Spill beans

Looking beyond

2012-02-09T18:17:00.000+04:00

Above the fast-moving, busy life that we're all engrossed with here on the only home we know, is a meticulous planner crossing our t's and dotting our i's. A power that's the only reason the mess we make of our daily lives ends up okay at the end of the day. And with each passing day grows an increasing conviction in me that without a life dedicated to our Protector we are blind, lame and hopeless creatures, stumbling along life bitterly with heavy and harsh hearts, feeling our surroundings for a glint of hope in vain and blaming everything but our selves. How ironic is it when we're prepared to understand, analyze, interpret, draw conclusions on a life that we're merely looking at through a peep-hole?

The trick is to stop the little things from ever getting to us (and as Richard Carlson says- they're all little things). Maybe your car punctured at this critical moment because your Protector didn't want you to be involved in the car accident that was on your way. Maybe the take-out you ordered was wrong because your usual order would have poisoned you. Maybe your phone battery went dead just as your friend called because she was planning on sharing some destructible gossip with you. Maybe your treadmill wasn't working because it had a shortage that would've put the power out. Maybe getting a not-so-great grade on that course was preventing a future inflated ego from building up.

Always remember you're only looking through the peep-hole.
And it's a good thing for most of us that we haven't got the entire view.

My Iraq

2012-02-05T00:49:00.000+04:00

Patriotism- Such a funny feeling. I wonder where it comes from. The other day, I was updating my timeline and discovered that the makers of Facebook don't realize you could have a Hometown that you never really lived in.

The first time my eyes saw my homeland, I had already seen it. All the nostalgia that I was busy inheriting the first ten years of my life. Before I saw Iraq, I had already tried velvety buffalo cream and honey for breakfast. Then I had walked down the narrow alleyways of Baghdad and breathed in the fresh scent of orange trees towering over me. I had already picked up a fallen pomegranate, ripped its layers open and devoured the heavenly golden-red pearls inside it. I had walked to the holy Shrines, watching the shining domes looming ahead appear bigger and bigger, whispering my wishes along with everybody else. I had stopped outside on the way back home for a loaf of samoon. Then I had waited for my family members' siesta time so I could sneak into my ancestors' library- the one located in the attic, that smells of dust and hard work. I had browsed through bookshelf after bookshelf filled with yellowing pages, not resting my tired eyes until I had heard the yelled out rhymes of the vendors outside and the excited screams of all the children around them. I had climbed the stairs up to the roof after a juicy watermelon with cheese slices, where my warmed bed waited for me. I had spent the nights lulling myself to sleep by counting the brilliant star-lit sky above me.

I did all of this from across the world, in a foreign land far, far away from my real home. Memory-stealing is the only option I had. I had to experience all the not-so-good bits too as well, though. It's not like I could pick and choose what I heard. But I suspect my readers are all-too familiar with that side.

So the first time my eyes saw my homeland, I had already seen it. It was nicer this time though, through my own eyes. Iraq was under sanctions, so the new encounter didn't occur from the side-window of an aeroplane. It happened from the window of our cabin, a distant promise of land after three days of nothing but blue. Thirty six hours spent anticipating my re-union. How I missed my Iraq then- is it possible to terribly miss something you've never really seen?

When tragedy meets indifference

2012-01-26T02:35:00.001+04:00

The day the young boy put an end to his life, she was the only audience. It happened when she was busy collecting sea-shells. Not the typical romantic setting you have in mind though. Yes, it was a perfect day for a stroll on the sea-side. Friendly sun rays warmed the sea and sand, and kindly allowed a few cool breezes through. The water was that turquoise blue you only see in touristic posters. The few footprints that had disturbed the smoothness of the picture were wiped away with one gentle wave. Actually, given her reclusive inclining, it might just have been that nature, on her arrival, had tipped all the elements involved to be extra good to her that day. But she wasn't there to look at any of that. She needed sea-shells, and once she had what she needed, she'd be done and out of there.

A feeble attempt at mechanizing an un-mechanizable life. And when she saw the warning signs, the boy's dysfunctional limbs, his determined plunge, his helpless screams, nothing in the mental manual she scanned told her how to deal with this unusual interruption. So she went on collecting sea-shells, giving each one a quick examination for any faults before deciding if it's a keeper. She did this while she watched his death from the corner of her eye.

But two out-of-the-ordinary thoughts popped in her mind while she did, before she waved them away:

1. What was the last thing he told anybody, and

2. Who will be her audience?

IF (What it takes to tackle this world)

2012-01-24T20:10:00.004+04:00

by Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Ready-to-wear Hijabs

2012-01-13T16:18:00.001+04:00

I came across this invention from Lebanon-based Bokitta through a friend's tweet today, and the first thought that struck me was, 'How come this idea never crossed anyone's mind before this?' Hindsight bias in play, right?

The hijabs come in one size, don't need to be pinned, and don't need to be wrapped. All you have to do is pull those Voila scarfs over your head. (See the video!)

As much as I like the sound of that, I'm also thinking about many hijabi girls I know who like trying out different styles everyday and how all of that creativity will be thrown out of the window as they are stuck with the one style the Voila scarfs will come in. I'm also thinking about face shapes that under-scarf caps don't suit at all. And I'm imagining how difficult it would be to iron them.

I still think this is a good idea that will makes lives easier for many hijabis, especially the ones who have trouble wrapping their scarfs or are always in a hurry. The Voila scarfs cost from $18 up to $25, depending on the print. For someone who lives in the Middle East where we can get cotton scarfs of literally any colour and print for as low as 10 dirhams ($3), I think I'll pass on this one.

Or maybe wait for twenty years till their patent expires and competition gets intense...

What do you think of Voila Ready-to-wear scarfs? Will you be willing to purchase one?

Attention Dubai-ans!

2012-01-05T00:34:00.000+04:00

I woke up with a smile penciled on my face today because I knew that my three adoptees would be on their way soon. And true enough, my cell phone buzzed at the promised time. I rode the elevator downstairs to the lobby where I took my new babies in my arms, promising to be a good mother :)

What am I talking about?
I'm talking about The Book Shelter- an initiative that two twenty-something Emirati girls have started, designed to encourage the youth of the Emirates, 90% of whom are capable of reading*, to read. The Book Shelter is an orphanage for unwanted books to chill out in until an adopter comes along.

For book-worms in the Emirates such as the likes of me, this is a dream come true. Go ahead and adopt a book for free and receive it at your door-step. (You can also donate your unwanted books to be recycled to somebody else's.)

The Book Shelter's website

Image from The Book Shelter's website

*UNESCO study

What makes you believe?

2011-12-27T16:31:00.004+04:00

"God gave you your huge eyes and your little body. God gave you your heart and your mind, and He gave you your father and I. He loves you more than we can, and He's always listening to all the thoughts you have and the prayers you make and Helping you out. God is like the air- He's everywhere you go. When we're in the house or go outside in the car to your uncle's house, or even if we travel to another country, He's still going to be there. There's nowhere you'll go that God won't be there for you."

