Happy mothers day?..no way!
I am definitely not going to thank or greet or hug or kiss or wish my mom on this Mother's Day. And why should I? She's so busy doing things that makes her such an 'imperfect' mom. Yeah, I know what you are saying, that I'm an insensitive spoilt brat who doesn't know what she's talking about, but truth be told, has there never been a time when you've felt vengeful towards your mother? I mean take a look at my mom.
She has this incessant habit of interfering into my life. She's always acting like a hawk and requires a second-by-second record of what I do and where I go each and every day. She tends to act suspicious of every one of my activities. And don't even get me started on the way she's always harping on me to finish my “duties” like homework, cleaning up my room, washing the dishes, etc, etc, etc. Nope, I'm definitely not greeting her this Mother's Day.
Knock, knock…mike testing 1 2 3 4…hello, this is you're conscience speaking. Can you hear me?
Oh, so it's you again, is it? Yes, I can hear you loud and clear Mr. Conscience. So now you are going to give me a lecture on how to love and respect my mother isn't it? Well let me tell you, it's not gonna work Bob.
Well at least…hey, why are you calling me Bob? Do I even have a first name?
Yes you do, Bob, cus you are my conscience, and I can call you whatever I like.
Hmph…well, while you are so busy acting all arrogant, and insensitive, I've gotta attempt to change you're attitude so I don't lose my job. God knows I need the money. What with all the inflation and everything…so tell me dear, why is it that you are so pissed at your mother? I personally think she's a very charming old lady.
You must be talking about someone else's mom; my mom is nothing but the reincarnated form of Hitler. No wonder I hate Germany.
Hitler or not, she's the one who gave birth to you and brought you into this wonderful,l beautiful world.
Yeah a world which is right now so full of exams and bomb blasts, and ex-boyfriends that I would love to jump off a building. I'm not gonna thank my mom for bringing me down from my place in the clouds where I was busy playing the harps.
That may be so, but the world you so hate is also the only place where you get ice-cream sundaes and chocolate-chip cookies, and of course all those hot guys….
Yes, you do seem to have a point…hey, stop trying to distract me from my stubborn decision that my mom is evil.
She carried you around in her tummy for a whole nine months you know. And that too, with that big butt of yours…
Hey, that wasn't my fault, she was the one stuffing herself with carbs…and that's another thing. She puts so much oil in the food, I feel I'm drinking liquid fat for lunch and dinner. You see? She doesn't care at all how much I like to stay in shape.
She stuffed herself during those nine moths just so you could survive. And as for her cooking, wasn't it you who went on a hunger strike when you learnt that she was going to be too busy to cook your lunch for you last month? And guess what? Because of your tantrum she decided to work at odd hours just so she could prepare your food. See? She loves you.
Well…that's just because… I didn't …she was…she wouldn't even allow me to go to the concert last week…
You mean the one from which those guys came back home at 1am all drunk?
Hey, I don't do drugs or drink, but it's true, I wouldn't have liked to be there.
She even gave you an extra 200 bucks for that get together with your friends, even when your father had already given you 300 taka.
Yeah, and I end up not being able to find anything in my room…
Oh, for crying out loud!! Just imagine spending a day without your mom. Who'd wipe you tears after a fight with friends or a bad day at school. Who'd call you the prettiest girl in the world when you're getting dressed for a party? Who'd switch off the lights to your room and kiss you goodnight. Whose face would absolutely glow with pride as you show her your report card? Who would boast about you being the best daughter in the world to other parents? And most important of all…who would bake those delicious dark chocolate brownies with fudge topping?
That did the trick.
To all the mom's in the world…it is because of you that we have grown to become the people we are, and one day is not enough for us to express our gratitude towards you. But even then, have a blast this Mother's Day, cus you all definitely deserve it! Happy mother's Day! Hmm, on a second thought make it a mother’s week this year.
By Ferzeen Anis
The 'Oops' theory of child rights
I wonder what it would have felt like being born in a country where children make it their duty to remind their parents of 'child rights' whenever parents put a toe out of line. And whenever I think of child rights, the vision of my parents behind bars pops into my mind, bringing with it an uncanny sort of satisfaction. Alas!!!! If only, I had been born to a free world…..
To be honest, regardless of the number of times I had been made to write and rewrite some stupid 'Children's Charter' at school, it was not until very recently that, I actually came across the 'Child Rights' issue. Not as ignorant anymore, I finally gathered that, the issue comprises some 'moulik chahidas' ( basic needs)---right to food, education, healthy family environment, permitting the exercise of freedom of speech, etc.
My first rendezvous with 'Child Rights' being in a UNICEF meeting (courtesy Rising Stars), where, positioned between two of 'stinki-est' (excuse my 'vocabulary' as I couldn't find a better word to fit my purpose) men who walked on Planet Earth, it finally dawned on me. Having been introduced to the concept, long after 'evolving' from an infant, to a kid and finally to a teenager and that too on the brink of leaving teenage, I now saw how my parents had distorted, exploited, violated and modified according to their convenience, my rights. I was---
Never allowed to speak my mind; the halo of flying yellow-birds courtesy mum's slaps would chirp me back to life, every time I attempted.
