Musings

Small mistakes - heavy price

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Thu, 12 Feb 2026 11:44:00 +0000

As you can guess from the title, this blog is about a small mistake for which I had to pay a heavy price. However this blog is not about advise to be careful, cautious and not even about the price I paid but about the reflections and the insights I gained while paying the price.

This particular incident happened at the Dammam International Airport and I was denied entry. I had to book a return ticket to India and till the time of flight I had to stay in the lounge for some 15 odd hours. But those 15 hours were like a life time for me in the cold cabin in the lounge. Though it had a bed and blankets the central AC was pretty high for someone who cannot bear cold.

And my mind wandered to several places and people across the country. Thankfully I had my hand carry luggage and my phone with international roaming. There were several cabins all empty.

And with me there was a young man from India who was also sent to the lounge for some reason. The men's cabins were in the other section of the same lounge. He too seemed in despair. And helpless like me.

The coldness of the AC in the winters reminded me of the deliberate blowing cold winds or setting the temperature of the AC to blow out cold air as a tool of torture on prisoners.

Thankfully I had a sweater on me and by chance had a woolen scarf and slip on socks that covered just the heel and toes. It is my toes that freeze first so this was a help though not much. Despite these and the blanket the small cabin was icy. And the food provided to me turned cold in a few seconds. But still it was something that meant a lot. I had food.

And I thought of the people of Gaza who were living in the icy cold weather in tents with no warm clothes and no food. And how people during famines and wars survive.

And I was counting my blessings as my thoughts wandered to the many immigrants who are not allowed entry and turned away from the borders. The immigrants of India in the united sates of America who were deported handcuffed.

The lounge rules didn’t allow me to step out into the corridor for warmth. When I tried, I was told not to open the door. I felt like a prisoner. But hey it was temporary i reminded myself. Come night and I catch the flight back to India and the warmth of home. I yearned for a cup of tea. I was given water and bottled fruit juice but there was no tea.

This was like a temporary detention center I thought. And my mind went to the detention centers wherein people in India who could not prove their citizenship were being held. What must they be enduring day in and day out. And here I was already disheartened in a few hours with cold emptiness all around.

But thankfully I remembered to offer namaz though there was no prayer mat unlike in many places in Saudi Arabia where they have prayer mats. Maybe because the airport had prayer rooms. I also had my Quran class notes in my hand carry which was a solace. I listened to the lectures and jotted down the notes. I was so thankful for these things which gave me company and provided the distraction from the weird isolated feelings I was getting. Indeed in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find solace. I also had my anwarul Quran with some important Surahs in my purse which I read from time to time.

The person at the desk whose duty was to keep watch was from Nepal and spoke Hindi/ Urdu. He told me about an incident similiar to mine. Then he asked me if I wanted something. I said I wanted tea. I was hungry as it was supper time and the food had not arrived. Also I could not even eat, i just had had a few morsels.

Then the guy came with not just tea but also some cookies, dates and water. A prayer came from my heart both thanking and blessing the guy. Dates are my all time favourite and the cookies were tasty though the tea had become cold. I felt full.

So when the last meal of the day arrived I could not eat it. It was the same rice, bland chicken curry, with a few pieces of cucumber, a small piece of red velvet cake as dessert. I gave it to the only person present there - the staff member and asked him to pass it to any cleaner at the airport.

The persons at the desk kept changing, they were polite lent me their mobile charger whenever I wanted, the bathroom cleaner who came in the night was a Pakistani guy and there was no one at the reception desk. So he told me I could walk around the corridor in front of the lounge. He was friendly and even tipped me to stand at the point where i could overlook the visitors lounge as my spouse had come there with my luggage. And we could not meet as I was not allowed out (kinda imprisoned ). So we just waved at each other. He checked in my luggage and left.

When it was time for my flight a security officer came with my boarding pass, took my passport from me and walked me to the board gate. He pushed my trolley as I was breathless with all the walking. My laptop bag on my back and pushing my hand luggage.

I was made to wait and could board in after all the passengers had board. My boarding pass and passport with some papers ( probably the report of the airport authorities) was handed to the air hostess who asked what offence I had committed to be deported.

When it was time to serve food the air hostess asked me if I wanted something because it was all complimentary and that I could have anything. All I wanted was tea,

And tea I had. Hot masala tea. I usually do not like the tea served in planes but this time it was different. The Masala chai was comforting. I relaxed but could not sleep. And when I reached India another ordeal awaited me.

I had to wait till all the passengers left, then an official of the airlines was called and my passport and other documents handed to him. I had to accompany him to the airport authority section and after a wait of more than two hours and some interrogation I was handed my passport.

I walked out relieved but traumatic and laden with unpleasant memories and insights that are going to last a life time. Coming home to warmth and love after those endless hours of empty coldness was all that mattered. After all it was the calls and the messages of my loved ones that gave me strength.

I learnt a lot of lessons in this 24 hours and everything happens for a reason though the reason remains largely hidden sometimes. I also learnt who truly care for you and who don't. And how much or how little you matter to some whom we still call family and friends.

Letter to myself

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Thu, 01 May 2025 07:52:00 +0000

Image from: GeilerArts

Dear Me,

I hope you are doing well and that things though not going as you want them to are still bright. After all it is summer when the sun is at its brightest. And stay bright by counting your blessings.

I know you want to jot down your thoughts but thoughts are like a bullet train - like a river- constantly flowing, never stopping. Thoughts - some which we want to share with the world; thoughts - some which are bottled up because they are better there. Let them dissolve in that bottle in the solution of tears. Tears of loneliness, of sorrow, of hurt, of anger, of disappointment, of frustration, of helplessness and many untold emotions.

I wonder after they dissolve, do they go away or remain in liquid form in the bottle? If so then I need to open the bottle and keep it in the sun for the solution of tears and thoughts to evaporate. Then I will be left with an empty bottle with traces of both the sunshine and the evaporated solution. Because it never really gets empty. Like the mind that never fully becomes empty.

Even if the emotions of the bottled thoughts fade, the memory remains which too gradually fades and the brain is left with just the traces like the traces in the bottle. And then it does not matter at all. The bottle is emptied to be re-used again maybe with brighter memories, so what if the traces of bitterness, sorrow, anger and frustration still linger?

