Sometimes when I see a beloved book on a bookshelf at a store or a cafe, I want to hug it.
To press it close to my chest and hang on to it until I've paid for it with my free hand and they've handed me a receipt for it.
Like today, on finding Seamus Heaney's collected prose at The Cafe Upstairs. What a rare treasure!
I hugged it tight for a while before moving away from the shelf.
There you are! Am I happy to see you. Come, we need to talk. I want to know everything about you that I've missed.
I can't do that with an e-book. Hug a title, that is.
The rest of the meeting is just as exuberant. Just the squeeze is missing.
That Squeeze.
When Abu Takes the Wheel
Seasons come and go. They turn into years.
I've been through so many relationships.
I've known how to love in capacities and bounds. Friends, friendships, associations, love, marriage, in-laws.
Safe to say I've grown considerably over the years.
And yet, to sit in the passenger seat in the car while my father drives, I feel like a little girl.
Expecting a treat. Not the kind you'd eat. That's probably what I would have expected as a child.
Now I know the best treat of sitting with him in a car, with him all to myself.
The treat lies in learning something new, still. And to be able to look at the world differently, once more.
I'm looking too much into it? Hardly. All of this took place in the solitary zap as soon as the wheels rolled into movement.
Alhamdu lillah, for being consumed by so much all at once, and still have space to contain more for the future.
Argh. That Feeling.
When you read what someone says about love, and wish you'd come up with the same choice of words. Only before them, to make it your own and in effect, to give it to him.
Things I wish I'd penned for Ryz before someone else wrote them. For whomever or whatever.
Feelings like, "I've learned to count on you as my own fingers." Feelings I've learned, and have become a part of me.
Close enough to touch.
Jab Koi Doosra Nahin Hota
I can't explain it.
I didn't want to go for the Ramadan Toy Drive distributions without Ryz. Even though there was a good reason for him not to go.
I didn't feel the reason why when we were at Jinnah Hospital, having to deal with the red tape involving handing out free goody bags to sick children. Yes there is such a thing as red tape in matters like this.
I didn't feel it when telling the volunteers the disappointing news of not being able to give to the sick children of Jinnah Hospital after all our struggles of getting there.
On the way to Gulab Devi Hospital, I'd called the AMS of Children's Hospital to request an impromptu trip to give away the 80 goody bags we had kept for Jinnah Hospital.
When the AMS gracefully agreed and went out of his way to accommodate us, I was relieved. And yet I didn't know why I felt the void.
In Gulab Devi, everything was a breeze.
Even though I took that nasty stumble, scraped and bruised my (bad) knee. Had all the volunteers rush to help me out.
And the first thing I uttered was, "Is my camera okay?!" Half-seriously, and half-bravely, wanting to distract the volunteers from my injury.
Couldn't explain what I felt even then.
After Gulab Devi, and on the way to Children's Hospital, I checked my camera lens to discover that I had broken the base in the fall. I felt sad.
And yet something was missing. And I knew I couldn't feel sad. Not as yet.
The Children's Hospital trip was a delight. The doctor assigned to us was a kind-hearted man, who took delight in walking to each ward with us and seeing the children smile.
It was truly a pleasure to be there, and a relief to see that all the volunteers had an impromptu trip to make up for the cancellation earlier in the morning.
I climbed up a flight of stairs then, ignoring the sharp pain in my knee. Knowing I had to go on.
Ryz had texted me, and I read his text while taking the kind doctor's phone number. Ryz wrote, "How's it going, good looking?" And I dismissed the text.
We took photographs of each other before heading out our separate ways after that. It was nearly 3 pm. I'd been out since 10:30 am.
Rasham offered us to come over to her place and have omelets for breakfast. I excused myself, saying I want to go home and check up on Ryz.
Dropped Saba home on the way back. Smiling and chatting all the way through.
Came home, settled Arif Bhai's outstanding bills for the day, hobbled to the front door.
And the 4 steps leading to the front door were a mountain each. I could hardly drag my leg to the front door.
Saw Ryz, hugged him. Sat. And the day made sense.
I knew that I need not pretend to be brave or pain-free anymore. I could be myself. Wounded, happy, relieved, exhausted, humbled, sad, happy. All at once.
I moaned and groaned about my scraped knee. Nearly wept about the lens. Moaned some more about my knee joint. Swore never to return to Jinnah Hospital again. Marveled at how enthusiastic the SKANS students were.
The entire day. Became crystal clear.
For that one truth.
Tum meray paas hotay ho goya...
How Obama Has Changed Lives
Sometimes when I raise my hand to give my dad a high-five, I notice he extends his fist for a fist-bump instead.
This is all very recent. I can't think of any other person he could've got this from.
This is all very recent. I can't think of any other person he could've got this from.
Chamak Patti Overdose
I finally put my finger on it.
Why do I not like truck art anymore, when I used to love it before?
I get it now.
I used to love it in Karachi.
Karachi may have its fair share of street violence but the fashion sense of its people is anything but a, "bum dhamaka."
The fashion in Karachi is demure, almost understated on some occasions. You can tell who has taste by how they carry themselves, not by what they're carrying in their hands.
Lahore on the other hand..
There are classy people in Lahore too. My beef lies with the ad nauseum usage of truck art, that of course reflects on Lahoris' general sense of... umm... generosity in fashion.
I have seen truck art in every form here. On tin boxes, in cut out letters of the alphabet, on handbags, on the hems of shalwars, on shoes, everywhere.
Except on trucks. Trucks in Lahore are usually very plain-looking.
It's just not a novelty to seek delight in here. It's in my face, and owned by young adults and middle-aged people alike.
I like(d) truck art because it showed our similarities as a culture spread across a nation that is more long in topography than it is wide.
The truck goes everywhere, across this great vertical stretch of land, and the colors of the truck stand out in the rain, smog and dust-storms.
The truck art symbolises oneness because of similarity.
