Your eyes held me as a lover, I was loathe to blink lest I break that contact
Your arms rocked me as a child, one who was infinitely safe and secure
Your words soothed me to slumber, when the world and my inner self were both at war
Your pride made me feel as if I was most beautiful woman, though I was far from that
You sat on your haunches and came to a stop
I watched as you effortlessly bent down.
I couldn’t help but watch you perform that most personal of all conversations.
As your head touched the floor, I was fascinated by the practiced, measured, calm movements.
I realized that though you spoke few words, each one was meaningful.
Your spurts of energy hinted at the carefree stubborn child you’d once been.
I watched it all, I watched you … fascinated. My heart, mind and soul catalogued each new revelation replete with the emotions and minute details of each instance.
I sit here now, remembering it all. I riffle through that catalogue, patient and happy with the memories of you.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Grey Matter
I wrote you a love letter on a black paper with a black crayon. I let my feelings linger in the air before they tickled my finger tips and initiated repetitious scribblings of a beating heart.
I listened to the humming of an ancient song coming from your ageless soul. You could not read my letter, you said. A blank page against a dark sky. Not even the stars would smile.
I wrote you a love letter on a white paper with a white crayon. My tongue hummed your song, the melodic buzzing filling the cold air. I dotted my i's with tiny hearts, found new meanings for overused words. What was the meaning of love, anyway?
I watched as you kicked freshly fallen snow with your bare feet. You could not read my letter, you said. A blank page against a cloudless sky. Not even the birds would fly overhead.
I'm writing you a letter on a black paper with a white crayon. The stars smile dotingly, the birds chirp unrecognizable tunes. Still, you cannot read my letter.
I suppose I just ran out of things to say.
-Z
I listened to the humming of an ancient song coming from your ageless soul. You could not read my letter, you said. A blank page against a dark sky. Not even the stars would smile.
I wrote you a love letter on a white paper with a white crayon. My tongue hummed your song, the melodic buzzing filling the cold air. I dotted my i's with tiny hearts, found new meanings for overused words. What was the meaning of love, anyway?
I watched as you kicked freshly fallen snow with your bare feet. You could not read my letter, you said. A blank page against a cloudless sky. Not even the birds would fly overhead.
I'm writing you a letter on a black paper with a white crayon. The stars smile dotingly, the birds chirp unrecognizable tunes. Still, you cannot read my letter.
I suppose I just ran out of things to say.
-Z
The Fourth Go-Round
Each strand, black as night, silky in its luminescence. My fingers reach of their own volition, hungry to brush them from his forehead.
I will sing you morning lullabies
You are beautiful, and peaceful this way
I know you have to close your eyes on everyone
Let me help you, I'll sing you to sleep
With morning lullabies
- Ingrid Michaelson
The car shakes, the lights filter while we hurtle towards the numerous stops-each a destination for a traveler with his or her own story. My eyes transfix upon his face and the innocence radiating from his slumbering visage.
A flutter, a hand flung carelessly over his body.
May you always be so carefree, so effortlessly peaceful and may you be as happy and beautiful whilst awake as you’ve shown to be in slumber.
As I disembark, I turn…I look back and smile. This is the end of the road. It is the fourth year of a memory that reminds me of the loss of you.
The sun shines, the air is sharp. My eyes blink and I begin the walk towards my destination.
I will sing you morning lullabies
You are beautiful, and peaceful this way
I know you have to close your eyes on everyone
Let me help you, I'll sing you to sleep
With morning lullabies
- Ingrid Michaelson
The car shakes, the lights filter while we hurtle towards the numerous stops-each a destination for a traveler with his or her own story. My eyes transfix upon his face and the innocence radiating from his slumbering visage.
A flutter, a hand flung carelessly over his body.
May you always be so carefree, so effortlessly peaceful and may you be as happy and beautiful whilst awake as you’ve shown to be in slumber.
As I disembark, I turn…I look back and smile. This is the end of the road. It is the fourth year of a memory that reminds me of the loss of you.
The sun shines, the air is sharp. My eyes blink and I begin the walk towards my destination.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Contemplations
Peebles gleam bright and clear at the foot of my vision.
I close my eyes and re-open them. The air, crisp and clean surrounds me, The crystal purity of the lake envelops my attention.
I grasp the cold steel of the writing instrument.
I look down at the paperwork that mars my vision.
My gaze drifts and lingers on the crystalline lake. It’s quiet, restful and patient. It beckons me to come play hookie from reality; to submerge myself in the purity and acceptance that I cannot find elsewhere.
I hear the scratching and then its done. I stand up, I walk forward. I hear the rising and then the steps recede.
I close my eyes. They reopen of their own volition. It’s over.
Reality no longer interests me. I want to play hookie.
I close my eyes and re-open them. The air, crisp and clean surrounds me, The crystal purity of the lake envelops my attention.
I grasp the cold steel of the writing instrument.
I look down at the paperwork that mars my vision.
My gaze drifts and lingers on the crystalline lake. It’s quiet, restful and patient. It beckons me to come play hookie from reality; to submerge myself in the purity and acceptance that I cannot find elsewhere.
I hear the scratching and then its done. I stand up, I walk forward. I hear the rising and then the steps recede.
I close my eyes. They reopen of their own volition. It’s over.
Reality no longer interests me. I want to play hookie.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Rishta Diaries-Candidate Two Part Eight
I open my eyes and I’m at a loss. I’m lying on the bed and I feel dirty. Suddenly, I remember the memory of falling down, the feeling of nausea and dizziness. I look down and realize I’ve wearing a white shirt and pants. I don’t remember changing. What’s going on?
‘I changed you after cleaning you up. Farid brought you up here and we’ve been quite worried.’
I look over and the sudden jerking motion has my head spinning. Its hard to focus as everything is wavy and the nausea is back.
‘You rest, I’ll have Priya bring up some broth.’
I close my eyes and listen as my future sister-in-law leaves the bedroom.
The next time I wake up, Imran is there. I see him standing at the foot of the bed reading over some documents.
