Queue Jumpers

In the few months that I have lived in India, I have come to understand how the human brain works. Or at least I hope I do. I am still figuring it out. The world is a complex place. Let me correct that. The world is a simple place. It’s the human beings that live on it, that are complex. Greed, Lust, Corruption etc. at the most basic levels turn human beings into animals. Comparing lowly actions of humans to animals is an insult to animals. Before you raise those eyebrows of yours, allow me to elaborate.

I had gone to Kolkata as my husband had to apply for the Australian visa. While he had gone to the main office to submit his documents, I stood in a queue to grab a seat. The seats were mostly filled by elderly people who were applying for visas to visit their sons and daughters settled abroad. For half an hour, I did what any youngster would do in presence of an elder. Offered my spot to them which they readily grabbed. As time passed, it started getting more crowded and now I could see more middle-aged ladies. One of them promptly planted herself in front of me. I assumed that she presumed the queue was for the visa process even though any person with eyes could see that the queue that I was the leader of, led to sofas. With a smile as sweet as honey, I politely informed her that she was standing in front of the wrong line if she wanted to visit her son abroad. Laughing at my ignorance, she proudly proclaimed that she knew the line was for seats which she was in dire need of. If I could, I would have exploded into the Hulk. Such hypocritical aunties will lie about their age at counters and offices and license documents and birth certificates. But when it came to a sofa spot, they would fling the mask away and reveal the wrinkles and the backache that comes with age. Suddenly I was getting shoved from the back and I realised to my horror that the old people were jumping queues. I felt I was the only one who was raised with etiquettes. These were the same people would click their tongues at youngsters for wearing shorts and having little patience but oh look how the tables have turned. The attitude disgusted me. If these old and middle-aged people were so flawed in basic human behaviour, how did they expect the youngsters to be anything but impatient while waiting in queue?

A day later, my husband and I were at the airport waiting at the security check when a girl slightly older than me barged through the queues, exclaiming “excuse me, excuse me”. Without waiting to be excused, she rushed to the start of the line, got her baggage checked and ran to whichever portal of hell such idiots fly to. Not a moment had passed when two other girls in their late 20’s, calmly jumped the queue, got their baggage checked and were well on their way. I was already seeing red but now even my husband couldn’t hide his annoyance at such blatant “I couldn’t care less but I am going first” attitude so he loudly exclaimed to me “Kuch log padhaayi likhaayi karke usko waste karte hain. School jaate hain lekin line mein lagna nahi seekhte” (Some people just waste their education. They go to school and yet don’t know how to wait in queues.)” The girls, even if they heard , and they would have, made no sign or effort whatever to correct themselves. These line jumpers have certain characteristics that I would like to list down below so the next time you encounter them: it’s easier to spot them.

  1. They come in all varieties of shapes, forms, genders and age categories.
  2. Mostly they shall start by gently nudging you from behind as if you have committed some mistake such as heavens forbid, jumped the queue. This gentle nudge will turn into a firm nudge where their elbows will overtake yours.
  3. Their body will slowly start appearing until you can see them in your lateral view. They are now by your side.
  4. Then they shall take advantage of your innocent look and innocently but shamelessly stand in front of you being very careful not to meet your eye.
  5. And that’s how the subtle art of jumping the queue is done.
  6. Others usually just come and stand in front of you and will turn a deaf ear to your protests.
  7. While many others will just come barraging from behind excusing themselves like they own the place or are in dire need of using a toilet up ahead.

The Brits are amazing at this. They vouch that if you have patience to stand in a queue, you won’t have to stand much longer. Things go by smoothly and your work is done more efficiently.

Indians, you might want to learn a bit or two from your colonial masters.

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Update

Currently writing up a literature review for uni which means its procrastination time.

I hope you have all been well. I apologise for my long absence. I was getting to know my better half and his family in the past year. I was planning on returning quite a while ago, but it had been ages since I had written anything that I lost the hang of it. So, if my writings doesn’t seem like the usual, I apologise. Will take some time to get back up there.

I am completing the last semester of my masters. I was in India for a year after wedding. My husband is based there. And wow, living in India is something. I had always gone on vacation to visit my relatives. But it is a totally different experience once you actually start living there. I shall detail some of it in a later post.

That’s it really. I am drinking tea as I am writing this. Tea doesn’t have the same flavor once you have had it in India. My husband is from Assam and that place is famous for its tea plantations. So really, the tea in Australia feels bland in comparison.

