2019 - The End

It's that time of the year when we make resolutions and revisit the various highs and lows of 2019 that we collectively, and individually, experienced. It’s also that time of the year when a gazillion posts about how you can become a 'better' person fill up the internet and Facebook starts sending everyone their respective 'highlights of the year'. Which makes the end of the year a little more overwhelming than it already is or needs to be. 

How was 2019 on the beanbag?

I walked into the new year with an armful of resolutions, a self-help book (which I still haven’t finished) and a Google sheet. This sheet became something out of a horror story after a couple of months. The thought of this daily accountability, though very exciting at first, soon became a nightmare. Even though it did help me get into the habit of performing some tasks, there were others I didn’t or couldn’t do every day and the sight of these incomplete tasks made me loathe the sheet. So I abandoned it and decided to focus on the big and some not so big goals I had set for the year.

The one big learning I’ve come away with from this goal setting process is that achieving anything requires resilience and consistency. No matter what the world throws at you, you’ve got to stick to your path. If you stray from your path, the big bad wolf will come after you and we know what he wants. I was able to do some things this year which I had not thought possible. At the same time, there were some other things which I failed at miserably. Does that make 2019 a bad year? Not at all. On the contrary, it was a year full of learnings and personal discoveries. 

Major takeaways from 2019:

1. Read for ten minutes everyday. There is no maximum limit.

2. Talk to Allah. There is no better meditation than prayer. 

3. Don’t be afraid of the world. Write, perform, create - on YOUR terms. 

4. Take more risks, Farheen! Be bold and make a statement. Whether it be through your attire or your posts on social media platforms. Get moving girl!

5. Wear more saris. Investing in lawn suits is ridiculous.

6. Spend quality time with the twins. In a couple of years they’ll be off to university and then I’ll miss not being with them. 

7. Take out the DSLR. Take pictures. Find beauty in ordinary things. Make an effort. You’ve done it before.

8. Write the twins’ journal regularly. Write in your own journal regularly. 

9. Be kind. Be patient. Be kind. Be patient. 

10. Focus on your health. Do what makes you happy and content but do it diligently and sincerely. 

Signing 2019 off with some words of wisdom from my favourite bear, Winnie the Pooh. "Don't underestimate the value of doing nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear and not bothering".


Note: Some of the highlights of 2019 on the beanbag. You can read about them here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. Whew!

Photograph: I took this pic of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet at the Flower Dome in Singapore during our visit in Nov-Dec 2019. 

Post # 31 - 2019 in books

This post is a long one. You've been warned. 

Last year I just managed to read six books even though I had set a lofty goal of reading a 100. Actually a 100 books in 365 days is totally do-able if you don’t have twins and Netflix. This year I decided to work around the twins and other entertainment/commitments and set a simple goal (as suggested by my bestie) of reading ten minutes everyday. The result was that I managed to finish 20 books! I know some of you will scoff at this meagre number while others will shake their head in disbelief that I even got into double digits but one can’t please everyone. 

A few books were re-reads, some of them were selections of the DWL Karachi Readers’ Club and some were from my TBR pile. So I started the year with Hanif’s latest book, Red Birds. Let’s just say that I liked his previous two books more than this one and leave it at that. Milkman by Anna Burns came next and this book was AMAZING. It was set in Ireland during The Troubles in the 70s and even though the story was about harassment, the war was weaved into it superbly. 

I managed to read three non-fiction books this year - Over Seventy by P.G.Wodehouse, It’s Not about the Burqa - Collected Essays, and The Sensational Life and Death of Qandeel Baloch by Sanam Maher. All three books were complete opposite of each other. 

Maher’s book on Qandeel Baloch was such a beautiful and sad read simultaneously. If you haven’t read it yet, I’d suggest you do. NOW. The essays in It’s Not about the Burqa were very intense and personal. Almost all of them gave a picture of how life is in the UK for a Muslim woman. Whether it is concerning their physical appearance or their right to marry whom they like - this book is a brave attempt at highlighting the voices of women. Kudos to all who contributed to it. 

Another book by a Pakistani author which was not just an enjoyable read but superbly written was Bina Shah’s, Before She Sleeps. The only unfortunate thing is that it isn’t available for sale in Pakistan and the only copy available was at the British Council Library. I think this might just be Bina’s best work. The plot was well constructed, the characters had depth and the dystopian setting was very, very believable. Loved it. 

Afternoon Raag by Amit Chaudhuri was, like all his books, a very pleasant read. It was as if I wasn’t reading but walking through a gallery, viewing one painting after another. The beauty of Chaudhuri’s work is that he doesn’t really provide you with a traditional story structure but invokes a mood, recreates a feeling. I followed it up with Desai’s, Baumgartner’s Bombay. A typical Desai novel full of good writing and keen observations. 

