Monday, 31 December 2012

Crazy Ramblings #7

I love staring at the clouds; they fascinate me for various weird and crazy reasons. And lying in the sun, gazing at the white cotton like wisps of clouds is very peaceful, or at least I find it so. Also, I find it beautifully deceptive. Like cotton candy. It seems as if a pure white silken thread is being spun in the clear blue skies, yet when we ascend it’ nothing but a fog like thick illusion. Illusions; isn’t life filled with those. If our fate and destiny are written, then aren’t choices just a delusion? Like common sense, said to be so common, but lacking in every other. Illusions we believe in and take them for granted. But what is life without these illusions? Nothing, they are the reason that we construct so many thoughts. And without them, it’s like staring at a perfectly cloudless blue sky, nowhere to look with something different. No choices to make. Clouds, they are important.


Saturday, 22 December 2012


A thank you, a post and some tags are in order.
Vimal, at Between poles has very kindly awarded me with the beautiful blogger award!
 Insert celebratory noises and confetti! 

I am extremely honored to receive the award and to know that fellow reader and writers think
my talent is worth the awards. It's utterly kind of you, I am overwhelmed, honestly.
Appreciation is always one of the things that make you thrive towards betterment.

I am not a very open person and have already listed eleven fact about myself, so I'll list three this time. Besides listing facts about myself is one of the hardest jobs for me.

1. Many of my pieces are based on a single sentence that I happened to come across while reading.
2. I am not good with compliments, I keep questioning myself over them.
3. I believe that happiness comes from little things that's why I get excited at tiny things.

I'd like to tag some very worthy people for the 'Beautiful Blogger Award'

Friday, 21 December 2012


Let’s weave magic through our words,
Conjure up some delightful verse.
Set it up in beautiful terms
Make it shine, like a perfect one.
Enchanting to anyone who reads,
Meanings, not just two or three.
Alluring and dripping appeal
 Charming in it’s own feel.          
Spin your words like this and that,
Making it exquisiteness to last (always).


Monday, 17 December 2012

Fair chances

As the car moved another inch forward I groaned inwardly. The short fifteen hour journey felt extremely tiring to my well rested body. The cars jammed on the single road, as every other person tried to take the lead; the result was obviously havoc. I tapped my foot constantly on the car floor while my friend calmly smoked a cigarette behind the wheel; I coughed hard deliberately, wanting to make a point. But to my utter annoyance he just shrugged and hit the button that automatically rolled my window down. I looked at him, disgusted as I the clean air wafted through the car. I had come to hate these little rolls of nicotine people relied so much one, they did no good other than leaving the person delusional; that on it’s on had another history, of course.
I wasn’t intent on lecturing my friend with my already infuriated mood so I turned my head towards the window, letting out a shaky breath. I looked on to the next car in the glow of the setting sun. A sole figure in the back seat turned its head towards the window. Her eyes were closed as if in deep slumber but her eyebrows furrowed as if the sensation of pain was teasing her, yet, there was so much peace on that face. It was so simple and ordinary that I could have glimpsed of it in a crowd and not look back but right now, it put me on the edge.
I shook my head and looked down as my mobile flashed. A text message, another one. I placed the phone face down on the dash board and put my feet up next to it. I looked back at the girl in the next car. How could one be at peace with pain? The thought bothered me but the face relieved me, it was ordinarily distinctive. I frowned to myself, what was I thinking? But I was drawn to the face again. I imagined getting to know her, befriending her and chatting with her, laughing at a memory…
As the cars edged closer side by side, her eyes opened partially and looked deeply into mine, in that moment I felt something I had never felt before, a jolt, a connection. We held each other’s gaze for a long moment, till her eyes fell closed again. Maybe she was dreaming, maybe I was dreaming. My friend jolted the car forward violently, over taking as he turned in for the airport. I didn’t bother looking back to look for her car, what good would it do? Strangers. Was I delusional without drugging myself?
I rarely thought about her as I said good bye to my friend and got in for immigration and all. Was it possible to feel something yet never be able to know that person? My mind was clogged with old memories as I went through the bag and security checks, memories I thought I had lost somewhere. I still held on to them, I guess, even after all this time. I gave the flight attendant my boarding pass. I was one of the last ones so she smiled and led the way to my seat. The window seat was already taken by someone who had their head turned towards the window. I stuffed by hand carry in the compartments over the seats and sat down next to the lady in the woolly shawl.
The flight attendant arrived again at my side with a glass of water and some pain killers.
‘Ma’am?’ she whispered and the lady next to me turned her face. I felt a jolt in my nerves as our eyes met, the girl from the next car. It’s not delusional; there are always chances to be taken. 

Thursday, 13 December 2012

Of Selfishness and Change

I am here; curled up on a sofa in my corner with a cup of steaming coffee and the laptop. There is something increasingly calm about occupying a place where you can sit quietly and observe everything but people ignore you, because you are almost invisible in that spot. It lovely having a piece of mind without anyone around to pry or engage you, and at times these are the very moments that one craves. The ‘me-times’. Are we really selfish beings that don’t care about what goes around? Or do we just care too much?
I think it’s the latter. We care a little too much about others, about what goes around that we forget to pay the required attention to ourselves. To look at ourselves and think of where we might need grooming. No, we are too worried about how the others should behave, dress and speak etc. that we don’t even mind our own. We pay no mind to our own activities as we set on the journey to create a better world.
Change starts from within, from us. We can never bring a change that we want unless we alter ourselves to it first, there cannot be change if we ourselves refuse to change. With every little modification we make in ourselves we grow up a little, we become wiser, we progress and this development only can let us change the world for better.
We need the ‘me-times’; we need them to become a little selfish, to give ourselves a thought and a cleansing. Without being selfish we can never accept being ourselves and without having the confidence of being ourselves we cannot accept nor bring a change. Change from within, change for the betterment not for acceptance.


