Hope: Ever Present

Well the snow has finally hit the country after days of prediction and speculation. It is now the early hours of the morning and the snowfall has stopped for a while after continuously gracing us for the last 5 hours or so.

The fierce wind has taken over as the snowfall takes a breather … The sky is black in places, and grey at the same time, as the elements gather and there in front of me, as I look up, I see light – very faint light, it is a blue almost. As if a beacon is hiding behind the cloudy sky. It lights up the sky almost perfectly under the circumstances. It is the moon of course and the strength of its light refuses to be shunned away by the other forces with which it finds itself.

This is the essence of hope, undeniably. For no matter what the weather, hope will always be there. Whether we choose to see it or indeed appreciate is a different matter entirely. Nonetheless, somewhere amidst the heartache, the pain, the madness, the confusion, the weather of life, hope is there, ever present.

(*By the time I came to the end of this post, it started to snow again. THe sky now has turned a blanket of slate – grey in the background with a misty white film on top. The moon is still there, you just cannot see it at the moment. And just because you cannot see it at the moment, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Just like hope.)

Broken Cups (& Hearts)

A friend was telling me yesterday how her young son had broken a cup from her prized crockery set. She was very upset by this and had scolded him rigorously for showing no respect to her by breaking it and then trying to cover it up by shifting the blame on his sibling.

‘You should have seen the way he tried to sweep it up and put it in the bin before I came along and caught him,’ she related.

She was in tears as she went over and showed me the remaining items minus the now broken cup.

‘Just the one cup broke?’ I asked to which she nodded sadly. ‘I know it is difficult as you loved this set a lot, but since when was there a guarantee that anything will last forever?’ I said.

We always seem to get upset at the breakage of delicate items that were created to be broken and were never promised to be immune to being broken, the heart for example. No matter how much we protect ourselves, one day it will break and sometimes, it carries on breaking again and again until we decide no more. And when we have decided no more, sometimes it carries on breaking regardless. Unfortunately though, as with a broken cup or glass, we are unable to sweep away the pieces but instead often end up carrying them deep within us, for them to pierce our souls now and again.

Stephen Gately: A reminder about the reality of life

I think amongst all the speculation about the circumstances surrounding his sudden death, we seem to have forgotten a very important reminder: that life is so very short (shorter than we think it to be) and that our calling to return (for those who don’t believe in a Return, then they cannot deny that there is an end to it??) may arrive at any given moment.

That indeed, these very moments that I type his blogpost and the ones with which you read it may be mine and your last…

With this in mind, put your pride to one side – if you have wronged someone, apologise; If you need to forgive, do so; if you are grateful to someone for anything or something, thank them; if you love them, say it… this may be the last and only chance you have.

Do men like this exist?

Love this track – the lyrics are fabulous! Oh what a tune!

“…A thousand armies couldn’t stop me, no”, “Stormy weather couldn’t stop me, no” – ah! ..

(My respect to all those men out there who are not afraid of the meaning of this song)

‘Love is the only thing that interests me’

‘El amor en los tiempos del colera’, a great novel by Garcia-Marquez, I would say his best one (maybe I am biased though as love stories are my greatest weakness …)

There is a great scene (one of the most memorable for me, although indeed there are so many equally powerful ones) when lovesick Florentino Ariza, goes to work with his uncle, he is told off for his inability to write even a simple commercial letter without romantic poetry creeping in. “It’s no use,” protests Florentino, “Love is the only thing that interests me.”

I often am asked why I am attached to affairs of the heart which are so central to my writing. My reply is the same.

My Immortal – too beautiful for words..

Dear God,

I have no qualms about the wounds, nor the pain, nor time nor the memories. You listen to all prayers, so please accept mine:
Let my love never cry for I am not there to wipe away those tears…

Greatest Fears

BRITEAST MAGAZINE ISSUE 3 – OCTOBER 2009

Greatest Fears: Things that make or break us

Fear. All of creation has it whether inbuilt or picked up along the way. No-one is ever immune to fear: some fear growing old (be it for aesthetic reasons or for those of dependency); some fear loneliness; some, love itself; some, the exams and their future; some fear the supernatural and many fear spiders & other creepy crawlies. The poor may fear poverty; the rich may fear losing their wealth or indeed that they will never have enough and the lover may fear a broken heart… The list is endless because human beings are fascinating creatures.

