Gladiatorburger was the first place where I tried a Halal burger in Canada and instantly fell in love. The Oakville location simply adds to the experience with its great hospitality, customer service and a wide range of burgers and sandwiches. Everything can be customized to offer an experience that hits all the right spots
The sides are equally flavorful and vary in size and range from fresh milkshakes to poutine and fries
A great Halal food experience in the heart of Oakville
We love baking; we bake just when we can and we bake when we can not. The baking is usually slower in summer because we like cooler things like smoothies and trifles to beat the heat, but we make sure that there is always a jar of home-baked cookies in the pantry, regardless of the season.
By the way when I say we, it myself and my little ones.
They just need a go ahead from mommy to start, even when one cant stand the oven heat in the house.
I accept I would totally do that in search of a good, sweet cookie.
Though I baked a lot of cakes when I used to bake professionally, but I am not really a cake person. I am a cookie person, I love cookies.
This recipe is the first one for cookies that I tried. I found it online many years ago and kept a printout in my recipe book. Then I misplaced that recipe book. Even frantically searching online out of my cravings, I could not find the same recipe. I tried few other recipes but they were all either too floury or not sweet enough.
Until two years ago, I found that recipe book and I found this lost treasure of a recipe.
We bake these cookies around Christmas and Eid to send to our friends and family. And these are loved by everyone.
These are rich, buttery and sweet, with just enough tang of the raspberry jam. The coconut adds more texture and a little crunch in the flour base.
PS: I would love to give credit for this so if you do know/find the link, please reply in the comments section
INGREDIENTS:
2 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
3/4 c. shredded unsweetened coconut
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
2 stick unsalted butter
1 1/4 c. sugar
1 large egg yolk
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
raspberry jam
DIRECTIONS:
1- In a medium bowl, whisk the flour with the coconut, baking soda, and salt. In a standing electric mixer fitted with a paddle, or using a hand mixer in a large bowl, beat the butter with the sugar at medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Beat in the egg yolk and vanilla, scraping the side and bottom of the bowl. Beat in the dry ingredients at medium-low speed. Wrap the dough in plastic and refrigerate for 15 minutes.
2- Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Position the racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven. Roll the dough into 1-inch balls and bake for 12 minutes. Make a dent in the cookies; fill with jam and bake for about 10 minutes. Let the cookies cool on the sheets for 5 minutes, then transfer to racks to cool completely.
RECIPE NOTES:
Though the recipe calls for a total of 22 minutes of baking time, I bake for 8 minutes, then make dents, fill in jam and then I bake an additonal 5 minutes. Once the cookies cool down, the texture is perfectly balanced between soft and chewy. These tend to get hard if over-baked, so as always less is better.
These cookies never lasted in the pantry for more than a week so I am unable to tell you how long these will stay good.
The dough seems to get difficult to handle and the cookies flatten out when it stays on room temperature for a while. I take out in portions, roll while it is still cold and hard and then take out more.
You would often see people from my background, i.e. Pakistanis or lets say South Asians, roaming around in malls, grocery stores, hospitals, just about everywhere, with empty, disposable, water bottles in their bags or in their hand.
One would wonder why?
Well, because we use water to clean up after we use the washroom for number 1 or number 2.
When home, one may use a lota
A hygiene shower
Image from Google
Or a seated bidet
Image from Google
I do not know the origins, I do not know the background, but I know this.
It is not about religion or faith.
A Christian, Hindu or Parsi from Pakistan would do the same as would a Muslim.
There is no other way you’d want to do it, if you’ve tried washing your rear with water.
I also came across the video doing rounds on social media where a little girl is seen frustrated and upset and crying while her mother tries to teach her
I read the comments across different channels and saw people’s reaction. Some made me laugh, others made me bang my head, some made me want to bang other’s heads.
Perhaps it was just a reflection of our selves. A mere reflection; as a person, as a woman, as a mother. Just that some times we do not want to face our self. Perhaps the picture is not so great to look at.
With all honesty, it also gave me a chance to stop and reflect on myself, within. Where do I stand as a mother?
I wanted to just talk about the emotions in that short clip of few seconds.
First and foremost, our children are no more children for us, just circus monkeys. They smile, we pull out our ‘smart’ phones, they cry we start recording, they run to us to show us what they built, we choreograph the excitement, they tell us the neighbour’s kid hit them, we look for the perfect frame to match the emotion. We are slowly and gradually training our brain to just look at every thing, every person, every emotion and every aspect of our life through that small hole. We are teaching our minds to forget the fine art of remembering people without any picture. We are producing little actors who know what kind of performance will get them more likes and more comments.
We are also teaching them how vulnerable their emotions are. That we can record anything they do, say or want and put it for the whole world to watch and comment. Privacy is a thing of old times. My times. Guess I am too old now too. *Chuckles*
The rest are all details. I can write pages upon pages on the anxiety and distress that that child must be going through every day or about the mother who in that entire clip of about a minute and few seconds, did not try to console the child or show any affection or about the uncles of the child who later showed up to provide the background on why the child was treated the way she was and that how is that so justified.
But I would just stop right here, and imagine that 3 year old Haya, after about 15 years, a critical stage in her life, when she might see this video some where, and read the comments and then who knows.
I do not want my children to grow up and watch themselves being ridiculed just to satisfy their caregiver’s entertainment nerve-Do you?
Note: I could’ve easily added the entire video clip but then the purpose of writing the above is to highlight the issue, not spread it more. Hence I only preferred an image just for a reference.
While at work today, I was busy putting my things away, when something or say someone, caught my attention.
A young girl, probably in her tween, sweaty and tired walked in with a woman who she was calling her mom. The woman had a high pitched voice and I could hear her continuously telling her daughter to stop doing what she was doing. The girl had tears flowing down her cheeks, and looked helpless. I naturally felt bad for the child and said to my self what a mean, evil mother and awwww the poor child.
In my utmost curiosity and my intent to may be help the poor child out of the weird scenario she was in, I approached them and offered help.
Well not help, help, but I offered assistance while trying to figure the situation out. As the mother spoke to me and explained to me her reason for the visit, I was all ears to the conversation between the two in between. And did I hear them well or what. As I watched them leave, I wondered how would I have reacted in such a situation.
Okay cut the crap. The mother picked the daughter up from her summer camp and had to run some errands. As the child was hungry, the mother got her some fast food from McDonalds that was on her way. Her biggest crime however was that she did not make a U turn and did not go out of her way to go to the better McDonalds who makes burgers just the way the child wants. Hence the girl, that little girl was not happy how her burger tasted and had constantly been shouting and yelling at her mother on how selfish and mean a woman she is.
Just for the heck of conversation and to help lighten up, I asked the mother about the child’s age. She responded 13, the child screamed “I am 13” and the mother replied “Yes that is what I said”. The child screamed even louder “No you said 14!!!”
And I asked my own self what time we are living in.
As a child, and I am not sure if I have ever mentioned this earlier. But as a child I used to get only 15 minutes of cartoon a day, that too if I finished my homework on time, and properly. The food was never of choice but of my mother’s. And so were the clothes. “I do not want this” and “I do not like this” were unfamiliar words. I never had the liberty to raise questions about food, clothes, friends etc. And most of all, it did not damage me or my life. It did not ruin me as many might think or say or assume. It helped me be a better, smarter person. It helped me be thankful for everything I had. It helped me love and respect my parents. It helped me value little things and moments in life. It helped me to have less and still be happy and feel content. And it helped me to never regret being raised like that!
And then the face of that girl flashed in my mind again. The sense of entitlement over a burger not good enough. A child who could not handle disappointment. A child who had to be bribed with a chocolate so she could shut up for the rest of the time while the mother spoke to me. A child who was all about me, me and me and constantly wanted more and more, completely ignoring the fact that she is disrespecting her mother, disrespecting all efforts that woman might be making to keep her little girl happy.
I want to use this opportunity and ask you: What is your stance on that? What causes this? Is this even bad or am I over reacting?
I just watched Denial and I must say what a brilliant watch. Some movies just bring out true emotions from deep within, and this is one such piece.
I have fond memories of my Naani (maternal grandmother) cooking Mutton qorma (mutton curry cooked in traditional spices), matar pulaao (rice with peas), a certain brown coloured sooji halwa (semolina sweetmeat) with lots of raisins and a heap of yogurt on top of it. Then my Naana (maternal grandfather) would bring sweetmeats and fresh fruits, and Naani would bring out all the food and stuff on to the jaa-e-namaz (prayer mat). Naana would light an incense stick and will pray and blow on all this food. And we would patiently wait for all this to finish in our new clothes, so we would get to eat it while some would be sent to the neighbours. This to them was Arfa which was celebrated a night before Shab e Baraat or Mid Shabaan.
Then I saw my mother doing the same in my home. It was until about some years back, when one day my youngest brother walked in and told my mother it is not right to do this. Ammi did not understand the reason or logic behind, but she could not say no to her dearest son and thus stopped doing it. When I read about it and in detail, I too found it to be more a traditional ritual than a religious practice. But that is my opinion, my thoughts and my belief. You or anyone does NOT have to agree to it.
Let me get back to watching Denial. Great movie, strong plot and most of all an emotional debate. Although I wonder what kind of people might want to go against the facts and deny a historic event that changed the course of modern history around the world.
My phone kept ringing its typical Whatsapp synonymous tin tin tin, which I as usual ignored. Thanks to the high tech world of smart phone apps, people who hardly know me or are mere acquaintance now have the privilege to call me in the wee hours of the day, their day or to text me endlessly, without giving the slightest thought to the idea that I might be sleeping, or busy in work or just do not wish to talk.
Anyway, when I did checked those texts, on all the different groups, and individual chats, I had about 40 apology letters to sign. Or see. Or to just ignore. Random people who I might have known just by a couple references in between, just hit a forward all button, without going through the content of the message and there it goes.
I mean I am all for the digital and technological stuff. As a matter of fact, I belong to the generation who took the leap from paper Eid cards to digital greeting messages. But you(All who sent those texts to me or to anyone else perhaps) seriously think just sending forwarded messages makes someone forgive you like that? Lets assume, for a minute, that I was actually upset; why would you wait to say sorry and ask for forgiveness? Some forwarded messages I got today and last night even had the names of the actual senders.
Words are very important. Very important. Use them wisely. Do not make your words so worthless that when you actually want to talk, you find no one. I do not mean to undermine any true effort, any one actually made. I am just trying to draw a line between empty worthless forwarded junk and real words with feelings. Bombarding random people with apology letters would not help, actually reaching out to those you hurt would! But then did I not delete her number since she been bitchy-Right? Right!
