I got reminded of my piano the other day. I was polishing a table top and the furniture polish smelt the same as the one I used to polish my piano every Sunday.

Today a friend asked me what I love doing, which reminded me of this weekly ritual all over again.

Both instances reminded me of something I used to do with loving regularity, each time with increasing devotion. I gave up my piano, amongst other things, and took on a lot of different things for a passion I have seemed to let falter over the years.

To think I used to wipe that piano clean, inside out. I knew how to tune the keys, even replace old strings, I was that aware of its anatomy. I could strip it bare and clean it to the bone, only to put it back together again. Every Sunday. I even painted the fading ebony keys myself, as I did the stool that came with it.

If only I could be as regular with my dhikr, and self-exploration through reading the Qur'an and being able to relate it to life itself, I would be able to say that I left my previous life not only for a faith alone, but a drive to keep it flowing through my veins. Not to have lost it with my past years.

I have that josh, that valvalla. I used it to play Bach's polonaises and Beethoven's sonatas, practicing until I had perfected them. Now I don't know my way around a piano when I see one, unsure of where to begin, alhamdo lillah the skills seem that distant and alien to me. The memory remains, but the skills don't.

I need to improve my prayer again. To add to my recitation during qiyaam so I can pray with increased concentration and devotion insha Allah. In order to recite more, I need to learn more.

I knew the answer to my friend's question was living life and seeing Allah Subhana Wa Ta'ala's Majesty each day is what I love the most. Just that my enthusiasm is no match for my appreciation. It was my own shortcoming kept me from answering the question. Insha Allah I'll only get better now that I've identified the root of the problem.

I may be repeating myself but still: nothing, nothing beats having to hear the familiar, 'assalam o alaikum' in a crowded place. He Knows where and when to Plant reminders for me. Hearing these words make me believe all the more that these blessings are for myself alone, and so I take this love very personally. Subhan Allah.

Zairah wrote in an email, for no specific reason. Just because she wanted to write in, even though we speak almost everyday. The gratification of having someone think of me to such an extent that she chooses to take on such a simple way of expressing herself despite having so many other options. Perhaps she senses too that the simplest things are most effective. Alhamdo lillah.

I just hugged Ooji and Waseh over the phone, and said good-bye. I told them I'm hugging them and then I asked them whether they got the hug, and both said they felt it. Bliss.

Alhamdo lillahe Rabil Alameen, being able to see clearly is still so unbelievable, I keep thinking I need to take off my contact lenses before going to sleep.

I've been in Umreeka since March 18 and yet the moments that I've been most reminded of home in its truest essence are ones I spent with Afshan. She reminds me of my childhood, my only proclaimed hometown amidst all the places we had to move to due to Abu's service, and she reminds me of all the things I was and all the things I became to be. Her now abandoned house in KDA even reminds of my Umreekan high school despite the fact that she wasn't with me there. I feel more at home tonight because Afshan's sleeping over, more than I felt spending the last month here.
Is that how important truly growing up with someone becomes as we grow older? To think I was only in school with Afshan for barely four years, and yet the nine years growing up with her as my friend after that made her more home to me than, well home itself.

How humbling it must be for Bhaijan and Jaffer Bhai, to be masha Allah such able gastroenterologists with their independent practice, and have their mother succumb to a cancer of the lining of the stomach. Just how humbling.

Baji comes tonight insha Allah for Auntie's funeral and burial over the weekend insha Allah. Flashback, and I think of Ami dealing with Nana Abu's passing away, Nanhi Baji dealing with Taya Abu's and Lima dealing with Adnan's. Ryz expresses the void created by his mum passing away through the things he does not say, where his silence speaks much louder than his words. Maybe I feel he does it a lot more than my other loved ones because I tend to tune into his wavelength of emotions more often.

Just that the emotional hypochondriac seeps through and I dread having to see my sister so sad. May Allah Give me strength to be of help to Baji during this time. I remember my frequent trips to the cancer hospice and thinking that I would be best prepared to deal with Nana Abu's growing illness. And yet, no amount of trips or exposure to cancer patients were enough to prepare me for his succumbing to lung cancer.

