#Everyday Inspiration, Day Twenty: Wrap It Up

Day Twenty: Wrap It Up

I liked #Everyday Inspiration, Day Seven: Let Social Media Inspire You.

I enjoyed writing the day seven prompt, let social media inspire you. I used a quote by Epicurus, “Nothing is enough for the man to whom enough is too little.”

While writing the above, I wished I could use another quote to write. I got my opportunity.

Today I wish to use Plato’s wisdom to write.

“Excellence is not a gift but a skill that takes practice. We don’t act rightly because we are excellent. In fact we achieve excellence by acting rightly.” -Plato

I started watching the game of Tennis, several years ago. I’d say we were forced to watch it because our TV channel was showing tennis, we had another channel, which showed something, we did not like it so we picked tennis. It was difficult for us because the words they used was outside our vocabulary.

Slowly we were learning and came to a point when we loved it. I Knew the names of the players, their coaches. We looked forward to watching the grand slams, which were played by the top ranked players. Among them I noticed one named Roger Federer, he was young and showed skills that only comes from days, months, years of practice. It didn’t take him long to become one of the best.

Today, he’s not as fast as before. But he is good enough to be ranked number four. He won twenty grand slam titles and over a hundred titles in tennis.

He achieved all this because of his dedication to the game he loves so much.

Kudos to you Roger Federer!

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#Everyday Inspiration, Day Nineteen: Feature a Guest

Day Nineteen: Feature a Guest

I’m afraid I failed to prepare myself to, ‘Feature a Guest, ‘ for this post, I feel perhaps it’s not too late to use my daughter’s words, ‘Wing it.’

My Friends

Asma was serious, Farida was not,

Regardless I loved them both a lot.

Evelyn was sweet, Niaz was friendly,

But I do not know who was more godly.

Mini I met in my post graduate years,

Her thought I’m proud brought me to tears.

In my B.ED class I met awesome Saira Aziz,

She was friendly, helpful, as cool as a breeze.

All of them to me were kindest people,

Hard to find them on a church steeple.

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#Everyday Inspiration,Day Eighteen : Compose a Series of Anecdotes

Day Eighteen : Compose a Series of Anecdotes

Our First Trip to Bangladesh

I was a student in Rawalpindi, Convent school, I was in fifth standard. Our school was closed for Summer holidays.

Dad decided during the holidays, he’d take us to his beloved Bangladesh. It took him a whole month to prepare for the trip. I was thrilled we’d see a new place, which we heard of and never saw what it looked like.

When the day of our departure came. One member of our family i.e my eldest sister hated the idea of spending our holidays in mom and dad’s birthplace.

Regardless of what she wanted dad had arranged everything, such as tickets, airline reservation, the whole bit.

The day of departure my sister was in a bad mood, she refused to eat on the plane, she sat quietly, did not participate in anything. I could see my dad’s face getting serious and could explode anytime.

He offered her some food, knowing she hadn’t eaten anything that day. When she refused, he just lost his temper, he said, ‘why did you come?’

Those few words made me think, ‘I do not remember you asking who wants to go and who doesn’t.’

Dad did not realize his eldest daughter had something to say about this trip. She wasn’t as excited as he or other members of his family. The deed was done we were on the plane, nothing could be done about it, unless she wanted to jump out, but that would be foolish.

From Rawalpindi we boarded the plane to go to Lahore. I’m not sure how long it took to reach it. We took our stuff, got off the flight, and waited to board the next flight which was international . The plane was massive, there were a lot of air host and hostess( which they were known as then) eager to take care of passengers.

My eldest brother was in Lahore, he came to see us off on our journey to Dhaka, B.D. Before we boarded the flight I saw some square boxes carried by the workers to the plane. My brother whispered, ‘Ranu you see these boxes, in it there is food for the passengers.’

Our flight took off, the noise of the plane was unbearable . When the flight took off I felt sick and didn’t want to eat anything. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep it down which would make dad more irritable.

After what seemed like eternity I could see the skies of Dhaka city from the window, the flight landed smoothly. I was anxious to get off, the noise inside, the closed doors and windows was claustrophobic. I couldn’t wait to leave the flight and breathe some fresh air.

