New Year's Wish

The year is at end, and what did I gain;
A list of sorrows, too long to name

Followed my heart to the path of love;
Just to get it broken by a crafty dame

It took some time, but I changed my mind;
From the nightmares of past, to the dreams of fame

My thanks to those who stuck by me;
And helped see that life is just a game

And whether we go through thick or thin;
Our ties will be strong, all the same

May the next year bring us all that we wish;
May the friends stay strong, and the enemies, tame

10 Words - 1 Story (1) -- The Beginning

Words: Peculiarity, Restraint, Favouritism, Emotive, Disruption, Garb, Integration, Intercalation, Gallant, Laconic

"Sorry", she mumbled as she moved her foot from his, quickly moving her eyes away as she continued to walk in the other direction.

Long ago, Alfred had made it a habit to walk to work, and he still stuck to it. Consequently, incidents like this one happened a lot to him. Yet, it was somehow different this time. Call it favouritism, but he actually liked it this time, even though there was nothing special about the girl. She had a plain face with soft brown eyes, her garb was traditional work attire of pleated skirt and a white blouse. The only peculiarity was her red hairband that probably indicated a youthful nature. It was the integration of these common sights, however, that had caught Alfred's attention. He longed to go after her, but when he glanced at his watch, he realized that he was already getting late for work; the biggest restraint that has kept him from pursuing his dreams.

At that moment, however, he felt different. He could sense something (was it gallantry?) slowly creeping up inside him, intercalating itself between his confidence and his dreams, ousting his indifference and love for monotony.

Someone bumped into him, jostling him from his reverie. Looking around, he realized that he was standing idle in front of the ticket machine, disrupting the flow of commuters who were anxious to reach their workplaces, and consequently, were giving him angry stares. A few muttered obscenities as he hastily moved out of their way.

He had to find her, now. He had to see how she had changed him with a casual glance. He had to know her. So he skimmed the crowd till his eyes caught a glimpse of her red hairband, and to his amazement, his feet started moving towards her as if they knew how urgent it was to reach her. Gradually, he quickened his pace till he was practically running, and caught up with her just as she turned onto another street. He was breathless, panting due to lack of air in his lungs, and his legs screamed at their sudden overuse. Despite his disheveled state, he reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around, quickly but gracefully, and abruptly, Alfred found himself face to face with her. She smiled with recognition, but as her eyes took in his state, her face became quite emotive: concern, pity, wonder and mirth written all over it. Suddenly, she understood it all had been for HER, and her eyes lit up with joy and longing. And Alfred, who had always been scared of rejection due to his laconic personality, felt his jaw relax as his face mirrored her smile, and at that moment, he had no doubt about how he was feeling: he was in love.

For Whom The Bells Toll

He was flying, but he couldn't see what was carrying him, making him soar upwards like an eagle. Most teenagers would have been terrified by just imagining this: the probability to plummet any second to his death. Only the unseen harness supported him, but he was used to believing in the unseen, for he was a Muslim. His faith was strong like a bar of steel. He knew he won't fall to his death, no matter what happened. However, he still found it surreal that he was dead, and the part of him flying was just his soul.

As he flew, he could clearly see the gaping holes in the social fabric of the country he hailed from. A nation with the conviction of madmen, and belief of angels; who could have grown to be the greatest nation, had its ego not created barriers amongst them, separating them, causing them to waste their energy on pointless grudges against each other. And that was the biggest irony: his people were the only ones on this planet who believed they're stronger when divided.

He could see his schoolmates being decimated like vermin; the attackers being as sympathetic as a lump of coal. He could hear the wails of his mother, clinging to his lifeless body and kissing his forehead like he was merely asleep, and not dead.

The attackers were all dead now, but they had done the damage they intended to do. He could see the politicians now, back with their hollow promises of justice. He remembered the same words from the time his uncle was killed in a drone strike. The officials had promised justice back then too, but that's all it had been: a promise. He and his friends had vowed to use their education for bringing a change when they grew up, but now, for the better or worse, they were all gone.

He was in the clouds now; the mortal world hidden from his view just as he was concealed from theirs. He could hear laughter above him, and he knew he was almost to his destination. Even then, he couldn't stop thinking about the ones he had left behind. He hoped his family would find courage to make it through without swelling the ranks of the miscreants who attracted followers by promising them vengeance. He hoped his people would unite and change the system of their country, bringing the luxuries like food, shelter and hopes for future to everyone, instead of restricting these for the rich. He hoped the media would not let the people forget the price he and his friends have paid to wake the nation up. He hoped they grow out of their short-term memories and keep remembring their goals. He hoped the religious scholars would finally stand up to draw a unanimous line between jihaad and terrorism. He hoped to see all of his people someday, at the place he was headed towards...

