inspired by the recollections shared with me by my aunt Shahar Abji.
Set in Rural Pakistan in the 1970s:
In our shared bedroom, my brothers and sister around me were still fast asleep under their blankets. But I could not stay still much longer. I sprung out of bed and jumped over my playmates. My excitement for the day’s activities made it too difficult to sleep. Yesterday was Eid, but today, I knew, would be even better.
I slipped quietly into the next room. There, in the kitchen, I watched Baa as she skimmed a wooden ladle over the slow-heating milk. Her hand was steady and calm; her gold bangles jiggled as she collected a thick layer of rich white malaai that was gathering on the top of the milk.
I went over to greet her with a smile and Ya Ali Madad. Baa’s eyes twinkled back in greeting and I sensed she, too, was quietly looking forward to our afternoon.
Together, we made breakfast as the rest of the family slowly woke up. While Baa warmed the tawa, I rolled out little chaapatis, doing my best to make sure they were round and even. Bapa arrived just as Baa finished making warm, buttery parathas for him. Before we would leave for the day, he would have to finish accounting for the groceries that had come in yesterday evening. After that, we would be all free for the baagh (the garden) in our area!
Mohammed woke up next and turned on the radio. We listened to the tilawat (Quran recitations) over the speakers as Mohammed happily ate the next warm roti. Iqbal woke up and delighted us, greeting us with a “WHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEE.” He was a big fan of the baagh and was eagerly anticipating our visit in the afternoon. He roused Hyder in his excitement. Shortly after all the commotion, Wazir arrived, nodding his head in agreement with the tilawat. Then Amina came just as I was sitting down to join everyone else at breakfast. Together, we sprinkled grains of sugar on top of malaai. Then, we made tiny triangle scoops of roti and scooped up gooey malaai into our eager mouths.
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After Eid Namaz yesterday, all my brothers and sisters got a few rupees. My money jingled in my pocket the following day. After breakfast, I hurried to the candy store with Iqbal. Though just a few steps away, it took so long to get there from our house. When we got there, we bought our favorite cow milk candies. Our journey to the baagh would be a sweet one. Between us, we had plenty of candies to share. At least for a few days…
While everyone was preparing pootlas for lunch and snacks for the baagh, I went over to Mohabbat’s house. I was so giddy with excitement I felt like I was gliding through the air. “Do you know today the tanga-ghaddi is coming?” I told Mohabbat. “We are going to the baagh. We are going, for a picnic. Everyone will come. Are you going to join too?” I knew she would join. Mohabbat would come with some of my nieces and nephews. There was plenty of space in the back of the horse-drawn cart.
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I walked through the garden, with my brothers and sisters. We noticed and appreciated the smells of roses blooming around us. We came together with joy in our hearts and played. We took turns on the joola. Back then, these little gatherings were everything. The red-brown dirt, the lush roses that sprung out of the ground, and the breeze while I sat on the swings. We were truly children, playing together without worries.
When I returned to Atlanta from Japan in April, I was hoping to strengthen relationships with my family; I imagined a lazy river floating into rivulets of family affairs. The last month has been a flood of activities. In the past few weeks my Atlanta-based family has seen, in chronological order: (1) A baby announcement and gender reveal party from my cousin Amjad (aka John), (2) the DC wedding celebration of my cousin Abbas’s daughter Rozi, and (3) the hospitalization and subsequent death of aunt Mohabbat Hirani (and grandmother of Rozi). I find myself immersed in the fast-moving whitewater of my family. Though I intend to write a blog post here every week, the care for my folks has come first.
By being here, in Atlanta, and by being open and available, my red Prius and I have had the opportunity to assist the family in unique ways. Mohabbat lived just a 10-minute drive away. I drove her to the gender reveal party for Amjad’s child. On the drive over, she taught me a Gujarati expression. Her idiom hinted at her times; it suggests that you can neither guess the weather nor the gender of a child. In that saying, I see she held anticipation for the mystery of life. From our encounter there, I had a hint of her deteriorating health; I supported her weight on my back as we walked twenty feet from my parked car to the party door. During the lunch and events, I remember seeing exhaustion in her eyes. Still, she patiently watched the festivities and listened as I shared a poem I wrote for the occasion. Mohabbat, whose name means love, made the effort to come to this party, I believe for symbolic reasons. She came to pass the torch and bless with love the next generation.
Though Mohabbat was in a weakened state, we had hoped she would make it to DC for her granddaughter Rozi’s wedding. Desi weddings tend to involve many events. Fortunately, one event was held in Atlanta. There, she met and blessed the union of Travis and Rozi. She smiled as we introduced Travis to the pithi ceremony where he was hazed with flour, eggs, and ketchup. When it came time for us to head to DC, Mohabbat would be admitted to outpatient diabetic care at the hospital. Her daughter, Saeeda, stayed back to look after her along with two of my uncles.
