Chaat Masala

[allmymetaphors]

ppl always ask me “”what are you going to do with your degree”“ and ““if you wanna get a PHD how do you plan on paying for it”“ and ”“where are you gonna move after college”“ but here is the thing:

i am very powerful and cute and im gonna float through this world one day at a time. please leave me alone. 

[shameneh]

mad girl’s love song- urdu translation

Aankhain band karti hoon, aur dunya thamm si jaati hai

Kholoon tou dobara chal parti hai

(Shayad tumhain mainay khayalon main janna ho)

Taaray jhoomtay hain, laal-o-neel

Aur ajeeb si siyaahi daurri chali aati hai.

Aankhain band karti hoon, aur dunya thamm si jaati hai

Mainay khuabon main dekha tum kisi

Sehar se mujhay lehaaf main le aatay ho

Aur gaatay ho jaisay chaandni,

Aur pagalpann tak chaahtay ho.

(Shayad tumhain mainay khayalon main janna ho)

Khuda girrta hai aasmaan se, dozakh ki aag bujh jaati hai

Gaye seraphim aur iblees k banday.

Aankhain band karti hoon aur dunya thamm si jaati hai.

Socha thaa tum lauto ge, jaisay tum ne kaha thaa

Parr umar beet gayi aur ab tumhara naam bhool jaati hoon

(Shayad tumhain mainay khayalon main janna ho)

Mujhay ishq karlena thaa ik humma se;

Jab bahaar aati hai, woh pukaarti tou hai.

Aankhain band karti hoon aur dunya thamm si jaati hai

(Shayad tumhain mainay khayalon main janna hai)

Mad Girl's Love Song

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my lids and all is born again.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,

And arbitrary blackness gallops in:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:

Exit seraphim and Satan's men:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,

But I grow old and I forget your name.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;

At least when spring comes they roar back again.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

[shameneh]

karachi aur baarish

i want to taste the summer on your tongue and have lightning strike my spine as your fingers find their way to my monsoon rains this love affair is torrid

my heat rises ground up asphalt hot under scorching skies under smoke and dust i lay aching to cool down. these concrete jungles on my surface, i am heavy

you come to me in broad daylight sometimes under night skies trembling arms welcome you my body is not sure of how to welcome you but you are welcome

once in 6 months once a year once every few years you never fail to come for me on me, in me spilling over me my streets flood with your showers cold i am cold

you come to me at times running into me at times crashing into me but you always come around an old lover, a long time friend we see days of togetherness when everything within me darkens i am enveloped in your scent wet, earthy, green and grey day turns to night when you are with me frenzied spurts then pitter patter; i am drenched

but when you come you bring your violence too you bring the force that helped you get here you come down on me my body my streets i am your home for a night but my bones ache under your weight you are loud you are bright you are dark you are quiet and when you are done, i am dirty

dirty, flooded, spilling over the heat is gone but the gloom returns it stands at the doorway watching us a spectator to this love affair it waits for its turn it knows, it knows too well what happens to my being when you vanish without a trace i dry up, pick up the pieces and carry on.

-Karachi aur Baarish, A love story

[clbunce-deactivated20190405]

Gutted to learn that Ursula Le Guin, author of the Left Hand of Darkness, A Wizard of Earthsea and Lathe of Heaven passed away this week. She has probably inspired me more than any author. I had this little goal that after I published my first novel, I would write to her personally and thank her for being such an inspiration.

Rest in peace Ursula.

[shameneh]

growing boy

[shameneh]

summer days like those

one summer after lunch at my grandmother's best friends house a movie plan was made and 3 taxis full of women left their houses on an adventure- my mother and aunts and daadi crammed into two cabs, hot and stuffy my brother and I in the passenger seat while the driver amazed us by speaking near fluent English we all journeyed forward to the infamous Capri cinema, a troupe of women and children upper middle class, mind you mingling with people of all sorts in a red cinema room with grey steps outside spittle and paan stains betel juice everywhere , popcorn on the ground a hoot and a woohoo with every intimate scene as intimate as one can get on the Pakistani silver screen. the movie was strange action and romance a heated affair between Reema and Shaan Lollywood in its full galore finishing the movie we all rushed to the door and caught more cabs but weren't done for the day the ladies all wanted more time over chai and we got off again at some roadside café less fancy than it sounds it was tables and chairs on the ground doodh patti in tiny cups, us children were happy to be on the road much like the grown ups we sat and watched people go by a step beyond heavily sheltered lives we took in each sound each smell and each sight who'd know when we'd experience such delight? the streets were ours, just women and their kids and by no exaggeration we were all in fits

