Posts tagged ‘writing’

April 21, 2014

When you want to stay away from your Camera

by Khanum

Ever since I got my new camera, Canon 600D, I have been doing photography almost everyday. All my posts are about photography and all my days revolve around ideas that can improve my skills.

This. is. getting.! I want to take a break from my camera, break up with it for awhile, announce to my family that I’m on a vacation and would concentrate on reading and writing alone. If you’re also that person who feels its getting a bit overwhelming with shooting all the time, you need to stop too and do something else. Refresh your system and I know, even though it would be hard to stay away from your camera, you need to try for the sake of saving your other talents and plans for life. If you’re a writer , this break is definitely needed for your soul.

Help yourself by knowing these points. 

1- A picture is better than a thousand words. But words are there for a reason. Tell yourself that. Realise it and don’t over do it with photography. Still can’t stop? Find a way to add words to your picture. Make long descriptions, this way you would find the joy of writing again and the devil camera might leave your mind for awhile.

2- Know that everything can’t be photographed. There are emotions that you can’t capture in still photography but only in words. Make schedules, do photography but only once a week. On other days, do something else that gives you joy. Write if that’s what makes you happy. Don’t give up.

3- And finally, make your photography meaningful. Don’t just snap snap and snap all the time. Go for conceptual photography and if you know what that is, you also know that is it takes proper planning and timing because its like a project and not photography for the sake of photography alone.

When I’m back with my camera and we are no longer in a broken relationship, I’ll start writing digital photography tutorials to help you learn how I do my stuff and also to make room for writing.  Meanwhile, enjoy some last of my work because you won’t be seeing much of it for few days.










December 6, 2013

The Freak Inside

by Khanum


The thought of finding human blood spattered on the book gave me chills. May be I was exaggerating. It couldn’t be—

But I was also sure about one thing; I hadn’t put the smell out of my mind. The smell that always seemed saltiest and flat to me. For It was all that I had smelled for an entire week—everyday—every night—on every part of my body. How could I have forgotten it then?  — Anomalous 

We all have creative freak inside us. Writer in many cases. He keeps on talking and talking inside your head and I guess that’s why they say, Or maybe I’m saying it that Every man is an author. Whether you publish it inside your head or go world wide with  your words, its in you. Having a twitter account just proves it.

I kinda had a very crazy freak inside me too and it still lives on  but in a different way. I was once obsessed with becoming a novelist. I have several unfinished and half finished manuscripts buried in my old laptop. God! I was crazy at making up stories. Writing in Urdu was fun too. But I wrote more in English. And guess what! I suddenly remembered tonight that I had once put a chapter of my story on net on a very forgotten website. Its name was Anomalous. I didnt even bother with it later on. It was about 7-8 years ago I guess. God!  So many years have passed  since my stories.  Anyway I decided to share it here today. You are allowed to laugh or like it but for me, anything   I wrote is never worthless. Its what made me who I am today. A cool blogger and a decent writer. Though I gave up writing fiction long ago but I enjoyed that freak inside me. Have you got any freak inside too?

Click here to read the rest of the story.

May 31, 2012

Come, Rain.. !

by Khanum

Anas, a fellow blogger wrote this beautiful piece Of reflections, shards and broken hearts ! I had this piece written months ago, I am publishing it to compliment his write up.

Half way to the home , the pregnant clouds finally gave a loud cackle and water began to pour down drop by drop. It’s nighttime around 11:30. The long empty roads leading his way home now looked maddeningly exotic. He  speeded up the car and had himself  inside the safe shelter within few minutes as if someone awaited him at home.

But no one.

An hour or so, He went to bed after watching the show of a few crystal drops dancing on the lawn..

Body tired of all day’s fatigue yearned for comfort but something in his  heart started to lure him out in the dark pitch. He got out of bed and slipped out of the room.

Rain is a such a monster , a demon of memories and a haunting pleasure. It begins to inject you with random thoughts. There are thousands of things you feel like doing when it’s raining. Thousands of places you travel to in your mind, thousands of smiles you pass just thinking of something maybe a time gone by. And the madness keeps growing louder with each thundering sound the skies make, you want to stay there with the rain despite of the chill you are feeling on your cold n’ bare feet.

