Hey All!
Apologies for the unannounced hiatus. I’ve been busy with exams. Just a quick one to share iPhone photos of the metro (Instagrammed, yeah!)
Hope you like them.
Oh by the way, were you wondering why I called this post “The metro and my thoughts”? Because public transport is a great place for getting your thoughts together. And if the ride is long, it’s great for clearing out your email inbox too. Trust me on this one, lol.
At the moment, anywhere you look you find flame trees in full bloom. It’s a beautiful sight. Below are some pics of the same. 
Bursting into a riot of colour!
New beginnings
When bloom and bud live peacefully together.
Patch of blue sky
A wall of orange.
Dubai Marina
Mamzar Beach
A view of the Burj ul Arab, the 7 star hotel
Burj Khalifa!
Pool @ the Address Hotel, Dubai
They’re yummy, they’re healthy (well, kinda), they take as little as 10 minutes to prepare, and the kids love them! And they’re perfect for school snack boxes and they will be ‘allowed’ (don’t ask, my kids can’t take anything remotely resembling junk food)! So why don’t I make them more often?
Crumbly, melt in the mouth, aromatic…
Top 5 reasons why I don’t bake oatmeal cookies more often.
1. Time. Who has the time? Between school runs, homework sessions where I basically pull at my hair, and studies (my own), can I actually find time to do (unnecessary) recreational baking? Yeah, maybe once in a while. But I’d much rather get dinner ready, know what I mean?
2. I end up eating a few… not a great idea! When you have a jar of fresh, warm, home-baked cookies on the premises, it gets just that bit harder to resist.
3. Lazy? When I finally get some time, I don’t want to go in the kitchen. I could read, write or simply play with the girls.
4. I don’t have any more cinnamon powder. Ha! Yeah, this is easily rectifiable, but until I grind some cinnamon (I’m not crazy about the store-bought variety) I have a perfect excuse!
5. I have to study! Currently I am doing the following:
S- Sleeping
T- Talking
U- Unlimited texting
D- Daydreaming
Y- Yawning.
I gotta get the act together. Right after I finish this blog post. Er.
PS: My point and shoot canon with a big lens (Powershot sx30is, the very baby which has taken all pics on this blog) is not great with indoor light. I’d love a Canon EOS DSLR for such days. Someday…
PPS: If you want to bake them, this recipe is nice, but I don’t follow it exactly:
I’m sure you’ve heard about the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building, and seen the pics in the Burj Series on my blog.
And you saw the architecture at Souk Madinat Jumeirah as well.
Heck, I even brought you the beaches!
It’s now time to see some greenery! Enjoy!
Yes, some of these are edited and stuff, but a photographer is an artist. It’s a mixture of composition, perspective and feeling. Hope you liked the photos. Do let me know what you think.
-Mehmudah
This was originally written for Gulf News “The Views”
http://gulfnews.com/opinions/columnists/uae-children-need-more-outdoor-play-1.1162568
(Image by Gulf News)
The small park near my house is filled with children, laughing, playing and running around. It is a beautiful sight — there’s a game of hide-and-seek going on in the play area, children are taking turns on the push swing and some others are finding their way up the challenging climbing frames. Adults supervise and encourage their young ones and as I observe them, I see a small child run to his mother to show a freshly acquired bruise. The mother offers a little kiss and some sympathy and the child runs away once more with the wind rushing through his hair. A steady breeze is blowing and the sky is filled with clouds. The weather is pleasant and the playground is bustling with activity. But as the sweltering summer months approach, one wonders if the children will still get as much of a chance to play outdoors. Research suggests that children in the UAE do not get adequate outdoor play time.
A first-of-its-kind research in the UAE, the Fun City Children’s Play Index (carried out by Landmark Leisure) is based on a survey conducted between July and September 2012. The data was collected from 400 mothers from different nationalities with children in the age group of 2-12 years residing in different emirates of the UAE. It was determined that on an average week day, children in the UAE spend less than an hour engaging in outdoor activity. This time increases to 1.5 hours during the weekend. Close to a quarter (26 per cent) of the children in the UAE spend an average of three hours a day on an activity involving interaction with technology: TV, video games, internet games. One in five (20 per cent) children spends more than four hours on an average watching TV each day.
Along with the conventional toys, every child has at least one Xbox, PS3 or some hand-held video game in their toy box, thus increasing the need to spend more time indoors. The study also shows 58 per cent of children spend their time playing indoor games as compared to 29 per cent who spend their play time outdoors, while 12 per cent also engage in learning or playing an outdoor sport.
