bunnykidiary

[bunnykidiary]

Zainab, Kainat, and how many more?

http://nirmukta.com/2016/04/07/the-psychology-of-oppression-an-attempt-to-understand-the-oppressors-mind/

When I think of a child being sexually assaulted, it tests my faith in a God who is merciful and kind.

Since the brutal rape and murder of Zainab in the past few days, there is another video that has been circulated of a male journalist sitting next to a bed of another little girl Kainat who too was raped and has survived. In the first video, the journalist has blocked her face and towards the end of the video breaks down into tears, imploring people to donate into a fund to cover the child’s medical expenses. In another video, another male journalist sits beside the same little girl, this time her face is visible and she looks elsewhere, her being the personification of innocence that could only be associated with helpless little girls. She is perhaps a year or two older than my own beloved niece, her small form piercing arrows through my being as I think of the monstrosity she endured. And now her hell is being milked for ratings and personal badges of heroism. No thought is given to protecting her identity or the horror that the rest of her life is going to be as a girl known to have been raped.

There are Zainabs and Kainats in every neighbourhood of every village, town and city of Pakistan. Yes Pakistan, the land of the so-called pure. A society that attributes its creation to the will of Allah and that uses His religion to control, exploit, and chew down its girls and women, seeing them as little more than pieces of flesh existing only as property of its men. And of course, if she is walking on the street, or even present in the gaze of a male, she becomes his property, for him to do with as much he could get away with.

In my relatively protected life, I too came across such monsters. The “uncles” and “bhais” who were supposed to be like family. The ones who strutted around the public sphere with a confidence that women could only dream of; most especially a girl child or a single young woman. The ones who undressed you through their eyes sweeping through your entirely covered form that still made you feel naked. They then took pleasure in your discomfort, looking at the piece of meat that you were in their eyes, that they would have gobbled up if only they had the chance.

When I think of Zainab’s rapist, I think of those same men.

A few months ago a close friend in Pakistan messaged on a whatsapp friends group asking for help regarding a private matter. She then revealed that a friend of her sister’s was recently raped in a village in Pakistan. This girl was only a teenager, the only one in her family who had completed secondary school. She now taught in her village school. A middle aged male colleague messaged her on her phone to tell her that his mother was ill and invited her to attend a Quran Khwani at his home. It’s curious how little Zainab too had left her home for something similar. Of course Quran Khwani was only a ploy to get that poor girl to come into his home. He then brutally raped her and once he was finished, she gathered herself to leave somehow. She was too scared to reveal what happened to her parents. The only one she confided in was her sister. And that too because she wouldn’t stop bleeding. In her utter helplessness, she reached out to my friend’s sister for help and that is how I learned of her ordeal. Even after being a clear victim, she was scared to speak up and report the crime. What’s most tragic is she didn’t even trust her parents to show her with sympathy. Her own parents. This is how alone our girls are in Pakistan.

In our screwed up ideas of sharam and haya, we are assaulting and killing our daughters everyday. Even right now, I don’t know what the Urdu translation of rape is. In the news, they keep referring to it as “ziyaadti” or injustice. We are told injustice was committed against this little girl. Because of course uttering the actual word is too shameful, something that is beneath the lexicon of our righteous nation.

When a female, most especially a little girl, is inappropriately touched or approached or looked at, her own self is the only one she blames. She already considers herself to be an anomaly. Anything different about her than a boy is expected to be hidden as a matter of shame. As she begins to grow into a woman, she embarrassedly begins to slouch her shoulders further and further to hide herself. She dons large pieces of fabric to cover herself. She avoids running over fear of being stared at. Anything she does, she attracts stares on herself. Because she is on public display at all times, her body not her own but the public’s. There is a reason why so many of our little girls become quiet and socially awkward as they transition from pre-teens into early teenage.

Everything about them that makes them a girl is told to be a matter of shame. When she starts menstruating, she is strictly cautioned and warned into hiding it. She hides it like a matter of national security. She is told with great seriousness that this natural phenomenon is something to be kept a secret from the opposite gender, even from her own father. Her private garments and sanitary pads are supposed to be always removed from the eyes of any male member. Anything reminding of their existence is to be removed or instantly hidden.

With secrecy, shame and embarrassment associated with every part of being a woman, it is little wonder that so many of our girls and young women have internalized their sense of inferiority. This lack of confidence and assurance is the biggest source of power for the many perverts and abusers that roam the Pakistani society. The feed off of it. Screwed up concepts of shame and decency prevent girls from  being honest with even themselves, forget being able to confide into a trusted adult. And hence, this abuse continues. And the girl retreats more and more into herself. She begins to hate her own being that attracts such attention and monstrosity to descend upon her.

After writing this pathetic piece, I wish I had something of value to offer at the end. I don’t. We as a society love our exalted image of holy righteousness. We would rather look the other way than acknowledge our own role in the rampant abuse that takes place with our girls. It’s too uncomfortable. So instead, we will continue to tell our girls to hide themselves. Put on a burqa and a veil. Hide yourselves completely. Don’t go out. Don’t put yourself in a position where you could be harmed. If you hear or see something inappropriate directed at you, remove yourself from the situation. Don’t speak up or attract attention. That would only attract embarrassment towards you and your family. Before acting on any indignation, think of your family and keep your mouth shut. You don’t want to inadvertently hurt the fragile egos of your male family members that they couldn’t protect you. Just stay quiet. Be invisible. If better, die. Your worst crime was being born a girl in a society that refuses to acknowledge your humanity.  

[bunnykidiary]

Secret Superstar - Movie Review

Source: http://www.koimoi.com/bollywood-news/whoa-is-that-aamir-khans-new-look-from-secret-superstar/

Okay so a lot of people liked Secret Superstar. Given Amir Khan's recent track record and hearing all the praises, I obviously had to watch this new movie. I didn't like it. So obviously I expected everyone around me to stop praising it. However, since people were being unreasonable and since I have this incessant need to disagree with most popular opinion, I thought I would try to provide some logic to my dislike. It's basically me being "I have an incessant need to disagree from you but wanting to be liked simultaneously so hope we're still good". I need help.

Anyhoo, I think dislike might be a little too harsh. Let's say I had higher expectations given Khan's recent movies and this movie just didn't live up to the benchmark set by Dangal or even PK. Instead, it was a reminder of the cringe-worthy Dhoom 3 that I fortunately started watching at home and turned off after less than half hour. Yes I know Dhoom 3 was a huge hit but it was one of those Shahrukh Khan-type movies in which you have to forget you have a brain and watch only for the songs, glamour, special effects and the pretty boy/girl/s.

I'm being a little unfair here. If there is a quality continuum in my mind where we have Dangal and PK on one end and Dhoom 3 on the opposite end, Secret Superstar will still rest way closer to the former.

So why didn't Amber Plumber like Secret Superstar? You see Amir Khan has set the bar up for the "believability factor" of his movie. By believable factor, I mean if something is likely to happen in real life, it will have a high BF. For instance, as shown in Dangal and especially since it was inspired by real life events, it was believable that two young girls from a village went on to represent their country on the International Stage for wrestling and won gold/silver medals for their country. That sort of thing is hard to achieve but possible. However, Amir Khan defying the laws of gravity in Dhoom 3 just isn't. Salman Khan receiving love notes from his bae through a pigeon just isn't. The dog in Hum Apke Hain Kon having the wisdom to deliver Madhuri's parting love note in the right hands to stop her from marrying her ex-BIL just freakin isn't.

I mean in normal life, a girl would puke at the thought of marrying her dead sister's husband and refuse it altogether. Or, she would tell her brother-in-law to get some grief counselling or lessons to deal with his social awkwardness. That way, he could attract another nice woman for himself who could be a good partner for him and a good step mom to his kid. Even if not, there has to be another marriage-worthy prospect in this world for him besides her. This girl wouldn't jump at the opportunity to sacrifice her life/dreams/plans so she could be a good daughter/aunt/confused ex-SIL. That's just plain dumb. Especially since she is in love with her BIL's younger brother. It's almost incest. Yuck. And even if she is this stupid, she wouldn't write a parting love note to her ex-bae and trust the family dog as her delivery-man. I mean I know this is pre-email/cell phone era but there were still better options than pigeon/doggy mail in the 1990s.

So that's what I mean by "believability factor". It didn't exist with Secret Superstar. You just don't make a youtube video through your laptop's camera with its crappy audio and expect to product anything halfway decent. Especially since the video is supposed to be about her beautiful voice "jiss ne poorey India mein tehelka macha diya". Even Lata Mangeshkar wouldn't stand a chance on youtube unless she had proper sound equipment. On top of it, it is not possible to have your video go viral unless you properly market and advertise it. This girl didn't even share it on facebook with her friends! There is an entire science behind marketing on social media. It just doesn't happen overnight as they showed it. So like I said earlier, believability factor was depressingly low.

That said, I'm not completely made of stone. Seeing the way she and her mom were treated by her father, I was totally sympathetic and rooting for her to succeed. Her living and family situation was totally believable. I have personally come across so many examples of girls and women who are treated miserably on account of their gender. Misogyny is a very real thing in South Asia and amongst Muslims. But that's another topic altogether.

The director did a stellar job of garnering sympathy and loyalty towards the main character and her mother. The reason this sort of movie resonates so much with South Asians is because a lot of girls and women can relate to it. Relate to being treated as inferior and unwanted. As being seen as a nuisance. As someone who has no standing on their own. Whose entire sense of identity and importance comes from their male relations. Girls who must be "married off" because they are a burden and a hindrance in the family's future plans. I have seen examples of this with my own close relatives. And my family is supposed to be relatively "enlightened" compared to the general lot.  So yes, I can totally understand how easy it was for any girl or woman to feel the pain, indignation and hurt that Insia felt in this movie.

What I didn't like, however, was the fantasy that was sold in this movie. I didn't like the simplistic solution. It's easy to dream of becoming an overnight superstar so you could claim validation from the world that your father didn't give you. It's so easy to go to bed with such a dream. It makes waking up the next morning and facing rejection the next day a little bit easier.

Amir Khan has raised the expectations bar with his previous performances. I didn't expect him to sign up to such a lazy script. I am calling it lazy because if they wanted, they could have spent effort to make this story believable. Have the same story, but instead of being lazy and "Bollywood typical" about reaching success, they could have shown her struggles to reach an audience initially. They didn't even show how she learned to play the guitar in the first place. This movie was all about innate talent and as Amir Khan put it "Talented children are like bubbles in this soda. Nobody can stop them from reaching the top". What the heck was that? Who doesn't know of talented people whose talents/skills have decayed due to life's circumstances or lack of perseverance from their side. This was deceiving advice to an impressionable audience that largely forms its opinions and thinking by watching movies.

