Author: Mahvash K. M.

I consider myself somewhat of a serial corporate rut absconder because a sabbatical that was to last a year, has turned to eight, and I still see no end in sight. Before that, I worked in the Financial Services Industry. When I’m not writing, I’m fussing in my head, over ideologies of social justice and equality, with superhero twists! My stories and poems have appeared in The Rumen, Sequoia Speaks, Recesses, Every Day Fiction, Blaze Vox and Double Speak magazines. My poem, “Veins” was long listed in the Plough 2023 poetry competition. Books: The Girl with the Paisley Dupatta - (short stories) Shimmering Scraps of Poetry and Madness - (Poetry and essays) Curious Animals and Quirky Creatures - (Children’s Series) https://www.facebook.com/Mahvash.Moht/

BOOK READING | LOVE IN RAWALPINDI

On By Mahvash K. M.In BookReading, Fiction, Shortstory, womenwriters, writingLeave a comment

Reading from my book of short stories, “THE GIRL WITH THE PAISLEY DUPATTA”. The book is available at Sarasavi, Barefoot, Jam fruit Tree, Expographics and Pendi in Sri Lanka and at Readings, Liberty Books and Paramount Books in Pakistan.

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Many of the stories in this book are from outside the bell curve of our lives, embracing sensitive social elements that are spoken of either in subdued whispers or not at all: from the brutal vigilante justice dispensed in the name of religion in “The Gods of Fury”; to the harrowing custom of honour revenge in the “Sins of our Fathers”; to the patriarchal ruthlessness that so many young women are subjected to in the title story “The Girl with the Paisley Dupatta”.

Some of the other stories are of women and men negotiating life, love, friendship, careers and tradition in the sometimes tumultuous and many times limiting folds of their families and their communities: from the enterprising love affair of 61 year old Nighat in “Love in Rawalpindi”; to the shenanigans of a dancing queen in “Riotous Love”; to the complicated friendship between two middle aged unmarried society girls in “Days of Purgatory”.

The last three stories are a tribute to that most ingenious art form, political satire.

These tales will make you laugh, cry and ruminate in equal measure while niggling at the peripheries of conventional value systems.

VERSE | FALLEN ANGELS

On By Mahvash K. M.In poetry, truth, verse, womenwriters, writingLeave a comment

The Jallianwala Bagh massacre, also known as the Amritsar massacre, took place on 13 April 1919. A large peaceful crowd had gathered at the Jallianwala Bagh in Amritsar, Punjab, to protest against the Rowlatt Act and arrest of pro-independence activists. In response to the public gathering, the temporary Brigadier general, R. E. H. Dyer, surrounded the protesters with his troops. The Jallianwala Bagh could only be exited on one side, as its other three sides were enclosed by buildings. After blocking the exit, he ordered them to shoot at the crowd, continuing to fire until their ammunition was exhausted. Estimates of those killed vary between 379 and 1500+ people.

I’m wearing my yellow chunri today
I look at my reflection in the mirror 
And I see a girl in front of me
Her face is shining, her smile wide
I look into her eyes and laugh
I’m the happy lass today. That’s me!
It was going to be a lovely week
Of friends and melas and cream sodas
Baljeet and I were going to fly
Up, up into the sky
On rose-festooned jhoolas*

I waited at the bagh* with Bhai-jan*
His friend was organizing something
They were busy but I was busier still
Absorbing everything
From the smells in the air to the sights and sounds
I bought a set of bangles
Red, gold and brown
For myself and some for Baljeet
Emerald green with silver trim
They would play on our wrists, tinkling

Mohammad Bashir bought me some moongphalli*
He was Bhai-jan’s friend
Organizing something at the bagh
The sugary pinkness melted in my mouth
I got kissed by a little breeze blowing in from the south
I turned the other cheek
Laughingly and waited for Baljeet
For kulfa falooda* and gajar ka halwa* 
For nimboo mirch wali garam, garam challi*
My heart soared at the thought 
I looked at the kites gliding above
I closed my eyes imagining I was
One of those magical things
Floating, flitting on currents of air
I felt the breeze play with my hair 

Baljeet didn’t come that day
Bhai Jan forever went away
In front of me, while in my arms
Bleeding, gasping for air
There were screams and sobs
There were gun shots
I’d lost my voice; but inside me
Something broke piece by piece 
There was no comforting, caressing breeze
To sweep the stabbing bits away

Silently I looked around
My bangles were broken, there was no sound
From there either 
There was a wildness of colour on the ground
The red of blood spilling fountain-like  
The wet brown earth where life
And breath congealed in the grass
There in the April sun’s golden glare 
I saw fallen angels everywhere 
At the Jhallianwala bagh.
* Chunri: fabric pattern with little white specks on colourful backgrounds 

* Jhoola: Swing in Urdu

* Bagh: Park in Urdu

* Bhai Jan: affectionate term for Brother in Urdu

* Buria ke baal: Literally meaning “old woman’s hair”.  Colloquialism used for cotton candy/ candy floss in Urdu.

