Posts

New love

The promise of new love can send thrills down your spine, or your inner thighs, depending on the conversations that you are having and the thoughts that you are thinking. On most days, the promise of new love offers calmness in one’s life- not too much passion, no accountability, the freedom to have long conversations, and sometimes short. On most days, one can be happy with the promise of new love. It offers a certain kind of naivety that leads you to believe that all will be good. It offers what a real relationship fails to offer- a happy ending to all your days. The promise of new love comes with lonely nights where the embrace of a pillow seems enough to calm your nerves. The promise of new love seems perfect. But, then the sad nights arrive. An argument with a friend. The re-surfacing of a long buried incident. A bad day at work. Or that long-drawn sorrow that comes upon you stealthily, climbs up on you and bothers you because you do not know its origin. Those nights do not be
Post a Comment
Read more

Till the end of time

Rabia sat on a rock, facing the Arabian Sea, with the Marine drive promenade behind her. She picked up a string of marigold flowers strung together to form a garland and began to pluck its petals distractedly. Meanwhile, the sun was setting into the Arabian Sea. She liked the silence at this hour. Nobody had turned up at the beach again today. While she sat on the rock listening to the sea waves and watching the birds fly back to their nests, she remembered that she had to go back home, too. Rahman would come home soon and she had to make chicken for dinner, since it was Friday. She had only started to get up, when an unfamiliar hand touched her shoulder. She turned back to look at a man. His face looked familiar but she could not remember why. Rabia woke up from sleep in haste. The man in her dreams was the one that she'd seen in a Spanish webseries the previous day. A pang of guilt engulfed her. It was a sin to even think of haram things. She decided to pray two nafl rakats
2 comments
Read more

Blots of Pain

Last night, while I was tossing and turning in my bed, trying to go to sleep, my subconscious (which is more like another person living inside me, questioning all my decisions and serving as a companion for interaction whenever I need company) summoned some vague ideas about "pain" and pulled me in to have a full conversation about it. We argued a little about its relation to its cause and later agreed that all kinds of pains were significant, but the ones that we have to take responsibility for, are the hardest. Maybe that is why we hope secretly for someone else to take our decisions or to push us towards something hateful or to do something to us. If the source of our pain can be linked to another person, it is always easier to bear because we have the victim card to toss either at other people or at ourselves. I have spent most of my life blaming a lot of people for all the pain I've had to bear. This might be the reason as to why I haven't borne any life-alter
Post a Comment
Read more

Watashi

I am twenty years of broken dreams bundled up in curiosity. I am too many feet deep in self pity, And no amount of kicking helps me breathe. I am too poor in grief, So, my latest muse is the worst of what I feel. Some days, I want to weed myself out, Crawl to the precipice and see if someone holds my feet. I search for the flaws that don't exist, And the pain that I am entitled to, So that this melancholia makes sense. I try, on loop, to unravel the curiosity of my being so, Only to end up vexed and forlorn. I envision slaying contentment, And then seeking it again. I am quintessentially sceptic and dissatisfied, And that's how I go through.
Post a Comment
Read more

A random rant

If I could listen to one million stories during a lifetime, I would listen to them with you, or rather, listen to you. The summers, I'd spend listening to tales of your notoriety that landed you in trouble; and the monsoons, when the smell  of petrichor would fill my nostrils, I'd talk to you about the puddles you jumped into, as a kid. Come autumn, and I'd hear you sing your favourite song, shedding all inhibitions in front of me; and during wintry nights, I'd snuggle up next to you and hear of all the overwhelming moments that rendered you speechless. The tales of your carefree days would fill the next in line-the days of Spring. Your stories theme into genres in my library-one for each season and one for every kiss. They are the lyrics that tune to the notes of your mood. They are the essence that ensues when two souls entwine.
Post a Comment
Read more

Reminiscences

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
1 comment
Read more

To seek or not to seek

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
4 comments
Read more