Finally I logged in again

Its been so long and finally I logged in again. Well life has been busy of sorts and will try that new lease on life plan I have been banging my head open for. Ramdan just started and btw I have gotten extremely political. Somehow for me this blog is like linking to the world and communicate with any one out there. FYI i dont come in peace. however i will come free with KFC chicken pieces. MMMMMMmmmmmmmmm. tired, sleepy and ready for another day at college. i start another day at my college and hope the finish the book I have been procrastinating for sooooooo long. Inspirations take me now.

My Life Goes On.......

I did not know how I got here. Even though my mother had told me still I could not make sense out of the fact that we had to change our house again and again. I barely saw my dad. He always seemed to be out of the house whenever I looked for him. I wanted him to be with me. To play with me. To listen to my stories and how I tried to make sense out of them. Make up stories out of the few words I knew. To laugh with me and be the princess that my mother always told me I was. Every house we went to, I saw the same pictures hanging from the wall. Staring down at me and enforcing the idea that the house we lived in was filled with love and memories. Not showing everyone the battle I fought everyday to be noticed by my mother. But I always failed at this battle. She never noticed me that I was special. She was never there for me. Since my birth, I had been under the care of a nanny who had tried to make me feel special. Every time I drew up a picture, she would appreciate me as if she meant it but she never did. I knew that she did not love me. She only did it for the money. Still I had this foolish need to be loved as a child and so I also played along with her.

The mornings were spent eating through the breakfast that my nanny used to make for me. Plain and tasteless toast and eggs. Preparing for school and then leaving for school. All along not seeing either my mom or dad. The highlight of the day was school. A place where I knew who I was and how I was suppose to interact with others. It seemed like an accomplishment to see how many friends I had manage to make at this school. Within all of them was my best friend. Her name was Shelly and it seemed that from the day we met, we were meant to be together. We both had both matching bands for each other which said “friends forever”. Maybe not forever, I always used to say, but maybe as long as possible. Every day we would meet each other in the morning and walk to school. It wasn’t anything that my mom ever certified of but she was not there every morning. We used to walk to school discussing stupid things like the new doll commercial or the homework that was given to us.

After school, I would return home and wash up before eating. The house would always seem empty whenever I would enter. No one to welcome me. Every time a hollow “hi” would greet me from the kitchen as I would enter. I would drag myself to my room and select a new dress from my dresser. Change and come downstairs for lunch. The table would be neatly set and I would find my nanny sitting in one of the chairs with a vacant one next to her. The table had six chairs but I was always surprised that all of them were never filled. Why were they all even there? I had never seen across the table seeing either my father or mother eating along with me. Shelly had invited me so many times over to her house for dinner. Her parents would always start discussing something as they would eat their meals. Sometimes they would end up fighting furiously over something. I would always smile to myself and justify my parents’ actions by comforting myself. Comforting myself that at least my parents never argued.

The evening was a time to occupy myself. Homework, playing with Shelly, or just wasting my time. I found something to do at evening time. The night was just a series of stories from the nanny before I could drift away and sleep. The next day the same events would unfold. My life would go on like this.

Little steps

Her little feet disturbed the puddles of rain that had gathered around the driveway of her house. Maybe nature would forgive her little mistake. She tiptoed through the cold remains of rain which had been left behind and tried to make her way to her friend waiting for her in the garden. A plethora of sensations welcomed her as she walked from the hard concrete to the giving garden. The soil somehow felt, right under her feet. Her fragile feet seemed to like the softness of the grass and the vulnerability of the mud. It was just like her, defenseless and forgiving. She saw how she was making prints on the ground as she hopped and skipped around with her friend. It documented her memories and feelings within them. She loved the rain. It was so refreshing to feel the rain on her face. The house was new to her. The walls seemed to be supposedly looking down on her as if questioning her presence within them. But now she was out. Out in the open where the walls had no judgment to pass. Under the rain, it seemed even the walls were losing their superiority and were inferior to the ever powering rain.

The wall had vulnerabilities too. It had its own way to give in. The gaping holes and the peeling paint were telling a story of its own. Telling how even the tyrants were somehow smaller than what they looked to be. The crumbling reality that they would fall down someday as well. It made me feel complete. I started from where the paint ended. It allowed me to paint my own reality from there. To take my life and paint the walls with them. To take moments like these and color my world myself the way I wanted. The game we had started soon lost its meaning like many things in life do. Lose everything they stand for. Just like the structures I lived in. these are supposed to let me live but who knows that I am scared by them. I am terrified by them. Petrified by the fact that I have to be trapped inside a place and am forced to call it home.

