Monday 22nd August

Monday 22^nd August. 

Just like any other day, I woke up a little after noon. With nothing much to do, I decided to go online to check my email and Facebook. I had only signed on for a few minutes that the bell rang downstairs. I watched my sister head for the door, but Papa had already entered. I turned my attention back to the screen. That is when my sister said in a voice full of shock, ‘Dadajaan has died.’

‘What?’ I asked, not understanding what she’d just said. When she repeated it I got off the computer and just sat there in disbelief. Papa was on the stairs now. I hid my face in my hands and the tears began. My sisters followed suit. When Papa came in view we all rushed to him and stood in an embrace, crying. 

‘Abba chalay gaey,’ said my father, his voice breaking. (Abba is gone.)

More tears.

I rubbed my hands on his back trying to console him, for my heart went out to him the most. Him being the eldest son. Him having done so much the past few years to try to reduce the suffering of our ailing grandfather. What it must feel like to lose your father!

We broke away and Papa went to change. We sisters sat on his bed, still crying. This moment will be forever etched in my memory. It is only this moment which makes me most emotional about the whole incident. Nothing hurts more than watching your own parents hurt. Watching them break down when all your life they’ve been your strongest heroes.

As Papa was about to leave for Dadajaan’s house he said, ‘I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused. What to do? How to do it?’ A lump formed in my throat, seeing him so helpless.

‘Why don’t you call someone who knows how to handle the situation?’ I suggested.

‘Yes I’ve been trying to reach someone but there’s no response. I’m going back there. You all come when your mother arrives.’ He left.

We got dressed and waited for Ammi. She gave us each a hug when she arrived and the tears threatened to fall again. We walked to Dadajaan’s place together.

Reaching there, there was more hugging and crying. Cousins, aunts and uncles; everyone must’ve wept on everyone’s shoulders. Dadajaan’s body lay in the room near the entrance. I couldn’t make myself look. I couldn’t look at him without getting teary-eyed when he was alive so how would I bear the flow of tears one glimpse of his dead body would bring forth?

We headed upstairs to recite the Quran for Dadajaan and to console the others there. Papa’s siblings were silent. People around them spoke to them words of comfort in low voices.

‘What a day to pass away, it is the beginning of the last ashraa!’

‘He passed away on Youm-e-Ali.’

‘It is a blessing to pass away in Ramadan.’

‘He must be in a better place now, relieved of his worldly suffering.’

We prayed that it was as they said.

More relatives poured in with condolences as it began to rain heavily outside. There were even people whom we didn’t recognize.

After a while, there was a call that everyone come take one last look at Dadajaan before he is taken away. Downstairs, a crowd assembled outside the room where his body lay. People went in crying and came out crying.

The body was then taken away as the family members looked on with tears. Our younger cousins rushed to the upstairs windows and the terrace to follow the route the funeral was to take.

Some of the people present took the initiative to help make preparations for iftari, relieving my father and his brothers from a huge responsibility. We assisted in putting together plates and glasses. Pretty soon it was time to break our fasts and thanks to the many hands that worked together there was plenty of food for everyone. Arrangements for dinner too were taken care of by some of the outsiders. However, not many of us had an appetite.

Late at night when we got back home exhausted, we sat together in our parents’ room before going off to our own beds. Papa spoke highly of the non-family members who had helped with so much and said that one thing he’d learned today, was that in such scenarios everyone should pitch in to help the bereaved family in whatever way they can. The support is much needed. Ammi mentioned the people we didn’t recognize, telling us they were simply passersby who had come with condolences when they heard there was a death in the house. This gesture was the most touching.

I went to bed grateful for these people and their support. Truly, Allah’s mercy comes in many forms.

