Elle est Pour Toi Maman

My niece had been pretty excited for a couple of weeks about the mother's day function that was lined up at her school for today. Whenever she'd visit, she'd show me the poems, the acts, the dances she was participating in. The plans they had made in school to surprise mommies with the invitations and the little hand made gifts they were all making!..she couldn't talk about anything but that for all these days (since she wasn't supposed to talk to mommy about it, I got all the juicy details ) and thanks to that I got to learn a lot of fun dances like the 'boogie woogie' and poems like 'we're a happy family'.

Over the weekend, Bhabi asked me to join her for the function, I was elated! I so wanted to see my niece perform.

The auditorium was decorated only with stuff made by the children. It was very impressive. My bhabi (like all parents do )went bezerk with the camera. She even took picture of the floor! Huff.. I was like a legal alien there... but I was engrossed the moment I saw my niece walk in, she was walking on air with confidence and excitement .

The function went very well, all the kids shined and my niece was the moon (naturally). The Arabic song, the French song, the interpretive dance, all was amazingly impressive for 4 year olds.

At the end of the concert the music teacher came to the mic, and said "this song is older than I am, my mom sang it to me, and I sang it to my daughter who is now 20 years old"

Its been 20 years that my mom has passed on, and I don't remember the moment when I stopped missing her, when her warmth faded from my memories, when I stopped hearing her voice, when she just became a picture in the frame for me. But shamefully or sadly so, that's all she had become for me. An indifferent faded memory that stopped coming alive a long time back.

But today when that teacher sang 'quay sera sera' my mom suddenly came alive, I could hear her singing softly to the strum of the guitar (as I suddenly had a flashback that she used to when I was a little girl), it was an irreplaceable and overwhelming feeling that was equally warm and satisfying....And for a moment I secretly wished I could tell my mom 'Happy Mother's Day'

I Rant

Kar saaf dilaN deya khabaaN nooN
Gal aise ghar wich phookdi aye

Gal ik nuqte vich mukdi hai!

The other day talking to a friend, I realized that I have this on my MP4... and today morning I paid attention while listening to the whole qawali. It’s mesmerizing. But the above lines stuck to me.
I didn’t know that this was an omen. It was a tough day, one of those miserable ones where everything around you crumbles down to nothing. Your belief system is shaken, your habits are questioned, your friends and your acquaintances become aliens. Your windows of escape shut down, no one seems happy and nothing makes sense. On days like these you can lose your sanity. Today is one of those days for me… but all day these three lines kept chanting in my head…

One of my very close friends is leaving for Islamabad today, he is getting married, and heaven only knows how he has agreed to it. The last time I met him, he said to me
“My soul is burdened M, my heart is broken, I am suffering... how can I pretend to be what I am not. How can I pretend to live when I died a long time back…”
I was speechless at his pain. All I could give him were a few lousy words and some worthless tears. Why was he so sad? Why did he love that much that it broke him? What is the justification of a life so unhappy? No matter how much he laughs, no matter how much he gives, no matter how much he accepts… His dreams will always be broken…

I wish him all the best…

Another friend, sounded so hurt and miserable… I couldn’t say anything to help. All what he said made sense.

A friend of mine had to leave her baby back home because she had to come here and work and the “rules” here are so “strict” (incoherent to be precise) that she cannot bring her few months old child here...

All the politics at workplace also seems to get to my nerves. The people you have worked with for so long, people you have helped, people you have lunched with every day… conspiring, gossiping, giving attitude?? Just for some hard earned recognition and perks that you receive? I am sick of tolerating meanness. Then again, it’s a mean world…

On top of all this my country is in a mess, my city is burning. One of my friends from up north lost 7 colleagues in a terrorist attack at their office. I spoke to him and the hollow of his voice drenched me of my last drop of positivity.

Today there is no room for positivity, my insides are like molten lava, the destruction is vehement and everything is melting down to a mush, everything that I am, each and everything that I believed in! Is it all really a farce? Where was I living before? Where are all my days gone? Who have I become? Was I lying to myself? What about my dreams?


Kar saaf dilaN deya khabaaN nooN
Gal aise ghar wich phookdi aye

Gal ik nuqte vich mukdi hai!

These words will haunt me, till I succumb to them… A life without dreams is better than a life with all dreams shattered. I believed for a very long time that it was supposed to be the other way around….

Life - The Opera

The whole day, every day, Life sways between the powerful hands of disillusionments and disappointments, and then like a lusting beast, hope dives in, snatches her from them and takes a euphoric flight, she flies with it, she laughs, she peaks and then she falls again. Again in the same hands that play with her, torment her and rip her to shreds. She bleeds, she bruises, she screams but she smiles to the deafening applause of her mundane responsibilities. She bows. And then in the night she sleeps, exhausted in the arms of the promise. The promise that soothes her, that cajoles her for her next performance. He nurses her wounds, he rocks her to the valley of dreams. Here she feels safe, she feels happy, she is free. She sheds her stage suit of shackles. She flies, she plays, she replenishes.. Only to wake up in the stern and binding arms of her promise. The companion that was so compassionate at night, seems so indifferent in the morning. He stares her in the face, she gives in, she gets up. In an attempt to be extraordinary, to be different, she puts on her best face, shines her suit and prepares to dance again.... The opera of life continues.... The same show every day, the same reward every night.

