My grandfather passed away last night.
Although we mourn his death, I can not but help think that it would be more befitting to celebrate the life he had led.
It was, after all, a remarkable life in every sense of the word.
Born in 1923 as the second youngest son of a Kashmiri family that had migrated from Kashmir as far back as 1865, he was unique and remarkable in many ways.
He was fortunate enough to have been fathered by a man who emphasized good quality education for all of his ten sons at a time when few valued its importance and even less could afford it.
He would often talk about his childhood days in Teja Kalan (a small district in rural Punjab, now on the Indian side) where he grew up with his siblings during the thirties.
Having opted for Pakistan in 1947 he joined Pakistan Industries as a clerk and retired 35 years later as one of its Deputy Directors. He was the first one in the history of Pakistan Industry to have risen from so low a rank to one this prestigious.
And all that he had to assist him on the way was his wit and intellect.
The fact that he was loved by all is an understatement. He led an extremely active life despite his age. He was an achiever always moving ahead, striving for better.
Unfortunately a bad fall about a year ago left him with a chipped back bone.
Despite his advanced years, and objections from family members, he decided to opt for an operation. The broken fragments embedded in his flesh had practically left him bedridden and dependent on others for even the slightest of movements.
This dependency was unacceptable, even more unbearable than the excruciating pain that he suffered because of his injuries. He had been a fighter all his life; even now he refused to accept what fate had thrown his way.
“I am not afraid of death” he said often and meant it.
He was calm and composed as he said his adieus to his wife and family members before leaving for the operation yesterday morning yet looking back at it now I feel that somewhere deep inside, he knew he was not coming back but refrained from saying so for the sake of others.
He was fully prepared to accept which ever way the dice rolled for him.
Unfortunately it did not roll in his favor.
He died in the evening, never regaining full conciseness after the operation.
He was the last surviving brother of that brood of eleven that once proudly roamed the broad horizons of their little district in India and after he is laid to rest today, not only will he be gone from our lives but with him an unforgettable era will also disappear forever.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
A shaking encounter
Winter has given way to Summer. Weather is getting hotter by the day and all creatures which creep and crawl and which had until now been confined to their holes and fissures in the ground, have woken up to resume their summer time activities.
Amongst these creatures there was one (with a somewhat adventurous nature) who decided that it was a pleasant night to slither out from among the cover of the grass and lie smartly coiled up in the middle of the road for a well deserved snooze when along came this clumsy female who had no sense of where she was heading and even less of what she was treading on and stepped right on top of him.
Ouch ………
That female, my worthy friends, was none other than my own unworthy self.
I had been wearing an open chappal which left my toes and most of the rest of my foot uncovered. It was my toe that came in to contact with the tightly coiled body of the snake just as I was about to put my full body weight on it. My first thought was that I had stepped on a rat. Highly repulsed, I instinctively jumped forward. (I am about as little fond of rats as I am of snakes, though admittedly, given the choice I would rather step on a rat than a snake any day). It took me about half a second to realize that the neatly coiled body belonged to no rat. I shouted a warning to my mother and daughter who were following close behind.
At the sound of my high pitched voice the snake indignantly uncoiled itself and slithered back into the grassy bushes along the side of the road.
Looking at the whole episode from the snake’s point of view once again I must say that I can not help but sympathize with the poor creature. How annoying to be stepped on , yelled and rudely pointed at when all you ever wanted to do was sleep, at least that is what I am guessing he was doing, judging from the way in which it allowed me to step on it and then the lazy unhurried manner in which it uncoiled it self later on.
I am able to see the comical aspect of the whole incident now but I have no qualms in admitting that I was pretty shaken when it happened. I mean who wouldn’t be, if they looked down and saw a meter long, two inch thick snake right under their foot.
I ask my self the question what would I have done had that snake decided to strike? It had every reason to do so. The answer to that question is that there is absolutely nothing that I could possibly have done to avoid it.
The fact that it didn’t strike had nothing to do with my nerves, my courage or my quick thinking life saving action, none of which came into play at that moment (And I am not altogether too sure if I even have an adequate amount of those qualities). It was simply pre decided that I would be allowed to pass unharmed.
