Till we meet again…

The new year is smiling at me – i know you are…

It was a wonderful feeling to open my ears on the wee hours of the 30th of December, with the tune of Didha…

This year started with some,  new friends, and a few, old friends who are very close to my heart. And over the years, being miles apart, our relationships had strengthened one way or the other.

Shania, my four year old, welcomed 2010 with rewarding excitement, toward,  the country,  yes, it was her first trip across the world to Bangladesh. Miami  to London, London to Doha, Doha to Dhaka.  She saw innocence in every angle of Dhaka. With her cold, cough, and not- so -good health, she kept smiling and said, that she wanted to live in Dhaka (especially, after she bonded with her cousin Arman). I could never imagine my American -born girl would ever say things like that. She ran and hugged my “Bubu”, the eldest first cousin/sis of the family without any inhibition.  I think she could sense the warmth and the value of it all.

Shania would stare at the starving mom begging for a penny or two and holding her malnourished child. She would return, to the room, and draw a picture for the little boy, hoping to hand it over when she saw him next. I, caught a glare in her eyes, whenever she felt the wave of insecurity. I am glad ,that she is compassionate, and I hope to continue to take her with me, every other year, so, she is able to embrace the inner truth of her mother’s roots-  at the same time ,she will better appreciate, her comfort zone, here at home, in the U.S.

Just a glimpse sometimes is not enough. It’s all in the depth of being able to empathize and appreciate the romantic side of the exotic land…

Usually, I called certain people before and after my departure, but this time the phone call I received on my way to the airport  in Dhaka to come home was a bit  different. As I answered, the voice echoed, “Ki ashlen na je? Daiyaan ke dekhlam na je”? – (“what happened, you never showed up? I didn’t get to see Daiyaan either”?)  This young girl, Jeba, helped us, especially Daiyaan, my eldest, look extra pretty every now and then. She would blow dry her hair to smooth and mask her skin with some fair polish so that she glowed! Daiyaan enjoyed the pampering, which cost her less than ten dollars and Jeba admired Daiyaan’s gentle and polite nature. She was calling to let me know that she had a gift for us. I choked. Where else on earth would I find this kind of thoughtfulness from someone who barely had any means to get by her own?

In general people in Bangladesh are very humble, sweet natured and genuine. I am sure this is even true about the Jamaat-e-Islami(the radical Muslim group). They are just horribly misled. Thankfully, i did not feel their existence one way or the other.

As I begin my 2010, back in Florida, on the fourth day of the year, I talked to one person during this entire day. I was craving not only the warmth but the pause of the constant buzzing of the phone made me feel unwanted and less important. It was just a matter of a day. The first twenty four hours at, HOME, was the most difficult re-adjustment period, especially this time around. When we get home we become accustomed to this selfish and self -centered world where, “self”, sure does come first and there is a price tag attached to it. While thinking these thoughts, I am also trying to get used to the quietness by clenching my teeth. I am determined not to keep getting caught in the “Dhaka Blues”.

I turn towards the waves of my Atlantic ocean that patiently awaits- and recap 2009. It was particularly a difficult one for me. It was not only a mentally challenging but also physically strenuous. I could actually relax and absolutely be myself for the first time , when I visited Chicago,  that summer. The trip made me realize the essence of relationships and how we tend not to notice the miracles of life. I got a grip on myself and fixed my attire to conclude the year gracefully and with respect. I would like to extend my gratitude toward, my guardian angels for their  moral support.

Looking forward to hitting THAT milestone this year. I hope i can maintain the free spirit i contain within. I will try to make 2010 a turning point and focus more on ME. How about every now and then, I take the liberty to talk about Wasima and her inner desires,her mission, her vision and her passion?  In this busy world, “me” gets overlooked and when do we get a chance to nourish it?  It may be narcissistic yes, but why not? A few moments out of an entire lifetime can be dedicated to a person, can they not?  Self-  praise sometimes is  necessary ! ( and yes, I am smiling).

Dhaka made me happy. And it takes very little. There is always someone there to give one company, even if it’s just to share a drink of water. People called me there during the wee hours just to recap their day. Yes, I may crave the attention but I was always ready to return it in double dosages.

People who know me, are aware that I am a people’s person. Warmth is, my essence and I cannot help but show my emotions. But, here is a twist. I had my palm read at a luncheon and I could not resist what she had to say about my future. She said that I should be careful about trusting people and showing my emotions as people may continuously misunderstand me. Bingo! I thought, I know, but- I would prefer not to change. Rather than suppressing my emotions, I will, try to worry less about what people would think, and I will do as I please without restraining my feelings. I never have intentionally hurt anyone,  nor will I,  lie to my self about who I really am.

