Day 4, July 2, 2015

12:20 pm

I am on a very good sleeping schedule these days. I mean, I am sleeping less and am still active throughout the day instead of dousing every few seconds. I sleep after Fajr which is 4:00 am in the morning and than wake up at 10:30 am.

Here is the problem though. I haven't been productive like I always dream to be. By that I mean, I have been watching Scandal. That is all I have been doing for the past four days. I would not mind it in normal circumstances but when your life is on the line, it kinda becomes important.

I do not know how to stop. The only way I know is to finish it.

4:38 pm

It was suggested today that I am a big spender. Unlike a loyal obedient wife, I don't save every tiny penny that comes out of my husbands pocket. Instead, I get late night ice creams and eat out on weekends. I buy shoes, clothes and books. I indulge in things that I shouldn't. I spend money when instead I should be saving it to buy property, build houses in Pakistan and buy Gold as a means of saving. Property that will sit there as some sort of back up, houses I will never live in and Gold that will sit in a bank locker only to be weighed and paid Zakat for, every year.

First of all, I don't think that I am a big spender. If I look back on this year, my biggest expense would probably be my books. All of whom are paid by the pocket money I receive. I have bought one pair of shoes, that also in sale. Its not because I could not. Its because I did not need any more shoes. I already have a lot.

The one thing I did go all out on was Abdullah's wardrobe. And trust me, that needed updating. Because it looked like a homeless person's wardrobe where half the clothes didn't fit him and half weren't even his. So, yes. I did buy a lot of stuff. Because I like men to be well dressed. They deserve to.

I am pretty proud of myself for the fact that I have controlled the way I spend money and have bought things that I know I will use. So when you hear someone tell you that what you are doing is wrong. It hurts like a bitch.

It makes you realize the mistake you have made of considering your husbands money as your own. It makes you hate yourself for getting married before finishing your studies, before standing on your own feet, before being independent enough to not listen to someone slap you across your face with words.

The worst part is that we did save money. And we spent it, doing something good for them.

People say that I don't have responsibilities. That's why I can spend money on things like food and clothes. As if living with In laws was not the biggest responsibility ever.

Nonetheless, let me make one thing every clear.

Even when I am responsible for feeding, clothing and educating my family, I am not going to spend money buying houses in places I do not know whether I will live in or not. Instead, I will continue eating out on weekends. And watching movies. And going bowling. I won't buy heaps of gold to add to my stash. Instead, I will be taking a vacation. Somewhere out of country, where my kids will get to experience different cultures and acquire knowledge. I will be spending on Disneyland tickets, ice skating rinks and seeing the view from top of the Burj Khalifa. That is how I will be fulfilling my responsibilities.

And if need be, I will be okay to cut down on all these things. But don't for a second think that I will deprive myself and my family the chance to live a life in the moment in order to make a life in the future.

I have been blessed enough that I was given a lot of things on my wedding. And I intend to keep those as my saving. I don't need a lesson in saving money for the hard times. I don't need to be told to keep it in control.

If there was one thing I was taught, that was to spend what is my budget. And believe me when I say that, even when I am buying a double scoop ice cream, I know that its in my budget. You can set your own budget. You can set rules for how you have spent your life and want to continue doing so.

But please, I don't agree with your views. Please, let me set my own budget. For once, let me do what I want. Let me be who I want to be.

Adieu !

SAP
............

Shedding Some Light # 2 Bitten By A Sibling

One minute you are yelling at your sibling to keep his nose out of your business and the next, you are sitting on his bed, hoping that he will share his stash of chips with you. From sharing a room, you go on to share secrets. The fights about breaking crayons turn into arguing over who ate whose slice of Pizza.

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, me and my younger brother never saw eye to eye. Me trying to be the big bossy sister, him proving that he was the eldest of us all despite being the youngest.

One day, we were going upstairs to give a message to our Taya (Dad's brother), and we were arguing over some petty thing. We reached the top and were standing in the balcony, finishing our argument. Neither of us was backing down, being the strong headed kids we always have been.

All of a sudden, he bit me. With bare, pointy teeth and all.

It was on my right arm. No the left one. I don't remember.

Anyway, so he bites me and I am still standing there, gaping at him, not sure of what just happened.

I look at my arm and I can see the flesh. Its pink, red and all glossy. And its horrifying.