Finally a quote of my choice from Denial “Freedom of speech means you can say whatever you want. What you can’t do is lie and expect not to be held accountable for it.”
When a baby is born, there are multiple milestones that health care providers and parents look and wait for. When they start to move their head, when they start to raise their arms, when they start to roll over, when they start to crawl, when they’d develop pincer grasp.
Now this pincer grasp is what is stuck in my head for last two days. Between 8 and 12 months, babies develop a pincer grasp, which means they’ll be able to pick up smaller objects (like pieces of food) between their thumb and forefinger.
Coming back to my silly little mind, I’d been thinking about this for a while now. When number 1 asked me if she can get a hover-board for her birthday instead of roller skates, or perhaps when I see people drawing insects and worms instead of letters and words on the paper in front of me, but most recently when I went to Square One the other day and had to get a mall stroller for number 3. They used to have cute little fire-truck kind of strollers for babies, with a little plastic steering wheel to turn around and children would be busy playing with it.
Thanks to technology and modernity, since everything else has changed, so did the strollers. To surprise me, these baby strollers now come equipped with little screens to keep these little minds busy with just the swipe of a finger.
And I thought, our children have stopped walking because there are hover-boards, they are not talking because there is texting and Facebook and Class Dojo; they are not learning to write better or lets say to write at all because the homework is now online, swipe of the finger remember, and we do not focus on our babies developing pincer grasp because tablets have replaced the toys that used to help our children develop fine and gross motor skills.
Welcome to producing heaps of flesh and bones and blood that are slaves of technology. Welcome to robots who can need calculator to do 2 plus 2. Welcome to more sickness and more diseases because of physical inactivity. Welcome to socially challenged children since cyber hangouts are more lit for 12 year olds than physical meet ups. Welcome to the new age!
Sep 16th when I stepped out of that banquet hall, I was happy and so were number 1 and number 2. We were all smiles because we had had fun.
The next day was a rainy and soggy and unexpectedly warm one. We planned to go out to see the dentist for a routine visit and then number 2 asked me if she can have a hair cut.
We went to the store and there was some promotion going on and I myself and both of them got free hair styles.
Little did I knew, that exactly at that time, thousands of miles apart, my 68 year old father might be calling my name in pain. That he might have felt thirsty when that cruel person stabbed him right through his frail, old bones. That he might have felt cold as life left his body.
As we reached back home, I put number 3 to bed for a short nap and the older ones walked out to play and have fun with their friends. I started to prepare dinner and my phone rang. I saw my brother’s name blink and I thought “Oh now he finds time to talk to me” and I ignored the call until after I finish cooking. Then his wife called on Whatsapp. I reacted the same way. Then he wrote on my Facebook wall “Amber call me ASAP”
Telling myself in my heart what a big drama this man is, I called him back but his incoming call interrupted mine again. I asked what’s the rush and he just kept saying my name. I rudely told him to stop playing and come to the point and he kept asking if there was any one else in the house. Then I yelled and screamed at him and asked him again. I knew something was not right. And then he told me what my mind can still not process. He told me that someone stabbed my father and that he is no more.
And people say qayamat sirf aik baar aati hay…. (And people say Armageddon comes only once)
Rest are all details. When number 1 and number 2 stepped back in later that evening, the entire scene was changed. I think I was crying or perhaps screaming or something like that. They saw me and could not understand what happened. The house quickly filled with family and friends and neighbours and acquaintance.
I do not know how I travelled from Toronto to Karachi, when I stepped down in the most beautiful place in the world, how I reached the place I still call home, when I hugged my sister, when I held my wailing brothers.
I only remember that his body was ice cold when I tried to kiss him one last time, and I looked at him and I screamed who would want to kill this man.
I was always proud of the fact that for whatever time I have lived in Karachi, I never encountered any street crime, mobile snatching, theft, robbery. Never. And now this very place took away the man who gave me a surname.
My father (May Allah grant him highest place in Jannah) was a hot tempered man, and my Daadi, his mother used to refer it to his name. And also to the spicy food, that he loved and would throw a tantrum if he would not get a green chilli with his food.
That same man, who my mother used to pamper like a child, made sure that when Ammi was gone, he would make it up to us for the both of them. He would call us multiple times a day, visit us randomly, even send texts on Whatsapp, brings presents on Eid and Skype with us every chance he could.
I used to get upset when I’d find out he had been out visiting people who were not really well wishers of the family. He would reply “Its okay, let them do what they do, and let us keep doing what we do”
There were old women at his funeral out of nowhere, who hugged my brother and told him how sorry they feel and that my father used to help them run errands.
And at home, in the fridge lies that plate of his, in which green chillies been lying for a week now. He was fond of green chilis and onions and so am I. Ammi used to stop me and he would get me chicken corn soup and chaat from street vendors when she was not around. I love beef and he used to save his portion of meat in his plate for me.
Two days back during the morning rush, number 1 turned to me and said “I remember Nano was so funny. He used to do puppet show for us with the Big Bird. I miss him already”
It is a complete torture and it won’t stop. Until there is a closure; until we find who did it. Which I doubt because I know how the system works. How the police operates. There is no evidence, no witness. Will there be a closure?
Because no matter what, no body deserves to die like this.
So many should haves and could haves pound the insides of my temples. So many perhaps circulate in front of my eyes. All these days, myself and my siblings just kept brain storming, speculating, questioning, answering, crying and just being insane.
I am not paranoid but this incident has made me one. One night, middle of the night, we, scanned the whole house, just thinking what if someone came and threw the weapon here.
My children will grow up without Naani and Nano and their crazy emotional love.
And then the guilt that while he was helplessly breathing his last, in that pool of his own blood, I was getting my hair done. The pain may go away. Time may heal this loss but the guilt I feel is going to last forever.
Somehow I did muster the energy to put my grief into words. Because this is my catharsis. It may not heal the suffering but sharing grief does make it lighter. Just looking for some air to breathe.
Say a little prayer for him….and for her who must be happy now that they are together!
Note: I had great feedback from hundreds of people. Thanks for liking. I have edited and added few points that a lot of you thought should be a part of this. Happy reading!
Okay so I had been busy, like really busy. There was Ramadan, and then summer holidays. So I am just running, running around them, running after them, running for them. And then few things happened, one after the other. So compelling that I had to write about it and about what I felt.
Why I have specially mentioned Canada? Because Canadians are the most kind and friendly people I have ever met. They give you smiles, confidence, ways and rights. If you can’t be good here, then you can not be good any where. Why did I specifically mentioned Pakistanis? Because I am a proud Pakistani and I want my people to be known for their good manners and deeds. Everything starts from within!
1- Acknowledge The Good
Stepping in a mall, a store, a bank, you would definitely come across people who would open and hold doors for you, who would pull things out of your way even if it does not belong to them, who would watch out for your children as you put them back in your car, who would pick up after you in the cashier’s lane when your little one keeps throwing random stuff down and who would call you dirty-faced, crying toddler cute and “oh don’t worry about it”. Learn to say thank you, out loud. We are not entitled to it. I know how my own Pakistani people would react to a veiled woman entering a upscale store in Karachi with a crying toddler. So how these Canadians treat us with respect and dignity should not be taken for granted. They let us wear our veils, they let us pray in public, they let us in their workplaces, they let us have and exercise all our rights and more than we actually can imagine even in our own country. The least we can do is show our gratitude so they continue to do so.
2- Stop Touching
Okay I get it; back in Pakistan we used to shake hands and hug anyone we met and pat shoulders and those flying “muah” in the air and God knows what else and what more. I get it. But this is Canada. Culturally, traditionally, morally much advanced and yet everyone has and needs and wants his/her own space. And we teach our children about good and bad touch, which basically means any touch without their own permission. And still just this past weekend, I was with number 1, number 2 and number 3, and this woman passed by with her teenager and touched number 2’s hair and felt them and shook them, all while passing by in a Walmart isle, talking in the air how lovely these hair are. I mean seriously??? We gotta stop touching. Right now, like right now!
3- Mind That Karhaai
I am a foodie. And I am a Desi foodie. Which basically means I love Haleem and Biryani and Karhaai and Halwa puri and everything else. Which also means I know how much effort is out in, in preparing one such dish. Which also basically means that I am aware of the tempting aroma of our food. Which in reality might not be as tempting for that guy standing next to you in the library or the other woman at the school bus stop or any one else. Be aware of the smell that lives in our clothes. I know there is nothing much one can do about it but at least one can try a change of clothes before stepping out in the middle of frying that onion or perhaps a spray or two of a perfume for the more busy ones.
4- Stop Giving Free Advice
We are responsible for what we do, we are not responsible for what A, B or C is doing/does. And by ‘we’ I meant the people who live in the same household as mine, and that too the little people, not adults. Yes our values from back home, do give us the right to perhaps talk or guide even the adults in some cases, still we can not impose our likes and dislikes on anyone. Free advise comes naturally and effortlessly for us but remember we are in Canada now so try to control.
5- Stop Saying Bad Things About Pakistan
Oh God someone stop me please.
Okay I get it. Perhaps you worked very hard and did not visit any place in Pakistan except for Hyderabad where you lived and applied for immigration and landed in Canada. Or perhaps you got lucky and got married to a Canadian-Pakistani. Whatever the reason, now you are a Canadian, in Canada with a blue passport on the way or in your drawer. That does not in any way gives you the liberty to badmouth the land which actually provided you the opportunity to start in the first place. No other people, no Indians, Sri Lankans, Morrocans, Nigerians, Syrians, Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos, Dutch, Polish, English or any other ones ever say bad things about their own countries, not even the ones who fled from war zones.
I personally know people, which is usually a seven out of ten people, who perhaps have only seen Toronto after Karachi or Lahore and yet they have the audacity to tell me how corrupt Pakistanis are or how unsafe Lahore is or how dirty Karachi is. While they have lived their entire filthy lives in some unnamed neighbourhoods in Pakistan, but since now they are all ‘Goras’ so they can point out the garbage. I just have one thing to say that my Ammi used to say “Jo apni maa ka nahi, wuh kisi ka nahi” (One who does not love his mother, can not love any one else)
6- And Stop Saying Bad Things About Canada
No one forced you to migrate to Canada. You came out of your own free will. You have a world class lifestyle here that is hard to match even if you live a simple life. Air conditioning, heating, clean water, health care and education are provided to you as necessities and not luxuries, and that too of high standard. Yes you pay taxes, but trust me that one trip to the hospital in case of an emergency covers all those taxes. Yes you might not have a maid here and yes I also miss Pakistan but learn to be grateful for all the freedom, independence and respect Canada has given you.
