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...