The Accidental Dentist

I kept asking myself, what language does the war speak? What translation do those who oppress understand? People born and raised in hatred, can they ever shed the past and sit with the loss of Palestinian? Is acceptance too much to ask for, is liberation not a birthright? The history doesn't lie, it doesn't until it's made too. '48 Nakba , the Palestinian catastrophe, when almost two-thirds of the entire population was displaced, to make room for current Israeli residents. The very people who have nine generations buried in that land were made landless. Home addresses were ripped off of their existences. Those two-third, their grandchildren are the ones now waging a war for their rightful return. Meanwhile, a twisted ideology was so deeply engraved in current Israel, that no one is willing to have this conversation. When the peace solution is offered for Palestinians when the so-called concerned parties jump in, and that too after thousands are mentally and physically s...

I have witnessed more hatred than my heart can tolerate. More grief than I can process. I have been exposed to years of pain and suppression in the past few weeks. If I talk about myself. But I can’t. Right now, it’s not important. Right now, it doesn’t matter. Because what I have felt in the past few days, it's not the fraction of what the Palestinians have gone through! The horrors of suppression, the anxiety of losing one’s rightful home, the forever trauma of a troubled history! A war inherited and with it the loss of thousands. It makes me wonder, have we forgotten that a higher power will hold us accountable? Are we forgetting that there is a life after this one? One where we’ll have to answer for every single deed, where you can’t hide the atrocities and can’t justify them with your foreign policies.  When Al-Aqsa was attacked, I waited for the thunders to struck and for the earth to crack open and swallow, I waited for the miracle. I cried on the night of the 27th and pray...

 WHY ATTWOOD SHOULD BE PART OF EVERY CURRICULUM? I have always found Margaret Attwood's description of women unapologetic. She rarely victimizes them from the few novels that I have read of hers. What I found extremely fascinating was her utter lack of judgement. How in her worlds women are allowed all those traits she is denied in the real world. How her plots understand the sentiments the society deems unfit for a lady. Mostly how liberating her analysis of a female is. For her, we as a gender, are human, flawed to the core, yet not being prosecuted by people. Her stories always find a place for the so labelled misfits . THE HANDMAID'S TALE:  The society she foresaw years ago finally descended on us, we were caught in her fabricated truth. The horrors she feared, those fears found a vessel, that vessel made its way to us, in the form of a well-documented novel.  My first experience in Atwood's world was that of a naive child, whose eyes were opened but mouth sealed. Wh...

  I was naive to think that I can seek some sort of redemption once the pandemic is over... Last year was a question out of the syllabus, a post-credit scene we weren't prepared for. It was unfamiliar territory, an uncharted land. As a kingdom, we happen to find without any map to navigate it through. It was halting. It paused the film of life at an unexpected turn. So many things left undone, so many experiences left to reminisce about only. Things we can never do as we had through before. Because the world changed and with it, everything. Who would have thought that a point will come when breathing will be a luxury. Who would have thought that a time will come when we long for human contact but won't have it. Who would have thought of time so desperate that making it to the end of the day will be a victory! Two years back if I was told that the world will shut down not temporarily, not permanently either, but still shut down, will I have done things the way I have? Will I hav...

 As I sat in front of my screen once again staring blankly at the zoom's icon it brings back so many memories of an uncertain time... As I look back at my academic years, it's a trauma I can't process. It's a struggle I can't pen. It's a curse I can't get rid of. When I look back and trust me I don't often, but if I have to, just for the sake of this writing piece, for the greatness of art if I let myself back in those dark thoughts and let my heart bleed, I might be able to recall a memory of despair. Last year was academically the death of the student inside me.  I survived with so many other vigilant seekers of knowledge. If we are asked even we don't know how we did it. We won't discuss it, we won't voice it. But the terrors of it has scared us for the rest of our lives. Fallen heroes of a battalion. We waged a war silently and internally. From the fear of extermination, we couldn't voice the truth. When we wake up and look in the mir...

          DUNK: THE PROBLEM LIES IN THE NARRATIVE : The 8:00 ritualistic viewing of aired serials, with the similar plots revolving around young lovers facing many difficulties, and cheating husbands being forgiven, and hostile mothers-in-law are not the imagery of past. In our households, we have grown watching these dramas, which had a far greater impact than was conceived at the time. I remember asking my mother why is she following these pathetic storylines? Which weren’t educating anything productive. The only visual outcome of these dramas is the reimposition of an enslaving mindset. I asked her what is she getting out of it, and in her defence, she defended the entire drama industry, but it’s only for time pass and entertainment beta .  We haven’t realised the problem. What was being passed with clean chit as entertainment was actually inculcating ideas in the minds of so many. You see, media is a far more powerful tool than we can imagine, the movin...

AN ERA OF WITCHES WITHOUT BROOMS AND STICKS : Centuries-old tale of suppression, a newly conceived idea. The end of years old practices and a voice finally being heard. We aren’t ready to let go. We aren’t ready to submit. We aren’t ready to burn. We were made to tango on the stings of lies, preprogrammed DNAs of cultural subjugation passed down. We were stripped naked of identity. For the longest time, we were faceless beings with lost stories and unuttered names. Regret flows through our veins, the trauma of my mothers and their unheard screams haunt the dreams I sleep into. No, was a word unknown, concealed. No was not the answer we were taught to give. Then came a new dawn of the same day. A brighter shade of the same colour. The body tired of years of persecution, the vocal cords drumming under the ages of dust gathered, screams finally being heard. We embark on a daring feat, exploring the uncharted territory of emancipation. The emotional buildup of the unmeasurable sacrifice of...