Chai is the sweet something that runs down your throat and warms and cools you at the same time. It seeps into your blood and relaxes all the little nerves. It rushes up behind your eyes, like a gentle massage, eases all the headache away. It is the life force. It is the reason I wake up in the morning. It is what I wait for when my daughter falls asleep. The good heat of it, the aromatic smell of it, the rainy hug of it. It is what brings us together, and comforts us when we are apart. It is my best friend. It is my greastest secret: shared, universally.
Thursday, July 30, 2020
Saturday, July 11, 2020
Friendships of Youth
I've been watching Anne with an E (Anne of Green Gables) on Netflix and I want to be her. She's so brave. So outdoorsy, running around in fields, and just happy all the time doing her own thing. She's a good daughter to her adoptive parents, a solid friend, the brightest student, admired by the other brightest student who is also handsome. She's naturally open-minded and good-natured and modern. And she has her best friend. Of course I want to be her.
I miss the friendships I had during my school days. I miss how we were young, we loved each other so much. We would go places together. We were going through the same things: figuring out who we are, what we believed, what we were going to do. Our every step in the world was so new and fresh and invigorating. I remember making money for the first time, liking each other, being liked, being accepted, being rejected (well, not so much missing that part).
Did I slip away, or did they slip away? Everyone moved for their careers or their husbands. School no longer brought us together after we graduated. Getting together started becoming an effort. People started working full-time, only available on Sundays to hang out, if their Sundays weren't occupied by other demands already.
This is just the nature of things, perhaps. How can a person be 30 and have a toddler and a husband and still have the kinds of frienships that they had in their youth? Maybe I'm not opening myself up enough, not allowing anyone in. Moving to a different country doesn't help. But, like Anne, I should be brave. I should be optimistic about what each new day will bring. (I know what it will bring: more cleaning and cooking and the usual nonsense, more staying home afraid of the coronavirus. But no, there are still possibilities). There are possibilities. Fizzah thinks of new things to do. I can be brave, too.
I miss the friendships I had during my school days. I miss how we were young, we loved each other so much. We would go places together. We were going through the same things: figuring out who we are, what we believed, what we were going to do. Our every step in the world was so new and fresh and invigorating. I remember making money for the first time, liking each other, being liked, being accepted, being rejected (well, not so much missing that part).
Did I slip away, or did they slip away? Everyone moved for their careers or their husbands. School no longer brought us together after we graduated. Getting together started becoming an effort. People started working full-time, only available on Sundays to hang out, if their Sundays weren't occupied by other demands already.
This is just the nature of things, perhaps. How can a person be 30 and have a toddler and a husband and still have the kinds of frienships that they had in their youth? Maybe I'm not opening myself up enough, not allowing anyone in. Moving to a different country doesn't help. But, like Anne, I should be brave. I should be optimistic about what each new day will bring. (I know what it will bring: more cleaning and cooking and the usual nonsense, more staying home afraid of the coronavirus. But no, there are still possibilities). There are possibilities. Fizzah thinks of new things to do. I can be brave, too.
Thursday, July 9, 2020
Creating Happiness
I have to get the house ready for guests. I haven't had guests in a year, so this makes me a bit anxious. We are to give and to receive though, right? That's life. I hate participation. I hated participation marks. But, it takes a village to raise a child, and it takes a village to celebrate her birthday. If not a village, at least a family. She deserves it.
I remember planning a Halloween party and it was so much fun. It took a team of us to do that, too. Mummy with the food help, H with picking up the ordered food and helping me decorate and clean. Papa with his opinions and feedback. Happy times.
I have a pretty similar team, still. Mummy, over the phone, telling me what I need to do and telling me to enjoy it. Funny, how I needed permission, but it's true that I needed it. I can and will enjoy this. This is fun. People getting together. All of our fondest memories are of fun get-togethers with people. These parties have to be orchestrated by someone. I am basically creating happiness, in lieu of Fizzah's birthday. Isn't that something.
H, a different H, will help me decorate and clean. It's actually much less work for me this time than the Halloween party I'd thrown: there are way fewer guests, the guests have invited themselves, they're bringing their own food, and I don't have to get any RSVPs! There are also no costumes and no planned games.
My main job, that I'm assigning myself just now since it suddenly doesn't look like I have anything to do, is to make my house look less embarassing. I've got to dress her up. I'll give her a shower (get the scribbles off the wall), put her in a nice, unstained dress (roll out and vacuum the carpets) and put some make up on her (balloons & streamers).
Best part: There will be cake.
