Excerpt 2,

December 14, 2013
(Excerpt from a short story I am writing)
He had noticed the soothing restlessness in me as he looked at me in the dark.
"Kya hua? Scared?"
"Bata do!"
"Haan" I replied. The cold and the fear of getting caught had made my lips and throat dry.
"Kis cheez se?" he asked
"Mujhse ya andharay se?" his tone being mischievous
"Khamoshi gehri baaton ki tarjumaan hoti hai"
He smiled but I could not look for very long in his penetrating eyes. I felt every color of the universe deepening. He had still not let go of my hand. I couldn't be sure what was giving me a feeling of protection and comfort - the warmth of his hands or his tight grip across my hand. I crossed the remaining steps in thoughts. And soon we reached the stage. There was only one light that had lit the stage. The two chairs on the stage were right in the focus of the lights. The yellow beams had made them conspicuous. Even from a distance they attract the observer's attention. 
He pulled my arm
"In pe? Kyun?"
"What kyun? Why did we come here?"
"....just for..."
"Just for?" he asked
"Pata nahin...You said so."
"Yes, I said so and I am saying now!"
"Magar kyun?"
"God!! Itnay sawal...Okay, we are here just to feel how would our turn be in the chairs next to each other."
"G! OH!!! Ab koi sawal mat poochna."
"Koi bhe nahin?"
"Yeh bhe aik sawal tha" That made me laugh. And it echoed. It scared him.
"Sorry" I said, trying to hold my laughter

He seated me on one of the chairs and sat on the other one. I looked in his eyes. In every gleam was a dream shining and in every breath was a hope. The yellow light bathed us in it's glow and warmth. I could imagine his black tee and brown jacket along his dark denims transform into a sherwani. I tried to touch his arm. By the time I noticed my arm extend towards his, my sweater had transformed into a red bridal. I wish I could freeze that moment.


December 9th, 2012
کیسے کیسوں کا غرور اللہ نے خاک میں ملا دیا چاہتے ہوئے بھی پہاڑوں کا سینہ نہیں چیر سکتے لیکن ان کا گھمنڈ دوسروں کو انسان سمجھنے نہیں بیتا جو ہم سے پہلے تھے وہ بھی کسی خوش گمانی میں مبتلا تھے جو ہمارے بعد ہوں گے وہ بھی کسی خوش گمانی میں مبتلا ہوں گے کسی نہ کسی کو یہ خوش گمانی ختم کرنی ہے اس سے پہلے کہ گھمنڈ آپ کو توڑے آپ بھی اس گھمنڈ کو توڑ دیں انا کی دیوار گرا دیں.

December 4th, 2012,

December 4th, 2012, ALKH-16

It was a normal day like any other. But what it has become now is a life's lesson. It became a door through which I passed. An year ago it gave me some butterflies but that feeling receded. The year 2012 brought with it lessons no other year did in the past and I hope that no other year in life ever like 2012. I was buying something from a shop when I got a message. The contents were not so comfortable and they really had me upset for a bit at that time but what followed in the later days removed a blind fold from my eyes. One big lesson got added to the book of life. The fourth of December is a day to remember for years. What seemed like a pain became a blessing I would remain thankful for. The day became a seal that I wasted three precious years of life in something that was nothing more than a mistake. And no one likes a thing wasted. Today when I write this, I feel mixed. I wish I had not done mistakes that now bite me like a serpent. It takes a big heart to forgive. And my heart is big enough but sadly bigger than heart is the mind. And a bigger mind never forgets. Never.

