Adventures of Spaceman Ifitkhar: Ek Mulaqaat

"Mayday! Mayday! This is Spaceman Iftikhar calling Mission Control!"

Spaceman Iftikhar could not see outside his helmet from all the black smoke surrounding him in the cockpit.

"Mission Control! I have crashed onto Planet UX-24, after suffering complete engine failure! I need backup, please send help!"

Spaceman Iftikhar blindly reached for the control panel and found the eject button. Squinting his eyes inside his helmet, he pushed it.

WHOOSH!

The top of the cockpit flew open, and Spaceman Iftikhar was launched high into the air. Opening his eyes, he saw the smoking wreck of his spaceship, the Shaheen-512, far below him. Planet UX-24 was remarkable, Spaceman Iftikhar noted. The sky was a soft shade of green, with purple clouds. The grass below was blue and the thin pointy trees had pink leaves!

Spaceman Iftikhar was not afraid of heights. He was a Spaceman after all! His missions were often far more dangerous, and for him ejecting out of a crashed spaceship was just another Tuesday.

Spaceman Ifitkhar pushed a button on his white spacesuit, and BOOM, his rocket-boosters ignited! He soared through the air and landed safely on the ground next to his ship.

Mission Control won't be pleased, thought Spaceman Iftikhar. It was his third crash this month! Mission Control will have to send someone to help him repair the Shaheen, but that would take days!

Spaceman Iftikhar did not want to wait, he was on a Mission after all. It was Spaceman Iftikhar's Mission to explore the far reaches of space and make exciting new scientific discoveries!

Planet UX-24 seemed most promising. Spaceman Iftikhar was the first astronaut to reach a planet so far far away from Earth.

Spaceman Iftikhar made his way up a hill, recording the fascinating environment around him. The blue grass was soft and swaying with the wind. Unlike Earth, this planet had two, although smaller, suns, and it was a bright sunny day.

Spaceman Iftikhar bumbled over in his fat spacesuit to one of the thin pink pointy trees. Beautiful shiny flowers surrounded the pale purple trunk. Each flower was star-shaped, with silver petals and golden centers. Spaceman Iftikhar was just about to pluck one from the tree trunk, when there was a loud chirp behind him!

Spaceman Iftikhar jumped, surprised! He spun around and saw something very unexpected.

It was a person! But a person unlike any other he had ever seen. They stood on two legs, and were taller than Spaceman Iftikhar. He looked down, and their feet were like long pink claws! Raising his eyes, he noticed they seemed almost human, but they didn't have arms. They had wings, with big purple feathers!

Their face was the most striking of all. Feathers instead of skin, big round golden eyes, and a giant beak instead of a nose and mouth!

Looking at this bird-person, Spaceman Iftikhar was speechless. The bird-person cocked its head to one side, and chirped pleasantly, raising its feathered arm as if to say hello.

Spaceman Iftikhar remembered his manners, and smiled and waved back.

"Hello! I'm Spaceman Ifitkhar and I'm from Earth! I must say, your planet is incredibly beautiful. I'm almost glad I crash landed here," Spaceman Iftikhar laughed. "What's your name?"

In a musical whistling voice, the bird-person replied, "Hello Spaceman Iftikhar! I am Bulbulik, and welcome to our planet, Zaflora!"

"My planet Earth is very different from Zaflora; our grass is green and sky is blue, and we only have one sun!" Spaceman Iftikhar said.

Bulbulik looked shocked. "Goodness, don't you get cold with only one sun?"

"No no!" Spaceman Iftikhar laughed. "We have many different climates and weather on Earth, from scorching heat to blistering cold!"

"Ah! Your planet sounds amazing, I would love to learn more about it," chirped Bulbulik. "Perhaps you would like to see more of Zaflora? You do seem to be stuck here for the time being."

"That is indeed my Mission, exploring and discovering the unknown!" Spaceman Iftikhar said excitedly. "Thank you, Bulbulik! I shall tell you more about Earth as well!"

Bulbulik happily clapped his wings together.