I remember planning a Halloween party and it was so much fun. It took a team of us to do that, too. Mummy with the food help, H with picking up the ordered food and helping me decorate and clean. Papa with his opinions and feedback. Happy times.
I have a pretty similar team, still. Mummy, over the phone, telling me what I need to do and telling me to enjoy it. Funny, how I needed permission, but it's true that I needed it. I can and will enjoy this. This is fun. People getting together. All of our fondest memories are of fun get-togethers with people. These parties have to be orchestrated by someone. I am basically creating happiness, in lieu of Fizzah's birthday. Isn't that something.
H, a different H, will help me decorate and clean. It's actually much less work for me this time than the Halloween party I'd thrown: there are way fewer guests, the guests have invited themselves, they're bringing their own food, and I don't have to get any RSVPs! There are also no costumes and no planned games.
My main job, that I'm assigning myself just now since it suddenly doesn't look like I have anything to do, is to make my house look less embarassing. I've got to dress her up. I'll give her a shower (get the scribbles off the wall), put her in a nice, unstained dress (roll out and vacuum the carpets) and put some make up on her (balloons & streamers).
Best part: There will be cake.
Tuesday, July 7, 2020
Torrential Rainfall
The wind is crazy. If I were to open my arms I'd fly away. My feathers would get soaked. The rain is slashing across all barriers. Clothes are held desperately by pincers. Pukkars. Clothespins! That's what they're called. Ah the water! The wind! My daughter outside talking a walk! She'll enjoy this.
I am splattered if I sit next to the window. I am worried about wasting my free time thinking about the rain. I feel obliged into being hyper productive in my laziness and funness. My chai is not coming to a boil fast enough. I have to rush on. Find the next thing to do. The next thing to write, to read, to watch. The madness of the weather keeping time with my breathing, rushing.
Something meaningful keeps nagging me in the corners of my mind. Something waiting to be written about. Like the sudden silences within this storm, so quiet and loud and then gone. What is it? I feel the need to pray.
I am splattered if I sit next to the window. I am worried about wasting my free time thinking about the rain. I feel obliged into being hyper productive in my laziness and funness. My chai is not coming to a boil fast enough. I have to rush on. Find the next thing to do. The next thing to write, to read, to watch. The madness of the weather keeping time with my breathing, rushing.
Something meaningful keeps nagging me in the corners of my mind. Something waiting to be written about. Like the sudden silences within this storm, so quiet and loud and then gone. What is it? I feel the need to pray.
Monday, July 6, 2020
Odd broom
Things in real life are weirder than I feel comfortable portraying in my book. (My imaginary book that I'm not writing). Take, for instance, my broom. My jaaru. It's a nasty green colour, and the entire thing is plastic. When you think of a broom, you think of a long handle, with the brush at the end that's probably about a foot long. Like an upside-down T. A jaaru, normally, is made of wooden sticks that end in soft grassiness, all tied together in a bunch. I never thought in my life I would have a green, plastic jaaru. It's sort of embarassing.
Worse, it's extremely damaged. For a long time I would store it by putting it in the corner standing up, the way you would a broomstick. This made the plastic "hairs" bend. Then Fizzah started playing with it by smashing it into things, which bent the hairs even more. Now, this jaaru has actual knots and curls in it. I've respectfully started storing it lying down, at least. But clumps of hair and debris remain stuck in its hairs and it still looks like a tangly abomination. This ain't no story-book jaaru.
Worse, it's extremely damaged. For a long time I would store it by putting it in the corner standing up, the way you would a broomstick. This made the plastic "hairs" bend. Then Fizzah started playing with it by smashing it into things, which bent the hairs even more. Now, this jaaru has actual knots and curls in it. I've respectfully started storing it lying down, at least. But clumps of hair and debris remain stuck in its hairs and it still looks like a tangly abomination. This ain't no story-book jaaru.
Sunday, July 5, 2020
home
There is a strand of rick-rack lace, black, half an inch wide. The edges are frayed, opened by my daughter. Her father wraps it around her hand like a head band and says, take a photo. Arre wah! Says Fizzah, a phrase she's picked up. A bit hangs down the side of her head like the dangly bit of a graduation cap. She smiles her teethy smile, and shakes the thing off of her head.
It's all over in 30 seconds. Now its lying on the floor; I suppose I'll add it to her toys. Her pants are on the floor as well, the ones that I was trying to convince her to wear, and there's a romper that was drying, that she pulled off the stand, and a few mismatched socks, a couple of colour pencils, and a Dr. Suess book.
It's quiet inside. Outside, there's the banging and drilling of construction, and far off honking sounds. Birds cooing, chirping and cawing and the azaan coming on for Asr.
