My alternate universe

Describe your life in an alternate universe.

I would be happy, doing what I love

I would be ecstatic, flying through clouds above

I would be thrilled, exploring every realm unwove

I would be overjoyed by unconditional love

I would never be withdrawn and lonely

I would never be bored and melancholy

I would never be betrayed by loyalty

I would never know anyone living in poverty

The alternative universe would be by fantasy

Pleasant, beautiful and kind, turned into reality

Fragrant like musk, clothed in luxury

Knowing no limits, no boundary…

Dreams to live for

Bespectacled, with a hint of worry
My face appears sullen and droopy
My charm, that always used to be bubbly,
Has lost its former self, no more chirpy

Reliving the mundane on a loop
Burdening the duties that coop
Up my wishful thoughts that snoop
In a hidden alley of my cortex, they stoop

Some days I’m up on a mountain far away
A nomad, relishing what nature offers that day
On other days, I’m amidst skyscrapers that sway
A workaholic, hustling for luxury until I turn gray

Unraveling these random thoughts of wanderlust
Appears the reality, tainted with the unjust
A mother is who I am, for my babies, I must
Pause my dreams, withhold and adjust
So that their lives are touched by nothing but stardust…

An eternity has gone by
I still haven’t tried the world’s best pie
Nostalgia of my wishes keeps kicking in
As the time of my life keeps ticking, running thin…

If only…

When I was younger, about twenty

I used to think innocently

Oh, let me just get that job!

Then I would never sob!

After getting my heart broken by plenty

I used to think innocently

Oh, let me just get married!

Then I would never be single and harried!

I now have a job, I make good money

I am now married, a mother of a baby

I still sob well, I am quite harried..

Truth is, I am lost, almost buried

Beneath the burden of responsibility

I have forgotten my true identity

All I wished for was love and joy

But all I’ve amassed is bitter foy

As the present seems bleak in pain

My heart still pounds in vain

Hoping for a brighter day ahead

I wake up each day and make some bread

I wear a smile all day, all gay

Hoping that good comes my way

And I bid farewell forever

To those memories that run a dagger

Through my heart and soul, and scatter

All the good in me away

To nothingness, vacuum and dismay.

Million March

As I sit in the comfort of my home in a quiet neighborbood with no signs of unrest, composed of people indifferent to issues that don’t pose a threat to them, many areas of my city Hyderabad are witnessing widespread protests by the young, old, men and women against the recent Citizenship Amendment Act that was passed by our current Prime Minister, Mr. Narendra Modi. The act basically grants easy citizenship to all refugees who have taken shelter in India, coming from Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka etc excluding those who belong to the Muslim minority. Those from the minority require tons of documentation to prove that they aren’t spies, don’t pose a threat to the country and are legitimate for the citizenship.

The Act clearly violates India’s secularism, something India and its citizens have always been proud of. Nationwide, Muslims and Non-Muslims have demonstrated protests and led marches against the government. To suppress the movements, the government has executed violence against the demonstrators- old religious clerics, hijab-clad women, bearded young college students are just few examples taken from the spine chilling videos that are circulating across the social media. Where is the humanity? Why is this country going backwards, to the pre-Independence era when there is a major economic crisis across the country which needs more attention?

A single act of terrorism by a bearded, self-proclaimed jihadist incites more concern by the world than the countless acts of violence committed by uniform clad against the protestors participating in the Million March. What does this prove? Is this the result of a combined hidden agenda of leading world powers? An agenda to diminish the population and the quality of life of every Muslim living in this world?

No matter how hard they try, we are protected by the Word of Allah and we shall bear with patience as per the teachings of our Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) and Allah will grant us victory, as He promised to all those who are patient. A heartfelt message from all of us who want to protect the secular sanctity of the nation to all the transgressors: get a heads up on your crimes and quit before a painful torment strikes each one of you because it is amongst the timeless laws of the universe that every human being’s life is a consequence of their actions, good attracts good and the same is true for its negation.

Back in the game!

“You’re sad because you’re a writer who isn’t writing. Even though you choose to procrastinate, avoid writing and try to engage yourself in other activities, you won’t find yourself happy unless you get back to writing”. I was jolted into reality when I heard these dialogues on a TV show last night. So today morning when I woke up, after consoling my crying infant back to sleep and getting out of my pyjamas, I decided that it was time for me to start blogging again.

I stopped blogging because everything around me was so mundane, my job was becoming so boring and I was so uninspired. Now, more than a year after quitting my job, getting married and having a baby, my need to connect with new people while keeping my personality as a writer intact has become stronger than ever. So I have shamelessly got back into the part of my life I had abandoned without warning, hoping that there would be someone who would still read what I write. And it already feels good, typing down my thoughts, that are flowing at a steady pace, uninterrupted by my baby’s crying or my husband’s opinions . It’s satisfying to know that I can still express myself by the written word, although I haven’t had much practice. It feels reassuring to know that even if the world falls apart, and I don’t know what to do, I would still know one thing- to write. I finally feel at home.

