Cup-a-Confessions

Ninety One

2011-12-29T15:18:00.002+05:00

I feel like I haven't progressed as much as I would have hoped to. In fact I was a bit surprised when I opened the document and realized I was on Chapter 11 instead of 7 like I was expecting. However I believe its high time I shared some of the little bits from the novel here. Feedback is much appreciated.

Thelights on seaview twinkled in mischief. Samir loved driving by here on the way back home. Well he did on most daysbut today he was on autopilot, barely noticing that he had taken the scenicroute. He didn’t see the crowds or hear their laughter or utter a sigh of blissat the way the moon caused the ocean to glitter like a bedecked bride injewels. He felt weary and a littlesurprised at Anita’s accusations.

A glassshattered into pieces. Anita rattled by the sound woke up from her slumber.Since the maids’ pregnancy it was like she had extra limbs, on a daily basissomething or the other broke. Annoyed Anita often dismissed her early; shemight as well look for someone new. Does feeling guilty about not feelingguilty make one a wretch? Anita mulled.

Sue tried to breath but she couldn’t. She wasalive in a coffin and with every effort she made more spades of sand was thrownat her deathbed, forcing her into the slumber of the ever after. She tried toscream but her mouth had been stuffed with cotton wool. Her hands were boundtogether with a tight wire around her hip; the little she could do was scratchwith her nails against the coffin - a whisper of a protest. Then she heard thempatting the sand – miles above her - tapping in mockery. She awoke in dread.

What Atif and Fari come to share was what the world would have onlymuddied as shame, but they didn’t know and never would. It would ignite like aforest fire, lasting, impressionable, embossing their hearts forever butremaining obscure to the outside world.

Eighty Eight

2011-12-04T20:50:00.001+05:00

I am not sure if this is a phenomenon among South Asians but I have seen that a second marriage for widowers is a really made fun of in our society. When I was in Melbourne this lady - a Sri Lankan divorcee - who had 3 grown children went on a holiday on her own to Sri Lanka. When she returned she was married. Neither her children nor she seemed to have an issue with it. In fact despite two grown girls they all seemed to be happily living under one roof; but the rest of the Muslim community gossiped like it was a huge scandal. At first I was a bit shocked, as we are speaking about a Western country, where it wasn't uncommon to hear of Muslim boys living with their Australian girlfriends and so on. But when it came to hijab clad, divorcee who deserved to have a life partner it was considered abhorring. For one she had 2 daughters and she had just let in a non-Mehram (a man who could not be according to Islamic law their guardian), then she had made the mistake of hiding the fact that she had been divorced a long time ago and that her husband was in fact much alive and single. Hence she could have just tried to reconcile with the father of her children. It became such a huge fodder of gossip, that as a student I heard it so often that eventually I had to tell my friends lets not discuss this any more. Her son in particular was someone I worked with, and I didn't want to go through some strange uncomfortable scene.

Recently a worker of my uncles - who often does odd jobs for the family - a widower got remarried. For him, his youngest daughter refused to get married unless her father promised to marry after she left the home to live with the in-laws. But this acceptance by his children hasn't deterred the immediate Pakistani community to gossip. Apparently marriage has made him lazy, distracted and completely useless. I joke not.

I just don't understand - isn't a windowed or divorced person allowed a second chance at happiness or companionship? There are more than enough single and lonely people in the world and I believe everyone deserves the chance to move on and be happy. If tomorrow my mother wanted to remarry I would not hold it against her. But society can be brutal and now thanks to them everyone wanting that chance has to think twice or merely go ahead and turn a deaf ear to it all - and be a little selfish for once.

Seventy Four

2011-11-10T19:25:00.000+05:00

If you expect your platonic male friends to remain the same after a fiancée or a marriage - think again. The closer you have been the further apart your going to become. So much so that in the end you cannot even fathom considering it a friendship. Maybe an acquaintanceship. The same can not be said about female friends - they perhaps have less time after marriage and children but you know even if they are bone tired they would be willing to lend a ear to a late night phone call.