Enter a barrage of other mediums that have NOTHING to do with the truck art, and yet I see the designs and colors replicated on these surfaces. Without the essence.
How is it without the essence? It gives no credit directly or indirectly to the artisans that created the culture to begin with.
Now it's a border on a hem. Not a safety precaution for night-time driving across the Khyber Pass.
I want my truck art for truck art's sake back.
Old Habits
It's so impossibly hard to try on a pair of white shelled sunglasses and not look like Elton John.
Sigh.
The awkward moment at the polling agent training that you flip an Urdu handout over for the English translation and find none.
Sunday Morning
Though it's just as yum. The juicing process, from washing the vegetables, to cutting them... is so relaxing.
Maybe it's the anchor created with juicing. My mind anticipates my body feeling good really soon and I'm in a great mood.
Or maybe it's the smell of fruits and vegetables first thing in the morning.
Or seeing green, and the other colors.
Today wasn't as glamorous as the past 4 days, though it was more fun, with the element of surprise.
Typing all this out from my phone, I think I've got it bad.
So... Where Was I?
It's part of a year-long commitment to healthy eating and forming habits that serve me best.
Now the journal. Is actually the same that I kept my wedding preparation notes in, waay back in '08.
From salon appointments for my bridal makeup, to wedding card invites, to gifts for Ryz and even my siblings, I had them all listed here.
So much fun looking through them. Did I really do so much? I remember running all these errands only because Ami wanted to do these things for my wedding, and I didn't want her to do them by herself.
And she did so much too. And it all fell into place, alhamdu lillah. Despite the innumerable lists and things to do.
5 years down and I still can't believe I'm married. To Ryz. Wow.
Here's a clip of Shireen Anwer's cooking classes that I attended, attached to my journal for easy reference.
Win-win.
When I was a teenager I used to love wearing my brother's t-shirts. I'd douse them with my mum's perfume so I wouldn't have to give it back to him for the day at least.
Fast forward to now, when I do the same with Ryz's t-shirts. So comfy.
On the Road to Beefdom
Once you get into the workout habit, the healthy endocrines get to work the minute you put your shoes on.
I feel refreshed and excited already.
Not that it's tra la la fun. It's downright painful. And just so sweet at the same time.
Is this what beef-cake tastes like?
Dulce et Decorum est
Ryz brought home an age-old TV serial that aired on our local television screens in '98. Pakistani folks know what I'm talking about - it was called, "Alpha Bravo Charlie," a TV serial regarded as touching and timeless by many. It's about the coming-of-age of a group of friends serving in the Pakistan army.
I just remember older girls crushing on the men in uniform in the drama.
Ryz and my cousin got, "Alpha Bravo Charlie" on DVD with the hopes of watching the complete series. Naturally they started from episode 1. It's charming, I get why people liked it so much when it initially aired.
The storyline started to drag on, or maybe I wasn't sitting still long enough to be drawn in by the plot. Either way, I checked out the synopsis online.
And I didn't want to watch it anymore.
Yes, it showed the Pakistan army in a positive light, and it was so human and real in terms of the relationships portrayed by the characters.
I should have been filled with the warm, fuzzy feeling of watching an old TV show that depicted human emotions with a subtle charm.
Instead, I was only reminded of Wilfred Owen's narrative of serving in the army.
Particularly, "Dulce et Decorum est" - It was a poem on war, and the title was taken from Horace's poem. It literally means, "It's sweet and fitting." The complete phrase is, "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" which means, "It's sweet and fitting to die for your country." I keep coming back to poetry and literature taught to me in school, and allude them to present experiences. I've got to appreciate the teachers who worked so hard with me to build a strong literary foundation in middle school.
Here's how he ended his poem. Wilfred Owen died exactly one week before the Armistice ending WWI was signed. He died in battle.
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
So yeah, I don't want to watch this TV show.
Like Stars Peppering the Desert Skies
Bismillah
Alhamdu lillah it's been more than a year and I'm still experiencing the benefits of marriage in new ways.
Like myself surrounded by seven books scattered on the bed, looking, waiting for inspiration for the perfect website name that I can not only call my own, but also take ownership of for my lifecoaching as well.
My husband is upstairs watching the European Grand Prix and he logs onto chat. I express my distress at not having a name as yet and how it's stagnating me more each day.
He comes up with a name, and what a snazzy one it is too! Not only that, he gives me a couple of tag-lines. Just like that.
I am overjoyed, we have an animated chat from a room across about the possibilities with that name.
I've now begun to tell him how marriage is a wonder each day, alhamdu lillah. He doesn't reply right away because he's watching the race as well.
Two partners in the same flat, in different rooms with their own tasks, and still the connect. Alhamdu lillah.
Last Stop
I was tagged because I read a blog post to follow some instructions. I kill all kinds of chains, so I guess this is the last link of this particular one. No one is tagged, no pressure, no instructions even. Enjoy.
Beauty Spots
Finished China Chowk wali movie in less than 7 minutes I think.WHY in all these kab ke bichray, jurrwa movies do both twins, who led separate childhoods in varied environments, BOTH grow up to be stunners? Why can't one be a hottie and the other resemble a blue whale, EVER? Argh!
Terms of Speaking
in·ca·pac·i·tate ĭn'kə-pās'ĭ-tāt') in
tr.v. in·ca·pac·i·tat·ed, in·ca·pac·i·tat·ing, in·ca·pac·i·tates 
ca·paci·ta
tion n.To watch The Big Bang Theory without Ryz and still find humor in it.
What Are the Odds!
So I've covered every possible surface area in the bathroom with detergent and have put on my gloves and dampened the sponge to make the place sparkly clean and while I'm rigorously scrubbing away, thinking I'll be done in no time at all, that is the point where my nose starts to itch. So much so that I crave a sandpaper post nearby so I can get rid of the itch and get on with it already.
You Can't Have One Without the Other
Sometimes I feel that Lima and I would've been married if one of us were a guy.
