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Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts

Tuesday, 6 December 2016

BLIZZARD



Meet Amir Sulman

He comes with free bitch slaps, hugs and kisses and unexpectedly awkward comments in public.
Goes by the name of Zyn Del Mar in the literary circle, Jennifer in the 'male' circle and Lorenzo in my favorite druggie circle, he is many a souls in one.
In a hate-hate relationship with one Medusa, he is currently single (not unlike a Pringle) and quite ready to mingle.
Everybody say 'MashaAllah'

He  is the winner of KELS ENGLISH Story Writing Competition 2015, KELLOGS Blog Writing Competition Tragedy 2016. And a regular columnist at KINGSPEAK as Zyn Del Mar and *news flash* Aunt Agony.
His most epic piece of work has been Harry Potter and The Shit That Got Real


It's his birthday today, I hope everyone reading this, leaves a comment wishing him a very happy birthday! He is very excited because his Uncle visits him on his birthday and brings him lollipops and sweets!

 Here is the most epic poem you will ever read. Get all serious and in the mood and don't let my senseless babble ruin it.

Okay.
Go ahead.

BLIZZARD    

     

I paint the sky black
I have a sea of dark chocolate flowing out of my head,
A biblical circus of Babylonian crimes dances in my left eye,
Eyeing my right eye, blind and bare,
Contrasting shades of depression and loneliness in either cheek,
Allies but not friends.
And the tongue sings primitively rhapsodies of scepticism and desire.
Both of my hands are made of solid gold,
I drag my stony fingers along the cool walls of the dark corridors,
while I dream of dying in a blaze of metal fumes and grey smoke,
or being silently murdered in a roadside motel by an old lover.
The first cut is the deepest, the rest merely hurts.
And I raise them while I sing hymns of divine providence.
From there onwards and downwards I am half and half.

A reflection in my mirror smiles the crooked smile of a demon,
I pop a candy coated Percocet and I break into an oxycodone trance,
I wait for the solstice from winter sun to summer snow,
A rabbit hole sprouts in my room every now and then,
A priestess and a seductress share a drink with me,
The mockingbird in my clock has frozen to sleep,
Wishing on the lesser bones,


Dances clumsily to its heart's desire,
My heart quickens before it breaks uneven,
And the rosary breaks in my hands.
And then I see my own reflection,
Like Lucien Carr's suburban nightmare.
Pull my daisy, tip my cup,
Chock me steady when my time is up?

A million empty orchestras playing the most melancholy of all tunes,
The mermaid vs the sailor, while Ursula watches over from the balcony.
And I keep slipping between dreams until I am stuck in between two.
I draw ink from my head and I begin to draw a chaotic grotesque,
Intertwined with my own existence.
And from the half and the half, I am complete,
Like some self fulfilled prophecy.

And I sit by my window looking out at the palm trees that grow outside,
Imagining them in black and white or sepia, recorded into b-rolls,
Wishing for times to stay and making the day last forever,
Lying at the bottom of the pool with seven crystals placed on my neck.
Suddenly I am in the middle of the sea,
Punching holes with my fists into pirate ships,
desperately awaiting Saturn's return.
After all it has been too calm in a while.
My arms are above the sea level and they can't tell,
If I am waving or drowning.

I jump down it to find a black hole and a question comes burning through,
A different shade of red, but whose head this time?
There's a mad hatter in my tub and he offers me a butterscotch,
I suck on it till my teeth fall out.

The glass goes around in an equivalent triangle,
And three mimes follow me around the city,
Lusting after the golden dragon in my breast pocket.
Lights are low and passions are high,
A bloody rose lays among 22 magazines of bullets.
And each of us suck on our words till they are bitter.
A shadows eyes me from the shadows and I wink,
At the one legged ballerina in my glass.

And I begin to pace in steps shorter and shorter,
To make the distance appear longer and longer,
Nothing grows into nothing and now I am going nowhere,
I see all the faces on the covers of magazines,
and compare then to mine on the freak show fly poster,
One minute I am there and the next I am among the crowds,
With mean green eyes and degenerate style decaying into decadence,
Sparks flying, shinning like a lightening rod,
Cold and unsure, like gun metal,
The oracle with opulent vision broods obsessively over my fate,
Did I stay too long?
She is not quite sure where I belong.
Never mind, at least I pull my own strings.

