The Ice Queen

Once upon a time, not too long ago, there was a young prince and a lovely princess madly in love with each other, ready to live their lives happily ever after. They made plans, got the blessing from their parents and took a walk down matrimony lane.

As you may have guessed, and rightfully so, the couple in question here is my wife and me. Now back to the story…..

Well, the happily ever after was going right on track for the first month after the wedding but suddenly one evening, the princess started experiencing an excruciating pain in her back. The prince got really worried, hoping everything was alright and  immediately took her to the doctor the following morning, only to find that the clinic was supposed to open twenty minutes after they got there.

“This sucks”, the princess said.

“It sure does”, the prince chimed in.

It feels kinda weird talking about myself in the third person so I’ll switch to my wife and I instead of the prince and the princess…..

As she was in a lot of pain, I decided to let her sit in the car with the seat pushed all the way back to help her relax, while I went ahead and stood outside the doctor’s clinic. (un)Fortunately for us, he is an amazing doctor with God-gifted powers of healing, ergo his popularity. I was surprised to see that a couple of people were already loitering outside his then shut door waiting for him to grace us with his presence. Thankfully for me, I was the third person standing there, which meant I’d get in and leave the clinic in a jiffy. After waiting there for another five minutes, I went to my car to see how my wife was doing. She seemed relaxed enough so I went back inside, afraid to lose my seniority (being third with this doctor isn’t bad at all). I was a bit disappointed to see that an old poor-looking gentleman had joined the other two, which meant that I’d either (a) have to settle for the fourth spot or (b) fight it out with the old man for the spot which was rightfully mine. Since my wife could barely sit through the pain, I made up my mind to go with the latter option.

What followed was nothing short of outrageous. A lady dressed in expensive clothing came waltzing into the clinic foyer, reeking of money and a severe superiority complex. I wouldn’t have given her another glance had she not walked up to that poor old man and started shouting at him. I have a terrible memory so I’ll write what she said as best as I recall (but how she said it was an entirely different story). She said, “Driver! Why are you standing here away from the main entrance to the doctor’s? You should stand there so that the doctor’s assistant would know you were here first!”.

The poor guy replied, “Madam, it’s really hot and sunny there and so I thought I’d stand in the shade.”

With a look filled with pure contempt and raw hatred, she said, “You clumsy fool. You have absolutely no sense of responsibility. Humph! I’ll go stand there in the sun while you enjoy your shade.” And with that, she took a pair of sun-shades previously placed on her forehead and slid them over her eyes.  The old guy must have been her dad’s age at least and the way she robbed him of his dignity was downright disgusting. I felt like walking up to her, slapping her smack on the face and asking her to apologize to the poor driver.

A woman like her with a million important things to do wouldn’t like to waste either her or her driver’s time, so she barked some instructions at him saying, “Now go make yourself useful and get some moong daal (a popular lentil) from the grocery store.” The poor guy trotted off in the direction to get what the Ice Queen (with a heart as cold as hers, she’s the ideal candidate for this title) had ordered. In the meantime, the Wicked Witch of the East (another name that suits her perfectly) called home and ordered someone to thoroughly clean up her room followed by the kids’ rooms and the bathrooms. I could so imagine the maid on the other end, with her undignified life and her desperate situation, causing her to work for this terrible woman.

The driver, thoroughly exhausted by the sweltering sun and the weight of his age  (must be at least 65 or so) on his shoulders, came in again with the requested lentil. The lady literally snatched the bag out of his hand and looked inside to verify its contents. She looked at the driver with the eyes of a tigress about to move in for the kill and screamed, “Driver, I knew you were insane but now you’re also deaf, dumb and blind. I specifically told you to get the chilkay waali moong daal (a variety of the previously mentioned lentil but with the skin on) and you go ahead and get me one without chilkas (skin)? Oh God! What have I done to deserve an idiot like you?” (thou shalt not take God’s name in vain). Dear readers, why don’t you go ahead and read the part where she asks (or rather commands) the driver to get the lentil. Was there a mention of the specific variety anywhere? I don’t think so.

