Apologies! My Kids Were Not Featured on Facebook Today!

My kids did nothing worthy of a Facebook status update today, and I am SO bummed!

I woke them up with the usual, Rise and Shine... Brighter than the sun, and all the nighttime stars, for thou art both brilliance in little bodies. - But, nothing. They groaned, moaned, one promptly fell back asleep, the other flashed a fake smile, grabbed her pillow and made her way to the couch.

After they were dressed and ready to leave, I took pause from my usual yelling at them to hurry the hell up, and  gave them their daily instructions: Read all your lessons well, pay attention to the teacher, make sure your hand goes up first to answer any and all questions, score 100 points for Gryffindor! - The kissed me somewhere around my mid-section and left.

Pick up from school, and I expected them to once again assault me with their brilliance. - One cried, the other dragged his water bottle on the ground, and kept asking me ridiculous questions such as "What's for lunch?"

No homework today, so it's really the teacher's fault, for not assigning them a book report on Of Mice and Men. She cost me a photo opp on Facebook, and will receive a note from me tomorrow.

In the evening, after several attempts by me to make them swallow some non-fiction, adult reading materials whole, they opted for TV instead, and some form of insane running around the house. Read the Dictionary at LEAST!! I yelled. - They ignored me.

Dinner time, and there could have been some much awaited brilliance.... Had I not served french fries with their chops.

By bedtime, my patience had worn thin, and my empty social networking pages screamed for something. Anything!! So, the usual stories were not read, the nightly hugs and kisses dismissed, while we discussed OPK (Other People's Kids). Laptop on... Well, my lap, I read them every single Mommy Brag I could find online, till they cried with shame, and begged for mercy. 

There is no room for average children in this house! I said with finality.

They promised they'd do better tomorrow.... So wait for the update.

Of Legends, Maestros, Drunks and Idiots...

The Express Tribune blogs have been filling up a number of free and lazy moments for me during this endless summer. Most of the blogs written don't do much for me, some make me laugh, some are hard hitting, and some are plain old rubbish. But, far be it from me to insist (as some do) that some of those bloggers stop blogging. Writing is after all, writing, and dialogue is important. The ET blogs provide a good enough platform. As always though, I draw the line at nonsense.

You knew that was coming didn't you?

Blog dated June 12, by a member of Karachi's Catholic community, paying tribute to one of 'Pakistan's Portuguese wonders', Ralph D'Aranjo. The blogger begins by mentioning the Portuguese people's contribution to the early music industry??? in Pakistan.

OK, first of all, what is up with the overuse of the word Portuguese? We have always been known as Goans, and yes some of us are of Portuguese descent, many are not, so let's not get carried away shall we? Besides, plenty of the Anglo-Indians in Pakistan also contributed to the music scene in this country. And, so did the Punjabi Christians, such as the famous Benjamin Sisters.

The comments which followed the post were both interesting, annoying, severely mooching, and one or two downright nasty, as one male decided to create a ruckus about the blogger's relationship with the 'honored' one's daughter, and let fly with a rant reaching epic proportions. I mean come ON... If you mention Misquita Blocks, then I don't know what to say to you. And, there were mostly all Christians commenting, with a couple of courtesy comments from non-Christians, which to be honest was like being blasted into those days of yore, when we all attended a Christmas dance at the Karachi Goan Association, and took a couple of our Muslim friends along, even though the tickets clearly stated "For members and their Christian guests only' - Um and you thought minorities were not capable of discrimination? Ha!

OK, back to all these musicians with magical fingers. The 'maestros', the 'legends', the 'chosen ones.' I remember the stories well, from my parents, neighbors, etc. Of how the night life in Karachi was so great back in the day. Of course, I grew up in happy, happy Zia-ul-Haq time, so our night life was mostly a 'Get indoors before 9 O'clock curfew.' But, the Christian musicians were around still. They were at every freakin wedding, dance and hotel lobby in the city. Some were great musicians, truly remarkable. They played, they taught music, they  entertained, and then many of them left the country, and now all those great, not so great, and the downright idiotic, reminisce about their glory days on Facebook pages dedicated to them. OK, maybe one Facebook page, which calls them all legends or some such nonsense.

