Category Archives: Conversations and Encounters

it’s all in a state of mind Yesterday afternoon…

Conversations and Encounters, Suckool

it’s all in a state of mind

Yesterday afternoon, Somayya and I both groaned as usual when we came in sight of the parking garage and the four long flights of stairs we’d have to climb in order to reach her car, which was parked on the uppermost level.

We had just finished a cross-campus-and-back-again trek that included walking from the chemistry building to our respective internship buildings to the office of the registrar to the human development advisor’s office to the student union, and the thought of climbing four flights of stairs was not appealing at all. To be honest, it’s never appealing, and although we’ve walked up and down those stairs multiple times a day for the past four years, we never fail to mutter complaints about the exertion that’s involved.

I squinted and looked up as we approached the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh, my God,” moaned Somayya, “here we go again.”

I was about to tiredly mumble some form of irritable assent when my eye was caught by a figure less than halfway up the first flight of stairs.

“Hey, at least we’re not on crutches,” I answered in a low voice.

“What?”

“Least we’re not on crutches,” I repeated a bit louder, and jerked my chin up towards the girl at a standstill just a few steps above us. She stood stock-still to the side, her head bowed, towel-wrapped crutches placed underneath both armpits, while students indifferently maneuvered their way around her.

“Yeah, true,” said Somayya with a half-laugh. “I guess I’ll stop complaining now.”

When we came abreast of the girl, we looked over worriedly. “Are you gonna make it okay?”

“Stuck,” she said shortly. Her face was sheened in perspiration, and she seemed short of breath.

I glanced up at the seemingly endless steps remaining until the next landing, and winced. “I’m sorry,” I said sympathetically, at a loss for words.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she retorted emphatically. “Feel sorry for people in wheelchairs.”

We silently nodded in agreement and continued on our way.

“Damn,” I said admiringly to Somayya when we reached the next landing, “that girl’s got some real perspective.”

The encounter reminds me of a saying I once read in relation to the Irish, and the ways in which their imagination and sense of humor come into play during times of great difficulty:

What happens is never the worst.

On the contrary, what’s worse never happens.

i heart traffic school – day two Patsy: So tell…

Conversations and Encounters, Hit the Road

i heart traffic school – day two

Patsy: So tell us, Damon, how many tickets have you received?

Damon: Total?

Patsy: Yes.

Damon: Oh, I’d say about…25 to 30. *shrugs nonchalantly*

Everyone: *collective gasp* OHHHHHH…!

Patsy: *shrieks* 25 to 30??!!

Damon: *defensively* Whaaat? In all my years of driving? That’s not bad at all.

Everyone: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Patsy: *pained expression*

Damon was sitting next to me, and kept his sketchbook close at hand during the entire three hours, taking periodic breaks from participating to instead draw remarkably well-executed portraits of the people in the class. I wondered why he kept turning his head to look at me, until I surreptitiously glanced over to find that he was drawing my face, too.

Everyone kept asking, “Aren’t your feet cold?” I like wearing flip-flops in January, okay. I’m weird like that. Leave me alone.

Yesterday, we all received huge chunks of points for answering various questions correctly. Today, Patsy brought in gifts for those with the highest number of points. First place got an Uno candy bar. Second place got M&Ms. Third place got Three Musketeers.

Patsy: And, guess what, as an apology, you get a candy bar, too!

Me: *surprised* Wow, good stuff.

Patsy: Do you know why I’d be apologizing to you?

Me: For not giving me enough points?

Patsy: Yeah, yeah, nice try.

Me: I have no idea then.

Patsy: Well, it’s because I still can’t say your name right.

Me: *laughing* Come on, Patsy, it’s not that hard!

My candy bar is the Hershey’s Whatchamacallit.

(And all together now: yaasmeen. Got it? Thank you.)

The unexpected part came at the end, when we all walked out of the building, parting ways at our respective cars.

“So you live right here in _____, huh?” asked Damon (a.k.a. the guy with the sketchbook) conversationally.

