Why Sufism? (II)


Spiritual stories don’t really have beginnings and I think that’s good because that lends it an aura of genuineness and sincerity that makes it all the more magical.
We’re all spiritual beings, we all chose our paths – took advantage of the Free Will – and hence, wherever we will be when we breathe our last, we will have chosen it for ourselves, but by His Will. It’s like the workings of a car – how you put in the key, start the ignition and the engine starts working, you pull the hand-break and the gear and turn the steering wheel and the car goes in motion. You’re doing these acts because that’s how this car is supposed to work, otherwise, it won’t move forward and you’ll be stuck in the same place. Forever. Who would want that? A motorcycle, however, will have a different mechanism. So, that’s us. Different. Individuals.
We carry out these actions to propel forward and that is our free will.
The fact that this is how we’re supposed to act because otherwise, we won’t be we –individuals with our own spheres – is Destiny. And I guess that’s it.

A revolution may not necessarily be about taking up firearms. It’s about revolutionizing our own life – for in the words of the beloved Carl Sagan, “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.” And hence, we hold gorgeous universes within ourselves, don’t we? So, why not revolutionalise this universe first? It is about revolutionalising our own lives in a way that forces people to see Him clearly, through us, to know that every cloud really does have a silver lining, that there really is light at the end of every tunnel, that despite all the unfairness and the cruelty, there are still good people with big, loving hearts. We can’t preach these things. We need to show them and when we do that, we are challenged and we are mocked. History is laden with examples explaining this. Talking about spirituality, and Sufism, and religion are merely reinforcements of armchair philosophy and that will only bring us temporary spiritual relief and make us feel good about ourselves. Sitting in a cave, meditating, thinking about the universe is all so romantic but at the end of it all, when He asks me what I did with the intelligence, the opportunities that He blessed me with, what will I say? We hate to disappoint the people who are dear to us, we don’t want to be responsible for hurting them, so what about the Being that created you? He who loves us more than 70 mothers? In fact, His Existence is an example in itself, isn’t it? Not just through the attributes of Mercy, Forgiveness, etc, but let’s just look at His love, the love that has been compared to that of a mother’s love. Our moms are so protective of us, aren’t they? They want to be around us 24/7, be there always so they can watch out for us. They are the first ones to rush to us and tend to us if we fall down and hurt ourselves. And then look at God: He knows that we need to learn to get up ourselves, that unless we fall, we won’t know what ‘pain’ is and if we don’t know ‘pain’ we won’t know what ‘relief’ and ‘joy’ are and if we don’t know those, we won’t be able to ease things for others because then why should we? I guess He really does want us to learn how to fish so we are self-sufficient, He doesn’t only want to feed us. We get furious when we feel our prayers going unanswered. But He wants us to learn through experiences because when He did tell us and when He gave us the manual – the Book – did we make use of it, did we learn from it? A relevant example that one can relate to is regarding the laws of inheritance. How many of us follow it as we should? Hardly. And then there are bloody disputes over tangible, temporary things like property, and they go on for generations after generations and relationships are lost and a myriad of other crappiness happens. Why? Because when we didn’t follow the Manual He gave us, He made us experience it because come on, we practically asked for it! So, He’s teaching us parenting, too; hold a child’s hands when you cross the road, but don’t hold it so hard that it starts hurting the child.

So again, when He asks me what I did with the intelligence, the opportunities that He blessed me with, what will I say? Aren’t I supposed to make use of it to help His people? But that, too, I can only do when I’m strong enough myself! And it is to reach that position of strength that we’re supposed to bring about these lifestyle changes, what we call the ‘outward change’. Because sometimes, in doing that, you wage a war on your nafs and on your lower self, and only when we overcome that can we hope to move forward because trust me when I say, dear you, that breaking your nafs is truly the biggest battle you’ll ever fight. It could be anything – fasting, waking up early in the morning, headcover, giving up anger or miserliness or greed or exorbitance, almost anything – but it’ll teach you what words can’t describe. And this is how outward change works. Just like how I must practically live like a socialist to be a real drop in this ocean of social and economic inequity and inspire others to do the same, I must also practically live my spirituality to be a real mentor to ensure that by giving up on all that hinders my spiritual growth, by being kind, and helpful, and loving, by killing my lower self, by establishing my connection with Him, because along the way, you’ll learn just so much.
Outward and inward changes walk hand in hand; often one runs ahead of the other and pulls the other one forward. That’s just how it works. It’s your own war against your nafs, against your lower self.                       Let His Oneness make you whole. 