I grow a backbone out of them.

*Hi, Sania here again. This is my absolute favorite piece of poetry by Amir. For more awesomeness and poetry that makes you jealous and uncomfortable and emotionally stunted at the same time, let's request him to make a blog. Please*

Monday, 6 June 2016

Zabaletta Lovegood and The Time Turner That Survived



Chapter 1: Fate Or Design?




Zabaletta Lovegood with her dusty hat, wire rimmed glasses and crooked nose was nothing special when you walk past her on the road. You wouldn't even glance twice back at her, provided she had taken a shower that day.
As she made her way out of the Ministry Of Magic on the rather gloomy looking Thursday, the Londoners greeted her with their usual nonchalance. No heads turned towards the woman with grey wiry hair, a sparkly purple black robe. Even the sound of her twenty or so chiming bracelets didn't attract any man, but this is how humans act.
Zabaletta was used to being ignored like this.

She stopped by a vendor to buy a bagel, although quite late, for her breakfast. And let her feet steer her towards the railway station. The train was waiting on the station with only a few minutes left in the departure. She quickly bought a ticket to Sutton, Surrey and got on.

The train moved with its lazy abandon, as Zabaletta made herself home by kicking off her lace up boots and folding her feet beneath herself.

There are a lot of Wrackspurts out today, she thought to herself, with one hand stuffing the bagel in her mouth while the other trying to buzz the annoying invisible creature away.

'Is this yours miss?', an old man with a large pimple on his forehead appeared at her side all of a sudden, holding a golden chain with a glass pendant.

I know what that is, she thought to herself before answering the old man. With one eye on the necklace, one on the man's face to see if he is pulling some sort of prank on her as some of her colleagues  from the Ministry had a habit of doing. She found the man innocent of any malicious intent on her second look.

'why,yes! thank you! That is mine. I must have dropped it when I got in." Zabaletta feigned the most genuine smile she could as she replied.

The man gave her a dubious look, but an eccentric piece of jewellery like this could belong only to someone as different as Zabaletta looked so his common sense forced him to concede.

"There you go, sweetheart. Take better care of your stuff next time. If you lose something twice, it may not return to you.", he said as he extended the good chain towards her, his eyes still stuck to the bizarre looking pendant.

The pendant was not anything special on the first look if truth be told. It was small glass and gold replica of an hourglass. But if you look at it twice you will notice the sand in the upper portion of hourglass was as still as death despite gravity.
Then you would notice the jumping train having absolutely no effect whatsoever on the pendant. Although rotatable, the hourglass didn't turn or twist even once under the effect of the ride.
The old man didn't like eccentricities as the young people these days did for God knows what reason. He wanted to get rid of it as soon possible.

Zabaletta grabbed the necklace with the look such profound gratitude that half convinced him of her being the owner of the weird jewellery, half made him wary of the consequences of his actions.

Zabaletta noticing the man's suspicious eyes as he turned away to leave, added, "Thank you sir, very much. It belonged to my late mother you know. You have no idea what you have given back to me."

The old man, quite satisfied with the proceedings now left the ecstatic little witch alone to revel in the glory of fate for handing her one of the most unique, fabled artefact in the wizarding world. And just by chance too.
There are men who spend their lives and fortunes in search of all the lost  (during their destruction in 1996) Time Turners and flying carpets and the  2000 series Nimbus from during the time when Lord Voldemort was still a threat. Times were different now, people more leisurely to spend their lives pursuing their hobbies with no care in the world.

She must truly deserve it, she hastily decided to silence the multiple, irritating questions arising in her mind.

Zabaletta placed the hourglass in her palm with great caution, as she stroked the casing around the glass. There were markings in Ancient Ruins written all over the edges but it's been a decade since Hogwarts taught how to read those, ever since the death of Professor Hugo Bell.
It's suspicious when you think about it that an entire generation being taught a subject and not one teacher available.
The subject must be extremely boring, is what her entire class had declared.
Sutton was a few minutes away when she came out of her trance and gathered her stuff to leave.


