Chai, (Ramadan) and I (Part 4 – The Chai Series)

Image for illustrative purposes only from the www.

Originally written for Gulf News: https://gulfnews.com/opinion/op-eds/from-chai-addiction-to-spiritual-freedom-in-ramadan-1.101950803

From chai addiction to spiritual freedom in Ramadan

Of course I am going to talk (yet again) about the beverage that makes me tick: chai. Or tea, if you prefer English. The groggy morning self longs for a cuppa as I saunter down the stairs and sit lazily on the couch trying to get myself together. The cat brushes past my ankles and I frown, annoyed as I cast a longing look towards the kitchen.

If I wasn’t fasting, I would boil water and loose black tea for a good 12 minutes or so. I would then add evaporated milk, boil it a bit more till the colour and aroma feels just right and so incredibly inviting. Then with a flourish, I would strain it into my beautiful blue and white mug. (Yes, the mug is new. And it’s beautiful, and he doesn’t know we have three of the same ones in case the kids or the dishwasher get overly excited and shatter the masterpiece). But I digress. After pouring it into the said mug, a sprinkle of saffron and I’m charged with a million batteries. Suddenly I am good-natured and humorous and I can come up with sixteen very creative ideas for my daughter’s science project. But not so today. Today I’m feeling strictly ‘meh’.

Ramadan, for me (especially it’s first few days) is always a bit tricky. Chai has a refreshing, energizing effect on me, as a result I avoid drinking it at Suhoor (pre-dawn meal). In any case, post suhoor, trying to sleep while the bathroom urges keep disturbing me, is already quite challenging and I imagine the diuretic effects of tea would only make it harder.

After breaking fast at iftar I avoid tea because I need to catch some winks in the night before it’s time to wake up for the pre-dawn meal. In essence, there is a sad separation between me and chai in Ramadan. It’s painful and the fondness of it is such that I am writing an entire blog on it.

The dreadful caffeine withdrawal lasts a week at best and after that I realize I can function without it. I can be fun and funny and I don’t have to blame caffeine for it, plus the jitters of an extra strong chai can be thankfully avoided. I also save myself some extra calories and nothing interferes with my sleep. It sounds impossible but my concentration levels and my ability to focus on one task with complete immersion has improved somewhat. Wait, am I seeing life outside of chai? Me, the addict – am I noticing that life might be good after all without my steaming cuppa of dopamine?

Perhaps this is an invitation to not just explore my caffeine addiction, but everything else that I think that I can’t do without. This is what Ramadan is really about, isn’t it? Breaking free of the chains we think bind us. Realizing that we can do without our much-loved beverages, the frequent meals, the extravagance in food and more importantly, we can do away with habits like gossip, backbiting and social media addictions.

As Ramadan hurtles along towards its end, I wonder if I have truly cleansed myself of the addictions that plague me. I wonder if I have learnt to be with myself, in silence and solitude and lived the true purpose of fasting – connecting to Him and being aware of His presence in my life. I wonder if I have let go of comparison and competition and just like the desire to drink tea is waning, are my worries and anxieties fading?

As I sign off, I remind myself that Ramadan must bring about a reset of the body and the soul and I hope to celebrate Eid with a lightness that is both physical and spiritual, more calm and contentment and umm.. I really wouldn’t mind a karak on the side. Just saying.

For the ones who would like to read the chai series:

Chai and I (Part 1) https://mehmudahrehman.wordpress.com/2012/05/06/chai-and-i/

Chai and I (Part 2) https://mehmudahrehman.wordpress.com/2021/02/12/chai-and-i-part-2/

Chai and I (Part 3) https://mehmudahrehman.wordpress.com/2021/02/19/chai-and-i-part-3-oh-mugs/

Read ’em all and tell me which one you like the most.

For my dear sisters who can’t pray or fast in the last ten nights of Ramadan!

