Dream Phenomenon

I looked twice and crossed the street as I spoke to my cousin on the phone. As I turned around the footpath, I saw him standing close to the pick up truck I was driving as my temp car. I ran across, half afraid he had hit my car with his and was inspecting the damage. Didn't want him to run because the insurance company would be a devil to deal with in a hit and run case. Anyway, I reached and was inspecting the car's rear fender near where he stood and it was all intact. No damage. I looked at him. 

"Yes? What do you want?" 

He smiled and said, "Just want to talk to you my brother" 

I half rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah sorry I got a run" too many people want to talk in Dubai. That's one of the things of this place. No one openly begs here. But they want to "talk" so they can give you a sob story. Could be real or could be one of those guys who makes a cool 20K per month selling sobs. I didn't have time to check. I had to rush to the place I had to book my car at. 

As I turned the engine and put the car in gear, he hops into the front seat. Ideally this is where my arm should have reached out into a jab and a punch but this was way bigger and could have kicked my face into retirement. But he didn't seem like the violent kind. You know.. The ones you can tell? 

So I pull out from the mud and onto the road, sitting quietly thinking which police station I should stop by and drop him off surreptitiously. I think Satwa would be closest. Not to mention its a busy place so he wouldn't get any funny ideas if he got angry at me.

"I think God wanted us to meet," he said. 

Uh-huh.. Sure I was thinking to myself. I didn't realize that I was picking up all the loose notes of 5s, 10s and 50s I had lying around my gear box area and putting it in my top pocket. When I did, I saw him hold the big envelope in his lap a bit tighter. "I don't want money, my brother" he said a bit sadly. 

I kept quiet. If he was selling a sob story, this wasn't one I'd heard before. My mind kept rerouting to the Satwa police station and I wanted to make sure he didn’t know where I was taking him before we got there. 

“My wife. She studied to be a Doctor,” he said. I gave myself a “huh!!?” but kept it quiet. “Okay..that is nice” I offered to say instead. 

“Yeah. She wants to come here and work in a hospital. A nice hospital where the facilities are nice so she can learn and maybe someday go back to our country and replicate that so our people also have nice hospitals”. He said.

“He was telling something positive, why is his voice all low?” I thought. 

“Mary…….” he trailed off.

I glanced at the envelope he held so tightly. It was a white envelope which one usually carries documents in. The logo looked familiar. I’d seen that before. But where? 

I asked him, “Your envelope, where did you get it from?”

“It isn’t mine. It is Mary’s. From her university.” 

“Where did she study. I know that logo” 

“It is a small city in India. It’s called Mysahore” he said. 

“Mysore!! That’s my city!! My Dad is from there” I quipped. “Oh Gosh she studied in Mysore Medical College. That’s the logo. I remember it now. Wow!! Small world” I couldn’t believe i’d said so much in a few seconds. Now we both knew I was invested. 

At Least he smiled when he saw that we shared something in common. “Have you been to Mysore” I asked. 

“Yes” he said. “My father was a rich person. So in her student days, our families visited India and we went to see her. Nice city. I love the palaces and the greenery there. Reminds me much of my own home. We have a lot of palaces too, but not a lot of people know about it” 

“Well, it’s nice to know that. Next time you come, let me know. If i’m there, i’ll show you around” I said, as I turned the car towards Bur Dubai instead of the Shurta’s. “Can i drop you near Al Seef? I’m sorry I have to go pick my family after that” 

“Oh yes, I’m sorry I didnt tell you where I wanted to go. But yes, Seef would be fine I’ll take an Abra.” He apologized. “Please, I need your help though” 

“Sure, tell me how can I help” Clearly he didnt plan this, he wouldn’t even know I’m from Mysore. Weird how familiarity can change perception,even if it is seconds old.

“Mary won’t live long. She’s got a terminal illness. But she has not let go of her dream to make a nice hospital for our people back home. Her inheritance details, her savings, her certificates and plans for the hospital which she worked on with some people are all in this envelope. I wish to see to it that this happens as she had dreamt. Can you help?” He asked.

