Pulse

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...

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://blo...

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...