Asking For The Moon

As a child I remember sitting and watching my parents playing scrabble. The winner didn’t matter much to me, but the loser always seemed to awaken my loyalty and faith. The similar situation would arise in the game of carom. The friendly teasing somehow always built up my courage to side with the defender or evident loser. I knew that my vote did not have the power to turn tables but would at least prove comforting and create an air of solidarity in loss.

In school and college, I would hold faith in the most utterly hopeless situations and believed that if I could envision a victory, despite all odds, there was a possibility that it could come through. The Cricket World Cup Semi-Final in 1992 and many such tournaments where the verdict was almost in, the heart kept on believing in the inevitable to happen. The Miandad sixer at the Sharjah Stadium had all of us in frenzy for a really long time. The true believers were always in a minority whilst the majority were always run by facts and figures and what the score board read.

The same pattern of thought continued when I started teaching. Of all the children in my class, the one with a lack of faith, poor self-esteem or a turbulent childhood always came to become my area of focus and attention. It was a challenge to bring about some change in the relatively accepted situation. I found it hard to accept facts and set arguments on the reality of the situation. It was a gruelling process to encounter some truths and make others aware of certain possibilities.

Today, when I am driving the car with my husband and sons, there is typical teasing about women and their driving skills! And even though I understand their unintentional mocking, it’s infuriating to be a target or a joke. That’s when I really miss having a daughter to stand up to their nonsensical logic with me.

About two years ago, my children were watching a cricket match between Australia and Pakistan. We were in Lahore and the room was filled with adults and children. My younger son was just 5. He stood up and said, “I hope Australia wins!” My dear child did not realize that sitting in Pakistan and hoping for the Australians to win would instigate the entire room! The children started with their cruel comments, “You are from Pakistan or Australia?”, “Pakistan will destroy your team!” His grandfather asked him, “Why do you want Australia to win?” He answered very calmly, “Because they have better players!” I was informed by my father-in-law that he had stood up to his statement and had fought all the people in the room challenging their faith with logic and reason. Australia won the match and while everyone sat down to blame the Pakistani players for their poor performance, he enjoyed the victory that according to him was well deserved!

People are run by their loyalties and beliefs. Some are inherited while some come through interaction with life. The fiercely emotional, fight for them and some desire to spread them beyond their horizons. They are shaken when met with a conflicting view. They then resort to numbers. A majority wins them the battle, but in case of being a minority, it corners them to either join the bigger number or stop propagating their views. My doubts have always emerged from the understanding that my thoughts or beliefs are only limited to my horizon or exposure to life. Does that mean that there is no other belief or life beyond my familiar surroundings? Does that give me the right to reject or ridicule any differences I might encounter? Faith, views and beliefs need space and accommodation.

The most difficult task in all of the above situations is really being a ‘minority’. When everybody is rejoicing in the name of the apparent winner, the most familiar name or the most convenient path to follow, you stand up to speak your mind. There is immediate reaction which ridicules your blind faith, idealistic mind and foolish heart.

In every generation, we have a teacher who speaks of wisdom that comes through following the truth. The truth hear by is met with the forces of good and evil who divide the human race into majority and minority. As much as I would like to believe the truth to lie in a majority, it might not be the desired answer to my question. Many times, a minority of thought may hold the answers to the much sought after solutions to our existence.

Today, we see activists fighting for the rights of minorities around the globe. Racial and ethnic, gender, age and religious discrimination is common. We watch the news and wonder how these small numbers are going to be able to bring about a change. 

I, for one, always cast my vote with the task labelled as “unachievable”. Even if my oath does not hold the power to turn tables, I would like to raise my voice in solidarity with those, “Asking for the moon!”

Maya Ki Maya

Maya Khan has truly provoked the social media and activists by her morning show aired on January 17^th 2012 on Samaa TV. I am not at all a Morning Show person as I don’t want to see a fake wedding happening in a closed studio or watch overly excited anchors behaving like school kids. And so I wondered what nature of event could have instigated such hype about a morning show? My curiosity directed me to look into the content that had triggered such hate comments and strong reactions on almost all Social Networking Sites.

I will say, I thought I would be able to sit through the entire episode but realized in just 10 minutes that it was important to log off if I had to survive this selective suicidal watch!

There were about ten desperate housewives accompanying the “Jugga host” and the entire camera team to a public park. Their intention was to catch young couples meeting and “Hai Allah Dating” in a sacred sanctuary as a park! The ‘thrill’ that evidently is the primary objective to achieve in their own dull and boring lives, lies in running after victims who thought they had a mutual understanding and the democratic right to meet each other.

The anchor apparently is in a very gracious mood and allows her “Star Plus” shagirds to play this hide and seek game with these unaware boys and girls. Apparently “life main moqa aik hee baar milta hey!” and so, the rampage leads to uncover yet another horrifying reality that has poisoned our society, the “thekedaar attitude”! 

These ladies chase yet another couple who request the cameras to be switched off. On being hammered by the anchor to declare their relationship status, the girl announces the boy as her fiancée. The rest of the “Hun maza aye ga na!” team gangs up on them till they are left with no choice but to leave! They then sit down a little bored with the declaration! “She didn’t look engaged at all!” I’m yet to decipher this comment! If anyone can identify the ‘engaged look’ please do help me out of my misery! And the biggest loud mouth states, “Even if you are engaged, what is the purpose of meeting in the park! Why can’t you meet at home in presence of the parents?” Ok, quite obviously these women just never experienced the emotional joy of ‘being in love’! The restless night that awaits the morning and with it the arrival of beautiful moments to share. Alas! In this case, these moments got hijacked by “Kuri dee besharmee wekhi see!” Of course, their own shameless actions of capturing videos without consent, bullying young minds without any rationale and enjoying the dismissal of individual choices did not seem to hold much meaning.

