we are, what ethnic background, sexual orientation, or what views we may have, we are all human. Unfortunately, not all humans see it that way. Plus, it’s hope, motivation and appreciation that keeps us all going.
One thing that grabbed me so bad throughout the movie was when Erin Gruwell (the teacher), on abusing one their black classmate by drawing a doodle of his with large face and big lips, says to her students: You know what’s gonna happen when you die? You’re gonna rot in the ground, and people are going to go on living, and they’re going to forget all about you. And when you ROT, do you think it’s gonna matter whether you were an original gangsta? You’re dead, and nobody, NOBODY, is gonna want to remember you, because all you left in the world is this.
So she tells the students to write a diary. They can write WHATEVER they want, their stories, worries, poems, phrases etc. At the end she compiles them and “The Freedom Writers Diary” is created.
It’s a true story by the way.
Highly motivating and terrific!
Hats off to Hilary Swank.
I’ll give it 9/10.
When I say trauma, I mean NUST – cutting the long story short.
I swear it’s like a pressure cooker situation bumbling upon your head. Like a bell always ringing. Whenever you’re about to take a nap for even a second, the bell rings. You can’t sleep! You can’t even breathe! A string remains attached. OHTs, lab reports, quizes, assignments, reviews, reports, presentations and stuff is always and always there knocking the door endlessly like an annoying neighbour asking for something and not leaving even if you ignore them.
You have to study every f****** second! No break, no nothing. Either, you’ll fail the course. Adding another thing, you’ll study the hellll lot but there will always be that one person in the class who knows that one point you don’t know *how could you do this to me! lol* and your grade’s ruined, big times!
At the end, being a NUSTian, I love everything about NUST except this super imposed education (cramming, specifically) burden and not allowing the students (poor souls) to even breathe – they always have their breaths stuck in their throats and you can see it in their eyes I swear! 😂
“Time’s running short. Things are changing and we’re aging. And I don’t know how to deal with this constant fear of growing up..
Replacing elders and moreover being involved in the practicalities of life. Everything seems like on a rail rush, if you won’t run faster, you’ll lose it! You have to run and run and run and run as fast as you can. Either, people will crush you under their feet..
Is this life? Growing up and being constantly fearful that things won’t be the same as they used to be. That this very moment won’t revise ever!
I’m affarid of this sudden but not so sudden change!”, she thought to herself as the clock ticked 3:00am and she poked herself, put a couple of morning alarms on her phone (because who wakes up on a single alarm bell :D), closed her eyes and wished for a peaceful sleep after a real hectic day.
It’s been quite long since I’ve written something. Oh let me tell you I had a couple of really busy weeks.
I’m back with a good news!
I became Khala on 12th of February, 2016. Wali is two months old today, Alhamdulillah!
So, becoming khala is unexplainable, I swear. Everybody asks me, how do you feel about it? Like becoming an Aunt. I’m literally blank. I don’t know how to express feelings. I don’t know if this has to do something with being introvert but.. Feelings are so very, kind of, I dont know but you just can’t show them! They are inside you, in your heart, protected.
I’m always like that one child you see in the park with loads and loads of sweets yet no smile on the face- totally blank. Like, you know, sweets make kids happier but uh..
So you get it? That’s the actual scenerio. People feel really mysterious about people like me. But friend, it’s who we are. All natural. A little melancholic. A little ecstatic. Blend actually.
–So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be: The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
Oh leave this confusion! Here comes, Wali Junaid. Khala loves Wali.
This happened in the evening of 16th of October, 2015. It was cloudy, met office had predicated rain and it was in making. Phupho (my father’s sister) came into my room and sat on the bed while I sat beside her with my laptop opened in front of me. She had to check something on internet so she needed laptop and we were searching for that particular thing, googling basically!
Instantly, I smelled soil (the smell of soil we love when it rains), and with that nano second, I turned and joyfully glanced from the wide-opened-window and then from the door (towards the floor). ‘Oh! it must be raining’, I thought, as I turned. There was no rain, not even a single drop of it. The floor was as dry as July-floor.