That's how God was first introduced to me by my mother, and if you come from a believing family of any religion, I'm sure you'd be able to relate to this too. It's easy to believe when you're a kid- when what our parents tell us about the magical world we're bewitched with is an unquestionable given- because who could know more than mom and dad?

But there comes a revolutionary point in time in life when you realize the shocking truth that your parents are not capable of being perfect one hundred percent of the time. That they're only human. And with that distressing realisation comes a second tiny one: that maybe- everything they taught you wasn't entirely immune from error either. What if they were making a big mistake and dragging you into it with them?

In my early teenage years, I went through a series of doubtful periods- doubting that the world really did work the way it was explained to me, doubting whether the values that were so strongly and beautifully intertwined into my character really were the ones I had to live by, and most of all, doubting whether the answers to all of these doubts really mattered in the end.

They say faith that does not doubt is a dead faith. I'm not entirely sure that's true. What I do know is that what my parents had been doing up until then was laying the foundation. It was up to me to continue with their work. I could choose to just leave it like that, a ground of bare concrete exposed to elements that will wither it away with time. Or I could choose to build upon that foundation, regularly polishing and maintaining it. Adding on to the bedrock that I was certain was not faith yet.

I knew when faith had really entered my heart. When no scientific or logical explanation for His existence, no matter how convincing, would matter anymore. Yes, it was and still is lovely to research and discover satisfying arguments and it's important to be able to logically refute counter ones. But there is no way I can stop believing in the God I have come to feel in my every movement and breath. The God that really is, no matter who says what, with me everywhere I go.

The God that our bodies have been created to naturally believe in, love and live for.

"For those with faith, no explanation is necessary. For those without, no explanation is possible. –Thomas Aquinas"

The Baby You

2011-12-21T21:27:00.004+04:00

Everyone loves hearing about what kind of a baby they were like, looking through their pictures and for the incredibly lucky ones, watching videos of their long silences, wails and goo-goo-gah-gahs recorded. My parents were not long-sighted or technologically-advanced at the time to own a video camera, and they weren't exactly what you can call the best photographers either (-_-), so I'm left to rely on the few two-decade old photos and historical accounts from the family.

My baby-hood is a passionate subject in my family. When my name and the word 'baby' appear in the same sentence, everybody rushes to inform me how much of a pain I was. Apparently, I was one of those babies that make you wish you had "tied your tubes" or didn't even have eggs to begin with. Actually, now that I think of it, maybe that's the reason there isn't much documentation of that period. You'd hardly want to take out your camera to picture a wailing baby.

I sort of feel guilty about the long, painful hours my parents spent wondering how to get me to shut up. And the long nights my mother stayed up trying to put me to sleep. Until they discovered an absurd solution that worked: spinach. All they had to do was feed me some spinach before going to bed and I'd be asleep for a good many hours. Our freezer those days was filled with container after container of spinach, waiting to serve as my hypnotizer.

When I was several months old, my mother started to work at a school very far away. The good news was that the school had a lovely nursery filled with the most cheerful babies ever and a warm nanny that loved her life and what she did. All of that changed when I arrived. My mother, teaching a class on the second floor, could hear my wails all the way from the ground-floor nursery. My cries inspired my fellow babies who joined in the choir. It was only a matter of days before the nursery closed down and the nanny ran home, probably vowing to never work with children or have any of her own ever again.

But now that I'm all grown-up and not into making the lives of everyone around me miserable, something I always wonder is what the baby me says about me. Was my baby personality my default personality that I was born with, which my environment then altered? Or is that personality still in there somewhere suppressed by social obligations? Or does all that behaviour have nothing to do with personality?

What about you? How was the baby you? And how much of the baby you is still in you?

"The time has come for you to get used to going to sleep without me"

2011-12-01T13:47:00.003+04:00

This is the true story of a little four-year-old from over a thousand years ago. Her name was Ruqqayah.

Ruqqayah was her father's most beloved daughter. He re-named her "Sukaina" (Peace) because she brought peace to his mind. She was a princess in her home.

Ruqqayah was no ordinary little girl. She was the grand-daughter of Muhammad. Her father was Hussain- the leader of the youth in paradise. If things had turned out the way they should have been, she would have lived in the glory of a nation that loved and protected her for being the little girl of their messenger.

But things didn't.
Instead, the ruthless seized leadership. They set out to attack her beloved father. She watched, from a tent in a burning desert in Karbala, as the men of her family, one by one, were killed. She felt her tongue dry and shrivel up, denied water for three days, as the outline of the Euphrates River gleamed before her. She saw what was done to her uncle, Abbas, when she complained to him of her thirst. His two hands, carrying a container of water for her, cut off and his right eye shot at with an arrow. She watched what happened when her father went out to the enemy carrying her ten-month-old brother, asking for water for him. Her baby brother returning to her mother with an arrow in his tiny heart. On the tenth of Muharram, she was there when her protector was killed. When the skies wept blood. She spent the night pleading for her father.

Then she was dragged along the scorching desert with the rest of the women and children. For sixteen days, until they arrived at the palace of the "Muslim" leader- the killer of her father. She wept, asking for her father.

She was presented with his head on a tray.

She watched as his killer played with her father's lips with a stick. "Take your cane away from those two lips. For, by God, I have seen the lips of the Apostle of God kiss those two lips countless times."*

She died hugging the head of her father, in the palace of those that ruled in the name of Islam.

*Spoken by Zaid ibn Arqam, one of Muhammad's companions

See here for the full account of The Tragedy of Karbala according to The History of al- Tabari (the most popular historical chronicle concerning Muslims and the Middle East)

Cruel Kids

2011-11-04T16:10:00.005+04:00

There I was, a ten-year-old, propped at my homework desk at home, swinging from side to side on the bright blue office chair and getting more excited by the second. Mrs Sultana had given us a photocopied rectangle of the world's continents and asked us to show her the next day where all the tropical rainforests lie. I was in that random mood where you decide to do more than expected. I looked around the bedroom for ideas and, spotting the "Stationery Box" above the wardrobe, proceeded to drag my office chair, carefully climb on it and reach for the box to start.

An hour later, I put the box up again, sat back down and leaned back to admire my work. I was satisfied. The ache in my fingers from trying hard not to leave behind any white spaces was worth it. The waters were a smooth blue, the land varying shades of green, and the tropical rainforest areas a burst of colour, with trees and birds added for good measure. A voice in my head was praising my work, and I smiled shyly as I glued the corners of the back of the map to my geography notebook.