Within the Bangladeshi culture, people show emotions in different ways. Showing affection through food can be one way, although that can be pleasantly dangerous. The yummiest foods are within the Bharta’s (smashed of any items possible). Some things cannot be replicated.
I can still  visualize the beautifully decorated table that Tripti displayed!!  The bharta’s at my eldest aunt-Tipsy’s, the squash vegetable curry at my youngest aunt- Tiptip’s , the olive pickles at my aunt-in-law Veena mami’s and the shrimp curry deliciously cooked by my sweet aunt- Leena… their memory still tickles my palate! I really can be shameless while indulging my favorites. Alas! Missed out on the Chittagong-shutki(a dried fish- another delicacy) bharta, at Sabera’s!

2010, I know you are smiling at me…

On the fifth day of the year, as I drive out at six in the morning to get eggs and organic milk for breakfast, I think of Hakim. He is the chauffeur my father arranged for me. He is a wonderful person with great integrity. Hakim’s father recently suffered a heart attack, but he insisted on keeping his word and remarkably kept our schedule. As soon as I arrived back in Florida, I picked up the phone and called to find out how his father was doing. “Madam, he is out of the hospital and being able to walk with a stick”, Hakim said. What a relief it was for me to find that out. But guilty feelings lingered. He shouldn’t have continued his duty after he found out about his father’s illness. As I close my eyes, I say a quick prayer for the family and count my blessings. Before going on my own way again, I also thank God for keeping us all healthy and alive.

I stand here in the middle of my kitchen and watch the day disappear, getting ready to prepare the end -of- the- day meal for the family and I suddenly get the chills . As if in a black and white movie  I see my mother-in-law’s fragile moves and the patience she shows for her children. She sat  all afternoon on the day we  were leaving Dhaka. She was not even worried about having lunch. And finally, when we were ready to have lunch around four p.m.,  she was not only gracious but she even had the enthusiasm to praise me. She watched me pack and organize and gave me company along the way.

Then we joined a family friend, Iqbal Dada uncle, who had flown all the way from Chittagong,  just to spend  two hours with us and bid us all farewell. This was just one more gesture of warmth and kindness wrapped with a token of love.

As I stand by my mother-in-law and  bend down to touch her feet for her blessings (an Asian practice, that Bangladesh has adopted over the years), I am deeply saddened by our selfishness in having to leave her there, as we are about to re-connect to our world that only was created because of her. She arranged my marriage with her son, and she is the one who always stood beside me. I can relate to her so well. We all are victims of the natural ‘selfishness’ of our surroundings, where the world easily overlooks the softness and the abundance of love. As I touch her sari and close the door of her car, she whispers, “Take care of you”. My voice slightly shakes and  I stumble, but then I say, “ You take care of YOU as well”.

We go our own way till we meet again…

ajar?

• Was it?

Ajar…

It surely was

he peaked-

saw your shadow,

the shadow –satisfied his soul.

For a while it did,

then he wondered-

was it really your shadow ?

or fate’s playing a joke on him?

one and then two.

is it his memory or lack of it, not sure!

but damn, he really thought it was your’s ,

to satisfy his soul.

when he called it a night-all he could remember,

gave him your support, oh! So tender.

That comforting gentleness was there –

lasted nine months or less,

but satisfied his soul,

like melting  snow when the spring shower glowed!

When it was flooding all around,

you stood by him –

made sure  to ease his pain, while it lasted.

And that satisfied his soul.

But the yearning remained –

As he craved your embrace,

while he stood alone,

by the door-

looking at the ajar ~

Hoping to satisfy his soul.

Burqa and i…

“Would you please take it off, now?” my husband said.

“But we are still at the airport,” I replied softly, getting ready to board the plane from Jeddah to Dubai. “Are you sure? I don’t mind wearing it till we reach Dubai. I do not want to get into trouble with the Saudies, you know. They have strict rules.”

Even as I answered, I was already visualizing the men walking toward me in their dishdashas—the handcuffs they were carrying even had my name written all over them. Somehow, in my imagination, they were getting pleasure from the fact that we are Americans.

I mumbled, “I hear some Saudies take their burqas off when they arrive at the Dubai airport, especially the young girls you know.” “Why is this a topic of discussion? I simply do not understand,” said my husband without whom this journey from Colorado to the Middle East would have been impossible.

I would have been prohibited from entering Saudi Arabia, let alone performing this religious ritual (umrah) with my mom and without a man. And not just any man, but a close relative such as a husband, father, or brother.

As I headed for the bathroom, a woman—fully covered herself, with to-die-for eye make-up—whispered, “It’s okay, you are safe to take it off now. Anyway it would be fine, since you are not married to a Saudi.”  The blessing word somehow turned into “honey.” Meaning, I felt blessed not to be married to a Saudi.

As I slowly tried unbuttoning my abaya,* a sudden feel of liberation took over. I started to feel the softness of Alladin’s magic rug beneath me as I floated away. I had on a full pair of black slacks, knee-highs and a full-sleeved, very loose shirt with a scarf—and I still felt bare in this country of covered women!

“Why is it that I feel naked”? I kept asking myself. It’s the concept, you see. I felt free, even as the feeling of shame took over.

