2013, By the roaring waves!, Confusion~ a new dimension!, My Writings

Third Side Of The Coin

It’s cold here.. quite cold actually. The road is busy, very. No one is willing to stop, they’re all busy running. Passing by too quickly, without wasting a ‘precious’ moment, as if they’ll lose a race. Race, yes. They’re all trying to run and win. But not all can win, do they know not? There have to be just one. Just One!

One – Two – Three – GO! And off they start, to end. They run with the whistle and keep running, for a million reasons. Perhaps the best of them, those reasons, is to shut those voices within. Voices inside, outside, shouts. Good way! Temporary, but good. Good for them if they like it.


All eyes glued on her, they were all spellbound by her magnificent beauty as she entered in the main hall. And she deserved it, she was worth all praise. A delicate model dressed in red, designer jora on her big day, that elegant look those make-up men had given her from the parlor, and her looks! The bride stunned them all.

“Just perfect!”, she heard someone call. Someone, she knew. Someone, whose voice was easily recognizable among all chaos, all audience. She lifted her head and looked around, but failed to spot the carrier, the source of that wonderful voice. He was nowhere among the crowd, then where had he spoken from?
‘Oh, heart!’, she whispered as she realized where.


“It is glass, fragile. But it ain’t in any way ordinary! What it holds inside is very, very precious. I’m handing it over to you because I know that it belongs there. Just make sure you keep it safely. I also understand your way back down is tough, but you’ll make it there, won’t you? The road is dark, but if you act smart, you will do it.”


The hall shrieked as she screamed, most of them covered their faces with their hands. She fell on the ground, shouting for help, yet no one dared to touch her.
The bride’s face had burnt, and was burning still. His acid spray had caused cracks, burns, wounds. Cracks.

They began to laugh, all of them. They danced, drank, played, circled her. She cried silently as she felt herself being dragged into that dark, horrible abyss.


He kept running and running until he finally reached his ‘destination’. He had attained whatever he had wanted, faster than those who were still running. They hadn’t won the race, he had. Maybe because they were so busy running that they forgot what they were running after.

Just one wins. He had won ‘nothing’, and yet everything was now in his hands.


‘Marvelous! Just splendid!’, he praised his skills. ‘Master, you’ve carved the pot wonderfully, and those paint streaks make it look all the more charming! How do you do this? Carve pots out of mud, add such colors, make it look so real? So real, so magical, just wonderful!’

‘I am willing to pay you whatever you ask for, please tell me what you’d like?’


She stumbled as a stone hit her on her way on that dark, concrete road but she managed to keep walking. She determined not to let her bottle fall, but fate had decided otherwise. Many stones were pelted on her, in a continuous manner, until she finally fell and dropped the glass bottle of mercury.

The liquid turned into soft, small, solid balls and scattered everywhere on the black road. She looked at them, devastated. They ran everywhere, like beads from a broken necklace, and finally spread themselves all over the dark road. They glistened and shined, playing with the pebbles, as she saw them again with awe.

Finally, she stood up and wiped her forehead where it had begun to bleed. Another short sequence of beads dropped on the ground, and mixed somewhere in the concrete, with pebbles, and maybe some mercury.

Now she knew why the bottle had belonged to her.


He wasn’t sure what was to be done, was he to keep his ‘masterpiece’ to himself or hand it over to him? Memories from the past flashed in front of him, and he found himself back in his childhood.

He adored his little, colorful bird. But he couldn’t cage her, because she said so. And he couldn’t trust her either, what if she flew away? She said she would never leave him, but he was too insecure because she was after all one of the most precious, loveliest birds ever created. So he held her carefully and cut her red and yellow wings with a scissor, most lovingly.

He smiled at his idea, at ‘God’s help’ and his instinct, and picked up his carved pot. Then he threw it far away with all his might and looked as it shattered into a million, unmendable pieces.


The End. [wtt]


33 thoughts on “Third Side Of The Coin

  1. hiba98 says:

    I never know what to say to you. I’m just a silent reader, and you really inspire me sometimes. I’m just commenting to let you know that I really do like your blog. I don’t usually comment, because…. Well, i don’t know. I just don’t. So please consider the ‘likes’ I give you more than just likes. Consider those as a fact that your blog is amazing, okay? 🙂
    Have a lovely day 😀

    • I remember saying this to somebody once. And this returning to me is quite a compliment. (: Thank you for your nice comment, silent reader. Just know that your presence here means a lot. And your ‘likes’ too. 🙂
      Have a great day ahead and keep visiting!

  2. You will have to pardon my ignorance, but I am a little (okay, a lot) confused. I understand that these are all separate situations (or am I wrong?)…but I am missing the connection (unless there isn’t supposed to be one). However, as snippets, each is a very well written piece that, as a reader, leaves me wanting more. While some make me wonder about the past of the character, others leave me desiring to know what the future holds. As I said, this all might be beyond my intellectual pay grade…but I like the writing style for sure.