The incident that recently happened involves one of my oldest friends. Granted I am extremely thankful to the support he has provided for me in the past now things have taken a turn for the worse. The person in question in M and it involves his maddeningly beautiful but completely insane fiancée D. About 6 months back in sheer frustration at her and her rules involving how I should be friends' with M made me end things. Since then I have discovered that he has been trying desperately to contact me. A few weeks ago he finally managed to and I point blank asked him if he could be friends' with someone who refuses to attend his future wedding ceremony? He replied that he would drag me to it. I said then either she or I would end up dead. The hour-long conversation resolved nothing and then I just stopped responding to his texts and phone calls - also letting him know that I am automatically deleting every text unread. That made him stop. But it left me exhausted. This was a best friend, someone who I considered a real help during my darkest hours. How could someone like this expect to salvage a friendship after all that had transpired? Did he not even have a little respect for it all and just accept my decision? Now it is beyond repair.

The other incident involves a friend back home. J is a soldier in the Sri Lankan army.
After I moved away we were very much in touch, then the war intensified and he got married. This time I did not even attempt to make friends with his wife - we always did talk about it and he was meant to introduce me to her but he never did. The way he changed though was all him, suddenly my emails were too crass, so I stopped sending them. When I visited the Island a few years back he - who was constantly insisting I come visit - never even bothered to come meet me even though he was in the same city. Out of respect and in an effort to avoid confrontation I distanced myself. A few months back I got a forwarded email in Sinhala and I replied saying I am dealing with the death of my father and I can't be bothered forwarding mail here - he found even that email crude. THAT was it. I asked him to kindly stop emailing me and knowing that he wouldn't, I ended up blocking him.

The need to hold on to something precious is within us all - I admit - but being human you have to recognize when something has just run its course. I am thankful that I have so many other friends but tomorrow if for some reason things ended then out of respect and appreciation for the time we did share I would move on.

Seventy

2011-10-24T08:40:00.002+05:00

I have been told for years now that I should write a book. Being a bit hesitant as I doubt it would be so good as to be published I haven't ever attempted to. For a long while the members of my family who could have told the story of the partition and the love that my grandfather had for Sri Lanka were alive, I considered writing that story. However in time they all passed away, including my father and more recently one of his uncles, while I wilted away opportunity in contemplation. Now though I have decided to take the plunge, with one very valid mindset, I have no intention of it ever getting published. My greatest aim here in attempting this book is to see if I can do it. It is almost but not quiet a silly challenge to myself, the bigger more necessary goal is to prove once and for all that I don't do things halfway. I want to see this through and for this particular reason I maybe absent from here longer than I can predict. As always my twitter feed will continue to speak.

Sixty Three

2011-07-05T10:31:00.000+05:00

This incident happened a few years back as I was waiting outside the administrative office of the college I attended in Malaysia; just dealing with some last minute requirements before I left the college for good to continue further in Australia. I ran into a friend from the Rotary club I was a part of and did an absolute double take at her appearance. She was so immaculate and just a few weeks ago I had her seen an absolute mess with haphazard hair and torn jeans. Apparently she had recently been brainwashed.

I don't really remember her name but for convenience sake will refer to her as R. I had known her for a while now and she seemed sensible enough but I hadn't seen her on campus for sometime so I enquired about where she had been. R started praising this seminar she had been to and learnt that she belonged in the service industry as opposed to been an academic. Fascinating I thought! Not at her words but at the changes in her, in the calm way she spoke and the politeness and confidence that she displayed.

At this point I would have been happy if she had continued to talk about herself, however, I was sadly mistaken. She launched into a huge diatribe on how she wanted me to attend a seminar and how beneficial it would be for me and so on. I suspected there was some sort of debt she owed to the people who brought about this "change" in her.

I began to feel immensely uncomfortable. With her every argument I counter-argued that for me what I wanted I had mapped out at the age of 10. I was glad for her but it was not me; eventually she stopped trying and I managed to stir the conversation in the direction of some gossip involving our Rotary leader and her loser boyfriend.

As I inwardly heaved a sigh of relief I couldn't help feeling sorry for her and this debt that she obviously had to repay - what a price for figuring out your life!

Fifty Five

2011-05-31T04:33:00.000+05:00

There used to be a time when everything bad that happened on the Monday - and it always happened with the big important stuff - left me with a boiling rage inside. It was scalding and I normally didn't speak much on because I didn't want the after-effects to carry on for the rest of the week. Lately though having grown-up a bit since then I have learned to follow on one of my most famous advice to myself since forever that, to dress well and look good if your going to make a fool of yourself (and face it when does that not happen on a Monday?) and most importantly now when the potent "bad event" happens I shrugged it off and I carry on as usual.

