Happy Birthday Blog. You have been nominated.

(click on the icon)

Inicidentally this blog of mine is exactly 5 years old this February. I remember being newly engaged and patrolling the net trying to find something to read that would echo my my new found happy status or trigger something for the experiences ahead and then being inspired by the few that I found, I decided I needed to do this too. Map my journey, think out loud, speak into cyber space – call it what you want.

Its been a great 5 years- give or take the occasional troll or cynic or pooper who comes to smear mud all over any kind of thought I may have- whether positive or negative. They simply do not get the point of personal blogs. Especially in a world like today where the need to see the normalities that exist n a troubled country become greater for other cultures to be able to treat them with tolerance and understanding. I feel so good when Indian bloggers write in saying they know exactly what I mean, or when my foreign blog friends write in saying how though they read about the bomb that went off yesterday they also read about the awesome book that launched in my brave city the same weekend. In my own little way, I am putting out a positive spin on Pakistan because I know the way I see it is one they can too.

Time and again I have had to explain why I need to write to be read- that putting the words or the situation out there make me feel like I am putting it out to be addressed, tackled, disagreed with, resolved and perhaps accepted also. Writing for yourself doesnt allow that kind of growth, that comes with having to face the words.

So to celebrate this small project of mine, I am asking you all to please go onto http://blogawards.pk/?s=leaving1302 and click on the little star to vote for me and rate the blog and if you have an extra minute, please write in a comment too. Why do you come back to my blog? Has anything in your perception changed from anything I have said? I know my perception has. I know my minds grown broader- I allow more, react less- mostly.

Why’d you marry him?

K and I celebrated out five years of being engaged on the 27th of January- and of course at some point during the day, I pulled out the photographs to stare at the people we had been back then, trying to remember with clarity what I had thought, felt and imagined my life would be that I said yes to him.

Khiz  and Fati ask me quite regularly, how did you know he was it and I can’t recall what answer other than the wildly vague and generic “You just know” I have given them but the truth of the matter is, looking at the 5-years younger picture of myself beaming happily at everyone and everything in sight, I have no idea how anyone knows. Do we simply take a leap of faith because at the moment that person presents the best option? Or do you base the spur of the moment adrenaline rush on the previous years of heartbreak and disappointment and go with the option least likely to cause further damage?

Someone who I used to know back in the day laid a lot of emphasis on what he used to call the Nesting Theory. He claimed that there was a time in each woman’s life when she decided it was time for her to settle down, after she had done her sowing of wild oats and what not – and she simply went out and did it. Easy peasy. At that time I had pooh pahed his theory stating firmly that it was not applicable to all women, but over the years when I have seen a particularly mismatched couple smiling away on the wedding stage, I can hear his voice in my head. Perhaps it is a certain alarm that rings a bell and any man who is halfway a reasonable match, suddenly looks a pleasing prospect. Maybe as women, we can fool ourselves into thinking that what is infront of us is the best it will get. Sadly I know a lot of women who later regret that move, who after 4-5 years of marriage have come to the conclusion that they could have done better had they understood who they were.

Who we are. Which brings me to my next question. So if we marry based on who we are at a specific time in life, what happens when we change? And change we inevitably must. What happens when the people who got married amidst the dhol dhamaka are no longer there- and instead you see two people who are almost strangers? Separation and divorce. Two words we, as a generation are so comfortable with that we even fire it off as false ammunition when need be. So I put all these questions and thoughts out loud to k, who I am secretly sure loves this slightly zany mad thinking side to me with all his heart.

“Compared to how I know you now, I barely knew you back then- what was I thinking saying yes to you?” I ask him, quite dramatically if I say so myself. I can see form his face he is trying not to take this personally- or laugh. ” I mean I had no clue what we would be like together- and given my love for over thinking, what did I then base my answer on?  I honestly cannot recall”  I say, truly quite baffled. I know for many people, it is simply about the next step, because they have been together so long- or have reached a point where status quo has to be changed. What was it for me? What did I sense K have that I needed in my life? Was I sick of being alone? Was I afraid of turning into a cynic? Was I excited about the kind of life I felt we could have together? Did something about who he was put something about who I was at peace? Was it passion? Lust? Love? An alternative?

