Beauty Personified

In tribute to a person who though was only assigned to teach us academia but taught us so much more. This piece saw its first draft on 21st August 2017 when I had the opportunity to once again sit in her class and observe her interact with a new batch of students and see them as inspired by her as we still are. With love, for Miss Qurrat-ul-Ain Raza!
Define beauty anew! Define it through her; In how she sits surrounded by eager vessels Pouring forth her wisdom in words. Arousing the silent, slumbering minds with just an insight into the ‘House of Cards,’ That lounges so peacefully in their sight; the sight that has never till now been taught to tear asunder the weak foundations of all that has been layered in front of it for years. This ‘House of Cards’ she teaches them, is not all! She takes them by their hands, pulling them across the damping overcast pall And this theatric reveal of the world beyond all occurs in that room; Where I sit and silently observe, Observe unobtrusively a…

Helpless We Stand!

How helpless is the man in face of death, how humbling an experience this encounter is, for nature does not let you linger long on your grief, does not allow you to break away disillusioned from the temporal existence of the world. We may abandon food for a day, every morsel a banal lump enforced into our mouths, but within three days, the fog descends again, clouding our eyes so that we again forget our own inevitable demise that hogs our lifeline, cutting it short. Within three days, our baser desires resurface, gradually then growing into the hedonistic monsters that keep us so busy in the seek of the unachieveable satisfaction.
Yes, we cry. For long we cry. In vain we cry. Alone we cry. We cry commemorating the anniversaries of our grief - daily, monthly, yearly - we mark days on the calendar, the days we survived,the days our grief was not powerful enough to overcome us, the days life again won - and grief took a sideline. We count days and months of when for the others our grief…

Dissolving Boundaries!

Brought about by confusion
When we latch onto pain for so long
That then things stop making sense.
And from behind the veil of suffering, the word ache blurs into achay
Leaving me confused evermore
And I pondered over it
Over what tickled her to ask me to write on achay (nice) when I was in pain
Inattentive to anything remotely good around
And I tried unsuccessfully to blend the word achay with meaningful English words.
My efforts were comical-
Not sliding easily from the tongue
Struggling against the gulf of "irshaad" and "silence of anticipation;"
Two cultures;
One that appreciated talent with raucousness, appreciating, encouraging-
Satisfied with the artist knowing the art
Invigouring the mehfil with echoes of "waah waah."
The other culture more benign,
Silently beseeching the artist to preach
And through rapt attention they would learn,
Trying to master words as the artist uttered
Considering the talent not imbued from birth,
Or at least not limited to that
So they in…

CHANGE: as my perception of change, changed!

In the past year so much changed,
So much so that words have failed,
Relegated into hollow silence,
Of unrealized sentiments
Sentiments had they been translated,
They would have spoken of increasing unfamiliarity.
We might have shared our past
At one time,
In one place,
But no longer do we choose to share our lives
We choose not to lay ourselves open,
Raw to scrutiny
Because may be we fear we have changed
And change had never been so ominous,
So uninvited,
Than it is today.
Maybe, maybe because we ourselves do not like the change we cultivated,
And we fear had this change be realized
We all will break,
So it’s easier to slowly drift away,
Afloat on the arms of time,
To peacefully let these relations recede back into the expanse of cherished memories
Without the tumult that comes with recognized differences
Preserving the illusion of a strong bond
That never faltered
Until life came in
Knocking persistently with its far more pressing demands
On our scarce time
And thus we c…

CHANGE, Seen Through An Optimistic Blind!

Written almost two and a half years ago (in 2014)

What is Change? Nothing Strange, Change- When from earth a shoot breaks free. Change: When it grows into a tree. Change: When then the ground it again meets.

But its change minor that matters most. A seed sprouts when negligent in the soil, A forest brought about by saplings many, A flower so delicate when ripens into a fruit, It’s all a change minor, but it matters the most.
A child born is hope An evil boy, spanking can do nothing about- But ever even a little act of kindness, Can light a candle in his soul: Warming him. And from evil changing his course.
Big is the change that is seen, Whether it be from barren to green Or from being evil to becoming a human being, Small is the difference by which it is brought- It is in fact change small that can really change all.
Image source:

"Morality is a private and costly luxury." Henry Adams

"Morality is doing what is right regardless of what you're told."Morality is the ability to distinguish between what is right and wrong. However when we talk about morality, we not only allude to that knowledge but the then overpowering urge to adhere to righteousness, which is in actual the import of possessing morality.: To be able to align yourselves with what you consider right.
Henry Adam considers this sense of discretion to be a luxury.. a word we have oft heard in regards of expensive indulgences that provide comfort but are not essential for survival or even for a moderately comfortable life. So when he dubs morality to be a luxury what does he actually mean? Does he mean morality is expensive but then how so because we are not charged money for our decisions or per say?? Or does he mean that morality comes bearing comfort? If we scale morality against the word luxury as we often describe it, then it appears that morality does yield comfort. It does so by relievi…

Read Stories in Your Being!

Books tell tales.
We often talk about how books preserve stories from another time, era or region allowing you to experience what the writer went through and the mindset his ideas originated from.
But how often do we consider that the book may be confidante of the reader's life? How often do we consider that the book may be entrusted with another life, another tale within its pages, privy to itself alone, and thus the story becomes all the more precious for its claim on individuality.