Stalking (Short Story),

December 8th, 2013
I am a morning person. Everyday after the morning prayers, I go for a walk. I was witnessing something for the past week. When I reach the park for walk, I find a boy and a girl leaving for school. Their black shoes are polished like mirrors and their uniforms and badges are tidy. After leaving their house together, they reach far end of the park where the bus stop is. I started noticing one thing some days ago. After leaving home they do head to the bus stop but after crossing two blocks, they enter a street on left. It is more like a narrow alley. From where I stand I cannot see they do there. So out of curiosity, I took a long walk and ended my walk on the bench from where I can see that alley. I made sure that I myself remained out of sight. They followed the pattern of leaving the house together, waving goodbye to someone in the window, most likely their mother, and walked a block towards the bus stand before turning into the alley. I was watching them. The boy removed his white school shirt. Underneath he was wearing a t-shirt. He handed the shirt to the girl who folded it and put that neatly in her bag. Then the boy crossed the alley and disappeared on the other side of the alley. The girl walked to the bus stop and hopped on the school bus when it arrived. Then I walked back home for another day.
The next dawn I altered my entire route. I was not in my workout clothes. The other end of the alley opened to a link road which connected to a main road. I reached the main road and sat on the bench of another bus stop. The other end of the alley where the boy was supposed to come out was visible to me only if that boy followed the path he has been taking for some days. Sitting on the bench of bus stop, I watched early morning humans rushing to reach their jobs and schools. There were so many characters for any story and in all sizes and shapes too. It was the third day of my adventure. I looked at my watch again and again. I had assumed the time in which he would reach here. And my calculation was right. He reached there. He was wearing a green shirt now. He waited for a bus sitting next to me. When the bus arrived, he climbed on it and was gone. Then I came home to wait and see what happens the next day.
The next day I went to the stop on time and waited for him. I signaled a rickshaw and settled with the driver a deal to follow someone. The driver was an old man. He agreed with no questions or hesitations. The boy came and boarded a bus. I signaled the driver. In no time we were tailing the bus. After half an hour we reached a place. That was a poor neighborhood, a scar on the face of a planned development of city. Most maids, servants and security guards working in the houses in the posh area lived in this neighborhood. There were meat shops, washing machine repair shops, vegetable and fruit shops etc. Flies were everywhere. I was praying deep inside that the boy doesn't take us deep into this shitty neighborhood. Thankfully he didn't. He went to a pharmacy and when he came out he had keys in his hands. He jumped on a bike and started it. My rickshaw was naturally a slower medium but against all odds, we tailed him to a park where he stopped his bike and went inside. There was a security guard at the gate. I pulled out a fifty rupee note and handed it to him and went inside. It was a girl he used to meet. At the far end of the park, under a tree they were sitting. Their bags lying next to them. Under that shade they must have made a hundred promises, maybe a thousand. They might want to relive this moment in years to come. Or they might regret this moment. Either way, this moment would carve something on their souls. Yet the kids don't know it yet. Like a million ephemeral love stories, this one would be forgotten by it's characters. But I won't. It's not my love story though it is my experience. Was it lust? Was it hormones? Was it really love? I could not tell just by looking at their smiling faces. I looked around. There were many more pairs of school and college bags in that park. It was startling only when a thought hit me that does it mean many others like me were there too who skipped their morning walks and have stalked someone to reach here. I scanned around. I could find no one. I grabbed a bar of chocolate and headed home. 
Aamir Bilal

پھر سے محبّت ,

December 8th, 2012

محبت کے دستور نہیں بدلے جس چیز کا نام کل بھی محبت تھا اس کا نام آج بھی محبت ہے لیکن ایسا اس سے پہلے بہت بار ہو چکا ہے کہ محبوب کے ہوتے ہوئے بھی دل کو سکون نہیں تو پھر دوسری محبت سکون دے اس کی کیا ضمانت ہے. پھر سے محبت کرنے کے لیے ہمت چاہیے لوگ ہمت اور بہادری کو ایک دوسرے سے الگ نہیں کر پاتے اسی لیے ایک نوجوان کی حماقت انہیں ہمت لگتی ہے لیکن ایک بوڑھے کی عقل انھیں بہادری نہیں لگتی دوسری محبت کرنے سے پہلے لاکھ خیال دل میں آ رہے ہیں سوچتا ہوں محبت کے بغیر ہی اچھا ہوں


