Tag Archives: sketch

Getting Settled

This year it’s rather hard on me. Getting things unpacked was an ordeal. First it was the packing, and now it was the un packing. When we moved to Massachusetts in 2018, I was away in Peshawar, Pakistan for my annual trip there. I had packed my own stuff before leaving in November 2017. Son did the moving, so I was spared all the hard work. This time I got the full blast of it.

Some of the things were packed by Son. Now three weeks later I’m still trying to find the stuff. Yesterday I searched through fourteen boxes 📦 of Son, trying to find some of the kitchen things I badly need, while he had gone to Salt Lake, Utah. I wasn’t successful in my endeavors. The result was a terrible case of getting a painful back. I scolded myself thoroughly after that, and to recover I made myself take a rest.

I have resigned myself to buying some of the things I need, because with Son not at home, I can’t over burden myself in searching for stuff. I will only make myself ill. I have applied for a health insurance here, to which there is no reply yet. It takes a month for my new insurance to kick in. This means I can’t see a doctor till then.

The Early Years


I haven’t written page one

So how do I write page three

I am trying, exhausted so far

I stare at the walls bleakly

My brain is mush, no words come forth

How to begin? And how to end?

And all in between, I wonder if you can guide me

If there is no one to tell, and no one to push

It will be the death of my biography 


The Early Years

Write page three of your autobiography

My Safe Place



I started writing into a diary to escape a period in my life. Before that I did confide into my women friends. When I realized they had spoken to others, I felt mortified. 

Then I found my safe place in a diary. I could say anything I wanted to. I could pour out my anger into the pages. The only precaution was not to let anyone see it. 

I could have written to my son, but he is a sensitive person, and I knew he would suffer grief on my behalf. It was no use writing to him. My daughter offered extreme solutions, and I was fearful to act upon them.

For me it seemed the diary was a great friend. The only drawback was it didn’t offer solution.

I look back to that period, and feel happy now it’s over. I will do it again if any need arises.

Beyond the Pale

When was the last time you did something completely new and out of your element? How was it? Will you do it again?


Why Everyday?


Why everyday my daily prompt brings on despair

What to think, and what to write

Why do I wait for the prompt to come

Why do I get disappointed each day

Fearful Symmetry

Pick a letter, any letter. Now, write a story, poem, or post in which every line starts with that letter.

The Last Time


I don’t have a book to my name yet. My daughter keeps on urging me. When will a book materialize, I simply don’t know. Here is an idea of a book:

Raffia had come to attend her brother’s marriage in the village. She had not wanted to come, but had no excuse not to attend her only brother’s wedding festivities. 

It was the morning of the wedding, and Raffia couldn’t be found. She wasn’t in her room. Tons of terrible thoughts assuaged her mother. “Now where she could be at this hour?”

This was the first time she had come to her parents’ home, after her marriage which took place nine months ago. She looked happy. Her parents were visibly relieved at her happiness. They had forcibly married her to a man of their choice.

And now she was missing.

Read the story “The Last Time”, and find out what happened to Raffia.



Write the blurb for the book jacket of the book you’d write, if only you had the time and inclination.

Five Stars


My daughter Nola was born six days later than what the doctor had told me — a nine lb baby. I was weighing 125 lbs for the last two months of the pregnancy. After her birth my weight was down to 100 lbs, as she was gaining weight, I was losing it (during the pregnancy).

I feel her father doted more on her than her brother. She was forever smiling. The whole day she would follow me around. As she grew up she brought sunshine, and laughter to our home. 

She made us proud of her academics by getting a gold medal. And finally when she did her doctorate, that was another proud moment.

She was, and is my best friend. She never fails to phone me once a day, however busy her day is. She is a five star person in my life. Thank you Nola for being there for me.


Four Stars

Write a review of your life — or the life of someone close to you — as if it were a movie or a book.

Holding Back Anger


I wouldn’t be human if I say I never felt anger at someone —- that will be a lie. At many instances I have been angry, but I have tried to contain myself. 

Why? Because if I let go, I may say things which are better left unsaid. Why say words for which I am sorry later on. I won’t write about the tiffs outside my home, but in all instances I managed to keep quiet. To tell the truth I would be simmering inside, ready to burst.

My (late) husband R, and I did have different opinions. Sometimes he would say something to make me boil with indignation. But husband, and wife relations are such that your anger goes away quickly too. You can’t hold onto anger in married life, otherwise there are repercussions.

Mad at R, I would go out of the room after telling him I was not going to speak to him again. An hour, or so later I would come back (totally forgetting) I was supposed to be annoyed with him. He wouldn’t say a word till I would snatch the newspaper from his face.

“You told me you are not going to speak with me?”

I would then remember how angry I was.


Mad as a Hatter

Tell us about a time when you flew into a rage. What is it that made you so incredibly angry?

Giving Up


I have answered this prompt two-three times previously, so I am writing a story.


She felt like having a photograph. The idea appealed to her. She liked him. His younger sister willingly gave it to her, when she asked for it. She kept it at her bedside. It was comforting to have something of him, plus it brought him nearer.

Days went by, and she noticed him around other girls — talking, laughing, sharing, or whatever. Her heart wanted this too. He never had time to seek, or sit beside her. He never tried to talk to her. He was avoiding her, though at the time she wasn’t aware of it. Was she in a haze? Maybe she was preoccupied with worries of her own.

One day her friend came for a visit. He was so enamoured by the girl. He pulled his chair close to her friend to talk. And suddenly it dawned on her that he had no feelings for her.

A pain engulfed her. That night she couldn’t sleep. She wondered at her own stupidity. How could she have been so blind? How did she let her own infatuation grow?

The loss tormented her. There was no respite. She shed tears feeling bereft.

Next morning she got up feeling numb. She picked the photo, and silently returned it to his sister.


If I Had a Hammer

If you could learn a trade — say carpentry, electrical work, roofing, landscaping, plumbing, flooring, drywall — you name it — what skill(s) would you love to have in your back pocket?



Nah! Switching is not a good idea for me. Many bloggers (whom I admire for their stamina) are at it for the whole day — producing endless posts. I feel exhausted just now,  thinking I am the one writing their posts.

I can barely manage one a day.



If you could switch blogs with any blogger for a week, with whom would you switch and why?

No News


I don’t read, or hear the news. If you look at the TV, specially Fox you hear the yap-yap going on. I don’t want to upset myself. I want to keep in good cheer.

News are either about the killings going on, or worse see, and read Kim Kardashien —– whatever she is doing.

In fact —- no news is good news.



Link to an item in the news you’ve been thinking about lately, and write the op-ed you’d like to see published on the topic.