For all the women out there who can’t pray or fast in these last ten nights and are feeling absolutely devastated, this is for you. From one sister to another. I hope this gives you motivation to bring out the very best in you even though you’re not praying. Please share this with someone who you think may need to hear this. This post has 3 parts, please watch them all! ❤

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The girls and I – getting screamed at in mosques since 2007

As the title suggests I’m no stranger to being humiliated at mosques because of my children. I still remember the first time it happened. My eldest, now 17, was about a year or so old. Making her wear and remove her shoes was a bit of a nightmare, and when we walked into the masjid, I did not remove her shoes for two reasons. A) they weren’t overly dirty because my one-year-old wasn’t exactly trekking around yet and b) those shoes were super annoying to remove and put back on. A lady saw me and the baby and gave me a proper telling-off about how I wasn’t upholding the decorum of the mosque by keeping my baby’s shoes on. She embarrassed me in front of everyone and was so rude and condescending that I still remember how it felt. I was barely 20 years old and nodded and almost cried at the tirade. But did I stop bringing my child to the masjid? Heck, no.

Another incident in my illustrious history comes to mind – the day the chips made noise. To keep my second one occupied during the long taraweeh prayers, we brought a pack of chips to the masjid. The mosque was so full of women it was bursting at the seams and when the imam would be silent in prayer, the crunching of the chips wrapper was audible. As soon as the two units of prayer got over a lady in a yellow prayer abaya stood up and let loose on me. About how we should never bring our children to the masjid, about how distracting the child and her chips were and about how I had spoilt everyone’s taraweeh. This lady’s tirade I still remember because of the way she insulted me in front of a huge group of people and how my eyes stung afterwards, and how my neck felt warm. But did I stop going to the masjid? Nope.

Then there have been countless incidents here and there which I’ve forgotten over the years. But yesterday night, we ran into another gem who will now grace this blog. So I brought the following things to the masjid to keep my one-year-old occupied. An ear of boiled sweet corn for her to nibble on, a rubric cube and one of those squishy toys you get on the plane. Since this was a dedicated women’s and children’s area of the mosque there were a few other children too, all of whose mums had had similar ideas to mine. While we prayed the children busied themselves with their toys. I was happy as I monitored my daughter from the corner of my eye, busy with some shopkins thing. A little boy took my daughter’s rubric cube and began engaging with it. After the two units of the taraweeh finished my second eldest (of the infamous chips incident, now 14), decided to put the rubric cube back because she was afraid we would lose it. I intervened and said to the little boy’s mother, “No, it’s fine, please let him play.” Enter angry lady, with sacks of mean, unsolicited advice. “THIS IS A MASJID! WHY PLAY? YOUR KIDS WILL PLAY HERE? THERE IS NO RULES OF THE MOSQUE? IS THIS A PLAYGROUND?”

Honestly, I was gob smacked. Why would anyone object to some children quietly playing with a rubric’s cube? This was honestly even more ridiculous than the chips wrapper. The conversation went as follows.

Me: Please, why don’t you pray inside, where there are no children? Please remember, this is a dedicated kid’s area.

Her: TEACH YOUR CHILDREN TO SIT QUIETLY WHILE EVERYONE PRAYS!

Me: Teach my one-year-old to sit?

Her: THIS IS A MOSQUE NOT A PLAYGROUND!

Me: Yes, but they are very small, let them be busy. They’re not disturbing anyone.

Her: CHILDREN SHOULD SIT WITH GOOD MANNERS. ELSE YOU CARRY THEM.

Me: (I hear the imam start the next 2 units of prayer) I think we need to talk after salah.

I gave her a deep, searching look trying to figure out why there was so much anger and frustration and went back to my prayers. Meanwhile, the little boy got busy with the cube and my little one ran around while nibbling her corn. Two thirds of the mosque was empty, so this wasn’t such a huge problem but I couldn’t help thinking about what had just transpired.

Here’s my advice to mums with small children who would like to enjoy prayers in congregation.

To the mums with children:

1. Try and choose a mosque with a dedicated kid’s area. You get screamed at way lesser.
2. Make sure your children have napped and eaten and no wet nappies so they’re comfortable while you’re at the mosque.
3. Bring toys that will keep them occupied.
4. And pencils and papers and coloring!
5. Bring something to eat (mess free please). Cheerios, cucumber slices, crackers (even sweet corn if your baby knows how to eat it) works well.
6. Clean up afterwards. There will always be a bit of mess where there are children.
7. If your baby cries, carry the baby and calm them down.
8. If your baby is still crying, leave the mosque with them until they’re okay.
9. If your baby needs help, pray later. Make sure they’re okay.
10. If your baby is engaged and playing and happy, thank Allah and pray!
11. Keep monitoring them.
12. If something goes wrong, keep smiling.
13. Don’t worry about making very small children pray. They’ll pray automatically if they see everyone else at it.
14. Love your children, own them and don’t be angry at them. They’re just being kids. 

