Mummy.

I've seen my mother change from an artist to the typical Pakistani aunty right before my very eyes. My mother was a poet, a painter, a writer and an intellectual but nowadays she's too busy complaining about the 'beghairat masi' (disrespectful maid) to do any of those things. She was an avid reader of the English classics and Urdu poetry. Her shelf is full of Tolstoy and Jane Austen and she knows all of Faiz Ahmed Faiz's works by heart. But the shelves remain closed and she rarely recounts any poems because she's too busy having the kitchen made. She doesn't cook anymore, the 'beghairat masi' does, but feels the need to have a spotless kitchen, equipped with all the modern appliances that the 'beghairat masi' does not know how to use so that she has another reason to call her: 'beghairat.'

My mother and I used to share a special bond. It was as though we were the two ugly ducklings in a nest full of perfect swans. We never conformed, we just couldn't but lately it feels like she has. You should see how she speaks with all of her other aunty friends, planning 'rishtas,' making bets on how long Shabana's daughter's wedding will last and going 'HAAWW' whenever she hears mention of all the supposed indecent behavior 'aaj kal ki larkiyan's' (girls these days) display.

My mother isn't the woman she once was. Now she's just another pretentious desi aunty. I want her to look herself in the mirror and see the person she has become. The person she used to be would never approve. I love my mother no matter what but I can't help but hope that she returns too her non-pretentious self. I want her to be like me, I want her to remain an ugly duckling.