Whispers in my sleep.

I love you so much

That I have no words to say.

And I know that you love me too,

More than I ever can repay.

Take me in your arms,

Let me feel you all my day.

Drop me not, for I have none

If I don't have you on my way.

Be with me when I am happy or sad

Be with me all night and all day.

Just watch my steps from everywhere

And allow me not go astray.

 

The Lost Baby

I am back again.... After almost 1 year.  Even though I'm a little glad to be hear in my page, I am really very sad. There is a very sad news to share with you all. I lost my baby, or my Hamdu mon as I planned to call him. The reason? The Umpilical cord got knotted around his neck! I wonder what a reason this is! The cord that feeds him and keeps him alive, killed him??!! What all things God can do!

At first I was reaaly shocked and sad ....and... I used to ask myself why did this happen to me? But I think even when  God plans terrible things for us, He also gives us the strength to get across those bad times. Or atleast, that was the case for me. I sometimes feel it was good that God took back my son He gave me.  I'm sure God will protect and take of him more than me. He will have Angels to play with, fruits and food to eat that no one in this world have heard of,  rivers of honey and milk to bath, golden glasses and plates ( and baby bottles?!!) in which he will eat... and most of all, he will be in Heaven, and he will be waiting for me there.

But still, tears drop down my cheeks... when I type these thoughts. The sadness of not being able to see my first little baby. The sadness of not being able to hold him in my arms, the sadness of not being able to kiss him... and above all, the sadness of not being able to breast feed him. I delivered him on May 14th. He will be in his fourht month now, making sounds, laughing, crying and trying to turn around on his belly. :-)

I request to everyone who reads this post, to pray for me, that I reach near my Hamdu mon, in Heaven, soon. And don't forget to include his father too in your prayer.

May God bless us all, with special blessings to all the mothers who have lost their children...

The Movements Inside

This is a very beautiful part of your life. Your pregnancy period, after the first trimester. There is no ear piercing cries of the new-born, no running behind the naughty little kid, no burning the mid-night oil for the 10th grade teenager... You just feel the ripples of life inside you...And you sit talking to that life, dreaming about it and planning its life ahead... 

I sit and talk to that life inside me, for hours. I don't know if  (s)he can understand it, but I do it. Let me call it Vava(= baby in malayalam). I tell Vava about the God, trees, flowers, sky, sea, people, kids, birds, animals... about everything under the sun. This world is a a big, complex, fantastic place to see. Well, I also tell Vava about the negative part of the world -the corrupt politicians, war, injustice, illiteracy,  poverty and all that. But even with these problems, I think we are blessed with the life we got to see this place.

I wonder if everybody does this. The tiny movements inside... I wonder what Vava is doing when it makes such movements... playing? kicking? or just dreaming like me? May be it is dreaming about the world I have explained... Waiting anxiously to see this place. Will it understand anything when I say things like flowers, sea, war etc? Well, I don't know. Does anybody out there know about it? I like to believe it does, and those with an answer NO for the above question, please don't respond!

Through the Years With Ramadan.

The first years of Ramadan for me were spent in Fujairah, an east cost emirate of UAE. Fujairah is a peaceful place, unlike Dubai, with some farms, many villas and a peaceful and wide sea – the Gulf of Oman, reaching up to the costs of Cochin in Kerala. The thought of my homeland on the other side of the sea made me more attached to the sea than anything in Fujairah. I also loved it for its calmness, there were only few people at the beach, and so we had our own area in the beach.

There isn’t much to remember about the Ramadan in Fujairah. Ramadan came during the school days, and we were not allowed to take food to school on those days. One thing I remember about those days were lying that I was fasting. Also, our parents encouraged us to take half day fasts only. So it was two half day fasts into full day. And when somebody asked me about the number of days we had fasted, we would say four and a half or five and half and so on. I would compete with the number of days we had fasted with my younger brother, who is two years younger to me. The most difficult thing for us then and now is the shuhoor, or the late night dinner which you have in the middle of the sleep. I remember my brother getting for the shuhoor, and then the next day he will be saying, “I don’t remember anything I ate for the shuhoor.” On day he said, “I saw only the white walls when I got up for the dinner.” Hehehe. The thing that fascinated me more was the plates full of fruits and snacks at iftaar.

We were shifted to India, when I was in seventh grade, to an Islamic residential school. During the first two years, the school closed during the Ramadan. That was the time of mischief for us, me, my brother and our cousins. We had nothing particular to do in the mornings of Ramadan and so we all get out of the house into the near by farms. We would steal mangoes, gooseberries and guavas from the farms and hide it under our dresses till night. Sometimes, we will also go to the near by shops and buy some locally made toffees, with the money grandpa would give us. At night, when the elders have gone to sleep, we would get up and share the pieces of mangoes and other things between us. For this, we would all sleep in the same room, or near by rooms. We used to take all the 29 or 30 days of fast.

During the last days of Ramadan, grandpa would give us money to buy bangles and hair clips for eid. The boys would buy fire-works or toys like guns and cars. We would also buy some sweets. Grandpa loved us so much that he won’t allow us to take fast till the dusk. According to him, children need fast only till the noon. For him, I was a child even when I was at college! He used to scold grandma for making us fast till the dusk, even when I was in my late teens. According to him, we were still his kids. He passed away some three years back, or we would have been his kids even now! May Allah shower his forgiveness and peace upon him, make his abode wider and gather us in his paradise. Ameen.

From my ninth grade onwards, our school started working for Ramadan. That bought a change in me. We had schools only till noon, unlike normal days when we had schools till the evening. After school we, me and my friends, would sit to recite some Qur’an and we had Islamic classes in the mosque. I was getting into the real Ramadan, with all its life in me. The saddest day and the most memorable day of my life in Ansar, my school, was the day when my friend’s mother gave birth to twins, and they died with in an hour. Friendship in Ansar was something that I have not known before or after, it was a very special bond. My friend’s tears seemed to be my own, and it was the same for everybody. We all wept a lot that day. The Ramadan was also special in a way that we had great and good seniors to guide us, who were very loving. And yeah, I remember the day when one of my roommates’ father died. I came to know of the event before her from my teacher. My teacher asked me not to tell her about it until somebody came from her home. She was good at singing, and used to sing a song which meant something like this:

Why is my father, who gets up for fajr everyday, sleeping under this white blanket today….

Why didn’t my father call me today in the morning, to pray the fajr with him…..

Why isn’t my father talking to me, what I have done to make him angry with me….

Those words of the song still echo in my ears, and that was the last Ramadan she sang that song. During the last year of my school life, we celebrated the last Eid with our friends in hostel, one of my best Eids!