However tonight I broke my rule and on receiving an email continued to pent my frustration at a possibly very well designed brochure. The brochure and hurtful email were related but that is besides the point. I think I may have reversed my calm yoga-like outlook on Mondays by at least 5 years. That given any day now the next Monday does not look good - yes I avoid the public places, confrontations, talking a lot and of course dressing really well - despite all these avoidances BUT no that calm has been broken and now next Monday does not look good.

Fifty One

2011-04-08T19:46:00.000+05:00

Chick lit is popularly classified as books that appeal only and exclusively to women. Whenever I feel like the world doesn't understand me my best friend says go watch a chick lit movie or pick up a chick lit book. As expected they do have the desired effect.

For those unfamiliar with the effect that chick lit has let me just advise you Cinderella was never meant to be read aloud to boys...that was and still remains one of the first chick literature books ever written. Naturally after hearing it read 5-year old girls believe that all is right with the world and one day they too will meet their price charming who will sweep them away from the ugly-step-mother and step-sister rat-hole of a life. For a female oriented book to have the desired calming effect it has to have a prince charming; the latest Irish and English authoress such as Marian Keyes and Jane Green, the hero is a charming, moderately successful, attractive man. But these element asides the man has to be unaware of the heroine and her capabilities. Often the lack of the female characters will-power and action to capture the heroes attention (unless albeit Cinderella she gets a makeover) can drive the reader insane and - want to drag her by the forelock and give her a lecture on feminism - it is the very thing that moves the book forward.

Now you would be wondering how such lack of feminist ideals can cheer a girl up? well for one in the book (if not in real life) things seem to fall into place and our mildly-sexy, always-adored (even infuriatingly) leading lady gets her man, revenge on any step-mother like characters in her life and possible indication of a bright future. This sends a rather satisfying glow through the reader (chick lit enthusiasts') mind. Hence creating a soft bubble of happiness. If you think its momentary, think again, it can be very lasting just like a good cup of coffee or talking about 'nothing' with a friend.

Forty Four

2011-02-18T20:36:00.002+05:00

There is something about "lawn" the popular cool cotton of Pakistan that makes perfectly respectable women turn into maniacs. Today I had two places to be, I misjudged the madness at the exhibition, one of the most popular designers in Pakistan, Yahsir Waheed and really counted on being out of there in 30 minutes flat. Held at Pearl Continental the lane to just get your car into the hotel ground took about 45 minutes. I decided to save my driver the trouble of finding parking space inside and got off and walked the rest of the way. But I never got to utter the sigh of relief as inside it was worse than the fish market, to just squeeze yourself in front of each stall - cleverly named Taj and Nauratan - was another struggle. I tried my best to make up my mind fast and grab 3 items; but do I get to pay and get out fast? no of course not. For one there were like 5 cash registers and 50 people in one line to the register...and unlike last time you didn't get to stand with the bill in your hand and pay and collect, no you had to hold your items (I really felt sorry for the women who had like 10 items to hold) and wait you turn. That took about another 30 minutes or so. By the time I battled my way out and escaped just as I heard a few guards saying they will have to lock the doors I was super late for my meeting. I ended up postponing it and looking with somewhat awe at the pretty material I had bought and wondering was it really worth it?

Forty One

2011-02-10T22:08:00.002+05:00

I love the way life is so unpredictable at times. You start off going on a direction you think best suits you and it ends up with a few different roads opening up in front of you. For some reason despite this happening to me many times before I keep doubting it could happen again.

I started of doing some volunteer filming work. It was such a short stint and its so unpredictable, but it opened up a few doors for me. I couldn't believe that I was being appreciated again, I never knew I could be. It was truly humbling. I hope I can continue it and that other door the one that seems to be calling out my name so loudly does lead somewhere good.

Thirty Six

2011-01-19T14:08:00.002+05:00

Writers, are, such a private breed. The moment we get acclaim we leave our fellow beings behind. I wish there was a complete amalgamation of every writer in one place - good or bad or simply terrible. But then I suppose it would be difficult to define. Is the extraordinary and enthusiastic letter-writer a writer? Is the one who gives good comments on a survey a writer? Is the gift of gab, informally written that of a good writer? Also the question of discrimination comes up, Who will decide amoral or moral writing?

