Expedition ... Continues

On the Mountains so high... One stood so tall, She Touched the Sky, The stars began to Fall!!!

Zargrifth - The Book

Jan - 16 - 2012

Hope Prevails ...

Reaching..

... a point of agreement

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Assalamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatuhu,

I am “Wrong Decision”. My twin brother is called “Right Decision”. People are usually mistaken in identifying us, as we look so much alike. Right has been the good guy at all times, and I am cursed [It must be because of the names I think]. I was always very impressed by Right’s personality and used to tail him around. People know him; he is blessed, famous and strong, whereas I’ve been the weak one since birth.
Right is an easy going person, or should I say “Happy-go-Lucky”? He always got his way around. He was surrounded by his admirers all the time, I being one of them. What amazed me the most was that he never tried hard. People just knew where to find him and get a share of his blessings. As we grew older, things didn’t change. No they didn’t, only my admiration for him transformed into jealousy. I became aware of what I am [I was Wrong!].
Being inferior struck me hard. I had everything Right had, for God’s Sake, we’re Twins!! I was only shy. I even tried to copy him and pretended to be Right, still the people who ever got around me were the ones there by mistake! They were not supposed to be there, to be with me. The curse on me affected them too, and they had to face the worst of their lives. The instant I got to know the reality, I turned them back.
But they couldn’t see the good in it. Everyone was happy to be with Right, forgetting, if it wasn’t for me they would still be stuck with Wrong! As soon as they realized their slip, they loathed me. How ignorant of them. No one deserves such treatment. And so the world made me choose the other way. I became evil.
I took the advantage of being Right’s twin, altered myself to what was missing and what more could become of me. Never again did I turn anyone back if they came to me unknowingly. I let them suffer of their ignorance, lack of knowledge and misdoings. I learnt how to create illusions, how to make people believe me and how to mask Wrong with Right. I found my type. People continued to make “Wrong” Decisions and my life became meaningful.
You’d be wondering why after a thousand years I am telling you all this. My story isn’t interesting or something to be proud of. I’ve betrayed many, conned many. I am responsible for destroying many lives. Maybe I’d have stayed Wrong all my life [I was content], if I hadn’t met this little girl.
I saw her at the seashore, the place where I mostly find my prey. It was a fine morning. The cloudy weather and soft cool breeze changed my frame of mind and I took off from work. I stood there, watching the waves fighting their way to arrive at the shore [Huh, racing who’ll reach first], and dying as soon as they reached their destination [No one wins!].
She approached me first. She looked troubled and confused, perfect state to get misguided, but I was already not in a mood to notice. ‘I knew I’d find you here, you’re Wrong.’ said she hesitantly. I glanced at her and continued listening to the music of nature, the waves hitting the rocks. ‘I need your help!’ the determination in her voice took me out of my trance and I turned towards her. She was young and innocent. Her eyes had a gleam of achieving the unachievable.
‘How can I help you?’ I asked, indifferently. ‘I need you to support my Decision’.
Work, satisfaction, fulfillment, revenge all was present in front of me, within my reach, but there was something strange about it this time. ‘You said you know me, you must be aware of the consequences too?’ ‘What is the worse that can happen?’ she asked simply. ‘Go away girl! You don’t belong here.’ How could I tell her about the curse, regrets, losses, emptiness, wistfulness, miseries and sufferings she will find this way? I liked her and I couldn’t possibly let her risk it. Unlike others, she was aware of me if not of the outcomes.
This was the first time someone came to me knowingly; what they want and after a long time in my life, I made Decision not to manipulate someone’s vulnerability. I shooed her away and started to walk by the sea. She followed me, ‘…so she is stubborn too.’ I thought. ‘Girl, you don’t know what you’re after, Wrong Decisions lead to disasters.’ I tried to warn her. ‘I am not making Wrong Decision, I am only deciding Wrong!’ I stopped dead in my track. She smiled. ‘You know the difference, don’t you?’ I continued to stare in her determined eyes and I knew I’d have to help her.
‘Shall we walk?’ this time she started walking confidently beside me.
‘I may not know the consequences’ she was saying ‘but I know what may happen if I DON’T choose this way.’ I was lost in my thoughts. ‘…and be sure, you won’t be responsible for whatever may happen.’ A single nod of acceptance changed my life. I was more than just Wrong Decision now, someone chose me for the better. ‘You’re a nice person.’ She began her farewell. ‘May I call you “Hikmat”? See you around.’ And she left.

Wrong is still my identity, only with a difference now.
Fee Amanillah.
[...]