The poor driver was spared of another round of I’ll-bash-your-face-and-rip-your-heart-out (at least for the time being) as the lady saw the doctor walking in. The people waiting for the doctor before the queen showed up moved to the doctor’s office entrance to get their number (yes, this particular doctor has everyone take numbers to observe the golden first-come-first-served rule). Seeing us moving in, she turned on her charm (through which I could see her true self so well) and a smile that  and could melt a million hearts said, “Dear brothers. I live in Defense and have traveled a long distance to see this doctor. Can I please go in first?”. Let me clarify here that as arrogant she was, she also told us where she came from (i.e. Defense Housing Society – where all the rich and famous in Karachi live) to show her superiority and to notify us mortals of her immortality (if money could get you that). The guy who had showed up first at the doctor’s clinic politely declined saying, “Madam, I’ve waited for too long to let you in first.” Unfortunately, her fake charms worked miracles on the guy supposed to go in second, and he let her go before him, therefore bumping me into fourth place.

With her mission accomplished (somewhat – ideally she would’ve loved to go in first), she waltzed into the doctor’s office as if she owned it. I went out and brought my wife inside. The Ice Queen finally realized that she did not need her expensive sun-shades anymore. She put them over her forehead and put on a pair of reading glasses over her eyes. After completing this maneuver, she gazed at all of the low-life scum-bags inside the room with a look that said, “I’m rich, you’re not, I’m important, you’re not, I’m human, you’re not”.

After that, throughout her wait, she kept her eyes fixated on a little black book (that she took out of her purse) as if reading something with a lot of concentration, and taking notes all the while. All I could do is analyze what kind of a person she was. Here’s what I came up with:

1. She was proud – proud of her money, proud of who she was, proud of where she lived, etc.

2. She was arrogant -I’m too good for this world; I don’t have to die – EVER! I’m Immortal.

3. She had no respect for fellow human beings – she thought it was her time that was important; the rest of the world could wait. Moreover, her attitude towards her driver was inhumane to say the least.

4. She was heartless – her get-out-of-my-face-or-I’ll-bash-your-head-and-crack-open-your-skull attitude towards her driver depicted an ice-cold heart.

I’m no psychoanalyst but I know this much; If you are half as bad as this lady, It’s time to re-evaluate your life and see what you can do to improve yourself. Karma’s always lurking around the corner and what you give is what you get in return; you’ll never know what hit you when things go spiraling down.

There’s still time……………

Yousuf

p.s. As for my wife, she’s feeling much better now, in case you were wondering.

 

My Big Fat Memon Wedding

The word “Wedding” is synonymous with color, joy, togetherness and caring. It paints a picture so bright and cherry that you just can’t stop yourself from sighing and saying “Awwwww! That’s so beautiful”. Weddings are supposed to be joyous occasions where people sit together, enjoy the company of close friends and (over) eat lots of amazing food. Now try adding another word as a postfix to it – “Planning”; suddenly, all you can do is sit back on your recliner (because you are bound to faint), take a deep breath, let all the pretty thoughts flutter away like steam escaping a pressure cooker, and bring on the negativity, the anger, the frustration and the disappointment. Truth be told, everyone dreams of having a perfect wedding with the perfect dress, the perfect ring with sapphires and diamonds, the perfect cake and the perfect wedding reception. Sorry to burst your bubble but there is no such thing as a PERFECT wedding. There are an infinite number of things that can and do go wrong, and then some. Planning a wedding is no easy feat – if you have successfully pulled one off on your own or have had some help from outside, I salute you my friend. Having planned one, and that too my own, the only word that can truly describe the experience is “Chaos” – Pure, Unadulterated Chaos.

It all begins once you and your folks sit together with your in-laws to set a date for the wedding. Your parents want the wedding to be in November but they say June; you, being the groom, want it to happen as soon as possible. One says, “My extended family in America won’t be able to come since their children don’t get vacations in the middle of the school-year” while the other says, “The weather’s too hot in June so we’d be better off setting it in November”. As the arguments from both parties fly back and forth, all you can do is pretend to take an interest and fake a smile, all the while thinking, “It’s just a date, for crying out loud!!! Decide already!!!”. After a couple of (no wait – make that ‘four’) mind-numbing earth-shattering sessions that drain out all your positive energy, everyone finally seems to sink into a silent truce, with neither party being totally happy with the outcome.

