The Overrated New Year, Every Year

Another new year, promises to self that will not be kept, resolutions that will not be fulfilled, diet plans that will not be followed, and regimes that will cease with the end of the first week. Year after year, people all across the world unite at some strange level when it comes to New Year. Regardless of which continent, country or religion they might belong to, they take vows to lead better, healthier, more honest, organized, meaningful lives. What's more, they even believe that they will be able to get past the first month continuing on with all the resolutions. At the risk of receiving a boatload of criticism for this particular post, I would like to defy convention this year! I would go against the usual norm and resist making any resolutions; no promises to myself to workout more, be happier, work towards achieving my goals with more vigour this year, be a better mom, better daughter, sister, friend, a better person. No more promises to mark all 101 things off my master checklist, no more silent vows to not let fears and inhibitions hold me back, or to come off as a pillar of strength. 

And you know why? Because I'm just so happy to have been alive and healthy in 2013 and all the years before that. I'm happy to have been able to pull through 2013 and come out as a victor. I'm content with what I have, my children, my family and friends, my absolutely wonderful, challenging, motivating work, and for all the beautiful moments that 2013 was witness to, the smiles, the laughter, the experiences. And hopefully I will wake up tomorrow to see the sunrise of another New Year and all that it will bring with it. Yes, I confess to a few weak moments today which will probably linger on tonight; moments that are laced with an ounce of sadness, a pinch of disappointment, and even a little loneliness that creeps in. But I'll let you in a little secret; all of that is overshadowed by hope, countless blessings and love. After a long, tiring yet satisfying day at work, when I return home and my 12-year old son rushes to get me a glass of water before I have even entered my room, and when he heats the food for me so that I can have dinner right away, I feel surrounded by love that nothing else can measure up to. When my daughter brings me a throw so that I can stay warm while watching a movie with them both, and they both cuddle up with me, I feel all my sorrows wash away. When I am told with tenderness that my tears are precious and the only time I should let them flow is when my daughter gets married and leaves home, I feel cherished. When my mom, my dear mom sends tiny boxes of daal sabzi well aware that I crave it and might not get the time to cook something that I like, instead preparing meals that the children prefer, I pray for her to live a long healthy life for who else would care for me the way she does. The birds outside, the sunshine, the tangy flavourful oranges in the fruit bowl, the white drapes in my room, the sound of the wind, the lush green trees; I'm surrounded with beauty that helps the pain subside. I try not to think of all the hurt and tears and stay thankful for the strength that was bestowed upon me. I don't want to start afresh this New Year. I have already started afresh! The mixed emotions, the sadness, a few occasional complaints are nothing but a mere proof of the fact that I am after all only human. So defying all norms, I conclude by saying that I have absolutely no resolutions this year; I will take each day as it comes as I have been doing for the past year and a half and will bask in the smug satisfaction of the liberating feeling that it brings with it.  

And miles to go before I sleep...

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
                                     
                                          - Robert Frost

I strive to lead a simple life. Could it be time that has transformed me? Fewer belongings, simpler meals and small joys. Yet these are the parts of my life that I can control. What about the endless twists and turns, intricacies, complexities? And the hurdles and disappointments?
It is a long journey, this life. And it is without a doubt ruthless and merciless. I take the time out to smell the flowers, hear the birds chirping, form different shapes of the clouds in my head when I gaze at the sky. I find the time for a few quiet moments every day, and to play with dust motes that seem to continue their steady pace in the light streaming through the window. I manage to pen my thoughts sometimes, but so many more create a havoc in my mind, unable to find an outlet. And they are growing in numbers, multiplying at an unimaginable rate, so many words just trapped inside. So much that the poor heart has endured and continues to quietly absorb. So many dark thoughts, whirling, twirling, so mystical like the derwaishes. A constant tussle between happiness and dissatisfaction. Betrayals, disappointments, shortcomings, now transformed into demons, their giant clutches reaching for me, their snarling faces keeping me awake night after night.
The stubborn streak in me forces me to move forward relentlessly, keeping a brave front; but the tentacles of fate continue to try and slow me down. I paint on a mask, an eerie picture of a smile, and must keep this facade. I want to stop, take a breather, and feel the blissful brush of love and endless moments of happiness. I sometimes find it in unexpected places, tempted to stop for a while, bask in it; but the obligations keep me from doing so. The promises that I made, I must keep them. I must wait for the few moments of joy that might or might not come my way. I must wait. I wish I could have them right now, just the ones I truly want, without any conditions. As much as I feel tired and wish for the end, the fear that the wish might actually come true anytime soon and the end is near, remains. I feel the need to slow down and rest....
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

When Weaknesses become Strengths!

