Frangipani!

I remember the little girl collecting the scattered blossoms of frangipani one quiet afternoon. For some odd reason her love for the fragrant creamy flowers grew with time. Little did she know that one day the very word 'frangipani' would engulf her entire existence.
The story began like any other but ended like she had never imagined possible. And the end..the end was the beginning of a new chapter..on the surface, exciting, satisfying, with a lot of hope and love and laughter but at one cost; the soul had to be mercilessly drowned in a sea of tears, sorrow and regret; and hearts had to be treaded upon, not just her own, but of the one she had never imagined hurting.
Frangipani! Frangipani! Frangipani!
To her it meant I miss you more than ever!
To him it meant nothing till one day he discovered that she was no more.
Time does not wait for anyone but people should. They should wait for those who mean something to them; they should wait for unsaid words to be whispered softly in their ears; promises that were never made, to be fulfilled; loving embraces that will melt their hearts one day; tears of happiness to be merged with their own; moments of love to fill up their lives.
Why couldn't she wait then?
She had been travelling alone for hundreds of years in a land where the sun never shone. Till one day she ended at the mouth of a tunnel. She was tired, lonely and losing hope. There seemed to be no other choice but to enter the tunnel. It could lead anywhere; there could be light at the end of the tunnel or perhaps she would reach just another dead end. She didn't hesitate. There might be something worth all this time. And there was! The light! She wanted to catch it and ran after it like a little child running after a butterfly. She wanted it like she had never wanted anything before. But the more she tried to capture it with both hands, the further it seemed to be getting from her. She didn't give up hope and ran after it like the wind, not caring about her bleeding feet, just following her wildly pounding heart; till she could almost feel the comforting warmth. She was inches away! Just inches away...But the sound of music distracted her. She turned her head for a moment..The music was soothing, comforting, calling her name..
She jolted back to realize it's light she has been seeking for hundreds of years. She can't let go of it. She had spent a lifetime searching for this light. She had followed her heart and come so close to it. She couldn't let the sound of music take that away from her. She turned back, longing for that light to fill up her life. But....
She silently turned away from where she had once chased light and moved sadly towards the enchanting music. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she let the enchantment embrace her. She couldn't go on any more. All colour drained from her face as she pulled out a mask and put it on. Yes..this would hide the pain; this would conceal the remorse..
Slowly she drifted even further away from the fast disappearing glow...Her lips curved into a smile, a grateful smile for the soothing sound had rescued her from the dark, never-ending road; but her heart bled.. She was so close yet...

A very 'normal' family, or NOT!

As a family, we never claimed to be normal. We do things unconventionally; where my teenage daughter and I share clothes which is fun for me and used to be fun for her initially. Now, not so much fun for her.. I still enjoy it though. We do crazy stuff together, play Dance Central 2 on X-Box Kinect, practice music together, stay up the whole night and talk. My son and I have other activities where we have our heart-to-heart sessions. He likes to watch me cook and be my little helper in the kitchen for he dreams of becoming chef extraordinaire.
We defy all rules and laws and refuse to sit properly. We are often found perched on a table or hunched over a puzzle on the floor. Our favourite spot however, is the stairs. For some odd reason we like to sit on the stairs and talk. Since this is my blog and not only can I write whatever I want, I can also be as random as I wish, for I am the Queen here (add haughtiness to my tone here); I choose to write about crazy stuff we do. Here are just a few glimpses of our family  being 'normal', or NOT. Apologies for the poor lighting..

His favourite reading spot at his grandmother's. She does have couches and chairs; we just choose to read on the stairs :)

My little musician loves to entertain me in the kitchen; again, refusing to sit on a chair. Who wants to sit on a chair when we have good ol' floor

And yes, we multitask big time. Reading the children's section of the newspaper cannot wait, neither can playing with the remote control car. And people, floor  again! I'm still trying to understand why he's sitting on the paper while reading it

Our bedtime ritual

The nephew joins in the craziness. Who wants to walk on the ground when you can hop in a bucket!

Ummm the cat also joins in the craziness :)

When this happens....

....this happens ;)

We offered to buy him a bike, a scooter, a car, a horse, a donkey, a camel, even an ostrich to ride; but my son...why go for the conventional..


Yes, that's my family!

Papa, Raj Kapoor aur Main

I have finally come to terms with the fact that I will never be able to cut ties with the past. No one can; and those who claim they do, are either delusional, heartless or liars! My mind continues to play tiring games, drifting from present to past and often to future..future that holds what none of us have any way of knowing. Yet I refuse to give up hope and dreams of glorious days to come, full of laughter, light and love.

And the past! Ahh! So much I would like to change, so much I would want to experience once again, so much I missed and so much I once had and long to have once again.

The smallest things can transport me back to the time when Papa was with us. The first drop of rain, hot chapatis with 'gurr' and butter, Ghalib, Dosteovsky, just about anything. When I watched 'Barfi'; the first few moments immediately reminded me of Raj Kapoor. Papa was a great fan and we spent many hours watching 'Mera Naam Joker', 'Sapnon ka Saudagar', 'Awara', 'Shree 420', 'Jaagtay Raho', 'Sangam' amongst others. Raj Kapoor's tramp-like image, probably inspired by Charlie Chaplin, another favourite of Papa's; provided us with hours of entertainment. The absolutely gorgeous leading ladies that he paired with, the unique vocals by Mukesh, so well suited to Raj Kapoor's voice, the simplicity of set designs; everything had an enchanting effect on the audience. I don't exactly remember when I became Papa's companion, but I do remember his child-like gleeful expression everytime he watched a scene that amused him. What I wouldn't give to have one more movie session with him. At least I would know it's the last before he's taken away. 

