Old dentist vs new dentist

My old dentist was into heavy bikes. He was an aging, heavy-set man and for the life of me I couldn't picture him sitting on a heavy bike. I know I'm mean :) Seriously, this guy was obsessed with them but heavy bikes just didn't match his personality, in my opinion at least. Every time he would be working on my teeth, he would be talking on the phone, often making deals or bragging about the newly acquired pieces. Even during my root canal, he was finalizing a deal. He didn't seem to care much about my fear of being in the dentist's chair or my pain. Needless to say, I hated him! I hated the entire dentist clan; so much so that I refused to go to a very close friend who's supposed to be a very good dentist just so I wouldn't start hating him too.

Enter my new dentist!

Now this guy is a car freak from what I've heard from mutual friends and the first time I went to him I was shaking and trembling with fear. I was dead sure he would turn out to be worse than the old one. I mean, think about it, this guy was much younger so I really expected zero sympathy out of him. I thought he would be one of those rushed, money minting young dentists that I had come across while I was looking for the 'right' dentist. So I go to him and he starts shuffling through his cds to look for the 'right' kind of music. I groaned, thinking 'O God! He will turn out to be the worst one!' Seriously, car freak AND a music freak! God help me!

So I was rude to him; well, just a little...*smiling sheepishly*. But I tell you, life is full of such surprises and I can be such a prudent and prejudiced b****. Now I can be totally wrong (although I never am) but he seems to thrive on music, and it definitely does not affect his work; if anything, it probably helps him work even better. He eased me very gently into the dentist's chair and worked meticulessly on my teeth. He would stop everytime I would flinch or scowl (which is an old habit by the way; scowling, not flinching), or even if he felt I was turning pale; sometimes out of fear and sometimes because of lack of food. And no, I'm not some homeless person; we DO have money and we CAN buy food. I just choose not to eat it. The fact that after seven years I'm still going to this guy says a lot about my 'new dentist'.

Recently he suggested I listen to this one particular song, which is not me but as he predicted, it kinda grows on you. I'm also sharing a link where Sonu Nigam's four year old son has sung it. The kid is adorable and incredibly talented, just like his cute dad :)

Rag doll

Have you ever seen a rag doll? What happens when you twist and turn its arms? What happens when you drag it everywhere you go or when you dump it when you no longer feel like playing with it? It can be a trusty, silent companion for as long as you want it to be; you trample it, you tread on it, you manhandle it and mistreat it; and when you need something to snuggle into, you find that comfort in it. But what happens when you have abused it enough and grab it by its shoulders and fling it across the room and its weightless, helpless body is thrown mercilessly on the floor? Would anybody care where it hit its head, where it bruised its body or where it scarred its soul? What happens then? NOTHING! Nothing happens... It just smiles back at you the way it always used to; the way it always will.. The plastic, idiotic, freaky smile...Why can't anyone see what's hidden behind the veil, behind the smile? I can... I did... Which is why I saved her six days back...
Friday, December 16, I BURNT the rag doll...

Pandora's Box

She walked silently to the closet and brought out a small, battered old trunk. As she placed it in front of her, she contemplated just giving it to the 'ruddiwala' without opening it. But as she sat in front of it, her legs folded beneath her, staring silently in the space; she changed her mind. The time had come for her to open it. She had been keeping it safe, hidden away, all these years; blocking it completely from her mind. It was an art she had somewhat mastered over the last few years. She could block everything...a young girl in her teens crouching behind the couch, trembling, trying not to pay attention to the loud voices outside, waiting desperately for her father to come home and listen to her; he would believe her; he knew she always told the truth. She had blocked the dark, gloomy night when she was running towards the main road, crying hysterically, looking for her mother; and the day the cruel hands of death wrapped around her father and engulfed his entire existence. She had blocked all that and more... like the day she felt so helpless and alone and humiliated that she turned towards the one being who would listen to her someday, when she fell on her knees and bowed in front of that supreme being and kept telling herself 'Allah hai, Allah hai' (God exists). She had blocked all that, yet a part of her remembered that there were two trunks hidden away; one in her closet and one in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind. It was time...
She blew the thin film of dust from the surface of the trunk and opened it slowly. The musty smell of wood filled the air as she started taking out the contents one by one...some old photographs of people she loved but were there no more; some old school reports and grade sheets, nothing but straight As, they made her smile; a minty green shalwar kameez, her father's; a letter from her mamoo (maternal uncle) written in 1977 when he was in Dhaka; another letter from her older mamoo written from Riyadh, she was the apple of their eyes, why wouldn't they write to her? So what if she was so young that she could barely read. And then, she saw them; lying in the bottom of the trunk, as if they didn't want to be taken out, gazing silently at her lifeless eyes. It was almost as if they didn't recognize her; she was not the same girl who had put them lovingly in the trunk. She had turned into a woman with many facades; no one seemed to know who she really was; whoever she was with, she would be what they wanted her to be. Her eyes had the look of a warrior who had lost the battle but was still not willing to admit defeat.. She looked at them with cold eyes, went through the words and realized how empty they sounded now. It was then that she decided...she started taking them out one by one and tearing them ruthlessly until they were lying in front of her in an untidy heap. Those words of love meant nothing to her anymore.. She didn't need them, she didn't need them anymore...

The mom who keeps losing her kids (Part I)

I'm a good mother. Everybody tells me that... my family, my friends, acquaintances; everyone! They keep praising me for the way I have raised my kids; how well-behaved they are, how smart, how well they do at school and how I break my back trying to bring out their creative talents. And believe me, all this others tell me so I'm not really blowing my own trumpet. But we all know that nothing is perfect (as much as I'd want it to be), and neither am I :(

I keep losing my kids, literally. One kid I lost twice *hangs her head in shame*. And the worst part is that I always lose them when I'm on a holiday. Sometimes I take holidays on my own, just me and the kids. And even when all four of us travel together, if I go out for a bit on my own, I usually take the kids with me, unless I'm taking a late night trip to a nearby mall or a local market, which is when my husband kindly babysits them. And they are good kids I tell you; it's not as if they would disobey me or anything so the story or rather the stories of me losing them are quite funny. In my defence, all three times it happened because my kids wandered off; well actually twice my little one wandered off and my daughter just lost her way.

About five years ago I took a trip to Malaysia for the first time. I stayed with friends and had a ball of a time till the day we went to Sunway Lagoon. It was great fun. We decided to check out the mall later in the evening, which is where it happened. I wanted to check out some shops with my friend so I sent my five year old for a ride on these huge stuffed animals. I told the man in charge to keep my lil boy with him once he had taken two rounds and I'll come and get him in fifteen minutes. I explained my son also that mama will be back in no time and he was not to go anywhere and wait for me. I went off on the same floor with my daughter,my friend and her daughter who's my own daughter's age. I can swear that I came back within fifteen minutes if not before that. He was nowhere to be found. He was not on the over-sized hot pink feminine looking lion that I had put him on for a ride; he was not with the 'uncle' he was supposed to be standing with while he waited for mama; he was just nowhere in sight. I asked every man nearby if he had seen a five-year old but they shook their heads. The man in charge should NOT have been put in charge of my lil boy. My bad! I mean he was already in charge of soo many stuffed animal rides that looked as if they were going for a gender change. I looked everywhere, I didn't even have his picture on me to show anyone in case I needed to go to the authorities. We split in two teams, my daughter and I in one. It was the scariest thing I had ever experienced; I started imagining all sorts of awful things as I went through every shop and every stall right in the middle of the mall. My daughter and I both started crying uncontrollably. We just didn't now what to do. What had I done? I had lost my baby. Just then I saw a flash of orange about twenty thirty feet away. I knew then. It was him. I rushed to catch that little orange thing as fast as I could. There he was, roaming around looking for mama, wearing the bright orange button-down shirt with crabs all over it that he insisted on buying two days back and I had to give in, as much as I hated it and disagreed with my son's fashion sense; because my five-year old wouldn't let go of it. I hugged him, squashed him and showered him with kisses till he secretly started wishing he hadn't been found by his weirdo of a mother. And I still have that bright orange shirt in my keepsake box to remind me how it saved both me and my son...