But, a good number of them? Drunks!

And, I worked long enough in the hotel industry to know that first hand. Hell, I grew up in the Christian community, and was no stranger to weddings since my early childhood, and enough dances in my teenage and beyond, to know that a lot of these so called 'masteros' were nothing more than slobbering drunks, who played and sang off key (mostly because they were drunk) to crowds within their own community, who were 1. Little kids who didn't know more than 'drums are for banging' 2. Teenagers, who just wanted to fucking dance to anything that sounded like Boy George or Dire Straits and 3. Middle aged to senior people who were also mostly very drunk (hey Dad! ;)), and happy to jive to oldies music. Not that a lot of them needed the music. If there was a dance floor, they'd make their own music. Yes, a lot of them were just that good... Credit to many of them who remain so. As were some of those greats from bands like The Black Jacks, The Key Notes, The Visions, etc. (Can you tell I grew up in the 80's?).

But, the bullshit of that whole blog got to me. It really did. Not so much because it was about one man, who to his credit is the last of the old musical dinosaurs, but that it implied something about people from a community, who were for the most part anything but great. One other person in the comments section really got my attention. At the end of his comment he said these guys are better off playing in some restaurant hotel, living quietly because that is all they can afford to do while their social and family life falls apart. 

Why do the honest voices remain a minority in everything?

And, I wanted to respond with 'That's what most of them do now.' In fact, many of them never left those hotel lobbies. Sure, a few went on to do good things, but if you walk into one of those hotels tonight, you'll see them there still. Old men, ragged by the booze, and desperately trying to hold on to either a mic or a guitar. 

A people of considerable talent, but many of them lacking in ambition, and drive.

It is nice to sometimes hear of the days gone by, but it is equally important to look at the here and now. I see young and upcoming musicians, both within the Christian community, and outside it, and these same 'greats' pay them no heed. And yet, we have idiots glorifying the old fuddies, and the old fuddies lapping up the adoration without more than a passing thought to the younger generation. These poor young souls will excitedly post links and info to their next 'big' performance at BRC's Open Mic Night, and what not, but will anyone care? 

No, they won't. 

And, they're good! Some could be great. The have talent, they have drive, and they want to be something.

No, but let's just keep walking ass backwards down memory lane, and making stuff up as we go along. Let's glorify idiots who held a bottle of QDL in one hand, and a mic in the other. Let's not give a crap for the next generation. Let's not cheer them on, hold them up as examples, promote them, maybe even glorify a few of the deserving ones. No, instead, let's work really hard to embellish a history, and keep it on record. 

Cheers!

Here We Were Taught the Golden Lesson...

 *How to sift out wrong from right.


Idly browsing through Facebook today, I came across several updates, all sharing the same link. St. Joseph's Convent turns 150 years old. Without hesitation, I clicked the link, without missing a beat, I 'shared' it too, and without a second thought, I proudly posted a rambling tribute, which ended with "What a great school we belonged to." 

Ah the very essence, of what our convent school was about. Greatness. Introduced to us, when we took our first tentative steps, into that massive structure, and from then on, drilled into us relentlessly over the years, by every faculty member worth her salt.

We were great! We were special! We were Josephians! It becomes almost second nature, to think like that.

*Honor and glory to our school. 


Screw the rest.

We were served an elitist mindset upon admission, and encouraged to like it.

As one reader graciously commented "Having studied at St. Joseph’s Convent, is like being part of the royal family! We can always hold our head up high and walk with everlasting pride." 

Reading that article, I see nothing has changed. Because, while celebrating 150 years of education, students produce plays poking fun at the "lesser" schools. Baconhouse, Amma Farsi, and Karachi Punctuation School. Are you fucking kidding me? 150 years, and this is how they're allowed to honor their school? 