I don't remember the next half an hour of frenzy where my brother is explaining it to Amma, and she is trying not to overreact. Otherwise instead of one, there would be two kids going to the hospital.

So somehow, me, Amma and my Grandma end up at the hospital. The doctor comes in, takes a look and asks,

"Was she bitten by a dog ?"

"No, by her brother ", my mom sheepishly replied.

The doctor went all ooohhh on us.

I ended up getting an injection and enjoying the attention showered upon me, which lasted for a millisecond.

When we came home and told this incident to our family, one of my cousins said,

"Kutta katta hai tu 14 teekay lagtay hai, bhai nay kata hai, ab tu 40 lagay gain."

"When a dog bites, you get 14 shots. Your brother  bit you, now you are definitely getting 40 shots."

Now that same brother knows me so well that he can tell you what my favourite food was in 6th grade. Or what colour skates I wore.

Siblings share not only a blood but a life together. So whether you need a ride or Doritos at midnight, you have the right to make them do it.

That is the fun of having a sibling. Instead of being one.

....SAP....

My First Crush

My first crush was my dentist. I loved going to his office and sitting in the waiting area, like I was waiting to be whisked away for a top secret meeting of all the board members of Qatar Petroleum. He was always the kids best friend. He would talk to you like he is your age.

And if he ever said that he was disappointed in you, that's when you knew that your teeth are messed up.

One of my favourite childhood lines was, when the dentist would take out our cavities or our milk teeth, turn around and say those magic words, " Now for the next two days, you have to eat ONLY ice cream."

That was Disney Land for me.

So for me going to dentist was a trip to Chaman ice cream parlour five times a day.

We went to him today after ten years. And I saw myself as the 7 year old that used to go there after every six months. We went to his house and it was magnificent. A two canal house in Defence which has four cars parked on the right and a huge beautifully tended garden on the left. Everything so precise and pristine that you would never be able to guess what sadness lies beneath all that shine. On the name plate it says, B.D.S, M.P.F.A, F.I.C.D. ( USA) and the walls are lined with certificates of recognition from all over the world.

You would never know that his 26 year old son who had just returned after becoming a Dentist as well and was about to get married, died in a fire and that very house was burned to the ground. This happened 11 years ago.

And even now he couldn't control his tears. It was evident that the tragedy had eaten him from inside.

I had to hear the not so magical words, " I am very disappointed in you. " And the always heard ones, "Such different names all you guys have. "

And in that moment, I thanked Allah for all the blessings I have and seem to forget about everyday. This is one thing we have no control over.

.....

I Am Not Desi Anymore

In my mind, I am immune to being sick in Pakistan. I am not one of those people who get sick because of the change in atmosphere or water. I am also immune to all kinds of "Gol Gappy", " Dahi Ballay", "chaat" etc of road side stalls and "Thelas". I have always been VERY proud of this fact.

I love to brag it out to my friends, saying ooh no, I am a total Desi. Just because I live abroad does not make me an outsider.

This trip proved me wrong on so many levels that now my head is hanging in shame. And I am regretting my decision of eating like a Desi.

2nd day in Pakistan and we went to my cousins house where I ate " Laddo Peethi". Than on our numerous shopping adventures, I had "Papri Chaat" and " Paratha Roll" from Lahori Chatkhara. I also drank Slush which is basically flavoured ice for a drink. Ooh and I forgot to mention the ice cream. And Jalaybiyan, Samosay which were delivered to the house for "Sham ki Chai". Hot tendors, Nuggets and Chunks of K & Ns graced us with their presence. All this in one week.

So now I have been in bed for the whole day with a tissue box on my right and used tissue pile on my left. My brain is fuzzy and confused not registering what I am reading. I have the full package which includes high fever, flu and the saddest, meanest, most disgusting cough ever heard. Did I mention the headaches ?

The Desi bacha is sick. Who is not so desi anymore. I don't hate being sick. I just hate not being able to function properly.

So if you want to function properly and have the best travelling experience, than don't assume that you are fool proof. Do as they say about restraining from road side foods.

I know. I know. It sucks.

But lets be honest. Going to Khaadi with a bundle of tissues in your hand, swaying side by side and feeling like crap is no fun either.

