Stories about love

This Valentine’s Day, spoil your loved one with some perfectly chewy and gooey red velvet pancakes and cinnamon rolls!

This time around when I was writing this blog, for some odd reason, the only thing that kept coming to my mind was the phrase “spreading love”. Last year when I visited the UK, I had a chance to watch the Lion King musical – an absolute breathtaking experience, which can never be replaced and is one of the highlights of my life. “And can you feel the love tonight? It is where we are It’s enough for this wide-eyed wanderer that we got this far And can you feel the love tonight? How it’s laid to rest It’s enough to make kings ...

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Her love wasn’t moulded by class, but they were right…

Frolette Manor 235- A, Northampton Road London, England.   Dearest Victor, It has been a long, long time since we last talked. Elizabeth Dursling was born to the best family of the town. For her first birthday, Elizabeth got a diamond tiara. For her third, a gold-studded dollhouse. For her 15th, she was given her personal cab and chauffeur. But her 20th had to be unparalleled. Elizabeth wanted to get the grandest present till now. “Is there a special guest this year as well, father?” Mr Dursling stood up from his trademark armchair. “Yes. And I expect you to behave yourself in front of him. He’s important”. Elizabeth was sitting ...

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This was no usual pain – this was a pain of loss

Emily rose in the pale blue light of dawn, and went into the balcony. She leaned against the wall and gazed at the sky as it further lightened above her. This was her favourite time of the day, when after the dark, colours would slowly and timidly creep back into the world. But even as she stood looking at the sky, her eyes brimmed with tears and her body rippled with pain. This was no usual pain. This was a pain of loss, and nothing could assuage it. Emily’s eyes twinkled with excitement as she looked at herself in the ...

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When did I become your favourite punching bag?

Have you ever hoped for silence? Have you waited for minutes, hours and even days for the absence of words, conversation and noise? I find myself here more often than I should. Sitting at my bedside questioning my life and sanity, wondering what path I took that brought me here. A path I question but very well know; the curves and bumps on each and every step. This isn’t a new occurrence, it happens often and every time I tell myself I will soon escape this moment of craving pure silence. I feel like a caged bird, clipped off of her wings and fragile ...

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From Dagh Dehlvi to Ghalib: My journey towards understanding Atta Shad

A few days after his death, I came across the news in an old newspaper: “Renowned poet and writer Atta Shad passed away last night”.  It was not news for me. Anyone could die, so did Shad. I didn’t even bother to read the news piece in detail and instead put the newspaper aside. At that time, I was a teenager and had recently developed a taste for poetry. And if you expect Shad to strike the chord of a teenager, you would be terribly wrong. And if somehow a teenager did manage to read his poetry, his words would disappoint you, as ...

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I did this to my wife for eight years and today I am filled with regret

We had a baby! A little baby boy who finally arrived in our lives after nine long months of waiting. I was still exhilarated with the way his little hand had wrapped around my finger. But the joy was short lived. As we waited to get back home after the delivery, we were jolted with unknown complications my wife had developed; a blood disorder that threatened to take her life away. I had the baby in one hand and my other hand outstretched holding my wife’s. I was dumbfounded and wrecked as she was wheeled away for scans and tests. My happiness and ...

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Parenting in Pakistan: An unhealthy mix of care and competition

Having lived abroad for nearly five years, I have become a keen observer of certain behavioural differences between Pakistani children, and those raised in the US or the UK. I firmly believe that cultural differences in early childhood decide who we become in our adulthood. A lot is determined by how parents and family members react to a child’s behaviour in his initial years of life, thereby instilling in him either a rightful or an inappropriate sense of what is correct or wrong. Each year during my annual trip to Pakistan, I noticed aggressive behaviour in Pakistani children which people in our country conveniently term as ...

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I learned true parenting from a foster mother

I first saw her at my kid’s school; she stood out in the crowd, a beautiful brunette with hazel eyes, radiant smile and … a stroller full of babies. There were three kids; a boy and two girls. I asked her if the girls were twins. She said no; they were 11 months apart. She wasn’t their birth mum – she was fostering-to-adopt them. Being from a country where foster parenting is not a widely acclaimed subject, fostering-to-adopt piqued my interest. I wanted to get acquainted with her, and over the following months we did. We often met on school runs, while picking and dropping ...

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Why I’m not fasting this Ramazan

According to family legend, I first fasted—for a day—at the age of four. I have no clear memory of this fast, although I do have the vague recollection of walking into the kitchen while my mom prepared iftar and her asking, “If you’re fasting, why are you sucking on a lollipop?” Ramazan in our house was a big deal. Ramazan meant we could—at least for a month—pretend we were adults. I insisted on fasting the entire month starting at the age of seven.  My parents agreed, but with three stipulations: I had to wake up for sehri, eat whatever was served during sehri (generally, ...

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Is it okay to mourn the death of a family member on Facebook?

A few days ago, I received the news of the tragic demise of an acquaintance’s father – he had endured a sudden cardiac arrest. I couldn’t possibly imagine how torn and devastated the family must have been upon the untimely departure of the very strength of their household.  A little while later, I was idly scrolling down my Facebook newsfeed only to come across a shocking post. Minutes after her father’s demise, this acquaintance had updated her status with a generic poem about sorrow captioned ‘I miss you already’ and had used the Facebook emotive tool to express that she is ‘feeling ...

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