Wanted: Used Car

This is for the writing prompt from TRDC "RemembeRed". The prompt this week was to Imagine you are meeting someone for the first time. You want to tell them about yourself.Instead of reciting a laundry list of what you do or where you're from, please give us a scene from your life that best illustrates your true self. "

“Where is he?,” I wonder aloud.  Teeth chattering between syllables. “He was suppose to be here five minutes ago. “

Headlights appear out of the darkness. I jump up from the park bench and strain my eyes to see if it’s him. “Finally,” I mutter.

Leb parks the car a few spaces down, jumps out. He has a friend with him. “Sorry for being late,” he says. “This is my friend, Joe. He drove me here,”

Joe extends his hand and says, “Hi.”

I quickly look from Leb to Joe, and stammer, “Sorry I don’t shake hands with men. It’s a religious thing.”

“Oh”, Joe says looking a bit embarrassed. “That’s right. Leb told me but I just forgot.”

“No problem,” I say. “I am use to it. Happens all the time.”

For a few seconds we all stand there in silence. Each waiting for the other to break the ice. Finally unable to bear the winter’s chill any longer I hand the keys to Leb. He was buying my mom’s old clunker . She had been trying to sell it for years.  I had managed to get her to come down a couple hundred on the price because it needed quite  bit of work done to it. However, it was well worth the $300.00 he was paying for it.  

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” Leb says. “Forget it,” I say. “It’s what we do for each other, right?”

“Does your mom know you’re the one who paid for the car?” he asks.

“No, she thinks the money came from you. It’s better this way. You can just pay me a $5 or $10 a month until you get it paid off. The title is already signed over to you though. This way you can get everything sorted out without any problems.”

“Thanks again,” Leb says. “I guess you will need a ride back to your place. You drove the car here right?”

“Yeah, but I will just get a cab or walk back or something,” I reply. I didn’t want to trouble him with having to drive me the 3 blocks back to my apartment, but a part of me secretly hoped he would insist, and he did.

Joe no longer being needed had already jumped back in his car and left. Leb got behind the driver’s wheel and I got in the back seat. This way there could be no confusion as to what would happen once we reached my place. An unspoken language that we both were fluent in.  Leb instantly understanding and not crossing the boundaries I had set.

When we reached my apartment, I got out. The night was dark. The security light had been broken by a couple of the neighbors kids. Unspoken understanding, Leb got out and walked me to the door. While I wasn’t his sister by blood, I was by faith. He waited till I was safely inside and the door locked. Then slowly he made his way back to his newly purchased clunker.

As I closed the door, I wondered if he would really repay all of the money. Little did I know I wouldn’t have to wonder for long. A few weeks later I would end up moving to another state. I would release him from our agreement.

“Consider it a gift,” I would explain by email. “Take care and be safe”, was his only reply. Nothing more was needed.  Even though we were basically strangers, we both understood the unspoken language that passed between us.

 “If not brothers by blood, then by faith. If not by faith, then by humanity”. This was the foundation of my faith.  I had based all of my life's decisions upon this one simple rule. It was etched across me like a tattoo. While I had kept much of who I was hidden from others, this one truth was written upon my soul and body for all to see.

Across the Pond- Sabzi Wala

If this is your time first to take a walk across the pond, then you can read all about what it is HERE. While I don't always tell you about the latest tourist craze, I hope to share with you the lives of the locals. It's usually something tourists/foreigners don't get to see, but something I have been blessed to experience.

I am rather odd, just in case you hadn't noticed by now. I notice things others often don't and find totally mundane everyday things to be extremely fascinating. Today I thought I would share with you some of those everyday mundane things that we all do, but how they are done very differently on the other side of the globe.

Grocery Shopping

Every one does it but most people hate it especially if you have younger children that you have to drag along with you. A five minute shopping trip can quickly turn into an hour long headache. In Pakistan, at least where I live, the concept of "frozen or prepackaged" food doesn't exist. While you will find a few items at the local bazaar (market) that are frozen or prepackaged, they are often out of date and extremely expensive. Everything here is cooked fresh. The veggies still have dirt on them from where they were harvested and the eggs still have chicken poop on them from being gathered quickly to be taken to the bazaars and sold.

