tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31615654336388607122024-03-13T05:39:47.436+04:00Life Uncomplicated..."Parenting is part joy and part guerilla warfare"Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-22067722351220320522013-07-19T17:28:00.002+04:002013-07-19T17:28:51.567+04:00Caboodle's Ramadan Workshop<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my last blog I mentioned about how difficult it is to
keep Miss. M occupied during Ramadan. I was in the middle of looking for new
ways when I heard about the Ramadan Workshop at Caboodle and I knew I had to
go. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So on Thursday, after Iftar we made our way to Dubai Mall
which was extraordinarily empty for a weekend. The kids waited as we paid.
</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5YvhGMCdWrU/Uek1wOm7vXI/AAAAAAAAAbA/g5-HLI2QDmQ/s1600/2013-07-18+22.01.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5YvhGMCdWrU/Uek1wOm7vXI/AAAAAAAAAbA/g5-HLI2QDmQ/s320/2013-07-18+22.01.46.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mehreen was issued her name tag and off she went. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">First stop was the Eidiya pouch decorating corner. Gretchen
was the staff member who would assist her. She was given a small jute and upon
her request Gretchen drew a flower for her. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5eR-MPy6Qc/Uek2Ocal0SI/AAAAAAAAAbI/xZ78Yvk82Lo/s1600/2013-07-18+22.03.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5eR-MPy6Qc/Uek2Ocal0SI/AAAAAAAAAbI/xZ78Yvk82Lo/s320/2013-07-18+22.03.24.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mehreen was overjoyed at the
prospect of having so many color markers in front of her and insisted on using
every single color in the box!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QLpo-MFG3fg/Uek2SrVepWI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/VUYxG-h9KTw/s1600/2013-07-18+22.05.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QLpo-MFG3fg/Uek2SrVepWI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/VUYxG-h9KTw/s320/2013-07-18+22.05.23.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When she had colored it to her satisfactions, Arfaz
volunteered to write her name on it for her. She picked green for it. And then, she insisted that he also write kid bro's name on it.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0__DtzyQUw/Uek3e0lJDDI/AAAAAAAAAbg/uFa0eXkANas/s1600/2013-07-18+22.24.17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k0__DtzyQUw/Uek3e0lJDDI/AAAAAAAAAbg/uFa0eXkANas/s320/2013-07-18+22.24.17.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meanwhile Mr. Z was busy with his own drawing that Gretchen
had given him. He thought he had to put the crayon on the picture and it would
paint on its own!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UcpUNmHXNcc/Uek39h1F0lI/AAAAAAAAAbo/MVApDgyqNvU/s1600/2013-07-18+22.16.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UcpUNmHXNcc/Uek39h1F0lI/AAAAAAAAAbo/MVApDgyqNvU/s320/2013-07-18+22.16.47.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">M then moved on to the mosaic corner where she made a mosaic
of different shapes. She was overjoyed when Gretchen handed her the glue stick-
something I dont generally let her have at home (and for a good reason too or
else she might start pretending its lipstick). </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yqZQ9hH-FZ4/Uek4tUa02nI/AAAAAAAAAcA/BRI2WyhjYY0/s1600/2013-07-18+22.25.51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yqZQ9hH-FZ4/Uek4tUa02nI/AAAAAAAAAcA/BRI2WyhjYY0/s320/2013-07-18+22.25.51.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When she finished with the
mosaic, we decided to give arts and crafts a break and headed to the indoor
play area. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Inside, we first made a headband for her by sticking together
some colored papers. It was a great idea and she really enjoyed it</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c_HrZtojgFc/Uek4qrzkaQI/AAAAAAAAAb4/9fAxTW9Pj7g/s1600/2013-07-18+22.41.19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c_HrZtojgFc/Uek4qrzkaQI/AAAAAAAAAb4/9fAxTW9Pj7g/s320/2013-07-18+22.41.19.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RGg0qijMBDM/Uek41ZlfJbI/AAAAAAAAAcI/lerf0vDXoKs/s1600/2013-07-18+22.43.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RGg0qijMBDM/Uek41ZlfJbI/AAAAAAAAAcI/lerf0vDXoKs/s320/2013-07-18+22.43.53.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then we played the piano for a little while.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kSorXnaklnE/Uek7wIhcm-I/AAAAAAAAAcY/Zs76_9m9efM/s1600/2013-07-18+22.46.04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kSorXnaklnE/Uek7wIhcm-I/AAAAAAAAAcY/Zs76_9m9efM/s320/2013-07-18+22.46.04.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before settling at the book corner to read </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LtrP1INxOU0/Uek8MaM7kWI/AAAAAAAAAcg/K8KNr7v3Mgs/s1600/2013-07-18+22.49.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LtrP1INxOU0/Uek8MaM7kWI/AAAAAAAAAcg/K8KNr7v3Mgs/s320/2013-07-18+22.49.18.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After that she discovered the doll house. I could have never
imagined how much entertainment she finds in role play and imagination. Even at
home, she makes all sorts of stories with her imaginary friends. Now that Arfaz
has hung up a huge map in our hall and daddy and daughter spend hours learning
country names, all Mehreen's imaginary stories go along the lines of
"South Africa was walking down the street when along came Russia with a
huge Antarctica in its tummy"!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here she made the doll have a bath and brush its teeth</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LBDugaHBORg/Uek87uAe5rI/AAAAAAAAAco/iUJ1mliTDsQ/s1600/2013-07-18+22.55.59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LBDugaHBORg/Uek87uAe5rI/AAAAAAAAAco/iUJ1mliTDsQ/s320/2013-07-18+22.55.59.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We then headed back outside to make some Ramadan lanterns.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">First she made the flat lantern </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xgoMw7h6aks/Uek9dVmDtAI/AAAAAAAAAc0/0tzt-Sc5PJ0/s1600/2013-07-18+23.15.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xgoMw7h6aks/Uek9dVmDtAI/AAAAAAAAAc0/0tzt-Sc5PJ0/s320/2013-07-18+23.15.18.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then the hanging lantern</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ILc27elnE60/Uek9xAnj4UI/AAAAAAAAAc8/b_fRPyymFPY/s1600/2013-07-18+23.18.45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ILc27elnE60/Uek9xAnj4UI/AAAAAAAAAc8/b_fRPyymFPY/s320/2013-07-18+23.18.45.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">before doing some hand painting. </span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">S</span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">o this was the sum total of all the crafts we did. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PJoHKi9WIvI/Uek-T3cGRII/AAAAAAAAAdI/sZiO--FFKlk/s1600/2013-07-18+23.38.03-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PJoHKi9WIvI/Uek-T3cGRII/AAAAAAAAAdI/sZiO--FFKlk/s320/2013-07-18+23.38.03-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was quite impressed by how prepared the whole event was. There
were samples for everything which meant the kids had some sort of idea what to
do. And the staff were so supportive, nudging them just enough to do the right
thing without spoiling the kids' creativity. Definitely worth a try for your
kids if they are home for the summer vacation.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Info:</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cost: AED 90 for 2 hours, including the craft materials.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Duration: Thursday 18 July to Saturday 20 July, 10am-12pm</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Contact: 04-3253367</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Location: Dubai Mall, 2nd floor, Galleries Lafayette parking
(Grand Parking)</span></div>
</div>
Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-38694706984897157172013-07-14T19:34:00.003+04:002013-07-14T19:34:59.240+04:00Cakey Bakey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
One of the most challenging things during this Ramadan is to keep Miss M busy. It's almost after a year that she is at home for an extended period. Previously every time there was a break from play school, we had gone to India. But now she is home 24*7. Since we are fasting and it's too hot to even step out of the house, my poor girl spends day in and day out cooped up inside . She isn't as much a trouble as a lot of other kids because she has got a trait of being able to amuse herself with her imaginary friends and toys. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
But there is only so much that she can amuse herself or play with her brother. So I have been busy researching various ways to keep her occupied while helping her little brain absorb different concepts. We have done a bit of finger painting, we have played a lot of games and we have been looking at a lovely bird that has laid its eggs in our balcony (more on all of those later).</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
One day when she was particularly bored, I asked her if she wanted to make cake. She was absolutely thrilled as she loves to eat cake. I wasn't too sure if cooking while I was fasting was such a great idea because it would be so hard to figure out if there was enough sugar! But she was so excited that I didn't have the heart to disappoint her. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I chose to make the <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/recipe/vanilla-cake-12859245">oil cake recipe</a> that my amazing baker friend <a href="https://www.facebook.com/s.irresistible">Mehnaz</a> gave me. The cakes turn out so soft that it's unbelievable. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Step 1 was to powder the sugar. We had a bit of an issue because my sweetie pie preferred to eat the sugar than powder it</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uJiCaLP227M/UeK2-5hQm3I/AAAAAAAAAZk/-fBsLXM3ubA/s1600/cake+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HCP9shsYgZQ/UeK3UYtqLCI/AAAAAAAAAZs/jSVZzIkDbks/s1600/cake+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HCP9shsYgZQ/UeK3UYtqLCI/AAAAAAAAAZs/jSVZzIkDbks/s320/cake+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
And then when I asked her to put the sugar in the grinding jar, she lifted the cup of sugar and placed it in the jar! </div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
We then proceeded to seive the flour. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qNEiV5-jOVo/UeK6SCPGejI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/UU-1cWewLrw/s1600/cake+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qNEiV5-jOVo/UeK6SCPGejI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/UU-1cWewLrw/s320/cake+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Then poured in the oil and added the eggs</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4uJ17FVqNYY/UeK63HinMYI/AAAAAAAAAaI/hEIl7ub5HB4/s1600/cake+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4uJ17FVqNYY/UeK63HinMYI/AAAAAAAAAaI/hEIl7ub5HB4/s320/cake+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Mixed it thoroughly</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ctSmEWaFngA/UeK9UDO3yBI/AAAAAAAAAaU/xm3bnbqnGdQ/s1600/cake+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ctSmEWaFngA/UeK9UDO3yBI/AAAAAAAAAaU/xm3bnbqnGdQ/s320/cake+4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
