Happy Fourth Anniversary To Me...and to RFS

Four years. I can't believe it. When I first started, I thought RFS would crash and burn after a couple of months, but here I am....Still at it. I'm not one for massive celebrations (unless they're for someone else), so I'm going to keep it simple.

The first post I ever wrote.

Enjoy...

"Welcome to Selfistan"

Welcome to Selfistan - a land, well webpage, where all you see and read is stuff that I want you to see and read. Haha, I feel powerful - like a censor. Imagine how much power one has - the power to control opinions, the power to control decisions - the power to control lives. Obviously, I'm not saying that peoples' opinions and lives will change because of this blog - but I'd like to think that I'll influence them in some way...wouldn't anyone?

So...why am I, Nabz, writing a blog...well starting a blog...All the other 'blog' like things i've tried have never worked - from MSN Spaces, to Facebook Notes...to keeping a diary. I guess...everything deserves a try..so why not this? And the good thing about this one will be that I wont be chained down by thoughts of what people I know will think about my posts. Which is always nice - I guess, there won't be much self-censorship on this blog. It is Selfistan...

Selfistan...odd word eh? Well..yes and no. If you haven't guessed already, it's a hybrid..Self (the English word for oneself) and Stan (a word, occurring in Urdu definitely and possibly in Arabic - although I'm not sure about that one. Perhaps it has roots in Persian as well....but whatever its origin...it means 'land' or 'place'). So Selfistan is - My Land

But, as much as I'd love to think that I'm ingenious and witty enough to think up such a name, I can't give myself the credit. Yes, I'm not that smart. Salman Rushdie is though..he's a brilliant writer if you haven't read any of his stuff - and TOTALLY deserves the Nobel Prize for Literature...more than V.S. Naipaul...(source of high tension..lol). Anyway...so Selfistan appears in his book "Shalimar the Clown" (quite an awesome book, if you're looking - wow that sounds as if one's looking for a bf or a gf...but honestly...books can be like bf's or gf's...more on that later).

Why not demand freedom for one's bedroom, or call one's toilet a republic?

Why not stand still and draw a circle around your feet and name it Selfistan?

So, in a way, this webpage is the circle around my feet. Enjoy the ramblings that I'll put up (hopefully) regularly. And leave comments, please....even if it's to say Hi or This is so boring I'm never reading your stuff again. It's a free world - I honestly don't care.

That's it for now, ciao, adios, au revoir....and remember...to be born again, first you must die (Salman Rushdie...again).

~me

Music Love: What Number Are We On?

The night before last, I played Air Guitar. Last night, I finally took my little beauty, who's been with me since I was 5, out of its case. It sits on my little Persian rug most of the time, and marks the separation from my sleeping-life and my working-life. When I strummed it for the first time, it sounded horribly out of tune. There's something wrong with the stringing, and I was afraid it would crack under the pressure of the re-tuning. It didn't. Thankfully. But I do need longer strings...

Anyway. Spent a good hour or so listening and playing along to this one piece I absolutely adore, and which I've almost memorized. It's one of those new-age Sitar pieces by someone who, arguably, has the fastest fingers in all of Sitardom, and is absolutely fantastic.

There's this weird healing quality to music that I still don't understand. And it's the combination of feeling and healing that makes it that much more potent.

Found the following on my life twin's blog. It makes me sad. What does it do to you?

Jee, You, Jay, Jay, You - Gujju!

I wonder what the infamous pro-prohibition folks over in Gujarat would say to me drinking a beer (French, not this American-joke-for-a-beer stuff) and researching anti-Muslim tendencies in Gujarat over the decades.

I don't think they'd be too happy: the pro-prohibition-wallas and the Muslims...

Oh well. Back to reading about politics in Gujarat. This is my second paper, in as many terms, on Gujarat - and I still don't understand it's politics.

Kal Ho Na Ho was right. These Gujjus are WEIRD!

ps: I hate how we ALWAYS get upended by the Punjabis...

An Abstract Notion Called Friendship

You know. Sometimes, you think that some friendships are super important and you do things to ensure that they don't break. You swallow your pride, your desires, your ego, your self for the other person, and try to do all you possibly can to rectify the situation. And then you come home, sort of proud of yourself for putting someone else - and an abstract notion like friendship - above yourself, and then write a post about it, so that you can tell the people who read your blog to do the same.