"Excellent! This was an amazing first meeting, Spaceman Iftikhar."

Spaceman Iftikhar nodded, "I agree Bulbulik, an amazing mulaqaat indeed."

Smoking Hot - 160 Degrees

Nestled in an unassuming corner between two grey plazas, you'll find a tiny burger joint, newly throwing their grilled meats and buns into Islamabad's burgeoning burger scene.

With a rustic wooden ambience, housing just 3 tables and 3 bar stools, 160 Degrees fills the cozy alcove ineffability.

I quickly received my barbecue infused Smokehouse Chicken Burger, and twas good.

Soft frim buns, decked with black sesame, housed twin pieces of chicken with edges tantalizingly char-grilled. Traditional vegetable assortment coating in between, with bright yellow cheese peeking from underneath completed the ensemble.

First big bite, and the generous rich BBQ sauce is loud and in-charge. The grilled crunch of the juicy chicken follows, finishing with a soft bun refusing to crumble, made for an excellent salutation.

Happy to report, the Smokehouse doesn't waver in it's stellar performance till the final curtain call, when I was left with smacked lips, fingers licked, and warm fuzzies.

Everything felt fresh, crisp, and straight of the grill. At 400 rupees for a sandwich, (550 combo), 160 Degrees will have you cooing for an encore.

Drag

Blood pounding in his ears, Raad's hand clawed at the cold metal of the gear knob, shifting hard into third. The engine howled with a deafening din and lurched forward, pressing him into the hot leather of his seat. Tires chewing the tarmac, Raad's ruby red Mustang, growling its V8 tenor, tore into the chilly November night.

Not to be outdone, Taha cackled while twisting the valve of the blue cylinder nestled at his side, unleashing nitrous-oxide to course through the pipes of his venomous green EvoX. Thirstily sucking in gallons of oxygen, the Mitsubishi chased after the glowing red embers of Raad's taillights.

Neon flames sputtering from the exhausts, Taha pulled level to the roaring Mustang and peered with eyes screaming from illicit chemicals at Raad staring laser-straight ahead, face contorted with concentration.

Too much is on the line, Raad agonized through gritted teeth. Slamming his heavy boot heal down till the pedal clanged against the metal floor, his crimson beast bellowed with hot rage and inched its nose ahead of the turbo screeching machine barreling alongside it.

The flickering lights of the intersection came closer at a sickening pace. With the end of the grueling trial in sight, Raad's knuckles whitened as his grip tightened around the steering wheel. Clenched jaw set in silent prayer, he willed the Mustang to go faster, just a bit more faster.

Taha's eyes flashed to the rising threat. His drug addled body twitching with every slight movement, a guttural lament escaped his throat.

Sensing victory drawing nearer, the Mustang thundered louder, a pack of rabid hounds under the hood, maws foaming, eager for the kill. Raad's vision tunneled until he could only see the fulgurating traffic lights. Tasting the rising bile, his mind blackened to a singular purpose: winning tonight.

Blaring white lights from his left snapped him out of his war-trance, and Raad just caught a split-second glimpse as the massive pickup truck smashed into the side of the Mustang.

Warrior Women

Dimmed lights. Black shrouds on otherwise welcoming furniture. Incense heavy in the air. Home decked for funerals of family long lost. Sorrow spilled fresh every year.

The ninth night, and the women in black huddle methodically on the carpet. Heirloom diaries are cracked open, fingers caress verses written by their mothers and their mothers' mothers. Mourning rises from within deep bellies and combusts on meeting air. Family poem, more sung than recited, give voice once more to the ancient matriarchs whose hearths first hosted black battlements.

The verses crescendo, anguish reverberating with beating chests. Banners bearing eternal sigils of peace will remain defiantly unfurled until the passing of the tenth day of war. But the war returns next year, every year.

The women will welcome it home.


