Bismillahir Rahmaan ir Raheem
Salaat WA Salaam Ala Sayyidina Muhammed (sallallahu alaihi WA aalihi WA sallam)
Training Troubles
(Caution: proceed at your own risk. Content below may have... Ahem... graphic details)
In the Land of the Pure, (or what the energetic Tariq Aziz fondly calls ‘Watan-e-Azeez’ in his spirited TV show), the issue of potty-training your young one is of immense importance. It is considered grave incompetence on the part of the mother if her child is not fully trained by the age of two. Sympathetic looks, patronizing words and general advice will be offered (much too generously) to anyone whose child cannot control nature’s call. On occasions such as a wedding, when one is enjoying perfunctory niceties with the other guests, the mother of the yet-to-be-potty-trained child will be subject to hearing such words: “Oh my! What? She is THREE?? And not yet potty-trained? Why, I trained my child at nine months!” And so on and so forth.
On the other hand, (as far as I know), in the US of A, or in the UAE, there seems to be no such hurry to train a child. A mother will flippantly comment (her tone bordering on pride)- “I shall let him take his own sweet time. He will be ready soon, for God’s sake, he’s only three!” You get the picture... everyone takes it easy and Pampers sell like hell.
However, when I had to go to Pakistan for a family wedding, I decided to potty-train my two-year-old daughter. I learnt through sources that my cousin’s daughter of the same age had already been fully trained, and my own sister’s son partially trained. The old competitiveness inside me was reborn and with fervour and enthusiasm, I embarked upon “Operation: Potty-training”.
I explained to her gently and lengthily, the concept of controlling the urge. Eyes wide with interest, she listened attentively. I decided to put the theory in action. It so happens that the little girl had not registered anything, and I was reduced to cleaning ‘the accident’. Needless to say, the accidents kept happening- and there were times when I wanted to pull at my hair in despair, or bang my head against a wall. After scores of tension-filled phone calls to my sister, and watching a dozen You-tube videos and reading probably a gazillion articles on potty-training, I gave myself new-found hope and strength. With renewed vigour, I drafted (in)accurate timings of her urges and stuck them on the bathroom wall, just as the You-tube lady had suggested.
Slowly and gradually, we began making progress, and the date of departure loomed closer than ever. Finally there came a day without any of the little accidents and I was overjoyed. Success already tasted sweet, but it would feel even nicer when one of the more formidable “aunties” would comment on my absolute Super-Mom status... little did I know that I wasn’t even halfway there.
Its been a long day and I am just about to doze off. A little voice interrupts me. “Its pee-pee time!” Not again! The same little voice always pipes up at meal times, in crowded malls and in places where one can hardly find any facilities. It was in one little mosque in a remote area that I had to show extraordinary patience. The restroom was a tacky little room with err... the squatting variety... or... umm, the floor-shift models. I was less than amused when pee-pee time came just then.
With a mammoth effort on my part and (admittedly) sound cooperation on the little one’s part, she was able to relieve herself. By the time we returned to the prayer-hall, I noticed I was actually perspiring. Whew! That had surely been a rare experience. But I also noticed that it felt like I had accomplished something. But when pee-pee time came again a few minutes later, the sense of accomplishment was replaced by tension... and back to the bathroom we trudged. I regret to inform that the second time was merely a false alarm. Indeed, it seemed as though the little one enjoyed the novelty, and we were there simply to appreciate the new variety!
Time passed by and suddenly we found ourselves in Karachi. I realized that potty-training was really not such a big issue and a lot of people seemed to take it easy. (So much for the “aunties!”) Well, in any case, there would be no icky diapers to change. All’s well that ends well!
Monday, July 28, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
what I miss about Pakistan
Salaam wa Rahmatullah!
I love my country, but I am thankful to be living here. There are many reasons, but most of all, I believe it is just Qader and the will of Allah. I don't know for how long the UAE will harbour my person, but I just hope it will all work out for the better.