I was so busy thinking of the beautiful piece in my bag to allow anything to get to me on the bus ride to school next morning. That's saying something: bus rides in the morning were disgusting things. The bus comes early the day you snooze the alarm too much, and late the day you happen to be the early bird. The atmosphere inside the bus is a mixture of all the possible moods of school kids woken up from dawn, ranging from anger to bitterness to weariness to indifference. Halfway through the bus-ride, the kid who ate too much egg early morning tells the bus conductor she needs to puke. If we're lucky, we get to stop at the side of the road and watch her get sick from the window. Otherwise, we are stuck with the contents of her breakfast spilled over the bus seat and the bus floor and flowing with each movement the bus takes.

That day was no exception. But my excitement kept me smiling through the vomit smell and negative auras. We were earlier than usual that day, so I reached my classroom empty but for one of my class-mates, one of the exceptionally quite and anti-social girls that I'd never actually had a conversation with. She approached me cautiously, "Did you do the geography homework?"

Just the question I wanted to hear. Yes! I beamed, plunged my arm into my book to retrieve the masterpiece I was so blatantly proud of. "Oh!" Her tiny brown eyes widened, reaching out to hold the book closer to her eyes. At that moment, a bunch of people came in, with a bunch of distractions that I can't for the life of me remember today. All I do know is that for a few minutes, my eyes were away from my book. But I went back to check if the girl had returned my book, and I saw it squeezed between all my other books. Phew.

The day dragged on endlessly until the highlight of the day finally arrived: the geography class. All the kids lined up at the teacher's table as she examined everybody's maps. I had played this out in my mind several times by now that I knew exactly what to do. I reached out for my book, opened it-

A blank page stared back at me. My heart missed a beat. I looked back at the cover page to make sure it really was the geography book I was holding. It was. I went back and felt over the blank page. It felt rough and wrinkled.

Was this really happening? How? Did I just imagine I had made such a beautiful map? Had I forgotten to stick it in the book? But I remembered doing that. And yes, had I not seen it stuck in the book that very morning? When she asked if I had- Oh God! No, that can't be.

In shock, I surveyed the queue at the teacher's table and watched her hold out her book to the teacher, with MY map. The one I spent an hour working on. I watched on as I saw the teacher hold up her map to show to the classroom. "Good Job! That's amazing", and everybody's oohs and aahs.

That day was a turning point in my life. I learned a valuable lesson. To give in to the reality that life is unfair.

Can you relate to this? Did you ever have an experience as a child that taught you how vicious life can be?

Zoos: Animal heaven or hell?

2011-10-27T00:03:00.004+04:00

“I know zoos are no longer in people's good graces. Religion faces the same problem. Certain illusions about freedom plague them both.”

In "Life of Pi", (if you don't know what I'm talking about, get off your laptops, run as fast as your legs can carry you to the closest bookstore and don't come back here until you're over with it and in love), Yann Martel produces some convincing untrodden arguments surrounding the fairness of cooping animals in zoos.

Zoos seem like a dreadful, inhumane idea of a home for animals who were originally made to live in open, wide spaces. But weren't we made for the same natural, bare earth too? We choose to be a part of a convenient modern society: where wood, stone and bricks from the outside we turn into little homes, to be filled with all the survival tools we need. The concept of the zoo is a small-scale application of modern human social structures: necessities from the wilderness favourably packed together and brought to our doorstep.

Humans and animals like consistency. Just as human beings like to accustom themselves to society and a general routine, animals prefer the regularity of life in the zoo compared to the dangerous unpredictability of the wild. Animals at the zoo like having ample food and water brought to them instead of having to go on a quest in a battlefield for their essentials. They are being cushioned from a harsh hierarchy and territory warfare. They hardly escape their homes, even when the opportunity arises.

In a way, humans that form parts of social orders are zoo-ed creatures: Protected from the wild behind strong walls. On the other side of the walls is a vast, intimidating world where humans and animals alike can do the unthinkable in their crusade against death.

How do you feel about restraining animals in zoos for their homes?

Interesting image by cartoonist Leichnam

Habitophobia: the fear of getting too used to earth

2011-10-13T16:11:00.004+04:00

I made Habitophobia up, but it must be real because that's I find myself suffering from at the moment.

Kids find everything fascinating. Notice a baby's eyes as it takes in its surroundings. Sometimes what the baby sees around is too exciting to take: it flaps its arms, makes little shrieks and looks around at everyone else to see how they're taking it. The baby's probably thinking, "I guess I'm the only one who can see all this amazing stuff." The baby stares at its own fingers in wonder. Take one stroll in a zoo and you'll notice the sheer fascination on all the kids' faces, the squeals of delight: "GORILLA, Mommy! That's a GORILLA!"

"Yes, yes, gorilla..." come back the bored adult replies.
Have you noticed how just a stroll in the park can be the funnest part of kid's life?

At what point did earth begin to bore us? When did we have enough of it? The children can't be exaggerating- we were all equally captivated when we first looked around us. The earth isn't undergoing metamorphosis as we grow older- it still harbours the same phenomenal miracles. Is seeing our beautiful, magnificent home everyday enough of an excuse to be disinterested?

Dubai roads....and what they tell us about life

2011-10-11T21:09:00.008+04:00

Seven months ago, I wrote about my long, tiring quest for the driver's license... the license that would empower me with the ability to be wherever I wanted to be...whenever I wanted to be... (if my mom was okay with it)

The moment I felt the smooth, sleek surface of the plasticized card beneath my fingers, I had to hold it up to the light, just to make sure that really was my name and face staring back at me. Once this was confirmed, I slid the card into my wallet and ticked one of the items on the virtual check-list stuck at the surface of my mind's ceiling. Little did I know....

The long quest was only the beginning. The day I got my license began a whole other quest: this time, for approval to drive alone. For a month I cowered in the driver's seat, clutching onto the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white, feeling like a baby fox who must now learn how to venture into the forest. The world before me was a totally different one than the one I was trained to live in. The Judgement sitting next to me *cough*MAMA*cough* missed nothing: no messy turns, no sudden braking or excess speeding escaped her eyes.

Then one of those days, I was declared fit. Randomly. Just like that. "You're too much of a coward- you need to build up some guts, and you can only do that when you become your own judge."

My driving instructor didn't teach me anything. My mother did. And today, while driving back home from university (a journey that lasts between an hour and two) I was thinking about life and how representative roads are of it.

Dubai drivers, as a rule, stick to the basics of driving rules: driving in the center of a lane, stopping at a red light, starting at a green one, slowing down at speed humps....it's just when it comes to the details that it gets a bit messy. Like signalling before changing a lane, giving way to others, considering how much of a pain you'd be if you're in the wrong lane during a round-about, deciding not to block the path for twenty other cars just because you forgot to take your exit....

To the drivers that get on your nerves because they're not following the rules, you could react by:
a) Deciding to teach them a lesson by not co-operating: This sounds cool but it doesn't work- the driver isn't going to repent on seeing this and realize their mistake. The driver will fight back, and you will end up angry, humiliated and having changed nothing.
b) Co-operating: This sounds like "giving in" but it isn't. It's just realizing that your life and the lives of others matter more to you than your ego and your assumed responsibility of changing the world. Actually, there is more of a possibility of teaching the wrong driver a lesson in this case. Sort of like embarrassing them into being polite.

