FOR YOUR KIND ATTENTION,

We are a Corporate Financial Service Provider in Europe. We had a customer who deposited some money with us and eventually died without any reference to a next of kin.

In accordance with the EU Trust and Federal Laws, at the expiration of 6 (six) years, his investments with our Financial Trust shall revert to ownership of the government of the country of the said investments if nobody applies as the next of kin to claim the investments.

Since you share the same surname with my client. I want to present you to stand in as the next of kin so that you and I can benefit from this investment equally. I guarantee that this will be executed under legitimate arrangement that will protect us from any breach of the law.

If this proposal is acceptable to you, kindly indicate your telephone, fax numbers and location where the money will be remitted.

I will instruct you on the next step to take.

With friendly greetings,
James Ransome

-found in my gmail inbox this morning

your son had an accident.
can you come to the school right away?

that’s what the lady from the school said to aunty shamim over the phone, which made aunty rush to ahsan’s school. when she got there, he was in the main office with his clothes wet, but there were no broken bones, no bloody nose, and not even a scratch on his body.

what the school had actually said was your son accidentally peed in his clothes...

—

remember those days in pakistan when diapers were plastic shells, lined with folded up face cloths? and they weren’t for everyday wear. your ammi dressed you in one when when you were going somewhere special, preferrably to gujrat, gujranwala, or lahore.

months before my brother, haseeb, started wearing those old school nappies, he peed in random places around our house in kunjah. as a wee infant he projectile peed, as he lay on his back, from one end of the manji to the other. once he started crawling, he’d ‘go’ in shelves, in and around the stacked dinnerware. good times. when we moved to dunyapur and ammi had to go to multan for treatment, she’d leave me to look after the baby haseeb. every day, without fail, he would pee in my lap. i don’t know. he must’ve found it a nonthreatening and comfortable place.

—

in kindergarten, haseeb ended up with the looniest teacher on the planet, mrs s. she was notorious for singling out a couple of kids in each class and making them go through hell. during a recess in the thornliffe playground adjacent to the school, haseeb asked mrs s if he could use the washroom. she said no. and haseeb ‘went’ behind the bushes. in public. the psycho teacher was livid and made a huge fuss over the matter. the parents and i told haseeb what he did was wrong, but privately we all thought whattheeff is the lady’s problem. he’s a kid, dammit. and just look at him: he’s so tiny and cute and innocent.

something about my brother’s antics – tantrums, interruptions in class, daydreaming and the public peeing – caught her attention in a bad, bad way. she tried to convince us that he had learning and hearing disabilities, and was somehow psychologically not right. in fact, the school referred haseeb to various specialists to check his vision, hearing, and mental health. they collectively dismissed her idiotic hunches. the annoying appointments and follow-ups continued throughout elementary and middle school. i felt for haseeb and often wanted to punch the lady in her douchy face.

(aside: when she arranged a meeting and suggested to my parents that my brother had psychological problems, abbu told her to her face that she was the crazy one who needed help. i heart abbu so much for doing that. i swear the woman was a cruel witch.)

—

haseeb was now six and had been bugging the parents for days to let him sign up for after-school karate classes. they gave in pretty easily. so when ammi went to pick him up one afternoon, she found the inner sides of his pant legs wet.

the instructor had told the kids that they were to wait until the end of class to have a drink or use the washroom. the kid must’ve had to go really badly because he did, right there, in the middle of the class, amidst the fellow karate kids plus instructor. the instructor dude – bless his heart – comforted my brother by saying that he had done the exact same thing when [he] was little, and in fact still peed his pants from time to time. clearly, we need more teachers like him.

—

that is all. i’ll save mani’s bedwetting stories for another day.

Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 16 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 16 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you.

to put together the following:

1. i could have been named tara (suggested by a cousin) or taiyyba(h) (suggested by my father).

2. i have a cyst on the left side of my jaw that swells up and hurts when i get a cold. i’ve had it since i was a 3 or 4. i don’t know how i got it. when i was in high school, i asked my doctor if i could get elective surgery to get it removed. the plastic surgeon scared me away, saying that by going ahead with the surgery, i would likely end up with a scar and maybe lack of sensation in that part of my face.

3. the first time i spoke to my father on the phone, i thought he was stuck in an iron. i couldn’t speak much after the salaam and cried all the home. i was probably 4 or 5.

4. i’ve been mistaken for a 12-year-old at the age of 22. while that’s a ridiculous example, women in the waiting room of my family doctor’s office always ask me which grade i’m in, assuming that i’m a high schooler.

5. i’ll bet you anything the next time i stand at a bus shelter or station, an unfamiliar, elderly woman will initiate a conversation with me.

6. when i was an infant, i nearly fell into a boiling pot of kheer my mother was cooking and standing over. my mother somehow saved me, but fell in herself, burning half of her torso. she still has the scars.

7. i was seven when i saw my father in person for the very first time.

