Day 1, June 29, 2015

Well, this is not how I expected to start this. But here we go. I have been neglecting my blog a lot these days and one of the reasons is that I am doing other things.

I needed someway to get a little bit of that writing spark back and keep in touch with my writing side. So I decided to start using this blog as my diary.

One of the most dreadful diseases you can suffer from is food poisoning. Let me explain why. First of all, it is no fun puking your guts out and than passing out on the bathroom floor. Staying on a comfy couch with a box of tissues and a TV remote is much better in comparison. I speak from 8 hours and continuing experience.

I have been subjected to a lot of criticism and judgement in the past 20 years. I do not give a crap about what people say about my skin colour or eyes. Things like these do not annoy me. Because from my perspective this is not in my hand. I was made like this. So I cannot change my eye colour or grow ten inches in three months.

But once in awhile you get to hear some really mean things that go straight to your heart. Last year, this friend of my mother in law's came to visit her. She was not in the wedding. So upon meeting me, she goes like,

"ye tu aapki bahu nahi hosakti. Wu tasweer wali tu ziada piyaari thi."

"This cannot be your daughter in law. The one in the picture was prettier."

OMG ! I was being compared to my own self. The struggle is real people. I laughed off her comment. But imagine my disbelief when she showed up this year and said,

 "Accha, tum abhi bhi wesi ki wesi hu."

"So you are still like you used to be ?"

This was said as a statement and I wanted to reply, "Nope, I have grown another limb and am a herbivore now."

Later I came to know that the lady in question runs a school as well as looks after her husband's various businesses in India. I felt so disappointed. If these are the kind of comments you are making, then what the hell are you teaching in your school ? Do you realise that you are shaping a  future generation. Imagine having such a teacher run a school. It is a disgrace. If that is the kind of thinking we possess then Allah has mercy on us and our generations.

Right now I sit on my bed, eating Bukhari Rice while Abdullah looks at me in contempt, waiting for that chicken to fall off my fork onto his precious pillows. Well, we cannot always have everything the way we want.

Adieu !

SAP

..........

I Am My Father's Daughter

If there is one thing that I have learnt in my twenty years of life, it is that life does not turn out the way you want. And you have to learn to be okay with it. Otherwise, you just stand in the middle of the road going nowhere. 

Somehow you have to find that one essential thing in your life that makes you happy. One song, one movie, one ice cream flavour, one person to talk to etc. And stick to it. 

You have to understand that things might not go your way. They might take a slightly different path to your original destination. The routes sometimes differ because even Google earth makes mistakes. And life might take you through the longer route. You just drive a little longer and get to hear the new Imagine Dragon album. 

I stood on the spotless marble floor of Hamad Hospital for 23 days, waiting and praying that Abbu is conscious once again. I stood there for 52 days in order for him to be shifted from the dreary ICU into a less dreary general room. In that time span, I could not do anything to help him except pray. My big mouth, my confidence, my pride etc, it lay on the floor being stomped over by doctors and nurses. Because there was literally nothing any of us could do. 

Even if we were doctors, we could not help the one person who means the world to us. So you see, you are forced to be okay with it. In the grand scheme of things, somehow it makes sense going through it. 

Now, I care less about the society, petty issues and daily issues. I smile and think of that helpless moment on that cold floor. I remember my head, bowed down to Allah, praying that my dad be okay. 

Nothing else matters to me. 

Nothing. 

How could it ? 

You see I am spoiled. Because he spoiled me. 

I have had a five star life. Because he made sure I got everything I wanted. 

I am my father's daughter. Only because he is my father. 

.............. 

Life Goes on

This life that we live waits for no one. It's like a train that never stops, whether you are on it or off it.

It's been 33 days since Abbu's accident and everyone seems to be living their lives. For us, everything has become a before and after of the accident. Bought Maybelline Eyeliner before the accident. Moawiz got in a huge fight after a week of the accident.

At first life just stops. You forget what time it is, let alone what day it is. You look at your phone's time to check the visiting hours of ICU. Everything else just stops mattering. It does not matter that you needed new summer clothes. Or the youngest sibling has exams.

Your existence becomes a cycle of getting updates from the doctors, than sharing all that information with the rest of the world, praying as hard as you can while you stand straight supporting everyone else. You still eat. You still sleep. You still drive a car. But now you eat Criossants without tasting it. You sleep when you cannot stay awake any longer. You drive because you need to get to the hospital.

Everything becomes a need.

If you look around, you will see that the rest is still how it was. People are still shopping in malls. They are going on vacations, celebrating birthdays, giving exams and living their lives.

How do you live yours ? Do you just wake up and go to the gym like you did for the past 3 years ? Do you still eat Pizza on Thursdays ? Does life still make sense ? Does anything matter ?

While you sit and stare out of the window, the train moves on the tracks like it always did. It stops nowhere for no one. Because that is what it does.

The weirdest part is that we are also forced to live our lives. We still make sure to check facebook, meet friends on holidays, celebrate other people's victories etc. We still buy presents and even wrap them. We make pasta and share it with the neighbours. Updating people becomes a normal routine like getting your teeth polished every six months.

