سر نگوں

سر نگوں

ایسا نہیں کہ راہ میں، منزل نہیں ملی

چلنا ہی جس کی چاہ ہو، راحت سے اسکو کیا

مرہم  بھی میسر تھا، اگر کھوجنے چلے

ہمدم تھے مگر مجھ کو، میرے پاؤں کے آبلے

راتوں کی سیاہی تھی، یا تھا دن کا اجالا

اپنی تو لگن ایک رہی، کاوش تھا ارادہ

دنیا نے سراہا، تو تمسخر بھی اڑایا

اس جھوٹ کی دنیا سے، کبھی دل نہ لگایا

مرعوب و مرغوب، زمانے سے نہیں ہوں

خود اپنی صلاح ختم ہو، تو پھر کہیں دیکھوں

جا جا کے مزاروں پہ، کروں سجدہ بھلا کیوں

وہ جس کے گدا گر تھے، وہ میرا بھی خدا ہے

چوکھٹ ہو کسی بندے کی، یا قبر کسی کی

در دوجے گرانا نہ سر، جو نگوں رب کے لیے ہو

شمسہ انور۔           


https://plus.google.com/109693724428773152681/posts/S98t4WgW9JL?iem=4&gpawv=1&hl=en-US

The Umbilical Cord!

The Umbilical Cord

All I remember is that for a second, I stopped breathing, and then cut the umbilical cord. 

That was six years ago. An unforgettable experience for me.

I had never met her and only remembered her husband, my husband’s cousin as a young lad from years ago, but there was an instant familiarity and warmth when they came to stay with us, for the delivery of their third child, only a couple of weeks before the due date.

On the big day, as she was about to be wheeled inside the operation theatre, the nurse asked the husband, but he turned instead, looked at me and said “Shamsa Apa, would you like to go in with her?”

I could not believe the words! It was like God was directly answering my prayers. I hadn’t told them but I was extremely anxious for her health as it was her third C section and she had travelled and flown long distance towards the very end of the last trimester.

It wasn’t the first time I was going to go in to the delivery room with a woman. Years earlier, I had taken another friend in the middle of night to the hospital for which turned out to be false pains, stayed with her in the prepped up room, taken her back and then hours later, again driven her back to the hospital for the actual delivery, since her husband was out of town. I had held her hands throughout her more than a day long labor pains, reciting Quran verses for her, forgetting my own loved ones and was still praying for her when only half an hour before the delivery, husband had reached the hospital and I decided to leave to be with her children at her home. 

She had wanted me to be there with her at the exact moment but it was not God’s plan.  I confess that although I wanted to be there for the moment of birth, part of me was too scared. I had two children of my own by that time, but I was still young and shy, and very conscious of not to breach her modesty. I was afraid that I’d be too embarrassed to be there in the room for the normal delivery proceedings, so in a way, I felt that God answered my fears. The mother used to call the child partially my child due to the bond developed during that experience between us.

At that time of my life, I was just starting out teaching at our local Islamic Center, a responsibility which happened to just fall into my lap, without planning, but which consumed my life as I tried to learn, prepare and come up with ways to teach the young ones. It was a grave duty and nothing else was important to me than my commitment to it. My social life was next to nil in those days, hence despite the newly born’s family’s efforts, I couldn’t keep in touch once they moved out of town and lost their number as it wasn’t permanently saved. I have never forgotten that child or the mother and yearn to see them with all my heart.

So, this time, when the husband asked me, my Heart just melted. God knew that not only I cared for this young couple, their yet to be born child, but was also reliving those previous moments and old experience.

I was much relieved to see a sheet drawn around her neck which blocked the view of the rest of her body from me. Years had lapsed but I was still (and am) very conscious of other people’s modesty. 

Deep in my prayers, I had no idea of what was going on around me, as all my focus and eyes were on her. Only when afterwards, my (and now hers) obstetrician asked what was it that I was reciting, saying that it was very beautiful and had a profound calming effect, did I realize that I was saying the verses of Quran out loud.

My trance was broken when the doctor called out and asked me if I’d like to cut the umbilical cord. I wanted to and was content at holding the mother’s hand, praying and being with her in the moment. I hadn’t in my remotest thoughts, envisioned cutting the cord. I don’t remember what I mumbled or did not. All I remember is the scissor in my hand and then cutting the cord!

The moment!

It’s etched in my memory. I can not describe it in words. All I wanted was to weep, prostrated down to Almighty and never get up from gratitude and His praises. That moment was like epiphany of the ultimate truth, of insignificance, of mortality, of power, ...., of life.

That child is not mine by blood or any direct relationship, yet I have an invisible, unbreakable and solid bond with him, just like I have with another one, born years earlier but about whom I have no idea where he is. It doesn’t matter in some way if I know or not, because, this bond is what matters. This bond is a beautiful blessing because it makes me pray each time I think of them. 