I am a strong believer that our destiny is what we make it but at the same time I strongly believe there are certain things that are beyond our control.
Two conflicting views and yet I believe in both of them.
Last night was just another reminder that I have to be grateful to God for tilting the balance in my favor in a situation that I had no power to control.
Amongst these creatures there was one (with a somewhat adventurous nature) who decided that it was a pleasant night to slither out from among the cover of the grass and lie smartly coiled up in the middle of the road for a well deserved snooze when along came this clumsy female who had no sense of where she was heading and even less of what she was treading on and stepped right on top of him.
Ouch ………
That female, my worthy friends, was none other than my own unworthy self.
I had been wearing an open chappal which left my toes and most of the rest of my foot uncovered. It was my toe that came in to contact with the tightly coiled body of the snake just as I was about to put my full body weight on it. My first thought was that I had stepped on a rat. Highly repulsed, I instinctively jumped forward. (I am about as little fond of rats as I am of snakes, though admittedly, given the choice I would rather step on a rat than a snake any day). It took me about half a second to realize that the neatly coiled body belonged to no rat. I shouted a warning to my mother and daughter who were following close behind.
At the sound of my high pitched voice the snake indignantly uncoiled itself and slithered back into the grassy bushes along the side of the road.
Looking at the whole episode from the snake’s point of view once again I must say that I can not help but sympathize with the poor creature. How annoying to be stepped on , yelled and rudely pointed at when all you ever wanted to do was sleep, at least that is what I am guessing he was doing, judging from the way in which it allowed me to step on it and then the lazy unhurried manner in which it uncoiled it self later on.
I am able to see the comical aspect of the whole incident now but I have no qualms in admitting that I was pretty shaken when it happened. I mean who wouldn’t be, if they looked down and saw a meter long, two inch thick snake right under their foot.
I ask my self the question what would I have done had that snake decided to strike? It had every reason to do so. The answer to that question is that there is absolutely nothing that I could possibly have done to avoid it.
The fact that it didn’t strike had nothing to do with my nerves, my courage or my quick thinking life saving action, none of which came into play at that moment (And I am not altogether too sure if I even have an adequate amount of those qualities). It was simply pre decided that I would be allowed to pass unharmed.
I am a strong believer that our destiny is what we make it but at the same time I strongly believe there are certain things that are beyond our control.
Two conflicting views and yet I believe in both of them.
Last night was just another reminder that I have to be grateful to God for tilting the balance in my favor in a situation that I had no power to control.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Nature's wonderful orchestra
Has anyone ever heard the wind whistle, like it does in those old classic English novels?
I certainly hadn’t, that is not until I moved into my new house. Ever since then windy nights are anything but quiet. Around here strong wind just does not blow, it howls, it moans and yes it WHISTLES too. It is a peculiar kind of whistle, long and piercing, the kind that accompanies all steam engines pulling into and out off picturesque little railway stations in old Indian movies).
And as if the whistling isn’t enough to disturb light sleepers (which thankfully I am not) the window panes also start to shake and rattle. If we had wooden floor boards I am sure they too would creak adding their bit of contribution to the already noisy surroundings. But since we do not have them, we are spared that particular acoustic.
I think I have figured out why this happens. In almost all English classics the noisy houses are always situated on lonely moors in the middle of nowhere or someplace equally isolated. Though I can not say that we live in the middle of nowhere nor can our surroundings be termed as wilderness, our house is however, surrounded by empty spaces on all sides for a considerable distance. This I believe allows the wind to pass unhindered without any kind of obstruction to break its force.
So all we need is a bit of gale and the magnificent performance of nature’s orchestra keeps us entertained all night long.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Some More Big 'Why's of My Life
A funny thing happens when ever I am trying to boil eggs. If I aim to have a half boiled one and leave it on heat for 30 extra seconds, it develops a solid yellow lump in the center and when I want a hard boiled one, which I leave boiling for ages, it still ends up runny and liquid when I crack open the shell.