They could have shown perseverance from her end in spite facing obstacles where she learns how to overcome them. They could have used the character of Chintan to help her in getting her video/voice before the right eyes, or even on how to use proper equipment for a quality video. There is so much they could've done to make her transition to success believable.

And for this reason, more than anything else, I didn't like Secret Superstar. The songs were amazing. Acting by all characters, especially the hateful father, was wonderful. There were several hilarious moments where I LOL-ed. Amir Khan as Shakti Kumar was a treat to watch for the most part. I just wish he had approached this movie with the same discipline and attention to detail as he had with Dangal. I expected more from an actor who refused to wear a fat suit and actually put on dozens of pounds of weight so that his character would appear believable. When an actor goes to such lengthy efforts for his work and follows that work with something lazy like Secret Superstar, I couldn't help but be disappointed. End of review.

[bunnykidiary]

Weekend Trip to Drumheller - the Heart of the Canadian Badlands (Part 1)

At a work breakfast recently, one of Rishu’s colleague’s shared his love for Drumheller with me. Fascinated, I google image searched it and was taken with the fascinating landscape I found there. Rishu wanted to plan a weekend trip for my upcoming birthday and had asked me to pick a place within driving distance where he could take me. I thought it would be nice to take a break from my never-ending love affair with the Rocky Mountains and visit someplace different instead. Is it strange that I felt disloyal to Jasper and Banff while doing it?

So this is literally all I knew about Drumheller before visiting: 

there were dinosaur fossils founds there.

it had a pretty impressive paleontology museum.

there were “interesting looking” geological formations that would make for nice Instagram pictures.

and finally that it was a small town. 

This is the magnificence I was anticipating gawking at during this trip. 

Having visited a few small towns in Ontario last year, I was curious to explore something now in Alberta and leave with a few lessons from the people I came across here. Fortunately for me, I left with not just a few lessons and stories, I left with what one may call an “emotionally moving” experience. Dramatic much.

I’m at a loss over where to begin. There’s so much to cover that I’m going to divide this blog post into two parts. In the first part, I will share our time at The Royal Tyrell Museum, doing the Seven Wonders of the Badlands Hike in Midlands Provincial Park, visiting a tiny church that only sits six, admiring the Hoodoos, and walking across the Star Mine suspension bridge.

Pretending to be excited about entering a Paleontology Museum. 

In the second part, I will cover in detail our trip to the Atlas Coal Mine, the East Coulee Museum School, and an old ghost town that is now abandoned, and finally some stories about certain women that were known as “Ladies of Negotiable Affection” back in the day.

Being a continual student of history, I’m always drawn to sites with intriguing pasts. Or perhaps it’s out of my love for drama that I seek out places brimming with juicy gossip and anecdotes about its inhabitants. For anyone who is even partially like me, Drumheller would satisfy your drama-loving instincts immensely.

The first part of the trip focused more on natural history. In layman terms, this is history of our environment and all the organisms that lived in it.

You might say that Drumheller came into existence in 1916. But that is only when it was officially recognized as a town. The noteworthy history of this place began way before any humans walked on it, or even before they existed as species. We’re talking about a time where Drumheller was under a shallow sea. And later when it offered a tropical climate with plants and a playground for dinosaurs (about 230 to 65 million years ago).

Imagining this guy coming back to life and chewing our heads off. One of the “-saurus-es”. Yes I’m aware of how dumb I sound. 

If you’re interested in natural history, you definitely need to visit this museum. I know I’m coming back here with my kids one day, God willing. Don’t worry, I’ll read up before coming so I’m able to hide my ignorance. 

Standing next to this giant’s leg and feeling puny. 

I also found an ancestor of my darling elephants, “mammoth”-something. 

Due to an extremely high concentration of fossils found here, Drumheller is called the “Dinosaur capital of the world”. Natural forces of nature exposed a unique type of landscape that in recent history shows a rich deposit of fossils of plants, animals and of course dinosaurs. The tracts of deltas, rivers and flash floods that carved through this region left behind a truly riveting topography in the form of hoodoos, boulders, and other magnificent geological marvels this place is known for.

While hiking the “Seven wonders of the Badlands” in Midlands Provincial Park. 

Several times during the trip, I was amazed over just how different this region was from the Rocky Mountains and lakes, less than 300 kilometres away. 

This landscape reminded me of a giant cake with many layers. Imagine all this was once underwater! If it weren’t for the water and wind that forced through it, we wouldn’t see these fissures and curves.

As I hiked the valley and complained of the awful heat and sun, I felt like I was in a dessert in Baluchistan or the outskirts of Karachi, rather than Canada or more specifically Alberta, notorious for its cold to all outsiders. Our hiking guide told us that once he had a guy in his group from Qatar who complained about being cold in 25 degree (77F) weather. Bewildered, he asked him, “cold compared to what!”

The Hoodoos close to sunset. Hoodoos are thin plates of rock that fared better to forces of erosion compared to the rocks beneath them.

This is not our car. We just thought it looked cool with the landscape in the background. 

The Hoodoos are more prominent behind me here, jutting out proudly, and in my head drawling “Look lady, I survived!”

I would write more about Drumheller’s natural history that explains its one-of-a-kind geography but I don’t want to. I was never overly excited by it, even though I read some of it and listened politely as the museum staff talked about it. All I know is that whatever “stuff” happened over those hundreds of millions of years of history, it left behind a really epic looking topography. That, like I said earlier, makes for some really nice Instagram pictures and videos.

Here’s another thing that makes for a great Instagram post:

This tiny church was built the same year the first man walked on the moon. It is still sometimes booked for small weddings!

Finally, we visited the Rosedale Suspension Bridge, named after the town and built for the coal miners that lived here. It was also built in 1931 so I was slightly scared, especially since people didn’t respect the rule of “no more than 20 persons at one time”. 

Rosedale Suspension Bridge stands today as a symbol of “colourful mining history of Drumheller Valley”

What I am interested keenly in, more than anything, is the people who lived here from the turn of the twentieth century to the time right now. It was their history and stories that hooked me, and I’d go as far as to say, even changed the way I looked at Alberta and its wonderful people. I will now post this and proceed towards typing part II that I promise will be filled with stories about the people of Drumheller and their lives. Till then, hope you enjoyed scrolling through these pictures and reading my rants in this part!

[bunnykidiary]

The Nice and Not-so-nice Pakistani Expats

“I have a degree from back home but I don’t think it’s worth anything here..”

 If I could get a dime for every time I hear a new immigrant utter a similar self-deprecating remark about themselves, I would be able to pay for my coffee at Second Cup for over a month.

I know exactly how new immigrants feel. I know just how much it sucks being in their shoes at times. Of having to leave behind home and all the comforts that came with it. Of still missing family and loved ones. Of trying not to think of them too much as you try to get your bearings in a new land, your new home.

 This is a pattern that happened with me, and that I see with many others after they first leave their home country to build a new life for themselves and their family in a new country. New immigrants try to recreate their “back home” again. They try to befriend as many of their country-folks as they could. They seek in them some form of closeness and attachment that their heart craves for after leaving behind their own loved ones.

I will give my own example here first. I immigrated from Pakistan. When I first arrived in Canada, I tried to find other Pakistanis because I felt they were the ones with whom I would be able to relate to the most. Then, I also tried to find other Muslims. Perhaps one of the reasons I got so overtly involved with the “Muslim Students Association” at Waterloo was to fill this void.

 One of the things faced commonly by new Pakistani immigrants: other Pakistanis who are snotty to them. Yes I aware of the adjective I just used. There are two types of Pakistan a new immigrant meets after moving to Canada: the nice kinds and the not-so-nice kinds. Ooh aren’t my adjectives just so to-the-point today.

 I will start with the nice ones. They might be first generation or second generation immigrants. They understand what it’s like to be in your shoes. Or they remember when their own parents were in those shoes. They empathise with the struggle you have ahead of you. They know it won’t be easy as you adjust to an entirely new way of life, people, and if you’re in Canada, weather. They offer advice and guidance. They show you the ropes. They offer you gentle words when you’re homesick. They open their doors to you when you feel like you know no one. They are warm to you and overlook your idiosyncrasies as you express shock over things that are entirely normal to them. They ignore your deviant-ness, your accent, your way of dressing (I spent my first year here wearing the wrong type of winter jacket and boots and kept wondering why I was always cold). In short, you just love them instantly. 

 They are like a mug of hot chocolate on a cold winter night. You realise you can be friends when you find out they cook the same type of foods that’s cooked in your home in Pakistan. They watch many of the same dramas, and sometimes even share some of the same celebrity crushes. They make an effort to speak to you in Urdu, and it breaks your heart when you think how much you took your own mother tongue for granted. Forget feeling pride in being able to speak fluent English that many of us do back home. Over here, nothing is sweeter to your ears than hearing the familiar sound of your own language. And some of them can’t even speak it fluently but they try for your sake. And that touches your heart even more. They become like family to you in this place so far away from your family.

 So I covered the first kind and Alhumdulillah I was blessed to meet with many of them. But as it goes with life and this world, there are always two sides to a coin. I’m going to start my analysis of the “not-so-nice” Pakistanis that you will meet. Sometimes they would even get offended if you call them Pakistani. They will stop you in your tracks with a glare declaring, “I am Canadian, not Pakistani”. And being taken aback, you’ll apologize because you feel like you’re supposed to.

 They will be the ones who will be the first to crack “FOB” jokes with you around. For those unfamiliar, “FOB” is North-American slang for new immigrants, short for “fresh-off-the-boat”. Whoever comes through boats now anyway? Shouldn’t it be called “FOP” (fresh-off-the-plane)?

So these “not-so-nice” Pakistan feel a strong sense of superiority about themselves, especially when they compare themselves to the “FOBs”. They mock their dressing, their accents, their “ignorant questions”. They look down upon their background. You may be a specialist doctor from Pakistan but to them you’re a nobody until you’re validated for your education by the system here. You could be from the best of universities from Pakistan, but these ignorant people would just dismiss it as “oh-just-another-university-from-that-backward-land. I could probably get into it at the blink of an eye”. The fact that admissions acceptance rates at these universities are sometimes as less as 0.1% means nothing to them.

“What could he/she know when the poor FOB can’t even distinguish between his Ws and Vs? I mean don’t they teach anything in their schools in Pakistan! It’s so funny hearing their embarrassing accents I swear LOL OMG ROFL LMAOOOO”.