Blessings at Pithi
Mohabbat is my mother’s oldest sibling. My mother called her Bhen, sister in Hindi. So I often called my aunt Mohabbat Bhen. It seemed fitting. Her presence always carried that calm, quiet love of the elderly and wise. No one expected the worsening of issues with Bhen’s hospitalization. On a sunny afternoon, in DC, the mehndi, at the first gorgeous DC ceremony we applied henna to our hands to celebrate the upcoming nuptials. There, we met Travis and his clan. On the following day, the day of the official Nikkah ceremony, Mohabbat was admitted to the ICU in Atlanta. Her daughter Munira left DC immediately and headed to her mom in Atlanta. That day, as I played with my niece Jenna, I was struck by the sense of impermanence. In my mind, I saw the contrast of Jenna’s young full cheeks against the soft, worn skin on my aunt’s arms. The remaining two days of socializing took on a somber tone. Rozi’s father Abbas left for Atlanta shortly after he walked his daughter down the aisle. The day after Rozi and Travis were officially hitched, the joint family brunch had a reduced crowd. As I met more of the Travis family, I realized the need for a family tree. His was much easier to pull together than ours. It is still on my to-do list…
Rozi accompanied by her mother and father
The next day, I returned to Atlanta where my cousin Sunya picked me up and drove us directly to the ICU to see Ben. By that time, my aunt Shahar (Ben’s younger sister) and my uncle Salim had driven from Toronto to Atlanta to be next to Bhen. Initially though admitted for complications from kidney failure, my aunt in the hospital looked to be deteriorating. She had a heart attack and a stroke while in ICU. During her time in the hospital, Mohabbat always had someone next to her reciting prayers and watching over her. For some excruciating days, my aunt’s condition worsened. She was breathing, feeding, and expelling from tubes. From there, the family made a difficult and yet, gracious decision to take Bhen off of life support.
Gathering in Her Honor
For the last few hours of her life, Mohabbat was transported to her home. Among the family members there, we took turns singing ginans, reading firmans, and reciting tasbih chants. This informal ceremony was also shared via Zoom with her family abroad. Her son and daughter in Australia recited her last prayers over WiFi. Mohabbat Bhen left this earth surrounded by the prayers and love of her huge family. In that gathering, I could see Mohabbat’s legacy and what had really mattered to her.
Our families are so interconnected. On the day after her passing, as is our tradition, we had a meal and prayers held at the home of the deceased. The gathering after Ben’s passing took me back to my high school days when we would meet with Mohabbat’s mother, and my grandma (Baa). We went to Baa’s house on Friday nights after prayers in khane. Our immediate family, my uncles, and cousins would hang out after we ate dinner. Then, we gathered around a big table and played cards, sometimes into the early AM. As we played, stories arose in conversation about the journey the family made from a dusty hamlet in Pakistan to our present plush surroundings in suburban Atlanta. Last week, then, as I saw my cousin, Munira’s kids gathered around the table mourning their grandmother, I thought of my grandma and her stories. I took that moment to teach Munira’s loving kids the same card game I learned from my grandma.
Sweet Teeth
As the funeral approaches, we will have more guests. When I initially arrived in Atlanta, I did not want to stay at my mother’s home for too long. However, both my mother and stepdad have extended a longer invitation through warmth and mutual respect. Also thanks to their hospitality, we have had a steady flow of family visitors during this tumultuous time. The five bedrooms here have seen a steady flow of guests. In that way, I have had the chance to play host. My sister and adorable niece, my (favorite) aunt Shahar, and later Wazir and Parveen, have come to visit. Our kitchen it seems is a 24-hour cafeteria. My cousin Sunya, who is also extending her home in a housing crunch, jokes with me that we are running an unlisted Airbnb.
Despite my occasional introversion, for the first time in ages, I found myself energized by hosting the family that has been visiting. I found moments to provide comfort or a sensitive ear during difficulties. When my cousin Saeeda (Ben’s daughter) came over on the 1st day of summer, I plucked a gorgeous lily for her from our front yard. It glowed pride. I showed Saeeda the tiny little thorns on the lily’s upturned petals. This first blooming lily, I hoped, would give Saeeda a distraction to ease her soul for the parting of her mother.
Through this emotionally charged month, I am struck by how lucky we are that we can unite to honor my aunt Mohabbat Hirani. If this had happened during the last two years, we may not have been able to gather at all. Meanwhile, as we connect, the lessons and sagas of immigrant migration are ever-present. Three of Ben’s brothers live in Canada. Two of them lost their passports and have had to make emergency travel arrangements to arrive for the funeral. After some US visa pleading, two of Mohabbat’s children just arrived from Australia. As I head to the airport soon, I will pick up another uncle from Canada. The month of June included this as my birthday gift. I see that the universe allowed me to reconnect with my family. And that chance came in the shape of a tsunami. It is a blessing that I caught this wave.
Are you a white supremacist? I found myself wondering on Memorial Day as I walked through Helen, Georgia with my mom & stepdad. Along the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the town of Helen is an alpine-themed getaway for many city folks. This past weekend Helen was a meeting of two Georgias, two Americas. Spanish-speaking families gathered for cookouts along the green grass in the riverside city park. The public park was alive with people enjoying the Memorial Day holiday while watching merry tubers float down the river.
Not far from this scene, a restaurant called Cowboys & Angels had live music. The musician, Joe, was sitting in full Americana regalia, from an American flag button-up shirt, cowboy hat with an American flag rim, and shiny American buckle. He sang country classics to a crowd wearing their own American regalia. All these people united under the banner of a meal, but for how long? Until someone is angry or disappointed, and this place turns into a death scene?