After school, I went to an Engineering college. Thanks for the Muslims friends I got at college, or Ramadan would have been a difficult time for me. There were some 20+ Muslim students in out hostel, and some really nice boys in our college. A lady in the town promised to cook iftaar and shuhoor for us, and the boys would deliver it on time. That was how we spent our first year at college. During the second year, we changed our hostel to another one, owned by a Muslim management. Fasting was made easier for us since w had iftaar and shuhoor cooked for us by the hostel cooks. We had tharaweeh prayer in jama’ath and we celebrated the Eid with our friends, while usually we did it with our family. Ramadan lost its life when at college, since we had a busy schedule of exams, practical works and records while at college. And yeah, we were in our late teens, which meant years with boiling blood in our veins. We used to fight with our wardens, cooks and management for every silly problem that came across our way. Even though we had jama’ath prayers at hostel, we would never take part in it because we hated our warden so much. Forgive us, Allah. It was bread when we wanted bun. S we would go to the warden and shout at her. It was fish when we wanted chicken. We would sit there without eating anything, and the whole fish would be wasted.

But we soon realized our mistakes, when our college lost its recognition and we were transferred to another college. That was the last year of our college life. We decided to take a rented house, as we were all tired of our hostel life. It was one week before Ramadan that we got the house. We had no cooking utensils with us, and so we were not able to cook anything. We decided to seek help from a hotel near by, and Alhamdulillah, they agreed. They delivered the food for iftaar and dinner. It was tough, taking the food from hotel everyday. We started to regret for the problems we made in the hostel, when they would provide us with food. Here we had no choice of bread or bun, and chicken or fish. Just eat what we got. May be it was a punishment we got for making mischief at the hostel and a way Allah chose to teach us to be thankful to the food we got. That was the most difficult Ramadan we had so far, and a memorable one too. We had seminars at college, which extended till seven or eight, and magrib would be at six. We would keep apart the snacks we got at seminar, and use that to break our fast. We would be so tired, with the long busy day at college, and sometimes seminars would turn to sleeping time. It will be somewhat eight or nine, when we reach home, to the food from the hotel. The food would taste better by that time. We missed home so much those days.

After college, I was married. Ramadan was easier then, at home, with so much of spare time to do the ibaadaths. Ramadan became lively once more, after the school days. Food was also not a problem, when at home. The next year, I came to Dubai with hubby, and there was my co-sister’s mom to help during the first Ramadan at Dubai. I find the heat a bit of problem in Dubai, but I think I can stand it. And this Ramadan is my first Ramadan alone, with me doing all the cooking myself. I sit here, now and think of the days of Ramadan, every Ramadan special to me, in its own way. Some Ramadan bought so much of time and rest to me, so that I can pray and make a lot of ibaadaths. But during some Ramadans, I had to fight to keep up with the feelings of Ramadan. I believe it’s all over now, and Ramadan would be the same for me from now onwards, with no friends, brothers and cousins to make the days active. The life as an adult is really boring, na?

Heat, Fast and Me.

So i have left out two days of Ramadan. I feel very sad, not being able to fast, but what can I do when the doctor says a 'NO'? Its the urinary infection again, that made me leave two of my days in Ramadan. Seems I cannot take in the heat and the Fast together. Doc has asked me to take 1 or 2 glasses of Pocari Sweat every hour ( that leaves no place for food which mean I have to fast on Pocari Sweat!!), along with some medicines to be taken thrice daily. This happened last year also. But that time I left only 1 day of Ramadan. Heat has been my enemy since my childhood. I used to get all sorts of heat sickness during the summer. But once in India, I had no problem at all. Thanks to the moderate climate of India. And now again in the burning Dubai, all the heat diseases that left me years ago have come back, stronger, I think. So what do I do? :-(

Where is the Middle East?

I was going through the web pages of CERN, as it has hit the news lately. I looked at the member countries, mostly European countries. The non-member but observer countries include many Asian and American countries, with UNESCO as the observer organization. There were many under developed, developing and developed countries, but no where in the list I saw any GCC countries. There was Iran from the Middle East. I am sure these GCC countries are more developed than countries like Iran, India, Pakistan etc but their contribution towards the field of science and technology is either very less or a big zero, when compared with the said countries. Well, as far as Dubai is considered, science and technology means building the highest tower, the biggest water theme park, the longest bridge ( Did you hear it? There is no sea or creek big enough to build the longest bridge. So I hear they are digging the sea to widen it, and build a big bridge above it!!), the largest man made islands and so on. Guess whose brains and hands are behind these projects? The Europeans', or Americans’' or the Asians'. This is the birth place of Prophet Muhammed (saw) who made it obligatory for every muslim man and woman to seek knowledge, even though it be in China. And the people of the same birth place of Prophet (saw) stands last in the list of scientific and technical research centres. I feel shame as a muslim, as these 100% muslim countries has got nothing to do in the fields of higher education. But I also feel proud as an Indian, a country that has got her small but important contributions to the development of CERN.

 

Some months back, when I went to the Ibn Bathutha mall, I saw the works of so many talented Arabian scientists of the past displayed there. Looking at those displayed discoveries, a new thought came to me. Some years back, I read a novel written by the Malayalam writer Vaikom Muhammed Basheer. The novel was titled as "My great grandpa had an elephant". Having an elephant was a prestigious issue among the Malayalees those days, like having a Rolls Royce car now-a-days. The character in the novel, a muslim lady, believes that as she is the grand daughter of a person who owned an elephant she should be respected by the society, and she goes on describing to everyone about the elephant her great grandpa had, although now she is poor and unworthy of a penny. The people around her, including her daughter and husband, get angry at these remarks of her and start mocking her. In the end, she understands that there is nothing like gaining respect for the glory of your ancestors.

I feel Ibn Bathutha Mall is like this character of the story, shouting loud that “My great grandpa was a scientist, so respect me!” No one ever turning their attention towards it. 

The Multi-Cultured Ramadan

Dubai is a multi-cultured city, with people from almost all parts of the world. And so is Ramadan here. I think the only similarity between these people will be the dates they take when breaking the fast. Even prayers seem to be different, if you really want to find any difference in it. When I go for tharaweeh, Masha Allah, what lots of people are there! With so many types of dresses, so much languages and yeah, so many type of prayers. Until Ramdan, I went to the masjid by the Malayalees, and so I never came across such a variety except while performing Umrah in Masjid-al-Haram.

Well, there are the Africans, may be Sudanese with their long hijab (I don’t know what it is really called) reaching below their knees. They are so tall and I feel so small when I stand with them during the prayer. The masjid near to us has got the 23 raka’th tharaweeh prayer. The Africans usually pray all of the 23 raka’aths.

