enamored

I just finished reading another of his letter I found in my old files post dated November 15, 2003. I  think this was his last letter he wrote to me.

Two lines into the letter, he starts talking about his death in a round about way. I never knew how old he was. I vaguely remember in one of his numerous letters he mentioned that he was 56/57 years old. But that was a long long time ago, before this letter. If he was talking about dying in 2003 then ten years are right there added to 56/57. Even if he was alive today,  considering  the time he wrote his first letter of appreciation, he must be somewhere in his eighties now.

Eighty years of futile living!! Well how can I be so sure, I only know that for all those years he just kept writing me letter after letter and when our address changed, he started sending them through a magazine. I only remember all those letters echoing with hints of defeat, failiur , heartache and yearning for love and friendship and he had picked me for that.

Stories don’t always reflect their authors. But sometimes a hungry soul sees in them what is lacking in his/her life and thinking that the author is the answer to his/her woes, he starts persueing the author which in-fact is; persuing his own dreams.

I was really scared of him.  Had stopped going out on my own, or if I had to I would wear huge dark sun glasses, dress up as conspicuously as I could, keep the car doors locked all the time … it was miserable.

Eighty years! I feel sorry for him now. I was very young when he first started pouring out his appreciation  about my writings. Yes I feel sorry for him that I didn’t grant him his wish. He so wanted to see me, sit with me, talk to me about my stories and why he liked them so much. I could have let him come to our house, meet me and my family. Listened to him, his story that he so wanted to tell me. I talked to my elders about this situation and was told off …

“kis ne kha tha zuroor khaniyan likho? yhi saza mile gi tumhein phir … ”  Naturally such talk  scared me even more.

It all started in 1979.  I had written a story about …. well that is beside the point.  He was so enamored with it that he copied almost all of my afsana praising it paragraph by paragraph. This letter was sent to me by the editor of the magazine who he had requested to forward the letter to me.  I wouldn’t say I didn’t enjoy reading that. Who wouldn’t? But that was the only letter that I saved  in my files. What is ironicle is that now I cannot find it.

musings

Dec 2, 2010
Do I speak some strange language?
because women think I am too intelligent, read too much, have strong opinions and am an intellectual on top of all that and they don’t know how to engage me in small talk.

Men think ‘enh, she is just a women’ and so the big boys, with their bloated egos, pass me by.

They both are wrong.

I am a minority.

yesterday

She looked at her hands – ‘ they are my begging bowl, empty always – empty’. She looked at the time. The time. In another ten minutes he would board his home bound bus and would be lost for twelve hours. That was her curfew on herself  imposed by herself – on her thoughts and her wishes.  (days and nights)

Excerpts from a Dec.2, 2009  letter to a friend.

… these days I am in the hands of four doctors. A dentist, my primary care MD, my surgeon and another doctor from my insurance who comes to the house to talk about my health.. In Feb. of this year I had my surgery and because of that I had to cancel my dentists appointment.  When I was well enough, I went to the dentist in August. Soon as he saw me he left his patient to the nurse and came running to me. He wanted to give me a hug to show how happy he was to see me. I said, spare me, I don’t want to hang on a six and a half feet pole. He laughed, patted me on my shoulder and went back to his patient. Later, when I was waiting for him, reading my book, he came in, stood by my side, making a pose like a philosopher, said, mrs. zaidi you are a beautiful women. Yes, beautiful! I tell you .. I was happy to hear that after a long and hard struggle with recuperation process that I wanted to give him a big kiss but ‘afsos’ couldn’t do that. If I had, my other half would have killed him and then me or maybe him first and then me.

While coming back home, I narrated the whole episode to him but on ‘cautionary grounds’ censored the kissing part. Why take a chance :)

Yesterday

kaveh, kaveh sakht jaane-haai tanhaaii nah pooch

subha karna shaam ka laana haiy jooiey sheer ka

(ghalib)

sometimes last year

On the other side of the lake someone lighted a candle. On this side of the lake, sitting in the dark she looked at the flickering flame. She could make out two forms sitting close to each other. Then one leaned towards the other ….  on this side she got up and went inside.

Wednesday, January23, 2013.

On the threshold of the afternoon

I left a rose.

Tomorrow,

when you open the day

the rose will greet you.

Grow it in your memory

that I planted.

One day

when the days will stand alone

and the nights long and lonely,

open the book of memories

the rose will be there, fresh and fragrant,

I promise.

