The Theory Of Mr A

Five days after our marriage, Mr A and I, went out to dinner alone instead of all the relatives and family that has crowded their house.

I am a very independent person who does not really believe in guys paying for dinners, movies etc all the time. 

It just does not make sense.
So the time had come to make my views very clear by action. I had already done it verbally.
As I step out of the car, he goes like, “so its your treat ? Right ?”
Me, “Yeah, sure.” I am doing a mental chicken dance.
And than we go inside, order Garlic Bread and Potato Wedges for starters and dig in. 
Inside I am thinking, wow, this is totally awesome. Being a typical traditional guy, I was ready to face his male ego. And badger him with dignified answers.
Unfortunately, that did not happen. 
See, when the bill came around, he offered me his wallet but did not insist on paying at all.
I paid with a huge smug smile on my face, all the time thinking about the glory of winning a battle.
As we step out of Pizza Hut, he says, “Whats for dessert ? Make it my treat.”
But because I am such an over confident idiot, I get Double Scoop Waffle Cone ice cream and pay for it myself. 
I am still thinking of myself as a winner.
And that is when the bomb goes off. 
Mr A explains to me his theory. This theory states that,

” Make the person pay for all the dinners, shopping etc, so that they run out of money. You sit back, relax and wait for them to come and ask you for money with puppy dog eyes and embarrassing smiles. “

No comments.
Looks like I have found the perfect match after all.

I Have A Plan

When I was younger I had a plan. For everything.

In second grade I wanted to be a pilot. I had it all figured out. I wanted to fly. And the best way to do that was by flying a plane.

Because I never learned to do things the simple way. It was either the high way or no way.

Than in fourth grade, I wanted a horse stables. I had no idea how that actually works. But I loved horses so I wanted a room full of them. And make a future out of it.

In 6th grade, I wanted become a Chartered Accountant. I loved Mathematics and the highest degree I could think of was becoming a CA.

In 10th grade, I was set on becoming a doctor. I was going to become a surgeon. and not just any. A Neurologist. Or a dentist if that did not work out. I know, too much of McDreamy.

Somewhere in between I also wanted to win the biggest debate competition and be called, “Debater of the World”. I know now, that term does not really exist.

Than when I fell in love with writing, I did not just want to write short stories or articles in a magazine. My ultimate goal was to write a book. And that will happen, someday.

But that’s just me. When I do something. I like to do it big. Or not do it at all.

Everyone has a different definition of doing it. That’s just mine. And its ridiculous sometimes.

Now, I am studying to become a Chartered Accountant.

My two best friends are in Medical school.

I want to pass and get a private flying license one day.

I want to own a horse. Just one, in this case.

I got the Speaker of the Year award which unbelievably came into existence.

My articles get published in different places from time to time. And I have a blog. The book is on its way.

Somewhere in future.


Me And My Bookmarks

I love bookmarks just like any other bibliophile. But my attempts at using them always go to waste.

This is hilarious because I even make bookmarks.

Last summer, I made a ton of bookmarks because school was over and all of us friends were splitting up. So I wanted to gift everyone and bookmarks were included in those gifts.

Following are some of the reasons I do not use bookmarks as often as I should, :

1. I never find my bookmarks in the first place, whenever I am reading. And being impatient, I start reading after 5 seconds.

2. If I am lucky enough to find them, when I finish reading, I always forget them to actually put the bookmark in the book.

3. If I end up doing that, than whenever I restart the reading process, I will put the bookmark down because it keeps irritating me. And than I forget about it.

4. My brain tells me that the time it takes to use the bookmark, I can spend that on reading the book and end up doing that.

5. Also I end up gifting a majority of my bookmarks because I am like, I am not going to use them.

Despite all this I have a few favourites which are honoured despite my laziness.

One of the bookmarks I use a lot is a card out of playing cards.

And I might be slightly obsessed with skulls.

P.S. I had a group called ‘Cursed Souls” in 7th grade. And to me, its the coolest thing to this date.


