The Poem

 There is nothing to do in the mornings of Ramadan. I get up at nine after the late night dinner at four in the morning, the Fajr prayer at 4;45 and an hour or two, of Qur’an recitation, and till around eleven, I just end up walking here and there. Sometimes I try dusting the furniture, sometimes I browse something and sometimes I try rearranging my kitchen and bedroom. But that cannot be done everyday. So after three four days, I end up having nothing to do. It was on one of those days, while simply cleaning the last-week-cleaned shelf, I came across my college magazine, published when I was doing my sixth semester, or third year. I have cherished this magazine, after throwing away all other magazines published during the other three years. I have kept it with me because I was the student editor of it. Titled the ‘Scroll’ with a grey cover, the magazine lay at the bottom of my bookshelf. I still remember the day it got published. I was happy and proud. There was a small speech by the Principal (we call him Princy for short), after which we, I and our staff editor Anila madam, passed the magazine, neatly wrapped, to our Princy. He tore the wrappings on the magazine and held it high for all of us to see it, and then presented it to the guest of honor, I don’t remember the person. I was so proud.

After the event, we returned to our classes and the magazine was distributed in all the classes. The next day, one of my classmates Nisha came to me and asked, “Where is the poem I gave to you? You haven’t published it!”

Yeah, I remember her poem. After I was elected as the student editor for the magazine, I began asking my friends and everyone who I saw on the campus corridor for articles. Nisha was one of the first students to come up with an article. I was pleased with her. She has given me a beautiful poem named as ‘Rashtreeyamen bhoovil’ meaning ‘Politics of My Country’, describing the political situation of present India. I was really wondered to see such a talent in her. I scolded my self for not getting close enough to her to know about the great blessing God have given her. I took it to Anila Madam, for her verification.

“Such a big topic described in such a small and wonderful poem!” Anila madam exclaimed. She was happy to get a good work from her students on the first days of our endeavor.

Days flew by, and within two months we had been loaded with a huge amount of articles from around the college. My book shelf was full of A4 sheets, and so was Anila madam’s table. We burned the midnight oil in our editing process for so many days, selecting the good ones, selecting the not so good ones to be given back and editing the average ones to make it a good one. There were only a few articles that was too good to be edited, one of them the poem of Nisha.

After about three months as the editor, students started asking me where the magazine was (as if a magazine was something you could pluck from a tree!). I was busy running behind it to get ads for it, and get good and affordable printing press and also preparing for my internal exams. Some of them even asked me if I have used the money provided for the magazine by the college to have some dinner party. I kept quite to those mocking questions. They complain of the busy schedule they have when it comes to practicals, records and exams. So why can’t they think about me? I am also having those practicals, records and exams, and also the magazine to do with. Do I have an extra hour in the day that they don’t have? Well, I was under tremendous pressure those days.

After the exams, I started again with my work of the magazine. I have got enough ads with me now, thanks to the ad team and I have found out a good press. Anila madam was also there to help me. We were coming to college after the meeting with the press owner, when Anila madam spoke about her cousin, a well known Malayalam author. I have seen him before at some meetings. He was an old man, may be in his sixties. He was almost bald, and the remaining hair was snow white. There was a pleasance in him with a sweet smile always on his face, and he seemed like a loving grandfather to all.

“Why don’t we ask him to help us with our editing?” She asked.

I thought it was a good idea. He could edit the articles better than us. The next day we fixed an appointment with him, and gave him all the articles. He asked us to come back and collect it the following week.

The next week, I along with my classmate went to meet him to collect the edited work. Anila madam was busy with some work, so she asked me to take someone else with me. We had tea with him and a little chat. He was really a great man with so much of knowledge. I instantly became a fan of him, even though I haven’t read any of his works. After the tea, he introduced his family to us. Then he went inside his library and brought the articles with him.

“Here are your articles. I have edited them all. Some are too good to be edited.” He congratulated the young talented generation of authors and expressed his happiness to see such good budding authors. We were also happy to hear it. He was complimenting our college. We were beaming.

He then took a paper from his pocket, and said, “I haven’t edited this poem. Can you please collect it after two days?”

I noticed the poem by Nisha, and wondered what was there to be edited in such a good poem. But I gave him my consent.

After two days, I went with Anila madam to collect the poem. Aftr the usual salutations, he went inside his library.

He came out with an old magazine. The pages where yellow in color and it broke where ever he bent it. It smelt of cockroaches and there where some silverfish running on it. He turned the pages with utmost care. He stopped at one page, and held the magazine at us. Anila madam took it in her hands while I moved closer to her. The page was yellow in color with letters of the old Malayalam font printed in black, and curiously I looked at the date on the page. August 1970.