I have realized that going for movies is a different experience for me. I see people around me watching the movie, enjoying it, laughing, some hiding tears if they are weak-hearted and cannot take an emotional scene. And I...I imagine several lives during those two hours; the life I had, the life I want to have, the life I'm afraid I'll have...I see the characters that are prancing around on the big screen in front of my eyes and suddenly I see those I have lost, and those I long to be with. I see my heart being shattered and I see it being put together lovingly. I experience gloom and then I experience hope, knowing my fate is in the right hands and He is all merciful. Today I felt a sickening sensation too, that of falling from a bridge; I closed my eyes for a few seconds, and felt being caught in mid-air and held in a warm, reassuring embrace. And in the midst of all that, I just stopped..I stopped thinking, feeling, reminiscensing.. and I spent a few moments praying quietly, every part of my body asking God to grant me the one thing that I want the most; the one thing that has the power to remind me of who I truly am, who I once was; the one thing that gives me strength, happiness and the desire to be a better person; the one thing that I long for like I have never longed for anything before. And during those few moments, nothing existed; not all those people around me, still lost in the movie; not the characters on the screen; not my companions; nothing existed, except me and God! And that's when I knew; that if I had to spend the rest of my life asking God for that one thing, I will! And I will continue trying to find myself, I will continue being inspired, I will continue striving to be a better mom, daughter, sister, friend; all this while not letting go of hope and conviction. I ask for the impossible, believing with full conviction that it is impossible for us, humans, which is why I'm asking God, the one being who can make the impossible possible. May God continue helping and guiding me the way He always has. Amen.

Ten Things about My Brother- Part II..

If I could bring him into my house and raise him with my own kids, I would have. As much as I hated him when he was little, for sharing everybody's attention with me for I was used to being the only princess and centre of attention till this ugly lil blob was born; once he grew up a little and started walking, I couldn't ignore this chubby waddling creature with his gorgeous head of black curls and a sweet two-toothed smile. Oh and may I also remind you that I am the QUEEN of writing never-ending sentences.

Moving on..

I think I took it upon myself to protect him from from all evil when my father passed away, although what he really needed was someone to save him from me and my suffocating over-protectiveness :) Over time he became my best friend; one I could talk to for hours and share my secrets with without the fear of being judged. I still get these strong urges to raise him with my kids like my own but unfortunately a 30-year old man would not fancy the idea of being 'raised' with children.. Since I spent hours with him last evening, this morning I felt like sharing another ten things about my 30-year old baby brother in the middle of work. And yes, I can do that! I have been working since 6 am and I can write about whatever I want to write in between. 'The Boss' does not need to know what I'm doing during work hours.

Here it is:

• My brother 'googles' everything. If google ever goes broke it would be because Arsalan would have squeezed the last ounce of information out of it and left it dry. That does make him a very well-informed person who can talk at length about everything, but that also makes him a very annoying person, who can talk at length about everything
• Like Joey from 'Friends', my brother does not like to share his food. He would go ahead and spend money on another burger just so you could have that one bite that you asked for from his burger, but sharing...no, no, no!
• He knows more about cigars than anybody I know, which is kinda boring
• He has a serious shoe fetish. When he was moving back from London, he discovered he had 80 pairs of shoes AFTER downsizing
• He sings beautifully and we both have spent hours singing together when we were younger
• He has an elephant's memory (or as someone once put it, he got the better part of genetics, although I'm prettier :)
• He can figure out whatever I'm doing or thinking or feeling without my having to tell him, which is as irritating as it is a relief
• He shares my love of books but unlike me, he reads Harvard Business Review. I mean seriously, who reads that? I'm sure even people who publish it don't read it
• We go out and once back home, we tend to keep sitting in the car outside the house and chat for another two hours.. Yes, I know, we can save fuel and go inside the house and talk, but what fun is that?
• He has more love for Shakeel a.k.a Shaks than he has for any of us, and that includes the women in his life. Shaks started his life in the Chaudhary household some 6-7 years back. He came as a driver. Now he runs the house and if we need to see Arsalan, we need to go by Shaks. If we need the car, we have to ask Shaks. If we need food, we have to ask Shaks what there is in the refrigerator. I just realized I sound like a poor, penniless creature who doesn't have a car or food.. Well, sometimes I just like to have what is in my mom's fridge rather than my own and I can use my bro's car, I think.. Anyways, Shaks is now in charge of everything; he's the housekeeper, the gardener, the mechanic, the messenger, and of course the decision maker. He decides what work needs to be done on the house, who will do it, what car should be bought, what fruit Arsalan likes and should eat. I'm sure he's going to be the one deciding who Arsalan would and should marry and we will be informed after Shaks has finalized everything with the girl's family. We all try and stay in Shaks's good books for heaven forbid, if we offend him, we lose touch with my brother

So, that's that.. until next time... 

Where we all escape

It's a strange world out there; one full of complexities and treacherous paths, yet somewhat balanced with moments full of joy and wonderful people on the way. One might be full of energy and zest for life but a few moments when we can escape to a world of our own with nothing but solitude can be so blissful. It can be anything as far as I am concerned; a silent night when I sit on the swing outside and watch the trees whispering sweet lil anecdotes to each other, a bout of laughter with my dear friends (not exactly falling in the category of solitude but works fine for me), pacing up and down the room with a head full of thoughts that are never meant to be shared with anyone, a delightful memory, or a quiet night when I can curl up on my favourite spot on the sectional or the bed and read a wonderful book, absorbing thoughts poured in the form of words by the author or poet. My reading list varies depending on my mood, the requirement of my work, the phase of life I might be going through, or just plain curiosity on my part to find out about something. However, some books have a permanent spot on my nightstand. Again some of them kept changing with time as did the number of books. At times I fill up an entire basket with books I'm currently reading; at other times I like to clear it all up leaving just the few that I can't bear to be apart from.

Faiz's Nuskha Hai Wafa and a rare copy of Diwan e Ghalib are amongst those that stay. I sometimes wonder what made me stay away from poetry for about a decade in between. I grew up surrounded by people who would live and breathe poetry. By the time I was in 8th grade, I had developed my own taste and regularly went to mushairas with Papa, a cultural activity that created much hype in those days, and mind you, I'm not very ancient. Fast forward ten years and I realized that I had drifted away from my own self; perhaps struggling to be someone I wasn't, someone that others wanted to see me as, someone I never was and never will be; locking away my sight, my speech, my thoughts, my mind, in an old dusty trunk. I don't exactly know what prompted me to open that old trunk once again and lay out everything side by side; but I did; painstakingly blowing away dust and restoring it all to its former self; with the thoughts and the speech and my soul re-emerging.