Letters To The Moon # 2

May 18, 2014

Dear Moon,

I was coming back after having an amazing weekend and all along the car ride, my eyes were searching for you. But in vain, I counted six stars but not a single moon. 
I am turning 19 and getting married in exactly three days.
That is huge. And I know it. 
I am nervous. But not over the top nervous. 
The one thing that scares me are the expectations people have of me and with me. And the assumptions everyone seems to make.
I do not care about what people think of me. But people I love, care about what others think. And my love for these people makes me care about people’s expectations. Its like they have already decided that I am going to fall off the ladder. And instead of holding the ladder, everyone is just watching and waiting for me to fall.
But I will not fall. I am not that weak. And you know it. I mean, you are a rock yourself. 
I do not know what is going to happen. My life is going to change, that is a given. But one thing I am going to do is make sure that my foremost success is happiness. 
My happiness and the people I love and care about, their happiness.
The rest will follow. 
In time, I plan to accomplish everything I have dreamt of and planned for. 
But you know what, I am still a little scared. 
What do you think ? Do you think I will be able to do it all ? Do you think that life will give me a chance ? Or I will have to snatch it from life itself. Do you think that my optimism will be my doom ? Do you think that I will fall of the ladder ? 
I leave you with that question.

Adieu !



What A Glamour

The first visit to a hospital that I remember is when my mom got admitted for her asthma attacks. My Mamu came to Lahore from Waah Cant and we went to see Amma.

The hospital was spic and span, white tiles mopped so that they shone like the soles of Italian Leather shoes, walls covered with a beautiful Sea Green wallpaper, her room had a twin bed for visitors, attached bathroom, mini fridge stocked with Chocolates and drinks, and a fully functional TV with a box of DVDs with it. 
She was in there for a week or so. While she was sick and we in the hospital for long periods of time, after we getting bored of the room, we took to the outside hallways. That started the skidding races, driving our remote control cars in all the nook and crannies of that floor and emptying the Mini Fridge. 
The second time I remember was when my youngest brother was born. The location this time was KSA. A different country. A different city. Yet the hospital was spectacular. 
Its appearance made you forget that people died there.
Today, I went to another hospital. And I saw the most striking paintings ever. 

Just look at how awesome this painting is. 

You would never know the pain and diseases people suffer and come here to get better from. 

In Bloodlines by Richelle Mead, there is a thing called “Glamour”. Its this idea that everything related with Vampires and magic is over shadowed or concealed so that when an ordinary human looks at that thing, the glamour will appear to be something good rather than the real that it is. 
And I thought, what a “Glamour” these hospitals put up. That you forget what you were doing there.
For a moment you don’t remember that you were going to sleep hungry, your gum bleeding in school, missing Soccer tryouts and fighting with an elder kid in school.

What your memory recalls is watching a complete season of Full House and ordering Pizza four nights in a row.

But that is all it is. Glamour.

You go back to getting stitches or figuring out how to pay the hospital bills.


Letters To The Moon # 1

Photo by Saleha Jamil.

Dear Moon,

You and I have a very strange relationship. You are the only thing that has entranced me every time I look upon it.

Yesterday, I was hanging clothes outside, on the wash line and I saw you. You were gleaming like morning dew on a freshly blossomed Rose.

The stars aligned themselves in a way so that when you come out, you are the only one shining. And they are just Mustard in a Hot Dog, helping you look your best.

I don’t think you need that.

You are perfect the way you are. Because you like me have a story. Those marks, craters, dents and blemishes you bear are the signs of your tale.

I look at you and wonder how you can be so beautiful despite bearing so many marks. Its like you have been hand painted to look wounded yet pretty as a new bride.

You are like a victory mark for people like us. Ordinary people.

We have reached you.

Put a foot on you.

And now we have achieved something. Something that defines us to our generations. Our greatness. Our accomplishments.

What do you think ? Do you agree ? Do you want to be a part of that victory ? Or do you want to be left alone ? Do you ever wonder why someone did not ask you ? Why someone did not care about you ?

Do you ever feel like you have to fulfill expectations ? What if someone does not think that you are as worthy as you yourself think ? Or someone thinks that you are useless ?

