#charpai

[paulpingminho]

[articlem]

Discover the Charm of a Garden Bench: Your Perfect Outdoor Retreat

Features of a Garden Bench:

A Garden Bench serves as a versatile piece of outdoor furniture, blending functionality with aesthetic appeal. Often designed like a traditional charpai bed or khatiya, enhances any garden. Many garden benches are made from durable materials, including weather-resistant wood or metal, ensuring they can withstand the elements. The wooden daybed khat offers a classic look, while the garden daybed may includes seat for added comfort.Cmfortable designed, these benches provide excellent support, making them perfect for long hours of relaxation. With a variety of styles and finishes available, there’s a garden bench to suit every taste and outdoor decor.

Benefits of Using a Garden Bench:

Incorporating a Garden Bench into your outdoor space offers numerous benefits that enhance your overall experience. First and foremost, it creates a designated area for relaxation, allowing you to unwind with a book or enjoy the peaceful of nature. This inviting space encourages quality time with family and friends  making it ideal for gatherings or casual conversations.

Moreover, a Garden Bench can act as a focal point in your garden, enhancing its visual appeal. With designs inspired by traditional furniture like the charpai bed, these benches not only provide comfort but also evoke a sense of regretfulness and warmth. They invite you to slow down and appreciate the beauty of your surroundings.

Another significant benefit is the versatility of a garden bench. Whether you’re hosting a summer or enjoying a quiet evening under the stars, a bench offers a perfect spot to sit and enjoy the moment. Additionally, models like the wooden daybed khat or garden daybed can provide extra sleeping space for guests during warm nights, adding functionality to your outdoor area.

Finally, using a Garden Bench promotes a deeper connection with nature. Spending time outdoors has been linked to improved mental health and well-being. By providing a comfortable place to sit and reflect, a garden bench encourages you to immerse yourself in the tranquility of your surroundings, making it a worthwhile addition to any garden.

A Perfect Spot to Pause and Reflect:

A garden bench can transform your outdoor space into a personal sanctuary. It serves as the perfect spot to pause and reflect, inviting visitors to soak in the beauty of nature. Picture yourself enjoying the gentle breeze, surrounded by vibrant flowers and greenery, while taking a moment for examination .This cozy nook is also ideal for enjoying happiness, whether it’s sharing laughter with loved ones or simply savoring a quiet moment alone.

Additionally, the comfort of many garden benches makes them suitable for sleeping under the stars on warm nights. Imagine drifting off to sleep with the sounds of nature all around you—what a delightful way to connect with the outdoors! By integrating a garden bench into your landscape, you create a space that promotes relaxation, joy, and reflection.

ProudlyIndia Your Trusted Brand for Quality Outdoor Furniture:

When searching for a garden bench, ProudlyIndia stands out as a leading brand. Renowned for its quality craftsmanship, ProudlyIndia offers an impressive selection of outdoor furniture, including garden benches inspired by traditional designs like the charpai bed and khatiya. Each piece is meticulously crafted to ensure durability and comfort, allowing you to enjoy your outdoor space for years to come. With a commitment to customer satisfaction, ProudlyIndia ensures that each product meets high standards of quality and style, making them a go to choice for enhancing your garden .

Global Shipping by ProudlyIndia:

ProudlyIndia makes it easy to access beautiful outdoor furniture with its global shipping services. Whether you reside in the USA, Canada, London, or other cities around the world, you can easily order a stunning garden bench to elevate your outdoor space. Their efficient shipping process ensures that you receive your chosen products promptly, allowing you to enjoy your new garden bench without delay. By choosing ProudlyIndia, you’re not only investing in a stylish and functional piece of furniture but also benefiting from a seamless shopping experience that connects you with high-quality outdoor living solutions, no matter where you are.

In conclusion, a garden bench is a perfect addition to any outdoor setting, providing comfort, style, and a space for reflection. With ProudlyIndia’s exceptional offerings and global shipping options, enhancing your outdoor experience has never been easier.

[thewhimsicalinteriors]

Best Wooden Charpai ~ Indian Day Beds

https://www.thewhimsicalinteriors.com/best-wooden-charpai-indian-day-beds/

[soluners]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ💬 moni's new message : popular girls icons!

☽ like/reblog if use! don't repost!

[sheltiechicago]

Chowk & Charpai: An Urban Living Room, India, by Archohm

Set on the riverside terrace, this pavilion explores two vernacular Indian design typologies that create spaces for community and conversation – a traditional woven day bed known as a chairpai and an open-air chowk market, which design studio Archohm describes as "the urban Indian living room".

The pavilion is formed from woven ropes set over an angular frame, with a metal stall at its centre decorated in hundreds of kullad clay cups used for drinking chai.

The cups are left unglazed and fixed to the structure with magnets, so they can ultimately be returned to the earth.

2023 London Design Biennale

[homelivingthings]

Charpai (चारपाई): Buy Charpai Online at Best prices starting from Rs 10199 | Wakefit

[000marie198]

OHMYGOSH!

Actually sobbing you gave him charpai, omg omg

I meant to give you this last week @000marie198

comfortable sleepy hedgehog

inspired by her favorite place to nap

[inqilabi]

Maria Bibi's case has been haunting me. Her brother and father raped her. She was pregnant and had started to go around and tell everyone what was happening to her. So her brother strangled her on a charpai. Then once he was done, the father handed him a glass of water. As if to give him respite for a tough job. And this was filmed by another brother, and the video went around and enraged people.

My dad grew up around the area where this girl's father and brother are from.