I have never had anything against Saudi Arabia, but I do resent their rules and regulations. And yet … when I was wearing my burqa, my personality changed. I was more subdued and mellow. It made me feel less in control, less human. When men spoke, their voices sounded harsh. Wearing the burqa made me fear my husband. The word “oppression” suddenly gained a greater meaning.

But there was a hidden beauty. All the women around me were the same. I was not aware of the socio-economic differences. Everyone was equally covered and maintained. There was something in the concept that appealed to me.

Today, I sit here and wonder why Nicolas Sarkozy, the populist president of France, is so much in favor of banning the burqa. It is a secular state, after all. I wonder if one thing gets banned today, would something else get banned tomorrow? Sarkozy may be afraid that France is taking one step toward becoming “Islamized,” or maybe there is a top secret mission between France and the U.S. that we do not know about (wink wink). The news today regarding Sarkozy and his comments somehow gave me goosebumps and brought back my Saudi memories.

Is it the security issue? We would never know what or who is hiding behind those burqas! But would he have tried to ban the gowns worn by the Christian clerics, had they tried to cover their faces as well? I wonder.  But then I had my answer, Why should he? The Christian clerics and the Buddhist monks are not the general population, and they do not cover their faces.

Being a woman of this century, this debate is very interesting to me.  Even more so because I am a mother of two American-born girls—and really, they are my precious cargos.

All I know is, that if the security of my daughters were at stake underneath those burqas, I would ban them too!…     AMEN

*Abaya: an overgarment worn by some women in parts of the Islamic world

Burqa: The burqa is a piece of clothing that covers a woman from head to foot. There is an opening for the eyes, but the rest of the body, except the hands

14th…

I turned 14 today.

I’m twirling the waves of my hair with my index finger and gazing at the blue sky through my window while listening to my friend Kish on the phone. She’s telling me what she has to do next—and she sounds like she’s in a hurry! It seems like no one has time for me! Lying on my bed, comfortably numb and counting the spins of the ceiling fan, I doze off.

Our home was in a little town called Mohammadpur, in Dhaka- Bangladesh. People would come over to visit at any time of the day, unannounced.  I used to love that.

I heard the door bell and the turning of the knob, then a voice echoed in my room, announcing, “Happy birthday!” I told myself it was a dream. It had to be a dream. But it wasn’t. It was a surprise visit from my cousin Shahed, who had come to celebrate.

I jumped right up. Quickly looked for something to wear and tried to snap into the reality. I ran back and forth from the bathroom to the bedroom, accomplishing nothing, and as my excitement reached the Himalayas, I heard more people walking in. Oh! I was actually having people over for my birthday! So, finally, mom walked in with a brand-new outfit.  It was a solid white base with black flowers. She always picked the best wardrobe for me.

So was I having a birthday party? For real …?

But Abbu (my dad) was not home yet. He had told me the day before that we were not having a party as my grades were not what he expected. My mom still wanted to have one. Little did I know that they were arranging a surprise party for me! Before I knew it, my entire family,( from my paternal and maternal sides), was there. Then I figured out why Kish was in a hurry—because she needed to get off the phone to come to the party. Some other friends and both my grandmothers and my grandfather were there. How special was that?

I quietly stood by the door and glanced at the entire living room. I felt my cheeks getting wet, and I wiped away my tears as my feeling of gratitude and contentment overshadowed everything else. Each time I saw someone walk in, I wondered who would surprise me next!

Finally, I heard the horn from my father’s car and, yes, there he was. I ran down the three-story stairs as I always did, skipping one or two steps to make my descent a bit faster. As I was about to tell him what was happening, he said, “Happy birthday Wali-2!” (He used to call me Wali-2). Out came a box that looked almost thirty inches tall. Oh! What was it? I had to peak.

It was a cake in the shape of a huge open book. “I bet it’s black forest,” I said to myself. I kept staring at it and wondered why he picked a book-shaped birthday cake.

Today, after more than twenty years, I have asked my Facebook friends to write to me a line or two on birthdays. It’s interesting for me to find out how people experience their birthdays, especially as I see all the similarities. Someone actually sent me a private message saying that she “did not believe in birthdays,” as each birthday reminded her of death. I believe, the priest at her congregation taught her that. Interesting, I thought. What a shame! What a waste of a human journey.

We do not celebrate any particular religious holiday. So birthdays are the most important events at my home. We even celebrate half-birthdays. We talk about and plan birthdays for many days. We pre-plan the next one. My husband might give me a list of things he would like to have on his, and my daughters know that their birthday is one day I will spoil them rotten. I always try to be there for my mother’s and celebrate my father’s (baba’s) at my home whenever I can. Each time, it turns out to be very special.

Why? Because I remember that year when I turned fourteen and my father began to wish me happy birthday on the very first day of the month, even though my birthday had not arrived yet. “Happy birthday to my Wasima Wali-2.”  By the time it was the actual day, he sang me a million birthday songs. My mother asked him one morning as he came to my room to wake me up with birthday wishes, “Why so early, why everyday”? He replied, “So that all her years in this birth and more are covered.”

