Monday 27 April 2009

Limpid Love...

You know, most of my writing time is taken up by Iraq. Her deaths, her misery, her plight, her agonies, her destruction, her loss of identity...

I find myself negotiating with Time, trying to out maneuver Him...I find myself stealing moments away from Her, because I have this deep need to renew ties with some other reality, another reality that I know exists in parallel to mine...

Such long awaited moments were granted to me this evening...

W. is a part time student/waiter in this café that I frequently go to. W. is one of the most pleasant, kind person I have ever come across. He must be around 25 or so, newly married, and just very nice to talk to.

W. was not terribly busy this evening and I could tell he wanted to chat a little.
He usually calls me Ma'am out of respect even though I always call him by his first name...I suppose that has to do with the age difference and the fact that am regular client of this place.

W. timidly approached my table and asked me in his usual manner if I wanted anything else to drink...My glass was still full, and he obviously saw it too, so I guessed he just wanted to I let him.

He talked about his studies, his plans for the future, his wife...and relations.

And am not sure how it came about, but I asked him how he met his wife and how it all happened...

So he went into great details about he met her, and how trust was so important between a man and a we spoke about trust.

I asked him if there was absolute trust between his wife and himself and he said yes absolutely.

So I probed a little further and asked him how did this trust come about ?

He told me that at first, his wife did not trust him much, neither did he trust her...she would pry on him and check his mobile for messages, try to find out who emailed him...etc...and he did the same.

He continued candidly...

- I made my life and hers easy, I gave her my mobile and all my passwords...

- You did ???

- Yes, why shouldn't I ? I have nothing to hide...If that will appease her, let her have access to all my secrets...

- So you feared nothing ?

- Of course not, Ma'am. Why should I fear ? I love her and I decided to marry her. So am hers and she is mine. I have nothing to hide.

I just went...WOW.

This young 25 year old man left me speechless in his candor, simplicity and good faith...

So I said to him :

- You must have had some really good role models, am sure your parents loved one another and hid nothing...

- Sure Ma'am they did. However hard I try, I will never be able to be like them.

- So what were they like, together, W. ?

- Oh Ma'am, you will not believe it...They were married for over 35 years, my father never cheated on my mom. When she seriously fell ill, he sold everything he had, everything Ma'am for her to get the adequate medical care. He stood by her day and night, for three years. After she recovered from her illness, by a few months, he passed away...he passed away and she lived on...He gave her his life.

- And what about your Mum, did she ever think of remarrying ?

- Are you joking Ma'am ?! He is still her husband. No one will ever replace him.

- All of that still exists W. ?

- Yes Ma'am, it does...look at me and my wife. We are like that too.

I must admit, I was speechless...

I had lost faith in such kind of Love, and W. in the space of a few minutes renewed and restored an inkling of faith in it. It still existed and it was still possible...

And W. was/is a living example of it.

Tonight, I felt truly blessed...I was given a gift...a warm ray of its existence, a few drops of its limpid water...

Sunday 26 April 2009

A Conspiracy...

Listen, am not quite sure who is behind it, but am sure there is a conspiracy to keep people scared and in consequence, isolated from one another...

Before, when you met someone and you were interested in having a closer and serious relationship, you'd think to yourself - hmmm I wonder : Any STDS?, any incurable stuff ? diabetes maybe ? how about coronary disease ?

Now these are things of the past - nearly.

Now you wonder if they have a latent prion like Creusfeld-Jakob, lodged in their brain cells as in Mad Cow disease, or a latent, resistant strain of Bird Flu or if they ever dealt with Swine before...

(Mind you, you can always opt for 100% vegetarian, I am not sure that will solve the problem, though.)

I received a mail from an M.D friend of mine offering me and others some tips on how to protect ourselves from the Swine/Pig Flu pandemic.

- Keep your homes very well ventilated
- Take Vitamin C. and copper tablets
- Stock on masks
- Stock on disinfectant
- Avoid going out as much as possible...

Now if this is not Isolation, I don't know what is.

I guess, you can just sit behind your computer and type away nonsense instead, or maybe strike up online "friendships" and/or "romance" with perfect strangers...deluding yourself with - I will never catch anything that way. No latent germ, no cunning bacteria, no sneaky worms, no lethal virus...

Well, guess what ? There are no guarantees. You may very well end up as infected as your computer.

Did I say Conspiracy ?

P.S: A thought -- Why don't they design huge size condoms, we can all dress up in one and walk about -- scare free.

Painting : Iraqi artist, Saad Ali.

