An Aftar to Remember

Satire

...want to outshine the neighbor’s Iftar party? Follow my instructions...at own peril!!!

Wake up Lazy-bones!  Yes, you… the housewife who’s eaten too many parathas at Sehri and having sent the doting husband to office and chubby-cheeked Angles to school, are now sprawled in bed because you have nothing better to do! Are you bent upon making up for the time you had to spend supervising that oh-so-stubborn cook of yours to make just the right olive oil parathas for your health-conscious family? Must’ve been exhausting, but get out of bed now and start your day! I have some great tips for you to adorn your home for the next Iftar dinner you’re planning. Hey, c’mon now…don’t you want to outshine the oh-so-friendly neighbor who always manages to get more compliments than you? Ah, I see, that got your attention! Okay, lady, let’s get to work…

Let’s see now…you know, your living room could really do without this burgundy carpet. Royal as your guests may be, they do not need a red-carpet welcome! Take it out and wipe your marble floor squeaky-clean with the imported shawl that hangs in the closet forever waiting to be used. Of course I am serious! Then spray that new tangy ittar Khala gave you last Eid. Yes, yes, I know your friend Khushboo deserves it more since she gave you the tacky scarf you wouldn’t be caught dead in, but focus on the task at hand, will you? We can plan Khushboo’s retribution later! The ittar  will do wonders for the floor, not to mention the heavenly aura it can create that we all like to think of during Ramazan. It’s an Iftar-dinner you’re hosting, gal… create the right mood!

Okay, now remove that ‘throw’ you’ve placed so strategically on the back of your faux leather sofa. Take out your shiny golden dupatta and replace it with that. Of course, I’m serious! Don’t you want the guests to start thinking of gota and Eid in advance, and plan a gift for you? You need to drop subtle hints here and there, you know! Besides, your husband might be grateful to finally see the last of the throw he begged you not to buy. He might even put up with your bad cooking when the cook takes off on Eid. How about killing two birds with one stone this Eid? Er, of course I am aware you are the one who trained the cook in the first place! Why, there’s no one that cooks like you anywhere on the planet! Your husband is just ungrateful, like all husbands! Maybe he doesn’t deserve you anyway…but we’ll talk about that later. Let’s focus on the task at hand?!

Okay, that looks much better…although…I really wish you’d listen to your daughter once in a while. Teenagers these days have such a great aesthetic sense and are so creative too. Remember when she asked for the embalmed dove? You should’ve let her have it. It would’ve helped create the right mood. Anyways, find one now and hang it from the fan. Make sure you give it enough string to reach eye-level. It should keep dangling in front of everyone who enters. After a while turn on the fan exclaiming how hot the weather is. That’ll create an even more authentic effect, especially if it hits someone on the head and he or she has a brief ‘near-death’ experience. Voila…heaven on earth!   

      Now let’s see what we can do with the curtains. They’re not bad, but try and find green satin with big date-palms on it. When you serve the dates at Aftari, stand in front of the curtains to enhance the effect. And do ask little Gugloo beforehand to point out how he’d love to climb a date palm one day and pick dates himself. You can laughingly point at the curtains and say, “Oh, dear, but the dates are so high!”  A giggle or two to go with the comment wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Also, put at least ten prayer mats on the centre table to show how much you respect and care for those who pray even in these materialistic times. I know, not many would pick them up as they slouch on the sofas after having gobbled down the delicious food once the roza breaks, but then again, you’d have made your point!

Remove all those flower arrangements from your crystal vases and fill them with prayer-beads – as many different sizes and colors as you can find. People will appreciate your dedication to prayer, and what a religious statement you would have made. Full marks! 

Now, for the dining room, use the same date-palm print for a dining sheet. Don’t forget to stitch a nice wide lace to the hem, with dried-dates hanging at one-inch intervals. No, I don’t think orange lace would do. Try, Fuchsia. And learn to pronounce ‘Fuchsia’ so that you can impress everybody with your knowledge of colors other than those of the rainbow. Mm-hmm? Remember the time you kept mixing ‘teal’ with ‘tea’?!  

No, no…don’t remove the dining chairs. You don’t seriously think all your guests can sit on the carpet?! I know how we love to go back a few centuries in Ramazan-mode, but the amount of cola drinks people consume these days in place of milk, at least half of the guests would be contemplating joint-replacement surgery anyway. We don’t want to cause anyone any discomfort, do we? Not in Ramazan, anyway. And if they are hanging on to each other’s shoulders for support on the way out, you might have to arrange rides for them and they might even forget to compliment you on your excellent culinary or hostess skills. Push all the chairs against the wall, and Let them sit if they want.

Do you have Aab-e-Zamzam at home? Never mind, no one has it handy, but has that prevented anyone from serving it, if you know what I mean?! Just do the same. No, that’s not called ‘lying’! You don’t have to announce that you’re serving Aab-e-zamzam, just point to the jug and casually remark that you had it especially brought over for the faithful Rozadars, and no one will ask you what it is or where was it ‘brought over ‘from!

Okay, you know how important food presentation is? Dazzle everyone with our creative ideas. Put all your expensive crockery away. You’ve used those plates so many times…think ‘out-of-the-box’ options. No, no…not EAT out of the box! Gosh! Fine, just use your own dishes…but get some wide leaves from your garden and use them as mats for the dishes when you serve the mouthwatering delights the cook prepares. Er, sure…Elephant-Ear will do. No, no...no one will die of allergy! We don't have these issues in out blessed land...what, we could even eat leaves and nothing would happen!That's just the delicate Western disposition! Using leaves is symbolic because leaves grow on plants which are planted in the ground – to which we all shall return! See? You can subtly put the fear of God in people’s hearts! If they return to the drawing room and pick up the prayer-mat, you’d have succeeded in conveying the important message. God bless you for that, my dear.  

