"I AM the Greatest of All Time!"

"We are only brave when we have something to lose and we still try. We can't be brave without fear." - Muhammad Ali

My parents have been fervent admirers of Muhammad Ali since before I can remember. My dad had a tape of one of the boxer's fights that he would sometimes watch over the weekend. Not understanding the appeal of a boxing match, I would leave the room. When Will Smith's Ali was released, my dad bought a copy of a documentary on M. Ali, and after watching it I half-understood what the deal was, but wasn't interested enough to watch the movie. I do remember the scenes in which he accepted Islam and refused to be drafted in the Vietnam War because it was against his beliefs.

Earlier this week, my sister shared a link of a short documentary on how Muhammad Ali played a pivotal role in the release of US prisoners of war released after Saddam Hussein's army captured them and others during the 1990 invasion of Kuwait. It was very moving, especially the concluding scene, and as it was pretty close to home I was overcome by a strong desire to know more about him.

And so I chanced upon his autobiography, Soul of a Butterfly: Lessons on Life's Journey, which is more of a narration of his spiritual journey, before and after he embraced Islam. No movie or actor can truly show you the man Muhammad Ali was—for that you must read his book. It is an infinitesimal glimpse into his soul. Every page I read strengthens my conviction of how a great a man he is. I'm not terribly interested in Muhammad Ali the boxer, although his achievements are remarkable. It's the man himself that has me captivated and awe-struck. His goodness, humility, selflessness, humour, compassion, unshakable faith in God, unwavering confidence in his abilities, his ideals...what I especially admire about him is how he always stuck to his guns, refusing to budge from his principles, even at the risk of imprisonment, consequently raising the ire of the US government and the general public. His license to box was rescinded and he lost over three prime boxing years, but he stood his ground and never regretted his decision.

The book has so many lessons we can learn from, wise words that we can inculcate into our lives to enrich them. The writing is simple, yet holds so much depth. I keep highlighting sentences that I'd like to look up  and read again. I am sorely tempted to publish a post containing the dozens of quotes I've marked, but that wouldn't be fair to you (and would probably count as copyright infringement). I hope you read the book in its entirety and that it affects you as positively as it has me.

I'll leave you with one of his quotes that I love and try to live by.

"True success is reaching our potential without compromising our ideals." 

The Sanctuary that Once was

Once upon a time in Kuwait, there lay a small sanctuary, deep in the ground, for lovers of the written word.

It thrived with visitors young and old, wandering through the aisles, the sight of the innumerable tomes appeasing their insatiable thirst for words. This lone oasis was all they had, all that was there in the desert that could offer them any satisfaction when it came to reading English books. The two guardians of the sanctuary welcomed them in and then let them be, knowing that they preferred to be alone with the great masters they were about to meet.

The sanctuary I speak of is the British Council Library, often abbreviated to the BCL, which once flourished in the basement of the British Council in Mansouriya. The two guardians were the librarians Khalid and Santana, who’d been working there for years.

When I was four, my mother initiated us into the BCL’s family membership. For years after that, I escaped from the mundane realities of school and homework by exploring new realms and sharing countless moments of joy with my companions on my many adventures—whether it was discovering the Golden Ticket with Charlie Bucket, soaring through the earth’s orbit with Willy Wonka in the Great Glass Elevator, stumbling into Narnia with the Pevensies, fighting battles by Prince Caspian’s side, vanquishing smugglers and kidnappers while camping all over the British countryside with the Famous Five or gorging at midnight feasts by the swimming pool with Darrel, Alicia and the other girls at Malory Towers. I led a very full life indeed.

When not saving the world or performing remarkable feats, I was absorbing facts on dinosaurs and the universe from Dorling Kindersley encyclopedias.  

We made our romp there every month. When my sister was born a few months after our first visit, my mother would carry her in one arm while browsing the Adult section. As my sister grew, she’d crawl all over the grey library carpet in the Children’s section. Once she started reading, she and I would dig deep for books we hadn't read, concealing some strategically to borrow on the next visit. We would then proceed to Mansouriya Market (the supermarket across the parking lot opposite the BCL), buy some groceries and Snapple’s Pink Lemonade, and then head to Hardee’s (right next to the supermarket) for a meal, all the while engaged in deep discussion of our loot from the library. It became an age-old family tradition.

There was a book sale once; the BCL’s Adult section was to be discontinued. Hardcover books were priced as low as a quarter KD. My mom went through the following week with an ecstatic smile after she bought bags and bags of books for a mere 30 KD. One of them, weighing at least two tons, detailed the entire history of the British monarchy. I remember excitedly tracing King Richard the Lionheart and Prince John’s line; I’d just read Robin Hood and had assumed they were fictional characters. Learning they existed made me believe the legendary outlaw was real, and I proclaimed him my hero.

The BCL adapted with the times; it even included a video library. This was where we would often find our mother, flipping through the video catalogues for BBC and other TV series, while our father would look for Bond movies to watch the umpteenth time. Through those catalogues, I knew all the titles of Dickens's work despite not having read a single one (unabridged anyway).

 

Bit of an odd name, that. 

