The newly grad life.

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Its 1:33am Im absolutely shattered I’ve spent most of the day last minute packing  and trying to cram whatever I can into the 30kg weight limit. The flight is on Friday morning but I’m staying over at my nans tomorrow and then we’re leaving from there. But lets back track a bit. So much has been going on but then at the same time not much either. This post has been sitting in my draft for way too long so here goes!

In 2010 I sat my A Levels at the all-girls High school where I had been a student for the past 7 years.  My life’s been fast forwarded 4 years ahead. It’s no longer 2010 I’m no longer the naïve school girl with her hand bag clutched tightly facing the University’s entrance in a new and lonely part of London. I’m officially a Law graduate. I’ve done it, I survived it. As well as having to cope with uni life and all its warts I also had a lot of personal family issues to contend and cope with.

I feel this weird sense of nervousness perhaps slight excited anticipation for the future and where my path will take me next. But for now at this point I have something to pull me up when I’m feeling down. I survived a law degree; I fought each day sat through each class, each exam, each 2hr long lecture. I stayed kinda sane and even if I don’t feel like it at times, I know now that I did this. I somehow achieved this, so when the doubts start to kick in. It doesn’t matter because I made it this far, I made it, I know I am capable. I can do anything I set my mind to and ‘I’m going to aim for bigger and better things’ as one of my friends wrote in her congratulations note to me.

At the same time I feel like I’ve left the safe realms of the education net. They’ve released me into the ‘real adult’ world, sent me off to fend for myself. I’m not so great with change I ponder a lot on the past and this chapter is no different. I’m going to miss those long Tuesdays with Pri, surviving the boring 2hr lectures on employment law, those 4pm classes when everyone was headed home and we were sat in class trying not laugh at Barry’s weird facial expression and his frequent zone out moments. The tube journey home together discussing the latest current affairs or me going on some feminist /or [anti-feminist] rant depending on the situation. It’s always the simple things isn’t it?

I was speaking to one of my friends from outside of uni and she was telling me that everything  happens for a reason ‘but look at you now, in this moment of time you’re at your strongest. When I first met you you were really shy and quiet but the last couple of years since.  You’ve changed, grown, you’re stronger now’  This made me look at it from a different perspective and its true. Alhumdulilah. Sometimes challenges in life change us for the better and enable us to grow and develop as people but we’re so busy, fighting on that we don’t even realise we’ve already won some of our battles. At one point in time those battles seemed impossible to us, but we overcame those moments. With hope, faith and determination.

The time out

Last year it was announced that my younger cousin was going to be getting married in the Easter of 2014. It’s a tricky time everyone is in the midst of exams/work etc and you tend not to be able to get enough holidays off. but Somehow I felt this was all falling in place at the right time. I would be finished from uni in January and then I thought why not go away to Pakistan for 2 months. I felt like I needed this. So it’s just the bride, mother of the bride and myself off on Friday. The rest of her siblings,her dad and nana will join us in three weeks.

The past couple of years I’ve had to deal with a lot of family politics as one does in desi households. But now I feel even though my Daadi wont be there waiting for me. I feel strong enough to travel there to face the family stuff and drama head on, standing straight and tall. I suppose I’ll get a chance to say a proper goodbye to my daadi and our family home. I know she will always be with me, it will be good to gain some sort of closure.

Too many people are getting married in the family, lets hope I return without having fallen for any mundah. I can not be dealing with that in my life right now.  One thing I know for sure is I never return from Pakistan the same, it always has some sort of profound effect on me, so lets see what it has in store for me this time!

Warrior.

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lettersI saw something the other day it said  ‘Be a warrior not a worrier’  you all know which one I fall under and always have. My family know and bless their hearts my friends know it,but its what I do best. I like to plan, I like to know beforehand so I know my path, I know which way to go. I start to worry if I’m off on the unbeaten track. but it seems when I look back at the last couple of years. It hasn’t ever gone the way I had envisioned, more on that in a later post I think.

Recently I’ve been trying to reinvent myself, as one does. I don’t want to be a worrier any more. There’s not enough years in your life to waste with it. I turn 22 next Tuesday and yes I’m scared at how 22 years have passed.