It was while doing the dishes this morning and looking out the window at the beautiful palm trees and enjoying the blissful morning, that I realized that I have been singing (not humming) Faiz's Aaj bazaar mein pabajolaan chalo for the last three days. That led to the thought of sharing what I'm reading these days in a blog post. However, the post turned out to be less about the books and more about just pouring my heart out, something I tend to do more often than not. And it just hit me... isn't this blog also a form of escape? Contrary to what some people believe, I find nothing wrong with escapism; Keats did it, Shelley did it and although I am no where in their league or ever will be, I am my own person and I admire them for being able to do so for whatever amount of time even if others considered it unrealistic. They were who they were; just as I am who I am and now that I am striving to find myself once again, I refuse to go down the lane where our thoughts are enslaved by those of others; where we are ruled by societal pressures; where we are defined by what we wear, where we go, who we meet; where meaningless superficial things in life seem to carry more importance than they should; where people can't seem to comprehend the secret world of silence; where when a woman speaks her mind she is labelled as feminist; where you are expected to be someone you are not.. I refuse to go down that lane once again..

But remember, that is just one side of the world and just a fraction of people living there.. The other side is beautiful.. calm and serene, with gorgeous blue skies and rainbows and like-minded people; all of which give us the strength to find beauty in things we overlook, experience small pleasures of the simplest things in life and to move forward.. So this one my friends, is to the worlds we escape to and the worlds ahead, so full of hope and happiness...To the other side!

The Little Girl in the Rain

On a day filled with back-to-back meetings, picking and dropping kids, emails, phone calls, a late lunch at 5:00 if you can call it that; I felt around 6:00 pm, that I needed to catch my breath. And was I glad I did... What gloriously beautiful weather! I just had to step out in the balcony and was immediately transported to another world. I forgot who I was, what I was doing, what had been on my mind. All I could feel was gratitude.. I felt fortunate to be able to enjoy so many things in life, I felt grateful for the lovely, lush green neem trees right across where I live; I felt wonderful being surrounded by such beauty; the smoky clouds, the gently sashaying trees, the two gorgeous parrots perched on the branch right across where I was standing, the pleasantly humid weather. I felt thankful for being alive!

I often like to pretend that I don't like rain. Every time clouds start gathering together, conspiring to drench the city, I start fussing; wrinkling up my nose and looking up at the skies with disdain; announcing to the world that everything is going to come to a standstill if it rains. Deep down...well, deep down my heart is doing a happy dance at the first promise of a shower.

I associate rain with my childhood. It reminds me of my father. He would transform into someone else at the first drop of water from the sky. He loved taking long walks in the lane where we lived, getting soaked in the rain; where the sky was barely visible, for the trees embraced each other from both sides of the road. And I loved dancing in the rain, making garlands of the pretty pink flowers that my neighbour's creeper bore. That reminds me of my dear friend, my next door neighbour, Yasir. We loved tagging along his older sister in the rain, making paper boats if we could find paper; or sometimes floating our flip flops as boats if nothing else. What carefree times!

Today, as I stood gazing out, enjoying the calm that the weather brought, I spotted two little girls with backpacks, probably returning from tuition; making sure that they stepped IN  the puddles instead of avoiding them. It brought a smile to my face; reminding me what it was like to be a little girl; one that I once was, one that I want to be again. I threw a small pebble in the puddle right under the balcony where I stood; watching the ripples, watching my life disappearing right there in front of my eyes, just the way the ripples disappeared, till the waters were calm again.

I heaved a sigh and turned back to go inside, reminding myself of what I had gained out of all the years that had gone by swiftly. My two beautiful children! As I stand here today, knowing I have lost and gained a lot in the last couple of years, remembering the ups and downs of life, reminiscencing; I feel blessed when I think of what has come out of it...motherhood...it has to be the best feeling in the world...so this one is to Papa, the curly-haired boy next door, my old and new friends and most of all, the two most wonderful creatures I have ever come across, my daughter and my son...

A Guest Post by My Daughter

i'm Mana, and i insisted i wanted to write a post on mama's blog. finally, today is the day i get to write. but as i sat down with the laptop, i realized that i dont really know what i want to write about. yeah, thats me...
actually, i do have something to share. 'most people wouldnt guess this, since my mom's blog is SO depressing, but she has some fun times too. i love every single  minute i spend with her, and she doesnt really realize how her tiniest actions make me so happy (no, she didnt ask me to write this about her). she's a little, well, adorable!!(and not to forget, gorgeous!)
first of all, she's obsessed with everything polka dots. she went shopping one day, and as usual, she came back, all excited, wanting to show and boast about her finds. out came this really cool popcorn bowl. out came some mops (what else did you expect?), and then out came her polka dotted dip bowls and her polka dotted milk jug. you should have seen her face when she reached into the shopping bag, and took out that jug!
she looked like a chef looking proudly at his new creation. that gleeful smile she put on when she presented the jug really cracked me up. but what put me into fits was when she started pouring out imaginary milk from it. the smallest things in the world bring so much joy in her eyes, it makes me want to be like her. i'm not ungrateful, but next to her, i will always feel like i am. she's truly amazing. and come on,she kept pouring out imaginary milk from that jug. dont tell me you didnt even smile at that!
one day, out of the blue, she started groaning, and said she's craving to go shop. i looked up from what i was doing (probably doodling on my math copy) and looked at her incredulously (big word). i was like "mama, you loathe shopping." and i'm not kidding. she actually hates shopping, which is hard to believe because that is what we women live for! it goes sleep, eat and shop for us, but apparently for her it goes eat to live, organize and clean, and then organize some more. oh, did i mention organize? she never was normal.
but there she was, groaning about how she wanted to got to dolmen mall and shop at mango, debenhems and monsoon, and how she wanted to go to sunday bazaar and buy, well, everything (that is where she got those polka dotted bowls, and the jug). still cant get over her little outburst.
here comes the craziest thing of all. (i dont even know if i should be writing this).okay, here comes.
when my mom gets sleepy, and cannot sleep, instead of getting agitated (actually, she does, but that phase passes pretty fast), she gets hyper, and then starts dancing like crazy, until she gets blisters on her feet. yes, she has done that. taken aback? dont worry, if you read this blog regularly, you will get used to it. trust me.
yeah, thats my mom, the person i get mad at for never having a bad hair day, the person who, when i talk to about something serious, replies with a 'i'm thinking we should do up your room in blue, white and orange, what do you think mana?" the person who is cursed with workaholicism, if that's even a word. the person i adore, no matter how "not normal" she is. but who cares? i like crazy people...

