Just to keep the track of things,
My head is literally pounding and eyes burning, arid, dry. I have just done the cucumber therapy and if it won’t work I will get some rose-water treatment to it, owing to the weather the head says… but my heart’s telling a different tale.
I’ve met her yesterday, someone I have never heard of, never seen, never thought of too, but she would turn out to be someone I have dreamt of becoming one day, too amazing for words, MashAllah.
She’s roughly 58, very young-like old, fresh, with a halo of noor about her, and tenderness. She’s called Iffat, I dared not ask her surname, but she was someone I wanted to cry in the lap of! She told us that she’s selling the ‘extra’ furniture of her home, even though it was very dear to her but Allah SWT forbids to hold love for material objects, she wants to drag it all to bare basics, and also lowering the level of what exactly she thinks of bare basic! Inspirational!
Her’s was a simple home, way simpler that I have seen, and considering the fact that she’s quite rich, it was all marvelous, somewhat unbelievable too. She would tell us about the Quran classes that she had been giving, wow SubhanAllah, I knew she’s special !
She would tell us about her childhood about her family’s association with Maulana Moududi about how she got married when she was 15, about the migration and about her business that she would start to help the poor widows working in her home. And then she would tell us about him, her eldest son, who was born in 1971, and who is a martyr now, died in Allah’s way in Afghanistan. MashAllah, she would show us the picture too.. the very very quick glance that I had of him wasn’t good enough though, I don’t remember much of him now except a peshawari topi and light beard and the most amazing face I would be seeing, he is afterall the chosen someone, I wanted to ask her about his name but couldn’t thinking that it might be blasphemy! And the way she was telling about her eldest son, a young son…. Allah o akbar!! with pride, you know, proudly! instead of grief that I would have expected!
I wanted to hug her, tell her to pray for me, meeting her was heart wrenching, verily the people Allah SWT loves are different in their everything! This is something which isn’t leaving me.. its been a day and a half that I met her, yet it all seem so fresh, so real.. so un explainable!
I dono why I wrote it here, but I pray, I pray that the track I was once a traveler of, and the track that I so boisterously left, may call me back. I wish if I return to what I had been, that now appears as once upon a time!
Allahuma Aghfir va ar ham va an ta khair ur Rahemeen!! Amen suma amen!
spiritually and Iman-wise, very very low, and hoping and praying for a resurrection!
Ever since I passed through my 22nd birthday I am cascaded with questions like when and how and where and with whom I am planning to get married. Questions like that are so natural when each passing day is adding numbers to your age, I find it strange and hard to consider it, All my childhood I promised to not marry because I had deduced that men are worst as husbands. Having no personal experience I tended to base my hypothetical theories on other’s experiences on their failed marriages and their about to be broken highly compromising wed-locks! But suddenly I want to be a part of it, to experience all of it myself; I reckon that is also the implied part and parcel of 22 and growing hence the ordeal of collecting the points of my ideal match:
1) Adherence to Religion: It’ll be marvelous if he not only learns and practices but also help me do the same.
2) Somehow manages with my pseudo intellect that I so outrageously claim to possess and boisterously flaunt my ignorance believing its wisdom.
3) Very good sense of humor: to help me with mine. I think my humor is rottening in the pickle bottle.
4) Patience: yes, this godammed virtue is of utter importance to. Specifically to deal with a complete disaster like me.
5) Maturity: Simply to handle me, He will have to tackle an issue like myself, very sensibly and to support/save this world from the disaster that I so am in myself; I think they all will be perpetually thankful to him for that.
6) Organization: yup, I’m a whirlpool of complete organized mess. I think it’s high time someone change me well.
7) Mental Alertness: I don’t even know what does this supposed to mean 😛
8) Good taste in books: This according to me is, that he’s read all what I’ve read and even more and never boasts of the fact. Willing to read me GOST and then lend me a shoulder to cry on it.
8 1/2) Reads my unruly literary genius, devours it and praise my wisdom (on a second more rational thought, the later is not a requisite)
9) Loves chocolate and able to share it. And for that matter all the good things in life.