Another good read of the DWL Readers’ Club was Bird Summons by Leila Aboulela. It revolved around three Muslim women who embark on a road trip to see the final resting place of the first Scottish lady who embraced Islam. A road trip always promises an exciting story and the author didn’t disappoint. The ending wasn’t very convincing but the story was very involving and gave a good glimpse of how life is for devout Muslim women living abroad.

Diksha Basu’s, The Windfall, was a crisp read. It was very visual in its descriptions which is always good. The apartment building in Delhi East - its living conditions, the inhabitants and the dynamics they shared was probably my favourite part of the story. I thought I had the plot worked out but she gave a nice twist which left the story open-ended and quite believable. I think this book is already being made into a film. If not, it can totally be made into one. 

A book which has been adapted for television is Meera Syal’s, Life Isn’t all Hee Hee Ha Ha. I read it on Kindle even though I had noticed some copies of the book at local bookstores here in Karachi but I had dismissed it as chick-lit. Yes, I was a book snob once upon a time and no, I’m not proud of it. And I’m so glad I read it because it is a really, really good read. 

Jhabvala’s, Heat and Dust, was a re-read. I mainly read it to watch the film. FYI - an extremely decent version of the movie is available on YouTube starring Shashi Kapoor and Julie Christie. A Merchant Ivory production, the movie does total justice to the book but of course, the book is always better. 

The one book I read this year which has been rotting on my TBR pile is The Master & Margarita by Bulgakov. I really don’t know why I kept putting off reading this book because this book is a WORK OF ART. I purchased it in 2014 from a book store in Venice Beach and it has taken me five years to read it. If you haven’t read it, you must get your hands on a copy immediately. And don’t let others tell you that it’s an over-rated book. It isn’t. Ulysses is. Maybe even War and Peace (I'm ready to be roasted).

But if Russian authors aren’t your cup of tea then you can read An American Marriage by Tayari Jones. A basic plot with high drama and intense characters. I went through a number of conflicting emotions while reading it. It talks in a lot of detail about marriage, emotions and how we humans react to circumstances vs. how we are expected to react. Obama and Oprah are fans too. 

I also read Iris Murdoch’s, The Black Prince, this year. Mainly as 2019 was her birth centenary year. I’ve tried finishing this book earlier also but never got around to it. Somehow I managed to persevere this time around and I’m glad I did because Murdoch has this amazing way of writing where she does give you an ending but when you finish the book, you’re at a loss about who and what to believe. I love this about her books but I know this isn’t something which most people appreciate. 

What people want is a complete and ‘believable’ ending. Which is a bit unfair because isn’t the story the writer’s to tell? A lot of Elif Shafak’s fans didn’t like 10 Minutes, 38 Seconds in this Strange World. Or so we were told at the DWL Readers’ Club meet. This was the first book of hers I read and I loved it. This book resonated with me on so many levels that I didn’t want it to end. This is one of those books which will forever change your perception of Turkey. And it was also short-listed for the 2019 Booker Prize.

My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite was another Readers’ Club selection and was long-listed for the Booker Prize. The concept was interesting but it was a simple, light read. Nothing very memorable. Another book that wasn’t much home to write about was The Fix by Omer Shahid Hamid. Yet another very unimpressive read this year was, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid. It was the most talked about book on Good Reads and I fell into the rating trap and downloaded it. It is a rags to riches story of a woman who goes from Hell’s Kitchen to becoming the biggest female star in Hollywood. There was a final twist in the book which I didn’t see coming but other than that, nothing much. A good read if you’re taking a long flight. 

I finished my 20th book last night and even though I’m drowning under social commitments at the moment, I’m trying to decide which book to start the new year with. Any suggestions?

What were your favourite reads of 2019? 

Post # 30 - The Beloved Hungry Caterpillar

When Z and N were a few months old they were gifted The Hungry Caterpillar by very close friends of ours. I gave it to Z as soon as he learned to hold things which was around five months. It’s their favourite book and they’ve gone through the puppet version (another gift) of this same story so many times that it is in various pieces now but still a favourite.

Even at 5 months Z's favourite part was the
list of junk food the caterpillar ate on Saturday!

Z has finally started to read out the story to me while going through the book. In monosyllables mostly but he goes through it page by page, telling me what the caterpillar ate minus the days. Except Saturday. Currently, Z is obsessed with the list of junk food that the caterpillar gorges on over the weekend. Should I worry? 

This book was published in March 1969, 50 years ago, and it's still going strong! What makes The Hungry Caterpillar such an enduring read that it has stood the test of time? (You can read in more detail about it here). I think it’s such a well-loved classic because of the following reasons:

1. The artwork is stunning. The drawings are very childlike and prominently appear on the pages against a white backdrop which makes it easier for the child to focus on the story. There is a smiling sun and a moon so the concept of day and night is very clear. The fruits with holes in them trace the path the caterpillar took which is a lot of fun, especially in the puppet book version.  

