Beautiful Little Country Called Qatar

Long drives are the best. Its the peace and quiet that surrounds you which is altogether exhilarating.

If you roll down your windows, try to take your head out to whip your hair and have a total 80’s moment, you will be rewarded with a blast of hot air in your face. You will end up looking like you haven’t taken off your makeup for three days.

But inside the car, with the stereo blasting and the sun setting, the scene is almost perfect.

When life gets hard and you don’t know what to do, go on a long drive. Get double or even triple scoop ice cream, the more, the better, put on your favourite music and let it go.

And pray that you do not get stuck in traffic.

In my case, when I get bored out of my mind and have no idea what to do, I go on long drives. Malls are too crowded and beaches are too humid. I have seen the Museums and whatever there is here.

I have a plan. When I get my license, I am going to explore Qatar and get lost on purpose. I am going to leave my phone at home and hope that this on purpose adventure be awesome, instead of me turning up in a Police Station. In that case, no one will even get me out.

 I want to see all the parts of this teeny tiny country. Like you would hunt for coins in the nooks and crannies of your house, I want to do that.

I want to explore this beautiful little country called Qatar which has been my home since almost 8 years.


Somethings Were Amiss

After I finished school and parted ways with my best of friends, I knew that life would be very different.

Especially in terms of friendships. There would be no four hour long phone conversations or knowing every single thing going on in a friends house including the names of third cousins and the who is getting married to whom.

And I was okay with that. Because I knew that they will come back to Qatar, or I will go to Pakistan and there will be hurried lunches or a half an hour meeting at the friends college.

It would not be the same. But it would be something.

There was one thing I was never sure about.

Whether we will have that connection. Or not. Will we be able to talk for hours from horses to the newest actor in town. Whether we will pretend or truly laugh at the other person’s joke.

It did change. Our friendships. More like the way we communicated.

From local phones, we went on to Skype calls. From telling every single detail to most important things first and than other things. But inside jokes were explained, friends were introduced virtually, common old friends were talked about and book recommendations were given.

I once completely forgot to call my friend when she had told me to. They could not make it to my wedding. I was not able to listen to her problem in time. M could not see all the wedding shopping I did.

So somethings were amiss. But we got over it.

I met my best friend after almost six months yesterday. As we were sitting, eating our Pasta, she was talking about her friends, how one of them stands affixed in the middle of the road to photograph something. I told her about my new family, how Mr A’s sister is the one left eating even when we are ready to leave.

There are times when days pass and our conversation comprises of hello’s and how are you’s. Than there are days, where we forget what we were doing while typing with all ten fingers, cutting each others sentences to finish our story first.

We have worked through it. An year has passed us. We are in different cities in different countries.

As G said, “Yet we are stronger than ever.


Letters To The Moon # 3 : I MADE IT

Dear Moon,

Successfully done with the wedding. I would call it a success based on the number of people I have pissed off and made enemies.

Its weird that all these years, I felt like wedding was this huge obstacle in the way of my plans. And it was something that was suppose to be done. Like you give SATs. Or you follow the Traffic Rules.

But that stereotype of mine has fallen from the top most shelf and is in a million pieces, being swept away by a broom.

I don’t feel like anything has changed.

Other than being in a completely different house, with different people and waking up a little early than usual.

Last year, right about this time, I had a very different idea of where I wanted to be.

But I am satisfied of where I am right now. Its a good place. With excellent food. And lots of books.

The only accomplishment of mine this past year has been making through all this. I feel like getting a tattoo of “I MADE IT” on my forehead.

And the best part about is that I still feel like myself. I feel like the Sumaica who strives for extra-ordinary things, loves Pizza and sees the world a little differently.

So life is not that bad. Come to think of it, its not bad at all.

Except a lot of people bitching about different things. But than that always happens.

What about you ? I think, in my ramblings, I completely forgot that you exist. I haven’t seen you around much. Mainly, because now my view from the bathroom has changed.

But no worries, I will find a way to see you again.

Adieu !



Getting High

I know how it feels to be high. Not the literal high. The figure of speech high. The kind of high that drugs or being intoxicated gives you.

That moment of total bliss where you do not know who you are or what you are doing.

All you know is that you are happy.

You do not know the reason.

And sometimes its not even necessary.

As long as that moment lasts. As long as you keep getting that kick. As long as your mind keeps going back to that happy place.

It happens when you are on the World’s Fastest Roller Coaster and everything just flies by, even your drool.

You look like you regret hitch hiking all the way to that particular place. But your mind knows. That that high is better than anything.

I feel like that. I feel intoxicated. I feel high. I feel happy.


To Be Proud

I was in 7th grade, the days of MSN and endless hours chatting with friends, when I sent an email to all of my friends, asking them to tell me my wrong points. Things that I did which annoyed them, things they thought I did wrong, habits that were just bad in general etc.

I wanted to change and become a better person.

I thought that I could be the best there is.

A friend of me replied back, saying, why the hell would you want to change ? You are who you are. If you lose that, than who are you ?

That was the first time that I thought about who I really was.

Ever since that, change terrifies me.

I fear that I will lose my true self in hope for a more perfect self. I don’t want perfect. I want true.

Its been two weeks since I got married and I have been getting messages, comments, wall posts, emails of wishes and prayers. One thing that almost all of them have in common is this message, “DO NOT CHANGE”. Do not become the typical Asian aunty that girls tend to be after getting married in our culture.

I do not know the answer to that. I do not know if I will change.

The only thing I want is that if I change, its for good.

When I look in the mirror, and see the person reflecting back at me, I want to be proud of her.

I want to be proud to be her.

That is all I want.

Let’s see what the daylight brings.


She Was Everything

I missed my mom.

In 50 ‘C weather, grunting and complaining, we all went to Umm Saeed to ride and drive Buggies. This was such a familiar yet old sight that it rejuvenated me. And I went all crazy, could not wait to do stunts etc person.

So there I am, refusing to sit with anyone and driving the buggies at least thrice more than everyone else. By this point, I am sure I was labeled as a very insane “Bahu” who had not seen a thing in her life. 
In my defense though, I refused to sit with Mr A. Because he drove so damn slow.

But my loving remarks made him see the light.

Which resulted in both of us going a little over board and in our excitement, we got hurt. 
One Friday, we were getting married. The next we were in need of stitches. 
Its an incredible sight with you bleeding, and ten people fussing over you, giving their advice and trying their best to implement it as well. 
Than we went on to the sea side. I was sitting there, my face puffy and swollen, stars in my eyes, and all I wanted was Amma.
Mr A’s whole family was there, playing and joking around, asking about us and showing there concern at every 15 minute interval. 
But it was not the same. 
Sitting under that jet black sky, over looking the
greys and blues of the never ending sea, surrounded by yellows and oranges of the desert, I just wanted to lie in my mom’s lap and close my eyes.
Forget everything else. 
I missed my mom. 
In that moment, she was everything.