My friend and I were having a little chat on food, when the topic of 'how-our-parents-coax-us-to-eat' cropped up .While she went on rummaging about how her parents presented her with an array of pastas the other day at dinner and how dinner today would be a different affair today, I countered her 'palatable' stories with the choice my parents put forward to me everyday“Take it, or leave it”…..So much for my choice of food… The concept of 'pocket-money' is a relatively brand new thing in my life (not that my parents had ever refused to pay amounts I asked for, but they never initiated to present me with a fixed allowance) and by the time my first RS earnings came, my 17 years of existing without pocket-money had economized me to a such extent that, I then settled for the 'jhal-muri' sold outside my Maths class rather than sinking my teeth into an American Burger once in awhile.
Never allowed to go anywhere without my driver and bodyguard (in this case, my mum's nearly-90 kgs, straight-out-FDC peon who works part time as my body-guard and rarely lets the front tires of our car go un-punctured). Concerts….You ask! While my pals banged and danced away at metal concerts, I was stuck at home listening to a different genre of heavy metal--mum's stylewhere she rampaged, banged, sent pots, pans and woks flying my way, attacked me with her gleaming spatulas determined to spoon out the word 'concert' from my head. Boy..Oh..Boy…wait till Dream Theatre gets hold of you, mum!!!
But then again--- as I take a break from typing this article out and glance at the under-nourished girl of 14, our bua's daughter, wearing clothes fit for a person a foot taller than her, humming away to herself while sweeping the floor of my room; happy, content in her world; it startles me to imagine what her reaction would be to her introduction with child rights. When I, possessing almost every materialistic thing a teenager can want, am in so dire a need for my 'wants' to be heard, What must an underprivileged kid, say for example, the maidservant at your house who gets to eat the portion you've left behind or the young urchins who beg you for money on your way to school, feel like, when s/he finds out about his/her rights?
The result wouldn't be a debacle, no way. Rather, a mere shrug, and the 'child rights'-thingy would be out of their heads---the scope to pursue their rights would seldom, I doubt, come about in their lives. Your maidservant would have to serve you to earn, what, in most cases, is the only means to feed her family; the street urchins have no other option to support them and their rights and would continue to beg their way out--- Who has the time to think about 'Child Rights' when there are some stomachs to fill, no education or parents to support you? After all----What is life to the Dead?
By Reesana Sifat Siraj
Romance pocket books say...
Ask my friends; I'm by far the most romantic person in the world even if we disregard my own (lack thereof) love life. I love reading those corny, mushy tearjerkers of romance and sigh about them. Trust me when I tell you this, I read them all. Mills and Boons, Harlequin's, Scarlet, etc and according to those lovely creations, falling in love definitely constitutes of some definite signs. Brains turn to mush; attention tends to wander, sleepless nights, palpitating hearts and stammering at the sight of the loved one. What if I told you that I found a completely different set of symptoms heralding the approach of the said malady? These symptoms are newly evolved, and seemed to have taken root in those friends of mine who have fallen under love's spell.
In theory, when in love people dance through blooming meadow, kiss on sunset beaches-when 'these' people fall in love, they literally have blinding headaches. I can't tell you the number of times I've found one of them or the other spread-eagled on the bed; nearly comatose from pain at the discovery of falling in love. Here, their migraines act up and sinusitis prevails. I've heard that the season of love boosts the sale at the florists', for my friends it's the doctors who profit from their miserable situation. In fact, whenever I try to point out the afore-mentioned not-so-minor-fact to them, they tend to get a little feisty and issue what they call “the curse of love” at me.
Instead of hearing the music in the air, the victim's stomach hears the call of revolt. The second symptom seems to be nausea. Victim's mouth goes all parched and meals threaten to come back up. On inquiring how about cottonmouths, I've learnt of something I never wished of knowing. Evidently cotton's a too sweet of an image for situations like these. Cotton. Like fluffy clouds. The victims tend to compare this with something a lot less appealing and more “realistic.” Rat hair. From dead sewer rats. Now we are talking. Love had taken all forms and precedence in those books I read, but none really described it so eloquently.
Panic attacks. Not the kind you get in front of him/her, wondering if you look good, if your deodorant broke, your hair… no, these are the kind that have you hyperventilating, seeing dark spots dancing in front of your eyes and in case of a certain friend (sorry dost!) fainting. Of course, I guess the combination of panic attack and the extreme heat that day might have had something to do with it but hey, those are just technicalities. Palms drip like faucets instead of being merely sweaty and eyes get all blurry. Some have temper tantrums while other turn as silent as the dead themselves do, being disagreeable in order to forget the severe embarrassment caused to one's self. It seriously makes you think twice before contemplating the “L” word.
Let's recap. Instead of elation, love hands you migraine. Rather than making you giddy with joy, it makes you nauseous and dry-mouthed. As a substitute for fantasy, it gives you panic attacks. How I wish I could say that I wouldn't take it any other way but I can't. I'd rather if it came sans these symptoms. Yet, why does love hold such power over us? Although, instead of being closely acquainted, I'm on nodding terms with love. I can still see the magic it has, changing the mundane moments to those to be treasured. It's something that keeps the victims coming back, like moronic moths drawn to a blazing flame.
By Tareq Adnan
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