Sunday, 27 November 2011

The Blue Silhouette

A blue, candle was standing all alone at a wooden candle stand , placed in the middle of a small round table. Its wax was accumulating at its base like the many frozen tears shed in the memories of long-awaited moments of that ethereal unison. The moments which were paused between the loving gaze of their tearful eyes. They were quiet , but their silence was talking to each other. There was no question or answer in the mute conversation. It felt as if they had already been talking for centuries before and now there’s nothing left to talk about….

How desperate has he been for those moments to arrive, since he fell in love with her silhouette…!

He was new in the town and didn’t have much acquaintances since his posting . he had rented an old house used to once belonged to a famous poet.

One night ,at eleven past eleven, he saw a silhouette of a woman across the window , he used to sit and work . He peeped through the window and there was no one out there. He immediately opened the door and went out to look for her , but she was gone.

It happened quite a few times and stopped. Then every night, he waited for the silhouette to appear in the window, but it didn’t. Sometimes he had to struggle to sleep and even had to take the pills to help him sleep.So he deemed it as the hallucinations and forgot.

One night the silhouette appeared and beckoned him to come out. He immediately opened the door and went out. He saw a woman dressed  in  blue gown with her face hidden behind a delicately laced veil. She was gracefully stepping on to a paved path leading out- side the town.

He followed her as if he was tide up with a string .

It was dark and chilly night of December with  slight freezing drizzles .The remote hills were looking like many silhouettes of the women dressed in dark gowns , standing tall under the cloudy veil of the sky studded with twinkling stars.

She entered into a front lawn of a small blue cottage decorated with blue flowers and left the door opened behind her. He followed her inside the cottage. The cottage was furnished with old-fashion furniture. She led her into a small room up stair and sat on the piano which was  nearly occupying the whole room. She pointed to one of the two chairs around a small round table with a  candle stand in the middle. He sat down like a small obedient child.

She started playing a sad song on the piano. The song was so sad that it seemed as if everything in the room was crying . When the song finished she got up and sat beside him on the table with the candle crying in the middle. He could see the tears in her dark blue eyes. He wanted to wipe the tears with his hands but he felt as if his hands were frozen. The veil on her face was already soaked in  tears and was sticking to her delicate lips. He desperately wanted to place a gentle kiss on the delicate contour of her lips but he was too  scared to do so.

Both sat silently and it seemed as if centuries have swept passed. The window pans were picturing the  snow in frame.

 After a long time, she got up, brought an old book from an old shelf and handed it over to him, saying ‘The dawn is approaching” her accent was ancient and her voice was mellow. Then she pointed to the door.

He took the diary and sadly left the place.

Upon reaching his lodging, he immediately opened the book. It seemed like a diary with something written in beautiful hand-writing . Alas! He noticed that all the words were smudged in some dried liquid.

Next night he waited for the silhouette to appear at 11:11, but it didn’t. he kept waiting for the subsequent nights but no one came.

One day he couldn’t resist and asked an old watchman at the corner of the street, about the blue cottage in the woods. The watchman got shocked as no one seem to remember about that cottage anymore. The watchman hesitated to go there and told him about the route. When he reached there , he got shocked to see the condition of the abandoned lodging. There were no blue flowers in the lawn. The door was jammed tightly and there was no sign of life at all..

Disappointed he, went back and told the watchman the whole story, yet he hid the part of the blue book.

The watchman told him the legend of a beautiful young woman used to live in that cottage with her old mother. She used to hide her face behind the veil. One day a young man fell in love with her. He used to write poetry in her love and send her. He always wanted to see her beautiful face but she was hesitant .One night she invited her in her home. She asked her to sit beside her and then played a melodious song out of her own poetry written in her diary . Then they sat on a table with a lit candle in the middle of it. The woman had tears in her eyes and her veil was already soaked in tears, sticking to her delicate lips. He passionately removed her veil and was about to kiss her when he noticed her cleft lips in the light of candle. He became scared and immediately left her. After the incident  the woman never saw him again. It was said that she used to sit awake in even in the snowy night to wait for her beloved to send her another poem, but he never came back. One night she became seriously sick and in a few days died miserably. It was  said that her cleft lips turned blue upon her death. Her sad mother buried her in the front lawn of their cottage. People could still hear the sound of  piano coming from the upper story of the cottage.

That night at eleven past eleven, he  found himself alone in his room trying to read the smudged words in the candle light but there was no success!

He kept the dairy in the drawer and tried to forget everything.

One night he was sleeping when he felt as if someone has tried to wake him up.
He looked around but there was no one in the room. It was eleven past eleven , almost. Undecidedly, he went to look for the diary . It was still in the drawer.  He immediately opened it to read and tried hard to make some sense out of the smudged words but he couldn’t .He became sad and tears welled up in his eyes.

Then it happened that no sooner did a tear fell on the diary, than the words in the diary started becoming visible to him. He became over whelmed with joy and curiosity. Soon he was reading the enchanted poetry written with the depth of love. Under the spell, he got up while reading it and automatically turned towards the door.

It was dark and gloomy outside with no sign of stars on the cloudy sky. There were light heaps of snow melting in the warmth of March.

Unconsciously he reached in front of the blue cottage and stepped inside the front lawn. No sooner his feet touched the ground , than everything came to life. He could see the tufts of blue flowers smiling in the welcoming wind of spring.

He plucked a flower and immediately reached the door , opened it and went inside .He was not scared at all.  He could hear the sound of music coming form upstairs. He climbed the stairs in rush and reached the small room with the piano.

She was there, dressed in blue, absorbed in playing a beautiful song on the piano. This time she was also singing. Her voice was clear and beautiful.

 He stood near the door so that she couldn’t see him standing there. He was trembling with the joy .The diary fell down from his hand .With the noise, she turned her beautiful veiled face towards the door and noticed him. He leaned down and picked up the diary then slowly stepped forward and gave the diary to her along with the blue flower. Her eyes smiled in the dim light of distant candle ,with the pleasure of having read by someone.

“I have been waiting for you”. She murmured

He extended his hand towards her. Soon he felt the soft touch of her beautiful fingers on his .They were cold like ice. She got up and stood in front  him. He kept staring her deep blue eyes until he felt like being drowned in the sweet mystery her gaze. Then he gently removed her veil and put his warm trembling lip on her cold ones. He kissed her passionately while tears kept  filling his eyes. He was deeply in love with her and never wanted the kiss to end. In fact he thought he would be a happiest person if he happen to die in those moments of ecstasy.

