The Ramblings of a Sprite's Sol

I see the Phoenix rising and will I see it fall

2007-05-11T23:25:00.000+04:00

In Egyptian and Greek mythology a bird called the Phoenix, rises from the ashes of its predecessor and lives for nearly 500 years. At the end of which it burns itself and its nest so another Phoenix is born. The Phoenix represents immortality, rebirth and the Sun.

I see the Phoenix rising out of the arid desert and melting sand-dunes, a riot of iridescent hues and blazing lights. Taking the shape of sky scrappers, lands on water and colorful buildings rising on top of each other. An advert strategically placed says it all: "History Rising", and so the Phoenix continues to rise.

The heartbeat of the old land no longer beats with emotion. The landmarks are torn down. The flame roundabout a distant memory. The clock tower round-about one of the few standing testaments for us old timers. One by one the new has eclipsed the old. The warmth and the hospitality of the locals is replaced by commercial ideas to attract tourists. No longer do we see familiar faces. No longer does it take ten minutes to reach another section of the city. The skyline is marred with mechanical cranes and every corner of the city sees construction.

Sheikh Mohammed's vision of Dubai is commendable, yet at the rate this vision is being brought to fruition is worrisome. It is usually said that what rises this fast, falls just as fast. Already negative news is circulating regarding the endless number of construction projects but at the same time Dubai is being hailed as the fastest growing city of the world. Where there can be steady growth, with a strong infrastructure, there is nothing but expediency. For how long will it remain?

Some of us old timers have decided to move on to other shores or return to our countries of origin. Others are hanging on, trying to find venues to manage the escalation in the standard of living. The new that are pouring in, regard Dubai as a money making market. They arrive in flocks to live in the fantasy land that Dubai is being portrayed as. Most old-timers just shake their heads at the current state of affairs.

Growth is good but like everything else it comes at a price. What price will the city of Dubai pay?

Will I see the Phoenix burn itself in my lifetime?

Heeaaalppp Needed

2007-03-11T13:16:00.000+04:00

People i.e. bloggers - I require some much needed directions to get some things on my blog to function normally. Getting complaints on how the comment window shows an error, therefore making it difficult to leave any comments.

Couldn't access any of the wordpress blogs - Mansoor: http://wordofmansoor.com - was kind enough to help. Although I wasted a couple of hours leaving comments on several wordpress blogs which havent turned up.

While helping with this please keep in mind you are not dealing with a behind-the-scenes-savvy computer person. So details please. :)

Thanks

Malfunctioning Weather

2007-03-11T13:07:00.000+04:00

The weather here is mal-functioning again. Karachi weather is as confused as the people that reside here. Today, I have to admit, I am loving this particular weather abnormality. Woke up to growling thunder, a strong wind and cotton candy sky. Then I heard the ping ponging on the roof and knew this one wasn’t a teaser. Nothing can wake me up as quickly as rain - unless it’s Dad in one of his moods.

I stand in front of the window, hypnotized and calmed by the constant sheets of falling water. During a break, a plane heads for the runway rattling my windows, a train toot toots in the distance. I just stand devouring it all in, letting my senses flare. Aren’t there times when you feel you can absorb energy from something as simple as rain. Though, truth be told at the moment am craving a couple of French toasts or a stack of pancakes with lots of dripping maple syrup and a large glass of orange juice or green tea. Wish Mom was here, she’d whip up something magically suiting this weather. I think I am going to end up with a large mug of the dreaded MILK…urgh…I’m so not a milk person. The buffalo milk here – and if anyone says its cow milk I’m liable to do some serious damage – has half the buffalo swimming in it, the smell is nausea inducing, the milk itself gets your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth with all the free floating fat and it curdles into something nasty when it hits your throat. Now that’s a mood dampener. I think in the last couple of months I’ve tried several brands just to find one that I don’t have to taste, so far its been OLWELL’s hi-Cal, low-Fat mixture, but their ad leaves a lot to be desired, why use the tag-line “You are Unstoppable”...or something along those lines, idiots don’t realize that everything and everyone is Stoppable! Hitler was eventually stopped, the Energizer Bunny stops when his batteries die out. And I’ve in all certainty digressed.

First thing I did when I jumped out of bed was call home, tell sis its raining and held the phone to the world outside asking her “Can you hear it?” Mom was on the extension so they both did. I’m sure it brought smiles all around. Wish I were home, with Bubloo-the cat curled up on my lap enjoying the weather, or well in his case he’d be calling his several lady-loves. We are seriously thinking of getting him neutered, though the thought of castrated male makes me wince. Not surprisingly, Dad and bro are totally against it, but with feline aids rampant, we have been advised several times to make him “happy and safe”. Bubloo is going to be so darned upset if he looses any part of his manhood. If we gave him the choice, he’d prefer to die sexually replete. Please don’t ask me how I know what goes around in my cat’s head, but he definitely has the females flocking. It’s probably got to do with the whole black-guy-satisfaction-guaranteed myth. Or is it a fact? Atleast, in Bubloo’s case it is definitely working. Here I go off on another tangent…

Anyways, getting back to the present. After last night’s madness, this is definitely a gift from the heavens. Literally. Before, I had realized that the weather had turned absolutely wonderful, several conversations from last night were playing amok in my head. I kept tossing and turning, cringing, telling myself that I could have said this, or that, not encouraged the argument, or given this advice to this person…but since the moments are lost, it is pointless to go over something that cannot be taken back.

Just this minute thunder did some amazing sound acrobats, and lightening added to the glamour. Show Offs. The craving for food is making my intestines knot, so am going to go fix myself the French toast and brew some green tea. No MILK today. Then I’m going to sit on my bean bag, lights off and enjoy this unexpected show, who has seen what tomorrow will bring. Hot, humid, dusty weather?

Thinking

2007-03-11T00:33:00.000+04:00

Its that time of the night when you sit all by yourself and reflect on how your day went. Today, I have counted every minute of every hour to get to this one hour past midnight. I know exactly what I did minute by minute since I woke up, there isn’t much of what I did that seems to matter but what I thought and how I felt. Being quarantined is not helping matters either. (Don't ask) I have too much time on my hands to think.

Think about today, tomorrow and the last nine months I have been away. And no I was not pregnant. So many things have changed. Additions. Good byes. Compromises. Losses. Life. Death. I’ve changed yet am the same. Some things just defy logic, yet I look for answers. Maybe some day I’ll find them hiding somewhere inside me, but then again maybe not. For they may not be my answers to find.

Its never been about questioning life or raising a frustrated fist at destiny. It’s about the decisions that I make which lead me to where I am today. One thing that keeps coming back to calm me is that along the way my faith has strengthened. There are no regrets of where I am. This is me living my life moment by moment. Treasuring the yesterdays, memorizing the todays, and smiling at the tomorrows.

Sitting here just now, makes me wonder why I stayed away for so long from doing something I love. It wasn’t that there wasn’t magic to share, but there was no heart in the magic. I couldn’t wave my wand and create something that satisfied me. There are times when there is so much happening and your mind just shuts down. Its blank. Its numb. And you wish, wish with everything inside you that words would just flow. In your head. In your heart. But, all you hear is your heart beating a slow tattoo in your head.

Two nights ago, I felt like a man lost but being mule-headed about asking directions. After two hours of trying, every damn thing I could think of I gave in and sent blogger the request for user name and password retrieval. Hardly took two minutes to get back on. *Sigh*

Can't say how long I intend to stay for, although truth be told if fellow bloggers hadnt kept dropping in those comments, I probably wouldnt be here now. I'd have given it a couple o' more months. Credit goes to the ones who enjoy my ramblings.

Silence of the Dead

2007-03-08T23:32:00.000+04:00

The first step inside has the fast pace of life receding to nothingness. The second step and the silence is absolute. The birds are respectfully quiet. In this air of peace, vacuums of restlessness are almost tangible. I walk on, the sun beating on my covered head. Beating drums, or is it my heart? In this place of rest, the sound seems insultingly loud.

I am directed towards an ancestor, now encased in marble. I pray. I pray for him, I pray for me. This is all that is left of him, besides the blood that now flows in my veins. I meet others, some I know, and some from before my time. I greet and pray, for mine and the companions to mine. Strangers now neighbours.

I pray for peace. Their and mine.

Finally, I stand before the one I have come to meet. Even here her simplicity is apparent. No shining marble, no marker – just a little stone with a wilted plant. I kneel at her feet, my hand on the burning sand. The tears fall freely, yet no sound emerges to disturb her slumber. My heart aching with the need to feel her arms around me. I hope she knows I have come. I hope she forgives me for not always, being there when she needed me. For as long as I can remember, she has been my anchor. She stood by me when there was no one else. I pray she is happy and at peace.

I miss you gran’ma.

As I walk out, I hear them call me back. To speak of their joys and sorrows, their pains and trials, speak of the living who have forgotten that the dead still exist.

At the entrance, I stop to glance back one last time, wondering who will I rest next to. My heart silently promises to come back. To meet them again. To offer what I can.

My salutations and prayers for the people of the graves. May Peace be Upon You.

Away

2006-06-01T00:10:00.000+04:00

The past two months of not blogging was a self imposed exile. It wasn't that there was nothing to write about, there was too much.

So I kept away.

Tonight finds me wanting to pen my thoughts and sharing. Letting in. Coming back.