Recently I was going through this book while my student was answering a question I had given her on Shakespeare and I really liked the way it was structured. As my student is still in Grade 8 she hasn't been told about the different eras in poetry so I had to explain it to her but it also made me wonder. Will our collective work as writers ever occupy such a book - poetry or otherwise? I pity the person who attempts to collect it all. A bit like what happened with Emily Dickinson only this would not be a written, tattered book or a bunch of papers but on the web. Amazing what it could mean...makes one wonder if you're even good enough to be recognized? Or for that matter if its going to cause you to turn in your grave!

Thirty Three

2011-01-13T23:23:00.002+05:00

It has been a crazy start to the New Year. But some things never change. The other day I wore one of my favourite 'couture' to a wedding - a sari. The reason I love wearing a sari is because it brings back fond memories of Sri Lanka and the wedding culture there. However as usual people in this country have a problem with it...for one I look older in other words I look my age. This unlike a normal 30 year old unmarried girl delighted me; but it sent my grandma into a tailspin of she looks too old and so on.

In God honest truth I could care less but do they care that I care less? No as usual the finger was pointed at me for behaving incessantly and not trying to look younger so I can attract a man - which I might add I don't give two hoots about either. Its amazing how one-track people have become in this country and I seriously doubt it will change. Lets hope I find good company which remembers that each day is worth living fully instead of worrying about a future no one really has control over.

On a side note I wish my followers - anonymous or otherwise - a delightfully blessed New Year. Please note from now on the blog posts will follow random numbers as long as they come one after the other. Confused? Stick around! :)

Twenty Four

2011-01-05T22:30:00.004+05:00

I apologize for the skipped posts. I am doing a life and conscious clean up and somehow be worthy of my noble roots. I would appreciate your patience.

For continuing to read my blog here is a little quote:

"The only difference between me and a madman is that I'm not mad" - Salvador Dali

If you can please take a look at one of my all time favourite movies Un Chien Andalou :D

Twenty Two

2010-11-29T02:57:00.001+05:00

Sunday ended about 4 hours ago and I am still wide-awake. There is something about long cold winter nights it keeps you awake with the falsity that you have the leisure of sleep later. Completely unfounded of course; but it is very relaxing. Unlike those June to August winters I had in Melbourne as the winters here are the 'normal' year-end ones you know you aren't doing wrong by relaxing at the end of the year because well after one more year on this earth you do need the break.

So lets be a bit realistic. Winters are meant for snuggling up with family or friends, going for long walks, and having lots of hot drinks. For the first time in years I had that again on the Sunday just past. For one my aunt who has come down from States after four years was over for a short hurried visit and ended up staying for lunch, conversation and some Sri Lankan tea (Dilmah). Any other person from this country would have me watching my words and being careful with how much of my thoughts I reveal but with her conversation just flows without any gaps of silence. In fact my twice wish of never having to marry were laughed off with glee - a girl really couldn't ask for a better aunt.

I am surprised at how much easier it is to write at this ungodly hour of 3am. Well its somewhat of a relief that life isn't as hard as it appears. For now I think I will put away my imaginary poisoned dagger, perhaps it was just a mystery-pretend-murder-event after all, Col Mustard with the knife in the library and all such things. I personally never trust anyone with the name Scarlett.

Twenty One

2010-11-16T00:23:00.001+05:00

The woman in me has come a long way. Sometimes it still astonishes me that I am 30. The changes are more external than internal or at least that is what I thought.

The last few days I have been wondering about my uncanny wit. That sense of humour that would always have my buddy from Botswana laughing his head off when we used to be students in Malaysia. For the past 5 odd years it has been missing. I wonder what happened to it? I am sure I didn't have it in Sri Lanka or maybe I did or maybe it just grew in college and later in Australia and Pakistan it kind of just died. Can humour die?

Speaking of changes I wonder how I have managed to handle all of them. It has always being an adjustment changing lifestyles to fit in, changing accents to be understood, dressing modestly or modern to not be stared at, it’s never been a great challenge for me – somehow I always found a way or learned to ignore. I remember my first days in Malaysia, my fashion was atrocious, just thinking about the collared t-shirts now makes me cringe, the worst was finding clothes for 'wholesome' tall me in skinny-catering Malaysia. Luckily Odel and frequent trips every six months or so back home made a huge difference. Australia was a whole different ball game; although I could get the size I desired the clothes were always so undesirable to me. I couldn't understand why the same fashion was available in every store. At one stage all you got was dresses, albeit sleeveless to be worn over jeans or as a short dress...it used to drive me crazy. Naturally at that stage my parents had moved to Pakistan and I was unable to make any trips and considering the distance - a 16-hour flight - I wasn't willing to either.

