The Blast from the Past

So ironically I had to go to a funeral this past weekend.

It was my mum’s uncle that passed away and had been ill for a while. I don’t like funerals, they very sad occasions and I always hate the reminder of my own mortality,

Just so you know, I was on point with the ridiculous banter and gossip that goes on. I am guilty of some of it; I will admit….sorry…… but I am a woman after all and some things are just too juicy to miss. Like hearing how a very infamous gossip monger is getting her own back.

Karma is such a beautiful thing.

Anyway, after the funeral they usually serve lunch. So while eating my curry and rice, I had this purdah (veil worn over the face) lady hovering near me.

Before I continue, I would like to point out that the veil worn by some Muslim woman is not really an Islamic thing. It is actually something that stemmed from other cultures.

For a really informative read check out: http://www.islamfortoday.com/niqaab.htm

So Purdah girl is hovering and I am starting to get suspicious. I mean it’s not fair that she can see my face and I can’t see hers? What is she doing here?

Finally my question is answered. She says: “Do you remember me?”

I am thinking, um, how am I suppose to? I can’t see you face stupid!

But I just said: “No, I don’t….who are you?”

And she pulls up the veil and reveals her name.

I regressed back to 7 years old in 10 seconds.

It was my childhood tormentor! This girl was responsible for most of the childhood bullying that went on when I lived in there.

Lucky I remembered I was 27, and calmly said, “I have a vague recollection”. I had to throw in the high English, as to establish myself as the smarter one in this encounter.

This chick hounded me for like half an hour, trying to dredge up every memory of my childhood there. She kept saying, but you finished primary school here. And I kept reminding her it was 15 years ago. In fact if you look at it, you only really remember your life from about 5 years old. So I only have 7 years of memories there…….

What she didn’t expect when unveiling herself was my wit, fast tongue and don’t care attitude.

When she said: “I got married at 22”, like its some kind of major achievement, I was like: “Oh, I just finished studying then and moved to Cape Town”. You must know Muslim girls do not live alone. So this is like saying you worship Satan!

Then she says, “We have 4 kids already”, also like this is some major achievement and I am like: “ I am not sure I like kids”

Anyway, needless to say I made it clear that I was miles ahead of her in the “Experiencing life category”. But inside, I was still scared, I mean, her little group use to be so mean to me.

Looking at it now, I think I threatened them. Even when I was engrossed in my community, I was never like them. I was always a little odd. Different, with a mindset of my own.

I was dreamer. In fact my parents got called to my school in grade 3 because my teacher said I spent too much time day dreaming. They never knew one day I would dream up stuff that would inspire others.

I am very modest hey? LOL.

This reminds me that my grade 7 English Teacher told me I couldn’t write. What a Putz.

This encounter with the blast from the past made me realize something, I was lucky.

My parents took me away from that close minded environment and put me in a field where I could take root and really grow until my branches touched the sky.

I never belonged there. I never belonged anywhere. I was a loner, a dreamer and someone that cannot conform to anything.

Just a hint, you will hear about Purdah girl again, her husband and my Fiancé are first cousins. Irony at its finest!

As she said: “We will see each other at every family function”

Joy. Joy. Joy.

The Queen Bee

My mother has become a kind of Queen Bee.

You see whenever she attends any family event, all the other women buzz around her now and ask her questions about how the wedding planning is going.

These events include funerals. Yes. Funerals…….

Funerals are like any other Indian event for those that are not grieving or sincere, because you still adhere to the following rules:
1. You show up – because if you don’t you become a subject in the gossip circles for not being there when the family needs you
2. You wear the latest fashion – the Islamic cloaks come with a variety of embroided and beaded patterns these days.
3. You make sure everyone hears about your husband and children’s latest successes. Good PR is always important
4. You get the dirt on others
5. Express sympathy for the poor grieving family and discuss how they going to cope and relay details of the death to everyone that arrives. Do this with your best hushed voice to seem very torn up about it. Throw in a story about you and the dead person.

These rules only apply to those that are not actually particularly sad that the person died because they hardly know them anyway.

So yes, even at a funeral, people ask my mother about how the plans are going for the wedding.

In Indian standards she now holds a high seat in the hive.

I have brought home the honey and she is now a successful member of society.

My Fiancé isn’t really like honey though, I would say he more lemon sorbet. Sweet with a hint of sharp tang, yet refreshing and addictive.

Just like I like them, just enough bad boy so that I don’t develop an acute case of narcolepsy.

My mum is bit of a reject, because she doesn’t follow the rules very well. Except the fashion part. But then she is always fab, so it’s just natural for her to be up to date.

However times have changed, suddenly everyone has something to talk to her about. So they can squeeze all the details out of her.

It seems that weddings in Indianville is the height of social acceptance.

I am not sure my mum likes being a queen bee, she prefers peace and quiet. So the buzzing tends to get on her nerves.