Please check tomorrow fr the second part of this post. After all I did lose him twice, not to mention my daughter whom I lost as well; but only once, I promise.

Within Temptation

My new favourite band these days which I thought I must share.. Lately my taste in music is going towards gothic rock and all.. I wonder what happened to the old-fashioned girl in me who only wanted to listen to soft country...

Music at the dentist's...

I'm FUSSY! I AM...

Hate to admit it but I really really am :( As much as I like to deny it, my daughter keeps reminding me. I'm fussy about my house being clean and germ-free which is not exactly possible, and I know that but I still go around with my antibacterial spray and disinfected dusters (which I disinfect myself so that I don't clean things with a dirty cloth), and I wipe clean every switch and door handle and phone and remote that I have in the house.

I'm fussy about the clothes I wear; I wash all new clothes after buying them before I wear them for the first time. My family might make fun of me but I have a very valid reason for doing that. God knows how many people had touched them and how many had tried them on; plus what's the harm in washing them? I also like them to be spotless like every 'normal' person; if I see even a teeny tiny stain the size of a dot, I get very upset; which is why when I 'borrow' my daughter's clothes, I often don't return the tops that I really like because I know she will spill something on it eventually or come back home with all sorts of mysterious stains, so I might as well keep them (and yes, we share clothes big time, which was fun for both of us initially; now, not so much for her, still fun for me though). Okay I fuss about clothes quite a bit and I AM somewhat ashamed of it too. I like them to be washed a certain way, hung a certain way on the line, for which I have a very special hanging line; I like them folded MY way and so on.. This makes me realise that I should write a separate post on clothes since I basically started this post with the intention of sharing this new song I had heard somewhere.

I'm also fussy about my music; and since I like to sing also, I'm VERY' particular about the songs I sing. I had to replace the word 'fussy' with 'particular' because this blog should not represent the insane side of me.. I must only write about the sane things I do from now on, i.e. if I can think of any. But for now, my new favourite song since today; thanks to my dentist who put it on while working on my 'chipped' tooth :)



White Lies

When God created us, he put a little bit of extra something in each one of us. In some he put a pinch of patience, in some a dash of intelligence, some had more liveliness in them than others while some had a better sense of humour. In men, he put an overdose of lies, deceit and betrayal. Now many of you might disagree (99 % men of course); but honestly judge yourself. Women lie of course, big time; but about what? About extra money that they spend out of the household expenditure, about how unreasonable their inlaws are, about their kids being at the top of their class when their grades are actually falling? Such harmless little lies; not even lies really; to brag so they don't feel bad in front of their friends, to get a little more money out of their miserly husbands to indulge themselves (they're women, fr heaven's sake! Women SHOP!)
It's still better than what men are capable of doing. Going behind their wives' backs, lying to them, lying to others, coming up with ingenious excuses when they had been out partying with friends, going on 'very important' trips abroad where it's all work and no play according to them, and so many more. It's not just the wives they lie to; they see a woman they like, they would go to any lengths to have her; telling her they're not married when they are, telling them they have been in a sad, loveless marriage for years and need someone who 'understands' them, telling them they hardly talk to their wives let alone sleep with them..
Wow! They are brilliant!!! How do they cook up such stories so quickly and effortlessly? I'm in awe.. If I had that 'talent', I don't know what I would have done. Or perhaps it's better that I'm a woman, with my harmless little lies and small joys such as bragging....

Chamak Challo

Let's have a look at the most talked-about Bollywood song this year...yes, absolutely! Chamak challo it is! Bollywood has been churning out one hit song after another this year and although I should be the last person commenting on them since I don't really watch Indian movies as such and haven't done so for years, but songs I get to hear somewhere or the other; either at a wedding or some friend recommends a particular song, so I do hear the popular ones at least. Back to chamak challo; its not just the fact that it has a very catchy tune but what makes it so special is that Akon has sung it. I found it so hard to believe that I had to check online and I came across the making of the song. It was such a delight to watch how the team worked to put the song together but of course Akon writing it in Roman and then singing it was the most fascinating. I thought I'd share the link with my readers. Enjoy!

My Music

I sit quietly, listening to Adele's haunting voice, her words touching my heart and making me sink deeper in a strange mood...neither sad nor melancholic, just a very sombre, deep existence. Music does affect your moods, at least it does mine. Or perhaps we choose music according to our particualr feelings at that moment; like when I was younger I used to love listening to really happy songs on chaand raat while preparing for eid the next day; or when it would rain, I liked to listen to Lata singing 'sawan kay geet'. But generally I like country music and a little bit of jazz. Not to forget that I enjoy all these young and upcoming, brilliant singers who leave me dumb-founded with their talent and their magical voices. Adele has become one of my favourites...her voice transports me to another world and somehow it always has a different effect on me each time I hear her sing. Another one of my all-time favourites is Brad Paisley. It's the earnestness in his voice more than anything else that draws me to his music. I think I'll just share some of my favourite music today. You will see different genres, from metal to country rock to jazz, but I'm sure you will enjoy it. One or two music videos might be a little inappropriate for any young members so parental guidance is advised.

The winner in me...

Some days are just more eventful than others. Too much happens at the same time, so much so that your mind starts whirling and you feel like a tornado has hit you. You wince, you cringe, you puff and pant, trying to get out of it; trying to make some sense out of the insanity that the day has brought. And by the time the day is about to end, it suddenly dawns upon you...God brings upon you only as much as you can bear. Now what happens if you are the sort who can take a litttle more than others. Do you really want to be told repeatedly by others how patient you are, or how strong you are? The answer is simple, NO! You would rather be one of those high-strung nervous wrecks who cry at the slightest things. But fortunately or unfortunately you might not be. Everyone has different degrees of patience and a different threshold of pain. But one thing I know is true for everyone. We all move on...how soon, again depends on the individual.
Now what events bring so much hurt that you stop in your tracks for a while and feel as if you are about to collapse? Death of a dear one? A failed marriage? A break-up? A very sick child? A major financial loss? Or a combination of almost all of these? If you go through at least three of these in the same day and are still able to talk, eat and carry on to a certain extent, then you are a survivor.
I, for one, take pride in the fact that I can pull myself together faster than most people, men and women both; not because I'm heartless, but because I love life, and I don't want to spend more than a day mourning anything. I might be mourning for weeks or months deep down, but I would put on a brave front and face the world the very next day. I hope I'm able to do so in future also everytime God decides to test me, and if I do manage to get through it with some grace, I'll consider myself a winner once again.
May God give us all strength, courage and peace. Amen

Adele - Set Fire To The Rain (Official Video) - VSM

My world...