You marry someone who you think will change and adapt and grow with you, he says and I try not to roll my eyes at this very guy point of view. Change, Adapt. I hate those words. I know what he is saying but those words make life togteher, marraige sounds so tedious. Like a project done in font size 8. You marry someone who you can see next to you as you envision doing all the things you want in life. Since the explanation gets better, I decided to let him off the hook for now.

Reading this sounds like I am going through some 5 year point existential crisis trying to make sense of  whether marrying k was the right thing to do or not. I assure you its not, but the whole awareness of the time having changed us did make me revisit the person who I used to be. I pulled out my journal and read up my thoughts of back then. I read and I remembered exactly where I was standing and who I was when I said yes to a life together with k, and yes, I think I married him because I felt that together, we could have something that had eluded me in the past. And even though I don’t think I had any idea of who he was compared to how I know him now, but I am quite relieved to know that I wasn’t too far off the mark in what I obviously felt we could have. Sometimes in the midst of the madness of how its turned out, its nice to be reminded of exactly why one does marry, and that in the right place and time, the memory of it can sustain you.

daily tidbit 24

Grandparents are there to help the child get into mischief they haven’t thought of yet.  ~Gene Perret

prayers of the heart.

Everytime I go see a friend’s new baby, I have the usual wishes and prayers for them. That may they be a source of pride to his/her parents, that he lives a long happy, prosperous, successful, life, or that she is always safe and healthy. The duas are well-meaning, if a little generic.

Today as I sat at the funeral watching A’s mom try to bear the grief of losing her boy, I truly felt that the prayers I have been saying were not specific enough- that along with happiness and prosperity, we need something else, something that gives purpose to our time here- a kind of peace and strength in our hearts. Some kind of knowledge or affirmation that what we are doing is indeed important enough. So tonight, I pray for him who is gone, hoping that he has found his peace, and I pray for all the children of my people to find that peace and power in their lives because sitting there, it was heartbreakingly clear that you can have everything- loving parents, wondrous talent, many friends, an amazing future but still be  incomplete because you haven’t found that peace. I hope Allah Mian pardons you and gives you what you couldn’t find here. Ameen.

happy new anything and everything.

On his Facebook status, someone I know had wondered out loud how people could celebrate a New Year when the blood of innocent was still fresh in their graves, referring of course to the very recent suicide attack on the Ashura procession in Karachi. I had commented back saying something along the lines of how every new chance we are given to hope for something better, we grab at it, because isn’t that the entire scope of human existence- to try and hope for the better tomorrow by celebrating what is there? He wrote back saying that why could the year not be started off with mourning, some respect to the dead some kind of reflection on the times today- wouldn’t that be more befitting?

Another acquaintance who lost someone she knew for years at this very procession was at a common friends get together on New Years. She was laughing while waiting her turn to mention her new years resolution, had her Coke in her hand and was singing, very obviously celebrating the advent of 2010.

So many people I know celebrated low key this year, preferring to stay in with the close friends and/or partners, finding happiness in the few rather then the revelry of the many. No matter how much we say it doesn’t, what is happening around us affects us. It makes us think. It makes us react and perhaps that doesn’t come up in the most expected ways all the time. I wanted to tell my friend on facebook that don’t you know that the only way to survive tims like these IS to celebrate. To be utterly and completely joyful about what you have. Of course we have to reflect and mourn the pointless losses, the madness around us and the sad circumstance of tragedy around us but the New Year is all about new stuff. New beginnings, a chance to get it right again, as Oprah and Gandhi both said. The new year tells us we made it, that we survived our personal wars, the worlds wars and if that isn’t a reason to celebrate then what is?

