Between my shadow and my soul

Silly Kitty Hibbie Jibbies

This sounds so silly even when I say it to myself. When I tell it to my friends they laugh out loud. But I can't hide it any more. I am terrified of domesticated animals. Well dogs and cats to be specific. Developmentally, I blame my mum. I went through a phase around 6 when I reeeally wanted a white kitty with blue eyes but it was just a conditioned response to major gender role identification from my environment. Anyways my mum refused us pets.

This would be cool if a cat hadn't entered my life recently. This I also blame on my mum (Jeez I'm turning out to be a real Fraud, Oops slip of the tongue). Anyways my mum saw this stray cat outside and she had just listened to Mufti AK on CII and was therefore feeling a little lightheaded. And this cute greyish mixture cat miaows at her while she waters her herb garden. And she immediately imagines it's a farishta (angel) testing her generosity and she thinks about all the bala happening recently and decides feeding this cat could be the one small good deed that makes her look Albino on the day of Judgement. Of course this thing is conditioned to think like a Hillbrow squatter and now won't leave us alone. PS I know the Prophet SAW loved cats an looked after them. He also was awesome at archery whereas the one time I tried I skinned off half my forearm and killed some ants.

One morning in Ramadhan we were praying Fajr after Sehri and the darn thing sees the lights on and starts making a racket like it's in labour pains. And then it finds and open window and nearly attacks me while in Ruku. Okay maybe that's how it looked from my side. It just came really close with this I'm so hungry I could eat you look in its eyes. Lucky my screaming made my mum break her Salaah so peace reigned.

The thing is no matter how much I whirl high pitched shrieks of terror at the cat (I'm the one terrified) it refuses to leave me alone. The other night I was going to visit my neighbour and it followed me. And it gives me these puss in boots looks every time it sees me. And the scariest thing is that I'm realising that if I wasn't scared that this thing had rabies or lice or some other Ebola-like abomination, I would not mind feeding it. And I think, do I fear the cat, or do I fear the attachment that comes with caring for it.

To those everyday Wonders

People I know ask why my blog isn't filled with hilarious stories about my "patients".
Cofidentiality issues aside, the way Hollywood notoriorizes (my word) mental health issues is fare removed from the actual reality, warmth and respect of the time I spend with clients.
If I am laughing in a session it is usually due to a wisecrack made by them, as life's difficulties allows one an above average grip on humour. Here is something these wanderers of my soul have taught me:

Depression, to my nuanced sight,
Appears as my experiences of driving alone
Through a voluminous thunderstorm

My usually firm grip quivers
From the force of this unrelenting
Jaggedly shaking pressure

The roads that I usually whiz through
Singing at the top of my voice, become
Sinister, slippery, arduous with danger

The thunder assaults my ears and the lightning
Reflects the fear in my runny eyes
I am too weak for this, it is too strong

I need a safe rest stop, away, away, with
My doors and windows Locked. To protect
Me from what I cannot control

Our Room

Our room is cosy like a square four foot cottage
Hewn into a slumbering cave
With one entrance yet many exits
And they wonder where we come from

Our room has a lush orange carpet
On which we sit cross-legged like maulvis
Searching for truth yet creating fatwas
That refuse to leave when we do

Our room has a roof pregnant with cherry bunches
Each cherry bitter-sweet and tingling
Filled with some intoxicant we have no name for
That leaves us prancing and dizzy

Our room has a neighbour, a middle aged artist
Whose mixture of qur’an verses, old Indian songs
And the santoor sends shivers down our spines
Tomorrow, we sing back, there is always tomorrow

Our room travels in suitcases, in wallets and memory cards
It is where we still sit on walls and throw astros at boys
Or come home late or kill all evil or make everyone happy
It is, wherever we go, we are with me, mon cherie

Ummahatul Roohy

Ummatur Roohy

Ummatur Roohy, Mothers of My Soul,

Sisters of my thoughts

Daughters of my ideas

Keepers of my dreams

Our relations born out of improbability

Our bonds preserved implicitly

There is Ngara, beautiful, quick witted

Pure and perseverant as a Malian princess

Her healing spirit soothes.

