About five years ago when I first moved here I remember looking out the window, past the low, almost derelict building next to ours, and away at the brown, old mountains that are a calm constant everywhere here. During those early days of homesickness, the streets seemed too narrow, the alleyways too winding and I missed the sounds of salah and familiar faces. And subhanAllah, it is amazing how Allah subhanahu wa ta’aala has, over time made this home, my home, beloved to me, and how He is always bettering my situation and opening my heart to appreciate beauty. How I can now look out those same windows and see the kind, old mountains looking ever the same without feeling distress over what I have to see past. How Allah has blessed me with friendships and warmth and good experiences ๐Ÿ™‚ Alhumdulillah!

I love that things are simple and quiet and green and blue and brown ๐Ÿ˜€ Basically you need to visit us S and I think that inspite of a lack of fanciness, you will agree. B does. ๐Ÿ˜€



A and A


This post is long overdue and in spite of several prompts from the Ssister, I found it so taxing to get myself to sit and type; partly because I was so hard-pressed for time enough to relax and blog and partly because it felt so overwhelming, at this stage personally, to find something to write about that will interest someone outside of my little home universe. Subsequently I thought about my audience (S and Z) and realized I was worrying about pleasing an audience type that doesn’t exist around here. :E

So without further preambling, I introduce to you, Ali! Those who have seen him have seen him and those who have not, have not. ๐Ÿ˜€ He’s a little more than a month old now alhumdulillah and as soon as he was born I was struck with how little I remember of Asma’s new born days. I think back and can recall the baths, the feeds and things we’d done together but I don’t remember looking down into bright, baby eyes and holding tiny, heartwarming little hands and the pouts and how you feel when your little pumpkin is nestled so peacefully in your arms that you are washed over with calming gratefulness. Alhumdulillah for such gigantinormous blessings! So I’m typing this down to remember when I forget; how two year old Asma is so curious, and talkative and how she loves playing with poli peet and especially for me, how abruptly she’s grown into a big girl. To remember that she is still my tiny laddoo when I become impatient with her two year old-isms. To remember that these days are busy, and sometimes, frazzled days but it’s okay considering it takes such a short while to forget them.

May Allah grant my children righteousness and beautiful characters and manners and good hearts and good health and may He protect them from every kind of harm. Ameen!



I am waiting for my parents to fly in to Oman. I am waiting to get some furniture rearrangement done. I am waiting for the crayon marks to lighten as I scrub them off the walls. I am waiting for the rugs to dry so I can put them back in place. I am waiting for September to end and October to start. I am waiting for the milk to heat up for Asma so I can go lie down again. I am waiting for Saad ji to get some pizza and waiting for me to stop feeling too full to have a second bite. I am waiting for the house-help to come so I can tell him to sweep under that table and behind that door. I am waiting for people to push heavy things and bend and clean as the third trimester nesting instincts rush in full force. I don’t think they appreciate my impatience and meticulousness with regards their work. ๐Ÿ˜€

And I am waiting for the realization when that familiar pain will mean, “It’s time now!” and Asmu the Laddoo becomes a big sister, inshaAllah!

May Allah grant us righteous offspring and may He prefect their characters!



Have you ever realized how you can sometimes catch a reader amongst a group of people. Maybe it is their humour or how they listen or how they give opinions that is the tell-tale sign but a good reader is fairly easy to spot; like Asma, who is an excellent reader of the letter A and informs all fellow passengers of the fact as she shrieks out every A on passing signboards and billboards and shop boards and license boards during drives. ๐Ÿ˜€ This fairly obvious fact has been noted before , but it makes for a good blog post so I’ll say it too: I’ve always felt a reader of good, insightful books will make for a more considerate, compassionate person. Sometimes you see such blatant cues of anger, or hurt, or embarrassment not being registered by people and it always makes me wonder about the wonders reading could do for a person for whom it is not natural to empathize. How many instances have passed when unsuspecting plebeians have not bought me that oh-so-moist looking chocolate cake based on the arch of my eyebrow or the ruffling of my sleeves. ๐Ÿ˜€

Or it might all be nonsense on my part, and my predilection for reading is biasing me against everyone, in which case, just buy everyone moist-looking chocolate cakes.

The end.

Lion Cubs


Once upon my childhood, I was a biter. Unwitting siblings would only too often cross the threshold from the usual teasing to, what was evidently in my opinion, unbearable insinuations against my 5 year old* intellect/strength; and with a blind, uncontrollable rage I would unleash my jaws onto the offender’s arm/leg/face. That taught them not to mess with the lion cub. I think my heart still remembers the consequent shunning from the civilized society of my brethren and sistren. ๐Ÿ˜€

So today when Asma bit her cousin again after he had been refusing to share what he was building, I recognized that helpless, angry frustration before she became the lion cub’s cub and bit out her anger. Herย lashing out was much milder than what ย I remember mine used to be and there was also the comforting fact that she is much younger than I was in my biting phase. Then again it has been a good many years since I have felt the anger that urged me to bite my siblings into yelping submission so I suppose we do grow out of it. ๐Ÿ˜€

May Allah ease our tempers and bless us with patience and guide us and our children to the best of manners. Ameen!

