Full stop.

I was raised by two of the most hopeless optimists I have ever met. For some odd reason, my life was always full of positive stories. I hardly ever heard anything negative about a human I knew. 

Growing up, I realized my parents did too have their considerable share of troubles and sufferings. Oddly and strangely enough, I did not, even for once, found them bitter at it. 

We have negative people, energies, reactions around us. Every single day and every single moment.

Most of these negative sets do not stem from any inherently ill Intentions. More often infact they are purely contextual reactions to their own personal struggles.

We often make the mistake of viewing others negative emotions in isolation. As independent events meant to hurt us or do us harm. We often fail to see the larger picture.

Everywhere I go, in every phase of life, there have existed humans struggling with their emotions. Reacting wildly. Taunting people. Viewing everything with the simple equation of criticism. Not believing anything but themselves as right. Being the victims of their own stories. Feeling bitter at their own circumstances and putting it out unto others. 

From school mermories to university to work life, every single day, I met almost ten of such different people. Different stories. Same struggles. 

I realized if I could catch them. If I could listen and put a full stop to their energy. It would all well, just vanish. 

I believe we all have the power to put a full stop. To gather all that is being said and done wrong and put a full stop to it right there.

You experience a person belittling you/another person - You sigh. Silence. Full stop. 

You hear your inner voice demanding you to react. You smile. Full stop.

Your inner voice suddenly transforms into a theartrical performance of a self-victimized you with a dramatic sound score - You smile broader and full stop. 

It is all a matter of a full stop. 

It is a matter of not conversing back. A matter of not engaging. A matter of viewing your inner thoughts as they simply just pass by. Of holding your own hand and putting a full stop. Of holding somebody else's hand and putting a full stop. Of showing positive side of story. Of instilling trust. 

It indeed is definitely the most excruciatingly painful experiences.

Of putting a full stop within. 
Of battling one's own demons. 
Imagine isolating yourself from yourself. 
Imagine ignoring nonstop excited conversations within yourself to put a full stop within and outside. 

Zainab has learnt to run. Recently, at a store, she ran around exploring the area. A guard at one of the entrances stopped and offered a handshake. She excitedly searched for me, as I smiled back, she confidently shook hands with him and moved on; perhaps, not realizing how she had just made his day brighter. 

It is then when it hit me. She views the world through me. Her relationships with the world, with people, with sufferings and with challenges would all be shaped mostly by how I perceive the world. 

She is - to the world - what she sees me - to be to the world. 

29 years ago, two humans put out a brighter picture of the world to me. As a space where positivity can alter the course of human's life. I learnt it so because they put a full stop to their inner demons. They let the goodness win. They let it prevail. They did not burden me with their personal biases. As I turned out to seek their assurance, they smiled and made me see the positive ahead.

28 years later, I am learning to put a full stop to my inner demons. Learning to put a full stop to anything remotely negative. Put a full stop by being empathetic to myself. Put a full stop by winning over my inner demons. Every minute. Every moment. Every single day. 

Oh, it is one of the most excruciatingly painful experiences yes. But trust me when I say this, it is one that is totally worth a lifetime.

Put a full stop inside and bake a few goodies for the world to feel the Love. 

Humans as we know.

I think we live in a world where there is an increasing need to liberate ourselves and do things out of love and not perceived obligations.

I can't say a lot with confidence about other societies, but the one I stem from essentially tames and limits a woman to its roles..Forming expectations and  associating a fixed set of obligations to it.

You are born a daughter, sister, turn into a wife, mother, daughter in law, mother in law, grandmother and so on.

All these seem to be confining identity. By way of proudly introducing these roles, not only do we squeeze and cut out a woman to fit into these roles, we implicitly then expect them to behave and not behave a certain way. External influences  unto how you are to behave  in a certain role often gets  heavy. Happily so often, it overshadows a woman's personality which often unveils itself in depression, bitter relationships and complicated negativity towards spouse/the rest in old age.

I was brought up intensely as a human than as anything else. It helped me realize the passion, enthusiasm and power involved in doing things out of
Love and not merely out of obligation. It helped me breathe/live and serve as a human and not as out of any role.

I suppose liberating a woman and raising a human to love and live out of love is extremely essential.

I only realized so after getting married whereby, said and unsaid expectations of beyond immediate families become evident. 'Oh, you are married now..' 'Oh! You live with your in-laws? Must be difficult no?' 'Oh, now you have a baby, stay home yes' 'Oh, Zainab is so lucky that she has an educated mother'

All this somehow seems to be limiting identity of sorts. I am here, sitting at home, choosing to be a stay at home wife/mom at the moment for my reasons. Not out of obligation.