Do I miss Karachi? Immensely. I miss my parents and family like hell... but I feel better off for being here. That city is nostalgic in a bittersweet way, because of too many experiences I'd like to forget. The UAE is a fresh start, an opportunity to begin life anew, without the mistakes that haunt me now.
Apart from the family, I miss SLIMS. I kid you not. Ever tried the flamin' hot finger chips? they are simply divine! but, they are also extremely harmful for the body, which is why they are banned in Dubai... Kurkure are good too, but slims are a class apart. And then there are Flamin' Hot Cheetos, but they are much too expensive. When I was in USA, I was delighted to find that Slims were available in the Paki grocery store!
Anyways, the house-guests brought Slims from Pk. Naturally, I felt better about them being there... but then they had to insist... "they are for him" meaning hubby dearest! hmph!
There were a total of five packs (the big ones) so I decided hubby and I could share. I ended up devouring nearly three packs in a matter of days. Hubby not amused. Turns out, he is crazy abt Slims too. Oh well... one pack still stares tantalizingly at me. Will not be tempted, insha Allah.
The writing career is still the same... meaning I'm still suffering from the consequences of rejection of my creativity (or lack thereof)! It surprises how I can be mercilessly cynical about my own self.
I should go do Duhr; have delayed it enough. khaki leaves you with
Fee Aman Illaah!
I love my country, but I am thankful to be living here. There are many reasons, but most of all, I believe it is just Qader and the will of Allah. I don't know for how long the UAE will harbour my person, but I just hope it will all work out for the better.
Do I miss Karachi? Immensely. I miss my parents and family like hell... but I feel better off for being here. That city is nostalgic in a bittersweet way, because of too many experiences I'd like to forget. The UAE is a fresh start, an opportunity to begin life anew, without the mistakes that haunt me now.
Apart from the family, I miss SLIMS. I kid you not. Ever tried the flamin' hot finger chips? they are simply divine! but, they are also extremely harmful for the body, which is why they are banned in Dubai... Kurkure are good too, but slims are a class apart. And then there are Flamin' Hot Cheetos, but they are much too expensive. When I was in USA, I was delighted to find that Slims were available in the Paki grocery store!
Anyways, the house-guests brought Slims from Pk. Naturally, I felt better about them being there... but then they had to insist... "they are for him" meaning hubby dearest! hmph!
There were a total of five packs (the big ones) so I decided hubby and I could share. I ended up devouring nearly three packs in a matter of days. Hubby not amused. Turns out, he is crazy abt Slims too. Oh well... one pack still stares tantalizingly at me. Will not be tempted, insha Allah.
The writing career is still the same... meaning I'm still suffering from the consequences of rejection of my creativity (or lack thereof)! It surprises how I can be mercilessly cynical about my own self.
I should go do Duhr; have delayed it enough. khaki leaves you with
Fee Aman Illaah!
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Testing times
Salaamwa Rahmatullah! If you have the time pls go thru the following article and tell me why you think this particular piece of writing got rejected. Comments, appraisals welcome. Thanks
Testing Times
I am sitting on a chair adjacent to the door. In front of me is a table, and on it, a fountain-pen placed upon a blank sheet of paper. I am in the daunting exam room, taking my Physics final. The pin-drop silence in the hall is intimidating, and a westerly breeze blows in through the door, only to further decrease the temperature of my already ice-cold hands and feet. I contemplate upon answering some of the questions, and in an attempt to do just that, I write e=mc2 slowly on the paper and stare at it, willing a complete answer to grow out of the formula I so graciously supplied. Alas, my ingenious technique will not work, and I consider writing e=mc2 in artistic patterns all over that blank sheet staring reproachfully at me. It seems like a good idea in the circumstances, for, at least that would show some creativity.
I watch my more bookish classmates writing their papers as though something has possessed them, glancing frantically at their watches from time to time. Oh wait; did I just see a friend chuckle with delight upon something in the question paper? It takes extraordinary will to suppress a juicy swear word as I realize that their persistent revision of the syllabus has, indeed, paid off. Feeling very gloomy, I watch the ever-present invigilator as she cruises down the halls, scrutinizing me as though she were spying on me.