There was a poem in it, named ‘Ente Bharatham’ meaning ‘My India’. It was written by the man sitting in front of us. I stared at the lines of the poem and it seemed very familiar. Yeah, the poem by Nisha. This was it.

We both looked at him in shame. But he seemed cool. Anila madam started to apologize for Nisha. But the author never took notice of it. He started speaking, “You know why this student of yours selected this poem for the magazine? Because India still faces the problems it faced in the 60s and 70s. This poem stands true even today.”

He was not angry with Nisha for stealing his poem. I thought he seemed happy that Nisha stole his work. He went on.

“That was my first article that got printed in a magazine. Even though I have forgotten my other works, I never forgot my first published work. It was like my first child.” He started explaining the history during the 60s and 70s.

We had no time for these long lectures, and so we said goodbye to him soon. Anila madam apologized once again for stealing his work. But he was never bothered about it. He asked us to give him a copy of our magazine as soon as it got published. We promised him we will do that.

Days flew by and at last the magazine got published, thanks to the layout team, editing team, finance team and all others who directly and indirectly helped with the work. Phew! I was more than relieved to see that all the problems where over. But I was wrong.

It was on the next day when Nisha came to me and asked me about her poem. There were many of our friends and classmates around us and so I didn’t know what to say to her. Saying that she had copied the work in front of these many students may make our friendship end forever, and make her feel very bad. And to be honest, I was a little weak in such matters. I muttered something about giving it to the press to be published and simply wondered why it was not there. I thought that solved the matter. I still don’t know if I have done the right thing.

Two days later, an office staff came to our class and delivered a notice. ‘The principal wants to meet Najeeba of sixth semester Electronics and Communications Engineering branch’. I saw some fifty pair of eyes turning at me. Usually Princy only calls students who have done something against the rules of college, or somebody who still haven’t paid the fees. Moreover, Princy was the last person we would want to meet in our college life. I felt something stumbling inside my stomach.

When I reached the cabin of my most dreaded Princy, I found I was not alone. There stood Anila madam. So something about the magazine. I thought. May be he is not satisfied with the financial account of the magazine. And yeah, he is not satisfied with anything. I thought.

I asked permission to enter. I stood near Anila madam, and the expression on her face told me that she knew nothing about this enquiry. Princy was looking at some papers and never bothered to look at us for a few minutes.

Without looking at us, he started, “I have got a complaint here against the editors of the magazine.”

A few moments of silence when Princy carried on his paper work.

“What is the complaint, Sir?” asked Anila madam, with as much politeness as she could. I mused in the irony of her politeness, when she shouts at our mischief in the class. We stand in politeness in front of Anila madam, while she stands in politeness in front of the Princy. Wonder where he stands with his head down. May be in front of the Technical Education Officer. And that person in front of – well, I don’t know. I thought I have found a new pyramid here apart from the one I learned at school – The Pyramid of Food Chain. Now, my new discovery will be called The Pyramid of Politeness. The top most part will be for God. And then -

My thread of thoughts was broken by Princy’s voice.

“I got here a complaint from Nisha, that her article was not included in the magazine.”

We were surprised. The thought never even occurred to us. Nisha complaining for not publishing her stolen work! How dare of her! And that too, let alone me, against Anila madam.

Princy looked up at us for the first time, expecting an answer from either of us.

“Sir, her work was a stolen poem sir, from the People magazine dating august 1970.” Anila madam explained.

“Oh, yeah? Where did you get that magazine now?” Seemed princy did not believe what Anila madam said. I became angry with him. What reason does he think he has to believe Anila madam is lying?

“Sir, we edited our articles with the help of …, the famous Malayalam writer. It was his article that she has copied. He gave us the magazine in which the poem was published for verification.”

Anila madam explained. I stood there with my mouth shut. I never dared to talk to this person.

“Well then, you can go.” He dismissed us. It was when I came out that I found I was sweating all over. His cabin seemed too hot. May be because of his high temperature.

“What a girl this Nisha is! Wanting to publish the stolen work!” Anila madam exclaimed.

“Yes, she asked me about her poem the day after the magazine was published.” I said.

“Really?” Anila madam seemed surprised. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” I said. “She was my good friend, and so I thought keeping quiet was better.”

“But you were not her good friend,” Anila madam observed, “or she would have not gone to complain about us.”

Yeah, may be. I tried not to humiliate her in front of others, but this is how she paid me back.

“Leave it, Najeeba.” I heard Anila madam consoling me. “Just take it as some of the funs during your college life, for you to smile at your old age.”

“Yes, madam.” I smiled. Actually I was too happy to be out of Princy’s cabin to think about Nisha and her poem. “And keep this between you me and the Principal. Not a word to anybody.”

