2020, Confusion~ a new dimension!, Paintings and Scribblings, raw and rough

Hello, safe space?

Hmm. Here because everyone else shunned ya out? Uh-oh. Okay, what brings you here where you’re not even real. But reality can be so scary, you know that already. Never judge anyone on fearing it. For not being their harmless-for-others untrue self.

Still so complicated, your sentences. Ew. Told you I didn’t like poetry. The f with you.

Acha what brings you here then? Go on, I’ll listen. Wow, ehsaan much.

I read this poem from twenty seventeen. Was going through my archives to find something to letter. I did pick a line from it that you see in the photo above. And then put the poem in the caption. Read it out:

All our issues and one

Sometimes,
When I should be elsewhere
Inside Dreams,
I lay awake instead, and
Assemble a questionnaire in my mind:
Everything that I have now yearned too long to ask you, I would;
“This is going to be a very, very honest conversation,” I will say.
It’s our final friendly law.
A sudden surge of happiness like a reflection of seven colors on my sooted heart—
If you call me again I might at least find my name
And as we’re talking, I will ask— no harsh feelings, hey!— but why did you think it was okay to do what you did?
How many others have you scarred the same way?
Alas! In the back of my mind the colors shift
A curtain closes
Rubbing the drama away in one swift move:
How will I know if you won’t still be lying?


Idk if the ending feels as clear to me now. I remember knowing back then also that it was vague but for me the meaning was clear. How will I know if you wont still be lying, huh? Ajeeb matlab. Duh.

ANYWAY. I’m ranting to not think but I’m thinking all sorts of things. With so much speed that it’s hard to catch up. Painful that I can’t take your and your and your name. Matlab pagal hi bana diya.

Sigh. My bud-dua or yours? I remember this other poem — feels like another life when I wrote those but hey, — and it talked about the dua part will remain even after nothing else does. And then I think I mocked it in the same tone. I totally meant the mocking, you know? Because you’d think it’s a “good dua” while it might not be? And other meanings so f it too.

It’s such an important day I don’t want to use a wrong word. Especially when I’ve kept the decency salamat so far. eh tainting the image now? No please. Wont even dare.

Phew. All our issues and one. This late night. This needed apology. This lack of understanding. And not me. For once, I’m not the issue.

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2020, By the roaring waves!, Passages

University and some

maria_randomlyabstract

Looking out of my department’s window

University has been one of my favorite experiences. Both studying there and teaching there. It has a special place in my heart.

We friends loved the landscape there. Before I got admission, I remember my cousin telling me on the phone that there was nothing “stunning” about UOK but that the nature of that place, the walls and the jungle, will get to the poet in me. That there was no perfect infrastructure but there was something I would be able to relate to, and I did fall in love with it so her words were cent percent true.

I remember writing in the weirdest spaces, solitary and among crowds. Exploring trees, languages, verses, people, art and spirituality.

Without trying, I also return to thinking about a specific room in the university and a specific person who has impacted me in a way – I guess I just cherish it all but wish I could do more.

A lot of things happened in those years. Things I wish I could pull down from my memory and put in words, like how Dumbledore caught a streak in his wand and placed in the Pensieve. Alas, such memories are so elusive. But also, I am not even trying yet. They are where they are.

And that’s how I deal with memories. Revisiting, but not entirely.

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2020

For all you women out there (here)

calligraphy of word "aurat"

I want to say so much to you today. I want to thank you for your resilience and congratulate you for not giving up despite the small and HUGE oppressions women in our society face everyday. It’s not just strangers who try overpowering us, sometimes we’re silenced or ridiculed by the closest ones.

Happy women’s day to you. You are not a gaali, joke, puzzle, candy, debate topic, burden, issue. You are human and you’re precious. May you only find powers of goodness every coming day. 🌟

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2020, Paintings and Scribblings

I will go where my soul takes me

Putting my story in front of this huge canvas painting to appreciate the correlation between these two subjects — modes of art — and the spiritual connotation of each. “I will go where my soul takes me…” which I painted to show a juxtaposition of two realms, and a story showcasing the imagery of another world – with a dying man and a prophecy of eternity. ✨

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By the roaring waves!

where songs die

When I miss you I simply return to the pond in the garden and stand there for hours. I see our reflection there, in the clear water, you standing right beside me your shoulder touching my shoulder, our entire wujood smiling. Melting in pure happiness. A sense of shukr, a belief of togetherness, an unbeatable satisfaction. No fear, no tear, and look at me now.