Okay, dear…now get to work. I’m feeling a little light-headed with my roza and all…I think I’ll take a nap while you get your act together. Then pick up the phone and invite all your friends and neighbors – don’t forget me! – and be the most popular Ramazan hostess ever. Good luck and Ramazan Mubarak!!!

Little(monstrous)Wonders!

The challenges of motherhood are never ending - a field offering only on-job training course! And this comes directly from a mother who has managed to pull through the sleepless-nights and eternally-crying baby stages and is now working through the pre-teen and teenage dilemmas. No matter how much you read up on the subject or take tips from other parents, you have to struggle, sweat and stumble your way through each stage, while all the time trying to preserve that oh-so-elusive thing called sanity.

Sigh! Early Monday morning...and the kids are home today. Yeah, it's another one of those local holidays that come only too often, if you ask me . Time for my adorable brood to rise and shine... so here I go pulling the curtains aside and turning on the lights.

"Aww...Mum!" the girls scream in unison.

"Good morning to you, too." I reply sweetly, ignoring their protests. What mother would survive otherwise?

"Out of bed, darlings!" I go on without batting an eyelid, "Get changed, put your room in order, finish your home works...and may be I'll take you out to ...err...Pizza Hut?"

I end on a cheerful note because one, I know they need a break after a hectic week of tests at school, and two, they love pizza! They sit up quickly, rubbing their eyes. Ah, my obedient little girls!

"Try me." I reply sweetly, breezing out of their room and off to the next one to wake up the young one I'm so proud of - my son.

As I turn on the light, he wails, "It's a holiday, Mum."

"Yes dear, all the more reason to start early and have more time to enjoy yourself." He scowls. I close the door quietly behind me.

After breakfast, Ahmed asks me to help him with his English homework. As he struggles with spelling and expression, my pre-teen princess comes along...

"What a silly story," she declares while bending over Ahmed's head inspecting his handiwork.

"Go away, Maha..." screams Ahmed.

I look up sharply, "Lower your voice!" I admonish.

"Get out of here!" Ahmed shouts, completely ignoring me.

"STOP SCREAMING IN MY EAR," I lose my temper.

"Mum, will you puh-leese keep your voice down? I'm trying to study here," Sania calls from her room. I roll my eyes, raise my hands in exasperation and take refuge in the kitchen!

"We're done." An hour later, I turn to find the three of them standing in the kitchen door, all groomed and glowing. I'm impressed.

"Well, then... I'll go and change." I turn off the burner. Sania hands me a list that's titled 'Things I desperately need'. No surprise, the teen-aged desperations...err...anti-split-ends serum, hair-straightening cream, French-manicure kit, CDs of some vegetarian bands - at least I think they must be: Red-hot Chilli Peppers, Greenday... what else?

"Sweetheart," I put on my sweetest smiles, "I pay for necessities and you have your allowance to cover for luxuries!"

"But these are all necessities," wails the teenager.

I remember reading somewhere: "There's nothing wrong with teenagers that reasoning with them won't aggravate." Hmmm...wise words, I'm already walking out of the room.

"Are you going to wear the blue dress again, Mum?" She calls out.

Surprised, I stop in mid-step, "Yeah...I was thinking about that."

"Haven't you got anything a little 'in'?"

I frown.

"And please don't put on that brown lipstick you always wear. What if one of my friends is there?"

"I beg your pardon?" I raise my eyebrows.

"I'd be eternally embarrassed." She declares matter-of-factly.

I open my mouth. "Hurry, Mummy," scream the other two and I reluctantly turn away, biting my tongue to suppress the retort that I know she positively deserves.

I'm still fuming as I get ready. They sure know how to flatter me. I don't have any sense of style left just because it doesn't meet the teenage approval? And just the other day I was putting up a picture of mine in a photo frame when my Number two breezed in and gushed excitedly, "Mum...you look so beautiful," as I opened my mouth to thank her for the compliment, she added, "...and so young." My smile froze. Now, I will concede the picture was many years old, but apart from a few lines under the eyes, I really haven't changed much. After all, age is but a state of mind...right, folks?

Anyway, we are finally on our way...yes, in my blue dress and brown lipstick. As we turn the street corner, we see a white cat with black patches on it, three kittens in tow, crossing the road. Two of them were just like the mother - white with black patches - but the third had a mix of orange too.

"That one's probably not her own," remarks Maha thoughtfully. Before I can offer a suitable explanation, Ahmed replies with all the seriousness an eight-year old can muster, "It's adopted, Maha."

I smile, while Sania bursts into laughter. "How silly can you get?" she manages between giggles.

Ahmed pulls on a long face, "I'm your brother, what do you expect?"

"Do you want to hear the truth?" she narrows her eyes.

"Do you want a knuckle-sandwich?" he challenges.

"Okay, okay, now... do you want to eat first or buy some books?" I quickly change the subject to avoid the war of words developing into a fist-fight. Yeah...mothers know all about that.

Books it is...at least they are in agreement on something. As we pass through rows of shelves lined with books at the popular bookshop, I notice the small number of actual buyers. Most of the people are leafing through the pages to pass the time. It's no surprise really, as I very well know every time I foot the bill for the books selected by my children.

Japan, I'm told, is a nation of book lovers. My cousin, who has recently returned from there, told tales of how her toddler embarrassed her - with the typical screaming, tantrum-throwing two-year-old persistence we know so well - whenever she visited the doctor's office while the Japanese toddlers sat serenely in waiting rooms, leafing through books and magazines, staring at pictures of more docile, well-behaved creatures like themselves and making perfect sounds of contentment while their mothers had their ailments cared for.