I was flabbergasted. “Me? How can I help. I don’t even work in construction.” I said. “Also I’m so sorry to hear about your wife. I cannot imagine what you are going through.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get through it. We all will. I know you do not work in construction. But I just need to give this to someone who would listen to me. You are the 17th person I tried today. And the first one who heard me. Take your time with this, I know you can manage to delegate this responsibility to someone. The funds are sufficient to ensure the project is completed well. And there are contacts of my family’s lawyers who can help with the red-tape.” 

I kept staring wide-eyed at the signal as metro commuters piled out en-masse towards Burjuman. “What fresh hell is this? How can I do all this? How do I say no to him?” 

“Do not say No to me my brother. The fact that you were the only one to listen from 17 is a sign”

“No it isnt, i was almost the 18th too” (inside voice)

Anyway, I have to go. You can stop over right there, I’ll be off. I have packing to do, Mary and I fly back tonight. 

“Mary is here?? Which hospital? Can my family and I see you guys?” 

“Sorry, I don’t think it would be possible. We have a lot to do before we leave”

“If you’re going back home to your country, why dont you give the plans there to someone in your family” I asked. Maybe i could still be excused of this. 

“No, i cannot. I do not trust what they will do if they see the amount of money there is at play. Don’t worry. I know you can do it. My heart is calm.” he smiled. 

I parked the car and hit the hazard lights. “Okay my friend, I’m so sorry for not being more polite. I hope and wish you and Mary a lot of happiness. My name? I’m Syed. Sorry, should have started off with that haa. What’s yours?”

“Cameron Prince” he said, as he opened the car door and stepped out, carefully leaving the envelope on my passenger seat, as I felt an anvil being gently laid on my heart. 

“Okay Cameron, my pleasure to meet you. I hope I can do justice to this dream of you both” I mumbled. “By the way, which country are you from? I didnt want to assume”

“Nigeria” he said, and smiled, before closing the car door. 

*This story is inspired from a real dream I had early Tuesday morning (Dec 15th 2020). I took creative liberties with it of course because my dream wasn't entirely complete. But the underlying premise is as intact as I could remember*

Square Zero

 A few years ago, my wife and I, with our toddler in tow, were walking through a bustling winter market on the outskirts of Dubai. We came across a lady who had a cage full of baby bunny rabbits. Obviously they were cute. Obviously our daughter was giggly. Obviously we were getting baby bunny rabbits. 

We got a gray one (Bob) and a beige-white dual toned rascal (Officer Hopper). Yeah. That!

Their cage was big enough for both of them to run, but Officer Hopper was the only one who did. Bob was a placid lil guy. But Hopper ...No! Often he'd just jump on Bob and it made Bob shuffle a little in place. That was the main indication that Bob was alive. 

One thing I learnt about Rabbits though, they grow up pretty fast. And considering my baby girl loved to feed them and watch them nom-nom their way through the stuff (sometimes the veggies SHE was supposed to eat) was pure entertainment for her. Needless to say, both Bob and Hops got big...FAST. Eventually Bob added the "couldn't" to his "wouldn't" aspect of movement. Hopper just ambled about. The cage was growing smaller by the day for them. Eventually, one morning, just as I was contemplating getting them a new cage, I saw that Bob was not moving at all. Yeah. I didn't write the script but the Rabbits knew apparently. Anyway, the death of his partner made him sad, so I gave Hopper away to a pet store and that was that. 

This was a lesson for me which hit home yesterday when I returned to the Gym after a couple of years of inactivity. Stepping onto the floor, I realized how abysmal my own ability had become. A few years ago, I could easily do about 25-30 push ups (an ability I had built up from 0). And I could do close to 55 crunches as well (which i'd built up from 5). Yesterday, as I did basic floor exercises, I felt those numbers were impossible again. My 1 minute plank ability was down to a laughable 25 seconds after which I started to generate readings on a richter scale. Finally, I got to the treadmill. I don't know which genius decided to put treadmills next to huge mirrors, but whoever did, made me look at myself as I walked on that mobius strip of agony. As I did, I realized that my body had broken the traditional apple shape and pear shaped norms and discovered the now trademarked Disgruntled Avocado shape.

