A while ago urbaniche tagged me on this post where I had to find that one accessory/piece of furniture or design element in our place that I could not live without. For a few days after I was tagged, I found myself randomly wandering my place, looking at things with a new eye, giving the question some serious weight. What in my space is one thing I could possibly not do without? Perhaps the intent of the tag was more lighthearted; to find a chair one has restored lovingly or a jewellery box with sentimental value or a rug window or coloured wall, but for me the idea took on another level altogether, as years of conversation on “space” suddenly took on a new dimension.

Post marriage, I moved in with k into the place he grew up in, a 100 year old apartment building in a leafy locality in Karachi. As much as I loved our room which we had done up together, the rest of the house terrified me. It had that feel, like that of a piece of history left behind. I could not relate to it. So the first year I spent pretty much moving directly from the front door to my haven-room. The layout of the house was such that it would afford maximum privacy to all rooms, a perk I would have loved in my parental home where it seemed like us three sisters were practically in each others faces all the time. But here the yawning space and silence was cold and loud.

The kitchen was huge also with gigantic storage spaces. Freezing in the winters with a depressing brown tile on the floor. It screamed functional and I vowed to spend as little time in there as possible. My previous life had demanded total independence food wise. My mom expected us all to have our own breakfasts (since our timings never matched) and clean up after ourselves. Her kitchen had been a place for tea and gossip, with magazines strewen around a table smack in the centre and someone generally sitting there, having their snack and reading. By contrast the kitchen here was impersonal, stern, almost forbidding. It didnt invite time spent in it. It rather demanded that one gets on with their job and be done with it- an attitude most unfriendly especially for a kitchen to have.

Of course over time I grew to love this vast creaky old place. Isnt that how it always happens? We slowly figured out who we were as a couple and then seamlessly the growth of our space started. We designed and planned around the old world charm, trying to fuse it with our own sense of now without compromising on either. We trawled through dozens of fabric shops, browsed through hundreds of design ideas to get inspired into creating something new with the old. And then, as one wall turned green and another turned deep mustard brown, it started losing its pre-partition feel. Retro flower prints appeared and stripes helped cheer up the rather dark feel the main area had and dispel the thoughtful cigar puffing gloom so trademark of the sixties.  Huge cushions accented in bright colours. Funky light fixture. That old table thats been here forever. We opened out our kitchens sullenness by repolishing the gorgeous wooden doors, cheered it up by painting it a sunshine yellow. Shelves tucked into nooks where there was that odd space looking forlorn and  books and baskets and bottles filled up and cluttered and clanged and found places for themselves. We created work counters and wood shelves to add the depth in colour and then added cluuter to make it feel full of energy. Clutter, colour, energy.

I realize I will sound limited and judgemental for saying this but I will anyways. I don’t understand people who don’t claim their immediate space. I don’t understand who they camnot help but start changing things to match the changing them. I am at a loss when people live ina  space for years- yes years- and feel no itch to do something to it. I am constantly moving things around. White flowers turn yellow, green cushion in favour of magenta, brown tea mugs on monday then dark gold on friday. Maybe its part of the job curse, this need to prod and poke at things, fix them, tweak them;  it adds to the awed sensation and feeling  that all these details, colours, feeling, and arrangement are in some kind of evolving celestial alignment with our lives.

]]> http://leaving1302.wordpress.com/2009/10/22/growing-spaces/feed/ 16 jammie kitchen a DSC07107 http://leaving1302.wordpress.com/2009/10/20/nice-things-in-a-not-so-nice-world/ http://leaving1302.wordpress.com/2009/10/20/nice-things-in-a-not-so-nice-world/#comments Tue, 20 Oct 2009 21:56:58 +0000 jammie http://leaving1302.wordpress.com/?p=793 ]]>

Things are bad right now over here. An almost country wide school shutdown till next week. We are, as the newspapers and leaders are fond of saying, in a state of war. I could write about how I am feeling about the T’s who are bleeping bleeps for doing this to my country or I could go on about our so called leaders who have not rallied any positive thought or action or even words other than the “we condemn these attacks” statements they make every time a bomb goes off. I could even rant about the stupid college students celebrating the fact that college is closed. I wonder what part of the fact that we are at war failed to seep through the plastic bins they call their heads.