With each passing heartbeat and with each passing breath, you will learn that the most difficult and yet, the easiest thing to do when one lies alone in the middle of the night with a lonely, broken, wailing heart, is to say, “Thank You, God!”. You will learn that your own voice sounds as strange to you as you do to those around you. You will realise that often, the people closest to you will not understand you, will misunderstand you, and will hurt you, but you must forgive them and be gentle because in doing so, you are actually making sure that you can spend the rest of your life in peace, not being unjust to the people who unconditionally love you. You will realise and experience how optimism and gratitude works. It’s not like you won’t know how tough things can be or how hard life can be. You truly will! You will live to see a lot of unkindness, a lot of inhumane acts, unfortunately. You’ll probably witness a lot of human suffering but you will still believe in love, and gentleness, and optimism, and most importantly, in Him. I know it’s a bloody system that kills you slowly, makes you despise everyone. But that’s the thing! A constant connection with our true, inner selves is what we need. And that’s what fully embracing Him means – inward and outward. It’s easy to turn bitter and pessimist after this life plays with you. It’s challenging to remain – or in most cases, turn – gentle and hopeful. But hey, that’s all we have because this life really is temporary and the sooner we learn to invest in our souls, the better it is. The sooner we realise that a beautiful heart is immortal, beyond the changes of age and time, the better it is. For everyone.

The C.S. Lewis quote that you read at the beginning of this post, dear reader, is how we should be, how I should be. We can’t hope to change others unless we change ourselves. We can’t complain about how cruel the world is unless we ourselves are making an effort to be kind, and compassionate, and forgiving.

And all of this brings us back to spirituality – practical spirituality – and Sufism, and why we need it. Because when you’ve spent all your life living according to a philosophy that has left you feeling restless and lonely – like an old, empty church, covered with weeds, built to a god who has long since been forgotten – as your soul reverberates to one lonely chord echoing through again and again, then it’s because your soul is demanding – or rather, begging you – to cleanse it, to reach out to Him. That’s the only way all of us can get to the Grand Kingdom – His Kingdom – without losing sight of what is relevant in this world. I’m going to be a doctor, I’m going to be a homemaker, and amidst all these worldly responsibilities where I’m not only sustaining my body but am also trying to help out others, how do I hold onto my spirituality, how do I reflect His Light? This is how; a constant guide.

I need a teacher to explain science to me. I need someone to help me fix the car because I’m not an expert there, I only know how to fix a broken bone or how to manage diabetes because as a doctor that’s my area of expertise. When I’m a novice here, I need someone to hold the torch for me as I find my way. It’s very relevant because armchair Sufi philosophy won’t help us get to Him. We need to practically do something to get there, whether it’s how to control our lower selves or how to ease the distress of His people, or best: both. So, when you’re sick, you go to a doctor. When you’re spiritually needy, who do you go to?

Life is very beautiful if we look at everything as a manifestation of His Being. And we all really want that till our last breaths; to enjoy the beauty around us, the miracles of love and life that we see around ourselves every day, the little joys and smiles. And because there is absolutely no other way, this is why Sufism, dear readers!


The grandeur of womanhood

The transition from girlhood to womanhood is not just one defined by the turbulence of puberty; it’s bigger and grander than that. It’s the miraculous journey towards a period of self-discovery – the blooming of the seedling into a soft, bright flower with the scent of individuality, bearing its thorns, for thorns are the armours and armours there must be.