Image courtesy: Google.

Tuesday, 11 December 2012

Standing tall

Raise all the bridges
There’s no way we’re going down
Let the water play,
It’s bound to splash around
We’ll stand tall together,
Nothing will hurt us now.
We might lose our lives,
But our spirits shall never drown


Out of Ordinary

For H, because you are extraordinary and so is this friendship.

The first time I saw her she was seething, and quite honestly I was taken aback a little. A young lady shouldn't be this angry, she should swallow down her anger and speak politely; so was what my mother said, but this girl right here was all that she didnt said, for she shouted at top volume and proceeded to snatch the chocolate out of her friends hand...
The next I saw her was very different though, she was sitting in the library with books around her, confused with her head in her hands and her forehead wrinkled. Eye-brows furrowed as she jabbed the buttons on her calculator whilst I twitched in agony of what the buttons might have felt, she consulted the papers in front of her and frowned again, near to crying…
I sneaked a look at her from the corner of my eye; she was bent over her notebook scribbling furiously. She suddenly looked up at the board and looked down again before her eyes suddenly sparkled as her hand shot up. She spoke a confident ‘I am done’ and then gathered her stuff before disappearing outside. I sulked at my own paper.
I heard a loud laugh and I turned to look, I wasn’t expecting it to be her but it was. She laughed loud and bold; eyes clenched shut and mouth open wide, struggling for breath. Several minutes later I overheard her conversing with her friend. She spoke deeply as she represented her case; she recalled who might have been hurt by something she did or said.
There she was, different and distinct in her very own way; hard over the top and soft inside. She had taught me lessons I have failed to recognize, she has shown me the world through a different set of eyes. She might not be what she looks like, but get to know her and you’ll realize. It’s where the beauty lies.  


Sunday, 9 December 2012


The colors are blinding and binding at the same time, the black more pronounced and inviting, drawing me in while I try to open my eyes wide and take in as much of the other colors as possible. It’s like trying to breathe while the air is slowly filing out. I drag my eyes as the blue hues drape my vision. I thrash around in agony as I try to make my way to the center of the swirl of colors.  A sound so high pitched ring in my ears that I leave my grasp and go spinning back to the black edge; I look regretfully back to the rainbow as I am swallowed by the darkness. The obscurity prevails while I am suspended there, as if in still air, there is nothing around; I am sure it’s the end of me yet there is a calmness that surrounds me. Light, so harshly white that I want to be suspended back in the black; I feel exposed as I walk through it, it’s as if a sketch is coming back to life. I have the sudden urge to weep. To sit down there on the white silkiness and cry out my fears, my pains. I feel pain, excruciating pain that haunts me. The white is too much to bear. I feel the tears spring out my eyes, they are red. The red amongst the white seems so vividly alive as it creeps towards me while turning into a deep orange that fades to nothing while the white dims. It’s nothing.


Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Echoing secrets

It’s in the wee hours of the morning when everything is so still it’s almost sinister, when the silence can be shattered by the drop of a pin, when it’s slightly scary even in the comfort of your own house; it’s in these dark moments that deep thoughts prevail me and I get the urge to write down all those. They are not about my life, these thoughts; they are about life in general, about the laws of nature and about people, strangers and friends alike. 
In these hours nothing makes sense and yet all of it makes more sense than ever. It’s so intricately designed, to be understood but at a certain moment, to be known but at a specific time; when you doubt it. When you suspect the truth of your thoughts and when truth is not transparent but lucid. The reality is so obvious that it’s suffocating.
And as dawn descends my pen just hovers over the paper, it has left splotches of ink; dark blue circles spread across the clear page. I recognize the truth but I have no power to write it, my thoughts reside but my words escape and betray me. A betrayal that doesn't hurts, an infidelity so obvious it is looked over, for these secrets are meant to be realized not spoken. Everyone falls through the reality of these moments, none can flee and none can incarcerate it in words or so. They are meant for all of us alone, secrets of nature that are meant to exist in in nature only. 


Tuesday, 4 December 2012

Tread it Together!

When there’s not much to say,
And too much has been heard.
Regrets pile up along with each step
The road seems all desolate and dust.
Look for the tiny green sprouting up,
Around you among the dried up crust
Wonder, how in the deserts they mature?
When all tread it together you see,
It’s about time the earth goes soft and subtle
That’s where you are right now, child,
Helping in smoothing land for tomorrow. 


Wednesday, 28 November 2012

You can't leave it blank...

You could try to move on.

I could, perhaps, but it isn't easy. I don’t know where to begin, what to change and what to pause.

Start from within, start from yourself.

Is the problem inside me?

No. Maybe.

It is isn't it. They let me go, they never held me back. It’s me whose been holding myself back there.

It’s okay, it happens.

No… it’s me. It’s like I am stuck in quicksand. Moving is impossible.

You can try.

Haven’t I done that, already? Tried. I am too stuck with these people. I know that if I love them I’ll let them go. But I do love them, and it’s obvious that I've let them go, but I can’t accept that.

You have to; you have to acclimate to it.


Because if you won’t, you’ll destroy yourself; you’ll hurt your own self.

Perhaps that’s what supposed to happen.

No, then you’ll wrong the people who believe in you. Wrong the people who you love and those who love you.

Can’t I just start all over?

That’s what you have to do, start all over. Let them go, it’s a new beginning. It’s yours to write.

What if I leave it blank?