10) I’ve never considered the how does/should he look like part, although I am eternally in love with beards, maybe because the first urdu novels I was fed on in my childhood, were Hijazi’s and that improved my notion of perfection in ideal matches, a lot. Despite I have always adored Eric, at the back of my mind I was sure that he’ll grow a beard to look like a man too. And since I thrive on religion it soothes that part too. The rest Allah knows, Good looks as a perquisite will be highly overwhelmingly good. 😛
11) Loving Nature: which doesn’t include the display of it, specially to all the female colleagues he has.
12) Loves kids: because, the more the better 😛
13) Loves pets: but doesn’t make a zoo out of it
14) Respect: He should greatly have it, and teaches me some too!
15) Carving Knowledge: the ‘Something’ of ‘everything’ part. Elm is the lost May’eraj of momin after all.
16) Observer: of nature, takes time to ponder on how sophisticatedly beautiful Allah has made this world for us. Allah tells/asks us so!
17) Gentle: and it also includes being polite, because I think I am. Alhamdolilah.
18) Career: for myself, I think for women the best career lies in the wifehood and the motherhood that comes naturally from the former.
19) Someone who believes in smiling, in little gifts, short quips and that flying is so hell possible. If not in this world, InshAllah ta’ala in the hereafter!
To all the ado of ideal match, the simplest yet the toughest doesn’t lie in the ‘how rich’ or ‘how cool’ or ‘what car’ or ‘how old’ Etc. My words always come down on my face as spit when I am unable to defend them, but right now, I think it is just about someone who has a beautiful heart and a beautiful mind – an amalgamation of religion and intellect.
But then, Do I deserve something like that? I, someone so extraordinarily ordinary deserves someone so amazing?
Sadly the answer is no. I kneel down to Allah. Please help me, grant me the best. Amen.
Sad and aware!
Feb 15, 2009.
The afternoon sun steals peeks after peeks from my window and the vanilla-chocolate-chip ice cream tub empties slowly, I move my fingertips on the key boards wanting to write about a girl who put kohl in her eyes, let her hair hung loose and wore in them, dried maroon strange flowers that grew in her garden, who would dream a forbidden dream and would want to re-dream it every night, who broke her vow and she knew that she would do it again and again, and who, despite knowing that the inevitable hurt kept lurking behind every shadow, every smile, every sane moment on the gloomy path that she had chosen to live, would tread on.
But I owe a tribute to some people, and I decided to put it up lest it’s late. There are mothers and fathers who create you in their womb, your limb, your eye, your heart, and then there are second mothers and second fathers who create your ideas, dogmas, perception, limits, personality… who make you – you!
Two bravest people I have the privilege to be twin of, who’re my sibling from my other mom! My sister. My brother. They might never read this piece, but this should never stop me from writing my feelings for them. Miss Emen Farooq. My little miss sunshine, who glow at me, inspires me, and make me love her endless, boundless, limitless. All my bestest wishes and my ardent prayers for her. Mr. Owais Farooq. Someone who’d teach me the art of smiling in the depth of darkness, in the hardest of tests!! My other second utter complete inspiration. I pray with all my heart that both of them may always have the bestest news to share with me. Amen.
Insya, because she’s the little me. She’s everything I am, and I fear if she would become someone like me ! I dread it.
Sum baji, I have seen amazing people, but this one lady is made up of exquisite porcelain, gorgeous, graceful and inspiring! One of the other brave people I’ve met. She’s someone I really want to grow into! *prays*
Last but not least, I’ve to thank Mav for writing so beautiful. Intense. Grotesque. An enchanting read. Specially writing the continuation of my post – sinister. Asphyxia
This post was scheduled to be posted on May 9th, I apologies for the delay.
the acknowledgments on ‘javaaz’ is well received 🙂 it has also encouraged me to post another old piece.