Chapter 2: Test Drive



During her time as The Keeper of The Prophecies, a lower level of an Unspeakable, in The Department of Mysteries, everyone had convinced her that the lunatic chasing after the time turners were basically lunatics.


If the Ministry says they are gone, they are gone, asserted Mr Creevy, Head of the Department of Mysteries.


So she had moved on, not that she was ever immensely interested in them anyway.
Her job was quite interesting on its own. She had memorized every single prophecy that had been fulfilled in the last century with references and happenings accompanying the fulfillment the prophecies.


The deal with the Time-turners is that it has a Hour Reversal Spell, a highly volatile kind of magic, the consequences of which are numerous and yet unexplored, is encased in the protective glass coating to be worn around the user’s neck and rotated the number of times the witch/wizard wishes to go back in hours.


Professor Saul Croaker, the inventor of Time-turner, had limited the maximum number of hours that can be turned back to five, keeping in view the instability and the unknown nature of the Hour Reversal Spell.


As she got home, the cat quickly ran in through the cat flap and sat by her bowl expectantly. Having fed the cat, Zabaletta took out her new found possession and decided to wear it.


Just this once,she vowed.


Standing in front of a mirror, she placed the time turner carefully about her neck and stared back at the reflection. She looked just as ordinary as usual.
What was she expecting! The necklace wasn’t supposed to make her look pretty!


The time on the clock was 17:45. She turned the screw on the side of the hourglass three times, slowly and carefully and waited for the magic to happen.


With a strong gush of wind, her cat moved backwards through the cat flap, her own feet started moving backwards and in a blur, she found her staring at the telephone box entrance of the Ministry of Magic.
She gaped at the cloudy midday that she had just lived and then made her way to peek into a glass window of a shop.


14:45


Exactly three hours of her life had been reversed.
In the wonder of her discovery, she just realized that she probably should have handed it over to Mr Creevy.


I will do it tomorrow, she made a mental note


At this time earlier that day, she had been on her way to the railway station which was just around the corner.


The curiosity to follow her past self took over and the three hours she spent were the craziest she could remember.


I have gone bonkers, she said as she closed her door behind her at 17:46, just having witnessed herself turning the time turner.


Chapter 3: The Mirror Of Erised



Zabaletta Apparated in the lobby of the Ministry Of Magic at exactly 8:00 as per her routine and entered an elevator. The other occupants greeted her with a nod and hitting 9 on the elevator.
On reaching the second lowest level of the Ministry, she walked till the end of the great black corridor and tapped her wand on the apparently plain wall. A series of distorted bricks assembled themselves in front of her. She pushed the one on the extreme right of the third last row and entered a tiny door.
The room had no furniture and apparently, no occupants. Zabaletta turned cautiously towards the wall on the left and said, “Mr Creevy sir, may I have word with you?” and then stared blindly at the wall like a dork.


Mr Creevy was known for his exceptional ability to live with the Disillusionment Charm, hence making it impossible for people to see him.


A hand materialised in the place where  Zabaletta had previously addressed and within a minute, a small blonde man with prominent teeth wearing a suit that would put a successful Muggle businessman to shame stood before her.


“Yes, Miss Lovegood, how may I help you?”, he asked in a tone that alone could scare a Dementor away.


“Sir, yesterday I happened upon something that belongs to the Department. I wanted to give it to you in person.” she spit it out with such speed, immediately regretting her coming here. Her heart suddenly wanted to leave with the Time Turner and never return.


“What did you find?” he asked in the same calm voice.
She took the necklace from around her neck and hung in out in front of her.


The look on Mr Creevy’s face explained the recognition, the joy and the curiosity, all in one second.
Instead of taking from her immediately, he asked, “Where did you find it?”
She narrated her story, leaving out the part where she used the necklace.


He listened to the story with a distracted expression. As soon as she finished, he said, “Come, I want to show something to you.”