Blocking out sounds, voices and visions; snubbing feelings, desires, fears and inhibitions. Is this truly what makes one strong? But what do you do when everyone expects you to be strong to the extent of almost being heartless? What do you do when you are not allowed to break down or burn out? What do you do when it is you who just would not allow yourself to give in or give up? These are questions that have remained unanswered for a long time; or have I blocked the answers out too?
Life brings with it so many 'ifs' and 'buts' and 'don'ts', making the journey even more precarious than it is supposed to be. It was never supposed to be so difficult. It was never intended so. And if we take a moment out to look around, not necessarily at those less blessed than us as is the saying, "when you begin to feel ungrateful, think of those less fortunate than yourself"; but just at the little joys of life that WE are blessed with, the hurtful questions start to fizzle out.
C'est la vie! That's Life! Or did I start writing this blog because I wanted to say 'That's life for ME'? Good or bad, joyous or depressing, difficult or blissful; yes, that's life for me.
214 words, and I feel better already. What makes me feel blessed you ask? For starters, just the fact that I am alive (and kicking) is more than enough for me. I am able to wake up each morning to witness the sunrise, and to feel the warmth of  a cuddle and a cherubic smile of my son, to start my day with the melodious voice of a girl who was almost like a blob at birth. I wake up to the loud chirping of the parakeets in the house and the cooing of the cuckoo outside. The cool breeze every morning that caresses my skin, the pleasure I get out of making breakfast in a clean, gleaming kitchen, often half an hour of quiet time before the morning rush begins, the soothing silence, the day ahead, the unsaid words, the drive, the determination; what more can one want out of a day? And then friends, my absolutely wonderful friends! The early morning message from one of my best friends everyday, the strong support of my other best friend and her faith in me that I will not let anything hamper my journey, the blind faith that my closest friend and colleague has in me and his belief that nothing can dampen my spirits for long, the fact that I have so many best friends, not close friends but BEST friends, as childish as it may sound.
My mind that was in whirlwind, is still a little blurry, but it is at peace. My life may not be perfect but I have plenty of perfect moments. I might not be able to tackle all the problems in the best possible manner but I have His support and I will always have it no matter what. I don't really remember what my dreams were like but I do know that what I am trying to achieve will fulfill dreams of many others. Right at this moment I feel I have everything - my children, my family, my friends, and a clear path. And I have God!

Maut ka aik din muayyan hai, neend kyon raat bhar nahi aati...

The silent night once again is host to demonic shadows lurking, drawing closer. Numbness, the silence of death prevails. Blurred visions of those who once were, but are now part of dust, prance around. Why come back to haunt if they once loved me? A little hard to decipher the significance of Nana's grey, lifeless eyes staring at me from under the veil of night. Even more the ghosts of the ones who were once part of my life. Sleep is rare, and when it does spread its kind, blissful wings, the calm is abruptly shattered by nightmares; nightmares laced with fears and demons. And then that familiar face again! What good is it now?
Our desires change so rapidly as the journey called life goes on. There might have been so many at one time but now there is just one. Time! All I want is time! Enough of it, just enough of it!
And then tomorrow! If I do wake up, another beautiful morning! What a blessing to be woken up by sunlight streaming through the white drapes. What a melodious sound the little birds outside make, like music to the ears. Out of every single minute that God grants us during the twenty four hours, mornings are the biggest miracle! To be able to wake up, knowing you will be greeted by the cherub-like faces of your children, to be able to enjoy the morning breeze, to know that it's the start of another day, what more can one possibly want? Time! Yes, more time! Muhlut!Some words are just more meaningful in Urdu. Yes that is what would be the real miracle. Exactly as much time as I want. Not more and definitely not less. There is so much to be done, some to take care of, so much to see.
I close my eyes and just three faces appear, the two children and he, who will be, or perhaps not. But there is a name to mark the yet-to-be existence. There will always be that name.
It's strange how quickly the Book of Life approaches its soon-to-be end. So many chapters, many never read carefully while it was still possible. And just a few chapters left. The desire to write what the children will one day read with love and immense pride is the drive. The desire to outlive the fears and demons right behind. And that to make a few lives just a little better, just a little if not more.
The end of another day with the prayer of being able to see another morning, and another and many more such mornings.....