I rem writing it, sitting on my bed right next to the window and studying Biology when rain had started, it was on impulse, i wrote it on the last page of bio book 🙂
the date was feb 03, 03. I was in class 11.
please read 🙂
ajj phir say
badal garaj garaj kay barsay
main chup gaye thee darr sayy
panha kitaboun main dhondnay lagi thee
per dil main ajab halchal machi thee
ajj phir say wohi shorishain theen
barasti ghata’in tarpa rahin theen…
mujhi mai ghusi ja rahi theen
woh baatain sari..mujko yaad a rahi theen
dhalakti rutoun main kuch tu chupa thaa
zahir thaa kuch.. kuch Kyun pinhaa’ thaa?
iss rang-o-boo’ ki mehfil mai bhi koi
bohat anjan, bohat tanha thaa…
har soo baycheni hi gunguna rahi thee.
aur woh tu bass… chali ja rahi thee
ajj phir say…
kuch tu huwa thaa
translation would be…
the clouds thundered and rain fell
afraid, i hid,
seeking refuge in books
but my heart was turbulent
today – the noises roared again
the heavens, ripped open….pouring,
an unknown yearning they ignited!
were piercing in me!
something was concealed in the falling mist (read moments)
a bit was revealed but why was the rest hidden?
even in the party of colors and smells..
someone was a mere stranger, someone was very alone!
A nervous anxiety, hums audibly,
and she.. was just walking away
some thing must had happened!
Shorishan – shor / noises
dhalakti – falling
Pinhaa’ – hidden!
okay, i re-read now and i felt like couple of things can be done here and there 🙂
but I let it be, the way it is, the way i felt on the day i wrote it.
Translatio help – grattis Mav 🙂
The three quartered moon glowed away to glory, the night stretched its paws like a fluffy kitten just awakened from an enchanting dream, bat screeching echoed and far away city lights twinkled before losing to the eternity.
Darkness concealed everything with perfection. Every corner, every crack, every curve, every crevice of her room, the curtains, the walls, the windows and the world beyond. It concealed everything. Myths. Mysteries. Ugly dark secrets. Joys. Old promises made to someone. Resolutions made to self. And who knows what.
She leaned back, tugged a wild tuft of hair behind the ear and tried to feel the romance that loitered in the potency of night. Wildness. Eeriness. Loneliness. Far far away, lights played hide and seek at the horizon, the colors crumbled down from the skies, where they said, dreams came true. A far distance away.
She turned back to the mirror and did the unthinkable. Wore two thick coats of red lipstick. Painted her nails red. Applied red shade of rogue. She looked ridiculous to herself.
Hideous.Wasted. Wicked. Wrinkled. Bloody.
Many years ago when she was young but sensible she promised herself that she would remain the pink fairy, that the only color she’d be other than pink would be aqua, that she would never play the games of heart and then she resolved with firm cerebral faculty, that red would always be sinister for her, that only witches and brides could wear red. Witches – because they’re wicked. Brides – because they’re to be sacrificed.
She glared back at the countenance in the mirror and caressed her lips with her fingertips, daintily, like that of a lover – she was one to herself after all.
But then madness rose in her like bile and stayed. She dug her fingernails deep in her palms wanting to peel off everything, her wrinkles, her skin, the scars, the creases; she wanted to peel off herself – herself from her. She stood skin-side out and looked. Argued. Wrestled and won.
The night was eerie, the air waited, the buzz of the fan watched. She leant towards the hideous wicked image, and recklessly started rubbing her face, trying to get rid of that ominous hue, subtle scurry movement, trying in vain to wipe it out; the red color smeared everything, her fingertips, her cheeks, her chin, the paleness of her hands. Everywhere.
That particular minute seized the opportunity and inexplicably lingered on, the tint repudiated to let go. It started absorbing in her skin, deeper and deep, trickled down insider her, captivating her, confiscating her, taking control. The red ensnared her heart.
Evilly, she sucked shades from everything around her, every single thing, stored them in her palate, and re-colored them; she painted the sun orange, the mountains blue, the trees yellow and the stream green. And she painted him red.
May 02, 09.
I owe the gratitude to Mav for helping me make this beautiful 🙂
ps. cross posted at WL.