When it comes to picking a suitable venue, the debate on “Indoor wedding v/s Outdoor wedding” kicks off. When both set of parents agree on Outdoor weddings, they start fighting over their choice of venue, all the while listing the pros and cons of each potential location. With soaring tempers and slightly elevated pitches, the two tag-teams try to wrestle out with their own choice as the victor. Once the decision is made and the venue management contacted, it turns out that the venue is already booked on the date you want it on – and there we go again! A gazillion meetings and an even higher number of phone-calls later, both parties amicably (albeit not civilly) decide on another venue and make sure that it is booked well in advance, before this options has to be ruled out too.

Food plays a vital role in all Pakistani weddings. If the food you serve is not good enough for the guests, you might as well go ahead and label your wedding as a ‘total fiasco’. You’ll be blacklisted from quite a few guest-lists, not to mention all the second-hand bad-mouthing and trash-talking that you’ll be hearing from your so-called well-wishers for a long time to come; they should cool down within a year or two, three at the most. You sit down yet again and start short-listing items for your menu. We Memons have particularly elaborate menus as we need to cater to everyone’s culinary needs – we have to have four essential protein elements i.e. beef, mutton, chicken and fish/seafood; any vegetarian option is struck-off without hesitation. Of all the debates mentioned earlier, this one’s the most fun, what with all the drooling and fantasizing while carefully selecting dishes for the courses; you could collect all the buzz of super-charged excitement in a canister and run an entire household’s electricity on it for a year. Once the hypothetical buffet is set, we all go out and meet potential caterers, the up-side being all the food-tastings you end up going to; my policy in life is never to say NO to free food, ergo, the obesity. Believe me when I say this, but crashing parties (officially, on the caterer’s special request) has never been more fun.

With all these key elements in place, you need to start tending to your personal needs – the dress, the cake, your room, your grooming, everything requires careful planning. After all, you are, or will be, the man of the evening. The thing that bothers me most is that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, has their own opinion when it comes to you, even if you explicitly specify that you don’t need it. As a wise man once said, advise is free and people dispense of it as a benefactor dispenses money to his favorite charity – at least in the benefactor’s case, the other party gets some benefit out of the act, but for the groom (i.e. me), there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. It kind of makes you wonder how being in the limelight feels like and you can do nothing but take pity on public figures. In yours-truly’s case, the thing that I was most criticized about was was my weight. Over the past few years, I have been compared to the likes of the late Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and Adnan Sami Khan (before he lost an insane amount of weight). As I had decided that I wanted to wear a Sherwani on the big day, everyone told me that I’d look ridiculous sporting one and that it would look good only on tall guys. Everyone wishes the groom to be tall, dark and handsome, but one of these three criteria is actually frowned upon in the Pakistani society – the darkness! Thankfully I have a very fair complexion and that’s probably the only thing going in my favor. Other than that, I am neither extremely handsome (although I do have a certain aura of cuteness around me and have been told the same by girls my age for as long as I can remember – a few even compared me to a teddy bear so I’m not complaining) nor tall. Unlike all the hunky models posing on Sherwani Billboards, I am very short (5 feet 4 inches) and am actually over-qualified to participate in the world heavy-weight championships; sumo wrestling’s fair game, but I’m too squeamish about showing a whole lot of flesh in public. I am generally good at taking criticism but the worst part was seeing the guys at the Sherwani shop exchanging surreptitious glances and crazy grins as I tried Sherwani after Sherwani. They think the fat people don’t notice such gestures? Well, they do!

You would assume that you will be able to take a sigh of relief a few days before the wedding, but you will be in for a big surprise. There are some unforeseen tasks that keep popping up; no matter how many to-do lists you maintain, you will not be able to check them all off. In my case, my apartment was being renovated and there were so many things that needed to be done that we forgot to check whether the newly installed electric wiring worked properly or not. One of my cousins came to visit the place and noticed that there were no towel hangars in the bathroom. These, and a multitude of other tasks were completed just a few hours before I was due at the venue.

