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School reunion



So its been exactly 28 days since my last post. Procrastination is my middle name. And this post was due two weeks ago. But better late than never, right?





I am not a particularly great organizer. My cupboard is never neat, my drawers are always messy, I can't seem to keep anything straight. So imagine my horror when I realized that I had to organize a party for 270 people. My first thought was "why don't I leave the country for 2 months and come back when everyone forgets about it?"



"So then how did you get yourself into this?" My colleagues asked me. Let me explain. Farah (aka Fud) has been my friend for more than 11 years now. From school, through college, to now. So Fud kept sitting on my head and saying "Let's have an iftar re-union before school shifts to the new campus." You see our 43 year old school was shifting from its campus to a new one (by the way my school is older than this country itself). I loved my school and really wanted to see it one last time but more than that I wanted to keep Fud happy (read: I wanted Fud to stop pestering me). So I created an event on Facebook and invited all my friends and batch mates. People started signing up, commenting, blah, blah. And then Fud comes up with a brainwave. Why don't we try and organize the iftar at school itself and invite every possible Our Ownian we could? I'm not too excited but I agree. You see I want to keep Fud happy. And then began email exchanges with the school principal. I sent an email, he replied. I sent another email, he replied again. And this went on until I had an appointment with him to discuss the re-union. Please note, up until this point Fud has done no actual work other than come up with brainwaves. So I met the Principal Mr. Aziz Akhtar in his office. For me this meeting was more emotional than the reunion itself (you see at the reunion my emotions had evaporated in the heat). This was the campus where I had spent a good deal of my life. And to drive into that campus in my own car as an adult, it made me very nostalgic. And then to walk into the principal's office- which was obviously out of bounds for us in our school days- and announce that I had an appointment to meet him just made me feel more grown up than I wanted to admit. Mr. Akhtar was to the point, helpful and totally amazing. He agreed to help us out in whatever ways he could.



At night I was filling Fud in about my meeting and we were discussing food options. I said we could get iftar kits from a few restaurants that I know. "But you know Nas, I think we should do a school theme," says Fud. "Let's get puffs, pizzas and areej- the stuff that school used to give." At this point I no longer wanted to keep Fud happy. I wanted to punch her in the face. I said "Fud, don't ask me to do that. Will you please do it?" Why did I say please? This was something she wanted. But I did and she agreed. "Let's give the job of arranging other stuff to Rash and Sand," Fud said, referring to two other friends- Rashmi and Sandhya- and not a skin disorder or the desert.



And thus began a series of arranging. At this point 50 people were attending the iftar. We ordered 65 packs. Water and areej had to be bought separately. Then dates, garbage bags, tissues, etc. Three days before the event, 70 people were attending. More phonecalls. Increase the number of iftar packs and water. Two days before, 150 people attending. The day before 220. "Nas, all I wanted to do was just go to school, have a small iftar, meet friends, take pictures and come back. NOT worrying about organizing iftar for 200 plus people," Fud sighed on the phone the night before the event.



D-day dawned nice and bright. I was so nervous that I had butterflies in my stomach all day. My mom said I was just hungry but I refused to buy that explanation. "Nas my horoscope today says that I will be lynched by 200 hungry people," Fud messaged me. "Then I will just escape by the back door," I messaged back. "I love you too," Fud wrote. At 5 sharp we were there at the school gate. To put it mildly it was a day from hell. Hot, humid and sweaty. Within 5 minutes of stepping into the school, we were all drenched . We ran around delegating jobs to everyone, making sure things were getting done, etc. By 6 30, I was so severely dehydrated that I thought I'd have to break my fast (the azaan is at 7). I started to feel dizzy, my hands and legs felt weak, etc. I just sat in the only AC room looking into thin air. Then on it was Fud, Rashmi and Sandhya who held fort. Welcoming people, collecting money, making sure everything was ok, etc. It was only after I had broken my fast and had some chocolate cake that I finally had enough energy to stand up. The rest of the evening passed quickly. Some old faces, some new; some who I hadn't seen since graduating and some I had met many many times. But one thing was common- not a single one of them left without thanking both of us for giving them the opportunity to come back to school and relive their memories. By the end of the evening, the four of us were sweaty, tired and had lost a good amount of money. But it was all worth it.





However I must add that there were other ramifications of the event. "I'm not organizing another event till Mehreen's marriage," I declared to my husband that night (Mehreen is my 15 month old daughter, by the way). And a few days later when he met Fud, my hubby said "oh hi reunion organizer" and Fud put her hands over her ears and screamed :-)

Saturday Centus



This week’s Saturday Centus reminded me of a story my mom told me just a few years ago. It was a story of when she was a young, nervous Indian bride living with her husband in Dubai, away from her family. Read on…it’s a true story.