The ideas and views are completely the writer's own. I refuse to bear any responsibility regarding those; I had nothing to do with it and was not allowed to make any changes or delete anything inappropriate. And, yes, my 13 year old can bully me sometimes
                                                                                                         -Sadaf

The Discovery

I remember one particular evening that I spent in Skurdu last year. We were all sitting by the lake, my old friends and some new ones I had made; and we were doing the usual; chatting, singing, laughing..Actually they were doing the usual; I was doing what I had been doing for the last three days; sitting quietly staring at the lake, the grey skies, the majestic mountains and my old friend, the moon. We all are very fond of singing and sang nonstop throughout the trip. It was unbelievable the number of times I was asked to sing during that week. I was running out of songs by the end of the third evening. Ghalib had been done to death, old songs by Lata, Kishore, Mukesh, Rafi, Haimant Kumar, you name it. My very close friend Hal would keep asking for this one song every two hours and everytime she felt I was making excuses to get out of it, she would say 'wo sunao, wo dil se qareeb, dil ko choo lenay wala'; I had to give in every time. What a drama queen and how I miss her. We were all there for different reasons; some for the thrill of it, some for a holiday but one, to clear her head, to get away from it all. Wasn't very successful at doing so though... We drove from Islamabad all the way to 'Challas' where it was unbelievably hot; stayed the night there and went off the next morning to Skurdu; crossing 'Babusar' on our way which was no mean feat. Skurdu was every bit as beautiful as promised by my friends and the few days that I stayed there, I did have some very peaceful moments too. But the beauty and serenity brought a certain sadness with it or was it just me? It was there that I realized that I have reached a stage in my life where I only want to do things that mean something to me. I only want to spend time with those who really matter to me; I only want to read things that I'm truly interested in, I will only paint when I really feel like... Photographs have to speak to me, music has to tug the strings of my heart, silence has to be more meaningful than words. It was there that I truly discovered the need to try to find myself, not caring about how the world judges me. It was there that I discovered what serenity really is; how soothing it is when you are surrounded by silence. It was there that I woke up from my deep slumber, looked around and found everything so refreshingly beautiful; the lake, the mountains, the apple trees, the lively chatter of my dear friends.. Skurdu..the place I long to return to with a dear one, just taking a stroll along the lake, with unsaid words filling the silence..Skurdu, where the desire to be myself became stronger.. Skurdu, so beautiful, still waiting with open arms, welcoming anyone who needs solace... Skurdu...

The Captivating Silence

I sit under the open sky, with cool breeze playfully brushing past me. I hear people talking around me, sitting in small groups, enjoying their lattes and cappuccinos; yet all I can hear is silence. Yes, you can HEAR silence! Sometimes it can be deafening, sometimes mind-numbing and sometimes so melodious, like a sweet lullaby. Tonight is one of those nights when silence is simply beautiful and mesmerizing. It's 1:00 am and I'm at my favourite haunt, sitting outside with my usual glass of Sunrise. It's amazing what a difference a pod of vanilla can make, once combined with zesty orange. For the past couple of hours, people have been coming and going; but I have made no attempt or shown no desire to move from my usual spot outside the cafe. As I sit here with my trusty Ipad, I get a whiff of delicious cocoa every time the glass door slides open. It's incredible how much there is to see just on this stretch of the road, yet I only see what I want to see. I see the beautiful, lush green trees, holding their heads high up in the air; I see the numerous lamp posts dotted every few meters, their lights twinkling like dozens of stars descended on earth; and I see the night skies, so similar to what I see back home yet so unfamiliar. The Rest; the people, the tall buildings, the hustle and bustle of Orchard Road, are all just a blur. Sometimes just a beautiful memory, perhaps that of your father holding your tiny hand when you were a little girl, or your brother singing with you; a dear cousin confiding in you or your son's tiny little button-nose, gives you such pleasure. Sometimes, the thought of someone going through the trouble of finding the perfect present for you, just to see the ecstatic look on your face; or a close friend's emotional support when you need it the most; makes you feel so loved. Tonight, I feel engulfed in warm pleasure, thinking of all those beautiful memories. Tonight, the silence is singing a captivating song; one that will continue ringing in my ears for several days. Tonight, I'm transported to another world; one with hope, promise and peace. I heave a sigh and take everything in, making a promise.. To return one day, but only when I feel that I will be able to find beauty and peace every single night here, as I have tonight...

Silent Chatter

Mannequins draped elegantly in red silk in the display case of the shopping arcade of a hotel right across the road; Starbucks coffee, infact two of them, bang opposite each other; a bustling street lined with palm trees; a somewhat creepy-looking sculpture erected on the side of the road; a glass of peach iced tea waiting for the past hour for the first sip to be taken; and my quiet existence. It's amazing how much we talk all our lives, pretending to also be listening to others, yet deep down just waiting for them to go quiet so that we can speak again. It's amazing how if we do try and stay quiet and try to listen to others as well as our own thoughts, we are labelled a certain way, and if heaven forbid we try to explain why we are quiet, we are 'looked down upon' as philosophers. But you eventually reach a stage in your life where you stop caring. You talk when you feel like; you sing and dance if you wish to; you talk to those who truly understand you and for others you just maintain a polite smile. You let your iced tea go warm, with tiny droplets appearing on the outside of the glass; you let the gentle breeze play with your hair, not caring what it does to your blowdry; you let the feelings of calm or sadness or pleasure or love (whatever it might be at that particular moment) sink in; and you just live in the moment; absorbing everything around you slowly, steadily.. I sit here outside CBTL at 12:00 am, my feet propped up on the chair in front of me, leaning back against my chair; humming Aux Champs Elysees; living my life as I want it at this particular moment; something I might not be able to do once I return to my usual responsibilities, obligations and duties. But right now, I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing..staying lost in my thoughts, taking in the city around me; thinking of beautiful words and moments to be cherished; thinking of good times with friends; delving into delicious memories and dreaming of worlds that will be... C'est la vie!

