The Sunday after

 I sit here today as I try to ponder on the inner workings of my mind on this silent afternoon, the Sunday after my escapades. It is something I often do after a long bout of extroverted-ness, my chronic condition of expanding more energy than I would care to on various musings of life. So much has happened in the past three weeks, but most of it too private to tell-tale on a public blog.  But know this: there's a bitter coffee to my right, just within reach, and then the ever pervasive sound of the ceiling fan running as my mind tries to count its rotations with accuracy. I sit donning a jade shalwar kameez, buttons of the sleeves in place, back straight as it soothes the pain, I am back in the confines of sunny equatorial Lahore, the city of gardens, home to guardrails of the Punjab.  I am reminded, suddenly and somberly of my grandfather, typing as I typed, with both hands on his keyboard, fingers pushing buttons, the learnings of his typewriter days being translated to the memo

Cleansing nature of goodwill

 There is something to be said for the one who pushes aside ache and sadness to say a prayer instead of a curse for the one that has caused it. 

Its is among the most purest of acts that exist in nature. To fight against your nafs, your very nature, and respond to misfortune with a smile and a clean heart - it is also an act of bravery, that very few can muster up


The brushing away of stains of ego and dousing of empathy by the bucketful, serves to purify and cleanse the soul in a way very few other things can


Therefore, let us treat ourselevs every now and then, and sing ode to those that have wronged us 



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