Allahu Akbar, for He has made me think a lot differently over the years. For when I saw Nanhi Baji during Taya Abu's death, Surah Al-Mulk made me come to terms with death in a way no human philosophy could, probably because all other philosophies and beliefs are truly, merely human.

I could stare forever at the keyboard while searching for a resolution to this post in my mind. Just that there is no resolution. Just dhikr of Allah and subhan Allah, this is sufficient.

Sometimes I write posts on this blog and not my main blog only because I cannot think of a suitable title to put in.

What makes children imitate the salaat? Is it having to observe a person being completely involved in an action and not being responsive to the external environment? I doubt they think as much. Alhamdo lillah it's such a pleasure to watch them kneel when I do, prostrate as I do and raise their hands to prayer as I would. Although Meher bows in my direction instead facing the other way, it's remarkable how every child I've prayed in front of resorts to imiatation. I don't take it personally, which is why I love their actions so much. I am imitating the Rasool Allah SAWS' sunnah in my way of salaat, and children imitating me, are in turn doing the same. Alhamdo lillah, it feels like the same new kind of magic each time.

There's a feeling so marvellous about being identified as a Muslim by other Muslims, especially in a non-Muslim country.
Before I was mistakenly assumed as Hispanic or even Lebanese by some.
Alhamdo lillah now I am not known from whichever nation I may belong to, rather it is my faith that has become my identity.

Meher sounds just like Nibbles, the gray mouse from "Tom and Jerry". She speaks her own language and her pucker makes it sound like French. She also leans forward to smooch at any baby picture. So it sounds something like, "Aaaaah! Squibble dibble mwah mwah!

I found myself overwhelmed by the feeling of thankfulness and the simultaneous fear of depravity while praying my Maghrib prayers in Faisal Masjid.

My take on the adhaan is not supported by any Verse or Ahadith. Yet the feeling is so strong.

When I went for Umrah last April, I experienced something entirely new to me: having to hear the adhaan in a country other than mine. I have travelled to most of Europe, even Turkey, the United States and Canada. I had not been to a place where I had heard the call to prayer.

I was moved to tears not only because I was in the courtyard of the first mosque built for Allah, but also because I realized what I had missed all my life. I take the adhaan very personally, as I try to take all other blessings Allah has Given me. The adhaan is for me. It is calling me to prayer. I can hear it because Allah Deems me worthy of His worship. Similarly I feel that to not be able to hear it, to keep searching for it is almost symbolic of seeking Allah's Pleasure and not being able to find it.

I do not remember the source of the hadith but I will update my post soon enough to cite it. I had once read that Rasool Allah SAWS said that the Muslim Ummah has been blessed with three things that no other Ummah in the past was given: earth has been made pure for us (tayammum), we have right over maal-e-ghaneemat (spoils of war) and the entire world is a masjid (place of prayer) for us.

Hearing the adhaan in Haram Pak, Masjid-e-Nabi SAWS, and then in Faisal Masjid was the final resolution of the depravity I would feel in other countries without the adhaan, the times I could hear the adhaan in my head and wake up in the morning, and also during the day when I found myself setting my watch to the sounds inside my head. Allah's Call to prayer is irreplaceable and it's importance can only be imagined when one has to do without it.

The adhaan is for me, and alhamdo lillah my yearning to hear it is also for me.

Lima wrote this in an SMS once,
"It's amazing how the anticipation of some memory is filled with fear of confrontation and in reality confronting it takes you to new levels of self discovery."

She wrote this a day before my first exam in January. The next day I saw this feeling come to life within me when I stopped at Ryz's mum's grave on the way back from my exam.

I first met Ryz there because I wanted to start from a point nearest to him and take it from there. That first meeting was the only culmination of his thoughts on death, departure and loss - aspects we barely skimmed over afterwards, usually unintentionally.

My consequent trips to his mum's grave were only to help keep things in perspective for me. Graveyards are the stark reminder of the mortality of this world and everything that the world's turnings shroud in its apparent importance. Alhamdo lillah I find it immensely pacifying to go there to realize the mutability of the most constant of maelstroms.

After that first time I ended up going alone, usually asking him before I went whether he wanted to go as well and always going for myself than any other reason or person.

