They gypsy in me, crying

For oil change I go to a place that is often deserted. It is a small shop away from the busy street. There I get a very quick service. I just give them the car key and wait for them to complete the job. So, it was another one of those oil changes when I was just trying to look busy, writing things in my notebook, a conversation took place between a man who had come for some auto work and the attendant there. The attendant told the customer he was planning a trip to Canada. He said his father worked all life long, made a lot of money, but never went anywhere, never traveled out of this area. And now his father was old and sick and was not capable of traveling.

“What good is all that money? You cannot take it with you. When you are gone, you are gone.” The attendant said to the other man.

Those were wise words.

The attendant told the other man he did not want to end up his father’s way. Instead he wanted to enjoy life. And his idea of enjoying life was to travel. I am sure he is not alone. Traveling is everybody’s idea of fun. Very seldom you meet people who say they don’t enjoy traveling and want to stay put in their place.

I too want to travel. I want to go to exotic lands (although some believe the land I come from is quite exotic—I call it scary). But the world is a very big place. How can you possibly see it with two-weeks per year vacation?

Why love fails?

Why love fails? I don’t know. And I don’t know how this thought suddenly came to my mind. But it came nevertheless and it stayed in here for some time.

Re: A lot of things

Are you wondering if I had a meeting with Naila (not her real name, of course)?
Yes, I did.
And I am glad I met her. She really needed a shoulder to cry on.

She said she was not happy in her marriage. Her hubby was driving her crazy. She said her man is bossy.

I told her all Pakistani men are bossy.

“What took you so long to figure out this genetic defect?”

And you should be thankful you don’t have more bosses.

What do you mean? She asked.

Well, you could have your in-laws living with you.

Imagine living with your mother-in-law and being told what to do.

She has been married for over three years. What has made things difficult lately?

She said her husband is now a telecommuter. He is home almost all the time.

He has opinion about everything. He is telling her all the time what to do, when she is driving, when she is cooking, when she is vacuum cleaning.

Maybe it is time for her to go out and seek work.

She said she wants to stay at home, because the children are very young.

Is that the only problem?

Is she otherwise happy with her man?

She could not find anything else wrong with him. But his nagging was a big thing.

[To be continued]

Entangled in life

This blog is my private space. This is where I come to when I have time for myself, when I just want to be by myself. Life is a crazy circus; it is so easy to get entangled in it. Before you know a few days have gone by without you sparing time for yourself. Is this how life should be? Or, may be it really should be this way, so that you can appreciate what a great gift solitude is.
This blog is like my personal counseling session in which I am the patient and I am the counselor. As if there is a huge wall and I got a paint brush in my hand. I can paint as I wish. What a great relief! What a technological bliss!

Lal Masjid drama

The episode is at its end. Or, is it the beginning of something bigger, more monstrous? It is hard for me to effuse content let alone jubilation.
1. Why this problem was not solved earlier?
2. Why did the negotiations fail at the last moment?
3. Why this could not be solved without killing anyone? [Why a prolong siege along with disconnection of utilities (this they did) and constantly dropping tear gas shells from helicopters (that old phrase 'smoke them out' comes to mind), was not chosen as the strategy?]

Now that killed cleric is a martyr. He can be easily transformed into a larger-than-life figure and a cult can grow around him. A dreadful thought!

Re: A lot of things

No, I did not get a chance to meet her. She called and canceled the appointment. She said her hubby was home and she could not meet me for lunch. I'll talk to her soon and will find out. Stay strong, Sis.

A lot of things to discuss

Naila called. Naila and myself are very close. I know her as well as you can possibly know someone. I could tell she was perturbed. She wanted to see me, to "discuss a lot of things.” When women say “things” they normally mean things about men in their lives. We have set up a time for tomorrow, Tuesday. I’ll meet her and meet her as if my whole body is nothing but my ears.

A lesser human being

A woman,

You are half as good as a man,

They tell me.

How is that?

I ask.

I can do everything a man can do,

And more.

I can produce a child.

You cannot.

So, who between us should be deemed,

A lesser human being.

Ready to convert?

I don’t know what to think of this except that a bunch of bigoted Pakistani men and their girl cohorts are chasing women out of Islam:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1926720731699611002

Separation Anxiety

When I reached the park to see the fireworks there were not so many people there. But they kept drifting in; whole families with children on dads’ shoulders, crying infants in strollers, older folks with sons and daughters on their side. They brought folding chairs and their picnic food. Americans can’t possibly go anywhere without taking food with them, no matter how short a period they are going for.