How nice of her. I wanted to report this incident to all so that they could understand the real nature of Nisha. But Anila madam has put an end to it.

“Yes, madam.” I gave a reluctant consent.

We dispersed into our classes, Anila madam as a teacher and me as a student. Friends came asking me why Principal called me, and I answered it was to ask about some financial matters regarding the magazine. I saw Nisha two benches apart from me, looking at me, happy for her revenge. But a few minutes later, another notice arrived asking Nisha to meet the Princy. I saw her going to meet him, and everyone in our class was surprised. It was rare Princy calling two students of the same class to meet him on the same day. She came back after some fifteen minutes, with her head down. I heard someone asking what the matter was, and she replying something about not paying the fees. The matter was over.

Nisha never spoke to me after the incident, and I never wanted to be the first to speak. So we ended our college life.

 All this happened some five years back. I still have contact with Anila madam, she has been retired and now leads a happy life with her children and grandchildren. I heard that Nisha was married to an engineer working at Baba Atomic Research Center, Kanyakumari. She works as a software engineer. I have got her email id with me in our classmates’ database. I send mails and forwards to everyone in the database except to Nisha.

When I was going through the pages of the magazine, a new thought came to me. It is Ramadan, a time to mend broken strings of friendship and family. So I thought, why not send her a mail. With much difficulty I typed one, and sent it to her, with a ‘BCC’ to Anila madam. I took care not to say anything about the incident or the magazine. That was two days back.

Today I received her reply, with photos of her hubby, herself and their cute little princess attached to it. I was so glad to receive it. And there was Anila madam’s reply too, saying that she was very happy to see that we have built up the broken parts of our friendship.

Thank you Ramadan!

Ramadan at my home.

[caption id="attachment_153" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Ramadan Kareem "][/caption]

Yesterday, I was face to face with Ramadan. I smiled and exchanged salutations with Ramadan. I loved Ramadan so much, because Ramadan was responsible for closing the hell, chaining the devil and making the good deeds weigh more. So I was more than pleased to see Ramadan in front of me yesterday. I’ve been planning for the last two three weeks for Ramadan’s visit. There is a long list of to-do’s hanging on my kitchen shelf, for the one month stay of Ramadan. I’ll surely miss Ramadan when gone. I was staring at the beautiful Ramadan when Ramadan asked me the first question.

“What do you have planned for me during my visit?”

I was glad Ramadan asked me that. I wanted to make Ramadan fell that I was eagerly waiting for Ramadan, with a lot of activities for us. I wanted to make Ramadan feel at home during the entire stay. So I spewed the entries of the to-do list on my kitchen shelf.

“ I plan to pray as much of Sunnah I can, read at least 1 juzu’ of holy Quran everyday and finish it within this month, stay away from sin, pray Taraweeh and Thasbeeh prayer, make Thasbeeh and Salaths to Prophet….. Blah blah blah…..”

“Good work, Najeeba. You’ve put in a lot of effort,” Ramadan interrupted, “but you see, once I am gone, will you go on praying all the Sunnah’s ? That too during your office hours? I prefer an activity that stays with you even after I’m gone.”

“Er….I think I’ll…..er….er…… keep up with……” I went up to the to-do list.

“So you haven’t planned such an activity for me?”

I was ashamed to admit no, and unable to say a yes. I kept quiet.

“A simple activity, let it be the smallest one in your list. But you should keep it with you even after my departure, for the memory of my stay with you.”

I made a quick scan of my to-do list, searching for something I can keep with me all the time. Reading one juzu’ of Quran was not possible everyday, with the hectic schedule of my life. I can read up to five or six pages, or ten pages everyday, and sometimes a juzu’ on weekends, but reciting a juzu’ everyday seemed impossible. Staying away from sin all time is easy said than done. I don’t think I can stop shouting at anybody when I get under pressure, but I’ll try to get rid of it this Ramadan. So what is there that I can do my entire life? I was busy thinking of a solution when Ramadan came up with another question.

“Don’t you exercise every morning?”

I was surprised. What has exercise to do with Ramadan? Even though, I murmured a meek ‘yes’, I do have a half an hour warm up session in the mornings.

“While doing the exercise, in between don’t you lie down for some time, take deep breaths and count till ten?”

Yeah, I do it. Everyone does it. Another ‘yes’ murmured. Where is Ramadan taking me? I waited for the next question.

“Instead of counting till ten, why don’t you recite some Tasbeeh? Let’s say ‘Ashhadu allailaha illa allah, asthaghfirullah, allahu akbar walhamdulilla’ for three times.”