Of course fear does not discriminate and confine itself to just the human race. The antelope fears the lion as the fly does the spider’s web as the plant does cabbage does the snail as the snail does the salt (… as the salt does the water?).

Fear can be a great thing for it can be the catalyst to achieving much success – talk to the financially stable and they will tell you how in business you have to take risks – or if you let it, it can come to destroy and paralyze you – after all who ever achieved anything if they were too afraid to try?

Perhaps mankind is guilty of not fearing enough though. P.B.Shelley’s most famous short poem Oxymandias, comes to mind.
‘I am Ozymandias, king of kings,
Look on my works ye Mighty and despair!’ says the once powerful Ozymandias to the Creator; the true King of Kings. (Ozymandias was another name for Ramesses the Great, Pharaoh of the nineteenth dynasty of Ancient Egypt.) Where once a vast empire thrived, lie the ruins as described by the traveler telling the tale of the inevitable decline of all men however indestructible they may have been in their time.

But mankind, despite the signs, refuses to heed and chooses to ignore. Do we fear that this earth, this life, time, our wealth, our children, everything we have is but a mere loan to us? Do we fear enough to give our time to the homeless on the street, or smile at a stranger, or utter a kind word, or help someone who is not going to give anything back to us in return?

My greatest fear? That when I stand in front of the One who created me, on that Mighty Day, when I am held accountable for my life, that amidst the shame of my mountainous sins, that I will forget to say ‘thank you’. Thank you for the honour of being created. ■

Wake Up

It’s funny how we never seem to notice the beauty of things to be found right in front of our faces …

Cleaned the windows -the same windows we have had for the past 24 years. And even though they are cleaned often, it was the first time I noticed the precious window frame on the outside of the house, which is has an intrinsic beautiful wood snuggling up to the glass, being that pillar of support. It really does enhance the look of the frame. I was taken aback by its beauty. I always thought it was a man-made material, but that is because I did not look close enough. Had I done, I would have known that it  actually is very natural and very breathtaking.

It’s worth not taking anything for granted … it could be there the whole time and you search everywhere for that one precious thing. Open your eyes. See with your heart. Appreciate with your soul – before it is too late.

Have you ever … ?

“Have you ever looked up at the starlit sky one night and wondered about the order of the Universe?

Perhaps you are a biologist and are struck by the remarkable complexity of even the smallest microbe.

Perhaps you are a farmer and are impressed by the harmony in nature.

Perhaps then, you might have wondered that given the amazing complexity of the structure of the Universe, it’s Laws and all that is within, there surely must be an Intelligence who has put this Master Plan into effect.

Perhaps then, you might have realised that all the components of this vast Universe are in submission to these Laws, and that there is a purpose to this Universe.

Perhaps then, you might also be in submission to His Laws.

Perhaps then, you might be a Muslim.”

(subhan’Allah. How beautiful. Whoever wrote the above, echoes the essence of what s/he wrote … )

Scaffolding

Saw something interesting earlier – a very grande, well built, well to do house with scaffolding all over the front of the building itself. How could it be that such a strong looking building, made of concrete and bricks complete with all the inner wall block linings and other trimmings (you can tell I am not a builder can’t you?!?!); a symbol of resilience, of a fortress against the world, against the outside, how could such a protector, shelter from the cold, source of security, need the help of a few tubes of steel?

We all need scaffolding from time to time, I guess.

Butterfly Love

Love. A most wondrous thing, truly it is. Comes to us in many forms and guises. Not always packaged in the shape we perhaps want it, but no less in it’s value.

A friend, on the verge of a relationship, asked me the other day what I thought about the man in question. He is a good man I know; the way he cares for her, his values, how he feels and his beliefs speak for themselves.

‘Yes but I don’t get buttterflies everytime I look at him. I want to feel that. It is important that I feel that,’ she protested.