Bhangra Away...

Dats my song when I practice my Bhangra moves...Some parts of Bhangra dance resemble oriental dance, so that's not the hard part. The hard part is all the jumping around...

Try it, it's fun and Punjabi music is great.

Mundian to Bach Ke = Beware of the Boys
by : Panjabi MC.

Tried posting it from Imeem, it only gives me 30 sec of the song. So I will have to settle for the video. The quality is not too good.

Friday 24 April 2009

Take a Chance on Me, hon ;-)

I hate the word hon . Honey is fine but not hon! But am using it anyway, for a specific purpose. You will find out why, soon...

I read that there is this tall, handsome (they all say that), millionaire, living in Michigan, and drives an American car (maybe some ex automotive industry tycoon gone bankrupt) and he's looking for a wife.

His ad says that men are very visual (yes, tried living with a guy who was a professional ogler, he was given the boot in no time), very shallow (yes, am not surprised either - goes hand in hand with visual) and very superficial (no shit - who would have guessed ?!)

I confess, when I first read his ad - actually it was a caption of some video I spotted whilst I was checking my mail box - I got curious. The writing was too small, and I had no reading glasses...(stop sneering, he did not specify age)

I just saw "rich, handsome, tall, millionaire, looking for wife ...4 D's..."

I thought to myself 4D's. What the fuck is that ? Tried solving this enigma and gave myself exactly 60 seconds to do so.

4D's - could he be looking for a quadruple D cup ? Nah, too far fetched...Quadruple D is huge...He should not be advertising on Fox news for that, he needs to check the porn sites instead. Mind you Fox news is like an official porn queen with some luck he might "stumble upon" a 4D

Or maybe he meant 4D's as in derrière. Like a quadruple size butt ?
Again, too surreal. He may need to settle for a female elephant instead.

Maybe he meant, 4D's as in double D cup and double derrières. That sounded more realistically plausible, but non applicable in my case. (I guess I don't stand a chance)

Got tired of figuring out what his 4D's were, so I clicked on the video. Turns out that this very tall - giraffe suitor, is looking for 4B's and not 4D's as I previously mis-read.

4B's - Beauty (wow, how novel!), body (wow, how original!), brains (ah, finally!) and balance (ok, am out!) but he did specify no petites - minimum 5.6 but 5.5 will do too, "no deal breaker." (I still stand a chance).

Our suitor is a very tall dude and "does not want to hurt his neck looking down on a petite lady."
And am sure a petite lady does not wish to break her neck staring up (hello hon, what's the weather like up there ?) or carry a stool with her whenever he is around, (just a minute hon, let me climb and give you a kiss)

Anyways, Mr Giraffe has received so many applications (he lives in Michigan, so no competition there, I still stand a chance), that he has called onto some matchmaker to help him out. Her fees, 50'000 dollars up front (sounds like a high class pro to me).

That's not a bad lucrative business that matchmaking business. Got me thinking about solving my financial worries - open a matchmaking agency in occupied Baghdad.

A sect neutral agency or should I make it sect specific ? - that really got me thinking...

A standard ad would go like that :

- Handsome, bigamous, nouveau riche, sectarian, fraudulent, corrupt, occupation arriviste, seeks a third wife. Young virgins only.


- Handsome, educated, orphaned man, who just lost his family to the militias, seeks a Florence Nightingale look-alike. Sectarian, clad women need not apply. Must be willing to live in a ghetto.


- Handsome, university graduate seeks a mate outside of Iraq for marriage and political asylum - Christian women welcomed.

Do you think I will make some dough that way or should I just continue pursuing the secret, anonymous giraffe look-alike millionaire from Michigan ?

I'll sleep on that...

This ad also got me thinking about arranged marriages.

You know how Westerners and in particular "feminists" are always lamenting on the fate of "those poor Muslim women who are forced into arranged marriages."

Theoretically speaking, there are no forced marriages in Islam. A woman must ALWAYS give her consent and she must be able to see and sit with her suitor BEFORE accepting to marry the guy.

And in the majority of arranged marriages (which are getting quite scarce, by the way) where the family or some well wishing mediator is involved in the matchmaking, that is the case -- a would-be bride gives her consent AFTER meeting her potential suitor.

So how is that so different from our American dude looking for a bride through a matchmaking agency ? At least in our case, there is no 50'000 dollars paid up front.

For me there is no difference at all.

The only difference is the classical whining of those Westerners who look on and offer their critical appraisal of this "backward" process. They seem to overlook, however, the growing number of matchmaking matrimonial agencies, charging phenomenal sums to find suitable partners for their candidates.