November 30th, 2013

"Aamir you are weird!"
I woke up to this morning message. It was very surprising. I looked next to me. I was still sleeping in the same place where I remembered last time I had drifted off. So how can someone say that. And I was all dressed up too. The message was not as startling as the sender of the message. Girls have a weird ways of getting the energy of attention towards themselves and yes, this sender surely got that energy towards herself. I was not shocked but just amazed. The message was sweet but that was not the only flavor that were to head towards me today. I got another which explained why I am weird. I forgot a special day of her life and that can make any boy weird just like it made me.
A person's good and bad deeds never follow him rather they walk ahead of a person. That's why earning a good repute is hard and important. A modern set of beliefs have set new standards of good. That is exactly why someone with a mean nature but many zeros on the right side on his bank account is not just good but way better than someone with a heart of gold and no gold in his pocket. Boys are a little bad at remembering little things like dates of those girls whom they really respect and value. Hence a perv is with good date-remembering capacity is better than a good boy with a weak memory. A girl however has no bounds of such care. She can easily be busy in preparing for her exams and forget the entire life of someone and get away with any excuse. But a boy can't. It does not take much time to transform a weird man into a bad man if that is claimed by a girl as she can come up with years or perhaps decade old mistakes as a proof of her claim and exactly that happened. Something that was completely forgotten by me was the added proof of why I am weird, why her claim of me being weird is right and why weird means bad. Hence the message read
"Aamir you are bad!"
It was not hurting but it disturbed my sleep. The message tone I mean. A weird and bad boy deserves some disturbed sleep at least once in a while. It's not a good feeling of taking a shower in this weather however.
Aamir Bilal


November 29th, 2013
A good book is an awesome journey, and we should go on such journeys more frequently. That is a rarity to enjoy if you have a busy life. A good ride is something I am always looking forward to. Recently I went to a bookstore not in Pakistan and I found two non-Pakistanis talking to each other. They had bought a heavy office table from the bookstore and were looking for a suitable way to get it transported to its desired location. They came out of the bookstore at the same time I did and I found them quite infuriated. They found a truck but the driver was charging way too much for the distance. The driver was a Pakistani. I heard the two gentlemen say "Pakistanis are all the same. They are evil!"
It was hurting. After they walked some feet away and hoping for a new truck to appear from somewhere miraculously I went to the driver and tried to talked to him. He was a typical version as most of those people are who are bent upon destroying the repute of the country for a tiny personal gain. Every person is an ambassador of his nation, his caste, his language and his religion. Upon doing a wrong, that label of evil gets tagged to that entire group a person represents even if he doesn't know what he is representing. The same happens to the image of the country which very sadly is already tarnished. I am sure it is not the first Pakistani they had met after which they had developed their view about the people of Pakistan. Go to any airport out of the country. The people with most dirty clothes would be Pakistanis. And they don't even feel what are they doing. If one finds a phone ringing with the most indecent desi song as the ringer tune it would be a Pakistani. A man shouting in the lobby with most obscene and vulgar language, it is a Pakistani. Recently I happened to meet a Saudi who owns a building. He had Indians as caretaker of that building and during that time, the building was fine. Due to some family trouble, the Indian had to go back and the Saudi hired two Pakistanis. You can guess what would have happened. They looted him. In urban legends of the Arabian lands, people ask for God's protection from Pakistani mechanics. I have a Lebanese uncle who in his bad luck met a Pakistani mechanic and that experience still haunts him. For some hundred dirhams only, our fellow countrymen have ruined the name of the nation. The urban legend continues that the death comes only once but if you come across a Pakistani mechanic, he will come again and again and again. This doesn't mean that all the Pakistanis are of the same evil clan. Some are more evil as they are educated evil ones. They do bigger evils, get caught by the police and then deported back. But lets not forget those engineers, doctors, teachers and scientists who are a few in number and dress well, don't cheat and still pay the price of being a Pakistani. I wish education and manners were as abundant in the neighborhoods of such people who can afford the latest smart phones only to have the same Naseebo Laal's songs as their ring tones. I am happy that at least I am a Pakistani who got educated by Dad at the right time and learnt that some things are above personal gain and that includes the name of the country.
Aamir Bilal


