Petrichor.

The dewy drops and the happy wind promised a strong day. Dodging the pain in her left foot she ran anyways to her centre of comfort. Half an hour of one way weep story to The All Hearing, she trolled down the rope of mercy. Missing Tipu's place and craving the wet smell of sand, she happily revived that Sunnah way back, exposing her fingers to Allah سبحان وتعالى's Rahma.

A many prayers answered. On a single bright Thursday of November Week Two.

The teeth. The smile. The eyes.
The Noor.

The love taken for granted.

Her, her ,her,..him.

Scooping in the ten-minutes taken milk tea, I deem over the schedules of my day. In an attempt to please the Divine, she took in a many responsibilities, deliberately forcing herself to not click/type/look on things that can be under the subcategory of Fahisha. So now there is a quest, a cant-wait, and a hurriedness in fulfilling the chores; the morning duties accelerated and people kept happy so that she may go surreal in that ocean, of calmness, of happiness, of The Kalam and Khaleeelullah.

In this cute ruckus, there is a figure, unwavering in fulfilling the needs of the different characters in the movie. The chappathi-nutella rolla goes in straight in aluminium foil, whereas the puri-egg omelette in tiffin- never forgotten to wipe its surface off the excess water, lest it should wet the young bag to worry. The easy way crops that grow in the fields can be turned into a yummm-yummm-yummm, given the deadline be anything. the groceries dont go wasted, there is nothing that stays forgotten- “Whats the name of his daughter-in-law’s sister’s husband”y questions can receive the family lineage, phone number and perhaps the name of the school they attended.

You must be thinking that this is paid, that there is some material credit being expected, that they go on leave at times. Now who would do the ‘’phir se?!!!”  and “you-never-listen-to-my-advice!” and be told, “Nooo-Just-a-minute-moooooreee!”?

As I talk, there is a schedule being planned, to decide the crops on the next meal.
And I watch her, being uneasy when she sees the foot of her husband uncovered in the Land of Nod; upon “Assalamu alaikum warahmatullaah”, she gets up and put the woollen comfort on his legs slowwwwly, because she recalls(and never forgets) last time when she did it in a thud and hated being the one who made him a monster-who-woke-up-from-a-bad-dream.

Virtuous wife. Mother. Love.

Cliche.

One of those nights, starling herself from sleep, she slumbered into her black flowery slippers. ‘Hmm, sleep suits you lady’, she thought to herself and lay calm, tweaking the blanket truthful on her little sisters tiny disabled legs. Awesomeness of wisdom Yaara was, right when she was three. Currently, on a daily basis, we are getting bombed by her questions and way of answering. Allahumma barik laha!

Now I did not know why I got up early. Usually he shake me up after the Adhaan goes bang, for the past a week or so anyways. This night I saw myself jolt up, awake and smarty. Giggling myself in excitement, checking for the airplanes out of habit, I go visit myself in the washroom. Tanning day by day, are you not lady, she asked. Do I care, I riposted :D

Actually, she do. The powder and paints has to come up for the knock. For the knock from the ________ freezing out my window. Much of the nautanginess throughout the day from her dada and mama, sigh!

Okaaay! So its Thahajjud time.

Now before you think I’m gonna publicise my religiousness and level of piety, lemme remind you son, I AM a zero, the smallest one you can write. I write this for a purpose and i write this to make this a memory, so may He , the Exalted, make me better than what you think of me.

I prayed for the lady who accompanied me to Kumarakam, crossing through Chennai express, eating the best possible combo of a Subway supper. And for a many others including airplanes, marines, Splash, Pondichery, Bangalore, whoever I can remember passed thoroughly. Quite the ritual ah? The sense of selflessness at that time is ah-may-zing. I want to marry myself at times like those, tayyib!

But this particular day, some minutes before Fajr her wits told her to upload a picture with a ‘One Day, In Sha Allah’ caption. She obeyed brightly.

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

Jabba  fidgeted in her sleep. She would catch an hour, or its half and fidget again. That night wasn’t easy for her. Truth be said, there were trials upon trils raining over her head since that October. Shades of uncertainty, fears and relentless cycles of tension had been an uninvited guest to the residents of Rose Mount. Looking upon to her, being her was always my target. That search of truth, that charisma to know the realm of our Deen and implement it, her persistence and the way she carried herself in a college flooded with fitnah, is com-mend-able.

 I mean, whoa, that won her an immaculate brother of awesomeness too as a match, Barakumullaahu feekum!