[kataflush]

[inkskinned]

when i was 12 i babysat this girl for a few years and she would come to me and show me her art, drag me by my wrists and point at the pieces she’d made during the week. and she’d be like “do the voice” and i’d put on a sports-announcer olympics-style voice and be like “such form! this level of coloring! why i haven’t seen such perfection in crayola in a long time. and what is this? why jeff, now this is a true risk… it seems she’s made … a monochrome pink canvas…. i haven’t seen this attempted since winter 1932… and i gotta say, jeff, it’s absolutely splendid”  and she’d fall back giggling. at the end of every night she’d check with me: “did you really like it?” and i’d say yes and talk about something i noticed and tucked her in.

she was just accepted into 3 major art schools. she wrote me a letter. inside was a picture from when she was younger. monochrome pink. 

“thank you,” it said, “to somebody who saw the best in me.”

[kerenvaisblay]

I just cried.

[matvrity]

THIS IS THE CUTEST THING EVER

[wnq-writers]

I was made from his rib bone Magma Blood flow I was Eve with the apple To summon the devil Imperfect perfection Cannot learn my lesson This was the intention Behind my creation Mary of Magdala His soul hears me calling The stones thrown And Fallen Evolution revolving Like a Phoenix I raise him But the ashes don’t phase him Enraged and jaded I was made to persuade him For centuries praying Shapeshifting and fading Our Parallel paths Separated for ages Transcend through his dreams I am there while he sleeps His heat that I seek My wings become weak His need bleeding me This utopian dream Muse in the flesh Requiem death With me

Poetic Angel (via wnq-writers)

[just-shower-thoughts]

Willy Wonka sent out his chocolate bars worldwide, and 5 white kids (4 with first-world problems) still won.

[bogleech]

To be fair, his goal was apparently to send a stern warning about the evils of entitlement by murdering them in ironic ways.

[classicalmonoblogue]

Also, the rich, spoiled, first world white kids aren’t presented in the story as having gotten the tickets by chance, the story is very clear that they and their families used their privilege and power to game the system - taking what was initially presented as a random selection and cheating by leveraging their disproportionate resources - wasting mountains of chocolate in pursuit of gold…

[wakaflackalypse]

Willy Wonka and the Discourse Factoty

[desi-and-all-that]

During desi weddings.....

normal desi girls: omg we have to go to the parlour, get our hair done, buy the perfect lehenga, buy matching shoes and accessories and blah blah blah….. gotta start dieting so that we can outdo everybody else, blah blah blah…..

me: just gotta wear a loose salwar kameez so i can eat howmuchever the hell i want.

[shameneh]

prayer.

for the first time in months today i prayed. i prayed with my heart, i went back to the start. i stayed bowed before a god i’m not sure i believe in a god i’m not sure believes in me. but i kneeled and bowed and surrendered and let god’s much attested-love flow through every fibre of my being. i cannot pray like clockwork, prayer must flow through me. i’ve lost faith, i’ve lost belief, but today i thought i’d let my grief be voiced before this Force that may provide a remedy. my heart spilled words unsaid i asked God if She had given up on me as easily as I had given up on Him and got no answer. i stayed in prostration asking question after question for the universe, from the universe. worship is not a habit, worship is love and love never has just one face God is not just yours or mine to take to claim a truth to to each their own for God is in mosques and temples and forests and cities in hearts and bodies not just a rug or string of beads and my faith may not be strong, but it heals

[shameneh]

