Kanwalful meets world

February 28, 2013

Street rat

Sun bleached hair. Unwashed and sticky. Matted to a tanned forehead, above large hazel eyes.

A perfectly heart-shaped face with deceptively full cheeks that don't give away her hunger pangs. It is speckled with dirt.

She is poker-faced with laughing eyes.

A frail body clothed in a dull pink shalwar kameez. It is too big for her. It looks like it was washed in grime.

She stands, plastered to a closed car-window.

Begging. Helplessly. Hopelessly. Persistently. Tapping occasionally when she loses the attention of the audience.

The window rolls down.

A voice hollers at her. Tells her to back off. Tells her she stained the windows. Tells her she's a filthy piece of scum.

The window rolls back up.

She takes it all in without an apparent twitch of the little mouth. Yet, her eyes give her feelings away.

But only for a fleeting moment.

Because she then turns around. And skips over to the next shiny car on her six-year old naked feet.

Image Courtesy: cool advertisements.blogspot.com

Disjointed

The past few days I have just been feeling really empty inside. And in the past whenever I have felt that way I usually attributed it to the fact that I was not working or studying.

So in November 2011 I started my business. But the feeling still nagged me. And I thought that maybe I was still not keeping myself busy enough.
So seven months later I started doing some freelance Real Estate work. Being on the field really exhausted me and I said to myself, oh look - now I feel so complete! I made some money, found some people their dream houses and did something constructive with my life.
Somehow it was just not enough and a month later I added a little more work onto my plate in the form of working part-time at a designer store in the Marketing Department.

So here I was, with one job and two businesses under my belt. I spent enough time working and enough relaxing. So if one was to theoretically analyze my life, it could be agreed that I was living a very complete existence. But that gaping hole in my chest just would not go away. And it was not lack of prayers or religious duties that got it there in the first place. I knew it, because it was just a different feeling altogether. It just felt like something was not right.

Then today I was at the store buying myself some chocolates - assuming and hoping, as always, that this was the key to satisfaction in life - when I saw my husband absorbed in talking to one of the workers at the store. This young, rugged-looking Pathan who always had a smile and helping hand available when we went to the store. He came to Bahrain, like many other workers, on a visa given out by agencies who help find jobs for manual labor in gulf countries. I knew it was something serious that they were discussing so I waited till they were done. We paid our bill and the guy insisted on carrying our grocery to the car, as usual refusing the tip we offered - since he considers us to be his friends.

It was after we drove away that I got to know the story that was being discussed. The Taliban had bombed the neighborhood where our friend's family lived in NWFP and his 12 year old brother was critically injured. I have a twelve year old brother of my own and hearing the story gave me goosebumps. I wanted to know if he wanted any monetary help or medical bills to take care of. And if he needed us to do any, any thing. It is besides the point, that yes we will help out our friend! But what I figured out was what was bothering me for all this time.

It was the fact that like many of my other countrymen I was doing nothing to help those in need. I am just like every other person who burns down a gas station or pelts stones to protest - because my silence is as bitter and dangerous as is the violent protest of a psychotic protester who hardly knows what he is screaming about.

And I think about all of us, who just update their Facebook statuses to show their disapproval for a dumb video - which by the way means nothing to me. I could not care less about what some mentally disturbed person in a corner of USA has created. And I do not think God or my Prophet (SAW) do either. But yes, I am pretty sure that God is very angry at the fact that as a Muslim I do not do anything when the Taliban kill my innocent neighbors. Or when target killers attack my brothers and I merely flip over the page as if their deaths are just another number. Or when my sisters roam the street begging, for mafias, getting raped in the process (and much more).

I know today, I have done nothing except write this down in words. But today is just the day I have finally understood the deafening silence of my empty life. There will be a tomorrow and without losing any time I will be doing something.

The world always betrays me into believing it is things that I want. But there always comes a time when I come back to realizing that there is nothing more that I want than for the innocent to be served justice. This time, hopefully, my path will not deter. Amen.

Image courtesy: Google.

Giveaway time!!!

All you girls need to gear up for an awesome giveaway sponsored by ME! 3 lucky winners get a chance to win this awesome pedicure set from Forever 21 - picture attached below!