Hanging Out With My Hyde

"I don't do friendships anymore", he scoffed as he sat back and sipped his milkshake. I tried to hide my aversion as I asked him why.

"You know all about me, so I don't have to recount everything I've faced. In fact you've faced it too, but have been too coward to do anything about it. So I decided to act by taking over". Here came another sip of the milkshake, and suddenly my very own Mr. Hyde smiled at me, sending a shiver down my spine.

"For years, I watched on, while you brought us both hurt and disappointment. You trusted everyone, even when you knew deep inside that they'll betray you. You always kept you word even if it meant being on the losing end. When you cared, you gave all you had; when you loved, you failed to see their dark side; when you befriended, you refused to hear anything negative, even when you saw the proofs of their inner darkness. You, Master Aech, have overlooked the truths of life while you held fast to you juvenile belief that everything is either black or white, and with that, you ignored the acres of grey areas that lay in between, simply choosing to ignore them. Not everyone keeps others' best interests at heart, my boy, and since you haven't done anything about it, so I'll step in to show you how to do it". The wicked gleam in his eyes terrified me, but I managed to stammer: "Wh- what have you planned?"

"Oh, don't worry", he chuckled. "I have sentiments too. Things will be pretty much same with me in charge".

"Then what will change?", the question burst from my mouth before I could think it through. However, my Hyde just laughed. "Well, I told you I don't do friendships. We have been betrayed too many times to trust this sentiment. Granted, we have found some pretty cool friends on the way, but how can we believe that they won't hurt us eventually? No, its too big of a risk." Another long sip of milkshake before he resumed. "Alliances, are what I have in mind. They work like friendships mostly, but whenever we'll feel that things are looking down, we'll simply move on instead of sticking around to help. And..."

"That's horrible!", I yelled, not believing it was actually a part of me saying all this. "We can't be like that, no matter what anyone else does!"

"Nonsense, Jekyll. Its karma: we'll pay the world back in the same currency it has been dealing us all these years. We'll show them what it means to have your hope extinguished just when you need it the most. We'll start tomorrow, when you're up. Now go, and rest."

And with that, he got up and calmly strode off, leaving me to wonder what the future will be like...

Fading Away...

“Want some tea?”, he called from the kitchen.

“Duh, no! I just had coffee!”, she replied disdainfully from the den.

“Oh, but she never asked me if I wanted some. Well...”, he muttered as he walked up the stairs to the snug room. Their relationship had been falling apart for the last few months, but he had been doing his best to keep it together. Strangely, he didn’t even know the cause of this deterioration, as nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Shaking his head to clear it of the dark forebodings, he entered the living room, sat his cup down on the table and walked up to his guitar. Picking up the case, he started unzipping it, wanting to sing her a song, and not just any song, mind you. He had GnR’s “November Rain” in mind, the one he had always dreamed of singing to her. However, just a glance at her frowning face was enough to make him put it down. “Maybe later”, he thought as he closed the case again, sighing just audibly as he slouched past her and settled in his comfy chair.

“So sweetheart, how was your day?”, he asked tentatively. “Did Mr. ‘Perks’ treat you well?”

“Hahaha, of course dear! He has been very nice and accommodating since I organized that soft skills workshop! He appreciated the innovative idea very much, almost too much! And the audience was so supportive”, she gushed as she recalled Open Week, the most successful in- house event of STEM n’ ROOTS, a consultancy and career counselling company they both worked for.

It was his idea, of course. All brilliant ones were his. They had planned to conduct this ‘refresher’ workshop for their respective departments simultaneously. However, his department head was a bit reluctant towards approving the event. “We’ve never had this sort of an event, and I’m afraid the department members won’t be interested. Furthermore, it’s not our job to keep them on the track.”, was what his supervisor had told him. Rather than risk postponing Open Week in both departments, he had asked her to go ahead with it in her department. Although he claimed it would serve to demonstrate the workshop’s importance to his head, but in fact, it was due to his ever-present desire to see her on top of things, and organizing a successful event for the first time would certainly take her a long way.