I also have an egg boiler that gives ready to serve eggs in record time but ever since our last relocation I have been unable to locate the accompanying graduated cylinder that measured the exact amount of water to be added to it. The water amount differed depending upon number of eggs to be boiled and the state of the end product i.e. hard boiled or soft boiled. It goes with out saying that the water measurement had to be precise to ensure accurate results. But with the measuring cylinder missing, my fancy egg boiler is pretty much useless.
The most obvious question to ask at this point would be, why not time the boiling process using a three minute timer or even a regular watch.
The answer to that one is that I do time it and it makes no difference whatsoever to the confusing state of affairs.
Am I the only one who has noticed that eggs of different sizes have different cooking times and since the eggs brought home range anywhere between large over sized ones to almost quail sized minuscule ones the standard amount of time it takes to cook one type is absolutely of no use as far as the other variety is concerned. What is more, the number of eggs being cooked together also effect the overall cooking time.
I also have a shrewd suspicion that egg boiling time in winter is different from that in summers but since I never confirmed it, I will let this one go.
If these observations of mine are not correct then there is only one explanation left for this bizarre phenomenon.
At the risk of sounding paranoid I would state the eggs are in a league against me and deliberately confuse their boiling time just to get on my nerves.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Of Birthday Parties and Weddings
There is an entirely useless entry on every invitation card that is ever sent out. That entry lists the time when that particular function is going to commence. I call it useless because no body (at least no body in Pakistan) pays the least bit attention to it and arrives at what ever time it pleases them to arrive, unless they happen to be me and my “we have vowed never to be late” family members. Result is, we usually end up at every party way before anyone else has even started dressing up for it at home. Either people need to stop printing time on invitation cards OR I seriously need to learn to ignore it. 
I recently attended a birthday where half way through the party the waitress discreetly whispered into my ear to ask me when I wanted the cake brought out.
Only then did I realize that my early arrival (even earlier than the hosts) had led the hotel staff to believe I was the one throwing the party.
(Hmmmm…..That accounted for my baby getting VIP treatment in all the kids’ games and the magic show act.)
Ah well! no harm done. My daughter enjoyed herself (why wouldn’t she? She was treated as the guest of honor for a considerable amount of time) and the confusion cleared up well in time for the actual birthday girl to cut the birthday cake and take home all the lovely presents so I guess she ended up happy enough as well. As for me, I am just glad the whole thing was sorted out before they presented the bill. Amused as I was at the misunderstanding, being expected to foot the bill for someone else party was not something I would have found at all humorous.
Another incident that I would like to mention here happened at a wedding and no it is not regarding late arrivals which are something of a norm at weddings (People seem to have started believing in the notion that arriving on time at a wedding is one of the seven deadly sins and must be avoided at all costs).
As it happened that at this particular wedding we were busy being thoroughly bored as anyone would be at a wedding of casual acquaintances where you are unfamiliar with the majority of guests…. Correction…. where you are unfamiliar with every single guest with the exception of the host who has invited you.
So as we all sat around a big circular table, I suddenly saw the bored look on my son’s face change to one of horror as he stared at something behind my shoulder.
"Mama that woman behind you just spat on the carpet". He whispered
"What ? ? ? ..... No way" …
"He is right and she has done it twice before."
The confirmation came from my daughter who had an even better view and seemed to have been maintaining a count ever since she first witnessed the unhygienic display.
I angled my chair so I too could have a view of the spitting lady behind me.
And sure enough, the lady who had spat thrice before scored again.
She did it with such skilled expertise that had I not been actually waiting for it I would surely have missed it.
No customary clearing of the throat. No gather of the sputum in the mouth before expulsion. Just plain thooooo.
And it fell right there on the carpet beside her feet where it remained in the form a miniature foamy puddle for a few seconds before being absorbed into the fabric of the carpet
There were young urchins belonging to other wedding guests running and tripping all over the place. What if one fell on top of that
Urgh ….yuk
"PLEASE……DO NOT. DO. THAT…..AGAIN." I said glaring at her.
She was taken by surprise by my reprimand.
Then she glared back. As if I was the one spitting and she was the one reprimanding.