We were welcomed at the airport by our maternal and paternal uncles. Our paternal uncle took us to his house. In his house we met some cousins, male and female.

Our aunt prepared food for us, and invited us to eat. She was busy loading our plates, and we said, ‘enough auntie we cannot eat anymore.’

She warned us if we repeat the word, ‘enough,’ instead of stopping she’d load our plate twice.

Not knowing how to solve our problem, we thought we’ll stop eating. We couldn’t do that, it’ll be rude and mom reminded us by giving her favourite stare, which was enough to know what’ll come next.

After four days of torture with food and Auntie dearest telling us we didn’t learn to eat, mom and dad taught us to wear fancy clothes only.

Our next journey was by train to our maternal grandparents home in their village Cheora. I’m sorry indeed, but there is no Anglicized term for it. The Brits when they invaded our country didn’t care to give a name for any village. They were satisfied calling, “Dhaka,” Dacca. “Kolkata,” Calcutta and so on.

Let’s move on, we got off the train in “Feni,” ( a small town). Here mom’s brothers hired two taxis to take us to our grandparents home.When we reached the village I was overwhelmed to see such a perfect village. It looked like a little town not a village. There were concrete buildings. The homes of my uncles and aunts were impressive, only thing lacking was electricity.

We settled in the place comfortably. My grandpa’s hobby was gardening, he planted all kinds of fruit trees. We loved going to his little park and pluck the delicious fruits.

We loved our stay for almost two months. The only thing we missed was our grandparents who passed away two or three years before we went to their home.

Next on the list was to go back where we came from. We enjoyed our holidays in our grandparents home immensely.

When I went back to school, I went in the classroom and sat at the back of the classroom to avoid having eye contact with Mrs. Quieros our homeroom teacher. But nothing could ever bluff her. She announced with a very serious voice, ‘Chaman has arrived.’

Those words meant I had to explain, why I took three months vacation instead of two. I cannot remember how I explained it, but I’ll let my readers figure out what I said to appease her.

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#Everyday Inspiration,Day Seventeen: A Map as Your Muse

Day Seventeen: A Map as Your Muse

I did not get a proper image of some places I wanted to imbed. I decided to write about one of them without an image.

I will write about Gander, NL, where we (family) lived for a number of years. Before coming to Gander, we lived in Montreal. In those days the province of Quebec had its own laws.

One of them was an immigrant cannot have private practice until he/she becomes a citizen. My husband came from Chicago where he trained to be an Ophthalmologist.

My husband had two years left to become a citizen. He worked as a resident in Montreal, though he was qualified to practice Ophthalmology.

His boss told him to take a job outside Quebec instead of wasting time as a resident, where he only received $500.00 a month.

He got a job in Gander, his plan was to spend two years and then return to Montreal, get his citizenship and start his private practice.

But someone up there had other ideas. We had barely spent a year, when my husband’s boss, whose practice he was supposed to take over as suggested by him(Doctor Duclos), was killed in an accident in New Brunswick highway.

The whole scenario changed. Things were at a standstill. Then the following year on 29th November my husband had a severe heart attack. He went through all kinds of treatment in St. John’s.

He came home and decided he could not start a private practice, as it would be stressful. So he continued working as a salaried physician.

I was teaching in a local school, it was my third year. I had a tough time adjusting, I never complained and continued to work until I realized one day, my husband was getting sick, we must leave Gander and go to St. John’s where they had enough Cardiologists to look after him.

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#Everyday Inspiration, Day Sixteen: Mine Your Own Material

Day Sixteen: Mine Your Own Material

The things we leave behind.

When we left Rawalpindi, I missed some people, not stuff. One was our dearest friend, the woman who sold us milk.

I always gabbed when she came, not thinking she had other places to go to deliver milk. If she ever found me quiet, she’d say, ‘Bibi are you unhappy with me?’

Next morning she’d bring me a cup of milk, ‘this is for you, are you happy now?

Then there was our gardener, who’d say, salaam bibi, if I didn’t respond, he’d give me a lecture, ‘salaam’ means peace be to you. One who wishes salaam and one who responds, gets one hundred rewards each.’

