Shubnum Khan's Blog, page 4
April 8, 2017
The Red Balloon
Today Muneeza died and it made me so angry. I dug in my drawers until I found my village file and I pulled out a letter from her. And her letter said, I love you and give my salaams to your parents and Hashim Amla. Forgive me if I did anything wrong to you. Please come back. It was in her neat, neat writing and there was a flower drawn in the back. And all I could do was cry and read her letter.
Later at a shop I saw a helium balloon and I bought one to cheer me up because I needed a balloon, because I love balloons that float and even though I like flowers now (more than before) I had to have the balloon and so I took it in the car to make me feel better, only it made me feel worse because I was still angry and the balloon kept blocking my view of the back as I drove and I thought I would meet into an accident because of this bloody red balloon and at one point I told the balloon, 'Fuck you.'
When I parked I took the balloon out and right next to me there was a family sitting in the back of a van and I gave the balloon to a little boy, about two and he didn't seem to know what to do with it, and his father said, 'it's fine' and I didn't know if he meant it's fine we'll take it, or it's fine we don't want it but I put it in his hand and somehow, even though I know it sounds stupid it was for Muneeza.
Later when I came back to my car there was a small girl in the back of the van and she was laughing and waving at me and she asked me in Zulu what I had in my hand and I tried to speak back to her in Zulu and later I gave her and her brother a hug.
'Byebyebyebyebye' they shouted as I drive off and I shouted 'byebyebye' back.
And I am still angry. I am still angry. But I am glad I bought the balloon and I am glad I gave it away. And I am glad there was a little girl waving to me as I left.
Later at a shop I saw a helium balloon and I bought one to cheer me up because I needed a balloon, because I love balloons that float and even though I like flowers now (more than before) I had to have the balloon and so I took it in the car to make me feel better, only it made me feel worse because I was still angry and the balloon kept blocking my view of the back as I drove and I thought I would meet into an accident because of this bloody red balloon and at one point I told the balloon, 'Fuck you.'
When I parked I took the balloon out and right next to me there was a family sitting in the back of a van and I gave the balloon to a little boy, about two and he didn't seem to know what to do with it, and his father said, 'it's fine' and I didn't know if he meant it's fine we'll take it, or it's fine we don't want it but I put it in his hand and somehow, even though I know it sounds stupid it was for Muneeza.
Later when I came back to my car there was a small girl in the back of the van and she was laughing and waving at me and she asked me in Zulu what I had in my hand and I tried to speak back to her in Zulu and later I gave her and her brother a hug.
'Byebyebyebyebye' they shouted as I drive off and I shouted 'byebyebye' back.
And I am still angry. I am still angry. But I am glad I bought the balloon and I am glad I gave it away. And I am glad there was a little girl waving to me as I left.
April 7, 2017
The Crossword
At the beginning of the month my parents do the crossword together. When they get their magazine from the postoffice my father photocopies the crossword so that they can work in pencil and attaches it to a clipboard. My mother keeps the original clues on her lap and they fill it in together as she reads it out. Sometimes they argue about the spelling of the word and sometimes they call out to me, asking for some name of some sports athlete or pop star as if I am only good for giving the names of people.
My mother has a giant red dictionary that's tearing down the binding which she reads from. She wears small reading glasses and these days she complains less about how the cataract operation improved her near sightedness but damaged the far sightedness that she was proud of.
For her birthday the other year we got her a thesaurus and now that too sits with the red dictionary on her side of the bed. When they get stuck she flips open one of the books and turns carefully as she searches for the word. She reads out the choices out loud until they both latch onto the same word.
Often they lose the eraser and then they argue who has lost the eraser and how often things are lost and why doesn't anyone watch where they put anything and often they find it under one of themselves and then they stop arguing and they laugh.
Sometimes my father asks my mother to repeat clues and then he cocks his ear and she repeats it and he still cannot hear. 'Don't scream, just say it clearly,' he says. Eventually she spells out the word he cannot hear or she cannot pronounce and then they are fine.
