Many moons ago, a switch went off in my brain and I was compelled to become this person who had to do something productive every single day to survive. It could be an hour of exercise, writing in my journal, cleaning my cupboard, reading a book or an essay that lends something to my writing... Continue Reading →
There's a golden rule they tell us writers — the longer you don't write, the harder it becomes to even put out a sentence on the page — and it's as good as gospel truth. A quiet sort of dread settles inside you and you're scared of what words you're going to say, how bad they're... Continue Reading →
I seem to have forgotten how to write about nothing - the great wide expanses of absence. Why must everything be something? Have meaning? Fall into line? Be coherent? I've beaten myself silly about not categorising thoughts inside the margins of my journals because they need to go into an essay, a piece somewhere, a... Continue Reading →
There's this collection of short stories by Raymond Carver that I read from time to time. It's a small book, the cover is teal and red, and it is light in the way library books were light when you pulled them out from the oldest shelves. It is yellowed that way too and smells like... Continue Reading →
Someone asked me today what do I write about on this blog. "Death, life, love, sex, envy, pride, lust, what?" they said. It got me thinking for a while, and I wondered why isn't that I am writing about death, sex, envy, pride, and lust, even? Maybe, in some ways, I am, but am I... Continue Reading →
Allow me, dear readers, to tell you what an absolutely smashing week I've had. You could set the entire week to the tune of Uptown Funk and no event, no casual sidelong glance, no smile would miss a beat. If this week were a song, it would be #1 on the Spotify Mood Booster playlist.... Continue Reading →
Every morning, she pulls herself out of the rabbit hole, climbs down her bed, and gently lands on her feet. The remains of the previous night are scattered alibi on the floor — worn out stationery, money gone out of circulation, handwritten telephone diaries, the wreckage of old friends. Who made this mess? Where are... Continue Reading →
The rains had just begun to depart and a careless breeze was flowing over the silver fern on the hill that I could see from the tall window. She was in a cafe in Lahore gathering her thoughts, wondering what to do next now that she had graduated, drinking her coffee. I was in the... Continue Reading →