Index finger and thumb together, eyes shut, lotus posture, a calm expression on the face; but that's what one can see on the surface. Inside the mind, is another world, a better world. This is what I do everyday, this is how I have conditioned my mind, body and soul to be at peace. Just the way we carve out a life for ourselves and often for our families, I have carved out my 'happy place'. I take my position and am immediately transported to another world, where I can hear sweet melodies, birds chirping, the soothing sound of water nearby, the chants, the ripples, the bells; soft breeze against my face, gently playing with my hair; lush green trees, and the sense of elation...Oh! What a wonderful feeling...sigh...
It's as if nothing exists but peace and tranquility. Before I know I am floating in the air, light as a feather, the calm around me now merging with my mind and body. The soft music penetrating my heart softly, gently. The serenity deepens and I feel oblivious to everything; the pain, the hurt, the disappointments, the harshness and brutality around. So gentle is the breeze that I can barely tell it's there, yet I can feel it casting its cool spell on me. I want to stay there forever and never come back but I have to. I have to come back to the real world, my world. But you know what, even as I come back, I can feel it surrounding me, making the world seem livable or to a certain extent even a better place.

Phool, Chiyya, Tadoo, Ghar...

My inclination towards art started at a very young age. By that I mean I could barely hold the pencil and had JUST learnt to say a few words, so I'm thinking I must be around two at the most. This is when I would go to whoever was willing to give me a little attention with a paper and pencil in my hand and ask them to draw four things only; phool (a flower), chiyya (a bird), Tadoo (my embarrassing nickname), ghar (a house). Now I really don't know what my fascination with these four things was at that time, but I do know that years later I was still hung up on them. Actually I shouldn't say four because I'm definitely not a self-obsessed person, so perhaps the only reason why I added my name to that list was that I was the only girl my age that I knew of. Yes, it's sad but true. I didn't have any cousins my age or even friends till I started school.
Anyways, it was much later that I realised that what started off as an interesting thing that a two year old would do, later determined who she was. Now that I'm a grown woman, I am so much into gardening and homemaking that sometimes I feel I should be making a living out of it. And ofcourse no matter how rotten I'm feeling, if somebody gets me flowers, I cheer up immediately. And although I can't keep any birds because of lack of space and allergy-prone kids (though I did keep parakeets for some time), I love them. I love looking at them perching on the trees behind my kitchen, I love the little sparrows gathering around the birdbath in my backside balcony, I enjoy watching the pretty ones discovering the pond in my front balcony and calling their mates for a quick dip or drink and I enjoy leafing through the pages of my coffee table books on birds.
Sometimes I wonder what if I had wanted to draw airplanes and rockets or princesses and fairies or even bugs; would I have been a different person now? Is it because of what I thought about in my early childhood that I am this person today or did I draw all that because I was that person from the very beginning? I still haven't figured that out.

Shontelle - Impossible

Crazy Things I Do ;)

• Every morning I wake up half an hour before the alarm rings because I'm paranoid that I might not wake up to the sound of the alarm, even though I'm a very light sleeper. And then I lie in bed and wait for it to ring half an hour later because I refuse to get out of bed even one minute before I'm actually required to do so. Yeah, that's how crazy I am.
• These days we have been getting up a little late so I set my alarm at 6:37. I know, I know, you are wondering why not 6:30 or 6:45? See, now 6:30 would be too early, I mean why get up a few minutes earlier than you have to; and 6:45 would be too late and I hate doing things in a rush at the last minute.So 6:37 is perfect :) not too early, not too late.
• I hate to use other people's earphones because I'm a hygiene freak. Okay this does not reflect very well on me, does it? Anyhow, so if I absolutely HAVE to share someone's earphones, and by someone I mean my daughter, who will not be very pleased with this post; I disinfect them. I know, I'm an evil mom *hangs her head in shame*. Just this morning, while we were on our way to school she was listening to our favourite song. I didn't have that one on my ipod so once we were close to school, she handed me hers.  I took a tissue and started cleaning it while she rolled her eyes at me. Then I dabbed a little sanitizer on the tissue and started with that. Poor thing couldn't take it anymore and said: 'Now that is really offensive mama! You can't even use your own daughter's earphones? You need to sterilize them?' So my little one asks what sterlizing is and she says 'to make something germ-free'.  I felt so ashamed of myself, I really did; but I continued with the vigorous cleaning because that's who I am, take it or leave it.
• I steal my 13 year old daughter's clothes and never return them :) Yes, I'm a thief, but I have a very good excuse for that. See, I'm very particular and don't like to wear anything with even a tiny spot or stain, even if nobody can see it. If I return her clothes, chances are that she will spill coke on it at a friend's party or come back with some sort of a mysterious stain. Now the next time I need to wear it and the stain does not come off, what will I do? So that's why... Most probably this will be my last post because she might kill me for writing all this for the whole world to see, so goodbye my friends...

Hopscotch

A courtyard full of the sweet fragrance of jasmine, the sound of sparrows chirping away noisily and a little girl hopping away on the hand-drawn hopscotch grid. Brushing strands of her brown hair off her forehead with the back of her tiny hand, humming something to herself, lost in her own magical world of princesses, fairies and goblins. Little does she know that years later she would still be playing hopscotch, but this time not on some crooked chalky lines but on the grid designed by life. And this time it will be much more trickier, with the added burden on her frail shoulders and the straight lines turning into more of a labyrinth, she would be panting away trying to avoid the hurdles. But the little girl's spirit and determination has now grown stronger as she evolved into a woman. She might be frail but even more relentless now to cross the rocky paths of life to the other side where there is love, laughter, peace. She continues with a new-found strength, not willing to give up. The ray of light is now getting closer, the sweet-smelling jasmine almost within reach, the faint sound of music becoming clearer... she's almost there, almost...

LIFE...

Just when we start complaining about the sad little thing called life, that is, OUR LIFE ; we come across somebody who actually has issues...real issues. We sit in airconditioned coffee places with our friends, smoking, having steaming cups of cappucinos and lattes and playing the sad, sorry, whimpering little people, cribbing and complaining and merging our heartbreaking stories with enthusiastic accounts of latest fads, trips abroad and shopping sprees. Meanwhile the driver who has driven us to this fancy place is standing outside in the sun and heat, trying to figure out whether he should spend the leftover two thousand rupees from his salary on his sick child's medicines and the much-needed kitchen staples, or the electricity bill. It's a difficult decision for him since it's only the 19th of that month and there are twelve more days left till the next salary. In the same lane there is an old woman selling crocheted shrugs to the 'defence ki begums'; or perhaps selling is the wrong term to use as she has been pestering the ladies coming to these posh areas to buy something from her. She hasn't sold a thing for the last five days and must manage to get some money out of these 'baray log' so that she can take some flour home to her seven hungry grandchildren and her widow daughter who is waiting to make chapatis out of that flour. It has been two days since they last ate a somewhat satisfying meal of aloo shorba (potatoes in a watery sauce) and stale roti.
I can actually go on and on but there are too many people like that driver and the old woman who are fighting a new battle every single day of their lives and it's depressing to know that we are so heartless that we come across them everyday, shrug them off and go on feeling sorry for ourselves because of whatever problems WE have instead of counting our blessings...

Love awaits those who look for it :)

Hard to believe that a morning that started with a splitting headache and depression a couple of days back, ended into an evening filled with fun, love and laughter with some old friends as well as a new friend. Often we start the day not really aware that it will not go according to our to-do list because every second of every hour will be spent doing what God has planned for us. But then it's true for our entire lives. We plan and design and believe that this is the right path for us and it will keep our lives uncomplicated and simpler and hopefully happier. Well guess what? We don't know! We don't know if the simpler and easier thing that we are going for is the right thing for us or not. It may be, if God intends it to be , or may not be...
I have seen so many times, people who claim to be logical and practical; people who believe that love is not the most important thing in life, and that they should forgo love because 'real life' demands that; crave for love once it's taken away from them. We take love for granted not realizing how beautiful life can be with it, how easy it can make things for us because people are willing to do so much for the ones they love.
I am not one of those. I believe that it's the most beautiful thing in this world. I believe that there is nothing I can't do if I'm surrounded by people who love me; family, friends and that one special person in my life. Just when you think that it's the end of the road, you are shown a new path. Like that day, when I woke up feeling miserable and forced myself to go to a friend's house because he was leaving for Russia that night and a couple of us were hanging out together to see him off. It turned out to be one of the most enjoyable and fun-filled evenings, full of laughter and music and we all stayed there till after midnight. It also showed me how amazing it is to be with someone who loves you for who you are and what a difference it makes to be with like-minded people.