Out of the blue, I hear a distinct wail. Someone is just as miserable as I am; in fact, one poor soul is actually crying! With slightly alleviated spirits, I look around me, hoping to locate a friend in distress. Suddenly, I am poked in the eye, and thankfully, I wake up. Whew! That seemed far too real. Thanks to my little girl's cry, and her subsequent jab at the eyelids to yank my eyes open, I am saved from what would have been a rather embarrassing episode (even if in nightmare-world!). Physics and I never really got along, and it was some years ago, by mutual consent, that we mercifully parted ways.
Exam days are trying, to put it mildly. Come exam time, we were given many days off for revision. During these days which were meant exclusively for hitting the books, I often found myself playing cricket, or watching the re-runs of epic matches, or brooding about how nice it would feel if I aced all the papers, much to the chagrin of my well-meaning older sister. Other pursuits included re-reading my all-time favourite novels, (why, I practically memorized good old Sherlock's every excursion) and invariably, scribbling pieces of poetry or prose on my otherwise neglected text-books. These were breaks from studying, which regretfully, ended up eating nearly all my designated time for revision.
Late-night cramming (enabled by cups of strong coffee), speed-reading through cumbersome chapters, and plain good luck helped me get through my finals. I remember arriving at the exam room clutching my things in clammy, perspiring hands, and feeling as if butterflies had devoured the entire area in the general direction of my gut. After the exam had finished and we filed out of the exam hall, a wonderful feeling of relief would sweep over me. But this sensation would be short-lived, for I would now have to endure the painful banter of my more diligent friends outside the exam hall. It went something like this: "Gasp! What was the answer to MCQ 4? It wasn't option A, was it?" To this, a bespectacled genius would reply, "You are absolutely right! It was option B, because if ..." and on it went. I tried to keep aloof in this conversation, for obvious reasons.
Are the exams over when you turn in your last paper? I beg to differ. The next few weeks waiting for the results can be fairly agonizing. As for me, I didn't know which was worse, the wait, or the actual result day. No-one was more surprised than I when I cleared almost all papers with respectable results. (Even Physics! I will, however, not discuss my ill-fated experience with the impossible Additional Mathematics).
The fact that I had topped school-wide in English Language and Urdu (the only subjects which required virtually no studying) was beyond me. I half-expected a letter from the Examination Board would be delivered to me soon, stating that my percentages, 95% and 96% respectively, had been a gross mistake and were actually meant for a much more deserving candidate. Such a turn of events, gladly, did not occur. There were celebrations, but the moments were poignant, filled with a quiet aura of opportunity. Finally, the exams, and their equally despicable successors, the results, were done with!
Testing Times
I am sitting on a chair adjacent to the door. In front of me is a table, and on it, a fountain-pen placed upon a blank sheet of paper. I am in the daunting exam room, taking my Physics final. The pin-drop silence in the hall is intimidating, and a westerly breeze blows in through the door, only to further decrease the temperature of my already ice-cold hands and feet. I contemplate upon answering some of the questions, and in an attempt to do just that, I write e=mc2 slowly on the paper and stare at it, willing a complete answer to grow out of the formula I so graciously supplied. Alas, my ingenious technique will not work, and I consider writing e=mc2 in artistic patterns all over that blank sheet staring reproachfully at me. It seems like a good idea in the circumstances, for, at least that would show some creativity.
I watch my more bookish classmates writing their papers as though something has possessed them, glancing frantically at their watches from time to time. Oh wait; did I just see a friend chuckle with delight upon something in the question paper? It takes extraordinary will to suppress a juicy swear word as I realize that their persistent revision of the syllabus has, indeed, paid off. Feeling very gloomy, I watch the ever-present invigilator as she cruises down the halls, scrutinizing me as though she were spying on me.
