When Home is a Haven

Lazy day under the tree

Over the years I have called all sorts of places "home": from the rather dilapidated but rambling government bungalow my parents brought me to from the hospital, to a tres-chic Parisian apartment with a panoramic view of the most beautiful city in the world, to a rather grungy dorm room whose saving grace was the parquet floor and lilac tree under the window, to various rented bits in other people's homes, and finally to this most longed for home-of-my-own.

The day the fishpond was made

While we were finalizing the purchase of this house, and throughout the six months we spent renovating it, we were acutely aware that we were not just buying a house, but investing in a place that would become a sanctuary in a city that was fast deteriorating around us. Our first instinct was to plant quick-growing trees all around the edges of our property- cocooning ourselves in, shielded from the world outside.

The study- a favorite spot

I love coming back home; as soon as I walk in through the door, the house feels cool and quiet; we rarely hear the noise of traffic or horns, the soft ringing of chimes is occasionally interrupted by the sound of the ice-cream van passing by. Ok I have to be honest, it does get quite loud around here sometimes - but if truth be told, we are the cause of the noise - dog barking as he chases birds swooping in for a drink, the whack of the ball against the cricket bat, kids yelling as the ball goes over the wall into the neighbor's house...

Unfortunately, we hardly ever get the time to truly appreciate our little haven- our home may be imbued with the spirit of homes from my childhood, but the pace of my children's lives is quite different from mine as a child. We rush in and out, all day long- school, football, piano lessons, dance classes, Tae Kwon Do meets, play-dates, afternoons at the pool- on any given day I spend more awake time in my car than at home. 

And then something happens. Usually something horrible- one angry person shoots another, the reasons convoluted and byzantine, the results always bloody and destructive. Before we know it the city is on fire;  buses burn, shops shut, children are quickly rescued from school and home is literally a safe port in a storm. Sadly, Karachiites are so familiar with this scenario that we always keep our gas tanks full and our larders stocked as we hunker down, besieged by our own. 

I wonder what it says about my life that I have come to cherish these moments of forced inactivity. I don't know if its selfish callousness on my part, or just a natural instinct for self-preservation, but this chaos without forces me to look within- moments of introspection yes, but mostly purely indulgent laziness. Real meals are substituted with afternoons of grazing - Raza will usually bring up platters of apples and cheese, the kids will hanker for popcorn or minute-noodles, bowls of nuts and bars of chocolates vanish. Everyone finds a nook to snuggle in with a book, breaking for a game of table tennis, or a quick splash in the paddling pool.

We'll listen to music and I'll get a chance to potter around, and make the house pretty. With no opportunities to run to the florist for some eye candy, we make do with whatever is blooming in the garden, and no need for vases. The act of filling water in a vessel (usually an old bowl salvaged from some other more utilitarian function) and watching ripples form as flowers and leaves are lowered in is strangely calming and satisfying. The offering of a flower feels spiritual; a token of thanks for a home where we can shut out the horrors of the outside world at least for today.

                                      

                                      

No Blue Without Orange

Vincent Van Gogh- who knew a thing or two about color- said "There is no blue without yellow and without orange". Blue is my favorite color- it is sky and sea; it is freedom; it is cool and deep. And somewhere in there is orange. Another great artist the surrealist poet Paul Eluard wrote a poem that began: la terre est bleue comme une orange...the earth is blue like an orange. If you think about it, it makes perfect sense.

This morning I noticed the first buds in my heliconia. Heliconias should flower most of the year in tropical  climates, but in sub-tropical Karachi we only manage one flowering, around the end of March. The bud is quite special in itself- a pop of orange against acid green leaves. When the bud unfurls it it truly spectacular- a bird of vibrant orange and blue plumage.

Heliconia bud

I just love orange flowers in my garden. I had three beautiful flame of the forest trees outside my house until they had to be chopped down to placate DHA (long sob story). Flame trees (delonix regia) are so evocative of Karachi, and somehow imbued with the essence of Karachi- the hotter it gets the more they bloom and the more intensely orange they become. But I have a few shrubs that look like mini flame trees.

