Excerpts from my life, Uncategorized

Bestow

When I read today’s prompt from WordPress, the first thing that struck me is that how many times have I read this word in the Magnificent Qur’an!

The multiple times Allah has reminded us of how much He has bestowed up on us. The reminders of not hiding the bestowed like a miser and giving away to the needy generously. The promise of eternal abode in Jannah to the obedient…

Like a weak woman, I have been through moments of thanklessness too. The question “why has so and so hardship dawned on me..” has crossed my mind too. Yet, truth is merely seconds away. Despite all harms, I crib in a safe home, a kitchen stacked with food, a family who cares, source of rizq to provide for myself and a body free of diseases. That, is A LOT to be grateful for.

In my ‘keyword’ search, I found the true definition of success..

Remember the graces bestowed so that you are successful..

And I remembered the blessing of being guided into the true faith.. the blessing of receiving the message through Allah’s messenger (salallahu alayhi wasallam)

Allah says in Surah Al-A’raf 7:69:

“Do you wonder that there has come to you a Reminder (and an advice) from your Lord through a man from amongst you that he may warn you? And remember that He made you successors after the people of Nuh (Noah), and increased you amply in stature. So remember the graces (bestowed upon you) from Allah, so that you may be successful.”

Truly, its really a very huge reminder. Allah asks us whether we wonder that there has come to us a Reminder and advice from Allah, through His messenger (salallahu alayhi wasallam) ..

This statement stirred something inside me. Made me feel very sorry for my state of mind. A guilt, that how I have repeatedly failed to treat the word of Allah with the treatment it deserves. And it makes me feel worse for those who are completely devoid of it. I know how empty life feels without it. Aimless, headless and meaningless stride towards man made goals which once attained leave you with a life of no worth.

Al-A’raf 7:23

قَالَا رَبَّنَا ظَلَمْنَآ أَنفُسَنَا وَإِن لَّمْ تَغْفِرْ لَنَا وَتَرْحَمْنَا لَنَكُونَنَّ مِنَ ٱلْخٰسِرِينَ\n

They said: “Our Lord! We have wronged ourselves. If You forgive us not, and bestow not upon us Your Mercy, we shall certainly be of the losers.”

And then I read this…

Allah says in Surah Al-An’am 6:165:

And it is He Who has made you generations coming after generations, replacing each other on the earth. And He has raised you in ranks, some above others that He may try you in that which He has bestowed on you. Surely your Lord is Swift in retribution, and certainly He is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.

I knew this. I have read this before. But when I read it again, suddenly 80% of everything that my life comprises of started making sense. They all fell into place. But I know, my mind is feeble. This sense of serenity, solitude, connection, reflectiveness and all the mixed bag of good emotions within me now will last for some time. Some time until I drench into worldliness again..

And then the raw truth of how lonely my soul is. No beloved of mine can intercede for me and cover up except by Allah’s permission. Am I ready for this proximate interaction with my Master. To face Him all by myself. Am I even worthy? What a insignificant creation I am! In a world full of his marvels…I find myself smaller than a speck of dust.. May Allah protect me and you from humiliation on the Final Day

Allah says in surahAl-An’am 6:94

And truly you have come unto Us alone (without wealth, companions or anything else) as We created you the first time. You have left behind you all that which We had bestowed on you. We see not with you your intercessors whom you claimed to be partners with Allah. Now all relations between you and them have been cut off, and all that you used to claim has vanished from you.

And then, i read this. Amongst all the warnings and reminders my Lord has also told me that I can seek my own welfare..for my own good. How my tiny, feeble heart shatters to recite this.. what are we without His mercy?

Al-A’raf 7:23

قَالَا رَبَّنَا ظَلَمْنَآ أَنفُسَنَا وَإِن لَّمْ تَغْفِرْ لَنَا وَتَرْحَمْنَا لَنَكُونَنَّ مِنَ ٱلْخٰسِرِينَ

They said: “Our Lord! We have wronged ourselves. If You forgive us not, and bestow not upon us Your Mercy, we shall certainly be of the losers.”

I don’t know why, I suddenly remembered the story of the people of Kahf. How Allah’s mercy saved them from the corruption of this world and granted them the best for their Akhirah. Hope..

It’s never too late. Even if we are at the lowest low at this moment, we can still change. It is never about competing but it definitely is about improving ourselves for Allah’s sake. To tread a path, no matter how small a step it is, consistently towards Allah.