This group of women quite honestly represent the ugliest minds in our society. They carry such loud and repulsive labels as they march around our neighbourhoods that many parents are discouraged to allow their daughters out of their protection in fear of them carrying a label home. 

If only, our parents would stand up to denounce such intrusive and bullying acts, we could hope to stand up to such “PHUPPEY KUTNIS!”  

                   

Brain Drain

The Best Years...

The class was in absolute chaos. The girls were chasing one another in circles while the ones who didn’t dare join in the moment, sat smiling at the reckless picture. There was no evident reason for such mad conduct except the thrill of enjoying that short switch over of lessons that came with the ringing of the bell. The screams echoed in the classroom and the athletic ones jumped over chairs and tables!

Our Math teacher was a handsome young man whose daughter happened to be our classmate. The presence of her father had never become a hurdle in her innocent plans to try out every possible crime! We understood each other very well on those grounds. My mother was a teacher as well and news travelled at lightning speed to her.

The chair was raised in the air and I was about to bang it onto the floor when the Math sir entered! “What in god’s name are you doing?” The class went silent. “Are you girls mad?” He looked at us in amazement. “Just what were you trying to do?” His voice was heavy and when it got really loud, it started to shake. The answer was quite simple, but no one dared open their mouths. “Just get out! I don’t want to see you girls in my class for a whole week! You will go to the Physics Lab and complete all the assignments that I will give you, but don’t dare enter this class before you have a reasonable answer for me!”

We left the class in shame but as soon as we entered the lab, we realized the incredibly generous deal that our silence had bought us! We couldn’t believe our good fortune! The window in the lab opened towards the school canteen and it had a small space that could squeeze in a few colas and some sandwiches! Each day, one of us would stand at the door guarding our cool plan, while the others whistled at the young girls sitting on the benches near the window. We shared the assignments and merrily ate our treats. 

In a matter of three days, our teacher realized his huge mistake, probably smelling the addictive food, and asked us to come back to class the next day! “But Sir, we still have three more days! This is not fair!” He looked at us with hopelessness! We left the room in memorable laughter.

The Biology Lab assistant was a bit of a sissy! We always instigated him to get him to exhibit his ‘Angry Profile!’ And while he would be scolding a few of us for our silly questions, the rest of the class would fall into a viral fit! For our class picnic, we had boarded the bus and were waiting for the driver to come on board. The teachers stood in the parking area enjoying a break from their mundane routines. The Lab assistant stood with them. As usual, we couldn’t sit still for too long! The bus had all its windows closed. We started to yell his name! As soon as he turned around to follow the sound, we became quiet. This confusion continued till our driver came and some teachers identified us and simply smiled away.

There are so many other incidents related to those few years we spent in school together as friends and companions. The smuggling of Biryani in the classroom on Valentine Day! A really bad idea with the instant aroma! Then smuggling it out again to the bushes in the school lawn to gulp the entire pot in Nano seconds! 

There was a girl who was our junior. She had offended one of our classmates using some really foul language! Of course we had to make her pay for it! So we gathered all the remaining bones from our biryani and wrapped them up in a beautiful red wrapping paper! A love note was attached on top and I was assigned with the X project to deliver the package in all secrecy to the victim.

The fun part was that my friends decorated me with a cap to help me get the feel of being a secret agent! I had to be careful! The corridor was long and exposed. The class was in progress and our own class teacher was busy delivering her lesson to them. The door was closed. I ducked down and crawled to the door. I placed the package on the floor and gave a loud knock! The sprint that followed has been the fastest ever to date in my life! 

We obviously could not witness those cherishing moments of receiving a Valentine gift. The pride that placed her above the rest of the crowd! At home time, we saw our teachers outside the Principal’s office with a whole lot of girls confused with the issue. Our Pakistan Studies teacher gave us a meaningful look knowing the Biryani we had enjoyed that day!

The home-economics lessons were just as memorable! We sat in a group enjoying the free time just before the class was to end. I was feeling really thirsty and needed 2 dirhams to buy a Dixi Cola! My friends were having a gala time refusing me the amount. Then one of them said, “Ok, I will give you the 2 dirhams, if you dare to drink these two raw eggs from this glass!” The teacher looked up as the whole group clapped at her genius idea! 

“So, if I do that, you will give me the money?” Some of them could not believe the seriousness in my tone. “Yuk! How could you even think that?” I took on the challenge. The Teacher kept her books down and watched from her table smiling at the desperate act. I closed my eyes and gulped the two raw eggs in a jiffy! They all screamed in disgust and awe! I got my 2 dirhams and that heroic win still amazes me!

I was a table-tennis player but had participated in badminton as well. It was important to try out everything. It was a preliminary match and the girl that I was playing against was a good one. It was a set of three games and I had lost the first one miserably. The spectators were just two teachers, our coach and some classmates. The second game was in progress and quite shamefully, it was game point 0. I being the 0! Just one more hit, and she would have won the game. 

The crowd was quite disinterested. I thought for a while, “Why am I giving up? If I am to lose, it should at least be a dignified one!” And it is one game, I can never forget. I started with my 0, to get the score to a tie and eventually I won the game! It was an unforgettable win! The coach shook my hand and even though, it was not a significant match in the entire competition, the game was one of the most thrilling ones.