2. It teaches counting, days of the week and colours simultaneously. On Monday, one red apple. On Tuesday, two green pears. Quite smart and convenient. 

3. Junk food is not the hero in the story. Which is important for kids to know from a young age even if they don’t really understand the implications of eating poorly right now. 

N and Z love the book. They can’t tell me why but I think it’s the simplicity of the story which attracts them and the fact that they, at this young age, can relate their world with it. There aren’t any big bad wolves or bears eating porridges in their world but there are apples and pears and oranges and chocolate cake and sometimes, a caterpillar on a leaf in the garden - waiting to turn into a beautiful butterfly. 

For adults it's a reminder that a) you are what you eat, b) Sundays are for detoxing and c) if you stay in your cocoon and focus on yourself regardless of the world outside you, too, can become the beautiful butterfly you always aspired to be. 

Post # 29 - The Real Monsters aren't wearing Costumes

I recently re-read George Orwell’s 1984. It wasn’t an easy read and maybe I might never have re-read it had it not been the October selection for the DWL Karachi Readers’ Club which I moderate. If you’ve read it you’ll immediately understand why it’s a difficult read. It is a bleak, dark book which depicts the worst in all of us. It makes you cringe with fear and doubt because of the one question that seems to scream out from every page - what if this happened to me?

The book covers torture in detail and though nothing gruesome is described, there is enough to make you wonder what happened to the prisoners in Guantanamo Bay. One of the torture methods described in the book is taking prisoners to a place called Room 101. Here the prisoners are made to face and experience their worst fears. It might be the fear of drowning, of fire, of starvation or like in our protagonist’s case, a fear of rats. The book shows how a human being is willing to go to any length, is willing to betray anyone, is even willing to have his family slaughtered rather than face his/her worst fears. 

My worst fear, for the longest of time, was numbers. Any mention of math froze me. Studying math was my worst nightmare. Math exams felt like facing a shooting squad. Discussing the paper afterwards felt nothing short of an interrogation. I think if I was taken to Room 101 during my student life, I’d have come face to face with complex mathematical equations. 

Fear can be of anything. Growing up another fear I had was of the video camera. This was during the 90s when mobile phones existed only in books or movies and the handy-cam was all the rage. My cousins had one and their favourite thing was not just to make a movie of get togethers but also to immediately connect the camera to the television and make everyone watch it. I was never photogenic and a combination of bad skin, frizzy hair and ill fitting clothes made viewing myself on a large screen even worse. When the handy-cam used to come out at family gatherings I tried to avoid it as much as possible, ducking into another room or covering my face with a book or a newspaper. I never fully escaped it though. Big Brother always managed to get me. 

I was never afraid of the dark or of sinister creatures hiding under my bed. I was afraid of being judged and criticised. I was afraid of sharing my writings - both prose and poetry with others and this fear is still there. For the longest time I was afraid of not blending in with the majority.

Unlike vampires, witches, zombies, ghouls or banshees, these are solid fears. These fears can actually shape us and if not checked, can define us. Now my biggest fear is parenthood. Whether I’m doing right by my children and being a good mother to them? It’s very easy to tell them the boogie man is coming if they mis-behave but inculcating fear into them of other creatures who are different can plant a seed of distrust which can snowball into something more complex as they grow older. My daughter is already a bit scared of the dark - I don’t know how it happened but it has and now I have to, somehow, help her overcome it. She isn’t afraid of dogs. Nor is her brother. And the way they play and run after our pet cockatiel makes us worry about the safety of the poor bird!

Fear is not a bad thing as long as it doesn’t take over our lives. Being afraid isn’t a handicap as long as you have the courage to address that fear and overcome it. And what I’ve realised is that one cannot live a wholesome life if there is a fear of failure or judgment haunting us at each step. So, this halloween, tell all the scary monsters to go away. 

Post # 28 - Finding Your Story

We start weaving our stories the very day someone asks us, what do you want to be when you grow up? Growing up, this was my least favourite question (read an earlier post I wrote here). No matter what answer I gave, nothing seemed to please the grown ups. I always wanted to be a writer but when I used to say it out loud the usual response was yes, that’s nice but what is it that you want to do when you GROW UP? Their complete disregard of my writing ambitions confused me. It made me feel inadequate and somehow in the wrong. So I changed writer to scientist. At five years of age I had no real idea of what a scientist does except a  vague notion that he/she goes into space. The answer worked and the grown ups, except for some annoying ones who pressed me for more details, were generally impressed or amused or both. 

Our environment often starts killing our story before we even get around to writing it. 