It often rains in his dreams. And It has been told rain is a blessing. When it pours down, we should pray as much as possible.

He raised his hands and whispered the supplication but the sounds of the rain are so alluring and beautiful on the ears that soon he began to loose focus  and  wished to do nothing more, but just sit there on the porch, watch the night go by , watch his toes turning purple, maybe imagine someone on the other side and just consume the beautiful sounds of the rain that spoke thousands beautiful things.

Maybe get wet, maybe open his mouth and sip in few drops. Maybe  make paper boats , maybe sleep right there for a change or maybe ……

just maybe

Tonight, he thinks of  Her  &  no one else..with purest of heart ever.

January 24, 2012

The Devotion of The Thorn by Anas Shafqat

by Khanum

I wish I could write something myself But I am really unable to write anything  so i’m sharing a writing. A very special writing by a blogger I came across. Anas, Thank you again for writing such a good piece. It’s beautiful. It shows your literary taste and excellence. Shine on! 




“You’re ugly,” The rose wrinkled her pretty petals in disdain and glared at the wistful thorn but a few centimeters away,” Your ugliness dulls my beauty; your forlornness my carnation and even after a lifetime of rebuke and abuse, you still persist in your  attentions towards me?”

The thorn made to protest, but under the annoyed gaze of the regal flower, merely stammered and fell silent; the rose seizing the chance, went on with her tirade.

“It is an insult to my beauty that such scum as you should linger around me; but I  bear, I tolerate your odious presence in my space; alas! was it not for my generosity I would have long ago gotten rid of you – yet, your boldness surprises me; your sneaking, jealousy-borne habits of drawing blood from the fingers of my admirers … makes me so angry that I wish I could have been as cruel as the leaf that flicks away the caressing dewdrop once the sun rises to its full majesty!” The rose continued to gesticulate fiercely; alternatively clutching her petals in a tight huddle and letting go in an angry flourish.

The thorn listened. And listened.

He knew the reproaches would soon come to an end.

“Why can you not stay away!?” The rose finally shouted  and huffing loudly, turned her back to the thorn; as if his very countenance was offensive to her highness.

And, at the very moment, when she turned her back, he whispered in a voice that even the most flamboyant critic would not have considered devoid of utmost devotion:

“For the sake of protecting you from those that ever yearn to ruin you.”


Rabi ul awal Mubarak to all , hope you enjoyed it.



November 13, 2011

Halaat Kahani

by Khanum

Mujh se kisi ne pocha , Kia tumhe khawab bhi angrezi mai ata hai ?

Main ne herani mai kaha, Nahi !

Phir mujse pocha gaya, acha…! tou kia tum sochti bhi angrezi mai ho ?
Ab ki baar main ne muskura ker jawab diya. “Haan, kabhi kabhi.”

Yunhi sawal o jawab ka silsila chalta raha, main kabhi ulajh ker kabhi muskura ker haan naah mai sir hilati rahi.  Main is zaviye ki addi ho chuki thi. Log akser yehi sochte thay, angrezi bolti hai shayad sochti bhi angrezi mai ho jazbaat bhi angrezi ho, adaaat bhi angrezi or rasmo rawaj bhi angrezi.  Main jahan tak mumkin ho saka baat ka jawab deti gai, phir achanak se chup hogai.

“Phir Ab urdu main likhti kyun nahi?” aik or sawal ka wajdaan hua.

Main kuch dair us sawali ki ankho mai ankhein daale ghoorti rahi. Sakhti se nahi, nah talkhi se….bus naram ankhon se,  tik takki lagaye. Dosri taraf jawab ka intezar barh raha tha, likin yeh bhi ek nagawaar haqeeqat thi mere hont ab tak  junbish se khali thay..

“Kia soch rahi ho…?”

“Jo beeti hai..” Main ne sada se andaaz mai jawab dia aur nazrein chura leen.

“Kia beeti hai?”

“Jiska mein ne zikar nahi kiya.”

“Kyun zikar nahi kia ?”

“Kyun ziker nahi kerte?” main ne bhi tukri ba turki sawal kiya

Kuch dair ab dosri janib khamoshi rahi. Sir jhukaye, mu banaye, bilkul gehri khamoshi rahi. Wo bhi kiya khoob soch ka sannata tha, Phir us ne is sannatte ki matt maar di.