In reality, nothing is the same. Abbu is always on my mind. It does not matter what I do or how I do it. Life has become this weird phenomenon where you do everything out of necessity. And people still do not leave you alone.

Make no mistake my friends, this life does not stop for the likes of you or me. So whether we like it or not, we have to live it.

Letters To The Moon

Dear Moon,

I am thankful. I am very very thankful. Gratitude is a very small word for what I am feeling right now. I am down with a really bad cold and flu, so I was banned from the hospital. I did not see Abbu today. But I knew that he was okay.

Have you ever imagined a life without your parents ? I am a typical South Asian kid who has spent half of her life living by holding her parents hand. There are dozens of times when I have had to ask their permission to go see a movie or meet a friend. I have argued over clothes and begged for more pocket money. I have made faces at the food cooked by Amma and laughed at Abbu trying to sound cool. That is pretty much my life.

Yes, I was also that kid who broke all rules and regulations in the house, who did not used to talk to her mother for days over a stupid argument. I have slammed doors and walked out on my parents. I have disagreed and disobeyed them. There have been times as a teenager, when I disliked them. I have done it all. But that is because they are my parents. They are my brick wall. The one I can always drive nails in or hammer at.

So the fact that my father is doing okay means a lot to me. It means everything to me right now. Someone said to me that after awhile, your parents house starts seeming like a stranger's. And you consider it a "Meka." That is a very typical notion. One supported by many of our women. But I disagree with this statement. I said that I don't feel like that. I was told that maybe its because I have not spent enough time in the house I live in right now. That is not the case.

People form a house. Not beds, dressers or bookshelves. For me, home has always been associated with the people living there at that time. So regardless of where I live, my parents house will always be like a home to me. It will always make me stay up all night eating ice cream and binge watching Nikita. It's that feeling where you take off your shoes and release your sucked in stomach because you are home.

Hence I am very grateful for my parents, for the fact that they are here for me. I am glad that I grew up in their household, with their values and habits. Because I do not want to loose that sense of home, that warmth of hot chocolate or freshly ground coffee.

That is all for now. I hope that we always carry that sense with us where ever life leads us.

Yours always,

S

It Becomes A Burden

It's been almost two months since I studied a thing. And now it's scaring the hell out of me. I have a bad habit of leaving everything to the last possible minute. I never seem to learn from my mistakes and study on time if not ahead of it. I should have learnt it considering I got married which basically means juggling a thousand things at one time. Unfortunately I did not.

So now I sit with laptop in my hands, staring at the date which says May 3 and I have to give exams in exactly a month. Good luck with that !

I think I have done about five chapters of one paper and nothing of the other two. I could give you a million excuses and justification for why I am not prepared at all. But here is the thing, whether your exam is tomorrow or a month later, justifications do not matter. No one remembers the tight spot you were in when you did what you had to do, except you yourself.

To be very honest, studying was just not on my mind the past month. Nothing really was. My life hung in the middle, dangling from a very thin rope in front of my eyes while I stood and stared at it. But now that Abbu is a bit better and things have calmed down, I think its time to get a grip on myself and study.

One of the biggest reason is that I have paid for it. Well, I did not. But someone did. And its not my fathers money that I can waste without a giving a second thought. Its a huge gesture that I need to fully take in consideration before I make any more mistakes.

That is one of the things about someone else paying for your fees. I do not mean to sound ungrateful but it starts feeling like a burden. I have enough on my plate already then dealing with people making remarks on this thing as well.

I have always studied because I love it. Not because I am forced to. Here is the thing, if I had ever studied by force, I would not have definitely cared more about my 12th grade marks. But I don't. Its because I love getting lost in a problem and getting frustrated at it, then feeling like I found a gold mine on getting the answer. Its a great feeling. One that endorses me to study.

I am going to do it. I am going to open those damn books and get at it. Not for anyone else but me. I need to because I have to pay everything back. Otherwise, it will become this huge stack of bricks on my head instead of just a stone. And its better to throw that stone at the first chance. Otherwise, the bricks are only going to require more hard work and tire those arms out.

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

Its What He Would Do

My father is a very religious man. The kind of man whose faith is undeniably strong. He not only tries his best to live according to the Sunnahs but makes sure that others do as well. He has traveled all over the world, dedicating his life to what is called "Tableeg" which is basically trying to become better Muslims and working hard to convey this to others as well.

I am very proud of my father for that. His eyes light up, words gain speed when he starts talking about Islam and trying to be bettet Muslims. Its his passion. Despite that he has never forced any of us to do the same. He has given us that freedom to do things because we believe in them and because its Allah's order. Not because he has forced them upon us.

His journey started in University and since that he has had a beard. Its almost white now with bits of black here and there. But its something that signifies who he is. And what he loves doing. Its not just a beard for him. Its his whole life in form of memory cards with each detail meticulously catolouged. So what do you do when you are given the task of choosing between his love and his life ? Do you choose life because that id what you want ? Or you choose love because that is what he would want ? What do you do when you are forced to take a decision as hard as bombing a nation ?