“Yeah,” I said.

“How ’bout you let me give you a call sometime?”

Whaaat the hell? I did not go to traffic school for this.

And even though I turned him down (quite nicely and politely, I might add), it doesn’t make me feel better to have only just remembered that he’s walking around with my face drawn in his sketchbook.

Grand, just grand.

i heart traffic school – day one Patsy: What’s yo…

Conversations and Encounters, Hit the Road

i heart traffic school – day one

Patsy: What’s your name, hon?
Me: Yasmine.
Patsy: *winces at pronunciation* So what can I call you?
Me: *suppressing laughter* Yasmine.
Patsy: You really are mean, aren’t you?

Patsy: Alright, someone give me the two-letter abbreviation for “senior.”
Jason B.: Old.

Patsy: So, tell us, why are you here in traffic school tonight?
Me: For speeding on the freeway and tailgating a Hummer.
Everyone: OH MY GOD. A Hummer?? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Patsy: How close?
Me: Uhh, very close. He got out of my way.
Patsy: Mean one, aren’t you?

Question #27: If you are driving in the far left lane on the freeway and other drivers want to pass you, you should:
a. Pay no attention if you are going 55 mph.
b. Flash your brake lights to make them slow down.
c. Move to the right when safe.

Everyone: Make Yasmine answer this question!

The correct answer is, of course, “c.” No kidding, I already knew that. After all, that’s what the stupid Hummer guy finally did. Too bad I still got a speeding ticket.

Patsy: So what do you do?
Me: I’m a fourth-year college student.
Patsy: Studying?
Me: Human Development.
Patsy: And what part of humans are you trying to develop?
Me: Umm, I’m still working on figuring that one out.

Did I mention she made us popcorn? And tomorrow we have a pizza party!

I have no resolutions/for self-assigned penance/for problems with easy solutions

Conversations and Encounters

Just a little while ago, I was standing in the boys’ department of Target, making mind-boggling decisions regarding whether to buy boys size-small t-shirts in packs of three or five – for myself, of course, since little boys size-small t-shirts fit me very nicely, I’ve recently realized. Actually, I’ve decided to take over the whole boys department, and the mens for that matter, too, because my dad owns the thickest, comfiest, warmest pair of socks I’ve ever worn in my entire life. So I’m all set: boys t-shirts + mens socks = very warm Yasmine. I’m still a strong proponent of toe socks though, don’t worry.

I love Target, I really do. But every time I go there, I run into people I’d rather not. For example, today, while checking out the rack of t-shirts, a young woman of Indian ethnicity approached me, bearing a clipboard and pen.

“Would you like to sign up for a Target card?” she asked. “You get 10% savings on all purchases.”
“No, thanks,” I said politely. “I already have one of those, and I never even use it.”
She looked at me curiously. “Where are you from?”
I mentally rolled my eyes. “Do you mean my ethnicity, or nationality?”
“Nationality.”
I grinned. “I’m American.”
“Oh,” she replied, flustered. “Ethnicity, then.”
“Pakistani.”
She squinted. “You look sort of familiar—”
“—Yes, I know,” I cut in impatiently. “It’s because you asked me the exact same questions the last time, too.” Her eyes widened, and she immediately turned and scuttled away without another word, while I stood there wondering whether to laugh out loud or be horrified at my rudeness.

Okay, so I admit it, I’m such a mean and difficult person to deal with. And the fact that I know it and still carry on with my deliberate obnoxiousness probably makes it even worse a thing. But I’ve never been particularly successful at making or fulfilling New Years’ resolutions, so who cares. The fact is, I just hate being pigeonholed, and it seems to happen wherever I go. So there’s my justification.

