On Our Way Home

Breathing in some fresh air.

I absolutely loved the journey back to Hyderabad!  During our stay in Mumbai, something unfortunate happened.  It had been one of those moments in life when you feel totally helpless and lost.   So this train journey – a total of 18 hours – gave us time to think and be grateful for a lot of other things in our lives.  Sometimes you just need some quiet, peaceful time to recompose yourself, away from people who blurt out “everything will be okay” even before you finish your sentence.

A major stop connecting Mumbai and Pune

I began learning how to read and write Hindi a year ago – on my own, since Masood thought there wasn’t any need to – but got busy with a 1001 other things.  I began to recognize the alphabets and slowly, very slowly, I even began to combine letters and read simple words.  Like on the board above that reads ‘Lonavla’, I could only read the lo,  na and la part in Hindi.

Yummy Chikkis!

Lonavla is famous for its chikkis,  sweets made from groundnuts and jaggery.  But you get other flavors as well:  sesame seeds, coconut, pistachios, and almonds.  We bought a couple of boxes, which weren’t as full as they appear to be.  *sigh* Well at least, they taste good.

A random pick up truck.

Somewhere during this journey, though I’m not sure where exactly, we were instructed by some policemen (yes, there are policemen for each trip) to close our windows.  It was around 9:30 pm, and I was enjoying the cool breeze while reading a book.  I think Masood was updating his Facebook status then.  We complied.  They even came back to check.

A few hours later, when the lights were dimmed and everyone went to sleep, I heard a loud sound.  It was as if something fell, or hit something.  I went back to sleep, only to be awaken by the same sound few minutes later.  I went back to sleep;  I can’t be bothered by anything when I’m exhausted and sleepy.

When we woke up around dawn,  Masood explained to me what actually happened the previous night.

A lonely buffalo.

Along the way – between Mumbai and Hyderabad – there’s this place notorious for robbers.  The reason why the policemen ordered for the windows to be closed was because these robbers usually threw stones at trains.  And that was the sound that woke me up from my sleep:  stones were being thrown at us!

“But what good will throwing stones like that do for them?”  I asked Masood.  He explained that they mean to create fear or panic.  Because apparently some ignorant passenger, like myself, is likely to think that something has happened and pull the emergency stop.  This will stop the train, giving these robbers the opportunity to implement their evil plan.

The hills are alive ...

One evening in Mumbai, Masood went to a nearby bakery in search for some pineapple pie to satisfy by cravings.  They didn’t have one, so Masood asked for apple pie (which he knew was my next favorite).  The bakery waala told him that they used to bake apple pies but that they didn’t sell well, so they stopped making them.  “By the way,” he asked Masood, “where did you hear about apple pies?”  And while Masood was still trying to process the question in his mind, the bakery waala added, “Did you read about it in some paper or magazine?”

“No, we buy it regularly in Dubai.  In fact, my wife bakes them as well.”

“So why are you looking for the same stuff you eat in Dubai?  Try these local stuff.  Have some pav bhaji or bhel puri!“

He has a point, but I was still craving for my pineapple pie.

Farms

This freshly cultivated field in the picture above reminded me of Facebook’s FarmVille, to which I had been obsessed for a whole month.  But more than that, I tried to visualize what must have happened in Kurnool, Masood’s birth place, where thousands of people and animals were displaced by a devastating flood during the first week of October.  Most of the people there are into farming, so I cannot even begin to imagine their loss.

Discipline

Each city of India is a different experience for me.  It’s easier to see what’s bad or wrong in each one of them, but I choose to see the beauty instead.   I could have posted pictures of the slums or the garbage dumped at the road side, but what good will that do?  Why not go out there and enjoy the better things instead?

Sunset

Sometimes, it saddens me to think that I’ve seen more of India than Pakistan.  I want to visit Lahore, Peshawar, Multan, Islamabad, Quetta, Rawalpindi, Muree, Kashmir, Sargodha, Gujrat, Larkana, and Faisalabad.  I want to see them all.  If only our immigration officers didn’t give Masood such a hard time.   If only they didn’t openly ask him for a bribe each time he visited.

InshaAllah, someday.