Enough moaning and groaning already! After all is said and done, the wedding itself is a spectacle to behold. It is what everyone promises it to be, and more. You are The Man (and your wife’s The Woman – duh!!!) and all eyes follow you wherever you go. You walk into the venue with your wife in step and the months of hard work that you put into organizing the event pays off; the smile on your parent’s as well as the in-laws’ faces is precious enough. Seldom in your life will you feel so nervous and invincible, all at the same time. It is the most enchanting experience that will last for a lifetime. You can do nothing but smile sweetly once you realize that (a) you pulled it off, and (b) against all odds, rocked the Sherwani too.

 

Puncture Wounds

Being one of those people who are only interested in cars as far as driving them (extremely fast) is concerned, a flat tyre is a pain in the neck; getting one in the middle of Shahra-e-Faisal (the widest and the busiest road in Karachi) is even worse. It was like my worst automotive nightmare come to life! Fortunately for me, a tyre shop was close by so I just took my car there (don’t ask how).

A typical tyre shop here, unlike it’s western counterpart, is a picture of desolation and despair. Everywhere you look, there are oil spills/stains all over the place, even on the ceiling; you can’t help wondering what these guys must have done to get the stains up there. The only adornments are the tools hanging on the walls. The finishing touch is provided by the two bulky machines that seem to be straight out of a sci-fi movie. More often than not, these shops are very small with barely enough standing room for two people. So the remaining assortment of tools is placed outside on the foot-paths; poor pedestrians can do nothing but circumvent all this junk to cross the front of these shops.

Coming back to my problem at hand, as soon as I parked my car in front of the shop, this burly set man came to me and asked what I wanted. I showed him the tyre and told him to repair it for me. He went into the shop and sifting through his tools, came up with a spanner and a car-jack. Turns out, the spanner was the wrong size so he cried out, “Chotay! Doosra paana laa” (meaning: O! Little one, bring the other spanner). Chotay is a name generally bestowed upon assistants or trainees in the tyre trade (or any other vehicle-related trade for that matter). Although the word literally means “Little one”, it is used universally for people as old as thirty-five, but in this case, I was in for a surprise. A boy of no more than nine came out with the other spanner in his hand. The grey color of his shalwar qameez was barely visible as most of it was dyed black with grease (and so was part of his face). When I gave his clothes a closer inspection, he was wearing a school uniform. The irony of this fact hit me in the face like a punch. This boy who should be in school with children his age was wasting away his formative years at a run-down tyre shop. His face showed an expression that lingered between determination and desperation. With a spunk in his gait, he walked up to his Ustaad (or master/trainer) and handed him the spanner. While the man unscrewed all the nuts, this child sat close to him, studying his every move. His curious eyes absorbed everything, left nothing. If he wanted to be a successful apprentice, he would need to do all these things on his own someday.

While I waited for my tyre to be repaired, I noticed one of the other guys in the shop with an open fly. Upon seeing that, I immediately averted my eyes and chose to ignore it, instead of just walking up to the guy and saving him some embarrassment that was to follow shortly. After a minute or so, the little child in the dirty gray uniform happened to notice it too. He immediately burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter and pointing his finger at this guy said, “O Bhai, tumhari zip khuli howi hai” (meaning: O! Mister. Your zipper’s open). The child’s laughter made my heart soar. It was as if a thousand roses decided to bloom all at once, spreading their infectious scent all around. Others enthusiastically joined the child in his laughter while the embarrassed man struggled to zip his fly up, his face flushed red. I looked towards the child and our eyes met briefly; I flashed him a smile. What came back to me was a smile filled with hopes and dreams of someday making it into the big leagues. Children are generally optimists, always keeping their minds open to new ideas and infinite possibilities, and this child was no exception. For this little guy, it would be to one day owning a tyre shop, or being one of the senior mechanics at best.

As I sat back and reflected on this child, I could only assume what sensory pleasures this innocent soul was being deprived of. His little hands meant to hold books are holding tyre irons instead. His eyes that should be spinning dreams of a brighter future can only soak in the desperation lurking all around him. His ears that should be reveling in the laughter of his peers can only find solace in the constant bickering of his Ustaad. His tongue that should be enjoying the deliciousness of candy can only taste the bitterness of residual grease on his hands that he accidentally ingests. His nose, originally meant to inhale the sweetness of flowers, can only smell his own sweat while toiling in the hot Karachi sun.

