On the importance of dandelions**

Once upon a time at the age of 4, my little brother had a spazz attack. I dont remember why but am quite confident it was either a misplaced lego or unpleasant vegetable our parents had coerced him into consuming. In any case he unburdened his depressing circumstances to me and my friend Saadia for a good five minutes, his eyes wide open, jumping up and down in his red and white Osh Kosh overalls when Saadia interrupted with Dude, get a grip! He stopped in his tracks, looking curiously at her. "Get a grip?" He furrowed his brows, "From where?" Rolling her eyes she responded "From Kmart, get a grip from Kmart" and so went the conversation in increasing absurdity but concluded in his hopping from foot to foot in pure excitement at the prospect of purchasing a grip as Saadia so wisely advised.

As mentioned earlier, I'm stressed and like Ali I kinda sorta need to.. get a grip. Sadly I've since learned they don't sell them at Walmart nor are they currently available for auction at Ebay. Apparently, grips, you gotta build them yourself.

Looking at my stressers, what's the worst that can happen? Tomorrow, when I teach boring executive agreements, even if I teach only a thirty minute lesson and then proceed to hop from desk to desk flapping my arms while chanting the alphabet for the remaining thirty minutes, so what? Whats the worst that will come of it? A D+? (I think an F would be unfair considering overall I certainly showed creativity and effort). If at mock trial I forget my opening statement and instead recite the caloric contents of the veggie burger at Mimi's Cafe, what will happen? My jurors will know the nutritional information for a delicious low-fat burger and will have a funny story to tell their friends. Oh yes, I might fail, but even that is survivable.

John's comment on my last post really shook me up, he said The best and worst thing about every day is that it passes, no matter what you do. It set me on a train of thoughts but the one that stood out the most was the most obvious: If I close my eyes and hope that the week flies by so this will finally be over, or that will be done with, in the process I'm hurrying along and wishing my life away. Its inescapable that life is going on in the process of the "to do" lists and mundane drama and if I spend the majority of it waiting to get to the next place, fixing my eyes upon the weekend, or the day after the project is done have I even fully lived? Life is a journey, and we its travelers. To arrive may be our destination, but its process is what we call life.

The Awakenings, a true story of a man waking up from a 20 yr catatonic state showed him enjoying the brief moments of life he had. As he drifted painfully, bit by bit, spasm by spasm, he demanded to know why the news only spoke of things that depressed us and cast a cloud upon our hearts. He couldnt understand why we didnt revel in the beauty of brushing our teeth, or step foot outdoors on our own two feet without feeling sheer giddy joy. His doctor dicussed the human spirit saying thatis what needs to be nourished: with work, play, friendship, family. These are the things that matter. This is what we've forgotten - the simplest things.

Stress and lack of grips can make us forget to see the beautiful moments sprouting like dandelions at every corner of our lives.

** Incase y'all were interested. I did my lecture today and did not have to resort to leaping, or flapping, or reciting the alphabet in any manner. PHEW!!

The return of the law school vent..

The semester's closing in and though I should revel in the knowledge that this is the final semester I can't because its a roller coaster of a semester. Law School typically only has one exam per class at the end of the semester. Over time I got used to it but this semester, its not the case and its stressing me out. This Wednesday I have to lecture on the constitutionality of executive agreements. Yes, its as boring as it sounds and I get to explain this to a class for an entire hour while the professor grades me on how many students keep their eyes open. Sunday at 9am I have a mock trial at the courthouse involving buko prep and planning. Outside of that I'm helping with a friend's wedding prep since his family doesn't live here so we're filling in with weekly dolkhis, parties, prep work. Not to mention housework, yard work and fixer upper projects... I'm one stressed out chica. When I get this stressed I become most inefficient unable to do any of the hundreds on my to do list because I sit looking at the list chanting where do I begin? Here's a question, how do you deal with stress, what do you do to decompress and maintain your zen? Inquiring minds want to know.

