Kheloongi Holi ( I shall play Holi)

Phagwa, more commonly known as Holi, celebrated on the full moon day of Phalgun, is a festival that heralds the arrival of spring. Played with dry and wet color, it is a symbolic expression for the changing temperatures and the blossoming fields.

Since very young, on the morning of Holi, I saw my Muslim parents being called at the gates of our house in Delhi, by a group of faces immersed in colors, who all looked almost identical. As my parents walked out, they were enthusiastically smeared with color by the crowd, and they too lost their identity with crowd.  It left no clue as to who was who, when they roared together with laughter and excitement.  As we siblings grew up, we joined in too, with our set of friends.

Holi, as I envision it,  is a perfect way to depict a spirit of universal brotherhood beyond color, creed, caste or social status.

If  taken in it’s true spirits, Holi never was and never is meant to be a religious festival to be celebrated by a select faith.

Though, like other religious festivals, it too claims a legend with a victory of the good over the evil ( The Story of Holika). However, from the context of its current celebration, it is said to have begun by the love duo Krishna and Radha.
Krishna as a young boy, being extremely dark complexioned, complained to his mother Yashoda, why was he dark, while his beloved Radha fair?

The conversation between a complaining son, and  his doting mother,  is  narrated beautifully, in a famous folk song:

Yashomati mayya sey bole Nand Lala,
Radha kyun gori, main kyun kala?
Boli muskaati Mayya, Sun merey pyaare,
Gori gori Radhika ke, nain kajrare,
Kaale nainon waali ney, aisa jadu dala,
Tuu isee liye  kaala.

(Krishna asks mother Yashoda: “Why am I dark, while Radha is so fair?”
Mother  smiles and replies: “Listen my dear, the fair Radha’s kohl eyes have swept you with their magic, and hence are you so dark.)

And one day teasingly to console Krishna she is said to have told him: “What’s in a color? Go and smear Radha’s face with any color you like.”
And Krishna out of love for Radha, smeared her with red color( gulaal).

Legend claims that  thus began  the playing of colors ( Holi khelna), between Krishna and Radha along with her friends referred to as Gopis.

Their romance with playing Holi has been immortalized in many miniature painting s:

Another one, with in Mughal art:

Mughal Emperors  too fancied Holi, for its association with color and romance. They brought the practice of playing Holi to their courts and palaces.

Akber is no surprise, knowing his secular conviction and a Hindu Queen, Joda Bai.

Jehangir, the romantic art connoisseur, is documented to have played Holi with his Queen Noor Jehan in his palace and called it Eid-e-Gulabi. It isnt hard to imagine the ecstatic aroma and aura that must have been created in the palace by red gulaal,  rose petals ( gulab paashi) and   rose water (aab paashi) being sprinkled during the royal play.

Auranzeb’s fancy for the colors of Holi came as a surprise to me. Writes Lane Poole in biography Auranzeb: “During his time there used to be several groups of Holi singers who besides reciting libertine lyrics also indulged in salaciousness, accompanied by various musical instruments.”

Bahadur Shah Zafar’s verses on Holi now are sung as part of the phaag ( folk songs of Holi). One of the most sung verses being:

Kyo Mo Pe Rang Ki Maari Pichkaari
Dekho Kunwar Ji Doongi Mein Gaari
(Why drench me with color spray,
now my prince, I will swear at you)

Bahut Dinan Mein Haath Lage Ho Kaise Jane Doon
Aaj Phagwa To Son Ka Tha Peeth Pakad Kar Loon.
(After long have you come in my hands, how will I let you go?
Today is Holi, and perfect time to catch hold of you)

This is Mughal Emperor Jehangir playing Holi in his palace:

Sufi poets too eulogized the Radha Krishna romance and Holi, when expressing their love for their revered Sufi Saints or even God.

To begin with  Sufi poets, it is Shah Niaz’s ‘s Hori Ho Rahi hai, (immortalized by Abida Parveen):

Holi hoye rahi hai Ahmad Jiya ke dwaar
Hazrat Ali ka rang bano hai Hassan Hussain khilaar
Aiso holi ki dhoom machi hai chahoon or pari hai pukaar
Aiso anokho chatur khiladi rang deeyon sansaar
“Niaz” pyaara bhar bhar chidke ek hi raang sahas pichkaar.

(Holi is happening at beloved, Ahmed’s (saww) doorsteps.
Color has become of Hazrat Ali (as) and Hasan (as), Hussain (as) are playing.
It has become such a bustling scene of Holi that it has become talk of the town,
people are calling others from all over,
What unique and clever players (Hasan and Hussain) that they colored the entire world.
Niaz (the poet) sprinkles bowlfuls of color all around,
the same color that comes out of thousands of pichkaaris ( spray guns).)
{Thanks to Ali Rehman @Baahirezaman for the translation}.

