PEACE

There’s no word more torn than ‘Peace’. Can we gather its fragments and form a living whole?

Gather it from the screams of the holocaust,

From the ghosts of Bosnia,

From the seeking arms of Darfur,

From the despairing souls of the detainees in Guantanamo Bay,

From the shell-shocked blur of Iraqis who know not if they are to mourn, fight or resign,

From the beseeching women who are trapped in their own helplessness,

From the yearning orphans who know not whom to turn towards and if they can even hope to do so,

From the shunned, rejected and the ostracized,

From the anguish of the maligned and the misjudged,

From the battle of our own pasts,

From the cozy evening with one’s beloved,

From the embrace of a secure family,

From the expanse of generous hearts,

From the souls who know their purpose in this world,

From the pride of achievements well-earned,

From the minds of the discerning,

From the hearts of the content,

From everywhere, but only to breathe in the word, to live it as a whole.

 

For some or even many, this might not make sense and I can’t debate that. I’m at feeble terms with the word myself. Just giving the whispers of my heart a wobbling crescendo, so that a few of us can string it into coherence.

 

Overdue Review

                                                                                

No, ‘Wheeee!The Tri-continental Human Rights Film Fest was a treat!’ won’t do, neither will, ‘Yes- Siree! The Tri-continental Human Rights Film Fest was a treat!’, I guess, I can honestly say, it was fodder for my grazing mind :) It was held very many weeks ago but didn’t find enough time to reflect in peace, until now. I was able to grab only the first batch of films, I couldn’t make it for the second schedule, sigh* and I so wanted to see Leila Khaled’s  work. But never you mind, I did enjoy three very good documentaries.

One, ‘The Rockstars and The Mullahs’, two, ‘Return to Kandahar’ and three, ‘Venezuela Rising’.

It was even more of an experience because yours truly had to become the default spokesperson on the Islamic stand, being the lone Hijabi but I suspect not the lone Muslim in the audience. I’ll have you know, it’s terribly awkward to have pointed glances from people who keep turning around to give them -smack in the middle of the movie, especially, when you just want to take in the movie from the farthest corner of the last row in the room. So much for wanting to remain as inconspicuous as possible!

The coordinator as per protocol (I assume) invites different opinions from the audience after each screening, there was only a loud silence greeting the invitation this time. I bristled some and more, heck! Nobody seemed to know any better and if there wasn’t someone to clear the muddle, everyone would go home with this half knowledge at its garbled best. When I came to this thunking conclusion, I’m guessing it’s only a rhetorical question when you ask if there was a heated debate after ‘R and M’.

I’ll have you know that the very first thing I said sounded profoundly stupid to my ears. I hemmed and hawed and said, (hold your breath), ‘Obviously, I’m a Muslim and Obviously I need to speak up’. Do you see the moron-like use of ‘obviously’, obviously I was blabbering. I wonder why I thought that people wouldn’t notice without my ‘obvious’ remarks and why only Muslims need to speak up. I had to take a deep breath after that and gather my seething wits.

Briefly, ‘R and M’ is a story narrated by ‘Salman’, the lead guitarist of ‘Junoon’, a Pakistani band. He takes the audience through the contradictory nature of ‘shariah-based’ law in Pakistan, especially, pertaining to music. The contradictions are not just against human nature/will as Salman wants us to believe and enduringly focuses on but more importantly, they’re against the very nature of Islam- to promote peace. Most of the opinions on music in Islam, in the film, are taken from imams who spout opinions without knowledge. Islam does not forbid music in the manner of an absolute full stop as the Imams in the documentary vehemently declare, and I found it particularly outrageous that they could state such blatant lies with utter conviction, ‘No room for music, no room for singing’.