Can you blame me for this concern? On our way up from Atlanta that day, we passed numerous signs for a candidate running for US Congress with the image of an AR-15 underneath his name. His only campaigning was the image of this gun. Is it fear-mongering or the symbolism of a desperate America? We also passed churches with little American flags along the yard. The awnings of many churches were covered with `Welcome` printed on top of American flags. It had me wondering, does this mean the church welcomes you only if you are American? What does it mean to be American to these folks? What version of America qualifies?
Are these the signs of supremacy? A little less doom scrolling is absolutely in order. But after the white supremacist attack in Buffalo, New York, and the incomprehensible school shooting in Uvalde, Texas, I have to wonder, is a small town in Georgia next? Can I know that this type of violence won’t happen where I go? I am afraid it is hard to rule out the possibilities.
Our American epidemic of gun violence is unequaled, unchecked, and problematic. The ideologies behind mass shootings are grounded in racism, power, and hatred. While we know that banning assault rifles worked in the past, it is not often mentioned in the public sphere. Interviews with NRA spokespeople seem circular and mind-boggling. I could recall that the history of this country is steeped in violence. The profit motive ultimately drives us. From there, where will we get the motivation to take this problem head-on?
Instead, defenseless children are being asked to prepare for active shooter drills. That `solution` itself is looking at this problem as an inevitability. That is AFTER someone has arrived armed at a school. The situation in Uvalde is itself a horror. The students did have this training. It was the police that failed them. Where then can we turn for help?
From the comfort of my home, I have pondered. Yes, we have (a fraudulent application of) the second amendment. Nonetheless, most Americans want some form of legislation for gun safety. One great article that covers this issue in depth is To Change Mass Shooting (Truthout). A deep soul searching is in order.
We never know where it will be safe to hang out. Can I go grocery shopping or teach in peace? I can wither away in my angst, or I can take action. Democracy survives on citizen action. I will attend the March for Our Lives in Atlanta. There will be many other locations where this March is going on. We, the people working for a more perfect union must make our voices heard. Even if it requires uncomfortable, non-violent confrontation. The alternative, to live constantly in fear, is not acceptable.
Between leaving my birthplace and growing up in Atlanta, I had a five-year residence in Tanzania. From Canadian birth to my green years in Dar-es-Salaam, I lived on a trajectory that continues today. Between studying abroad and my international roots, it looked natural to travel from place to place.
Pondering
I had little say over my early childhood moves, but I can trace some purpose behind the effort in these recent ones. Japan was both the fruition of a lifelong ambition and a stepping stone. I had always imagined living abroad. America under Trump was (and continues to be) damaging to the global image of this country. I felt my time in Japan served a professional and personal purpose. I presented a perspective that was both American and unique at the same time. Being based in Tokyo opened my eyes to healthy urban and car-free living. I also learned from the experiences and interactions with a global community of expats. Of course, Tokyo was also a great place to explore other parts of Asia.
While initially, I traveled with joy, during this pandemic, it feels a bit self-indulgent and exhausting. The purpose and style of travel have a lot to do with it. If I am traveling just to tick off a list, it seems a bit slimy. I would love to go prancing around Paris, but is there a purpose to it? I once traveled to Morocco, where I ate only fancy hotel omelets because I was scared to try the street food. How about the all-inclusive resorts of Mexico? I am not sure that Cancun resorts even qualify as the real Mexico. Even that moment when you roll off the tourist conveyor belt and buy a cold $1 Corona, this little introduction to Mexico seems like an impoverishment of the country and culture.
I suspect people travel for many reasons. Some, involuntarily, others with ambition. Many for an escapist vacation, and some for adrenaline fueling adventure. Casual travel lately is getting a bad name. Wasteful jet fuel consumption and Instagram-location-whoring aside, can there be any reasonable justification for voluntary trips nowadays?
In special situations, travel provides an opportunity to expand our humanity.This, for me, is really the most compelling reason to travel. If you take your 5th trip to Oman and jump between luxury hotels and canapés, I wonder what you bring home. While the Four Seasons can introduce a local herb to your cocktail, heart-expanding travel includes smelling leather hides treated with human attention. This kind of experience can differentiate between objectifying a culture versus connecting with others.
I can see a lot of what happens in travel nowadays as an extended spending spree. Instead of partying with fancy cocktails in a big American city, you can drink in a foreign capital with the same socio-economic class. Travel, now, seems like an indulgent extension of consumerist capitalism. Is there a limit to living for the `gram? How do you balance the potential for deep, meaningful travel with blind indulgence?
I look forward to any other travelers willing to share their insights.
Surrounded by green pines and sitting on the red clay along Blue Ridge Lake, I stared into murky green waters. Under the water’s surface, a fish moved between the shade and the sun. She swam above rotting foliage and around a fallen branch. I watched her swim as I was digesting the hour before.
“Where are you from?” The real estate agent asked me. I sense she was trying to size me up rather than have a conversation. I stared at her in mild shock and disbelief while trying to hide my angst. “I live in Atlanta,” I responded with blank eyes. I felt judged and was reluctant to gab.
Inside my head, I meet with my vagabond turmoil. My mixed bag of responses floats in my head. “I am from nowhere. I am from everywhere. A three-continent list would be the beginning of my life story and genealogy.” But really, who has time for all that? Actually, I no longer know where I am from. I am living in a constant state of flux. Identity, ultimately, is a limiting form of identification.
