by

so you missed …

You would never know what you have missed, she said
and never know the way
love loves to love.
knowing me was like an honor
I hardly bestow on any one.
Days and nights you think about me
hold my memories close to your heart.
Tip toeing around your heartache,
you sat your days and talk.
my thoughts you hold like orchids bloom
like melodies from the past.
Hiding them deep down like secrets ,
secrets of those treasures old.
Nights. – and talk about the nights!
you spend the nights in total disbelief –
how could you have let go,
let go of a dream you dreamed
all your life, you dreamed.
I know its hard.
but who said you
have to be so brave
for a life you only lived once
and once lived, is no more.

Friday Feb 15, 2013

2:02 am.

by

hiatus

Taking care of long neglected chores is – in some ways – rewarding.  I also think that this helps you understand a lot about yourself.  Even though everything  was very much there, the will to do it was not.  I was not willing to pay attention – didn’t think it important enough – I was not in the mood.  So it got pushed back, got forgotten and buried.
I realize that this happens all the time. Finally, getting around to do it, I become aware of the particular reason or reasons behind it. This is – in a way – therapeutic too.

Do you understand what I am trying to say?

Pushing it under the carpet, burying my head in sand like an Ostrich will not help in any way. Better bite the bullet.  So I did.

In today’s scheme of things was a promise too.  Being hard and harsh, in some ways, sometimes is the only way if I want to keep it.  Yet, I cannot assure its durability.  A friend professes : ” who says promises are for keeping. They are made to break. This is their charm.”  I don’t know what kind of charm he meant; neither did I ask.
I came across something in my note book.  ” she didn’t implore Bibi this time. ”   Sounds ominous, isn’t it?
and then,
” always remember that there is nothing in life called affinity – mental or emotional. Ego always has an upper hand.”
and then,
” zakhm e umeed bhar giya kab ka

qais to apne ghar gia kab ka. ”

I had my doctor’s appointments coming  – most feared one!! So I went on the date all jittery and nervous. He gave me a clean bill of health.. He said all is well and working fine. I wanted to give him a smile at the choice of his words, but I didn’t. It was relief.

Abu Dhabi friends visiting Florida. We took them out to dinner. and had an enjoyable evening. Weather was again cold . A chilling wind was blowing and rains too that at times became heavy. But it didn’t make any dent in the mutual happiness. With age they have mellowed down. The wife always had a fiery nature but now she was quieter and gentler towards her husband. It was not fighting. It was more like being in constant arguments. Not agreeing with what the other said. But they never were dis-respectful. We always enjoyed and sometimes laughed at their friendly banter which was not there this time.

I certainly needed this break. Their company, the lively conversation. Remembering old times. It was fun. A much needed distraction. Cannot say more.

A wedding reception. A friend’s daughter’s giving away ceremony. A new beginning for a new couple. There is a whole life of ups and downs, expectations and experiences ahead of them. May they meet those coming times with love, respect and calm resilience. May they have a blissfully happy companionship. A friend at one point said, ” if one is a Virgo and the other is a Sagittarius, it would be a most suitable union.”

What was she talking about? she certainly didn’t know anything about Stars !!

Ordered a few books from my wish list on my Kindle.

Tried a casserole recipe. Turned out very well.

Replied all of the pending email messages. Feels so good.  Really.

Irshad sahib emailed informing that Zavia is with the publisher now, who promises it to be ready in a weeks time. Amazing!  but we shall believe when we see it. Irshad always keeps me updated about Zavia and its progress. Thank you Khan sahib! ( he is no khan. I just call him khan sahib sometimes)

Mustafa Karim is not well. Writes very short notes to me these days. Sometimes repeats himself over again. writes that his wife and daughter are taking good care of him. I wish you health and strength my friend!

I will not say that I don’t miss my Facebook friends.   Familiar names posting their day’s likes and finds and thoughts and on the other side of the world, I read and appreciate them. This sure is a touch base or, home run feeling. Thanks guys!

There was a yellow folded paper on the back porch, trembling in the cold wind or …  I do not know why I thought that it was a message to some one from someone. I went out, picked it up – and sure it was what I thought. ” would you be my Valentine?”

Who wrote to who. One thing is sure though; either the recipient didn’t care much about the sender or is now frantically looking for it. The good thing is the sender probably is not aware of the fate of his or her love message.  Breaking a heart is like committing a sin. Right?

Read something this morning and could not let it pass by.

When people walk away from you, let them go

Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you.

It does not mean they are bad people.

It just means that their part in your story is over.

Need say no more !

Monday,Feb,18, 2013

2:o4 am.

by

this one is for you …

If winter comes

can spring be far behind?