Womanhood is upholding the sanctity of humanity and not just women’s rights.

It’s the journey from ‘I, me, myself’  – and pulling other girls down – to empowering other women.

It’s understanding the often misunderstood concept of sacrifices so as to not compromise on her own rights and values as she sacrifices for her family or her nation.

It is appreciating the divine quality of patience well enough to know where the line between patience and injustice lies.

It is recognising the difference between listening and understanding.

You will want to impress a girl, dear reader, but you will be very comfortable being vulnerable in front of the right woman.

A girl will play the blame card. A woman will act responsible.

A girl will make a boy go nuts. A woman will inspire him to greatness.
A girl will want everything on a platter and she may even expect a man to be carrying that platter for her. A woman will know that she’ll have to work hard for things, she’ll have to sacrifice, and she’ll want to do her bit for her man, too.

A girl will look to another for validation. A woman will exude self-confidence.

A girl will want your compliments. A woman will want your love.

Womanhood is the journey from being a friend to becoming a companion.

It is the jump from following examples to setting examples.

It is the acknowledgement that life is not a fairy tale, not a bed of roses, and for a life contentment, and love, you need to be selfless, sincere, hardworking, and truthful.

But most importantly, dear reader, a girl blossoms into a woman when she accepts herself for who she is – scars, strengths, weaknesses – and will love herself for it and will inspire you to do the same.

That, my dear reader, is the difference between a young girl and a soulful woman.




A definitive, visible mark on our respective ennui, this eclipse serves as a fantastic reminder of how our actions cast shadows over our souls, making us a spectacular miracle in the timeline of our lives. All of it sounds pretty fascinating, the process of bearing with the ‘rub’ that is supposed to polish us.
It’s a pretty simple thought – if He can move these massive bodies, then we only have to let loose of our imagination to remind ourselves of what greatness He can lead us to, of what miracles He can spin our lives into.
The moon eclipsing the sun, grief eclipsing joy.
But in the end, everything does come back to its natural order, doesn’t it? That’s such a gorgeous note of the static change of time, and hope, and Divine Love! All the past grief, the anxiety, the fears will set. Eventually. For the Greater Good.
Even eclipses resolve so why not our lives?

Why Sufism? 

Whether you prefer to crawl, sprint, swim, or walk from one place to another, you can enjoy closeup views of Earth’s inexhaustible supply of things to notice. You might see a vein of pink limestone on the wall of a canyon, a ladybug eating an aphid on the stem of a rose, a clamshell poking out of the sand. All you have to do is look. 

– Space Chronicles, Neil degrasse Tyso 

All you have to do is feel.

A hundred thousand years ago and a hundred thousand years later, the human race has, and will struggle with the same fear – the fear of vulnerability, the fear of losing, the fear of betrayal. Hand in hand with that fear, they will protect those close to their heart with a protectiveness that hurts. Like holding a child’s hand while crossing the road, but holding it too tightly.

As flawed humans, as flawed mortals, we are scared of the concept of vulnerability. Because it reminds us of the fact that what we like – what gives us that feeling of security, of being loved, of being…accepted – can be lost. And we don’t want to let go of that, do we? So we build these huge walls around us, these majestic structures that are meant to keep our egos and self-esteems safer, our hearts unscathed.

But know this, let your heart know this: pain, heartbreak – especially in the way of God – is utterly gorgeous. It’s raw beauty! Like after hours of labour, the baby takes its first breath in our world with a shriek that the mother remembers till her last breath.