You won’t. You know yourself better than others, you know you never miss a chance. You are to help other people, cheer them, and be there for them. And some of them will be there for you, always and you won’t regret it. Even for its setbacks.

You think so? Will I be able to do that?

I know so, you've already done that. Once, it’s time to do it again. To let those in, who want to love you, who will love you.

Perhaps. And you…


Thank you, I love you.

And I, you.


Monday, 26 November 2012

Stagnant in emotions

We are caged from within, by ourselves; our ways of life, our morals, our personality. We cannot change that. No matter how brutal the fall or how hard we try, how many coats we plant on. We always remain the same at our core.  We always fall prey to ourselves. Even the strongest of us breakdown, once in a while, from the pressure of it all.  It’s there, pulling us down, drowning us whilst we try to breath in the stuffy air. Is it wrong, is it really, to want from others at the same degree? Are our expectations really pointless? Do we not deserve the same? Or are some of us just here to look after and not be look-after-ed? It makes us want to change, we make promises to ourselves but in the end we are the same, the same we were yesterday; probably with another layer that is supposed to harden us, but is really just pointless. We are there for others, standing there suspended in waiting while the others have already moved on. They are too far to notice us still standing there stagnant in emotions and morale. They've changed, found another somebody to rely on, to look forward to. It doesn't matter to them, but to us.
And at the end of the day, those little unsaid words of appreciation are really what break us down. It makes us wants to stop caring when we can’t, to stop expecting when we can’t; because we our bound by our ways, our principles, our personality. Whilst they… they've gone... moved on. 


Sunday, 25 November 2012

Guest Post

For Bliss Thy Run?

Black and blue, vivid streaks.
A flush of white and grey black skies.
Loath for change and love for betrayal,
A single step forward or the alluring past?
Good-bye soul, drowned you were.
When? They question.
Like knives against hearts.
A melting pleasure for revenge
Called applause!
They say-for bliss thy run,
The run for emotions?
Or the pace against time?
You speak no good, 
Disgrace, we face!
Endowment or penalty,
A question was raised.

Rabia Latif is an A Level students, who excels at cooking and baking. She enjoys reading, writing and crafting abstract poems. She also enjoys putting her skills to stalking and photography, both  professional at heart.

Wednesday, 21 November 2012


The weather is gloomy and dreary; oppressing as heaving mist so everything seems monotonous. Dull. Unexciting. Yet, in this colorless environment, today I hum like a ball of energy, ecstatic. There’s no reason to it in general, but I am content, satisfied; the type of content that comes after venting out something that you've long kept with yourself, the type of content that brings utter joy, even with all the questions still unanswered, even with the future a puzzle.  Why? Because it’s suppose to be that way, not all questions are supposed to be answered there and then, sometimes you just give them time and they  just unfold themselves into answers. And the future, of course is always a riddle. Even when it’s all planned and set for you, it’s really just wobbly. You can see through it, but you can never be sure of how stable it is. A split second, that’s all it takes for the ground to disappear from underneath you. The insurance and protections, they don’t matter then.  We stand, but we really might just drop down any second. Not a single minute is predictable, well… maybe some are, but most aren't.
‘Live in the moment’, they say but every moment we live, we are planning the other. It’s such an intricate web of events. The one moment that you are living this minute is turning into your past by the same rate. And in that very moment you are also planning your future, yes, it could be something as simple as ‘I gotta tell this to my friend’ or ‘I’ll make that for lunch’, but it’s happening.  I said that future is a riddle; well the present and past don’t seem to be such a simple case themselves. 


Sunday, 18 November 2012

Let's try, again.

Stop! Let’s wait!
There’s more to be heard
And lot’s more to say!
Stop; just give me a chance,
I believe we can try, again.
Let’s dive into the past,
Let’s, lose all that wrecked.
You know we don’t need all that.
We’ll smile once more
We can face the world, again.
Stop, don’t cry.
I know it’s hard
But this shouldn't wait!
I won’t let us die down
Without any tries.
We’ll just have to fight
Out of the inanity, our way.


Wednesday, 14 November 2012

A piece of me

I was never much of a writer as a kid; I was more of a reader, a dreamer and a thinker. And my passion for writing started unexpectedly, and it started with poetry. As it happened a couple of years back, I was on bed rest for three months due to a foolish mistake that caused me to fall fifteen feet and break my back. Those were weird days for me, I hated sleeping.  The lying in the bed all day long just made me frustrated and vulnerable. So, once I couldn't sleep and I remember cursing myself and suddenly this idea popped into my mind. I remember weaving in words to the poem in my head and holding on to them till I fell asleep. The first thing I did when I got up was to write the poem down; it was deep and when I read it to others they appreciated me a lot. It was nothing like any of those cat-hat-mat rhyming poems that we've all written. Since then I started writing poetry, I realized that the real contentment is not in writing a poem that rhymes, but a piece of poetry that has no rhyming words and still goes in sync. I always found solace in writing thereafter.
Poetry became a strong attribute for me, and frankly I didn't vary in writing much, then. Almost two years back I started writing diverse pieces; rants narratives, prose and poetry. When I shared my pieces with my close friends, U urged me to start a blog. I was very extremely possessive about my writings and sharing it so openly was nowhere on my to-do list. The constant urging and appreciation enticed me into finally making the blog.
The blog was another story, at first it’s all about sharing, making your passion known; your own little space. And then, somewhere in the middle it changes into the hunger for appreciation for your work; comments and views that you look forward to. At last, you get to the part where it doesn't matter and you do it just because you love to; you love to write, and read and the comments don’t matter because the satisfaction is in writing. And then before you know it it’s a year gone by; you have discovered yourself a little more, you've gone from better to much better and you've met and read these fantastic people. And so, here is where I stand. One year already and the attachment grows stronger each day, because in the end it’s not just a blog it’s a piece of you!
Happy first birthday Blog! :’)