I didn’t said anything for a second. But the next second, I asked phupho if she’d smelled something? (I didn’t said anything regarding soil-smell, just for confirmation. You know if you ask someone something pointing out the exact thing, they always agree with you, believe me). She said ‘YES! I did. It’s the smell of soil, isn’t it raining? It was predicated, It thought it is.. (she said while looking outside the window).
So we both had the same question in our minds but we remained silent and a bit shocked.
The question was:
From where our nostrils got hit by that smell?
With the next minute, my mother came into my room to call us for evening tea – compulsory in my home, it’s a small gathering every evening. I rushed into the kitchen first and told mother what we just encountered.
‘The minute I came into your room, before that, I was in the kitchen and felt footsteps behind me while I faced the stove pouring tea into the cups. I turned abruptly as if you and phupho came into the kitchen by yourselves but nobody was behind. I walked out to see if your brother or someone else came. But why would anyone run back like that, I thought. But there was no one. Your brother was sleeping, you and phupho were in your room and nobody else was home’.
I said, Oh Okay, I must have been doubted and rushed back. We had tea, after the Maghrib Prayers – a bit late than normal routine (after Asar Prayers), and phupho left and all went to normal.
I don’t know what it was!
But deep down in my heart and in my mind and in my nostrils, I thought it was something! I couldn’t forget ‘the smell’. It kept on clicking in my heart, mind and nostrils obviously for a couple days afterwards. Maybe it was my Grand father’s soul! They say good souls, even after death, come and visit you sometimes with a slight puff of wind and sometimes with sweet soft fragrance hitting your nostrils.
I don’t know if to feel this or talk about this is awkward, weird or unbelievable but it was Friday! A sacred day. Also the day the death angel took Dada G from us. We can’t forget him. I can’t forget him. He was the kind of man everybody wants in their life. He was He and nobody can be like Him.
May his soul Rest In Peace!
Ok so at first I knew nobody (most of the people around me) will watch this movie with me so I didn’t asked anyone.
I just heard people saying – while I remained silent – things like;
‘Are we mad? We’ll watch such a depressing film?’
‘People who are free or have nothing else to do will only watch Manto, not us, we have a lot more to watch obviously!’
‘No! I will never spend my money on this film!’
And much more..
So I just asked a friend whom I knew is the only who will have some interest or love for Manto. And will be the only who’ll watch it with me or even if he has no interest, he’ll still watch because I just asked him to. He’s that kind of friend you know.
Movies like Manto can never be watched with people (all in my percpective) who have no affiliation with the societal problems, issues and utter realities in short. Throughout the movie, they’ll keep on bugging you, reminding you that it’s all your fault and you made them watch it and they’re getting bored and annoyed and want-to-kill-you and things like that. This happened with me when I watched A Beautiful Mind by Ron Howard.
Manto is something that shakes you inside out. It’s a story of Sadat Hasan Manto – 20th century controversial writer who faced charges of obscenity thrice. The actual story runs after intermission of the film.
I kept my left fist clenched afterwards till the end and since I have defensive finger nails (quite long and sharp), they printed out on my palm leaving behind the deep frozen blood because I clenched really tight. Tears coming and going at intervals. Extreme goosepumps all over and heart beating my chest. I could even hear the palpitating heartbeat up in my ears. I don’t know why I felt the way I felt. I just think it’s something that shakes you even if you don’t want to be shaken up. I have no more words to explain it.
Manto is a feeling! It’s a piece of art. And it has shaken Pakistan Cinema, as well as many hearts.
All in all it is a hauntingly moving biopic which brings back Manto to life and will leave you thinking about him and his life for hours if not days.
6th of October, 2015
The sneak peak rough sketch (painting to be made) of an upcoming painting series by me very soon!
Theme: Misery and Hope