Here’s my story. I loved to read and write. At age six or maybe seven, I was creating my own stories and telling them to whoever cared to listen. I went everywhere with a bag, an old Saudi airline one, with my stash of books and stationery items. If we were visiting a house without kids our age, I usually sat in a corner of the room (under my mother’s eye of course) and busied myself with the contents of my bag. Sometimes, I wish I could do the same even now!

I grew up in the 80s in a regular Pakistani household. At that time the focus was only on studying, getting good grades and choosing a rewarding profession. That reading and writing could become a profession was something nobody thought of, least of all me. Instead of being proud of my creative endeavours, I was mostly ashamed of them. Reading and writing was all very good but if you barely passed in the math exam in grade 8th, nothing else mattered. I know it’s important to get good grades in math but how come nobody berates a math genius for being below average at writing stories? 

Stories aren’t important. Math is. 

Which is why I never showed the novel I had completed in grade 8th to anyone. I was ashamed of it. I didn’t make a stand and say, so what if I barely cleared the math exam - I’ve written this novel. I’ve created something. But I was afraid. I didn’t have the courage at age thirteen to talk about this beautiful story I had written. Instead I destroyed it, page by page in the small pond in our backyard. 

We can’t write our stories in isolation. We also can’t write our stories if we’re governed by fear of being judged and shunned. Most of us never get to write our stories, our way - we just follow a socially approved narrative. 

Which is why I didn’t fight against all odds and become the writer I wanted to be. I was always afraid to be a non-conformist. I was afraid of doing something which might generate comment. For the longest time my greatest fear was not of failure but of others. It is still there because such fears are hard to get rid of but its impact on my life is almost negligible, thanks to the love and support of my husband (who never really concerns himself much with the opinion of others!)

But growing up there weren’t many people who were willing to allow me this leverage. I followed a very traditional academic path and finally graduated from one of the top business schools of Pakistan. Even during my time there I dreamt of working as a journalist or a writer. Immediately after graduation I got a chance to work with an amazing editor for a fashion magazine. And you know what I did? I walked away. All the voices around me kept saying things like, you’ll work for such a small sum in a magazine place? With this degree you’re going to just sit in an office and write articles? Will they be providing pick and drop? I got a chance to re-write my story and I screwed it. 

But life works in mysterious ways. Even when we think we’ve reached a dead end, it gives us another chance to re-write our story. 

Are we ever in control of our story? My answer is yes, we are always in control of our stories. Even if external factors create situations which aren’t to our liking or which tend to make us deviate from our plot line, we can still be in control of certain aspects of our story. We can choose to be the hero of our tale or we can choose to be the victim. The latter role means we’ve surrendered our story to the powers that be. So many of us who choose to be the victims of our tales end up empty from the inside - never living to our fullest potential. I know it because I’ve succumbed to playing the victim card. It’s a miserable state and while in it, I did lose control of my story. So how did I regain control of my story and come back in the driving seat? The answer is simple. I started contemplating on my mortality. 

There is nothing which shakes you to your very core than the thought of death. 

Me =Writer. Reader. Traveller. Flower lover. Photographer. 

We all have to die one day and we all assume it’s sometime in the distant future. But death doesn’t work that way. And when you start thinking in this manner, the layers of doubt start to peel off. You dig out your superhero costume from the corner of your inner being and start living your life on your terms. At least that’s what I’m doing at the moment. I’m re-writing my story once again. It’s arduous and daunting but it’s also very liberating and fulfilling. And that’s how life should be.

Own your story. All of it. The good parts, the regrets, the achievements, the failures - embrace them all. Forget about what the world thinks of you, how do YOU perceive yourself? What is the role you’re playing in your own story? Are you the victim or the hero? Above all, be honest with yourself. Only then you’ll be able to change your narrative. And if you’re able to change your narrative and re-write your story, you can change your life. You really can. 

Post # 27 - The Power of Stories

What is a story? A couple of thousand words printed in a book form? A re-telling of fables and folklores? A collection of characters who are assigned roles and thrown into situations by the writer? A lot of us tend to disregard stories - we feel they are not necessary or important in our lives. Which is quite ironic because we are surrounded by stories. No matter where we come from, what our lineage is, whether we’re brown, black or white, or who we worship - stories are an integral part of our lives. 

A good story is a wonderful thing.  

For me, personally, a good story is one which stirs up something inside. A story which makes me question life and the choices we make. A story which gives me a glimpse of other worlds and lives. Characters form a very pivotal point for me in any story and I find the best stories to be the ones which have characters I can a) relate to or b) derive inspiration from or c) develop feelings (admiration, hatred, love, sympathy) for. It doesn’t matter what the genre of the story is - strong characters and a solid plot line create impactful stories. 

