Ayesha Nasir

Avid newspaper reader and clipper. Currently I work as a digital producer, write fiction in my spare time, and enjoy communicating via handwritten letters.

Some of Ayesha's published work

I watched The Simpsons’ first season for the first time. It was not what I expected | The Star

All I knew about “The Simpsons” came from animated GIFs that co-workers would insert into inter-office messages. So when Disney Plus launched and I used its trial version, the first thing I did was try to watch the first season of the animated show — which turns 30 on Tuesday — to get a glimpse into what I had missed all these years. Suddenly, I understood some real-life oddities: for example, my husband’s and in-laws’ habit of keeping bread on top of the fridge. My husband grew up watching ag

The Message: Behind the Hijab

On the eve of World Hijab Day, Feb. 1, host Jon Wells chats with The Message producer Ayesha Nasir about her experience with the headscarf that, depending on your point of view, is a symbol of humbleness and modesty before God, or one of oppression. Whoa, because I wear a hijab, I'm a terrorist? I can't even kill a spider If you have a comment or observation to offer about any of our podcasts, contact host Jon Wells at or producer Ayesha Nasir at

Opinion | Watching Netflix at its finest — and its worst

Netflix said that while they support "artistic freedom worldwide," they had removed the episode in Saudi Arabia only after receiving "a valid legal request — and to comply with local law" — specifically Saudi's cybercrime law. I can almost hear the collective groan from immigrant families who are still raising their children in places like Saudi Arabia. Of course, Netflix is just another corporate entity at the end of the day. Its statement shifts the blame on to a more sinister entity: The Ki

Postscript by Ayesha Nasir | Papercuts Vol 18

The postman walked to the end of the street. There were no signs of life in this house. Large and vacant windows stood dangerously poised and awfully dusty. They gazed at the postman like two sleepy eyes asking why they had been awoken from their dreams. He walked up to the doorbell and pressed it twice. By the third ring, he was sure there was no one at home. His eyebrows furrowed as he, almost reluctantly, slid the bulging envelope through the gap between the metallic door and the outer wall

Al-Maqbuheen: A Short Story | Virtual Mosque

Editor’s Note: This short story has been brought back for your enjoyment as it is one of the editorial staff’s favorite short stories. This is a fictional story which revolves around Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ozymandias” poem. “Hey, Perce? Care to pass me that newspaper?” Bill asked, his eyes glued to the plethora of essays he was reading, yet very much aware of his surroundings. Percy Bysshe Shelley looked up from his bowl of chopped carrots and soup. His eyes skimmed across the polished marbl

The Recovery

She is recovering; covering up on everything gone, lost, classified under, never to be found. All she wanted was warmth. She could not look herself in the eye, it was because of everything inside which left her numb and cold, worthless and empty appeared her heart of gold. Like the lies she told herself over the din of that voice inside, truth- evident and manifest- could never hide. Surrendering to the warmth she feels inside; “To the One who made it, who made it mine” s