“I think he likes you” said Asma as soon as I hung up on Kashaf my colleague. Totally baffled by the love premonition from an old chum I could only manage “what makes you think so” and came that sagacious smile that most people tend to throw when they think they are right.

“Well.. you know a lot of things , like lately you mention him a lot his calls are all so frequent your  social movements are with him be it some new eatery or a launch” sang my friend in a minute. In a minute I recapped all my activities, saw the film of my life rewind sans the annoying tape voice shown in movies.

Gosh so that’s how they think I wonder and then settle down to think to undo it somehow.

Now when I sit down to pen my memoirs for my best colleague I can only recall times when I have had a total blast with him. If they choose to call it love , I do not care much because don’t we all love our girlfriends to death, we are there for their hair disasters for a mass swearing when the tailor screws up the sheer yards of expensive fabric or their crushes are with someone else.

Our personal problems are that invisible baggage that we carry with ourselves even in our sleep, our professional problems maybe shelved for a while but personal problems come with us to our work too and finding anyone who cares to carefully examine that bag and then perk you up definitely tops the list of loved ones.

So the likes of Kashaf are found rarely they are those rare pearls whom you first fail to recognize in the office clutter but once you find them and know their worth the only thing you can do is wear them with pride because they become your best friends.

Life is a riddle that should be solved with people that one is comfortable with; passing in the labyrinth and making every moment a cherished one.

Friendship between a guy and a girl might bloom into the flower of love but the manure behind is the constant feeding from our own circle, once our peers see that we are becoming too good a chum with each other they decide to compartmentalize the camaraderie their ways; that is LOVE.

To refute the L word the more I fight the more messy it gets, I can only say that love is what we care and we care the most for our family and friends and if my friend is an xy chromosome shoot me strangle me or kill me, but I won’t stop caring for the one who made a happy face out of my tears and gave me rose glasses to see the world and fight it.

Blue Farts

The nouveau riche of a third world country are just an exclusive breed who upon climbing the ladder of society tend to discard the cloak of their conscience and true identities to swim in the sea of socialites.

My recent interaction with the newly acquired blue blooded people was more than disgusting, with a country hit by the biggest devastation of floods and a plane crash what these people had were blue farts out of their wrong holes… very explicitly their mouths.

The conversation on the regal iftar party revolved around dropping the right names making sure your contacts were the mightiest. A month of piety turned into a total flash and pomp event with menu good enough to feed 200 empty stomachs. The gentry all wearing branded lawns and embroideries with perfectly blow dried hair after spending good time and money and all the alpha males reeking of wealth. Let alone the adults the stench of money came from the younger lot with cellular phones worth my two months of salary, but with an avalanche of money comes a shovel of responsibility to let it out in the right people, which unfortunately these superficial lot were not aware of. Mrs. X could not stop farting about her foreign trip to UK and how she made a killing at the big brand stores there, how she bought her Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahnick with her pet of a son in law doing well in the stock exchange. Half the times I caught myself mesmerized by the whiff of money and pining for a similar lifestyle but I have to thank Almighty for getting my conscience out of the serious money hypnotism. I sat there assimilating how the whole echelon of the poor country was not a pixel different from the modern civilized countries, who spoke about money n fashion incessantly; yet the similarity was just on talk and appearances, their inside was ugly and bitter unlike the French or English aristocracy at least they had a heart when things went wrong with their light skinned brothers. But here we as followers of a religion where color and caste is not a question I sat in shallow people who did not give a hoot to the sufferings of people just the topics of designers, marriages, divorces, mergers bankruptcies and poor friends * with extra spice and chuckles* were discussed.

A time to be together with the underprivileged and devastated by showing some solidarity turned into the most grotesquely pretentious get together.

Some blue farts of self proclaimed blue blood.