an itinerant observer

Mr. Teddy Graham came home for the weekend. This had been much anticipated and discussed ad nauseum since the beginning of the school year. Noori was really excited. Mr. Graham’s heavy ‘suitcase’(a bag pack really) stuffed with odds and ends, was a treasure trove for my little one. Mr. Graham is likely the most essential, most peripatetic, and most photographed (think paparazzi), kindergartner that has ever existed. He gets to travel to each kid’s home for the weekend. He gets dressed in different outfits and then enjoys different places (parks, restaurants, movie theaters, malls, to name just a few) and gets his  photos taken in those settings. A letter is written by the student about that weekend spent with Mr. Graham and along with photographs, the ‘compilation’ is filed away and thus a legacy is created. Upon first introduction, what struck me as a bit odd was that Mr. Graham was very comfortable in a dress. Unlike his name, he appeared to be a hot pink ballerina. He w

The Biscuit, although the name is reminiscent of all things British, cannot be dunked into your Earl Grey tea that you sip for breakfast. Nor can he be eaten with your breakfast grits, as he is not the small piece of bread with a firm browned crust, available all across America. The biscuit that I am referring to is a two month old puppy in Karachi, Pakistan. He is ¾ Labrador and ¼ Golden Retriever, presumably with an impeccable pedigree. When you see him you might agree, but don’t ask me to produce a birth certificate or other document that vouches for nobility in his ancestry, because I have none to show. Does it matter? When your child, Rayaan my son, as in this case, is ecstatic to finally obtain his doggie-pup as compensation for moving across the globe to Karachi, from his birthplace and primary home, Houston, then confirming purity of the dog’s gene pool becomes unnecessary. Why is Biscuit called The Biscuit, you might be wondering? I was hesitant to call him that, given

Yesterday I wanted to ask the beloved for some understanding, but I wasn’t quite sure how. So with a heavy heart and heavier eyes I walked into my garden. It was raining outside. To seek refuge from the deluge I walked to the side of my house. I had the urge to run my hand against the wall of my house (it’s a rough brick veneer). It gave me the earthiest sensation! It grounded me and it curbed the downpour. I looked up at the sky and then I let my heart approach the beloved. Today I got the answer. The re’s a yearning to dance and thus create a whirlwind. Yet the beloved is not around to partake of the ecstasy. Because the only time given to me is the present, I did and do dance – albeit, intermittently. When I pause for breath, there’s agitation of the head-heart that time is limited in the sea of timelessness. So I asked the beloved: what next - where do we go from here? [from rambling of an itinerant ] Acknowledgment: First publish

Do old people just wither and quietly pass away Or do they do so with a lot of fanfare Is it a slow symphony that dies Or an orchestra that climaxes and then doesn't really end How does one distinguish the drama from the real story What is the story between the lines of a grave Prolonged, painful illness or an exit in sleep And where do memories reside The past is irrefutable, unchangeable in its existence Yet completely malleable in its interpretation Where do memories reside Are they deep within, unstirred, or do they stir up like ashes when there is a breeze How much of the present includes the past How much of it indicates the future And how much of this is known to us And then there are genes [from rambling of an itinerant ] Acknowledgment: Drafted with Alya Mian. Inspired by T.S. Eliot's 'four quartets'.  

Robin Williams is no more. I came across his death in a footnote in a local newspaper, a few days back. Considering the manner he decided to end his life, I was shocked although not entirely surprised. Robin Williams was an ‘intense’ actor to say the least. If you scratch the surface, actors, who perform comedies on screen, betray more of real life dramas and tragedies. I think they utilize humor as a strong defense mechanism, and they throw themselves into work (either one project or several) perhaps to keep “demons at bay”, as suggested by a recent article from the NY Times with the very suggestive title “Busy working, Robin Williams fought demons”. That concept in itself is intriguing because I believe we all have demons that we tackle on a daily basis in our professional and personal lives. I wonder if celebrities or actors have a harder time dealing with those demons than us regular folks…   Other than the statistics from the U.S. about white men being much more likely to