The same goes for polygamy by the way, but I shall keep that for another chapter...

So what do you think ? Should I submit my application to our Michigan giraffe
look-alike suitor ? Will he take a chance on me ?

Painting : I don't know who painted this. I just received it by "coincidence" from a friend of mine - who seems to be reading my Arab Woman thoughts ;-)

Thursday 23 April 2009

An Orphan's song.

I like this song by the late, Ahmet Kaya. The lyrics of this song -- Where is my Youth ? -- are from the poem by the late Turkish poet, Yusuf Hayaloglu.

I found this only translation on the web.

Where is my youth
My marbles, my teetotum
My shirt that was ripped on the cherry tree
They have stolen my chilhood not knowing
I have stayed without window, mum
My kite has got caught in the wires
Where is my youth

What exists that burns this youth
Like bread, like love
What exists for goodness
That I have shared, I have grown up
What a diffucult paradox this is, mum
I have fallen down wolves dinner table
Where is my youth

Where is my joy
My aquarium,my canary
My cactus that I care much
They have taken my books without a word
The walls are not speaking, mum
Not any door stands open, mum
Where is my youth

Save up the rains, mum
I caught fire in the time, fire
Where is my youth

Tuesday 21 April 2009

Love on the Rocks...

I heard that song play today...Gosh, it brought back some memories. The first time I heard it was in Baghdad, seems like ages ago.

My relative H. a real hunk of a guy, very handsome, cocky and too vain for my taste, woke up one morning to find a cassette of this song deposited at his door step.

When I passed by that evening, I saw H. sitting in a corner of the living room holding a glass of whiskey, looking solemn, to say the least.

I understood from his mother, that his then "love of his life" S. caught him in his own game. She said nothing. She just left him this song at his door step. He never heard from her since...

I saw H. not too long ago and by "concidence" this song was playing on the radio - we happen to listen to the same radio station, the nostalgia one. I could have sworn I saw H. gorgeous eyes turn misty...

I thought to myself -- tough buddy, you let a good thing go, now, cry alone.

Messing with a woman's heart is a very rocky thing indeed.

Monday 20 April 2009

SlumDog Millionaire.

I have watched this film twice in less than 48 hours.

I absolutely loved it and am planning to watch it again. It's been ages since I've seen a good film such as this one. The political slant to it is also worth taking notice of - namely the religious affiliation of the "hero" from the slums of Mumbai. And the blatant persecution of his religious group by hot headed fanatics.

Am sure that some of the persecution scenes have been inspired from real life situations...I have heard and read of similar incidents in the past coming from India.

A MUST see.

Two Poems.

Two poems by the Iraqi poet Abd Al Wahab Al-Bayati (1926-1999) .

Secret of Fire

On the last day
I kissed her hands,
Her eyes / her lips.
I said to her: you are now
Ripe like an apple
Half of you: a woman
The other half: impossible to describe.
The words
Escaped me
And I escaped them
Both of us collapsed.
Now I pray
For the childhood of this light face
And for this ripe, burning body
I bring my face closer
To this gushing spring,
On the last day, I said to her:
You are the fire of the forests
The water of the river
The secret of the fire
Half of you cannot be described
The other half: a priestess in the temple of Ishtar.

The Birth of Unborn Cities

I am born in unborn cities
But in the night of the autumn of the Arab cities
Broken hearted I die.
I bury my love in Granada
I say:
“Nothing is victorious except love”
I burn my poetry and die.
On the sidewalks of exile
I arise after death
To be born in unborn cities
And to die.

Sunday 19 April 2009

Another Beauty Piece...

Another beautiful rendition by Lara Fabian of the famous piece by Lucio Dalla --"Caruso".

I opted for one with English subtitles. And with good reason...

Thursday 16 April 2009

Simply Beautiful...

I love this song by Lara Fabian. A singer who sings from the Heart. And this is how it is supposed to be - from the Heart.

Wednesday 15 April 2009

I feel like some French.....Blues.

This is a Franglais post. Tant pis if you cannot understand.

And I can't be bothered to find all my French "accents" on the keyboard. So Mesdames et Messieurs, vous ferez avec -- sans vos putains d'accents.

Ah les pétasses françaises, les françaises moyennes...les culs-culs la praline, mesdames Marie-Claire et Elle...vous me faites chier, royalement chier.

