Ruk Ruk Ruk Arey Baba Ruk

I think this city has been good for me . Or perhaps it is motherhood. But I have been pretty OK with the election results.

Making me a demographic of ummm Total Population: 1,

But I think I am counting our blessings.

For you see I cannot recognize the party (formerly known as PPP) in its avatar today. And but for a day before the elections  my Facebook DP still unchanged (though I did support this...the ANP as I loved it, on my twitter TimeLine)

But then someone shared this with me.

And I started listening to 

Until Arhaan entered the room " MAMA I AM TRYING TO SLEEP"

(sigh! I HATE Naya Pakistan)

So yes, nothing can bring back BB. And I realise it  has been two elections without her. 

And yes the PM-to-be has ALL THAT HISTORY what with my  mom being beaten up and our dog killed and the heart break when he pressed the nuclear button but I am still OK with the election results and as I said counting our blessings. Here we have a civilian government that completed it's term. A Pakistan  that is no longer apathetic. Turning up to vote in spite of bomb threats. Friends who have signed up to be part of the process like becoming polling agents next time! And the Kaptaan will always have Khyber Pakhtunkhwa as a laboratory for his Naya Pakistan experiment.

I am also very proud of my fellow Pakhtuns...KP whom certain people have reviled for so long saved their sorry revolution,and also when some of the same(as ANP) lost they showed Pakistan how to be gracious in defeat.

And for NS ki Waapsi.

Who knows , they may surprise us yet.

For remember Tabu?

And Ab Dekhe? Yes Bilkul JUST THAT

Meanwhile my DesiMartini Movie Jockeying gig has been turning out well. An excerpt from my review came up here.

And the other day Hindustan Times carried something by me on motherhood

FULL TEXT HERE:

I had been condescending towards Delhi. In my one month avatar as student in the city, as the self-important person on conference visits. Moving in 2012 as  Bhabhiji,  mom to a pre-schooler changed that. Somehow I was at peace with the loneliness that motherhood brings. I live in a world where most of my significant relationships are conducted in cyber space. Dad tucks the kid into bed over Skype. Grandmother oversees her grandson’s lunch over a webcam.

Delhi allowed us to run outdoors, play amongst its built history in spring, attend open air concerts, pick up thirty rupee puppets, ride toy trains, walk to school picking up silk cotton flowers for the teacher.

Come summer, the heat gave us permission to treat ourselves the gift of getting bored. In Delhi we decided to be a TV free household. Sundays there was no going out,  the help's day off, no pressure to be productive. Lying around in pyjamas, reading the papers, playing board games with the boy. By evening dying to go out for a walk. We would, but quickly run off to buy ice-creams, cold chach from Mother Dairy. Coming home to a shower, looking forward to Monday! It was like a spa for the mind, minus calculating tips for aromatherapy sessions.

Fall and Dussehra season made for interesting conversations.

8am panic attacks by 3 year olds WHERE IS SITA DU-PATTA, MAMA? WHERE IS SITA DU-PATTA? He has grown all self righteous my boy, pulling Sita's ghoonghat to her knees , parading the paper puppet like a triumphant banner. I push him in a stroller to school "Let her breathe yara", his words awaken dormant memories of visiting my village in Pakistan, a chador covering my face. But his little heart does not relent. In Delhi he has signed up for the Moral Police.

He channels our tirade about Delhi’s infamous traffic sense.

 "Ravan is so naughty so naughty Mama. HE DOESNT LOOK AT THE GREEN MAN CROSSING THE ROAD. DOESNT LOOK LEFT RIGHT". He is also indignant that Ravan is not returning Sita, but  mostly the bad traffic sense. I go to sleep giggling at the image of a ten-headed Ravan at the traffic lights looking left right left right while a Sita squawks at his side trying to wriggle her wrist away. 

By December I have a fortnightly salon at my place where my  people come over for a meal , "scintillating conversation" ; my husband and boy just a room away so I am never in a rush to be with them. I was finally home.