We have a choice as humans and most importantly as women. As most specifically as South Asian Muslim Women perceived through a certain lens by inside and outside of community alike. A choice to assume power of practicing love and actions out of love and for the sake of love. Not out of obligation. Don't be a good daughter/sister/wife/mother/daughter in law and so forth only because you are expected to be so. Don't just sit and robotically fulfil expectations set upon you by the world.

Assume power of choice and practice actions out of love. Don't compromise and volunteer for anything in a relationship or in life because you're obligated so. Do so out of Love. In fact, Liberate yourself from the delusion of obligation and do it purely out of love.

To all the women rejecting self contained shackles of victimisation, struggling and tiptoeing around patriarchy while teaching, practicing and spreading nothing but Love and growing wise with the daily struggles of life. Lots of love to you. You are and you have what has inspired me to write this today.

Haldi honey doodh.

I had been wondering whether to post this for quite sometime.

In our lives, if we sincerely look around, there are humans who geniunely are beautiful souls. They may take different roles/relationships in our life.

People often tell me I am quite lucky with everything. And I think they are wrong. Everyone in this world gets their fair share of luck. In different forms. Every single soul is blessed. In one way or the other. In some part of life or the other. In some phase of life or the other.

So, I am not quite sure about being lucky with everything. I have had and still have my fair share of sufferings that I personally cherish - which seems to be the only option in helping me evolve into a better/wiser person.

What I am quite sure about is that this planet still has wonderful souls roaming about.

What I am quite sure about is my luck in meeting such souls.

The issue with the warmest one I know is that he happens to be my husband. Loving him just because he is my husband is like exploring an excuse to justify why I am still with him.

He is a good human. Something we undermine so often. He is a balanced rational yet sensitive being. A very very patient one. He is a good teacher. And a great student. He realizes. Acknowledges and feels. Something a lot of us struggle to do on daily basis. I often feel like writing on his ability to be so self reflexive.

So yes, I am not sure about being lucky with everything in life. But I am quite sure about being lucky to having met Zain. And extremely lucky about the manner in which we met. And definitely lucky to realize that my daughter is almost as lucky as I was in having a great father.

He is a good human. A soul. The concept is fluid. You don't need to importantly have such a person as your partner or family member or friend. It could be anyone. Open your heart and look around. I am 100percent sure you will find good hearted souls just as I did. And try being like them.
---

Zain, to learning patience and adapting to your unexpected plans and honeyhaldi-doodh obsessions forever. Happy Birthday.

May we all stumble upon and learn to cherish humans like you and may we all learn to be the same for the rest of the world around us and within us. Amen.

Magic.

"One thing every human has in common is the first sound we hear. Its the heartbeat of our mother. The steady rhythm is the first connection each of us knows, not with our minds but the knowing is there in our hearts. The heart is where we find our comfort and our safety in the darkest of places. It is what binds us together and what breaks when we are apart. The heart has its on kind of magic - Love."

I literally kept the phone down and picked up this book. Struggling and racing against time, I was wondering if I'd get time to even call my mom for a minute to wish her birthday. Or better, if I'd get time to pin down my thoughts today.

And as I hung up, picking up this book, it did nothing less than of reminding me of her again.

Thank you Ma for always being there, for always being the source of Love, inspiration and undeterred sustained intense bout of positivity. You are the most unorthodox human I have ever met. May this universe be blessed by many many more like you! With each birthday of yours, my wish to grow as insanely positive as you grows. Here is to hoping that Zainab and the world grows to cherish the company of your wisdom and positivity for years to come. Amen.

Note to myself on the road.

There is a truck on the right waiting to take a turn. But no car seems to be giving it the space to turn. Instead, in fact, the cars seem to speed up as soon as they see the truck trying to make a u-turn. The cars seem to be in a hurry even if not really so. They just want to cross and not get stuck in waiting behind the truck.

Each car speeds up, the driver anxiously looking at the truck as if pleading to let me just pass by first.

We halt. Pause. And let the truck pass by. It takes us two minutes of pause. As we stand and witness, the truck swiftly makes the turn that it had been wanting so.

There are people, experiences and moments in life which happen to stand at their crossroads. Dangling and lingering back and forth hesitant yet inevitably in a situation where they have to take a turn. They don't mean to cross your path or make you waiting. But life just happens so to give you a choice of either letting them intersect and help them pass or just speeding up and moving on with your own life.

