Once upon a summer

I enter his living room, and immediately feel this social anxiety fueled heart stopping horror when I don't see anyone. Did I get the day wrong?  I panic, feeling like I've missed an exam or something. Calm down, breathe. Adulthood takes over. The room is cool, in contrast to the sweltering Karachi summer outside, lights on, snacks laid out, so clearly company is expected. I'm not early by any standards, and the staff that led me here knew I was coming. Where is everyone?

Mr. Famous Last Name walks in from the other door, and I feel that sweet rush of relief, and that simultaneous pull of attraction. I like his face.

He lights up when he notices I'm standing there. "I'm glad you made it!" he says happily.

We hug, and it feels good to see him again. We both don't live in Karachi the corporate capital, but seem to fly in frequently enough to have met a dozen times in the last six months. I associate my business trips with him and his old and now empty family home, more than my sister who I stay with. She's usually too busy with work, kids, routine, and our schedules rarely overlap, except for our 530 AM coffee before the kids are woken up.

"Where is everyone!" I ask.

"S had to leave town yesterday for a few days, just got off the phone with R he can't make it, and F is saying she's running late at work. It looks like it's just us non Karachi'ites meeting today" He looks a little... guilty? Sheepish?

We've hung alone before, but always on the cusp of friendship bordering on attraction. I've never really been sure if we've been old friends catching up, or adults mutually attracted to each other to see how this will turn out. We start off normally, but then we seem to switch gears mid-conversation into something sexual. Like when we all went to the beach, running to the sea and I felt this deep stomach flipping pull when he took off his shirt to reveal his washboard six pack to jump into the water with everyone. Or when we were talking about something innocuous another time, and R came running up and spilled my water on my t-shirt, and I noticed his eyes go black as he looked at my chest, before quickly averting his eyes and offering me a spare shirt. Tonight suddenly seems more intimate, and I'm not ready for this. Adulthood has made me value my friendships much more than a roll in the hay which can come and go any time.

"Oh! Should we postpone this then?" I suggest.

"Nah let's watch it and share spoilers with them for ditching us" he laughs, and I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

I'm a little hesitant, but my son is already with my sister for the night, and I'm not complaining about a rare stretch of freedom.

We get chips, dip, popcorn, which I have no plans on touching because who needs all those empty calories, and then A dims the lights as the entire wall flickers to life with the movie.

He settles in at the other end of the sofa, and I am a little relieved that there is a comfortable old friend vibe vs. date alone vibe.

Somewhere between the dim lights, cold room, comfortable sofa, and my permanent state of exhaustion, I fall asleep. I surface a little while later, noticing that the movie is still on, but I have a  throw on me keeping me warm. I wonder briefly if he's noticed I'm asleep but then go back under before I can ask.

I briefly wake up again during a loud action sequence, and notice that I'm now lying horizontal on the sofa, and my legs are in his lap, my calves across his thighs under the makeshift blanket. I consider checking in with the baby sitter, but before I can reach for the phone, the nap feels too good and pulls me under again.

I wake up, and the credits are rolling. Shit I fell asleep through the entire movie. I'm not quite surprised, as I haven't had the mental bandwidth to stay awake through an entire movie since I gave birth. Hilariously, I notice that A is asleep as well, snoring slightly.

I check for drool, and realize I'm still lying down my legs sprawled over him. Nothing says platonic friendship like falling asleep together. I can't help but laugh again, but bite my lip and try to clamp it down so I don't wake him up. The situation feels funnier by the second, and I'm trying to still my shaking shoulders, wondering if I should get up, when his eyes flick open.

It takes him a second to re-surface, and then he notices me dying of laughter and we both crack up at normal volume.

"Well that's a first" he says, and is reaching for my legs to either tickle my feet or put them down.

"Is that a Cornetto in your pocket or are you just happy to see me" I shriek with laughter, referring to an old joke.

"You did NOT just go there" he flings my legs off him, and stands up immediately. "I am NOT a fifteen year old walking hard-on anymore!" he says part defensively and part laughing. I can't stop shrieking with laughter. He reaches over and grabs me in a neck lock and ruffles my hair. I'm still howling with laughter but also with horror at my hair getting ruined, trying to get him off me. "Plus she never wore a bra, and our uniforms were SEE THROUGH. And it was twenty years ago!" he's trying to yell above my laughter.

I finally free myself and scramble up, and he stands up annoyed but also seeing the humor. "I will SO tell everyone we slept together" he finally comes up as revenge. I laugh some more because it's technically true. He's stretching his long frame, over six feet of lean muscle, and my mind switches gears to thinking about him, naked, in bed, over me. God I have such a dirty mind!

He hits the remote to get the lights on, and the spell is broken as the background noise stops and we're suddenly in silence.

"Dear God that was a great nap" he says, looking mildly surprised. "I can never just simply fall asleep anymore!"

"I do it all the time! I should have warned you" I chuckle. "But now I probably won't be able to sleep for the rest of the night"

"I thought it was hilarious when you nodded off by the way. But not anymore. I think I'm going to watch movies to nap forever now" his eyes still hold mirth.

I quickly check again for drool and smudged makeup, and hunt under the sofa for my bag.

"Ok I'm going to go now" "Let's grab some dinner" we say simultaneously. Then laugh.

"You're going to be up, let's just hang out a little while more" he says. "I'll drop you back later."

"Oh! Ok, why not" One night of freedom from single mom-ing sounds pretty good, why not extend it a little longer. It's not like anything other than Netflix or a book await me. Maybe some emails or finishing that report. Hanging out sounds better. "I'll try to stay awake this time, but try to be more interesting" I poke his side, and he elbows me while grabbing the phone and dialing take out.

"Pizza?" He asks, and he's read my mind. Yum. 

He's talking on the phone, and walks over to the liquor cabinet and pulls out some scotch. I wrinkle my nose in disgust when he silently offers me some while continuing to order. He points to wine, and I shrug a why not. He covers the mouthpiece and asks if I want anything else, and then finishes up the call.

"So how have you been" He says as he comes around to my side of the bar, sitting on the stool next to me. I turn to him, and our knees almost bump.