Dwarf poinciana

A few sprigs of these orange flowers in a little glass perk up any corner of the house that is feeling unloved. I have recently planted an African tulip tree, which has suddenly burst into bloom- right outside my bathroom window- a wonderful shower-time treat. But my most favourite orange flowers of all are nasturtiums. Unfortunately, in Karachi they are seasonal, but are currently at their peak, perfuming the air with their tart pepperiness! I love them in salads, and can't decide if its for their flavor or the zingy pop of color and pretty they bring to a bowl of greens J

Speaking of culinary pleasures, we usually have grapefruit juice in the morning, but this morning had freshly-squeezed blood orange juice. It was heavenly, the colour more reminiscent of falsa than orange. When we were younger we would always have kinnoo juice with a dash of black pepper to bring out the sweetness, but now I seem to prefer maltas. (Isn't it lovely how there in no generic one word for oranges in Urdu- we have kinnoos, maltas, mausumbis...) 

when you see an orange can you not just smell it in your head? 

Oranges are of course not native to Karachi, and we don’t grow any that we can eat or make into marmalade. (Although check out these super cute but incredibly tart mini ones growing in my garden- must find a use for them). 

maybe kumquats?

Yet, I can’t imagine a Karachi summer from my childhood without Jet Sport- those amazingly synthetic yet delightful orange lollies we all grew up with. (Here’s a picture from last year with Qais and his friends enjoying Jet Sports – some things never change J). 

Just realized how much they have all grown since this picture!

Thoughts of childhood take me back to summers in Paris- sitting under umbrellas in a cafe, sipping Orangina. I can't believe we don't have Orangina in Karachi- need to talk to my supermarket! 

Orange peels, orange zest, orange blossoms...apparently it is impossible to think of an orange, to imagine holding it and peeling it without actually imagining its fragrance. Try it :) Have a wonderfully orange day, and leave me a comment! 

Serendipity = happy weekend

Have you noticed how things out turn out best when you just let them be?

Sometimes life really is a picnic = serendipity <3
(image from somewhere on the web- can't remember where!)

This long weekend started off ominously enough- a bad cough and cold, the result of wanting to experience the dust storm first hand! And yet somehow all these amazing things happened:

* Woke up to husband making breakfast; opened the newspaper to find Baba's signature on the March 23 1940 Lahore Resolution in the newspaper. Felt so odd to see his handwriting- so familiar and yet so unknown

Baba behind the Quaid- Working Committee of the Lahore Resolution

* We went to the cinema for the opening show of The Hunger Games- much to Iman's delight. And despite my "get-up"- shawl, granny glasses, kleenex box, strips of Strepsils- I not only managed to have fun but make it through a box of mixed salty and sweet popcorn (itchy throat be damned!) :)

* Qais went for his Taekwondo championship, and bagged 3 medals- a gold for forms, a silver for board breaking, and a bronze for sparring. And while his team lost to their nemesis Lyari 5-4, my boys had a great football weekend nonetheless as favorite Arsenal won its fixture while rivals Chelsea, Tottenham and even Man City all drew theirs :)

* I managed two get all my vegetables home-delivered by the wonderful Pick Fresh people- who went the extra mile and sent mine in re-usable cloth bags so I don't have to have guilt with my greens :)

* Hatim manged to squeeze in two play-dates over the long weekend and his hair is growing into the cutest suggestion of curls at the edges. He's still my baby :)

* I managed to finish another book from my recent spree at The Last Word- Nick Harkaway's The Angelmaker- in the words of one reviewer

blistering gangster noir meets howling absurdist comedy as the forces of good square off against the forces of evil, and only an unassuming clockwork repairman and an octogenarian former superspy can save the world from total destruction.

Don't ask why it's not right-side up!

What's not to love :)

* Went out for dinner to the new-revamped Aylanto with Fizza, Raania and Mansoor (nice decor, food so-so) and ended up in Urgent Care Services- a throwback to Saturday nights in college. But no one had their stomachs pumped fortunately :) It was a case of a little something in Fizz's eye- a little speck that led to much hilarity as waiters were rushed to find eyedrops, rosewater and a kangaroo (!) to no avail. After many tears (all Fizza's), and a few frozen yogurts, we ended the evening crashing (and crashed) on Fizza's phopo's sofa- while "Shazia" made Raza tea...sometimes you just need these evenings :)

Fizza's got her feet up at AKUK Urgent Care Services!