But soon the city reminds me that I have been altruistic about motherhood courtesy a tadka of selfishness. That it is class, my location that provides for a rape suraksha kavach.  Playing Happy Families dressed for comfort not a character certificate. Chasing Arhaan in parks with the guard at the gate keeping Delhi away. Putting up the bubble that helps me push April’s newspapers under the sofa. I cant afford not to listen.

Aneela Z Babar is a  researcher/anthropologist dividing her time between writing on gender, popular culture,militarism; and telling people her son is toilet trained sleeping through the night. She lives with her husband who is a development worker and a boy who is toilet trained sleeping through the night.

Aaj Phir Jeene Ki Tamanna Hai

I have signed up as a Movie Jockey at desimartini.com

You SHOULD now start following me at http://www.desimartini.com/profile/ud8410639.htm

and if you like my reviews, do do give it the thumbs up.

..and I have to tell you about the time I left Arhaan with the dad and escaped to the hills for a while. Supposedly to volunteer at the Haji Public School, but mostly to you know discover myself, read uninterrupted, riding horses, hiking, eating organic food...practically a Diane Lane film.

I was all Waheeda...

Though what stays me with me is driving back to Jammu. The moon rising over the river and the Bahu Fort, eyes off the speedometer, and you realise this, this trip is the only reason why the good music gods gave us THIS

Tujh Se Naraaz Nahi Zindagi...

I had planned that I would for this post..out of respect to the theme..drop the "reference to song" link. I think I picked up this whole, respect-music-frivolous songs-serious moments tamasha while listening to radio shows in Pindi. They would break for azaan, and it was just not DONE for RJs to nonchalantly resume their inane Urdu-English banter, so they would have a naat, an ad break and then let the party and prattle begin.

We did things differently back then. Still do.

Come school getting off, all of us would tumble out of the school gates and line up near the school wall. Congregate in the parking lot. Run up and down the foot path. Wait, wait, wait for someone to pick us up. You always waited outside the gates as a kid, even if you were the last one left, a forlorn figure next to a huge school bag.  Of course when you grew up to be a college student, you had to wait inside the compound , behind the gates, until the chowkidar  had identified your car, your "regular" driver, your guardian. For you know college girls are less mature than an eight year old, college girls are so trusting of any stranger who might offer them candy.

Just as we could go merrily to the shooting range, singing Bollywood songs no less, with nary a permission letter that we have joined the National Cadet Cor. Permission letters are for pleasure trips, Yes My Daughter May Go To The Museum of Natural History (where an exhibit may or may not fall on her. But its no live ammunition right?)

So your grandmother WOULD give you the talk (even though they were yet to come up with the lexicon of good touch bad touch) But grandmothers had their Good People Bad People right, so they would warn you about taxi drivers (when you had never taken taxis), and they might throw in the men loitering about on the streets (so ALWAYS take "someone" with you, where someone means anyone with a penis, which meant a 24 year old you has to take the eight year old son of a gardener along if you want to walk to the tailors. Now that we live in the time of Home Shopping Network I can refer to that whole episode as my own personal nazar suraksha kavach Elsewhere I referred to cars as portable seclusion,  you know "mobile purdahs". There is a whole business opportunity waiting for mobile penises. Dont Molest, We Too Have Penes At Home). So yes where was I? Grandmother wanted you to beware of taxi drivers, loiterers, shopkeepers, friend's brothers and their cousins. Men have bad intentions. And before you could cower away she would add a But Dont Fear Your Uncles, Cousins OK. Not Family.

But its 90% family Grandmother?

And I now think Grandmother sab jaanti hai.

We are such a " we will put it right" generation. Our mothers did it all wrong, we complain. They hushed it up.  Invited our molesters to our weddings. Our aunts hemmed and hawed and said I Dont Know Why This One Is Creating Such A Racket, We All Suffered It. So we make check lists now, exchange stories,share numbers of counselors, and we hover over our kids. But even then it happens. 