7- Stop Being Judgemental
That girl wearing hijab coming out of the liquor store may not be there to get liquor. That girl with your neighbour’s son might not be his girlfriend but his colleague. Your new friend might not be a slut for hanging out in a club. And even all this that you assumed may be true, what matters more is not what he/she wears or does or goes to, but how he/she treats you and others. So the next time you are in a group of friends or just at the grocery store, try to judge less. You never know whats going on in somebody’s life. Also teach your kids the same. We live in a multicultural society and you and the children should be mentally and psychologically prepared to see very many different types of people who are just as normal as you and I.
8- Stop Littering
If you attended any school in Pakistan at all, you must have been taught “Cleanliness is next to Godliness”. I wonder if we only kept it to text books. The Pakistani Consulate in Toronto is an example of what I mean. Why are we so so so dirty? Why can’t we at least keep our surroundings clean? Why can we not clean after ourselves in malls, parks, grocery stores? We live here, our children do and yet we never miss a single chance to mess things up, be it paper, kleenex, wipes, diapers or paan spits or even throwing garbage “in” the Niagara Falls (Personal accounts of friends)… SMH!
Unlike the common media (racist) perception, Masjids aka mosques are not places of extremism. Okay may be some are, but most are not. We talk more about donations, charity, matrimonial issues and “where did you get this dress from?” then about “Lets kill some non Muslim” or “Lets blow ourselves”
I myself try to avoid masjid because of number 3. The unstoppable restless soul that he is, he does not let me pray in peace and I do not want to spoil other’s Salah too. Hence I avoid.
Today is Juma tul Wida, A very special day which means it is the last Friday of Ramadan. Friday being a special day for believers, and then the last Friday of Ramadan, the most special month, and the last 10 days of the blessed month. What more can one ask for.
Like anyone I know, I also wanted to go. But then what about number 3?
Luckily the closest masjid, which has one of the most pleasant and humble persons as Imam, Syeda Khadija Centre, broadcasts live prayers and sermons.
PM Trudeau at Syeda Khadijah Centre during Ramadan 2015
And today’s sermon by this absolutely gracious man, was so so simple, and so close to my heart, I have previously written about it as well, and so I had to share.
I made number 1 and number 2 sit with me and listen to it as well. And when later I asked them to tell me 1 point each out of what they heard, they could just do it like that. I would leave the religious stuff out of it and would only share the one that is general applicable for us all.
Internet is the biggest terror of our times:
I am a social media junkie. With or without intention, I just keep flipping through pages after pages. And I am sure most of us are. Most of the material on internet is not certified, but presented in a way that it looks more like news then unfiltered information. Parents instead of reading books to their kids or singing lullabies, prefer to hand them a smart phone or tablet that the child is then glued to.
Quote “What happened in Turkey is heart wrenching. No Muslim I know, would even think of doing something as horrendous as blowing himself and in turn taking innocent lives. Turkey is one the very few Muslim countries that have managed to keep balance between religion and modernity. And they kill these innocent people. And we all see these videos of mass brutality on our smartphones and then share them. 50 people die and all we care is to share the video of the suicide bomber. One sister texted me to pray for her son, who left home, saying I do not follow this hateful religion any more and I am leaving it. So she asked him, how do you know it is hateful? Where did you learn about it? Did you go to a scholar? And he replied Internet. So I request all you IT people to help our children and find some substitute. We were a generation of inventors and thinkers. And now we are all limited to consumers.”
Donate what you want for yourself:
I personally know that people around usually give old clothes and shoes and stuff in charity. Old, chipped plates, used toys, stained furniture. Unless it is specifically mentioned, no one gives new, packed stuff. And then we brag “Oh I dropped three garbage bags full of goodies at the donation box” or “Oh All my kids old toys go to the refugees” I have witnessed people actually looking for a toonie at the masjid when the donation box comes when their skin is hardly visible out of all the gold that they are wearing.
“Do not give rotten, basement bound stuff in donation. You have forty thousand dollars extra, lying in your account and your brother’s house is being sold on foreclosure because he could not pay will not help you. Do not give away ripped t-shirt and faded trousers in the name of donation. If you buy your suit from Harry Rosen or Gap or whatever, buy a new t-shirt or a pair of shoes and that would be an acceptable donation. If you like biryani for yourself, do not give away rotten, stale rice to a shelter.”
Let me start by a confession: I LOVE SHOPPING….. AND I HAVEN’T SHOPPED IN TWO YEARS!!!!
I love shoes, jewellery, dresses, lipsticks, lamps, glasses, dessert platters, plants. I am an impulsive shopper, which means I shop ‘just because’, not out of need. If I walk inside a store and I see something yellow, I would just pick it up and put it in my cart because I love yellow colour. I just can’t resist things I love!
But people do change (or so they think).
The first time I travelled to Pakistan after a gap of about 6 years, I had 6 allowed bags and 2 extra. One of my bags only had shoes; mine, number 1 and number 2’s.
Only a week after I landed in Karachi, I had realized it was a mistake, as for the rest of the duration of my stay, I only wore my Nike flip flop, which was not only comfortable but also the best defence against sweltering temperatures. My sister as usual had issues with me not wearing my branded, colourful heaps of jewellery and shoes, for she was afraid of me being judged (again) by family and relatives but I reminded her my name and she did get used to me wearing those flip flops with each and every, almost every outfit.
Number 1 & number 2 did get some chance to use their summer dresses well, but again accessories and shoes were only adding to their discomfort, being it their first summer in reality.
When I got back to Canada, there were couple weeks, rather months in between, where I lost track of new and old stuff. I had been preparing for this trip for months and then of course I bought and got stuff in Pakistan too. Hence at times, I would find out brand new stuff, with the labels on, buried deep inside the closet, running a size or two short for number 2, or number 1.
So it was around the beginning of 2014, when I decided I am not shopping. Yes I know it sounds weird, and unbelievable. But imagine the height of my frustration for taking such a big decision, for those who know me, know that shopping is one therapy I love and how fond I am of pretty little stuff and trinkets. BUT i decided nevertheless.
There was no deadline, no plan. I just decided I will not shop until all the current stuff in number 1 & number 2’s closet runs short and mine is all used, at least once.
What followed next were a few months of serious and severe depression, glum and binge eating. Of course this was my mind and body’s defines against this “stupid” decision I had taken.
Image courtesy: Google
I would just break the continuity here and share a funny habit. Long time ago, I developed this habit out of need. I would go to the mall, pick up all the stuff I liked, take it all to the fitting room, try it on, and then pick a handful out of those piles that I loved. It is the perfect ‘Dopamine fix‘ for me that not only helped satisfy my craving for all that colour, glitz and style but also cool it down.
Sorry… back to where I was….
For past almost two years, every time I browsed through Zara.com, I would add stuff to my shopping cart and at the end would click every item, zoom in and try to find a similar item in my closet. And every time I did find one, so I would remove that item from my basket and end up with nothing, and a reminder that I have that blue top with the bull head or that long lost turquoise flats that I had almost forgotten.
It was and is not about money, but trust me when I say it; the feeling of peace when you actually take the worn out or old stuff out of closet, when you actually find space, when you feel it organized, when you can put a new outfit together without spending money using the same stuff from the back of the closet that you did not know existed. And this is something big, this means ALOT coming out of this horse’ mouth.
I did not buy a single piece of clothing, any thing for home, any utensils, just nothing. I just kept removing the chipped plates, the ripped clothes, the clothes that kids grew out of. For their pre-loved clothes, I know this super amazing place ‘Weecycled’ where I give their clothes when they grow out of it. They are a consignment based store in Brampton, and carry pre loved clothes and toys as well as new stuff. I have been dealing with them for about 6 years now and am super happy. I know I could give the same clothes to someone in the family or friends and I did try it. Turns out they took the clothes too, and later whined and complained they were not good ‘enough’ so they threw them. Okay…. Alright…. I get it….. So I decided to divide the clothes. One portion I give to donation, the other to Weecycled, and few I keep for memories. Yeh that’s me!
And I did not break my fast, for about two years. No clothes, no shoes, nothing at all. Almost two years for number 1 & number 2 since they badly needed winter clothes for school, and more than two years for myself. I satisfied my cravings by browsing online stores, adding items to my cart, and then analyzing if where would it be used. I love dresses on my little ones, but I specifically asked myself where and how they will wear it since the snow pants make it almost impossible to wear dresses in winter so that leaves only spring/summer. It helped me great deal to put in perspective the need.
And then came this spring. I opened the closet. Clean, spacious, welcoming. It felt so good. Today was the last basket of clothes that I will be dropping off at Weecycled. After this I would need new clothes, and that still depends.
I myself am still fasting. I am using my existing wardrobe, trying to innovate and restructure my stuff in new ways every time and I must say I am loving it. I also realized how much junk I have been carrying all these years, while I only use two pair of jeans and 4 tops on a regular basis. Rest is all the impulse!
I also remember last year when I visited my favourite clothing store in Karachi, they had these new short kurtas on display and while I was checking those, one of the sales staff came to me and mentioned “You don’t need these; you bought all these last time and they have just been shortened in length but all the same”
That was some sincere and honest opinion I loved. I mean one more reason for me to stand firm on my decision. Also my sister and sister in law have been tempting me for past so many months, sending me pictures of branded replicas that would cost less than half the price of the original one. Yet, I stood firm and am still standing firm!
As for the children, trust me it don’t matter to them. As a matter of fact they loved the idea of no shopping and getting money for their clothes so they try to keep their stuff stain free so they get more coins in their coin box.
There is nothing wrong with being smart. Nothing wrong in teaching kids to be smart. Perhaps we just need to try it. And definitely if I can stay sober and sane, so can you!
I wake up every morning, turn the alarm off, the next thing in my hands is my phone: I do the same with the alarm, then check Messages(If any), then Twitter for news, then Whatsapp for messages from family and then Facebook for updates. After and when I am done with all this, then only I move. And I hate this!
Okay its alright to stay current and updated with the news, but what on earth am I supposed to do with what someone thousands of miles away from me is eating and feeling while eating. I mean first thing in the morning?
Past couple days, I’d been down and anxious; so much going on and then one morning when I was reading some news on Twitter, number 3 woke up and saw me busy on my iPhone and came close, and held my face and turned it towards him and said ‘ Band Mamma’ (Turn it off Mamma) It happened two consecutive mornings and what did I do? I signed out of all the social media apps on my phone.