All you have to do to enter is be a fan of my Facebook Pages: Kanwalful Meets World and Personally Yours.

Once you're done liking the pages you have to post a comment below or on Personally Yours telling us:

What makes you want to shop from Personally Yours?

Please post your answer with your name and email address so that I can contact you ASAP when you win!

Girls who have purchased from Personally Yours in the month of November get 4 additional entries which means their chances of winning are 5 times more than the rest of the people!

This contest is only open to people in Karachi, unfortunately but don't worry I'll have an international giveaway soon!

Winners will be announced on 30th November 2011 - Midnight (PST)

Good luck ladies. =)

Literary pet peeves

Some pieces of writing just piss me off. Not because the views expressed on those articles are different from mine - but the way they have been written. Yeah, I am close minded like that. I do not appreciate all styles of writing. And today I'm going to tell you all, all about it. So that I can brainwash you all enough to hate them too. And together we will create a world of hate that will hate the hateful writings. Or whatever.

1. The imma-be-squeezing-all-the-fancy-words-I-know-in-one-line.

These writers just give me head-ache - as simple as that. A typical sentence in their piece would go something like:

The convoluted thoughts marred the initial certitude of my beliefs and I sensed myself plunging into a grueling tussle between the verdicts of my recalcitrant brain and mulish desires.

Seriously? I mean cut it out. Do you stuff a dictionary through your digestive system every meal time. Why could you not simply say, "dude, I can't decide what to do?" rather than bringing recalcitrant brains and mulish desires into the matter.

Screw you, for giving me a headache just because your recalcitrant brain decided to go bulimic with a word-vomit.

2. The imma-be-cutting-down-my-sentences-to-almost-nothing-to-save energy-or-something.

These freaks write the shortest sentences you could possibly imagine. And believe in putting a full-stop/period after every, EVERY GOD-DAMN word. Something like:

Hi. I'm bored. Let's go. For coffee. I will. Pick you. At five. Ok. Great. See. You.

I mean, DUDE - I honestly don't know what you're trying to prove with the short sentences and ten thousand full-stops. Do you realize you could have saved:

A. Yourself a lot of humiliation (which you are facing right now)

B. A lot of full-stops that got wasted.

C. Me, from utter annoyance.
D. English Grammar from being disgraced.

If only you had said, "Should I pick you for coffee at five because I'm really bored?"

GOD.

3. The imma-be-bowing-my-head-in-prayer-all-day-long-because-I-am-self-righteous-and-all-that.

These guys are SO annoying. As obsessed with religion and happiness as they are, their every second word is that of either reprimanding others or displaying their own sense of self-righteousness. A standard paragraph by them goes something like:

There is a girl I know who does not wear the hijab properly. Her hair show from it, Astagfirullah, and she is going to go to a place near hell because of that. There is another one who does not wear hijab at all and she will fully go to hell. As for me, I'll go to a place near heaven because even though I cover my head I do not cover my face. Mash'Allah I am such a good Muslim. Alhumdullilah.

For perspective, I know some one who has said EXACTLY that. And guess who they said it about - ME! Yeah, apparently I'm such a sinner because my hair show from my head-scarf. So I am totally going to be sued on the Day of Judgment.

If you want to know where you will be placed in the here-after, let me know and I'll ask 'Ms. Holier-than-thou' to pass a verdict for you on her blog.

4.The-imma-be-screwing-up-English-for-good.

God, save the English Language because these individuals are hell bent upon exterminating the poor lingo from the face of this earth. Their vocabulary is so deformed it is not even funny. Not only do they have pathetic grammar and incorrect usage of words they make sure their sentences are so bizarre in construction that the world dies while reading them. Something along the lines of:

i m@k3 fRanDzZz oN f@c3bUk 2daYz........... sO kEwlZzZz....lOlZzzZ......

If literary geniuses like Doyle, Dickens and Keats were still alive they would have collectively sued freak-shows like these and not even needed a lawyer to win the case.

***

Wow, just writing this post gave me a headache! A note to all those who write/speak any of the above ways - do us all a favor and STOP.

Oh, did I just hear you ask who gave me the right to tell you?