There are some UAE nationals too. They come up fully covered from head to toe, with only the eyes opening. Once inside the ladies’ only area, they remove their abaya and hijab – and beneath it, it will be dresses similar to the western styles, sleeveless T shirts, jeans pants reaching up to the knee, or long sleeveless/ full sleeve but see through frocks. And there will be all sorts of make up on their faces.

There are also some Pakistanis who come in their Salwar-Kamees, with an abaya on top. The difference with the Pakistani and South Indian dressing is that Pakistanis use the shawl of their Salwar-Kamees as the hijab, but in South India we use the black hijab of the abaya itself. North Indians also have a similar dressing to that of Pakistanis. Some Pakistanis also wear the Niqab, which is very very rare in South India. During the prayer, most of the Indians and Pakistanis stop at the 8^th raka’ah, to be continued only during the last three of the remaining 15.

There is one woman who looks like a westerner, and speaks English. But there are so many who look like them and speak English like them. So I’m not sure. There are also other Middle East nationals coming from Lebanon and Iran. I love the way the Iranians dress – their long (????) I don’t know what it is called, a piece of cloth from head to toe which they wear while at prayer. After prayer they take it off, and beneath it they wear the usual dress – also my favorite, the topcoat and pants with a special type of hijab. I saw some Iranians keeping a piece of wood, round in shape, at the place where their head touches the floor while in Sujood. I don’t know why.

Some days I see some Mongolians too, I don’t know if they are from China, Japan or the –asian islands. They have long hijab, reaching up to their knee, and wear loose pants, made up of the same material used for the hijab, underneath.

The minor differences I find between the people are while standing for the takbir. Some tie their arms below the stomach, some on their stomach, some on their chest while some never tie it at all. Some of them tie their arm when standing straight after the rukoo’h. And while sitting for the ‘Aththahiyathu’ during the second raka’h, some people keep their fore finger straight all the time. Some open it at the ‘ashhadu alla ilaha illa allah…..’ and close it immediately after that. Some keep on pointing the forefinger till the end of the prayer, while some keep it opening and closing through out the sitting position.

I pray only 8 raka’aths, and then continue with the last three, so while waiting for the last three, I sit and watch all these differences between people. And the children, they also make a difference. While the Pakistani and Indian children are busy playing around while their moms are at prayer, the children of Middle East nationalities stand with their moms in prayer. May be the reason is, in India (I don’t know about Pakistan), the Imam and other people of the mosque discourage children in the masjid. So they never get a chance to learn the importance of masjid at the younger age. But in Middle East, it is entirely different. You can see children from 3+ months in the mosque. They get to learn the importance of prayer and masjid at a younger age.

About thte iftaar, I don’t know much about the food of other countries, because I have never gone for such an iftaar. Once I went to an iftaar by a UAE national. There were many dishes of which I didn’t even know the name. I recognized the haleem and custard. The main food was kabsa, and I loved it a lot. It was a dish prepared of raw rice.

So, Ramadan is fun, with this variety in the muslims. You can call it – unity in diversity

Changing my dwelling....

So here I'm in my new home. I feel thrilled and excited, at the same time a little lost at my new dwelling. I don't know where the sugar is kept, where the flour is kept, and where are my shawls? I have to run around the home in search of something... But I'm sure I'll soon get rid of this and become happy here.

Orderly Disordered

At school, college and now at my home, people come to my room and wonder, "How neatly you have arranged the room!" I used to take pride in these exclamations, until I found out the disadvantages of it. At college, in our boarding, there were three of us in a room. We had our own shelves, beds and racks. As I said, I always kept my rack neat and tidy. There were separate columns for text books, note books, files and other paraphernalia. I kept my dresses on the racks, with separate columns for civil dresses and college/school uniforms/dresses. I prided myself in the "Oh! How neat!" exclamations of my colleagues.
My room mate, Seena was just the opposite. Her books used to be on her bed, below her cot and in her dress rack. Her dress rack was one whole pile of everything, uniforms, civil dresses, socks and towels! Sometimes her files turned open with papers from it flying around our room. Now I feel the fun of running behind the papers, while I used to feel very angry with her at those times. I used to ask her to keep things neat, but she never bothered to do so. I sometimes tidied her shelves myself, but it was of no use. Within two days, the shelf will be looking like a place after a storm. Even with this difference between us, we were good friends, and went along very well, although I used to complain to her of her disorderliness.
But one morning all my pride in my neatness dried up. The story goes like this:
We were asked to submit our semester's bus fee bill, to get the free bus identity cards for us. Students with the identity card could use the bus service provided by the college. As soon as the notice was read in our class, Seena started panicking. She doesn't remember where she has kept her bus fee bill. I scolded her for being so careless about the bill, and internally prided myself in keeping all the bills in one of the files. That night I found Seena busy searching her bill. I went to my book shelf, opened the file of bills and started looking for my bill. To my surprise, the bill I was looking for was not in the file! I didn't know what to do or where to search, for I never kept my things out of place. But still, I searched my bags, my purse and everything I could. It was nowhere to be found. By this time, Seena has dug out her bill form her dress rack and came up with that to me. I told her about my missing bill, and she helped in searching it, but without success. I had to pay Rupees 25 for a duplicate of the bill the next day, to get my bus permit.
After this incident, I started observing Seena more. When someone came to her for her books, she would reply, "It will be on my book shelf, you can take it."
The person won't find her book there, and will say so to her. Seena will think for a while, and then answer, "Ok, can you please look in my dress rack, under the blue file near the white CD?"
The person will find it there.
But in my case, if someone asked me my text book, and if it was not on the bookshelf column of text books, then that meant trouble to me. I had no other places to look for, even if I must have misplaced it somewhere. And I hated searching for anything, because searching meant throwing all the articles out of their place!

So what is better: to be neat and tidy and ordered or to be orderly disordered?

