Memoirs of the Classroom - part 1

  A composition 'About Me'. I feel a lot of our earliest writings can be traced back to essays bearing this title. I was a five-year-old asked to write the same. I wrote five lines and drew a picture of me next to them. To me, no piece of writing was complete without a picture. After I drew with the classic brown Goldfish pencil, i used it to colour me. My teachers came and stared at my composition. I looked above at them, seeking their approval.
"You have drawn a picture, " one of them said, "This is you?"
I nodded in reply.
"Why have you coloured her with the pencil?" she asked further.
"Because I'm dark." I stated and looked at them again.
  They looked at each other. I did not know what to  make of their expressions. A "no-comments" face I presume.
  The conversation did attract some of my neighbours too; kids, who gave me the very same look after eyeing my drawing. No words. One would expect different responses from grown-ups and children, but here the response was unanimous. As children everything we did to display, we did for approval. I believe this was my transition: learning to make peace  with the  idea that I wouldn't always receive it. Or did I? For, i do wonder what to make of those faces. Was being dark a problem? Did the drawing being coloured go against our school's efforts to encourage conformity? Or if one is to be optimistic, was a child's self-awareness something new?
   Later in life, I believe, I would look back at this   event and feel that those faces were better than the ones calling me names through  the remainder of my school life. It took a great college life, accolades and worthy friends to restore that five-year-old's self-esteem. It was tested time and again by a society holding double-standards, by notions that only fair is fair and fair is lovely,  by certain men who were still the same kids looking for parental approval and by the chai-trolley culture that would reduce a girl's sense of self-worth to her performance for mere two hours or less.
   I will never remember what were those five lines I wrote "About Me" but I'll look back and remind myself that not everyone has to approve  and that one can live with that and live well.
- H.M. Memoirs of The Classroom.

Faraar

 I made a bunk from work today. My mind is so cluttered and it needs a good long break. I am sitting at Chatterbox. It's usually quiet around here (ironically) here but there are two ladies on the table next to mine and they are uncomfortably loud. One of them created such a racket out of the fact that there was yolk in her omelette. A part of me wonders if this is such an issue next to all the wrong in the world. I chuckled at the thought because it  inevitably made me think about Barrister Huma's take on Sharmeen Obaid's apology and how there are just two kinds of divisions, the rich and poor. I choose to divorce myself from those  thoughts. Enough of that. I begin to ponder over my restlessness. I'm so badly looking for an escape, I think.

  There are urgent matters to attend to and I abhor the nature of their urgency pressing upon me. The HR file which I conveniently avoided submitting because I bunked, the article review for OHIP research, Zahabiya's sister's tray's doves, the exam i have tomorrow. My phone vibrates. There's a notification from facebook. My friend from the public library project has tagged me in a comment to bring me back to reviving the projects. I had let go of them in the past few weeks after someone in my life began to talk me out of the many commitments I had taken up. They had all the best intentions at heart. The prospect of one huge commitment seemed to have made the remaining ones seem heavier, and so I had allowed myself  to cut them loose. My library project was one such commitment. "And well, I would be needing your time as well", I remember him saying on the eve of the hashtag-sunday.  I remind myself that I'm no longer bound to that prospect and can go back to living my causes again and go back to my sanctuaries, until it dawns upon me. In the few weeks that we interacted I had allowed him to be part of nearly everything and everyplace I had taken up as a sanctuary, through conversation or actual participation. Chatterbox for one. I looked at the table to my left. We were sitting there and chatting away about religion. Real conversations, good real conversations stick with the soul, primarily because they are a product of the soul itself. Sigh. Chatterbox, NYC, and my mere spirit of discovering new places; I had chosen to share. My eyes met with the tears they were holding back. I feel vulnerable and in need of a new sanctuary. The urgency to seek one presses upon me.

   I picked up reading Origin and immersed myself in it.. I finish reading the prologue and it's great. I pick up my phone to text him about it and then I pause. This is my Me-Time but I want to tell him about it, I shouldn't. I put the phone down. Relax, I tell myself, have this time to yourself, you need it. I had ordered coffee for myself. The cappucino had a pretty coffee lather pattern and they had given an "Aztec" chocolate with it. My mind/heart was still conversing with him; telling him about it. Why? Cause we had touched upon everything mundane in those few weeks. And what do you think life is filled with? Definitely not the extraordinary .. there's a reason it's "extra". Life is largely mundane and we had touched upon everything mundane. There's something extraordinary in the mundane. What a paradox! I shut the book.