But consciously this blog is not about those soul sucking individuals in life. Its is about two gestures of random thoughtfulness by people who I dont know that well but who literally made my day.

A short while ago, it was one of those days. When Nadi-time was limited because deadlines were pressing, tempers were short and everything seems itchy scratchy. That day I received a package. S, who I share a sporadic emailing relationship with (over the fate of a common friend’s love life), had sent me this book called The Serif Fairy with a lovely hand made card which just said  ”A little something for no reason at all…which is the best reason of all“. It completely made my day. And as I sat there leafing through the pages of what is a totally me gift given my love for typography, I couldn’t help but be a little overwhelmed by this gesture. How many times do we not look at something and think oh so and so would like that? Or enjoy that? How many times do we actually drop them a line telling them that? Or better yet send them that thing? Isnt THIS what life is all about when you choose to make it so? Connected. Alive. Caring. I have promised myself that I will pass this on now. Someone out there will receive something that reminded me of them, without reason, just because. Thanks Sash for this.

The other very nice thing to happen to me didn’t really happen. It was supposed to. But in its attempt and intention it truly is something I will remember for a long time to come. A fellow blogger turned email friend told me that we would both be transiting at BKK airport (on my recent trip to Thailand) for 2 hours before catching our respective flights out. Excited at the though of finally meeting (she lives in Australia), and her being the more organized and savvy of us two, A looked up the schedules, figured out a POA and informed me exactly which gate on which floor she could be at and asked me if I could find my way there. Everything went according to plan except two things. I got delayed because of a wait to get the stroller we were travelling with and we did not account for the fact that people travelling onwards domestically might not be able to make it to the international transit lounge.  Sad but with a pending Thailand trip, it was something I put behind me about fairly soon, that is, till I received her mail, in which after rueing the fates, she said that my gift bag would go onwards with her on her trip- a bag that contained a gift for Nadi and the much wanted book by now famous and published Parul I had been wanting to read for me. She also told me that she had had my name called out at BKK airport-just in case I could hear the announcement and ended with her typical practical tone of I guess we just werent meant to meet. I was ridiculously touched. By the gift yes but more so by the announcement. And I sat there for a few minutes wishing I had insisted to the little Thai gentleman that I needed to go to the international lounge on an emergency matter; wishing that we had checked the stroller in instead of hand carrying it. Anthing that might have made this meeting possible- and no not only for the gift bag, although I really do love unexpected gifts.

I have some really amazing friends but we take each other for granted. We don’t write cards to each other as much as we should or buy each other spontaneous this reminded me of you gifts. We get lazy about adding that personal touch that each relationship deserves and then suddenly once in a  while, someone awakens that feeling in you, f having mattered on any which level and its only right that you throw that feeling right back out at the world so that on some level, the niceness, much needed in todays world, keeps going. Tag, youre it.

Nadi what do you want for lunch?

Chips and sausages.

Okaaay. Challo kitchen mein- lets make them.

Mama, when Nadi big ho jaye ga, tau Nadi make chips and sausages mama ke liye, ok?

• Around about the time Nadi turned 13-15 months old, he started walking independently and all our hitherto pat on the back happy training of him sleeping in his cot went flying out the window as his cot suddenly grew too small for him. Logcially, of course,  the transient solution was to have him in our queen sized bed till we got his new one. One thing led to another and the little tangle of arms and legs every morning turned into a regualr thing. Another year and a half later and that new bed for him has yet to be ordered. And its no surprise that our queen size (once a nice modest sized bed) is not longer large enough to house both k and me- relatively tall people as well as a rotating 2 year old. So it was a nice surprise to discover that there actually is a reasonable amount of difference between queen and king sized beds. K and I have long since accepted that for these few years we will only hug above the child’s head holding hands and below the child’s feet by intertwining feet creating a sort of a huddle amongst the three of us. Initially constricting, this has grown on me to provide a strange kind of security thing, keeping me in body contact with both my people. The bed at Laguna was  huge and despite a Nadi being wedged in the middle of us with his arms and legs splayed comfortably in all directions, there was STILL space for me to angle my legs or sleep curled up as opposed to sleep like a refugee huddled to the edge of my home bed. (you DO know im exaggerating this for story telling value right?) So the first night once Nadi was asleep, I could sense K moving around, shuffling away in bed, his hand was blindly patting the bed away and feet moving around until he finally got up and admitted there was simply way too much space and he couldnt find me over and around Nadi. I guess there just might be a thing as too much space after all.