To the ladies who pray in the mosque and get mad when there are children

1. If children bother you, please do not pray in the dedicated children’s area.
2. Please, spare a thought for mums who make it to the masjid despite having a small child in tow.
3. Please, don’t be unkind and don’t embarrass people. This is also a ruling of our deen, remember?
4. Would you like your teenager’s heart to be attached to the masjid? Start them young. Let our children bask in the glow of the quran, let them learn to love prayers as they come to the masjid. Don’t shun them away. One day, you’ll really wish they came to the mosque more.
5. Please let children and their mothers build happy memories in the masjid.
6. Remember, mosques are community places for the family, especially those that have separate prayers hall for children.
7. Open your hearts and let people enjoy Ramadan. Those mums have a heart too, you know. They’d like to feel that Ramadan feeling too.
8. Be helpful. Bring mess-free food and toys to the masjid to keep the children occupied.
9. If you see children occupied and playing, say Allahumma baarik and smile at them and say “well done mommy!”
10. If you’ve publicly embarrassed anyone in the past because of their children, please apologize to them or make dua for them.
11. if you must say something please say it respectfully without being rude, condescending or insulting. 
12. If you want to see youth whose hearts are attached to the masjid, please welcome them into the mosques as children. Don’t scare them off. 
13. It takes a village! Please play your part right. 

Rant over.

Except, I just remembered. So when this lady was screaming at me yesterday and I was giving her deep searching looks trying to figure out where all that negativity came from – another lady with a small child (the shopkins mom) SMACKED her two-year-old who was running around the sort-of-empty masjid. Like hit hard on the arm. The child was seriously disturbed and so was I.

Rant really over.

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Anti-Ramadaning and other Ramadan problems

Ramadan 2022

Ramadan – my favorite time of the year. The month associated with some of my most beautiful memories. There are some key moments in life which make you feel like you have taken a few steps towards the ultimate goal of self-actualization and for me those golden moments have, more often than not, been found in the blessed nights of this month. Ramadan and I go a long way. If it weren’t for the Ramadans in my life, things would have been very, very different. There are too many memories, too much history (and umm.. Too Much Information) that I could talk about, but suffice to say this has been a very special month for me historically. But as of now, I’m … Anti-Ramadaning.

If you don’t know what Anti-Ramadaning means, I don’t blame you. A couple of days ago, even I didn’t know what it meant, but now that I have coined this term, I can explain. It is an umbrella term that includes many things such as (but not limited to):

• the frustration of not being able to fast
• glancing enviously at the hubby, kids and friends who can fast
• not fulfilling quran, nawafil, dua and tahajjud goals like you’d planned
• watching TV (documentaries, cat videos and even serials) when you can do zikr
• twiddling thumbs

So basically, I have started this Ramadan feeling very – unfulfilled. I have always associated Ramadan with a deep feeling of fulfilment and contentment but this time, I feel like I don’t ‘belong’. Like everyone has a happy secret that they’re sharing and I can’t be a part of it.

For the uninitiated, my little one is only about 4 months old and I happen to be her primary source of nutrition. I miss fasting. Last year when Ramadan came around, I was pregnant and pretty sick so fasting was completely out of the question. The year before that, I had broken my foot and while I could still fast, I couldn’t stand or walk much and standing in prayer was difficult if not impossible. So was cooking for the family.

This is the third year running when Ramadan does not feel like usual. As I snack on almonds and ignore the urge to watch ‘just a little bit’ of the Grenada Sherlock Holmes series while my kids complain about how hungry they are and repeatedly ask how many more hours there are to iftar, I’m a wee bit – annoyed. So, I think to myself – what if I do fast? What’s the worst that could happen? An image of a fussy and disturbed baby that doesn’t seem to calm down enters my mind, and me at the edge of my wits, wondering how to handle the situation. Perhaps fasting is really not an option, I concur. Reciting extra quran, praying my fard with ihsaan, extra nawafil and charity is definitely doable. Except I’m Anti-Ramadaning, remember?

