One-Oh-One Unsaid Words

By: Ramsha Ekhlaque 

The darkness of the night was deceptive, still, almost unforgiving. It was thick and heavy, interlaced with the stench of death and broken by the screaming silence of sorrow. But she did not complain, she did not say a word.

There was absolute stillness. No air stirred the grass or leaves. No clouds drifted in the sea of blue above. No water dripped or flowed. No sound could be heard, either close at hand or in the far-off-distance. It was an eerie sort of tranquillity, so instead of being soothed, her senses became heightened. She felt like a prey, even though no predator could be detected. It was as if the world was encased in a cocoon, a bubble and there was no way out.

Silence gnawed at her insides. Silence hung in the air like the suspended moment before the falling glass shatters on the ground. It was like a gaping void, needed to be filled with sounds, words, anything. It was eerily unnatural, like a dawn devoid of birdsong. Silence clung to her, seeping into her every pore, like a poison slowly paralysing her from either speech or movement.

With every passing moment, the pain from the poison grew, but she did not complain, she did not say a word.

Dustbowl of the soul, melting into soundless oblivion, falling into a bottomless pit, nothing to grab on, tumbling, swirling into blackness. Despair, gloom, hopelessness, welled up from the bellow, engulfed in nothingness. Struggling with every last bit of strength left in her, she was clawing at the wall of the pit, but she was dragged down, swamped with negative emotions, as steady and merciless as sinking sand and suddenly, everything around her faded into an abyss.

But she did not scream, she did not complain, she did not say a word.

Past the rickety iron gates, a legion of stone, stronger than any army marched their way across the soft soil and tendrils of rusty weeds, withstanding centuries of brutal and harsh disasters of mother-nature itself. An oozing fog, dense from the still waters of the swamp, curled around each man who triumphantly drew out of the ground and stood to attention, their identification engraved into each chest. Some with curling dates and others with memories left behind their loved ones, mourning at home in the dark inkling corners. Among them, lied her broken, empty bones, buried six feet below the dead roots, alongside those one-oh-one words she never spoke. 

ISpy: Edition Two.

  Written By: Shehroze Shaikh


O ye who calleth Chapter thy...Oh what the hell! Hello people, it's friday night and you know what that means *fangirl screams in the background* *ISpy! ISpy! ISpy!*
That's right, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another exposing edition of ISpy, PAF Chapter's weekly rag, brought to you by the Student Blogging Team. We know who you are, we know what you did, and we have little spies that feed off your every move *No, Sakina. I did not mean you when I said little*
Lets begin with the headlines, and this was a bad week for the 'Ahad's.

1. Saud Thanvi, the man with the not-so-manly cosmetics. *dies a little*
2. Ahad bin Wahid and Yusuf Khan share a moment. *too much white in this one*
3. Racist jokes to Football target to Mop. Abdul Ahad Khan, a victim of racism.

Saud Thanvi is a funny and friendly person. He is responsible and hardworkin...*yawns*
Well, this is not the kind of stuff we're interested in here. Apparently, it has come to my knowledge, Saud has love for all things feminine. Yes, people. Your AD for PAFMUN has a thing for female cosmetics. Lip glosses, special chapsticks, the mere taste of these things shoots him straight up to Cloud 7. He has been seen borrowing (snatching too, if needed) and applying lip balms, baby lips and stuff like that. When seen with a doubtful eye, he says, "I like how they taste". 
Now we all know the reason behind his Mufta habit. Maybe he saves all his money to cater to his 'needs'. So the next time Saud comes to any of you with his trademark 'Assalam u Alaikummm', guys, hide your food and money, and girls, hide your baby lips, glosses, balms or anything that goes on your lips (especially if it's cherry flavoured).

Ahad bin Wahid, and Yusuf Khan, the all white couple at Redbricks. Ahad, and who was previously thought to be romantically involved with Ahsan Soherwardy, has come out all lips blazing and staked his claim over Yusuf. Wandering souls (and some of my spies) witnessed Ahad and Yusuf's session and were left stunned. *Oh, the *Yusuf, who was previously involved with Bhai Rasool, was very pleased by Ahad's affectionate approach *awwww*. I guess pretty soon we're gonna hear another assembly lecture. This time about guys maintaining distance between themselves. Sigh..*background music: Bas yahi apradh main har baar karta hooooon. Admi hun Admi sy pyaar karta hoooon*

No use hiding your face now, Ahad. Everybody knows.