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2019, Passages

dream, soul, what

I saw you in a dream. Again. How many times I think about taking your name but dust it off, it’s not possible. It’s not good. It’s not useful either.

I saw you in a dream again and it was so real. Like our two separate lives. Manind e Khushfehmi. I ask him “haal e shuma chitoray” and he takes his time. I imagine him opening a new tab. He searches for it and replies: “theek Alhamdulillah.”

I am already 4 languages down but it doesn’t create a mess in me anymore. The loudest is the language of art only. And some day I will tell you it was the soul’s.

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2019, Urdu musings

Maseeha Mazaq

Maseeha!
Tum ho ke mai?

Ye batain saari jhoot hain ya sachh? Kia pata sachh keh kar dhoka hojaye. Kia pata jhoot hi sara sachha ho?

Tum samajhtay rahay tum maseeha ho

Kia pata kuch anokha ye qissa ho

Kia pata tum jis talaash per niklay, mai uskey dusray siray pe kharay jab tumhara intizar kartay thak jaun tou tum se kaheen agaay nikal jaun.

Tum samajhtay rahogay mai palat aungi kyunke tumhe lagta hai tum maseeha ho

Mera Maseeha mujhay tor kar jor deta hai. Lekin tumhe kia dikhata hai? Jhoot? Ya sachh?

Kia pata Uski Maseehai tumhe bhi lag jaye. Kia pata tumhe maafi mil jaye

Kia pata kabhi tum mujhay maseeha samjho.

Kia pata tum is uljhan se kabhi na niklo

Aameen.

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By the roaring waves!

Khaamoshi Toofan

Tumhe phool torna pasand hai na? Tumhe sukoon milta hai. Aik aik kar ke saray pattay kheench daalti ho. Tum unhe masalti ho tou samajhti ho sari dunya ko round dal rahi ho. Hansi ati hai tum pe kyunke tumharay hi haathon me unki khushbu reh jati hai. Tum un se chutkaara tou nahee pa sakti jinhe khatam kartay kartay khud kaheen door nikalti ja rahi ho.

Mai unhe kahan khatam karney ja rahi hun. Mujhay tou maaloom hai wo in gulaabon ki tarha ke loug hain. Gulaab aur kaantay. Mujhay pehlay unki khushbu mili aur qareeb gayi tou kanton me ulajh gayi. Mujhay unse kia shikayat – aur na khud se.

Tumhe kisi se shikayat nahee na? Jabhi yun deewanaypan pe utar rahi ho. Khud ko in lehron me utaarti ja rahi ho jahan shor hi shor hai. Shor me khona chahti ho mujhay na banao mai tumhari rag rag se waqif hun.

Aap ko kahan bana sakti hun aap se hi tou sab maangna hai ab. Mujhay shor acha lagta hai us me rehnay dain. Mujhay isi shor me apni khamoshi chahye hai. Mai in lehron me itna door nikalna chahti hun ke agar in gulaabon ki thori bhi khushboo meri lams me rehti ho tou nikal jaye. Kaanton se rasta khoon ab tham jaye. Mai qabar nahi ban sakti in madfan phool kabaar ki. Mujhay in sab se bohat door apni dunya banani hai.

Dekha, wuhi baat. Tum bhaag rahi ho faraar chahti ho aur wuhi kar rahi ho jo har darpok insaan karta hai. Mujhay tum pagal lag rahi ho is waqt.

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By the roaring waves!

Miss Rizwana

I am not sure where to start from or if I should even try. Today? Maybe later? But will words even speak? I met you last about one month ago at Binaat – our school reunion. It wasn’t easy coming there this time but I am so grateful that I did. I was so late, the hall was so full, every face was a stranger…. until I spotted you at the reception. Ah, Miss rizwana. You hugged me.

It was also the same day that you told me about your beautiful future aspirations. How impressed we were, how close in that moment. I told you that you are my favorite teacher.