‘What are you reading?’
‘Oh,hey! You’re awake! Let me pop out and let Farid know,’ I’m left alone as Imran leaves hurriedly.
Why isn’t Farid here? Shouldn’t he be the one I’m waking up to rather than his sister or his lawyer?
The door opens, I see Farid walk in.
‘Good evening sleeping beauty.’
‘What time is it?’
I attempt to sit up and immediately my vision blurs.
‘Lay back down. No need to be a superhero.’
‘You know your attitude is starting to wear on my last nerve.’
In response, all I get is the raising of one eyebrow and a smirk. It’s no longer attractive. Thanks to this man, I’ve now started to cause myself harm. This is definitely not a good thing.
I see him from my prone position walk up. He sits down on the bed and stares at me. I refuse to break eye contact nor will I be the first to speak. Let him do some work for once.
‘Gulzar, that spill you took may have addled your head,however,I’d like to have a discussion with you once you feel better.’
‘Go ahead. Say what you will. I’d also like to discuss a few things with you.’
‘Great. So, I know I’ve not been around and leaving you at the airport couldn’t be helped. However, I’ll be inshAllah around for the remainder of your stay. If your game, I’d like to drive to Southern England with you and perhaps then go into France for a bit. What do you think?’
‘Farid, it’s great that you want to show me the UK,however,I’ve come to spend time with you, your family and acclimate to your lifestyle. Trekking here and there, won’t really give me a good understanding of what life may be like should I agree to become your wife. I’d rather stay in the Greater London area and become better acquainted with you, your family, your work and your neighborhood.’
He looks at me in silence for a while. I look back, patient awaiting his answer. Finally, he leans in, smiles and says, ‘fair enough. Debden and London it is then.’
‘Farid, thank you for understanding.’
‘No worries. You get some rest. I’ll be back soon to check up on you.’
The next few days go by with me stuck in bed. I don’t see much of anyone other than Farid’s mum. Her lilting soft voice and patient nature as she keeps me company stills the disquiet within my mind about potentially fitting into a Sunni household. And surprisingly, she’s open and quite witty as well! She regales me with tales of Farid’s shenanigans growing up. She tells me about his first girlfriend, a Pathani who he fell in love with at the age of 16. They attempted to run away and get nikkafied at a local Mosque only to be refused by the Imam there. The next day, after keeping his father up all night with why he felt the Pukhtoona and him should marry, he showed up at 9am on her doorstep to ask her father’s permission to marry. The girls’ father refused to listen to Farid without Farid’s father also there to discuss the serious subject of the joining of two families into one. He asked Farid to come back once both fathers were agreeable as such a matter should only be engaged in amongst elders. Two days later, having worn his father down, Farid showed up at his love interests home to achieve his desire. After discussions about the age and ability to financially provide for his daughter, the Pukhtoon father agreed to the match with the understanding that a nikkah could be done immediately, however a final ceremony would ONLY occur after Farid’s graduation from University. Farids father and he,leave to begin preparations for the next days nikkah. 10am roles around and its Jummah. Farid, his dad and mum, his sisters and younger brother all show up to the home of his soon-to-be bride. The door opens and there stands his future father-in-law. Immediately, an ominous cloud overtakes the joyous occasion. Evidently, early that morning, the girl and mother had been sent to Pakistan so that the girl, Farid’s future wife, could be married to a proper Pathan rather than a water downed Pathan family that associated itself with Indians andbelieved in ‘love marriages.’
I look back appalled that such a thing could happen, even 19 yrs ago in a first world country. Farids mum, with a look of sadness, and in a soft whisper leans in to inform me that such a thing did indeed happen, and not just once but twice to her eldest son.
I look back curious wanting to know of the second situation but too embarrassed to ask. She looks back and laughs saying that my face gives away too much and that my curiosity may indeed land me into more trouble than I may ever want to admit.
‘Remember one thing my soon-to-be daughter. No matter what you’ve encountered in life, the man whom you’re engaged to, has a story and a nature which no matter the circumstances, won’t allow for him to stand still nor bemoan fate. He’s a strong one my Farid is, however his pride won’t allow me to admit how hurt he’s been by others. He’ll need not only your fire but also your patience for you’ve a very hard road ahead of you.’
I look at her with a sad smile. I understand her and feel a draw to her. However, I’m still mostly a stranger to my fiancée as he is one to be as well. InshAllah,he and I will be able to overcome this and be as successful as both his mom and my parents hope so.
After 3 days spent abed, I’m finally able to move downstairs into the library. A room, masculine in its leather, dark woods and green painted walls, I enjoy the natural light that floods it no matter the time of day. I’ve begun spending the majority of my waking hours in this room, waiting for my leg and head to fully heal.
The combination of books, visits by Imran, Farids sister and their mom alleviate the sense of stir-crazy that overtakes me now and then. The easy camaraderie of a family rallying around its sick member infuses the interactions and we’ve finally, us 3 women, have gotten to share not only the past but I’m starting to learn facets to each character and a hint into the person who will one day become my husband.
I’ve noticed that Farid tends to be gone about 14 hours a day. He leaves at the first sign of light and returns once darkness has blanketed the day. He comes in to spend a few minutes with us before he excuses himself to answer correspondence or dress for dinner. I’ve also noticed that both ladies tend to act more formal when he’s around. I’m still somewhat of a stranger so I file the observations away in hopes of it aiding me into understanding the complete picture of my future meeya(husband).
A week after my uncermonial landing at the feet of my absentee fiancée, I’m finally fully healed and anxious to be out and about. The weather, for September, is quite nice and with just a light shawl one can be quite comfortable while out. During the day, I leave out with Farid’s sister and mum and return in time to be home and dressed before Farid returns. I’ve two weeks left of this month’s visit to England. I’m now comfortable around both my future sister-in-law as well as my future saas(mother-in-law),however the limited interactions with my future husband have me quite impatient.