Al-Anfal 8:53

That is so because Allah will never change a grace which He has bestowed on a people until they change what is in their ownselves. And verily, Allah is All-Hearer, All-Knower.

And the promise of Allah of a good end.. that the efforts and the hardships is always worth it. So many times you will read it in the Qur’an and every time it makes you want to try just one more time hoping for the best end..

Ar-Ra’d 13:22

And those who remain patient, seeking their Lord’s Countenance, perform As-Salat (Iqamat-as-Salat), and spend out of that which We have bestowed on them, secretly and openly, and defend evil with good, for such there is a good end;

He has given us a lot. And we never had to pay a penny. There is no price ever demanded , just bounties of rewards in exchange of good deeds always promised. How hard is it to recognise His favours and be grateful? Till when will we live in denial?

An-Nahl 16:55:

So (as a result of that) they deny (with ungratefulness) that (Allah’s Favours) which We have bestowed on them! Then enjoy yourselves (your short stay), but you will come to know (with regrets).

#Daily Prompts <a href=”Bestow“>Bestow

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Excerpts from my life, Uncategorized

Partake

The entire world is aware of what is going on in India now. It’s bubbling with so many issues. Tiny sections agitated at different degrees..more so the mind of a Muslim.

As a Muslim, I live a day at a time. Symptoms I see. Of an eerie disease. These are the symptoms of an outbreak…a civil war. Getting goosebumps even as I write this.

A glimpse into history will clearly reflect the tension that prevails in any state before civil war. I could break them down to three major ones-

  • Lack of powerful Opposition
  • Religious divide and intolerance
  • Curbing freedom of speech

Sounds familiar?

Peep into the history of any civil war that has existed. Whether it was during the time of Hitler or now in Syria.

I’ve stopped reading comments on YouTube pages that speak about Islam. And I’ve stopped listening to speeches of our Legislators. An hour of watching news is enough to give me palpitations and anxiety.

Yet, human fitrah (basic Instinct) prevails. We live each day gathering our tiny world and oblivious of everything that prevails 500m beyond our range.

I saw protests and rallies. I saw candle light marches. Instagram and Twitter.. and then back to normal routine.

As a very normal Muslim, who hopes that she and her progeny manage to live through good times without having to partake in communal tensions or war.. that the dunya and akhirah both are easy for us.. what does one do? What is your role O Muslim in this to assure justice to the victims, your brothers and sisters who have been at the receiving end of this zulm and oppression. Get up for Tahajud. Pray Qunoot e Nazila after every Salah.

We believe in The God- Allah. We believe that He is The One and The Master over everything that exists.

We believe in His Qadr. That Man plans and plans but Allah is The Best Planner. That Man does things out of His Will and Allah’s Wills precedes over all.

It is a part of our Imaan (faith). The power of prayer and dua cannot be underestimated.

Going down the streets and shouting has not helped. Do the groundwork. First and foremost teach Muslims what it means to be a good Muslim. You shoulder responsibility towards the society. You cannot simply ravage around like a bull darting every person that comes on your way. You don’t have that liberty.

Speak Good or Remain silent.

Work on making your neighborhood safe. Educate the women around you. We women form the foundation of the society. Train little girls on self defence. Work on your own fitness so that you can run. Be financially independent and work on making your children (especially daughters) financially independent.

And No! It’s not just Muslims who are victims. And No! It is not just physical abuse. Imagine how much hate do normal civilians live with. Minds have been polluted to the greatest possible extent such that even an urban educated person harbs communal feelings in his heart. Are they not victims?

We are in need of groundwork at the most basic level. And that my friend, is way tougher than rallying or sharing posts over social media. That is how we can partake towards a larger change.

#DailyPrompt Partake

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Excerpts from my life, Uncategorized

Vague…

It’s the one fine day.. when sitting in nothingness <a href=”Vague“>vague memories pass by me.

I remember faces from the past, wondering what they must be doing now. Nameless faces. I try hard to recall the names but alas!

It’s amazing how distinct incidents flash back. Vivid imageries. Was it me who lived these moments?

Friends are getting married. How smoothly we have moved from one stage to another. When we were eight, twelve or fifteen little did we know we’d be so comfortable without each other.

The competing over grades, the insistence over going for a movie, how important a dinner party seemed to assert our freedom…

I remember during the standard three exams, the class monitor wrote my name on the board as I was talking. The fear that masked me! I was given the question paper an hour late. In my desperation I was asking my neighbours to show me the question paper. It was a HUGE thing. I even remember it was English Grammar.. and I remember how scared I was of my mother knowing about it that I tried penetrating the sharp HB pencil nib into my neck hoping I die.