Child development experts believe that for the desired physical development, a child must engage in outdoor play for at least one hour a day. Furthermore, experts suggest that the outdoors are the ideal place for children to be themselves, to explore, to experiment, to move and make the most of the opportunities offered in a less-restricted manner. Chances for developing social skills with peers are also ample, as is space, for running around, cycling, roller-blading and for simply breathing in fresh air.
Dr Stuart Brown, founder and president of the National Institute for Play in the US and the author of Play, How it Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination and Invigorates the Soul”, writes that there is a direct connection between play deficiencies and some frightening public health and social trends: Tragic statistics for obesity, (a growing problem in the UAE), 4.5 million children diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), an increase in childhood depression and classroom behavioural problems involving violence and an inability to interact well with peers. Physical activity is known to lessen the symptoms of mild attention deficit disorder and is associated with much lower incidences of childhood obesity. Active kids are also more facile intellectually and perform better academically in the long term.
Dr Sandra Willis, co-owner and director of Inspire Children’s Nursery in Dubai believes that weather conditions in the UAE are not the main reason behind the lower index of outdoor play and that the weather is not as harsh as it is made out to be. “We are lucky to have eight months of suitable weather, providing children ample opportunities of outdoor play,” she says. She does, however, feel that one of the main reasons why children do not get enough chances to play outdoors is lack of community parks and spaces. Besides, she feels that an expat community is forever fluid and social relationships amongst children can sometimes suffer because of that. As parents and educators, we need to foster and encourage outdoor play, she says.
Asma Maladwala, co-owner and founder at the same nursery, believes that the best way to help children get more time outdoors is for the parents to join them, encourage them and play with them. “Go to the beach with your children, splash around and make a sand castle,” she says. Maladwala also speaks about how a child and parent playing together can bond in a beautiful way. She explains: “A child playing outside may not necessarily convey his or her fears and feelings, yet the parents can understand their child so much better by just playing with them.”
She certainly has a point. For, with a place that offers so much sunshine, we are definitely in a better position to help our children explore the outdoors, rather than, say, someone living in a place where it is bitterly cold, dark and gloomy 24 hours a day!
Reflections … about the blog
This blog knows me better than most people do. If WordPress were a person, it would know yours`truly very well — the person I try my best to keep shrouded from the prying eyes of the world.
There have been times when I have written blog posts teary-eyed, times when I have been intensely involved with producing ‘the right picture’, days when I write it all out, only to save it (and later delete) in the drafts section. Days when I feel like the blog embodies everything that matters to me, days when I feel like it’s all been a failure.
This blog shared the moments of unbearable pain and unbelievable ecstasy, knew of the thoughts that occupied my mind as I couldn’t sleep. And you know one of the reasons why this blog is so important to me? Because of YOU.
Yeah, you. You who read the blog, liked it, shared it, appreciated it. You guys, who came from 147 countries in the world and made it all seem worthwhile. So thanks, from the bottom of my heart. 2012 has been better stats-wise than the last, but hopefully the blog and I can grow together some more. In Shaa Allah.
Oh and lastly… Some things that happened in the recent past have made me very aware of what I write up here. Have some of you (older followers) noticed that I no longer pour my heart out here as I used to? Perhaps the personality that this site had in the early days, when every hit had me reeling with excitement (lol!) is no longer there. I hope to inject that personality back somehow… yet I have now learnt, it probably isn’t the best idea to open up so much without a pseudonym; it can make one very vulnerable.
Wishing you all the best for 2013,
Mehmudah
Originally written for Gulf News “Off the Cuff” http://gulfnews.com/opinions/columnists/morning-madness-traffic-lane-jumpers-and-hugs-1.1118397
(Late upload, sorry guys)
If only the roads were this quiet in the morning!
There is something special about a crisp winter morning, when one simply breathes in the fresh, cool air, rests for a moment, and feels truly alive. Alas, I hardly ever get a chance to watch the sun rise on beautiful, foggy mornings because mornings at my place are pure madness.
Let me explain.
It all begins with the persistently annoying ring of my phone that wakes me up, reminding me that there are only so many hours when one can retreat into one’s own quiet world. Then I try to wake up two little girls who have decided their mother is an unreasonable person who always makes the wrong request at the wrong time.