Songs of the Sea

It's a coincidence that I'm blogging once again at 1:00 am here in Singapore. There is no particular reason for that, except that I like to hang out at CBTL till the wee hours after a 'hard day at work' (yes, holidays sometimes can be hard work, with a teenaged daughter, a ten year old extremely indecisive son, not to mention the husband). This is my time, where I can sit down in peace with my glass of 'Sunrise', with its burst of orange and pinch of vanilla, listening to Joe Dassin's Aux Champs Elysees, that plays repeatedly here every single night. Tonight is no different, except that I decided to have a salad this late, for the simple fact that I had not eaten for hours. The salad looks and tastes divine with crisp lettuce, cherry tomatoes and cranberries. I finally had my fill of local food today with the traditional Chicken Rice that comes with broth and yummy chilli sauce and mee goreng that I simply love, both of which I had been introduced to by my friend Saira in Kuala Lumpur a couple of years back. Through the glass door I see the usual Singapore night. With people sitting outside Starbucks adjacent to CBTL and throngs of passers-by still out at this hour. A day at the beach and I finally brightened up, despite the fact that Palawan Beach was a big disappointment. I came here a couple of years back and it was much cleaner. Still, I like being in water, all by myself, feeling the sand swiftly slipping from underneath as waves come and go. The feel of deliciously warm water around me, the gentle breeze, the comforting heat of the sun, the sound of waves lashing; everything makes me sink deeper in my thoughts where nothing else exists. I started writing today's post thinking I would write a little about the beautiful and mesmerizing show called 'Songs of the Sea' with live cast, lasers, flame bursts, water jets and captivating music; but I ended up writing about the real songs of the sea; ones that you can only hear if you block out all other sounds once there. The ones that I heard today, that transport you to another world; beautiful, melancholic yet giving you hope at the same time. Songs of the Sea..ones I would always want to hear...

The Lost Soul in Singapore

It's almost 1:00 pm in Singapore. One would have expected someone like me to be out for retail therapy. As disappointing as it may sound to my close friends, I have been sitting at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf (my favourite haunt) since morning, with a half-finished glass of Iced Tea. It's my third day here and it surprises me how homesick I am. From the moment I set foot out of the door to leave for the airport; I have been missing my beautiful city Karachi more than ever. It's my second time in Singapore nad I remember being homesick the first time as well. Now as I sit here trying to force down the Iced Tea for breakfast which has lasted me till lunch time; I feel a wave of melancholy sweep over me. The memory of my city..sigh..with its smoke and dust filled streets, the aroma of delicious local food; the haleem, tikkas, halwa puri, biryani. It's surprising how much I miss these scrumptious dishes even though I never have them back home. I sit here staring outside, watching the passers-by on Orchard Road; with the rest of the family gone for a day of fun; I chose to make use of the wifi at CBTL which is close to my hotel. This is the real me..blocking out the sound around me, making myself believe that there is no one else around me except my solitude. I can do that. I can stay lost in my thoughts in a room full of people. I kept thinking what it is about Singapore that brings out this person in me more than any other place. All I can think of is the lack of character here. That's just my opinion, no one has to agree. I might not dress conservatively or live in a traditional house; but the real me is all about old world charm. I love what Karachi has to offer; a fusion. I like to be somewhere that has the best of both worlds; places with rich history, culture; places that are not just about skyscrapers and retail therapy. I want to go to places that have ruins from the past civilizations, beautiful cathedrals, mosques, grand old structures; places that make me wonder, think.. Places that transport me to another era; with old bridges and charming little areas to explore. I feel that I need to be able to relate to certain things wherever I go; here I can't seem to be able to relate to anything. That's just my perception; but it still amazes me as I'm known to be an adaptable person; yet I can't seem to be able to stop missing my beautiful Karachi when I'm here.. Not much to say here except that I hope I change my expression which these people have been witnessing since I arrived here, from dazed and lost to a more interested and attentive one...

Thought of the Day

You know how we tend to think sometimes that everything in the world is about us; that our problems are so much worse than anybody we know, how much pain we endure, what all we go through; and how we bask in our own courage, patting ourselves on the back for being an epitome of patience and endurance. What fools we mortals are!

My father taught me one thing more than anything else..'be grateful every single morning for being able to wake up and be alive and be there for people you love and to enjoy simple pleasures'. As much as I'd like to remember and practice that every single day of my life, I don't! I fail to be the grateful, humble person that Papa wanted to raise me as. I start to lose sight of who I really am, what I really am; but after every few ignorant, self-absorbed days, I give myself a reality check. I remind myself of my quest for the true meaning of life; I open my eyes to the harsh realities around me, not necessarily my own; I go back to finding beauty in the most unexpected places..a gorgeous red bug scurrying away on its tiny feet; the delicious colours of bell peppers, freshly washed, ready to be added to my sesame seed and noodle salad; a tiny feathered visitor with its glorious shades of turquoise, taking a dip in my little pond; a hawker girl's beautiful smile, confident that I'd smile back at her; an old rusty, intricately carved door; Ghalib's absorbing poetry; my son's honey-coloured hair, my daughter's melodious voice; the magical sound of my mom's bangles, my brother's heart of gold; my best friend's shrill but to me the most beautiful voice; another friend's crinkly-eyed smile; the twinkle in my mum-in-law's eyes when she sees me; the clouds, the trees, the grey concrete roads... 

And then the beautiful people surrounding me with their resilience and courage and will to make a difference; those with integrity and respect for others; and I can't help but find peace in the knowledge that to so many around me, life is less about themselves and more about others. And then there are those who go through so much pain, physical and emotional, but always come out victorious, grateful and content; regardless of what they have lost; and I feel small, very small..and I promise myself to find that strength in me to re-emerge everytime something pulls me down and to think of those less fortunate than me (not necessarily in terms of money); and I strive to be more like Papa and these wonderful people around me, grateful for their presence in my life...