For me, personally, celebration has always been about the new. A new thought, a new idea, a new start and a new me. Not to say I discard the old me but adding that bit of new always helps to keep things vital, beating, alive. And God knws these days it takes a lot to stay alive in every sense of the word. I understand now why birthdays, Eid, wedding time is always associated with new clothes- they really do make the celebration feel more..potent. I try to bring a difference about in my life by adding a bit of the new. I will rearrange my room to make it new. Add some lights to add a dash of new. I might get a drastic haircut to feel new. And this year I changed the upholstery on my sofa to bring in the new year. It’s a small gesture- irrlevant in the larger scheme of things to anyone I know; and perhaps even trivial and silly in the “how does it compare to what is happening in the world today” sense. But the thing is it’s new to me, and in that, it makes me feel more positive, more upbeat and release that much more good energy into the universe. And I don’t suppose I need to explain how dire the need for good energy is in our world today?

So for 2010, I’d say please go ahead and celebrate. Try to do it with dignity and sensitivity- keeping in mind for a minute the people who gave their lives in the dailyness of their routine for no rhyme or reason. Please go on and be joyful for all that you have and wishful for all that we want, peace within, love all around and harmony in our country and world. For 2010, go to something that adds the new back into your life, that makes you want to get up and live, and give out to thew world some happy, strong thoughts, so that it survives and thrives the next year- with its spirits intact.

Happy New Year to you all. May 2010 be (as my favourite voice of doom puts it) miraculous.

baby to boy: the terri-twos.

On Nov 25, Nadi turned 30 months old. 2.5 years old. From Baby to Boy. Suddenly there is an air of authority in the NO MAMA. Suddenly there are preferences like never before. Suddenly there are moods. ONLY TOMATOES CHAHIYE. Suddenly there is language. KYA HAI MAAA? I am floored, fascinated, amazed and completely out of depth here.

I had been warned and warned again about the terrible twos from the time he turned one. Everyone had a horror story of sorts- of fits thrown in toy stores, tantrums in public, hitting, slapping, shouting. It had seemed to me like my normally sunny boy would suddenly morph into a tiny monster, growling at me if I tried to do anything that didnt meet his approval. Normally I let stories like these serve as more tales to learn by- and not bother me- because one, I feel each kid is different, and two, you never really believe its going to happen to you in the same way till it actually happens to you the same way. Parenting is all so relative. What is fine by me might be horrifying to another mom (like occasional indulging in chocolate and coke) and what is horrifying to me might be a no-issue for another mom (allowing kid to run wild in restaurants). We all have our lines and limits and we hope that our terr-twos will work within them.

Having crossed the half mark into the Year Two, I look back in wonder that I have survived the manic speed of change. Its like he hasd infront of me suddenly eveloped this perfect little personality- a being that questions, that inquires, understands, is curious and simply wont let a thing go if it interests him. I suppose I see why it can be termed terrible. From a baby- who pretty much does as you say and wears what you like- suddenly emerges this creature who wants to second guess everything you do and say. He will want to wear the red shirt as opposed to the green one. He will have milk before food. He will sleep with his toy trucks in his hand and his favourite shoes on his feet. He will not wear a jacket. Everything is now a negotiation- and one that can go on and on with neither side giving in. Everything is also a battleground as he establishes his individuality and I try to maintain some semblance of mine.

“But  just tell him what you want him to wear, don’t give him a choice,” says my newly mommed  friend N,  as I marvelled out loud to her how Nadi wants to just wear his one favourite ratty annoying T-shirt constantly while all this other nice ones just lie there. “The key is in letting him know that you are the parent.” I smile at her, perhaps a little condescendingly. Little does she know who the Real Boss is *Insert hysterical laughter here* The thing is, I explain to her, you have to pick your battles. If I expend half my energy on the clothes issues, then the food issues will have less of my reserve and thats more important. If I lay down too many laws, he will progressively get less interested in trying to break them and perhaps his spirit will suffer a bit, and these negotiations, which keep him alert and happy and attentive and so bright, form, in my opinion atleast, a key part of his personality growth.  I am no child psychologist but I can see his eyes sparkle and the wheels in his head start turning furiously everytime he gets ready to launch his pitch. I love this give and take, this energy that zings in his step when he has  to work a bit to get what he wants- if you have your milk then you can watch TV before sleeping, if you clean up, we can share a sweet- it helps reiterate an age old lesson of how anything gained through some kind of personal effort (be it even having to have milk when you don’t want to) always feels more fulfilling and exciting.