Sometimes, the noncooperation of other drivers could distract you from the route you're planning to take. Remember that all roads lead to Rome and that there are many paths to the same destination. You won't come across any road where you won't have to deal with others like you. Some of them may be nice, some not-so-nice, but as long as you have your destination in mind, you needn't worry one bit.

The worm eye's view- Muhammad Yunus

2011-09-07T17:30:00.005+04:00

I urge you to read one of the most inspiring stories I've come across- the story of a man who decided to do something for himself about a situation he was dissatisfied with, instead of standing back and pointing fingers (which is what we all love doing). I pray that the world sees more of the likes of him: those who make use of the gifts of God.

It all started 25 years ago. I was teaching economics at a university in Bangladesh. The country was in the middle of a famine. I felt terrible. Here I was, teaching the elegant theories of economics in a classroom with all the enthusiasm of a brand new Ph.D. from the US. But I would walk out of the classroom, and see skeletons around me, people waiting to die.

I felt that whatever I had learned, whatever I had been teaching, was all make-believe stories, with no meaning for peoples' lives. So I started trying to find out how people lived in the village next door to the university campus. I wanted to find out whether there was anything I could do, as a human being to delay or stop the death, even for one single person. I abandoned the bird's eye view that lets you see everything from above, from the sky. I assumed a worm eye's view, trying to find whatever comes right in front of you- smell it, touch it, see if you can do something about it.

One particular incident took me in a new direction. I met a woman who was making bamboo stools. After a long discussion, I found out that she made only two US pennies each day. I couldn't believe anybody could work so hard and make such beautiful bamboo stools yet make such a tiny amount of profit. She explained to me that because she didn't have the money to buy the bamboo to make the stools, she had to borrow from the trader- and the trader imposed the condition that she had to sell the product to him alone, at a price that he decided.

And that explains the two pennies- she was virtually in bonded labour to this person. And how much did the bamboo cost? She said, "Oh, about twenty cents. For a very good one twenty-five cents." I thought, "People suffer for twenty cents, and there's nothing anybody can do about it?". I debated whether I should give her twenty cents, but then I came up with another idea- let me make a list of people who needed that kind of money. I took a student of mine and we went around the village for several days and came up with a list of forty-two such people. When I added up the total amount they needed, I got the biggest shock of my life. It added up to twenty-seven dollars! I felt ashamed of myself for being part of a society which could not provide even twenty seven dollars to forty-two hard-working, skilled, human beings.

To escape the shame, I took that money out of my pocket and gave it to my student. I said, "You take this money and give it to those forty two people that we met, and tell them this is a loan, but they can pay me back whenever they are able to. In the meantime, they can sell their products wherever they can get a good price."
After receiving the money, they were very excited. And seeing that excitement made me think, "What do I do now?" I thought of the bank branch which was located at the campus of the university, and I went to the manager and suggested that he lend money to the poor people that I had met in the village. He fell from the sky! He said, "You are crazy! It's impossible! How can we lend money to poor people? They are not credit worthy". I pleaded with him and said, "At least give it a try- find out, it's only a small amount of money." He said, "No. Our rules don't permit it. They cannot offer collateral, and such a tiny amount is not worth lending." He suggested that I see higher officials in the banking hierarchy in Bangladesh.

I took his advice and went to the people who matter in the banking section. Everybody told me the same thing. Finally, after several days of running around, I offered myself as a guarantor. "I'll guarantee the loan, I'll sign whatever they want me to sign, and they can give me the money, and I can give it to the people I want to."

So that was the beginning. They warned me repeatedly that the poor people who receive the money will never pay it back. I said, "I'll take a chance". And the surprising thing was, they repaid me every penny. I got very excited and came to the manager and said, "Look, they pay me back, there's no problem." But he said, "Oh no, they're just fooling you. Soon they will take more money and never pay you back." So I gave them more money, and they paid me back. I told this to him and he said, "Well, maybe you can do this in one village, but if you do it in two villages, it won't work." And I hurriedly did it in two villages- and it worked.

So it became a kind of struggle between me and the bank manager and his colleagues in the highest positions. They kept saying that a larger number, five villages probably, will show it. So I did it in five villages, and it only showed that they paid back. Still they didn't give up. "Ten villages. Fifty villages. One hundred villages." And so it became a kind of contest between them and me. I came up with results they could not deny because it was their money I was giving, but they would not accept it because they are trained to believe that poor people are not reliable. Luckily, I was not trained that way so I could believe whatever I was seeing, as it revealed itself. But the bankers' eyes- their eyes were blinded by the knowledge they had.

Finally, I had the thought, "Why am I trying to convince them?" I am totally convinced that poor people can take money and pay it back. Why don't we set up a separate bank? That excited me, and I wrote down the proposal and went to the government to get the permission to set up a bank. It took me two years to convince the government.
On October 2nd, 1983, we became a bank. A formal, independent bank. And what excitement for all of us, now that we had our own bank, and we could expand as we wish. And expand we did.

-Excerpt from Stephen Covey's interview with Muhammad Yunus

From the Holy Cube: the centre of the universe

2011-09-04T02:29:00.002+04:00

Pinch me! Is this really happening?

Nothing, absolutely nothing, that anyone said, that any picture showed me, could have prepared me for this. I'm frozen here, on the second floor of the Sacred Mosque, looking right at her. The Ka'ba that has been my direction for each prayer, every day of my life. She stares back, modestly covered in black silk, wrapping the millions of white dots circulating around her with warmth and radiance. The buzz of the millions of whispered and not-so-whispered requests fill my ears, bringing me back to earth and reminding me to take this chance, but I really don't want to think or do anything right now. Let me just stand here and stare at this phenomena forever, please. Oh why must you blink every few seconds? Don't you realize these are missed glances?

She's the oldest house alive to date. Started by the first human being, Adam, she's stood there ever since, witnessing history happening around her. This is where Ibrahim and Isma'il stood together and stood her up, brick by brick. This is where they raised their hands to the sky and prayed. The prayer that was answered then and is still being answered.

-We made the House a place of assembly for people and a place of safety; and take you the station of Abraham as a place of prayer; and We covenanted with Abraham and Isma'il, that they should sanctify My House for those who compass it round, or use it as a retreat, or bow, or prostrate themselves.
-And remember Abraham said: "My Lord, make this a City of Peace, and feed its people with fruits,-such of them as believe in God and the Last Day." He said: "Yes, and for such as reject Faith,-for a while will I grant them their pleasure, but will soon drive them to torment"
-And mention Abraham and Isma'il raised the foundations of the House: "Our Lord! Accept this service from us: For You are the All-Hearing, the All-knowing. (2:125-7)

This is where Muhammad began his quest, and this is where he ended it. And right inside this box, here is where his cousin and successor Ali was born. And here, here is where the Mahdi will arise one day, the savior of all mankind, the one who will bring peace and justice to the globe.