And I have directly seen this kind of disregard for women's life while growing up. The sad part is that I was exposed to it enough to know exactly what it feels like - as in, I know the exact the mindset of these men. Somehow through direct exposure and experience, you get the ability to not just be on the receiving end but also have an insight into exactly how their mind operates and what they're thinking. I think that's precisely what made me so sensitive to even mild misogyny in men's behaviour which I started posting about a decade ago on here. It was to the point where I was even analyzing men's approaches to fictional female characters. Word choices etc etc like really minute details.

Misogyny that you see in village areas and small towns is the most raw. I feel in urban centers of these countries, as well as in the west as a whole, it's definitely coated in some sugar. But backhome in the villages, they literally do not think of you as a person. You are subhuman and you definitely feel this as a woman. You are less than the cattle. You are sold and traded by your fathers and brothers. At best, there are waiting for you to be of marriageable age to hand you off to someone else. I've seen women beaten and dragged by the hair. Like the hate that I've seen men have towards women is so vitriolic. One time, when I was a teen - I was at a wedding doing a little dance, being happy. And I could see the rage in this young man's eye who was a wedding guest. It was almost like - how dare she have fun. Why is she not existing as a thing. The dance, me being happy and joyful took something away from his and vision of me as a girl. It did two things I think 1) I was alive and not a thing. He wanted me to be a quiet docile thing, an item, just sitting in a corner, not a person 2) it showed him that I didn't exist for his pleasure. I was doing things for my own pleasure, my own will. He even made a comment to me in Urdu. And it made me sad and killed my spirit. And I could see how happy he was to see the joy go. Having been the one to make that joy disappear.

I don't think you see things like that in the west on the regular. But certain parts of backhome it's an everyday occurence

[hosh-rubaa]

Do I?? From my journal

Last year, I visited my grandma's place—a beautiful small town with sprawling farms, endless greenery, and scenery that took my breath away. I truly cherished my time there. I've always been an admirer of the sky, the moon, and the embrace of nature.

It was the end of the July, and the monsoons were approaching their peak. I was sitting on our terrace as the sun began to set. Birds were flying back to their nests, and the air was filled with a calmness that felt like a warm hug. I looked up at the sky; it was changing colors—red, orange, blue, pink, and a bit of purple. I wondered why these colors only showed up during the rainy season or at sunset.

I went downstairs and sat beside my grandma, who was playing with my little cousin. I asked her, "Dadi, yeh aasmaan apna rang kyun badalta hai?" (Grandma, why does the sky change its color?)

A sweet smile spread across her face, but her attention was still on my cousin, who was nibbling on some chocolate. "So you notice?" she replied, now fully looking at me.

"Yes, I notice the changing colors, and I wonder why. Is there any reason behind it? A story, perhaps?" I asked eagerly.

She chuckled softly and said, "It's said that in the rainy season, these colors hint to the farmers that rain is near, so they can prepare to sow their seeds." She stood up from the charpai and continued, "And these colors are like the seeds of rain themselves."

"But Dadi, I don't see any scientific reason in that story. How am I supposed to believe it?" I questioned.

"Not everything needs science, my dear. Sometimes, believing in stories is what makes us happy, and you don’t need proof to be happy" she replied.

I shrugged it off playfully and helped her close our small shop. I took my cousin into my arms as we walked outside.

"Let's go home; it looks like it might rain," Grandma observed, glancing at the sky.

"It's okay, Dadi; it won’t rain. We can sit beneath this tree for a while. It’s so beautiful," I insisted.

We sat on the rocks in our courtyard, feeling the calm of the evening settle around us.

"Do you know there's another story about this?" Grandma asked, her voice teasingly soft.

"About what?" I asked, curious.

"The sky changing its colors," she said with a knowing smile.

"Really? Are you going to tell me?" I leaned in, eager for more.

"But you always want a scientific reason for everything," she teased.

I smiled, raising my hands in surrender. "Okay, I promise I won't question it. Can you tell me now?"

She took a deep breath, her eyes searching the sky. "It's said that the sun and the sky are lovers, and when they meet at the horizon at sunset, they express their love through these different colors. The colors show how beautifully the sky welcomes the sun."

"So, it's a love story?" I whispered, my heart fluttering at the thought.

She looked at me, her eyes warm. "Do you believe it?"

"I—" I started to reply, but then I felt a cool drop on my hand, and another on my face. It was raining.

"See, I told you it would rain," Grandma laughed softly, taking my cousin by the hand. "Come inside before you catch a cold."

As I stood there, looking up at the sky, I wondered,

"Do I believe? In love? In stories? Do I?"

[coochiequeens]

Ladies, vote for yourself and those denied the right

Dhurnal (Pakistan) (AFP) – Perched on her traditional charpai bed, Naeem Kausir says she would like to vote in Pakistan's upcoming election -- if only the men in her family would let her.

Issued on: 05/02/2024 - 08:41

In  the village of Dhurnal in Punjab, spread across crop fields and home to several thousand people, men profess myriad reasons why women should not be allowed to vote © Farooq NAEEM / AFP

Like all the women in her town, the 60-year-old former headmistress and her seven daughters -- six already university educated -- are forbidden from voting by their male elders.

"Whether by her husband, father, son or brother, a woman is forced. She lacks the autonomy to make decisions independently," said Kausir, covered in a veil in the courtyard of her home.

"These men lack the courage to grant women their rights," the widow told AFP.