*We are taught to fight the fight.


Ms. Kazi still stands front and center, to remind everyone how "lucky" they are, and apparently she still affects a fake British accent, while she over pronounces words.

What started out as a Christian mission of five nuns, starting a school of just ten pupils, turned into one of the leading educational institutions for girls in Karachi. No doubt.

But, they fail to talk of the blatant discrimination within that institution. They fail to mention how if you were good, privileged, or "pure bred" you were accepted. Dare I say Cambridge = Worthiness, while Matric equaled... um yeah right, stand over there and shut up. And, how if your parents scraped together every penny to pay for your education, you had better be grateful to the school, for accepting you. I was lucky I came from "an aristocrat, Brahmin, Catholic family" and luckier my sister before me was a star pupil. That I dashed their hopes of carrying on her tradition did not go over well. I was forgiven however, and probably prayed for a lot.

I think the praying took place, when I got thrown out of religion class (several times a month) for daring to question the Bible.



*God's blessings shower down on all
Who through it's portals dear
Leave well-equipped to meet the call
Of life, each passing year

I was told at the age of nine that I had "disgusting" handwriting, and an inability to string together a coherent sentence. But, that was tame compared to what was said, to the poor Urdu speaking girl who sat beside me. I watched fellow Christian students berated for being "Anglos" by self-righteous Goan teachers, and slammed repeatedly if they came from "broken" families. I watched fellow classmates, learn at an early age not to cry, when called an idiot by an adult. The same teachers instructed the "pure breds" to not associate too much with those "beneath" us. The same teachers complained to our parents, when we broke that rule. Students who didn't do well in a subject, were forced to sit at the back of the class, if you struggled in a subject you were labeled "lazy," and heaven forbid you should ever question authority. 

*Kind guiding hands, keep us from harm.
And, make our hardships light.

My school, taught me to loathe bullies with a passion, I didn't know I possessed.

My school, helped me to understand the privilege of class, and status. 

The friends I made there, I will always remember fondly. The fun and good times, remain memories carved in stone. And, some teachers admired, and loved dearly, always. Cannot end without a tribute to the two canteen owners, who fed us crap worth it's weight in gold..

*We'll always have a special thought

For our dear convent home.

*Lyrics from the official school song

Stuff and Nonsense

Spur of the moment plans, to meet up for coffee is something I rarely do. But, meeting this one particular friend was important, well, because I don't see her enough. She's a fellow mom of twins, almost always short on time and energy, so our plans to "meet up" rarely progress further than text messages promising it'll happen "soon," while we attempt to juggle kids, work schedules, kid activities, nonsense and more nonsense.

So, there I was, sometime last week (I've forgotten which day... Like I said, too much nonsense) at *drum roll* Butlers Chocolate Cafe, waiting for my friend to arrive. I put in the drum roll, because in Karachi, one must always do that, before one mentions places such as Butlers, where all the "cool" people hang out.

When I entered, I immediately felt the waiter was trying to usher me out, He sort of gestured to the door behind me, his eyes signaling something to the cashier. Then, having realized I hadn't stumbled upon the cafe by mistake, attempted to guide me to a table in the far back. I pretended he didn't exist, and grabbed the nearest table much to his annoyance. He mumbled something about "being more comfortable" and I snapped. So, I froze him with my best don't fuck with me, because I'm a bigger bitch than your mother look, because hey, I didn't work in a swanky hotel for nearly ten years without learning crap like that.

He held my chair for me, then dutifully brought me a menu, and discreetly looked down my top. 

I ordered a coffee, which had some sophisticated name, with the word 'cappuccino' attached to it.  Extremely comfortable in my old, old jeans, some type of kurti I grabbed out of the closet an hour before, hair freshly washed, but not blow dried, and my  favorite worn out flat sandals, smoking my cigarette (nasty habit I know)... I began texting with my brother-in-law, about how Butlers is just a regular roadside cafe everywhere else, but in Karachi the waiters will treat you like shit, if your clothes are not designer labeled. 