As it grew darker the park got packed tighter every second. People kept coming closer and closer to each other. And we grew accustomed to people around us. I was surrounded by people who perhaps took me as a permanent fixture of their environment, just like I took them to be. The Tamil man who wore an Intel T-shirt; the man and woman who had two teenager girls with mouths full of braces; the Chinese family that kept talking to the child in the stroller in Chinese. When the fireworks started we were really huddled, violating each other’s personal space. There was a woman on my right whose elbow touched my elbow; I turned my head to look at her. She said, Sorry. But then it happened again a few minutes later and I did not bother to look at her, and she did not bother to say Sorry.

I always look for new fireworks and there were a few I had not seen before. I want to see novelty and the fireworks people showed their creativity to me.

The show ended with a full burst of fireworks and then people started leaving. People whose presence I had gotten accustomed to suddenly left, just like the streaking stars of the fireworks that were no longer there in the sky. I felt the separation anxiety. I felt lonely.

Fourth of July

It was a holiday so I took an extra hour to get out of bed this morning. I looked in my diary and tried to find something meaningful to post on my blog this Independence Day. Here is a piece I found related to today’s theme of independence.

A freeing hijab

Being a Muslim woman one of the things I was repeatedly told was about the virtues of hijab. I was told it frees you. Hijab sets you free from the prying eyes of men out there, they would tell me. I experimented with hijab, and to my chagrin it did not free me. In fact it muffled me, it especially muffled my ears. I already have a hard time listening things; with this hijab on my head and tightly covering my ears I now had an even tougher time to hear. Every time somebody would speak to me, and I won’t be able to figure out what they were saying, I would push the hijab back, uncovering my ear and would request the person to repeat themselves. Needless to say, all that was very inconvenient. I was not liking it, AT ALL. I am sure there are other women who love their hijabs, but I was not one of them.

I tried to solve the plugged ears problem hijab presented. One day when I was alone at home I made cuts in the hijab so that now there were long slits on the two sides through which my ears would protrude out. I put the hijab on, got the ears sticking out on both sides, and then stood in front of a mirror to examine myself. I looked dorky. I heartily laughed at myself.

And then I asked a more serious question.

Does my God really want to see me in this much pain and agony? I asked myself.

God who is gentler than my mother does not want it this way. I got the answer.

It was a cold night. One of those winter days when the sun disappears early and everything cools rapidly after the sunset, just like when you turn off an electric stove that was red hot, you now see it losing its color and becoming cold.

I sat by the fireplace, with the hijab in my hand. I debated with myself for a bit and then tossed the hijab in fire. It was engulfed by flames relatively quickly. In one flame that ephemerally rose I saw God smiling at me, perhaps congratulating me on my achievement. Pretty soon the fire consumed the hijab and it lost most of its shape and form. I stretched my hand to perversely feel the warmth of the hijab carcass—that warmth truly freed me.

Sister act

Sister.
That is what men at the mosque would call me. I know why they call me sister. Because they are afraid of me, and that because they are afraid of themselves. Because they live in that frame of mind where a woman has to be put in a relationship-pigeonhole; a woman can be a mother, daughter, sister, or wife; there is no other place for a woman to be. She has to fit in, in one of these roles--a role always related to a man, because that is what a woman is, in their eyes, a dependent, not a complete human being, but a latching entity.

An introduction

I have been living life led by the primitive faculty of smell, be it the smell of mango leaves when unripe mangoes are picked and leaves come with them, or the smell of freshly cut grass, or the smell dry earth releases on being showered with rain. I enjoy the Internet which I believe is the greatest thing that has happened to Pakistani women, at least those who could get educated even with men, religion, and society in their way.

An experimenting life

I have been experimenting in life. It is not like I knew everything when I turned 18. This is what this society tells you. That when you are 18, you are good to go on your own, explore the world and experience life on yourself, without the guidance of anyone.

I was pretty stupid when I was 18. I cannot claim I am very intelligent now, but I certainly know that I am a bit matured and wised than what I was when I was 18.

Growing up as a woman in Islamic Republic of Pakistan

I am not that old. At least I don’t think of myself as being too old. They say people write autobiographies when they grow very old. But I want to do it now. Why? I don’t know. I just feel like doing it NOW. So welcome to Farzana’s secret world.

I take it back. There are no secrets here. The ones that really are, I promise I won't share with you.