They are only traces now - minuscule and negligible. Don't forget the bottle also has traces of sunshine! And that matters.

Sunshine is Noor - the light that makes things light when the world weighs you down.

So dear Me, keep shining, sharing, caring, breathing and believing.

Masalaam,

Me 💖

My First Umrah

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Sun, 17 Dec 2023 17:06:00 +0000

After years of waiting, yearning to visit the two holy cities every Muslim revers and longs to go, I finally got my chance to go there. All praise and thanks to Allah.

I was there on 18^th November, 2023 Saturday morning. As we drove from Jeddah to Makkah, the dawn prayers were in progress and the city was silent as everyone was offering the namaz. We did not even check in the room but kept our luggage in the custody of the hotel management, freshened ourselves and went to the Haram. The fajr namaz over people were bustling about while the roadside vendors were busy arranging their wares.

Before coming I had spent my time looking up the internet, discussing with my sister about the rituals and what I should do, what all prayers had to be done, etc. I was afraid of not doing it the right way and my Umrah being unsatisfactory and not accepted by Allah.

As we circumbulated the Kaaba - the house of Allah, I was calm and collected contrary to my assumption that I would perhaps burst into tears upon seeing the Kaaba. Nothing of the sort happened. And I kept reading from the book the dua for every round. And as we walked I got the chance to touch the Kaaba. And something stirred then..I thanked Allah for finally calling me to His house. And how? With my spouse!! It was all so surreal. I never imagined I would come to here with my spouse of all the people because I had ruled out all possibilities of marriage for various reasons. And after offering two rakats after the tawaf we went for the saiy ( the safa and marwa walk).

I walked along with all the people on the path that thousands of years ago Bibi Hajra had run up hill and came down again all alone this very path now made smooth for us with tiles and roof. Back then it was a hill and she ran up and down 7 times seeking water, seeking help for baby Ismail Alaihi Salaam when by the mercy of Allah subhana wa taala, the zam zam sprung and a habitation came up there in the desert.

And I couldn’t help thinking how difficult it must have been for her when walking on the smooth tiles with a roof over the head is difficult for me. I also thought the honour Allah has given to her struggle that today all of us who visit Mecca walk the same path as a compulsory ritual. The struggle of a woman being honoured by men and women as a mandatory ritual for haj and umrah meant that Allah recognised her struggle, her pain and ordained us to walk this path, thus honouring her till the end of days. When I saw the men taking this walk I wondered if it crossed their mind they are observing something which a woman had done many many years back? And that if Allah has made this compulsory it clearly means they should never take women for granted or think that she is someone inferior to them.

And when I sipped the zam zam water I could actually feel the freshness and purity of the water. This is one among the mircales of Allah. The zam zam well out of which water will gush as long as the world lasts.

A sea of people from different places across the world, so different yet so similar because of the commonness of our deen. We are united by the kalima we all chant, we are all one ummah, one big family. That is so awesome. Some were crying overwhelmed with emotion, some fervently praying. Ya Allah please accept their prayers, I prayed. Who knows what pain, what miseries, what problems each one of them was facing and desperately seeking the intervention of Allah.

I was imagining the mud houses that once stood in close proximity to the kaaba. And the khuriash tribe from which our beloved prophet hailed. His house must have also been somewhere in these places where today large buildings stand. And the houses of all his companions.

My visit to the kaaba was just for one day. And the next day early morning 19^th November, 2023, we took the train to Madina the city of the prophet. As we rode from the railway station that is on the outskirts to the city my thoughts were again about the Ansars the people of Madina who, when they heard about the arrival of the prophet to their city, would all gather and wait on the streets. And in the evening would go back to their homes only to come again the next day and wait.

How fervent was their love for the holy prophet! They only had the news he is on the way to Medina and they had made preparations for his arrival and would come out of their homes their gaze fixed on the path. And how obedient they were that when the prophet asked them to share whatever they had with the migrants who came with him from Mecca they shared their houses, food, wealth and also their property. What unmatched generousity!

Masji E Quba, Madina

Afternoon we went to Masjid e Quba where I met a woman from Delhi. She shared with me that her husband works in Madina and she comes here for a month or so on visit. And when she does, every afternoon she comes to masjid e Quba for zohar prayers. Her husband who comes home for lunch then drops her in Masjid e Nabavi where she prays till evening and he picks her up on his way back. This is her daily routine for all the days she lives in Madina. We parted hugging and asking each other to remember in our respective duas. How fortunate!

Evening we went to the prophet’s mosque and as soon as I saw the green tomb I got emotional and became teary as I told to myself, ‘Finally Allah, you have shown me the tomb of your beloved messenger and our beloved prophet.’ I saluted the prophet - the Rahematul Alameen, Khatamul Ambiya. We believe that he hears our salutations.

The Masjid e Nabavi is the second biggest and for frail humans like me with pain in the legs it is a mammoth task to see the entire Masjid in one go. There are nearly 43 gates to the Masjid.

At 8.30 pm was my slot for visiting Riyaz ul Jannah which is a piece of heaven. And we get to go there for sometime and offer two rakats of prayer there. The timings are different for men and women. There were native Saudi girls and women guiding, monitoring and controlling the crowd. They have learnt some Urdu words which they were saying like ‘ Baji rasta’ to make way, ‘ khari ho jao’ asking the women to get up praying for long obstructing the way of other women. They also gave us polythene bags to put our footwear and a bottle of zam- zam water as the queues were very long.

Inside, the splendour is of a different level. Strikingly beautiful chandeliers, verses written in gold paint, beautiful carpets, etc. Many of us were continuously praying even as we were in queues because we were so close to the tomb of our prophet! It was awesome just thinking that though we could not see the grave due to the wall but the thought was enough to overwhelm us.

Inside the Riyaz ul Jannah

The next day again I prayed the afternoon prayers and evening prayers before leaving. The huge white umbrellas which I saw in the pictures, I was sitting under them today! I thanked Allah again for this opportunity.