I’ve always loved creating stories. I think being a reader from a very young age inspired me to write. But now I find it a bit of a struggle to write stories. It’s not a case of lacking ideas but more a case of trying to please everyone but myself. Growing up I never had this concept of writing for others. I wrote stories which pleased me, which made me happy. Now, it’s all about what will ‘sell’ and be lapped up for publication. Which, I’ve finally realised, is not the route for me.

The thing with stories, I feel, is that they belong to you only for a limited time. If you don’t write the story, someone else will. It won’t be yours forever. Which is a good thing because stories need to be told. Their power is immense and long 

lasting. Sometimes a story makes you feel something, sometimes it teaches you an important lesson and at times they inspire and uplift your mood. 

I’ve been thinking of stories and their sources for some time. The stories I wrote or narrated in my teens, the stories which I’ve heard from my elders - you know, the stories of incidents and events which get passed down from one generation to the next, each generation adding more to the original narrative? Recently I came across this quote in Iris Murdoch’s book, The Black Prince, which made me sit up and collect my thoughts on storytelling.

‘Only stories and magic really endure.’

And sometimes, the magic lies in the story. In fact, I think it’s sheer magic that helps stories last so long. There’s something almost magical in the process of writing a story and creating a world of characters and events which lasts, in some cases, forever. What is the one book you've read which has never left you? Or a character who you wish was not fictional? Or the story you turn to again and again, never getting tired of reading the same words for the nth time?

[Next post: Creating our own personal stories and how writing the right story can change our life.]

Post # 26 - Show and Tell

Aren’t our lives all about showing and telling? 

This week the twins had to take their favourite toys for ‘show and tell’ to school. I found it very amusing because both N and Z don’t have a favourite toy as such. They have a few favourite books but those, too, keep changing every day if not every couple of hours. They never really warmed up to stuff toys or action figures (not yet!) and there isn’t any toy as such that they can’t live without. I did send them along with one toy each (and tried to impress upon them the night before how much they love that toy) but as expected, they didn’t say a word about their respective toy to their class mates! Toddlers are little people with a mind of their own.

Wait, is this the beginning of a lifetime of show and tell? It might sound a bit crazy but seriously, what are our lives all about? Everything we do - the way we dress, talk, the accessories we have, the cars we drive, the clubs we belong to - they all tell a story about us. They are silent markers of who we are in the world. They help us to create a perception of perfection and happiness without revealing too many details of our lives. 

Social media, though, has totally changed how we view others. Now we don’t even have to step out of the house to show and tell. All we need is a camera, some lights and a decent backdrop to create a perception. The internet has allowed us to step away from reality and create an alternate world. A world which might not always be based on truth but which others out there might be taking to be true for us all the time. Putting perfect family pictures of holidays, weddings, birthday celebrations, work achievements on Instagram and Facebook helps us to show others the so- called perfect lives we are leading. We show and tell what we want to. We hide the imperfections, the daily disappointments, the mundane realities of our lives and only highlight the very best. 

What’s wrong with that, you might ask? We have a right to show and tell what we want to, don’t we? Yes, but in doing so haven’t we all become narcissists or even worse, Dorian Gray? Which is disturbing at so many levels. Let’s take our toddler class as an example. Your child might take a simple dinosaur  - the plastic ones which don’t do much but stand on the floor - while another kid might bring some really fancy toy. How is your child going to feel about it? Isn’t he or she going to come back and say, I want that toy or can you please buy me something nice for my next show and tell? 

And before you give me a lecture on how to raise kids who are above all this material mumbo jumbo, think about yourself. Take a moment and tell me when was the last time you scrolled through the net - Instagram, Facebook or whatever else and didn’t go, I want to buy that or I wish I had that?

Showing and telling, that’s what life is about. It’s up to us to decide what we want to show and how we want to tell our story, if we want to that is. Or maybe Calvin is right, 'Everybody wants the same old thing.'

Images: Google

Post # 25 - Monsoon (Memories II)

When we visited Karachi in the summer holidays, there were three things we really looked forward to: meeting our grandparents, going to the beach, and playing in the rain with cousins. 

Although it rained in Rawalpindi throughout the year, there was something very special about the Karachi monsoon. Probably because of the relief it brought after the stifling heat of June. Or maybe because we were in party mode and needed an excuse to celebrate anything with our cousins and rain was a major cause of celebration. 

Even then as soon as the dark clouds rolled in and thunder rumbled in the sky, the lights went out. This was the pre-generator era (yes, I am that old!) but we kids weren’t bothered with load-shedding. When the first rain drop hit the driveway of my grandparents’ house, all us six cousins were out of the front door, oblivious to everything.

There is a special kind of joy that one derives from the rain and which sort of multiples when you let your defences down and dance with complete abandon in a downpour. 

