Saad Ali
The Virgin Pair of Roller Skates for Maimoona & Anwaar after Girl Roller-Skating, Washington Square by William James Glackens (U.S.A.) 1914 CE “… All right, then! Grab your roller skates! And bring all the protective gear, as well – helmet, half-fingered gloves, knee guard, elbow guard, half-sleeved reflective jacket. … Don’t miss a single thing, you hear me?” My father amplifies his vocal cords at me from downstairs by the short flight of stairs, as I backpack the skates and all the paraphernalia in my rather well organised room. “Hold your horses, Champ!” My mother shouts at me from the dining room, “take the rest of the snacks with you – half-eaten tuna and cheese sandwich; 1 x packet of crisps; 1 x coke. … Here, let me put the tiffin in your backpack.” … “I thought I heard her say, “Chimp”?” Has she thought of a new nickname for me?” I think to myself, as I fly-fly-fly out of the main entrance door in an uncontainable euphoria! My father drives for ‘round 30-40 minutes, and we’re in the Tabuk City Centre. En route to the Square, I repeatedly play “In the Air Tonight” on the in-car cassette player and make him sing the chorus with me: And I can feel it coming in the air tonight, Oh Lord! Well, I ‘ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, Oh Lord! In the Town Centre, they have a concrete ecliptic track dedicated for the children to try their hand at the roller-skating as pastime. … On the steps leading to the Skating Track, I take a couple of sips from the woman-shaped glass bottle of Coca-Cola and lace up my virgin pair of roller skates – a Gift from Mum & Dad on my 7th Birthday! ** Le Parfum for Shaohua Yan after Automat by Edward Hopper (U.S.A.) 1927 CE I excuse myself; leave her be for a wee bit at the Caffé Nero – decorated in a red berry-red floral odhni* like a gift on Thanksgiving – her cortado (with semi skimmed milk) still hot. I quickly run down to the Perfume Retailer on the Cambridge High Street to procure an eau de toilette spray for my father – JOOP! Homme (his favourite scent). 15–20 minutes later, she’s moved away from the café; bill taken care of. I’m not cross with her, ‘cause I know that the quantum mechanics will come into play on its own accord now: the traces of her parfum in the air – JOOP! Femme (my favourite scent) – will lead me to her—I’ll find her ‘round the River Cam; by the Mathematical Bridge; ‘round the narcissus poeticus (her favourite scent). ** * Odhni (Urdu): A South Asian traditional garment (an accessory) – a multipurpose long piece of cloth which can be worn either as a head scarf or a light shawl around the shoulders. ** 3 x Centres for N. Karfakis & G. Kokkinidis after The Son of Man (Le fils de l'homme) by Rene Magritte (Belgium), 1964 CE 1 Nostalgia “Honestly, I don’t think that I’ve ever been able to move past the UK Chapter—in spite of all the changes (called for / uncalled for) all this time,” S. confessed; “maybe because the Present—in terms of its quality-of-contents (relationships with women, nature of job(s), income, social life, beer & wine & whisky, food, et cetera—has never been able to truly compensate for the Past—regardless of where I’ve been and whom I’ve been with,” he added to the critical perspective; “maybe that’s why I’ve never been able to properly overcome the nostalgia,” he further offered a succinct self-psychoanalysis. 2 Alternative Organisation “The Management at the Uni wasn’t in a complete approval of the kind of out-of-the-box research work we were conducting at the School; so, they decided to up the ante in terms of their monitoring policies; after a while, it had begun to feel like we were literally living in a Panopticon; after a while, a few of us had to face forced-redundancies and a few of us voluntarily resigned from our positions; now the School, as opposed to being a renowned reincarnation of the classical Frankfurt School, has rather voluntarily embraced a Ford/McDonald’s-Type Standardisation,” G. expressed his discontent with the deteriorating work ethics of his former employer; “what if, three of us were not dispersed in three different parts on Earth?” he hinted at his own mildly-romantic condition. 