She had gone ahead and organized the event, forming a team on the way, but keeping him updated throughout the procedure. It proved to be a smashing hit, with the company employees turning up in throngs to attend the event. Despite the fact that it was his idea, and it was he who motivated her to manage the event, he didn’t even get an invitation. It had stung him like hell, but she claimed that since their departments didn’t have anything in common, so it would be useless for him if she asked him to come. “However, you can come if you really want to.”, had been her response.

“It doesn’t matter if it would help me or not. I’d love to come if someone cares to invite me” had been his final attempt to make her realize how much he wanted to be with her, and how much her willingness mattered to her. However, it didn’t change anything. Weekend came and went, with him back at his place, sleeping the Open Week out. No one missed him at the event. And she became a star overnight.

Now, as he sat opposite to her, he didn’t know how to ask her for the post-event report. He needed it to convince his supervisor that not only was the event worthy of being organized at STEM n’ ROOTS, it had already been organized once with very encouraging results. Mustering up his courage, he leaned forward a bit and spoke: “Hey, have you people composed a post event report? That sort of thing is really necessary, especially after a successful event”

“Uh-oh”, she nodded, her eyes glued to her laptop screen.

“Can I have it for a couple of days? I need to show it to my supervisor, to prove that Open Week isn’t a waste of time. That old man still lives in the ‘60s”, he said with a nervous chuckle, uncertain how she will respond. But as she closed her laptop’s lid and took off her glasses, he knew he had her undivided attention. Nevertheless, nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

Have you ever been in love with someone who wasn’t aware of, or at least pretended to be unaware of, how you felt towards them? Have you ever, dear reader, tried to have your actions speak of the inexplicable love you have for someone who wants to have nothing to do with you, except perhaps using your skills and connections for their own well- being? Have you, o handsome fellow, suffered the pangs of unrequited love, hoping the person in your dreams will come to realize how you feel and what you have for them is priceless, that they’ll be lucky to receive even half of that from any other human? If yes, then you might understand how our poor boy had been pushing on with his life, and what her response could’ve done to her.

As she straightened up, he looked into her eyes, hoping that, for once, she’ll acknowledge what he has done, rather, has been doing for past couple of years. He longed for a glimpse of acceptance, either in her words or her actions. However, he was stunned when she finally spoke, her every word cutting her like a knife: “Open Week was a private event of my department”.

To say that he was dumbstruck would be a gross understatement. He saw the whole world spinning before him, felt a constriction in his throat that had nothing to do with thirst. He remembered the times they had shared together, resulting in some of his fondest memories. His past two years flashed before his eyes: his attempts at expressing his feelings to her, the happiness he always experienced when he saw her, the times he had spent staring at her pictures, the thrill he used to experience whenever he heard her voice, all came crashing down in his lap, along with the elusive truth: she wanted to have nothing to do with him. He was a tool, a means of climbing the ladder of life. Maybe she really trusted him, even considered a friend, but she had never been there when he needed her. His assumptions were fading away, as were his dreams. The pedestal had crumbled, bringing the goddess he worshipped to the ground.

Wordlessly, he stood up and left. He didn’t want to, even now, but he knew it was for his own good. But he knew he would never be able to forget her; the girl who meant so much to him.

Back in the den, she looked up as she heard the front door open, and close. Her expression was unfathomable as she sighed and put the documents away. Suddenly, she spotted the cup of tea he had made earlier. Steam was still rising from it...

Is 'Naya' Pakistan Possible With 'Purana' Mindsets?

It was almost 1:30pm, and I was idling at the Seasons’ Chowk Lahore, waiting for the signal to turn green so that I could pick my mom up from P.U., when I noticed a transgender beggar asking the car driver in front of me for money. I started to look away, knowing this was a common sight on the roads of Pakistan, when I saw the driver snatch the beggar’s “dupatta”. Now that was something I’ve never seen before. However, before my mind could process it all, the driver got out, and in quick succession, slapped the beggar and delivered a hard kick to the groin. After that, all that happened is a blur, but I do remember being the only person who got out (or off) his vehicle to break the fight. The driver took off as soon as I freed the beggar’s hair from his fists, and left the poor victim to sink on the floor and sob while a crowd looked on.

If you were expecting something more dramatic, dear reader, then I’m sorry to have disappointed you, for I’m only hoping to shed some light on how apathetic we’ve become. We began as a nation which stuck to its roots, and now we’ve become a bunch of people who, in order to show our ‘modern’ spirit, and bent upon defying everything our culture and religion expects from us. We term our culture suffocating, but what has following others brought us besides a (now embedded) inferiority complex?