So you remove the TV sets so none of the outside noise gets into your house, I am an ostrich, look at me , my head under the sand, but the newspapers slip under the door until you to ask in trepidation Is It Safe To Look At The Headlines Today? I will never know what it is with the cities I live in. It cant just be popular music and lyrics (In '47 you raped women and carved Allah and Hey Ram on their breasts, sliced up their stomachs with nary a Yo Yo Honey Singh blaring from your houses. And you did it again in the coming years, and you will do it again tomorrow. With iron rods, with bottles, with...which makes all these suggestions for castration as deterrent oh so.. where do I begin? ). What is it about the female body you hate so? Or let me rephrase that, also the little boys, men from communities that are The Other. What is it? Why this anger? They say by reporting each and every act of violence might make for apathy in us, the reader.  Really? For I can recite you the hundred ways we are hated each day. And it is not about a failure of policing, whether it is the vigilant state, or a paranoid mother , and then again it is ALL about the police state at times. At times the wrong lies in compensation, (for I will scream do you know what compensation means "you are offsetting a deficiency", chalo chalo ab Dettol wali koi choutt nahi. We kissed it and made it better) whether when you offer marriage as compensation (nothing to see here, matter resolved, the two parties have reconciled, now no need to get into that, panchayat, judge sahib knows best), or when it is  money (or even a flat) will this make the hurt go away? so I cant understand why we got in a huff about hush money? Was it the amount that scandalized us? Add a couple of zeroes and that might have changed the response?

At least our generation is angry.

Small mercies.

But still so many questions.

Sab Bhijwa Do. Mera Woh Saaman Lauta Do

Dear God ji,

No. No. I am not one of those. I am not going to start with ..BUT WHAT KIND OF GOD WOULD ALLOW THIS?

Or ask you to answer a "But Islam tou kehta hai"

Listen na!

Watch me, watch me
See, see. I am not even embarking on a theological-social-political-geostrategic-land rights-generational Islam approach towards ...oh I am not even asking you a YE KIYA HO RAHA HAI. Arey nary a mention of Wahabism, no Iran, no blaming Zia, Fevicol. Oye, wo sab gaye tel leyne. Sorry, I meant oil ki pipelines lene. I don't want to understand anything, no no, dont whisper me the identity of NaMaloom Afrad. None of this.

All I am asking God ji for is a return of 

1) School. Urdu class. Mrs Mustafa. Of waiting for Muharram and asking her for water breaks. UNLIMITED WATER BREAKS. Na kareyngi. Yazid Hain Kiya? Now, when someone speaks of her, they speak of the bomb that was lobbed at her house. "Why do they have to  fly the alam over their house? Iran hai kiya?" God ji, of course we understand all this now. Women Ask For It When They Wear Mini Skirts, Houses Too When They Wear An Alam. Mrs. Mustafa, Satellite Dishes Are OK I hear.  But you know me God ji, sometimes I think Mrs Mustafa would rather risk little girls emotionally blackmailing her into bunking classes for they are suddenly thirsty. So, if you could just...

2) Our self righteousness. Hum. Yes, go ahead, hum a tune. Crack a joke. Hawwwww, Muharram hai! You are singing, laughing! Now, we are such good Muslims, who wastes their piety on a colour-fragrance-music detox. But if just for a day, we could...

3) Khushbakht Shujaat. The ten minutes of dismay as you put on the TV to her and her coterie of black and white. Oho wasnt today an episode of...? Oh Ashura, Majlis on TV, phir  the drama postponed till next week? Then, what do we?..Enthusiasm dwindling. Yes, if this Ashura if you could please return that listlessness instead of this  feeling of dread as we approach the TV , this, this sickening, sinking, sinking, feeling as news starts coming in...