And poured it into the baking dish. But my daughter, like her mom and grandma, enjoyed licking the spoon</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uJiCaLP227M/UeK2-5hQm3I/AAAAAAAAAZo/n-hnFSkWTeg/s1600/cake+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uJiCaLP227M/UeK2-5hQm3I/AAAAAAAAAZo/n-hnFSkWTeg/s320/cake+5.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
And the mixing bowl more than the cake itself (that's a very strong gene we are passing down). </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sVLhuODLdg0/UeK-BK6vfKI/AAAAAAAAAag/9vqq8Cf6vh4/s1600/cake+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sVLhuODLdg0/UeK-BK6vfKI/AAAAAAAAAag/9vqq8Cf6vh4/s320/cake+6.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
When the cake was baked, she was proud</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NZ3cPAEw1vw/UeK-llZ-ovI/AAAAAAAAAaw/laOJCL1d8zM/s1600/cake+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NZ3cPAEw1vw/UeK-llZ-ovI/AAAAAAAAAaw/laOJCL1d8zM/s320/cake+7.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
She didn't want to wait to cut it and wanted to pinch her share off.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YSt5zWKjkOE/UeK-hICNgAI/AAAAAAAAAao/XZUA97EKCaY/s1600/cake+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YSt5zWKjkOE/UeK-hICNgAI/AAAAAAAAAao/XZUA97EKCaY/s320/cake+8.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Eventually she cut it and ate several pieces before finally sharing it with her brother who loved it just as much.</div>
</div>
Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-44865463340209078622013-07-10T13:06:00.002+04:002013-07-10T13:06:24.951+04:00Ramadan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
Ramadan is a truly special month for me for more than one reason. I was born during Ramadan and I first found out I was expecting during this month. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
A few years ago, Ramadan meant going for Tharawih with my neighbours, attending Qiyam Al Layl prayers on all of the last 10 days of the month, etc. Sadly, with two young ones its no longer possible. People tell me I should just take them and go but I think it's unfair to the other worshippers that they should be distracted by two screaming kids.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Even so, the beauty of Ramadan is unmatched. The men get home early. A lot less cooking translates into a lot more family time. A lot of Quran recitation that echoes through the house. A lot of duas. My dad tells us stories from the Quran. Arfaz often goes to labour camps and comes back with heart warming stories that are then shared around the dinner table. All in all, it's a beautiful month of ibada and togetherness. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I take this opportunity to revamp my blog a bit. I have often been asked by people what I blog about and I would hem and haw and say "just about life." I have lately realized that its important to give your blog a personality. Hence, I am giving it a parenthood spin. It will probably help all my friends and followers to learn from my experiences. I look forward to getting support from all you lovely people out there. Your comments and suggestions are what always keeps me going. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Ramadan Kareem!!</div>
</div>
Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-85966826817651649922013-06-08T13:59:00.000+04:002013-06-08T13:59:14.669+04:00Happy 3rd Birthday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A slightly late post but hey better late than never :)<br />
<br />
My "first baby" (as she describes herself these days) has turned three. I dont know where the 3 years went. It felt like the blink of an eye. 'You will say the same thing when she turns 20,' experienced people tell me. <br />
<br />
As far as my girl is concerned, this has to be the most tumultous year in her short life. The calm and peace of the first two years was shattered with some major changes in her life. A month and a half after her second birthday, she became a big sister- a role that she has now learnt to enjoy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E9VmW6q4ujY/UYdDmlE5vQI/AAAAAAAAAUE/h7kqm92a_kQ/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E9VmW6q4ujY/UYdDmlE5vQI/AAAAAAAAAUE/h7kqm92a_kQ/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
("Who is that?" she asked when she first saw him)<br />
<br />
<br />
Initially she was baffled by this new being who had entered her household. I remember reading this somewhere:<br />
<br />
Imagine that you and your husband are leading a happy, married life. One fine day, your husband tells you 'Honey, I am getting a new wife'. And this new young and beautiful woman joins your life. Suddenly everyone's attention is on her. Wherever you go, people are commenting about how cute and young the new wife looks. How would you feel? Thats exactly how your child feels when it gets a sibling.<br />
<br />
Deep, eh? It took Mehreen 3 months to get used to the idea of having another baby in the house. In those 3 months, her insecurity was hard to stand by and watch. But she quickly overcame it and fit into the role of big sister with ease. She started enjoying it- not without occassional episodes of jealousy, insecurity or plain hatred. But hey, thats how even we adults are. So can we expect more from kids?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9AQibf8t2JM/UYdEVNNI9PI/AAAAAAAAAUM/NzCm59sMxo0/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9AQibf8t2JM/UYdEVNNI9PI/AAAAAAAAAUM/NzCm59sMxo0/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Another major change was that she started nursery. On Day 1 when I took her into school, she skipped into the classroom without so much as even a 'bye'. It felt like someone had taken away an organ from my body. I waited around for a bit, in case she cried. But not her. So I went back home and the minute I stepped in, I get a call saying she is bawling her eyes out. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_3dmw4dHDCY/UYi0bbc8aHI/AAAAAAAAAUg/GCEbmCill90/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_3dmw4dHDCY/UYi0bbc8aHI/AAAAAAAAAUg/GCEbmCill90/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And thus began a month of another rigmarole. She would be escorted into the classroom screaming. And she would be screaming when I went to pick her up. the teachers assured me that she stopped crying the minute I left but it didnt convince me. Soon the tears turned into a fake cry that lasted 10 seconds when she saw me. That then turned into sheer joy and laughter. I was glad that I put her into nursery when I did. A lot of people told me what an atrocity it was to put such a young kid into school. But I feel Mehreen has blossomed as a person since she started. She now confidently approaches kids she doesnt know and invites them to play with her. She knows its wrong to snatch and that she should share her toys (whether she practices it is a different issue altogether). She loves singing rhymes. She can now say a sentence or two in English. She has become fully potty trained. So all in all, she has become her own person now- something I dont always enjoy as I miss my baby girl. But hey, you win some and you lose some. <br />
<br />
Another change in her life was how fashion conscious she has become. She now loves to match her clips, sunglasses and handbags with her outfit (Thank God she doesnt insist on it, or else I would be in deep trouble). She loves to paint her nails. And she even got a little pedicure done :)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sIXFsf4LVjA/UYi2jrmloLI/AAAAAAAAAUs/soz-cE4y88A/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sIXFsf4LVjA/UYi2jrmloLI/AAAAAAAAAUs/soz-cE4y88A/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I know more changes are around the corner. She has now moved to a nursery where all the teachers and most students are Westerners. Im sure that one of these days she will come home and probably ask for some saa-mun (salmon). But the process of watching them grow up is so amusing and enjoyable that I'd like to forget to dwell on how quickly its happening. And I hope we are able to bring her up into a polite, honest, God-fearing and respectul human being. <br />
<br />
NOTE: We are not much into celebrating birthdays but this year we took her around to Ceramic Café in Jumeirah Town Center where she spent a good couple of hours painting a box with her favorite cartoon character Hello Kitty. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xp16LPiWwMU/UbL9cvnWifI/AAAAAAAAAVg/H0SaE0pJfGc/s1600/innu+bday1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xp16LPiWwMU/UbL9cvnWifI/AAAAAAAAAVg/H0SaE0pJfGc/s320/innu+bday1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2LsX8MbnEQY/UbMAMMW4baI/AAAAAAAAAV4/H-NkpQNy0qc/s1600/innu+bday+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2LsX8MbnEQY/UbMAMMW4baI/AAAAAAAAAV4/H-NkpQNy0qc/s320/innu+bday+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
A big thank you to the wonderful staff and manager (a friend of Arfaz's) for dishing up an amazing plate of Biryani even though it wasn't on their menu. It was one of the tastiest Biryani I have ever had. And also for the complimentary cake that everyone licked clean. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--h5J6fwolvQ/UbMAFsRDwyI/AAAAAAAAAVw/3XnX9BWrv7A/s1600/innu+bday+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--h5J6fwolvQ/UbMAFsRDwyI/AAAAAAAAAVw/3XnX9BWrv7A/s320/innu+bday+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
</div>
Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-24361227093493388012012-12-17T10:01:00.001+04:002012-12-17T10:01:35.209+04:00The birthing story"you and I need to talk," I said, glaring at my burgeoning tummy. I was driving back home from the hospital for a second time after being told that my labor pain was actually false. <br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5822790493428042690'><img src='http://lh5.ggpht.com/-VGvzTQofykU/UM61GnJMy8I/AAAAAAAAATU/aA0dCDNN-Nc/s288/0.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />I was tired and worn out. From severe back pain to horrible heartburn, this pregnancy was an extremely difficult one for me. I was driving to a farm in Dhaid every other week to drink fresh buttermilk so that I could eat something without heartburn. And to add to all of it, my baby dropped into a head down position more than a month before it was supposed to, making it extremely difficult for me to sit/ stand/ breathe and do somersaults (what else would I be doing when I'm eight months pregnant?)<br /><br />So on Friday, June 15th I started getting contractions. By afternoon they were getting closer. So we took bag and baggage and left for the hospital. But on getting there the nurses said, they were not contractions but irritability (for God's sake, what is that?). <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5822790552764537330'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Js8dMUK2E0w/UM61KEMH2fI/AAAAAAAAATc/SrxeQfLmtUo/s288/2.