I stand alone in the Colosseum of life. The mood I am in is immeasurable caressing the infinity of time and space. Transgressing into a multidimensional realm of the physical, emotional and spiritual orbit of my life is not a permanent state of my mind, but as I have chosen to dwell on this subject it seems that I am heaved into this momentary position. I will attempt to expound the ups, downs, bends and long unending stretches of roads disappearing into the horizon of time. Heartaches, moments of happiness and joy all are in a state of fusion with colors of nature and its blessings. The zero milestone is not a physical one but that which resides in my vaguest of memories, which rekindle now and then and therein lies the pleasures of the life of whatever its worth for me. The process of remembering is a blessing of nature. Imagine if this is taken away from us there will be an upheaval in our lives. Some faded ones and some etched deeply in my mind are the unforgettable ones. They are part of the convention of so many emotions. Memories are thus, in my opinion, a blessing it keeps you connected with something which does not exist, but only in another dimension. Some people can let go of them. For me which I have let go has not been because of anything but only because they do not exist anymore in any form to affect me or those around me. I am reminded of Mark Twain’s quote who says that sign of a poor memory is for those who have a clear conscience; I am still trying perceptively apply it on myself, not necessarily that I may expound on that thought right now. When you are immersed in a state of mind as I am now I wonder if one should lead his life with the signposts of life. Many times in my journey of 68 years, I do not remember being at a crossroad of making a decision, but now I can say without any declaration of guilt with the benefit of hindsight except two happenings which I feel I could have made a better value of time, though with a feeling of regret. I guess we all have them when from the perspective of the passage of these long years where age is the teacher. Having said that I have never ever considered myself inadequate to venture into passions which either was dormant or the mind was not ready to start that particular journey. Two days ago I received a call from a very senior retired officer of the Army who had a glittering career both when he was in the Army and after retirement. Someone had told me he is a good painter. I chose to ask him about his unknown talent. Being myself into the journey where I did not allow time to dictate me of my erudition of playing with knife and brushes, he took me by bewilderment when he told me that he started learning Calligraphy at the age of 70 years and published a book with exhibitions in Pakistan and abroad. He was generous to present me with a copy of his book “ALIF” Quest of The Devine. Looking back at our deprivations and dispossessions, in my opinion, is a very parlous state of mind which should never be allowed to persist. I never do that. I know for so many it must have been a trammel to capitulate into nothingness, where the will is set into hermitic existence. Everyone’s journey can never be as of mine, We all have latent ambitions, I did not let mine die with the circumstances surrounding me or how many miles I covered in my journey of life. Many people have affected my thinking, and in so many ways, they were simply few words which set me in a motion of my attitudes, views and how I let myself be guided by them. They were not extreme thought provoking but simply uncomplicated words and ideas. One needs to be receptive to happenings around us. Personally, the chart of my milestones and signposts have been simple and straightforward. I never take time to take a decision which has allowed me more positions of an advantage than otherwise. For me, the significance of milestones in my life have had minimal relevance and to be honest have not been a moot point whatsoever. I am a collector of few things. I regret missing so many things which could have been now my prized possessions, they are the lost milestones never to be seen or touched. In the exuberance of our youth, we tend to take things for granted, an extra weight to carry. well, past is past I have looked forward. The pieces are enough to remember not necessarily as they were, the vagueness is beautiful, this is how I think, not forgetting what Mark Twain said. I will not compromise on my conscience. I am neither a writer nor a literary person. I write what I feel at that point. Does not mean that I sway too much in my principles, simply I chose to follow the moment. It must bring out the best of me – some say you are innocent in your views, others would categorize me as a scrambler galloping on an unchartered moment of the moment itself. The MOMENT we all have. Enjoy it. Cherish it.
I am a man of spatial heights, inspirational self, and emotional depth
I am browsing through an abundance of letters, written to me in different moods of Moody. I have attempted to sift through not all but most of his letters and layout for your reading few passages to illustrate his fondness for a choice of words and his own expressionistic style. Somewhere he is deeply perceptive and insightful in his style somewhere you would notice his witticism and funniness. Let me put these down and let you do your own costing and pricing.
—— In the last few days, I have been on the thoroughfares and frivolities of my daily norms. I was out of words but improvising my ways. I did not have much trouble with reading but the concussions of routine readiness had impeded my writing. Writing can be extremely tedious while your reading desires are on the burner. I would start to read after having written reasonably and by the time I was able to marginalize few paces, thoughts become provocative. In trying to resolve single logic of what was being read fast, multiple comparisons started precipitating from the living world and books. The momentum lost meters making the speed burdensome especially when you are reading an old-fashioned hardbound book in which a line travails to 13 or 14 words. Not to mention the 3 or 2 words in the hideout of shadow on every line. The eyeballs just kept bickering over and across narrow margins and wide spaces yet trying to gobble all bytes together. I guess this is a payment for the price of Taj Mahal and to engage with every apparatus of potential is truly prolific and exhilarating. For a long time in my life, I always felt ambivalent toward my inner self and with people around me. A little shy when my ideology tried to surface and to communicate it across the bench. Perhaps this is Coach Carter’s fear that makes us shine and everything around us. I kept wondering how people would opinionate me and in the process kept plenty incarcerated. Whenever I discussed my demeanors, people caressed stultified faces, sardonic smiles and complete ironic denial of what I tried to deliver. This was always disquietude in Pakistan but views abroad were never sought posthumously. Resultantly, I did not dwell on what was in mind to bear and deliver. Sometimes I eared the erring and occasionally my receptiveness remained audible of their resonation. However, it started attenuating the day I began turning and toppling every stone engraved on books. I outsourced consolation but the ability to describe books and my own idiosyncrasies began to resolute me in less difficulty. I think true love is an icon of eternal human being but to love books lays in him its’ glorification for eternity. To gain that end requires meaningful contemplation, self-discipline to draw a balance between reading and writing. it is how Aristotle said that by slowing down distance it is divided and by increasing speed, time reduced.