Contemplations on a rainy day

Taraweeh sessions are one reason I look forward to the month of Ramadan. Of course for its other benefits too, e.g. the reward for good deeds getting multiplied many times over, but mostly for the taraweeh. Getting to pray in congregation, listening to the translation of the Quran from an established speaker and learning the contexts in which the verses were revealed are the highlights of these sessions. I don’t think I can learn much if I try to read the translation on my own. Thus to make the most of it, I take notes during the sessions for future reference and also as a support to my poor memory. Perhaps I’ll put up some of the notes I’ve taken here for the benefit of those who read this blog. (For friends that ridicule me for my unused notebooks, see what good use I put them to? :D)

When it rained on the eve of Independence Day, I couldn’t help but think of the different nations about which the Quran mentions and how they were destroyed for not following the prophets sent to them. The way the storm began so suddenly with the howling winds and the heavy downpour, followed by the complete blackout (thanks again KESC!) it seemed to me as if this was a means of punishment of us. Stricken with fear, my tongue began to pray for repentance as if on its own. And it made me wonder how it is only at times like these, when fear transcends, that we think of seeking forgiveness for our sins. Death is inevitable; it may come at any time, any place, but are we prepared for what is to follow?

The five questions we all will have to answer; how was our life spent, how was our youth spent, from where did we earn, where did we spend our earnings and how much did we act upon the (religious) knowledge we acquired. Will our answers to these questions please Allah?

What is saddening that such serious thoughts only arise during the month of Ramadan, when our activities are more focused towards our religion. The rest of the year is spent in the same hoopla each preceding year is spent in. Other things settle on our minds and any intention there may have been of following the teachings of Islam takes a back seat. One can only pray that the good habits we develop in Ramadan (of praying on time, reciting the Quran regularly, exercising patience and rushing to do good), may Allah give us the strength to continue them the rest of the year around. Ameen.

Registered. Phew.

So much has happened in this month long absence. With the beginning of Ramadan my internship came to an end. This was a good thing because the circadian rhythm had automatically set itself in reverse mode, due to the taraweeh sessions which would end late into the night. I didn’t get to float any of my origami, partly because I was afraid the turtle lurking in the waters might think of it as food and choke on it and partly because on my last day there were other things on my mind (like how much I would be paid :p)

Once at home, the next few days were spent in scouring over the fall timetable that had been released, running after seniors for advice on what courses to pick and with whom, and working very very hard to set up a schedule that wouldn’t turn out to be too much of a pain for the next semester. While the planning is stressing, the end result depends on what happens on the day of the registration.

Preparations for it began a day in advance. With not-so-high hopes in our own internet connection, I went knocking at the neighbor’s door for access to their wi-fi. They easily complied and I was relieved from having to go to campus the next day. That night I slept a good, sound sleep.

At 5.30 a.m., KESC did what it’s known for.

Hoping it would be back within the routine one and a half hours, I went back to bed. At around 7a.m., my mother woke me up to tell she was leaving and that I should stay up in case things didn’t go right at home. Things didn’t go right at home? I thought drowsily. Turned out the electricity hadn’t returned. Just then I got a text message from a friend who told me she was headed for the campus. I set the alarm for 8a.m. and decided to wait another hour at home (silly me, no?).

My eyes opened to the sound of the alarm and seeing there still was no electricity, I hurriedly got up to get ready to make it to the campus on time. The registration was to begin at 9 a.m. I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it in a bus so I woke my father up to drive me there. We left home at around 8.40 a.m. I texted the friend at campus to save me a seat and at least sign in to my account to open the page through which we register. The replies from her end kept some hope alive but my heart still beat like crazy.

I jumped out of our car and ran to the computer lab. I was about five feet away from entering when I could hear cheering and shouts of joy from inside. Rushing in, I found my seat and saw an error message on the screen. The same message appeared on my friends screen next to me. Unsure of whether to hit refresh or not, I duplicated the tab to be able to hit the command again. But then my friend said, ‘Refresh kero! Refresh kero!’ (Hit refresh! Hit refresh!)

I did as she said (oh the blind trust we have in our friends!) and within a few seconds the screen indicated successful registration in all the courses I had selected.

From Facebook statuses (stati?), it was evident that most of the students in our batch had managed to get the courses they had wanted. It was relieving to see that a few friends, who had had bad experiences of this day in the prior semesters, had managed to get the courses of their choice this time. More relieving was the fact that the rest of the month would now pass in peace, without having to worry about another thing except the timely submission of the semester fee.