Toothaches > Heartaches

Psychotic rambling

Icklings

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Tobacco, tomato, timber, and toothache.

Smoke it, hot, don’t burn, in pain.

Please don’t bother for my sake

Because I am pretty insane.

Human, you humane. Heartache!

Didn’t I tell you to refrain?

Nothing to offer, I have, I’m afraid,

Yet my blood, you continue to drain.

When the last few drops fade,

You come and feast on my brain.

My brain, my brain, my brain!

Is empty but frowns in disdain.

Chew your tobacco.

Clone a tomato.

Use the timber, build a canoe.

Sail and drown, deep in blue!

Heartaches, you may sustain

But curing toothaches? In vain!

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Deathbed Confessions of Unrequited Love

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A thousand wounds I bore,
All different; similar gore.
The pus and blood that oozed,
Was the same of every noose.

Each cut on my frail body,
had a separate source.
Yet, it had always been yours,
the pain for which I stay woke.

The noise from my cracking bones
was your voice calling me a whore.

When I bled, they sent my blood,
to the best of labs for an autopsy.
What pathogen had gripped me so
The wanna know, they wanna know.

Your name on the report
Shook them to their core.
Poison kills poison, they thought.
And gave me then, your vaccine dose.

The discovery of the century?
My illness had no cure!

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Warnings!

#poetry #icklings #warnings #falsealarms

Icklings

They had warned me about it.

So, I was not expecting much.

When I made the decision,

their warnings, I remembered.

“Love is overrated”, someone had said.

“It will be hard work”, another had warned.

“Enter without expectations”, a once-a-romantic friend advised.

and then the others joined.

It was same thing twice and thrice.

“Love is not fancy words,

butterflies in the stomach.

Two days pass

and everyone cries.”

I obliged.

However,

Now that I am here with you,

I have finally realised.

“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Just how much they all were wrong.”

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The Very Uncomfortable Comfort Zone

Icklings

Lately, my comfort zone has become  rather uncomfortable. It is like that guy whose car broke down in the middle of the road. He knows very well that it is only a manifestation of his own negligence. However, the strangers pushing his car—assisting him in restarting it, do not have the slightest clue. They are genuinely concerned, unaware of the fact that he does that on a regular basis.

For him, it is a comfort that there is not much chance of their meeting him again. Thus, he qould continue to recieve the sympathetic assistance. Even if they did meet, he can always pretend to not recall them. That would be pretty easy.

What if the helpers found each other some day?
The comfort zone is growing pretty uncomfortable.
Told you, didn’t I?

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The Final Conquest

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Perched on my favorite rocking chair in the wooden porch of my small house, I was swaying back and forth. A backward stroke of the chair, and dark shadows engulfed my charcoal skin. The magic of physical laws brought it back to its initial position and sparkling sunshine made my face glisten. Darkness after light… Light after darkness…

I closed my eyes to relish my victory. Years of protests, neck-breaking efforts, and innumerable insults had borne fruit. We were free at last. Screens of every gadget I owned were live with a single news.

“The feminist movement has destroyed misogyny once and for all. The last group resisting the change surrendered yesterday night after a heated debate between the two leading parties ended unanimously in the favor of women.”

It was a bittersweet moment for me as a thousand disturbing images flashed across my eyes.

Beautiful feminine features made hideous by the pettiness of male ego. Uncountable pregnancies aborted forcefully and an even greater number of forced pregnancies. People tearing one girl’s scarf and forcing it on another. Glass ceiling, domestic abuse, honor killings, acid throwing, marital rape, sexist comments, and varying shades of sexual harassment. I had seen it all, experienced it all, and fought it all.

It was now a decade ago when one of my male colleagues had said it in defense of his gender but the low blow still stung me. We were having our usual lunch break discussions about the increased surfacing of rape case. He said, “If somebody has a key and they find a keyhole, they insert it in there. That is natural.”

I’d wanted to smack his deplorable face but I acted exactly how my gender did when angered and triggered; calmly but sarcastically. “That means if I find a bat somewhere, I can hit your balls real hard with it because you know it’d be very natural too,” was my tart retort.

Looking back at it, I was burning with anger at the audacity of that piece of sh** when a small crowd disturbed my solitude by blocking the sun. There were other lights though — flashes and cameras. “Ma’am we want to interview you.” Journalists! I thought.

“Go ahead!” I relented.

“Do you think men are your enemy?” asked a kind looking bespectacled man. His glasses were slipping down his nose after every other second.

