She is the one who named me at my birth. She picked my name out of the Quran and named me Shamsa which means Sun. She always called me Shammas, her pet name for me.
My memory of the very first book I ever owned is of the one given to me by her. I was maybe four or less. It was a question answer kind of religious book.
It started as...
Who are you? I'm a Muslim.
Who is a Muslim? Who believes that there is no god but Allah and Mohammad is His messenger.
I remember I was in tenth grade and I was still getting answers out of that book.
She never let me read any book silently in my childhood. I had to read all the books out loud to her. I remember reading the translation of "A Thousand Arabian Nights" to her in the fourth grade. The concepts and the words were sophisticated beyond my age and I read them without comprehending half of them, but I read the whole book to her. I think all that reading really helped me as a speaker and debater in later years.
My parents never had to teach me how to behave towards them. I learnt by observing their relationship with her. She was always served first. Although she was in perfect health, we were instructed by our mother to always walk with her holding her arms. She loved us all. We were her family.
I don't remember her ever telling me any bad thing. She never said anything bad about others to me either. Getting an appreciating compliment from her meant the world to me. It was not easy to get one. She was a perfectionist. Always guiding me, correcting me, teaching me. My mom taught me everything but I think the desire to win my grandmother's compliment improved my skills as I poured in effort after effort.
Even to this day, years after she is no more, I always remember her every time I chop vegetables. She's the one who told me to cut even sized cubes, saying that it gave aesthetic sense to the dish. She is the one who would check my hemming to see if the stitch showed from the front or not.
I remember one summer we were visiting our uncle in Pakistan. My uncle had a huge house with plenty of servants. All cousins and relatives were gathered and we kids wanted to be together, so we children slept in one room with grandma. She always loved to keep a tight but fond watch over us. I was sleeping on the floor in my sleeping bag. In the middle of the night, grandma got up from the bed to answer the call to nature. In the semi dark room, she tripped over me. Thank God she was okay but still everyone fussed over her. I thought to myself that no one even asked me how I was, over whom she had tripped. Haha.
Next day was the day my father had invited the whole family and friends for dinner. The arrangements were made at the back side of the house in the spreading lawn. All the guests had arrived and waiting. That's when I saw my dad and uncle bringing an arm chair from inside the house. On the chair sat my grandma looking like a queen. Her successful sons won't let the servants carry the chair. They were gonna carry her the way she carried them. They were gonna treat her the way she raised them in their childhood. They were her princes and she was the Queen Mother, my grand mother, Amma Jan.
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