All said, I am effectively back to square one. But if I'm honest with myself, I'm actually a few steps behind the square one which I started back in 2008. 

But the story of my Pet rabbits came back to me. Why? 
I have no idea. But I realized that I'm cannot get by letting the cage of laziness and inactivity that led me to this place I am continue to hound me further. I realized I need to change it up. I'm going to shut up all the voices which say I can't do it..beginning with my own. 

Architects of Greatness

 

Fathers are Forces of nature. It just doesn’t get said enough.

Probably because of a lot of smog surrounding the evil effects of patriarchy or the simple fact that a lot of times, it just doesn’t need to be spoken of. This silence, over time, has led people to think that fathers don’t really do more than what they must.

This is not a comparison. What a mother does for her child is beyond compare. She sacrifices her body, mind, sleep, peace, and in quite a few cases, her ambitions, to make sure her children are well taken care of through their formative years and then some.

But what fathers do, often goes unnoticed. A lot of times what is in focus is what fathers DON’T do rather than what they do and this directs the narrative into a negative sphere of influence.

In the last 2 days, there emerged two very emotional stories of fatherhood that, quite frankly, are the stuff legends are made of.

Khabib Nurmagomedov won his 29^th and last fight in MMA and finished his career with unbelievable stats of 29 fought, 29 won. He ended his last opponent’s title challenge in under 2 rounds. His last three matches were all title defenses which had the sport’s most violent brawlers who regularly knocked their opponents out. He not only out punched them, but he took them down into his domain and beat them into submission. After his final fight, he didn’t celebrate. He broke down and cried. A man who brought the UFC to its knees dropped down on the floor and sobbed his heart out in the memory of the man who made him what he was.

His Father.

AbdulManap Nurmagomedov passed away recently after his disease was exacerbated by Covid19. And to state that Khabib’s relationship with his father was special is an understatement. His father was his first trainer, his main motivator, his guide, and his commanding officer. When he broke decorum in his first title defense fight, he didn’t care about the problems he’d face by the Nevada Sporting Commission. His first fear was, “My Dad’s going to smash me”. The reason he broke decorum was the venom spewed by the opposition camp and he was merely standing up for the principles he was brought upon. But even in that, his father had instilled a sense of wisdom which eluded Khabib in the adrenaline-fueled rage that this whole fight was about.

Abdulmanap raised a warrior who is now an inspiration for millions of kids who are seeking to grow up with principles in a hypersexualized hedonistic world that discards these principles in the misguided guise of freedom. Everything that Abdulmanap was, he couldn’t convey to the world because he wasn’t a man of the world, so he did the next best thing, he laid the foundation for a son who would build his legacy.  

The other story is that of Anthony Hamilton, whose son, Lewis, yesterday re-wrote the history books as the first Formula 1 driver to bag 92 wins. He beat the record of Michael Schumacher, a giant who dominated headlines when I first started following the high octane sport. His records were once thought untouchable. 91 wins. The second place to that was 51 wins when he made the record. He won so many championships with Ferrari that I stopped watching F1 because it was as predictable as the number a 2 following 1.

But just as Schumacher was starting to win his first of many accolades, a Computer Engineer in England quit his full time IT job to take up a job as a freelance IT contractor so that he could support his son who seemed to be showing signs of greatness at Karting. Anthony Hamilton held up to 4 jobs at a time to support his son’s Karting. He sacrificed all that he could to make sure his black son lived up to the greatness he knew he had and dreamt a dream where this boy would dominate a sport almost entirely owned by white people. When Hamilton won his 92^nd race yesterday, he got off his car and went first to embrace his father in a long tearful hug that was a silent acknowledgment of 2 and a half decades worth of purpose fueled dedication of a man who knew his son was made for the stars.

Apart from tearing it up on the track, Lewis is also an unstoppable force for change. Whether it is his activism in the field of climate change, police brutality, racism, or fighting for the downtrodden, he speaks and acts in support of the agents of positive change.