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />So they asked me to go for a walk and come back at 8pm. Thats when I told my baby that we needed to talk about grounding him/her for a week without TV and Internet. We went home, prayed, cooked dinner and then headed for the beach to walk. Beach sand is famous for speeding up labor. But by then whatever pain I had was gone. So I prepared myself for another week or two of pregnancy discomfort and headed for the hospital. Our plans for that evening were clear- finish the hospital, go home for dinner and then go to the nearest theatre to watch the latest Malayalam movie Diamond Necklace. We had been waiting for the movie to release because a good friend was acting in it. <br /><br />But surprise surprise...when we reached the hospital, the doctor on duty said my contractions were becoming quite intense and I was in active labor. Now trust this child to thwart all our plans. So I grudgingly let myself to be wheeled into the very same labor room that I had given birth to Mehreen in. Mom and dad went home to get some dinner and Arfaz curled on the sofa and fell into a deep slumber. Time passed. It was midnight and I was still not progressing enough. I was fast getting tired, having had no sleep the previous night because of back pain. So I asked for IT- the ultimate medicine that women before and after me will literally worship- the Epidural. Once the painkiller entered my system I fell asleep. Mom and Arfaz went up to the hospital room. Mom would later tell me how she was so tensed that she couldn't sleep and how she spent the night listening to the clock's ticking...and oh Arfaz's snoring as well :)<br /><br />Throughout the night, as I slipped in and out of slumber, I could see the Burj Khalifa through the window of my labor room. The building looked so beautiful and majestic against the night sky that I was just awed by it. And I was surprised that I hadn't noticed it before because I stay barely a kilometer away from the iconic building. Yet it's beauty had never impressed me so much. I guess that pretty much how life is. You don't see the beauty of the people in your life, until Allah chooses to show it to you in a particular situation.<br /><br />At 7am the nurses shifts changed. The doctor's shift was ending at 8:30. She came and told me in a pleading voice "Please let me see your baby before I go home today." As if I could do something about it! Mom kept checking on me throughout the night. At about 7 30 she came and fed me the stale idli and sambar that the hospital provided. We were laughing about something when I suddenly felt like it was time. I quickly gulped down some more food and sent for the doctor. I think she would have put PT Usha to shame by the speed with which she sprinted into my room. By then it was 8. At 8:10 sharp I heard the first cry of the little person. But I didnt even pay attention to it coz the minute it opened its mouth to cry I heard my mom sobbing beside me. I was so amused and busy watching her that I totally forgot about the child. "Male baby, male baby," the doctors exclaimed. I know guys," I wanted to say coz I looked for "it" and this time I knew the difference between the umbilical cord :D (check my previous blog for the whole story)<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5822790593731900738'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-4rKBZtblQ3o/UM61MczgNUI/AAAAAAAAATk/5IK6AX_B1B4/s288/4.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />The rest of the day passed in a blur. Mehreen came and saw her little brother. It took some time for her to accept the fact that the baby who was inside my tummy had actually materialized into a human being. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5822790624661716498'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Ak5PUzpaHic/UM61OQBvvhI/AAAAAAAAATs/QeZkr4nFzZw/s288/5.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Two days later we came home. Then I had to go through the whole post natal care routine (that deserves a blog entry of it's own). One thing that quickly struck me was that Zayaan was very different from Mehreen. He was more laid back and less gassy than her. Alhamdulillah for that because Mehreen wasn't the happiest person on Earth to have a big chunk of attention diverted from her. Sibling rivalry quickly started to rear it's head (again that deserves another blog entry of it's own). <br /><br />Now, 6 months later, things are much better Alhamdulillah. A special mention to all my friends and family who came to visit us and brought gifts for Mehreen. I was surprised by how many people actually remembered to get stuff for her while bringing in gifts for Zayaan. It helped to cancel out a lot of animosity between the brother and sister. <br /><br />More of Zayaan-Mehreen chronicles in my next blog post. Till then keep smiling :)<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Dubai&z=10'>Dubai</a></p>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-70530297479412207782012-06-06T15:52:00.001+04:002012-06-06T15:52:48.642+04:00Baby ShowerA baby shower is not a tradition where I come from. In our culture, the girl is taken from her husband's house to her mom's house in the 8th month of pregnancy. There's a small function where the elders of the house come together, put some gold on the girl, have food and leave. But nothing like a baby shower. So obviously there is no one who would organize such a function for me. The first time around I pestered my husband till he said "Hun, I will give you some money. Why don't you organize your own baby shower?" And thats how it happened when I was pregnant with Mehreen. This time around, I was talking to my colleague Surina and mentioned that I didn't think a baby shower was on the cards because I was so tired and just couldn't be bothered. "why are you organizing your baby shower?" she asked. "Let me do it for you." And she, along with another colleague Feyaza, decided to organize the party. <br /><br />We drew up a list of people to invite and divided the tasks between ourselves- Surina would do the decorations, Feyaza would do the games and I had to take care of the food. It was to be a tea party on a Friday (which is a weekend in this part of the world) evening.<br /><br />At 2:30 on Friday June 1st Feyaza and Surina reached home, with bag and baggage. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890351188785426'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-UHS9CcAXIOQ/T89ETgzUORI/AAAAAAAAAP0/XgelK-AJ1ng/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='187' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />They wrapped the gifts, prepared the games, decorated the house and set the scene. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890376563024770'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-MNliK89z0RQ/T89EU_VAY4I/AAAAAAAAAP8/VS20OAOVACE/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />At 4:20 our first guests came. As soon as everyone walked in, they were given bracelets. The rule was: No one could say the word baby. If any one said it, the person who catches them saying it would get their bracelet.<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890391711209794'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-0K2APx2N-so/T89EV3wnWUI/AAAAAAAAAQE/nGwHcfPMUek/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> And at 6pm whoever had the maximum number of bracelets would win. The game produced some high volume squeals and volleys of laughter throughout the evening as everyone tried to outdo the others. I think it was the most closely contested game. Someone even asked "what's Justin Bieber's first single's name? I seem to have forgotten" <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890407350254834'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Dt5QYH_RzoA/T89EWyBQPPI/AAAAAAAAAQM/lJgDMmS7LcU/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Malak won the game with her sharp ears...next time I want to know who said what, I know who to go to :)<br /><br />One of the other things I got the guests to do was pick a letter out of a box.<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890426649097522'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-b6YelaMtZDs/T89EX56dNTI/AAAAAAAAAQU/RQD8we1B4CY/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> With the letter they got, they had to write a message and draw a picture for the baby. For example, if they got A, they had to write A for apple and draw a picture (Shruthi got the letter A and she wrote A for acrobatics which the baby has been doing inside my tummy. It was my personal favorite. And oh also R for Romeo and Y is for yes which you have to say to mummy all the time). <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890439926441666'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-IxgxF0Lthkw/T89EYrYBZsI/AAAAAAAAAQc/4eW6HJUfKgY/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />I hope to compile it into a book which the baby can read once it starts learning the alphabets :)<br /><br />The next game was finding the "treasure". <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890459317963410'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-gAN8_2_PFLY/T89EZznUipI/AAAAAAAAAQk/XK1qD4j2QPM/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />A bunch of safety pins and buttons were hidden in a pile of pulses and the contestants had to close their eyes and pick out the treasure. A safety pin was worth 5 points and button worth 10 points. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890480819657682'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ODzpAaPLDh8/T89EbDtuW9I/AAAAAAAAAQs/WwmcShtlSHI/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />The game was played in batches of 3 and the winners had a final face off with Nyla winning the game.<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890499124015138'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XFk2HtNUNJ8/T89EcH50sCI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/yjYl9AH822A/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Then we had some fun with baby food. Bottles of baby food were covered in colorful wrapping paper. <br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890512076047378'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-9lfjIkusHXo/T89Ec4J1BBI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/HvPKsOToaro/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Everyone had to taste it and guess the flavors. Even my mom couldn't resist playing this game. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890520747383938'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-cP_fe4bASP8/T89EdYdPHII/AAAAAAAAARE/4utEDfYJ7I0/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />But the winner was Surina who got all four- vanilla custard, peach and apple, mixed veggies and porridge- right.<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890531312033154'><img src='http://lh5.ggpht.com/-etpaYwdo9kg/T89Ed_0C3YI/AAAAAAAAARM/ch76_32Y3Zc/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> I wonder how much of her food Kayla (Surina's daughter) actually gets to eat :D<br /><br />Then came my favorite game. I had specifically asked for this game to be included because it was so much fun. We froze little Jelly babies in ice cubes and gave them to the guests. <br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890542828189266'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-55QG05umMGo/T89EeqttdlI/AAAAAAAAARU/vtnQUVqaJtA/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />They had to break the babies free from the ice cube and whoever got them out first had to scream "My water has broke". <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890550504213170'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-N3rAslJtLcI/T89EfHT0SrI/AAAAAAAAARc/6zoObohJ564/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Some tried to suck the ice out while others twirled it in their cups. Still others ran to the balcony to melt the ice. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890575688123618'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-LhV6PsKJzIM/T89EglIIROI/AAAAAAAAARk/7sCttR9MNEM/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />But no one could outdo Shruthi who just bit into the ice and freed the poor little jelly baby. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890590656826978'><img src='http://lh5.ggpht.com/-JK0DGKob8z4/T89Ehc48jmI/AAAAAAAAARs/_HVr6m4WsFQ/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />And of course no baby shower game can be complete without a "Predict the gender game". Everyone picked up the color they thought most appropriate for my baby.<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890601798738802'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Q7H7Ul7e9qA/T89EiGZYo3I/AAAAAAAAAR0/xmpvBt4fj5Q/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />At the end the number of blues exceeded the number of pinks but then hey, it was the same for my first baby shower :)<br /><br />Our last game was the sipper cup game. We gave two sipper cups full of coke to Christine and Tina. They had to finish the drink in the shortest possible time. <br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890616129319490'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-9XFTsb3hanU/T89Ei7yD8kI/AAAAAAAAAR8/4lSPYIogZTs/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />I think the picture clearly tells that it's two people we have definitely put off coke for a very very long time. Tine won the game, by the way.<br /><br />We rounded off the evening with some tea and snacks. It had been one of the most enjoyable evenings. And I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Of course all credit goes to Feyaza and Surina for not just such planning the lovely event but executing it so well that after the weekend everyone came back talking about how much they had enjoyed themselves. And I have some lovely pics, videos and of course gifts <br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5750890622260304018'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-WY6118tanbc/T89EjSnzWJI/AAAAAAAAASE/cK1dagaGzjA/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />which I can show my baby when s/he comes out and say "we had so much fun at your expense." <br />Tina summed up very aptly what the evening had taught her "It must be so hard to be a baby. They have to eat such yucky tasting baby food and drink out of such difficult sipper cups. Poor things."<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=My%20house&z=10'>My house</a></p>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-79238921073401388172012-05-26T16:28:00.002+04:002012-05-27T12:12:37.407+04:00Turning 25<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/H1g9PPRMYjY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
Surprises are not Arfaz's thing. In 4 years of marriage, he has probably surprised me once. That's partly because he doesn't really see the need for it (what a typical man, right?) and partly because he is such a horrible liar that I end up detecting his surprises before they are executed.<br />
<br />
So imagine my shock this year when he actually managed to pull off a complete surprise for me. It's a video with a lot of loving messages from my family, friends and colleagues- scattered all over the world in the US, UK and India. I don't want to say more about the video except that it touched my heart in a way no other gift had, sheerly because of the time, effort and love that went into making it. Needless to say, I had shed a generous amount of tears by the end of it. I'm sharing it here with everyone. Some of you might not understand chunks of it because it's partly in Malayalam and partly in English. And in case you cant watch the embedded video, here is the YouTube <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%20http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1g9PPR%20MYjY">link</a><br />
<br /></div>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-65961904009563983982012-05-02T21:53:00.001+04:002012-05-03T08:08:16.542+04:00When Mehreen became a person<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
May 2, 2010 10am<br />
<br />
I'm in pain. Make that a lot of pain. And I am irritated as well. This child has been playing games with me for an entire week now. Last Friday I was admitted to the hospital with contractions. The doctor checked me and said I was already 1.5 cm dilated ( you have to be 10 cm dilated to actually give birth) and that I was in active labor. But the next morning the contractions had disappeared and I was packed off home. Turns out my child was playing Braxton Hicks (false contractions) with me. Since then every single day I had experienced hours of painful contractions and each day I would get my bag and clothes ready to go to the hospital. But they would subside soon after. On May 1st I was admitted to hospital for induced labor. They had already put two doses of the induction gel but the kid didn't seem to be in any mood to budge. I vaguely remember someone telling me that no matter what you did or how hard you tried, your baby would come out only when it wanted to. Neither earlier, nor later. 'Ok baby,' I thought grudgingly, 'whenever you are ready'<br />
<br />
May 2nd 6pm<br />
<br />
Phoosh...my water has broken. Phew...finally. Now where is that epidural? Please give me the epidural...please?<br />
<br />
May 2nd 8pm<br />
Arfaz and my mother-in-law come to visit me in the labor room. I don't remember what I said but Arfaz did mention later that it was my best mood in the nine months of pregnancy (and for a long long time afterwards as well). It was the epidural...made me so light-headed. I guess this is how people feel when they are drunk<br />
<br />
May 2nd 10pm<br />
"you are 10 cm dilated," the doctor tells me. Woohoo...that means the final delivery is just minutes away. My mom stations herself beside me. "who is this?" the doctor asks me. "My mom," I say. "Oh my God she looks so young," she gushes. And my mom blushes. Ladies, can we have this conversation at some other point in life?<br />
<br />
May 2nd 10:30pm<br />
"Ok doc, I really feel like I want to go to the toilet," I told my obs-gyn. "we are ready for you," she told me as 2 doctors and 3 nurses with gloves and a whole lot of tools crowded around me. And yes, they do tell you to push, like you see in the movies. "Push," they are all screaming. I can't feel a thing, thanks to epidural but I do push. "Yes, it's coming," the doctor is excited. And I think to myself 'Oh ya right...you can stop lying to encourage me. I know it's not coming.' A couple more pushes and the doctor says 'It's almost out' and I think 'ok lady, whatever...I'm going to pretend I believe you' <br />
(At this point, Arfaz informs me later, all those outside the delivery room hear a baby crying. They all hug and congratulate each other. Suddenly they hear the doctors screaming Push again. Turns out, the lady in the room next to me delivered a few minutes before me and it was her baby crying) <br />
<br />
May 2nd 10:38pm<br />
I knew what to expect. I had read books. I had spoken to friends. But when they placed the baby, wrapped in blue tissue paper sort of thing, I gasped. So the doctors were not lying. The baby had been coming out when they said it was. I caught a brief glimpse of the baby before they whisked it away. The first thought that crossed my mind was "Did Arfaz clone that baby? It just looks like a photocopy of him." I also saw something dangling. 'Its a boy,' i thought. Someone called Arfaz. They pulled a curtain around me and were working on me when one of the nurses said "It's a girl, isn't it?" What? Cheeky monkey. And I had thought all along it was a boy. She had taken us all for a ride. Oh...what about the dangling? That fell off 7 days later...it's called the umbilical cord. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5737995487498546994"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-GXHN3TEwQ2Y/T6F0fqMlLzI/AAAAAAAAAM0/6aM8qZrf8nM/s288/0.jpg" style="margin: 5px;" width="281" /></a></center><br />
<br />
The first few hours passed in a blur. She was a perfect baby...yawned, smiled (my mom said it was gas but I'm sure it was a smile), slept. I couldn't wait to get home. Get home we did...and then she started to scream!!<br />
<br />
May 9th<br />
It was on the 7th day of her life that we shaved her hair and put on some gold for her. She sat like a lamb throughout the shaving of her head. Then we had a sumptuous lunch. And oh she still screams a lot<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5737995503449551602"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-EbTk8X8UzHc/T6F0glnmMvI/AAAAAAAAAM4/MT4LwyVZxmE/s288/2.jpg" style="margin: 5px;" width="281" /></a></center><br />
<br />
November 2010<br />
<br />
Sleep? I don’t like him much. His acting isn’t that great. Huh? What are you talking about? Oh you mean the act of lying down on a bed and closing your eyes? Aaaaah…that one. I don’t do much of that these days.<br />
I am delusional now. Almost every other day, Arfaz and I take turns walking up and down the room, performing something like an aadivasi (tribal) dance to put Mehreen to sleep. She would only sleep if we performed that particular dance. Arfaz grudgingly noted that if CK Janu (google her) saw him, she would just adopt him for his skilful dance steps. Our hands would be so sore from carrying her. Getting up at 5am to go to work is also not doing us any good. Apart from that Mehreen screams every time someone comes home. She screams every time we go out. Quite anti-social, she is. I have forgotten the time when I could step out of the house without having to worry constantly about upsetting her. And she would scare everyone within a 2 km radius of her with her screams. Life just looks great, doesn’t it?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5737995521829190242"><img border="0" height="187" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/--wwq7D0zBy4/T6F0hqFpOmI/AAAAAAAAANA/kVas2DVDf4s/s288/3.jpg" style="margin: 5px;" width="281" /></a></center><br />
<br />
May 2012<br />
<br />
Phew!! 2 years already, eh? She is now a happy bunny who will walk up to random people and just start having conversations with them. Her social skills have built up remarkably. She has also started swimming lessons and can sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Why This Kolaveri (although you will probably need a translator to understand the words). She continues to make everyone walk on the line that she draws. This includes both her set of grandparents, uncle, aunts and most importantly her dad. I do too most of the times but not without a fight. But I guess it isn't going to last very long because this is probably her last birthday as the unrivaled supreme queen of the family. She is preparing to welcome a sibling as well as a first cousin in the next few months.<br />
<br />
“So what if you had to put up with such tantrums until she was about 10 months old,” my mom sometimes asks me. “You have such a good and well-behaved child for all the trouble.” I look at the pen scribbles on my brand new bed sheet, 5 million toys scattered all around the house, my broken pieces of make up which she has been experimenting with, the brand new carpet which she has peed on while potty training and say “Yes mom…she is a very well-behaved child”<br />
<br />
Now let's see what my blog will be like for her next birthday...<br />
<br />
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad</div>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-11907013742445354152012-03-12T14:06:00.000+04:002012-03-12T14:08:24.406+04:00The Day The Sun Fell Into The Sea<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The problem with kids is that they take things seriously.