While most people in USA or UK, go shopping once a week or month, the women here go daily to buy fresh veggies for whatever they plan to cook that night. So as you can imagine having to drag along 3 screaming kids every single day to the bazaar is more than any mother would want to do.

Locals know this and in the villages/suburbs they have devised a system that not only provides a source of income for people who might not otherwise have a job, it also helps to ease the lives of the women. The answer to this is the sabzi  wala (vegetable vendor).

For the first week I was in Pakistan at 8 am every day 7 days a week, I would hear this voice call out loudly,

"Aloo lo                           (buy the potatoes)

Palock lo                         (buy the spinach)

Mattar lo                         (buy the peas)

Aloo das rupee ka kilo  (potatoes are 10 rupees per kilo)"

The first few times I just ignored it, but after hearing it every morning for a week, I finally opened my curtains to peek outside to see what it was. That was the first time I saw a sabzi wala (vegetable seller).

(source)

People do one of two things. They either grow some vegetables themselves or they go to the local market and buy things like potatoes, green peas, spinach, garlic etc. These are the things people use on an almost daily basis. Then they load up their cart which is attached to a bicycle or pushed from behind and go through the alleyways shouting whatever it is they have for sale. They charge 1 or 2 rupees more than the bazaars but wouldn't you rather pay a few pennies extra if someone delivered your groceries right to your front door? However, don't think the women will get cheated. They know what the prices are in the market so if one of these sabzi walas tries to charge them too much, then the women tell him to take a hike. Pakistani women are great at this. It is an art learned from watching their mothers haggle over prices day in and day out. 

(doodh wala)

A doodh wala (milk seller) also delivers freshly squeezed milk right to your door. Every morning he rides up on his motorcycle beeping his horn. He milks the cows, goats, or buffalo depending on whichever he has and brings the milk straight to your door. The milk is ladled out of his big containers into your own pot or container. One ladle is equal to half a kilo.

(source)

There are also kela walas (banana sellers), aam walas (mango sellers), and the list goes on and on. Fruits and vegetables are also sold by season. So in the winter months the sabzi walas sell things like mattar (green peas) and gujjar (carrots). Then during the summer months, they will have bhindi (okra), bengan (eggplant), and kerala (bitter gourd). Household items are also sold but not daily like the fruits and vegetables. Once a week they will come through with laundry detergent, dish detergent, soap, etc. Pretty much all the basic things you use everyday. 

Recycling

While there are no council orders and no colored bins to separate plastics from glass, recycling is a vital part to the Pakistani existance. My MIL keeps all of the empty plastic soda bottles, shampoo bottles etc. Pretty much any plastic container that is emptied is given to her and she puts it in a big plastic shopping bag upstairs. Then once a week someone will come by and purchase these old empty bottles. Paying a few rupees per kilo. Either reusing them in some way for their own business or melting the plastic down and re-selling it to others. There is also a jooti wala (shoe seller) that buys old and broken shoes. He either repairs and resells them or removes the leather and plastic from them. Again either melting them down for his own reuse or to sell to others. Even our left over or moldy bread is saved. Every few days the chan bura will come along. He buys your left over or moldy bread. Then he mixes it with some seeds and grinds it to make bird seed which he then sells to people who keep birds in their homes.

In Pakistan, you must be creative to survive. Finding jobs in places that you wouldn't necessarily think to find them. There is one man who in winter sells garam ande (boiled eggs) and in summer sells kulfi (traditional pakistani ice cream usually pistachio or mango flavored).