There has been no one like you. You were what they call teachers second mothers for. I used to come and cry in front of you for the issues that were big for the sensitive little me at that time. You were the best listener. Always there. Always kind. Always beautiful.

I saw your funeral but i didnt see your face. But i can imagine it: angelic, peaceful. Inshaa Allah you are in a better place. May Allah fill your grave with noor like you showed light to us. May Allah bless you the highest ranks of Jannah and help us all become sadqa e jaariya for you. You will forever live in the hearts of so many people that love you. Your loss is so sudden but Allah loves you so much more than all of us.

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By the roaring waves!

likhna band karo

This guy with a cool book says talking is procrastinating. Silence is the power of doers. Talking is stalling action. Ye wo. So I shouldn’t be talking about you.

If I say things that somehow poetically disguise just this that I miss you, it would take away all this energy and probably (actually) go to waste. Ye kia baat hui na. I’ve already wasted enough. You don’t deserve more.

Now ideally this inner self would say so? Wo deserve na karay, you deserve you. Take your time into healing ya. Go easy. Hey, you.

But then this inner self is pretty lazy. Sadness makes you lazy. Outer mind is chillest and brutally honest. It’s telling you that. Beta, act. Stop with this nonsense siyapa. And now you feel better enough to go do something productive. See ya! x

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By the roaring waves!

Memory hoarder (2)

Aqal sawaal uthati hai ishq amal pe dorata hai.

By now I have thrown away more things and (almost-)neatly packed the things I am saving back in the drawer. Can’t say it’s done but sure feels lighter.

Besides that [literally] grey old diary that I didn’t bother reading, there are all these papers – mostly poems that I wrote (even those sad Urdu ones), and then other handwritten accounts of things like our regional Spelling Bee contest that we won, my ninth grade result, an essay on “My most memorable day of life” where there is McFlurry by the sea, last school exam and a really fun night ending with dramatic sentences like ‘I bid farewell to my family and the full moon.’ Not just mine but I also used to give my brothers topics to write on, then I would check them and sometimes reward them. That was a whole system. Look at this part from Ibad’s story about a ‘mejician’s whose spell was ORAME SIM SIM where O is for Omnivorous animal, R is ramp, A is and, M is maar do, and E is eel. The omnivorous animal walk on ramp and eel eat the omnivorous animal. And magic were not worked the people laughed. He did spell 3, 4 times but his magic did not work. Moral:- We dont want to be a mejician.

There’s also a super adorable sorry card. Lined paper and pencil, a highly decorative spelling of my name, a bag of 5o rs drawn as a gift. You will accept such apologies with a kiss.

I used to write essays and speeches. There is this one I won a competition for. Starts with a stanza I learned from Sam and very much adored. I had read it with a lot of energy.

Then I am looking at these goals I had, and it’s neither saddening nor surprising but there but there’s still a hole – and you wish it was big enough – that we don’t think like that anymore. There are more screens and more individual chaos than deeper thinking, or better yet, practical anything.

And I think you feel it too
What I no longer try to hide
It’s buried beneath the scars
Truth behind the lies.

7 July 2019. My most recent material in that drawer is a bag of gifts and Eidi. The space that wasn’t there before reeks of maturity.

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By the roaring waves!

Memory hoarder (1)

Of course. What else would you expect from a December-born, all-feels Maria who is still writing on randomlyabstract, her blog of 8 years plus.

I remember the time we got these drawers made when we shifted to this house. It felt SO special, having a personal space. SO wow, you know. And then we got locks on them. I told the locksmith to do his best work on mine. I found it all so stunning that I kept sitting there, talking, looking, checking if mine was the best. (My lock got faulty before anyone else’s btw. Such luck!)

Khair. I used to be obsessed about that drawer and the stuff in it. I couldn’t throw things. Even today my family asks me before throwing away kachra that they think could be ‘useful’ for the crafter. But friends’ chit-chats, over-emotional letters of that time, Urdu poetry so sad I find it worrisome now, my personal personal personal diary that I would probably treat as a treasure then (because – let’s face it – I’ve been a sensitive kid. Also the middle daughter. I was convinced that I was hated by EVERYONE mashaAllah. And then I liked to write. Imagine having ALL of that still present despite the diary wanting to very much rest in peace now.) And then other things.

