Almas Sadique

The images of my childhood are blurred portraits. Blurred, but not inferior. They are grand and royal and beautiful. They serve as a vessel to all the happy events and the cherishable memories. The music that used to play in my brother's room, the smell of phenyl from when the floors were mopped, the sound of the fan turning at maximum speed during summers, mother's morning call on Eid and midnight hugs on my birthday--they are retained in my memory like the back of my hand; and are evoked at the sligthest mention, smell or sound of it. They are retained in my memory, not in details, but in emotions. Recently, I visited an amusement park from one of those memories and it had suddenly shrunk in size from what I could recall through my childhood memories. And so had that hospital that I used to visit as a child for my vaccines. It made me realise that all our memories are prone to subjectivity. It is always emphasised how childhood days are the best ones-full of hope, devoid of

As the wintry chill swum across the village and engulfed its inhabitants in yet another wave of iciness, our grandma beckoned us to come sit around her in the verandah where she had lighted up the fire. The seven of us raced to reach her first, and be the lucky one to sit nearest to her and to the fire. This had been our evening tradition during all the winter vacations, for as long as I could remember. We surrounded our grandma like the planets surround the sun. She used to be the centre of our universe for the two hours that used to follow. Childhood tales, legendary stories, amusing and terrifying anecdotes followed by morals and bits of advices-these were the bits that effectively filled those two hour long sessions. That evening, however, was extraordinary. The teachings imparted that day would continue to guide me through all difficult moments in life. It was that evening when I was introduced to the concept of individualism. That evening was indeed magical-in the lessons impart

[I wrote this story back when I was 14. This story is really close to my heart.] After school, I walked to the cafe which was located on the way to my house. I entered, took a table next to the window and ordered some french fries, a sandwich and a juice. After a few minutes, an old fellow with white hair, white beard and a broken leg entered the cafe and sat across from me. This had become my daily routine since I had come to the new city. The first time I came into the cafe, it was full. There was not an empty table. But, this old man had been kind enough to offer me a seat on his table. We began with introductions and soon started talking about our past. "You were about to tell me what happened to your family",I said. "Yeah, that", he said, leaned on his chair and began.... "It was the July of 1938 when I got married. I was 21 then. It was a love marraige and I really loved my wife a lot. For two years, we spent a peaceful life even as the world was wagin

They say this is good. They say that is bad. They say this is true. They say that is false. They say this is moral. They say that is sin. They say this is acceptable. They say that is punishable. They decide he's enviable. They decide she's detestable. They decide your do's. They decide your dont's. What is good; what is evil: if not an inference reached through our personal versions of ideals? What are our actions and reactions, if not a physical expression of the objectivities that we have individually explored? What are our emotions, if not an articulation of our perspectives? What are we, if not a sum of our outlooks? What are people to each other, if not relative thoughts, pointed and aimed at each other?

Acknowledgement dictates effort, appreciation dictates improvement. Or rather, the propensity to achieve these dictates our effort and improvement. There was a time when my life was dictated by these exact same things. Appreciation and acknowledgement. From others. Days when the manner of criticism drove my mood. Days when I did things since I was supposed to do them. Someone once said,"Once you have done what you are supposed to do, you can't do what you want to do". You grow accustomed to a life like that. To the lies you have fed to yourself. When you first begin to do things you are supposed to do, you start a never-ending chain of all the unwanted actions that hence take place in your life. In the end, all you want is to get sucked into singularity or teleported to a parallel universe where your actions are guided by your desires and by your willingness(instead of others'), where you go out of your way to impress yourself and nobody else. Sometimes you are luck