Introducing Pata ...

So you all thought we were a family of four, right? Wrong!!! Introducing Pata...

(Check out Raamiz's penguin collection. Pata is the big, black one)

Pata joined our family last June and immediately took over. Teddy Twinkle had to take a back seat and was not too pleased with the way things were shaping up. All of a sudden everything was about Pata. He was studying with Raamiz, going to Pata school (a school for penguins), joining us for lunch and dinner and getting his own blanket at bedtime.
Every time somebody objected to a stuffed penguin tagging along everywhere, Raamiz would throw a hissy fit, insisting that Pata was a real person. Eventually we all accepted him as a very important member of the family. Till one day...

Now it was my turn to throw a hysterical fit. Not in a million years was I going to buy a thousand rupee birthday present for a stuffed toy!!! I had already bought munchkins for his fake birthday so I turned a deaf ear to all that Raamiz had to say. Goes without saying that I have not been forgiven for my unimaginable sin to this day but I can bear it. I'm a strong woman. I can live with it but I'm not willing to part with my one thousand rupees for a silly penguin that's not even real!

The shrivelled corpse...

The night was still and warm. The trees were casting shadows on the long, winding road. I walked silently towards the dim lights that I could see in the far distance. It was getting darker, with the moon now almost disappearing behind the thick, smoky clouds. At a distance I could see a log. I couldn't really tell what it was. I had to get closer to it to have a proper look but my feet were already aching. I don't know how long I had been walking for. Had it been an hour, a few hours, a day? I had no idea! I felt as if I had spent a lifetime walking. I had to force myself to walk further. I had to! I had to see where the light was coming from. I had nowhere else to go. I took a few more steps till I reached the log. It wasn't a log! It was a shrivelled human body. Just then the moon resurfaced from behind the floating clouds. I stifled my scream. It was my corpse! How could it be? How could I be alive, walking towards the light, yet be lying on the cold, concrete road; helpless, dead! I looked at my cold, lifeless eyes. They had lost all traces of colour and life yet they seemed to be waiting...waiting for something, someone. I had to get away from the corpse. I started moving faster towards the light. I wanted to get as far away from that body as possible. Everything about that night screamed 'DEATH'! I was now almost running to escape it. The shadows became darker. They seemed to have covered the sky now. The moon continued playing hide and seek. The horrifying silence of the night was now engulfing my soul and the shadows were surrounding me from all four sides. I could no longer see ahead. I tried to run faster but the dark, smoky shadows whirled around me, enfolding me completely, pushing me back towards the shrunken, withered corpse. I tried flailing my arms, tried to wrench out of the deathly grip but to no avail. I was now very close to the corpse; so close that I could smell the rotten flesh. I tried one last time to break loose but it was too late. We were now one, the corpse and I...

Death of a princess

It was the early eighties. I remember every morning I would wake up and go straight to Papa. Sometimes he'd be awake but more often than not he'd be asleep. I still liked to have a look at him before I left for school. On weekends, I'd go and sit in his lap in the morning and continued to do so till I turned 12. I was his princess :) That's what he told me every single day. He would look at me with such tenderness and love that I totally believed him. I believed I was a princess, pampered and cared for; and I believed that I was born only to be loved or so I thought. I entered my teens with beautiful memories... Papa coming home in the evening, expecting me to be the first one to greet him, trying to keep me out of trouble if my mom was mad at me, talking to me for hours as one would talk to adults...sigh...Another couple of years and he and I started sharing similar interests; our love for books. Minutes would become hours and we would continue discussing our favourite poets and authors and books; oblivious to what was happening around us. Ammi would constantly tell us 'khana thanda ho raha hai' but we would be lost in our own world. Often he'd come to me and say ' koi farmaish karo'. I don't remember asking for anything much to his disappointment. I had what I needed. I needed love! I was one of those stupid people who thrive on love. That's all I ever wanted, all I ever needed, and I got plenty of that from Papa. He would dote on me. He used to say 'I often ask your mother what was there to live for when we didn't have these two' (me and my brother).
I entered a new phase of my life, leaving my parents behind collecting new memories on the way. Life went on with the usual ups and downs but I did get to experience what my parents did with me and Arsalan. I had a beautiful princess of my own and a cute little angel followed soon after her. I now knew what my father felt for me when he called me his little princess. I knew why his eyes lit up every time he saw me. I understood why he loved and pampered me so much.
Unfortunately I lost him to the evil hands of death ten years ago on May 9. A part of me died with him that night. Tonight, I crave love, if not from him then from the other man whom I love dearly. I only really loved two men in my life; my father and the love of my life. One might not be with me but I'm sure he's watching over me from the heavens; the other, I'm unable to tell how much I need him to listen to me tonight but I'm unable to reach out. I was always like this, I will always be like this...I'll always have this insatiable desire to be loved. Both men in my life loved me with a tenderness that would make my heart melt but at the same time it instilled a fear in me; the fear of losing them.
When a father loves his little girl, he makes her believe she's a princess; when a man loves a woman, he makes her feel like a queen. But when they are no longer a part of her life, she dies. The princess I once was, died ten years back with Papa; the queen in me died today, pining for love. Tonight I buried their silent, withered bodies...

Ghalib...

I sit here, staring at nothing, listening to Jagjit sing Ghalib; 'Hazaron khwahishen aisi kay har khwahish pe dum nikley'. Nostalgia... I travel back in time...Papa and I staying up till four in the morning with 'Nuskha-e-Hamidia' of Diwan e Ghalib, reading, reciting our favourite verses, enjoying the magical words. How long ago WAS it? A good seventeen eighteen years ago I think. Things were different, I was different. So much I didn't know, so much I hadn't experienced. Such vitality, hope and eagerness. Ghalib had a completely different effect on me at that time. Tonight, as I sit here listening to 'Hazaron khwahishen aisi' repeatedly, it puts me in a melancholic mood; or was I already in that mood and opted for this particular ghazal to suit it? I don't know. I don't remember anymore. I just want to stay lost in the captivating verses. Sometimes you want to re-live your past, re-live your fantasies, cling onto even the tiniest shred of memories. It doesn't always give you peace; sometimes it just brings a bitter sweet feeling. But I don't really know what I feel anymore. Is it serenity or pain? Is my heart aching or is there just numbness? I don't know. I can't tell the difference anymore.
Yesterday I met the most persistent person at a friend's house who insisted I should sing. A couple of us were hanging out together to see off a friend who was leaving for Moscow. I tried getting out of it, I hadn't sung for years. I didn't remember anything, any songs anymore. Ghalib came to my rescue. I sang 'dil hi tou hai na sung-o- khisht'. It was as if nothing existed except for the mesmerising words. I couldn't see any faces. I don't know how to end this post. I still havn't recovered. Am I rediscovering Ghalib? Is that why his diwan has been travelling with me from room to room lately? Or do I just need his pensive words? Strange that I believe I can relate to what he felt while writing, just a little bit, or am I wrong? I don't seem to have an answer to anything tonight...

Hear'em, feel'em...

Two of my current favs. Every time I hear them, something happens to my heart. So today this is all I feel and all I want to say...

The nightmare that wouldn't end...