While reading the Quran in the masjid e nabavi after the afternoon namaz, while reading the Surah Haj and the ayaat 31 spoke of birds I heard chirping sound and looked up to see sparrows around on the prayer mats. And I said to myself, what a coincidence. As my reading progressed and I came to the ayaat 73 that spoke of a fly and at that time there were flies buzzing around.

It was also nice to see people in the shops going for namaz at the call of azaan. All the shopkeepers prayed in the masjid e nabavi every day. How fortunate, I thought again.

I was thinking what if my parents were living in Madina. How would our lives be? Definitely very different from what it is today. We would study in Arabic schools, talk Arabic, eat dates, roam in the city of Madina, pray everyday in the sacred mosque, marry and settle down in the blessed city.

Other observations

While doing the tawaf we can also read out Asma ul Husna - the beautiful names of Allah, after all we are in His house and addressing Him By the beautiful names is natural. I had memorised the 99 names but had forgotten due to lack of revision. And I regretted my inability to recite all the names.

Most of us carried our footwear in a polythene/ cloth bag because in the sea of footwear it is bound to get lost. And I felt we are anyway carrying our footwear, we might as well bring our comfortable shoes instead of the ‘hawai’ slippers we bring. 90% of them wear cheap slippers for fear of losing them.

And those who don’t bring it in any bag, leave their footwear in front of them or behind them while offering the namaz. That means if you are not bowing in front of your slippers, the person praying behind you is bowing in front of your slippers. And I dint like that. Even if it is in a bag if kept in front of you while praying you are still doing the sajda with slippers in front of you.

There were eateries of KFC, Starbucks apart from some Indian, Pakistani food joints. And people had little choice so many purchased food from KFC, drank coffee from Starbucks the businesses which Muslims boycotted in other places in support of our Palestine brethren. But we bought our food from an Indian restaurant.

Now when I offer namaz and make the intention to prayer, while saying ‘I face the Kaaba’, I visualise the Kaaba much more clearly after having seen and touched it with my hands.

However I did not get the opportunity to see or touch the Hajre Aswad. I hope to do so the next time, In Sha Allah I get a chance to come to Makkah.

And saluting the blessed prophet before leaving is the saddest part. But the happiness of having been called to the two revered cities is unmatched. One of the duas I made was that all Allah should give this opportunity to all Muslims desirous of doing Haj and Umrah.

Next time I intend to find out what this structure on the mountain is

And I hope to come again because one day in Makkah and two in Madina will not do justice to the soul that longs to savour each moment. I have been told by those who have gone for Haj and Umrah about the several interesting places where our prophet and his companions went, waged war, prayed. Each place has its own historical significance. And the gardens of dates, the museum and other places.

I hope to go again with more time on my hands so I can savour each moment and store memories.

Ariel view of Madina

Mothership with Mother

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Wed, 12 May 2021 07:22:00 +0000

Last year I had begun a blog for Father's day but after writing a few lines I got caught in the never ending hum drum of life and saved it in draft to continue later.

But a year has passed and now I am writing not about my father ( I will continue that blog sometime, soon) but about my mother.

My mother departed for her heavenly abode on 23rd march 2021 - a date that will perhaps remain forever etched in my mind.

Just like the twine that grew into a tree forging its way to grow up by taking the support of the wall that, though ancient, remained strong as in the picture above, I too grew and clung on to my mother who nurtured me like the old wall with her silent support.

Like the wall, my mother too had grown old and like that tree I too crossed my prime and headed into middle age but in the presence of the strong silent wall that was my mother I felt like a child who had to cling on to her to remain steady.

With her advancing years and dementia hitting her early there was nothing my mother could do except be there. And that was what mattered most. At the end of the day I had a reason to come home and even though she hardly spoke and recalled names her face would light up when she saw me back home in the evenings.

With time even her speech was slurred making it difficult for her to express herself and for me to understand her. And she, despite being the strong wall, had to depend on someone for her daily needs. And I was fortunate to be of use to her. And my days were filled with 2 schedules - hers and mine.

The nights were not good either because on many nights she was not able to sleep and used to blabber incoherently non stop the entire night and fall asleep only in the mornings. And on some nights I would be typing away on my keyboard past midnight and she would not sleep waiting for me.

In the evenings she would wait for me to come back from work and in the nights for me to shut down my lap top and turn in. And I used to feel guilty for keeping her awake.

Whenever she used to talk incessantly in her incoherent manner I would also not be able to sleep being in the same room. And many times would I would be irritable going berserk for lack of sleep but still in my heart I knew the truth that though now I am shouting at her to stay quiet and sleep, I would miss this incoherent talk of hers when she leaves me.

And today as I lay on the bed and the night is still with no noise, I miss my mother's blabber that hardly made any sense but still means so much to me now.

Married off at 14 or maybe a little later to a widower, she hardly had any childhood. Like it happens even now, girls being forced to drop out of school to look after their younger siblings, she too had to drop out to look after her younger brother as my grandmother died young. But she had gone to school as her mother, my grandmother, was a teacher. Had my grandmother not died in her youth, my mother would have been able to finish her school and who knows we would have more aunts and uncles too. But that was not to be. My mother and her younger brother grew up under the care of my grandfather who never remarried despite having such small children. Obviously he loved them more than himself.

Whatever little my mother studied in school remained with her. I recall her reciting some poems and songs which were taught to her in school. She even remembered that 'Bindusara was the father of King Ashoka'. But she never really left learning.. She became an avid reader as my father was fond of reading and would bring home Urdu magazines of those days. And some she learnt from the school books of her many children. She even wrote letters to her aunt, her brother and others in the city. My father was on the move because of his work and finally found one place Raichur in Karnataka State where we lived for a maximum number of years.

Father died, some of my older siblings were already on their feet, married and working. But mother was always there for me as I was the youngest. She was strict in some things as were many mothers of those times. At that time I took her for granted lost in my own world with my studies, friends and outings.

The heat of Raichur often gave me severe headaches and I would come back with a headache and my mother was there chiding as she pressed my head, " I tell you not to go out in the sun but you wont listen to me." Summer time was vacation time and I would go out with friends to have a good time but come back with a headache. I learnt later that these headaches have a name: migraine. But I recall I would place my head in her lap and she would massage my head and soothe my brow.