Sometimes I join them but I must be careful to keep to their system and not to jump ahead to other clues and start shouting answers. They never say it but I know they do not appreciate this.
Later my mother will fill in the original crossword in her neat handwriting with blue ink and she will post it off. Recently she said she wished they would stop giving books and give other things and almost immediately they started giving away other things like perfumes and tog bags and now she is happy. The last time they won the cross word she won gardening books and while she likes gardening she has never looked at those books yet.
My mother has a giant red dictionary that's tearing down the binding which she reads from. She wears small reading glasses and these days she complains less about how the cataract operation improved her near sightedness but damaged the far sightedness that she was proud of.
For her birthday the other year we got her a thesaurus and now that too sits with the red dictionary on her side of the bed. When they get stuck she flips open one of the books and turns carefully as she searches for the word. She reads out the choices out loud until they both latch onto the same word.
Often they lose the eraser and then they argue who has lost the eraser and how often things are lost and why doesn't anyone watch where they put anything and often they find it under one of themselves and then they stop arguing and they laugh.
Sometimes my father asks my mother to repeat clues and then he cocks his ear and she repeats it and he still cannot hear. 'Don't scream, just say it clearly,' he says. Eventually she spells out the word he cannot hear or she cannot pronounce and then they are fine.
Sometimes I join them but I must be careful to keep to their system and not to jump ahead to other clues and start shouting answers. They never say it but I know they do not appreciate this.
Later my mother will fill in the original crossword in her neat handwriting with blue ink and she will post it off. Recently she said she wished they would stop giving books and give other things and almost immediately they started giving away other things like perfumes and tog bags and now she is happy. The last time they won the cross word she won gardening books and while she likes gardening she has never looked at those books yet.
My Mamma
Mamma says you shouldn't buy mince from Star because it's unnaturally pink and it tastes too meaty. She says you shouldn't buy mince from Jolly Meats because it's too fatty. She says you shouldn't buy meat from Desais because they take too long to cut it and it works out more expensive. Mamma says if you are going to buy mince you should buy it from Continentals or Willowton.
Mamma also says other things.
She tells me never to leave a sharp knife in water or it will go blunt.
She tells me to never to put glasses in the dishwasher or the glass will wear.
She tells me to reuse teabags.
She tells me to work clean.
She tells me wash chicken three times in salt and vinegar after I clean it.
She tells me about the place in the thigh of the chicken where you must poke your knife and pull out a vein.
She shows me the spot where you cleave the leg from the thigh.
She tells me that it is better to have boys than girls as friends.
She tells me that I shouldn't waste my time with boys who don't care for me.
Mamma tells me to make sure I never scrape a pot when there are visitors in the dining room.
She tells me to wipe the edges of serving dishes before I serve.
She tells me what is on special and where.
She tell me to look after my toes, that if I stub them they will never grow back right.
My mamma, she knows many things.
Mamma also says other things.
She tells me never to leave a sharp knife in water or it will go blunt.
She tells me to never to put glasses in the dishwasher or the glass will wear.
She tells me to reuse teabags.
She tells me to work clean.
She tells me wash chicken three times in salt and vinegar after I clean it.
She tells me about the place in the thigh of the chicken where you must poke your knife and pull out a vein.
She shows me the spot where you cleave the leg from the thigh.
She tells me that it is better to have boys than girls as friends.
She tells me that I shouldn't waste my time with boys who don't care for me.
Mamma tells me to make sure I never scrape a pot when there are visitors in the dining room.
She tells me to wipe the edges of serving dishes before I serve.
She tells me what is on special and where.
She tell me to look after my toes, that if I stub them they will never grow back right.
My mamma, she knows many things.
The World is Changing
Yesterday I had a dream and in my dream everything was so real. And it was like it was how it was. And that's not to say how it was was good. But it was something I knew. And it felt familiar. Because everything has changed so much and everything is changing so much. And in my dream everything was that comforting same, even if that same was not so good, it was something I knew, something I could predict, understand, read and now everything is changing.