Waiting behind the truck for two minutes cost me two minutes delay from the destination I had felt I was set on arriving. But when the truck does pass, I see the road clear ahead of me.

There are times when life expects us to give space. Incorporate pauses and halts which may seem uncomfortable to the otherwise fast paced motion of mine. But they tend to make us more humble. More patient. They tend to make us more considerate.

If every car driver on that road would only think of itself letting pass first and not wanting to pause/give space, eventually, sooner or later, the truck may forcefully make its way through compelling you to slow down; while more and more traffic clogs behind it each arriving at its cross roads.

I am not sure if I make sense, but the point is. Slow down. Look to your right. Is there as a person, emotion, experience, occurance hesitantly waiting at its crossroads? Pause your life and let it pass through yours. Trust me and believe me, you will find a clearer, smoother road ahead with a more patient and wiser you. It is only logical.

Home

It has been a while since I wrote. As months pass by, as I move, evolve and get busy with obsessively learning new things to adept and adopt, this place stays here in silence. Giving remote peace and visited so seldom.

Today, after really long, I found myself standing by this window again. Here, right here. This window. With the glimpse of Shell's guard distantly in the background, that car, that stillness of this hour. Everything is just so absolutely the same when I stand here again at this window today.

Strangely enough, I have stood by this place gazillion times. I have cried, sobbed, laughed, giggled, painted, scribbled blogposts..all by this place. I have thought and arrived at some of the most important decisions of my life, here, by this place. Every decision has taken me on a journey.

Today, standing here, after nearly one year, I find myself lost again. Staring at my posts, I wonder who was it in me that wrote. Standing here and struggling to paint, to scribble, to define the serene stillness and silence of a company of one here, I am left dumbfounded. Perhaps, finding myself here is an indication to stir within. The thoughts, the realization of the time. Of this time, to get up and decide forward. To move. To learn.

This window is so much like my blog.
Both haven't changed. And in the midst of busy lives everywhere, I stand here still, cherishing the moments of painful Change. Realizations are painful. Realizing that time flies is somewhere somehow intensely painful as well. Realizing your struggle and disconnection from your own window, your own writing is painful too. But in this pain somewhere, somehow, still stubbornly lies the familiar. In all the change of moments, there still somehow lies a figment of what has been us.

The story of every other

The story of every "other".

Back in school, there was a time when our teachers persuaded us to teach English and basic subjects to house help staff at home.

I gladly, charged with newly found mission of life, stormed across the house with English books and new notebooks to our old maid. I was bent on making her replace her nap with English learning sessions.

Sadly, what I could never understand was: She did not need my help. She did not need to learn English. If it was something that she truly wanted to learn then it was how to read an urdu newspaper and scribble out the grocery on paper/do quick maths for grocery.

But I had a completely different, perfectly convinced picture of how to help this other. She needed me after all. Sadly, she did not.

Recently a friend of mine, over coffee, recalled a similar experience from her yester days:

"During my annual summer break back in 2010, there was a friend visiting me. She found me sitting quietly staring at my laptop screen in my room, weirdly zoned out. She tried breaking into a conversation, which made me put down my laptop and focus on talking. I was however still deeply lost in what I had been watching. It was nothing but an intense show that I had passionately loved.

Given my lost sense of everything, she concluded I sounded depressed and needed help. She kept forcing me to change and hang out with others.

I did not feel so. I was absolutely comfortable where I was."

And there lies the problem.

The problem of helping.

The problem of being raised to be noble. The problem of being praised to be noble. The issue of individually and collectively celebrating/cherishing the whole idea of "let's help them".

Because in order to help "them", I ought to be stemming from a perfect life as a savior to others.

The problem lies in children being taught by naive parents: See that poor kid down that shabby road, look, he can't even afford food, look at yourself. You are being picky about cheese on fries?

Why is that a problem?

Because it inculcates a sense of privilege. A fluid sense of "I stand on concrete road looking down at a kid down that shabby road with nothing. Oh, well, but I am not happy here. Oh well, but I have some bread. Let me go give this to the kid."

We disguise our generosity. We are not being generous. We are not being helpful. We wrongly label "self gratification" as "helping".

Observing, deducing, concluding "problems and solutions" for "others" on behalf of "others", for "others", is just plain selfish. It is as wrong as a superpower deciding to intervene into an establishment with its own "methods" of helping.

We assume superiority since childhood. We have something that they don't.