  This cafe is filled with a sense of the past. I submit myself to it and backtrack my trail of emotions. I call the cab and pay my bill in the process with a clear sense of where I want to be right now. I board the cab. My heart is going back and forth on all it felt... My conversation with another friend on my resentment and how it wasn't fair to me and that i deserved him trying harder than how much he did was not enough, even if it wasn't going to work out. I then realised what he said "at least you have something to hate". Did I? No. I couldn't hate. Who could with the knowledge that To Him We Belong and to Him We Return and the knowledge of what that could mean. He seeked mercy from the same Lord I did, the same Who had led our paths to cross and the same Who held our hearts. My eyes met with the tears they usually fight off. I wanted to break down with somebody. I wanted to cry and wanted to be held as I do so. I was crossing my days budget to spend and I knew that I ought to save but that would be another commitment pressing me. Why I was chosing to go ahead with this ? Because at the end, I am the only one picking up pieces of me. I let go of my moment of self-pity and shook off the thought. I am buying my happiness or peace, I know because I'm the only one who's been there for me. And it suddenly dawns upon me. Allah has been there for me. He has taken care of me. I prayed Surah Fatiha and took a deep breath.

   We are all seeking His Love. We get attached to humans because we can see and feel humans responding. Allah's responses are very much there but we feel they aren't direct. Our love for one another is also part of His way. For all the love and mercy He has put in our hearts.. Overthinking. I stop and direct my mind to where the cab was heading. We were near my dropoff location and then finally there. Lo and behold, of the three names of this place was "Faraar" (translation: Escape). The others are T2F and Peace Niche. This shall be my new sanctuary.

   T2F or The Second Floor is a cafe. It's a part of Faraar and the Peace Niche, all initiatives of Sabeen, a liberal activist who was shot dead for the views she held. As I entered the place I couldnt help but feel grateful to her. The ground/first floor is a wood-panelled studio-ish large room with a cornered library area. The cafe is upstairs on the second floor. I had heard and read a lot about this place but never been here before. As I walked upstairs admiring the interior and it's creativity I kept thinking about "What you seek is seeking you". Every inch of this place truly was and every nook shouting "Freedom" out loud. I enter the main cafe. It is so blissfully quiet. Let's write. And as I sit down to do so, a part of me wants to tell him about it. But the louder, inner voice saying "My time, my sanctuary" takes over. Later, perhaps :)

   

Paper Boats

Oye fit! Barish" he exclaimed. She responded with a confused smile; clearly failing to keep up with his enthusiasm as it began to rain. He narrowed his eyes.

" Don't tell me you don't like the rain," he said, "I mean yeah, the city is a mess but one can't hate rain."

" I don't hate the rain," she clarified and smiled, " let's say i have mixed feelings about it."

"Can we just not? I mean, for right now can we just overlook the messy-roads and just adore the rain?"

He was out to have his way.

" Oh sure! Especially since you've got to drop me home and I'm not the one driving on the messy-roads"

   He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes with both amusement and disapproval. She laughed and then nudged him.

"Acha na! Well, its not the roads. The rain.. Well the rain would ruin my .. My paper boats"

"Your paper boats?"

"Yup, when I was a kid I'd make paper boats," she sighed, "And I would let them float on puddles in the rain."

"Sounds nice," he added, slightly confused."so?"

"Well, the rain. It would give me puddles to put my paper boats on but it wouldn't let my paper boats float. So after a while, a short while, they'd topple, they'd get drenched and then they were no more."

He could sense the pain in her voice but had no idea what to say, so he half-smiled and let silence prevail. Some moments passed. He watched her looking at her tea cup intensely and then the surrounding colourful array of truck-art adorned tea tables, lost in thought. There was something beautiful about her recollection. Her childlike innocence that cared for something so seemingly  insignificant and yet the matter-fact-tone of a grown woman. Before he could lose himself to his thoughts, he cleared his throat and spoke more slowly.

" So did you think about umm.. About," he struggled to string the words together, "about us.. What I spoke of the last time"

She raised her head and looked in his eyes and spoke with hesitance.

" I did" she said and dropped her gaze back to the tea-cup

"And? "

She looked in his eyes again. She was not sure what entirely held her at that moment but it felt familiar .. She was suddenly scared. In the depths of those black dots were her toppled paper boats. 

~ H.M.

Mocca Mocca

I'm not a food-blogger. It's crazy there is a plethora of bloggers out there; to an extent we need to categorise and classify them. I write, yes and I happen to be extremely inconsistent with that. So, what did spark me to get to blog again? Good food at Mocca.

 I'm coming to believe that my abstract yardsticks for a lot of elements come from my family. I do feel my parents would love this place. The interior is white! Not just that, It's well lit, largely by sunlight. I love spacious places that are filled with daylight. The wood in the interiors is something between natural beige and English Oak. Don't judge my choices yet. I love dark wood too but I equally cherish the "good-morning", breakfast-ish appeal of of this place.

 What truly set me to just prop open my laptop here and start typing was the food here. It's different and I meant it. I love pastas. I just thought today, that since I order pasta everywhere I go, I might as well accept that they're my thing and start documenting them. So, here we are.

 The Fettucini Spinacci at Mocca it's simply  delectable. I always say, doing spinach with pasta is an  art few have understood. Mocca comes close. The flavour is well-balanced. What's truly unique is that it is not at all too saucy. It's usually impossible to eat merely half of your serving at most places because the sauce is too heavy. I intended to treat myself today and the fettucini did just the job.