There are people in my life, for who Facebook and Whatsapp comes first in their priority list, even before myself. But then I am me!
I have friends and families who have got separate tablets and iPads for their kids, as young as 2. I go for grocery and I see every passing stroller with a kid busy swiping the screen of their smart device. At traffic lights, I see cars and vans, with Dora or Caillou playing on the little television screens. Hospitals, doctor’s offices, shopping malls-9 out of 10 kids I see have some sort of device in their hands, regardless of their age. I mean what is wrong with us?
I remember growing up with only a 5 minute cartoon slot on the national television which was the only screen entertainment for us, that too in a hallway, that was always flooded with Dadi, phuphoos and cousins.
Then things progressed and we started having a 25 minute cartoon, evening 7pm. And that was it. And I am not talking about centuries ago.
Ammi used to pull keep knocking our bedroom doors, if any of us would lock it. We used to have dinner together. We used to talk. We had books to read, newspapers, magazines, puzzles.
And now I get guests, the young guns, that prefer to pull their hoodies on and sit in a corner playing, reading, listening, simply doing something with their smart device, and not socializing with the not-so-smart people in the room.
Personally I feel it is more the parent’s own short comings then anything else. I am not being judgemental; I am just saying what I observe.
Mothers are too busy so it really sounds like a good idea to have a silent baby-sitter with colours and music and pictures playing and keeping the kids entertained. Plus there is a lot of peer pressure. ‘That cousin” have it so I should also have it usually works wonders.
It some how addresses our own underlying, deep rooted complexes as a child-We try to give our children all that we could not get as a kid, without understanding that there was a reason we did not get something, and it was not money (only).
I have a household of three screaming, excited, ultra active human beings. I write and I sew and I bake and I craft and I watch news, dramas and movies; plus the every day household chores. I wash the same dish 15 times a day, because my baby likes to play with the freshly washed one, so I keep redound the same stuff over and over again. I have no help at all and yes I am bragging here. The only screen time my school going children get is 30 minutes, max 45. My baby is not a fan of screens at all. Yes there are times, when the screen time stretches beyond an hour, but that is rare, and extremely uncommon. They have no access to iPad unless they need to do some homework, which is timed and strict. They do not use any computers for any game, activity. I get them books, crosswords from the weekly flyers and newspapers. I asked for my family to send a Ludo so I can play with them.
And when they do nothing, they hover and make me want to run away.
Yes it drives me crazy and some times, it all just gets too much to handle. I am under slept, over tired, over stressed, but I am not ready to trade my children’s innocence for a 6 hour sleep. They eventually will be tech savvy and will have less time to communicate or interact with human beings in person. I just try to keep it this way, the natural way, for however long I can manage.
Number 1 was just promised by her father yesterday that if she finishes her Quran by a certain time she gets an iPad. And to my happiness, she responded “Remember no iPads” So I know children never develop complexes unless we try to shove it into them. Cell phones for now I have promised them when they’d be at least 16.
So my point: Please be sensible when deciding on handing over all this garbage aka technology, gift wrapped as tablets, pods and smart phones to these beautiful, super intelligent children when all they need is our attention and some encouragement. I argue and confront and fight about it with those I love. I know it is hard and I am not some kind of anti Illuminati or anti tech freak. I’m guilty of binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix when I am sad and I hog up on pop and sugar when I am depressed or I give up everything and not eat for days and survive on Chai as my to go med, friend, shoulder to cry-on. I just also admitted my horrible routine of social media when I just anxiously and insanely keep checking Facebook okay. I do. I am not a perfect mom, neither a perfect woman. I have my fair share of flaws. In fact I am more flawed than most. But this stuff is poison. It hurts those bright eyes, it damages those Einstein brains, it isolates those giggling personalities, it bars them friendly gestures and public etiquettes. It produces jay walkers who walk without the knowledge of their surroundings, engrossed in whatever device, and eventually usually get struck.
I wish I could’ve been born another time. Too old perhaps and hence nag!
I have this knack for languages. As a kid, I was the most brilliant student and the blue-eyed pupil for my language teachers. My Urdu was as good as my English. As a teenager, I always wanted to learn German, Chinese, and Arabic.
When I had kids, I tried teaching them Urdu. I put them in French school so they could learn the second official language of the country they are born in. They also attend an evening school where they have just begun to learn Arabic. Plus number two already speaks gibberish some times, telling me it is Chinese.
I try to communicate with them in Urdu as advised by so many language experts. It is because I believe no matter where they go and what they do, being the children of a Desi household they must know the language of their parents and family. I truly admire people from far-East and also Indian Punjab, and Arabs as they make sure their kids know and speak their language at home or amongst the family, while I find Urdu and Hindi speaking people more shy to use their own language and feel proud that their kids do not speak but in English-guess 200 or so years of British slavery does that to people!
So I just found this amazing article on Twitter, that was actually interesting for number 1, as she is just like me when it comes to languages. She is often a bit shy to speak Urdu, so I showed her this and made her read it.
I am sure some numbers would be as surprising for you as are for me.
So I had been sick, really sick for past so many days. I do not even remember since when. I finished two rounds of antibiotics but got sick again two days later. Then someone in the family told me to get some anti-allergy, and I found relief in my kids Benadryl syrup. No I still did not get to sleep, but it definitely helped. By the way I was wondering, why are OTC anti-allergy medicines are so expensive?
On another note I missed a birthday and so many days of productivity.
And then last Tuesday I realized schools are closing for holidays and I haven’t got any thing for teachers for Christmas. I like to create gifts and presents myself. It gives those things a personal touch I feel.
But there was neither time, nor energy or brain to shop or plan. So I Googled and found this amazing thing- White chocolate peppermint pretzels.
Took only three ingredients, about 3 hours and some mason jars that I had bought some time back. And yes a lot of fight and struggle with my macho number 3 as he was constantly trying either to pull down the chocolate bowl or break the pretzels.
Just sharing the recipe-Its a great activity to do with children as well (Hint hint winter holidays)
[yumprint-recipe id=’2′]
I had a couple while I was still making, it tasted that good:)
A little piece of twine, a handmade chalkboard greeting card and a piece of gold lace-Voila!
I wish there was a place in this world, a place bigger than Harrods or Harvey Nichols or Saks Fifth Avenue. A place where, things were available based on their worth, not the price attributed to it. A place where people could exchange emotions, I would have given my self in exchange of one last glimpse
If only though, if only wishes were horses, beggars like myself would fly high.
Its not what I would have or could have done, its just that every year this day comes, and though there is hardly a day when I do not think about her or when number 1 not have a question about her, perhaps the same questions repeatedly every day, I still feel like a five year old, in search of a warm embrace, looking for that precious smile, waiting to be held and be loved.
Every year, its like the same cycle. I start getting these weird dreams, and then I recall that at this time one or two or three or now four years back, this happened. It is like someone is dragging me to the electric chair, to be executed, and every year, a part of me dies within.
Its not philosophy, its not tragedy, its just the reality. That she is gone, that I was not with her. That I could not kiss her good bye. That she kept calling my name. That she kept waiting for me. Was all this actually worth it?
I remember my sister always used to ask me to go out at night on weekends, and Ammi would always tag along “How can I let you girls out, alone this late?” And when we would reach a jam lacked Hyder’s, she would say “Oh I don’t feel like having anything” And then later she’d be like “I’m kinda thirsty and will have a sip or two” And we both would fight with her that why you do not order something for your self. And I know deep in her heart, she was trying to save money that were so uselessly spending on “unhealthy, garbage stuff”- Mothers:)
When other girls talk about their mothers, I look at them with envy. When someone posts their status on Facebook to wish happy birthday to their mother, I just get numb. When I see women holding their grand children, my heart sinks. I have been trying to find her in every person I see, meet or talk to. I call every elderly woman Ammi, and yet this vacuum inside never fills. The gap just keeps increasing.
Its just like a hole, the size of California, being drilled in my heart, every day, every year.
And although her prayers for me have been answered and I have an angel right by my side, I still can’t deny that she took away a part of me with her. I am not complete any more. Can never be!
Number 1 came to me this evening to get her agenda signed. About to finish doing dishes, I asked her what was written there. And she replied ” Religious- Festival-Hannukkah-Month-Menorah-”
And I suddenly felt overwhelmed; overwhelmed with happiness as I myself always have had a passion to learn about other religions, to study history. overwhelmed with satisfaction that most likely, my children will not grow up to be bigots like I come across every day on social media because I am teaching them their own religion and acceptance and the schools tell them that they co-exist with other from different backgrounds. Overwhelmed that I live in a country where everyone is welcomed (well yes there are exceptions) and allowed to practice their religion freely.
You see, ISIS is not a terrorist organization. Its basically a radical mindset that makes one believe and understand that what they do or think or see or say is right and every one else is wrong. And unfortunately this mindset is not limited to some bearded, black gown-wearing thugs who kill in the name of the Most Merciful.
Since Friday’s horrific incidents that took place in Paris, I have been reading and watching awfully lot. By Sunday morning, my mind was already numb after watching the horrific scenes of the attacks on tv and after I learnt that a Peterborough mosque, in fact the ONLY mosque in that are was set alight and police said it was not an accident.
By Monday there were numerous clueless clowns, the biggest remains Donald Trump proposing to shut down mosques because to him, thats where the hatred is coming from or it is Marco Rubio suggesting to NOT accept those poor Syrian refugees who are escaping from the same monstrous ISIS and war or be it Ted Cruz who suggested ‘selective’ acceptance of ONLY Christian refugees. Of course not to forget Jeb Bush who can say all that he wants but “Whose bother created ISIS”– Reminds me of Nazism!
What breaks my heart though, is that being a Muslim, as soon as something like this happens, we start feeling this sword hanging above us. Though again, I must say that Canadians are the most tolerant and accepting warm people, for I have seen far more greater number who respect and protect my freedom than those who just call on our new Prime Minister to send fighter jets to war-torn Syria or to not accept refugees.
I am from Pakistan, and Pakistan is one of the few countries that has suffered the most from the hands of these terror mongers. We’ve lost over 60,000 people, mostly Muslims, in this war against terror. Just about 11 months back, I was in Karachi Pakistan when over 130 schools kids were shot in their faces and chests in broad day light in Peshawar. Yet the world chooses to mourn selective deaths. I do remember social media turned black on December 16th 2014, to show solidarity. Perhaps Facebook was not developed back then to produce a black filter for the dead children and their bereaved mourners.
