To Remember

The other day Asma, Ali and I walked to K.M. for our little breather-outing. We crossed the road and walked past the pet fish shop where Asma had already run ahead of us looking at all the little, orange fish in their tanks. I hurried them on after a minute, and we entered the supermarket–I immediately realize it might have been too busy a day to get Ali here without a stroller.

We took the escalator upstairs and got Asma her whiteboard marker and as we finish up with the cashier, Asma runs to those coin rides by the elevator. All of a sudden I’m looking around wildly for Ali and see he’s run to the edge of the escalator. A frazzled moment of running and scooping him up and I’m sure this was much too busy a day to get Ali without a stroller.

Well, then we went downstairs, got a few groceries, successfully dodging most of the junk, and walked back home–stopping by the pet fish shop to look at all the little, orange fish in their tanks.

The End.


I realize that I have associated the soft, whirring of a ceiling fan as it turns overhead with summer mornings back in my hometown; I’d fall onto the bed and stare as the blades spun, round and round; mellowing in the sloth-like lethargy only summer holidays can produce in the bodies of procrastinating school-goers. I’d watch the moving fan and daydream, hearing from inside my bubble, indistinct sounds of people in the house getting through with their day. I’d roam the house; sometimes sitting by the lady-help, and watch as she washed clothes in the backyard, or picked out wrinkled red chillies for drying. I’d observe with a fascination so natural in a child, as she ground the chillies, working the heavy grinding stones in rhythmic motions. I’d make my way through the dingy kitchen, out through the backdoor and put on the rubber slippers lying on the steps; and if I was feeling adventurous, gingerly walk on the moss covered strip between the front porch and the back yard. I would sing to my grandmothers plants in the garden up front, or if it was sunny take a nervous seat on the large, rusting swing by the house, expecting every minute for a monkey to come swinging down from the trees behind.

Then in later years, I would lie on the bed in our room upstairs in Noor, watching the sun flow through the coloured window panes, painting the ceiling with orange and blue; reading and rereading The Hollow as the fan spun on; hiding on the self -named ‘Steps of Despair‘ on the rare mornings I woke up early, sitting with my chin resting on my knees, soaking all the sunshine beaming in through the skylights, all quiet. Not even the sound of the fan up there. And now, so many years later, on the rare afternoons when the kids are sleeping, and everything seems to be resting still within, even as the birds chirp outside and the sun streams in through the open windows, I feel the breeze of the fan on the nape of my neck and hear it spin and my heart remembers something of that old, quiet, peace.


Indeed, the righteous will be in pleasure


On adorned couches, observing.

You will recognize in their faces the radiance of pleasure.

Surah Mutaffifin (22-24)

May Allah have ย mercy on us and forgive us our mistakes and bless us with pleasure in Jannah!

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˜€