This certainly isn’t the first instance I bump into a child like him (and it sure won’t be the last); we see plenty of them all around Karachi, some picking trash for a living while some begging their hearts out, wooing rich people into handing them a rupee or two. Such children are not only being deprived of their education, they are also being deprived of their childhood, growing up too fast too soon, while attempting to take the full burden of their domestic responsibilities.

 

Confessions of a Chocoholic

Chocolate – the mere mention of this word sends shivers down my (our) spine(s). You cannot even begin to imagine the lengths people go to to get their favorite high. If you dig through the history books, I’m sure you’ll come across at least a dozen wars that were fought for the love of chocolate – if this is not the case, then all historians are bloody liars. People idolize TV stars and scientists, but I personally am a huge fan of Willy Wonka’s – heck, I’d even settle for one of the Oompa Loompas (don’t care if they are real or not – Santa’s got fans, for crying out loud).

Being married for less than a month now, you’d picture me thinking about my beloved all day long. This holds true for most of the time I spend away from her, but when I crave chocolate, I only fantasize about holding one in my hands and square-dancing with one, then taking the wrapper off slowly, enjoying every little tearing sound, and then biting into it like there’s no tomorrow – who cares how many calories it has? And oh, the things I’d do to a chocolate bar on the Titanic – you’d forget all about the infamous Jack-and-Rose move on the bow with their hands spread on either side, pretending to fly. With a chocolate bar in my hands waiting to be unwrapped, I’m invincible. A great man once said to the love of his life, “Everything I do, I do it for you” – I’d say the same to a chocolate bar (“I’d fight for you, I’d lie for you, walk the wire for you, but I won’t die for you……”).

I’m sure by now you are all vouching for my insanity; fortunately for me, I’m not the only one. What follow, are a few exceptional quotations by chocolate lovers around the globe:

1. Forget Love, I’d rather fall in Chocolate
2. Stress wouldn’t be so hard to take if it were Chocolate-coated
3. Chocolate is the answer, who cares what the question is?
4. Chocolate is cheaper than therapy, and you don’t even need and appointment!
5. I’m a person of many moods and they all require Chocolate
6. There is no Chocoholics Anonymous because no one wants to quit
7. Money talks but Chocolate sings
8. Equal parts of dark Chocolate and white Chocolate make a balanced diet
9. I never met a Chocolate I didn’t like; wish I could say the same for all the girls in my life

If these don’t get your juices flowing, nothing will. So go grab a bar (or pack) of your favorite chocolate and get ready to indulge in some velvety brown (or white – depending on your drug of choice) awesomeness – delayed gratification never felt so good now, did it?

 

A Lover’s Lament

I was totally lost in a world of my own
You just had to show me the way
Now I can think a thought without you
May it Be night or be it day

Why did you have to be like this?
Why’d you have to love me so much?
Life was going just ’bout right
Until you came and messed it all up

Your voice just echoes and resonates in
The valleys and nooks of my mind
And no matter how fast I try to run
I can’t leave your thoughts behind

Why did this have to happen to me?
I’ve been blinded by your light
Wherever I look or turn my head
I can’t get you out of my sight

My life’s in-sync with your heart beat
Guess that’s my only crime
I don’t need to look at clocks anymore
’cause I’ve lost all sense of time

I used to be a sensible chap
You went ahead and drove me insane
And now I can’t remember anything
Except, well, maybe your name

Is this your way of punishing me
For loving you so deep?
You took my peace away from me
You robbed me of my sleep

My only fault was lovin’ you too much
And is this how you pay me back?
I toss and turn and twist all night
Won’t you just cut me some slack?

Ever since I’ve met you babe
In broad daylight, I sit and dream
With you in it somehow, somewhere
As crazy as it may seem

What have you done to me, O! my love
You’re the one and only to blame
I realize now, that I’m in it for life
Our love is a two-player game