The Curtain Comes Down

It hit front page news on the Independent yesterday – the speculation that the Hollywood first couple, Pitt & Jolie were calling it a day.

Amy Jenkins wrote the article, making it clear that even though the rumours had not been confirmed, that they hadn’t been denied either. Today it seems that the damage control is firmly in place with speculation being watered with the proverbial ‘we are working at it’ and that the couple are ‘very much together’.

I remember when Gere-Crawford split came to be. Didn’t they take out a double page spread in a top US newspaper, denying the rumours and insisting that they too were ‘very much together’? Months later, it turned out that they ceased to be ‘very much together’ for real.

Celebrity gossip is a hobby for many, but that is not the aim of this post (everyone is entitled to a private life are they not?) – the point is that it makes me think about love ‘n’ stuff – If only we could fall in love and stay in love forever? … At some stage or another things come to an end, when they have run their course… Naively, we think that love lasts forever, but the reality is that seldom does it, and if it does for you, then you are truly blessed and never stop being grateful for it.

Love most often is a passing phase, it is never guaranteed, that you will be loved back, or that if you are that you always will be. Falling out of love is just as a reality as is falling in love. Nothing is ever guaranteed; nothing is ever for sure except death and taxes (which ironically Pitt’s character in Meet Joe Black also says.)

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.)

How wonderful to be so loved

Dear God,

When out shopping, one gets to see so many beautiful things (mostly those that will not necessarily be yours). Today, as I casually strolled into one shop, I was browsing the goodies when I saw a child walk up the stairs towards where her father was standing. Clutching a soft toy which fell from her hands and which she kept stopping to pick up over and over again as it kept falling with every step she took upwards (her father smiling but secretly wishing that she would hurry up!), she suddenly stopped.

‘Wait daddy!’ she shouted and then proceeded to walk down the stairs. The toy had fallen again, but she had not cared, but instead focused on descending the stairs.

‘Careful please darling,’ her mother gently said to her as she stood at the bottom of the stairs.

The little girl nodded as if to signal that she was going to obey her mother and not hurry. Moments later, she was towards the bottom of the staircase, with a few to go before she reached the ground.

‘Mummy, I love you,’ she said out aloud before she turned around to carry on ascending the stairs and head towards her father who still was waiting anxiously.

As her mother picked up the toy that had fallen from her daughter’s hands, I leaned over and asked her mother, ‘Is that all she wanted to tell you?’

‘Yes,’ the mother smiled.

How so very wonderful to be so very loved…

I do like to go shopping, one gets to see so many beautiful things (mostly those that will not necessarily be yours).

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.

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.

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?

Date With Destiny

BRITEAST MAGAZINE ISSUE 2 – SEPTEMBER 2009

Date With Destiny: The Soulmate Seeker’s Endless Longing

Blessings are around us all. They are everywhere. Sometimes we acknowledge them; other times we remain ignorant or just too lazy to give thanks. Nonetheless, they are there.

Some of us have a specific day set aside for Thanksgiving; some give thanks before a meal; some, after the meal and then there are those, like me, who have the opportunity of a whole month dedicated to reflection, restraint and the rejoicing of blessings.

Last week, as I headed to Regent’s Park, running a little late, I was stopped by a young man carrying a large bag full of dates.
‘Sister, have you opened your fast?’ he asked.

I nodded that I had yet he carried on opening his bag. How could I deny this young man of reaping the rewards during this Blessed Month? And so, I held out my hands, cupped together ready to receive my due from the bag. He shook it vigorously and even though the bag was full, out fell just the two dates, straight into my eagerly awaiting hands.

I received them with gratitude, firstly to the Divine for providing for me so that I could supplement the few drops of water with which I had opened my fast, and secondly to the kindness of this stranger bound to me via the beauty of faith.

‘May He give you up to whatever is in your heart. Ameen,’ I replied and off I went for my meeting with my Creator.

As I went along my way, devouring the sweetness of these special dates, I reflected on the reminder that had just been sent to me: ‘We have created everything in pairs…’

This life, albeit transient, is beautiful at the same time and contains a plethora of riches. One of them is a partner; a mate who will accompany you on this journey. I know too well the anguish of seeking a hand to hold (after all, I wrote a whole book about it!) and for all singletons out there, my messsage to you is this: when your date with destiny arrives, the bag of fate will open itself to you and tip into your hands your dues.  Just remember to give thanks for it, for it is one of the greatest blessings with which you can be honoured. Ever. ■

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.

Falling in love

.. don’t.

(simple as that)

Something for Everything

I purchased a very beautiful photo frame about a year or so ago. It is round, antique-like effect and encrusted with little jewels all around it. At the top is the finishing touch – pink flower with leaves in a varnish finishing which picks up the colours of the rest of the frame. It has been sitting in my draw since the day I bought it. There was never the right photo to suit it, so it just sat there ever so quietly.

Once in a while, I would think that an ok-ish  image had come along

and I would place it into the frame, but soon enough would remove it because for some unbeknown reason, it didn’t seem to ‘fit’.

A few weeks ago, went to my niece’s birthday party. My sister and I had a photo taken. That photo came out so beautiful; too beautiful to just be sitting on my shelf or with the rest of the photographs- in a shoe box. I decided that I would go and buy a frame especially for it before it suddenly hit me that I may have something for it: I nearly had forgotten all about that lonely frame.

The photo was a little big, so I cut it slightly and it fit … and then I realised that the frame was meant for that particular photo – my sister is wearing a pink top which is in tune with the beauty of the frame that they both sit gorgeously together.

It makes me think that everything in this world has a fit somewhere. Life cannot be so cruel that there exists one thing without its partner.  Like my frame which has waited for the one to adorn it and like the photo that would be taken years after the frame was made ready to adorn and be adorned by it. It is always time that separates but when it is right then naturally somehow you find what is yours.

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  ♥)

Love – “the most abused and misused word on the planet”

“… love is probably the most abused and misused word on the planet”

pg. 102, Catch a Fish from the Sea (Using the Internet) by Nasreen Akhtar

It is you know… Sometimes I wonder, if as humans, we ever truly understand the meaning of this word or even it’s value.

Being a linguist, and an integrational one at that, I know that words do not have fixed meanings, for we as their users assign our own meanings to these words, but do we respect the word ‘love’? or do we use the word so loosely as if it is not sacred, not a blessing, not a gift?

I wonder what it feels like to hear someone tell you that they love you? And then I wonder how it feels to hear someone tell you that they love you and for them to mean it. I would love to hear both.

Pleasure & Pain

Dear God,

You are remarkable… Was walking past a florist stall earlier and noticed a display of magnificent roses. I stopped to admire their beauty. As I was looking at them, I noticed the thorns on the stems.

The rose stalk tells the story of the pattern of life itself. With every moment of pleasure, somewhere along the line there will be the enlacing of pain. And that with every point of pain, there is something that has the potential to bring you pleasure. When I think of these little signs, I realise how much I am in awe of You.

With every ending, there is hope of a beginning, and with every beginning there has to at some point, lie an ending.

With every love, there is euphoria, but then at the same time, there is the potential of heartbreak.

When a couple copulate, it is most often a source of pleasure but then should that copulation go on to sow the seed of a new life, the woman will go on experience immense physical pain of childbirth.

(.. whilst the man … holds the woman’s hand in labour, if she is lucky.)
( .. ok, so we really need to work more on this pleasure/pain theory .. but then, You say that on no soul shall You place a burden more than it can handle, so I guess, this only goes to show the strength of women, because quite frankly, after all, the men are the weaker sex!)

For now, thanks for listening, Nasreen