Out of the blue, I hear a distinct wail. Someone is just as miserable as I am; in fact, one poor soul is actually crying! With slightly alleviated spirits, I look around me, hoping to locate a friend in distress. Suddenly, I am poked in the eye, and thankfully, I wake up. Whew! That seemed far too real. Thanks to my little girl's cry, and her subsequent jab at the eyelids to yank my eyes open, I am saved from what would have been a rather embarrassing episode (even if in nightmare-world!). Physics and I never really got along, and it was some years ago, by mutual consent, that we mercifully parted ways.
Exam days are trying, to put it mildly. Come exam time, we were given many days off for revision. During these days which were meant exclusively for hitting the books, I often found myself playing cricket, or watching the re-runs of epic matches, or brooding about how nice it would feel if I aced all the papers, much to the chagrin of my well-meaning older sister. Other pursuits included re-reading my all-time favourite novels, (why, I practically memorized good old Sherlock's every excursion) and invariably, scribbling pieces of poetry or prose on my otherwise neglected text-books. These were breaks from studying, which regretfully, ended up eating nearly all my designated time for revision.
Late-night cramming (enabled by cups of strong coffee), speed-reading through cumbersome chapters, and plain good luck helped me get through my finals. I remember arriving at the exam room clutching my things in clammy, perspiring hands, and feeling as if butterflies had devoured the entire area in the general direction of my gut. After the exam had finished and we filed out of the exam hall, a wonderful feeling of relief would sweep over me. But this sensation would be short-lived, for I would now have to endure the painful banter of my more diligent friends outside the exam hall. It went something like this: "Gasp! What was the answer to MCQ 4? It wasn't option A, was it?" To this, a bespectacled genius would reply, "You are absolutely right! It was option B, because if ..." and on it went. I tried to keep aloof in this conversation, for obvious reasons.
Are the exams over when you turn in your last paper? I beg to differ. The next few weeks waiting for the results can be fairly agonizing. As for me, I didn't know which was worse, the wait, or the actual result day. No-one was more surprised than I when I cleared almost all papers with respectable results. (Even Physics! I will, however, not discuss my ill-fated experience with the impossible Additional Mathematics).
The fact that I had topped school-wide in English Language and Urdu (the only subjects which required virtually no studying) was beyond me. I half-expected a letter from the Examination Board would be delivered to me soon, stating that my percentages, 95% and 96% respectively, had been a gross mistake and were actually meant for a much more deserving candidate. Such a turn of events, gladly, did not occur. There were celebrations, but the moments were poignant, filled with a quiet aura of opportunity. Finally, the exams, and their equally despicable successors, the results, were done with!
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Salaam wa Rahmatullah!
I am a hysteric, exaggerating, unworthy fool. Okay, so maybe that came on a bit strong... suffice it to say that I feel way too bad about stuff.
The fact that the journo career ain't going nowhere is giving me ideal fodder for depression. The house-guests (evident from the last post) I thought would bother me. Wanna know the truth? I kind of like the company. I feel... useful? a teeny bit... important? I am not an attention-seeking freak, but I do like the fact that they loved my food!!!!! Masha Allah! Alhamdulillah!
Tomorrow they leave... and I will be here. Can you believe it... I will sorta miss em. They do help around the house sometimes and the day goes by really fast with trying to manage things, so much so that I don't even get time to mope about my dwindling writing career!
All in all... I am a confused bunch of nerves and I find peace, serenity and contentment in shedding a silent tear on the prayer mat... suddenly my whys get answered and I remember one thing-
In Allaha 3la Kulli Shayin Qadeer-
Ma'assalaam
The fact that the journo career ain't going nowhere is giving me ideal fodder for depression. The house-guests (evident from the last post) I thought would bother me. Wanna know the truth? I kind of like the company. I feel... useful? a teeny bit... important? I am not an attention-seeking freak, but I do like the fact that they loved my food!!!!! Masha Allah! Alhamdulillah!