At this hour where realities stand stark naked, when every life is asleep in its cage, when the audience bears no significance, she thinks to herself, "In the end everything is just ordinary."


Till the dance becomes morbid, till the applause fades, till the last curtain call... The opera continues.

The First time!

Sitting late in office is something that I mostly avoid but today was so consuming that I decided to sit late for a while, just to breath, organize my desk, rearrange some papers, listen to some music and then go. I guess I just felt too bored of rushing myself to break out of work. Now that I am sitting here, the floor is almost empty; my mind is at work, processing a chain of events that induced a feeling in me that never existed...

Today morning for the first time in my life I thought “May be love is over-rated.” That’s a first, I sarcastically checked myself, but the seed is planted. For an idealist like me it’s like a death of sorts.

To negate the overpowering effect of that feeling, I am thinking of all the first times, the first time I remember when I thought the smell of Roti is an irreplaceable joy of life, the first time I heard Jagjit sing Ghalib, the first time I read an Urdu Novel, the first time I walked barefoot on the beach, the first time I saw my mother cry with joy, the first time I made tea for her, the first time I went out for dinner with friends, the first time I heard the whispers of love, the first time I blushed, the first time I saw the sunrise, the first time my brother brought his paycheck home, the first time I cooked something for my father and he kissed my hand, the first time I kissed my niece’ cheek, the first time we painted our nails together..

I thank God for all those moments..

But the melancholy of that thought have tainted my heart. All I can hope is that I will be able to shake it off but I know that I am prepared to live with it.

Any way, here’s the song that I am listening to, the first time I heard this song I secretly prayed to God to relieve this man of his despair (I was only six or seven to realize how beautiful the song is)

Two Movies and Cough Syrup

Cough syrup is the kosher high for the suffering ones for sure. Coughing endlessly for 10 days and switching between sounding like an airless pump and a rickshaw, I have given up the intermediary spoon and have taken to the bottle. Literally. And it has done wonders, for my insomnia at least where it hasn't done any harm to the cough..God bless the cough syrup REGARDLESS

Apart from my 4 hourly 'dose' of the high, what has kept me company is the movies and my DVD remote control. In the midst of fast forwarding through a bunch of movies, I saw a couple of good ones. 'The Bad Lieutenant' , Nicolas Cage has shined in the movie.. (In my 'high' opinion of course). And then there was 'Ishqia' an interesting watch, with different treatment, songs and consistent acting. Videya Balan showed some potential again, as I thought she couldn't do anything passable after Parineeta... (Again in my very judgmental opinion of Indian movies that I watch with my thumb on the forward button).. The list goes on, My Name is Khan, Kurbaan, Your Turn, My Zinc Bed.. etc etc.

The two movies that I really enjoyed with an intention of watching them again are Pyaasa, a 1957 black and white, Guru Datt and Waheeda Rehman starrer with great acting and AMAZING songs. All of them. Sahir's poetry is used in the movie if I am not wrong, and its beautiful.

Thanks to the constant nagging of my friend I got to see this other movie at her place on Thursday during my first ever sleep over. During which I discovered that a person can never be thoroughly corrupted until they sleep over at a friend's house...

Anyway the movie was Presopolis, a French movie about an Iranian girl.. I felt as though I knew her (Murjan).. It is set on the background of the Iranian revolution and events that followed but predominantly it is the story of Murjan's life. A MUST WATCH. If I am not wrong it won an Oscar too. It has such a flow to it that it is a delirious pleasure to keep up with the story... The best part of the movie is Murjan's relationship with her Grandmother. Again, its a must watch and is extremely enjoyable in English as well.

Rest assured, there is no place like home and there is nothing better than one's own bed. Even if you fight to sleep the whole night.. That reminds me, time for my dose ;)

Blame it on the Rain Why Dontcha?!?

So much for a little rain in Dubai.

The weather is beautiful, and the rain is in no way abnormal..

But as per Gulf News. “Heavy rains have played havoc on the roads causing flooding on major roads and leading to traffic jams especially in Sharjah”

As if the roads are perfectly laid out to even handle seasonal rains. Two years back the rains broke the Emirates road in many places. Emirates road is the lifeline of commuters who live in the northern emirates and commute to and fro to Dubai to pay for the apartments they can barely afford with their incomes. Which by the way they only use for sleeping. And today again the road is closed for commuters, so people are anticipating 4-5 hours in traffic jams just to catch a shut eye for a couple of hours and come back to work in the morning.. *shaking head in disappointment*

I cannot help feel a little guilty while enjoying the pure air and admiring the beauty of the rain that leaves everything washed and renewed.

So much for a little rain in Dubai.