He led her to the side wall, took out his wand and waved once. A large, worn out and half broken mirror materialised from nowhere.
Apparently everything on this room is under the Disillusionment Charm, she concluded.


“Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.” he said
Zabaletta stepped in front the mirror and stared back herself. Then the reflection took the Time Turner from her palm and write it around neck, turned it five times and disappeared.
She was now standing in front of an empty mirror frame that reflected the entire room apart her.


“ What do you see?”, Mr Creevy asked


“ Everything, but myself", she replied cautiously.


“Do you know what this necklace is?”


“Of course. It's a Time Turner. The last one I presume.”


“And its a responsibility.” he sighed. “there is a choice that I have to give you. Magic works in specific ways, so if the Time Turner found you, you must take the responsibly of keeping it safe. Or you can send it back beyond the Veil,where it will be lost again”


After taking a moment to consider his offer, over joyous with this twist of fate, she quickly answered, “ I can keep it safe if that's what you want.”


Mr Creevy gave a knowing smile, and said, “ I do appreciate you coming here though.Off you go then.”


Chapter 4: Fracture in Time



Despite her keeping it quiet about her new possession,the word spread out like fire and offers began pour in to buy the thing. The obsession came to the level of stalking her,tracing her Floo Network and following her to markets.


On the night of 12th July, the rain made it difficult for the three men in black robes to keep track of their target.She constantly kept disappearing into dark alleys.


Zabaletta sat silently behind a dumpster, with her hand on the Time Turner.
One turn
Two turns
Third turn


Stupefy
And a flash of red light


And her hand was stuck in its place
The world was moving about her, too fast. Faster than the last time she had time traveled.


The sun came up and then night fell
The scenery around her stayed the same initially, but after what should have been a minute in real time, the walls changed. Houses moved places. The sky changed colors.


She was stuck with her hand on the screw of the necklace.


The standstill was physical for her
Emotionally she was torn between horror and despair


The unstable Hour Reversal Charm struck in the middle by The Stunning Charm


I am going to die, she thought as the winds kept changing course and the wall kept getting shorter.


Something came flying over her and hit her static head.
The last thing her waking eye saw was sun, rising again.


~*~


She was lying on a hard smooth surface when her senses returned to her.
Sitting up abruptly, without thought, she realized that she could finally move.
The location of the hard surface that hosted her was a small bench  on a busy railway station. In her distant memory, she remembered being there before.


She stood up now with more caution, careful not to pass out as she suspected she would any minute.
It took only a minute to realize that she was at the King's Cross Station.
In front of her was the very wall that had led her to The Platform 9 and ¾ numerous times.


Peeking over at the newspaper held by the passerby, the date was 12 July 1980.


I traveled 30 years the past? She was aghast the realization!
Why am I not dead?


Out of nowhere, she remembered Mr Creevy’s briefing on the Principles of Time Travels from a year back (or is that 29 years in future now?)


“The basic rule of time travel is that nothing in the past can be made to happen that hasn't already happened.”


Without thinking she ran into the pillar separating Platform 9 and 10.


Platform 9 and ¾ was deserted, save a figure in grey velvety robe. She hastily run towards him,  her glasses almost falling off.


With a small pebble that came in her path, her  run became a stumble that was saved from a fall by the man in the grey robe.


He had a matching grey beard, half moon spectacles and an amused expression on his face.


“There, there.”, the man said, “Catch your breath, my dear child.”


Zabaletta gaped at his face, even her finger had started to point at him, then stopped herself in the midway.


Dumbledore, Dumbledore! Her insides were screaming


She caught her breath and waited for him to a address her again, as he stood there staring quite aimlessly at the empty Platform.


“Now my dear, are you here for the interview as well?” he asked her with the same amused expression as before.


“Interview?” she repeated, confused.


“ Of course, for the job of Divination at Hogwarts. Well, are you here for it as well?” his eyes grew a shade darker with impatience.


Not knowing what to say. She replies, “Yes, of course, Professor Dumbledore sir. Divination is what I am here for.” her voice barely audible to human ears.


“What's your name again?”, Dumbledore asked, leading the way along the track.


