One of the stories mama told me started like this: she and khalammi had taken the car out for the first time, khalammi a nervous driver behind the wheel, mama riding shotgun. At one point, the car grazed another man’s car, and immediately stalled. A crowd gathered while the girls sat petrified with horror, and… Continue reading Of Khalammi
In May of last year, a month after I wrote a blog vying never to date men again, I went out to lunch with a young, white, teacher named Sam. He was cute but a little idiotic-looking, sported a cane in the way certain men flash fancy car keys, and had a habit of doing… Continue reading Of England, a Year On
On the morning of an important day at the end of the last academic year. ~ Any resemblances to persons living or dead is purely your imagination. ~ The other team’s boys looked nice – nice and professional, both of them. They were roughly the same height, dressed in almost identical two-piece suits, and… Continue reading description.
Maryam Z is a beautiful, creative and kind soul that I am lucky enough to call my friend. She wrote the following piece. I rarely post stuff by other people on this blog, but I found this so exquisite that I couldn’t resist. I post it with her permission, and on the condition that I… Continue reading They Talk In Riddles
An infinity of empty blackness. This chasm of nothingness seems to extend limitlessly. It is otherworldly – it seems to have existed since eternity, before time began, and til after time will cease. In the middle of the emptiness a row of chairs is suspended, extending on both sides into the distance, further than the… Continue reading Of childhood dreams.
Um. Just some rambling. *blushes slightly* – My last chance. My reason to risk it all, my reaffirmation that I’m not as good as I seem. In my world, you’re the only open painting on a wall where the others have drapes, are hidden under a veil. You’re the oil colours I treasure, that I… Continue reading of recent events.
~ This was Part 1. ~ Sometimes I think one of the reasons why I’m still not qualified as a pakki Karachi girl is that I don’t respond to every situation with a sharp tongue and a witty response. I prefer the frigid British stare, but most people here are impervious to it. I’d picked… Continue reading tri-wheeled morality – part II
~ Two real life incidents ~ An arm extended, at the end of which my hand flaps dully and ineffectually as I shield my eyes with the other and wait for the small but loud vehicle to slow down and stop. Not that they ever slow down enough – the screeching of brakes whistle by… Continue reading tri-wheeled morality – part I
I remember my grandfather as he was before the dim days of the end, the illness and the slow breaking down under time of the man we all loved. Before those days of obvious decline, and yet after his days of sharp, head-of-the-family imperiousness, there was a soft middle period where he was neither broken… Continue reading of Nana Abbu.
When I was in class 10, I wrote a short mythology based on a series of (crappy) sketches that I made of four women. It was the the product of boredom and an unwillingness to devote to Pak Studies, and I never managed to complete it. Last night, with a load of clay and a… Continue reading The Goddesses – Intro