The moments paused  under the spell of their soulful kiss……They felt as if they were sailing over the depth of deep blue sea...

When they separated their hearts were full of peace and glory. It was the magic of the kiss that the cleft of her lips was gone forever and they were blooming like wild blue flowers, freshly bathed in the night dew.

He didn’t remember what happened next. Probably he fell into a deep sleep or perhaps he actually died. When he woke up he found himself lying in a bed in  another room of the cottage.

It was drizzling outside. She was sitting beside him with the diary in her delicate hands She looked towards the window and uttered.”The dawn is approaching”. He didn’t want to leave her , but he followed his instinct. When he reached the door, he heard her saying “Thank you”. She was holding the flower against her bosom. Her beautiful lips were  without the veil and  were yielding a gorgeous smile.

No one knows for how many nights they kept meeting like that, but the house of the poet was also declared to be haunted since the mysterious disappearance of the  gentleman residing there!

People of the town found no sign of evidence of involvement of the ghost of the blue cottage..but they still assume that they are still meeting somewhere in the heaven of their  own world as the blue tufts of flowers still grow.. and… they can still hear her singing while playing piano , late night sometimes!!!!!!!


Friday, 25 November 2011


The automated fire alarms were deafening!!!!!

Finally the  fire trucks came and went back ,declaring everything safe in the rental building. The building was new, the  fire alarm were extra sensitive and the management too skeptical! All tenants were equally careful and concerned about their new homes. Some of them knew each other already because they used to live in the neighborhood for years.
After a while the evacuated building started getting its resident back in place. Some neighbors gathered in the lobby and mostly in a small adjacent hall. Many voices were amalgamated like the smokes of different substance fires in a laboratory.

“These deafening alarms!!!”
“ I hate alarms!”
“Me too..”
“People are irresponsible…”
“Who pushed the fire button..”
“Not me..”
“Which floor..”
“Not mine..”
“ Thanks we have a fire station nearby”
“ Everything is fine”
“Nothing to worry about”
“No fire signs”
“Thank God”
:“I don’t believe in God”
“Me too”
“We must follow the rules”
“Rules makes us safe”
“We must respect each other”
“Respect is safety!”
“Respect is in every religion”
“What religion!”
”I don’t like religion”
“ Me too”
“Too many religions”
“Diversity is divine”
“What is divinity”
“ I don’t like rules”
:“Me neither!”
“ Management is too strict”
“ I don’t like the manager”
“I don’t like the tenants”
“Who threw the garbage from the balcony!”
“Not me”
“We must recycle”
“This planet is full of garbage”
“This world is old”
“This world stinks”
“ Where to dump”
“ Buy less, eat less”
“ What to eat “
“What not to”
“Become vegetarian”
“waste, less”
“ Don’t keep more than you need”
“Feed the starving”
“Natural disasters”
“Un-natural disasters”
“ Child abuse”
“Animal abuse”
“ Resource wastage”
“ Cut down”
“Cut down trees”
“ Cut down animals”
“No sacrifice”
“What to sacrifice”
“Come down!”
“On the ground floor!”
“World is in peril..”
“This world is old..”
“This world is dying..”
“I hate alarms”
“I hate warnings”
“What warnings”
“Global warming”
“Glaciers melting”
“Polar shifting”
“Polluted mind”
“Polluted Souls”
“We need rules”
“We need spirituality”
“We need religion..”
“I hate religion..”
“ Me too!”
“Religions make humans love each other..”
“Religions make humans hate each other..”
“We need humanity..”
“We need sensibility..”
“We need training..”
“It’s never too late to mend..”
“Everything is safe..”
“Everyone is fine..”
“Nothing to worry about..”
“Lull your self to sleep..”
“No it’s late”
“It’s too late”
“Time to wake up!!!”
“Warn everyone…”
“Press the buttons…”
“Buttons are pressed..”
“No fire stations nearby..”
“No management..”
“No one responsible..”
“Do something!”
“Run for your life!”
“Be safe!!”
“ Run …Run …Run…”
“Run out of the hall!”
“Run out of the building!!”
“Run out of this town!!!”
“Run of the country!!!!”
“Run out of the World !!!!!”

" R..

The hall kept on getting suffocated by the invisible smoke...



The Loonie

It was a dull evening hour ,when he found a shiny loonie in an empty street. Finding it made his stomach growl immediately for he was a  poor little boy living in a confined area with the smell of hungry poverty growling in the streets.
Looking at the shiny coin made  his eyes gleam with a sudden hopes. He crossed the street and reached a bakery shop where he used to stand quite sometimes to catch the glimpse of mouth-watering bakery products. That day he hoped to buy something for himself to eat.

He wasn’t able to make a choice amongst so many eye-catching variety of the food, framed inside the display section.Just unconsciously, he was pointing and placing finger on the window pans, when he was noticed by the annoyed shopkeeper who beckoned him to leave the place immediately. The boy innocently waved at him to ensure that ,at that time he had money to buy something actually and wasn’t just fooling around.

He ,very confidently opened the door and paced into the shop with a grin on his smudgy face. He found the shopkeeper looking at him with a frown, already. He selected a pastry cake and ordered, immediately. When he was about to pay for it , he cast a last look at the shiny metal and felt as he was about to lose it in eating. With the thought , he suddenly turned away , opened the door and ran away, towards his cottage.

He wouldn’t eat up his coin , he decided, finally!

He didn’t tell anybody about the coin, at all. That night he couldn’t sleep properly for he was planning to buy something to play from the dollar shop, instead.

Next day he reached the dollar shop and started looking at the amazing toys he could buy for a loonie. The Car! How he always dreamed of sitting inside a moving vehicle!. The Airplane! Much better a choice , he would fly!!! No the color box! May be he could paint his life, too..The Pistol! No , no , How he hated killing people…!!!!

He became very sad.

No he wouldn‘t buy a toy for him! He would never ever be thinking of spending the money again. What if he buys a money saver , instead ..but then he would have no money to save … !!!

He looked at the loonie and felt as if he was really a poor guy. He went back home and put the coin  inside his pillow case.