And then the day comes, when you realize that what it meant to you wasn't what it meant to your friend.

And it hurts.

Starting to think people ain't really worth it. Doesn't mean I'll stop doing it. Not at all. I am who I am, and I'm not going to change that because of what others do and don't do. But, at the same time, it's hard when you put effort into something and the other doesn't reciprocate. No. Wait. It's not hard. It kinda...just...sucks.

It's days like these I miss my YVR peeps.

Air Guitars Can't Be Smashed (That's A Good Thing)

There is something strangely liberating about dancing when no-one's watching and just because you feel like it. It's also pretty awesome when you can dance like that when there are people watching. I remember the last time I did that. Still brings a grin to my face - one of those little kid grins.

Try it at home peeps. Put on some awesome music and just dance.

Back to my 60s-70s Rock and Air Guitar (I'm afraid I'll break my real one in my josh).

Toodles

N

I Know They're Haram and It's Eid, But...

I love Pigs.

Whirling In the Dark

I have this recurring image in my head, of myself...

wearing a long white garment

and spinning

and spinning

and spinning.

all in slow motion.

sometimes under a sunny sky.

but more often in what seems like a dark room with a single light, and things falling from above.

i still don't know if they're petals, or leaves, or junk, or rain.

*trying so hard to hold on to what's left*

Can You Give Yourself Du'as?

That I don't turn out like you or you

And that I'm blessed enough

To be my own.

(آمین)

How to Not Understand People - Part Two

I made a new friend a couple weeks ago. I'm a friendly person and talk to almost anything that moves - including birds and spiders (although, I shouldn't say that because ya'll are going to think I'm crazier than I actually am...). But back to the point. I may not understand people, or like everyone I meet, but I do enjoy meeting people. It amuses me on a certain level. I like seeing what makes people tick and get ticked-off. I like figuring out how they think and why they do what they do. I'm a curious person, if you will.

Anyway. So, this friend and I ended up having a semi-heated conversation about Hindu nationalism, and I ended up adding him on Facebook. We continued our discussions about Indian politics for a couple of messages and then he said, 'let's meet up over coffee to continue the discussion.' Being the friendly person that I am, I said yes.

Fast forward to coffee-day. I got there late and we ordered our drinks and sat down. He got this coffee with whipped cream on it, and I got the usual - black with a touch of milk and sugar. (I judge people by what they order.) We talked about a bunch of things, and then he started saying some weird things - like how his mother has no problem with vegetarians (I'm one) and loves her veggies, even though he's an obsessive meat eater - and stuff. Red flags started waving, but I put them aside. After a while, it started getting awkward, and I decided to finish my coffee as soon as I could. So I did. Looked at my watch and announced that I had to go.

I got up to leave and waited for him to grab his stuff and walked out the door. Stumbling under the weight of his bags, he came outside, stopped, looked at me, grinned in that way and said, "so, when do I get to see you again?"

At which, I groaned. I don't get it. At no point along the entire period from meeting him to drinking coffee with him had I indicated that I was interested. Far from it, in fact.

Dudes reading this:
a) Tell her it's a date!
b) Don't ask her out over Facebook.
c) And don't assume that just because we talk to you, we want to go out with you, or sleep with you or whatever else...

Anyway. Back to the story. I told him I was super busy and I didn't know when would work. Then I turned around and left, feeling sort of sorry for the guy but not much...

Sigh.

How to Not Understand People - Part One

I was having dinner with friends yesterday, when one asked what was new in my life since the last time I had seen him. I announced, not dramatically (and without any regret) that I had come to the decision not to drink hard liquor until further notice (1 January 2011 is the date I've set for now). He was amazed. And a tad bit shocked, as well. For a couple moments he couldn't process it, and then he said, "Wow. That must take a tonne of willpower."

To which I responded, a bit annoyed at this point, "Willpower? What's willpower got to do with it? It's been pretty easy so far."

And he said, "Ya. It's that time of the year and you haven't been going out for a while either."

I laughed. Obviously, he has no idea what's been going on in my world. So I said, "Uh. Actually...I went out Friday night and went to a party and got home at 5am last night."

He didn't say anything.