“Happa!!!” the , now two years old, baby bumps into her and grabs her by her legs, the far she can reach her mother. She laughs and tells her to stay away from the stove. Her hands are moving fast. Once she’s mashed the potatoes, she’s now putting cream, chicken stock and adding flavors to it, a little different this time. “Goudi!!!”, the baby demands. She pushes her away. Baby is not happy with it but busies herself in other interesting items present in the kitchen. She checks the baby from the corner of her eye, satisfied, she continues her work.
A new recipe everyday is essential in order to feed the baby. She’s tried ‘em all up till now, even the combinations and variations. Oats, Mashed Bananas, Cream and honey with bread, Cheese with Paratha, Halwa, Scrambled eggs and fries, Butter and Rice, Mango pulp with fresh cream, Mashed-every-seasons-fruits, Potatoes-this, Potatoes-that .. what not? Feeding baby is always an adventure. Once the batter is ready, she puts the food in the baby utensils and prepares herself for the baby-battle-against-food.
First step is to catch her unaware. Has the baby seen the look in her mother’s eyes, she is already running and laughing. Before she gets to her, the baby has hidden herself beneath the coffee table. She calls her name. The baby giggles. She could let go of her on such cuteness but no compromises on her diet, she reminds herself. The baby is trapped, which makes it easy for her to drag her out. Rest of the steps are enacted fast and before the baby knows she is bounded under her mother’s leg, her hands firmly held by one of her mothers.
Mixed expressions of shock and horror can be seen on the baby’s face just as she lowers the spoon full of Mashed-potatoes to baby’s mouth. First one goes easy. The baby gulps it rather difficultly after keeping it in mouth for a complete analysis. Second spoonful then Third. Fourth commences the struggle for freedom. But she manages to force it in the tiny mouth. By the fifth one, baby succeeds in freeing one of her hands, which she uses to push back her mother’s hand. Mashed-potatoes out of the spoon flies and land on the couch. But she is also a Mother, not ready to surrender. Scolding, she bounds her hands again.
Sixth, Seventh and Eighth. By now the tears are flowing from baby’s eyes. The first silent cries are now turning into small screams. The baby moves uncomfortably under her mother’s hold, still trying to free herself. The ninth one, and the baby has enough of it! Using all her energy the baby twists and slips from her mother’s embrace. Her cries are louder now and her face expressions are a proof of how much she disliked the treatment with her. She now tries every mother’s strategy at this kind of situation; love. She embraces the baby gently and calls her politely with a kiss. Slowly trying to feed the baby another serving. But kids have no second opinion. The food is rejected with the same intensity.
Few more tries, and the mother has to give up! Doubtful if she’s fed the baby enough, she leaves her with a sigh. The baby, content with her success, is now playing with her teddy and tea set. The worry-free baby knows no one can make her eat mashed-potatoes ever again. The Mother is thinking; postponing mashed-potatoes till next week she will try “Soojhi ka Halwa” next.
Ctrl+S. She saves the piece of work on her laptop and grabs the few last bites of her Mashed-Potatoes and Fried Sausages.
How often do we wish to be a child again? The worry-free and happy life, constant care, no work just games, sleeping at the wrong hours, getting up as desired and not to forget lots of chips and candies. All that one can dream of.
Her thoughts flow smoothly as she chews slowly, but miserably. She has it all again, but at a price that costs her life. She tries to grab the glass of water at her bedside but her faltering hand doesn’t allow. She does not deserve this, angry thoughts take over. Helpless in her bed, she closes her eyes and let the tears escape from the corners.
And as always, the Mother comes to the rescue. After the course of medicines, she shoves a glass full of milk in her hands. She screams and resists. Just like the baby. But mother is not going to compromise on her diet, not this time. She embraces her, kisses her forehead and sits by her side, while she falls asleep again.

Assalamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatuhu!
[...]



Assalamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullah.


Following depicts exactly how I have been feeling lately, due to the sickness.



Note: I highly respect the copyrights:
[COPYRIGHT 2008 UNIVERSAL PRESS SYNDICATE. This feature may not be reproduced or distributed electronically, in print or otherwise without the written permission of uclick and Universal Press Syndicate.] and have only used the image as a personal communication mean.
[...]


When two great minds talk... this is what happens...