That night he couldn’t sleep at all. He dreamed of a large shiny dollar which was rolling and rolling ahead him like a giant wheel. He was trying to catch it but he couldn’t. It started rolling faster and faster. At last it stopped and fell on the ground. When the boy touched it with his hand it opened up like a big lid and under it was a deep dark well…the wishing well !

He could hear the whispers coming from the dark depth of the wishing well..!

“Make A Wish….!”
“Make A Wish…..!”

He leaned forward to try to see through the darkness , when he heard a loud  whisper again. He became so scared that he lost his balance and fell into the well. While he was falling , he woke up!

It was the late night , everyone else was sleeping peacefully.

Next morning he took the coin in his hand, went out and dropped it in inside the rusty can held in the hands of a little beggar boy across the road!


The Story Of My Stories

I don’t know if I was born as a writer or not, but yes one day I discovered that I could be one. It took me ages to find my self as a writer, though. Well it doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing at all through that time! 

When I was a child I used to get some pocket money from my parents, literarily 50 paisas. One day I happened to find a hawker selling used issue of “Buchon Ki Duniya” magazines. Hmmm..bucchon ki duniya means ..The Children’s World..I went to buy some candies, but my steps got frozen at the moving stall of that Children’s World. I actually got lost in the maze of story books and happened to find myself had bought two issues for 50 Paisas. That was the best shopping I had ever had at that age..11, 12.years nearly… 

You might think that I would have become completely lost in the kids’s world and would have collected a pile of used magazines in my little shelf which looked like a little stage of fairy land characters acting and living all over the place…Nun Nun No..Not at all..I read a few magazines and came to conclude that almost all fairy tales are alike with some alterations in characters , places and of-course happenings. So I immediately decided to write my story of a ‘regular’ Prince, Princess and a Jinnie.I  named after my Uncle :) who’s character I could never understand. He himself was partly a well-bred, well-dressed, well-educated human being , yet partly a hairy and scary Jinnie to me who used to talk in somewhat feminine way. His personality was full of mystery and fun. He seemed like a Jack of all trades to me , yet absolutely mastered none of them…

So I not only wrote the story , but printed and haha published a form of a small book-let with relevant pictures drawn by my hands! I showed that to my Uncle who read it , encouraged it yet didn’t say a word about his name in the story..thankfully!

It would certainly be inevitable to know that ,that was probably my first and the last story book ever got created. The later hand books were the picture books with ballerinas dancing in ( I always pretended to be one, too!)

And please don’t think I never had had new books in my life, again. One of my great buys were a book of “Des Des ki Kahaanian” ( Stories from around the world) which got stolen immediately after I bought it from my school’s book fair, then was recovered. “Roosi Lok Kahaniaan” (Russian Folklores), which I bought from another bookfair and later another Uncle grabbed it for his kids and  “Thumblina” A hard covered, hard-paged fairy tale, I bought as a present for me for standing first in school,in  board examinations in grade eight. “I still HAVE that book with me”!

So after that I never tried to get published again lol!

Being a science student, I never found a formal opportunity to read  English or Urdu literature, as you might had been thinking of. It was an experience of only kind of a bird-eye view to me. My first few reads were the parables of the Bible (I brought them from my convent school), Parables of Sheikh Saadi and Urdu ki aakhri kitaab lol by Ibne Insha, brought by my father. At that time I used to think about Islamic picture books narrating simple messages from Ahadees, which was forbidden thought at that time, and also some related programs at PTV...well!
( My father told me how movie "the Message " and "Ten Commandments" remained banned in  Pakistan...Time has changed and "The Message" has become a "Message" for our modern youth and the Western World)

I also continued expressing my self in Urdu and English poems at the same time in my youth. I still have a few remnants with me.My creativity started earning good marks in Urdu and English in school and college. At University I was the sole main writer and director for some entertaining skits and plays, in which performed as well!

In University some of my very knowledgeable friends introduced me to the world of Literature. It was just a pity that I found the experience undigestable for me.I kind of ran away from complicated formats of the world of story telling. I confined my self to simple occasional reading and simple story-telling to my kids after my marriage.I read some poetry  too favourit Faiz Ahmad Faiz , Amjad Islam Amjad and Gulzar (esp. Michaelangelo and dus paisay). In prose..I like Mumtaz Mufti..especially his “Samay ka Bandhan”! ...and could I forget some random stuff from 'Hemaaktain" by Shafiq ur Rahman.....I read years ago......never!!

When I came to Canada, the very busy life schedule dragged me far away from the world of fantasy. Though the very first and the foremost thing I loved about Canada was the 'Library', I couldn't avail it the way I could have, due to never-ending responsibilities. I couldn't read much, and the only thing I used to write was the ’letters’ to my mother and the only pleasure to read was her letters for me. I used to tell her sometimes that I wanted to write, but I could n’t. 

Meanwhile I took an Art  program for two years. My favorite part was 'designing' which in my opinion, taught me about all the necessary skills which later helped me craft the stories, as well! :), precisely...its 'making' ...'composition', 'emphasis', 'contrast', 'directing' etc...that gives it 'originality'...even through 'Realism'...or 'Impressionism"....or just by "Abstraction"...(some people , even artists, have their own specific understanding about  the latter) ....and even "Cartooning" principles applies for adding a touch of 'humour' in the story!

After her demise in 2006 , when I came back to Canada, one day I felt like writing and I wrote my first short story ‘Mitti’’ (Earth)  in Urdu ,in a go. It made me feel as if I was suddenly tuned to express myself I wrote a second story “ Baatain” “Conversations” ..I wept and wept..after writing the story .I felt as If I had been talking to my Mother, once again! (Those stories got published later in an online magazine by the  publisher who liked them for their originality. It was the origin of Ana -My pen-name!)

Then a year later , an acquaintance referred me to the poetry of Khalil Gibran again.It was just a timeless experience for me. I read it with my eyes full of tears and it reached my soul. I felt as if I was not reading the book , but the book was reading me.It spoke to me about some secrets of life which I enclosed in my heart.It also gave me the composure to expose them. :)

  So the incident gave birth to my English stories and the poems and Saaya! It took me no time to change from" A flower girl of old town" to " A madman of a new town".. lol!

I remained sick and depressed due to health issues for a long time and had to discontinue. Now I have just been compiling my work on the blog spot. It’s almost done..!(Unfortunately I've lost some of my work due to a mishap!). Later,I got diverted to produce some visual artwork, incidentally, for quite sometime.

