The Creatively Frustrated

'Stay,hold and keep playing' Forgotten vibes now The chords have changed, the curtains unfamiliar. Do you see what I see? Nah. Spotlight's blinding me. You shuffle, almost without notice. Not a clutter from the audience in front. Am I alone? I gaze to my right; 'Stay,hold and keep playing' Its not even a spectacle anymore. Distrust heaving me down. My work with the dangling puppets was much better, atleast recognizable. 'Stay,hold and keep playing' It worked better with my last play. Confident, and divine, I stood so proud that the crowd couldnt spot even a glitch of hesitance. It was my stage, my audience, my theater. So, just 'Stay,hold and keep playing'? Unlikely. Make the curtains fall, the performance is over. With a slight drag, you stand up and walk away, hoping there wont be any callbacks. Abyss.

(This is a lengthy story based on actual facts. Episodes will be posted over a span of a few weeks. There are going to be NINE episodes in total. For Episode 3 click here . Enjoy!) [Pssst… Apologies for such a delay in the post. Exams are around the corner, scavenging on my brain.] Episode 4 Bahadur walks into his home like a zombie. He stands there at the door, watching his mother and sisters. No one notices that he has returned. “Bahadur! When did you arrive?” Amma asks. Bahadur just stares at her as if he’s gone deaf. His mouth is slightly open. His face shows no emotion. “Bahadur…?” “Uh… Yes… Yes I just came. Where’s Abba?” “He hasn’t come back yet. He’ll be late.” Amma goes towards the stove and stir’s the pot. A gush of steam makes eerie faces in the air. Bahadur sits on the charpoy and Baji brings him a glass of water. She sits beside him while he drinks. “What happened?” She whispers. “Nothing happened.” He whispers back. “Don’t lie to me! You look like you’ve seen a ghost. D...

Booked history. Meant to learn from ? You DO realise that you always end up on the wrong front. Redeemed faith, love. Falter again. You're fucked up. Dont feel bad. Its just you. Dang. How. I ask, what number will you test ? Yeah, just step on them. Have a damn fest. Your levels have dropped to unseen depths, How'd you be sought ? Death. So, just sketch on the dirt beneath you. You dont give a damn, like you'd feel bad if it cheats you. Wild smile. All your masks lay in front. Pick one ? Clown another. Soulless mortals, almost inaudible. Heh. Blame ! It cannot be you. Wild smile. Hysteria ? Bleed it out. So. You count rocks around. Yeah, fiddle with them. They are diamonds, you fool. Not a crap mound. Cry it out again. Its not like things would ever differ. The mirror people would over power you. Suffer. Laugh out loud. Laugh it out. Press hard. Clenched fist, open it. Fine, untampered dirt. Bowed head. Sway away. Maaz Tanveer.

(This is a lengthy story based on actual facts. Episodes will be posted over a span of a few weeks. There are going to be NINE episodes in total. For Episode 2 click here . Enjoy!) Episode 3 It’s the wedding day. Maheen is sitting in her room, in her gorgeous rust colored lainga . The top has no back only straps, which bind it together. She is arranging her hair. When she is done, she stands up, examines herself one more time in the full length mirror. She is more than satisfied with the reflection. She strolls towards Eemaan’s room, knocks on the door and enters. Eemaan is sitting on her bed. Maheen sucks her breath in at the sight of her. She is adorned in a traditional blood red sharara . Precious stones are embroidered on her dress in intricate flowery patterns. “You look absolutely beautiful.” Says, a gawking, Maheen. “Are you sure I look ok? Because I think the man who did my make up over did my eyes. And I don’t think my lipsticks color matches my dress. And the dress, do you ...

Click on the image to enlarge and to read the poetry.

