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.