Beach Day

Some few days after a rather rainy Eid, the skies cleared, the clouds ceased raining and hoping for a fine afternoon we bundled ourselves into a rickshaw and set out beachward. Our picturesquely rickety ride started up noisily and carried us upon a narrow, meandering way through paddy fields and lines of misty cottages; riding out from beneath the dappled shade of the trees branching into glorious archways over the road, and into the balmy afternoon sunshine of a dry-for-a-while monsoon day – still onwards we rode passing groves of sky-high coconut trees and by-ways leading into the green wilderness and then out onto the cemented clearance by the shore with its rows of fishermen’s boats, thatched and tucked away for the rains. Out we tumbled from our little carriage and beheld the beautiful sea, tempestuous waves crashing against the rocks and spraying sea-mist onto the long, grey sea walk, a straight pathway stretching out from the mainland surrounded by the vastness of a vast sea beneath an enveloping, blue sky. Then we walked the whole length of the water-splotched path with toddlers and jumping children in tow and walked back again making our way through little knots of beach-goers and spotting our own waiting rickshaw, bundled ourselves in and drove the dusky, meandering way back to where the road turns into our street. The end.

Morning at the Museum

Last weekend, the kids and I woke up, bathed, had breakfast at 2x speed and then marched out in shoes, abaya (just me) and soaring spirits, out into the glorious winter morning to visit, (slight pause), the museum. I am from the segment of humankind that enjoys museums and such, while S is from the segment that does not, particularly. Baharehaal, we set out and made our way, weaving through the magnificent mountainscape beneath an endless sky. We stopped briefly at a viewpoint overlooking the sea, and what a viewpoint it was, subhanAllah. To look upon the open sea on a crisp, winter morning; to see the gentle, foaming waves glistening in the sun while you breathe in the sea breeze – alhumdulillah for a morning well spent. Baharehaal (again), the kids made smiles and faces for some photos and we scooped ourselves back into the car and moved on.

The museum itself, is an impressive, imposing structure with several galleries showcasing different aspects of Omani history and culture. The kids and I enjoyed looking at the artifacts and the models and learning and appreciating what was gone and what followed. Then there is that calming hush of museums and libraries that always adds to the experience. Being a little short on time we scurried along from gallery to gallery, occasionally pausing before the beautiful models of ships and forts and carefully exhibited pieces of china and coins and tangible evidences of times bygone. We had to get home before noon, so we couldn’t spend as much time as we would have liked, but it was still an excellent experience on the whole. And now, on to the next museum! 😀 InshaAllah.

Time Traveling

(Draft from August 2012)

Edit: Yes, August days are too apt to make one feel Augusty like this.

Today it feels a lot like one of those days where you can’t put your heart into doing anything; I tried studying but that didn’t work for too long, tried to push myself into a nap but naps are just being teasing, and I’m left drowsy enough to feel lazy and yawn-y but not enough to fall asleep. It’s too late to get a nap now anyway. I think I might just force myself to read even though, (sigh) I don’t feel like reading because I know I’m going to feel horrible bad at being so unproductive later.

My glasses have become too loose for my face. They keep falling off my nose whenever I bend my head forwards. This may or may not have been the consequence of me being a little tyrant to it, chronically dropping it and keeping it carefully on surfaces people usually sit or walk on. What with the recent acquisition of prodigious cash-booty (read: eidi) I’m thinking it’s about time I invested in a new pair of lenses for the new frame S got. Also, a bookstore in the vicinity would be nice.

Makkah

There is a deep sense of satisfaction in being by yourself in Masjid ul Haram in Makkah; a feeling of belonging and contentment in the solitude of being one among so many thousands. I was able to travel to Makkah to perform Hajj this year, alhumdulillah and now that it’s been some time since we’ve been back, it seems like it happened so long ago. Now I remember with fondness our days in the Haram, watching, as we made dua, the setting sun dip behind the hills in the last hours of the day of Arafat, the night spent in Muzdalifah, our walking to the Jamarat on the days of Hajj; walking, walking with the crowds, all going the same way. May Allah swt accept it. We spent the few days before Hajj in going to the Haram for most of our prayers and once that initial fear of getting lost in the immense crowds was gotten over, there was such a liberating, quiet exhilaration in being there and in being there with so much time on our hands. We talk about our early mornings in Makkah, the quiet rides on the dark roads, Fajr in the masjid and then pausing there in the musallah, soaking in the peace emanating from the very atmosphere till ishraq, then out in the early sunshine, an early breakfast and a ride back; alhumdulillah for time there in youth and in health.