Monday, 12 November 2012

Story: Burning Chaos

She’d been walking, dancing and splashing in the rain for hours, and to her utter delight the rain went on without a halt; sometimes drizzling and at times coming in heavy showers. Rain. She could stand soaking in it for ages and never once feel agitated or cold. The roads were deserted and yet she could here muffled sighs of people sitting in warm blankets talking over a hot cup of their favorite beverage. It often troubled her how ungrateful people can be; after long sought prayers of rain are accepted and the rain is poured down from the grudging grey clouds, hitting the barren land and driving little puffs of dust in the air. And yet those very people who pray for this blessing hide in their homes looking out through a barrier of glass.  Showing no gratitude. How could they not? She could go about rain forever; the way the ground smelled when it rained, the way it pelted her skin, the way the windows fogged up in the rain and the way it made everything look fresh…
A grin was plastered across her face as she splashed in the low floods brought by the heavy rain. Her clothes and hair were soaked in rain and she shuddered every time a cold breeze flowed. Some instinct kept urging her to go inside and change into dry and warmer clothes but she ignored it and instead walked over to the great ground right next to her house. It was not really a ground rather just acres of empty land, in the evenings kids used to gather there and play but it was said to be left for construction of houses. Beyond the vast empty land was the airport. It was quite close and the noise of aircrafts landing and taking off was normal. She laughed when their guests used to light up at this noise and rush to the windows to watch the planes pass.
The ground was flooded by the rain too, and it made her wish they had a swimming pool close by. She started walking to the center of the ground, taking a familiar walking route even in the dark. Her crazy instinct was forming into a bad gut feeling, urging her to go back, regardless she ignored it. unexpectedly and out of nowhere she heard a single cry of a bird, the sound so saddening and piercing that she wanted to turn back towards street-light illuminated road. But the noise above her head made her stop right in her tracks and gaze up at the sky. The noise was one of the harshest thunder, the kind that made your blood drain, and the kind that made you runaway to your mother’s soothing arms, the kind that made you suddenly cold. It rooted her to her spot and then she saw something big, huge and burning come crashing down on the ground right in front of her, with a horrid sound so blaring that it bellowed and sent her several feet away with a gush of extremely hot wind that knocked the air right out of her, as she landed near the road bumping into the ground several times, yet not registering pain. Her eyes locked to the scene before her.
She was stunned as the immense structure crumbled in the fire, too dazed to move, too struck to speak or yell. Her jagged breath soothed after several minutes yet the adrenaline kept pumping.  After numerous tries she got up, her knees were too weak and wobbly to support her. She couldn't even look about her, her eyes could do nothing but register the sight in front of her as she took small shaky steps towards the fire which had spread across the dry grass.  A huge grey cloud of smoke rose from the fire and as she got closer to the blazing aircraft the smoke stung her eyes, nonetheless, she kept moving only to stop a few feet away from the smoldering form.
The bird wailed again, this time more sorrowful and close. She looked up at the sky, now rapidly going grey above her as the smoke rose, and realized it was still raining slowly. All of a sudden the rain didn't seemed so nice, it made the air humid, suffocating and so thick that it made her cough  several times and rub her eyes to clear out her view. She closed the distance between her and the plane and realized it had cracked open and the other part must being lying away. She looked at the mess of ashen faces and burning mass inside, astonished and wanting to gag. And then her eyes took in something different; a tiny hand rose from the clutter of burning flames and she thought she heard a muffled cry, the hand shook slowly a fraction of an inch here, a fraction there and then all too quick the raised fingers went slack. Tiny little hand disappearing as the fire suddenly caught up with a snarl, sending smoke in her eyes and throat. She tumbled a few steps back and heard the bird screech a third time, all grieve and pain. She heard the din of screams and shouts from the road beyond her.
she cast her eyes over the burning chaos one last time then looked up at the sky as the bird went right above her head shrieking one more time, she threw her head back and wailed loudly alongside the bird; a sound of immense pain, grieve and sorrow.

-Momina Latif.

Monday, 5 November 2012

Poisoning dreams

For Adoniah- "Taking it to the next level."

She lay there as the poison seeped through the blood circulating inside her. She lay there numb to the pain and the slight burning that she was supposed to feel. She lay dazed while her muscles and bones mashed into one another, as she repeatedly hit her head against the brick wall. Immune to the pain. She shifted her head, gazing at the blood stained pillow. Alarmed she got up suddenly, only to realize that it was her own, yet she did not bleed.  It dribbled towards her, bubbling vivid red with just a slight tinge of purple. Glowing. She was intimidated, wanting to touch it, but holding back. She backed away, abruptly falling as the room around her turned to a blur, however she never touched the ground, As if the air had halted but she was still falling. There wasn’t blood anymore, but water; pure and colorless. It fell all around her, everywhere, except on her. She cringed away as a drop fell on her, scared. Out of the blue, she was knocked down, falling into a garden, unscathed. As she rose she noticed the rain, which came down heavy and bruised her skin. It turned red, burning red and felt like pinching shards of glass on her skin. She started to run but fell too often, while someone pulled her and her eyes twitched. She rose from her dream as she dreamt on, as the poison seeped through and she slept on.


Thursday, 1 November 2012

Lost and gone.

Like a silhouette,
In candle light.
He stood out
But never shined.
Ducking his head,
With shame, remorse.
An evil smirk
Spreading across
The face paled.
The blood flowed
Seeping through
The murky snow.
One last time,
The eyes close.
A single tear
Of regret and loss.
A chilly wind,
And he’s gone.