Mother was fond of travelling. she would go to Hyderabad where her aunt, cousins and brother were all there, leaving us back at home. Not that it was a problem because my older sisters were capable of taking care of the house. And when my eldest sister was working in a different city she would go visit her. Once she did not get reservation in the bus while going to Hubli and it was important for her to go. she took a chance and boarded the bus but there was no seat available. she traveled the entire distance standing which was a whole night's journey.

I recall this incident every time I travel in a local bus and train. Today we request those who are seated to squeeze up and give us, who are standing, some place to sit. And sometimes those who are sitting voluntarily adjust and make space for us to sit. Even though it is a matter of maybe 30 minutes to the maximum we don't want to stand. And back then in the late 80s my mother stood the whole distance with no passenger offering to adjust for a lone lady travelling in the night.

Another incident I recall was when her eye sight had weakened or maybe it was the cataract forming, she could not see properly from one eye. So she used to cover one eye with her hand and read the Holy Quran with the other eye.

She used to walk long distances and work whole day because she grew up in a village where they drew water from the wells, ground wheat to flour on the stone mill, cooked food on fire stoves. She looked after her children and grandchildren to the best of her ability both physically and financially, carrying a sick grandson on her hip walking to the doctor 3 kilometers away or telling them stories.

But with time all that strength left her, she who was particular about neatness could not even comb her hair. Her white kurtas, (like her milky white flawless complexion) that would be spotlessly clean were now stained with food droppings. Her many beautiful sarees some white, some sober coloured remained unworn because the saree became an additional weight on her frail body and restricted her movement. She always wore a kurta with her sarees.

Her sense of humour and wisdom which her cousins and their children admired her for had all gone as she now spoke only in monosyllables. She used to have proverbs or old sayings, both in Telugu and Urdu, ready at the tip of her fingers which she used to say at the right time in the right context. My oldest niece would often say, ' we should write down all these sayings' but we never got to it.

With the tragedy of the death of her only brother, 3 young sons and 2 grandsons in their 20s, both her physical and emotional health deteriorated though she took it all bravely resigning to God's will. Her dementia later on, saved her from feeling the pain and sorrow of the death of 2 of her sons in law and other close relatives.

Even though I have been fortunate to have been around for her when she needed me I still regret not having spoken with her enough to listen more to her days of childhood, youth and the infamous police action of 1948. She spoke very less of it though just the belongings they had to leave behind when they had to flee the murderous military men from their village Ippalguda/m in Gowraram to the city Hyderabad.

Though I miss her every moment of everyday I know she is happy up there. she had a lot of pain here not even being able to say what was in her mind. Often she used to cry but unable to say what pained her. Was it memories of the past or was it the pain of being helpless unable even to get up or lie down on her own or was it some physical pain gnawing her from the inside? I had no way of knowing but all I could do was wipe her tears and try to kiss away the pain.

It is funny how old age makes you cuddly. It could be because she had become a child that I could cuddle her and kiss her to console her. Like a child she used to talk to her own image in the mirror and sometimes even offer her image in the mirror eatables I would give her. Being all by herself in the room she would talk to the image in the mirror and even to the images on the cereal cartoons and to other images of girls and women on the cartoon of my hair dye, etc. I wondered if it was loneliness or was it her dementia that made her think those images were real people? whatever it was, it saddened me to see her thus.

Memories of hers overflow as the tears do and I could go on reminiscing and crying. If tears could bring her back, I would cry an ocean.

There were times I would tell myself to be prepared to loose her because death is the law of all beings. And there were times when I would pray that if I died before her how would she manage? And then I would think if she died before me how would I manage? And yet again there were times when I would think if she died I would leave the house and the city and go elsewhere. And start life anew. But now that she is gone, I don't know what to do or where to go. Even coming back home in the evenings from work is not like before.

Emptiness greets, her comb on the dressing table, her toothbrush in the bathroom, her slippers in the corner are all mementos that constantly remind me of her.

There is a void, a vacuum that can never be filled even though I have a supportive family and friends. But at the end of the day I am thankful to Allah for giving me a chance of togetherness with my mother and for all those happy moments we lived. And I had the golden opportunity of mothering my mother, who having forgotten my name in the later years used to call me ' Amma'.

And this year on Mother's day I learnt a new term has been coined 'Mothership' which means one is not a mother but still like a mother - like single fathers, older siblings, aunts, grandparents, friends. But I have added children who look after their old parents. And that is how it was with me and my mother. We both mothered each other though in different times. But her kind of mothering cannot be compared ever to my duty as her care giver,

I hope to meet her in the hereafter. in the heavens, In sha Allah! To Allah we belong and to Allah we shall return.

Till then I shall continue to miss her, pray for her and remember the life-lessons she taught me.

Hayat Bakshi Begum Mosque

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Thu, 11 Mar 2021 10:16:00 +0000

On 28th February, 2021, Sunday, we had a small outing to see the Hayat Bakshi Begum masjid located in Hayathnagar.

Hayathnagar is a locality founded by Hayath Begum who was ruling Hyderabad during that period. Hayathnagar is on the trade route from Surat to Masulipatnam and is fairly outside the main city Hyderabad.

Being a wise ruler and a visionary, Hayath Bakshi Begum, known as Ma saheba, commissioned for the construction of a mosque and an inn - a sarai for the weary travellers to rest for the night. There are nearly 130 rooms in the courtyard of the mosque with a stable outside. The mosque is on an elevated platform with a houz ( water tank) for wazu ( ablutions done before offering namaz).

There is a sprawling garden which is not being revived by the Government as the site has been listed as a heritage. The entire place is about 5 acres. The ceiling of the mosque has intricate designs. It has 2 minarets, 5 arches all built in the year or rather completed in the year1672.

There is also a well adjacent to the mosque complex called 'Hathi Bowli' which is in a neglected state today. But it has a very interesting path that leads to the well ..steps from the underground!!

The well is quite large and probably this is where the travelers and their animals quenched their thirst/ bathed/ washed.

Some rooms of the sarai have been renovated by the government and the garden is being beautified. Prayers go on regularly in the mosque.

The Begum was a very influential person as she played a prominent role during the reign of 3 rulers - her father, husband and son who was a minor when he succeeded the throne. She is remembered today as Ma saheba and the Masab tank is said to be named after her.

