I can haz another kitteh...

My husband and I love cats. I have no memory of a white cat I had when I was about 4-5 years old or that I had decided to leave home with her in protest when my little sister was born; but my husband's family has always had cats and my mother-in-law almost missed our wedding because her 13-year-old cat was sick.

It was our first day in Islamabad and someone mentioned that three kittens needed a home. The kittens were about three weeks old and we agreed to take them in. Seeing our enthusiasm that someone then gently told us that the kittens were not Persian, Siamese or Burmese. For us, the sound of kittens was enough!

The cutest foursome: General, Mohtarma, Motu and Chutku

The story of our lives did not end with three kittens. On an evening out, my husband and I saw a kitten being kicked by a young couple and we decided to bring him home too.

General, Mohtarma, Motu and Chutku were perfect stress busters at a time when things were hot politically (BB's assassination, emergency, elections) and we were also trying to cope with a personal tragedy.

Motu's fitness mantra: yoga

Happiness, for us, was in the cats and we fretted if they were not eating right or had been in a fight. Some times we even overdid it. Like the time Mohtarma had a C-section and was returned to us in a semi-conscious state. We thought she was dying. While I cried in private, my husband sat near her box and sobbed, "Mohtarma, please don't die!"

Mohtarma

Kitu, Mohtarma's daughter

Four years on, we have about 20 cats and counting -- all rescues off-the-street.

A hard day's night!

That also puts us high on our neighbours' hate list. We've had to barge into homes (with Bhais in tow) to look for missing cats; or fight with people who treat their backyards, where our cats may or may not have sprayed, like a jannat ka tukda; smile at unkind comments such as yeh toh aapne ghar ko zoo bana liya from landlord; or quench people's curiosity over the real reason why we keep so many cats -- woh bhi jungli; friends asking sarcastically: so whats the count?; and guards having a good laugh when we call out for Chammak Challo or Chocolate.

Chammak Challo

Over the years I have become increasingly anti-social because I think it is far more rewarding to be in the company of cats than humans. I mean who would want to have an extended b****** session on phone or exchange recipes or discuss how fussy kids are about food? I face similar issues with our cats and love spoiling them -- who cares about the deep holes in our pockets.

Taking care of scores of cats and having to run up the stairs 50 times to prevent a cat fight or to check if a cat isn't sitting on the AC or to chase a Tom can be tough. The logistics of locking and freeing these territorial cats by turns or putting away furniture in the garage to make room for more and more cats is also quite a nightmare. And this is not just a day job. We regularly chase Toms in the middle of the night or have to leave our bedroom window open (even in extreme winter/summer) to let in Itty -- our outdoor cat -- when she thinks she has had enough of the outdoors.  

Itty

This September we celebrate the fifth birthday of our first set of four cats and, so far, we've loved every moment with them. In that sense our Pakistan posting has helped us rediscover ourselves -- and I, for one, would love to chuck my current profession to become a full-time cat-keeper. I am already good with kitty birthdays and can tell who kitty daddies are and sometimes I fear I will start hissing and purring too.

Unfortunately, we've also seen a lot of cats die -- and one being maimed for life. Time has helped us cope with these tragedies.

What we do worry about now is our cats' future upon our return to India. We do not know if these cats are Pakistani or Indian - something we love checking with them all the time -- or if we would be allowed to cross over with all of them but the thought of leaving behind even one kills us.

Cocoa, our special needs cat

That doesn't mean we are shutting the door on our feline friends yet. Meet Tiger and Hero the newest additions to our cat family.

Hero

Tiger, our newest

And do remember to join in for General-Motu-Chutku-Mohtarma's fifth! 

A few of my favourite things...(II)

We'd probably never get to hear melody queen Abida Perveen sing live and would perhaps go back with just a couple of happy memories of seeing Rahat Fateh Ali Khan or Zeb and Haniya perform live. Still, give me Pakistani music any day.

Here's a list of some favourites -- though the one I played the most during my stay here is Laal's Mainen Ussey Yeh Kaha.

Zeb and Haniya

Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Abida Perveen

Nayyara Noor

Iqbal Bano

A few of my favourite things...(I)

I don't understand why Pakistanis (and also we Indians) waste time watching Indian TV serials, especially those being made in the here-and-now. A couple of months ago, I decided to see some dramas written by the famous Haseena Moin, and like everyone else, concluded that she was fantastic and had no match in India. 