4) Of when we would just spit in each other's food. Or not. Did they? Oh but the rice tastes so good, omnom, hai do they? But its so delicious, omnomnomnom. Chalo, for sharing their suspect rice and haleem for so long, we feed them with  bullets, do a tadka of bombs. Let it not be said we dont repay our debts, but if sometimes we could just return to food and our litany of So do they? Really? In This? Omnomnomnom.

5) When you could if  you were asked "But Are You Shia? Fasting, No Music, No New Clothes" 
wave them off with a
But My Grandmother Is From Quetta and Even If You Are Sunni In That City You...

You? 
You What?
Hmm. You What?

Tell Me na God,

You have hidden all my answers from me, release them please?

All these memories are mine, you know that. May I have them back for one afternoon?  Will you return them. Now?Now??

Ye Larki Zara Sa Deewani Lagti Hai...

So where were we? Yes. Christmas in Melbourne. Khaaya Peeya, Bahut maza aaya. Opened the garage door to take a look at the suitcases and furniture and reminded myself once more "See you can spend four years without needing all this", then promptly rolled up some rugs and books, Chalo let me show you what Delhi is all about. Arey, they have feelings too.

We spent most of January in Bangkok, well the Dad and Bub did. I was in hell. Somehow it is difficult to go all haha hee hee or get hysterical over a three year old eating shrimps and puking his guts out if there are 80 families sitting in -8 cold, their loved ones in coffins waiting waiting for anyone to wake up and take notice. Lather, rinse, repeat after a fortnight. And the heavens poured, and the earth renders apart, and people have babies, lose babies. And you wonder, wonder how do you get through the day ...all the time responsible for making sure you do not muck up your kid's childhood. I am really confused most days, do you start hinting to kids Hey It Is A Scary World Out There And You Really Lucked Out (with what a dear friend one joked as the "sperm lottery") or do you just keep it at bay and tell them, say when they are 8, "Surprise ! we fucked up and things are really bad outside your little bubble". Or again we could roll up our sleeves and clean up whatever we can before they grow older and wiser. That would be a lovely gift you know, making it a better world and they never have to know how scary things were for a while. I have been thinking really hard about the ripple effect and taking responsibility and perhaps each one of us ("knowingly or unknowingly" as they say) could have been one cog in the wheel of hate, it could be that I was the snowball that set this avalanche into motion and now we are waist deep in it. So I have started by apologizing to all whom I know whose lives have changed by what is happening. Picking up the phone and apologizing before condoling. And being more conscious. And ethical in my life choices (I hope). 

There was a time I could tut tut and  tell myself Ah Well It Is A Sign The World Is Ending, See! See! All Signs. Qayamat Ki Nishani. Kalyug, Kalyug.

But frankly once you have weaned a child, toilet trained him, got him into his own bed and (YES! Mithai all around) GOT HIM INTO BIG SCHOOL. the world cant end on you. Well  just not yet, OK!

There is so much of AR Rahman and Lata I can listen to as therapy (read previous post); so I  got through horrible horrible January by hanging around at cat cafes. Such a brilliant idea and if you see from the images we are all smiling and happy. 

Of course if you are not a cat person (but why aren't you, huh, huh) you may find sitting in a bouncy castle while three dozen small children somersault around you, also quite  therapeutic.

You should also get some Stella Gibbons in your life. Combine that with sitting in one corner of those indoor play area in  malls, you know the padded rubber cages, and you could be in heaven. Or at least I was, when I would take one of her books and curl up in a corner while Arhaan hurtled himself down slides into the ball pit, or climbed monkey bars and bridges.  the joy of not worrying about sharp edges or the boy hurtling himself into a wall or running away from me and sticking his fingers into an electric socket or climbing up the fridge chasing an animal , Oh all the joy! that a nearly 4 year old brings to your life. SO YES SURROUND YOURSELF WITH RUBBER AND INFLATABLE PLASTIC, PERHAPS WITH SOME NETTING AND   A SECURITY GUARD AT THE ENTRANCE. Damn so this is what being in a padded cell is all about. Best two hours ever! I have never felt safer and more content.

