Monthly Archives: October 2015

A Person Whom You Think Is A ‘Misfit’ by Zoha Sarim


She walks down the hallway, a streak of elusiveness and delicacy, a figure of demureness. She slips by unnoticed by many, even though she is easily the most decorated individual in the building. People let her pass, and she walks lightly, with the smoothest movements I have ever seen, seamlessly transitioning from one step to another. Her posture is perfect, her facial expressions set in a mask of indifference. She carries herself as if she is waiting for something in life; she seems unsatisfied but patient. She disappears.

She is tall and slim, with seemingly perfect body proportions. She is dark-skinned, a dusky, desert-sand brown and her silky tresses are raven-black waterfalls that cascade past her shoulders, down to her waist. The hair sways between her shoulder blades in a high ponytail. Her wide, caramel doe-eyes, framed with dramatic, fluttery lashes, are fixed on a point above everyone else’s heads. Her gaze is cool and unforgiving, and her steely eyes give the feeling that they can bend your will. High, sculpted cheekbones and a sharply curving chin present her with an attitude of determination to match her fierce aura.

Inked drawings flow up her arms, peeking out her collar and swirling on her arms. A miniscule, outlined dandelion hides behind the lobe of her ear, its fluff flitting into her hairline. A silhouetted anchor is barely visible on her left shoulder. The fluttery wings of a butterfly rest on the back of her neck, while startling owl eyes glare from her shoulder blade. A trail of tiny outlined suns run up her elbow. She has the smallest of skull-and-crossbones on her left ankle. She is illustrated with stories of beauty, hardship and mysteries.

She downplays her allure and pulchritude with simple, dark-toned outfits, much like the navy blue jeans and grunge-green tank top of today. She does not belong in this miserable, run-down dump; she is destined to walk down streets of dreams and pavements of opportunity. Her beauty and elegance is purposed to outshine all others; she does not belong in a poor, murky town. She is too intelligent and focused for the gloomy future being handed to her. She is a misfit of charm trapped in a city of ashes.

‘A Person Whom You Think is Misfit’ by Wishka Syed

Sunlight overlaid the earth like a silk blanket;light, soothing and not scorching hot. Nevertheless, she wore a thick vintage outfit making her passer by cringe.
Hair loosely pulled up into a bobtail bun pinned with delicate pearls and tresses jutting out from random places. It gave off an elegant aura, even though it was hard to get use to her sight at the first glance.
She wore a blouse and a knee length skirt tea pink in colour; a dainty and ostentatious brooch rested on her chest clearly carved out of uncut diamond. A summer hat placed on her head caused the chestnut colour of her hair to stand out.
She was not just glamorous but eldritch. Her features sharp and pointy due to her chiseled cheekbones seemed as if her face was carved out of glass. Her dilated violet pupils were intense with swirling emotions like a dragon’s tail gone wild. Her skin was milky and tedious; the fear of breaking her if handled to harshly might overcome anyone near her.
Arrant posture screamed exquisiteness, as her back was strictly straightened; hands gracefully sitting on her lap one over another; feet tucked together the pointers of her coat shoes touching the ground. She looked like a porcelain doll missing from her box.
This unusual girl was quick at diverting anyone’s attention towards her. Either it was her appearance from the eighties or the eeriness that she unintentionally radiated of her. Her pink, full lips were set in a pout while she talked to herself and the creased lining on her forehead did no harm to her flawless face.
The chill of her whispers were haunting because the way she formed her speech was nothing like what an ordinary human could do. She sounded fragile and light; sensual if it has to be.
She was a ‘misfit’ in this hole of flaws, thus it was evident she did not belong here. She was from the world of angels and demons, but then perhaps she was a fallen angel.

‘A Person Whom You Regard as a Misfit’ by Shehryar Mir


I glanced at him, the dark figure, flat, as if leaning down on the floor. His color seemed to be lighting down at the edges of his perimeter.

He changed shapes. One minute, he is as tall as a pole, and sometimes he is as small as a rubber ball. His body seemed unusual. One minute, he would be round. The next minute, he is a square. What is he?

He has no features. Like a plain black face, lying flat on the floor. The ebony colored figure leaves my proximity, and sometimes re-installs itself. Once, I remember, when I was a child I tried to explain it to him that he could not go after me like a hungry lion when I get out to play. After that, I realized he would peter away whenever I was indoors, or in the dark.

He mocks me. Till this very day, he does. At the very moment, as I write, he mimics me, as if it is his only job.

As I run after my life from this evil nightmare, I tell him to stop following me. But, he is not listening; that is because he simply cannot.

He cannot talk. He cannot whisper. He just leaves, copying me, as if he does not have a life of his own. I tried explaining this to the witty person he is, but his mental level is probably way to high, because he could not understand a word as to what I was saying.

 He is deaf. Yes. Smart? I do not know. Interesting? Yes. But, who is he? Why is he here? Why does he look like an evil monster? Why so de-shaped? Why?

He curls up behind me, at times, and surprises me. His outlines cannot be seen. Sometimes, he looks like truffles. Sometimes, I cannot even tell if he is around.

One day, I asked him what he was. He gave me an incredulous look and said, “I am your shadow.”