Although voting is a constitutional right for all adults in Pakistan, some rural areas in the socially conservative country are still ruled by a patriarchal system of male village elders who wield significant influence in their communities.

In the village of Dhurnal in Punjab, spread across crop fields and home to several thousand people, men profess myriad reasons for the ban of more than 50 years.

"Several years ago, during a period of low literacy rates, a council chairman decreed that if men went out to vote, and women followed suit, who would manage the household and childcare responsibilities?" said Malik Muhammad, a member of the village council.

"This disruption, just for one vote, was deemed unnecessary," he concluded.

Robina Kausir, a healthcare worker, talks to AFP in Dhurnal of Punjab province, ahead of the upcoming general election © Farooq NAEEM / AFP

Muhammad Aslam, a shopkeeper, claims it is to protect women from "local hostilities" about politics, including a distant occasion that few seem to remember in the village when an argument broke out at a polling station.

Others told AFP it was simply down to "tradition".

First Muslim woman leader

The Election Commission of Pakistan (ECP) has stressed that it has the authority to declare the process null and void in any constituency where women are barred from participating.

In reality, progress has been slow outside of cities and in areas that operate under tribal norms, with millions of women still missing from the electoral rolls.

Muhammad Aslam, a shopkeeper, claims a ban on women voting is to protect them from "local hostilities" about politics © Farooq NAEEM / AFP

The elders in Dhurnal rely on neighbouring villages to fill a government-imposed quota which maintains that 10 percent of votes cast in every constituency must be by women.

Those who are allowed to vote are often pressured to pick a candidate of a male relative's choice.

In the mountainous region of Kohistan in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province home to almost 800,000 people, religious clerics last month decreed it un-Islamic for women to take part in electoral campaigns.

Although voting is a constitutional right for all adults in Pakistan, some rural areas in the socially conservative country are still ruled by a patriarchal system of male village elders who wield significant influence in their communities © Farooq NAEEM / AFP

Fatima Tu Zara Butt, a legal expert and a women's rights activist, said women are allowed to vote in Islam, but that religion is often exploited or misunderstood in Pakistan.

"Regardless of their level of education or financial stability, women in Pakistan can only make decisions with the 'support' of the men around them," she said.

Pakistan famously elected the world's first Muslim woman leader in 1988 -- Benazir Bhutto, who introduced policies that boosted education and access to money for women, and fought against religious extremism after military dictator Zia ul-Haq had introduced a new era of Islamisation that rolled back women's rights.

However, more than 30 years later, only 355 women are competing for national assembly seats in Thursday's election, compared to 6,094 men, the election commission has said.

Pakistan reserves 60 of the 342 National Assembly seats for women and 10 for religious minorities in the Muslim-majority country, but political parties rarely allow women to contest outside of this quota.

Those who do stand often do so only with the backing of male relatives who are already established in local politics.

"I have never seen any independent candidates contesting elections on their own," Zara Butt added.

'Everyone's right'

Forty-year-old Robina Kausir, a healthcare worker, said a growing number of women in Dhurnal want to exercise their right to vote but they fear backlash from the community if they do -- particularly the looming threat of divorce, a matter of great shame in Pakistani culture.

She credits part of the shift to access to information as a result of the rising use of smartphones and social media.

"These men instil fear in their women – many threaten their wives," she told AFP.

Robina, backed by her husband, is one of the few prepared to take the risk.

When cricketing legend Imran Khan swept to power in the 2018 election, Robina arranged for a minibus to take women to the local polling station.

Only a handful joined her, but she still marked it as a success and will do the same on Thursday's election.

"I was abused but I do not care, I will keep fighting for everyone's right to vote," Robina said.

[articlem]

Discover the Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya: Your Perfect Wooden Daybed for Comfort and Style

Features of the Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya:

The Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya comes with several remarkable features that make it a standout choice for any home. Its robust wooden frame ensures durability and longevity, allowing it to withstand daily use while maintaining its charm. The jute charpai offers excellent breathability, making it perfect for warm climates. The traditional weaving technique used in creating the woven bed not only enhances aesthetic appeal but also provides comfort and support.

The design of the charpai promotes airflow, ensuring a cool and comfortable experience whether you’re lounging inside or enjoying the outdoors. Additionally, its lightweight construction allows for easy movement, enabling you to rearrange your space effortlessly. The intricate patterns woven into the jute add a touch of artistry, making it a beautiful focal point in any room or garden.

Overall, the Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya is not just a piece of furniture; it’s a statement of style and cultural heritage.

Benefits of Using the Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya:

Incorporating an Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya into your home offers a multitude of benefits. First and foremost, its userfriendly design promotes relaxation and comfort. The gentle give of the jute charpai provides an ideal resting position, making it perfect for lounging, reading, or napping. This comfort is enhanced by the natural materials used, allowing for a more health-conscious living space.

The charpai also supports sustainable living. Made from Indian traditional jute, it is an eco-friendly choice that minimizes environmental impact. Jute is biodegradable, making it a responsible option for the environmentally conscious consumer. By choosing a charpai, you’re not just adding style to your home  you’re also making a choice that benefits the planet.

Additionally, the charpai’s spacious design encourages social interaction, making it an excellent spot for family gatherings and friend get-togethers. Its inviting presence fosters connection and warmth, creating a cozy environment for sharing stories and creating memories.

Versatility is another significant benefit. Whether used as a garden daybed for outdoor relaxation or as a charming seating option in your living room, the charpai fits seamlessly into various settings. Its timeless design ensures that it complements different decor styles, making it a cherished piece for years to come.