Even more taxing, however, is getting them to eat breakfast. Then the packed lunches I painstakingly prepared the day before go into their snack bags, and then somehow, we get dressed. Amid the morning frenzy, the tea sometimes spills, someone gets the wrong shoes on, the girls forget their water bottles, and we occasionally get late. When I finally find myself on the road, I feel relaxed, because the sea of traffic is oddly reassuring. It’s almost as though it’s telling me, “look you’ve at least left home!”
As I snail along in the traffic to get to work, patiently waiting for my turn to take my exit, out of nowhere, a car zooms to my left and the driver puts the indicator on. This is no polite request to turn; it is actually a rude comment along the lines of, “My time is more precious than yours. There’s no way I’m going to wait in this long queue of cars. You better move it, so I can jump this lane!”
Such drivers get me seething. The better half is an eternally ‘nice guy’ who will ignore these people and advises me to do the same, but I usually honk loudly, and yet I find them quite determined to carry on. The indicator stays, and I glare at them, hoping they realise how exasperating it is, when someone whizzes ahead of you in the morning traffic, when every minute is precious, and the difference between ‘on time’ and ‘late’ is a mere five minutes. I inch close to the next car in the line, to deny the lane-jumper any space to destroy the queue.
Then when I get on to the main road, I hover slightly above the speed limit (fast enough but wouldn’t get me a speeding fine). If I go even a little slower, as I sometimes do, the people behind me come too close to my car, as if to say “Look, if you can’t keep up, just move, okay?” and I glide away into the next lane, and let them pass me by disdainfully with a roar of speed.
As the morning law would have it, I get stuck behind a very slow school bus, or a senior driver who is well and truly out there to enjoy the morning, and tips the ash off his cigarette out the window in a very leisurely way. When I change lanes yet again, I do the disagreeable task of nestling myself between two other hunks of metal, neither of which are welcoming. I raise a hand in thanks to the other drivers. They do not look remotely pleased and probably think to themselves “Whatever!”
Then I pass my good friend Salik, not once, but twice, who these days, seems to have an insatiable appetite and nibbles away perennially on our balance. I get to work in one piece, thankfully, but the adventure begins again when I leave a little after noon, and it’s time to do the afternoon school runs!
As I buckle up, play my favourite tracks, and speed along Sheikh Zayed Road, I look forward to picking up two young ladies whose warm hugs and welcoming smiles make everything seem right, crazy as it sometimes gets.
Originally written for Gulf News Off the Cuff:
http://gulfnews.com/opinions/offthecuff/stuck-in-a-desert-pursuing-that-perfect-shot-1.1094966
My eyes scanned the skies somewhat anxiously. It was going to be sundown soon and if I didn’t locate the entrance to the lovely little man-made lake on my right, I would miss the opportunity to get photographs of the stunning sunset along the water.
Now why would someone create such a beautiful lake and gate it up from all sides? Surely there must be an entrance, I thought to myself. I felt like Sherlock Holmes on a hunt as I manoeuvred the car into a long, deserted lane. The children asked if I knew where I was going. “Of course,” I replied smugly, as though nothing could be more obvious. The winding lane carried us further and further inside and suddenly all there was in front was a dead end.
“Mom, I think you should turn back now,” my older one advised sensibly. Just as I was about to turn the car back, I spotted something. In the distance, I could make out the water dazzling spectacularly in the late-afternoon sun. What a pretty sight. We were only a few yards away from the entrance, surely. This was no time to heed the warnings of a little child. Being the photography enthusiast that I am, I thought that the perfect captures I would get of the departing sun, setting the rippling waters alight would be every bit worth my trouble.
The road ended where the desert started, but as I noticed car tracks in the gravel, I gathered that the sand was probably hard enough to go through even though our car wasn’t a four-wheel drive. As soon as I ventured into the lonely desert, the car began to wobble strangely. I realised the sand wasn’t quite as firm as it had appeared and that the misleading tracks were probably left by four-wheel drives. So I decided to exit the area. But a wrong turn here and little too much speed there and — bam! We were stuck in the desert, with no car or person in sight and sundown approaching fast.
“Mom, are we going to be okay? Can you call Baba?” the children asked.
“Yes, of course we’re going to be okay,” I said, perspiring heavily and feeling quite apprehensive myself. I wondered if I should call the better half and tell him I was stuck in a remote place where there wasn’t a soul — because I drove into soft sand whilst pursuing the perfect photograph. And then I would tell him: “Oh by the way, I don’t know what this place is called, although I’m quite certain we’re near Emirates Road.” I put off the call for a bit and decided to see what could be done.