* Kulfa falooda: A rich summer dessert very much like ice cream.

* Mongphalli: Peanuts in Urdu 

* Gajar ka halwa: A traditional sweet made from carrots

* Nimboo mirch wali garam, garam challi: salt and chilli powder doused hot roasted corn on the cob

POETRY READING | MAYA

On By Mahvash K. M.In newbook, poetry, SHIMMERING SCRAPS, writingLeave a comment

My book of poetry and essays SHIMMERING SCRAPS OF POETRY AND MADNESS will be available in bookstores across Pakistan and Sri Lanka at the end of December 2022.

FRIENDS IN SL can get their copies TODAY from the Jam Fruit Tree bookstore on Galle road in Colombo via call/ WhatsApp to 072-7268078.

Shimmering Scraps is a collection of poems and essays, rumblings of the heart about the joys, the truths, the pain, the controversies, the funniness and the wonder that criss cross all our lives in one way or another.

The book is divided into five sections: Joy, Foot-in-the-mouth, Truth, Hope and Serenity. The Truth and Foot-in-the-Mouth categories are especially brazen and raw. As with most such uninhibited writing, the objective is to assail the sensibilities and even if just for a while, to look the truth right in its jaundiced eye. The other three sections are largely whimsical and uplifting very much like walking through a zen corridor, which I’m hoping, will also soften the sensory assault of the former two segments.

VERSE | OUTSIDE IN

On By Mahvash K. M.In poetry, serenity, truth, verse, womenwriters, writing5 Comments 
We were talking
About this and that
The conversation meandering 
Sometimes off the beaten track
Into more private realms
Reticent spaces holding 
Secret reflections, introspection
Ruminations that had rarely seen 
The light of day
Hesitating, faltering, we walked along
That path hewn on the cusp of right and wrong
Where perplexing thoughts lay vulnerable, bare
And then we heard the call to prayer

She rose with an alacrity borne of custom 
With velvety smooth liquid motions 
Like a babbling stream that has
No more reason to be but because
It can flow gliding in its bed of silt and stone
She floated through the ritual 
Sure, secure in the discerning eyes 
Of her faithful world. On the outside 
She had done the needful, the right thing
She came back to our conversation
Her face shining with virtue, beneficence 

But now the doors were closed
To the questions that had peeked through
The heavy, opaque veils of tradition and goodness
Back they had sunk into the clenched depths
From which they had inadvertently crept
She looked at me with guarded eyes
Lest I scratch that surface again
Lest she forget what keeps her true and safe

I smiled and she smiled back at me
“Have another cup of tea”
She said bringing the conversation 
Back to the glittering streets 
Of the daily treads of teeming feet
And I followed, leaving the track
Lit up by mysterious stars and the soul-searching gleam 
Of the moon that now shone on our backs.

VERSE | BIRDS

On By Mahvash K. M.In Foot in the Mouth, funny, poetry, verse, womenwriters, writingLeave a comment 
I’d become an avid bird lover
Since the pandemic hit my town
Ere I never could relate except
As a beholder looking on

But then this pair of mynahs
Intrepid little things
Well one was bravheart, the other a mass
Of nervous fluttering 

Decided that my balcony 
Was a good place for some treats
So they would pay me visits 
For some raisins and some cheese

I came to home number two
Carrying my avian love with me
Cooing pigeons in all forms
There frequented my balcony

Their rolling gait, their gentle sounds
Quite stole my heart away
And so I wooed them as they cooed
Treat-luring them everyday 

By and by the guileful birds 
Dropped their adorable avatar
My chairs and tables were endowed 
With their organic pockmarks

Now gently I admonish them
When they flap into my home
But they think I’m requesting more
Of their nitrogen-rich guano

I’m now a not so avid fan
Of the expelling, flying flock
My OCD has on my glee quite
Turned back the blessed clock.
The parents had brought their fledgelings to my home a second time. A bit of a soft initiation into the real world 🌸

NEW BOOK RELEASE | SHIMMERING SCRAPS OF POETRY AND MADNESS

On By Mahvash K. M.In Foot in the Mouth, Joy, newbook, poetry, serenity, truth, verse, womenwriters, writing3 Comments

Dear friends and family,

It is with great excitement and pleasure that I introduce my second book for the grownups – my book of poetry and essays titled SHIMMERING SCRAPS OF POETRY AND MADNESS. The book will be available across bookstores in Pakistan and Sri Lanka at the end of December 2022. Friends in SL can currently order it from the Jam Fruit Tree bookstore on Galle Road via call/WhatsApp to 072-7268078.