Both champions are almost mythical in their status currently, and both are fighting for causes far greater than their personal fame and honor. This doesn’t often happen by itself. It happens because they were raised by men who viewed the world with a far greater responsibility than others. They stepped up and laid bare the hard work and dedication needed to raise good sons in a world where men are more often seen as monsters than not.

Abdulmanap & Anthony saw something which I have often seen my father (my closest role model in all of this) talk about. A far-sighted goal. They saw that the world would need to change. And they prepared their sons to be that from the moment they could walk. Khabib was made to wrestle bears and Lewis rode karts at an age where I wouldn’t trust my kid with a bicycle without training wheels. They fell, they bruised, they hurt, they cried. And then their fathers picked them up, dusted them, showed them what was their mistake , and said, “Try again”.

In a world where toxic masculinity is a cause for so much grief, good fathers have to be the low-pressure systems that push winds to raise hurricanes that bring chaos to an established unfairness and reset the narrative to a world upon justice.

Like I said, Forces of Nature.

 

9 years on...

 I like Sundays. I also dislike them considering how they signal the end of a weekend which, in 2020, is one of the few things to look forward to. But the liking is a bit more. 

Sundays represent a new work week's beginning. In Arabic, it's called "Yawm al-Ahad" which literally means "The first day". Positive! I feel invigorated at work, planning my life, paying things off, and mentally winning all battles I've probably not even stepped in. Yeah!

This blog's been dormant for the past 9 or so years. I don't say dead because if it was meant to, I'd have deleted all of the posts ages ago and let the URL I once loved would be left to oblivion. But well, I wanted to bring it back because love for the written word remains something that hasn't changed in the near-decade since this blog was induced into a coma. 

So what's happened in the past 9 years? Quite a lot in fact. I'll probably summarize it with the biggest news of the years so that in 9 lines, you'll be up to date. 

2011 was the last post.

2012: I graduated from my university with a master's degree I'm yet to fully put to use, but with friendships that I couldn't do without. 

2013: I got engaged and embarked upon one of the most beautiful relationships life has offered me thus far. Lost quite a bit of weight in the process too. 

2014: I got married to an amazing person who continues to be the effervescence to my life. Moved to the USA for a while with her and then got back to Dubai as she finished her Internship year in Doha. This year saw a lot of changes in my life, including spiritual ones. 

2015: Became a father to an adorable daughter who basically was the icing on the cake of life that Allah kept blessing me with. Brought them both to Dubai and we started a little oasis of our own in this desert. Lost some old friends, made some new ones.

2016 to 2018:  Got promoted, traveled quite a bit, and started my re-education in life under the tutelage of my toddler who made being a father become my first job. Learned a lot, changed a lot and by the end of 2018, moved houses to a slightly bigger place closer to a masjid. Let go of the toxicity and am slowly detoxing from it all. The family survived some precarious encounters with health and it's been quite a ride.  

2019: Baby bro got married. Became a father for the 2nd time, also to another daughter who is quite literally a smile factory. She had one helluva journey from the time we first learned she was coming. From dodgy gynecologists to traveling around 3 countries and 4 cities in cars, planes, trains, etc. , she just fought through it all and landed with a smile which is going to turn 1 year old in a fortnight. 

2020: Well, it's been 9 months of this year and already it feels like an eon has passed. If you are reading this in the future, then you probably know this year humanity got railroaded with everything we'd been messing with. This year by itself requires a separate post just to chronicle everything that's happened so far and what's expected. From toying with nuclear war to actual wars and global pandemics, from murders, suicides, assassinations, and strange deaths all the way to the achievement of another level in planetary destruction all brought about by greed and general idiocy of a species that was supposed to be the epitome of justice, we're seeing it all. 