I bought my sister a pack of Truffles from Target though. And she loves me now. So maybe I turned out okay after all. Sort of.

just another day in paradise By the time I fini…

Conversations and Encounters

just another day in paradise

By the time I finished my last errand of the evening today, it was dark and raining. I came out of the grocery store squinting against the rain and fog and bright headlights that crawled across the parking lot. The man standing just outside the doors nodded and smiled at me. He was bundled up snugly against the cold: cap pulled low on his forehead, coat zipped up to his chin, thick gloves on hands that steadily rang the bell for whichever local charity he was representing, perhaps the Salvation Army. My gaze flicked away. I slowed down indecisively a couple feet away, pretended to ignore him, and tried to remember my parking spot. I realized that if I made a dash for it, I could be at my car in no more than three seconds. In spite of the rain pounding down on my head, I threw another cursory glance in the man’s direction. He looked back at me, watching me steadily as I hesitated. I thought of the sixty dollars worth of groceries in my shopping cart, the new shirt I had just bought myself and which I may wear tomorrow, the hot dinner waiting for me at home, and I was ashamed at myself for being so tempted to walk away, as I have so many times before. In exactly three seconds, I could be at my car. In exactly four minutes, I could be home…

“You sure picked a crazy evening for this,” I said, trying to maintain a hold on my shopping cart. “So much rain!”

He shrugged, grinning affably. “Can’t let a little bit of rain hold us back, you know.”

I tried to dig my wallet out of my bag, but I needed both hands, and my shopping cart was rolling away. “You gotta do what you gotta do,” I said absently, hooking my foot around the bottom of the cart.

He nodded, laughing. “You gotta do what you gotta do,” he agreed, and came over, holding onto my cart while I found my wallet and dropped the bills into the kettle.

You gotta do what you gotta do.

Sometimes, I wish I knew what I’m supposed to be doing. Or, even better, I wish that I were doing more, even if meant just standing outside in the rain and ringing a bell for some charity while holiday shoppers looked right through me. Sometimes, it’s so easy to distance oneself from the front lines of human need.

“I believe that serving the best ends of humanity means getting out in the middle of it just as it is, not staying home writing checks and thinking hopeful thoughts. The world does not need tourists who ride by in a bus clicking their tongues. The world as it is needs those who will love it enough to change it, with what they have, where they are. And you’re damned right that’s idealistic. No apology. When idealism goes in the trash as junk mail, we’re finished.

“In way one or another, I’m going back to kettle duty on the streets this year – literally or in some equivalent task… I will have to stand still for a while and see the world as it goes by. As I have gone by. It will give me a chance to listen for the far-off sound of a bell rung by a child in front of the Woolworth’s store in Waco, Texas, one winter’s eve. To imagine my father standing beside me. To see his face. To hear the bell of another kid clanging away in the rainy Seattle night. To see his face. And to turn and look at the window glass in the storefront behind me and see my own reflection. If you see me, put something in the kettle. Be generous. I’d hate to have to hit you with the tambourine.”

– Robert Fulghum

Uh-Oh: Some Observations from Both Sides of the Refrigerator Door

Meanwhile, the Zaytuna Conference is tomorrow. Just the kind of focus I need.

Not what i was planning on posting about – but, hi, i’m back

Conversations and Encounters, Salaam Namaste

Yesterday, we went to this wedding shindig thing about 90 minutes away. Although I’d been to fourteen weddings in the course of the eighteen months I lived in Pakistan, this was the first Pakistani wedding in the U.S. that I can remember attending. ‘Twas fun, even though we didn’t know most of the people. Actually, my sister and I did a great job of just walking up to people and introducing ourselves. We met lots of new cool people in the process. And whenever I got bored, I amused myself by playing peek-a-boo with all the little kids, or grabbing my sister’s arm and exclaiming, “Aww, look at that cute baby!” Lots of cute babies in attendance. My kinda event. But good Lord! – Pakistani women really need to get out of this immensely unattractive habit of staring, and soon. That I do not find amusing at all.