Remember those wise old lectures - "Poor are still more satisfied than rich." Yep, well, that inculcates a complicated equation of materialistic superiority with a tinge of internal emptiness. It inevitably leads us to barter. We step out with our materialistic possessions to give away, save the poor. It gives us happiness.

If giving away blindly based on assumptions of what "we" think is right for "them", gives us Happiness then well, it is not happiness. It is a strong sense of recently rewarded big fat ego.

I am the Power. I was always rich. I always had the power to give away of myself.

The problem lies in assuming the problem for others.

The problem lies in how we conduct conversations, describing "others" even in the confines of our private space.

The problem lies in how "white" spoke of their "black" staff so politely yet with assertive power/expressions.

The problem lies in speaking of "others".

The problem lies in thinking of "others" with problems, because we are assuming we know something they don't.

How do we know we don't know something that they do?

And here, let me pick a pin and burst the bubble.
There is no we. There is no them.

We stand on equal footings, across time, culture, religion, color, country, economic status, lifestyle status.

From a rich school kid being taught to give his pencil to that poor kid, to a development enthusiast entering a community with his/her own strong conclusions/paradigms about the issue/solutions to the society worried about an ambitious lady sitting at home.

Pakistan and I seem to have quite a lot in common right now. Just like Pakistan, I am expressed concern by "others" over how I might not be living the life I want because I am a SAHM these days.

While I am trying to juggle and shatter my own perceptions of these "other" humans who stay home, I am also being bombarded with questions/concerns/disappointed sighs about my new role.

An old friend expressed concern over how difficult it must be for me to be living here, stuck in the kitchen, with just cooking and looking after Zainab after all these years of rigorous education and work experience.

And here is what I had to say: How do you know that it is the major problem or concern of my life right now? I might as well just be doing great and not wasting talent/skills/time just because you assume I am sitting at home at the moment.

Just because I am sitting at home does not make me less compatible, out of touch or wasted.  Whether and when I work outside of my own home should be my decision.

A choice is a choice is a choice.

You have a wrong understanding of liberal and feminism if your aspirations of independent women stop her at believing everything is career. It is as limiting as old challenge of limiting women to reproduction and marriage.

I almost fell into the trap of helping these "housewives" out right after marriage. they don't need to be rescued from being housewives. They are doing quite fine. If I am facing a challenge of exploring activities outside home for myself, then yes, I may relate/connect with them and together maybe able to mobilize ourselves in our "me" time.

That, however, cannot be done if I stand here, assuming a role of a white hero here in this city to rescue housewives from their homes.

16 years ago, my house help did not want to learn English alphabets and words. She wanted to learn Urdu and basic maths to get her work done.

16 years later, today, I am not going to commit the same fallacy by assuming role of power, wear a cape and make Myself a big meal of Ego boast using what seem like helpless creatures.

There are no shabby roads and no rich kids. There are no us and no them. No others. We all stand on equal grounds across time, culture, religion, sect, color, financial and lifestyle status. We don't need to rescue others. Rendering help yes, which comes with compassion and understanding. Compassion that exits outside the compounds of our limiting assumptions. Compassion starts where the need to impose our solutions on others end.

If you really want to help, question your intention of helping, of reaching out. Then pause. reflect. over and over and over again.

Perhaps while going down that shabby road to help, you'd be able to kill your need for self gratification and see that the poor kid down there doesn't need that expensive shoe in your hand. And that is when you'd see the kid perceiving you too as the "other".

And that just about is the story of every "other". You, me. We all are the others.

Abaser - Al Khafid

I was the perfect one of my class.
I studied, planned ahead, eased exams and scored high.
Always. Every single time.
There never was ever a time where my efforts failed. Where my predictions fell short or where I felt the cause created by me would not lead me to my desired effect.

Everything seemed real. There was no struggle.

I was the perfect one of my class.
Until. I wasn't 

Something happened.
Somehow, my understanding fell short. I began lagging behind schedule. My efforts were half baked. My exams seemed difficult. I stopped easing my exams. Suddenly I wasn't too sure of my own results

There seemed to be something coming in between. In between my cause and the effect that I had anticipated. My cause was not leading to my desired effect.

It became me. Falling short. Being average. Failing. Not performing at par.

Everything seemed unreal. Except my struggle. There was struggle this time. And it was the only real thing.

I would often wonder. Marvel. At who I was. How I was the best of my class.

I suddenly began idealizing the best of me. Who I had been.