A bit too seriously for their own good.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cypFR4eJnHU/T13Klix4QMI/AAAAAAAAAMk/0pMma6FKgls/s1600/mehreen%2Bsun.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cypFR4eJnHU/T13Klix4QMI/AAAAAAAAAMk/0pMma6FKgls/s320/mehreen%2Bsun.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
So the other day Arfaz and Mehreen are watching the sunset from our balcony. And Arfaz said to her “Oh look, the sun is falling into the sea.” She seemed fascinated by the idea and turned to me and said “Mamma, sun is falling into the sea” (of course, she said it in a mix of 3 languages that we speak at home- Malayalam, Kutchi and English). We found it funny, laughed about it and didn’t think of it again until about an hour later by when she had repeated the same sentence 5 times.<br />
<br />
Uh oh. We all- my mom, dad, Arfaz and I- started to look at each other and we could see where this was going. “But its going to come back tomorrow morning sweetheart,” Arfaz reassured her. She didn’t seem too convinced.<br />
<br />
And that evening when we went out, she saw the full-moon and her face lit up “Sun,” she said. “That’s the moon, honey,” I corrected her and my mom glared at me. Shucks, I should have let her assume that it was the sun. It would have comforted her. She repeated “Sun fell into the sea.”<br />
<br />
Before she went to bed that night, she kept saying it over and over. We were all a bit shocked at how deeply the thought had affected her.<br />
<br />
Next day, I got a call at office from my mom at about 11. Apparently she had woken up crying at 7am saying that the sun had fallen into the sea. And it took her a full hour to go back to sleep. When she woke up again, my mom took her to the balcony and showed her the sun in the sky. It seemed to relax her.<br />
<br />
That afternoon, when I got back home she came running to me with a big grin and said “Mamma, the sun told me ‘Good morning Mehreen’”<br />
<br />
And peace was restored in her world </div>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-55660370602512868052012-01-14T16:27:00.001+04:002012-01-14T16:27:24.297+04:00My Lost Bag Saga<br />I know I have to blog about my move and the madness surrounding it but before that I have to tell you about my New Year party. I have to say it’s one of the best parties I have had simply because it made me start the new year on the note that good people are not so hard to find J<br /> <br />The party started at about 4:50 on January 1st 2012 when, after a shopping trip to IKEA, I got home and realized that my bag was missing. And inside it were 2 phones, my wallet, my driving license, my insurance card and just basically everything of any importance. Now it so happened that while my mom and I were loading some of the heavy IKEA stuff into my car, I had dropped my bag on to the pavement and forgotten to pick it up. Panic hit me like a cyclone straight in my face.<br /><br /> I rushed back to the festival city parking lot in an inebriated state of worry (cant remember how many speeding tickets I racked up on that trip). Checked the exact place I left it...and surprise surprise!!! It was not there. My heart started to pound madly...as if I had been dancing at the disco. Remember? It's my new year party. I then ran to the mall. Checked with the information counter. Nothing. Checked with the ikea and hyper panda information counter (because they have staff in the parking lot who collect the trolleys). Nothing. By now I was so close to tears that I was having a hard time holding it back. After spending an hour trying to chase the bag that I had lost for barely 20 minutes my mom and I climbed into the car to go back home- absolutely dejected. My head was throbbing with pain- thanks to the stress I had been through. Some time in between all this I managed to call my bank and block my ATM card.<br /><br />Now all this while I had been trying to call my phone and it was ringing. I found this a bit odd because if someone had stolen my bag, the first thing they'd do is switch off the phone. But if they didn't want to steal it, why wouldn't they return it to lost and found or at least answer my phone? I just couldn't make sense of the whole thing. <br /><br />Once home I prayed Maghrib and sat on my prayer mat just wondering if I should close my eyes and let my dam of tears to break open. Suddenly my dad's phone rang. I hoped it was something to do with my bag but it turned out to be my cousin who works in Rashidiya. He asked my dad to speak to me. I signalled I didn't want to talk but my dad was already handing me the phone. <br />"Hi," I said. <br />"Hey did you lose something?" he asked. Oh God. How is this news spreading? <br />"yes I did, why?" <br />"someone just called me and said they had found a phone belonging to you"<br />And he gave me the number of the person who had called. This was turning into one interesting party (And even though I wasnt in the mood to listen to joke then, my cousin told me something that had me cracking up for days. Apparently whoever found my phone called him and said I have found your phone. And my bro had lost a phone that very morning- it had fallen into the toilet. He was absolutely amazed that Dubai had become so advanced that people were finding phones in the sewage pipe- before realizing it wasn't his phone that had been found)<br /><br />By now, all my energy had seeped through my legs to the ground and I didn't want to phone this person. I made Arfaz do it. The man who questioned Arfaz about the contents of it etc. Obviously he gave me the phone and I stammered out everything I could remember. He asked me what car I was driving and I gingerly answered- a Lexus. He said he would be in Lulu Qusais in about 45 minutes and asked us to meet him there. And its only when a crisis occurs that all the bad thoughts in the universe starts to hit me. What did this man really want? Why didn't he just give my bag to lost and found? Why was he insisting on returning it to us himself? Was he going to bargain for money? And why did he ask for the make of my car? Was it to see how much money he should bargain for? Shucks- I should have said I drive a really cheap car. Oh God!!! I'm tired of this party. <br /><br />I reached Qusais Lulu in 40 minutes and waited for him to call. My hands were sweating. I had never been so nervous- not even when my 12th standard board exam results were due. He called a few minutes later and we met in the parking lot. He was a well built Pakistani laborer in shalwar khameez who spoke only Urdu. He told us how he had pulled into the parking that I had got out of at festival city. He found my bag there and was worried to leave it on the pavement thinking someone might steal it. So he put it in his car and left a note on his dashboard with his number- in case I came looking for it (and which would have been there when I madly ran back and forth that pavement, had I looked). And then when he returned to his room, he browsed through my phone and called the first number on it, which was my cousin's. I didn't know what to say. It was so very sweet of him. He asked me to check the bag to see if anything was missing. Of course I didn't. After thanking him and giving him some money (which he initially refused- and I had thought he wanted to bargain) Arfaz led me away before I fell at his feet and started worshipping the ground he walked upon. <br /><br />On our way back home, I realized something else- this poor man wouldn't have known how to navigate my ultra-sophisticated Samsung phone ( I can barely make a call on that phone without getting lost). So he had gone back to his room in Sonapur and charged my dead Nokia phone (which I carried around only because I had so many contacts in it) and then looked up my cousin's number. This poor soul had gone through so much trouble and taken so much effort just to make sure that I got my bag back. Wow!! So why didn't he just return it to lost and found? Because I highly doubt he even knows something like that exists. And thus ended my big new year party. <br /><br />Moral of the story? Always carry simple, and easy to navigate phones. And oh, don't forget your bag/ wallet/ keys anywhere.<br /><br />I relate this story to my colleagues who shake their head in disbelief. "I can categorically tell you that something like this will only happen in Dubai," says Maddy. "If it was in India, once gone don't even hope to get it back." "Neither would it happen in the UK," Christine says. "if the person who finds it is kind enough, he will probably mail the cards back to you. But money and phone, gone." And we all said a silent prayer of thanks to be able to live in such a beautiful country. <br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Dubai%20Festival%20City&z=10'>Dubai Festival City</a></p>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-29738503053002962652011-11-17T16:33:00.001+04:002011-11-17T16:33:07.145+04:00The Big Fat Indian WeddingI'm so fashionably late in blogging that I'm positively ashamed of myself. I have absolutely no excuses other than that I was very very lazy. You can also partly blame it on my brother in law who refused to give me any photos of the wedding. How can I write about a wedding without colorful pics ? Anyway I have a lot of pics and stories to share with you about my brother in law's big fat Indian wedding. Have you attended an Indian wedding? No? Then you are really missing something in life. If you have ever wondered whether there is an experience in life that is happy, stressful, maddening and a total emotional roller coaster, all at once- let me enlighten you that there is one- an Indian wedding. From meddlesome relatives to medley of songs; from mouth-watering food to mammoth guest lists; from tears of joy to fears galore an Indian wedding has it all. Add to it a house teeming of relatives, friends and little devils and the wedding is complete. <br /><br />My brother in law, Shiyaz got married to a lovely girl Hina from Chennai. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941321428403442'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Ei4hDjci-Gw/TsT-jzWzhPI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/eX5emT0dmTg/s288/6.jpg' border='0' width='187' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Yes it's a cross-state wedding but none of the hullaballooo that the book 2 states has familiarized you with. That's because my husband belongs to the Kutchi community and they marry within the community- irrespective of whether they are settled in Chennai or China. <br /><br />A Kutchi wedding in the olden days used to last a whole month. Yes! What did they do for a month? I don't know, really. The current 3-4 days of wedding itself drives me insane. Can't imagine doing it for a month. <br /><br />So a few days before the wedding, people start visiting the house to enquire about your well being. Its more like an excuse to come and see the dress and gold we have bought for the bride (yes in Kutchi weddings, the guy buys the wedding dress and gold for the girl). So you have close to 50 people visiting you every day. And if that wasn't enough, about 2-3 days before the wedding, relatives from across India and the globe, come and stay at your place. Now you understand why I said a house teeming with people? But, I do admit that it's a lot of fun. That's when the true wedding spirit comes alive. There are loads of people around the dining table every meal. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941347495225746'><img src='http://lh5.ggpht.com/-P2uNeBFSBjE/TsT-lUdnqZI/AAAAAAAAAKY/4RddFtD1HUI/s288/7.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />The rooms smell full of mehendi as all the girls in the family decorate their hands.<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941376148297842'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-aA81pWKQvtA/TsT-m_NC2HI/AAAAAAAAAKg/9pQW6nvKwEk/s288/8.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> Bright lights adorn the house and is recognizable from very far away as the wedding home. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941410328027042'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-U2rTXK6rpuM/TsT-o-iIH6I/AAAAAAAAAKo/AoC-_yjjRd0/s288/10.