How to Belong in Georgia?
Lately, there is a more significant issue. I no longer know where I belong. I feel like that oil slick hanging in the finger of Blue Ridge Lake- challenging to mix and sprinkled with yellow pollen dust. This theme, where are you from, I have touched on before. In Georgia, and in particular, now, this is a loaded question. I think the more relevant questions are: “Can we get to know each other? Where are we going? How can we work together to get there?”
Today, I am from a place where old lessons mix with an even older desire. Another middle-aged lady asks the same kind of question in the next hour. I looked for a non-BBQ lunch option and saw a well-loved Cuban sandwich shop in downtown Blue Ridge. After discussing the yucca frita, she asked, “What is your nationality?” I told her my ethnicity and that my forefathers are from India originally. She told me I looked Latina, and I grinned in acknowledgment.”How about you?” I asked back. She responded with a short history, “I am Tampanea (from Tampa, Florida). My father was from Spain, and my mother was from Italy. And then, my husband from Cuba. So here I am, arroz con mango.” The expression was perfect! A strange mix of rice and mango. I smiled, and we went on to a chat about Georgia turning blue in 2020. She mentioned that in the mountains of Georgia, there are pockets of people from everywhere. Her words absolutely resonated. I remembered my days of grass-roots campaigning; Atlanta is that salad bowl type of mix.
After lunch and cortado, I strolled along the train tracks cutting through downtown Blue Ridge. On a parallel street, tucked between strip centers sporting Trump posters, a shop called The Joint caught my attention. The shop includes a Beetle parked out front and psychedelic colored furniture on the grass. Here, I found an Atlanta ex-pat. For a little while, we both lived in Homepark. The Mudcats, a local Atlanta band I followed, played at her wedding. We chatted briefly about Georgia and the changes in Atlanta. Between our old memories and the mountain air, I knew I was related and belonged somehow to the history of this red-blue patchwork state.
The Trump Store just outside Ellijay
Heading back to the Airbnb, I pulled over for an irresistible photo. I spotted a real-life Trump Store behind a McDonald’s in a strip plaza adorned with for lease signs and potholes. Next door to the store stood a Vietnamese-American photo studio, and two doors further down was a Mexican restaurant, Mucho Kaliente. The dim-lit Trump shop sported a flyer for an Indian-American Labor Commissioner. Mr. Bhatt here poses with Trump as he campaigned for “Georgia First” & “America First.” That night, from my country farmstead Airbnb, I wondered how he would balance those with Trump’s racist rhetoric. I simmered on this while my Christian Korean-American host family cooked bibimbap downstairs.
Georgia Roots & Atlanta Dramas
Everybody I encounter in Atlanta is from somewhere else. The only people with ancient knowledge of the land in Georgia were pushed away. That now illicit history traced further back points at the ugly roots of our national story. The reckoning with our past is a step into what we are working towards. That is the only thing that will bring us all together. I am less interested in anyone’s background. I am more interested in their heart and how we can make space for all of us to belong. Atlanta is quickly gentrifying parts of its classic inner-city neighborhoods. Traffic along the 285 Perimeter gets worse annually. The effects of global warming make Atlanta even hotter. There are so many issues that touch all of us. It takes an understanding of where we want to go to work together.
Traffic is Democratizing; We all slow down (not Atlanta) Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Our Spiritual Evolution
A force moving us towards inclusion and cross-cultural understanding is the process of our spiritual evolution. One of my favorite books,The Road Less Traveled, puts it this way:
The notion that the plane of mankind’s spiritual development is in a process of ascension may hardly seem realistic to a generation disillusioned with the dream of progress. Every-where is war, corruption and pollution. How could one reasonably suggest that the human race is spiritually progressing? Yet that is exactly what I suggest. Our very sense of disillusionment arises from the fact that we expect more of ourselves than our forebears did of themselves. Human behavior that we find repugnant and outrageous today was accepted as a matter of course yesteryear.
Dr. Scott Peck
Dr. Peck builds his idea of spiritual development throughout his book. Essentially, energy and intention toward progress grow from individual effort. First, a person works towards putting their spiritual house in order, connecting values with action, purpose, and discipline. That effort is personal progress. From there, people work to bring alignment into their community. They empathize when others are wronged; they work with a sense of purpose in their day-to-day relationships.
We Do Love One Another
We unite against displacement, injustice, or “othering” which we do not suffer because of our spiritual evolution. The situation in Ukraine is an example of this. In western countries, there is a wellspring in support of Ukraine. (Of course, for another post, this support has a sharp edge. Why don’t we feel the same sympathy for the loss of life in Palestine, Syria, and Yemen?) I was in Japan when the world rose in anger against the murder of George Floyd. For a while, the Facebook group I admin-ed was a flood of support, irrespective of race. Later, in Tokyo, many locals and foreigners united for the Black Lives Matter march. In the US, mass shooting occurs regularly. How much longer till we bring together a balance of competing interests in the gun debate?
The very fact that we care about others speaks to our collective spiritual evolution. While the world gets smaller, thanks to technology and transportation, we can move towards a genuinely pluralistic society. We get there by working on what unites us rather than what divides us. A shared future, a shared planet, and healthier public institutions are the steps to make Georgia part of an even better Earth. Just as we seek ways to honor the rights of those we consider “different” from us, we can actively create a sense of belonging. We can work towards belonging regardless of political leanings, ethnic background, and economic class. There are infinite ways in which we can support one another. The goal, I believe, is to find how we are united rather than how we are different.