Discriminating from within

When I wrote a post a while back on racism, some pointed out that desis can't exactly sit on a pedestal like angelic little angels upon poofy clouds singing sad harps songs about discrimination as though we ourselves don't discriminate at all. Perhaps some of the cruelest discrimination is the kind we inflict upon each other.

You'd think living in the US, we wouldn't discriminate each other based on caste or clan or which part of the motherland you happened to have been arbitrarily plopped into at birth but judgment calls based on these are ingrained in the lives of many to such a degree that even thousands of miles away the beliefs remain strongly implanted like the roots of an old oak tree attached firmly to our feet oceans apart.

I'm quite familiar with the discrimination and stereotypes by desis against desis. Since I fancy myself a writer and not a research scientist presenting you statistical data, I share insight into my experience of intradesi discrimination through example.

Incident 1: Ten years earlier, instant messaging a friend, I see its 4am. Quickly type Oh man I think my dad just got up, its so late!! He's gonna kill me! I log off. The next day I get ten missed calls from said friend, when I call her back she asks me in a voice filled with concern Are you okay. I assure her I am but am confused, Why wouldn't I be? Luckily my friend explained, Well, you said your dad was going to kill you. Silence on my end, Does my dad seem the dangerous sort? She sighs, laughing nervously "Well, you know, you're punjabi... you know how violent Punjabis are..."

Incident two:*walking to class with a friend in college*
Bobeena: You mean you're... punjabi?
Me: Uh huh *continuing to walk and notice I'm now walking alone*
Bobeena: *stopped in her tracks, eyes agape* Wow.
Me: What?
Bobeena: Well.... how are you so.... civilized?
I'm sorry to say but the rest of the conversation involved me convincing her my parents and I did not sit around cursing all day while cracking peanuts with our toes.

And the others? Let's run through the list...
Pathans are violent, emotional hot heads.
Memons are stingy businessmen.
Urdu speakers are sophisticated, slightly snobby, but ever so cultured and refined.
Punjabi's (raises hand from back of class) are crude, unsophisticated, loud, obnoxious and apparently like to crack peanuts with their toes.

These stereotypes aren't silly jabs without consequences. They can break friendships, prevent marriages, and tear families apart. It sounds so dramatic but its true.

I know too many who refused to allow their children to marry because one was Indian and the other Pakistani. Or even if both were Pakistani, one was of one caste, and the other a different lesser one. (Speaking of clans/castes, have you ever noticed how many desis are Syed's and so proud of this 'fact', refusing to marry outside themselves as though they somehow are better than others because of this alleged link? I find it fascinating that roughly half of all desis are direct descendants of the Prophet pbuh, and the other half are all of some other ancestry than actually having roots in the region of their ancestors, if I had a nickel for every desi who is actually a descendant of some Arab prince or Syrian big shot.. I'd have my beach house in Fiji and then some) You would think that this mentality would change with this generation yet people still ask me what my father's tribe is and nod approvingly or shake their head sadly depending on where on the rankings they themselves fall.

When my parents first came to the US, in they city they lived in, the amount of desis could be counted on two hands so they stuck together and ignored the ethnic divides. Indian? Bengali? Pakistani? Come one come all. I remember attending parties as a child with people from all different regions of the subcontinent. Yet as more immigrated, the lines began to be drawn in the ethnic sand. Urdu speakers found compatriots, the Bombay folks closed ranks, the Hyderabadi's only inviting each other. Slowly my parents were no longer invited to parties simply because they were Punjabi and thus born in a region a few hundred miles from that of the people they currently lived 2 miles from in the US.

On the upside, I believe perceptions are changing. The community my parents now live in is certainly not as self-dividing, however there are still many communities that believe whole heartedly in these divisions and will uphold them to their last breath. Perhaps in the parents generation this is understandable, but to tolerate such prejudice in our own generation, is shameful.

