memories, like flowers …

I am thinking about Wah again.

It is a feeling, a sensation, a fragrance that follows me around.  It happens once or twice – every year.   Suddenly I would feel transported to a place called Wah.  For days after that I live in a parallel world that once was.

Wah – my beautiful city where I spent most of my formative years. Where I met my husband and got married to him. Where I had my first born and thought life was so beautiful.

Wah in Urdu – means Wow, amazing, wonderful, lovely… it means all of it  put together and more.  To me it also means waking up on beautiful mornings listening to the birds chirping in my mother’s fruit trees. Or coming home after school in the afternoon feeling the cool air on my neck and listening to the rustling sounds of tall slim and handsome poplar trees. And it most definitely means the whole family gathered around the table for the evening cup of tea and spending quality time in each others’ company. Yes, I am thinking about Wah.

In “Tuzk i Jahangiri” –  the chronicles of Mughal Emperor Jahangir –  it is noted that once the Emperor was coming back from Kashmir; it was getting late and the army was tired. They decided to look for a place to put up their tents for the night. A few soldiers were sent on to look for a nice and safe place and report back to the Emperor.  In their search, the soldiers discovered a place, all green with lush grass and covered with wildflowers … a valley surrounded by mountains. The soldiers reported back and gave this news.  The first word that the Emperor uttered when he reached the place was WAH!!

So this place became Wah for eternity.

Wah had all four seasons. Autumn, Winter, Spring and Summer, all so unique and distinct. All of them so beautiful in their own ways.  Sizzling hot summers and then the first rains of Monsoon. Fall and forlorn, naked trees. Then winter and howling winds or rain silently falling on the roof, or a thunderstorm like no other with such force and ferocity. Foggy mornings and hard freezes crunching under the feet. And then Spring – the glorious spring. when the whole city would be wrought with all shades and shapes and kinds of flowers. The air so clean, so fresh and fragrant. One had to be there to experience the magical Spring!

I remember waking up in the mornings and tip-toeing barefoot on the wet, lush green grass, towards the flower beds to see and smell the beauty.  Have you ever smelled the sweet peas? Seen the variety of colors they have?  My mother and our gardener Zarin Khan always discussed and planned before planting the saplings. The neat and disciplined person that my mother was, Zarin Khan would never do anything in the garden without consulting her. It was amusing the way he would come to the back veranda and sit on the stairs, waiting for mother. Meanwhile Rehmat Bi would bring tea and something to eat for him. Then mother would come out holding her cup of tea and sit down on the takht (a kind of a settee) and talk about flowers, seasonal vegetables and if any tree or the hedges around the front and back yards needed trimming, cutting or pruning. The seriousness on their faces was priceless.

My favorite place in our back yard was between the two rows of sweet pea flower beds. Just lying there and watching the sky was soothing.  Zarin Khan never liked this. The first time he gave me a warning –  “Kho tum achha nain karti. Begum saab hum pe bigarta he!” – “This is not good- the mistress will be very angry!” He’d let me go but the next time he caught me, he complained to mother. I will not say what happened next but I knew I was at fault after all! But this doesn’t mean that I stopped visiting!

Here in Florida, every time I went to a nursery to buy some plants, I would check the seeds racks. In Spring when buying annuals, I would look for sweet pea saplings. It was only this Summer that I happened to see the pea seeds. I thought, once the frost was out of the way, we would plant the seeds. But one afternoon, my dear husband happily broke the news that he had planted the seeds while I was taking my afternoon nap. I was a little apprehensive but they survived the hard freeze!

When they were a feet and a half high, I started looking for the buds. Yesterday I spotted some. They will be blooming by the end of this month. I hope and pray they have the same sweet fragrance.

I love Petunias and Marigolds too. Actually it’s the yellow color of Marigolds and the purple of Petunias that make me happy and feel alive. Have you seen a purple colored sweet pea flower? It’s a beauty!  But, here the tampering has perfected the beauty of flowers and fruit, but robbed them of fragrance, and even the taste in the fruits’ case. My purple petunias have no fragrance, they are just pretty. I hope its different with the sweet peas.

Narcissus, sweet peas, marigolds and petunias are a few of my favorite flowers.  Yellow of  marigold and purple in petunias and sweet peas; I absolutely love them.

And I love the timeless times where memories reside.

chana masala

Here it is, after some requesting from my son and some of his friends. A quick and easy Chana Masala recipe. Enjoy!

  • 2 cans 15.5 oz Chick Peas
  • ½ tsp. Chili powder
  • ¼ tsp. Turmeric
  • ¼ tsp. Salt
  • 1 tblsp. Garlic and ginger paste
  • ½ cup Cilantro, freshly chopped
  • 1 Onion, medium sized, freshly chopped
  • 1 Tomato, medium sized, freshly chopped
  • 1 ½ cup Water
  • 2 tblsp. Lemon juice
  • 2 tblsp. Cooking oil
  • 2 tbslp. SHAN Chana Masala mix (available in any Pakistani or Indian store, like this »)

Directions

Empty the cans of chick peas in a strainer and rinse them under cold water. Set aside.

In a medium pot, heat the oil. Add 1/3 of the onion when the oil is a little hot, and sautee until golden brown. Add garlic and ginger paste. Stir for a minute then add 1 cup of water. Add the chili powder, turmeric, salt. Stir. Want things more spicy? Increase the amount of chili powder, or put 2 chopped, hot green chili peppers in the mix.

