salma sitaray

I must confess there was a time when I was not an outdoorsy person! This hatred for the outdoors was mostly due to the fact that I, as a girl, lived in one of the most physically oppressive societies for women possible i.e. Saudi Arabia. Still, this never had been a deterrent for my more adventurous friends who’d still go out, hang out at malls and even go on dates. However, I developed this sort of comfort zone that existed only when I was indoors. That wasn’t to say that I was anti-social, it’s just that, for me, going outdoors meant being bundled in a few metres of black cloth, and staying as close as possible to my menfolk. So, it was only natural that I felt the same way when I came over to Pakistan (btw, I’ve completely shaken this side of me off now and cannot just seem to get enough of visiting places, enjoying the outdoors etc. over here in the UK) …coming back to Pakistan; it may be true that you are not at all as oppressed as a woman as you are i...

As a young girl, I had always loved baking. Cookies, cakes, pastries… you name it, I could bake it. But that’s about where my culinary expertise ended. Making everyday salan and roti was as baffling as ever to me. Which was quiet a shame, considering how much I loved food, never mind the fact that all girls over the age of 12 are expected to know how to cook at least a basic salan and make chappatis in our culture. However, none of this was ever imposed on me, and the only reason why I used to be intimidated by the concept of cooking was simply because I was unaware of how to go around doing it. I had not the faintest idea ever of what ingredients, when cooked together, could ever yield something as unique as a salan’s paste. Nothing in the shopping trolley ever looked remotely anything like it; yet somehow it would be made, as if by magic. And the reason why I had never observed this thing being made up close and in detail was simply because my school, and later on college, ...

One of my earliest memories of my home in Karachi is that of the variety of people who’d visit our street during all odd times of the day, from purposes as varied as to selling sanitary products to asking for chanda. Like all third world countries, street vendors are an integral part of the scenery you see on the roads. Hawking their goods, these tireless people would come from extremely poor backgrounds, refusing to give in to the ease of begging, yet still being unable to make any good of their day’s earning because of a lack of education, employment concepts and sometimes plain common sense. As a visitor from a country as rich and spoilt as Saudi Arabia, these street hawkers would be a charming yet simultaneously intimidating aspect for us children. We’d be charmed by the amount of good (and the sheer variety as well) loaded on a space no bigger than a small dining table on wheels; at the same time, we’d find their appearance of squalor, dust and empty eyes intimidating...

During winters, if there was something that didn’t change, it would be the load shedding schedule. For us, in the N. Nazimabad area, this was one of those constants that never changed, partially due to the fact that we had an entire illegal city populated on Pahar Ganj right in our back yard. The only thing one could do about the load shedding was to just take it in its stride. And that’s what we used to do it as well. It would never be easy; especially the one and a half hour session that took place around 8:00 PM. After all, that would be the time when we’d finally all start winding down, watching TV, playing a video game, reading a book etc. And even though we did have a UPS, it was always left for emergency usage (bathroom lighting, electrical mats to keep the mosquitos at bay etc.) So turning on the TV or video games would be a complete no-no. Instead, what we would do is spend the time on the roof of our house.   There was huge room built on the roof. It was mo...

I guess the thing I miss the most of being back home is the compulsory splurge we used to do over the week. It would be just me and my siblings. We’d all load ourselves in to the car, and then zoom off to one or more famous eatery. And by famous, I don’t mean anything exotic or sublime. I’m just referring to the local Penny Pizza, or the occasional Pizza Hut hang out. For a girl who either studied or worked, this would be the ultimate relaxation treat. Some time spent with just my siblings. I’m sure a lot of people might find it funny, weird or just plain daft. After all, I spend my entire time, day in and day out with them anyways. But that’s just the thing; daily schedules leave little or no room for ‘sibling’ time together. I only discovered it later that it was not the norm in almost any household I had visited. No one felt the need for it. But for me and my bros and sis, we kind of all sensed it, kind of like an unspoken need. Sure we all had (and still have) friends th...

Considering that it’s a Friday, I thought it better to write instead about my love for winters and the oh-so peaceful calmness they are now bringing with themselves. I've always been a winter child. Ironically enough, I was born in a desert city, but still somehow grew to fall in love with winters and their coldness. When we finally shifted to Pakistan, I remember clearly that it was around mid-November then. Winters in Karachi are nothing like the winters world over. Being a tropical city of sorts, winters never get as harsh as they do in the rest of world. But it does get cold. Interestingly enough, I get the chills very easily. For me, even the mild winters of Karachi (where the temperatures would barely touch 10 ° C at minimum) were just as cold as winters anywhere. I guess I was gifted with ‘easy chills’ to be able to enjoy the layers of clothes one would have to don (well, me anyways) I remember very clearly, it was December-January, when I joined and started a...

No, it’s not because my name is Salma…  It was just the simple correlation that exists in my mind of the beautifully coloured tinsel with memories from an era gone by. When I say an era, it might come off as being from some far back time, long long ago. In a way it is, but not in terms of the number of seconds or days that have passed, but rather because of the multitude of events, developments, happenings and associated emotional storms that have passed since it. For me, what’s most important is the plethora of feelings and emotions that I experience when I revisit my memories. Sadness, happiness, mellowness, excitement; they are all there, but like a swirl of vivid colours in a gola ganda. What’s more amazing is that I experience all the same emotions as back then, but in greater clarity now. It’s almost as if I am experiencing them under some magnifying glass, where they have been concentrated and honed directly in to my mind’s eye. Such depth, such clarity, such beauty Read...