I'm reminded of what another friend of mine, who is often dropping pearls of wisdom my way, remarked the other day, "If I had my way, all children would be born 18 years old, perfectly groomed and ready to take on the burden of life, including earning a living." Sigh...wouldn't that be nice?

Books and pizza done at last, we head back...and no, we didn't see any of Sania's friends anywhere - must be my lucky day...or hers. As I dodge through traffic, my mind's running through solutions to various other problems waiting to be settled...yeah, mothers learn to excel at the art of multi-tasking as a matter of survival.

Ahmed had told me about the bullying in the school bus yesterday, and I have to get that sorted out. "Stand up to him, dear." I had told him. "Bullies are just scared little boys at heart!" I had laughed, trying to make light of the situation. He had frowned pointing out their age difference. He was right. I made a mental note to call the management of the bus service tomorrow, while brooding over the dimensions of the growing culture of bullying and abuse, and whether I was part of just a small minority advocating good manners and the tolerant 'live and let live' approach. Unsettling thoughts.

Finally, as I fall into my bed late, exhausted after a hectic day, and looking forward to an uninterrupted night of rest, there is a knock on the door.

"Yes?" I muster some strength that all mothers keep in reserve for an emergency.

Three heads peek through the half-open door. "Hey, Mum..." wide smiles saying it all, "thanks for a lovely day!"

My eyes become glossy as I open my arms. They jump into bed and fall all over me, hugging and squealing. I silently thank God for these adorable beings that warm a tired mother's heart...and make the woes of motherhood look pale in comparison to its blessings!



published May, 09; You magazine, The News.

The Perfect Match

Satire

Looking for someone special to share your life with? Just follow these simple tips!


It is indeed an uphill task all the way for many young gals trying to catch hold of the right 'g' these days -'guy' and 'grades', I mean! These girls really ought to concentrate on the second 'g', and wait for a while before embarking on a quest for the first one, if you ask me - there's so much to do in life before settling down!

Sigh. I can see my advice is falling on deaf ears, so here are a few tips that might at least help in making a sensible choice:

Tip #1. Do not spare a thought for the back-bencher in your Chemistry class whose stare is fixed on the beaker or Petri dish your teacher is holding. For one thing, he's not interested in the chemistry that you expect to arise between the two of you, though he may pledge so! Secondly, he'd turn out to be an awful bore bothering you in the kitchen with his weird ideas about how a different pot - bigger, smaller, wider, deeper - would help you cook better. He'd be terribly hard to please no matter what you do for him. What will you do with someone that fussy? Drop him like a hot potato while you still have a choice!

Tip #2. Are you considering the guy in your Biology class? Does his 'biology' impress you when he pushes that lock of mousse-applied hair off his forehead with his well-manicured hand, and smiles that drop-dead georgeous smile while tilting his head to fix his hypnotic gaze on you? Hmmm... I think he's too much of a narcissist to give you the attention you crave for your own beautiful curls and to-die-for smile! Do you really want to be always finding your cosmetic jars and bottles empty at the last minute, or struggling to win a smile contest with tough competition right at home? Surely not!

Tip #3. The born philosopher - though he may not be in your Philosophy class - is the one who stares into space as he talks about his big ideas for future. His hair is always messy and his clothes crumpled because he claims not to care much for such trivialities. He's one to watch out for, I tell you! He actually never listens to his Mom who would be just so glad to finally hand him over to you to teach him some manners! Trust me, you can't have him driving you crazy picking up after him while he runs around taking care of more important things like counting the stars, can you? Let his Mom deal with him...you don't want that responsibility!

Tip #4.. Okay, so the guy from the Gender Studies Department has caught your eye? I would rethink my options if I were you. He sure gives some fine fiery speeches advocating every girl's right to equality....but, Honey, all this slick-talk is only for the benefit of the one foolish enough to believe him! He's probably trying to appease his own conscience, or only making those speeches to ensnare you. In truth, as soon as you have solemnised the vows, he expects you to turn into quite the domesticated creature you abhor!!! And how do I know? Just drop by his home when he least expects you. You'll find him ordering about his little sister into running errands for him and driving his mother crazy telling her how lucky she is to have a son like him to carry on the family name! Move on, girl...there are definitely better possibilities to explore!

Tip #5. The Math class genius? Gosh no! Never ever, ever try to hook up with him! He will be forever calculating the pennies you spend and will know exactly how many seconds you spent extra talking to the fellow shopper when you should have shown more respect for time and money. You can forget about all the trips you've planned to the hair stylist or the beautician - he will be multiplying the number of hair cut with the amount of rupees you pay. He will also tell you without hesitation that you look no different now than when you went in for a makeover a good four hours ago, since you still have the same fuzzy head for numbers because of the huge sum you paid to your stylist! Sigh. Let him count his pennies alone.

Tip #6. The Psychology class sensitive soul? Hmm...I do admire his gentle mannerism, but there's always a danger he might become a little intrusive. If you're the motivated and career-oriented type, you could get into serious trouble. He would be constantly forcing you to embark on guilt-trips by asking you to take out some time for his birthday when you might have an important project on adjustment of frogs to a new habitat to work on. You wouldn't naturally want to spoil your work momentum either when he happens to fall down the stairs and break his leg. He will be definitely offended if you ask his mother to come and help clean up the mess ...er...I mean, take care of him...while you attend the seminar on gender-role stereotyping. Be wise now, and avoid the later heartache, dear.

