Toot Siyah.


Ghole: Suggest a name for the magazine.
Me: Could it be something to do with the Badshahi mosque?
Ghole: No. Suggest a name currently on the list. *sends list*
Ghole: Could be like?
Me: Well I don’t know! I’m not the bloody sub editor!
Me: And congratulate the idiot who came up with D and D zine, would you.
Me: How about tootsiyah? No idea what it means but it sounds nice.
Me: Wait, that’s the name of a qurshi sharbut. -____-
Ghole: Dewaan-e-dandaan!
Me: That!
Me: Dammit, the ideas that you get from thinking on my wavelength.
Me: I WANT CREDIT FOR SUBCONSCIOUSLY EVOLVING YOUR THOUGHT PROCESS!

Survivor’s Guilt.

Here’s the situation. While the bloody result seems to have fallen prey to the big bad wolf and left us hapless souls to plod on aimlessly, we (the great minds that are Sajeel and I) have nothing but our large noses to blame for missing a clause from some laws that could’ve saved us three whole years down the road. Precious time that could’ve/should’ve been spent preparing for what we ought to have learned in the first two years, so we too could be leaving on a jet plane right now, away from the kettles and the pots and the storms in the teacups, and the madness that has us enveloped thus.

So countless back-seat superfluous discussions later, here we are.  The end of the bloody rainbow in sight, fingers crossed, we begin to dig.