But this particular night- time, she squirmed it out. With a stoke of luck, Land of Nod welcomed her to a deeeeeeeeeep delve of siesta and opened the doors of dreams for her; sadly, or rather gladly in my case, of me.

I texted her apparently, gliding in a state of euphoria probably, that things worked out with the ‘seaman’. She wondered why I mentioned the month of Shawwaal though, because I turned a fully fledged 22(today, duh!) and Shawwaal is at a year distance. 

And then she asked me a killer question.

“You know from where?”

My lousy mind had wandered off in the land of pearls in between. I mean, I did not know there would a ‘Where’ question so I had taken off from the harbour the moment she mentioned ‘SA’ with the end syllable rhyming with a fee. Wallaahi, where else, I thought. So listened on and not a second did I guess, in my wild dramatic mind, that she would answer,

“From Medinah”.

And then, I let myself in to the shock. That I prayed for her, ten hours ago this conversation and she dreamt of me, ten hours ago. And quite coincidently, she happened to Insta a Medinah picture, ten hours ago.

That day, I bumped into the clip of Mina flags. It got into my Whatsapp icon with a status suffixing gush of water emoticon, saying,

‘Cliche attacks, Cliche attacks’.

Best of Mankind.

Its been four years, three n a half approx, since she had a pen against a diary. And what made her kick off, is in itself a big coincidence

She has recently developed a habit of opening up Al Furqan Tafsir and randomly by hearting an ayah. Then she go up and down the same, checking the history and grows all awe about it. Her Uppava has once told her that if you start reading the Tafseer, you wont stop at one. Ofcourse she was supercilious and nasty minded back then. ''He found you lost, and guided you, '' Alhamdulillah.

Page opened up to Surah No 68, Al Qalam, The Pen. No not ours, but Allah's Angels'. Those which Angels' use to write our wrong deeds and right deeds. And He swt ''swore'' upon it, He Swt, SWORE upon the Pen with which Angels' are writing our records and said,

'' You, (Oh Mohammed saw), by the Grace of Allah, are not mad '' - 68:2

It plunged her. She imagined that beloved face getting upset about his own people calling him صلي الله عليه وسلم mad. Those of them who knew he wouldn't lie, who KNEW his moral fiber was in its excellency, who knew, Al Ameen, The Trustworthy, wouldn't wish anything but the world of goodness to them. Him, The Best of the Creation, was called a Madman.

*Ever got that look, when you explain why praying on time is important (omg! Five TIMES a DAY)?
*When you crib n cross about that strand of hair being seen?
*When you decide to get married rather than getting a Masters/ PhD/AndOtherWhatNots focusing on the Ajr you'd gain otherwise being a wife?
*When that flock of your lots who hahas in the canteen goes slaamaleykkum USTAAD?

Allah swt consoled خالق الخلق immediately. Next ayah, sure is an ayah to remember and reflect when your contacts tests you with Sabr.

وان لك لاجر غير ممنون.

And verily, for you will be an endless reward. (68:3)

So say WA Alaikum, smile as a part of Sunnah, and open randomly another page of Your Guidance.

Timid.

Tip toe. Tip toe. Pacifying my adrenaline I nibble down the stairs.

There is a fear mammoth waiting and I take the chance anyway. I need the drug, high time. Back in my room, serials after serials got loaded, replayed, stage show, bla bla. Was quite a drama queen wasn’t I, mirrorji? Apologies, I feel for you now. You must have wondered, asked a ‘come again’ a million times to all the dialogues I have mouthed, with its reply fancied in my flushed up mind (of course). I mean, that would have been a disaster, the drape of a saree, the SAME one, every other night, to fancy my seeing organ and teenage flutter. Years down the lane, that made me a professional in it though – Lemme explain? 

‘‘Fatty me first’’, says Pritismita. Apparently, I have to drape for three more too.

I knew the number of steps that I had to dismount. It was a habit. The serene mind after gazing to the natural roundness in the sky is alert to every sound at night. Her ears crooned for a swish of a linen, watching out for an absurdness, any pit holes that she should not fall on, en route this crazy outsprint. Reinforcing herself after every winning step, she passes by doors to her kitchen, just in case it looks abnormal. Pretension, duh! Gulping down the slush of water, the FBI ears peering and sharp, she head towards the stairs again. There is a wang in her mother’s bedroom, not yet time, she took in.

Blip. Should have plaited my hair for long. Always bad timing, she mutters.