Bulleh Shah also played Holi with his Master:

Hori khailoongi keh kar Bismillah
Naam nabi ki rattan charhi, bond pari Illalah
Rang rangeli ohi khilawe, jo sakhi howe fana fi Allah

(I shall play Holi, beginning with the name of Allah.
The name of Prophet is enveloped with light,
He only makes us play with colors, who annihilates with Allah)

Amir Khusro  relates to  Holi through multiple fascinating ways, in various places. Khusrau refers  not just to the color, or the play but of  the birth place of Krishna Mathura in the famous Aaj Rung hai rey:

Gokal dekha, Mathra dekha,
par tosa na koi rang dekha
Ey main dhoond phiri hoon
Des bides mein dhoond phiri hoon,

Purab dekha pacham dekha
uttar dekha dakkan dekha
Re main dhoond phiri hoon
Des bides mein dhoond phiri hoon,

Tora rang man bhaayo Moinuddin
Mohe apne hi rang mein rang le Khwaja ji
Mohe rang basanti rang de Khwaja Ji
Mohe apne hi rang mein rang de

{In summary: I saw Gokul, Mathura ( bith place of Krishna) and even East to West I roamed, but I did not find anyone with a color like yours. My heart is enamored by your color, hence color me in your shade, my master.}

Another lesser know verse I came across is:

Khelooongi Holi, Khaaja ghar aaye,
Dhan dhan bhaag hamarey sajni,
Khaaja aaye aangan merey..
( I shall play Holi as Khaaja has come to my home,
Blessed is my fortune, O’ friend,
as Khaaja has come to my courtyard.)

Needless to repeat, there are ample such examples.  No matter how much one may attempt, it is impossible to separate the two inter-meshed   cultures coexistent for centuries in the subcontinent. These celebrations of culture are all about love and inclusion, and absolutely nothing about hate and discrimination.

Let’s celebrate then, with an open heart !

Here is the link to Amir Khusrau’s Kheloongi Holi, Khaaja ghar aaye:

http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owFCPKI9k2A

The King of Kebabs- Behari Kebabs

Behari Kababs !

Which meat loving South Asian  doesn’t relish them ? In fact, Maulana Abul Kalam Azad has called them, the ‘finest’ kebabs in his food memoirs.

I grew up watching on very special occasions, my mother prepare and barbeque these Kebabs very diligently on and with much effort, on a charcoal grill. All I remember was that it was a great hard work. And hence, for many, Behari Kebabs is a delicacy to be eaten in restaurants, as cooking them at home is very cumbersome.

I too believed so, till once, I thought of experimenting them in the convenience of my kitchen, in the electric oven. I made them with wooden skewers, and the first attempt wasn’t bad at all. Second time, it was for a dinner party, and the guests could not believe they were homemade, till my husband showed them the oven, tray and the wooden skewers on which they were made.

I moved on, more confident. Got  custom made, iron skewers that fit my tray size in the oven. As I have moved cities, these iron skewers have obediently moved with me too.

Warning: Instead of red meat, I make them here with white meat, and instead of a charcoal grill, I grill them in an oven. Nevertheless, can assure you, they are a different delicacy in their own right.

Ingredients:
Chicken breasts 1 kg
( each sliced into 4 thin fillet)
Onions: 4 medium sized
Ginger : 100gms
Garlic: One whole,
(peeled into cloves)
Green Papaya: 100gms.
Spices: Cumin, coriander, and red chilli powders, and salt to taste.
Mustard Oil- 1 Cup
Fried Browned onions: 2tbsp
(P.S. Some add yogurt, but I don’t.)

Method: 
All the ingredients except the chicken breasts are made into a paste in the grinder. Pour the paste into a wide bowl, and mix in Mustard oil.

Add the chicken fillet in the paste and marinate them for preferably overnight to 24 hours.

As they are ready to be cooked, spread out each marinated fillet inside a plastic bag, one by one.

Once arranged 4-5 fillets, fold to close the open end of the plastic bag, And pound them with a wooden pound to make them softer, and such that the spice paste seeps into the fillet..

Take them out of the plastic bag, one by one, to mount on the iron skewers. My skewers seen here are about a feet long, specially made to fit my baking tray.

Mount the fillets on the skewers, piercing the iron rod, through the flesh of the fillets at 2-3 inches apart, then gathering them closer.

Arrange the skewers on the baking tray adjacent to each other.

When completed, place them in a preheated oven, at 225 degrees C for 30 minutes.

