I‘m wandering the house this week; my bare feet, gathering dust with each step, and my hair a bird’s nest. It all reminds me of this excerpt from a poem I wrote two years ago.

Another lost hope, another fallen tear,

Thinking of the one, no longer near

Hair unsecured, feet bare,

No one to love, none to care.

 My carefully constructed to do list which includes two guest posts and a journaling of Noman Ali Khan’s podcasts lies abandoned, devoid of attention, a tattered fragment of yellowing parchment. And realization hits me how I’m letting it all pass by, biting my nails to oblivion over the stress, I'm only intensifying the rumination, while the girl down the street reads yet another book I was supposed to have read last week, my competition gets featured on Food gawker while the rejection tab in my account could well be seen from Mars. And yet another novice writer gets published. All that I’ve left is a green-eyed monster that counts reasons why the people who achieved what it eyed weren’t even that good.

I have felt unsure of my emotions for quite some time, I feel like a prisoner of mind, without the security of provisions, the master of an unsure heart.  The attentions of one so sought after one minute are a nuisance the next as the damsel figures out what appeared to her, a cloud nine, it was just a deflated balloon of discontentment. 

This confession, a mere realization of my feelings has left me ashen faced with goose bumps lining my skin. I gather my limbs into a ball, and burrow further within- a darkening eclipse to the socio-political drama being played out in the country, that has me meditating every day. 

No sympathies please. Just love.

I may disappear from the blog for some time. Till then Au Revoir. 

Food, glorious food, my life is shaped around it. I’m not an avid healthy eater, in fact, I’m well known to splurge on a bad meal at a restaurant, but most of it involves inspecting the food for the hint of some spice hidden within, or tasting a curry and immediately finding out if they used lemon juice in it or vinegar. Food is a hobby to me, not a passion, hence which I remind myself of a lot. My real focal point in this life is writing, getting published, and gathering readers. But when my real passion leaves me unhappy and devoid of acknowledgement, food gathers me and molds me together again.

I don’t remember the last time I bought a cake from a bakery just because I wanted to. Mostly it is a sad substitute for comfort food on a bad day, when I’m too fussed to stand in front of a small oven, or to measure out flour from a bag.

  I remember events with the emotions that swarmed within me at that particular time, or how I happy I once felt in that room. These are my links with history, but several of these links that based upon good food too. The samosas of Lahore’s Liberty market, savory potato based filling wrapped around in a short crust pastry, served with hot chickpea curry to be ‘lapped up’ with the samosa, is a heavenly memory. The Chinese at Tai Wah that has been so molded to Pakistani taste buds that all the food is no longer authentic but nevertheless even more delicious. Especially when you have a strong stomach to battle out all the sauces splashed in.

  And there was a restaurant on Murree’s Mall Road that serves the most delicious drumsticks, tender, spicy, crackly. They are still fresh in my memory from seven years ago- especially the side along information on how to order the drumsticks so they would bring you a few, and not a few ‘plates’. Even the international cuisines here have molded together with the South Asian taste since people aren’t very welcoming towards trying out new things.

We Pakistanis love our tea, a sugary concoction made with more milk than water and so that is where I believe South Asians differ from the rest of the World. Two, or even three times a day, there is tea made, served, and drunk. I have never in my life liked milk tea, I don't understand why everyone is so obsessed with it, in fact, when everyone drinks their tea, I procure my (horrendously expensive) Twining's green tea bags and would rather sip the weight loss tea. So I can be exempt from the 'we' when it comes to tea drinking habits.

Yet during cramps, or sore throats, the same tea I detest is the only thing that brings me relief. At the start of the summer, when I moved to a relative's place for a couple of weeks once I drank tea multiple times in one day because of a bad backache. And I was given weird looks since I'm famous as a tea hater. Still, it worked, instantly- though the pain always returned in a few hours.