Alhamdulillah though, through all the haze that surrounds us in this year, there are pockets of pure goodness that just doesn't happen unless we are staring at adversity in the face. I think that defines humans in a splendid manner. We are a race that will ignore warning signs and mess things up so badly that onlookers will think we have the IQ of an igneous rock. We surpass every other species on this planet in terms of collective abilities and attributes which explains both our bipolar nature as managers and destroyers of the planet. But when the gloves are off, we are capable of going above and beyond the expected distance to fight out an enemy which is often of our own creation. 

And in that, we stand as the shining beacon of Hope that is nigh inextinguishable. 

Kinda like a Sunday! Yeah, I like Sundays. 

Remembering Anarchy..

“I wouldn’t just oppose Hitler for his massacre of 6 Million Jews, I would condemn him if he even killed one. Killing an innocent human being is never justified. Not even by religion.” – Ahmed Deedat

The above quote is not verbatim. But this was the essence of the words delivered by the Sheikh.

Why quote this?

Simple, Muslims and Jews have been at it for a long time. If its not the land, it’s the morals. If its not that, it’s the ideals and teachings. And people might think that muslims would have celebrated Hitler doing off with so many of the Jews in his Kreig across western Europe. Enemy’s enemy is a friend right?

Wrong !!

This is what Sheikh Deedat thought of that. It doesn’t matter who is the killer and who is the victim. Kane and Abel were both sons of Adam. One was a Murdered and One was the Murdered. One was the Oppressor and one was the Oppressed.

Throughout the past week, I’ve been getting consistent updates about the 10 years since the fall of the WTC. I still remember standing in my Nani’s place, packing my stuff to come home for holidays when the attack happened. I was watching live news on Star News and stood there agape. If someone would’ve asked me if 10 years later I’d have seen that one attack take more than 100000 lives in 2 brutal wars being fought World War style, I’d probably have said no. I’d no clue what the repercussions of the WTC would be. I’d no clue that 10 years on, muslims would still be asked to apologize for this.

Before you go wild on the comments, the above is not heresay. I’ve had countless arguments where I’ve personally apologized for the WTCs, only to have been laughed at, to have been insulted. I’ve had people throw insults at my faith, my belief, my history and all the respected people in my history because a few morons decided to go trigger happy on Uncle Sam. But I recently realized, its not Islam's mistake..Its not the mistake of the 99% of the Muslim populace that 1% of them are blood thirsty mentally deranged beasts who will claim everything an act in the name of God nauzubillah !!

As I was saying, throughtout the week, I’ve been seeing the WTC 10th anniversary being covered in almost every newspaper. Every website has some update or the other. And it goes without saying that the images of people dying in the 9/11 attacks hurt me as much as the attacks anywhere in the world, be it on Muslims or not. A life is a life. Beholding the ebbing life dying in front of your eyes on live TV does not make you question if that man is a muslim, christian or hindu. You just think… “OH GOD NO!!”

Agreed that I’m not the first person to agree to the official version or the conspiracy theories of what happened on that morning of September 11th 2001. But I know that neither versions are entirely true.

There is a famous saying that goes, “There are always 3 sides to a story…Your side, My Side and the Truth.”

Do you know the Truth? Do I? Your guess is as good as mine….

9/11 has been etched in each of our minds as the turning point in history when America turned from Bruce Banner into the Incredible Hulk. But how many such dates do you remember??

Do you remember Al Nakba?? Do you even know what that means??

Do you remember the Cave of Patriarchs Massacre? The Vietnamese My Lai massacre?

No !! of course not. The world forgets. Or does it?

The world has selective amnesia. Its fuelled by what the media deems sensational and what it doesn’t.

How many days of solidarity did the world hold up against the recent Gaza massacre? Heck amongst my friends, very few even bothered to look at the Carlos Latuff posters I’d put up.

Why doesn’t the world remember this? Why no worldwide solidarity campaign against the 3rd world??

Pop quiz….Do you remember Shock and Awe?

Sure you do….Bush Jr. stepped into a phone booth and emerged as Superman. And Despite the world’s top officials saying, “Ay-Yo!! Chill Dude”, he screamed “Charge” at Saddam’s (imaginary) stash of Weapons of Mass Destruction.

I was watching the Shock and Awe covered live by BBC. How many do you think died that night?