Of Fiction and Gardens

The desire to be able to write fiction lingers on somewhere in a corner of my mind. The fact that I'm more of a non-fiction writer with occasional glib one-liners is something I am not willing to accept just yet. My sorry sporadic attempts to still try my hand at fiction writing is often evident from certain blog posts on C'est la vie where I continue to inflict pain upon my readers as much as I love them. Every time I finish writing any such piece, it turns out to be a dark, depressing one which makes one wonder whether it was just a fragment of the writer's imagination or a reflection of her life. I choose to leave this question unanswered, more out of mischief than to create intrigue. I try to figure out what is it that inspires my posts (read incomplete fiction pieces) and what is it that gives them such a sullen, dark quality. All I can come up with is that it could be an overdose of Stephen King, Clive Barker and Dean R. Koontz during my growing years. A simpler and more realistic answer would be that I'm incapable of writing a decent narrative and my imaginary tales will always be laced with fragments of my nightmares which I do have frequently, bits and pieces of horror/thriller novels that I read at an age when I shouldn't have and my obsession with all psychopath thrillers. I realize that this confession is not coming out very well nor is it a good idea to even confess it on the cyber world where all the predators might be 'lurking in the shadows'. Somehow, like everything else, this fear too has failed to stop me from doing so continually. 

In sharp contrast to what I wrote here, I do want to share one of my favourite things to do, yet another post which has been due for the past week. Sometimes when I leave from work on time and I don't have too many errands to run on my way back, I like to frequent the local nurseries, a term used here for Garden Centres. A very long time back my claim to fame was killing plants, till out of sheer stubbornness, just the sort that I show in everything else, I developed a 'green thumb' one fine day. I write one fine day only because it has a nice ring to it. Truth is it took a lot of time, dedication and hard work, not to forget my friend Pinky's mentoring and my other friend Google's prompt solutions for all problems.   

As a result, today I'm quite the avid gardener, now known for being able to revive dying plants and for creating a green niche in every spot possible. At times, early morning when I'm watering my indoor plants before leaving for work, I look at their growing numbers and foresee children calling me the crazy plant lady one day. Coming back to what the 'crazy plant lady' is often upto in the evenings, not only do I go plant hunting, I also take countless photos while doing so. The guys over there are quite used to my strange antics, so no worries there. Once there, it's like another world - calm, serene and oh so beautiful! One tends to forget the day-to-day problems and just drifts towards this oasis of calm. Scorching heat is what I often face on most of my expeditions, however, the last few days have been pleasant - cloudy, with a gentle breeze giving out full signals of rain to come very soon, which of course deserves another blog post.  

The Ocean Mall peers through the trees and the weather is absolutely gorgeous!

It would be unfair not to share the absolutely amazing experience that I had the two times I went plant shopping last week. And to think the quest started with trying to get a few Dracaena Reflexa or more popularly known as Song of India (although local nursery wallas insist on calling it Song of Thai). I also had been longing to get my hands on a Silversand plant. The fact that I rubbed the leaves too hard in order to smell the fragrant plant and had an allergic reaction as a  result is another story, the details of which are definitely NOT worth sharing. 

I would suggest however, that if time permits, do take out a few minutes from your schedule and just take a stroll where these plants await with all their lushness and beauty. No house is too small for a gentle doze of greenery. You don't have to be a knowledgeable gardener to be able to enjoy them and keep them alive. There are plenty of plants that are hardy and very low maintenance - cacti, succulents, papyrus (umbrella plant) and many more. I of course do not claim to be the authority on horticulture, for that my dear readers, there's always good ol' Pasha, my friend! But well, we can all try even if we are not celebrity gardeners or have acres of land just for our green patch. Container gardening rocks too!

And now for some eye candy!

The few plants I bought which were quite enough to appease my voracious appetite for this month despite the lack of space. Silversand, Song of India, a Croton variety popularly known as Limo Croton and my Goosefoot plant (Singonium) peering through 

Rows of delight

The orange trumpets that we used to wear on our fingers as little girls and pretended we were witches :) Then we grew older and didn't have to pretend anymore ;)

The latest addition to the family

It was right over our heads and I found it beautiful. What's anyone gonna do about that?