Al-Khafid. Diminishment. One of the names of God.

He often lowers us down, takes away our trust in our efforts to make us realise our dependence.

When I performed well, I did not quite know Him. Because my cause led to my effect. Led to misleading illusion of Independent Existence. Everything was illusionary that felt real because there was no struggle.

When I perfermed average, I did get to know Him. Because my cause did not lead to my effect. Instead, it led to shattering of illusions. Everything was Real because my struggle was Real.

His Realization was Real.

We come from Him and to Him we go.
Each moment of our heart is connected to Him.
Perhaps, while we sit guilty of performing less, He sits marvelling at our guilty.

In our guilt He hides His Love. In our ability to feel low and poor, lies His blessing.

In our ability to close our eyes and hope He isn't seeing us perform so bad lies His merciful  presence.

He lies in our failure to be our best in as much as He lies in our ascending to be the best.

Even our dark, our guilt, our running away from Him is meeting Him.

Because "we belong to Him and to Him we return".

So feel the joy at being an average. It was His mercy to lower you down and make you Realize of His Generosity.

In our ability to accept defeat and bow powerlessly, lies His Mercy.

Everything was real. There was no struggle. 
I was the perfect one of my class.
And then I wasn't.
And that was the best that had ever happened to me. For it led me to Him in a way never explored.
Never thought feeling away from Him was a way to meet Him

You you and you. Seriously.

I am so sad today.

While half of my newsfeed is celebrating Diwali and Halloween, while half of my whatsapp groups comprise of Muslims teaching how wrong the 'others' history is.

I am sitting here wishing I was not feeling as normal as I am.

They barged into a house. A private gathering. They killed a family.

I wish I could feel the pain.
I wish I could see.
I wish I could make you all see.
You, you and you.
The champions of SUSHI talks.
The rational activists who assume the responsibility of raising awareness about the 'right' and 'wrong' way of mourning.

The confused breed that pauses and selects which country it wants to feel more for. Syria Yemen or Iraq.

The herd. The blind. The lost. The mute. The dead. The you. The I.

I wish we were alive today to witness. To see. To mourn.

Hell with what is the right and the wrong way of mourning.
Hell with your religious and theological debates.

You know what? In a country where the Federal Capital has banned militant outfits chanting minority as kafirs, in a country where my newsfeed seems so calm despite what happened to today. In a country like this.  People ought better be long dead.

And you know what. We are.

There are no two kinds of Taliban today. There is only one. And they like trafficking in mistresses of ego. Now go be happy, your side of religion won today. You ask me which side? I say, the side where you passively receive, selectively mourn and move on. The side where you are home and don't feel a thing.

Imagine how dead we are. Now pause. And imagine just how dead of a generation will/are we raising. You talk about hatred and racism abroad? Hahah. Funny.

We are dead. And dead don't feel.

Grownups and boring dreams.

Zainab has recently learnt to express her joy more clearly. Each day, quite literally, she is learning something new and celebrating. Each time she bends down to pick an object or recognizes something with its name or walks an extra step. She pauses, looks at us, smiles broadly and claps.

We clap back. She remains impressed and beyond. Thriving with this unimaginable contagious level of energy and positivity and happiness and celebration.

She claps and celebrates to and with- Her little friends from playdates around, her grandparents that she fondly skypes with and her Baba and Mamma of course.

I looked at her while she clapped for the millionth time today while her Baba responded with equal energy I realized something.

As we grow older, we stop being impressed. Routine takes away our energy. We go out of sync with outlets that could reflect back or take in that sort of energy that we do have at times even as grownups.

As we grow older, one by one, we start realizing and seeing the other sides of our favorite authors, movies, songs or heroes. We suddenly realize not everyone seems to be as passionate about those particular quotes/people as you are.

We start university or work, make new friends who while retaining their own set of favorites, start offering criticism (often valid) on our dreams/ways/passions and whatever may have motivated us till now.

Back in my Alevels, I knew and felt allergic to cynics around me. Fast forward three years into university, and perhaps that is exactly what I had successfully turned into.

We hide away our embarrassing little things that once motivated us. We stop celebrating and cherishing and dreaming wild and crazy.

I mean come on, 2010, three year of my undergrad and my Finance Professor had actively defended my dream of becoming the CEO of Boeing one day (while the class just laughed away). Am I the CEO? Nope. Far from even working there. But that is, just yet.

Sounds so cliche. So typical. But that indeed is the hard reality. We.stop.dreaming. We brush away 'that funny song that once motivated me' under the carpet to sound and look mature, adult and synced with the world.