I used to think that, being an only child then, I was just spoiled, and maybe I was. I thank my mother every time it’s my birthday, not only for being such a wonderful friend and an angel of a mother, but also to let her know, as the saying goes, “If moms were flowers, she would be the one I would pick.” I thank my father(baba) for always being there and supporting me in every decision I have made through out my adult life. His positive influence makes me a better person today.

But what about the cake that was there on my special fourteenth? My father always wanted me to be like an open book. He taught me to look into people’s eyes and talk. Which, of course, was not the norm in my Asian culture. He had a hard time trusting people who did not make eye contact. Ever since, I always make an effort to make a very strong eye contact. Then he taught me not to hide my emotions, as people should know me the way I am. There would be some who liked it, and some who wouldn’t. But we would not be able to make everyone happy at the same time. He also mentioned that being an open book makes life much easier, as one will have nothing to hide. Finally, he said that words are like weapons. You use them any way you would like. Enjoy reading, but also try to utilize those letters in expressing yourself. Today, after so many years, I take that advice with me toward the beginning of the rest of my blessed life.

There were five people who were there on that special birthday who are not here with me today, in this world. This tells me to enjoy today and cherish the friends and family I have NOW. With the tunes of “tears in heaven”…I am thinking of them today.  (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6t4Zs5Yq_k&feature=related

There is nothing more precious than the friends who are with you to celebrate this special occasion and the family who loves you everyday. To me, birthdays are like being a newborn every year. Our physical changes are not under our control, but the mind and one’s soul can always remain untouched and fresh. Pure and young. Uncomplicated and divine. Passionate and sumptuous. No, we cannot control the weight of our responsibilities, but we can always carry it with a smile. Birthdays are merely a reminder of “life within self.” I say party if you can—celebrate and rejoice as it’s your day!

Today, I am looking forward to celebrating my birthday with some near and dear ones, and I am telling myself to embrace the moments with humility. While blowing out those candles, as my entire life races right in front of my tightly closed eyes, I can keep repeating: “God, may you take care of the ones who were there beside me on my fourteenth and watching me from heaven above. God, please watch over my friends and family all over and the loved ones who are here to accompany me today.

God, last but not least, “grant my family peace and happiness for ever and ever.”

Happy birthday to me. Enjoy, it’s mine.

Leaving Dhaka for Oshkosh… may, 23rd

“You used to call your father Abbu ( father), so i think, it would be nice if you called your uncle Baba(another name for father in Bangla), says my aunt Leena as she was dropping me off at my home, from a little outing that was meant for only the two of us. My mom got married to Baba, brother of my mom’s best friend, Leena. One of the most positive energies I have been fortunate to be around since my father passed away. Almost every evening, we were blessed by her presence and I would pick up the phone anytime of the day and would have a full conversation before I would even hand the phone over to mom. Mom sure is blessed with a few good friends and I still find friends in them for myself.

As I was climbing up the three-story, instead of flying those floors that one  day, I could almost feel the imprints of my shoes on those stairs, while glazing my hand on the handrail as I wondered about my new life to the west, to Oshkosh Wisconsin. Baba has been living there since he was in his early twenties.

My bathroom mirror, in Dhaka, Bangladesh had a sticky note, in Abbu’s handwriting. It said, “Wasima will go to Berkeley to study law”. His dream was to send me there to become a corporate lawyer. He had fallen in love with that campus, while visiting the states in 1983. Well, even though; it has been good eight years since he passed away, it gave me some sort of an unknown comfort to look at those words. His handwriting would always encourage me to move forward.

If It was not for Baba, I wouldn’t have been able to dream of coming to the states. As I splashed water on my face, and those words of the mirror got clearer to me and the future seemed even more crystal. I heard my mom’s voice, in the background… kind of faint… telling our helpers at home to get the suitcases out for packing. So, I told myself, “That is it, we are leaving our memories and the home my mom so affectionately designed and decorated, behind, to pack our lives up in three suitcases as we head towards a journey to the unknown”. I WAS EXCITED though.

Unknown? exclaimed aunty Leena!! . You will have both my sons there. Shujon is even in the same school that you are going to and Shumon is in Madison. Well, I knew that. And then she added, ” you will never feel that you are without family”.

I always cherished the time I spent with my cousins while growing up.

Aunty Lenna,s exact words as I recall; ” I know your love for Bangladesh is immense, but think about your future”. Somehow, during the entire journey, from Dhaka to Oshkosh, her words echoed in my ears and the transition was made so much easier.

The most contemporary designed home that lay on the channel of lake Winnebago, welcomed us on a calm August day. We arrived right before the sun bid farewell.  I adored the priceless view of the back yard and it was love at first sight. As, I took a walk outside in the fresh air, I told myself, ” Home, here I am”. Yes, you are looking at a girl from Oshkosh, for whom Packers run a close second to God’s team…

A letter to our first born as she turns seventeen…

Dear Daiyaan,                                                                                                                                                                             May 8th, 2012.