‘Really?’ I asked, ‘Have you ever watched a butterfly as it flutters around the garden? Have you ever noticed how it will embrace a flower and kiss it for only a few seconds before flying off onto the next one. Have you noticed the way, it repeats this pattern until eventually flying off to pastures new because it was bored? Think back to the last time you did have that butterfly feeling with a man – how long did it last and where is he now?’

And then we just carried on walking, in silence, but deep thought at these beautiful creatures who leave a trail of broken hearted flowers.

New Beginnings

Dear God,

Walking through the suburbs, I notice the beautiful houses that surround me. One after another, each one as welcoming as the one before it and the one after it. The plants, shrubs, greenery that can be found in the driveways is a pleasure to appreciate. People really take care of their homes; it is such a delight to see as you pass by.

And then I come to one house in particular. There are no colourful flowers adorning it; just a small magnolia bush (I know it is magnolia, my brother-in-law loves that and they have what is now a great tree in their garden), with some evergreen plants here and there. I carry on walking but am pulled back by the tree stump which is guarded now with boulders around it. You can tell that it was grand tree once; the base is still strong and defiant. I wonder how it was reduced to what it is now – Maybe with the winds it broke and the owners cut it for safety or that it would grow better? Maybe it was diseased so to save the rest of it, the only option was to cut it and let it start anew? Or maybe there is another maybe or so many other maybes.

All I know is that once grew here a mighty tree and I know also that that mighty tree will grow and flourish here once again. It is only a matter of time. For time heals all wounds (and so they say).

With hope for the future and for trees everywhere, please have mercy ya Rabbil Alamin.

Nasreen

Deep Cuts

There is a young man training to become a butcher at my local grocery shop. I saw him observing for a while and then the other day, he was there, ready for his new job, wearing the white coat, looking terribly smart, complete with knife in his hand.

I exchange pleasantries with the butcher, while this not-Sir-Alan-Cheeni’s apprentice quietly manages the task at hand. Suddenly, there is a loud yell – I am startled. The butcher just raises his eyebrows, he knows what has happened and tells him to run his finger under the tap nearby. It is then that I realise that the young man has cut his finger.

There  is blood everywhere. It is becoming camouflaged with the colour of the meat on the wooden block beneath it (so glad that is not my order he is working on!). The young man’s tears fill up, but he retains his machoism; yes, men don’t cry, they are alien beings, they are to remain unaffected by pain.

But this is not what concerns me (although if I am completely honest, then perhaps it should); as I stand there I cannot help but think that in that moment, this young man has demonstrated life in action: it cuts us and then we bleed. No matter who we are, how strong we may be, how in control of a situation we think we are (like this man thinking that as a trainee butcher, he would have control over the cutting), we never are immune to life’s power.

It also makes me wonder, whether we are guilty of holding the knives that cut us? . . .

I wish I were a child . . .

My friend and I were shopping for her children’s clothes for Eid, yesterday evening. Whilst we were busy trying to match colours and look for the correct sizes, the kids decided to ‘help themselves’ to some toys in the shop. They, brother and sister, each had picked out a toy that they had decided that their mother would pay for along with their clothes.

Their mother reminded them of how naughty they had been earlier – Hamza for not sharing with his sister Maryam, the chocolate cornflake thingy he had made at school; and Maryam for disobeying her mother when she was asked to sit at the back of the car, in her car seat.

“You are not getting these toys; consider this your punishment,” reminded their mother.

The children started to wail, but they were forced out of the shop, sobbing and crying as if life were about to end, right there, right then. The kids carried on crying for about half a mile, with their mother apologizing to me the entire time (I don’t know why she did that; she is a mother, she has the right to be firm with her children, how else will they learn?).

Hamza remembered his half eaten chocolate cornflake thingy that he had made and reached for it, eating it with pleasure. All of a sudden, he cried out,

“Look Maryam, look at that house, its so funny!”

Maryam looked outside the window to the block of flats, and she started to laugh; they both started to laugh, the laughter which came to kiss away the tears that had been streaming down their soft cheeks, previously.