Two "ladies" seated at the next table, kept shooting me looks of disgust, one kept wrinkling her nose everytime I exhaled smoke, (she was also wrinkling her nose before I lit up, and I promise I showered that morning). She pointedly asked the waiter to remove the ashtray from her table, then went back to pretending the cafe did not have a 'non-smoking section' on the other side, so she could remain seated at the corner window booth, with a clear view of the entrance. Must not miss the chance to see if fellow hair-sprayed to death acquaintances, put in an appearance, so we can wave french manicured fingers at each other, and air kiss over everyone's heads.

I visit such places for blog fodder as well.

And, yes in Pakistan, we still have smoking sections in our restaurants.

Then, there was this woman sitting with her friends, directly across from me, just staring. I rubbed my nose. She stared some more. I lit up another cigarette, and felt a hiss behind me. Turning slightly, all ready to suggest the non-smoking section, I caught them both glaring at me. I glared right back, while trying hard not to imagine, what one of those faces would look like minus the botox, and obvious eye lifts. It didn't work, so I smirked, and could swear I heard the words "low class" muttered as I turned back to see the waiter standing near me, asking yet again if I would be dining alone.

It's a sin to dine alone at Butlers.

If you're not armed with an iPad.

My friend finally arrived, looking very much the mom who stayed up all night with a sick kid, struggled through fusses at breakfast, wrestled three kids into a car, drove them to their schools, and finally stopped for a break, before heading off into an over-scheduled day. 

She had definitely not changed her clothes, there were visible 'sick child' signs on her t-shirt, tired lines around her eyes, and an exhausted smile on her face. The waiter stared at her in disbelief, and later kept shooting her looks, which told of the unimaginable physical pain she caused him, with her audacity of showing up "un-polished."

I was tempted to rip the silver, tribal design earring, right off his left lobe.

And, feed it to botox lips behind us.

The food was good, the coffee was great. This post is really just (yet another) pointless one... Because, I'm in a kind of pointless mood.

Tired of being a Pakistani

After recent events in Pakistan, where yet another life is taken, yet another voice is silenced, we realize we're not so much back at square one, but that we never moved from there at all. 

I'm tired of the blame games, the finger pointing, the defense of dogma, the useless rants of liberals, the silence of moderates, and the fanaticism running rampant in this nation. The bloodshed. The despair. I am tired of people jumping up to defend their religion, after every tragedy. As if that makes all the difference. It does not. 

I'm tired of the dependency on scripture and Holy Books, as if they are the only source of moral codes for what is right and wrong. They are not.

I am tired of searching for hope in all the madness, tired of those who have stopped searching for it, and so tired of those who hold on to it, preach about it, offer prayers for it, then sit back and live in it with comfort, and a solid dose of denial.

I am tired of shielding my children from the news, tired of attempting to explain to them why it's not safe to go here, or there. So very tired of words like "terrorists" "assassination" "serfs" "elite" "fatwa" "minorities." "Shia, Sunni, Ahmedi, Christian, Hindu, religion, rights, law, repeal...  Blasphemy."

 

I'm tired of news channels, and their panels of 'experts' engaging in so called discourse, with some borderline hard core extremist, hell bent on defending bloodshed. I am tired of people taking to the streets, and burning flags of nations they could not find on a map, setting ablaze vehicles of hardworking individuals, destroying public property, as if it is their duty to stand up for themselves in such a barbaric manner.

I am tired of no longer reacting in shock, when I hear of tragedies.

I am tired of watching news clips of bomb sites, in all their gruesome glory, and only feeling grateful it wasn't me, or my loved ones who perished.

