"Sheher Lahore"

                  "Daal duss kha'an Sheher Lahore andar 

                  bahi kinney boohay tey kinniya'an bariya'an ney

                  Naley duss outho'un di itta'an bahi

                  kinniya'an tuttiya'an tey kinniya'an saria'an ney

                  Daal duss kha'an Sheher Lahore andar khooya'an 

                  kinniya'an mithia'an tey kinniya'an kharia'an ney

                  zara souch key davee jawab mainu outhey

                  kinniya'an viyahia'an tey kinniy'an kunwaria'an ney

                  Daal dussa'an main Sheher Lahore andar

                  bahi lakha'an boohey tey lakha'an hi baria'an ney

                  Jinna itta'an tey dhar gaye pair aashiq

                  oho tuttiy'an tey baqi sariy'an ney

                  Jinna kooya'an tey bhar gaye mashooq pani

                  oho mithia'an tey baqi khariy'an ney

                  Jehria'an behandi'an naal apney sajna dey

                  oho viahia'an tey baqi kanwari'an ney"

Hi Everyone,

A freshly brewed cup of Chai, company of Ahmad and Hassan, a few evenings of 'Sheher Lahore' and a tall glass of freshly squeezed anar juice here and there is all it is going to take to make my less than perfect life, perfect.

Chai is my first and last love as I got hooked on it quite early on in my life and then there was no turning back. It does wonders for me, picks me up when I am down and calms me down when I am anxious. When I moved abroad and got introduced to the new face of loneliness, countless cups of Chai taught me how to tackle it and became a mutual friend to both of us.

Then come Ahmad Safdar and Hassan Safdar: These two brothers who were born twelve months apart from each other and my son Haroon was born right in the middle, and God who has always been good to me blessed me with three son in the mere span of one year and i m pretty sure that not many women can make this claim. I got two sons without having to go through morning sickness and labor pains. I wouldn't hesitate to declare them as my own if i didn't have any fear of God  or more importantly fear of NAHEED (their mother) in me. Although they r my son's age, his soul mates, Anwar and my best friend's sons, they somehow redefined the word 'friendship' for me or I should rather say defined the word friendship for me for the very first time. They are there when I need them and even when I don't and that is the beauty of my relationship with them. I just love the fact that they are always there for me. 

Ahmad is a sheer genius whose mind has the caliber to play with anyone's mind anyway he wants. Anyone can easily become 'silly putty' in his hands. Highly motivational, very charismatic, and his ability to comprehend a person at first sight not only boggles your mind it grabs your heart as well. While Hassan's total understanding of a difficult situation, his unbelievable power to empathize, sometimes knowing what you need before you know it yourself, 'Having you at Hello'  and above all  ability to absorb pain quietly and gracefully is mind blowing and grabs u r soul big time.  

During my last visit to pakistan I was staying with them in Lahore. One fine evening, after having 3 cups of Chai, the Safdars (including their mom Naheed and Ahmad's wife Amna) took me out for dinner. After eating everything in that restaurant that didn't move, they wanted to indulge me with a tall glass of Anaar juice. Somehow during our search for the perfect juice stand, the boys decided to look for the perfect kulfa/Falooda as well. During this pursuit of happiness, I started looking around if I recognized few spots where i might have left few footprints. I found Sheher Lahore to be a little different this time around or maybe i was a little different this time around. I said 'I wish I could see lahore with foriegn eyes'. My comment startled Ahmad and he went 'Aunty you are so deep'. You can not take Ahmad's compliments/comments seriously or you are in big trouble.

The next morning when i woke up 'hung over' from the countless cups of Chai, two glasses of Anar juice and two servings of kulfa/falooda, I had two more cups of Chai as an antidote to get my head straight and my 'vision' back. I knew I would be paying for 'Happy Hour' this way but it was worth it. After this homemade remedy worked I realized that my connection with Sheher Lahore was more deep rooted than i thought. I lived here twice, once when i was very young and later from 1970 to 1976. I entered this city of glamor and lights at the tender age of fourteen with eyes wide open with wonder and curiosity. I was such a Dorothy in the land of oz and  this city offered everything it had to me and It had BadShahi Mosque, it had Lal Qilla. It also had Ichraa, Liberty Market, Anakali, Mall Road, fruit chaat from Bano Bazar and of course Lollywood at it's prime with glory and enchantment that completely blinded my eyes. It had a number of beautiful cinemas which at the time didn't seem sufficient to absorb that much glamor, it had Al-Hamrah Art Council which was over flowing with culture as well.