As i am sitting here at a battlefield of life without any weapon, in tangled emotions and heartache, I thought of packaging some thoughts so that you can refer back to them later.

This is something I would like to write to you - few years from now. But, what if I am not there? or not capable of expressing these thoughts? So here I go, your Asian mom, on your birthday, who tends to slip through a penny or two when ever she sees fit. And even though you think and believe that I am like your Math teacher, ( which drives you insane)- trust me, I will always come across that way as I have plenty of pennies to spare  I will never shy away from expressing my thoughts to you.

I am visualizing you as a woman in your twenties, as I am processing my thoughts.  And at this moment   you are intertwined with the four lettered word “love”. Daiyaan, know that, I love you deeply and this mother’s love is unconditional. I would never even want an ant to scratch you in anyway.

I am not sure how long you will  be in this relationship for; you probably have started it a while back… but you are now in it, so here I am guessing, that you would soon think  about tieing the knot and making a major life  decision( remember i am visualizing you much older than you are now). As your urge for starting a new life with him  increases, I would ask you with all my heart, to slow down. While you cherish the presence of your love,  I ask you to carefully watch out for his compassion and the amount of respect he pours over you and the way he watches you talk and observes your movements. Are you able to spot that adoration in his eyes?

And to add to that list: the key to any relationship is communication. It is very important that, you can converse and express your opinions and feelings to your partner in life. And that even when you disagree, you can do so in a rational, respectful and a very loving way.

I would encourage you to keep your eyes open and be extra aware while you are engulfed in emotions and care towards him. You would not be able to measure his love but make sure that your love carries dignity and pride.

I know that for a fact, that there would be a point when you would think that HE is exactly the person who you would amore to fulfill your needs, wants, desires and dreams… But once again, right around that time, I would plead  with you to take a few steps back.  Analyze yourself, what you are capable of and what you are stepping into. You don’t know if there is something better and more exciting waiting for you. You don’t know if your career would be hampered if you took the plunge  at so young an age…

I cannot transfer my experiences to you, and unfortunately, people  do not learn from the mistakes of others. But I fervently hope that you won’t make the mistakes that I made.  Specially by not pursuing my intellectual demands to build a solid career. I hope that you will be able to reach out to anything in the world that your heart would desire.

With this now I bid farewell from treating you as my little girl to the idea of you now as my young lady. I enjoy our one on one time together as much as I cherish the quality and quantity time I spend with you and Shania.

On a different note, today, I  am very proud of you for moving forward with the decision of joining the path of martial arts one more time, as you turn seventeen. I will not have to emphasize enough the value this would add into your life in the long run. I still remember Muhammad Ali as he visited our town, Chittagong, Bangladesh; when I was barely a third grader. He grabbed me from behind, put me on his right leg and asked me if I would like to learn how to box one day! Amazing isn’t it ? I guess, this may be one of the many reasons why I enjoy this line of ”sport” so much. And here is a famous quote by him. “I hated every minute of training, but I said, “Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.”

Not being brought up with a sibling, I really have a lot of fun watching you and your little sister bond. It gives me a great comfort to know that you both will be there for each other always… There is nothing like sisterly love.

Daiyaan, please know that life is not measured by the successes we acquire, but it is weighed by how we treat each other, how we act towards our loved ones, how we behave with people around us ,how we treat people who contribute nothing to our lives and how we are able to treat strangers with a smile. God is within us all and when we realize that, we would not have the heart to hurt anyone.

My dear love, my heart…believe that, God is watching us from a distance. Wishing you a wonderful 17th …

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kmetg3Izw6I

with love and prayers,

mom.

beliefs … march 26, 2012

Before I even open my eyes I start reciting some verses of prayers that I grew up with. I sometimes experience tightness around my chest and with prayers, deep breathing, diverting my mind with some non lyrical music and listening to the breathing noises of our daughters… I start feeling a bit lighter, I can eventually bring about a smile on my face by trying mighty hard and yes, I can actually go on with my daily chores and routines. Everyday, I am becoming more and more routine oriented. And in this part of the world, where time rules everything, one cannot slack and wonder and not follow the glorious steps of life. The only place where I am struggling is jotting down my thoughts in writing. It just does not come easy for me anymore. The flow seem to be absent and my poetic sizzle is lacking.

We have one process to live and whatever comes along our way we definitely need to be positive about it and walk along with the rhythm of L-I-F-E. Well, it may not always be an easy one. You may find yourself, being absolutely, blended with the hard cement that your car so nicely rests upon. Or in another God forsaken moment you may feel like adding some wings of HOPE and flying to the seven seas.