Internally though I don't think I have changed much. I still have the same uncharacteristically unpredictable temper - though now I rant less. I have of course I believe lost that aforementioned sense of humor; but perhaps its just seeking the right person or friend to draw it out. I definitely have more confidence than I did at 20 when I first moved to Malaysia; even though I have been hit with much worse I am more comfortable with the way life is going now. That is another thing sometimes when you just accept it is easier. I know accepting and taking chances that are possible instead of yearning and getting frustrated about the impossible is always smarter.

However what is making look back now is whether it at this moment in time I am aspiring to a higher purpose. Uncharacteristically I am not. I am choosing to stay with my Mum, I am choosing to not escape but pursue a Masters here and I am teaching, something that for the past 4 years I refused to do. Amazing what a little difficulty can change in you. Fortunately though it has all brought a rich sense of contentment in me;

“Health is the greatest possession. Contentment is the greatest treasure. Confidence is the greatest friend. Non-being is the greatest joy.” (Lao Tzu)

Where ever you are accept and learn to make changes with simplicity. Remember we all live in impossibly financially trying times, there is always a way but it may not be a short-term goal. But do trust me on this there is always a path no matter how pebbly or unclear it may seem.
 
 

Twenty

2010-11-01T23:43:00.001+05:00

Lately I have been - somewhat hesitant and somewhat enthusiastically - being roped into giving English Literature classes. For now there are two Grade 8 girls. They are that age (13 years old) where they are sweet and accommodating and unquestioning - the age where I remember I was a perfect angel. However it is making me wonder if they will go through all those rebellious maddening fits that every girl goes through at 15-16 years of age? will I need to be a little condescending to get them to do something if they continue to study Literature with me? because I know how fast the girls age in this country. One of them in particular is currently doing so much that I am just anticipating her burn out phase. It might happen now or when she goes off to a ivy league like she plans to. 'N' really fascinates me. She does classes with me, goes for badminton and does homework till 12am. Naturally she is the first in her class but I really worry she won't be able to enjoy any off the good things in life. Like in my last class she was saying how every other classmate of hers keeps talking about what a great show Glee is. Unfortunately she isn't allowed to even watch StarWorld. But then being a Muslim parent you really have a limited option. Like all those groups on orkut and facebook - about how 'this gave me unrealistic expectations growing up' – it rings very true. I grew up reading in my most 'influential' years Sweet Valley High and Sweet Dreams (silly romance novels of a country and culture far away). I would have been better off reading Jane Austen but I didn't get introduced to her until much later on.

Its strange how in a few short weeks I am as concerned about them as I would be of my own children. I have seen their dedication though and its no mean feat to master Literature when it isn't your mother tongue. Considering the level of English in Pakistan and Sri Lanka, Sri Lanka is way ahead. Nevertheless it is very heartening when they take the effort to understand.

However that is the way life is. The older you get you realize your times were always more simple, the world around was more humane and less perverted and it would have been a much easier time to bring up a child and protect him or her than it would be now. Coincidentally I am hoping both 'N' and 'I' are positively influenced by me like I was by some of my more memorable lecturers.

Nineteen

2010-10-09T00:10:00.000+05:00

On Sept 27th I turned 30. But my Islamic birthday month just started. According to my calculations it will be next Sunday (discovered its on the 19th of Oct a Tuesday I had absolutely miscalculated). To me this is good news since my 'English' birthday happened on a Monday...however turning 30 twice is definitely not a ‘hurray’ situation.

I am not sure how I feel. Yes I am 3 decades old and I have seen very little of the whirlwind life I had before Pakistan in the past 4 years, but nevertheless it is the big 3 and 0. So it should be somewhat life changing I suppose? I decided to make the changes myself. I am strongly considering applying for Masters here, at the moment torn between staying close to home and moving to another city - I believe with the recent tragedy the home fires shall win. The campus in this city does not particularly awe me but I shall survive. I am not sure how my education will play out with all the violence around in this country but again I know I will survive.

I am not really a fan of Brad Pitt but he did say one true thing about getting older you feel the immediacy of everything more and age just makes you realize that this is it this is all you got -well I am paraphrasing here with a few of my own words - but you get the gist of it. It not about the times you crash and burn but what you do afterward is what matters. At least I don't have a difficult disapproving husband to contend with; thank heavens for small mercies.

