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...
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..
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).
My old dentist was into heavy bikes. He was an aging, heavy-set man and for the life of me I couldn't picture him sitting on a heavy bike. I know I'm mean :) Seriously, this guy was obsessed with them but heavy bikes just didn't match his personality, in my opinion at least. Every time he would be working on my teeth, he would be talking on the phone, often making deals or bragging about the newly acquired pieces. Even during my root canal, he was finalizing a deal. He didn't seem to care much about my fear of being in the dentist's chair or my pain. Needless to say, I hated him! I hated the entire dentist clan; so much so that I refused to go to a very close friend who's supposed to be a very good dentist just so I wouldn't start hating him too.
Enter my new dentist!
Now this guy is a car freak from what I've heard from mutual friends and the first time I went to him I was shaking and trembling with fear. I was dead sure he would turn out to be worse than the old one. I mean, think about it, this guy was much younger so I really expected zero sympathy out of him. I thought he would be one of those rushed, money minting young dentists that I had come across while I was looking for the 'right' dentist. So I go to him and he starts shuffling through his cds to look for the 'right' kind of music. I groaned, thinking 'O God! He will turn out to be the worst one!' Seriously, car freak AND a music freak! God help me!
So I was rude to him; well, just a little...*smiling sheepishly*. But I tell you, life is full of such surprises and I can be such a prudent and prejudiced b****. Now I can be totally wrong (although I never am) but he seems to thrive on music, and it definitely does not affect his work; if anything, it probably helps him work even better. He eased me very gently into the dentist's chair and worked meticulessly on my teeth. He would stop everytime I would flinch or scowl (which is an old habit by the way; scowling, not flinching), or even if he felt I was turning pale; sometimes out of fear and sometimes because of lack of food. And no, I'm not some homeless person; we DO have money and we CAN buy food. I just choose not to eat it. The fact that after seven years I'm still going to this guy says a lot about my 'new dentist'.
Recently he suggested I listen to this one particular song, which is not me but as he predicted, it kinda grows on you. I'm also sharing a link where Sonu Nigam's four year old son has sung it. The kid is adorable and incredibly talented, just like his cute dad :)
Have you ever seen a rag doll? What happens when you twist and turn its arms? What happens when you drag it everywhere you go or when you dump it when you no longer feel like playing with it? It can be a trusty, silent companion for as long as you want it to be; you trample it, you tread on it, you manhandle it and mistreat it; and when you need something to snuggle into, you find that comfort in it. But what happens when you have abused it enough and grab it by its shoulders and fling it across the room and its weightless, helpless body is thrown mercilessly on the floor? Would anybody care where it hit its head, where it bruised its body or where it scarred its soul? What happens then? NOTHING! Nothing happens... It just smiles back at you the way it always used to; the way it always will.. The plastic, idiotic, freaky smile...Why can't anyone see what's hidden behind the veil, behind the smile? I can... I did... Which is why I saved her six days back...
Friday, December 16, I BURNT the rag doll...
She walked silently to the closet and brought out a small, battered old trunk. As she placed it in front of her, she contemplated just giving it to the 'ruddiwala' without opening it. But as she sat in front of it, her legs folded beneath her, staring silently in the space; she changed her mind. The time had come for her to open it. She had been keeping it safe, hidden away, all these years; blocking it completely from her mind. It was an art she had somewhat mastered over the last few years. She could block everything...a young girl in her teens crouching behind the couch, trembling, trying not to pay attention to the loud voices outside, waiting desperately for her father to come home and listen to her; he would believe her; he knew she always told the truth. She had blocked the dark, gloomy night when she was running towards the main road, crying hysterically, looking for her mother; and the day the cruel hands of death wrapped around her father and engulfed his entire existence. She had blocked all that and more... like the day she felt so helpless and alone and humiliated that she turned towards the one being who would listen to her someday, when she fell on her knees and bowed in front of that supreme being and kept telling herself 'Allah hai, Allah hai' (God exists). She had blocked all that, yet a part of her remembered that there were two trunks hidden away; one in her closet and one in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind. It was time...