“No!” I declared, “My biggest supporter throughout the movement had been a man. In fact, it was his brilliant idea that proved to be the stepping stone of our success.”

“Do you mind sharing that secret with us?” he asked visibly thrilled at the opportunity of asking me questions and even more so at getting prompt responses.

“I would love to,” I replied, “It’s not a secret, really. Do you know how the biggest reform came when men began supporting our cause and safeguarding our rights?” I saw him nodding vehemently, which was a dangerous risk, considering the condition of his horn-rimmed glasses.

“The man I am referring to had advised me to teach the womenfolk to raise feminist sons and that I believe did the trick. The opposing party called us whores and the poor men who stood for us were called impotent or gay. My great mentor used to say gays and impotent men are much better humans than these pathetic excuses of men who lack even basic decency I’d chop off my dick any day if it made me such an arrogant bastard.”

“You talk about your mentor a lot. Why didn’t you ever reveal his identity?” It was a different journalist this time.

“I didn’t want him to get hurt,” was my curt reply.

“Does him being a man bother you ever?” asked the guy with the slippery glasses. Good question, I thought. Something bothered me about my mentor but his gender was not it.

“No!” I replied, “Feminists believe in equality and not female Supremacy. We advocate humanity.”

They wanted to ask more questions, but I had had enough and thus excused myself. I retreated inside my home. I needed to talk to my mentor.

“Why am I a man?” He asked me.

“You know why,” I said evasively.

“No, I don’t,” he said, “Is it because the world wouldn’t listen to a woman?”

“No, not the world! The women wouldn’t have listened to another woman,” I admitted reluctantly.

“So you created a visage of a man who ‘helped’ you?” He said in a fake deep voice.

I nodded and said “The world had ingrained women to listen to men for so long. Therefore, I used our psychology to bring us some happiness. I could have saved them from men but how was I to protect them from themselves?” My eyes brimmed.

“It’s all right! You did great,” My reflection told me in a voice that was a distasteful mockery of Liam Neeson.

I smiled at it. No longer was he a figment of female imagination — a man who understood.

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Originally published on Medium

Tell me a Story…

Here is how our ‘Tell me a Story’ venture started!

Icklings

Hello peeps!

Now as my ‘about section’ will tell you, I am crazy for stories. I read them, write them, adore them, inhale them, exhale them… you get the idea! For me life was going this way until kismet decided to do me a favor, which given my history doesn’t happen too often, and I met this awesome woman, Midu Hadi, who shared my passion for stories.

Long story  short (see what I did there =P), we became friends. One thing led to another and now we are here to further our dreams that every story-enthusiast will share with us.

How?

The aim is to tell a story! This is as simple and as complicated as that. However, there are no rules. It can be prose, poem, art work, or anything. As long as it tells a story, it floats our boats. This makes it that easy and that hard. Okay, I…

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In Context

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“A little context goes a long way.”

_ J. M. Barrie,

The Founder of Secret Literary Society (SLitS).

Written on the pale wall, the slogan greeted her on the first day of her job. She was standing in a dimly lit, narrow reception area. It was desperately in want of a receptionist as there were no visible directions about where she was supposed to go. She gathered her teal patterned muffler and covered her face as a protective response against her nerves, which were threatening to overcome her resolve for a yearning for the signature hustle and bustle of a London evening filled her. But there was only the mild noise filtering from the bar above to keep her company. Previous day’s events ran before her eyes like that of a play she had watched repeatedly.

She was clutching a letter in her hands that congratulated her on securing a position. A position which she had never applied for. But it incited her interest many degrees more than the prospect of engaging with an unknown family and educating their children. A tedious but also the only other means of earning for her. Curiosity coupled with the greed of being called the 1st woman to be selected for the work of such a unique nature motivated her. She looked at the letter again for reassurance. .

The SLitS Headquarters,

October 16th, 18____,

Ms. ______,

As per our previous correspondence, we offer you the said position. Consider this letter your official appointment. Please take note that you, under no circumstances, are to show this to anyone. If you want to decline, then burn the letters and speak no word about them. However, if you were to accept, then we request your presence at The SLitS Headquarter (basement of The 1888 Bar) today at sharp 20:00.

May the Power of Words shine over you!

Director,

Secret Literary Society.

(SLitS).

She ventured forward and after a few minutes located a spiral staircase leading deep into the building.