.Okay it wasn’t an attempt to drag you in my world of stories, but to make me able to see my work through your eyes :) As you might be able to infer, that I still live in my own world of simplicity in my imaginations and can’t write about the complexity of the issue. Still I hope you will be able to enjoy my work...

I humbly and heartedly thank my admirers and well-wishers…keep writing and keep reading…it's a beautiful way to discover and recover!!!!!


In picture, it's a ballerina painted by me, 5 years ago.

Tuesday, 22 November 2011

The Artist And A Clown

He was not a very good artist yet he was able to make some admirable paintings with the touch of his soul . The edge of his brush would work like a sculptor’s knife to carve the craft. His colors would blend a rainbow of expression on the heart of canvas. With his skill he was not only able to turn a natural view into an adorable piece of art, but to blow  life in his portraits. Actually his portraits were the main source of his income. Most of the other paintings were all stacked in a large closet behind a shabby curtain , inside his messy apartment. He new perhaps he would never be able to sell them.

There were filled and empty color tubes, bottles of oil and varnishes and dirty rags scattered all over the place . Some times he , himself looked like a piece of surplus item lying motionless on the floor .This happened when he had cast a last look on his finished art work and had signed his scribbling signatures at the bottom of it.

There was no room left to take a breath of fresh air in that arid place, except in the world of his imaginations!

The Artist was equally disappointed for his present and future , yet he was happy and content with life. Only he had to have a part-time job to meet his expenses.

One day he happened to visit a gallery , which was run by one of his old friend. He convinced him to add some spice to his artwork to make it commercially acceptable.

Doing so opened a new vista of hope and expectation.

It took some time , but he became quite popular in the town. .He had had to move to a better and spacious place. He had had to hire an artist  to join him to meet the excessive demands. His life became so busy that he could hardly find the moments of leisure to think or really imagine. He was not happy!

One day he went to an entertainment show to make him feel better and found an old artist friend who gave up his career to become a clown. They went to a coffee place and talked.

His friend still with his make-up on had a big smile touching his ears. The Clown asked him.”Why do you look so unhappy to me!” The Artist told him the whole story. 

The Clown listened to the story with keen interest and then he opened his painted lips once again.” You know my friend! I paint my outer self to entertain people, but you have painted your inner self…! You have become a Painter. You are not an Artist, anymore!”


The Music And The Song

A Musician had collected a variety of Musical Instruments from all around the world. He wasn’t and expert player of the all of them yet he understood the language of Music they spoke. He believed the Language of Music to be a Universal Language of Peace and Harmony. He believed the diversity to be the beauty of life just like the seven motes of Music itself. So he  used to love all of his Music Instruments equally and tried to learn some of his favorite with the help of his friends.

It was a pity that the Music Instruments were not getting along with each other ,the way the Musician wanted them to be. They all used to quarrel with each other in the absence of Musician, everyone claiming that the Musician love and care for it the most.

The Musician was un aware of what used to happen in his absence .

One day he brought one of his friend who used to sing, who became so amused to see the collection of the Music Instrument at his friend‘s place. During next visit the Singer brought a beautiful Song with him and gave it to the Musician. Together they both worked on to compose a beautiful tune suitable for the Song.

It was pity that in their absence all Music Instrument started their fight again. They all became so jealous not only of each other but for the poor Song , as well.
 First of all they all didn’t seem happy on the arrival of a Song amongst them, at all. Second of all every Instrument wanted to be played  for the song instead of another.
The delicate Song was nothing but a message of Peace and Harmony in their world. It tried to settle the issue amongst the Instruments but couldn’t succeed.

That night when the Musician returned, he found all the Music Instrument with broken strings and keys and the Song was breathing its last!


Sunday, 20 November 2011

A Picture Of Me

It’s so hard to define ‘me’ as an icon that truly symbolizes someone as a person as seen from one’s own eyes. It’s certainly much more than taking a picture of one self in the mirror. (The above one is my mother's, though, painted by me!)

All our lives we see our selves through mirrors and through the eyes of people around us.
When asked to give opinion about ourselves, we start rolling our eyes and fall short of words for us.

I think it would be just worthwhile to sometimes attempt to describe ourselves in our own words to make it easier for others to understand us.

I recently learnt through a workshop, precisely on ‘Conflict Resolution’that our personalities are like icebergs. Only a small proportion of our personalities is above the surface of water while the rest of us is sunken deep down the sea. It’s not inevitable that we might not have discovered ourselves completely, because every stage in life and every new experience reveals something new and unfamiliar within ourselves.

I won’t be taking long, but would like to sum up my self within the frame of a few perspectives which is me at this very particular stage of life.

I don’t know if I really reflects my astrological qualities, because it can only be evaluated by the close family members, my husband, my kids ,my brothers and a few close friends who might have had read about the Sagittarius woman. I personally know that I’m just a human with qualities and their counter version in the same person. Me!

It would, however , be inevitable to add that I found the book of Jean Dixon "Yesterday, Today and Forever!" a quite worthwhile 'read' to understand someone or a cautious level! (Again the book was gifted to me, by a dear uncle!)

One thing for sure is, that  YES!...I'm like my parents. I think and behave in the matter they have brought me up with. The values they have cultivated in me are just as in-separable , as the genetic part of them. Both of my parents possessed the passion for knowledge. They helped and encouraged me to participate in many literary competitions, like essay writing, speeches and performing, at different academic levels, and platforms. The other precious value I learnt from them"Humanity"! They also showed us , me and my dear brothers who have been the best part of my childhood.....that contentment and thankfulness is necessary ,along with wishful thinking!

It would be worth mentioning, that I have this tendency to participate in any given competition, 'without the sense of competition'. I just have been trying to present 'best ' of 'me' at that time, only! Luckily I've been winning prizes and awards in academics, literary trials and Art.

I would like to admit that every 'subject' I got encountered with, have added to my opinion and reasoning, all through my life. It could be an in-born sensitivity or 'fertility' as one of my mentors commented, once. Formally,I studied a branch of Biology, at Masters level...(It has nothing to do with 'Mastering', though! :)
Computer...and Visual Art (Fine Art). (I feel/wish, I could have been in Medical research field, had I been having an option to continue my studies..)