One evening, after dinner is over, I remain seated, unsure how to broach the topic of requesting more time for Farid and I. I’m lost in my reverie and don’t realize that the rest of the party has begun to exit out of the dining room. Farid, ever watchful, looks over at me with a bit of curiosity and impatience.
‘Is there something the matter?’
‘Huh? What? Oh, yes. I’ve 2 weeks left here and while I’ve become quite settled and familiar with your family, home and London, I’m wondering, when do I get a chance to spend time and get to know you?’
‘I’ve been waiting and giving you the time you need to acclimate yourself. I figured,once you were ready, you’d let me know. I’m surprised it’s taken you so long to be honest. However, now that you’ve initiated the subject, let’s discuss it then. Again, I’d like to say, I think it’d be best if you and I took a bit of a holiday. Away from London, away from Debden, away from work and away from family. Are you open to the idea?’
I look across the table. For all intents and purposes, there sits across from me the epitome of a British Asian gentleman. However, he’s really not very well known to be. But,I’ve resided in his home for the last 2 weeks. I’ve eaten at his table for the last 2 weeks. I’ve spent time with his family and him and on my third finger sits a ring that many in this country don’t make enough in a year salary to afford. He’s been nothing but proper and gentlemanly. So…why not?
‘Sure. Let’s go down to the coast and into France.’
‘Great. I’ll make the arrangements and we’ll leave within the next few days.’ He gets up, walks to my side of the table. He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. His fingers replace where his lips have been seconds before. I feel the warmth and connection. My heart races and my eyes cannot look away. His fingers are gentle, soft and comforting. His eyes are soft and yet there’s a fire there. He smiles and slowly his fingers fall away from my face. He walks out and I’m left with a giddy feeling.
Finally, I’m starting to feel at home. Less of a stranger and more a family member.
‘I changed you after cleaning you up. Farid brought you up here and we’ve been quite worried.’
I look over and the sudden jerking motion has my head spinning. Its hard to focus as everything is wavy and the nausea is back.
‘You rest, I’ll have Priya bring up some broth.’
I close my eyes and listen as my future sister-in-law leaves the bedroom.
The next time I wake up, Imran is there. I see him standing at the foot of the bed reading over some documents.
‘What are you reading?’
‘Oh,hey! You’re awake! Let me pop out and let Farid know,’ I’m left alone as Imran leaves hurriedly.
Why isn’t Farid here? Shouldn’t he be the one I’m waking up to rather than his sister or his lawyer?
The door opens, I see Farid walk in.
‘Good evening sleeping beauty.’
I attempt to sit up and immediately my vision blurs.
‘Lay back down. No need to be a superhero.’
‘You know your attitude is starting to wear on my last nerve.’
In response, all I get is the raising of one eyebrow and a smirk. It’s no longer attractive. Thanks to this man, I’ve now started to cause myself harm. This is definitely not a good thing.
I see him from my prone position walk up. He sits down on the bed and stares at me. I refuse to break eye contact nor will I be the first to speak. Let him do some work for once.
‘Gulzar, that spill you took may have addled your head,however,I’d like to have a discussion with you once you feel better.’
‘Go ahead. Say what you will. I’d also like to discuss a few things with you.’
‘Great. So, I know I’ve not been around and leaving you at the airport couldn’t be helped. However, I’ll be inshAllah around for the remainder of your stay. If your game, I’d like to drive to Southern England with you and perhaps then go into France for a bit. What do you think?’
‘Farid, it’s great that you want to show me the UK,however,I’ve come to spend time with you, your family and acclimate to your lifestyle. Trekking here and there, won’t really give me a good understanding of what life may be like should I agree to become your wife. I’d rather stay in the Greater London area and become better acquainted with you, your family, your work and your neighborhood.’
He looks at me in silence for a while. I look back, patient awaiting his answer. Finally, he leans in, smiles and says, ‘fair enough. Debden and London it is then.’
‘Farid, thank you for understanding.’
‘No worries. You get some rest. I’ll be back soon to check up on you.’
The next few days go by with me stuck in bed. I don’t see much of anyone other than Farid’s mum. Her lilting soft voice and patient nature as she keeps me company stills the disquiet within my mind about potentially fitting into a Sunni household. And surprisingly, she’s open and quite witty as well! She regales me with tales of Farid’s shenanigans growing up. She tells me about his first girlfriend, a Pathani who he fell in love with at the age of 16. They attempted to run away and get nikkafied at a local Mosque only to be refused by the Imam there. The next day, after keeping his father up all night with why he felt the Pukhtoona and him should marry, he showed up at 9am on her doorstep to ask her father’s permission to marry. The girls’ father refused to listen to Farid without Farid’s father also there to discuss the serious subject of the joining of two families into one. He asked Farid to come back once both fathers were agreeable as such a matter should only be engaged in amongst elders. Two days later, having worn his father down, Farid showed up at his love interests home to achieve his desire. After discussions about the age and ability to financially provide for his daughter, the Pukhtoon father agreed to the match with the understanding that a nikkah could be done immediately, however a final ceremony would ONLY occur after Farid’s graduation from University. Farids father and he,leave to begin preparations for the next days nikkah. 10am roles around and its Jummah. Farid, his dad and mum, his sisters and younger brother all show up to the home of his soon-to-be bride. The door opens and there stands his future father-in-law. Immediately, an ominous cloud overtakes the joyous occasion. Evidently, early that morning, the girl and mother had been sent to Pakistan so that the girl, Farid’s future wife, could be married to a proper Pathan rather than a water downed Pathan family that associated itself with Indians andbelieved in ‘love marriages.’
I look back appalled that such a thing could happen, even 19 yrs ago in a first world country. Farids mum, with a look of sadness, and in a soft whisper leans in to inform me that such a thing did indeed happen, and not just once but twice to her eldest son.
I look back curious wanting to know of the second situation but too embarrassed to ask. She looks back and laughs saying that my face gives away too much and that my curiosity may indeed land me into more trouble than I may ever want to admit.