“Tumhe shairi nahi atti hogi, isi liye. Ya phir…..”

“Ya phir?” Mera dil mazeed bujh gaya.  kyun log kerte hain esi baatein? Kia hai ye sab? Kyun hain hum log esey….?

“nahi bs, yehi wajah hai. Tumhe shairi nahi ati warna log akser shairi main bohat kuch keh jate hain.”

Mera dil chaha main haath mai pakri kitaab us ke sir pe de maroon. Likin meri saadgi, maine ne dheemi si muskurahat dey maari. Akhir k us ne sach hi kaha tha. Muje shairi kahan ati thi?

“Angrezi tou ati hai na?” …”haan ati hain, per uska is se – ” , Uska is se taluk mat pocho. Bus keh daalo.”

Likin main chup rahi. Itney main mehfil mai do aur parwaney shamil hogaye. do se teen, teen se chaar, in rasmi si baaton ke liye sab jama hogaye. kisi ne chand alfaaz main tashbeeh dey ker dil ki duniya keh daali

Subah ki coffee ki tarah,,

Zindagi bhi,

Joon joon sard hoti gayi,

Talkh hoti gayi….!

Kisi ne mohabbat pe shair sunaya, kisi ne nafrat main ghazal parhi.

Unki urdu is kadar nafees, meri urdu….kuch  khass nahi…bus meri sochon tak mehdood rahi.

Main chup rahi. 

“Chalo chalo, ab tumhari baari hai!”

“Kia kahoon?” … muje sab ne apne mazakh ka nishana banaya. Main ban bhi gai. “Ms angrez, kuch kahen ap b ab urdu zubaan mai. Arey per apko tou shairi nahi atii….? ke uska bhi angrezi mai wajdaan hota hai ?”

“Angrezi bolna yaani jurm hua.” …”haan bilkul! … sanjeedgi ki zubaan bus ek zubaan hai…Urdu!”

“Acha?” mujhe is baat per bey panaah hassi aii. Main Chup rahi.

Phir mujse 1 ghante mai panchween martaba pocha gaya, Tumhe waqai kia her dil ki soch  angrezi mai ati hai? …”Nahi!”  main chup rahi.

“Haan, mujje yeh rasmi rasmi sa izhar nahi ata. Muje jo soch ati hai, behad saadi bohat bey baak si ati hai .  yeh rasmi sa izhar nahi ata”

Main ne side per rakh di gai apni kitaab phir se utha li , or is mehfil se anjaan ban ker beth gai. Wo bare logon ki anjuman thi. Main ek choti si adeeb, wo bhi angrezi zubaan ki. Kahan ata tha mujse ye sab kehna? likin wo ba zidd, or mai – bechargi ki hadd tak lafzon se ghareeb.

Mere haath mai aik kagaz thama dia gaya, shair nah sahee, kisi soch ka aik tukra hi sahee. ‘Batao, dil ki duniya. tum kia kahogi?”. Main ne sir jhukaye kagaz lotaya, laptop on kia or likha shuru hogai…

Nah tashbeeh di nah tang kheenchi…Maine aik hi baat ko ek hi jumle ko  kitni hi zubanon mai likh dala.  Kisi zubaan ka kuch aser betha, kisi ka kuch nikla…. Per wo samjh gaye! Nah meine backspace ka istemal kia nah  save file click kerne  ki zehmat kerna samjhi.

Unke samne screen rakh di. Unhon ne sab parha per phir bhi nazar khas us urdu ke bey baak jumley per mehwar rahi. Wo khamoshi se taktey gaye, main narmi se  talkhi ka ehsas chorey kamrey se bahir nikal aii..

Ab koi nahi pochta mujse … kyun hain mere halaat Talkh ….kisi bhi zuban mai!!! yun rasmi rasmi.

Note: its first time ,a full post in Roman Urdu on this blog by me. Please excuse any of my Urdu mistake.

March 12, 2011

My Mind-bogglingly Giggly Tales!

by Khanum

First Wisdom

The Great Baba and the Three Brothers

Once, three imprudent brothers were embarked on a journey. But before they left their home, their old wise mother gave them a piece of advice.

‘Go straight to your business my sons. No matter who prince of Persia you meet on the way, you are not to stop.’