‘A Person Whom You Regard as a Misfit’ by Muqaddas Muskaan


Misfit. Misfit is a word that instantly reminded me of him when I first heard it. It described him perfectly and beautifully. Because something about him was outwardly; different. Something about him made him seem like he did not belong from around here; like he did not quite fit in or stand with the crowd.

He was what modern day people called “punk rock.” But “punk rock” did not quite fall into place with his identity. Thick black eyeliner lining almond-shaped ice-blue eyes. Blue the colour of the sky in December with specks of ocean blue around the iris; piercing and intense. Full lips with a small silver ring hooked onto the fuller-lower lip; a lip piercing. A straight perfectly carved nose and high cheek bones making him look like a mythological God; a Greek God, maybe. Tousled hair the shade of the night sky with blonde streaks scattered around the thick locks.

The first thing you would notice about him are his rings; so many, on each finger. Thick and narrow, all a collection of silver and black. Slim fit ripped jeans and a band T-shirt stretching over a well built body; broad shoulders, narrow waist and thick muscles rippling in his biceps that were always on display because of the way his shirt’s sleeves were always ripped away – intentionally, I suspect. A careless jacket hoodie thrown on over his shoulder; worn out and faded. A snapback concealing his messy locks. High tops resting on top of another as he leaned back; his chair swinging backwards.

His personality? Always partially hidden like the moon. His eyes always holding a knowing glint; like he was aware of an inside joke the rest of the world was not. The corners of his lips always turned up in a small smile. He was a mystery and he was art. As the saying goes,”Not many understand art, but those who do never forget it.” I happen to understand him.

“A person whom you regard as a ‘misfit'” by Qasim Salman‏


It was my first day at my new university. I sat in a cold seat among many others overwhelmed by the idea of a daunting new professor with a strict tall figure and years of experience to his name. As I was imagining how he would look, he entered the enormous hall from a big blue door behind me. He walked down the stairs in a shaky manner as if his mind was somewhere else; he was rushing through some steps and about to trip on some and very slow on others. He carried a large blue file with muddled old papers, topped with several tattered books. Eventually, he reached his massive table which he easily filled up with his books and notes. All the way he continuously looked down at the ground as if he was studying it. Then with a creaking white chalk he wrote his name in a messy manner.

He then turned around and I could finally see him. He was odd. He had many years on him and was a lean man. Oddly, his forehead was wrinkled but the skin of his entire remaining face was fresh. He had almost two or three hairs on his bright shining cranium, and his eyebrows were barely visible. His eyes were difficult to see behind the large glasses covering half of his face. The lenses were as thick as brick walls. Behind which his eyes narrowed to concentrate. As he turned I saw that he had skin coloured hearing aids in his alert ears. Underneath all this, however, was a big bright smile showing that he had no worry in the world, which opposed all his other features.

Overtime, I got to know him. He taught us things in a different manner, but a good one in which we could easily understand everything, which was written so vaguely in our concrete blocks of books. He instantly understood everything. His magnificent brain was Usain Bolt in understanding long, and out of this world equations which so many people do not even think of solving. His mind is always alert like a deer in a predator’s territory. He always had a hunger for knowledge and problem-solving; he was always thinking and working his extra-ordinary brain to the limit.

I think that his constant thirst for this knowledge has removed him from the world. This may be the cause of his untidy, stained clothes. The reason he is wearing his dark grey cotton sweater backwards or wearing short tang coloured pants. Or maybe the reason his brown oxford and brogues were unpolished. This may also be the cause his glasses were always dirty or his two, three strands of hair were not even in placed. But it was surely the reason for that amazing, yet rare look in his eye which show his want to learn which some may find scary, the same way his mismatched socks are found hilarious.

People may find him a ‘misfit’ as he was different and did not fit in and people were discomforted by him. But to me this magnificent man, who had not bathed for weeks, had in his head a masterpiece which could understand anything and everything. He was surely a ‘misfit’, but because all of us remaining people were too dumb for him and did not deserve to have him in our society.

A Person Whom You Regard as a ‘Misfit’ by Umair Shah


Society has a certain standard that people follow to be called normal but when a person does not follow these standards, they are classified as a misfit.

Sitting outside the coffee shop, relaxing my soul, I saw an unusual person whom I would regard as an ‘outsider’. This person had a harsh and ruthless look on his face and had dark, dusty and uncombed hair. It was especially his filthy and grimy appearance that made him a ‘misfit’ of the society.

Besides his large mustache that looked like a horseshoe he had long improperly and clumsily managed sideburns but had no beard. Furthermore, he had a motorcycle, the type that suits a gangster best. He had a rough tone, his language was unfathomable and he would even use derogatory terms that should not be allowed to be used in the society. He gave orders and instructions as if he was the boss of the group of ruffians. He would talk sarcastically and had a strange sense of humor that was threatening rather than being funny.

The most important reason for him to be an oddball is his inappropriate behavior. For example, when a well-organized woman passed by, he whistled having no shame at all. Other than that, when a disciplined and a low-abiding citizen crossed, he used abhorrent and disrespectful terms. Such a behavior is unacceptable and therefore I would consider him a ‘misfit’.