I'm tired of the poverty, and the power hungry who prey on the poor. I am tired of those who can do something about it, but do not. I'm tired of people telling me to 'get out' if I don't like it, and just as tired of people telling me to 'stay and fight' so we can have peace. 

I'm tired of constantly being confronted with the fact, that the only way to achieve peace is to fight for it.

I am very, very tired of being a Pakistani.

But, I cannot be anything else.

A Class Above

So children, the topic today is classism and the elitist mindset. I don't even know where to begin, because there is an endless field of crap I'd have to wade through to find out where it all began in the first place. So, in my typical style of not really giving a rat's ass about history, and why this is this, and that is that, I'll just jump right into the middle of it all and point out the bullshit I see around me.

Right now, we're living in a nation which is rapidly approaching hell's fire. People are dying, thousands are suffering the after effects of the floods, the fanatics are getting more fanatical, target killings are an everyday occurrence, people are scared, people are resigned, people are leaving the country, and some people are tweeting about Meher Bokhari being a fundi bitch, and Veena Malik is telling all the mullahs to back the fuck off.

But, it's important for some to remind themselves, and others of who they are, and what they come from. How they sit far above the rest, and either tut tut at those they see as beneath them, or do what they can to exploit, abuse, and ridicule them.

An otherwise pretty entertaining blogger, was the straw, that broke this camel's back. Why? Because, he's privileged enough to have attended the best fucking school in the whole nation.

BEST! 

The one where everyone retains their place if they have "perseverance, excellence, and a dash of style." according to the blogger.

Notice no mention of daddy's bank balance, and feudal background.

Or mommy's social standing in some big shit, fuck-the-people-this-is-about-luncheons charity organization, where they spend more money on organizing their annual dinner/dance, than they do helping the poor in a decade.

So, in essence having the one school in Pakistan, where it is imperative to be the best academically just so you can retain your seat, is actually a good thing.

How?

How is it good? Wouldn't it be better if it was one of the best? (Calm down Patricians, this is not about you... not in this post anyway) And, there were many more like it? Maybe in every district? You know just so that ALL the kids in this country had the chance to strive?  Or maybe even had a chance at education without it having to be a money making business? Hey, how about every school retaining good academic standards?

Or, are poor kids living in slums, going to public schools, going to low fee private schools, going to crap ass schools, all a bunch of idiots?

Maybe they're just not worthy.

Because, if some kid off the street was given admission in KGS, how would his parents afford the fees? How would they pay for his college tuition in North America? OMG would they send their child to school on a public bus? Or worse, on foot?

Never! Privileged kids should never see that kind of stuff. It may make them aware of *gasp* poverty!

Or the middle class.

Academic standards, my ass!

They take in the best, from the richest (or those who do a good job of pretending to be rich) and retain their "high standards." It's common knowledge, and it's disgraceful to see it being lauded over everyone else, by some very naive people, who prefer to live in denial.

This is not about whether KGS is the best school or not, because it's a great school. 

But, seriously former students of KGS (some of you) and other elitists schools. Get off your steeds. If you were fortunate enough to get the education you got, do something more than just lauding it over others.

Like I said to the blogger in his comments section. One need not elevate themselves/put others down to take pride in what they come from.

These are the kind of people, who continue to help this nation remain in the sorry state it is in. I can't say that enough. Because, hey enjoy their comforts, and status too much. They have to be the best, have the best, and keep the best for themselves. And, the only way they can do that, is if they keep everyone else down. Whether they realize they're doing so, or not.

But, it's nothing to be proud of.

P.S. Home of the Snapping Turtle (link in my blog roll) is an otherwise pretty entertaining blog. Just because I disagree with the blogger today, is no reason why I shouldn't promote the little brat.

Taking Time Out to Tag!

Over the last month I've drafted all of three blog posts, and published none. Well, don't I sound all writerish when I use that word? Published. Perhaps, one day... When I scan through all those old journals, and actually make some sense of all my ramblings, when I was at my rebellious best. 