Saturday, July 4, 2020
Book Reviews (2)
Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid
I don't know anything about rock n' roll but I loved reading this quick little book. It's so honest. I could really imagine these people in my head, and the way the story is told, through conversation, switching points of view, getting all the different points of view, is brilliant. It's so funny at times. Loved it. The frame is so good I thought this was a real band!
In a word: dope
Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler
I tried getting into this book a few times but I just couldn't. It's about an old, married couple going to a funeral. On their trip you start seeing the problems they're having in their marriage. It's such a sad beginning. I felt tired reading the first few pages. I'm not going to go back to this book.
In a word: death
Gingerbread by Helen Oyeyemi
This was a weird book. I was getting confused about what was happening while reading it, so I Googled it, and it turns out this is a course book! People study it. There were study notes. I had no idea. I read the summary on Google, and then went back to the book and started reading it from the middle (It's a slow book). I didn't get far. It's a fairytale. Fairytales are weird. More so when you're not expecting them and they're disguised as grown up books.
In a word: weird
I don't know anything about rock n' roll but I loved reading this quick little book. It's so honest. I could really imagine these people in my head, and the way the story is told, through conversation, switching points of view, getting all the different points of view, is brilliant. It's so funny at times. Loved it. The frame is so good I thought this was a real band!
In a word: dope
Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler
I tried getting into this book a few times but I just couldn't. It's about an old, married couple going to a funeral. On their trip you start seeing the problems they're having in their marriage. It's such a sad beginning. I felt tired reading the first few pages. I'm not going to go back to this book.
In a word: death
Gingerbread by Helen Oyeyemi
This was a weird book. I was getting confused about what was happening while reading it, so I Googled it, and it turns out this is a course book! People study it. There were study notes. I had no idea. I read the summary on Google, and then went back to the book and started reading it from the middle (It's a slow book). I didn't get far. It's a fairytale. Fairytales are weird. More so when you're not expecting them and they're disguised as grown up books.
In a word: weird
I won't share my chips
I don't like being a parent. I liked reading about parenting before I had a child. I read proper parenting books. Now I read blog entries on other moms having a hard time and feel less alone. Before I had Fizzah, I thought, of course I'll spend one on one quality time with my kid! Just 20 minutes every day? That's so easy! There are so many benefits! Why wouldn't I?
Well, hold on. She takes up so much of my time as it is, I just don't feel like giving her any more. She takes unplanned "quality time". She climbs all over me and likes to roll around on my body, pull my hair, bite me and laugh, literally, at my face. Have I birthed a bully? Admittedly, I kind of enjoy this rolling around. But I'd rather not spend (even more) time trying to teach her her ABC's and 123s and basic manners.
She finds all kinds of things to pass the time, without me. She goes into my cupboard and messes around with my things. She takes out her books that she can’t yet read and scrapes and rips the glossy covers off. She thinks everything is a sticker. She throws things out the window and we live on the 19th floor. There are people down there on the road. You see how this could be a problem.
I have to force myself to mother (see how similar mother is to smother?), and most days I can't bring myself to do it. It doesn’t come naturally. What comes naturally is the love/rage/hate/shame/guilt/LOL moods flickering throughout the day. What comes naturally is my raging against this prison of having to make (or just heat up) lunch and trying to get Fizzah to eat it. Trying to get her to eat it without spilling, or running all over the house. Trying to get her to agree to let me pick her up so that we can wash her hands after she’s done.
Trying, and often failing. Then yelling. Then letting it go because it’s not really worth all the screaming, is it. I feel terrible now for judging other mothers in my free, childless days. [Note: It is difficult to pick up a toddler against her will and force them to do anything. They can sense weakness. If your intention has the slightest, hair-like crack, if your eyes contain even a drop of mercy, you can be sure you’ve already lost. May as well give up in advance.]
Don't get me wrong, I love this little person. I love her to pieces. She randomly hugs me 20 times a day. She runs in towards me and throws her hands around my legs and sticks her head in. It feels amazing. It’s like she wants to go back into my womb. I pat her back and feel pretty damn good. Joke’s on you, kid. We’re long past the point of no return.
She won’t let me change her diaper, she won’t go to the washroom, she won't wear pants, she won’t let me comb her hair, she won't, she won't, she won't, she won’t.
So excuse me, for eating my breakfast before feeding her, for giving her a piece of the chocolate while I finish off the bar, for eating chips and re-caffeinating myself at 11am while she naps. I may not be a good mom but I'm a grown up so I can do these things, thank you very much. I won't share my chips with my kid.