Tip #7. The language class enthusiast you tend to connect with? Nooo! For Heaven's sake, girl, if there's one thing a gal must have an upper hand with it should be the ability to confuse the Significant Other into silence! Surely, the best of fights leave men nodding in agreement just because they can't make sense of it anymore! Why do you want to do away with that advantage? If he has the stamina to keep talking till the end, how can you ever have your way? That would be the ultimate disaster!

Oh, don't look so dejected, gals! I'm not saying no man is worth the trouble, but what's the big rush anyway? You have to take charge of your own life before you embark on such an important journey, you know. Let those Eager Specimens know that you're determined to take care of more important issues first and will bestow them with your attention at your own convenience!

Now... chin up, smile wide and get busy carving your future. Good Luck!



Published Feb, 09; You Magazine of The News.

Designs on You!

Satire

Sell her what she doesn't need, and make her the happiest woman on earth!

We have designs on you', I read the banner as I stepped inside.

"I bet you do!" I muttered under my breath. I was there to help my Aunt Seema at her Boutique because her assistant had taken the day off. Normally, I avoided her like the plague because our ideas regarding fashion and funds ran in opposite directions! This time, however, I agreed because I was to get a free designer jora in return for the favour, plus I wanted to observe the art of lying first-hand! Ooops...did I say lying? I meant marketing...which is the thriving business of selling people what they don't need!

It's no secret that selling expensive designer-wear to women that literally empties their wallets, translates into a fortune for my dear Aunt. I don't blame her at all - a fool and her money are soon parted anyway, with or without Aunt Seema's intervention! She tells me that most women happen to believe that 'expensive' is synonymous with 'quality', much to the chagrin of their men! Now, why wouldn't someone with enough common sense (read: business sense) want to use that to their advantage?

As I stood there gaping and pondering, lesson number one came from Aunt Seema: "PR is important. Look welcoming".

I plastered a huge smile on my face. Ready for potential customers? "Yes, ma'am!"

"Wipe that silly grin off your face!" Aunt Seema glared at me.

Sigh... Before she could intimidate me any further, I quickly moved to the other side of the room to be with the two young girls I had spotted browsing through the shelves. I started following them around.

"Hmm...uh...oh...yeah...uh-huh." They moved from aisle to aisle without really showing an interest in anything.

Finally, one of them turned to me and said, "How much does this one cost?"

"Let me check for you, ma'am" I said politely.

"Wonder why they employ these silly sales girls who don't even know what they're doing here!" said the one with more 'attitude', to her friend.

As I stood there choking on an angry retort, Auntie Seema appeared out of nowhere.

"Show them all the pieces in this collection, dear, will you?" She caught that oh-so-easily-provoked rebellious look in my eyes, and bestowed me with a threatening glare - ah, if looks could kill!

Inwardly seething, outwardly smiling I took down at least fifty joras and nothing seemed to capture their fancy. I was getting frustrated but Auntie Seema's hawkish eyes boring holes into my back, from the counter where she stood her vigil, made for good incentive to keep on smiling I had to admit! Finally, when they managed to select one, I saw nothing special about the chosen one versus those doomed back to the rack...absolutely nothing! My face obviously betrayed me for they were bestowing me with a look that said: 'Poor sales-girl...never will you get it!'

I gave them a wide smile in return, pleased for once that with what Auntie SSeema was going to charge them - serves them just right!

Turning away, I spotted an exasperated mother at the opposite end trailed by the father looking utterly bored. Their young daughter was trying to select a clutch purse arguing constantly.

"This one!"

"No! It won't go with your shoes."

"Buy me new shoes too!"

"Not now! Just get the clutch that matches with your brown sandals...this looks just fine!"

"I don't want it...I want aqua!"

"Can I help you?" Gingerly, I approached, as they didn't seem to be agreeing on anything, while I was determined to raise Auntie Seema's sales for the sake of my reward that I had spotted hanging in the fifth rack!

"Yes, dear...help this young lady to to shop sensibly, will you?" The mother replied.

I smiled, "Get the beige clutch to go with your brown sandles like your Mum wants... and I will find you just the right pair of sandals for your dainty feet to go with this aqua purse you love!"

"Thanks a lot", the mother glared. "I'll manage without that kind of help!" she grabbed the girl's elbow and steered her towards the door.

I'm only doing my job! I shrugged.

The father beamed at me as he turned to go. I bet he didn't want them to buy anything in the first place!

"Excuse me!" I swirled to find a lady with a wide smile standing behind me.

"Dear...would you find me something that has enough cut and style to make my waist look about 25 and hide my heavy shoulders? And, mind it, it has to be in a bright colour...but blue doesn't suit me...and not in chiffon...I'm allergic to it....and listen..."

Help! I'm already moving away... A bright coloured dress, but not blue; not in chiffon; with waistline 25 to fit 45...sure, no problem!

I looked around...where was she who had been trailing me all morning unnecessarily? I muttered to myself helplessly trying to spot Aunt Seema. Failing that, I hurried off to the changing room to settle my nerves. Settle my nerves?! Gosh, I sounded like my grandmother already as I stood there wiping my brow!

At last, I peeked from behind the curtain. The 45-wishing-to-be-25 lady seemed to have given up on me as she was nowhere in sight. I saw three other ladies, though. I rushed to their side pretending to be very busy as I knew Aunty Seema must have been trying to locate me all the time I was hiding away 'settling my nerves'!

One of the three women at least looked like someone who would know what she wanted rather than have me attempt the impossible. As I approached, she turned to me with a polite smile and asked what I had in a 'reasonable' range.

"Ma'am all this is reasonable stuff - between the range of seven and twelve thousand per piece." I reply, reassuringly.