Once ready, place a burning coal on the side of the tray, and douse it with oil to bellow smoke. Cover the tray, and close the oven, immediately, for the smoky aroma to be absorbed in the Kebabs.

When ready, serve them hot, with pickled onions, yogurt sauce and chutneys. Naans and parathas go equally well with these Kebabs.

The children are fond of taking the left overs to school, rolled in a naan as Kebab rolls.

P.S. The blog has been diligently made for a Kebab loving and Kebab cooking fellow Delhiite Parshu Narayanan.

Do we really love Prophet Mohammed ( pbuh).

Dear Pakistanis,

Please know that Pope visited Lebanon at the height of the tension, last week, and Hezbollah leaders attended his sermon, refrained from protesting the AntiIslam film until he left, and called for religious tolerance.

Biggest-ever rally over the anti-Islamic film brought scores to Beirut, Lebanon, with 100,000 men, women and families taking part in a peaceful rally on September 18, 2012.

This was followed by big rallies by Muslims in Lebanon on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
On Friday, tens of thousands of supporters of the Shiite Hezbollah movement held a raucous protest in the eastern Lebanese city of Baalbek. Soon after, a few thousand supporters of a hardline Sunni cleric held gathered in the capital, Beirut.
Shias, Sunnis, came together, in harmony, with genuine remorse against the mockery of Prophet Muhammed ( pbuh).
But note no one was injured, no one was killed and no property harmed in any of these protests.

If it is unbelievable, see this >>

watch?v=ab6M3QSjc54&feature=related

And then there were peaceful rallies in Sao Paolo, Sydney, Paris, London, Allepo, Tunisia, Jakarta( in the  most populous Muslim country), Colombo with no one  harmed.

While protesting in Pakistan, on Friday, our Christians brothers came out with us, in solidarity to support us, and empathize with us, and we burnt a church down to ashes–the Anglican Church in Mardan and a School adjacent to it. We set on fire Church and School looting everything like computers and chairs whatever were in School. We the Muslims, the lovers of Prophet( pbuh), desecrated Holy Bibles and articles used in Holy ceremony and brought them in compound of Church and set them on fire.

And when we protested on Friday itself, we killed 19  innocent men and policemen who were there to protect us, injured 500, looted  several of our own businesses, torched scores of our own vehicles and  destroyed some of our own public offices.

You think I am exaggerating, see this:

BTW, this was shown on RT, Russia Today, broadcast from Moscow & Washington DC offices.

Feel the difference between the two videos, and the two behaviors.

Also may I add, some 7000 adults who burnt Holy Books lying in this church, shall go free, unaccounted for, while a minor girl, learning disabled languished in jail for weeks, for not having burnt even a corner of a page of yet another Holy Book.

Are we pained by the pinch of  this  hypocrisy? Do we even  feel it ?

MORAL OF THE STORY: Are we really the only and  true lovers of the Prophet Mohammed ( pbuh), who upheld justice and equality? Are we really Muslims? Are we even humans? 

Keep thinking….

Mango tree, a symbol of love

“A beautiful, golden radiant princess, the daughter of Sun God landed on Earth. The King of the land instantly fell in love with her, and desired to marry her. However, a sorceress fell jealous of how King was enamoured by her, and turned her into ashes. From these ashes a huge tree with dark green leaves grew, which bore golden fruits taking to the radiance of the princess. As one of the fruits ripened and fell on Earth, it instantly turned back into the same Princess Surya Bai. The King recognised her, and they got married.”

This is how the legend of the origin of a mango tree, symbolizing  eternal love, is mentioned in ancient Sanskrit literature.

The tree is known to date back to 4000BC in India and the fruit it bore, has been known as the ‘fruit of Gods’.

There is another legend which says that :

Lord Shiva and his wife Parvati were gifted with a golden fruit by Narada, the son of Lord Brahma and with an instruction to be eaten by only one person. So they chose to give to one of their two sons, with a condition that whoever will take 3 rounds of the universe first will be rewarded with this fruit. Ganesh being a smart child took three rounds around his parents and reached back earlier than the other brother, Karthik, saying,  “My parents are my universe”.

Hence Ganesha got the fruit, owing to his unequivocal love for his parents.

Not just the fruit, the whole mango tree is revered in Hindu mythology.

Considered auspicious, its dark, big leaves are  used to adorn the house in festivals like Diwali and Pongal.

In the weddings too, as a symbol of love and fertility, the leaves are held in a row by a string and hung at the door to welcome the new bride into the house.

Auspicious mango leaves adorning the door.

As an evergreen mango tree starts to blossom with buds, it heralds the onset of spring, and hence called madhu duta( the messenger of spring) that invites love.

