every jam has its own jar.

A knotted, vibrant, colourful testament of hopes and wishes at the Mazaar of Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai drew me to it. It was so mesmerizing to know there was a story with each knot, someone, somewhere appealing to a Higher Power to make something happen. It makes you feel small in the course of the universe as all other knots come into focus and threaten to make you actually see things in perspective. And count your lucky stars.

Just like I have my friends, people who make me comfortable and bring out the best in me, I also have my socks, pieces of clothing that add comfort in my life and bring out new sides to me with their colour, design and sheer fun.

finding sanctuary in
friends,
in a massage,
in the quiet music
and in my own thoughts.

Blogging is a pain these days because of my internet connection. I have lots to say but not enough time or patienece to keep trying to say it.

I remember when we were small, living abroad, Dada was a larger-than-life figure for us. We always heard of talks and speeches and the various literrary milestones he achieved in correlation with Pakistan. So much so that my younger sister used to tell people that “Dada was the king Pakistan.” We drew him to be an important, busy man, someone who would always be too busy doing important busy things. We loved him, as we knew we must, and we looked forward to visits, but they were always tinged with a sense of awe which made him someone who was to be looked at and admired but not touched.

Funny thing about life is, that by the time you really get around to appreciating it in the fullest sense of the word, it’s usually too late, which is why the time you can capture becomes all the more precious, all the more important.
Hearing Dada address the IVS graduating batch 2005 today was something I will never forget. I think of him not as the “great literary giant” as thariani sahab put it, or the daunting figure of my childhood years, but simply as my grandfather, Dada, who I have gotten to know as a real person in the last 15 years. I will remember him as someone with whom I have a very strange, gruff bond, of intelligent arguments and major differences and great great respect. I will remember him as someone who beleived in my ability to make decisions, who encouraged my verbal wars with him with much glee.

Today, as we heard him sing “jeevay jeevay” at the IVS, our second home in so many ways, I was again reminded sharply of the fact that life is so short and the people to love so many.

1. zsa zsa zsu
2. ostentatious
3. ooomph
4. luscious
5. snooty

i think graphic design is one of the most frustrating careers to be in because, if you are a good one, you can simply never get uninvolved and just leave it. From the day I graduated I have been advised on the merits of letting a project go, of not getting too attached to the end product and finding comfort in the fact that yes, I did my best. But what good is my best if it only extended to an idea and not the practical application of it? What good are words if they just hang in the air, not bringing with them at most a revolutionary change and at least a slight widening of the eyes?
Sometimes I wish I was a graphic designer with the sensibility of a fine artist, so I could design for myself and not have to worry about target audiences and corporate hoo haa. So I could design for the sake of design and people would appreciate it for the sake of appreciation. Just because it’s graphic doesnt mean its devoid of a process or an intelligent thought behind it. You’d be suprrised if you looked at some good designer’s work carefully. The amount of soul dredgery put into a regular body of an annual or CSR report is enough to bring tears into someone’s eyes.
So what if design is not seen here at the grand scale of life altering ? So what if design is just “something pretty”? A good designer (and yes i use this term very very specifically) knows otherwise and amidst the curses and anger, feels proud of herself.