Racism, one of the greater issues faced by the world, is now raising it's head in Chapter as well. One of the victims is Abdul Ahad Khan, a photographer. Ahad has had it tough here. From bearing Khurram Kamran's racist jokes (Why did Ahad raise a chicken? To teach his kids how to walk), and being struck with a two footballs in two seconds ("Rehem karo! Rehem kro!", he cried), Ahad is a walking victim. That's not all. Recently, a few dedicated Pafians took to the task of mopping the floors. When they couldn't find a mop, they did what needed to be done in the name of service. They grabbed Ahad by his collars and dragged him across the floor in usual mopping style. Ahad was helplessly struggling *It's 'cause I'm black, isn't it?*
The floors were spotless. And Ahad, well, the dust just blended in.

"I hope they see the White uniform and leave me alone."
-Ahad.

Well, that's it for today folks. Visit the blog next friday again, for another weekly roundup of all things Chapter. This is ISpy, and WE'RE WATCHING YOU.

Five Words of Sympathy

By: Ramsha Ekhlaque 


A sense of anguish, more so than pain, had taken rule of heart and she felt extremely light headed. Maybe the upper content of her head was a little more lighter than a spiral of wool, which was slowly turning as it unravelled. One more revolution and the final strand would release to allow her mind to slip through the gap, and float slowly up and away. Now she was drifting, drifting, drifting down through a bed of gently swaying seaweeds.

The day was damp and bleak, and a grey mist hung over the lake like a veil. The only sound to break the eerie silence was the slow methodical beat of its wings, as a lone grey heron passes lazily and unseen, overhead.

Fragments of thought, splinters of words and droplets of silence spun into a kaleidoscopic jumble, shifting infinitesimally and fell into an incredible new pattern.

All at once, she discovers that there is nothing around at all but a spreading carpet of grey-green moss, year's deep, and a silence that feels as old as time itself. There is nothing to frighten her, but she is frightened and lone-some, not so much for people, but a sound, any sound. She turns to run back towards town, but there is nothing behind her now. For a second, she stood under a grey moss, under a grey sky, in the midst of a grey silence.

The emptiness in her heart, the numbness pounding her brain, the salty tears that flowed unchecked from her eyes, the shear nothingness that now took hold of her soul threatened to engulf her entirely. Her legs buckled, knees sinking into the sodden earth as she watched her own casket being lowered to its final resting place.

She opened her eyes to find herself in a land of deepest shade. It was a weary region of dead, where all things are forgot. Dark as the empty heart of an abandoned soul, dark as the unlit corner of a bedroom closet, dark as a clogged drain, dark as a murderer's soul, dark as a dead man's memories.

Her head swam in the fire burning inside, the only smouldering embers of a time where there had been other presences with her, around her, in her. But now, the void had been slowly filled with a cold, howling storm of fear that refused to ever let up. She was completely and utterly alone in her mind, body, soul and all the loneliness could offer her were five words of sympathy and two droplets of tears.

ISpy: Edition 1

Written by: Shehroze Shaikh

Welcome to the first of the many exposing editions of ISpy.
After spending this week observing you Pakoras of PAF Chapter and scrutinizing all the speculative news brought in, we give you the headlines.
1. Cats for Physics. Chapter cats finally enroll themselves in class.
2. Hot weather, and the domestics won't turn on the AC? No worries. Sabeeh Mohiuddin demonstrates how to turn it on.

Detailed news now; the good news and the bad news.
Good news is, Peter and Delilah, the infamous Chapter cats who make our snack hours miserable (I still haven't forgiven them for clawing at my Zinger and tipping over my Pepsi glass), have finally decided to use their time more productively. They have enrolled in Sir Imran's Physics class with A1S5. It did not go smoothly, however... Cats, being the royal creatures they are, had no regard for Sir Imran's authority as they seated themselves near him and with a trademark, "Meoww", ordered to be pet. Sir Imran wasn't one to take their poop, so he literally kicked them out of the class. First day, first offence. What does a cat have to do to get pet? *sigh* Don't worry P&D, you'll be fine.

Moving on, it's November, and still the Earth won't turn away from the sun to give us a bit of that sweet thing called winter. Well, atleast we have ACs (All those who have working ACs, I loathe you. -A2S1)
But since the AC remotes are safe and hidden with the Domestic Staff, you can't really sit in your classes when you're free because the domestics are like toys that work on keys. Chaabi lagi hui hai ke AC kab band karna hai. Well no worries, as Sabeeh Mohiuddin has provided all you nincompoops with a demonstration that shall keep you cool. You simply open the AC flap and press the power button inside. *sigh* It's that easy. Ofcourse, watch out for any 'chaabi-lagay-domestics'. As it happened, Sabeeh show-of-brains was undone as a few minutes later, the toys got angry and turned off the AC, again.


That's it for this edition of ISpy. Visit the blog every Friday night for the juiciest details of life at PAF Chapter.
P.S. Pictures next week too.
This is ISpy, and we're watching you.
Koi deikhey na deikhey, hum jaasoos deikheingey.