I strongly believe that our FATE plays an ultimate role in shaping our personalities, coupled with the opportunities life offers or takes away...apart from our strong bonds to the atmosphere and circumstances, we're born into.....

Schooling and then teaching, at convent schools , is a part of my life which canNOT be detached from my life or my 'person' ever...the best thing I learnt there is Mercy...and this belief that we all have our 'Special Places' in this world...our very own Niche!
All destined and pre-planned by the Master-Mind!

I have a passion for learning, especially those whicht directly concerns human nature and his ethnic behavior. I like to express myself through my art, paintings and poetry and like to discuss views on various related topics. I’m not very social, yet I have a very special corner for those I deem as friends.

I keep on discovering my own self and in this process I sometime become un-understandable to others. When misunderstood , I feel like hibernating alone and don’t want the disputes to flare up, because I tend to encounter the issues with honesty and grace only, yet unavoidable unpleasantness might find a way! I think the bitterness of the Truth cannot be sugarcoated...and unavoidable consequences can either be faced or forgiven, generously!

I've been trained and 'tamed' (lol) a lot, by my husband and kids. They are the real boon from Allah Almighty! I'm certainly nothing without them!!
Religion is important to me and I keep try pondering upon and practicing it. I like to exchange thoughts about world religion and myths, at the same time. I'm very interested in the 'Original Islam', unmasked by the unnecessary  ornamentation of extended interpretations. I believe the Original Islam conceals the secret of salvation of humanity and can bring people close to each other. (Hope you'll take time read me essay "My Religion" and a story" Muhammad was a Message of Mercy")

Thank you for reading about me. I know it’s not a whole picture. I encourage you to discover the rest on your own!

Love and Prayers!


Saturday, 19 November 2011

How will the story be made?

I asked a Potter ;“ How will you make a story?”
He smiled gently , thought for a while and replied” I will knead all the ingredients of a story with water and sweat so that they become soft and palpable ..then I will put it on the potters wheel and while I will use my feet to run the wheel I will use my hands to mould it into an admirable shape”

I asked a Wayfarer; “ How will you make a story?
He smiled gently, thought for a while and replied” I will never be able to make a story by my self. Rather I will find it on my way to a distant shrine , taking nap under an old tree, where many birds had made nests .I think I will find it twittering with the newborns in the nest.”

I asked a Soothsayer; “ How will you make a story?”
He smiled gently, thought for a while and replied” I will be able to see it in a crystal ball traveling alone to an unknown destination which even I cannot predict. I will only be able to watch it as it treads.”

I asked a Scientist “ How will you make a story?”
He smiled gently , thought for a while and replied” I will discover it under my microscope, will  research and make a hypothesis out of it. I will make deductions and inductions and will publish it. Then it will not be story, but a proven fact.”

I asked a Teacher “ How will you make a story?”
He smiled gently, thought for a while and replied” I will extract it from the stories I read and will read it to my pupils in my free time”

I asked an Artist “ How will you make a story?”
He smiled gently, thought for a while and replied” I will compose , design and sketch it on my canvas and will eagerly paint it using  the best of my brushes the color sense .”

I asked an Actor“ How will you make a story?”
He smiled gently, thought for a while and replied ”I won’t have to write it I will copy it from the Potter,  the Wayfarer, the Soothsayer, the Scientist, the Teacher and the  Artist”

I asked a Writer ““ How will you make a story?”
He didn’t smile but made a sad face and began looking into the space , When I insisted , he looked at my face thoughtfully and said “ I will become an Actor.and the story comes to me” And he smiled gently.



Friday, 18 November 2011

Who Am I !

When the first ageless man fell in love an ageless beauty, he was very happy ,for love opened his inner eyes and beckoned him to follow . He followed the path, blindly, following the truth of that inner voice. No sooner he took a few step, than his feet were off the ground.
He found himself flying into a euphoric zone, without wings, where his eyes could see nothing but the unmatched unbound beauty and his ears could hear nothing but the songs of joy. His mind turned into a crown of honor and his heart an unfound gemstone. His spirit wore a gleaming garment and he became invisible to all around him…

Then on one timeless day, a faceless serpent raised his head from the ground and bit on his foot with its toothless mouth, injecting a venom. The venom of separation. The poison turned his body pale, his soul blue and his heart blood red…

He left the world of indifferent people and started wandering into the wastelands of solitude. He was, but all alone!

He never spoke a word , nor did he shed a tear. His mind bearing the pain of the crown asked just one question to himself…

“Who Am I”?

Had he been ever known to himself…other than his colorless body, his restless mind and his aimless soul..

Who was he and why was he there….!

It was a moment less hour when his soul first time tasted his tears…

He never knew that his heart was enflamed!

When the voiceless lonesome vastness didn’t speak..he returned to the world of voices.
Voices. wrapped into melancholy, dwelling in the depth of spirits. He could
hear the cry of pain and death on the faces of..young ,old, newborns and on those yet to be born. He could see the longings dressed in rags and smudged in tears, sweat and blood!

He at first shut his eyes then opened and spread his arms like the wings of hope and hugged them all. Until his spirit got drenched with the deepness of sorrow. Though the paleness of his body didn’t go away, yet the blueness of his soul was gone, for ever!
He never shed a tear again, rather collected them inside his heart as the priceless pearls of self knowledge.

Another timeless day , someone told the story of that ageless man to the ageless beauty he fell in love with. She felt very sad and ashamed for what suffering she had caused to the man who love her. Poor fellow who had lost himself and the world around him.

She longed to see him and traveled far and away to reach the man in a nameless town. She found him sitting under a timeless tree with his eyes closed, enchanting the wordless rhymes of love and hope.

She came closer and closer to him and very softly unveiled her beautiful face to him. Then in a very sweet voice she uttered these words”Look…I ‘m here!”.

The man raised his head, opened his eyes and looked deep into her eyes as if his gaze had passed through them and got lost in  a yonder vastness of nothingness..far beyond their charm.

After a long, speechless silence, he asked gently.”Who are you?”.



Where Are You?

The sculptor sculpted it , with the best of his skills and used the most effective tools he had had. He put the pain of his throbbing touch and the gloom of his aching soul to shape it. He painted it with the serenity of his gaze and the beauty of his mind. He finished it with the blow of his deepest sigh in his burning heart!

He erected him in his own image to protection and pray…

A God!