The dilemma, my fellow countrymen, is that on one hand, we scream for change. We highlight the irregularities in our governing bodies and vehemently demand a ‘naya Pakistan’, and on the other hand, we turn to zombies whenever we face the mirror of our conscience that demands we change ourselves first. We, my dear readers, have become the epitome of hypocrisy. Take me, for example. Here I am, preaching about the faults in our character, but come tomorrow, I’ll be out on the roads, violating traffic signals just to show my friends how cool I am.

“Why write this article then?”, some of you might ask. A fair question, but then again, the only thing we are good at these days, is raising questions. So while you’re at it, go ahead and ask yourself something too. Ask yourself if your life exists beyond your favourite food and shopping haunts. Ask yourself if your sympathies are aroused for anyone other than your immediate family or friends. Ask yourself if your money has ever found a way out of your pocket for any cause which had nothing to offer you in return (except maybe prayers). And when that familiar face in the mirror answers you in negative for all these queries, don’t despair. Do not try, in vain, to search your conscience amidst the debris you have accumulated inside yourself. Do not attempt to wipe the ego off your eyes, for the world beyond is very bleak. Do not pluck out the weeds of hatred and self-righteousness from your heart, for my dear reader, you are not alone. You are surrounded by a country full of people just like yourself. Accept your destiny, and let the country run. Follow the footsteps of that old man who stepped out of his car only when I had stopped his driver (presumably his son) from beating and abusing a defenceless transgender. Be like him: obnoxious and haughty, untouched by any worldly law as he drove away after that heinous deed. Be the same, because to be different is to be condemned by the society. But if you feel a stirring inside you, a hand of hope reaching for the light, don’t crush it. Nurture and guide it, for if we want this country to be a place worth living in, we have to be the change we want to see around us.

And this, my faithful reader, is where you laugh inwardly at my optimism and open your Facebook to plan the next holiday with your friends.

Your Canvas, My Country

It is a privilege, Mr. Media, to address you directly, and even though I have achieved a lot, this is humbling; for in any society, you have the ultimate influence. You, who have the power of words, who can morph unrelated images to create fancy tales, who can use eloquence to stir people’s emotions at just the right instant, are surely awe-inspiring. I am aware that after I’m through speaking today, a mere flick of your finger can either grant my wish or label me as a heretic. Even so, I intend to stand my ground, if only once.

To be honest, I was a nerd till my O’ Levels, taking little interest in social happenings. I watched little TV (which was evolving to be the most followed form of media), and then too, only Pakistani channels. One can argue that I had little exposure of the world, but I do remember that morning shows were educational and motivating; the cartoons didn’t have vulgarity; tourism and traditional cuisines were promoted; drama serials were either patriotic or had some tangible moral message; news were to inform us, not to frighten us; and anchors everywhere didn’t mutilate their mother tongue. Why has all that changed, Mr. Media?

I wholeheartedly accept that we’re inherently quite impressionable, but turning to other cultures for inspiration won’t help us; neither in the short run where we would appear to be copycats, nor in the long run where our next generations will never know our true identity and ideology. I admit that we have a long-lasting, if not everlasting, inferiority complex, but does it run so deep that we cannot make do with our own culture and religion? Do we always have to start our day with a mediocre morning show where the host has nothing constructive to say? Your disciples, Mr. Media, are always praising the way the Jews raise their children by educating them about anything and everything, by strengthening their beliefs and ethics. They laud the Japanese, who plant miniature speakers underneath their infants’ pillows to soothingly whisper ideologies in their ears, making them better citizens. And what do we do besides distracting ours with displays of magic and planting ideas of rebellion in their minds? Regretfully, that is not how a Pakistani should be.

