Post # 14 - What drives a person over the edge?

I’m not a fan of Sushant Singh Rajput. In fact, I’ve not even seen any of his movies. And yet, the news of his death rattled me completely. What demons was he battling on his own? Demons so big and strong that they didn’t let him reach out to others? Didn’t he have anyone to talk to? A friend who could hold his hand and hear him out without passing judgement? Someone who could talk him into going for therapy? Wasn’t there anyone? In the endless contacts on his phone and friends on social media, was there no one to talk to? 

Mental illness is one of the most taboo subject in our society. What will your reaction be if your mother, father, sister, brother, spouse, child, friend, colleague told you that they’re suffering from depression? Will you listen or will you judge? Ask yourself this question. It is people like us, you and me, who fail to accept the symptoms of depression in our loved ones because how can any one we know be unhappy or heaven forbid, be ‘depressed’. 

Depression can be treated. It can be fixed. It doesn’t have to lead to suicide. The most important thing a person suffering from it needs, above all else, is for somebody to hear him out without judgement, prejudice or fear. And if you are that ‘somebody’ then I beg you to pay attention, show empathy and keep track. Maybe your follow-up might save the life of the person. 

I will turn to books for solace. Books on mental illness with happy endings and maybe some with not-so-happy ones. I’ll sign off with this inspirational quote from Matt Haig. 

“Depression is also smaller than you. Always, it is smaller than you, even when it feels vast. It operates within you, you do not operate within it. It may be a dark cloud passing across the sky but - if that is the metaphor - you are the sky.”

Image: Google

Post # 11 - Missing Routine Life? You're not alone.

How many of us have not complained, over the years, about our boring routine lives? Almost all of us. We’ve lamented over how our lives are like clockwork - that we’re just slaves to the clock and hardly ever get time to ourselves. Almost all of us have wished, at some point or the other to press the pause button on our busy schedule. Be careful what you wish for, I’ll say, for someone has been listening and has pressed the pause button for us. 

I stepped out of the house some days back to buy groceries and the sight was unnerving and disturbing, to say the least. Shops closed, roads deserted, and hardly anyone around. Those who were out and about were shielded behind a mask and maintaining a distance of 3-4 feet. In a city where finding parking is next to impossible there is, now, ample parking space but no cars. We have accepted this new mode of lifestyle, albeit reluctantly, as our current reality and are adapting ourselves accordingly. Where once thermometers were used to check for fever only in the hospitals, they are now being used everywhere, including outside Agha's supermarket. 

Will things ever be the same again? 

This is the one question which is, I’m sure, haunting all humanity. Will things ever be the same again? How will we all emerge from this epidemic? Bruised, yes, but bitter? Or grateful, humble and more tolerant? Only time will tell. And at the moment, we have a lot of time on our hands.

So it goes. 

Reflect. Be kind. Read. Laugh. Smile. Express gratitude. Pray. Whatever you do, don't lose hope. 

Post # 10 - How The Water Dancer reinforced my belief in the power of stories

Stories are powerful. I have not believed in their powers so strongly than in this current crisis. Social media has become, even more than before, a platform for sharing stories. Not a day goes by when my WhatsApp, Instagram or Facebook feed does not have a video which tells me a story of a total stranger. Stories of hope, of failure, of disappointment, of simple joys, of fear, and of death. These stories have connected me and others with people in Italy, Spain, Iran and other parts of the world which are facing the worst of this epidemic at the moment. 

Never has a book reinforced my belief in the power of stories as this one. The protagonist, Hiram Walker, has a special power of conduction through which he can transport people from one place to a completely different place through the medium of water. But it is not just a magical power like Apparition (Harry Potter readers would know) - a select few have the power of conduction and the protagonist was only able to harness it when he reached down into the deepest parts of his past and relived the story of his separation from his mother. Like Hiram, another character, Harriet, can also perform conduction and she, too, reaches out to the stories within her, of her kin and family, to make this miracle happen. In fact, it is she who helps Hiram understand this supernatural ability: "The jump is done by the power of the story. It pulls from our particular histories, from all of our loves and all of our losses." 