Ideal for Social Gatherings and Family Interaction:

The Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya is perfectly suited for social gatherings and family interactions. Placing it in your garden allows everyone to enjoy stunning views while engaging in meaningful conversations. Its generous size makes it ideal for families to relax together, fostering connection and warmth.

Whether you’re  enjoying a peaceful afternoon with loved ones, the charpai creates an inviting atmosphere. Its comfort makes it perfect for lounging and socializing, allowing you to enjoy long chats and shared experiences. The charpai transforms any gathering into a memorable occasion, providing a cozy space for creating lasting bonds.

Why Choose ProudlyIndia for Your Charpai Khatiya:

When it comes to purchasing an Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya, ProudlyIndia is the best brand to consider. Our commitment to quality ensures that each charpai is crafted with precision, reflecting the rich heritage of Indian craftsmanship. We take pride in delivering products that not only meet but exceed customer expectations.

ProudlyIndia emphasizes sustainability and authenticity, ensuring that every charpai is made from natural materials that are both beautiful and eco-friendly. Our focus on traditional craftsmanship means that each piece tells a story, making it a unique addition to your home.

ProudlyIndia  Global Shipping Services:

ProudlyIndia also provides global shipping services making it easy for customers in the USA, Canada, London, and many more cities to enjoy these exquisite pieces. Our efficient shipping ensures that your Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya arrives safely and promptly at your doorstep.

We believe in making traditional craftsmanship accessible to everyone, regardless of location. By choosing ProudlyIndia, you’re not just purchasing furniture; you’re bringing a piece of Indian culture into your home. Experience the blend of comfort, style, and heritage today by choosing the Authentic Indian Charpai Khatiya from ProudlyIndia!

[shahsalim]

Jazbaat ka izhaar kar lo,

Ke kahin waqt tumse bezaar na ho jaye.

Woh baatein jo lafz ki talash main gum hain,

Keh do, ke khamoshi ka bojh na bhar jaye.

Gham ki charpai aur afsos ki chaadar,

Buni gayi hai hum kuch khaas logon ke liye

Pooch lo khud se ek bar,

So payo ge is khule aasman tale

Kahin achanak aankh na khul jaye

Ghadi e raitan ko ulta mod diya gaya hai, aye takhir pasand

Band muthi me se waqt kahin haat se na phisal jaye

[itsbinforever]

SUMMER SWEETHEART

Summer held many charms for you, and Seo Changbin was one of them.

WORD COUNT: 3.8k GENRE: Desi Cottagecore PLAYLIST: Here If this fic was a movie, Badra Bahaar by Amit Trivedi would be the song that plays during the ending credits. 

© itsbinforever. please don't steal my work!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hate everything I write, with the exception of this story. It's like my words have an expiry label that says "BEST BEFORE: 2 WEEKS", after which I start cringing at them. Summer Sweetheart is the first and only story of mine that I cherish so deeply. I love the characters and I love their banter, and I like to pretend I didn't write it so that I can return to read it. I hope it receives a fraction of this love from its readers on Tumblr too.

｡°⚠︎°｡ This story is heavily influenced by desi culture. Here's a lexicon to guide you through foreign words, which have been used sparsely in the story:

Mandi (muhn-dee): A large market for fruits and vegetables

Haveli (ha-way-lee): a manor house, usually in villages or smaller towns

Charpai (chaar-pa-ee): a bed with a wooden frame and jute webbing

Kurti (ker-ti): An Indian tunic

Dupatta (doo-puh-ta): An Indian scarf

Nani (na-nee): maternal grandmother

Summer brought you to the bustling haveli in the countryside, where your grandmother and her retinue of servants fussed over how thin you’d gotten and took it upon themselves to flesh you out. Summer brought family reunions and nightly ruminations, cross-legged on charpais under the star-spangled skies until the conversation was taken over by that uncle whose astrological fascinations overflowed into a panoramic commentary on all the constellations that your city was never graced with. Summer brought bright mornings, waking up under the mosquito net that sheltered you from the plaguing insects but not the beaming sun rays. Summer held many charms for you, and Seo Changbin was one of them.

The last day of summer was yet another day spent frolicking through the orchards, amid the fruit laden trees and kempt grass, barefoot and hand in hand with your childhood sweetheart. You wore silly grins on your faces, cheeks tinted red under the leafy canopy that filtered in light from the sweltering summer sun, too young and too in love with the present to notice everything that could go wrong.

The orchard boasted of ripe mangos, ready to be plucked and sold in the nearby town’s mandi, from where, your mothers would ensure, the delectable summer treat would find its way onto your plates in a variety of preparations each meal for the rest of the season until you were sick of its cloying sweetness. But young and callow as you were, Changbin and you couldn’t let go of the opportunity the old neighbour’s visit to the city presented - an orchard full of free fruits with no one to stop you. 

Off you’d went, the mischievous, little delinquents that you were, tiptoeing out of your houses after lunch when all admonishing adults were lost deep in their midday siestas. Leveraging the catch in the wall, you’d scrambled into the orchard and scampered off under the security of the shade, ready to sink your teeth into someone else’s bounty.

“That’s a dumb idea.” You didn’t need to stop or turn his way to tell that the only thing Changbin could achieve with his idea would be a colossal failure when you heard a pause in his footsteps.

“What’s dumb is your outfit,” He shot back without lifting his eyes from the heap of dried leaves and fallen twigs that had been swept to a nook in the buttress roots of a rather large tree.