For each scolding we got, we reacted with some prank. The evil walk to the teachers car park! The joy to discover an unlocked car! That was some thrill! Half of us would climb onto the car bonnet while one would sit inside and release the hand brake on the slope! The ride frightened the wits out of us, but it was still fun!

The School had special quarters built for the men who worked and lived in the school campus. Often we marched to the extreme end of the campus and sat in the open space to sing songs. One day, I and my friend decided to explore the quarters a little just out of foolish curiosity. We entered the enclosure with our hearts leaping out. The moment our eyes fell upon a pair of red polka dot socks, we fell to the floor in giggles. I ran to wear the huge slippers lying outside the rooms and my friend posed holding the socks in her hands! It was absolutely stupid, but gave us the thrill of having done something different through the day!

Today, when I look back at that time when we were young and filled with hope, I realize that we were complete rebels. The norms and laws bothered us. We did not want to meet any barriers that stopped us from exercising our likes and dislikes. We were confident about our goals and were ready to take on any dare to carve our own niche. We were not afraid to appear as fools to the world and enjoyed each other’s individuality.

Experimenting new ideas, fighting the odds in hopeless situations and living with a spirit like there is no tomorrow are the defining parameters of Our School Life! 

The laughter which needs no reason, support that comes without expectation and the passion that rules all emotions somehow gets lost in the journey through life!

(Dedicated to all my classmates through the Years 1989-94)  

The First Criticism

There is a poem I wrote at the age of 20. The events that lead my heart to pen down a plea to Allah were indeed monumental disasters and left deep impressions with me.

That year had seen many natural disasters. From drought to floods, hurricanes to tornadoes and eventually the PIA crash near Kathmandu Nepal on 28th September 1992 which took all 167 lives on board. I sat in my room, devastated by the news on television. The heart that was filled with anguish became a cluster of thoughts. These thoughts, drowned in tears gave birth to a thoughtful poem:

“Don’t Let Our Faith Be Shattered God”

29-09-92

Oh God I’m forced to wonder

A thought is born in me

I can’t help but to tell you

My heart is full of grief!

There’s land that craves for water

A single drop there be

But You have none to offer

Their crying destiny!

Enough is there however

To eradicate a town

The innocent helpless people

Their fate was but to drown!

Satanic powers rule this world

Their roots are getting strong

They murder truth and all that’s good

Unharmed they all live on!

We need you God to ease our pain

We need a shelter from this rain

If not You then who is their Lord?

To save us from the evil sword!

There’s so much pain and poverty

The dark night is so long

Tell me oh God should we keep hope

For the rise of another dawn!

Let justice once again prevail

This ordeal of suffering be gone

Don’t let our faith be shattered God

You’re all we can hold on!

I was a Literature student and submitted my poem for the school magazine. A few days later, my poem was returned to me with the statement, “It displays weakness of faith and therefore cannot be published at all!” 

The comment left me confused. “But it’s more of a plea than a statement of my faith,” I argued my English teacher who clearly agreed with the decision. “What do you mean by that? You are clearly questioning God for something you have created in this world!” My friends shared a smile, highlighting ‘my’ ill contributions to the world!

She spoke passionately, “People don’t look at themselves! The world is a horrible place because we have contributed horribly. And then we question God!”

I listened to her argument and when she was done I quietly placed my poem in my bag. "If you don't like it, it's fine. But I really don't think it's been understood too well." She glared at me for answering! 

The poem had instigated a dialogue in the staff room and had clearly divided the teachers in their stance upon the decision ‘not to publish’ the poem.

The Pakistan Studies teacher was from Peshawar and her logic encouraged me to think and continue to write whatever came to my mind. “Allah has His ways. Surely man does not hold the capacity to understand everything. But He Himself allows his most loved creation to question, investigate and discover the realities of this life. No one has the right to stop the other from asking a question!”

A similar response came to me from my language teacher who said, “The criticism and division of thoughts indicates a successful and worthwhile piece of literature from you! Don’t let anyone take that spirit and belief in your abilities from you!”

The volcano had erupted and since I had not expected any heat from a simple magazine contribution, it had pushed me to start thinking.

Yes, I did have the right to express my thoughts and ask as many questions as I liked. It was also a fair deal to expect some form of criticism since the world holds such diversity. My connection with God had allowed me to place my thoughts on paper and therefore it was not fair to stamp me as faithless! However, my English teacher did feel quite strongly about my inability to accept our negligence to acknowledge our own self-created problems. 

Of all the responses I received for my poem, hers mattered the most to me. Not just because she had come down on me quite violently, but because she thought differently. In a manner that I did not!

I came home quite dejected. The news had travelled to my mother as well as she taught in the Boys Section. She asked me how I felt about the whole argument. "I don't know Ammi. I don't know if it was wrong on my part to write something that holds religious sensitivity, though the intention was seeking refuge and not pointing a finger!" She knew I was mentally drained with the negativity and was not being able to focus on the positives. 

"I don't think that you have offended any religious sentiments what so ever. Your poem reflects your pain on the sad events that disturbed you emotionally. It's infact a beautiful and real depiction of our world today!" My father came home and when he read it, he loved it as well. "Criticism can be positive and negative. But it should remind you of your individuality and ability to think differently. And you will never be able to please all with your ideas. There will always be a crowd who shall voice their anger and dislike for the view expressed. Do not fear their presence or bend to their rules. Someone's opinion of you does not have to become your reality!"