A sanksrit couplet says:
aṅkurite pallavite korakite vikasite ca sahakāre |
aṅkuritaḥ pallavitaḥ korakito vikasitaś ca madano ‘sau ||

As the mango flowers begin to swell, to put forth sprouts, to bud and finally to blossom,
Love too swelled, sprouted, budded and blossomed.

The dark green leaves, with fragrant buds and blossoms attract the swarms of humming bees and singing cuckoo birds. The relationship of Mango tree laden with blossoms and Cuckoo bird is that of a lover and the beloved.

The secret of Cuckoo’s melodious voice is associated with the sweet fragrance of mango blossoms and honey laden mango fruits. Perhaps owing to this, mango buds were known to be eaten by singers in old days to make their voice melodious.

Cuckoo on a  mango tree.

Kalidas in his poetry Seasons( Ritusamharam) describes the Spring (Vasanta) as:

” Intoxicated by the nectar of mango blossoms ,
The cuckoo kisses his mate happily in love,….”
“The lovely mango shoot is his choicest arrow,
the swarm of bees is his bow string,
……….
May the world-conquering Manmatha,
Accompanied by vasanta,
Grant you more and more joy.”

Amir Khusrau relates them as:

sakal ban phool rahi sarson
ambva phootey, tesu phule,
koel boley dar dar,
gori karat shingar

The mustard blooms in every field,
Mango buds snap open, the flower blooms,
The cuckoo sings from every branch,
The damsel adorns make-up.

Apart from Gods, even the Rajas, Maharajas, Mughal Emperors and Nawabs could not contain their love for Mangoes, and it is no secret. They were known to keep mango orchards, and took pride in showing off their orchards to the royal guests and spending time with their queens in the orchards when they trees were laden with fragrant blossoms.

Sending a baskets of select mangoes to friends and kins was considered a coveted gesture. Along with the sweetness and aroma, it carried the affection from its sender.

There are folk songs, passed on from generations, relating to Cuckoo bird as the beloved of mango tree:

A Hindi song from India:

Amuva ki dali bole: “Kaali koyaliya, aajaa balmuva hamaar, aja balamuva hamaar.
~The mango branch calls out: “Oh the black cuckoo, come my beloved, come my beloved.” 

Yet another one a Punjabi folk song from Pakistan:

Ambewaan de booteyan pe lag gaya bore nee, rut we milaapan waalin, chann mera door nee.
~There are blossoms on  mango tree, and the season of being together is there, but my friend is away. 

 

A  dussehri mango shaped like a heart, a gift of nature, grown on the mango tree in  Reena Satin`s garden.

 

P.S. A few more blogs to follow on mango and a some  interesting recipes using mango

Moin Bhai Dilliwala, a tribute to Moin Akhter

As if the year passed in a stroke. It is hard to come to terms that one year has passed since Moin Akhter left us.

A stand up comedian who took the art to a level whose altitude is hard for any other actor  to surmount.

As a family friend there are countless small and big moments to cherish,  which are no less pleasant and hilarious, than his performances.

Actions speak louder than words, hence Moin in action, not words is the best way to pay tribute to him.

I pay homage to this monument of Comedy called Moin Akhter through my favourite piece.

The episode touched me, and related to me in more than one way.

First it was one of the million brilliant performances as a Dilliwala by Moin Bhai, who often chose to speak to me exclusively in a Dilli wali wisko, jisko dialect.
Being a Delhiite, what could be more pleasing, than see his genius turn into ‘mere sheher wala’ at a flicker, both on and off the screen.

Secondly, being an Indian-Pakistani, this Indo-Pak collaboration where Moin acts as a Dilliwala who migrated to Karachi,Pakistan, and the brilliant comedian Javed Jaffery representing a Dilliwala residing in Delhi, India, I found it so close to my own life.

Thirdly, it is a perfect example to showcase how the two Delhi cultures survive thousands of miles apart, and yet distorted  in their own ways.

Fourthly, the interaction between these two Dilliwalas also showcases the ground reality of how the two countries relate to each other in a love-hate relationship through cricket.

Last but certainly the most important reason, why  I emotionally fell for the episode, is the of Indo-Pak visa, and how the Indian Dilliwala,  used cricket as an easy way out to jump the grueling process of obtaining a visa to meet his near and dear ones on the other side of the border.

For those who have to go through this ordeal can very well relate to how the visa process acts as a heartless wall between the loved ones conjoined in heart, yet separated by the political border.

Friend or no friend of Moin Bhai, Dilliwala or no Dilliwala, cricket match new or old, I am sure everyone will be as thrilled to watch it as I am even after having viewed it over a dozen  times previously. (Many will  find it exaggerated, but perhaps comedy is always so  ).