Even though I haven’t let go of myself and stepped out into the rain in a long while, the twins did yesterday. One moment they were on the porch, stretching out their hands to feel the raindrops. The next instant they were in the driveway, jumping and splashing around. What made it more fun for them, I guess, is that no one (read: me) was stopping them from jumping in dirty puddles or rolling  around on the floor. 

As I’m writing this I feel a little sad. My grandparent’s house is still there but none of us cousins are around to play in the rain. My grandmother isn’t well enough to make aaloo ka paratha or pakoras. Those fading images of merriment and joy are all that I have. And I guess they are enough to out a little smile on my face as the clouds start rolling in and thunder rumbles in the sky. 

Note: I've talked about the monsoon on the beanbag earlier also. You can read those older posts here and here. 

Post # 24 - The Twins start school

The twins have started school this month and at times I feel I’m the one going to school with them. Not that I was a late riser before the twins were born and since having them, early mornings have become a norm but getting to school on time is a whole different pressure. Especially with toddlers who have no concept of time and are indifferent to the fact that instead of playing with their toys or going through their books, they need to get ready for school. 

I was a bit scared about school. I wasn’t sure how I felt about sending the twins away for a couple of hours and leaving them in a new place with well, strangers. A few days after school started I began worrying about their safety and once you start thinking about these matters, the mind leaps from one crazy scenario to another. I had almost convinced myself one night, at the ungodly hour of 2am, that I’ll home school them - society be damned. Thankfully, better sense prevailed!

As the days of the settling down period went by, both Adnan and I started stepping out of the classroom for longer durations and leaving the twins with their teachers. There were a few instances of crying but overall, both of them adjusted fine. And now, after almost two weeks, we are leaving them in school for two hours. Leaving them. Which means handing them over to their teacher and going home. 

And it was okay. I didn’t feel any anxiety or fear and no doubt creeped into my mind as I walked away from the classroom and out of the school gates. I felt happy and light. Happy that my kids had settled in their school with minimum fuss and no meltdowns. When I came back home the first time after leaving them I didn’t really miss them but yes, it did seem a bit odd to be without them. Sometimes I do wonder where all the time has gone. It seems only yesterday that they had started crawling. Now they are running and climbing and doing all sorts of things. It’s a pleasure to see them grow everyday but they’re growing up way too fast for my liking. 

Post # 23 - birthday wishes

I was into fantasy fiction and role-playing from a young age. Probably because I read the abridged version of Tilism-e-Hoshruba when I was around nine. My imagination was also a wild one and often playing alone in the garden at my grandmother’s house in Karachi I’d enact fantasy stories of my own. One of them which I distinctly remember was of me as the queen of the snakes with a deadly cobra (invisible to the world) by my side who was my protector and wazir. My favourite pastime during long hot afternoons was to sit in a secluded spot in the house and solve all world problems with my retinue of snakes. 

I never shared this with my cousins because girls of my age were more into fairies and less into snakes. Whenever we played a game that involved fairies I was the evil one who was defeated and either shunned or forgiven if I turned over a new leaf. At the end of every fairy game one of my cousins used to make a wish. Right smack when the maghreb azaan started, she would close her eyes and bring her hands together and whisper something. For a few days I let her be but then my curiosity got the better of me. Turned out she was making a wish to become a fairy because she believed that wishes made at maghreb always came true (try telling this to a nine year old now). 

I can still recall the scene as if it happened yesterday. She made me wish too but little did she know that I didn’t wish to become a fairy. I wanted to be the Queen of Snakes, the master controller, the woman everyone feared and revered. Alas, no deadly cobra came to my bedside swearing allegiance the following night.

When this memory floated into my mind in the morning today, I thought how the media (books, movies and now the internet) construe our image of a being. Not all fairies are sweet little creatures and not all snakes are evil. In our folklore djinn often assume the shape of snakes and come to warn humans of a catastrophe. There is one thing though, a good fairy is a good fairy and a python is a killer snake, unless it’s a djinn. Can we say the same things about us humans? 

Sometimes I wonder who I am? More importantly, who do I wish to be? Do I still want to be the saviour of mankind with my snake army? What about the other avatars I’m trying on - the writer, the yogi, the makeup artist? Do I choose or wish for one or can I be all three? 

Even though maghreb time has long gone by as I type this paragraph, I still want to make a wish on the eve of my birthday. I wish to be everything I ever wanted to be and more importantly, I wish for patience and perseverance to see my wishes come through in the coming year. Happy birthday to me I guess! 

Post # 22 - giving up, starting over

The struggle is real. 

