Pulse

Try living the life where you try to think of the other person, the other side, the opposing story... constantly. It's painful. But is it right? Whether with friends or foes, imagine yourself reasoning for their behavior, attitude and feelings, and more than often above your own. Just because you realize that there are sides,and there are stories, and that the other person is as human as you. He/She deserves as much a chance as you.  I believe , 'empathy' is what its called. But how much empathy is enough?  And on the expense of sounding selfish and insane, does constant empathy not ruin our own self esteem? As egocentric as this may seem, how do I find logic in losing my self in the process of understanding others. Just how... Can anyone out there tell  me the exact proportion of using 'I' as well as 'them', and in that maintaining individual sensibilities and the social etiquette necessary to run a better world? I am living in paradoxes, which lif

Chapter 1: Casual killing Known for its year around cheerful spring-summer weather, it was an awfully dark and gloomy night for Hulksville. Massive grey clouds encircled close to the earth’s skin, engulfing the moon in and out of sight. It felt as though the moon was drowning over and over again, and even though one felt they could reach to touch the protruded tummy of the clouds, against the terror they welcomed, the moon was far from reach and shone merely as an example of what one assumes was a show of tyrannical public punishment.  Famous for its friendly crowd, functioning institutions and governmental competency, Hulksville was an ideal city of a few thousands. Surrounded by high peaks and low valleys, flowing rivers and evenly spread green pastures, it gave a reflection of a post-card perfect picture. Only today, contrary to its general nature, it was dark from the outside and it was on the inside. On Lane 26, house no. 13, home to Mr. and Mrs. Frank, a monster was

Tears by Halmurzaev Edward. All rights to its respective owner.  We women, we lie. Sometimes to get a smile on his face, and sometimes to get a giggle out of our babies.  You may never tell how deceitful we can be, just how ruthlessly selfish our souls can get to stop the tears running down from our mothers cheeks. We are a lost cause of nature - weaker to male in material but arrogantly, prejudiced about our nursing instincts. What has hell got against us? Our pit of secrets is deeper than the darkest hole any hell of any religion possesses. The possibilities of the avatars just  one of us possess is beyond the magic, science and literature, of any world, anywhere, can unravel. Reveal to me myself as a woman, and I will discuss why you can never. Prick a pin in us, and just see how many emotions ooze out of us. You will have a hard time naming the colours mankind hasn't even discovered - the dark, the light, the faded, tattered, glittery, shimmering, rouged,

Alone. Being alone is the worst feeling ever. But it does not necessarily mean that you have to feel lonely just because no one is around. You can be alone standing there in a bunch of people. No matter how many people are around you, you can still feel lonely. And that's what I've been feeling lately. Lonely. I have so many people around me to love me, to take care of me, to accompany me but it just isn't the same. I still can't shake this feeling away. Like there's something missing. Like there's some vital part of me that has gone missing. I've even trying to figure out what is this missing piece but all I've been coming up is with nothing. A big empty whole in my mind. Why can't I figure out what's missing? Why can't I answer myself? I should know myself better, no? One should be familiar with what they feel and why they feel like that. Then why is it that I find myself battling with my emotions? Why is that I can't seem to come

Lost. Lost was all I was.  In the folds of my walnut brain The indistinguishable twigs and stems of my veins In the darkness that followed, In the pool of blood, On the skull space so hollow, As I quiver mid-air as if shocked by the air - Lost. Lost was all I was. _____________________________________________________________________  I knew deep down what direction was mine. What road had shone the brightest for me. What path was mine and what gave me more than what no money, power or status could ever amount into giving me -   Satisfaction . The pleasure of being satisfied.  But I also knew how hard it was going to be. How untraditional it was. That it will demand of me what no money, power or status could ever demand -   Honesty . The honesty of hard work. The uncorrupted involvement of each and every cell of my body. And the honest emotions that would reflect in the heat of my face and the beating of my heart every time I walked that one true path that

23rd June, 2014. Dear Diary, Even though I have just invented you for this post, today you're going to be my close companion and listen to one of the most beautiful instances I've ever witnessed.  But before I start narrating, I need a name for my story. You'd be surprise that even though a name to a story is nothing, for the story is the meat; it often takes a lot more time to come up with one. Often more time than itself a story ever takes. At least to me, that has happened quite often. Nevertheless, after thinking well and hard, I finally decided on one. I’ll call my story:                                                                              That One Donkey & Her Muse It all happened one dreaded Monday afternoon. To be fair, all Monday afternoons are dreadful. So uhm… let me rephrase that. It was a casual *wink wink* Monday morning - dreadful and tiring. I had just given my last paper and was on my way back home. To make thi

Somewhere around 8th or 9th standard, we were issued to buy a book with a collection of poems for our English class. Unlike many other school books that pass us  by every year like trash (sadly) does , this book is one of the few that remained attached to me. And to-date is very much a part of both, my shelf and my self. Today, as I am reminded of how little I am , and how grand life is; I'd like to share a poem from that book. I do not know whether it is the poem itself that attracted me, or the fact that like everyone, I found a connection in it that I so needed at that point of my life. Which ever the case may be, this is it : Try Again 'Tis a lesson you should heed, try again; if at first you don't succeed,  try again; then your courage should appear, for if you will persevere, you will conquer, never fear try again; Once or twice, though you should fail, try again; if you would at last prevail, try again; if we strive, 'tis no disgrace t

See what it does? 

