Unplugged

April 14th, 2018 / 07:38 AM

It is not easy to keep an eye on someone. It is expensive and gets even more expensive as time passes. We all have our reasons, some nasty and some genuine, to keep an eye on someone. A mother keeps her eye on her children. We know why she does so but why would a clingy ex keep an eye on someone. Years ago I was searching for a place to post writings at. I came across a service that allowed posting using SMS. That service was Twitter. Over the years I found myself in a love-hate relationship with it. Eventually, I stopped using it some years ago for which I had my reasons. Luckily, a few of them are now married. Still, marriage is no guarantee to not keep an eye on someone. It itself brings a heap of responsibilities that everybody is not able to carry. It explains some of the reasons which at their core are still the same while their appearances have become motherly.

I made a new Twitter ID that was anonymous. My primary intent was to interact with new people because at times I needed new people to talk to and the only new people that I was talking to in those days were the patients. The hospital environment is no party. I used to think that a social space like Twitter however is, to some extent at least. Twitter has become a swimming pool of shit and piss but it is full of random people. That absolute random talk exists there. Even if one doesn’t want to join them, one can be a silent observer and witness a conversation fold out. I thought that if I had a new ID, that would serve as a mask. The anonymity would help me vent energy to learn something new. Even today I don’t think that what I did was religiously, morally, culturally, or socially wrong. You can be anyone on the internet. I once became a Muslim Vampire. It was short-lived. But it wasn’t wrong. The vampire did not hurt anyone. It could not be as wrong as keeping an eye on someone especially after the person you are keeping an eye on is no longer relevant to you. Maybe some people have no good left in their lives. Somehow two once-amazing ladies found out that it was me who was behind that ID. It is true that I always felt genes of a sniffer inside them but I thought that they were in lesser amount. Boy, I was wrong. 

It was not my first attempt at making an anonymous ID and using that as a mask of anonymity to interact with people. In 2017 I made one more attempt at a new online life. That made my total number of attempts reach five. Out of these five, only twice was I wearing the persona of a girl. Every time I was behind an avatar of a girl, I thought that it logically ruled me out of the possibility that someone would think that it was me. In heels and mascara, I followed boys. I stayed kind to a few of them. I became harsh to a few of them. I lured a few to their untimely regrets. One positive aspect of it was the growing number of screenshots that I took and have saved even to this date. All those screenshots were no less than inspiration for dialogues and for stories that I created at a later time. The dilemma was that I was not a girl on the inside which is why those accounts became stagnant very soon and died eventually.

One of the clingy ladies found out about one of those IDs too. Twitter’s algorithm works in some crazy way and brings disasters to the front seats. In those days I used to draw pictures after coming back from the hospital. That is why I took the mask of an illustrator in made my second last anonymous ID. But even that adventure was also short-lived. 

I know that she knows that Aamir is aware of her knowledge of Aamir’s anonymous account.

I know that she knows that Aamir is aware of her knowledge that why Aamir doesn’t use that ID anymore.

I confess that I started liking that illustrator’s identity because the main fuel for it was those pictures that I used to draw on paper and later as digital drawings. An interesting thing happened afterward. A girl interacted who allegedly lived in Rawalpindi. I never asked her what she did but she used to interact liking almost every tweet that I posted. And one day we had an interaction beyond just liking the tweets. It was like any other harmless interaction that happens on Twitter. Harmless and halal for any curious mind. The interactions never grew beyond a certain point. Then one day she asked me to draw a picture of hers like my other drawings. Even at that point, I had not told her anything about the real me. She had no idea who the actual person was behind that account. This is what I used to believe. I was wrong. Very wrong. Because later on the account of that girl ceased to exist. And even before I had started drawing her, I came to the realization that the account I was to draw a picture of never belong to a real person. The same strong feeling exists even today. That ID that interacted with my anonymous ID of illustrator was one of the many sleeper probes the two clingy women have developed over the years. My tweets kept coming after that event but something was changed. The digital existence seemed liked an emotionless space I was swimming through waiting to get fished.

The last and the final attempt that I made of living an unknown being occurred in the February of 2018. So far nobody has either claimed of discovering me or any ripples are created from my tweets. Such ripples eventually reach me and make me realize the leaks that exist. What can Aamir possibly talk about? Poetry, books, medicine, painting, movies, graphic novels, nostalgia, Punjabi music, and flirting. He would never talk about Chinese food, artificial jewelry, cruel in-laws, and political Gods. These are a few things that the sleepers use to make wild but good guesses. Very intelligent guesses. They cannot guess anymore now. A win for them is a loss too. 

Today marks the day when I have closed all the accounts that I have operated in other names. Each one of them except for my original account has been shut down. I am a lazy soul. I intend to start posting over the original account soon. But what the stalkers would guess about now? The memoirs channels @LahoreDiaries and original ones @AamirBilal @AamirAliBilal live on. I still visit my old town from time to time and see a few familiar faces who have changed with the time that has shown its colors on them. But on the inside, they are still the same.

Some sadist.

Some hopeless.

And some are still emitting only negative energy because that is the only energy they have.

It fills me with extreme happiness that an ID that I had been using since 2010 has crossed 70000 posts. I write down very honest feelings there. It is like a notebook. I didn’t expect that one day it would grow to this milestone. We know that diaries can be lost or stolen and as I had lost diaries in the past, that is why I am extremely careful with this one. I have already downloaded and printed a copy of all the tweets that I have posted on the ID from as early as 2010. I have zero following and zero followers and 70058 tweets as of this writing. 

A part of me still loves Twitter but that part of me is very afraid of what Twitter has created and also of what Twitter the people have created now. 

There are some decisions in life for which I always applauded myself. And keeping a lock on my oldest Twitter account is one of those decisions. There only I myself keep an eye on myself and it is not expensive either.

All the leaks are closed. 

March 9th, 2018 / 06:11 PM

دل کو توفیق زیاں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے
زہر غم بادہ چکاں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے 

فکر تپ تپ کے نکھرتی رہے کندن کی طرح 
آگ سینے کی جواں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے 

دھیمی دھیمی سی نوا سلسلہ جنبان ابد 
پردۂ جاں میں نہاں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے 

دھڑکنیں صورت الفاظ بکھرتی جائیں 
دل معانی کی زباں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے 

آنچ مٹی کے کھلونوں کی طرح ملتی جائے 
ذہن خوابوں سے تپاں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے 

روزن ماہ سے پچھلے پہر اک شوخ لقا 
جانب دل نگراں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے 

روح شب اپنی اداؤں کی تب و تاب لیے 
خلوت آرائے بیاں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے 

ایک سیال کسک جادہ کشائے تخلیق 
فن کی نبضوں میں رواں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے 

تجربے درد کی شبنم میں نہائیں حرمتؔ 
گل فشاں شعلۂ جاں ہو تو غزل ہوتی ہے
حرمت الااکرام
 

Neighbors

I still have this rose. It lays safe in a dictionary. Unlike most flowers that end up in books, it was not a gift-byproduct of a relationship, though I had lost some flowers sent by an equally beautiful girl whom I collided with in bazaar on chaand raat in Lahore. This rose however was given to me by a Sikh. I went to the Wagha border where after the evening parade, a Sardarji from the opposite side handed me this flower. I don’t know who he was but even after years, this flower keeps emitting aroma of peace and love. May curse befall on politicians and reasons which ruined peace, love and people.