“You’re one to speak.” Changbin was the image of utter comedy in your eyes, wearing a comically large t-shirt over a pair of shorts one size too tight for him, no doubt hand-me-downs from his cousins. After all, what would a summer family reunion be without the ritualistic passing down of elders’ outgrown clothes to the youngers? But you didn’t fare any better. “Besides, it’s not my fault that my mother wants me to ‘connect with my roots’,” You huffed. Your mother made you dress modestly here, lest her family comment on the city culture that was apparently tarnishing your traditions. Dolled up in a kurti and a long skirt, only the embroidered dupatta you’d stolen from your aunt redeemed for your otherwise cumbersome attire.

“Whatever,” He mumbled absently, twirling a twig between his fingers. “Just wait and watch.”

You did neither, continuing down the trodden path as you adjusted your glasses to scan the dark, glossy leaves overhead for fruits within reach. The trees were regularly spaced every ten feet or so, teeming with mangoes that hung in bunches high up. Neither Changbin nor you had a stature worth bragging about; you were just two awkward midgets who’d have to step up a few branches to reach even the lowest of the heavy hanging fruits.

Secretly, you liked the way that would always play out. 

It would start with the firm hold of his hands on your waist, hoisting you until you caught onto a branch. Your flimsy skirt wouldn’t offer your knees much protection against the rough, ant ridden wood as you’d scramble to mount it, Changbin’s hands hovering cautiously until he’d be convinced you were ready to help him up. His crayon fingers would dig into your clammy palms, face scrunched with effort that would only relax with a sigh of relief once he’d be seated beside you, knees bumping into each other’s as your legs would swing in a platonic cadence.

Of the whole mango thievery experience, this was the part that made your heart race the most. So, a twinge of disappointment coloured your frowning lips when you saw that Changbin seemed to be inclined towards a different plan this time.

“I said wait!” He called from behind in his typical whinging tone, only to evoke a defiant snicker out of you. You switched to a brisker pace with the sole intent of annoying him. “Hey! Don’t go so fast! You’ll stub your toe on a rock and fall on your butt if you don’t wait for me, I’m telling you!” He warned, finally rising from his crouched position.

You couldn’t resist sticking your tongue out at him before you broke into a sprint. The scenery around you blurred in motion as your bare feet pounded the grassy ground, one hand lifting your skirt while the other held onto your dupatta. Luckily for you, it seemed that the area had been pruned recently - barely any pebbles caught in your feet, though the grass did tickle you. But your focus was directed on outrunning the short, skittish boy chasing you.

It was so easy to irk Changbin, so easy to elicit his grumpy wails of complaint and adorable scowls, to urge him into this frivolous game of chase. A hearty laugh bubbled in your chest as you chanced a glance behind, sneering at his flushed face as he brandished the stick in his hand in a way that, you supposed, was meant to be threatening. His torrent of threats drowned in ripples of giggles and squeals as he began to catch up with you, startlingly quicker than you’d imagined. After all, he wasn’t the one hindered by a flowy outfit. Just when you’d expected his arms to close around your waist in the dizzying way they always do, you felt a light pull at your braid. When you turned, it was too late. 

An impish grin adorned Changbin’s face as he held up the hair tie he’d slipped out of your hair. “Wait, no- ” You pulled off your glasses - they had fogged from the run - and leapt at his blurry figure, trying to snatch it out of his hands. He hid it behind his back and sidestepped you, moving out of your range of reach.

“Bin, my hair’s oily, I can’t leave it open!” You pleaded. Your grandmother had a peculiar passion for oiling your hair every other night, and today was just one of those days when you’d been too lazy to wash up in the morning, leaving you with a greasy mop of hair drenched to the roots in amla oil, barely tamed into a braid.  

But Changbin refused any empathy towards you or your hair. “‘My hair’s oily’,” he mimicked you in a nasal voice, adding, “Nope, you’re not getting it back! It’s mine now!” Mischief radiated from his sparkly eyes and scrunched nose and the high pitched giggles he let out at your distress. “Besides, I like it better this way,” he said, gesturing to your hair. You would’ve swooned at the scintilla of sincerity that peaked through his taunt, if not for your untangling braid that threatened to curtain your face in oily locks.

“Changbin.” You spoke carefully, enunciating his whole name with a low voice and a pointed stare as you tied your dupatta at the waist, the sternest equivalent of rolling up your sleeves you could imitate in this attire. “Give. It. Back!”  

And yet, Changbin’s response to the most intimidating front you could’ve put up was of nonchalance and disregard, complete with an exaggerated eye roll. “Oh, calm down! You don’t look that ugly.”

“Excuse me-”

“Leave your hair be.” He brushed you off with a dismissive wave. “I want to try something first, watch this.” 

“What- Oh goodness! It’s not going to work, Changbin, I’ve told you - it’s a dumb idea!” You splayed your arms and stomped your feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum, miffed with his antics. But your words fell to deaf ears as a beaming Changbin carried on with his - might you add, utterly foolish and entirely useless - plan. The stick he’d picked was shaped like a Y, and with your trusty hair tie, Changbin aspired to put together a makeshift slingshot. Fruitlessly ambitious, in your humble opinion - quite literally, you’d say.

“We won’t have to climb the trees then, it’ll be much easier with this.” He tried to persuade you. Not that it worked, you weren’t convinced in the slightest. But all the summers spent together had acquainted you with Changbin’s tenacity enough to know his dogged determination wouldn’t let up until he went through with it.