"Trapped in travel lust. Dying to take my next vacation" I say.

"Who isn't!" We discuss the pros and cons of Europe in the summer vs. East Asian beaches. He tells me about his new real estate investment in Pattaya, I tell him about how my Borneo jungle walk was amazing, but I preferred the Langkawi resort with its beach and giant pool which had a resident monitor lizard. I sigh as I recount a wedding I saw from my beach lounger, a man in a full Scottish kilt marrying a beautiful local in her sea of white lace, as the wedding party had a crazy time well into the night.

"You should have a destination wedding" he suggests. "I can see you in a wedding gown in the beach" His eyes go a little dark, and our gear notches up to sexual tension for some reason.

"And mandatory flipflops and tequila shots to enter!" I crack to lighten the mood.

"Oh my God Z was completely and utterly plastered on your mehndi you remember! He refused to leave till his friends came and physically picked him up and took him home" he laughs, but is shaking his head in disbelief. "He was an ass even then!"

"Yes! I had suggested taking some wine to calm my nerves before the wedding and he threw a fit and completely forbade me from having any alcohol. And then the first time I had seen him at our wedding, he was so drunk he couldn't walk!" I can laugh about it now, but it had annoyed me for quite a while at the time.

Suddenly, the lights go off. Startled, I skid off the stool, mom-reflex kicking in, automatically about to head for baby R. I'm fumbling around unfamiliar hands and legs, when A grabs my arm to steady me, and the automatic generator kicks in and the lights flick back on.

"What on earth are you doing" he's looking at me with a raised eyebrow like I'm crazy. I'm tangled in his legs, his arm on me, while he sits on the barstool looking at me quizzically. "Oh! Mom skills, was trying to run to R to make sure he's not scared" I laugh, feeling stupid. R isn't even here, but some habits are pure instinct. "Plus I'm not used to these stupid power outages!" I laugh.

"Idiot" He says, but there is something in his eyes. Suddenly the gear is kicked up a notch, and I'm too close. I put a hand on his chest, he seems to be leaning in and I'm helpless to stop him.

"I've been wanting to do this forever" he murmurs, bringing his forehead down to mine. "Please?" He says in a low voice, and I can feel this liquid heat shoot through me. I shudder slightly, trying to think of a good reason to say no, but I can't form coherent thoughts other than us, together, my hands all over him. I lean up on my toes, and close the distance, and we both moan as we finally kiss.

Once upon a spring

I'm trying to put R to bed, which entails lying down in the dark, and starting one million rituals of procrastination of getting water, going to the bathroom, eating a snack, re-brushing teeth, going to the bathroom again, and then (my personal favorite) a little three year old snuggling into the crook of my arm and saying "so how did your day go mama?" or "tell me about your life mama", and often discussions of eternity, death, the meaning of life. He often startles me with his memory, recalling things I don't realize he was present for let alone even remembers. Whenever I'm tempted to shush him to sleep, I think God he'll be a teenager soon, will he ever talk to me like this again? And I always delay sleep just that little bit longer so we can talk.

Some days we have the luxury of time, some days we don't. We reached Karachi today for some work meetings, and I have to go out for dinner with an old school friend tonight. I need him asleep!

I lie in bed, praying he gives in to the yawns of exhaustion.

Children have a sixth sense about this, and never cooperate. Or maybe its the excitement of the new city and his cousins. He keeps pulling himself back from the brink.

I can hear the doorbell ring, my nanny letting in my dinner companion. She knows the drill, she tells him to wait "madahm" will be right out, and hopefully remembers to give him something to drink or snack on.

I mentally try to decide what to wear, so I save time. Did I pack the red top? I think I decided not to. The silver then. And probably the grey pants. Were they too short? Nah it's Karachi, it's ok. Feel a pang that I didn't pack my silver Jimmy Choo's, so will have to make do with my flats.

R's breathing stills. I try to shift, but his eyes flip open. Dang it.

I imagine doing my makeup. I had read something somewhere that pro athletes imagine doing the routine in their mind. Something about muscle memory, making routines faster or easier to do in real life. I imagine putting on the eyeliner flawlessly. The brows, the highlighter, the blush. I'm on my mascara when R goes back under. I wait till I've mentally done my lips before I shift again.

He stays asleep, and I'm free. I fling on my clothes in half a minute, mentally calculating how long Mr. famous last name must have been waiting. Probably twenty minutes tops. I put on my makeup as I just practiced, and it only takes 2.5 minutes. Yank on my earrings and shoes, and am out in five.

Sneak open the door, and whisper out to the living room where he is waiting for me.

He stands up, and I try to ignore the stomach flip when I see him.

We air kiss, and I apologize for making him late.

His eyes crinkle "I'm used to it by now" he laughs, referring to the last time we met and I was forty minutes late because of traffic.

"Putting a toddler to sleep ain't easy bud!" I mock punch his arm. "Let's get out of here before he..."
before I can say the words, there is my baby rumpled from bed, rubbing his eyes, pajama's hitched up his legs standing behind me

"Mama don't go"

Shit. 

I quickly pick him up, mentally consigning the stupid nanny to hell. Why didn't she snag him at the door and put him back to bed! Idiot!

People obviously know I'm a single mom, but its another thing to literally have a toddler show up in front of my date. Is this even a date? Or is it a friend thing? I don't know!

R's eyes are welling up. "I want to come with you mama!" he says, clinging to my neck. I know its going to be another forty minutes before he calms down and goes back to sleep. Damn it! 

I meet his eyes over R's head.

"Let's take him with us" he says

What!

"Erm that's a bad idea. Why don't we just take a rain check A" I say. Mr. Famous last name has no kids, and clearly no clue.

His face falls.

Shit. He was probably hungry or something and annoyed his dinner plans got canceled. 

But R has heard "Caah mama, let's go in the cah" Damn it. 

A joins in "Listen its up to you, but you're only here for one night, let's just try to do this"

Against my better judgement, I start walking to the car, toddler in my arms. God help me please

We get into the Audi, I ask him to disable the airbag for my seat. He's a little startled, but googles something and fiddles with another something and then its done.

