He’d been taken to a doctor, taken by stranger who’d held him by his hand. He’d struggled but eventually given in. There, at the doctor’s, he’d learned a new word. Lucid, the doctor had called him. He is lucid now, the doctor had told the stranger that stood by him. The word now stung him a little, that even though he didn’t understand what lucid meant, he was offended by the assumption that he wasn’t always lucid, or that he was sometimes lucid. He couldn’t tell which one was worse. Being lucid or not being. Continue reading
‘Nameless Somebody’ stayed silent. We never asked why.
Like ‘the boy with the purple socks’ from ‘Harriet the Spy’, we saw him and recognized him, but we never truly acknowledged him. Continue reading
All skeptical, sarcastic and cynical Pakistanis are asked, nah, begged, to keep their ignorant yet humorous views to themselves. Your arguments against the #AzadiMarch are as full of shit as your understanding of what our country needs right now. Continue reading
That sluggish rain had continued for days. As if the clouds were too dog-tired, sprinkling down little water drops halfheartedly and taking short naps in between. The streets had been run down with dirt, with overflowing drains that had thrown out the filth it contained onto the non-metallic roads and the smell of shit that had blended into the hot June air like salt into vinegar. Continue reading