Pinch me again! Am I really so close to where all of this happened?

She's the center of the universe, literally and figuratively. As I stand fixed here, still awe-struck, it hits me how she hasn't been left alone for a single moment since her birth. For over a thousand years, the flow around her has been uninterrupted. She welcomes all the assorted produce of this earth: from babies to the aged, from the healthy to the handicapped, from the whitest to the darkest and from the richest to the poorest. Those not around here are still praising God in her direction, from wherever they are, five times a day. The House of God.

The Nerd -who wants to stay that way

2011-08-31T00:38:00.005+04:00

Except for the second term of sixth grade, I've always topped my class. I've never failed any test. In my high school board exams and in my A Level board exams, I got the best grades we could get. And I'm so far into two years of university and have never gotten any grade below distinction.

This makes me sound like a conceited, toffee-nosed stuck-up person, but God knows I'm not bragging. I know for a fact I'm not more intelligent that the average person. Maybe if people ask me what I've achieved in life I would repeat the above paragraph, not out of satisfaction but simply because I have nothing else to list.

There was a time when, as lame as it sounds, being a topper depressed me. I'm a very, very shy person and the last thing I wanted was to have teachers praise me and have the entire class look around at me. I hated being the teacher's pet always. I hated it when they would pick me for their "special tasks". I hated it when teachers would compare me to other students. I hated it when teachers would grab my book to show as an example to the class. I hated being the one who always did her homework, and always gave her assignments on time. I hated being the one everyone turned to when it was time to copy. And the worst thing I hated out of all of this was all the classmates who would take my phone-number and become "friends" with because I would come in handy.

I can remember at least five girls at the moment from my class-mates whose daily routine consisted of calling me- every single day of the academic year. I've spent hours of my life with the phone ear piece reddening my ear and all our school books surrounding me, repeating the answers of the next day's homework word by word, or number by number. I would hear the dreaded phone ring and look at the number on the call register, and if it was one of the familiar numbers, I would literally feel my heart sink a centimeter- at the thought that I'm going to spend the next hour giving away all my work to other girls. Some of the girls wouldn't even bother pretending to want anything else. "Hello? It's you? Done with the homework? Come on."

Funny how I wouldn't hear from any of them once the summer vacations started. Now that I think of it, I can't believe how much of a tread-on I was. I've come a long way from there. "Tell them to do their own work" my dad would scream angrily. Each time I would promise myself that would be the day, my courage would fail me and we'll be back to the same old routine. At some point, my dad started picking up the phone to tell them I was busy and they shouldn't call again. That didn't work. Not picking up at all wouldn't work either. They'd keep ringing till they had their work read out to them.

All my class-mates naturally assumed I was a topper because I spent most of my time studying. Nothing could be further from the truth. I can swear on my life that most of my classmates studied more than I did and had parents who were after their life. If you ask me why I did so well, I would say it's because my parents taught me to love learning and then left me to it. I don't remember my parents ever telling me to go study. On the day before my A-Level final examination, I told my mom I felt like going to the movies. We watched The Accidental Husband together, laughed lots, stuffed ourselves with popcorn and had an amazing day. I know someone from school whose parents moved the television into the store-room a week before her final examinations. My parents couldn't stand pampering like that.

My parents are both engineers, and my father is a PhD. So don't get me wrong, it's not that they're not educated, nor that they're not interested in my education. But my parents realized something that most parents never do: education doesn't start from a kid's first day at school. It starts from our birth day. It's not about how much you can stuff your brains with, it's about being passionate about finding out more about this world. During my childhood, the best day of the week was the day we would go the public library, pick out books to read- our own choices. When we would sit down to watch the news, my father would tell us all about the events of the twentieth century, events that happened before we were born but that somehow led to the news we were watching at the time. I remember in fifth grade history, when we were supposed to be learning about the Victorian Age and our history teacher couldn't make it more boring if she tried. My father narrated it all to me like it was one exciting fairy tale. I knew about Stalin and Hitler and Mussolini before we started on them at school. I read my textbooks like they were novels and enjoyed every bit. I was always thirsty to know more. I didn't care much about exams and how well I should prepare for them. I was just genuinely interested in most of my subjects.

Exam time meant nothing in my family. It was absolutely no excuse to use to skip my dish-washing chore, or to avoid visiting family friends. "The exams are just testing how much you already know" was what my mom always reminded me, and such a relief that was to know I wasn't under any pressure. I never really set a time aside to prepare for the exams. The preparation happened without me noticing: whenever we studied anything, I would listen carefully to make sure I've understood what happened in class, and if I didn't, I'd go home and read it up myself. I never felt like I was studying then, it was just researching to know more. I won't lie and say my grades didn't matter to me: if I felt the exam didn't go that well, I felt disappointed with myself for not having them under my control.

I know I've matured now since my school days because it no longer matters to me what people think. Peoples' perceptions about me are entirely irrelevant. I love defending interesting courses when they're accused of being a bore, and I love looking up extra material in the library, regardless of when exams are. I also know I've matured because I've learned when help is really needed, when it's hiding under an invisibility cloak, and when it's just a disguise.

Something else has change now too- I love getting high grades: no, they don't tell me I'm intelligent or great, they just re-assure me that I'm still as passionate about learning as I was when I first learned my ABCs. That the spark in me is still lit, and as long as it stays there, everything is going to be okay.

Bu Karim

2011-08-27T16:08:00.003+04:00

Has anyone on here been watching the big disappointment that's called Bu Karim?

When my random channel surfing landed me on this series the first day of Ramadan, I was impressed. I thought I had found myself something meaningful to watch, and proceeded to willingly get hooked. 26 episodes have run so far, we're nearing the end, and with each episode the events get increasingly implausible to the point that it has now become this one huge joke my family switch on to have a good laugh.

I'm trying to imagine what was going on through all these big Kuwaiti stars' minds when they were reading the script. Did Sa'ad Al Faraj really read the whole script and then nod 'yes' to it?

'Bu Karim brugbita sab3a 7areem' literally translates for 'Bu Karim has seven women in his neck' which is a figurative way of saying that he's responsible for them. Bu Karim is an age-ing father, whose wife left him for another man because she was sick of their poverty. He raised his seven girls all by himself, and now they're grown up and taking care of him. But somehow they're still poor. And somehow all the disastrous and unlucky situations that a human mind can come up with land upon them.

