One Half Of A Pair Of Scissors

Occupy Daily Promt : Word Association #1


” Could you get me some Aloe Vera?…”, said Shabana massaging the itchy, blackened skin of her shin. Fariha  turned on her heels way too soon. She was half way towards the terrace when the rest of her mother’s request had caught up with her which she had, probably, added with a sharpened tone, much annoyance and a raised voice, ” …and don’t cut a portion, for God’s sake, just get the whole leaf!”

The cooker had given off its third whistle. As Shabana dropped her legs on the floor, her shalwar adjusted itself. She put on the slippers and spent half-an-hour in the kitchen grinding, mixing, stirring. She needed her scissors to cut some herbs into bits. After a while, she could hunt down only half of it, she blessed the art of those who made such a scissor whose halves you could use as a knife too, made a mental note to scream at all her kids and seasoned her curry.

When she retired on the sofa and could no longer ignore the terrible itch on her ankles, toes and shins, she called out to Fariha.

When the girl didn’t reply. She went up herself. At first, she noticed a tiny red spot on every other step of the stairs. Then, the itch and pretty much everything else was wiped out of her mind when she found the missing half of  the scissor by the barely open terrace door in a tiny pool of blood.

A wild gust of wind swung the door open. She stepped in to see rough, bloody impressions of a foot- parts of it, really. Two- three of those impressions were of toes, some of toes and a little part of sole, some of just a heel and they were all leading upto to the aloe vera pot.

She found half of a leaf as rooted in the soil as ever and the other half hanging on to it just by a little piece that was left uncut. The sticky aloe gel,oozing out of broken leaf, was continously falling to the ground. Just next to it was another pool of blood. All that blood was making her feel light in the head. It was deep red and bright but the more she looked at it, the darker it got.

When she looked closer, she realised the marks were actually leading away from the pot and into the house. She was scared and for minute she didn’t know what to think. A thought of Fariha entered at the back of mind like a muffled echo. It became a whisper as it moved forward and, finally, a sound of thunder.

She tore the rest of the broken leaf, grabbed the half scissor and followed the red spots downstairs. She kept an eye on them but soon they were none left to follow. She called for Fariha again. As she walked into her room, the red stains had reappeared. She could hear the faucet running.

She found Fariha washing the blood away from her foot. The  expression on Shabana’s face intimidated Fariha to start talking.

She explained how her foot landed on a glass dolphin, the tip of whose nose punctured her sole. She pulled it out completely and to make little mess, she wrapped her dupatta around it. Her mother had just one thing to say-

“Half of a leaf…”, she said, her irritation rising with every word, “even after I, specifically, told you not to…”


Cloud Nine… Here I come


Yup, that’s the stuff.

I have been awarded this tittle by A.B Mood. I am so glad that I came across this wonderful blogger, and I how thankful I am to her for the award!:)

A kind, charming writer who introduced me to Jack Savoretti😍😍 and Kimmy Schmidt!!! If you like heart- touching stories, great reviews and like words mesmerizing you, or simply all things awesome, go give this Couch Potahto a follow.

I absolutely love awards. For one and one reason only, no two actually. I get to convey my love to my fav. bloggers and I get to talk about myself( like as if I need an excuse).

So, first up- the rules.

  • Thank the person who gave you this award, and include a link to their blog.(Check!)
  • Nominate  10-15 bloggers for the Award — you may include a link to this site.
  • Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things/facts about yourself.

The excessive love that I have for myself requires me to jump to the last one. So, here are 7 things/facts about me-

  1. I lack social skills, and usually I make that as an excuse to be quiet and alone.
  2. I am lazy. Well, I have established that repeatedly. So, point three.

  3. I am having a tough time coming up with things about me because I, probably, covered everything about me in my About Me page.

  4. Oh, here is one. I love How I Met Your Mother, and it’s last episode haunts me to this day.

5.This is the mother of coincedences. Abeeha(A.B Mood) and I have this thing in common. I happen to say ceiling  or sky when someone asks me whats up as well. Well, I am the only who laughs at it and it makes my friends cringe-  I have abused that joke so much.

  1. I love urdu but failed at all attempts to learn it.
  • I love  everything about appreaciation/compliments. I just wish I didn’t have to google the best ways to respond to it.

  • Time to spread some love…

    Here are the 15 blogs that have amazed me and have taught me a lot.


    2. Mr.Atheist

    1. Johnjzokovitch

    4. Kaleidoscope of Words

    1.  007pandas
  • Quirky Wanderer

  •  Euphie

  • 8.  Russel Ray Photos

    1.  Cognitive Reflection
  •  Like Barren Stones

  • VelanedeBeaute

  • Horrorville

  • Inspiring Max

  •  Harleenqueen

  •  Fatima Bukhari

  • Thiedeann

  • Cheers:)

    Those Several Seconds

    Writing 101. Day 8: Death To Adverbs


    Every few nights, I look through my window to find a big, yellow moon rising in the sky, and if you could see it too, you would not see it shining upon you but facing you. Like as if someone had plucked the moon from the farthest distance and decided to put it right before you.

    Sometimes, it seems to be orange with just a little bit of yellow in it. Sometimes, the other way around. Then, you realise that various hues of yellow and orange form such a mild, dim blend.

