Posts tagged ‘memories’

September 15, 2011

Why is there no Old Age Home for You Mother?

by Khanum

I have seen many people throwing their parents at the Old age Home. It seems like the Alzheimer part has been reversed. Instead of parents acquiring an age and forgetting flesh and blood not by will but by fate, their children are suffering from Deliberate Alzheimer and forgetting them for their personal good out of their own will.

On Eid day there was a news report on Geo TV on this issue. For them it may have been just a few minutes package to fill the time slot but the old and dying crippled mother waiting for her only son and daughter in law on that auspicious Day did not look like she could take it any longer. She said and I quote,

“….Where’s my son…? call my son…I’m scared..where’s my Akhter..” And her Akhter was no where in sight but having a blast at home with his new family.  I turned the tv off. And glanced at my own mother. A past reel began.

When I was about stuck between 8 and 7, the age where we are dragged by our feet to school functions, forced to perform ballads  in the name  of Performing arts. One fine morning the school maid came to our house. It was winters as far as I remember. I went to Blossom Public School then. Where I was to perform with a group of other kids a poem on the stage for which I needed a last minute rehearsal. It was cold and cruel to wake up  But I went with her anyway.

The rehearsals ended around 9 in the morning. I was annoyed by this time. No breakfast , no mama in sight. O Khudaya! Had she forgotten about me coming to school ? I felt terrified. Who were these people ? I did not want to stay there with them any longer. I would kick and yell and then the Teacher would soothe me down with her stare again. I would kick and yell again and she would hush me down yet once more.

This circus continued for eternity. I awaited my mother like a lover. She was nowhere in sight. I felt terrified.

Hours passed and then finally the show began. I was told to wait at the back stage for my turn. The day is quite clear in my memory. Because I was small and trying to look for my mother. I had fallen down from a bench where I stood at the back.  The kids laughed at this and this is where I really, really went hush. Few minutes pass, came my turn. I was soon carried up and placed on the stage in front of the audience. Have you ever felt a moment where you refuse to go on but have to anyhow? it was one of those times. I was a scared and forgotten cub….

That day has passed. I remember another similar incident.

It was a tough day on my grandmother. She did not feel well and was having trouble breathing. I watched her making efforts with her breath and was asked to recite Surah Yaseen by her bed.

It’s never easy…. To do this. I felt terrified again. I did not want to stay there any longer. My grandmother did listen to me reading while crying  but she did not remember this girl’s  face or any of us.

She was suffering from Alzheimer. I was suffering from fear of separation. I  was a scared and forgotten cub….again.

I would try to remind my nano again and again my name my relation with her , for a second she would smile like she remembers but then again she would forget. She was annoyed. She was terrified and she probably must  be thinking who are these people? I don’t want to stay here any longer…

It was devastating . I was the apple  of her eye and somehow it felt very hurtful that my grandmother has forgotten her only Pervisha ? That day I was forced to realize the cruelty of Alzheimer. And a fear penetrated my heart, what will happen if one day my own mother forgets my face? Can a child live if he is forgotten by his parents ? That too by a mother who was there at every step of his life? I was 7 again and I had two choices. To let her forget and be contended, or let her forget but remember the love we shared in my own memories again and again.

Sadly There are people who choose the former one. Like Akhter.

There is no Old Age home for my mother and there never will be one because that day my mother did come…she always had. I was in the middle of  twisting my arms here there on stage when my eyes fell upon her. I had made a homerun towards her like a crazy lover , ruining my performance and everything. And just when I was about to faint from fatigue of the day. She produced two slices of french toast in front of me like magic and hugged with all her heart.

I will hug you  the same Mama when you’re old.. scared and feeling like a forgotten cub..  That’s what the Prophets did. That’s what we as proper humans should do.

June 17, 2011

~ Golden Diary of my Arabian Days & Nights ~ Page 1

by Khanum

The story of it  goes somewhere deeper.

Red fine prayer rug, with golden gleaming borders. This is the first reflection that comes to my mind whenever and where ever I think about the journey I made in 2007.

It was the kingdom of Saudia Arabia. The land of the Arabs. With days as warm as the sun and the nights as soothing as the moon and silver. Where neither the earth is fertile, nor the sky is kind to pour down water. But prosperity and wealth still manages to grow stronger and stronger.

In such land of strange wonders and marvels, I lost my heart to a prayer rug.

A shop, the most beautiful and most cultured, and a brown complexion owner, the most unkind and totally opposite in comparison – somehow reserve a special place in my memories.

The background of the shop , the bazaar I walked for days and nights, not less than 5 times a day are also the same vivid collection in my remembrance but the next immediate sketch that my mind always draws with its memory.. is again always associated with that prayer rug.

Lament and compunction…

We had a villain standing between me and my lovely rug…My mother, the budget police and that seller: the unkind fellow as I have already mentioned.

Remorse was: I couldn’t buy that pretty rug that still shines in my head, seldom.