A New Road

2006-06-01T00:07:00.000+04:00

My nerves are frazzled and my tolerance at the edge. I turned a corner and saw my future at a distance, and that one glimpse had me drawing back. A little scared, a little uncertain. Circles within circles. The one-step back had me ramming into my past, it hurt. There are no crossroads for me, just one way to go and its one of those dirt roads that don’t promise a smooth ride. For some reason a part of me is looking forward to the challenge of navigating, the other one is being a yellow-bellied chicken!

I know eventually I will end up where I am meant to go. Destiny smiles her naughty smile. I shrug, take the first step towards the unknown, finding and learning everything I need to know along the way. Anticipating what I will find at the end of this road.

I will resume my journey from the moment I stop.

Slumber Party

2006-05-05T01:37:00.000+04:00

The two week slumber party ended a month ago and Im still hearing echoes of laughter, jokes, endless talks and hardly any slumbering. Its amazing how time flies when you are having fun. I havent blogged in so long that I forgot my password to access this site! - Thats me.

Four women took Karachi by storm, or so we like to think. There were moments that I want to freeze in time, especially certain snores. hehehe. I think we all look like bloated cows these days since all we did was yak and eat. Tried nearly all the new food joints that have mushroomed around Karachi in the last couple of months, didnt exactly shop till we dropped -(which was a surprise), but the bonding sessions were the most enlightening.

I like to think we made a difference in each others lives and still do

Here's to friends.

Hopes and Dreams

2006-04-11T19:01:00.000+04:00

(Dedicated to the Pathan boys who work at open-air markets in Karachi. They will work, but they will not beg)

“I am the soul of a thousand

My thoughts, my hopes of a million

Let the innocent be

For all they have are their dreams" Samia Ahmed

He awoke to the sound of quiet sobbing and the buzzing of the damned bloodsuckers! Disoriented, Zaib swiped at the mosquitoes, turned on his side, pulled the pillow over his head, and tried unsuccessfully to block out the sound of his Ama’s grief.

It would be a week and two days, since that spineless, pusillanimous man he called father, had walked out on them taking their savings and mom’s valuables. No reason, except they were not good enough for him! Just remembering that day had fury surging through his small frame. Restless, he kicked aside the patched quilt. He was no longer the mischievous, carefree ten-year-old boy who loved to tease and laugh. He alone was responsible for his Ama and two younger sisters and he promised himself that he would never let them down like that sorry, good-for-nothing, thieving, worthless dog who had abandoned them! He hated him! Hated him! Angry tears of resentment and helplessness washed over him like a wave, choking, hurting, and burning his chest. In an attempt to rein in his runaway emotions, he took a deep breath then pressed a fist to his trembling mouth wishing, hoping, but his mom’s restrained anguish kept reverberating through him. God, he wished she would at least smile again.

Pretending to be asleep, he turned on his bare stomach to look at her. It was dark inside the sparsely furnished, dilapidated hut. The light from the thin candle danced over her unadorned fire hair. She sat leaning against the wall, eyes closed, cheeks streaked with tears and his baby sister, Laila held close in her arms. Beside them, the five year old, bratty Sherizade slept on her tummy. The glow bathed them in warmth, while his side of the hut felt as cold and dark as a graveyard. Looking at them, he felt the all-consuming rage subside. Sad and confused he desperately prayed for a miracle.

Zaib silently slid off the mattress only to freeze when the wild staccato of gunfire broke the illusion of an innocent night. He saw Ama’s head snap up, she clutched Laila closer to her breast while soothing a startled Sherizade, her eyes searching the shadows. Gulping air, he willed the fear away. Although the sound of gunfire at any time of the day or night was a norm in this part of Karachi, he just could not get used to it.

They along with several families lived in small decrepit cabins at the edge of the notoriously corrupt Lines Area. In this poverty-stricken neighborhood clashes between the police and political factions was a common occurrence. Leaving the moth eaten, damp mattress, he sat on the cold floor beside his Ama and reached for her hand, desperately needing comfort, she squeezed his fingers and moved him closer to her side, he leaned against her, feeling her warmth and soft smells seep through him. She smelled like sunshine and warm honey. He nodded off against her shoulder only to be woken by the muazzain’s call for morning prayers. A new dawn. Zaib’s day had started.

After prayers and a hastily eaten breakfast, he made his way to the municipal taps to fill the water cans – they had no running water or electricity. Then he helped his mom with household chores and after school made his way towards the big houses where he earned two hundred rupees per week washing cars. He knew it was not going to be enough anymore, even with Ama embroidering clothes for the “big woman”. He had to do something more. His two best friends, Noor and Sikander, would help in finding a solution.

With dinner over, he left in a rush to get to the roundabout where Noor and Sikander were already sharing a homemade cigarette. Noor was talking about the latest movie he had seen while; Sikander lay on his back staring at the sky that was heavy with clouds. Zaib stretched out on the grass, letting the smell of the earth block the fumes from the passing traffic. Reaching over he snagged the cigarette out of Noor’s fingers and took a long drag, feeling the warmth and calm down to his toes. He felt like a man. He passed the cigarette to Sikander and studied the sky. He loved watching clouds play. He would lie here for hours on end, gazing at the sky while Noor droned on about becoming a film star. They all had their dreams. His dreams had changed overnight from wanting to buy a wristwatch to making enough money so he could buy one of those big houses and fancy cars, his sisters would go to school, have the latest fashions and his Ma wouldn’t have to work so hard.

Tuesday morning saw Zaib, rushing to meet Noor and Sikander. He had brushed his hair several times already and he was dressed in his favourite brown shalwar kameez. After a lot of thinking, all three of them had decided to go work at the Tuesday open-air market where they would carry the customers’ purchases for a fee and a tip. Noor’s cousin did this every Tuesday, and he made a bundle. All three of them excited with the prospect of becoming rich had dropped out of school to do some serious work.

Getting there, Zaib stood in awe, eyes huge, mind reeling. He had never seen something so big, so lively. There were stalls of vivid fruits and vegetables. Cloth in every colour and print imaginable fluttered in the breeze. Dazzling and tempting. Vendors hawked their wares, music and arguments, different smells of ripe fruit, poultry and hot grease all assaulted his senses. Excitement replaced the wonderment. Noor’s cousin broke the spell with his instructions and a crash course on how to persuade people to accept their services.

Carrying his large raffia basket, he went in search of someone who needed his services. An old lady struggling with several laden plastic bags caught his attention. His first customer. By the end of the day he had lost count, he was deadbeat and the only time he had seen his friends had been when they got together for lunch or prayers. They all had, had one exhausting but enterprising day. As they walked back home each of them discussed their adventures. Zaib just wanted to get home as soon as possible to see the expression on Ama’s face when he handed her the two hundred and sixty-five rupees he had made. He couldn’t wait for next Tuesday. This was turning out to be better than he had expected. He still washed cars everyday. Yesterday he had gotten another job, waiting tables three days a week at the corner hotel. It didn’t pay much but he got free meals. He had to look for something else too or Ama would have to go and clean the rich houses. He didn’t want her doing that. Ever.

The week couldn’t have moved fast enough for Zaib, he did all he was supposed to. Ama had started to smile again but the sadness was always present in her eyes. When he had handed her the week’s earnings she had looked at it with overflowing eyes, then kneeling had gathered him in a crushing embrace. He had felt the wetness of her tears on his neck and had tried to control his own. If Sherizade had not come by and pulled his hair, he would have made a fool out of himself by bursting into tears.

On Tuesday, Zaib waited at the corner of the street for his friends. He looked up at the sky, not a cloud in sight, somehow that depressed him. Instead, he thought of what awaited him today. With all the money he had started bringing home Ama wouldn’t have to leave the house. She depended on him and he would never let her or his sisters down. He hated to think about his father. Feeling impatient and agitated, he started walking alone towards the market.

Once there he felt his spirits rise. He loved this place, the different smells and sounds made him happy. He started working and was well into the day when a man wearing a suit asked him to carry his shopping to the car. After emptying his basket into the trunk, Zaib waited politely by the side of the car for the man to pay him. The man took out two five hundred rupees bills and handed them to him. In shock, Zaib stared at the money and then at the man. “Sir…you mistakenly gave me...” was all he could say. The man just smiled, patted his shoulder, told him to keep it and then drove away.

Zaib stared at the money in his hand. He felt the smooth paper rub gently against his palm, awestruck he held the paper to his nose inhaling the smell of money. He realized he was just standing there with a thousand rupees, one thousand rupees in one day!!! He had to go home! After the initial shock wore off, joy spread through him with a hundred thoughts running rampant through his mind.

Basket in one hand and the money clutched in his right fist, he ran towards home. He ran like the wind, his feet hardly touching the ground. Cars whizzed past him, the wind snatched at his hair and clothes, but he ran on. He had to get home. When the shots rang out, he didn’t hear them. One minute he was running the next he was lying flat on his back as pain speared through his body. In utter confusion, he looked down to see a large stain of red spreading on his shirt. Tears spilled down the side of his face as his body writhed in agony. “Ama” was all he could whisper, as the metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils. He had to get home to give her the money. He had to get up. His body convulsed, the pain was making his mind numb, he stared at the endless blue sky wishing for a cloud.

That is how the police constables and ambulance drivers found him, lying in a pool of his own blood, staring with unseeing eyes at the heavens. The constable picking him up discreetly pocketed the one thousand rupees, which he found in the boy’s clenched fist. After lying him down with the rest of the bodies, the ambulance drove away taking with it a boy’s unfulfilled dreams and hopes.