Before him as an assurance of his own presence..a proof of his faith and the assertion of his beliefs..
A monument of love and a friend of all times…

He always turned to him
He always trusted him.
He always prayed to him.

Then one day, with the broken heart, he stood before him…pleading …complaining …accusing…and shouted; “ Do you really care…for what I’ve been going through…do you…if you do ..then why my heart never rests…why my soul is ever-wandering…why my faith staggers so instantaneously..?

Do you see…?
Do you really hear..?
Do you…?

He hugged his God and the emptiness in his soul even increased more…his frustration grew…
Depressed and disdained ..he was about to hit it…kick it…push it…but he held back his anger..

He turned away and ran away…

He kept running and running…until he reached a lonely and deserted place,,with no humans around there…

He started shouting.. hereticaly…

Where are you…???????

Where are you…????

Let me know…!!!

Let me…..
Exhausted . He sat in the earth beneath, leaned over the shoulder of a rock and wept. He wept and wept…for hours.

Then suddenly he felt a light relieving touch of combing inside the curls of his hair..he raised his head and felt a warm caress of the wind across his cheeks. His tears dried slowly and when his senses returned , he felt the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers around him to refresh his feelings. A butterfly flew passed his sparkly eyes, which sparkled even more after shedding tears of dismay, as if it was trying to play and prank. He smiled through his sadness and got up!

Walking slowly…touching the hanging branches with leaves, he felt as if they were shaking hands with him. Then he heard a bird singing merrily and softly. His spirit got elated, just like the brook flowing silently and indifferently on the way…He took off his shoes and felt the soothing touch of running water..taking away all his tiredness and fatigue.

He could see tiny little fish under water swimming and dancing like stringless puppets, around him!
He became indifferent too..indifferent to what had had happened..

He held his head high looking at the wandering clouds, soaked in the mystery of hidden raindrops, wondering which part of the soil they might bless.He felt a tiny droplet fell on his forehead and took away all his anger,,,

It started drizzling…..

He took off his shirt and let the soothing drizzle fall on his bare chest and get absorbed deep down his heart…until..his heartbeat started reflecting the strange rhythm of the rain itself. His whole body got wrapped in an invisible warm blanket of serenity.He raised his arms up and got lost in the tender turbulence of a spiritual tornado out side his whole being.
Hid mind opened his eyes and his lips started whispering softly and quietly…

You are here..
You are near..


The Madman Of A New Town

Once, there was a town, newly built with all kind of new development in it. It was beautiful but not peaceful.At corner of a street, there used to live a man, shabby and old who used to mumble all day. When he had no words , He used to chew on his food , given by the passer bys.

Only sometimes people could hear him clearly as he used to say something like this pointing his fingers to where..

Stop whining about the your resources..
Stop digging more the endangered species..
Stop your space the poor and starving…
Stop your nuclear race…save the environment..
Stop building tall the civilization..
Stop yelling about the the honour..
Stop fighting about lives..


He would scream…

Or else ..the whole town will be changed into museum…for no one to visit….

He would bow down…

Save souls…before my extinction..

People didn’t  pay attention to what he had to say as he was called the “Mad Man”. What on earth this mad man is up to…! .They would wonder.

One day when the man Man was talking to himself, a young man passed by. He recognized his voice and found him to be his old teacher. He insisted him to go with him, but the Mad Man refused to leave the spot.

One day the Mad Man was found dead and was taken by the young man who found many more of Mad Man’s pupil to join.

They buried the Mad Man with great honour.
One of his pupil who was a sculptor, made his statue. Some other wrote his biography.

After a few years, the Mad Man was regarded as the “Wise Man”. His words became quotes.
A few more years passed by …and ..some started worshiping his statue. Some his words..but no one followed him…


The Flower Girl Of An Old Town

There was a very poor, orphan girl living in an old town who had to take care of her younger brother at the expense of sympathies of the people in the neighborhood. Both of their parents died in an epidemic and there was no one else in the family to be responsible for their living.

One day her brother fell ill and the girl started begging around in a busy lane to help meet the expenses of his treatment. She used to spend hours and hours but was still unable to raise enough money.

One night she had a dream of some beautiful flowers smiling and whispering “A life for a life!”

The dream was so vivid that when she opened her eyes she was expecting the bunches of flower in the room. When she didn’t find them she started looking around in the outskirts.

To her surprise she found them growing in clusters out there. She plucked them and started selling the beautiful flowers at the lane, saying; “ A life for a life”

The passer bys attracted to the mesmerizing smell of the wild flower , started giving her a few pennies in exchange.

Next day she found the cluster of flowers were doubled in number. She plucked them and started selling them at a busy lane . She worked harder and harder hiding her tears and fear behind her divine smile.

It was pity but the health of her brother didn’t improved much. He was growing weaker and weaker, day by day.

One day a wicked person snatched all the flowers from the little girl’s hand and crushed them under his shoes.

“This wicked girl is stealing the sympathies” He yelled.

The little girl became do scared that she immediately ran to her home and cried a lot.

The next day the same thing happened and people kept watching the happening silently.

She screamed aloud “A life for a life!” but no one responded.

Her brother’s health aggravated and one day he died, eventually.
One day after so many days of her brother’s death, she visited the place where wild flowers used to grow, but she found no sign of any plant there.

Then one day after so many days of her visit , she went to her brother’s grave, and found the clusters of the wild flowers on his grave, yielding the mesmerizing perfume..whispering..”A life for a life!”


The Morning of a flower

Enclosed in the mystery inside the rosy petals were the fantasy of fine fragrance waiting to be released with the thrust of nature’s beckoning. Sleeping deep were the juvenile seeds in the ovarian cushion surrounded by the erected stalks of delicate stamens bending over the sweetened lips of the solitary ovary, carrying the message of peace and continuity of hope . Wrapped around the spirally arranged petals was the green halo of fragile sepals tightly closed, trapping the charm and grace of the evening flower standing amidst the countless grassy blades of a distant valley.
Soaring at the mystic rhythms of the late afternoon wind were the butterflies which had been passionately waiting to land on the inviting beauty of the flower to be bloomed. Chirping the romantic melodies of the stories of the tiny heart of the sleeping flower, were the birds of valleys nesting in the trees nearby.

