Fiza Quotes

Before you came, things were as they should be: the sky was the dead-end of sight, the road was just a road, wine merely wine. Now everything is like my heart, a color at the edge of blood: the grey of your absence, the color of poison, of thorns, the gold when we meet, the season ablaze, the yellow of autumn, the red of flowers, of flames, and the black when you cover the earth with the coal of dead fires. And the sky, the road, the glass of wine? The sky is a shirt wet with tears, the road a vein about to break, and the glass of wine a mirror in which the sky, the road, the world keep changing. Don’t leave now that you’re here— Stay. So the world may become like itself again: so the sky may be the sky, the road a road, and the glass of wine not a mirror, just a glass of wine.

dukh hai dard hai toh dawaa hai dosti,iss ghutan bhari zindagi ki haseen fiza hai dosti.jo na samjhe uske liye kuch nahi,jo samjhe uske liye khuda hai dosti.

But a second later, she found books entering the trolley of their own will, as if commanded by a Hogwarts spell. Virginia Woolf, Iris Murdoch, Muriel Spark – the holy trio were some of the first to jump in. Milan Kundera followed Amitav Ghosh, Dostoevsky chased Mario Vargas Llosa in some kind of mad hatter’s literary tea party. Nick Hornby and Sue Townsend added some laughs. Darwin and Nietzsche kept the rest in check. Rumi’s loftiness, Calvino’s bizarreness, Arundhati’s Royness – things were getting along nicely when Fiza realized this had to end.

The evening unfolded gently, with Fiza and Iqbal floating above the chilly Edinburgh streets in a cloud of warmth and laughter.

The pizza was thin and biscuity – different from the thick crusts she enjoyed in Bombay. Iqbal’s Aberdeen Angus steak looked almost alive, raw and juicy as he sliced it. Neither had room for dessert, and once they had wiped their plates clean, they ambled back to the Murphys’ in a happy stupor. ‘Right then, Fiza Sahiba. I’ll climb my lonely tower in desperate need of rescuing. See ya,’ Iqbal said, giving her a quick hug. ‘You smell of … steak,’ Fiza said. ‘Yes. I’m manly that way,’ Iqbal replied, walking towards the wooden staircase.