- Published in Hobocamp Review Flash Around the Campfire Competition
https://hobocampreview.blogspot.com/2018/10/hasan-jamal-winner-of-flash-around.html

Rumble in the Prehistoric Jungle - Thoughts on Far Cry Primal

I recently finished playing Far Cry Primal, the placeholder installment between Far Cry 4: Himalayan Hysterics and the upcoming Far Cry 5: Hear the Far-Right Cry.

This installment on its own however, was a surprisingly good game (7/10 on Steam, 8/10 on GameSpot). The land of Oros, the prehistoric valley providing the setting, is incredibly pretty. From unforgiving jagged snow peaks with roaming packs of sabretooth tigers (there's always more than one!) and horrifying mammoth graveyards, to boggy swamp marshlands with roaming packs of bloodthirsty wolves, to open plains and rivers with roaming packs of bears, rhinos, elk, jaguars, crocodiles, cave-lions, and *shudder* badgers. The theme of the game is indeed, that you will be killed by roaming packs quite a bit, until you either level-up or learn to run AWAY from the stampeding mammoth herd. (Don't run into the water though, that's where the real toothy-death lies).

You play as chief manimal, Takkar, of the Wenja tribe, who has come to Oros to make colonizing the hip occupation of the late 10,000 B.C. But since sustainable co-habitation hasn't been invented yet, the Wenja are going toe to toe with two other tribes seeking prime real-estate domination: the cannibalistic Udam, and the fire-loving/hating Izila.

Apart from being probably the best pet simulator ("Tigers, Lions and Bears, oh my!" edition) that I have ever played, Primal captures the villains in a very interesting way. That is, they don't feel like villains.

"Who's my engine of death and destruction, who? It's you, yes you <3"

The Far Cry franchise historically has had very strong baddies, always more interesting than the very vanilla protagonists. The now iconic Far Cry 3: Drugs, Drugs, Drugs! villain, Vaas, exuded an evil aura with his calculated brutality and his interest in tumblresque philosophy. He also had a mohawk. However, the posited villains of Primal: the hulking Udam cheif Ull, and the Izila matriarch and god-queen Batari, are not out to sell drugs and corrupt the youth through questionable hairstyles.

Why.

Just like the protagonist's tribe, they also came to Oros escaping harsh conditions with dreams of settling down in a neighborhood where death by fauna wasn't as statistically rampant. The Udam, arriving in the north of Oros, suffer from a migraine epidemic, and chronic toxic flatulence (maybe from all the people eating).  The Izila seem to have been settled in Oros quite some time before the Wenja came, with organized religion, agriculture, battle-armor and a female leader (insert current political allegory here).

Sure, they are both out to cook and eat you (literally), but I can't really hold it against them. The tribes practice cruelty like its an art-form, but it doesn't necessarily feel evil. They are cruel because Oros itself is cruel and merciless. Go too north and you freeze to death, or die by toxic farts. Anywhere else and you get mauled, or drown, or fall down a cliff, or get food poisoning, or a cave-bear decides to invite you to dinner, followed by a badger putting you permanently to sleep. Danger and death roam free and wild in Oros, and it is those qualities that the residents inhabit to survive.

Ull, although a lover of bashing brains, is also a single-dad. Juggling parent-hood and leading a tribe of sick people-eaters definitely has its unique challenges and stresses (perhaps leading to more people-eating).

He has his father's lust for human flesh.

Batari, on the Izila side of things, is always getting her fashion-choices questioned, and not having her policies taken seriously (probably until she pushes the opposition into a pit of fire). It's not easy running a cultish flame flinging tribe of men, whose own houses are quite flammable.

Those eyes are aflame, with the bodies of her enemies.

As the protagonist, Takkar is no shining example of humanity either. Leaving a trail of corpses, both man and animal alike, in his bloody wake, he is no stranger to harnessing the cruel savagery of nature itself. Unleashing his menagerie of wild beasts on unsuspecting victims is Takkar's modus operandi. So is the Udam-signature brain bashing, the Izila-signature burning-you-alive, and Takkar's very own having-an-owl-bomb-drugs-on-you. So apart from the rampant murder, Takkar may be accused of cultural appropriation to boot.