Now we are real adults and we make real choices and we have real people in our lives with real problems and dreams are things that can happen or dreams are things that must wait because real life must be lived and nothing is quite as exciting as it once was because now we are living the part of the life we dreamt and it is not quite the same as we imagined. The skin of it scarred somehow.
In the past things went on forever, books, mornings, love, dreams and now they end, and the night is here too soon and dreams are short-lived and love? Love is painful. Love is not a thing that goes on forever in your mind, a thing you dream about. Love is complicated. People you love hurt you and it changes you. And so in my dream everything was the same and I was still waiting and nothing was changed and everyone was young and dreams, they were a thing waiting on the horizon. And everything was going to be said and everything was going to be done. And now these things, they are not there and the horizon is here and we are old now and out parents are older and the world is changing and we are changing and some things will never be said and some things will never be done. And this is how life will go on and this is how it is for everyone and it is just what it is.
Now we are real adults and we make real choices and we have real people in our lives with real problems and dreams are things that can happen or dreams are things that must wait because real life must be lived and nothing is quite as exciting as it once was because now we are living the part of the life we dreamt and it is not quite the same as we imagined. The skin of it scarred somehow.
In the past things went on forever, books, mornings, love, dreams and now they end, and the night is here too soon and dreams are short-lived and love? Love is painful. Love is not a thing that goes on forever in your mind, a thing you dream about. Love is complicated. People you love hurt you and it changes you. And so in my dream everything was the same and I was still waiting and nothing was changed and everyone was young and dreams, they were a thing waiting on the horizon. And everything was going to be said and everything was going to be done. And now these things, they are not there and the horizon is here and we are old now and out parents are older and the world is changing and we are changing and some things will never be said and some things will never be done. And this is how life will go on and this is how it is for everyone and it is just what it is.
April 5, 2017
Fire and Water
My mother when she is angry will say nothing. Her rage walks around the room stormily until we must open the windows to let it out.
It's the Miajaan ki jaath we whisper.
(I have it too. That streak of fire in the blood. A trace of Pathan that lifts to the surface every so often).
Mine is mixed with my father's softness, my abbajaan's quietness, the tenderness of men who have loved too much.
They both swirl in me, fire and water, fire and water until I am melting and moulding and burning all at once. I am forgiving and remembering and at peace and in pain. It makes me restless. Exhausted.
I am called names for this. I am accused of being insincere. Fickle. Volatile.
I am called everything except what I am.
My parent's child.
It's the Miajaan ki jaath we whisper.
(I have it too. That streak of fire in the blood. A trace of Pathan that lifts to the surface every so often).
Mine is mixed with my father's softness, my abbajaan's quietness, the tenderness of men who have loved too much.
They both swirl in me, fire and water, fire and water until I am melting and moulding and burning all at once. I am forgiving and remembering and at peace and in pain. It makes me restless. Exhausted.
I am called names for this. I am accused of being insincere. Fickle. Volatile.
I am called everything except what I am.
My parent's child.
April 4, 2017
Take The Turn
It is always there
even on driving days when the sun is out,
a hand on the small of my back,
the slight shadow,
the slight weight on my shoulders,
I think, will it ever leave?
Is the beauty I see,
more beautiful because of it?
I close my eyes,
reimagine moments,
to a soundtrack
a fever hovers,
I grip the steering wheel,
the light has turned green
I open my eyes,
indicate,
take the turn
around the
corner
even on driving days when the sun is out,
a hand on the small of my back,
the slight shadow,
the slight weight on my shoulders,
I think, will it ever leave?
Is the beauty I see,
more beautiful because of it?
I close my eyes,
reimagine moments,
to a soundtrack
a fever hovers,
I grip the steering wheel,
the light has turned green
I open my eyes,
indicate,
take the turn
around the
corner
Beloved
Someone asked the me the other day about daughters. How my father had four. I said four daughters made my father soft. Softer than he could have ever become with sons. Four daughters made my father beloved I said.
