June 22nd, 2018

A post better than no post at all.14

I need to go brush my teeth; but that is not what this post is about; though it could well have been about brushing my teeth. A post about brushing one’s teeth ought to be better than no post at all. Fact is a post about brushing teeth, anyone’s teeth, would probably be even more interesting, since that – brushing anyone’s teeth – is not something one is normally expected to do, and a post about doing what one is not normally expected to do ought to be better than no post at all. I have suddenly realized that there is actually absolutely no excuse for not updating, because one can update about anything, and a post about anything ought to be better than no post at all. It gets better. Anything is a broad term. It covers everything. Everything, when isolated from the big picture, becomes ‘anything’. ‘Anything’ in other words could be anything in everything; one could thus update about everything, and there could be a post about any one ‘anything’ in everything, and there could be multiple posts about the multiple ‘anythings”, and multiple posts about anythings ought to be better than no post at all.

How is it then that knicqland has been without an update for such a long long time? Here in lies the updating conundrum, which is a new word I have learnt, and have been dying to put to good use, and an update about putting a new word to good use ought to be better than no post at all.

Jalali Baba likes new words, but he likes new phrases more, and he likes derogatory twisted lines like “You have a nose the size of my kneecap and a brain the size of my kneecap. Both deformities have not helped you in life and have, in fact, rendered your every thought a knee-jerk response” even more. (Pertinent information: My nose and brain are not the same size, JB, hence, has kneecaps in two sizes – but we will leave this anatomy discussion for another less fortunate time). He saves them in the perpetually-abuzz -with-innane-and-innocuous-information mass of neurons that is his exalted brain, so he can leave them as comments on my posts one day. Unfortunately for me these jbeurons, since JB’s neurons are slightly more than your average neurons, come with an enhanced capability to store information over longer periods of time, and an enviable/deplorable excellence in reproducing such information as and when required.

Since JB brain is perpetually abuzz with activity, these lines find themselves in a sort of cocktail party where the luminaries amongst them are invited to mingle, and add value to each other through sharing and mutual learning. Jb leaves those rehashed and restyled derogatory comments on my blog, and garnishes them with his very own unique brand of knicq-bashing, just so he can feel better about himself. JB looks in the mirror, and tells the guy he sees in it that he is better than him. (See comment 37)

Unfortunately for Jalali Baba, that is the only guy he knows he is possibly better than, and ironically it is a reflection of himself – literally so. Using me as a punching bag must make him feel just as good as it does me using him as a punching bag. A post about two friends with absolute disdain for each other using each other as a punching bag ought to be better than no post at all.

This post is not about Jalali Baba, and a post not about Jalali Baba ought to be better than no post at all. This post is about me having to brush my teeth, and we have already established that a post about I brushing my teeth ought to be better than no post at all.

So, this is a post which is better than no post at all.

Of permissions, and interpretations!9

It must count as blogging friendly behaviour when you can end up in bloggable (should that be with a single g? I thought I would put an extra one in for emphasis, which by the way is spelled with an ‘a’ after ‘h’ Hemmie) situations while you have other bloggers around you.

In the past few days, I have been guilty of such behaviour with a measure of regularity. I am not sure where it started exactly, but one of the first incidents that springs to mind is the banging of Blackey 2 with another blogger, good old Crayon, enjoying the best seat in the house. More about that incident later. What is pertinent here is that Blackey 2 has arrived less than a couple of months ago to take over the mantle of Blackey. More importantly, in principal, Blackey 2 belongs to Wifey (I am tempted to write Wifey 1, but that will open a whole new pandora’s box, and it is a sort of understanding that pandora’s boxes, old or new, are best left un-opened), and I use this commonality with Blackey 2 to interact directly with it, often without Wifey’s explicit permission, sometimes in direct violation of such permissions.