We returned to Delhi

and I started yoga classes where I discovered there are three Pakistanis in my class...perhaps the Aman Ki Asha is mostly asanas.

I had hidden the paper puppet Sita (of the pulling her ghunghat to her knees fame) before leaving Delhi so on our return we had one week of a paper Lakhan calling out Sita is Lost. Sita is Lost Againnn. Though when Arhaan's Lakhan called out I WILL FIND YOU SITA , it sounded like a threat.  Walks Stealthily, Hoarse Whisper. 

Arhaan turned 4.

Four.

Wow!

In keeping with the past year's (and the year before that, and the...gulp!) theme we took a cake to school and had-no-party-afterwards.

But we did take him and a friend to the National Rail Museum, where they went totally crazy, but it was fun. And they played Hindi film songs about all things trains (yes! they played Mere Sapno Ki Rani , also 'Jaipur se nikli gaaRi, Dilli challi halle halle') There were the standard issue "Weigh Yourself" apparatus and Arhaan's weight came printed out on a card that categorised him as a shy, peaceful sort, and the film star Govinda . Yup, his expression in the last pic says it all

And some time in Feb I came down with a terrible terrible Im Ready For My Last Rites To Be Administered bug, and I was up nights worrying how Arhaan will grow up to whimper "and my mum never made it to any of my birthday parties" 

so I planned a picnic,  where my friends could sing a song for him as a present, and someone could put up some children's theater, and there could be candy floss, and perhaps a monkey and a juggler, until G-man asked isnt that a birthday party YOU want for yourself. 

So I decided upon a day out to the Rail Museum for his friends, followed by a picnic in Nehru park where we could have kites and a football. AND IT RAINED EVERY WEEKEND FOR A MONTH. So this weekend the kids were bundled up to go bowling and they had popcorn and pizza and cake and noodles and chips and Arhaan and his friend fought over one green balloon. Also the birthday boy spent most of the afternoon dancing to D.I.S.C.O in front of the long mirrors. It was noisy and chaotic and they played so much loud (and totally inappropriate after a while) music. We had a Noddy cake and all the kids asked for choice parts "Noddy's eye!" "His hand, his hand". "I WANTED HIS FOOT, BHAAAAAEEEE" ,they  could have totally put the best of Pindi fighting over the qurbani goat to shame. His friends got puppets and books in their goody bags (and most probably Arhaan got beaten up in school the next day for that).

And later Saturday night when we were tired and grubby and hoarse from screaming at each other I kissed him to sleep and asked him what he had liked best about his day. "Oh when I fought with my friend, and we stamped on that balloon. THAT WAS SO GOOD!". Oh well

And now for the song

Ek Tu Hi Bharosa

who knew that the world was so eager to prove the mayans right?

that we were so eager to reach deep within the recesses of the horizon to drag a canopy of qayamat over our world?

that we would conspire with the timekeepers to speed up an era of kalyug?

Well we know now

2012 was the year when I had planned to be less concerned about what was happening outside my door ..Sorry.

I made myself comfortable in my home rationed the outside world had been selfish about meeting people never bought a TV when I moved to India (january will mark 12 months of being TV free..well we are not Amish we would watch TV when we were in a hotel but you know what I mean) resisted the temptation to rant at the newspaper steeled my heart to all the bombs blasts blunders. This was a year when I would hold your hand and tell you "I am sorry for your loss"but move on not allowing my thoughts to linger. Willing myself the world is a lost cause and I need to choose your battles

I also decided to do a Julie Julia project of my own

If we are what we eat what would it be like to cook one meal (or two) each day from the kitchen of someone I loved once and then kind of brain washed myself to lose (a former guru)

And trained the boy to be a fairly decent sous chef

But that is not how the world works

The world is sneaky

It creeps under the door even when you have bolted it shut

It will tap at the windows and force you to look up

And it will park itself across the road from you 

Read about Delhi and you will know

And something else happened last month

A young man trying to escape a burning building in Karachi hung from a window ledge for hours before plunging to his death while people just looked up and stared

Mohammad Hanif (as ever) wrote a beautiful op/ed about the anguish of living in times when people know only how to look up at the heavens hands outstretched and not have the initiative (or wits) to take matters in their own hand (or words to that effect) The incident happened next to a whole sale cloth market. No one ran away  to grab a carpet, or a bed sheet or a mattress and hold it up. For you know we would rather stare at the skies dumb founded.