‘Remember one thing my soon-to-be daughter. No matter what you’ve encountered in life, the man whom you’re engaged to, has a story and a nature which no matter the circumstances, won’t allow for him to stand still nor bemoan fate. He’s a strong one my Farid is, however his pride won’t allow me to admit how hurt he’s been by others. He’ll need not only your fire but also your patience for you’ve a very hard road ahead of you.’
I look at her with a sad smile. I understand her and feel a draw to her. However, I’m still mostly a stranger to my fiancée as he is one to be as well. InshAllah,he and I will be able to overcome this and be as successful as both his mom and my parents hope so.
After 3 days spent abed, I’m finally able to move downstairs into the library. A room, masculine in its leather, dark woods and green painted walls, I enjoy the natural light that floods it no matter the time of day. I’ve begun spending the majority of my waking hours in this room, waiting for my leg and head to fully heal.
The combination of books, visits by Imran, Farids sister and their mom alleviate the sense of stir-crazy that overtakes me now and then. The easy camaraderie of a family rallying around its sick member infuses the interactions and we’ve finally, us 3 women, have gotten to share not only the past but I’m starting to learn facets to each character and a hint into the person who will one day become my husband.
I’ve noticed that Farid tends to be gone about 14 hours a day. He leaves at the first sign of light and returns once darkness has blanketed the day. He comes in to spend a few minutes with us before he excuses himself to answer correspondence or dress for dinner. I’ve also noticed that both ladies tend to act more formal when he’s around. I’m still somewhat of a stranger so I file the observations away in hopes of it aiding me into understanding the complete picture of my future meeya(husband).
A week after my uncermonial landing at the feet of my absentee fiancée, I’m finally fully healed and anxious to be out and about. The weather, for September, is quite nice and with just a light shawl one can be quite comfortable while out. During the day, I leave out with Farid’s sister and mum and return in time to be home and dressed before Farid returns. I’ve two weeks left of this month’s visit to England. I’m now comfortable around both my future sister-in-law as well as my future saas(mother-in-law),however the limited interactions with my future husband have me quite impatient.
One evening, after dinner is over, I remain seated, unsure how to broach the topic of requesting more time for Farid and I. I’m lost in my reverie and don’t realize that the rest of the party has begun to exit out of the dining room. Farid, ever watchful, looks over at me with a bit of curiosity and impatience.
‘Is there something the matter?’
‘Huh? What? Oh, yes. I’ve 2 weeks left here and while I’ve become quite settled and familiar with your family, home and London, I’m wondering, when do I get a chance to spend time and get to know you?’
‘I’ve been waiting and giving you the time you need to acclimate yourself. I figured,once you were ready, you’d let me know. I’m surprised it’s taken you so long to be honest. However, now that you’ve initiated the subject, let’s discuss it then. Again, I’d like to say, I think it’d be best if you and I took a bit of a holiday. Away from London, away from Debden, away from work and away from family. Are you open to the idea?’
I look across the table. For all intents and purposes, there sits across from me the epitome of a British Asian gentleman. However, he’s really not very well known to be. But,I’ve resided in his home for the last 2 weeks. I’ve eaten at his table for the last 2 weeks. I’ve spent time with his family and him and on my third finger sits a ring that many in this country don’t make enough in a year salary to afford. He’s been nothing but proper and gentlemanly. So…why not?
‘Sure. Let’s go down to the coast and into France.’
‘Great. I’ll make the arrangements and we’ll leave within the next few days.’ He gets up, walks to my side of the table. He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. His fingers replace where his lips have been seconds before. I feel the warmth and connection. My heart races and my eyes cannot look away. His fingers are gentle, soft and comforting. His eyes are soft and yet there’s a fire there. He smiles and slowly his fingers fall away from my face. He walks out and I’m left with a giddy feeling.
Finally, I’m starting to feel at home. Less of a stranger and more a family member.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Phone Call
I called you today. I stared at the phone throughout the entire day.
Even when my body did other things,my soul and my heart turned to the phone.
The ring,each and every one, more shrill than the last felt like fingernails on the chalkboard. I held my breath yet no one picked up. The voicemail started, the drone of the computerized female voice...reminded me how much a stranger you have now become.
My eyes slowly shut and the tear that was held at bay slowly fell. It was warm and slow. It caressed my face as it marked its journey down. I felt each nanosecond of that journey and yet, it too, like you, left me.
I put the phone away and forced my body to walk away.
It seems like an eternity since I heard that voice. The depth, the cadence and the soothing quality, I miss it.
I miss you.
My heart beats,my soul is alive and yet I ache.
Even when my body did other things,my soul and my heart turned to the phone.
The ring,each and every one, more shrill than the last felt like fingernails on the chalkboard. I held my breath yet no one picked up. The voicemail started, the drone of the computerized female voice...reminded me how much a stranger you have now become.
My eyes slowly shut and the tear that was held at bay slowly fell. It was warm and slow. It caressed my face as it marked its journey down. I felt each nanosecond of that journey and yet, it too, like you, left me.
I put the phone away and forced my body to walk away.
It seems like an eternity since I heard that voice. The depth, the cadence and the soothing quality, I miss it.
I miss you.
My heart beats,my soul is alive and yet I ache.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Rishta Diaries - Candidate 2 part 7
This is complete utter crap. I’m so sick of this! He’s lucky he’s not here…because IF he was…I’d deck him. And I’d smile broadly as he lay sprawled at my feet.
3 days ago,I got dropped off by Kamran, the chauffeur who was essentially a mute incommunicative drone.
I’m one of two people who reside currently in this monstrosity of a house.
Of course, how could it be anything else?
Where’s the family? Wasn’t this the time that was to be afforded for me to get to know his family?
As for my roommate, her footsteps barely register. She comes and goes and at times it’s so eerily quiet that I can hear the chiming of the grandfather clock on the main level or the shifting of the wind outside amongst the trees. This house is inhabited by an old hindu woman, a housekeeper, who speaks a bare minimum of Hindi. Communicating with her became the ultimate exercise in futility. Her accent is NOT the type anyone could understand. And mine for her? Forgetaboutit!