I also accept that norms of journalism have changed in the 21st Century, and giving the front row to education and religion isn’t widely acceptable. All that is not necessary too, to groom a nation into becoming what its forefathers wanted. We portray the West (and our Eastern neighbour) in our entertainment programmes. How longer do you think it would take before our youth forgets the important place parents hold in social decisions? Or they forget how their culture expects them to behave in public? Has our entertainment industry lost all Anwar Maqsoods and Bushra Ansaris and Shakeels and Saba Hameeds that we have to play dramas like “Ishq-e-Mamnu” and “Mera Sultan”? Have all Alamgirs and Sajjad Alis left us that our music talent shows are being judged by the likes of Ali Azmat who do not even know how to react to the audience? And surely, the drones haven’t blown up all our Northern beauty that we cannot produce a richer, more vibrant “Travel Guide of Pakistan”. You, sir, show blood and gore on-screen, use sensationalism, and claim you’re only showing what is happening. Why don’t you, now too, take inspiration from the West and your neighbours, who only showcase their positive aspects on-screen? Our nation already knows what we are going through. Displaying it again and again is only making us immune to others’ suffering, while discouraging potential investors and tourists. Oh, and haven’t we all studied enough Urdu to at least speak it properly? Your anchors, sir, sound like some hybrids our neighbour countries have created with the West’s collaboration. Please tell them these fake accents and meagre stock of vocabulary only depreciates their already-limited capacity of talking sense.

My country, Mr. Media, isn’t grim and desolate at all. Nor are my people backwards and desperate. We might not love that our elders are evolving too slowly to adapt to a rapidly changing global environment, but we do not appreciate an open invitation to vices we’re taught to stay away from. Your brushstrokes, sir, define us. Paint us in our true colours. Bring back patriotism and dedication, honesty and righteousness, and help raise a generation without mental shackles. Believe me sir, only you and your canvas have the power to do so.

The Road to My Heart

You're one brave visitor if you dare walk;

Down the road leading to my heart

The journey is not too long, I believe;

But instead of the milestone, is a gnarled tree

The path is treacherous, your shoes might not last;

'Cos strewn here and there, are dreams from the past

Have a look if you want, at these rubies and sapphires;

Of longings and regrets, of hopes and desires

Do you like their shiny facets, their glimmer of a bright future?

But you can't feel their sadness, unless you hold them closer

Be careful with the shards, of diamonds and opals;

Relics from the past, as far as I recall

Keep walking on the path, its not a long march;

My heart is right there, the façade with wide arch

The courtyard is mossy, and the pillars wrapped with vines;

The threshold is dusty, covered in layers of grime

The doorknob, though rusty, will still work fine;

Though the chiming clock in foyer tells the wrong time

It seems desolate, but please excuse its state;

It hasn't had a worthy visitor of late

I know you're wound up, you need a place to rest;

Take master room of mansion, it is by far the best

But o, fair visitor, if you intend to stay;

There's urgent work to do, can't wait for a rainy day

Clean all that past has left, purge this shrine of love;

Polish the chandeliers, that hang high above

You'll have new furniture, beds with solid bottom;

Covered with finest sheets of Egyptian cotton

The sofas will be leather, the divan comfortable;

And cutlery of gold, straight from a fable

No more sputtering torches, no gloomy hallways;

The mansion shall be lit, through all nights and days

The garden is parched, but there's a well under my eye;

Use all the tears on roses, nevermore I want to cry

Don't leave my dreams alone, pick them and be gentle;

Bring them inside my heart, and put them on the mantle

See, now you have a home, a place to call yours;

Where joy is in the roots, and above, love soars

Here you will be cherished, here I will watch you over;

You'll live like a princess, in the heart of your lover

About a Girl I Once Knew (Narrative)

She's unlike any girl I've ever seen. That's the truth. She has raven hair, hanging straight down her shoulders. And when she's talking to you, she will brush them back and tuck them behind her ear. That said, she is NOT like any raven-haired girl you'd have ever met. She's unique, like a rare gem you often dream of, but never actually find. Her eyes are the colour of chocolate and coffee, always sparkling with life, and when you look into them, all you will see is honesty. Her face, well, you'll probably notice her freckles first. She never tries to hide them because she isn't conceited. She wants you to see her for what she is. And to tell you the truth, I think those freckles suit her. And when she smiles, she looks so radiant and pretty, that my heart actually flutters like a caged bird. That's the effect she has on me.

Now I don't think a man ever notices a girl's hands while he's talking to her, but I did. Hers are small and delicate, with slender fingers that are absolutely    mesmerising. I'm told that my eyes follow the movement of her hands as she brushes them through her hair.  Well, I don't deny it, because I know how special she is for me. Everything she does captures my attention. I tell you, any man will be proud to have her.

When she talks, all I can do is listen. Her voice is soft yet clear, and when she speaks, it casts a spell over me. Its not as if I don't want to listen to her. But her voice has a reinforcing effect that tells me I'm going to listen to whatever she's saying.