“Sybill Patricia Trelawney, sir" she said without any thought.


Everything made so much sense now.



EPILOGUE

Zabaletta, with her wand at attention, stood behind the shelves that she remembered so well from her youth.  Harry and his friends had gone to the very end of the hall, where her own Prophecy had been stored. She could hear them shouting, someone was hurt. 

It's that Longbottom kid, I am sure, she said to herself. Death Eaters are here! An alarm rang through her mind as she heard Bellatrix Lestrange's sharp voice from the distance.

Instead of going to the aid of her students, she made her way quickly towards the Time Room. 

Just have to pick one up, she muttered to herself as she grabbed a shiny hourglass necklace, same as her own from the shelf.


~*~

It was a cloudy day in London, 15:00 hours.
Zabaletta, 55 years of age now, took the necklace from her pocket and looked around for the face of an old man from her youth.

The man was at the counter, collecting his change. As he took two steps away from the counter, she approached him

"Sir, this fell down on the floor as a young girl with strange purple dress passed by me barely a minute ago." she said in her most sane voice.

He looked at her and then at the necklace, before impatiently saying, "I haven't seen anyone looking like that here."

"But sir, she got on the train, Since you are going on the same one, would you be so kind to give it back to her?"

After momentary hesitation, he nodded.


THE END

Saturday, 26 March 2016

Life's Sense Of Humour

I promised myself, if ever I am to fall in love, then I shall fall in love with a funny man.
Someone who undertood my sense of humour.
Life has a quirky sense of humour.
I should like to crack my own jokes, thankyou very much.

The only chance for me to fall in love is if and when I got married
But what if that didnt happen?
What if I spent my entire life waiting and trying for that to happen?
Would that be it?
How do people deal with living half a life?

I am 22, going on 23. And the reaction I have to the whatever magnanimity of life there is; "Is this it?"

There is a constant search for something that isnt there
I dont know what is missing
But the small talk depresses me
The conversations that are dragged on for no reason depress me
People who have no deeper understanding of what I am and where I come from depress me

And the thing is, no matter how long or short a while you may know each other, spiritualism and a deeper  connection is a gift granted and not earned.

Its a gift
essential for survival
Well, at least for me

As a dear friend once said to me, whenever I find such jewels, I collect and keep them safely by me.

And such jewels shine when there is no light around me
When the hollow inside my soul is haunting me
These jewels sparkle and reassure
That I am not alone

What if there is no jewel like that for me after all this is over?
What if there is just the hollowness of my soul
And the haunting calls of depression

There are people who have hope
And passion
And at least a little zeal
For the future

I am not one of them.

There are little lessons
Little but important lessons
That I have learnt

To never trust a person who talks about other people to you
Who backbites
Who takes you into his confidence
Because you are no different to him than any other person

So conversations must be gauged before they are released to be suspended in air
Forever

I have learnt never to trust a person who spends too much time adorning his 'zaahir'
If the 'baatin' is beautiful
There is no need to adorne the zaahir

If the insides are hollow
And ugly
And you keep on telling others what a bad person you are
Then you dont really believe that , do you?
You just need a pat on the back

"No honey, you are not a monster." Is what I must tell you
And lull you back to sleep

But life has a quirky sense of humour, doesn't it?
Those who are beautiful must live in the darkness of disbelief
And the bejewelled must be praised till there is nothing left of this world

So when I crack my own jokes, I am the only one laughing.

Sunday, 20 March 2016

That One Person

Influence over a human mind is an art equivalent to black magic.
To me, its blasphemous. Downright punishable.

Then again, how can you control who has control over you?
How can you foresee the consequences of acquaintance, projected well over five six year?

When you meet a person who is later to become the master of your thoughts, you never think that you are going to let them handle you.
You never think that their words could make you happier than you imagined.
And you most definitely never think that you are going to become an emotional slave to them.

But what you do think at that moment
is how nice they are
and then as yet a free person, your thoughts drift back to the rut that is your life

I believe that there is always this one person who has more influence over your feeble mind than all the rest combined.
There is this one person who is meant to turn you around and change your life altogether; be it beneficial or suicidal.
And that one person doesn't need time to do all of that.
Because in matters that deal with psyche, we are helpless.

