"I can't do this anymore! We can't keep pretending everything's fine. I can't afford to stay here and watch my future crumble. Especially for someone who doesn't value human feelings!"
Muaaz, a talented yet struggling architect based in London, find...
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"I can literary hear the poor suitcase screaming, Ma! Let it be. I already have so many gifts packed for Allah knows who all. You can keep that color pencils set, all the yarn balls in thousand different colors, stupid empty journals, scrapbook supplies, instax, all the latest models of a dozen Macbooks, iPads and iPhones, away. I don't want custom officers to mistake me a smuggler of some sort. I have not pushed myself out of the box to end up in jail, Ma." I try and plead for the umpteenth time but my mother dearest was having none of it.
Initially, I had decided that a duffel bag and a carry on would be enough to store my bachelor things. But I was proven wrong with every shopping trip we made and all the things Ma ended up buying.
Everytime she'd pick up a jumper, a shirt, a watch, a fragrance, she would name a male relative of hers that would want whatever thing she laid her finger on. It was the same, if not worse for the women in our family from what Layla whined to me about. She was stunned to see Ma raid every makeup store and leaving it with a handful of shopping bags.
Lipsticks, eyeshadow pallets, dozens and dozens of eyeliners, mascaras, perfumes, body butters, shampoos, as though Hyderabad was a village under a rock with no internet or link to the outside world.
I could bet my life on the fact that Ma has not left any place she has not visited. Every time she'd pick up a bag, she'd name the never ending list of her female relatives. Or that one name I've heard her take over hundred times everyday like a tasbih.
Muskaan.
'Oh, Muskaan would look stunning in this.'
'Muskaan will like this.'
'Asra phuppo told me how she loved to journal--- is passionate about photography--- wanted to be an artist growing up-- always wanting to help others.'
Hence the journals, color pencils, instax. Heck, I was even carrying cat food in my luggage because this Muskaan lady loved cats.
I've never been the jealous type, given the fact that I am the only child to my parents. But looking at the way Ma is practically gushing and getting all teary eyes at the mention of this Muskaan lady, truth be told, insecurity is not all that unfamiliar to me anymore.
She is not sad I am going away, but she is readily tearing up for someone she probably hasn't seen in a decade or so. If not more.
"Chalo, done!" Ma let out a puff of air after successfully zipping up my 2 luggage. She gestured me towards her with her hand and that's when I realized she was practically sitting on the suitcase so it could zip without doing a lot of chu-chan as she says. A soft chuckle leaves my mouth when I grab her hands and place a kiss on each of her knuckles before helping her down. "Put these away, and join us down stairs."
I do as she says, and lift the over weight bag off the mattress and roll it towards the door. No desi parent likes to be told their bag is over weight especially when they have bought all the things on their own for their loved ones back home.