Well, hold on. She takes up so much of my time as it is, I just don't feel like giving her any more. She takes unplanned "quality time". She climbs all over me and likes to roll around on my body, pull my hair, bite me and laugh, literally, at my face. Have I birthed a bully? Admittedly, I kind of enjoy this rolling around. But I'd rather not spend (even more) time trying to teach her her ABC's and 123s and basic manners.
She finds all kinds of things to pass the time, without me. She goes into my cupboard and messes around with my things. She takes out her books that she can’t yet read and scrapes and rips the glossy covers off. She thinks everything is a sticker. She throws things out the window and we live on the 19th floor. There are people down there on the road. You see how this could be a problem.
I have to force myself to mother (see how similar mother is to smother?), and most days I can't bring myself to do it. It doesn’t come naturally. What comes naturally is the love/rage/hate/shame/guilt/LOL moods flickering throughout the day. What comes naturally is my raging against this prison of having to make (or just heat up) lunch and trying to get Fizzah to eat it. Trying to get her to eat it without spilling, or running all over the house. Trying to get her to agree to let me pick her up so that we can wash her hands after she’s done.
Trying, and often failing. Then yelling. Then letting it go because it’s not really worth all the screaming, is it. I feel terrible now for judging other mothers in my free, childless days. [Note: It is difficult to pick up a toddler against her will and force them to do anything. They can sense weakness. If your intention has the slightest, hair-like crack, if your eyes contain even a drop of mercy, you can be sure you’ve already lost. May as well give up in advance.]
Don't get me wrong, I love this little person. I love her to pieces. She randomly hugs me 20 times a day. She runs in towards me and throws her hands around my legs and sticks her head in. It feels amazing. It’s like she wants to go back into my womb. I pat her back and feel pretty damn good. Joke’s on you, kid. We’re long past the point of no return.
She won’t let me change her diaper, she won’t go to the washroom, she won't wear pants, she won’t let me comb her hair, she won't, she won't, she won't, she won’t.
So excuse me, for eating my breakfast before feeding her, for giving her a piece of the chocolate while I finish off the bar, for eating chips and re-caffeinating myself at 11am while she naps. I may not be a good mom but I'm a grown up so I can do these things, thank you very much. I won't share my chips with my kid.
Thursday, July 2, 2020
Book Reviews (1)
Golden Child by Claire Adam
I absolutely loved this book. It broke my heart. This novel is about twins, one bright, the other autistic (but no one in the novel knows this, they describe him as slightly retarded). It's set in Trinidad and I loved the bits of Indian-ness that come up as a result. This novel follows a family, relatives and so on, and builds up to a scary-difficult choice. Its rare to see money so openly in a story, I mean, the story hinges on money in a way that I haven't ever read in fiction, and its so real, the whole money issue. I can't recommend this book enough.
In a word: powerful
City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert
Really good, entertaining read. This novel isn't written like high art but I couldn't stop reading it. The frame is interesting, although sort of not that convincing because who would write such a long and detailed personal letter? But the story is great. This book is about a girl's life; she moves from a small town to New York and she's good at sewing. The story mainly concerns women and their lives so the title seems appropriate, and the book tries to be feminist so that's something.
In a word: fun
Foreign Affairs by Alison Lurie
I didn't like this book. Too much nonsense. It's all How does he/she think of me. Its all How do I want to portray myself. How am I defined, by county, by interests. Its so full of shit. The whole American-London thing is meh. I started it twice and left it because honestly, I couldn't give a damn. Given the title, I was expecting something a lot more exotic. This book is about two couples, American/London mixes and their stupid moaning and whining.
In a word: whiny
As Long As We Both Shall Live by JoAnn Chaney
Totally gripping. I couldn't stop reading this book, literally. It's a crime fiction novel about a couple. It starts off with Husbands, you can't get away with murdering your wife. heheh. And then it turns out the wife is insane, and she's in control, and they're both evil so you don't feel bad for anyone. Its crazy how this story unfolds and the good guy changes half-way. It has a nice feminist finishing with a line about gender and what we expect. I loved it. What a thrill, for a book with such a long and clunky title. To think that I could relate to characters that were crazy murderers...
In a word: thrilling
American Spy by Lauren Wilkinson
This was a really good book, and one of the good things about it was that it was interesting without being ridiculously addictive. It is about an FBI agent, sexism within the force, and a mission she goes on where she falls in love with the President of Burkina Faso, who she's supposed to kill. It's a bit about politics too. Brilliantly writen, it's framed as a letter to her kids in case she dies in pursuit of someone trying to kill her.