I don't get it. Especially that thing about willpower. Maybe it's rational-me coming out again (another of us Aquarians' curse), but I always thought that  you stop things when they start screwing you over. Given the shyt (landmark - first time I'm swearing on RFS, I think) going on in my life - and trust me, it's shyt - I don't want to do things that have the potential to screw me over even more. Life is hard enough as it is...


On another note: If any of you are fond of wine, I'd never had a Soave before but tried it at a wonderful restaurant (New Yorkers, go here if you haven't already) a couple nights ago. If you come across it, try it. It reminded me of a Riesling but less sweet, and perfect with a light salad and pizza...

The Thin Line Between Sad and Happy

I hate saying this, but what I thought would be a horribly sad and depressing day, turned out to be one of the best in a while. I shouldn't be surprised. There's something wonderful about being around people you care about and love at the passing of another. I remember, when my dada-ji passed away - or even my grandparents from my mom's side of the family - the entire fam-bam came together almost every single day for about two weeks. We'd all bring food and gather at someone's house (usually at my vadaa dada's - grandpa's older brother). Us kids, we were still kids then, would run around the house playing games that we'd made up, would watch movies, and terrorize the adults (and the kids younger than us - although, they used to terrorize us back with equal glee). We knew we were at a sombre affair, but then we'd look at the adults, cousins - most of them, and watch them talking and laughing and smiling and enjoying life, and then go back to being ourselves. 

As we got older, the same tradition continued. The people in my family, up until my father's generation, have always worked together, and lived together until being forced out of their homes in Africa almost 40 years ago. As the years went by, the family started getting more nuclear, but would bond - instantaneously - at death, or birth, or other celebrations. When vadaa dada-ji passed away, we all gathered at his house. The oldest of us kids were now almost adults, and had a better sense of what was going on. But our fun and games continued. We didn't make them up, or watch movies back-to-back (that was the purview of the 3rd and 2nd batch of kids, respectively). We sat around the small food bar in the kitchen, with a bunch of our younger aunts and uncles, other relatives and friends, and joked around, while the others did the same in the dining room. And when we'd go home, I'd leave with a sense of joy and, more so, a desire that all of us would be able to get again and do the same. 

It's almost like the same thing is happening right now. A friend of mine passed away this Summer and his memorial was held, here, yesterday. Friends from around the country, who I had spent the Summer with in India and who also knew this friend who passed, flew in for the memorial. It was wonderful to see them again, and we kept on reminiscing about the thousands of things that we had done, or had seen in Lucknow a couple months ago. In a series of hard days over the past few weeks, it was a wonderful release (and relief). The ceremony was sad. I don't cry when I'm deeply saddened, but started crying (for about 15 seconds) during the shabad at the service. Afterwards though, it was back to the traditional mode of dealing with death - laughter.

Funny story. When my mother's father passed away (my nana-ji), we all gathered at his/my nani-ji's house. This was the first death in my mother's family and so everyone was super sombre and super quiet and super sad. Having dealt with death multiple times before that, I wasn't as affected as my other cousins and relatives. We were all sitting around in the living room, when my mother got up and wandered around, looking for her phone. She had just gotten it and was still getting used to it. Having found it, she started fiddling around with it, but it wouldn't work. She asked me to help and told me that it wasn't turning on even though she had pressed the power button multiple times. From across the room I semi-shouted, "It's dead!"

Everyone looked up. Stared at me. I realized what I'd said and chuckled. Everyone kept on staring at me in shock and horror, and then finally one person laughed, then another, until the entire room was giggling. It broke the ice, and the awkward tension that had settled over the room dissipated quickly thereafter. When my nani-ji passed away, a couple years later, my mother's family was much more open and calm (and prone to fitful bursts of laughter).

I hate saying this, because it's just so wrong, but a part of me misses those days when we got together. And I know I'll miss this weekend, because of the same reason.

RIP those of you who have moved on. Till we meet again.

Who Says Muslims Can't Do Fashion?

This is pretty awesome.

These are pictures from a fashion show that just happened in Jakarta, Indonesia and that featured clothing by and for traditional Muslim women. Head to toe coverings, my friends, can be pretty hot.

Check it out!

Muslim Women Are Hot

Props to the designers for shattering stereotypes!

Google Horoscope: Sometimes You Scare Me

"You might want to go into hiding today as the Moon visits your reclusive 12th House, but your need for seclusion won't likely last long. Treat this urge with respect, especially if you have been socially active recently. But don't confuse your current desire for contemplation with moodiness. Creating healthy boundaries is a great way to replenish your spirit"

If I May...