seasons

I change with the seasons (thats 5 times a year, where i live) and blend with the air shed my thickening skin   goosebumps on its surface as my blood rushes beneath rising to the touch to the feel I breathe in the sticky sweet mango summer and feel the heat beat down on me it stretches on and on like I stretch out wasting away melting in time the days endless the nights hot like the heat inside of me, too much time not enough to do the monsoon, when it comes, if it does at all like a tired old friend checking up before life picks up again washing down on me washing off of me while my pores yearn to absorb every drop of the cold but the rain just draws out the heat of the earth that's been dry and heavy all these months. but sometimes cloudy skies are all that we get and we wait for the monsoon that tends to forget its yearly visit home; that friend that went away and never came back whole. then we forget those friends for a while as the heat decides to return like a fickle lover desperate to hold on but can't stick around very long, fading out into the air as autumn settled down like a new prospect with old strings the familiarity of it like going home revisiting my childhood without having left home. the air cools down and the earth begins to yellow with the passing of seasons and the passing of time wilting leaves turning brown falling to the ground --maybe that's why they call it fall? fall brings you back to me you are the past the memories I hold so dear in my shawl in my sweater you are my favorite weather because autumn you are gray skies and crisp air you are the banyan trees, more magnificent than they stand all year you are nostalgia and missing lost friends you are a memory of the lover that never was but mostly you are childhood and years gone by as you go by so fast. winter is bleak I'm lazy and tired and waiting for the year to end it is the last leg of another 525,600 minutes survived by some miracle. it is tame some days, wild on others sharp cutting wind, chapped lips sealed shut in the silent calm of quiet nights and early evenings cosy beds and chick flick marathons the nostalgia is nauseating I yearn for home as it was how I remember but nostalgia is a liar but I just want to not feel like I'm missing, reminiscing what I can't recall because it feels real to me as real as early bed times when the sun was still up and morning cartoons growing up time never stops it goes as fast as twilight turns to dusk and twilight to dusk is autumn to winter and winter to spring and spring to summer and spring is alive because colour and warmth are thawing out and filling in what winter did and spring is new and I am new and I am sprouting bougainvillea and morning glory creeping up and down the walls and ledges in vines and hedges of my old home my beloved home that dons its best dress to welcome its longest staying, every changing guest: me.

[shameneh]

sunday morning

Sunday morning thoughts of stairways and highways and running away on escapades of rivers of skin tributaries of veins spilling over their banks like I am spilling over my banks the tide is too high sometimes but it washes me clean seals shut my wounds the way salt water would never have the taste of salt fills my mouth as these thoughts fill my head I am taken back to a familiar place in the backseat of a car windows foggy unlike my memory a memory I just want to erase it's a race against time time is fleeting that stupid cliche says but it's a cliche because it's true too you can't fight the truth I have no fight left in me, I can't swim against the tide I am close to drowning in the waves or I am close to floating just bobbing along the current ebbing and flowing in and out of me I break out of this reverie - reality the fucking bird outside my window won't let me sleep I hate birds but maybe that hatred stems from fear of being pecked and flapped in the face or maybe because when things don't suit them, the feathery fuckers fly away Damn I'm hungry but I'm thinking of starving myself less hate for myself if I'm happy with how I look because how I feel does not seem to be changing whether I stay hungry or comfort eat.

[shameneh]

Lal Lipistick

Lal lipistick laga k sarak paar Kar k tou dikha Cheer phaar daingi nazrain unn mardon ki jo teri izzat pey ungli uthayen gey Tu jo chaadar orr ley jitna chahay jism dhaank ley, inhain kuch nahin rokk payega, jhaank lain gey Inn ki aankhon ki thandak teray jism ki jhalak hai Chahay jitna rokk ley tu sukoon milayga inn ko Tera sukoon cheen k Teray munh sey gaali teri honton ki laali jitni hi pasand aayegi inn ko Tera haqq inn ki muthi main hai Teri kalayi bhi iss hi muthi main pakar lain gey Lal lipistick laga k sarak paar Kar k tou dikha Mard ki duniya main aurat ki jagah kahan?

[shameneh]

(ex) best friends

Looking through old pictures (something I do often), I realise: We're not even the same people anymore. Whether that's a good thing or bad, I can't say But the only thing I know is that I miss it all. That time and those people (had)their ups and downs and the times that followed were wonderful in their own right; But there's an emptiness that throbs, a pulse of its own. It kinda sometimes hurts to see what was and what could have been It's too late to start over, to take back what's been said and done But never too late to tell you: You once mattered to me very much and that will never change, No mountains divide us no rivers to drown The truth is I don't even remember what went wrong But it's too late now isn't it, to be saying such things? When all's been forgotten Happier songs we now sing. So here's to you my old best friend my partner in sorrows in joys and in the bliss of nothingness my person my prison I'm setting myself free Of all the thoughts that died in my head It's never too late to say what I need. My heart still beats, I'm not yet dead. ⁠⁠

[shameneh]

i am a brown woman 

your feminism is not for me 

it is not mine 

and i am not used to taking things from other people

the way you are 

i have to fight all the time to breathe the way i do 

freeing my nipples is not important when 

i am not free to venture beyond my street 

unaccompanied 

i am a brown woman and 

i will not just take your version of freedom lying down 

i will rise above and form my own 

i don’t need your hand-me-downs 

i need you to accept me 

but i don’t need your validation 

mother earth is in my colours 

she urges me on 

i don’t need your feminism 

i need your sisterhood 

i’m used to working harder for what i want 

i am a brown woman after all