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