Tomorrow they leave... and I will be here. Can you believe it... I will sorta miss em. They do help around the house sometimes and the day goes by really fast with trying to manage things, so much so that I don't even get time to mope about my dwindling writing career!
All in all... I am a confused bunch of nerves and I find peace, serenity and contentment in shedding a silent tear on the prayer mat... suddenly my whys get answered and I remember one thing-
In Allaha 3la Kulli Shayin Qadeer-
Ma'assalaam
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
The saga begins
Salaam Wa rahmatullaah!
Drumroll please... yep thats good. You ready?
THE HOUSE-GUEST SAGA HAS BEGUN!!!
I know how you're feeling. You're looking for an empty wall to bang your head against. Certainly, if you're a Dubaiite, thanks to Emirates brilliant stopovers, you probably have house-guests all the time. It just one of those things you gotta learn to live with, if you reside here.
As for me, I'm a pathetically private person, I resent any invasion of privacy. But thats not the point. The occasional trespass into 'my world' is perfectly okay, indeed, if you are someone I like, it is welcome.. but what if you come to my house armed with daggers, looking to kill at the first possible opportunity?
I have to be the perfect hostess, cook, clean, feed, make intelligent small-talk and most importantly smile till my cheeks hurt. What makes it worse is that these particular house-guests are, well... err... lets just leave it that shall we?
I welcome your opinion (wacky or serious) on how to handle house-guests and be the perfect hostess... (gag!) to these houseguests with whom I share a mutual feeling of... to put it mildly.. dislike.
I'm a thankless, cynical smartmouth, so save me Dear Allah!
This is khaki sayin
CIAO!
Drumroll please... yep thats good. You ready?
THE HOUSE-GUEST SAGA HAS BEGUN!!!
I know how you're feeling. You're looking for an empty wall to bang your head against. Certainly, if you're a Dubaiite, thanks to Emirates brilliant stopovers, you probably have house-guests all the time. It just one of those things you gotta learn to live with, if you reside here.
As for me, I'm a pathetically private person, I resent any invasion of privacy. But thats not the point. The occasional trespass into 'my world' is perfectly okay, indeed, if you are someone I like, it is welcome.. but what if you come to my house armed with daggers, looking to kill at the first possible opportunity?
I have to be the perfect hostess, cook, clean, feed, make intelligent small-talk and most importantly smile till my cheeks hurt. What makes it worse is that these particular house-guests are, well... err... lets just leave it that shall we?
I welcome your opinion (wacky or serious) on how to handle house-guests and be the perfect hostess... (gag!) to these houseguests with whom I share a mutual feeling of... to put it mildly.. dislike.
I'm a thankless, cynical smartmouth, so save me Dear Allah!
This is khaki sayin
CIAO!
Monday, July 7, 2008
and I binged...
Salaam wa rahmatullah
I just ate ice-cream!!!!!!!!!! And chips!!!!!!!!!! AAARRGHHH!!!!!
This, after a whole day of keeping to the good basics of plentiful water and wholesome foods. Why must I make this more difficult for myself? There is however, a silver lining to my cloud of junk-food. My portions. Relatively small. Good, no?
Junk food is addictive and satisfying. I mean, why can't a good ol cucumber give you the same sense of fulfillment that a notoriously high-caloried bowl of Almond Jamocha Fudge can? (ok, I know.. no comparison!)
Tomorrow had better be a good day... insha Allah!
khaki signs off
I just ate ice-cream!!!!!!!!!! And chips!!!!!!!!!! AAARRGHHH!!!!!
This, after a whole day of keeping to the good basics of plentiful water and wholesome foods. Why must I make this more difficult for myself? There is however, a silver lining to my cloud of junk-food. My portions. Relatively small. Good, no?
Junk food is addictive and satisfying. I mean, why can't a good ol cucumber give you the same sense of fulfillment that a notoriously high-caloried bowl of Almond Jamocha Fudge can? (ok, I know.. no comparison!)