So yes, I have been exposed to both kinds. A lot of immigrants turn to their fellow countrymen for support and guidance. They choose to live near them or rent from them. They hope that they will be treated fairly since these people would be nicer to them because of their shared backgrounds. But unfortunately in many cases, complete strangers are better than these so-called “hum-watans” (copatriots). They take advantage of you, give you unfair terms, and sometimes being new, immigrants get exploited thinking that is just the way of the land here. They are condescending in their treatment and tone. They often remind and stress that you’re getting a better deal from them than you could get anywhere else. You should just make it a habit to sing their praises every time you meet with them because nothing less will be enough for them. Of course, they are also the first in line to mock you for being different. 

 When you are in the “struggling phase” of settling down, it is difficult to even be cognizant of all the times you were treated unfairly or unkindly. You are so intent on surviving that those thoughts seem like a luxury. It’s only once you are past this time, do you actually have the luxury of looking back and understanding why certain people or their behaviours made you feel uncomfortable. I hope you remember this feeling of discomfort because that is the only thing that will help you empathise with the newcomers when you are in a position to be a source of kindness and friendship to them. Sadly I feel like “appearing cool” so often taken precedence over kindness that it comes at the cost of people’s feelings and sense of dignity. I only hope that nobody who has gone through this experience will ever repeat that for another new-comer, or “FOB” as so many of you mean kids call it.

[bunnykidiary]

Key to a Happy Married Life

They say you shouldn’t flaunt your dirty laundry in public. But I will. Please bear with me for a few (several) paragraphs before I get to it. It’s juicy, I promise.

In the past while I have come across a plethora of posts on social media that I would put under the umbrella of “gender wars”. Poking fun, criticising, stereotyping, and citing grievances towards a group from the opposite gender in the main post, followed by heated arguments and at times even name calling under its comments.

I came across a post just today that pushed me enough to scoop some form of analysis out of me as well. Since not all of my readers (yes all five of you) can read Urdu, I will attempt a mediocre summary. Then I will tell you what I think is wrong with it. All this because I’m assuming you have nothing better to do with your time than to read another post on “gender dynamics and marriage” by a nobody.

So here’s the summary (not my words/opinion so please don’t attack me):

“It is a commonly cited statement that it is not the wife’s responsibility as per religion to take care of her husband’s parents. What is not cited is that it is not the husband’s religious responsibility either to provide for his wife beyond the “naan-nufqaa”, meaning a room, basic clothing and food. But the husband does so much more. He buys his wife a cell phone, provides her with an air conditioned room, takes her shopping monthly, takes her out, yadi yadi yada. In order to fulfill the wishes of his wife and kids, he does multiple jobs all while being taken for granted. He takes on several burdens under the guise of fulfilling his obligations towards his wife. All of this extra effort he does are not binding on him as per religion. So after doing all this, isn’t it incumbent on his wife to serve her parents-in-law after looking at their innocent faces (this was translated verbatim). Only once she does this will she have happiness in this life and the next”

This was my face after reading this post.

I will tell you my opinion because of course you are just dying to hear it out. Okay, enough with the self bashing. I’ll rush to it.

There’s so much that is wrong with this post. I am at a loss over where to begin. When you enter into a marriage, or while you’re in a marriage, you don’t (and shouldn’t!) keep a score card. You don’t habitually tell your partner, “I did A, B, C for you! Can’t you at least do X, Y, Z for me?”

The most important ingredient in marriage (and of course I’m qualified to tell you this) is love. Everything else comes later. It’s when you tell yourself that now you are going to take back seat and the other person will take centre stage. Your individual self will be preceded by your union, your togetherness. You will do this because you see him/her doing the same. And if that person doesn’t, do this instead:

Or if you’ve already tied the knot in spite the red flag, just suck it up and continue posting passive aggressive comments on social media. Because at least they probably add a good measure of spice to your friends’ otherwise mundane news feeds/lives. Just kidding. Actually not really.

I attended a talk by Shaykh Hamza Yusuf once in which he discussed the topic of intimacy and sexual relations between a couple as one of the topics. He mentioned that height of pleasure comes from giving unconditional pleasure to your partner, and until that is understood and realised, intimacy cannot be established.

So there is at least some validation in what I’m saying. I will extend his principle to all other aspects of marriage as well. It’s all about putting your partner before yourself. This does not mean that you lose your individuality or that you let your partner walk all over you. It means that you have taken a leap of faith that your partner will do the same. And that you will give him/her the benefit of the doubt when they make mistakes, because they are only human, just like you.

You see the problem with score cards, or the problem with citing religion/rights/obligations at every turn is that it makes your relationship tedious. It makes it a pain. And doing this speaks your insecurity more than anything else.

It’s akin to a leader telling his followers, “you do this because I’m the leader and you are supposed to listen”. Even though the followers will most likely oblige at that moment, do you think this person has significant influence over them? Will they follow him/her when they think they are not being observed? Will they stand up for their leader in his/her absence? Will they live their leader’s vision for their team? I’m willing to bet most likely not.

So what happens when you use the religion/rights/obligations card to influence your partner constantly?

It makes them love you a little less every time. I have seen painful examples of this in my personal life. More examples than I wish I had. Sadly, it was not pretty.  

So if not religion/doctrine, you may ask “what do you use to influence your partner?”

My first response will be “why do you want to influence them? Why do you want to change them? I probably sound clichéd/chick flick-y, but whatever happened to loving them for who they are? Accepting their flaws, quirks and viewpoints (even the ones different from yours) as part of what makes them individual and unique. And if something about them is really that hard to digest, why not consider working on yourself first?

I’m speaking to both men and women. Who would have thought I would become just like my aunt notorious for giving unwarranted advice.. I guess I was so busy avoiding becoming like my parents (I say this because it’s clichéd; I actually love those guys), I became my phuppo (Urdu for your father’s sister) instead.

Speaking of “phuppos”, I will come full circle and relate the juicy bit I promised at the beginning of this post. It’s an anecdote from one of my own “phuppos” whom I’d rather refer to as my mother’s sister-in-law. She too taunted my mother that all she deserved from her husband was “naan nuqfaa”. The basics of clothing, shelter and food.

I won’t get started on the absurdity of her words. Unhappy people tend to spew out poisonous venom like that. If you have such people in your life and affecting your marriage, I would sympathise with you and advise you to keep the heck away from them. Unfortunately, in the Pakistani society at least, the greatest challenge and hurdle in developing a fulfilling marriage is the pressure couples have to face from such people. People claiming influence, often dissatisfied with their own lives, and directing their insecurities towards the ruin of other people’s happiness.

The only way to counter their negative energy is to grow a strong bond with your partner instead. Make your relationship so strong that it withstands external pressure. Let each hurdle thrown your way become an opportunity to grow closer instead. When all else fails, have faith in your love that transcends your individual grievances and pain. Have faith and you will overcome it. And please, for heaven’s sake, stop resorting to passive aggression and displaying your problems for all the world to see and comment upon.

There is a beautiful verse in the Quran about husband and wife. They are said to be like each other’s garment. Be that for one another. Hide each other’s flaws from the world. Protect each other from the thorns in your path. Beautify each other’s flattering attributes. Be each other’s refuge and respite. Each other’s source of warmth and comfort.

But you could only be this to each other if you’re willing to surrender yourself for the other. You can’t have everything your way and still have all this. It comes at a cost. It comes at choosing your partner before your ego. Before everything AND everyone else. One of my most frequent prayers is that I abide by this for as long as I live.

Alrightey people, bring on the jokes and bashing now :)

[bunnykidiary]

Index Investing - my story and the basics

Before I get into details of index investing, I want to give some background into how I learned about them. When I was little, I heard the phrase “making  your money do work for you” somewhere and it stuck to me. Unfortunately, there weren’t any adults around me who could teach me what exactly that meant. 

The only obvious answer to this phrase was putting your money in a savings account and collecting interest on it. Being cautious of interest, I knew that was not the solution for me. And that there had to be more to it than that.

Later when I was a teenager, I came across a book “Retire by 40” on a road side book stall. While my sister perused through Sidney Sheldon and Judith McNaught novels, I quickly grabbed that book and hungrily went through its table of contents.

My family found my fascination with becoming rich one day somewhat comical and I think even childish. As it happens with many childhood dreams, they are accompanied with a fear of ridicule. I stopped talking about them and later even stopped pursuing them proactively.

I went through some time some few years back where my family went through some extreme financial difficulties. I was no longer a child and realised that now the burden was there for me to share. I looked at my parents whom I had seen work hard all through my life. I felt indignant over the struggle I saw them going through at an age that I felt they should be enjoying. Somewhat like Scarlet O’Hara from “Gone with the Wind”, I promised myself (yes I’m dramatic) that I will never be in this position again. That I will do whatever it took to make sure that I would not struggle the way my family was struggling at the moment.

So while I had almost no money in my bank account, with my credit card maxed out to pay for groceries and at one point when my mom even had to borrow money from my aunt to pay rent, I started making plans of what I would do when I would have money again. I don’t mean in the sense that what I would buy, but what I would do with it to ensure that I could “make it work for me” like I had heard money could when I was little.

You see it’s easy to feel self pity and blame the world/economy/bad job market/politicians for your problems. The difficult part is to take matters in your own hands and realise that you have a major role in controlling the course of your life.

As much as I love my parents, I realised that the situation they were in was largely due to their mistakes and the financial choices that they made. And I vowed never to repeat them myself and to do my best to not let my loved ones repeat them either.

I started reading into personal finance literature heavily. I’m sure I read through at least half a dozen books and actively started following a few worthwhile bloggers who taught me the basics and later even sophisticated nuances of investing.

When we think about investing, in our minds, we sometimes feel like we are gambling. We think investing might mean an all-or-nothing game. Almost all of us have heard horror stories of how some fellow/distant uncle lost his fortune in stocks.

So the general sentiment that I have seen is that we should avoid it. Instead, we should invest in real estate because as everyone says, real estate always goes up. Nothing could be farther from truth. I will debunk this myth on another post.

So if not real estate, then what?

My answer, based on reading through thousands of pages of finance literature and seeing documented real life examples, is index investing.

Without further ado, I will explain briefly what index investing is.

According to Investopedia:

An index fund is a type of mutual fund with a portfolio constructed to match or track the components of a market index, such as the Standard & Poor's 500 Index (S&P 500). An index mutual fund is said to provide broad market exposure, low operating expenses and low portfolio turnover.