Wednesday, January16,2013

(markings in  days and nights)
۔۔۔۔ وہاں جہاں تم تھے قلم اور کاغذ کے ساتھہ ، سامنے بیٹھے سا معین سے مخا طب ،  اس وقت
تمھا ر ے ذہن میں شاید یہ با ت کہیں دور دور بھی نہیں تھی کھ ایک سال ، کسی ایک برس
وہ ایک عجب بے بسی کے سا منے چپ ، چاہنے نہ چا ہنے کےسامنے بےاختیار ، نڈھال تمہاری
زندگی میں آ کر بھی نہیں آ سکے گی ۔ کوئ بھی جا نتا نہیں تھا ۔ بس ایک وقت تھا جو آ ہستہ خرامی
سے اس ایک لمحے کی طرف بڑھ رہا تھا ۔۔۔ آہستہ خرامی ، کہ دونوں اپنی اپنی زندگئوں میں گُندھ
جایئں ایسے کہ سوائے حیرت و حسرت کچھہ بھی اختیار میں نہ ہو ۔

connections

Last night it suddenly started raining. I was not reading any book nor was writing about anything. Just sitting there on my favorite seat and thinking about the day – and the previous day. Dazed! Humbled!  Then it started raining. First it was a ‘tip – tap on the window then a soft and steady swishing sound, sending me deep into my reverie

Rains were in the weather forecast but during the day in-spite of an overcast sky, we didn’t see a drop of rain. It was just muggy and gloomy  – though not gloomy for me. I usually enjoy such days. Had it been overcast and also cold, then it would have been a perfect day for my annual ” Dr. Zhvago ” viewing.  But no, it was not a wintry day.

I don’t expect snow where I live but there comes a time every year when there is a freeze advisory issued and the mercury dips down to freezing point. When this  happens, our neighborhood turns into a ghost town.  I mean all the vulnerable trees standing in the neighborhood front yards get wrapped in white sheets – cloth or plastic, making them look creepy, specially at night.  I am not making it up.  Have a walk around the neighborhood at night and you would know what I am talking about …  you would feel so spooked out you would want to sprint back  home to safety , feeling like someone is pulling you back, or some hundred pound weights are tied to your feet. Oh dear! fear is such a potent sensation!   All these ghosts watching you, standing in peoples front yards are disconcerting to the bravest of the hearts.

I remember one Christmas day, probably it was December of 1995 /96   THE coldest day of the season! Because of  too much load on the electricity as almost every household was having their heaters on, the electricity went off.  Imagine a Christmas day on the coldest day of December and no electricity to warm the house or even serve a warm meal! Even the sky was overcast and an extremely cold wind was blowing … Poor snowbirds who had come in search of a “warm Christmas” were even deprived of a decently warmed house. ( Having a fireplace in the living rooms was not a very popular idea then. Only an occasional house was blessed with a fireplace)

Around 1:pm, someone knocked on the door. It was Jenny Rawlings, who lived next door, with a dish in her hands. “Hi Raifi Merry Christmas! Here is this peach cobbler  for you. Good thing I baked it last night. Never saw Florida this cold.  This is all these snow birds – bless their hearts – bringing this cold with them.  And you know Raifi, Icicle are hanging from the trees on Red Bug road.’

” Oh come on Jenny how could that be? It is not that kind of cold ” I said. ” Actually someone left the sprinklers on- you know, for the grass on the pavements … ” she winked and laughed. ” Of course that water froze .. what do you expect ”

“Okay, now Jenny come inside. You are making me freeze to death” I said

“Oh no, I am going. Al is getting grumpy. He is sitting on the sofa all wrapped up in blankets and shouting at the Electricity department …” she stopped as if listening to something. ” Its  Al … I am coming, I am coming ! ”  who she was talking to? I didn’t hear anybody. Maybe it was some inner connection.

then she was gone.

I want to talk about  inner connections,  prayers being answered, special bonds, falling in love without seeing or meeting a person.  A pure and serene  love – like Kneeling before the Altar and lighting a candle, like honoring the union of the souls by holding your palms over the fire, like the call of a moezzan at dawn, rising to the heavens –

I want to talk about  severing all relations and still missing and yearning. Getting angry and stop talking and soon after start communicating like there never was any break.  Having a most enjoyable rapport with someone ….  one thinking  and the other listening  even being oceans apart.

It sound strange  but it happens. I know it happens!

humble and forgiving …

There is something about the month of Muharram that makes me humble and forgiving. The first thing that I do is forget and forgive past and present hurts. I start the year with a clear conscience; and same way I want people to forgive me if I had hurt them in any way.  Sometimes it was me at fault and other times the other person was. I always make the first move to reach out . It makes me feel good.