1. The Kuwaiti government takes care of its citizens. All Kuwaitis have a right to a home and also receive monthly payments. How did they end up homeless? Honestly, how many Kuwaitis are homeless and starving in Kuwait?
Also, when out of the seven girls, one of them is a singer, one an actress, another getting paid generously to take care of a rich family, another a chief chef, how are they still always hungry and not having enough to eat?
How did what's-her-name get so obese and how comes they always show her eating when they're always complaining that they're famished?
And most importantly, if they're so poor, why does each daughter have a sleek and shiny blackberry or iPhone? If you're going to act like you're a poor family, maybe it would help doing abit of research to find out how poor people actually live like.

2. The most number of times you can use that old cliché "audience thinking you're dead but then you rise back to life" is ONCE and that still brings your ratings down a considerable bit. Not.three.freaking.times.

3. No, we're not prepared to sit there after every tragedy and listen to each family member's eulogy, with a ten second gap between each word. It's not poetic, and it's not touching.

Ozzy's Internship

2011-08-19T21:51:00.004+04:00

I've never had any wild imagination, but I'd really like to develop my writing in all areas. I'm trying out some science fiction, and whether I continue this story or not totally depends on the feedback I get.

I have been dispatched here to earth, to the planet of the intellectuals. The task given to me, from far away back home, is to acquire the skills that have enabled the earthlings to gain such advancement. I am then required to return home and educate my fellow beings all that I have discovered here.

For the first time ever, I have let down my people. I am now consumed with uncomfortable feelings that I cannot but ascribe to my failure to perform my given task. I never expected my internship to turn out to be such….an anti-climax. For the first time again, I am unaware of what lies ahead of me, and what my next practical step should be.

As soon as my green toes touched the soil of this land, I have been in a constant state of bewilderment.

These earthlings….they baffle me…
The earthlings have circles as faces, on which two other smaller circles are constantly opening and closing. I presume this is where they see from. Underneath the two circles is a triangle that sticks out straight, with another two circles, this time hollow ones, hidden under the stuck-out triangle. I have yet to learn the purpose of this triangle. Underneath the triangle is a red piece of flesh consisting of two layers that are constantly coming together and pulling apart, causing the shape of this flesh to constantly change. When the two layers of the red flesh pull apart, sounds of varying tones, frequencies and volumes emerge from within.

Sometimes, the layers are pulled up far apart and a strange, repetitive gurgle-like sound materializes, accompanied by the layers forming a 'U' shape, the two vision circles crinkling at their corners and a general shaking of the whole body.
Other times, the layers press together, form an inverted 'U' and drops of a colour-less liquid trickle down the vision circles. When this leakage occurs, other earthlings surround the accident and proceed to wrap their arms around the bodice of the leaker, making low high-frequency noises and periodically pressing their red flesh layers across the leaker's face.

The red flesh layers on the faces of the earthlings are not only used to fix leakages and to create sounds, but I have witnessed on several occasions the layers opening wide to welcome pieces of plants or animal meat.

The earthlings seem to have arrived at a common understanding as to who walks where on the land. The land is coloured black and divided by straight, vertical white lines. In order to walk onto the black land, each earthling must enter a large, metal device that runs on wheels. There are other parts of the land with many, parallel white lines, where earthlings may walk without entering any device. How the metal devices understand where they must go and when to stop, I cannot fathom.

Around the land are scores of very, very tall blocks. Some of them earthlings enter into and use as a resting abode. To rest, they place their body in a horizontal manner on a raised surface, cover their body with a thick material and close their vision holes. Other blocks they enter into simply to look at a variety of differently coloured and cut-up material, similar to what they have covered their bodies in. The earthlings take these pieces of material in exchange for tiny, rectangular pieces of paper.

All earthlings seem to have unlimited supplies of these papers, for they always seem to be able to summon them at any time and exchange them for a variety of items. I apologize for not being more elaborate- I cannot infer the nature of most of these items.

I do not like it here. All these earthlings seem to have an un-spoken understanding of all the transactions and behaviours that have perplexed me. I will return back home and never come out here again, because I do not belong here.

"Why isn't God preventing evil?"

2011-08-15T01:18:00.006+04:00

"Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?"

The Epicurean Paradox might seem like one of those clever riddles that will stop you in your tracks, make you pause and get all introspective, but it really isn't. I still think it's a good spiritual exercise to occasionally sharpen your saw by playing the role of the doubter though. There's no better way to strengthen your faith than questioning what you're told is the unquestionable, searching for the answers and finally, that peaceful feeling where you are one with your belief, knowing full well that what you believe in is where you arrived at with your own mind and heart.

So today I attempt to tackle this from how I understand it:
Before we humans jumped into the picture, it was perfect. Picture Perfect. An Almighty God, and angels, animals, nature..all willingly worshiping and praising Him. There was just the one peaceful system that God willed, and everything was in order. Anyone looking at the universe then would smile and say nothing's missing.

But God is Creative, and Just, and Wise, and if there was anything Higher and More Perfect that could be, He would let it be. And there was. You see: all the elements in that perfect picture didn't have a choice- they had to be good and peaceful and loving. The superior element that was missing was us: creatures with the freedom of choice. That's what sets us aside from the rest of the world.

By creating us, God may have been risking the smoothness of all that existed, (probably the reason why the Qur'an tell us the angels voiced their concerns when they were told we were arriving), but He was also unlocking the greatest potential ever. Because by choosing to do good, rather than doing good because it's the only choice, they could reach levels higher than any angel. Simply arming humans with freedom of choice made them that special. God gives us way more credit for using our minds to choose good over evil, instead of being compelled to do good. The greatness that humans could come up by being given a choice to do good is so large and powerful, that God judges it's worth all the trouble of giving up a world defined by 'goodness'. That's how much faith He has in us.

By expecting God to prevent evil, we're asking Him to take away from us our essence: the freedom to choose. If God prevented evil, He would be unfair because He would be taking away from us what distinguishes humanity. All the evil that happens in the world is a result of choice- our lives are a product of choice. True, there are victims of other peoples' wrong choices, but that's why God has a system of justice in place and accountability, and no good choice goes unrewarded.

Going back to the paradox, God doesn't Will good- He Wills freedom of choice, and that just illustrates and emphasizes the importance of the freedom in decision-making, in that the AlMighty Himself Wills it upon this universe. However, besides God's Will is God's Wish. God's Wish is for humanity to make the best of the gifts we've been given and use them for good. (Another conclusion you can come up with here is that no matter WHAT a person does, they are never going against God's Will, because they are exercising their right to choice. They may choose to go against His Wish, but that still is in line with His Will)

So Epicurus was wrong in concluding that if God is able to stop evil but does not, then he is evil-willing. That's like a professor who teaches all the material, prepares a reasonable exam, but still decides to whisper the correct answers to students during their exam. (In want of a better analogy. I know this one is weak because the student may not know what the answer should be, but there is no human heart that cannot make out right from wrong- another law of nature Willed upon us). I'd be offended if I as a student am not given my simple right to think for myself during the exam and trusted to come up with my own answer. I'd also be offended if God gives me a brain that processes information and is able to distinguish good from evil, but then He doesn't let me use this brain to do evil if I want to.

