A pigeon’s fate

When I was not carrying your burden, my feet weighed as light as the feathers of a homing pigeon. My soul as pure as the whiteness of its body. My wings carried me high and above, taking me wherever I wanted.

But you plucked on my feathers and made quills out of them. Dipping them in my blood, you wrote my life, my destiny for me. How far was I supposed to go? Who was I to meet? All my decisions were in your hands.

You built fresh nests around me and asked me to lay eggs and each time when I refused, you built walls around me, their levels as high as your insecurities.

Now I can barely catch a glimpse of the painted glass windows of the house nearby. They have always joined my screams when you would go away. And I know once I am completely confined in these walls, my screams will not be muffled, rather, they will be so loud, loud enough to explode those windows and send sharp shards flying all around. And at that point I would wish deeply in my heart for one of those to find your way and pierce through your rough and callous skin. I want you to bleed, I want you to cry in pain and then with those broken shards I want to write the destiny of your life, just like you wrote mine.



This prompt makes me think about that childhood poem about the dog who slept like a log. That’s all I remember from that poem and every time I come across a piece of log, my thoughts travel back to the same association.

But slog isn’t in any way the same thing, in fact its the opposite of that lazy dog that slept like a log. Slog is that dog that slept, woke up and began working. He chased a few squirrels, played with his master, learnt a few tricks but still had enough energy to keep going.

Log on the other hand slept and slept, he slept till noon and woke up with a bright sun hanging up in the sky. Log indolently walked around in search of food, he wanted the food to appear to him, he was too “tired” to play or run, he just was so sleepy all the time.

Each one of us has a “Log” or “Slog” experience in our lives. We just have to decide how often we choose the right one.

via Daily Prompt: Slog

Oldie’s Gold


Begum Shabana was notorious in her neighborhood and among her relatives for her love of gold. She wore two huge bangles in one arm and six thin ones in the other, a couple of rings of which she usually boasted of one belonging to the royal diamond family.

On weddings however, if you had to exclude her face somehow, anyone would be sure to mistake her for the bride. A long malaa (necklace) that she claimed her nephew brought from India was a standard wear along with other items on weddings.

Once Begum Shabana attended a wedding from her neighborhood, the banquet of  Jamal, Mrs Furqan’s son, one of her close friends. A plate in hand, she advanced to dwell into some biryani, unaware of her malaa dipping into a bowl of raita (yogurt). She attended the whole wedding unaware of the malaa submerged in raita and the smears of it on her bright green silk Kameez. Surprisingly, no one pointed it out to her, possibly everyone was having a laugh out of it.

She was sort of the chatty aunties that don’t refrain from backbiting and commenting on other’s clothes and accessories and had the weirdest hacks to offer like her famous totka of how to relieve constipation in five easy steps.

5 easy steps to relieve constipation by Begum Shabana:

  1. Do 15 squats
  2. Use an Indian toilet, if not available use a potty stool for Western toilets.
  3. Let it all out
  4. If it doesn’t cooperate
  5. Damn that shit

The first time Begum traveled to Saudi Arabia to visit her sister, she was very nervous, which resulted in an upset stomach. In the restroom, she hastily looked around for Muslim shower or a lota, but in vain. Once she dumped the carcass of the morning paratha chai, she used plenty of toilet rolls to clean herself and still wasn’t satisfied which led to a marathon of constant spill of tap water everywhere. Before leaving she accidentally peeked at the remains of her bodily functions which she forgot to flush. The required button was nowhere to be found. After what took her about a few minutes, she was about to give up, when a blue button with a finger sign caught her eye. “Tap”

In the following seconds, Begum’s screams could be heard all around. Two air hostesses knocked at the door and informed her that they were breaking in, opening the latch from outside, they opened the door to a horrified Begum covered in her own dump, the walls of the toilet were decorated with it too. Face red hot, begum couldn’t utter a word, the air hostesses advised her to stay calm. Upon her request, her husband was beckoned to help with the agony that befell his poor wife.

No one would have known of this story if Begum wouldn’t have shared it with her daughter, who weak in her stomach, couldn’t resist narrating it to her sister in Pakistan, who too in excuse of her stomach bug issues, in return shared the tale with her best friend who happened to be the far neighbor of Begum. Hence the embarrassing news spread in Begum’s neighborhood and by the time she was back, everyone had enjoyed the piece at least once over a chat session.

Begum didn’t learn her lesson even after getting bitten so bad in the back, she carried on bad mouthing her neighbors who she thought were just jealous of her vacation to Saudi Arabia. She narrated stories of the Umrah and how she shoved people away to get the kiss of hajar-a-aswad stone, singing her praises of piousness and how lucky she was to offer 8 nafals at the Roza. 

Last but not the least, the amount of gold she bought was also a necessary part of the discussion.


A cat named Caterpillar


“Hello little Goldie, how’s you doin’?,” Rottie the parrot waved at Mr. Fred’s pet fish Goldie as he flew across the open window, landing on the sill for a while.

“I am doing fine, thank you Rottie, what about you?,” she inquired circling around the round glass jar, the bubbles of her words trailing towards the surface.

“Ah good good. It’s been a hot sunny day innit? Oh sorry you wouldn’t know,” he chuckled.

Goldie let out an uncomfortable snort.

“Well off I go, see you laters!,” waving goodbye, Rottie flew out.

“Bye,” uttered Goldie quietly.


In the garden of St. Marcus’s park a cat was growling loudly.”You better get out of my way you slimy skunky little fella. Ugh.”Catkins, a British shorthair was apparently mad at a caterpillar who was crawling by too close to her.

“Calm down young lady, I am just passing by,” said the caterpillar defensively.

“Meowwwrrrrrrr!” Within seconds Catkins clawed the poor little caterpillar and ran away.

Lying on the cool green grass, his body cut open from the stomach, the caterpillar was breathing his last.


“Wake up Catkins! Food is ready,” Mrs Fiona beckoned her cat towards her food. “I am not going to call you again!”

When Catkins didn’t respond to her call, Mrs Fiona lurched towards her cushion house only to find Catkins missing. This was worrying for never in 4 years had Catkins disappeared early in the morning at time of  her breakfast.

Mrs Fiona called over her husband and both of them looked around the house expectedly wishing their cat was safe.


“Hello again Goldie!,” said Rottie standing at the sill of the window. “Did you hear the big news?” he inquired.

“No, I didn’t hear anything since yesterday. What happened?” she asked.

“Yesterday Crowie and Snakie heard a yelp in the park. It was Catkins hissing at a caterpillar, maybe the fella was new to town, never seen him before. Don’t know the reason of the quarrel but that wicked lady snapped at the poor creature and split his stomach in half.”

“AWHHHHH,” cried Goldie. “That’s cruel!”

“Yes yes my dear. But listen to this part. They said, within minutes the caterpillar was dead. But next morning, as Crowie stood outside the window of Catkins’s house, he couldn’t see her anywhere, even Mrs. Fiona was frantically looking for her. That’s when Crowie saw a real bizarre scene, a caterpillar dropped off of Catkins cushion and crawled towards her food bowl. He started nibbling at the food and it felt like he wasn’t able to chew on it that’s when his whole body began wriggling like crazy.”

“You don’t think so….!,” Goldie let out a gasp.

Rottie gazed at her intently. “Goldie, I think unfortunately, Catkins has become a Caterpillar.”

Moral of the story: What comes around goes around. Be kind to others.