But mostly they made him soft. They are part of the softness that makes him love God so much I think. The softness was in him, like all men, but four daughters brought it out of him. Have you ever seen a man so in love with God? With his wife? With his children? With his fate?
Kindness rubs out of him like the scent of flowers.
Four daughters made him into the man he is.
Beloved.
But mostly they made him soft. They are part of the softness that makes him love God so much I think. The softness was in him, like all men, but four daughters brought it out of him. Have you ever seen a man so in love with God? With his wife? With his children? With his fate?
Kindness rubs out of him like the scent of flowers.
Four daughters made him into the man he is.
Beloved.
March 30, 2017
A Response
Dear perfect future-husband,
I saw your advert in The Al Qalam (March 2017) and I would love to respond to it as I too am seeking a partner for life and you sound like the perfect man.
I must apologise for my forwardness but the way you describe yourself is so captivating I had to write immediately. You are truly a man of the world who knows what a woman needs.
I know as a woman I should not be asking questions but please forgive my impertinence as you mention nothing about yourself except that you are a man with a job – while this impressive feat blows me away and makes me tremble to my very toes – I yearn to know more about you so that I can try to serve you as best I can.
Firstly I am interested in knowing how fair you are. This is very important to me. With this vital information I can understand exactly the kind of person you really are and I can serve you more efficiently. Please also specify the exact shade in your reply (colour swatches are preferable). In my book the difference between a golden-wheat and a toasted-almond shade is the difference between a good or bad marriage. To not compare colour is to not know love itself.
Secondly, exactly how much money do you make? You say you are ‘secure’ - I would like to know figures. I only humbly request this information because my flair to help the needy often takes me down many charitable paths and it would be wise to know exactly the amount of money you would let me have at my disposal for my charitable contributions.
I would like to know your age. I know this is a very inconsiderate question to ask and I am flooded with shame but I only ask so that I may be better equipped to prepare your food. As I have no idea of your age it would be helpful to know what types of food to cook. You see younger men may enjoy big or spicy meals while older men may eat small and mild portions. If you have no teeth I will have to learn how to make soups and boiled vegetables. But don't worry because I am young and virile I will be good at whatever work I have to do in the kitchen (and wherever else you require but I fear I am getting ahead of myself).
I also need to stress to you that even though I am very attractive and easy-going I am not a loose woman because I have my Islamic conscious that keeps me in check. I know that since I am an easy going and friendly person you will fear for my piety and I am lucky you think this is your business (you are after all, a businessman). My moral compass comes from the way I was raised by a good family – in fact everyone in my family is so good, we won an award last year for Most Good Family (with Islamic Conscious). I don’t tell everyone that because I am humble but with you I find that I am so overwhelmed with wild attraction (forgive my haraam language it is but shaytaan's trappings and my Islamic conscious will overcome it) that I am sharing things I have never shared before. I am a friendly person but you make me feel even more friendly and even as I write this I find that I am perspiring with excitement and this is so disgusting to me because I am usually such a well-groomed woman. But no fear, I have composed myself and dabbed my upper lip and I am a well-groomed woman of the world once again.
I hope I hear from you as soon as possible – I am now going into the kitchen to cook and clean. It gives me the greatest pleasure of life to do this. That and my flair to help the needy. But I will talk of these things no more because my humbleness prevents me from doing so.
Love,Your perfect future-wife
PS. Oh the horror! I just remembered I am not younger than 30 and I wont make your esteemed list! Alas my wrinkled and drooping skin have lost their light of youth and have robbed me of the golden opportunity to be with someone like you. Ah me! What a wretch I am! Robbed of the love of my life by a year. Life is so unfair! How lucky the woman that will serve a mighty man like you one day. I have no reason to live anymore. My life is over! I shall grow old and lonely forever dreaming of the man I could never have.