 

A year later

She was standing in the lavish garden of a grand mansion that she was to enter in due course. The paper in her gloved hands read,

“Story-telling is not mere escapism. It is more real than reality; truer than the truth.”

Chilling air cut through despite her heavy corset, abundantly ruffled bustle skirt, and a copious amount of hosiery. Her ample bosom peeked out of the sensuous V-neck of her bodice, which was tighter than the pursed lips of her mother, when she lost her temper. A Gainsborough hat covered her curls, except for a few strands that were let loose purposefully. While her figure was plump in all the right places, her face — if not flattered with hair — heavily inclined towards corpulence.

She looked about her anxiously. It had taken her more than the standard 3 days to avail the invitation to this ball. She had almost lost hope, except in her line of work, one did not have the luxury of giving up. She sighed and threw back her shoulders before she entered the royal venue with a lady-like gait she had been practicing for a month.

Blood-red carpet covered the floor of the gigantic hall. Draping the 7 feet tall windows, the satin curtains in a shade of deep burgundy shielded the room from the gloomy weather outside. Within a few moments, she had detected her target and was moving towards him but was hindered by her hostess. As guided by her mentor at the SLitS headquarter, she fended off the emergency by cutting her off mid-dialogue without appearing curt or disregarding in the least.

She noticed that the night was advancing fast. Soon the mad chaos of colliding bodies in the jolly ritual called dance will ensue. It would be impossible to get hold of her target then. She decided that it was time to make her move. But —

“A woman of exceptional beauty in a room full of prospective grooms, interested not in even one of them only falls short in terms of suspicion to a handsome bachelor, with a large income and handsome disposition yet who was not pursued by a string of women,” said a velvety, almost intoxicating voice.

She stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes closed in a gesture of frustration, not unlike someone who was caught in the midst of performing an illegal deed. With great difficulty, she brought herself to face the watchful eyes under the drooping upper lids of this man of extraordinary eminence.

He was towering her 5 ft. 4” figure by a good 8 inches. Devoid of his wide-brimmed hat, sporting a tuft of curled hair neatly separated in a straight middle parting, and dressed in a silk frock coat of indescribable brown hue, he looked a character from the 17th century.

“Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde,” she curtsied and offered him her hand.

His Grecian features transformed utterly as he boomed with laughter and kissed her outstretched hand.

“It is odd you presented your left … ” He lost consciousness mid-sentence. Her backup had caught him and transferred him into another room before he had completed his fall.

By the time, Wilde came to his senses, a crucial piece of information had been exchanged between the 9th Marquees of Queens-berry and a charming lady who was never again seen in the same circle. It was an information that could char the name of a certain Lord Alfred Douglas for debauchery of inconceivable nature.


 

May 25th, 1895

“A few years and his work would have bestowed upon him success and popularity,” she told a mysterious man in black, “Why did we do this to him?”

“I may not have foreseen the level of injustice they perpetrated on him,” said the man but without even a shred of remorse in his voice. “Nonetheless” he added, “Our actions have only made him immortal.”

“Because that is our job,” she retorted, “We kill wordsmiths to immortalize them.”

The man had had enough. “His work is larger than his life and our sins,” he told the girl he had recruited a few years ago, “Besides,” he said adjusting his bowler hat on his head, “He isn’t dead, yet.”


 

A strange woman visited the most controversial prisoner of his time. What a scandal! thought everyone at the prison.

The powers that be had wanted to keep the whole affair a secret; thus, it was on every tongue like the other secrets of the literary world. Why was every great writer afflicted with misfortune? Why was there always a back-story about the best of storytellers? These were more than mere coincidences. Spicing up the lives of great writers was the job for which our protagonist had been hired!

“Why have you come here, dear lady?” questioned a prisoner whose glory and dignity had been drowned in a gong that still echoed “Shame!” “Shame!”

A veil covered the face of the woman in black, but he knew who she was. He looked down at the gloved hand more lethal than the most venomous serpent living in the depths of the African jungles.

“Apologizing will not absolve me or undo my deed,” she said in a sepulchral tone, “I want you to remember who you are irrespective of what happens in this dreadful place.”

She offered him her hand again. This time it was the right one.


 

De Profundis,” wrote the queer prisoner on a sheet of paper that night.

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Originally Published on Medium 

My 2018 in Books!