Her three irresponsible sons took that advice and got on their voyage. After three days, when passing by the forest they came across an old man, who sat under the shadow of an old enormous tree, completely in silence. He had long white hair; a beard and the only piece of clothe covering his lower body.

They at once recognized him to be a Guru; lost in worship and decided to stay.

“I think, my dear brothers, he is a wise righteous man of God, probably meditating here in silence. I say we must stay here and ask him to teach us few wisdoms.” said the First brother and they all sat before him.

The old man opened his eyes and found three of them staring at him.

“Who are you?” asked the old man

“Baba! They are my brothers and we all are merchants, going to another kingdom for trade.” One of the brothers replied

“Then why are you sitting here?”, the old man asked again

“We wish to learn from you, Baba. You are the possessor of great knowledge and saintly wisdom. Will you teach us some of the wise lessons and help us?” said the second brother and offered Baba fruits from his sack.

The old man stared at three of them very strangely and then after a long moment of consideration, decided to teach them only one lesson.

The brothers agreed upon it at once and happily offered the old man another sack of food they carried.

“Ah!”, said Baba, “I shall teach you one lesson only. But I am afraid you would neither have the courage to learn it nor patience.”

“Please, do trust us Baba. We will do everything to learn wisdom from you”, they pledged their sincerity.

“Very well, then. Go to the palace of the King and take as many as the finest fruits you can from the king’s garden.”

“But Baba, wouldn’t that be stealing?”, spoke the first one

“Yes, and the King’s men would cease us at once and throw us in the prison”, also interrupted the second.

“I told you, you would not have the patience to learn anything out of it.” The old man clapped his thigh and mumbled.

The brothers stared each other.

“What should we do next when we have taken the fruits?”

“You would then take the horse from one of the common villagers and ride on it. But remember, all three of you should ride on it together and circumambulate the palace seven times as slow as you can”

The brothers again looked confusingly at the old man but did not dare open their mouths for the fear of being dismissed.

“And then, lastly”, commanded the old man cheerfully, “You would give that horse back to its rightful owner and run to me on your feet, as hasty as you can. But before you head off to make this journey, you would have to put leave of your burdens here and travel devoid of any belongings.”

The brothers, who were desperate to learn anything from the man they believed could guide them spiritually, set off to the King’s palace without in the least delay and did faithfully as their Baba had said so.

When they had taken the finest fruits from the king’s garden, the soldiers came running after them and captured the first brother. The remaining two escaped from the garden and hid in the nearby barn of a villager. They stayed hidden there for several long hours and grieved for the lost of their Eldest brother. But when they had finally decided to go back to the palace and ask to the king for mercy, the youngest brother remembered the words of Baba, “you would neither have the courage to learn it nor patience”, and took the decision to go for the next mission.

They stole a brown stallion from that barn and headed towards the palace for seven times circumambulation. On learning of this theft, the owner of the horse ran after the brothers cursing them all the way and alerted the king’s soldiers. Soon, the whole kingdom had learnt of three brother’s actions and they were wanted by the Sultan.

Shortly, the angry villagers, Sultan’s soldiers and the grim horse owner chased after the brothers while they circumambulated the palace on a slow speed.

They had finished barely one round when the second brother fell from the brown stallion and was subsequently captured.

“Do not worry about me, brother. Save yourself and run quickly to wise Baba.” he cried after his youngest brother. “And return back with the great wisdom to free us from the prison. We shall tell it to the Sultan and he will surely fee us.”

The third brother hurried to the barn, left the horse there as the Baba had asked them to do and ran on his feet towards him. On the way back he became over excited to realize he had been successful among all the brothers to Perform the tasks the Baba had asked them to do. The odd jobs did brought with them pain and miseries, he thought, but I am sure the wisdom Baba meant by it would pay off the harm.

So he happily reached the tree Baba sat under in hope of learning a great wisdom, but there he found no one. He thought Baba must have been gone for a stroll but soon he noticed; the sacks they had left behind were also disappeared.

Except, there lay the small garment Baba covered his body with and in it, was wrapped a piece of paper, on which were written black words with charcoal.

“Beware! The old man is a former retarded Vizir. If found, please transport him to the Palace.”


“Use your common sense. Not every man sitting under the tree is a Virtuous soul.”