November 29th, 2013
Some weeks ago, I developed a sudden interest in watches. It was sudden but reasoned. I dropped my watch accidentally. Though I tried to get that repaired but that repair costs were almost equal to the worth of a new watch. I went to another repair shop and then another but everyone had the same opinion. Then I decided to get a new one. I went to a few renowned watch shops throughout the city. The ones I liked were way out of my budget. Time pieces with complicated mechanics and superior craftsmanship are worth someone's entire life savings. A poor man, like me, cannot afford a Vacheron Constantin at this stage of life. With this experience I learned new brand names, new technology and price tags that gave me headache.
One day I went out again for window shopping with bhai who is an expert on watches.  We went to a shop that dealt in Rolex watches. That was the most reputable shop in the city. It was a sheer disappointment when the shopkeeper put just three watches in front of us. One was worth about eight thousand dollars, the second one was almost equal and the third was about fourteen thousand dollars. As Mani has a vast knowledge about watches, he started asking about other Rolex models which were not there in the shop. To his logical questions, the shopkeeper got a little irritated as most desi shopkeepers behave. They don't like an educated and wary customer. Instead they love a customer who has no knowledge and is easy to fool. The shopkeeper who was in his 50's replied,"What are you saying, Sir! These are the best and most selling models of Rolex. All other are failed models."
We walked out. How can they be the only models which are best and what about the models which were not there really flop models? After a month we travel to Duabi. We took a trip to a very famous watch dealer, Al Koheeji. There were more than two hundred Rolex models available. We were amazed at the entire range. The shopkeeper was a Lebanese. He helped us and showed us the complete collection. And that was just one brand. We saw even Patek Philippe with a scary price tag of twenty eight thousand dollars. Obviously that will be a flop model in Pakistan where one cannot wear the watch and walk worry free on the streets of the unsafe country where everyone wants to cheat everyone else, whether it is a corrupt politician or an irritated salesman. 
Aamir Bilal

(Image courtesy:Patek Philippe Geneve)



November 28th, 2013
Friendship is above and beyond bounds of social status, religious grounds, academic achievements, beauty and etcetera. Sadly this belief is seeing bad times in the recently and now "friend" has become quite a dangerous word. It lives inside the limits of gains and advantages, powers of social status and even under the realms of academic judgement. At least that is what one is likely to come across almost always in a medical college. People become friends because of some common gain. And once that gain is over, the friendship are over. I feel quite ancient when I find myself with my years old school friends. This feeling becomes gigantic when I see someone change five "best" friends in a single semester. It is not uncommon to lose a friend but at least for me it is a hurting experience. A tall wall still separates me from a friend whose place no one can take. Never. That seat remains vacant. I feel I will take many empty seats with myself to my grave. This is not a good feeling.
One such vacant seat that has now become a source of constant pain was not vacant until recently. Pain and joy are the two ends of a same feeling. What now has become a pain used to be a joy but there is always a limit to both a man can digest. A terrible event occurred that deepened some cracks. No one among us knew that each confusion is a brick that adds to the tall wall of silence. Over good time, out of our stupidities we were successful in creating a wall now no one can cross. Sometimes when memories scream in silence, I go to that wall and pull out my stethoscope and try to listen anything from the other side. Sadly, nothing comes through. 
Aamir Bilal


And PIA,

November 27th, 2013
Traveling is not always fun. It can be hectic, especially if one is stuck with PIA. I recently experienced the same. No one likes to wait for four more hours on the airport, especially when the airport is Jinnah International which lacks services to kill time and good restaurants. There are only one fast food chain and that too cannot serve under one hour because of security issues. The journey was peaceful except for the pathetic on-flight food they gave. Trust me, a ten dollar food is way better than what is served on PIA. They charge ten dollars in the ticket for the food they serve. Sick bastards. There was one positive thing about all these boring hours. I had my storyboard and my headphones. The two ingredients that I need to write a scene and I have already reached the fourth scene. Thanks to the always late Pakistan International Airlines.