She died at the age of 76 in 1666. So in all probability she dint live to see the mosque and perhaps it was her son Abdullah Qutb Shah, the ruler who actually got it built.

Begum Hayat Bakshi is burried in the Qutub shahi tombs along with the rest of the royal family.

I have heard the place is lighted up in the evenings. But we did not wait till the evening.

Strolling across the huge place was quite an experience. It is serene there and I was trying to imagine how it must have 400 years back when there was no electricity, no modern transportation but people coming with their wares in caravans galloping on their horses heading to Hyderabad for trade but stopping in to rest at this sarai.

To see the mosque, the rooms of the inn and lot more watch the video here:

Parade for Farmers in Hyderabad on 26th January 2021

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Wed, 27 Jan 2021 10:44:00 +0000

Citizens of Hyderabad joined the farmers of Telangana to show their solidarity to the farmers parade in New Delhi on the occasion of the 72nd Republic Day of India. The citizens came on their mobiles, cars, tractors and other vehicles for the parade from Saroornagar to Uppal. The parade was organised under the banner of All India Kisan Sangharsh Coordination Committee (AIKSCC) to protest against the 3 new draconian farms laws. # Repeal 3 farm laws and legalise MSP for all crops. Stand with the Farmers who feed us and who are the nation builders. A true Indian and a true patriot will support the farmers!! Jai Hind! Jai Kisan!

Hyderabad citizens protest against Badaun rape case; demand ‘Never again’ action plan for safety of women

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Wed, 13 Jan 2021 08:17:00 +0000

On 10^th January, Sunday, some concerned citizens gathered at Dharna Chowk, Indira Park to protest against the rape of the 50 year old Anganwadi worker in Badaun, Uttar Pradesh. They also demanded that the government should come up with an action plan that is foolproof, one that prevents atrocities against women so that Never gain can any atrocity take place against any girl or woman.

On January 3^rd the rape incident of the Anganwadi worker, a mother of 5 children was raped when she had gone to the temple in Badaun city of Uttar Pradesh, by the temple priest and 2 of his aides. She was brutally assaulted which reminded the nation of the same tortuous rape and death of Nirbhaya.

What outraged the members protesting the rape were the statements issued by the member of the National commission for Women (NCW).

“Every time a Nirbhaya or a Disha happens; authorities come up with blame on women or with technological solutions such as cc TV camera or even offer women to carry pepper spray, but don’t have a 'never again' action plan to prevent assault on women, no action plan on how to handle the male gaze, male morals, male conduct, male thought!” said Dr Lubna Sarwath, one of the protestors.

The protest was a unique one as it was not called by any one organization or individuals – it was a call few individuals took and decided a mutual date to gather and protest. Organsiations like United Citizens Forum (UCF) joined the protest adding momentum to the protest.

The National president of UCF said, “Serious heinous crimes of Rapes, Gang Rapes and Murders in the country are going on. Kathua, Unnao, Hathras, Veterinary Doctor in Hyderabad and now the 50 years old woman from Badaun. So we want to register our protest against the Rapes, Gang Rapes and Murders of women all across our country which has shamed its citizens. The heinous crime recently happened in Badaun, UP, adding to the increasing numbers of rapes taking place in just Uttar Pradesh alone making it the rape capital of India.”

Sharifa Siddiqui, another protestor said, “It is so appalling that even after 73 years of Independence, crimes against women have not stopped. The perpetrators get away most of the times and this culture of impunity encourages them to commit more crimes. Not only are the culprits allowed to go free but they are also rewarded.”

After some time of protesting, the police personnel arrived asking the protestors to leave citing that permission needs to be taken even for a few minutes of protest (this protest was just for an hour) even if it is without any mike or tent.

But one lone protestor, Dr Lubna held her ground, while the others folded their banners. Said Lubna, when the police insisted that she pack up too, “Can’t one person stand quietly and silently protest? I am very sad and pained at the state of affairs and want to protest on my own even if the others leave.”

The question the protestors asked was, “Rapes can happen anywhere, anytime but people should take permission to protest against it. Is it right?”

“Police insisted that we take permission to stage even a silent protest. We objected strongly as this protest was against the perpetrators who, if left un-arrested and not sent to jail, this could happen to women in any house” said Maqbool Mateen.

“Another problem Police created was about placards “ India Shamed” they refused to understand the meaning of “ India shamed “ and said you guys are saying shame on India and we are ashamed to be Indians; because only Muslims especially Muslim women have participated and they thought this slogan was anti national” he added explaining the attitude of Hyderabad police.

Shiba Minai, another activist who was present at the protest said, “ In Hong Kong people gather on weekend in large numbers to protest against anything they want to protest. They have some torch in their hands which they flash as a sign of protest and they all come with faces covered even before covid, express their protest and leave. Even in other countries that are democratic, if you see the police are on the periphery, while the people are protesting against any policy or whatever. They don’t hound the protestors like they do here in India.”

“After hearing about the case of the woman being raped at 50, we now feel that none of us are safe anymore. We fear going out even after reaching an advanced age” shared another woman protestor.

The protestors demanded that an action plan to make laws that ensure that women and girls are safe all the times at all the places without having to fear of getting raped.

Watch the video here:

DIY - making water candles

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Thu, 12 Nov 2020 10:32:00 +0000

Making water candles is pretty easy. These candles do not need wax. They look pleasing to the eye and are something different from the usual decorative items we use at home.

Great to decorate your house during parties.

Here are the items you would need if you are interested in making them:

1. Glass bowls/ glasses ( any number as per the number of candles you want to make)

2. Water

3. Colours - food colours, watercolours

4. Decorative items such as beads, broken earrings, sequins, clips, glitter, flowers - either fresh or plastic

5. Essential oil or any perfume or fragrance

6. Wicks - cotton wicks

7. Thick polythene or plastic

8. Scissors and a matchbox

9. Oil - preferably cooking oil

Method:

place the items such as colourful stones, beads etc in the glass and pour water up to 80% to 85%. Add glitter or sequins in the water. Add some colour and essential oil a few drops.