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />The first function of a Kutchi wedding is peeti. It's a special powder that's mixed with rose water, perfume oil, Badam paste, and a load of other things. Once the peeti function is over, the bride or groom has to spend the rest of the days until the wedding sitting in the corner of a room, reapplying this paste all over their body 3 times a day. They are not allowed to have a bath, come out of the room or even breathe. Ok, I was kidding about the last bit. The concept is that by doing this, you smell of peeti for the wedding. Trust me it's an absolutely lovely smell and it makes your skin really soft and glowing. In the olden days, the bride and groom used to do it for 2-3 weeks. But Shiyu and Hina did it for just 3 days. <br /><br />Then comes the mehendi or henna function. Basically the groom's side goes to the girl, makes her wear a duppatta of a dress we take, make her wear bangles, put some henna on a tissue that she is holding on her hands to protect the actual beautiful henna she has on her hands and feed her some sweets. <br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941458421062018'><img src='http://lh5.ggpht.com/-VjJe-4XNqck/TsT-rxsZmYI/AAAAAAAAAKw/oSNTke7Xdg4/s288/2.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />And then every person in the room does the same. What's the point? Then point is that you get good food- ahhhh you should have seen the hot Jalebis they were making at the mehendi function. YUMMMMMM!!!! And oh once the girl's mehndi was over, Shiyu's friends made sure he also went through the same rituals. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941490954648306'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-E_4GH1HW_5I/TsT-tq5AuvI/AAAAAAAAAK4/MJV_DI2e6QY/s288/15.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Why should only one person suffer, they asked<br /><br />And then finally comes the wedding. Most people are by this time just fed up and want the groom to run away with the bride and save them the rest of the energy. But that rarely happens. On the day of the wedding, the groom sends a bag called Peda to the girl. In it is every single thing the girl needs for that day- wedding dress, gold, perfume, towels, handkerchiefs and even safety pins. <br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941519949854754'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-bERH6EutS68/TsT-vW6AeCI/AAAAAAAAALA/AtCpdeRSeFo/s288/9.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />It's taken by the oldest people in the family who go and ask the girl personally if she is happy with the wedding. Assuming she says yes, the wedding then takes place. Shiyu's was in the evening. My darling sister-in-law (who was my Rock of Gibralter throughout the wedding) and I helped each other dress up and then spent the rest of the time chasing Mehreen who by the way hated that the house was full of people. I will not go into the details of pulling almost 100 people out of the house, stuffing them into a bus and getting to the hall. It took a lot of patience But we made it in time for the nikah. <br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941546211722978'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Q1X98R-2A1o/TsT-w4vUxuI/AAAAAAAAALI/rJIRnNLAR6s/s288/5.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='186' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />After the nikah we took the girl on to the stage to sit next to Shiyu for the rest of the rituals.<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941579048598770'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-BZkHSBdxbh4/TsT-yzEPvPI/AAAAAAAAALQ/AdHWNX4dBwM/s288/16.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='186' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> Uh-huh but not so quickly. On the stage Shiyu was surrounded by Hina's cousins who said they wouldn't move until they were paid 25,000 rupees. Then it was bargain, bargain and some more bargain. Arfaz ended up paying 3000 rupees. Yep he is a bargain expert. <br /><br />Then comes the moo-dikhayi or in simple words looking at the face. The bride has all this while covered her face. Now the guy will remove the face covering and look at her face before everyone else sees her. <br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941622178174146'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-udVX3NT2VFE/TsT-1TvI1MI/AAAAAAAAALY/11_fmdTxSn8/s288/0.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />He then puts a ring on her. After this is the sending the girl off ritual where her family gives her a Quran and sends her off to her husband's house. Quite an emotional ceremony that invariably ends in tears. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941653266638418'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-4tegKrua0M8/TsT-3HjNJlI/AAAAAAAAALg/ifrwp0ifHOE/s288/4.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> But the real fun hasn't yet begun. After all the rituals, we got home. Now shiyu has this thick group if friends. <br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941694016349938'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-gn2yd-2UtBU/TsT-5fWsZvI/AAAAAAAAALo/sNYf7xnnVS4/s288/3.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Many of them had flown in from abroad just for the wedding. they wouldn't do that for no reason, would they? When we got home, all of them sat on the stairs and refused to let the bride and groom go to their room unless they were paid 10 thousand bucks. After almost an hour of bargaining they settled for 7500. Hefty sum to pay just for being able to go into your own room in your own house, eh? I said to them "with friends like you guys, who needs enemies?" So finally at about 3 am we were all able to go to bed. <br /><br />The next day was the valima or wedding reception. After a 3am sleep, it was hard to get up at 9 but we managed it. <br /><br />Thus in 4 days, the most important ceremony in the lives of two people are over. Needless to say, the one person who enjoyed the wedding the most was the superstar of the family Mehreen. She enjoyed all the attention she got<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941727812963554'><img src='http://lh5.ggpht.com/-bihQW501cH8/TsT-7dQbzOI/AAAAAAAAALw/k-xjxDQX1mE/s288/12.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />And the late night bike rides with her Chachu. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941762840333570'><img src='http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Q6on_XDNFXI/TsT-9fvnDQI/AAAAAAAAAL4/Ym9cSIoUfnI/s288/13.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />The limelight was on her even though it was his wedding<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5675941799221854370'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-rBVgycWaU_k/TsT-_nRpAKI/AAAAAAAAAMA/7zgUB8jTA80/s288/14.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='187' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /> I had to deal with a lot of post-wedding tantrum syndrome because of the fact that a house full of people pampered her. But I managed to pull through all of it with my sanity intact, thank God. But I was so pooped out that it took me almost a month to recover. Now I can't even begun to comprehend the task of my sister in law's wedding whenever that happens. I think I may just run away :-)<br /><br />Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Cochin,%20Kerala%20&z=10'>Cochin, Kerala </a></p>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-85917669775526117532011-09-06T00:09:00.001+04:002011-09-06T00:09:26.158+04:00Shopping spreeI love shopping. Especially for weddings. And becoz I don't have any brothers or sisters, I have never been involved in any major wedding shopping sprees apart from my own ( at the time of which I was more concerned about my exams and schedules than shopping). So imagine my glee now that I have to go wedding shopping for my one and only brother in law (who is getting married to a lovely girl on October 1st). I must admit that going shopping with an enthusiastic but clueless would-be groom can be a bit trying.<br />"Bhabhi, shall I buy this cream?" "Shyu haven't u bought 15 bottles of cream already?"<br />"Bhabhi, does this deo smell good?" "But you don't use deo spray" "well I could use it, couldn't I?"<br /> <br />You see what I mean? But hey, I will stop pretending that I'm annoyed. I actually do secretly enjoy my position of power as the eldest daughter-in-law of a closely-knit family. And also, I love both Arfaz's brother and sister to pieces. Partly because I don't have any of my own and partly because they both are so loveable. So for the shopping spree I took Arfaz and my brother-in-law Shiyaz (see the rhyming) to Naif Souq- colloquially called Oot market. Do you know why it's called so? Because several years ago, food for camels- which is Oont in Hindi- was sold in this Souq. This place has been my shopping haven for as long as I can remember. Clothes, shoes, bags, toys, whatever you want, you get it here- at reasonable prices. And then of course there is the haggling. Haggling is a refined skill that you sharpen over years of shopping. My dad and Arfaz are pros at it. I’m just average. My mom’s hopeless. So I usually like to go with Arfaz because he just manages to squeeze out the best deals.<br /> <br />On this shopping expedition first we headed off to buy some clothes. Vibrant colors, distinctive textures, variety of styles and different cuts. Had so much of choice<br /> <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5648970043186045490'><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Vkz39eMgY1s/TmUsUyLtYjI/AAAAAAAAAJs/4LBcU6zib-k/s288/0.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Then perfumes. Attar, oud, CK, Gucci- name it and they have it. A few weeks ago, I interviewed perfume expert Charlotte Mathesen from Lush. She told me that every person should have a fragrance suited to their personality. So people should try on a perfume, walk around with it, sleep on it and see if they like it. The smell apparently changes every minute after wearing it. So you should really see if this is the smell you would like to live with and then go and buy it. Never rush into it. But ofcourse we couldn’t be bothered with all that hassle<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5648970080794668642'><img src='http://lh4.ggpht.com/-p0Nt1zaJf9U/TmUsW-STbmI/AAAAAAAAAJw/PXb57NdfnYo/s288/2.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> <br />Then of course how could anyone go home without buying some toys for the queen bee of the house????<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5648970114959323682'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-PQ_LMI6Wsvo/TmUsY9jysiI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/_Wv35HRadcQ/s288/3.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> <br />And then the mandatory tea and shawarma from the roadside joint. Just look at the table fan, the drum...everything about it is soooo cool. And I must admit, the shawarma tasted better than anything I have eaten from anywhere else in the UAE<br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5648970143330422850'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/--g2KkOBMo4k/TmUsanP_UEI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/JMMKCf6dNFg/s288/5.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/113004376166984232062/MyBlogPhotos#5648970181076222418'><img src='http://lh3.ggpht.com/-7TU1_WtpHWs/TmUscz3SgdI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/_clzoS3ov6Q/s288/4.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> <br />At the end of the trip, we had to wait for an hour just to get out of our parking lot. I was so frustrated that I couldn’t be bothered to take pics. But then hey, kuch paane ke liye, kuch khona padtha hai (to win some, you gotta lose some)<br /> <br />Chao until next time…<br /> <br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Naif%20Souq%20&z=10'>Naif Souq </a></p>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-87496070213640448812011-08-31T06:48:00.000+04:002011-08-31T06:49:45.720+04:00When Eid comes...Eid Mubarak everybody.