    • 🙂 It is kinda nonsensical, separate stories and still connected. Paragraphs 1/5 2/4 3/7 6/8 are based on a total of four characters; the bride, the runner, the bird, and the craftsman.Thank you for reading, and leaving your valuable comments, though like kashkol, this wasn’t all that read-worthy either.
      You write complete stories, Wn, I leave them incomplete. Thank you for coming by! =)

      • I have to disagree with the fact that it wasn’t “read-worthy” (you should copyright this, I think you’ve coined an excellent term). Any piece of writing that leaves the reader wanting more, thinking about it long after they’ve read it, and that conjures up conversations about its style/purpose/inspiration, is a good read.

  3. So now I’ve read the whole thing… Even the bride wala part. I’m sure if i’d have “heard” it from you, i’d have covered my ears. But things are less scarier in written form. The guy was zalim anyway.
    And I get it. The title is perfect. The short pieces are continued and connected, in a way… They are the third side. But the connection is not very obvious, which I think, is kind of the point of the entirety of this post. Very well-written, I agree with Arindham, bandi novelist bn gae hae.

    • You’re the best! 🙂
      Hm, so you got it. I knew you would. The guy was zaalim anyway *laughs* bilkul. Thank you very much for your wonderful feedback, Moniba.
      Things are less scarier when written(!) 🙂 Novelist bol ke novels ki tauheen hojaegi, seriously. Ji, connected. 15 24 37 68. Thank you again.

  4. One of the most awesome pieces of writing!! Very brilliant! Metaphors abound…
    This page is opened as a tab for last 2 days. I’m re-reading it again and again…

    The third side of the coin. The perspective unseen, or perhaps something that’s realized too later…
    The destiny. – The future unknown – yet written. Uncertainty yet very certain.
    The irony – the gained material but lost essence.
    The score – not what’s praise worthy but one that’s worthy.
    The imagination, The reality and the mix of it turning one into the other.
    The satisfaction – for some in life, for some in world, for some in dreams, for some in delusion.
    (For whole) The bewilderment – not in complexity but in simplicity.

    Let me know if there’s anything that I’ve miss read or miss stated….
    Maria, First Urdu poem and then this…?
    What’re you still hiding in your sleeves??

    • Thank you Ali Sohani, for reading this. And not just for reading this, but actually taking what the third side was meant to be. Your comment is wonderful, and I don’t really know what I should respond with. Misread or misstated? I don’t think so.
      The satisfaction – for some in life, for some in world, for some in dreams, for some in delusion.
      The irony – the gained material but lost essence.
      The future unknown, yet written. Slaves of nature. Bounded by walls of imagination. Permanent complexity, or maybe not.
      Thank you for your time and appreciation, and for summarizing this in a much better way. 🙂

  5. Maria Bhuiii i have re-read this so many times but i am soo confused about what to comment. Matlab I have no words to appraise your work,always. masha’Allah. But before you go “bhuii you dont need think commenting here” speech, I will just speak out whats there in my mind.
    This one made cringe n smile( i dont remember when but I did smile, maybe i was taken aback by your skill).
    I don’t know if the stories are connected but I did connect them, scrolling up and down I re-read to connect them. This has got be by far one of my favourite pieces by you.
    I envy you when it comes to writing, Wish i could write like you. I’ll keep reading your stuff maybe ek din takkar dedoun LOL! Dont worrry takkar nai milne wali…i am nt talented or in your words “experienced” to write good jazbaati stuff.
    Keeep it up 🙂

    • Behadd thanks for all of this! For reading, re-reading, understanding and commenting. And staying around! (as in itna time is pe lagany ka!) 🙂
      Experienced se I meant wo philosophical wali baat that day, not that you were any less. You do know that your words inspire me and that they mean a WHOLE lot. Talented ka I know very well what you ARE. Amazing sis ❤
      Jazakillah again, rem in duas. (:

  6. He adored his little, colorful bird. But he couldn’t cage her, because she said so. And he couldn’t trust her either, what if she flew away? She said she would never leave him, but he was too insecure because she was after all one of the most precious, loveliest birds ever created. So he held her carefully and cut her red and yellow wings with a scissor, most lovingly.
    This is what we do usually, intentionally or unintentionally! My favorite part. 🙂 Beautifully written.

    • Yes, that’s how they do it. We do it. ‘Intentionally or unintentionally’. Glad you understood the context. Thank you! :’) 🙂

      Titli urrti nhi.. Kashkol, wo bharta nhi. Third side, ‘third side’ reh jati. But that’s how we do it.

  7. What a great pastiche.

    Excuse the indelicate question about technique but did you actually write all the parts in a sitting or piece it together from things you had written at different times?

  8. Pingback: Galway Art | litadoolan

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