Post # 15 - When a book ends...

It is a universal truth that when a good book ends it leaves a reader distraught, lost, dazed, unhappy and unwilling, in some cases, to return to the real world. I, dear reader, often suffer from this malady. 

There are a few stages to enjoying a book. Whenever I pick up a new book I’m filled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement (this mixture of emotions is not limited to reading only). Reading, unlike what most people think, is not just an act of picking up a book and going through it from beginning to end. At least, it isn’t for me. A lot of effort goes into reading a book. There is the physical effort - taking out time, making small notes in the margins, and holding the book or kindle (anything over 30 mins and I need two pillows under my arms now!). A good reader also invests himself/herself mentally and emotionally with the book. The first few chapters are the beginning of your relationship with the story, and if it’s a good one, by the middle of the book you’ll have a visual image of the setting and characters down to the very last detail. The characters become familiar and you find yourself taking sides. You’re afraid to turn the page when the going gets tough for a character you hold dear. You might scream with joy, exclaim with delight or pump your fists when the hero/heroine comes out successfully from the peril that loomed and lurked in their life. In short, if you’re a reader like me, you start living in another world which runs parallel to yours. And there are times, rare though they might be, when the book’s world tempts you to step into it. 

Alas! That cannot be. All good things have to come to an end and so is the case with a good book. When I turn the last page of a book I’ve enjoyed and with whose characters I’ve developed a love and hate relationship, a strange sort of sadness comes over me. I feel lost for a few days and unable to pick up another book. 

This might sound strange to a non-reader. When we are getting news 24/7 about all kinds of catastrophes and tragedies, how can a work of fiction make one feel complex emotions? My answer is simple. It can. Humans crave stories. We spin stories about tragedies and joy and hardships and success and tell them to each other. News is also a grotesque form of story and is something we watch and hear but don’t engage with. Images flash in front of our eyes of people and happenings but we don’t absorb their stories. Read a book by a black author and you’ll be able to understand the pain and urgency behind the Black Lives Matter movement. Read a dystopian novel and maybe you might not support dictators and fascist leaders. Read a collection of short stories by a local author and you’ll be able to identify with the scenarios in many of them. Read a fantasy or sci-fi novel for the sheer joy of being transported into fantastical worlds and if you read closely, you might spot many similarities with and ugly truths about the reality around you. Read a popular book; its themes and story might surprise you. Read a work of non-fiction without judgement and preconceived notions and your views on that particular topic might take a 180 degree shift. 

Books can make you feel heavy duty emotions. The end of a book, like a relationship, leaves you in a bit of a limbo. I am still in the suffering mode as I finished two amazing books four days back. The next pile of books is stacked, not quite neatly, on my side table and I think it’s about time I take another leap of faith and immerse myself in a new world. 

“Reading makes immigrants of us all. It takes us away from home, but more important it finds homes for us everywhere.”  (Jean Rhys)

                                                                                                                                         

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 # 13 - The Lockdown Life

One of the things I've realized, among many others during this lockdown, is that we think very low of our everyday tasks. We don’t give them much importance. Most of us consider them a burden and hate them. In our part of the world we have domestic help who do these everyday chores for us so we are spared. Now, confined in our homes, we don’t have a choice but to do these everyday tasks. A lot of us don’t have live-in help so we find ourselves cooking, cleaning, ironing, washing clothes and doing grocery these days. What adds more spice to the entire situation is the presence of kids and husbands in the mix minus socialising or eating out. The Conjuring series does not even come close to the horror we are all living through at the moment. 

In all fairness, a lot of us have it easy. We don’t have to worry about finances and putting food on our table which, sadly, many people are struggling with. If your biggest worry is washing and ironing your clothes, you’re super lucky. Even though it might seem like a mundane, back breaking, hand wrecking job (which it is), it is also one which can bring a sense of calm and provide you with some brain space. Mostly to think about how to get the rest of the chores done and still find time to read or write or call a friend or watch television or just take a power nap. 

I’ve come back to my writing. I’ve dug out my old notebooks and am going through the various ideas I’ve been jotting down over the years one by one. I’m on idea number one these days. It's about a girl's obsession with beauty and self-image. And that's all I have to say on it for the time being. 

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 # 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. 

Post # 1 - Beginnings

A lot has happened in these first 12 days of the new year. The winter holidays are over and the twins are back to school which means early mornings and it’s kind of super cold in Karachi these days so it’s a miracle I crawl out from under my warm blanket every morning. Hubby dear is back to work with old and new shoots. I started and finished a book and am now on the next one. A story idea which had been bothering me for months has finally started to take some shape. I have decided to try writing personal, non-fiction essays (easier said than done but hey, one has to start somewhere!). I have a new profile picture on Facebook after, like, six years. That alone is huge.

It’s easy to make resolutions or intentions for new year but as we usually enter it with pretty much the same people and the same commitments, it’s easy to feel demotivated and a little overwhelmed. What is important though, is not to lose sight of the big picture. In my case, the major struggle is how to juggle the kids and my writing. Reading I can sneak in for small time intervals during the day but it’s finding a dedicated time for writing which is tough. And by the time I get to it, at around 9pm at night, I’m too tired to think let alone write. 

We usually set goals but don’t think how we are going to go about them. It’s easy to say that we’ll go to the gym everyday or meditate or whatever it is we want to do but really the days in the new year pretty much follow the same routine as the previous one. If we are really serious about seeing our goals through, we need to plan a bit and change our routine. And change is always difficult. I always resist change. 