Tomorrow had better be a good day... insha Allah!
khaki signs off
Depression is... well... depressing!
For the uninitiated, khaki, spelt always with a small 'k' is a pen-name I devised for myself when I was around 15. That was when I began writing poetry in urdu, and khaki was just the kind of brooding, depressive and self-cancelling pseudonym that suited me. And its stuck on since then. I'm still brooding and cynical, but by the grace of Allah, I sometimes manage to convey a bit of wit now. So some people associate my nom de plume with a few laughs...
The whole point of this annoying preamble is that I want to make up for my depressive post, and give you something good to read. (hopefully)
'Waiting.' Does the term make you feel like your blood is boiling, and like some people do you have that agonizing sentiment when asked to wait? I, for one, dislike waiting to the max! I'm in the dark, not knowing what will happen when. I hate unpleasant surprises, and being the stress-junkie that I'm turning myself into, waiting gives me worry. And worry disallows me to write to my creative best... sorry guys.. I'm waiting for something. The good post will come, but only if the result of my wait is a positive one.
And what is it that I'm waiting for? Well... I like being intriguingly mysterious.
'til next time --khaki
The whole point of this annoying preamble is that I want to make up for my depressive post, and give you something good to read. (hopefully)
'Waiting.' Does the term make you feel like your blood is boiling, and like some people do you have that agonizing sentiment when asked to wait? I, for one, dislike waiting to the max! I'm in the dark, not knowing what will happen when. I hate unpleasant surprises, and being the stress-junkie that I'm turning myself into, waiting gives me worry. And worry disallows me to write to my creative best... sorry guys.. I'm waiting for something. The good post will come, but only if the result of my wait is a positive one.
And what is it that I'm waiting for? Well... I like being intriguingly mysterious.
'til next time --khaki
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Perpetually askin "WHY?"
Peace be upon anyone who has stumbled upon this web diary.
I had started out hoping it will be anything but a web diary, and now here I am, talking about anything that bothers me... a typical blogger.
I shall not dwell on what is good (alhamdulillah) but only on the fact that I think I am a stress-junkie. I kid you not. I mean what kind of person (read:idiot) can stay up for hours worrying about petty issues...?
I need to have more faith and I neeeeeeed to relax. I live in a strange world of my own, unwilling, as it were, to step out and face the people around me. I live like a cocoon wrapped up in its own shell... why? Am I scared?
Questions... just questions. But one thing is for sure. I am a person with a purpose, even my stress has strong reasons (well most times!)...
Anyway, I think I've dished out enough gibberish for tonite. Its TTYL!
I had started out hoping it will be anything but a web diary, and now here I am, talking about anything that bothers me... a typical blogger.
I shall not dwell on what is good (alhamdulillah) but only on the fact that I think I am a stress-junkie. I kid you not. I mean what kind of person (read:idiot) can stay up for hours worrying about petty issues...?
I need to have more faith and I neeeeeeed to relax. I live in a strange world of my own, unwilling, as it were, to step out and face the people around me. I live like a cocoon wrapped up in its own shell... why? Am I scared?
Questions... just questions. But one thing is for sure. I am a person with a purpose, even my stress has strong reasons (well most times!)...
Anyway, I think I've dished out enough gibberish for tonite. Its TTYL!
Thursday, July 3, 2008
The cribbing continues
Hi! ans Salams! good ol khaki is back with another charecteristic whining cribbing post!! Some weeks ago, I was asked to write a semi-humorous piece on men and women. I misunderstood the topic and can anyone guess what happened? Of course, naturally, the story got politely rejected!
Today, the piece written by someone else, is a main feature in that magazine... gee.. I wish I hadn't screwed it!! I felt horrible... lost appetite! I try so hard, and yet... ptui!
Today, the piece written by someone else, is a main feature in that magazine... gee.. I wish I hadn't screwed it!! I felt horrible... lost appetite! I try so hard, and yet... ptui!
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