Within the last year I have come across quite a few people. Some I had the pleasure of knowing from before and some I didn’t. Female mostly. There was this one person, I knew when I was in grade five. It was nice to be in touch via Facebook and texts I thought… Till about the second text which absolutely threw me off. “So Wasima, what are you doing this Sunday eve”? ” Going to a “Christian” church to listen to an Australian motivational speaker, speak on humanity, how to deal with mean people and  troubles of life”, and I added, “I was just invited this morning, and I am looking forward to it”.” What do you mean by a Christian church?”, he asked. ” It’s not a Catholic, Baptist or a Lutheran church. It’s for the Born again” mentioned I…

” Oh, my! you have turned into a Kafir( non believer of Islam), you have simply become  a Christian”, ” no wonder you are having to go through so much agony in your life”…  at that point, I was pressed for time and wasn’t sure if I should text back anymore. I  said to myself, that I really do not need these kind of comments surrounding my thoughts at this time of my life. But I did text back saying… ” I am a human first, and that is what matters to me”… ” and he replied, “well, I am first A MUSLIM”

It doesn’t matter what back ground one has,  what nationality one carries or what religion per say”. ” Just because someone is born to a family, usually gets to follow that particular religion of the family, unless they choose to otherwise”. I thought about texting this to her but refrained. People who cannot think outside the box will not be open to any opinion that would differ from theirs.

Well, as I was driving to this church I was thinking about my childhood and reflected on, how fortunate was I to be raised in an environment where we were exposed to Pujas( hindu religious rituals), Christmas events, thoughts of Sufism and Buddhist philosophies. We discussed the similarities between Judaism, Christianity and Islam. We were taught to be tolerant towards every religion. And then we were asked to comprehend what Religion was?  It was well emphasized that Religion is a path to reach to the same super power only through different  medias. It’s a way of life and a discipline to follow for the measurement of “after life”. Sometimes we even foresee the results while” living”. Religion itself is very scientific and organized. I would never claim to be a religious person, though I say my prayers regularly, now even more than ever; but I would definitely  say that I am spiritual.

“Being a Muslim first is the only way, one can bring peace to her life”. I am not sure why, I couldn’t agree to this  statement that he voiced. Yes, Religion is very important but I know there are many Christians, Jews, Hindus and Mormons who are better muslims than you and I. I feel and strongly believe, which of course is a part of my engraved lesson that, if you do not lie, cheat and hurt someone knowingly… you are towards a path Of “nirvana( any place of complete bliss, delight and peace)”. Being nice to people regardless of the situation, being fair and treating everyone as God,s creation is one’s true religion. We do not have to have a Label on our left shoulder stating “A Religion”,  and forcing on the notion that it is the only way out and is the best one in the universe and people who do not believe in mine will not be at peace and lead towards the path of hell.

It was quite sad that, I could not and did not wish to pursue much communication via text with this person, but I did respect his opinion. Everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion. Since then,I often ask myself - What are we first? As I mentioned earlier that, for me, I am a God’s creation first. I would like to live with my head held high knowing that my existence is to serve and make a difference. I hope our daughters can one day be mature adults with a set of values and morals in life. I say prayers to my girls every night and have my younger one repeat certain verses, after me,  before she goes to bed. I would always keep on encouraging them to speak to God, if not for anything else but to thank the Almighty for another Blessed day. For letting us breathe fresh air that we so  often take for granted…for easily receiving drinking water out of the tap, for having a decent meal on our plates, for having a car that can take us to schools and places, for having a family that cares and friends who are there for us during good and difficult times.  Our 6-year-old, every night, says her prayers quite loud and  ends it with, ” God please keep my mom, dad, sister and I alive…  and thank you for a good day”, while our 16-year-old, concludes her’s with, ” whatever happens in life, God please make sure that my parents are o.k.”…

There is a saying, “families that eat together and pray together, stay together“… We forget this philosophy of life and make our own time to eat, and pray in seclusion. We can always change that habit and turn our clock around to be there for each other. The unit of being and to be able to sustain as a family is a blessing. Some are blessed with it and some of us will just have to learn to cope with the taboo of a “broken entity ” and make the best of it.  For now, when the girls are with me, I feel “family”.

And to my friends and family who are struggling, when do you start working on the relationship of your’s? The time is NOW and the place is HERE…

Desparately seeking Wasima…

I started writing  gibberish when I was little but it was not till third grade that those nonsensical letters took some sort of form or shape. My writing was more focused on topics of “life” and “lives of the leaders of the world”.  not sure why but I really should have pursued writing later in life.

 Since I was a little girl, I used to always watch my father wear his tie and go to work with his briefcase firmly held on his left arm. He was quite over six feet, but looked even taller to me. I could easily get lost in his tunes of violin. He was religious about his “one hour” practice each day. Music was an integral part of his life. I have developed my taste in classical through him. On the other hand, when I used to hear him talk about his meetings, business deals, encounters with  the president of the country or high government officials and about all his employees - it made me feel  HUGE and so proud that my father  was not only a corporate leader, but I knew that he was an honest one in a very corrupt country.  His honesty sometimes took a toll on making business deals. I always wanted to be – ” a leader”,  like he was, not only of  a national oil company but a leader with immense strength and inner power.

 

I remember doing a project in sixth grade on Jigme Singye Wangchuck, the former king of Bhutan and we were asked to compare him with any other leader of our choice. I had the most amazing time contrasting and sketching the commonalities  between my father and the king.