It was pitch black. I couldn't see anything. Then someone flashed a light at me. I covered my eyes, crouched low. I was scared, very scared. They were three men, two wearing a mask. I was crouching by a car which I couldn't see before. My mother was also there, her face ashen, completely devoid of colour. The man without a mask... never seen anyone like him; tall, thin, dark with bloodshot eyes, giving me a piercing look. The demonic smile on his face made me want to run away from there. But I couldn't, I couldn't leave my mother there. She wouldn't be able to run. He made me go and get something from a corner. It was a big chest or a trunk covered with a piece of burlap with some black thread-like things sticking out. He ordered me to get a strand or two. I tugged at it; it wouldn't come off. I tugged harder and fell back with a couple of strands in my hands and a mutilated human body peeking from under the burlap. I shrieked and tried to get away from there. But he picked me up, lifted me high in the air with ease. I was too scared to even scream now. I was parallel to the ground and I couldn't even see my mother anymore. What have they done with her? He wouldn't put me down. I could feel his bony fingers digging into my spine, right in the middle. He started to dig them deeper. The pain was excruciating! All I could feel now was the pain, all I could hear was his mad, devil-like laugh. He was going to devour me slowly, he said. He was going to keep me for weeks and devour me slowly, eating away, gnawing at me, bit by bit. I wanted to feel the ground, I wanted someone to save me.
He came, he came to save me; the one I love... The one I have always loved... all these years. The tall man disappeared; I reached out trying to grasp his hand. But he wasn't looking at me. I called out to him but he still wouldn't look. Why wouldn't he look? What is that in his hand? A cube! An intricately patterned metal cube. He was looking at it carefully; I managed to come closer to him. Does he even know I'm there? Does he know I still exist? He blew something off the cube; it started opening up producing some strange smoke. The smoke was now engulfing my beloved, taking him away with it. I could barely see him now. I wanted to run after him but he doesn't even know I'm there.
I woke up with a start! Panting, gasping for breath, sobbing! It was just a nightmare! I started crying hysterically, turned to the side to reach out and feel the comforting presence of someone familiar. There was no one... just a stranger trying to reach out and help me. I still couldn't. I couldn't hold his hand, I couldn't speak. I needed to, I really needed to tell him what I had been through. Everything was so hazy and I couldn't find my voice, couldn't find anything to hold on to, couldn't control the trickling tears or the sobbing. The stranger in my bed also disappeared. No! I need someone! I need something! I'm all alone now... the dark, gloomy night slowly embracing dawn. I can't sleep. I can't stop crying. I thought it was just a dream; a painful, scary dream. But it's not. It WAS but now it has swallowed my life. I can't tell where the nightmare ended and life began. It's all entwined. Am I awake now or still dreaming? Why do I still feel the pain? Why? I get up and check my back in the mirror. Blood drains out of my face. There is blood and a fresh scar! He must have ripped my heart out. I place my hand on the left side of my chest. There is no heartbeat! I can't feel my pulse! Oh God! He took my heart! He took my HEART! 

Goodbyes...

       Goodbyes are always difficult. We all have experienced so many of them and we all have different ways of dealing with them. There are times when I'm able to hold back my emotions, manage to say goodbye with some dignity and have a smallish breakdown later or not. Often I can pull myself together, tell myself this is how God intended it to be and learn to live with it. But sometimes I give in to the grief.
     So many of our loved ones pass away and we have no choice but to let them go. We mourn, we grieve but we know that there is nothing we can do, so we learn to live with it. The feeling of loss starts to fade away with time but deep down a part of us still holds on to the memories. I unfortunately have lost a lot of close family members but out of all of them there were three deaths that took away a little something from me. The most difficult was saying goodbye to my father. I was his baby, his star! I didn't want to let go of him. I would writhe in pain and long for him to come back, in spite of knowing it was not possible. Losing a parent brought agony I had never experienced before. His death brought an insecurity that has stayed with me for the last ten years.
      The person I'm the closest to is my brother. I could tell him I killed someone and he wouldn't bat an eyelash. There is nothing we wouldn't talk about and there are no secrets between us. He has been like my third child all these years. The day he left for England a couple of years back, I didn't shed a tear the whole day because I thought I was strong. Of course after we said our goodbyes at the airport and I came and sat in the car, I broke down; so much so that I flooded the city and people had to swim back to their houses. It took me a good eight months or so to finally accept that he's not living a block away anymore. All those months, every time the door bell rang, I wished it was him. After eight months he gave us a surprise visit. It was around 10 o'clock in the morning; the bell rang, I opened the door and there he was, my baby brother. Of course I screamed and howled and hugged him so tight he couldn't breathe. Over the years, I have had to see him off several times and each time it is just as painful as the first time. He's my brother, my baby, my friend, my confidant and letting him go every time is very difficult.
      But sometimes you have to say goodbye to people whom you might not be related to; a dear friend perhaps. Someone who understands you, has spent hours talking to you or enjoyed the same things as you did. A close friend whom you found so trustworthy that you could be your true self, good or bad, it wouldn't matter, because you know that your friend won't judge you. How do you say goodbye? How do you deal with it? What do you do when you have to let go of people you love? How do you find the strength to bid farewell? It hurts; it's very painful, some more than others. Every time you think that this is the most difficult goodbye you have experienced, life throws an even more agonizing one your way. You feel someone has clenched your heart so tight that you can't breathe; the thought of never seeing that loved one again... the anguish, the sense of loss, the fact that you are pining for them, nothing makes a difference. You know that as cruel as it sounds, life goes on and it does! But a little part of you dies as you part ways each time till one day when you are separated from someone you love, you just die inside, all of you, mind, body and soul and you know you should move on in spite of that but you can't, you just can't... and you know that you will never be the same person anymore...

A day in the life of me...

It’s 11:30 p.m. All is quiet in the Insha household. Everyone has been asleep for the past two hours; the husband, the children, the parakeet, the fish, even the teenaged gecko that conveniently resides on the outside of the bathroom window every evening. It is a little early to be in bed for most normal people, especially on a weekend but we, as a family never claimed to be normal. In fact we are as far away from normal as anyone can be. It’s hard to believe that just a few hours ago, this was the same house. One wouldn’t really call it chaotic but it certainly had moments which one could call ‘not very quiet’; the maids in a rush to finish the chores, the driver trying to convince ‘baji’ to give him a little advance from his salary and not to deduct it this month, the daughter demanding lunch at 4 p.m. just as she returned from her guitar class and the salon where she insisted on going for a frightfully expensive haircut and the husband and son playing the deafening ‘Portal 2’ on xbox 360.  It was less the commotion and more the condition of the house that was troublesome. Not that it was in a bad shape where one would dread to have people over. It was just the small things that were enough to unnerve a ‘normal’ person like me. As if the fact that I found four rubber bands on the living room floor was not absurd enough I also found my husband’s spectacles under the bed. Every morning he leaves them in the bathroom and I pick them up and put them on the nightstand. How they managed to crawl under the bed is yet another mystery I have to solve. The dining chairs also seem to have a mind of their own. There is a particular spot for each one of them yet every time I see them they are not where I like them to be. God puts us mortals through such tests! As if that was not enough I also realized that there were no apples in the house. It’s not a good day for me if there are no apples in the house. Not to say that I have them all the time, but more often than not you will find some in the fruit bowl either on the coffee table or the dining table. See, apples don’t just serve one purpose. There is more to them than we realize. You eat them; of course you knew that! There is nothing that I like more than apples to munch on. The sweet, crunchy, juicy fruit of heaven! I can live on them! Well, not really but I do love them. If I don’t eat them raw (which I do most of the time), I use them in desserts. The yummy fritters, the divine apple crumble, the cinnamon-flavoured stewed apples and the sweet-smelling apple sauce served with vanilla ice cream. Of course all of these are sinfully delicious but very fattening; so I stick to raw apples most of the time. But this is not it. There is a ritual attached to apples in this house. After I have personally chosen each one, I bring them home and wash them immediately. Then comes the fun part! I take a freshly washed and ironed tea towel and buff them to restore their sheen. Then I lovingly arrange them in a clear glass fruit bowl so that they look picture perfect and they take their place proudly either on my dark wood coffee table or the dining table. Anyways, I was telling you that the house was in too much of a lived-in state for my taste. So I got to work. the first step was getting my husband off the couch and turning off the game. Once that was done, the tough part was over. The kids were not much of an issue; one look at them and they knew what to do. A quick clearing up was all that was required. With the servants given the rest of the evening off, the children settled in peacefully to watch some TV with a snack, the husband convinced to go visit someone who was ill and all non-living objects in the house back to the places where they belonged; the world seemed a place worth living again!