(This is a lengthy story based on actual facts. Episodes will be posted over a span of a few weeks. There are going to be NINE episodes in total. For "Episode 1" click here . Enjoy!) Episode 2 Maheen wheels her bag out of San Francisco airport and looks around to see if anyone’s here to take her home. Right then a Lamborghini stops a few feet from her and from it emerges Eemaan, the 20 year old bride-to-be. She is clad in a pink sleeveless top and white Capri pants, a glittering pink hand bag hangs from her shoulder and her long dark hair flows down to her waist. “Maheeeeeennnn!!!!” she screams excitedly running to her in 5 inch high heels. She throws her arms around Maheen’s neck and kisses the air next to both her cheeks. “Oh. My. God. Maheen! You have gotten so sexy in the last year! My, My! Look at that figure! How do you do it girl? If only you wouldn’t tie that luscious hair of yours in that pony or bun or whatever it is, guys would be falling all over you- But I heard...

Half past twelve Can you see yourself? Half lit faces Incomplete stories surround Half hearted smiles Can you pick one to wear? Half and a quarter It should cease to matter

(This is a lengthy story based on actual facts. Episodes will be posted over a span of a few weeks. There are going to be NINE episodes in total. Enjoy!) Episode – 1 A dark haired, tall woman with exquisite features and a flawless complexion walks in a queue to board her plane. She looks impatiently at an old man in front of her moving inch by inch. “Damn these wrinkled creatures!” She mutters under her breath. Finally her turn comes and she hands over her boarding pass to a man. She over takes the old man, her heels clicking as she treads quickly in the tunnel towards the airplane.   She gracefully sits in her spacious passenger seat in the First Class cabin and notices a little boy sitting next to her. “Great! First the old buffoon and now this boy will make my flight miserable.” She thinks irritatingly. Maheen is 25, with apparently no interest in children or old men. The plane taxis and takes off. The seatbelt sign is still lit. It feels to her as if somebody is ja...

Sweet odors of love Combine, Mingling souls as one, Entangled intensely so, Existence was left behind. Reality barely intertwined. Alarmed, they all warned, 'You'll be consumed,' They said. Rebelling, ecstasy Heightened. 'I'll risk it all,' I said, And I indulged. Going deep within, Crossed the boundaries of The conscious mind. 'Believe,' I said. Empty eyes stared. But there it was, Among the depths, My beloved. My nirvana...

Traffic Noise Carbon dioxide Swirling black clouds Hovering over building tops Pour acid drops Drops-Of a different kind Then rush down our spine With a curse Escaping parched lips They fall into the puddle Of unresolved conflicts Rebellious KESC Blames WAPDA for it's inabilities While darting eyes Search for an oasis Between environmental And self imposed heat A sight for sore eyes Pakistan studies:"With moderate temperature, Karachi is a coastal city"

Global warming seemed like an issue Before she came And absorbed those ultra violet rays With pampers, new and improved Now available at cheaper rates Israels expansionist plans Were worth a discussion but now a days, It's mother care's sale That steals her attention Litters of urine Passed out by her baby Measure more Than the magnitude of water problems Our world is facing "to be or not to be" Is no Shakespearean dilemma my friend It's now a decision Of being or not being Exclusively breast fed Colors of stool Intrigue her more Than change of seasons Or shades of red She is a mother, alright With responsibilities towards her child But is motherhood A mere reduction of her existence To puke, poop and piss?

Turmoil and confusion Is in my heart, in my soul, Is this all an illusion? My fantasies gaping hole? Oh how I’m torn apart With the guilt that is within me How long will we last Against my deceiving heart’s decree!? This is not me but the devil Who lures me to lust, My heart longs a sin, a betrayal Of their forgotten trust. Half a decade gone and lost, Words spoken but not said, Lies, deceit, deception And false love declared. (P.S: A poem that i wrote waaay back!)

I narrate a story, Of a girl who bathes in glory. Paving her way through the dunes, She loves things that are in tune. Breaking out every day, She feels a need to sing An unsung song, Lyrics in a jumble and alphabets flown, On the top of her lungs, As the globe around her hums, She gathers herself, insight and wisdom, Sketching the roots from which they stem. Straining her eyes, she wonders why The flora seems so dry, And the objects so shrunken, A delusion and no more, she refutes it to be heaven. A slight tilt of the chin, Is the closest that she comes to being grim. A cursory glance, Tip-toed; in a trance. There’s a grace about her, as she moves Poised, fitting all the grooves. She is made for the ball, they say Within her own circle, she likes to sway. Why then, her eyes radiate No more, as they did before? The lights have moved out, the stars glow No more, as they did before. Soul searching, she goes out for, In the outlook is, all that she ador...