“See how quickly they forget?”asked my friend.

I wish I were a child . . . how easy life would be, to be able to just in an instant forget the pain of memories which once were so beautiful, bringing so much joy?

And which of Your Favours can I deny?

Dear God, Ya Rabbil Alamin

As you know, there is a chipped side to my work desk. I carefully have guarded the part that broke off from the last time that I moved the desk around and today as I felt the need to change the layout of the room, I thought to fix it.

Off I went to get the superglue and with great care, ensured that I applied it evenly onto the broken part and as I went to affix it to the desk, what happens but the superglue starts to run all over the carpet and as I desperately try to stop it, it is all over my hands. When they say that ‘this glue bonds everything’, they weren’t messing around were they?!? This is an industrial glue so it is dozens of times stronger than the ones you buy in WHSmith and such places. Anyway, so I run to get spirit in the hope that it will remove it, but sadly no such luck. I feel the glue burn my hands and I decide that it is better to leave it there for trying to peel it off will only tear my skin, literally.

However, there was work to be done so I carried on moving the furniture. Only, I was unable to grip anything because my fingers were unable to grasp anything. Made me stop and think and I wanted to thank You for the blessings that You have bestowed upon me – something so simple which in my everyday existence, I take for granted. What would it be like, if my fingers were permanently like this?

I am sitting here an hour later typing this with superglued fingers (luckily I did not join my fingers …) and I know that gradually, with time, it will start to peel itself; hopefully it will be kind and not remove too much of my skin.

I cannot deny any of Your Favours for You are beyond compare. Undeniably, the Generous Giver. Thank You for giving me what You have. I pray that I prove worthy of Your Mercy.

With gratitude, Nasreen
(who now obviously has superglued fingers)

An ode in remembrance

These days I seem to be up very early (an alien concept for me in the past, but then again that is the past…)

For the third day running, at the same time, (5.15am ish), there is a gentleman who walks past my house, singing an ode. I think he is  Polish and even though I do not understand the language, I feel the emotion in his words and the way he sings his poem.

I wonder who he has left behind that drives him to sing this powerfully moving ode.
It gives me great pleasure to listen to him as he walks past and for that brief moment or two that he passes, I remember my own longing and my own heart’s desire.

I may not understand the language in which he sings, but my heart seems to understand, for it weeps, weeps silently.

Nothing lasts forever

Having builders carry out work in/on your house can be a nightmare. With Pakistani builders it is even more so because part of the contract is the gourmet meal to be provided at lunchtimes. Any other builder brings their own lunch etc and they take away the rubbish too. With ours, we often have to stand there helping them with the work; clearing up as the work progresses and then present well cooked dishes as part of the at-least-three-course-meal.

Last week when I heard that there was going to be a gentleman working at ours, I was tempted to fall into cardiac arrest, although I am pretty certain that one cannot really control how, when, where – but you know what I mean.

My father started lay the table even though he is frail now. So I took over and quickly realised that star treatment was necessary and that a light lunch would not do; it had to be the gourmet meal. I moaned a little, then a lot and then some more, but we got there in the end.

The next day was the same and the third, I was away the whole day but I prepared the food in advance. On the fourth day when I returned, thought about the menu, I went to the shops to get the ingredients; got the ingredients and started cooking.

By now I knew what was expected, so the table was there all ready, complete with napkins and toothpicks when I was told that the gentleman was not coming as the work had finished. I was a little disappointed – I had, afterall, gone through all that trouble. But more than anything, I stopped to think. (Dangerous I know).
… Nothing lasts forever: so what if I had to cook for the builder? It is part of the Pakistani hospitality, I acted as if this gentleman would be moving in with us. Whereas I could’ve just got on with it knowing that after however many days, that would have been it.

Told a friend about this and she said it was the same for her. Only their builders were there for 9 weeks or so and there were about 6 men working. The amount of chappatis she had to make every day for them was shocking. And there there was me: complaining because I had to make a few extra. I hate myself a little. But I hope that I can learn, understand and appreciate the value of this incident and what it has taught me.