R can't believe he got his way. He's all chatty in my arms, and A tries to make conversation with him. Cute. Maybe we can salvage this after all.

But then we get stuck in bloody traffic, and R falls asleep. Drool on my silver silk shirt, warm body stuck to me heating me up in the AC cold of the car.

We reach the dinner place, and we both look at each other, unsure of what to do. A looks at me, looks at the sleeping R, and then back at me. I can't help but laugh.

"I told you so!" I can't help saying.

"Let me see if we can push our reservation forward" he says. "Maybe we can go drop him back?"

"Sweetie, it's not happening. I'm sorry, let's head back" I say, used to many many years of failed social outings.

"Wait. Why don't I go grab some food for us from inside, and maybe I can come over and eat it at your sister's place?" he suggests.

"Oh! Er. Ok. Sure, let's try that"

We go back home, food cartons in tow. I put R into bed, for the night this time. We eat, me on the floor cushions an ear trained to the door, A on this sofa. He joins me on the floor around dessert, and we talk into the night. 

Once upon a winter

Karachi traffic seems worse every time I  return. I'm battling bumper to bumper, its already been twenty minutes and I could reach out and still touch the gate of the house I just left. I can feel the frustration build in my chest and pump out of my tapping fingers and leg that jiggles up and down. The car clock flips to the next minute, and traffic still doesn't move. I curse, then guiltily check the rear view mirror. The nanny says "He ees fine madhaam" in that weird Tagalo lilt. My three year old is lost in his lego blocks, and hasn't heard anything. Whew, close call! 

The phone beeps. My old school friend and coffee buddy Mr. Famous Last Name must be getting worried. I was planning on reaching fashionably late (or on time by Pakistan standards) but not THAT late. I had to catch up with him (after ten years!) and then head to the business offices on top of the mall for a meeting I had flown into the city for.

I attempt to respond to the message, but then see a gap in the road and race another car into the spot in front that just seems to have freed up. The cars nearly hit, but I eyeball the other driver, showing him he shouldn't try to push me around, but I don't make any of the rude hand gestures I would have made in my youth. high five for being older and wiser.

I finally make it to the mall, and hand the valet the key with one hand and dial Mr. Famous Last  Name with the other. "I'm here, but have to drop R over to the play area, you want to meet there instead?"

"ummm is it possible for you to come back this side? I'm parked here and halfway through my coffee"

"oh ok" i try not to show my exasperation

I hike over to the far corner of the ginormous mall, manage to stand in line, get the weird mall currency the play area runs on without bursting with impatience. I pause as I hand over the tokens to my nanny. She is really very stupid, I'm not very sure I can trust her alone with my son. She's been with you two years you fuckwit. He loves her, they've done this a million times back at home. Just fucking fuck it out of here. I tell her one more time to stay within the area, not go to any bathroom or anything, and to call me if he so much as sneezes. She manages to remain impassively polite, and not roll her eyes at me. After my third hug my son finally says "mama go! i want caah!" and toddles over to the arcade car game leaving me behind.

I rush back to the other friggin corner of the bloody building, calling my boss on speaker phone to tell her I am at the venue and would see her 5 minutes before the meeting, while I send a quick meeting reminder text to the attendees, and try at the same time to find that damn coffee place. People are easing away from my crazy eyes as I speed walk while I talk and type.

Momentum makes me practically skid to a stop  in front of the place. "Umm I'm meeting someone here" I say, suddenly awkward, craning my neck to find him. Feel a moment of fear in case I don't recognize him, but no there he is. phew. He's on the side booths that are placed a step higher than the central seating area. They usually need reservations for those, he must have gotten lucky.

I start walking over, and he looks up from his now empty coffee cup, sees me, and smiles.

Wow.

Did my chest just do a weird thing? Seriously? What the fuck

I chalk up the weird feeling to the impending stress induced heart attack because of the last forty minutes of traffic.

We air kiss hello, and even though I have agnosia and can sit next to a toaster with burning bread and not smell a fucking thing, I get a whiff of his cologne, and holy shit it smells good. Did I just fucking smell him. Fuckity fuck what is up with me today. Get a grip! I suddenly feel the need to check my hair as we sit back down.

He looks relieved to see me. "I thought you wouldn't show!" he says sheepishly, raising his hand to the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"It was the damn traffic! What the hell has happened to Karachi dude!"

He looks even more relieved that I have a good excuse "Yes! there's that construction  at the roundabout, you shouldn't have come from there!"

I eye roll, and we both laugh. Holy shit my heart just rolled over why is he cuter than what I remember! It's been fifteen years since we were in school together, and apparently my standards were a lot higher back then because I remember he was considered as one of the cute ones, but nothing that would cause funny feelings in my dusty nether regions. Currently being post-thirty and still having a flat stomach, all his hair on his head, and dear god those biceps in that work shirt and I'm imagining major sexy times with him. what the fuck did I just think of sexy times. focus! focus! no sexy time! bad girl.

We're talking about work. I explain that I have to leave in an hour because I have a meeting upstairs.
"I waited forty minutes for you! Why do I only get an hour! No fair" he cries, and while I secretly think about his chocolate brown eyes I outwardly just shrug and apologize because work is work, out of my hands.

We catch up, and time is gone before I even order. He's a writer on the side, just emancipated himself from his famous last name father, and is living alone. (No inlaws if we get married woot) We laugh about his crazy school stories, but from the cold light of adulthood I know that it couldn't have been easy for him to be shunted off to boarding school in England just because his dad had moved on to wife number three. He's smart enough to know I'm thinking of  my own situation, and is assuring me that R will turn out ok and that my single-mom-ness is much more normal than his fucked up family.  He leans forward in earnestness, and if I hadn't moved back I get the feeling we would have bumped foreheads. These tables are absurdly small.

I feel my phone vibrate next to my thigh, and I surreptitiously glance down to check my phone, and my boss is telling me that she has reached the mall and is heading to the meeting venue.

"You look the same as you did in school!" he exclaims, and I have to look up (those eyes!) in incredulity, because first I'm much fatter (ok I did just lose a lot of weight recently, but nothing compared to when I was a frikkin teenager) and second I now know how to put on killer makeup and thread my eyebrows thank you very much.

