My Grandfather, Cricket and Bushes

First on the whole Dubai Ports World thing, I have to hand it to W. Never let it be said that George W. Bush let xenophobia get in the way of cronyism.

Enough of that. Yes, enough.

On to the real star of tonight's post: My Grandfather (this would be my mother's father). He's in hospital at this moment awaiting a Percutaneous Endoscopic Gastrostomy (i.e. feeding tube insertion). I spoke to him briefly this morning. He wasn't at his most coherent but we still talked about stuff; cricket, family, George W. Bush... you know, the usual.

My grandfather has always been one of the cornerstones of our family, especially in the eyes of his grandchildren. When we were small, he was the "cool" grandparent, getting us toys and openly letting us watch stuff on T.V. that the parental units would never allow (wrestling, fight scenes etc etc). He would even (random thought) get us clothes if he thought we'd like them (shorts, trousers, shirts etc). He always had our backs... covered.

So, funny story. My brother and I regularly played cricket (and we probably will this Summer too) in our grandparents' garden. There were bushes all over the place (these will be important later in this posting) and a couple of windows too. We would always hear dire threats - from the dictatorial panel comprising female members of the family – of the terrible consequences set to befall us should we ever break a window while playing. There were always moments of excitement (and paralyzing fear) any time a ball went near or bounced off one of these, but by God's grace, the windows held firm.

Except for this one sunny afternoon. We had convinced my grandfather to play with us (it was never really a difficult job to be honest). Anyway, he was batting. My brother was bowling. And I was fielding. My brother delivered a somewhat mediocre (by his standards) half volley that my grandfather timed well towards the cover region (somewhere in between first and second base for you illiterate types) smack into one of the sacred windows. The window cracked into several pieces. My brother and I collapsed with laughter. My grandfather started grinning sheepishly. The female oligarchy appeared, breathing fire and brimstone. Haha. Their fury was effectively rendered null and void when they learned who the culprit was. A few glares and some scoffing and they were done. You don't mess with the patriarch. Even if he has just broken a sacred window.

Looking back, my grandfather probably saved us from a fate worse than death. Sooner or later, my brother or I would have cracked a glass-breaking shot towards the weakened-by-years-of-abuse sacred window and the oligarchy would have had a field day feasting on our remains. So he had our backs yet again.

(I suppose, before something terrible happens to me, I should state for the record that the ladies in our family aren't really thaaat bad. They're pretty nice actually... very forgiving.)

So when I said my grandfather and I talked about George W., I wasn't kidding. My grandfather is not, to say the least, a fan of W. or his daddy. And neither, frankly, am I. But still, my grandfather is pretty extreme. (A good way to get him fired up is to tell him "Bush sends his love" or "Bush was asking when you're going to visit him" or something along those lines.) Part of his outlook is set this way, I think, because he's a traditional conservative Pakistani who's lived through the 50s and 60s when America kept promising us friendship but never delivered once it had what it wanted from us. Also, he's suspicious of the US's imperial ambitions in the Middle East and Asia (can you spell Iran?). But it's mostly because he's never met the Bushes and has no idea what wonderful people they actually are. (So, if you didn't realize that the last 19 words were COMPLETELY SARCASTIC, you are forbidden from reading my blog ever again. I don't care. I’ll take the hit in terms of readership. You are the weakest link. Good bye.)

Anyway, so when we used to play cricket with BUSHES around, and my grandfather was with us, and we'd hit the ball into the BUSHES, he'd occasionally mutter, "Good! Hit it into the BUSH. Hit the BUSH hard." Then he’d crack up. His inoffensive form of resistance to the American juggernaut. Now that I'm all grown up and realize that there's no such thing as spying and wire-tapping, I find his comments hilariously funny. At that time however, I was somewhat amused, but always secretly wondered if "they" were listening and were going to come kill us all at night. I was so naive back then, I had no idea that the United States was a fuzzy teddy bear that wouldn't hurt a fly.

One more thing and I'll let you go. My grandfather is so awesome; he let me drive a car when I was only 5 years old! OK fine, he worked the pedals and all I had was the steering. And it was an empty street. And I realized later that he actually had at least one hand on the steering wheel at all times. But still. He was the man when I was 5. And he is the man today.

Poor Denmark

This posting is dedicated to my good, old, Ivy League friend Omar (we have known each other since age 6... 5?), who is not ashamed to flatter me by requesting blogs on current affairs that pique his interest:

I think Ann Coulter is a moron. I also think she's actually a man, but that's another discussion for another time and another place. After roughly a year of reading his/her columns, today, for the first time, I actually came across a paragraph by him/her that I would not necessarily use to wipe a dog's behind... not that I wipe dog's behinds... on a regular basis. Anyway, the paragraph goes so:

"In order to express their displeasure with the idea that Muslims are violent, thousands of Muslims around the world engaged in rioting, arson, mob savagery, flag-burning, murder and mayhem, among other peaceful acts of nonviolence."

Which is pretty much what happened in the Middle East and Asia when that poor Danish newspaper, Jyllands-Posten decided to publish a couple of cartoons kind of poking fun at the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh). (For the record, pbuh = peace be upon him, and why pbuh? Because I certainly hope so.)

The latest rampage has been a series of idiotic attacks and protests in my own country... *sigh* which left 3 people, including an 8 year old boy dead. OK, first, to you protesting imbeciles and the emptyheads that incite you:

1. It's a CARTOON. Explain how it threatens the well-being of you and your family.
2. It's a CARTOON. Go make your own if it makes you feel better (like Iran for example... see below). Don't hurt things and people. If this were not a family-oriented blog, I would direct terribly bad language your way right now.
3. It's a CARTOON. Get over it.

