As My Memory Flips Back The Pages..

Every day when my dad would come back from work, I would run towards him. He would take his shoes off and I would ask the same question from him a thousand times in a row, like a broken record, until he would finally answer me.

“Have I got admitted to the school?”

“Have I got admitted to the school?”

“Have I got admitted to the school?”

…

“Not yet, Yusra!”

And then I would frown and start praying for that day to come quick and with that I would picture a school building. Every time when I thought about school, I couldn’t help but imagine a dark room with a fat lady sitting between two piles of sacks, scrutinizing the class. That fat lady was what I thought how a school teacher looked like.

One day, to my extreme happiness, my dad told me that we were going to the school and it dawned upon me that I would have to take a test before the admission because that’s how children get admitted to the school. My mom dressed me up and my dad drove us to the school. On our way, I asked my mom what I was going to be asked. She told me that I was taught all the basics at home so I did not have to worry, it would not be difficult for me. We reached the school and it looked nothing like what I had imagined. A big gate. A large school ground with swings, surrounded by a good number of classrooms that I couldn’t event count. Oh, so that’s how a school actually looks like. I highly doubt that I managed to see that view without dropping my jaw.

My mom was right. I knew just about everything on the test. The Urdu/English alphabets. The forward and backward counting. Spellings of some words. The first and second kalma. It was a piece of cake and that too with generous amount of chocolate sauce for me. Of all the tests I’ve taken in my life, this was the easiest one. The principal smiled at me and patted my cheeks and told me that I did great on the test and gave me a juice pack and a bag of chips.

I got admitted to the school.

I woke up early in the morning for my first day of school. Out of sheer excitement, I didn’t even want to eat my breakfast. Mom dressed me in my school uniform and did my hair. With my school bag perched on my back, I shoved my feet into my new shiny brown shoes and my mom stooped down to buckle them up for me. While buckling my shoes, she looked up at me, smiled and said, “Don’t forget this day and time when you grow up.” I had no idea what to say to her, so I just smiled back at her. That was a five-year-old’s response. A way of ensuring her mom that this day would be remembered. Forever. So, right then and there I promised myself that I would not let this day slip out of my memory.

And now it’s safe to say that after all those years, I still haven’t failed to keep my promise that I had once made to myself in secrecy.

My dad dropped me off at school. The day I had been waiting for eagerly had finally come. He came inside the school with me and took me to the principal’s office. The principal asked a lady worker at the school to show me the way to my classroom. My dad kissed me goodbye and told me he would come to take me home when the school hours were over. Being left in absolute unfamiliar surroundings and watching my dad leave me in the hands of a perfect stranger was that episode of my imagination about First Day Of School which I never watched. My heart started pounding in my ears and I tried in vain to keep myself from crying. Suddenly, I didn’t want to go sit in a classroom. I didn’t want to discover more about that school. I just wanted to run back to my dad. I wanted to go home. All I could see around me was an enormous building and alien faces. I was crying. The people at school were brutal. Like robots with no feelings, they watched me cry my eyes out but no one took me back to my dad. I was taken to the classroom instead.

I was assigned a roll number. 43. It took me a while to settle down and observe my surroundings. This time, too, the scene around me caught me by surprise. There were no piles of sacks and no fat teacher. Instead, what I saw before me was a big black rectangular thing on which, a pretty, happy faced teacher was scribbling down the English alphabet in different colors. Fat? No! Fat was absolutely not the word for her. With time, I started to acknowledge what I was seeing in my vicinity.

The bell rang after sometime and everyone started to get out of the classroom in pairs, with lunchboxes in their hands. This is lunch break, I was told. A girl, (let’s just call her ‘The Nice Girl’) while leaving the classroom with her friend, halted where I was seated and said that I could come with her if I wanted to. I didn’t have any friends to have my lunch with. I hesitated a bit at first but then I realized I was a total loner at this new place so I took my lunch box out of my brand spanking new school bag and tagged along beside her.

I don’t know why but I have always been the weird one since my childhood. I have weird desires now and I had weird desires back then. I wanted to see how school toilets looked like. I decided to ask The Nice Girl to take me to the lavatory but I found it so embarrassing to tell her that I only wanted to go to the loo just because I wanted to see it. I thought she would laugh at me. Even though she was really really nice, it still seemed a bit embarrassing to me. So I fibbed. I told her I wanted to go the loo really bad. She, being as nice as she could, told her friend that she was going to show this new girl (that was me, of course) the way to the loo and she handed our lunch boxes to her friend and said that we would eat our lunch once we get back from the lavatory.

So instead of eating my lunch and playing on the swings, I was heading towards the toilets just to see how they looked like at the school. The Nice Girl took me where the school toilets were. She stayed outside while I went inside and counted the number of toilet doors. After examining that place, I came out concluding that I didn’t really like the school toilets. Too small. The classrooms were a lot better. Wide and colorful.

