It Rained ! In Qatar ! In November !

I was just coming out of the bathroom, when I was informed by my dear husband that I had just missed the first thunderstorm of the season.

My reaction consisted of a lot of shrieking and running to the window to inspect everything myself. The sky was so beautiful. It looked like it was 5 in the evening, when the sun is almost down, and its that moment between going all dark and being full bright.

With more pressing matters on my mind like getting make up off my face and changing into comfy PJ's, I moved on from the sky.

We were ready to go to sleep. At least Mr A was. I had tons of studying to do. But following his routine, he got up to smoke. And that magical moment when I am told that it is raining. I have never appreciated his smoking habits more.

I ran to the window. And it was raining.

In Qatar ! In November ! Aaaah, what a magical night !

I wanted to jump out of the window and dance in the rain. But sadly, now my actions are monitored.

I am proud to say that I did not forget my camera. Which was such a waste because I ended up not using it anyway.

When we went downstairs into the compound, I was so sad to see that no one was outside.

NOT A SINGLE SOUL !

IT WAS RAINING. In QATAR ! And no one was out.

Everyone was hanging out from there windows, taking pictures on their I pads or phones.

We being the stupid ones got into the car and went on a drive. After getting into the car, I realised that showering myself with rain and getting the brand new leather seats ruined is not an option. My heart was crying and cursing my husband at that point. And my, why the hell did I marry this guy ? thoughts were back.

But after two streets, he thankfully reversed the car and we came back home to rain.

There was still no one outside in the compound. It made me sad. What has the world come to ? Why are things like rain and rainbows hold no importance in our life anymore ? How is it that today, we are more into updating our statuses about rain than going out and enjoying it ?

In Pakistan, we had a ritual. The minute rain started, my dad would tell mom to make "Pakoras". All us kids would be out playing games like "Pakkan Pakrai" and cricket in the rain. Lemonade would be made. My mom would hand out all the snacks to dripping wet kids. Our days of rain would always end by having a huge water fight with all the water bottles of the house.

I love technology and all the ways our life has become easier. But I do miss the fact that we have forgotten the small things in life.

Like rain, sunsets and rainbows.

....SAP....

Sometimes People Are Beautiful

Sometimes people get sick.

They get better.Sometimes they don't.

They are hospitalized.

Then they get better.

Or they have to undergo life threatening surgeries but you sit outside that glass door labeled Emergency in bold red letters. You remember their crooked tooth, or their ripped pants or the way they liquefied their ice cream before eating it and you hope for them to get better.

Unfortunately, sometimes doctors say no before you get to that stage.

I was a kid when we moved to Saudi Arabia and my parents knew not a soul there. They had perform Hajj after a week. And there was no place they could leave us kids. My mom went to meet this lady whose husband my dad knew. After that meeting, she made us stay at her place. And that was the beginning of our life long friendship.

There are very few people who have had the privilege of my mom giving us permission to stay over at their place.

That includes this incredible family as well.

We played and cheated in board games all night, woke up for prayers and then went back to sleep, stood in their balcony reading the prayer for rain and then running in the rain with all the kids of the building.

Some love knows no boundaries. And her's never does. Just the way she hugs me, speaking in broken phrases of Punjabi despite being a Memon herself, makes me want to distribute free ice cream. If I have to attribute the phrase 'simple and beautiful', it would be her.

She is sick beyond repair now.

And I sit here. Helpless. Thinking about all the wonderful things our families did together.

Sometimes the lightest of rain can turn into a thunderstorm and when that happens, you are left with towels and buckets on the beach instead of raincoats and umbrellas going towards your house.

.......

Reading And How It Has Changed

A couple of days ago a friend of mine shared a quote from The Fault In Our Stars and a very heated bookish conversation started between us friends on that status. This usually happens, one of us reads an awesome book, word gets around and everyone else reads it instantly and we start our very intense discussions involving major verbal arguments over fictional characters. The most recent ones are Dimitri Belikov and Augustus Waters. But it was not always like this.

Photograph by Saliha Jamil

Almost six years back, I used to be the only girl in the class who read books till I came to know that someone else reads as well. Than it was two instead of one. We were allowed to borrow only one book at a time from our library and we had library period once a week. Our school being very conservative, did not let us go otherwise because it was in the boys wing. Anyway, so in 7th grade, I made my whole class get library cards so I could borrow books on their cards and read them. That was my love for books. It used to be only me and my best friend. We had the best of our time with it. It was like our own secret garden. Instead of growing flowers in it, we grew worlds full of alluring words. Our class assignments were based on the recent books that were read. I was caught numerous times reading in the class instead of listening to boring Pakistan Studies lectures. 