In hindsight, the most entertaining part of the evening was when I unsuspectingly got waylaid by a group of single-minded aunties. See, here’s how it happened: I walked down to the end of the room to hug a family friend and ask how she was doing. After she had moved on, I was about to take another step when I found my arm firmly grasped by some old lady at the table I was standing next to. Without slackening the grip on my arm, she jerked her chin towards the empty seat next to her, almost physically hauling me into it. Shocked and surprised, I was about to open my mouth to speak, but she beat me to it. As I jerked my arm out of her grip, she directed rapid-fire Urdu questions my way: “Where are you from? Some Muslim country? Do you speak Urdu?”

Oh, great, I thought. And as she and the three other women across from us stared at me expectantly, what came out of my mouth was, “Nahin, maala sirf ligga ligga Urdu raazi,” which, of course means, “No, I only know a little bit of Urdu” – in a mixture of both Urdu AND Pukhtu. Oh yeah, I’m amazingly slick, what can I say.

Thankfully, my sister wandered by just then and was put on the spot as well. The old lady stared at us, looking puzzled. “Where are you from?” she repeated. “Are you from a Muslim country?”

I almost laughed. “I’m from Pakistan,” I said, this time in real Urdu.

“Pakistan?” She peered closely at me. So did the three ladies across from us. “You don’t look Pakistani,” they said doubtfully.

“Really?” I said. “Where did you think I was from?”

“Maybe India?”

“No, I’m Pakistani.”

The old lady looked me up and down. “You’re from Karachi, aren’t you?”

“No,” I said, “I’m from _______.”

“___… What?”

“_______,” I repeated loudly, with as much patience as I had left. “It’s the name of a village in district Attock.”

“Ohh, Attock!” said the ladies across from us. “We’re from Behboodi [a nearby village]! What’s your father’s name?”

We told them. “Ohh!” they said again, now smiling widely all of a sudden. Everyone knows our father. I’m so glad we have some connections, otherwise I can see how this conversation could have degenerated into misunderstandings and lip-curled vicious remarks as soon as our backs were turned. Or maybe I’m just generalizing. Unfortunately, I do know far too many people like that, though.

“So if you’re from _______, why don’t you at least know how to speak Hindku?” demanded one of the women. The sudden shift from agreeableness to disdain and condescension was too much for me. “I do speak Hindku,” I said with obvious annoyance, gladly reverting to fluent Hindku. “Perhaps if you had started off this conversation with Hindku, we wouldn’t have been having so much trouble.”

The old lady next to me, being a fluent Urdu speaker and a non-villager, was feeling left out of the loop of things by this time. She grabbed my arm again to direct attention her way, moving her hand in a circular gesture to signify my headwrap and scarf. “Why do you wear those so tightly?” she asked. “Doesn’t that cause you any takleef [trouble/annoyance/inconvenience]?”

I resisted an impulse to roll my eyes. “No, it doesn’t cause me any takleef,” I said impatiently, stuttering through my limited Urdu once more. I was trying to explain the concept of hijab to her, and my reasons for wearing it, but my limited Urdu was getting in the way. Not only that, I was distracted by the ladies across the table loudly asking each other, as if we weren’t even there – “Are they single? Or married?”

My sister retorted loudly, “No, we’re not married. We’re in college.”

A few seconds later, we finally managed to escape.

Yes, that was an interesting exchange. As we walked away, my sister laughed, “They probably think we’re so stuck-up – we were trying to speak Urdu with the village women, and talking about how we go to college.”

“Good!” I said irritably. “Serves them right for putting me on the spot like that.”

Usually, I’m known as the queen of sarcastic rejoinders and cold comebacks that result in flustered, embarrassed silence, but it’s awfully difficult to tell someone off if you don’t even speak the same language.

Later in the evening, a girl asked me, “Where are you from?”

“Oh, I came up from the Bay Area,” I replied, my standard response all day, since the majority of the wedding guests were from local towns.

“No, no,” she said, “I mean, what country?”

“Pakistan.”

‘Really?” she said in surprise. “I thought maybe you were Kashmiri. Or Palestinian.”

Hi, my name is Yasmine, and I think I’m starting to have an identity crisis already.