Rows and rows of memories, Stacked together and tucked away, A few neatly, the rest in haste, Its just a thing of past anyway! An idle mind browses through, The young leading to the old, ‘Handle with care.’ Said one dusty volume, And my curiosity was easily sold. The pages yellowed and cracking, It started with a steady hand, Curving and looping the letters linked, ‘Once upon a time,” the writer began. Living and dying with the words, Time lost all grip and slipped a decade, Gliding and slithering as if in a ballet, Enslaving. The scripture danced. Just before the final chapter, Just before the terminus, As untouched as a virgin The leaflets were empty, vacous! Page after page they were turned, Longing to find an end, Old and yellow, the blank parchments, Have no ‘Happy ever after’ to be told. Rows and rows of memories, Stacked together and tucked away, A few neatly, the rest in haste, Conclude what you want, say what you may. (P.S: It still feels a bit incomplete. Cant figure ...

They follow No matter how fast you row There is always something to lose Even when you choose to gain Sailing away in that boat That rocks with every wave Sinking is not an option, You have to keep it afloat And then comes a wave again With it crawls; a thought How does it feel to be To be the one who navigates To have the map in your hands Leading the world on your own path Writing down that very song That takes their breath away To take on a new journey And pick out your favorite notes And hum that very tune, That captures their souls Amidst the ruins.

It’s funny how we don’t look like us upside down. I saw a friend’s picture on facebook and that is what I thought and all the other times I lay down and look at my friends from that angle. We look like a different us. And the other day when it rained and I went out to look for objects to photograph, I saw a flower that fell in an upturned way. With the pretty side down and the stem projecting in the air, standing tall. And I stared at how unusual it looked. Not like itself. Different, you know? Weird how life is making me look at things upside down when I want to straighten it out so bad. Then my friend goes on and says. I look like me, backways, sideways, upside down, downside up and everything. She emphasized on the ME. And I give it a moment and think, that’s right. We do look different, but its still us. But didn’t I already say that? A different us..

Sanity marches, out of the secure confines. Decides to flee, like a freed bee Weary of the webs, it keeps on twisting the threads Peeks through the tiny holes, as the time rolls She glances within, her fingers are gripping Disintegrated. She thinks to herself, The bits and pieces, Explosions inside, deafening sounds are muted outside. Stunned. Eyes the insanity and grunts. I bet you want to dethrone, I bet with all my bones Battles the exteriors, leans towards the wreck Lost are the words, and screams, muted again. The bits and pieces, awed. A contact with the dust relives the dismay Gathers the fragments, to search for the fits Tries to assemble, make sense out of the zilch. Blurred is the periphery, the focus perpetual Alas! The bits and pieces. No way.

It was raining hard. So hard that the visibility had lessened to 50% normal. Our car zoomed past puddles, making waves and spraying water on already drenched people on foot and into rolled down car windows. Sorry, we muttered. With my camera ready I was looking forward to shooting some heart wrenching scenes of Thatta camp cities on the first day of Eid. ‘Damn this rain! It will ruin everything.’ Two hours down the road we reached HANDS Thatta office. Inside the meeting room we were briefed about the situation there, how the organization was managing the catastrophe, the donations, the rations given, the victims; almost everything was discussed. I was impatient. I wanted to shoot. The teams had been working tirelessly they said and at times for 24 hours at a stretch. There were 300 camp cities across Sindh, they added, giving shelter, food and health care to 65000 people. I was awed,  my impatience gone. What have I been doing? The rain had turned the earth into jello. Slip...

To be on another level of understanding self, is like a whole new world requiring an era of exploration. Its like seeing a spectrum of light that wasn't visible before, that isn't visible to anyone else. It demands a certain amount of isolation. And sometimes that loneliness suffocates you. Its tempting to run back to the old you, a lesser being that was on common ground with everyones else. Doesn't sympathy sound soothing to the spirit? But change evolves you, its as unavoidable as breathing. Losses occur on both sides naturally, but the gains are the keep sakes. Although, it depends entirely on you; whether you let it consume you or let it make you stronger.