Imagine God did decide to take back our gift of freedom of choice and prevented all the evil in the world. Evil wouldn't exist, but then you wouldn't be able to call what exists as 'good' but simply 'existence'. Good would have no meaning then and no weight or measure, and when I mean good it includes powerful things that can shake the world, like love. Logically speaking, if no evil existed, good would be nothing, and so would everything that is part of good. I don't want to live in a world where I have no freedom of choice and where I see good in the world but just perceive it all as what exists, no thanks!

We all want everyone to not be ruled by misunderstanding, and so does God, but He cannot Will it (i.e. cause it to happen) because that would make creating us and this world pointless. A world like the one we dream of is beautiful because it is a world in which we, with our own choice, would make that way. If that same world happened because God willed it upon it to be that way, it wouldn't be beautiful anymore. It would be like the women in the movie 'The Stepford Wives'.

Good and Evil may be relative, but only to a small extent. Generally, humans know when they're doing lovely and when they're messing up. They know that they're collectively responsible for the ugliness that's been created of the beautiful world gifted to us. Yet we have the nerve to shift the responsibility away from us, and towards God. How about we open our eyes and see the gifts we've been given, the ones that could do wonders, and use them for a change?

From Medina: the city of peace..

2011-08-10T15:17:00.005+04:00

As I walk along the cool marble floor, hardly believing where I was, I tell myself off for having been so worried. Worried that I wouldn't be moved at all, and worried that it would be because my sins were standing in the way of experiencing anything spiritual. How could I? Had I forgotten that this was the city of Muhammad? He who welcomed everybody with open arms… who shed tears for his enemies…who cherished the whole of humanity. He who was famous for a wide smile and a big heart.

This must be how heaven feels like. The feeling that all the worries and problems I've ever had in my life were NOTHING. Life has never been this clear and simple: how could I have not seen this so vividly before?

The air is different here: they may say it's over 40 degrees, but I don't feel it. There is a cool breeze that's defying their readings…the breeze enters through my clothes and through me, and leaves me feeling clean and peaceful.

I could stand here and watch this scene for eternity, never getting enough of it.
The green dome and the white minarets. The ones I must have seen a million times before in pictures and television. Except it's the first time now, because it's real and tangible, right here before me.

The millions of people buzzing around this sacred place. Some of them are engrossed in prayer, standing humbly and closing their eyes in concentration. Some are just sitting on the ground and staring, hypnotized. Others are lying down. There are kids racing each other in bicycles…there are women discussing plans for the day….and men discussing business. There are men in uniform gladly sweeping the place, smiling like they're proud of being trusted with this job. Life is just as it is on the outside of this whole other world, except for one difference: everybody here is at peace. The people from every race and colour: somehow…they blend in. The different languages and the variety of things people around here are choosing to do seems so right. Nothing stands out here…everything fits in the picture. There is no hesitation here, no ill feelings, no judging looks or glares. All of us have been welcomed by our Beloved into his peaceful, peaceful city.

The Spacetoon Generation

2011-08-06T17:06:00.006+04:00

I remember that day in third grade, when I was still trying to adapt to everything concerning living in the Middle East.

Sitting next to Maryam, my new Emarati best friend (who I have lost touch with and would really love to talk to again! Maryoom, if there's a one in a million chance you're reading this and happen to remember this conversation, let me know!). I don't recall what work we'd been given to do, except that I was really engrossed in what I was doing, and was getting slightly distracted with Maryam's soft singing next to me. I put my pen down in annoyance, and stopped to hear what it was she saying:

Ta5ayyal anal kawn
La 6a3ma lahu aw lawn
Aw annal televizyown
Min ghayri spacetoooon

(Imagine that this planet....had no taste or colour....Imagine television....without Spacetoon)

Not recognizing what she was singing doubled my annoyance, and I picked up my pen to resume my work, as Maryam continued singing, waiting for my curiosity to get the better of me.

She stopped singing suddenly and turned her head sharply towards me: "You know it?"
"Tut" was all that could escape my lips, my pride injured at having to give in.
She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "It's going to be the best kids' channel ever. They're testing it now on Bahrain TV, but soon, it'll be a channel on its own, and I'm going to be the first one to watch it".

Well, you know how there's that age where life is a competition.
I continued my work the rest of the class, appearing to be not interested in what Maryam had to say, but inside I was super super excited. 'I'm going to be the first to watch the best channel ever too!'

That's where it started..
There's a whole generation of Arab kids that Spacetoon helped raise. We loved it. We loved the different planets you could travel to- each with a separate genre of cartoons. We loved all the Arabic-dubbed anime. We loved the feature songs to every cartoon, memorized all the lyrics. We loved the in-between play and learn sessions. We loved the little messages it sent across: the little jiggle about Palestine and freedom, the pop-up fact boxes about each arab country.

Spacetoon was probably one of the most useful projects the Arabs have come up with in a long time...

I miss Spacetoon and the big chunk of my childhood I spent under its spell.

Were you part of The Spacetoon Generation? Share your memories, I'd love to hear from you. What was your favourite kawkab and which cartoons did you watch? What would you have done to improve it? Do you think Spacetoon played a role in strengthening your Arabic language, and in instilling a sense of arab unity in you?

A shout out to my followers :)

2011-08-02T16:56:00.009+04:00

I started blogging in 2009 because it was something I wanted to try out for myself. When I began, for some reason, I expected to have a multitude of views and comments the second I typed out my first post. I admit feeling disappointed. (I even remember google-ing tips on how to get your blog to be popular!)

After a few days, when I realized I was not going to become the next Julie Powell, I pulled myself together, wiped the dust off me and started over with new goals in mind. This time, I was going to blog because I had something to say, not because I was looking for attention. I decided to humbly put in my two cents about whatever it is I want to say. There must be a billion blogs out there, and I was just another one added to them.

For the past two years, blogging has helped me through alot, in two ways:
The first side is the exciting bit of looking for blogs to follow, and getting to read diverse opinions on every topic under the sun. Reading other people's points of views has helped me become more tolerant towards accepting other perspectives, and I know this is one of my weak areas.

The second side is the even more exciting bit of getting my own word and perspective across. I love the feeling of knowing there are people out there, who I have never met in real life, but who are always there, listening to what I have to say and caring enough to let me know they are. Almost everyday, I check my blog stats and smile at the different countries I've had views from. It makes me feel all warm inside!

This is a special thank you to my 50 followers for enhancing my blogging experience.

