In the last few months, I have seen visuals that I have only read about in books. Of them all, the one I remember very clearly is of a charred foetus after being removed from a charred mother’s body. The baby was burnt all over and even as I write this, I can visualise that... Continue Reading →
I've been feeling like I could do with some self-care, self-love, and being taken care of. So, I wrote these poems for myself. From myself to me. In the evening, I am probably gonna buy myself a little plant for my new, cute planter. Then, I might read the fat, big book and make notes... Continue Reading →
Days go badly, and if too many of them go badly, they roll into tough weeks. And I find myself obstructed from the act of living, from being able to do the things I enjoy, and sometimes even need. And how does a day go badly? In ways more than one, I suppose, but it... Continue Reading →
With a lot of hiccups and pauses, I am trying to read literature from 100 years ago. I pick up a page or two and life, usually in the form of a notification or a chore or a thoughtless distraction, gets in the way. My mind is like a room full of scattered belongings strewn... Continue Reading →
475. I wonder if the night is old and wise. Or if the night is fresh and undiluted. Because it is a new night every time. Or: the notes I make inside my journal. 474. I am hugely grateful to Spotify / YouTube Music for using the Urdu script to display the lyrics whenever they're... Continue Reading →
Things go wherever they need to go; they go missing from home and are never to be found again. I think of the things I have possessed and now they’re sitting somewhere unknown to me. I don’t wonder if they’re happy because only mortals die and impending death makes us measure our happiness. One teaspoon,... Continue Reading →
SF and I are buddy-reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and all I want to say is — what on God’s good green earth is happening in this book? I picked it up because I was so enthralled by his writing in Of Love and Other Demons, and SF picked it... Continue Reading →
April was tough. Tough and magical. Tough, magical, and surreal. My heart has been stretched, full, and wrung at varying times during the warm, Gulmohar-laden month of April. I’ve written 30 poems for NaPoWriMo, kept as many rozas as women can keep (23, because: periods), cooked whatever dish was fancied that day for Iftar, and... Continue Reading →
“It has become routine to assume that the rewards of life are public and that our lives can be measured by how we are seen rather than what we do.” — How to Disappear, Akiko Busch The intense activities of the last few weeks have left me feeling emotionally spent. As we come closer to... Continue Reading →