She blew the thin film of dust from the surface of the trunk and opened it slowly. The musty smell of wood filled the air as she started taking out the contents one by one...some old photographs of people she loved but were there no more; some old school reports and grade sheets, nothing but straight As, they made her smile; a minty green shalwar kameez, her father's; a letter from her mamoo (maternal uncle) written in 1977 when he was in Dhaka; another letter from her older mamoo written from Riyadh, she was the apple of their eyes, why wouldn't they write to her? So what if she was so young that she could barely read. And then, she saw them; lying in the bottom of the trunk, as if they didn't want to be taken out, gazing silently at her lifeless eyes. It was almost as if they didn't recognize her; she was not the same girl who had put them lovingly in the trunk. She had turned into a woman with many facades; no one seemed to know who she really was; whoever she was with, she would be what they wanted her to be. Her eyes had the look of a warrior who had lost the battle but was still not willing to admit defeat.. She looked at them with cold eyes, went through the words and realized how empty they sounded now. It was then that she decided...she started taking them out one by one and tearing them ruthlessly until they were lying in front of her in an untidy heap. Those words of love meant nothing to her anymore.. She didn't need them, she didn't need them anymore...
I'm a good mother. Everybody tells me that... my family, my friends, acquaintances; everyone! They keep praising me for the way I have raised my kids; how well-behaved they are, how smart, how well they do at school and how I break my back trying to bring out their creative talents. And believe me, all this others tell me so I'm not really blowing my own trumpet. But we all know that nothing is perfect (as much as I'd want it to be), and neither am I :(
I keep losing my kids, literally. One kid I lost twice *hangs her head in shame*. And the worst part is that I always lose them when I'm on a holiday. Sometimes I take holidays on my own, just me and the kids. And even when all four of us travel together, if I go out for a bit on my own, I usually take the kids with me, unless I'm taking a late night trip to a nearby mall or a local market, which is when my husband kindly babysits them. And they are good kids I tell you; it's not as if they would disobey me or anything so the story or rather the stories of me losing them are quite funny. In my defence, all three times it happened because my kids wandered off; well actually twice my little one wandered off and my daughter just lost her way.
About five years ago I took a trip to Malaysia for the first time. I stayed with friends and had a ball of a time till the day we went to Sunway Lagoon. It was great fun. We decided to check out the mall later in the evening, which is where it happened. I wanted to check out some shops with my friend so I sent my five year old for a ride on these huge stuffed animals. I told the man in charge to keep my lil boy with him once he had taken two rounds and I'll come and get him in fifteen minutes. I explained my son also that mama will be back in no time and he was not to go anywhere and wait for me. I went off on the same floor with my daughter,my friend and her daughter who's my own daughter's age. I can swear that I came back within fifteen minutes if not before that. He was nowhere to be found. He was not on the over-sized hot pink feminine looking lion that I had put him on for a ride; he was not with the 'uncle' he was supposed to be standing with while he waited for mama; he was just nowhere in sight. I asked every man nearby if he had seen a five-year old but they shook their heads. The man in charge should NOT have been put in charge of my lil boy. My bad! I mean he was already in charge of soo many stuffed animal rides that looked as if they were going for a gender change. I looked everywhere, I didn't even have his picture on me to show anyone in case I needed to go to the authorities. We split in two teams, my daughter and I in one. It was the scariest thing I had ever experienced; I started imagining all sorts of awful things as I went through every shop and every stall right in the middle of the mall. My daughter and I both started crying uncontrollably. We just didn't now what to do. What had I done? I had lost my baby. Just then I saw a flash of orange about twenty thirty feet away. I knew then. It was him. I rushed to catch that little orange thing as fast as I could. There he was, roaming around looking for mama, wearing the bright orange button-down shirt with crabs all over it that he insisted on buying two days back and I had to give in, as much as I hated it and disagreed with my son's fashion sense; because my five-year old wouldn't let go of it. I hugged him, squashed him and showered him with kisses till he secretly started wishing he hadn't been found by his weirdo of a mother. And I still have that bright orange shirt in my keepsake box to remind me how it saved both me and my son...
Please check tomorrow fr the second part of this post. After all I did lose him twice, not to mention my daughter whom I lost as well; but only once, I promise.
