Daddy’s girl
My earliest memory is lying sleeping on my father’s chest; safe, loved and cherished. I must have been around three. This is where my consciousness starts. I remember being told as a little girl that even before I was born,…
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My earliest memory is lying sleeping on my father’s chest; safe, loved and cherished. I must have been around three. This is where my consciousness starts. I remember being told as a little girl that even before I was born,…
i) remembering. ramzan nine years ago. getting ready for an iftar party where the palao served was too salty, even for me. ma, pinning my duppata on my left shoulder with the brooch nani ami gave her. baba, teaching his…
I was born to a family of feminists in the subcontinent where a culture of women’s subordination persists, including female infanticide. Women are left behind in all development indicators: in Pakistan the literacy rate is 55%, which includes those who…
My sweet and beautiful mother passed away. May her soul rest in peace. It shook my whole world. Never again will I hear her voice, or be able to hug her. That one irreplaceable person is not here anymore. As…
‘Where are you from?’ ‘I grew up here, actually.’ ‘No, but where are you really from? Like really?’ I pause and take an uncomfortable look around. ‘Well, my ethnicity is Afghani.’ A short silence usually follows the last part of…
I was six. Thoughts of a new house delighted me more than anything else ever had. New rooms, a new garden! New crevices to explore and hide in with my sister. It was not really going to be ours, we were…
Right, I want to wear sandals today. Wait, hold on, I had this thought… oh gosh… let me research it. What! Why are there so many different views? Who is right? Hold on, let me reword it and see maybe…
I am the companion of the new Adam Who has earned my self-assured love. (Fahmida Riaz) ‘Mommy, when are you going to start dating? You’re not even trying!’ complained my nine-year old on a sunny afternoon in February, two…
I grew up in a loving home in Karachi at a time when Pakistan was a very different place: a colourful, tolerant and safe society. My parents were a wonderful combination. My father was open-minded and did not differentiate between…
Merriam Webster (Not Mariam Webster, as I’ve often wished) defines a love letter as ‘a letter expressing a lover’s affection‘. Poetry – and hip hop music – have told me that the best kind of love is the kind that’s…
I hear her voice. I hear her grieve. I hear her cry and I hear her call out in desperation for help. I still hear her first words to me: ‘Moudi, please help me! You are my only hope!’ These…
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