Watch the clouds cry out

Cold drops of magic

Onto my skin

Trickling down

The length of my body

As I shiver

Under my wet clothes

And adjust myself

To the warmth

In the air around me

Feeding off the energy

Of everything about me

And I watch them

Come alive

Under the fresh rain

Sprout buds of hope

Bloom into a kaleidoscope

Of colours

And when the clouds


All that remains

Is a glint

Reminding us

Of the beauty

That comes with washing away

Our impurities

And embracing ourselves


When the Rain Mixes with the Ocean


When the ocean
With the rain
I release a sigh
Of relief
Because every drop of water
Can create an ocean
And that ocean opens avenues
To lands unknown
Expanding maps
And creating destinations
Of plausible adventures
And when sweet and salty collide
Harmonizing and becoming
In that moment
Do i know
That while we may be all different
When we come together
Towards a common cause
Our voices become one
Our fingers intwine
We shoulder each other’s lives
Raise a finger to the sky
Pledge our allegiance
And become no different
From when the rain mixes with the ocean

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.



August failed to keep me happy. At least i was remotely enjoying myself (if you count getting bored everyday) and maybe the lack of rain was bad, but i still enjoyed the countless hours of just about doing nothing.

August brought fasts. Of which i have one more to go… (this wasn’t the downside)

August brought heat. Sweltering heat. He was all hot and cold, man! Such a hot mess. Made me believe that it would actually rain, only to blow away the clouds, making sure that the sun beat down on my face. 

NO RAIN! (did i mention that?)

Heartbreak. No, not that kind. That is definitely not the only kind of heartbreak, people. Prospects of having a fun final year…seems to be getting bleaker by the day.

Life…yeah its finally catching up to me. This race is coming to a close and i’m all out of breath now. Running for 18 years, winning mind you, but now ‘life’ has used up his last piece of energy and is finally catching up.

But August did manage to keep me a tiny bit happy. Just a tiny bit. How? Holidays.

13 more days of this month. What do you think? Good or bad?