"Good, God! No, no...I think I'll pass. Zaina, you go ahead." She turned to her friend.

"But ma'am, just look at the stylish designs and the fine quality of fabric! And this colour would look absolutely divine on you." (Ah, I'm learning, after all!)

"My dear, I'd rather spend that kind of money to improve my intellectual capacity - something I can rely on to stay with me till the end - rather than adorning physical attributes which are disappearing fast anyway!" She smiled, unruffled.

"Wow!" I gushed excitedly, forgetting all my newly learned lessons. "Now here's a lady who has got her priorities in order! I totally agree with you!"

"Oh? You're a sensible girl for all your years!" She awarded me with a warm smile again. The other two of her friends promptly put their selections down.

"Yeah...I think I'll pass too", said one.

"Great! Buy some books instead...there's an awfully good book store next door...and good prices too...oh...and while you're at it, you could - Ow!" I yelped in pain, as I was cut short abruptly by Aunty Seema who grinded her stiletto into my toe!

The Monster, the dragon, the ...the...!!! I gave her a wounded look - no pun intended! - and what did I get in return? Daggers in her eyes for me and saccharin smiles for her precious clients!

She steered them away, speaking soothingly, willing them not to pay any attention to the tirade coming from 'babble-land'!

"Let me show you some outfits to your taste...reasonably priced too...after all one's got to have some style to move in the society..."

Suddenly I felt like I had lost my appetite for the important business of fortune-making. And also for the jora on fifth rack - who needed temporary adornment, anyway?

I turned towards the door. Bye-bye boutique adventure. Perhaps I'll stick to being my own person rather than learning the art of lying...and it sure wouldn't hurt to go off to the bookshop next door to 'supplement my intellectual capacity' instead.

Published in You magazine, The News; Jan, 09.

Colour me Beautiful!

Humour

I was only doing what I saw her do a couple of days ago. She must be getting insecure by my excellent handiwork!


"Are you sure about this?" she pulled back and stared at her reflection critically.

"Of course, I'm sure. I am going to make you so beautiful, you won't even recognise yourself." I replied coolly.

Now, I'll admit I had not done this before, but hey how difficult could it be? After all, I'm used to blow-drying my own hair and adding a bit of colour to my eye-lids every now and then!

I smiled assuredly at the fifty-something lady I was giving a make over to.

It was my third day on the job as assistant to Sue - one of those foreign-qualified beauticians who have become so popular in my country nowadays!Sue turned to inspect my handiwork from the other side of the room. The look of horror on her face made my hand freeze in midair. She walked over and took the eye-shade kit from my hand with an exaggerated casualness.

"As a special treat, I'll do this make-over myself, for no extra charge." Sue said to the client and put on her sweetest smile for the client's benefit. For me, she reserved a discreet censuring scowl.

"What...?" I frowned. I was only doing what I saw her do a couple of days ago. She must be getting insecure by my excellent handiwork, I gathered!

"I like this colour...what do you think?" the elegant lady to my left addressed me, as she pointed to the burgundy shade of hair-colour on the shade-selection card.

"Lovely", I assured her with a smile. She wanted to get her hair streaked.

She settled back comfortably.

I covered her with a sheet to prevent the hair colour from dripping onto her spotless silk blouse.She looked up from the magazine she was browsing through. I smiled, as I mixed the colour. I put away the protective serum provided in the packet, just as I had seen Sue do.

"Aren't you going to put that on my hair to prevent split-ends?" she questions.

"Nope...Sue uses another serum that she makes herself," I said.

"What?! Why?" the customer stared at me perplexed.

I coolly replied. "Her's is much better...a special recipe. This is just trash, you know...she gives it to another woman who comes collecting every few days - hmm, mighty generous of her to pay some money in exchange for collecting useless items!"
I went on mixing the colour trying to look and sound as important as I felt with that little piece of privileged information that I had acquired from Sue recently.

"But this is imported stuff...one of the best available in the market!" cried the exasperated client.

"Really?" I replied, "That's what they make you believe, these fancy cosmetic companies. Why don't you just relax and let me colour you beautiful!"

I said giving her a patronising look. She sat up abruptly.

"I'm not staying here a minute longer."

"But...but..." I spluttered, not understanding why she would want me to use the bad serum and damage her hair!

"I've mixed the colour now... it'll go to waste!" I wailed, pleading her to stay.

Sue looked my way quizzically, from the far corner where she was doing the make-over all over again. I frantically pointed to my watch, mouthing: 'She's in a hurry...' Sue relaxed and shrugged. Phew! That was close!

After an hour or so, she had finished the makeover. Sending her client happy, and stashing away the thick wad of bills in the locker, she yawned and told me to keep an eye on the parlour while she took a nap.

"Sure", I didn't smile as I uttered the monosyllabic reply. I just knew I could've done a better make-over.

As she left the room, a young girl entered.

"I need a pedicure." She announced.

"Right." I said and proceeded to get the pedicure kit. As I took the stool to sit in front of her, I noticed her dirty feet. "Oh my God...look at your feet! Don't you ever wash them?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Honesty is not always a virtue, I quickly discovered as she glared and replied acidly, "No, that's what I have you for! Wash them, clean them and make them gleam." She gave me a scathing look.

I could feel red hot boiling fury rising inside of me, threatening to explode. I clenched my teeth...and then...let go! A loud scream erupted from my mouth followed by a barrage of incomprehensible sounds that I couldn't translate if my life depended on it!

She got up abruptly, kicked the stool I was about to sit on and threw the nearest bottle of lotion at me. I immediately caught it and threw it back at her. Ah...it landed squarely on target. Our throwing and catching continued for some time. Sue's expensive creams and lotions, hairbrushes and combs, makeup kits and towels were flying across the room.