P.S. My special apologies to my non-Urdu/ Hindi understanding Blog followers and friends.  I wish I could translate the episode, and could share with you the thrill of watching the pure genius, the king of stand up comedy in Pakistan, who was also a personal friend, mimic like a typical  resident of the walled city of Old-Delhi, my city.

Part-1

 

Part-2

Traditional Chinese Wedding vs Desi

Befriending a Chinese colleague closely has busted a lot of myths with which I grew, primarily them being reserved or unfriendly. Going though her wedding pictures ( which took place 27 years ago in Shanghai), I could not with hold my surprise, of the similarity between their wedding and our desi one , in terms of similarity of rituals, elaborate celebrations and expenditure.

“Our weddings are extremely elaborate and interesting.”  remarked my friend.

Exactly like us desis, Chinese believe that marriages are arranged in Heaven, and merely completed on Earth. They believe the predestined couple is tied with red string in the Heaven, long before the marriage occurs on Earth.

For them too, it is a union between two families, not just two individuals.

The traditional Chinese too have elaborate rituals of sending marriage proposals to the girls family. Once decided, it is a must for the two families to consult the fortune teller ( as a Jyotishi in Hindu wedding) about the auspicious date for the wedding.

The invitation cards are as elaborate and showy as ours.

 

Red color is overwhelmingly predominant in every Chinese wedding, as it represents luck and happiness.

The celebrations begin days before the actual ceremony.

Days before the wedding, the bride is expected to stay away from the eyes of the general public, in isolation.

The groom’s family brings gifts to the bride’s home days before the wedding,  while the bride’s family returns the gifts along with clothes and gifts to the groom, his parents and unmarried siblings.

 

 

Like us desis, the bride’s side is also expected to deliver dowry and money to the grooms home, the amount of which  states the dignity and position of the bride’s family.

On the day of the wedding day, as  she gets ready, the bride goes through a hair combing ceremony where a ‘lucky’ woman, mostly a married woman ( = our suhagan) combs her hair 4 times. Each stroke carries a special meaning. The first combing blessed the marriage to last a lifetime; the second, a harmonious marriage; the third, many children and grandchildren ; and the fourth, good health and fortune.

The bride adorns a red gown, red shoes and covers her face with a red veil.

However, the groom, unlike our groom, wears red robe, red sash. A capping ceremony like our ‘sehra bandi’ takes place where his head is covered with cypress leaves by the father.

 

Amidst the banging of gongs, drums and firecrackers, ( like an Indian baraat),  the groom leaves for the bride’s house in a procession.

 

As the groom steps in the brides house, the brides sisters & friends stop his way and bargain for entry towards the bride.

The bride leaves her home for the wedding arena under a red umbrella to ward off evil.

However the basic difference between the desi and Chinese wedding is the main ceremony.

They do not have any written contract or chanting of verses.
The couple goes on its knees and bows thrice- for the Heavens, the ancestors and their parents. They even bow to each other in a gesture of promising faithfulness to each other. There are no spoken vows.

 

Like us desis, the banquet is extremely elaborate, with 9 or 10 course meals.

However unlike us, each meals signifies something. First course is pig which signifies virginity, followed by others eg   fish & seafood for wealth and abundance,  pigeon for peaceful marriage, and whole chicken head for togetherness.

For details in the 10 courses: http://www.boneats.ca/2010/08/food-culture-chinese-wedding-banquets.html

 

The preferred presents like us desis are generally in  cash, which has to be placed  in red envelopes called Hongbao. The amount of money given varies upon the closeness of the giver to the bride-groom.

 

 

After the ceremony and the feast, the bride serves her  in laws  tea, holding with both hands, showing a gesture of her service and faithfulness to her new family.

 

What excited me most was to know that like our old tradition, the Chinese bride also leaves for her husbands home in a hand held  carriage quite like our doli.

 

Although now only a few girls like this tradition, and now this has largely been been replaced by more posh mode of transport i.e. a car which is mostly extensively decorated with fresh red roses.

 

Some of the rich who can afford prefer a red car itself.

 

The ‘bridal bed’ as it is called is arranged quite a few days in advance in an elaborate ceremony, taking care the direction of the bed. The details here too depend upon the affordability of the groom. However all have traditional red bedding and are spread with fruits on it, which signify fertility— red dates, litchis and longans.

In the next morning, the bride gets up early to prepare meals for the new family.

Three days later she visits her parents along with her husband, as a special guest.

The picture that inspired me to write this blog ( Courtesy Tahir Hashmi) was this, which reminded me of the Hindu wedding’s pheras:

 

“Many of the Chinese youngsters are now  getting more fond of  traditional wedding, after two decades of having had more modern weddings.” added my friend.

