Category Archives: Family

Leaving Time

The New Bedford Library is a few minutes walk from where Son, and I live. Tomorrow is my due date to return the books I got from it. One of those books is Leaving Time by Jodi Picoult. Back home I have got quite a collection of her books. She is one of my favorite authors.

I like her books, but there is one thing I don’t, and that is being sad. When I was younger I read all sorts of books, and could take everything in stride — sadness, death, murders and mysteries. Now all I can take is comfort in reading that the hero, and heroine got their happy after. I don’t want to read gory ends.

Jodi’s books make profound readings. Leaving Time is all about elephants, and a girl named Jenna who searches for her vanished mother till she finds her. While reading the book I learnt more about elephants, which previously I didn’t know.

I loved elephants during childhood. One of my dream was to get an elephant for a pet. My brother Lala who is eight years older than me would exploit it to no end. He only had to say that my elephant needed something I had, and I would hand it over to him unquestionably.

Mughal Kings during their time if they wanted to sentence someone, would gift a white elephant. The elephant required huge amounts of money for their upkeep, and soon the recipient of the king’s favor was reduced to poverty.

My mythical elephant still strolls the banks of River Jhelum, though Lala doesn’t requires me to give gifts for him.


Picky Eater

IB (grandson) is a picky eater. Whatever you put in his plate multiplies by five. When you look at his plate, say after half an hour, the food is still there— all scattered into bits on the plate. By this time he is fed up with his food as well, because magically it has not been finished, so he removes himself from the agonizing sight of food, and plonks himself on the sitting room sofa.

He gets engrossed with his iPad, and completely forgets that he hasn’t done any justice to his food. After sometime he notes that nobody (means me) is watching him, he raids the pantry, or the fridge to find something else to nibble. That something maybe chips, cans of fuzzy drink, or coke, or cotton candy.

He doesn’t like onions, or tomatoes in his food. The bits of tomatoes are all fished out of the food, and left on his plate. I’m getting smart with his ways. I put the lot through a Ninja, and finely blend it to trick him into eating. He used to like pineapple on pizzas when bought from outside, but a homemade pizza with bits of pineapple on it is a total no no.

Last night, after I had served him with my homemade pizza, he told me scathingly, “No one puts pineapple on a pizza”. His father reminded him that he always ordered it to add it on for a store bought one. IB turned to me for the final word, and ordered, “You can live without it”.

He never finishes his food, but today it’s a wonder— he drank his milk, orange juice, and ate his waffles, and strawberries.

The sight of IB’s empty plate brings joy to my heart.

Thai Red Curry


Son, and I got a surprise visit from M1 (grand daughter). She wanted to leave her car with us, till she gets back to studies this fall in Boston. The day she was coming IB (grandson) waited impatiently the whole day for his cousin, counting minutes till she arrived quite late in the evening. She was caught in a traffic jam in Boston, otherwise she would have been with us a lot earlier. IB doesn’t have sisters, so Nola’s (my daughter) daughters fill the void.

M1 likes to cook her own food. She is quite a genius with food, and keep finding new recipes. She had brought with her nearly all the ingredients needed. This was my first taste of Thai food. M1 strongly recommended that I must try Thai vegetarian restaurants. She finds the food amazing.

Her uncle wanted to buy something for her as a gift. IB, and M1 went with Son, and I went to bed catching up on my sleep. I was awakened by a call from M1 that they were going to be late, so I should cut the chicken into pieces, and cook the rice as the accompanying dish to her curry. Earlier she had told me not to worry about what to cook, as she would be cooking for us.

As they came back home, her uncle told her to show me his gift to her. I stared perplexedly at the sandals in the shoe box. They didn’t look new, and then I glanced at her feet seeing her new foot wear. We all laughed at their fooling me.

It was marvelous eating the Red Curry. M1 added chicken as that gives a new dimension to the fantastic food. Other ingredients she added were mushrooms, spring onions, carrots, and pineapple. She omitted the kale from the recipe. The recipe can be found at


This photo of IB is of three years before.


Yesterday was super exciting, because IB (grandson) was arriving from Houston for a month long visit. His flight got late, and it got to Boston at nine at night. Son had booked a ticket for IB a month earlier. Both of us would have liked it much better if IB could spend more than a month with us.

As we don’t live in Houston anymore, we are starved of IB’s company. When we lived there come every second weekend, IB would spend three days, and two nights with us. Living so far away from Houston has its disadvantages.

I wish Son’s ex was more accommodating in allowing IB to spend more than a month. It would have been simply wonderful.

IB as a baby.


Looking for a partner is not an easy thing nowadays. In my case I am looking for a woman for Son to get married again. Back home arranged marriages are the norm among us. I have approached quite a few ladies who deal in marriages, but haven’t been successful.

Son on his own got registered on matrimonial sites, and paid hefty fees to find a marriage partner. The trouble is that these sites are full of scams. Men pose as women, post photos of good looking females. After a few days of chats, they ask for money which is their true intention of getting their bogus paws on unsuspecting people’s money.

Finding a girl from home country is another option. The biggest hurdle is getting her here. New restrictions are being set up making it all the more harder to get in. If Son gets married from home country, it will be a long long wait, or it will be a heartbreak being denied entry after taking all the trouble.



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As soon Son sits in my car, he turns the fan full blast, and then the AC. What happens when I sit in his car as with the recent journey to Fort Worth? We just got back. I am roasting in the back seat with IB (grandson), Son is pulling onto the highway, but the AC hasn’t been turned on. 

I’m perspiring, and getting mad at him with each passing minute.I vow to myself silently– he is going to get the same from me when he gets into my car. But there is one thing I can say with certainty, I will never behave the same way.

My contention is: if a person expects a courtesy from you, it is only right that the same courtesy should be extended to you.

Yesterday IB wasn’t smelling nice, more like rotten Apples. His explanation was that he had not  washed his feet, and changed his socks. Today I made sure that he took a shower. I washed his feet myself, while he kept giggling. I dried his feet, and made sure that he was wearing clean socksby putting the socks on his feet myself. He was running barefoot in the hotel room, and I was getting concerned about germs.

I was thinking will he do the same for me if I’m unable to wash my feet? No! I don’t think so. I iron Son’s clothes, but in my lifetime no one has ironed my clothes except when I had maids to iron them. Will Son iron my clothes? The answer is again no. I’m definite he will say there is no need to do so, why can’t you wear them without ironing? He will think me a pest



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A Cup Of Tea


Son in law FJ was unashamedly listening to Nola (daughter), and myself, when we were discussing names for my blog back in February 2013. I was visiting them in Saudi Arabia. FJ’s sense of humor gains its momentum when I’m around. He knows perfectly well that I easily get riled.

Nola wanted me to write, whereas I was hesitant, and wasn’t any keen, fearful of making mistakes. I had totally forgotten the English language, as my mother tongue is Pushto. Nola wanted me to remain busy, so that I could wade through the grief of her father’s dying. Back to finding names, and FJ barged in uninvited with suggestions: One Cup, Two Cups of Tea. The cups got increased in number, as with each of his utterances I kept saying No. It had no effect on him. He kept laughing.

There is a book by that name, probably Three Cups of Tea. That’s where he had picked the name, and stored it in his memory box (his funny brain). He calls it Kidney due to his perverse humor.

I didn’t know what to do with him. Obviously I couldn’t shoo him out of the room. I shouldn’t have started in his presence, as he became my very first follower — the one, and only follower from the family.



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