I gingerly stepped out of the car and with all my might tried to remove some of the sand that the front wheels were engulfed in. Then I tried to drive away. Alas, we only got stuck deeper into the sand. I finally made the call to my husband and hoped he would somehow find us with the minimal directions I gave him. I graciously decided to overlook his rampant overuse of the word “crazy”.
In the meantime, the girls and I walked on to the road to look for help. A little further away, the door of a villa was left ajar and a family was enjoying tea on the porch. I related what had happened, and the kind people invited us inside and offered us a drink.
After waiting for the better part of an hour, help finally came. A big white four-wheel drive belonging to the family towed us out of our abyss in the desert and a deep sense of relief washed over me. Right then I heard the faint call of a nearby mosque signalling that the sun had set.
Before I conclude it seems worthwhile to mention that this incident happened a few weeks back. The day before yesterday, I decided to take the girls to a park we had never explored fully before. And would you believe what we found there? An entrance that took you to a very familiar man-made lake. I did get the sunset shots over the lake after all!
Not the place we visited, but nearby. Photo by me
Originally written for Gulf News (Off the Cuff)
http://gulfnews.com/opinions/offthecuff/sharing-indeed-is-caring-lessons-for-a-lifetime-1.1080123
Growing up in the 1990’s, in the vibrant city of Karachi, I had a very rich childhood. My knowledge was diverse and there was a wealth of experiences to engage an inquiring little mind. We learnt to cooperate with family and extended family, we learnt to grow plants in the garden, we learnt that government offices were the best places to get duped and we learnt that there was really no alternative to hard work.
Karachi itself was proof that if you worked hard, you could make it big. Stories of bun-kebab vendors who ended up opening their own fast-food joints were examples the common Pakistani could relate to. We even learnt different languages and cultures from the hired help. But most importantly, my upbringing in the city was responsible for kindling the spirit of humanity within me.
Let me explain. A short trip to the grocery store in Karachi would typically include a driver, who saved every penny for his family back home in the village; a car that was either old, or if it was new, you feared it could get snatched at gun-point. On the way, you spotted rickshaw wallahs [rickshaw pullers], perhaps donkey carts and maybe even ostentatiously decorated buses and most certainly, beggars. Little boys and girls, no higher than my waist, clothed in tatters, would knock at your window and gesture to you that they haven’t eaten. You pulled down the window and found that the person in front had no shoes at all. You hand them a little bit of spare change and they pray for your well-being — they talk about everything from oodles of money, to passing exams to finding jobs and even marriage!
In case you were going to buy fruit, the experience would include haggling and an unbelievable amount of flies. When you finally returned home, you remembered that sharing was caring and that if you bought the season’s special fruit, the servants, the neighbours and maybe even relatives should be given some as a token of gratitude.
I remember those times fondly. There was no way one could live inside one’s own bubble of success, no matter how well one was doing. There were poor relatives to take care of, entire communities of disenfranchised people longing for food and clean water and one felt a pressing need to make a difference in the world by one’s mere existence. As children, we would feel compelled to give up our savings and allowances for children who couldn’t even think about going to school. In comparison, my children in Dubai live what can only be described as a life that is too perfect and too sheltered. It obviously is a fortunate life and while I am happy for the children, I know they are missing out on some things.
They have never seen suffering, they don’t know how it is when peoples’ huts get washed away by the monsoons, they have no idea about the lives of those thousands of children scattered on the roads of Pakistan, begging their way through the endless stream of cars. The most hardship they have come across in Dubai is that of the blue-collar construction workers, whom they are always willing to donate to. So when we went to Karachi this time, I took them to visit Sher Pao Basti — a slum area located not far from my Dad’s place.
Eager hands grabbed whatever treats we had to offer (food, old toys and clothes) and when my girls asked why one child wasn’t even wearing an underwear, I tried to impart an essential lesson that I hoped would shape their personalities. As we went back home from the grimy slum in our big car, I knew one thing. Whether or not my children had acquired some important lessons, I personally, had learnt to be thankful for my blessings again. The genuine joy and gratefulness in the eyes of a little girl as we handed her an old discarded toy was impossible to forget.
PS: Apologies for neglecting the blog. Will be posting new pictures soon, stay tuned! Will try and catch up on as many blogs as possible.
Thanks for reading!