The Far Cry protagonists have almost always been blank slates, into which the player may fill their own personality and character through their playstyle. It has been the villains who bring the flavor. The "villains" of Primal are as much a part of the landscape as the trees or the leopards. Because the most primal of human nature has always been about this: survival.

Image Credits: 
http://estookin.deviantart.com/art/DELIRIUM-Vaas-Montenegro-Far-Cry-3-453214055
https://assets.vg247.com/current//2015/12/far_cry_primal_Screen_Pet_Wolf_BeastMaster_Reveal_151204_5AM_CET-Copy.jpg
http://www.joshobrouwers.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/batari.jpg 

Why I quit multiplayer gaming

It’s another annoyingly arduous day at the office, but you’re finally done! You’re heading home, looking forward to the respite you’ve earned. You kick off your shoes, loosen the literal proverbial noose around your aching neck; plomp your weary behind onto your comfy chair, with mayhaps, a refreshing beverage in hand; and log onto the popular multiplayer game that has been your daily un-winder … to be immediately called a racial/homophobic/sexist/vegetable(?) slur by a promiscuous, pimple popping, snot splattered fourteen year old.  

And that’s when you realise, that yes, maybe you are getting too old for this shit.

Unfortunately, this scenario is a fairly frequent experience for those of us who partake in gaming and are relatively more mature than the stereotypical pre-pubescent gamer (see: above).

I know I know, this is just how multiplayer gaming is, infested with these monsters; and if we, more civilized, non-pimply, gamers wish to indulge, we have to on their terms. For the game-o-sphere is the dominion of these demons with bad grammar and lame insults aimed at your mother.

The easy fix is to not rely on matchmaking on the public servers, but play with your friends. Play in a controlled environment. Logistic nightmares aside of getting everyone together at the same time, this is a pretty solid solution. But it is inherently limiting yourself, because these games are designed to pit you against everyone else. With ranks and leagues, and rare loot, you are always incentivized to break away from your comfort gaming zone and try your hand at defeating the legions.

My experience with multiplayer gaming, and the horrors therein, stems mostly from MOBAs. Multiplayer Online Battle Arena games are arranged with 2 opposing teams of 5 players each, attempting to first destroy the opponent’s base, while defending their own. Attracting players and fans by the millions, international competitions in sold out football stadiums, and prize money bordering on the obscene, MOBAs are credited as the global phenomenon responsible for cementing gaming on the cultural map.

I sunk in about 1,400 hours in DOTA2. With over 7 million players at any given time, it’s arguably the premier in competitive multiplayer gaming. But with the hordes come the trash, and the toxicity eventually got to me so bad, that I never braved ranked mode, and one day simply quit. Cold turkey. After a while, I switched to Heroes of the Storm (HotS), with a much tinier, yet significant, fan following, in the hopes of a more amiable gaming experience. And for a while yes, it was much better. I aimed for rank, I’d watch YouTube play-throughs, tutorials, and really try to better my game. Run in with toxic gamers was often of course, but with less time invested per game, the effect wasn’t as severe. 

But, for me, the toxic environment isn’t the big problem. The mute button is a mighty weapon indeed. No, my great gripe with multiplayer gaming is that it’s a blackhole which sucks in your entire gaming drive. Always coming down to one more game, and with each game lasting a minimum of 40 minutes, you more often than not end up spending hours, usually getting your prosterior soundly handed to you. The fast pace and instant gratification provided by MOBAs pretty much removed all the satisfaction I’d get from playing other, usually single-player, games. 

Suddenly, wandering the frozen landscapes of Skyrim, or saving the galaxy from the Reapers, seemed tedious and meaningless. I mean, what was even the point of playing if it wouldn’t add yet another +1 to my stats? And eventually, because of this mindset, online multiplayer gaming became an addiction.

If I wasn’t playing, I was watching other people play. If I started playing, I wouldn’t stop until the sun rose up again, all other obligations be damned. When I would get some sleep, I’d be playing in my dreams. 

