Winter sets in

• 22 October 2011 . A dark , fierce night in Pakistan.
  

• The transition time between winter and summer has arrived. The goodbye-summer-air is pregnant with winter. Soaking up the hustle and bustle which is characteristic of summer, and the beads of sweat on the faces, and the violent tempers which are hibernating. Though for a shorter period than frogs do. But still hibernating.
• Weather has an undeniable impact on moods and people. I make an observation and store it in the back of my mind where it finds its place between the unasked questions, doubts , many x-rated , criminal and some holier-than-thou thoughts.I am walking with my hands in the pockets of my jeans, rolling around the hundred-rupee-note in my dried up palm. The sky is clear of any clouds and the moon is luminous and round. Round like the mehendi-design girls decorate on their palms before eid-day or for wedding occassions. I have a habit of drawing numerous tiny stars around the periphery. But moon isn't like that. It's lone. Stars are scattered and moon is there like leader of a scattered army.It's how reality is different from imagination. In imagination , you have the power to create the world of your liking. In reality, someone else has that power, or shares that power with you. That is why reality isn't perfect. Because the people you share it with have a different idea of perfect. Like, not everyone would want the stars to be aligned in a perfect circle around the moon. They may prefer the scattered arrangement, If we sit together ,and, suppose, have the power to re-decorate the sky, we will disagree on arrangement of stars. We will probably draw half a rim around the circle and rest of the stars will be scattered. A whole picture which contains 50 percent of my picture and 50 percent of someone else's picture. An imperfect, compromised, distorted reality. And an ugly sky.
• A little stone in the way brings me back to 'reality'. It isn't cold so it does't hurt. My toe i mean. Winter has just begun to settle in. Like an airplane which makes circles before it lands and hovers feet above the ground. Winter hovers over ground. It's cold clammy  wings impatient to drape the whole city in its embrace. There's life on the streets. A life less lively than it had been in the summer but a life none the less. There's a couple standing outside the glass-door of a small coffee shop. And motorbikes. And cars, very few of them. Rich and poor cars. Old and new cars. Happy and sad cars. There's an old man walking like his weight is too much to carry for himself. He's dragging himself on the road in a mechanical way. There's a cigar in his mouth emitting thick wisps of smoke which blur the clear transpernt atmosphere like the grey-ghost-images they show on tv. The door to the shop closes as a young boy with a pack of cigarettes walks out of it. With casualness of his age, and awareness of his rebellious-yet-cool attitude, he acknowledges the presence of the old man with a curt nod and changes his way. The suffocating silence between an old, mechanical dad and his young rebellious-yet-cool son is interrupted with the voice of laughter coming from the couple standing in front of the glass door. Hands in Hands now. The guy breathes close to the glass , leaving fog on the glassdoor and makes a heart on it with his index finger. The girl giggles aloud and puts slanting I and U around the heart. Both Merry. The guy , bald, looking a little too uncomfortable in his cooler-than-himself tshirt. The girl, plump , with deep dimples in her cheeks and a dark, fierce complexion. Both with imperfect noses but perfect harmony. Merry looking but not lovely . Not lovely but made-for-each other. When they walk towards their car in absolute harmony. Their old and poor car becomes Happy .Happy and unaware of the rich, new car in which wisdom shakes his head, takes out a cigar from his mouth and dabs absent-mindedly at the corners of his old wrinkled eyes.On the roads of Lahore..A happy, poor and old car is followed by a sad , rich and new car leaving behind thick wisps of smoke which dance in the clear, transparent atmosphere like the grey-ghost-images on tv.
• Leaving me quite lonely on a road in middle of the night.  I chose 'lonely' because quite alone doesn't sound right. Otherwise, i believe there's a world of difference between the meanings. Alone is when you choose to be by yourself. Lonely is when you are left out and you feel bad about it. I prefer the 'alone' version of being by myself always. But there's a truth between me and you that anyone, and Everyone, mind it, who chooses to be alone, and takes refuge in his own company has once ..been out in the world too openly, has been too trusting but was disappointed with what he got. He adopted this lifestyle like a natural survival instinct, the self-defence mechanism , when reliance on the external sources didn't quite work out, he has taken to his inner life. He prefers his perfect imagination to the comprosmised, distorted and ugly reality he would have to share with someone else. Like a snail goes inside its shell to protect itself.
• We, human beings, take after the simplest , the most ordinary of animals in many ways. Another thought finds its way between the rich,happy,sad thoughts of my brain and becomes indistinguishable, like the slanting I and U of the plump girl after the fog removed the moist trail of her fingertips on the glassdoor. 
• And The winter sets in, on a dark fierce night in Lahore as i count the scattered stars on a bitter-sweet sky