Jokes touching on racial issues are the stuff that stand up comics rely upon to make a living. But its a fine line when you are treading the ethnic waters. Its okay to tease a Punjabi on their bhangra skills, but is it okay to believe us crude and uncultured? Its when it moves from playful jest to actual belief in the inferiority of another because of their region or caste or skin color that the joke just isn't funny anymore. Racism, prejudice and bigotry is wrong no matter who is doing it, and who they're doing it to.

For the post that inspired this one please see this post by Mezba on the same topic.

On a side note, I do realize this post is rather heated but its a topic that vexes me greatly. When responding please be respectful, this is a very touchy topic.

On manicures and doormats

I had no idea I entered controversial territory with my last post. Eating lima beans with ice cream? Practicing the ancient art of fire swallowing while performing cartwheels? Okay, I'd expect controversy there, but I guess in my naivete I thought all of us disliked the system and perhaps tolerated it simply because the status quo is easy to accept. OK so I lived in a bubble, but it was a warm and cozy one and up until last Wednesday when it effectively popped, it was perfect with just the right tint of blue bubbliness. Another result from the post is intimidation, I mean what on earth do I write about next? My post on pulling weeds this weekend just isn't going to cut it! I've never written purely for the sake of controversy and comments, so the incredible response shouldn't intimidate me... but it does. So in case I end up unable to form another semi-coherent, pseudo-eloquent statement ever again, and this be my last post as a result of said intimidation, please know that its all your fault. (No really, just kidding, don't stop commenting, me likes, really!)

Speaking of the last post, there are two words I'm often "jokingly" called when I talk about the struggles of women: feminist and femnazi. The last post triggered one of those words and I can't help but think.. If I speak of the treatment of refugees, Im not termed refugee lover.. If I speak of prejudice, I'm not chided as a stereotype hater... Injustice, Inequity, generally speaking, is okay for me to address.. prevents labels placed upon me. So why does speaking about issues affecting half the human race term me a femnazi feminist?

I don't think of myself as a feminist because I disagree with what the word implies by those who so label. I dont hate men... I love getting flowers... I adore cooking and lately even baking.. manicures are luxurious, high heels are essentials... and my favorite color is pink. A feminist? Seriously?

I loathe labels. They define us with a cursory glance and without our consent. But I can't deny that labels stick only if I don't peel them off, allowing them, and not me, to define myself.

If I happen to dislike that we're often treated like cattle, raped and then jailed, burned for the sake of money and not allowed a chance to live, if that's the definition of a feminist then your label, I wear proudly.

"I myself have never been able to figure out precisely what feminism is. I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat." Rebecca West

The desi marriage crisis***

There's an utterly befuddling conundrum afoot in the desi community. To explain you must first understand that for whatever reason desis typically marry other desis, and marriage is valued to the point of obsession. I'm not saying its how it should be but it is what it is and within our insular communities Jane Austin novels are played out in a different tongue on a daily basis. Curiously there seem to be more marriageable girls than than males. How can it be? girl + guy= marriage? The numbers must be somewhat equal. Why is that NOT the case?

Before I begin, please note 1) If you disagree please do so respectfully 2) I'm speaking in general terms, there are exceptions to each situation 3) This is a cultural not religious issue 4) If you're unsure why desi marriages are unique read here first.

#1 Desi men have more options. Desi men can a) marry a non-desi and not face too much flack though his sister would likely be nearly disowned and gossiped about extensively b) marry a girl here c) go back to the motherland. There's a lot of guys going back home to marry. Yet the same parents preferring this for their sons insist on boys from here for their daughter. Why the disparate treatment? The traditional girl from back home is raised to adapt while the man from back home is raised to be the one adapted to. Theoretically, a traditional girl from a village in Pakistan will make parathas, accept the superiority of her inlaws and adjust to the needs of her spouse. But a man from back home expects the same in his American bride. ABCD girls can compromise but we'll have a harder time saying "as you wish" to his and his parent's every wish, its hard to reconcile.