When you invest in index funds, it means that you are not investing in individual stocks. The reason is simple: the chance of an individual stock of a company falling is very high. So in order to reduce your risk, you would want to own a group of stocks so that even if some of the stocks go down, you will hope that most of them will go up and overall you will make a gain.

Now what if I tell you that you don’t need to individually go and make a bucket or as they call it in “finance-speak” portfolio of stocks. It’s already made for you in the form of index funds. Index funds, as mentioned in the definition above, are a type of mutual fund that tracks an entire market. It provides a broad exposure.

Your next question might be “So what does providing this exposure mean for me in terms of gains?”

Well the premise behind index investing is that market as a whole in the long term has always gained more than it has lost. The same cannot be said about any individual stocks, or even for any mutual funds (there are some exceptions).

However, when it comes to our hard earned money, we want maximum assurance that it will be protected and in fact that it will grow. And that is what index investing gives us.

In the definition above, you were given the example of Standard and Poor’s 500 index. In the past fifteen years, this index has gone up on an average of 12.2%! This does not mean that index funds never see losses. They do. However, their beauty is that in the long run (15+ years), they always show a gain.

Just for fun, here are some examples below of the performance of a few index funds from TD (I bank with them but there are multiple financial institutions offering quality options):

Here is a link if you want to see more funds. 

I’d love to go into more details about index funds and how to buy them. I am also thinking of covering why index funds are a superior form of investment compared to real estate, especially in the GTA right now. If you have any questions you want me to answer or suggestions for topics you want me to write about, do let me know. Hope this post was beneficial :).

[bunnykidiary]

Musings on Childhood Lessons

Tundi-e-baad-e-mukhalif se na ghabra ae uqaab

Ye tou chalti hai tujhe ooncha uraaney ke liye

Its translation does not do this couplet proper justice but here goes an effort:

Don’t fear the intensity of the opposing-wind, O’ Eagle

It only blows so you could fly higher.

If you were lucky, growing up as a child in Pakistan, it was inculcated in you that such poetry was directed at you. It was written for you. That you were the subject. Be it an uqaab or shaheen.. you were the protagonist.. the hope for the future. That no matter the uncertainty of times and this world, your elders had equipped you with the tools to forge ahead and find your path.

It wasn't all happy go lucky. Attribution of such titles didn't mean you were entitled. Instead, that you had a great responsibility on your shoulders.

Remember listening to the song "hum laaye hain toofan sey kashti nikaal key". There is one verse that comes back and haunts me periodically:

Tum rahat-o-araam ke jhooley mein na jhoolo

Kaanton pey hai chalna meray hanstey huwey phoolo

Again, a mediocre translation effort:

Don't spend your nights lounging in pleasure and comfort

You have to walk on thorns, my beaming flowers.

It was all meant to teach you that your life was not a haphazard accident. You were here for a reason. Your life had a purpose, greater than yourself. That you were meant for an existence superior to one chasing personal indulgence and gratification.

I was fortunate to witness examples around me of such selfless souls.. role models.. people who may appear mediocre to our flashy world of today, but when you got to know them, you knew they were special. These were the role models some of my cohorts and I aspired to be like. Those whose efforts went unnoticed by everyone but just a few.

These were the people we imagined ourselves to be like one day when we sang:

zindagii ho merii parawaane kii surat yaa rab

ilm kii shammaa se ho mujhako mohabbat yaa rab

ho meraa kaam Gariibo.n kii himaayat karanaa

dard-ma.ndo.n se zaiifo.n se mohabbat karanaa

May my life like that of the moth be, O Lord!

May I love the lamp of knowledge, O Lord!

May supportive of the poor my life's way be

May loving the old, the suffering my way be

I don't claim to be an expert of poetry. All I know is what I remember from childhood memories, when poems and songs were chanted for fun. I'm sure I was taught a lot more than I remember right now. But there are still some lessons that I remember. Powerful ones. The kind that pierce me into restlessness as I recognise just how far I have steered away from my compass. How much effort I need to inject to recalibrate back to my inner centre.

This thought bring me back full circle surprisingly. This great effort, the insurmountable odds.. that's our "tundi-e-baad-e-mukhalif".. the opposing, crushing wind.. but that which exists solely to elevate us higher. But only the worthy amongst us. Almost as if it is these tests that winnow out Iqbal's "Shaheens" from the rest.

If that is not inspiration to be your best self, can't imagine what else could be.

[bunnykidiary]

Seven Thoughts and Self Reflections After Visiting Manzanillo

Seven days of sun, slumber and scrumptious foods. 

I'm writing this on my last evening in Manzanillo, lying next to Rishi who is sprawled on the bed beside me, watching an American thriller playing on our room's television.

I'm trying to extract inspiration from the setting around me: the late evening sunlight drifting in through the translucent white curtains hanging on our balcony door, the orange hue and Aztec design of the furniture contrasting with the grainy off-white texture of the walls and the roof, the lazy fan rotating in the sitting area, the earthy and pastle feel of the wall hangings; the coolness of the white marble flooring. The last one is a far cry from the carpeted and wooden floors I'm used to in Canada. 

Perhaps it's the weather and the airy setting that reminds me of Karachi. That makes this little town of Mexico feel like home. This is the second time in two years where a foreign place has reminded me of Karachi: the first being Berlin. Strange I know, but I have my reasons.

While joking with my husband, I considered writing about our mutual surprises on our first ever all-inclusive vacation. Expectations have a way of instilling a deeper sense of reality into you. Here are my seven thoughts from visiting Manzanillo, Mexico (in all first, second and third person), a combination of advise for my future self and self reflections:

1. Don't come to Mexico expecting to eat burritos. Both my husband and I are big fans of  burritos. Burrito rolls or burrito bowls from Mucho Burrito are a frequent and easy delivery choice for us on many of our weekday evenings when both of us are too tired to cook something for ourselves. We came across other varieties of Mexican foods in Manzanillo, but none came even close to the taste we were used to from frequenting Mucho Burrito. And we weren't served burritoes even once. So first shock: Canada might have better Mexican food than Mexico. Or perhaps our fast food crazed tongues just don't have the sophistication to properly appreciate the authentic flavours that Mexico has to offer.

2. Don't book a seven day all-inclusive vacation. You might think you won't get bored of swimming, gazing at the ocean, lying by the pool reading, taking pictures, and lazing around doing nothing, but trust me you will. Even if you do an excursion for a day or two, you're better off booking a five day vacation, or better a three day one. Week long or even longer vacations make sense if you are exploring; not if you're only looking to relax in a resort.  

3. Don't come to a family resort if you're traveling without kids; choose an 'adult only' instead. Yes kids are cute but can be irritating when they get on stage during performances, or when they block the projector during a video screening. I don't blame the kids. It's the parents who should be mindful and respectful in these instances, but unfortunately not all parents take care of their children properly during such events, making it a headache for others who are just trying to enjoy an evening of entertainment. I'd say that most parents are quite responsible. It's always that one family or two that spoil it for the rest of us. 

4. You will eat more guacamole in one week than what you did in the past six months. This was a pleasant surprise more than a thought because the guacomole we ate was delicious!

5. You will feel stupid. Since the hotel offers wifi at a cost and you are looking to disengage from the world, you won't have the luxury of 'googl-ing' your way through life. I am sure on a given day you google about a dozen questions. Being in an unfamiliar land, the number of questions popping up in your mind jump even higher. But being lazy and having social anxiety, you just didn't ask people around you. You resented the moment you refused to pay for wifi and told yourself to just suck it up and tolerate until you're home, while your mind jumped up and down, at odds with your lazy/stingy reasoning. I guess you would've gone and made the effort to talk had you had the foresight to polish up on your Spanish. When you can't even hold a conversation with a vendor selling you souvenirs in Spanish, it’s unlikely that you’ll start up a deeper conversation.

6. I think the thing that made me the happiest during these seven days was my disconnect with the rest of the world. I rarely ever get to experience that. It was also a forceful push to realise just how dependent I am on staying "connected". Checking my email, social media updates, whatsapp messages. They are a drug. and I felt like an addict facing withdrawal. 

It also felt different having absolute attention of Rishi. Not that we don't talk enough when we are home, but there is something powerful that pulls you together when you're somewhere foreign. when your partner is your only connection to familiarity. When he is the only one who shares your lens in the experience before you. Is this why they say travels brings people closer? Or you don't really know someone unless you travel with them? I don't know.

7. The strongest emotion I felt here was guilt. I ask why Allah chose for me to have this experience when people just like me have it so much worse. When people in the same place as me have such different realities. I felt uncomfortable having men older than my father serving me, asking if they could get me anything. I felt arrogant for feeling sorry. It was arrogant I admit. There is no shame in hard work. Did I see my father in the faces of these men? Was that why I felt this guilt and heart ache?

It's so much easier when you get your usual brisk business-like service in North America. While Mexico is part of North America, everything about their service is different from what I'm used to Canada or even the US. The extent of courtesy and kindness was almost unnerving, and a part of me wished I'd pull them down to sit so I could serve them instead. Weird I know.

So here were my seven thoughts. Scattered. Incongruous. Raw. I read them again after returning to Canada and I’ll keep them as is, without changing a word. Hopefully this is something I’d revisit again in a few years. 

[bunnykidiary]

Declining airline expectations; One flight at a time (Part II).

After I waited for about an hour, I followed the instructions to the place in the airport from where I’d get my luggage. For this, I realised later that I had to go into the secure part of the airport. After little difficulty, I arrived at the area but couldn’t locate my luggage. Panicking slightly I decided I’ll walk the end of the floor in search. Fortunately, I was able to spot the distinctive ribbon on my bag from afar and came to find my two bags lying outside what seemed to be an office for baggage claims. Unlike what I had been told, the luggage was definitely not secure. It was just lying around and when I collected it, nobody asked me to show any proof that it was mine. In fact even as I exited the secure airport area, no one asked me for any proof.

By this time, I was too tired to argue or even be indignant. I was exhausted and desperate for some uneventful time. I carried the luggage in a trolley and tried to find my way back to the ticket counter for Air China. Unfortunately as I learned after a mistake, not all elevators in Beijing airport go to all floors. The one I had entered of course had to be one of those. After realising it, I dragged the trolley out and walked the length of whatever floor I had got out of to find an elevator that would take me to my desired floor. It was found eventually.

After getting to the counter, I was told to wait by the manager. He said he was going to call someone from the hotel to accompany me there. Fortunately I only waited five to ten minutes and a fellow arrived. I was told to follow him. He was in a bell boy’s uniform but upon inquiring from him about the distance of the hotel, I was told “No English”. This was just perfect.