I never run out of letters. Words reside in layers whilst my seamless perspicacity to expound in sentences, however, intricate is return, return to scurry lifestyle. To write is almost captivating that you never feel relinquished from its charm afterward and all you do is squeak a hoarse throat in a swarm of skirmishing noise around. Rest you are right. Life is a beauty when I glare the blondie named Carlie and not to compliment her friend Emilie is unfair. Rachel and I are embittered by a slipshod boyfriend of hers called Luke and making plans to take the bloke out of the equation. Rest is well. My books beckon me. I will embrace them.
Few closing lines of Nasir’s letter to his younger brother Bilal.
— How are your studies? It is my foremost interest about you, is inclusive, for myself, and, I deem that it is something we both share in common. Have you been taking tutorial tests and if yes, any shortcomings or ambivalent scenarios you think that they may have been overlooked or requires your heedfulness? How are Musty, Eiman, Rabia and Haider Bhai? I bet kids must be cranky, noisy and all that is probable and prevalent among chirping children. How is Mommy? Do Batmans need sidekicks or their mean or modes sum acceptable as average? What is captivating about SMALLVILLE these days? Is the Director nagging with his usual impasse or episodes have unveiled anything mind-blowing? I speak to Ali often and he seems to be doing well in the communion of Wollongong gals. Yesterday Hasselhoff phoned me from the beach in a very enlivened embodied voice. Rest you can let your machinations do the aftermath of Ali’s running and life savings on sand aside lighthouse and ocean shores. All that laxity of muscles in action in a slow-moving animated symmetry of style, let alone, the music preponderating in background boisterously. Anyhow, much for today’s exponential farce and I must bid you leave. Stay in touch and take loads of care. Your loving bro. Moody.
—- I have not read what I have written so far but it seems that writing is flourishing and without it, there is no escape if I have to survive the hailstorm of ANU’s master’s program. Additionally, my every impulse tells me that since I am reading slowly and more importantly that the new habit I have formed and is similar to the habit Bertrand Russell had, which is, stuttering his tongue with entrenching lips while reading and mostly forming images. I am also thoroughly enjoying this newly borrowed book from the library called “Aristotle on Memory”. It is a fantabulous piece of Greek synthetic piece and I have every intention to avail its theory in my everyday life pragmatically. My fundamentals of imagination have already started to imprint every work in the form of Phantasma as is described by Aristotle interpreted by Sorabji. I find it funny because all the reading tippers on book outlets would stress reading fast whereas all the prolific writers I have read so far they mostly procrastinated reading, and, the ones I don’t know whether they did, never mentioned fastidiously.—
In the year 2006 when I was crossed over for next rank, Nasir sent me an email. The subject was HELLO! He mentions Reinhold Messner- who is he? you may be wondering. I was his Liaison Officer twice when he came to Pakistan to Climb Nanga Parbat Solo first by a mountaineer to do so on an 8000 m peak. A feat never achieved before 1978. In 1979 he came again and climbed K2. I was his LO then as well. This mail is a testimonial to the fact of his ability to collect the right verses to tell me that I finished one like a successful Major General. As it is impossible to cover the beauty of his expression in these short blog posts, I shall end this one with his mail as I received it on 11 April 2006 while I was the Deputy Force Commander in UN Mission in Liberia, where I remained for 3 Years. Be entertained 🙂
I asked someone if you have heard of Reinhold Messner? Sie mir gesagt, Ja, He has great fame. I said my father knowns him ever since he climbed K2 in 1979. I watch all great things come to an end. But will remember you always from the greatness of a General. I tried to look if there was greatness in honesty. Example stood steadily in General dealing with the generality of every major life doing. I said what if there was only a little more time? There has always been time but now is only meant not in this way. But there is no news like today. I said, so is news of tomorrow and what of possibilities? There was no need to become beyond the responsibility of such great General. I said life is difficult when dealt not in words; But still, always the word saying to have felt them. I have to look everywhere for the best of me because it is hard to find further excellence as my father’s. If it is not for the achievement readily climbed then finishing one like a successful Major General. Wisdom is light of all truth but it takes no flame from it because in itself is the enkindled truth! Your loving son NASIR.
“You are my sterling Warriors and Pride of Pakistan”