Bit by bit, moment by moment, we regress. Gradually, individually, collectively - we regress our passions, our dreams. With each bit of information broadening our spectrum, we start becoming less and less impressed.

We stop celebrating. We stop clapping.

I saw nothing but beauty.

When the granddaughter of the Last Prophet of Islam was brought into the court of the tyrant of that time(who had ordered the brutal killing of the Prophet's grandson and followers) she was asked what did she see while her family was being mercilessly slaughtered.

She smiled and began with a sermon that later became one of the most quoted political and social sermons. One that is often attributed as stirring the downfall of the oppresor's regime. She said she saw nothing but beauty (in what stood as one of the most brutal acts ever recorded in the history of humanity).

How could she even see nothing but beauty in such act of suffering.

How was she even standing so calmly in front of the tyrant just after losing her immediate family in the battle? What was this beauty that she saw.

Imagine a cup of pure water lying on the table with people sitting and walking around it. Now imagine somebody throwing a drop of oil in that cup of water. See how that drop floats but never diffuses into pure water. See how at least a few of us might stop to notice the change within water. See how we often notice the striking contrast of pure water and oil once the oil droplet tries invading the water.

That's beauty because it makes you stop and ponder.

Beauty is not when we win the battle outside. Beauty is when Right makes us stop and ponder about Humanity and ugliness of oppression. 

Beauty is not when we win the world outside. Beauty is when we struggle with the oppresor within.

Beauty is not when we claim to stand with the Right for the world to see. Beauty is when we stand with the Right within when the world does not see.

Beauty is the pain, the suffering of Living the Right each moment by rejecting the million wrongs of that second.

Beauty starts with the guilt, the silencing of our self within. It starts with the admission of wrong within. It starts with the surrendering of our selfish within. With not just knowing what is wrong but bravely trying to fight what is wrong is wrong.

For the oppression to be fought outside, it needs to be fought within first. For if our stand with the Right is making us happy by massaging our egos for power, validation and fame on individual, political and communal level then perhaps it is not Love and Beauty.

Perhaps, so when she said she saw nothing but beauty, she was not just addressing the tyrant of the time, she was addressing the tyrant in all of us within. Her words resonating through history to remind us of the battle within first. Of the much needed suffering we all get when we claim to Love. 

To live the suffering bravely. To fight the tyrant within so bravely that you stand with her. So much so that when the world steps out to sympathise with you, you smile and say, you tried seeing nothing but beauty.

Of joys & wonderful pleasures

Is there anything more beautiful than home. The serene sense of calmness in chaos.

The realization that you can create home where and when you want. The blessing that you can choose to feel home. The joy that you can experience happy moments and satisfaction where you like.

When you wakeup to intensely craving Indian style Rajma chawal that your friend had once treated you to. The fact that you have the ability to message, surrounded with the hearts that respond to your request without whining and ranting (or completely ignoring you) about how you had been out of touch.

Sitting after enjoying the delightful pleasures of a plate full of Rajma Chawal, you cannot but thank God for such an amazing life.

Life where He has blessed you with the ability to create circumstances you envision, blessed you with the ability to freely will. To do. To ĺmake it happen. Blessed with the ability to choose comfort, peace, Love and Serenity. It doesn't then not matter whether there is chaos of any sort outside.

What matters is realizing the Power. Power of the Heart and the Mind to feel and think what you choose to. Power of the will to create from within. A home. Of joys and wonderful pleasures. Of saying a little prayer, of extending gratitude to all those amazing souls surrounding you, of gratitude to Him, to His ways of making you feel thankful.

Wishing and praying sincerely for every single soul on this planet to feel the Magic of creating the Home within. To feel the Serenity of living joys and pleasures of expected and unexpected. To feel Malang and radiate the dance of Joy to the world. No.matter.what.

From there. From here.

For the sound of bird outside my room window. Too sunny and just plain walls of the other building hence no view in particular. But the sunshine falling in between the two compound spaces. And the bird sitting on my window sill. The way zainab wakes up often to the maina's loud sound at the window.

It is every day little things. Routine. Life. Activity. That keeps us going. That should keep us going against the heaviness of impending pull of strong gravity. It doesn't stop. But so does the bird at the window. She doesn't stop either. Zainab wakes up every day. The sun dawns every day.

No matter what. Life keeps giving a choice each second. To choose. To listen. To move that blanket and brush your teeth. To live. To laugh. To smile. To cherish. To find like a shelter for your empty brain before the neurons lose connection. Before you stare at dendrites and wonder if it was or is even a word.