8. i’m a terribly shy person, but i always enjoy good one-on-one conversations. also, the people i end up being good friends are not people i meet in crowds, and it’s usually the first and completely random conversation that decides what kind of friendship i’ll have with a certain person. this isn’t a hard and fast rule, of course, but it’s a pattern i’ve noticed over the years.

9. i’m ridiculously dependent on desserts. no lunch or dinner of mine is compelete without them. i think i got the addiction from my mother.

10. i had my head shaved 14 times because my hair was so thin and my mother thought having me bald until the age of three would pay off. i guess it sort of, kind of did. she finally stopped after i refused to show myself in front of guests.

11. people in public places (ttc passengers, bank tellers, cashiers, mall shoppers) tell me i’m beautiful or have a “beautiful face.” having my mother beside me on half of these occasions makes it especially awkward for everyone involved. i wonder what she’s thinking. does she take it as a compliment (to her)? or as random flirtation?* it also doesn’t help that i generally don’t know how to receive compliments, but i’ve realised that a smilethanksalhamdulillah is sufficient.

*a greek man in the zellers line-up told me and my mother that i looked like i was from a region of greece where women cover their hair and folks have darker skin and sharp features. he went on to say that i looked like his wife…

12. whether it’s a practical issue or a thesis and argument for the term paper, i figure out difficult problems in the shower. while i like being in the shower, i don’t particularly like getting there. when i was younger, my family would shame me into taking baths/showers. now, i just shame myself.

13. for most of my life, i’ve been mortified of dogs, regardless of breed and size. on my way back from a great uncle’s house in my dad’s village in pakistan, i was chased by a stray dog. i was alone and three. up until a few years ago, i had the most irrational fear of dogs. if i saw one across the street, it was enough to set me off. my worst fears were confirmed when just a few years ago, a young cousin was chased by a stray dog in the same village. my grandmother came to the rescue, but the dog bit her and the doctors soon found out that the dog had rabies. (the grandmother is okay now.)

14. even though i’ve never personally run into serious medical problems, i have practically no faith in doctors. i’ve repeatedly been disappointed and dismissed by doctors of different fields and expertise to, so all my visits to doctors have become exercise in quiet satire.

15. i walk funny. when i walk, my feet barely touch the ground. my podiatrist showed me my footprints and it was the weirdest thing: for each foot, only the first three toes and barely a half of the ball touches the ground. this, apparently, is the main cause of my chronic back pain. (also, i think i’m kind of bow-legged.)

16. in parties and get-togethers, i sit still and move calmly, but i dance like an iffster (cf. elaine) when i’m alone.

at first, i didn’t think i could come up with 16 things. by the time i was done, i almost had too many.

okay, i tag: yaser, adnan, geetha, zarina, asmaa, aamir, (fathima)

in canadian law, if, in the duration of an ongoing contract, party A, through its conduct or language, leads party B to believe that it won’t stick strictly to the terms of the original contract, then courts expect that the parties will stay truer to the informal agreement than the strict wording of the contract.

to illustrate:

reena, a landlord, makes a legal agreement on 15 january 2004 to rent space to bobby for the operation of a tea shop. the contract/lease is for five years and requires bobby to notify reena by 15 january 2008 for a further three-year lease extension.

bobby makes killer chai, and naturally, reena and bobby become friends. reena drops by the tea shop for free tea every morning before going off to work. on more than one occasion and in front of bobby’s customers, reena says to bobby, “girl, i don’t know how i’d start my day without you. i’m gonna keep you here forever.”

three years and ten months into the rental contract (i.e., november 2007), and on the success of her business, bobby talks to reena about a possible redesign for the tea shop. reena not only agrees that a redesign would be a great change, but proposes a renovation to both the exterior and the interior of the building. bobby says, “dude, that’s crazy. you know i can’t afford all that.”

reena thinks about the issue for a couple of days before offering bobby a $20, 000 loan. bobby is ecstatic and quickly begins making arrangements for the renovation. reena gives the money to bobby in december 2007. the construction company, a.b. construction, agrees to begin the project in march 2008 and complete it within a month.

a rich man named ronald frump moves into town in january 2008. he canvasses the city for its most valuable property and finds bobby’s tea shop to be of special interest because of its proximity to the transit system and local restaurants. frump contacts reena on 5 feburary 2008 and informs her that he is interested in buying the property and turning it into a night club. reena refuses the offer, but frump is persistent. on 15 feburary 2008, reena receives a letter from frump, titled “final offer,” with an offer unlike reena could ever imagine. so reena finds herself unable to reject the offer and agrees to sell the property to to frump on the 31 january 2009.

even though she is too embarrassed to meet bobby in person and inform her of the sale, reena sends a notice to bobby reminding her that she must vacate the property on or before 15 january 2009 upon the termination of the rental agreement because the property has been sold. bobby does not respond to the letter and the two women have minimal contact with each other in february 2008. in early march, reena resumes her visits to bobby’s tea shop. the two don’t bring up the sale of property, but are otherwise able to resume their friendship as it once was.

it’s 20 january 2009 and bobby’s still operating her tea shop on reena’s property.