                      (Shamsa Anwar)

سلگتا دھواں

سلگتا دھواں

جانے وہ کون ہیں جو ہر بات پہ رو لیتے ہیں

ہم کو تو حق ہی نہیں، آہ بھی لبوں تک پہنچے

بزم میں جائیں مگر بولو تو کس کی خاطر؟

شمع ہیں اور نہ پروانوں میں نام آتا ہے

ہم تو شاید وہ سلگتا سا دھواں ہیں صاحب

جو کسی اور، کسی طور بھی دکھتا ہی نہیں

ہم مگن پیار کی راہوں پہ بڑھے جاتے ہیں

پھول کی چاہ میں، خوشبو سا بکھر جاتے ہیں

چوٹ لگ جائے گی، غم اس کا بھلا کیا کرنا

ہم تو زخموں کو بھی تمغوں سا سجا لیتے ہیں

شمسہ انور

Meddling versus Helping

Meddling or Helping?

I have a friend, not very close to me but whenever she visits, she opens my cupboards and tries to take over charge in everything, to the point that she’d open the doors for other guests, see them off to the car when they leave. All this without my asking for it, or her being very close to me.

She’s not an exception.

Some time back, a lady came to visit, at the gate got my mail from the mailman, on the way checked every sender and then questioned me on various ones. It was only the second time that she was visiting me and although there wasn’t anything to hide, I felt awkward.

It reminded me of an incident in high school when a newcomer in my class went through my school bag during recess, while I wasn’t there. I felt violated.

There are many who have such habits. Some do it with good intentions, and others with not so good intentions. A lot do it unintentionally as a habit. In some cultures, it’s ingrained in the society to the point that it’s considered a right of others of interfere in private matters.

There’s a thin line between being snoopy and being helpful in regards to actions but a wide gap in intentions. Former is meddling while the later is aiding. The first one imposes where the other respects. The reason that the gap is not obvious to the observing eye is the similarity in actions. The person whose privacy is invaded often finds it difficult to curtail the aggressive behavior of the other person in a nice way. This imposed help is sheer hypocrisy in many cases.

As the world is becoming more global, too much interaction is opening up doors  for information, awareness and learning about others. It’s also offering opportunities of stalking, meddling and interfering. It’s becoming a dilemma where to draw the line as boarders are blurring and with this, comes confusion and tensions as many try in desperation to define the new limits or save the old ones. The person more careful, lawful and morally conscious always suffers in the chaos. 

There is a dire need, to be mindful of others’ needs and to reach out to help, since the world is suffering but under no way, the rights or privacy of others should be compromised. The training starts at home, in childhood. We need to learn ourselves and teach our children through practice, the difference between meddling and helping out.

Let’s make the world a better place, starting with ourselves.

Shamsa Anwar.

"Remove your headscarf "

Let's make America great again.

 Let's make America great again.

The rough looking big guy, with neon sunglasses, looked and a wave of sadness passed through my body as he checked me out from head to toe. Those stares were thrown to embarrass and make me uncomfortable. They were meant to disrespect me.

I was also sad because it wasn't an individual incidence. I was noticing such stares quite often, in recent days. Stares, that ridicule a person's existence. I had plenty of experience with such stares while growing up. Even when I'd be fully covered from head to toe, those filthy stares would make me feel naked, as if tearing my garb by their dirty daggers. These hateful stares are intentional, have no regard for human dignity, space or freedom, and make one shrink within their skins.

I had forgotten about such despising stares and glances, till quite recently. America made me forget them. I had no pre established notion of what to expect when I moved to the country, but was pleasantly surprised to observe that no one interfered in each other's lives. I was never ridiculed, instead appreciated, for wearing clothes that made me stand out. My self conscious at having an accent that boldly announced my immigrant status, was put to rest by the people, whose responses brought in the ease and confidence. I was not ignored, people glanced over but those looks had respect in them. I observed a lot of great human values being practiced here, in America, which were only talked about in other countries.

America was a great country and the world looked up to her. America wasn't great when she had the slavery. She wasn't great because she used the atomic bomb, had NASA, the scientific discoveries, or the upper hand in the world politics. America was great because her people had recognized the human weaknesses, acknowledged her own flaws, had struggled hard to correct, amend, and made selfless sacrifices to ensure individual freedom and rights to all. The proof of which was almost a non existence (or open presence) of ridiculing glances. 

Yesterday, when the fella checked me out from head to toe, I felt shivers....of sadness. In that moment, I understood, why there was a talk and need of making America great again.  

                                    (Shamsa Anwar)


https://plus.google.com/109693724428773152681/posts/YRYUeNe5BJt?iem=4&gpawv=1&hl=en-US

You can plot

You can plot all you want,

You may scheme all you can,

Sugarcoat it for the world,

Make a party with the folk.

There is One God Who knows everything!

What you do and how you do

You do not intimidate me

You can try all your might

Corner me or isolate

You can have all the earth

I just need God by my side.

Shamsa Anwar