Fake Idols,

November 13, 2013
"Fake people. True Bastards."
Who was the Head of Medicine Unit 2 Civil Hospital in 1992?
Who was the Professor of Biochemistry of AIMC in 1984?
Who was the Dean of Gynecology of NMH in 2001?
Who is Shah Rukh Khan?
Yes, you know the answer of the last question. That is how well heads of departments are cherished. So it is better to be a movie star than to be a head of a department. I don't disapprove of teachers. I love teachers but sadly under the mask of this name called teacher, live many hideous characters whom no one likes. The students fear them. The clerks dread them. The patients think all doctors are rude. The parents of students cannot meet them. The worst manners anyone can find in a medical school are those of the head of departments. At least that happens in Civil Hospital and Dow Medical College.
After my admission notice was mailed to me, I came to Karachi. On the day I submitted fee, my parents were warmly greeted by the administration of the college. In fact the Vice Chancellor and His wife, who too is a doctor, is in-charge of the money matters of college. She said the following to my parents "Aray koi baat nahin...fees ka kya hai. Aik maheenay baad de dena. Aap hamaray betay hain."
I knew something was not right. People in the country dump their own children so how can a boy who hasn't submitted his fee can be treated so well. But that mask was soon gone. Exactly after one year when I had to pay the fee of the next year. I was a little late. They charged them 30% extra fee and the University boss and his money-hungry wife also refused to even see the parents. That kindness was just a trap. So that the parents circulate good news about the university. The same happened this year. The boss came to the university which he normally doesn't and he greeted the parents of new comers which we all knew he would never show his face to. His behavior with the college staff and the parents is equally insulting and mean. The money college collects gets to a few pockets and then never seen again. They are not honest with the college, the students, the parents, the patients, the country. They are fake idols instead of true leaders. They follow greed and not principles. They have no followers. That's why we know Shah Rukh Khan more than who was the fourth principal of the university.
Aamir Bilal

Doctor Aneela,

"It's a fake name."
But she is very real. As real as any real thing can be. And she is a monster. As monster as any monster can be. I hate to say this but it's true. A fact as real a fact can be. Our social minds are set to think in a locked way until we free our thoughts and be fair in our thinking. Sadly many fake liberals and pseudo-intellectuals would still consider a man's words for a woman not as true as they consider a woman's tears to be true. But both words and tears can be faked. Hence I won't be offended if someone thinks men to be monsters hurting all the harmless ladies. In the class of three hundred and one there are seventy two monsters who all agree on Dr. Aneela being one of the worst female monsters at Gynecology Ward of the Civil Hospital.
Some months back it was my turn to be unlucky and I ended up going to the first and the last class of Dr. Aneela ever. It was a hot day but luckily by the time the ward was over, it got cloudy. People were still losing their stamina to stand in the ward when the attendant told us that we still have a class to attend. It was the first time I saw her. She looked cool but that cool was gone instantly when she started the class. There is an act called HIPPA (Health Information Privacy Protection Act) which is in no way observed in the Pakistani environment. That is why students and doctors keep using phones and cameras at work place. It is very common that students going to the surgical operation theater take pictures of the surgery, selfies and selfies with the organs removed. Then to look more cool, they post that to the social media. Even I take pictures but I confess that I have never taken a picture of a patient or a human organ at wards and operating theaters. Deep inside I observe this rule that none of the patients or their body parts should end up on my social media profiles. I have images of corridors and halls and other architecture but I never leaked any image of any patient. I pat my back for this. Once a very cute baby got admitted to the Ophthalmology ward and we were so much impressed by his looks that we took a picture of the baby after approval of his parents. It is never cool to post images of someone in pain for the sake of some retweets, likes and comments.
Before being posted to the Gynecology ward, I was stationed at the Surgery Unit 5. During the lectures, I used to record the audio of the teacher and at home I used to listen to that. It was very helpful in understanding the lecture. At times, audio is of no good because the teacher might be showing something like a medical or surgical instrument and that needs to be captured. So I did take pictures of non-human, non-patient stuff for educational reason. And I had this thing in my mind when I started Gynecology. I remember that day very vividly. Dr. Aneela showed the class of twelve girls and just a single boy - me, a chart. That chart was used to fill information of any pregnant patient. Filling that out was quite a tough task. It was really a painful chart. I had to take a picture of that chart. And I did. But she saw me take a picture and accused me of taking her picture. She asked me to delete it confiscated my phone.
It was unexpected. The last time I took a picture of a girl just because she was beautiful and I wanted to look at her even afterwards was many years ago. And Dr. Aneela can be anything but beautiful. Even the maasi who works in that ward is better in looks than Dr. Aneela. And why in the world would I take her spy shot from such a close distance. I have a 300mm zoom lens at home which has helped me take the spy shots when I want to take spy shots.
But that proved to me what all my boys said about Dr. Aneela. Sadly, every girl thinks she is Patricia Yurena Rodriguez or Alexandra Daddario. At least Dr.Aneela did.