reena sues bobby for breach of contract. the terms of the lease explicitly required bobby to notify reena for an extension. reena can argue that the notice of termination she sent to bobby was a significant piece of communication between the two women. in addition, in the absence of a renewal request made by bobby, reena can say that she assumed bobby would not be renewing the lease.

bobby can use the defense of promissory estoppel, however, and say that reena’s conduct and language had led her to believe that a formal notice for lease extension was unnecessary. specifically, the friendship between the two women, the loan transaction, and the conversations in the tea shop, amounted to the assumption that bobby would continue leasing the property after 15 january 2009 and reena would not evict her. furthermore, reena’s failure to bring up the sale of the property in conversations subsequent to the february 2008 notice of lease termination had led bobby to believe that the purchase hadn’t gone through.

if reena has a good lawyer, she’ll have the court agree to uphold the original contract, and decide that bobby breached the contract; if bobby’s got the better lawyer, she’ll be allowed to remain on the property on the basis of promissory estoppel and the lawsuit will be thrown out.

and that, folks, is promissory estoppel.

truth.

(more on this later.)

c: i’ve been good all day so far.
h: christmas is getting near, huh?
c: you got it.
c: i’ve been wondering, though. is it truly being good if the only reason i behave well is so i can get more loot at christmas?
c: i mean, really, all i’m doing is saying i can be bribed.
c: is that good enough, or do i have to be good in my heart?
c: in other words, do i really have to be good or do i just have to act good?
h: i suppose in your case, santa will have to take what he can get.
c: ok…so exactly how good do think i have to act? really good, or just pretty good?

-the indispensable calvin and hobbes: a calvin and hobbes treasure by bill watterson, p. 13. emphasis in the original.

*machiavelli, yes.

no longer possessing my once-vivid memory, i try to hold on to the stories – the same ones told and retold – by my parents. stories my father and mother tell each other and me. it’s a deeply oral punjabi tradition that continues to hold my childhood close enough for me to remember the relatives and conversations that i was too young to appreciate.

my mother had curly, black hair, with tendrils grazing her forehead and neck. i would have told her her hair was beautiful, but she resented it for not growing quite thick and long enough for a paranda (the traditional braid tassle).

she was ready to live her hair dreams vicariously through me. alas, i was born in a worse hair predicament than her. with thin dark brown hair that hardly covered half of my scalp, i was not the daughter she deserved.

my mother heard that rubbing surma on my scalp would give me luscious hair. she had knew that shaving would make the hair follicles thicker. not wanting to take chances, she tried both things simultaneously. so, yes – i walked around with a bald head during the day, and slept with a nightly application of surma (my mother did not want to embarrass me) for quite some time. by which i mean over three years.

my first balding occurred when i was a little seven-day-old, according to islamic tradition. i have self- and family-constructed images of a head not in proportion with the body – a physical quirk made all the more noticeable with my baldness – flitting from one memory to the next.

there’s one memory in particular that i recall as my own, and not my parents’.

i am running away from the front yard of my maternal home, retreating to the rooms through the veranda. there are three bedrooms standing adjacently, but not enough places to hide. i don’t know which room i run into. i hide behind clothes messily thrown on hangers. i make myself invisible behind the smell of moth balls and of clothes not worn for months.

minutes or hours later, my mother finds my feet and pulls me from the layers of duppattas, and shalwar-qameez suits. i fight back tears as i prepare to show myself to the guests who have arrived from another city. i let my mother see my face before walking out of that room.

i would not have to go through another balding.

——–

*said z, in response to my, “as a child, i had my head shaved fourteen times.”

the object of love…is [to give] birth in beauty, whether in body or in soul.
[...] what love wants is not beauty, as you think it is.
well, what is it, then?
reproduction and birth in beauty.
mabye, i said.
certainly, she said. now, why reproduction? it’s because reproduction goes on forever; it is what mortals have in place of immortality.
[...]
now, some people are pregnant in body … while others are pregnant in soul – because there surely are those who are even more pregnant in their souls than in their bodies, and these are pregnant with what is fitting for a soul to bear and bring to birth. and what is fitting? wisdom and the rest of virtue, which all poets beget, as well as all the craftsmen who are said to be creative.”

-diotima and socrates on the mysteries of love. diotima is in black; socrates is in orange. plato’s symposium, 206b-209a, trans. alexander nehamas & paul woodruff

after all, both my parents know the skill (and a skill – not a knack – is exactly what it is). my mother rode it as a child; and my dad biked well past his army days whenever he spent time in his village. the bike was also my paternal grandfather’s primary mode of transportation until he passed away at age 85.

my mother’s brother, on the other hand, died at the age of 48 two years ago without ever having learned to ride a bike. i don’t want that to happen to me. i don’t want to die before learning this indispensable skill.

so: i’m giving myself until the end of the summer (2009) to learn it and i invite you, dear reader, to give me lessons.

note: compensation shall be provided upon satisfactory completion of said lessons.