Oh, and the evening only served to confirm that I still need to learn now to gracefully accept compliments. I’ll get it right one of these years, don’t worry.

I’ll put that on my to-do list. Right up there with speaking Urdu without making a fool of myself.

fake post II: conversational highlights Yesterd…

Conversations and Encounters

fake post II: conversational highlights

Yesterday evening, my cousin shook his head and said, “You know how some mothers abandon their newborn babies in cardboard boxes in front of church-doors or hospitals? I really think that’s what we should do with you, too.”

“Yeah, but I’m sort of beyond the newborn phase already,” I retorted.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re 22 going on 4. It’s the same thing.”

Later in the evening, after a conversation about something or other, he leaned across the table and said menacingly, “You repeat one word of this to anyone, and I will personally donate you to the Salvation Army.”

Who needs enemies anyway, when you’ve got such loving family members?

Also, on a random note – (couldn’t resist posting this one) –

L: Are all Pakistanis as cool as you?

L: =)

Yasmine: Oh, of course not

Yasmine: I’m the exception to the rule

L: Sadness

L: haha

Yasmine: =)

Yasmine: Why am I cool all of a sudden?

L: Because I haven’t met that many cool Indians and Pakistanis

L: I thought I was being open-minded

L: But they suck arse as roommates

L: FRIGGIN EGG

L: They’re horrible to live with

L: oh lordy

L: I believe in karma

L: I musta done something

L: To get these fools

[…]

L: I see you more as Canadian than Pakistani

L: Because so far all the Canadians I’ve met are nice

[There, all you Canadians can feel vindicated now.]

slip of the tongue I called up a local mechanic…

Conversations and Encounters

slip of the tongue

I called up a local mechanic early this morning because my car’s brakes needed to be looked at. When the guy answered the phone, instead of asking if the shop was open already for customers, I accidentally said, “Hi. I was just wondering if you’re awake already.” It took him what seemed like an entire minute to stop laughing. Fine, I admit it, I cracked up, too. It was inexplicably funny at the time, okay.

I don’t sleep, I’m weird. I sleep just enough, and I’m still weird. I love how I amuse myself. But hey, evidently I amuse other people, too. So that makes it all right.

What made you laugh today?

if you’re happy and you know it, then your face will surely show it

Conversations and Encounters

(a.k.a. corrupting the youth of tomorrow)

I was starting to feel old for a while this morning. And you know that never happens.

It happened this morning, while I was sitting on a little wooden chair reading to my cute preschool kids. We were making our way through a story about a farmer who planted what turned out to be the most enormous potato in the world. Problem was, he couldn’t dig it out of the ground on his own. I like interactive reading, so the kids were having major fun calling out the story sequence here: the mouse pulled on the cat, who pulled on the dog, who pulled on the daughter, who pulled on the wife, who pulled on the farmer, who pulled on the potato. And wouldn’t you know it, the potato finally came out! ::round of applause:: The townspeople dropped by, bringing salt and pepper and butter and forks and knives. They washed and baked the potato, cut it all up and ate it, and then stood around talking about how good it was. The last page of the story showed the farmer and his wife and daughter smiling widely at this happy ending, their thumbs and index fingers joined in a circle, their other four fingers slightly curved.

The preschoolers looked on in puzzlement. “So what did they think of the potato, you guys?” I asked. They scrunched up their faces and looked even more confused. I held up my right hand, my thumb and index finger joined together. They followed suit. “You’ve never seen this before? Really, no one? What do you think it means?” One little boy, staring at his own hand, hazarded a guess: “Really small?”

I started laughing. “You guys have never seen the A-okay sign before?” They shook their heads. “It means, A-okay, like, everything’s okay. Everything’s good. A-okay.” Of course, “A-okay” was the new favorite word for the rest of the hour. But, dude, I thought everyone knows the A-okay sign. Or am I really that old? Whoa. (Just for the record, I don’t use the A-okay sign in real life. Yeah, I guess that would be kinda old-school. Or not?)