Thank you:

Notorius Spinks
Stefanie R - Silver Starry Skies
Me's Bubble Me's Bubble
amal Starry Eyed
Rania@FashioningFaith
TheOneWhoNeedsReminders Reminders & Reflections
The Restless Quill ...and then
Amira The Stranger's Diary
Tori περιπλάνηση
Aliya A Pair of Specshttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
LuLu Captured
Zarina Hassem
Sabeeha
Noshi Oasis of Truth
Zainab Yikes! I'm a Mum!
Zahra The Girl in the Awesome Chador
muffi smith
Abeer Alternate Mirror
Peace Be With You Working Minds
DYVYNE Meaningless Virtue
Pooja Second thoughts first...
Londoneya Londoneya
eloquence
rose water rose water
Muslimahs Musings
Undefined my atmosphere
Koo A place for my head
Emmatullah
7ormat khalid The Owl from Abu Dhabi
Lubaba
Najma A Star from Mosul
Elimar Licos
Mariam Underneath a Silver Sky..
Fatimah
mustika sari sayuti Vanilla Ice-cream floats
TGL This Good Life
Rukhpar Mor Rukhpar Mor
Ellen Keim I, Muslimah
Relax Please Relaxing Blogs
monsoon78 the blues, the blahs and the blarghs
Muslimah88
seraphim
Eternal Dawn new inspirations
AmmatulWadud Formal & Antiquated
C
ta363
ria lishariyani rialive

Thank you all! You may not know me, but you have made a difference in my life. :)

Amineh's powerful gesture

2011-08-01T03:31:00.004+04:00

Amineh Bahrami. A random Iranian young woman, just like many others, who was born in the capital and went to university. Just like many others, she was approached. Just like many others, she rejected.

Unlike many others, destiny had it that this particular admirer decided to take revenge. Threw a bucket of acid at her face that left her disfigured and blinded for life. A beautiful educated woman's life ruined because one man decided to let his ego take over.

But today, nearly seven years after this act of pure hatred, something happened that has a lesson for us all. In the face of evil, showing love is the most powerful action. Amineh has pardoned her attacker, preventing him from the punishment of receiving the same treatment she had received.

Dear Amineh,

I cannot imagine what you have gone through, and how much courage it took for you to do this. You are more powerful now than all the evil in the world. You are more powerful than whole regimes. You have shown mercy at the peak of injustice. I salute you. Lately, I have been ashamed of humanity, but now, I may hold my head high in pride, because I know what humanity is capable of. You have given me such hope: if a fallible human being, attacked and blinded for eternity, is still capable of showing mercy like this, then how much will the mercy of God be, whose mercy is a hundred fold of all the mercy that mankind is capable of?

I, the Memory Torturer

2011-07-28T01:57:00.004+04:00

The Memories and I had a choice. We could have parted, gone on our separate ways, and both of us would have been happier. But we chose to hold on to each other because we were both too afraid that it would mean an end to the essence.

At least the Memories had some sort of dignified presence in me. They just sat there, against their will, uncomplaining... patient. I wasn't as refined. I held on to them, strangling and stroking them, loving and hating them, wishing they were there and wishing they weren't...

Maybe the memories have ran out of patience now and refuse to be treated with such disrespect anymore. They are waiting for me to acknowledge them, give them the position in my life that they deserve. I hear their muffled pleas as I suppress their calls: Certify us, or let us go..

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

2011-07-26T00:59:00.004+04:00

Following is only the contents list from Richard Carlson's 'Don't sweat the small stuff', but I believe the chapter titles are enough reminders in themselves!

Don’t sweat the small stuff
Make peace with imperfection
Let go of the idea that gentle, relaxed people can’t be superachievers
Be aware of the snowball effect of your thinking
Develop your compassion
Remind yourself that when you die, your “in basket” won’t be empty
Don’t interrupt others or finish their sentences
Do something nice for someone else—and don’t tell anyone about it
Let others have the glory
Learn to live in the present moment
Imagine that everyone is enlightened except you
Let others be “right” most of the time
Become more patient
Create “patience practice periods”
Be the first one to act loving or reach out
Ask yourself the question, “will this matter a year from now?”
Surrender to the fact that life isn’t fair
Allow yourself to be bored
Lower your tolerance to stress
Once a week, write a heartfelt letter
Imagine yourself at your own funeral
Repeat to yourself, “life isn’t an emergency”
Experiment with your back burner
Spend a moment every day thinking of someone to thank
Smile at strangers, look into their eyes, and say hello
Set aside quiet time, every day
Imagine the people in your life as tiny infants and as one-hundred-year-old adults
Seek first to understand
Become a better listener
Choose your battles wisely
Become aware of your moods and don’t allow yourself to be fooled by the low ones
Life is a test it is only a test
Praise and blame are all the same
Practice random acts of kindness
Look beyond behavior
See the innocence
Choose being kind over being right
Tell three people (today) how much you love them
Practice humility
When in doubt about whose turn it is to take out the trash go ahead and take it out
Avoid weatherproofing
Spend a moment, every day, thinking of someone to love
Become an anthropologist
Understand separate realities
Develop your own helping rituals
Every day, tell at least one person something you like, admire, or appreciate about them
Argue for your limitations, and they’re yours
Remember that everything has God’s fingerprints on it
Resist the urge to criticize
Write down your five most stubborn positions and see if you can soften them
Just for fun, agree with criticism directed toward you (then watch it go away)
Search for the grain of truth in other opinions
See the glass as already broken (and everything else too)
Understand the statement, “wherever you go, there you are”
Breathe before you speak
Be grateful when you’re feeling good and graceful when you’re feeling bad
Become a less aggressive driver
Relax
Adopt a child through the mail
Turn your melodrama into a mellow-drama
Read articles and books with entirely different points of view from your own and try to learn something
Do one thing at a time
Count to ten
Practice being in the “eye of the storm”
Be flexible with changes in your plans
Think of what you have instead of what you want
Practice ignoring your negative thoughts
Be willing to learn from friends and family
Be happy where you are
Remember that you become what you practice most
Quiet the mind
Take up yoga
Make service an integral part of your life
Do a favour and don’t ask for, or expect, one in return
Think of your problems as potential teachers
Get comfortable not knowing
Acknowledge the totality of your being
Cut yourself some slack
Stop blaming others
Become an early riser
When trying to be helpful, focus on little things
Remember, one hundred years from now, all new people
Lighten up
Nurture a plant
Transform your relationship to your problems
The next time you find yourself in an argument, rather than defend your position, see if you can see the other point of view first
Redefine a “meaningful accomplishment”
Listen to your feelings (they are trying to tell you something)
If someone throws you the ball, you don’t have to catch it
One more passing show
Fill your life with love
Realize the power of your own thoughts
Give up on the idea that “more is better”
Keep asking yourself, “what’s really important?"
Trust your intuitive heart
Be open to “what is”
Mind your own business
Look for the extraordinary in the ordinary
Schedule time for your inner work
Live this day as if it were your last – it might be!
Treasure yourself

The ones in bold are thoughts that I've mulled and chewed over and haven't yet digested, and possibly the topics of future blogposts.