My dream pathway with my favourite Tekoma plant with its lovely trumpet shaped orange blossoms

The End is Near...

I reach out...

But there's nothing there!

I look around but there's just this dark, brooding void enclosing around me. Shadows are lurking in the corners, queer, gigantic spheres of terror. The familiar faces are there no more. The promises that were yet to be made, broken already. The acts of love, the silent comforting embraces, are nothing but unfulfilled dreams now. How strange that one hears what one hears, one feels what one feels, one bears what one bears, yet picking up the pieces and moving on is the only choice one has. And choices! Ah! What choices we make! And what outcomes they have. 

But we need not worry. There is always one beautiful element in life that is left there by choice. And perhaps some beautiful memories too. And hope! Still hope! Of good days to come! Of love and new memories!  But when those we turn to for comfort turn their backs, you cringe, you cry, you hurt inside with such intensity that at that particular moment you feel nothing but that pain, twisting and turning sadistically inside you like a sharp, cruel dagger; yet you get up the next morning and do what you have to do. The disappointments multiply and you continue to live but deep within, you long for the end. What is it that would bring the end closer, nearer? What would make the test easier? I try and find the answer within....

Naya Purana Jaisa bhi, Sirf Hamara Pakistan!

I was never raised to vote. I was never encouraged to vote. I was never motivated to vote.

Once I started thinking for myself, and I must confess that it was very late in my life that it was possible to do so, I thought to myself, "Why stand in long queues in scorching heat and elect the same set of corrupt and incompetent people". All that was till we weren't given an option. The option to choose and elect someone different, someone who might or might not be able to meet our expectations or really try to turn things around, but nevertheless different! It was worth a shot. And then ofcourse the fact that kept pinching me that what sort of a Pakistani am I if I am not willing to go out there and do my bit. It's not just my right to vote, it is also my duty to vote. To sit at home and complain about the system being corrupt is not the solution. To go out there and vote for a change IS! 

It was a somewhat eventful day; one that taught me many things about myself and people in general, and one that brought a unique experience with it. I work for Karachi. I work for my people in my own capacity. I work to preserve and restore our cultural and architectural heritage from the platform of a Social Entrepreneurship and Equity Development company - SEED. The heritage preservation initiative 'Reimagining Karachi' was initiated by Faraz Khan, CEO SEED. Working on this project gave me a new perspective. It encouraged me to explore those parts of Karachi that we don't frequent. Faraz's passion for his country, city and people motivated me to get out of my shell, live the tough life, walk on foot, go to densely populated areas of the city, and it brought a revolutionary change in me. Heat didn't matter, congested roads, traffic, smoke from the vehicles, unkempt buildings; nothing mattered anymore. What mattered was the story behind all of these stone structures. What mattered was the welfare of the people, the progress of the project, dreams that were to be fulfilled, a better Karachi, a better Pakistan. 

May 11 started for me quite early. Unfortunately the day began with me spraining my ankle while working in my balcony garden. But the pain and the slight limp did not dampen my spirits. I chose to still go and vote. I stood in a long queue for four hours surrounded by a huge crowd because it was my duty to vote. I did not complain or feel infuriated by women pushing me or elbows jabbing me or constant chatter. You know why? Because out there I saw elderly men and women waiting to vote. I witnessed young girls dressed in tees and skinny jeans handing chilled bottled water to complete strangers out of goodwill. I was amazed by a really old, frail and completely hunched lady still coming to vote. My eyes were delighted at the sight of enthusiasm reflected in elderly people on wheel chairs trying to be part of the change, by young mothers with babies in their arms acknowledging that every vote counts, by young boys and girls volunteering to help those who did not have their serial numbers, by the number of people present. And also because I have no right to be striving to save the architecture and heritage of my city and country if I do not want to cast a vote. I'm still young and energetic; just a sprained ankle and my discomfort in large crowds is no excuse when people had come all the way from North Nazimabad to vote and when elderly women who could barely walk were there so full of excitement and patriotism. 

I chose to vote because this is my Pakistan, our Pakistan! 

Naya Purana Jaisa bhi, Hamara Pakistan! Sirf Hamara Pakistan. 

Hum Sindhi nahi, Punjabi nahi, Pathan nahi, Baloch nahi, Mohajir nahi! 

Hum se milye, hum sirf Pakistani hain!