For the most part, I have Wifey’s explicit permission not to be seen anywhere round Blackey 2, she has been most forthcoming with her permission never to drive Blackey 2, and she has often re-assured me that I have her full permission to treat Blackey 2 as a complete stranger. I have often chosen to not exercise the rights attributed to me by these permissions, and such was the case on that fateful day, when I had gone to bring Crayon and family home for Iftar. It just felt wrong to ignore a fellow possession.

So, I took Blackey 2 along, and we were having such fun getting to know each other and entertaining Crayon and family together, we ended up clipping the bumper of a cab in front of us in that moment when the lapse in concentration manifests itself on two drivers simultaneously. Wifey has, for the longest time, not been a fan of my driving. She believes I force those moments on my fellow drivers. She has not shared that belief with me, but I have been able to surmise as much from the permanent imprint of her hand on the door-handle. She is the quiet kind, bless her soul, and says little by way of words. She grips the door-handle when she ‘perceives’ a danger. Her powers of perception go into over-drive as I put a car in D.

Wifey has a multi-purpose smile that she employs with breath-taking efficiency to almost all situations, even the ones that make her angry, which is why I have been convinced for the longest time that she is always angry with me, since she is always smiling, and no-one can be always smiling. The good thing is that her smile can be mis-interpreted as an approval smile also, where ‘mis-interpreted’ is a wholly subjective term. Wifey thinks it is a perfectly objective term. Pertinent here is the fact that I have seldom been accused of an objective approach, and Wifey is little else than objective in her analysis of a given situation. She has often remarked that the one time she tried being subjective she ended up gettng married to me. Wonder what that is supposed to mean! Point being, I ought to know a subjective term when I see one, and wifey believes she can spot an objective adjective from afar. I sense a domestic disagreement coming… guess I should order them flowers again!

happy 30th birthday, han?12

as much concensus as there may be on how well you are liked in and around the UAE, you really MUST stop leaving your wordpress signed in. this is a cruel, exploitative world, and they will use anything to their advantage.

my only reason for doing this is that it annoys you no end, and i dont like you very much (very often)…. and i realised i have another reason. this time reason being it’s your 30th birthday and i want to leave you a memorable birthday present. like words etched in stone, i spoil your blog, and everything else you hold in high esteem — namely yourself.

ha. im bored now. i think i will stab you instead (yazzo style).

you forgot to say, how does it feel having lived half your average life? (pun on average intended)


Ramadan has come and gone. Eid is here, and it will be gone tomorrow. Before long, this year will have ended, and another will have begun. Days will be nights, and nights will be days; the sun will rise, and it will set. One day, I will die; and the world will be niether worse, nor any better.

After the extent of my own ignorance, the mediocrity of my existence has dawned upon me; and I have come to realize, with a fair amount of consternation, that the world revolves in an orbit completely different from the one around me. Fair consternation is begining to turn to absolute despair as visual evidence is mounting that the orbit is in fact deserted.

Oh well! Eid Mubarak.

Acha Hota Hai…8

This from Yawar archives. Dated July 07, 2000.

Kabhi har rah ghalat bhi hoti hai,

Kabhi ruk jana hi acha hota hai,

Koi Mod aisa bhi aata hai,

Jis se mud jana hi acha hota hai.

Roshni ke peechey daudne walo,

Kabhi andheron main chup jana hi acha hota hai.

Tum tae shuda raahon pe chal ke,

Wohi ghalatiyan kiyun karte ho,

Jo tum se pehle…

Kitne hee rahee karte gaye.

Tum waqt kee pairawi na karna,

Waqt manzilon ka rahee nahin hai,

Usko kaash yeh bhi khabar hoti,

Manzil pe ruk jana hee acha hota hai.

Jo paani hai darya ka,

Woh tughyani ke ghuroor main,

Apni rawani kee masti main,

Jab zameen kee tishna labi se,

Kinara karta jaey,

To khara bun jata hai,

Tum usko bata dena…

Nehrun main but jana hi acha hota hai.

Zindagi ke shor main,

Jis pal, Jis ghadi,

Apne naam kee sada aaye,

To Yawar, ruk jana hi acha hota hai…

Haan! Ruk jana hee acha hota hai.

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