THIS DID:

Image Courtesy:

Google Images

Personally Yours

It has been over two months since I wrote something on this space. The old Kanwalful would have considered such a grave misdoing, a sin of the highest degree. Especially considering the number of people who emailed to ask if the blog was dead or if Kanwalful was even alive anymore.

The truth is, inspiration is running a little low these days. Imagine two plus months without a controversial argument. Or any exciting event at home. Or even just a little drama in relationships. Just insane amounts of the same ol' dull routine. And maybe an exciting movie/dinner/friends-time thrown in - stuff I am sure no one wants to read about anyway. Sigh.

Anyway, rather than ranting about my emotionally grey life I will take a few minutes to update y'all on this new random project I am working on. Considering my insane love for shopping (and spending hours upon hours at the mall) I have started this mini Personal Shopping Assistant business. People send in their orders as to what they want - be it clothes, accessories or makeup - and I go do it for them! Moreover, Karachi is still not home to many of the popular, inexpensive brands such as Forever 21, H&M, BHS etc, so this is an attempt to make many of their products accessible. That does not mean I do not cover expensive brands when I shop for the clients, because I do. It all really depends on the budget the client orders in with. I have named the company Personally Yours (click on it to access page) and as of now it just operates via a Facebook page. Hopefully, if I accumulate enough money, I will launch a more professional website to ease out the processing of orders.

For example, someone living in Karachi who wants a sweater can send in her order by describing the style she wants, her budget, size and preferred brand. As her Personal Shopping Assistant I will use these guidelines to find her the perfect match and have it shipped to her! Shipping is free, for the time being so I am really hoping my new clients benefit from that!

Now that I have updated everyone on why I was so MIA, it is time for me to leave. Make sure you check out the page and order a few things or something. Also, this service is only for Karachi at the moment. I will hopefully be covering other cities in Pakistan soon. But if you know someone who lives in Karachi, I can always have the stuff delivered to their house y'know! Okay bye.

Image Courtesy: Photobucket

Of Jungli-ness and Pakistani "Spas"

Consider this another sequel in the series "The Life of a Stay at Home wife" because going to the Spa is a recent addition to my otherwise totally un-glamorous life. You see, in the past I have never been a nail-painting, massage-craving, hair-dyeing sort of a female human bean and apart from basic grooming practices I do not prefer to spend much time at the Salon/Spa. Why waste money over a manicure when you can get two Big Mac meals in the same amount, right?

The married woman inside my head just screamed "WRONG!"

In the world of post-marriage life, especially in the early years, a girl is expected to look her best. And badly filed nails do not fit the category of "best". So while I was in Karachi and had a lot of free time on my hands I decided to pay some of the best Spas here for some unneeded indulgence. The reason I chose to go to the best ones was because I did not want inferior quality products being used on me and I assumed that the women there would be better trained in their job.

So my first trip was to Bina Khan - supposedly one of the top-notch salons in the city and overly popular for its makeup routine. I went there for a protein treatment with a friend who was having trouble with her hair. It was not even half as great as I was told it would be.

A. There was no water at the salon, leaving the women no choice but to wash our hair by constantly refilling water bottles. A tedious process with awfully cold water and not something I paid thrice the amount of money for.

B. During the course of the "stress-buster" shoulder massage, that accompanied the treatment, the woman in all her jungly-massaging techniques pulled a muscle leaving me in extreme discomfort for the week to follow.

C. As I proceeded to pay the bill I was informed that a way more expensive treatment, that I had NOT asked for, had been done to my hair as opposed to the one I had asked for. And this new, expensive treatment was meant for "damaged" hair - which I am not even close to having! Not only was I extremely irritated at the thought of xyz chemicals penetrating my hair, I found it very unprofessional that they could not even get the service right!

D. I wrote to the owner of the Salon, soon after lodging my complaints but it has been a week and I am yet to hear from her. Hence, the disgruntled blog post.

My next stop was at "Neelo's Spa" - today! Now having heard lots about how it was "oh-so-grand-and-amazing" I was definitely going to get a manicure, pedicure and Haircut that would be out of this world - right?
The experienced woman inside my head just screamed: WRONG!

The attendants at the salon were unprofessional and disorganized. Heck, they offered a client to sit on the staircase during the course of her protein treatment due to lack of chairs in the Spa! How relaxing - NOT!