We created total chaos...but, hey, I was not to be insulted - that is something the visitors of this outlet had better understand. The door opened unnoticed by either of us but when a bottle crashed against Sue's nose, the scream that came out of her mouth shattered my ear drums.

I froze in place, while the girl stormed out. I grabbed an icepack and gave it to Sue and helped her sit down comfortably while detailing the girl's despicable actions and my bravery that helped save at least half of her parlour's stuff. She didn't look too pleased I could tell, but was very grateful that I took a stand for her.

"Shall we report it?" she asked uncertainly. "Oh, no...why get into all that? You know how the system works...we'll only get more trouble!" I discouraged her vehemently. The poor thing was too shocked to argue - my lucky day!

I've already started cleaning up...and re-arranging. Sue can always get more stuff to replace the damaged items with the amount of money she earns fleecing her clients!

And perhaps it's also time to discuss the raise I've been meaning to ask her for. She does not look up to an argument! Wish me luck, folks!

Published July, 08; You magazine, The News.

Still Looking!

Satire

“I promise to learn…if you agree to polish my shoes whenever the maid takes the day off!”


“No, no, no!” I had stormed out yesterday leaving my Mum baffled and Shabbi Auntie angry, when she brought in yet another rishta-seeking brigade. Can you blame me? Who do these women think they are, bringing along all the Maamis, Chachiis, Khalas and Phuphiis to approve of me? Approve of me - they’re not even bothered whether I would approve of them!!!

The chubby, eternally smiling khala said to me: “What glowing complexion she has!” And the thin Phupphi with heavy specs had piped in, “A lovely addition to the house she would be!”

What does one say to that? Except…maybe…as I did: “Glowing? So you can keep me in the dark and not be bothered with the hide-and-seek that electricity plays these days?" Not on your life!

“Oh, what a nice sense of humour she has!” Chachi’s turn.

Grrrrrr…

To top it all, the guy asked me but one question I could’ve done without: “Do you cook aloo-paratha?”

I was so touched by his highly intellectual concern that I could’ve happily wrung his thick aloo-filled neck that very moment! Did he really not realize he’d be taking on a whole lot more on his plate than just aloo-paratha by consenting to marry me? Poor thing!

I smiled and replied reassuringly, “I promise to learn if you agree to polish my shoes whenever the maid takes the day off. Deal?”

Mum didn’t speak to me for two days after their hasty departure. Not fair, I tell you. She thinks I’m out and about to ruin the remotest chance of my ever getting married, by the way. She’s not all that wrong, I have to admit! I can think of a hundred and one reasons why I don’t want to be making aloo-paratha to please an idiot for the rest of my life! And why is it so hard for everyone to accept that a gal does not have to get married these days? Who’s going to take care of her, you ask? Why, who else but she herself! It might not be entirely ridiculous to assume that she actually has the capacity to take charge of her own life!

This morning, I’m told, another rishta-seeking party is coming…some ‘foreign-settled’ guy. Mummy has already warned me to keep my unruly tongue in check. Sure, I say. Hmm… Oh, do I hear the bell? Goodness… could it be them already? Mummy’s calling…I’d better go.

“Salaam Auntie.” I hug old Shabbi Auntie - she’s so soft and warm that I can’t help liking her despite her irritating favourite past-time! She introduces us all. Hmm…now, why is the dude staring at me like that? After his stay in Walayat, I should think he’d be used to the female of the species! Humph - minus five for rudeness.

He looks up as I approach with cold drinks. He winks. Oh my God, he actually winked at me…right in front of my Mum!!! Whatever happened to cultural sensitivity??? As he leans forward to pick up the glass, the tray tilts ever so slightly - entirely of its own volition, of course - and the contents spill neatly onto his lap.

“What the …!” he jumps up.

I feign embarrassment. “Oh…I’m so sorry…what have I done…” I stand there wringing my hands, just like I saw the heroine do in a soap recently on TV. She seemed to get away with just about anything twisting her dainty hands and biting her shiny red lips.

Alas, I’m not so lucky… he’s not even listening to my sincere apologies! Mum’s all red and blue and every other colour imaginable…and she’s apologizing too! How embarrassing…Mum, stop!!!

“It’s alright Auntie…just an accident…I’m sure she will learn to be a proper wife in no time!” Croaks the Fresh Prince, looking me up and down.

I hate him. Utterly, completely, absolutely.

Mum looks up sharply. “My daughter is perfect just the way she is. I think it’s time for you to leave.”

My, oh my! I never saw her like that before…icy chill in her voice, fire in her eyes!

They’re stepping out of the door! Good riddance.

Mission accomplished! And now I can go off to work with a relaxed mind. Hopefully, the boss will not have noticed my turning up late today as Mina would’ve covered for me anyway. I can’t wait to relate the whole story to Mina.

As expected, she’s doubling up on the sofa giggling like a school girl! Three cheers for your Mum, she says. Hmmm…and for me? I smile, celebrating my small victory.

Sabina joins in – not again, puhleez - with her sob stories…yeah, yeah…husband did this, husband did that. Why doesn’t she do something about that awful huzz-band of hers?!! No point in whining about it uselessly, is there?

Ramis walks in. He’s attracted to women-woe-tales like bees to honey. I can’t stand it so I yell at Sabina to stop, and at Ramis to find something better to do with his time! What’s this? Her eyes are turning into pools of overflowing lava…oh my God…I just have to get out of here! Ramis offers to take me home as my ‘ride’ isn’t free yet…which is my other colleague, Lamia. Why is he doing me a favour after I yelled at him? I wonder. Whatever…I need the ride!