Eighteen

2010-08-22T05:27:00.000+05:00

My dear Abu passed away yesterday morning at about 1.30am Pakistan time. May Allah rest his soul.
Being born after 15 years to parents who become dependant on you at an early age is a great challenge. I am ashamed to report at many times I failed at this challenge. Mostly because I had to argue and fight just to get an education abroad. But all that changed when I returned.

My Abu used to always say he is very proud of me and he went out of his way to help me find a job here. Unfortunately despite his best efforts it wasn't possible. I am not sure why but I think it may have to do with another family member who had passed away and with whom I had an argument just before I left to complete my Bachelors in Australia. Maybe this land was cursed for me but nevertheless he never stopped trying to help me.

I could continue this blog with how much of a wonderful father my Abu was. But I know that would only be something that would be expected of me instead I would relate some of the absolutely funny and heart-warming incidents that happened with him and I. We always had a special relationship. Since I was young I was known as Daddy's girl but that all changed when I got into college in Malaysia and then my Mum became my support system. Dad was too distraught to let me go but eventually he warmed up to the idea specially when I scored straight Bs in my first semester. I wasn't a hard working student in school but once I started studying what I loved I became in a way very good at it.

Most of my memories involving Abu occur in Sri Lanka a land which has since my paternal grandfather been a favourite topic of analysis with him and I;

*Abu waking me up one night to come and listen to my Mum snoring. He used to always get scolded for snoring and he wanted to prove to me he wasn't the only one.

* Finding me at night - during my difficult years of 15 -16 sitting near the stairwell listening to the waves crash against the shore, leaning against the wall and crying my heart out. He told me to go to bed and to pray and fall asleep.

*Buying me a whole lot of Nancy Drews in the middle of the workday at a book shop in Kollpity. The bookshop is still there and when I went last May I couldn't help thinking of that day.

*Me getting ready to go with Mum to pick up Abu in Pettah where he used to work - unfortunately these moments came to an end when our car went through a bad accident.

* Asking when I came 14th in class for exams and 7th for term assignments and my brother had the exact opposite results whether we both had conspired for them. Despite me being terrible in school he never once screamed at me with rage. Instead he said I should become a graduate because in Pakistan only graduated girls were able to marry well. I did say I might never marry then he is like then your education will still be your support.

* Gifting me a brand new typewriter when I turned 16 because I kept saying since I was 10 years old that I would become a journalist one day. When my dream changed to filmmaking and photography and I gave up the typewriter to writing by hand he continued to support me.

* Saturday night dinners once a month at Holiday Inn. These became infrequent as the financial burden of a country ravaged by war took its toll on Dad and my grandfathers business.

*Telling me that his old lawyer friend said (who was a Hindu and who arranged the sale of our property in Sri Lanka) that my birth date 27.9.1980 was considered very auspicious meant I was going to achieve much in life. I might even be a politician. I rolled my eyes in response and said I considered every 9th, 18th and 27th of a month jinxed for years now.

*Late last year sharing photos of the first shops in Kandy with Abu - photos which I had asked a friend to take. The establishments were sold when Dad moved the business from Kandy to Pettah.

He broke down in tears when he saw the 100-year legacy in living light.

I could go on and on and on but these moments would never end and I know like a show reel will keep spinning in my head every time I lay down to sleep. Innanl Lahi Wainna Lahi Raji Oon (From Him We Come and to Him we return). Take care Abu you will be sorely missed.

Seventeen

2010-06-15T22:33:00.000+05:00

I recently returned from a trip to Sri Lanka. Despite my best efforts it wasn't a productive trip professionally but there was this one endearing moment on a rainy afternoon that has filled me with awe.

My Mum and I had gone to our old neighbourhood to visit some old family friends and on the way back we decided to take a three-wheeler. This one guy who was driving out of the lane stopped and inquired where we wanted to go not in words but with grunts. I realized he was mute. I was a bit shocked at first but when I recovered I asked him for a pen since he was insisting via gestures that I write down where I wanted to go. When I couldn't find a pen he went off for a bit - all this while my Mum kept saying he seems creepy and asking me to stop talking to him. But he returned with renewed vigour and a pen. So I wrote down where I wanted to go including my fare we haggled for a bit (using my hand and his as paper) finally settling on something reasonable. That took some effort since I was juggling back and forth in Sinhala with him and in Urdu with my Mum - talking and writing at the same time with the former and pleading with the latter for some compassion.