 

Later in life as I was stepping into the teen age phase, I was more convinced that not every leader is the president of a country or a king of a nation. I grew up with wonderful teachers who were the core of educational institutions and even friends who lead me towards the righteous path.. my every day leaders of the society. I also was lucky to have cousins who were always setting phenomenal examples and my mom who was the organizer and the planner that perfected our lives.

 

At this stage of my life I have quite a few, “could haves” and” should haves”. So,  I am  trying to actually figure out how to improve my leadership qualities that I carried before I followed my dream. Yes, before my dream.

 When asked, ” what would you like to be, when you grow up? ” my answer always was, ” A MOM”.  

When our seventeen year old daughter  was born, she was my dream come true.

 

 I wanted to be a  perfect example  for her. Believing as I did,  that, children learn from observing their parents.

 

  About four years ago,I decided to make myself some business cards. I have always been  in love with the light houses  and my card had a picture of a lighthouse  with  my name underneath.  Titled, “mother of Daiyaan and Shania”. Yep, “that was and is my identity”.

 

Eons after the departure of my father from this world, my mother was made to take the much-needed plunge. She remarried.

 As, I discovered more about my current  dad, I found out that he taught Political Science with the emphasis on Leadership. He was the first Asian to get elected to become the president of the faculty senate. Our dinner table conversations, you can well imagine… I have to say are quite interesting. Through his guidance, I went into the field of Political Science and became very involved at  my college  campus of University of Wisconsin at Oshkosh.

 

I started by  being a student senator and managed two different associations. I was president of the Bangladesh student and Political Science Association. I had  unique learning and motivating experiences. It was remarkable to be able to organize round tables with our professors and to bring speakers to our campus to enlighten us. I had excellent team mates. I was awarded the most distinguish recognition. The “Issac Kayando Leadership Award”, on my graduating year. Grateful for that.

 

Later on, being the people’s person I was, I gravitated towards Human resource development during my grad school. I appreciated the support I received  from my spouse then.

 

Believe it or not ? I really had a lot of hope for myself…

 

As I am going through a stream of  consciousness, it’s reminding me of a song that a dear friend of mine at college dedicated to me…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BGbeDb5VIk

 

Yes, this is becoming a bit of a self praise but, I was asked, many a times in the recent past, to focus on my passion. I don’t know what I would be able to do with it in the practical future but my passion lies on my desire  to learn and be engaged more in developing  leadership skills, with or without a title. Even  talking about it right now, is very therapeutic for me.

 

Looking  back at  my middle and high school years,  I  was always  a class and our sports team leader,  exhibiting extra strength at shot put. Where did all these zest dissipate to? No, I am not trying to create a resume here but finally taking the time to reflect and analyze to see where I went RIGHT?    Well, I may not have created a profession for myself but supported and encouraged my partner to climb the corporate ladder while fulfilling my dream, by being in the lives of our daughters.  While at it, I of course became an expert on organizing corporate events, took pride in interior decorating, a queen at entertaining, being a culinary artist at my own paradise and a classy chauffeur for taxing our girls around. Well, lets see, which one of these would I be able to title on my  tombstone ?

 

 I have been following  the work of a national best-selling author and a motivational speaker Mark Sanborn for about two years now. And recently I had  an opportunity to become his guest, to hear him speak. Among many things, he highlighted on the power of  giving without recognition. He emphasized on  how we can make an impact on our lives as well as others  by bringing out the leadership within. “We truly do not need a title to be a leader but by not allowing any circumstances control our destiny but rather master the circumstances”, says Mr. Sanborn. I am trying to comprehend his words while going down memory lane.

 

I know that I  have to keep on  practicing “self-mastery”. Shania, our six-year-old,  is watching  every move of mine and I would really need to show her nothing but strength specially when I reach out to drop her off at her dad’s, every weekend…

 

 Today, as I ponder upon the jotted letters of Robert Frost I recite it to myself:

i shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and i,
i took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference…

 

Difference towards a positive and a brighter future ?… and all we can do is to think positive and spread positive energy. Lets lead on…

 

 

 

 

 

Why dress my bed ? … 4. 27. 2012

I walk into this writing workshop, where I was given a list of things to write from and one of them was “making the bed”… and I say to myself, “hmmm”.

And you would think, it’s not an art to make a bed? Try 300 a day, in a perfect way to let those exhausted souls relax after an entire day of busy time spent at the “air show” at Oshkosh, Wisconsin.

Yes, as a summer job in 1993, I was hired at our conference building to organize and make the rooms look glorified each day. We were taught to style the “tuck ins’ in each side and to puff the pillows. The method of making those crisp layouts were not in anyway different than a five star hotel. At least after putting in all the effort, I would like to think that…

I was brought up with the notion that, when you  wake up;  you make your way to making the bed first… even before brushing your teeth. Mom,s main philosophy was, ” when the bed is made, the room automatically looks tidy”. Boy! was it nailed into my head. And I became very particular about making “the bed”.