Mother’s Day just passed by, and while I love my mother, I think it is a strange day to celebrate. We were all brought here, by a woman, our mother, into this mortal life. Being born of a mother is one universal in a world of variations. Does that automatically make being a mother special? I am, by choice, child-free and wonder what we celebrate on Mother’s Day. I suspect it is more than the fact of a biological relationship. What if you have ongoing struggles with your mother? Is there still cause to celebrate? What if you had the mother from Mommie Dearest? It may be social taboo to discuss, but I wonder if anyone has a less than ideal relationship with their mother?
Mom & Mothering
While my mother does not quite meet the scary Joan Crawford standard, our relationship sometimes feels like a roller coaster ride. Once, on Mother’s Day, in fact, I came from out of town to visit my mother. I drove us to a park a few miles away from her home. While we were there, I was test riding a foldable bike that was sitting in the trunk. As I checked out the bike, we managed to split up at the park. After not seeing me for a few minutes, she drove her car back home without me. I biked around looking for her. Later I realized I was at the park by myself, without a phone, my wallet, or any heads up about what had happened. Entirely confused about why I was left there, I ended up biking Atlanta roads without a helmet in the scorching heat to her house. The fury burned hot inside and out as I made it to her home. When I asked her why she left me, she said she was hungry and was sure I could make it home Ok. Without apology, she noted that I was so outdoorsy that I would have enjoyed the ride on my own. This same woman also loaned me money to buy my first rental property. Later, I realized she wanted the brag of telling her friends that her daughter owns a rental. Money usually came easier than compassion. Though things are getting better, I find myself constantly struggling to be understood.
In Trouble
Many other millennials are similarly examining their upbringing. Parental apology fiction is a new sub-genre. In these modern sitcoms, children confront parents with pain from their upbringing and get resolution. That fantasy seems a far cry from where I am. For now, it is enough that I got some insights into our tumultuous relationship. The book, Will I Ever Be Good Enough, has helped me understand some difficulties through the lens of personality. From it, I developed the understanding that it takes enormous effort to go beyond providing for physical needs. To care and nurture through disagreement is the hallmark of unselfish love. Supporting another’s self-actualization requires immense emotional reserves.
Hence, my pondering. Some women become pregnant involuntarily, unknowingly, and ill-advisedly. To be born of another human is the most natural thing. In reality, the right combination in the horizontal mambo can make most women into mothers. Biology comes before the choice for some. Being motherly, however, is not for everyone. Emotionally immature women have children to fill a void in their life. In other cases, young girls do not get sexual education and become mothers early in life. At the same time, our country is reducing the legal options for women to choose whether they want to bring a pregnancy to term.
So, the distinction is essential. Being a mother is quite different from being a Mom. Instead of motherhood itself, I propose that it is mothering that we celebrate on Mother’s Day. Biological mothers have varying degrees of warmth and lovingness. What we celebrate, then, is mothering. Those moments in which someone, sometimes an actual mother, cared for us. The celebration of caring, nurturing, and warmth is itself a cause to celebrate. To love when it is difficult or trying, or when there are disagreements, is what I set out to celebrate.
Thankfully, I have a big extended family. As our immediate family became a bit established, we were able to host aunts, uncles, and my maternal grandmother for a while. Their warmth and caring contributed to my development. Sometimes, others would see my point of view. I felt secure in knowing a world of support was around me. On Mother’s Day, I celebrate mothering, even if it comes from aunts, grandparents, or other close relations. If we are lucky, we have many people around us that contribute to our upbringing.
Long River
Flowers, like children, can grow on their own after a particular start. This natural process is the beauty of nature, that is she just grows. However, the blossoms grow bigger, more fragrant, and stronger through nurturing. In essence, to love it takes the ability to move through disagreement with love and respect. With time and reflection, I came to see some of the difficulties in loving rooted in traumas from the past. Thich Nacht Hanh has a beautiful meditation on developing compassion for parents. Inspired by this practice, I wrote a poem to remind me (and anyone else) of struggling with a problematic parental relationship.
💓 🌺
Happy Mother’s Day to Mommie Dearests, Mothering Aunts, Grandmas, and Mothering Humans All Around!
Mother’s Day is the loudest Hallmark holiday. We were all born of the egg of some woman. But, the holiday can be hard to celebrate if you have lost a parent or have had ups and downs in your relationship. These three poems contain love, hope, and compassion for the various ways you might feel about Mom.
Gather Around Ducklings
In spring 2016, before heading off for a long road trip to the American west, I wrote this small rhyme as a dedication in a little book I gave my mother. I knew I would be away on Mother’s Day, so I intended to leave her with a smile before I hit the road.
Dear Favorite & Only Mom,
It is not yet Mother’s Day,
But still I had to say,
Very early and only today,
You have such a wonderful way!
I count my blessings
And am in luck,
YOU are my mother duck!
When I am not there, and you are blue,
Read this book, through & through.
I am stuck on you, just like glue.
When you are through,
You’ll know, I love you!