In the car, he says, “Why are you always rude to Sabina?”

I bite an angry retort and ask him instead why he encourages her to throw her sad-tales around?

“She needs to unburden.” He replies matter-of-factly. Like hell! I mutter under my breath.

“You should encourage her to take a stand, if you really want to help her.” I speak through clenched teeth.

He turns around and looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

“What?’ I glare.

“You’re a strong woman…or one without experience to reflect on.” He shrugs.

“That’s how I’d feel in any case!” I snort.

Two days later, Ramis is standing at my doorstep – with his Mum.

"Hi, Auntie!” I beam at her and hug her warmly…and stick my tongue out at him over her shoulder. He laughs.

Auntie and Mummy are talking animatedly. Funny how they seem to get along so well given it’s their first meeting!

“So what’s the idea?” I turn to him.

“Meaning?” Mr. Innocent raises one eyebrow.

“You didn’t bother turning up the last time I practically begged you?”

“I suddenly found my manners.” Tongue in cheek.

“And the moon is made of green cheese.” I nod, understandingly.

“You have such a lovely daughter…Ramis talks so much about her” Auntie looks at me adoringly.

Ramis, you’re so dead! I glare at him, but he conveniently busies himself with staring into space. Such an important activity!

”Has Ramis told you about his lady love, Auntie?” I ask sweetly.

“Huh?” Auntie turns to stare at Ramis.

He looks up with a start. I smile…sweet revenge.

“She’s a married woman, but don’t you worry…she’ll soon get a divorce. Ramis is so nice and supportive listening to all her sad tales, you know.”

Ramis’s threatening look actually has the opposite effect – like, he doesn’t know me? – and I describe in more detail just how supportive he is!As expected, Auntie suddenly remembers some urgent errand back home and gets up to leave. Ramis? Oh, he’s not too pleased, I can tell – teach him not to pre-suppose me on any issue in future!

At this point, however, I can no longer control the burst of laughter that is swelling up in my throat.

He turns and mouths silently: I’ll get you for this. I flutter my non-existent eyelashes…and offer my hand. Truce?

Mummy is looking at me through narrowed slits… hands on hips… she knows exactly what I’m up to… oh my… I better runnnnnnnnn!!!

Speaking from secret location - my closet - addressing all who can hear me: I’m not completely anti-marriage, okay? I just hate it that no one seems interested in me – the person. Not one of the rista-seeking Aunties or their sons asked my opinion on anything even remotely appealing to sense and sensibility! Is that fair? I just know God didn’t give me a head to think with for nothing! I have the same dreams any man has (well, almost!). I do so want an adoring guy but why can’t I aspire to find one who supports my aspirations and won’t feel insecure because I can use my brains? Is that too much to ask?

Surely there’s someone out there for me… I’m still looking!!!!

Published in You magazine of The News, June, 08.

Behind the Wheel

Satire

A light, satirical view of the fairer approach to driving...


“My missus wants to drive here in Pakistan! Barmy, my missus… mad as a bag of snakes!” confided my British friend one fine day, shaking his head.

I smiled to myself, and wondered secretly whether he was more concerned about his wife or other road users – for women drivers in my blessed land are truly a breed apart! Why I criticize my own kind? Well…sometimes it is healthy to look within oneself and ponder some less explored mysteries of life!

So let me enlighten you about the impressive road skills of some women drivers out there…er…especially those who defy and baffle all logic and create havoc on the roads! I will speak of but a few who have crossed my path every so often, and perhaps yours too!

You might be surprised to learn about a ‘driver’ who controls everything despite not being in the driver-seat! She’s called the ‘passenger-seat driver’. Most husbands will know what I mean! Ah, yes…I’ve come across her too. She’s my friend Sharmeen who wants to go shopping.

“Drive me to the market, will you?” Miss Charm Personified calls me up at 3:30 p.m.

“Huh?” I rub my eyes and look at the clock. Sigh. I know better than to argue with her.

As we hit the road, Sharmeen remarks, “Is your door closed properly?”

I maintain a dignified silence. Undaunted, she leans over and checks. Then she takes to dictating the way – which I already know, but never mind!

“Stay in the middle…why, you almost hit the curb!”

“I know where I’m going!” I manage through clenched teeth. She leans over and switches on the left indicator.

“What are you doing?” I try not to shout, turning it off.

“Aren’t we going to turn left a little up ahead?” Innocently she asks, “Better to let other drivers know well in advance!”

‘A little up ahead’ is actually a kilometer away yet. Humph.

“Don’t slow down… don’t let that smug dude in his shiny car overtake us!” She grabs my arm.

“Sharmeen, it’s his right of way!” I mumble as try to free my arm from her steely grasp.

The car swerves and almost hits the side of the Mercedes. The driver glares and makes an obscene gesture. I turn red. Sharmeen smiles contently while admiring her neat French-manicured nails. I’ve just about had it!

I pull over and yell: “Get out of my car!"Then I go back home and read a book on anger management. Sharmeen? Oh she has a lovely day shopping and takes a lift home with …guess who? That’s right…how could the Mercedes dude resist Sharmeen’s little-girl-lost charm?

Another type of a woman driver that you must’ve spotted by now – because she’s the commonest type there is – is the ‘sleepy-driver’. No, she’s not actually sleeping at the wheel! She only seems that way because of her persistent refusal to go beyond 40km/hr even on the widest road! She sits there serenely, unruffled even when the cyclists pass her by with wide smiles! She won’t leave the left lane and wouldn’t overtake if her life depended on it! She seems truly impressed with the tortoise’s tenacity, and was quite possibly related to it in a previous life. She really has a problem parking her vehicle as she wants to do it just right. She usually manages to take up the space of two, sometimes three, cars in the end, though!