To write. To scribble. The sound of pencil on paper.

It isn't bad. Lows are not bad. Lows don't exist. Until we make them so. Lows don't exist until we see them so. Get up. Let yourself lose. Catch yourself off guard smiling at the bird sitting at your window. And take yourself from there. From there. From here.

Back.

What happened she asked.
I've lost my way I answered.

What way she asked.
You see the people praying so eagerly? That way. I responded. That. I envy those. I've lost my eagerness. My passion.

Your words fail you? She asked.
Words? There were feelings that would flow into words each time. Today I stand at nothing. Utter and shere unexplainable loneliness. No feelings. No words.

Each answer and justification to the world of where I belonged in my Heart bit by bit made me lose my way.

With each question of rationality, I timidly stepped back from Connection.

Each moment of worldly opinion held my feet and dragged me away. Slowly and gradually. Away from the Heart.

Till the conversations got louder. Till the words took over the serenity of silence. Till I entered autumn and the breaking of leaves hurt my soul as I stepped further back.

Till the connection blurred.

So, there you are. She said. Shaking me back to Life.

I looked around. I was back.

She had held my hand and had taken me back.

It was that simple? I wondered. It was awkward at first. It was silent and peaceful. No deeper meanings. No intense feelings. Just us for a while. Me within my heart. She held my heart and took me back to my heart where I belonged. To the feeling. To Him. To conversations with Him.

Back to Serendipity. .

Connection exists. Within each of us. We get up and step back from it when we fall prey to justifying the Grandeur.

In my timidy to justify. I had forgotten there are as many paths to God as there are humans. I had lost my way to my own heart. I had lost my way to.my God.

Dark.

Today. They snatched away another human being.

One by one I am helplessly witnessing as they come, shoot and ride away.

One by one I am losing good humans. I am losing them all. One by one.

I scream inside. My screams fade in the evil sounds of vultures screaming infidels, I clench and hide my little one in my arms as they make their way towards us.

I am dying. One by one. Helplessly I witness.

Rest in Peace Amjad Sabri.
Rest in Peace Pakistan. No wait. Hope you never rest in peace. Hope we wakeup.

I look around with fearful eyes. As everyone smiles back, they all seem to have loved my uncle. They all seem to have even loved Amjad Sabri too. Who could then possibly kill them?

I look around hopelessly. I look around helplessly. I look around as I feel strangulated with the rising voices, rising screams of delusional peace.

I look around as I am hoping they won't come for me.

I look around as I am hoping somebody will fight back and remind them of True God.

I look up and ask God where humans are.

I look into my arms and whisper hope to my little one.

I clench my hands and squeeze my eyes to pray.

I hold a hand of a passerby asking if he knows about God and Humans and mercy.

He looks blankly, narrows his sight and asks if I am an infidel. The one they are destined to kill.

No more mourning. I don't have energy to mourn more.

Enough is what I want to scream.

I scream one last. Come, get up as my scream fades again.

Of disciplining.

There are two ways to handle a baby.
Either you do as they say or you tame them according to your own comfort.

Either you tame them to sleep and be fed when you want. Perfect disciplined mommy. Or you give in and be there for them as and when they need you.

Parenting articles and experts tell me that I can tame Zainab to suit my comfort now. I can tame her to sleep late so that I can attend social gatherings in a human costume. I can even alter her feeding times to suit my ease.

Or. I can choose to follow her natural course or needs.

Research generally favors the second. Much natural and a rather sane humanistic way. If an infant is howling and is sleepy, you put the infant to sleep. It generally leads to better attachment, creating comfort of trust. Of stronger bonding. Of love. Of security. 

Of relationship.

Perhaps it is the same with God. I tamed my understanding of Him, altered and crafted His definition to suit my comfort. I schedule His needs of me to suit my ease. More often I do what He recommends first and then maybe someday somewhere I pause to do what He obligates. Putting Him secondary and tailoring to suit my ease does not importantly bring any harm. But yes, I suppose I could have better attachment and undetstanding of Him if I liberate Him from my limiting comforting definitions that I create to hush my guilt of taming Him. I forget. I am not bargaining with Him. I cant. I am merely taming my understanding of Him. With Him, nothing to lose. With me, probably everything to.

Heaven.

To You.

Sitting in the bathroom, hiding away from my sleeping daughter, I quickly scribble my thoughts before Zainab wakes up. Something you would totally scold me for doing.