The X - chromosomes

I was reading an article about how to care our eyes, when I saw a tip in it saying 25% of men are more prone to eye deceases, while the rate of women are only some 5 - 10%. The reason - the XX chromosomes in women. I remember reading an article in Gulf News, with the heading 'The X chromosomes'. Oh, I thought at first, another silly article about women, shouting aloud their duties as mother and wife. I was just turning the page, when I caught a sentence explaining why women are less prone to big deceases. I sat to read the full article, and when I completed it, I was really happy to have an extra X chromosome in me. While the Y chromosome have got no major role in the human body except in deciding the sex( and may be some smaller areas), the X chromosomes provide immunity to the body.
Do you remember Robert Langdon's Divine Proportion in Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code? The number 1.618. The number of females are 1.618 times more than the number of males. I used to wonder how this could be true. The chances that a baby born is girl or boy is 50% and so shouldn't the male to female proportion be 50 - 50? But statistics prove it to be wrong. Even if the birth ratio of bays and girls is 50 - 50, the number of boys that die at younger ages is greater than that of females.And the reason - the X chromosome. And so more girls on earth. Well, I do not take in account the countries like India where abortion and infanticide on the basis of sex is popular.
Females should have more immunity than men. right? Because they have to bear 1(+) children for nine months in their womb, attend surgeries for the delivery and lot of such activities that makes them sick. So they should have the best immune system, and it is provided by the extra X chromosome. Now for parents who brood over not having a boy, be happy that you have a more healthy girl child with you. And ladies, thank to God for the Xtra X chromosome in you.
I wonder if the tears ( another happy news here: tears are good for the eyes, another reason why women have less eye deceases than men), chattering, backbiting, kindness, love and patience are also the gifts of the X chromosome.

Dreams

So big dreams have I got,
With little time in my lot.
So long way I want to travel,
To see the world and marvel,
But my foot is in severe pain,
Which puts my dreams in vain.
A master piece, I want to paint
But my hands seems to faint.
A solo song I wish to sing,
But I feel my voices always sting.
A long long ballad I wish to write,
But it strains to hold the pen right.
I brood over my shattered dreams,
A lazy girl, at myself, now I scream.

What is Perfect?

I was going through the pages of my autograph book that I had at college - a way of running away from the present to the past. It had the words of advices, wishes and friendships, words by my friends who have shared with me the last days of my student life. It was the words coming from a youthful soul, and youth is a stage between adult and child, where you lay the foundation for the adulthood with the stones you have picked up at your childhood. So i treasure my college autograph book more than anything else in the world. One of my greatest possession. Some of them where simple best of lucks, coming from the hearts, while others, just an artificial wish that is not so deep or warm. On one page I found out this words from my friend Sreekanth - You are one of the Miss Perfects in our class. Not too good. And not too bad. Sreekanth was not a great friend of mine during our college life, but after college, we often have short chats and funs. I'll always remember his autograph, even if I forget my best friend's birthday. His words - Not too good. Not too bad. I sat thinking about his words. For me, Perfect meant something very good, without any sort of flaws in it. You can say "Without wax"- stealing the words from Dan Brown's novel Digital Fortress. But according to Sreekanth's words, Perfect means something that is neither too good nor too bad. So what is perfect?
At our boarding during school days, we used to do all kinds of mischief together. Once when we were in our higher secondary school, while coming from the mosque after our Asr prayers, we saw two or three tender coconuts on the coconut palm. The water inside the tender coconut is very sweet to drink. It is sweet, sour and bitter all the time. And it gives you a small shock at the tip of your tongue, the feeling you have when you put a little of 'Blast Toffee' in your mouth. The thought of it made us to want the coconut badly. The palm was small one, so we could get the coconut if we climb up to the second floor of our building. But it was against the rules to take coconuts from the palms. The mischief souls inside our body was always good in breaking the rules, and so we decided to get a coconut at any rate. One of us borrowed an abhaya ( the black long and wide dress the Arabs wear) from our friend, and we took off for our adventure. With a knife tied around a ruler ( or scale, whatever you call it), it was easy for us to bring down the coconut from the palm. We sat in silence in our classrooms for a bit of a second, to see if anyone has noticed the coconut falling from the tree. After we made sure no one has noticed us, we went to take the coconut. We put it inside the abhaya and went to our dorm. Once inside the dorm, we had nothing to break the coconut to drink the water inside. After many hours of thought, with smoke inside our head, somebody came up with an idea - to put the coconut on the floor under the foot of our bed, and then jump on the bed. I don't remember whose idea it was, but as there was no other way to break he coconut, we decided to carry the advise. We kept the coconut under the foot of the cot, and four of us jumped on the cot. CRASH! The coconut was broken into many pieces and the water, splashed all over the floor! We had to be satisfied with the fleshy part of the tender coconut.
As I said, I'm not too good, and not too bad. I've stolen mangoes from the farms of our neighbors and hostel, I've lied to the hostel matron about special classes when actually I was enjoying a small tour with my friends and I've not been a teacher's pet during my school and college life. In Sreekanth's word, this is known as Perfect life. But is it really perfect? What about it in the life hereafter?
Suppose I was a Perfect girl in the right sense. The bell for the morning prayer goes at 5.30, and after the prayer we have a coffee, followed by half an hour for bathing and washing. Then to the study room for an hour, followed by breakfast and then school till 4 pm. Another one or two hours of leisure time, and to study time after the magrib prayers till the isha prayer. A happy dinner after that, and lights off at 10. This is the life of a Perfect girl. But in my life, the one hour study times where not really study time but time for indoor mischiefs and the evening leisure times where meant for outdoor mischiefs. That brought some smile and giggles in the otherwise bore life of ours, especially when there were sparks and fires among the 20+ of us in one single room. So wasn't it better to be not too good and not too bad instead of being too good? Or is it just an excuse that rises within me to justify my mistake? What do you think? What does Perfect mean to you?

NB: I believe the only 100% Perfect is God. "Without wax" is just an illusion, like we have for parallel line - when they are assumed to meet at infinity.