<br />
<br />Eid is one of the most special occasions in our family. And one of my favorite things about it is the uncertainty. Will it be the 29th or will it be the 30th? That's the question from Day 1. One of my colleagues asked me "how do you deal with it? You can't really make any plans until the last minute. That would never happen in the Western world. Everything would be spelt out and holidays would be decided well in advance." and I said to him "really? Don't you like uncertainty? You are here now. Can you tell me for sure where you will be the next few hours? Will you be able to guarantee me that you will stay healthy the next few days? You can't because that's life. So we deal with uncertainty on a daily basis. And anyway eid is not a matter of life and death. It's just the ending of one month and beginning of another. I can deal with it thank you very much. In fact I even like it."
<br />
<br />Everyone has their own favorite Eid moment. Mine is getting up early in the morning, after barely 3 hours of sleep, bathing in the cold water and shivering while getting dressed in brand new clothes. And then rushing to the Eidgah (the special ground where Eid prayers are held) to get there in time for the prayers. We stand to pray on a thin mat through which the coolness of the sand seeps through our feet. Afterwards when the sermon is going on, tiny droplets of water from the tip of my freshly bathed hair falls on to the nape of my neck, making me sneeze continuously. And as we sit there, the sun slowly creeps out from behind the clouds and shines on our black abayas, warming our bodies as well as our hearts. There are young children running around, basking in the rare chance of being in an open ground filled with sand. After the sermon, there are duas, asking Allah to accept our fasts, forgive our sins, praying for peace for our brothers and sisters in Palestine, Libya, etc. Afterwards, a sea of people troop out. The men wear crisp, new shirts. The women have fresh, dark henna on their hands. Many will be on the phones trying to call their loved ones back home. Several of them will be hugging each other wishing Eid Mubarak. And amid all the mayhem, there will be two groups of people who try to maintain some order- the policemen and cleaners . The policemen patiently wait outside the venue, without praying, keeping vigil to ensure that everything is smooth. Afterwards as everyone piles into their cars, chatting and laughing, they will try to direct the traffic with as little hiccups as possible. The cleaners quietly sweep the road to clear out all the carelessly discarded waste. And as they do, cars honk at them and people beckon them. When they go, the men will lean out, shake hands with them and wish them Eid Mubarak. And when they withdraw their hands, there will be a tiny note of 5, 10 or even 100 quietly crumbled in their fist. Once the cars are gone, all the cleaners will get together and compare their earnings. They will then probably head out to send that extra bit of cash back home.
<br />
<br />And then there are some Eids that are memorable. My dad always tells me about one of his. It was about 30 years ago, back when he was a bachelor living with his friends. During ramadan he and his roomies would chat with each other for a long time at night. On weekends these chatting sessions would extend till early next morning when they would pray Fajr and go to sleep. After one such Thursday night, on the 29th day of Ramadan, they were getting out of morning prayers to go sleep when the muezzin announced that it was Eid. That year Ramadan lasted only 28 days!!! Needless to say, the guys went around like zombies the whole day...
<br />
<br />Have a safe holiday everyone. Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-42946087928416297832011-08-29T12:03:00.003+04:002011-08-29T12:05:18.605+04:00Saturday CentusWas quite kicked about the <a href="http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2011/08/saturday-centus-surprise-im-pregnant.html">prompt</a>. The story below is partially true. I told my husband with a letter that read somewhat like this.
<br />
<br />
<br /><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CNAABDU%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5C6%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">It had been 3 days. She was acting quite strange. ‘Is it an affair?” he wondered. Why else would she be smiling, giggling and talking to herself? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The house was still when he walked in. And then he saw the letter. “She’s left,” he thought, picking it up with trembling hands, preparing himself for the worst. It read</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Ted, howdy mate? Just wanted to let you know its dark and cozy here. Am really liking it. But don’t worry, I’ll be with you shortly. Love, your 5-week old baby. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">She jumped out saying “Surprise, I am pregnant.”</span></p>
<br />Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-59960671973611198562011-08-29T09:55:00.004+04:002011-08-29T11:14:14.340+04:00School reunion
<br />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?
<br />
<br />
<br />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?"
<br />
<br />"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.
<br />
<br />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.
<br />
<br />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.
<br />
<br />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.
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IamnMqIpEK0/Tls79CJFk3I/AAAAAAAAAJM/WqcO07gyaNA/s1600/Nasreen%2BAbdulla_1314601809845.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IamnMqIpEK0/Tls79CJFk3I/AAAAAAAAAJM/WqcO07gyaNA/s320/Nasreen%2BAbdulla_1314601809845.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646172477572092786" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br />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 :-)
<br />Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-48298189048509282882011-08-01T09:46:00.002+04:002011-08-01T09:48:35.593+04:00Saturday Centus<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jO6WByg-wck/TjY-FrfVZjI/AAAAAAAAAIk/iSyKSPycdo4/s1600/egg-frying-on-sidewalk-photo.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 193px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jO6WByg-wck/TjY-FrfVZjI/AAAAAAAAAIk/iSyKSPycdo4/s320/egg-frying-on-sidewalk-photo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635760250995172914" /></a><br /><br />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.<br /><br /> <br />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 outNasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-67442326999757971892011-07-16T17:49:00.000+04:002011-07-16T17:50:58.678+04:00Bomb Blasts et al.Bomb blasts in Mumbai: 17 dead 131 injured, 23 serious.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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?Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-24214852386610897822011-07-05T11:30:00.001+04:002011-07-05T11:33:05.150+04:00Childhood Innocence<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CNAABDU%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5C2%5Cmsohtml1%5C04%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" >This weekend, I went away for a much-needed break to <st1:place st="on">Fujairah</st1:place>. We stayed at the Hilton resort and got a good dose of sun, sand and beach. Mehreen was absolutely thrilled.
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="">
<br /><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" >
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" >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.
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="">
<br /><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" >This is not the first time I have felt this. When I went to <st1:country-region st="on">Turkey</st1:country-region>, we met people from all over the world- from <st1:country-region st="on">Russia</st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region st="on">Azerbaijan</st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region st="on">Latvia</st1:country-region>, <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Britain</st1:country-region></st1:place>, etc. They all spoke to Mehreen in their own languages, cooed and fussed over her and she being the total diva just enjoyed it.
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="">
<br /><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" >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 “</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" >Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of humanity”</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-91314312383403552452011-06-29T11:42:00.008+04:002011-06-30T12:53:56.655+04:00Blooming Bloomsbury'sI 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 <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=group_205428472833765">Bloomsbury’s</a>- 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. <div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RqdWhk8akyE/TgrZcx6JfhI/AAAAAAAAAIE/cGsv9eoRFzA/s320/IMG00487-20110628-1615.jpg" style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623546173182279186" /></div><div>Unexpectedly, I meet <a href="http://www.shafeena.me/">Shafeena</a> 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?”</div><div><br /></div><div><br />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. </div><div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RHYlUJr9fa0/Tgw28ZDGuMI/AAAAAAAAAIc/UbP-B8KH3is/s320/IMG00489-20110628-1615.jpg" style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623930445822867650" /></div><div><br /></div><div>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.”</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>That’s when my tea makes the grand entrance. Silver tray, white teapot, white cup and saucer, a tea card and tea timer.</div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yc68UxQ64G4/TgraC65kppI/AAAAAAAAAIM/Aq-YoelT6sQ/s320/IMG00492-20110628-1621.jpg" style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623546828430812818" /></div><div>“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</div><div>.<img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tbsYvEW8Pfc/Tgw1qjZWVqI/AAAAAAAAAIU/_kV6aIlZQRc/s320/IMG00490-20110628-1620.jpg" style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623929039851247266" /><br />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?<br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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 :-)<br /></div>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-2012965768129711442011-06-13T08:23:00.002+04:002011-06-13T08:25:54.086+04:00UAE and the underage driving problemAnother day, another underage driver, another accident and two lives lost in vain. I hate to be critical but such st<a href="http://gulfnews.com/news/gulf/uae/traffic-transport/teenager-and-sister-killed-in-car-accident-1.820825"></a>ories 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? <br /><br />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? <br /><br />Now I am beginning to kind of agree with road safety campaigner <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/adamkechil">Adam Kechil</a> 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. <br /><br />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.Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-50023321530728005562011-06-05T08:37:00.002+04:002011-06-05T08:42:34.041+04:00Saturday centus- The EndIts 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 <a href="http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2011/06/saturday-centus-end.html">Jenny's</a> prompt. It was way too challenging to miss...so here I go:
<br />
<br /><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CNAABDU%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5C42%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">‘The End’ </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The movie was over</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“Do you wanna go home?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“It’ll be empty”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“She’s enjoying at university”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">*sniff*</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">And they sat for another show</span></p>