(Acknowledgements: Voxy – Thank you for re-opening the half-closed door on a dream. The rest of my favourite bloggers: Psyched, Guyana-Gyal, Spicy Nadi, Viking Mike, Samay, Hani, Veiled Muslimah and Turaeg – your faith and encouragement humbles me. My gratitude to Bill – the wise one)

Tick Tock

2006-04-08T14:43:00.000+04:00

I recently learnt that, when I hit thirty my "fertile eggs decreased by fifty percent", and when I hit thirty-five they will "decrease by another fifty percent".

My reaction was to dismantle the so-called 'biological clock' and throw it out the window. Heard the crash and grinned. Scared a few cats. No more blasted tick-tocking

Unless, I don't hop onto the marriage bandwagon my options are:

Adopt

Artificial insemination - parents will disown me and Dad in all probability will load his shot-gun.

A friend suggested - freezing my eggs. (Lance Armstrong comes to mind). The said friend is all for the idea, I on the other hand feel like a frog.

Looks like its going to be adoption. Makes me feel much better.

Transient Memories

2006-04-03T00:43:00.000+04:00

Diminsh the sun's blazing glory
Let winter whisper its heartbreaking story
Of fallen leaves and bare branches
Of cold and eternal darkness

The shadow of death, dodges every step I take
With every breath of mine, a memory is made
Tread lightly, whisper softly, they say
Treat her different, for she doesn't have many days

Soon I wont be here I fear
Nor will my memories remain forever
As this is the way of this world
For the living and the dying

In sharing grief my family and friends will unite
After bidding me adieu, they will learn to survive
Not everyone will forget
For as long as they remain, I shall be remembered

Night has fallen once more
I lie in bed, praying for death
For clouds and heavy rain
For a way out of this endless pain

Selfish you call me, selfish I feel I am
For all I leave with you are memories that remain
Goodbye I wish to say and am finally given the chance
But goodbye can can never say, what 'see you tomorrow' can.

"You a Writer?"

2006-04-02T16:08:00.000+04:00

Voxy a.k.a TDH a.k.a Say What, posted the comment on my last post, to which I replied: "Arent we all writers? Making magic with words."

But his question still got me thinking: “Am I a writer?” I honestly don’t know, but that one line did trigger some action. It got me to dust the cobwebs off my memory storage boxes, where I found stories, scribbled poems, and ideas for stories that reside in my head. Some I have had published for school and college, some I did not share. Now I wonder if I should let the world take a glimpse into my mind…

A little scared, a little nervous

Still undecided

Past Came A Callin

2006-04-02T00:08:00.000+04:00

Her hand reached for the ringing phone, still half-asleep, she answered with a groggy:“Hhh’Lo”.

Silence on the other end, then: “I am in town, stopover for two days”

Just that voice, had her wide-awake and sitting: “You are here! When did you fly in? When do you leave? When can I see you?”

He laughed: “Why don’t you get the car and come see me now”

She replied with a dejected sigh: “Can’t, how about tomorrow?”

They agreed to meet at their old haunt for the next day.

She snuggled back in, bittersweet memories flooding her mind. Six years. It had been six long years since she had seen him. He had been her best friend, her mentor, her motivator, the most significant part of her past. He knew her inside out. And he had ripped her heart out with his lies and betrayal. She had forgiven but sometimes the ache was unbearable.

He was her past; he could not be anything else. Nervous when she saw him, she didn’t know if she should shake hands, peck the air or just give in and hug him like she wanted to.

She did nothing, just looked at him and smiled: “You’re looking good, really good.”

And he did, better then she remembered.

Smiling that cocky grin of his he led the way to the table – their table.

The last time she had been here, had been with him. She had driven by on numerous occasions, but never stepped in. Too many memories.

They talked as if they had never separated. Laughed, teased, flirted, joked, and asked about other friends, caught up about the happenings in each other’s lives. Conversed as if they were not catching up on the past six years.

He commented: “I feel like I met you yesterday. Now I know what’s been missing from my life – good conversations.”

The ease, the comfort, the same wavelength and the chemistry, all there. Still stronger than ever. Just like old times. The changes were subtle, but there nevertheless.

She desperately wanted to reach out and touch his hand, just to tell her-self that this was real. That she was finally seeing him again after all these years. She never did.

Before he left, he picked up the coaster that said ‘Live A Little’ and scribbled: “Take care. Thanks for everything in life” and handed it to her. A handshake, a one-armed hug. This time she didnt watch him leave, she didnt cry, she smiled and knew that he was gone.

Back to someone else. The wedding band on his finger, proof of his commitment. Not to her. It could never be her.

Going Loco in Karachi

2006-03-31T23:01:00.000+04:00

For once, everything went smoothly, too smoothly by my way of reckoning. I was knocked off by the punctuality, impeccable business class-service, no lost baggage, no glitches, my weirdo radar didn’t make a beep, even my ears didn’t pop! The way my journeys and travel plans work out, this was clearly a miracle. It was perfect.

It was short-lived. Grrrrrr!!

I should have known better, than be taken in by the false security of one peaceful journey. It was just the prelude to my senses being assaulted by the chaos that is called KARACHI! The cocoon was ripped open by the first car that nearly creamed me on my way out of the Jinnah Airport. I know Dubai traffic is a nightmare, but it’s a streamlined nightmare. Karachi traffic is driving bumper cars with the hiccups. Dodge, bump, yell, hit, swerve, cuss, and I am not even doing the driving! I just keep me eyes open for the spit missiles that certain imbeciles let loose with no respect for others. Fellow blogger, Viking Mike’s idea of furries on the roof of my car made the drive to work and back so much more interesting.

The pollution and fumes are giving me a rash, not to mention the dryness in the air. Speaking of air, it squeezed the life out of my tonsils! I have the worst sore throat imaginable. Not to mention the hot water and honey that singed my tongue hair. Owwwwweeee. Everything I’ve eaten today tasted like saw-dust, so am eating like there is no tomorrow. My head is not very happy with the piling pounds, but my body is ecstatic with the ‘extra meat’. For the life of me I cannot diet, even my brain rebels at the thought, the only alternate was to take out my rarely used walking shoes. For the past five months the only exercise I may have done is gone shopping. Hey what can I say, I am a woman! Anyways, after fifteen minutes of a slight brisk walk, my ankles were sobbing, I distinctly heard a groan from the vicinity of the right knee, muscles were wailing for the torture to stop. In this out and out war of the mind versus the body, the mind is wining hands down. Hope the blubber melts! I have to say that,Tree-Elf has provided motivation. Every time my body wants to collapse, my mind gleefully paints a picture of Tree-Elf running full out. Shudder. Since I am not willing to subject myself to that torture - yet – I continue with brisk walking.

At this point it is crucial to bring in the relatives. Now that’s a different kind of pain. On my arrival, my Grandparents house was filled to the rafters with aunts, uncles and the several dozen cousins. One chacchi (dad’s brother’s wife) was on a discourse about her capabilities and abilities in a bid to impress the her competition, i.e. the other aunts. Show off! A cousin’s proposal was accepted, I asked if she even talked to the guy and she said she hadn’t. Humph! The teens were discussing cell phones; the men were tossing business woes, while the women were stirring the gossip cauldron. An everyday occurrence in this house but for me it was a shock. In two months had forgotten how chaotic it can get, how completely nerve wrecking, its like trying to play volley ball with ice-skates on. Volley, slip, bruise, return volley, get a grip, focus, balance, volley, fall, volley, volley, volley (that’s 3 aunts tossing questions at the same time) I stayed for an hour, made my excuses then head for my room.

Am really missing home and Bubloo-the-cat’s warmth against my legs. Two nights in a row see me up and channel surfing until the wee hours then running to work, usually late but very punctual about heading back. For the past two days am going loco trying to re-orient myself, had to harass the telecom guys to fix the phone-lines, mosquitoes are drawing blood – half a pint per bite!, car repairs, the needs of several people that depend on me for their living, the relatives shenanigans are making me see red, even the weather is grating on my nerves and work has piled sky high, so I bring it home, only: NO electricity. The generator coughed and puffed and on a final groan gave out. Poor baby. Relief, I was delighted with the quiet, the peace, this was my chance to light up several candles. So here I am, plunked down on my bean-bag, writing this post the old-fashioned way. The shadows are waltzing with the flames, there is a breeze coming in through the window, leaves are being moon-kissed, the darkened corners beckon but head bent I let the ink flow.

My heart is quiet.

Want "Nice Girls"

2006-03-23T19:49:00.000+04:00

This afternoon I decided to eat in our room. I was sitting on the floor, leaning against my cupboard with a large bowl of pasta and a glass of juice, continuing a very hot, steamy romance by Christen Feehan and my siblings upto their usually antics. With four girls in one room, (there used to be five) you have to wade through ankle deep clothes and whatnots. One sister was busy shaking her booty to the sound of “Tempted to Touch” I think she is practicing for when she will be back with her husband in Canada. Clothes were being shed, incidents shared, someone had staked a claim to my bed and laptop (the only clean place in the room). I hate messy rooms. Mom has tried to shame them into tidying, saying: “No one can claim girls reside in this house.” They are worse than boys. It hasn’t brought on any shame. There have been moments when they’ve woken up giggling, looking scandalized when they claim they slept with a hanger. One of them had the audacity to claim that she loves it when the room is in this condition. The booty shaker has started a vegetable/fruit diet. She had a carrot for lunch! That comment was followed by snickers and laughter. We are all great at multi-tasking. I continued my novel and lunch. And Bubloo the cat joined in the circus, being the only male in the room he had to put in his two cents. I am officially putting it on record that my sisters are the messiest women on earth. Stamped and signed!