This behavior was unique to DOTA, and to a lesser extent HOTS. No other game, especially single player games had that effect on me. There was always an off switch, shutting the game down meant my brain logging off and moving on to other things and tasks. I think the instant gratification provided by DOTA and the incentives to keep on grinding, keep on playing, left its mark on me. The frankly ridiculous amount of time I was spending playing MOBAs finally hit me when I realized that I won’t be able to enjoy all the incredible new games being developed and published by talented teams all over the world. That feeling of missing out on exciting new stories and experiences pushed me to give up on this genre. 

And honestly, I have no regrets.

I’m really not writing this piece to extoll the evils of multiplayer gaming; I’m only describing my personal experiences. I have friends who derive genuine relaxation from MOBAs, and can discipline themselves to avoid excessive playing. 

But to these friends, and all fellow gamers, I will say this: there is a whole multiverse of experiences out there. Won’t you give them a shot?

There's a Brexit inside us all.

The thirteenth sign of Qiyamat just came to pass with Britain (the "Great" now being questionable) voted itself out of the European Union.

The effects were immediate: the Pound fell, the EU threw up their collective arms in a Mexican wave of disappointment, and Facebook-warriors from as far as the colonies statused their sincere disgust at the obvious stupidity of 52% of the British people.

But is the outcome really that outlandish?

Sure, sitting a thousand miles away the fact that Brexit was even an option seemed bizarre. We all know that greater cohesion and cooperation between nations is the future of global economic growth. Britain reclaiming its "nationality" certainly seemed like a step backwards.

But this wasn't just an economic issue, a problem that could have been reduced to its mathematical components and logically solved.

This was one of the many anti-immigration posters put all over the country, pleading the people to come to their senses and "take control" of their country. Using the refugee crisis as fuel for their fear-mongering, the UKIP leaders painted a dystopian picture of hordes of unwashed non-white refugees flooding their streets, taking their healthcare and jobs, spreading disease and extremism.

This was a race issue. This was a xenophobic issue. This was an elitism issue. 

Already, social media is rife with reports from minorities (read non-white) in Briton facing harassment.

This evening my daughter left work in Birmingham and saw group of lads corner a Muslim girl shouting "Get out, we voted leave". Awful times

— Heaven Crawley (@heavencrawley) June 24, 2016

@miqdaad My 13 y/o brother had chants of "bye bye you're going home" at school today. He insisted that it was "a joke" but it worries me.

— Yasin. (@Yxsinyoh) June 25, 2016

Oh, but there is more:

 

The racism and bigotry literally don't fit the page.

Can we really be surprised of these after-effects of a campaign based on hate, alienation, and fear of those different from you?

But these aren't just the symptoms of an immoral, ailing western society. Not even a few weeks ago, right here in Pakistan, we experienced our very own version of mass, outspoken xenophobia and racism.

Border guard killed in Pakistan-Afghanistan clashes

Things heated up with the recent border clashes with Afghanistan, which resulted in loss of life and several injuries. However, the following hate-storm on social media brought to light the ugly sentiments of the people, lurking just below the surface.

Tweet upon tweet called for the explusion of all Afghan refugees, for the borders to be sealed, many accompanied with blatant racism and ethnic slurs. Was this much different that the so-called "stupidity" of the British people? Did we not also succumb to the same forces of fear, racism and self-interest over all, forgetting that the refugees were forced to leave everything behind from a war-torn home trusted in the generosity and humanity of their neighbors? 

We all have the capacity for racism, for judginh and alienating people who are different. We can very easily ignore the plight of refugees and focus on our hate of the "other", of how they bring crime, drugs and poverty.

What we need to realise is that these are the symptoms, not the causes of the problems. The real issues are war, strike, unemployment, discrimination, persecution, and the list heart-breakingly goes on and on. Blaming the victims only serves to further the divide, exacerbates the problems, and leaves no room for positive discourse and improvement.

Empathy is a dying trait, and we need to try our damnedest to hold onto whatever shreds that our left in this world full of pain and suffering.

The problem was never the refugees or lack of border control. It is, and always has been, our selfishness.