I think that you are just a pawn in our game. The game that we win. And the people around us clap. They cheer on us. They look at you with contempt. Because everyone wants to see who lost to us.

So in a way, you are not that different from me.

Yours sincerely,



The Creative Me # Painting An Aztec Eiffel Tower

Keeping up with my new goal of updating this blog. I am going to start another new project called, “The Creative Me”. Now, I am not an artist but from time to time, my creative side likes to peak out and show itself. And those rare moments find themselves captured in different things, like an idea or a sketch.

I love doing different things. And I love originality. Even if something has been done over and over and I love it, I tend to think of a different way to execute it.

I have incorporated Tribal or Aztec print in the tower because its crazy trendy right now and I absolutely love it.

I have been wanting to paint an Eiffel Tower in my room for quiet some time now. But it got delayed for one thing or another. I finally finished it. And the best part is that I managed to take pictures during the process.

The only reason I was able to do that was because it took me a week to finish painting it.

Its really easy. It takes you about five hours from sketching to painting the tower.

But if you are lazy like me or have irritating guests staying over, it might take you longer.

The sketching part which was way easier than I had thought.

A much clear shot of the pencil sketch. 

At this point, I was sure that I had ruined the wall. Because it looked so bad.

A little better but I was still skeptical.

Now it had started to come around and look like an Eiffel Tower.

Chevron is my 4th or 5th love. 

A table was needed because I am only 5’4. I came this close to falling off the table at least thrice.

Tada !!!!! The magical tower with its full glory. Without the top, it looks like a king without a crown.

Here you go ! This is what I call beauty. I was going to cry.

One of the things, I suck at, taking pictures. Need a professional photographer in my life !

By this point, I had cleaned my room, hence a much presentable state of my room.

Me, trying to act like a photographer and one picture did turn out alright. So proud ! 


Shedding Some Light # 2 Bitten By A Sibling

One minute you are yelling at your sibling to keep his nose out of your business and the next, you are sitting on his bed, hoping that he will share his stash of chips with you. From sharing a room, you go on to share secrets. The fights about breaking crayons turn into arguing over who ate whose slice of Pizza.

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, me and my younger brother never saw eye to eye. Me trying to be the big bossy sister, him proving that he was the eldest of us all despite being the youngest.

One day, we were going upstairs to give a message to our Taya (Dad’s brother), and we were arguing over some petty thing. We reached the top and were standing in the balcony, finishing our argument. Neither of us was backing down, being the strong headed kids we always have been.

All of a sudden, he bit me. With bare, pointy teeth and all.

It was on my right arm. No the left one. I don’t remember.

Anyway, so he bites me and I am still standing there, gaping at him, not sure of what just happened.

I look at my arm and I can see the flesh. Its pink, red and all glossy. And its horrifying.

I don’t remember the next half an hour of frenzy where my brother is explaining it to Amma, and she is trying not to overreact. Otherwise instead of one, there would be two kids going to the hospital.

So somehow, me, Amma and my Grandma end up at the hospital. The doctor comes in, takes a look and asks,

“Was she bitten by a dog ?”

“No, by her brother “, my mom sheepishly replied.

The doctor went all ooohhh on us.

I ended up getting an injection and enjoying the attention showered upon me, which lasted for a millisecond.

When we came home and told this incident to our family, one of my cousins said,

“Kutta katta hai tu 14 teekay lagtay hai, bhai nay kata hai, ab tu 40 lagay gain.”

“When a dog bites, you get 14 shots. Your brother  bit you, now you are definitely getting 40 shots.”

Now that same brother knows me so well that he can tell you what my favourite food was in 6th grade. Or what colour skates I wore.

Siblings share not only a blood but a life together. So whether you need a ride or Doritos at midnight, you have the right to make them do it.

That is the fun of having a sibling. Instead of being one.


