Gourmet Or Home Made?

Sometime ago, a Pakistani girl approached me for advice. She had to choose between two marriage proposals. There was an extremely handsome and established doctor in USA and the other one was an ordinary looking accountant in Pakistan. Her parents were split up between the two proposals and had left the choice for her to make. All her friends wanted her to pick the doctor. Not only was he rich but he was very good looking as well. They all were saying that she should not even think twice and go for it. 

The second proposal was from a mediocre but very respected and a well known family. They did not have much money but they had education and the family was famous for their piety.

The girl came to me and wanted my advice. 

I had known this girl for a long time. I told her that her life would be comfortable and luxurious but lonely with the doctor. Yes, people would envy her and she would be considered a lucky one but it all would cost her more than she could realize at the moment. 

The accountant might not be able to provide her with all the luxuries that money could buy but he would give her something that no money could ever buy and that would be closeness to her loved ones. She would be sharing her joys & sorrows with her own family. 

I asked her if she would like to eat the most exotic food by herself in solitude or would she rather eat plain rice and veggies while sitting with her loved ones. 

The girl thanked me, kissed me and left.

She has been happily married to the accountant for past two years now.

My Grandmother, My Amma Jan!

She was the Queen, my grandma, I called her Amma Jan. She was everyone's Amma Jan.

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.

My Most Cherished Letter in Life!

In early May I was driving one day when I felt the touch of his hand on my head. I missed him so terribly and not knowing what to do, in desperation, I parked the car in an empty parking lot and cried for more than an hour.

It was towards the end of May that I saw him dead in my dream. Around that time, one day he called me. He was having cold like symptoms for past few days. During conversation, I sensed that he wanted to say something but could not. I sensed his struggle, so I took over the conversation with petty rambling to ease off his discomfort.

In late June I went on a two week road trip. With two small kids, it was not easy but I made it memorable by writing each day with him in mind. He always told me to write. He said writing was my calling but I never had confidence to start. I knew he was going to be so proud of me and was going to love the descriptions of all the marvelous places I visited. I simply could not wait to return and post my writing to him.

First week of July I returned. He was waiting for my return home because he called me. Even before he told me, I knew what he was going to say. He was diagnosed with cancer. I said that I would call in a few minutes as I could not say a word through the heavy downpour of tears. I put the phone down and cried for I have no idea how long. I reminded myself that I have to call him back, so I gathered my wit and called.

After the phone call I went downstairs and informed my husband. He was studying to defend his dissertation. I talked to him for some time and then vowed to myself that I would not disturb him again. He had waited for this time for a long time and was working very hard with a full time job. Our lives were overwhelmed with my own job and post graduate classes with two small kids only a year apart. It was his last chance to get that degree that he had been putting off for some years to follow a career. I did not want to be the reason for his holding back or a failure. No, I can never be that for anyone in life. So, I promised myself that I would not cry in front of my husband or share my pain over this journey with him.

I remember waiting for the late hours when I would go down to the basement in the farthest corner to call him. I did not want to awake my kids or my husband by my voice. Three days a week I would leave early morning for the classes in another city and two days I worked within my own city. Over the weekends, I cooked potluck dishes and took them to another city to be part of a community as I lived in a foreign land. Forget about managing kids every need in between. That was the time when I went on anti depressants. I was loosing eight pounds every week and after three weeks my doctor prescribed the meds. My doctor said that I was a candle burning at both ends.

I remember getting letters from him every day. He was a writer and he wrote to me every single day. He sent me letters through fax and also through mail. By September, it was obvious that Chemotherapy was not working. Doctors gave him three more months tops. He wrote to me daily about his med reports and all. Not a single word of despair or cry ever. Always full of love, hope and positivity.

In September my husband defended his dissertation successfully. I remember coming home knowing that the rest of the world was fast asleep but not him! Of course, he was waiting by the phone, keeping an eye on the clock, calculating and guessing the time of our return home and yes he called. He was the first one to call and congratulate. I remember him telling me that he had waited every moment of past eight long years for that moment in my life. He was the happiest person on earth that day.