And this is my dilemma 

I CANNOT now withdraw myself from the world you see

for damn it

That could be my kid on the ledge one day 

And I have to continue shaking up the world from its shoulders just enough so someone is out there to hold him when he falls

We are altruistic with just the right tadka of selfishness

And then for all the terrible terrible foolish things I did as a young woman 

for all the risks I took on and escape unscathed

And that today my class provides a rape suraksha kavach  , so I can afford to be oblivious not "aware", dressed for comfort not a character certificate, can forget to look at the watch forget my chaperon and mobile...

so when the arrows rained down, for rain down they will, they felled  someone who did everything right.

So I cant give myself permission to stay in

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This Saturday Arhaan had a Christmas party at school

and so thrilled was I to get a weekend reprieve and an extra three hours Child Free I must have been one of the first parents to drop him off

I was so early that most of the staff was yet to arrive (forget Santa) 

So as I was leaving his class room and looked back over my shoulder I could see the Bathroom Didis entering the building

And watched them touch the door step that leads into the bathroom  kiss their fingers then touch their heary their eyes  closed with great reverence

And dear Reader I was shaken to my core

I think of myself most days 

Though every day is a "working day" I am still programmed to paint my Monday a Monday Blue

I will squabble with my husband over "who works more"

I nod understandingly as friends bitch about their work place

All of our popular culture reference are about shitty work places

And here is someone who will spend her whole day actually cleaning up my kid's shitty bum

And she treats it like worship
Made you go Awww no?

My husband when I told him did shrug his shoulders and pacified me with a Yara For Them Their Work Sustains Them Ghar Chalta Hai

As if our salary slip doesnt?
It has been that kind of month
One quick punch in the guts after another

And then something else happened. The other morning when the boy and me had another run of "I Love You Baby I Love You Mama Oh Why Do You Love Me Baby" rather than his stock answer "But I love Baba?" or "I only love you in summers" he said he loved me "For All Your People You Bring Home And My Friends" And I decided to list friends some old some new who visited our home this year, shared a meal, spent a week. People  who I"bring  home  so they become a friend to the boy" for a Facebook post. Turned out the final number was 31. And I think of Nur Jehan tip toeing around the subject of her paramours and then once people suggest names and she hems and haws and the list grows and grow so she throws up her hands and says all exasperated Na Na Karde Vi 17 Hogaye
so I have been a very bad recluse too!

And as I leave on my annual Southern Hemisphere sojourn

And it will be next year we meet

Lets get Lata to work her magic

(though I have to still make up mind about her after all her eulogies for the dear departed Thakeray)

But there is no denying Lata and A R Rahman have been a balm for my sore soul

This is also lovely even though over here we have to ignore Danny Dengzopa's Amanullah Khan in the clip

Keep Calm

It is just sad that at times Keeping Kaam Se Kaam doesnt help

We have to meddle in

For you know otherwise the crazies win

Hazraat Ek Zaroori Eelaan

This is really neat.

Magazine name: Papercuts

Focus: New writing, emerging writers, South Asia

Deadline: December 5th, 2012

Theme: Prequel. (What happened before the main event? Background, origins, hidden past etc.)

Material being solicited: Poetry and prose. We are also looking for article writers to discuss ideas with and commission reportage pieces to.

Submission details: Guidelines can be found at www.desiwriterslounge.net/papercuts/submissions and entries must be sent to editor.papercuts@desiwriterslounge.net