Independence day - II

I was bed ridden with viral fever for the past two days, and had nothing to do except watch the buses, cars, pickups, lorries and all the vehicles that pass by, through my window. I was having severe headache, and so hubby never allowed me to even take the laptop. It was really boring days, to just lie in bed.
It was August 14th, and I could here the sounds from the TV in my room. I listened to it, as I had nothing else to do. I was not able to watch it, due to my headache. I heard the words, "Independence day special programs", in between the national song and national anthem. It was only then I remembered. August 15th was the Indian Independence Day. The day India declred her freedom from the colonialists - the Britons. I have learned about Mahatma Ghandhi, Nehru, Jinna, Azad, Ambedkar and so many freedom fighters of the British India, and the leaders of free India in history. But later in my years, I found out half of the history we learn in just rubbish, or false. I felt these people are not really great. I think the real heroes are the lakhs or crores of the public mass whose names no history book have revealed, in whose name there are no memorials and who never desired any positions or status for their life they gave for their country.
When in India, I used to look forward for the day, not because I was patriotic, but because I got a day off from school, college and work. And yeah, I was a little patriotic too, until I reached UAE. But when I watched the multicultured people here in UAE, it seemed to me that all human beings are the same, regardless of their nation, caste or gender. They all have same basic needs - food, water, shelter and clothes. What does an African need more than an Indian? What is there more good about an American from a Chinese? Is pain and misery for a person from middle east different for a person in Australia?
Well, I was thinking about these when I saw a pickup being pulled in to the parking lot infront my window. It had a Pakistani flag flying on its bonnet. It was then I remembered, August 14th was Pakistan's Independence Day. The day when Indian subcontinent was divided into India and Pakistan. According to history, it was Mr. Jinna's request for a separate country for muslims (although I don't believe in history), and Pakistan was born. It is said that India and Pakistan have always been enemies since then. But I don't agree with it (another big rubbish written in history). I don't hate Pakistanis nor do I think a Pakistani will hate Indian. Its the political leaders, with the help of other countries like US, that play a major part in making India and Pakistan enemies.
Next day, I sat at the window to see cars flying with an Indian flag. But to my utter disbelief, there was none. I saw some two or three more cars with the Pakistani flag - flags they have not been removed since yesterday. But not a single Indian flag. I sat till dusk, without any success. Why aren't there any Indians who are as patriotic as Pakistanis? I think there are more number of Indians in UAE than Pakistanis. And yeah, less (or zero) number of patriotic Indians than Pakistanis (I don't know about any other country's independence day to count the patriotic persons in that country). But then again, patriotism is not in the flag on our car. I don't think loving our nation means believing that "east or west, India is the best". To love our country means to obey the rules of our country, to keep away from destroying her properties ( and in this, I feel I'm more patriotic than any political party member, because they are always interested in destroying public properties when on a strike). But loving my country doesn't mean I'll support her when making wrong decisions, or decisions that go against my belief and morals.
Any way, I love my country. Jai Hind. And I love all countries. Jai Sare Desh.

Independence Day

Well, once again the august 15th. The Indian Independence day. Some thoughts on it.

The drums roar to the national song,

And the flag blows, to the wind, so strong,

Soldiers march, with pride and honor

When patriotism rises in heart’s every corner.

The picture of the Independence Day

In our minds, it always does lay.

But turn your hearts to the unlucky ones,

For whom home is the earth under the sun.

And food is only a handful of rice-water.

When curses fall on their daughter

For the dowry they have to spent for her,

Who can complain if its sons they prefer?

They never heard the word independence

Because in school, they have no attendance.

Boys are born with pistols and guns,

And bomb blasts, everyday, is more than tens.

When we celebrate our freedom day,

In Champaign and Chicken fry today,

Our country men plunges deep into slavery,

Slavery of illiteracy, terrorism and all the misery.

But still, to the you, my dear brother or sister,

I wish a Happy Independence Day, dipped in tears.

The Sparrows

Summer is giggling at us, with all her teeth out at 50+ degrees. She claps her hand when she sees people rushing to their homes and into the coolness of a/cs. Its difficult to get out for a walk even at night. I wonder how the people at construction sites are going through the day with the hot sun on their back. When sitting in my room, I can see the workers sweating under the severity of the hot sun. Birds are flying in search of a window or a/c hole, to take rest and hide from the sun. A myna came and sat on my rope on which I put my clothes to dry. I got up to shoo it away, but on second though I decided to let it stay there to secure itself from the sun.
I thought of the days at school. When while coming from school one day, a sparrow fell infront of us. It was small and cute, but very tired. I and my brother Nasweef took it in our hands to our home. Umma ( mom) gave it some water. It opened its eyes slowly and looked at us. It didn't try to fly away. Just sat in our hands. Umma broke a small branch from the tree outside our home, and the sparrow perched on it. We took some snaps, and when evening came, Umma took out the branch along with the sparrow. We asked Umma to keep the sparrow indoor, so that we can make a pet of her. But Umma asked us how we would feel if we are taken away from our family by some strangers. At last, we decided to give her freedom. She looked at us thankfully, opened her wings and flew away. The foto show Nasweef with the sparrow.
There was another incident when a parakeet came to our home. It was 10.30 at night and we were cleaning the table after dinner, while my younger brothers have gone to bed. Suddenly, there was a knock on the kitchen window. We got frightened at first, and called Umma. Umma came and opened the window, to see a parakeet trying to get inside. Nasweef got out with a torch. But when he tried to catch it, the parakeet bit his fingers. But it was not able to fly. At last, with some effort and a piece of cloth, Nasweef caught it and bought it home. Umma gave it some water and the leftovers we had after dinner, and we went to sleep. Next morning, we got up early to find the parakeet still in our kitchen. We had a thorough look at her, to see that her wings had some cut. She was a green Indian ring necked parakeet, with red beaks, rose ring around her neck, red eyes and a long tail. We brought her some fruits from the garden and a cage from our neighbor. We put some grains also in the age, as we didn't know what she ate. Someone told us that parakeets eats leafs of a certain plant, so we went in search of leaves in the near by bushes. It was a busy day, running to find out what parakeets eat! But it seemed she didn't like anything we gave her, and she was not able to fly to search her food by herself. Something happened next day. My younger brother, not more than three years old, got angry with Umma for something, and threw his milk over the parakeet. The parakeet, already dying with hunger, now fell down in the cage. There are no veterinarians near by to take her to the doc. We tried to dry her up with a cotton cloth, but she breathed her last after some hours. We all became very sad and even my younger brother became sad. He cried a lot. He loved animal and animals loved him. I remember the goats at my uncle's home, they jumped when they saw him or heard his sound. They ran behind him, tickled him and played with him. And when Uncle sold them, he cried so loudly that the man who bought them asked uncle to give one to Nadeem, my brother. The goat was also very reluctant to go with the man. It came backward to Nadeem several times before finally going away with its new owner. Does animals have a loving heart, bigger than humans?
We also had a pigeon come to our one day. It didn't come, actually. We were playing outside when we saw a group of boys throwing stones at a pigeon. We called Umma. She came and got rid of the boys and took the pigeon, who was very weak, home. We fed it and gave water to it. The pigeon stayed with us for a week, and then when she was able to fly, she flew away to her destination.
There were many other birds too, who flew into our home in search of shelter, food or water. I don't know some of their names. We had a huge tree infront of our home, and so there were many birds on it. Some nests and some small eggs. A small bird, once, made her nest in the hole in out roof. She laid two cute little eggs. We became so friendly that we would pat her head when we pass by that place. She would put her beak on our hand, as if kissing it. She wasn't afraid of us. But one day, when there was a big storm at night, her cage fell down along with the eggs - and the eggs broke. She never came there again.