Thank God it hurt and I stopped.

One of many times I thought in my naivety that I’ll die and teach “them” a lesson. The “them” varied from.time to time and the gravity of their deeds too

Then there was a time I had a sword fight with my arch enemy at eight with a wooden ruler (or scale, whatever you call it as).. the reason I know not. Haha. But over the next ten years we evolved as very fast friends.

And there was a friend at 7, who told me before shifting to a new city that he would bury his dolls at a particular spot so that I could collect them after he leaves. We dug a very neat hole and placed a beautiful tile over it to prepare for the event well before time. Why he didn’t give it to me just like that, I don’t know. Maybe, we just wanted more adventure of secret treasure. His family moved. New family came in. I could never gather the courage to trespass the property to dig out all of it. (Laughing out hard) ..I wonder if he ever kept them, and if he did, what must have happened to the toys.

Swimming competitions.. we had this annual swimming galas in the local social officers’ club. Free style, breast stroke, back stroke, relays, butterfly, marathon and water quiz were amongst the various rounds in which I participated. I must’ve been 8 or 9.. water quiz it was. You are required to swim across the length of the pool, a volunteer gives you a chit on the other end with a mathematical problem written on it, solve it and go back. My volunteer happened to be my dad’s friend and thus, kept prompting the answer to me. And oh my dad’s honest genes. I left without marking the answer because it was prompted. Needless to say, I lost the round.

I won my first “first” prize at 12. Drawing competition in the same Officers’ Club. And I am really bad at drawing. The subject was “Swimming Gala in the Club”. I won second position again the following year for “Mother India”. I remember both my drawings very well. Then I won my next first for elocution competition at 16. I used to stammer on stage till 14. Things changed at 15, when I was elected the school prefect and had to host many events at school on stage.

Oh my God. My mind is flooding with memories. Conversations with my parents. The lone time spent at home. Cycling to school and tuitions. Loving sports. Being the class monitor first time at 12 and carrying the legacy until 15.

We say time flies. But it really doesn’t. It’s stuffed with memories. Loads and loads of them. Moments that you’ve lived. Ones that you can relish… 🙂

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The Wedding Saga- 3

And Allah said:

وَاعْتَصِمُوا بِحَبْلِ اللَّهِ جَمِيعًا وَلَا تَفَرَّقُوا وَاذْكُرُوا نِعْمَتَ اللَّهِ عَلَيْكُمْ إِذْ كُنتُمْ أَعْدَاءً فَأَلَّفَ بَيْنَ قُلُوبِكُمْ فَأَصْبَحْتُم بِنِعْمَتِهِ إِخْوَانًا

Hold firmly to the rope of Allah all together and do not become divided. Remember the favor of Allah upon you, when you were enemies and he brought your hearts together and you became brothers by his favor.

Surat Ali Imran 3:103

The day I reached the venue, Zara was there to surprise me. Oh yes, she was not supposed to come due to ticket issues but lo! I remember the way I screamed when she opened the door. The entire building echoed with our euphony. 

It felt like home. Weddings that abide by the sunnah are so blessed Alhamdulillah. There was no chaos or confusion. Everything seemed smooth. Few people, less work to do, no caterers (just women arranging meals themselves), no headache of pleasing the Ladke wale (groom’s guests). It was the simplest wedding I had witnessed. Until I started dressing up, I didn’t feel like a bride. It just felt like a housewarming party with all friends. 

Jokes, laughter, packing, eating etc. Women were all with us irrespective of they being my family or the grooms. Everyone was equal. My sister in law (to-be) actually applied mehendi(henna) on my feet. 

There was a brief cultural function with some women singing hilarious folk songs and others clapping. Some of them denoted how bride moves to marital home, some were satires on bride and in laws relationships and others on how the groom is going to be tormented by his wife! 🙂 

End of the day my sisters and I were given a cosy room where we chit chatted and had our own private time. Something that is completely absent in weddings. Amidst the glamor, we easily forget the relationships. We prayed together, I didnt know when I’d be with all of them again. 

There was an intimate presentation they made for me. So many reminiscences of the journey we had covered together. It seemed we had come a long way but I know it has been such a short portion of the long way we are yet to cover.

