Decelarating Time

I have discovered the secret to slowing time down, something guaranteed to make it go by at a snail’s pace.
And the secret is to stop eating.
This is not a joke. The best way to slow down time is to GO ON A DIET.
I started mine about a month ago and it is still only day seven.
Believe me it works. How else would I have managed to stretch my week to over a month?
Well my diet is almost over. The best part of it was that it was only a seven day plan so today is last day of my diet.
I will leave the complex workings of the Time Universe relationship to geniuses like Stephen Hawking and like. As for myself I am going to celebrate the end of a torturous near starvation week by having a Paratha with a huge fluffy omelet for breakfast tomorrow morning.

Guess I was wrong.
Spring is here after all.
So I suppose it should be Bienvenue Spring
:-)

Bienvenue Summer

According to schedule this should have been Spring but I think Mother Nature muddled up her time table this year because it seemed to have jumped straight from Winter to Summer skipping the season of merry blossoms altogether. It seems impossible that barely few days ago I was huddled under the blanket at night and now I can not bear to be in a room with out the fans turned on.

With the advent of summer another thing is back along with the heat and that thing is none other than the arch enemy of mankind’s night time slumber, commonly referred to as the MOSQUITO.

After a particularly disturbing night I was reminded of a long ago conversation I had with a friend who lived on the 15th floor of a high rise building. Since mosquitoes have limited flight capability I had assumed, somewhat naively, that our friend’s family would be safe from their persistent nocturnal attacks.

Not so, he told me, “We suffer at their hands just at much as you guys do”

But how on earth did they reach his high floor, I had asked him.

“Same way every body else does”, he retorted in an exasperated voice, “They take the elevator to which ever floor they want to go to”

It was such a comfort to know everyone suffers the way we do.

So Coils, repellants, nets, sprays and every thing else that had been so gratefully put aside during winter months is back in action again.

What a way to welcome summer.

Pause and Reflect

There are invariably several moments in one’s life when one pauses to reflect upon certain things. One such moment came into mine some time ago.

I had stopped over on my way back to Pakistan from London at my Sister in Law's place in Dubai. While I was there another Brother in Law joined us from Bahrain while my father also unexpected flew in from Islamabad (both men on official trips) to complete the get-together. It was a happy reunion. Needless to say we had a wonder full time.

At tea time we were served with a cake (among various other delectable delights) brought in all the way from Pakistan and presented to my hospitable hosts by some Dubai based acquaintance of theirs who himself had arrived back from Pakistan that very day.

What should have happened was that I should have dipped my cake piece in my tea (that is how I eat my cakes …..and most biscuits) and having eaten it, thought nothing more of it. But to have done that would have been such a boring course of action. And one’s thought process is anything but simple and (thankfully) never boring.

As I dunked the end of my spongy triangle in the hot beverage, it occurred to me that all the people sitting enjoying this particular cake right now were literally thousands of miles apart at the time when it was being baked.

My self: somewhere in the departure lounge of Heathrow. My Brother in Law: busy packing in Bahrain. My father: ready to board a flight from Islamabad. Even my Sister in Law and her family, who had not traveled beyond a 20 or so mile radius from their own home during the past two days were no where near the Pakistani bakery where the cake had come from.

And did the people baking it know that one of the confectionery items among the lot they produced that day was destined to travel across the ocean in order to be presented at the table of people who had all collected at that one point from literally all over the world?
Probably not.

Suddenly that cake in my hand was no longer just another snack but something special, some thing that proved the age old phrase Daney Daney Pe Likha Hai Khaney Waley Ka Naam.
I don’t know if this was a fascinating insight or not but it certainly appeared that way to me back then.

All this musing does not mean that I did not eat my cake. On the contrary I finished my lot and probably even had some extra.
I mention it now because just like those mustard fields it is something that popped into my mind out of nowhere after all these years.
I have already mentioned an awesome sight so I thought I might as well write about a reflecting moment also.

By the way the picture on the top is not of that cake. That one is long gone and it never occurred to anyone to capture its image. This is one that my daughter baked a few months ago. I added its picture because it looked really good…..........and tasted even better
:-D

A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever

It was back I those days when we (my parents and me) used to come to Pakistan for our annual visit to friends and family. Since friends and family were scattered across the length and breadth of Pakistan, the trip usually consisted of one month of extensive traveling starting form one end of the country and ending at the other.
One fine morning during one of those trips as we were heading towards Mirpur and Mangla cantonment, (to visit an uncle and an army cousin who were posted there respectively) that I looked out of the window from the back seat of the car and saw mustard fields in full bloom. I watched open mouthed as acre after acre of brilliant yellow flowers sped by.
Coming form the land of sand dunes this was something I had not seen before. Besides I thought my sand dunes were pretty terrific. Any body who has witnessed the majesty of the desert will agree with me. It is a sea of shimmering, glittering gold as far as the eye can see. Sometimes the metal road on which you happen to be traveling in a desert is the only reminder of civilization, while every thing surrounding you is probably as primitive and unchanged as in the days of mother earth’s own infancy. How could anything compare with the mesmerizing effect of that?
I was wrong.
The mustard fields not only compared but topped the desert sands by a hefty margin.
Unlike the pure gold of the sand dunes this was a vibrant, joyous shade of yellow resting on a bed of emerald. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen in my life. I have seen a few since than that have stayed with me but those mustard fields were the first. If there were any before that, I was probably too young to remember them.