Things settled down and we were off when my Mum decided she wanted to get chocolates for the kids who shared the home where we stayed. So we stopped at this little store and I got out and as my Mum got out the three-wheeler guy took off. She screamed at me saying why didn't you listen to me and he has gone off now with all our earlier shopping. I told her to calm down and pointed that he was just turning the three-wheeler around - it still surprises me to this day how much her mentality is filled with Pakistani distrust.

But then that was not the end of it she next decided to stop at the market, and then something strange happened just before she came back - this time I stayed in the vehicle - this guy pulled ahead to the exact entrance she walked out from. I felt goose bumps then - and it was not possible from the outside to see someone coming out since the market is a grey stone building with no windows or doors.

We did set off for home then without any more stops. When I recounted the events of the ride at home later that evening - especially her distrust filled accusations - we couldn't help laughing about it.

I can't help but feel proud of this three-wheeler guy. I don't even know his name but he was such a hard working person it takes real guts to go to such lengths for a fare. Not to mention the memory of that ride back home will stay with me for a long time.

Sixteen

2010-05-05T22:37:00.000+05:00

I am beginning to despise this optimistic attitude of mine once more. Recently I was offered a job but I turned it down when the more it began to sound like a University assignment involving countless hours of doing - brace yourself - power point slides. I am one of those girls who can't even read a book for too long because she gets this itch to get up and go somewhere or go out or turn-on the television. So that kind of job would just have maimed me - more so than I have been lately.

The optimism comes into play here...now I have received another opportunity...something I never thought would even arise. I want to pursue it, I want to get hold of it, and make it mine for good. The prestige and absolute content I would derive from it would be really amazing. But I am afraid that as usual I am counting golden eggs when there are only the rotten ones around. It is so easy to be pulled into a hopeful dream only to have it shatter in front of your eyes into tiny little shards of nothingness. I am not foolish but I need to stop feeling this way every time something good pops up around the corner.

Tonight I also picked up my diary - I used to be an avid journal writer but had stopped in the last few years. My reason for doing so was the latest episode of 'How I Met Your Mother' where Ted says immediately after every break-up he writes a letter to his future self to remind him of the reasons why he broke up...a perfect solution for when you start to think the ex was 'the one'. So I wrote one to myself about my recent end to a 3-year relationship. It was all I needed...it was like this huge burden lifted off my shoulders...I remember this one line I wrote where I tell myself to repeat this 10 times before proceeding with the letter. I am not going to relate it here but it was enough to nail the point into my stupid heart that it was truly for the best.

This step of a letter to the future-me can be taken a step further should my optimistic self be hurt by future disappointments - personal, professional or vegan. It might make sense it might not at that particular moment but it really does make sense in time.

Fifteen

2010-03-27T03:19:00.001+05:00

I do not want to dream or plan or organize the next step anymore. I would rather let it happen and it seems some of the closest and dearest to me have stepped out to do just that.

- despite the best efforts of my friends - hence I wait to see what (if anything) happens next.

Three

2009-07-18T14:29:00.000+06:00

They were ahead of me. I unsuccessfully tried to push ahead but the woman was blocking the way. Another annoying couple with a domineering woman I thought to myself. She ordered like ten things from the string hopper (Sri Lankan traditional food) van and then ended up buying only two items. As the seconds ticked by and I started worrying about it raining again and my prayers they continued to hold up the way. Finally they moved aside but not before he pulled out the wallet to pay for their order. I saw her photo in his wallet - I thought to myself now he is in trouble for having someone else photo in her wallet - but then I realized it was her looking a lot better. To my annoyance this little distraction cost me my chance to place my order and another man had come over and was now being served. My mind started to drift off again as the couple moved on. How come he does not have a photo of me in his wallet? Do you suggest something like that or is it by choice or do you grab the wallet and put it in? Would someone think of you more often now that you are staring out at him from your wallet? Then I begin to think of my own wallet. I don't have his photo either. I do have a group photo of 3 of my closest friends - 2 who I have lost touch with and 1 who I speak with practically everyday. Do I even want their photo in my wallet any more?
I look up to see the string hopper guy observing me strangely. I fumble with my words but manage to place my order. As I walk towards home the image of her in his wallet drifts through my mind. Who would have thought a wallet would have such sentimental and emotional significance but more importantly did I even want lentils with my order?