March 19, 2017
Sometimes at the Shore (Poetry)
Sometimes when you get to the shore,
it is better to be full of salt
taste it in your mouth
and feel it burn on your skin
(crack open the corners of your eyes),
Because sometimes at the shore,
there are dead things in the surf
and you must know how to pick your way through
if you are to make it to the land
it is better to be full of salt
taste it in your mouth
and feel it burn on your skin
(crack open the corners of your eyes),
Because sometimes at the shore,
there are dead things in the surf
and you must know how to pick your way through
if you are to make it to the land
March 17, 2017
A Moment (from the second day in America)
On the first day, B takes me to buy a warm jacket, shows me how to buy a metro card, how to use the subway and helps me get a cellphone contract. I have exact money in my budget for these things. I count the money, write it down in a small book. I tell her which shops I need to go to, how far they are and which is the best contract to have.
It is so cold, I am shaking and we cannot find the jacket I want. We take a photo of us standing in Washington Square to send home. I look at bangles for Z. We walk. I have addresses written in my small book. I am very prepared. We walk the blocks down from Gramercy Park. B points out where I can take busses. Where she takes busses to school. She tells me how in winter, she didn't have the right boots and the snow went right through and she was miserable all that winter and how the big snow storm meant no one could go out. We are from Durban. I understand. We go for breakfast at an Irish place nearby and I feel strange, uncomfortable; we eat waffles. They are big. I think in my head about how much I am supposed to tip here: I check my small notebook. 20%. I hear they pay their staff less here than South Africa. This thought is strange. Later, when I put one dollar in a cup of a man who is begging, I think I just gave him R15 and it feels strange to give an American money. In the restaurant, I wonder if I can ask for a glass of water like back home but she brings it first anyway and I relax a little. I ask them to pack away my leftover waffles. I will eat it for supper because I know it now and it is not strange. I stress about the tip and if I have enough change. I pay the bill and we leave and I forget how cold it is outside until we step out the door and my cheeks sting.
Later in the small apartment, B is gone to campus and I look out at the street below and it is like I know this place but I don't. It is dark and cloudy, the sky is moody. Opposite me is Dunkin' Donuts and again, I feel overwhelmed and I threaten to spill over the edges. I sit in the warm apartment and pull on my down jacket. Tomorrow B leaves for Ireland and I will be alone here.
I have my money, I have my simcard, I have my metrocard, I have my jacket and I have my hiking boots. I am safe. I can do this.
I cross out things in my little notebook. Count my money. Clutch my jacket. Send pictures home.
Look out the window at a world which is so unfamiliarly familiar.
It is so cold, I am shaking and we cannot find the jacket I want. We take a photo of us standing in Washington Square to send home. I look at bangles for Z. We walk. I have addresses written in my small book. I am very prepared. We walk the blocks down from Gramercy Park. B points out where I can take busses. Where she takes busses to school. She tells me how in winter, she didn't have the right boots and the snow went right through and she was miserable all that winter and how the big snow storm meant no one could go out. We are from Durban. I understand. We go for breakfast at an Irish place nearby and I feel strange, uncomfortable; we eat waffles. They are big. I think in my head about how much I am supposed to tip here: I check my small notebook. 20%. I hear they pay their staff less here than South Africa. This thought is strange. Later, when I put one dollar in a cup of a man who is begging, I think I just gave him R15 and it feels strange to give an American money. In the restaurant, I wonder if I can ask for a glass of water like back home but she brings it first anyway and I relax a little. I ask them to pack away my leftover waffles. I will eat it for supper because I know it now and it is not strange. I stress about the tip and if I have enough change. I pay the bill and we leave and I forget how cold it is outside until we step out the door and my cheeks sting.
Later in the small apartment, B is gone to campus and I look out at the street below and it is like I know this place but I don't. It is dark and cloudy, the sky is moody. Opposite me is Dunkin' Donuts and again, I feel overwhelmed and I threaten to spill over the edges. I sit in the warm apartment and pull on my down jacket. Tomorrow B leaves for Ireland and I will be alone here.
I have my money, I have my simcard, I have my metrocard, I have my jacket and I have my hiking boots. I am safe. I can do this.
I cross out things in my little notebook. Count my money. Clutch my jacket. Send pictures home.
Look out the window at a world which is so unfamiliarly familiar.