P.S. If you were wondering, I did not refrain from anything. I am still eating and drinking all the crappiest awesome stuff Pakistan has to offer. After all you get this chance very rarely. 

......

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

.......

Coffee Rants # 2

The best thing about not being in school anymore is that when the clouds decide to have mercy on you and shower themselves, you get to ditch your class and go Salsa in the rain.

Every year, that one day would come when it would rain in Qatar and we would be sitting in class studying Orbital hybridization. We would beg our teacher to let us go out and enjoy the weather but that day rarely came when the teachers were generous enough to understand our melancholy. Instead we would sit there looking longingly out of the window, listening to the drip drip of water calling us towards itself while the teacher went on and on and on about formation of Blastula. Once it rained in our half hour break and to say that the school went crazy would be understating the obvious. It was a little like giving free Ice Cream to a bunch of 5 year olds.

Today, however, I went crazy. Yes. We are that crazy people who dance (its like watching clowns hop around)  in the Winter rains while a little afraid of being struck by lightning. Although I have always wanted to get some sort of super power. So there I was playing football in rain while shivering to the core. And just having the time of my life. Have you ever attempted to drink rain water ? I did and ended up choking.

And then came the water fight. A sane person would think that why would you have water fights in rain. But its a tradition in my family. When we lived in Pakistan, after the rain, everybody would get their water guns and hunt down every damn bottle in the house. Then came the die hard decision of making teams. And cheating your own team. It was just another thing to have that kind of fun with all your cousins and all you had to fear were your mothers kicking your butts.

So right now, I am sitting here, drinking coffee, while going down the memory lane and being thankful for all those wonderful times and the beautiful weather outside. For us thunderstorms are a sign of good weather. And I know that by now, all the roads of Qatar are going to be submerged in water, the only time I appreciate Land Cruisers.

I hope everyone has a day as amazing as mine. Drink loads of coffee and be thankful for the life you lead.

Adieu !

S

.....

Summers In Pakistan

Its been a month since Summer Vacations officially started and all I have done is sleep, eat and waste time. Though, in my defence, it has been very hot here. So there is no way you can go out and do anything outdoors. Summers in Qatar are like Winters in Alaska. Then came Ramadan and I was fasting for 16 hours. Considering all that I really did not do much this summer like always.

Photograph by Saleha Jamil

But summers used to be very different in my childhood back in Pakistan. I remember the excitement and anticipation of going to Wah Cantt from Lahore, where my grand parents lived. They would have already made preparations for us. My Nano would have bought crates of mangoes, refrigerated them, made plans for hunting, picnics and all sorts of things. That used be our fortress where the Piracha kids ruled. My Khala (Aunt) would have baked cakes, biscuits and all kinds of that good stuff. My Nani would have made the Pickles of Mangoes. And so would begin two months of bliss.

In the evenings, us three siblings and Nani would explore the hills around their house. Then she would ring a random house to use their bathroom, because she has Diabetes. And we always ended up drinking different kinds of Lemonade from different people. We could come back home laden, with Samosas, Jalibis etc. Late at night, my Mamo (Uncle) would make us watch horror movies in the basement and then get a scolding from Nani. One of the things we loved, was eating mangoes in the garden, wearing shorts, with Silky aka Nano's dog beside us, and getting as dirty as we could. We rarely got a chance to do that.

Those summers saw frequent trips to the the Golf Clubs in Abbotabad, Bhourban, Islamabad and Rawalpindi. They saw the swinging championships between all the kids of that lane. They saw us, late night going out for a drink or chips in our case to the grocery store. They saw us sleeping outside under the magnificent sky laden with stars, asking Nani to tell a bedtime story. They saw us asking all kinds of favours from out grand parents. They saw us going all out when my other Massi (Aunt) used to visit us from Rawalpindi.

 Summers at your gran parents house with all of your cousins and family doing whatever the hell you want, what else could a kid ask for ? That happiness and joy is very different. Growing up without a care in the world, looking forward to the summers, then finally sitting in that Daewoo Bus knowing that we are hours away from our fortress.

Those were the days. Now its hot like hell and I am lazy as an ass. But not anymore. I am going to make it worth wile by working on my pending writing and updating this blog, reading more books. Sometimes I do wish that those summers could come back but then I have the satisfaction of having all those beautiful memories.

Henry James has put my feelings rightly into words by saying,

“Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.”

...SAP...