Taking Love for granted

Do you make your loved ones feel valued or do you take them for granted?

Living through the last pangs of cancer

Text of my article published in Dawn Magazine on March 17, 1995 dedicated as a tribute to all the courageous families who saw a loved one die slowly in front of their eyes.

My mother was a simple, middle aged lady of 47 years when she died. Although a diabetic patient for nine years she appeared quite robust. Our family was a normal, happy one, sharing all the pressures and joys of life. Everything seemed alright. There was no reason to doubt the security of our home.
But on August 1992, my mother was diagnosed as suffering from sarcoma, an aggressive form of cancer in its last stages. The doctor said that she only had a few more months to live.
How could that happen? My mother had looked so well! The culprit was a bulging tumour on her right leg that she had ignored for some time. The cancer had spread and the secondaries had ruptured her lungs and were also enveloping her liver slowly. The only thing left for us to do was to ensure that she underwent a treatment as painless as possible. Those were months of pure agony. I don't know how we managed it. Hope amidst despair was the only thing that kept us going.
We hoped for a miracle, firmly believing that the doctors had no power to pronounce a death sentence. We kept on going with determination. The leader of this struggle was my father. He not only conferred with doctors and friends regarding the best treatment possible but also boosted our ebbing spirits. He tried to make my mother's last days as pleasant as he could.

I remember those days my mother was hospitalised for the last time and our whole family would go to the hospital everyday to eat together. The hospital staff were impressed by our seemingly merry mood and many of them didn't believe that my mother was suffering from this fatal disease. Though she had become very weak, to please us she would allow us to he help her out on a wheel chair onto the hospital lawns where we would all sit and joke together. We ignored the seriousness of the situation and tried to laugh as much as we could. This strategy worked well as it always gave us more courage.
However our efforts at merriment lasted just a few days as further complications developed. My mother was confined to her bed and an oxygen mask was her constant companion. I remember that she would restlessly pass the whole night but would not awaken us. Even at this unbearable stage, she had only the comfort of her family at heart.
She had vomited a lot of blood a fortnight before Eid-ul-Azha and after that she collapsed completely. I can never forget the look of helplessness in her eyes and the manner in which she would express this by gesturing with her hands as if talking to herself not knowing what she could do. Till the end, we did not tell her the nature of her illness as we believed it was this ignorance that kept up her will and spirits. Her most earnest desire was to throw a party for the doctors who were so tenderly taking care of her!
Every time my father would talk to the doctor or any fresh reports would come, she would ask what the matter was. We would try to console her like a child saying that it was a simple infection and she would be fine soon. But of course, she was the one who was suffering. She finally guessed that something dreadful was happening to her. From then on, she stopped asking us questions.
She was confined to her bed and needed our assistance for moving even an inch. When my sisters or myself fed her or washed her, she would often remark that we were taking care of her like she did for us. This would give us a feeling of satisfaction that at least we were trying to serve her as well as we could and we would pray that her condition improves.
We tried every means to find a cure to save my mother. We went to aamils and said wazaif, fervently praying and hoping for the best.
Yet how can I describe the feeling of utter helplessness, when all our efforts seemed in vain and we slowly watched her die? Till the end, my mother fought like a courageous soldier. She would hardly utter a word, or let a sigh escape her lips. She was the ultimate picture of courage and forbearance. I remember that often my sisters or myself would weep unseen thinking of the suffering we imagined she must be going through. I would often say to my father that I could not bear it. He would always remark that we had only to see how magnificently she was bearing everything and I would draw more courage from my courageous mother.
It was the 3rd of Muharram. The doctor has us advised us to turn on the AC in my mother's room. The humid Karachi air was dangerous for her. But how could we escape the interminable power failures? All we could do was to ask our helpful neighbours to lend us a wire so that we could switch on a solitary fan for my mother. I remember we spent the whole day cursing the KESC while my mother lay drenched in sweat. She knew nothing could be could and only once remarked, " Bijli walon ko bachon ki haye lage gi." My mother lay still on her bed. She did not have the strength to lift a finger. We would after every few minutes change her position a little so that she could get some air but that day she seemed oblivious to what we were doing. She hardly spoke and when she did her words were so broken that we were no more than a whisper. She had lost her appetite since the past few days and when we asked her if she wanted to drink something, she would part her lips for us to give her water.
That whole day we were without electricity and as night approached we were worried as to what we should do. We tried to take her out on the verandah, but she did not even have the strength to sit on her wheel chair. Finally at about midnight, the electricity came after 15 hours. We quickly switched on the AC and settled ourselves to sleep. Everyone fell asleep at once. But I was restless, I could not sleep. I looked at my mother and she beckoned me towards her. I went closer and asked if she wanted something to eat as she had not taken anything. It was one 'o' clock and she she nodded her head so I propped her on the bed with pillows on her sides and her hands rested on a gao takia on her lap. I went into the kitchen and warmed her some soup. I watched how with great effort she gulped down 3-4 spoons of the liquid.  I wiped her face and lay her on the bed and myself lay down near her.
As I turned sides, I saw my mother looking at me. I went to her and took her hands in mine. I softly asked her what was wrong, but she kept quiet. Her eyes were shining and I admired them and thought they looked lovely. I was praying. My mother's eyes moved from me and rested on the Ayat-ul-Kursi that hung in that room. It seemed as if she was reading it. Then her eyes moved towards another corner. It was then that I thought the movement of her eyes was strange and I awakened my father who was lying nearby. He got up immediately. My mother looked at him for a moment and slowly closed her eyes without uttering a single word. It all happened so quickly that I could not understand what had happened.
I noticed that my mother's breath was not as jerky as it used to be. I looked at my father with tears in my eyes saying, " Ammi is not breathing." I felt her pulse but in my excitement I could not feel it, then I pressed my head on her chest and head a faint heart beat.  I thanked God and checked the oxygen cylinder and found that the mark was on zero. I quickly woke up my brother to fix the other cylinder but our mother had already left us.
Now as I close my eyes, flashes of every moment come back. The pain of death. The pain of explaining to my nine year old brother what had happened. His innocent eyes would see everyone crying and then rest on the peaceful face of my mother.
Today as I relive those painful moments, I wonder whether those last 4-5 months of my mother's illness were really more agonising than the present. Then at least  we had some hope that everything would ultimately be fine. Now we are passing through a life knowing that she can never come back, knowing that we will have to brace ourselves to face this world without being shepherded by her.
Today, I find myself sometimes jealously looking at other daughters sitting with their mothers, some of whom are now grandmothers, sharing secrets, giving advice and enjoying each other's company. There will forever be a void in our lives. Life will go on though very differently. But what a difference that is!