Dewdrops, Sunshine, Rainbows and Unicorns...

"It is a gift we humans have, to hold on to beauty felt in a moment for a lifetime. Suddenly beauty comes to us, and we gratefully take it. We may not be able to recite time and place, but the memories can come flooding back, felt full force without warning or brought on purposefully by a triggering event. The smell of pinecones, the whiff of popcorn, the taste of a cold beer, or the bite of mint: a jumble of feelings, and then a sudden clarity of beauty or joy or sadness. Beauty is in the moments that endure, the moments that enliven us again and again."

                                                                 Nina Sankovitch,

                                                                 Tolstoy and the Purple Chair

My first memory of something beautiful was a glimpse of clear blue skies as I lay on the 'takhat' in the courtyard in my grandparents’ house. But I couldn’t touch it as much as I longed to. One thing I could touch though was the Jasmine bush covering one entire corner of the wall; with its fragrant, delicate white blossoms sprinkled all over like little snowflakes. I was a quiet child who used to spend hours in her own little world, exploring, dreaming, finding the most exquisite things to add to her treasures. Things that others seemed oblivious to, piqued my interest. I would spend hours watching sparrows perching daintily on the branches of the tree right outside the courtyard. I loved to gaze at the small patch of moss, admiring the gorgeous rich shade of green; and the frangipani tree..sigh..I still remember how I would trace the outline of the soft petals after collecting the blossoms scattered all over the courtyard. Dewdrops, sunshine, rainbows, unicorns...I had my own private paradise. Years passed by and I changed with time in many ways. But the little girl in me travelled through time with me, not letting go of my hand even in the darkest moments. She gave me strength, courage and the ability to find beauty in the most unexpected places. She never let me wander off... I continued to prefer shells and pebbles, colour and music, flowers and books, birds and butterflies...

And now for some beautiful things...

 My assortment of shells that I 'inherited' from a friend's grandmother ;) I love to play around with shells, candles and plants...

 Tilly, Jilly and Abigail, my Jim Shore cats. They are made in stone resin and Abigail is inspired by  vintage American quilt pattern..I never get tired of looking at them..Unfortunately I couldn't find Windsor who has a tulip pattern :(

 One of my larger shells that usually rests on some coffee table books

 December 2010, I painted some birds in watercolour cuz I always wanted to.. This was my way of rebelling

 I love my pharoah resting under a plant

 The gorgeous balconies with green glass panes make my heart flutter

If I had to choose one tree, it would be frangipani...sigh...

 I find pebbles sooo beautiful, I have them all over the house; in the bathroom with my buddha perched on it; in the pond in my balcony; with candles; in vases; simply everywhere...

 And I love beautiful moments like these :)

Missing Papa On Mother's Day :(

It's Mother's Day. I'm fortunate that my mother is still with me; though old and fragile, yet able to give me strength through her silent fortitude. I should be writing about her, thinking of her.. and I intend to spend time with her, cherishing every moment, yet on this day which should just be about her, I'm missing my father. But when do I not? Just four days back, May 10, it had been eleven years since he left us; quietly, sitting... And it has taken me more than a decade to be able to write about it. A friend recently told me he lost his mother one and a half years back. I didn't know him back then but I do know him now. I know that he must still be grieving deep down, although moving on with his life, yet a part of him not over what has happened. But then I can be wrong. I want to tell him and all those who were unfortunate to lose a parent recently, that it does NOT get better with time. You spend your entire life in mourning. You don't get over it! You just learn to manage the pain better but the memories come back and haunt you at the oddest of moments, when you are least expecting them. They just appear out of nowhere and go 'boo'! like a little child hiding behind the door. Many a times they tug at your heart, threatening to rip it apart and you feel that you just can't bear it anymore..but you manage somehow.

Someone very close to me asked me two days after my father's eleventh death anniversary "do you ever think of him" half-expecting me to say "sometimes". I don't know why he even asked me that. He has known me my entire life, he has been witness to my life as Papa's li'l princess; he has seen me in mourning for two years after he passed away; why would he even ask me that? I looked at him incredulously and blurted out "every time I cry, every time I'm happy, every time I need a shoulder or advice, which is often; every other morning, almost every night, every single time I pray, almost every time I write, every time I'm in pain, physical or emotional; every time I go to my mom's and his portrait stares back at me at the entrance asking me quietly "mera beta mujhe bhool tou nahi gaya"? (Has my baby forgotten me?); every time my brother goes through a rough patch or has achieved something; every time he's happy; every time my kids do something cute or funny and I think he would have been delighted; every time my kids do well academically and I think he would have sooo proud, he would have told everyone; every time I need something and can't have it; and every time I talk about what Papa and I liked the best..hot chapatis loaded with shavings of 'meway wala gurr' sent for him specially from Punjab, drizzled with homemade melted butter, YUM!!!

We had our disagreements but we mostly had such wonderful times together. He was not a conventional father; he didn't help us with our homework or take us to the park; he didn't yell at us when mad or carry us on his shoulders; he didn't keep a strict eye on what we were doing or ground us. He was a very conservative man in not some but most ways; yet I found it so easy to discuss things with him. He would keep us out of trouble if mom was upset with us.

We were generally very unconventional as a family also. We as children could stay up for as long as we wanted and get up late in the morning; not something I would recommend though.. I got my inclination towards literature from my parents who would sometimes stay up till four in the morning, discussing French and Russian literature and Urdu poetry. I remember my introduction to Mir and Dard and my profound love for Ghalib, very much approved by Papa; our late night discussions after we returned from 'mushairas'. Later, when I started taking a interest in Faiz, Sahir, Mustafa Zaidi, Amjad Islam Amjad, Perveen Shakir and the likes, Papa found a little friend in me. My introduction to Urdu prose was much later when I was around sixteen. I had already sunk in very deep in English literature and didn't think Urdu prose was for me; but Papa opened up new worlds for me, taking me on exciting journeys through the works of Qudratullah Shahab, Mumtaz Mufti and the travelogues and satire by Ibn-e-Insha. Such good days...