Tuesday, 23 October 2012


'Yes, I reminisce in the past; the past, that sadly had no future and that crumbled while we were till ravishing in its pleasure.'

Monday, 22 October 2012

Break us down.

Sometimes we lose to expectations and then we fall hard, on our face. We deny it, we scream and we look for unseen closure. Thinking of all our hard work, our prayers and our expectations, all failed to nothing. We cheat ourselves. We act. We pretend. Because we know, deep down, that we never really worked hard enough, we lacked. We prayed, yes. We kept expectations higher than necessary, yes. But we failed so we pretend.
We crumble under our own expectations and the carry the weight of those hopes that others have from us. We hide from the truth and the acceptance of our faults. And so we blame. We blame it on every possible option. We break, inside. We doubt and we lose joy. In the end we just sag; unable to carry the weight anymore, of the acceptance and expectations and reality.


Saturday, 20 October 2012

lie,lie, truth.

They hide under those hazy clouds,
Behind the wisps of evident lies.
They try to prove futile points,
Backed against the wall of truth.
And then they fight their own kind,
Basking in their own deceit.


Saturday, 13 October 2012

Such serene moments...

She lay there, among a cascade of sheets, hands behind her head and ankle carelessly crossed; Days old red nail-polish chipping off.  The fan whirs above too loud for the quiet that surrounds her, the lights too harsh for her seemingly serene moments, the atmosphere to formal for her casual posture. She sits in a place too unlike herself… too formal. Her mind is another place to be, nothing like her posture or the d├ęcor around; it’s mayhem of thoughts, a turmoil of ideas replaced every moment, flipping out of grasp, exploding volcanoes of colors, rainbows of events, chaos of recollection. Such serene moments.


Sunday, 7 October 2012


Love, what is it, really?
A simple emotion to show that you care and understand, or a complex mode, that envelops you inside itself, making it unmanageable to disentangle?
Love, they say you never plan of falling for it, it just happens. Like meant-to-be’s. Like miracles? 
Love, they say it gives you infinite happiness. Just like taking you over the moon and your frequent visits to cloud nine. Or the feeling when your feet don’t stay on the ground.
I think I know love. I think I understand. Why wouldn't I?
I have seen it happen, I have felt it. I know the gusto of it, I know it’s craze.
It’s blissful. It’s petty.
It’s ecstatic. It’s contagious. 
It’s the serenity of living in a dream. It’s the beauty of being awake in that very dream.
It’s the dream of reality.
Why wouldn't I know love? Why wouldn't I feel it? It’s there around me. It’s not a lover’s kiss for me; it’s my sister’s peck, my friends’ smiles. The laughter and love in all those eyes that are around me. The sparkle and the sheen. I know love and that’s love.
It’s the afterglow that sustains, forever.


Thursday, 4 October 2012

Once you close those eyes...

When you close your eyes there are two things you envision. Initially it’s one; as soon as you close your eyes you imagine before you scenes from your imagination, thoughts of the past and expectations and dream for the future. But focusing a little you’ll see a reality, the actual darkness of your closed eye lids, focus without opening them, it velvety and swirly and deep…endless. Infinite? Focus too much and you lose it as you pry open your eyes. Balance your concentration and you can watch it for hours that are really minutes, which are really just seconds. Because in a moment the strain of the focus will make you open your eyes.

And that my friends, is life. There are our dreams and aims and then there is reality which is endless the more you go into it the more it turns in to a labyrinth. And just when you are about to get a grasp of it you are stirred up by karma, which either gives you your dreams, or reality.


Thursday, 20 September 2012

Story: From the Diary of a Middle Child.

The following is a story, it has no connection to the writer or any other person, living or dead. The work is entirely fiction; advice and feedback would be appreciated, not criticism. Thank you.

-I am simple. My life, I guess, is okay. It seems so. There seems to be less problems and troubles than those faced by others. Sure there are times when life seems to be crumbling down. Its real bad then.  Like the times when my elder sister would slap me right across the face for no reason other than the fact that she was angry. It’s happened more than once. More than half a dozen times.  Of course I don’t go whining to my mom. No, I prefer to cry in peace and not talk to my sister, or try to do so.
I am unusual. Different. I don’t drool over celebs or people of the opposite sex that others tend to find *cute*. I simply don’t notice them and I have no comment on them. Nada. No, I am not homo. I am weird.
I don’t like it when my little brother gets ignored. He is sensitive. It’s his right, he needs the attention. I try to make him feel better, he fails to gets it. But I try.
Why don’t they realize? Life has its problems but it gets better. A straight road is no fun, a curvy one holds all the adventures.

-It’s not a joke. Life. It’s not a bloody joke.  No matter how much I try or what I do, she always stands right. Always. Haven’t I always done more for you? You have no idea what she says about you and behind your back. Or do you have any idea that it’s me always reasoning with her, putting sense into her. You don’t know. You hate me. Because she is your first and she’ll always be, right there number one on your list. No matter what I do or how hard I try. I am never right. It’s always them, always her. Why? Why me? Why do I face all the troubles? Even when I try to do the right always. I try not to break your trust like she has. I do not talk mean of you to others. I try to never think badly of you. It’s all useless though. When you don’t trust me because I’ll always remain wrong. I never believed the face that the middle child is neglected. You've proved me wrong.