#2 Its a buyers market and he holds the purse strings. The girl waits. He'll go with his family for a dinner prepared painstakingly for him. And some men are so damn cavalier traveling cross-country, eating at their homes and then dismissing her for one hurtful reason or other. Even aunties I grew up with who I expected more of, say "oh the house was too small" or "she seemed taller in her picture." I know more than a few who've gone to the hopeful girl's home with zero intent on marriage insisting "dekhne me tho nahin hurj" (no harm in looking). Oh auntie, but there is harm in turning a girl, a woman like you, into a slab of meat.

#3 Superficiality reigns supreme. Men can be picky about looks while women are admonished for such thoughts. (which I wrote of here) Pics of girls sent to guys can get rejected for reasons like not being light enough, or smiling too much or too little. I guess if you're shopping for meat you may as well buy the best cut?

#4 The doctor expectation. Guys take a breath, I'm not blaming you here! Here, the blame lies with the parents who demand doctor son-in-laws as a value prized above all others. I'm so tired of the mothers of daughters telling me, humko doctor chahiyai (we wanna doctor). Most infuriating is when these same people boast how religious they are, shoving it down the throats of others yet smiling with their prayer rug still in their hands as I tell them about a pious brother interested in their daughter, repeating the refrain doctor chahiyai

#5 God forbid she be intelligent or make more bling. For just as many doctor hunters there's equally as many men who dont want a doctor wife particularly if they themselves aren't. The same prejudice prevails with women with PhD's or are financially successful. How many times have I mentioned a terrific girl to hear "Bobullah doesn't want her to make more money than him" So a girl with financial success or striving towards her intellectual potential is misfortunate indeed. This one's utterly befuddling to my spouse who reassured me 'feel free to make all the bling you want, I'll suffer the exotic vacations and villa in Fiji, I'm selfless like that.

#6 Desi men don't have to conceal a past for it wont be held against them. A girl with a "past": used goods but a man with the same past: Boys will be boys!

#7 Desi men can wait longer and then insist on a girl under a certain age I have single friends in their 20's, worried and men in their 30's not one bit flummoxed at their single status. A man at 22, a baby. A woman at 22, a quickly turning spinster who must be wed off lest she own twenty cats at the bitter old age of 24. A man at 32 is an eligible bachelor who can marry a girl of any legal age though will likely be uninterested in one his own age or shall I dare say a few months older than him!

*** To conclude, there's no denying parents want the best, but sometimes in their well intentions, they end up doing a world of harm. Looking at the pain of people like Enyur's touching comment, how can one say this way is most certainly better? Its not a hate on parent involvement it works for some, it worked for me, but the general sweeping assumption, that this is the noble way is simply untrue. There's nothing noble in treating our daughters like cattle.

For the counter argument to mine (and the post that actually sparked this one) please see Mezba's blog where he wrote about this from the other perspective.

Pondering the imponderables

How do telemarketers stay in business if everyone on the planet loathes their calls? Someone is secretly buying oodles of carpet cleaning liquid and signing up for time shares to keep this advertising method afloat.

Why are lifetime movies so much more interesting when you have a pressing assignment due next week?

Why is Sanjay in the top 12 for American Idol? Is my assumption correct that every Indian kid under 12 is hitting redial and voting for him? Indian folks voting this kid on, please, let it go, there will be other chances for Indians to try for AI, don't push this kid through, it does the race no good. As far as fighting stereotypes, this kid can only do harm.

Why must having nails make taking contacts out of ones eyes so very complex?

Why are the people on those commercials for ITT Tech and Devry University always sitting under palm trees with sublimely satisfied expressions? If I graduate from Devry can I negotiate office space under a coconut tree?

Why is skim milk gray? I want to like it, I do. In fact I just bought a gallon of it. But sitting here, eating it with the equally imponderable Kashi cereal I feel like I've torn off some cardboard, dropped into grayish water and am pretending to smile and enjoy it.

If one is proud that they are not arrogant, does that make them arrogant?

What imponderables do you ponder?

