Watching my grandmother comb her hair every morning after her shower was like watching a small ceremony. She would emerge from a hot steamy bathroom, her hair wet and slippery like a black snake draped over her betowelled shoulders. In reverent silence, She would glide towards the terrace with myself close at her heels carrying… Continue reading Black Braids
Like me, my grandfather used to go by a nom de plume. He called himself Khan sahib Giraftaar: The captured. He was into student politics. He was loud and unapologetic. He once got socked in the mouth by a policeman at a pep rally against the Raj. He laughed; blood and spit bubbling in the corner… Continue reading Nom De Plume
When I get sad, I bake cake. I dont know why I do it but I do. I dont come from a family of stepford wives, my mother only ever baked one kind of cake and thats the cake I like baking when I am sad. When I am sad, I bake my mother’s pineapple upside down cake
If you know me well enough, you will know that the Afghan in me is OBSESSED with roses and rose scented things. In my birth country of Pakistan, Roses arent just a valentines day thing. Roses play a huge part in our weddings, naming ceremonies, funerals and any other milestone you can imagine. Roses are… Continue reading My Grandfather’s Roses and the art of Zen.