Maybe yes, maybe no – who knows.

I am thinking. What about? I do not know yet. There is so much jumbled up, up there in the upper story and everything striving at the same time to come out, be untangled, wrinkles be smoothed out. But I cannot, or maybe I don’t want to. Sometimes a tangled state of emotions is good. Nothing is clear, nothing is staring you in the face to deal and solve. You feel safe because you don’t know. But this sham does not last long.

I remember one of my cousins sitting with all of us but not really with us. She was lost somewhere  in her own world. One of her younger sisters asked her something, and asked again when she didn’t reply. She without looking at her younger sister mumbled. “don’t disturb me. I am thinking”

Later I asked her what was she thinking about. “Nothing but I am fine now” I was a little girl at that time. To me this answer was another example of ‘ big people hiding things from small people’ ( my cousin was my maamun’s first born and almost my mother’s age)

Now I understand she was not hiding anything. That is how our thinking pattern is sometimes. We retreat somewhere – a world of images, not words and leave that world again in the same state but ourselves satiated. Actually there isn’t anything in dire needs of untangling.  Our mind likes it that way. Now I know its satisfying.

Last night I was reading a Rumi quotes.

What you seek is seeking you.”
― Rumi

This is not true. I am ‘seeking from the last …. and still seeking. Of-course you might say my search is not worth a fulfillment. Now who decides that?  the Beloved? Oh forgive me but this is a jaundiced reply.

But why then grief sits heavy and this invisible weight carrying gives soul a hump?

by

my dear doc.

Finally I put courage in both my hands, pushed and nudged and landed myself in my doctor’s office for my routine check ups. And when I came out of his office, ‘unbelievable ‘ was written all over my face.

He said everything was fine. Nothing to worry about. The only minus point was my blood report that shows  vitamin D deficiency.

“Why?” was his stern question.

“I don’t know.”  My meek answer.

“Living in Florida and you are D deficient? You want medication when you can have it free of charge?”  He said, short of yelling at me.

I dared not open my mouth.

“You don’t sit in the patio”

“Sometimes”

“Sometimes is not good. Go out everyday and spend at least half an hour under the Sun.”  He ordered.

“Okay.”  another meek response.

” I will order another blood test in a month”

“Okay”

And that was it. So why am I not feeling happy and relieved??

by

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.

by

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 ۔

by

love of my words …

میں تجھ کو یاد کروں اور تجھے سنائی نہ دے
ہے نقص مجھ میں کوئی تو مگر صفائی نہ دے

Iftikhar Mughal – himself a well known, published poet wrote these lines. He loved reading my stories and always had a good word for every afsana I wrote and was published in Funoon. (Qasmi sahib’s magazine) My afsana, ” phool chaand tarey aur drakht” almost catapulted him emotionally. He was always talking, praising, bringing out new points in the story  and admitting that after reading this afsana, he simply did not enjoy any other writing.  He sang such praises that I myself ended up being in awe of myself, and sitting down to pen a story became impossible. Month after month I would buy bundles of writing paper and throw out half written – sometimes not even a line written, crumpled papers. I talked to a very close, trusted friend about it. He laughed.

“You are terrified because someone ‘zameen aasman key qlaabey mila rha hey aap ki khaaniyon key baarey mein?”

“I do not know anything about qlaabey thing but I feel intimidated and the moment I start writing something, his love of my words starts pouring in and my pen freezes.”

“I do not have a solution”, he said “but you will get over it.”

“You probably want to know when would that happen. Unfortunately, there is no answer to that. What I know is that you will. Just don’t push yourself. If you cannot write so don’t write. Just be patient and wait.”

What a big help he was!! but he was right. I started writing soon after.

Human psyche is strange. Too much praise becomes a hindrance and sometimes someone telling you that you have become senile and writing is not for you any more becomes equally devastating  emotionally but a boost to your writing. This happened in 1984. A family friend that we had not met in a long time came to stay with us for a few days. At one point he asked me about my writing. I didn’t want to discuss my writing or not writing with him so I said I do what I can do. He said ” oh I know with time People become senile, you know. That made me very upset. It was like my whole world had gone upside down.  I thought of giving him a nice reply but didn’t.  He was a guest! But I wrote phool chand tarey …… a couple of years later. Didn’t I?

The couplet that I have written in the beginning is by him – Iftikhar Mughal – who is not with us any more but shall always be with us because of his beautiful poetry. I sometimes feel that he said these two lines for me. Maybe he knew that some day I would need them.

Monday, January14,2013
Florida

by

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!

by

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.