2 days ago, Imran came by. I had unpacked, settled in and taken a walk around the house, the gardens and rung my family to let them know all was well. I was left exploring this library that seems to have two sections, politics and Islamic teachings housed within its bookshelves. Neither of these subjects were something that I particularly wanted to read about. But, out of sheer desperation, I did so. Seeing my fire-snapping eyes and the tension in my body, Imran opted to take me on a bit of a field trip.
‘Let’s go.’
‘Where,’ I asked.
‘To show you around our fair city.’
‘Ok, let’s do it!’ Finally, I’ll see SOME action!
Kamran,onceagain at our disposal, chauffeured us into Central London. It was truly a
Whirlwind.
I remember a scarf bought on Bond street. Pictures taken on a ledge overlooking St.Paul’s Cathedral. Bengali men harking lower and lower prices with each sign above showing an “award winning chef” at Brick Lane. I think I bought a belt there also. A big zircon studded one.
At Green Street there was bhel puri…my mouth lights on fire just thinking back on it!
And at SouthHall, there was an exchange between Imran and 2 punjabi men. They seemed angry but I got the CD and the shawls I wanted.
Pictures were taken again in front of Big Ben and then my second favourite, a leisurely tour of all 3 Museums in Central London. Trafalgar Square promised more pictures however no pigeons. The lack thereof made walking that much easier around the Square. And finally, Imran was sweet enough to wait around outside in the car while I popped into the South Kensington Isma’ili Centre to do a quick Du’a for Shukran to Allah.
After my visit to the Isma’ili Centre, Imran and I went to dinner at a Lebanese restaurant that had some great music playing. The food was phenomenal and his stories of University life spent with Farid and their earlier attempts at business were quite entertaining.
‘Gulzar, Farid should really be here with you today.’
I sit back, observe this barrister whose been my tour guide cum babysitter. He’s smart, has a stellar personality, tall,handsome and yet he’s essentially acting as Farid’s lackey. Why?
‘Yes, your right Imran, Farid SHOULD be here.’
‘I’m sorry. This is a bloody piss poor time to leave you, but, I suppose you should know, he’s quite focused when it comes to career. His work schedule is such that you’ll never really see him at home at 5pm… 9pm is more likely.’
‘I’m starting to realize that Farids’ focus and commitment, while quite impressive, is one which may indeed cause issues as far as work/life balance comes in.’
‘You’re a strong,intelligent woman, if anyone can get him to find that balance, I think you can.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,Imran,however, let’s wait and see what the rest of the month has in store.OK?’
‘Most definitely. I have a feeling things are going to be very interesting and positive for everyone.’
I smile but internally I think…we’ll see.
He smiles back.
Day 4:
I’ve opted to do some planting of some garlic and herbs. If I’m going to spend a month here, I’d rather keep myself busy. What better way than to do some gardening and cooking?
There’s a ruckus in the front.I hera it in the outdoor side garden. I take off my gloves and walk inside. It’s two ladies, one has a dupata on her head. She looks to be small, birdlike and she’s darker…definitely Indian. The second is a tall woman, mid 40’s, she’s use to being in charge.Large voice and she’s busy getting all the bags unloaded. She turns around and I see the eyes. The tightness around her mouth. She’s gotta be Farid’s sister. But whose the Indian woman? She’s not old enough to be his mum…so who is she?
‘Gulzar’ says the tallish of the two women.
‘Yes, that’s me.’ I reply
‘Hello, I’m Baaghi Amina, Farid’s eldest sibling.’
I thought he was the eldest, ’Nice to meet you Amina, I’m Gulzar.’
Amina steps aside and slowly walks up the birdlike creature. ‘Salaam beti, I’m Farids ammi. I’ve seen your photos and Farid’s told me about you. I’m so happy to welcome you to our family.’
I walk up and am thoroughly confused. How can this lady be his mummi? She’s not old enough, she’s not at all physically similar to Farid,nor to Amina. What’s going on?
‘Walikum as salaam aunti. I’ve looked forward to meeting you as well.’
Farid’s mum motions for a hug and I bend down to give her one. She can’t possibly be more than a hundred pounds.
We go into the formal parlor and tea is brought around. Farid’s mum catches my questioning look at her and laughs. ‘No, I’m not Farid’s biological mom. His ammi died when he was in his early teens. His father and I married shortly after her death and Farid’s Abbu brought me to Islamabad from Bihar when I was 17 yrs old. I have raised Farid as well as Amina and their other siblings ever since. In return they’ve chosen to call me Ammi.’
I stare. A child-bride no wonder she barely looks old enough. She’s what…5 possibly 7 yrs older than Farid? My goodness, what a tale she must have to tell! I smile and say, ‘Wow that must have been quite a time period.’
She looks over. At first quiet and then smiles…broadly. ‘Yes, you are indeed just what our Farid needs.’
I look at her a bit perplexed but turn my attention in time to Amina. She’s sitting and yet looks as if she’s about to spring up at any moment.
A few more questions are bandied back and forth until the chauffeur comes in. Amina immediately jumps up to ask another new addition, a female one, to have the bags sent up to rooms which I somewhat remember from a tour on my first day.
After Amina and Farid’s mum retire I go back to the garden. We’re to meet for dinner so I’ve a few hours to spend on my own until I need to dress.
Coming down the wide staircase from dressing, I look up to see that Kamran is dressed in a white shalwar kameez. He motions for me to walk to my right, towards what I remember to be a formal dining room. It’s empty in the dining room, however I hear voices in the kitchen. After a few seconds deliberation, I walk into the kitchen. Inside is Amina, her mother and the housekeeper all sitting around the island exploding in laughter. I walk up and say my Salaams. They ask me to join them and we sit in companionable conversation while dinner commences. It’s quite informal and I’m glad that I can let my guard down and observe both women in a more relaxed, natural state. Suddenly, I finally realize why I’ve had such issues communicating with the housekeeper. She only speaks Punjabi, as I don’t speak any, our inability to communicate is now finally understandable!