Entrain de vous admirer dans vos monokinis, vos bronzages, et vos obsessions avec vos kilos...sur les sables des pays exotiques, rongées par le soleil et vos peaux toutes fripées, jouant les femmes fatales...les femmes du temps de Napoléon, les femmes de la cour de Charlemagne...toutes parfums et saletés. Moi raciste ? Jamais. J'ai simplement appris a parler votre propre langage. Choquant non ?

Vous atterrissez ici avec vos petits airs de princesses délaissées, toutes stressées, ici pour décompresser. Une petite secrétaire sans brevet, une autre qui n'a jamais quitter Pas de Calais...

Et vous voila toutes imbues d'importance. Putain, je tombe des nues. Vous vous croyez toutes reines, des conasses royales quoi ! L'oeil critique envers les Femmes Autres, dont vous trouvez toujours le bon prétexte de critiquer avec désinvolture, comme si vous êtes toutes complètes, toutes parfaites quand vous n'êtes que bêtes.

Stupides et bêtes, nulles dans vos cervelles fourrées de propos provenant de chez Paris-Match que vous dévorez comme des sauvages, en proie de solution finale pour votre malaise...d'autrui.

Ah mais les airs que vous vous données...tellement importantes dans les pays "la-bas", les pays "d'ici-bas"

Voila, j'ai presque tout dit a présent...presque.

Et je le répète avec grande joie - je vous emmerde royalement.

Bien a vous,

Layla Anwar.

Tuesday 14 April 2009

No One but You - Ghir Enta.

The song Ghir enta by the wondrous Souad Massi, interpreted in a Greek-Arabic duet with Nikos Aliagas. Just perfect.

Monday 13 April 2009

Saturday 11 April 2009

That's about it. 2 - Oh "pretty baby"

You may consider this post a continuation of my previous one...some sort of appendix, an addendum..."an extra" - not quite.

Did I not tell you, I've just about seen it all ?!

Guess what now ? I opened my mail, and some dick called Charlie from the u.s of a. sent me a mail. His mail consisted of " Stop yer bitchin " and "mebbe u need sum".

Okay, America, when will you learn how to fucking spell ?

But the "best" bit was that "Charlie" attached two digital pictures of his....ahemm, dick.

Yep, "Charlie" actually went to great length to send me two pictures of his penis in some upright position.

Thanks for the laugh "Charlie" - I really needed a joke tonight and you provided it. Not that I don't appreciate your "efforts".

Excuse me "Charlie" but do you call that a dick ? Yeah I know it is real, but frankly...could you not do any better ?

And what is so upright about it ? It looks like a dead vegetable to me.

Listen, am not holding it against you. I mean, we all have our issues and problems, but may need to reconsider your exihibitionist ain't doing the trick...Charlie.

I am not aghast and am not shocked...I just think you may need some major reconstructive plastic surgery.

No Charlie am not impressed...

And since am at it , did you really have to take a picture of your hairy bulging belly too ? Damn it man, you look like a fucking gorilla without the F. Ever thought of waxing that belly and a few abs exercises ? Won't do you any harm you know.
One may actually get to see that dead veggie you took great lengths in exposing...

But Charlie, am truly mesmerized...


If this is the state of your dick, I can't even fanthom what the state of your face is...

But hey listen, don't take it sure deep down you must be quite a "pretty baby ".

Friday 10 April 2009

That's about it .1

I've just about seen it all...honestly I have. There is nothing new you can impress me with. There is nothing new you can lull, seduce, entice, enthrall me with... Yeah am kind of jaded. Occupations, murder and mayhem do that to you. Sitting on the fucking fringes do that to you. Rape, torture and Death do that to you. Nothing shocks you anymore, nothing moves you anymore, nothing titillates you anymore...You've just about seen it all. No mystery left. You have uncovered every fucking dark corner of that rotten thing called the human psyche, you have seen it, experienced it, tasted it, felt it, sensed it, observed it...

Too fucking common, too fucking predictable, too fucking ugly, too fucking sad...too much darkness, too many shadows, too many lies...yet by some move, some reflex, some instinct, you keep a corner of your heart and mind free of clutter, awaiting Grace. Because this is what it will take -- GRACE. You dig your hand, push your fingers in that corner every now and then and check if the jar has filled up or not yet...You check so you can continue...hoping against hope that you will be proved wrong, for once.

Ah the human condition, the abject human condition. Sometimes, if you have not already gone insane with too much reality, you feel like taking them by their collars and shake them so hard...wake up you motherfuckers, wake up - can't you see ?!

