3 hours since I heard the gun shots. Still can't get them out of my head. The sound is still ringing. The pan wala who owns a cabin downstairs just adjacent to my apartment's other gate is said to be looted, shot and then abducted. His cabin has been there since more than 10 years.

Numb.

I want to puke my insides out.

All Things Gory

I am living in a city of cannibals; breathing an air filled with remorse and the stench of blood. The word 'depressing' does not suffice in the present situation. I can only word my emotions which might sound as artificial as any other person reading a newspaper and then sighing over the fact that we live in such a rotten potty place. I can't even begin to imagine the horrible state of the people related to those who are dead, whose bodies they go on searching and come home with not their loved ones but a bag full of  chopped pieces of the deceased body.
Yes, it's today that I understood the brutal meaning of 'bori bandh laash'  I always thought they just put the body in a sack but it's not like that. They don't even shoot that poor person dead. The person is cut and chopped into pieces. That is how they kill them.
How can anybody be that bloodthirsty? So in human? It's sickening. SICKENING!!
I don't know how we can go about living in this place. Screw patriotism really! Won't you- if offered- run out of this place if given the opportunity?
I wish I was powerful and rich like that. I would fund each and every family and would ask them all to run away. To empty this city and leave it in the hands of those cannibals to feed on each other!

I don't cook

I don't. Sachi! Kabhi bhi nahi.

Just your normal desserts like cake, brownies and that candi biscuit and pineapple thing and the oh-so-awesome choco-cheese cake. But, that is all about it. Other than that I don't. And that's not even cooking, more like baking and refrigerating.

So I'm gonna be tying the knot 'literally' this December, right? Right! And I can't cook. That is not even of concern since the in-laws have bina auntie to cook and everything but bhui! Mujhe tou pyaaz kaatna bhi nahi ata.

That's shameful.

My cosin is 8 and she can make aalu ki bhujia.
I'm 21!
I can make parathas though, but, I never fry them.

Not that I'm spoilt or anything even close to that.

A girl should know how to cook. Even the husband can cook. Sharam karo RIDA!!

So, today I made salan. Chicken ka salan. And I learnt alot, really, like, potatoes are a bitch to peel, onions are a pain to chop and most of it all I DON'T ENJOY COOKING.

Bas. Khatam hogai baat.

Namaloom musallah motor cycle sawar!

Now, if you are living in Karachi, there is no way that you might have succeeded in escaping from an encounter- of any sort- with these men. If you say you have, you must belong to THAT part of the country and not us.

Although it’s been a decade since I last ran in to one of these men , it’s been almost a week that they woke me up from my sweet slumber. I had been soundlessly asleep in my bed when, I heard gun shots which sounded as if they might be coming from the next room but, thankfully they were just downstairs on the road.

Thankfully, yes.  Because, these days you ought to be thankful if there are crazy people on the road, shooting aimlessly and not at you,despite the fact that they might just aim your window this time instead of the street light that overlooks your window. Because, it could’ve been the shop downstairs on fire and not the one across the street. Because the Quetta hotel- ashes right now- could just have been in your building. Thankful because, the gun shots stopped at 6:30 in the morning and The na-maloom musallah mortor cycle sawar  were nice enough to let you sleep after a hell of a night.

Thankful because, even though bleak, you do see an opportunity  to leave this crazy place for good.