After almost three weeks in the ICU, doctors said that they need to perform Tracheostomy, a procedure to help a patient breath. Now this is done by making a opening where your neck meets your body. And a pipe is inserted there with a suppory sustem to hold all that in place. The doctors said that its standard procedure to have certain portion where you are go to operate, be sanitized. They needed to shave his beard.

Huzaifa immediately said no. Me and amma said the same. We talked about it. First of all, my father himself had strictly told us not to do anything of the sort if something happens to him. Secondly, it wasnt our place to do that. Its his beard. Something that he has kept all his life. How can we take any decision regarding his beliefs ? You see, I believe in health being above it all. Had it been anyone else, I would have cared less. But this was someone who had spent his life leaving his family to do something good. It was not just a mop of hair on his chin. It was his life's work, staring right at us.

So at first the nurses trimmed it a bit and cut some from the sides after getting our permission. But then it was noy working out. Because there was a high chance of infection where his beard touched the pipe.

We decided to ask someone more knowledgable and called my brother in Pakistan. He asked Muftis (a person who has learnt 50000 Hadees and is most knowledgeable about Islam). He said that you can shave the beard if its absolutely necessary. Even then Huzaifa relented. He kept saying no. The doctors were very cooperative and did their best to help us.

In the end, aftet a suggestion from a nurse, Huzaifa decided to trim his beard himself. He tied the longest at the chin. And then trimmed the rest.

My point is I am not that religious. Neither is Huzaifa. And it was really hard to take these decisions. It was like questioning whether to throw all my books or keep them in storage. The answer was hard and not ours to give. But under the circumstances we had to.

This was not about what we wanted to do. This was about what Abbu would want to be done in such a situation. Life has a sick sense of humour to do these kind of things. It throws oranges at you while asking you to make lemonade. What you have to do is make Orangeade.

Sometimes you do what the other person wants while putting your thoughts behind. You do it because deep down you know that you would want someone to follow your wishes if you were the one in that situation. We all have different things wr believe in. What we need to remember is what the other person believes in.

                           ...SAP.....

From A Daughter To A Father

Dear Abbu,

I am sitting in bed, blankets around me, writing this to you while you are probably sleeping in a not so similar bed, miles away in a hospital. Where should I start from ? What should I tell you first ?

Let me start from your eldest son. He has grown up. He is not that little kid anymore who used to walk in the house with a towel around his waist. (Who am I kidding, he still does.) He was the one you called at the time of your accident. He saw you while getting taken care of at the hospital. You were reciting the Kalma loudly and you waved at him. He took care of everything. He spent the night at the hospital, alone while you were in surgery. He tried telling Abdullah but it did not work out. I cannot even imagine what he went through during those hours.

Amma was the strongest of us all. You know her and her endless Wazeefas. She had full faith that you will be okay. She kept asking me, Sumaica, he is going to be okay ? Right ? And I keep saying, YES ! She has barely eaten since the day you had your accident. I keep telling her to eat something and she keeps saying that it does not matter.

Your middle son is still in Pakistan, away from all of us, studying and giving his exams. We made the decision to call him when we saw you. But than Huzaifa said it was better to not disturb him. He himself said that I would never come back if I left now. So right now, he is studying hard and praying even harder for your fast recovery. He is among the best of people, Muftis and Ulmas, who are all praying for your health. What more can we ask for ?

Your son by relation instead of blood. People address him as your son because no one can guess that he is actually the son in law. Because he has been there, day and night like you were his own father. He has been by our sides since day 1 being the best that he is.

Now let us talk about the last one. Moawiz is 8. Yet his strength is higher than all of us. He has not seen you since Day 1. Not once has he been stubborn about seeing you or made a fuss on coming to the hospital. He gave his exams like a trooper. And now he sits in the waiting room every time we visit you. He misses his Abbu Jee. Because Abbu, he sleeps with you. He fights with you. He does everything with you. Like Amma says, he is a younger Sumaica.

Abbu Jee, I am very thankful for who you are. For the religious person you have been all your life. Every time we come to the hospital, there are at least ten people outside those dreary grey doors, waiting their turn to go inside the ICU and pray for you. You are an incredible human being. I thought Amma was social. I never knew how amazing you were. People we have never met, never known about, are calling from all over the world to ask how you are. Abbu Taya even went as far as to ask a favour from someone to get somethings done.

I love you. Because you are kind, humble, fun, cool and amazing. You are an amazing artist who took pictures 20 years ago, that people take today. You are that person who gives something to every security guard, sweeper, car washer etc. You say dude to sound hip and annoy your kids. You are someone who I look up to every day of my life. You are someone who has raised me with good values and good manners. You are someone who has never forced me into anything. You make me a better person. You inspire me to be a better person. To be a better Muslim. You are my Abbu.

You are that person I want to call "Old Grandpa" when you do not admit being old. You are that person I want to enjoy endless meaningless, laughter filled chats with. I want to go out for dinners and admit that I like hanging out with my old, uncool parents.

You are love. You are that person who even strangers pray for.

I hope that you read this when you are well enough. And bask in the glory of being called all those things. I love you as much as a daughter can ever love a father.

Yours always,

SAP