<br />Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-51698963945841012372011-05-19T13:33:00.001+04:002011-05-19T13:36:05.797+04:00My Daddy Strongest<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CNAABDU%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5C2f%5Cmsohtml1%5C02%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} /* List Definitions */ @list l0 {mso-list-id:1174999485; mso-list-template-ids:1133540078;} ol {margin-bottom:0cm;} ul {margin-bottom:0cm;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Ok blog time again now. I have told you about Mehreen, Arfaz and my mom. But I have not really told you about my dad. So I thought today for <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/blog/">Mama Kat’s </a>writing prompt, I will tell you ten things I love about my dad<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Where there is a will, there is a way: I think this saying was created after they saw my dad. His will power is so unbelievably strong that I cant even describe it. He was once upon a time a very hot tempered person. And one fine day, he decided “That’s it, I am not going to get angry any more.” Now I don’t know of anyone who stopped getting angry after a decision. But he did. He started practicing yoga (at 6am, if I may add) and did not avoid it even for a single day- not during weekends, not during vacations, never. And now he is as cool as cucumber.<span style=""> </span></span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="2" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Knowledge: My dad can talk about anything under the sun. And I mean it. Even though he comes from a corner of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> which was once considered a really under developed place, he just knows so much about so many things. The other day I came home and said “Oh, you know that great golfer who died?” “Seve Ballesteros?” “How do you know Seve Ballesteros?” “He was champion from the mid 70-s to the 90-s when you were in school. Why wouldn’t I know him? And why are you calling him Seve on your news? He is Severiano Ballesteros” </span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></span></p><ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="3" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Care- He is probably one of the most caring persons I have ever met. From the stray cat in the parking lot to my mom, he cares about every single thing in the world. If I am sick, he will make coffee, prepare the steam, not let me eat anything even at room temperature, etc. </span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="4" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Meticulousness: I don’t think dad has had even a single bill that was overdue. We have never had any reminders about electricity, water, house rent and phone bills. Every month on the 2<sup>nd</sup>, my dad would give me the money to pay my fees (you see in those days, the salary was paid on the 1<sup>st</sup>). Even today, he gets my car serviced, passed and insured two weeks before the due date and makes sure that everything is up to date. </span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="5" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Advice- Dad has a way of giving advice in the most subtle way but hitting it right in the eye. He tells a story or quotes a verse from the Quran but after years of experience I know that he means it as an advice to us, maybe to kick a habit or get over some bad experience or encourage us to be more forgiving. It always works.</span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="6" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Memory: Age has weathered it a bit but my dad has photographic memory. When I was young, we never used to have a phone book in the house because my dad knew every single phone number, house number and even the car number plates of everyone! </span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="7" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Professionalism: In my 24 years of life, my dad has not taken more than 10 days of sick leave. And all those days, he was so sick that he could barely move. He is also one of the most loyal persons I have seen- you know the kind who wont even make a local call on the office phone. He is so dedicated to the company that I think to myself, if I had 10 such people in a business I begin some day, I could conquer the world. </span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="8" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Careful Spending: If I looked for it, I think I will find the spending record of my dad from the day I was born. Every single penny he spends is written down, tabulated and calculated at the end of the month. </span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="9" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Value: I will always remember the values dad taught. Once I said to him “Dad I am first in class in the final exam results.” And he just hugged me. The next month I went and told him about how my friend had asked me to cheat on an exam so that I could get full marks but I refused. He congratulated me. In the evening, he brought me a huge box of 76 color pencils which I had been wanting for a really long but which was a bit of luxury back then. “Never cheat,” dad said,<span style=""> </span>“it will never ever get you anywhere” </span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" start="10" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-US">Different roles: He is so good at every single role in his life- he is an amazing son, he is an amazing husband, he is the most amazing dad and he is such an amazing grandfather. </span></li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">This one is for my superhero dad!!!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-73171844900316327952011-05-11T11:50:00.006+04:002011-05-15T11:27:19.982+04:00My Colleagues desk<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CNAABDU%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5C2c%5Cmsohtml1%5C02%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Wingdings; panose-1:5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:2; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 268435456 0 0 -2147483648 0;} @font-face {font-family:Tahoma; panose-1:2 11 6 4 3 5 4 4 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:1627421319 -2147483648 8 0 66047 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CNAABDU%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5C2c%5Cmsohtml1%5C02%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Wingdings; panose-1:5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:2; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 268435456 0 0 -2147483648 0;} @font-face {font-family:Tahoma; panose-1:2 11 6 4 3 5 4 4 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:1627421319 -2147483648 8 0 66047 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CNAABDU%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5C2c%5Cmsohtml1%5C02%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Wingdings; panose-1:5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:2; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 268435456 0 0 -2147483648 0;} @font-face {font-family:Tahoma; panose-1:2 11 6 4 3 5 4 4 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:1627421319 -2147483648 8 0 66047 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;">So I promised to introduce you to my colleagues’ desks and show you how it reflects their character. Didn’t do it last week so I am doing two at a time<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;">Malak, Feyaza and I make up the reporting team. People joke that we are Peter’s Angles (like Charlie’s Angels). Peter? Peter is our news head. So let me introduce you to Malak and Feyaza. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cP8SUqBQl5k/TcpAdVT_tiI/AAAAAAAAAHo/c2FpBVothP4/s1600/Malak.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cP8SUqBQl5k/TcpAdVT_tiI/AAAAAAAAAHo/c2FpBVothP4/s320/Malak.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605363558897399330" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;">Malak is the young, independent, fearless reporter who fought to go to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Libya</st1:place></st1:country-region> when the unrest kicked off. But of course our bosses had more sense than that- you see Malak has a knack. If trouble doesn’t come to her, she will go looking for trouble. She is an artist and paints amazingly well. The 500 million pictures on her desk, shows how she likes to visualize everything. An yes she is a bit of a show off as well- she has got pictures of her with Usher, John Legend and Shaggy right there on the left. She loves her coffee and that’s the mug in which she drinks her bitter, black coffee- something that would have me puking for a week. All those tiny figures on top are souvenirs she brought back from her trips abroad- half of them for pleasure and half for charity. Last year she went to Uganda to help orphans- yes this girl has a heart of gold </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Wingdings;"><span style="">J</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;"> (Malak Harb you better buy me a big fat treat for all this)
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwUrQzVMyQPoXDuApjmPT_tZmWQTH_sFW8dFvQGt8SWJRyuj-esM6F2QWAKPLVCB93B_YY4pE52TZL4M3HAUw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;">P.S.- And oh!!! I will let you into a secret- its not out in the open b</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Tahoma;">ut once I opened Malak’s drawer to get something and found loads of stuff including a spoon I had lent her about a year ago. We in the news team firmly believe that there is an inhabitable ecosystem in there</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J6skPaIbJJ4/TcpA88qod2I/AAAAAAAAAHw/nhecv9uPLKU/s1600/Feyaza.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J6skPaIbJJ4/TcpA88qod2I/AAAAAAAAAHw/nhecv9uPLKU/s320/Feyaza.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605364102037272418" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Tahoma;">Feyaza- who actually mentored me into radio- is a bit of a nutty person. Doesn’t really know what she wants. So she pins up the ‘randomest’ things on her desk. There is an invite to the launch of Steve Madden in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Dubai</st1:place></st1:city>. Then there is a leaflet about Mongolian circus (like seriously??). Then there is a scan report of my baby w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Tahoma;">hen I was pregnant with her and above that is her pic when she was born. Then she has a poem about </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Tahoma;">. She is actually South African but she lived in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><st1:place st="on">Liverpool</st1:place></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Tahoma;"> for bit so she thinks of it as home. She is also a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Tahoma;"><st1:place st="on">Liverpool</st1:place></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Tahoma;"> lunatic and generally goes insane before a major game. And then you can see the Rolling Stone lips- she even has its mouse pad. On the right are the pics of the most important people in her life- reflects how close she is to her family.</span></p>
<br />Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-39888765389566413432011-05-09T07:41:00.003+04:002011-05-09T07:46:25.593+04:00Saturday Centus<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CNAABDU%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5C29%5Cmsohtml1%5C02%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Tahoma; panose-1:2 11 6 4 3 5 4 4 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:1627421319 -2147483648 8 0 66047 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:16pt;" lang="EN-US" >People have taken such different tangents to <a href="http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2011/05/saturday-centus-id-like-to-teach-world.html">Jenny's</a> prompt this week. So here I go</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="">
<br /><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:16pt;" lang="EN-US" ></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:16pt;" lang="EN-US" >
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:16pt;" lang="EN-US" >"What would you like to do in life?" Mum would ask me when I was a girl. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">"I'd like to teach the world to sing</span>," I'd say. And she would nod- without laughing, without teasing but with an air of plain understanding. How could she take me so seriously? But her conviction inspired me<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:16pt;" lang="EN-US" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:16pt;" lang="EN-US" >Years later as a music teacher, I received a lot of media attention when I won an award. My mom smiled with satisfaction as she looked at the papers. I peered over her shoulder at the headline “Mute girl teaches the world to sing.” </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3161565433638860712.post-71849127357164494282011-05-09T06:57:00.004+04:002011-05-09T07:24:23.206+04:00Alphabe Thursday- C is for CatOne of the best things about being a parent is watching your baby grow into a young individual. Mehreen has a toy cat which she is very scared of. It can sing, it can dance and it has green eyes that light up. I think that's what scares her the most.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z7WMpW7_qaA/TcdeQrzCniI/AAAAAAAAAHg/sSd7fbg5uxk/s1600/mehreen%2Bcat%2B3.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z7WMpW7_qaA/TcdeQrzCniI/AAAAAAAAAHg/sSd7fbg5uxk/s320/mehreen%2Bcat%2B3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604551902013595170" border="0" /></a><br />So for months we have been trying to get rid of her fear but she refused to go anywhere near the offender. We had almost given up hope and the poor fella retired to a corner of her toy box. Two days ago Arfaz took it out and Mehreen wasnt scared. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LamGkBTcROg/TcdcmVDZizI/AAAAAAAAAHY/-HlfAecQwS0/s1600/mehreen%2Bcat%2B2.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LamGkBTcROg/TcdcmVDZizI/AAAAAAAAAHY/-HlfAecQwS0/s320/mehreen%2Bcat%2B2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604550074842057522" border="0" /></a><br /><br />She hovered around for about an hour before finally touching it fleetingly. We all clapped in delight. But my camera wasn't quick enough to catch it... <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g8PM49NTkh4/TcdbrhE5O2I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/cd0aQ4DP1Cc/s1600/mehreen%2Bcat%2B1.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g8PM49NTkh4/TcdbrhE5O2I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/cd0aQ4DP1Cc/s320/mehreen%2Bcat%2B1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604549064457272162" border="0" /></a>Nasreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09275908431071840041noreply@blogger.com0