The afternoon slowly turned to evening. I stepped inside my house and changed into dry clothes. It was still raining outside but my nanny asked to come inside so that I do not catch a cold. I hated the rain. It was washing it all away. Washing the record of me and my friend away from the brittle ground. The cruel process took place in front of me and I stood there as it all happened. The world around me was new and I was trying to make sense of it all. And I knew I was failing at it. Failing to even notice that I was within a presence of a great friend. For me a friend had always been someone who you just talk to once in a while, get close to them and slowly realize that you have been at fault all this time.

The rain had started to bore me so I turned around and accidently knocked over the picture frame which was on the shelf. I bent over and picked the frame which now had no glass covering that it prided itself on till now. The glass lay in shattered pieces around the frame. I cleared a picture a bit, careful not to hurt myself. In the picture sat an 8-year-old smiling back at me. Behind her was a baking summer sun and the pond near her created a beautiful scene. The mat near her feet displayed a freshly laid collection of food items. The girl was holding plates that she was going to set on the mat. The most shocking feature of the picture was here braced smile. She had a huge smile from ear to ear. I looked down on the girl and silently whispered to it
“Welcome to a new land. This is your new home now”
With that I held the picture near my chest and felt a warm tear bubbling in my eyes. Slowly the room was filled with low sobs. I do not know for how long I cried. I just remembered that I was tired and I slept on the floor of the living room. The pieces of shattered glass welcomed me as I tried to make sense of the life I was trying to live. No!!!!! Not live but simply justify with words and reminiscences I had until now. Piece together this puzzle. A puzzle that had many missing pieces but still I wanted to do it.

4th April 1994

3rd April 1994, the room was as I remembered it. The red and blues were still there like they had always been there. Just like I had learned them at school. How one changed to another in my mind. How the world around me changed as I saw those colors. How the shades slowly changed from one to another as if they all were trying to run away from reality before they came again in front of me. A confusing merry go round of colors. The 5-year-old child peeked into the room over the door. Taking refuge behind the door, he peeked over it and saw the still furniture inside the room. The curtains had been drawn and the maroon shade of the color was falling on the room. Dark maroon. I walked inside the room and closed the door behind me. I did not want to disturb her. I wanted to surprise her and see the expression on her face when she finally saw me.
I had planned this all the way from Islamabad. It had been my plan to walk into the room and shock her by suddenly coming in. I silently walked in over to the bed which was the focal point of the room. The sheets were cleanly laid upon them. She always laid down the sheets like this and most of the time even folded the overleaf of the blanket over itself as if inviting others to lie down on the bed. That explained so much about her. About the fact that she was so welcoming. Her many relationships were an evidence of that. Disturbed and childish moments of her life she might term them now but I can only imagine how she would have held onto the memories of every one of them.
How she would have waited for every one of them and would have been that women who would let others trod over me. I knew some attribute would transcend into me but why did it have to be this? I did not want to complex myself with such questions and thoughts. I just wanted to appreciate this moment. Just like a sweet glass of red wine. Feel the flavor of every grape that had made one glass of wine. I would never imagine that the irony in that comparison was so strong. How I never saw her sip the collection that she had made in many trips to Europe. She would brag on and on about how she collected them and it was the main topic of discussion for her. She would take prestige on the labels that they carried and never took even a sip of them as if ridiculing their beauty.
The biggest sin is never to appreciate beauty when you come across it but she did the exact thing. She never appreciated the scenery that was flying beside her or even the fact that I was growing up. Every achievement I had went unknown and unappreciated. But I always justified this by saying that she might be too busy. Too busy for me. Even though I had to swallow the words, the emotions and the feelings I still hid them inside myself. The constant headaches she had. The way she would lock herself inside the room and sometimes even for days. I had come to terms with living with just my caretaker. But I never blamed her. How could I? She was my mother.
I walked over to the side of the bed and suddenly I was filled with a feeling of nostalgia. It reminded me of the days that I used to watch her sleep. How silently she lay on the bed. Not caring of the world. Lost in her world of dreams. A world that she loved and never wanted to be out of. I loved her this way. The tranquility within her seemed to be passing into me. I never realized how time passed as I sat on my knees supporting myself against the bed as if begging her for this peace of mind she gave me. And she gave me the equanimity. Then she would wake up slowly opening her eyes and looking over at me. Every time I saw her it filled me with a feeling of shock and delight at the same time. I used to stare at her breathless and she would do the same. As the noon sun would shine on, I would climb on the bed and we would play around with each other. I remembered that the curtains were closed even then.
I jumped onto the bed and started to analyze the room as if from my throne. The furniture in the room was sparse and the placement made it look large. The cabinets near the bed. The dresser in the distance facing away from the window. Everything seemed perfectly in place. I had left them like this and they were neatly put in their original places. It was time for me to do pull off my prank. I sneaked under the sheets and waited there for a while. Then I started to count in the way I remembered them. The sheet was filled with my whispers. 1,2,3,5,6,8. The waiting game became boring so I wandered off and started concentrating on the slight aroma that these sheets held of her. It seemed that as the sheets wanted a piece of her as well as if to remember her by.
This was not the first time that I was pulling off this prank on her but this time I had been away for a week and I wanted to surprise her by coming a day before I was supposed to. I wanted to surprise her. I played the little play that would go on right on. She would come from the bathroom drying her hair and then seeing a lump in the sheets would say “I wish Sajjad was here. I miss him very much” then she would hold onto to me from the outside and tickle me all over. After this tickling game she would slowly whisper to me. I love you. And she would get the same reply from me. I also love you. I will always love you. Childish words can be so deceitful. So foolish for you to dream of dragons, princesses and love. For you to say things like these.
I waited for her words for so long. But they never came. I got impatient and walked over to the bathroom. Still wanting to play the joke, I turned the knob and found out that it was open. It surprised me. But curiosity came over me and I rushed into the bathroom shouting “Surprise!!!”
What a cruel joke. I was so selfish. So inconsiderate. The next few events I remember so distinctly. Like her perfume that she used to put on. It turned out that she surprised me. She lay inside the bath tub. Maroon. She was so still and peaceful. Still Maroon. I was envious that the razor in her hand had been the one to carry her blood like that. Envious of the fact that I had not been there to see her. I did not want to go near the tub. I knew that it would disturb her. I did not want to break the expression on her face. Did not want to lose that. She was not smiling any more but the serene look somehow assured me. I sat near her leaning on the wall and supporting myself. The room filled with sobs and cries and I felt a warm tear bubble inside one of my eye.
It slowly made its way down my chin but surprisingly it was the only one. I still know the urge I had to take the blade and do the same thing but maybe this was her moment and I wanted her to enjoy it. I did not know how long I sat there before my caretaker finally came and took me. What was the word that she kept saying again and again to the paramedics? Cancer? I did not want to listen to anyone of them. The next day was her funeral. She lay inside her coffin so peacefully. Her presence was somehow still with me. I knew that soon she would open her eyes and I would be breathless like I always was. It was time to pay our last tributes. I went to her headstone and placed the card and flowers near it. I had made the card myself. It read:
“Happy Birthday Mom!!!”