I had thought I would be woefully unequipped for the Terri-Twos. It would be unfair to call them terrible because they haven’t been so. They have been terrifying in some ways- with the speed of growth and the way time flies and the sudden clarity in vision that I have very little control on anything that happens to him. They have been terrific in others; Nadi suddenly gives voluntary hugs and I love yous. He will note things that blow my mind in their love for detail and observation. His wondrous happiness at the mundane keeps my eyes fresh. And yes, of course, at times they have been terrible too- in the stubbornness, the crying, the sheer will of sticking to his own while I get worn down in saying no and eventually give in. Some days you want to quit and some days you want to cry because you cant quit. Some days he is the total boss of you and there is nothing you can do about it except give in and enjoy.

And now as we head for the three year mark, I cautiously celebrate both his and my survival and growth, happy that we have been able to make it through the most dreaded year (until he hits his teens of course). I rejoice in the fact that I don’t feel like I let go of the Parent title completely despite it being so easy to give in on all accounts to just stop the mad tug of war. I am happy that I did let go of the insane control and let him have his way a lot also. I am also happy that I feel it worked out- that he still looks at me with mad happy eyes when he wants something, secure in the knowledge that I will get it for him, and yet when I don’t he still comes to me for the hug that will make it all better. Yes, I think I survived quite well- so far and for now. Ask me again in six months.

play!

The older we grow, it seems the less time we allot to simple play-  ideas that go nowehere, thoughts and things that just are. Like children do. We get entangled in needing to slot what we do into a box somewhere marked “useful”. Like adults do. For the last ten years, even though I have loved my work and career, its all been mostly to fulfill some purpose- not personal comments or creative statements. That kind of design (very necessary for the soul) has gotten relegated to the back alleys of my brain for some vague future time when I will have time to play and get inspired and create for the sake of joy. So this year, having had enough of the Real  in my life and inspired by Nadi, who has taught me how important playtime is, I decided to play with my piece for the Alumni Show.

For my piece I played with my favourite ideas- of being Design Police, and in true countrymen style, abusing that authority left right center. I played with the idea of banning certain fonts from appearing in public. I twiddled with the idea of a hippy culture kind of free love for all letters and I weighed  the concept of a zen like existence, urging all of God’s creatures to find their inner…grid. I loved creating letters which didnt conform to a technical grid but instead followed a visual harmony of the mood that I wanted. I loved being able to tweak and pull at ears and legs of the forms without having to listen to anyone.

The IVS Alumni Show will run at the IVS Gallery till Dec 19, from 10am-6pm Mon-Sat.

warning: this post is a judgemental one on “bad” parentals!

One of the few things you learn in life is that you should never judge someone for their choices, lifestyle because you do not know the whole story. We are encouraged to foster a more tolerant outlook on people and generally accept their foibles as just that- quirks in their personality and life that have come about as a result of some factor in their environment. But of course we secretly go on judging- this persons choice in marriage, that persons work ethic and the greatest judging of all happens in the wonderful world of motherhood.

Yesterday as I held Nadi’s hand to cross the road to his school gate, a small blue Pothar Jeep, zipped speedily upto the school gate. The door to the passenger side swung open and waves of throbbing music billowed out from within- and a small 2 year old, looking wobbly at best, literally popped out. The school gate keeper moved forward to help the kid catch his balance and escort him into the premises, while the Jeep zoomed off. I was rooted to the spot, horrified beyond belief at the parents who had time to have the baby but dont have time to see him off to school- especially when we are barely in month 5 of preschool. As horror disgust and judgement swept through me, so did a whole host of other statements, reasons,  justifications for the reason why this poor child should be so unceremoniously dumped at school. Perhaps he didnt have a mom. Perhaps the mom was ill. Where was the father? Why was NO relative doing this? The driver was driving so fast. Cheap indian music on the way to school? Who are these people who can send their kids to school in a car alone with a man toting a gun even if he IS a guard? Dont they have any qualms? Too career oriented, not interested enough in the child,  my judgmental side says righteously feeling safe in the knowledge that Nadi has a mom who puts him first and drops him to school. But people have to work, the other voice says, to be able to give their children a good life. Yes, the mom in my head argues, but whats the point of providing THINGS for the child. THINGS dont hug a child or make him feel secure. Perhaps the driver was a trusted family member- the Good Voice claims. Really? asks the Bad Voice. You believe that? No says the Good Voice, admitting defeat looking for some other tack here. Sometimes people do things they dont have to because they dont have a choice, sermonizes the Good Voice, still trying to get me to see that there could be a plausible reason why this poor barely 2 yr old was crying but the only person around to comfort him was the school gatekeeper.