You know what happens. You feel this huge, gaping hole in your heart, and it feels like your gushing tears won’t stop. Your throat hurts with the effort of holding back those tears, and your eyes are tired. You want to close them for a long, long time. You hide under the blankets, hoping you’d disappear, hoping that those voices, those ugly voices would stop. But this too, shall pass, my dear. And it is this pain that will bring you closer to He Who Created you. Because Who else will you turn to? Another human? Another mortal? A mortal as flawed, as helpless as you? Someone you depended on to take care of your heart? That was your mistake. You’re lucky, He loves you so much, that He wants to give you THE best. And He wants YOU. What a grand, grand honour! This pain that you think is breaking you – this pain because you are trying to not cheat on your Lord and to do what He wishes you to do because that really is your armour – is worth it then, isn’t it? Isn’t it? This pain will make you turn to Him and Him alone and then, finally, slowly, the chaos will end. Peace will descend within you, around you. But peace will descend. That is not my promise, that is HIS promise.

Everything is a manifestation of this Greater Force that has the remote control of our lives – running into an old friend in a park, the funny video you come across when you are in a bad mood, the apple pie that you ate today, you not getting that nondescript little vial of ‘Heart Note’ a lifetime ago, me writing this and you reading this. It’s always a lesson, always a win-win. If not this, then what? Then something even better, because my knowledge is limited, my intellect is incomplete, my wisdom is questionable, my judgement is flawed, but not His; not of the mystery that is God, not of the One who created us so we could discover His beauty and then fall hopelessly in Love with Him.

Someone (may you stay blessed and in peace, always) once told me – and that won me, the beauty and the innocence and spirituality of those words – that “Sufism is being bros with God”. It’s really that, isn’t it? Being best friends with your Creator, sharing your joys and sorrows with Him, turning to Him when in need, making His people smile and helping ease their distress and never hurting them because after all, when you love someone, that’s what you do – you take care of everyone who is theirs – and discovering His world,  and contemplating over the mysteries of the Universe, and wondering how many galaxies are yet to be named,  and how many biological discoveries are yet to be made,  and how many Renaissance men and women are yet to be born, and believing in “Recite in the name of your Lord who created – Created man from a clinging substance. Recite, and your Lord is the most Generous – Who taught by the pen – Taught man that which he knew not.” (Surah Al – Alaq, The Clot)

Why do certain things happen? Why do hurricanes come and go, taking away the memories that were desires? Because they were meant to end our era of blindfolded trust and adjust our lenses so that we can see the real beauty – the rose that seems so beautiful to the world will prick my fingers if I try to hold it and keep it with me, but the water lily will float gracefully in my pond, peacefully.

How often do the tangible invisible chains of class and responsibility suffocate you, you who is reading this at this very moment? How often do you feel like a stranger amongst the crowd of people you love? How often does the crippling loneliness overwhelm you? How often do you wish to let go of everything and do nothing but lose yourself in the oceans of ilm and tasawaff and dreams yet to be dreams? How often? Very often. Frequently. Because you are indeed, a traveller in this world. Because this world really is just a resting place for the Curious Souls seeking knowledge – seeking Him – seeking the secret to immortality, without ever realising that this immortality will come after the end of our journey in this world. That is why, O’ mortal, you feel lost in your own body. And that is tremendously good because it means you really are His beloved and your real home is There.

This present cacophony that you hear, maybe you hear it, but you can’t seem to discern the notes behind it. Maybe this is the way out? Maybe you are not paying attention to your rubatosis – the awareness of your heartbeat – the way you are meant to.

The way out is right in front of you. It’s very practical, mind you. And hidden beneath that practicality, is a spirituality waiting only for you.

Once in your lifetime, you will meet this one person who will teach you everything that you need to know about life. And you will then know the meaning of life. And then, when you have trustingly let down those majestic structures that we earlier spoke of, you will discover, neigh, you will see how those who resent loneliness, will gift you the same. You will know then how easy it is to leave your mark everywhere – in the folded pages of your favourite book, in the words of your favourite poetry, even in a stranger’s kindness – and you will also know that unknown to thyself, you may have done the same. What then, what now, you will ask yourself.
That’s it, nothing, except that you try to pass the test.
Because “Kis qadr purkayf hai Teri mohabbat , Yaa Rabb!
(Your love is so delightful, My Lord!)
Naa bewafai ka khadsha, naa judai ka khof!
(There is no danger of unfaithfulness, nor any fear of separation.)”