This year I had decided to make some changes. You’ve heard this before but I’m going to put it out there AGAIN. I’ve taken some steps towards change but I still feel that I need to do more. One of the things I’ve done, which I never did before..like ever, is to read some good self-help books. The one I’m reading currently is Brene’ Brown’s Rising Strong and if you’re wondering why I’m taking SO long to read it (since I mentioned it here on the blog way back in March) - it’s because I’m afraid. At the end of each chapter there is a bit of a summary which not only helps to outline the chapter but also makes one think of how it all applies to their life. When I finished the first few chapters, I sat down and went through the ‘Owning the Story’ exercise. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. Walking into my story, accepting all the good, bad and the ugly with honesty, wholeheartedness and a desire to change required courage. 

So, has the change started? 

The one thing I’ve come to realise is how much we overuse the word, change. It isn’t easy to bring about change when you’re living a regular lifestyle. If you have a set routine and you want to bring about ‘changes’, it requires much more work and motivation than say a major change like moving houses, or starting a new job/school, or starting over after losing a loved one. In these instances people around you are willing to give you space to settle into the change. But bringing about simple changes in your routine in a house which is functioning in a certain way is a task even Hercules would have found daunting! 

Does that mean I can never bring about the change I want?

No. It just means a) I have to work harder to implement the change and b) once I can bring about the change and it produces certain desired results, others will also respect the change and be willing to accommodate. 

Simple, right? 

Not exactly. There is nothing simple when it comes to bringing about change. It needs effort and guts and willpower and a whole lot of gritting teeth and losing sleep. It also requires a lot of self-love and kindness because there are no instant results and at each step of this journey I need to be aware and accepting of my story. The past one, the present one and the future one I hope to create.

 

Rising Strong - Brené Brown

Image: Google 

Post # 21 - The point of it all

Seriously, what’s the point of it all?

I ask myself this question now and then. It’s a question which indicates that I’m going through an existential crisis. Which is something a lot of us go through several times in our lifespan (if anyone tells you otherwise they’re either lying or they don’t know that what they’re going through or went through is known as an existential crisis). 

I’ve been re-reading one of my favourite novels by Nick Hornby - Juliet, Naked. The last time I read it was in 2010 and I wasn’t going through any major soul-searching dilemmas at that time so I had forgotten that this novel screamed existential crisis at almost every other page. 

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a great book, probably one of his best novels. I loved re-reading it but what I had missed the first time was a) that this was a coming of age story but of adults which kind of translates as mid-life crisis and b) the protagonist, a woman, was roughly the same age as I am now when she started questioning where the last fifteen years of her life went. Her questioning brought to the surface some tough questions of my own life and doings which eventually culminated into this one observation/question:

What’s the point of it all?

I’m at a strange place in my life. I want to write but am afraid of it. Not of the hard work involved but of exposing my vulnerabilities. It takes a lot of courage to lay yourself bare which is something I realised and took inspiration from when I read the book, It’s Not About the Burqa. This collection of essays from female British Muslim authors was very inspiring. Some of the stories were so, so personal and painful yet the authors penned them down and shared them with the world. Is writing a blog everyday also something like that? No, not really. Especially when everyday you check your site and realise, with a sinking heart, that nobody is interested in your writing. Which brings us back to the original question.

Seriously, what’s the point of it all?

I know this sounds a bit like a very sad cry for help but it isn’t that at all. Okay, maybe just a bit. And in case you feel like sending me a nice email or leaving a sweet comment, please feel free to do it. Now is a good time. NOW is a very good time. 

[This is post no. 3 of my #dailyJuly series on the beanbag].

Post # 20 - Observation is a superpower..almost!

So much of who we are is, besides genes and upbringing, based on observation. A lot of times I’ve found myself doing a certain thing in a certain way because my mother or grandmother did it that way. And I’m not just talking about cooking. Actually that is the one thing I can’t talk at all about with any authority. Unfortunately. Although I’ve observed both my grandmothers (maternal and paternal) cook but somehow, I was never really interested in it. Now, though, I wish they had forced me to learn cooking. It’s one skill everyone must have. With the internet cooking, like everything else, has become so much easier and simpler. But learning from your grandmothers or mother or mother-in-law makes you feel part of a special group…sort of like a secret society. One Youtube video doesn’t make you a chef. It takes a lifetime to develop your own ‘haath ka maza’.

Personality can be greatly shaped by observation and though I haven’t studied psychology, I think observation is not given as much importance as genetics or ego or other forces inside our mind. My own actions, especially after my marriage, reflected a lot that I had observed my mother and grandmother doing and/or not doing. I feel that the power behind shaping your personality using observation is learning what not to do more than what to do. 

It’s funny how things come full circle. My daughter has great observation skills and I’ve often seen her copy certain actions. Usually she copies her twin brother when it comes to physical activities but she also copies her father and me. Tonight, while I was getting her twin brother ready for bed, she put her sneaker on the sofa and tried to tie the laces. She obviously couldn’t tie them but her motions were spot on. And nobody has tried to teach her yet. It was both cute and scary for me to see her do that. Okay, in all honesty? It was mostly scary. This little girl of mine is going to give her mama a real tough time. 