Venturing into the unknown

We are creatures of folly. Sometimes without thinking of the consequences we venture into what turns out to be the worst nightmare. Before we can fathom what has happened, we are in it so deep that it becomes difficult to turn back. At times we admit our foolishness and move on. But what happens if it's someone like me who wants to cling on to the nightmare and refuses to budge? So for me it's neither forward nor back; for me it is holding on to the memories and never letting go.
A question that I ask myself often these days is that can I be the same person again? Can I be the same mother to my kids, the same wife, the same daughter or sister or friend again? Can I rely on the cliche 'Time is the best healer'? The answer comes from within. My heart says 'no' because it has a mind of its own but my mind takes over and says ' don't we all move on even after our loved ones die?'. That gives me some consolation. So I decide to pull myself together for face value at least and put on a brave front for it is useless to regret something that has already been done; especially when deep down you don't really have any regrets. How thankful I am to be able to separate the painful from the wonderful memories and to be able to turn my nightmare into just a beautiful dream.

10 things about me

1.  I find the sight of red meat revolting.
2. I thrive on love.
3. I clean the house when I'm stressed.
4. I like to display things in odd numbers otherwise they don't make sense to me. Although certain things in my house are in pairs but that's only because of symmetry. I need everything to be symmetrical.
5. I still like to read 'The Secret Garden' from time to time.
6. I love to sing.
7. I was very flexible even before I started yoga.
8. I'm a visual person; I have to see things or at least be able to imagine them. If I can't do either then I don't understand them.
9. Two things that can instantly put me in a good mood are flowers and mix chaat.
10. I truly believe that if it's conditional, it's not love. I don't stop loving people because they've hurt me or lied to me; I love them inspite of that. 

Those of you who do read my blog posts regularly are most welcome to add 10 things of your own and it can be a long thread which everybody can enjoy.

To my childhood friends

A very old friend commented on my blog saying he found my blog posts very depressing (he also said that he wanted to throw me off the 20th floor of a building but that story I will share another day). He suggested that I should change the tone of my posts so that people don't try to kill themselves after reading them. So I decided to comply and dug out some beautiful memories from my childhood.
When I first started school there was no concept of playgroups, which meant that we were about three when we went to school. The first day of school was tough; there was severe separation anxiety on both sides. I was howling because I didn't want to let go of my father's hand and he was upset because he couldn't bear to see me cry. There came a point that day when he wanted to take me back home and never send me to school. But we both knew how my mother would react to that. Thank God she wasn't with us that day to witness my tantrums. Anyways, when I finally settled down, a fair girl with ebony ringlets caught my attention. She seemed so cheerful that I felt a little ashamed of myself. Here I was acting like a cry baby while she seemed to be enjoying this weird place called school. Soon after that Malahat and I became good friends, very good friends, and it was much later that Mehnaz and Waheela joined us. I switched schools after four years but till I was there, we would hang out together every single day at school and the chats, the wait for our turn on the swings, and everything else that we did together became a part of my memories for the years to come.
Then started a new phase of my life at the new school.Soon I found new friends Zehra and Erum, who turned out to be great fun; showing me around the huge campus, the beautiful gardens, the church, the grand yellow-brick buildings and the 'haunted' hockey field. Together we explored the vast grounds as we enjoyed fresh cones from 'Abdullah's tuck shop'. Incidentally, we were also in the same college and though we made new friends and had different classes, we stayed in touch throughout.
But my most dear friend turned out to be the curly-haired boy who lived next door. When I was about nine, we moved into a new house.The family next door shared a wall with us. By that I mean that if we wanted to talk, we could do so from over the wall. Yasir started coming to the birthday parties that my mother would throw for me and my brother, joining in the fun, wearing the ridiculous conical party hats (and yes I still have some photographs of him staring at the cake). Anyways, soon we started playing together as we were the same age but it was much later that he and I became such good friends; exchanging 'game n watch'(our version of PSP and Gameboy), tagging along with his older sister in the rain, sailing our flip-flops in the puddles pretending they were boats and teasing each other. He was the one who introduced me to the art of selective studying and later helped me master it (of course the fact that I started getting better grades than him didn't do much for his ego). He was also the one who helped me throughout school and college with my Urdu and also made guess papers for me which turned out to be so close to the actual exam papers that I started suspecting him of stealing them. For many, many years we stayed good friends and still are and I know that if ever I need someone to fall back upon, he'll just be a phone call away. So this one's to the boy next door who stayed my true friend throughout!

Sweet dreams...

What I wouldn't give to be able to sleep like this...sigh...

There seems to be no remedy for my sleepless nights. There did come a time about two months back when I managed to sleep through the night but that didn't last very long. Why do good things in life end so soon?

Memories...

I quietly approach the closet called mind, dig out a treasure chest, blow the dust away and open it. Out comes a plethora of memories; beautiful ones, sad ones, happy ones, funny ones. Hmmm... I think for today I'll settle for the happy ones; I sooo need them right now.
At 3:
A little girl howling away as her father tries to lure her inside the huge building of a school; treading on popcorn that had been bought as a bribe that didn't work, looking through glazed eyes, wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her tiny hands.
At 7:
A teeny tiny, crinkly baby in her mother's arms, crying at the top of his lungs. Could this ugly little blob be the brother she had been asking God for?
At 11:
Hiding under the covers with a small torch, trying to quickly finish 'The Secret Garden' which later becomes one of her all time favourite books.
At 12:
The magical sound of her mother's bangles as she makes divine parathas for the children.
At 13:
Smiling shyly as her teachers compliment her on her first published piece in the children's section of a newspaper.
At 15:
Her first crush, George Michael. So what if he wasn't straight, she didn't know at that age.
At 16:
Finally puts the dolls away. All the lovely clothes that had been prepared for the trousseau and the tiny shoes and bedlinen, all were handed down to a cousin but the dolls remained in trunk for the longest time.
At 19:
First love and fortunately or unfortunately also the last.
At 21:
Wedding! The excitement of getting loads of clothes and shoes and the unwritten permission to put on makeup whenever the heart desired.
At 24:
The arrival of a beautiful little angel with ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes.
At 27:
And another one arrives with big, beautiful eyes and honey coloured hair.
At 36:
Rediscovering...
At 36:
Life ends...