Looking at Old Trees From the Bathroom Window

When we used to visit our maternal grand father at his place, back when we were still in grade school, my sisters and I dreaded one thing:  the bathroom.  It wasn’t a normal bathroom because it was located outside the house, way back in the back yard, where huge trees grew.  The kids from the neighborhood used to tell us that they had heard (from reliable sources, like their parents) that dwarfs and witches roamed about grandfather’s backyard at night.  “They hide behind those old trees in the dark, waiting for fresh blood to feast upon,” they told us.  My sisters and I had, therefore, always tried our best never to go to the bathroom after dark.  And when the situation becomes unbearable, we bring an adult with us.

I don’t know about my sisters, but the fear for huge old trees remained in my mind.  I’m fine during the day, but once dark fell, I don’t like looking at trees.

Here in the old haveli in Mumbai where we will be staying for the next three weeks, the bathroom is (fortunately) indoors.  It’s a very old structure, built by the British sometime in the early 1900.  The huge mansion is made of wood, has a very high ceiling, with huge doors and windows.  I threw all the windows wide open the moment I stepped into the rooms, and breathed in the fresh air.

Then I walked into the bathroom and opened the window.  Here’s what I saw …

It was broad daylight, still the first thought that came to my mind was, “Oh no!  Not old trees!”  I decided to keep the window close before sunset.  Better yet, I decided to not use the bathroom at night at all.  On our first night here in the haveli, I told Masood, “If I ever needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I’ll wake you up.”

Tonight, I looked out of the window (bedroom window, and not the bathroom) and saw this …

I need to overcome my fears.

Some NYF and Thoughts on Shooting With a Digital SLR Camera

I’m not huge fan of french-fried potatoes, but the other day at the Dubai Mall’s food court we walked past a group of Italian-looking men and women who were eating burger and fries.   What caught my attention was the fries they were having.  It looked interesting.  I stole a quick glance at their table to check where they had bought the fries from, and off we marched towards the NYF stall, where we ordered this …

Fries with spicy tamarind sauce with bits of jalapeño pepper, tomato, onion, and bell peppers.  NYF claims to use only the finest Russet potatoes cooked in non-hydrogenated sunflower oil, no trans fat, no cholesterol and low in saturated fats.   I choose to believe them so I don’t feel guilty after wards.

That wasn’t our dinner, of course.  We intended to eat healthy, so Masood had a brown bread (with herbs) sub while I ordered fish in spicy tomato sauce.  The fries was our appetizer.

So while Masood went to get his sandwich, I pulled out the D40 to take pictures of the food.  Naturally, people from the nearby tables turned to look at what I was doing, albeit for a few seconds.  At first, I thought they might be thinking that this hijabi girl has gone loca taking pictures of her fries.  Then I remember:  hey, I have a D40 in my hands.  That gives me the right to take pictures of the simplest thing around!  Then I decided that they were looking at my camera in particular instead of me taking pictures of the food.

That is why I love having an SLR camera with me.  With a point and shoot, it’s okay if I’m seen taking pictures of buildings and fountains and landscapes.  But I definitely feel silly taking pictures of leaves and flowers and food (in restaurants) and stones and twigs.  On the other hand, now that I’m armed with an SLR – and a Nikon at that – dangling oh-s0-gloriously from my neck, I feel I am licensed to shoot anything:  leaves, flowers, food, stones, and twigs.  It’s a professional camera and that’s what professional photographers do:  take pictures of leaves, flowers … you know the rest.

And I can assume different positions when taking pictures with an SLR – sit on the pavement, stand on a bench, lay on the grass, or climb a tree (the latter two I haven’t done yet) – and still look perfectly normal.  Imagine how’d I look in all these positions with a tiny point and shoot camera in hand.  Can’t imagine?  Allow me to provide you with an example …

Had this lady been taking this same picture – a bunch of wild flowers growing out of a concrete crevice – with an SLR, she would’ve looked more professional (and less silly).

Hence, Nikon D40 and I are inseparable except, of course, when I go out for work, but that’s when I bring my point and shoot camera (which is always in my bag anyway) to make sure I don’t miss anything interesting.

By the way, here’s the fruit of that lady’s labor …

Memories of My First Fast

My father decided that I was ready to fast the year I turned ten.  We were in the Philippines that Ramadan, and a couple of my cousins – who were the same age as I was – were staying with us during that time.  So Abbu thought this was the perfect time to teach us about fasting.  My younger sister, who was eight years old, insisted on fasting as well.  So on the first Friday of Ramadan that year, the children woke up before dawn to start their first fast.  We went to school that day, and quietly sat throughout lunchtime whilst all our classmates had their meal.

