Motherhood again

I read this experience of a father in a book. He was sitting with his sick boy in his lap, caressing him, when he saw a book lying near by. He took the book with his free hand and started reading it while still caressing the boy. After a few minutes, the boy opened his eyes and said, "Father, please don't read."

Kids always want our complete attention. I was sitting with my baby in my arms, planning to use the free hand on my laptop. I opened the lap top and she started growling. I started typing a mail and her growling became more frequent and louder. I took my hand away from the keys and then she stopped. I wonder how she understands what my hands are doing.

[caption id="attachment_486" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Hospital"][/caption]

The one month hospital stay was really an unforgettable one. So many babies with so many complications!  Mothers patiently waiting for the apple of their eye to recover and get growing. I saw a mom, S, staying at the hospital. She had a pre-term delivery and the baby, about 1.5 Kg, is in the NICU. Her hubby is abroad. She has a elder daughter, 3 years old, staying with her grandmum. S is staying in the hospital alone. Every two hours, she squeezes milk from her breast into a feeding bottle, goes to the NICU and feeds the baby. She puts a cotton piece inside the nipple of the bottle so that the milk comes out only in drops for the baby to drink. It takes some time to complete the feeding process. I saw her feeding the baby. I still feel my heart weeping when those thoughts come to me. Hospitals are really boring even if you are staying there for full body spa. Then how can a mum with her baby in the NICU stay there alone for one (or more?) month? That too with nobody to talk to, no one near her to console her. Her days would have been long, and nights longer.

There were other mothers too with such difficulties. Moms of babies born with heart diseases, babies whose respiratory and digestive systems are not functioning well, new born babies with major illness like jaundice, measles, flu etc. Babies who had some operations and then they got infected. May God cure all those babies and give them a healthy life. I don't have words to describe the feeling I had when I looked into the eyes of these mothers. Everyone eagerly waiting for their baby to get stronger. Standing in queue for their turn to feed the baby with the squeezed out breast-milk in their hand. Everyone in prayers for their kids. Are they enjoying motherhood? I was also one of them for a few hours.

 

*Terms And Conditions Apply.

Heard that phrase many times, many places. On soaps that makes your skin softer within weeks, on beauty creams which promises to make you fair within 3 days, on coupons which says you are going to win a Limo or something, on contracts for reality shows with million rupee prize money, on applications for mobile/phone/internet/cable connections, while installing software, etc etc. But usually, nobody is bothered about it. Whatever be the terms and conditions, we need the product. But sometimes, our carelessness might rob of our money and time. You can get the proof from the Gulf News column, Reader's Issues Solved. So many people who have not gone through the '*terms and conditions apply' phrase, later write into newspapers to get their problems solved. But even then, sometimes they have no success and they feel cheated.

I too had an issue regarding this phrase. When I was at home in India, I applied for a IDEA mobile connection. When I got the connection, I searched their site to look for a internet connection, and found out a suitable scheme for it. Rs 9/- per day for unlimited time and data transfer. I was so excited about it, that I never bothered about reading their '*terms and conditions'. I called them, and they sent me the settings for the scheme, which I installed in my mobile phone. I had recharged my phone with Rs 20/-, and the phone was used for browsing only. I never called anyone with the IDEA sim card. After two days, they had deducted Rs 18/- from my phone, as per the scheme. On the third day I was not able to browse using the phone. Ok. May be because I have no enough credit. But on the fourth day, when I checked my credit it was Rs -7. I was not ale to connect to the network, but still they have deducted the money! Is that fair? Either we should be ale to connect to the network and browse the web, or they should not deduct the money. Well, the problem doesn't end here. I recharged my phone with rupees seven hundred something on the next day. I browsed the web for three hours that day and then it got disconnected. I tried to reconnect it again and again, but in vain. When I checked the balance credit money on my phone, it was Rs 1/-. Where have the rest of my seven hundred gone? I called the customer care and talked to them. At first, they replied they will look into it. No reply from them for two days. By the third day, with my balance credit -17, I called them again. They asked me to call another number. I called that number. They told me that if my balance goes below zero, my scheme of Rs 9/- per day will be automatically changed into another scheme, with 2 paisa or something per kilo byte. Why didn't they tell me this at first? Isn't this cheating? I don't know if this term or condition is written on their site because I never went into their site again, for I never wanted to see the word IDEA.

So next time you get into anything like this, please go through the terms and conditions of that product.

Mummy Is The Best.

Two weeks ago, my friend in Dubai, asked me if I could take tuition for her son. And he studies in - would you believe it, KG 2. I was, hmm... what should I say, shocked, surprised. Tuition for a KG2 student? What will I teach him? Isn't school more than enough for a 4  year old child?

I talked it with my husband. He asked me to help her and go on with the tuition. He might have thought that a tuition would bring a change in my otherwise boring nothing-to-do life. And so I decided to go on with the tuition.

I called my friend, S, next day to tell her that I'm ready to help her son. We talked a lot.

"I cannot make him do his homework as I have my five month old daughter to look after. " She explained her helplessness. I thought of my mother.

My brother was five, when my mother delivered me. He never had any kind of tuition. But that was in India then, where we lived as an extended family with uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents. So taking care of the little ones was not a big issue. When I was one and a half years old, we moved to UAE. My mother gave birth to my younger brother when I was two, and then another brother when I was 5, and the youngest of us, the fifth, when I was 11. All these from UAE with no one to help her, and no one to help us. Dad did his best during these times, but he couldn't do much because he was a polio victim and has trouble in walking.

The part that still surprises me is that, none of us went to the KG classes of our school. Mom taught us at home the lessons, and we took the exam to get admission to first standard. I think we got a strong base in our education system, because of the procedure. Mom was able to take care of our education very well, because she had only one kid to teach at a time, contrary to the school method. She was our mother-cum-tuition teacher till our 5th standard. I wonder why parents with even one child sent their little kids to tuition, as if school was not enough for them!

My student, in KG 2 now, doesn't know the full English alphabets yet. S told me that he has missed his second and third terms of KG1 and first term of KG2, 'coz she was in India for her delivery. To make things worse, he learned the alphabets ( a totally foreign language for him as him mother tongue is Malayalam) in normal handwriting earlier, but now its in cursive they teach him. The boy is burdened with a lot of work. He has started hating English, for the cursive. While doing his homework, he 'draws' the alphabets instead of writing it. Does this come in the section of child labour?



Wasn't it best for the Mom to keep the kid at home and teach him the basics thoroughly, and then sent him to school? Isn't it best to miss a year now and get a strong base than to miss the whole education? I think it that way, but may be everybody won't. Parents hurry to get their first child to school, and they dream of the day he/she starts earning and taking care of them, while they can retire peacefully. But sometimes this dreams gets shattered because of their haste. I am not able to make S understand all these. I don't know how she will take my words. May be I could change some of your minds, if you are having a child of 3-4 of age, and you are sending him to a tuition class. So I thought I would write about it.

Through the Years With Ramadan.

The first years of Ramadan for me were spent in Fujairah, an east cost emirate of UAE. Fujairah is a peaceful place, unlike Dubai, with some farms, many villas and a peaceful and wide sea – the Gulf of Oman, reaching up to the costs of Cochin in Kerala. The thought of my homeland on the other side of the sea made me more attached to the sea than anything in Fujairah. I also loved it for its calmness, there were only few people at the beach, and so we had our own area in the beach.