ABOUT THE BOOK:

This is a collection of poems and essays, humble opinions, rumblings of the heart about the joys, the truths, the pain, the controversies, the funniness and the wonder that criss cross all our lives in one way or another. I have compiled them here because too many times, we are witnesses to profound beauty, love, dreams, desolation, prejudice and injustice and yet, we forget.

The contents of these pages range from the sublime to the ridiculous; from soaring on the wings of ecstacy to struggling with overwhelming despair; from the capricious joys of matrimony to the dubious delights of singledom; from the profound ecstasy in a mug of steaming latte to the ardent disappointment in a less than perfectly brewed cup of tea; from the comedic to the somber and from the customary to the controversial, this collection of poems and features encompasses them all.

Scraps of Poetry and Madness is a phrase borrowed from that literary Wonder Woman, Virginia Woolfe. For in this collection too, there is a stream of raw and strident, passive and ruminative, joyous and grief-bound, mad and glad thoughts that run like a melody through the entirety of its spine; and like a sore-throated bulbul (who also has some good-voice days) I have sung them all for my readers.

Featured

VERSE | REFLECTION

On By Mahvash K. M.In hope, poetry, verse, womenwriters, writing2 Comments 
Do you sometimes ask yourself if you’re alright
Do the burdens of life come down hard on your joy 
Do all the schemes of gladness that you deploy 
Seem bound to falter, sink with the sun
Making you despair, come undone 
Do you sometimes wonder if you’ll ever be alright?

Do you sometimes worry if you’re alright
If you’re treating your body like it was meant 
More like a temple, less like a tent 
Does it respond with resilience and grace 
Does it show up as a gentle glow on your face 
Can you smile and say that you’re alright?

Do you sometimes brood about being alright 
If the crimson, beating, streaming path 
From your rationalizing mind to your ruminating heart 
Is clear and bright and lit up with calm 
Where thoughts and memories are like comforting balm
Do you feel your spirit lift because you’re alright?

Do you feel your atoms dance, your heart sing 
Then soften to a gentle, constant hum again
Do you feel your blood flow in passionate storms
And then settle into tranquil crests and falls 
Do you sometimes in your moments of quiet
Feel a gratitude because you’re alright? 

I hope that when you lie in your bed at night 
On the cusp of sleep, with your guard down 
When your truth shines unfettered, unbound 
That with your eyes closed you can look within 
And hear it in every fibre of your being
I’m alive, I’m still here, I am alright.

VERSE | REAWAKENING

On By Mahvash K. M.In hope, Joy, poetry, verse, womenwriters, writing1 Comment 
I remember, I remember 
A little girl who did delight 
My spirit as she flew on wings
Of liquid golden light 

She was filled with compassion
And a courage that fairly roared 
The world was her oyster
She had found her wings and soared 

But then I lost sight of that 
Special one when I left home 
To let marriage settle me 
In its no nonsense folds

Time went on as it does 
And more and more I found myself 
Thinking of the little girl
A tender nostalgia for a friend 

I looked for her on winter trips
That I occasionally made back home 
But she seemed to have melted 
Into the fading mists of dawn 

When life came full circle and 
My youngest daughter was wed
I came back to write and roost
To my childhood homestead 

There one balmy summer day 
As I sat poised to write 
The story that had been hiding away
In the tumultuousness of life 

The little girl peeked out at me
Not from behind the door 
But from the page that I was writing on 
From the ink on it that flowed 

That day I met her again 
Her happy laugh warmed my heart
Even as she flitted in and out 
Of my vision at the start 

But then she gently held my hand 
As I wrote page after page
And I remembered, I remembered 
As I found myself again.

VERSE | STARS

On By Mahvash K. M.In poetry, truth, verse, writingLeave a comment 
She carried a little bouquet 
Of golden-hearted nargis*
Her face flushed, her eyes bright
She was going to make a gift of them
To someone special.
The bus stop was empty
Save the woman with the flowers
And me. I had my phone in my hand
She sat on the bench waiting
Clutching her bouquet
I stood nearby, holding my phone
Watching her secretly
Trying not to spook her
But she was mesmerizing 
In the tender enchantment 
That surrounded her

The bus was late
She sat there almost motionlessly, quietly 
But the thrum of her joyful energy
Was taken up by the gay bouquet
As it danced gently in the breeze
She wore yellow shalwar kameez*
With little white flowers 
Or were they stars?
They were tiny, almost imperceptible 
So small I was sure even she wouldn’t know
But they shimmered in her gaiety
She smiled as she adjusted the stems
The flowers bobbed back happily
She sat there like a painting 
Full of joy and anticipation 

