Just got TAGGED

So here it goes:

I am : an artist. a writer. an accountant. a girl. (now dont get me started on this one!)

I think: thats why i am single.

I know: that i know nothing.

I want: the answers of all my wayward question!!!! and of course thick hair on scalp.

I have : a perfect life from their’s angle. from mines? there is nothing as perfect, we humans are very thankless..

I Wish : if i were a little better, spiritually, religiously, metamorphically!! Alhamdolilah.

I hate : nothing and noone, you cant change/improve anything by merely hating. its about Loathing.

I miss : year 2006.

I fear : my deeds and the monster in me.

I feel : hence i live/write/love.

I hear : what you say and what you hide.

I crave : for a purposeful living.

I search : for myself, but in vain.

I wonder: at the bountiful surprises nature bestow upon me.

I regret: loving people who were not worthy of it.

I love: my peeps, my flesh/blood/bones, family of cource. and everyone else. I’m someone who is always willing to love others.

I am not: an ignorant fool, despite i look like one.

I dance : at tunes of life!

I Sing : my sad lonely song.

I cry: because i feel.

I don’t always: lament.

I fight: I never fight.

I write : because i should. because i have a pregnant mind, always bearing words.

I win : seldom.

I lose : often.

I never : listen to mom [:p] (she tells so)

I always: forgive and *sigh* forget.

I confuse : the names of people. I’m a confuzzled person, so its alright.

I Can usually be found : thinking or using lappy/net.

I need : miracles!

I am happy about: my brothers and parents!

I imagine: all of us together (that’s a sane imagination, I cant dare put my insane ones)

Last, steve, I’m sorry that’s the first time I’m tagged so no idea if I am up to the mark or what.

I tag Shugufta and Nin 🙂

Continue reading



I felt my body languishing beneath the burning water. I saw the cuticles curling and the skin around my nails was white, wrinkled and dead.
I would then savor the ecstatic bliss of tearing it off with my pointed teeth and enjoying them. It was weird, wild and wilder.
It was like eating away your own flesh, perhaps my other futile attempt to scorn my self-detest.
It had a strange gentle sensation – a corner of your lip and the fingernails.

Although no one can commit suicide biting ones own flesh but I think I, very slowly, with others perfectly oblivious of it, am becoming a monster deep within!


The dormant necrophiliac monster is looming inside of me, silently and cautiously. Whence it came from? I don’t know, but it did, and that’s it. Its like a complete chick breaking the fully hatched egg… it presses the thinner end, “click” it crack open, and slowly but inevitably the whole egg-shell is broken into pieces and the chick comes out.

My skin is all peels. The hidden monster laughs a hideous laugh when i drag myself in front of the mirror. I can hear the eruption of wild laughs in my chuckles. I witness the venomous tentacles the monster is throwing in the air… floating back and forth.

It exist in me, like the bitter scum that is an integral part of cucumber, present but not apparent, like a dark gray blob of ink on black bed-sheet – existing, but perfectly hidden from their eyes. The monster in me breaths, eats, sleeps and nourishes itself inside of me.. That so sophisticatedly rebels from the igneous orders I give it.


july 07, 2007

Rejected Creases!

She stood at the threshold, aloof, with blushed cheeks (more of rouge than of anything else), kohl eyes (dreamless eyes that can hold the seas in them, of tears, of emotions, of regret, of anything but dreams.) and lips melting into mirthless robotic smile of the recipient (with thick hair neatly plaited) of that financing bank, but she was not the recipient and she didn’t have thick plaited hair. yet, She wore pink shapely lipstick over her unshaped lips, (that are forced to smile at her unwelcome guests) and stood there more disintegrated and more dissimilated than she appeared to be.

No one would ever see the wetness of the freshly cried off tears. But the wrinkles of her crumpled cheeks lamented a foreign weird tale of grief and melancholy (blurry enough for the world to be oblivious of, and vivid enough for the ignorant!) Clad in baby pink shirt, embellished with pearls (she did this her self!) the dress too beautiful with a long dupatta (tidily wrapped around the head, less of modesty and more because of the falling hair and lizard-tail plait made up of ashen-brown, as if burnt, hair) and a chooridaar. Too beautiful a dress that could have looked lovelier hanged onto the hanger, than on her dreadful body. It dangled oddly over her, as if complaining on its gruesome fate! Her wearing it; had made it look less adorable -perhaps hardly adorable at all.