But things changed in the past couple of years. Firstly, we met another awesome friend and bookaholic who brought tons of books with her. Not only did she introduce us to new authors but also to the vast book collection that her mother had.Then more of our friends became bibliophiles as well, which simply meant more books for us to read. And the circle just grew. We started sharing books with each other, discovering new authors, having intense character or story oriented conversations but the reading in the class, it did not stop. We passed it on to others. We made a Reading Club and failed miserably at it, though in my defence, it was not my fault. I did try, if not my very best. 

It is very different than it used to be. Where there were just two friends sharing their love of books, now there is a whole group who loves books. I used to think that finding a friend who loves to read as much as you do is the best thing in the world, I did not know how much better is finding a whole bunch of them. Books are your best friends but people who love books are your whole world.  

...SAP...

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...

That One Book

You know how there is that one thing in your life, just an ordinary object that reminds you of your whole life. It holds so many memories that your whole life is associated with it and you think that it is the symbol that represents you and your life.

My thing is obviously  a book. But its not just any book. Its the book. It is just a writing book that teaches you how to write in cursive. We have had that forever. It holds a very honourable place in my cupboard so whenever I look at it, all the memories associated with it flood my mind. My mom had always believed that cursive writing is the right or main writing of English. Like it represents English. So, me and my brothers were taught cursive and their were very strict rules about writing anything in simple hand writing. As far as I remember I didn't even know how to write in other than cursive, till like 9th grade. Even now when I write in simple writing, my mom gives me her 'I do not approve of this' look and she goes all like, I cannot believe I taught you cursive and you are writing this. I still remember the first time I wrote in simple font in front of her, she was like, what happened to your writing ? Like she has discovered that I have cancer or something and I felt like I just robbed a bank.

Growing up I always got tons of remarks on my writing and everyone wanted to write like me. I basically used to get Marvellous on my notebooks because of my writing. I remember, before moving to Qatar, there was this National Level Writing Competition in which the style of our writings were suppose to be evaluated and I obviously took part but I knew I won't win because there was this other student who was really good and her writing was simple. Last day in my school, I am handed an envelope and I open it to find that I had won that competition. Thing was everybody had told me that I won't win because I was leaving school and all but I did end up winning and I loved every minute of it.

Its pages are yellow and worn out from age but it just holds that many more memories. Whenever I look at, its like looking back at my childhood. You see now whenever I write something and I get compliments on my articles I think of that book. Because that is the book which had a role in making me who I am today. There is only one thing in my life that I am sure of more than anything and that is my writing. That yes, I have the ability to put my thoughts into words and maybe bring the words to magic. So in future when my first book will come out and I will sign it, I will think of this book. My first book that made me.

I hope that one day I can pass it on to the coming generations of my family and someday it will create another person like it made me. Its one of those things who are always special to you and are near your heart.

...SAP...

Some Old Memories

I was cleaning my cupboard and going through all the old stuff. There were so many things. My reading list of 2011 stared back at me with all its glory because it has the names of 103 books written on it. There was the wrapping paper that Ghina gave me my B'day present in. There was this paper where me and Nadi had drawn Mosqui Teeba. There were papers on which my friends had written quotes or just random words that   I never threw out. Rough draft of the first ever poem that I wrote. A page from my mom's diary. My old speeches. Pictures of a few of my friends. My 9th grade roll no slip. The ice cream stick with  "like us on facebook" written on it. The candy stick from last years food festival that I never ate. Picture of my best friends sister who looks like a little cute boy in it. And some other random bits and pieces of different things.b

Sometimes I have difficulty in processing the fact that I am 17. Life has passed by really quickly. And it still is going by like its racing with the best car in town and it wants to win on any cost. Sometimes I want life to stop and take a pause. Let me get my bearings and fully understand what I am doing. But life does not stop for anyone. Its like a train with no destination. And you are on it.

I love making memories. I want to live my life to the fullest. So that when I am old and whiter haired, I would have tons of pictures and stories related to them to tell the people around me. I could say that yes, I have done everything I ever wanted.

I think that when you look back at your life, you realise what you were and what you have become. You understand the things that you did and that you shouldn't do again. The mistakes you made, the triumphs you celebrated. The loser you were, the winner you became. The kid you were and the adult that life made you. The pain that brought tears to your eyes and the joys that brought a smile to your pretty face. What people thought you were but what you really became. Weakling is what they called you, fighter is what you proved yourself to be. Times when you had no money to buy an ice cream, times when you spent hundreds of dollars on one pair of shoes. Times when no one stood by you, times when you made everyone stand by you. Times when you fell down, times when you picked yourself up again. Times when you failed, times when you succeeded. Times when death faced you, times when life engulfed you. Simply all times.

I look back at my life from time to time and I learn a lot of things from reflecting back at it. It has been an awesome journey so far and I hope that it will be more awesome in the future. It is good to look at all your old memories and look at the person you were. Memories have always been very important to me and they always will be. This is what life is about. Just living it one day at a time and not forgetting who you are.

...SAP...