The next day was my wedding day. We woke up early for fajr. Perhaps all of us felt the weight of the day. There was an eerie silence that morning. We prayed in jamaat. Following that we had a small istema. Each one narrated incidents, verses and stories of prophets & companions. Narrations that we could imbibe from. In the end our   ammijaan told us about what nikah means. Things that we think we know, but we need reminders all the time. About how I was going to complete half my deen, how it is the greatest sunnah, how my husband would be my  wali and my protector and how I would be the caretaker of his home, how men want respect and women want love… Changes that are hard to digest, but you know they are the truth and ways to seek the pleasure of our Maker. 

As the hour came closer, the realisation was sinking in. There was a stark difference in the day before and that day. Excitement started adulterating itself with nervousness. Oh that pit in the stomach. I don’t know how they arranged it all. Everything that I was to wear was spread neatly in the dressing room. Sana api was to dress me up. I took a shower and wore my wedding gown. 

People came and went as I was being prepared to be the bride. Finally I was getting the feel of the bride. That one day you’ll never forget all your life. That one day I’ll cherish forever in sha Allah. 


Words fail to express when I stared back at myself into the mirror. I wouldn’t recognise myself if I wasnt told that was me. They gasped. Just how I always dreamt to look. I now remember how most Indian brides look like painted ducks due to patchy make up. But alhamdulillah, this was perfect. I wished my groom could see me this way. 
It was time. I was asked if I accept. 

Qubool hai?


Qubool hai


I was soon showered with hugs and all of them came to me. How I wished for a moment that it could be just the 6 of us in the room, sitting and relishing the moment. I had thought I’d cry when this moment would come. But like every moment of my life where people are expected to cry, I again didn’t. 
I wanted to bury my face as each one came to hug. I wished they held on a bit longer. 

Shaikh gave a small and beautiful khutba following the nikah. The khutba was about how husband and wife are coolness to each others eyes. Two things which clinged to me were how after a stressful day, a cheerful wife is so important to a man and how the day household chores are strictly divided (that a b c d is your job and  w x y z is mine), the couple is also divided. 
The entire process was over within 30 minutes! Unbelievable 🙂 I was married.

 “And among His Signs is this, that He created for you wives from among yourselves, that you may find repose in the., and He has put between you affection and mercy.” (Surah Ar-Rum, 30:21)
It was time was rukhsati (departure). My luggage was loaded. And everyone was waiting for us in the basement. I had not clue how the entire thing was working like magic. Things were packed and loaded and I had no clue when. They were all always around me. 

And again, none of us cried. They were all standing there, taking care that I sit properly and of everything else till the last minute. I later got news from Ayesha that Afaaf cried like mad after I left. Seemed she got an madness attack or something of that sort. 😀

The next day we were back on WhatsApp. It took us a few days to get over what happened exactly. It gets smiles each time I think of it. We can’t wait for the next one to get married. This time I’ll be amongst the bridesmaids and see how this magical thing works behind the stage. ❤ 

Allah said:

وَالْمُؤْمِنُونَ وَالْمُؤْمِنَاتُ بَعْضُهُمْ أَوْلِيَاءُ بَعْضٍ ۚ يَأْمُرُونَ بِالْمَعْرُوفِ وَيَنْهَوْنَ عَنِ الْمُنكَرِ وَيُقِيمُونَ الصَّلَاةَ وَيُؤْتُونَ الزَّكَاةَ وَيُطِيعُونَ اللَّهَ وَرَسُولَهُ ۚ أُولَٰئِكَ سَيَرْحَمُهُمُ اللَّهُ ۗ إِنَّ اللَّهَ عَزِيزٌ حَكِيمٌ

The believing men and believing women are allies of one another. They enjoin what is right and forbid what is wrong and establish prayer and give charity and obey Allah and His Messenger. Allah will have mercy upon them, for Allah is Almighty and Wise.

Surat al-Tawba 9:71

The end





Photo credits- Pinterest, NatGeo.

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The Wedding Saga- Part 1

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

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Indians romance their weddings. There is everything that could make people from other parts of the world amazed. They are glamorous, festive, loud, happy, crowded and the people look dropdead gorgeous. Amidst all the cheer and merry, there is are heartbeats.

Yes… Heartbeats- of a bride lost in the crowd trying to see through her future, a mother recalling the day her baby fit into her arms just perfectly, a father failing to understand when his angel grew up and a sibling apprehensive of letting her go. They are there, yet they aren’t really there. Somewhere silently they get breathless. What next?