I don’t know whether its the books I’ve read or the movies and the sweet things Noah does for Allie, or the intensity with which he loves her with. But something from the original young girl’s dream has developed and its running away wild and wont back down. I don’t want to settle, that’s becoming my fear more and more often that I’ll have no choice but to settle.  ‘I’m looking around me and everyone around me seems to be. If you don’t, then you risk the chance of being a sitting duck and passing your expiry date. Enduring the invisible finger pointing, the parent’s lectures and the not so hushed whispers that seem to vibrate from the huddled group of aunties.

When I started university a couple of years past. I was different even naive, I lacked life lessons, still do. During high school I was the quiet one, this carried into my first year at uni.  I struggled, but it built me.  Forced me to toughen my skin up. I’ve always taken time in everything I do, this was no different . But the second year brought me confidence, sisters at isoc and lots of  laughter and strong shoulders to lean on. I started noticing a guy at uni. It’s totally terrible but I first noticed him in the prayer room. Wh-at?  the door was ajar, I happened to be walking by!  I guess uni changes us all in different ways. He was never the type to be seen in there. Perhaps I had never taken to him before  because I hadn’t thought he was Muslim.  It was just a silly crush, I’d get over it right? not a thought was given to him over the summer and longer. But cummon don’t deny it there’s a certain allure to the reformed bad boy isn’t there?

This last semester was slightly weird I’m not saying it was anything but we always seemed to make weird eye contact. And no I’m under no illusion that I’m in a bloody Bollywood scene but it intrigued me. His whole group of mates would be sprawled all over the lobby, laughing and conversing loudly and he was usually the quiet one. There’s nothing like the quiet tough looking guy is there? So thus he was named Mr Tuesday (rare sightings on a Tuesday of course)  I only told one of my friends about all this bakwas and the first thing she said was “whoa really?   he looks like a thug!”

What I’m trying to get at through all this is, is that I don’t fall for the conventional Efrons and Goslings. Although who would complain if you happened to bag one? I’ve seen people around me, family and friends ‘settling’ because they knew and believed they couldn’t have the Noah’s, so they settled for way less. Keeping their parents extremely happy and themselves well, who knows it may work out better for them, only time will tell.  I don’t actually really know what I want, I’m under no illusion that I’m a princess or anything. I want the ‘average’ guy but just not the ones our parents seem to dig out. But then on the other hand it’s not as if I can easily go around picking out guys and proposing to them.

A couple of weeks ago we received a hand written envelope through the post. Now those envelopes are rare in this day and age.  This envelope didn’t contain any letters they contained photos of a guy. Generally as a family we don’t do the whole ‘photo/CV’ thing. but this post came from my aunty’s friend. She had been bugging my aunt for a while, to speak to us. So my aunt did, she asked my parents. There’s no harm in looking they said. I told mum from the beginning, that the fact they were in a massive hurry and seemed desperate were making my alarm bells ring. His visa must have been running out. Funny that, it was.  My parents seem to think I’m late already. At 21 I’m running out of bloody time, as several younger cousins have become engaged/married they’ve grown more frantic. But there’s an issue, as with many other western desis, its difficult finding someone outside of the family circles. My aunt told me the guy in the photo didn’t mind what the girl looked like he just wanted someone nice. that hurt. Whoever I find has to love me for me. Is that too much to ask for? Ok perhaps not a love as extravagant as the movies and literature but just the simple love and respect. Right now at 21 well 22ish I’m still holding onto hope for that, it has to come. I’ve got the time to pray for it yet, before the expiry date arrives. But before that I’ve got many things I want to achieve and reach. They’re simple things but nonetheless they’re goals and thoughts for another day.

Defining moments.

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dholki

Three days ago the wedding film arrived.

A couple of months back during the Easter holiday my eldest cousin got married. She was the first one in the family. Her being the eldest we would always plan and talk about her getting married since we were young girls, I mean who doesn’t.    but it all happened so fast.    It was announced three months or so prior to the actual big day. The preparation period was such a mad rush of; painting little clay pots for the mehndi, fighting in Southall over bridesmaids dress colours, mum having a breakdown trying to find all of us siblings outfits, organising a gift basket for the bride and the biggest headache went to the mini documentary/slideshow that my sister made. She interviewed all 6 bridesmaids and slotted it into a slideshow of photos of our bride through the years.

When I look back at all these wedding shenanigans I remember a collection of memories, meeting and making new friends and the strengthening of relationships. It was a special time for us all.