And there was nostalgia aplenty in being back after so many years; memories of growing up in that land with its streets, and its food, and its people. The mountains often reminded me of the mountains here, sprouting buildings from its sides =D May Allah swt facilitate for us to go to Makkah and Madinah often, in peace and in good health. May He swt accept from us and overlook our shortcomings and guide us to what is pleasing to Him.

Beyond

What lies beyond?

From the windows, across the whitewashed buildings in the immediate landscape to the soft range of gentle old mountains rising on the farther end of this little stretch of civilization. A long chain of quiet old hills; ragged and brown against an open and vast sky. Between the folds of these hills , almost hidden, stand two sand coloured forts in their old picturesque dignity against the flat, block terraces of the present. As you peer through the distance at them, you wonder; what men have stood within those stone walls? What did their eyes fall upon as they looked out through the opening in the bricks? What did the distance hold for them? A different time, almost a different land.

Presently you look beyond the forts and the shadows of their old inhabitants and direct your attention farther off to the mountains that hold them. The farther off you look, the mistier the range becomes as though each distant hill grows back into the timeless past until the skyline fades into paleness. And then, what lies beyond?

Baby Z

Between the constantly sprinting hours that my days have now paced into, I sometimes think about how delicious, (yes), it would be get some time off to write here. Running a household and attempting to stay abreast of the chores during the first few months with a brand new baby does tend to blur up the lines between the weeks so that before you know it another Friday has come and gone and another milestone reached; the happy, gummy smile being a lasting favourite. Another Ramadan has come and gone and yet another summer glares, sweltering the air beyond the sun-warmed windows as you look out to the masjid still under construction; the hazy sounds of the hammer and the drill discernible through the loud hum of the air conditioning within. The same sounds of summer swimming across the memories of my childhood.

Alhumdulillahi Rabb ul-aalameen.

And how have these past months witness us pass? With tiny baby Z becoming a little bigger, his wobbly little head getting more stable, his little cheeks growing rounder and him taking to thumb-sucking (this might be hereditary =D). There are days that strangely seem both long and short with me rocking a restless Z to sleep in my arms to doze off for a few minutes as I sneak out to the kitchen to do the dishes; a minute later he pouts out a sob, wanting to be held again so I wash off the soap suds and run back to rock my restless Z in my arms for him to doze off for a few minutes before I tip toe out again. I look up at the clock then and sigh as I see how the hours have passed and I’m still rocking and there are still dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. This is how it is before it gets easier so I take a deep breath and think about my life now. How many times have I been blessed to have a beautiful little child cradling in my arms before and Allahu a’lam how many more times again? In spite of the occasional exhaustion, Allah swt has blessed motherhood with a joy that runs deep and fuels you through these long-short days.

Alhumdulillahi Rabb ul-aalameen.

Some days, just as Z is waking up from his afternoon nap, A will come into the comfortably dim room and swish open the curtains with a flourish, letting all that hot, June sunshine stream onto a stretching Z; “Let’s have some light!”, she announces as we protest through squinting eyes. Sometimes we sit by Z and gurgle out baby talk as he cocks his head to one side and looks up at us, wide eyed, occasionally gurgling back at us. And every once in a while it occurs to us to look up baby pictures of A and A, so we start up the old laptop and laugh at how small they were and how much Z resembles them. During lunch, while I’m eating, Z often stares at me from his rocker until I catch his eye and then, he adorably scrunches up his nose and gives me the happiest little baby smile and an excited baby wriggle to go with it. Oh, what a joy babies are! May Allah grant us all the joys and rewards of raising our children in a way that is pleasing to Him. And may He grant them healthy, beneficial, good lives and make them sadaqah jaariyah for us.

Alhumdulillahi Rabb ul-aalameen.

There is a walk here that runs along the corniche, skirting the shore for some distance and then ending in a hilly, grassed park overlooking the open sea. Sometimes of an early night we drive down after dinner and it is a pleasant thing to take a solitary walk on the long, winding pavement. Trotting against the light breeze from the whizzing cars speeding along on the smooth grey roads, the rising then fading sounds of the passing traffic on one side melts into the soft hum of the waves from the other. The orange puddles of light from the streetlamps above light up the foamy waves breaking gently against the piled up concrete dolosse blocks and I walk on, skipping across the cracks on the pavement. Then slowing down and looking out to the sea beyond, one becomes conscious of how distinctly different the bright world rushing behind you feels against the grand motion of the dark sea; dotted with a few boats a little way off and then after a short span, the dim waters deepening into an inky darkness before spreading into an almost terrifying vastness. Sauntering on, you look up and feel another vastness in the quiet blinking of the stars amid the grey clouds, their dark outlines brightened by the shine of the moon; and then on a bench near the parapet, I sit and listen and smile as the waves flow in, feeling a calming gladness in this meeting of the old sea with the old cliff.