By Sabrina Hassanali
Kahlil Gibran’s book, The Prophet, has beautiful wisdom on the essentials in life. This poetic meditation for parents shares how to see children.
On Children
Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
By Kahlil Gibran
Intergenerational trauma can be unwittingly carried from grandparents onto their children. The following poem I wrote after contemplating this Thich Nacht Hanh meditation on how to see a parent as a hurt child.
On Parents
People!
Parents are people too and
Full of imperfections, pimples, and pet peeves.
Punch through the core of all of that.
Pained parents push away their progeny through preparations they pour into the little pieces of their heart.
I am not sure if it is reverse culture shock or if I am just dismayed at the state of America. The reaction is physical. There is a tightening in my chest, pounding in my veins, and a stiffening of my body. Returning to American life has its challenges, just watching the local news here can be panic-inducing. Yet, though things around me seem hard, I am determined to keep the edges of my heart soft. Here are a few conundrums and my salves:
Un – Panicked!
Problems At Home
Inflation is easy to spot in America. Initially, there is sticker shock! A 5-year-old used car costs nearly as much as a new 2022. That is if you can get your hands on a 2022. Supply chain issues have created delivery delays. Thus, used cars are being sold for double what they would have cost 2-3 years ago. Housing prices in America have seen the highest year-on-year appreciation on record. There have been at least 20% increases in valuation in some areas. When I compare costs in Japan, they have more or less stayed the same over four years. Here in the US, most things have risen in price.
SCAMMERS
As more public services in America are privatized, the room for consumer confusion is high. In Atlanta, scammers are purporting to be the police department. At my mother’s home, I see (post) mail with misleading notices on the cover. Some notices pretend to be from a trusted health care provider, insurance company, or the federal government. Once you open the post, you see the words hedging or all-out different from the external warning. “You MAY be eligible for” or “please call one of our agents.” Lots of these advertisements would confuse an older adult in a hurry. It feels like everyone is trying to take a bite out of you.
With all this going on around me, I sometimes struggle to keep anxiety in check. I do not shrink from the world. But I am not too proud to seek help. These are some of the tools I use to keep my peace of mind in check.
Deeper Resonance
I often notice that anxiety only builds up in me when I struggle internally. It is almost a catch-22. The door of the internal home is porous! So when I need to reconnect with inner peace, here are a few guides I tune in to.
The Lotus Grows From Murky Water
1. A Spiritual Perspective
The Power of Now is a classic; I have gifted Eckhart Tolle’s work numerous times. It was first given to me during my PTSD. Over a decade later, I still revisit it and find bits of wisdom. To my above whines, a healthy dose of Tolle:
“See if you can catch yourself complaining, in either speech or thought, about a situation you find yourself in, what other people do or say, your surroundings, your life situation, even the weather. To complain is always non-acceptance of what ‘is’. It invariably carries an unconscious negative charge. When you complain, you make yourself into a victim. When you speak out, you are in your power. So change the situation by taking action or by speaking out if necessary or possible; leave the situation or accept it. All else is useless.”
Eckhart Tolle
This friendly reminder about the complaining or misalignment with the NOW is a jolt. While I can take ACTION to resolve the concern, staying discontented with how things are is not doing me any good!
A new online sensation is Tara Brach. Instead of focusing on only cultivating peace, one of her essential tools is to turn into what is kicking off anxieties. Through her RAIN practice (and the book on it), she suggests that you R-recognize, A-allow, I-investigate, and N-nurture what is going on. This practice allows you to see what is bothering you and be with it. Often just being with the source of concern will alleviate the pain. By investigating and nurturing, you can begin to arrive at any unmet needs that require tending.
I believe that spiritual teachers essentially bring us to an insight that was already living within us. This traveling to the understanding helps us create a healthy space for perspective.
If lectures and books are too cumbersome, nature, green leaves, and walks in the woods are my classic calming practice. I learned recently that knobby tree roots can provide an excellent foot massage!
Knobby Roots = Fun Grounding
Of course, writing is one of my solutions. 😊 Just physically writing down what I feel, in a private journal, creates a bit of space from internal tension. When self-directed is not available to me, I look for a prompt. An excellent Instagram account, the isolation journals, often has good ones. Recently, I answered, what would make it worth living through the apocalypse. Hugs, sunrises, and shorelines for me!
Through my recent shock, I learned that I could reawaken my own lessons of resilience. From the private comments of readers, I sense that others are looking for some similar forms of resolution. I hope that this piece will contribute to some relief and bring understanding to lessen someone else’s trouble.
Gujaratis are famous for their business acumen. Stereotypes make me cringe, but this one I see proven through my family experiences. Even with my professional education, I have always had some business on the side. As I trace my roots, I see entrepreneurs throughout my lineage. My maternal grandfather moved his family from post-colonial India to rural Pakistan. Through a combination of land ownership, the running of a small mill, and a wholesale grocer, he could support a family of nine. On the other side, my father’s family moved from India to East Africa to trade in agricultural goods. The stories of hustle were a natural part of my upbringing. The observations I made from watching my extended, and immediate family prepared me for the ups and downs of business. With a can-do spirit, the obstacles along the path became teachable moments.
Family Photo (circa 2001?)