I want to be spending my days with my mom now, one of the biggest blessings in my life, with her mellow tones and warm eyes, silent demeanor and tiny petite frame; still puttering around the house; whose fastest technique to cheer me up when I'm feeling low is to have yummy things cooked for me and sending them in tiny containers (as if nobody else is supposed to have it but me).. oh how it makes me smile :)

I so want her to live forever, PLEASE GOD!!! And as for you Papa, you are in my heart, ALWAYS! I LOVE YOU BOTH!

My Two Lasts:

• The last book Papa gave me... 'Humsafar', memoirs of Hameeda Akhtar Hussain Raipuri; which was later translated as 'My fellow Traveller' and published by OUP.
• The last person to see him alive...ME...

Beauty Beyond The Obvious

Sometimes I wish I were a better photographer who could have captured the beauty of things in their true essence. I might not be adept with the camera but the images captured in my mind are innumerable and perfect. Here are some of the things I love; they might not be beautiful from the usual standards but I find them beautiful!

Chintoo, Mintoo, Buntoo, Bubbles and Champ (Bubbles was named after me ofcourse) Followed me around like I was their mama :)

Chandler, lonely after Monica's sad demise. I was in mourning for one whole week :(

House sparrows that I freed the next morning even though I was ecstatic when I got them.

Lilies, my favourite flowers. Couple them with baby's breath and I'll love you forever. These were for my mom though...

View from my kitchen window.. I'm in heaven every single day!

Skurdu..view from my cottage

 Across the lake...

 We would drag our chairs right by the lake and sit there the whole day singing to our heart's content :)

 My beautiful babies, and the children ;) Aren't my orchids simply beautiful?

 Mirdiff! I was awestruck when I saw the gorgeous food court..

 And the most beautiful thing is my baby's dirty filthy hand that he uses as a scribble pad :)

Enough for a lifetime...

It's 6:30 on a Sunday morning. The first thought that crosses my mind takes me by surprise. I find it strange that I'm even thinking about it. Shaking my head I try to shrug it off. I toss and turn for a few minutes then just give up and get out of bed. Once I open all the doors to let the somewhat cool morning breeze in, I just stand there gazing outside, breathing in the silent beauty and serenity. The only sounds at this hour are the gentle rustling of the leaves, some sparrows chirping away and an occasional cuckoo chiming in.

My mind drifts back to the first thought I had when I woke up and from there it started getting a little more adventurous and took me back to what caused it in the first place. I try to expunge the warmth engulfing me, too afraid to open the closed doors. The corners of my mouth twitch, wanting desperately to curve into a smile, but I press my lips harder into a firm, straight line; refusing to give in. Dear Lord, not now! I must distract myself.. I realize I'm famished; skipped dinner last night. Without thinking I put gloriously juicy chunks of watermelon in the blender and whizz away. Out comes some refreshing, cool watermelon juice. This should do it..I think to myself..this should take my mind off everything.. and then it hits me! Watermelon juice? Seriously? What was I thinking? I groan, but take the glass to the living room and slowly down it trying to clear my head..Turns out I'm not succeeding..I take my glass and my thoughts outside and sit quietly on the swing trying to divert my attention to the orchids peering at me from one corner. I look at them adoringly, remembering how long it took to nurture them, deep down smiling triumphantly that I have managed to get that bizarre thought out of my head. Oh what was I thinking? I do have a pea-sized brain! I try to convince myself that it's just a fleeting thought; it will pass, or will it? It hasn't left me for the past twelve hours; what makes me think it will leave me now? Perhaps I should do what I did yesterday... after all I managed to do it yesterday, I can do it today also, and the day after and the one after that for as long as I can..But was I not thinking of it yesterday while I involved myself in work, read ferociously, went out for lunch and dinner, watched a movie; using my age-old method 'I'm so busy, I don't have time to think'..It doesn't help. It didn't help yesterday, it won't help today or in the days to come; so for once I let the egoistic, arrogant, stubborn me give in. I just sink in the wonderfully delicious thoughts and try to overlook the sadness that come with them. I reminiscence, I dream, and the more I do, the sadder I feel; but I stop fighting it. If it's grief, pain and sadness that comes with it, I'll take it... because sometimes just a moment is enough for a lifetime...I'll cherish mine...

Buried Dreams...

We humans are a strange breed. We tend to fill our lives with things that don't matter and continue to look away when we come across something that might actually be meaningful. The fears, apprehensions, our own limitations, keep us from reaching forth and grasping the moment. But sometimes we stumble upon something that we can't let go of; knowing it might be the one chance of doing something that might actually satisfy the wandering soul within. What should one do then? Put everything aside and take it on or close our eyes and walk away?
     I have an old, dusty trunk somewhere; the wood has lost the lustre it once had and gives out this musty smell when you go near it. I have hidden it in a deep, dark corner where nobody would be able to find it. Years ago, I folded my dreams, aspirations, desires of making a difference, of love and a part of myself, all in a bundle and hid it in the trunk. I had almost forgotten what all it holds till someone saw it in my eyes.. yes! the key to that trunk was in my eyes and my heart and my mind. It was quite a maze to go through to be able find it. As much as I wanted to prevent it from happening, it still did. The trunk has been found, the dust blown away, the bundle painstakingly untied and freed from the strings of caution and apprehensions and efforts being put in to restore and preserve its contents. I haven't given up; I'm still trying to lock everything back in the trunk, away from glaring eyes and probing minds but I have a feeling that I might not succeed this time because as far as persistence is concerned, I might have met my match. I just might go ahead and actually do something about things I always cared about. I just might manage to make a difference...
 

Game Over!