There isn’t much to remember about the Ramadan in Fujairah. Ramadan came during the school days, and we were not allowed to take food to school on those days. One thing I remember about those days were lying that I was fasting. Also, our parents encouraged us to take half day fasts only. So it was two half day fasts into full day. And when somebody asked me about the number of days we had fasted, we would say four and a half or five and half and so on. I would compete with the number of days we had fasted with my younger brother, who is two years younger to me. The most difficult thing for us then and now is the shuhoor, or the late night dinner which you have in the middle of the sleep. I remember my brother getting for the shuhoor, and then the next day he will be saying, “I don’t remember anything I ate for the shuhoor.” On day he said, “I saw only the white walls when I got up for the dinner.” Hehehe. The thing that fascinated me more was the plates full of fruits and snacks at iftaar.

We were shifted to India, when I was in seventh grade, to an Islamic residential school. During the first two years, the school closed during the Ramadan. That was the time of mischief for us, me, my brother and our cousins. We had nothing particular to do in the mornings of Ramadan and so we all get out of the house into the near by farms. We would steal mangoes, gooseberries and guavas from the farms and hide it under our dresses till night. Sometimes, we will also go to the near by shops and buy some locally made toffees, with the money grandpa would give us. At night, when the elders have gone to sleep, we would get up and share the pieces of mangoes and other things between us. For this, we would all sleep in the same room, or near by rooms. We used to take all the 29 or 30 days of fast.

During the last days of Ramadan, grandpa would give us money to buy bangles and hair clips for eid. The boys would buy fire-works or toys like guns and cars. We would also buy some sweets. Grandpa loved us so much that he won’t allow us to take fast till the dusk. According to him, children need fast only till the noon. For him, I was a child even when I was at college! He used to scold grandma for making us fast till the dusk, even when I was in my late teens. According to him, we were still his kids. He passed away some three years back, or we would have been his kids even now! May Allah shower his forgiveness and peace upon him, make his abode wider and gather us in his paradise. Ameen.

From my ninth grade onwards, our school started working for Ramadan. That bought a change in me. We had schools only till noon, unlike normal days when we had schools till the evening. After school we, me and my friends, would sit to recite some Qur’an and we had Islamic classes in the mosque. I was getting into the real Ramadan, with all its life in me. The saddest day and the most memorable day of my life in Ansar, my school, was the day when my friend’s mother gave birth to twins, and they died with in an hour. Friendship in Ansar was something that I have not known before or after, it was a very special bond. My friend’s tears seemed to be my own, and it was the same for everybody. We all wept a lot that day. The Ramadan was also special in a way that we had great and good seniors to guide us, who were very loving. And yeah, I remember the day when one of my roommates’ father died. I came to know of the event before her from my teacher. My teacher asked me not to tell her about it until somebody came from her home. She was good at singing, and used to sing a song which meant something like this:

Why is my father, who gets up for fajr everyday, sleeping under this white blanket today….

Why didn’t my father call me today in the morning, to pray the fajr with him…..

Why isn’t my father talking to me, what I have done to make him angry with me….

Those words of the song still echo in my ears, and that was the last Ramadan she sang that song. During the last year of my school life, we celebrated the last Eid with our friends in hostel, one of my best Eids!

After school, I went to an Engineering college. Thanks for the Muslims friends I got at college, or Ramadan would have been a difficult time for me. There were some 20+ Muslim students in out hostel, and some really nice boys in our college. A lady in the town promised to cook iftaar and shuhoor for us, and the boys would deliver it on time. That was how we spent our first year at college. During the second year, we changed our hostel to another one, owned by a Muslim management. Fasting was made easier for us since w had iftaar and shuhoor cooked for us by the hostel cooks. We had tharaweeh prayer in jama’ath and we celebrated the Eid with our friends, while usually we did it with our family. Ramadan lost its life when at college, since we had a busy schedule of exams, practical works and records while at college. And yeah, we were in our late teens, which meant years with boiling blood in our veins. We used to fight with our wardens, cooks and management for every silly problem that came across our way. Even though we had jama’ath prayers at hostel, we would never take part in it because we hated our warden so much. Forgive us, Allah. It was bread when we wanted bun. S we would go to the warden and shout at her. It was fish when we wanted chicken. We would sit there without eating anything, and the whole fish would be wasted.

But we soon realized our mistakes, when our college lost its recognition and we were transferred to another college. That was the last year of our college life. We decided to take a rented house, as we were all tired of our hostel life. It was one week before Ramadan that we got the house. We had no cooking utensils with us, and so we were not able to cook anything. We decided to seek help from a hotel near by, and Alhamdulillah, they agreed. They delivered the food for iftaar and dinner. It was tough, taking the food from hotel everyday. We started to regret for the problems we made in the hostel, when they would provide us with food. Here we had no choice of bread or bun, and chicken or fish. Just eat what we got. May be it was a punishment we got for making mischief at the hostel and a way Allah chose to teach us to be thankful to the food we got. That was the most difficult Ramadan we had so far, and a memorable one too. We had seminars at college, which extended till seven or eight, and magrib would be at six. We would keep apart the snacks we got at seminar, and use that to break our fast. We would be so tired, with the long busy day at college, and sometimes seminars would turn to sleeping time. It will be somewhat eight or nine, when we reach home, to the food from the hotel. The food would taste better by that time. We missed home so much those days.

After college, I was married. Ramadan was easier then, at home, with so much of spare time to do the ibaadaths. Ramadan became lively once more, after the school days. Food was also not a problem, when at home. The next year, I came to Dubai with hubby, and there was my co-sister’s mom to help during the first Ramadan at Dubai. I find the heat a bit of problem in Dubai, but I think I can stand it. And this Ramadan is my first Ramadan alone, with me doing all the cooking myself. I sit here, now and think of the days of Ramadan, every Ramadan special to me, in its own way. Some Ramadan bought so much of time and rest to me, so that I can pray and make a lot of ibaadaths. But during some Ramadans, I had to fight to keep up with the feelings of Ramadan. I believe it’s all over now, and Ramadan would be the same for me from now onwards, with no friends, brothers and cousins to make the days active. The life as an adult is really boring, na?

Heat, Fast and Me.

So i have left out two days of Ramadan. I feel very sad, not being able to fast, but what can I do when the doctor says a 'NO'? Its the urinary infection again, that made me leave two of my days in Ramadan. Seems I cannot take in the heat and the Fast together. Doc has asked me to take 1 or 2 glasses of Pocari Sweat every hour ( that leaves no place for food which mean I have to fast on Pocari Sweat!!), along with some medicines to be taken thrice daily. This happened last year also. But that time I left only 1 day of Ramadan. Heat has been my enemy since my childhood. I used to get all sorts of heat sickness during the summer. But once in India, I had no problem at all. Thanks to the moderate climate of India. And now again in the burning Dubai, all the heat diseases that left me years ago have come back, stronger, I think. So what do I do? :-(

