sidewalk scribbling

Wollaton Park must be beautiful right now - trees bursting in a kaleidoscope of greens, wildflowers carpeting the track that goes around the lake, willowy branches casting dancing shadows on the walking trails and the beautiful mansion standing regal on the hill top, framing the blue summer sky. Wouldn't it be nice to go for a picnic, pack some sandwiches and crisps, pick up coffee afterwards from the cafe, lay out a blanket on the grassy slope along with scores of other people, with their dogs and babies and footballs and talking parrots (it happened once!).  But of course, the 'New Normal' has rendered the above scene pretty impossible (for now). On the other hand, I have seen my tiny backyard become more enchanting this summer than ever before. The neighbour's tree leans over the fence, it's branches casting a perfect shade on our side. It has leaves of an indescribable colour, each a rainbow in itself with shades of green and rust and maroon and brown and...

It’s tough being a moderately well-off Pakistani millennial.   Little do you know that if you’re seemingly fortunate enough to go to one of the top universities in the country – like LUMS or IBA (inserting IBA after LUMS with a benevolent smile on my obnoxious face, because if I genuinely believed both institutes to be equal, would I even be a real Luminite?) then you’re actually setting yourself up for a lifetime of excruciating decision making.   Life becomes   really hard – choices open up like randomly labelled doors in front of us with little indication about what any of them will lead to: Behind Door No. 1 is FURTHER EDUCATION, and behind Door No. 2 is a JOB YOU MAY BE HALF QUALIFIED FOR ... Come to think of it, life after college pretty much involves a dilemma after every 1-2 years.   Do I still like this job? Am I being paid enough? Why am I still in Pakistan when half my friends and cousins are already in Dubai – or, even better, in the Western World ...

Nottingham might not be as quaintly English as Lincoln with its shiny cobbled streets and old toffee shops, nor as flippantly grunge and artistically gritty as Bristol – definitely can’t compare it to the magically majestic Edinburgh or the chaotic mad land-of-the-fast walkers-and-shovers-move –aside- where-did-all-the-polite-Englishmen-go-London ... It may not be haughtily beautiful like Oxford or Bath, nor situated along the coast of ancient white cliffs from the era of dinosaurs, not hipster like Norwich nor posh like Brighton – Still, there is something about the city that makes me quite happy we have chosen it as our tempoary home. It’s got a quirky mischievous character, somewhat hidden between the standard high street stores and the more grimy alleys with shops nursing cracked window panes and sad wayfarers looking for spare change to buy a bus ticket or perhaps more likely, another beer instead – You can always expect a place to be much bigger than it seems f...

A good home is a balance between aesthetics, and comfort & practicality – probably leaning a bit more to the comfort and practicality side. I grew up absorbing- inadvertently- firm notions of patterned bed linen and dark coloured sofas to hide spills and stains.   We had limited art work on the wall to avoid holes and cracked plaster, and used shelves as storage for books, cosmetics, toys.   It makes sense – have your dustbin accessible in the kitchen, all your toiletries within reach and sight in the bathroom, use your bedside table for things you need at night – a book, your glasses, laptop charger, a coaster for your glass of water if you’re OCD like me.   Your bed would have two (or maybe four if you’re really lavish) pillows, definitely no more than one quilt because that’s what you use at night. You’ll probably keep your coffee table in the living room empty because you want to be able to pull it close to the sofa so you can put your feet up – you m...

They say the world is a much smaller place now – with faster airplanes, safer sea routes, phones and apps that can help you stay in touch with your best friends 2,000 miles away, all the while giving you the option to put on bunny ears and whiskers – because let’s face it, communicating is much easier when you can distract yourself and your 7-year-old nephew with magic hats and fire-vomit filters. In some ways though, the world doesn’t feel very small at all.   My family is split over three continents and four countries, my cousins and best friends are strewn across the globe in a wide arc so that no more than two are in the same city and while it is great to have a place to stay if I’m planning a trip to Netherlands or Toronto or Dubai or Boston or St Louis, it would be much nicer still to have one of them idiots a ten minute walk away so I could actually poke an arm and share a coffee in person. The mad quest to leave our country for brighter horizons – higher ed...

You slip into the comfort of your own country so seamlessly you don’t even notice it.   It’s like wearing your favourite sneakers – you don’t realise how important they are till you buy new shoes and have to break them in.     We landed at the shoddy little Islamabad airport – Daewoo bus stations are better than the Islamabad airport, as my uncle put it – and I walked out into the crisp cool morning of home,   donning on a coat of smug confidence that was held up by invisible fairies right outside the plane door.    It’s that confidence which makes you stride with your head held high, pushes you to say “ex CUSE me!” loudly and indignantly to the aunties and uncles that try to cut the line in front of you, that helps you strike a conversation with a stranger on a bus, or offer help to a young mother with her antsy baby without blinking.   It’s the confidence of belonging to a place without filling out paperwork and supplying bank docum...

In the morning when I wake up staring at the white ceiling with its Ikea paper lamp, I think of the teal blue of my cotton curtains back home, and the sunrays giggling just behind them, like children playing hide and seek. When I leave for work, letting the heavy door of our building close with a disgruntled thud, I look up at the English sky suffocated with sad gray clouds, I pull my jacket closer, and I think of the bright blue of the sky back home, where in late September it would only be in the early morning that the air would feel cool on my arms and face.  The trees in my street would be bright green, and I would be able see the sun, with the customary stray clouds strolling along the expanse. I miss my office, I even miss having to wear shalwar kamees with a dupatta every day (I’ll take it over the three layers I wear everyday and the mind-boggling choice between short boots, calf-length boots and the simpler close-toed loafers with worn out soles).  I m...

First, it is just the thought, a fledging plan scribbled inside a notebook or a pastel image that reflects on the back of your eyelids when you close your eyes – toes digging into soft, warm sand … a deep breath in to inhale the fragrance of cold mountain air tinged with the scent of tea leaves … the tinkle of ice in a glass of pink lemonade as you sit on patchy grass watching the sun set behind a lake … Then it’s actually living out your plans, stepping into museums you’ve read reviews about or getting lost on your way somewhere and stumbling into something new … And finally, it’s the memories that make you smile on a gloomy Monday or while you stare out through the dusty blinds on your window, making you forget your itchy throat and your runny nose, dimming the fluey-head ache and making you think how fortunate you are to take time out for travel. Travelling is definitely one of the best ways to spend your money –experiences are worth more and they last longer than mate...