Engineer M. :
how is this quote: Sooner or later you get to know how much of a “friend” your friends are!
SB:
lolz
SB:
yeah
SB:
a good one

SB:
or rather..
SB:
a true one
Engineer M. :
I SAID IT!!! =)
Engineer M. :
do you think its new?
Engineer M. :
or someone already would've said this ?
SB:
you want copy rights?
Engineer M. :
yeah !!!!
Engineer M. :
actually i wanted to know if theres ANY thing left in this world to be discovered
Engineer M. :
on which we can get the credit
SB:
oh yes
Engineer M. :
whatever we do, is already done somewhere
SB:
see
SB:
The concept of the 7 worlds is still undiscovered
SB:
no one really researched on it
Engineer M. :
:P !!
Engineer M. :
what my point was , is that
Engineer M. :
whatever we think, discover or experience in this life "PHILOSPHICALLY" .. is experienced by our elders
Engineer M. :
and all the philosophers like Khalil Jibran, Paulo Coelho, Aristotle, Confucius
Engineer M. :
they've put it in words already
Engineer M. :
there isn't anything left , something NEW that we experience
SB:
i am sure that they must have left something...
Engineer M. :
regarding FEELINGS?
SB:
but there is no way of knowing that till you read ALL of their work
Engineer M. :
i mean. the experience of this world and life?
Engineer M. :
hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
SB:
I am sure that all these great philosophers have no clue about experience of an MRI!!
SB:
How about that??
Engineer M. :
good point....... iss tarha tou experience with new technologies can make up a whole deewaan
Engineer M. :
and the next generation and then next... would know about it
SB:
yeah
Engineer M. :
they'll think its already been discovered
SB:
So you can come up with your “TECHNO PHILOSOPHY”!!!
SB:
I am sure you’ve suffered more techno disasters than us
SB:
So you can describe the sufferings and miseries in great detail
SB:
That’s what Philosophy is all about!!
Engineer M. :
GOOD
Engineer M. :
thats a great idea, I'll do that!!!!!!!!!!
SB:
Even Happiness in philosophical terms is MELODRAMATIC!
SB:
But you’ll have to change your name…
SB:
Pakeezah or Moon doesn’t ring Philosophical Bells!
Engineer M. :
how about Engineer M.
SB:
hmmm
Engineer M. :
for TECHNO PHILOSPHY, it is modern as well as suitable, everyone will believe an Engineer
SB:
MunENG
Engineer M. :
Or Engmun
Engineer M. :
sounds like Alien
SB:
yeah
SB:
thats better
SB:
Engmun Moonda !!!


Assalamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullah!!
[...]

ظلمت کدے میں میرے شبِ غم کا جوش ہے

ایک شمع ہے دلیلِ سحر ، سو خموش ہے ۔


The sudden darkness causes her knock her feet against the side drawer, “Ya Rabb!!”, she calls out politely. Except for few stars shining infront of her eyes because of the pain, it’s completely dark around. The load shedding would continue for an hour and a half, but she knows how prolonged it’d seem. She searches her way out the room in order to light a candle. UPS is long gone dead, and the Petromax lamp is so out of reach. She has already tried calling a number of people last week to repair the UPS, but no one seems to have time for the old lady.

She explores the neatly lined jars on the kitchen counter, feeling them by her hands she reaches for the last candle she’s been saving for days. The little flame gives her the dull sight of her clean kitchen. She admires her day’s work and after getting into lounge she places the candle in the middle of the old coffee table. After seating herself comfortably on the couch she becomes more aware of the solitude and silence around her. The quietness about sends frequent chills in her spine.

She is lost in thoughts. This same place could stand out coz of the cheers and laughter of the little ones if you only go back in latest past. The thorny period of shadows made so easy with little feet around, bumping into her, screaming, and their glowing faces enough to light the surroundings. The beautiful memories put a slight smile on her face. But a loud racket brings her back to life. Her heart starts to pound rapidly. The age has slowed down her responses but she is fast enough to reach the door and double check the lock.

Her ears are on alert, anticipating the slightest sound anyone can make. It is late till she realizes her hands are shivering and few drops of perspiration have appeared on her forehead. She holds the doorknob tightly but feels it slip through her hands because of the sweat. There is the noise again, this time with a shrill cry of a miserable cat. It’s only a cat. She tries to comfort herself by hugging her weak existence and convinces herself she is not afraid of it. It was long ago when the cats and their cries made her terrified, but she is old now.

While the fight continues inside her, she finds herself almost talking out aloud. Her own voice sounds like a stranger’s and when she realizes she is alone, she reaches for the receiver of the phone. She’s started dialing her son’s number on the keypad. But what is she going to tell him? Not that its completely dark, and she is alone and scared. He’ll laugh if she tells him about the noise and the cat. She wants to tell him she misses him and wants him to come back. But she doesn’t want to put pressure on him, so its not a good idea. She will talk to her grand daughter, that will make her happy. The bell is going through. “Hello..”, she quickly speaks in the receiver only to hear his son’s voice directing: “Hello, you’ve reached the Ahmed’s, please leave your message after the beep and We’ll call you back. Thank you.”.

The small dark room, lit by one candle is her only companion for now. The flame of the candle synchronizes with the surroundings and has become dead still. The petrifying silence enters her soul and the emptiness around is winning over her. She’s become a part of the darkness and can no longer feel herself. She lingers on the couch while her life is played like a movie in front of her eyes.