I considered my options. Even in that fatigued state, I knew it was not the smartest move to get into a vehicle with a strange Chinese guy who didn’t speak English. But if I didn’t do so, I would have to spend the next 8-10 hours in the airport with all my stuff. As I was thinking of possibilities, I was relieved to see that there were other passengers waiting with me and the vehicle we were getting on was an airport shuttle. There was also a White passenger there in the line. I doubt there has been another incident in my life where I have been this happy to come across a White guy. As it turned out, the guy was Eastern European who too could hardly put together a sentence in English, as I later found out.

As the shuttle started, I mulled over the past few hours and recognised that at least this fiasco got me stamps on my passport. Being part of the wanderlust millennial lot, this is akin to collecting a stamp of approval from my own self. It’s another adventure that I can write to my life’s doings that hopefully i’ll be proud of one day.

The hotel was only a ten minute drive. Strangely, all the receptionists had an “Air China” badge. I wondered if it was functioning just to cover for the airline’s screw ups. In the few hours I spent in the airport, I came across four people who shared their stories with me of how they too had missed flights over issues that had nothing to do with them. In fact, the group in front of me at the reception desk also had a similar experience. They took at least fifteen minutes to sort out their situation. There were two girls and a guy and the receptionist was only willing to give them a single room for the night. This had one of the girls unsatisfied as she refused to share a room with a guy. They offered to give them another room if they were willing to pay for it which further irritated her. After listening to this much, the other girl started speaking in Chinese (probably) so I didn’t understand how they concluded their disagreement. See below for the depressing hotel lobby:

By this time, even though I had to wait, I didn’t mind it. I kept telling myself that I was almost there. A bed and a pillow were hopefully just minutes away. More than that, a bathroom with a toilet and a shower too were just metres away. After being in transit for over a day, I really needed some freshening up to do. Upon reaching my turn at the reception desk, I asked for a room. I showed them my previous boarding pass with the necessary comments as well as my new issued ticket. They asked me for payment and I was so tired I almost agreed to take out my credit card. But some strength still remained and I explained the background of my situation. At this, they said I could get a free room but I would have to share it with another girl. I didn’t mind. And anyway it was for only a few hours.

The hotel room was okay. After showering, I looked into my bags for something to put on. Just before leaving Edmonton, in a moment of extreme sentimentality, I had packed my husband’s tshirt. As I put it on, for the first time I felt peaceful. It had the smell of our usual freshly laundered clothes and I felt connected to a small part of home.

It had been over 16 hours since I had eaten anything. I saw a couple of plastic bottles of water and decided to drink one of those. I drank like a camel. For feeding myself, I opened up a bag of rice chips. Not the healthiest option but I had no energy to look for a place to eat. I knew I had to get up in a few hours and I was scared if my cellphone battery would last long enough for the alarm to go off. I had foolishly forgotten to pack my cell phone charger. All I had with me was the USB charger. On top of it, the plugs I had for my laptop couldn’t fit in the units in my hotel room. I prayed that my phone would last and also as a precaution called reception to give me a wake up call. The receptionist spoke extremely limited English but seemed to understand my message.

Thankfully I was up, dressed and down in time. I checked out. The receptionist was kind enough to charge my phone. Since I was paranoid by now, I had arrived in the hotel lobby at least forty minutes before the airport shuttle was scheduled to leave. I was the first one on it. There were about five more passengers with me.

Once we arrived at the airport, only one passenger got off. I wondered if it had to do with the airport terminal. I asked a middle aged man in front of me about whether he knew where we were supposed to get off. Even though his English was weak, he was extremely kind hearted and attempted to help me. We noticed there was a Thai Airways sign outside so he motioned for me to get off.

Not only that, he got off with me and asked me to point out my luggage to take off from the shuttle trunk. I looked around to find a trolley and he instructed another man standing there to keep an eye on my luggage while I went and got the trolley. I noticed that he took out an extra bag from the shuttle and I told him twice to put it back as it was not mine. Unfortunately he didn’t understand because by the time I was back with the trolley, the shuttle was gone and the extra bag stood next to my own bags. After being helped so generously, I felt terrible over what had just happened. Unfortunately the people around me couldn’t speak English well enough. I tried to explain to them what had happened but they didn’t know what to do or how to contact that shuttle again. Exasperated I had no option but to carry that bag into the airport with me.

Perhaps that was not the smartest thing to do but I wasn’t willing to leave that bag lying outside. I went to one of the security guards for help. He couldn’t speak English. I walked across the floor to an information desk who told me to walk to another floor. This was not the most fun walk with the amount of luggage I was dragging around. Again, I had to find elevators which went to the exact floor I needed to get to. I talked to three more airport staff members after that who all told me to go to someone else. Finally I arrived at another information desk and told the lady that I was going to leave the bag with her as if I waited any longer, I risked missing my flight again.

Another experience: I got yelled at in Chinese. Seeing my ignorant face and possibly fighting xenophobic paradigms, she pointed towards her right and motioned for me to take the bag there. I took one last chance and arrived by the lost and found. Unfortunately it was closed but I had run out of options. I wrote my name, the hotel’s name and the situation on a piece of paper and inserted in on the bag’s handle and walked away.

The rest of the process was relatively uneventful. I stood in three different lines which seemed to last forever. For two of the lines, I had at least a hundred people in front of me. With each step further, I felt like I was climbing one step closer to Mount Everest summit. I reached the airport close to 4:15 and it wasn’t until after 6 that I was done with everything and all that was left was to sit in the lounge.

My fitbit showed that I had walked over 8 kilometres in the past 24 hours. At least I had gotten some exercise out of it.

Comically, my flight was delayed by forty minutes. I kept checking and rechecking the flight schedule to make sure I was at the correct lounge. I even got into conversation with a couple who were bound for Bangkok on the same flight. At this point, I was convinced of Murphy’s law that all that could go wrong was going to go wrong.

One good thing: China Air had communicated to Thai Airways that I needed a vegetarian meal. I was also served before everyone else like always. Yay me for once.

I will end the post here and might make another post for my Bangkok adventure going all the way to Karachi. Spoiler: Thai airways was amazing and so was much experience at Bangkok airport.

[bunnykidiary]

Declining airline expectations; One flight at a time (Part I)

I am going to write about this experience while it's still fresh in my mind. More than fresh; I'm experiencing it as I write. Today has been the most hellish flight experience I have ever had. I guess it can be summarized in a short sentence too: Never take connecting flights through places  where people can't speak a language you can’t speak and where you have a short layover. Also, never fly through unconventional routes to your destination. Chances are you'll be just about the only one or among very few people who are taking that route.

So this is what happened with me. I got screwed up by two airlines. And now I'm thinking the first airline's screw up was better than the second one's. Let's start with the first: Emirates. I had heard people go gaga over this airline multiple times so I decided I will pay some extra and book my flight through Emirates. Since I live in Edmonton, there are hardly any flights with just one connecting flight to Karachi. All of them involve three flights at least. Emirates had me flying through Seattle with Alaska Airlines and with them from there to Dubai and eventually to Karachi.

Because my originally booked flight got cancelled due to whatever reason, they rescheduled my flight. Informed me over email. And didn't bother rescheduling the connecting flight since Emirates doesn't fly between Seattle and Edmonton. This was their job as I had booked my ticket directly with Emirates. When I called them to ask them to book it, they gave me flight times that didn't work for me, either because it was too early and I didn't want to cut my already short vacation by a day, or because it wouldn't get me back in time to Edmonton. I couldn't afford to be late since I had an important work meeting.

Time is valuable to all of us. And we all expect to receive what we pay for. I guess not for Emirates. They told me twice that they will look into a better connecting flight so I could get home on time. I even told them I didn't mind increasing my number of connecting flights. I was told I would get a call back in 24 hours. Both times it didn't happen. Frustrated since there were barely over two weeks left before my flight, I asked them what was going on. They basically told me that I either take the options they gave me at that point, i.e. leave Karachi a day early or get to Edmonton a day late. There was nothing else they could do. Including apologize for the inconvenience they were causing me. And even flight cancellation wouldn't result in an immediate refund. It was a different department that handled those claims, I was told. So I'd have to send them an application and if they accepted, I would receive it back is 25 days. That was the first horror story.

Now onto the second one. Since there were barely two weeks left in my vacation and travel  plans, I was hardly a chooser. I booked the airlines that would get me there in the cheapest fare since fares already were quite expensive. I found a flight through Air China which would have me fly from Edmonton to Vancouver through WestJet and then from Vancouver to Beijing and then Beijing to Karachi through Air China. I googled their reviews which weren't flattering. At this point, I couldn't care less about quality of seating or in-flight entertainment. I just wanted to get to a place and back in the time I wanted. Boy, was I a fool to risk this.

I doubt if I will ever fly with Air China after what I just went through. Everything went fine with WestJet. At Vancouver I boarded for Beijing. On my flight, I didn't see anyone who looked like they were bound for Karachi. I didn't think much of it. I should have. That should have been the first red flag. Once we reached Beijing, I hurried to the international transfers line since I didn't have much time. I thought that since I had checked in already and my baggage was checked in too, I should be fine. I actually needed to go the washroom during it, but I held it since I didn't want to risk wasting even a minute of my time.

The line was endless. The process was inefficient. Most of the staff couldn't converse in English properly. They had all the passengers scan their luggage again, which i think is standard. Once I was through security, I found through "Information" that my flight had already left. Panicked, I asked them what I was supposed to do next.  I had to speak with Air China.

What happened in the next two hours was highly stressful to say the least. One after another airport staff member told me to go to one counter after another. I stood in two lines, both for at least half an hour, only to find out that there was someone else I needed to speak to. There was also the matter of my luggage where they weren't sure half the time where it was. Finally I broke down and one of the girls took pity on me. She called another staff member and asked for my passport and old boarding pass. They spoke in Chinese so I couldn't understand their conversation. After what seemed like an eternity, she came back with my passport stamped with temporary Chinese visa. To be honest, at this point, I was wondering if I was even safe without a passport on me and with a random girl who couldn't even talk to me in understandable English.

Then, I was told to go out of the security area and find the Air China ticketing counter. Again I asked half a dozen people along the way until I finally reached Air China. I was told there was no flight to Karachi for two days. I have already been flying and in airports for the past twenty hours. I couldn't tolerate anymore of this. Especially in a strange place where I don't know a single person. My phone was almost dead. The airport didn't offer free wifi. This is the first major international airport I have been to that charges for its wifi! I guess I have only been used to Pakistan, North America and Europe till now.