I was shy and didn’t know how to respond, he knew it.

Then there was the vegetable vendor, who once told my mom, the reason why Bari( servant) is late coming back with groceries because on his way to the stores , he takes a nap on the grounds of the race course.

Another time my mom didn’t want to buy any vegetables, the vendor came next morning and said, ‘Ma ji, yesterday I had a bad day, I couldn’t sell anything, because you’re the first one I come to and you did not buy my vegetables. So I had bad luck.’

I miss these people who were so sincere.

In Gander, Newfoundland, I miss my little pupil Ross, he always waited on the top of the street, to help me walk the icy place on our school compound. He wanted to protect me from falling.

Each one of the above were ready to help us in one way or the other. They are some people we met, whom I will not forget.

Material things can be bought, but we cannot buy what they did for us.

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#Everyday Inspiration,Day Fifteen : Take a Cue from Your Reader

Day: Fifteen: Take a Cue from Your Reader

“Our truest life is when we are in our dreams awake.” unknown source from a fortune cookie

Have you ever felt awake, but in a dream?

Yes I did. My story is personal, sadly enough my siblings did not believe me.

Before I re-live my dream, I’d like to give a background of things that happened, which upset me.

One of my brothers’ died of cancer. Before his death he told my younger sister, he made her the beneficiary of his life insurance. He also mentioned upon his death she should share it with the other siblings.

I knew about it, a few months after this incidence my brother died. When I reminded my sister, she told the other siblings, I’m lying and the brother did not mention it to her.

I was upset she was too greedy to share the money, she took the papers, showed them to the siblings, said, ‘see your names are not here, all the money belongs to me.’

My husband said, ‘do not get involved in this, it’s your brother’s fault, he should have included all the names in his will, forget about it.’

It still bothered me. One night I was exhausted after the day’s work of teaching and taking care of my children I fell asleep early.
I did not know it was a dream, I heard the doorbell ring, I opened the door, waiting outside was my brother. He had a large blanket from head to foot.

I said, ‘Nuru where were you all night?’

He said, ‘I went to see a doctor, I was having trouble with constipation.’

I said, ‘Nuru, Minu said, I was lying that you said to share your insurance money; with the siblings.’

He smiled, he replied, ‘but I told her to divide the money and share it with the siblings.’

To me it seemed he really came to tell me, about the conversation he had with Minu.

After this dream, I remember when I opened my eyes it was exactly 6AM.

I told my husband. ‘You won’t believe what I dreamed.’

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#Everyday Inspiration, Day Fourteen: Recreate a Single Day

Day Fourteen: Recreate a Single Day

I woke up at 7Am. Prepared for Wudu(ablution) washed my face, hands, arms, head, and feet. These are the things we have to do to prepare us to pray.

It took about twenty-five minutes to pray.It’s the first prayer of the day. It’s called Fajr (arabic).

After completing my prayer I dressed up to do my morning exercise. It took me about twelve minutes.

Yesterday I was unable to complete day thirteen prompt. I finished writing a few minutes ago.

I spent almost two hours to complete it. I have published it. It’s 9:36 AM, I will go to the kitchen to have my breakfast.

I finished eating breakfast. I managed to prepare, eat and wash the dishes in thirty-five minutes.

Now I’m free to continue with , Day Fourteen prompt, ‘Recreate a Single Day.’

So far I’ve Satisfied my hunger. Now it’s time to keep writing day fourteen prompt. I find it amazing how we become conscious of using our time wisely. Every second, minute, hours counts in Life’s Clock.

The Life’s Clock is before me. ‘The clock of life is wound but once, no man has the power. To tell just where the hands will stop, At late or early hour. The present only is our own, live, love, toil with a will-Place no faith in “tomorrow”-for the clock may then be still.’

Wonderful words, the name of the author is unknown.

My back refuses to co-operate with me, it’s literally telling me to stop, or else it’ll be a painful day.

Thank you, y’all readers for putting up with my jargon

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#Everyday Inspiration, Day Thirteen: Play With Word Count

Day Thirteen: Play With Word Count

The story of a garbage cart

Today I will write about a unique experience I had with a Garbage Cart. For almost a year I noticed everyone on my street had one, which was provided by our city.