Orderly Disordered

At school, college and now at my home, people come to my room and wonder, "How neatly you have arranged the room!" I used to take pride in these exclamations, until I found out the disadvantages of it. At college, in our boarding, there were three of us in a room. We had our own shelves, beds and racks. As I said, I always kept my rack neat and tidy. There were separate columns for text books, note books, files and other paraphernalia. I kept my dresses on the racks, with separate columns for civil dresses and college/school uniforms/dresses. I prided myself in the "Oh! How neat!" exclamations of my colleagues.
My room mate, Seena was just the opposite. Her books used to be on her bed, below her cot and in her dress rack. Her dress rack was one whole pile of everything, uniforms, civil dresses, socks and towels! Sometimes her files turned open with papers from it flying around our room. Now I feel the fun of running behind the papers, while I used to feel very angry with her at those times. I used to ask her to keep things neat, but she never bothered to do so. I sometimes tidied her shelves myself, but it was of no use. Within two days, the shelf will be looking like a place after a storm. Even with this difference between us, we were good friends, and went along very well, although I used to complain to her of her disorderliness.
But one morning all my pride in my neatness dried up. The story goes like this:
We were asked to submit our semester's bus fee bill, to get the free bus identity cards for us. Students with the identity card could use the bus service provided by the college. As soon as the notice was read in our class, Seena started panicking. She doesn't remember where she has kept her bus fee bill. I scolded her for being so careless about the bill, and internally prided myself in keeping all the bills in one of the files. That night I found Seena busy searching her bill. I went to my book shelf, opened the file of bills and started looking for my bill. To my surprise, the bill I was looking for was not in the file! I didn't know what to do or where to search, for I never kept my things out of place. But still, I searched my bags, my purse and everything I could. It was nowhere to be found. By this time, Seena has dug out her bill form her dress rack and came up with that to me. I told her about my missing bill, and she helped in searching it, but without success. I had to pay Rupees 25 for a duplicate of the bill the next day, to get my bus permit.
After this incident, I started observing Seena more. When someone came to her for her books, she would reply, "It will be on my book shelf, you can take it."
The person won't find her book there, and will say so to her. Seena will think for a while, and then answer, "Ok, can you please look in my dress rack, under the blue file near the white CD?"
The person will find it there.
But in my case, if someone asked me my text book, and if it was not on the bookshelf column of text books, then that meant trouble to me. I had no other places to look for, even if I must have misplaced it somewhere. And I hated searching for anything, because searching meant throwing all the articles out of their place!

So what is better: to be neat and tidy and ordered or to be orderly disordered?

People Who Never Learn.

It was my friend, working in the HR department of XYZ company, who related this incident to me.

One fine morning, she saw a tall and blonde women waliking towards her. She seemed to be in her late twenties. The women upon reaching her, asked, "Good Morning, Madam. Can I get an appointment with the HR of this company now?"
My friend, Nancy, replied, "Good Morning, and I'm from the HR department of the company."
"Oh, thats good. I'm Augusta Denwarks, working in ABC company for the past three years. I've wanted to leave them since last year, but they are not going to give me a leave."
"So why don't you work with them?" Asked Nancy.
"Because I want to work in this company. You see, I speak English very well as I am an American with a scotish mother. I'm beautiful, tall and intelligent. I can .......blah, blah, blah...." The lady went on speaking.
"Fine", interrupted Nancy, "Give me your resume so that I can forward it to the HR Manager."
The women started searching her heavy ladies bag. After a few minutes, she dug up a visiting card, and handed it to Nancy.
"Thats my visiting card," said Augusta to a stunned Nancy, "You can call me in that number for appointing an interview."
"But we need a CV from you, to give you an interview." Nancy tried to make her understand.
"You need a CV?" asked Augusta. "No problem." She started searching her bag again. After some two or three whole minutes, she came up with a pen.
"Give me my visiting card."
Nancy returned her her visiting card. She scribbled something on it, and gave it back to Nancy.
"Now that's my site address. You can download my CV from it."
Nancy felt herself fuming. She wants the interview, and I should download her CV for her, Nancy thought. But she had to be polite with customers.
"But madam, we want a CV with your photo in it." Nancy explained to her. She saw the faces of her co-workers turning towards her.
"You need a photo? Please wait." Augusta searched her bag once more. This time it was a CD.
"Please take a print of my photo from this. There are five of them, you can print whichever photo you find suitable."
Nancy had no more politeness in her towards this weird job seeker.
"I want a printed or emailed version of your CV, Ma'am. And it must be in the MS Word format." Nancy found her voice raising beyond the limits. Her colleagues where curiously watching her to see how she managed the situation.
"Ah! Have you got an email id? Please give it to me so that I can forward my CV to you."
"Its nancy dot 1982 at the name of this company dot com."
"Ok, what's the name of this company?"
"You don't know the name of this company?" Nancy was more than stunned. She noticed her surprise on the faces of her co-workers too.
"Sorry Madam. No." A geek reply.
"Its XYZ, madam." Nancy replied.
"Thank you, Madam. I ill forward you my CV within two days." Augusta replied.
"You are most welcome, Madam. Have a good day." Nancy smiled, happy to see off this person.
The entire HR department roared into a loud laughter as soon as Augusta closed the door behind her.

I remember my earlier post about the interviews I had, and how westerners are good in their behavior. But when Nancy described this incident to me, I felt there are some westerners who haven't yet learned the way to behave. And yeah, Some People Never Learn.

The Interviews.

I had the luck to attend some interviews these days, as I'm searching for a job. The first interviewer was an Indian, and this is how the interview went.

INT1 (interviewer) : Explain yourself. ( My resume lies on his desk).
me : I'm Najeeba, doing my alphabets now, and I've reached the "M"th alphabet in caps and small letters.
INT1 : Ok, can you spell 'cot'?
me : No, sir. I haven't learned "T".
INT1 : Ok, Then can you remember a word starting with "P"?
me : No sir, I have learned only upto "M".
INT1 : I see. Then give me a sentence with the words you have learned.
me : (OOOppppsss...... What do I do now???? Think for sometime, and then write : He liked me.)
INT1 :Fine. Thank you for coming. We will contact you later.
me : Thank you sir. (Happy to be out of that place!!)
I wait for two weeks without any reply from them, and then finally conclude they have selected someone else.


The second one was with a westerner. Let's look at that one.
INT2 :Good morning, Mrs Najeeba.
me :Good morning, Sir.
INT2 :I see from your resume here that you have learned upto the "M"th alphabet. Well done, Mrs Najeeba.
me :Thank you sir, and I'm trying hard to finish with the rest of the letters.
INT2 :Good. Now can you spell me 'Mall'?
me :Yes, sir. M-A-L-L.
INT2 :You are right. Do you have any idea about the letters after the "M"?
me : I know capital "N", "O" and "P".
INT2 :Its ok. Best of luck for the rest of your letters.
me ;Thank you, sir.
INT2 :Thats all Mrs Najeeba. We will contact you in a few days. Thank you for coming here, and lending your precious time for the company.
me :You are welcome, sir. And thank you for the interview.

With in two days, I get a reply from them thanking me for coming to the interview, and sadly saying that they have selected another guy for the post. They have also wished me best of luck for my future job search.

See the difference? We Indians still lack some of the manners to be shown to our elders, youngers, superiors and inferiors. "Thank you" and "Sorry" are seldom heard among Indians, and some find it very irritating to speak out such words of thought. Shouldn't we change?

What is Sweet About Your Laptop?

Some months ago, I read a post in Nishana's blog, describing the problems of foreign products in India. She complains about how her USA made iPod and mobile phone got disrupted due to the high temperature of Hyderabad. Its better we use home-made products for long durability ( a little patriotism is good for everyone).

I went to my hometown, Kerala, for two weeks last month. I had my laptop with me, but it was of not much use since I was busy with so many functions to attend, and so little time, that I become very tired by the time i reach home. I kept the laptop in my shelf, and I couldn't even touch it for so many days. It was the marriage of my cousins- two of them. After the marriages and the receptions, it was almost some 10 days when I finally got enough time to have a look at my laptop. I love my laptop very much, and I have got a special attachment towards it. I have asked a laptop as the mahar ( the gift given by the bridegrrom to the bride in Islam), but as such things were not common in Kerala, and as we were sure that the old generations of our family will never allow anything other than gold, both of us have put it aside. Now, when my husband bought me a laptop after our marriage, it was my first costly gift from him. I took it from my shelf, laid it on my bed and opened it. GOD!!! I was shocked!! A whole lot of ants crawling on my laptop! I felt like crying, shouting.

"GET AWAY YOU DAMN THINGS!!!"

I didn't know what to do at first, I tried blowing them away, killing them, rubbing the laptop with my fingers - but it didn't work. There was a lot of them. I called my husband, cried and explained the situation. He asked me to keep the laptop in the sun. I did it, but then again, I was afraid - what if my something in my laptop got melted with the heat? My father in law came with another idea, to keep a cup of sugar near the laptop. The ants would come to the sugar cup. I did as he told, but it seemed ants liked my laptop better than sugar. Only one or two ants came to the sugar cup.