My conflicted disbelief / outrage must have shown because he quickly said "in a good way! You look great! We should meet again, and let me take you for a proper dinner next time!" My boss must have made it to the place by now. If I make it out of here in the next two minutes, I can make it on time.

"Yes! We must meet again" I'm thrilled to have a way to wrap up the conversation so I can get out of there before I'm fired. "I'll let you know next time I'm back in town" and then start to get up.

I must have sounded thrilled too, because he lights up.

I'm picking up my bag and am doing that ridiculous side crawl shimmy one has to do to get out of a booth when I realize shit. did i just agree to go on a date with him.  I'm panicking thinking back to the conversation and don't notice the step.

I try to grab the table but miss, and I'm on my way to the ground when suddenly my arm is caught and I'm helpfully up-righted. His other hand is on my waist. "Whoa there are you ok"

"you saved my life!" shit did i say that out loud. My overies just exploded.

He laughs, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, and raises his eyebrows. "so you definitely owe me time for dinner" He's smiling, too close
don't think of sexy times, don't think of sexy times!

God he's hot.

We hug and say goodbye, and can feel the imprint of his hand of my waist throughout the meeting as I present about North Pakistan and the tremendous growth potential and lobby for more resources.  

Chanel

I'm wobbling in my heels, so I thump my bag down on the table and stumble not too gracefully onto the chair. Silently curse the gentleman who designs wildly popular expensive shoes that are not made for human feet. We're in the outside veranda of the famous restaurant, beautiful vines dripping down and Joan Armatrading playing the background.

S gives my bag a look "Holy moly batman" she says eyeing the red patent.

"The color?" I ask, a little confused. 

"Are you kidding?" M says from my other side

"What!" i say, not sure what they're on about.

"that bag is... gorgeous! it costs as much as a car" T says from across the table with an eyeroll.

"Yeah! You're always about NGO this and environment that. I never thought you'd stoop to descending into the bowels of consumerism, and with THAT" S laughs

"Oh! My parents got it for me. why is this even a topic of conversation! i want to hear about your trainer's obsession with your ass T" I nibble the salmon from the appetizers someone has helpfully already ordered, and change the topic. They howl with laughter and the conversation changes focus, and I'm relieved.

I hadn't used this bag in a while. It was a gift for being a good girl.

Nearly a decade ago now.

I had just left him for the third time. Escaped to Lahore. I had begged my parents to let me stay, to not send me back to the horror story that was my married life. The night before I had told them I couldn't do it anymore. The violent fights. The financial stress. The lying. The cheating. The awful awful in-laws. I cried at the airport. But they had been merciless. They both had murmured about being strong, about making a home, about growing up and making a life, and sent me off on my way. Strangers had offered me tissues on the plane, and at the airport bathroom I had put in eyedrops, buried my red nose and puffy eyes under Helena Rubenstien's super thick foundation and painted on a face that didn't show the emotional wreckage. And two months later I had conceived R, and my birthday rolled around to the red patent Chanel that cost as much as a car. A gift to the gods of conscience, for sacrificing their third born at the alter of a bad marriage. With my pregnancy and my car accident and delivery and the consultancies and the three jobs I was juggling with a six month old I had never had a chance to take it out.

Someone had packed it for me and send it with the boxes that I had smuggled out before I left for good.

I had found it at the back of my mothers closet, and then taken it out seven years later, and taken it to this lunch because it matched my stilettos, forgetting the memories I had pushed under the proverbial carpet.

They haven't gotten me anything like this since then. And while I outwardly laugh and talk about the party last night and how to cure a toddlers obsession with sugar, I can't help but feel the weight of parental disappointment that suddenly seems to have settled on my shoulders, like an invisible anvil.

Something something

It's cold. She enters the room, thinking of the awkward small talk, cringe worthy pauses, and self loathing at poor social skills that will come in the dark later at night. It's not very loud, thank the Lord, but at first scan she doesn't know a single person. Social anxiety hell.

Then. Bliss. A friend. A good one. She air kisses him, thrilled, grasping his arm like the life vest it is. She asks where his latest amour is, he rolls his eyes, they grin and grab some drinks from the bar and sit on a convenient sofa.

"I could see you start to panic" he laughed, knowing her well.

"You could have come up sooner" she punches his arm.

"Relax dude" he grins, brown friendly kind eyes. They clink glasses, take a sip and survey the room.

"Were we ever that young?" she thinks, watching what must surely be fifteen year olds writhing to the music on the dance floor.

"They're in their twenties. And yes we were" he answers her thoughts, to her startled laugh.

"I feel so old. And alone" She confesses.

"It's ok, at least you have a beautiful five year old waiting for you at home. I have a lonely empty house. And the ghosts of my dead parents". She snorts into her drink.

"And your millions". His turn to snort, but his expression becomes darker as it always does when he thinks about their loss.

Sarah joins them, his latest. She is wearing a red dress, slit up the side. Sexy clothes three months into the relationship means she's still trying, and he is not into her. A bad sign. They all air kiss, cosy on the sofa in an alien room. They occasionally jump up to mingle here and mingle there. After thirty minutes, she is done, and ducks out to call the valet without saying goodbye to anyone.

"Ghosting already? I thought you had another half an hour in you" She jumps guiltily as he catches her outside the main door, as the valet pulls her car up front.

"Break up with her already darling. If she's boring you so much you're looking for my company, you must  be desperate to get away from her". He winces.

"God you are so direct it hurts sometimes"

The car pulls up. He shoos the valet aside and opens the door for her. Good boy. She gets in, but he hesitates before closing the door. She looks up questioningly. "Say hi to the little guy from me" he says, and shuts the door.

She drives home, wondering what he really wanted to say. Confusing man.

anger management

i feel depression come on. like the flu. the grey creeping up the walls. into my feet from the ground. into my heart. pulling it down down down into the concrete.

friends will help it.

where did they all go? they got lost in the black.

i prop up cardboard fake silhouettes and talk to them. talk to me.

she hates me. both of them. old eyes. berating me for my lack of discipline and control. hating me wanting me to die and be gone from their lives. forced to have me live.