Now cut the polythene or plastic of old bottles or even plastic lids in a circular shape as per the diameter of the glass or bowl. Make a small hole in the centre and insert the wick in the hole.

Apply some oil to the top portion of the wick. Before placing the wick in the container pour some oil so that a layer is formed. The quantity of oil you pour decides the time for the candle to burn. If you pour 4-5 tablespoons then you can expect the candle to burn for an hour or even more.

Now place the wick inserted in the circular plastic in the glass and light the wick.

Likewise repeat with different colours and different decorative items such as beads, flowers, showpieces, even small plastic fish to make it appear as if the fish are swimming in the water.

Place the water candles at strategic places in the room. As the candle burns your room is filled with fragrance.

Tips: The more oil you pour the longer the candles burn.

Use edible oil if you want to avoid odours of other oils

Watch the video below for more details:

Super senior gamers

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Tue, 22 Sep 2020 07:46:00 +0000

If you think seniors don’t play games, you are wrong. And if you think if they do play game son their mobiles and computers and those are mostly solitaire, chess, tile games, word games..you are just partially right because now the grandparents are playing what their grandchildren are playing.. yes games like elder scrolls, counter strike, PubG, etc..meet 7 super seniors who are gamers and whose popularity is increasing by the day:

1. 1. Silver Snipers – a team of 5 players who are in the ages of 60 to 80 from Sweden. They participated in the dream hack 2017. The game they play ‘ counter srtike’. The team includes three males and two females. The youngest player, Monica is 62 years old Betil, 81 years-old

2 2. Grey Gunners – 5 players team from Finland, play counter strike. Have participated in Dream hack Paris games week, Euro gamer, Kari ‘Rock’ Walden, 77 years, Marcu ‘Mac 10’, 73 years, Ulla ‘General Ulla’, 70 years, Yrjo ‘Ice’Warma, 70 yrs, Harry ‘Dirty Harry, 71 years also pay counter strike.

3. Grandpa gaming, 72.8K subscribers on youtube, the 66-Year-Old Former Navy Diver And Cancer-Surviving Grandpa Dominating ‘Apex Legends’. Armored Warfare, Battlefield, Doom, The Division, Fallout 4, League of Legends, The Witcher 3, World of Tanks, and World of Warships. Lives in St Peters, USA.

4. 83-year-old Yang Binglin is a complete core gamer in Longchang City, Sichuan Province, his games are shown on a Chinese platform called Weibo and other short video platforms watched by thousands daily.

5. Shirley Curry, 84 years lives in Virginia and plays Elderly Scrolls. She live streams her games and has more than 700000 ( 7 lakhs) followers on youtube. Bethesda Softworks, which publishes “The Elder Scrolls” series, even announced in March that Curry would be immortalized as a character in an upcoming game.

6. Audrey Buchanan, 88-year-old, plays animal crossing, Pennsylvania on her 3d console. She has played more than 4000 hours. Her grandson works for a gaming company called Nintendo and Animal crossing is one of their games.

7. 7. 90, Hamako Mori is officially the world's oldest gaming YouTuber, according to Guinness World Records, May 2020. Her particular favourite is Grand Theft Auto V.

Gamer for 39 years and counting. She has 323K subscribers on her YouTube channel and is known as Gaming grandma.

If you are a senior citizen and are curious about the games the young ones play…pick up a smartphone and download a smart game. Or if you have a senior family member, encourage them to play games to keep them occupied and their mind active.

Watch the video here:

Humanity wins - Muslim youth save lives of Hindu brothers

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Thu, 30 Jul 2020 20:00:00 +0000

Mahaboobnagar: Muhammed Sufiyan Ali received a call from Muhammed Aijaz in the dead of night on 29^th July at 1.30 that 2 the youth had met with a road accident and were lying on the road unattended.

So Sufiyan, Aijaz a social worker and a few friends rushed to the spot and saw two youth who were driving a motorbike had hit the road divider and collapsed with severe injuries that looked like multiple fractures and blood all around.

They called up the ambulance services but there were none; tried to find an auto or cab but could not. Fortunately, they spotted a push card nearby and used the same to take the youth to the Government hospital. And even at the hospital, there were no ward boys to take the patients to the emergency ward. So the same samaritans took the injured boys in the casualty.

Two lives were saved because they believed that saving even one life is equal to saving the entire humanity - as per the holy Quran.

We need more such people who look beyond religion, caste, creed and class. Such people are the ones who reinforce your belief in goodness and make you think the world is not really that bad a place one tends to think when incidents of Hindus lynching Muslims come across.

Long live Humanity!

Watch the video ..

Farewell my friend! May you rest in peace

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Fri, 03 Jul 2020 21:33:00 +0000

Beneath the blue sky,

In the dark soil, you have gone under,

To rest forever

Rest then, my friend, in eternal peace.

This is a tribute to one of my oldest Best friend forever (BFF), Ravinder or Ravi as he was called by everyone.

Our friendship goes back to those days when we were in college in the 90s. When we enrolled for the karate class in Raichur, he was already a brown belt. But that dint stop him from befriending us - the only 2 girls in the class of 30 boys.

After a month when we were learning the kicks and punches, he was tutoring us on the instructions of the Master. In this group of juniors were 2 other boys. And as we practised every evening our friendship also grew. We became a group of 5 friends and the talk of the other boys in the class and the cause of annoyance of the Master.

But did we care? After the class, we stopped at a bakery to have some snacks and then peddled our way to a common point where the roads parted and took the roads to our homes.

The other 3 were Nasreen, Faiz and Javeed.

We were all in different educational institutes so the evening was the only time we met and after 2 hours of rigorous training, we religiously stopped at the bakery.

When it was time for our first test, Ravi coached us with the katas, kicks and punches as the test would be taken by the Grand Master.

So it was with each day our friendship grew. And maybe each one of us had a crush on each other turn by turn but no one ever confessed. And am glad we dint because by the time we graduated we had outgrown all those puppy feelings.

After the orange belt, we stopped learning karate and Ravi never got his black belt because we had a fall out with the Master who wanted to control us even outside the class.

Ours was a small town and people did not have much to talk about. so a group of 5 youngsters with 2 girls and that too Muslim girls was something the people liked to talk about. The Master also dint like us being together either.