I know it is rather late for 2018 wrap ups but I wasn’t planning to do one in the first place. However, with every “top 2018 books I read” blog flooding my feed on almost all platforms, I decided to do mine too. Then, Goodreads summarized my last year reads in such a nice way that I just had to write this. =)

I pledged to read 40 books at the start of 2018 and managed to read 38. Here are the 5 books in no particular order that made my last year better and more bearable:

1. The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

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 I borrowed a copy of this book from a friend to whom it was presented as a gift by another friend aka the book dealer of our gang. Since both of my friends wouldn’t shut up about how beautiful and magical the story is, I was so annoyed that I had to read it.

From the beginning till end, the book was nothing but magical! It was like the writer had used all the synonyms of the word magic as ingredients to concoct an intoxicating potion. It is a story of two star-crossed magicians wrapped in a whirlwind of  enchanting occurrences and bewitching tricks. Each character in the book was alluring and had a part to play. The best part of the book, however, was the captivating prose that matched the story perfectly! My friend described it as appealing to your all your senses and I couldn’t agree more.

Check out these few excerpts from the book:

“Stories have changed, my dear boy,” the man in the grey suit says, his voice almost imperceptibly sad. “There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case. There are no longer simple tales with quests and beasts and happy endings. The quests lack clarity of goal or path. The beasts take different forms and are difficult to recognize for what they are. And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep overlapping and blur, your story is part of your sister’s story is part of many other stories, and there in no telling where any of them may lead. Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-clad little girl. And is not the dragon the hero of his own story? Is not the wolf simply acting as a wolf should act? Though perhaps it is a singular wolf who goes to such lengths as to dress as a grandmother to toy with its prey.”

“Only the ship is made of books, its sails thousands of overlapping pages, and the sea it floats upon is dark black ink.”

“I would have written you, myself, if I could put down in words everything I want to say to you. A sea of ink would not be enough.’ ‘But you built me dreams instead.”

The whole book is penned down in this gripping and poetic manner.

Recommended for readers looking for something unique and magical.

2. I Know Why the Caged Birds Sing by Maya Angelou

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It is my belief that when a person who is a poet at heart writes prose, a subtle beauty is caught in their words. This holds true for Maya Angelou just as much as it does for Sylvia Plath. This autobiographical account was one of the finest reads of my year. The narration is honest, straight forward, heart-breaking, and beautifully lyrical. You can feel the innocence of  childhood in the protagonist’s words and feel her pain as the story unfolds.

Angelou treats the reader with a few poems here and there, which are beautiful to say the least! See for yourself:

“The caged bird sings with a fearful trill,
of things unknown, but longed for still,
and his tune is heard on the distant hill,
for the caged bird sings of freedom.”

and a dash of sarcasm:

“I believe most plain girls are virtuous because of the scarcity of opportunity to be otherwise.”

and this!

“She comprehended the perversity of life, that in the struggle lies the joy.”

Recommended if you are looking for precious life lessons expressed in poetic prose.

3. Selected Stories by Edgar Allan Poe

Instead of reviewing this anthology, I’d rather tell you about the ‘strange occurrences’ that were caused by this copy in my life. I ordered this edition online:

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It is a compilation of Poe’s best works by Terry O’Brien.

Earlier in the year, I started reading it and fell instantly in love with the rich descriptions and a technique of storytelling I had never experienced before. Poe creates an atmosphere through his words that grows upon the reader. Unbelievable tales of horror start feeling real so much so that it starts affecting your senses. Now I am not a sissy and have absolutely no history of screaming after watching a horror movie or being scared out of my wits after reading a dark novel. But, 3 stories later ( precisely after reading “The Black Cat”), that I dreamt of a scary cat and woke up in the middle of night afraid and— I hate to admit— screaming!

Therefore, I put the book away for a bit thinking that I will return to it later. Unlike Joey Tribbiani, I only put it with my other books. Although, given what happened next, I should have put it in the freezer!

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A few days later, I tried my luck with it again and again I was in for a surprise! I was carrying it with me on a meetup with friends, when one of them asked me to lend it to her. I was reluctant but she made puppy dog eyes so I relented. We were at a McDonald’s outlet. The waiter handed us our leftover food as we were about to leave. Outside, there was a homeless kid asking for food but I didn’t take any notice of him.

We sat in our cab all jolly and at peace. Halfway through our journey, that friend shrieked! we asked her what happened?

She: Iqra! I gave my food to that homeless boy.

Me: Okay and ?

She: The book was in that paper bag too!