The story of my scars

Scars are usually perceived as ugly unsightly things, a disfigurement that mars beauty. However, recently I watched an inspiring video of an amazing lady that made me realise that we often undermine the transforming power of these physical and emotional scars. Muniba Mazari has certainly become my hero and has propelled to the top of my list of inspiring women of the world. I will not delve into her story but will urge all of you to watch this amazing talk and learn about her first hand.

I must admit I find physical scars difficult to deal with. To me, they represent the pain they must have inflicted on the bearer and are a constant reminder   as well as a source of curiosity and concern for the observer. As a person who has a near physical  reaction every time I hear about someone’s hurt, I truly admire people who confidently embrace their physical scars and forge ahead. I am even more impressed when I see people bravely camouflaging the scars of their soul. We think we are good at hiding these but a person who wears these like a badge on their sleeves is is not too hard to discern. These are the scars I find fascinating.. in fact even liberating. For me the cracks left by personal heartaches, once mended seem to have captured and assimilated some light from places within me I never thought existed.

I recently learnt about the Japanese practice of filling cracks of a broken object with gold. I think it’s a beautiful concept that pays tribute to the process of healing and acknowledges the transformation of a broken object to a more beautiful whole.

Like many other women bound by duty, suffering in silence and learning to cope with challenges, I believe my emotional scars taught me to be stronger and wiser. I constantly find inspiration from strong people around me. I am fortunate to have met an amazing woman in Australia who shared her journey of being an author, artist and an entrepreneur once she moved from being a survivor of childhood abuse and neglect. Melanie Lee now has a permaculture business. In her own words, “ I broke this cycle and re-wrote my life story.”

It’s not easy to acknowledge that we have scars and talk about them. However, recognising these can be the first step to a transformation that you need. Every little punch hole in my heart and the deep cuts on my soul have a story behind them. I am not unhappy but grateful for the wisdom that these experiences have taught me. Using this learning I can enrich the lives of others as I’m more empathetic to their pain and understand their need for support and compassion. Take that first step to tell the story of your scars and let the healing begin so that you are a source of strength and wisdom for others.

Pause To Reflect

If this post somehow resonates with you then please share your thoughts. You can email us your story through the contact form on our site.

If you are struggling with some emotional issues then let us coach you and help you rediscover the sparkling you.

Single at Thirty and over...

Single at Thirty and Over...

Another birthday and the continued nagging of relatives on why I was still single. Ok, so I recently turned thirty, had a job I enjoyed and a clear career path. I was entering the world of charities, working on education projects that allowed me to interact with different communities. It was a job I loved, meeting people, training and trying to bring about a change in the public school system.