Infant-Pampering Place
I saw this at the Karachi Airport while waiting at the boarding lounge for our plane. This is outside the women's bathroom. Somehow the word usage makes me think that once inside, I'd find chocolate fountains, lots of colorful origami lights hanging from the ceiling, balls of string, and miles of cloth covered with diaper rash cream.
You know, all the elements of an Infant-pampering place.
Venus, Meet Mars
I was in the kitchen when Ryz was watching one of the Matrix movies. I hadn't seen any and so I asked him, "Ryz yeh kaun sa part hai?"
"Yeh sab se acha part hai."
Exhaustion in the South Pole
I helped myself to a bowl of cherries and once the cherries were finished I set the bowl aside to get back to my list of errands to run. Later I glanced at the bowl and noticed that my Webkinz penguin lay on the bed in such a way that its feet were resting on the rim of the now empty bowl. Almost as if the penguin had devoured all the cherries and fallen over from the sheer effort.
The Perfect Market
I'll miss hearing the adhaan, was thinking that today. I'll miss that so much.
M: mm..... there's a reason you're going to the cayman fatima
a reason beyond shaadi too...
there might be a reason ur going to a country where there is no azan
im sure there was no azan in the US some years back
mm..theres a lovely marketing anecdote
i'll share with you...
once a man running a shoe business called in two of his workers and said
go to such and such an island. find out what market there is for shoes
one man returned saying: no one wears shoes on the island. there's no market for ur product.
the other man returned saying:
no one wears shoes on the island. it is the perfect market for your product.
Blade Runner
I've finally understood the meaning of the question, "Do androids dream of electric sheep?"
Well Played.
What Hassan Bhai said to each one of us on leaving once the elections were over. I couldn't have said it any better.
After having tea with the Awan girls from Garh Maharaja and hearing all their complaints of what exactly happened on election day, I am beginning to understand just how well we actually played, alhamdo lillah.
The one thing that is left is those 65,000 people who voted for a change and were overshadowed by illegitimate ballots that warded of any kind of help to this area. Alhamdo lillah for such a number, since it gives Abu the drive to try setting this right with the help and guidance of Allah Subhana Wa Ta'ala.
Coming back to the original statement, alhamdo lillah I'm glad to have played well, and glad to have Abu and all my relatives to have played well too, and alhamdo lillahe Rab il Alameen, for we truly don't know how else to play.
Home Within, and Home Without
Lima didn't have to come. Here's how I found home in gaon.
"An old juhi chawla movie is playing on tv n im remembering u.haha.try escaping tht! bought my first heels frm cnk.ibrahim pooped n peed in his new potty." Texts Umme Ibrahim.
Terms of Endearment
Sometimes when I'm reading one of Ryz's emails, I can tell that he's signed off in a hurry. That's when he writes phrases like, "have fun" towards the end. Reading such words while sitting in my village make me want to find where the party's at, probably an elusive location I may have missed and Ryzvan knows about.
Books That Make Me Dumb
A friend sent me a link to a list of all the books that make me dumb. Well supposedly anyway. There are books within the list that I would like to carry with me everywhere, or maybe I already do carry a bit of those books within myself each day.
Tag to anyone and everyone who reads this post: let me know if you get a rush of nostalgia with the following book titles as well.
Catch 22
Atlas Shrugged
Life of Pi
The Great Gatsby
1984
The Catcher in the Rye
All Quiet on the Westernfront
Alice in Wonderland
To Kill a Mockingbird
Brave New World
A Farewell to Arms
The Bell Jar
The Count of Monte Cristo
Running With Scissors
Lord of the Flies
Animal Farm
Anthem
Great Expectations
A Separate Peace
Hamlet
Night
The Outsiders
The Color Purple
Each title brings back a memory with it, and I grow to appreciate the books I read in Umreekan ISKool all the more, and make me miss the library even more than that.
The Funk Soul Brother
With taglines such as, "Peri peri, sixie sixie" to mark its sixth anniversary, and "Peri-fy your soul" during the month of Ramadan, behold the latest brainchild of the Nando's advertising team: the lid for the aluminum box for take-out orders. What. Absolute. Genius.
Scrambled Eggs
The fever has got to my brain and my thoughts are all scrambled. Now I know how Humpty Dumpty must have felt after falling off that silly wall.
Commit to Memory
Anyone who knows me even vaguely must know that I will never be able to relate to Ryzvan as my 'hubby' - my mind draws a blank each time someone uses that word and I drop everything to correct that person. I can't imagine using that word for him, ever: it's too... commonplace. Just about every woman in love calls her husband her hubby. I beg to differ.
A friend asked me to elaborate and after having looked into the reason why having to hear Ryzvan as my hubby makes me cringe, I came up with this.
I have this thing with nicknames. I am already very selective both about giving nicknames to people and assuming names for myself. Being of that thought myself, for anyone else to assume a nickname for my husband or fiance before my saying so is kind of eerie.
I don't mind anyone else calling her husband her hubby, that's entirely her business. But what I call mine, is my business and he's Ryzvan when people speak of him to me, or Ryz at the most. Any other name I give him, is my name to him - not anyone else's for him to me. Three's a crowd.
Rung
Am going to play cards with the cousins again. Last night six of us tried playing Rung by taking out the 2s and ending up with 48 cards to deal evenly. After having explained the game, I dealed the cards to Haris so he could pick which suit (rung) and he said, "Red." This was after I had explained the game and had all of us had a practice round. On hearing Haris choose his 'rung', Ibrahim who was sitting down to be his partner, stopped midway in his seat and mildly commented, "Hum bahut burri tarah haarnay walay hain." To make up for his occassional fumbling, Haris cheats shamelessly by claiming he's out of a suit to play a trump and ends up with three cards of the same suit in the end, getting beaten up by the rest of us in the process. Playing cards can be an extreme sport in the Quraishi household.
Oh Snap.
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Sixty-four
The number of days I had spent without being behind the steering wheel. Driving was never as much fun as tonight, alhamdo lillah.