A poem for my sister

It was in the winter of 1999

When you entered our family of three

As a chubby, rosy but silly baby

An adorable addition to our bloodline

The first time I held you

I knew you were trouble

Your mischievous eyes stared into mine

And I knew I was stuck with you

Until the end of time

You soon turned a dramatic eight

And my constant source of annoyance

Always following me and my playmate

Making funny faces in defiance

You then entered your teens

While I was at university, trying to adult

Our bond shifted like gears of machines

And we struck chords of deep friendship

We began to confide our secrets anew

I shared my successes and failures

For you to learn and take the easier way

As I was concerned of any troubles

Big or small, befalling you

We went on long drives

Blasting off music, heading to our favorite beach

Shared a liking to each other’s favorite snacks

And had laughs over chai and stories of heartbreaks

Amidst all this, I didn’t notice you grow up

It seems so soon and unreal

That you’re teenage years are up

But proud I am for real

To see the woman in you, my dear

Who’s blossoming, beautiful and kind

And wise and passionate about life

Stay the way you are

Unless change is for the good

Guard yourself like a treasure

Against any folly or evil misunderstood

Happy birthday to you

My sister, my confidante

May you have many more

Days filled with light, not blue.

Lone traveler

We come into this world alone, experience its joys and trials alone, and die alone. All the people in our journey are just passengers of their own journey. Everyone is temporary.

I was struck deeply with this realization when I was in the hospital recently, undergoing a minor surgery to keep my baby safe. My overwhelming emotions of fear and anxiety were something I had to face alone. I’m thankful to all the people who visited me, wished for my wellbeing, stood by my side, helped me throughout, but nobody, including my husband, truly understood or experienced the physical and emotional pain I endured. Nobody understood how dead I felt when I was given anesthesia, how I felt I would never return back to reality, how terrifying it was to not be able to see clearly and hear muffled sounds and not being able to make sense of my surroundings. This was a life changing event which has altered the way I view life now. I don’t mean I am a pessimist and I don’t value the relationships that I am blessed with, but I have also learnt to no longer keep expectations from even my loved ones.

Our battle will always be ours. Whether we choose to embrace it or run away from it, that would decide our quality of life.

Another world

In another world, under another star

Roses would bloom at night

Enchanting travelers by their scent and sight

Any hint of gloom, near or far

Would be obliterated quite

They would walk fatigued yet upright

In another world, under another star

Loving the unknown would be alright

No colors, no tongues would possess might

In joy or sorrow, at any hour

We would still dazzle bright

And exist together, wrong or right

In another world, under another star

We would lead a legendary war

Where dreams would crush cultural insight.

Love humanity

It is easy to love someone you know, or you have formed some form of attachment with. But it is difficult and worthy of applause when we develop ourselves to love humanity. This love can stem only when we detach ourselves from our own tiny world and focus on the bigger picture we are surrounded by. This is probably the driving force behind my company’s latest CSR campaign this Valentine’s day: ‘Celebrate love by donating’ ! My company rarely impresses me by their activities, but this one has truly attracted my heart and soul! It is a very unique and inspiring thought indeed.

U.A.E has declared this year of 2017 as the ‘Year of Giving’. Subconsciously, this thought always pricked me that I am not doing anything for the greater good. My life is so entangled with my own relationships, both personal and professional, that I never really paused to think how my existence could impact people positively. Time and again, I am nagged by my conscience that my life is really unproductive. We love some people in our lives so dearly, we give them our all yet at some point of time, they hurt us. They puncture a hole in our heart every time they do so. And they even walk out without warning. We mope around for a few days, months, or years and replace those people with a fresh set of people. But the cycle of heartbreak repeats. It is a part of life. I have decided that I do not want to replace people with people to attain happiness. I have tried that multiple times and somehow, always failed. I always wondered where I am going wrong. I expected, that is where I went wrong. Now I want to channel all my love, care and attention towards humanity. I want to nurture my soul by giving all I have to the desperate and needy creations of Allah, without expectation of any return from them. Maybe then I can justify my presence in the world. Maybe then I can sleep peacefully at night. Maybe then I can silence the tug of war in my heart between my duties and desires.

Cling

I pass by the play room in my home but a strong, peculiar smell pulls me back. I inspect the room and realize that the smell has travelled here from the apartment above that is undergoing maintenance. However, the chemical odour seemed oddly familiar, like some long forgotten friend. My brain processed the mystery quickly and I remembered that my grandma’s tiny house used to smell like that.

The smell pushed over a wave of nostalgia over me. This house was the place most of my childhood vacations were spent in. Although having a small capacity, those days when we used to go for vacation, all my maternal cousins used to join us in my Nani’s house. The fun we used to have playing hopscotch, the thrill of riding bicycles on unpaved dirt paths, the sheer joy of collecting marbles, I missed it all. Early morning, my Nani used to sit on a small stool in the kitchen, beside a gas stove, preparing breakfast for all, tending to each one’s demand. Some of us wanted ‘chai roti’, which is made by breaking down the normal ‘paratha’ into tiny pieces and soaking them in milk tea. But I always wanted Nani to make ‘shakkar ki roti’, a form of paratha with a filling of sugar. I have eaten the best pastries of the world yet I always desire to eat the ‘shakkar ki roti’ made by my Nani. During the monsoons, my uncle used to get hot and spicy savories like ‘mirch pakodas’ from the nearby road stalls. All of us used to munch on these, over lame jokes, rounds of Antakshari (a game where players sing songs from the last letter the previous player ended at) and ghost stories.

I usually move on from things and get bored easily. I am also quite forgetful and absent-minded but somehow my mind never fails to cling on to these memories. Someday, I want to re-create those days with the same people. But people change. I doubt if the attempt would provide the same outcome. Nevertheless, I would try once. To make it all the same again.