In the spirit of non-violence, I would be happy to see run over by a steamroller each and every one of the idiots who thinks it's noble and worthwhile to run around a developing country burning things, injuring people and destroying lives to show displeasure at - well, at ANYTHING. I don't care how illiterate, parochial, disadvantaged, downtrodden or attacked-by-the-West you are. God gave you a brain. And a heart. Use them.

That being said, I am interested to see international reaction to the latest competition no doubt capturing the imagination of the nation of Iran: The Holocaust Cartoon Contest
Rather a sick idea, but then, to many, so is the idea of a cartoon of Muhammad (pbuh) with a turban bomb. Once again though, sticks and stones etc etc.

Couple of interesting (well, I think they're interesting, so you're going to hear about them) situations developing in the world international relations-wise:

1. Iran seems to be taking a massive gander at calling the United States' bluff on the whole "we're-going-to-invade-and-occupy-you" issue. Restarting their nuclear reactors, poking fun at Israel, telling Condi to "shut up." They're really asking for it, eh? And that Ahmedinejad fellow is stark raving mad too, it seems. The way I see it now, the US (ie the Republican Admin. featuring Prince of Darkness and Secret Sniper Dick Cheney) loses face and credibility now if it DOESN'T invade.

2. Poor Denmark. I mean, the neutral, friendly country having its flag burned all over the place. Danes welcomed everywhere now having to hide their nationality. All because of a cartoonist. You never know where the next kick in the groin is coming from, do you? Personally, I find it quite amusing, in a haha-you-were-loved-but-now-you're-not kind of way.

12:30:45; Dane: I'm from Denmark, everybody loves me, lalalalala *happy music*
12:30:46; Jyllands-Posten publishes a cartoon
12:30:47; Dane: Auuuuugh! You want to KILL me!! But I'm from Denmark! DENMARK!! Why???

Talk about crashing a party you thanked your lucky stars you weren't invited to... or something.

Important News this Saturday...

This morning, the headline of the article topmost in the little Yahoo! News box on my homepage:

Doctors Remove Part of Sharon's Intestines

Is the partial removal of an 80 year old Israeli's bowel system really the most important news in the world this Saturday morning?

This is a bad sign for us all. What's next? Will we read a stunning expose on Netanyahu's impotence? Maybe Shimon Peres has hives?

Shocking Pink Curtains

So I send my parents emails from time to time; I try to send at least 3 or 4 every week. The parents write back as often as electricity and our internet service providers allow. My mother is effectively the spokesparent. My dad emails occasionally, the most notable missive from him being the email he sent to tell me to not get my ear pierced after I had sent home an email (WITH attached photograph) telling them I had ALREADY got it done...

Anyway, I look forward to these emails from my mother as they usually contain news of stuff from back home that I used to be involved in - mass murder, violent protests and such and such... no, not really... though that would make me an altogether more interesting person... and probably a more entertaining blogger. Maybe when I go home this Summer...

What dear mother's emails ACTUALLY contain are little tid bits about life in K-Town, KYC, KHI (for you airport code types). Road closures, sweepress absent for four days straight, new restaurant opening, old ladies falling off cliffs... you know.

So we moved into a new house a year and a half ago, and since it's a big house (and we're little people), we're still in the process of "finishing" it. Not all the rooms have tables, carpets (and in some cases, floors) yet. I get messages every week about progress made; kitchen light finally working, new side table, plants in the garden etc etc. And its nice. I usually make note of the small enhancements to our abode and store them in my mind (from where they inevitably disappear somehow... head like a hole).

So the latest small enhancement is curtains for yours truly's bedroom. Normally, knowledge that my room was getting curtains would be a source of joy to me... but in this case, I'm not sure what to think. I have reproduced for you (completely unedited) the line from my mother's latest email that informs us of this impending addition:

"ordered curtains for ur room [ hope ull like ..shocking pink ..muhahaha]...now looking for blinds for f s room and cellar"

*sigh*

Notice first of all that my brother (F happens to be my brother) gets BLINDS - nice twisty blinds that are convenient to open and close. Also notice that even our CELLAR is worthy of blinds, but I'm having bulky, clothy, un-twist-and-open-able curtains foisted on me. Not too big of a deal. But still, gripe-able.

Second, they're SHOCKING PINK. Now you may laugh this off as a joke but I wouldn't put it past my dear mother to actually do something like that... "But son, they create such a lovely contrast with your grey-blue marble floor" or "Son, I thought you'd appreciate them given your long hair and earring" or "No boy has shocking pink curtains in his room; don't you want to be different?"

"hope ull like" she says. NO I WONT LIKE.

So how many mothers out there actually use the evil laugh (muahaha) on THEIR OWN OFFSPRING?? How horrible is that?? I didn't think it was possible, even in jest (maybe I'm naiive?)... then today happened...

"What's for dinner mom?"
"Broccoli and cabbage... muhahaha"

"Can I go out and play?"
"Only after you clean your room... muahahahaha"

"What color curtains are you getting for me, your 24-soon-to-be-25 year old son?"
"Shocking pink... hope ull like... muhahaha"

The orb of security that enveloped me when my mother was near (in spirit even, if not in person) to nurture and protect me has now been shattered. I am alone, cold and defenseless. Orbless mishaps in a cruel world by day. Shocking pink curtains in my nightmares. Muhahaha.

Childhood is over.