I had finished my uni term earlier than the others so I went a couple a days earlier to the wedding household. The plan was that all the bridesmaids would stay the week following up to the wedding, help out with guests and set up the house for dholki nights leading up to the mehndi. The wedding was on the Saturday, we would then all go back home on the Sunday afternoon, to prepare for the following weekends walima. Which was being held in Paris!

All of the festivities happened so quick, in between all of the plates of mithai, cups of chai and the frying of spring rolls there were special moments that really stood out. Being an emotional person I was finding it hard keeping all emotions in check.  She was the older sister I never had. The one who carefully guided me through my awkward teenage years, the shoulder to lean on and the all round wise one. This cousin that we all loved and respected was moving away, to start a new life with a new family and a new chapter in her life.

We would only have a few hours sleep each night and during the day we would be running on pure adrenalin. On the morning of the mehndi I woke up to find a message from the bride. I looked over to her across the room ( we were all scattered all over the floors like squatters) she just gave me the cheekiest grin. So I turned to my phone and opened to find a photo of Atif Aslam ON HIS WEDDING DAY. you can’t even imagine how I felt! but that’s how the day began with great banter and ended in emotional messy faces.  In the evening after arriving back from the mehndi we all squeezed into the living room and played the film we had made her. It was only by watching all the photos flicking through on the screen, you’re made to remember all the moments you shared, all the good times and the more difficult ones you helped each other through.

The wedding morning was nothing but utter chaos we all had to be dressed and out of the house by noon. There were fights for mirrors, bathroom time, make up and general clashes between the larger personalities. But somehow we were all dressed on time ready for the photographer to snap away. Most of the Adults had left for the venue and the bride and us bridesmaids were waiting for cars.  As usual I was flapping around the house making sure I hadn’t forgotten to take anything.

The Bride’s mother asked me if I had seen the brother of the bride. No one had seen him in a while. She went outside and I walked past the front room. Through the glass door I could make out his figure in the back of the room. I went in to find him sitting down hunched over. I called his name but he didn’t respond. I thought perhaps he was feeling ill. During the week he had been  full of  energy and banter. This was out of character and I was slightly weirded out. Then I realised he was crying.  Like for God’s sake we had all kept it under control, no tears, even the bride had remained calm.  But here was her grown ass brother crying! (he doesnt read my blog so its all good :p)  He didn’t take long to set me off. I ordered him to snap out of it and stay strong for his sister, she was going to need all her family’s support.

It was an endearing moment, him and his sister were the pair who would fight like cat and dog and never seemed to get along. I think at times she felt that he didn’t care about her at all. But it turned out that he cared a lot, moments like these were rare and precious.

So the rukhsathi time finally came and we all had to bid her farewell. Amongst all the chaos I found myself standing besides the Father of the bride. It was a surreal moment. I looked up at him, he was crying. I felt like I should say something but I couldn’t. So instead I carried on walking behind the bride and towards the front of the venue. Along the way the bride’s sister began walking beside me. Me and her crying together continued to walk down.

Upon reflection the whole experience and emotions seems weird. But when I place myself in the same scene again I understand all the emotions. It wasn’t just letting her go, we were bidding farewell to her youth and celebrating her becoming a woman and entering a new chapter in her life, not to forget also welcoming brother in law aka ‘JEEJ’ into our crazy circle!

Looking across the room I could see several uncles shedding a tear. It was weird having never seen any of them so emotional. But her getting married was the first domino and they all knew that their daughters time was only round the corner. The dominoes already started falling this summer!

This post was an attempt. I can’t fully grasp or convey the excitement, happiness and sadness we felt at the time. Although when I look back on these events there’s this little niggling feeling telling me something amazing took place that changed us all and our relationships.

Seconds.

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Last night myself and the siblings were coming back from Taraweeh (night) prayers at the mosque, mum was driving us home. It was the usual deal me and my two sisters in the back and my brother with my mum at the front. I had the window down and was looking out, being in quite a reflective mood. I told the others that I felt a bit lost in thought. They responded with talking about the fresh cake that was awaiting us in the fridge. Typical.