I began to understand. I had not been able to please everyone and that was bothering me inside. My work had been misinterpreted and I had not put up a fight to defend my ideas.  

Today when I’m much older, I express myself with much more confidence. As expected, I get a variety of ideas as a feedback. As long as I don’t get questioned about my right to hold an opinion, I quite enjoy the chain of thought that rightfully glorifies the artistry of a Creator who did not clone one for the other. 

My faith lies in my belief that He, who created me, reads my thoughts far better than any in the world and I’m grateful to Him for this blessing. My feelings, my emotions and my writing do not depict my weak faith but rather are a means to communicate with the One who eventually opens windows of learning for me right here in this complex world!

More Than a Room Mate (For my Sister)

“And why did you pull down all my Boy Band posters?” I asked my sister as she comfortably settled in her bed with a book. “Because they make the room look cheap!” she answered annoyed by my constant complaints.

Being sisters, we had to share the room which was always neat, tidy and sober looking! It was a true depiction of her personality. There was a study table with lots of reading books. The walls were always an off-white with some artistic picture or frame to enhance the soothing ambience of the room. The space that was mine was my bed or the collection of stuffed toys and a precious doll that I arranged everyday on the mat near the floor cushion. I couldn’t wait for her to get married so that I could have the room to myself!

We had packed up the entire luggage and it was a task to travel to another city for the marriage. We were in Karachi and the wedding was in Rawalpindi. I remember standing in the garage. Mom and my sister came out and dad was standing with a copy of the Quran in his hand. He held it up to let her pass in its shelter and shadow. It was a touchy moment. She was the first to get married and the experience was quite new for each one of us. Both mum and dad shared a few tears as we settled in the car to leave for the airport. I was a quiet observer.

The wedding days were incredibly fun. We used to play the dholak every evening and prepare wedding dances. My sister was a typical quiet bride to be who enjoyed the celebrations and kept out of the arrangements and plans. The first event was her Mayoun when family members and relatives joined in the fun to apply turmeric paste for glow and oil her hair for shine. I sat holding the tray of flowers next to her.

“Call Taskeen, she should apply the oil too,” said my eldest aunt. My mum came and as she followed the usual rituals I began to understand the finality in the events. My cousins were singing songs and I felt a strong emotion of separation. My sister was already in tears and I too started to cry. I left the room like an old filmy heroin and was brought back after much consolation from older cousins and aunts.

The Rasm-e-Henna was also memorable. And at the end of it, the major home events were over. The wedding reception was at a hotel and not much preparation was needed. I was standing in the kitchen when I saw my sister come out with my cousin holding her dress and accessories. She was leaving for the parlour and in a way, that was a defining moment that indicated her departure from a life she identified with to an absolute new venture. Again, my father held her close and they cried sensing the change.

Her Rukhsati was amidst mixed feelings. There was gratitude for the completion of a sensitive task and tears for letting go of one of the most precious blessings of Allah. I cried like a baby standing with my cousins who said, “Be happy silly, now that she’s gone, it will be your turn!”

As we returned from her Valima, the car was abnormally quiet. A member of our team had left us. The noise of the wedding was over. The preparations, plans and panic were all gone within a few days. As we drove slowly, occupied with our thoughts, my sister along with her husband and new family whizzed by our car at a speed. Mum exclaimed, “Oh there is my Afshan!” My sister had only been able to glance in that short moment but the reality of this historical tradition had begun to sink in. It was a difficult journey back home.

As we reached home, there was a sense of satisfaction and a lot of rest was due. As I walked up to my room, my eyes fell on her slippers that she had left behind. I felt the shimmer in my eyes. I entered my room and sat down. It was just perfect. Everything was in place. Just the way she liked it. And somehow, I didn’t feel like changing anything about it anymore. There were arguments in the look, conflict in the colours and a treasure of memories in the air.

Today when I look at my sister, she comes across as the most accomodating individual. We are still worlds apart in our nature and likings, but one thing remains constant. Acceptance of being different. After my mum passed away, she automatically adopted the role of a caretaker mum! Whenever I visit her home, she fills up the refrigerator with my favourite snacks! She happily feeds my children and annoys me with her forever advice on how to help my kids put on weight! She is still interested in my life and how I want to do things. She believes in the family values of sharing plans and keeping each other updated about our lives. We often tend to be forgetful but she is vigilant to call and inquire about our wellbeing. She often jumps into situations to help out without having any reservations. A beautiful and selfless quality that defines her well. Whenever we need something or simply want to enjoy that feeling of being spoiled, she is ready with a smile and a heart that quite humbly wants the best for all of us.

My sister is indeed my strength. I understand and value her presence in my life. Her beauty of character and ability to accept diversity are one of her greatest strengths. She is fair and blunt in her opinions and expects the same acceptability in return.

Her philosophy of life is quite simple, “Family is your greatest teacher. It teaches you about life, relationships and contributing positively to each other’s existence!”

Soon she too will be experiencing the strong emotions of her first born leaving the home. A time all mothers look upto yet dread. I know that she will be able to manage the intricate plans quite well but its difficult to adapt to the changing dynamics of your family.

At such a time I just want her to know that I will always be there for her and she will always occupy the greatest space in the room of my heart!

The Lessons in Change...

It was a difficult time in my life. The protection, security and the very spirit of my existence had been left amidst an emptiness. The life that I identified with, stared in my face like a stranger. My mother had passed away, and my father had left Dubai which had been home for all of us since ages. The shelter that I thought I would possess forever, had been taken away from me.