Adored Passion

I turned through the pages of my old diary and suddenly an entry stood out to me. Under the dusty pages laid some of my fondest memory and this was one of them. It was a special entry and as soon I started to read it, the feeling of nostalgia inundated me. It was about my first date and suddenly I remembered everything that happened on the day. Even though the two of us had been together for a long time, this was the time when friendship became something more. We had spent so many moments together. Dancing in the rain. The sweet, aromatic drops falling on us as it purified us of our sanity and let us act like children experiencing life for the first time.


The first time, in a new way. It took me back to the time when stars twinkled above us. The poems we used to sing together were still fresh in my mind. The words still had a ring to them. They felt meaningful and I could still sing them and go back to the time when I had learnt them. A time when there were no worries about the world, about life. A world built on the building blocks of toys. It felt as if we both shared a world. A world colored by the psychedelic memories. A world reinforced by mom’s sweet lullabies. A land where fairies, giants and angels were imagined on the basis of childhood stories. Trying to find out more about life, one mistake at a time.


She is my first and only love and I will give anything for her. I am so lucky that she is with me. I had started to prepare for the date since the evening and wore the best suit I could find. Now when I look back at that day, it seems that I was so stupid. Love is just about spending so much time preparing for the moment and the feeling that the other person does not even care how you look. The restaurant was near so we decided to walk. Also I was not allowed to drive so we had no other option to walk. I still think that it was better that we walked. She was looking very eloquent. She was perfect and somehow I felt that she was too perfect for me. Her eyes, her hair and her breath-taking smile. I commented her. She didn’t. I did not mind. Even having her with me was a complement in itself. It was a windy day and suddenly a gust of wind blew her hair all over her face.



“Shoot, I forgot to tie them” she said struggling to control her hair.
“I like them this way” I said.
Her response was subtle as she just stared at the ground; embarrassed.





We reached the restaurant and got to our tables. As we entered the restaurant, the fragrance of roses greeted us. It was Valentine’s Day and the dim light in the restaurant was justified. The whole of the restaurant was only lit by candlelight and it was laced with tiny hearts hanging from the ceiling. In the background, you could hear a low voice of a violin. The sound of the violin was not overpowering the ambiance but it seemed that in the schism of being recognized, it was able to win. There was an awkward moment when we did not know what to say. Then suddenly the only thing I could say was that how was school going. She broke out into a laugh.