A lot of things, I imagine now, want to rest in peace. So I have brought out my drawer, one I had stopped caring for long long time ago, and started cleaning it. There’s stuff I put up on my insta stories as a last tribute, and for the other personal bunch, I know I cannot leave it so easily unless I’ve at least preserved them in writing. Which is why I am here.

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By the roaring waves!

Abuse

Could a poem cover it?

Nahee, no way. 26 letters in English and 52 or so in Urdu. Have you seen the black in abuse? IT’S A VAST SEA

IT’S NOT JUST A VAST SEA, oh please help me find a word greater than a sea. This is storm-in-a-sea, fast moving, all ending, utter utter utter blinding. Can you see the centre?

Oh fuxk. This is not a test. You don’t win if you tell the right metaphors.

Red blood, purple bruise, black eyes. We all know it. And your pitiful “bleeding” heart

Grow up. Grow out of this poem. Grow out of your “tearing” heart. No, not with more knife.

Abuse. Here, take this word. Will you lock yourself behind a washroom door or would you hold a blanket over your face so tight your knuckles would go white. Oh haha.

More colors. It smells of doom to me.

Shushhh. No more.

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By the roaring waves!

One day

“Don’t run on the stairs, Maria”
“Miss, I am Moniba”
Or was it vice-versa? 😂 Even the memory is jumbled now but we know it was Miss Ismat who scolded one of us and smiled the very next moment because she had mixed us up. And it wasn’t the only time it happened. Oh, not at all!

We got asked in the lift as well. And then we would always measure if we actually looked that alike. Lekin kahaan se? Oh and your maami’s. 😁 and then “are you sisters?” even in university. Yes, yes we are.

But one of my favorite twinning memory has to be sharing our pair of shoes while going to Taye abba’s. A school shoe and a casual chappal wappal. Best. Feeling. Ever. 😆

Not even a day to your Nikkaah and here I am, far but there. May Allah always keep us close. 💜

Ily. So much so much so much.

MashaAllah, Alhamdulillah and everything good.

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By the roaring waves!

Three days

Three days to go, three things to show.

A heart pebble. You love pebbles so much there is an entire collection of it in a box on your table. Probably left it for your niece here. Of course you will find another in Dubai. Achi jaga hai.
But we won’t find people who would gift us PEBBLES. And flowers. Look at that cloud, sit on the grass, come let’s admire this abnormal looking very fascinating tree. SubhanAllah. Remember our walks from Sufi? VS. Leaves falling. Magic, magic, magic.

A key. It might not be the same but I think it is. Because I saved it in a very old piggy bank type of thing that I got at my aameen or something. It had these little memories packed aesthetically. And in there was this key. Of your “secret drawer” that you had hidden from me at your old house. So I sneaked it, all those years back, think pink maxi and Nayalish at your party, it’s that old a story. What did the drawer have? Your socks?

This poem. You are my quart. That’s an emotional one so I will say it without words. I love you.

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By the roaring waves!

1:20 AM

I do wish I could tell you about this but I dont know you.

We three are in some transition modes. Or like, some major life points. All three. Very different, some you would call more important than the other and youd be right. But dil hai na. Dil feels enough all the time. Like how they say about pain. Ke you cant say one suffered more than the other. I mean you can actually. But if you drop the comparison thing altogether…. then we can come to our second point:

We are all pretty empathetic. We dont blame each other. At least thats what I think and believe. About them too. So we give each other the space even when we need it so much but in our own spheres this all-of-it is hurting and messing up.

So I would know that I am hurting. But I also know theirs can be bigger in magnitude because of course. I think the thing is that we can’t all be with each other this time. We know it will settle but letting it settle like this is a lesson itself.

( We are unaware of each others background stories this time. Ideally we should be with amd without in it but realistically things run not like that. I edited to add this bit as well as cut one word from above. Because shit )

How fake am I? If I was head to toe fake, I would become unreal. And that isnt possible. So I am being hard on myself.

But in this world in this time, fake and real are so mixed up. Ethereal matters. You think your head is one and your heart another. Yo soul what was your game?

Things have of course changed.

My phones battery is low and I have an alarm set on it. Pity. I couldn’t even write about the important things. Such drama. And here I choose the title of this post. Or not.

I am not even thinking. Or am I?

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