Yet another scratch

A couple of days ago we had some guests who parked their car inside our driveway. It so happened that I needed to get mine out while they were still inside the house and since the drive way had become somewhat congested with two of our cars plus an extra one that belonged to the visitors, I had some problem backing out of the place. Result was that I grazed the side of the car rather badly against the gate of the driveway, leaving a big ugly scar and green paint from the gate all over the front left corner of the car.

This was by no means the only time I had done such a thing
A few days ago I drove the car against a curb and put a scratch on it. In all fairness I don’t think it can be accurately referred to as just a “scratch”. It was actually the grandfather of all scratches, starting all the way from the back door and extending till the middle of the front.
Technically, road side curbs are supposed to be lower than the car’s body so the worse that could happen even if some one takes a tight turn, as I did, is that the curb receives black tire marks to speak of the encounter, and not the other way around, with the curb leaving evidence of its cemented presence on the car. So in short whose fault was it? The curb’s of course or maybe of the one who had build such a ridiculously high pavement. But definitely not mine. Unfortunately my father did not see in that way.
My father was not pleased on either occasion. And I don’t blame him
It is his car I am wrecking.
With a most disapproving scowl on his face, he proceeded to inspect all other indentations and scratches I had put on his car since I had started using it, while I very sensibly disappeared from the spot before he could finish the count.
This reminded me of a similar situation some years back when my late husband, addressing our then two year old boy had once ruefully remarked:
“You know son, every single mark on our car has been put there by your mother”.
What was most infuriating about this statement was that it was true.
Generally, my husband reacted pretty reasonably to the news of each new indentation caused by me.
As long as it was only inanimate objects like curbs and parked cars that I was hitting and not some walking breathing human being (which mercifully I have managed to avoid hitting to date) he would let me off with an occasional exasperated dialogue regarding my driving capabilities.
Over the years I feel that I have grown better with practice.
• Now I am causing damage in even more innovative ways.
• From an older green model I have moved on to a more expensive newer silver model, and
• What is more, I am damaging something that does not even belong to me.
So what does this all prove?
It Proves that I have become a professional

I do however, feel reassured in the knowledge that I am not the only female in the country that drives this way. I recall another occasion some years back when a car in front of us indicated a coming left turn and turned sharply to the right instead. At this my annoyed cousin at the driving seat remarked.
“Bet there is a woman at the wheel”.
“How biased and stereotypical,” was my reaction from the back seat
“You think so’ he said, “then let’s go make sure”
He said this as he pressed the accelerator to over take the vehicle up ahead.
Needless to say that to my extreme embarrassment, he turned out to be right
There was indeed a LADY at the wheel blissfully oblivious to what blunder she had just committed.
The bottom line is that I may not be a very good driver but I am, after all, only a woman.
So can anyone blame me for driving like one?

"HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY"

Drowning is not allowed (Part II)

My brief three days stint as substitute life guard is finally over. And mercifully the only thing I had to rescue was a nose clip whose owner was less than willing to descend to the depths of the pool to retrieve it.
After the successful recovery of the nose clip my confidence is high and I am quite prepared to do more rescuing, be it of nose clips, earplugs or even swimming caps lying at the bottom. Infect I now feel confident enough to attempt to bring up to the surface something even as large and heavy as …................................Swimming goggles
;-)

Drowning is not allowed

The life guard and coach at the swimming pool that I go to is going away for a few days, so yesterday, as a favor, I was asked to cover for her.
Since I know that I am an acceptable enough swimmer, and since it is only for a couple of days, I accepted to be the substitute.
Now that I have accepted, an irksome thought keeps recurring to me and that is that although my swimming capabilities are adequate, my life saving capability is hitherto untested and I am reverently praying that it remains untested for the next two days also.
I was just contemplating in my mind what would happen if somebody did go underwater. Since most of the ladies frequenting the pool are 80 plus kg begmats, the prospect of rescuing one, if the need arises, is anything but pleasant. I would probably pull her out and then I would wring her neck afterwards for daring to drown on my day. I have a good mind to post a note at the pool entrance.
All drownings to be postponed till regular guard returns
Or else……

The above picture is from an old calendar page that has been in my cupboard for the last six years.
The picture shows thick mud houses located somewhere in one of the deserts of Pakistan. Even in its two dimensional form, the cruel heat of a Pakistani summer is quite evident.

I have been told that the mud houses shown in the picture are quite effective in protecting against the scorching heat of the sun.
It is a fine picture, no doubt, quite appropriate for the month it represents

However that is not why I hold on to it.
I hold on to it because there is a date on this page that divides my life into two distinct parts.
A “life before” portion and a “life afterwards” one.
The date that divides it is June 11 2003.

It is the date Naveed passed away.