I love entering this agents mind, its so direct, like a cop, and a woman! Her life is about her finding her identity as an American even though she's black, from Trinidad, and works in the FBI which is full of sexism and racism. Super interesting. Sad that this stigma against female officers, especially officers of colour actually exists.
In a word: spy
The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields (1993)
This book is old but gold. It is very well-written. I only skipped some of it, while reading. It's long. The characters are very well portrayed, I especially liked the women, the variety of people across time and space, and how their lives unfold. Sometimes things just happen, and its somehow comforting to come across a book that shows this.
In a word: real
Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay
I could only read this book in bits and pieces. This book doesn't have the satisfaction of giving you answers but there are lots of heavy things to think about. Gay takes media seriously, while I don't. But media does have an affect, especially on children's perceptions, especially in this day and age when kids spend a lot of time with books and movies. So it felt good to be made a bit more aware of where feminism is at. And yes, I am a feminist, especially after reading this book. I'll lump myself in and call myself a bad feminist. Or worse, an okay feminist.
In a word: woke
I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron
A book about the experiences of an old, rich Jewish playwright in New York. I couldn't relate, but it started off quite funny, and I somehow read the entire thing.
In a word: gross
I absolutely loved this book. It broke my heart. This novel is about twins, one bright, the other autistic (but no one in the novel knows this, they describe him as slightly retarded). It's set in Trinidad and I loved the bits of Indian-ness that come up as a result. This novel follows a family, relatives and so on, and builds up to a scary-difficult choice. Its rare to see money so openly in a story, I mean, the story hinges on money in a way that I haven't ever read in fiction, and its so real, the whole money issue. I can't recommend this book enough.
In a word: powerful
City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert
Really good, entertaining read. This novel isn't written like high art but I couldn't stop reading it. The frame is interesting, although sort of not that convincing because who would write such a long and detailed personal letter? But the story is great. This book is about a girl's life; she moves from a small town to New York and she's good at sewing. The story mainly concerns women and their lives so the title seems appropriate, and the book tries to be feminist so that's something.
In a word: fun
Foreign Affairs by Alison Lurie
I didn't like this book. Too much nonsense. It's all How does he/she think of me. Its all How do I want to portray myself. How am I defined, by county, by interests. Its so full of shit. The whole American-London thing is meh. I started it twice and left it because honestly, I couldn't give a damn. Given the title, I was expecting something a lot more exotic. This book is about two couples, American/London mixes and their stupid moaning and whining.
In a word: whiny
As Long As We Both Shall Live by JoAnn Chaney
Totally gripping. I couldn't stop reading this book, literally. It's a crime fiction novel about a couple. It starts off with Husbands, you can't get away with murdering your wife. heheh. And then it turns out the wife is insane, and she's in control, and they're both evil so you don't feel bad for anyone. Its crazy how this story unfolds and the good guy changes half-way. It has a nice feminist finishing with a line about gender and what we expect. I loved it. What a thrill, for a book with such a long and clunky title. To think that I could relate to characters that were crazy murderers...
In a word: thrilling
American Spy by Lauren Wilkinson
This was a really good book, and one of the good things about it was that it was interesting without being ridiculously addictive. It is about an FBI agent, sexism within the force, and a mission she goes on where she falls in love with the President of Burkina Faso, who she's supposed to kill. It's a bit about politics too. Brilliantly writen, it's framed as a letter to her kids in case she dies in pursuit of someone trying to kill her.
I love entering this agents mind, its so direct, like a cop, and a woman! Her life is about her finding her identity as an American even though she's black, from Trinidad, and works in the FBI which is full of sexism and racism. Super interesting. Sad that this stigma against female officers, especially officers of colour actually exists.
In a word: spy
The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields (1993)
This book is old but gold. It is very well-written. I only skipped some of it, while reading. It's long. The characters are very well portrayed, I especially liked the women, the variety of people across time and space, and how their lives unfold. Sometimes things just happen, and its somehow comforting to come across a book that shows this.
In a word: real
Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay
I could only read this book in bits and pieces. This book doesn't have the satisfaction of giving you answers but there are lots of heavy things to think about. Gay takes media seriously, while I don't. But media does have an affect, especially on children's perceptions, especially in this day and age when kids spend a lot of time with books and movies. So it felt good to be made a bit more aware of where feminism is at. And yes, I am a feminist, especially after reading this book. I'll lump myself in and call myself a bad feminist. Or worse, an okay feminist.
In a word: woke
I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron
A book about the experiences of an old, rich Jewish playwright in New York. I couldn't relate, but it started off quite funny, and I somehow read the entire thing.
In a word: gross
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