I am sleeping beside Karen Armstrong's "Holy War: the Crusades and their Impact on Today's World" these days. Its only the initial pages yet but I have questions popping in and out of my brain. So after a long time, looking at my blog can be painful. Its like stepping into a different world. One thing is for sure...my 'under construction' signs are likely to be a permenant fixture. And no I will not be apologetic. Though I do baulk at the ugly unfinished business.

Gawd, only I can tell under all the neat little laundry and gleaming kitchen of my home lies an ill- organized and jumbled blog yawning in my lap top.

Its a queer feeling when I begin working. I feel little blurbs growing out of my head, complete with scenes enacted with characters. Sometimes when I am steaming vegetables or sitting in the car I will see them buoying in the air. Yes, its painful when sometimes I get invited to dinners or teas and I sit all posh nosh in my new sandals and jet set hair, only to fight my eyelids from drooping from all the women talk. Even more painful when I am termed 'quiet' by some poor innocent girl having me over for the first time. I did chuckle the first time I heard the 'q' word, picturing my husband's tortured look. But the reality is sinking in; it took me more than two decades to earn the star title of 'storyteller and Chatterbox'. My glory days are numbered.

I had one of my mom's friends visiting and she scared the hell out of me when she painted the picture of a lonesome life away from Pakistan. 'Without your circle of family and friends, staying alone in cramped little flats with no household help and decent jobs you will morph into a dull and boring species." And so on ... her tirade left a picture of a female frankenstein with a sponge in one hand and a bottle of 'jiff' in the other hand in my head. Who says writers get to imagine out of choice. Khair.