A list of some of my favourites:

Parchaiyyan

Dhoop Kinarey

Ankahi

Tanhaiyyan

Padosi

My feudal friends...

It never occurred to me that I had no blueblood flowing in my veins till I landed in Pakistan.

I hail from the Central Indian town of Bhopal, an erstwhile Nawabi state, which also had the distinction of being ruled by four Begums. I am a great admirer of the Begums, love my hometown, and have hung photos, mostly from my grandfather’s collection, of heritage buildings and my favourite Begum in our Islamabad home. I am also very proud of the fact that my family is totally self-made and absolutely un-royal.

My city Bhopal

Yet the well-heeled, the only ones we get to meet at boring Islamabad-dos, would get all excited on hearing my Bhopal connection. “So what part of Bhopal are you from?” A trick question. If I said I am from the old city I might just be royal and further needling could establish my bloodline. However, if I said new Bhopal I could be safely dumped as a commoner and then they could discuss exotic spas in South India that they must check out or have checked out.

Unfortunately my answer, though matter-of-fact, seemed tricky. “We used to live in the old city, but not anymore.” Soon I would be bombarded with questions -- have you met this one (the famous travel agency owner), and that one (the famous café owner-cum-this-and-that); would you know this Bia from that Mahal or this Sahabzada from that Manzil; did your family live near Moti Masjid or Badi Bia’s Mahal…

Over a period of time I lost patience and started cutting such inquisitions politely.

Recently, I was rather rude with someone who told me at length which Manzils she was connected to -- Manzils I have only heard of because of my love for old and heritage buildings. Before she could embark on her journey to check my lineage I told her that we were commoners and that my ancestors were invited by a certain Nawab to Bhopal because there was a dearth of learned men. The lady got the message and moved on.

I am just so glad that I have been spared such inquisitions in India.

Faking accents...

What is it with Pakistanis and their fake English accents?

Our day began at a coffee shop with a waiter and waitress bending over backwards to impress everyone with their English. Right from the customary “what would you like to eat, Sir?” to the parting “thank you” – every single word hurt our ears. Not that we had any problems deciphering the accent, having mastered it long ago, still it felt that we were being addressed by aliens from another planet.

But why just coffee shops? We’ve heard shop-helps, pizza boys, phone executives, students, professionals and even those who are comfortable with the language spewing accents.

Our first exposure to assorted accents was on Dawn TV over four years ago. It wasn’t exactly easy to follow the spurious combinations that hit our hearing apparatus. We soon realised we weren’t the only ones who had difficulty deciphering accents. We would often hear guests and correspondents ask (read complain to) the anchor: “Can you please repeat the question?” And repeat the anchor did, sometimes not just once, but twice and even thrice.

The sudden jump from the Brit-American to very Punjabised/Pushtuised accents of correspondents and guests was equally hilarious. On the one hand, the correspondent in Swat struggled with his English and explained how he had heard “the voice of the helicopters”, and on the other, the anchor did “pohh, pohh, pohh” with a flourish to put the day’s news in perspective.

My husband and I were witness to a funny fake accent scene today. Two girls were in a fight with a boy. Neither could speak English but their accents even in anger were so in place and the ***** words were delivered with panache.

Why are you faaallowing us? Girl yelled in firangi English.

I am naaaat, Boy shot back matching accent.

Go **** yourself, Girl.

Go **** yourself, Boy.

Go **** yourself, Girl.

Go **** your face  you *****, Boy.

Go **** your sister, Girl.

On this note, the two girls and the boy headed in opposite directions.

I have no clue who such people try and ape – Americans? British? But I do know that it is some sort of an inferiority complex that makes such people twist and turn their tongues. 

Obviously, not everyone we have met has an accent. Some are too grounded to be bothered with accents. And some have real accents, which we are fine with.  

Still it is a pleasure to meet people who even after living abroad for several years do not unleash accents. One such person who comes to mind is author-translator Musharraf Ali Farooqi. His non-accented English was music to our ears even though we had feared otherwise before heading for his book launch last month.