But most of the time you end up pissing in the winds...or like we say in Iraqi - a pee in an ocean. But the idea that this jar may fill up, makes you go are stuck but some invisible hand keeps pushing you...and secretly you keep hoping that it's not just about it.

In from the Cold...

I don't know why, but this image of a man I had come across sometime ago is not leaving my mind...There was something very peculiar about him, he was always wearing a coat, even at the height of the summer heat. A friend of his told me that X always felt cold, even in the scorching sun...He sought much medical advice for his condition and no specialist could find an organic reason for his hypothermia.

I later on, found out more about X. He has had a very rough life...torture, exile, poverty, illness but above all loneliness...Since, he has always been feeling cold...and unable to part with the only skin he had left - his old wollen coat.

Thursday 9 April 2009

Raw Type...

My blog has gone crazy a bit like myself...I can't do anything with it anymore, except type. I have no compose/edit mode bar anymore. No Italic, no Bold, no spell checking...I can't upload pictures, can't provide web links - a virgin page for me to type away insanely, raw typing...

That really makes me sad, not to be able to decorate my words anymore...and just expose their dry skeletons to a curious passer by.

The only thing am allowed apart from senselessly type is to copy and paste. So I opted for this video. I love Qawwali music and who else but Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan can sing Ghazal in Qawwali form ?!

And music is like writing - sometimes one needs to hear/read the piece over and over again, to dive into its depth...

Youtube : Tumhein dillagi bhool --- Sir Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Monday 6 April 2009

Bimbo, la Bimbo...

Ohhh, Ahhh, she's so hot...Awww, Aieeee, she's so beautiful...
ohhh, ahhh, am head over heels..awww, aieee, give it, give her to me...

Bet you anything this is what a good majority of idiotic men exclaim when they watch Miss Universe -- I want the winner, I want her to be my lover, girlfriend, wife... to carry my babies...(rolls her eyes and thinks...poor kids)

Give me looks, give me looks, give me ass, give me legs, give me breasts, give, hot, hot...ohhh, ahhh, awww, aieee...

The number of utterly stupid women is directly correlated to the number of utterly stupido men...a demand and supply equation. And since women usually outlive men, the number of stupid women is slightly higher than that of the men...

And we are left with stupid women...

Maybe stupidity is a major turn on for you...I can't say it is for me.

And we have reached a stage where beauty is in 99% of the cases proportionally related to stupidity. The more beautiful you are, the more stupid you become...And beauty has become so homogenized, standardized...a bit like those Maoist uniforms everyone was obliged to wear during the Cultural Revolution...

There is a "cultural revolution" today, a cultural revolution in Stupidity - like who can be more stupid, the most stupid ever.

I want to cry for Beauty and commiserate with her.

Take the latest Miss Universe - even the title is grotesque, but never mind the title now, wait until you read the rest...

Dayana Mendoza of Venezuela,

" caused a stir here (in Caracas), on Wednesday after gushing over her visit to the US Naval base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, home of the "war on terror" prison camp.
Mendoza who works for the Miss Universe organization (an NBC universal and Donald Trump partnership) -- visited part of a tour that takes entertainers to visit US troops. " This week, Guantanamo!!! It was an incredible experience" said Mendoza..."The water in Guantanamo is soooo beautiful !!...It was unbelievable...I didn't want to leave, it was such a relaxing place, so calm and beautiful"...wrote Miss Mendoza on her personal blog."

Hey Chavez, congratulations for your revolutionary educational spirit...and good luck with your indefinite tenure in power...Hope they don't call you a dictator at some point...But as long as you are two asses in one pair of knickers with Iran and as long as you have such bimbos representing your country -- I guess you will be fine...

Congratulations Venezuela, you won the "Beauty" pageantry contest !

And this is for you stupidos - come now and sing with me: "Bimbo, la Bimbo"

Wednesday 1 April 2009

Finding a Place...

I walked today for what seemed to be an eternity...I walked and walked and walked...for well over 3 hours, until I could no longer feel my legs...

I stopped by a cafe and had not one but two arabic coffees scented with cardamon...

They were playing loud Arabic songs, nice ones, actually...And they played this one.

I stared through the cafe's window, it just overlooked an abandoned parking lot...and the lyrics kept repeating themselves in my head...

I will not translate all of them, but just a few lines...

"Take me with you...
and let me dream...
you've come at a time,
a no ordinary time,
promising me safety...
find me,
find me a place
where we can forget about time
and sing..."

Song : Take me with you by Fadel Shaker and Yara.
Painting : Iraq artist, Jaber Alwan.