To this day when I go back home from the USA, and as soon as the PIA plane goes in taxi, beautiful folk music starts playing with all my nostalgic senses, and after a perfect landing from our great world renowned pilots, people start cheering and clapping as my eyes start to tear. As soon as I grab my carry-on and walk out of the plane I start inhaling Sheher Lahore. We become one entity as I become all about Lahore and Lahore becomes all about me and I am unable to tell who missed who more. It opens its arms wide and takes me in like a mother, is more than eager to show me a great time like a good old friend. It is usually at the middle of the night when I land and I feel as the whole city is up waiting for me as it's daughter is coming home after a very long (in every sense of the word) journey. This city has always left the door open for me to walk right in and claim my share of it, and as I walk down the portable metal staircase, with each and every step I feel more and more grounded and when my tired and swollen feet touch the ground I know i am finally where I belong.

I 'experienced' Lahore at a tender ages of fourteen to twenty when I saw my very small world through rose colored glasses, when I ruled my parent's hearts, when I could get away with murder as far as they were concerned, when I knew i wasn't the prettiest girl around but I thought I was the prettiest girl around, when Waheed Murad, Rajesh Khanna, Shahid and Shashi Kapoor were fighting over me (needless to say, only in my mind), when Ghulam Mustafa Khar, who sadly has turned into a dirty old man gradually, was the handsome, dashing Governor of Punjab, when I wasn't aware of the fact that there were four seasons in a lunar year as i was only introduced to 'Mosmey-Bahar', when I would walk miles and miles and my feet hardly touched the ground. 

The next day I did try my level best to look at Lahore through foreign eyes but failed miserably. You have to feel and own this city to absorb it,  Although it was and still is a very beautiful, charming, full of life historical city, my seeing this magical place through my young, naive, inexperienced, innocent, filled with wonder eyes, my coming of age, the depth of my soul or may be combination of all above made this city called Lahore 'Sheher Lahore'.

Much love,

Shehla 

"My Two Hands"

"Eh Puttar Hatt'an Tey Nahin Vickdey

Toun Labdi Phirain Bazar Kurrey

Eh Dain Hey Merey Daata Di

Na Aviyan Tak'raan Maar Kurrey

Eh Puttar Vikaou Cheez Nahin

Mul Dey Key Jholi Pay'een Nee

Eh Aida Sasta Maal Nahin 

Kittoun Jaa Key Mang Liy'ai Nee

Eh Soada Naqad Vee Nahin Milda

Tou Labdi Phirain Udhaar Kurrey"

Hi Everyone,


The thought of eventually ending up with an empty nest never crossed my mind when I was raising my children. Being blessed with six beautiful children and getting hit with a 'tsunami' of in laws simultaneously kept me on my toes most of my life and more importantly, away from thinking too hard. 


In the summer of 1996 my oldest daughter Aalia left for college. Then every couple of years one of my children left home to follow their dreams, or rather, mine. I was never that panicky since I knew that this process would continue for a long, long time. Besides, I always had my baby son Hashim with me. I guess I was so very overwhelmed with my older kids that I never realized that he was growing up and catching up with his siblings just as fast when none of us was looking.


Hashim left for Washington DC in the summer of 2007 after being accepted to Georgetown University. My older son Haroon, who was already in Washington DC doing his Ophthalmology residency, packed him up and dropped him off at his dorm. I was so relieved that I didn't have to go since I knew I didn't have the heart to leave my prized possession there and come home empty handed.


 My life became tasteless and quite colorless. This was the first time the haunting feeling of having an empty nest sunk in and I really took it to heart. I lost my appetite and had trouble sleeping at night. One night I found a remedy to my sleeplessness. I walked into Hashim's room and grabbed his pillow, and put it next to me as a body pillow. I put my hands on it and went to sleep. Pretty soon this became a ritual for me. I would rub both of my hands on his pillow, take in the scent of my hands and I swear to God, I would smell my son's fragrance on them. I would then put them under my cheek and would go to sleep like a baby. Whenever I would wash my bedding, I wouldn't wash this pillow. I was afraid that if I threw it in the washing machine, freakin' Tide would take away my son's essence for sure.


After a few months, when the pillow became quite filthy, I got a little used to his absence as well. I decided to throw it in the wash cycle. The pillow was cleaned and smelled just like the fabric softener I used. I put the pillow back in his room since now I had no use for it. 


That night when I put both my hands under my cheek before I went to sleep, I still smelled my son on my hands. Then it dawned on me: My son's smell wasn't in the pillow, it was on my hands. A stream of tears started coming down my cheeks and I started kissing my both hands like a crazed person.