She was obviously quite infuriated by my inability to mind my own business
"What happened? Was she spitting?"
My mother interrupted us right in the middle of that blood curdling glaring match.
Apparently she too had seen the spitting lady in action but had dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. Surely No body behaved like that in public but alas some people do and my mom was not about to let it go with a minor tsk tsk and shake of the head.
What followed was a lengthy lecture whose key points focused on; abominable behavior and learning to control one's disgusting habits in public places.
That sermon certainly took care of the lady’s glower and replaced it with much deserved and long overdue embarrassment.
Ha…Her basilisk stare was no match for my mother.
I did not pity the women. If she did have an uncontrollably repulsive habit, the very least she could do was make it less filthy.
I was suddenly reminded of the gharara clad grand dames of yesteryears who would not venture out anywhere without a pandan in one hand and an ugaldan or spittoon in the other. Addicted as they were to spitting frequently, I am positive even they would not have made even a fraction of a mess this one had made. Too bad they are no longer in fashion, both the spittoons and the old ghrarah clad females. They could have given this woman some pointers on etiquettes.
The whole point is that this particular woman got caught doing something she should not have been doing. There are lots of people out there who do revolting things and keep on doing them because no body tells them to stop.
So the next time you see someone like that, don’t just turn away disgusted.
Let them know of your disgust.
Oh and in case your wondering what happened to the spitting lady. Well, last that I saw of her, she was making her way between the throngs of wedding guests to the other end of the shamiana (furthest from our table) where I am sure she continued to spit away to her heart’s desire.
I recently attended a birthday where half way through the party the waitress discreetly whispered into my ear to ask me when I wanted the cake brought out.
Only then did I realize that my early arrival (even earlier than the hosts) had led the hotel staff to believe I was the one throwing the party.
(Hmmmm…..That accounted for my baby getting VIP treatment in all the kids’ games and the magic show act.)
Ah well! no harm done. My daughter enjoyed herself (why wouldn’t she? She was treated as the guest of honor for a considerable amount of time) and the confusion cleared up well in time for the actual birthday girl to cut the birthday cake and take home all the lovely presents so I guess she ended up happy enough as well. As for me, I am just glad the whole thing was sorted out before they presented the bill. Amused as I was at the misunderstanding, being expected to foot the bill for someone else party was not something I would have found at all humorous.
Another incident that I would like to mention here happened at a wedding and no it is not regarding late arrivals which are something of a norm at weddings (People seem to have started believing in the notion that arriving on time at a wedding is one of the seven deadly sins and must be avoided at all costs).
As it happened that at this particular wedding we were busy being thoroughly bored as anyone would be at a wedding of casual acquaintances where you are unfamiliar with the majority of guests…. Correction…. where you are unfamiliar with every single guest with the exception of the host who has invited you.
So as we all sat around a big circular table, I suddenly saw the bored look on my son’s face change to one of horror as he stared at something behind my shoulder.
"Mama that woman behind you just spat on the carpet". He whispered
"What ? ? ? ..... No way" …
"He is right and she has done it twice before."
The confirmation came from my daughter who had an even better view and seemed to have been maintaining a count ever since she first witnessed the unhygienic display.
I angled my chair so I too could have a view of the spitting lady behind me.
And sure enough, the lady who had spat thrice before scored again.
She did it with such skilled expertise that had I not been actually waiting for it I would surely have missed it.
No customary clearing of the throat. No gather of the sputum in the mouth before expulsion. Just plain thooooo.
And it fell right there on the carpet beside her feet where it remained in the form a miniature foamy puddle for a few seconds before being absorbed into the fabric of the carpet
There were young urchins belonging to other wedding guests running and tripping all over the place. What if one fell on top of that
Urgh ….yuk
"PLEASE……DO NOT. DO. THAT…..AGAIN." I said glaring at her.
She was taken by surprise by my reprimand.
Then she glared back. As if I was the one spitting and she was the one reprimanding.
She was obviously quite infuriated by my inability to mind my own business
"What happened? Was she spitting?"
My mother interrupted us right in the middle of that blood curdling glaring match.