But I am not here to question why someone chose to mourn ONLY Paris while in reality, just a days earlier the same evil ISIS attacked Beirut or few months back Kenya or every day in Syria kills hundreds.
My point is simple: No one, and I repeat, absolutely no one should have to justify in what they believe; Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindus, Sikhs, Buhddhists, Atheists-just no one. It is a feeling of utter disgust and low self esteem to have to justify your existence and your appearance and what you wear and what you do. Somewhere someone has to take a wise decision. A little tolerance, a little acceptance and just a little less judgement should be good enough to begin with!
Religion is between man and Creator. Let it be that way!
I have often seen child number 1 being the most angelic, most well mannered, well behaved one, while number 2 is usually an opposite. It is not because I am child number 1 but because even my children are like that.
My first born is the first born of both the families so she has always been a blue-eyed baby. Plus she is the most well mannered baby I have ever come across. It is not because she is mine, but I have always gotten compliments about her, to the extent that my friends would ask me for advise on how to get theirs as disciplined and behaved.
Of course I know no magic, number 2 and number 3 are a proof.
Number 2 was/is a loud baby (just like her mother). She is a Mini-Me. Care free, easy going, easy moving, distracted, extremely loving and super intelligent. When outside, both number 1 and number 2 are known for their manners, etiquettes and behaviour. But she likes to be a baby at times, and after number 3 even more.
She is the only summer baby in the family, so we always have greater and better chances to plan and celebrate her birthday. But for past couple years we could not. I was travelling on or around her birthday so we would just cut a cake and give presents, but then there were occasions and that too very often, when she would come to me with those puppy eyes, and huge pout and say “Am I not your daughter? Why do I never have a birthday party? Why do I not get to invite my friends? Etc etc etc”
Being the crafty mom that I am, I’m always on the look out for stuff, cheap stuff that I could use for little, unnecessary stuff. About a year back, I had seen some nice chevron and damask patterned stuff at the local craft store in the clearance section and boy it was a treasure for about 20 bucks. So I had been thinking of using that stuff towards her party; to make her happy on a budget. But it just happened, like it always does, that few days before I set the party, I happened to visit the store again. And something caught my eyes. It was a paper ice-cream cone garland, from summer stuff. I just loved the colours and put it in my trolley for a mere $2.75. That ice-cream cone garland just turned everything upside down.
I came back home and dived deep into my magic closet where I keep all the left over papers, cards, glitter, paints, glues, mod-podge, pom poms like Mr. Maker. And I came out successful. A whole bunch of goodies that were gonna keep me busy for a whole lot of days.
I made the invites out of the card stock that I had saved. Glitter, markers, paper fasteners, pom pom balls were all part of the project.
Since the weather was great, so I planned a backyard party with everything in the party to do something with summer and candy and ice-cream.
The Pizza cones: That actually matched the total ice-cream theme (Recipe here)
The Fruit Punch: Just the simple orange juice with some honey added for sweetness, and reusable plastic ice cubes
The Ice-Cream: I did not get a chance to take the picture of ice-cream itself but I used three different flavours from President’s Choice: Sprinkle Party Cake, Rainbow and Galactic Swirl (All Kosher Certified) The toppings were marshmallows, cherries, sour jelly beans, and mini m&m’s.
The Mango smoothie: A little sprinkle goes a long way, and so it did help attract the young guns to that healthy nutritious smoothie inside.
The party favours: I chose these super cute gum-ball machines, that were an instant hit with the girls. Of course there were these little fights over who wants the pink (Which obviously everybody did) but it was manageable.
The Watermelon jello: Who does not like jello? That too when it is made in a watermelon shell and looks like watermelon slices!
The cake: I had decided to go for a seven layered rainbow coloured cake with vanilla buttercream for the inside. And had two different themes in mind for the decoration. But then I left it blank, like a canvas and kept some edible decorating markers on the side so the guests and the host could decorate it themselves. It was one of the biggest hit of the party. everyone so excited as to when we were going to decorate the cake.
The girls had an amazing time decorating it. Though it was a bit difficult for them to run the markers through the soft fondant but hey, cooking and baking and decorating for them is such a fantasy right now at this age!
I couldn’t have thought of a better idea than to hide colour inside the cake so when she cuts it, she is as happy as this rainbow:)
Not a very good quality picture but this is how the table looked like.
Happy reading… Do post your comments in the section below!
Days before October arrived, number 1 told me “I know it is not okay to celebrate Halloween because it has Pagan roots, (I told them about the origin of Halloween and luckily the class teacher also discussed and explained the same to them) but would it be okay if we can just give away candies to people who come to our door”
This was the most tricky question I had been asked in months, so much so that I had to ask her for some time to think about it and get back to her.
In its essence, it was just a simple innocent wish to welcome people who come to our door step. At the same time it was something, that if I allow, would totally go against my previous sermons of why we should and do not celebrate Halloween.
I was lost in my thoughts for days around. I asked an aunt and she mentioned the same that her daughter had asked and that she would allow her to go out trick or treating this year. I was almost falling into the same path, with half my mind and heart still saying it is wrong, when suddenly one afternoon, as I picked them from the school bus stop, she went “Mama I think I do not want to give candies on Halloween. It is better we stick inside, and enjoy some good movie”. Should I say I was relieved? Yes I was. Should I say I was surprised? Yes I was.
Later she went on to explain “There are all kind of creepy faces that come for candy and I would not be able to sleep if i see one of those so closely, so its better for us (Pointing to herself and number 2) that we do not do it”.
End of story-Or was it?
It was basically their fear of those ugly faces, or zombies or demons that played the trick this time around but would it help next year?
As I keep saying and repeating, life in West has its own pros and cons. You live in a first world country, enjoy all the perks and privileges, many can only dream of back home. Yet there is this constant battle, within self, with the family, with peers to maintain our own identity, to have our own rules. Sigh!
Every year as Halloween approaches, there are these long lunch time discussions about why Halloween is not for us.
Lets put it this way: to me it is all a way of making money by the corporate giants around the world, than anything to do with any faith or religion. Enter any store in January and you’d see red hearts, chocolates and cupids all around asking and inviting you to SHOP for Valentine’s day. Comes March and suddenly everything is about Easter egg-hunts, and pastel flowers and bunnies. Then Mother’s day’s daisies, Father’s day’s ties, Back to School clothes, bags, things, Thanksgiving turkeys, Halloween candies and decorations, Christmas lights and Santa’s presents. In between al this there’s summer sale, winter sale, Cyber Monday, Black Friday, Boxing day and God knows what.
There is so much temptation, such marketing that one is almost forced to indulge into shopping for cheaper candy or better food items.
And then there is the religious part too.
You see I am quiet a liberal woman with very strong beliefs about right and wrong of my own. These were embedded when I was still a kid, a baby kid, and then reinforced time to time. Yet I would say, my mother must have had a better time teaching us things because back then there wasn’t this much awareness or must I say, information, among kids.
But at the same time, I am thankful to Almighty for such beautiful children I have. They listen, try to understand, and follow. Hardly ever a question, and not because there is any lack of intelligence or because of fear of any sort but because they’ve have learnt and believe that whatever mom decides for them would be the best and that is what they know.
I remember when number 1 was only 7 months old, I myself took her out trick or treating in a Tigger costume. I guess it was more my own wish to go around and have fun rather than her choice.
Then I realized its only little things like “Oh its just candy” “Oh its just saying Merry Christmas” or “Oh its just Easter egg hunt” that later on can find ways to justify a lot of things that are actually a nightmare, because “Oh its just……” (Fill in the blanks)
Also my own inner child that I had to tame. How long could I do things in the name of my children but actually because I want to do them or because I did not get to do those when I was a kid. And my kids see not what I say, but what I do!
I had to teach and lecture them repeatedly, again and again, why celebrating Halloween is not for us or why wearing spaghetti strap or sleeveless dresses is not proper. And friends it does make sense: How can you let your children do something until about 8 to 10 years of age thinking oh they’re just children and then one day just tell them they can’t do it anymore. You see those little minds do not see the justification here and they are not wrong. If something is wrong, it must be wrong from day 1. Then why were they allowed to do it or follow it till now and why is there a sudden halt.
By the way the above lines only stand true for some of us, while for others Halloween is just about candy and having fun and being part of the world we live in, for the rest of their lives and it is perfectly okay. I am no one to judge. To each their own!
For the candy part, I try to make it up to them. Every party at home, any sleep-over, any occasion, I try and keep extra desserts and candies for their little tummies and eyes. And I let them drown in those, never keeping a tab on those special occasions so they never feel “Oh we did not get enough”
I am no religious scholar, neither I feel my knowledge is perfect. Yet I am an individual with my own opinion and belief about everything. I have two beautiful well behaved kids that the world praises for their manners and etiquettes, who are not picky eaters, who are in bed when most of the kids their age are still in front of the television, who are known for their wit and intelligence so there must be something that I am doing right. And this is just one of the lessons that I taught them and thought of sharing.
With the advent of “Social Media” comes the risks attached to it. Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Snapchat, Instagram…The list goes on…. And then everyday we see posts warning us that our posts can be misused, we can be blackmailed, manipulated and yet there is this urge of posting the pic of our Saturday night dinner, and tagging our family or friends.
Well I don’t blame you because I have the same habit.
And perhaps there is an ex-friend, some jealous relatives, some lowlife colleagues or just the guy who packs your grocery at the corner store, simply anyone who may or may not be on your friends or followers list, who just make it a point to visit your profile, see your posts and simply know whats happening in your life.
Stalkers come in all shapes and sizes. You may know them or may not. You may have met them or you might have not. You may know you’re being stalked and you may not.
Just yesterday while browsing for some DIY ideas, I came across some images that are just so amazingly hilarious that it felt like these are the sounds that I often hear in my mind.
Here are ten that I thought summed it up immaculately or personally hit the right cords;P
1. What a tribute-Love this one!!
2. Low life or no life?
3. Lose some pounds baby; you’d feel better!
4. Ha ha ha ha ha….
5. But yes I am the centre of the world eh…
6. Yes? Yes!
7. Ooooo
8. My business is not YOUR business
9. Be careful!
10. A big one!!
So next time you are posting something online, remember to caption it “STALKING IS INJURIOUS FOR HEALTH”
It feels like its been ages since I’m living in Canada. I love and admire this country that has embraced me with open arms and warmth. Yet I hear the word Pakistan and my heartbeat fastens and the adrenaline gushes in my veins. After all its Pakistan we’re talking about.
