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Showing posts from 2013

Ahlan wa sahlan

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Renewed and re-energised. Not only did we have six exciting days in Jordan -- we had them to ourselves. Just the husband and myself. Almost unbelievable. Nights under the stars. Watching the sunset. Fighting over inconsequential matters. Basking in the comfort that this alone time is temporary. Why must couples with children have to explain that they need some time to themselves? Do we give up that right the moment we don the role of parenthood? While my children merrily go on about their own holiday in the embrace of doting grandparents and family members, I find it hard to shrug off the guilt of separation. It is remarkable how every smiling child has the power to remind me of my own children. It took a seven year old Bedouin boy just a moment to win my heart over. Never mind that his mule, named Micheal Jackson was equally amusing. Three year old Anna, with her precious smile and innocence reminded me of my own little princess. Being alone sometimes isn't all that its c
Had to share. http://radianceandmist.tumblr.com/post/48790931935 “After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, Please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she Did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used— She stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get the
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How I wonder what you are? A young boy named Mohammed once told me, “Didi, (sister) can you give your phone number?” Though we had spent the whole day together, I must admit I was very reluctant to share my phone number with my new friend. “Why do you want it, Mohammed?” I asked, hesitatingly. “Because when I am in trouble at least I can call you. didi. The police, beat us every time and they ask for money when we have none so I sometimes don’t know whom to call.” Mohammed was a street child. Even using that term to address him seems awkward to me now, so many years later. He was attending a social service event called ‘Project Care’ that we used to host for children from organisations all over Bombay, around Christmas time. 100 children were offered a hearty meal and a visit to a zoo or park to ring in the spirit of giving. As a young college goer at the time, meeting boys like Mohammed on Bombay’s streets was not new to me. I still see a lot of children begging for money

Back in 10

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You know you've taken too long to post when the last piece on your blog was up six months ago. Apologies to those who follow my blog with any amount of dedication. The cynic in me refuses to believe that someone would actually take the time to digest my often empty rants, but my gullible side always wins... I look forward to an upcoming holiday. Perhaps that is the reason for sudden glee. I am hoping a short trip, even to a somewhat familiar place, will recharge my rusty batteries.  In the meanwhile I've been trying all sorts of interesting things. MANDU workouts for one. Never mind that the instructor, Toni Klein has abs that can put apna Sallu Bhai to shame. He was equally thrilled to be interviewed and took more pictures with me and my dictaphone than I could handle. I'm just delighted to have not one, but two trainers who encourage me to keep at the exercise. Never mind also that I treated one to a homemade chocolate chip muffin.  Will miss the duo of trainers whe