So, no posts for about a month, because while I'm not lacking in rants topics to post, I just did not have the energy. But, today I see I have no choice but to post something, because I was trapped into it by my good friend Mr. Millions of Atoms, who posted some questions on his blog, and then tagged me. 

If he were standing right in front of me, I'd swat him with a rolled up newspaper.

Entrapment!

If he didn't provide me with those awesome belly laughs, I'd kick his ass. (I mean it, seriously, the guy is hilarious... Check out his blog).

And, on to the questions, I must answer. And, yeah, I'm going to post my own questions and tag five other bloggers too... That's how this works. 

1. How many M&Ms could you eat in one sitting? Round up.

Six hundred, I swear to Zues my demand could go higher than their supply.

2. Do you own an iPhone, and why/why not?

I own a Berry, and no I will not join the war on which one is "the better phone." Although, I really should, because it's fun to rouse the rabbles and watch them get all uppity about their toys.

3. Describe the first time you were aware that you had feelings for me that went beyond the "Criminal suspect" feelings that the Police have for me.

I'm picturing a certain friend of mine right now (your wife), one of my best friends actually, dressed as a female version of Rambo.... Storming over continents, and heading straight to my house. So yeah, I have NO feelings for you, besides that of sisterly love. (Pssst... Let's set up some secret email accounts and discuss this further).

4. Describe the one t-shirt that you should have thrown away five years ago, but you still inexplicably find in your t-shirt drawer.

Remind me to describe in detail the impact OCD has had on my closet. 

5. Why did the new Twilight movie make 30 million dollars in 3 hours?

I personally believe... that the producers of Twilight are able to do so... because... Uh... some people out there in your nation don't have books... And... uh... I believe that your movie industry, like such as in South Africa and... uh... the Iraq, everywhere, like, such as... And I believe that they should... Your Twilight movie over there in the U.S. should help the U.S... uh...Or, should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries... So you will be able to build up your movies... for your children.

And my five questions for my blogger friends are.

1. Why do you think homophobic people always feel that gay sex is just a stepping stone away from sex with goats?

2. How many friends do you have on your Facebook friends list?

3. How many of them are your real friends?

4. Your first teacher crush was? Describe him/her in detail.

5. Why in the world would young female teens, and middle aged mothers find a sparkly virgin vampire hot?

Tagging.

Desperately Searching for my Inner Mary Poppins

Lurking in Ambush

Manic Motherhood

Pajamas and Coffee

Deadpan Thoughts

Fears of No Substance

I don't remember the last time we encountered a full weekend. And, by that I mean having some place to go, something different to do from Friday night, to Sunday evening.... Without a break. This weekend was somewhat like that... OK exactly like that, and I found I couldn't wake up on Monday morning, because my body ached, my head was the testing ground for atomic bombs, and my eyes itched.

It wasn't a hangover.

And, then I did something stupid. I got into an argument with an ultra Catholic boy scout type, who with every ounce of loyalty he possessed, every Bible verse he could Google, and every argument for "forgiveness" he could invent, defended the RCC for sheltering priests who were accused of child molestation.

I lost my cool in a way I haven't since the time I was a teenager, and full of self righteous rebellion against authority. It wasn't pretty, and it made the atomic bombs go off faster and with more power than Iran claims to have. So, I ranted to the huz who prefers to take the more laid back approach. "Don't argue with idiots."

But he isn't an idiot. He's a sanctimonious prick.

And, I probably need to stop speaking out against these types of things, or so people say. I don't see it happening anytime soon. I am incapable of allowing injustices to be swept under the rug once I've spotted them. It keeps my popularity ratings low (another nugget of information from folks around me), but I wasn't aware I even needed to have a rating, or was given one. I wasn't aware that I am by some silent, unofficial law not allowed to voice my opinion and disgust against an institution I was born and raised in. Although, sometimes vague memories of instructions on how to wear the blinders flit through my brain. It was part and parcel for belonging to the club. I refused to conform then, and I won't do it now. Besides, the punishment of ex-communication does not intimidate me. Never has, never will.