My sister and I often borrowed VHS tapes of documentaries for information vegetable, animal and mineral, along with children’s movies or series. I dreamed of sailing the high seas like Horatio Hornblower as he marched the decks of his ship, let my imagination soar with the incorrigible Pippi Longstocking (1988), and sang all the songs of Oliver! (1968) over and over while secretly crushing on the Artful Dodger. I recall rewinding the song 'Consider Yourself' over and over while laboriously writing down the lyrics to ensure I got the words right! 

When the age of the personal computer began, the BCL brought in the internet, computers and a variety of interactive CD encyclopedias and games. I had an intense fascination with dinosaurs and would occasionally spend an hour or two surfing a particularly informative CD on the reptiles. It was around this time that I encountered Harry Potter and broke him out of Privet Drive with Ron and his brothers in Mr. Weasley’s Ford Anglia.

The blissful times at the BCL were not to last, for the Dark Forces were at work. Six years ago, we received the fated phone call from one of the guardians, with news that evoked a great deal of sorrow. The library was closing down.

There was a time when books held more worth to children than the latest thingamajig dominating the tech market, when what was deemed worthy of showing off was how many books you’d read, not what your score was on the game in vogue on the App Store. My childhood is intrinsically linked to the BCL and life would not have been as rich without it. I grieve for Kuwait’s loss, while cherishing a secret hope that the sanctuary will miraculously spring up again.

my birthday gift to me.

Sixteen years ago, when we shifted into a new apartment, I got a spanking new study table for the room I was to share with the sister. It comprised of a desk, a shelf and a small cupboard. I lovingly arranged my Enid Blyton's and Roald Dahl's on the shelf and thrust some encyclopedias into the cupboard. When I had to 'study', I'd place one of Blyton's many adventure books into the pages of my text book, leaving the cupboard door ajar while reading, so as to conceal my transgression from my parents if they happened to pop in to enquire of my progress.

The study table underwent a startling makeover as it bore the brunt of our transitions, from childhood all through the teenage years. For one, half the Blytons, were replaced with the Harry Potter series. The smooth pine colour was scrawled upon with names of all the awesome men I or my sister crushed on over the years-the Backstreet boys, John Stamos (Full House), Gareth Jones (How 2), Tulio and Miguel (The Road to El Dorado - No. 1 on my list of all-time favourite animated movies), Aragorn and Legolas (The Lord of the Rings), even a couple of Bollywood actors at one point-in blue permanent marker. One entire side of the cupboard was covered in names of all our favourite witches and wizards from Harry Potter in whitener. Later, half the names were shrouded with a poster of The Emperor's New Groove (that'll be No. 2) from a teen magazine called Young Times. We were young; we were fickle.

After school, we moved to Pune and I shipped all the Blytons, Dahls, Potters, classics, novels there-I don't EVER let go of my books. I designed a study table cum bookcase for our room there, the mother got it made, but the sister hijacked it. When we moved back to Kuwait after MBA, I decided the table here had to go. I was a mature twenty-three year old and this embarrassment in no way validated that. I needed a new bookcase to house the books I'd bought in India (you may think I'm crazy carrying books back and forth across the Arabian Sea, but do you know how hard it is to find decent books in this country??).

I also wanted a writing desk. I actually really wanted my paternal grandfather's which was in Hyderabad. Ever since I learnt of its existence, I demanded to have it sent to me. I've been told it's a huge, beautiful, classic piece of teak furniture. I've never seen it but I'd like to own a tangible piece of family history, especially one that's akin to writing. I was also told it was just not practical. So I conceded to buy one.

Two years went by; my inertia coupled with my dislike of every piece I saw in Ikea inadvertently put off the purchase. The books however, kept coming in, mostly from clearance sales at bookstores closing shop, and would end up stashed under the bed and in every corner of my room because there wasn't an inch of space on or in the superannuated study table. But then, a couple of weeks before my birthday last Monday, I finally set eyes on this secretary desk in a furniture shop in Farwaniya:

and was enamoured with its antique appearance. I bought it instantly.

Kuzco took the words right out of my mouth.

I also found a bookcase to go with it. The two pieces were delivered to me after a week, during which I finally tossed out the aging study table, after painting over the names of my old flames and erasing all traces of my teen years.

I kept my tattered poster though.

I spent a happy weekend organizing my books and other bits and bobs that I've held on to, into the shelves.

Twain, Tolkien, Wodehouse...no
longer refugees looking for a home.

The postcard is a print of Caspar David
Friedrich's La Tonnelle. Google it, it's gorgeous.

My first thought when I bought the desk (besides that it was soo bee-yootiful) was that every night, I would spend an hour or two writing narratives and articles that had Pulitzer Prize-winning potential (just potential - eligibility to the relevant category is limited to American citizens) but the universe has been conspiring against me, I barely get to rest my elbows on it for an hour the entire week.