On liars and cowards

It's so unfortunate that appearances can often be deceiving.You deal with people based on your opinion of them; it can be good or bad. But no matter how smart you think you are, turns out there are always other people much smarter than you. These are the people who have the capability of putting up a false front and deceiving you...in other words, LIARS. Funny thing is, they are also the ones who claim to be honest to the extent of being blunt. They feel free to hurt other people's feelings, use them, abuse them and dispose of them when and as they wish. We have all come across such people from a very early age. The time when back in school, the person who claimed to be your best friend, sharing your lunch during recess that your mom had lovingly prepared for you, copying your notes that you had been painstakingly making, taking your good stationary saying 'dost nahi ho?'(aren't you my friend); would turn her back towards you when you needed something in return. Or in college where when you were part of every extra-curricular activity and were every teacher's favourite, your so-called best friend secretly resented you for that and tried everything to pull you down whenever there was an opportunity. Or later in life when there was this one person in your life who claimed to feel as close to you as a sister, sharing everything, clothes, jewellery, recipes, secrets, one day just turns around and throws everything back at your face. But the worst is when people play with your feelings, boasting about what honest people they are, taking everything they need from you and turning out to be no different than that friend in school, infact worse. What do you do then? What do you do to these cowards who can't even admit that they had been lying to your face all along? Nothing! There is nothing that you can do except pick up what's left of your pride and battered soul and move on. But you know that life would never be the same again because some wounds never heal...

This thing called 'kismet'...

Love has a mysterious way of creeping up from behind when you're not looking and catching you off guard. Sometimes you shrug it off casually just like you would a child who hides behind the door and goes 'boo!' when you approach but sometimes you fall into its open arms as if you had been waiting for it your entire life. Ironically, you don't find it when you need it the most but once you stop looking for it, it's there waiting for you around the corner and before you know what hit you, you're in it knee deep. Now what are you supposed to do, pull back or sink deeper? The answer lies in your heart. Unfortunately, not all love stories have happy endings. As sad as it is, not many people have the fate of Snow White who after having a near-death experience got her Prince Charming; or Rapunzel, who was rescued from the tower by the man of her dreams. Many of us stay imprisoned behind the walls of our circumstances and sometimes fate. But what if there was nothing to stop us? What if the environment or the society or the circumstances were all pushing us to go for it? Sadly in the real world you can't survive by thinking about 'what ifs'. The harsh realities follow you around, your hands are tied by your own inhibitions and by others around you. You learn to pull yourself together and deal with it and move on with your life. But if it's not circumstances or society; if it's just a heartbreak, nothing else, then along with your life and soul, you also lose your pride and that's when you take a very long time to recover. The heartache lasts forever...

Solitude

Day and night, night and day; a non-stop cycle that goes on and on till the day we die. And each day brings you twenty four hours; that is one thousand four hundred and forty minutes. Sounds like a big number doesn't it? But unfortunately it isn't. Just a few days back a friend (who is a workaholic in the true sense) was complaining that twenty four hours a day didn't seem to be enough for him. Now he might be an isolated case of 'born to work by my own free will' but don't we all struggle everyday with picking and dropping kids, work, appointments, deadlines, homework, socializing, home management, emergencies and so much more. We have to find time to spend with our kids and spouse and parents. And then there are friends who want to meet up and and projects that demand attention and errands to run and... the list is endless. So what happened to time you spend in your own company? As difficult as it is, I still manage to sneak away from everything around me and enjoy solitude, even if it's just a few moments a couple of times a week. To me, it can be anything; sitting outside on the swing late night after everyone has gone to bed and staring quietly at the starry sky, enjoying the breeze (if there is any), listening to the leaves rustling. Ah! such bliss! Or curling up in an armchair to read a beautiful book, absorbing the words, the thoughts. Or meditating, which gives me an opportunity to push everything out of my mind and just enjoy the peace and quiet and the serenity; or gardening in my little balcony garden where the gorgeous bursts of colour and lush green plants transport me straight to heaven. But the most enjoyable is the time that I spend in a secluded corner of my house wherever I find it on that particular day, and just stay there quietly with my thoughts; digging out beautiful memories that I have cherished for the last seventeen years (and no that's not how old I am, that's when I first fell in love). Nothing gives more pleasure than to have something beautiful in your past that you can look back upon, and every time you do, it brings the same smile to your face as it did back then. It brings tranquility and peace that keeps you going because sometimes just a few memories are enough for a lifetime. I guess I'm fortunate to have experienced what I could treasure for the rest of my life and to be able to steal a few moments every now and then to relive it in my mind. So people, this one is to solitude!

The symmetrical me...

About two years ago I finally got around to remodeling my kitchen. Before that it was this really ugly thing with badly done mosaic floors, a concrete worktop which I tiled in white to hide the ugliness and a couple of cabinets covered in white formica. The only thing saving it from looking like the world's worst kitchen was the fact that I kept it clean. Anyhow, once we decided that it was time to re-do the most important room in the house, we checked around and found a really good kitchen designer, or so we thought. The day that man entered my life I developed this love-hate relationship with him. Initially he seemed bright enough and seemed to understand what I wanted in a small space. He seemed to be complying to all my wishes, showing me kitchens he had done previously and paying complete attention to the pictures of the ones that I would show him online or from some magazine. Then all of a sudden he started showing his true colours. Here's what happened: when he finally showed me the 3-d design for my kitchen that he had prepared, I freaked out. There was no symmetry! It was too much of an asymmetrical kitchen for my taste. I couldn't imagine living with that much of irregularity where nothing made sense to me. To top that all, he didn't seem to understand what symmetry truly is...gasp... I drew a sketch for him with everything equally placed and perfectly balanced and to my horror, he scoffed at it! The nerve of that man! Of course at that time I needed him so I chose to ignore it but later I told my husband who was more of a silent spectator during this whole drama that I never wanted to set my eyes upon this man once we got the kitchen done. Not just that, I don't think I have hated anybody this much my entire life! To think that he insisted that symmetry means nothing and that it's boring! I could kill that man with my bare hands. Anyways, since he refused to understand what symmetry meant, I replaced the word with 'balance'. He still thought it was boring and because I wanted a combination of different styles of cabinets, it would never work. Eventually I had him come over to my house and showed him a shelf that I had put up temporarily in my house. For something that was there only for a few weeks, it was still done the way that made sense to me. Check it out. Okay I know that it's a really blurred picture but you can still make out everything, can't you?

See top shelf: frame, frame, candle, candle bamboo shoots in the middle, all of them evenly spaced. Second shelf: all of my snow globes that I love to collect. Third shelf: Two fat books on the left which are basically a collection of D.H. Lawrence and Charles Dickens in a hard case and on the right there are two sets of dvds in hard cases. They are there only because they match and are the right size and width, see what I mean? Now you would say that the fourth shelf is not really balanced but it is. It is done exactly the way the sixth shelf is done and the fifth and seventh shelves are also perfectly balanced. Okay this is might be getting a little boring and insane for you mortals out there but this is the right way to live; I insist. The only thing that doesn't go with the rest of the things in that shelf is the green book which I removed later on because it was not in the shades of red, orange or ochre. He nodded and pretended he understood, promised to bring another design soon, then vanished for two weeks. Two weeks later he met us with a smug look on his face and brought out a design, completely symmetrical but gulp...boring. It didn't have any of the cabinets I wanted; no glass display shelf for my collection of teapots, no cute cupboards that lift up to open, no corner unit. It was just like any other kitchen and even reminded me of the previous kitchen. I gave in. I had to. My kitchen had already been completely demolished, we were tired of eating out and I had been filling up my big saucepans from the bathrooms and doing my dishes in them on the dining table. I was in tears by the end of it. So this time I agreed to a somewhat asymmetrical kitchen and begged God to give me the strength to be able to live with it. All of those three four weeks that he was getting the kitchen done, I hated him with all my might. I chose the colours, I went and bought the tiles all by myself, I told him my choice of cabinet designs and where to place them; but my stomach was in knots, it was churning. I started dreading the day it would be done and I would have to live with that kitchen for the rest of my life probably or maybe we could sell this house and move! Yes as crazy as it sounds, I started contemplating that. The day it was to be completely assembled I was in jitters. Thank God my husband who travels quite a bit, was in town that day. If I had a breakdown he was there to take me to the er. The moment arrived; I gritted my teeth, held my breath and walked into the kitchen. It wasn't love at first sight! sob,sob... I couldn't see the kitchen; I could only see the dirty floor. My beautiful white and grey tiles! They were covered with dust, sawdust and dry cement. Oh! misery has so many forms! I dropped on my knees and scrubbed the floor as if my life depended upon it. Finally it gleamed and I could bear to look up at my asymmetrical kitchen. I loved it! I have enjoyed it so much since then. Sometimes at night after I have cleaned and polished and made everything shiny in my beloved kitchen, I pop in every half an hour just to admire the gleam. Happiness comes in all shapes and sizes, even if it's asymmetrical and worth more than you estimated :)