It’s like a silent rebellion, like the teenager in me (which never seems to go away completely by the way) is saying “Yeah, whatever” (the shrug of the shoulders while you’re at it) and that (un)happy comfortable place of “I AM like that. Go figure.”

True, the devils have been chained in the month of Ramadan, but I don’t seem to require their services – I seem to be great at this stuff myself. Is it rebellion? Is it because I’m lazy? Is it because I have a small baby and that can scatter-brain you a little bit sometimes? Or is it just that I’m not as spiritual/nice/____ (fill in the blank) as I’d hoped to be? Could it be the fact that I feel like what good is my small little ibadah, when people fast, pray in the mosque and basically do things I do in a year in a single night? The fard prayer I muster up sleepily because the baby didn’t sleep well at night and I don’t feel that awesome spiritual “Ramadan feeling” while people cry buckets during salah? Really, what is up with me?

The writer types (and the reader types – more specifically, my blog reader types) would know that I overthink and analyze things to death in order to make sense of them. I chop the sausage (the sausage being my problem) in my head to tiny little cubes, each symmetrically perfect and equal. And then I chop them some more and examine them from every side and wonder how the light reflects on them on a certain angle. Yeah, I overthink stuff. So as I analyze why this Ramadan I haven’t been my best and why I’m coining terms like Anti-Ramadaning of course I would have to blog about it and you my dear reader, just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I were you, I’d leave now.

Obviously, I haven’t thought this through. I haven’t yet touched upon the fact that Ramadan is between me and Allah and my Rabb is far more Merciful than I can ever imagine. Perhaps my frustration at not being able to fast translates into rewards that I know nothing about and perhaps the spirituality and closeness that I crave is elusive for now, but just around the corner. It’s almost like the invitation is open and all I need is the courage to accept myself, and know that I will be accepted too, no matter how broken I am. Perhaps the five fard salahs I manage with some level of mindfulness are far more important than I can understand. Perhaps my longing will become my salvation.

Let me just make it clear – I’m not planning to read the entire tafseer this Ramadan or even close — but I do really hope and pray for His closeness, His forgiveness and the one missing element – IHSAN. I want to do this right. I want to pull myself out whatever this Anti-Ramadaning is and collect, coin by coin, my treasure which will serve me in this life as well as the akhirah. It hasn’t been perfect but I’m willing to try again. I’m going to try again, and I know Allah acknowledges every step we take towards Him.

Abu Dharr (RA) reported that the Prophet SAWS said that Allah swt says: Whoever draws close to Me by the length of a hand, I will draw close to him by the length of an arm. Whoever draws close to Me the by length of an arm, I will draw close to him by the length of a fathom. Whoever comes to Me walking, I will come to him running. Whoever meets Me with enough sins to fill the earth, not associating any partners with Me, I will meet him with as much forgiveness.”

Tired, frustrated, annoyed with myself I might be oh Allah but I am taking that first step. Please hold me tight for it feels like I might falter. And time is running out.

So why should I fast anyway?

Originally written for Gulf News Opinion http://gulfnews.com/opinion/thinkers/so-why-should-i-fast-anyway-1.1850796

The clock strikes four and I gulp down the water quickly. I hear the distant call of the Fajr (dawn) prayer and realise that for the next 15 hours, I can neither eat nor drink anything. I think warily of the fact that the girls have school almost half this Ramadan and pick-ups must be braved in the searing heat. It’s not the food I mind giving up, I say grudgingly to myself, it’s the water and the caffeine — and the sleep that gets interrupted when I wake up to eat the pre-dawn meal. I’m a grouch early in the morning and the idea of not being able to get a long lie-in irks me.

“Why must I fast anyway?” I ask myself in a moment of restless, bleary-eyed grumpiness. There’s a voice inside me that tells me to come to my senses, but another stronger voice pipes up, “Because everyone fasts during Ramadan”. I complete the Fajr prayer lazily and throw dirty looks at the clock that just doesn’t seem to move on. As the day wears on, my mood thankfully improves, much to the relief of my family. The conscience is uncomfortably guilty as I question myself again, this time wide-awake and pleasant enough — why, at any rate, do we fast in Ramadan?