The resilient and most incredible nation in the world, that has been seeing blood, terror and dead bodies of its men, women and children for past so many decades and yet if you step on any street in any city, you’d feel this is some piece of heaven. Yes our hearts are shattered but our souls are still in tact. We still enjoy little moments of happiness after and before death strikes.
So as a proud Pakistani I’d been thinking about the goodness that is all actually made in Pakistan or belongs to Pakistan. Here is a list of six little but amazing things that I believe spell Pakistan!
1. Pakola
Image courtesy: Pakola
What else could compete with the green goodness that is contained in the little green bottle or can. No its not what turned Bruce Banner into Hulk but it definitely has the potential, with the rich cream soda flavour and sweetness. Ive tried so many different kinds of cream soda, but trust me nothing comes close. And the best thing, it doesn’t give you the typical acidic feeling that one might experience after consuming other types of soda. Wish there was a better marketing strategy and this thing could give Coca-cola and Pepsi a run!
Yes it roots back to the times of subcontinental India, but it is something that draws a line between the two neighbouring countries. “Yes its not Salwaar(Traditional pants); it is Shalwaar!” And it is definitely not Hindi. Urdu is made up of so many other languages but that is our national language and we are proud of it.
Since the independence in 1947, Pakistan runs basically on trucks and buses to transport people as well as goods. These trucks and buses are decorated with some of the most spectacular pieces of art that is famous worldwide. These art forms vary from delicate detailing on the outside of the truck to amazing mirror and lights work and poetic calligraphy.
And since I mentioned trucks, truck art is incomplete without a dhaaba and Pathaan ki chai i.e. doodh patti(Milk & tea leaves). It is basically a staple of the road side cafes aka dhaabas on the highways or trunk roads that usually cater to these hard working truck drivers when out on the road, and in the cities to people who just want to have a cup of tea. This chai is special because it is brewed with loads of milk for hours and is sweet enough to give you a sugar rush. Most of these road side dhaabas were and are owned by the hardworking tribal people from the north of Pakistan, hence the name.
I remember the first time I went to Pakistan from Dubai and I had this horrible craving of Peshawari ice-cream and my brother got me three litre packs of it, that I licked to the last drop within an hour. Yes that’s how good it is. You’d forget Ben & Jerry’s, Haagen Daz and Baskin-Robbins when this hand-made, buttery, sweet white heaven melts on your tongue and you feel the tiny butter spots on your palate. It actually was a Karachi special and later on took over the rest of the country. Named after the roots of its inventors, it is not your typical Vanilla or White chocolate flavoured ice cream though it is quite similar in the colour and texture- Update your bucket lists folks!
5.TV Drama
I grew up in Karachi with only two television channels, but the best part of it was even those two channels could draw an audience all over the world, because of the dramas that were aired. And now there are a good hundred or so television channels for news, entertainment, food, religion, music and what not. And still Pakistani television dramas top the charts. There was a jolt few years ago when the Indian soap serials started to steal the limelight. But from Tanhaaiyan, to Meri Zaat Zarra e Benishaan, to Mera Naam Yousuf hay to Humsafar, Pakistani dramas remain unbeatable!
Since birth I have a little issue, a teeny tiny bug that always reined me towards the paths less travelled. I always found different things better. The price tag(read obstacles, hardships) was not the matter, never was. It was always the worth of that different thing for me that made me steer into that direction, regardless of the opposing forces.
Okay enough bragging Amber…
This Ramadan had been a very very busy one, thanks to my 18 month old little labbittt who has this unending, never tiring, not to mention unnerving energy to keep the chores coming in for me. I still managed to do doe crafts and test my skills.
Every year for Eid I try to offer my cake-shop customers something new, something unique, something different. It works for me both ways. One that my customers are happy to find goodies that are otherwise rare or entirely unavailable at other places. Second, I make extra batches and keep them for family and friends so they enjoy a different treat every time. And above all, I get to hear “My mom is the bestest baker with the bestest idea” and trust me nothing beats that!
So while I was on my mission to explore, create or remake something different, I sought help from Google Mamoo(Mom’s brother) As always Mamoo Jan did not disappoint me and brought me a horde of different images and recipes. But I was still looking for something different, yet easy because my baby-yes that says it all.
I had time constraint, plus the energy constraint as the hot summer fasts were about 17-18 hours long and for a person like me who misses about 70% of the sehris, it was a difficult task when mixed with other chores.
And then I struck gold. While I was going through the same colourfully designed cookies that are hours of back breaking labor and delicate crafting, I came across this amazing love-at-first-sight treasure box kind of cookies. The ones that are sure to spark excitement as they slide those little basked lids and smiles when they actually reach those candies tucked inside! Its a win!
You know Eid for Muslims is like Christmas for Christians. Damn I sound such mommy-like.Well, living in a foreign land, it sometimes gets really difficult for parents like myself to keep our children focused. They see all these glamorous and sparkling festivals like Easter and Halloween and Christmas-thanks to the Corporate cycle though. And we tell them, we celebrate Eid. Okay what is Eid Mamma? Oh that boring day back home where you spend the entire Chaand raat either getting Mehndi(Henna) done or just having fun on the streets, and then you offer Salah in the morning and then hit the sack for the entire day. Then wake up in the evening and go see some relatives or eat out etc?
Nay!!
We got to make sure that our Eid here is as sparkly and shiny as our neighbours Christmas or Halloween is. To tell them little minds that ours is a beautiful religion and it gives us all the more chance to celebrate all the beautiful festivals just like any other religion.
So we here, thousands of kilometres away from our roots, try to make every possible effort to make their faith strong and their identity positive, while still maintaining their innocence and happiness. Since I always tell them that Eid is like our Christmas, hence the presence of all the shiny wrapped presents and if not then something that is close. Which is why the thought of these baked beauties just made my day!
I got small braided baskets from Dollarama and lined those with gold coloured paper. I placed the cookies inside and left it uncovered so when the baskets were handed over, the kids were actually jumping to explore whats wrapped inside the treasure boxes. Unfortunately I could not get proper pictures of the finished baskets but just this random one from my iPhone that I took to send to hubby and even that I forgot to send to him.
I just read on Facebook: Quote: “It is haraam to fast on Eid, yet half of the Muslims are fasting today. It is a major sin to leave a Farz Roza(fast) and yet half of the Muslims are celebrating Eid. Who is answerable for this?”
Ramadan this year started without much of a confusion. Muslims all over the world generally observed 1st Ramadan on June 17th. Even my neighbours who are from Middle East and usually follow festivals as per back home, were pleasantly surprised that Pakistanis, Indians, Arabs and Muslims in general in the neighbourhood were celebrating Ramadan together which is very rare.
Last night was the 29th of Ramadan and about 80% people were sure that 1st Shawwal would fall on Friday July 17th and Eid ul Fitr would be celebrated.
However, about 15 minutes after Iftaar, Hilal Committee of Toronto announced that there was no sighting of moon and hence we shall have 30 blessed days of Ramadan and Eid would be on Saturday July 18th.
I was surprised, yet happy and satisfied. There is no point in celebrating Eid or any festival just because people back home are celebrating it. Called a couple of relatives, informed them and the feeling was mutual.
And there was this chaos on Facebook, Twitter, Whatsapp. Women telling each other on groups that they are wrong. Endless fights. Then someone tweeted from Hilal Committee’s Twitter handle after midnight that they are reverting their decision and Eid shall be Friday July 17th.
Few minutes later they tweeted that the account was hacked by someone and the tweet was falsely sent. and that there is no change in decision. While Social Media was abuzz with people posting news of moon sightings in Edmonton and California and hence emphasizing that Eid should be on Friday, some parts of USA including Houston, Miami, Newyork, Philadelphia were already preparing for Eid on Friday as for them it was decided from about a month before.
I wonder why there has to be so much division on such a small issue. Isn’t Eid supposed to be a blessing from Allah SWT for the faithful after fasting for 30 days. Why can’t here be unity? Why can’t ISNA and HSCNA and all the big wigs get together and find a solution for this?
And imagine the sorry state of affairs when I visited ISNA website just moments earlier, the main banner wished Eid Mubarak, while the date mentioned it was still 30th Ramadan. Sigh!
I am no scholar; just an ordinary Muslim who does not want to be divided in two parts because half of the family is celebrating Eid one day and the other half on the other. I do not have the knowledge to decide which Masjid is right and which distance parameters does my residence fall in. I, as a Muslim follower, do put my faith in these scholars and they can’t just get away with decisions just so it is easy to book the halls for Eid prayers in advance or because the other group follows some other school of thought.
Time has moved, advanced. Let us not give others any chance to ridicule us. Eid is Allah’s blessing. Let it be that!
Well yes I was born in a Desi household, amidst hordes of relatives. We lived in a joint family system. My mother had 9 siblings and my father had 10- Yes I know but they say they did not have TV in those times, hence no other entertainment- If you know what I mean!
Only my uncle and paternal grandparents lived with us, but then there was a never ending party at home and everyone was kind of always present. So my childhood and tween years introduced me to many different versions of aunts and uncles and cousins. And then of course the extended families that spice up the scenario further.
Most in my list are not so positive characters but then that is my personal opinion and my list. Yours might be different and better or worse-who knows!
1- Always-there-for you sister:
If there is one blessing in form of a blood relation, after mother, it definitely has to be a sister. I am the eldest of the ONLY four children of my parents. My sister even though younger, is the smarter and calm one, while I have always been the emotional and impulsive one. Matters of heart, love or anything else, she is my one stop solution. We have our fair share of arguments and quarrels but then what is a relationship without that? Ive personally witnessed women, paternal and maternal aunts, my cousins who would not hesitate to suck the better life out of a sister of theirs; who would selfishly leave the weak one on a side and carry on with the ones that suit their lives. I guess it is because of what they learn from their mothers, and i know what I did from mine.
2-Annoying Brother:
Aren’t they always annoying? Lets move on.
3- The Always-Behind-Your-Back Cousin:
Yes? The same one you thought of. Who would always wear the exact or almost exact replica of what you wore in the last party and with amicable resistance, express how our outfits are so similar. Or who would write their profiles with exactly same details as yours and when you inquire when did you go to this school or bought this cell phone or learnt to drive or had this love-affair, they would remind you that you are jealous of them and that they been on this stuff for ages!
4-The Know-It-All Cousin:
So there are so many different varieties of them. All sizes and packages. This is the one who writes “tat” for “that”, “ov” for “of” and “thankew” for “thank you”. You dare to correct them and they dish out their envy and ignorance upon you, labelling you jealous. You talk to them in Urdu and they respond in English(their version of it of course) They also prefer to ignore all the fame and fortune that comes your way because acknowledgement of it would only make them lesser of a person that is beyond their tolerance. Pretentious much? I so want to laugh!