And that, dear reader, is why Sufism.

Guest blog: fatimah.creates

Fatimah Nadeem is a seventeen-year-old artist from Karachi, Pakistan. Quickly achieving a celebrity status on Instagram, her paintings and art are bound to leave you mesmerised. She is currently doing her A’ Levels. 

In this short guest blog, Fatimah talks about her inspirations and future goals.


Art is like that safe haven, a spot for solace which I can resort to at any time.

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My passion for art started as a very young child and from drawing fishes on walls, I am now able to paint sceneries, galaxies and abstract pieces.

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I entered the Instagram art community two years ago and it has given a lot back to me. The encouragement and support that I get every day from people all over the world have made me confident about myself and about my identity as an artist, and as a Pakistani.

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If three years ago, you had told me that people would be posting art pieces inspired by my creations, or would be coming to events to meet me or that I would be hearing the phrase, “You are my inspiration”, I would have laughed in your face. This is truly incredible!

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To become a better human being, and to show the world that Pakistan also has mind-blowing talent, is my goal in life. For the purpose of promoting Pakistani art, I have created the Instagram hashtag #pakistancreates to represent the artist community of Pakistan.

My inspiration is not different from that of any other artist’s – emotions. It is very intriguing to see how colours and objects can make one feel. My colour palette is based on feelings attached to a certain colour. I associate blue with happiness and boldness, black with mystique, green with peace, and so on. 

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My advice to all young artists out there is this: believe in yourselves. I have received many messages where budding artists tell me how they feel that their art is not as good as mine, that their art is not as amazing as it should be. You should never compare your art to someone else’s because each one of us has a different and unique style of painting to express ourselves. Not only believe in yourself but be open advise and criticism, for that is how you will grow. All great people start out as nothing; the more you trust yourself and the Grand Plan, the easier you will be able to achieve your goals and dreams. 

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You can check out my work at the following links:

Youtube: https://m.youtube.com/channel/UCWtjUMWBoB-Ob5VFZ0cRXew

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/fatimah.creates/?hl=en

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The views expressed by the writer and the reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the blog owner.

My soft flower 

When I was a kid, ‘Nani ka ghar’ signified days of endless games and fun and delicious food made with grandmother-love, sprinkling exciting joy over the time we cousins would spend together.

Nani Jan’s house is big, her heart bigger.

Her love for animals fascinated all of us. Her parrots knew our names – even the nursery rhymes that I taught my younger cousins – and her little chicks came in all colours – pink, yellow, green.

Time flew by like it always does; like it has to. And now years later, when the family is none less than a small army that she proudly looks at, the roles have reversed.

Who knew that a couple of roosters and their morning ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’ would blow into her a new spirit – her old spirit – and she would lovingly resume her role as the Lady of the Family.


A soft flower 

Fighting the dusty wind, 

She stands strong,

Living, loving.


Lily and Rose

“Lean on me. Really,” said Lily to Rose.
“Whenever it rains or the wild wind blows.”
So Rose leant on Lily or Lily on Rose, depending.
And practically everyone knows,
that’s how a friendship grows.

– Anonymous


In this haze of life, when you are battling at many fonts, fighting so many small wars, you forget that you exist, too. You think of lost friendships, read lost emotions, and finally click on the ‘DELETE’ tab, because you don’t want to look back. You don’t have any regrets. Because friends lost along the way were, perhaps, the reason you have a Rose, and you are a Lily.

Living a Renaissance of its own, finding answers to questions that are said and unsaid, dealing with responsibilities – it seems quite otherworldly when you are also trying to discern the existential angst that is thrown your way, and when you finally, finally realise that your heart can beat too, it can beat very powerfully, and it can do things that may baffle the other hearts. And in the middle of all this, you forget yourself.

Until someone very, very special reminds you that you matter, too.