*******

i lie in the grass, clouds pass overhead, the day is beautiful. flowers - i can smell them. i can hear my son playing not too far away, poking his new friend with some stick with a giggling joy only kids know how to experience.

i am so tired. i've been awake since 5 AM. my neck hurts.

i've sunk down down down into a rabbit hole that swallowed me. the sky is purple down here, grey clouds going fast fast fast. my son - i hope he's not here, its not a nice place.

she is here.

i can feel her before i see her.

the purple one. holding the fire in her hands. i have dreamt of her often, and here she is.

"i have waited for you a long time bitch"

did she say that or did i?

our voices are overlapping. she is me and i am her.

i am standing holding fire in my hands. i am purple. i am upstairs on the grass, help me God I am standing near my son.

i am going to burn him.

i am going to pour the fire into his brain, into his eyes, into his heart and sole. till he cries. till his soul bursts in pain. till he lives in hell on earth, infected with the rage of fire.

NO

THIS WILL NOT BE

i have clawed my way back underground. i am tearing into my soul. clawing out my eyes. i have blood on my nails. i am fighting for something more precious than my pathetic soul. i am fighting for my son. she will not have him. not like she had me when i was young.

did i really have you little one? she says. or is it me?

my father is standing between her and me. she is pouring the fire into him. he is screaming, but struggling to stay silent so that i, 4 years old, do not wake up sleeping on the mattress on the floor of his room.

his mother before him.

his mothers mother before her.

i have waited for you. they all say.

pour it into me, we all say. spare the child. into me.

my brain bursts. fire pours out of my eyes, my nose, my heart, my soul.

it is done.

she is gone.

there is only me, on the grass, with the fire burning in the grey underneath.

i stand over him, my precious baby, my heart. my soul. my life. i am yelling at him. i am angry. he is looking with eyes that hurt - why is mama yelling? we are both wondering. stop poking him with that stick - my mouth twists and spit leaps out the sparks the words ignite. the fire is in me. i cannot keep it in. it pours out burning everything in front. how many burns can my little boy take before it enters him?

like i did. like those before me.

dream

my belly is full, comfortable heat thrumming from my insides

i'm walking through the field

the green is taller than i am

i look down and i have holes in me

boils in my flesh, from nails that were hammered in

but even though the scabs ooze pus, i am humming humming humming

i touch a flower here, a vine there

if i crane my neck high enough, there is a sky, and a cheel wheeling overhead

the nails are gone, and i have torn myself free, clawed out of the dirt and into the green green green

and i have a skip in my step

because i know my baby plays only a little ahead and i will see him soon

dream

i am standing on an abyss.
the edges crumble
its dark out tonight
the supermoon looms overhead
a wolf howls

i know its a dream then. how else would there be wolves?

it changes to a dog snarling.

suddenly there is beach sand under my toes
waves
and the beautiful sunset that only karachi has

and i know it is a dream because i only dream of karachi now

my wrists are cut
blood drips down my hands onto my feet, into the sand
the waves wash it all away and i breathe deeply and i swear i can smell it like its real

i wake up still hearing waves

dream

the breeze. the eternal breeze. she closes her eyes, and knows its a dream because of the breeze.

there is no wind here.

she is in a garden. suddenly it is still.

she hears a koel.

there is a tree. an old one. all kinds of plants overgrown. a vine, dripping down over everything. ivy on the brick walls. somewhere behind her back, the old house is there. the one with the doors within doors within doors. the one with the bay windows she's spent her youth sitting on. its been empty a long long time through, ghosts of servants past waiting for the mistress to return home. is she the new owner?

there is a blast.

she must hurry.

they're coming.

ramblings

i am a superhero.

i wear shiny boots, have shiny hair, shiny belt, shiny eyes, shiny underpants
i have perky boobs, perky nose, perky bum, perky everything

i am soft
i am saggy
i don't own clothes that don't have poo, vomit or pee
i am a mommy

i can hold my pee for hours while i rock the baby

i can sleep only three hours and still be functional

i have slept only three hours for over a year now and am still functional

i can carry a baby, three times my bodyweight, and a carry cot, and still lock the house, open the car, and safely install everyone and everything in its place

i can work a job, and take care of the house, and not have any help

i can hold onto a spar that is myself, usually at ungodly hours in the night, and sigh and think

damn

i am a superhero

27:19

in my mind, it plays like this:

its dark. things hiding in the air.

am empty puppet with a little shiny triangle in his hand.

looks up from the fly in his net.

sees our little family, happy in our little pool of light.

comes shrieking towards us with beserk rage, hungry, clawing

i scream

clutch my baby closer. cower under the flimsy flimsy door. praying he will miss us.

a blast of light.

was it something i did right?

was it the prayers? mine or my mothers?

was it the sadqa lying in a little box to be given away?

was it my thought - give it to that little boy zeeshan. when zeeshan said, i'll give it later, i thought - let the onus be on you then sir. go with God.

was it just Allah having mercy.

it was just that - a flip of a coin. a shot fired. a shot unfired. something stopped him that second. wasn't his humanity. wasn't his fear. wasn't his uncertainity. wasn't our tinted windows. wasn't zeeshan's army jacket. wasn't a glimpse of a baby. wasn't my scream. something. that can only be. God.

thank you.

ashkura.

circles

the green vine drips down, and i stare out the window watching the bees buzz in and out. what a perfect summer, sans wind. lahore drips with serenity, little boys swimming in a cold nehr, wasps stinging playing children, cuckoos calling and millions of birds whirring overhead. my numerous nieces and nephews play outside, much like my cousins and i did when we were little and my grandmother lived here instead of my parents. we've moved one generation on, my grandmother passing, my parents moving in, and now my kids, and my cousins's kids play in the garden like we did. circles while standing still.

when i was very little, on those rare occasions when i was allowed to go play with my grown up siblings and cousins, my mother would stand at the window and watch me. i would look over occasionally and be immeasurably reassured, and then immeasurably embarrassed years later when i thought i was too grown up for that. being the youngest has its down side.

