My Cursed Kingdom
This is my kingdom, i am the slave.


I had been walking separately for several minutes, I could hear faint calls from my dad somewhere in the back, reassuring me that I had not walked off too far. The brush was thick and the ground was mushy from the overnight rain, making my boots heavier with every step as the mud stuck to them. I forced my way forward, my rifle in my left hand with my right arm under the barrel. I could feel the moisture in the air, the fog making it difficult to look past a few meters at most.

By now I was aware of the fact that I couldn’t hear the sounds of the moving shrub behind me or my dad calling; I must’ve wandered too far into the woods. I wasn’t sure if I should turn back or march on. I wanted to prove myself a big man, I wanted to hunt my first.

I was startled as a deer jumped from behind the tree and stopped right in front of me. It looked straight at me. My hands froze as I gripped the rifle firmly. I held my breath as I felt my heart start to beat faster, my mind trying to make a quick decision. I stared back at the deer, at its dark eyes and its dark brown color; somewhat hiding underneath the fog.

The deer did not look scared. It looked patient. It was surprised to see me, but was clearly not afraid of me. It did not anticipate that I was out into the woods so far from my own home, into its home, to kill it. For a second I thought about how it would be if that were me; if I found someone outside my house who was there to kill me, for sport. I became unsure of my actions. I got acutely confused. The thoughts of my dad telling me stories of his hunts and all the times I’ve enjoyed feasting on rabbit meat that my dad had hunt. I had always thought him my hero. But this seemed different, this seemed wrong.

I finally slowly moved my arms and pointed the rifle towards the deer, holding my breath. The deer still looked calm, just confused. I put some pressure on the trigger. I heard a loud noise and several birds fly out of the trees as I squeezed my eyes shut. I opened them just a second later to see the deer on the ground, bleeding from its head. It wasn’t moving, it was probably dead before it hit the ground. Did I actually..? My thoughts were interrupted by a figure appearing from behind the trees, wearing a camouflage shirt holding a rifle under his arm. My father.

“You okay son? I got a clean shot. Didn’t even see you here.”

“I’m fine.” I replied, still looking at the deer lying on the ground.

I wasn’t sure what to feel.


Don’t dig your buried treasures out; you never know what you might find. Unless you’re ready to face what you will see.

But if you must, then you must. Pick up the shovel, shove its head into the dirt with all the force in your arms, and then use the strength of your tired legs to push it further into the heart of the earth. You will feel the ground move a little; your heart will beat faster, anticipation. Take a big scoop of rubble and set in on the ground away from the point of interest. Repeat.

You will get to a point where you won’t be able to shovel any more. That will be the point you were looking forward to; the treasure. Buried, for years, away from you and from everyone else.

But you just couldn’t help it.

Throw your shovel to the side, get down onto your knees, reach inside the dark tempting hole in the ground. Start separating the earth with your bare hands. You will feel the dirt getting caught underneath your nail beds. You will feel the blackening spiraling stomach churning dirt stick to your arms. The sweat will pour down. Your heart will beat even faster, you are almost there.

And then, you will see it. A corner, visible, sticking out of the dirt. You will sit there gathering your thoughts for a few seconds, unbelievably looking at the treasure you had buried deep into the ground. You had eventually dug it out yourself. You reach towards it and pull it out. A photograph. Immortal memories. A deep chill down the spine. Goosebumps. As if your heart turned inside out on itself.

The hair, on the forehead, nicely set. New haircut perhaps. Straight face, not an exciting moment it seems. But the look, the look that you still remember, the look that is engraved into your soul.

Now you have the choice, would you put it in your pocket to keep it safe? Or is it time to bury it, deep down, deeper than before?


You’re dead beat from a long day and not really looking forward to the next hectic day, not because you hate your boss but more so because your boss hates you. You’re done surfing through all the 87 useless channels your cable T.V operator provides you. You check facebook one last time on your not so smart phone for any new notifications. You put on your PJs and hop into bed, and spare two minutes to reflect back on how complete your day was before you go to sleep.

