the world bleeds

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Its a beautiful day, as it is Saturday i decided to pick up the newspaper and sit under the flower tree and read the newspaper. As i flipped through the articles. I concluded we are a dying world. And someway along the way we all have either decide its okay or simply we believe in miracles or star wars. But does that somehow justify our dying morals and values?

I don’t understand how the lens don’t break when capturing the moments of extreme pain of human kind. When it captures the rubbles which were once protection against the environment. It does not break, when fathers and protectors succumb to tears. the lens does not break when mothers and shields go frantic and lose sight of their charge. the lens does not break when a child and innocence instead of learning to play is pushed to the hone their animal instinct to identify food and eat. But the lens does n0t break, the lens goes home it produces hundred thousand dollar worth of portrait. We see it, we it again and again and we feels sorry till we know the story and we don’t need to read it again. We convince ourselves that they did something to deserve to be posted in most vulnerable moments of their lives.

I go back to drinking my tea, enjoying cool breeze on my skin, the lack of sun and cloud cover. I read little more and then I just think do those people feel breeze like I do, do they stop when they smell summer flowers. Do they have summer flowers? Do they stick their nose to the window smelling rain on soil. Do they have windows? My heart does not break, tears don’t come to my eyes. This is the moment i realize why the lens don’t break. Life is a wonderful thing it builds immunities to everything that it survives, eventually, maybe a little too well. It can’t break its heart with every vicious act and neither can I.  So I put away the newspaper, and lean back marveling the evening.



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The day is ending and i just had “mug” of tea. Few days ago someone told me that always observe everything from people to places. One of the thing that I these days most think about, how quickly time passes, even when it seem like to long. Its not time which is ever too long its the distance which can be.  So today.

It was just another hike and just another Sunday, same people and same trail, we have practically learned by heart, now.

But today we went a little further then we usually do, which is we pat ourselves for actually coming to a hike and go back half way through.

Some how today we decided not go back but actually make it to top. well it was worth it.

Islamabad was covered in Haze, i wondered for a long time why a city with pretty much ideal traffic situation, no industry and whose wake up time is only 12 hours would be quilted in it?


The feeling one gets while standing on a big rock at side of mountain it feel s good. Today i think destination was way better than path itself. Also nothing is as cool as writing one’s initials with coals and chalks like when we were kids. okay more like when i was a kid, so what if i am still doing it..

Margella hills people for all of these who have never been there have trails, which go “uphill” and because these trails have been cut in “hills” there are obviously rocky and even. So if you will come wearing heel s of any sort you probably will get applauded for that and if you come wearing a dress coat and people look at


When hiking alone, well more like some of your companions speed up and other fall back and trail is not you think about things. As much one’s enjoy company there are moments when just walking alone is fun. Its nearly like childhood summer’s when you go out to play, when parents are sleep. When you don’t care how much hot it is it. I think children don’t feel the same way like adults do.

i felt like that, when you fall hard and bruise your knee and nobody is there to watch you quickly get up dust off, and pretend the it was tone’s fault and you laugh at yourself and it is fun because nobody else does.


i think i know where Neverland idea came from, its all what you like to believe, the sun shining through branches, when you come across path which divides in two. 20160214_125805.jpg

We always choose archways and easy, over rocks and uncertainty. We do try to further our little fantasy not that we always achieve it. But it dos make smiling a lot more easy.

So i think i discovered why some people smile more than others. they can see all the little things which make walking down heaps of stones and while ones own shies are the cause of pain, and not always some one is there to help you down and that’s alright because serenity between bouts of life is worth it even if it cause few scrapes.