I honor my history and I am proud of my heritage.  Also, I absolutely love  my tradition. But I am not going to talk about what happened some 14 /15 hundred years ago because it is very personal to me, we all have a private niche in our hearts where we retreat in times like these. Some people understand it, some don’t. I will just add one sentence , though, that whatever it was, was and is enough to rip one’s heart.

I forgive you my friend. And I need your forgiveness too.

feeling good ..

Its Friday today. It was last Friday that my throat started hurting. It is exactly eight days since.  My doctors visit, antibiotics, headaches, body aches, hacking cough blocked sinuses, hearing impaired, soups and crackers for meals. Breads, grains, cheerios making me nauseous, losing seven pounds of body weight – I went through all this in these eight days.  Today was the last day of the antibiotics. I feel slightly better and hope to regain some strength gradually.  I take a reclining position in front of my computer and this is how I keep myself  connected to the outside world.

I have never been a fan of television but during this time I thought I would ride through my sickness days watching TV. But Gave up on the first attempt. My hearing limitations made me raise the volume so high the whole house seemed to be vibrating –  so I was told .. well may be it was a bit of an exaggeration but still, I honestly would never inflict such misery on any one. I have zero tolerance for people talking loudly, or just making din out of nothing.  I remember when in August my brother in law was visiting us, these two brothers would talk incessantly- nonstop – without any comma, semi colon or full stop to take a breath. Oh my!!

At home, I had many escape routs but when going out, three of us cooped up in the car, this non stop talking was too much for me. Finally my son got me some earplugs, and oh what bliss!. I would go sit in the back seat, , a cushion at my  back, a cushion in my lap and my kindle resting on it, I would be in the same car cabin for two hours and know nothing about what was going on. Hallelujah!

My children are the best. Very loving very caring. But when their mama is sick they become angels. One of them is married so he has his family commitments. And the second one of them? I always say that every mother should have one like him. He is a Virgo and I am Sagittarius. I read somewhere that these two Zodiac signs  are special and understand each other well . Well I read this just recently but I have known this for ages that he keeps a watchful eye on my happiness, my well being and so much more.  He is the one who stayed the nights with me in the hospital way back in 2009 when I had to have a major surgery. I don’t know what my baby went through sitting by his – still under the influence of anesthesia – mother’s side , all by himself  but I still remember his routine  he kept during those days and nights. And at night, he would sleep on a recliner and on the first stirring or sound from me, he would jump to his feet and ask me

” what is it mama? you need something? Are you comfortable?”

And the nurses coming in, going out all night, checking this noting that and my baby not getting any sleep. Someone would come around eleven in the morning to relieve him. He would go home take a shower and off to his office.

Is it that the people who did something good get rewarded so good. I am sure I did something exceptionally good

But he is a little bossy too which I absolutely love.  For example:

“I told you to take Guafaneficine “( sorry, I am not sure about the spellings)

‘yes you did but the tablets were blue, so blue, they would have made me look blue.( he ignored my attempt at being cute)

“No they wouldn’t have made you look blue. On the first sign of any sniffles, always start taking those tablets. This would protect you from all this misery.”

“Okay, okay. Next time I will remember that.”  I try to assure him how cooperative I am.

Today he was talking to me from his office.

“How are you feeling mama.”

“feeling alright. Took last dose of antibiotics.”

“yeah good. In a couple more days you will be feeling fine.”

“yes. I hope so.”

then he ordered his mama to go out and sit in the sun for good half an hour

But I have light skin color, ten minutes should be fine for me. I tried to wiggle out of this

“No no, just go, ammi.  Sit in the sun. Its good for you.”

Didn’t I say they think I am their younger sister!!

I love that 🙂

Thanks for listening my friends. I feeling good already!.

some more floats …

That was last night.  Now is to-day.

I was feeling  – actually I was beyond feeling anything and still I managed a few lines to talk about the historic event. The last thing that I vaguely remember I thought was Mahir Ali and his column in Dawn on Wednesdays. I remember his column he wrote when Bush won the second term. But that was Bush and this  is Obama. And if he chose to write about this President and his winning the second term, I would certainly want to read that. I love the way he writes.

I am feeling – yes I can feel – better today. The worst is over.

I haven’t made any search effort though because every time  I try to get up and do something my energy level raises a finger and I meekly go back to rest. Where am I going to get any energy if all I am eating is soup, black tea and a slice of toasted bread. Problem is that even this is hard to eat and keep it down.  Enough. Talk about something else.

I am not on fb anymore. This is a statement I didn’t need to issue nor I am supposed to do any explaining. Some things just happen; and it is good that they happen. I hope people are happy and they would let other people be happy too.

