Notes about Walking and Miscellaneous Matters


There’s something about walking that I have always thoroughly enjoyed; walking briskly through the drizzle, skipping over the cracks in the pavement as we clambered onto wet taxis while shopping in Mumbai, or ย walking around our drab school grounds, ‘chatting like grandmas’ with friends, and now, strolling through parks, pushing a stroller and a chatter box 4 year old in tow ๐Ÿ˜€ There’s something about walking, especially in quiet places, that brings out your pensive mood and starts off a whole station’s worth of trains of thought. This love of walking probably grew out of all those Ladies Market strolls we used to go with Ammi. Those walks, however, were not stimuli to pensive thoughts; teenage ansgt was the most pervading emotion then, but all that meandering through those lanes did lead on to a love for the exercise.


The other day we were at a McDonalds when the lady behind the counter had to tell S that the ‘blue’ balloon he was pointing to was, in fact, purple. :l Also, while we were getting to the car in the parking lot in front of our house, what do i see? A ridiculous concert (of sorts) in the middle of the street; large crowds of people filming a man onstage who was singing and trying to get them to sing with him. Their reaction was mildness personified. Is it possible to completely disapprove of someone doing something and still feel sorry for them? It is. :E


Notes to self: Why be apprehensive when you can be hopeful? It will get past. Act in a way that will please Allah subhanahu wa ta’aala and things will fall in place so astoundingly that you’ll be wondering why on earth you were apprehensive instead of hopeful in the first place.




On the Beach

She sits on the sand, with her eyes on the sea,

The wind in her hair.

A vastness about her that seeps to her heart,

And fills her sigh.

Peace in the breaths, that she breathes in,

As the waves come in.


ุณูุจู’ุญูŽุงู†ูŽ ุงู„ู„ู‡ู ูˆูŽุจูุญูŽู…ู’ุฏูู‡ูุŒ ุนูŽุฏูŽุฏูŽ ุฎูŽู„ู’ู‚ูู‡ู ูˆูŽุฑูุถูŽุง ู†ูŽูู’ุณูู‡ู ูˆูŽุฒูู†ูŽุฉูŽ ุนูŽุฑู’ุดูู‡ู ูˆูŽู…ูุฏูŽุงุฏูŽ ูƒูŽู„ูู…ูŽุงุชูู‡
โ€œHow perfect Allah is, I praise Him by the number of His creation, by His pleasure, by the weight of His Throne, and by the ink of His words.โ€

Hot Air Balloon

Today I feel like hopping onto a hot air balloon and flying up, up and away; through soft clouds against a blue, blue sky armed with the Harry Potter series for light reading and a flask of black tea for restful sipping as I sit back in a recliner (it’s a deluxe grade balloon), breathing in the chilly air. As you may have correctly surmised, I have never actually seen a hot air balloon. But it is of no consequence whether you have or have not when you are in the right temperament for imagining up just this kind of a break. When you feel like you’re lying down on soft, green grass looking up through the dappled shade of a gigantic tree, surrounded by this quiet, serene stillness. It comes to mind that having lived all my life in the desert, I have never actually done this but that feeling is so warm and familiar; from hazy, quiet mornings in my childhood watching the sun beams dance on the ceiling as the traffic hums along on the streets below. This quiet contentment that sneaks up on you and hugs you from the inside; you are taken so unawares that you could smile a thousand smiles. Sometimes you meet it when you’re flying in your deluxe hot air balloon and so many more times its when your little ones show you how to love, so simply and happily. And still more beautiful are those rare occasions when you pray Salah and are aware of Whom you are praying to and your heart just fills with the assurance that He is going to take care of you and everything will be alright.

And everything will be alright.


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!