I realised that tears came easily to me and here I actually used them again on purpose. I told the Air China agent there was no way I could wait for another 48 hours and claimed a family emergency. Not entirely honest but I was desperate. I told her to fly me to Dubai and from there to Karachi. I noticed there were flights going to Dubai from Beijing. I had half my mind to even to go back to Toronto and from there to Edmonton, I felt so stressed and lost in this strange place. I'm probably sounding pretty white-washed right now. Honestly, I don't care. I am now realising what a blessing it is to be in countries where airport officials can converse in English and they have proper signs about which line to actually stand in. On top of this, at least half the people I talked to here were unprofessional and rude. I'm not very surprised by this, having experienced this multiple times in Pakistan. Power does get to people's heads at times. The unfortunate bit is just how small the power is that these people allow to get to their heads.

So after a little crying episode, she found me a flight that will have me wait 24 instead of 48 hours, and have me fly to Karachi through Bangkok where there would be a layover of seven to eight hours. Better that than wait here for 48 hours. I spoke to her duty manager who told me to wait an hour and then go to a location to get my baggage. And then come back to him and he will see what he could do about getting me a hotel. I guess in the middle of it all, I felt an outpour of gratitude towards this guy. If the other people had shown even half the professionalism as him, I wouldn't be in this mess.

So now I'm here, waiting for the hour to pass so I could go collect my baggage. Feels good to have written it all. I will miss my niece's birthday. I ruined my brother-in-law's plans and his uncle's too. I might even miss the surprise I had planned for my friends. All due to not thinking twice about booking with an airline that until now I had never heard of flying to Pakistan from Canada. I am so exhausted and dehydrated that I'm thinking even Emirates would have been better than this.

[bunnykidiary]

Start of a good day..

You know the feeling of immense pleasure where someone praises something that's beloved to you.. This morning while I was taking a cab, the driver was curious about where I was from.  As it often happens in Canada, we played a guess game of where we were both from. After guessing Saudi, he turned out to be Somalian. When I told him I was from Pakistan, he shared that he spent a small part of his youth living in Lahore and accompanying his sister who studied at Punjab university. In a nostalgic manner, he shared his experience, telling me how beautiful Lahore was and how he loved visiting Islamabad. About Karachi, he said it was too crowded. Fair enough.

He then told me he wanted his own girls to have experience living in different parts of the world. He tried to send them for a few years to International school in Pakistan but the government wouldn't give him visa. Disappointed, he chose Malaysia instead and now his daughters love it there so much, they don't want to return to Canada.

I tried playing devil's advocate asking why Pakistan before any other country.. And he was surprised over why not Pakistan. I sat listening to him barely containing my wide smile as he talked about the beauty of the country and its people, their hospitality, spirit and resilience in the face of hardship, as well as surviving in spite a myriad challenges. "What the media shows is exaggeration.. it's not sensational to show the good stuff", he said.

It's funny.. I had a similar experience visiting Europe last year. I came across several Turkish people while in Belgium and Germany. It always started with a guess game of where I was from and when they found out I was from Pakistan, they'd get pleased and start praising Pakistan. It was so heartwarming to experience this love. It was akin to a child who is misunderstood by everyone and then a kind stranger sees the good in her.

Of course, there is no shortage of people who love to criticize Pakistan.. They have done nothing for her but have all the ideas in the world of all that's wrong with her and what should be done to fix things. They are a dime a dozen, especially in the expat lot. These rants are so commonplace that I preemptively prepare myself to control my temper anytime Pakistan is mentioned now. I zone myself out of such conversations.

And then, just like that, having an experience like today's, moves me so much that I could start crying easily. All praise to the One Above. I have a feeling it will be a good day..

[bunnykidiary]

Growing up/older/old?

So I had another little aha moment yesterday: Life sometimes teaches you stuff. I can imagine someone rolling their eyes, going “no kidding!”.

But the reason I said what I did was because many times I find myself assuming that I’ve figured out most of the important stuff and the way I see life will be based on the paradigm I have right now for the most part. With minor changes here and there, but nothing major.

It’s not just me; other people say the same to. For instance, to “convert” someone either into another ideology/camp/religion, it’s much much easier if they are young. I remember reading a spy novel from the Cold War era where a spy finally confesses that she was working for the interests of the Soviet bloc and spying on her super-important-high-in-the-ranks American husband. He asked her when it started since she too was American and wondered if it was during one of her trips she made in her mid-thirties. She replied saying that mid-thirties was too old for viewpoints to change so drastically. Most of these “conversions” happen when you’re young. Mostly by the time you have hit your mid-20s.

Dang. So does that mean I can’t be converted anymore? Should I be happy or concerned? Or will I still count since I still haven’t wandered that far off from my mid-20s? But why the heck am I somewhat despondent about not having the standard “conversion window” open for me anymore? I seriously need help.

Anyhoo, the reason I mentioned this entire mush of words before coming to the actual point of my post is because I think I recognized a certain something. I recall once overhearing my mom complaining about me to one of her friends. It was during those nasty mid-teenage years where generally everything your parents do irritates you and everything you do pushes them over the edge. I remember overhearing her complaining and feeling an immense sense of indignation. How could she, in my dramatic teenaged mind, “betray” me in front of her friend like that? Did she have no loyalty? None of us like being discussed behind our back. Well unless it’s in flattering terms. But mostly, that’s not the case and it sucks being at the receiving end of someone’s gossip and mild entertainment/venting sessions. I remember vowing to myself that if ever I became a mother, I would never ever discuss my kids like that in front of other people, no matter what.

I think a part of me has still not forgiven my mom for doing that. It made me wonder how many more times she had done it and in front of how many people. For petty people like me, grudges tend to stick around for a long time. Hence, I still don’t like that friend of my mom’s even though she is generally a pleasant lady and is always nice to me. I recognize that my opinions are unfair, biased and also immature. Still, I have zero motivation to change them. I will just never like that friend, and that she and I will never go beyond exchanging the minimum number of pleasantries.

With that background, I will now mention the “thing” I now recognized recently. A lot of the colleagues I work with are close to my parents’ age. Most of them have adult children in their twenties, some of them still living with them. One of the topics of conversation that comes up with them often is their children. And I am amazed by just how openly and passionately they criticize them or joke about them. Having witnessed the bitching from the other end of the exchange so far, it was eye-opening and somewhat shocking to hear the other side. If I ever find out my parents ever spoke about me that way, I would never forgive them. Or won’t I?

So see this is my aha-moment/realization.. When you’re young, you are so frikkin’ self-centred. You only think about how unfair the world is, or how unfair your parents are, or how so many people have it better than you even though they suck. In the middle of all this self-pity, we rarely recognize that there are other losers sitting in the boat with us. And that our parents aren’t the unique monsters we have played them out to be in our minds.

I never, ever, thought it likely that other people did what my mom did. And that bitching about your kids to your friends/colleagues is a relatively normal and commonplace thing to do. That’s what middle-aged and past middle-aged people do. It is really very common.

And it took me over a decade and working with older colleagues to finally realise that. I still don’t know if I’m okay with it. But I’m not as harsh in my judgements as I was six weeks ago.

Does that mean I am growing and maturing? And turning “old”? Meh. We are all headed for death anyway. On that note, I will end this post. Happy Friday my imaginary readers :-)

[bunnykidiary]

Solitude..

I want to get into the habit of writing regularly so here goes something.

I have a guilty confession to make. I’m liking solitude more than I thought I would. When hubster left for his eight-week training, I thought I would hate every minute of it. That I would count each day as getting me closer to the end.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, or be at peace, or dramatically that food would lose all its flavour.

I’d like to tell my past, slightly younger, and naïve self that no, you will be alright. You will miss him but you will learn to live without him being there. Hearing his voice and knowing that he is safe and happy will be enough to bring you peace.

Also, you’d be surprised to know that sometimes you will talk more to him over phone while he is away than when you do while you’re together. It will remind you of the times before you got married and of your phone conversations during that early time of your relationship. Both of you will feel nostalgic, and in fact would talk about all the things from that time that you had stopped bringing up.

Not that it’s been that long. Not more than two years, but that early time does seem very far back because in your mind, so much has happened since then.

That said, you will also enjoy this “me time” a lot. You are grateful to your parents-in-law and your mother for keeping you company and being there for you. They generously took out time to be with you. That’s the kind of selfless love only parents can give. But now that they are gone and it’s just you, you will realise that it’s okay. That you will survive. On top of that, you will enjoy this time.

You always thought you were Joey from Friends where he moves into his own place to be alone with his thoughts and then later confesses, “But I realize I don’t have many thoughts”. Fortunately, you are not him and this time is giving you an unhindered, uninterrupted opportunity to be on your own and letting your imagination carry you wherever you wish.

You’re answerable to just about no human. Of course, your parents want to know that you’re safe and secure each day. That’s about it. Your friends check up on you to see if you’re okay and if you’re missing him too much. You feel slightly guilty about admitting to yourself that “missing” has become more of a verb than a noun in your case.

You miss him when you think about him. And it’s very easy for you to let yourself get lost that way. But you’re finding that when you go about with your routine, and focus your energies on other pursuits, your thoughts aren’t as involuntarily interrupted by his reminders. You now choose to miss him. For the most part, you feel content just by speaking to him and looking forward to the time four weeks from now when you’d be together.

Instead of focusing on the present, you focus on your future plans together.

Enough about him; not onto you. You will start to love this solitude. I’m not kidding. And with very limited efforts too. Since it’s just you, you are unlikely to make many social plans. This will leave you unengaged on most nights. You will be able to go workout and not feel guilty about getting home by a certain time. You could pick up something to read and be at it for hours uninterrupted. You could choose to eat whatever it is that you wish without considering anyone else’s preferences. You could leave your plate on the dining plate and come back to wash it an hour later, and not have to feel guilty about coming off as a slob.

You realise that there might be no other time in your life for a long time where you will have ownership of your time like you do now. You choose your own schedule. You have hours to kill daily after work where you could just about do anything. You could drive in the fields like you did yesterday. Or you could go take a long stroll by the lake. You could drive down to the mall and spend hours there or you could even go watch a movie by yourself. You could watch any number of episodes on Netflix uninterrupted as you wish.

And whenever you feel bored or lonely, your loved ones are only a phone call away. You know that in the worst case scenario, you could literally book a flight ticket there and then and fly down to see them. You know you won’t be that impulsive but it’s comforting to know that you have the option.