The mustard flowers were once again in bloom along the sides of the road when I went to Islamabad a few days ago. Though these were only a few sorry patches grown in between the wheat crop and were neither lush enough nor widespread enough as my original vision, still they reminded me of a long ago road trip when the boredom of traveling was suddenly replaced by an awesome sight that has managed to stay with me even after all these years.

This one's for Johnny; who ever he was, poor fellow

I just read something in M.M.Kaye’s Golden Afternoon that made me double up with laughter. I thought I would include it in my blog (though I seriously hope I don’t get into trouble regarding copyright issues for doing it).
Ah well, it is hilarious enough (at least I think it is) to be worth the risk.
While reminiscing about the Raj years Kaye writes about the Horse Show Week in Delhi (circa 1929, I believe) which at that time was the greatest among all the “Weeks” that were held through out India during the cold weather. Here are a couple of incidents, in Kaye’s own words, that took place at that time.


“To give an example of their unique entertainment value, there was an occasion when a friend of ours, one McCandlass (better known as ‘loopy Mac’), whose enthusiasm for riding was not matched by his skill, when competing in an owner-riders race sponsored by the business community, came tearing into view on the first lap and, to wild cheering from his supporters, a full two and a half lengths ahead of the field. Unfortunately there was a narrow side track ahead of him - possibly for the benefit of any rider who had lost a stirrup or otherwise come to grief and wished to retire from the race. But since his horse was in fact bolting, and not even faintly under control , it made straight for the side track and tore off down it - followed by the entire field, who either thought this was the correct way round, or whose horses had also got the bit between their teeth and intended to forge ahead or else….. The whole lot followed Mac’s lead, shot off the course and disappeared with the speed of diving ducks into a fairly dense patch of wooded land, which at that time bordered one side of the course. After lengthy but unknown adventures, they eventually emerged, looking exceedingly sheepish, wreathed in strands of creeper and assorted greenery and brushing twigs and bits of bark out of their hair.

There was also a more dramatic occasion when one of the amateur jockeys parted with his mount a mere yard or two from the winning post, and crashed to earth among a forest of hooves. At which point a girl rose like a rocketing pheasant from her seat in the stand, and, shrieking his name over and over again, fled down the aisle and across the grass, scrambled over the rails, and, still screaming, flung herself down on his recumbent form yelling , ‘Speak to me, Johnny! Speak to me!’ whereupon his wife broke the deathly silence that had fallen upon the stands by turning impatiently and remarking in a carrying voice: ‘Silly bitch! He’ll never forgive her for this.’ I gather she had got used to her husband’s frequent straying and come to terms with it.
You didn’t get those sort of dramas included in the price of the tickets during Ascot week or Newmarket.”


I couldn’t agree more, even though I have never been to either Ascot or Newmarket and missed the Raj years by a good quarter century or so.
But at least I can read about it and that is almost as good as being there in person.

An Affair to Remember

I recently watched a movie that was being shown on one of the cable channels (or half watched it to be more precise). Since I had to run an errand somewhere in the middle of it, I missed a considerable portion before I could manage to get back and see the conclusion. The movie was called “The Thomas Crown Affair" (the remake; starring Pierce Brosnan & Rene Russo).
“What a clever way to a steal a painting and an even better way to put it back.”
That is what I recall thinking after having watched the bits and pieces of the film that I did.
Because I had missed a major chuck of the movie, I decided to get my self a DVD and see the whole of it in one go .
This unfortunately did not turn out to be one of the better decisions of my life.
The icing on top of my blunder cake was that I even told my kids that they could watch this cool robbery film with me if they liked. Fortunately my son had to study so he skipped the family movie session (Thank God) but both my daughters (including the little one who is rarely interested in any film that does not include the name Barbie or something similar in the title) decided they had nothing better to do than accompany their Mama in watching the film she had brought home.

So there I was with almost my entire brood gathered around me for collective viewing when it suddenly dawned on me that there was a reason fate had intervened making me miss the middle part of the film. And that was because it was meant to be missed.

To be honest I don’t know what the kids found funnier, the fast moving obscenity on the screen or their mother’s desperate attempts to block it from their view. I sat with my thumb literally glued to the fast forward button for more than half the duration of the film. To cut the long story short, I ended up watching exactly the same parts of the movie as I did the fist time round; the beginning and the end. The rest went past in a blur of fast moving images, (though not fast enough judging from constant eruption of giggles from two highly amused young girls).

I checked the back of the DVD afterwards to find that it was rated R (Restricted viewing) not that it would have done me any good if I had checked it before buying the damn thing. I never did have any idea what those alphabets that denote ratings ever meant .
But I most certainly do now.
I guess it serves me right for buying a film without checking out its ratings and more so for inviting my children to watch it with me with out having watched it first from beginning to end.