No no…not stupid Saddam's republican guards or army men…How many civilians died that night??

UK’s independent research organization states 6,616.

If there was a solidarity event for those people, I didn’t get the invite.

My point is not the eye for an eye story. No. Islam says you have the right to avenge the wrong done to you, but to forgive is better. I’m a purveyor of that teaching. As much as possible, I chose to take the peaceful way out.

"But if they (the enemy) incline towards peace, do you (also) incline towards peace."Qur'an, 8:61.

1 American’s death is NOT equal to 1 Arab’s death. Nor is it vice versa. Many people went gung ho about the status I put up where my friend showed a statistic that showed 29 Iraqis and Afghanis killed for 1 American life. It's true that that statistic is a dangerous one.

We are not givers of life to take it away or value it. Its value is with its creator.

And that is the exact issue here.

The lives of the thousands and thousands of people who’ve died and are still dying in those warzones are also LIVES !!!!

Your heart should skip just as many beats when you see a drone attack as it did when you saw the planes attack the WTC

Your eyes should cry just as many tears whether you see the dust and debris covered faces of the WTC survivors or the Children’s massacred by the Kunduz strikes by the NATO (German) forces.

Your fists should clench just as much whether it’s the thought of the orphans of WTC or the orphans of Iraq and Afghanistan and Gaza.

My question is…..Do they???

In the Shade of a Fruiting Tree

There is something about returning to the town where you spent your childhood.Even for a few minutes or days, it’s a visit that opens the floodgates of memories. Returning to Umm’Said, a once quaint little industrial town in the little country of Qatar, is just that for me. A dam whose operators decide its time to let the water flow. No I don’t mean tears. I mean thoughts. 

Immersed in these thoughts I walked on, the bags gently rustling against my jeans. I saw a silhouette In the distance near the local masjid beside my home. The man was dressed in a white robe. Customary to the Arabs in the region, but he didn’t wear a gatra or the headscarf which told me he was probably an Indian, Pakistani or Bangladeshi man. When he came closer, I recognized the walk and it was my old Quran Teacher. My Ustaadji. When I say old, I mean he taught me Quran about 15 years ago. I had many Quran teachers and he was one of the most memorable ones. He recognized me and walked up to hug me and proceeded to ask how I was doing, how was my job and everything a teacher would ask. He asked me how many years since I was working and I replied, 3 and a half. The surprise on his face was evident as he said, “Really? It seems like just yesterday you left home.” I smiled and said I felt more or less the same. We spoke for a few moments more and then parted ways.' 

Immediately the floodgates opened full capacity. Took me back to the time when I was a little boy who came from school at 2:30 pm, lunched and waited for my Quran teacher to come at 4 pm for the 1 hour session after which the playground would beckon until sunset. My first Quran teacher was a Pathan who was actually just a laborer. Sometimes I’ve seen him as a Gardner, sometimes a handyman or sometimes working off with construction equipment. He was strict and always brought a stick in case I hadn’t done my lessons and rarely smiled. But I have come to respect him so much more today knowing how much he gave me as a foundation in those early days of “Alif, Beh, Teh” 

My second teacher was the opposite. He was a thin man with a smile on his face and loved to hug and kiss me when I did well and would reprimand me in the nicest manner possible when I messed up.My third teacher was the one I met today, who was the most inspirational ones I had studied under. He’d keep a sort of a Quran recitation competition in the nearby masjid for all the kids of the locality, prepare us for the competition and call a senior cleric to adjudicate the competition. And somehow, we all walked home with prizes. Now that I think of it, it was his little plan to get us all kids out of the summer sun which our moms couldn’t get us out of and occupy us with learning, practicing and memorizing a part of the Quran with a little bit of competition in mind. Eventually, everyone was a winner, who walked home with a brand new shiny Quran, or some books, or a stationary set. As small or inexpensive the gifts were, the feeling of having achieved something brought us closer to reciting the Quran in the most beautiful manner.I would say those days were the beginning of the ambition I had of always trying to recite the Quran in the most beautiful voice with the right rhythm and intonation so as to express and feel the message of the unmatchable verses. 