Wow, isn’t that a great idea? Remembering Allah even during my exercise sessions! Why didn’t I think of it earlier? And here a simple way of worship that I can do all my life! Instead of finding the easy and simple ways to keep my contact with Allah, I’ve selected the difficult path, which will soon make me tired. And then I’ll sit wondering why Allah has made everything difficult for me.

I thanked Ramadan for this little but useful peace of suggestion. And I promised Ramadan that I’ll do it all my life, Insha Allah. Ramadan smiled, patted on my head and kissed on my cheeks. I was the happiest person on earth.

Friday Sermons and Muslims: Sr. Najeeba

Please click on the title below to read about an incident in my life.

Friday Sermons and Muslims: Sr. Najeeba

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Birdy

"That egg is mine!" Shouted Nida.
"The egg with the black spot is mine!" Shouted Huda from the bathroom.
Nida and Huda were my twin cousins, in eigth standard. They were fighting over the eggs in the nest of the little birdy, who have come to stay with us two weeks ago. Nida and Huda had come only last Saturday. I went to the kitchen, and looked at the whole on the roof. There was two tiny eggs, but both were alike.
"Which is the egg with black spot, Umma?" I asked my mother.
"Look closely and you will notice one. Not a black spot. But a gray one. Thats how they differentiate between the eggs." Umma replied and pointed to one egg. I peeped closer to see a light grey spot on the egg. You would need a microscope to notice it! How did they notice it?
"They had never left the nest after they came here." Umma said, as if she understood my thoughts. "They have already spotted some six or seven differences between the eggs." She laughed.
Nida and Huda had come to stay with us for their ten days Onam vacation. Onam is a festival of the people in Kerala. It comes after our first term exams and so its a time to enjoy. Nida and Huda came to our home to enjoy their vacation with fishing and swimming. They don't have a river near their house, and water is scarce there. So usually my cousins from my Umma's side come to stay with us for a good one hour bath, and the fun with the river. But this time it seems they haven't gone out to the river. The birdy and its eggs have kept them inside the home.
Huda came running in to see her egg.
"Oh, Aunty!" She shouted, "The eggs have gone a little bit!"
Umma smiled at her, and gave her a cup of coffee.
"You say that everyday, and I don't find any difference in it!" Umma said.
"That's because you are not exited about the eggs as them." I replied.

* * *
The birdy came there some two weeks ago. One morning when I came to the kitchen, it was sitting there. I tried to shoo it away, but Umma stopped me.
"The bird also have got its right on the earth." She said.
Oh, yeh. I thought. The birds, cats, squirrels, dogs, lizards, ants, cockroaches, bees, flies, bats, rats, mosquitoes, snakes and everything have got their right to live on this earth. Who are we to get rid of them when we are the real intruders? We have cut their forests and pushed them out of their dwellings. So they have come to live in our dwellings. These are not my thoughts. I've read it in the book of the great malayalam author Vaikom Muhammed Basheer, in his short story, Inheritors of the Earth. Umma and Baba ( dad) believes in his philosophy - every animal has got a right to live where ever it likes. I also liked that philosophy, until I saw a snake in the garden. Now I have excluded some animals from the big list of Mr. Bahseer ( sorry sir, but I cannot live with a snake in my garden) - first of all, the snakes, then the scorpions, the centipedes, the big black ants and such insects and animals that are harmful. There was a rat in the house. Every night it will come to eat the food in the dustbin. Once inside it, it cannot get out. Every morning Umma will take it outside to throw it away in the bushes, but it returns to the dustbin at night. I have seen this cycle going on for at least two weeks. Umma won't kill the rat, nor the rat will go away. It seems they have become good friends, now the rat waits for Umma in the morning, to take it out. It isn't afraid of Umma anymore.
Well, coming to the birdy, it has found a nice little hole on our roof. I was not able to put it in a specific species or class, so i just named her birdy. I didn't even know the gender of the bird, but the feminist in me regarded it as a 'her'. But later it came out to be a female (feminism wins!). Sometimes when we sit for breakfast or lunch, we could see small the birdy coming with small pieces of twigs, wires, clothes, cotton, leaves and paperbits. Within days, a small and cute nest came into sight.
"I think we are going to have a new family here." Umma said.
"But Nida and Huda are coming here next week." I replied. "Will they disturb the bird?"
"Well, we can teach them to take care of the birds." Umma suggested. "They will have a fun filled vacation."
We watched the bird. Everyday at sunrise, it goes out. May be, in search of food. By noon it arrives and takes some rest. In the evening it goes out again to return at dusk. The bird became a member of our family, and we became members of her family. She won't fly away when we go near her. We would pat her head, take her in our arms and feed her with some of the leftovers. She never flew away. She would put her beaks on our hands, as if kissing it.
One evening when I came from college, I saw her sitting in the nest.
"Why haven't you gone out in search of food?" I asked her.
I felt she had a happy look in her eyes. I went nearer to her nest, to see a part of two tiny little eggs. "Wow!" I cried to her. "So, you have become a mother of twins!"
"Congrats, birdy!" I said to her. Now she had a thank-you look in her eyes ( or is it my imagination?).
Next day morning my cousins arrived. They were very excited when they saw the bird and the eggs. Umma asked them to be careful, and never allowed them to touch the eggs. They could watch the eggs, and softly touch the bird. That was more than enough for them.