The road ahead was clear mum was driving down the main road and to our right a black taxi cab was turning right into another road. It all happened so quickly but it’s still so vivid. Out of nowhere a car came at high speed and was inches away from crashing into us. Alhamdulillah mum swerved out of the way and instead the car crashed into the side of the black cab. It turned out the cab driver was Muslim too and was returning from the mosque just as we had. We were all so lucky. The cabbies car was wrecked but thankfully it seemed that it hadn’t impacted the driver’s side as much, otherwise it may have been a very different story. The other driver came out and looked unstable on his feet we all presumed he was drunk. His bumper was off, his tyres deflated and headlights smashed.

Mum was furious. My youngest sister was in shock. The cabbie came over and asked mum to stay as a witness and mum agreed. She then went over to the cars and had a go at the guy for being careless and nearly driving into us and hurting her kids. At this point people had started to come out of their houses after hearing the noise. What we found weird was that clearly there had been a very loud crash noise but it’s almost as if in those few seconds of it happening we were in a vacuum, none of us recollect hearing the noise even though all our windows were down.

People talk of cheating death. But it’s not true no one can ‘cheat’ death. Allah swt has planned for us every minute of our lives. Alhamdulillah last night was not our time to depart. Nan rang this morning she had heard what happened and scolded me for not telling her about it. Bless her we didn’t want her to worry. Nan, other members of the family and friends have said that the Angels were watching over us and protecting us that night. Every time someone speaks to me or tells me how lucky we were, it gives me this weird unexplainable feeling. Nan reminded me that my whole family was in the car apart from my dad. She kept saying imagine if something had happened to all of you.

After the initial shock my thoughts turned to what if that had been my last couple of moments, how was I leaving this earth? What had I done during my time here? Weirdly earlier in the day I had had this feeling of contacting all my uni friends to see how they were doing as I hadn’t spoken to them since exams. however it had been a couple of weeks since i had spoken to my two best friends, I had planned to text them once I got back from the mosque. I had even had a call from Dorothy in the morning, a couple of months back she told me she had been ill and it seems she still was and the Drs weren’t sure what was wrong. I promised her I would come and visit her after Ramadan.

They say you should live every minute as if it’s your last and to remember death often because it could take us at any moment in time. Me and my Sister have often discussed this in the past, it’s not like we’re in denial we’re going to die but I don’t know. Although we think of death we can’t grasp the enormity of it all and its implications. But it hit me last night. This has definitely been a wakeup call and the month of Ramadan has been like a detox to de-clutter and cleanse physically and emotionally. So I’m going to use this opportunity to move on forward and to remember to count my blessings every day.

Peace x

‘All I’m askin’

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I’ll admit during my school years I wasn’t very good at sports. My only moment of glory I would say was whilst we were playing a game of rounders in year 5. My best friend was batting. I could see the ball flying in my direction in slow motion. My fellow team mates were already sighing dejectedly upon seeing the ball was coming in my direction (I may have had a silent reputation for being the worst at P.E games) the ball luckily for once was within reaching distance and I caught it. Everyone thought it was quite ironic the one time I won the game for us it was at the expense of my best friend.

I would say I am more of a sports spectator than a participant. I grew up with a dad who would repeatedly watch his VCR copy of the ’92 Cricket world cup. This particular game was probably one of the most iconic moments in Pakistani cricket. On the other hand my mother would never fail to miss a Wimbledon tournament. Me and my sister would usually rush home from school to watch our cartoons. However During the summer season for a couple of weeks my sister and I never dared to touch the remote control. So every summer we would join mum watching Tim Henman never quite make it at Wimbledon.

So you’re all probably thinking wow she’s gone off on one, where’s all this heading. Recently I’ve been seeing ‘sexist’ comments online and elsewhere against women. I admit sometimes things are said in humour but most of the time they’re not funny but damn sexist and boring. According to some it’s okay for men to watch and talk all the sports they want but No, women are not allowed to do the same. No we should stick to the kitchens or shopping for shoes. And seriously you don’t have to patronise us with diagrams showing off the offside rule using ‘shopping’ analogies!

A couple of days ago a guy got retweeted onto my timeline, he had compiled a list of #TheMostAnnoyingThingsEver one of which was “girls tweeting about cricket” This might have hit a nerve with me provoking me to tweet about it. Why is it not okay for us as women to watch or play sports? One of the most common arguments thrown in and the one I received was that ‘women can’t play as well as men’. The question of “could the world’s best female boxer beat the world’s best male boxer?” was put to me. I strongly believe Men and women were created differently for a reason but this does not mean that the level of respect should be any different. You wouldn’t put a kid from year 1 up against a teen from year 12 in a game of rugby, now would you? They have varying degrees of strength such as men and women do. At creation we were given different types of bodies and different types of strengths. Women can tolerate the most painful experience of child birth which men cannot do.