A huff of resignation left your lips. Arms crossed above your chest, you tilted your head in a way that said ‘Prove it’. Changbin didn’t stand down. Producing a marble out of his pocket, he stretched your hair tie as far as it would go and locked the target, taking in a deep breath and exhaling as he let go. The marble flew a few feet before dropping at an unimpressive, rather embarrassing distance, not even making it as far as the tree.

The shade of defeat suited quite awkwardly to his beefy body. The urge to iterate your triumph was nearly irresistible, but you settled for a cocky smirk that spelled out ‘I told you so’ as you held out an open palm. Lips curled in a grumpy grimace, Changbin gave you the stink eye as he relinquished your hair tie.

“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault?” A gleeful laugh tinted with a noise of complaint left your lips at his expense, pushing him deeper into sulky mode. 

“It is your fault.” He humphed. “Why do you roam around wearing cheap hair bands, huh? Spend money, buy branded ones.” He pursed his lips in a petulant pout, turning away from you.

“Oh, please. Why don’t you get me some yourself, then?” You muttered as you attempted to gather your hair into a bun - the braid was beyond salvaging at this point and you had too little dexterity to redo it the way your aunt did it for you.

“I might as well.” You heard him say faintly, still not facing you as he waited for the mortification to wash away.

“Wait, did you just concede to buying me a gift?” You popped your face right in front of his, taking him aback with this sudden invasion of personal space. “Who are you and what have you done with Changbin the cheapskate?” You poked him in the way that vexed him most, a reaction which brought you the purest joy; a repeated tap, tap, tap of your index finger on his upper arm, waiting for the delight of them bouncing back from the squishy skin. Only, this time came a surprise as they touched rather firm and shapely muscles. Since last Summer, you noted mutely, Changbin had grown a lot. It brought heat to your already flushed cheeks. 

“Excuse me, Miss Imma-Buy-Cute-Things-That-I-Don’t-Need! I’m not buying you any gifts. It’s an investment. It’ll actually reap fruits next time,” He scoffed, before adding, “And I’m not a cheapskate!”

You were ready to contest that claim but your snarky arguments fizzled out on the tip of your tongue - a quick movement in the periphery of your vision distracted you.  

What happened next was a blur. 

Thwack!

Looking back at it, you weren’t able to tell a thing from another except the throbbing presence of a dull ache rippling throughout your head. It arrested your senses in a moment of numbness before you could even register what had conspired. 

Did something just hit you?

Involuntarily, your arms tensed and your fists flew overhead a moment too late, clenched as you cowered to brace yourself from whatever could come next. Eyes squeezed shut, scrunching like tight screws till everything became darker and slower - you were blacking out.

“... Y/N.”

You were unthinking, immobile. The heavy thrumming in your eardrums was the delirious beating of your heart pounding louder and louder. It was a heavy veil over your senses making everything else seem dull. 

“Y/N!” 

A yell made its way over the chaos in your head. You couldn’t clearly register it, but the resonant ring of urgency clawed at you as you tried to surface from the haze you had been stupefied into.

“RUN!”

When your eyes snapped open, the only thing you could discern was the panic in Changbin’s pale face and frantic touch. You were still frozen, mirroring his frightful look until he was grabbing at you and the next moment, you found yourself being pulled along with him as he ran. 

It was a mad, mad rush. Even as Changbin held your hand in a vice grip, it wasn’t easy to keep up with him, especially in your disoriented state. He managed to steer you clear of the many roots and heaps of fallen twigs and anything else that you could trip on. But when your now muddied skirt and hazy vision made you stumble more than once, it was only Changbin’s firm grasp that kept you upright and running. From what? You still didn’t know. But you trusted Changbin.

That wasn’t to say you weren’t curious; if anything, your state of bafflement fueled your curiosity. So, in a flash of daring, you looked over your shoulder. Squinting through your bleary sight, all you could make out was a brown blob hurtling towards you at a speed faster than you were running from it. A whimper caught in your throat as you turned, trying to fathom the vague shape you saw, and that’s when you realised - 

“Shit!” You brought your free hand over your eyes, confirming your suspicion. “I dropped my glasses somewhere, Bin!” You managed to speak through your panting but Changbin didn’t respond - if he heard you, that is. “Bin, we need to go back!” You tugged at his hand, squeezing your fingers that were entwined in his. He just squeezed back harder. “CHANGBIN-”

“IT WAS THE MONKEY!” He let out a shaky shriek. “The monkey stole your glasses!” 

What?

“Came out of nowhere!” He sounded afraid and panicky and, like a contagion, the same emotions began bubbling in your chest too. “It jumped on your head and took off with your glasses - Geez! You were there too, you saw it happen!”

You were stumped. “ ‘Took off’ - then why is it chasing us?”

“Ask the monkey that!” Changbin yelled. He looked behind and you did too, now more cautious than curious. The brown blob - the monkey - was gaining on you. Cursing under his breath, Changbin sped up and your entangled hands forced you to match his pace. “I looked at it and it snarled and it tried to pounce on me!” 

“Oh, my.” You let out a shaky whimper. Fear and exertion doused you in a cold sweat. It pooled in the dip in your neck, eventually slipping in between your clammy fingers. Changbin’s grasp faltered. Anxiety doubled over you, but then he let go of your hand entirely before briskly grabbing your wrist in a bruising grip that lent a much needed sense of security.

You didn’t dare look back again, keeping your eyes trained ahead. An escape appeared in the form of a rusty turnstile, the only visible outlet in the brick wall that lined the perimeter of the orchard. The fencing wouldn’t be a hindrance to the monkey - it could as easily chase you outside the orchard too - but surely, the stick wielding guards flanking the dilapidated gate would offer protection.