Around October, he stopped writing because his hands could not grasp the pen. I remember one night, long after I had bathed and put my kids to bed after singing lullabies. Making sure my husband was fast asleep, I crept downstairs with three huge bundles of all his letters and cards that he had written over the years and I burnt each one of them. Yes. I set fire to every word he had written to me. I did not want to hold on to those letters. I did not want those letters in my life. I wanted HIM. If he was not going to be there, then nothing mattered. Those letters did not mean anything. Life itself meant nothing. NOTHING had any value if HE was not going to be there. I do not have a single letter he ever sent me. I burned each one of them that day.

In the third week of December, I finished my exams and went to meet him in another country where he lived. He passed away two weeks later. He died on January 6th. Ten days after his death, my brother found a letter in his things. My mother gave me this letter to keep.

My dad had written a letter two years before his death. The letter is not addressed to me by name.  The seven page letter was never mailed to anyone. It only starts as "My dearer than life daughter". This is the only letter of him that I have now. This letter is my life line. I know every letter of that one letter by heart.  I know now what he was trying to tell me that day in May and could not say! It's all in that letter. 

Keep That Tushy CLEAN!

Today I was at a Faith & Health conference when the subject came up.

I remembered filling my water bottle earlier while ignoring the stares around me and trying to suppress a smile.

Happens all the time!

Every time I go to the restroom & fill the water bottle to take with me to the toilet, I get the stares. Some ladies try to be inconspicuous but majority cannot hide their curiosity.

At the conference an RN asked me why did Muslim women always carry water bottles to the restrooms with them.

I had to explain that all Muslims have to wash their privates after every toilet use. 

My first relief whenever I visit a Muslim country is to find water supply and the container in the toilets. I'm surprised that West has still not caught on to the idea which prevents many gynecological problems. I'm glad that lately, at least sanitary wipes have become more common in use.

The topic brings an incident to mind.

All Muslim toilets have a water container for this purpose. Since I live in a non Muslim country, I put the container used to water the plants in my powder room. One of our overseas guest, after a a visit to the toilet, remarked that he felt like he was watering the flowers using that container....hahaha :D

 

The Sacred Bond!

He looked at the woman sitting across her in the revolving chair and thought about the past two years. He had difficulty remembering a life without her. He did remember the details of a life before her but what he could not understand was how exactly had he survived those past years.

Destiny had brought her in his life, he had no doubt about it. He was astonished to learn about a couple of locations where they had happened to be at the same time in the past without ever acknowledging or knowing each other. Their paths had been crossed but they were strangers at that time. He had not even realized that it was her name on the name card that his friend had given him some years back. His friend had handed him a name card one day and insisted on him meeting her. He had casually glanced over the weird sounding name, tossed the card in the dashboard and forgotten all about it. The card kept lying in his car till a year later he threw it away while cleaning the interior. His doctor introduced him to her another year later and still it did not register that she was the same lady. It was probably six more months down the road that the reality finally dawned on him.

He looked at her and smiled to himself. Who would have envisioned the bond that developed between them in the coming years? She ruled his thoughts in a mysterious way.  She did not command them but she ruled by dominating them. He unconsciously thought about her all the time. She was the first name that jumped to his mind in the time of need. She was the last person he talked to in his thoughts before falling asleep. The thought of a smile on her lips brightened his own mood. He could not bring himself to even think about her in pain. She had become his strength, motivation and support in recent past. He needed her for his own stability.

Who was she? What was their relationship? He thought!

There was no bond between them. Neither did they want one. Not even friendship. No, it was not infatuation, love, flirtation or any other such thing! He could tell her each and everything without any hesitation. He could keep no secrets from her. Their relationship was professional yet he and she knew that it was much more than that. She brought her own personality to her profession. Her unique touch made it so special. She had a gentleness in her own soul that showed in her work. She was much more than a friend, relative or a lover! She was his psychologist but she was the one who had reintroduced him to himself!

The Most Cherished Hajj Experience!

Arafat day Pic Shared from Internet

Ahhhh, that time of the year is here again...I am loosing control of my heart once again as the days go by and the date approaches. My feet itch to go there and my eyes long for the crowds while my ears hear echoes of the words chanted by millions in unison....yes I'm talking about HAJJ!

I grew up going for Hajj with my parents almost every other year.Yes, I am very lucky to have had the opportunities to visit Mecca for Hajj, Umrah and Tawaf right from the beginning. I have cherished memories of excitement as my mom would pack five days ration, our Eid clothes and dad would load everything in the car. I think there was probably once or twice when my father drove his own car during Hajj. It must have been one of the very early ones because I don't have much memory of it. In later days, Saudi government banned the use of private vehicles to facilitate easy flow of traffic on the roads but even before that, my parents and family friends started going to Hajj as a group and using private buses and drivers.