Oh and by the way, even if the directors aren’t around to care about what I have to say, I didn’t particularly appreciate the snide way each of these clipping was followed by Qur’an recited in Qirah, it would have been much more helpful if you’d done your research with greater care. Each ill-informed mullah’s opinion should have been followed by a well-informed mullah’s- on the same topic. It is deliberate misinformation if you let the audience believe that being a ‘good’ Muslim should include keeping the women within the four walls and discouraging their ‘azadi’(freedom) as was one cheesy Mullah’s opinion and presenting these mullahs as if they’re the shining examples of  scholars in Islam is infuriating.

Arrrrgghhhhhhhhh!@!#@!#!

Stepping up and clearing the misconceptions was relatively easy but having to explain over and over again why I was covered in the Jilbab-niqab was not. People simply didn’t understand that the literate could allow themselves to be covered so, one even implied that I might be suffering from deep psychological issues-oh dear!

The poor co-ordinator had to step in then and steer the discussion to neutral grounds. Someone sauntered by and offered in a sympathetic tone, ‘you’d be shot dead in Pakistan, you know’, I was simply stunned. People considered themselves as authorities over subjects they hardly knew.

Oh and I must not forget another ‘helpful’ person’s opinion, ‘You know, Karl Marx once said that religion is the crutch of humanity’ and arched one very vocal eyebrow.

All I could come up with was, ‘What he was trying to say, really, was that Humankind is naturally weak. And nobody denies that and I assure you that I can think of far many other crutches that man prefers over religion’, at which he guffawed heartily and nodded with much glee. Although, I don’t see how it was funny. I don’t think I conveyed what I really wanted to say, Karl Marx was not as clever as he sounds.

Then we went around in circles on the same topic until it was time for the next film. I came back feeling like I could take up an alternate career as a spokesperson with great success, I didn’t know I possessed quite so much flair for saying ‘next!’ with a sweep of my hand punctuating it.

Didn’t stay back for the discussion after ‘Return to Kandahar’, had another engagement to take care of. The film was about an expat woman’s return to her homeland, Afghanistan, to look for her long-lost friend. The narrative is not contrived and has many poignant moments but sometimes I found the woman’s opinions annoying and narrow-minded, especially, since she kept talking from a frame-of-reference that had no room for understanding on certain issues when there should have been. Yes, I’m shamelessly nit-picky.

‘Venezuela Rising’ was thunderously reiterating of a resolute public opinion about itself as nationalists and as the block against presumptuous super-power-toting bullies, very specifically the USA. Little surprise.

 Remarkable was the energy of the womenfolk, tirelessly campaigning for their leader, the men watching on and contributing whole-heartedly. The flurry of campaigns was complete with generous supply of good cheer, good food and endless cups of coffee and bottles of coke- testimony to the efficacious ‘feminine’ touch- multi-tasking at its best! Therefore, it was NO to ambreeka and NO to its puppets!

Good riddance!

Yes, thank your lucky stars that I missed the second schedule.

   

                                                                                                                                

Role Reversals

 

Cultural de rigueur is sometimes so mindless that it oversteps the borders of plain hilarity to plain craziness. My friend decided to go into relapse after having sworn off all social glitterati gatherings by attending a wedding of the unknowns i.e., you only know that your parents know them of course but you were clueless until the invite showed up with an insistent ‘with family’ in bold letters and loudly insistent invitors along with it.

 

She decided to tag along with the all-game-for-it party and had very important insights about many people in general- will they ever get a life? Having had to suffer from the guilt of pigging out on the buffet of the unknowns, to make her misery greater, she had to socialize with the relatives of the unknowns. Nosey MALE relatives who asked her with abominable impudence if she was single or hooked… it’s another thing that her pointed MYOB looks slid off the wall around their heads. In addition, the fact that they are leaning so close into your face that you can count the hair in their eyebrows is not helping.