Then there is the aggressive feminist. Her type is also pretty easy to spot on the road…half leaning on the steering wheel, pursed lips and sharp eyes reduced to narrow slits; she is one to be wary of. My last encounter with her was when my old four-wheeler refused to budge outside my office, and my colleague Maliha offered me a lift. Having no alternative, I reluctantly agreed. As she started the engine I fastened my seat-belt and started praying silently. She drove head-to-tail with any car that happened to be unfortunate enough to drive in front of us, and if the driver slowed down even a little, she honked so hard that she literally hounded the poor thing off the road! All I could do was to shrink further in my seat whenever someone waved a punch in the air menacingly! In response, Maliha would mouth an obscenity that I seriously couldn’t repeat! Once or twice I tried to tell her that driving at breakneck speed might actually break her neck some day (I was more worried about mine though!), but she shrugged it off.

“Rubbish … didn’t you know according to figures compiled by …um…responsible agencies, more men than women die in road accidents?”

”Uh-huh?” I wondered if it was because of women like her…but didn’t have the gall to tell her so!

She continued, “Well, if they wouldn’t turn their heads 180 degrees while driving whenever they spotted a woman, the statistics would be much different!”

Ah…that’s a thought.

I was darned glad to be home that day in one piece! She’s one to watch out for, I tell you! She also knows so much about her rights – women’s lib being the order of the day – why it sometimes even confuses the poor traffic sergeant foolish enough to stop her! And you can guess her favourite past time I’m sure! Yes, you’ve got it…it is to hunt down the Casanovas who stand on bus stops and sing the hottest hits to girls waiting for their ride. I once saw Maliha drive right into the boy just when he seemed to have impressed the object-of-his-attention. Had he not by sheer luck – or premonition – jumped aside quickly, Maliha would have had one less target on her list! And of course, as she proclaimed innocently, all she was doing was parking in a hurry…he just happened to be in the way!

By the way, have you ever noticed how these emancipated women on the roads make extremely charming damsels in distress? You see, they’ve mastered the art of impressing fellow drivers with their shock-and-awe driving skills, but when the machine presents a challenge, well, there you have her…totally lost. She hasn’t an inkling about the workings of the thing she drives around so proudly! But then, why should she bother with the technicalities when she only has to extend that slender arm and flick that delicate thumb, and guys will actually fall over each other to help her out of her ordeal! There’s no dearth of those wanting to change the tyre for her, re-start her refusing-to-budge engine, arrange for a mechanic or simply arrange an alternative ride for her – especially in their own car! Ah, whoever said men are mean and repressive and controlling, in my culture, must’ve been mistaken…why they’re the most helpful creatures God made!

In case you’re wondering if there is a ‘sane’ woman driver category or not…well, of course there is! She abides by rules, never runs a signal, lets others get ahead when it’s their right of way, and is a pleasure to ride with as well as drive behind! She’s the truly emancipated woman who has enough road sense, and enough common sense to be mindful of other road-users’ rights. Unfortunately, she’s an endangered species, and it won’t be long now before she becomes extinct. The reason is simply lack of appreciation for her very appreciable conduct by fellow road users – chiefly, men. She gets generally abused so often by road-bullies that she’s reconsidering her approach. So, watch out all you guys out there on the roads looking for a little fun at her expense! Be nice to her, will you? Otherwise, you’ll just have to deal with more Maleehas and Sharmeens than you care for!

Think about it…while I rush and get myself a new cell number – Sharmeen’s calling!!!

A version of this article was published in You magazine, The News.

An Emergency

Humour

Hello?

Zareen Auntie? THANK GOD I found you! You’ve just GOT to help me!

Sara? What’s the matter, dear?

It’s a NIGHTMARE...its…its a…how could it be HAPPENING? I jus’ can’t…

Sweetheart…calm down, now…

Oh, Zareen Auntie…you’re the ONLY one who can help…

Zara, dear, is everybody alright?

No…everything’s ruined! I don’t know what we’ll do…you’ve got to come!

WHAT’S THE MATTER?

Mum will never make it this time…oh God!

GOOD GOD, girl, has your mother had another…?

She’s gone for sure! I just know it…she won’t survive…you HAVE to help her out!

Honey, listen to me… pull yourself together, now…is your dad home?

No, he’s gone to check on the arrangements…mum’s all blue with shock…

Is she breathing?

Er…I...?

CALM DOWN, sweetie…I know you can do this…WE CAN DO THIS TOGETHER…don’t panic…your mother needs you now

But…but...she is...

Don’t talk, just Listen…every second is important…IS SHE BREATHING?

Of course, she’s BREATHING!

Good…you remember how I taught you to check the pulse at the neck?…check her pulse and note it down…stay by her side… I’m on my way…be there in no time…

Pulse? Okay, but…

But nothing…just do that till I get there…

But…

I’m counting on you Sara…

But what about her valeema dress, Auntie?

Huh?

The tailor has ruined it completely...

The tailor?

And it was so lovely…

You mean she’s NOT going into cardiac arrest???

Cardiac arrest? Why NO!

ARE YOU SAYING… YOU HAD ME RUN OUT OF EMERGENCY FOR SABIN’S VALIMA DRESS?

Well, er…yes…I mean the big day is TONIGHT, and mum’s absolutely devastated! I thought … if you’d lend her yours…I mean, you’re the same size and…er…she's the groom’s MOM, you know…

ZARA….!!!!!!!!!!!


Dec, 05