3 Time Has Wings “As if time is riding a Buraq1—it seems like only yesterday that we were playing a game or two of basketball, of chess at your place; taking a walk to the town centre for coffee and ham & cheese sandwich at café Nero; renting a movie CD at a local retailer,” N. reminisced; “in a few months from now though, my current DL/RD Work Contract2 with the College will end, and I’ll find myself either pursuing another social contract or settling with a minimal social welfare benefit; or I could always become trendy i.e. jump on the bandwagon of Digital Nomadism,” he reminded—above all, himself—of the realities of the neo-liberal world; “but perhaps, Liberal Capitalism is the best that we’ve managed to achieve, thus far,” he quietened ‘The Intellectual / The Rebel’ in him. ** 1 Buraq (Islamic tradition): Chimera (with a body of horse, head of human, and wings). 2 DL/RD: Distance Learning/Remote Desk. ** I Remember Rather Vividly for Shaohua Yan after Remember by Sabin Balasa (Romania) date not known Late Night Snack I remember rather vividly — it was a cold, cold night – ‘round 3:30ish a.m. – and you were also awake and preparing a quick snack in the kitchen; and God knows, I was feeling rather famished from preparing for the Final Exams; and you’d offered to share the egg fried noodles with me — our-first meal-together. Lending the Book I remember rather vividly — it was a misty dawn – ‘round 6:30ish a.m. – and I didn’t bother knockin’ on your door; and instead, I’d placed the book outside on the carpeted floor; and you’d taken to reading as a neo-pastime, back then; and later in the evenin’ the very day, you’d invited me over for Chinese Dumplings and Chinese Chai1 — our-first reading-together. Sharing the Umbrella I remember rather vividly — it was rainin’ cata-doxa2 that mornin’ – ‘round 9:30ish a.m. – and I was forced to take to brisk walking to get to the Examination Hall, since my khaki canvas postman bag was missin’ the umbrella; and by the Arriva bus stop, I was lucky to stumble upon you; and you’d offered to share the umbrella — our-first walk to the uni-together. The Autumn Kiss I remember rather vividly — it was an amber foliage carpeted-pavement – ‘round 6:30ish p.m. – and the chilly breeze had really started to pick up; and the coffee (in the takeaway cups) had also started to lose its steam; and you’d poked my cheek with your left dorsal; and I tucked you in my olive long coat — our-first Autumn kiss-together. The Train Journey I remember rather vividly — it was a soothing, soothing table lamp light scattered in the room – ‘round 9:30ish p.m. – and we’d finished packing the essentials in our black and brown leather duffle bags; and we’d poured and drunk the last shots of Baileys (Original Irish Cream); and on foot, it’d only taken us < 20 minutes to reach the main train station — our-first journey-together. ** 1 Chai: Tea. 2 Cata-Doxa (Greek idiom): Cats and Dogs. ** Carrot Cake for Regina Yan after The Kitchen (La cuisine) by Pablo Picasso (Spain) 1948 CE Oxymoron Before S. had started seein’ one R., he thought that “carrot cake” was a marvel of an oxymoron. As a matter of fact, the phrase/dessert was as alien to him as the surface of Jupiter was alien to magma! (N.B. “Jupiter’s Surface” = an exemplar of an oxymoron.) Nickname Each time they had been as if ‘rex rabbits-on-viagra’ (almost always) in bed, she had made it rather a tradition to reward his soul with the homemade carrot cake. (But, brewing the coffee – Antioquia Colombia Supremo / Single Origin / Natural, Sun-Dried / Arabica (Catura) / Notes: Roasted Cocoa & Nuts – would still entirely remain his department.) As they rested their invested bodies (almost buck naked; torsos and limbs baptized in the scents from each other’s sudoriferous glands) on the Persian Kilim – his mother had personally picked for her at the old Persian Pazaar in Isfahan – while handfeeding him a thin slice