She stood there vacuously, under the stern scrutiny, being gauged by two pairs of noxious eyes – the length of her index finger, (short! Disapproved) shape of her toe-nail (curled! Disapproved), worth of her gold-bracelet (cheap! Disapproved), teeth on her lower jaw (pearl-white! But… disapproved). Her every gesture, her every leaning (and not leaning – why?) had been inspected! Few meters away, in front of a decorously set table, which bore the empty saucers, showing signs of freshly baked cake and patties (home made!), her special samosas, and other fruits, were sitting the garrulous flaunting mother, (the size of his car, the shape of his labeled coat, the weight of his pocket on the 1st night of the month) and her patronized child, hair slicked back as if with spite, an oversized coat with loosely hung pants, as if borrowed.

A pair of haunting hawk eyes and a pair of hungry eyes, (as if never fed with good food!). This scene had been rehearsed so many times that now she could even predict the movements. The hideous women, with crumbs of biscuit and cake on the corner of their lips and greed in their eyes, the women who would gloat over their dominant position, who would boast off their child’s status, his immaculate taste and choice, women, who smell of rotten apple when speak and who would never find the secretive path that led to her beautiful heart (a crystal clear heart has to bear a attractive face – some one had said it utterly wrong).

Hideous pompous women that could never probe the depths of her seas and could never reach the skies of her thoughts, who would only see the apparent ugliness of her, the cripples wrapping sheet in which her dreamy enchant lay virgin! And not her way-too-perfection that lies beneath her plain bodily flaws! No one can ever see her mesmerizing beauty within. Blinds – fiends – Morons !! The little green frog, remained the little green frog, the coward kitten waited behind the curtains, reluctant to come in the limelight. The mother and the child stood up, nodding! The handsome child would marry a white-skinned, rosy-cheeked and long-thick-haired princess! No one saw that the queen of illusionary world, a princess of the lost land of Atlantis, had a very delicate heart bearing a tag, “Handle With Care” No one noticed that another (yet another!) sly crease had crept on her cheeks, a permanent mark of being rejected again!

Mistress of Spice (i) culinary adventure

I am a lover of spice; I grew up drinking directly from lemon, enjoying hot sauces and munching chilies.

Mom still thinks that I have not properly developed taste buds and hence I’m abnormal in one way, One way because my father is almost an equal freak of spice. I call it heredity.

My adoration for smells and spices grew with me, and I ended up becoming persistently intense about food, someone who’d overeat when she’s angry, overeat even in sadness/happiness and overeat in celebration. I over eat in every occasion of my life and i called it sheer greed.

I am a type of a person you might even hear die of over eating. Food to me is, always, intriguing and delicious-looking, tantalizing my taste buds! Hence I eat like crazy. And later on discovered that my taste buds are a bit more developed than the rest, I am a super-Taster.

About the picture, actually this is how I celebrate food, because i really do celebrate it. These are my accessories with it. Colorful isnt it? The good with spice is that it comes in very appealing color and with enriched smells.

On a second note i have also decided to add the recopies of them and hoping that this might make one’s day.

the red chutni, or the Chilli chutni as we prefer to call it is the most yummiest thing.

I grind red chilies, few cloves of garlic and lemon juice with a pinch of salt, and water. And here it is.

The green chutni.

I’ve blended coriander leaves, garlic cloves, green chillies, cumin seeds, salt, anardana, (pomegranate seeds powdered) and lemon/unripe mangoes in it.

Spiced Chillis, or Bhari huwi mirchain

dry-grind coriander seeds with salt and fennel (sounf), and fill it in chillies, (you can tie it with thread as well) fry with loads of lemon/viniger.

Lemon pickle.

cut the lemons in four, and mix it well with turmeric and salt and put them in the sun for two days, (they’ll leave water) put them in oil in an air tight jar in the sun for another 10-12 days, enjoy!

vinegar-with-onion is the simplest, cut onion, dip them in vinegar and enjoy [:P]

now, everyone know how to make simple salad? and well, the other pickle is not home made, i cant make everything myself after all.

enjoy the spice 🙂


Ps. This was to be eaten with Khatti Biryani (Spiced/sour rice) Maybe I’ll tell its recipe later :p

the girlish day and summer curse!!