*drum roll* *sad music* *mic drop* *blast* *WTF*

Several sarcastic comment and some more WTF later, my poor friend compensated for my loss by buying me the same book. The darling that she is, she ordered the same edition! To be honest, I was still scared of that edition.

Thankfully, no more adventures came to pass except for my inability to locate the book at least twice. It was recovered later on both occasions and I finished reading it in September.

P.S: sorry about the long story but it is true.

Recommended only if you have a strong heart!

4. Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman

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I read it for the category ‘A debut novel’ for our reading BINGO. I liked how it was easy to read and yet had some very profound parts. I particularly liked it because the protagonist was relatable. An introvert with a very bad case of social anxiety, Eleanor says what she thinks. A lot of her thoughts felt like my own thoughts in certain situations. A few pages into the book and I could put myself in her shoes.

However, somewhere in the middle I guessed the mystery behind Eleanor’s troubles so it was a predictable read. But still the story-telling is nicely done. The sarcastic retributions of Eleanor for herself and others who run the risk of coming close to her creates a bitter-sweet feeling in the reader.

Eleanor Oliphant commenting on the plague of loneliness as if she is above all that crap:

“These days, loneliness is the new cancer – a shameful, embarrassing thing, brought upon yourself in some obscure way. A fearful, incurable thing, so horrifying that you dare not mention it; other people don’t want to hear the word spoken aloud for fear that they might too be afflicted, or that it might tempt fate into visiting a similar horror upon them.”

Another truth bomb:

“When you’re struggling hard to manage your own emotions, it becomes unbearable to have to witness other people’s, to have to try and manage theirs too.”

Eleanor doesn’t approve of modern language shortcuts:

“LOL could go and take a running jump. I wasn’t made for illiteracy; it simply didn’t come naturally.”

5. Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut

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I read Slaughterhouse-five earlier in 2017. It was great in parts but overall, it was okayish. However, I found Vonnegut intriguing! Same year, I read his short story, ‘The Drone King’ and loved it! This year, I decided to go for Cat’s Cradle and I must say, BEST BOOK DECISION OF THE YEAR!

In this brilliant piece of work, Vonnegut casually invents a new religion, ‘bokononism’ to explain the humanity’s eternal struggle with existential crisis, every man’s fear of surviving an apocalypse, and describing how life is nothing more than a chain of absurd events. Also, there is wit and irony!

The book is strewn with ‘calypsos’ that are worth collecting and recalling in times of difficulty.

Some of my favorite parts from the book:

“Tiger got to hunt, bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder ‘why, why, why?’
Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand.”

“I’m not a drug salesman. I’m a writer.”
“What makes you think a writer isn’t a drug salesman?”

“Maturity…is knowing what your limitations are…Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.”

And THIS:

“In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in His cosmic loneliness.
And God said, “Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done.” And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close to mud as man sat up, looked around, and spoke. Man blinked. “What is the purpose of all this?” he asked politely.
“Everything must have a purpose?” asked God.
“Certainly,” said man.
“Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this,” said God.

And He went away.”

P.S: I don’t own a physical copy of this book so if anyone wants to buy me a gift… =P

Recommended for nihilists looking for something unique and original!

A Few Others Reads of the Year:

The books I read for Halloween Bingo Card:

  • The Case of Charles Dexter Ward by H.P.Lovecraft — Lovecraft is called the pioneer of horror genre not for naught! It was a very oh-my-god read for me.
  • The Island of Dr. Moreau by H.G.Wells — A classic sci-fi with detailed descriptions that helps reader live the book instead of merely reading it.
  • Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradburdy — I was looking forward to read this one since a long time. It fell short of my expectations. My high expectations could be at fault here.
  • Bloodsucking Fiends by Christopher Moore — Loved every bit of it. I am a sucker for witty writing and the book had to offer a lot in this department.
  • Johannes Cabal, The Necromancer by Jonathan L. Howard — Another great read of the year. Witty dialogues, a not so innocent, extremely sarcastic protagonist, and appearances by an entertainment loving Satan make this an enjoyable read. Also, even Satan shouldn’t interfere with some scientific experiments!
  • The Halloween Tree by Ray Bradbury — An ideal Halloween read!

Mandatory Dose of my Favorite writers:

  • Oscar Wilde — The Sphinx without a Secret, The Model Millionaire
  • George Orwell — A Clergyman’s Daughter. An experimental work, it wasn’t as good as Orwell’s other books. However, the beauty of his prose cannot be denied even in the worst of his works.
  • Douglas Adams — So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, Mostly Harmless. The last two from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series. Loved them. When once addicted to the ingeniousness of Adams, you can’t retreat. That said, the final installment was a bit of a disappointment though.