She carefully broke the egg into the pan. Oh no! The yolk had broken again. She slapped her forehead. Her husband of one month was particular about his eggs. “If the yolk’s broken, the egg aint any good,” he says. She quickly dumped it in the bin and had the next one in the pan. Chssszzzzz- it fried quite nicely. She proudly looked at the sunny side up. “Is it ready honey,” he peeped into the kitchen. “Just bringing it,” she smiled sweetly. And as she took it out of the pan- plop- the yellow liquid oozed out

Bomb Blasts et al.

Bomb blasts in Mumbai: 17 dead 131 injured, 23 serious.

I was at a parlor when the story broke. And my beautician was a Mumbaikar. She went pale when I told her what had happened. She immediately tried to call her husband, daughters and siblings living in Mumbai. But obviously phone lines were jammed. When I left the parlor about an hour later, she still hadn't been able to talk to her family.

The next day it was crazy in our office. We were trying to get witness accounts, get our facts right, update our information as new facts and figures came out. Total mayhem. The TV was blaring away in the newsroom. One reporter was standing in front of the hospital and interviewing victims' relatives. As I watched them, I realized that whenever an accident takes place or a disaster happens, we always identify it in numbers- 17 killed and 131 injured. No one really talks about 50 people who may have lost their livelihood because of the 17 people killed. No one really talks about those who are among the 131 injured, who will never be able to be the same again. These individual stories are what makes a tragedy so tragic.

One of the interviewed relatives had lost his brother who runs a shop in Zaveri Bazaar. He had just stepped out for a walk. What will happen to the shop? What will happen to the people who work in the shop? How long will it take for the shop to recover from its damages? No one knows.

Another person had lost his son who had been married only for two months. What will happen to his wife? Will she ever remarry or will she stay a widow in honor of the husband whom she hadn’t even known properly? What if she is pregnant by now? The child will never experience the warmth of a father’s love

I remember an Indian movie which told the story of a guy who earned a meager income but dreamed of sending his daughter to medical school. He worked hard to manage the fees of the good school his daughter went to. And then he gets injured. The girl quits her studies and starts working in a factory near her house. The man spends the whole day in bed, unable to do any work and being extremely frustrated at his inability. The girl then gets an offer from the factory’s owner, to go work in his factory abroad where she can earn better. Her family agrees and off she goes. From there she sends a wheelchair for her father and some money for the family. Its all hunky dory until the end of the movie when we get to know that she is actually working as a sex worker. Such a tragic yet realistic story. So many women are tricked like this by scheming people who understand their dire circumstances.

Nothing has been achieved by this bombing. Nothing has ever been achieved by any acts of terror. Yet they continue- in the name of religion, in the name of clans, in the name of countries, and in whatever possible names one can think of. When will they stop?

Childhood Innocence

This weekend, I went away for a much-needed break to Fujairah. We stayed at the Hilton resort and got a good dose of sun, sand and beach. Mehreen was absolutely thrilled.



We checked in on Friday afternoon, roamed around for a bit and just relaxed. On Saturday morning, after Arfaz and Mehreen had spent a long time in the pool, I was taking her out to dry, when a Nepali lifeguard came and said “Hi Mehreen, did you enjoy your swim?” She gave him her usual grin- showing all her 6 and a half teeth. When we went down for breakfast, she was driving me insane. So I gave her a spoon to play with. 5 minutes later, the Filipino waitress walked to her and said “Hello Mehreen, here is a smaller spoon for you to play with.” I couldn’t help smiling. After breakfast, as we sat in the lobby playing with her, the Russian receptionist came up to us and said “Hi Mehreen, did you have a good night’s sleep?” I was starting to feel like I was with a celebrity now. Later, when we were just lazing about on the bed in our room with her somersaulting all over us, there was a knock. It was the Indian housekeeping lady. “I just came to say hi to Mehreen,” she said.



I found it so amusing that all the people who had asked her name, actually remembered it and even said hi to her. My child is not very people-friendly. She doesn’t let anyone carry her. Yet, so many people meet and remember her- regardless of the gender, nationality, age, etc. In a world where everyone struggles to highlight their differences, where wars are fought to seperate country from country, people from people and gender from gender, this comes as a welcome change to me. Everyone inherently loves children and their innocence. Everyone loves their naughty giggles. Everyone loves the fleeting moment of happiness that they bring to our lives.



This is not the first time I have felt this. When I went to Turkey, we met people from all over the world- from Russia, Azerbaijan, Latvia, Britain, etc. They all spoke to Mehreen in their own languages, cooed and fussed over her and she being the total diva just enjoyed it.