I was feeling hungry and so was The Nice Girl. She suggested that we should start munching on what our mommies had packed for us before the bell rings. So we got back to where her friend was but what I saw next brought back that I-want-to-go-home-RIGHT-NOW feeling within me. Her friend was not at all nice like she was. She had hogged on my lunch. She was laughing devilishly, running around the school ground still chewing on the last bite of my lunch and giving me that same bully look they show in those school bully movies. She was just making me want to kill her. But I couldn’t kill her of course. Standing in the middle of the school ground, helpless like a fish out of water, I broke into a fountain of tears and cried my heart out. The Nice Girl got all mad on her friend. She told her that she was a bad girl and tried to calm me down from crying by offering me her lunch. Although, feeling like it was the end of the world, after all that had happened, somewhere in between the weeping and the longing to see my parents' faces, I couldn’t help thinking how nice, caring and sweet The Nice Girl was. I wonder if I had told her that. I highly doubt I had though.

Nevertheless, I made a friend that day.

I had learnt a lot that day. Like how hard and challenging it was to say goodbye to your loved ones. And that the school classrooms didn’t have piles of sacks. And that the teachers did not necessarily have to be fat. I finally knew how school toilets looked like. But above and beyond all, I had learnt that I could then proudly call someone my friend.

From The Diary Of A Socially Phobic Niece

We all have annoying aunties in our family, right? The ones who keep talking about our future because their interest in our lives holds a special place in their minds. I have one too. Err, actually I’m dealing with more than one such creatures. It’s hard to keep up with them & their “I’m-about-to-make-your-ears-bleed” talk.

I have this aunty who got a catch phrase of her own. Particularly when she’s talking to me, I guess. And that catch phrase is “Tumhara number abi bohat door hai”

IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!

I’m the youngest one among my sisters. Whenever my aunt sees them doing the chores, she goes “Baqi behanein to mehman hai, tum kaam kro tumhara number abi bohat door hai” Gets me all nettled. Seriously. Last time she said that I fired back at her. I said “Oh who knows aunty, maybe I’d get married first” (just to make her quite down of course) and it worked. For like a minute, I guess. She went still. I won (for that very moment I did win actually). But then she felt a little embarrassed about losing to ME so she started coming up with some pretty lame rejoinders.

Ohkay well here’s the deal. I keep thinking about it. When my sisters would get married, they’d leave the house, obviously, and their chores would be thrusted upon me because when there’d be nobody else at home to do the chores, mum dad would obviously call me to get them all done. So, in the long run, I am the one who’d be doing all those chores, right?? Verifying the intensive thinking of my brains, I felt like… Ah! Genius!! And put across those thoughts to her. I told her that being the youngest sister actually meant that you must show some mercy to me for I would be doing all those chores in the longest time possible. We must be given at least the same number of chores for the sake of stopping sibling rivalry. Her extremely non creative mind used my very own comeback against me and she said, “Oh who knows maybe you’d get married first and leave the house, so now go get to work.” :/ Child labor, I say. This is child labor.

This other aunty, she keeps worrying about my height. I’m kind’a tall. This, normally, is perceived as a blessing by girls. But for me, it has been a curse so far. I mean their stupid talk makes me feel like I have height issues. Although I’m not “that” tall. But oh well I am the the tallest sibling, the tallest (girl) cousin & the tallest one among my friends. My eldest sister, well she doesn’t even let me wear heels. She says I look like a giant in heels. Oh & did I mention that I LOVE HEELS?!!! But I really can’t recall the last time I wore them. I think I’ve never worn any. Never in my life time. I tried to wear them in a family gathering once, 3 years ago & I still remember what kind of harsh talk I had to hear when my sister saw me wearing those heels so she went all mad on me. I always wear flats everywhere and anywhere. *sobs* Life can be such a letdown, at times. Well, Ok, now getting back to the aunty issue, it once happened when I was sitting at a cousin’s house with my family (the word family includes ‘that height conscious aunt’ as well), when I suddenly had to get up to get some stuff done. As soon as I got up, she went “oh hey, are you wearing heels?” *looked down at my feet* I was wearing NO HEELS obviously. Then she continued, “You’re growing taller day by day. Give it a break.” and guess what did she say next… “Aur lambi hui to tumhare size ka koi nae mile ga” I went completely defunct! She said that to me on my face!!! Meany aunty. Meany Meany aunty!

Another aunty, she thinks I’m still a kid. So whenever I go to her house or she comes to mine, she treats me like a baby. Which is nice, at times, rarely, very rarely though. But most of the times, its irritating. I mean I like being pampered and all but that’s something different, she treats me as a kid & I would actually NOT call that pampering. It’s just being treated as a kid. It’s annoying.

Ok, I guess I must not give a damn anymore.

P.S. iWhine -_____-

Be My Guest Or Leave Me Alone

I don’t like it when XYZ guests come over to our house. I’m aware that it shouldn’t be my attitude towards any guest coming over, but I can’t really help it. Whenever my mom gets to know that someone’s coming over, the very next thing that comes in her mind is Yusra’ & ‘cleaning up the house’.