You can know someone your whole life, and you can love them more than life itself; but they may never have that kind of power on you.

Influence is a gift you give the next stranger down the street.

Packed with fresh strawberries, and not to forget your life for safe keeping.

Influence blinds you to the extent that stranger could be a thief found in the company of nobles, you would make his work easier by giving him the key. Sparing him the trouble of breaking the lock.

Easy, peasy, Lemon squeezy


Life is struggle
Between what I want
And what I should want
Its a struggle between my urge to be happy and influences forcing me not to be

The stranger is in my mind
The stranger is the ruler
Of winds and waters
Of tears and laughters
Of sleep and death
And the stranger has a will of his own
So utterly independant of mine
That I have bruises
All over my mind

I hate the person I have become
Its too late anyway

Saturday, 12 March 2016

Marvi

Marvi has been toying with my mind for three years now

Marvi is always there
Sitting, laughing, dancing, crying, sleeping even
Marvi is always there

It is the hold of a character on a writer
I don't tell her what to do
She tells me

She is a girl not bound by anything
Age
Time
Glee
Sorrow

She is a girl that every girl wants to be

So when she wispers in my ears, I let her run barefoot, in a crimson shalwaar, on muddy roads of Lahore in rain

I let her profess her undying devotion to the man she only just met even though it is a suicide

I let her smoke a pack of cigarettes in public when it is a tabboo

I let her choose the song for her story
I let her play it, 24/7
Because she wants to

I let her run away from all she has
I let run towards what she wants

Because she wouldn't have it any other way
She wouldn't be restrained
Not by logic
Not by reason
Not by propriety

It is the most wonderful thing ever
To love someone when they don't even exist except in your mind
To be with someone and be content with it
To want to be like someone yet you know it is impossible

Marvi has boarded a ship that will steer me to an island
To help me find my story
Or if she pleases, the ship will sail forever and the story will never be complete
It is Marvi's game
I am a humble servant

~ a writers musings

Sunday, 6 March 2016

LOVE LETTERS

In a typical world
with an ordinary outlook
and a vision through a peep hole
just a peep hole, mind you
this word is a taboo to some
a fantasy for some
and a reality for some

To be honest, in a setting so remarkably monotonous in its vision, there is no chance at all for many of us to come across a love letter.
Addressed to them or anyone else

Having a pen pal has always been a fantasy of mine. At the time, I just wanted to talk to someone who doesn't know much of my situation so that I can start anew.
Little did I know that a pen pal can be so, so much more
They help you grow, spiritually
They lift you up with just words

There is a comfort in knowing that there is someone who can talk to you about all the deep stuff and it will never get awkward
that they will even understand the turmoil of my souls, hidden in between lines
that a friend like that can ask just the right questions, at just the right time

I have been lucky enough to find one.
And to have received a love letter

here is an excerpt from one of my ever favourite letters from my friend;



"Because Love is not always a reward to be won by utmost virtue. And Love is not always given as a gift.

                                                        But because Love, is a moulding force. A shifter; A changer. A perfect-er. 

Love is no different to gravity;
Love is no different to the electromagnetic interplay of particles;
Love is no different to a mighty river surging through a valley, carving it's way amongst the earth;
Love is no different to the wind that rattles the heart of clouds, mountains and the people that live on them...
Or to the sun filling an empty warehouse that has been locked up for ages with not a soul to trespass.

Love turns darkness into light. Rigidity into softness. Selfishness to sacrifice. Numbness to a festival of sensations. Grief and trauma into to ringing laughter that overflows from the brim of your eyes, no matter how tired and stone-like they might have seemed before. 


And that is why, 
   you (and me) truly and completely deserve Love.

Because appreciation, admiration, friendship, sincerity, compassion, selflessness, understanding and loyalty is nothing other than your birth right.

And those who do not, consciously or subconsciously, understand this fact (both for you and themselves)..those people do not deserve a role in your life. A place in your thoughts or an accommodation in any corner your spirit.