Why wouldn't they smell like my son? They held him tight when he came into this world, fed him, bathed him, changed him countless times, nourished him enough to turn a 21 inch baby into a 6'3 giant. They held him when he wasn't able to walk, bandaged his scratched knee, touched his eyes, then kissed them every time he went to sleep. They picked him up after each and every fall, hugged him when he needed one, and even when he didn't, protected him from all the evils of this world and above all raised them up five times a day to Almighty Allah to beg everything a mother could ask for her son.  


The next morning I looked at my hands, like really looked at them for the first time. This set of hands was the most beautiful and powerful thing I had ever laid eyes on........ they were the hands of an artist. Although Allah had created my son, my two hands had unbelievable strength and enough creativity to sculpt a helpless little baby boy into a beautiful young man, to mold and shape him the way my heart desired, to engrave ethics, values and scruples in his mind, to put care, compassion and empathy in his heart.


 These two bare hands paved the road to his success, knocking down road blocks, bled while picking up thorns from the path of his life, and ironically these two very hands that would shield him from the world pushed him into the same world to make a life for himself.




Much Love, 
Shehla

"Namesake"

"Avval aakhir aap nu jaana,

Na koi dooja hor pehchaana,

Maethon hor na koi siyaana,

Bulla! ooh khadda hai kaun, Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun"

Hi Everyone,

Every child deserves the indulgence of a carefree bachpan and no child should have to grow up without the luxury of their mother's aangan. I was lucky enough to enjoy both joys in great abundance.

The line of work my father was in had a downside to it that we had to move to a different city every 2 to 3 years. My mother, God rest hersoul, hated it. It wasn't that easy for her to pick up and move to a new and different place, try to settle her family there, and then pretty soon have to leave again. Every now and then she would complain about it, but being a child, I was totally obvilious to her difficulties. I couldn't care less where we lived and there was a reason behind it. Every city we moved to had one thing in it that I needed the most: my mother's aangan.

So many blissful memories are attached to that time. Bringing home a trophy from a softball match was the greatest thrill of my life. My life was full of curiosities, yet filled with a lot of securities. To this day I am carrying the security blanket weaved with the thread of protection my father provided, the countless sacrifices my mother made, and plenty of dreams they both let go so their children could follow theirs. That security blanket carried me through my share of turmoils and insecurities.

To me that was a magical place set in a magical time. Everything I wanted, everything I needed and much, much more was there for me to have. And then my three siblings were there to keep me entertained.While we were wrestling with each other, fighting over toys, fighting over our parent's attention, and sometimes trying to out do each other, consciously or unconsciously we were forming a unbreakable bond. It was very hard for me to leave the good place that I was at when I got married.

When I left my parents house for good, a little girl came with me. Somehow I never felt her 'presence' there. I am still not sure if I asked her to come or she just tagged along for the roller coaster ride called 'life'. She was a bit younger but looked exactly like me. One more thing I had in common with her was that she had my name......she was my NAMESAKE. Now I understand why my newlywed husband at the time used to complain at times about babysitting his new bride as I feel this young girl used to come out quite often just to irritate him. It was hard for the poor man to juggle both of us at the same time, but she was not successful in scaring him off.

My namesake is always with me. To me she is like a souvenir from a happy place. She plays an adamant role in my day to day life, and has become quite indispensable ....

otherwise I would have gotten rid of her by now. She takes me by my hand and walks me away from pain when I feel completely incapacitated. She becomes reckless when I am timid as hell, she plays dumb when I am too sharp for my own good, she exploits big time when I am being exploited, and she is completely irrational when i am 'painfully' logical. She jumps out of her skin when I hold back, she lashes back when I am attacked. I admire her when she holds her own as I fall apart, she takes a stand as I am willing to take it lying down. I love her for having total faith in herself, while I have absolute faith in Almighty Allah, for recognizing my tarnished soul when I myself don't have the heart to do it, for seeing the light at the end of the tunnel when I am blinded by hopelessness.

I am afraid to let her go. As a matter of fact, as time is passing by, I am holding on to her even more. Can anyone of you really blame me for doing so? I feel she is my 'survival' (although, I could easily be her survival too). I made a conscious decision to not let her grow up, while she is trying her utmost to stall my aging. Now that I have lived more than half a century and have started winding up my life, I have become more sure of the fact that since I couldn't face 'life' without her, I wouldn't be able to face 'death' without her either.

On a lighter note, and at the risk of getting slapped with a heavy 'fatwa', I want her to come with me when I face my Creator. Maybe she can come up with a few 'justifications' to get me an 'easier sentence'. While I plead guilty, she could take the plea of insanity. I think she should come along for this ride as well because I don't want her to outlive me since I feel my loved ones wouldn't be able to handle her 'full strength'.