 Shamelessly a foodaholic that I am, I obviously had dessert.

'Do you have apple pie? Then apple pie it is." says all my insides craving for it.

The apple pie again has it's novelty. It's lined with a marzipan base instead of crushed biscuits or pastry. The apple filling tasted a lot like my "channey ki daal ka halwa". Do not misunderstand me. Alhamdolillah I make great halwa, so this pie was great too. Baked apple slices on top were the cherry. The fact the filling was halwa-ish made the entire dessert cake-dry unlike somewhat juicy feel an apple pie has to it. I've decided to settle on the fact that it was all in all good and different. But it mustn't be excellent since I miss the succulent saucy feel of the pies.

I like Mocca.. bus yehi kehna chahti thi *shumaila-bhatteeish voice*

Reflective January (1)

It has been quite an eventful month: both good and bad. As I look back, I see two solid years of my life turning things completely 180 degree. I believe in so much I never did and learnt a great deal I never had the patience to. I've met people who have taught me some beautiful lessons.

- Trauma is the biggest catalyst of change

- Life and it's components will add to your difficulties and complicate things anyway. Just make sure YOU are not complicating your own life or creating and choosing your own difficulties.

- Opinions don't always matter. There is no way mine is right over yours or vice versa. We think we've got it all figured out, we haven't. We are not gods.

- Empathy is a gift.. one I wish we were all born with

- Allah is not just yours or mine. So before you wish someone ill just know that He is on their side too.

- We claim to love Him and we often tend to hate people. Quite a contradiction. How can we claim to love Him and not love His creation?

- Forgive quickly and easily.

- Pain that people inflict us with or we cause them is the most difficult to eradicate. There is no solace in our prayers, fasts or any act that claims us religious if we have no sense of someone else's suffering.

- Spying, not minding our own business, listening to somebody's private conversation is not the same as "staying alert or informed" picking up pieces of the story that only benefit us, not admitting our own fault, deriving joy from somebody's pain, taking pride in revenge are not the same as "standing up for or defending your rights".

- Everyone loves a good show and a story. Love all, show everyone kindess but know who truly feels your pain.

- You are not just a doctor or a dentist. He has made you far more than that. Those of us who seek our identity only by our profession will somehow always be tunnel-visioned

- There are five phases of our life and amongst those the phase of consolidation matters the most.

- It's important to expand the empire of our achievements, conquer new domains, learn new things yet it is most important to CONSOLIDATE the empire. Alexander failed because he never consolidated his empire in his passion to conquer more lands. Likewise, we will gather experiences, achievements and abilities.

to be continued

Public Speaking Part 1- the Judge's Perspective

  This year I had the honour of judging a declamation for the third time alhamdolillah and thought it's about time I write a guide.




From a judge's perspective there are quite a number of things I see so very differently and truly understand why we were given the guidance we received as speakers.

THE TIME DURATION
   As a speaker, I used to dislike the idea of having merely 3 minutes to speak. As a judge I would not have it otherwise. It is very difficult for a judge to listen to you for any longer than three minutes. The key is to prepare a speech that holds your audience and judge's attention, especially if your competitors are speaking on the same topic.

CONTENT
   In the three minutes you have, whether in a debate or declamation, keep raising new points to support or go against the stance. it will be utterly boring if your speech is devoid of intelligent opinions. At the same time it is important to structure your speech well.

HOW YOU DELIVER
   This makes the greatest impact on the the judge and also the audience. It is the only ground of judgement the audience and the judge both share. For this, clarity of voice, pronunciation, speed, body language, expression and emotion have to be dealt with justly. The content and style are usually the only two areas where a judge is able to mark you differently from your fellow competitors.
  Of the competitions so far my fellow judges and I were to assign scores for body language, confidence, style, content and on one particular occasion timing as well. All the participants scored the same on confidence. The scores were similar for body language as well. the greatest variation came for style and content. That is where you truly compete with your fellows.
 In the following posts of public speaking I will elaborate more on how to work on these.

 

                                                             


WHERE DO YOU LOSE MARKS?
#1 Bad Pronunciation is the biggest turnoff. Watch good British movies of old classics or listen to Quaid-e-Azam's speech or observe accomplished speakers in your setting.
#2 Fake Accent. Everyone these days tries to "Americanise" their speech. People, Quaid-e-Azam Mohammed Ali Jinnah studied in London and even lived there for quite sometime. How much of a British accent did he acquire? Barely any.  His speeches gave us the very beautiful, educated Pakistani accent we have. Do listen to his speeches at the first chance you get.
#3 Repetition of points and over-usage of certain words. A healthy variation is what you should aim for.

I do hope this proves helpful. In the coming public-speaking related posts I shall keep elaborating on more areas until then, take a gulp of self-confidence, find a platform and jump right in the ocean of public-speaking. 

   

Not never

And a poem did I try to compose
For now i was at a loss of prose
All I have now is to say
Perhaps there is another day
For now I may not find a way
Not never but just not today