Many would agree that Men’s sports are more prominent in the media and women’s events normally take the back bench. Caster Semenya the South African athlete attracted much controversy in the media. She won the 800 meters at the world championships in Berlin in 2009. Accusations were made that she was competing in a women’s event unfairly. Throughout Caster’s life she has been taunted for her build and her ability. She was finally asked to take a gender verification test to determine whether she was female. The results revealed that she was in fact a woman and could compete in women events. I think this particular event says a lot about society’s perception of women’s sports. Almost as if there are boxes or limits to the ability women may have and if they don’t fit these criteria then there’s something quite not right and has to be looked into.

Sports can play an important role in society. It teaches many life lessons in team work, discipline, commitment, setting and achieving goals. An important aspect of sports is a sense of sportsmanship. Recently we went to watch Pakistan v West Indies at the ICC champions trophy, although we lost (badly) the match ended with several fans shaking hands with the opposition. Even though throughout the match we had been goading each other! Essentially that’s what it’s all about a bit of fun rivalry but most importantly bringing people different corners of society together.

Nelson Mandela used the 1995 Rugby World Cup to try and create some sense of unity between the two races. Sports can be powerful and always brings along a strong sense of belonging, pride and emotion. It’s accessible to everyone and can unite people around the world. So why just reserve it for one gender?

There are many examples of great sporting women that have gained the same respect as men: Tanni grey Thompson, Venus Williams, Ellen MacArthur, Kelly Holmes and many more.

Dotty Circa 1950s.

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Source Google.

It’s a Friday morning 6am to be exact and mum is shouting out my name from downstairs. It’s my day off from uni and I’m being woken up to accompany mum to the hospital. She’s been putting of this trip for months but she couldn’t take the pain any longer. So we’re going to the hospital to get her wisdom teeth removed. It’s a simple day procedure. Well it was meant to be but as the day pans out it turns out to be longer than we expected!

We arrive on time 7am and are seated in the reception area. There’s a young girl with her boyfriend and mother. Two old Indian men with their wives. We wait for a couple of hours. By midday the others in the waiting room have gone into surgery and their loved ones have left trying to pass time whilst they wait for their loved ones to come out from surgery.  At last mum is called in, to get prepared for surgery. Whilst she’s away. A granny and her 23yr old grandson rush into the reception area. He’s late for his surgery and his grandmothers telling him off! He goes to get ready and she sits in the reception area. It’s just me and her now. She’s a small elderly lady in her 70s. About 5ft tall wearing a long, loose grey coat. Her black hair is wispy with bits of white; tucked into a grey hat.

I continue reading my book and she leaves to get a coffee. She comes back and sits down. A nurse walks in to reception and tells her there’s a sign reading ‘you’re not allowed to eat or drink’ guess it wasn’t in the best of places as neither of us noticed it!  She apologises and the nurse takes her into a side room where she goes to finish her drink. A little while later she returns and I catch her eye, she says to me “I feel so bad I hate breaking regulations”  and that was how our conversation filled afternoon began, one I’ll never forget.

Her name is Dorothy, she’s Jamaican. We start talking and she comes across as a lovely prim and proper woman. I’m intrigued by her strong will and personality, I start asking her about herself. She tells me she arrived in England by boat as a young teen to join her father who was already living and working here. Her mother stayed back in Jamaica because she didn’t like the idea of travelling for such a long period of time.

England 1950s was a stark contrast to Jamaica but she soon settled in. Racism was strife, she recalls seeing the signs ‘No Blacks, No Irish, No dogs’ For a short while she lived with her aunty. She tells me there were plenty of jobs going unlike the current climate of today. She got herself a job print screening silk fabric it was run by a Spanish guy. Her co-worker was an Irish man and one day he asked her “Dotty is your blood black?”  She laughs dryly as she recalls this. He wouldn’t believe her, that they shared the same colour blood. So she took a needle and pricked her finger.