My next couple of teachers held their posts for very short times. But my last one was the one who left the most lasting image on my heart. My last Ustaadji was a fair old man from Bangladesh who had a very handsome and smiling face. He tried to perfect my recitation better than anyone else before, made me repeat the parts I would go wrong in and helped me memorize the most important parts of the Quran. He would enthrall me with stories of the Islamic history. Stories of the Prophet PBUH, his companions, the older Prophets (PBUT) and the kings and caliphs of old, fallen empires, sinners and saints. He built my knowledge base which fuelled a desire to study and learn about world history and world religion, an endeavor that I carry to this day, having read as much as I could not just about Islam, but everything which makes the world as we see it, the history, the religious diversity, the cause and effect of superstitions, events of political chaos, wars, discoveries, inventions, knowledge and ignorance.Some of my closest friends know that I believe the first 8 grades of my school life were very bland. It was only in 9th and 10th that I truly started exploring the world, a result of dad sending me out there to see for myself what it was all about. But in the first 8 grades, I realize now, I was subconsciously being prepared to explore. And it was all these gentlemen who were preparing me.Which brings me to another realization. If Allah had not sent these teachers, and had they not taken the effort to put their heart into teaching me, I’d probably still be a bland old guy just existing. After these gentlemen, I really took to understanding and bonding with my teachers. At St. Joseph’s Central, Mysore, I found some of my most valuable teachers. In 2 years I made more relationships with my alma mater than in the 8 years in Doha.Which brings me to an apology I owe all these teachers. I realized, I never really thanked them for being the architects and masons of my mind. We all thank our friends and family for everything. True isn’t it, whenever something great happens to us, we share and thank our friends and family. When something bad happens, we look to friends and family for support. What about teachers? They aren’t friends because there is a code of conduct based on respect. They aren’t family. But then again, they are a bit of both. They are parents who give us knowledge and build our personalities with their artistic hands, yet as we grow older, they laugh and share their lives with us. Yet, few of us ever thank them.How many of us remembered our teachers in our prayers recently??How many of us visit our old schools??We all remember the school days and the fun we had and the teachers who were quirky and funny and plain ol’ idiotic. But do we remember the teachers who actually are responsible for who we are today? 

This is my thanks to all my teachers. From my Quran Ustaads to my strict and stern principles, and all the way to my motherly class teachers and in special mention, Ms. Carmel, my English teacher cum inspiration cum stage musical director who made me fall in love with the language, not to mention made me believe that I could act in a musical and do that while sporting a faux French beard which is the inspiration to my current look.Today people say education is a business where teachers are not really bothered where you are headed, they are just there like a GPS guidance system which will chart you through your subject courses unlike the humane guide who takes you through the beautiful buildings of engineering, the amazing scenery of geography and ancient history, the trauma and tragedies amidst victories of history, the lessons in life which charted social studies and the pure artistic beauty of description of it all in the language studies.The parable being akin to a traveler who stops by to rest under a tree. A fruit bearing tree which unselfishly shades the traveler, providing a calm and cool rest, and feeds him with its precious, delicious and beneficial fruits, expecting nothing in return.This is my heartfelt gratitude to all my teachers. Whether I studied under you for years or whether you just taught me how to make an omelet, know that as long as there is air in these lungs, it runs a mind which is striving everyday to better its mental capacity in your honor, and a heart which is filled with gratitude, undying respect and unequivocal love for you.
x

Of Strength and Survival !!!

By any chance, sometime during the last week of February this year, you happened to be in the Karamah area of Dubai, near Lamcy Plaza, you would have seen me.

I was waiting for a friend. Karamah is usually a very busy place and the area near Lamcy is more so. So it is pretty evident that I whiled away my time observing the multitude. A gentleman caught my eye. He was dressed for a meeting, but his behaviour in one word was Haywire. He was on the phone, walking from here to there, walking into a financial institution and then out, walking towards the shopping centre and then out and so on. He was on the phone and his manner was hurried as if a train was going to leave.