The blank page haunts, Begs a consumation, The blinking cursor taunts, Extorts confessions from me. Red hued ink blazed then fades, Uncountable sheets scribbled upon, Utterances, like stabbing blades Knew; there's no ink left in me.

Dear fellow authors, This blog was created so that we can share our creative works. It has been inactive for a while. A few including myself were busy in exams. Now that they are over, I hope to see some creative juices flowing! A special note to those who have never posted on the blog, please contribute, otherwise there is no reason for your name to appear on it. :) Regards, Misha.

Freeze. A second, a moment, A memory, a glimpse. An experience, exquisite, A feeling, undefined. Ecstasy to the fullest, An almost nirvana. Freeze it wont you? A moment in time, Before abandoned, forgotten. Its but only desired, For a lifetime.

Exploring Thar, Sindh. Twilight. Typical setting of villages there. Ingenious cottages these are. On the road towards Thar, I came across a sunflower field. These were as big as my head.

As he entered the room Amused and annoyed Suddenly everything became quiet A chuckle here A frown there And he, at the junction Of intellectual deficit and dearth Looked up Smiled Assalam ul alaikum everyone Silently honouring our latest discovery Me and my friend, inaudibly agreed More about the degree To which it desensitized All these years misunderstood Was Karl Marx's religious opioid Unaffected yet begging for it A perfect candidate combines Ridicule with entertainment Tsk Don't think No guilt Let's just dissect him Starting with that mark, What do you see? Prostrating heads aren't much of a visual treat Is slamming really a religious necessity? I am a Muslim Please praise me Coming down The request gets even more loud With an untrimmed beard, Wildly lingering on Conventional rigidity and rigid convention Rebelliously change forms But one shape Which stubbornly remains the same Is that of his circular belly Consuming per...

Some moments I captured during a trip to Murree and Islamabad.

Obscure shadows in the niches of conscience, Blunt images of guilt; truth is a pretence. Following unreal pathways forged in the mind, Crumbling, stumbling, where hopes are knotted, wills tied. The serpentine trail extends endless, Between peaks of elation and gorges of sadness. Nude feet embarking on self discovery, Left, embossed, are steps of his uncertainty. Hallucinating mirages exploit and bewilder, But thirst persuades to seek the last wonder. Frail now, with blistered feet, the pathway ends, Blood stained hope extinguishes with the last bend. Anguish overwhelms; the toil gone to waste, O, ye fool! Gaze up! Man is, forever in haste. Upon the call the head is raised to see, Beyond the cliff, a brilliance, in the midst of a sea. The tolling lighthouse calls the ones led astray, The seeker sighs, finally! The end of his mind’s play.

While going towards Gilgit, there is this amusing distinction between barren mountains and lush green foliage.  It captivated me to see such inhabitable environment abruptly burst forth into life! One can do nothing but marvel . Photography by your's truly.

While the corpse rots in its grave, Six feet under, A haven for ants and Flesh eating bugs, The head stone mocks: "Rest in peace." And we, Six feet above, Talk of freedom of speech And of living. Our fate, though the same As of the corpse, Six feet under.

As if obsessively trained to scan Compulsively acting to inspect Her beady eyes, were no more The usual receptors Merely serving to visualize She constantly searched Her head involuntarily turned An intrusive lens, you see Can be installed anywhere Warned about web cams Skilfully performing the famous thumb test Miles away, vivid images are seen Through secretively kept satellites Intercepted conversations Recorded messages From words to movements Everything sells Yes Slaps Maps Sex Anything sells Cell phones I can fight Hidden cameras I can sight But what about those pictures That are taken from above the sky Perplexed for days, She carefully weighed A fearful life or a feared end Can cameras peek through layers of sand? She immediately shot herself Damn Wait "oh great now all the videos are being played."