(Special thanks to my friend Jenny for the details & helping dish out pictures)

Lawn ki kahani, meri zubani ( The story of Lawn in my words)

Published in TheNews Blog : http://blogs.thenews.com.pk/blogs/2012/03/21/story-of-a-lawn-hater/

Designer lawn, designer lawn, designer lawn!

Every Sana, Nida and Hina is coming out with designer lawns.

Thankfully never a fan of lawn as a material, it does not awaken the woman in me.

However I remember my mother, who lives in Delhi, where summers are really biting, once came back from a trip to Pakistan in mid 80s, all excited, for having discovered a wonder cloth. She is a woman with sensitive skin, and sweat rash (garmee daaney, as we call it in desi jargon) was what she had to struggle with each Delhi summer.
Fed up of wearing starched Khadis (hand spun cotton) and malmals (muslin) in the sweltering heat, she said she found something which was soft, low maintenance, colorfast and did not need any starching. The picture she painted with her descriptions and expressions got me really curious to open up her suitcase and dig out the jewel, basically to choose which one was mine.

The result that came out of that digging was so befitting to the Hindi idiom “Khoda pahaar per nikla chooha aur woh bhi mara hua”
(From the digging came out a dead rat).

The first look of it was totally unappealing –bold designs on the shirt piece, with its giant replicas on the dupatta. Didn’t need to check the third of the half a dozen three piece suits she brought.

“What’s wrong with your taste? Ammi you’ll wear this?”

“They are so comfortable. And most of all they are so reasonable. One suit costs just Rs 225.”

She didn’t even bother to comment about my ‘taste’ rant.

From then on, I saw her pass all the worst days of summers in lawn suits. And when I got married in Pakistan (perhaps she must have prayed for this secretly for her own vested interests) all she wanted from me each visit was…”bring lawn ke suits, so that meri garmiyaan nikal jaayein.”

I remember from 1990 onwards, buying them for Ammi from Rs 250, Rs 450, Rs500, then Rs1000,  1200, 2500, and last I got for her was Rs 3500. Agree that with time, along with the prices, the designs evolved too. And they certainly got better.

But each time, Ammi felt uneasy with the price escalation. At the 3500 one she told me, “Enough, I don’t need a dress at this exorbitant price just to soak my sweat.”

And now with the advent of designer tag they have graduated to even five digit prices (at the higher end). And they usually begin from 4,000 going upto 12,000, I am told.

I remember some 2 years ago, hearing two cousins talking of outlets where they got the same designs as the big brands copied at much lower prices.

“The original is so expensive, so I buy the duplicate ones.”

“Even the previous year’s designs are available at cheaper price,” said the other.

“Yes, but you know there is a teacher in my school who thinks she is very  smart. She instantly recognizes, ‘ye to pichle saal ka design hai’. So I can’t wear that. But woh kaminee tou isko bhi pehchaan jaati hai, ke ye duplicate hai.’

“Why do you need to copy? Or in fact wear designer lawn at all”, I asked.

She rubbished my question and moved on to some other topic.

This is certainly not to act snobbish, but I certainly find it hard to fathom the compulsion to owe one’s allegiance to these ‘disposable’ pieces of cloth which are so short term that they become obsolete the next season.

If I have so much money to spare( 5-7,000+ on a dress) , I will perhaps invest in a piece I can cherish for longer, and if you ask my secret desire, it would be on something I can pass on to my daughter. And indeed I have done exactly by getting hold of  some beautiful pieces with  Baluchi, Afghani or Sindhi hand embroideries.

Dump my hard earned money into a casual wear lawn suit which won’t last the next summer—no way.

In the background of so much disinterest for the designer fad, I was made to see this disgusting ad ( see the bottom pic) by a twitter pal.

And this perhaps was the boiling point of my emotions,  for the ‘designer lawn’ and hence I decided to blog my disdain for them.

With all the designer hype or price escalation, the brand had the audacity to show their product with coolies in the background.

What did they wish to relate to?

Was it the quality of attire in comparison? Oh ! Theirs is so simple, non designer unlike mine. Yet in my two dim visioned eyes, the poor men’s is the rawest of  cottons.

Or

Was it about the worth of one’s labour? Oh look at us, how much we get for the every drop of sweat we shed in the labor for those ‘designs’. 

Or

Was it about the matching colors?

But then, Buddhist monks and  Hindu sadhus too wear the color similar to the woman’s. With ‘Muslims’ as their major market, it was too much of a risk to take.

Oh,  yes, the coolies do not prick anyone’s sensitivity, so were  pretty risk free to have as a background.