Amidst the chaos, I get a phone call from my best friend in Scotland. After the usual catch-up talk, she gets right down to business and states: “we are looking for a ‘nice girl’ for my brother”, I mumble a “Ah-ha” Since the brother is divorced, with two kids they are having trouble finding a “nice-girl”. And she wanted another one for her husband’s friend who recently got divorced. She wanted my suggestions. The minute I asked what sort of girls are they looking for, all conversation, movement came to a standstill in the room. Ears were trained towards my corner. Bubloo hid under the bed.

One comment she made got me thinking. She said: “men are idiots when they go for sex appeal. Cant they appreciate a woman who is beautiful on the inside?”

Like Mom says: “Are they going to make pickles out of all that beauty!”

So WHAT DO MEN WANT?

JLo’s posterior, Sharon Stone’s sex-appeal, Angelina Jolie’s mouth, Betty Crocker’s culinary expertise, Martha Stewart style home maker. A super mom during the day and a femme fatale at night?

Or would women like my rowdy, bratty, brainy, untidy sisters do?
(two of my brother-in-laws seem to think so)

Nice girls anyone?

(A thankyou to Guyana-Gyal for the inspiration. It was the "nice girl" in your post)

Paradise

2006-03-23T00:06:00.000+04:00

Hanging by a thread. On the brink of falling from a cliff into the crimson sea of solitude and surfacing on the shores of the elfin land. Where mermaids and sprites carouse in perfumed, glittering waters of aquamarine. Where elves and witches create magic with a wave of their wands bringing clear skies and pools of blue sapphire seas and mountains of emerald green. Carpets of rainbows spread before your feet, which flick in and out of the spheres of a very vivid imagination. Therefore, I shall slumber into my own world of fantasy where pain is no longer the reason but living life to its glorious fullness is. I thus bid you adieu my friend, we shall meet when fate destines. Leave all the sorrows, the wails, the woes and sins behind. We shall meet in different lands of paradise.

Where I have been

2006-03-22T00:44:00.000+04:00

For the past fifteen days I have been trying NOT to travel. My bags are packed, clothes ironed, ticket in my hand-bag. I have driven the Emirates Airlines ticketing agents up and down the walls with:

Bookings – Cancellations
Booked again – am really going this time
Cancelled
Booked
Ummm best to cancel due to an emergency.

Am NOT booking till I am sure I will travel.

Its always hard leaving home, but work awaits.

I am one of those jinxed travelers, who inspite of the abundant positive energy seems to bring planes to a stand-still, (or so I like to believe). I am excellent with delayed flights and free tickets… no wonder I love to fly! The only downers are the creeps I usually get seats next to.

A friend of mine complained saying: “I will never travel with you, things happen!”

Ya, ya – like the time I was proposed to - God knows how many hundred feet - in the air. I didn’t decline till we landed, its best to have an escape route. Strapping on a parachute and jumping after saying a dramatic NO is a little too extreme even for me.

Yes, so for the past three weeks things have been topsy turvey in this Sprite’s life. Since, blogging isn’t an addiction – a not so heartfelt apology to blogging addicts – I get engrossed in other things. I love living.

Bubloo – our resident MALE cat is not a happy camper. There is an absolutely gorgeous Persian MALE cat that is wrapping us around its very furry tail. How do you deal with two territorial male cats. And Bubloo is jealous. Besides being jealous, he hates baths. And its a nightmare to get him into the tub after which he looks like a drowned rat. Mom thought it would be best to blow-dry his wet fur. He hated that! The next morning, am woken by "Bubloo is throwing up on the hall carpet!" - Its not nice to be woken up at 6 in the morning, when you went to bed at 4.00 just to clean up after your cat. But i have to say, he is a darling.

The Bryan Adams concert needs a mention. Moments find me humming a certain melody, a twirl, a sway and I’m back on Cloud No.9. All Im going to say is Bryan Adams Rocked and we rocked with him! The crowd was awesome. A thankyou to Hani for his very detailed post on the concert, knew what to expect

Met a friend for a drink – had a MOCHA for the first time. For a non-coffee drinker it was an experience! I loved the cream that wanted to be my mustache. On leaving, the friend said: “you look disturbed, give me a call if you wanna talk” – I think my aura must have been a different color – close to black. I love such friends! They know when to say the right thing.

These days its eating on the Wild Side! I’m going all out with pickles, spices, ice-cream shakes, lots of juices, and mom’s cooking. Am thumbing my nose at the asthma attack that seems to be just around the corner. Four meals a day and I ill resemble a female version of Humpty Dumpty. I cant wait to fall, so that some macho king's man would catch me. **shudders** so not happening!

For the past three days and nights I have been breathing in and exhaling out business and cultural books in an attempt to help my brother with his assignment. Its only 2500 words for crying out loud!!! but at a Masters level you sure has hell need to put in something that makes sense. So, here we are reading, surfing the net, making notes. Referencing, cross – referencing. I think I now, know all the main theories about cultural conflicts and negotiation techniques. I wanna go back to school. The dead-line is tomorrow. Was thinking that, for a procrastinator I sure have a knack for meeting dead-lines. Hmmmmm.

That’s its from me. Am going to crash for the next two days (Wishing is Believing)

A another apology for not visiting my favo bloggers. Will catch up soon.

Do Not Disturb :)

Sayanara

Cinema Vultures

2006-03-01T23:29:00.000+04:00

This watersprite's a movie-buff. Keeps an eye out for true stories, chick-flicks, comedies. Goes without saying that I love watching them on the big screen. In Karachi finding a theatre, screening a latest Hollywood flick is out of the question. So every trip to Dubai sees me making atleast one excursion to the numerous cinemas sprouting around like wild mushrooms.

This trip is no exception, maybe the difference lies in my frequency. Anyways, those visits got boxed in the "Sprite's hibernation period Feb 2006"

So, where was I...hmmm - yes my over-indulgence of visual treats on the big screen. Dubaiites seem to have grasped the whole theatre-going-culture with both hands as a major form of entertainment. And my siblings and I are right there with the lot of them.

Very rarely does it happen that I get to sit next to some stranger, but when it does, the results aren’t very pleasant and the after-shocks of that movie are long remembered.

Take for instance:

The late show for Four Feathers : I got the seat next to a rotund Arab, clad in his dishdasha (thoub- a long white traditional arabic dress), who probably didn’t understand a word of English, since he was busy reading the sub-titles and asking his friend to translate. Okay,I am not a heartless Sprite that cant understand about language barriers, but what really got me annoyed was that he had taken over MY elbow-rest, was sitting in his seat – yoga style,(couldn’t imagine how he managed to fit) happily slurping away on some drink, and every time a romantic scene came on he and his friend would have a conference, a loud one at that and he’d start jumping in his seat. With all his shaking, my seat would jiggle too. I wish I could have clobbered him! And to be honest there weren’t any sizzling lip-locks between Heath Ledger and Kate Hudson but the mini-gorilla sitting next to me seemed to think he was watching the Kama Sutra!!! Every time someone mentions Four Feathers – I groan out loud.

Casanova: I get to sit next to three guys, citizens of some Arab country. Inwardly I growl: "Not again!" Since I was already sitting, a whispered conference ensued and the prized seat went to the lucky guy in the red-T. I squeezed myself into the right side of the seat hoping he would be a decent sort. Thankfully they were well mannered, considering it was Casanova we were watching. But he did take over my elbow-rest! And for the first time, I was thankful to the UAE censorship board!

Walk-the-Line: My sis and I had to pick some stuff from the Mall, and since I'd been wanting to watch Walk the Line, we decided to take in the early show. At that hour the halls are practical empty. We got ourselves a whole row. After half an hour I feel something against my elbow, on investigating I see toes against my elbow-rest. I glance back to see an Arab, in his white thoub. I make a disgusted face, reconsider, put it down to unintentional and move my elbow out of range. The oaf keeps his foot wedged in between the two seats! Since, he kept getting up to answer his blasted cell phone, I decided to move up the row. Thinking he must have gotten the hint, only to have him sit behind me and stick his dirty toes again and touch my elbow! Eeeewwwhhh, that did it! I was so close to creating a scene, I got up and turned around to glare at him! He wiggled his toes!!!! The pervert. Lecherous foot behaviour! I may have forgiven him once, but those were a dirty bunch of toes, the big bulbous toe sticking out, bringing to mind slimy, eel-like creatures. What on earth was he trying to do? Say hi with his foot? Some way to get a girl's attention. Awful, absolutely awful! I stormed down the row and plunked my rear-end farther-est from the odious man! After which he got up and left! He had ruined my movie! I went home thinking: ThankGod I was wearing full-sleeves! But just to be sure, I gave my elbows an extra scrub.