To facilitate you in using those two minutes in a rather efficient manner, here is a checklist that you should at all times maintain by your bedside to ascertain whether you could declare your day spent a comprehensively complete Karachi day or not.


  1. Atleast two people in the city were gunned down by na maloom afraad. Check.
  2. Used abusive expressions in atleast three different languages to refer to the KESC. Check.
  3. Waited in an excruciatingly long line to fill up CNG in the car but in the end had to dish out cash to fill up petrol instead since you were getting late for work. Check.
  4. Your window was tapped on by a man dressed up as a woman who repeatedly called you Shahrukh Khan while giving you cute looks. Check.
  5. You cursed or waved your fist at someone on the road. Check.
  6. Someone cursed or waved their fist at you on the road. Check.
  7. Lodged a complaint about your internet connection with WorldCall or PTCL. Check.
  8. Atleast one person you know got deprived of their cell phone and personal belongings at gun point. Check.
  9. Rolled your window up and held your breath till you were way ahead of the damn fish truck. Check.
  10. Covered the 5 km distance from I.I Chundigarh to your house in a record breaking 2 hours. Check.
  11. Lungs got repeatedly filled up with a mixture of second hand smoke, carbon monoxide and methane (courtesy of your co-workers) several times during the course of the day. Check.
  12. Had a craving for dining out at Burns Road. Check.
  13. Had a delightful conversation with someone who could barely keep his mouth open lest the paan would fall out. Check.
  14. Had a craving for some Chicken Garlic Mayo rolls. Check.
  15. Had to take a detour because a perfectly functional road was dug up randomly and magically over night. Check.
  16. Heard someone use the cerebral expanding phrases ‘Haath kay haath’ and ‘De maar saarhay chaar’ needlessly in a sentence. Check.
  17. Spotted another one of those Dr. Ghulam Mujtaba billboards. Check.
  18. Spotted a traffic policeman hitching a ride from someone to get to work. Check.
  19. An elite highly trained sniper paan spitter hanging heroically from the entrance of a mini bus splattered your driver side window with his precision shot. Check.
  20. Heard someone blaring the multi-grammy award winning songs ‘Munni badnaam’ or ‘Jeo Bhutto Benazir’ on their 15watt car speakers in an unnecessarily sooped up Alto. Check.
  21. Spotted ‘Bad Boy 420’, ‘Don’t Jealous’, ‘Gorilla Commando’ and ‘Jhokia No.1’ roaming around the city. Check.
  22. Memorized a new shair from the back of a mini bus or a water tanker and reproduced it for your friends to laugh at. Check
  23.  Car’s windshield was needlessly wiped clean by a pack of pre-pubescent four footers who refused to acknowledge any sort or language; verbal or sign. Check
  24. Thanked God there was no ‘incident’ in the city. Or if there was one, thanked God you weren’t in the center of it. Or if you were, thanked God you made it out alive. Check.
  25. Checked off another day on the calendar till the weekend. Check.



Please note: If you ended up checking 15 items or more every night for a week, you need a break from this city.


The past was fiction. Future is imaginary. It is the present that is alive. And that is with you. And that is where I live. I want to live in the present all my past and future.

You ask me if my stomach churns or my heart skips when I look at you? Even more than that. Everytime.  It is not that that worries me.

I want to build a bridge. A bridge that starts from my soul and flows into your heart. An escalator that starts from your soul and moves up into my heart. I don’t want two entities; I want us to be one. Thoughts that you think that I already know, feelings I feel that make you sad; or happy for that matter. I want to feel alone if you’re not in the same room as I.

I want present to be eternity. It’s not to waiver, not to be severed, not to sway. It has started from stands, which have swung around themselves into a million twists, turning themselves into a rope. A rope I hold at one end; and you at the other. A rope that is life. Yours and mine. Ours. I want the rope to grow. I want the strands to keep twisting around themselves. I want to see nothing but the rope. I want to be always yours, and you always mine.