5-The Materialistic Cousin:
“Oh I love that lipstick-can I have it?” “When you are done with this dress, its gonna be mine okay?” “Oh this stand needs to be wiped before I put these things here-” You turn around and they are gone. Exactly that type!
6-The Absolutely Fascinated Cousin:
If it was possible, they’d make an idol of you and start worshipping it. This type sees only the good in you, beyond good rather. You’re a role model for them and they just want to be you.
7-The Secretive Cousin:
She pretends she is your best friend; then one day you find out its her second child’s first birthday and you’re like what?
8- The Mirror-Image Aunt:
Of course she is an aunt so she can not copy your dress or shoes or jewellery so she tries to make up for it for all the rest of the things. What your children do, what set of glasses in your kitchen, what kind of hutch in the living room?
9- The Always-There-For-You Aunt:
She may be mean, outspoken and always angry but you get into any trouble and she is the first one to always reach. Call her what ever but this overcomes everything else.
10-The Dreaming-Of-A-Perfect-DIL Aunt:
Since you were a child, you always got special attention from her. More and better presents, love, attention, special introductions at parties-You name it. And it was only when you realized this affection was because of the eligible bachelor cousin at your Aunt’s place who was a perfect prospect for you!
11- The Crying Aunt:
No her tears are not because she is emotional. She cries because she can not bear to see your splendid new house, or glittering diamonds or fearless ride. So she cries!
12-The Always-Sick Aunt:
No its not making fun of any one who is sick. But this one has the same excuse for everything. From why she eats different(better) food than the rest of the family to why she has put on lumps of fat: the answer is always because she is sick and hence she also gets all the multivitamins-Irony!
13- The Crackhead Uncle:
“Oh uncle I got a gold-medal and an amazing job offer from Microsoft”
“Well these days it is so easy to get a gold medal. Ours were the times when one had to work hard. And what ever is Microsoft?”
14-The Free-Bit-Of-Advice Uncle:
You talk about wanting to eat an orange in front of him and he starts about the cost, advantages, disadvantages, dos and don’ts of orange. You would simply want to never even think about orange again!
15-Devil’s advocate uncle/brother:
They attend the services at the local place of worship regularly and talk about faith and belief and how to dress appropriately and how to help others so they ought to right in whatever they are doing. Guess what? They are not. Because no matter what they preach, they sure do not practice it themselves and it is obvious.
But then the one thing that my mother always used to refer to:
And fear Allah through Whom you demand, and (do not cut the relations of) womb (kinship, blood relations)
He was young, he was amazing, he was loving, he was caring….
I never met him but what I know from his Facebook updates and from his wife, who happened to be my second cousin, he was an amazing father, a loving husband and a caring son. I’ve known this girl as a sweet and shy little girl from our childhood, with sparkling grey eyes. Well I could not then decide and still can’t figure out if her eyes are grey or blue. But yes I could tell she was happy with him because her eyes would tell me so.
And then I reconnected with her, years later, thanks to Social Media. She is a learned one and is a lecturer at a local institution back home. She would always remember my birthday and wish me luck on all the happy moments.
And just today I found out that this handsome young guy, who she was wife to, is no more. He lost his life in a road accident last night. I was shocked, I was in tears. I thought of the two cute children, this beautiful young girl and I ask the Almighty “Why?”
I had no answer. I couldn’t help but wake my sister up in the middle of the night and share with her. Her response was similar to mine. We both cried, we both felt sad and bad and what not.
This is life; such is life…
PS: Do remember this family in your prayers. May Allah grant him highest place in paradise. May Allah give this bereaved family the strength and courage to take them through this difficult time-Aameen
Last night as I prepared these red velvet cupcakes, the girls asked if they could watch O’Canada on YouTube. I put it on, and guess what? I got the same goosebumps; just like the ones that I always get when the national anthem of Pakistan is played. Does that mean I am Canadian now? Does that mean the new bill C-24 poses no threat to me? Does that mean my vacation travels and tax information would not be shared? Oh well, lets not talk about all that at least today. Happy Canada Day 🇨🇦
May our maple syrup gets sweeter (and pure), may our Tim Hortons gets stronger, may our poutine get richer, may our oil sands remain oilier, may our moose remain loved, may our winters grow shorter, may our summers are happier(and affordable), may our sports get some attention by the rulers and not by selling mittens, may the diversity continues to grow, may the tolerance becomes equal for every one-Amen!
I live in Canada. And the moment I say “Canada”, snow and cold is the first word that comes to mind. We have extreme temperatures here about 9 months a year and even in those three months that we call summer, weather is never reliable. We dance when the weather hits double digits, and 16 degrees is like Ooo La La!
July 1st evening has never been the same; I remember going to see fireworks with n extra hoodie on because the weather is chilly. Yes on July 1st!
During winter, temperatures in my region reach to -30 and -40. And this is nothing compared to further northern provinces where these are not extreme but regular temperatures. Yet life goes on!
As soon as the weather is forecasted, city governments announce Extreme Cold Weather alerts which means that shelters and warm centres are open and accessible for the homeless and the poor.
The communities help each other. even my lovely neighbours offer to blow our snow when there is a snow storm and its impossible for one person to clean the drive way.
Yes we pay taxes, and then those taxes are spent on situations like these to help keep things running. Its not an ideal world, it has its own flaws and corruption and politics and what not.
Yet when I saw the picture above, I was short of words…..
I am a Karachiite, and I love Karachi. This is the city that feeds millions all over the country, regardless of their ethnicity, culture, religion or race. The resilient people living here have seen things like street crimes, gang wars, political fights, load-shedding and what not. We are the people, who when hear that a storm is about to hit our coast, run to Clifton to see where the storm is coming from and how. We get married and bury our loved ones in the shade of gunfire, explosives and curfew. Everyone who wants power claims he loves Karachi.
Yet when it comes to situations like this heat wave that has swallowed about 700 plus lives in 3 days and that even the local media here in Toronto and global media is giving full coverage in prime time, Karachi is no body’s business. Everyone tries to push Karachi in someone else’s court and everyone runs away. Karachi becomes a prostitute for these shameless creatures called our rulers who want to have all the fun with her, but do not want to own her! If it were not for the brave and courageous people of Karachi, who are always all by themselves when it comes to situations like these, Karachi would not be the same!
I have also spent few years in Dubai and I know what and how 47-48 degrees feel like. But I guess even the Arabs that we always so keenly make fun of, have some respite and humanity. They work evening or night hours, when the mercury goes down a bit. Air conditioners and cold water is everybody’s basic right. Well kind of as I have also seen poor expats working with charcoal and cement in that scorching sun.
And then to top it off the holy month of Ramadan. Where the ordinary people do not know that Islam is not asking you to kill yourself in the name of pleasing Allah. If you’re sick or fear of being sick (Read heat stroke) do not fast.
Plus in Ramadan, everything, i.e., milk, yogurt, ice, fruits, electricity and hence water either disappear from the markets or are out of reach of the common people. So imagine fasting while living on the Sun!
I had been reading so many Do’s and Dont’s about this heatwave, so I thought its going to be a good idea if I sum those up in here. I googled couple of these and found some on Twitter.
Stop/break fast. Allah is the ever merciful; He knows!
Heat stroke is the most serious form of heat injury and is considered a medical emergency.
People over 50 are most at risk, although anyone can be affected because of improper ventilation, dehydration or chronic ailments.
Throbbing headache, dizziness, lack of sweating despite the heat, nausea and vomiting, rapid heartbeat & breathing, behavioral changes such as confusion, disorientation and unconsciousness are but some symptoms of Heat stroke. DO NOT IGNORE!
If some one or yourself have any of these, fan air while wetting skin with water.
Apply ice packs to armpits, groin, neck, and back. Because these areas are rich with blood vessels close to the skin, cooling them may reduce body temperature.
RUSH to the hospital. And try not to take the entire family as the Emergency rooms are already crowded.
Keep an eye on elderly neighbours and try to check about their well being.
House maids, servants and drivers are humans too. Try to schedule them during late or early hours of the day, hand them some water bottles before they leave and let them use that air conditioner that is otherwise not allowed!
There are many people who are doing volunteer work on their own. Find someone and if nothing then at least get some cold water bottles to the nearest local hospital. It doesn’t have to be mineral water. Even clean, boiled tap water would do. Remember every good deed is multiplied many times in this holy month!
I called my father as he is old and alone and I am concerned about his well being. And he goes, ” I am okay, you people stay indoors, its hot over there I’ve learned so take care of my babies!”
So basically he was telling me not to worry for him in 47 degrees without water and electricity while I should watch for myself and children as it was 25 degrees in GTA today. Parents are always parents!
My own sister had some serious diarrhoea and nausea last night. After I finish these lines, I am going to call her.
Ammi(mother) used to say “The color of the perfect tea is golden; just like the color of the skin of almond. Any thing else is not tea!”
I can’t say how many other teachings of her I follow, but this one, I kept in the first shelf of my cabinet of her memories. And perhaps its more of a trigger for me, just like a blessing from her, that I seek refuge in.
I grew up in a typical Pakistani house hold. My mother just loved to cook for us: the best biryani I’ve had till date, the best trifles and not to forget the qeema that I still wish I could learn to cook like her.
The only thing that remained exclusive to and for her was that cup of tea!
We used to order special kind of tea leaves from some shop in the old Karachi city. And no other person, not even our maid was allowed to touch her tea. Twice a day, of which the evening one was her favorite, she would herself, put water in the pot, let it boil, then add tea leaves, sugar, and cover and let it brew for few minutes. Then she’d heat the milk separately, and pour the tea in the cup, add milk, stir and sit in the corner and sip and enjoy her little magic potion.
And yes- we, as children, were not allowed to have tea. So until about 9th or 10th grade, tea was not much of a thing for me.
As I grew up, I learnt how to cook. I am a foodie myself, so didn’t take much of an effort. Yet for some reason, I could not get the tea right. By this time, I was also occasionally honored to make tea for Ammi. Too strong, too light, too meh. So after every attempt, I would tell myself not to try it again.
My college days were where I actually started liking tea. When preparing for exams, studying late night, I would ask her to make me tea and she would gladly make two, and bring to me, at which time, both of us would kind of have a break and sit and sip together.