And now my teen ager, Daiyaan, would yell at me for making her,s everyday. ” Mom, what’s the darn point?, why dress MY bed? we sleep on it again the same day? Not that she hasn’t been brought up with a very tidy room… Go figure.

For many years I was used to making three beds in a row. The master bed, the teen ager’s and OUR’s ( my little one, Shania’s and mine). Our bed was the first one to be made. Even now, from time to time  she  likes to help me with that chore.  I would repeatedly tell her how important it is to come back to a crisp bed at the end of the day. Hopefully through that  reenforcement,   she would one day realize the value of a ”dressed bed”.

The second bed used to be the master bed, where my partner in life retired every night. It was very easy to make his one. He not only maintained a routined life,  his sleeping pattern was very organized as well. He was able to go through the night, without disrupting the other side of the bed. I had a habit of piling tons of pillows on each bed and the pillows on the other side of the master bed would be as untouched as the virgin from the garden of Eden. It sure amazed me each morning.

Then into Daiyaan’s room.  She loves to hug her entire bed and cherishes every minute of her non awaking moments. She adores to go to bed early or even hanging around in and around the bed is comforting to her. It would take me a good forty five minutes to finish making each of the beds and stacking pillows on top. At completion of each  making,  I had a sense of accomplishment just     from   the simple notion   that    after all the “good nights”, my family has gone back  to a peaceful “dreamland”     in the  individual beds made by me.

… Ami bangla

Shobujer majhe khujechi tomay,

peyechi lal altay,

tumi lukiye thako kolapatay,

ar ami bhabi rongdhonute…

 

Tomay pabar ashay -tomar golar shore,

jeno hariye gechi shonkhochile…

 

kashboney lukobe? naki shishirer ghashe?

tumi amar protidhoni, amri-

tomarey hate amar porichoy,

tumi kothay? keno bohudur?

amito klantimukhe, tomar pothocheye…

 

Ami “ka, kha, ga bolechi- tomari achol dhore,

“ma” bolata chilo prothomar charulota,

ar tumi? lukochurir majhe,

protibar niye asho ronger mela-

beli phuler mala- na kodomer prerona,

tomay ahobban korbo boley amar protasha…

 

Tumi esho, bar bar esho.

ami opekkhay tomari- amar desher mati,

ai boishakhae- molino shondhay…

Table for one? …

Garbage days are on every Tuesdays and Fridays. I practically need to take the garbage out once every two weeks.  And even then, reluctantly, as the bin is not even half full… Fridays are recycling days as well.

I take both the bins out right before it was getting to be a tad bit towards the darker shade. As I open the door to the outside  the sweet tasting breeze brushes my cheeks and I turn to my inner soul with gratitude towards my being. My little one watches her T.V. as i go back and forth through our front door.

 “Hi, how are you doing” hollers the neighbor. “Hanging in there”, seems to be my daily response these days( Natural calamities of my life have taken a tole on me).  why can I not say, “good”, “very good- and  thank you for asking”.

 I talk to myself for a while and decide that I will try to  take a different approach to life and even for a day, I will pretend to be “good”, “completely fine”…

 Shania  is   six and half year old and i call her “my soul”. She asked me yesterday in passing, “mom are you happy”? darn it, i was able to control my tears and i responded within seconds. “I am very happy when i am with you”…, with my response she smiled. Life sometimes takes its turns when we least expect it and sometimes gifts us with “practical” presents, that we so hesitate to encounter. But the reality or the bitter truth cannot always be hidden. It will reveal on it’s own. I always say to myself, “God sure is watching us from a distance”, and nothing in life goes unnoted.

 Life has taught me many  lessons in the recent past. From being absolutely clueless about  what life wants, to what were the life long decisions that were made for me. One episode after the other occured, as if  nature worked tremendously hard to make it all happen. Nothing was under my control what so ever. And some people around me made things even worse.

 Realizations to reality checks, from tears to heart breaks, misunderstandings to misconceptions, gossips to non gratitudes. Well, what happens at the end? You realize that the battle you are fighting  can only be fought with self first. And once that got resolved things became crystal clear. As if a piece of diamond is screaming on the top of it’s voice ” I am not Zirconia, I am original”.  I gotta laugh out loud  at  the series of events that placed themselves one after the other  in my path ???

 People who have known me have been exposed to the brighter desposition that I always carried. Always positive and always happy. Happiness comes from within and it needs to be cherished and fertilized.

I  sit back today on a Thursday evening, listening to Shania breathing and talking every now and then in her sleep. On this 12th day of january I  am grateful for this blessed day. but then i wonder about the days when i walk by “Aruba’s” or the local Thai joint and ask myself, if i should step in… thinking, it would be nice to go out  and dine for a change. haven’t been  fine dining in ages.

 Do i miss that? I miss the company.  Dressing up and going out with my spouse is what i miss. But in the meanwhile, while i am wrapped around with the shawl of “hope”… what i am apprehensive about is my right foot stepping into a door to dine and   being faced with the question ”table for one”? …