A Fine Balance

-
September 10

Words may have clear, neat meanings in dictionaries, but in real life the finite explanations tend to lose their distinctions, they move away from their specified, alphabetized places, and float smugly coyly, changing in front of our eyes, elusive, vague. And the most elusive of all are adjectives that we use to understand and color our worlds.

Humans are selfish (I want to say ‘by nature’ but my social work training is preventing me from doing so). We are silly, shortsighted; tickled by how other languages sound, that’s a funny word, it rhymes with something dirty in my language, shocked at ways of living that are different from ours, you mean getting married to someone you have never dated, you mean adopting a child as a single woman, you mean sending your grandparent to an institution, you mean to say seven billion people living all over the world don’t see, hear, breathe and act like me? Confused, disgusted, even angered and indignant, female genital mutilation? married to your cousin? 12 years old and pregnant?

I have been slowly training myself to at least hide my surprise at how different others can be, to understand that if two siblings raised in the same home and environment can stand next to each other to demonstrate opposites, then yes, all people are not the same. To not get overly embarrassed when I reach out to hug someone I am meeting for the first time and they extend their hand, yeah it’s awkward (less so than accidentally kissing an old aunt on the lips, but wait, that’s actually quite ordinary to do so in some cultures!) but so what? This is the beauty of life, it keeps things interesting, making us raise our eyebrows, poking holes in the plastic bubbles we unconsciously and persistently keep constructing around ourselves.

Everything is relative, warns the annoying righteous little Aisha inside my head when I widen my eyes at a co-worker’s choice in clothes, men, food or any other thing that I have already formed opinions about, good, bad, pretty, wasteful, selfish, eew! The objects stay the same but the words describing them change, sweet girl, boring girl, handsome man, too-skinny man… sunny days are lovely in Seattle, we Karachiites call thunderstorms ‘good weather’.
Words like big, small, tall, beautiful, they all depend on an individual’s perception – at that point in time. You know that distant uncle who seemed so BIG when we were 8, but years later when we finally meet him again at some obscure event, we wonder, did he shrink or do we just remember it all wrong? Childhood favorite movies seem, well, childish when we are 26 – unless of course we’re watching Mulan. Or The Lion King. Or Aladdin.

I went shopping for shaadi clothes (definition: fancy clothes to wear on other’s weddings or post your own wedding because it is cultural norm to pretend to be a bride even after the main events are over, for an undetermined period of time) and was bowled over by the prices. Rs30,000 for clothes? Something that I’ll wear like, three times, maybe, if I’m really determined? I can remember my first paycheck and it would’ve helped pay just for kaam walay palazzos. “That’s not expensive these days,” females will state matter-of-factly while I would gawk at them, struggle with myself, think of the Afghan street kids I scold for sticking to my car window, and finally yield. (Expensive, cheap, important, I can’t live without air, food, Gucci?)

There has to be a balance, is my mantra, my life’s more boring but useful and essential motto. I can’t give up all material things and forgo ‘expensive’ clothes, but I can’t be so flippant about a shirt that costs a family’s monthly grocery. So I try to tread a fine line, feeling uncomfortable with the money, time and energy I spend on things my more noble side deems frivolous, evanescent (but everything is evanescent!) and using that discomfort to limit it, keep me on my toes, remind me of the larger world that exists, at the fringes of society, smack in the middle of our markets and even our homes (ever wonder what our domestic help thinks of our consumer choices?).


And if I used to think that striking the right balance would feel better, I guess I was wrong. Walking a tightrope is less than comfortable – it requires constant thought and effort, and as many times as I fall, I know the line is there. All I need to do is haul myself up and keep going.         

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Norma in the Snow

-
Image
Snowflakes, light, uneven, like god shredding cold clouds up above, they fall, almost like a dream that evaporates when it touches your skin – The asphalt is covered in sludge, ice and mud, people catching hold of one another as they hurry across, slipping out of their thoughts and into the present before they hit the curb.  The buses are running late. The sky has been white all day, like a blank canvas – no paint, no inspiration, it’s all been done before and maybe god doesn’t feel like sketching a replica today.  It’s darkening now and the street lights switch on, automation, magic, call it what you please. An old man wearing a navy beanie sticking like a gnome’s hat on his head rolls onto the bus stop.  He is sitting in a scooter, a grocery bag stuffed in a small black basket on the front.  His eyebrows are bushy, sticking out in all directions – with eyebrows like that, his expression was forever a scowl.  “Greg died five years ago, Norma!” h...
Read more

A Tribute to TCF

-
Nothing makes you feel more like a giant than sitting on small wooden chairs surrounded by tiny first graders in their classroom.  For a classroom observation, we are supposed to slip into a class quietly and just sit in the back. We’re not to make any comments and neither is the teacher supposed to pay any attention to us. The idea is, of course, to observe a class as would be without your presence. My favorite class to observe is always in the pre-primary section where the students weigh almost the same as their chunky book bags and want at any point in time to color in their workbooks. The children are curious and bright-eyed, they keep peaking over their shoulders and giggling when they catch my eye. “Are you our new teacher?” they would often ask (in their minds all females on school premises are teachers). There is one special memory from these classroom observations that  sticks out and makes me smile even now. The teacher was walking around the classroom, tal...
Read more

The Gift of Time

-
Image
Wollaton Park must be beautiful right now - trees bursting in a kaleidoscope of greens, wildflowers carpeting the track that goes around the lake, willowy branches casting dancing shadows on the walking trails and the beautiful mansion standing regal on the hill top, framing the blue summer sky. Wouldn't it be nice to go for a picnic, pack some sandwiches and crisps, pick up coffee afterwards from the cafe, lay out a blanket on the grassy slope along with scores of other people, with their dogs and babies and footballs and talking parrots (it happened once!).  But of course, the 'New Normal' has rendered the above scene pretty impossible (for now). On the other hand, I have seen my tiny backyard become more enchanting this summer than ever before. The neighbour's tree leans over the fence, it's branches casting a perfect shade on our side. It has leaves of an indescribable colour, each a rainbow in itself with shades of green and rust and maroon and brown and...
Read more