I may not have a lot of time to use my desk at the end of each day and there may not be any masterpieces drafted upon it smooth surface, nevertheless, just seeing it first thing in the morning makes me, as Kuzco puts it...sooo happy.

a penitent letter to a patient soul

Dear blog,

I've missed you. No really, I have. How could I not seeing as how you're such an integral part of my existence now? An ideal friend that accepts everything I say. I harbour a deep affection for you. And what do I get for it? A drastically altered, extremely aggravating and very drab new version of Blogger.
You may feel abandoned but the truth is I wanted to shelter you from the drudgery that life deals out to one from time to time.

We needed a break - atleast I did - to mull things over.
And now baybeh, I'm back with a bang.

I refrained from mentioning to you that I joined the Toastmasters in Feb. My first meeting at the Bright Horizons club as a guest was lovely to say the least and I joined the same hour. Though the purpose of the TM is to improve communication and oratory skills, I became a member 'coz it looked like so much FUN! The people were so warm and gracious that it developed a want in me to belong to something like that. And I proudly announce my membership to anyone I encounter and encourage them to check out the club by attending a meeting.

There are various roles in a TM meeting that can be played by different members which eliminates the possibility of a humdrum, monotonous, formal atmosphere that could have befallen upon one. It's not limited to mastering the art of public speaking but developing a creative streak through the desire to do things differently and the creativity that stems out from within because of it. In the last meeting I was the Grammarian (representative of the grammar police) and oh MAN did I love it. I could do it everyday for the rest of my life..

So far this year's been an awesome one to catch up with old friends I haven't spoken to, let alone seen in years. I've met atleast five and with each of them, it was just as where we left off
. 

Towards the end of March I started an intership at a used bookstore. It's going smoothly. My boss is all heart :) and I love being surrounded by books. I've come to perceive them as bits of people - a smidgen of their lives, their souls, exposed to the world. I've dived headfirst into social media marketing by creating and handling the store's Facebook page. It grows... slowly but surely. Still got plenn'y learning to do though.

The sister and I hit the stores with sales today. Nothing special really. I loved the visual merchandising in River Island - an artificial tree with shoes suspended from the branches right at the entrance :D Very quaint. But the store we went totally bananas in was Desigual. O. M. G. There were tees and jeans hanging from rods in the ceiling, clothes set out to dry. Super awesome innovative idea. The entire collection is like an explosion of colors - the wackiest harem pants in the craziest combination of rich gorgeous hues.. We usually never waste time in stores that are overpriced, but we saw every single piece that place had to offer.

It was fun hanging out with the sister - despairing over the wretched taste of the designers who came up with the most absurd collections, slurping up frozen yogurt from Ikea, sneaking food into the fitting rooms, falling in love over and over again with the pretty floral print tops that are the rage again as they are every spring..

My dear sweet blog.. my own.. my precious. I've been reading a lot too. One of the benefits of working in a bookstore is that I can borrow anything I like ;) From Archies (my stress buster) to The Pictorial History of the SS. Super innit?

But that in no way means I will isolate you again. I am, and always will be, your beloved

 purple moonbeam

awaiting the next bestseller from Rajaa Alsanea

So I just finished Girls of Riyadh, a book I'd been dying to get my hands on ever since I read about the storm that broke when it was first published in Arabic years ago. And how gleeful I was when the English translation came out!

The Girls of Riyadh concentrates on the lives of four girls, who are like girls anywhere. They love shopping, dressing up, watching movies, gossip. They dream of true love, to live a life of security and respect, striking a balance with religion and modernity.

I must say though I thoroughly enjoyed the book, it was a bit exhausting to read about all the different guys taking the girls for a ride. You'd think all men were spineless bimbos. Why waste a woman's time when you know she doesn't fit your mother's criteria and you don't have the guts (I want to use a much stronger, more profane word but I shall refrain from it) to change the maternal mind? Why let a girl dream and raise her hopes when you only intend to bring them crashing down by being unable to offer her what she wants? Let live dammit!

What I really liked about the book were the little tidbits of Arab culture and language. I think it's important to learn something however small, from a book or a movie. Each chapter of the book begins with an enlightening quote varying from Arab singers and poets, televangelists, English writers, the Quran..

Did I forget to mention the book has a very Gossip Girl like feel to it (or the other way around I suppose since the it was first published in Arabic in 2005 and Gossip Girl is, as of now, just a little over 3 seasons old)? The story of the four girls is narrated through a series of weekly emails forwarded by their young friend(unknown to the reader) to every Saudi address she can find. And did I mention that these four girls are of the 'velvet' class of society? So reminiscent of the Upper East Side.

The book did a good job bringing to light that the prevailing psyche of the ultraconservative society doesn't necessarily reflect what Islam preaches . The dialogue however, could have been better. Or maybe it just doesn't have the same effect in English as it probably does in Arabic. The narrative description more than makes up for it. Especially the emotional upheavals and the bits about women eying other women and their attire jealously, tongues on the ready to slander. ('Women don't pretty themselves up for men: they do it to get back at other women.' - Sacha Guitry xD)

I'll end with a poem by Nizar Qabbani from the book:

If only I had known how very dangerous love was,

I wouldn't have loved

If only I had known how deep the sea was,

I wouldn't have set sail.

If only I had known my very own ending,

I wouldn't have begun.