* Got some alone time at one of my favorite Karachi spots- Sunday Bazaar (this deserves a post all of its own one of these days). Managed to pick up a few secondhand cheap and cheerful reads for the poolside later, a couple of antique-y china platters, and of course some bells for my sharifa tree- can never have too many bells!

* Managed to squeeze in the first swim of the year! Water was cool at first entry, but lovely in the warm sun. Need to go everyday. Followed by lovely ice cream cones :)

* And now have Bua's yummy chicken biryani to look forward to, while Raza and Qais take advantage of Hatim's post-swim nap and play chess.

* Oh, and I managed to discover a cure for the common cold- rest, have fun, drink plenty of fluids, rest, have fun: who'd have thunk! 

A Very Happy Nowroze

Mahvesh's beautiful haft-seen table

March 21 was the official first day of Spring- the vernal equinox. Living in Pakistan we are quite at home calendar-hopping between the Lunar for all religious events and the Gregorian one for all day-to-day affairs. But the calendar I wish we used was one that was truly in tune with the seasons. Whether it is the first green shoot on a erstwhile dried branch, or a series of ever-shortening-evenings leading to winter, we all respond on a primal level. And I think the first day of spring deserves an official holiday.

Turning a new leaf 

I have never understood why in the Gregorian calendar the new year starts so arbitrarily in the middle of winter, and I find even more puzzling our Islamic, nomadic-yet-forever-morose new year in Muharram. Surely, even the smallest infant can recognize that the new year starts in spring, when the Earth awakens from its slumber, turning green once again and celebrating its own re-birth in a riot of color and fragrance. Which is why Nowroze, the traditional new year of the Zoroastrians, or Parsis as we know them, has such universal appeal. In Pakistan Nowroze is celebrated by many other minorities- Ismailis, some Shias, and people of Persian origin. And in good religious tradition the Parsi Nowroze has many wonderful rites and rituals (which to me are the best part of all religion!)

This year, Hatim and I were fortunate enough to be invited to our first Parsi Nowroze- and what a treat it was. At the threshold of her garden Mahvesh (or Mahvesh's friend) had stenciled fish and flowers in pink, purple and blue powders, somewhat like the Hindu rangoli but known as chawk. And garlands of roses hung over the entry. Then our lovely hostess greeted us in the traditional manner, applying a tilak of red kumkum on our foreheads, while we smiled into a mirror and sprinkling rosewater on us while we held an auspicious coconut.

Hatim with his very debonair tilak

All the things placed on the Nowroze haft-seen (or seven 's') table have a special significance- the goldfish swimming in its bowl is a symbol of life, the sprouted mung beans represent rebirth, the painted eggs fertility, apples for beauty and garlic for health, milk and honey for plenty and sweet, lit candles for enlightenment and rosewater for purification.

I absolutely love all these rituals full of symbolism that speak to something primordial within each of us.   Nowroze is a celebration not just of the new year, but of human resilience. By keeping up traditions we  celebrate the link with our ancestors, who were so crucial to our existence today, but we also celebrate the new year to mark that we have survived yet another year, despite all the obstacles along the way. Parsi or not, we all smiled into that mirror, hoping that fortune smiles back on us this year. 

The dust settles

We'll take your hell and high-water and raise it one: aandhi aur toofan- dust storms and typhoons. These are the curses of our sub-tropical climes. And because I had forgotten why, here's a reminder:

This is my handprint in the dust that is covering every surface of my house. Despite tightly shut windows and bolted doors, everything is coated in dust. This is the aftermath of a dust storm that blew out of nowhere (ok out of the Gulf if we must be specific), reduced visibility in Karachi to 200 meters, with wind speed of up to 63km/h. Our airspace was shut down. This is what the city looked like:

Image courtesy Jalal Qureshi

And this a day after this report: The Air We Breathe. But it is too soon to start worrying about respiratory malfunctions, there is still a house to clean.