Was waiting outside the counters of the cinema halls for my sisters, when I am approached by a Malbari man (South Indian) in a bright orange shirt, jeans , oily hair, oily skin– he has the audacity to ask me which movie I am going for!! I’m shocked speechless. Do I look like I'm standing there to be picked up!!! That too by some wannabe stud! I give my dirtiest look and say: "NONE!" Then walk off, praying that my siblings would hurry up. He starts wandering around the same area, giving me creepy looks. That does it, Im outta there. I was of the mind to go and complain to the nearest security guard. Dubai police takes serious measures against stalking and harassment. That’s the reason it rarely happens, but I sure seem to attract the biggest weirdos around.

A friend of mine labeled me WEIRDO MAGNET, not because of the aforementioned happenings, but because of the weirdos I meet on my frequent flights between Dubai and Karachi. Now that’s material for another post. Some other time.

Family and friends have a good laugh over the peculiar happenings in my life, the conclusion that is drawn each and every time is that its my face, I look too innocent! What a joke!

Its Thursday tomorrow am thinking of going and watching a chick flick. Hope don’t attract any vultures.

Baskin Robbins shakes

2006-03-01T23:08:00.000+04:00

If Hani hadn't mentioned the Ice-cream shakes from Baskin Robbins, I wouldn't have had to put up this post.

Today I had to go and get myself a large, three scoop, strawberry based, cream topped ice-cream shake.

Chocolate Chip
Jamoca Almond Fudge
Pralines and Creme

Am on a sugar high and the blame lies squarely on Hani's shoulders.

Love Is...

2006-02-28T22:48:00.001+04:00

Dad looking innocent says: "I want to go watch the Ladies Tennis Tournament at the Aviation Club."

Mom, glares at him and through clenched teeth asks: "Ladies"?!! (A twinkle in her eyes inspite of the fake angry face she's got on)

Dad's guffaws break the silence

I quietly leave

Only to hear some whisperings and Dad's occasional chuckle

Strawberry Craving

2006-02-25T15:03:00.000+04:00

Got up dreaming about strawberries

Taste-buds sent up a wail

Anguish

Cravings

Mouth watering

Made a beeline for the fresh strawberries in the ref

Sliced em up

Toasted two slices of brown-bread (at times im known to be health-conscious)

Spread golden honey

Startegically placed the sliced berries, making sure the entire bread surface was covered.

Dribbled some more honey on top

Took a huge bite

Savory

Ummmmm hmmmmmm

Berry Heaven

Sister looks on with interest

Oh ho, no no no

I know that look!

Think Quick! - ways to refuse her a taste without offending

All the while sinking my teeth in for another bite

Keep one eye on the remaining slice and one on her

Good thing she's watching her sugar intake these days! SIGH!!!

Shes outta the kitchen

Relish each bite

Eyes closed in ecstacy

Ummmm hmmmmmm

Harping on about Rain

2006-02-24T02:27:00.001+04:00

Today morning was no different then all the rest. After Bubloo’s subsequent Fajr alarm and breakfast, I went back to dreamland, to be startled awake by a crash that had me throwing off the covers and making a dash outside. Only to encounter a very dark, pregnant sky, high winds taking the shape of a gale and a pitter patter of drops. The sky wanting to let go off its burden but the cold wind just kept competing, howling and growling for supremacy. The echo of thunder in my ears. Lightening flashed. Trees swayed to the whims of the wind. I was finally getting my wish. I love winter storms, with thunder and lightening both vying for attention. Pulled a chair upto the window, wrapped myself in a quilt and watched nature let loose one of her moods. The heavens opened. A flood cascading from above. There is something so soothing about rain falling in sheets. I was mesmerized. Enchanted. In love. It was too cold for me to do that jig I was wanting to do. Ice cold winds, freezing showers. Warmth was only an illusion and winter was still here to stay.

Its been raining throughout the day. A sudden deluge or just a constant drizzle. There’s a bite to the air. Goosebumps on my arms.

Absolutely romantic weather. It’s the cuddling up with someone, hot chocolate, marshmallow, a long drive along the beach, dancing in the rain kinda weather.

Like my sister said its “lush mausaum…”

Its past 2.00a.m. and its still going on. Am so glad that I was not in Karachi. Usually miss these spectacular shows that nature bestows on us from time to time.

Throughout the day the following verse has been popping in my head.

“Sauhana safar aur yeh mausaum haseen
Humein daar ha hum kho na jaein khein”

Here’s to all Rain-Lovers

Am/Was in Hibernation

2006-02-21T23:08:00.000+04:00

The extreme, nerve-racking, chaotic past couple of months had created an upheaval of such magnitude that I felt adrift on stormy seas. Crashing into one wave after another. So churned up inside that everything was magnified. Felt too much, or didn’t feel at all. Smiled when I wanted to cry. Losses. So many changes. New chapters. New additions. Happiness underlined with sorrow. By the end of it all I was close to breaking down. So I did what I do best, re-treat in my shell. Live in my shadow. Go into hibernation.

I’m known to pull a Houdini pretty often. Its just me wanting time out from everything. Time to recharge my batteries and go ahead full-steam. Wish the Atlas had really Shrugged.

All other aspirations, cravings, needs are put on the back burner. Am diligently satisfying the yearnings of a nearly arid mind. From almost voraciously devouring books, to indulging my senses to a visual treat on the big-screen to slumbering around the clock. I don’t know what’s happening in the world unless it is put right under my nose. Family, friends, work all seem eons away. They are my constants yet sometimes I need to sever the umbilical cord just enough to feel free. I know its an illusion, yet I need it to maintain my sanity.

I think Hani hit the target with his analytical deduction of where I maybe. Yes, Ive stepped into my own Narnia.

Been listening to “Dil ke Lagee” by Nazia Hussain. I just love her nos. This one is a favourite. Credit goes to Samay for putting it on her blog as a reminder.

Wet Rain and a Wet Nose

2006-02-21T21:16:00.000+04:00

Was awakened from deep slumber by Bubloo-the-black-cat sticking his cold, wet nose against mine and murmuring cat talk. I grumbled and flipped onto the other side. It never fails to amaze me how he is up at the crack of dawn, then insists that I leave my warm cocoon, so he can satisfy his cravings. If I grumble and go back to sleep, the persistent cat that he is, he will stick his wet nose against my cheek, give it a lick and start rumbling. This morning was no exception, even with my head sandwiched between two pillows, Bubloo got his hairy face in and gave my cheek a nudge. I sighed, felt along the table for my cell, slipped it open and peered at the time. 5.31 a.m. FAJR.

Groggily made my way out to his food dish, while I was pouring some of his beloved munchies, I heard the unmistakable sound of water hitting the floor. Upon opening the back-door, I encounter enormously, beautiful drops of water hitting earth in all their wet glory. Splat! Splat! Splat! I was spellbound. It was a downpour!!!! Lots of winter rain. Wholly unexpected, but oh so appreciated. A dense cloud cover over-head, the sky a shimmery red, and the smell of wet earth, a chill in the air. I was in heaven. Rain Heaven. Bubloo seemed to catch on to my excitement and danced around my feet doing his sniffing thing. It was only then I realized that the sheets were still on the line, made a mad dash out to get them. Found Bubloo hanging half way up the screen door apparently trying to get out. This was his first rain. For a cat, he sure acts like a dog most times.

Since my brother was the only one up, leaving for fajr, I couldn’t share my exhilaration with the rest of the family. So, Bubloo and I were the ones left to enjoy the scene from the large front window. Bubloo draped himself on the sill, while I leaned against it. Watched the neighbours leaving for prayers, the old gardener from down the road pedaling furiously to get to the mosque, his heavy turban slightly skewed. Then silence, except the continuous music of raindrops. I don’t know for how long I stood there, watching, wanting to desperately go and dance a jig in the garden in my bare feet. Waited to hear the rumbling of thunder and the flash of lightning. This was blessed rain – there were no censorious glares from above. Bubloo was jumping from one window to another in feline rapture. When the drizzle turned into fine mist and the road reflected the lights from the houses I finally made my way back to bed. What a way to start the day. With a huge grin, I snuggled in praying that it would continue to fall all day. After some time a subdued Bubloo joined me, stretched out against my legs, plopped his head against my ankle and went off to sleep. But not before he touched his very, wet nose against my foot.

Im still smiling. I love winter rain. And Bubloo’s cold wet nose. :D

“Its raining. Its pouring
The old man is roaring
He went to bed
And bumped his head
And couldn’t get up in the morning!”

Chronicles of Narnia

2006-02-09T21:17:00.000+04:00

Yipppeeedeeedooodaaaa Yipppeeedeeedaaaa

Finally watched it!!! Ofcourse, the late show. The magic is unbelievable. I did think Id be watching something along the lines of the LOTRs triliogy but this was totally different. Sure, LOTR gives me goosebumps but Narnia was so completely close to my fantasies of another world that I smiled through the movie.

Fauns, Centaurians, Mermaids...man oh man! Lots and lots of snow.

Still grinning

Its a must watch!

Tagged! Unfortunately

2006-02-05T11:56:00.002+04:00

Was recently TAGGED by Hani. Feeling GRUMPY about it!

