Moving

We came there holding baby Ibad in our arms, family awing together at the three-bedroom space, girls chattering about which room should now be theirs and then suddenly screaming because there are pigeons sitting inside!

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re not shifting today. The house will be clean when you come.” Today we were only seeing.

And then it was. We kids don’t know how but we know who did it. Baba. Baba and some workers. Baba and some electricians. Baba and some movers. Baba and some van walas. Baba and some plumber, carpenter, chokidaars. We only found the house ready. And clean.

Today we moved again, baby Ibad now seventeen, and one of us little girls married with kids of her own. The house is four-bedroom big, and we’re awing at it even more, but the feelings are not so singular anymore. There’s fear, there’s joy, there’s tiredness, there’s a thousand thoughts and jobs to do. A full rain and rainbow. Even Baba is now old but with Ibad and some men, he has handled most of it.

And then we’re handling the rest. We’re coping with the sweet change but also with the monstrous rain, no-signals, no Internet, no cable for a few more days. We’re also trying to manage the inside of the house and unlike our childhood, shifting and moving requires way more work than it looked like.

Anyhow, it’s also very spiritually moving, this whole experience. It’s shifting perspectives, memories, and making space for new beginnings. So when chaos lifts, there’s ease nearby.

 inshaAllah ❤

Memory hoarder (2)

Aqal sawaal uthati hai ishq amal pe dorata hai.

By now I have thrown away more things and (almost-)neatly packed the things I am saving back in the drawer. Can’t say it’s done but sure feels lighter.

Besides that [literally] grey old diary that I didn’t bother reading, there are all these papers – mostly poems that I wrote (even those sad Urdu ones), and then other handwritten accounts of things like our regional Spelling Bee contest that we won, my ninth grade result, an essay on “My most memorable day of life” where there is McFlurry by the sea, last school exam and a really fun night ending with dramatic sentences like ‘I bid farewell to my family and the full moon.’ Not just mine but I also used to give my brothers topics to write on, then I would check them and sometimes reward them. That was a whole system. Look at this part from Ibad’s story about a ‘mejician’s whose spell was ORAME SIM SIM where O is for Omnivorous animal, R is ramp, A is and, M is maar do, and E is eel. The omnivorous animal walk on ramp and eel eat the omnivorous animal. And magic were not worked the people laughed. He did spell 3, 4 times but his magic did not work. Moral:- We dont want to be a mejician.

There’s also a super adorable sorry card. Lined paper and pencil, a highly decorative spelling of my name, a bag of 5o rs drawn as a gift. You will accept such apologies with a kiss.

I used to write essays and speeches. There is this one I won a competition for. Starts with a stanza I learned from Sam and very much adored. I had read it with a lot of energy.

Then I am looking at these goals I had, and it’s neither saddening nor surprising but there but there’s still a hole – and you wish it was big enough – that we don’t think like that anymore. There are more screens and more individual chaos than deeper thinking, or better yet, practical anything.

And I think you feel it too
What I no longer try to hide
It’s buried beneath the scars
Truth behind the lies.

7 July 2019. My most recent material in that drawer is a bag of gifts and Eidi. The space that wasn’t there before reeks of maturity.

Memory hoarder (1)

Of course. What else would you expect from a December-born, all-feels Maria who is still writing on randomlyabstract, her blog of 8 years plus.

I remember the time we got these drawers made when we shifted to this house. It felt SO special, having a personal space. SO wow, you know. And then we got locks on them. I told the locksmith to do his best work on mine. I found it all so stunning that I kept sitting there, talking, looking, checking if mine was the best. (My lock got faulty before anyone else’s btw. Such luck!)

Khair. I used to be obsessed about that drawer and the stuff in it. I couldn’t throw things. Even today my family asks me before throwing away kachra that they think could be ‘useful’ for the crafter. But friends’ chit-chats, over-emotional letters of that time, Urdu poetry so sad I find it worrisome now, my personal personal personal diary that I would probably treat as a treasure then (because – let’s face it – I’ve been a sensitive kid. Also the middle daughter. I was convinced that I was hated by EVERYONE mashaAllah. And then I liked to write. Imagine having ALL of that still present despite the diary wanting to very much rest in peace now.) And then other things.

A lot of things, I imagine now, want to rest in peace. So I have brought out my drawer, one I had stopped caring for long long time ago, and started cleaning it. There’s stuff I put up on my insta stories as a last tribute, and for the other personal bunch, I know I cannot leave it so easily unless I’ve at least preserved them in writing. Which is why I am here.

The End

Tomorrow is my last day at university! That is, last class ever. And then I have like (last) five exams (ever) and a thesis to submit and then it’s all O V E R.  Khatam-shudd.

I think… I miss it already. I know I will. Ughsdsd.

 

P.S.

1. The moon looks stunning sorts atm.
2. I cannot explain anything about the university feeling yet but it was worth saving hence the post.

Long Time