Story of a life of a book


I am kind of a person who never keeps books with care. Believe me, if you are lending me a book, you shouldn’t expect me to return it in the same form you gave me. But if you look closely don’t you think how similar it is with us?  Isn’t it exactly the way life treats us? Actually, this is exactly the way life is. There’s a day when you’re born, fresh and new- just like the smell of new books. Then you grow up, you fall, you crawl, you break, you get hit, you get scratched, you get torn-literally shattered.People will you in their leisure time. Some people will hate you, some will just judge you, some people will buy you, some will earn you, some will give you away, some people will enjoy you, some will understand you, some will love spending time with you alone, some will…

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You are precious!

The Way I Think

Times have changed and traditions have shifted to different forms. While arranged marriages are still happening around world, most of the people today choose their life partner themselves. Everyone has a different mentality and therefore has a unique way of searching. Some people make sure that they have ample information about their possible partner to be, while others go for apparent realities or preferences. It might be a tiresome process. You might feel exhausted or frustrated sometimes. For some it takes years  before they finally meet their person while for others it’s a matter of moments. It’s a beautiful world with diverse creed of people. Some hit it off easily while others struggle for a great amount of time to settle down.

Even when you have chosen the ‘perfect’ partner to be with, it’s still not clear what life would be like with them. Not everyone turns out to be…

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Journey from innocence to maturity

The Way I Think

Why do people label me as an “Innocent“? I always wanted to know that, what makes me innocent? In opposition to that I will characterize myself as a mature person, maybe because my criteria of judging an innocent person are quite different from others. In quest of why and what I asked the following questions to my friends.

  • How do you perceive Innocence?
  • How do you perceive Maturity? 

Answers were unexpected. A human is so wise, prudent, knowledgeable and insightful. The most childish person gave me the answers like an adult. One of them said, “Innocence is inversely proportional to maturity; as you go through different experiences of your life innocence goes off”. One thing that I noticed was, everyone tried their best to give me perfect and extraordinary answers. I assume it was their innocence that wanted to show maturity.

As my friend says, “Innocence is…

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مارچ 2010 میں کچی افغان بستی کی سیر، جو کہ اب ختم ہو چکی ہے۔

The Way I Think

آج سے کوئی پانچ سال پہلے 2010 میں میرا اسلامک یونیورسٹی کے پاس آباد ایک کچی افغان بستی میں جانا ہوا,جہاں کوئی 10 سے 15 گھر آباد ہونگے۔ وہاں جا کے مجھے پتا چلا کہ یہ لوگ افغانستان سے ہجرت کر کے آئیں ہیں اور انکو جہاں تھوڑی جگہ ملی اپنے خیمے لگا کہ رہنا شروع کر دیا۔ بڑا عجیب سا تجربہ رہا میرا وہاں جا کے، لیکن شاید زندگی مجھے کچھ اور ہی سکھانا چاہتی تھی.آئیں مل کے سیکھتے ہیں وہ سب جو ہم بڑے بڑے کوٹهیوں میں رہ کر نہ سیکھ سکیں۔

مارچ 2010 میں, میں اپنی دوست کے ساتھ اسلامک یونیورسٹی کے کیفیٹیریا میں تھی کہ جب وہاں سے کوڑا کرکٹ اٹھانے کے لیے تین،چار بچیاں میرے پاس سے چیزیں اُٹھانیں آئیں. ہم نے ان سے پوچھا کہ کہاں سے آئیں ہو تو انہوں نے بتایا کہ پاس بستی ہے وہاں سے. تو میری دوست نے کہہ کہ…

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Flower That Was Never Saved


Drowning into the ocean of regrets she’d once thought,

About the people that she’d once loved,

And all the choices that she’d made,

She thought about the chances she did not take,

And all the ties that she had break,

She looked back in time and regret,

About everything she never did,

And the words she left unsaid,

Walking through the abandoned streets

She found a flower across the lake,

She touched it and thought why had it failed,

To bloom like the rest,

That was where her heart whispered back,

”Maybe because you never really tried,

To save the flower and it had died.”


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Where I Belong


Walking alone on the abandoned streets I wonder what changed. Was it the winter breeze that no longer lured me or the autumn trees that no longer shed their leaves? Was it the grass that was no longer cool under my feet or the flower that once called out my name?. I miss it with every ounce of my being, questioning myself where did I go wrong. Out on the abandon street I often wonder, where is that I now belong – behind the closed doors of my solitude or on the unexplored paths on the abandoned streets.

Where I Belong

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