And that is why I love you as a friend, so fully and unconditionally.
And that is why I try to cling to you, in time of need.
And that is why I try to never give up on you.
Or whatever minute contribution I may have in your life; this is the reason why I was able to have it."

Thank you for being so pure, HajBaj.

Tuesday, 19 January 2016

A Break Up Letter

Most of us would claim to have loved someone dearly at some time in their lives

For me
"The City Of Blinding Lights"
"Manwa re"

There are streets that strike me hard with a bout of nostalgia even though I am right here.  They are right here.  There is no past to be nostalgic about.

There are people who make me want to stop time and let the future die,  past be forgotten and present be stagnant.

There are places that make me visualize a time far ahead of today in monochrome, always in monochrome,  when I will come back to see them again and they won't be the same.

There is yearning, nostalgia and hope
There is love, sadness and heartbreak

This is a break up letter
A year ahead of time
A little all over the place
But when you love too deeply,  this is just how long it takes to leave it all behind.

To my life of today;
There is sun, and there is hope
There is laughter and there is joy
There are friends and there is love

There is a never ending noise on the road, the sirens of ambulances that are normal background noise, the yellow street lights that are more beautiful than the stars.

There are trucks playing Naseebo Laal that pass by your window at 5 in the morning,  in exams,  making you pause for a while as you try to decide whether it is the same song from yesterday or not.  There is the smell of somosas with too much turmeric in them
There is the periodic rant of Chana Chaat vendor in the canteen
There are windows milling with students on some days
There are windows,  deserted on other days

The walls I remember,  display posters of KDS, KAPS and Akhuwat
The zero point I see has pigeon shit all around its pathway
The grounds have a life of their own
The grounds buried in red flowers
The grounds buried in sumbal

The football zooming over head as you walk past the water cooler
The mazaar to your right that you never visited
The plaque that remembers Osama Qamar

The white domes of your destiny
The place that many have yearned for
The place that made many
The place that changed many

I have been shattered here before
I am alive again
It has seen such great things,  I am but a speck of dust in the desert of its greatness.

I imagine my ghost becoming a part of its halls yet I know even without me,  it will be fine
I imagine myself being remembered here yet I know that not a moment shall pass before I am forgotten

My mind has been marked-nay-etched- too deeply by its existence 
My existence is nothing but an imagination to this place

I am a ghost and this is where I shall dwell
But for now,  if I have to leave,  I know it's my choice

I blame you for forgetting me while I am gone
I blame the people I know for moving on
I look at their faces,  jovial and alive, and I envy them
But it is I who has to leave
In the most classic terms of a break up,  it's not you,  it's me.
I never dare overestimate my importance that even a stone will stir as I break my heart and leave for the world

Yet one can hope
It is a goodbye to the life as I know it.
So
Till next time

Wednesday, 23 December 2015

AMAR BIL MAROOF WA NAHI ANIL MUNKIR



Its a dilemma of the modern world
Its a topic that no one touches

Because deep down, we all are corrupt.
I know it
And I am sure, you know it too

The fact that I let my comrades carry on with their wrong doings is because I have sinned too.
Probably differently
Probably in secret
But I am afraid the next time I tell someone that they are wrong, my secrets will come out in the open
To haunt me

Saturday, 14 November 2015

WHY MY HEART DOESN'T BLEED FOR PARIS

In all honesty, the attacks on Paris came as a surprise so severe that I actually went through the four stages of grief.

No, none of my family lives there
Nor do I know anyone that lives there

Tuesday, 20 October 2015

TO SAHIL, WITHOUT LOVE

Note: This is for all the women out there who have ever been ridiculed, objectified or terrorized by our social set up.

I have tried and tried hard to stay away from serious topics, blunt truths and depressing realities. But is it really the solution to the problems I face daily? What good does my ignorance and blindness do to me other than keeping me obliviously happy for a few hours? Is it true to my soul?

I cannot be a cheerful, smiling monster all the time.
why?
Because people don't let me
They come and tell me why is it okay to hate them because they deserve it.