Add chick peas. Lower the heat to medium. Cover and let cook for 4-5 minutes then add ½ cup of water. (more if you feel that it’s sticking to  the bottom of the pan). Add Shan Chana Masala mix and mush the chick peas a little to give it a little thickness. Stir.

Add chopped onion, tomatoes and cilantro. Lower the heat and let cook for 5 minutes. Take the pot off the stove. Let it stand for a while then add the lemon juice.

If you want to add a little something extra for texture and taste, try adding potatoes:

Take 1 large or 2 medium potatoes, take care of the eyes, then wash and dice them with the skin on. Microwave them on high for about 8 minutes, covered with a paper towel. You’ll want to add them into the pot and cook them for 2-3 minutes and then add the chick peas.

onus

You break me in pieces

I build me again

for another day

for a deeper sigh.

But I know what you

do not know.

I will rise

and win the war.

Defeat you I will and celebrate

celebrate the freedom.

Freedom …..

the freedom I died for.

(dedicated to the people of Pakistan)

i saw it happen

Our Sandhill Crane family is in distress. The babies are bird-confused. I don’t know what is going on in their bird-brains. They look at their mother who has been wailing ever since the male just up and left his family, flying away in these blue, sunny skies.

I saw it happen.

Around 1:30 in the afternoon I went out our front door to see how  recently planted Marigolds and purple Petunias were doing.  Sun was not so warm and a nice breeze was stirring the Crape Myrtles, helping them shed their brown and bronze leaves, for approaching winter. I thought I would stay a while and savor the surrounding beauty.

Ours is a nice, clean and peaceful neighborhood.  The lane our house is on, has two lakes.  One is basically in our backyard. The other is joined to the backyards of the houses across our house with a service road running between these two rows.

So I was strolling the front lawn savoring the Sun, telling the Creator what wonderful world He had created and how nice of Him to give humans the ability to forget the sizzling days of Summer. Then I saw them ; mama, papa and their two kids –  the Sandhill Crane family.  They are loved by everyone in this neighborhood, where everybody knows their name ! Only yesterday my granddaughter, coming back home from school saw them walking towards our back yard.  She raced, the fastest she could, came in and without even taking off her back pack, snatched some bread from the breadbox and ran to the backyard where – to her delight, she found them waiting.  They certainly made her day.

Then suddenly this peace and tranquility was broken.  I saw – I saw the male flapping his wings and separating himself  from the family. The other three startled, looked at him who gave out a long and grating Sandhill Crane scream and lifted his body off the ground. Then wings spread, long legs straight and in line behind the body, he flew up and away in a beautiful blue autumn afternoon.  All three looking after his disappearing majestic body. And once he was gone, the female started calling,  Sandhill crane calls, long, gurgling, distressing, calls and the poor babies just looking around then at their mama then again here and there …

Then after much wailing the mother was silent.  She has to think about the babies after all. What if he didn’t come back?  But how could he do that in the first place?  Last summer, I saw something I will never forget.  They were in our backyard. The girls fed them bread. There were peals of happy laughter when the birds would take food from their hands. After finishing their ‘snack’, they started walking down to the lake but  one of the babies was tired and he sat down to take a nap. While the baby was resting these mama and papa stood over him, guarding like sentries. The second baby went down to the lake to wade in the shallow water. After the sleeping baby woke up they all went away, walking so gracefully. I am sure it was not the same family, but at least it tells how family oriented these birds are.

Its really strange. Why did it happen what happened? these birds do not like to be single. You will always see them in pairs, or with a family of two babies; and why always only two babies? because the female lays only two eggs.

I hope he comes back .  Three is not a Sandhill Cranes family.

mohsin ehsan

We have lost Mohsin Ehsan.

At 2 o’clock  in the afternoon my husband said,  “I heard on BBC that Mohsin Ehsan has died.”

We all, who knew him, knew it was coming.  It was expected but still I felt something drop in my heart.

I had received an email from Khalid Qureshi yesterday. He had sent it to all those he knew; I got a copy too. It read  like … Mohsin is not feeling well. His Son Ali came from the UK and took him back. He is in the hospital now. He is being given Morphine … he is not talking, not responding…

This was my very first contact with Khalid Qureshi. I had a torrent of email exchanges with him after that. I was a little apprehensive that my too many questions might become too many. But he was really nice and polite, helpful. Maybe he understood what I was saying.  Sometimes words are not just words- they become connectors if there is a common cause, a shared concern. We both wanted Mohsin to get well and get well soon.

I again contacted Khalid Qureshi  to confirm the news. It came back with a yes.

Why did he have to die? Couldn’t he hold on to… ?  We were going to have “Zavia, Mohsin Ehsan Number.” Only last month Irshad Siddiqi made me promise to write something and I had finally written and sent my contribution – a short essay on him. We all wanted him to know he was loved, respected and valued.

Yesterday a dear friend also called from Lahore – our, time spent together routine –   The first thing I said was “Mohsin bemaar he. Du’a karo” (Mohsin is ill, pray for him) and we talked about him for about an hour. Where did all that come from?

I had told Irshad , “What do you want me to write on Mohsin ?  I  have never met him. Apart from Wah Ordinance club mushairas, we never even met. So what do you want from me?”  And I  spent an afternoon writing about Mohsin Ehsan. It was a short essay but I enjoyed writing it.

Humans are a strange species, totally!

Rest in peace Mohsin. You will always be in our hearts.

‘my’

”    The cause of human suffering is obsessive attachment to the concept of “my”.  My wealth, my health, my comfort, my happiness, my son, my daughters.  When they leave you one day, as they are bound to … suffering comes. ”

Lord Buddha.