The three of them however, are able and do communicate. Amina and her mom take the time to translate either in Urdu or in English. I don’t say much, I’m happy enough to observe and watch the interaction.
The next morning as I come down and start to walk outside for my morning run, my future MIL calls my name out. I walk into the study and come upon her sitting with a needle and thread overlooking the front open windows. She looks atme and smiles.
‘Salaam aunti.’
‘Walikum as salaam beti. Have you had your nashta yet?’
‘Not yet. I prefer to get in a run prior to breakfast in the morning.’
‘Just as well, run along then. I’ll have Priya have nashta ready when you get back. An hour work for you?’
‘Yes, that should be sufficient.’
I say Salaam and walk out. It’s quite balmy out for a Sept morning and I’m soaking wet by the time I walk up the front steps. As I turn the doorknob to enter, Imran comes into the foyer.
I’m embarrassed. I’m smelly and soaking wet and he looks dressed for the office. Crap!
‘Good morning Gulzar Jee.’
‘Ah, salaam Imran.’ I don’t meet his eyes specifically trying to sprint upstairs. I wonder if it’ll be too rude of me to just turn and bolt. Frack…I hate situations like these!
Idiot stands with his arms clenched behind him, with that silly smirk on his face. He’s looking at me, I know, I can feel it!
‘Imran, listen, I’d love to continue this conversation, however, I really need to get showered and dressed before my mother-in-law has nashta ready.’
‘Not a problem, I’ll see you when you get back downstairs. Do take your time. We’ll all wait.’
I look at him like he’s grown another head but I don’t have time. I can’t possibly be late to the first breakfast with my future mother-in-law!
I think as I speed downstairs,that must have been the fastest I ever have gotten ready. I can still somewhat smell the burn from the straightener in my slightly damp hair!
‘Hello Gulzar. It’s nice to see such enthusiasm from you at my return.’
I look up shocked.It’s him!
*boom*
OMG please oh please Allah please make me disappear into the floorboards!
Ameen…DOUBLE AMEEN!
‘Oh goodness are you all right?’
I look up. I’m laying sprawled on the marble floor,staring into Farid’s concerned face. His brow is furrowed. Suddenly, my knee burns and I feel warmth around my left elbow.
I’ve, of course, at this point turned BEET red. He’s suppose to be sprawled at MY feet, NOT me at his! WTH!!!
‘Beta, is she all right? Should we call a doctor?’
‘No ammi, I think she’ll be fine. Let me take her to the study. Perhaps we can have brunch served in there?’
Yup, I managed to land in a heaping sprawled mess after tumbling ¾ of the way down the stupid wooden staircase. Damnit! And now, my body is on fire!
Farid helps me to my feet and then helps while I lean on him and hobble to the study. I’m mortified. I wish one could die of embarrassment.
As I settle in on the couch, he raises my foot and puts it above a pillow. I’m now immobile and highly uncomfortable. I look down at the burning and see there is a slow oozing of blood from above my elbow. I gingerly move it and wince. It hurts, a hell of a lot.
Farid notices and takes his kerchief out to apply pressure to my injury. I stare at his fingers and the pressure he’s exerting. I look up and realize not only is he staring at me but so is Imran. Amina’s managed to follow everyone into the room and she and my MIL are standing next to the opposite couch patiently waiting.
My eyes go back to Farid and I realize my eyes have dilated. I’m not angry but I am surprised that he’s back.
He leans in to check on my elbow, ‘I’ll remember never to surprise you when your rushing round. We wouldn’t want you continually injuring yourself on account of me.’
I look back at his face and his smirk and wink have my face turning tamatar red.
*groan* Why o why does this man have such an effect on me?
I look back at him and my eyes narrow, suddenly my elbow is enflamed.
‘OUCH!’
‘Beta,your hurting her, be careful!’ says my mother-in-law.
I look him straight,dead in the eye. He looks back and mutters, ‘Two can play this game. You sure you’vegot what it takes?’ I smile back, ‘Most definitely, bring it on!’
He turns his head around and says loudly, ‘Sorry ammi. I think we need some peroxide and gauze. Gulzar seems to be quite the bleeder!’
Thirty minutes later, we’re all settled and everyone’s enjoying an early brunch. I’ve abstained as I don’t think I could eat much with the headache I seem to have pounding in the back of my head.
‘Beta, do you want Farid to help you with some khana?’
‘No auntie,I think I’ll be fine. I do however think I need to go upstairs and lay down. I seem to be getting quite a headache.’
‘Sure. Farid, take Gulzar to her room.’
I turn red once again. This is going from bad to worse!
Suddenly Farid leans across and puts his plate down. He stands up and pulls me into his arms. I give a slight yelp and feel as if I’m a sack of potatoes.
He looks down at me and smiles. I hang on for dear life. My heads spinning, my arm is burning and my leg feels as if someone’s cut off the blood circulation to it. I close my eyes and realize I’m about to either faint or throw up.
‘Oh dear.’
I look up and say, ‘What?What’s wrong?’
‘Remember stateside when I said that the red on your face wasn’t becoming on you? Well, that particular shade of green that you seem to be enfused with, isn’t quite becoming either.’
I look at him and suddenly I’m beyond pissed off. ‘Well, perhaps if you were a better host, I wouldn’t be here broken,bruised and battered. No thanks to you!’
‘Will you run and tell your mum now?’
My eyes get bigger and suddenly, I throw up. It’s all over me as well as all over his black jacket and his pink shirt.
‘Oh,bloody hell!’
I look up supremely satisfied. I smile and promptly pass out.
3 days ago,I got dropped off by Kamran, the chauffeur who was essentially a mute incommunicative drone.
I’m one of two people who reside currently in this monstrosity of a house.
Of course, how could it be anything else?
Where’s the family? Wasn’t this the time that was to be afforded for me to get to know his family?