All day long, I sat and killed the two or three ants that came out of my laptop - from under the keyboard, under the screen, and all other holes. I was relived only when there were no more ants coming out of the laptop.What is there that is so sweet inside the laptop? Do anyone of you know?

Stealing from the Beggar's Pan

I was reading a magazine when I found this article written by a social worker in Kerala. She was describing one of her train journeys with her fellow colleagues - a group of teachers, some years back. When the train stopped in a station, they all ordered for a cup of coffee. According to me, the railways provide one of the best coffees in India. At that time, when the now social worker was working as a teacher, the railways have not introduced the disposable paper cups, like they do it now-a-days. Coffee and tea was served in steel glasses, which were washed and then reused. The boy serving the coffee, gave the social worker and her colleagues their cups of coffee, and then went to the next compartment. After he has served in his three or four compartments, he came back to collect the cup and the money. But when he reached the compartment where the author and her colleagues where sitting, six of the cups where no where to be seen. After drinking the coffee, they kept the cups together on the window, so that the boy could collect it easily. But it was not there now. They station master blew the whistle, and the train shrieked into motion, slowly gaining speed. They searched franticly for the cups, but in vain. The author describes the situation in her own words.
"I still remember the face of the boy, running with the train, holding the window-bar. He ran with the train till he could run no more, until his little feet could not take him along with the speed of the train."
The cups are provided by the railway, and losing six cups from his collection meant getting not paid for two or three weeks for the coffee boy. That might result in starvation for those weeks for the boy, his parents if he have got any, his siblings if he have got them, and all those who depend on him.
After the train have left the station, a teacher opened her bag and displayed the six cups.
"I took them so that we can have our own glasses at the school to drink tea." She explained.
"Good work, yaar!" Exclaimed all others. "Well done!" said another teacher from behind. Everyone went on congratulating her for her 'great good deed'. Nobody thought of the family that will starve for the coming days for letting them have their own cups for the tea the school provided.
I finished reading the article, of which this incident was only a small part. Another picture (or video?) came to my mind. It happened some six years ago, when I was at college.
I was coming back from college to my home for a short vacation, and I was traveling by bus. Two lady polices got into the bus, and sat behind me. As soon as they got into their seat, they started talking, about their salaries, their jobs, lockups, prisons, politics, religion and everything under the sun. The breeze that hit my face when the bus sped through the country, made me sleep within minutes. I woke up an hour or two later, when the bus has stopped in a small town. I heard the shouts of little boys, selling juices, water, newspapers and nuts. It was their shout that woke me up.
I looked outside to find a little boy waving a small packet of nut at me. He was not more than thirteen or fourteen, with torn shirt and dirty pants. He was bare foot, and his face was full of dust and dirt. His eyes spoke of the hardships in his life, and they were begging me to buy a packet of nuts.
"How much?" I asked. I don't like those nuts much, but his face was so innocent and sad, that made me buy it.
"Two rupees." He replied. He could not reach my window, he was so small, and so he leaned on his thumbs. I gave him the money and took the packet. He moved on to the police women behind me.
"Ma'am, packet of nuts, ma'am."
"How much?" came the question from one of them.
"Only two rupees, ma'am." His sounded like pleading them to buy.
"Two rupees is too much." I heard one of them reply. "Can you make it three rupees for two packets?"
Bargaining for two rupees!
"No ma'am," replied the boy. " I have to give the money to my master. He won't give me my salary if I don't give him the full money."
That was an innocent answer.
"Ok, then give us two packets of nuts." One of them said.
I saw the boy leaning on his thumbs again, to give them their packets. I heard the clinging of the coins when they put it in the boys hand. The bus took off.
"Two rupees is too much for this packet of nuts." I heard one of them saying to the next one.
"Oh, I haven't given him four rupees for the packest!" The other one said.
"What? Didn't you give him the money?" I heard the first person ask in surprise.
"Oh, no!" I heard the second one. " I gave him four coins of fifty paise. Only two rupees. The bus took off before he could count the money!"
"How cunning!" I heard both of them laugh at their cleverness.

The Sparrows

Summer is giggling at us, with all her teeth out at 50+ degrees. She claps her hand when she sees people rushing to their homes and into the coolness of a/cs. Its difficult to get out for a walk even at night. I wonder how the people at construction sites are going through the day with the hot sun on their back. When sitting in my room, I can see the workers sweating under the severity of the hot sun. Birds are flying in search of a window or a/c hole, to take rest and hide from the sun. A myna came and sat on my rope on which I put my clothes to dry. I got up to shoo it away, but on second though I decided to let it stay there to secure itself from the sun.
I thought of the days at school. When while coming from school one day, a sparrow fell infront of us. It was small and cute, but very tired. I and my brother Nasweef took it in our hands to our home. Umma ( mom) gave it some water. It opened its eyes slowly and looked at us. It didn't try to fly away. Just sat in our hands. Umma broke a small branch from the tree outside our home, and the sparrow perched on it. We took some snaps, and when evening came, Umma took out the branch along with the sparrow. We asked Umma to keep the sparrow indoor, so that we can make a pet of her. But Umma asked us how we would feel if we are taken away from our family by some strangers. At last, we decided to give her freedom. She looked at us thankfully, opened her wings and flew away. The foto show Nasweef with the sparrow.
There was another incident when a parakeet came to our home. It was 10.30 at night and we were cleaning the table after dinner, while my younger brothers have gone to bed. Suddenly, there was a knock on the kitchen window. We got frightened at first, and called Umma. Umma came and opened the window, to see a parakeet trying to get inside. Nasweef got out with a torch. But when he tried to catch it, the parakeet bit his fingers. But it was not able to fly. At last, with some effort and a piece of cloth, Nasweef caught it and bought it home. Umma gave it some water and the leftovers we had after dinner, and we went to sleep. Next morning, we got up early to find the parakeet still in our kitchen. We had a thorough look at her, to see that her wings had some cut. She was a green Indian ring necked parakeet, with red beaks, rose ring around her neck, red eyes and a long tail. We brought her some fruits from the garden and a cage from our neighbor. We put some grains also in the age, as we didn't know what she ate. Someone told us that parakeets eats leafs of a certain plant, so we went in search of leaves in the near by bushes. It was a busy day, running to find out what parakeets eat! But it seemed she didn't like anything we gave her, and she was not able to fly to search her food by herself. Something happened next day. My younger brother, not more than three years old, got angry with Umma for something, and threw his milk over the parakeet. The parakeet, already dying with hunger, now fell down in the cage. There are no veterinarians near by to take her to the doc. We tried to dry her up with a cotton cloth, but she breathed her last after some hours. We all became very sad and even my younger brother became sad. He cried a lot. He loved animal and animals loved him. I remember the goats at my uncle's home, they jumped when they saw him or heard his sound. They ran behind him, tickled him and played with him. And when Uncle sold them, he cried so loudly that the man who bought them asked uncle to give one to Nadeem, my brother. The goat was also very reluctant to go with the man. It came backward to Nadeem several times before finally going away with its new owner. Does animals have a loving heart, bigger than humans?
We also had a pigeon come to our one day. It didn't come, actually. We were playing outside when we saw a group of boys throwing stones at a pigeon. We called Umma. She came and got rid of the boys and took the pigeon, who was very weak, home. We fed it and gave water to it. The pigeon stayed with us for a week, and then when she was able to fly, she flew away to her destination.
There were many other birds too, who flew into our home in search of shelter, food or water. I don't know some of their names. We had a huge tree infront of our home, and so there were many birds on it. Some nests and some small eggs. A small bird, once, made her nest in the hole in out roof. She laid two cute little eggs. We became so friendly that we would pat her head when we pass by that place. She would put her beak on our hand, as if kissing it. She wasn't afraid of us. But one day, when there was a big storm at night, her cage fell down along with the eggs - and the eggs broke. She never came there again.