"VAY BULLYA ASAN MARNA NAHI GOAR PAYA KOI HOAR....."

Much Love,

Shehla

"The Beaten Track"

"Ik Nuqte Vich Gal Mukdi Eh

Ik Nuqte Vich Gal Mukdi Eh

Pharh Nukta Chourh Hisabaan Nu

Pharh Nukta Chourh Hisabaan NuI

Ik Nuqte Vich Gal Mukdi Eh

Ik Nuqte Vich Gal Mukdi Eh"

Hi Everyone,

Although our township did provide a bus service for my children to get to school, I always preferred driving them in the morning. On the way back they would take the bus home. This was definitely a motherly gesture on my part as I felt my kids could get some extra sleep in the morning since the bus route was quite early. Secondly, and more importantly, I could have them alone with me, and have their undivided attention so I could lecture them to death since I knew they were smart enough not to jump out of the moving car. That summer my father was visiting us. He used to come along with me every morning as he loved students, and loved seeing their faces full of life, giving him hope for future.

One Monday morning, I dropped Khadija, Sidrah, and then Hashim off and was eager to get home and have my most favorite thing, a fresh cup of Chai. There was a road block on my way back due to some construction and I had to take a detour. It took me about five extra minutes to get home. The second day was the same thing, which annoyed me a little. By the end of the week, I noticed that this detour of about a half a mile was such a drag, while my daily drive of about 10 miles was a breeze. I was very puzzled at my annoyance and I hesitantly asked my father why I was fine driving 10 miles every morning through rush hour, rushing to get my kids to school on time, while this extra half a mile was hard for me to take. He looked at me through his thick glasses, while I'm sure wondering whether his daughter was borderline dumbfounded or touching the heights of 'Sufiism', (to this day I believe he was wrong on both counts). He said to me, "Beti, for you those 10 miles are a 'beaten track'.

My father was the most well read man I knew and an absolute source of knowledge about anything and everything. He was referred by his friends and colleauges as 'a walking library'. I had a golden opportunity to ask him what a beaten track was but I didn't. For some reason I like to understand things on my own, through my own experiences. Since I have a very laid back attitude about seeking 'knowledge', I could easily wait until that understanding came to me. I could wait a long time, even a lifetime, to understand a 'nukta', and when I get to that 'nukta' through my own experience (God help that nukta), it gets engraved in my mind and I am more than ready and fully charged to apply it in any situation I need to. I can't stand 'Google' since it gives me more information than I need or can handle. And the 'copy, cut and paste' is a damn right killer of originality.

Over the next few years, I had a few (although not many) sleepless nights over trying to figure out the freakin' beaten track'. Now I can tell you what I came up with. It could be that our everyday life routine is a beaten track for us, anything out of the ordinary if we have to do that becomes such a drag. I think that in our routine lives some of our very dear relationships become beaten tracks to us. We only do so much for those people and if we have to go up a notch for them we feel quite burdened. I feel sad to say that I believe that in our hearts and minds, we calculate everyones' worth to us, the way I calculated the 10 miles of my kid's school route). We set up a berometer to measure the minimum/maximum we need to invest in that particular relationship. As it was hard for me to go that extra half a mile, it must be quite hard for me to go an extra mile in a giving relationship.

After much thought, I realized that I could be the 'beaten track' to so many people in my life. This thought scared the daylights out of me, but lot of my confusions hit 'clarity'. No wonder my kids make faces when I ask for a second cup of tea, as they can hardly manage the first one, meaning I was 'issued' only one cup at a time according to their beaten track quota for me. No wonder my husband is about to kill me when I over spend. I am sure each extra dollar is 'painful' for him as he was hardly tolerating me as it was.

From then on, I decided to go off track. I started taking the longer and different route home (although my gas bills were hitting the roof). Along with me, my automobile has discovered different routes to malls which was set on auto before. I started cherishing my relationships and started investing in them big time. Nothing was above and beyond me to do for anyone who touched my life.

Every different route that I take has a different landscape to enjoy. Different traffic jams to curse at or new strip malls to discover. I got rid of my beaten track mentality by developing different approaches to solve a problem or resolve an issue and discovered that there could be so many ways to solve a problem but there is only one resolution. When you go an extra mile, you not only discover different approaches to your destination, but in a human relationship, you sometimes get to touch someone's heart or are allowed to peek into someone's soul. I could go miles and miles just for that 'treat'.

I fell into life's rut easily, and fell out of it with even greater ease. Now when I see a 'detour' sign, I smile for my father and then I am more than eager to take it because I know somehow, going through different 'unfamiliar paths', it will take me to my destination, my home.

Much Love,

Shehla