The bus rolled in
Carrying its load of passengers 
I lingered a while to see
The recipient of this picture of love 
That waited brightly on the seat 
Together we watched people alight
People go left and right
Until the last passenger stepped down
I climbed on, slowly, hesitantly
I sat down near a window and looked out
The bouquet now lay inertly on the bench
Its sunny heart wrenched 
Where it had been clenched
In the ardent embrace of a pair of hands 
Drenching it in the liquid warmth of love

They were stars, not flowers
On her kameez, five-pronged tridents
Piercing, lancing, shattering
The perfection of beautiful things 
Hidden, Unbeknownst to her 
The fault, I was sure, lay in the stars.
* Nargis: Daffodil

* Shalwar kameez: the long shirt and trousers worn by women in Pakistan and India

VERSE | PHILOSO-FARCE LAND

On By Mahvash K. M.In poetry, satire, verse, womenwriters, writing2 Comments 
I’m sitting here feeling bright 
Home with the family 
Conversation is easy and light 
And then on comes the telly

I try to talk over its 
Loud and aggressive tone 
Political talk shows cutting
Razor-slicing through the calm 

I want to look away
From this soulless carnival
But the addiction to this madness 
Is deep-rooted, farcical

Dante would have short-fused 
A few neurons, chomped some grass 
To see the Inferno he’d imagined
Come so brutally to pass 

Sartre would have grinned 
In self righteous satisfaction
Hell really was other people 
And their insidious interactions 

Nietzsche would have conclusively 
Summarily declared
That we’ve given up on heaven 
And created hell instead 

Turning in his class-conflicted
Grave would be Karl Marx 
Seeing history do its rewind 
As tragedy and then as farce 

Freud would have slyly winked
And then chortled cheekily 
To watch our IDs and EGOs
Play out their crazy fantasies

The philosophers and sages 
Of times gone by, days of old 
Are seeing the fruition of
Their theories, mad and bold 

So now I’m sitting here feeling
Like the world has dropped upon 
My shoulders, pulverising me
Mind and body, heart and soul.

VERSE | NATIONAL (S)CARRIER

On By Mahvash K. M.In Foot in the Mouth, poetry, satire, verse, womenwriters, writing2 Comments

A bit of a funny ramble about my recent flight from Karachi to Lahore.

I travelled on a plane today 
And felt compelled to write 
This verse of my experiences 
On PIA’s domestic flight 

Let me start with a whinge
The seats have no leg room 
Even the petites are overcome 
By claustrophobia and doom

The stewards and the stewardesses 
Seem like they’ve just had enough 
Of meeting, greeting passengers 
Their demeanour is kind of rough 

But that’s ok, we’re a nation of
Tough minded women and men 
And there is a tad more softness
For the elderly and the children 

It was a daytime flight, post luncheon-time 
So folks had had their meals 
Some nodding off with gaping mouths
Others snoring with extra zeal 

The plane jerked forward and began 
To taxi on the concrete 
While the stalls held two or more
Full bladder emergencies 

Off we lifted off and then 
We climbed up to the clouds 
There was a bit of turbulence 
There were loud prayers from the devout 

As we levelled off the crew
Started on their inflight missions 
Soon the plane transformed into 
Zubaida’s Desi Kitchen

And of course everyone there 
Ate a second meal 
Food is integral to our 
National look and feel 

Soon the air was rent with 
Loud belches and with sighs
The pungent vapor wafting ‘tween
The seats and in the aisles 

An overhead bin flew open
With a painful, turgid groan  
A fit finale to the meal that had 
Endowed its own bloat 

The icing on the cake was
The toffees on the tray 
And our disembarkation
In a half-civilised way 

One prevented a stampede 
Of desperate humanity
One a choti meethi* offering 
For PIA’s eccentricity.
* Choti Meethi: :small and sweet” in Urdu

HAIKU

On By Mahvash K. M.In Haiku, poetry, verse, womenwriters, writing3 Comments

A haiku is an unrhymed Japanese poetic form that consists of 17 syllables arranged in three lines containing five, seven, and five syllables, respectively. A haiku expresses much and suggests more in the fewest possible words. Trying my hand at the lithe and sinewy art form.

Some gladness, some strife
Mixed in with some love and hope
Faultless slice of life.


It opens again
Haltingly, poundingly, my
Newly love-drenched heart.


The light shone, my soul
Soared. The monitor too glowed
In final farewell.


The pane shudders, shakes
In the wind. The pelting rain
Renews, whets the pain.


The old men sit snug
In their fortressed halls waiting
Out the raging storm.


She lay down to rest
The crickets were still. There were
None six feet under. 


The breeze kissed my face
Whispering, praying we would
Never meet again.


Tea with buttered toast
A little sip, a bite, my
Broken heart revived.


The wind pulled at him
The kite pulled at his laughter
Heart in hand they soared.