“It is so amazing” I said under my breath.
“What?” she asked.
“I have never heard an angel laugh”.


What was love actually I thought as I gazed upon her. I was falling deeply in love with her. For me love was trying to make sense of an obsession and failing to make that sense was falling in love. Reading these words made me smile. As I stand here today, I still have not made sense of this obsession. We were sitting across the table but it could even have had been an empty room, the setting did not matter to me. We could be sitting across a room in the corners. Trying to hide ourselves from the light. Trying to evade light altogether. Then suddenly looking at each other. As she looked at me with those beautiful eyes. I could only imagine how I would smile and would feel when she smiled back at me. Now when I look back at it, I know how I feel when she does. The curiosity was a just a child’s urge to know and now I do how it submerges me with affection when she does look at me.


I flipped the page of the diary as read I on. Every feeling every word held so much feeling and emotion inside them. These words were actually written be an 18-year-old boy still I was unable to comprehend his feelings. Unable to see how he could feel so much. Read about how she wanted to say something while we waited for our food to arrive and how she chose to remain silent. Maybe it was for the best that we kept quiet, and did nothing. It allowed me to cherish her and made me realize that nothing either of us can say or do can make this moment any better.


The rest of the time we spent just talking about random things. There was still time before she had to return so we decided to walk back to our homes and to walk together slowly. There was no chance for it to rain but I saw her eyelids suddenly tremble. It trembled as a drop of rain touched it. A light drizzle started and she started to feel cold. I walked over to her and wrapped my arm around her. Her expression turned to a relaxed one as if a child had found the comforting love of a mother. I saw how her eyes allowed me to know so many secrets about her. They were able to tell me everything I wanted to know about her. How they told me how she felt about me. Green and priceless like precious emeralds. I would treasure them forever.
Shining towards me every time I looked at them as if appreciating my gesture. I still remember how they modestly shied away from me as if embarrassed for being so idyllic. I realized that losing to her; I had forgotten how to win. How I had lost to her so many times but I thought that even though I lose, I don’t want to win over this feeling. Looking back at that day, I cannot help to feel that I want to go back there. Go back to the time when I was innocent and untouched by time and reality. What I would give to see her smile her for the first time. Relish the fact that she was mine and only mine. My love.

Creative Writing I

I could feel the freshness of the grass under my feet. It reflected upon the sunrise taking place in the distant. The scene was eloquent. The light warmth of the sun fell on my face as I ran towards my house. The light on the horizon fought for its presence to be felt as sunlight started to expand over the dark fields. The sky was pink and even though I was wrapped under the clothes, I could feel a shiver down my spine as cold wind overwhelmed me. It felt as if the night was surrendering its innocence to the day and the feeling that the dreadful day will take over disappointed me.

Since I was born, I had lived under the shadow of the mighty mountain. The most dominating feature of the place. Its superiority was underlined by the fact that it was situated in the middle of low plains. The ice-capped peaks formed a beautiful scene and attracted so many visitors. It was ironic that even though so many people had conquered the mountain, still they could not conquer the feeling they felt when they first lay their eyes upon it. My mother told me that many fairies lived on the top of the mountain. Just yesterday she told me about a fairy which brings down gifts for little children. I told myself that I would never climb the mountain. I knew that the day I did, I would lose the innocence and the mind of a child. As I reached my home, I saw realized the reason I would never want to lose my innocence. I saw my mother.

Diary of........

I have not read the diary of Ann Frank. Th point is not that I am lazy, its just that nowadays, soo many Ann Franks are killed around the world. Palestine, Iraq, Kashmir. I can not even imagine the gunshots they would be hearing. The crescendo of bombs they will be skipping rope to. The fact is not that only Muslims are killed, its the reality that so many of them are ignored while only one of them is heralded. Close your eyes world. There is no more time to see them being tortutred but it is time to stop this.

My blood is young
Vibrant
Let it flow away
Just like the future I was supposed to have

Burn My house
It is meaningless
As the ones who own it
Dont have the desire to live anymore

My time is now
My blood is yours
At least let me
Make my mark in this world

They say a martyr's blood
Is sacred and divine
What about my mother's tears
That she will cry for me when I am gone

Who will tell her that
Her son was killed
Killed in an accident
A bomb accident actually

Dont tell her that
she is too feeble and old
To bear this news
My dead body will be enough

Weep with my torn clothes
Confide with me her secrets
She will sit there with me
Until she sees the same fate.