Mubarak Din

This year Eid has been a completely different experience. Uptil 2007 I have spent every Ramazan Eid with my family - parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandma et al. The dinner party where 100's from the extended family meet up. The rituals is to gather Eid-i, play housie, comment on inches gained or lost, length of hair and styles accompanied with everyone's opinions. The crammed function hall, the late meal. Getting dressed, choosing the right accessories, new clothes, photo sessions.
And I had taken it all for granted. Cribbed about making such a big deal about visiting each one's home and nearly passing out by the time we head home late in the night. Stuffed as we would be with the Sev Khurma and platter of goodies offered at each house, I had never thought that there would come a year when I would not be a part of this hubbabullo.
As a token gesture I wore salwar-kameez to office. But it just wasn't the same. I am used to working on Eid, but having nothing to look forward to really made me lose my appetite. I sucked on sour grapes for lunch, then slunk to my desk and quietly shed tears. I bought new clothes, ate sweets, dressed up, demanded Eid-i from friends. But it isn't just the Eid without family. I have never felt so alone before.

Summer of 2007 - Groom in Arabia

The Arab world is a fascinating and spicily flavoured with incomprehensible restrictions, prejudices and hence dilemma. To make that simpler, I find them an exotic and untamed breed of humanity, which makes them fascinating and hence magnetic.
Till date, I have never had the opportunity to befriend an Arabian; the closest encounters have been at the Dubai airport immigration officers.
On my transit journey to Bangalore today, I found myself amidst the Arab world. Replicating my last stopover at Dubai two years ago during pilgrimage to Karbala, I lug-gaged myself with all the chocolates I could carry, and the last Filing could buy.
Brother had equipped me with a thick and interesting plot of a fantasy tale to fill the void of five hours at the airport. But when I reached the gate designated for my flight departure, I took off on my own trip of fantasy.
In the lounge area I chanced to rest my eyes on the most brilliant looking Arab. He wore a cream robe which had a high buttoned-up Chinese collar and flowed till below his ankles, so I could not even see his footwear. Unlike other Arab men, he did not have his head covered with a red checkered scarf. Instead, he had styled and gel-ed his cropped hair and was clean shaved. His sharp features and serene poise had me magnetically drawn and I found my eyes glued to admiring his confident persona.
I am not clear on what and how good men are at picking up signals of attraction (prior experiences are blurred due to short memory span), but I think his receptors did pick up vibes from my antenna.
The transit bus, which transported passengers to the flight, chanced to bring us face to face with each other, with a sole pole between us. I was a bit surprised to find him there, because I had been glancing back during the walk down from the lounge area to the gate, and he had tailed behind, and did not notice him anywhere amongst the bobbing heads.
We gazed in each others directions alternately, waiting for the other person to look away, so either could unashamedly stare, while pretending to study the geographical goings-on in each others background. There was a single moment when our eyes accidentally met, and instantly turned away.
A hundred questions raced in my mind - was this even real? Could we talk, or atleast exchange a greeting before parting ways? A smile, or a nod?
I don’t know how these things are acknowledged in the desert land. Doubt it will happen on this encounter - he just stepped into the Business-class, and I’m in Economy.

Summer of 2007 - Lovelorn

Today my parents and I went exploring the area near the house. It wasn't windy and had stopped drizzling; the sun made a appearance promisingly through white tufts of clouds in the bright blue sky.
After some alterations of walk and rest, mom declined any inclination to see what lay beyond the curb; even discovery of another grocery store did not entice her. So dad and I waddled towards the junction, and were soon out of viewing distance from mom.
After crossing across the traffic junction we glanced at the stores which were preparing to close for the day (it was drawing to 5pm, an OMG-lets-hurry-up moment for working population in UK). We DID find a grocery store across the road, and dad suggested we check out the place for a review to mom later.
There was a large signboard 'Fresh Fruits & Vegetables'. We walked up and down the 3 aisles, but found nothing. Then I noticed - there was a 5-basket stand sparsely filled with bunches of apples, tomatoes & potatoes and a pineapple. Now I know why that signboard was so huge; its easy that these would have gone un-noticed to my eye.
We turned, and began walking homewards. Mom could not be seen at the spot we had last left her resting, but dad spotted her in the bright orange wind-jacket. She was strolling on the other side of the road, but was out of yelling distance. Dad gestured with his cap, trying to see if he could catch her attention in any way. He trampled along on the grass, next to the walkway in the hope that she would look back and notice us tailing her.
By now our pace had gathered speed, but not enough momentum to catch up with her any time soon. After brisk walking for two blocks, a jogger passed us by. That struck an idea. Dad challenged me to jog, which I lamely, in my four-layers of woollen declined. I thought it would appear funny to see a jogger in jeans and a trenchcoat, with a muffler, skull cap and gloves.
But Romeo did not lose heart. He sprung out and jogged till he had reached across the road, and gotten mom to stop. As I saw him slowly pace up the road, a smile crossed my lips. Dad long ago crossed his youth, but watch him persist his loved one seemed like they were teenagers forelorn in love.