At this difficult time, I decided to get back to work. I had my son who was just two, and had my mother been alive, she would have opened her arms to embrace him and take care of him while I started work. Much had changed. I entered school with him and somehow, everything came to me as new. The environment, people and my relation to them all. Although I had taught there before, this appeared as a new beginning.

The first few days, teachers were attending specially arranged workshops. The first workshop that I participated in was based on a book called, ‘who moved my cheese’. It was conducted by very talented twin sisters, who became really good friends later, and dealt with the idea of ‘change’.

They spoke about human beings adapting to change in different ways. Often people expect life to move with the same fervour and strive to achieve their daily goals as planned by them. They feel happy with the familiarity of the surroundings and sleep content knowing the focus would not blur in the morning. I listened to each conclusion identifying with the feelings and emotions that it gathered along the way. I too had imagined my life to always be centred around my home and my parent’s home. The carefree visits that promised gifts of selfless love and understanding were visualized as forever.

The workshop continued and the idea of change was conceived as an occasion for people to vent out their anger and frustrations. A lot of people find it hard to accept change because it challenges their beliefs and strong ideals. They struggle to get life back on track and in failing to do so, get filled with an empty sadness. It reminded me of the day I had received a phone call from my father confirming ‘lung cancer’ with my mother. I had planned my son’s first birthday with their consent to return from Pakistan to attend it for sure. I stood alone in the balcony of my apartment, feeling a heaviness in my soul. “Things will never be the same again”, was a thought that crossed my mind a thousand times that evening. I cancelled the birthday plans and the anxiety that followed through was the perfect example of a dreaded change.

Sometimes, change can be pleasant and people accept that more readily. However, change that has no human initiative can be very disturbing and frightening. A fellow colleague stood up to speak. “I feel that I can connect to this scenario of imposed change. Due to financial difficulties, my husband and I had to take up the difficult decision to separate as a family. I have come to Dubai with hope to make a better living. It’s a little frightening to start life from scratch…” and as she spoke, tears ran down her face reflecting the helplessness that filled her and the compulsion to go with the flow. I too felt her pain. Here I was, a complete stranger to life. No body knew who I was. No one recognized my face. I had no friends from yester years to laugh with or share my thoughts with. It was a complete new beginning and it was frightening to take that first step.

Change however, does carry with it, realization of the worth of everything lost. While we take our life and possessions for granted, we seldom feel grateful for their presence in our lives. The ladies continued to share their thoughts while I heard a distant phone ringing, “Hello, Shama! How are you? What is Sameer doing?” It was my mum, who called me every day to inquire about my day and my son’s meals. She spoke while I answered with a little irritation wondering what could change in 24 hours? Sometimes, she would purposely not call me to see if I would take the initiative to inquire about her absence. And I always disappointed her. Today, I understand just how special I was to her. My life and my existence held a strong meaning to her. The phone hardly ever rings anymore and sadly, I can’t pick it up to make a call either.

The workshop came to the conclusion that ‘change happens’. It is ‘unavoidable’ and the only way to accept change is to keep the mind positive and expect to learn far greater lessons. The ladies summarized the entire book review in these golden words, “Expect change to happen and adapt to change with positivity”.

Eventually, I did accept the changes in my life. It was tough and the journey was a lonely one. I drowned myself in my work and each time I raised my head up to view my life, it had moved on. 

With time, I have become quite adaptable to change. I expect it to happen any time, I plan to overcome it with a far greater inner strength and believe that it shall bring with it wisdom and far greater lessons to be learnt.

The Cycle Of Life ( Conclusion )

The song ‘Seasons in the sun’ by Terry Jacks was much loved by our family. We listened to it often on the Akai reel player. The essence of the song holds a complete new meaning to me now.

Mom’s condition went bad to worse in her last month. She knew she was leaving and that there was no hope. I remember getting the news from my elder sister about her counted days. It was a desperate time for me. I would wake up at night knowing of her presence in the adjacent room. I would want to run to her and just hold her, but it was important to keep a brave front. So, instead I would sit on the prayer mat and cry my heart out. I don’t think I have ever begged for a miracle the way I did for her life.

The feeling of helplessness filled all of us. But in our own ways, we all behaved as normally as we could. We never cried in front of her. She became very quiet and that to me was much more difficult to face then her evident departure. She had lived her life with such vigour and expression that her aloofness killed me. She surely was very brave and kept her pain locked up.

I tried to talk to her but her responses were careful and calculated. Whenever I gave her hope, she said she felt tired. And I didn’t know whether to ask Allah for a miracle or just let her go.

Her last few pictures were taken a few days before she passed away. It was about to rain. It became cloudy and all our kids were playing outside. It was mom’s favourite weather. My heart felt alone without her out there. I asked my dad if we could put her on a chair and bring her outside. He was unsure but then decided to free her from the surgical bed which had become her prison.

My brothers carried her to the steps outside. I kissed her and just kept gazing at her. She looked tired and coughed badly. My sister was not happy about her being out in the cold wind. After a while, the cough increased and I said, “Ammi, let’s go in now.” Her eyes were fixed to the sky and she said, “Not yet, I just need a little more time.” Her words crushed my heart inside. The intense desire to live was so evident. She held on to every detail. Her grandchildren running around, the soft breezes and the vivid sky. Amidst such hopelessness, I knew that it had been emotionally challenging to put her on that chair, but my heart reassured me that it was just what she had wanted. She was still there and I needed her to know that.