It is said that of all the misfortunes that one could encounter in a life time, the worst and the last one happens to be death itself.
But I tend to disagree.
I think loosing someone you love surpasses that.
How can death itself be bad?
You can only categorize something as good or bad if you think about how it has affected you. Though admittedly, death does have a far more drastic effect than any other calamity that could befall one during life, but then again, one is hardly able to compare it with anything or think about it in any way afterwards since all thought process stops with death; at least I think it does, though I can’t be sure. I have never been dead you see.

We all have our different ways of looking at death, of trying to understand something we have not been given the power to understand. Trying to figure out what it means.

And we all come up with different meanings. We all form our own beliefs about a phenomenon which is beyond our comprehension. And it is these beliefs of ours that then act like little mud huts insulating and protecting us from the intensity of tragedy that threatens to destroy our sanity.

It was about a year after Naveed’s death that I came across something which I have taken to believe is the meaning of death.

I came across it quite accidentally in news paper along side the picture of the absurdly handsome young man. Laughing and full of life when the picture was taken, deceased and gone forever by the time it was published. Infect the picture was published because he was dead. It was part of the obituary of a youth who had died before reaching his 23rd birthday.

I copied the words from his obituary (added there by grieving parents as a tribute to the memory of their lost son) and posted them to all my acquaintances on Naveed’s first Barsi. At that time I did not know that those words were actually a poem by Henry Van Dyke.
Though six years have passed since I first read them, the significance and poignancy of the words still remains strong.

So here they are one more time.

A Parable of Immortality
By Henry Van Dyke

I am standing by the sea shore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch until at last she hangs like a peck of white cloud just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says:
‘There she goes!’
Gone where?
Gone from my sight –that is all
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the places of destination.
Her diminished size is in me not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says:
‘There she goes!’
There are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
Here she comes‘!’


And that is death
It has to be
Because death in any other form is un-survivable

Loosing Track of Time

Now that the morning ritual of getting kids ready for school is over, I have completely lost track of the days.

For the past one year, Tuesday and Thursday were sports kit days at school. Monday and Wednesday, regular uniform days, Friday was half day and Saturday and Sunday were the days I could enjoy the luxury of extending my hand toward the bedside table to shut off the six o clock morning alarm and resuming my much deserved beauty sleep. Now with the commencement of summer holidays all those indicators of “which day of the week it is” are suddenly gone, leaving my biological clock in complete disarray.

Up till yesterday I was still on Sunday while the world around me had moved on to Tuesday.

My father says prisoner kept in isolation under go similar disorientation. They scratch marks on the wall to keep record of days gone by and even that is only possible if their cells allow any glimpse of the rising and setting sun.
(Only an ex-military guy like my father could have come up with an example like that.)

So what does that signify; that my mental alertness is even lower than those poor unfortunate souls in solitary confinement?

Unlike those prisoners, I not only have full view of rising and setting sun, (also the midday sun, if I care to look at it, which I don’t. It is hot enough as it is without staring into that burning orb of fire overhead) I also have clocks and calendars fixed on walls in more than one room of the house.

I guess its time to wind up the old timepieces and start referring to them for accurate indication of time and date if I want to remain in the same time zone as the rest of my surroundings for the next three months.

What does the future have in store for us?

Somebody asked me recently if I believed in astrology and palmistry. I suppose the intention was to know if I believed that our future (or parts of it) could be predicted.

Here is what I said to him.

"I am a Capricorn by the way and I do believe in stars. But only the good parts about them. Like I believe I have all the positive qualities of Capricorns but completely ignore the negative ones. I have found it to be a very useful habit. ;-)
As for palmistry, yes I have come across some good palmist during student life even a clairvoyant, so I know that God has given us hints of what is in store for us but I prefer to leave the knowledge of the unknown to Him. Why would I want to know about my future? That would take all the away all the fun and anticipation from life. Remember it is the element of surprise that keeps us going. Can you image what would happen to the human race if they came to know the entire world was about to come to an end the very next day. I think keeping the future unkown to us is one of God’s greatest gifts to mankind. It gives us hope and keeps us praying.
There is another thing I have noticed over the years and that is that the lines on our hands keep changing. Maybe not the major ones, but the minor ones defiantly do. And that is because of the choices that we make in our lives.
I prefer to be believed that it is up to us to decide what we are to do with our lives. I believe God knows what choice we are going to make but does not interfere.
Were it not for our own choice then we could not be held accountable for our actions on the Day of Judgment.
I have read somewhere that the time of birth and the time of death of each individual is pre decided. What happens in between is up to us.
And yes sometimes we are hit by catastrophes and disasters that we did not expect nor had the power to avoide in any way. That is Taqdeer or Qismat. How we react to them is not.
Any way that is what I prefer to believe about life.
You don’t have to agree with it if you don’t want to. Lots of people wouldn’t.
So keep making the right choices and be happy.
And remember being happy is more important than being successful.
May God bless you."