Personally, I didn’t have time to delve into the ‘misfortune’ of not having a partner at my age. It was always just a matter of time for me. My focus was on developing myself professionally. Of course, like every young woman I had the longing to find the Mr. Right but so far, in my life, I didn’t come across anyone who would be genuine enough and committed too. I was living in Pakistan, fortunate enough to be living in Karachi, a modern cosmopolitan city  and highly educated with good exposure of living overseas.

I was looked upon as a confident young educated woman, attractive and sensible with good social skills. Like in any other middle class family, we were taught that a girl’s first priority is her home so along with my sisters I had learnt to cook, be hospitable and master the homely chores too. I didn’t quite understand at the time why I didn’t get married earlier. 

My parents had received a few proposals for me when I was much younger but nothing materialised. Later after my mother passed away, I wondered whether it was due to the lack of social status and networking as I was too busy working full time, or the fact that there were no suitable suitors in the immediate family or maybe my poor widower father’s lack of understanding of how to deal with traditional matrimonial practices and services. A dynamic man who had travelled the world and equipped his daughters with good education and values, he was often shocked at the shallowness of our society. A man who proudly illustrated his daughters’ educational achievements and culinary skills was disappointed to  see that most of the mothers-of-grooms-to-be were only concerned with the age, financial status and glamorous looks for their sons’ future wives.

Whatever it was, I was too busy doing other things that were more important for me. However it was often difficult to escape the question in a social gathering. I was at a loss for words when people asked me why I did not marry, till one good friend advised me to counteract this question with, “Do you have anyone in mind?”! I was bemused at the startled look I received then.  The reality was that no one actually helped but just added to the pressure.

This post is a tiny reflection of the social pressures I faced as a single woman living in the Pakistani society; from finding a place to rent, to feeling inappropriate and unattractive when girls much younger than myself were married off with a big fanfare, the social pressures and ultimately my own personal situation that left me as head of family after early death of my parents, slowly added to my woes. 

The society we live in is harsh and unrelenting. Inwardly I crumbled at the expectations put on me but my strengths were my professional attitude, the family values and a strong sense of duty. I did not need a man to make me feel fulfilled, but I did need a companion to share my worries and support me. 

A decade later, at forty years of age I found myself still single but now migrated to a new land and starting afresh in Australia. I was finally free of the prying eyes and social pressures. However, I  struggled with my own insecurities, often wondering what was lacking in me. Why was I not able to attract the right man so far? Surely I was not boring or insincere but yes I was growing older and my struggles may have honed my personality but had affected my health and demeanour. With time I learnt, it was not what I lacked but what I ‘had’ that actually scared men away. This confidence comes only when we are able to live in a positive frame of mind in a society that is fair and non-judgemental.

I am not being arrogant when I say this, as I see this manifested amply amongst my single girl friends. Yes, I was too good for most men. Strong, career focussed women have a tough time in the matrimonial arena because our society actually lacks strong men who can accept these women as equals.  Men in general, like to have a smart woman to talk to, share ideas and enjoy their company, but within their homes and personal life, they want a meek wife who they can control and feel more superior with to feed their male ego as identified by a chauvinistic society. 

Arranged marriages are not that simple to organise either, even in traditional conventional societies. Although such marriages tend to have a higher success rate it relies a lot on the strong family bonds and values of sacrifice, compromise and generosity. With modern values and new set of liberal mindsets, a ‘thinking’ society has I believe increasingly become a threat to this sacred institution. But that is a discussion for another post..

Coming back to my personal journey….I had almost given up on the idea of marriage, but had faith in God and His blessings. I always believed when the time is right, I will find my soul mate. I was lucky when I had this calling. I was introduced to someone who was caring, funny and most importantly a confident and secure individual. It was not just our fate but our mindsets that brought us together. I was clear about what I wanted and what I was willing to compromise on and so was my new life partner.

I believe no relationship is perfect. We need to work on them to make them perfect. There is no formula or checklist for finding the right man or having a successful marriage but when expectations are clear and realistic, great things materialise. I got married at the age of forty four in a joint wedding reception with my younger brother and his wife who were in their late twenties. Age had not dampened my excitement of a new life. I was nervous and hopeful like any other new bride.

The same prying eyes and faces that would look at me with pity were now astonished at how this had happened. I like to believe they are happy for me. 

So to all my dear single ladies out there, this is a shout out to enjoy your lives and feel confident about yourself. Your time will come, if you have faith and keep looking! Never ever sell yourself short, take pride in yourself and hold on to your dreams.

Here's a picture of me with my hubby celebrating six years of a challenging but strong and beautiful companionship.