-There is a soft blurry edge to everything. It’s hazy. Everything  looks funny as if each item merges into the other. As if watching through a sheath of heavy pouring rain. As if it’s a mirage. Out of focus and bokeh-ed, forming into bubbles and then tipping out of focus. Moving; side to side. Unstable. They loose colors as if drained. Black and white. Then grey. A big ugly blotch of blurry grey. Getting bigger, darker. Swallowing me up, painlessly. Good. The pills are working.



Tuesday, 18 September 2012

Crazy Ramblings #6

I have started relying on coke for when I get stressed. I just fill up a big coffee mug with it's cool blackness and sit in a quiet corner nursing my issues. I guess you have to, sometimes, you reach the level where you can't bother others with your own problems. It's then that you lean on these worldly non-living-but-fizzing-in-your-cup-as-if-alive things. I know it's mostly desserts people prefer with the whole phenomena of stress-spelled-backwards-is-desserts but coke is just as good. It doesn’t out does chocolate though, but it works fine, really. And the way it pops and fizzes in your mouth is somehow very calming.
And while I let out my concerns to coke, it frost the cup, letting out it's on the big mug it's filling. And I suppose the mug lets it out in the air where it all mingles with other stuff hanging there; looked over stuff, avoided stuff, disappointed stuff. It's there, together in it's loneliness. Like me. like us. I think too much. Next time I'll try calling a friend while drinking that mug of coke; someone to hold me in the reality, while I am probably going crazy.


Tuesday, 11 September 2012

Being a 'me'

There is a pleasure in passing through pathless woods, a sweet pain in getting lost; a pleasant thought of getting away. Leaving everything behind and escaping unnoticed, as if dreaming.  Enjoying the acquaintance of complete strangers and for once letting go truly because there will be none to judge you, call you or remind you of the seemingly endless duties.
Patiently enjoying the company of one’s self because in that moment nothing matters.  You can speak when you want to, avoid what you wish to and conduct your heart with peace.  Sitting loud and lone like a distant sea shore, devoid of tensions and pains. Smiling at self control and weeping for one’s desire. And when it’s all calm and clean you can go back to being a ‘me’.


Sunday, 2 September 2012

Roadside treats

We all travel an aimless, useless journey. It’s nothing till we move on and realize, and it’s then, that it becomes meaningful. Striving us towards a purpose and strengthening it as we move on. The result always tempting us to move further, one step faster, one jump closer. We are fragments of nothing until there comes a reason of achievement.  We are just travelers of a barren road attracted by the occasional treats to feed our purpose.
But one often embarks on a journey with a mind set so adamantly on a subject that we forget most of the journey. We forget to enjoy the path. There’s always the leaping forward and grabbing the prize; what comes to you on that way is of not of a mere importance. And in those moments of lust for the prize and the fire of winning we very often lose. Not the race but to the reality; to the acceptance that, that which came to us on the way was far more important, more infinite than the end prize itself only then you’ve lost it and seldom does it comes back.


Monday, 27 August 2012


She sat alone on the lone bench; a silver head facing the outstretched yet empty gardens, behind her stood the old building where a dozen more like her sat. She could hear the endless whispers in her ears, calling out to her, even when no when was around.She was alone still. All her life she craved for solidarity and silence and now, when her wish was attained, she only shuddered in pain and longing, at all times.  Truly alone and trapped in isolation of her own body; unable to utter a word or hear anything apart from old murmurs. She saw their lips move, she saw them laugh and then she'd cry to herself, in her own solitary mind. Abandoned. Deserted. Shut away from all those around with a constant reminder that it was her own much desired wish, she sat alone on the single bench, facing the empty gardens, isolated in a world of gazillions, forgotten like a thousand day dreams…

Thursday, 16 August 2012

Looming Question Marks.

What if we were never borne? What if we had died ages past?
What if there was no tomorrow? Yesterday was history and we had regrets and qualms?
What would happen if we lost everyone? If there were no strangers but wars predicted?
What if we never got a chance and everything was as easy as we desired?
Would there still be faith to hold on? Would we still have questions to ask?
When would we realize then? When would we try then?
Will we still think like we do, now? Will we still use our minds then?
If world was as easy as we want it to be, wouldn’t we just be blind arrogant fools then?


Tuesday, 7 August 2012

Crazy Ramblings #5

It's better to stop expecting anything from others and to keep up to only your expectations and only for yourself. Why? Because sometime, somewhere everyone is going to disappoint you and to save yourself thedisappointment of being disappointed you need to stop keeping expectations. Save yourself some misery, because you would be disappointing people too. So, it's just better to set your own goals, reach them, have a personal celebration and be happy. The point is being happy. And you'll only be happy when nobody is hurting you and you are hurting nobody. I am not sure why I am writing this, but I think we all need to be happy. It's important. I am crazy.

Sunday, 5 August 2012


Eighteen is a difficult age.You honestly seem to be standing in the middle of nowhere. Abandoned and alone. Sure there are the loved ones around you but honestly you are alone. Not to mention all those thoughts cooking up in your head.
Papers. Admissions. Universities' due dates. Entry tests. Merits. Result.  
The haphazardness and nausea of it all. The 'what will become of me?'s and 'what should I do?'s.
It's like being in an endless circle of sleepless nights, fear and prayers. 
And to top it all of, you are an adult. The trap. 

Anyways, here is a poem, (was that kind of abrupt?) 

Like smiling sunshine and rusted frames,
With memories clogged and grayed
Of those mystical times and hours splayed
Mesmerizing and captivating in ages today.
Of eyes that glazed on every good bye,
Of the thrilling adventures filled with ecstatic smiles.
Like golden dust splattered on a sad sky
Like blissful breeze when lone and tired.
The little clouds of dust that fly 
When heavenly drops fall from the sky
When we all laughed not caring of tomorrow
Then was the time when there were truly no sorrows.