* I am only supposing I was five and I really do not remember except that I wasn’t too small nor such a big child either.


Assalamalaikum In a few months from now, inshaAllah, I will have been married for four years and it is startling to realize that. Though the schoolgirl part of my life doesn’t seem so long ago in my head, I discern a feeling of finality about that particular period being done with and put away. May Allah place barakah in our time and make our lives rich in goodness in every part and forgive us our shortcomings. This blog began at the transition stage and it is evident from the evolution in the writing that I am slowly turning into an aunty. *horror of horrors!* Some little time ago I would have described myself as a beginner in the field of aunty-ing but now it has only become too clear from the apparent ease with which tweens and teens call me Hafsa aunty that they feel no pricks of conscience when they address me with such imposing titles. It is true that some of them have often been made aware of the not so great disparity in our ages by their mothers but the blow has been given. And, what with my fourth wedding anniversary coming up and girls still studying in seventh grade, the gulf between our ages grows wider, pushing me most uncouthly into the Bay of Aunty. ๐Ÿ˜€ In times such as these, I comfort myself with the thought that S ji will always be more of an uncle than me and then things start looking young and rosy again. The end. If you thought this post was about to be a serious bit of thinking, then trust me, I was fooled too. SubhanAllah, the turns that life takes! ๐Ÿ˜€

Assalamalaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh dear people!

How do you do? I do moderately well, alhumdulillah. I’ve been avoiding the blog lately because I’ve been feeling a little sick at times and at others, uninspired. So, S has a China trip coming up soon and as soon as he got his tickets booked, I brilliantly worked myself into a pretty pre-S-withdrawal dread and am now counting the days till he’s gone, so I can savour the over-exaggerated anxiety I feel when he’s gone as I count the days till he’ll be back inshaAllah. This really is one of my most frustrating habits and every time he has to go away for a short spell, I convince myself into a state where I imagine myself constantly battling worry, ย or loneliness, or consuming boredom. It’s ridiculous and owes a lot to a wild imagination because I am not alone and ย have a bajillion things to do to keep me busy! So this time around, inshaAllah I’m going to bring a change in attitude. Since the new semester of IOU has just begun, I will have coursework to complete and since its just the beginning I have fresh enthusiasm to keep me going. Then there are the morning and evening adhkar and the du’aa for anxiety that I’m coaxing into my routine and the feeling of serenity you get is really amazing. Honestly, the morning and evening adhkar are such a blessing and I pray that Allah makes it easy for me to always have it in my daily routine and that He blesses my day through it.

Here’s a link if you’re looking to find these adhkar on the inter-webs.

That is all! I will, inshaAllah, post about how my week goes when it comes ๐Ÿ˜€



Wish List


The past few days have witnessed me slowly turning into a grumpy old pendulum, swinging from mood to mood; being ungrateful and miserable on the whole. The S Sisters came to the rescue when my older sister reminded me of this thing we had done some years ago where we’d write all the things we wished to do and then after a time, look up how many Allah has blessed us with; that way, we have tangible evidence to show the grouch within that it’s just being a drama queen. I don’t have my original list but I remember now, writing it at 17, how fantastic and improbable it was ๐Ÿ˜€ My sister’s was saner and sure enough, hers was ticked off (as in completed and not annoyed) within a year, mashaAllah ๐Ÿ™‚

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Assalamalaikum wrwb

It’s Friday today. Friday mornings in Saudi were among the things I missed sorely when I first moved to Oman. We lived on a higher floor in Saudi and looking down the balcony, before the Friday prayers started, you’d see pairs upon pairs of mostly white-clad fathers and sons walking with prayer rugs towards the mosque. And presently you’d hear the muadhin give the call to prayer and the khateeb beginning the Friday sermon. We lived close enough to the mosque to vaguely hear what he said and though we did not understand Arabic , it was so comforting to hear. And Fridays itself seemed so sunny and simple and clean, like it was abounding with goodness and you couldn’t but help feel it in the calm of the breeze or the blueness of the skies. Though I miss watching the people make their way to prayer, Fridays are still Fridays anywhere in the world and it feels good to know when a Friday comes along. ๐Ÿ™‚

Narrated from Ibn โ€˜Abbaas (may Allah be pleased with him) who said: The Messenger of Allah (blessings and peace of Allah be upon him) said: โ€œThis is a day of โ€˜Eid that Allah has ordained for the Muslims, so whoever comes to Jumuโ€˜ah, let him do ghusl, and if he has any perfume let him put some on, and you should use the miswaak.โ€ Narrated by Ibn Maajah, 1098; classed as hasan by al-Albaani in Saheeh Ibn Maajah.