the house was very different then, but so much the same. trees, real trees that you never find anywhere else. trees to climb, trees to fall out of, trees trees trees. trees with bugs you wouldn't want to go near, but invariably of you got pushed in starting outraged shakaits to adults. bicycles, races, kho kho, baraf pani and some unknown game called garden garden. do my kids today play the same games? the squeals, laughter, howls after scrapes and outraged fights over imagined injustices sound the same regardless. my youngest, so tiny, just having learnt how to walk, is running with the older ones, not even realizing what the game is, running towards the den instead of away. she falls often, and my heart breaks a little bit as she picks herself up on her chubby legs and brushes grass off her tiny little hands, and keeps on running. so little, yet so big. once in a while, she too looks over at me, as i stand at the floor to ceiling glass window watching the garden.

six letter word beginning with F

we're on a boat, the sea breeze whose memory haunts me in other cities is ever present, gently ruffling hair, blowing beautiful beautiful clouds over a pink and orange sunset. its a work thing, and even though we all bitched about having to see each other after a long hard day, we're all thrilled and a little giddy to be there. what a view. what great weather. its one of those evenings where summer is ending, and hints of the winter to come blow in the wind.

z is there. chatting with a group of people he doesn't know, as comfortable as a fish in water. i would die a thousand deaths if i left his side in a crowd i don't know. he says something, and the entire group laughs till their sides hurt. the new guy breaks away to get a beer, and happily jostles me at the cooler saying "hey your husband is hilarious!"" eyes shining with the fervour of newly meeting z. z has that effect on people. people tend to talk to me and be pleasantly surprised i'm not as bitchy as i look. z they love at first sight. like i did. oh well.

i'm watching the fish swim close to the surface, the pink reflection in grey water, and the wind in my hair, and my very pregnant stomach finally at some measure of peace after sitting cramped in front of a desk the whole day. a perfect ending to a long day. i sigh in contentment. just as z breaks away to go to the cooler, i feel something stir. "z!" i look over. he's noticed my expression and is already walking towards me. "i feel the baby kicking!" i whisper so others don't hear and get weirded out. i'm thrilled. i read somewhere there's a 50% chance of losing the baby in the first 6 months, and i'm convinced that one day i'll wake up and the baby won't be there. but its there right now. kicking! i didn't even know it had legs!

"wow baby!" z says, putting his arms around me and both his palms on my baby bump. he feels the kick too, and gives an awed choke. we're cheek to cheek, looking at the sunset, and i sneak a look at him. his eyes have this pole axed expression that says "wow, we made something real". he'd been worried looking at ultrasound alien lumps and not feeling anything fatherly.

right there, he gives me a quick kiss. on the lips! in front of work people, and boat wallas and everything! and i'm grinning so hard i don't care.

and then people come over to find out what the fuss is about, and there's a round to the upcoming footballer to be, and general people feeling my tummy to feel the bump and by then its too late baby is apparently exhausted and silent therefore in my tummy.

a little clot of light. born. emerges in the world ten fingers ten toes. and creates a thread in the tapestry of the world. a unique shimmery color - a mix of the parents making a different color. bringing so much hope, so much aspiration, so much absolute sheer love. grows. into an angry, infantile teenager, stupid, ignorant, cringes when it thinks back to its youth. mature. still so much to learn, so little known. life knocks you down, you must learn to get up. old. wisdom, in a body burnt away. a husk, too little to pass on, too much still to learn, such a limited time you come to terms with your own mortality. and you die, curled up in the fetal position you were born in, a little clot of light, and the generations of humanity continue. death.

eternity.

she's slouched on the conference table, stifling a yawn. the unbelievable drone continues mercilessly, assaulting listeners. end this presentation please, will six minds. oblivious, the CFO continues pointing out his dept's trajectory, as everyone aches to move on. unbelievably, a hand raises. parted hair, pristine white shirt, black thick rimmed coke bottle glasses, he actually asks a question, which the presenter thuoghtfully pauses the slides from finishing and answers the question.

god in heaven kill him now, she thinks. she hears someone talking outside, and listlessly hopes its a diversion. the bubble of sound approaches the small room, words like "saab nahin aa saktay, yaay aap kya kar rahey hain!" garble through the walls. "aik second aik second" comes a quietly authoritative and strangely familiar male voice. the sounds are still muffled, and she's still puzzling over what could be happening outside when the door opens and unbelievably there he is, striding into her conference room, wearing the custom made "banker" shirt she bought him, tie flawlessly in place, holding a GINORMOUS bouquet of pink flowers. lilies. babies breath. roses. chrysanthemums. he's taking the four purposeful steps towards her - her brain inanely has a wild errant thought how did he know where i was!?" her mouth - and the mouths of some people around the table- gape open. like a bunch of seals puckering for fish at sea world, and her husband holding some bass to toss to them for treats. dear god in heaven tell me this isn't happening! she still doesn't know where to look, frantically looking around the table for an explanation. none comes, but behind him, magically revealed, are her giggling office mates. it all make sense.

he's reached her now, and there's no denying it. he must be here for her. before she can even say hello, he's reaching down, and kisses her cheek and says "happy birthday darling". the table erupts in polite claps as he hands over the flowers. how did they get the chrysanthemums that color? her boss is stifling a smile. there are a few smirks.

he turns and says - "thank you afshin for letting me do this (afshin! he called my boss afshin!) Sorry for interrupting the meeting, it was my wife's birthday and I couldn't miss it!"

happy birthday! happy birthday! people echo, and i think i start seeing spots of black as i physically start to die of embarrassment. thank you, thank you, i manage to utter. i try to smile, but must look ghastly because one or two people look quite startled.

"I'll pick you up whenever you're done?" he says when the hullaballoo hums down. i can only bobble my head silently, like a stupid car ornament.

"bye everyone" and ducks out.

the room is silent. my face is red. i have dripping flowers all over me, which i quietly kick under the conference table.

everyone looks a little confused, but the director says chalo kaafi excitement ho gaee, ab wapuss kaam ka time

like a tennis match we turn our heads to the cfo.

he arhemms, and then mercifully continues his drone.

salmaan taseer

when JFK was assassinated, did american's say "what a horrible nation. why do we live in this shithole. lets get out of here"?

till we respect ourselves, no one else will.