Her parents leaving her behind in the house since she was a child. She complaining to her mother that she is scared of cats, and her mother telling her she is old now. Her husband leaving her for long hours alone and unable to fight for life when she needs him the most. She’s been brave for most of her life, she’s brought up her children alone. She’s fought for her rights and has given her children the best. She can see them happy and content in their lives now, and the best part of her life is her grand children. She is playing with them, feeding them, bathing them, and clothing them like she’s done with her children. But this time it is more satisfactory. She can feel their tiny hands on hers and their soft kisses on her cheeks. And she sees them running. They run so fast. She tries to reach them but they’ve disappeared. She has failed to catch them. She has failed to keep them. She calls out their names but only silences answer her.

The wax is melting fast; the silent flame of the only candle is low. She is old to be left alone, she has weakened to die. The flame of the candle is struggling to keep itself alight. The tears are flowing silently. The hot melted wax has gained the mass and the flame is twirling to live to the last of the thread. She sighs. The flame gives up, spreading the darkness in an already darkened life. Silence prevails.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“You’ve one new messages”.

“Beeep.”

“ ** Silence ** ”.

Fee Amanillah


[...]

“Hasbunallahu Wa Naimal Wakeel”


Assalamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatuhu,

7:00 Am

I open my side of window and let the cool morning breeze rush inside the small area of the van. The day has started with its usual pace and I am on my way to the institute [after a wonderful Sahoor prepared by my Grandmother] where another usual day is awaiting.

Days are very specifically scheduled in the month of Ramadan and we spend it like any other day at University, only fully aware we're fasting and avoiding most of our usual behavior and actions [including studying]. Still till the end of the day we're tired like anything and expect people not to ask us to help with any extra chores.

I plan not to think about the deficiencies from my side but to concentrate on the blessings and wonders Allah has created [SUBHAN ALLAH], which are spread all around you in shape of beautiful nature so clean [which overcomes the man-made-pollution anyway], the everyday Miracle in form of little kids, worry free and happy, birds, trees, wind, vegetables and fruits on the cart for sale...

...reminds me of the Iftaar time in 10-11 hours to come and my only duty to make "fruit chaat" (mixed fruits nicely cut and toppled with sugar and black pepper), which no one has assigned me but I feel obligated to perform. I decide to make it with variations today in order to provide a feast for my lovely Grandmother at Iftaar, that is the least I can do for them.

I feel at peace after deciding a payback for the unnumbered favors by the caring, angel-like, always on her toes, never complaining or scolding, motherly, Grandmother, my Nani. Only in the time to come I’ll get to know that preparing a thousand meals, sahoor, iftaar can never compensate for the least she did for me.

I continue to observe around and waste my day in the usual manner.

6:15 pm

I quietly, hesitantly sit at the table which is already set for the Iftaar, containing two dishes [Three if you count dates, and four if you include the Drinks]. The third was supposed to be there but I overslept. I busy myself in praying, one of the reasons, so I don’t have to talk to my Granny. Just as she shoves a date in my hand, I feel compelled to explain…

“There were no fruits…” I start guiltily.
“Really? Just bought them yesterday!?”, she doesn’t have even slightest suspicion or complain. Never rely on your past knowledge! I tell myself and slips even lower on the chair so I may hide my guilt.
“Theres enough, Thanks to Allah.” She says really politely and I feel worse.
“You know, I couldn’t decide what to make for iftaar. There was no yoghurt and we’re short of flour. But has Allah not promised He’d provide us with food? And the “rizq” gets double in Ramadan, Alhumdulillah.” She continues while pouring me a glass of Rooh Afza drink. I know she understands and is trying to make me feel better, rather she has a point here.

We break our fasts as the Maghrib Adhan begins. I eat and I eat much from what I thought was little, and I am already full ALHUMDULILLAH.

It is Allah who “provides”, Allah who sprinkles “Barakah” in what you eat, drink, wear, do. Why I thought I could add some luxury in already luxurious Iftaar, or why I thought I’d provide my Granny with a feast while Allah has already taken care of it!?? Allah shows you He is the Owner, Creator, The Only One, Eternal One, Provider.. The Greatest and Most Merciful, and we’re No One, Really.

“See, it was just a matter of 5 minutes!” my Granny smiles.“We don’t even have to work so hard, or to worry what to eat, when it’ll all be gone so soon.” She leaves the table. I secretly admire her for her care and understanding and wonders how to Thank Allah for all His blessings, for giving me such a wonderful Granny, giving me time for realization and for granting me the most satisfactory and “Perfect Iftaar” in my lifetime.

I can never thank Him enough , “Innallaha Ala Kul’le Shaii’in Qadeer”.

Is Taudi U Kumullah.
[...]