Yet, there was a wedding… A wedding where there was no glamour,  no pomp, no music, no crowd.. A wedding where there was no mother running around, no father taking care of the guest, no guest bossing for a drink, no sister dressing her up..

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This story is about that one wedding. The happiest wedding that could be. A wedding where there was the purest form of love- the love of sisters. Never had I thought I would be soaked in so much love. Never had I thought I could have a normal wedding. In my remotest dream, my marriage was supposed to be a simple marriage in a masjid with perhaps 5 people. Anything more than that would be a blessing. A wedding feast, a wedding gown, family, guests, gifts, merry or food- everything seemed impossible. But it happened.. It happened just as any bride’s dream. A wedding that was “just right”

If you are thinking I am an orphan.. then you need to rethink. I am blessed with two amazing souls as my parents. If you thought I am speaking of a grand wedding and another lavish affair, then let me help you revise… It was the tiniest wedding just how it should be in the sunnah.

So what made it so special? The Barakah.

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Barakah in happiness, barakah in piety, barakah in love. There was an overwhelm of emotions. The two days I will never forget. The two days my sisters came together from all over the country just to be with me. Only for me. The two days I felt love. Love for the sake of Allah subhana wa ta’ala.

Yes this wedding is about a bride and a groom who met, liked each other and married. But this one is more about sisters, who met, fell in love and got me married.

Who am I? Who are they? What’s the romance all about?…

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It Requires Less Than a Sorry

Today’s prompt is “The Humble Pie”. I have to write about an incident where I realised I was wrong and had to gulp the humble pie. I am sure when we are posed with such questions, most of us will instantly remember at least one incident that struck our conscience. For me, I had three in my mind instantly on reading the topic. But. . . they are too embarrassing for me to post here. So I sat digging my past, thinking about my humble pie days. Oh boy! it did take me a while to circle upon the one I am going to write about. Here we go.

 

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We are the sum of our experiences. The mistakes we do, the lessons we take and every time we strive for the right path- each moment frames us into what we are today. Am I serving an explanation for what I am going to tell you? Well, yes!

This incident dates back to 2002. I was 11 and in class five. My school organised an annual picnic for every class. Like any classroom, we were also divided into sub-class, species or genus. I mean, our batch of 60 was divided into smaller groups. The rule of the picnic was simple-

  1. Date was fixed
  2. We would be taken to some random location. For class five, it was usually some silly playground with a rink. The rink served more as a spot to sit and relax rather than to skate.
  3. We were to get our own games and meals. Tradionally, it was the potluck in every group. Girls decided who would get what and it was a grand affair!

 

The day did come. Needless to say, we were ecstatic. Everyone got everything as planned. Things were perfect and we could not wait. Finally our class-teacher, Sheila Ma’am (who also happened to be my mom’s friend) enters.

After the prayer session and being given the guidelines, we were soon geared to move. We stuck to our friends and started forming a queue. But, there popped an issue.

-“Amrita, who is with you?”

Silence. Suddenly the focus of the entire class shifted to that one girl sitting in the cornermost seat.

Amrita. I still do not know what was wrong with her. Perhaps she was dyslexic, spastic or something else that I don’t know. All I know is that she flunked to join us when we were in class four. I know she had flunked a year before that too. I know she was quiet, with spittle dripping from her mouth, two messy plaits and she couldn’t eat her own meal properly.

She was bigger than us, she was huge and different. I know nobody wanted to sit with her and I was one of them. In the three years that she was with us, I heard her speak only once. That is how I know how she sounded and I still remember her voice so clearly.

-“No”, she said. Her voice was heavy, a bit coarse too. Was it sad? I don’t know. I didn’t care.

-“Who is going to take Amrita with them?”, our teacher asked.

No points for guessing. Not me! Not anybody. Were we a ruthless class? Maybe.

Maybe we were too young. Maybe we were uncomfortable with her.

Nobody spoke a word. Shame.

-“if nobody volunteers, I will assign her to a group.”, she re-announced

Yes. A human had to be assigned.

Complete silence. The excitement had died. All the groups were praying hard that it isn’t us. Who wanted to take up a liability on a fun day? She had to be taken care of! Who would do that?

Just as I was praying hard, trying to look away from Sheila Ma’am, the inevitable happened. I caught her staring at me.

NO. My eyes told her. N – O.

So much for being your friend’s daughter!

Yes. Amrita was assigned to be with us. The other groups were relieved and the commotion restored. However, there was chaos in ours. We tried giving petty excuses.

-“We have exactly 22 chocolates for 22 girls ma’am. How will we give her?”