 

Getting back to what the intention of this post was, my friend notices the that bride has been on the stage smiling prettily sitting on the imitation Victorian-georgian-elizebethan- whatchamacallit contraption of a chair all alone. The traditional ghagra is draped daintily all around her and her head is covered with a veil of exaggerated workmanship. Oh! & What do you turn around to see! The bride groom has arrived amidst a jolly rallying herd of relatives, the poor guy is lead by a trustworthy friend lest he might trip and fall over his lavish 9 yards Sehra. I shall attempt to describe what a sehra looks like, it’s a head gear made up entirely of jasmine flowers and from which extend long strings of jasmine flowers and roses or any other flowers of your liking. You might add to this sweet-smelling strangeness by stringing in party glitter- ribbons. The bridegroom then proceeds to sit beside the bride. To give it to them, maybe they are saving the girl from the scare of a lifetime?

 

This is what the Muslim weddings have come to, cultural manifestations of the ridiculous. Where the woman is in greater need of covering her modesty what in the world is the man doing by covering himself from head-to-toe with strings of flowers??? He grins at people by parting the curtain of flowers that is covering his face! It’s not a surprise that my friend came back with a sober – contemplative mind, how far can one go astray from the truth? The band flown-in from another state to play at the gathering helped only in increasing the intensity of this question. May Allah (SWT) always guide us to what is right and give us the courage to step away from the norm to do what is right.

 

 

I remember the time when I’d read about one particular victim of the Godhra Carnage. It was a stricken phase drenched in the shameless vermilion of communal red. Every shopkeeper, vendor, worker was whispering grimly on the streets. Shaking their heads at the sheer callousness of the people involved. But this story ripped me open, I felt myself crumbling into hopelessness, into bitter disappointment. It featured a woman in her advanced pregnancy victim to the brutality of the sainiks. Her protruding belly had been sliced open mercilessly, as if the monstrosity of the act was not big enough, a greater monster drove them wild. They set the still screaming woman on fire along with her foetus.

I remember how I felt the ground give away, of intense rage and the helplessness battling inside me, looking for an outlet. To pour forth & to not be at the same time. I knew what it felt to be shell-shocked, resigning into numbness, feeling exhausted.  I haven’t written about it until now, and a clear head is indispensible.

 

The criminal actions of the state officials was no surprise, something blazing at the rate at which and the intensity with which it swallowed regions whole could only be state sponsored. Nobody was disillusioned about where all interests lay. The riot story has been played out in cat & mouse details in the media- the political parties and the media exchanging roles ever so often. But yes, the media, when it decides to be braver for longer periods of time, must be acknowledged and it can do only so much.

The latest expose was long due but it’s never too late for the truth to find its place. With gathering revelations, the people will perhaps open their eyes wide and do more than blink. The fallacies of judicial proceedings, the seedy nature of the trials, the law that is so easily given to manipulation has raised the debates to a feverish tempo. Will it again be for naught?

There are very many reasons why ‘justice’ is all but dead in these cases. The BJP (Bharatiya Janata Party) has chosen to define who is really ‘Bharatiya’ and who is not and therefore these oddities are open to annihilation with whatever means that be. Clearly according to them this should be decided on an absurd argument based on religious grounds. Muslims having invaded India thousands of years ago are still seen as invaders and must be driven out by school -bully tactics. Nothing deems consideration in this light, not even the millions of Muslims who have been accepted as Indians much before these tottering politicians were born. Pray what would become of India itself if its multicultural civilization was cleansed based on the ’invader’ argument- there would be no India to speak of!

Indian history (the real one, not the one concocted by BJP’s puppet-historians) goes far back to reveal how –oooh brace yourself- Sanskrit is not the language of the native Indian but is Indo-European in its origins. How there were other religions that thrived on the Indian soil much before the Vedas or the Upanisads. How every Indian of Aryan origin could very well be thrown out on this very obnoxious ‘invader’ -argument.

All references or diatribes based on countless invasions are themselves beside the point. What slaps one in the face is the reductionist insult of all time! Not seeing India as it is now! If one decides to become blind to how wonderfully interwoven the cultures in India are, snipping away at its threads in this heinous way can only amount to ruin.