Enough of the rambling. I better get back to my assignment. Toodles.

A Year Later

It seems just like yesterday. I vividly remember the night before. I couldn’t fall asleep. The henna lady had just left. It was 3 am. Lying awkwardly in bed trying not to smudge the henna on my arms and legs, I tried my best to get some sleep. But even with my eyes shut, I couldn’t picture you. My heart was all a-flutter. I had lost my appetite since evening. Everyone was talking in excited whispers of the day to come. I was a mixed bag of emotions. Too emotional to leave my family behind, too nervous to step into a new one the next day. My whole childhood and youth was spent in imagining my wedding day and yet when the day was finally here, I couldn’t imagine myself saying I do. Not that I didn’t want to. I did. But I felt like the moment had come too soon.

I can still remember rushing from the salon to the wedding hall. No, allow me to correct that. I don’t remember. I was in a daze. One minute, I was heading to the salon with a friend of mine and my wedding dress and jewellery. The next minute, I was all bundled up in a shawl, wearing the heavy lehenga with a heavy garland of flowers and heavy jewellery and huge heels heading towards the wedding hall. What I do remember is sitting on the stage, looking down on each and every person that I had met and gotten acquainted to over the years in my visits to India. I still remember the whispers and the looks as people took me in, my dress, my jewellery and all. I still remember my cousins asking me if I needed anything as I hadn’t had anything to eat since a day before.

Suddenly, my uncle and my dad appeared with the nikaahnama. And the tears appeared out of nowhere. Everyone else had left the stage and so when my mum came up to comfort me, I still remember clutching her hand tightly. Listening to my uncle ask if I accept you as my husband. He asked me three times. And I had to nod my head three times. Each time I nodded, I felt a stab in my heart as I saw my mum and dad and how it felt to say goodbye to them. Each time I nodded, I felt a gush of joy filling in the crevices of my heart as I realised that, at that very moment, I was becoming your wife.

And all too soon, I heard that you had arrived. If my heart was thrumming since a day before, it was nothing in comparison to the pounding that was happening now. I felt I would faint. So nervous I was. I still remember when I looked up slightly towards the door and you walked in. I still remember only seeing your shoes and looking away because I felt so shy. I still remember my heart throbbing stronger and stronger with each step that you took. It took you quite a while to come

up to the stage because my cousins wouldn’t let you unless you handed over your shoes. And at last finally, you sat by my side. I still remember when you whispered your first ever word to me since we became husband and wife. That “Assalamualaikum”(peace be upon you) with a hint of a smile. I still remember that I blushed.

It took 23 years to reach that day. I had heard how tiring the wedding day is supposed to be. But the time just whizzed by and all too soon, it was time to go. To be honest, I don’t think such a time frame did justice to my lehenga. I needed it to be worn for like at least 24 hours instead of the 4.

Jokes aside, I still remember sitting beside you in the car as we returned back. And the only thought I had was OMG that’s my husband. HUSBAND!! How weird. I will get some time getting used to saying that.

I still haven’t gotten used to saying it. But I have gotten used to many things.Which are a lot of things but that’s for another time. I have gotten used to living with you and so, I find these days and particularly today, a bit hard. But oh well, I am hoping to complete my studies asap and be back again.

Happy Anniversary my dear Husband!! Our first year was an awesome roller coaster from start to finish. Can’t wait to enjoy the rest of the ride.

P.S. I made you your favorite dessert for the anniversary : cheesecake. And that too Triple Chocolate Cheesecake. With triple the joy.

ATTENTION: Muslim Bloggers

I love this idea of Sister Soraya. I would love to know fellow bloggers and this is an excellent idea to share the love.

Pink Whispers

Asalamu’walaikum, hello everyone 🙂

This is a post for all my Muslim brothers and sisters who write and/or read blogs.

In my experience, getting my “muslim” blogs out to people has proven to be a lot more difficult than it should be. And yet my biggest response has been from Muslims.

On many occasions I have looked for somewhere to turn where we can get our blogs out to other Muslim bloggers and all stay connected at the same time. Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything – which, to be honest, I was very surprised with a hint of disappointment. If anyone knows of something like this please do let me know.

Anyhoo. After all the searching, I finally decided to start something myself. I have created a Twitter account and you can follow it at @muslimblogRT 🙂

If you share your blog on Twitter and tag the above account, I…

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