It's strange that today I feel a certain sense of gratitude towards the sanctimonious prick I argued with yesterday. He reminded me how dangerous it is to cave in to fear. Fear of an institution who can, and does wield it's power over the masses. Fear of not being accepted into what has become an elitist club for many, where leadership is faltering, and no one wants to do a damn thing about it. The fear of taking a stand and saying wrong is wrong, no matter what the cost to your social status, or promise for fulfillment in an afterlife.

Fears of no substance.

Dear "Elite" Mom

I've been growing increasingly irritated with you the last month or so, because I feel I'm being practically dragged into your sisterhood of mothers, with kids who just happen to attend the same school as mine do, yet have almost nothing in common with me. Nearly every week, I encounter one or three of you "elite" moms, and it's gotten to the point where I feel Karachi is loaded with ridiculous women. I mean thank you for inviting my kids to your child's birthday party, which resembles a circus, but it wouldn't be wise for us to meet up for coffee, or "do" lunch during the week. For one thing, I "do" lunch with my kids everyday.

Shocking!

But yes, sadly (in your opinion) this is the life I chose when I decided to stay home and raise my kids. And no, I do not have a nanny who cares for them while I attend mid week lunches, or spend hours at the salon. Sue me.

And, second of all I think it's both pathetic and hilarious that you arrive at the school gate, allow your driver to hold up traffic while he jumps out of the car, and opens your door, and you instruct one of your maids to sit still, while your two year old screams bloody murder in her lap, and then proceed to yell at the other maid to hurry up and get out of the car because you don't want to be late.

I slip my phone out of my pocket, and yeah, I don't carry my handbag to school because I have two hands to hold, two backpacks to juggle, two water bottles to prevent from being dragged on the road, and crazy traffic to fight my way through, while listening to a couple of excited voices telling me about their day. And, no I don't carry designer bags everywhere I go. But, moving on... I'm going to pretend now you don't exist, because I know you'll grab my attention in one way or another.

You don't disappoint.

I'm about to start pretending, when you march right up to the closed gate and loudly ask what time the bell rings. The guard gives you a look which says "You don't know what time your child gets off from school?" and then mumbles that you need to wait five more minutes. So, you huff and haw, till you realize there are people around you. Also waiting. Your eyes quickly pass over the two hijab clad women with whom you avoid making eye contact, as if they're contagious. You step away from the males, stare at a few maids, wrinkle your nose at another woman's shoes, and then glance down at your pretty slippers and smile.

And, then you spot me.

I pretend I'm busy texting someone on my phone.

I feel your eyes raking over my jeans and kurti, my barely combed hair, twisted into a knot and held with a clip, my phone which wild horses couldn't drag my eyes away from at that moment. You move closer... It is a Blackberry!

And, you've found a friend.

"Does your child go to school here?" You ask.

I groan inwardly, and look up at your face half hidden by massive Jackie O shades (which look ridiculous on your face btw). "Yes they do" Because you know, otherwise I would be just another psycho woman who hangs around outside school gates in the burning sun.

And, so begins the conversation

You: Which class?

Me: Kindergarten

You: Oh, my daughter is in Kindergarten.

Me: That's nice.

You: I don't usually pick her up, but the teacher wanted to see me today. She sent a note yesterday... Such short notice... I have a lunch appointment at 1:30, so this is really inconvenient.

Me: I can imagine.

Then I start my slow turn away, but it's not meant to be.

"And, my maid took the day off today, so it's been chaos since morning!"

I cannot.ever. and I mean EVER, resist this kind of stuff. I'm such a sucker for punishment, and a complete blog fodder instigator.

Me: How many maids do you have?

You: I have three... Well, two are nannies, and one does all the cleaning etc. I have a man who cooks.