Short Story (Scene - II)

It was a warm day. The weather has begun to change. People were already welcoming this change. Who wouldn't after such a long summer that in some parts of the country caused massive damage due to floods and in some burnt down the skin tones without much rain. I feel quite blessed being in the north of the country. The downpour had been a lot but summers surely left their mark. Today, however was a day which was not humid like rains and not hot like summers. It was September and the winds were carrying the feelings of my favorite season, winters. My life has been quite carved by the winters. From being born in winters to being married in winters and even becoming a mother to a little doll, winters have affected my life in every way. I was lost in these thoughts when a sound pulled me back to the real worlds, the sound which fills my heart with immense happiness. My one year old daughter had woken up and her movements against her toys made me dive into all those happenings that blessed me with her and the home every woman imagines. I wanted to finish all the chores by noon. Becoming a mother had made me more of a responsible person. I felt like growing out of a carefree damsel to a responsible mommy. It sounded scary when I was in school. But it was a life-turning moment. I still remember the happiness on the face of my father when he held his granddaughter. And now here I am, having vacations and eagerly waiting to be done with the households and talk to my father. He wants to see his granddaughter everyday. Thanks to the technologies in our lives, even being away he can't remain away. Grandparents are always magnetically attached to their grand kids. These vacations have been kind so far. At least that's what every person with a job and a long vacation thinks. I wanted to spend much time home with my family and that's what I was enjoying. The king of the house however was on his duty. I hate doctors and shockingly fell in love with a doctor. Every marriage is a different story. My dad always says, "Marriage kills love" but that never happened in my case. He also says that a good doctor always has a bad handwriting. That too never happened. Love just happened and I love him more and more everyday, and not just him but his handwriting which appears on all the letters he sent me. Then love bloomed to marriage. Even though I have all a woman can wish for, I feel afraid. I don't know what fate has written on the next pages of life for me.

Suddenly the phone rang.

Broken Momentum,

September 21st, 2013

We all grow up after living our learning years. Then comes a time when learning a new thing is damn hard. A wise man's once said "Even if the world ends tomorrow, I shall still plant my tree." He saw hope and he was optimistic. But what he didn't say was how to plant one if he didn't know how to plant a tree. From this quotation one thing is an understood reality - the man knew how to plant trees. But what if a really old person wants to learn a new art. It would take him far more years to learn that art in comparison to a child. That learning age once gone, makes our minds brittle to learning anything new. Perhaps that's why young people commit more mistakes in order to learn something from their mistakes. The older ones of us don't commit such mistakes and wisdom is a fruit that we reap once we cut down the mind that made us learn all of our precious experience.
With growing years, I feel my mind getting brittle. I feel like becoming a precise robot. Waking up on time, sleeping on time, and all the chores of life on their time, I hardly find moments I can spare to learn something new. Some addictions like writing and photography exist but it is all more calculated than learning something new. Back in the learning years it felt that I would keep learning new flavors throughout the life but it didn't happen. I have seen doctors talking only medicine and health, mothers talking about their homes and husbands and teachers always in the class. The spirits of newness are gone. Art used to flow from with in a couple of years ago and now for the last one month I am unable to finish a short story I started. Fear grips me when I think what shade the life would be when I would know that all the momentum to learn has broken for good. A child in a man would be dead. Forever.
Aamir Bilal