I'm not sure if I'm able to do justice to her so far, because as I said, she's unlike any girl I've ever met. So it's impossible to compare her with someone and say: yes, she's the better one. Of course she's better than them all, so comparing her to them is like disgracing her. She's like an oyester's pearl: rare and valuable. And all I know is, I like her more and more with each second I spend with her. I've gotten so used to her that I don't want to be without her. Ever. I just hope she feels the same way too. I hope my wish comes true. I want to shower her with all the life's joys, if only she becomes mine...

Missing You...

Late at night, with stars shining bright;

No wonder I am still missing you tonight

I laugh during day, and give fake smiles;

Knowing that my heart will never be alright

The Day Miufa Had a Heroine

Long ago, there was a kitten called ‘Emm’: sweet and intelligent but also quite mischievous, often troubling folks in the way only a child can. She had a beautiful beige fur, of which she was very proud. Emm lived with her mother in a town called Miufa, half-lunar journey from King Cheshire’s palace. Now everyone knows that our world is a hexahedron, with each facet having a pentagonal island in the centre, surrounded by the Kari Sea, and little Emm lived on the island of Mewl, the realm of Unicorns.

So, it was Carnus day of the year of Panda, and Emm was returning from her school, whistling a tune. She would walk a few steps, then stop to play with her woollen ball. It was during one of these frolicking stops when she spotted Barsiv, a jabberjay who was also Cheshire’s vizier, flying high above. It looked as if he was headed for the Miufa’s town hall, an enormous hollow melon. Almost immediately, Barsiv spotted her, and dived towards her.

“Hello little one!”, he called in his characteristic singsong voice. “Where are you going?”

“Just walking home from school, Bar”, replied Emm while sticking out her tongue at him. He hated being called Bar and she, little one.

“You better get home soon, kid. We are about to be attacked!”, he said, while swooping her up and gently dropping her a yard away, while she hissed with mock anger. The truth was, Emm loved playing with Barsiv, and the fact that he loved her like a daughter made it even more enjoyable for her.

“Well, you just attacked me, and now I want my woolie ball back”, she said pompously as she strode towards it. There was a flutter of wings, and suddenly Emm was in Barsiv’s claws again, who was flying towards the town hall. This time when Emm hissed, it was real anger, for she loved her ‘woolie ball’ more than anything else.

“Hush little one, I’ll get you your ball. I ain’t kidding. We really are under attack. And this time, it looks as if Rinya has brought all her army!”. Barsiv had spoken the last bit quite indignantly, as if bringing one’s entire army for the offensive was somehow unfair.

“She the same Rinya who attacked us the day I was born? I hate her”, Emm said imperiously, as if her words had just settled an argument. Barsiv couldn’t resist laughing.

But alas, poor Barsiv’s scouts had underestimated the speed of Queen Rinya’s vanguard, and thus, their merriment was short-lived. Just as they entered the outskirts of Miufa, they heard a terrible scream behind them. Not just once, but thrice. By the third time, it sounded less like a scream, and more like a screech: Jubjub bird’s call. Jubjub birds were Queen Rinya’s elite guards, and their presence here was simply befuddling. Why had the queen sent her best after Barsiv, when they might be needed on the front, for Mewl’s Unicorns were ineffective against these airborne devils.

Notwithstanding that they were surrounded by at least a dozen of those ruthless birds, Barsiv’s only concern was that in her constant writhing, Emm might scratch herself against his sharp claws. However, his concerns soon deepened into full-fledged anxiety, when he spotted Queen Rinya, accompanied by her lieutenant, Roukh the Jabberwocky, soaring over Miufa’s town hall. Immediately he started thinking of a way to avoid her, and for any of his plans to work, Emm had to stay calm.

“Look Emm, it’s the twins below us. Why don’t you play face-make with them for a while? And make no sound, or you don’t get any points! We’ll land as soon as you win”. This was Barsiv’s best bet, because the only thing Emm loved more than playing with her woolie ball was to run around with the twins, frolicking and making faces at people. So, no sooner than he had uttered these words that Emm mewed, to gain the twin’s attention. Kids as all three were, the sight of each other was enough to make them forget the impending doom. Barsiv had stopped too, trying to draw Jubjubs closer, so that he can find a weak spot amongst their ranks and make his escape. At this point, Barsiv didn’t care about the town, or even the twins. He only wanted Emm to reach a safe place. Alas, the Jubjubs were too well-trained strategy to work. As soon as they saw their target stop moving, they rushed in, forming a tight sphere, blocking all exit points. Barsiv cursed under his breath. He was stupid to believe something as simple as this would work. They were Rinya’s elite, after all!