It did not matter to him that one of us, Nasreen had won the state level championship trophy giving him something to be proud for the first time ever since he had begun his karate school.

So we would meet only on someone's birthday in one of the few hotels that were in the town back then. But meeting on January 1st every year was mandatory. It was like a ritual for us. We had our get together on 1st January of every year.

But that too stopped when we all shifted to different cities growing up, settling down with careers, partners, so on and so forth.

We were in touch through phone calls but not very frequently. But once the era of mobile phones started it was great. Now we dint have to go to telephone booths to make calls.

Ravi was living with his mother and sisters after his father died and his marriage was a disaster because he had dared to marry a girl from the dominant caste. The girl's parents rich upper-caste landlords forcibly broke the marriage which lasted just a few months. And Ravi never re-married despite being handsome and son of an Ex MLA with large properties.

He wasted his youth, did not even take up any occupation. He was satisfied living on whatever income the properties of his parents fetched.

With time he developed culinary skills and could cook even biryani. He cooked for the entire family for all the 3 times. He no longer had friends except myself and Faiz. Maybe one or 2 from his school who later connected with him during the reunions. Our group of 5 had also split as people change with time.

He called me up at least once a week and always complained that I never called him and that it was always he who is calling me. And I would promise to call him next time. But before I could call he would call me.

Two weeks back he called me and said he had watched the Hindi movie ' Gulabo Sitabo' and that the climax of the movie disturbed him so much he could not sleep for 3 days as he was constantly thinking about it. He asked me to watch the movie and tell him my opinion.

I intended to watch it one of these days and call him to tell my opinion. But I never got to see the movie due to time constraints. But I am going to take time to watch it now soon but I will never be able to give him my feedback.

Whenever he called he would give me tips on taking care of my old mother from his experience of having looked after his grandmother.

With the pandemic around, he would joke saying don't save, enjoy, eat and make merry.

He wanted to come to Hyderabad for a long time and wanted me to treat him to Hyderabadi Biryani. But he never could make it but had assured he would come once COVID goes away for good. But now he will never come. And I will never be able to treat him to Hyderabadi biryani now just like I will never be able to call him to tell about Gulabo Sitabo.

But just before the pandemic started he had gone on a 'yatra' to several temples across India with some travel agency which had all senior citizens in it. But he said he enjoyed their company and the seniors were also happy because they had someone younger than them in the group to help them around with things which they could not do.

He shared all his sorrows with me and from my voice detected if I was sad. It was a long friendship of 30 years a time when religion was sacred and not a communal weapon.

He did not use Whatsapp. But today evening on an instinct I saw his status by chance. And was surprised to see his picture with the words RIP and today's date 3rd July. I thought he is playing a prank and when his mother answered the phone I realised it was the truth. His sister had used his phone to keep that status so all his contacts would know.

Will miss you always, Ravi. Rest in peace now that everything that troubled you is left behind. But you went too soon and sudden. You have gone but your memories will stay. And with this blog of mine, I pay tribute to you, my dear friend. This blog will immortalise you even when I am no more..the blog will remain posted on the internet.

Fare you well, friend.

Taramati Baradari

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Thu, 18 Jun 2020 14:17:00 +0000

Many months back after our rock walk at Narsingi, we visited the Taramati Baradari which in on the way. Took a small video from my phone.

Regular photography with cameras is not allowed there as the place is let out for shootings for weddings for hefty sums.

This used to be an inn for travellers and Taramati used to sing for the travellers. And her voice was carried by the wind till the Golconda fort in the nights when she sang where the prince could hear her. The fort is just 2 kmts away from the Baradari.

The prince enamoured by her mesmerising voice fell in love with her and named the place after her.

This is one tale. Another is that Taramati had a sister named Prememati and both were patronised by Abdullah Qutub Shah. The sisters were supposed to be excellent dancers and danced on ropes tied between their pavilion and the balcony of the King.

Well to me the former seems somewhat believable but dancing on the ropes from the pavilion and the fort ....the height is too much and so it the distance even if it is 2 kmts.

As for the acoustics of the baradari it could be possible because we have seen this technology at the Golkonda fort where once claps at the entrance and the sound is heard atop the fort. This was a method of communication back then..

Enjoy the video..it is a small clip..but that's all I could manage

Stay Home stay safe- No shopping for Eid

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Wed, 29 Apr 2020 18:59:00 +0000

12 years on..ayesha's murderers still at large

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Mon, 30 Dec 2019 11:00:00 +0000

12 years is a long wait for justice. Yet Ayesha Meeran's parents wait for that dawn when their daughter's murderer will be caught and justice will be delivered.

12 years for an open and shut case talks a lot about the kind of mechanisms in place in our country.

12 years is a life time for the grieving parents whose 19 year old daughter was brutally murdered in her hostel.
Even after 12 years the police of the state have not been able to nab the criminal but they managed to destroy evidences; mislead the judiciary and the public by targeting different people on flimsy grounds of suspect; falsely implicating a poor marginalized youth and preparing false evidences to get the judge award him a life term.

But the youth Satyam Babu with help from people who stand by justice despite all odds was proved innocent thereby putting to task once again the police who love to chase wild geese.

In a hostel with a party supposedly underway there is no witness as to who entered the hostel or who killed a girl in a heinous manner. All signs of evidence washed away; room mates and hostel wardens went away without a trace( ?) and the poor clueless police keep the wild goose chase on in their efforts to save the skin of the murderer who perhaps is a person of wealth and power.

Ayesha's parents

But Ayesha's parents yearn for justice. For days they struggled, ran from pillar to post seeking justice, and then tired slowed down but did not give up. Each year on 27th the death anniversary of their beloved daughter they come to the forefront with some supporters to demand justice.

The body of their daughter has been exhumed 12 years after death to learn more by which the intelligence department hopes to catch the guilty person who everyone who can add 2+2 knows.

On 27th December 2019 a Dharna or a sit-in protest was organised yet again to demand for justice in Vijaywada.

At the Dharna many people including activists, lawyers, politicians and others expressed their solidarity and gave courage to Iqbal Basha and Shamshad Begum Ayesha's parents.
The parents had only one request - justice be served at least now after 12 years.