* * *
"Aunty, when will the eggs hatch?" asked Nida for the hundredth time.
"I don't know honey." Replied Umma, also, for the hundredth time.
They want to see the chicks before the vacation ends. But, there are only two or three days left for the vacation to end! I could have searched the Google or anything like that if I had known the species. But without any specific word to search, how can I search for 'How many days will it take for birdy's egg to hatch?' If the Google search engine was a living creature with hands, it would have slapped me!
Days flew by and it was the evening before Nida and Huda left. They were playing outside when it started to rain. Umma called them inside, because they had to go to school within two days, and fever was the first thing she didn't want them to have. She poured them some hot milk to keep away the cold. I made myself some hot coffee to keep away the cold. We saw the birdy squeezing herself into the nest to keep her eggs warm.
"Aunty, can we give her a blanket?" Asked Huda.
"God have provided them a blanket, sweety." Umma replied. "Her feathers are her blanket. It keeps her warm."
"We won't be able to see the chicks." Sighed Nida.
"Don't worry. May be they won't leave us at all. When you come here in December for your Christmas, they will be flying around. You can play with that time." Umma consoled her.
But it didn't comfort her.She wanted to see the tiny chicks, the process of hatching and their first flying lessons.
The evening became more rainy, and at night, when we were in bed, we could here the storm blowing the trees. It was a scary night, with the rain and storm, and I was grateful when I finally fell asleep. Morning was calm, and the sun looked at the earth to see the damage the storm had brought. I got up and walked into the kitchen. It was a pathetic sight.
The eggs lay cracked on the floor, with the nest. Birdy was flying in circles around the broken eggs. I called Umma, to show her the scene. She asked me to clean the place quickly before Nida and Huda arrived, or they will be very upset at the sight. I cleaned it, with bird flying over my head, and threw the broken eggs into the garden, with a heavy heart.
When Nida and Huda arrived, they enquired about the nest. Umma replied that birdy must have changed her home, as the cats usually do with their kittens. They had to be satisfied with the answer.
The bird flew away when I threw the broken eggs out. It never returned.
We love you, Birdy, and we are sorry for you.