 Dear Friends, I have now started a coaching business and would love to hear your thoughts on it. Please visit https://eduservecommunity.org/coaching-and-mentoring/

UNESCO Schools promoting SDGs

It was an honour for me to be able to represent UNESCO UK and promote its mission to the schools. My role as the Project Manager involved promoting the Sustainable Development Goals and helping teachers understand the link between these universal goals and their curriculum. The coordination of UNESCO ASPnet schools is managed by the Steve Sinnott Foundation.

As part of this work, I visited two active schools in June this year. Both schools are located in London and inculcate international mindedness as part of their ethos. One specially rich experience was supporting the Korean study on GCED by researchers from Korean Institute of Curriculum & Evaluation. The researchers spoke with teachers, heads and students to understand how Global Citizenship Education is integrated in the curriculum.

Hockerill Anglo-European College in London welcomed the researchers and facilitated the research study for two days.

http://www.stevesinnottfoundation.org.uk/knowledgebase/aspnet-member-school-uk-participates-in-international-gced-research/

The second school visit was at Ecole J Manuel school London. It is a bilingual school with English and French used as the medium of instruction.

The school laid a special focus on Well-being and Anthropology.

I believe an immigrant is ...

In the modern, developed world the word 'immigrant' has almost become synonymous with encroachment. The feelings it stirs up from the natives is often of distaste, insult and even pity. Some arrive on boats and many skilled workers come after a rigorous immigration process.  While most people are understanding and  welcoming , there are others who often use the term as a dirty abuse to hurl at the bewildered people who suddenly turn up in boats on the shores, or as flock of herded cattle across the borders. Who are all these people? Why can't they just stay in their own land. Ok yes, their homes have been bombarded, they are fleeing for their lives... but is it really my responsibility to help them! Oh you can't just use my hard earned tax money on these peasants! I will not allow that....

This is the retort that comes up every once in a while in most civilised nations of the world. I am no historian or researcher but from my limited knowledge and observations I see people going places for better opportunities, to build a brighter future for themselves and their families and I have not even touched upon the humanitarian crisis. Leaving your home your job and everything you love and start from zero in a foreign place with no network of family and friends takes a lot of courage. These people should actually be applauded for their bravery. It is a known fact that immigrants often bring their life's savings and invest in their new host country. The immigration business itself is a very lucrative one for the government.

Its high time we change the negative  attitude towards immigrants and give them the respect they deserve. Please share your definition for 'immigrants' and leave a comment below

I believe an immigrant is ...

From Meeting the Royals to Jalebi Junction....Hello London!

Hello Friends,

Sorry for the long gap in writing. I always think of writing something here but just get distracted with ... you know what . LIFE! yesss..anyways while thinking of a topic for my blog I remembered I actually didn't share my not so recent move from down under to the world's most famous city-London! This upward geographic move from Aussie land to a country that once ruled more than half the world, my awe was of course contained as I also struggled to cope with the extreme time difference and weather. I took my time to take in the historic magnificence as well as the colours of diversity. While I treaded along Central London on Oxford Street, Regent Street and took in the lights at Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus discovering the landmarks and streets names that had been etched in my mind since childhood from our Monopoly board game I could not help recalling the famous nursery rhyme.. " Pussy cat Pussy cat where have you been? .. I have been to London to see the Queen!" .. well I only watched the live telecast of the monarch's 90th birthday on television. However only after the sinking feeling I had while staying up all night to follow the historic UK referendum that voted Brexit, I knew I now feel part of this great country too.

Big Ben

The quaint phone booths 

Meeting the Royals

Harrods

Buckingham Palace

Canary Wharf

There is so much to discover here but what I like most about this city is the feeling of being at home away from home. While  Turkish kebabs and Lebanese pizzas have become the popular street foods in Sydney, one will find the Fried chicken shops run mostly by Pakistanis at abundance in almost every part of London. For someone like me who loves to try out new cuisines but is a diehard desi fan, stepping into Southhall High Street in London's West and Bury Park in Luton was a definite treat. The authentic taste and smell of Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi food and the crowded markets reminded me of walking in Karachi's famous Tariq Road market. Through this blog I am sharing with you some of the highlights of my stay here so far. Hope you enjoy!

A variety of mixed vegetarian and non-veg curries

Colourful ethnic dresses for every occasion

Spicy chicken tikka and lamb BBQ

Fresh Jalebis at Jalebi Junction

A traditional Paan (Betel leaf) shop in South Hall

Life in the UK has been for me the biggest adventure so far as it was the first time in my life that I moved away from my immediate family to start a new life in a brand new place with my loving partner. I am lucky to have this opportunity to learn more and grow. See you around!