Now a days, the pilgrims are not allowed to cook their own meals during Hajj days, but in my early childhood, my mom used to cook meals in the tents on camping stove carried from home. The Arafat, Hajj day meal has always been the responsibility of Saudi govt. No matter how many million, they are all served by the S. govt. This practice dates back to Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham)'s days. the custodian of Kaaba is responsible for the provisions of pilgrims on Arraft day. I remember sitting on the floor in a circle of seven or eight among the crowds that formed similar circles. Each circle was served a huge giant platter of rice, meat, vegetables and all sorts of cooked dishes and everyone in the circle ate from the same platter using their hands. A few used utensils, but majority ate with their hands and did not use individual plates. Arrafat day was and is the day of total brotherhood among Muslims. now a days, people have become more conscious and majority use individual plates and silverware. A few still used their hands. The style of service may vary on other days, but on Hajj day, the tradition of brotherhood and sharing is upheld each year.

The next day to Hajj day is the Eid day. Father used to go to the slaughter house to pick the animal and bring a portion to be cooked by mom. Now a days, there is no need to go to the slaughter house as one can give the money to the group leader who takes care of the task. It is definitely more convenient and hygienic but I miss those old days.

We always did Hajj together with somebody. Sometimes one family, sometimes with ten. One of my Dad's friend always accompanied us every year from Pakistan. Hajj is a unique individual experience where one is part of a crowd of millions!

I remember one time, I must have been around seven or eight years old. It was the next day of Arrafat day, first day of Eid al Adha. My father sacrificed one lamb per person and then we came to Mecca from Mina to perform the Tawaf. After Tawaf, it took us more than two hours to reach back to our vehicle and on the way the prayer time started. The rows of people started to form and the streets got filled with row after row all the way to Masjid al Haram. We prayed in a row on the street. After the prayer, perhaps out of a kid's curiosity, I stole a look back and all round.....The scene I saw is etched in my memory and in my heart forever. I have never seen anything like that anywhere else in my entire life!

Mecca is situated in a valley and in those days all the surrounding hills were intact. In pursuit of expanding the capacity, all those hills have been bulldozed and are gone from sight forever, but in those days, all buildings used to have single digit floors, meaning no building had more than a few stories.

As I looked back and around, every street, hill and open space was taken up by pilgrims. There was an ocean of white everywhere wherever one could see. Wave after wave of praying men and women! The soft rises of surrounding hills packed with worshippers gathered from all over the world. There was no distinction of race, color, gender, ethnicity, status or of anything else. Each and everyone stood there shoulder to shoulder, forming row after row, facing one direction, glorifying ONE GOD. The sight looked as if angels had descended down from Heaven to pray together...it was that serene!

I can never forget that sight. It was the most wonderful, amazing mesmerizing and beautiful sight of my life and the best experience ever!

Why, I ask?!

Tuesday, August 27, 2013.                           US GETS READY TO STRIKE!

I watched in horror, my eyes glued to the screen, listening but not hearing anything as a heaviness descended upon my heart.
I heard the news about US getting ready to strike Syria if the order comes and my senses went numb. So, finally, it has come to this, I thought!

For sometime now, I've been hearing calls for and against US involvement. The recent use of chemical weapons on civilians including children has the whole world in uproar including Iran who has publicly condemned it.

All said and done, who let all this happen?
For months and years we are all watching the devil wreck havoc in Syria. No matter who is working for whom. It is the civilians and innocents that are paying the price with their lives. Who was supposed to be their protector? Who was supposed to be their leader? The whole country is in turmoil. Who was supposed to contain this situation?I hear some blame the external forces. My question is that who let those external forces to sneak in, find root and find strength?

Every country is vulnerable at some level and that is why the institutions like leadership, military, army, security and such, are founded. What is the use of financing such institutions if they cannot handle and manage their own internal affairs? Isn't the sole purpose of their existence the guarantee of peace, safety and protection of the civilians. What is their job and function if the civilians are suffering such cruelty? Before you blame the governments, please tell me if the people in government do not belong to the country as well! It is not as if they come from outside to rule these places. Why are they not sincere to their own roots?

WHY?