So yeah, solitude is underrated. In this day and age where so many of us have the fear of being left alone and not have anyone to share our life with, we overlook what a blessing solitude could be at times. I have a feeling after experiencing this short time on my own, I will go back to appreciating my time with my loved ones more than I do right now. At the same time, if I have this opportunity again at another time in my life, I will actually look forward to it. Provided it’s temporary (disclaimer for just in case Allah swt gets any ideas).

[bunnykidiary]

Birthday 2016

Soo, I had been referring to “the husband” with different titles for a while. Yesterday, a little person asked me when “Mr. Amber baji” was getting home. I think I've found my favourite title for him.

When you get married, sometimes certain assumptions are debunked. That leads to reassessment of viewpoints that you held quite strongly but then have to rethink because the paradigm itself shifted. What Oprah may call an “aha moment” or what you may call an “oh sh$%” moment for yourself.

Like the fact that guys actually have a heart. That they are not as strong as they’d like the world to think. On top of it, it sometimes sucks being a guy because unlike girls, they can’t always share how they feel without being judged. Perhaps it was due to growing up with girls, but I never gave much thought to the challenges on the other side of the gender pool. And now that I am married, I’d like to think that I’m not as ignorant as I used to be. As a colleague wrote on his messenger status, “You should take the approach that you’re wrong. Your goal is to be less wrong”.

I think that’s a humbling way to approach living. Because few things are as nauseating as arrogance. For all of us.

That said, I will attempt a greater struggle to assemble my cluttered thoughts and actually write what I wanted to write.

Dear Mr. Amber baji. Hubster. Rishi. Bunny love. I’m simultaneously surprised, scared and flattered by the extent of influence I have over you. A life that was so far removed from mine until not very long ago. Yet this minuscule part of time we have shared feels forever and everything before it feels like ancient history.

I'm so lighthearted that even if i amalgamate all the words synonymous with gratitude into one word, it still won't do justice to my experience. With you. As yours.

Not that you are perfect. You didn't call me yesterday and I went to bed angry with you. On my birthday of all days. You probably thought I was busy and you had gone to bed early because of your training but I didn't care about that. I wanted an explanation.

Still I re-read what you wrote me the day before as my gift. Silly and not exactly literary. If you submitted it for a grade, you'd be lucky to get a B. Yet I'd cherish it for as long as I breathe. It will be my cushion when you're not around. Because you wrote it. And no one knows me like you do.

On top of that, I'm amazed how you sold me on a birthday gift that has me doing all the work upfront and still has me feeling ecstatic that I have you.

Ladies, who might be as ignorant as me when it comes to men, know that with most men you have to spell out exactly what you want from them. They are not as receptive in picking up signals and hints. Subtlety is not often their strong suit. If you want them to surprise you on a regular basis, you have to literally ask them for it. If you’d like them to praise you in a certain manner, you have to teach them of the adjectives you’d like them to use. Not to put words into their mouth, but to give them a set of options from which to choose from. The first few times may be annoying but with time they pick on and then actually do surprise you.

In a nutshell, “happily ever after” doesn’t just happen. It is created with the efforts of two individuals, who make a proactive effort to contribute and write the scripts of their happiness together. As cheesy as it sounds.

So anyhoo, while I’m on the topic, I’m going to end this post with my birthday gift from hubster aka Mr. Amber baji. After he wrote me a poem that had me grinning several times during the day, he asked me to make a list of certain number of things I want from him through the year. And that would be my birthday gift from him.

He also explicitly asked me to exclude vacations from the list since that might be one area he knows where I have a tendency to go wild and hurt our finances.

While at first I felt annoyed for having to put efforts towards my own birthday gift, as I typed it up and revisited it again today, I looked at in another way. I imagined not only the numbered items, but also the idea of him following through with them. I recognized my anticipation for each and appreciated the number of surprises I would experience over the year.

Although I would have been happy with something cliched like flowers or a teddy bear, with some thought I recognise that this is the best gift idea that even I couldn’t have imagined for me.

I’m sharing part of the list below. May be I will write about some of it later on too. Let’s see if he follows through with all of them and whether this gift idea would live up to its expectation. For now, I think I am quite excited. And grateful to Allah swt. This situation is personification of the oft-repeated saying, “Put your trust in Allah and many times He will bless you with even better than what you imagined for yourself”.

So here’s part of the list:

Make me tea and bring it to me with a cheesecake slice that you pick up for me fresh from a bakery/store.

Learn the lyrics of “neelay neelay amber per” and sing it for me.

Finish reading “5 love languages”.

Tell me one thing you will do for me daily based on my love language/one of my love languages.

Tell me one thing you will do for me weekly based on my love language.

Tell me one thing you will do me every month based on my love language.

Surprise me with a donation to an elephant orphanage in my name.

Cook paratha for me.

Bring me a double double from Timmies just like that when I’m home.

Build me a book shelf.

Take me to farmer’s market.

Make me a hand-made birthday card for my next birthday.

Get me a bag of Miss Vickie’s jalapeno chips.

Watch an old movie with me (1970 or earlier)

Take me to theatre.

Take me to an Islamic lecture.

Bring me breakfast in bed with a newspaper.

Buy me a cute pair of socks.

Surprise me with dinner set up on our dining table (even if it’s store bought) one day with flowers and lit candles (you can use the ones we have in our drawer).

Take me to a farm for an evening and stay there till sunset.

Buy me a book with a personal message inside.

When we are sitting in front of Kaab’ah, take my hand and read tasbeeh on my fingers.  

As he goes through them, I will tick through the items. And then revisit them again next year. 

[bunnykidiary]

Cross Canada Trip to Edmonton - Day 5: Winnipeg to Saskatoon

Saskatoon is boring. There. I said it.

I was sitting staring at my computer screen for the longest time wanting to write something worth reading but I couldn’t. Since the place did nothing to impress itself upon me in spite my halfhearted attempts to like her, and yes I know I’m being whiny, I will keep today’s post short.

And no. No ghosts stopped by the foot of my bed last night either. All those fantasies and I woke up disappointed. 

Anyhoo, this was our breakfast. 

The phone was dead during lunch.

And this was my dinner. The worst pizza I have ever eaten. Mine is on top. Hubster’s is on the bottom. We were unsure over exactly what they had sprinkled his pizza with. It looked like almonds and tasted like plastic. Also, my pizza had no tomato sauce on it. 

Oh and this is our room number. Not even joking. The desis who get the joke might find it amusing.

Also, I think I may have passed by the Windows wallpaper field today. 

Perhaps it’s the lack of proper nutrition but I’m extremely grumpy right now. Going to bed. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

[bunnykidiary]

Cross Canada Road Trip to Edmonton - Day 4: Dryden to Winnipeg

Today ends the fourth day of our journey. Only two more to go. Today will be memorable for several reasons. First, hubster got pulled over by a cop for speeding (thankfully no ticket; he let us go after a warning). Then, we checked into a historical railway hotel reputed to be haunted. Finally, we spent a couple of hours perusing through displays at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights. Lots to process and think about.

Since our drive today was short, we reached Winnipeg close to 2:30. I mentioned in my previous posts that we are staying at Holiday Inn multiple times during our drive since they offer free breakfast, among other things. Their breakfast hours end at 9:30. We woke up at 9:19 and then hurried through the motions of putting on clothes and ran to their restaurant to not miss it. Fortunately, we didn’t miss it. Here was my breakfast.

We left Dryden close to 10. As we drove, the scenery we passed gradually changed. Fewer hills, shorter trees, and not too many lakes. We were warned that as soon as we would enter the Prairie provinces, our view would become boring and flat. I fell asleep in Ontario and woke up in Manitoba to the following view. In my sleep, I also missed the sign identifying the middle of Canada.

That’s okay. We miss some, we gain some. We reached our hotel close to 2:30. I was particularly looking forward to staying at this hotel because of all the reviews I had read on Trip Advisor. I was fortunate enough to experience staying at the Chateau Frontenac in Quebec City this March. Seeing the pictures on Trip Advisor of Fort Garry hotel reminded me of Chateau Frontenac since they both share the Chateau form of architecture popular around the turn of the twentieth century. In fact, the architecture of Fort Garry is heavily influenced by the architecture of the famous Plaza hotel in New York. So you can see, I had several motivations in wanting to experience another grand hotel.

Fort Garry hotel was originally built to cater to elite railway passengers. When it was first built, it was the tallest building in Winnipeg. From the outside, it reminds me of the Fairmont Hotel in downtown Toronto I’d pass daily. I guess the most fascinating aspect of staying at this hotel was something I was unaware of until a friend pointed it out to me on Facebook. She asked me if I was staying in the ghost room and upon researching I learned more about it.

I am not kidding. I had an eerie feeling entering into this hotel from the very beginning. I didn’t give much thought to it. Either to the spooky looking hallways or the vintage and uncannily designed room. But the question from my friend prompted me to do some research on my own. Thank you Omairah. I will give your regards to the ghost of the woman who is rumoured to appear at the foot of people’s beds in the middle of the night. May be I will advise her to pay you a visit across the street where you work.

Back to ghost stories. Before I go into hearsay, let me mention the facts. There was a lady guest in this hotel who committed suicide by hanging herself in her room’s closet. She was apparently grief stricken after learning about the death of her husband in a car accident. She was staying in room 202 which is now called the “ghost room”.

A former Member of Parliament stayed in room 202 over ten years ago and reported that she was woken up twice during the night by the sensation of someone getting into her bed. Beyond room 202, guests and hotel staff have reported feeling the appearance of someone at the foot of their beds, and even in the hallways. I guess I should be able to report tomorrow if I felt any ghostly presence at the foot of my bed.

Ghost or no ghost. This hotel definitely has a spooky feel to it. I recommend coming here with your girlfriends for a sleepover, or bringing a clueless friend here who is easily scared. Okay, don’t do the latter, unless you absolutely want to :).

Apparitions aside, today we also visited the Canadian Museum of Human Rights. It is the first national museum in Canada created after 1967 and outside Ottawa. I doubt if I will be able to do justice to my visit there in this post. I am drained after all we did today but I will still make an attempt to cover some of the high points of our visit.

The first impression you get from the museum is from its building. It’s modern with an ambitious design. Lot of sharp angles and maze-like pathways. The display is captivating. The museum goes to the very beginning of time and recorded history to explore the idea of what constitutes human rights.