• I have realized that I love travelling with Nadi. Heturned out to be a fun interactive very observant kid who had us in fits with a lot of his random noticing of things which ordinarily would have missed our attention. He would point at something that wasnt correct in his frame of referecne and then in his put on funny voice exclaim, yeh kitna funny hai. It was liek seeing everything through two yr old eyes and you know what, I realized my thirty two yr old eyes really needed this new vision, this break from being unable to see the magical wonder in a long necked giraffe (really WHAT was God thinking?) or the hilarity in a bird wearing a funny crown on its head or a funnily shaped doughnut or simply the colour of the ocean so different from ours. His sense were on full alert, taking notes, comparing, realizing and commenting away. The randomness  of his observations was addictive and many a time, even when he was asleep or not around, we would find ourselves attuned to the world in a way only a two yr can be.

• I love how he turned out to be our kid in every sense of the word at how much he liked hotel comforts, especially the rain shower. Mama Nadi yeh bath home le jaye ga Sigh I wish kiddo.

• The Thai are a very hospitable people- when they can understand you. For a country that has based their life’s earnings on tourism, its remarkable how they have not felt the need to learn English to facilitate the average tourist at all, especially when their own language is unfamiliar and difficult. When Nadi heard our taxi driver babble something nasal at us, he simply could not help the mad giggles that started at this brand new crazy language and within minutes all three of us were rolling in the back and eventually even the taxi driver good naturedly  joined in at the infectiousness of it all.

• The Thai as a people seem to love children a bit more than what I had expected. Nadi would get smiled at, shaken hands with, poked and prodded and spoken to at every turn and wihtin the first two days he had developed a bit of a dodge reflex to people who wanted to touch him. It was funny to see him try to defend his territory much like a little puppy, trying to hold onto all his toy cars while edging away while also trying to remain polite.

“Mama dekho woh dekhooo!!” Nadi shouts in excitement pointing to the shimmering lights head. “Eid aa gayee!!“

After iftari we usually try to take a drive around our area, looking at the happy binky lights, showing them to Nadir, listening to music in the car, counteracting the lethargy that prevails post eating by stepping out.

I pointed out the newer lights adoring the mall to Nadi last night, commenting excitedly (as moms do to make a point) ” Dekho, how pretty they look, do you know why they are up? ” So he looks at me and goes “Haaaan, Nadi ke black shalwar kurtay ke liye”.

Nadi has been excited by the “binky binky lights” that have gone up all around with Eid just around the corner.

Intially, he was super excited and asked “Mama shaadi hai?” since he loves wearing shalwar kurtas (even to sleep sometimes!) and going to weddings- all the music, dancing, colour obviously appeals to the culture/aesthetic gene in him. So I tried explaining that Eid is coming and we will get presents and eat mithai, so he thought about it a moment and asked the next relevant question, “Nadi kya pehnay ga?” (What will Nadi wear?) So I tell him about his new black shalwar kurta and he has been very excited about Eid since then, asking every few hours if Eid is here and can he wear his new clothes.

So last night, we were coming back and we saw the blinky blinky lights near our house were off  (loadshedding time of course) and Nadi looks and says “Mama Eid bannd hai”. (Mama, Eid is closed)

School mornings are lovely. I love waking up early- I love the routine of knowing you have a set number of things to do before you head out. By nature, I am not a creature of habit as such and I regularly demand that the universe throw in random elements of unpredictability my way, to make my own life difficult (read: interesting). So for me to be enjoying this is as much a surprise to me as it is to anyone else.

Nadi however IS a creature of habit much like his father. He loves the routine of knowing that after school, there is home with a TV and lunch and then a nap and then an evening at the park  with friends or visiting Nanna or Khala or Dee’s. He loves knowing before hand what th  plan is so he can savour the anticipation and excitement.