Thursday, 2 August 2012

A first.

I realized that I got tagged for my first blog award, and I was supposed to do the post. So doing thing this now.
Thank you Ph_ for this award! It's my first and it made me incredibly happy and I am very gracious that you thought my writing was worth it.

So here's the deal, you get tagged you do a whole post.

  1. If you get tagged you post eleven facts about yourself.
  2. You answer the eleven questions given to you by the person who tagged you.
  3. Further tag eleven bloggers (with less than 200 followers).
  4. Give them eleven questions to answer.
  5. No tagging back.


- I love my sister, Hadia, she is my life. Literally.  
- I love my family and friends and am very protective about them.
- I have an obsession with watching clouds.
- I LOVE rain. I love standing and splashing in the rain like an idiot.
- I am a very shy and silent person and do no speak unless I am spoken too.
- I am extremely possessive about everything that I own.
- I am weird about love. The fact that I write love stories does NOT makes me lovey-dovey. I am not.
- I believe my words are the only thing that make me.
- I love pasta and biryani. Yum.
- My favorite color is blue but I obsess a lot over yellow. weird.
- When I have to tell people about myself I forget who I am. 


-What is the place you desire the most to visit?
A whole world tour would be nice.

-What is your season weather and why?
Monsoon!!! For obvious reasons. And Spring for it's freshness, Autumn for it's colors and Winters for the peaceful air. 

-What will you prefer: A lie to save someone being hurt or honesty for best advice and opinion.
Honesty of course because lies seem fine only initially and later often gives you a feel of betrayal.

- How do you like to spend you Sundays?
They pretty much turn out the same as other days.but they are lazy days.

- What is your priority? Partying with acquaintances or spending time with real friends?
Real friends, they go all the way.

- What is life in your views?
Life is a war between time, desires and needs. It's a mixture or everything tossed together. It's an endless walk to inner peace. (which, by the way, a person rarely attains)

- One song lyric you like the most?
 "even angels have their wicked schemes..." - Skylar Grey (Love the way you lie)
Also shared by an extremely close (and shodi) friend.

- 90's music or whatever they create right now?
Depends on the mood, there is music for every mood.

- What is your biggest regret?
I don't think i have any regrets, if I never did any one thing I did I probably wouldn't be here.

- How do you celebrate your happiness?
I tell my family and close friends, get appreciative hugs, and smile and talk about it for a few days.

- Three things you cannot imagine living a day without?
  1. My sister Hadia.
  2. A mode of  communication with my parents, sisters and closest friends.
  3. Something to pen my thoughts on.


  • Favorite quote, and why?
  • One thing about you that people wouldn't assume by looking at you?
  • Would you rather forgive something said about you or verbally lash the person who said it?
  • Something about you that makes you really proud.
  • A single favorite book you wouldn't mind reading twice or thrice. Why?
  • One person whose (God forbid) death would change you? Why? 
  • What's that which you desire the most from life?
  • Your favorite word. Yes, word.
  • Beauty comes from ______ ?
  • Five thing that life is about.
  • Words for you are?



Monday, 30 July 2012

A nobody, restrained.

A question, I asked,
Replies were naught.
I whispered a query
Silenced, I was.
I had uncertainties, doubts and suspicions
But I wasn’t allowed, even to ponder.
I had discoveries to share
I was hushed.
I raised my hands
They were cut.
My wishes were,
Scattered and ignored.
A nonentity
More unknown than dust
I was to be doused
Even before I could levitate.
I was nothing,
They fed to my brain
A faceless existence
Never to be named.

Friday, 27 July 2012

Crazy Ramblings #4

Lately I have been reading a lot of suicide posts on different blogs and hearing such stories. It's mostly them or goodbye posts. Like the other day; I was going through some blogs and most of them had just goodbyes. I wonder if it will ever happen to me.  I hope not. And then there are the suicide posts. I don’t know why people even consider it. They probably consider it because of people.  Whoever had the thought of suicide occur to him or her and who is reading this I want them to know something: nobody is worth it. You'd be sacrificing your life for them but there is a 90% probability that they wouldn’t even care, they'll go ahead with their own lives and probably hurt a few other people like they did you. So it's better just to hang in there, regardless of the hurt and betrayal. It will obviously pain you but sooner or later you will come to terms with yourself. And if it's crucial times that have caused you to think of it, I am sure life hasn’t disappointed you and has done better for you, and in times to come it will do the same. So don’t consider suicide, consider moving on. Smile. Deny your life the hurt and pain. Be strong. Face it. Stand up. You are worth everything good that has ever happened to you, and more. Be happy. Be crazy. I am crazy. I know I am. 

Monday, 23 July 2012


Often wind whispers and calls my name,
Filling me with fear of the dreaded halt
I frown back and tell death to wait
The wind cackles and sighs ignoring my case,
'But for now it's not coming your way,
It's just a reminder for you to be played
Because when it will come all will stay
You won't even get a chance to complain
Beware is all it wants to say
For there is an eternity past these days.'


Friday, 20 July 2012

Crazy Ramblings #3

I have had the pleasure of having a couple of brilliant friend, each unique in a distinct way and some exceptional than the rest (and I am not even being modest). They have been there and always there for me, for quite some time now, so much that I seem to have forgotten how to make friends. I guess it comes naturally but I have been having this craving to let someone to know me; someone who knows who I am but doesn’t know me. I restraint myself to a certain level of frankness but this time I am willing to surpass the barriers. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I want someone to come up to me and tell me they want to know me. Again, I am not sure why.  I know it's useless since it will be up to me to open up to them and that is a very difficult task, for me at least. It's not that I am not at ease with my friends, I am, but I have this weird craving to know someone better. I am probably crazy. I know I am.