And when you say "man," you do not mean "husband." I know that much.

Me: And, how many children do you have?

You (confused): Just two... That's why I have two nannies.

Me: That makes sense.

You: You know how difficult it is to manage kids, and my maid knows exactly the kind of day I would have if she doesn't show up, so she takes advantage and all these days off, and then my other maid has to neglect my daughter so she can do all the housework.

School Bell!

I smile sympathetically, but it's really a "STFU" grimace, and start walking. But, you match me step for step, rambling on about your maid problems, and the stress you endure daily at the hands of your three shrews. Then suddenly, all that's forgotten and I feel you pressing something into my hand, while you beam at me and say "Let's get together for coffee or lunch one day, it was SO nice meeting you... How about Thursday morning? Is 11:30 good? I'll ask a few friends to join us.... But, I have to be done by 1:00 because I have to be somewhere else by then."

So, while the tune for The Twilight Zone fills my head, I look down at a pretty cream color business card, with a golden motif and lettering. Your name and cell phone number printed neatly in the middle. And, nothing else. I mumble something about my kids waiting and practically run off.

Much later, once the kids have eaten lunch, and settled into boisterous play at home, I remove your embossed card from my pocket, place it on the table, pull my note book and pen toward me, and start to write.

Things to Do Before Calling and Confirming Meet-Up with School Gate Mom

Get your hair cut and styled.

Reserve a table three days a week for club coffee mornings.

Go to the gym everyday and work out.

Eat a 1500 calorie meal at some swanky place right after that.

Apply for 9-5 job, or insist J get rich enough, and then join at least two charity committees.

Employ someone to drive the car, or alternatively employ someone who will sit quietly in the back seat while you drive yourself everywhere.

Name him "Driver."

Import maids and nannies from remote villages across the country.

The younger the better.

Pretend you shop in Dubai and Europe only, but sneak into Zainab Market and buy all the export reject clothes you can.

Tut Tut and snicker at anyone who buys shoes from a Zamzama shop.

Insist J leave his job and start up some "business" so you can talk about it vaguely to your new friends.

Learn to complain incessantly about maid problems.

Find male, Bengali cook.

I rip your card to shreds and throw it in the trash.

Our New Digs!

The last couple of weeks have been nothing but a whirlwind of activity, while we packed up our stuff and moved into our new home. Good Lord! What a boring start to a blog post. Let me try again.

Moving can be a royal fucking pain in the ass!

When one has OCD!

Better?

Anyway, quick history. We were looking out for another place for a while now, and finally came across something which suited us well. However, since we're Pakistani and all, what suits us might not be considered acceptable for most people. Yes, I mean you western types. You should know that in Pakistan, everyone lives in huts.

Yes, huts!

We razed everything the British built for us after they left.

Who needs fantastic architecture right?

Contrary to what people in the west get to see on the news, Pakistan is a typical third world country, and we are poor. Dirt poor. So poor in fact, that only the very rich among us can afford to bake bricks to lay as walls for their homes. The rest of us poor folk settle for thatched roofs and bamboo walls, straw or mud flooring, and four foot holes in the ground which serve as our toilets.

But, we have wireless internet!

I get so tired of people constantly thinking we Pakistanis are a modern country. Tired of them thinking we have cable television, cars, fine dining restaurants and educational institutions. Tired of them thinking some of us actually wear western clothes, shop at malls and ***gasp*** speak English! So, I'll take this moment to give credit to my Mexican born English translator, without whom I could never blog, or sign my name. She's the "Press 1 for English" kind in case you were wondering.

Her family who have lived in America for a decade still press '2.'

So, our new house. It's fantastic, and since words cannot do it enough justice, I asked a British tourist to take a picture of it for everyone to see. In exchange I gave him some flat bread which was supposed to be my kids' dinner.

Isn't it awesome?

We're ordering our furniture from Pottery Barn!

Pictures of the interior coming soon! Have a good weekend everyone!