Four Jobs I’ve Had in My Life
1. Assistant Kindergarten Teacher
2. Assistant Teacher at a school for the mentally challenged
3. Salesperson
4. Manager

Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over
1. Before Sunrise n the sequel
2. A Walk to Remember
3. D.D.L.J
4. Lion King (1,2 and 1/2)

Four Places I Have Lived
1. Cola Quarters
2. Garhoud
3. P.E.C.H.S
4. Ameer Khusro

Four TV Shows I Love To Watch
1. Friends
2. Ally MacBeal
3. Dharma and Greg
4. American Idol
(not a die-hard TV addict, just watch if any of the aforementioned are on)

Four Places I Have Been On Vacation
1. America
2. Canada
3. Oman
4. Saudia

Four Websites I Visit
1. Blogs
2. Yahoo news
3. Yahoo mail
4. Hotmail

Four Favorite Foods
1. Pasta!!!! and most italian foods (am a pasta freak)
2. Arabic foods
3. Psyched n Samay's chocolate delights (hint, hint)
4. Nearly all sorts of berries with Baskin Robbins icecream

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now
1. Jumeriah Beach
2. In Mecca / Medina
3. In a lighthouse during a storm
4. Venice

Peope I Tag Next
1. I dont want to!
2. I dont want to!
3. I dont want to!
4. I want to - Barefootstepper...lol

1st Muharram

2006-01-31T19:46:00.000+04:00

Wanted to wish everyone in the Muslim Ummah a very Happy New Year.

Male Friends

2006-01-30T01:10:00.000+04:00

While I was at the mall today, a friend called. I hadn’t seen Jini in a year, after a lot of emotional black-mail(me doing it) he being the sweetheart he is, decided to drop by. Usually, we meet in groups so, don’t get a chance to go wild or have a one on one talk- no holds barred. So there he was, formally attired, (which made me realize that all my male friends are exceptional dressers) putting on weight and since he is over 6 feet and broader then the average guy, I feel extra tiny. Come to think of it, I feel dainty in front of most male friends, since they all fall under the TDH category.

Found a corner booth at Uno Grill and over some melt in the mouth delicious brownies ala mode, Paradise and Spring smoothies, gossiped away to glory. I was royally pissed at him for several reasons but the good thing about male friends is that they don’t end the relationship the next day or throw the usual girlish-belly-aching-tanturms. He is one of those guys who is never serious, so he couldn’t be bothered about my fake anger. Is full of humour and a major flirt. The highlight of the evening was him asking me to help pick something out for his wife. It still has me grinning. I never thought it would be this much fun helping a guy get clothes for his wife. I am the no-fuss kinda shopper, I don’t deliberate and agonize over particulars, if I like something I go for it. I usually know what I want. He was delighted to find a woman who didn’t spend hours over one item. In over twenty minutes, I had an ensemble ready for him. He just pointed out her size and his budget and the particulars :D

You have to love a guy who would buy his woman something for no reason but to see her smile.

Last night, I was so far in the dumps I smsd a another particularly close male friend of mine. Shrek is considered a surrogate family member. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, but even then Shrekie made me laugh with his corny remarks. I had to tell him he was my best “girl-friend” ever! Knowing him and his kinky humor, I couldn’t stop the grossly funny and embarrassing comments that followed. I went to sleep blushing! Shrek is the one of the most down to earth friends I have. Sure he can get nasty when the occasion calls for, but he is who I turn to for guy advice. Infact, most times he is my sounding board. To him I am just one of the guys.

Even though Buddha, Bill and Buffalo are spread around the globe, somehow with their emails, long distance calls they remain an integral part of my life. Buffalo, for some eerie reason keeps me in line. I think it comes with him being an army brat! Ever the proper gentleman with a subtle streak of wickedness. My cross-word helper and rain-teaser. Bill, is a much older friend and the wisest in my circle (both male and female). Actually, he’s already a grand-dad but I love the fact that I can discuss important matters and he handles them with a sensitivity and sensibility that is truly Bill. Buddha is my Sayonara, Ciaomingus, man. The one I can have highly intellectual conversations with.

Then there are Dimples and Bambi. Dimples still blushes and has the most amazing smile ever. The fact that he is a self-acclaimed workaholic who still finds time to call makes him all the more vital to me. Last of all and maybe the most significant is Bambi. We can pick up where we left off from. He is one of my closest friends. And on most occasions my anchor.

Over the years I’ve realized, that all my close male friends have been there during times of major upheavels in my life. I do have some very close, long-term and fiercely loyal girl-friends too, but some-how the guys have constantly been there. Continually, been in touch, made sure I was okay. Through life’s major crisis they come out of the woodworks and stand by me – both visible and invisible. Silently offering their unconditional support. I don’t ask, yet there they are.

Most are married, some committed, dads and grand-dad. Them willing to make time in their busy lives for me is more then I can ask for.

I am blessed to have such amazing guys as friends.

Therapy for the Blues

2006-01-30T00:59:00.000+04:00

Rather then be set a-fire by a certain mischievous troll on blogworld I decided the best remedy to combat the blues was to go shopping! Therefore, I made a trip to the nearest mall. More to spend some time by myself rather than throw my hard-earned wages on useless trinkets. Actually, it was more of wanting to go loot some book-stores. I crave books like junkies crave a hit. So, I spent the better part of two hours at Magrudy’s and Book Corner browsing and happily splurging on some of my favourite authors. An “On Sale” sign, in a lingerie store caught my attention; off I went burning a hole in my wallet. Ofcourse, for my own pleasure. Book and lingerie acquisitions are always therapeutic. It was while I was cruising through Debenhams that something caught my attention. FEATHER DUSTERS! And mind you, not your run-of-the-mill car swiping feather dusters, but the small, dainty versions in orange and pink!!! I stared wide-eyed, trying to discern the reason behind their presence. Even looked around to see if there were any related items so that my mind wasn’t off on its wicked tangent. Since, there were none, my over-worked brain conjured some very naughty scenarios for their usage. Blushing, I made a hasty retreat. Lord, have mercy! How could a store in Dubai be carrying them?

I left the blues in the mall. :D

Blue

2006-01-29T11:01:00.000+04:00

Am feeling Blue
Bluer then Blue

Too much is happening - and nothing is happening at all

So absolutely down and under

Emotions are simmering under a rigid lid

Somethings got to give. Or I'll burn myself out

Green Eyed?

2006-01-26T23:25:00.000+04:00

About a decade ago, two of my friends were crazy in love. He was of the Palestinan/Jordanian gorgeous breed, while she was a tall, brown-eyed, pretty, Pakistani. They were going through a rough patch regarding marriage. Since, I didnt know the reason behind the tension, I asked him and this is what he said:

Him: Habibti, I cannot marry her. [Please read it in that special way Arabs speak English]

Me: Why on earth can't you marry her? You love her, don't you?

Him: (with a look bordering close to pain) Ya habibti, I love her very much! (he rakes a hand through his golden strands), but I tell you why I cannot marry her. She has brown eyes! She don't have green eyes!

(Nods his head, encouraging me to understand, while I shake my head in bewilderment)

Me: So? What does her eye colour have to do with anything?

Him: (Throws up his hands in despair), Wallahi! If I marry her, the children will have brown eyes and not green - like MINE!

I just stood there with my mouth agape, stunned at his logic. I thought maybe I should throw something hard at his head, didnt think it would have made a difference!

Last I heard HE was seen with his wife, a blonde haired, blue eyed Palestinan
Last I heard SHE was getting married to an Afro American.

Hope they produce the right eye-coloured kids.

Wonder if their children would ever meet?

REFLECTIONS

2006-01-17T12:31:00.000+04:00

Busted a mammoth zit on my lip. Owwwwieeeee!!! Some way to start the morning. Probably sprouted like a wild mushroom when I wasn’t looking. Over the past week, my head has been taking frequent walks down memory lane. Brain feels on overload with images, conversations and way too many memories. Sleep was inconsistent, an amalgamation of disjointed dreams. Waking up and staring into nothingness, or was it the darkness in my mind.

Got up on the wrong side of the bed. Decided I needed some solitude. In my jammies and favourite Montreal sweatshirt made a beeline for mom’s dressing room. Snagged a box of Hobnobs and a pouch of Orange Capri-Sonne. Plopped my rear-end onto the step stool and was busy munching on my snack and trying not to think, when the taste of the tangy, orange juice took me head-long into my high-school days. It’s funny how food can trigger memory.

I loved high-school. Still do. It’s that awkward age when you realize you need to make decisions. The stage where you need role models. Where the differences between the sexes glares you in the face and you wish the boys who had been your best buddies would still be the same. The period when girls either turn into bullying beeatches or angels of decorum. It’s that excitement of growing up, of being wiser of being more knowledgeable. Sports and Studies. Of thinking you hold the world in the palm of your hand.

Things like being voted vice-Captain and Captain for one of the four houses was such an honour. Then prom princess on Prom night. I looked like a complete dud!!! Wonder what the judges were thinking. Some of the best times and some of the worst bloopers. Still cringe at some of the not-to-be-mentioned escapades I got into.

As a kid, adulthood had always seemed so far away, yet in retrospect I wonder if I ever really did grow-up or change. Fifteen years “up” the road, I believe I am still the same at the core, maybe just more streamlined. The extreme lows may have punched holes in my petite structure, but I’ve always bounced back. A stronger person. Don’t know if “better” is applicable here.

I’m still grouchy as a bear if woken when I’m not ready to leave dreamland.
Definitely not a morning person, if I don’t want to be.
Still give my folks migraines.
My rebellions maybe infused with subtleties, they are still rebellions.
Am the responsible elder child I was at ten, still am. SIGH
Organizing is a passion that has escalated with time.
Am a doer. A dreamer. Always finding ways to test my boundaries, my limits. Break some and make new ones.
A bookworm. Have been hooked since childhood. Have collections upon collections. An avid reader – was, am and will be.
Procrastinated - then and now.
Still escape into dark corners. Mom tells me as a three year old, I used to wander away. Whenever she’d come looking I’d be sitting in some dark room, talking to myself.