But of course, just because children are so cute, nothing will change. Wars will still be fought. People will still kill each other over their minor differences. But the world does seem a tad bit nicer knowing that there are still people who love an appreciate children and their innocence. This post is especially dedicated to all those little ones without whom our lives would be so bland. would like to quote Rabindranath Tagore “Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of humanity”

Blooming Bloomsbury's

I know its been so long since I blogged. But with a hyperactive daughter and some really hectic work schedules, I was finding it difficult to keep up. So yesterday I went to Bloomsbury’s- the coffee shop that my friend Shafeena started recently. I had seen pictures so I was prepared for its beauty. But I wasn’t really prepared for the kind of service I was about to get.
Unexpectedly, I meet Shafeena there. And the gracious host she is, she sits me down and orders tea and cupcakes for me. With its black walls, intricate designs, big chairs with arm rests and wooden flooring, I felt like I had walked into an old, beautiful English Victorian home. Every table had a bit of intimacy. It’s the perfect place to snuggle up on a chair, crunch your toes, sip a piping hot cup of tea or coffee, gorge on delicious freshly made cupcakes and read a book. On the side of each table were open glass walls through which you could see people walk around the mall. “I wanted it to be open, but at the same time intimate,” Shafeena said. If I had heard her say this before I saw the shop, I might have laughed and asked her “And how exactly do you plan to do this?”


I order a Jing jasmine tea but cant make up mind about the cupcakes. They all looked so amazing (and three of them are named after her nephews- how cute is that?) that I kept going back and forth. Shafeena is telling me about how she ate 96 cupcakes on the tasting day- I cannot even begin to imagine the sugar rush. She then finalized on 30 of her favorite ones to put in the shop.

And as I stood there, a lady walked in and asked for red velvet cupcakes. When the staff showed the cake, she frowned. “Its not red,” she said. “It is,” the staff insisted. And when I looked closely, I saw that they were just a shade of red, and not the dark red ones that you get in other shops. “People just don’t understand,” Shafeena said, sounding exasperated. “The red is just the color. The darker cakes just mean more color. I try to give people the healthy option- making fresh cakes everyday, adding as little color as possible, bringing in the best quality tea and coffee from around the world, but people just don’t understand.”


That’s when my tea makes the grand entrance. Silver tray, white teapot, white cup and saucer, a tea card and tea timer.
“Please don’t drink the tea until the tea timer runs out,” my server instructs. “Tea becomes proper only if it brews for three minutes.” The tea card, that explains a bit about Jing tea, has a beautiful quote by C.S. Lewis- “You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me” Meanwhile, the cupcakes that Shafeena chose (ya, I just couldn’t make up mind) also arrived- Diabetic and red velvet. I wasn’t sure of the diabetic. “Go on,” she urged me. Hesitantly I bit into it and I must say I was totally impressed. It tasted really sweet (it’s a natural sugar syrup, she explains) and it had lots of nuts in it. Yummmmm. By then my tea-timer runs out. The smell of jasmine is so overpowering that I actually didn’t want to drink my tea. I just wanted to sit and smell it. I’m generally not a big fan of herbal tea but this one was actually good
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And we sit and chat some more. About family, our kids, life, etc. “So how did you come up with the name?” I ask her. And that’s when she tells me about Bea. Shafeena did her masters from London and while she was there, she used to love going to Bea’s cake shop. “Bea makes the best cupcakes in the world,” she gushes. And so when she decided to start her own place, she obviously roped Bea in to make the great cupcakes here. And as an ode to their friendship, they named the shop Bloomsbury’s- the place where they first met. Now isn’t that cute?


And then its time for me to leave. Shafeena promises me a box of cupcakes to take back home- which i duly went and picked up. All i remember is bringing that box home. Next instant, it was all gone :-)

UAE and the underage driving problem

Another day, another underage driver, another accident and two lives lost in vain. I hate to be critical but such stories really drive me insane. Why was a 16 year old boy, without a driving license, driving a car with his 12 and 13 year old sisters in it at 3:30 am?

The UAE just needs to sit up and crack the whip on youngsters. A UAE university study done earlier this year reveals that 60% of Emirati and Arab drivers have driven before the legal age of 18…yes, 60 percent. 25% of the Emiratis regularly speed. 2.6% almost always jump the red signal. And how do all these people get away with it?

Now I am beginning to kind of agree with road safety campaigner Adam Kechil that the legal driving age should probably be dropped. I mean the kids are doing it any way so you might as well train them to drive rather than them getting into ridiculous accidents like these.

And while I criticize the systems and the attitudes, my heart goes out to the parents who have lost two of their kids in the blink of an eye. A third one is in hospital after being seriously injured. May you have the strength to get through this grief.

Saturday centus- The End

Its a really really busy time for me- KPI's to meet, hyperactive baby, etc. So blogging has taken a backseat. But I just couldn't resist Jenny's prompt. It was way too challenging to miss...so here I go:



‘The End’

The movie was over

“Do you wanna go home?”

“It’ll be empty”

“She’s enjoying at university”

*sniff*

And they sat for another show