Small Step, Big Leap

"Umma, look at this photo, its the corn field in the farm." I was browsing through the photos we took from a farm in Khorfukkan, and I called my mom when I reached this photo. The farm belonged to our neighbors when we were in Fujairah. They are also from Kerala, India. "Its their own farm, taken on contract for 5 years. Its around Dirhams ( currency of UAE) 2,00,000 for five years." I explained.
"How much land is it?" Umma asked.
"Oh! I forgot to ask that!"
I really have forgotten about the area of land. It wasn't much, not as much as we had around our home. But there was corn, tomatoes, cabbages, cucumber, mint, mangoes, mulberries, datepalms and many other grasses which are given as food for animals. and there was also goats, hens and a cat... pussy cat :).
"Do you know how Jaleel-ka got this farm?" Umma asked me.
Well, I haven't tried to get into details of the history of Jaleel. Jaleel was our neighbor in Fujairah, now the owner of that farm. Well, the -ka means brother in Malayalam, usually we add it when we address males elder than us, and a -tha when we address females elder than us. The -tha means sister. Jaleel's wife was Husna, and we called her Husna-tha. Plus four boys, and their family became a big happy family!
Jaleel and Husna have been our neighbors for about 10+ years, and they are still there in Fujairah. Umma and Baba( my dad) settled in our homecountry, India, when Baba got retired from his job. That was around 4 or 5 years ago. I came here after my marriage two years ago,
"He was a poor fellow when he came to Fujairah some 20 years back," said Umma, "and a very careless fellow. Never went for any job, and if he got some money from anybody, just went to play cards."
"Then how did he become the owner of the farm?" asked Nawaz, my brother, who was also with us, listening to the story. To own a farm for 5 years he needed Dirhams 2,00,000!
"One night, he was playing cards with his friends, when suddenly, the police appeared," Umma paused, "there were 29 of them, playing cards."
"Then?"
"Police saw all of them and caught them, except Jaleel-ka. He acted as he was sleeping. The police kicked him two or three times, left him there when there was no response from him and went to station with the rest of the 28 fellows."
Playing cards is not an offense in most places, but it is against the laws in middle-east. Especially when cash is included in the game. You can be sure of a few months or years in prison.
Umma continued with the story.
"When he was sure the police have gone, he got up. The next day, he went to the station and inquired how to free his friends. The head of the station demanded Dirhams 28,000, thousand for each of them. Jaleel-ka came out of the station, and started begging. He asked for money from everyone he saw on his way, regardless of their nationality, religion or anything. He got Dirhams 38,000."
Hmm.... Cool guy, I thought.
"He went to the station, freed his friends and started business with the rest of his money - the 10,000."
"Well, do you know his qualification?" I asked.
"Not more than 2nd grade. And Husna-tha is a fifth grade pass out." Umma replied. "But she is a woman with strong will power. She took license and now she does major of the household activities, while Jaleel-ka runs his business." Umma continued. "He started a vegetable shop and then, with his hard work and determination, it grew into a big vegetable business. Now, to get fresh vegetables into the market, he started this farm also."
Isn't that a great work? A small step from the ditch to a big leap into the business world.
Here comes the snaps from his farm:
The mango tree with lots of flowers on it.
and Husna has been calling me to their home ever since. I kept nagging my hubby asking him to take me to Fujairah, until he agreed and we all - me, hubby, hubby's brother, hubby's sis, her hubby, their daughter and hubby's cousin went for the Fujairah trip. Our plan was to go to Khorfukkan beach, but when we reached our neighbors home, we changed the plan and decided to go to their farm so that Neha(one year old hubby's niece) could see some animals. That was how we got the photos of the farm.The tiny mangoes on a branch.
Hubby's niece in the cucumber section.
Notice the cucumber on the plant.
Neha near the grass farm.
The cabbage farm.
The water for the farm is pumped from a well into this pond.It is then made to flow into the canal which takes the water to different parts of the farm.

The Dog at Aunt's Home

“Hey, you have got a dog in your house!”

It was my brother Nawaz. I turned around to see a dog in the kitchen garden, looking at Nawaz, with its innocent eyes. There is nothing special in having a dog in our house for many of us, but it is not the case in an orthodox Muslim family in many parts of Kerala, who considered dogs as untouchables, and have to bath 7 times if we touch one! We were at our uncle’s house, who was a Muslim scholar and the Principal of an Islamic University. So, it was unusual to find a dog in his house.

“Where did you buy it?”

“From Perinthalmanna” Aunty replied, but I understood she was just joking and they haven’t bought the dog. Uncle was not a person who spends money on anything like that, not at all on dogs!

“Is it your neighbors’?” asked Nawaz.

“No, ours. I told you” replied my cousin.

But it was difficult for us to believe it. A dog in their house? As usual, we were also taught that touching dogs was Haram, and we should bath seven times, once with mud, if we touch one. So noway people just bringing a dog home and bathing 7 times daily – suppose the dog touch you more than once? Multiples of 7 began revolving around my head.

“Ok, aunt, be serious” Nasweef, also my brother, who was quite until now, started losing his patience. “Where did you get that dog?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” She showed us a basin half filled with water in her kitchen garden.

“I pour a little of water in it everyday, for my hens to drink from it. But now, there are many animals that drink from it. The cats come, squirrels come, my hens, birds and sometimes some small insects. One day there was this dog drinking from that basin.”

I looked at the dog carefully. It was cream in color with some brown patches, and I don’t know to which breed it belonged to, as the only dog breeds I know is the Pomeranian (cute ones) and the Pug (the one in Vodafone advertisements!). It had a belt around it’s neck!

“Seems he is a pet dog coming from some family. What do you give him to eat?”

I inquired.

“Nothing” replied aunt, “It gets enough to eat from that butcher shop down street. All it needs is the water in the basin. One day I forgot to keep the water in the basin. It came to the kitchen door and looked at all of us for sometime, went away, came back again, put it’s tongue outside and stood there sometime. It repeated this for sometime and it was only then I remembered to pour water in the basin.”

Wow! What a good dog!

“Looks smart” said Nasweef, gazing the dog.

“It is”, my cousin approved. “When one of our chickens died, it did not allow us to bury the chicken. It carried the chicken wherever it went, kept it on the ground and barked two or three times as if to wake the chicken from a long sleep. When it slept, it kept the chick near it’s head. It sat beside the chicken for a long time, until the ants came and made it impossible for the dog to touch the chicken.”

“Well, a dog of noble birth” commented Nawaz.