Ambitiously changing the world by working on grassroot projects or working 9-5 to contribute to the social evolution of this world is one thing but being suddenly given a blessing to takecare of is another. It is like, here, a piece of you and your partner. Now go raise this little thing for future.

I wonder. How did you do it?

To your early mornings and wisdom.
To your four slices of bread and jam.
To listening eagerly to my stories after school.
To the dinner talks after work.
To the times when you preferred me studying than cooking.
To the times when you said, you can learn to cook anytime like anyother girl or boy, focus now on what you are passionate about.
To making me fall in love with my Present. Each time.
To making me believe in Present.

To the mom that never conservatively reduced me to domestic chores to the daughter sitting and lovingly baking cookies today.

To the times where I loved studies and job.
To the times where alongwith, I am now loving my daughter.

To the times where I hated cooking.
To the time where I am googling and experimenting tastes.

To the tough moments. To the rough ones.
To each when you taught me not to go bitter with life.

They say the heaven lies beneath your feet. I say you weaved the heaven and continue teaching me to weave the heaven out of Life.

We all get sufferings. You, my human, taught me not to go bitter with sufferings.

I am yet to meet a human with such profound, peaceful and positive view on life as you.

What more. You even taught me to find and cherish humans like you.

You gave me the believe, the hope that what you are to me is not just because you are my mom. You gave me the hope to find more who weave heavens around.

If anything, I am addicted to your positivity.

But the issue is you are my mom and I am scribbling this out on a day made to honor people like you.

I have a deeper believe, a firm faith, that those who do not have a mom, have somebody like mom, if not so, bear witness, they have God directly themselves.

I wish, pray, hope and perhaps somewhere try to weave a heaven of Present. It is workable. For you did it. For you told me and showed me how God does give you heaven if you thank Him enough. For a Heaven in now is the most beautiful gift. For I want Zainab to at least be half as lucky as me if not absolutely. And for that, I need to try and weave a Heaven like you. A heaven of love, warmth, possibilities and positivity.

Selfish

Infants, I suppose the most selfish of all beings. They don't care whether you're sitting in a wedding or starting to sip your 5th time microwaved coffee. If they need a diaper change. They do. Right at that moment. If they need your feed. They do. Be it 3am in the morning or in the middle of an airplane packed with gazillion men. If they need their mom. They need her. No matter where she is and what she is doing. A million dollar toy to babyshop toy. Nothing will soothe a baby who needs her mommy. Except well the mommy.

Zainab made me realize so. She is so beautifully selfish. So careless and selfish in what she needs of me.

I wish that was just the way I could hold onto God. Careless about how far I have walked from Him and how empty I feel of Him. Selfish about just needing Him back.

And that is one thing that Zainab has made me think about again and again and again.

To be absolutely selfish in my need of Him. To squeeze my eyes and cry out loud shattering all illusions of emptiness within. To clench unto His presence even if the mere 'I' in me is struggling to find. To nod my head and cry further in my need of Him when comforting illusions and distractions hit me. I never thought there could be something beautifully selfish. As beautifully selfish as Zainab calling for me, as beautifully selfish as clenching unto the God I miss. 

Life. Human. Zainab

Dear Zainab,

Today, about a few centuries ago, a man came into this world. He continues inspiring countless across the globe for various reasons. He is loved by all. He is one human that truly reminds me to keep my ego in check. Nobody has taught me self reflection and psychology as much as he has. Nobody has taught me about diversity, acceptance and humanity in as much as he has. Thank you Ammi Abu for introducing me to him through books, through conversations.

Zainab, may you too have the opportunity to read and write about him and may you fondly fall for knowledge with just the enthusiasm he wanted us to. May you seek what he wished for us to. May in helping you do so, I become a better human too. Thank you for teaching us become more human each day Zainab.

Happy Birthday Hazrat Ali
Happy 6months Zainab!

Life. Human. Zainab.

Dear Zainab,

Today, about a few centuries ago, a man came into this world. He continues inspiring countless across the globe for various reasons. He is loved by all. He is one human that truly reminds me to keep my ego in check. Nobody has taught me self reflection and psychology as much as he has.

Zainab, may you too have the opportunity to read and write about him and may you fondly fall for knowledge with just the enthusiasm he wanted us to. May you seek what he wished for us to. May in helping you do so, I become a better human too. Thank you for teaching us become more human each day Zainab.

Happy Birthday Hazrat Ali
Happy 6months Zainab!