Sunday, 15 July 2012

Crazy Ramblings #2

Sometimes when I get too angry or tired or sad or just unsatisfied, I go in the kitchen and I open the door of the freezer and stand in front of it. I just stand there and make an effort to not think and concentrate on breathing. And at one point I realize that breathing in the cold freezer air is difficult because it hits your throat in a weird way. I don’t know why but it happens every time and the thought just hits me. Even when I know it's going to pop into my mind when I stand in front of the freezer, it still strikes me. And when we are angry or tired or sad or just unsatisfied, we just need these type of weird thoughts to tell us that it doesn’t matter. Everything is a random silly thing that somehow makes sense and it isn’t really important to understand it. I think I get high on the cold freezer air. I am probably crazy. I know I am.


Friday, 13 July 2012

Crazy Ramblings #1

If you stare at the clouds long enough you'll realize they are moving. But they do move and everybody knows that right? No, everyone knows that they move but not everyone wants to watch them move. But if you sit quietly outside sometime of the day or night and look at those cotton like wisps of clouds for a certain interval you will see them move, and then your eyes will follow them; sometimes patiently and sometimes edgily. But at one point they'll be moving and you'll be watching them move and then you'll feel all this peace and tranquility inside you; because at that moment you'll know that it has to move, everything, everyone, so that you are filled with the peace at times. Sometimes when there are no clouds I crave for these serene moments. I am probably crazy. I know I am.


Monday, 9 July 2012

I cried...

We have a high roof in the lounge, higher than that in other rooms, so sometimes I lie down and stare at it, and I think. Last night, I stared at it because sleep wouldn’t come to me and I cried. I cried because I had lost friends. I cried because I knew I was losing the rest. I cried because I had no idea what was going on. I cried because I didn’t know the path of my future. I cried because I forgot what went on in the past. I cried because at that moment I forgot everything and I cried because I was lost, not known when to be found again. I cried because I was unhappy. I cried because my unhappiness made others unhappy. I cried because some people suddenly just stop. I cried because I wasn’t sure if they trusted me that moment. I cried because I was alone, because I was sad and for some reason guilty. I cried because sometimes nobody understands. And I cried because sometimes they understand too much. I cried because I misinterpreted people. I cried because everything is just an illusion. I cried because there really is no perfection. I cried because the end is always too close. I cried because it all made sense but then I cried because I was confused. I cried and cried and then I fell into an uneasy slumber. I hope nobody cries like that.


Friday, 6 July 2012

smoked cigarettes

Staring into the eyes of the little girl in front of her, she was abruptly pushed back into her own childhood where these eyes belonged to her; full of fear and loneliness, craving attention and love. 

She stood at her bedroom door staring down into the hall of the great big mansion. The mansion, even though her home scared her; it was too big and too delicate, the opposite of a cozy home. She looked down on to the open hall her eyes skimming through all the people who looked similar to each other till her eyes landed on the one person she wanted to see. There were a lot of people surrounding her but she was nothing like any of them. There was a striking aura around that particular person that captivated the young child. Her eyes followed the figure careful not to lose it, she knew she'd loose her with just one blink and her eyes were already drowsy from sleep. The swollen bloodshot eyes that dominated the pale little face darted from figure to figure as she lost her mother in the party crowd. It was then that she realized the smoke from all the cigarettes and cigars was getting to thick, irritating her eyes and throat. Turning her tiny self away from the body she coughed and went inside, closing the door shut behind her, she opened her window and sat on it, wiping away her watery eyes and looking up into the dark sky she said a little prayer like every day and then called her dear old nanny.
'Would you call mama to come and kiss me good night?' she asked.
'I am afraid she's busy my dear!' the nanny replied gently.
'But won't you try, please?'
'I shall' she said although knowing that the mother won't come and the poor child would drift to sleep waiting.
It's late, very late, and almost time for dawn but she's awake sitting on the big arm chair gazing at her mother as if she was a diamond encrusted statue. Her mother though is unaware of her presence as she lies on the couch with eyes closed, smoking a cigarette. The little child doesn’t go near her mother afraid she'll push her into the table like the other day. She loves her but she wants her mother's love. She needs it. She looks at the carpet scattered with ash and ash-tray filled with cigarette butts. Her fearful eyes follow her mother's figure as it gets up and walks away leaving her behind alone. The poor child shudders at the hate she feels wafting at her!  She brings her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them, letting her tears paint her cheek wet. 
Time has passed now but the scene is more or less identical. The endless promises she made to herself to not become like her mother have proved futile. She is the same as her mother, hateful, selfish and torn.  And the dear little child with exactly her eyes is her daughter, who even now sits before her with glassy pained eyes and rosy cheeks staring at her smoking a cigarette, very much like herself at a very distant time. It's another generation yet much the same. She has been ignoring the innocence of that child's face and she will be the one to make her like herself. As if hit by a revelation, she suddenly drops her half smoked cigarette that burns right through her beautiful sheer silk wrap that is lying on the floor and her white plush rug, normally she would have not let this go, even if her own fault, but right now it goes unnoticed.  The room is dark and dotted with candles, like every day. Light seem to burn her eyes so she lights candles in the whole house. In the dim light from the candles she can see as the tears slip past the six year old child's eyes. Involuntarily she, herself gets up and stands before her daughter, reaching out and grabbing her hand; holding on tight she gently wipes the tears  with her free hand and drags her along, walking the whole house with her. Blowing gently on the candles and saving that which should be saved, not just a candle, but an innocence for generations.