 Climbing onto that ‘mesha’, I wait, for the little one to relax- I prayed, for the mothers to get beautiful dreams- I prayed, for everything that would win me another successful tip toe down the stairs, I prayed. There was only one tubelight lit in that two storey built, just like the night that followed it, just like the night that preceded it. One light, keeping a 'jo' awake.

To suffice the flutter of her gutter.

Thoughts.

Void is that state wherein even when you get pinched you stay calm, even when world revolves you're still immobile, even when the earth quakes you're still cutting your cake. This fast moving life bitches big time about the things which one not possess. Our greed overcasts that little smile the street girl gives you for free. It procrastinates our initiation of a helping hand. We find Lamborghini's irresistible when all one need is a four wheeler to stop you from walking miles. 
Our reason for unhappiness encompasses our living. We orbit around the phrase "Me and My Kingdom" and feature it too much these days. Blimey, at times i guess even i should be blamed. I wish this could be helped, i wish God put some extra concern in individuals as the decades ticks on. I wish covetousness never exist or extend closer to zero. I pray that i can better myself and see into the cups of needy and pour some more soup into it. 
I wish there was more mental peace in the world.

If you wish to find peace, provide peace to another

Please do not mistake me to be Miss Gandhi- I do not plan to be one. What i want is less number of fights and more chances of forgiveness. A bigger platform where you forgive and smile when folks apologize to you. When you talk one instead of two and settle quarrels. When you listen more and lend your shoulder. When you be rational towards the reason that hips you off. When you be careful with the words you articulate, formulate it in prior and wonder from their line of thoughts. When you accept your own mistakes. When you give a hand and another if in need. 

Half of the stress we take in is our own selfishness, our own reluctance to sacrifice our pride. Live it up guys! Together with someone who get the :( in your :D! Forgiving and forgetting, working towards your mental peace, because believe me, you're more happy when you have just YOU in YOU :)
Xoxo :)

Blogger in Brief.

Here is at hand the lass who loves writing. Hail me over.

Lost are the days when i used to just root myself before my black screen and type my heart out. Now to coin some words to sentences i have to strain myself and concentrate on the grammar and its styles. Words don’t come easily to my tips, there comes the needs to search them; which is yes, new to The Persistent. She used to talk hours and still have lots to talk, she used to just NOT think and still have lots to write. Writing was innate in her and she knew it, and she did it. But now, sigh, fast forward that.
What a year could do to me, I have seen. It could make me lose my mind and yet, still the same comportment could be kept. It taught me that by default, changes are constant for everyone. It made me conscious about how immaculate way any-buddy could be - very convincing and faking all the time; up and above. I have realised things that eminent philosophers teach us on changes after they have seen life - in and out. I have been taught that there are some relations worth keeping and worth relying and worth letting go. I have seen what money, beauty and legendary could do to you, seen how easily promises could be broken than kept folded, felt that laid-back nature you could put forward when fib out hard lies.

Over the years i've found out, that things and people I care and love wont stay long. So I take pictures of my favourite people wip my naked eyes, and carry them- irrespective of what they've given me- the good memories and the bad ones too. Where do you belong peeps? ;)

Don judge me for I wear, not for my complexion or for my work. Not for what people say or what you tink of me. You know Faraana? Then believe in her :-)
'm not sure about you, but if I were to project myself into some, I would have  fallen in love wip myself so easily :-P a little lame, but hey! Its true ;-)


To those who made it till the end: wakao!

As the day breaks, Mr. Sun cast its light on the creatures, and I sigh out , thanking that a day passed. I walk on, overlooking the dirt that gets stuck on my foot - never was dirty fields my case of worry. I survived among dirty minds, dirty thoughts and dirty people. Experience, people say, but I would rather tag it is my own allegiance in being myself. Back then, I used to be semi permeable to habits- be it good or bad. Now rather my wall is standing opaque. I’m rather interested in being myself than care about the dirt beneath my foot.

Hush hush, says the ocean - Coz Faraana is counting her #blessings.

World is indeed a better place if you know whom to live with :)

Pursuit of Happiness; Solace.

Walk.

With the enthusiasm of a kindergarten, i slide along the less trafficked road of the Heritage City. My legs crave for an odd kilometer walk and mind approved with signal green. I put my legs safe in my crappy shoes which welcomed me unlike the weird looks i used to get from the facades of my daily life. My mirror image made two bouncy jumps and that purple sling bag, the color of which reminds me of my grape saree, made a dash up and a dash down. Pooh! Two cords went upto my auditory organs and started the tune for Mannipaaya- Ghee! Past romance "roaming" in- ""roaming"" in :D

I double jump the steps, perhaps because of the excitement singing in my ears that none cant see(for I cover my head with my ever so common veil) or because I'm hence heading to a Just-Me-Time that frocks my jumpiness. Hallelujah! Its Fatty and herself in the pavement!