The obvious answer of course would be that because Allah commanded us in the Quran to do so. He also told us that He intends ease for us and not difficulty, and that those who are unable to fast due to reasons such as ill-health, travelling and child birth are exempt from doing so. There is also great reward in paradise for those who fast. Just that should be enough for someone of sound faith to want to fast, but I want to delve deeper into this question.

Let me, for starters, examine my relationship with God. When things are going well, I don’t really talk to Him much. I pray mechanically, almost like I just want to tick off a task in my day. But when the going gets tough, I earnestly talk to Him, in the darkness of the night and during the day when no one but Him understands my whispered pleas. When I feel inadequate, unable to do everything that’s expected of me, I reach out to Him and tell Him everything, safe in the knowledge that His mercy is greater than His wrath and that He, alone will not judge me.

One thing about people is that they’re quick to judge you. Say, a woman might be having an illicit affair and people would condemn her for being a two-faced hypocrite, but the only One who knows her full story and still has the door of mercy and forgiveness open for her is Allah. When you’re in the wrong — say things you dearly regret and actions that you’d give anything to eradicate — Allah is the One and only who understands you and still loves you and appreciates the fact that you came back and said sorry. Just the thought is emancipating.

Another beautiful thing about this relationship is that Allah knows me better than anyone, imperfections and all. He still loves me and listens to me every time I need to talk — no matter even if it is too trivial and I can be myself. He takes care of my requests, provided I ask like I really mean them. Even while I prayed and fasted like it was a chore, He continued to bless me with every passing day with gifts such as a functioning body, my family and countless other things.

I feel like a very selfish person — all I seem to care about is MY comfort, MY coffee and MY entertainment. I feel shallow, insincere — but one thing I do not feel is despair, because I know that the moment I reciprocate the love He shows me, Allah will give me another chance.

Outward signs of practising religion are indeed a part of it, but the actions are weightless if the conviction of faith isn’t behind them. I reflect upon the fact that I have this One friend that I have counted on in every moment of need and found Him to be true and incredibly caring and merciful. He continues to love me despite the fact that I mess up way too often. The more I know Him, the more thankful I am to Him and the more I want to show Him my love and devotion too. From hereon, I will fast because I want to, because He said so, because it is a privilege to be able to worship Him in the way He wants me to.

Detoxing the body and soul this Ramadan

Originally written for Gulf News Opinion http://gulfnews.com/opinion/thinkers/detoxing-the-body-and-soul-this-ramadan-1.1538896

Published: 15:28 June 22, 2015

When the starting day of Ramadan was confirmed, my heart skipped a beat as I welcomed my favourite time of the year, grateful to be alive to experience it again. Memories of last Ramadan came flooding back to me when I was lumbering around with swollen feet, nine months pregnant, desperately wanting the baby to finally arrive. As the month ends, she will turn one, and because not all of us shed baby weight as easily as Kate Middleton, I am looking to detoxify the body and hopefully shed a few pounds in the process. But what’s much more important is cleansing the soul.

Life for each one of us is a blend of wonderful, rejuvenating experiences and ugly, forgettable incidents. The amazing human mind stores all of these events pretty efficiently — our mind is like a large castle with many rooms, alleyways and courtyards. The negative memories, those painful incidents that we would like to forget, we unconsciously dump in a room in the posterior wing of this castle and keep the door firmly shut. Yet those experiences live within us, and the lingering hurt remains. Adverse experiences are a part of life, and indeed we would not value happiness and peace as much as we do were it not for the occasional jolts that life gives us. There are some of us who are able to brush off every negative experience nonchalantly and go about our merry ways.

But there are those who have a hard time letting go and accepting reality. As for me, my personality can be painfully analytical and critical, especially of my own self. I am prone to thinking things through, dissecting them to death trying to figure out why they happened. There’s always a desperate struggle to “get it right” that has defined my life, the feeling that if only I had done this or that, things might have been different. Now the time has come when I want to, consciously, let go.

For every relationship in life that didn’t work out, for every time I have felt dejected, and for each instance in which I have failed, I have frantically tried (in my head) to hold myself, or others, responsible. While introspection and soul searching is generally a good thing, and has helped me on many occasions, there is such a thing as too much of it. There’s a certain calmness and profundity about accepting things the way they are, acknowledging them as they stand today without beating yourself up about it, and without secretly blaming someone else, either.