Just that this time when I went in January I sillily anticipated memories of the first time there and my association with Ryzvan. Alhamdo lillah I found myself to feel liberated by having gone with no connection to anyone. I stopped at the gate to read the masnoon dua and send salaam, walked to his mum's grave, had a good look at the graveyard and stepped out.

I ended up going there after each exam with the welcome resolution of having gone not because Ryz's mum's grave lay there, but because I would soon be part of dust as well. Nothing is as absolute as the inevitability of death and our return to Him. The mere realization of that reality shatters the seemingly monstrous facade taken on by untamed apprehensions of the human mind.

To think that on that particular day in January I headed for the graveyard absolutely prepared to be selfishly overcome by memories of Ryzvan when Allah Subhana Wa Ta'ala Put me in my place, once again.

Zairah and Maryam came over for breakfast on Monday since it was a public holiday. They reached my house around ten-thirty in the morning so it was not an early breakfast. Just that Zairah and I had not slept very well the previous night and we were feeling extremely sluggish.

Alhamdo lillah the house contained only girls since Abu was out of town and Ami was waiting for us to make her breakfast as well. So we had a leisurely breakfast to ourselves, Ami included.
After breakfast the three of us felt so sleepy that instead of doing anything else afterwards, we slept. Just like that. Until two in the afternoon.

Ami kept wondering why the house was so quiet despite having three friends being in the same room. The reason was that we did not feel it necessary to talk just because we met up, instead we did what would have made us happier at the moment.

When I told Halima about this, she laughed and related how a night spent at a friend's house in Lahore resulted in her feeling out-of-place for most of the time. So I guess more than knowing a person enough to laugh or cry with them, it ia necessary to be able to sleep around them without any explanation. Absolute peace, alhamdo lillah.

I was gifted chocolates a few days ago. I need not even think of who gave it and in what context. The gesture alone made me feel like a little girl, alhamdo lillah.

That made me think of all the simple gifts I've received that meant all the world to me.

Before that Afshan sent me the most adorably snug pajamas from Umreeka. Imagine that, she sent me pajamas. And I adore them to bits.

Halima got me a marvelous bunch of balloons on the day of my admissions test for Indus.

Maryam brought a beautiful box for me from Iran.

Nazia got me a bottle of Mr. Bubbles bubble solution.

I keep getting beautiful bangles for Eid, almost as if to receive them were not only my right, but common tradition.

Aamir Bhai gave me my first (and only) jade pendant and matching earrings, shaped like apples.
He also gave me my first (of many) snow-globes.

Arooj made me a card when I burnt my fingers containing the wish that my "figer wil be beter tomoro."

I've always been a firm believer of the fact that Allah Subhana wa Ta'ala being As-Samad (the Absolute) can alone plan each and every event albeit how small or insignificant such that not only the ones involved are influenced by it, but each one who hears about it in turn are affected by it in some way or the other. It all is a matter of looking out for His signs.

About an hour ago I heard of someone passing away as a result of taking his own life. The third of a similar situation in the course of a year. It made me try to imagine the extent of disparity one must feel in order to take such a step.

Astaghfarullah. The state of having underestimated Allah Subhana wa Ta'ala's justice for that brief moment.

"And unto Allah leads straight the Way, but there are ways that turn aside: if Allah had willed, He could have guided all of you."

The Holy Quran, Surah An-Nahl (The Bee) 16:9

Hearing of such a death at this point in time makes me reflect on the times that I felt or impatient while relying on Allah to Set right my affairs. Or the times I prayed to him but half-heartedly. Astaghfarullah.

Some months ago Maryam told me about a relative who was released after being held by the intelligence for interrogation for almost four years. The only times his family heard from him were on Eid days, and nine months before his eventual return his family did not even get that one phone call.
Imagine what his mother would have felt at each ring of the telephone. She did not even know whether he was alive or not. Nine months.

I heard of that incident during a time I felt myself to be brutally caught in a limbo where I waited for a resolution that I knew was inevitable, but I did not have the vaguest sense of timeline to stamp it with.
Imagining myself in his mother's shoes shook me awake to realize what limbo must truly mean, while I was busy being caught in the romantic idea behind having to wait too long when it was my same Allah who was Trying me, and was well aware of my limitations.

Tonight this death fortified my faith in Allah and my service towards him, slaving so that He keeps me guided on the straight path, Ameen.