“It truly is hard to die,

When all the birds are singing in the sky!”

My mom has given me so much. I am who I am because of her. Every little thing about her was special. The sparkle in her eyes, the freshness about her. Her picture is so clear in my mind. I believe the purity of her soul and mind reflected through her face. Her youth never left her. She never asked me for any favours. She only gave like a selfless mother.

Therefore, could a bond that powerful and passionate just disappear with a few rituals of this world? Could a few men carry such deep rooted memories of love and togetherness to an end? I believe not. A mother can never abandon her children.

“They’ve buried you in your grave,

They’ve locked the door and thrown the key,

The fools believe you dwell in there,

They know not that you live in me!”

And I accept Allah’s will with all humility and I thank Him for helping me understand the Cycle of Life, as it goes on. May Allah bless her soul and bring us peace within. Amin!

The Cycle Of Life ( Part 2 )

 As a teenager, my life was a combination of sweet and sour. I found romance in everything. It was difficult to scar life with dark and frightening thoughts. Allah, however, always opens windows of learning for us, provided we are willing to take a peek.

It was the summer of 91’. We were visiting Pakistan. Afshan, my elder sister, had gotten married and her husband had been deputed as ADC to President Ghulam Ishaq. Like always, I was enjoying my time with my sister’s kids and no burdening responsibilities. That summer, we made a lot of visits to my grandma’s house at Asghar Mall. Asghar Mall was my mom’s home. She always became nostalgic when she related stories about it. It was a place where she recognized every bit of her life.

My grandma was quite old when she passed away. She probably witnessed every phenomenal happening through her life. With age, she developed this condition, I’m sure there is a medical term for it, whereby she could relate stories of really long ago with elaborate detail, but would forget things, names or faces that surrounded her then. She could not remember or relate to current events. In this scenario, one afternoon, I and mom were spending the day at Asghar Mall. Baji Khala, the eldest of all sisters and probably the only aunt with whom I shared my personal life, was in the kitchen cooking. The weather was cloudy and amazingly beautiful. I was lying on a small couch near the window enjoying every inch of the sky filled with clouds and birds.

Mom and grandma sat across the room on two single sofas. There was no conversation because we were all listening to the evergreen song, ‘Pal Pal bai jaana bai’ by Tahira Syed. I had fallen in love with the melody and played it over and over again. No one seemed to mind it. The words in the song went, “Hari Pur Nur Pur thundiyaan ne chaawaan”. I realized that the words actually transferred all these women of the family to a visit they had made to Nur Pur with the ever popular Uxi Mufti. My mom must be 8 or 9 in those pictures. Although the pictures were black and white, you could sense the colours with the joyful expressions of all of them as a family; a sense of togetherness and once in a lifetime really happy moment.

My mom and grandma listened to the song with dreamy eyes that clearly indicated that it was not just a song to them. As the song stopped, my mom turned to look at grandma affectionately. She in return smiled at her and suddenly with a puzzled look asked her who she was? The question took my mom by surprise and although she understood her mother’s inability quite well, the question was not one she anticipated at that time. She sounded offended and said, “It’s me Taskeen, Ammi jee!” Grandma stared at her for some time and then gently touched her hand. 

Mom fought her tears but couldn’t keep them from showing. I felt sad for her. I knew she was in a special picture with her mom and it’s difficult I suppose when you can’t be at that place or time ever again in your life. My grandma died that summer and Ammi cried in a way that made me understand that Asghar Mall was never going to be home again.

Today when I look back, I feel glad that I shared most of her feelings. I grew up with her and slowly even I began to read her face. Her moods became a little more visible with age. She began to trust me and confided about a lot of things. It’s strange how bonds become stronger after storms and falls. She went on long drives when she would be sad or listened to ghazals.

Myself and mom went to the same College in Sharjah. She was a teacher there. Every morning mom and I would drive to school. She was a confident driver and felt really proud when I told everyone that mom was the best driver in the house! There was a time when every morning we would get in the car and play the qawwali, “Hulka hulka suroor” by Nusrat Fateh Ali. We both sang along till we reached school and it would play umpteen times as it became our favourite qawwali. 

After I got married, I recorded a cassette of our favourite songs for mom and she told me how they always reminded her of the special times we had shared.

Mom and I went through a very rough patch before my marriage. She wanted the world for me, and I like the rebel that I was, chose to begin life from scratch. We had arguments and each time I felt an awkward distance creep in between us. At one point eventually dad intervened and I got it my way. For a while my mom felt angry but after a few cold days, the warmth returned with the realization that I too would be leaving home soon.

It’s funny how your thinking changes when you enter the real world. After my marriage, my mom and I hardly ever fell into an argument. I suppose I began to understand her as well. And even though I had married out of choice, it was an uphill task to understand a husband wife relationship. The first years opened my eyes to the blunt realties that I believe every woman goes through in her life. Knowing my weaknesses, my mom stood strong by my side. She helped me understand everything. Even when it was not my fault, she gave me the courage to let go and told me that, “Remember you have married a man, a human. You can neither punish nor reward. Only God has the power to do that. So, never play god.” And when I did begin to follow her advice, my life took a complete U-turn.

Sameer, my first born came to me the following year. It was an incredible feeling becoming a mom. My very first opportunity to peek into my mom’s world. To begin to think like her and just be like her. But very soon I realized, I could never be a mom like her. Her patience, unconditional love, her compassion was just unmatched. How difficult motherhood is and just how comfortably she balanced all her roles in life.