My floors looks ghostly- layers of powdery dust turning everything a rather grim grey, grey crisscrossed with little feet prints. Many little feet prints; prints of children who thought nothing of running around barefoot in the dust, and then snuggling on sofas to read, before wiggling their dusty toes into very clean beds...oh dear. 

There is dust in every nook and cranny and crevice of my house, and since I don't believe in minimalist interiors, there are many very dusty nooks, crannies and crevices. The thought of cleaning all of this, of restoring some kind of order is so overwhelming, that I am tempted to just go sit out in the garden with a book, and maybe the breeze will just blow the dust away. 

It really is hard to capture wind in pictures by the way! But believe me these are GUSTS

I soon realize it is impossible to sit outside- the gusts of wind are making all my chimes ring out insanely, little pots keep falling about, and am soon covered in dried leaves and more dust. 

I am now reduced to doing the only sensible thing left to do. I am seeking refuge at my local, friendly cafe, Espresso, while I read a hugely appropriate novel. 

Here is a review: The Guardian's review, since am too lazy (brain covered in dust and all that) to write my own. But it is a brilliant read, especially for all those who can't stand minimalist interiors, perfectionism and are just nonchalant when it comes to housekeeping :)



By the way, please leave a comment- your comments make my day!

Kachaloo!!

First, an admission of complete ignorance: I have no idea what kachaloo means.

I do have some theories. Could it be a nonsense rhyming word that Urdu seems so fond of? We can never just say "khaana khao", it always has to be "khanna wanna khao"... even English words take on a nonsense rhyme when spoken in Minglish: family becomes family shamily. So is kachalu a mere appendage to aloo- the humble potato? This theory is borne out by the children's nursery rhyme we all learn-

Aaloo Kachaloo beta kahan gaye the?

Bengan Ki tokri mein so rahe the.

Bengan ne lat mari Ro rahe the.

Mummy ne pyar kiya hans rahe the.

Potato Shotato, son where were you?

Sleeping in a basket of aubergines were you?

The aubergine kicked, crying were you?

Mummy kissed, laughing were you?

(Admittedly in translation the little ditty is even more nonsensical than in the Urdu original). 

The other theory could be that "kachaloo" is just a "kacha aloo" or an unripe potato, which sounds quite unappetizing, until one remembers that plums are often called zardaloo- or yellow potatoes. Now unripe plums can be wincingly sour, and sour is a flavor we South Asian kids get. We grew up in trees- climbing up the mango tree to pluck the still green fruit, which has a name of its own in Urdu- kairi. Yes the very same kairi that gave birth to the paisley motif and is responsible for aam ka achar, the most-beloved of all pickles, as well as the refreshing kairi-ka-sherbet and mango fool, and the main ingredient in chaat masala- the spicy, sour, salty mix that is essential to our cuisine. 

Chaat- now that brings us to the true use of the word kachaloo. There is of course a real aloo kachaloo, a dish of lightly sautéed potatoes turned a delicious shade of saffron with the addition of chaat masala, and topped with creamy yogurt and some mint leaves...but the truly wonderful kachaloo has to be the one made with guavas. Fruit chaats are ubiquitous in our part of the world but to my mind they are somewhat too reminiscent of much-dreaded mixed salad- a sort of final resting place for all the little bits of not-quite-prime produce that never got consumed. Amrood ka kachaloo, on the other hand, is a delight- a perfect blend of slivers of pungent, creamy fruit spiked with dashes of lemon, sugar and liberal lashings of chaat masala. 

It is so simple to put together- no recipe required. Just scoop out the seeds of the split guavas- their grittiness here detracts from all the slippery tart slitheriness of kachaloo, and slice them in your hand, letting the slivers fall pleasingly into a mound of yellows, greens and creams. 

And then mix a dash of sugar with the juice of a neither-lemon-nor-lime neembu, and a generous spoonful of chaat masala. 

Just one bite and I am transported to my childhood summers, Karachi days so hot that we had to pull the curtains shut, creating an oasis of cool and dark, where the only sound was the comforting whirr of the fan overhead.