 The moral and psychological implications of such a matter are immense. These self-serving political parties (BJP, VHP, RSS in particular) are creating an increasingly damaging and dangerous identity of the Indian public, insulting its intelligence. One cannot divide the people into nebulous masses driven by passionate violence to cleanse all things foreign. Thankfully the ‘India Shining’(BJP’s propaganda line during elections) chariot fell before it could roll out the driveway- a glimmer of hope perhaps of the still surviving Indian who takes pride in his/her multicultural heritage, who shall see a charade under disguise for what it really is. This Indian should invoke all his/her fellow citizens in one cleansing that should be, must be- that of its governmental bodies. Would we have our children come to an awakening that could very well show their elders as accomplices in their passivity? Having had the power but having done nothing, of having let someone else define what exactly ‘By the people, For the people and Of the people’ really means.

Can we for once get hold of ourselves and stop whining at the bureaucracy. We are it! *seismic shake* If we don’t jump in and do our bit, veering into a blighted future is inevitable.

Longblackveil shall convince you further of the grimness of our plight.

Peace in all its colors.

Celebrating the Cliche

Salma has found her Saleem!

Islamic protocol does not involve betrothals or bachelors’ parties or bridal showers as pre-wedding rituals. We just have the planetarians sighting each other (one being from Mars and the other from Venus), the relatives can be intergalactic for all we care as long as the two protagonists like each other.

Yesterday I went to attend one such sighting and oh! What fun!  Saleem turned out to be a delightful surprise having foregone all manners of gender protypical behavior, he insisted on serving everybody himself much to the amusement of the gathered elders.  Salma, being the shy person she is, withdrew into a shell of polite smiles but Saleem, being -the -person- he- is, took charge and cracked open the clam with tactful humor. Alhamdulillah, I’ve never seen my cousin happier, having heard endless litanies of no-no-no-no to any suggestion of tying the knot before this, she had not a murmur of protest left in her after Saleem’s diligence. Hats off to you Saleem bhai!

Adding to the gaiety was the ludicrous crowning of the agreement with images of ‘Saleem weds Salma’ popping in our heads. Can’t wait till the wedding ! Here’s praying for their happiness in this world and in the hereafter. Ameen.

﴿وَالَّذِينَ يَقُولُونَ رَبَّنَا هَبْ لَنَا مِنْ أَزْوَجِنَا وَذُرِّيَّـتِنَا قُرَّةَ أَعْيُنٍ﴾

“Our Lord! Bestow on us from our wives and our offspring the comfort of our eyes…”

-      The Glorious Qur’an, 25:74.

Post-Ramadan Blues

Now that Eid has come and gone, as always I’m finding it difficult to get back to the ‘rest- of- the -year’ rhythm. It’s a sad truth that it always comes to this, I should be feeling up and ready to go tackle the rest of the year with what I’ve gathered from Ramadan, but my lance always droops and the armor takes on more dents than it can handle, and by the approach of another Ramadan, I crawl into its mercy- battle weary.

*sigh

 Insha Allah we grow stronger every Ramadan and it won’t amount to such monumental disppointment with ourselves each time.

Cake Frost

After many pleas, much whining and emotional blackmail from the younger siblings, I had to give in and bake a chocolate cake for them. But I’m the eternal rebel when it comes to certain things, I don’t listen to my siblings without taking personal delight in the end results. Hence, mule headed moi must come up with a snazzy- quick- fix -all -around plan. I could douse that insatiable desire to do something ‘different’ with all things edible and this desire had reared its ugly head one too many times during the course of this month. I turned a cold shoulder of disdain to my old ‘tried and tested’ chocolate cake recipe and dived in head first to try another method. The results were a fudge, so to speak. It came out to resemble a brownie in all its heart-failing splendor. I say heart-failing for more reasons than one- Other being that it has enough butter to wipe out an entire cardiac unit and send fresh candidates for fill up. It lies on the wire-rack now abandoned by my faux health-freak siblings and partially devoured by other visiting, interested parties. So much for making an effort! Meanwhile, my siblings are back to whining- claiming that this was below the belt and petitioning for another chocolate cake from the ol’ school.