It's not my place to give advice to people, I have enough issues of my own and am still too young to be doling out advice, but here's one thing that I hope everyone who comes across this blog follows.

If you are fortunate enough to have people in your life who are worth thousands of others, make sure you understand their worth before it's too late. And if you ever come to this realization while you're about to do something of which they don't necessarily approve, stop immediately, and tell them you've stopped - even if it means running back to where they are and fighting with them to listen to you.

Hope you are all blessed with wonderful friends and the ability to recognize them. And then tell them.

Yes, I'm an emotional person. It just doesn't come out too often. Call it the Aquarius' "curse," if you will.

N

PS: On another note, byebye whiskey-love and vodka-nasha. It was good being with you, but we're through until the New Year.

Back to the Grind

After a week of sleeping, eating, bothering my parents with my incessant ramblings, drinking litres of tea, sleeping and eating, it's time to head back to the City. I'm semi-glad to be going back (I love the City life) but am dreading this upcoming week. It'll be fantastic to see the Lucknow crew again, but I wish the occasion weren't so horrible and I didn't have so much work to catch-up on.

Still wondering why He chose you to leave us. It's not fair...

RIP Sparkly Eyes...

(Wonderful dreams last night - an amazing rendition of 'hor ki mangna' by an aunt who normally is a horrible singer, teaching a kid a lesson with some cream-puffs, and then waking up with 'tum ik gorakhdhanda' in my head...I think it's all because of the light streaming in through my windows. I've always slept in rooms with windows facing East and am so used to waking up to light. This new bedroom of mine is a bit dark for my taste - maybe that's why I'm having sleep issues...hmmm)

We're Not Texting In My Dreams Anymore; I Think That's a Good Thing

But we are talking. I've had a few dreams starring you, of late.

Last night's was amusing. You asked me my worth. I didn't respond. You said, "Well, you know. I could get married to a beauty pageant winner. I think my parents are looking for one for me."

I'm assuming I'm not a beauty pageant winner. Heck, I don't even want to be one (unless I can be Sushmita Sen). 

And thus concludes another random post on Selfistan...ya'll probably think I'm crazy. As they say in Spanish...

yo soy todo loco...

nahhh

More Music Love

Can't I just be a musician? Screw grad school. I should've paid more attention in violin class back in the day, or in choir, or just practiced more regularly.

This has been stuck in my head all day - especially the part where NFAK sings: "Masjid, mandir, yeh maikhaane. Koi yeh maane. Koi woh maane." Meaning, 'the mosque, the Hindu temple, the house of wine. Some believe in this. Some believe in that.' I think that sentiment is absolutely beautiful. Myself, I love the maikhaana and all the Sufiana thought it symbolizes - and there are some wonderful Ghalib verses on that theme. The way NFAK sings it though just makes it that more beautiful.

Add to this the fact that it reminds me of the wonderful Summer I spent in Lucknow, and of listening to this early in the morning while drinking Shukla-ji's morning lemony-sugary chai, and grinning throughout the entire session at the beauty of it all...

I miss Lucknow, and my dhobi (washerman - Tahir), and my darzi (tailor - Noorallah Sahab), and my rickshaw-wallah (rickshaw driver - Premji) and my clothing dude (Raja) and his father (uncleji - of course) who got all excited that I knew what nankhatai were (the most amazing cookie ever!) and then brought a massive box of fresh nankhatai (that were super different from the type my mother makes) for the entire institute and also gave me some khatti imli lollipop-type things...omg...so good! Makes me salivate just thinking about them.

If you've never had khatti imli, I feel sorry for you.

And don't get me started on the mangoes. The best thing about being in India during the Summer/monsoon season and in Lucknow - the mangoes. Mmmm chaunsa and lakhnavi safeda...

Ok. Enough digressing and reminiscing. Listen to this:

Part 1:


Part 2:


Part 3:

Music Confusion

To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC....

Ugh. So confused. The guitar is lonely. I want my violin. But don't want to damage it on the flight over. What to do??

No idea. Meanwhile, Zukerman at Carnegie Hall in 17 days. Score!

Meanwhile, part 2:

My favourite composer (Vivaldi). My favourite violin concerto (A minor). One of my favourite violinists (Itzhak Perlman).