A shout of delight behind me makes me look as the kids draw large loopy loops on bicycles in the park and one feels another kind of joy in cheering on this childish sweetness at a newly learnt skill. Alhumdulillah, for a beautiful world.

Listening

Sometimes on a sleepy afternoon when the world feels quiet within, I look beyond the gaps in the curtained windows from where the dancing motes in the sunbeams stream onto the scarlet covers and the grey ceiling above in distorted rectangles and listen; listen to the sounds of the workmen as they work on the masjid construction beyond; the broken fragments of conversation from passersby as they walk beneath our windows; the occasional scowl of an alley cat, the chirp of a bird in the distance; and embracing all, the balmy calm of a desert city’s winter day siesta. How different, the sounds that places make!

I think back to happy monsoon days with rain dashing onto the panes, pouring water drowning the sounds of everything else. Then as the clouds clear and the rain ceases, you can hear the water dripping from the awnings onto the porch in large puddles and the crows cawing and the homely streets of the little town moving again. Then again, there were nights when I’d wake up from the stifling heat and stillness after a power cut and strain my ears against the oppressive silence within, to the lull of the cool rain pattering against the windows in the darkness.

Then once again, there is the muted hush of a tired nap as you rested your head on the backseat of a suitcase bedecked car or a ponderous bus as it made its way through cacophonous markets and ringing streets and highways to still new places that spoke differently than what you were leaving behind. What novelty will the morning bring? How different, the sounds that places make!

Cleaning Up

Typing before the rectangular brightness of the sleek monitor, I sit back on the desk chair like a lone island in a sea of dog-eared pencil drawings and fraying paper crafts. The children have been tasked with clearing out their arts and crafts corner and the pulling out of the desk drawers has triggered this inevitable maelstrom of crayoned and origami-ed paper around me as I type and they sort. Presently I catch a glimmer of organization emerging from the chaos and feel a sense of sober satisfaction regarding the neat pile of ‘to-keep’s’ and a sense of apprehension regarding the burgeoning boredom on the children’s faces. This does not bode well.

It is several hours later and the paper tide has ebbed. With a little assistance and some energetic stuffing into the ‘to-throw’ bag from Papa-o, the floor-tiles see the light of fluorescent tube again. The freshly organized desk drawers are pushed back in and sighs of relief are heaved all round. I survey the room and smile at the dearth of stray paper. The gratifying knowledge of stationery sitting pretty in their allocated, out-of-sight corners makes one feel a kind of benevolence to even modelling clay. The fan whirrs softly overhead and the clock ticks obliviously on.

It is several minutes later and a pattering of feet is heard in the hallway. The kids come bustling in with waving arms and shouts for a brand-new, exciting craft they have to start right away. The drawers are slid out excitedly for want of action in the long minutes since a quarter of an hour ago and childhood reigns triumphantly over my helpless groan.

The Sticky Ones

What are the friendships that stick through the years? From those born in our earliest childhoods over packets of chips and clapping games to those built upon earnest conversations about favourite books and miserable subject schedules across tan school tables in between class; and then in the quieter bonds of early motherhood, burgeoning out of small talk over shared experiences, acquaintances that grow into a stronger, sweeter sisterhood. What friendships from these stand the test of time, maturity and changing circumstances? And preserve being toppled out of the rattling cart that is life?

Being reserved and an introvert I have often been wary of forming truly close friendships, feeling acutely aware of differences in thought or habits and have therefore, oftentimes felt the need of a good friend nearby. In spite of this dearth of a kindred spirit, gal pal next door with whom to go eat chaat with, it is alhumdulillah, such a comfort to realize that even though they’re far away, I have been blessed with some friendships, in family and out, with whom it is a treat to spend an evening thinking aloud and being understood and giggling and walking (when we meet outside of the internet, that is). And notwithstanding those that have withered away, some friendships have endured with the warmth of its early days. 

May Allah make us and choose for us, our families and children, the best of friends.