To that dear friend (you know who you are),

Thank you for remembering me, for that unshakeable faith that you have in me.  Thank you for those little gestures of joy – my cherished ‘chhoti chhoti khushyaan’ – that you surprise me with when I least expect them.
Thank you for the surprise note that you sent my way today, packaged rather beautifully with our rather cumbersome research project.
I had forgotten this could happen, Rose.
“There’s poetry to be read and poetry to be watched and oh, so many words yet to be understood.”
And poetry to be written, too, my friend. And sunsets to be watched. And the love to be felt. And secrets to be shared. And tears to be wiped away. And smiles to be gifted.

So, yes, one day…one, happy day, when I am running along the warm beach, and the water tickles my feet, I will think of you. When I make someone smile, I will think of you. When I go scuba diving, I will think of you. Yes, when my food experiments fail, I will definitely think of you. When I fly to the mountains, I will think of you. When I sit around that bonfire with my favourite song, I will think of you. When I row that boat in the crystal waters, I will think of you. When I dance in the rain, I will think of you.
I will think of you, my friend, in every joy and sorrow. I will think of you, always.


For you, my friend –

between everything and something,
time was fought,
affection conquered.

between something and everything,
you loved the orange, fallen leaves
with me, for me.

between everything and something,
numbers were outnumbered,
nothing denied.

between something and everything,
we sang Rumi’s songs,
and you hummed my favourite tune.

between everything and something,
the crispy air turned gentle,
and then you smiled.




An update to the ABOUT section of this blog.

Medicine is my lawful wife and literature, my mistress.

– Anton Chekhov

Rubatosis – the unfamiliar awareness of your own heartbeat, the unsettling lub-dub thumping away within you, telling you everything and something and also, nothing.

Everyone – at some point of their mortality – lies awake at night, committing to memory the faint patterns on the ceiling, humming long, forgotten tunes of songs that work like the scent of a perfume best forgotten; best friends with only their thoughts.

Everyone – at some point of the Planck Time – nurses a constricting heart that is suddenly too big, and yet, too small, to be held gently within themselves.

And when something nice happens, something that makes you smile that warm smile, you have no one to embrace in the crowd of strangers and the not-so-strangers who claim to know you without really knowing to what rhythm you are beating.

We all – we all – think, “This is it. Now what? What’s more to this?”

You’ll always be lonely until you find your kind of lonely. And then, you can share the fascination of being lonely together. What can be better than rowing a boat towards the Unknown, the Unseen, with someone as lost as you? Nothing, right? Right? Right.

And hence, this blog – in joy, in everything.

And so, what began as a teenager’s digital writing pad turned into a more cognitive notepad inking the bitter sweet ramblings of a medical student stuck in the labyrinth of the infinity of life, before finally evolving into something that I could proudly call rubatosis – the unsettling awareness of my own heartbeat.

In the words of Meg Rosoff, “Your writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.”

I remember having to bear with the scorch of having a ‘bad handwriting’. Looking back, it gives me a good laugh. The journey from having illegible school journals to an obsession with black coupe de plumes set obstinately between the two margins of a sheet of paper has been worth it.
It was, perhaps, the exercise of filling in a ‘Dear Diary’ that makes me relish the act of inscribing – be it colourful flow charts summarising Rheumatoid Arthritis and the biological synthesis of melanin, or the words of Khalil Gibran adorning the refrigerator, or even my own ramblings.

Carving your thoughts on the innocence of the papyrus as you leave behind a scent of your identity while spilling the lyrics of your mind and the logic of your heart using the digitalis muscles of your hand – writing. This simple act is both a luxury and a basic necessity; a luxury because this act that I infuse great pride and joy is nothing but a dream for many. And a necessity because it is the oxygen that makes me breathe life and love, and defines my identity.

Penmanship. Chirography. Literae scriptae.

Sadly, the tradition of handwritten letters has been overtaken by the speed of e-mails, and the joy of receiving greeting cards has been overshadowed by Facebook posts.
And amidst this dying romanticism, the mysticism enveloping the simple act of writing has granted it an astral status that will quench the thirst of many a thirsty like myself.
But in keeping up with the advancements of this century, I turned to this – this blog that you, dear reader, have chosen to visit.