I see harried road with horns that comes after every ten, or twenty (meaning less traffic) minutes. I see men, bugged just like mine, holding phones way too closer,hush hush- private talks. I see fruit sellers- happy with the business of the day still calling out for buyers. I see children, rebounding back home from the school which stuff raw potatoes in their little heads. I see trees big enough to build two big dinner tables with seven chairs around each. I see bikes that whoosh pass gearing up to hit the button first than his acquaintance. I see  sad faces on foot- the look says that they're planning ways to put some bread on the plates of many at home. I see pavement wall- stuck with exorbitant pictures of chicks that quacks in the big screen hardly. I see a crushed bottle thrown nearby the can that says Use Me. I see dogs with their tongues out, haunting the remnants of those thattukadas which sells eggs cooked in all the degrees possible. 

And then I see a brink- and I jump.

Ink of Faith

“Faranatha! Be the Aisha r.a of this Generation!”

In the lines of Tafseer Ibn Katheer of Surah An Noor, The Light, we get introduced to this beautiful woman Aisha bint Abu Bakr, The beloved wife of the Best Man ever lived. As I read on, I imagined her- she must have been one pretty woman. No, I dont mean to comment on her peripheral powder and paint but the way she dealt with the rumours she was indicted; that’s an uff.

Abdullah ibn Ubayy, the leader of the Hypocrites, may Allah disfigure him and His curse be upon him, spread news about this Red Haired Lady and Safwan, may Allah subhanawatala preserve them both. It was a clear hearsay spread to create humiliation in the family of Muhammed. She went sick following that journey back to Medinah and was unaware of the hush hush firing in the streets of this blessed land. People were talking, like people always talk, about a woman found in solace with a Non Maharram; not a random woman, an Umm ul Mu’mineen. They were hurting her family, and his family and there was this tension, worry, house of Rasoolullah was stiff with anxiety, may Allah disfigure Abdullah ib n Ubayy!

She cried all night, all day.
"I have spent the entire night until morning unable to stop weeping and could not sleep at all. Morning found me still weeping.", were her words. 

We are talking about the third wife of the Prophet, young, yet bold; one who don't fear to shoot questions to Rasoolullah like arrows,who on the shade of her childishness stood by the shoulders of her husband and watched that sport of the Abyssinians and later remarked that she stood there not to watch, but for the warmth of his cheek against hers.
We are talking about this cheery woman about whom her servant remarked as,
"I have not seen nothing wrong with her, other than that she is a young girl and sometimes she falls asleep while she is kneading the dough and a lamb comes along and eats it!". 

We are talking about a beautiful soul from whom we got a hundred direct deep and classified ahadeeth- the explaination of which we can't find in other chains of narrations.

We are talking about the daughter of As Siddiq, who without a doubt would have nurtured his qualities of truthfulness and humbleness in this beloved lady.

We are talking about the lady whom Zainab bint Jahsha radhiallahu , who were frequently at odds with her, much for being a co-wife, commented,
"O Messenger of Allah," she said, "I will not repeat anything that I have not heard with my own ears and seen with my own eyes. By Allah, I find nothing in her but goodness."

Revelation stopped coming. The Messenger of Allah thought that Allah was displeased by this rumour, he even considered divorcing Aisha radhiallahu anha. He approached her in the house of Abu Baker radhiallahu anha, and told the lamenting woman, 

"If you are innocent, then Allah Himself will protect your honour, and if by accident there has been a lapse on your part, then seek the forgiveness of Allah and He will pardon you, for when a slave admits a fault and turns to Him in repentance, then Allah also turns and accepts that repentance."

................

Its Written.

Hey Pretty Woman!

Ten days have passed since The Month of Qur'an has started!(Dated 11,Ramadan, 1436)

So have you walked down the aisle of Dhikr and Salaat? Did you give yourself a check on the many things you want to ask from The Most High and validate yourself as to why you want them like badly? Did you tongue moisten today with His remembrance? Did you go on all-sujood imaging Him in His Excellence, descending to the closest Heaven asking, "“Who will call upon Me, that I may answer Him? Who will ask of Me, that I may give him? Who will seek My forgiveness, that I may forgive him?” 
*http://islamqa.info/en/20081*

Have you gone into the extent of forgiving everyone who could not put up a smile to you, could not reason you with wisdom, could not satisfy your needs? Did it all make you realise that none is perfect? Did you look into yourself, oh Muslimah, in this Month Of Rahma, and found out your faults, your weakness and wept into it, mending its bushes? Did you talk less and contemplate more, jogging towards the Sirat Al Mustaqeem, craving? Has the thought ever occurred to you, that you, may not be there to celebrate and receive Eidi in say, 1437 A.H? Did you know that you will be put on shame if you surpassed this month ‘without your sins’ withered off from your chest?