“HEY!” Changbin was a loud and whiny kid of much repute (not the good kind) and as much as your parents would use him as a bad example, you’d always racked your mind for any argument that would work as a clapback in Changbin’s defence. “GUARDS!” Right now, a rush of admiration overcame you, followed by the urge to rub it in your parents’ faces that his ‘bad manners’ kept you safe. Oh, the satisfaction of having your parents reluctantly approve of your best friend - Hang on. Your parents could never know - should never know. They’d be furious.

And so would the guards, you realised as you neared the gate. The closer you got, the clearer you could make out their expressions. Initial confusion morphed into fury, and you almost considered running off in another direction when you saw them pick up their sticks before noticing that you didn’t fall in their line of sight. They were looking further. The monkey. Of course. Warding off monkeys was more of a priority than reprimanding thieving teens.

“Changbin!” You called, trying to convey the plan to him before you’d come within the guards’ earshot. “We have to run off before they return. They’ll tell on us!” What you’d gathered from your mother’s recollections was that everyone knew everyone in small towns, as if they had everybody’s entire biodata memorised like the back of their hands. Thank goodness you weren’t a local, else there’d be no hiding this from your parents. “Got it?” If it wasn’t for the barely audible grunt of acknowledgement, you would’ve thought he didn’t hear you.

The guards whizzed past you, charging at the monkey as they waved their sticks, yelling at them in their native tongue. You could only make out a few words, but you figured the majority of their speech translated into crass variants of “Get away!” When you heard the monkey screech in response, you shut your eyes. Changbin’s hold made sure you didn’t stop in your tracks, but a sudden turn he took made you flash open your eyes. “Bin, the exit-” You couldn’t even put words to your confusion before Changbin pulled you to a halt in front of the perimeter wall, further away from the turnstile. Without skipping a beat, his hands found purchase on your waist in a practised choreography. Except, this wasn’t in the shade of a deciduous canopy that would shelter your ministrations. This was out in the open - without any spectators, thankfully; the guards were still preoccupied chasing away the monkey - but still enough to make you feel sheepish, despite the predicament you were in.

“Swing your leg over it, quick!” He instructed once you were perched on the narrow wall. You made quick work of it. Seated with one leg on either side of the wall, you didn’t need Changbin to tell you to offer him your hand; it was the obvious next step. The wall was crumbly but there were no nooks for Changbin to place his feet into. His entire weight was yours to pull and as you did, a fall became inevitable.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed. Changbin whined on top of you. Crushed between him and the unyielding ground, you felt pain shoot through your spine before little stabs exploded all over. The wall was barely a foot taller than you, but with the way you fell headfirst and with Changbin’s weight propelling you, you had imagined nothing less than a cracked skull. Well, maybe that was too dramatic. But the lack of symptoms of a looming concussion was somehow more worrisome than the existing pain.

Changbin stirred, a string of grunts and groans limning the effort it took to heave himself off you. He barely rose before crumpling to the ground right next to you. “Shit.”

“Why did we just do this?” You groaned. The pain felt less severe now, but Changbin lying motionless next to you only fueled your urge to bask in the moment a bit longer.

“They won’t be able to find us here.” He forced out between heavy breaths.

“And here is…?”

“Good question.”

There was a pause. It lingered uncomfortably. It was the silence before the storm, and the storm came in the shape of your fist punching his arm. Changbin screamed bloody murder, making you retreat your hand to cover your ears, elbowing him nonetheless. “What the hell, Changbin?”

“OKAY, OKAY! I may not know where we are, but I made sure we’re safe, at least!” 

“You call this safe? I nearly died!”

“Oh, shut up, you drama queen.” He made to pull his hand to himself and when you felt it slide from beneath your head, the absence of a headache started to make perfect sense.  A fuzzy feeling swaddled you and Changbin’s “Let’s get going” did a great job slicing through it. Having taken umbrage at your jab, he was determined to find your way home to prove his point. His point being… something that escaped you. But it was cute, his steely look, so you played along and followed his lead.

The sun was no longer at its zenith, hovering lower in the sky as it bathed the town in shades of pink and gold. People had emerged from their houses once again, the streets filling in as Changbin and you wandered like vagrants. You would ask someone for directions but ‘nani’s haveli’ was the only address you knew. Besides, Changbin was adamant that you didn’t need help, that he knew where he was going despite being caught reciting eeny meeny miny moe under his breath at the fork - he denied that allegation, insisting that he was actually reciting his evening prayers since he was “a man of principles”.

By the time you stumbled upon your home, your feet were aching and your kurta was awkwardly patchy with sweat, thinly veiled under your dupatta. The sun was barely peeking from the horizon when you greeted your mother, who settled for telling you off with a look of disdain that bounced off your thick skin as you headed for the shower. It was when you went to dry your towels on the terrace that the last rays of the sun were disappearing into the darkness, which brung with it weak flashes of dancing lights as the first swarm of fireflies trickled out of their retreats.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” The haveli next door was separated by a low stone wall but in the convoluted ways of ancient architecture, the two buildings met at the top and merged into a single terrace, subtly demarcated by a badminton net. Peering through the nylon mesh, Changbin chirped, “They’ve just begun to come in. Do you know what that means?” His eyes gleamed. If it was merely the reflection of the fireflies or pure mischief ablaze, you didn’t know, nor did you care. All you cared for was the way it made your heart race, and the way you wanted this moment to go on forever, the way you wanted this summer to go on forever. “The night’s still young.” 