“But her puppies doesn’t have her qualities” continued my cousin, “Our neighbors took her puppies as pets. But none shows her decency and nobleness.”

“Well, may be the puppies inherited from their father.”

The three of us gathered around the dog to have a closer look. Beautiful ears, commented Nawaz. Cute tail was what Nasweef noted. Well, altogether she was really beautiful. Good to keep it as a pet.

“She is very fond of Uncle. Whenever he goes out, sometimes to mosque for prayer, she follows him. He tries to get rid of her, but she follows him, waits until he finishes his prayer, and follows him back.”

Such a big gratitude for the drops of water she drinks from the basin! I think animals have more “humanity” than humans!

“But what do you do if she touches you? You have to bath 7 times!” It was Nawaz who put the matter into discussion.

“You don’t have to bath 7 times if a dog touches you” Aunty explained, “only wash the part of anything where its saliva has come into contact.”

“You mean you don’t have to bath? But that was not what we were taught.”

“Yeah, even I was taught like that. But we never try to learn what the Hadith or scholars really says. We just follow what our local Imams say. And many of them don’t know much about Islam – or they haven’t learned any. That is why Islam is always the misunderstood religion.”

That was a new knowledge to me. I liked dogs very much, especially the Pomeranian - I badly wanted one. But I didn’t want to bath 7*x times daily.

“She looks after our hens when they go out of our compound,” aunt continued, referring the dog. “At first I tried to get rid of her thinking that she will kill my hens. But she was very caring. She never eats anything from here, not even our waste, until we give it to her.”

“And she never fights with the cats or kittens here, as you see in the Tom and Jerry movies” said my cousin. “And the funniest part is he never barks at well dressed strangers, but barks when he sees people like beggars!”

Hmmm….. What to say about such a good dog?

Well, we returned from their house talking about the dog. All of us wanted to have a dog like that! I wanted a cute Pomeranian, with all the said qualities of this dog. But when we reached our home, and into the busy life of it, we forgot all about the dog, until one day when aunty called.

It was Nawaz who answered the phone.

“Hows your dog doing”, was his first question, even before the usual greetings. My mom started to scold him, asking him if that is the way to answer a phone.

“Brilliant” said aunty.

“Yesterday, it saved Neda.”

Neda was her one year old grandchild, who taking her first steps towards walking.

“Saved Neda? How?” saked Nawaz.

“In the afternoon, the dog started barking from our kitchen garden. I opened the door, and it ran inside.”

Dogs are not allowed inside our homes.

“Uncle became very angry for allowing it inside, and started scolding me. But the dog ran straight to the bathroom, while I followed. In the bathroom, I saw Neda drowning in the bathtub, which was filled with water. I took her out immediately, and went to the clinic opposite the road. Thanks to God, it seemed she has only just fallen into the tub when we saw her.”

“But how did the dog in the kitchen garden knew Neda had fallen into the tub in the bathroom? The garden and bathroom are far away!”

“Well, that is what surprises us all. No explanation for that!”

No Women Deserves Dependence

I wouldn't have noticed her, if we weren't the only girls in the train compartment. May be her college bag, travel bag, her pale blue jeans and orange t-shirt bought my attention towards this fair, smart girl who looked to me almost my age. "Might be she is a student of some near by colleges, like myself", I thought. I was on my way home after our half yearly exams, to spend the week with my family. I was in a vacation mood, happy that the exams are over and looking forward for the vacation as my cousins are coming to stay with us. Vacation would be hell lot of fun!!! I thought. I decided to give this girl a small smile, while usually I'm introvert and a bit hesitant to smile to strangers.
And as I expected, the smile bought a lot of conversation between us, even though she was the first to start it.
“Your name….?”
“Najeeba, and what is yours?”
“Shinsi”.
Usually I would have stopped here and plunged in to the book in my hand if it was someone who was not of my interest ( almost everyone are). But the happiness of going back home made me stay away from the book. All I wanted was to share it with someone, and celebrate every moments of my vacation. And I was glad to find a person who was also going home for her vacation.
After a long thought about what to ask, finally I put the question, “ Where are you studying?”.
“Manglore doing my degree in MBA, and you?”
“Kannur. B.Tech. Going home, in Kozhikode.”
“I live in Thrissur. Mannuthi, exact place. Have you heard of that place?”
“Sure”,said I. There was an agriculture college in Mannuthi where I have often gone to buy plants for my garden. “The agriculture college in Mannuthi.”
“My home is about a few kilometers away from it.” Replied Shinsi.
And so we started talking, about college, food, politics, love, marriage, life and everything under the sun. She has got a younger brother in higher secondary, her mother a doctor and father a scientist at BARC. Her brother was also staying in a boarding in Manglore.
“Why in boarding when there are so many good higher secondary schools in Thrissur?” I asked.
“Coz my parents believe that boarding is the best place to educate children.” She explained. “I was in boarding schools from my first standard on wards.”
I was shocked! She was in boarding from her fifth year onwards, while I have felt like running away from boarding a hundred times within these three years!! And I didn’t hide my surprise.
“Not from fifth year, dear, from forth year itself.” She was cool!! “I joined first when I was four years old. And I have stayed in……”
She put up her fingers and started counting….
“…….1…2….3…….5…..9…10…15…..yup, fifteen hostels in all.”
“Fifteen?!!!!” One was more than enough for me. “Don’t you get sick of hostels?”
Her reply was even more surprising.
“Nope, I get sick of home.” There was a few moments of silence while I sat like I haven’t understood what she said. Sick of home?
“There is no one at home for me. Mummy goes to hospital early in the morning and comes home only after dusk. Dad comes once in a month. And I have nothing to do at home. I don’t like home for more than two days.”
The child of the post-modern age, I thought to myself. I have read about such people in newspapers, magazines and books. Who else can prefer boarding places to home? Anyway, not me!
“So what do you do after your education? You will have to go home, won’t you?” I asked.
She smiled. “Never. I plan to find some job in a place away from home and stay in a working women’s hostel there.”
“And marriage….You will have a home and family then.” I said.
“Marriage??!! Me? No way!” She shouted. “I hate men!!”
Oh! My God! What a creature!!
“And who do you think will help you when you get old?” I wanted her to understand the importance of a family. But her answer was quick.
“And what for do you think people are building so many old-age homes today?” She asked. “ I work till I am not able to work, and then rest with the money I have made by then.”