A Fish Cannot Fly,

September 21st, 2013

"I hate doctors!"
That's what a beautiful girl once told me. It was not an argument. Neither it was a hard talk. But the expression was so sudden that it came like a punch. I felt numb for a few seconds. All I can remember now are her lips moving according to her talks. Her one line threw me years back when I had never dreamed of becoming a man earning his livelihood by wearing white coat. It was another dream and frankly saying I myself cannot remember what that was. I am, however, all sure that it was not this one.
A bird cannot swim except for penguins if some man of science ever reads this. Fish can never fly. Now if someone catches a fish and put that into an aquarium and send that tank to space, technically the fish is flying. But that becomes quite complicated to understand. Life is already too complicated to talk and add more complexity to it. I feel the same, just like the fish. Medicine was something I never fascinated about, but twists and fate brought me to where I am standing now which to be very exact is a medicine ward. It's my evening duty and I suddenly recalled her words. No one can fight destiny. And all dreams don't come true. This impression strengthens day by day and strengthens more and more when I realize that in a medical college there are always more fellows than friends and many liked the profession so much that they wanted white coats and stethoscopes on their shoulders. At the end of five years, everyone is a doctor yet the book of life brings different rides for all.
Suppose a man is living a happy life being a bachelor and suddenly, as it happens in the society of subcontinent, he faces pressure from his family, parents in particular and gets married. As we are supposing, so let the supposition extend. Fate allots him the perfect wife a man can imagine. So he starts liking her even though he never knew her before getting into this bond with her. Over time this liking intensifies and he feels that he fell in love with his life partner. Moral? If an element is perfect in what it was meant to be, the end result is always gold. Lets take another example. A boy buys a camera. He had enough money to get himself a really great camera and ended in taking really lots of pictures. Would he do the same if his camera was a bad one or a slow one? No. Moral? The camera was excellent in taking pictures and this made the boy take more pictures which he had not if his camera was a poor machine. The same is the case with the man. Had he married someone whom his compatibility had been bad or zero, his married life would be in sheer trouble. The same is happening when we let fate decide our professions. There remained a small discomfort when it came to medicine and it grew with time. If it was a wife, I would have divorced and let both of us stay happy. But sadly, it is not and that;s why a fish still cannot fly even if being put in an aquarium and sent to the skies.
Aamir Bilal

A Smile,

September 18th, 2013
As they age or live a busier life, many people forget what happens to them whether good or bad. That's why it's better to try to document life by writing down as much as you can and that too on a regular basis. For centuries people have preferred written history over oral history as one is tougher to change than the other.
Two days ago my new ward rotation started. I was on the way back home when I saw a person near Urdu Bazaar. It's still really hard for me to forget that face. A smile that still is in my mind and I feel that for years it will haunt me. You come across faces which are hard to forget even though you have no relation with them. There are people in one's life whom one can never forget not even after hard efforts. But here is a person I just saw it was only for a few seconds and yet I still remember that face as fresh as I am seeing it now. There is beauty in every human but every human is not able to see that.  It takes years to see beauty in everyone. For many it would just be a beautiful face but for some it would be a beautiful memory and for some it would be a moment from younger years.

The Tenth Semester

I still remember the day when a friend said:

 It's the first semester, nine more. How will time pass!

And here today I am writing this and thinking of all the moments that passed in the blink of an eye. It was surely a long way but full of colorful bends, some wanted and some unwanted and all in the end have left their scars of memories. They should stay lessons for life to pass on. It was winters when I joined college and it is again the same season. I am drifting off to that time recalling all the minute details of how friends were and what they ended in becoming and how things progressed over time. A few lines and a few paragraphs can never do justice to the moments that I lived. My last semester in this institute just begun. I fell in love with this place. I have a hope to relive the nine semesters in this one over again assuming beauty on the ugly faces that were hidden in the early days and to create records of these memories in an amount that I can relive moments again. Someone told me that hope is a good thing.