Who do you want your child to be?

I didn't recognize this thin, pale woman when she said 'Salam' to me. I answered her 'salam', but still I didn't get her. I gave her a questioning look.
"Hey! I'm your friend at school!" she said.
Friend? But I don't remember this girl. She was not a girl, looked some 30 years! How can she be my friend at school? I looked at the two kids staying close behind her and the kid in her hand.
"You must have mistaken." I said.
She looked at my face.
"Are you not Najeeba?" Sha asked.
I was surprised. She knows my name. But I didn't recognize her. 'Oh! God, please help me get this women!' I prayed but without success.
"I'm Seena, your classmate at higher secondary." She introduced herself.
"Oh, My God!" I shouted. "What a pleasant surprise!" I could not believe it. "You hav echanged a lot." I told her.
"You haven't changed a bit!" She responded. I know I haven't changed a lot after school days. Everyone tells me that.
"These are my kids, she is 4 years old, her younger one is 2 years old and the baby boy is six months." She introduced all of them.
"That's great! So many kids around you! Hope you have a busy and happy time with them." I said. "And your hubby?" I enquired.
"He went to that shop to buy milk for the kids." She pointed out a shop.
"My hubby has gone to his office. So I thought I would buy the vegetables today." I said. "We live in the next flat. Would you like to come for a coffee?" I asked her.
But I think she was busy, because she declined my offer. We exchanged our numbers and said goodbye. I felt very sad when I saw her get into her car and go with her hubby.
She was my friend in our higher secondary school, a two year course after the high school. We were in the same room for that two years, with another 20 to 25 of us, I don't exactly remember the number ( but I remember all of them - in the order of their bed. Too lazy to count now), and so almost all of us were like sisters - so close to each other. The years at school were the happiest years of my life, with so many friends always around you. The daily comers usually fight with their parents asking for permission to stay at their friend's home, but we were lucky to get friends all time. At that stage of your life, you rely on friends more than your parents for everything except money.
But how much she has changed! She was an enthusiastic, fair and well build girl when we were at school. A person who was careful about her looks. She used to jog and take exercise in t he morning to keep herself fit, when most of us took the granted time for a one hour sleep until the bell for the study time rings. She was sweet in her nature and beautiful in her looks. She had nice soft and silky long black hair. I remember her combing her hair carefully without breaking any hair, which took almost half an hour, while I took only less than five minutes to do with my hair! Now her hair looked like a thin coir piece! I wondered, how much does time change the life of a person?
She had good skill in writing. I sometimes envied her at her skills in writing. During school festivals, I used to get prizes in versification, essay writings and story writings in both English and Malayalam until she arrived. From then on, it was her chance to win the prices, and I had to satisfy with the second or third prizes. But we were very good friends, and had lot of similarities. She was also a quite girl like me, with little sound for the world to record. Both of us liked writing, drawing and making handicrafts. We used to create our own cards and presents together for our roommates and friends for their birthdays. We were well known among our friends for that. That was a beautiful life for both of us, or so I thought.
It was the inter-school essay writing competition that changed her life. The competition was held in a far school, which took us a whole day's journey to reach there. We missed 3 to 4 days of our class at school. But who minds that? As usual, she got the first prize for the competition. We were so happy and were shouting and enjoying ourselves on our return journey. But when we reached school we found her father waiting for her.
"Where were you?" shouted her father. I understood Seena was going to have a bad day.
"T-o the c-o-mp-eti-tion..." she stammered.
"Who let you go there?" Shouted back her father.
Seena stood silent.
Her silence made him more angry. He hit her hard, and our teachers came for her rescue. Her father started shouting at them.
"I haven't sent my girl to this school to take her to silly competitions. I am spending money on her to make her a doctor so that she can return the money back to me." He was shivering with anger when he was saying those words.
"Damn you all. Sending her around and missing her classes!" He did not stop shouting.
We were all dumbstruck. The whole kids of the school were watching us.
That night I was sitting near Seena, who was crying. Her trophy lay on the floor beside her bed. She looked at me.
"Najeeba, is it that every Papa's are like this?" She asked in between her weeps.
What do I reply? My Papa is not like that. But will that answer make her happy? No way. I don't know any other Papa's who acts like her father. But she didn't wait for my answer.
"Najeeba, I wanted to be a writer. Not a doctor." she said.
"You can be a doctor cum writer, Seena." I replied. "There are many doctors who are writers. Haven't we read the novel MindBend, its author is a doctor."
"But Najeeba," she said, "I wanted to be a full time writer. A journalist."
I sat silent. What to say?
"I wanted to be journalist from the first day at my school, when my teachers clapped after I told a story to them...." she trailed off.
"... I wanted to be a journalist when I bagged the first prize at the All-India junior essay writing competition held at Delhi when I was in my fifth grade."
She sat silent , immersed in the thoughts of those days. I felt sleepy, and so went to my bed.
Days, weeks and months flew. Before we knew, our exams approached and we became busy with the records, practicals, labs and also the exam. With the exams, our school life was also put to an end. We were departed to a whole new world of college, with new faces, new experiences and new friends. I tried to keep in touch with her for a long time. I came to know she got admission in a medical college through her letters, and then her letters stopped. I wrote to her a number of times, but without replies. I tried to call her, and get in touch, but were always unsuccessful.
After my college, I got married. I tried to find her and get in touch to invite her for my marriage, but it seemed she had disappeared from the world.
A friend of ours who came for my marriage, said the remaining part of story I haven't heard.
"She got married some years ago." My friend said. "She was so upset in not being able to make her loved career. Her depression took away her studies, and she started taking medicines. She discontinued from her studies, and got married."
"Her father...?" I asked. "He wanted to make her a doctor, isn't it?"
"Yeah,"said my friend, "he is angry with her for not becoming a doctor that he won't call her or talk to her."
I cursed him for doing that.

Now it was that girl who have just walked away from me, downtrodden, with no hopes in life. My friend. A good writer. The society would have got another well-known writer if her father had an understanding heart, and less greed for money. But who cares? Isn't this also a part of child labor? Don't people realize that their children are not them, but a different individual with their own likes and dislikes? Why do they push their children to extremes to make them fall off the cliff?

