Sibling dine-outs

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 that we had maybe much rather preferred hanging out with, but that’s where it was different for us. For us, this once a week/fortnight hang-out was just as crucial as hanging out with any pal, maybe even more so.

I think I used to find it extremely comforting that we all felt the same way for each other. Distressingly enough, what I used to find the most intimidating about Pakistan was the number of instances where people lived under the same roof but had not even the faintest idea of what’s going on the room next door.

 I’d usually text the plan right from work, mostly a Friday. Towards the end, it would be mostly sometime mid-week, when we’d be missing the last weekend and the next one would still be a few days away. It would be great to beat the stress and tension, and of course meant a pizza overdose.

By the time I’d get home, it would usually be 7:15’ish. The little bros would be all set and ready, and mom dad would have been forbidden to eat anything as ‘we’ll be getting you a pizza’ excuse was played on. But it never worked; my dad has always been a salan roti person, and my mom, being the ever pure desi house-wife at heart, would only insist eating what my dad would be having. So it would be the five of us.

Of course, the greatest hurdle would usually be get hold of my little sister. She worked as a house officer at Agha Khan Hospital, and would usually come home really late and half-asleep. So we would use the best (and only technique) we had to haul her in the car before she fell asleep on the sofa (much to the delight of our cat).  We’d wait for her, all ready and changed (btw, dress code HAD to be extremely casual, the rule was no changing for the dinner, and it would be even better if you just came in your jammies shalwar kameez) right by the door. The moment she stepped in, my elder bro would grab her stuff and throw them in our room, my middle bro would just start shouting out instructions (‘we are going to penny pizza, jaldi say change karain’) and my youngest bro would, for some weird reason, run after her with the cat, holding it so that it would be hanging almost a metre long (‘Chico say milain’) and I’d be dragging her to the sink so she could disinfect herself … K so that we could go and eat :D

The hustle and bustle of getting in the car ( either the small Platz or the big Pajero), the relaxing feeling when we’d reach there and I’d realise that right now I don’t have to worry about any work, study or chore (and hopefully the same mind-set for each of my siblings), the familiar comfy dining experience (with the sweet Pizza Hut waiter who laughed and gave my youngest bro a thumbs up when he told him that he looked like Eminem) , the cheese-y high (pepperoni feast and Mexican toppings), the occasional hob-knob dessert (lemon tarts for mom dad, Oreo cake for us) we’d get on the way back as well as the stop over to get meethi dabal-roti and anday from Taj Mahal bakery…