Day 1, June 29, 2015

Well, this is not how I expected to start this. But here we go. I have been neglecting my blog a lot these days and one of the reasons is that I am doing other things.

I needed someway to get a little bit of that writing spark back and keep in touch with my writing side. So I decided to start using this blog as my diary.

One of the most dreadful diseases you can suffer from is food poisoning. Let me explain why. First of all, it is no fun puking your guts out and than passing out on the bathroom floor. Staying on a comfy couch with a box of tissues and a TV remote is much better in comparison. I speak from 8 hours and continuing experience.

I have been subjected to a lot of criticism and judgement in the past 20 years. I do not give a crap about what people say about my skin colour or eyes. Things like these do not annoy me. Because from my perspective this is not in my hand. I was made like this. So I cannot change my eye colour or grow ten inches in three months.

But once in awhile you get to hear some really mean things that go straight to your heart. Last year, this friend of my mother in law's came to visit her. She was not in the wedding. So upon meeting me, she goes like,

"ye tu aapki bahu nahi hosakti. Wu tasweer wali tu ziada piyaari thi."

"This cannot be your daughter in law. The one in the picture was prettier."

OMG ! I was being compared to my own self. The struggle is real people. I laughed off her comment. But imagine my disbelief when she showed up this year and said,

 "Accha, tum abhi bhi wesi ki wesi hu."

"So you are still like you used to be ?"

This was said as a statement and I wanted to reply, "Nope, I have grown another limb and am a herbivore now."

Later I came to know that the lady in question runs a school as well as looks after her husband's various businesses in India. I felt so disappointed. If these are the kind of comments you are making, then what the hell are you teaching in your school ? Do you realise that you are shaping a  future generation. Imagine having such a teacher run a school. It is a disgrace. If that is the kind of thinking we possess then Allah has mercy on us and our generations.

Right now I sit on my bed, eating Bukhari Rice while Abdullah looks at me in contempt, waiting for that chicken to fall off my fork onto his precious pillows. Well, we cannot always have everything the way we want.

Adieu !

SAP

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Home Is Where The Heart Is

Its been four years since our last move and I have to say that I had forgotten the chaos that comes with it. My house looks like a frat house right now. Piles of clothes lie here and there, cartons have engulfed every inch of the space, keys have been lost, the trash pile is larger than the things we actually need, arguments are going on on what to keep and dispose off ( my mom wants to throw everything) and any attempt at making the house cleaner ends up making it more messy.

After taping and labeling a carton, we find something that has to specifically go that in one. Than we have to open it up again. Its a disaster. We only have two days left till the moving day and let me tell you that only our store has been packed and the books of the house, which occupy more space than rest of the things combined. Abbu had a fit seeing so many books. And he uttered the words "ban" and "books" in the same sentence. I said, lets not go there, my dear daddy. Because more than half are yours.

What I love about moving houses is that you have an excuse for everything. Didn't do your homework. Moving houses. Didn't callback a friend. Moving houses. Missed dental appointment. Moving houses. Ordered pizza three times in a week. Moving houses. Its awesome. And it works every single time.

Its a little weird though. In a way, we don't have a single house to call home. So we make every one of the houses we live in, our home. And you get attached to it. But the fun part is that you have numerous houses all over the continents to call your home.

This house like many before, has been our home. It has seen us BBQ countless times on the roof, than counting the stars in the sky, running upstairs like its a marathon to watch the fireworks. My favourite corner where I have sat, blinded by sunlight, drinking coffee and writing something. The wall that is covered with my incomplete sketches of the Doha Skyline, Huzaifa's disastrous writing on top of it and Moawiz's creepy hand drawn men crawling all over it. Me and Muaaz dancing like we are possessed, in the cold November rains. Our endless arguments on who will sweep the garage floor. The crazy idea we had of painting it ourselves and we did do it.

I sincerely hope that we pack everything and still have our body parts working. Because right now, we look like gypsies who have parked their caravans on the country side and thrown everything in it.

Good luck to you and to us !

Adieu !

S

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