The Accident

We were having coffee from our balcony in Dubai, when Jasmin asked me a question.
"Najeeba, have you ever had any experience, or anything in your life, that you were never able to explain?"
"Not able to explain?" I did not understand what she was asking.
"Yeah, never able to explain. Some mysteries or something like that." She explained that.
I love mysteries. But so far, my life has been just like a plain sand you see on the beach. I would like to be an ocean of mysteries. But not even the drop of water on me.
"No." I said. "Did Jasmin have any such experience?" I asked.
"Yup."
"Can you tell that story to me?" I begged her.
"Sure." She assured me.
I sat a little closer to her, with the coffee and snacks on my lap, to hear her story.
"We were traveling from Abudhabi to Dubai. Myself, hubby, Arif and our 1 year old son Amal. Arif was driving. I was 4 months pregnant with my now 2 year old daughter Ameena. I was sitting in the back seat of the car, with my son sleeping on the seat. I asked Arif to change the A/C ventilator to my side, and he turned to change it. Suddenly, he lost control of our car, and the car went to the left side. He turned the wheel to the right side, and the car went turning to the right side, into the ditch below. It must have rolled for several times, I got unconscious before it stopped. When I regained my consciousness, they were pulling me through the window of the car, which was upside down. After I got out, I searched for my son, but he was no where to be seen. I started shouting when Arif came near me. He hugged me tight, but I did not stop crying. I wanted to see my baby. A Pakistani truck driver stopped near us, to help us. He pulled the car door open, to look for my baby. But the baby was not seen inside the car!
I started looking the surrounding places, when at a distance I saw a piece of dress flying with the wind. I jumped and ran there. MashaAllah, he was sleeping peacefully there, with no injuries. Only the thorn of the desert plant has pierced in his dress. I hugged and kissed him and held him tight. I thanked Allah, for keeping my child safe. I don't know how he reached there, several meters away from the car, without any injuries." She paused, "That was the first mystery on that accident day."
"Wonderful. I said. "May be he was thrown out of the car into the sand." I tried for an explanation.
"Yeah, but it was hot sand at noon, but he didn't feel it. And how can he still go on sleeping when he was thrown some 10 meters away?" Jasmine asked me.
I found no solution for the problem.
"Well, what was the second mystery?" I asked, as she said that was the first.
"I will tell you. After I got Amal, I looked at my injuries. Arif had only a small cut on his nose, but I had a long cut on my arm. The broken window glass has cut my left arm when they pulled me through the window. The pakistani driver took us to the near by clinic. The doc there stitched my cut, and plastered Arif's bleeding nose. We left the clinic by dusk on that day." She stopped.
"So, what is mysterious about it?" I asked.
"Nothing mysterious about that," she answered. " The mystery is coming," continued Jasmine, "Last week, when I was bathing, I found something sharp on my left arm while I was applying soap. I tried to pull it out, but nothing happened, except a severe pain there. That evening when I looked in the mirror I found a piece of glass protruding on my arm. I pulled it again, but it didn't come out and I felt pain. Next day morning, while changing the dress, a glass piece, about 1 inch long, fell from my left arm. No blood or anything came from the hole that now appeared where the glass piece fell." She stopped.
I was so amazed to speak.
She went on.
"The same thing happened to me day before yesterday. The glass piece, now half an inch long, fell off today morning!"

Does being busy makes you busier?

I woke up at the ringing of the alarm yesterday. Usually I don't keep an alarm, for I wake up at 5:30 everyday, all my life. But I had a lot of things to do yesterday, and so I kept the alarm for 4:30. In dubai, during summer, at 4:30, the sun will be out, and by 5:30, it will be shining brightly on you. And in winter, it will be dark even at 7. I felt like turning over and pulling the blanket over my head when the alarm went at 4:30, but the busy schedule of the day kept me
awake. I don't jump out of bed when I wake up, even if I'm late. I will just lay in bed and go over the activities I have to do that day, and set the time for each activity. It will take five minutes. I then get up and go according to the schedule ( although in most cases it won't go according to the schedule!! ;) ). Friday was a weekend day, and so hubby and his brother will be at home. Hmmm... so cooking breakfast will take around 1 hour. Cutting onions - 5 minutes, cutting ginger, garlic, tomato, chillies and potatoes - 5 minutes, sauting all of these - 10 minutes and by that time I can make a dough for the chappathi, ... goes my schedule. I said it was a busy day, 'coz we were having some guests. I had to make my house tidy, cook lunch for the guest and the usual daily chores - washing, bathing, looking after my hubby's niece for some time when my co-sister takes her bath, and a lot more jobs. But according to the time schedule, I still had one hour left before the guests arrived. Weekend days are the most busy days for me.

All these thoughts crossed my mind while I was still in bed.
I got up and went to the kitchen to start the job. At 6 o'clock, I've finished preparing the breakfast. Hmmm..., half an hour late. I asked my mother-in-law about the dishes we should prepare for lunch. There was prawns and mutton in the fridge, and so we decided to prepare prawn roast, mutton curry and ghee rice ( all are Indian dishes). There were a lot of plates and other vessels in the basin, and I had to wash them all. The bottle of dish washer liquid was empty and so I took the big bottle to refill the small bottle. We were using the lemon flavored liquid, and so it was yellow in color. I kept the big bottle on the kitchen table, as I had no time to keep it in the shelf. After completing the washing, I started preparing the lunch.
I have sliced the 4-5 onions and was sauting them for the prawn roast when my MIL came to help me in the kitchen. I started cutting the mutton for the curry.
"The oil is not enough for the onions to be sauted."said my MIL.
"Ok, mummy, can you pour some more oil in it?" I asked.
She took the oil and poured in it and was stirring it when she gave a loud cry. I looked up at her.
"Oh, Najeeba, I've pured the dish washing liquid instead of the oil."
I've kept the liquid near to the bottle of the oil, and she took the wrong bottle! Oh, God!
I had to do all the work again. I started it again. I sliced the vegetables, mutton and everything needed for the roast, curry and rice and started with the cleaning. I swept the whole house and has started moping when MIL asked me to take the chillies from the fridge. I ran to take it, as time was flying and we had only a couple of hours before the guests arrived. While running, I stumbled over the porridge my co-sister had made for her baby. The porridge was spread over the entire hall! I got very angry with myself and all others in the home, and felt an anger towards the guests too. I started shouting at myself, and also at hubby. I could not shout at my MIL, co-sis or Brother-in-Law.
My husband understood my situation, and asked me take some rest, and have a bath. According to him, bathing cools down one's "mind and body, heart and soul". I did as he asked, and that did make some effect on my anger. By the time I finished my bath, hubby has cleaned the porridge from the floor and cooked some new porridge for his niece. Thanks a lot to him. I resumed my work, and when the time the guests arrived, I was panting -and the house clean and tidy, the lunch ready along with two to three deserts and I was happy to receive them.

After they left, I just revised the happenings of the day. Apart from mummy pouring dish washing liquid to the onion and me kicking the porridge pan, there were many things that wasted my time. Like the bottle with the turmeric powder fell from my hand and it was spilled on the cooking range. The bed sheet I was putting on the bed tore when I pulled it tight. The water overflew on the floor when I was filling into the kettle. And so many. All because I was not concentrating on the work I was doing, rather, thinking about the works I have to do. Less concentration made my busy day even an more busier day.

