It's 4 AM and I'm awake typing this post. Procrastination seems to know no bounds when it comes to me, isn't that so? University life is tough. Let me just put it out there. The 2+ hours of commute every day, some paces covered by bus, some by car and then the incredibly long walks to each class, it's been a big slot for some adaptive behavior. I remember during my second week of University, I got stuck in an incredibly bad traffic jam at Mall Road. And when I finally got back home, I was wiping back tears, while massaging the migraine pulsing through my forehead. That was the day I realized what it felt like to be so exhausted that all you could manage was to stare at your food, limply trying to fork the greasy strands of pasta into your mouth before giving up. 

But that is simply just one side of the picture. I have also begun to love University, the time lapses between each class, the amphitheatre where everyone hangs out, the friends, the people and the way the sunlight filters from amongst the trees. And everyone is incredibly helpful. 


So did I find time to bake? Well, believe it or not, it took me two weeks to even start posting to Instagram again. The adjustment to all of the newness took time. But I did bake, a batch of brownies in the wee hours of the morning once, and a very typical soup earlier this week. I have a couple of recipes lined up, but I've been in a creative rut bad enough to even try to write something without a prompt. 

I can't predict what the schedule of this blog is going to be. Perhaps I'll find the determination to post regularly, perhaps I won't. Who knows? The only thing I can say at this moment, even if I post after weeks, my blog is always going to be my haven, the place that taught me, reformed me into a tolerable photographer, a better writer, a 'baker' and brought my existence closer to that of several others whom I now love. What more could I ever want?

Today, I'm guest posting for one of the beautiful women I've come to know over my two glorious years of dabbling in food blogging, who runs a pretty impressive place at The Big Sweet Tooth. I have enjoyed every minute of self expression through this writing, every crumb of cake left over and every single image taken from my Camera. I have enjoyed it all. But something that is perhaps less glamorous but much more beautiful is the friendships formed throughout this lapse of time. I've met amazing people, who have helped me in their own way, who have made every moment of this incredible journey seem worth it all, even on a bad traffic day.

And one of those people happens to be Rafeeda, the baker, chef, recipe creator, photographer in a one man team. Head on over to her blog to check out the recipe I guest posted for her; and make sure to give this dear friend of mine some blog love.

And as far as I go? I'll be back soon with a long, boring post littered throughout with anecdotes and stories. Till then, enjoy the images and bon appetit.

In Pakistan, when the summer months roll around, so does the wheat-harvesting season. From the dust-covered memories of my adolescence, I can garner a few of the rituals that usually accompanied the wheat cultivation. We desis are generous hearted people, you may have noticed how friendly cultural glamor has dimmed in the past decade of the worst socio-economic prospects, but we used to never waste an occasion to celebrate, to dance the ‘bhangra, to eat good food, rotis slathered with ghee and greens cooked down to a spicy mush, often called saag. That’s how we roll you guys.

I have enjoyed the goods and the perils of urban lifestyle in my soon to be 18 years. The festival related to the ‘gandum  harvestation was something so scared to the villagers after a hardworking season, that the city dwellers with their snubbed noses never took part. Apparently, work is more important than these little joys of life. Yet several times, I saw the Liberty roundabout done up like a bride by one brand or the other (advertisement or cultural initiation? I do not know). And the flower garlands hanging off the tall structures were a sight to behold. And then the part of the Lahore canal that touches the famous RPGCC Royal Palm Golf & Country Club was always a stage for prestigiously designed models of cultural mimicry by the students of the National College of Arts. I had my share of the ‘little joy’ that Punjabis in the villages did, too.