Apparently she too had seen the spitting lady in action but had dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. Surely No body behaved like that in public but alas some people do and my mom was not about to let it go with a minor tsk tsk and shake of the head.
What followed was a lengthy lecture whose key points focused on; abominable behavior and learning to control one's disgusting habits in public places.
That sermon certainly took care of the lady’s glower and replaced it with much deserved and long overdue embarrassment.
Ha…Her basilisk stare was no match for my mother.
I did not pity the women. If she did have an uncontrollably repulsive habit, the very least she could do was make it less filthy.
I was suddenly reminded of the gharara clad grand dames of yesteryears who would not venture out anywhere without a pandan in one hand and an ugaldan or spittoon in the other. Addicted as they were to spitting frequently, I am positive even they would not have made even a fraction of a mess this one had made. Too bad they are no longer in fashion, both the spittoons and the old ghrarah clad females. They could have given this woman some pointers on etiquettes.
The whole point is that this particular woman got caught doing something she should not have been doing. There are lots of people out there who do revolting things and keep on doing them because no body tells them to stop.
So the next time you see someone like that, don’t just turn away disgusted.
Let them know of your disgust.
Oh and in case your wondering what happened to the spitting lady. Well, last that I saw of her, she was making her way between the throngs of wedding guests to the other end of the shamiana (furthest from our table) where I am sure she continued to spit away to her heart’s desire.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
What has happened to the world we live in?
What has happened to the world around us?
There used to be a time when school related worries included unprepared tests, incomplete homework, upcoming sports trials, lost text books and occasional tiff with friends.
Since when did security issues and bomb explosions come into the picture?
But they are in the picture now.
On Monday morning all kids leaving for school arrived back home few minutes later as schools in Cantt and Defense area of Lahore were closed on government directive. All of them have been asked to beef up security. Since then, boundary walls are higher, security cameras scan all entrances and no one is allowed in or out of the campuses with out proper identification and search. If one happens to pass a school these days it resembles a government controlled, high security restricted area rather than an institution of learning. Keeping in view the fact that a fake bomb was planted in one of these schools last year; the steps undertaken are not unreasonable at all. The bomb mercifully turned out to be fake but the panic it created was real enough.
But that was last year.
What ever decency that prevailed in the minds of the terrorist up till last year has expired by now. Yesterday a bomb exploded in a university in Islamabad killing six and injuring several students.
I can not even begin to imagine the anguish of the parents whose children had left in the morning only never to return home again.
The price of education was never so high.
What kind of a crazy world do we live in where even schools and innocent children are not safe from acts of hatred and violence?
I am reminded of a phrase that I heard in Warner Brothers’ “Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince” that I was watching last week
“These are mad times we live in”
And I agree as Dumbledore had agreed by saying.
“Indeed they are.”
There used to be a time when school related worries included unprepared tests, incomplete homework, upcoming sports trials, lost text books and occasional tiff with friends.
Since when did security issues and bomb explosions come into the picture?
But they are in the picture now.
On Monday morning all kids leaving for school arrived back home few minutes later as schools in Cantt and Defense area of Lahore were closed on government directive. All of them have been asked to beef up security. Since then, boundary walls are higher, security cameras scan all entrances and no one is allowed in or out of the campuses with out proper identification and search. If one happens to pass a school these days it resembles a government controlled, high security restricted area rather than an institution of learning. Keeping in view the fact that a fake bomb was planted in one of these schools last year; the steps undertaken are not unreasonable at all. The bomb mercifully turned out to be fake but the panic it created was real enough.
But that was last year.
What ever decency that prevailed in the minds of the terrorist up till last year has expired by now. Yesterday a bomb exploded in a university in Islamabad killing six and injuring several students.
I can not even begin to imagine the anguish of the parents whose children had left in the morning only never to return home again.
The price of education was never so high.
What kind of a crazy world do we live in where even schools and innocent children are not safe from acts of hatred and violence?
I am reminded of a phrase that I heard in Warner Brothers’ “Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince” that I was watching last week
“These are mad times we live in”
And I agree as Dumbledore had agreed by saying.
“Indeed they are.”
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