The Creatively Frustrated

Ever had that feeling when you wished that you could just run away? Spacing out into your own self created world can be quite handy at times. For instance, there are times when you just can’t bear the insistent ‘yak yakkity yak’ of that plump woman standing next to you in a queue. But you’re too polite to shove a sock down her throat. So, you create an imaginary world of which the details are so vivid and crisp, that to you it’s almost; almost real. The ‘yak yak’ is tuned out to subtle hum, barely noticeable. The frequent, automated nod of your head and the occasional ‘jee jee’ assures her that you are listening. Here, your ‘escape’ spares you a bad headache later on. Like I said, it’s handy. Let’s take a grimmer scenario. Sometimes it happens so that there is such an emotional turmoil within you, that the pain no longer just remains psychological but you feel it in your bones. This is when you prefer to ‘space out’. You recreate your happy events, something that made you truly, j...

(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 ...

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...

Shaping my eyes Spindly aligned With an arched crown Visibly proud, He signs In his distinctive style Symmetry with sight Mischievously smiles Challenging science to rival Provoking art to rebel Mould or soul They bring forth But never both Peerless, he stands Undefeated, he flaunts Ever wondered why You willingly bow down? But while submissive hearts pray A rebellious voice From somewhere far Travels Penetrates Sight yours Vision mine With conventional organs Contemporary usage, I acquired Anatomically similar Are all human beings But within ourselves Distinct individually Who created us Our real identities A smirk Being blessed With an essence Manifested as spirit Having it sculptured By my handpicked environment You shamelessly tread a path Predestined Sugar coated With self proclaimed, Self made decisions And you are what You say A creator My equivalent? Churning lazy philosophies , these days Are all, trend following ath...

(This Short Story has been published in a book "Voices and Visions" A collection of short stories from authors all over Pakistan.) “What’s a parrot?” “It’s a bird beta.” “What kinda bird Ammi?” “It’s a very… interesting bird. It can even talk to you. Did you know that?” “Reaaaally??” She said her eyes as wide as saucers. “Han beta! But only if you teach it how to talk. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow’s a very important day.” Ammi smiled, tucked her in bed, gave her a kiss and left the room. How could she sleep? Her mind was like a cyclone that night. The excitement of having her very first pet was driving her crazy. She used to ask her Abu hundreds of times, each and every day, if she could have a pet. And Abu would always patiently reply, “Not yet my sweet.” But poor Abu couldn’t resist the earnest twinkle in her big brown eyes and had finally given in to her wish. “Oh I hope my parrot is pink!” She thought her imagination running wild, “with a yellow beak and… and bl...