Black Cumin



Black Cumin Plant (picture: courtesy of Google Image)

 It’s funny how senses play a trick on you or remind you of times long past.

For example, there’s a perfume that one of my high-school girlfriends use to wear (and I’m implying that I had more than one girlfriend during my senior years), which every once in a while I smell it on someone and suddenly I’m taken back to the time when I was 17.

Then there’s the smell of Sunlight dish-washing soap that reminds me of our first few days in Canada. I remember living in a “Vancouver-Special” apartment building (3-4 storey building that looks like a matchbox with absolutely no character; thankfully, they stopped building those in the 70s). I remember coming home one day from school and the apartment being filled with the aroma of Sunlight; ever since then, I associate the smell with the sweet smell of my new home.

And then there are those moments that you want to forget but never can, albeit it’s pushed to as far back in my head as possible. I remember our first meeting with our immigration officer in Vancouver in 1988, who was “helping” us with our settlement as landed immigrants. I remember this kind man asking me for my occupation. Given that I didn’t speak English, I simply stared at him with a blank look until I heard my dad tell him that I was a “student”.

Shortly after, my dad and the officer began to converse and I remember asking my dad what was said. “The officer mentioned that he was very happy that he had been assigned to our family and that he didn’t have to deal with the recently arrived Indians as very few of them spoke proper English and that, due to no fault of their own, they smelled… it must be something they eat”.

Many years later, I’m still troubled by those comments and every once in a while it sends shivers down my spine. This morning was one of those days. I was standing at the bus stop and a young man was standing in front me that had a sweet smell of Indian cooking and spices; and I was suddenly taken back in time, right down to the room where we met the immigration officer for the very first time.

Thanks for reading,
Armin

PS. I’m now blessed with the sweet smell of Indian spices, home-made roti, fresh sabji and other wonderful smells of South-East Asia, thanks to my extended family.

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Full Circle (literally & metaphorically)!

In the summer of 1999, my lovely wife and I hastily (more on this in my future blogs) planned a small / mid size wedding (by Indian standards, it was a micro size one). We had no money for the wedding so we took out a loan of CDN $10,000 from our neighbourhood Royal Bank. This, of course, had to pay for all of our wedding expenses, including Karm’s engagement and wedding rings and my wedding band, which I have yet to wear.

We went ring shopping and walked into an Armenian owned jewellery store in North Vancouver called Vitale. We met the owner and his wife, a lovely couple. Before long, we placed our order (customized rings) and walked out happier than ever. The shop owners worked extra hard to have everything prepared for our July wedding date and we were ever so grateful for it. Karm’s wedding ring stills shines, albeit a little less than the first day because it needs some good polishing.

Fast forward to October 28, 2011, Isabella’s Halloween school dance party. I was the “gate keeper”, literally, and Karm was inside with Isabella when I saw her running out frantically to tell me that the centre-piece diamond (I think that’s what they call it) had fallen off the ring. While trying to calm Karm down, I said, “oh well, what are you going to do; it’s just a diamond”. Meanwhile, I’m trying to do quick calculations in my head as to what the replacement is going to cost us.

But before you know it, some people at the dance party found out about the mishap and promised to help after the event was over; this included the school principal, who got on his hands and knees to help with the search amongst the garbage. Well, we had no luck and I kindly thanked everyone for their help. As I was walking back home, I called Karm to inform her that we had no luck finding the diamond, at which point Karm screamed into the phone telling me that she had found the missing diamond in her jacket pocket. I guess, by luck, it had fallen off the ring while Karm had reached into her pocket or something. Funny thing though, I had a feeling that that may have been the case (I know what you’re thinking: sure you did Armin; but I really did). Anyway, I ran back to school and told the “search party” and hugs and high-fives were passed around.

Well, here’s where the story gets even more interesting. Since that incident, Karm has been trying to locate the owners of Vitale so she could get the ring fixed. We knew that the North Vancouver store was relocated somewhere Downtown but we didn’t know where exactly as we couldn’t find it in telephone directory or online.

Well, last Sunday, we walked into the Sears store in Downtown Vancouver and Karm ran into the wife of the Armenian family, who was now working in the shoe department of Sears. She could not believe the fact that not only we remembered her and her husband, but we have been trying so hard to find their new store. She informed us that the jewellery store was no longer around and tearfully told us that her husband passed away about a year ago from cancer. She helped us with our shoe purchases and after a long and warm conversation, we gave her a hug and bid her farewell with a promise to return in the near future.

I guess, in a freaky way, Karm got her answer and can now look for a new jeweller.

Thanks for reading,

Armin

PS. As a side note, as we were walking out of the store, I noticed that the boots that I had purchased had names (like Ikea furniture); one was called Surrey, like the city I live in, and the other was called Sutton, like Sutton Place Hotel, where my dad works.

Freaky stuff, eh?

Golden Boot Princess

Over the past 20 years, she was compared to the likes of Mia Hamm and Marta. She was also called Canada’s “Next Christine Sinclair”. But after tonight’s ceremony, she’ll simply be known as the “Golden Boot Princess”. She humbly stepped up to the podium while the rest of her team cheered her on; the presenters handed over the “Golden Boot” and stepped away; the floor was hers.

While tears ran down her cheeks, she thanked all those that supported her over the years: Her teammates and coaches at the Semiahmoo Soccer Club (where she started her football career), her teammates and coaches at the Surrey United Soccer Club, her friends and family, UCLA for the scholarship that allowed her to focus on football without any financial worries, the Vancouver Whitecaps FC Women’s team for drafting her, which allowed her to return to her hometown, and the Canadian Soccer Association for allowing her to compete for her country alongside Canada’s best footballers.

She then thanked her mom for being her guiding beacon and her brother for attending every game since day one and adoring her for always (the crowd breaks into a heartfelt laughter while the camera zooms on the brother).

She then thanked the “Super Fan”, her dad, for being there in the heat and the cold, standing on the sidelines and cheering her on; for allowing her to kick the “foamy ball” around the house without any concern over what may break; for teaching her to feel-and-kick with “internal senses”; for teaching her how important her teammates are; for buying her a pair of “Nike” cleats when he was madly in love with “Adidas”, knowing well that this was her game and not his; for posting updates about the game on Facebook and Twitter; but mainly, for simply standing there on the sidelines and giving her the “thumps-up” or the “hang-loose” hand gestures when she played well.

She then graciously stepped away from the podium while holding up the trophy with one hand and blowing a loving kiss towards her family with the other.

After the ceremonies, the cameras chased after her 60 year-old father and asked for a comment or two. Proudly, he stood tall and said, “I knew she was a special player when, at the age of 5, her kick was so hard that it moved the “unsecured” goal post by an inch. I couldn’t be any more proud of my daughter. I thank God every day for giving her the brains and the strength to be who she is today. I hope she’ll continue to be the positive role model that most kids need nowadays.”

The reporter signed off by saying “perhaps future young female players are going to be called the ‘Next Isabella’ while Canada enjoys having her on the roster for many more years to come”.

A father can dream, can’t he?

Thanks for reading,

Armin

PS. I knew we were on the right track with Isabella’s football career when my uncle, a former footballer who now resides in Denmark, made comments about Isabella’s remarkable focus and commitment while chasing the ball around the field. Thanks Daii Essi for your kind words and encouragement… it meant the world to me.

Come on ref!!! What kind of a call was that?