The Tamarind Seed

The calender on the wall said three more days. Three more days for the big event, my wedding. But there were a lot of work to do, that I cannot sit and dream about the event. Friends and relatives will be arriving from tomorrow onwards. I have got to clean my room, make it comfortable for my friends who will come on the eve of the wedding, clean my shelf, and a lot of work to do. I haven't got the wedding dress from the tailor. Will go to him today evening, I thought. But now, I'll have to start with some other work. I thought for a moment, and decided to start with the shelf. I calculated the time needed for that job, may be one hour or maximum two hours. That means by lunch time, I can finish the shelf. After lunch, I'll start with the room. Good. I thought to myself.
But when I opened my shelf, I knew my plans were not going to work. The shelf itself needed a full 24 hours to clean it. There were so many letters which I have started saving form my seventh grade, cards, gifts and the little bits of paper we pass among friends during a boring lecture, all piled up on one rack. The single rack may take my time until lunch, I amused. I wanted to keep all those letters, gifts, cards and all, but I decided to burn the letters. Those letters from my friends have got many of their sighs and giggles that I prefer to keep to myself. I took the pile and kept it on my lap to select the letters form it.
. I smoothed the bit of paper that lay on top of the pile and read.
'Boring class, wou ld you like some fun? Ayathullah'
'Sure, what do we do?' - My reply.
'Draw a funny picture about Sathyan Sir taking the class and pass it to everyone.'
'Ok, you do the drawing, I'll do the writing, and we will pass it.'
I remember the sleepy class waking into a bright day of suppressed giggles when the picture was passed. But, sadly, I never got the picture back.
I put the smoothened bit of paper into a box. Next I took a heap of letters to be burnt, and there was a small piece of rose colored chalk lying beneath it, engraved 'With love, Jeena'. Jeena gave it to me on my birthday. Next, there was card from Femi, with the postman's notice for not putting the stamp on it. She says she had pasted the stamp, but it must have fallen somewhere 'coz when I got it, there was the 5 Dirhams bill on it for sending it without a stamp. I put that to in the box. There was puppets made of chocolate coverings, given to me by my friend Anitha when I we were in higher secondary. A cute and tiny glass basket, with glass fruits. I got it for my 20th birthday from Sumi, one of my best friends. I kept the basket in my shelf, near to my foto. There was this big gift which I got from my friend's would be, a huge Guiness record book of 1999. I have even got the gift wrappers neatly folded. There was a puppy doll given to me by my friend Shaheena, when we celebrated our christmas friend at college.
A mock love letter given to me by Krishna came next. I was sure the letter was not written by him but his friends for the fun of it, and I kept it among the letters to be burnt. I wanted to keep it, but what if some one who read it never got the fun in it? There was another love letter below it, written by me and my friends for one of my friend, Nadiya. That was during our first year at college, and the seniors, as a part of ragging, asked her to write a love letter to her family friend, our senior in college. We wrote in Malappuram slang which is difficult for many to understand. That letter was a huge hit in our college, and I saved the rough copy. I put that in the box. The cards that came next fell into the box of saved items. There were some more bits of papers, self made cards and some drawings of my friends which was put in the box. A bunch of beautifully drawn cartoons by my friend Mirfath came next. Her letters also had pictures drawn on it. I saved all of them for the pictures drawn by her, when we were in our tenth grade.
When I took the last letter to be burnt, a tamarind seed fell from it.

I have told you about the tamarind seed in the last post. The memento given to me by my friend. We were not very good friends, but just friends who would pass by with a 'hi' or 'hello'. We had nothing in common to share, were very different. I don't remember exactly, but I think we had some fights also. I am very bad at remembering people, and so I would have forgotten her without the tamarind seed. When I picked up the tamarind seed, I remembered the moments when she gave me the seed, and asked not to throw it away. I have kept my word. The tamarind seed was placed at a corner of the box.
I tied the box, plastered it and put it in my shelf, with the memories of my school and college days. I then went to burn the heap of letters, saved during the last 11 years.

From Dubai to AbuDhabi

Yesterday we went to AbuDhabi, a trip we have been looking forward for a long time. There were five of us, as usual, a big and happy family. The trip was to meet our friends, living in AbuDhabi, whom we haven't seen for years. There were hubby's friends, whom he was meeting after 10+ years. I wanted to see the places more than meeting with the people, but hubby insisted on seeing the friends. He asked me about a Hadith which asks us to keep our relationship with friends and relatives active. So, I gave up about going to places. But when I reached AbuDhabi, I prayed let hubby get the road wrong, so I can just see some places, from the car. Naughty of me, nah? I was happy when he got through the wrong way once or twice, but that didn't last long.

A view of AbuDhabi from the creek. 

A major difference between AbuDhabi and Dubai is the peacefulness and cleanliness of AbuDhabi. The streets are clean, with plants and tress on either side of the road giving the whole city a green look. I saw dates on date-palms, but hubby didn't allow me to pluck them. Some are ripe and brown in color while some others still in their red and green color. In Dubai, I haven't seen dates on any date-palms, and they look like they haven't got a drop of water for a long time. And greenery in less in Dubai, because all you see is the concrete buildings.

Deira seen from above, with the creek included.

The cities of AbuDhabi is well-planned and well maintained. The buildings are tall, roads are wider and the parking lots are surplus. In Dubai, roads are narrower with twice as more vehicles in AbuDhabi, and only a few free parking lots are available, making it difficult for people to use cars . Roads are smoother in AbuDhabi than in Dubai. As the airport is far from the city in AbuDhabi, building tall apartments is not a big issue there. In Dubai, the airport is in the heart of the city, making it difficult to make buildings with more than seven to ten floors.
The 'Don't litter here' boards everywhere on the road is a very good idea of the AbuDhabi municipality. I've seen people in Dubai throwing away cans and plastic glasses on roads, which I think is unseen in AbuDhabi. And yup, the anxiety of a free parking in Dubai is ten times more than in AbuDhabi. Its difficult to get even a paid parking in Dubai, sometimes.

The Sheik Zayed Mosque in AbuDhabi, the second largest in the world. Bigger than Masjid Al Nabavi, im Madina. Still under construction. The only monument we visited in AbuDhabi.

Well, there is one thing I liked about all these rush in Dubai. Nobody likes to come to Deira, the most populated area, in Dubai. And so, no hush-hush about making the home clean for guests, cooking for them and all that host-activities. We invited all our friends we visited in AbuDhabi to our home in Dubai, but we got a pleasent "NO" from all of them. The reason - the traffic in Dubai!

Traffic in Dubai.

Who do you want your child to be?