Tangled, entwined, bizarre, merciless... I think about life and these are the first four words that come to my mind. Yet we hold our lives so dear. We spend our entire lives fighting our demons, putting on facades and making some sense out of the crazy mess that we live in. Some of us glide through this journey, some walk through it; others crawl helplessly trying to catch up till time's up and then...GAME OVER! Is it just me or are others also creeped out by these two words? And once game's over, then what? Are we free of all this? No! The demons, the facades, and our mess are all buried with us. The world might be free of that one man and everything that comes with him but he will never be able to free himself of the craziness surrounding him and within. It makes me wonder.. what is better then? Life or death? Above the ground or below the ground? Inhumanity or lifelessness? The answer comes from within... I'm still looking for mine...

The Family of Magicians

We are a family of magicians. What? You don't believe it? I have proof! Actually, it's just the men in the family that are magicians; us womenfolk are happy being the spectators. It all started when my husband was ten; and no, we were not married back then; that would be creepy. So he went to some mela (fair) and stumbled upon this book on magic tricks. I don't know what possessed him that he actually went ahead and bought it. That's when it all started. His intrigue with magic grew and when we got married, he found his biggest fan in me. I know for a fact and he admits it too, that any other woman would have started finding it irritating after a while but not me. Every time he comes into the kitchen and pulls my arm, dragging me away from my cooking or when he figures out a new trick and starts looking for me around the house; my heart fills with this unexplainable tenderness and love for him. I feel that there's a little boy inside him and the way he looks at me expectantly after performing his tricks, taking a childish delight in my awe-stricken face and my insistence to repeat the trick for me; well, it just makes my heart melt. And he's good, he really really is...

As if one magician was not enough, my ten year old also has this obsessive fascination with magic. He got it from his father, it's in his genes, he can't help it. At ten, he's already making money doing magic shows for the family. With time he's getting richer and we are getting poorer as we are the poor spectators who are being forced into buying tickets for the shows. Now he's insisting he wants to go to his grandma's to perform; which basically means that my poor mother and brother are going to be ripped off. Here are a few pics from yesterday's magic show and yes, lighting was poor but the magician just wouldn't let me put on the lights or open the blinds.

The lil magician with his card tricks..see how he makes a card rise magically ;)

Preparing to cut the string which he claims will stay intact even after that

The look on the magician's face when a trick goes wrong

The triumphant look after the coin disappears from the jar

Yes, this was there at the entrance and by poor I'm sure he meant himself

The menu card was hilarious..The free food had basically been stolen from my snack drawer and notice the last line that says 'not free'; you could order from mcdonald's and pay for it yourself and for the magician who wanted a happy meal...


Now where would you get entertainment like this?

He Truly Gets Me

What do you say to a man who can tell within a second that there is something troubling you; who while going somewhere, stops the car when he sees you standing in the balcony as you always do to see him off, but he knows something is clouding your mind. And when he texts you right after 'I want to see you smiling always because I love you'.. How do you respond when after you write 'my heart starts sinking each time you go', he writes 'here's a helium balloon to tie to your heart and it says I love you'..

How are you supposed to feel when he tells you that nobody and nothing means to him as much as you do..and when he says if he were to leave everything to be with you he would, and then he does..sigh..

When he knows that nothing gives you more pleasure than spending time with him and he wants the same..when he pops in the door and says 'hey let's play golf or Dance Central on kinect, I know you wanna' and winks; and you jump up because you both love kinect..when he says 'come I'll beat you in Soul Calibre' and you spend hours playing on the xbox; and even though you are sooo competitive, you don't mind losing to him in one of your favourite games..when you both read the same book together on ipad and stop midway to discuss and analyse it, and check its reviews and criticism online..how you love it when he spends so much time downloading books for you. When you both watch one movie after another snuggling to each other on the couch and you know these moments are yours, just yours..when he wants to play scrabble with you for hours... And when he wants to buy something for the house but doesn't, and says 'I know it would drive you and your symmetrical mind crazy'.. How are you supposed to control your wildly beating heart when he tells you that he would never be able to find this kind of compatibility and love with anyone else and that he would be lost without you..

And when he gets you your favourite flowers lilies and chrysanthemums even though he doesn't even know their names; but he knows what they look like :) When he travels and calls you several times to keep asking you 'shall I get you this, shall I get you that?' and then goes berserk buying things for you..and that time when he went crazy looking for a gold-dipped orchid for you from Risis in Singapore.. when he knows you're always willing to have mix chaat and so is he; when he tells you you're beautiful and he loves you and if you were to leave ever, he would never be able to love like this again..

What do you do when you don't want to believe all of this, yet you do because he's too proud a man to be saying all this to any woman unless he truly loves her, and you know that..

What CAN you do to this man except love him...

This One's For You Z...

If I start thinking of what to write about my baby brother, who does not like being called that btw, the first thing that pops in my head is 'tardy' and that's not going to go down well with him. My brother is a good man (isn't that what any sister is supposed to say, I mean I'm sure Ted Bundy's sister would also have said that); but we are not talking about his good qualities only. I challenged myself (like, two seconds ago, because I had nothing better to do and because I'm on some very strong medication which has been making my mind a whirlwind lately) to write stuff about him without actually thinking; which believe you me, is an extremely difficult task. See, I'm a planner and a list gal; I like everything, including my thoughts, to be organised; I have a master list, an immediate action list, a to-do list, a grocery list, a lovey-dovey things to say to my husband list, a places to go list, a books-to-read list, a books-I-have-already-read list, a nasty-things-to-say-to-people-I-don't-like list, a blog- idea list AND this post is NOT supposed to be about me remember? Why do people love to talk about themselves so much? It's annoying, seriously...

Ok, here goes...

Ten Facts About My Brother

• He's tardy (ask anyone).
• He finds it annoying that I'm obsessively punctual (not that I care what he thinks).
• He has a shoe fetish even more than me, if that is even possible (I mean seriously, what guy has eighty pairs of shoes AFTER downsizing).
• When he was living in London, nobody would believe he was a Pakistani; he looks Lebanese or Jordanian or something; some people even thought he was Spanish; people are crazy I tell ya.
• He has an elephant's memory.
• he has developed an insane amount of love for 'Party' biscuits.
• He and I both love Al Pacino and The Godfather Trilogy with a passion.
• He has a great aesthetic sense.
• He wakes up sometimes (only a few people would get this one).
• He loves me :)