Dear girl in the blue car from clifton,

you were gang raped. by people you probably met at the party. you pissed them off, your own morals are in question, but the crime - the most heinous that can happen to a woman - has happened to you. this is the darkest time in your life, and you will never be the same again. your life will be forever effected by this, and for many many many years to come you will re-live this in your head. i do not know if you have a family, or friends, or a support system. but i do know this - something that you cannot see surrounded by corruption, and stupidity, and immorality and death threats - there is a silent mass around you, people like me, parents, peers, and normal human beings in general, who have heard this story and have been as shocked as i am. we support you. we want to help you. and in the absence of knowing you, we are sending you our prayers and wishes that you get over this trauma. that you realize that you have the power from the very thing that has robbed you entirely it. get even. go public. come out of the closet and the dark basement you are locked in. name the m*therf*ckers. get their photographs to the media. tell your story, no matter how macabre. they are wrong. what they did was wrong. accuse them and hold them for what they did publicly through every forum known to you. and you will turn the tables on them. drag their names. the names of their families. and the names of their friends and anyone who knows them. no matter who or what they throw at you, you will come out victorious because the truth is on your side.

or you can wait. gather strength. and deal with this yourself and in time their karma will catch up with them in this life or the next.

be strong. you have more friends then you think rooting for you.

she's young. and beautiful. skinny, tall, waif-like neck and impossibly ethereal genes. her thighs - the bitch - are a teeny tiny handspan wide. only youth can achieve that skinniness. something about getting married and getting lots of sex makes you fat. or age. or just a stagnant lifestyle catching up to you. so much work to look like a put together human. have often found myself wearing full makeup in mid-day, in order to just look like i used to when an unwashed ungroomed early twenty yr old with luminescent skin and shiny brown straight hair.

but i digress.

this is the story about love, young love. the kind that makes people feel they've discovered it for the first time. the kind that makes people feel that financial issues are not a problem. that crazy families can be dealt with. that a lack financial management, that stinginess, that the hint of temper that leads to wife beating later on is just a minor character flaw. minor. so minor.

they meet. she wants to use the phone. he's the only one at work at that hour. she's an intern. so is he. so cute. she forgets about him in a second.

he's in front of her. he holds the door open for her. her heart stops and door opening is never ever the same for her again. she is forever greatful to door openers as they remind her of him. forever and always.

he approaches her amidst a group of fellow interns. they've been gossiping about the cute boy, and lo and behold, there he is, adorable, formal pants, white pristine shirt, good shoulders, bass voice, asking her if she could help him out please?

flattered - very flattered - that's she's the chosen one, she goes in, and helps him fix the brochures. takes ages. they start chatting. so cute. SO cute.

he takes her out to the restaurant upstairs. she orders fries, and then watches him snag a friend and beg him silently and ferociously to give him the money to pay the bill. he thinks she can't hear, but she can and she's smarter than average. she laughs inside, but preserves his dignity.

he changes jobs, and takes her to two new restaurants the next day. he doesn't want to drop her home. so sweet.

they drive around for ages. their favorite spot is dunkin donuts. they go there everyday almost, and stay till its closed. he looks heartbreakingly good in a white tshirt. lean. tall good build. and the shoulders. my god the shoulders. they're waiting in line, and she's chattering away about some charity drive she just went to and she looks over and he's staring at the white City FM 89 flood relief bracelet on her wrist, and reaches out a finger - over the span of his personal space and into hers - and touches her wrist, little electric currents coursing through her hand down. the one spark literally fizzles off her, and he's reverently one unmoving fingertip touching her wrist to see if she's real because he loves her so much.

he sits with a cap, shadows from his eyelashes spiking out across his cheek, and he's champing on a red straw, and if she hadn't been in love already, she spins head over heels. she can actually feel the moment in her heart, tumbling painfully. white tshirts. his. forever and always.

they're sitting in the cold - and winters were always special to her, even as a child - and she now knows its because she was to meet him twenty plus winters later, which is why she loves the cold so much. the air is crisp, the wind biting. they're freezing on the outside terrace of a pizzeria, very close to one of the first restaurants they went to, which is now shut down 4 college years onwards. her family is moving, and she's decided that its not enough to be with him. that the lack of financial means, the difference in social standing, it just can't be. she's moving, they can't do long distance, and that's it. her parents have kindly suggested some banker in london, who seemed so nice on paper. so grown up. so marriageable. who was she to think this would work. but the words can't come out. she's sitting there, and there he is, hers. hers entirely even though they haven't done much more than hold hands all this time. the memories reach up and choke her. the words just don't come out. kindly, because he knows her so well, he already knows what her decision is, and helps her. tells her what she was trying to say. and gives her flowers - white roses - and tells her she would be his one and only love always.

she gets home and cries and cries, and knows as fajr resounds at day break that she won't be able to do it.

she tells her mother about him. the parents meet. her parents lovingly try to tell her the difficulties she'll be facing - it will be a tough life baby. are you sure? are you sure they ask. and even years later her throat chokes when she thinks of what they saw, and what they had hoped for her, and how stupid stupid stupid she was at thinking she was the first to discover this feeling. how stupid stupid stupid young she was. how much she cried and thought of that when he fought with her, when the mother in law caused fights, when the sister in law caused fights, when he, her beloved, darling love, when his face and personality twisted beyond all recognition kicked her, slapped her, choked her, and then dragged her out of the house in her pajamas threatening to throw her out.

how far had they come. how different they had become.

the therapy. the separation. months apart for the first time in years. how her heart broke every minute, every hour. when he came back, how relieved she was, because even despite the hate, despite the screaming anger, there was still so much love. how could she let anyone else touch her again without thinking of him? how could she ever imagine comma-ing into someone else at night, without thinking of him? how could she ever go to a home that didn't have him. her heart told her so clearly, so clearly, what her head had hoped she wouldn't see for her own good.

they get back together. it takes years and years and years for the scars to almost heal. the change. his change. his growing up to the man he used to be, maturer, better, loving, forgiving.

they reach their stride, grow comfortable with their flaws. the fights are less now. less bitter. more easily forgiven. his lack of financial management less irritating, she now works around it. her temper less devastating, and he now jokes her out of it.