Kudos to the imaginative  Advertising Company that thought of this ad and flexibility of the Designer Textile Company that approved of it and owned it.

To me personally this was absolutely nauseating…akin to showing middle finger to the poor fellows in the background.

So rightly had someone commented: “Thank you for hiding their faces with your brand name.”

Hats off to the Feudal mindset, yet another common man’s commodity, the lawn, has turned into an elitist product. Of course in business jargon this is called as ‘value addition’. So what if it gets unaffordable to the vast majority, at least it looks coool ( with a triple o) !

How I wish we did some value addition to Islam too, in Pakistan?

On a second thought, haven’t we?

With the  tags of suicide bombs, Ahmedi hate, Shia kafir rants, we have made it a brand which ordinary Muslims like me find hard to afford.

Learning the art of peaceful protest from Gandhi’s Dandi (Salt) March

This is a unique and simple story that changed the course of Indian Independenc movement. No destruction, no chaos, just a peaceful protest for a cause.
Though it is impossible to summarize it in a few words…

‘On March 12, 1930, Gandhi along with the protesters set out, on foot, for the coastal village of Dandi some 240 miles from their starting point in Sabarmati, to protest against salt-tax.

He issued a warning before he began: “Those who fear the government can leave, only those who are prepared for jail going and receiving bullets should follow me tomorrow morning.”

The procession was at least two miles in length.

On April 6th he picked up a lump of mud and salt (some say just a pinch, some say just a grain) and boiled it in seawater to make the commodity which no Indian could legally produce–SALT.

He implored his thousands of followers to begin to make salt wherever, along the seashore, “was most convenient and comfortable” to them.

There was also simultaneous boycotts of imported cloth and asked to wear khaddar.

The effects of the salt march were felt across India. Thousands of people made salt, or bought illegal salt.

Gandhi was later arrested.

This incident is considered to be the apex of Gandhi’s political appeal, as the march mobilized many new follwers from all of Indian society and the march came to the world’s attention.’

Today is the 82nd Anniversary of the Dandi Salt March.

The original footage of the March ( Courtesy Geetali Taare)

Celebrate the woman inside you !

Published in TheNewsBlog:  http://blogs.thenews.com.pk/blogs/2012/03/08/celebrate-the-woman-inside-you/

While discussing how one should celebrate International Women’s Day this year, a friend said:

“It is not just the abuse outside that we women need to fight, but we have to fight an inside war too.”

I did not quite understand what she really meant, but before I could ask she went on:

“You know what, this Women’s Day I am going to work without make up and jewellery. Just to be with myself.”  

Although I’m not someone who shuns make up and I consider every piece of good jewellery, a work of art, I without getting my friends point completely also agreed with her completely.

Men, women, young or old, who does not want to feel good. But to attach strings to ones external appearance with the feeling of goodness is when the trouble starts.

If the ‘feel good’ feeling is within one’s self esteem, the outer accessories will be for a mere change, not ‘improvement’.

I am often surprised why many agree to Marylyn Monroe’s quote “Every girl should be told that she looks beautiful. I was never told this in the childhood.”  I do not concur.

What every girl should be told is not that her face or pony tail or frock looks pretty but that her mind is beautiful or courage is awesome.

I have never heard someone tell a boy that his shirt or knickers look beautiful, instead they are told that they are strong or courageous. And thus comes the difference in perception of self as one grows up.

Apart from your upbringing, the fault also lies within how a woman is projected in the media as a commodity.  Fairness creams, slimming diets, cosmetic companies, and aesthetic clinics reap profits at the cost of a woman’s battered self esteem.

Is it not ironic that whether we get positive or negative comments on physical appearance, both induce the same anxiety to look better?

I learnt from a teacher who once said, if you compliment someone’s looks, is it not a silent statement to someone who you are not complementing that ‘you are not good looking.”  Hence if you can’t compliment everyone, it is better refrain from complementing at all.

I have a friend’s whose self esteem is so high that she often jokes:

“If anyone ridiculed me saying ‘ugly’ referring to my not so perfect looks I tell them, ‘I wish to hug you; because I know how hard life is for the visually impaired’.”

For many old school feminists wearing makeup and jewellery is anti-feminist and oppressive.  Yes the idea of not being able to leave the house without make up is anti-feminist, and to associate ‘make-up is beauty’ is anti-feminist. What also makes it oppressive is when one’s self worth is tied to one’s looks, hair, skin or size number.

Women who choose to wear or not wear makeup or jewellery are making a decision about how they wish to be perceived. If not conforming to the dictates and demands of society on appearance empowers women, then so be it. A feminist, who goes without make up, is no more or less feminist than a woman who does.

