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.)

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.

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.

The beauty of Henna (mehndi)

Many of us are celebrating Eid over the coming days. As is cultural tradition, the women love to decorate their hands with henna patterns. For the first time in a very long time, I am also one of these women. I have never had the urge to have mehndi done on my hands before, but this year, this Eid, I wanted to. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have mehndi on my hands. Maybe I will never get to put mehndi on my hands as a bride, but as a woman celebrating Eid, it is the least I can do. Perhaps in some strange way, it will compensate for it..

I sit here looking at the beauty that is mehndi. It makes me think that life’s events (be they good or bad) adorn us, like henna. When the henna has dried, it will peel away, leaving behind rich colour. When something great happens to us, whilst we rejoice in it’s euphoria, like the henna it looks beautiful. When it passes, it leaves behind it’s mark, but gradually, the memory will fade, as does the henna after however many days before the colour wears off completely. So too with the not-so-great things: once again, whilst we go through it, we don’t realise, appreciate or understand the beauty of the trial that has befallen us, for it is nothing more than something positive packaged in a different way, and when it too passes (for everything must run it’s course), it leaves behind it’s mark like the colour of the henna which then goes on to fade away with time.

The beauty of henna cannot be praised enough. A beautiful Creator’s beautiful creation. Alhumdulillahi Rabbil Alamin.

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?

The journey of life

As I walk through the shopping centre, I see a couple out with their children. Their young daughter (must have been about 5 years old), trips over and falls. There wasn’t anything in her path, she just fell, perhaps careless footing, perhaps slippery surface, but whatever it was, it was invisible to the human eye.

She stumbles, it hurts her, she cries, she starts to wail. Her father with his gentle and loving hands, eases her up wiping away her tears and comforting her, holding her hand, encouraging her to walk again. He easily could have picked her up and carried her, but instead chose to support her. A good thing I thought – after all, in life when walk through life’s passage, unsuspecting of what lies immediately before us, oftentimes we trip over, by some obstacle, visible or not and we fall. It hurts, we cry, but eventually we have to get up.

If we are lucky, we may have loved ones around us to help wipe away the tears, they may even be kind to lift us up from the mess and soothe the pain, but the certainty is that only we ourselves can get back on that path of life and carry on our journey.

Learning to get up when wounded is probably one of the most difficult things that any human being ever has to do. It is however, most necessary for life is such that you have to keep moving despite how much you may want to lick your wounds.
Besides, the best way to heal the wound is to not give it too much attention. For if you brush it off and keep going, it will hurt less to the point, that you barely notice it.

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.

M1 crash kills 5 people

 

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/4/20090419/video/vuk-m1-crash-kills5-49bfa63.html

The title of this post is a headline that perhaps is not unusual.

People die on the motorway under tragic circumstances all the time. There is always someone’s loved one who loses their life and we hear of how the motorway was closed for hours whilst police/emergency did what they have to do before it all goes back to ’normal’ and we as drivers go back to driving on the same tarmac where such tragedies unfold.

I was driving back late last night with my 11 year old niece. As we approached Jct 11 of the M1 (Luton) we noticed the glare of the ambulances, the police cars, the recovery vehicles maybe even a few fire brigades. All in all, there must have been about 12-13 vehicles. When I saw the yellow lights of the recovery vehicle, I thought there was motorway maintenance but then .. the blue of the emergency services became unmistakable and what I feared carried on materialising right there, right before me.

Earlier as we were heading Northbound on the M1, we noticed an ambulance behind us and of course moved out of it’s path. The lights flashing, without sound, as if the vehicle knew that the one it was going to retrieve, had already lost their life.

‘Ya Allah, khair hovey,’ I always say when I see an ambulance rush anywhere … Dear God, please let it be ok.  

As we passed by this horrific scene, even if for a few seconds, I thought that maybe the ambulance behind us had headed there too, even though 4 were already on the scene.

