Your lips turn up

The lines clearly visible


The room brightens up

The day starts off great


The goose bumps travel the length of my arm

Perfect amount of warm and cold

I welcome the sun

Open my arms wide

Spread my fingers forward

And wait



The chipped nail polish

That explains my life

Without hesitation

My clothes

A false impression

Of whom I am

Or who I may be


The tears that flow without pause

The light that blurs reality

And I begin to wonder

Will life always be


The climb so strenuous

The fall so effortless


The bruises that remain

Almost gone

But still there


Holding on till the last breath

Till the last ounce of pain is acquired


The colour I love

My past laden with enough

The brush strokes were free

Without fault

But as they dry

They crack

The sound faint

The sight clear


An aura

An illusion

My life

My solution


Tired 2.0


I could use a fairy godmother
Right about now…
Anytime please
I’m waiting

I’m tired
My brain hurts
My shoulders droop from all the stress
How much longer before i combust for good?

A break
Not the breakdown i’m anticipating any day now
But the good, fun kind
Just away from home, from family, from school

I’m starting to think
Been doing that a lot
More than usual, actually
That this year isn’t exactly starting off great *foreshadowing, maybe*

And then this country
This city
Always manages to contradict its plans with mine

I need to take a breather
A long hibernation
Laugh till my insides hurt
Haven’t really done that without thinking about other things

My migraines
Could be hereditary (they actually are without a doubt)
Or caused by stress
That everyone fails to understand

Why do words define everything?
Why won’t they just look at me and see?
I don’t want to convey it to them
They should understand!

Tears they ignore
Quite blatantly
I need a change
A vacation
A long never-ending, vacation.

A Nostalgia Called Pakoras

When it rains, all is well. The aroma of water and grass after a dry spell wafts in the cool air and instantly makes you sigh. You walk out in the garden while the world around bathes under the natural shower. You open your mouth and drink the sweet nectar of heaven. Even the world slows down and pauses to admire the beauty, even if they silently curse the rain from within. All you can do is let your hair down. For Karachi is not known for its frequent rains.


Only when you walk in shivering and wet, do you notice the pakoras waiting for you. There is a slight sizzle to them and their glistening bodies, drowned in oil, lie under the fluorescent light lit above. The scent of mint and yoghurt are ever present because you know that pakoras without chutney are incomplete.


You run to grab a golden jewel before they all finish. Dunked in the chutney you pop the first one in your mouth and relish in the taste. Your eyes close and a dreamy look crosses your face. Then you remember to chew.







The cumin tastes nutty and earthy with a pungent smell, which makes you salivate further. The potato and onion churn around in your mouth and the gram flour accentuates the savory taste. But, there is a familiar zest to it. And you immediately know what it is. Nani. Her hands are magic when it comes to pakoras and you can very well taste her love in them.




Rainy days at your grandmother’s house are treasured memories. The pakoras may be bittersweet but the only missing ingredient is your grandmother and those rainy days that greet in numbers so small. Once in a blue moon.