She was in her early 20s when she met a guy one day and they hit it off. He was a gentleman she tells me. They had only been out a couple of times when they decided to take a trip to the cinema joined by other friends too. The guy’s friend kept giving her weird looks. She thought he was a bit weird and dodgy and tried to avoid him best she could. But one day a little while after their cinema date her date’s friend came to see her and asked her if she knew who her boyfriend lived with? She thought he was jealous and wanted to make trouble. He gave her the address of his home and told her to go find out. She was confused but thought she ought to go see what he was talking about. She reached his house and knocked on the door to find a woman with two young children open the door. A girl and a boy. She said she could still picture the little boys face, the spitting image of his fathers. And he had told her that he lived with his mother. She told his wife that she had been dating her husband for a couple of weeks now and had had no idea that he was married. His wife wasn’t angry as Dorothy thought she may have been, perhaps her husband’s antics were something of a regular occurrence.

*A nurse walks in to the reception area and informs Dorothy that her grandson may be asleep for a while until the anaesthetic wares of and that she might want to go home and wait there. She looks at me and says “will you be okay here?” I reassure her I’ll be fine, even though I’m hoping she will stay and continue her story. She then says something to me that will probably stay with me for a long time. She tells me “once you become a mother you’re a mother to all children not just your own” she really is a lovely strong wise old lady. *

Dorothy was a strong lady but couldn’t stop her tears from falling, she found herself crying on the bus journey home. A gentleman approached her asking if she was okay and if she needed any help. She had just been humiliated and used by one man and wasn’t interested in talking to another. He was a good looking fellow Jamaican but she just wasn’t interested.

She later discovered the man from the bus used to work on the buses. She tells me in those days the communities were close knitted and it was easy to track someone down. He found out where she lived and he who would constantly call on her asking her for a date. She used to get her aunty to send him away.

After a couple of months she gave in and agreed to one date. They began dating and after a while her father told her that he thought he was a good man and would take care of her. He told her that he would be happy if she accepted his marriage proposal. She did. I asked her if she loved him. She said in the beginning she didn’t but agreed to marry him to keep her father happy but as time went on, she started to warm to him and could see that he was a kind decent man and would do his best to keep her happy. Not long after she got married her father passed away.

They had six children, 3 girls and 3 boys, 18 grandchildren and a handful of great grandchildren! For most of her life she worked as a nurse in various hospitals and worked hard to save up to ensure her later years were comfortable enough. Her husband passed away in the 90’s and she never married again. She tells me she never felt the need to. And enjoyed her independence too much.

Dotty is one of the strongest and wisest people I have ever come across. It’s often said we can learn a lot from our elders and it’s true they have lived through many more years than us and often have experienced and learnt a lot more. She was inspiring and I loved spending the afternoon listening to her various anecdotes and her advice on working hard and ensuring you become an independent strong woman.

I had the feeling that I wasn’t the first person to have had such an intriguing conversation with Dorothy but I’m glad she decided to keep me company, whilst I waited for mum to recover from her surgery. She brightened up what was becoming a stressful and long day!

Side by side.

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‘Distribution of wealth’    Photography Source

On one of those rare beautiful sunny days we get in London, me and mum were out and about. Mum driving and me in the passenger seat. We stopped at some traffic lights and a rubbish truck pulled up alongside us. It reminded me of this poem I once came across, I’m not a huge fan of poetry but there was just something about seeing a regular occurrence explored in such a thought provoking way. It explores the two different extremes we see in society but for a couple of seconds waiting side by side.

Two Scavengers in a Truck, Two Beautiful People in a Mercedes.

At the stoplight waiting for the light
nine a.m. downtown San Francisco
a bright yellow garbage truck
with two garbagemen in red plastic blazers
standing on the back stoop
one on each side hanging on
and looking down into
an elegant open Mercedes
with an elegant couple in it
The man
in a hip three-piece linen suit
with shoulder-length blond hair and sunglassed
The young blond woman so casually coifed
with short skirt and coloured stockings
on the way to his architect’s office

And the two scavengers up since four a.m.
grungy from their route
on the way home
The older of the two with grey iron hair
and hunched back
looking down like some
gargoyle Quasimodo
And the younger of the two
also with sunglasses and long hair
about the same age as the Mercedes driver

And both scavengers gazing down
as from a great distance
at the cool couple
as if they were watching some odourless TV ad
in which everything is always possible

And the very red light for an instant
holding all four close together
as if anything at all were possible
between them
across that small gulf
in the high sea
of this democracy.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti