What the hay…!

A lot has been going on recently. A very dear ”A” of mine recently got Nikkahed very suddenly. I was really happy for her and still am, for I really like her guy (I know him). But then this huge controversy,conspiracies, wild rumors, white lies, spread like wildfire in my very well-connected and extremely peace-loving family and I was left stunned as to who to believe and what. I, too, (I’m very regretful to say) got carried away in the beginning and discussed the rumors exhaustively. I revelled in the idea of being thoroughly misled and deceived by a certain someone, obviously enjoying the idea of being the innocent victim who is so good she can’t see the dark side of other people. I may be exaggerating how I was feeling here but tis the gist. I was, though, scared the entire time, knowing I was doing Gumaan about other people and putting unwarranted Buhtaan but still not stopping myself. Later that night, I sought forgiveness from Allah. I sat and thought about the entire matter with a clear objective head and I decided to give the benefit of the doubt to the person I thought I knew so well. I decided to trust my own judgement of her (though some people and Certain Someones would readily not!) and I decided to accept her as innocent until proven guilty.

Today I’m proud of my choice.

Neway, this was the hot topic in my life for a few days. After that came the blessed happiness of the darn passport of Hub dearest. Lol. It finally arrived Al-Hamdulillah after months and weeks and days and mornings and tahajjud times and rozas and hours of waiting. Allah finally blessed me with what I, my family, my husband, my relatives, all had been pleading, and begging and fighting and supplicating for. Lol. Last night he left. InshaAllah he will be working in a few dayz Al-Hamdulillah.

I talked to his mother today. She seemed upset, a bit lonely and worried that he reach there safe and sound. I was discussing with her how things are now tht he has left and she said that of course the house feels empty and lonely, his brothers and sister seem very quiet today, but everything will be fine in a few days as they gradually adjust to his absence.

While talking to her and afterwards, I was thinking how adaptable  man is! Allah has created us in such a way that we all learn to survive with or without Significant Someones. Though the thought kills before the actual absence occurs, but after it does, life seems to take a new turn and keep moving. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean we ever forget our Significant Someones and loved ones. We just learn to live without their phyical presences. If somebody else chooses to let go of old memories, that’s their way, but I am made to cling onto old memories and keep hoping and praying for new ones.

But still! I can’t keep wondering at how dispensable man is! I’m not referring to how dispensable human life has become. It is a different issue that we have become totally immune to the losses of human life, be they great in number  or  totally ‘insignificant’, but the truth is that they have ceased to affect us in any way. I remember a time when my heart used to sink at the news of a single person dying, when I used to give a full few minutes to imagine how his/her family must be taking it, how it must have felt, what would be happening to him/her now. But everyday now I hear about various suicide bombings, bridges falling, people dying and I don’t even pay full attention to the Breaking news.

Neway, though all this is important of course, right now I was referring ot the way man himself is dispensable. When a beloved lives, we cry at the very thought of ever being separate from that person geographically. And then if Death comes wheezing in and sweeping away everything that remained, we cry a few buckets and then keep on living. Finally a time comes when we think that that person, and the portions of our lives with that person, never existed-as if it was all a dream.

I have discussed my own death with a lot of people. I know the ones who will be tortured by my death, and the ones whose eyes will pop out at hearing bout it but probably not give me a dua after the “hot news” dies down a week later. And I realize there will be a few who will quietly wipe their tears under the covers at night, afraid of coming out in front of everybody to grieve over my death, revealing that they, too, had cared for me while I was alive. Most probably, if I will be told after my death, that these people cried, I will go in profound shock.

Life is very funny…even funnier is death,which kicks out all the humor of life and settles in with its perpetual darkness (or light, hopefully!) 

As usual, I have much strayed from the topic I started off with. But at least I’ve penned down my musings on digital paper after a long time so all’s good!

I wish I knew how to end this post…lets just do a summary..A’s Nikkah, my treachery, Uzers passport, his mom, suicide bombings, dispensability of man and human life, my death and my secret well-wishers!

Now am I a versatile writer or what???

MAN!

BNU hasn’t opened yet but (get ready for the Shock of your life!) I’m looking forward to it opening. I look forward to getting up at a relatively fixed time, getting out of the house, meeting people, doing Taleem, cussing BNU futility of trying to seem like a uni, reminiscing about my beloved school and going over friendship and love problems which are bound to happen when a small band of people meet everyday and interact. At least I will have something to do. At least I’ll start talking again.

These summer holidays were proabably the worst I’ve ever had. Being stuck with a disturbed mind and an insane oneself is torture enough; add in a couple of problems and life becomes just beautiful. But all’s well that ends well. And insha’Allah I am and will be just myself again, and hopefully better. So that’s the past and once again, Al-Hamdulillah, I’m looking forward to the future.

Opening my eyes wide and gazing at the sun…

My brother operated on my mother today. Lol. She had some pustule (I think it’s called) and he slashed it to release the pus or whatever was in it. Now, my mother is very scared of needles and cuts and these minor surgeries. Lol. (I take this from her, by the way. Ironically, both my brother and fiance are doctors, the former becoming an internist insha’Allah and the latter a surgeon insha’Allah!)

Well, watching my mother squirm with pain, I felt my knees go weak and my legs all shaky. (That happens with me!) Sitting miles away since I couldn’t stand seeing the operation done, I just started thinking. Whenever I would have to go abroad, no matter how much I disregard it, I WOULD be far far away from my Ma Pa and when they would need me, I won’t be there. I guess all girls think about all this when they get married but with me it’s a bit different.

Lets compare my Ma with my Khala. Her son has gone abroad to study and has been away for four years now. She was ulta ultra depressed and still is but is fine Al-Hamdulillah since she has a younger daughter still living with her. Also, her married daughter lives next door as well. That’s huge. Khala may not realize it, but she is very very lucky, Masha’Allah.

Insha’Allah my Mum’s gonna be fine too. But I was just thinking. Seven years is a lot of time to stay away. And with my ma, it’s not only the daughter who is going away, but also her eldest son. Two kids away and insha’Allah away with their spouses. So hopefully, Insha’Allah they will be happy and busy. Ma left with one kid who is really a kid. Not age-wise, but waisay hi. But even being a kid, he has his own life, his own friends, his wife, even his own portion. Not much time to give to Ma Pa, even if he tries.

And I can’t really expect him to leave everything and accompany Ma Pa all the time since technically I’m dumping Ma Pa and running away.

Sitting there watching her with her eyes scrunched up with pain, her lips pressed together tightly, I thought what kind of life she would lead when I would be away. Not that I’m saying I’m all awesome, but I am the one who usually tries to stop the arguments in the family to flower into fights and the one who lightens up things when they get too rough. If nothing else, I’m always there to be with Ma during the day when she is all alone in the house, completely farigh and always there to give her reasons to get pissed off at me. Thus, I at least keep her occupied.

I’ve never been very close with Ma. Not that we don’t talk at all, but that I’ve never shared much with her. I’ve always discussed family politics with her; also troubles at home, problems with the extended family, and of course my fat too. But I’ve never talked to her about stuff that’s important to me. Like I can never imagine going up to my Ma and telling her how amazing my day went with P or how my latest story turned out and how much I love singing. You know. Of course, I don’t blame her because I’ve never tried either.

But just in that one moment when I couldn’t tolerate seeing her in pain, I thought what grief it would cause her when I wouldn’t be there in the afternoons when there would be nothing to do except lie on her gigantic bed and think what Bhayya and I would be doing in the States. Whether Bhayya had bought any suthray clothes ever. Whether I had stuffed myself up to the size of a pumpkin. Whether we both met often or at least called each other.

Nothing to do except think about past times and imagine future ones.

In that one moment, I realized how much my Ma’s life would change by the thing I sometimes so look forward to.

In that one moment, I realized how much I loved my Ma and how life would really really end for me if something happened to her, ever. God-forbid.

Ok…make all the fun you want but this was the second poem I wrote for my Poetry class.

It’s an image poem, really. If I can, I might upload the image too. I like the image waaay more than I like the actual poem, though. I guess that goes without saying. Hehe.

The story behind this poem is amazing, which is why, despite the 3/5 I got on it from the teacher (hehe), I still love it. It’s become something like a cherished memory.

We were supposed to hand in the poem one week after it was assigned to us. Probably I forgot, or probably I just didn’t want to remember it, but two days before the submission deadline, I found out that the time was almost over. I panicked. A LOT!

Now I’m waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the inspiration to hit me. Something to inspire me to writing it. Some image. I thought of the photographs I had, I went through some images online even. Things got so desperate I ACTUALLY considered writing my poor poor poem on Aunty Chij Bachee’s helpless little black sock-clad foot. Lol! Imagine!

Well, the last day arrives. I still can’t think of anything. I’m depressed. So as desperate measures, I ask my brother to take me out for a drive.

It was a rainy night. Beautiful. Silent. Calm. I tried to look around, visualising everything as an image which I could write about. Lots of things were playing around in my mind; ideas chasing one another, but THE idea, THE image wasn’t hitting me.

I put on music to help me dream. Fantasize.

It helped. But not really. But I guess I’ll give it the credit of setting the mood.

The drive with my brother proved unsuccessful. My Bhabhi and I decided to go out again, so as to enjoy the awesome weather. We went to Defence, Phase 5. One really really pretty but isolated area. It has these huge flowing roads with palm trees bordering them and pale street lights showing the way at that time of the night. It was an awesome ride. To top it all off with the most delightful cherry, we had that really great but hateful song on repeat. “Maula mere…”

We were just loitering on the roads when I suddenly looked into the review mirror. It reflected this empty, wet, slippery road, with some random palm trees and a street light shining brightly on the empty, almost lifeless view. As I gazed at it, sitting in the car with my Bhabhi who was in the mood to burn much rubber, I thought the the view that I was racing away from, was just like my life, my past and my mistakes. Things I run away from. Intentionally, unintentionally.

Needless to say, I had found my image.

Believe or not, I wrote this poem (???) in the car on my cell phone as an SMS.

I’m cool, I know.   

Anyway, most of you have read it, but I would still like comments!

HAPPINESS ABOUNDS.

A moment dies when a moment’s born.Every moment carries the stench of hell fireand a breath of Elysium. 

The moments too slow to catch up to me,left far behind, longing, yearning, searching,

the moments trying to reach me,

the moments reaching out to touch me, embrace me

but I’m too hurried, too fast… 

Moments full of light, yet so dark

wet, like the tears shed on a glistening cheek,

yet, a part of the road to me

and a part which i shan’t wish to part from. 

Moments drained, like a half-empty glass,but yet so complete, so full.

The splatter of the rain

on the mirage of painful moments,

the shattering into million

 minor moments of anguish,

thus enough to bear

with pain and pleasure. 

Moments shrouded in darkness, in pain,yet cloaked with linings white,

Moments I can die for,

to let them live forever. 

Never again shall these moments live.Such short lives yet so meaningful.

How I wish to die like one moment

 and to be born again. 

Ever felt like there are too many things going wrong in the world and you wanna question God why does He let it be? Well, normally I don’t reach the point of actually thinking of questioning Him but today I was struck down; one horrible/complicated/sad news after the other. And by the end of it all, I made the stupid mistake of thinking out loud in front of a roomful of people, “Buss Allah mian, aap say tau milna hai! Too many questions to ask You!”

I know that doesn’t sound like much, but in a place like BNU, I personally think people who claim to be proud of their identity (like wearing your ‘labels’ if you are a Muslim or claiming to be a Satanist, for example) must be very careful. What image are they portraying? Can any body get the wrong idea about them and then judge their beliefs according to what he think of them?

Well, I guess in today’s world, Muslims especially have to think about this before doing anything. You know, so that people don’t see them doing something wrong and generalise, “See, all Muslims are like that!” Or “All hijabis are like that!”

Blahh!

I mean, I normally don’t have any problem in being careful but sometimes I just think. Why is a set of beliefs judged according to the people who practice it? Or even if people do not judge the beliefs but the believers, like some people claim, then why don’t they show some guts and have the gall to go try and practice their beliefs perfectly themselves instead of just criticizing the people who at least try?

Lol! I’m being too stupid and judgemental here. Probably because I’m a bit disturbed in the head. Lol! NO, I do not mean I’m retarded, only that I’m a little upset by all that’s happening around me. People  who I really really care for are upset, confused, stuck in complicated situations. It just hurts me.

Blehhh…I don’t even know where this post is going. Just forget it and stop reading it!

I’m crazy!

True repentance entails constant regret of your sins. Without remorse, good deeds, be they abounding, could be eclipsed by pride that follows piety. Remorse for a sin is superior to good works. Never forget your transgressions to save yourself from conceit.

-Al-Hujwiri, “The Kashf al-Mahjub”

As usual, it’s 3:18 am and I’m sitting here, thinking. I was just thinking back to the Hajj days. The days that were and should have been full of serenity, beauty, peace of soul, happiness and that feeling of holiness pervading your soul. You know? They were, Al-Hamdulillah.

But now I sit back and think, there were so many moments over there that I wasted. Only a 22-day trip and there I was, wasting so many moments thinking about worldly things. Or getting upset because of a number of factors that bothered me over there. Something related to myself and the people I was with. All stupid, now that I think about it.

Now that I’m back, I think how could I possibly do that? How could I waste all those moments that I spent in being upset, low, or pissed or just plain brooding that I should have in fact spent in happiness? Being happy Allah blessed me. What greater blessing than the fact  that I was THERE?!

I wish I had realized how blessed every moment is and how happy I should have been, instead of getting upset about trivial things. Now I call all the problems trivial. Then they seemed all-important and all-encompassing. Now I (if I could) curse myself for wasting all those precious moments that I could have spent in joy, in happiness, in the peace that comes with the love and blessings of Allah.

And while telling P all this, I suddenly realized that this is exactly how life is. We waste so much of our time mourning and whining and crying over things which seem all-encompassing and all important. And later in life, we regret wasting all those moments in misery over the all-encompassing matters(which seem trivial later) when we could have spent them in happiness by counting all the blessings of Allah.

I mean, who doesn’t wanna be happy?

But instead of wasting our time listing our miseries and problems, we can start “earning” happiness. Like my Dulhan Rani, Blogging Cousin Part 1 very adequately puts, “And happiness is something that is earned. We all have an absolutely logical explanation for staying unhappy all our lives, trust me.”

…in life happen when they are least expected.

That’s what I have always believed because that’s what I have seen happening with me all my life.

I should have foreseen the Disaster which befell yesterday. I should have known. I was expecting too much, I was anticipating too much, and I was getting excited for no reason all too much. Lol. Usually these are clear indications that my dreams are gonna fall apart. Lol. So usually I prepare myself beforehand. Not this time, though.

You get where I am leading you to? You know how in life there are many times when you know something exciting, something great, something FUN is gonna happen and you look forward to it eagerly? You wait for it to happen? And then when finally the time comes for your ‘dreams’ to come true, things fall apart and nothing goes according to your expectations?

And then there are some times you don’t really know what to expect from a certain person, a certain event, a certain place? Or you don’t know how something may turn out? Or maybe you just don’t know something is gonna happen? And this time, this person, this happening turns out to be the best moments, the most beloved, the most cherished memories?

Well, that’s what I’m talking about right now.

I was waiting for something to happen. And when it finally did, everything fell apart. And I reacted stupidly. Immature, in my opinion.

I got pissed; took out the anger at the wrong person at the wrong time; threw tantrums; screamed at my family; fought with my parents; stayed depressed the entire time.

Why?

Just because something didn’t go quite to my liking.

I mean, now when I have slept over it (that’s my remedy for every disease!) I realize how selfish, how immature and how ungrateful it all is. Sometimes when things don’t go quite to my liking, I’ll act all stupid, get depressed, think I’m the most miserable victim of all time. And when Allah blesses me with unexpected happiness and surprises, life’s “fine” then?

How ungrateful! True is it when they say man is an ungrateful wretch. Or in the words of a great writer (me! :D) “Humans are asses.”

Another lesson well-learnt: Never expect too much. Especially if it may not be all that Halal.

I was just writing a comment for my ‘Mum, I’ve Decided to Follow Allah’ post and suddenly realized something. (Ok, I just suddenly didn’t realize it. This mighty truth dawned upon me some time back. Lol.)

I think that maybe all of us are born into some religion or the other but by the end of the day, it does become something we CHOOSE to follow or not follow. So maybe at the end of the day, we all are converts/reverts in a sense too since we only start following our religion when we make an educated choice whether we wish to follow the religion we were born into or not. No?

I have always been very interested in hearing the stories of reverts of Islam. Partly, it’s to know how Allah gave hidayat to different people in different ways, and partly it’s to shake my own conscience. Normally, I think, reverts are so much better than us born Muslims, in terms of knowledge and practice of the Deen. (It may not be true, but that’s what I think.)

From quite some time, I have been trying to give up music for good. Al-Hamdulillah, I have, to a certain extent. As in, I, myself, have stopped listening to music but that’s a different thing that music is playing in my house 24/7.

I was once a music freak. I used to love listening to music, I used to sing myself, I actually used to once wish that I’d start singing professionally one day. (Lol!) Because I used to sing myself, I knew a bit of the technicalities of desi music. The sur and the taal, the beat and the pitches and God knows what else. I used to love music. Correction: I still love music. (No point in lying!)

The funny part is, I didn’t find it difficult at all to leave music. I mean, I think Allah had prepared me so well for it (or I have taken so much time in finally taking the decision!), that when the time came when I just stood my ground and told myself, “That’s it! No more music!” it wasn’t difficult for me at all, Al-Hamdulillah.

But Allah always opens new doors to relief and ease for me, Al-Hamdulillah. During the days when  I was trying to leave music, a little cousin of mine came to my rescue. (Incidently, she’s the one who introduced me to that Ahmed Bukhatir’s Last Breath.)

She gifted me with this cassette, “Bismillah,” a collection of nasheeds by ‘Yusuf Islam & Friends.’ That sparked my interest in this non-musical genre of music.

During the Hajj trip, there would be times when I would fall prey to stupid Satan’s temptations and would wanna hum something sweet and melodious.*rolling eyes* Those would be the times when I would turn to my cell phone and listen to Zain Bhikha’s “Give Thanks to Allah,” which my blessed Sister-in-law had transferred on my newly-gifted cell phone seconds before leaving Lahore.

I guess it was basically during the Hajj trip that I got addicted to nasheeds. Even though I only had a few(”Give Thanks to Allah” and a few Qari Waheed Zafar Qazmi’s), I would never get bored of them.

Ever since I have come back, there’s only one thing I do the entire day: listen to nasheeds. It’s fun and it’s relaxing. Best of all, it’s safe.

But sometimes when I listen to nasheeds, I realize they have pretty much the same effect other songs had on me. Umm…lets not say, the same effect, but at least a similar one.

Mostly, nasheeds inspire me and bring a smile on my face for no reason. My SIL has noticed that and thinks I’m crazy. Lol. But it’s true. I guess I find most of them so soothing, a smile automatically plays on my face.

But there are certain times when I would suddenly get all excited and hyper after listening to a nasheed. Pretty much the same way as I used to when I used to listen to some great song. Other times I would sit and wonder how beautiful the voice of the singer is. Lol. And then, finally there’s this single nasheed which really creates a storm inside me. I have no idea why. Like I would listen to it and something would be rising inside me. An upheaval. It upsets me too, and it sets me to thinking about things I, maybe, do not want to think.

I think it’s because of its tune.

But that’s how it used to be with songs as well. (???)

Sometimes I wonder where the difference lies.

But then I can see a great many differences, too. Nasheeds are all about remembering and glorifying Allah(Swt) and/or singing the praises and sending durood to Prophet Mohammad (Peace be upon him.) I guess that’s why I find them soothing and that’s why they bring a smile on my face.

So if nothing else, at least I’m not listening to Atif Aslam FOREVER wailing about his long-lost love’s eyelashes which he wants to connect to his eyelashes (?!!) or to some wahiyat dance song or to some  unbelievably, horribly depressing song which would seek out some, something in my entire being to get depressed about. Ugh!

In my moments of stupid pride, I think maybe I find nasheeds a bit difficult (because of how they, too, affect my emotions and moods) because I used to know about, and was conscious of the beats and the tones and the sur which I knew affected the moods and played with the feelings. Or so I think.