1. Reading, Writing & Arithmetic
My uncle Wazir is a successful and well-loved real estate broker in Toronto. He did not, however, start his career in real estate. He was born in Pakistan and was offered a scholarship for a master’s program abroad through excellence in his studies. After finishing his engineering studies in Honolulu, opportunity took him to the shipyards of Baltimore. From there, he eventually sought a better quality of life in Canada. His analytical mind, undoubtedly honed by his education, led him to seek better returns on his time through real estate. With a singular focus, to make more time in his life for his family, he was able to engineer his life. From his strategic thinking and natural warmth, he grew his real estate business from word-of-mouth referrals. His example, to me, speaks of the combination of education and humanity in success.
Similarly, while both of my parents were physicians, they both had a desire for business. When my parents arrived in Atlanta, neither was licensed to practice medicine in the US. My parents plunged their savings into a 24-hour gas station/ convenience store in a rough downtown neighborhood to make an income. This venture required grit, humility, and lots of hands-on management. From there, their golden egg, my mother was able to return to her studies and get licensure to practice in America. Eventually, she created her own medical practice in Atlanta’s underserved Latino community. Though she does not speak Spanish, she partnered with a well-connected church organizer. This partnership helped her to step into the market with language and relationships. My parent’s story carries the lesson of education and collaboration. In each instance, my mother’s business success relied on finding support from a partner.
2. Follow Your Heart
In the late 90s, my two favorite uncles lived around the corner from us in Atlanta. Initially, they worked at the family gas station. However, they did not want to participate in the sale of alcohol and cigarettes. For them, these products were part of a lifestyle inconsistent with Islamic principles. So, these two brothers searched for other ventures that would allow them to work with autonomy and righteousness. They investigated a windows and glass installation company; for a while, they helped homeowners delay the process of foreclosure. Finally, they settled on the business of hair distribution. When they first started, online shopping was not the norm. Shopify was non-existent; my uncles were early adopters. In the post-pandemic world, they have excelled because their platform was ready for a wholesale shift in perspective. In their struggle to follow certain principles, I find proof that anyone can find the right business if they keep at it.
Clean Up Pretty!
My cousin Mariam’s story, is probably my favorite, though. We are related via my father’s side of the family, and since she grew up in the UAE, we did not spend a lot of time together as kids. However, while I was at the University of Maryland Law School in downtown Baltimore, I got to know her better. She worked at a snazzy lighting store in Annapolis not too far away. Her eye for design and art were ever-present, and I am sure the lighting folks were happy to have her. But her heart was in crafts. She has a talent for making handmade soaps that are both beautiful and cruelty-free. Initially, she started selling her creations on Etsy. I remember buying her soaps early on. Ten years later, Chester River Soaperie operates in a worldwide niche for custom retail and wholesale soaps and lotions. Through her success, I see the importance of remaining faithful to your inner calling. Mariam is a creator, and now she stands in the world of her creation.
Dispute Diligently
3. Read the Fine Print
Running a business is not a cakewalk. Some of the lessons I learned are cautionary tales. Litigation can deplete cash reserves and sap emotional energy. Drew, one of my uncles, was eager to make money fast through the gas station business. He jumped into a lease-purchase agreement when he thought he saw a good deal. Drew believed he had a valid option to purchase the station without much external investigation. After a few months of running the store, the property was sold from under him. Drew was wronged, but he let his anger fuel his following choices. He embarked on protracted litigation over the right to purchase. In stubbornly chasing his indignation, Drew got a raw deal. He pursued a lemon and lost both money and energy. In Drew’s story, I see the importance of hiring help to do diligence and identifying when to cut your losses.
Even though Gujaratis share a fantastic track record, it is not just their birth in the community that entitles them to success. I saw that the goal was never money for the sake of money. The key motivations are a determination to do the right work and the perseverance to make a particular lifestyle. The larger goal was for a balance in purpose and family life. With these values at the forefront, the family keeps a humble and narrow focus on the more significant why. Beyond the veneer of success, there are the pox marks of sacrifices. I have been keeping an inner log of the lessons in my work towards financial independence. Most importantly, I recognize that it is a process. Good partners, good motivations, and sound legal counsel are critical to making it through.
From August 2020 to May 2021, I was without a paycheck. This unhinging from salaried work was on purpose. I chose to resign from my steady paycheck job as a JET in 2020. Leaving a decent job at the start of a pandemic was a bold move. However, I had a financial cushion and needed new challenges. The next challenge I had lined up in HR fell through as hiring freezes took effect in Tokyo. In October 2020, I was offered an exciting law class to teach for spring 2021 at Temple University’s Tokyo campus. Teaching law has always been a bucket list item for me; I wholeheartedly accepted the assignment. Then, again, at the last minute, that elective law class was canceled too due to pandemic related-BS. Instead of finding mediocre work as a replacement income, I readjusted my plans and left Tokyo for five weeks in the Kyoto/Osaka area. This surprise situation did not prevent me from working on my larger goal of freedom through financial independence. In 2021, I spent late winter and early spring in a refreshing break from Tokyo life by applying geo-arbitrage in action. While location independence is one step of my approach, the formula for financial independence starts with a mindset.
Finding the Blue Flame
Nowadays, I think anyone can work towards financial independence. Many use online income streams to work on their FIRE (financial independence retire early) goals. I have experimented with a few such income streams. There were some moments last year when I lived off my savings. Instead of panicking, I found purpose in pauses between salaried work.