Still Others:

  • Frozen Assets by P.G.Wodehouse — Hilarious as always!
  • Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by C.S.Lewis — Still crazy after all these years.
  • Roverandom by J.R.R.Tolkien — a cute fantastical tale of a dog called Roverandom. psst… there is a beautiful dragon too!
  • A Wizard of EarthSea by Ursula K.Le Guin — An average fantasy fiction
  • The Interpretation of Murder — A psychological thriller. Also, Freud and Jung are characters in the book!
  • Short Stories by O. Henry
  • Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski — a painful read that was only good in parts
  • A Place called Here by Cecilia Ahern — Magical realism done right!
  • The Bad Beginnings by Lemony Snicket — DELICIOUS!!!
  • Halloween Party by Agatha Christie — your average Christie mystery.
  • A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle — Young adult science fiction with an adorable story.
  • Lord Edgware Dies by Agatha Christie — Another whodunnit by the Queen of mystery thrillers
  • The Master and Margaritta by Bulgakov — I came to like it in the end but it wasn’t as great as I was expecting it to be.
  • Wonder by R.J. Palacio — A very emotional story about bullying. Didn’t like the ending since was kind of unrealistic.
  • Ivanov by Anton Chekhov — A play throwing some light on =nihilism.
  • Love and Levisham by H.G.Wells
  • Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier — bought it as a gift for someone and read it before giving it away =P it was unputdownable and I loved reading it.
  • Summer of Salt by Katrina Leno — Another magical realism read! Loved it to bits. It started off as light and witty with some element of mystery but ended on a very strong note. Highly recommended!
  • Curtsies and Conspiracies by Gail Carriger — Witty, adorable steampunk,  with pleasantly weird characters.
  •  The Shepherd’s Crown by Terry Pratchett — A disc world novel and the last from the witches’ series, this one is somewhat different from Pratchett’s signature witty storytelling. This one has a bitter-sweet touch.

That’s all folks! Happy Reading!

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Simulacrum

Awesomesauce! Please check out this amazing short story by Hijabi Mentat.

Muslim Futurism

The Ottoman railway line built in 1760 during the reign of Sultan Mustafa III was not only a symbol of Ottoman ingenuity and progress. It also facilitated the flow of people and commerce throughout the Ottoman territories and the surrounding Muslim regions. There were plans of establishing connecting branch lines into Arabia, Africa, and the Mughal Empire. This was to become a titanic undertaking requiring funds, manpower, and the involvement of the best engineers in the Muslim world. In its present state however, it connected Sarajevo to Kars, an Ottoman city bordering the Caucasus. This region over the years had become the theatre of an ongoing bitter struggle between the Ottoman Porte and the Russian Empire.

Every city traversed by the railway built massive stations in a bid to stimulate their local economies. Izmir’s train station was always crowded. It was constantly animated with a continuous stream of human activity and filled…

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Tell Me a Story…

Hello peeps!
Sorry for being MIA for so long. But the promise of a story still stands. It is not much of story and more of a jumbled up thoughts of a disturbed mind on a long sleepless night.
Without further ado, here you go:

The Miracle of a Dream

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She was standing in a desert. Everything was barren just like her life. The meager plants had turned inside themselves for sustainability. The few rodents and reptiles had hidden under the many layers of glistening sand. Only the sun was abundant, busy drying each grain it touched. Why, she thought, even my dreams are empty.
A boy tapped at her shoulder. She looked around, slightly startled.
“What are you looking for?” He asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied truthfully.
“But,” he said with a smile, ” You never not know.”
“You mean to say we always know?” She said.
He shook his head. “No. That is not what I meant.”
When she continued to look baffled, he ventured, “Always knowing would be like knowing exactly what needs knowing. What I meant is you are never completely clueless. There will be some hunch…intuition.”
She nodded.
The next morning she woke up fresh. Her mind was made. She knew what to do. It was all clear in her dream. She will just trust her instincts!
She did. She told the one the one thing she had wanted to tell him.
Like all her hunches, decisions, and wishes, this was also wrong… terrible and utterly wrong.
‘Who should I trust if I can’t even trust myself?’ She thought. A life full of uncertainties was ahead of her, with death, the only certain eventuality!

Do read what Midu, my partner in literary crime has to say. Let us know what you think about our ramblings in the comments.