Music knows no language

Couldn't sleep as usual. Lying in bed, tossing and turning I tried to suppress the urge to get up and clean and organise something, anything! I have the tendency to do that in the middle of the night when it's quiet and peaceful, with no kids wanting to have snacks, no husband demanding your attention, no frantic phone calls by some  friend who needs to borrow your bamboo shoots and a vase because her mother might be visiting the next day ( yes Haleema, you!). And of course at that hour there are no servants acting dumb as a post, no plumbers turning up at the wrong time and no health workers at your doorstep trying to convince you to give your twelve year old polio drops. In other words after midnight is the perfect time to do things I really want to do without any interruptions; such bliss ( except for an uninvited visitor, a cricket that's driving me crazy). Eventually I decided to get out of bed and do something other than cleaning. My profile says I have started this blog because I wanted an outlet to pour my heart out. Now there has been so much pouring of the heart in the last two days that I am probably going to start feeling like an empty vessel soon. Anyways, I started multitasking as usual (a trick that all moms learn without any crash courses); blogging, facebooking, reading a book that I had recently downloaded and listening to music. Not a bad way to cure restlessness I tell you. Amidst all this I started listening to this one song which has become my current favourite. Strange thing is, it's in a language I don't understand at all; it's a Pushto song by a contemporary folk music group from Peshawar. Beautiful melody and lyrics that I would really like to share. The song is 'Reidi Gul' by Yasir, Jawad and Wali Orakzai. Truly, music knows no language, no boundaries...

Wee Willie WInkie

Two nights back I decided to put both my kids to bed earlier than usual. Not that they go to bed late; usually they re in bed by 9 pm, but I needed to finish up a few things and wanted them out of the way (as evil as it may sound). So by 7:30 they were done with dinner and by 8 all done with their night time rituals snuggled up in bed. I was however surprised at zero resistance by my younger one who s 9 and tries to stay up for as long as possible which is usually 9:30 max. (poor kid can’t manage to stay awake past that as much as he hates it). Five minutes later when I went to check on them, Raamiz, my son was scribbling away something quickly on an A-4 size sheet of paper (which he uses at record speed). I know I’m sort of drifting off the topic but seriously, no matter how many stacks we get, they are finished in no time because he chooses to communicate through writing; such as ‘mama can I watch TV?’ Everything that he feels might get him into trouble or I might say no to, he writes. Sometimes he would quickly drag two lines (again on an A-4 size sheet; he probably thinks his father manufactures them and we get them for free) that would say ‘mama can I play on the Wii? Answer yes or no and I love you’; and a small hand would slide that under my door. Now what do you say to that?

    Okay so I was saying that he was writing something that he hid under his pillow and quickly shut his eyes tight pretending to be fast asleep. Later when he actually fell asleep, out of curiosity I  put my hand under his pillow to see what he had written and stood there speechless. This is what he had written “ Dear Wee Willie Winkie, I am very sorry that I slept 5 minutes late. I hope you still come. It means a lot to me. Raamiz”.  Experiencing the joys, the sorrows, the bitter truths, the harsh realities, the struggles and everything else that life brings your way; a small act of innocence like this is like a breath of fresh air and you cant help but thank God for the miracles called children.

   

The perfect world

I have always had a feeling that wherever I lived there has been a little something weird about it; you know, like 'haunted' weird. In my perfect world everything is straight and symmetrical. There are no waves, no curves unless it makes sense to me (the queen) :) Nothing is crooked, nothing is lopsided, nothing and I mean NOTHING, can be asymmetrical unless I want it it to be. So I have tried to create an environment accordingly. Unfortunately as soon as I turn my back, some fairy folk ( from my Enid Blyton days) create havoc around the house. Now I so hope that it's some dainty little fairies but it could be those naughty imps that live under my window or perhaps the elves who got sick of making shoes for the old shoemaker. Every morning I get up and roam around the house straightening the paintings on the walls, the doormats that seem to have a will of their own, my coffee table books that slide to places they shouldn't and everything else around the house. Now you have to keep in mind that I'm the same person who goes to Pizza Hut and starts straightening their paintings (hmm, no wonder I don't feel very welcome there). So, like I said, before I start my day I need certain things to be straight in my house. I can live with a pile of dishes in the sink for a little while (I think), or dirty laundry (groan) and even wet bathroom floors (actually Semre, have you seen my bathroom floor wet, ever? I seem to be suffering from short term memory loss at the moment). Semre is my cousin, my friend, my sister, for those of you who don't know. I have some hotspots like every normal person and yes, I can still claim to be normal though my brother doesn't agree. I also have disaster areas just like Monica's closet; but I choose not to enter those rooms, such as my store room. Everywhere else there is nothing but straight lines, the bed, the shelves, the couch, even the lamps. But those naughty, naughty imps (or the ghost) make everything crooked behind my back. No matter how many times I fix the doormats, they go crooked again, and the paintings, aargh! For the life of me I can't figure out how they go lopsided every single day! I insist on believing it's fairy folk and not some ghost, but it could be! I so want things to stay where I put them but just like the people around me they seem to pay no attention to what I tell them to do. So in my 'To Do List' for today, I have written just one thing; 'pray and ask God to send a good ghost to my house to replace the naughty one; who likes things straight and symmetrical and who freaks out when things are lopsided'. I'm sure God will happily grant my wish to stop my early morning complaining and grumbling. What do you think?

This too shall pass...

There comes a time in your life when you can neither move forward nor go back. This morning I realized that is exactly where I am. To some it might be a beautiful morning, bright and sunny, with a promising day ahead; to others it might be just another day with the same mundane chores. But there must be at least one more person in the world besides me for whom this morning brings nothing but numbness. There are no rainbows, no music, no birds chirping; just a void... You feel that you have come too far leaving everything you were familiar with and everyone you knew behind, so much so that it's now just a blur. You can't go back to something you can't see anymore. So you try to move forward, flailing your arms, in the hope of grabbing on to something that would lead you to a place full of hope. But your feet are glued to the ground refusing to budge and your mind tells you to stay where you are. It tells you that your past is a blur and your future beholds nothing for you. It challenges you to find a light or at least a ray of hope to show you the path. But everything is so dark and hazy ahead; you are afraid of disappearing into nothingness. Then u hear a voice speak to you from within; it's your heart. Shattered and broken into a million tiny pieces, hurt and forlorn, this little bugger still has the strength to tell you " when you have no one else, no hope, no will to live; you still have Allah! He will take your hand and guide you out of it, He loves you more than anyone else can and will always be there for you". You are still standing frozen in the same spot and you are still feeling dazed but at least you know now that this too shall pass.