A month of positivity

To me, this blessed month has always rekindled hope and brought positivity, and this year comes with me needing a fresh perspective on things perhaps more than before. In the last ten nights of Ramadan I will be looking for the genuine contentment that comes only from the belief that every experience that you went through was destined for you.

And that even though it may not seem so, in the grand scheme of things it was somehow the best thing that could have happened to you. Truly having faith that every challenge in life has positive connotations and consequences — no matter how contrary it may seem — is wonderfully liberating. I will take this opportunity to share a beautiful line from the Quran: “But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah Knows, while you know not.” (Surah Al Baqarah 2:216).

Even though tough times test us and bring us pain they do form an integral part of our life experience, and we are the better for them. True happiness and healing is in learning to be truly thankful for them. Moreover, we tend to dwell on the little hills that are our problems in life — and each one of us has those. But in the process we ignore the mountains of blessings that have been bestowed upon us. This Ramadan I want to give genuine thanks for every gift my Creator has given me that I have neither acknowledged nor been grateful for. It is a time to connect with Him with a certainty that every time we call out to Him, He listens.

As the sweetness of the imam’s recitation during taraweeh prayers warms my heart, I feel that distinct Ramadan feeling, an inexplicable joy that can’t be put into words. Here’s hoping that this Ramadan will be better than the ones gone by, and that I am able to savour every moment of this month that slips by too quickly, leaving us to wonder whether we did in fact make the most of it.

On being the only one who doesn’t fast

Originally written for Gulf News: http://gulfnews.com/opinions/offthecuff/on-being-the-only-one-who-doesn-t-fast-1.1359213

Published July 2014

Like a lot of people who observe and celebrate Ramadan, I generally anticipate its arrival way before the month actually begins. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that I plan my entire year around it, look forward to its arrival and feel saddened when it bids us farewell.

This attachment to the month could be for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that for me, on a personal level, Ramadan has always brought forth positivity. Be it major changes within my own mental makeup or minor ones on the bathroom scales, Ramadan has been, for me, a bringer of glad tidings. Not surprisingly, it has witnessed some of the best moments in my life. At the very essence of it all, there is of course, the act of fasting and in general an increase in worship, the kind that generates from the heart and brings lasting peace and tranquillity to it.

What then, am I to make of this particular Ramadan, when I am for medical reasons (pregnancy, to be specific) not able to fast? Before the month began, I was secretly happy that I wouldn’t have to brave the heat and discomfort during the long day from dawn to dusk without food and water, but when the moon was sighted and everyone around me began to fast, I felt — well, there has to be only one for it — deprived.

The blessed meal of suhour has a charm about it that has to be experienced to be understood. You eat what you can (sometimes half-asleep) and as soon as you realise it’s time, you stop eating and drinking for the sake of your Creator alone. And then when, hours later, after a demanding day, you take your first gulp of water at iftar, you just want to praise the Lord for the sheer pleasure it brings. You suddenly feel content and there’s no emotion in the world that can parallel that.

Vague sensation

I didn’t realise how much I would miss all that. I didn’t realise just how much fasting does for you on a spiritual level — indeed, this time it doesn’t even feel like it’s Ramadan. I have the vague sensation of something extremely precious flowing away without being able to catch it, taste it or experience it. It’s as though everyone around me is taking full advantage of something special while I am on the sidelines, observing them, twiddling my thumbs even as I waddle around the house, with my tummy entering every room a few seconds before I do!

One could of course argue that if I can’t fast, I can surely pray the night prayer, ortaraweeh — the prayer specific to the nights of Ramadan. Certainly, if I can get past my swollen feet and larger-than-life ankles, the (unlimited) restroom runs that just seem to be around the corner and that lovely, calming sensation of perpetual heartburn — and oh, did I mention the mood swings that even I can’t explain?

And it is not entirely easy to feel enthusiastic about standing in prayer for long hours at night, when you’ve played mom and homemaker for the better part of the day, slogging away resolutely, mustering up just about enough strength to carry along all of those extra pounds your body currently sports.