My mom wanted me to clean up the house as we were having some guests over. But I told my mum I don’t want to clean the house just because they were coming. I never appreciate them visiting us. I told her I’ll clean it some other time. Not for them but for me (Yeah sounds like a brilliant pretext, No?) But well, she said she didn’t like my attitude (I was damn sure she’d say that in response to my justifiably assertive behavior) Further she went on & told me that if someone comes to our house, we should never make them feel un-invited. We should make them feel special.

Well, that’s the only reason I keep TOLERATING their existence in our house.

JUST because my mom said so.

But it’s frustrating, I tell you. It’s frustrating when your usual routine messes up with the arrival of just a certain someone.

I have to endure the pain… So much pain.

It’s maddening when you can’t watch your favorite show because ‘the guests’ have to watch something else on T.V. Or when you’re listening to you favorite music& they suddenly show up from somewhere & tell you they don’t like that kind of music so they want you to swap it with ‘their’ favorite music. It’s thwarting when you can’t eat your munchies around the house without sharing with them. Like you usually eat, during normal days, when your house is “un-guestified”. Because for some reason it feels awkward when your guests are just sitting there looking at you while you shove the munchies down your pie-hole. So you have to get up and share it with them. Which is one hell of a psychotic sufferance for me as I hate sharing. It’s intensely enraging when you’re watching something on TV & they kick off a discussion over that T.V show with their voices so loud that practically veils the voices coming from the T.V & you can’t help but listen to their irky talk, which actually turns out to be a protest on how kids these days never watch anything useful on T.V. & that discussion goes on for so long that your show ends up & you get up and walk out from that room but their debate never seems to catch the end point so they keep on talking about it. This is kind of obtruding, No? You like your shows, I like mine. What’s the big deal? But then again you can’t tell them to shut up because they are, oh well, the guests.

Ok one thing, for the record, if guests want us to give them their full rights, they should also identify their obligations in return. So they must know that their most important obligation as a guest is to “Live As A Guest” because they don’t own the host’s house.

Do not interfere. Mind your own business. Don’t creep into our lives. If you are a guest, live here as a guest. I’d never go to someone’s house & tell them I don’t like what they are watching on the T.V. Because it’s their house, not mine. They can watch whatever they want.

Don’t be a nuisance. Be a tolerable guest.

Also when you just don’t want to spend time with them, you literally find yourself locking up inside your room. But when you have to face them again at dinner or lunch, the first thing they say is “Ye to nazar he nae ati. Sara din kamre me band rehti hai” That’s the very moment when I literally want to scream,“When I sit with you, you make me feel like running away. You’re always talking sh!t about my likes. Why would I want to spend my time with you? You guys are nothing but repelling personalities!!!

But instead, I take control over myself, conceal my feelings, bury the urge to scream deep down inside and fake a smile so that they don’t think I’m rude…

Why oh why?!? Why do I have to be so nice to people? This very question raises in my head every single day. Never get an answer back though.

..oh & what’s even worse, the guests who come over at your place with no plans of going back to their houses in their mind. Well that just kills me. How can anyone be so thoughtless? It’s strange how they don’t even get the idea that the more they stay at someone’s house, the more uninvited their existence becomes & it makes others’ lives miserable. Well, actually we don’t let them grasp ‘the idea’ because we’re always being super nice to them.

I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way about them. While writing this, I feel like I’m a bad, bad antisocial person which I’m oh so totally NOT. So this kind of proves one thing. You are never born bad. Situations & people around you make you a bad person. Because I know, I’m one hell of a social butterfly. Always chattering with people. Giving them a real good company. But some people, well they just drain my energy, make me feel enervated.

….like the type of guests portrayed above. I hope they don’t read it though.

P.S. Hey, Wanna come over to my place? We’ll party hard!!!

The Ufone Ghanta Package Can Go Straight To Hell

I never thought I’d hate Ufone this much.. My tragic story… :(

Err… so I was like having this real nice time tweeting from my phone & checking out some pretty funny hashtags when suddenly my phone started ringing. I so wasn’t expecting any calls at 11:00 P.M so it kind’a teensy weensy tiny bit startled me. It was my one of my aunties. I thought, why is she calling me? :s Got a little confuzzled, dragged my thoughts out of the twitter world & picked up the phone. And being on my best of my behaviour, I uttered, “Asslamoalikum, aunty. Kesi hain?” …and after le typical exchange of greetings, she told me she called on my no. because (unfortunately) she had the same phone network as me and that she had subscribed this “Ghanta package” so that she could gossip the night away with my mom.

ARE YOU KIDDING MEEE?!?!?!

Those words… they fell upon me like a thunderbolt (oh well, dramatic much) No but seriously, that basically meant I won’t be using my phone for one whole hour ‘cause ofcourse it’d be with my mum. Ahh, so I faked a happy reply in return, like “Yayyy, one whole hour.. that’s great isn’t it greeeeeeeeeeeeatttt”

Here mum, someone wants to talk to you!! From the inside, I was like.. Die Ufone Die!!

Things to do: get my mom a UFONE sim.