Islamic new year is about to start. Mah e Muharram! The first month of the year. It breaks my heart every time I think of all the people who laid down their lives one scorching hot summer afternoon. This was Prophet Muhammad’s family and friends. Just seventy two brave, honorable faithfuls. So we would commemorate their martyrdom – And who I would mourn more? the martyrs or the respected ladies of the house who were made prisoners and were walked without any veil, barefoot, all the way to Sryia.

I think of these days like taking a refreshers course in – what ‘commitment’ means.

Yes. Commitment.

turkish dream

meri sochti aankhein.
Some nights they refuse to co-operate. Last night again saw me thinking and not wanting to think.  Some memories have a mind of their own – a relentless, sadistic, stubborn kind of mind that would only let go of its grip when itself ready to let go.
I got up , went to the living room, pulled the verticals a little to the side. Turned the recliner around and sat there facing the night. The Moon was shining over the lake and there was a shimmering silver path reflecting on the dark water – Turkish Dream – that is what it is.
Has anyone seen the Moon shining over the Bosphorus – the Strait in Turkey? Sitting on the hotel balcony, I thought it was the most beautiful and mysterious experience. That night the Strait was bathing in the heavenly light, like a surreal dream.  There were two small boats and a barge, en- rout to their destinations and a restless tourist on the hotel balcony.
Murad’s family had invited us to an afternoon tea at their beautiful house on the Bosphorus. There were about thirty people invited to meet us. A lively group of friends and family. There, two ladies had an interesting discussion about a name – Jahid or Mujahid. They both were adamant that only her name was grammatically correct. One of the ladies was Turkish and the other was an Arab. It was interesting and for some obscure reason it would not vacate my mind for other thoughts to come in an register. So, a glass of water in hand, I stepped out on the balcony and watched the night. On the other side – the Eastern part – tiny specks of light were twinkling. On my left, the famous Hanging Bridge was busy with non stop speeding traffic. No sound; just blazing lights! I sat there a long time . Not thinking about the day trip we were taking in the morning.
I never look at time whenever I have difficulty falling asleep. Keeping tabs on time makes one anxious unnecessarily. At some point I got up, pulled the verticals in place, returned the recliner back to its place and went in my room.
Sleep was a ‘rahmat’ that slowly came.

i rise

I rise

Like a morning Sun

I slowly rise

Thinking thoughts and picking up vibes

Contemplating,

the Universal Silence.

Hanging around

A tiny hope,

tingling on the edge of air.

Then moments separate

Spreading voices,

far and wide.

In a web of rays, I see

my dreams floating away.

Oh stop, come back –

I fish I catch, I grope

I fall –

fall hurtling down, down and down

to unknown depths.

Then slowly I rise

Like a morning Sun

For another day

For a tiny hope

tingling on the edge of air

Oct. 3,2012

love bugs

I was out all day – almost.

My other half  had some work, work that Realtors do and he wanted me to tag along. The bait was:

” I will buy you lunch”

which I took because  kitchen and I are not the best of buddies.  But a lady is not supposed to jump at the first offer so I said I want to stay light because children are planning dinner for tonight (our wedding anniversary). He promised he would buy me my fave, vegetable sub.  There was no further excuse or  resistance 🙂

In Florida, Love Bug season has started. Don’t ask me  what they are. I shan’t be able to explain. They are just some pesky bugs that  love each other “till the death do the pair  part”  and when their season starts, they are everywhere. They are enemy # 1 of cars. These intoxicated with love, bugs hit the car full speed and lo and behold, poor dears are just a brown spot on the front of the car, all over ( there, I acquainted them to you. Please don’t mourn their death, they are not worth your tears ) and if you don’t take care to clean the gunk right away, you will pay to clean the wind screen and the rest of the body, dearly.

The place we went is a newly developed housing community. The moment I stepped out of the car, I was assaulted by love bugs relentlessly. In my hair, on my face, sticking on to my clothes. Two of them even came and sat on my chin. Perverts! They were everywhere.

The day was beautiful. A beautiful blue sky and tufts of white clouds floating in this lofty vastness and I felt a little lost, which I was since morning. Please don’t do this to me, I said to no one or maybe to One, who is always listening.

On our way home I read my poem to him that I had written the night  news came on about the innocent Afghan civilians,  massacred in the middle of the night when they were sound asleep; women and children! A boy escaped, somehow. We both were quiet for a few miles after I had finished reading it. Maybe it was not the right ending note for being out to-gather but ….

I will post this poem soon, for you.