“The flower will be plucked by the warm touch of masculine fingers and will be given in the softness of his beloved‘s hands”
“The flower will be picked up by the tenderness of a brother and will be decorating the darkness of his sister’s hair”
“The flower will be taken by the love of a wife and will be tucked into the trust of his husband’s collar”
“The flower will be had by the respect of a mother and will be placed on the cuteness of her child’s hat
“The flower will be found by the sadness of daughter to be  garlanded on the grave of her father”

So were the blooming wishes inside the tiny little heart of the flower that night. It was half sleep , half awake desperately waiting for the dawn of its life, coming near.

With the very first ray of light and the very first kiss of the dew , the flower bloomed giving such a gorgeous smile, releasing a sweet mysterious smell in the surroundings, waiting for the nature to shower its blessing upon it.
No one could tell that it was the day when the soldiers of the other side of the valley were supposed to march across.Their hearts without pity were boiling in the single wish of defeating the enemies and occupying the land of their dreams.
They were all dressed up and equipped with the fowl smelling weapons.They set off for their mission climbing the mountains and reached the heart of the valley.Within no time the thunders of their heavy and blind boots came closer and closer and instantly crushed the freshly bloomed flower under them, turning its morning into the never ending night!


The Love Of A Poet

“If I could gather all the dew drops from the laps of morning leaves ..I would wash all the tear drops from your lonesome eyes…

If I could have all the fragrances from the noon’s flowers …I would spread them on your lovely face like a kiss of an unforgettable smile…

If I could collect all the stars from the night sky..I would lay them at your feet so the pathways you walk upon would never be dark again..

If I could take all the cozy winds in my arms I would make them embrace you to take away all the sorrows of the life..

If I could get all the rain showers in my hands I would make them lavish the love upon you so that you get drenched in it…

If I could mix the calm of the dawn and the colours of dusk ,I would paint your that you’ll never leave me ever after…”

The Poet was spilling his feelings on the  hearts of papers with the sincerity of his soul.
He himself was sitting in a dark room lit with a small candle weeping the tears of wax.
He was writing all that with the eyes full of  sadness and tears which were constantly dripping on  the paper washing away his words, but his feelings were so abundant that he couldn’t stop even for a while.He was adding and more to fill the loneliness of the paper though he himself was so lonely that his heart was aching with the pain of loneliness. His mind was so occupied that he couldn’t hear the sound of rain outside the window which always bring smile on his lips. He had a bouquet of dried roses on his table ..the flowers he bought for his beloved a few days ago and couldn't give her..

Next day he summoned all his courage and strengthened his blind faith upon his true love and sent his message to her.

Her beloved looked upon a few sentences , immediately crumbled the papers and threw them away. She wrote something and sent it back to him.

The Poet opened the letter and read this message  “It all shows how helpless are you !!!”


Wednesday, 16 November 2011

The Traveler

The traveler travels with time and gathers the dust of time under his bare feet …he wanders season to season to gather the wisdom bit by bit in his handmade satchel of woven thoughts and threshed longings…

In summer he collects all the moments taking naps under the shade of afternoon trees and writes the stories of the young love playing freely in the streets of leisure…and his satchel clams for more…

In Autumn he picks up the dry memories soaring in the haunting winds of cold evenings …seeping into the closed windows of reminiscing minds..and his satchel clams for more…

In Winter he gathers the snow of unfulfilled desire capping the mountains of forgotten tales printed in aging books and his satchel clams for more…

In spring he sweeps all the fragrances of smiles and laughters blooming from the hearts of the lonesome gleaming with hopes again..

He empties his satchel at the feet of nature’s tombstone garnished with flowers of unsolved mysteries…

He washes his feet in the running water of eternal springs of unknown destinies and takes some sleep under the golden rays of spring sun smiling upon the sky of new journeys ….


Saturday, 5 November 2011

The Invisible

The Red girl wandering into a twilight zone meets a shadow and says “Oh! I’ve found you! Aren’t you my lost love..that completes me and shines through me..” Yes I am” The shadow replies. The Red girl embraces it with great excitement.
After a while her color starts changing from red to orange. She separates herself from the shadow and says” Oh no! you can’t be my love. You changed my color please let me go…!”

The shadow disappears…

On her way, the Orange girl finds another shadow and says “Oh! I’ve found you! Aren’t you my lost love..that completes me and shines through me..” Yes I am” The shadow replies. The Orange girl embraces it with great excitement.
After a while her color starts changing from Orange to Yellow. She separates herself from the shadow and says” Oh no! you can’t be my love. You changed my color please let me go…!”

The shadow disappears…

On her way, the Yellow girl finds another shadow and says “Oh! I’ve found you! Aren’t you my lost love..that completes me and shines through me..” Yes I am” The shadow replies. The Yellow girl embraces it with great excitement.
After a while her color starts changing from Yellow to Blue. She separates herself from the shadow and says” Oh no! you can’t be my love. You changed my color please let me go…!”

The shadow disappears…

On her way, the Blue girl finds another shadow and says “Oh! I’ve found you! Aren’t you my lost love..that completes me and shines through me..” Yes I am” The shadow replies. The Blue girl embraces it with great excitement.
After a while her color starts changing from Blue to Invisible. She separates herself from the shadow and says” Oh no! you can’t be my love. You changed my color please let me go…!”

The shadow disappears…

Shattered , the Invisible girl comes across by another shadow and cries “Oh! I’ve found you! Aren’t you my lost love..that completes me and shines through me..” one replies…”aren’t you..!!!” she insists ..and rushes to embrace doubt..

The shadow passes through her…and disappears…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Seven Cups

The Great God created seven cups and He put in each of them, some dust. In some of them a little more, in others a little less…and It bound them all in one origin and purpose . So all of them started loving each other...

Then God put in each of them ,blood..In some of them a little more, in others a little less…and it bound them in one relation and emotions…and they started loving each other…

Then God put in each of them some flesh and bones.In some of them a little more, in others a little less..and it bound them in one desire and suffering and they all started loving each other…

Then God put in each of them, some‘Brains’ .In some of them a little more, in others a little less….and it bound them in Wisdom and respect… and they all started loving each other…

Then God put Soul in them .In some of them a little more, in others a little less…and it bound them in one recognition and realization..and they all started loving each other….

Then the Great God in his adventure put some 'melanin' in each of them .In some of them a little more, in others a little less….and for no reason they all started hating and discriminating each other!


The Cause

The Walker said ” I walk for the Cause!”