Two

2009-07-11T18:46:00.000+06:00

"He made the world to be a grassy road before her wandering feet"
(W.B. Yeats found in the 'Second Summer of the Sisterhood' by Ann Brashares)

That is how it began the innumerable praise the equal doses of affection and distaste. One minute I was the star the next someone you were indifferent to. Ah the typical Gemini meets a Libra fusion. Hard love that is what it should be called. Maddening.

That day in the garden of our work place when you moved onwards saying I am not the right guy for you, you thought you were capable of reading my mind, what I was thinking at that very minute. How wrong of you. How foolish of you. Your name was written on my heart long before you came into my life. For me it was always the name, and unlike you I could read you better than even you could yourself. I think I surprised you that day.

I was also aware of the effect the letter would have on you before you read it. Even if my friend hadn't told me what happened to you I knew those broken pinnate of words would numb you.
Now it seems creepy even unreal that I knew you so well. That I could count your heartbeats before they beat although you gave me that ability. Call it the stars the fates or just a plain lesson in life but I knew you.
You had to come into my life so I could learn. Learn that stupid day dreams, falling for a name, creating this perfect man via a name was crazy.

I avoided you and ignored you because it hurt so much wanting you. It hurt even more when you played and I won and then it hurt not wanting you. I wanted to destroy you so much and I did. I wasn't alone the second time we played. In fact I had the she-devil right by my side, ironically enough she also was my namesake.

What madness!!!

Vengeance wasn't enough though I wanted to maim you, hurt you and make you cry for two days like I did for the lies you told me. There was no satisfaction in destroying you once - I could have done it for the rest of my life. Thank God for the newly stamped visa on my passport then or you would have been unleashed to the absolute fury of a broken heart.

The funny thing is even now after 4 years I don't feel guilty. In fact I recently heard you repeated your performance on another young soul. You are very lucky she is not as angry as me. I just wonder how long you are going to keep this up. You wondered then why you never could be good at your work...a job that you said was your dream. Want to take a wild guess? Maybe if you stopped being a you-know-what the world would be kinder on you. Till then continue on as you do because one day it is going to come back and hit you harder than I ever could.

One

2009-07-10T12:29:00.000+06:00

Public transport is never easy. Especially in such a country where there is no regulation. For one people are filled to extreme capacity in buses. Nothing has changed since my last visit; every single bus conductor still follows the same old principles. Practices old like the ancient ruins in Sri Lanka.

But this is not a rant about public transport. This is about being lucky and finding a seat and then looked on by vultures (passengers) with longing; hoping you would get off so they can jump in and take the seat. Its harder to get up and get off a bus in Sri Lanka than it is to sit; because there will be at least 4 people standing in front of your seat as you get up all trying to squeeze in and take your place. If you think men there would be perfect gentlemen and allow a lady the seat you are so wrong. Its a nail and tooth fight to the your stop.

So imagine my surprise when seated in a relatively empty bus a guy standing gives me a smile. There I am all sweaty from fighting for my seat, fat from all the food I have been eating and looking like a red prawn - the kind available for sale at the Galle Face promenade - and this guy gives me a very interested smile. I do not smile back. For one I am in a committed relationship and the last time I had a conversation with a handsome stranger on a bus (I initiated it) it turned very sour as the friendship developed. For another I am sure all he wants is my seat. At my stone faced look he starts to look all scared and moves to the front of the bus.

Now I start to feel guilty.

Perhaps I was a bit harsh I mean he really isn't the only guy who has ever looked at me or stared at me in the bus. He definitely though is the only one who was bold enough to smile.
In a country that has just recovered from war a lot of army personnel who have recently been relieved from duty often have no sense of how to behave in public. They have been in a war while the normal taboos and rules of social engagement change. Having a best friend who is a army doctor I can immediately tell a soldier by his body language. I knew this stranger who dared to smile at a girl in the bus was a soldier. I also knew he did not expect such a poker faced look in return.

As my stop got closer I got up a few stops sooner and moved to the front of the bus - always necessary in Sri Lanka. I watched in amazement as he moved to the back of the bus. I really did instil the fear of the devil in him I guess. I started to feel sheepish and glad as I got of the bus. I dismissed the feeling of guilt with the departure of the bus and started walking home. Now a week later this feeling has returned and I cannot get the sincere (probably harmless) smile out of my mind. Although if I did it all over again I would not have smiled back again then either.