My mom practically brought up my son. She fed him, bathe him, played with him and there was not a single day when she did not call me to ask about him. Sometimes I felt she had lost complete interest in my life and my dreams. It was always about Sameer. Sameer’s first tooth, his first step, his first word, his first birthday till his first day at school, mom was there to love and celebrate it. He was definitely my mom’s baby. 

She used to say, “He might run away from you when you want to hug him, but remember, deep down he really wants you to run after him. Somehow, he gets his reassurance that way!”

I just wish sometimes that mom was here to hug him. I know that he misses her when he asks me to sit and watch his playstation games, when he insists on peeling the apple and cut them into squares, and especially when he asks me to make his favourite Palak Chicken! He believes that she has become a shining star and often surprises me when he shouts out in excitement and asks me to look into the sky.

There were still so many moments to come ma. Just be there for me because I’m still a confused mother and no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to fill your space. I miss you just so much!

End of Part 2

The Cycle Of Life ( Part 1 )

“Mom’s here,” but this time only to leave forever. How often I greeted her with these words, never realizing that even words can become mortal. My senses went numb when I first saw my mother all dressed in white. I constantly heard her voice somewhere at a distance telling me not to cry, softly touching my cheeks, motioning me to dry my tears. As I looked upon her, a deep sense of grief clutched my heart. How could my mom have come to an end like this? Just how could my mom have left so soon?

I have far set memories of my darling ma. One moment which dates back thirty-one years. I hold visions of our home in Nairobi. The stair-case and the drawing dining. I remember sitting on the floor, I think it was wooden. I had a spoon in my hand which I was merrily tapping on the floor. Mom was busy in the kitchen and every now or then she would walk past me giving me an astonished look to entertain me and make me giggle for long.

My mom was my dad’s support system. She at every point in life stood by him. She began teaching during our stay in Lahore. It was probably the year 79’ or 80’. I was always fascinated by her talents. As a child of 8 or 9, I considered my mom to be a modern woman! She was not the stereo-type wife or mother. I took pride in the fact that she always involved me in her work. She had a way of bringing out the best in me. Once I and my mom made a fairy tale character for her class. I drew it and painted it for her. I remember her telling me stories about her children in class. She looked very happy. I can still remember the day I was not feeling well. She took me along to her school. I sat in her class along with the other children. I knew them all so well. And when I saw the fairy tale character hanging from the ceiling in her class, I remember how excited I felt. I was attached to each and every part of her life. I never knew that my heart would hold on to that moment so strongly. The kind eyes that told me, “We are a team!” can never be forgotten.

I was watching a movie the other day where the daughter tells the mother that the best thing that she loved about her were her hands. Reason being that whenever she had fallen sick, all night through she felt her mom’s hands on her forehead. Tears ran down my face because it reminded me of my mom’s soft hands and the loss of such an eternal love.

Once when I caught typhoid, every now and then the doctor would send me to ‘Sindlab’ as I remember it for my blood tests. My mom knew I hated needles and she always bribed me with board games. There was a toy shop right next to the lab and I actually collected a huge amount of games! At that time, I didn’t bother about the money. My mom was not a spendthrift but she made sure that she would spend where it mattered, like my games! And as her daughter today, I can tell that the pain of the needles was not just felt by me alone!

I wrote my first poem on 17-03-83. It was entitled ‘memories’. The inspiration again came from my mom’s piece of work published in her school magazine. I remember reading the poem and thinking, ‘Wow! My mom can write poems too!’ And I sat down with a pencil and since I had read a love poem, my choice of words gave birth to a wonderful love poem. Being 10, I felt a little shy sharing the poem with mom and dad, but something in my heart told me that they would like it. Dad read it out loud and my mom couldn’t believe it! She kissed me and hugged me and asked me to write another one. I wrote my second poem, ‘moon and I’ the same day! My mum loved me for my creativity. She read my work, critically analysed it but always made sure that I felt good about my work.

In grade 5, I delivered my first debate. It was something about science and its uses. My mom came to see me on stage. I wasn’t scared, just excited. While I spoke on stage, I glanced at my mom every now and then. She had her eyes down. Later she told my dad, “I was so nervous she would look at me and forget!” From her I learnt the necessity to support my child’s participation at school. My mom had always been there for me and I never asked her if she had sacrificed something important that day, just to be with me!

My mom loved surprises! Here I’d like to jot down another beautiful memory of her. When we moved to Karachi from Nairobi, we did not have a car for a very long time. Then one day, I remember my mom waking me up early in the morning. Her face was lit-up and she asked all of us kids to walk down the stairs and look at something special. It was raining. We all ran down and saw a light blue Foxy parked in our garage. Dad was wiping its windows with a duster. We all screamed with joy and went for a ride. Mom and dad shared a few affectionate glimpses as it was a moment to celebrate in their lives. And for us, it was a perfect gift! We talked loudly and from that day onwards, there were always fights as to who would sit in the corner seats!

When I turned 13, we moved to Dubai. Mom loved Dubai. She just adored her new life. Our apartment was a dream come true and Allah had blessed us with everything. My mom had a special way of bringing warmth and life in all the homes we lived in. She was naturally blessed with an eye for colour and space.