When All Else Fails, Run
It's been a while since I've ran. Wanting to gradually build my cardiovascular strength to par, I had no intention of running today as well. Just that today, walking on the treadmill didn't seem enough. So I ran, and when I started to get tired, I ran even faster. I ran until my chest started to ache and I felt that my heart wouldn't be able to take more stress. I ran for about a minute after that as well for good measure before slowing down to a walk once again. Alhamdo lillah running felt so good. I was out of aching and out of breath and I loved it.
Thinking that insha Allah the next time I were to try the same routine, my heart would be stronger and more prepared for the pressure. I don't think I've ever made a cognitive decision such as this when upset, not a damaging one anyway. Certainly not one that I know I will come out of feeling stronger and strangely relieved, alhamdo lillah.
I doubt I speak for myself alone when I say that I am capable of worse things to release stress, pressure or heartache. Of all the detrimental things to do, I guarantee this to be the most exhilirating. This hardly counts as being masochistic, because willingly allowing oneself to be hurt more than once by the same aspect, or not shying the fire after being burnt once is far worse. Each one of us puts ourself in such a position so many days of our lives. This one actually did my heart some good.
Pfft
So I chose to 'audit' everyone on Facebook with SuperPoke today. That's got nothing to do with anything. Really.
Monogamy
Ever since Ryzvan got himself a diving watch, I've stopped looking at new styles for him in my emails from Fossil.
Blissful Ignorance
You know you haven't heard of any songs or music in a while when you read a track on IM and are unable to tell the artist from the song.
Spoilt Rotten
You know you're addicted to your pocket PC when you start a chat conversation on your desktop and stop at, "Assa" waiting for the AutoComplete to finish the greeting for you.
An Itch
I have this urge to send a truckload of postcards with, 'Wish you were here' scribbled on the back to so many people right now. To mail them these cards and magically have them travel this way, this much, with me.
Predictably Home
Predictable is hearing Baji beat eggs over the phone and knowing it's a Sunday morning in FL and she's making the sweet omelet for Bhaijan.
It's Ami getting someone's name wrong when narrating an incident and even telling a joke all wrong.
Home is Ami laughing while she's telling a joke because she knows she might mess up any minute.
Home is also Abu quipping in his version of the Indian soap Ami is watching so intently. As is Ami's promise to return the favor the next time Abu tunes into the news.
Home is both Baji and Omar Bhai accidentally calling out my name before their chidrens' when they're up to their usual mischief.
It's SMSing a hug to Mayyam and getting one back almost immediately.
Predictable is Billie saying, 'Qasam se' or, 'Seriously!' to every 'Nahin yaar!'
It's knowing Maina, Afshan and Nazia will go out of their ways to respond to a call for help despite the distance from myself.
It's having to know that we need not catch up.
It's squeezing in rushed conversation with Rabia and feeling great afterwards, everytime.
Predictable is knowing Zairah will coo back a hello when I call her in a sing-song voice. For her to carry poignant memories of my past as if they were her own.
It's Halima being flaky on popular request.
Ashi, sobering up to be more a sister than a friend.
Homeis Ryz woh na telling me something I want to hear before gliding into what he wants to share with me. Ryz returning my coy girl routine with a cheesy line that breaks a previous record set by himself.
Peter Pan
Part of the weaning process involves myself not sleeping in Ami's room when Abu's out of town. Insha Allah this move will help my weaning and hers as well.
Amusing Ourselves to Death
Lately the news on local television channels made me think the same about our culture. I was fortunate enough to recognize the emergence of desensitization and empathy caused by media in the West because of my frequent visits, and also because I was not a resident and I could in turn assess the situation objectively.
Reading the following excerpt from "Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business" by Neil Postman brought the eddy of all those thoughts of discontention to words. I possibly could not agree more. Read, "A Brave New World" if you haven't already.
Amusing Ourselves to Death: an excerpt
"We were keeping our eye on 1984. When the year came and the prophecy didn't, thoughtful Americans sang softly in praise of themselves. The roots of liberal democracy had held. Wherever else the terror had happened, we, at least, had not been visited by Orwellian nightmares.
But we had forgotten that alongside Orwell's dark vision, there was another - slightly older, slightly less well known, equally chilling: Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. Contrary to common belief even among the educated, Huxley and Orwell did not prophesy the same thing. Orwell warns that we will be overcome by an externally imposed oppression. But in Huxley's vision, no Big Brother is required to deprive people of their autonomy, maturity and history. As he saw it, people will come to love their oppression, to adore the technologies that undo their capacities to think.
What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drownd in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy. As Huxley remarked in Brave New World Revisited, the civil libertarians and rationalists who are ever on the alert to oppose tyranny "failed to take into account man's almost infinite appetite for distractions". In 1984, Huxley added, people are controlled by inflicting pain. In Brave New World, they are controlled by inflicting pleasure. In short, Orwell feared that what we hate will ruin us. Huxley feared that what we love will ruin us.
This book is about the possibility that Huxley, not Orwell, was right."
Disdain
When, when, when will I learn to not look closely at roadkill lying in my path while driving?
Swindled
is finding a hollow, squishy Malteser in an anticipated packet of crispy rewards following a long week.
Medicare
About a month ago I read about a man who lay awake during his own brain surgery. The details of the case can be found here.
Call me one with limited perception and concentration skills, I just can't think beyond learning the fact that a retired truck driver in Australia can enjoy such health benefits, masha Allah.
Hershey Says
For the likes of the Halimas and the Ryzvans of the world - for Halima, who shook her head on finding words such as, "thingamajig" in the autocomplete feature of my phone, and for Ryzvan who tolerantly nodded his head each time I made up words such as these, words he magically understood as well.
Halima and Ryzvan: in your faces.
A Test
I wonder whether I can customize the appearance of a post through my email.
Red.
Bold and pink.
Halima Blue.
Ryz.
Fever
I bought a book because Ethan Hawke wrote it. I saw the cover and WHAM! was reminded of the days of "Reality Bites", of "Great Expectations" and most importantly, of "Before Sunrise."
To read a book should be an experience of its own. Hopefully if it's terrible, I'll finally get over that fluttery-butterfly phase that I had managed to drag all the way from my teenage, until realization yesterday.
Common Sense, for God's Sake
The voice of David AS glorifying Allah by reading out the Psalms does not equal the use of musical instruments. A voice and an instrument are not the same.
If one really were to follow the example of David AS, then there would be musical accompaniment with the recitation of the Quran, but everyone agrees that would be disrespectful and plainly wrong.
Also, David AS fasted every other day, i.e. half the year. I'd like to tell that to the people who're only too keen on "following his example." Try matching his amount of taqwa before addressing other issues.
Volume 3, Book 31, Number 200:Narrated 'Abdullah bin 'Amr bin Al-'As:
The Prophet said to me, "You fast daily all the year and pray every night all the night?" I replied in the affirmative. The Prophet said, "If you keep on doing this, your eyes will become weak and your body will get tired. He who fasts all the year is as he who did not fast at all. The fasting of three days (a month) will be equal to the tasting of the whole year." I replied, "I have the power for more than this." The Prophet said, "Then fast like the fasting of David who used to fast on alternate days and would never flee from the battle field, on meeting the enemy.
Volume 3, Book 31, Number 201:
Narrated 'Abdullah bin 'Amr:
Allah's Apostle was informed about my fasts, and he came to me and I spread for him a leather cushion stuffed with palm fires, but he sat on the ground and the cushion remained between me and him, and then he said, "Isn't it sufficient for you to fast three days a month?" I replied, "O Allah's Apostle! (I can fast more)." He said, "Five?" I replied, "O Allah's Apostle! (I can fast more)." He said, "Seven?" I replied, "O Allah's Apostle! (I can fast more)." He said, "Nine (days per month)?" I replied, "O Allah's Apostle! (I can fast more)" He said, "Eleven (days per month)?" And then the Prophet said, "There is no fast superior to that of the Prophet David it was for half of the year. So, fast on alternate days."
(taken from Sahih Bukhari)
The Kite Runner
So much for goofing around while watching, "Killing Jane." I saw the beginning of a trailer that showed two middle-Eastern boys sitting as friends would and I said, "The Kite Runner" and grabbed Afshan's hand. Amazing how I stumbled upon the trailer of the movie I would not have never read the written version of, had it not been for the love of the person who was squeezing my hand ever so tight throughout the length of the trailer. The trailer I could not have possibly sit through alone.
From hearing my favorite words in the morning, to being humbly reminded of tawwakal nearing evening, Allah Subhana Wa Ta'ala had sure been Generous about His signs to me today.
Rediscovery
My dentist told me to use a super-soft toothbrush for the area he operated on a week ago. I chose a pink colored baby toothbrush with Minnie's ears drawn all over it.
What's in a Number?
My cellphone carrier now offers, "Islamic Services" that include being able to listen to the "Quran, Hadith, Hamd, Naat, Qawali and much more" on my phone.
Somehow I lost track of the Islamic bit after Hamd and Naat.
Or was it when I realized that I can get all these "Islamic Services" by dialing 786? I forget.
Thinking Chair
Halima was over at my place and lounging on my bed with myself sitting on my green sofa. It was then that I realized something and told her that our sitting this way was an extremely rare occassion. She asked why and I answered that I wasn't sure when both of us would be home in Karachi from Lahore at the same time again.
The next day, both Maryam and Halima were over and I had another thought. With Zairah being busy with Ibrahim and Mehreen in CA, it would just be the three of us spending time this way. Until the next year, as Halima duly reminded me.
Next year. I want Afshan and Nazia over right now just thinking of it.
Emotional Hypochondria At Its Best
As soon as Ryzvan signed in from work today, I asked him something that both of us would describe as a, "raat-khanay-ke-liye-kya-pakaoon?" while-at work kind of question: untimely, unnecessary and irrelevant.
Funny thing is, I had realized just how wifey I am capable of sounding as soon as I had asked that particular thing, and alhamdo lillah he was honest enough to reply that it's a question he really cannot answer as well as I could; and so I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. He's as honest as I'd like him to be and alhamdo lillah, more honest than I wouldn't on certain occassions. That, and I made a mental note of checking myself before interrupting his work to ask him something.
Such are the fringe benefits of being friends long before anything else - the emotional hypochondria which makes me sense his reaction to a general situation, even when I am the one creating it for him, and effectively admitting to the sheer silliness of the matter. Alhamdo lillah for honesty and all its instances.
For the Want of Intellectual Stimuli
I was flipping channels on television when I tuned into a children's quiz show on one of our local channels. Seeing Aamir Saleem the singer sit as one of the guests amongst the audience of children made me suddenly wonder the last time I saw someone other than a singer or a musician as a guest for a children's show.
I don't see any authors, I don't even see any actors. I don't see any soldiers, policemen, pilots or any other role models except for singers in childrens' shows.
Talking to Halima about the same, she pointed out that a possible reason why could be that children do not think much about the kinds of people I just mentioned, which brings the argument round to the starting point: children don't think of such people as interesting because such people are not introduced to children with the same razzle dazzle as musicians are.
I want to hear about Ibn-e-Insha from people other than my father. If the actual authors are not available, I'd love to hear people talk about their youth that was spent on such authors like Shafeeq-ur-Rehman, Bano Qudsia and even Ghulam Abbas. Or poets like Ahmed Faraz who are given air-time on Begum Nawazish Ali but not asked how the picture of their country has changed over the span of their lifetime.
Personally I know people who belong to the police and armed forces who have extremely interesting thoughts to share and inspire people with. Why limit such occassions to September 6, and even then to remember older patriots and not celebrate the prospect of newer ones, insha Allah. I know for a fact that many young mindsets will be changed if the army and police were represented by those who feel the same glory behind serving their country as myself, you or any other common man would.
I wouldn't even object half as much to musicians being guests at a show (maybe I would, actually) if they presented even a flicker of inspiration through means of dialogue and reflection shared with the children. Instead, all they do is lip-sync or hand out gifts wrapped in shiny green paper.
Children look extremely cute masha Allah, waving our Pakistani flags in glee while hearing their favorite singer singing a well-known national song, but then they might come out associating August 14 with only the song-and-dance routine. Hearing the people who make Pakistan each day the rest of the year is bound to be an inspiration and a less mindless experience.
I love my country, and I am proud to celebrate its existence. I just don't want the idealogy of Pakistan to be reduced to a mere Chinese whisper that loses its weight by the time it has reached the last ear.
Then Which of The Favors of Your Lord Will You Deny?
The next time I think to scrunch my nose at something I may not like to eat, may Allah Remind me of this. Ameen.
Credits to Asma @ Islamabad Metblogs
Rain
Walking through slush today I kept asking myself whether I am the only one who is extremely careful while driving so other peoples' clothes and subsequent days are not ruined.
A Treat
A treat can be defined as finding Mitchell's Fruit BonBons in the console under the steering-wheel of my car.
Anyone But
Ahmed Faraz on Begum Nawazish Ali's show. Ahmed Faraz. Ahmed Faraz with Meera as the other guest.
Ahmed Faraz on Begum Nawazish Ali's show.
Said and Done
I have realized that as much as I may try roughing it by bathing in less warm water, I am less of a wet cat when I have my usual hot shower and consequently, more pleasant to deal with for all of humankind for the rest of the day.
Humbug.
For sheer girly-girl reasons, I've voluntarily reduced myself to try growing my nails. I don't know how most girls do this. I mean, I can't let my hands look like starfish with each fingernail of a separate length. Last week I trimmed all my fingernails and toenails since I broke one fingernail and couldn't bear to trim one and leave the rest long(er). Ikh.
A Term Appointed For Respite
I am tired of hearing outcries from fellow Muslims about Rushdie being knighted. Was talking to Lima about it as well. We have a crumbling, if not already crumbled constituency, half of my city fears drowning in either rainwater or darkness or both tonight, we have a circus of a military dictatorship, and yet our opposition chooses not to go to the streets about any of this, rather a person who blasphemised Rasool Allah SAWS.
Actually, no. What gets to me is why just about everyone is giving SO much of importance to a worldly status of recognition given to a non-believer. The only reason why all of this is such a big deal is because we are choosing to make this world the be-all and the end-all. What ever happened to believing in an Akhirah (Hereafter)?
The largest opposition party that professes to be a religious one wants to carry on a nationwide protest against the move for knighting him. Whatever for? Because he presented our Prophet SAWS in a poor light? The same Prophet SAWS who told us to be in this world as if we were mere travelers? And exactly what good are we causing his SAWS' sunnah by creating such a fuss about a non-Muslim nation choosing to honor a non-believer in this world by recognizing him for blasphemizing the Prophet SAWS?
I would understand a person who denies the Akhirah to think this to be a big deal because hey, we only live once and once we die there is nothing to look forward to. So we either make or break our future. Why is a Momin thinking the same way? This world is not even a drop as compared to the ocean of the Akhirah. Then what explains this frenzy to be recognized and in this particular case, to not allow recognition? And that too, by worldly standards set by an openly non-believing monarchy?
We have been promised an appointed term for respite, and if Rasool Allah SAWS clearly defined gheebah and bohtaan (back-biting and slander), who are we to redefine its extent? Did he SAWS not face slander and blasphemy in his own time? And why do we think ourselves to be better judges of how to go about this?
There is a calm in my heart not because I condone Rushdie's actions that hurt my Ummah's sentiments, rather because I believe in Divine justice, as it has been promised to me and remains an article of faith for me.
020.129
Had it not been for a Word that went forth before from thy Lord, (their punishment) must necessarily have come; but there is a Term appointed (for respite).
020.130
Therefore be patient with what they say, and celebrate (constantly) the praises of thy Lord, before the rising of the sun, and before its setting; yea, celebrate them for part of the hours of the night, and at the sides of the day: that thou mayest have (spiritual) joy.
020.131
Nor strain thine eyes in longing for the things We have given for enjoyment to parties of them, the splendour of the life of this world, through which We test them: but the provision of thy Lord is better and more enduring.
020.132
Enjoin prayer on thy people, and be constant therein. We ask thee not to provide sustenance: We provide it for thee. But the (fruit of) the Hereafter is for righteousness.
The Word of Allah, Surah Ta-ha (Ta-ha) 20:129-132
Been Around the World and I, I, I
I seriously doubt men have strong observational skills. What else would explain their eagerness to shake hands with each man they met during the course of a day? Do they not see what I see, and that too when I'm not looking in a specific direction? If men saw what most men tend to do with their hands when they think no one is looking, they wouldn't be doing the golden handshake just about everywhere.
Infinite Loop
Some nights ago I had an extremely vivid dream of myself in an animated conversation with Fizza. The topic was of interest to the both of us and the conversation was not only spontaneous but also very realistic, since what I was telling her was something that actually happened and that I wanted to share with her. The next day I called Fizza telling her about this dream and she asked what it was about, and as I began to describe the dream to her, our reactions were one jolt of deja vu after another.
A Day in the Life of...
Halima wanted to get Cerelac for her puppy, Hendrix. Yes, it's quite hard to accept a dog named after a musician, and that too receiving processed cereal in the same world that has children dying of hunger. But then, Halima does her fair share for serving all kinds of living beings and may Allah Accept her worship, Ameen.
So she wanted to get Cerelac for Hendrix and we stopped at a pharmacy for it. Conversation that follows took place inside the store.
Halima is wondering whether she should take Cerelac Banana or not, and I suggested that she had the option of choosing Cerelac 3 Fruits as well, since she was considering fruit nutrients.
