Dusty Weekend

Last months rotmun research finally found its use in my general essay. I felt like killing myself during those two hours that i sat there. Because using your 'research' for general is the lowest low one could have. It took me a month to get all those facts in order so i would get to go to Harvard MUN. 

But i guess thats where it was actually supposed to be used. I should really get over it now. 

Never again am i using nuclear, non-proliferation, Iran and Israel in one sentence -__-

All i can think of is how new year is gonna fall during Moharram. Not that i will wear black and head to the majlises. But its just gonna be a bad new year.

And its getting a weird sort of cold these days. My house is cold. The smell of winter is halfway here. But its not the cold i like. I go out wearing a hoodie and by the time i reach where im supposed to its not cold anymore.  

Im guessing i have to wait another couple of weeks so i can sip coffee all day without my mom screaming.

Midterms in a week, I havent even touched my books. 

I dont think im cool that way.

Yet another unproductive weekend.

One Hundred and Twenty-Five.

One hundred and twenty five could mean just about anything in this world right now.

But for me, one hundred and twenty five is the amount over which my mom and I bonded for the first time in quite a while.

But yesterday something strange happened. I went to the city’s most crowded bazaar with my mom. Where men stare at you as if you are from another planet and women just stare at you to know why men are staring so much.

The calls of ‘Baji, idher ajayen baji-best hai baji-pliss baji-bethen baji’ followed us. All went ignored until that one loud voice made us stop in our tracks.

That one look we exchanged is the only reason why my mum and I haven’t killed each other by now after all the fights we’ve had..

We entered this one dingy 10by10 shop in that crowded street to find ourselves in this familiar place that I last visited years ago, when my mom and I shared more than the to-the-point sentences we usually do now.

The walls had been stained by paan so much that the color seemed natural, seats with barely any cushion left on them, crates of drinks stacked against the wall and two fans buzzing loudly on the ceiling.

This shop was the gali’s best-est-est-est chaat ki dukaan.

Yes, a chaat ki dukaan.

Its funny how a meager 40 rupees chat can make you rethink the way you have felt about your mom in the past 6 years of your teenage life.

Ive always felt that she never understands me and we cant get along much. My dad gets so confused and amused at the same time because some days we’re best friends and on the others, arch enemies.

But here I was, laughing and eating and thinking how right now she was the only person who would’ve stopped to eat here with me without me having to say a single word.

The waiter giving us special attention (which we giggled over because we seemed really ‘hi-fi’ to him), pretending to be aloof of the people staring at while stuffing food in their faces (yeah, here too) and just the fact that we fitted as friends so well made me realize that lavish three course meals or gifts on birthdays and polite conversations about tv shows and movies cant ever replace what we just shared.

I haven’t felt so close to her in a while now and yesterday just made me wonder why I wasted 6 years fighting with her every now and then..

Next year when I fly off to college some thousand miles away the only thing I will miss to death is her.  

And the one hundred and twenty five rupees.

The Aafia who is changing my life. Not Siddiqui.

Last night when i sat down with my parents and their 'intellectual' friends for coffee, I felt mature. I felt that I wasn’t just a kid for them anymore. I saw their awed faces when I quoted Marx and Weber like they were my buddies from kindergarten. And I owe it all to one teacher who is now the only reason I do not crib about waking up for 8am Sociology. 

It saddens me to see that out of the 30 odd people in that class, most of them dont know the first thing about sociology. If I call them stupid, it would be an understatement. They do not deserve to be there for an advanced level class.

I’m so sick of looking at people’s expressionless faces. Everytime I speak in class, im glared at because I offend the hijabis and the macho man in my class.

Sometimes I just hate being a part of that class because im so dumbed down by their sheer ignorance.. See what I mean? Dumbed.

I don’t understand how someone can just walk into a class with their preconceived notions on homosexuals, Islam as the best religion on the planet and women who are destined to be subordinate creatures cooking meals and cleaning the house.

I don’t know who to blame for that. 3 generations have lived this way, in cocoon. So im guessing the next 30 to come will do the same, i.e if we arent bombed out by then. 

And then there will always be pests like me, gnawing on that cocoon.

Because right now the only purpose of attending that class is that satisfaction that (hopefully) I shall get when one of them speaks up to contradict me, even if that contradiction means saying you are crazy Anam.