Kulfi wala

I remember the first time I ate kulfi. Everyone had gone off to work and my MIL had gone to visit a relative in another city. Bajee (my middle sister in law) and I were home alone and the kulfi wala came by. Hearing his shouts she jumped up and ran outside. I had no idea what "kulfi" was. She returned with a stick with what looked to be a candle on the other end. She was so happy to be the first to share this with me and I didn't want to disappoint her. I took the "candle looking stick" from her and stared at it for a moment. Not sure if I was suppose to eat it or light it.

(kulfi)

Quickly I grabbed my phone and started to text ShahJee to ask him what kulfi was and what I was suppose to do with it. At that moment it dripped onto my hand and then I realized it was some sort of ice cream concoction. So I took a little taste. To my surprise it was very good. I text my husband just to find out exactly what it was. He replied saying just eat it you will like it. So I did eat it and I did like it. For about an hour that is.

This is a tip to all visitors in a foreign land. Do NOT eat the local ice cream UNLESS it is prepackaged in a store. Even if they sell it in a restaurant do not eat it. I am somewhat lactose intolerant. Until the age of 7 I couldn't eat any dairy and as I have grown older I am somewhat more tolerant than before. I can have an ice cream cone occasionally and I can drink milk in my tea without any worries. However, I cannot drink milk that has just been squirted from a cow's udder and has not gone through any sort of pasteurization process. This is how some of the traditional kulfi walas make their own ice cream.

While I do love the taste of kulfi, I do not eat it. I stick with the store bought kind. It's not as delicious but I don't have to worry about spending the next 2 days praying to the porcelain god.

While we all appear to be different on the outside, in reality we are all very similar.

Thanks for allowing me to take you for a walk across the pond. While this is the lighter side of Pakistani living, I have written a few articles on wikinut about the difficulties people face everyday such as Loadshedding and Inflation. If you want to know more, then just click the links to find out.

Scalped

Do you ever get the feeling that you were born in the wrong era, wrong place, wrong culture? I often feel that way. I think it's one reason I can identify with other cultures on a more subconscious level. I notice the little things that most others don't. I think it's because I have always felt that the stork who delivered me must have been a little bit tipsy and dropped me in the wrong time and place. Since he didn't want to get in trouble for being drunk while flying, he didn't tell anyone and left me to wander the earth out of time and out of place.

(source)

I am Native American and no it's not because I am redneck. I am Cherokee. It might only be 1/16th but I am so proud and feel so honored to be able to claim that. My great great grandmother was full blooded Cherokee. My ancestors walked the Trail of Tears and were then placed on a reservation.

The story goes a white doctor came monthly to visit to provide health care to those on the Reservation. During one visit, he met and fell in love with my great great grandmother. Who returned the favor. They married and I am the result of their forbidden love. 3 or 4 times removed. Seeing pictures of her before and after show quite the difference. Before she was ever bit the Cherokee princess and after a proud pioneer woman.

(source)

When I was little, every summer my grandmother and I would go to visit on the Reservation. My mom went along because well someone had to drive. At that time it  wasn't as commercialised as it is today. It was more geared towards showing people how the Cherokee use to live.

I still remember the first time I learned what a Dream Catcher was and from that day onwards I kept one in my room. Because I was so young and showed such a great interest people there use to tell me stories and I can remember just sitting and soaking in every word.

I have seen Dances with Wolves so many times I know almost every line by heart. If I could live in any era, at any time, that would be the era I would choose. It seems so at peace. They didn't take more than they needed. There was respect for nature and earth. Even their wars didn't disturb the harmony of life.

The land behind our house contained a burial mound. I use to sit in my spot and close my eyes and I would swear I could hear the sound of running horses. I could hear the voices of warriors shouting their battle cries, and I longed to live with them. To this day, there is something about that culture, that harmony that I long for and I search for.

My Greatest Friend or Mortal Enemy

I never can quite figure out which he is. At times he has given me the strength to move mountains, the courage to go to far off places, but there are other times where he stops me in my tracks. Immobilizes me. I become paralysed unable to move. Unable to breathe.

