Shedding Some Light # ! A First Class Nincompoop

At 4:46 am in the morning, I had this idea of a weekly series in which I will write about an incident from my life. And what I learnt from it. I am going to call it Shedding Some Light. There are some things that never fade away from your memory and from time to time, you visit those incidents. I am going to share those visits with you guys.

One day, in 5th grade, during the Geography class, our teacher called a guy from a grade above us. His name was H. He was a pompous ninny whose favourite past time was bragging about his London brought up. Naturally, I did not like him. He came into the class, the teacher asked him something but he kept denying it saying its not mine, its not mine.

A few days after that, while walking to the school, me and Huzaifa saw H standing outside the school gates with two older guys. One of them had a metal bicycle chain wrapped around his hand and the other had a cricket bat. H said Hi to us and introduced us to his older brothers.

I do not remember what I did next but I wish that I had slapped him or strangled him at least.

Than I proceeded to my class upstairs. After throwing our bags in the classroom, me and my friends were coming downstairs, lacing our skates, when we noticed the commotion around us. Everyone was running outside towards the main gate.

Had I been 18, I would have thought that someone was naked outside or there is a free ice cream truck.

On our way out, someone told us that H was beating our Math teacher. The same teacher who used to wear ill fitting suits with gigantic ties with rainbows and dogs on them. He even had a Happy Birthday one, complete with balloons and streamers. H had brought his gang with him and wanted to kill the teacher.

The teachers sent us back to the class before we made it outside.

All of a sudden, the whole school had something new to gossip about. Everyone was on H's side, claiming that the teacher had beaten him first.

Than I remembered something.

The true story was that that 11 year old jerk had written love letters to a girl on the back of her notebook. She took it to her class teacher, who called him in our class and confronted him. On his denial, she took the matter to the sir. H went on to make lame excuses, one of them being that the notebook is his sisters.

Sir was forced to read out loud the cheesy lines he had copied from some third rate magazine. He went on to being himself, which was selfish, rude, arrogant, show-off and a world class jerk.

Sir started lecturing him and asked him to apologize to the girl, on which H became more rude and said,

"Its none of your business. Keep out of it."

What happened next was that I heard the most beautiful sound in the world, that of a hand coming together with a cheek and going "Chatakh ! "

And for that the sir was badly beaten with three broken ribs, a hairline fracture in the arm, two fractures in the left leg, a split lip and a concussion.

I wish I could understand why H did what he did. As if a reason could ever justify his actions.

The age where my days were spent waiting for the next HP book to come out, attending all the after school sports practices, having sleepovers at our best friends and learning to skip in a week. He was planning his revenge. And his older brothers were helping him.

And the fact that that teacher has to live with the fact that once upon a time, his respect lay in a Cricket bat and a Bicycle chain.

P.S. And let me tell you that first class nincompoops are those who are well aware of their qualities.

P.P.S. My current on repeat song is I Will Be Waiting. This is actually an English version of a Hindi song "kabhi Jo Badal barse". Both of them are awesome.

...SAP...

A Tale Of Chevron

I have one word for you. 

Chevron. 

If you ever have an idea. Think about it. Five years from now if you will regret doing it, than do not do it. In my case its five minutes.

So the story starts with my obsession with everything and anything of chevron print. This leads to the idea of my painting a chevron wall. Yes, my mom regrets handing me a paint brush in 10th grade.

If you think about it, its a pretty good idea. But not when you are kind of notorious for leaving things undone in the middle. And making a mess of things. The word mess is taunting me right now because it can see the storeroom my room has become these days. But I tell you. Not my fault. Okay. Maybe it is. Whatever.

But for now, lets continue with the chevron story. So the paints came. The colour was wrong. And the can was too big for just one wall. Arguments were made. No one liked the colour. Someone thought it was stupid to paint in the first place. 

I started out with the determination of Bob the Builder, taking measurements and marking the whole wall with tape. The paper tape finished half way and than scotch tape had to be used. Our stool was with someone else so I used a table. I had bought a huge meter scale but because we think we are such cool people and are in Games of Thrones. So apparently, it was being used as a sword. And ofcourse, it broke. 

Somehow the taping got done. Two lines of the chevron were painted. And voila ! This happened. 

Calls were made. Huzaifa brought over Petrol. We hurriedly cleaned everything. We made stupid what if if we light you up jokes while taking the paint off of our hands. 

After wasting the whole day and feeling like a complete disaster, amma came to my rescue and finished the paint job. Than we pulled the tape off, took a shower, put our feet on the table, relaxed and saw our handy work.

Bob the Builder would have been proud. 

No, despite many tries, I managed not to fall off the table. 

And yes, I spilled the canister of paint. 

......

I Lost Faith

Faith.

Merriam Webster defines it as a strong belief or trust in someone or something.

For me it is riding with your brother despite the countless car accidents, he has been involved in. Or eating pasta on someone else's reference. It is when you buy a pair of jeans without trying it on, trusting that the size will fit you. It is telling someone a secret and believing that they will keep it.

It does not matter whether you end up in a car accident once again. Or the pasta gives you food poisoning. Or there is no refund/exchange on the jeans that don't fit you. Or that by the end of the day, the whole school knows that your family is broke.

What matters is that you believed in something. You had complete and utter faith.

Sometimes in yourself, sometimes in the other person.

I trust too easily.

I take that as a strength but it does not always play out like that. But when they say that there is no shortage of faith here.

They are right.

That changed last year.

I lost faith. In myself. In the people around me. In things. In destiny. In everything. It was like achieving complete oblivion.

It was like losing something I never realized I had in the first place.

Somehow I stopped believing that Allah has the best of plans in store for us.

But now I have found myself drinking Grape fruit juice on my aunt's recommendation. I can see all the plans folding out for me. And I can believe in them.

Sometimes you just need to close your eyes, let go of everything and have faith.

If not in yourself, than your family, if not that, than your friends, if not even that, than at least God.

.........

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.

.......

Mr A !

March 2, 2014.

The day Sumaica Asad got affected. Pakistan was playing India on this day and I was the ONLY person who was unaware of the Cricket matches going on.

This is really embarrassing for a girl who used to advice everyone of completing their studies and than thinking about getting married.

You know how they say that never be too proud of a thing, you never know what can happen with you.

I got engaged last Ramadan on 26th July. Ever since that day, life has been a roller coaster ride. Sometimes going up and not finding a way to come down again.

But when I say that now after 7 months, I am truly satisfied. I have a reason for it. I have finally talked to Mr A.

Lets just say that he is the world most boring person who has literally wasted his life. But other than that he is a Human Being. And a good person. I say that due to experience of chatting nonstop for the past 11 days.

On that note, I am proud to tell you that I was the one to message him. And I am glad of that decision.

And lets just say that Mr A is more than glad. You know how on your birthday, the cake is in front of you and you are asked to wish for something. You wish with utmost concentration. And when that wish comes true, your feet are on the ground but your mind is on the sky. That is how that guy feels.

He was showing me some newspaper clipping of one of the matches his cricket club played and won. The guy was trying to impress me and I was laughing at the name of the cricket club which is "BLASTER GUNS."

P.S. This is an introduction of Mr A into my life. You and I both know how that will turn out. ;)

......

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. 

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