I haven’t changed.

Feel like having a spitting match with my 5 year old cousin. Maybe will do so tonight…

Find myself lying on the floor. The munchies are long gone. A strong wind is rustling the leaves, hustling the trees to turn her way. Hear birds chirping around, crows delighting in causing chaos. Close my eyes, take a deep breath and tune into the wind’s sighing. Contentment and Peace. Alhumdulilah

Will get up in a while to tackle the rest of the day.

MAGIC n MIRACLES

2006-01-16T20:17:00.000+04:00

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed." Albert Einstein.

I've always liked Einstein, not for the scientist, but for the incredible man he was. Several of his quotes have had me in guffaws:

"When you sit with a nice girl for two hours, it seems like two minutes. When you sit on a hot stove for two minutes, it seems like two hours - that's relativity."

"Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves. "

Then there are those, that make me applaud his genius:

"Imagination is more important than knowledge"

"If the facts don't fit the theory, change the facts."

My favourite is the one about believing in the mysterious. He knew what he was talking about. Wonder if he ever met any faeries or sprites. If he ever wandered into the magic realm of an insatiable mind. Probably did. Into the world of magic and miracles, of make believe.

Anyways, I've gone off on a tangent, didn't want to indulge in day-dreams when reality is surrounding me in a shroud. The happenings of the last few days have had me spinning in a vortex created by destiny. The corners are circles. Circles within circles

Magic and miracles. Thats my circle.

Of family and friends, of old and new, of loss and pain, of love and joy.

I'm still smiling through my tears. Still dreaming of a time that has gone and will come again. Cannot give up on that. CANNOT.

Of walking on air, frolicking in the waves, joining hands under the sea. Finding treasures where there are none.

Magic isn't what magicians create, its what you and I have within us. What we share with those we consider as, ours.

I am a miracle and so are you.

Nothing is impossible if you just believe.

This post is for everyone who BELIEVES.

And for those who don't its about time you did!!! (PsycheD!)

The following is something I had written for someone a lifetime ago. Seems appropriate to share it here.

Memories are Treasures
Miracles we Are
Surprises are gifts from Heaven
Firsts are what we give each other
And good-byes are never Forever

EBBING

2006-01-12T23:39:00.000+04:00

Throughout the day have been on an emotional roller-coaster. Hope is hanging on an unravelling thread. Waiting has been endless. Three hours seem like an age. The past three days an eternity. No signs of change. The celebrations have lost their sparkle, the only glitter discernible is of unshed tears. Been distracting myself with the positive in life. Mind cant get past the images or the death like silence.

Every breath is measured
Every heartbeat monitored

I dread what tomorrow will bring.

INSANITY

2006-01-10T01:08:00.000+04:00

CANNOT BREATHE!!

A numbing cold, sank its talons deep in my nose. Tried to shake it loose. Nothing seems to work.
Still can’t breathe.
Insanity on the roads. Wasted three bloody hours in different traffic jams throughout the main city.

Get an early Eid gift. Unexpected. Sweet.

Cows and bulls, jammed three deep in small Suzuki Vans seen whizzing all over the city. Truckloads of little goats squeezed cheek to jowl, being herded from one drop point to another. Their bleating is ignored, or is drowned by the deafening sounds of horns blaring. Traffic jams.

Juggling work.

A fight between two drivers at Karsaz. Traffic jam

A road dug up and no traffic police to control the outpouring of vehicles at happy hour. Traffic jam

Car catches fire on Saddar’s main thoroughfare. Road nearly cordoned off by the inefficient so-called Karachi Police. Smoke. Can’t breathe

Chest hurts. Not enough oxygen.
Rummage through and find the Nasal spray. SIGH

Have a really good talk with a dermatologist.

Saw our goats – they are BRATS!
Miss Maghrib prayers. Really getting mad.
Madness strikes. Organize a transfer of goats from Defence.
Get home. Headache coming on
Freeze at the door of my room. Its HIT by a tornado!
Hate untidiness

Blame it on the mysterious elves

Irritated beyond reason. Set a bowl of steaming pasta on my study table. SCREWED the polish. Damn there is a slight off color ring. Try to cover it with a POST IT. Then decide to pull my hair out for being so bloody preoccupied by irritation.

Reprimanded by my grandfather for not eating dinner with the family. DAMMIT!

Close to wandering into the anger zone.
Breathe through my mouth
Heat another bowl of pasta

Mix orange and apple juice. Nuke it! Tastes like cardboard – Sweet, warm, cardboard maybe with a bit of a bite. An acquired taste. HOT JUICE

Watch sister devouring BOUNTY with a glass of milk.
Insanity runs in the family
Cousins announce a COW/BULL tour of the city. Never done it before. Jot it down as experience.

Am laughed at for posing a stupid question about cows and bulls!

Some hotshot decides to put on an exhibition each year with a minimum of 15 different specimens of cattle. This year there are 17 huge, beautiful numbers. A continuous flow of the curious wander into the tent. Dust in the air and am close to the asthma attack that has been trying to creep on me throughout the day. Lots of jostling by idiotic men. Temper that’s been on slow burn all day nearly leaps out of control when a jackass deliberately butts into my sister. Wanted to throttle him. Some men just have to be touchy feel when women are around!!! Perverts

Have to get out of the stifling tent, get the girls and younger cousins out. Another pea-brained male makes a derogatory remark. Am holding on by a thread. A very thin thread.

Do these jerks forget that they come from women?

Slippered feet are dirtied by grime and a little kid throwing sand. Parents look on indulgently. MANNERS!!! Want to grab him by the collar and shake some sense into the lil brat. Should have worn my Doc Martens.

Feel like cussing like a seasoned sailor. Roll my tongue for control.
Clutch the nasal spray as a lifeline, hop in the car and try to breathe again.
Cruise through Zamzama. Take the back roads to Boat Basin. Stop for hot beverages.

Hardly anyone caters GREEN TEA. Have to do the honors of “sampling” the one that does arrive so everyone else can order. BLISTER MY TONGUE!!! Its blazing hot.

On the ride back, wind sneaks through the car windows and plays “hit the ear drum”. SCORES too!
Ghosts from the past flash in front of tired eyes. Can’t shut down my mind.
Have a raging headache.
Bow out of a past midnight basketball game
Wash feet
Havent prayed Isha or Maghrib. Feel miserable

It’s been absolute INSANITY

Tomorrow will be worse. Plumber arrives!

Want to walk with bare feet into the winter sea. Hear the waves skip gently to the shore. Feel the surf caress my ankles. Smell the ozone. Wander a little deeper. Raise my arms to the rising moon and feel peace settle in every corner of my being.

Am waiting for the witching hour when the water - sprites, elves and mermaids come out to play.

2006-01-07T02:28:00.000+04:00

I have a death grip on reality, so I dont succumb to the illusions my fantasies create.

2006-01-06T01:19:00.000+04:00

I BLEW IT!!! Damn! Double Damn. It started of as a pretty normal day (by my way of reckoning) and its ending in a gastronomical disaster of the first order. Its past my bed-time, WAY past my bed-time. After doing my usual juggling on the net, I craved something sweet. Since, I am trying to keep the intake on the low level, I decided on juice.

On walking out I find my sister and cousin busy making chicken n cheese sandwiches, all the while popping chocolate wafers like candy. Greed is a REALLY bad motivator. My craving cells sent up some pretty nasty messages to my brain and I made a beeline for the chocolate stash in the ref. It was while I was digging out a variety of the melt in the mouths that dad walks out, judges the scene and demands he wants some too!!! In the process wham went my head and hit the top frame of fridge. There I am rubbing my sore head when another sibling demands a TWIX fix. Well, so there we were father and daughters packing away like thieves in the night. Incorrigible lot. Wonder what mom’s reaction will be in the morning… or in a few hours.

Even after devouring several of those wrapped delights I had to go back and fix myself a grilled cheese sandwich. Next on the list is nabbing some salsa and tortilla chips from my sister. Her crunching away is making me salivate.

DAMN! She just ingested the lot – Im too cold to walk out and get some more. :(

Tomorrow, I’ll be a lot more stronger. (spritely’s sweet tooth gives a swift kick to her tongue for that lie..OWwwww)

ECHOES OF THE PAST

2006-01-05T22:34:00.000+04:00

A faded grey gate looms in front of the car. The color has started to peel. A row of coconut palms still stand sentinel outside the main white washed wall. Their agelessness a testament of storms weathered.

There stood a custard apple tree right inside that gate, its branches offering both fruit and adventures for little arms and legs. Gone in the name of modernization. The large swing set, where countless arguments and fights erupted, where friendships were strengthened, the opposite sex discussed with fascination, where day-dreams were shared, where nothing more important then the next summer adventure was discussed. Is no longer. Just memories in its place. On closer inspection, slight abrasions in the marbled floor tell the story of the countless number of times that swing was used. For childhood pleasures.

Echoes steal around the house that was one a home bursting with love, where voices resonated with laughter, joy, sorrow and anger. A harmony of the old and young. Where respect was earned and love showered. Children running in a dishabille state. Uncles and Aunts. Weddings galore. New births. Mistakes made, lessons learned. Brother shed blood for brother. Four generations under one roof. The old taught their ways to the young.