of her carrot cake, she would always relish walking-him-through the entire baking routine: I picked 1Kg–2Kg of fresh whole carrots from TESCO / put the hand-knitted apron on / grated 4–6 large carrots / grabbed 2 x big mixing bowls and stirred the dry & wet ingredients separately: all-purpose flour; baking soda (to help the cake to rise); melted coconut oil (to keep the cake moist); white + brown sugar (to make the cake light); whisked 3–4 organic eggs (to give the cake its structure) / added pecans and raisins / baked in the oven for 35–40 minutes at 190oC / and voila! … And he would always advertently pass on compliments for her culinary talents, “… delicious, delicious bites of Maan-o-Salwa!”* And that’s how her nickname – Carrot Cake – was born! Last SMS The Summer of ’08 CE had inflicted as if > the Pacific + Atlantic Ocean void between ‘em two Carrot Cake Lovers for good. … “I’ll always MISS your carrot cakes, My Carrot Cake!” His rather covert last SMS to her read. … Don’t you DARE find another carrot cake maker now! … Live Well! Her rather blunt last SMS to him read. Blind Date (Many, many years down the road,) in the Winter of ‘13 CE: on a blind date (kind of), when one A. candidly posed the question, what’s your favourite dessert; “carrot cake,” S. responded rather nostalgically. … Carrot Cake? That ought to be a marvel of an oxymoron! ‘Tis as alien to me as the surface of Jupiter is alien to magma! (N.B. “Jupiter’s Surface” = an exemplar of an oxymoron.) Her globular capsules intensely locked onto his peepers. ** * Maan-o-Salwa (Arabic): Food from Paradise (for the Israelites / The People of Moses); where, “Mann” means “sweet dew drops”, and “Salwa” means “bird” (e.g. quail). ** Panda for Panda – stray cat at my place after Cat and Bowl of Goldfish by Ohara Koson (Japan), 1931 CE 1 First, I call out her name; then, I blow the whistle: “Panda! Panda! … Look! The food is served!” (But mind you: I do not use the real “whistle” whistle—neither am I a professional Pavlov – or an expert in the so-called Pavlovian Mannerisms – nor is she a pet cat!) But of course, she possesses an Attitude: she might be mistaken for a mini-panda – a sheer courtesy of the black & white tapestry of her fur’s – she’s a cat, after all! ‘Tis not the noun ‘Panda’ that she responds to – maybe she feels offended that I’ve given her that name, when panda isn’t even her remote cousin – ‘tis the whistle that she answers to with a soft meow or two: What do you want now? // Leave me be, will ya? But, as soon as the noun ‘food’ reaches her ever scanning radar of a pair of eardrums, the train of euphoric meows and a purr or two also follows: Yes! Yes! Yes! // What took you so long? // Where have you been all my life? For the first minute or two, she plays with the fish and chicken pieces/bones, as if she has just returned from a game with a fresh kill – licks the pieces, tosses and turns ‘em ‘round a couple of times – then, with her K9s, she digs into the bones and the crisp-crunches travel around the verandah like the sound from one Israfel’s trumpet! And each time – twice a day – that I serve one Panda, it turns out to be an utter moment of EID (cloud nine) for her! 2 The blue in her eyes brings the memory of my (paternal) grandmother back. What if she’s a ‘reincarnation’ of hers? The other day, I caught my mother thinking-out-loud with the maid in the kitchen. ** Saad Ali has been brought up and educated in the United Kingdom and Pakistan. His new collection of poems is titled Owl Of Pines: Sunyata (AuthorHouse, 2021). He has translated Lorette C. Luzajic’s ekphrastic poems/flash fictions into Urdu: Lorette C. Luzajic: Selected Ekphrases: Translated into Urdu (2023). He has had poems published in The Ekphrastic Review and Synchronized Chaos. His work has been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology. He has had ekphrases showcased at an art exhibition, Bleeding Borders, curated at the Art Gallery of Grande Prairie in Alberta, Canada. Learn further about his work via: www.saadalipoetry.com. |