Yes, this book is about slavery. About that dark time in America before the civil war when plantation owners had dozens of black men and women working for them; in the fields, in the house, in the factories. When a plantation owner’s standing in society was measured by the number of slaves he owned. In the backdrop of slavery is the story of Hiram - his personal losses, his love, his struggles as a slave and then as a part of the Underground Railroad and above all, his acceptance of his special powers. There is an element of magical realism in this story but then, don’t all stories have magic? Aren’t all stories a doorway into an escape from society and reality? And no matter what device the author decides to use in his story, all stories are important because they transport us to a time and place which we might never have experienced or even known. 

I feel we don’t give importance to stories anymore. Maybe now we will, when the entire world has come to a standstill and all we have to share with each other, as we sit behind closed doors, are stories. We are shaped by the stories of our ancestors because these stories connect us to our roots. To walk away from our stories is to cut off our roots and denounce our identities. No matter where we live or what profession we choose or what car we drive or what phone we carry - our stories make us who we are. For us, the people of the subcontinent, the stories of partition are significant. They make us realise what we were, what we fought against, why we took the step of breaking away, and what we have done with the freedom gifted to us. 

Reading this book left me with a lot of sadness. The world has changed but there are still oppressors and the oppressed. Somewhere, even close to home, are people who are in similar bondage as were the black slaves of America. Distinctions are made, even now, on the basis of skin colour. Atrocities are still being committed by humans on other humans in the name of religion, sect, race, social status and class difference. Children are still separated from their mothers and families are still torn apart. 

The book, though steeped in tragedy, was not all bleak. Where there is darkness, there is also light. There are good people in this world also. People who take up causes and start movements even though they might not be directly affected by them (although if there is one thing this current epidemic has taught, it’s that none of us can remain unaffected by the condition of others who share our planet with us). But humans are resilient creatures. No matter what we are born into and who we become, we have the power to change our lives. What is important, I believe, after reading this book and being forced to sit at home due to a virus, is that our real strength lies in the bonds of love and family. It lies in the stories passed down from one generation to the next and most importantly, in how we take elements from the stories of our ancestors and create our own tale. 

Note: The image in this post is by the author.  

Post # 8 - COVID-19 and Us

The world is at a standstill. As I write this, Karachi is also experiencing a partial shutdown. Schools, most offices, public spaces, malls, restaurants, gyms are all closed. Only grocery stores and pharmacies are open. It is surreal, yes, but also scary on many levels. Firstly there is the fear that I’ve met someone recently who had the virus but didn’t show any symptoms. Secondly, when will it end? Thirdly and most importantly, how will it end? Watching the news has now, more than ever, become a nightmare as reports come from all corners of the world of numbers and statistics. Panic buying and hoarding has started across the world including Karachi. On a lighter note, we have run out of hand sanitisers but we still have ample toilet paper!

Our local government has taken some very strong measures and right now, I think, the Sind Chief Minister is probably making the most intelligent decisions regarding preventive measures. A lot of us, too, were in denial. We were convinced that just washing hands, drinking ample fluids and gargling will help us through this while we go about our regular life. I started raising the alarm ten days back about social distancing in my immediate family and friends circle but I wasn’t taken seriously. Thankfully my hue and cry did make them consult family doctors and many events in our immediate and extended family were cancelled/postponed. I’m hardly stepping out of the house but when I do, I carry a spray bottle full of a mixture of water and Dettol. I’m disinfecting everything which comes in the house. It’s a tedious task but it needs to be done. I have two different age extremes in the house - my elderly in-laws and my 2.7 yo twins. I might start permanently smelling of Dettol after all this is over. 

When will all this be over? When will the world heave a sigh of relief and go back to normal life? Will we ever be able to go back to living as we did before this virus hit us and turned our world topsy turvy? I think there will be a paradigm shift as far as our basic lifestyle is concerned. Or will we go back to our lives in the same manner pretending all this was just a bad dream? 

Building a virus free lego city with
friendly dinosaurs!

In an ideal world, people will turn to books in this difficult time and find solace in stories. They will realise that books provide the perfect escape, even momentarily, from the dreariness and morbidity of being in lockdown. They will read to each other and talk about their most or least favourite books. They’ll go through their bookshelves and find hidden gems which they had bought but never read due to lack of time. They will develop an appreciation for the philosophy of bookworms - with a world full of so many incredible books, who needs people all the time? In an ideal world, yes, that might just happen. 

Act responsibly. Wash your hands. Maintain social distance. Stay home and read a  book. Be grateful for your health and that of your loved ones. Say a prayer for the doctors and nurses who are at the frontline and fighting this virus all over the world. Most importantly, don’t forget to wash your hands. 

Post # 6 - Are Mothers supposed to be superheroes? (motherhood series)

When women become mothers, it’s assumed that they will become selfless individuals whose only concern will be the well-being of their child or children. No matter what the situation, as a mother, we need to put the child first. We might be exhausted after a bad night’s sleep or bone tired after a long day with the kids but we are still expected to be calm, patient and not lose it. 

Do women suddenly acquire superpowers after becoming mothers?

None that I know of. At least not yet. In fact, I can only see the powers of reason and sanity slowly seeping away from my grasp. Yet, I fight back and try and behave as if I’m a superwoman. I try and keep it together everyday because that’s what’s expected of me. I try to keep my frustration, my anger and my exhaustion under wraps because unleashing it makes things only worse. With the kids, with the spouse, with others. Especially others because everyone of us is always, always judging everyone else. 

Is there a win-win solution?

Yes and no. Sometimes you find a solution which works but when you decide to reuse it on another day, it completely flops. These days my daughter doesn’t want to leave school. She’ll walk slowly and make many stops on the way from the school gate to the car. All the other children are happily walking with their parents to their respective cars but my little girl wants to do things differently (so much for wanting your child to be ‘different’ from others!). Everyday I have to come up with new and novel ways to make her walk. Some days we pretend that all the trees outside the school have magic buttons which we have to find and press. A big leaf I gave to her yesterday became a tickling device. She ran after me so as to tickle me with the leaf and I played along, leading her successfully to the car. When we reached the car all laughter and happiness, her brother saw the leaf and wanted one also. Unfortunately, we just had that one leaf. 

Can one negotiate with toddlers?

Even play requires negotiations
at times. 

Again, yes and no. I’ve learned two things so far. Firstly, raising my voice yields no results. They scream back, start crying or throw a tantrum. What else can you expect from a 2.6 year old? Yes, my daughter knows that she needs to walk home with me from school to the car but maybe she wants to play first. Maybe she wants me to show her a little extra attention because I’ve been away for three hours. If I start yelling or getting upset with her, she’ll respond in the only way she knows. Crying. That’s the only way she has of expressing her distress, frustration, helplessness, confusion and of course, anger. Secondly, talking to her, I’ve realised, helps me to get control of the situation. Talking in a friendly tone with them makes them trust me. And that’s what I need them to do. Trust me. Implicitly. Always and forever. 

I’m a mother, not a superhero.

As mothers, we do have powers. We have the power to provide the child with an environment in which he/she can not just be happy but also be curious, creative and just be himself/herself. Most importantly, we need to realise that though we have quite a number of powers, we are humans too and need some time off. A cup of coffee in peace, maybe a few uninterrupted minutes of reading or just a power nap keeps our powers intact and makes us happy mothers. And it’s happy mothers who are behind happy babies/toddlers. Not just dry pampers! 

Note: The image in this post is by the author. 

post # 3 - the patience game (motherhood series)

If you thought patience was tough, wait till you become a parent. And if you’re already one, I salute thee. Parenthood is so tough. The saying, It takes a village to raise a child, has completely different connotations in the age of the internet. In the East, we already have everyone from our own mothers and mother-in-laws to total strangers we run into at gatherings, giving us tips on raising our children. Then there are friends and cousins who keep sending articles on everything from potty training to eating habits to anger management issues. As if that wasn’t enough, there are always the videos on Youtube which can provide any amount of information on every possible topic. There is so much information overload that when the time comes to apply something that you’ve either read, watched or listened, you don’t remember what it is. At least, that’s what I think.

Over these past two plus years with the twins, I’ve realised that there are three things that really make a difference to both your and the child’s sanity. Patience. Repetition. Forgiveness.

Be patient with your child, is the advice everyone gives. Being patient as a parent doesn’t just mean not screaming or not getting angry at your child. I’ve learned and realised that patience also means to give the child and yourself space to understand each other. I might be sounding like Yoda on parenthood right now but I’ve learned with trial and error also. Getting angry at a screaming child is going to make him/her scream more. Sometimes, even distracting a screaming child calmly doesn’t work. A few weeks back, while dropping the kids to school, Z started throwing a fit because he wanted me to sit with him. He doesn’t do this everyday but today, he was really upset and was crying and screaming. I tried to distract him by singing his favourite nursery rhyme and showing him the sights outside but he just wan’t giving in. So I gave in. 

So there might be some of you who’ll say, this was wrong. Now he will know that whenever he wants something all he has to do is scream and kick and his mother will give in. I disagree. I used to think the same but I’ve realised that this isn’t the case. Yes, maybe he might have calmed down after a while but he’d still have that negative energy inside him. His anger, which he suppressed, would either have come out later in the day or even worse, remained bottled up inside him. By giving in I made him happy and he went to school with a positive mind. Does this mean that I always give in when my child is screaming? No. But luckily, because I give in on simple matters, they don’t scream in every situation. Also, it is a combination of common sense and patience. Handling a screaming toddler in a car is much different from handling him/her in the house. 

Choose your battles with your child. If you’re going to scold or punish or not let them have their way every time, then you won’t have any ammunition left for the major battles later on. 

Patience is also of another level. We are told how our child should behave at a certain age by all these experts. So at nine months he/she must do this, at one year that is a given etc etc. Have patience with your child if he/she doesn’t fit the framework. Your stress will rub onto your child. When Z was one year ten months, all he could say was ‘papa’. We went to London and his paediatrician recommended we show him to a speech therapist. It was a very text book suggestion. But I knew my child and I knew that he was going to start talking without the aid of a therapist. Some children talk late, some crawl late, some walk late. I’m not saying delay treatment if there is something physical or otherwise not a 100% with your child but sometimes, you need to use your own knowledge of your offspring to make the correct decision about his/her welfare. In Z's case, he started talking in a few weeks after starting school at two years of age. 

 Unconditional love will
help them steer their life
successfully. 

You know your child best. Trust your judgement and intuition. 

Repetition works on so many levels. By reading a finite number of books to them every day I’ve made them recognise words and letters and now they can tell the stories by themselves, even if it is in mono syllables. So Z can tell you his own, mostly monosyllabic, version of Little Red Riding Hood. N knows how to make the animal figures stand in a straight line for an animal parade. They both know they can only do puzzles and play doh on their activity table but they can read anywhere they want to. Of course, sometimes this works like magic but other times, I’ve failed. No matter how many times I tell Z not to touch my phone, he does. Again, in this case I’ve noticed that if I let him play with it (it’s usually locked, mostly he just ends up opening the camera and taking a lot of black photos!) for a while and then ask him to return it, he usually does. Give in and take. That’s what I think is the secret to handling toddlers. 

However, don’t always give in. The other day we were at the mall and I walked into Miniso. N picked up this adorable cuddly toy dog and hugged it indicating, quite obviously, that she wanted to take it home. So either I could have said, awww…let me buy this for my baby or, put it back right now! What I did at that time amazed me too. I told her that this shop was the dog’s home and he lived here with his papa and mama. We need to let him stay with his mama and N immediately walked to the shelf where all the dogs were, put it back with ‘his mama’ and waved goodbye to it as I quickly ushered both N and Z out of the shop. Will I be able to do this always? No. But this decision of what and when to buy should be in my hands and not the child’s. That is the approach I want to develop and cultivate. 

Just like we struggle with tasks and emotions on a daily basis, so do our children. I feel we keep forgetting that they are little people too and treat them like they are some sort of mini robots who have to turn, sit, stop, stand, smile, wave and generally be happy at our commands. Sometimes they do, other times they don’t. Which is alright as long as we know when to take charge, when to step back and at times, to give in. 

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 # 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 # 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 # 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 # 15 - So, what do you do?

I hate this question. I’ve always hated this question. Its prequel is the question we’re asked during childhood and our teens - so what do you want to be when you grow up? I hated this question too. I realised, soon, that whatever I’ll say won’t be the right answer. No matter what I decide to become, everyone will have an opinion on it and growing up I found it very difficult to find support for pursuing a career in fashion photography and journalism.

Anyways let's fast forward to the present. Going to new places and meeting strangers makes me anxious because at some point, this question always comes up. Almost everyone expects you to state your profession and it can become a bit tricky when you don’t have one. 

I’ve had this problem time and again. I feel a knot in my stomach and my voice takes on a defensive note when I’m asked this question. Why? Because I know that my long winded answer will be judged by the other person. That if I say I’m a mother of twins who reads, writes and dabbles a bit in makeup and yoga, the other person will either a) have a glazed look in his/her eyes before I’ve even finished my sentence, b) smile and say nice meeting you before quickly moving onto the next person or c) immediately start talking to my actor husband about his latest project. 

In this day and age, we need labels. Why? Because everyone puts us in a box according to what we tell them about us. The labelling is done for future reference and if our label isn’t worthy enough, we are easily discarded. I’ve become more and more dependent on others now when I go to a new gathering. I use friends/hubby dear/family as a crutch with strangers because I know that if linked with them, I’ll be put in a box worthy of attention. Even writing this is making me sick. But it’s the truth - over the past few years I’ve really struggled with my self image and thus, self-worth. The real question is, who is responsible for it? Society’s limited standards or my own demons? 

Today, while sitting with a group of strangers at iftar, I faced the same question. I gave a confused reply but I did mention what I do ( work at Desi Writers’ Lounge) and write (even if it’s just blogging). Then the topic veered to my twins and of course, once the twins come in the conversation, they overshadow everything! The two women I was in conversation with were both accomplished working women and golfers. In fact, one of them had a son who was a very good golfer at the young age of 14. When I asked how he manages to balance school and golf, the older lady replied, quite forcefully, it’s all about passion. If you’re passionate about something, you will find a way.

And a lightbulb came on. It’s not important to have a designation but it’s important to have a passion in life and see it through. I can be anything I want to be but if I don’t have a passion for it, a drive to be the best at it and see it through, I’m just going to be a nobody. Even if I start working in an office and get a designation, if my heart isn’t in it I’ll not be excited to talk about it. If I’m passionate about writing, makeup and yoga and those are the things I want to be identified with, I need to work on them and own them. For by owning them will I excel in them and be proud to say them out loud. To complete strangers. To everyone.

So, what do I do? I write at beanbagtales.blogspot.com. I dabble in makeup and and am thinking of taking it up as a career soon and I work at Desi Writers’ Lounge, a stellar organization which promotes new writing from South Asia and the diaspora. I run their book club. Come and check us out every last Friday of the month at Liberty Books next to BBQ Tonite.

And if you’re among the a, b or c categories mentioned above, I’m not interested in talking to you anyways.


Image: Google

Post # 14 - hania aamir's instagram post on acne made me so happy

Recently, the actress Hania Aamir posted pictures of herself with acne. It was brave of her. Actually, it was super brave of her and I applaud her for her courage. In this day and age of Instagram perfection, it’s not easy to show one’s flaws, especially if you’re in the entertainment industry. Acne can happen to anyone. It’s just that no one, especially on social media, wants to talk about it. Nobody wants to show it. All we ever see of influencers or celebrities are picture perfect, air brushed, photoshopped images with perfect skin and hair. And seeing such images everywhere when we aren’t perfect can really be debilitating. 

I grew up with acne. It started in my teenage years and continued into my early twenties. Whenever I complained to my mother/grandmother/friends/older cousins I was told that it’s hormonal change and there is nothing I can do about it. Wrong. I could have done something about it but this was the pre-Google/You Tube age (yes, I’m ancient!) and all I had access to was home remedies. 

One of these home remedies absolutely destroyed my skin. So I had a beloved Uncle who dabbled in homeopathic medicine and I begged him to give me something that would cure my acne. He told me of a home made concoction which included Stillman’s freckle cream, calamine lotion and something else. I was supposed to put it overnight and then wait for the magic to work. I did as I was told and in a couple of days I had the most horrific outbreak of acne on my forehead. Pimples covered every square inch of it. I was 20 or 21 and I had the worst possible acne ever. The worst. Seeing is believing. And I believe I have a picture of it too but I'm not sure that even after all these years, I'm brave enough to share it. 

The early twenties is a difficult time in one’s life. You’ve just stepped out of your protective teenage years and are trying to make sense of the world around you and your place in it. The last thing you need is a face full of acne, a drab wardrobe and frizzy hair. When I look back at that Farheen, I’m filled with so much love for her. Nobody really took my acne seriously. Not even the dermatologist. When I went back to Pindi for my summer holidays (my father was posted there during my first two years in uni) I was adamant to see a doctor. I went to this famous doctor at CMH who was supposedly the best dermatologist in town. When I went inside and told her my problem she, instead of being sympathetic and helpful, looked annoyed. I guess fixing patients with major skin ailments had made her take a very sorry view of acne. She prescribed me…wait for it…calamine lotion! I’ve also been prescribed steroids and birth control pills. I never tried any of them on my skin.

I suffered from low self-esteem during my teenage years and in my early twenties. It wasn’t that I was surrounded by perfect looking girls but let’s just say I knew my shortcomings. And acne was one of them. Frizzy hair can be tamed by a good blow-dry. Imperfect teeth can be hidden by keeping the mouth shut. But acne, there is no escape from it. It is there on your face like a stamp. Like a permanent ugly tattoo which you can’t do anything about. You can see the sympathy or at times, disgust in the eyes of others when they look at you. But what is the absolute worst is facing yourself in the mirror everyday. 

I no longer have terrible acne thanks to my wonderful dermatologist who I met when I was 27 years old. His treatment saved my skin and made me so happy. I still get jittery when I see a pimple rearing its ugly head. However, I’ve learned to live with the occasional breakouts and with the Korean skin care method that I’ve been doing since September last year, I’ve been pretty acne free. But posting pictures of myself with acne was and maybe is still a big no-no. And that is why I found Hania’s post so courageous. What also endeared her post to me was how relieved it must have made young girls who follow her on social media and might be suffering from the same problem. 

Acne happens to most of us. It’s not something which can’t be cured but it’s also not something which won’t disappear with time and the correct treatment. Having acne is alright. It doesn’t change who you are as a person. You have the right to dress up, apply make-up, go out and have fun even if your face has a few yellow pimples or is red and blotchy. Don’t let skin come in the way of life. Acne can be fixed. You can stop acne from coming back but you can’t stop time. Maybe I wasn’t the best I could be because just when I thought I was invincible, I’d see my reflection somewhere. But in all honesty, I didn’t let it come in the way of having fun. And I was lucky there weren’t smart phones at that time (yes, I am that ancient!) - it’s always so easy to dispose off physical photographs!