All that you leave behind

At my valima my dad surprised us by stepping up to the podium displaying a key chain in his hands. They were mine, and as anyone who knows me knows, I'm the absent minded and quite forgetful professor. As he looked in my direction I wondered, what an odd place for rebuke, when he said:

"Aisha beta, when you left your home, your old home, the home where you used to live, you forgot something. You forgot your keys. These are not keys to a house. They are the keys to a home. I want you to keep these keys because this home is your home to come to anytime. Come in the day. Come at night. But there is no need to knock because this home is always open to you"

Its spring break and I can't help but remember when I lived in that home waking up at noon to fresh parathas as ami chopped vegetables in the kitchen, the phone tucked under her ear as we contemplated our day's plans involving slight variations of nothing. When you're in the moment, the moment seems to stretch forever, time tiptoeing subtly, nudging you along imperceptibly until you've reached the precipice when the moment latches off, as it must, slipping through your fingers into chambers where only your memories may visit. Its in those chambers, that every now and then, I find my heart taking a backward glance taking in a memory of a moment that once seemed though never promised to last forever.

Adventures in Piercings

Its spring break. The last spring break of law school and quite likely the rest of my life (unless of course I return to teaching- which I'm beginning to highly doubt). For reasons beyond our control, instead of the exotic trip to Rome or Madrid, I'm home catching up on missed lectures, papers, and eating inordinate amounts of grapefruits. Really.

But I did manage to do one non yawn inspiring thing, I got my nose re-pierced. I had a nose ring two years earlier. I loved my nose ring and it loved me. It loved me so much in fact that it refused to come out. It was, shall we say, clingy. This was fine until the interviewing for legal internships began I knew if I wanted to intern at a traditional law firm I'd have to remove it. So the night before my first interview I sighed, and with a wire cutter snipped my nose ring. I sadly accepted the end of my nose wearing days.

But then at one of my interviews I met a young Indian woman, an associate at a very prestigious law firm in the city who changed my perspective. She wore a gray suit with a hint of pink in her scarf and a lovely diamond nose ring. Imagine my surprise when she said she interviewed with it without anyone taking any notice. Well then!

So thanks to the lovely people of facebook I learned of a good piercing studio. I picked my ring, checked off the consent forms and went to the back room. What happened next was strange. A simple poke, a simple turn of the metal, and in that simple second, my mind and body parted ways as I fainted.. I could feel my palms clamming up, the blood leaving my face... yet my mind knew perfectly well such a reaction was unnecessary. It was the oddest feeling to want desperately to get up but not being able to because your body was limp like a rag doll acting utterly contrary to how you commanded it to behave. It was an eerie moment of mind-body disconnect. Luckily, a cool ice pack, a sugar tablet, and a glass of water combined with ten minutes of inhaling and exhaling brought me back to normalcy. I managed to walk out to the counter gingerly feeling my tiny nose stud, and looked up to see the cashier, and the others in the room, and suddenly feeling quite silly as I looked at their tattooed faces and piercings on every conceivable parts of their visible bodies: I'm a wimp.

So some words of advice from yours truly on the art of nose piercing (1) Take a friend with you in case you get symptoms like I did. I can't thank Zainab enough for being there to hold my hand because being alone would have truly been terrifying. And just because you've gotten your ears pierced without drama doesnt mean you wont get drama piercing your nose. (2) Never use a gun! The blunt force of the gun shatters your cartilage to some degree causing a higher risk of infection and a longer recovery period. Always ask for a needle. (3) Also, eat before you go since this is likely what caused my body to react as it did.. and no, grapefruits do not count.

Reviews updated- at last!

Agree? Disagree? Recommendations? Do share!

Book reviews: 1) On Beauty 2) Kite Runner 3) Muhammad 4) The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime 5) The End 6) The Spiral Staircase 7) Bird by Bird 8) Eats Shoots & Leaves 9) Single Wife

Movie reviews: 1) The Departed 2) Little Miss Sunshine 3) Pursuit of Happyness