Book Review: Throne of Glass by Sarah J.Mass

From Goodread’s:
After serving out a year of hard labor in the salt mines of Endovier for her crimes, 18-year-old assassin Celaena Sardothien is dragged before the Crown Prince. Prince Dorian offers her her freedom on one condition: she must act as his champion in a competition to find a new royal assassin. Her opponents are men-thieves and assassins and warriors from across the empire, each sponsored by a member of the king’s council. If she beats her opponents in a series of eliminations, she’ll serve the kingdom for three years and then be granted her freedom. 

Celaena finds her training sessions with the captain of the guard, Westfall, challenging and exhilirating. But she’s bored stiff by court life. Things get a little more interesting when the prince starts to show interest in her… but it’s the gruff Captain Westfall who seems to understand her best. 

Then one of the other contestants turns up dead… quickly followed by another. 

Can Celaena figure out who the killer is before she becomes a victim? As the young assassin investigates, her search leads her to discover a greater destiny than she could possibly have imagine

Author: Sarah J.Mass
Published: 2012
Pages: 404
Genre: Fantasy, Young Adult
My Rating: 3.5/5

Assassin + Girl + Crown Prince + Ballrooms + Competitions + Blackmail + Sneaky Past + Corrupt King = One Kick Ass Story

The first half of the story was way more awesome than I expected. I am all for action and I love when the main heroin is strong and has a distinct personality of her own. And when she also happens to be the most famous and feared Assassin of Adarlan i.e. the ruling kingdom, what more could you ask for. I fell in love with her character, her strength and most of all her wit. The way she was able to laugh despite enduring what people couldn’t have imagined. Celaena is one beloved heroin. She can kill a man in the time it takes you to drink your juice, loves pretty dresses and favourite hobby happens to be reading books.

I loved the two main guys as well. Prince Dorian is the son of the ruling corrupt king and you would think that he would be his exact replica, that is what he assumes as well. But he turns out to be someone else. Someone who cares about his people. The other guy, Captain of the Guard, Chaol (weird name), has left his rightful position for a better task. The two guys are friends yet the contrast between them is so startling. Chaol being the wise one and Dorian being the fool prince. One thing that really got me confused was the love triangle or lack there off of one. I mean, if you want to put a love triangle in a book. Just do it. One second it is there, the next its not.

When my expectations reached the sky, I literally, fell out of the sky. Because magic and some weird nonsense named Wyrdmarks came between me and my love for the story. Magic and things that just do not make sense to me are such a huge turn off for me. I felt so bad like someone had performed open heart surgery on me. All of that creature leashing from the other side, blah, blah, blah, and the Wyrdmarks protecting her was utter nonsense.

I don’t know if I will read finish the series. I wish that the story did not include all that magic nonsense. It would have been such a die hard book. This is one book that I feel sorry for.


Sometimes Cinderella Doesn’t Need Glass Slippers

Art is a mess. Its a literal mess.

When you say art, I do not imagine Vincent Van Gogh with a brush in hand, moving swiftly and gracefully, painting The Starry Night.

I see myself. As an 8 year old girl, sitting cross legged on the floor, a huge chart paper in front of me, markers, colour pencils and all sorts of nick knacks  surrounding me, while I am in my own world, busy sketching Cinderella.

And that also from a sticker. I only want to paint Cinderella and could not find the perfect pose of her. So I end up sketching her from a three inch sticker.

The eyes and the hands. They are the hardest to draw. I have to erase and than try again. After 20 tries, I like it a little. But painting is still left. Out comes the water paints, brushes and a glass of water.

And the mess starts creating itself.

First the water spills. Always the spill first. The brushes never go in the palette, instead on the floor creating a scenery of their own.

By the time that 8 year old girl is finished with her Cinderella, she wipes her hands on her jeans, gets up, spilling more water, steps back and takes a look at her creativity. Fold upon folds of the frock painted sky blue, her eyes a brilliant gleaming black, a Yellow Daisy in her White gloved hands and that sparkling ribbon on her neck.

One eye is bigger than the other, nose is crooked and her arms look chubbier.  The dress is more blue from the middle. And worst of all, she is out of space on the huge chart paper, so now Cinderella is without her Magical Glass Slippers.

But its art. Its perfect.