And then, while all the girly-girls went off and played dress-up – with long aprons, feather boas, and enormous hats – and poured pretend-tea, I opted to play with the guys, as usual. I shoulda been a boy. Ha. We made paper airplanes, held matchbox car drag races on the classroom floor, and had some messy times with play-dough. I love play-dough. There’s nothing like sitting elbow-to-elbow and molding play-dough to make my day. Plus, all the boys presented me with play-dough hearts. Yes, I feel all special now.

As I was leaving, I leaned down to say good-bye to one of the boys. (Hair closely cropped, he looks like a cross between David Beckhham and Lance Armstrong. Seriously.) He looked me right in the eyes and advised gravely, “Be careful out there.” I just nodded seriously while struggling to keep a straight face.

Oh, and my morning at the preschool only confirmed a suspicion I’ve had all along: 4-year-olds think “underwear” is the funniest word in the whole entire world. They can – and will – chant the word for hours, laughing non-stop at the sheer ludicrousness.

don’t underestimate me (too much) A: I’m all up…

Conversations and Encounters

don’t underestimate me (too much)

A: I’m all up for equality, but women don’t wanna be equal, they just wanna rule the world

Yasmine: Oh is that so?

A: uh huh. I mean, do you go to get your car’s oil changed? Or does daddy do it for you?

A: Do you even pump gas in your car?

Yasmine: I check it regularly myself. But yeah, I have a mechanic change it every few months or so

Yasmine: And yes, I check tire pressure myself too

Yasmine: And pump gas all on my own, every two days

A: I don’t believe

Yasmine: And I check water and coolant levels while I’m at it

Yasmine: And power steering fluid too

A: What’s the coolant color?

A: And what’s the color of the steering fluid?

Yasmine: The coolant is green. The steering fluid is pinkish

Yasmine: The oil is black

Yasmine: The water is clear. Any other questions, smartass?

A: What about transmission fluid?

A: Or brake fluid?

Yasmine: Hmm, now that’s a very good question

Yasmine: I gotta admit, I don’t recall that one at the moment. Tsk.

A: Gotcha!

A: To tell you the truth, when you said that, I actually spilled my coffee, ‘cause you still got 2 out of 3

Yasmine: I only got 2 out of 3?

Yasmine: What else did I miss?

A: Everything

Yasmine: No, I got 3 right…oil, coolant, power steering fluid

A: But I’m still completely bafffled, and speechless

Yasmine: Well good, it’s about time you shut up and stopped gloating

A: Oh boy, you were really looking to score

A: But that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything you can’t

Yasmine: True perhaps

Yasmine: So what color ARE the transmission and brake fluids?

A: They’re both pinkish too

Yasmine: Well thanks for letting me know

Yasmine: I’ll be more prepared the next time I’m quizzed. Ha

A: Hey, I gotta ask, what’s the tire pressure? Average

Yasmine: Good Lord

Yasmine: What is this, an inquisition?

Yasmine: I don’t know if you’ve managed to grasp this, but it IS 3 A.M., geez

Yasmine: And I’ve just finished most of my paper. What little brain I have is hurting already

A: Well I still can’t grasp that you know all that you know

Yasmine: Mind boggling

A: Very much so

A: Not to mention, you just confused the living daylights out of a guy

Yasmine: I know, that takes skills, huh?

Yasmine: What, that whole thing about checking oil just threw you way off guard?

A: The whole coolant color threw me off

Yasmine: Well I thought everyone knew coolant is green

A: Hey, I was waiting for you to stumble just so I could laugh

Yasmine: Looks like joke’s on you, nerd-o

Yasmine: And you forget, I’m the commuter child extraordinaire, remember? That’s why I know all these things

A: So? My sisters commuted to school for years too, remember? And they still had me or dad pump gas for them

Yasmine: Ehh, they’re SUCH girls

A: Man, I still can’t believe you made me spill my coffee

A: Hold on, I gotta go get more