Small Step, Big Leap

"Umma, look at this photo, its the corn field in the farm." I was browsing through the photos we took from a farm in Khorfukkan, and I called my mom when I reached this photo. The farm belonged to our neighbors when we were in Fujairah. They are also from Kerala, India. "Its their own farm, taken on contract for 5 years. Its around Dirhams ( currency of UAE) 2,00,000 for five years." I explained.
"How much land is it?" Umma asked.
"Oh! I forgot to ask that!"
I really have forgotten about the area of land. It wasn't much, not as much as we had around our home. But there was corn, tomatoes, cabbages, cucumber, mint, mangoes, mulberries, datepalms and many other grasses which are given as food for animals. and there was also goats, hens and a cat... pussy cat :).
"Do you know how Jaleel-ka got this farm?" Umma asked me.
Well, I haven't tried to get into details of the history of Jaleel. Jaleel was our neighbor in Fujairah, now the owner of that farm. Well, the -ka means brother in Malayalam, usually we add it when we address males elder than us, and a -tha when we address females elder than us. The -tha means sister. Jaleel's wife was Husna, and we called her Husna-tha. Plus four boys, and their family became a big happy family!
Jaleel and Husna have been our neighbors for about 10+ years, and they are still there in Fujairah. Umma and Baba( my dad) settled in our homecountry, India, when Baba got retired from his job. That was around 4 or 5 years ago. I came here after my marriage two years ago,
"He was a poor fellow when he came to Fujairah some 20 years back," said Umma, "and a very careless fellow. Never went for any job, and if he got some money from anybody, just went to play cards."
"Then how did he become the owner of the farm?" asked Nawaz, my brother, who was also with us, listening to the story. To own a farm for 5 years he needed Dirhams 2,00,000!
"One night, he was playing cards with his friends, when suddenly, the police appeared," Umma paused, "there were 29 of them, playing cards."
"Then?"
"Police saw all of them and caught them, except Jaleel-ka. He acted as he was sleeping. The police kicked him two or three times, left him there when there was no response from him and went to station with the rest of the 28 fellows."
Playing cards is not an offense in most places, but it is against the laws in middle-east. Especially when cash is included in the game. You can be sure of a few months or years in prison.
Umma continued with the story.
"When he was sure the police have gone, he got up. The next day, he went to the station and inquired how to free his friends. The head of the station demanded Dirhams 28,000, thousand for each of them. Jaleel-ka came out of the station, and started begging. He asked for money from everyone he saw on his way, regardless of their nationality, religion or anything. He got Dirhams 38,000."
Hmm.... Cool guy, I thought.
"He went to the station, freed his friends and started business with the rest of his money - the 10,000."
"Well, do you know his qualification?" I asked.
"Not more than 2nd grade. And Husna-tha is a fifth grade pass out." Umma replied. "But she is a woman with strong will power. She took license and now she does major of the household activities, while Jaleel-ka runs his business." Umma continued. "He started a vegetable shop and then, with his hard work and determination, it grew into a big vegetable business. Now, to get fresh vegetables into the market, he started this farm also."
Isn't that a great work? A small step from the ditch to a big leap into the business world.
Here comes the snaps from his farm:
The mango tree with lots of flowers on it.
and Husna has been calling me to their home ever since. I kept nagging my hubby asking him to take me to Fujairah, until he agreed and we all - me, hubby, hubby's brother, hubby's sis, her hubby, their daughter and hubby's cousin went for the Fujairah trip. Our plan was to go to Khorfukkan beach, but when we reached our neighbors home, we changed the plan and decided to go to their farm so that Neha(one year old hubby's niece) could see some animals. That was how we got the photos of the farm.The tiny mangoes on a branch.
Hubby's niece in the cucumber section.
Notice the cucumber on the plant.
Neha near the grass farm.
The cabbage farm.
The water for the farm is pumped from a well into this pond.It is then made to flow into the canal which takes the water to different parts of the farm.

Mirror and friends

Mirror and friend - what do they have in common? There is a proverb in malayalam - If you got a friend indeed, then you won't get a mirror, in need. Well, I sometimes wonders why those old people put it with mirror and friend, they could have put something better than mirror for a friend - like eyes, hands, legs, tongue, etc. These thoughts come into my mind usually on the saturdays or sundays that comes after an exam, during my college life, when you sit simply and have nothing to do. Those days are really boring, you have got know exams, assignments, homeworks - nothing to do, until the next semester commences. Then you wish if you had those nothing-to-do weekends back! Thats what I said in my second post - you wish everything were here if there is nothing, and when you get it, you wish it was gone! Human mind!
It was on one of those nothing-to-do days when one of us wanted to have a mirror in our apartment. There were nine of us - all girls, doing our graduation and staying together in an apartment. Most of us had small mirrors with us, but that was not enough, especially while dressing, to get a full view. So we thought about it and decided to buy a big mirror, if and only if our budget allowed it. We started spending less on our mobiles, snacks, cool drinks - and everything we thought unnecessary. We wanted to have an elegant looking mirror in our room. We went to different furniture shops to find out the best in quality and cost. At last we found one, and bought it home.
I am a person who doesn't care much about my looks. I don't use the mirror except for combing my hair, and while combing I concentrate only on the hair. The hair done, I turn away from the mirror. I don't usually use creams on my face, or kajal in my eyes or any other cosmetics, except some Vaselineor a lotion of rose water and glycerine on dry and windy days. I find some of my friends standing hours infront of the mirror, applying creams on their face, combing their hair, giving the final touches to their scarf or hijab, pinning their shalls, and what not! But I never thought a mirror necessary for these activities. I do most of it without a mirror.

Well, there I was living peacefully and happily, when they ( including me) bought the mirror and found the place near my bed to keep it. It was at the foot of my bed, and so while lying in my bed, I was able to see myself in full view. Whack! What a boring scene, to look at your face all day! At first I found it difficult, to see myself laughing, giggling, crying and shouting all the day. But then I got used to it, and started looking more into the mirror to see myself more. And thats how the problem started.
One fine morning, when I was looking at myself into the mirror, I noticed a dark spot on my face. I went closer to the mirror, and there it was - a dark color under my eyes, on my cheeks. I called Sumi, my roommate and showed her the spot. But she didn't notice anything new in it at all!
"Oh, that was there all time. And its not that dark to be noticed!" she said.
I was angry with her for not giving me any proper explanation or advice.
"Sumi, tell me the name of something to apply on my face to make that spot disappear." I begged her.
"Ok, if you insist, I'll give you a cream. Apply it at night, before going to bed." She said." But I assure you, there is nothing to worry about it."
I wasn't assured with her words, and so I started using the cream. I didn't notice any changes for the first one week. I decided to change the cream if it didn't show any effect after applying for one more week. After two weeks, on one morning, when I looked myself in the mirror, I was shocked. The dark spot has widened and become darker! I called Sumi, and asked her what to do. She sat by my side.
"Hey, Najee, I have told you already that there is nothing to worry about those dark spots. But you didn't listen to me. Now, after applying the cream, you have become fairer, and so the dark spot darker and wider. Please understand that. There was no dark spot on your skin. But when you keep looking into the mirror, you keep looking expecting to see some thing on your face, and then you imagine that there is something. That's all."
I didnot think she was right, but I had to promise her not to look too much into the mirror, and not to use any creams on my face. I turned my bed away from the mirror. Now that I couldnot look into the mirror for a long time, I forgot about the spot. I stood infront of the mirror only for doing my hair.
Now, I have got no time to watch myself in the mirror, with the duties of a housewife. And so the dark spot has never become a problem. But I learned that friendship is better than a mirror at hand - may be better than our hand, legs, eyes etc. I don't know about that :) !

The Dog at Aunt's Home

“Hey, you have got a dog in your house!”

It was my brother Nawaz. I turned around to see a dog in the kitchen garden, looking at Nawaz, with its innocent eyes. There is nothing special in having a dog in our house for many of us, but it is not the case in an orthodox Muslim family in many parts of Kerala, who considered dogs as untouchables, and have to bath 7 times if we touch one! We were at our uncle’s house, who was a Muslim scholar and the Principal of an Islamic University. So, it was unusual to find a dog in his house.

“Where did you buy it?”

“From Perinthalmanna” Aunty replied, but I understood she was just joking and they haven’t bought the dog. Uncle was not a person who spends money on anything like that, not at all on dogs!

“Is it your neighbors’?” asked Nawaz.

“No, ours. I told you” replied my cousin.

But it was difficult for us to believe it. A dog in their house? As usual, we were also taught that touching dogs was Haram, and we should bath seven times, once with mud, if we touch one. So noway people just bringing a dog home and bathing 7 times daily – suppose the dog touch you more than once? Multiples of 7 began revolving around my head.

“Ok, aunt, be serious” Nasweef, also my brother, who was quite until now, started losing his patience. “Where did you get that dog?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” She showed us a basin half filled with water in her kitchen garden.

“I pour a little of water in it everyday, for my hens to drink from it. But now, there are many animals that drink from it. The cats come, squirrels come, my hens, birds and sometimes some small insects. One day there was this dog drinking from that basin.”

I looked at the dog carefully. It was cream in color with some brown patches, and I don’t know to which breed it belonged to, as the only dog breeds I know is the Pomeranian (cute ones) and the Pug (the one in Vodafone advertisements!). It had a belt around it’s neck!

“Seems he is a pet dog coming from some family. What do you give him to eat?”