My mom and I encountered our first difference while in Dubai. I was a teenager and had turned out to be a complete tomboy! The difference just didn’t matter to me. And so, I, along with my brothers loved to go down and play with a whole crowd of boys and girls. My mom completely disapproved of my friendship with any boy and grounded me for two months. I actually started to consider my mum as my greatest enemy. She didn’t like my wearing skirts and dresses and suddenly, she just didn’t approve of anything. For a month I felt angry, and slowly became lonely. At that time I couldn’t understand my feelings but today when I look back, I definitely had gone distant with my best friend. I felt she couldn’t understand me anymore. We were not a team anymore!

The years that followed were filled with mixed emotions. We shared some very personal moments. I remember when my elder sister was about to get married, we were transferred back to Karachi. My elder brother and sister had already left. Dad was quite worried with all the changes. It was the first marriage in the house and lots of arrangements were still pending. I, dad and mom were sitting at the dining table having lunch. Suddenly dad broke down crying. I felt a lump in my throat but mom was calm. She put her arm around him and said, “I’m there for you. What are you so worried about? Allah will work everything out. Don’t let go of your strengths now!” Her words echo in my ears today because we are all trying to be strong without her, believing Allah will work things out for us!

End of Part 1 

Happiness Follows

“But I feel I will be happy with him,” I went on with the argument feeling every bit agitated. “I fail to understand all your silly reasons!” My mother gave up feeling the same irritation. “Do you know how difficult your life will be? It’s only romantic in words. In reality, when you begin your life at scratch, it’s a task to get through a day!” Her logic was that of a concerned parent and I listened carefully. 

“I know that mum. We will work together and where there is a will, there is a way!” She looked at me, probably sensing a reflection in time! “Just give me a reason, why an established man does not appeal to your weird senses?” She asked me in a hopeless manner. “Mum, I don’t want to share my life with someone who has completed his struggle, acquired his status in life and does not really have any place for the enthusiasm of a new recruit! I want to build a life with someone. Understand failure, celebrate success and my presence should make a difference in his life.”

That was the logic that stated my source of happiness in life. The ability to create something out of nothing. Anyone who might have tried to plant a seed understands the joy and thrill of witnessing the first glimpses of life. And even though there are many invisible factors that lead to that achievement, the effort that underlines the success inspires you to move forward.

Happiness is a state of mind. It can make itself at home in the most unexpected scenarios. Often people toil in the hot sun looking for its shade, while it rests quietly in their shadows.

Sometimes it can be quite deceiving as well. People dwell in its deceit claiming their lives to be fulfilled and complete. And then one day, they are awakened by the sudden departure of this lie leaving an emptiness behind. This world has many faces. When you are influential and hold a position of authority, you will see people around you, following each and every word that you say and stamp it as the ultimate truth. They make you believe that your status in their lives is invincible. You thrive in that happiness feeling on top of the world. But that face of joy is indeed a lie. You realize that as soon as the rollercoaster takes the dip. The people who sang your anthems disappear and you are left alone to face the great fall. You mistake pleasure for happiness.

It is a false notion that happiness is abundant in wealth and success. I remember while teaching at a villa school in Dubai, I came across a child who was studying in Grade 4. He was much older than the other children and was mentally challenged. He used to sit in the classroom with a special assistant who managed his work. He belonged to a rich family who owned a popular Toy Chain Store. Despite the wealth and prestigious family name, the father could not afford to place his son in a recognized and reputed school as his son was not accepted there. He was blessed with all the wealth in the world, but that could not buy him the sheer joy of watching his son grow up and live a normal life.

Contentment is devoured in regrets and bad memories. Some people like to hold onto them holding no faith in their tomorrow. They blame themselves and their circumstances for taking away their precious time in life to fill it up with distress and disappointments. They can’t seem to forget those despicable people who broke their trust and left them in a state of constant complaints. The ticking of the clock holds no significance in their lives and their state of mind is a constant woe.

Happiness is indeed the most sought after emotion. It is not only abstract in grammar, but also in nature. All of us are in the journey to attain this mystery that eludes us further if we lose our focus.

If we sit back and try to remember the very first days of our journey, we always seem to reconstruct the simplest of memories that highlight the path we travelled. The times when we were all together under the same roof, in the security and love of our parents. The time when we used to build mud homes for the frogs that crowded our flower beds in the monsoon rain. The long drives that ended up near the water canal accompanied by simple dinner meals as hot chapatti with pickle. The screams of joy that filled the playground at the onset of rain. Surely, happiness lies in the simplest of our memories.

The laughter that brightens up the ambiance of a dull restaurant. A get together or reunion of a batch of old school friends. Nothing compares to the honest elation one feels at reuniting with one’s best years of life. Moments that mark a sense of togetherness and time spent in innocent future planning!

Happiness comes from putting your mind to work. It lies in constructing something new. It is important to keep the wheels turning. The more you tend to run after the illusion of paradise, the more you tend to lose sight of it. Happiness comes around to embrace those who engage themselves in development or strive to lay the foundation for something concrete. They understand that happiness does not lead, but rather follows.

Our attitudes more or less describe our state of happiness. Ill temperaments, pessimistic philosophers and complaining individuals almost never understand the prosperity that lies in a state of well-being.

Today I’m glad I made the choice to marry a man with whom I have practically encountered every possible challenge. I wake up every morning with something new to build or construct. There is no time to lose. No time to think about what could have been. The sanctity of belonging to each other and the joy of holding such meaning in somebody’s life is indeed a blessing.

The space that you opt for to create a life for yourself promises much laughter and happiness to follow.

I wish all my dear friends and blog readers, a Very Happy New Year!