As far as my writing is concerned, the best solution I’ve come up with is leaving the kids at my mom’s place. This gives me a couple of hours in which I can write without any disturbance. Even if I do this three times a week, that gives me at least 6-7 hours per week of unadulterated writing time which I think is super. Ofcourse, if I have writing to show for that time, it’ll be even more super but let’s not start the new year on a negative or ironic tone, shall we?  

It’s super cloudy in Karachi today and super cold too. My feet feel like ice and I think I’ll just go and wear some socks. I’m a big fan of socks. You’ll find me wearing socks with penguins, avocados, cupcakes, owls and even Sponge Bob. And the latest addition in my socks collection is Van Gogh’s, Starry Night. Why wear boring black and white socks when cute animals and paintings can keep your feet looking good and warm? 

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 # 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 # 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 # 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 # 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!

Post # 13 - Memories I

Often times memories pop up in my mind. These days I’m thinking a lot about the Ramzans I’ve spent. Especially when I moved to Karachi for IBA and we had such a lot of fun in Ramzan at Nano’s place. Everyone used to be there. Often we had Khala’s entire family over for Iftar. That was the time when Sherbano and I were on talking terms. I don’t know what  has happened there. But that is another story.

Nano used to drink her own special 'podina paani' (mint water). She didn’t have the ‘laal sherbat’ like the rest of us. The tea used to be made in this ginormous metal tea pot and I often had the duty of making and serving the tea. The dining room used to be full of laughter and loud talking and just plain good family cheer. I miss that so much. The house is so quiet now. It’s as if it, too, has aged. As if it knows that very soon it will not be a part of our lives. That when my grandparents leave us, the house will sever its bond with us too.

It’s the only house I’ve known since childhood. I was three or four years old when it was completed. Being in the army meant that we never had a permanent address. And whenever we had to fill a form or write down a permanent address, we used to write D-16/1, Block 17, Gulshan-e-Iqbal, Karachi. One day this address will cease to exist for me. It will belong to someone else. 

How does one say goodbye to a house? I’ve said goodbye to many houses over the course of my life so I should know but this house is full of so much love. Of so many memories. Of so many people. Unlike the other houses which we’ve lived in over the years, this particular house was built by my grandparents for their family. And it really hurts to think that one day, which I’m afraid will be very soon, this house will get erased from my life. And I’ll be left with just memories. 

What I regret the most is not recording enough of the house. I had plans of taking pictures of the house during different times of the day. Of the white spiral staircase or the light streaming in through the big entrance window into the hall downstairs. Or of the full length mirror in my grandparents’ room where my Nani and mother and aunt would drape their saris. Or of the dark green carpet in the lounge and the Chinese lanterns in the dining room. 

Even though the house may have changed in appearance and outlook, the address remains the same. My grandparents still live there and I’m still their baby. And no matter what happens to that house in the future, the address will forever remain etched in my heart. 

Post # 12 - Ramzan, Ramadhan - the debate continues

The very first roza of 2019 was pretty uneventful for me as I was not fasting. Woke up at sehri with the worst possible sore throat. Even swallowing my saliva hurt so I decided to not fast and thus spent the entire day sipping hot water with honey and doing gargles. 

A few years back, maybe six, I woke up on the first day of Ramzan feeling really low. I felt useless. I wasn't working and what was worse, I wasn't writing at all (I hadn't become a part of DWL at that time). Let's just say I felt like shit as I stood in front of the cupboard, trying to decide whether to wear my diamond ring or not.

When I say diamond ring, please don't get carried away with thoughts of opulent diamonds set around a solitaire. Let's just leave it at a small diamond ring and continue with the story. I slipped on the ring and drove out to do some errands starting with a visit to the tailor. 

It was a little early in the day, maybe around 11ish. As I stood talking to my tailor about something, I saw a motorcycle stop in front of the shop and a bulky looking man got off. I didn't think much of it as there was a motor mechanic shop next door and obviously I assumed he was going there. But apparently, that wasn't where he was going. Entering the shop calmly, he showed us a gun and well, asked us for our valuables. 

I hadn't got much cash on me and though he tried to take my wallet, I refused to give it to him. I carried a rather ordinary mobile phone at that time which, of course, he took. My tailor gave him some cash. And then, he asked for my ring. I resisted first. I pretended it wasn't coming off but he waved the gun menacingly and there was nothing I could do. 

I still remember how my tailor and myself stood in shock for a little while. Not just at what had happened but how smoothly it all had happened. Even his workers sitting upstairs  hadn't realized there was drama unfolding downstairs. 

The funny thing is that just before going to my tailor's shop, I was thinking of making a stop over at a grocery store nearby. Had I done that, I'd have missed the mugger. But sometimes it's the little decisions we make that kind of intersect with the path of others and lead to certain consequences. 

Coincidentally, I went to the same tailor at the same shop yesterday, first of Ramzan. And yes, I haven't changed my tailor. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a good tailor in this day and age? You find one - you stick with him! Anyways, I mentioned the incident to him and he said, 'Even I was thinking about it today when I opened the shop.' 

Isn't it weird and funny how we share some moments of our life with people who aren't even very close to us? That was the first time both of us had got mugged and it's a memory we'll have forever. Not that my tailor gave me any discounts after sharing the trauma of being mugged. 

Do you have some sort of memory/incident associated with first of Ramzan? Or Ramadhan? Or whatever and however you refer to this month of fasting, feasting and everything else in between. Happy fasting!