That was the time when I used to think one can’t fall asleep after having a cup of tea. My mamoo(maternal uncle) would always have tea right before hitting the sack and I would think how on earth? Of course now I only laugh at the thought of this thought as now my day ends with a hot cuppa tea, just flipping channels in my corner of the house.
It wasn’t really until I started working that I started having tea. There were meetings, workshops, seminars and being a Pakistani tradition, tea was always part of these.
When I’d come back from work, or on a weekend, some times my sister would make tea, and I still remember Ammi saying “It does not taste like tea-its tastes like dirty socks!”
Good old days….
Dubai was when and where I actually discovered or say rediscovered my love for tea. I would watch people enjoying this weird mixture of water, sugar and flavored evaporated milk, with a hint of tea leaves in the name of tea. Nightmare!
I even witnessed one part water, three parts of milk and sugar, with a teabag floating somewhere in that liquid, being called tea.
Tastes can vary and every one has the right to enjoy what ever they like. But calling alien mixtures tea is injustice and for the love of tea I just can not bear it.
I know there are so many different variations of tea even in that one part of the world from where I come- some like tea with milk/cream, some just black, some with no sugar while some with sugar and some like my brother too much sugar or say tea in sugar. Then there is this famous Pathan ki chai which is usually found in a small shabby roadside cafe, very strong and brewed for hours. And as so many go by the trend only, so the Masala chai is also ‘IN’ these days, wherein a lot of different spices such as cardamom, cinnamon, cloves etc are added to the tea.
Image Courtesy: @FurSid
But like someone once told me in Colombo, Sri Lanka, until you brew the fragrant tea leaves in water and let it stand few minutes, how can you call it tea?
My household, the first utensil I bought was a proper steam kettle. it makes that sound like a steam engine when ready, and its shiny and I love it just like a little girl loves her doll!
Most likely it is because of my mother’s love for tea, or because the man in my life also loves tea and so it is double the bond or may be it is just my own liking.
Of course its not the same every where I go, so when out I prefer coffee because my tea tantrums are not tolerable for and by most. Even when sick or bed ridden, the only thing I do not and would not compromise for is my cup of tea.
And I believe so I say “The color of the perfect tea is golden; just like the color of the skin of almond. Any thing else is not tea!”
First its about the weather, and trust me when I say it…. This morning it felt like part of some post-apocalyptic, dark cold corner of the planet, typical Hollywood movie style, bitter cold, blowing snow, less people, more clothes(No rags though)
Today is the coldest day of the winter so far, with temperatures as low as -18 or -20 in some regions, and feeling like -30 to -35. God Almighty help us as January has just begun. February please do not be harsh and mean on us. May all of us and our loved ones stay protected and safe.
And now what actually prompted me to scribble these lines…. I am part of these amazing women, or say Muslim women groups on Facebook. You want to find a good cleaning lady, a carpenter, you want to know the best eateries in town, you want to talk about your health issues, seek guidance for education or want to know how to potty train your toddler; you’d find instant help, contacts, remedies, guidance- you name it!
BUT there is no such thing as free lunch and so even this one comes with a price tag that says “Being judged”
As Muslim immigrants, we are always trying to settle ourselves in the West, trying to balance our traditions and values with the fast paced life. Thanks to Canada and its beautiful people, I feel accepted, my beliefs respected, my values appreciated. And let me tell you: Canada is the most multicultural place Ive seen.
But there is some degree of intolerance that I still feel. No, not from the people of West, but mostly those from my own country, or from those who share the same beliefs as mine.
I post a question and I get stomped by judgmental comments, I post a note and get hurled by insults and what is all so NOT right in what I wrote, and how angry I made Allah (SWT) by writing or asking something or how I disrespected my own country of birth or how for goodness’ sake I do not deserve to live in Canada. My fellow women, my fellow Muslim women, my fellow Pakistani Muslim women? Seriously? You think scaring me from the wrath of Allah(SWT) would do any good? You think advising me on how to raise children when I only quote a 5 year old’s innocent dialogue would do any good? You think bashing, bickering and ridiculing me and many like myself on what we eat, wear, watch, buy, talk would do you or anyone else, any good?
Take a deep breathe ladies; inhale and exhale. You’re not the godsend Messiah!
I always encourage and try to find facts about what we do in our day to day life. It is my responsibility to share something good or knowledgeable. But if I share that having Iced Cappuccino from Tim Hortons is okay for me, despite the fact that it carries nth of alcohol as part of the vanilla flavoring, why would you label me Kaafir? Or if I share an event that I am planning at Moxie’s, why would you call it Haraam (Forbidden)? Who gave you the license to judge me? To label me? To ridicule my choices?
A beautiful piece by famous poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz on New Year. Did not want to spoil the magic of Urdu language, hence posting as it is (Without translation)
Its around this time, every year, when I get into this strange kind of mood- Highly sensitive and equally numb…. Just words and visuals echoing in my ears and flashing in my eyes….
Been three years now, and it is as if my biological clock is programmed to work that way…. I may not remember the dates, I may not remember the day or time, yet at this specific moment, every year, the same demons resurface… Depression, anger, regrets, pain and so much more…. And it is because of these things that I realize it is Nov 26th today- The day I last spoke to my most beloved mother; in anger, assuming she had no time to wish me a day before for my wedding anniversary. I threw a tantrum and hung up the phone on her, thinking she would call back, which she never did, because the angels from heaven never gave her the chance to.
The next thing I remember is the call from my sister asking if I spoke to Ammi (mother). And then a never ending series of events, that just lead to the one incident,which left a hole in my heart, the size of Jupiter, and the characteristics of Sun– centre, burning, hurting, painful.
She was my mentor, my guide, my teacher, my fashion designer, my critique, my guard, the best cook in the world(That now I am called by mine), my best friend to the extent that I never had any best friend, never needed one in her presence. My first love and I was her pride-her blue eyed baby. My siblings would complain that even the love you have for the rest of us is not equal to the love you have for Amber alone. Lucky me! Her love for me was so deep and profound that she never even discussed her 3 year long battle with Adenocarcinoma and the effects of it on her beautiful, short life of just 51 years, as she knew it would worry me.
She cared enough to make sure I keep getting the same love by sending me her replica in the form of a special angel.
No words I say or write can ever put the pain in words. Thinking of her still makes me feel like a child in need of a warm hug from her mother!
Needless to say her absence makes even the happiest of moments, the saddest.
May she rest in peace in the best gardens of Jannah(Heaven)- Aameen
God created angels…. This universe, the galaxy, the sun, the planets, the moons, stars… He then moved on to creating this world, the mountains, the oceans , the rivers, the animals, the birds…. All the objects, all the creations worshipped and praised God but still something was missing…. And then Man was created…. He was given the key of this world and was sent here… What was so different between the Man and the rest of God’s creation? One little thing that made Man different from all the rest was that Man could communicate….
Still that was not enough…. So God sent messengers and Prophets….. And just to reflect on the need of communication, he sent with them books that are gates to knowledge and to almost everything that was and is part of this universe.
Suppose you are a layman, whose first language is English and for some reason, by some chance, for work, pleasure, for studies, you land in a remote Chinese village, and you need a spoon and unfortunately there’s not even a single person who knows the E of English-What are you going to do? Wait a minute; you can just show them a picture of a spoon and they’d understand because communication is not, is not just limited to words. Its a universal phenomenon!
We are always communicating-Words being the least significant of all of it. What we see or what others see in us is a visual form of communication, just like the spoon in China. And at times its only a touch, a warm hug, a newborn’s first cry that says it all. Watching “Breaking Bad” and just when Walter is about to jump off the cliff, there is a break and we see a series of commercials- That is communication at its best, advertising, touching all our visual, audio, kinaesthetic modalities in one rhythm. In a nutshell, communication is a product of our thoughts, actions and feelings working together.
How the person or object at the receiving end conceives or perceives our stimuli is relative. When a child cries out loud asking for another candy, in his mind he is trying to communicate his right to have the best available thing in the whole word, while the mother, in her own mind, denying that right, is doing a favor by not compromising over her child’s well being. A husband, miles away from home, abruptly ends the conversation with a good night text, in his mind he is showing his anger, while for the wife he is trying to deny her of her right to argue and ask. When a student slams the door, he is actually embarrassed of being picked so randomly of a bunch of mischievous pupils, while the teacher can not see the most brilliant student wasting his intelligence.
Its all communication; and its all relative and its all that we do-whether its vague or clear, whether its loud or not, whether it is active or passive, through words, actions, signs, through I love yous and I miss yous, through touches, hugs and kisses, through tears and laughters, through colours, fragrances, numbers; through attitudes, behaviours and through silence.
And what happens when there is no communication? Nothing, just a vaccum…. Because ONLY dead people do not communicate!
There is Ramadan, there is iftar and then there is chat masala- a spicy, tangy concoction of household spices that is used mainly for garnishing and adding in more flavor or spice.
A staple of the iftar feast, no traditional savory is complete without this pinch of color and flavor, be it chana chat (traditional chickpea salad), fruit chat (traditional fruit salad), dahi baray (fried lentil dumplings in a sweet and savory yogurt base) or even pakora (gram flour fritatas).
I grew up seeing my father sprinkle chat masala on everything in his plate.
As passionate as my mother was, the earliest memory of chat masala is home made.
Though I never got a chance to learn from her, because by the time I actually started cooking, she was gone.
This recipe I learnt this from my MIL and it tastes just like the one my mother used to make.
It is made of simple household spices from the pantry, roasted and then ground to your liking.
Making a fresh jar right before Ramadan is just another tradition I follow religiously and so will you when you try it.
Enjoy the spice! (Remember to read the side notes)
Chat masala:
Ingredients:
Whole cumin- 1 cup
Whole round red chilli- 1 cup
Whole coriander seeds- 1 cup
Whole black peppercorn- 1 tsp
Carom seeds(Ajwain)-1 tsp
Himalayan black salt (Kala namak)-1 tsp
Salt- 1 tsp
Citric acid (Tatri) – As per your taste
Directions:
Dry roast the first five ingredients until fragrant.
Pulse the dry-roasted ingredients in a coffee been grinder.
Transfer the grounded mixture in a deep mixing bowl.
Add the remaining ingredients.
Mix well.
Store in an air tight container.
Side notes:
I grind my spices to a medium blend. I like to leave it a little chunky, and it is absolutely your choice if you want to grind it fine or leave it chunkier.
The salt you can add per your liking, reduce or increase the quantity.
The citric acid or amchur powder can also be added per your liking. If you want it tangy, increase, if not then reduce.