This morning, I was told that there had been a tragic accident on the M1 and that it was cleared at about 5am. We were getting ready to head for the London Book Fair set-up at Earl’s Court, but this accident had disturbed me and it kept running over and over in my mind. Maybe because I had had a glimpse of the tragedy, maybe because it was the first time that I had heard about how one vehicle had colided head on with the other causing all five victims to die on impact. The head on collision was a result of the driver of the Passat going the wrong way, Northbound on the Southbound stretch of the M1, at Jct 11.

It was revealed that the four victims of the Jaguar were two male and two female. 

I have just returned from having set up the greenbirds’ stand at the LBF, to find that further details about the crash have been revealed. The passengers of the car were a mother and two children, in their 20′s. The other male was believed to be an Uncle. The family is believed to be Asian and their next of kin are being located. They are believed to have been visiting relatives in the West Midlands. The driver of the Passat was Polish and his next of kin is also being tracked down.

You hear about these sorts of accidents all the time, but this has affected me enormously. Not because the family was Asian, perhaps it was Pakistani I don’t know, although it was a major shock and made it more tragic as that is also my background too. When I first heard about this first thing in the morning, it was still as tragic as nothing I have ever heard before. I kept thinking why, how, going through the various scenarios in my head but throughout, one thing remained constant: life is too precious, too delicate. Hurt no-one, do good, forgive those who hurt you, bear no grudge, be thankful for every moment, if you love someone, tell them. Don’t let pride get in the way, because you don’t know when your time on earth is meant to come to an end. 

A wise and beautiful quote from one of the Sahab-e-Ikram (Companions of the Prophet) comes to mind. Said Abu Bakr (ra):

“When you wake up in the morning, don’t think that you will leave to see that day and when you go to bed at night, don’t think that you will be alive the next morning.”

The pain of the families of those no more cannot be imagined, but there is only ever one certainty – every moment we live, we are one step closer to the inevitable: death.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rahjehoon. .. Before You God, surely we are helpless?

Relationships and plants

It is with great regret that I acknowledge that the plant I held so dear to me is unwell 

Bought it a while back from Ikea and whilst I accept that the plants from Ikea seldom last (they are so healthy and green in the store but as soon as you bring them home, they start to die .. ), this one defied the odds and managed to exist for longer than the others I have had in the past.

It was a dainty little thing, very healthy and so I decided to re-pot it so that it would grow better and the roots would have more room. But then … one of the leaves started to lose it’s colour .. and so I cut it off, even though I didn’t want to but I knew that if I didn’t the illness it had caught would spread throughout killing the whole plant.

Gradually, one by one, the leaves are falling until one day I will have to get rid of the whole plant.

Relationships are like plants. If the maladies are not removed earlier on, they ferment and with time, infest the whole of the plant until the root has been attacked. Sometimes perhaps we don’t pay attention to the fact that relationships require a lot of care and attention not forgetting the right soil, food and conditions like a plant.

Two Loves – Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The woman he loved, while he dreamed of her,
Danced on till the stars grew dim,
But alone with her heart, from the world apart
Sat the woman who loved him.

The woman he worshipped only smiled
When he poured out his passionate love.
But the other somewhere, kissed her treasure most rare,
A book he had touched with his glove.

The woman he loved betrayed his trust,
And he wore the scars for life;
And he cared not, nor knew, that the other was true;
But no man called her his wife.

The woman he loved trod festal halls,
While they sang his funeral hymn,
But the sad bells tolled, ere the year was old,
For the woman that loved him.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 

(adore this poem  ♥)

(misty, water-coloured) Memories

Went to see a relative tonight. As I was going upstairs noticed that the canvas print they have at the top of the stairs has started to crack. It is a group photograph of the family. The girls were 7 & 8 at the time and their parents were so young, as I remember them, years ago. As a family, they will probably remember the day that that photograph was taken. I do. I also remember how the canvas was back then – so new, flawless. It remained such for a long time, and I remember admiring that image when it used to be displayed in their living room before they gave it a new location and put it right at the top of the stairs when they moved into their new house.