The museum contains artifacts, writings, oral histories and videos. Several conflicts are covered. I was pleased with the attention given to the First Nation and overall Native experiences with human rights violations and exploitation. There was coverage on women history, communist history, ethnic prejudices that were systematically carried out by the state in Canada. I’m not even touching the tip of the iceberg with the cursory mention I am doing. Here are some snaps we took:

As I write this with my eyes drooping, I have decided that I should write a separate post soon on my visit to the museum. For now, I will only mention one thought that I left the museum with. Although the museum contained several instances of human rights violations and stories of strength and conviction that were both heart breaking and inspiring, it was silent on several instances of human rights violations in the past and the ones currently taking place. The museum was designed from quite a Eurocentric lens. There was only a cursory mention of the trans-Atlantic slave trade and slavery in the US. There was no mention of colonial crimes committed by the British or any other colonial powers for that matter. No mention of Opium Wars. Or the Bengal famine that killed over a million Bengalis. Something that was artificially created as a wartime strategy against the Japanese as they took over Burma and threatened to approach Bengal during World War II. Nothing about the displaced Palestinians. So much that was left out.

But I saw Malala. I’m sure most of my Pakistani buddies will have something to say about her. I will choose not to offer an opinion for once. But I took a picture anyway. Her uniform from when she was attacked is displayed in the museum.

My husband and I had a small talk with one of the museum workers, and we inquired about those histories that were left out. We appreciated that he was not defensive and agreed with us for the most part. The museum was not an exhaustive collection of all human rights violations or struggles. However, it should still be appreciated for all that it does cover. The conflicts that are ongoing, we were told, are not covered as they await how they will be concluded. At the same time, the museum had to adhere to the overall government stance on each of the conflicts. It was quite ironic listening to that after reading all the quotes around me along the lines of, “All it takes for evil to triumph is for the good men to say nothing”.

Still, I don’t want to discourage anyone from attending. My criticisms aside, the museum is definitely thought-provoking which is exactly what you’d want any museum experience to be. It also contains a myriad collection of stories of human struggles and eventual empowerment that are heartening to witness. With all the negativity around us in the world, it is always encouraging to witness stories of people coming out victorious against colossal odds in their struggle to live in peace and with dignity.

Before I forget, let me also continue the tradition of covering the dinner we ate. This time we found an Indian/Hakka restaurant called Clay Oven a few minutes walk from the museum. The food was scrumptious, albeit understandably not very spicy.

There are lots of faces in my mind right now. Lots I didn’t know much about and was grateful for the opportunity to learn. The Human Rights museum is definitely a place I’m bringing my kids one day. On that note, I will end this night’s post. Tomorrow will be an early morning since we have a long drive ahead of us. I will report if an apparition pays me a visit at night. Good night :)

[bunnykidiary]

Cross Canada Road Trip to Edmonton - Day 3: Thunder Bay to Dryden

I’m currently typing this sitting on my hotel bed in Dryden. If you’re desi, you might be familiar with the game “Name, place, animal, thing”. For those who don’t know about NPAT, with each turn players pick a random alphabet and then everyone writes a name, place, animal and thing starting with that alphabet. As soon as you’re done, you count till ten and then everyone must share what they wrote. You get ten points for each correct entry, and five points if someone else wrote the same entry as you. It might sound childish but it’s actually a lot of fun. I have fond memories of playing this game all through my childhood and even late teens with friends and family.

Sorry for going off on a tangent like that. The reason I brought up “Name, place, animal, thing” is I was wishing I could go and play this game with my family again. One of the challenges we faced in the game was to come up with a unique enough entry for each alphabet that anyone else won’t write. And being on road for the past three days has introduced me to so many new “place” names that I was involuntarily making a mental note to remember them so that I could use them when I play this game again. Probably not for a loong time.

Anyhoo, back to Dryden and and our day today. We slept in today since yesterday’s drive was quite long. We had to check out from our hotel at 11:30. I woke up earlier than my husband so spent my quiet time enjoying the beautiful view from our room and watching an episode of “Pretty little liars” on Netflix. He woke up around 10:30 and then somehow fast forwarded our packing up, getting ready and checking out routine. I took a few pictures this morning as promised in the previous blog post. Sorry for the picture quality. It doesn’t do justice to the place. If you’re ever in Thunder Bay, I strongly recommend staying in Best Western, if only for the view.

Our drive today was just 350 kilometres. Less than half the distance we travelled yesterday. We passed more trees, hills, and smaller lakes. I had gotten more used to the beauty around me so I didn’t bother with as many pictures and videos as I did yesterday. It was just wonderful looking up at the sky with its fluffy clouds and deep blue. It was therapeutic not really doing anything and just driving through nature. We passed some really cute farmhouses on the way, that seemed right out of a picture book. Unfortunately I couldn’t capture them on my phone in time.

The most interesting part of our drive was passing a time zone boundary. I didn’t even realise it until I saw the time difference on my phone and our car screen. I later learned that Dryden is only one of two cities in Ontario part of the Central time zone; Kenora being the second city.

I am now on a one-hour time difference from Toronto. This realization makes our move that much real. It is different when you are on a flight and land somewhere with a different time zone. When you drive away, however, it feels like you’re slowly slipping away from home. At many points during the initial stage of our drive, I felt comforted by the fact that I was still close. That if there was something urgent, I could still turn back. Now, we are more than half way done with our journey. Edmonton is closer to us than Toronto.

I also thought about today being Monday. A very different Monday than what I’m usually used to. Unless it’s a statutory holiday, Monday mornings are usually dreaded. I thought being at work just two weeks ago. In some way, I feel very distant from it. Perhaps because I’m so removed from it right now and the world around me is so different from Toronto, and not necessarily in a bad way.

For lunch, we used Yelp for guidance and it directed us to a restaurant called “Kano Reid”. It was surprisingly refreshing. We drove in our bumblebee to “Downtown Dryden”, noticing more than a few people looking at us and getting waves from several adults and children. Downtown Dryden makes “Downtown Waterloo” look crowded and huge. I liked how cozy and small it was. Finally today, I got to have my “small town experience”.

I squealed with excitement as I noticed the wall of the restaurant, spotting both Karachi and Chittagong. Hard to explain the emotions of those moments in words. Here I was, on my way to my new home, while still getting over leaving behind my previous home. To see a reminder of my original home so unexpectedly was something I was not expecting. It was a very small thing but regardless it made me feel unrooted for a little while, wondering how many farewells were in my future, especially since I got so attached to each place I ever called home.

I pondered these thoughts as I sipped the most delicious milkshake I had ever tasted in my life. I am not joking. The owner of the restaurant told me that their ice cream in home-made as well and there is little air in it, making it denser than most. The flavour of the milkshake was “Roasted almond mocha and white chocolate”.

If you are ever in Dryden, definitely visit Kano Reid. Everything they serve is fresh and organic. Even though we reached after they had finished serving lunch, they still took our orders. When I saw their menu, the owner noticed that I wasn’t too excited with any of the options so he came around and offered to make something customized to my liking. Who does that! I felt extremely valued and respected. As the hubster said, “This is the difference between a small town and city. Here people really take the time to talk to you and make a relation”.

This was our lunch. My order was greek salad wrap with home made chips and hubster’s was melted tuna cheese sandwich with the same chips. His drink was lemonade iced tea which he enjoyed just as much. In fact he finished it too quickly and then started sipping from mine too.

All through the first part of my lunch, I kept looking at Karachi, Pakistan and thinking about the time there. Not my time there but the actual “time” there. The remaining places on the wall were also not commonly used and I wondered about them too. For instance, it is common to see New Delhi under a wall clock instead of Darjeeling.

The restaurant owner walked over once more to ensure we were enjoying our meals. I took the opportunity to ask him why he chose those places for his wall. He looked happy with the question and took his time going over his philosophy behind doing so. Since Dryden is a small town (less than 8000 in population), often the residents don’t venture far from it. Sometimes, he said, they are as unaware of the more seldom mentioned places of the world, as the world generally is about Dryden. He wanted to use this wall as an opportunity to introduce the different, more rarely mentioned part of the world to his restaurant customers. Such a pleasant difference from the “other wall” we have been hearing about for the past some time. He took this opportunity to educate on many of those places too, but I won’t mention them here. I have already written enough.

We also talked beyond those places. He was very pleased to learn that I was from Karachi and that my husband was originally from Bangladesh. We discussed the economy of Dryden and the general state of affairs. Until about 2003, the local Paper and Pulp industry employed about 1500-1800 people in the area. Now, there were only 350 employed there. Dryden was also not immune to the oil crash in Alberta as several residents from Dryden worked in the oil industry and then came back home for summers and holidays. In the past year, several people had moved back home too.

As we discussed these things and my husband asked about whether the stereotype of “kids growing up wanting to move away to big cities” held true or not, another customer at the restaurant joined into the conversation. Again, not something that is likely to happen on a late afternoon in Toronto. He was originally from Red lake, a town a few hours away from Dryden. He mentioned that he would have liked to move to a bigger city but his girlfriend was too attached to her friends and family here to be willing to move away. Another factor that keep us rooted: familial relations and friendships. That said, there were still several people moving out of Dryden.

We discussed about forms of entertainment here and what people did on a regular weekend. Both gentlemen discussed the pros and cons of living a smaller community. While they might not have opportunities to bar hop or attend festivals and other modes of entertainment, they had access to wilderness and nature. They went hiking, fishing and hunting on a regular basis. There is only one bar in the city. Besides that, men like to get together in their own homes and hang around a bonfire many evenings. Also, it is common to just drive out with friends and hang out in the middle of fields. I’ll be honest. The idea of being away from civilization in the middle of nature, being able to see the stars on the sky, while bonding with friends sounded extremely romantic. I can see why people would choose this life over a big city.

The owner also reminded us that while they may be in a small city, bigger cities like Winnipeg, Thunder Bay and Sudbury were still only a car ride away. If they really missed it, they could still make a weekend trip of it and then come back home. Even the way he described his daily walk to work sounded appealing. He doesn’t like driving to work and instead makes about a twenty minute walk by the river to his restaurant every morning and night. That’s his time to self reflect and meditate. As he talked about it, it sounded infinitely better than my Go Train or subway ride in Toronto. Below is a deer I found next to a gas station, chilling while my husband paid for fuel.

I am such a loser. Just two days ago I couldn’t stop talking about Toronto and today I feel like I have fallen in love with a new place. I don’t think I will visit this place again  but I’m grateful that I got the opportunity to experience this quaint little town. There was a hospitality and friendliness here that was even pronounced than the usual Canadian warmth I am used to. I feel privileged to have experienced it.

On that note, I will end today’s super long post. Tomorrow’s drive will be short as well. Hope I will have something interesting to share with you then. Good night!