Hayyalal Falaah. Hayyaalal Falaah.
(Hurry to success, hurry to success)

True, all this is written; there is this HUGE master plan behind all that is happening to you. Reason for you to be less attractive must be that if given otherwise, your level of Kibr would have fantasised. Why you were born in a society where weddings were festivals may be because, there was a change required to be implemented, through you, by your consistent prayers and trials. Why you were not born with silver spoon in your mouth may be because there was a need for you to look upon Syrian Miskeen kids with sombre eyes and raise your heart to them. Why you conflict less, get along easy with others, keep a civil tongue, may be because, there were people waiting in line to learn from you, take an inspiration from you. Why you filtered your leisure pursuit, left the cycle of friends whom you thought you couldn't live without (wait a minute, xD xD xD), picked up yourself from your pits and gave a Roller Coaster ride over this embassy of life, may be because there is this superlative, astooonishing event in your life, in the offing, seeded already, waiting to be ripened so that it can rip your lungs out in surprise. Why your heart cringe seeing your Ikhwan and Akhawat in Islam and Humanity, transgress before you, listen to blasting- roaring music beside you, talk flirtatiously and famously to you, may be because YOU needed a reminder often as to where your dungeon was; that you may not look down on them except to give them a hand, except to tell them that there was a way out, except to make Dua. Why your maintain Sabr when your family tests you with perking questions, Your wits and whims were tuned to logics, in hunt mode for knowledge, unswervingly escalating towards nourishing your soul, has reason sweets!

 When will you stop considering yourself as an abbreviated piece of nothing? When will you stop considering yourself as an arm chair critic- and stop demeaning yourself as that 'best of the three' has remarked? When will you chin up and give a big cheese to your family and friends and believe that you are indeed a Happy Cheese Maker? (Oh Snap!:P) 

 So chin up buttercup! this too shall pass. 

Impervious

Its been four years, three n a half approx, since she had a pen against a diary. And what made her kick off, is in itself a big coincidence


She has recently developed a habit of opening up Al Furqan Tafsir and randomly by hearting an Ayah. Then she go up and down the same, checking the history and grows all awe about it. Her Uppava has once told her that if you start reading the Tafseer, you wont stop at one. Of course she was supercilious and nasty minded back then.
The famous Ayah, ''He found you lost, and guided you, '' , was so true for her. Alhamdulillah.

🚪Page opened up to Surah No 68, Al Qalam, The Pen.

No not ours, but Allah's Angels'. Those which Angels' use to write our wrong deeds and right deeds. And He subhaanawat'ala ''swore'' upon it, He subhaanawat'ala, SWORE upon the Pen with which Angels' are writing our records and said,

📖'' You, (Oh Mohammed saw), by the Grace of Allah, are not mad '' - 68:2

It plunged her. She imagined that beloved face getting upset about his own people calling him صلي الله عليه وسلم, a mad man. Those of them who knew he wouldn't lie, who KNEW his moral fiber was in its excellency, who knew, Al Ameen, The Trustworthy, wouldn't wish anything but the world of goodness to them. Him, The Best of the Creation, was called a Madman.


💡Ever got that look, when you explain why praying on time is important (omg! Five TIMES a DAY)?
💡When you crib n cross about that strand of hair being seen?
💡When you decide to get married rather than getting a Masters/ PhD/AndOtherWhatNots focusing on the Ajr you would gain (In Sha Allah) otherwise- being a wife?
💡When that flock of your lots who hahas in the canteen chorus slaamaleykkum USTAAD because of that AWESOMENESS under our chin?


Allah subhaanawat'ala consoled خالق الخلق immediately.

Next ayah, sure is an ayah to remember and reflect when your contacts tests you with Sabr.

وان لك لاجر غير ممنون. 
And verily, for you will be an endless reward. (68:3)❤

So I decided to respond a WA Alaikum, smile and revive a Sunnah, and open randomly another page of the Guidance, safely put up in لَوۡحٍ مَّحۡفُوۡظٍ ❤