I could think of only a different version of the Sanskrit slokan:
Pitha rakshathi koumare – Father cares her in childhood,
Barhtyaa rakshathi youvanne – Husband cares her in adolescence,
Puthro rakshathi vardhakye – Sons cares her in old age,
Nna sthree swathanthryamarhathi – No women deserves independence.

Convent rakshathi koumare - Convent cares her in childhood,
Hostel rakshathi youvanne - Hostel cares her in adolescense,
Old-age homes rakshathi vardhakye - Old-age homes cares her in old age,
Nna sthree paranthyamarhathi - No women deserves dependence.

The happiness of the tree

Once upon a time, there was a tree, with branches that touched the sky and spread across the forest. It had so many flowers and fruits on it, such that you can always see the birds, bees, squirrels, … on it. The tree was so loving and carinedg, that it gave it fruits to the hungry, shadow to the tired and nectar of its flowers to the thirsty. It was also very polite and humble. But the tree was always sad. Sad because he cannot walk, run, jump… or at least move a millimeter.
His sorrow increased when the little worms which passed by pitied him by saying, ”Oh! What a huge body! But it is really sad that you cannot crawl like us, the tiny one!” The tree would try hard to put a smile and reply, “You are right my friends! But God never gave me the ability to walk.”
And he would weep when he sees the fishes in the pond jump high and splash into the water. He would cry to God and ask him why he hadn’t given him the ability to jump like the fishes. His biggest sorrow came when he saw the birds. The birds, which comes for his fruits would pity him for not being able to fly. They would ask him why he sent his roots down so deep into the earth, which makes him stand still on the ground. Tears would flow down the trunk of the tree, and his answer will become inaudible due to his weeps. The years passed as the tree grew huger, longer and wider – and more still on the ground.
One fine morning, the tree was shaken from it’s thoughts by the sound of a man. It opened its eyes to find a man, so tired and weak, sit under its shade. He caring tree moved its branches above the man so that the sun’s rays did not reach him. The tree also dropped some of it fruits for the man. The man was happy, thanked the tree, ate till his hunger left him, and was in a position to talk k to the tree. Like every other creatures, he too sympathized for not being able to move.
“What a pity it is, Oh my huge tree, not being able to move around the place and see the things!”
“You are right”, said the tree, “God never gave me the ability to walk!”
“You are huge, but look at us, smaller creatures! We can fly in air and dive deep in sea! We can o even beyond the sky! What progress we have made on earth, in sky, and now reaching beyond! What revolutions we have had! Rewrote the history with big wars! Killed all people who stopped us! God gave us intelligence and made us the ones who should rule the world. “
The tree thought for sometime, then waved its branches, smiled, and replied, “I am happy that I’m a tree. I haven’t killed innocent men, weak women and little children in the name of war. I haven’t made people homeless, orphans and refugees. I haven’t thrown people away from their homes to build new industries. I feel myself proud for not being able to move.”

(Story based on the cartoon of O.N Vijayan, a talented malayalee cartoonist )