This morning, with a late night work hangover, I pressed the snooze button twice more than necessary and k took over the morning routine. After having dressed Nadi he left for work and I did the breakfast and all. Just as soon as we have successfully tick marked everything and are about to be on our way out the door, Nadi decides that he wants to change his clothes. “But you look nice” I explain. “No mama, Nadi wear red shoes and Puma T-shirt” Frantically my mind scrabbles for a location on these two, anticipating a full fledged refusal to budge if I could not deliver- did I fold it and keep it away? Was it in the wash? I must have been especailly good this last week because I found both things, right in front, slightly crumpled but good to be worn. Hurriedly we changed to Nadi’s melodious “Ahaaa, Nadi acha lag raha hai” and rished out the door, getting to school with minutes to spare.

On the way back after dropping him, I speed dialled k to inform him how painful and stubborn his son was, just lie his father- and as I finsihed the story, he asks “So he decided to change his clothes the minute you were walking out the door?” “Yes!” I exclaimed triumphantly, pleased that he could see the point so clearly. “You mean just like you do every time we have to go somewhere and your clothes ka colour does FEEL right?”  he asks, quietly snickering. “Errm, yeaa…” I say, images of all the times when I have rushed back to the cupboard to hurriedly change a kurta or earrings or shoes suddenly popping up in vivid colour in my head.

I slam down the phone with dignity, with k still chucking on the other end.

me: nadi tumhein alphabet ata hai?? (when i hear him humming the alphabet and am quite surprised at this new development!)

nadi: haaa-aannnn (sing song way)

me: abba ko sunao gaye?

nadi: (thinks about it but obviously is not quite bein able to recall how to start): umm naeeen

mama: kyoun?

nadi: mama nadi khabab ho gaya hai.

me: aww why baby?

nadi: nadi ko nahen yaad ata- nadi thora khabab ho gaya hai. nadi ki battery change karo.

On some days she is purple, the deep inky kind. And other days sunshine yellow- almost  bursting out in her optimism  to touch others. She is long walks on beaches yet her head is in the mountains.

She is an absorbing book on a rainy day. She is laughter from the belly, THE KIND YOU CANT HOLD BACK and she is THAT ITCH that just wont go away. She is words- lots and lots of swirling words, that make you dizzy in their combinations. She is moody. VERY moody. But she loves so totally with her heart, and stomach. She doesn’t understand injustice. She is tea not coffee. She is not sunflowers. She is dancing with her friends not her husband. She is ANALYSES THEORIES AND TALKS. She is loud and angry not seething and quiet. Patriotic and hopeful to the point of denial.

She is notebooks collected in a red box, saved for that perfect topic. She is projects and projects and some more projects. Sometimes she is ideas not action. She is home at heart. She is chaotic not cluttered. She is winter not spring. Cant let go. Cant walk off completely. She has great expectations from people she loves.

She is feelings and vibes not logic and mind. She is a mother first not a person. She has many people but only one person. She believes but wishes she didn’t sometimes. SHE WOULD RATHER SKIP THAN WALK. She is bookshops with sofas and wi fi. She is late night phone chats. She is alone on the balcony watching the stars. She is the one who broke your heart but then came to fix things one day. Nostalgia is her undoing.

She loves being the wife but not always the partner. She is type whimsies, not comic sans. She is COLOURS but then sometimes only white. She is about the glasses that change every couple of years.  She is about emails- the long rambly kind and instant connections. She is about clicks. She is MOSTLY LIKE HER MOM and sometimes like her sisters. She is long open roads and wind in her hair. She is short hair not long. She is breakfast before any other meal. She is coloured pens of all shapes and sizes. She is flowers in the bedroom. She is DIAMONDS all the way. She is scribbles in the notebook- she is musings on her blog not writing on demand. She is a feel good story not a social comment. She is more romance and magic not lust and fire. She is Rose is Rose, her alter ego. SHE IS SO VERY SELFISH. She is Carrie Bradshaw, Scarlett O Hara, Emma.

She is content not satisfied. A VOLKSWAGEN 1976. She is cake not chocolate. She is magazines and design that makes you tingle. She is earrings not necklaces. She is a fliptop phone and illustrative calendars. She is a teacher at heart but a designer in the mind. She feels inspired by odd things and comforted by the familiar. She is changing reluctantly. This girl is everything me. Who are you?

(pic by Hussy)