-“Share”, came the answer

I think Spriha gave up her chocolate that day. I didn’t. To make it worse, I was asked to accompany Amrita and make sure she hangs along with us. We were not allowed to leave her tagging behind.

Okay!

We finally gave up. We took her along. Reluctantly shared our food. Did not play with her. She kept sitting alone at a corner of our bedsheet and perhaps guarding our belongings. We mind our own business. I don’t remember being nice to her. Once the picnic was over, we didn’t care anymore.

Yes, it pains now to think about it. Children are harsh sometimes. At this moment, I wonder where she is. I wonder how she thinks about her childhood. We weren’t bullies, but I don’t know what we should be termed as.

Guilty? very.

Amrita made it to class six with us but not after that. She flunked again after that. I don’t know when I started thinking the other way round. I don’t know when my approach to the special ones changed.

From class six until the tenth, I was always elected the class monitor. We had four more girls in class seven who were different and had flunked to be with us- Ritu, Vanessa, Arunima and Varsha. As far as my memory goes, I loved them and they loved me. With one, I am still in touch. Other three flunked eventually and left school.

Was being kind to them a part of my role as the class head? Don’t know. I bumped into Vanessa once a few years ago and it was nothing less than warm. She remembered me and I remembered her. I look more like a girl now, she said.

I think I did change. I don’t know when. I think I am sorry but sometimes you don’t have the one around to make up. Maybe I never thought about her until today. Am I again explaining myself? Yes.

 

“Children aren’t coloring books. You don’t get to fill them with your favorite colors.” 

― Khaled Hosseini

 

Did you ever have your moment when you had to swallow the humble pie? Share with me below 🙂

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Humble Pie

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The Luckiest People

I want to start writing again. But, as my dear friend Shefs says, that writing is a habit and you have to write for at least ten minutes everyday to be in the flow. How right! It has been pretty long since I last wrote, and to merely give myself a push, I decided to take up The Daily Post‘s Daily Prompt. Today’s prompt is “The Luckiest People” and I have to write about the person I first encountered today.

If I had to talk about the word ‘encounter’ in the literal sense, it means I must write about someone I ‘met’ first today morning. Living at home means I meet my mom first everyday and then my dad. I guess writing about my mom would require more time and emotional investment, which is not now. So I would simply moderate the topic a bit, and speak about this girl with whom I first spoke to (after my mom) in the morning on WhatsApp.

Let us call her Gushra. I guess the only three people who are up at that hour of the day is Gushra, Shefs and me! So very often she is my brush buddy. She sends me creepy pics of her’s while brushing. Who does that?

So Tushra is Alhamdulillah one friend very close to my heart. This morning the star topic was her dad. He is my new hero. She told me that her dad is black belt in Karate and can kill any man in 30 seconds! Whoaaaaaaaa…. There was this one time when someone abused her grandfather before her dad. What followed was her dad went down, flung the person and knocked him down within 15 seconds. All this to a man half his age! I couldn’t stop laughing. Amazing!

No wonder his kids are so fit, including Mushra. She looks petite of only 45kgs at 5’3″ but is strong enough to floor a man down. Thats my girl.

There are few things common in all my close friends. I guess these are pretty much the criteria for me to allow anyone close to me. As follows:

  1. They have an amazing sense of humour. They witty and intelligent. It is impossible that someone reads our convos or hears us talking and she won’t laugh hard for minutes together
  2. They are sportive. Okay, no ego and no drama allowed. We never have someone crying over their sorrows and other sympathising. Perhaps they know too well that if they speak for more than 5 lines about how sad their life is, others might make her the butt of joke. Additionally, they can laugh at themselves!
  3. They are girls. I don’t know why, I have always had a thing for girls.

 

Pushra excels in these! Especially the third criteria. She does take a while to get some stuffs, because of which I call her dimwit 😛 She has the mental age of 14, but that is okay. She is getting better each day.

It is so hard to write a good paragraph about your own friend, I have a feeling of writing an essay on “My Best Friend” In kindergarten. Especially when you know Lushra will be reading it… and then my dad will be reading it. Then he is going to come and ask me who Rushra is and every detail about her. Perhaps object to being friends with her anymore.

So Zushra, be prepared. When you miss me next, open this post and cry your eyes out. I wrote about you!!

 

 

😛

 

 

PS- to all those who are worried about the man her dad knocked down, he didn’t die. He was only smashed and bled a little. Very much alive now.

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The Luckiest People

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