Thought 20. Home :)

I write this the day before Qatar’s National Day (continuing to edit this post multiple times cause you never really get done with the memories and sickening nostalgia) , another National Day which I am unable to attend.

To write of Qatar always breaks a little piece of my little heart. Somehow. I can never seem to describe the exact way Qatar makes me feel. Home is a lot like love that way. You can talk about what you may see,hear,sense and other little insignificant details that make all the difference, but you can never quite put your finger on it.

There is heartfelt pride in Qatar’s achievements and disappointment at its losses, with the same force, magnitude as in that of India’s. There is much to say of the problem of identification and belonging. It’s a mixed feeling (and I’m sure alot of the people I know would agree with me). It’s a sense of belonging and not belonging at the same time. You know your roots don’t lay there, you know there is much to know beyond this and yet when you live or leave , it is with a heavy heart, (to be dramatic). There is an uncertainty of identity. This uncertainty of identity is quite haunting at times of introspection. Haunting, intriguing, challenging, poetic.. sounds alot like love.

Where is home? Where my roots, my ancestors, my history lay or where I grew up? I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again :The place where you grow up is as significant as how you grow up. Who I am is because of my thoughts, feelings, beliefs, all of which was formed and molded in Qatar. India however has seen my growth as an individual. When in Qatar, you feel like you belong but you never will nor will you be considered that way. When in India, you know you belong and you are certainly not considered an outsider. Yet, when you talk of going back to/ being in Qatar,there is a much deeper, emotionally charged tone. Right from the gut. Right from where your convictions, your innermost beliefs, thoughts lie. My hand automatically goes up to my heart when I talk of it, so much that it is typical trait that people mock me for.

I think of the beach, I can smell the salty air and feel the dried seaweed, that has washed up on the shore, beneath my feet. I think of this highway in between a desert (considering I’ve spent almost half my life probably just travelling on that very road) with certain hills that are flat at the top, one in particular that has a hole right though it. I think of winters, when it’s windy,misty, dusty, all at the same time, gosh. I think of being able to walk around aimlessly at godforsaken times of the night. I think of how home has changed alot , un-recognizable buildings on familiar roads and the other way round. Qatar has grown up with me, I guess. And I remember home. With the kitchen garden my father made in the backyard, the huge tree that was planted as a seed in the front of our house.

When I was growing up,there was this extended family of neighbors , friends, brothers, sisters that we formed, many of whom left home or some we have lost entirely. I remember dinners being at alternate houses almost every weekend or so and since I was the littlest at the time, being pampered and very much coddled. I keep them in my thoughts and prayers as much as my own family, really. And then there are these rare events that we all meet at (probably somewhere in India), and it’s exhilarating and comforting and there’s so much love all around.

I would never ever want to forget these experiences or these memories I have. I don’t think I ever can. It’s so much a part of me. It’s so much a part of who I am, however cliched that may sound. So I write. I write again and again, edit this article multiple times until it’s become bookmarked on my device, just so I don’t forget the littlest details. This post has become a note in a journal, without purpose or cause, just existing on its own and for posterity.

Qatar is quite literally, my foster home. And I’m sure many who’ve grown up the same way face the same. Still, ever visit there, new experiences are added, new things learnt. And the most unfortunate part of it being that I have resigned to that fate of never being able to live there as if it is truly my own, howsoever I may feel.

I will figure out my way home.


Thought 19. Lady Lilith.

Lady Lilith Aria, dolled up in her bare nakedness, revels in herself.

She is slave to her impulse, to her passions and the electrical energy that runs in her body and that is born within her sinews. Every new action, desire, object of lust is immediately owned, devoured, and acted upon in the wonderful Venusian flytrap of her physicality.

Everything is in the now, and in the novelty of the moment. It excites her. She possesses and degrades her innate passive femininity. She is anything but passive and she is the mistress of her senses.

This vice made her walk, jog and run to her next sensual daydream. All that is submitted to time is sincerely despised. Her clock functions as an ashtray, holding the ashes of those burnt by the embers of her outrageous bleeding red lips.

Her fingers circle around the brim of a wine glass, that has overflowed.  Her seduction is fatal. And every single victim of hers knows it.

She, that smirks at her clock-ashtray, knows there is no time to question, and her body and mind already clouded by the passions born within her as such, give no way to clarity of thought. Before time and her consciousness reaches this fiery, furious being, she has bared to all but herself.

“Moment, momentary. It’s now. Or never.” And she immediately arches her back. Awakens her inner Dark Moon.

Esteemed by everyone except herself, she identified with this. This vice. She is a vice one would never want to quit. She wouldn’t want that to happen.She cannot identify herself any other way. Indulging her impulses and indulging her moment.

Possessing all that you think, distorting reality and giving credence to all that is considered illicit. She is capable of this and much more. Lady Lilith is fatally seductive. She knows it.

Thought 17. Hard Brandy.

The Wind blows on your face
and Brandy in your stomach.
Warmth within.
A haven, within your cold body.

The Wind blows against your skin.
It screams and whispers
alternately, all its stories.
You are too drunk to notice.

“You are drunk on your Brandy?”
“Yes Master. For it gives me reprieve
from the harsh cold.”
“If you are forever drunk,
how would you learn to embrace the cold?”

The cold has its charms.
The cold Wind teaches you something.
You will realise when It leaves.
It does not return.
It is the Wind.

You will be left alone with your Brandy
and the heat will get to you.
You will have no reprieve.

Embrace the Wind when you can.
Learn to live in the cold.
The cold brings its own warmth.

Attempt 1. Sufi poetry.

 Sufism played an influencing role for quite a while and Sufi poetry was absolutely intoxicating.  An element of Sufism is referring to the Almighty as a friend, a lover or as an all-encompassing force.  Much love. 🙂

The world seems much more brighter,
My heart  feels like air, but lighter..
Those that were once miseries,
They seem not so anymore.
Ignoring pleasantries,
I wait for you by the door.
Sympathising and roving eyes alike see only this face
This face, this body, this exterior.
My heart does not belong to me anymore.
The mirror of my soul is clear.
Go away, old lovers!
Nay, I say!
I say, he’s right next to me
when he’s so far away.
And when our flames unite,
Again after long,


It will burn bright
and I will perish  within him,
at dawn.
I will find him within me
And that moment I will know,
The wick of the lamp is still not over,
there’s much more to go.
I, willingly, walk this journey,
ignoring those around me,
they will never understand me or my companion,
until they themselves, see