The morning glow touched its face The brick-faced house in the street It stretched out in the morning rays Hide’n’seek with some it played Its favourite morning treat
In the bedroom facing the east I lay in sleep’s placid arms The sun wore its morning beam As it shone into my dawn time dreams Oblivious of my late alarm
The house shook out its paint and bricks Its nooks and crannies too The mynah was already collecting twigs To fix its nest, repair the rips From last night’s stormy brew
The day wore on, the house filled up With daytime smells and sounds It shook and shimmered, belched and laughed As it held us all in its matronly arms Safe in its blessed compound
Evening came and with it the skies Turned a beautiful rosy pink T-41 too flushed with delight Its terracotta facade catching the light As it watched the twilight sink
The resident crickets began to perform Their night time symphony The house sighed softly gathering its form It seemed like tonight would bring another storm But inside its walls was warmth and sleep.
Reading an excerpt from the short story “Velvet Dreams” from my book THE GIRL WITH THE PAISLEY DUPATTA. The anthology of short stories is available across bookstores in Sri Lanka and at Liberty Books and Paramount Books in Pakistan. Do get your copies folk 🌸
The Girl with the Paisley Dupatta is divided into three sections: Pakistan, Sri Lanka and the USA. The last category is an ode to that most ingenious art form – political satire.
Most of the stories in the book revolve around the social, cultural and even faith related challenges that women face in their day to day lives. This particular story however is about family pressure and the main protagonist is a man 🤓
It was two for tea and tea for two Both meeting after a decade or two Friends of old, kins of the heart Separated by time and circumstance Chatter and laugh over tea for two
Tea for two and two for tea Neighbours for a year, kindred souls for twenty-three They’d seen each other through thick and thin Loving Kintsugi* mending walls where they’d grown thin Catch up over two for tea
It was two for tea and tea for two From working together their friendship grew They had rejoiced in one another’s highs Had held each other’s hands in trying times Rendezvous over tea for two
Tea for two and two for tea The sister and the brother sit quietly The coolness of bruised hearts lies around The air is rent with empty sounds As they try to build bridges over two for tea
It is usually two for tea and tea for two That brings hearts together, both the sunny and the blue Loving ones forge ever joyful memories Aching ones for a while find some peace When they come together over tea for two.
* Kintsugi: The Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.
The rain is falling in sheets upon sheets Jumping into puddles, skipping over feet Performing a symphony as it flows Reaching a crescendo down the street Where whirlwind eddies and the sidewalk meet
The koi in the pond in the building know Something is up, they flicker and jump Out of the water again and again But the ripples on the surface aren’t enough To join in the play of the skies above
They don’t feel the glorious downpour Charge into their silent world thrumming They swim up and down around and around Waiting, waiting expecting something The sensory pleasure of nature dancing
But the koi will float in agitated oblivion To the playful frolic of the monsoon sky As it cavorts with all of earth’s creatures But not with the pond and not with the koi Our faithful tributes to a world gone awry.
I was in a hurry, in a mad rush The morning was crazy, yes one of those The alarm had belted shrilly out But I was dead to the world, comatose
Dreaming of wishes being lattes and Bookers Until the clock struck ten and then I threw off the duvet, leaped out of bed Limbs all awry like a headless chicken
Here’s a little aside: when I’m stressed My hair also declares a mutiny Acts up like it’s the raging heroine Of its very own show on prime time telly
And so it was in this agitation That I knocked my elbow on the door I cursed like a sailor who’s had too much ale-er Deliriously, frenziedly I swore
I vented as much as a random string Of choice expletives can enable The rest of the rage I swallowed away As virtuously as I was able
Then the ultimate decimation came to pass I stubbed my wretched left little toe What chanced to happen in the heat of my passion You really wouldn’t want to know
Suffice it to say that on that day The angels filling in my Wicked Gal page With brimstone, hellfire, the sinfulness of ire Had a field day, ‘twas their advantage
And so ‘twixt my shoulders and my feet now A funny bone doesn’t exist at all I try to be sweet-talking, kind and good Until the next time I slam, stub or fall.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 