“Good Afternoon, Barseeiv!”, called Rinya mockingly, bringing him out of his reverie. “What a pleasant surprise! Wait, what’s that in your claws? A kitten?”

“It’s my lunch”, he answered, hoping it would keep them away from Emm.

“Aah, lunch!”, laughed Rinya. “Look everyone, the vizier is about to have lunch! Did we disturb you Barsiv? How rude of us...!”. The Jubjubs jeered, and Roukh roared with laughter. “How stupid you folk are, following him and his king: the world’s dumbest duo. One can’t stop grinning even when under attack, and the second looks for lunch while being followed by enemies!”, spat Rinya. Barsiv could have died of humiliation.

Emm, however, couldn’t understand what the commotion was about. She knew they were in danger, but who was this bossy lady? And why was such a terrifying bird in her company? Rinya’s next comment answered all her questions. “Listen up, citizens!”, she addressed the townsfolk who were gathered in the sheltered alleys around the town hall. “I, Queen Rinya, and my faithful Roukh have travelled several miles to liberate you from these incompetent rulers. Kneel before me, and I shall make you prosperous! Acknowledge me your queen, and you shall receive boons you have never even dreamt of!!”. If Rinya had been hoping that the people would buy it, she was very wrong. All around and under them, people starting hissing, booing, and cursing her, much to her embarrassment. Terbes the toad, sole teacher at the local school and Hemme the owl, the town drunk, went so far as to hurl their gin bottles at her, which Roukh deflected with a lazy flick of his enormous wings. However, the Jubjubs, who had never seen their queen humiliated (or even talked back to), swept towards the people, to discipline them, leaving the horizon open for Barsiv. Seizing the opportunity, he took off swiftly. He had flown only a yard or so when he found himself being hurled to the ground, his neck in someone’s sharp claws. He landed hard, and the force of it pried his claws open, sending Emm tumbling in Rinya’s direction. As her fear and dizziness subsided, Emm finally opened her eyes and took in the scene before her.

Before her stood the biggest kite she had ever seen. It had a silver beak, and all her feathers were white except those around her neck, which were golden, giving an impression that it was wearing a gold necklace. It had a smug expression on her face, and when it turned her head to look at Emm, the kitten felt her body go numb with fear. A bit to her left lay Barsiv, struggling against Roukh’s claws on his neck. As Emm stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, a Jubjub flew up to Rinya, bowing his head as he alighted at her feet. Opening his claws, he let Emm’s ‘woolie ball’ roll to a stop near Rinya. “We found it in the field, your majesty”, he spoke in his deep baritone and stepped aside, leaving Rinya to examine the artifact.

“Interesting!”, muttered Rinya, half-open beak resembling a sneer. “What do you do with these things, Barsiv?” she continued with her mocking Cheshire’s vizier. “Is it here for tying me up? Or is there a firebird inside it?”. Firebirds were Jubjubs’ mortal enemies, now almost extinct. Jubjubs laughed heartily at the joke. Emm, however, was befuddled. Sure, this bad lady was threatening Barsiv, but what did she want? What could Emm do to help? Realizing she would be as helpful as the rose shrub beside her, she lowered her head, almost missing Rinya scooping the woolie ball up as she said: “This time’s souvenir isn’t like the last one, but I’ll keep it nonetheless. As for you all, . . .” Her speech was cut short as Emm let out a loud hiss and crouched, ready to attack Rinya if need arose. For she had just seen the evil lady envelope her woolie ball in her claws, and as everyone in Miufa knew, Emm would rather die than lose it. She felt her anger deepen when Rinya began laughing. “Goodness me! Do you think you can even stand against me? Go back to playing, kid. We’re not here for your kind. Not yet anyway.” Rinya walked away as Barsiv chuckled. Suddenly she turned back. “Why did you get so worked up anyway?”, she demanded of Emm.

“You have my woolie ball!”, Emm growled. “It’s mine only and I want it back!”