I inquired.

“Nothing” replied aunt, “It gets enough to eat from that butcher shop down street. All it needs is the water in the basin. One day I forgot to keep the water in the basin. It came to the kitchen door and looked at all of us for sometime, went away, came back again, put it’s tongue outside and stood there sometime. It repeated this for sometime and it was only then I remembered to pour water in the basin.”

Wow! What a good dog!

“Looks smart” said Nasweef, gazing the dog.

“It is”, my cousin approved. “When one of our chickens died, it did not allow us to bury the chicken. It carried the chicken wherever it went, kept it on the ground and barked two or three times as if to wake the chicken from a long sleep. When it slept, it kept the chick near it’s head. It sat beside the chicken for a long time, until the ants came and made it impossible for the dog to touch the chicken.”

“Well, a dog of noble birth” commented Nawaz.

“But her puppies doesn’t have her qualities” continued my cousin, “Our neighbors took her puppies as pets. But none shows her decency and nobleness.”

“Well, may be the puppies inherited from their father.”

The three of us gathered around the dog to have a closer look. Beautiful ears, commented Nawaz. Cute tail was what Nasweef noted. Well, altogether she was really beautiful. Good to keep it as a pet.

“She is very fond of Uncle. Whenever he goes out, sometimes to mosque for prayer, she follows him. He tries to get rid of her, but she follows him, waits until he finishes his prayer, and follows him back.”

Such a big gratitude for the drops of water she drinks from the basin! I think animals have more “humanity” than humans!

“But what do you do if she touches you? You have to bath 7 times!” It was Nawaz who put the matter into discussion.

“You don’t have to bath 7 times if a dog touches you” Aunty explained, “only wash the part of anything where its saliva has come into contact.”

“You mean you don’t have to bath? But that was not what we were taught.”

“Yeah, even I was taught like that. But we never try to learn what the Hadith or scholars really says. We just follow what our local Imams say. And many of them don’t know much about Islam – or they haven’t learned any. That is why Islam is always the misunderstood religion.”

That was a new knowledge to me. I liked dogs very much, especially the Pomeranian - I badly wanted one. But I didn’t want to bath 7*x times daily.

“She looks after our hens when they go out of our compound,” aunt continued, referring the dog. “At first I tried to get rid of her thinking that she will kill my hens. But she was very caring. She never eats anything from here, not even our waste, until we give it to her.”

“And she never fights with the cats or kittens here, as you see in the Tom and Jerry movies” said my cousin. “And the funniest part is he never barks at well dressed strangers, but barks when he sees people like beggars!”

Hmmm….. What to say about such a good dog?

Well, we returned from their house talking about the dog. All of us wanted to have a dog like that! I wanted a cute Pomeranian, with all the said qualities of this dog. But when we reached our home, and into the busy life of it, we forgot all about the dog, until one day when aunty called.

It was Nawaz who answered the phone.

“Hows your dog doing”, was his first question, even before the usual greetings. My mom started to scold him, asking him if that is the way to answer a phone.

“Brilliant” said aunty.

“Yesterday, it saved Neda.”

Neda was her one year old grandchild, who taking her first steps towards walking.

“Saved Neda? How?” saked Nawaz.

“In the afternoon, the dog started barking from our kitchen garden. I opened the door, and it ran inside.”

Dogs are not allowed inside our homes.

“Uncle became very angry for allowing it inside, and started scolding me. But the dog ran straight to the bathroom, while I followed. In the bathroom, I saw Neda drowning in the bathtub, which was filled with water. I took her out immediately, and went to the clinic opposite the road. Thanks to God, it seemed she has only just fallen into the tub when we saw her.”

“But how did the dog in the kitchen garden knew Neda had fallen into the tub in the bathroom? The garden and bathroom are far away!”

“Well, that is what surprises us all. No explanation for that!”

No Women Deserves Dependence

I wouldn't have noticed her, if we weren't the only girls in the train compartment. May be her college bag, travel bag, her pale blue jeans and orange t-shirt bought my attention towards this fair, smart girl who looked to me almost my age. "Might be she is a student of some near by colleges, like myself", I thought. I was on my way home after our half yearly exams, to spend the week with my family. I was in a vacation mood, happy that the exams are over and looking forward for the vacation as my cousins are coming to stay with us. Vacation would be hell lot of fun!!! I thought. I decided to give this girl a small smile, while usually I'm introvert and a bit hesitant to smile to strangers.
And as I expected, the smile bought a lot of conversation between us, even though she was the first to start it.
“Your name….?”
“Najeeba, and what is yours?”
“Shinsi”.
Usually I would have stopped here and plunged in to the book in my hand if it was someone who was not of my interest ( almost everyone are). But the happiness of going back home made me stay away from the book. All I wanted was to share it with someone, and celebrate every moments of my vacation. And I was glad to find a person who was also going home for her vacation.
After a long thought about what to ask, finally I put the question, “ Where are you studying?”.
“Manglore doing my degree in MBA, and you?”
“Kannur. B.Tech. Going home, in Kozhikode.”
“I live in Thrissur. Mannuthi, exact place. Have you heard of that place?”
“Sure”,said I. There was an agriculture college in Mannuthi where I have often gone to buy plants for my garden. “The agriculture college in Mannuthi.”
“My home is about a few kilometers away from it.” Replied Shinsi.
And so we started talking, about college, food, politics, love, marriage, life and everything under the sun. She has got a younger brother in higher secondary, her mother a doctor and father a scientist at BARC. Her brother was also staying in a boarding in Manglore.
“Why in boarding when there are so many good higher secondary schools in Thrissur?” I asked.
“Coz my parents believe that boarding is the best place to educate children.” She explained. “I was in boarding schools from my first standard on wards.”
I was shocked! She was in boarding from her fifth year onwards, while I have felt like running away from boarding a hundred times within these three years!! And I didn’t hide my surprise.
“Not from fifth year, dear, from forth year itself.” She was cool!! “I joined first when I was four years old. And I have stayed in……”
She put up her fingers and started counting….
“…….1…2….3…….5…..9…10…15…..yup, fifteen hostels in all.”
“Fifteen?!!!!” One was more than enough for me. “Don’t you get sick of hostels?”
Her reply was even more surprising.
“Nope, I get sick of home.” There was a few moments of silence while I sat like I haven’t understood what she said. Sick of home?
“There is no one at home for me. Mummy goes to hospital early in the morning and comes home only after dusk. Dad comes once in a month. And I have nothing to do at home. I don’t like home for more than two days.”
The child of the post-modern age, I thought to myself. I have read about such people in newspapers, magazines and books. Who else can prefer boarding places to home? Anyway, not me!
“So what do you do after your education? You will have to go home, won’t you?” I asked.
She smiled. “Never. I plan to find some job in a place away from home and stay in a working women’s hostel there.”
“And marriage….You will have a home and family then.” I said.
“Marriage??!! Me? No way!” She shouted. “I hate men!!”
Oh! My God! What a creature!!
“And who do you think will help you when you get old?” I wanted her to understand the importance of a family. But her answer was quick.
“And what for do you think people are building so many old-age homes today?” She asked. “ I work till I am not able to work, and then rest with the money I have made by then.”

I could think of only a different version of the Sanskrit slokan:
Pitha rakshathi koumare – Father cares her in childhood,
Barhtyaa rakshathi youvanne – Husband cares her in adolescence,
Puthro rakshathi vardhakye – Sons cares her in old age,
Nna sthree swathanthryamarhathi – No women deserves independence.

Convent rakshathi koumare - Convent cares her in childhood,
Hostel rakshathi youvanne - Hostel cares her in adolescense,
Old-age homes rakshathi vardhakye - Old-age homes cares her in old age,
Nna sthree paranthyamarhathi - No women deserves dependence.