3rd September, 2004

On Jafri’s suggestion, Hamza’s persuasion and Gumby’s abstinence to be the first to write, I was cornered to make the first entry into the noori journal. This would be my first attempt at writing something of substance since my days at the law firm. Its funny how this so called ‘rock stardom’ can drive you so far away from something as simple as penning down your own thoughts. All the interviews, tv appearances and reliance on mere gift of the gab seem to have fiercely blunted my abilities of written self expression. Please bear with my rustiness:

Abbotabad
3rd September, 2004
1:00 am

I am in Abbotabad. I am not here for a concert or anything related to the media. I live here. It is my hideout. It is reflection time.

Am I changing? Am I going back to my days when I was sixteen and sat in my room, struggling with my guitar trying to write a song that speaks of all that’s in my heart? Are those feelings of alienation, the sadness on the indifference of those around me, the frustration of boredom, the despair of friendlessness, and the feeling of nothingness taking hold of me again? Am I regressing or am I just growing up?

Is it metamorphosis? I do not know. Only time will tell. What I am certain is that things have changed. I am no longer the same. And I don’t think I am going back to my sixteen years as much as I would wish to be there.

I am also not trying to figure out why polo has a hole in it. Nor am I trying to figure out any other holes. I do have one last tv commercial to shoot with Walls; where me, Faisal, Bilal and Ali Azmat will count to four and jump in the air screaming Yaaaaaay! They may ask me to wear a skirt this time and polish my nails too. I can’t avoid that. I stand committed to putting my heart and soul into sincerely giving my best to my pay-masters.

But no more.

This is the change I feel in me.

Will I have to give up music then?

No I will not.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

from" ode to the nightingale" by John Keats.