I thought I could never live without her. It was hard to imagine life in a world she didn’t exist. In my mind, such a world never existed. But fate is cruel; it brutally obliterates all that is beautiful and lovely. It destroys every promise without compassion and leaves behind what is only miserable and shameful. Continue with reading
The train was already late. I was standing at Platform No. 4 of the Lahore Railway station since 3:30 pm. The clock just struck seven, the train was supposed to be there three hours ago. I had been planning this little visit of Hyderabad, Sindh, for over a year. It was one of the cities in Pakistan I had never been to. The last several months of my life had been like a horrible nightmare. I had spent months imagining this visit as a necessary escapade for my ailing wife. But I had never thought it would be in these circumstances. I stood there at the platform holding only the hand of my little boy, my wife was already gone from this world. Continue with reading
Over the past two and a half years, I have become insomniac. I can barely sleep. I have always been a nocturnal. I have spent almost my entire adult life being a night’s person and sleeping very late in the night. But I could still sleep. However, these past couple of years have seen me become sleepless. I can only sleep when my body is exhausted of staying restless, when my mind is unable to think or resist. Continue with reading
If there is one thing popular television shows teach for certain; it’s the shades of grey. I am not sure if there are fifty; for I am forever a nyctophile. These shows indoctrinate that there is no such thing as absolutely evil or pure good. This world is not a battleground of angels and demons, but humans where every saint has a past. Continue with reading
The other day a close friend suggested that my mind is metamorphosing into a nihilist one. One of my golden brothers is a psychiatrist. I told him about what my friend had said just to see if he could diagnose me of some psychological issues. What he said, well I am not going to repeat it here, definitely sounded like a serious psychological disorder. Now that was something serious because most crackpots don’t really know they are crackpots.
I most definitely know I am a crackpot. So am I really? Continue with reading
There, on the heavenly crossroads, he stood with his head down as his body trembled, tears and sweat dripped from his face like rainfall. The man in the shadow behind his back nudged him and growled, he looked up to the path that winded uphill towards the light and he saw her standing in the pathway. She was beaming with delight, wearing a white cloak and a white headscarf that glowed like first light. Continue with reading
In a lecture in summer this year, our fine professor, Dr. Amani Moazzam, asked us whether we believe that Pakistan is still a collectivist society. Some said yes, however, there were many who contested this idea. There were strong opinions made across the lecture room in favor of the view that we are increasingly individualistic. The professor suggested that there is a need to study the sociocultural changes in our society that we can only subjectively feel and state as of yet.
I, for one, took the suggestion to heart. And my mind simply hates it when it has to clean up the mess left behind by my heart. Continue with reading
Two weeks have gone by and I still cannot believe you are gone. One and a half-year ago, there were many things I wanted you to know; things I wished I had done differently and things I wished I had told you. Just a year ago, things were so very different. Just a month ago, although the doctors had been telling me otherwise, I didn’t want to believe you were going. I know you respected my eccentric nature and still loved me, but I never desired to be so alone as you have left me to be now. I didn’t want you to respect my weaknesses so much. Continue with reading
Terri Clark, the Canadian musician, once said when she saw her mother suffer and die from cancer in 2010:
“When someone has cancer, the whole family and everyone who loves them does, too.”
Today, I can completely relate and understand what she meant. I cannot just empathise with her pain, I know that pain. Continue with reading
I have written in one capacity or another ever since I was eight years old. I like to believe I am a good writer; some of my kind friends even exaggerate their appreciation for my writing to make me feel good about it. However, being honest with myself, I know where I stand. I am neither too optimistic nor too pessimistic about my writing skills. I have a realistic view of my potential. But, let me say this at the least that I am not content, I want to do better and I want to do more. Continue with reading