Just like I haven't slept on an argument without having resolved it ever since Adnan passed away. Allahu Akbar, for He has Helped me maintain that resolution despite varying time zones.

I can't help but think that alhamdo lillah if I remain reminded of His signs at times like these, I must be doing something right.

The Servant Who Loved His Prayers

At dawn a certain rich man
wanted to go to the steambaths.
He woke his servant, Sunqur,

"Ho! Get moving! Get the basin

and the towels and the clay for washing
and let's go to the baths."

Sunqur immediately collected what was needed,
and they set out side by side along the road.

As they passed the mosque, the call to prayer sounded.
Sunqur loved his five-times prayer.

"Please, master,

rest on this bench for a while that I may recite Sura 98,
which begins,

"You who treat your slave with kindness."

The master sat on the bench outside while Sunqur went in.
When prayers were over, and the priest and all the worshippers
had left, still Sunqur remained inside. The master waited
and waited. Finally he yelled into the mosque,

"Sunqur,

why don't you come out?"

"I can't. This Clever One

won't let me. Have a little more patience.

I hear you out there."

Seven times the master waited,

and then shouted. Sunqur's reply was always the same,
"Not yet. He won't let me come out yet."

"But there's no one

in there but you. Everyone else has left.
Who makes you sit still so long?"

"The One who keeps me in here is the One who keeps you out there.
The Same who will not let you in will not let me out."

The Ocean will not allow its fish out of itself.
Nor does it let land animals in
where the subtle and delicate fish move.

The land creatures lumber along on the ground.
No cleverness can change this. There's only one
Opener for the lock of these matters.

Forget your figuring. Forget your self. Listen to your Friend.
When you become totally obedient to That One,
you'll be free.

_Rumi (Mathnawi, III, 3055-3075)

Words worth a thousand pictures: tawaf around the Kaaba doesn't stop during heavy rainfall. On the contrary, it's just as devotional as it would be under a clear and starry sky.
When I first heard about it, I couldn't help but imagine the thousands of beautiful pictures relating the thousands of facets to such a thought.

note: the verse mentioned in italics is #144 of Surah Al-Baqara in the Holy Quran.

"Indeed We see the turning of your face to heaven, so We shall surely turn you to a qiblah which you shall like..."

Yesterday I called a friend who was on his way to the Masjid-e-Haram for Isha prayers. I had selfishly called to be part of what everyone is experiencing subhan Allah. I'd immensely missed the Haram throughout Ramadan, constantly dreaming of myself in various situations linked to prayer there.

Nothing prepared me for what I heard yesterday. The adhaan over the phone. That did it for me. It was the resolution of the emotional eddy I felt myself twisting in for so many days, months now. Subhan Allah. The Haram adhaan that I heard over TV every day was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to hearing it, so seemingly close to me.

Being silent through the adhaan, I hung up as soon as it was over, SMSing my friend thanking him for letting me experience that.I left my phone after that, not knowing he'd call back. He left a message on my voicemail: a recording of the Isha salaat.

"...Turn then your face towards the Sacred Mosque, and wherever you are, turn your face towards it..."

I was left with an indescribable, almost physical ache to be there, there with the qiblah right in front of me for me to see, over and over again. Not knowing when I'll go there next left me strangely haunted.

Previously today I found myself explaining to someone that the word awesome has been hackneyed by chewing-gum twanging adolescents to the extent that it becomes over-rated where applied with most accuracy. Seeing the Haram is awesome. Finally being able to see the qiblah the entire Muslim world turns to for prayer. The constant tawaf around it by all those striving to please their Lord.

The most gratifying feeling throughout salaat in the Haram was being able to look up to see my qiblah before my eyes and not have to imagine it to be there; each time, everytime. The one place looking up does not distract one from ibaadah.

"...And those who have been given the Book most surely know that it is the truth from their Lord; and Allah is not at all heedless of what they do."

D: work load bohot increase ho gaya hai
went home at 12 last night as well

Me: iss liye Sunday ko bhi email nahin kar sakay

D: and the day b4 that was at work all day on sunday

Me: oh
but you were home for lunch
no?

D: yeah, paisay bachaiyaye, apnay liyaye, fati kay liyaye