I didn't recognize this thin, pale woman when she said 'Salam' to me. I answered her 'salam', but still I didn't get her. I gave her a questioning look.
"Hey! I'm your friend at school!" she said.
Friend? But I don't remember this girl. She was not a girl, looked some 30 years! How can she be my friend at school? I looked at the two kids staying close behind her and the kid in her hand.
"You must have mistaken." I said.
She looked at my face.
"Are you not Najeeba?" Sha asked.
I was surprised. She knows my name. But I didn't recognize her. 'Oh! God, please help me get this women!' I prayed but without success.
"I'm Seena, your classmate at higher secondary." She introduced herself.
"Oh, My God!" I shouted. "What a pleasant surprise!" I could not believe it. "You hav echanged a lot." I told her.
"You haven't changed a bit!" She responded. I know I haven't changed a lot after school days. Everyone tells me that.
"These are my kids, she is 4 years old, her younger one is 2 years old and the baby boy is six months." She introduced all of them.
"That's great! So many kids around you! Hope you have a busy and happy time with them." I said. "And your hubby?" I enquired.
"He went to that shop to buy milk for the kids." She pointed out a shop.
"My hubby has gone to his office. So I thought I would buy the vegetables today." I said. "We live in the next flat. Would you like to come for a coffee?" I asked her.
But I think she was busy, because she declined my offer. We exchanged our numbers and said goodbye. I felt very sad when I saw her get into her car and go with her hubby.
She was my friend in our higher secondary school, a two year course after the high school. We were in the same room for that two years, with another 20 to 25 of us, I don't exactly remember the number ( but I remember all of them - in the order of their bed. Too lazy to count now), and so almost all of us were like sisters - so close to each other. The years at school were the happiest years of my life, with so many friends always around you. The daily comers usually fight with their parents asking for permission to stay at their friend's home, but we were lucky to get friends all time. At that stage of your life, you rely on friends more than your parents for everything except money.
But how much she has changed! She was an enthusiastic, fair and well build girl when we were at school. A person who was careful about her looks. She used to jog and take exercise in t he morning to keep herself fit, when most of us took the granted time for a one hour sleep until the bell for the study time rings. She was sweet in her nature and beautiful in her looks. She had nice soft and silky long black hair. I remember her combing her hair carefully without breaking any hair, which took almost half an hour, while I took only less than five minutes to do with my hair! Now her hair looked like a thin coir piece! I wondered, how much does time change the life of a person?
She had good skill in writing. I sometimes envied her at her skills in writing. During school festivals, I used to get prizes in versification, essay writings and story writings in both English and Malayalam until she arrived. From then on, it was her chance to win the prices, and I had to satisfy with the second or third prizes. But we were very good friends, and had lot of similarities. She was also a quite girl like me, with little sound for the world to record. Both of us liked writing, drawing and making handicrafts. We used to create our own cards and presents together for our roommates and friends for their birthdays. We were well known among our friends for that. That was a beautiful life for both of us, or so I thought.
It was the inter-school essay writing competition that changed her life. The competition was held in a far school, which took us a whole day's journey to reach there. We missed 3 to 4 days of our class at school. But who minds that? As usual, she got the first prize for the competition. We were so happy and were shouting and enjoying ourselves on our return journey. But when we reached school we found her father waiting for her.
"Where were you?" shouted her father. I understood Seena was going to have a bad day.
"T-o the c-o-mp-eti-tion..." she stammered.
"Who let you go there?" Shouted back her father.
Seena stood silent.
Her silence made him more angry. He hit her hard, and our teachers came for her rescue. Her father started shouting at them.
"I haven't sent my girl to this school to take her to silly competitions. I am spending money on her to make her a doctor so that she can return the money back to me." He was shivering with anger when he was saying those words.
"Damn you all. Sending her around and missing her classes!" He did not stop shouting.
We were all dumbstruck. The whole kids of the school were watching us.
That night I was sitting near Seena, who was crying. Her trophy lay on the floor beside her bed. She looked at me.
"Najeeba, is it that every Papa's are like this?" She asked in between her weeps.
What do I reply? My Papa is not like that. But will that answer make her happy? No way. I don't know any other Papa's who acts like her father. But she didn't wait for my answer.
"Najeeba, I wanted to be a writer. Not a doctor." she said.
"You can be a doctor cum writer, Seena." I replied. "There are many doctors who are writers. Haven't we read the novel MindBend, its author is a doctor."
"But Najeeba," she said, "I wanted to be a full time writer. A journalist."
I sat silent. What to say?
"I wanted to be journalist from the first day at my school, when my teachers clapped after I told a story to them...." she trailed off.
"... I wanted to be a journalist when I bagged the first prize at the All-India junior essay writing competition held at Delhi when I was in my fifth grade."
She sat silent , immersed in the thoughts of those days. I felt sleepy, and so went to my bed.
Days, weeks and months flew. Before we knew, our exams approached and we became busy with the records, practicals, labs and also the exam. With the exams, our school life was also put to an end. We were departed to a whole new world of college, with new faces, new experiences and new friends. I tried to keep in touch with her for a long time. I came to know she got admission in a medical college through her letters, and then her letters stopped. I wrote to her a number of times, but without replies. I tried to call her, and get in touch, but were always unsuccessful.
After my college, I got married. I tried to find her and get in touch to invite her for my marriage, but it seemed she had disappeared from the world.
A friend of ours who came for my marriage, said the remaining part of story I haven't heard.
"She got married some years ago." My friend said. "She was so upset in not being able to make her loved career. Her depression took away her studies, and she started taking medicines. She discontinued from her studies, and got married."
"Her father...?" I asked. "He wanted to make her a doctor, isn't it?"
"Yeah,"said my friend, "he is angry with her for not becoming a doctor that he won't call her or talk to her."
I cursed him for doing that.

Now it was that girl who have just walked away from me, downtrodden, with no hopes in life. My friend. A good writer. The society would have got another well-known writer if her father had an understanding heart, and less greed for money. But who cares? Isn't this also a part of child labor? Don't people realize that their children are not them, but a different individual with their own likes and dislikes? Why do they push their children to extremes to make them fall off the cliff?