As for my roommate, her footsteps barely register. She comes and goes and at times it’s so eerily quiet that I can hear the chiming of the grandfather clock on the main level or the shifting of the wind outside amongst the trees. This house is inhabited by an old hindu woman, a housekeeper, who speaks a bare minimum of Hindi. Communicating with her became the ultimate exercise in futility. Her accent is NOT the type anyone could understand. And mine for her? Forgetaboutit!
2 days ago, Imran came by. I had unpacked, settled in and taken a walk around the house, the gardens and rung my family to let them know all was well. I was left exploring this library that seems to have two sections, politics and Islamic teachings housed within its bookshelves. Neither of these subjects were something that I particularly wanted to read about. But, out of sheer desperation, I did so. Seeing my fire-snapping eyes and the tension in my body, Imran opted to take me on a bit of a field trip.
‘Let’s go.’
‘Where,’ I asked.
‘To show you around our fair city.’
‘Ok, let’s do it!’ Finally, I’ll see SOME action!
Kamran,onceagain at our disposal, chauffeured us into Central London. It was truly a
Whirlwind.
I remember a scarf bought on Bond street. Pictures taken on a ledge overlooking St.Paul’s Cathedral. Bengali men harking lower and lower prices with each sign above showing an “award winning chef” at Brick Lane. I think I bought a belt there also. A big zircon studded one.
At Green Street there was bhel puri…my mouth lights on fire just thinking back on it!
And at SouthHall, there was an exchange between Imran and 2 punjabi men. They seemed angry but I got the CD and the shawls I wanted.
Pictures were taken again in front of Big Ben and then my second favourite, a leisurely tour of all 3 Museums in Central London. Trafalgar Square promised more pictures however no pigeons. The lack thereof made walking that much easier around the Square. And finally, Imran was sweet enough to wait around outside in the car while I popped into the South Kensington Isma’ili Centre to do a quick Du’a for Shukran to Allah.
After my visit to the Isma’ili Centre, Imran and I went to dinner at a Lebanese restaurant that had some great music playing. The food was phenomenal and his stories of University life spent with Farid and their earlier attempts at business were quite entertaining.
‘Gulzar, Farid should really be here with you today.’
I sit back, observe this barrister whose been my tour guide cum babysitter. He’s smart, has a stellar personality, tall,handsome and yet he’s essentially acting as Farid’s lackey. Why?
‘Yes, your right Imran, Farid SHOULD be here.’
‘I’m sorry. This is a bloody piss poor time to leave you, but, I suppose you should know, he’s quite focused when it comes to career. His work schedule is such that you’ll never really see him at home at 5pm… 9pm is more likely.’
‘I’m starting to realize that Farids’ focus and commitment, while quite impressive, is one which may indeed cause issues as far as work/life balance comes in.’
‘You’re a strong,intelligent woman, if anyone can get him to find that balance, I think you can.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,Imran,however, let’s wait and see what the rest of the month has in store.OK?’
‘Most definitely. I have a feeling things are going to be very interesting and positive for everyone.’
I smile but internally I think…we’ll see.
He smiles back.
Day 4:
I’ve opted to do some planting of some garlic and herbs. If I’m going to spend a month here, I’d rather keep myself busy. What better way than to do some gardening and cooking?
There’s a ruckus in the front.I hera it in the outdoor side garden. I take off my gloves and walk inside. It’s two ladies, one has a dupata on her head. She looks to be small, birdlike and she’s darker…definitely Indian. The second is a tall woman, mid 40’s, she’s use to being in charge.Large voice and she’s busy getting all the bags unloaded. She turns around and I see the eyes. The tightness around her mouth. She’s gotta be Farid’s sister. But whose the Indian woman? She’s not old enough to be his mum…so who is she?
‘Gulzar’ says the tallish of the two women.
‘Yes, that’s me.’ I reply
‘Hello, I’m Baaghi Amina, Farid’s eldest sibling.’
I thought he was the eldest, ’Nice to meet you Amina, I’m Gulzar.’
Amina steps aside and slowly walks up the birdlike creature. ‘Salaam beti, I’m Farids ammi. I’ve seen your photos and Farid’s told me about you. I’m so happy to welcome you to our family.’
I walk up and am thoroughly confused. How can this lady be his mummi? She’s not old enough, she’s not at all physically similar to Farid,nor to Amina. What’s going on?
‘Walikum as salaam aunti. I’ve looked forward to meeting you as well.’
Farid’s mum motions for a hug and I bend down to give her one. She can’t possibly be more than a hundred pounds.
We go into the formal parlor and tea is brought around. Farid’s mum catches my questioning look at her and laughs. ‘No, I’m not Farid’s biological mom. His ammi died when he was in his early teens. His father and I married shortly after her death and Farid’s Abbu brought me to Islamabad from Bihar when I was 17 yrs old. I have raised Farid as well as Amina and their other siblings ever since. In return they’ve chosen to call me Ammi.’
I stare. A child-bride no wonder she barely looks old enough. She’s what…5 possibly 7 yrs older than Farid? My goodness, what a tale she must have to tell! I smile and say, ‘Wow that must have been quite a time period.’
She looks over. At first quiet and then smiles…broadly. ‘Yes, you are indeed just what our Farid needs.’
I look at her a bit perplexed but turn my attention in time to Amina. She’s sitting and yet looks as if she’s about to spring up at any moment.
A few more questions are bandied back and forth until the chauffeur comes in. Amina immediately jumps up to ask another new addition, a female one, to have the bags sent up to rooms which I somewhat remember from a tour on my first day.
After Amina and Farid’s mum retire I go back to the garden. We’re to meet for dinner so I’ve a few hours to spend on my own until I need to dress.