Dear past self, Know I write from care, and so it's urgent this be told,  present lies are corroding the future, of the only true thing you own : that tiny bit of dignity earned today, for tomorrow well off, but sweetheart, a person who ends hollow.   I know, you mean well, but fear and submission,  and even silence in chaos, may not make you a culprit but a sinner nonetheless.  So talk, show and boast of all you mean well for an indifferent soul is the result of anything less. Pay heed, for mistakes are inevitable,  and courage demanded, be noble and prudent ,  not arrogant and defy. I know, intuition guides you foresight says otherwise,  'To lie is to hide, and to hide is for cowards, and for cowards are temporal, bravery... lasting & durable' Alas, my future depends on you,  you...who can do,  that what I can not do. With sincerest of regards, and a heart of your own... I bid you goodbye. Yours,

As I type I have about 20 odd tabs open on my browser, three word documents, two PDF files, countless folders and a whole lot of paper and note books flying about on my bed. You know what this calls for? A cry for help! With two weeks left for the semester to end, I ideally would have liked minimal work load, but to my surprise, I have more work than I can seem to handle.   Oh and not to forget, the living breathing monster of a place I live in, Karachi, who instead of feeding on,  I don't know something more acceptable like... flesh, feeds of human energy. The heat is actually THAT bad. So, even if I am up for completing my work, my brain only withstands an hour of work and no more, just no more.  What else...  Oh yeah, my absolute absence from social media. It's a miracle how I've gotten so far, but I have had literally no time to check on Facebook, Twitter or watch any tv-shows with persistence ( Dr.Who, I miss you :'( ) ; but these are things I

They are everywhere you go. In shadows and dead ends, found in daylight and sunsets; at beaches and barren roads, besides you and behind you, in sadness and joy, with the youthful and old, but mostly together with a child, accompanied by a smile. They survive on your happiness, knowingly or not, intended somewhat. Yet, like trees or those candies and toys they sell, we don’t appreciate them as much. These vendors are the ones living and breathing, everything. Reaching extinction, in the dead ends and shadows, in sadness and troubles. At barren alleys and sunsets but not as on the beach. Small homes, mini quarters, they are truly behind you, below you in every aspect of life. They sell what they can’t have: Dreams . They live like veiled super-heroes, at the edge of each city, just minus the luxuries.  ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ (Picture source : http://blogs.wsj.co

The one mean thing we do to ourselves is: we compare. We are never truly happy with what we have, and that is basic human nature for most of us; being receptive, critical and comparative, is one apparent quality that reflects this notion. Certainly, being inspired is a perk, but engulfing our accomplices' traits, not to indubitably 'add' to our characters but to have it fight with what we already are, is dangerous. It leaves us with a sense of inferiority and in turn, upsets us heavily. We are  suppose  to be individuals, with our own set of problems and blessings, and all with varying degrees. And it's meant to be explored, build-on and embraced. What we mostly do, is we fail to  take this first step and readily jump onto other sources of inspiration.  Just like two fingerprints, that are never the same, we can't blade our personalities to match that of others, so why bother?  Just like two fingerprints, that are never the same, we can't blade our pers

Turned, twisted and spun, the car did Just like the life in me, like the life in them - my family Glimpsing death so fleet, I saw like pearls, and precious, few smiles  but none one was mine, I understood, death was not my guest tonight One untainted said ,' Fate had it, I had to go pure... so God called as I visited heaven on Earth, right here...'  Softly the smiles faded and darkness prevailed, the only difference remain:  my darkness is temporary,  their's an eternal bliss. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ In honour of my uncle, aunt and cousin, who passed away recently due to an accident on their way to perform Umrah. And in special honour of my cousin, the only one who survived. This one's for you Marif Bhai.  __________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Saw blindness walk among the sighted , working every minute with more conviction than most of us ever see -   prejudice died.

Zebra Talk: "Homes, places we've grown, all of us are done for... : I can wade Grief, whole pools of it, I'm used to that, Emily Dickinson assures me. But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet, And I t...

Oft times even with my own self I tend to question whether I exaggerate, and thus if what I conceive and conclude is truly reliable.  Later , with more anxiousness than I can admit to, I concluded that sometimes, I simply have to go with the flow. What I think should have a voice and whether right, wrong or somewhere in the middle, it should be spoken. Today, looking at my youngest sister sleep I can't help but think, as I've done many a times before, whether people realize that being in authority is and  should be more scary than taken. For kids, like my sister, right and wrong are mere terms we feed them, before that they are all just questions,tangled but prominent conjecture of nothingness. Though questions are never wrong, it is the answers that may or may not be right. Exhibit A: Mama J gets a call from the school to send back Little J's report card, that which was send a week ago to be signed by her. To her surprise she knows nothing about the report ca

Disclaimer : What you're about to read is something some may call a direct threat to humour and sarcasm. Please, for the sake of comedy and who respect it, don't read and be gone. There is only a mere hint of buffoonery, all for the purpose of a bigger concept. My life's not public, and for that I feel very thankful. The notion of having some,if not all control over what you let for the people to see, is a blessing. Yet some folks are at a beautiful ease when it comes to plastering themselves out in the open. How much it helps them in a long run, only they know, for me they seem at extremes of either being at ease or at a position where they seem to be quite obnoxious... or at-least so I thought. Why am I suddenly at an interest how people choose to manage the leash on their lives? Because I went out today. *the walls gasp* Don't worry dear wall, you're still my best and only  friend. If it weren't for my university beginning , I would have never ever