The Accident

We were having coffee from our balcony in Dubai, when Jasmin asked me a question.
"Najeeba, have you ever had any experience, or anything in your life, that you were never able to explain?"
"Not able to explain?" I did not understand what she was asking.
"Yeah, never able to explain. Some mysteries or something like that." She explained that.
I love mysteries. But so far, my life has been just like a plain sand you see on the beach. I would like to be an ocean of mysteries. But not even the drop of water on me.
"No." I said. "Did Jasmin have any such experience?" I asked.
"Yup."
"Can you tell that story to me?" I begged her.
"Sure." She assured me.
I sat a little closer to her, with the coffee and snacks on my lap, to hear her story.
"We were traveling from Abudhabi to Dubai. Myself, hubby, Arif and our 1 year old son Amal. Arif was driving. I was 4 months pregnant with my now 2 year old daughter Ameena. I was sitting in the back seat of the car, with my son sleeping on the seat. I asked Arif to change the A/C ventilator to my side, and he turned to change it. Suddenly, he lost control of our car, and the car went to the left side. He turned the wheel to the right side, and the car went turning to the right side, into the ditch below. It must have rolled for several times, I got unconscious before it stopped. When I regained my consciousness, they were pulling me through the window of the car, which was upside down. After I got out, I searched for my son, but he was no where to be seen. I started shouting when Arif came near me. He hugged me tight, but I did not stop crying. I wanted to see my baby. A Pakistani truck driver stopped near us, to help us. He pulled the car door open, to look for my baby. But the baby was not seen inside the car!
I started looking the surrounding places, when at a distance I saw a piece of dress flying with the wind. I jumped and ran there. MashaAllah, he was sleeping peacefully there, with no injuries. Only the thorn of the desert plant has pierced in his dress. I hugged and kissed him and held him tight. I thanked Allah, for keeping my child safe. I don't know how he reached there, several meters away from the car, without any injuries." She paused, "That was the first mystery on that accident day."
"Wonderful. I said. "May be he was thrown out of the car into the sand." I tried for an explanation.
"Yeah, but it was hot sand at noon, but he didn't feel it. And how can he still go on sleeping when he was thrown some 10 meters away?" Jasmine asked me.
I found no solution for the problem.
"Well, what was the second mystery?" I asked, as she said that was the first.
"I will tell you. After I got Amal, I looked at my injuries. Arif had only a small cut on his nose, but I had a long cut on my arm. The broken window glass has cut my left arm when they pulled me through the window. The pakistani driver took us to the near by clinic. The doc there stitched my cut, and plastered Arif's bleeding nose. We left the clinic by dusk on that day." She stopped.
"So, what is mysterious about it?" I asked.
"Nothing mysterious about that," she answered. " The mystery is coming," continued Jasmine, "Last week, when I was bathing, I found something sharp on my left arm while I was applying soap. I tried to pull it out, but nothing happened, except a severe pain there. That evening when I looked in the mirror I found a piece of glass protruding on my arm. I pulled it again, but it didn't come out and I felt pain. Next day morning, while changing the dress, a glass piece, about 1 inch long, fell from my left arm. No blood or anything came from the hole that now appeared where the glass piece fell." She stopped.
I was so amazed to speak.
She went on.
"The same thing happened to me day before yesterday. The glass piece, now half an inch long, fell off today morning!"

Does being busy makes you busier?

I woke up at the ringing of the alarm yesterday. Usually I don't keep an alarm, for I wake up at 5:30 everyday, all my life. But I had a lot of things to do yesterday, and so I kept the alarm for 4:30. In dubai, during summer, at 4:30, the sun will be out, and by 5:30, it will be shining brightly on you. And in winter, it will be dark even at 7. I felt like turning over and pulling the blanket over my head when the alarm went at 4:30, but the busy schedule of the day kept me
awake. I don't jump out of bed when I wake up, even if I'm late. I will just lay in bed and go over the activities I have to do that day, and set the time for each activity. It will take five minutes. I then get up and go according to the schedule ( although in most cases it won't go according to the schedule!! ;) ). Friday was a weekend day, and so hubby and his brother will be at home. Hmmm... so cooking breakfast will take around 1 hour. Cutting onions - 5 minutes, cutting ginger, garlic, tomato, chillies and potatoes - 5 minutes, sauting all of these - 10 minutes and by that time I can make a dough for the chappathi, ... goes my schedule. I said it was a busy day, 'coz we were having some guests. I had to make my house tidy, cook lunch for the guest and the usual daily chores - washing, bathing, looking after my hubby's niece for some time when my co-sister takes her bath, and a lot more jobs. But according to the time schedule, I still had one hour left before the guests arrived. Weekend days are the most busy days for me.

All these thoughts crossed my mind while I was still in bed.
I got up and went to the kitchen to start the job. At 6 o'clock, I've finished preparing the breakfast. Hmmm..., half an hour late. I asked my mother-in-law about the dishes we should prepare for lunch. There was prawns and mutton in the fridge, and so we decided to prepare prawn roast, mutton curry and ghee rice ( all are Indian dishes). There were a lot of plates and other vessels in the basin, and I had to wash them all. The bottle of dish washer liquid was empty and so I took the big bottle to refill the small bottle. We were using the lemon flavored liquid, and so it was yellow in color. I kept the big bottle on the kitchen table, as I had no time to keep it in the shelf. After completing the washing, I started preparing the lunch.
I have sliced the 4-5 onions and was sauting them for the prawn roast when my MIL came to help me in the kitchen. I started cutting the mutton for the curry.
"The oil is not enough for the onions to be sauted."said my MIL.
"Ok, mummy, can you pour some more oil in it?" I asked.
She took the oil and poured in it and was stirring it when she gave a loud cry. I looked up at her.
"Oh, Najeeba, I've pured the dish washing liquid instead of the oil."
I've kept the liquid near to the bottle of the oil, and she took the wrong bottle! Oh, God!
I had to do all the work again. I started it again. I sliced the vegetables, mutton and everything needed for the roast, curry and rice and started with the cleaning. I swept the whole house and has started moping when MIL asked me to take the chillies from the fridge. I ran to take it, as time was flying and we had only a couple of hours before the guests arrived. While running, I stumbled over the porridge my co-sister had made for her baby. The porridge was spread over the entire hall! I got very angry with myself and all others in the home, and felt an anger towards the guests too. I started shouting at myself, and also at hubby. I could not shout at my MIL, co-sis or Brother-in-Law.
My husband understood my situation, and asked me take some rest, and have a bath. According to him, bathing cools down one's "mind and body, heart and soul". I did as he asked, and that did make some effect on my anger. By the time I finished my bath, hubby has cleaned the porridge from the floor and cooked some new porridge for his niece. Thanks a lot to him. I resumed my work, and when the time the guests arrived, I was panting -and the house clean and tidy, the lunch ready along with two to three deserts and I was happy to receive them.

After they left, I just revised the happenings of the day. Apart from mummy pouring dish washing liquid to the onion and me kicking the porridge pan, there were many things that wasted my time. Like the bottle with the turmeric powder fell from my hand and it was spilled on the cooking range. The bed sheet I was putting on the bed tore when I pulled it tight. The water overflew on the floor when I was filling into the kettle. And so many. All because I was not concentrating on the work I was doing, rather, thinking about the works I have to do. Less concentration made my busy day even an more busier day.