Aamir Bilal

Trams and Karachi,

The young ones have never seen them and those who had are old enough to recall the real glimpse but years ago trams remained a popular form of transport in Karachi. Like any other place in the world influenced by the British Colonial era, this system of trams was introduced after railways had become a popular and successful way of transport from a city to another. After Independence in 1948, this system of trams showed growth. Due to hot climate of the region, it was a favorite of many. No ride could have been more airy in those days. Much of this network was scattered in the present day's "old part" of the city. Tracing the points that served as stops is a painful task today as it has been more than three decades the that system shut down. But in the late 70's when people from war-inflicted Afghanistan started to come and settle in Pakistan some black sheep who were not immigrants moved to Karachi from the north of the country and with them they brought their own political connections which with the power of money ended the system of trams. A cheaper bus system was introduced claiming that trams were expensive to manage and could not afford the load of the city's growing population. A powerful and politically connected man whose family even today runs more than half of the transport buses of Karachi was involved in the closure of this system which was operated by the Government. People protested against this closure but eventually the trams ended in scrap furnaces and no one saw them ever again. One such stops of the trams was a pharmacy which still serves even today. Few people know that it is the oldest pharmacy of Karachi and hence Pakistan. It was set up for free by one of the most popular philanthropist Seth Edulji Dinshaw, a Parsi who beside the pharmacy set up Lady Dufferin Hospital, Girls Hostel of Mama Parsi Schools and even statues at the Frere Hall. NED University, a famous institute of the city was also set up him. And like always, we have destroyed art.


Faceless. Nameless. ,

August 30th, 2013

My daily route to the university involves blesses me with amazing views of the magnificent architecture that includes the city courts. Almost every time when I pass through there, I come across blue colored vehicles which resemble the armored ones which are used by the banks to transport money. But these blue ones are the prison vans which bring the bad guys to the courts everyday to face justice. But these have one difference; they have tiny windows on them which are barred. I see fingers and hands holding the bars and coming out of the tiny slits. Faceless and nameless hands and fingers. Newspapers often carry the news of prisoners escaping from the custody of authorities. Some criminals are set free due to political involvement in our crippled judicial system. The smarter ones are never caught and end up running the broken system and the smartest ones become the political leaders. In no way I am in advocacy of the criminals or politically affiliated.
Some years back, a man ended up in a ward of Civil Hospital Karachi. He was wrongly implicated in a case and spent seventeen years of his life behind bars for something he didn't do. Due to the efforts of his family specially his wife and an NGO, he was able to see the outside world again. However, he was only able to see and not hear. Sadly, the seventeen years in prison took his ability to hear and even understand complex questions. The policemen who brought him to the ward were laughing on his medical condition of losing his ability to hear. I still cannot forget his face. Every time I see these vans they make me uneasy and I feel as it's a civilized jungle out there and that's why animals are caged. Right too. Wrong too.
Aamir Bilal


August 5th, 2018

Pictures are life and life is a picture. I can write an essay on pictures and photography. Taking pictures is a skill which like any other improves with repetition. The more pictures one would take, the better they get. It is not always an expensive machine that can produce the good result. I happened to come across some unfriendly person wherever I took pictures. A monster of a teacher in the Gynecology ward insulted me recently which boosted my energy positively and after that insult I took 331 pictures of that ward and the staff on the very same day. Sometimes even the place is not friendly enough to allow pictures being taken. From surveillance cameras to armed guards, the villains keep coming. So pulling out a camera as big as a D-SLR is an invitation to trouble. The cameras on the phone are the perfect answer for anyone who wants to log life or has some voyeur genes. One such place is the Atrium Cinemas, Karachi where one can not take a picture beyond the ticket checking booth. The guards keep poking. I heard that it has been changed in the recent days and now families and couples are allowed to take images but that wasn't the case an year ago and the guards acted more like sniffer dogs who always find the one with the intent to take a few pictures. I went to a movie with a friend last evening who had an enormous dupatta with her that day. It was in her bag and I found that out. She went to grab some drinks while I waited for the movie to begin. One of the sniffer was watching me. He really looked like a carnivore who would jump at me any moment. The dupatta was next to me. I picked it up and acted as I was "dupatta fetish" The guard made a strange expression and walked to a side. At that moment I shot a panorama sphere. Her dupatta however smelled like roasted almonds and fresh shampoo. Am I fetish?