However, the worst part of my afternoon there was not their lack of professionalism but how they were under trained. As one of the attendants massaged my hands during the manicure, she kept applying an insane amount of pressure despite my constant reprimanding. And when I arrived home I noticed dark, purple bruises on my arm in the exact area she was massaging. When I called up Neelo's to complain, rather than apologizing, I was told in typical Pakistani fashion: "This sort of thing never happens here."

So now, as I vow to never spend my money on ridiculous indulgences like these I advise you all the same. And most of all to avoid the fore-mentioned salons not just because they mistreated a client but because they continue to NOT acknowledge the mistakes they made.

Signing off - a highly disgruntled Kanwalful!

The sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more

I arrived in Karachi two days ago. In a flurry of excitement. Anticipating good despite the cracks on the walls of my self-absorbed bubble. The cracks that appeared when Karachi bled. What is left now is only shards. The bubble is long gone. I thought it would hurt when it broke - instead it feels numb. Maybe it is the numb that appears when the pain is too intense to be felt any more.

I was on the way for a night in with my family. To relax and spend time with my parents. To catch up with my cousins. And annoy the crap out of my brother.

Ethnic fire got in the way.

The same war I have spoken about on many occasions. But only as an outsider with shallow views and artificial feelings.

The cars turning around on the main road were the first sign. Anes put his own car on reverse too. Maybe it was too late - maybe it was the flash of his ethnic color. The next thing we heard were possibly the worst sounds of my life. And I felt the rear window screen shatter. Ducking was instinctive and anticipating the pain of the bullet was too. I waited for the blood but there was none.

Instead there were men, bricks, screams and more shattered glass. Our car was the soft target and every carnivore wanted a bite. Before we knew it they were in from everywhere. I prayed furiously as Anes shouted to inform them of my gender and hand them our belongings. The car struggled to speed away but the hungry hung on with their weapons. The ethnic warriors who fought for nothing. And drank another's blood like it was everything.

They tried to drag Anes out of the car. Possibly to kill him. But our pleas and flashy cellphones got the better of their greed. And while they rejoiced their jackpots with another round of pelting, we finally managed to get away.

I was not hysterical or crying. In fact not even scared. Just disappointed. It killed me now to think of those who actually got injured and the families of those who died for a cause that never was. I share this not to gain pity, but to say that the love I came with for my city lives on. That my heart goes out to the innocent who get hurt in the matters of the evil, self absorbed politicians. And my soul, despite the efforts to stop it, prays a deathly prayer for those who drowned the city of lights in an irrevocable darkness.

What became of the car...

An old joke gone bad

Even if in contemporary times Muammar al-Gaddafi is certainly not the example most of us are yearning to follow, in his relatively saner days he is noted to have said: "Nations whose nationalism is destroyed are subject to ruin."
Putting complex issues aside that is definitely the root cause of trouble in the land, ironically called pure.

Now even though I am very much an ordinary, rather ignorant individual when it comes down to politics and everything associated with it - even I can assess that the current situation of Karachi, in specific, and the entire country, in general, is not one we can take pride in. And for once in my life, it is not Zardari, evil politicians, crazy mobs or for that matter any other institution I would like to condemn for this condition. It is myself. You. And all of us supposedly educated beings, who had enough to be able to access a computer, the internet, my blog and the time to read this post.

I vividly remember how even in elementary school, discussions on ethnic and religious backgrounds were often the topic of discussion. And not for educational purposes, mind you. For gossip purposes.

"Oh have you heard - she's a Memon. They're so weird! Their girls get married at 16! Eww!"
"Oh my God why are you friends with him? He's a Shia! Their religion is so different from ours!"
"Listen, he's a Pathan - no wonder he's so slow!"

And as bitter as the above lines sound, we have all heard them some time or the other. They were things we picked up from people around us - older people who we probably looked up to. For example, in the fifth grade a certain teacher drew us kids aside and lectured us on why Shias were different. And not a historical background - but a meaningless one that was meant to drift us away from them.

However, it is not just baseless conversations but jokes too that have targeted different groups so much so we think it is okay to laugh at them. You see: Pathans are slow, Memons are kanjoos, Muhajirs are black, Punjabis are wild, Balochis are insane - and the jokes could go on.