“Bravo!”, Rinya mocked as she applauded. “Barsiv has made sure to pass his theatrics on to you too! Look around you. My people are everywhere. Do you, any of you, think that you can make us do anything we don’t want to?” She sighed before continuing. “You lot are slow l earners. A demonstration is in order then. Roukh!”, she called over her shoulder. “What do you think?” “Whenever you’re ready, your majesty!”, replied Roukh with a sneer. After a moment’s wait, Rinya raised a wing. Then it seemed to Emm that everything was happening in slow motion. Roukh slitting Barsiv’s throat, the smug expression on Rinya’s face, the townspeople’s uproar, everything seemed surreal. And suddenly Emm was recalling a memory half-forgotten: Rinya attacking Miufa when she was only a day old and her dad leading town’s defence and getting killed in the process. She felt her blood boil. She was no longer a little kitten. Suddenly she was a vengeful soul merely trapped in a small body. With boiling anger inside her, she leapt at Rinya, much to latter’s surprise. However, she swept her wing majestically, brushing Emm aside as if she was a fly. Emm landed o n her feet, softly, and jumped again. This time, Rinya was ready. With a laugh, she flew sideways, avoiding the angry kitten. Again and again Emm tried to reach Rinya, but was thwarted every time.

All the townspeople were fighting Jubjubs by now, including Hemme, but glancing at Rinya and Emm, he felt pity for the latter, his best friend’s daughter. He knew he wasn’t strong enough, but he also knew it didn’t matter. What mattered was, whether he did something or not. He had never fought in his entire life, you see. But suddenly, he took off, aiming straight for Rinya. Roukh intercepted him, pinning him to the ground like he did to Barsiv. The commotion, however, had distracted Rinya. She took a backward step, and by sheer misfortune, tripped over Rinya’s woolie ball, unfurling it. Emm noticed it, and with an excited chatter, leapt at the ball and rolled it away from the haughty queen. The few moments Rinya took to grasp what was happening cost her everything, as Emm tightened the loose strands around Rinya’s claws and captured the evil queen.

I won’t bother you about how Cheshire arrived with a company of firebirds, winning the day. How Roukh, sensing his impending doom, fled the scene. How Rinya’s thrashing caused her claw to pierce little Emm’s stomach. But I WILL tell you how Miufa still remembers its slain daughter. She’s a legend, a symbol of hope and courage. The first to defy a tyrant, even though she was nothing more than a kid. For she knew sacrifices have to be made to achieve something, that ultimately, it is courage that matters...

Dedicated to MJ, once a friend. Wherever you are now, I hope you're happy.

Selfie-Sketch

Yes, I made it myself. Yes, it's really a hand drawn sketch. Yes, I was so bored :-P

His Heartbreak

She was the beacon he followed;

Nurturing hope in his heart

But she led only to distress;

Pierced his dreams with a dart

He didn't realize, though he wasn't the same again;

That she was a temptress, merely playing her part

A Place in My Dreams

I know a place in my dreams;

An island, as big as a trireme

Around it, though, there is no sea;

Float it does, through the galaxy

Swirling clouds surround its base;

Beautiful moon, it does always face

I look around, and glimpse the two trees;

The rest is grass, cool under my bare feet

Under the gnarled tree I sit;

The Earth below it, a hollow pit

Across the isle, I see the oak;

Its highest branch holds the web like a cloak

I pluck the grass and make a thread;

And weave another wish to the web

While my dreams never come true;

And my thoughts, always going back to you

I gaze around at the galaxies;

The stars and comets, all at peace

The eons taught them what I don't know;

The joy is there after every sorrow

They attempt to teach, and I try to learn;

A change in myself, I can discern

But the morning's here, its time to leave;

And see if troubles this hope can cleave

If my hopes break,  if Fate makes them shatter;

The lessons of night, I will not remember

Tonight I'll add another hope to my web;

It won't matter then, if the old ones are dead

The galaxies will be silent, and the grass, green;

When I retire tonight, to the place in my dreams

Memories

The way a person treats his memories will tell you more about him than even a detailed study of his genealogy. A happy man will find ways to enjoy them; a wise one will scour them for faults, always on the quest to improve himself. A pessimist’s mind will be riveted on the dark times, and an introvert will dwell on the times when he could have broken out of his shell. All in all, memories play an important role in shaping us. They’re like torches, illuminating the path we have tread, highlighting the roses we picked and thorns we bled on; rivers we traversed and pitfalls we fell in. They do not indicate what we would face in the future, but they do tell us how to deal with different scenarios.