And then he met a person (presumably the one he was waiting for so anxiously), exchanged a quick greeting and a few notes and he ran into the financial institution. In the meanwhile my friend came, we spoke a while and were about to move to my car. I passed by a car and the man was sitting inside. I’d missed his coming out from the building. He sat still in the car’s driver’s seat. My car was parked opposite his and I just observed him for what seemed like a couple of minutes. His expression was what caught me.

His window was opened just a little and he was staring out of the opening at the sun setting behind Lamcy. His fist on his chin, an upturned face from Rodin’s Thinker and he had a painful look in his eyes. I wouldn’t be guessing if I said that I saw his eyes were glistening with tears but he wasn’t crying. His lips quivered as he tried to maintain a straight face, closed his eyes and mumbled to himself which I’m assuming was a prayer. My friend called me and I realized I’d been staring as he waited to get into the car. We got in and drove out. So did that man. I’d swear I could see him wipe his eyes and smile deeply but then……..

The above is just another episode from any crowd in any city of the world. If you are keen to observe, you will see how we’re part of a world where everyone is alone in the crowd.

Reminds me of a piece of wisdom which goes, “Be nice to everyone you meet, they are all fighting a tough battle of which you have no idea about.”

Take a look around when you are free and waiting in a crowded area. You will see what I mean.

I guess February – March was a tough month for most, no clue why. But most of the people I met had something going on. Some near and dear ones too. Proud to say that all of them have hung in there.

That’s when I realized that the human spirit is an unfathomable thing.
People ask what is the purpose of life. As a muslim, I know that the purpose of life is to Worship Allah.

Hold on though, Worship does NOT mean living an ascetic life. Worship in Islam means doing everything as it is supposed to be done. It goes to the extent where looking at your wife with love is also considered a worship (to Allah not to her ;))

And Worship also means, taking everything that comes at you as you walk through life, EVERYTHING.

No matter what life throws at you, you take it head on, never look away, never back down and absolutely never give up.

Suicide is a cardinal Sin.

And Despairing is as good as going into disbelief.

Allah says in the Holy Quran,
“Allah burdens not a soul beyond what it can bear….” (2:286)

In simplistic terms, it means that if you are given a tribulation, from a thorn prick to a paraplegic body, you are given the mental strength and the grit to bear see it through. It is just a matter of believing it.

These are not just words pulled out of a Motivational speaker’s hat. Nope.
I’ve lived this, but more importantly, I’ve seen people live through worse. I’ve seen my parents grit and bear stuff which would have probably killed me. I’ve seen my best friend give life a run for its money. I’ve seen my brother bear pains too great for his young and confused heart. I’ve seen my sister fight destiny with tears in her eyes and prayers on her lips. I can go on and on about the inspirations in my life. Their strength is something they themselves cannot see, but I can.

The man in the car by Lamcy could not see the transition of helplessness to pain and misery to relief back to helplessness and then to a nervous smile of hope. I could.

I don’t believe strength comes from having resources to take care of your problems.

Strength is something much more deeper, much more complicated than that.

I believe, that it is in your weakest moment is when you actually define the strongest you have in yourself to be. It is in your most helpless situation that you define how much are you going to help yourself.

It is when you are left with no options from life, that you decide that it’s time to make your own options. The realization that you’ve hit rock bottom and the only way is Up. If not directly upwards, then sideways and THEN up!

At the risk of sounding repetitive, The strongest steel is actually forged in the hottest of fires !!

If you’ve followed the Adidas Campaign with Mohammad Ali, you’ll know this bit from the marketing quote: “Impossible is not a fact, it’s an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration, it’s a dare. Impossible is potential, Impossible is temporary, Impossible is nothing!”

Now re-read that statement, only this time, replace Impossible with Weakness ;)

See what I did there??

It doesn’t matter how many times you fall, it only matters how many times you get up again.

In mathematical terms, in life, you are not a failure if you fall “X” number of times.
You are a failure only if you do not get up “X+1” amount of times.