Why didn’t I get one I wondered. I called the city phone number. A woman picked up, I asked her why I did not get a garbage cart. Everyone on my street has one, why am I left out?

She connected me to the person, who apparently looks after this problem. I spoke to him. He told me, ‘Perhaps it was delivered in the wrong house. Ask your neighbour if they mistakenly delivered in his house.’

I was given a number of the cart. I went to my neighbour’s house to inquire about the mysterious cart, that may have landed on his drive way.

My neighbour welcomed me, I told him what the manager of the city told me. He went down to his basement to check the second cart he was given, checked the numbers. But the numbers I gave him did not match with the one he had. He is a gentleman, he offered to give it to me. anyway. I declined.

I came back to my house, called the manager. He was nice to talk to, but did not to agree to give me a cart. Somehow it was my fault that I didn’t get it. That to give me a second one; I must pay for it.

My argument, it was the city’s fault, and I will not pay for it. I told him, ‘even if it is not that expensive, I refuse to pay for it.’

Having no excuse, he connected me to another colleague of his. It was a woman. She, like the other guy tried to tell me, that their workers had delivered one for each house. It’s too bad, mine landed somewhere else. I did not give up, then she connected me to another guy.

He repeated the same reason why I have to pay. I was adamant, I will not budge.

All three realized after their stupid reason, they cannot convince me. The first guy called and told me. They’ve found the cart, it magically appeared in another house.

When he went to retrieve it, he found the cover was missing and there was raw garbage in the said cart. He realized he couldn’t give me this dirty cart. He finally provided me with a new one.

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#Everyday Inspiration, Day Twelve: Critique a Piece of Work

Day Twelve: Critique a Piece of Work

Today I will write about a movie I watched yesterday. It’s a Bollywood movie. The title of the movie is Arth, it’s a Hindi movie; it means purpose.

The story begins with the wife telling her husband how much she wishes she had a house of her own.

Within a few days the husband gives her a key to a new house, with a thick pack of paper money. It’s not unusual for the wife to wonder, where did this money come from? He makes up some stories. The foolish wife believes him.

Days and months go by, his absence bothers the wife, she questions her hubby, who had no choice but to admit he was spending time with the woman who gave him the money to buy the house and also the bundle of paper money. And that the wife should be thankful to this other woman.

This brought about a lot of fights between the two. The wife returned the keys and part of the money.

The two characters separated, he went to the other woman. She went looking for a job. She was unable to find one, in the beginning, later found something.

Meanwhile she met a man, who declared he was a singer. He found odd jobs and spent his time singing among the people he knew. Hoping someone will find him and give him a break.

He got the break, overnight became popular and started earning a lot of money. This singer met the woman before and tried helping her. One day he told her, ‘now you’ve become self-sufficient; you can live your life alone with no worries.’

While I was sad for the wife, I had no sympathy for both men. I was pleased to see she turned down the other man, who wanted to marry her. She reminded him of the time when he told her, ‘now you’ve become independent, you do not need anyone.’

In the end her longtime maid was imprisoned for killing her husband. Pooja the main character in the story, decides to raise her maid’s young daughter.

I liked the ending of this complex story. At least, after all the hardships she had to under go, she finally found her purpose, her longtime desire to raise a child.

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#Everyday Inspiration,Day Ten: Let the Scene Write Itself

Day Ten: Let the Scene Write Itself

Images for wikipedia image of Urdu Alphabets

Image result for wikipedia image of Urdu Alphabets
I have embedded an image of Urdu alphabets from Wikipedia. The three alphabets, alif and bay and hay is missing on the first line. The alphabet laam is missing on the last line.

The object in front of me is an Urdu Novel, the author is Razia But. The language Urdu is written from right to left. It is the same as Arabic alphabets. Urdu has more alphabets than Arabic.

The title of the novel is Aeena: aa-ee-naa. the word means mirror. It has 304 pages. The book has a hard cover. The price is US 15:00 dollars.

Since I normally read English books. It needs a little adjustment to read from right to left. I may be able to finish the book in two days, if I’m not otherwise busy with something else.

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