I feel a little hand tugging at my clothes and I an snapped out of my reverie to reality. Its so hard to draw boudnaries between what is making th child independet and what is pure love and security sometimes. I remember when Nadi wa sjust learning how to walk, an older aunty said you should just disappear from sight and let him get up and walk to find you- and I found that method sad- that my child would have to learn to walk because he was panicked at losing his mom. why are we in such a mad hurry for them to grow and be their own people anyways? Why cant it be wonderful to be needed for now- because thats natural and then to let go later when its natural- rather than to urge them to walk off now but then reel them in when they start making their own life choices?

The Good Voice prevails mostly- reluctantly at times-  because I am scared to judge the situations around me without insight into what their life is. I am sure many of the choices I have made regarding Nadi horrify other more hands on moms. I let him sip Coke sometimes. I let him have fries three days in a week in a row if he so wants. I dont force milk on him- I have been known to be quite relaxed with bedtimes and general schedules, going the more boho way of taking things as they come. So yes, like any mom out there, who is struggling to do their best without completing giving up on themselves their own lives and agenda, I am also doing what I think is my best- but still, I see things around which make me wonder- are they seriously doing their best- and seriously, is this the best they can do?

in anticipation.

I am very excited. The next ten days have a multitude if events happening that will make the last few weeks of madness chopped head kind of running around worth every second. Am praying all stays and goes well, inshallah.

between interruptions

Hussy, Am and I landed up at my place post a plan one day, just hanging out. Fizz, Am’s impy 2 year old puttered around the room looking for ways to entertain himself while the three of us chatted- getting involved in the finer details of something we were dissecting and analysing.  The conversation got heated as Am and I debated one point back and forth, until suddenly we heard Hussy cry out in desperation from across the room, “CAN YOU GUYS NOT HEAR THIS??”  Turns out Fizz, having exhausted all the odds and ends in the room had found a metal pan on which he was clanging with all his might- and had in fact been doing so for a good 5 minutes- a fact that completely escaped our mommified ears, as the two of us calmly carried on our conversation.

Hussy, currently standing on the other side of the chasm that separates us mommies from the regular human beings, was suitably impressed (read horrified?) at this super power we have of being able to tune out (an in this case, quite literally!).  Life has become so much about the breaks and interruptions that we try to block out the unnecesaary just so we can complete what we need to. Everything is done in short episodes, whether its something as simple as having lunch or something as detailed as a project deadline. I cannot remember the last time when I had a stretch of unadulterated unbroken me time to do with as I please. As I am fond of incredulously asking k, “What did we DO with all the time we had alone?” Even he doesn’t really remember. Apparently with the ability to tune out also comes amnesia.

Nis sent me this really interesting book called Between Interruptions (thanks so much- I love love love receiving stuff like this!!) that has writings of moms who have lived to tell the tale- through the guilt, the fulfillment, the agony and the ecstasy. Its such a relatable read, because no matter how together you think you’ve got it, at night when the demons come to prey, all thinking normal moms have the same fears. Am I a good mother? Do I do enough for the baby? Do I do enough for myself? I find strength in the common-ness of trials. It feels good to read of other people- who are trying AND managing- to live their life to the fullest between interruptions (such a fantastic title for the book, really). I don’t know why before we become mothers we are so averse to the idea of life changing- and we swear to ourselves we shall try our hardest to live like before. There is such relief, such power, such freedom in finally letting go and realizing in one deep cleansing breath that I am a mother now- and that despite my mad work deadlines, my non work interests, my life as a wife or friend or daughter or sister, when needed, that  bit of me – the momma bit- easily, effortlessly without a second thought takes priority over everything else.