they try for a baby, and a few bad years later, they have one beautiful beautiful one. three months later, a mistake, and then nine months later, they have the second baby. life changes, completely totally utterly while staying exactly the same. it is no longer her and him, this man, but her and her children. their constant utter demands, the complete and total feelings of fulfillment in when they are fed, diapered, changed and asleep. raising, teaching, loving, feeding. the work. the heartbreaking loss of leaving them for even a few hours. they grow so very fast. husband forgotten. poor man. daddy. baba. not a bread winner, not really an authority figure, but very very good at winning hearts. she is the bad guy, the authoritarian who rules with an iron fist - he is the one who they play pranks with, who they're naughty with, with whom they do impossibly messy things that mama has to clean up later. which she often doesn't. the exhaustion.

she wakes up at 5:00 am every day. packs the lunchboxes. irons the uniforms and the clothes the damn effing maid never does on time. feeds the kids. dresses the kids. drops them to school. comes back. feeds herself. dresses. goes to work. husband somewhere in there using up key bathroom space. making his own breakfast and sometimes hers god bless him. coming home. conference calls on NY time while the babies sleep. movies. some time for snuggling when the children don't want water, or don't have nightmares, or don't want daddy to read to them, or daddy to sleep with them to save them from the monsters.

soon, so very soon, they're old enough. ducklings becoming swans. did she have all these issues when she was 12? she didn't remember asking her mother this till she was 20! so young, so old these kids. so adept with video games. she used to be good at that, when did she lose the hand eye coordination?! she always thought she would be the cool mother - when did they start thinking she didn't know anything! their father sails through their difficult years, and he tells her their secrets at night, as they comma into each other every night and talk in murmurs. the youngest is in love again, but its just an infatuation because he's the most popular boy in school. the son is obsessing about sports, but one his friends apparently made out with a girl. she marvels that the kids tell him these things, can't imagine herself ever telling her beloved parents this kind of stuff at any age.

school, college, alone. they're alone again. joints creaking. her surgery was painful, but he was by her bedside every day every hour, not letting the kids spend the night because that was the key time. post surgical complications, but she pulls through. they curl up on the hospital bed, even though his tummy gets in the way now and there are a lot of tubes going into needles into her arms. they watch the sunrise out of the hospital window, and think of the days gone by, the kids, the internship where they met.

he has a heart attack when he shouldn't have had. the doctors misdiagnose lung disease, and he slips away in a hospital bed very early. she weeps for weeks, railing and screaming like she never has in her life. she lives alone. when the come to visit, their beloved mother is a shell for so long. railing about how he left her. how angry she is at him. she can't sleep at night, where is he? why has he left her? she stacks pillows, six of them, one on her back, one on her right, one to hug, so that in the middle of sleep perhaps in the warmth she will dream of him and they will be together again. where is he, how could he have left her?

then there he is again. there is a little baby boy, her grandson. the first in the family. and there he is again, in the baby. the eyes, genes holding true. her darling. her beloved. how she misses him every second of every day still. they name the baby after him, and then as new life builds within the child, memories of her husband, her true love, her soul mate, ease with each passing moment.

she sits at his grave, years and years of widowhood later. women visiting the graveyard so frowned upon in Pakistan. but there she is. to talk to him. to grow flowers at his grave. and a tree, bursting with flowers the same color as his white tshirt.

one night, a long time later, too long she tells her kids and grand kids and old servants. too long. she quietly suffers a brain hemorrhage, and joins him, her beloved. they rest in peace, finally together, side by side, white flowers dotting their graves.

2009

happy birthday

We walk into the sunset you and i

We don our wings, fly into the sun

As they melt and we fall into the ocean

Pegasus comes to rescue us

And takes us to the mount where fire is hidden

We kiss, silhouetted against the jewelled expanse of the country

And then on winged sandals race home to the fortress

Where our children grow and play

Gone are the days of adventure

Gone are the days we snuck around stealing food

Making love under the covers

Hands on mouths to keep from giggling

Shushing in secret

Gone are the days of foolish youth

where spending was more important than saving

where winged chariots set fire across the sky

having water fights between cars on main roads

crazed bystanders soaked by accident

gone are the days of internships

I am the hated dept head in a shitty nonprofit

you await your annual bonus

and make your subordinate slaves go through the terrible rites of passage

we kiss, silhouetted against our bed, familiar and kind hands

holding for comfort

each touch a reminder of the millions of other times

play acting

to regain the unfamiliarity

we fight about buying cars and mortgages

not about the rumour she heard from him and told me

or the rumour he heard from her and told you

we have grown up you and i

yet still remain children

nostalgic about our future

who are we. these tortured english speaking and writing minority brown people, pakistani bloggers still subjects of a british crown of the 1700s. unbeknowst to ourselves, hating our browness, hating everything in our country, so that the british could rule us through simply creating an education system that would turn us against ourselves.

much like our BBCD exports, who hold their little version of quaint, dupatta covered, women enslaved version on Pakistan from whatever era they migrated, we, the so called evolved pakistani's hold on our slice of victorian england, where "merchants" or people who actually had to work for a living were totally uncool and actually turning up for college classes and studying was soooo passe. victorian england where there were galas, and balls, and may queens, and formal dresses. where tradition was to rag new students, where peerage or who's family is who was poured over by women hoping to snag a good husband. where family money harkened back generations of landholding, where the people living on the land tilled it for the land "lords" who maintained country seats also maintained a london house for living in the city. where "seasons" in summer and winter months happened, and men were sent after school to a trip of europe to learn of the world before they embarked on their (military) career. where sport was hunting, and wagering on card games, and crazy races of horse chariots. where people of nobel bankrupt families (who the hell would actually pay attention to the farms gods sakes) married into merchant's daughters who came with big dowries. where the worth of a man was not in his worth, but in his name and his income.

how much of this is human nature, and how much our colonial legacy? the world seems to have evolved into a non-smoking, hard working working class reaching to maximize potential.

who are we, these self loathing, english speaking pakistani minority who want to emigrate out to whatever airport will take us.

who will we become?