Feminism in my eyes is all about expression of one’s femininity in one’s own unique way. It certainly does not overlap with the standards laid down by someone else.

Adorning jewellery and makeup is an art form of self expression and not a tool to hide one’s flaws in order to look like the model that appears on the cover page of a magazine.

Self image has no bearing on one’s physical appearance. Obsessed with looking better, some women (who may even be extremely beautiful by world’s standards) and even some men get very insecure and suffer from poor self image. In extreme cases it may even be manifested as Body Dimorphic Disorder. The underlying depression and anxiety leads them to resort to dysfunctional eating disorders or unnecessary plastic surgery procedures.

So let people say or think whatever, know that you are beautiful. For beauty isn’t skin deep.

As for me, not just to support my friend, but to support the woman that lives inside me, my external self too will go without   jewellery and make up on International Women’s Day. It is not to show down my good old friends, jewellery or makeup, but to tell them that they may be dear to me but they are not indispensible.

Tip : Celebrate this International Women’s Day in a  way that makes  the inner woman  in you  feel empowered and beautiful.

Gimme all your worries

Published in TheNews Blog : http://blogs.thenews.com.pk/blogs/2012/02/13/%E2%80%9Cgimme-all-your-worries%E2%80%9D/

“What if my boss doesn’t like my work?”

What if I get cancer?

What if I don’t pass the exam?

What if my friends don’t like my dress?

What if Mommy doesn’t come back from work?

Worries! Age, gender and ethnicity, is no bar. From babies to youth to middle aged to the elderly, we all have our share of them – a few valid, some too trivial to warrant a worry but we still do – but loads and loads of them are simply imaginary ones that never become real.

Some of us must have read the famous self help book by Dale Carnegie How to Stop Worrying and Start Living.

Some technologically savvy might have googled ‘How to deal with anxieties’ and got the tips:

• Prepare for the worst, hope for the best
• Practice relaxation
• List your blessing
• Distract yourself, keep busy
• Get support

Quite a few of us Moms and Dads must have dealt with worrying kids and must have used our own tools either as healing words, “I understand your concern, but be strong “, or simply giving a tight reassuring hug without saying “I’m beside you.”

Perhaps many of us may even have trivialised “That’s nothing to worry about?” without realising that it adds to their worries rather than help them.

A few days ago while visiting a museum for the Mayan Civilization Exhibition in Toronto; I came across a very simple yet unique and fascinating way of dealing with worries. My attention was drawn to the tiny, barely 2.5- 3cm long set of six miniature dolls placed with a name: “Guatemalan worry dolls”.

On a closer look, they were tiny dolls made out of wrapping cloth or wool over tiny wires shaped as dolls and each one had faces with eyes and a smile drawn on them.

Later as I dug into the details, I learnt that they are an ancient Mayan tradition which is still being practiced by the surviving descendants of the ancient Mayans which live in Central America, specifically in Guatemala.

The dolls usually come in a pack of six handmade dolls and a tiny bag to carry them.

It is said that if the children who worry are told to share their worry with the ‘worry doll’ and place it under the pillow imagining that the doll will take care of that worry. Each doll is told one worry at a time. Many a times parents take away the doll from below the pillow, so that when the kids wake up in the morning thinking that with the doll, the worry too has disappeared. However, sometimes if the worries are recurrent, not removing the doll implies that the doll is working on the ‘worry’ to disappear.

The tradition has been claimed to be scientifically sound and helps kids learn to ‘speak out’ their worries instead of internalising them into long lasting fears. It also gives a subtle message that ‘someone’ cares. It is also know to work as a good tool to inculcate a habit of sound sleep. However, this may work only in those with mild or moderate worries, but not so much in situations of extreme anxiety.

It is claimed that ‘worry dolls’ have also been used in the hospitals, for young and old, to allay anxiety in patients while they undergo surgeries or cancer treatments. Some claim to have used them in class rooms in schools and meeting rooms in offices to cope with stress, and to boost creativity. They are even used for emotional healing in incurable illnesses, dealing with deaths or even heart breaks. I think with the potential they have, there is no dearth of situations where ‘worry dolls’ can be used. Imagination is the limit to utilize them as calming companions.

Though not mentioned in the information on dolls, their ‘tiny’ size taking up seemingly ‘big’ worries must be playing its part in the process of relaxation too.

Apart from the therapeutic value, what fascinated me was the art of making these miniature dolls by wrapping up wool or cloth on wire and giving them a resemblance to someone who ‘cares’.

So aptly was it mentioned in the literature: “Make your own worry dolls at home, just give them a dress, two pairs of limbs and a smiley face? And see them in action. You needn’t be a Picasso or a Freud.”