While everyone disbursed after the dharna feeling they had done their bit, Ayesha's parents continue to wait for justice.
Watch excerpts of the Dharna in this video :

Anti CC: Students Maha garjana: Ayesha and Ladeeda come to Osmania Univ...

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Wed, 25 Dec 2019 18:22:00 +0000

Protest against NRC Hyderabad

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Tue, 10 Dec 2019 19:49:00 +0000

Protest against NRC in Hyderabad

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Tue, 10 Dec 2019 18:20:00 +0000

Paytm users beware

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Sat, 07 Dec 2019 10:16:00 +0000

Have people really changed with times? Or Have the times changed?

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Tue, 18 Dec 2018 13:43:00 +0000

These days we find several posts that talk of the good old days where people were concerned about each other, shared each other’s joys and sorrows. The posts remind us of the child hood days when we were unlike the children of today, of parents who had time for their children, of strangers who were kind and helpful, where we had real friends unlike today where we have more virtual friends.

In short this comparison is to make us realise that people were good in the past and those days were the best days. And today people are selfish, youth are more self-centred, children are indifferent and rude, they don’t respect the elders nor do they have the helping nature that children earlier had. All that the youth, kids and even adults are absorbed into today is the modern day gadgets that keeps them occupied in a world of their own whereby they are detached with the real world and real people.

Recently I read a blog by Kelly flanagan forwarded to me by my niece and it set me thinking. The blog was about how kids have more to teach to us especially some lessons of life which we have conveniently forgotten smug in our self confidence and complacency.

He is right, I realised. We do have so much to learn from kids if only we take some time to contemplate. We, the older generation who tend to dismiss off today’s generation as ‘artificial’ beings. At the same time we also dismiss even the adults who have changed with the modern times and have become callous and selfish.

Early this year in the month of February, I lost my brother. He left behind 2 boys aged 14, 13 and a girl aged 11. The children were for some days numb with sadness and found a great difficulty in coming to terms with the death of their father.

However, the boys had several friends in the neighbourhood and these boys did their best to draw out my nephews and include them in their games. And on two occasions they also took my nephews out to a bakery and on another day to a tiffin centre just to cheer them up and treat them to their favourite dishes and snacks from their pocket money.

And the school management where they studied delegated a group of female teachers to come to our house to offer their condolences. And the teachers had brought with them a letter from the management offering their condolences.

The eldest boy studied in another school. And the director of that school, a young man was not in India but his parents came to our house to offer their condolences to my brother’s wife and his children. And when the director came back to India after a couple of months he waived off the fees for the coming academic year which was the last year in school for my nephew.

I realised people have not really changed. Or if they have, not all people, not all kids, not all youth have changed.

If anything has changed it is the perception, the circumstances and environment that forces people to become callous, indifferent, rude, selfish and what not.

I not only felt overwhelmed by all these actions of the people connected to my brother’s family but I went down memory lane.

I was maybe 11 when my father died. And apart from my class teacher who consoled me when I went to school after a couple of days, no one else did. No other teacher, no classmate or the management had anything to say to me leave apart coming home to offer their condolence to my mother.

However a kind lady in the neighbourhood took me and my little niece to her house and gave us chapati to eat and tea to drink. Though at that time I did not realise why she was feeding us. But now I do.

So have times really changed? Have people changed? Have they become good now? Or were they good back then? It isn’t really about time. It is about people. Time is only a concept we human beings perceive.

People can be good or bad whenever wherever they want. It has nothing to do with times then or times now.

Time changes, it cannot be constant. So do people, either for good or for bad. You cannot escape change but you can certainly decide how you want to change.

It rained flowers

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Sun, 08 Jul 2018 17:22:00 +0000

Something light drifted and brushing my cheek fell down in my lap. I took the small white flower gingerly and smelt it. It smelt wonderful nothing like I had ever smelt before. I looked around in astonishment as there were no flower trees around. And then another flower floated down. This one was different. Even as I was admiring the beauty of this one many flowers began falling. I got up from the roadside bench and looked up at the sky. There were huge clouds looming and something magical from the clouds was happening. IT was raining flowers!!

I looked around in utter amazement. The pavement was covered with flowers of all shapes, colours and sizes. Some familiar like our roses, lilies, jasmine, marigold, chrysanthemum, lotus and many whose names I did not even know but strongly felt that these were flowers not of the earth but of the heavens. For they not just looked exotic but also smelled heavenly.

The air was filled with a delightful perfume and the land with flowers. Everyone around me were as amazed as I was. But soon everyone began picking up the flowers and filling them up in their bags. Every one present there had become a child in their enthusiasm and joy at the magical wonder.

Many rushed in their houses and came back with baskets, bags and anything they could find to fill the flowers with.

I too began filling up my empty grocery bags. Thank God I had not yet reached the store and had paused to catch my breath on the bench at the pavement.

I was already thinking of decorating all the vases with fresh exotic flowers and make bouquets with the remaining ones. And just as I was thinking of various ways I could use the flowers, it stopped raining.

And there we were all of us with arm full and bag full of flowers still unable to recover from the magical rain.

People now began chatting animatedly about what they were going to do with the flowers. I am sure many would want to sell them to the florists because these were flowers no one had even seen in this side of the town. While those who lived nearby must have collected flowers in tons and wanted to sell them to the perfume maker while someone wanted to export them!!

I looked around and there were no flowers left on the ground. Every single flower was gone. As if there was no flower rain. Why even the stray animals had a taste of the flowers. They were feeding on them.

I walked home wards with my three bags full of flowers. I was sure everyone in the town had collected these flowers.

I know we would talk about this magical rain not for days or months but years together and pass on this amazing story to our future generations.

The flowers stayed fresh for a week. And then later the decomposed flowers were used as compost for our kitchen gardens.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for

Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

I close my eyes

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Wed, 23 May 2018 09:13:00 +0000

In Love

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Wed, 23 May 2018 09:04:00 +0000

MIrages

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Wed, 23 May 2018 08:59:00 +0000

Roads where dost thou go

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Wed, 23 May 2018 08:48:00 +0000

noreply@blogger.com (Nikhat) — Tue, 17 Apr 2018 10:23:00 +0000