The people in the photograph grew older and with them so did the canvas. As I looked closely, I could see cracks in the image, all over it in fact. Sooner or later they may even get rid of it because it will become nothing more than junk, not pristine enough to have on display.

Memories too start off in our minds, fresh, vivid, real and true. With time though, sure enough they will begin to fade and where this does not happen, the canvas upon which we place those images, that begins to wither away too in it’s own way. When I was younger, I used to keep memorabilia from times that I wanted to capture in my mind, so that I wouldnt forget ever. I realised that as I got older, they just ended up cluttering my space and so I had to get rid of them.

Missed Opportunities

So my sister has a smile on her face today. She has just located a plant for her garden. We used to have it in the garden of the house where we spent our childhood. She saw it in the nursery a few years ago and even though did want it, she overlooked it at the expense of another, whilst in the back of her mind, having the assurance that on her next trip, she would purchase it. When she went back, the plant was not there. She kept going back, but they were not stocking it anymore.

It has been years since this quest of hers, so finally she managed to track it down. It arrived this morning. But she is one of the lucky ones, how many times do we overlook things/people in our lives, only to realise their worth once they are gone?

Opportunities seldom come by and when they do, one should make the most of them before it is too late because if you are one of the lucky ones, it might find you again, but luck isn’t always on our side all the time.

The Abundance of the Universe

There is an old Pakistani story of the toad who lives in a puddle. One day he hops out and lands into a bucket.

‘My goodness!’ he says to himself, ‘This is Heaven!’

Along come the farmer’s kids who empty the bucket into the well.

‘My goodness! says the toad to himself, ‘THIS is Heaven, I have been so mistaken!’

I think of this story often as I look back at my life and all the times that I thought that it couldnt get any better. No-one knows what is around the corner (except the One who does) but the secret has to be to trust in the abundance of the universe.

The transitory nature of everything we have

Last year, whilst on holiday I picked up a most splendid ring. Oh! How beautiful it was … I knew it was mine from the moment I saw it, sitting there in that display of rings. I found it in a shop, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. We didn’t even mean to go inside, I guess it was by accident. My friend was drawn in by something she saw in the window and I was just passing time as she bartered with the shopkeeper.

As I looked around, there amongst the display, it sat there, its beauty shining through, I knew i had to have it. And so I did. I became so attached to that ring. It was as if, made for me, especially. So right, so perfect, just for me.

Yesterday, was doing some housework and I did not notice it slip off my finger. My heart sank the moment I realised it was no longer there with me. It was gone. Frantically, searched everywhere- retracing my steps and then retracing the retraced steps over and over and over and over again. But it was no use.

Asked my sister later that night, ‘Did you find it?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘Everything that comes into my life does for a short while and then it leaves.’

Why should a ring be different to people, to love, to youth, to wealth, to health?

My only consolation is that the ring was a pleasure to wear and gave me joy even for the brief moment that it was mine.

Heartache

Dear God,

They say time heals. When there is excrutiating pain in your heart, it is difficult to accept and indeed fathom how things will ever get better, but by some miracle we have the ability to let ourselves heal.

Maybe today, tonight, at this point in time, I feel nothing, not even pain itself and it is a good feeling. I wish it could be like this all the time. Ya Elahi, please take my heart and control it for me, for I am unable. And who knows our hearts better than You who created them?

Yours,

Nasreen

New Beginnings

Spring. It’s here. My most favourite time of the year.

Always loved Spring; that first sign of change to come, things blossoming, even people somehow start to blossom. I do. Even though beautiful in their own right, Autumn and Winter do get depressing for me sometimes whereas Spring, has always been a sign of renewed hope.

As I drove into my driveway last week, the crocuses growing in the flowerbed were rearing their premature heads. Such a pretty sight. They grow back year after year after year, despite the fact that I frequently maintain the flowerbeds getting rid of the weeds etc certain that I have uprooted them somehow.

I guess these delicate plants, in the greater schemata mirror human beings and how we bounce back despite what the differing seasons of the year throw at us. ■