Didn’t I tell you people, the story of it goes somewhere way deeper?!

I felt tranquility in that moment. I heard the man say words I could not comprehend, but it didn’t matter. The rug was the lone centre of my attention. My eyes feasted over its magnificence, the hands felt its softness. It chanted to me words one could never listen. It made me smile and wonder like no other.

Such shop and such prayer mat are hard to encounter, so they are welcome to live in my memory as long as I be in this world.

I like to imagine I will go back one day. Free it from that seller’s possession. I picture my out-of-reach happy ending with it like that every so often.

Me…holding that prayer rug…praying upon it.

My Red fine prayer mat…with golden gleaming borders.

March 21, 2011

Fire Exit – University se bichar kar haqeeqat khuli Faraz, duniya bohat haseen hai magar University ke saath

by Khanum

“Are You Single?” …”Ah…I wish”.

“Are YOU married?”  “Yes…”

“Hey, are you engaged?” …”Uh – well its complicated. ”

….”And hey what about you? Any chances of making us happy?” ….

“well, No. Not yet. I like being single” 🙂

Hmmmm… “So who misses University days?”

And they all Hail in Union. “AH … I MISS IT ALOT!”

———————-

Who doesnt, han? 🙂 I mean, I know we wanted to get out of their like prisoners wish to escape hell, But friends, who knew we would miss that jail on the Jail road later on?  I know why- Because they were the best days of our lives.

Same old class mates, same old ways…same old questions, but now when you bump into them so randomly at your Facebook . you realize, Their way of looking at life is now entirely different.

To begin with – they take life more seriously now. or should I put it bluntly. Life has put them under serious radar. 🙂

2: The family drama is no longer avoidable. University is no longer there to provide emergency escape. You can’t tell your parents, “Oh well – i have this very urgent assignement you see. I have to finish it by midnight – so if you please can excuse me from this family counselling.”

Nor Can you emotional blackmail them. “That’s it. I’m quitting studies. See – you have totally ruined my concentration , now I can’t study with all of your marriage nonsense , Mother. puhleese”

3. Most importantly, You have simply no excuse or reason to enter yourself in STUDENT competitions. Which pisses me off very frequently now. its like all the organizations decided to hold competitions right at the time when I passed out from my university. Dammit.

You can’t hangout alot, You can’t bunk on your family issues, You can’t call yourself a Student, and worse you feel this constant force to earn good for the sake of — well, whatever the reasons maybe.

Its different story for everyone BUT  with the same result. We all wish to go back to university and relive those days.

I Think, my friend. It wouldn’t be wrong to say… University was our “Fire exit”. If so… Then what a mind-boggling  fire exit it was.

March 15, 2011

No Children of Heaven. Just a Graduate

by Khanum

The feeling is mutual. That’s what my friend said when I revealed to her my latest thoughts on ‘Post Grad Syndrome.’

Chirography, I would say,  is the mirror of our mind. Now please, Re-read the line for my sake. I said Chirography, not choreography.

You can easily read a person’s mental state by having a look at his handwriting. If the alphabets he writes down look wrecked –  Oh boy! He’s definitely not right mentally. A depression may define his state. And if the words look like flowers on the paper sheet. It’s a clear sign of his mental healthiness.

But what has it got to do with my shoe snap above?

Well, I have my own theory on identifying a Graduate with Post Grad Syndrome. It’s not by his hand writing that you find his depression – The story of his despair is found when You look at his Shoe.

If they are wrecked. Torn – faded – reminding you of some Iranian Movie ‘Children Of Heaven’ ,  — BINGO!!! You have just spotted a poor jobless  grad !

And in this case, me and my friend were the victims. It was just another job hunt day for us, and we were so full of high hopes and enthusiasm, even though we stomped on swollen foot and it was really like marching by the valley of despair but yet, we  hummed  the ever green ‘rock you’ tune in earnest , just to have a good background music.

So just like that, I looked down at my feet while walking. I knew something was wrong . My feet felt wet all of a sudden. I looked down – inspected my shoes and Berra ghark! My long time buddy shoes were now slightly torn because of the constant hectic walk. And because it had been raning earlier that day , I had been a victim of water leak in my shoe. Berra Ghark again!

Now if it had been some other day I would have expressed disgust over this – but that day – It seemed like I was a Graduate of Heaven.

‘Look at this’ I extended my left foot , ‘Its official now, we’re the children of Heaven. Majid Majidi should do a remake version of His movie, casting us.’ , I muttered to my friend Faiza, laughing all the way. She looked at me , then at my shoe and then back at me.’  L-O-L . ‘ was her expression.

We think, It was the best day of our job hunt adventure. As every time We both  look at this picture , We can’t help reminiscing. I’m a freelancer now, she’s a office woman. And Majid Majidi is still in Iran – oblivious of our remake version . 😛

So What’s yours  Post grad Syndrome memory?