Don't drink the water! And don't swim in it..

Yesterday I took my kid swimming at the pool by my parents' house in southern Californa. He had fun, he stuck his face in the water, and also drank a good half liter of pool water. He was so happy that I remembered why I was so upset when I was told I couldn't take him swimming in any of the pools in Pakistan. I don't know what the deal is because, um, it's a blisteringly hot climated country, and it's so freaking humid during the Karachi summer (which lasts 11 months out of the year) that we're all practically swimming all the time anyway. When you're not swimming through the boiling, muggy, oppressive atmosphere that surrounds Karachi, you're stewing in your own sweat, even right out of the shower. My point is: Pakistan should be a swimming-oriented country.

But it's not.

I was told my baby was 'too young' and got the sense that in addition to some vague fears about babies being in water (despite the fact that they, you know, live and grow inside their mothers' amniotic fluid for 9 months) there is also some concern about urine and its darker, more solid cousin bobbing alongside baby in the pool. But that concern can be allievated by a wonderful invention known as the swim diaper. Apparently they're unheard of in Pakistan, and I believe this is why people are so shocked at the idea of a baby being able to cool off in a pool. (Someone should get into the business of importing swim diapers to Pakistan. Seriously. I'd do it if I wasn't so lazy and bad at business.) The other reason I think people aren't pushed to allow babies to swim at pools is that it would require mothers to meaningfully interact with their children, instead of using the club pools as another way to escape the 'tedious task of child-rearing.' Or as my husband put it: 'If maids could swim, a lot more of these begums (rich housewives) would push for their babies to learn to swim.' Meaning, if they could outsource swimming like they do so many other tasks, a lot more pushy housewives would demand that clubs allow younger children at pools, and I would be able to take my baby to the pool with me.

But alas, maids do not swim. I suppose they're too busy raising housewives' kids and then rushing home after a long shift to hastily look after their own households.

So, being a real housewife in Karachi, I decided to get an inflatable plastic pool for my then-9 month old to splash around in. I got my MIL's man-servant to fill up the pool with Karachi's finest tap water, and in we all went. (Well, not the man-servant, who sidled off to save himself the embarrassment of seeing a fully-clothed me dip in the water. But me, my husband and my baby got in). What I didn't expect at the time was that my baby would immediately try to drink all the water. Only about seven minutes in did I realize... Oh my God. My baby is drinking the water. The tap water. Which WE don't even drink.  It's the cliched Rule #1 of traveling Americans: Don't drink the water! Well, oops. It was too late for that. So because of my insistence that my baby learn to be comfortable in the water at an early age, he also got a lesson in very messy, watery-stooled diapers for a good week and a half after that. I felt so stupid.

The next few times he went in, I'd immediately sprinkle a powdered probiotic into his water bottle and force him to finish it before bedtime.

After about the fourth time, he didn't need the probiotic. He was accustomed to drinking Pakistani tap water. So I'd say I really accomplished two goals during the summer:
1) my baby learned to enjoy the water and
2) my baby's immune system is definitely stronger than mine and probably stronger than my Pakistani-born husband's.

So thanks Pakistani society! If it weren't for your stringent no-babies-allowed-in-pools policy, I never would have had this wonderful lesson in immunology, and my baby would have been spared a lot of uncomfortable bowel movements and a raging, burning diaper rash!

Survival Guide: The Pakistani Beauty Parlor

I've had a few requests to describe (my) life in Karachi, but undoubtedly the two most popular requests are for (as one friend put it) an "expose on Pakistani beauty parlors" and an account of a typical day for me as a housewife in Karachi. I'll take the first one first, please. Let me just say this: You pay to get your body buffed, scrubbed, waxed, threaded and "polished" (more on that later) but you get your self esteem wrung out for free. I've frequented many an upscale Karachi beauty parlor ("salon" elsewhere), and after almost 3 years of visiting them often, I've come up with a little survival guide, should any of you not living here decide or end up having to visit one.

1) Dress up to go to the parlor. You will literally be appraised from head to toe, and how you are treated depends upon how the minions attending to you perceive your clout. The more diva attitude, the better the treatment. Yep that's right, bad behavior *is* rewarded here, and that behavior should include barking orders without a please, lighting up a cigarette while having a mani-pedi and shoulder rub simultaneously, cutting in line, interrupting another client who is equally demanding, and generally throwing around one's proverbial weight (proverbial because most of the girls and ladies who parlor are excessively thin). I used to go from work, so the appraisal I received was usually more of the 'quick-scan' variety, where you can actually see someone's head moving from your hair down to your toenails, rather than the more recent 'body-scan' that I get since becoming a stay at home mom and decidedly dressing down in jeans and t-shirts rather than more formal ethnic garb. I say 'body scan' because it feels as invasive as the airport scans, and takes just as long.

2) Throw out your bathroom scale because you will receive free reports on your weight fluctuations by the staff. Don't have weight fluctuations? Then be prepared for declarations about your bloating and visible fatigue. I know this from personal experience, and then had a massive lesson when I returned to my parlor after having had a baby. Every single lady who had ever worked on me felt urged to tell me how fat I had become. That's right, the translation of what they were telling me was "You've gotten soooo fat!", not a polite variant like "You've put on weight." To this I replied "Well I just had a baby" which was followed by "But you didn't used to be this fat." How is that even a response?? But *from that* I was able to deduce that I was once considered slim by these ladies. Not that they would EVER have told me so. But thankfully I have a bit of brainpower through the baby fog so I was able to figure that out. The only person who spelled it out for me was the swim coach at the pool I used to go to, who, upon looking at my 5 month pregnant body in a swimsuit and pausing for a true 15 seconds said "What *happened* to you?? You used to be so slim-fit and now your body has swollen up!" Yep that's right, I spotted a compliment in there. Which is the exception to number 3,

3) Don't expect direct compliments. EVER. But it's oh-so-fun to try to spot them through the ego bashing! Here are some I've heard along the way:
- "Your friend's hair has been falling out a lot recently, but yours is ok" (translation: You have thick hair)
- At the parlor on my wedding day, after being fully outfitted in my sari, jewelry, and having hair and makeup done, the only compliment I hear was: "Wow!!! They did such a good job on your makeup!" (translation: You look pretty... OR... You used to be ugly and they had their work cut out for them, but they managed to make you look decent with all that makeup)
- Upon losing some of the aforementioned baby weight: "I didn't even recognize you!" (translation: You lost weight).

4) Don't alter your appearance, especially not to move away from the rigid standards of beauty here. Again, I went through this. After apparently getting fat, I also had the gall to cut my long, straight black hair to just above my shoulders in a modified bob. I used to look like I could star in a Pakistani hair commercial -- my long hair would swish nicely after a Pakistani blow-dry, I am considered "fair" (more on that later) and was apparently "slim-fit" (when was I ever a pair of Gap jeans?? but I digress). Now I am "fat with short hair." At least it's winter and my skin hasn't tanned yet.

5) Have fair skin, and if you don't, then partake in every single recommended skin-lightening treatment offered. These treatments include bleaching, where peroxide paste is applied to the sideburn-like facial hair nearly all of us have) and "polishing", which I have never done, but is apparently where a lightening powder is mixed with cream or water and applied to the face and supposedly makes the skin a few shades fairer. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all? The one who gets face polishing done bi-monthly.