One memory which remains unscathed in mind is Eid and the hassles we used to have around it.

Ammi used to stitch clothes for females in the locality, to have some savings for our school fee.
Ramzan was the time she used to get maximum work thereby revenue.

In her wish to have the maximum out of this opportunity, she always ended up having more clothes than she could stitch in the holy month.

For us, the last days of Ramzan used to be all about doing household work as much as we could in that tender age, so that Ammi could give her utmost time for sewing.

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I love anecdotes.
I love those tightly knit stories with abrupt beginning and a not so long drawn end.

I remember the early phases of life as anecdotes.
The memory of early years is not in continuity. There are bits and pieces scattered here and there reminding casually who I was, have been and have become.

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Maybe routine interactions in any relationship shouldn’t be like walking on eggshells.

You shouldn’t feel insecure and anxious around the opposite person’s perception of your daily words and actions.
You shouldn’t feel afraid about being judged or being misunderstood even before setting out to do anything.

The relationships which are consistently under such inspections push you on edge.
Your mind forgets to perceive the joys in mundane little things.
Tasks which you used to handle smoothly, become increasingly burdensome as every task comes with a plethora of possible judgements, misinterpretations, criticisms.

Relationships are meant to provide solace from otherwise rugged life.
When the relationships themselves become the area you feel most vulnerable in, life increasingly becomes devoid of direction and meaning.

Maybe the most important thing which you lose in such relationships is your genuine version.
In an environment where every action of yours is at the risk of misinterpretation, you can hardly bring yourself to be the person who genuinely cares, laughs and gives its cent percent.

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Every passing day just adds to my conviction in narratives.
It hardly matters if you are right or wrong, what matters is how the narrative has been woven around you.
What matters is the choice of words, the instances you spoke them and how well you did the cherry picking.
What matters is the number of people believing or shunning your narratives.

Even with casualties of 25k+ civilians, displaced families and their city being converted into a ghost town, Palestinians still need to prove their victimhood, their misery.
Even with the ever increasing hatred towards the community, the day to day biases being faced in the simplest things like finding a job or residence, there remains the sheer denial of the differentiating practices against Indian muslims.

You might be the most genuine person out there but if you are not good at or fail for any reason in deconstructing the narratives built against you, be ready to be the antagonist of the story.

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To the life,

If I abruptly leave you, know that I did not willingly.
I always loved you, your tough days, not so good days and the days which were special for the little joys they brought.

If I ever leave uninformed, know that I was always excited to be with you for the longest possible time..till my hair were grey, and the face brimmed with creases.

If I ever leave you, know that I am equally excited to meet you on the other side. Where hopefully you will be an eternal companion.

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Every new relationship starts with the insecurity around being up to the opposite person’s expectation.

Every act of love, assurance from the opposite person puts us at ease, at home with ourselves.

On the other hand every judgement or ridicule resurfaces the sheer sense of insufficiency,
and we find ourselves zealously trying different ways to be above the feeling, to be more than we are perceived to be.

Maybe we all deserve a circle where we can be our vulnerable selves.

Maybe we all deserve a break from the bonds which keep inspecting our worth.

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Maybe the feeling of ‘not being good enough’ is universal among human beings.

We all experience this sense during different phases with varying intensity
We all develop some coping mechanisms to deal with it.

Some of us keep trying hard to excel at things, so that the core sense of insufficiency is addressed.
Some of us are ultra cautious around taking any step out of our comfort zone, with the lurking fear that our flaws will be bare open in front of a larger group.
While some of us keep reminding ourselves and others about our achievements and instances where we outperformed expectations.

Maybe this is the reason we find comfort in bonds where we can be vulnerable. Where all the coping mechanisms can be put to rest as we know however flawed we may come across we will still be loved and cherished.

At the end we all need solace from the daily conscious, subconscious battles we are in.

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The people and the places
lost behind the fog of time
do not cease to be a part of you

The city where you were born and brought up
shines through the tiny spaces of a new place

Small water bodies remind of a large ocean
Bustling corners of a market
seem like a detached patch of the city's chaos

The city keeps shining through the small spaces
while you keep preserving its essence
through the pace you got
while walking through its crowded streets,
its uncanny vocabs,
and the peculiar tone

People who were by your side
through the thick and thin of life

their memories keep reflecting
through
the small values they lived by,
words they said..foods they were fond of

Once in a while that familiar aura of their presence
resurfaces

and you realise,
a small part of them is still alive
.
scattered pieces of their existence
still hold together
the broken pieces of yours

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Someday
on a rainy evening
I shall sit
with a cup of tea
watching the grey clouds
and the pattering drops

Today
the air is heavy
with the absence
of loved ones

Someday
I shall smile
at the moon
floating by my window

Today
the sky is void
and
the stars are dim

Someday
I shall
wake up to the
pecking of morning rays

Today
the room is gloomy
and the rays are
shut
at the door

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Ummid ka aakHri sira bhi chhuut jaaye
KHush fahmi ki wo ek shama bhi bujh jaaye
Gumaan-o-yaqeen ki har kashmakash kHatm ho jaaye

Phir to sirf yaasiyat ke andhere hain
aur be-yaqeeni ka sahraa

Na hadein hain
Na paabandiyan

Phir main uss banjar zameen par banjaaran phirun,
bayabaan ki kHaak chhaanun
Ya taareekiyon me gum ho jaaun

Zindagi sirf ziyaan se mansoob ho
to nafa kaisa
nuqsaan kahan!?

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