The rebel lives but with a lost voice-temporarily.

Gathering Rahmah

CIS(Centre for Islamic Studies), my previously favouritest hangouts had organized an Iftar get-together for the old and the new crowd, patrons, new muslims and interested non-muslims. It was a roar! (I reserve my opinion about it being a success or not). Subhan Allah it was wonderful seeing the good ‘ol gang, Huda – The momma bear, ‘undercover’ imp, Zehra- the 6 degrees connection to practically anyone in the world was written with her in mind, Aisha- with her unassuming, sedate presence, Sarah- the Buzz that we all need in our lives and menmeny aunties who keep wondering (loudly) when the unmarried sisters might be getting married.

But ofcourse with joyous emotions running high there must be some melodrama, horrors if we’re are ever spared! Sniffly confrontations, uncontrolled outbursts painfully punctuated the flow of the evening. I guess, it was better out in the air than a neurotic obsession about who’s thinking what. I carefully steered away from the vicinity, I wish I could say it was ‘tact’, ‘subtleties ‘ of social etiquette but can’t. It was plain and true escape. I found refuge in entertaining the many lil Abdullahs, Hamzas, Maryams, etc. With that many sisters around with equally many adorable children of closely bumping ages and yes, there being two of every name who has the time for theatrics?  The quiet prevailed with twitching, frowny lil scrunched up faces a hair breadth’s away from the close of the Imam’s talk then it was just another playground. The chairs made do as a wobbling maze and an advantage while dodging opponents with screaming delight!  

The Imam gave a talk on the dangers of sectarianism in Islam and straying away from the Qur’an and Sunnah, it put many thoughts in my head which I assure you are worth far more than measly pennies, I pray the message reached across those in need of such reminders.  Dinner followed and it was the sacrilegious-if-it-changes-menu of Biryani, Tandoori and Meetha.  I went the whole hog on the chai , I drained three cups under my niqab, muhahahaha. Huda wanted to have a ‘nouveau’ experience and therefore talked me into accompanying her to the Veg section. I warmed up to the idea when I heard they were serving dahi vadas* smack* Alright alright I know I’m painting it to be a food orgy which it was not! Between mouthfuls we also discussed about resuscitating the halaqa circle after Ramadan, Insha Allah.

The highlight of the day was standing for the Maghrib Salah en masse. It was the chance I’d been looking for all Ramadan, to pray in a gathering of the devout- it’s like the prayers’ ka-ching counter, you’ve hit Jackpot I tell you! The angels descend on such gatherings and pray alongside for the acceptance of the prayers of the gathered and Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala never fails to be Benevolent J.

I shall soon post about any upcoming activities of the sistah-hood, Insha Allah. Anybody who can make it is invited. If my guess’s good, it shall be about remaining steadfast after Ramadan, I’m looking forward to the Iman shot, long time-paltry high.

PS: CIS has been my ex-favourite only coz the sisters aren’t meeting anymore, having deluded themselves with ’marriage? children? pah! easy-breezy!’ and having hit by wailing meteorites of reality, they are now attempting to crawl out of their craters, Alhamdulillah. After which mortal struggle, it’ll top my charts again. This PS does seem endless but one must be wondering (euphesimistic skimming for wha the? why?!?, tellmetellme) about my singlehood whining about marital fetters. Well, the hood travels, meets and discusses in groups, 99.9% of which are married and the singles can only go blink-blink at glaring headlights before the truck rolls over, then you’re perpetually stuck saying, ‘yay! let’s meet up-oh!ok!really!noproblemnexttime’, ‘yay!let’s mee-ohoknoproblemnexttime’ but when we do meet up—speak up I can’t hear you!

Ta Dah! Wha? Who killed the lights!?!

Hello! I just blogleaped The ‘why’ comes with a story you don’t want to know- come to think of it , it’s not much of a story either. So ‘YAY!’ for me and the ride, dear blogistan(to borrow the favoured term), is on the house!