Tamasha the movie:”My personalized movie review”

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The thing about imagination is that it is incoherent. There is more visual approach to our imagination littered with junk of real life and stories and dreams and what we make up. Imagination is a beautiful thing. A crazy thing, a vivid thing. A thing that we need to make it through the day. Tamasha is a story of man who makes stories of stories. Who lives a story who is a story within himself.
We are two people, one is the person who we see ourselves to be, not really see but more like its the narrator of our brains. It how we think and respond to things the conversation we have with ourselves, the conversation we would have with people we are never going to meet.the things we want to say but never do. The conversation we have have with dead writers and kings and historians. The past that we imagine in our head. The picture of the different worlds and eras dinted with colors of what we know about things and what we think about things. Its a play in our heads, a play where there are similar faced character playing thousand different roles in thousand differnt scenarios. Juliet, laila, heer, sassi or any other heroine of a folk tale. The tale remains the same the place changes. Is not that a living proof of that we have same characters in our head but like hundreds of different scenarios the same story can play out. That’s Tamasha. Running the fine line between who we are in front of the world and who we are in empty house by ourselves. When you start talking loudly to people in your head when Ginn is out of the box, when sword is unseathed, when sun is covered by grey, when cherry blossoms bloom in Rawalpindi when possibility is just conjuring of  a thought away.
Tamsha is a lovestory but its more then that it a story of our deepest desire to know someone who sees us. Who really see the story we are part of. The story we made up. The story that even if put in a novel or movie or series would never be enough. Because in our stories we just can not be one thing. We have to be everything, every character we fall in love with, every era we live through. One novel can just not hold all that. A series of novels cant hold all that. People will never understand why the person who looked like a american teenager in last novel is now twenty something pakistani woman in this one and bella swan’s twin sister in third or a witch in age of Joan of arc or a warrior in ranks of mongols or a princess in mongols. It does not matter who and what your name is you are part of a story. But if you meet a person who see’s your point. Who can actually keep up with the fact that bella swan’s has a twin sister and that girl could easily be a Pakistani girl. Then your world falls out of balance. We had a god thing going this world and i. There was me and people inside of me. It was alright we were in a good place. Then someone sees all of us. My secret is out. They see me as one of them not as a normal person. Balance of my world rests upon this secret. The secret is out means they are out as they are the secret and then they take over, they are angry at me for hiding them for so long for lying to them that no one can see us but when that person see’s us that means there is something in this world some place where it is okay to have people inside you. They might not be real and may not be seen but that does not mean they dont exist and that they are not there.
Tamasha was perfect, i dont know how they did it but it was perfect. Not all of us have same imagination not same agaitation but there is this ismorphism between all of us imaginative lackeys the fine line between what we are and who we are. I loved the movie i smiled all through it. If you dont understand what they were talking about its alright. Its not your fault. One can not miss something they never had. One can never love something they never felt for. One can most definitely not understand someting they dont have any experiance of. Ranbir kapoor, i am no fan, but that man is one man show, everywhere else is just there to asist him. Depika Padukone is most natural actress. All in all i would not recommend. But i could relate to everything in this movie.

My imagination is Failing me

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I am looking at blank document trying to overcome my writer’s block. I have always written without ever having an end plot. It had worked out pretty well for me because once I started to write, the story always self-evolved.

Last year I was trying to write a story and it turned in to fabulous tale which everyone loved. That was my first success and was a completely unintentional one. After that I have written few stories which all were well liked.

Now I cannot write even I line without choking. I do not know why I am suffering from this heart wrenching writer’s block but it is making me feel inadequate.

I do not stand for much and do not have much to show for my one score of life. I never had a big academic achievement, always been a mediocre student. I do not have any skills like sewing, embroidery, cooking or baking. I am just a woman, who is just that.

One thing I do have are dreams, resolutions, ideas and aims. I have always wanted a position of power in civil services that is my dream and aim.  I want to help people, bring change. Not small change in lives but in the system. That is what I think about half of the time what will I do if I become a bureaucrat. Other half is spend in imagining different conversions with different people or conversations among the imaginary army of characters I have stored in my head.

Someone who spends so much time in different fragments of their own imagination they should be able to write, right? That is what I thought before I started to write but it is not that easy, not everything that I imagine is coherent or concrete enough to be written.

The thing about imagination is that we can skip many important details and trim it to our liking. Me, personally can never pen down my thoughts completely mainly because they are private fantasies mixed with ideals. So those thoughts are too private,cheesy, inappropriate, secret and mostly nobody’s business to know.

My philosophy is; imagination is gift, it is place we can escape to relax and release all our worries without any effort. The day your imagination fails you, you are in big trouble. And am in big trouble.