Coming down the wide staircase from dressing, I look up to see that Kamran is dressed in a white shalwar kameez. He motions for me to walk to my right, towards what I remember to be a formal dining room. It’s empty in the dining room, however I hear voices in the kitchen. After a few seconds deliberation, I walk into the kitchen. Inside is Amina, her mother and the housekeeper all sitting around the island exploding in laughter. I walk up and say my Salaams. They ask me to join them and we sit in companionable conversation while dinner commences. It’s quite informal and I’m glad that I can let my guard down and observe both women in a more relaxed, natural state. Suddenly, I finally realize why I’ve had such issues communicating with the housekeeper. She only speaks Punjabi, as I don’t speak any, our inability to communicate is now finally understandable!
The three of them however, are able and do communicate. Amina and her mom take the time to translate either in Urdu or in English. I don’t say much, I’m happy enough to observe and watch the interaction.
The next morning as I come down and start to walk outside for my morning run, my future MIL calls my name out. I walk into the study and come upon her sitting with a needle and thread overlooking the front open windows. She looks atme and smiles.
‘Salaam aunti.’
‘Walikum as salaam beti. Have you had your nashta yet?’
‘Not yet. I prefer to get in a run prior to breakfast in the morning.’
‘Just as well, run along then. I’ll have Priya have nashta ready when you get back. An hour work for you?’
‘Yes, that should be sufficient.’
I say Salaam and walk out. It’s quite balmy out for a Sept morning and I’m soaking wet by the time I walk up the front steps. As I turn the doorknob to enter, Imran comes into the foyer.
I’m embarrassed. I’m smelly and soaking wet and he looks dressed for the office. Crap!
‘Good morning Gulzar Jee.’
‘Ah, salaam Imran.’ I don’t meet his eyes specifically trying to sprint upstairs. I wonder if it’ll be too rude of me to just turn and bolt. Frack…I hate situations like these!
Idiot stands with his arms clenched behind him, with that silly smirk on his face. He’s looking at me, I know, I can feel it!
‘Imran, listen, I’d love to continue this conversation, however, I really need to get showered and dressed before my mother-in-law has nashta ready.’
‘Not a problem, I’ll see you when you get back downstairs. Do take your time. We’ll all wait.’
I look at him like he’s grown another head but I don’t have time. I can’t possibly be late to the first breakfast with my future mother-in-law!
I think as I speed downstairs,that must have been the fastest I ever have gotten ready. I can still somewhat smell the burn from the straightener in my slightly damp hair!
‘Hello Gulzar. It’s nice to see such enthusiasm from you at my return.’
I look up shocked.It’s him!
*boom*
OMG please oh please Allah please make me disappear into the floorboards!
Ameen…DOUBLE AMEEN!
‘Oh goodness are you all right?’
I look up. I’m laying sprawled on the marble floor,staring into Farid’s concerned face. His brow is furrowed. Suddenly, my knee burns and I feel warmth around my left elbow.
I’ve, of course, at this point turned BEET red. He’s suppose to be sprawled at MY feet, NOT me at his! WTH!!!
‘Beta, is she all right? Should we call a doctor?’
‘No ammi, I think she’ll be fine. Let me take her to the study. Perhaps we can have brunch served in there?’
Yup, I managed to land in a heaping sprawled mess after tumbling ¾ of the way down the stupid wooden staircase. Damnit! And now, my body is on fire!
Farid helps me to my feet and then helps while I lean on him and hobble to the study. I’m mortified. I wish one could die of embarrassment.
As I settle in on the couch, he raises my foot and puts it above a pillow. I’m now immobile and highly uncomfortable. I look down at the burning and see there is a slow oozing of blood from above my elbow. I gingerly move it and wince. It hurts, a hell of a lot.
Farid notices and takes his kerchief out to apply pressure to my injury. I stare at his fingers and the pressure he’s exerting. I look up and realize not only is he staring at me but so is Imran. Amina’s managed to follow everyone into the room and she and my MIL are standing next to the opposite couch patiently waiting.
My eyes go back to Farid and I realize my eyes have dilated. I’m not angry but I am surprised that he’s back.
He leans in to check on my elbow, ‘I’ll remember never to surprise you when your rushing round. We wouldn’t want you continually injuring yourself on account of me.’
I look back at his face and his smirk and wink have my face turning tamatar red.
*groan* Why o why does this man have such an effect on me?
I look back at him and my eyes narrow, suddenly my elbow is enflamed.
‘OUCH!’
‘Beta,your hurting her, be careful!’ says my mother-in-law.
I look him straight,dead in the eye. He looks back and mutters, ‘Two can play this game. You sure you’vegot what it takes?’ I smile back, ‘Most definitely, bring it on!’
He turns his head around and says loudly, ‘Sorry ammi. I think we need some peroxide and gauze. Gulzar seems to be quite the bleeder!’
Thirty minutes later, we’re all settled and everyone’s enjoying an early brunch. I’ve abstained as I don’t think I could eat much with the headache I seem to have pounding in the back of my head.
‘Beta, do you want Farid to help you with some khana?’
‘No auntie,I think I’ll be fine. I do however think I need to go upstairs and lay down. I seem to be getting quite a headache.’
‘Sure. Farid, take Gulzar to her room.’
I turn red once again. This is going from bad to worse!
Suddenly Farid leans across and puts his plate down. He stands up and pulls me into his arms. I give a slight yelp and feel as if I’m a sack of potatoes.
He looks down at me and smiles. I hang on for dear life. My heads spinning, my arm is burning and my leg feels as if someone’s cut off the blood circulation to it. I close my eyes and realize I’m about to either faint or throw up.
‘Oh dear.’
I look up and say, ‘What?What’s wrong?’
‘Remember stateside when I said that the red on your face wasn’t becoming on you? Well, that particular shade of green that you seem to be enfused with, isn’t quite becoming either.’
I look at him and suddenly I’m beyond pissed off. ‘Well, perhaps if you were a better host, I wouldn’t be here broken,bruised and battered. No thanks to you!’
‘Will you run and tell your mum now?’
My eyes get bigger and suddenly, I throw up. It’s all over me as well as all over his black jacket and his pink shirt.
‘Oh,bloody hell!’
I look up supremely satisfied. I smile and promptly pass out.
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