[ This post is the second one in my #dailyJuly series on the beanbag.] 

Post # 19 - Let's have some cake!

July is a hard core birthday month on the beanbag. It starts with a birthday and ends with several birthdays. There are birthdays in the middle including that of my twins. It’s a month sprinkled with many days of guilt-free cake eating. And who doesn’t like to eat cake? Marie Antoinette did and I do too. 

Probably not the most flattering pics of the cake

Speaking of cakes, I have to decide on a good one for my twins birthday. The first birthday cake was all looks and not much taste. I’m not saying it was a bad cake but it wasn’t lip-smacking, I’m-ready-to-die, GIVE ME MORE kind of a cake. As far as looks were concerned, the cakes could give solid competition to Deepika Padukone. Although they resembled her husband’s get-ups a lot more. 

Since the twins don’t have a say YET in the matter of their birthday cake, their mother gets to choose one. I’m oscillating between Reema’s absolutely divine gooey chocolate cake and my new find, @saddyscakeworks. I might just keep Reema’s cake for my birthday but the kind of track record I’ve had as far as my birthday cakes go is pathetic. Once, I kid you not, I cut a carrot cake on my birthday. You can close your mouth now. I know it’s shocking but no need to add more wrinkles to your face just because of me. 

Like all things first, this first post is a bit jittery. All firsts are kind of scary, aren’t they? I went to my first yoga class today after, what…four years I think? It wasn’t scary but I was a bit apprehensive about how it’ll go. I'll write about my yoga journey soon. In the meantime, I leave you with this great cake song by Ethel Merman, If I knew you were coming I’d have Baked a Cake. It's a fun, foot-tapping number. I promise you'll love it and it might take your mind off cake too. 

Note: I wrote this post before midnight on the 1st so it technically still counts as post#1 in the dailyJuly project. 

Post # 18 - Announcement

After a lot of thought and copious amounts of self-doubt, I've decided to undertake a self-created challenge. I'm going to post on the beanbag blog and the beanbag Instagram account every single day.

*deep breath*

Yes, a DAILY post. This isn't going to be easy but it's going to be a lot of fun as I will have to push myself to think out of the box and create something new everyday. Join me, next month, as I try to make good content every day of the week. Keep a lookout for #dailyJuly. 

My writer avatar this month!

Post # 17 - Motivation is a bitch

It’s not easy to find motivation. Or to remain motivated. The only thing that makes it appear every single day is the strong desire inside you, deep down, to change your life. 

I’m going to share a mini-story here. Of a time when I did find motivation. When the desire to change my life was so strong that I literally made things happen that nobody ever thought me capable of. I still remember sitting at the canteen at my college in Pindi and sharing a naan samosa with a close friend. I had turned to her and said, ‘You know, next time this year, I’ll be in Karachi studying at IBA’. She made an encouraging comment but later admitted, after I had made it into IBA, that she never thought I’d be able to do it. But I did. And it took a lot of hard work. 

Sometimes when I look back at that summer when I was preparing for the IBA test, I go into shock. I followed a very strict time table. I woke up at Fajr and and I still remember how when a part of me wanted to go back to sleep, another part, the motivated one, would force me to get up and sit down to study. I’d use timers for breaks and timers for studying. I was living at my grandparents house and distractions were always knocking at my door but I had developed the strength to keep them out. I worked so hard that there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I’ll not make it. 

And I didn’t. Not make it. I made it and realised after a few months that it was probably the worst decision of my life. But that is another story for another post. What I’m saying is that after that one summer, I haven’t been able to recreate that same level of dedication and motivation for any other activity. Maybe once when I did that workshop while I was working in 2008. That was also a life changing moment but another life changing moment happened at the same time and the latter completely overshadowed the former. 

I have a supporting husband and incredibly supportive in-laws. Why am I not able to make it happen? There are three things I want to do this year. Write. Yoga. Makeup. Why is it so difficult to do it? What’s stopping me? June is almost at an end and if I don’t make the changes now, I’d never be able to end the year on a different note.

So am I going to keep sleeping and hope motivation will come knocking at my door or am I going to pull it out of the rabbit hole and bring about the change I want to see? 

The question is, how badly do I want this change? Only time will tell. 

Post # 16 - Shoes matter!

Always check the shoes to assess what sort of conversation you might have with another Asian woman, whether she was the type who wanted to discuss the price of gold and baby clothes, or talk about travelling around India and how crap men were. It was one of Chila's secret tactics in social situations, and it never failed. 

(Life Isn't All HA HA HEE HEE - Meera Syal)