To which Halima replied, "Kutta hai..." in a self-explanatory tone.
To which I cautioned, "Halima... Munnay ke baaray mein aisay baat nahin kartay."
Pharmacist looks on.
Finally.
I can finally blog in Lahore. After a month. I am too relieved to relive all the things I had to go through to get my blogger up and running. It's working now, alhamdo lillah. That's what matters.
The Damage Has Been Done
I faced Abu front and center to show him my eyes as I hadn't met him since my PRK surgery. Abu was one to really dislike my contact lenses and amongst his many reasons was a classic one that my eyes looked even more large and strained when I had my contacts on.
So there I was at the airport, waiting for my luggage to arrive on the conveyor belt. I faced him to show him my eyes and jokingly told him that I discovered that my eyes are truly large even without the contact lenses.
To which Abu solemnly replied that it was merely because the lenses had already made my eyes large even before my surgery and nothing can be done to reverse the process.
Sigh.
Phir Bannein Ge Aashna
As soon as I stepped out into the open air at the Karachi airport, I was momentarily stunned by my want to seek out each part of my city and ask the things it went through while I was gone. Almost as if to reach out and touch the parts that hurt the most. A physical pain I still cannot quite explain.
The Ways of My Mum
The first thing that I noticed on entering my room was the newly stitched, ironed and ready to wear shalwar kameez that Ami had strategically placed on my bed. She's treating my two months away from her like a grueling venture into the unknown with very little chances of my return, she's this happy to see me alhamdo lillah. Alhamdo lillah.
Softly As I Leave You
I've come across adults who joke that children can sense fear. I think children can also sense a departure. What else could explain Meher's prolonged hugs and countless kisses to me today?
"I Love Karachi" Banners
Thanks to Ejaz Asi, I can show my love for Karachi by putting up one of many beautiful banners created by him. All are free to view the rest of his work and put it up to show their love for their city, provided the credit remains his.
A Growing Dependancy
Just that sitting in Umreeka and watching a pastried version of today's carnage on television makes me miss home so much.
I woke up to check Karachi Metblogs for the news, and I realized that I turn to the Metblogs for news more than I would turn to even Dawn.com - Metblogs is so real compared to the news, both have human beings writing it, and yet one sounds like a newsfeed and the other is an actual human narrative.
Of Adornment
The Prophet SAWS said, "Modesty does not come into anything without adorning it."
Al-Tirmidhi, Hadith 1253
Ticklish
Probably the best thing I've heard since I heard the songs they came up with for Abu during the last general elections, a song I heard during the news coverage of the rally outside Lahore High Court, described as a milli naghma: "Chacha vardi laanda kyun nahin."
This is a kind of unity as well, to be able to forms words in a tune or a rhythm and describe an era for a nation altogether.
Bazeecha-e-Atfaal
Rabia Baji was shocked to see Meher take off her shirt while dancing to an Indian song playing on a DVD she had put on herself. Omar Bhai replied that Meher was merely imitating what she saw in the song, and chose to wear as much or as little as the heroine in the song.
Why is that still surprising, I wonder. It is nearly impossible to set limits on how much you want a child to imitate when you expose him / her to the Full Monty, so to speak.
Eating Calamari Right Before Going to Bed
I dreamt that Google hooked up with Apple and designed a profile interface for its users. Consequently users on Google Talk who had pictures in their profile had an electric blue colored apple next to their name, instead of the usual green dot.
The Etiquette of Eating
Lately I've alhamdo lillah had the opportunity to see my nieces and nephews eat and I can't help but notice just how similar their eating habits are to the masnoon etiquette, subhan Allah. When left to their own accord, a child will prefer to sit on the floor to eat, eat with his hands when he does, speak while eating and have no qualms about sharing the food on his plate with another, or picking food off another's plate as well.
We as civilized adults of the modern age tend to replace these inherent habits with what we regard as the etiquette of eating.
Arey nahin yaar!
Arey, you are 42% Pakistani!
Not bad, but not good enough to call yourself a real Pakistani either! You seem more London than Lahore, so why not try wearing a shalwar kameez for a week and maybe that'll bump up your rating...
How Pakistani are you? (first class number one!)
Create a Quiz
Whole World in My Hands
When Rafeh and I would play hide-and-seek, I would be left doing the counting regardless of whose turn it is to hide. He's just learning his numbers, so my he would repeat each number as I would say it. It made me think I could just about say anything in a sequence and he would take that to mean numbers. Such is the delight in playing with an innocent mind.
So the numbers one through ten could have names of vegetables like, aik, bhindi, chikkander, karaila and so on...
Reminds me of the time when I was teaching Sehyr "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" with the actions, and when it came to making a diamond in the sky, I taught her that the diamond was actually called, "DeBeers." So for a while after that, whenever I would tell Sehyr to show me DeBeers, she's make a diamond shape with her hands.
Such habits make me a lousy candidate for a baby-sitter unless the parents were people who are unaware of my tendencies.
Browsing Through
I really dislike window-shopping. I do not have the patience to sift through things that I know I will not buy. I usually go shopping when I am certain of what I need, I buy exactly that and I step out. This quality makes me a terrible person to take along on shopping sprees.
Recently I've come up with a list of places I'd window-shop any given day.
1) Places with books - any bookstore, stall keeping books, garage sale with books. I have been told more than once that I'm a pain in book-stores since I take forever in looking through everything.
Yet, I had such a wonderful time with Afshan spending an afternoon at a book-store. Maybe because neither of us minded having done that, alhamdo lillah.
I can also go on endlessly about obscure book titles with Halima, and we can have a laugh just about anywhere with that. Hours of endless entertainment.
Also, heading out towards Saeed Book Bank in Islamabad, Liberty Books in Karachi or Barnes and Noble in Umreeka is taking the easy way out. It is rummaging through books on a sidewalk store and finding one you've been looking for that feels most rewarding. Alhamdo lillah.