I love you.


A cigarette in your hand. I know it’s been long since you smoked one. Snugged between two fingers like you just took a drag, and then got distracted by something. Or someone. A dry leaf in the other hand; autumn it seems. Although it doesn’t seem like its cold otherwise, I don’t see a jacket. Just a bag hanging from your shoulder; nicely tucked away. You were always so good at carrying yourself. Crouching down, the dry long leaf in your hand, a little puppy infront of you. Teasing the little animal’s nose with the tip of the leaf. Your hair nicely and neatly tied up, flowing down by your side, the look that is your own.

Everything in place for a perfect picture; apart from your eyes. Your eyes are not there, they are not seeing what the world is seeing. There is sadness. Only I can tell, I’ve seen those eyes much closer than many people would ever in their lives. I can see the depth and the disjunctured gleam in them. They are longing. Perhaps for me? Doubtful. But hurtful nonetheless. I would give anything to find out what is behind them, in their depths, in their infinite ever growing imagination.

I have read your letters. I see the hurt in them. I see myself in them. I am your inspiration, your strife, your bar. You are my sadness.


One year. More than a year actually. Since you died. You live, but you are dead. Dead to the world. A world that once flourished and nurtured from the sincerity of your love. Its nothing but a piece of barren land now. A land with no light or water or air or life. Dead.

I had opened up your head once. Literally. I had you placed on my table with a faint light hanging from the ceiling. I had inspected your brain. The brain that was oozing with blood. I had studied it, I was in it. I was a part of it. It was a part of me. I knew what you were thinking even before you had thought it. I was your thoughts. I sewed it back up once I was done. You had no idea what had happeded.

 You had drugged me. Literally. You had slipped three drops of syanophol into my drink when I wasnt looking. You had watched me fall down. You could see me, you could see me slipping out of my chair onto the floor, but you did not care. Infact, you enjoyed every moment of it. You watched me lay there like a pile of rags. You smiled. I had no idea what had happened.

 Same thing over and over again.


I dream of lost days

I dream of mending my ways

I dream of you standing on a mountain

I dream of dreaming of souls full of wishes


You dream of an open cage

You dream of anger and rage

You dream of soaring high beyond reach

You dream of dreaming for that one day


We dream of tears and laughter

We dream of our lives moving faster

We dream of us, together, you and I

We dream of dreaming, knowing it’s but a dream.


You are my cancer. You are my disease. You are a gangrenous leg, that is rotting and falling off, piece by piece. But not falling off fast enough. The gangrene is crawling up slowly but surely. It wants to take over me. You are an injured limb, an injured limb I don’t have the courage to severe off myself. I’m waiting for you to fall off, but at the same time I’m holding on to you. Letting you from detaching. Harvesting your poison inside me myself. You are not mine. I can see the difference. But your flesh had grown into mine. We had become one.

I will build up courage. I will cut you off. You are vestegeal. You are a disease. You are a corpse that needs to be buried deep in the ground. You have been replaced, by flesh that has become a part of me, and I a part of it.


I paint your name on my wall. I watch the paint drip down till the ground. It messes up my wallpaper. I just stand and stare at it. The tiny drops rolling down the wall, racing against each other to reach the floor. I stand there and stare like a fool.

I tear the wallpaper down. I discover a window behind the flowery patterns. I push it open. I see the sky. The sky is bright red. The clouds are gathering in. They scare me. It looks like rain. I stare in amazement as tiny sparkling dots start to fall from the sky. They look like a million diamonds falling from the  sky. They move slowly. I stand there and stare at them in amazement. They aren’t rain drops. They are shards of glass. They pierce my body. They bury themselves deep inside my skin. I stand there, looking at my dripping blood in amazement. I feel no pain. I feel no shame. I close my eyes.

I open my eyes. Find myself lying in my own pool of blood. The sky is violent. The sky is bright.

inspired my All is violent, All is bright by God is an Astronaut


I dreamt of you. I hate you. You held my hand. I love you.