The Runner said “I run for the Cause!”

The Swimmer said “I swim for the Cause!”

The Writer said “I write for the Cause!”

The Artist said “ I paint for the Cause!”

The Singer said “I sing for the Cause!”

The Teacher said “ I teach for the Cause!”

The Preacher said “I preach for the Cause!”

The Fighter said ” I fight for the Cause!”

The Priest said “I pray for the Cause!”

The ‘Cause’ laughed and said, 

” Silly are all of them..they can do nothing about me!” 


The Toy Maker

The toymaker was drowned in his work of making toys. He had all the necessary tools to carve his wooden toys. He had gathered all kind of different pieces of wood from different trees around the town.

His hut was wooden and just like many other things in the hut, he himself appeared to be made of wood too…with the shriveled bark all over the surface like an old stem of the tree…yet very new , soft and productive from the inside.

If someone could see his cross-section, could see all layers of growth and prudence inside him. All the concentric circles had different radii ,marking time and experience. There were marks of new branches emerging out from nowhere, spreading around like seasons of new dimensions on the vastness of skies…

His eyes were like a microscope which could cut deep through the cleavages of the wooden pieces, cutting and carving them like diamonds…

The whole town adored him, because for them he was not a toymaker but he was …a Joy Maker…!

Each toy he carved was a message of joy for he family, as it used to bring laughters and smiles to the kids of all ages. The whole town valued his presence in the town because he had brought a good name and a lot of business to their town.

One day a fairy saw him working so diligently that she forgot to fly for a while .She decided to grant him something special. The Toy maker was so busy in his work that he could not take notice of the kind fairy, but when he did he became overjoyed as he had never seen such a beautiful flying doll. He wished if he could carve one out of his wood.

The Fairy smiled sweetly and granted him the was the gift of real joy…that every child who would play by the toys made by the Toy Maker should be filled with the real happiness…

The Toy Maker carved  a wooden fairy later on , but he carved  it not fore sale . It was for himself only to be an inspiration.

Ever since the fairy kept her presence, full of enchantment around the Toy Maker…inspiring him with her magical smiles..

Time changed and the Toy Maker grew very old. The ageless fairy was still their, youthful and pretty as ever..
One day she decided to grant another gift to the Toy Maker for his honesty and hard work.

She sent him into the future world…!

The Toy Maker became young and hansom , again.He became overjoyed in the world full of glamorous temptations. His work earned the same attention and popularity in the new world too, but people of that time regarded his toys as crafts only.

The Toy Maker thought of trying new ideas, every other day. Within no time he became the most successful businessman in town.He started wearing the expensive dresses full of pockets. He even forgot to thank the fairy.
It was the new age when people actually forgot thinking about their children .They were not concerned to the truth of real happiness. They only wanted to keep their kids busy so that they could enjoy their own lives, more independently.

It was the time to play with people and their hearts..and their own selves…The meanings of joy was changed for actually became the toy in the hands of many Toy Makers..

The Toy Maker was no more the Joy Maker now..His toys lost the touch of innocence and enchantment..He became fed up of his business of craft-making with his hollow wood..and opened a factory for making toys for adults..

He almost forgot the fairy and the fairy never came back!


Tuesday, 1 November 2011

The Wind Of East

The warm Wind of East …traveling…. with the flow of thousands springs of untouched waters, being poured down from the once snow-capped mountains of dormant dreams ……where the sun rises wearing the crown of golden rays of wise glory…shining upon the bent blades of growing grass….humbled by the dew drops of tears fallen from the eyes of unknown heavens……

The Wind of East carrying... the heaviness of bitter pains….separating her from the past of its grace and glory….long lost in the paleness of crumbled pages of the history of silent sufferings….

Descending down …in the valley of sky-aiming minarets of Mosques and Mahals…touching their elegance….. with the corners of her torn veil ……surrounding her like a coffin…..

She sneaks into the red zone of forbidden passions and hears the cry of suffering innocence…..She wipes the tears of starving childhood and kisses its forehead deluded with the clouds of unsure future ….She touches the fateless palms and summons her tears…useless , and un-worthy like rusted coins…..She unties the knots of superstitions wrapped around the branches of religious paradox.. standing like the pyramids of lost culture in the desert of ignorance…She senses the heart beats of her own people bathing in the privacy of worldly desires ….and she can't think anymore...she can’t breath in the atmosphere without the oxygen of awareness and understanding….

Deeply despaired…she travel passes the thousand seas of apprehension and reaches the other side of the world…The West…

The Wind of West greets her with a grin and a cold hand-shake…that fills her eyes with fear and gives her a shiver down her spine….but hand in hand… the Wind of East, and the Wind of West …keep exploring the world again…

She keeps her vision higher than the egos of tall walls …and doesn’t want her fragile self be bruised by them…but the suffocation in the trapped atmosphere…makes her expand her views…She reaches the beaches but the shame of her own existence pulls her vulnerable and naked-self back inside the core of passive dormancy…

Her blurred eyes see the pollution of skies…pierced all through their bodies with the loops of poisonous smoke…..burning many homes secretly ..with their secret ignitions…
She touches the helplessness of the innocent childhood being strolled by the ghostly parenthood. She hears the cries of motherhood pleading under the enchanted tree of fake civilization . She tastes the staleness of chocolate and vanilla in the mouths of solitary youth. She feels the emptiness inside the hollow bones of the abandoned elderly…

She sees the rule of technical and mechanical intelligence, quarreling with the divine wisdom…..She witnesses the murder of simple human ties…with the meaningless worldplay…and the charm of simplicity bewitched by the glamour of fake models and ideals..with all the originality masked... or...tatooed ....

She watches the mortality of struggle , recycled between the invisible hills of ….Need and Greed ….located
in the dark cities of empty rituals. She feels the pain of the strive of the Needy newborn left alone in the desolation of despair… in hope of a miracles…. that opens the bossom of earth… with the everflowing spring of holy zum zum…

So...... she sees the other side of the ‘Sickle‘…..The WORLD…with countless , sharp teeth…as her mother whispered once into her keen and listening ears……

Everything makes her weary self more miserable…!

She sits alone …watching the dimming rays of setting Sun… West…She longs...and prays... for going ....BACK....... HOME…. hope to see the Sun Rising …again….(before her disintegration...)

for her dream was search ….for…PEACE ….only....!

Dedicated to East