In the past, nations would create jokes on those they intended to harm or were up against. So to say the Nazis made fun of the Jews to degrade them, to crush their spirits. Black Americans were for long targeted for their skin color, possibly to prevent them from gaining confidence. Those in Mecca who had not accepted Islam would make fun of the Prophet (PBUH) in an attempt to demoralize his followers.

And despite being the self-righteous people that we are, we still indulge in (yet another) trait that is anything but clean. We believe in creating rifts between our own people. And if you try to defend this by saying that jokes are trivial, you are delusional. Because there comes a time when the same joke stops sounding funny and actually becomes a nightmare. Someone who you put down might start seeming worthless to your face and any reason to shut him off from your life might seem appealing to you. And if it sounds like a good idea to you, it would be a dream come true for a gangster with a gun.

If anything, at least educated people should make a conscious effort to stop discriminating between themselves. That applies when it comes down to ordinary things like marriage too. People are, more often than not, hesitant to marry outside their ethnicity - a trend that is absolutely absurd. It gives us yet another chance to look at those from other backgrounds with disgust because, hey our daddy said they are not worth marrying.

So the next time you read about ten bullet-ridden bodies being found in a mini bus, you should know that it was not just the xyz political motivations behind it. It was your old joke gone stale.

Image Courtesy: Dawn.com

Beating the shadow

Looking up to someone out of respect is one thing. Looking up to someone out of respect, intense love and appreciation is entirely another. The latter is what I harbor for my parents.

My father was only seventeen when my grandfather passed away leaving his very young children and wife with an impecunious amount of savings, but a large house. Considering how my father was still in medical school and his older brother was only two years older than him there was no breadwinner in the family: only another two younger siblings to care for and a widowed mother, who had only received minimal schooling.

My father’s older brother, set off abroad with lofty plans and a young wife within a year with all the savings, to work and eventually call the rest of the family members to the states. His efforts were in vain, as he soon lost all the money and had to struggle to keep up with his own small family’s needs.

Stranded alone now, with his mother and younger siblings as well as the demanding life of medical school my father had to be the one to make all the sacrifices. He tells me about times when there was barely enough to eat at home.

He had about three fourths of a rupee to spend each day, and sometimes not even that much. That was only enough to catch a bus ride to college. But having lost it all, money now had a new significance in his life. So he would not treat himself to the luxury of traveling in a bus and instead walked to college. That would take him forty five minutes under the blistering heat of Karachi’s sun and in the most worn-out of tennis shoes. He saved the money, for a rainy day.

He studied really hard. He never wasted time, money or efforts on friends or parties. The only friends he had were true ones, who were with him through it all. To whom partying did not matter.

He worked his way up, my dad really did. After marrying my mother he was still earning a meager salary, as is the condition with most MBBS holders in Pakistan. So he worked extra hours, door to door in rundown areas and slums. He worked through disrespectful teachers and tiresome shifts. Through foodless nights and payless months.

And my mother? Oh she was there by his side, all along. She is the bravest woman I know, Mash’ Allah. Having being brought up in one of the richest Memon families in Pakistan, she had been thoroughly spoilt by her family as a child. But with my father she was a new person. She bore more than any other woman I know and she bore it with a fearless amount of passion. If she had not been by my father’s side with her constant inflow of energy, positivity and advice he would never have been what he is today.

I don’t mean to brag but their hard work really did pay off. Mash’ Allah. The position my father escalated to over the past fifteen years was unimaginable for the scrawny seventeen-year old who walked in utter pensiveness to college, trying to beat his own shadow at it.

The best part however, is not the fame, fortune or money. But the fact that my father spends a large portion of his time working to help the unfortunate. He travels not only to poverty-ridden places in Pakistan to operate for free on hundreds of ailing individuals, but to countries like Iraq so that immediate medical attention can be given to war stricken individuals. He works each day not only to provide medical attention to the wealthy who can afford it, but also to those who live in the mosquito-infested slums of Karachi. And the sweetest part of it all is that he makes them feel equal to each other - the way they get checked under the same roof in the same clinics.

Abu, you really did beat your shadow. And mummy, you helped him do it. (Mash'Allah x 1000). I love you both very much.