    Wouldn’t that catch your sight for, maybe, even just a moment?

    At times, when you could use a reminder or, maybe, when you would like an added bonus, that moment stretches into a vaccum.

    The white and grey moon is now orangy with scars hinting the lightest shade of brown. One dark cloud, wanting your attention, glides past between you and the moon. You like how the wind grazes you and sways the tall trees. Those hopping stars that fall in a wide, rough circle every night, you look overhead, and give them a little wink. But in the end, those trees, clouds, stars, buildings, sky and your thoughts become a silhouette against it.

    Until the moon rises up and up, and little by little, as it takes it’s usual place in the middle of the circle, it returns to being what it was- white and grey, and distant.

    If your lucky, on some nights, the colours never fade.

    I have seen beauty and a few of it’s manifestations, I do remember.

    The sunset at ESI. The carpet of pink flowers underneath and around the trees at Hussainsagar during spring.The beach. Doves. The night flight, when I was not looking upbthe stars but seemed like as if I was among them. Hamza Ali Abbasi! But nothing beats those several seconds with the yellow moon.

    I know a little science and I know it’s something to do with the scattering of light. But I did come across many explanations like – it ate too many aliens and is about to puke, it is angry that we crashed rockets on it and so on.

    I could know exactly when there would be a yellow moon, but there is something about looking up in the sky and being surprised.


    Letter Three

    Writing 10: Day 5: Brevity

    April 10, 2015


    Whom It May Concern.

    I found a letter today by my grandfather to my mother. In the same place, I wanted to leave a letter for my daughter. I asked of her what Nana had asked of Ammi- to read from the Quran that Nana had handwritten himself.

    I folded the letter, slid it between the pages and replaced the Book on the shelf.

    These are believes now. To see, know and feel the truth itself would be different. To see my daughter find her way back home, to have her read that Quran and help my after-life, to know that these letters, somehow, survive.

    I write for no one. But will someone read these letters? I like to believe, yes.


    A person so alone.


    Letter Two   Letter one


    In the closets of my conscience
    And in the pits of my mind
    I have locked away a few regrets
    And I have buried a few fears

    Well, I have written shittier poems, so this one doesn’t seem so bad. Poems are the dark craters of my moon. It’s not their fault. I will never really know why I suck at poetry. When I get to solving the mystery, I find myself thinking that poetry is just hard. There’s nothing more to it. Then I wonder if I am not working hard. Then I argue poetry is an art, can hard work compensate for that natural flair here?

    When I have wasted enough time over this and my brain is tired enough, I give poetry another shot. Before writing, I go through all my poetry lessons to choose a form and a technique that suits my mood at the moment.While writing, I think I should use a better word. I wonder if the metaphor fits. If Nihilism was oxygen, I would have instantly died. I cannot, just cannot, imagine anything to be meaningless and empty. So, all my poems have a message or a purpose. And I wonder, if I just handout the message, would I be considered not a poet enough? If I complicate it, then how will it remain cloaked but not hidden? If I haven’t had enough yet, I read poems by my class-mates, unknown poets, talented poets, established poets, famous poets, and by poets like T.S Eliot, and feel sorry for myself.

    Hi! I am Nadia and a complete self-critical, nervous wreck. 


    Well, I have written this for Writing101. They wanted us to be impulsive. So, I went with this wherever my thoughts lead me to. It is rough but bear with it.One thing lead to another, and now I have Nadia. Insha Allah, I will write more of her story in future. Right now, the date of my exam is hammering at the back of my mind.

    First Job

    Occupy Daily Prompt: First Job

    Srikanth was from a “middle-class”, humble home. His mom cooked and took care of the house. They lived in a rented apartment. His dad owned a Kirana shop on the ground floor of the same building. He also had a younger sister who was better at studies than he was at her age. He studied all the time because that’s what everybody else did. Good grades, degree, job, wife and kids. That was the plan.

    But when didn’t get into that engineering college, he was surprised to know that he didn’t care.

    In India, parents take care of their children and when its time children take of their parents. It’s not said, expected or imposed but it just is. So, engineering was important.  He put more hours into study, made better notes and joined one more coaching centre.

    Even if he didn’t realise it himself yet, he didn’t want to be a engineer. He sketched…a lot and at the back of his notes, sometimes on the blank page at the end of his textbooks. Those years of studying like a robot, those concentration camps he had for school and college, those other robots he had for friends. All this never let him see his sketches as something more than just some strokes of a pen.

    But that was the year of reflection and when a fellow class-mate appreciated a sketch, he thought how much he liked it as well. His frustration stoked this new- found passion.

    Then came an art degree. But there is something you  probably should know about people who just studied all through school and junior college, they are really smart and efficient.

    Srikanth, within a year of studying and learning arts, made illustrations for some relatives or friends or friends of friends who owned small businesses. At first, just a few logos, business cards, free potraits etc. He went on do more and more freelancing, and made some money every once in a while.

    May be his parents didn’t approve of his decision. But then, they did pay the fees and gifted him a drafting board.

    At the end of it all, he had a respectable client base, testimonials and some quality portfolio with real work samples. By then he didn’t really need to go looking for an employer like his friends. It had all worked out for him just fine.

    His first job being a path and not the destination.