Tringgg tringgg! Tringgg tringgg! The alarm clock on her bedside table rang. She turned in her bed and hit the snooze button. Her eyes still glued shut with sleep dust. Nine more minutes passed in silence. A bird chirped, a motorcycle passed by on the empty street where her house was. Tringgg tringgg! Tringgg tringgg! This time her body jerked awake. Her hand which was still on the table, hit the clock again, but the clock fell and rolled away, still emitting the annoying sound.   “Aaggghh!” She exclaimed sitting up on her bed, her feet dangling a few inches off the floor.   She went through her morning routine of ironing her clothes, brushing her teeth, taking a bath, brushing her hair and finally applying kohl in her dark eyes, the only makeup that she ever wore. She gulped down a glass of lassi and took a banana to eat on her way to the bus stop. Slowing her walk to a stroll, she let the fresh morning air evaporate the beads of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. Going thr...

Scores of knots tightly interlaced, Clogging the mind and jamming the thoughts. Pulling out small loops day after day, Vain attempts they seem, I must say Existence brimmed with crooked puzzles, Thoughts to escort, yet unaccompanied Silent words and hushed sobs Crafting their way to a boulevard Misty views diffusing throughout Blunt images overshadowing reason Is this a trap? Or a trance Moving in circles; trying to find an end. A step forward and there’s a dread No support and I descend Face down, the ground is less distant The scent of dirt, flickers the senses Jagged rocks pierce the skin Knees raw and elbows skinned I try to regain my stability, but screw GRAVITY! Fighting against it, I regain my posture Still wavering, but on two feet again I continue my path of untying, The scores of knots clogging the mind.

Words betray me Abandoning in the time Of their need Thoughts escape Unfaithful thoughts, evaporate I panic Memories, sweet memories Please come rushing back I need to recall I have to narrate Emotional blackmail Whatever it takes I can beg I can plead Just don't walk away From us From me Give me a minute A minute in exchange of years For I have to search Words, thoughts and memories I grope I grab But they slip Evading my lips I am trying Wait Listen Today cursed, I am Tongue tied, I hear His rationalizations His justifications Babbling Mumbling And then foot steps Foot steps-The last sound of his To echo And it will Forever In moments of my unforgivable silence

At the edge of a vertical cliff, She stands tall, Wind playing havoc with her hair, Arms outstretched, Emotions tugging, pulling, wrenching. A whirlpool. There is a strange serenity, dead calm, before A violent storm. A lone eagle circles over head, Below abyss. Inflating the lungs and arching her back, Scents of earth, A part of her now, conversed. Yearning lust. Adrenaline, burning vehemence, She longed. She faces her fate, bold. A smirk, As if laughing at its face. Steadily, A deep breath. On her toes now, inclining, She jumps! Plummeting, the wind screams for her, Ecstasy. The eagle eyes her curiously, Falling still, The sun burns in protest. A little further, Mimicking a statue in mid air, Almost there, And behold! She soars! Above the eagle, above the clouds, Serenity. At peace. At last.

How far would one wander away from home? Half of me safe, the other lost to the world, Perhaps there’s no want to be found, Am I, perhaps, fortunate this way? In the solitude of confinement, Silence is the loudest of rooms to be, Camouflaging thoughts and fleeting glimpses, Of who you actually are, the lies you set free. I bear the burden that time revealed, Lost in the maze, I need to contemplate, Whether I go across or sit there till My dried bones bleed. I need a story line to rely on, Something uneventful and ordinary, Be kind O’ storyteller, narrate it to me, Until the time of the ultimate slumber. May be in another life you’ll be my friend, In another life where good things won’t end, Where I’ll confess to the secrets, surrender, And may be I’ll find simple faith again.

(This Short Story has been published in a book "Voices and Visions" A collection of short stories from authors all over Pakistan.) (Part 1 continued) She cried silently. After a few minutes, he commanded her to get up. He shook her violently, but she laid there limp. ‘If you tell about this to any one, I swear I’ll kill you and your precious Ammi!” Omer threatened. “Besides, even if you did tell nobody will believe you and every one would think you did all this on purpose. They’ll kick you out of this house!” He laughed. She was so frightened and distressed by all that had happened to her that she believed what Omer told her. She was young and naïve and didn’t understand that this was not her fault at all. She was over whelmed by the control he had over her small body. She started to cry again and at this Omer slapped her across her cheek. “Now go clean yourself up! Wash your face. And I’m telling you again, if anyone gets to know about this you know what I can do.” He l...