Trial By Fire
I prize freedom over money. Few things are as challenging for me as staying inside an office while the sun shines through a window. It is for this reason that I started to work towards financial independence. This idea was a revolution and a relief to me in 2009. For me, 2009 was a challenging year. I had just graduated from law school in mid-2008 and suffered from PTSD from my father’s sudden death a few months after my graduation. In 2009, the year after the 2008 mortgage industry collapse, the financial recession followed, and I was in a numb state of shock. I started my first full-time job as an attorney in both a personal and global crisis. Shortly after starting that job, I happened upon the 4-Hour Workweek while browsing Barnes & Nobles. The book profoundly changed how I saw money, work, and life.
Zero Dollars
All in, for 2021, I made ZERO dollars of taxable income. As an adjunct professor of law at Temple University, the summer and fall semesters did not amount to much dough when I factored in the standard deduction. In fact, since I taught Fall 2021 virtually from the Americas, I could not even access the paychecks from Temple University that went into my Japanese bank account. How then did I manage to survive (or thrive, really)? These two key lessons helped me create a healthy financial buffer on my path to independence.
1. Stop Buying Stupid Shit
Spend My Freedom Away
Life is short. I enjoy it to the fullest. Though money does not buy happiness, money can support you to create moments of enjoyment. If you know yourself well (see #2, below), you know where you get the most bang for your buck. Once you know which expenditures bring you joy, hone in on & cut back on the places where your purchases are frivolous.
For example, I seldom go to the movies. While watching Black Panther (the last film I saw in theatres), I fell asleep in the chair and needed plot updates from my friend. Movie-going isn’t for me. On the other hand, I love going to the ocean. I would instead spring for a weekend at the beach than a few nights of big screen watching. My approach is quite pragmatic, as well. I would rather drive a 10-year-old car to the beach than have five years of payments remaining on a shiny car.
I have known many intelligent, accomplished, and high-income individuals with no savings and little self-control. We live in a consumerist society. Everywhere you look, advertisements are vying for your attention and dollar. For many people, promotions set off psychological triggers and cue impulse spending. As you work towards financial freedom, it is essential to know your spending triggers. Sometimes it is as fundamental as knowing your own insecurities.
Many people get caught up in increasing their income. However, regardless of what you make, what you spend is what matters. I do not believe that austerity is required. Discipline is a muscle. It becomes stronger as you practice it. The first step towards discipline is to become aware of your spending habits. Make discretionary purchases that genuinely bring you joy.
Through practice, I have been good at reducing my recurring expenses. I am also very selective about how I use my discretionary money. In exchange for that, I (usually) have the flexibility to step away from work that does not interest or excite me.
Carolina Crash
By early 2016, I had ironed out a comfortable lifestyle in coastal South Carolina. However, after a traumatic relationship breakup and my general disappointment with politics in America, I returned to a sense of boredom. My WHY had changed, and I had to reconsider what I really wanted from life. I realized that working in a litigious and hierarchical legal culture was inconsistent with my more profound purpose. Though working in the law could provide a more straightforward path to financial independence, I realized I wanted to inspire a sense of global community through meaningful teaching and empowering others abroad.
Blue Ocean Depth
2. Know Yourself
Self-mastery and self-knowledge lie at the heart of any successful endeavor. Financial independence is no different. Therefore, it is essential to realize why you are moving toward financial independence. Specifically, what does freedom mean for you?
The income automation portion is difficult but not impossible. When I owned a real estate portfolio (with a partner), I was well along the way to financial independence. However, I struggled to find meaning in financial comfort without a larger WHY. Retiring early is not necessarily the purpose behind financial independence. My favorite part about time freedom is making space for self-growth. I aim to balance unstructured time with goal-getting and radical personal experimentation.
For a family, financial independence looks different than it does for a single lady. For many people, their day-to-day job is central to their identity. What they do is who they are. If the goal is to get away from salaried work, be firm in who you are outside of your career.
Sometimes people link their identity to what they can buy. Purchases to impress others are a classic rat race trap. Working for prestige over purpose can confuse your direction in life. Paul Graham’s excellent essay on doing what you love is a favorite in the Y-combinator start-up community. You have to look deep into your core in working to know yourself. Is there a higher purpose you are working towards? How will you relate to others who see the world differently? What are your hobbies or interests that move you to go in that direction? It is essential to understand what you will do with your time.
As I move in that direction, I make very conscious decisions about what I want and how I pursue my goal. Working towards financial independence and turning down the typical 9 to 5 (or 5 to 9, really) is about controlling my own time. By taking charge of my choices, for example, knowing that I do not need a flashy bag to prove myself, I can accomplish the critical first half of the equation. My sense of self-worth is not tied to someone’s judgment. Since I know my WHY, I feel grounded in confidence and believe that I can manifest the right opportunities. I create the mental space for writing and inspire meaningful connections across cultural boundaries by choosing where I place my priorities.
As I return to the US, I have grown to know myself better. Knowing yourself means having faith in your capacity to pull off big goals. With that, I have found a heartfelt WHY. Thanks to my varied travel and life experiences, I have a deep sense of compassion for a global community of immigrants, travelers, and survivors. I wish to inspire others to lead a bold and authentic life through writing, coaching, and consulting.