Fear is a fickle friend. Fear led me to start this blog and to meeting amazing people like Deus and Ratz, but now that he sees me getting a bit comfortable. Settling in. He knows he must do something or else he will lose his hold over me. If I get too comfortable, too complacent, then he will lose his power over me.

So he picks me up like a tidal wide picks up a surfer and carries me so high that I feel like I am soaring. I can see the whole earth beneath me. I feel glorious. Then without warning, he tosses me up and spits me out onto the wet sand. Exposed. Naked. All eyes upon me.

I start to question why I left the protectiveness of my dark corner. Why did I come to this place of light where everyone can see me? See all of my imperfections? All of my insecurities?

That is where I am now. I am exposed. Ordinarily at this moment, I would run back to my dark corner. Squeeze myself into a tight little ball. Become as small as I possibly could. Make myself invisible again. Then fear would still own me. Still control me.

A never ending cycle. But not this time. Even though my heart pounds inside my chest and the voices scream inside my head. Even though I am exposed. I will not run back to my corner. I will not allow this numbness that is creeping inside of me to consume me.

I will breathe. I will continue to push myself because I have seen the light. I have felt its warm embrace. So different from your coldness. While I stand here exposed, feeling hollow and numb, I will keep standing here. Because this is where light lives. I have lost so much in my life. You have taken so much from me. I won't let you take this.

Water the Giver of Life-TRDC

This is for a writing prompt from TRDC. The prompt was to write a short piece-fiction or non fiction- inspired by one or both of the following statements. Water gives life. It also takes it away. This is my spin on the prompt. Some parts are true and some are made up. I will leave it up to you to decide which is which. Constructive criticism welcomed!!

The sound of the rain hitting the tin roof of the trailer brought me out of my sleep. Slowly I sat up on the bed and looked out the window. What had been a light mist when I fell asleep was now a thunderous downpour. Lightning flashed across the moonless night sky. Chilled I pulled the soft cotton blanket close around my body. I leaned my head against the windowpane. The coolness of its touch brought a quiet relief to the pounding in my brain.

I could hear the shouting coming from down the hall. “Not again,” I sighed. I tried to silence the voices, but my ears refused to obey. Every Friday night was the same. A vicious cycle of parties, drinking, and then the fighting. How I hated when it started. Sometimes it would end quickly, but tonight wasn’t one of those nights.

When I heard the crash of yet another dish breaking against the wall, it was more than I could stand. I got up and pulled my jacket on. It wouldn’t do much against this downpour, but I was on auto pilot. Just going through the motions. I had to get away. Away from the noise.

I slowly crept down the hall. Not that they noticed. They were too busy yelling at each other. Too wrapped up in the endless insanity of their never ending battle. I eased the back door open and stepped out into the night. Under the protection of the porch roof, the rain didn’t pummel me, but I could still hear the noise.

Then before realization and sanity could kick in, I ran. Through the night, through the darkness, through the wet. I didn’t go far. Not that there was far to go. I stopped at the edge of the woods near the pond. It was my spot. It was where quiet lived. It was where I was a princess in a far away land. A land where I could be rescued by a knight in shining armor. A land where peace and silence reigned.

The rain was falling faster now. My clothes were starting to sag from the heaviness of the rain that seeped into them. I closed my eyes and lifted my head. Letting the rain fall down upon my face. Cleansing me. Healing me. Then slowly I lowered my head and tried to open my eyes. Drops of rain falling from my lashes.

Without wanting, I turned to make my way back to the house. Back to the noise. Pausing for only a moment as my hand reached for the doorknob. Silence permeating the air. It had ended. Gently I eased the door open. Careful not to awaken its monstrous wrath from slumber.

In the warmth of my room I changed my clothes. Put the soaked ones in the tub to dry out a little before putting them in the hamper. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Drops of water still clung to my lashes. I had been cleansed by the rain. Its wetness stealing a part of me but replacing it with another. Exhaustion consumed me. I made my way back to the bed and crawled beneath my soft cotton blanket. Wrapping its protectiveness tightly around me. Relishing in my newfound birth and mourning what was left behind.