Tag: writing

  • Of Books and Basant in 2026

    Anything dirty sells, they said. Write about the trapped housewife with the vicious mother-in-law, the dirt-poor vegetable seller with the drunkard potbellied husband and the female child with dirt-ringed curls swatting flies out of her eyes as she smears small hands on shiny car windows. Write about South Asian women ‘as they really are’ and… →

  • Books Will Never Judge Your Cover…

    I trail my fingers down the leather clad spine, ridged and looped with gold thread. The pages are a buttery yellow, smoothed and soft. There’s a clinging delicate scent, of old ink and new desires. The tale remains the same and yet, it makes some laugh, and some it makes sigh.  Ah, old friend. We →

  • My “X” and I…Or Why Equations And I Don’t Get Along

    (Read the whole thing. I promise, it’s worth it.) Why, I ask, must you have equations? Isn’t it bad enough that there exist letters in a subject, which should only have numbers? I mean, a and b belong to the alphabet; they are numerals of the English Language, not of something that has plus and →

  • I Built A House Of Grape Vines And Sunshine

    Today was a good day. It was one of those days when the sun poured liquid gold and painted the tops of buildings yellow. I sat outside my room watching how sunshine streamed through leaves, making them transparent, almost. And it reminded me of the days I used to spend at my aunt’s house. I →

  • What Is Peace?

    A child crawls on the mud strewn ground, his ribs jutting out in sharp relief, distorting the light of the harsh Somalian sun that beats down, parching the land dry; he looks around for his mother. There she comes, carrying a tiny package in her burnt brown hands, to lift up her child; he weighs →

  • That Grasshopper’s Sitting On A Book, Cooking Berries

    If you stepped into my room on any given evening in the year 2007, you’d invariably find me curled up somewhere, reading. How I miss thirteen and all the years that preceded it. Childhood was a time where I saved up all my pocket money to buy a fuzzy slip covered notebook, which I then →

  • The 7 Advantages Of Being A Girl

    Now I don’t want to set foot in the murky waters of the men vs women debate. But I will say that while some people say it’s a male dominated society in general, there’s a lot in it for the “softer sex” too…and I consider all the sassy gay guys too. So, women, read on… #1: THE SMART →

  • Pull Up Your Pants, Turn Off Your Swagger – The Bill O’ Reilly Debate

    Fox News Host Bill O’ Reilly talked about how the African American community is disintegrating, and young black men are choosing lives filled with drugs, violence and crime. He also featured a a song sung by Lil Wayne, using it as an example to show people how black music is full of negative language and →

  • Send Me Flowers Again…

    Ring. “Drat!” The doorbell goes off Ten minutes to nine Precisely timed, Flowers on the porch Silver holder, pink card “From a secret admirer” “Oh, not again!” * I’m clean worn out With this flower business Just last week It was chocolates, A month ago Love poem, printed out I know my eyes sparkle And →

  • Grab Your Box Of Tissues…

    I dread looking at stats… My main five posts have all been about social issues…huh. This is a surprise because I thought all my light and fluffy posts were more popular. Guess who’s breaking out the compassion journal and tears? →

  • Sex Sells…Empathy Doesn’t

    Prostitute.  def: Noun. A person, typically a woman, who engages in sex for payment. How would you describe her? Standing on a shadowy street corner with an uplifted head, searching for her next customer. Heavily rimmed eyes, the kohl giving her an aura of toughness she doesn’t really possess. Inches thick padded push up bra to uplift →

  • …Hit Me

    I want to know…what you think. I need some feedback. I’ve worked hard to make this blog an achievment I can be proud of someday, and even though that day is far off yet, I feel like I’m on the right road.  And now I want to know how to make improvements.  Tell me how →

  • On Being Struck By Lightning, And Dying

    Wednesday, July 10th, 2013. Today, I died. At around 3 PM today, I was outside, dancing in the rain that I so passionately loved. It was a full blown thunderstorm, with dense grey clouds that seemed to have absorbed all the world’s grief. For me, however, the blue grey streaks that split the sky into →

  • Oh, Him And Her And Them? They’re Just My Home…

    I’m not homeless. Just to clarify what ‘home’ means to me: it means somewhere you can return at the end of a long, exhausting day and hang up your metaphorical coat, and don your fuzzy slippers. Home is comfort, and familiarity. Home is where you play your music the loudest, where the mirrors have seen →

  • And…Another One Bites The Dust: Nineteenth Birthday

    Ahh, June 25th. Another year. Nineteen finally, happy and content. Hello, birthday. Hello Nineteen. I hope we can be friends. Wishlist: A bestseller to my name, the power to talk to animals, a tiny teensy waist and magic powers. Because all the things I have are already out of this world. Thank you God, I’m →

  • Facebook Connect…Thumbs Up Please?

    Hi, I’ve been writing this blog for almost a year, and in speed time, its grown. I never thought I’d have a voice, or that over 200 people would want to hear what I had to say. I’ve found my vocation, which is pretty useful, since I had earlier dreams of being a princess, a →

  • Of Rain, And Being Born

    I was a child born to rain. The 25th of June, 1994 was a break in a nearly four month long scorching heat wave. On this day, when I was still cocooned, blissfully ignorant, in the encompassing safety of my mother’s womb, around 7 people lost their lives in the city. Lahore was like an →

  • “Mommy, can you buy me a new dolly?”

    I had writer’s block. So terribly that whenever I scribbled a single word onto a page, I wouldn’t be able to justify its existence. Then today I found out something eerie, and I had to write about it. Isla de las Munecas Ahan, the Island of the Dolls. It’s a small island, a ‘floating garden’ →

  • Hold My Hand, You’re All Alone. And Now, So Are We.

    How do I tell you what loneliness is? Loneliness is standing in the middle of a raging thunderstorm, and being caught up by the noise inside your head. It’s that time between day and night, when the day has begun to pick up it’s things and leave, and night is still a distant event. Loneliness →

  • Masala Tea, And Indian Memories

    I wonder who among us doesn’t occasionally sit down and have tea with their memories. The past, whatever it is, just is. Or was, whichever is more appropriate. Memories are a strange and wonderful thing; sometimes you remember perfectly, that chunk of recollection is there in your palm, and yet at other times you embellish, add on →

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