When we reached home later that day, we couldn’t find our parents.  It was something very unusual since Ammi was a housewife then and was always home whenever we arrived from school.  The aunty next door came over to tell us that Ammi wasn’t feeling well so Abbu had to take her to see the doctor.  She told us to behave, then left when she heard her baby cry.  Since our parents weren’t around, we were happy that we won’t be taking our afternoon nap, and dashed outside to play hide and seek.  A couple of hours later, we were back at home and worried.  I saw the aunty peek out from her window, making sure we weren’t breaking anything, then went back to whatever she was doing.

By five in the afternoon we were all tired, thirsty, hungry, and worried.  Since Ammi wasn’t around to remind us – plus we were so engrossed in playing – we missed all our prayers that day.  Being the eldest, I decided that we break our fast.  At first we were skeptical, but decided that it was the right thing to do since we were uncertain on when our parents will return.  So an hour before iftaar, we drank water and ate dates.

Ammi and Abbu arrived shortly thereafter.

They had brought snacks and juice with them, and lots of fruits of us.  We all sat together to break the fast and offered our prayers.

Then Abbu took me to another room, where he asked me sternly on why I decided to break my fast and encouraged the other children to do the same.  Tears trickled down my cheeks as I listened to him stress on the importance of patience and perseverance during fasting, my head bowed in shame and regret.  I’ve never felt so guilty in my entire life.   I felt responsible for the broken fast of my sister and cousins as well.

Then Abbu drew me close to him and gave me a hug.

It was explained to us that day that we should ask Allah for forgiveness and make up by offering our prayers punctually and pay more attention to our Qur’an lessons.  Ammi and Abbu decided that we weren’t ready for fasting that year, and therefore paid more attention on helping us improve our prayers, and taught us more about Islam and its pillars.

We were in Karachi the following year, where I had my first complete fast.  By then I had learned its importance and virtues.  Everyone around me was fasting – that made things a lot easier.  And later that day, my grandmother arranged for a grand iftaar party for me, where I got to wear new clothes and received lots of gifts!

So the memories of my first fast isn’t really too … exciting to recall … but I’ll always remember that day, because I’ve learned the importance of Ramadan and salat, and of patience.

How was your first fasting experience?  And more importantly, what did you learn that day?

Misconception, Ignorance or Something Else?

So a certain hotel heiress has landed in Dubai to shoot the third season of a certain show.  The local papers said (because the news was on front page and hence, hard to miss) that she was given a very warm and VIP welcome.

I was searching online for something related to Dubai, and came across this interview.  Since I live in Dubai, this particular interview of hers caught my attention.  Curious, I watched the interview.  I’ve typed the segment of the interview that pertained to Dubai, sparing you the agony of watching the entire video clip.

Host: And you’re gonna be doing this show, which I find unbelievable, in where…what country?

Heiress *without even blinking* : Dubai

Host: But they don’t allow … really… they only allow your eyes to be shown on television, isn’t that how it works over there?

Heiress: They’re very strange.

Host: You’ll look like a ninja on their channel.

Heiress *giggles*: Yeah!  You know, I don’t … the rules are crazy out there.  They are very, very strict with everything.

Host: Are you even allowed in Dubai?

Heiress *giggles more* : Yes.  I’m gonna be seen rocking my sunglasses when I’m out there.

Host: Oh no, because the sunglasses … that’s the only area you’re allowed to have showing.

Heiress: I know!

Host: So you don’t wanna put sunglasses on, or really, you can send anyone to do that show for you, you know.

Heiress: Actually in Dubai, they’re a little more lenient than everywhere else. Like, obviously, I won’t wear something like this *looks down at her tiny black dress*.

Host: You wouldn’t?

Heiress: No.

Host: What … do you have to wear turtlenecks over there, or what?

Heiress: Like, burqas?

Host *looking surprised* : Really?!

Heiress: But maybe I’ll do my own PH burqa line.

Host *laughs* : Oh that would be great!  That’s the best idea ever, by the way.

Heiress: See-through burqas.

Host: A PH burqa, that really could change things in the Middle East!

Heiress: They really could.

Host: Well, I hope it goes well in Dubai. They chop like your heads off and stuff if you don’t behave over there.

Heiress: I’m gonna behave very well.

Host: Keep your hands in your burqa at all times.

Heiress: I will.

I didn’t make that up.

The local paper mentioned that she had a great time at the Palm Atlantis in a leopard-print swimsuit last Thursday.

Dubai could’ve invited Mickey Mouse instead.