And in those four words, you found your forever in the last moments you’d spent with your summer sweetheart.

[hanaasbananas]

i'm ten years old, lying on my stomach on the betak floor at my uncles house. above me, the ceiling fan whirs but does nothing to cool the stiflingly hot air. my cousin inserts a dvd into the computer and settles down beside me, passing me the bowl of hot and crunchy besan coated fries. the movie that we watch is called vivah, and i am completely mesmerised as i watch shahid kapoor and amrita rao's characters meet for the first time. nobody had ever told me that an arranged marriage could be like this before...

i'm twelve years old and my cousin might be getting engaged. i wonder what the boy will look like, will he be handsome like my cousin is pretty? will he come with his family and then talk to her privately to see if they like each other? i wonder if mum will let me in to see him too. i'm confused then, when my cousins parents, and my uncle go alone to see the boys family. the whole house is filled with a nervous energy as we wait for them to come back, and when they do, they bring sweets. baat pakki! they say we've settled it!. I ask mum when my cousin will see her new fiance. on their wedding day, she says, as if its the most obvious thing in the world. her in laws will visit, of course but he won't, not until the wedding. i watch my cousin as she is fed mithai in mubarak, as she ducks her head and hides a pleased smile and wonder how she can so implicitly trust that she will like the man her parents have chosen for her.

i'm sixteen years old and all of my friends are in relationships, with guys in school or outside school. these days, the only topic of conversation seems to be bets on when one of them will finally realise her best friend is in love with her, or what dates everyone has been on. when we hang out during our free periods together i zone out and daydream about having a boyfriend of my own. I daydream about someone who my mother would approve of, someone who sits next to me with my friends at school, who lets me rest my head on his shoulder and who spends hours on the phone talking to me in the evenings and doesn't find me weird, or annoying, or ugly. in all of my daydreams, i never see a face, or hear a voice but somehow, i feel comforted nonetheless.

i'm eighteen and as my cousins mehndi function begins to wind down, i start to look for my friend, who had disappeared halfway through the ceremony after she'd had her turn to apply oil to my cousins hair and stuff a mithai in his mouth. she isn't inside with the aunties having the dholki and i try to act nonchalant as i pass everyone sat on the charpai's in the dark yard, laughing and enjoying themselves. i ignore their laughter and chatter, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. the function was fun, but i can't wait for everyone to go home so that the house will finally be quiet and i can relax and stop worrying about being perceived. eventually, i find my friend sitting alone on the roof, but don't go up to her. her husband called, i'm told, so instead i sit down, i look up at her silhouette against the dark night sky and imagine what it will be like when i am married. one day, i think. one day that will be me sitting on the roof talking to my husband. i wonder if he will come to pakistan with me to see my family and if we will escape to the roof for a reprieve together at night, or if i will be alone when i talk to him, connecting to him through a call across oceans, and countries and time zones.

i'm twenty one years old and the thought of marriage is terrifying. my mother tells me to start seriously looking

for the first time in my life, i don't like my dad. i think of the way he treated my mother during their marriage, of how he cheated and left, and how my mother left everything behind to marry him. how she left her family and her country, had to adjust to a new language and a new home and a spouse who did not respect her. i weep for hours the day that i find out that she would lie to her brothers and mother back home about how she was struggling after the separation simply because she knew it would break their hearts to not be able to come to her and help. I think of marriage and am overcome with terror because what if the man chosen is only doing it to appease his parents, like my dad did? i don't mind giving up on love but will my husband respect me? or will he grow to resent me and leave me by the wayside?

i'm twenty four years old and the song tu jhoom makes me cry on the bus to work. Jo hai tera lab jayega, kar ke koi bahana//what is yours will come to you, through any excuse. the line reverberates through my head all day as i run phonics catch up sessions and work with the children in my class. lab jayega, lab jayega...but when? in the evening, i pray to Allah, say that i'm trying to be patient but i'm struggling. everyone around me is getting married, i see so many in my community having 'arranged' marriages when they've actually been seeing their partners for years already and wonder if this is the new normal. have i missed my chance to meet someone? will i end up marrying someone who settles because they couldn't marry the person they wanted? i think of my sister, who had three children by the time she was my age and wonder if i should simply give up on the idea of marriage entirely.

i'm twenty six years old, and my family throws a surprise birthday party for me after work. surrounded by them all i feel content and so, so loved. the hastily decorated cake makes me laugh so hard i snort and for once i don't feel self conscious about my appearance in photos. my cousin gifts me a photo scrapbook of my life and halfway through she writes about how many more pages i have left to fill. i thank her, but privately think about how untrue that is. there's nothing exciting to look forward to in the forseeable future.

i'm twenty six years old and i've given up on finding a rishta. i've lost count of how many have fallen through after the initial conversation because of silly nitpicking she's too short, too dark skinned, too old (two months older than the boy) she was raised by a single mother? oh no.

my younger cousin starts looking for a rishta and i joke that she'll get married before me and i tamp down on the worry that that might be true. maybe marriage just isnt in my naseeb, and i'm happy enough with my life right now who needs marriage and kids anyway? in fact, i'm already looking forward to my twenty seventh birthday when i can have a cake that has the quote from pride and prejudice on it I'm 27 years old. I've no money and no prospects. I'm already a burden to my parents. And I'm frightened. i try to convince myself that i mean it.

of course, thats when it all changes

[sumuraj]

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