2) the Disney Store - I pray I never outgrow the Disney Store. I always head straight towards the stuffed toys on sale section and coo at each character I see there. I hug each one to check its hug-o-meter and bundle up the ones I'd like to keep under one arm.
The snow-globes. Oh, the snow-globes. And the coffee-mugs. The slippers, the pajamas. The stuffed toys on sale. The Disney Store is to me what balloons are to Winnie the Pooh. He says, "Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon." I couldn't agree more.
3) the Fossil store - I don't watch television that much, but there was a time when I heard a phrase resound in almost every Indian channel / show my mother was tuned to. "Mind-blowing." No, not merely mind-blowing, it's pronounced, "mmmmindblowingg" in double-time. I have no clue as to what gets the Indians so enthusiastic as to use that term just about everywhere, but the Fossil store with its watches, bags, wallets, oh the leather and the colors, now that experience is truly, utterly mmmmindblowingg.
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Jelly Belly
Masha Allah, looking at my father's ample belly makes me honestly believe that there must still exist cultures in today's world that would consider rubbing it for good luck, or even a bountiful harvest.
Let Me Count the Ways
I have lost count of the times I've misplaced my phone around the house, even my own room. I hardly seem to care anymore as to where I put it last or when I'll be needing it again. When speaking of the heart as a symbol of endearment, some people are said to walk around with their hearts on their sleeves while others claim to have given their beloved their hearts on departure. I think as a means to ensure I would not flit away like a butterfly as soon as the long winter gave way to spring, Ryz took my brain with him when he left.
Excess Baggage
I recently took a train to Taxila as part of a trip and brought a book along with myself to read during the journey. It's only when the train started to move did I realize that I wouldn't be reading the book at all.
Books are for the times I take the NJ transit to meet Afshan at Penn. Station or when I'm tired after having spent the day in Manhatten.
It is because traveling from New Jersey into the heart of New York does not amount to even half the fascination and beauty in traveling from Golra to Taxila.
For one, one can feel the scenery change every few minutes. The way people walk, the colors their homes are, the kinds of clothes they wear, the cleanliness they maintain, the pets they keep, every single detail made me feel like a child again. I found myself building on tales of their daily lives and their typical routines. Romantic does not necessarily mean the stuff Mills & Boons and Barbara Cartland became famous for (although I wonder why they did). Romantic is being able to follow the smallest movement or expression into the depths of an entire tale. Alhamdo lillah.
The most enjoyable part were the children. Jumping children to match the bounce of Pooh's best friend Tigger. Jumping at the sight of the passing train, jumping in their spot with an almost contagious excitement masha Allah. The older ones shyly waved back to passengers while most just jumped.
Each time I saw them jumping I tried to describe their emotions in a single phrase if not a word. I still cannot come up with one that does their exuberance justice.
Reading makes sense when changing cities even entire states in my situation do not offer any kind of variety. Even the landscape in Umreeka looks like it was engineered on an assembly line as compared to ours, subhan Allah. I did not realize I even kept a book until I found it in my bag on reaching home.
To Have And Have Not
Although this is the second trip that I've made since Ryzvan left it still feels so strangely hollow to travel without the SMSes. The are we there yet?s and the ding dongs that may not sound like much but amount to a lot.
Even stranger is stepping out and consciously not look for little somethings to take back that served as a reminder during the trip.
Bleah
I seriously doubt I'll ever look forward to packing or un-packing. For that to happen I'll need to not have traveled for at least three months at a stretch.
Al-Qalam
After a long time I found myself saving a clipping from a magazine. It's a typographic composition in Urdu script of, "Nastaleeq". It says in Persian, "Qalam goyad keh mann shah jahaanam," meaning, "The pen says, I am the ruler of my kingdom."
Deadlock
Oh please! What if they were just ominous of the modern homo sapien where one is trying to strangle the other and during the process the earth cracked open and swallowed them in whole? Valentine Schmalentine.
The Face of Terror
Police foil suicide attack at Islamabad airport, three wounded ISLAMABAD, Feb 6 (AFP) A suicide attacker opened fire at Islamabad’s International airport late Tuesday before blowing himself up with a hand grenade, and injuring at least three people, the interior minister said. The bomber headed towards the VIP section of the airport in a vehicle with two other men, and he began firing after security staff stopped it in the carpark outside, Interior Minister Aftab Sherpao said. “One of the men started firing at the security staff, injuring a member of the Airport Security Force, an elite police commando and a policeman,” Sherpao said. “They shot back at the attacker, then he tried to throw a grenade at them but when police retaliated, it fell from his hand and exploded and he died,” he said. “The suicide belt he was wearing did not explode, it was still intact.” Sherpao added. Police arrested the two other men in the car, and have cordoned off the airport over fears of further attacks, officials said. Information Minister Mohammad Ali Durrani clarified that he and Prime Minister Shaukat Aziz had landed hours earlier at the nearby Chaklala Airbase following a trip to the Arabian Sea port of Gwadar, and were not at Islamabad airport at the time of the incident. (First Posted @ 21:54 PST Updated @ 23:30 PST)
Abdullah Saab, an ASF officer who was an eye-witness and also injured during the attempted attack described the suicide attacker as a, "Taliban type." Despite the seriousness of the situation I smiled at this simple man's (may Allah Reward him for being true to his duty) choice of words, a obvious result of hearing a term resound much too often in the air.
Reminds me of a cover of our school magazine, Nomad that my friend Nur designed. That particular issue was printed in the winter of 2001. Nur had created a simple collage of Afghani children, children with their large expressive eyes and equally blank faces. Children in bright colors, children in bandages. He had written the simple title of, "The Face of Terror" on the cover. Naturally the cover sparked outrage amongst our American faculty members when all it really did do was show a face of terror we were too willing to forget then, and now.
Tomato, Tomato, Let's Call The Whole Thing Off
A sure-short way to make me tune out a recipe or an entire cooking show for that matter, is mentioning tomato ketchup as part of the ingredients.
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