Stories about mother

Karan Johar takes on GoT with ‘Kabhi Games, Kabhi Thrones’

Social media is full of news of Game of Thrones being adapted as an Indian television show. Am I the only one who thinks that the plot lends itself perfectly for a Bollywood movie instead of a TV show? I would pay good money to see a Karan Johar production titled ‘Kabhi Games, Kabhi Thrones’. The story would begin with Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon riding together on a motorbike merrily singing a song together. The evil sautayli ma (step-mother) would ask Jon Snow to be banished from the kingdom, and the Stark jayedaad (inheritance). Snow’s storyline would become even more contentious in a Bollywood setting with the word ‘bastard’ repeated multiple times with the echo ...

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Falling for glittery dreams

His mother was his fulcrum. The centre point upon which his whole life balanced, precariously. His mother had never had an easy day in her life. Ravaged by poverty from a young age, she was bestowed in marriage to a man who was 20 years her senior.  Her main purpose in life was to be an avenue for procreation and to remain devoutly obedient to her husband; that was the way life was lived in these regions. If she had no choice in who she married, she could mould her children in any manner she pleased. Instead of being harsh on them, she chose to ...

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The Jacks of society, stealing from the giants

“Start where you are. Distant fields always look greener, but opportunity lies right where you are. Take advantage of every opportunity of service.” – Robert Collier Case 1 Master Munna was a poor boy, small in stature, dumb in ways. His mother Aunty Munni kept telling him to mend his ways and start working in the village shops, but no, all Munna wanted was to loiter around the village, play with buntay (marbles), and waste his days. Then one day, Aunty Munni said that there was a job fair in the village that Munna must attend. He attended the fair, got a job ...

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Wanderlust

I want to do more with my life Than just be a Pakistani girl, a wife, a mother, I want to take two years off, And backpack through Europe!   I want to watch the sun set over Paris from the Eiffel Tower, I want to walk on the streets of Venice, I want to get lost on the tube in London, I want to swim in the waters of Greece, I want to be mesmerised by the northern lights in Iceland, I want to go cycling in Holland, I want to walk through the Black forest during autumn in Germany, I want to follow the Sound of Music in Austria, I want to ...

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Because Sobho is gone…

When next the rain strikes Sindh, And that longed for fragrance rises, With Sindhu dust and Sindhu water, Mingled in love; We will know for certain, Sobho is gone.   For the fragrance will be diminished, However slightly, And we will know then, The angle of the rain drops. Striking Sindhu, Altered in their descent, By nano degrees, Because Sobho is gone.   And All Sindhis know, That he held for them, That un-gilded glue. That Mother Lode of Sindh, Kneaded into his voice, Making each son, Each daughter, Of shining Sindh, Also Sobho’s ...

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Tim Burton might have missed the mark with Big Eyes

It’s the 1960s and no one wants to buy ‘lady art’, not least from a withering divorcee and single mother, or so starts Tim Burton’s latest offering, Big Eyes. Photo: Facebook page Based on a true story, the film centres around artist Margaret Keane (Amy Adams) and her new realtor husband Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz) who, with his knack for selling and compulsion for artistic fame, ends up taking credit for her paintings and successfully making them into a commercial art sensation. It is only ten years down the line, once Margaret takes her daughter and leaves Walter, ...

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Our little heroine

She stings when she speaks, And she speaks like no other, She has sharp features, And she taunts like my mother.   In a land like Pakistan, She enjoys the Indian summer, She reminds me of that chicken, From the cartoon, Road Runner.   She’s our proverbial grandma, Whom we don’t have to teach, Even though we still judge, How she speaks for her deeds.   She’s the best of the best, At the practice of peace, Known as “little heroine”, Since the good old eighties!   Not in popularity contest, She rose to prominence; She had nerves to fight dictators, Questioning the Hudood Ordinance!   She’s been beaten, tear gassed, And at one time house-arrested, For the rights of our minorities, She has always protested!   She’s been vilified and hated, By the experts ...

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Rishta aunties and the girls who submit

“You’ve completed your O and A’ Levels. You got amazing grades and A’ Level is a great accomplishment. It’s time you get married now,” said my mother, on several occasions. When asked anxiously, “But what about my admission into IBA?” She would calmly reply, “Yes, yes. You’ve proved your mettle. Everyone knows you’re smart and clever. That’s why there are so many proposals.” Yes, that time was here. I was being badgered into getting married. The sad part about being educated is that you can tell when a person is annoyingly dim-witted. On the one hand, the aunties gushed about my intelligence, which according to my mother ...

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Karachi from under the sea

My mother tells me a story of my childhood often. I was three, at some swimming club in London, and my sisters were taking swimming lessons. Too young to be allowed in at that age, I fought and wrestled against my mother, till the point that she was physically restraining me. The bemused instructor told my mother to let me go, to see what I would do. I made a running leap into the water, and haven’t looked back since. Having been a self-proclaimed water baby my entire life, scuba diving was naturally always high on my to-do list. Last year, I finally ...

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My life when Amma was diagnosed with breast cancer

Do you know how it feels to wake up one morning and find out that your mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer? I do. It doesn’t hit you at first. It was all a big rush; hospitals and tests, alien language and timeframes, it was chaotic and far too real. I still remember sitting with her, my mother, at the hospital. We were surrounded by family, aunts and uncles, but she was scared. This was my mother, the person I would run to in the middle of the night when I had a nightmare. She was my hero. And yet, ...

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