Back in grade tenth – along with my very dear friend, Khushboo – a younger me had dreamt of founding a literary magazine that would catalyse a literary revolution here. Little did I know that a few years down the lane, a part of that dream would come true in the form of The Ziauddin University AtlasA student-run publication with a blog and a very well-maintained Facebook page, the ZU Atlas was the beginning of a lovely, exciting journey of friendship, arts, poetry, prose, my very dear Docs’ Diaries, music, and even anime – life. It was enchanting to see how, through the Atlas, we spread smiles. Every artist breathes into their work a small part of themselves, and first as the editor and now as the Editor-in-Chief of the ZU Atlas, to see that being appreciated, and nourished, is what we are all about. Taking it a step forward, wanting to spread these smiles, was Dead Poets – my humble little page that began with featuring my posts and is now home to the individual blogging efforts of quite a few aspiring writers, poets, artists, and photographers. Hopefully, one day, Dead Poets will be the publication that I had dreamt of.

To quote Amy Tan, “Writing is an extreme privilege but it’s also a gift. It’s a gift to yourself and it’s a gift of giving a story to someone.”
As a future health physician, I will have the fortunate opportunity to come across living miracles, to feel their stories, to share their stories, and to give a story to someone. Maybe, that will make this life a little more meaningful for that life, and maybe then, I will have all the answers.

So I’ll be myself, and write everything, and smile with everyone.
My dear, loyal readers, I hope that you have had an enjoyable read so far and that you will keep coming back for more.

Happy Reading!


Arfa Masihuddin.
Facebook page: Dead Poets
Mirakee handle: Arfa Masihuddin
Instagram: dead_poets_arfamasihuddin



You lay there, oblivious of those around you. Your eyes seek your favourite son and your lips recite the names of all those you bore. Your hands caress the heads of your grandchildren and your heart misses the man you loved. Your entire being – your mind and your soul – bows down to your Lord. 

Love and strength, generosity,  and kindness. You are such a sweet, sweet picture of all that we want to be and I want to hold on to you forever. I want to whisper my secrets in your ears because I know you won’t tell anyone…because you won’t remember. And that’s when I stop, not wanting to think ahead. Is that even possible? Maybe. Love makes everything possible, doesn’t it? 

“I like the idea of you…”

It was cold out there, and the unsettling feeling of missing someone, something, disgruntled him.

He sought the warmth of the coffee shop because the aroma of coffee beans had a magical effect on him; like sending him to sleep. It was like living a reality too..dreamy. You just want to live it forever, don’t you? Sit there, beside the window, looking out, far away – into the past and the future – wishing, hoping that someone as crazy as you would turn up and join you in living the silence of being understood.

He walked in, wistfully, and chose his favourite spot. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the seat of the chair and wished and missed. Looking around, he sensed his lonely presence.

Coffee shops were strange places, he mused. You could sit in solitude and listen to people cry over their sorrows and pretend to look away because you don’t want to embarrass them. You could listen to people singing over good grades, job promotions, babies, marriages, and you pretend to hide the envy tugging at your heart because they remind you that you have been waiting for too long. You could eavesdrop over unshared troubles, and intelligent political debates and judge while not judging, he chuckled.

He looked around again, hoping to catch a similar soul, troubled by the volatility of its own thoughts and feelings. Disappointed, he sighed, wrapped his hands around the cylindrical plastic cup steaming with his favourite beverage.

Many a time, our imagination can be the biggest dragon in our life, he traced his thoughts on the edge of the cup.

And little did he know, that a few years later, a similar soul troubled by the intensity of her thoughts and feelings would sit right there, sipping on the same, nostalgic aroma of freshly brewed coffee and chocolate chip biscuits, thinking the same things, missing the same.
And that is called the Game of Destiny.