I had a perfect girl day today,cooking, baking, cleaning mopping, dishing, even painting and embroidery. my summer treat.
when i last painted something? around an year ago. i wonder how could i remain so intact and inactive in all these months, may be because i painted less and learnt other art stuff? may be because my focus was on varied things and may be because of the morbidity i awfully went through. what ever was that, i am glad i am over it now! i thought making rotis would be a monotonous job, but found it incredible, guess i am really on learning and improving terms these days. may be because i am off net! when was i last blogged? when was i last opened notepad and wrote something? when was i last emailed and send the pictures accrued? what is the growing current size of my inbox? am i interested in such stuff anymore? – may be not! (i miss my lonliness!)

but i painted through out the night…all mediums. water, oil, glass, fabric… loved it. The energy is really bubbling up in me, the creative muse poking deep inside, couldnt sleep at all.. so woke up and painted. helped soothing the aesthetic monster inside of me. felt a lot relived! i’m finally ending projects i started eons ago.. mama’s all happy, i hope she remains this way. today was hence a perfect sunday! i have a law test tomorrow, company is tougher and trickier than business law and tax! may be i want to cook and clean, may be i want to keep painting and stiching, than drooping the head down in the lifeless pages of CL book! may be. but the more career oriented me took over, and i hate the transformation.
i love doing the house chores, may be accounts not really what i want to do! may be i do..

the piece turned out to be too good MashAllah, called it “verdent bliss” providing me with another maxim: “growing up means improving, even when you dont practice”.

traditions, cultures, norms!! sometimes i desperately want to escape. *sigh* Only if I were allowed to live life my way, i would have grabbed my paints and run away, i would have painted life and decor it with food and threads and sounds of innocent laughters… i would have added turquoise and violet tinges to my painting.. the cools in summers!! and i would have painted you red!

(when was the last time i said three consecutive lines without a may-be in it? !! last week on monday, at 5 pm? may be!!)

June 03, 2007

ps. right after one year, on yet another sunday June 07, 08. i also had a similar day, i was digging up my pile and wondered how interesting, hence posting it here with the painting i painted that day. will write about the later day some other time maybe 🙂

DTD – a perpetual Curse.

Chronicles of DTD! – The perpetual curse.

I’m telling a story to my little ones about a cherubic fairy who was entangled and cursed by two demons. Unfortunately there was no way of unjinxing herself so she had to leave fairyland, and that was once upon a time.

Once upon a time, she had a senior who would tell her about her predictable tedious fate and she, not being old enough to probe the depths of his words and wisdom, would laugh heartily in her silliness… Continue reading

little Beast.

she was a little girl, unlike other little girls from whom you expect gentle behavior, neat attire, pleasing manners, and polite accounsting “Mamma! i have made my bed and cleaned my closet”. she was different, way too different. her hair would always be ruefully disoriented, her mud clad self was too crude for a girl of her age (grown-up enough to take care of herself, to write her name and to discern between the whats-nice and whats-not-so-nice, although she never even once intended to accept it) her manners were too savage and she would pick her nose in public and would not be ashamed of it. she said to me once that she was different, that she knew, what she didn’t know was that she was rude, impolite and very wild to consider urbane too.

she was younger to me, almost 15 years, that means when i was 24 she was 9, when i was 25 she was 10, and she thought ten means someone so big, TEN, it did sound too grown-up like, it also had two digits in it, 1 and 0 and she thought 0 was a real big number, adding one zero to any number make it so big. she thought that ten meant she has grown one fifty times in one years, but she didnt like 25 she wanted me to skip this year and directly go on to the next 26, which she thought was better to 25. as if growing 150 times in a year was really possible. as if skipping years out of life is something that can be done. as if living the way you want to live is achievable. as if.

she would share with me things too, which she said she would not tell to others. why it was so, i could never comprehend. she might have found her own reflection in my grown up self, and if it was something else, she didnt tell me.

she was then too young to probe the attitude variances, to answer the plathora of whys and ifs that poped in her head, to judge the indifference people had for her. her no-body-ness to them, and since nobody care for nobody, nobody cared for her. she was not allowed to intermingle her peers. she was just to climb up the grill, dangle her feet (a little larger than the feet of normal girl of her age.), rub her cheeks against the post but Nought to play.

she would keep watching children playing hopscotch and would keep on making illusionary friends. I probably was her only real friend. she would never play with dolls, because she was different and never played hopscotch because for that two players are needed and i was too grown up to play with her.

she was very clever and soon learned that loneliness itself is a bliss, and that two “w’s” water and writing always help.

i dont know if she had written stories to cover to or painted because colors are ecstasy, i guess she must have because she was a good learner and she must have understood these.

i know, because i did the same too, she? my oddball, i smile in the mirror.

Feb 07, 2007

ps. wrote it in notepad and in one go, hence all the spelling mistakes are pardonable :p