The last pillar of the fourth generation fell, leaving a void that couldn’t be filled. Then began the infiltration of a poison that seeped through crevices of the very foundation that stood on love and harmony. On brotherhood. On trust. Wealth, greed, envy caused a slow disintegration of values and morals that had been preached and practiced by the elders. Brother against brother. Cousins no longer the true childhood friends they once were.

A garden that used to bloom no matter what the season goes to waste under the care of a hired gardener. No love to spare, just little bouts of happiness to fill small flower pots for a few months. One by one, the ancient trees are brought down. The mango tree, then the elm tree, now the coconut palm. Only one person shed tears of grief and felt her heart shatter at the demise for something that once was…an object of love.

The patio is no longer a shelter from the noon sun; it is just a pathway to the house. The terrace has echoes of rain-filled days, of hopscotch, of the bamboo swing that one spent lazy autumn days in, of sleeping under the stars on hot summer nights, of hearing mice scampering of to their little hideouts. Of feet tapping to the sound of the latest rock band. Now the doors are locked and feet barred from entering a space that has been taken over by a newcomer in whose estimation childhood memories are of no consequence.

Dust gathers in nooks and crannies where once a mote of dust was sacrilege. Decorations broken by disrespectful children are never replaced – not by them or by their parents. Paintings have lost their luster, books are gathering dust. Attics are over-flowing with a century old treasure, left to rot, since their worth isn’t monetary but sentimental.
Amidst this faded splendor wakes an old woman. A servant wheels her each morning to her designated spot on the sofa, from where she rules her now close to barren home. No matter what the time, she will be the first one there and the last one to go to her room. You will see her napping on that couch, eating there, offering her prayers, calling all her relatives, watching the telly, She has started suffering from short-term memory loss, yet she watches over that empty house like she did when it was bursting at the seams with the comings and goings of her children, their friends and then her grandchildren.

Each evening as the sun dies another silent death, an old man makes his way to her side. He has returned from work. Her companion for the more than half a century. The patriarch of, not just his family, but of an entire clan. On that couch they share a cup of tea, or whatever fruit he may have brought her. They sit and talk of their day. Reminisce of years gone by and in doing so share the ever-present loneliness that can bring people to their knees.

They are my paternal grandparents.

I don’t know how I would react if that sofa were every empty.

I constantly hear the echoes of happy times gone by.

2006-01-04T20:51:00.000+04:00

Author of "The Joy of Laziness" ....Peter Axt and Michaela Axt- Gadermann.

Available at Paramount Book Stores.

Its a definite read.

THE JOY OF LAZINESS

2006-01-03T13:56:00.000+04:00

I’ve been reading a book titled “The Joy of Laziness”, and I’m in seventh heaven!!! It’s telling me to do all the things I love doing except one – EATING! Besides that I also need to slow down my pace in life so that I can save more “life energy” – but it’s a blast. Anyone who is living the high, roller coaster life and needs to laze more should definitely pick it up and for those who like me love to laze, here is proof that we are on the right track. Sleep as much as you can, laze in bed. Ohhhhh man, Im in love with the guy who wrote it.

No more cold showers!!! (hate those), no more excessive exercising (there are other ways to stay fit without becoming the next Arnold Shortknicker), no more waking up exhausted after a late night. It also states that the average man can live upto 150 years of age, so why not give it a shot. Live healthy and at a much slower pace, not just physically but mentally too. I think we of this generation do everything to extremes, like accumulate stress, party too hard, work even harder, depression hits most of us every six month, nothing is ever enough. My great-grandfather lived over a 100 years and MashaAllah he was perfectly alright. He must have been doing something right.

Although, one thing that the book advises on and I couldn’t really give my 100 % to YET, was to start eating moderately, I’m trying and it aint so bad since I miss out one meal anyways and no more snacking between meals! I keep the snacking and bingeing for Sundays. I just finished a leisurely lunch at work, chewing this way and that and finding it hilarious since I was giving my taste buds a serious workout. Oh the pleasures of life, I think the said taste buds have been tantalized and satiated till dinner. Well, I’m a woman who appreciates the fine things in life, fine food, fine chocolate, fine men…ooopps PAUSE – Rewind – Delete… - (the fine men are on my ignore list these days, since I keep falling for scumbags and hence this year I’ve decided to change my type from tall, dark and handsome. My sister suggested short, stout, balding, ugly – it took some mental assimilation to swallow the image. I think the image got stuck in my throat, I had to cough. God, I have nothing against the kind my impish sister suggested, just that never gave them any thought, makes me seem very petty. Hell, I can’t help it if my hormones do a jig every time I chance to see the tall, dark, handsome version!! SIGH!!!! – Maybe the men should stay on the ignore list and I can save some very idiotically wasted life energy from depleting even further.) I think I’d live life like a turtle( who is a bit more active then the tortoise - lol) rather then a busy bee whose life span is about a few weeks only. On these two happy notes, I declare it SIESTA time.

Happy Napping! :D

PS – I know I digressed, it’s a bad habit…I roll from one topic to another without warning. Bear with me.

Why Blog?

2005-12-31T21:40:00.000+04:00

I came across blogging two years ago and thought that soon our boundaries for privacy will no longer exist. The thoughts we'd have would be virtual diaries for all and sundry to read. And being the lazy, private type I thought why give a damn. My thoughts are mine as long as I want them to be, well its been two years and Ive held on to that belief. I think I wouldnt have given in if I hadnt been asked by a friend of mine to check out a photograph. SIGH...My first thought was "privacy invasion", second was "what next?" And then reading TREE ELF's and PsycheD's blogs made me want to "share" my experiences, thoughts.

During Ramadan, I even made the effort to jot down a couple of posts, but then I started procrastinating and thinking why bother. Although, I am asked frequently by a friend and family members to check out their posts I keep trying to put it off. I know once I get started its going to be addictive. So here is another attempt at trying to blog, I still dont know why Im doing it.

So why blog?

My thanx to Tree Elf and PsycheD for unintentionally motivating me to try this out. :D

Shaken

2005-10-08T16:33:00.000+04:00

This morning, I was woken with " Earthquake hits Islamabad" and found members of the family all gathered around the telly. Relatives and friends living in the hit areas where called and found well. Sighs of relief all around, till focusing on the news, the plight of the people, our people was brought to our doorsteps. Realising that the areas hit in India were majorily Muslim settlements was even more heart-wrenching.

I know scientifically its all proven, plates moving, blah, blah, blah, blah...but then the thought that, the Holy Quran does say about Earthquakes, Storms, other natural disasters as God's Wrath on the disbelievers holds more credibility.

Thus, have we then fallen in that category? Have our lives become so self involved that we forget where we have to return. What awaits us in the HereAfter?I know Im not as religious or practise Islam the way it needs to be but, from time to time, my conscience gives me a nudge. This is one of those times.

Please pray for those who are lost in the rubbles of what once were abodes of the living. And pray for those who are left behind.

Feast for the Senses

2005-10-05T21:38:00.000+04:00

Yesterday afternoon I walked in the door and smelled Ramadan. The house smelled of blessings and peace. I knew Mom would be in the kitchen making magic, brewing this, stirring that, a dash of spice, the sizzling of oil. My heart smiled. Although, exhausted from work, I made a beeline for Mom’s domain and lent a hand.

For me Ramadan is a month for peace, for blessings, for happiness, for constant supplication to Allah (S.W.T) be it in any form. I know that whatever I do this month will be rewarded even if it means bestowing a smile to ease someone’s grief. It’s not about satisfying hunger when you’ve gone without for the last 10-12 hours. It’s more about a spiritual connection between you and your Maker. I simply love it.

Having spent the last few Ramadans in Karachi with my grandparents, I’ve come to appreciate and miss the Ramadans in Dubai. I know a place shouldn’t matter in the larger scheme of things, but then I’m a shallow person who puts more stock in being with family. Being able to walk down to the mosque for taraweeh prayers, standing shoulder to shoulder with sisters of different nationalities, waking my siblings for ismak(sehr), going for tahajud prayers, discussing religion, bonding over iftari with family and friends, dad leading fajr and maghrib prayers, mom’s exceptional feasts, seeing, hearing, smelling, Ramadan all around me. For me Ramadan is a feast for the senses.

I’ve been reading a book by Nai’ma B. Roberts – a revert to Islam and the following extracts are from there. Thought they were worth sharing.

“…But some of our best iftars were spent at mosques around the capital where they would lay on a spread for the congregation and visitors. On of the best things about visiting different mosques for iftar, also known as ‘mosque hopping’, was that we got to meet so many Muslims from so many different backgrounds – Pakistanis, Bengalis, Moroccans, Algerians, Somalis, Nigerians, Caribbean, English and Irish reverts. I never tired of hearing how different sisters had come to embrace Islam and, with each account, my faith increased tenfold. Ramadhan is a special time for all Muslims who take the time to immerse themselves in it – but your first Ramadhan is unlike any other.

Sara shared her feelings about Ramadhan with me: ‘ I loved the fasting. I was on such a high from that! I loved waking up early in the morning while it was still dark; having that discipline to get up and eat something while the rest of the world was sleeping, knowing that you were setting to do something really special for the day and there were Muslims all over the world that were doing this: a silent solidarity.’”

RAMADAN KAREEM TO ALL MUSLIMS