I do perhaps sound a little more frustrated (disappointed?) than I should be, because my situation brings with it a joy that is extremely precious and life-changing and truly makes everything worthwhile. As always, there is a strong case of looking at the glass half-full and finding ways of making this Ramadan wonderful and memorable too.

After all, doesn’t Allah look at your intentions and is it not the heart that is made content, regardless of whether you are able to fast or not? Isn’t it about connecting with your almighty on a profound spiritual level? Then I, for one, should know that exhausted, frustrated and inadequate as I feel, it takes only a moment of earnest seeking to find that which I’m looking for. Perhaps it’s just that one evasive tear that refuses to fall from my eye or that one suppressed supplication that hasn’t yet escaped my lips that will make this Ramadan even better than the last. Here’s hoping that I too, will be able to partake in the blessings of this special month and it won’t go by without transforming the negatives into positives and somehow bringing about yet another new beginning.

Mehmudah Rehman is a Dubai-based freelancer.

Do some soul-searching during Ramadan

This image is one I took and designed last year for Ramadan.

Originally written for Gulf News “Off the Cuff” http://gulfnews.com/opinions/offthecuff/do-some-soul-searching-during-ramadan-1.1206472

It’s one of those things about life; it takes us to the lowest possible ebb, and just when we’re ready to throw in the towel, it gets us to rise again. I remember last Ramadan with a mixture of sadness and fondness. It had been a tough year for me, perhaps one of the most turbulent phases of my life.

About a year ago, I wrote about how Ramadan was important to me because it wasn’t just about abstaining from food and drink, it was about clearing my heart and letting go of every malicious thought, every grudge and ill-feeling that I harboured against anyone.

I wanted to truly forgive and forget and I wanted a clean slate. Those days turned out to be, in many ways, a turning point in life for me.

I could have either given up on everything and everyone or I could have moved on into the light, brushing aside the cynicism and the negativity.

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I was tired. I was tired of the way things had been, I was tired of myself and I was very conscious of the fact that I might never see another Ramadan again.

When the Ramadan moon was sighted, it brought with it a hope as faint as the moon itself, and as I searched the heavens for a sign, I saw a hazy sliver of silver suspended in the faraway sky and I wondered if that little bit of light would somehow, miraculously brighten up my world too. I had known all along: it was time for change.

The change that had always made a case for itself but I had ignored the fact that it was even, in any way, needed. I decided that I would let this month be a sort of new beginning.

That meant only one thing: a fresh perspective, some serious soul searching and hoping, praying and trying desperately for the changes I so badly, urgently needed to make within my own self.

Ego issues

The ego of a human being is the single greatest thing that stands between a person and total happiness and peace. I wanted to conquer my ego, I wanted the realisation of my own errors that would help me break down and cry, and start again from scratch, without a ton of unnecessary baggage weighing me down. I wanted to humble myself, and I knew I had to take responsibility for everything that had gone wrong.

Holding myself, and just my own actions accountable for everything that had happened was where it all began. When I finally came to terms with the fact that our present is a direct result of our decisions and behaviour in the past, it looked as though the grime was finally shifting.

When the mosques were full and people beseeched Allah in the blessed nights, I too prayed for a miracle. And then just as quickly as it had come, with so much hype and hope, stealthily, the month of Ramadan passed me by.

I wondered if the changes I so desperately wanted would occur and if they would manifest themselves. It is said that if you take a step towards Allah, He in all His might and glory takes ten towards you, and if you walk to Him, He runs to you.

Feel free to share this pictorial, click for a larger image. This one was designed a long time ago by me.

About a year later, I say this with moist eyes — change did happen. It happened from within. Perhaps that’s why I could I see the world clearly, because my own vision was no longer altered with an omnipresent layer of dirt.

I don’t know how, I don’t even know when, and I certainly don’t know why — but all I know is that sincere remorse, no matter how lost you are, and being honest with yourself is the best way to pick yourself up again, and to rise like a phoenix from the ashes.

As I wait again for another Ramadan, I am filled with joy, gratitude and a sense of wonder and a warm feeling of hope and positivity. The blessed nights are truly special.

PS: What does Ramadan mean to you? How was your best Ramadan, do you remember it? What are your favourite tips for a great Ramadan?