Alright, then. It's finally time. I've NEVER spoken about my Mom on a public platform or for that matter, I don't even talk about her with my friends or my family, because talking or even thinking about her feels worse than dying on being stabbed with the sharpest knife a one thousand and ninety-nine times [...]
“That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do without."
What if tonight's the last night I talk to stars, What if it's the last one I breathe through? Would anyone care? Would anyone notice? Would anyone count, The last of my breaths? Would it matter, if I am no more? Or would it be a burden, gone off everyone's souls? Would anyone care if [...]
She could only feel one sensation - that of her insides falling, getting sucked into a black-hole. Like her feet were suddenly the strongest center of gravity of the entire universe.
Sharing a recipe that has been demanded by at least four friends, so far. So, this is a modified version of the regular Apple Crumble/Apple Crisp recipe. A friend of Dad sends in mangoes from his Mango gardens in Sindh, every year. So we had plenty of them which I decided to put to use. [...]
Dearest Dad, I don't believe I could ever have enough, or the right, words to present as a tribute to you. After all, how could I give a form to all the unconditional love we carry for each other. While it would never be entirely possible to write about what I feel for you, let's [...]
These pictures were taken during that trip, from a camera she had gifted me. Partly because photography seemed to take my mind away from the impending doom and partly because a part of me was still hopeful she'd live and we'd look back to these pictures and smile together. Soon after, she passed away (24th August, 2010) and I stopped taking pictures since my life had reduced to surviving every single breath. I had kept them in wraps since. Never showed them to anyone.
That was always her measure of the genuineness of a smile. She and her best friend once had a conversation where she had claimed she could pick all the genuine smiles in the hall. "How?" her best friend asked. "It's simple. A true smile reflects in the eyes." she would answer.
Call me crazy. Call me wind, Call me mad. Call me a gypsy soul, Call me a nomad!
Have you ever looked death in the eye. Did you notice how diseased, frail and weak it is? Did you notice how it couldn't look you back in the eye? Did you see how it wanted to apologize, to say sorry? Did you notice, it itself was tired. Too tired. Begging for forgiveness. Fragile. Weak. [...]