Elizabeth, grounds us with sarcasm, innuendo

And opinionated debate

In her I see illusions of me, and am disillusioned

Itsweng, the nurturing Teacher, guides our hopes

With experiences of breeding worms, tantalizing men

And nourishing crowds, she is Strength

We are all leaders of our milieu, philanthropists of our Love

Celebrating the Peace we imbue


I like just before sunset
When the world sighs

I like the sound of grass
Crawling into my ears

I like movies with less dolby
More expression and space

I like when They forget
And I can bungy freekick

I like when They step back
And I See Love

I like when We do

My heartbeats skip
In Silence

Celebrating with WIP- Happy birthday Dillu :)

Financial Times Headline: World renowned CFA Graduate imparts her knowledge with an 8 year old.

Here's to intelligent kids, low maintenance dudes and hopefully one day a Halaal Woolworths delivery service :)

Ping Poing

Pic pic pic clatters a keyboard
Poc poc poc thoughts and letters unite
Pic poc pic poc pic pic poc
the song of sounding ideas and resounding comments

Mind My Language

Do you feel Aids?

It feels soft, like a thin blanket that is the only source of comfort for an infected child in a nasty smelling hospital,
It feels hard like the erection he just couldn't help satisfying with whomever, whenever
It feels wet like the newborn baby's head, born with a halo of stigma
It feel dry like the mouth sores on the B Com graduate's lips that refuse to be cured,
It feels callous like the stale bread that was all a 15 year old could feed her toddler brother,
It feels smooth like the legs of a seasoned hillbrow hour of guilty pleasure away from your wife,
It feels like nothing, like the thoughts a youthful brain riddled with dementia can produce,
It feels like everything, like the future parents take away when they die prematurely

And yet it is only when we change what Aids feels like
That it can stop being the bitch of Death

They will take our lives, and yet also our Freedom

The mourners sweep pavements with heartache
The one thing lost no one could break

The petals are dry her mhendi has faded
And yet until yesterday they had been radiant

So many miles her back was elevated straight,
These momentous steps someone else holds her weight

Tears splutter breathlessly, swallowing all air
Like our Laughter mercilessly slain to despair

To All, With Love

Maybe it's the economic or political mayhem but all I'm feeling right now is hate and anger and blasting of others on blogs. There is More. I know OH doesn't think much of arguments based on religious texts but bleh. Stumbling across this made my day:

Prophet Muhamed SAW said:

"The most beloved to Allah among the people are those who are most beneficial to others. The most beloved deeds in the sight of Allah are bringing happiness to a Muslim, removing his or her difficulty, paying off his or her debt, and removing his or her hunger. Going out with my Muslim brother [or sister] to take care of his [or her] need is more beloved to me than spending a month of i`tikaf[spiritual retreat in the mosque]. For those who control their anger, Allah will cover their shortcomings. For those who subdue their revenge that they can carry on, Allah will fill their hearts with happiness on the Day of Judgment. For those who walk with their brothers [or sisters] to take care of their needs, Allah will establish their feet on the Day when the feel will stumble. Bad temper spoils the deed as vinegar spoils honey." (Reported by At-Tabarani in the Kabir and by Ibn Abi Dunya. Al-Albani said it is a good hadith)

Everyone anticipates the relief,
Love story, greatness, Zuckerman odyssey,
Anything to put a star on the back of your palm,
A satellite to point out in the midnight sky
Something to stop life Going By

I shrug the Expectation for what it is
Play and amusement, no real gist
Stopping my freefall at its pinnacle
No autographs, biographies, free dvds
Will eclipse the ‘little” that is Me

Cursed heritage

I apologise for the banging heads
When you use my guts for your screeching violin
A phantom trauma playing out its last act
And never resolved, perpetually comes back
It is attracted to my innocent Stare
Whose unquestioning Love makes its insecurities flare...

Seven Counter-clockwise stirs

When we make tawaaf around the House of Allah in Makkah (the ka'bah) we imitate the actions of 70 000 angels that daily worship Allah at Baytul Ma'moor, situated in the 7th heaven directly above the current position of the Ka'bah. I imagine it as a process of winding up, of revitalising, of remembering the reason Allah created Men and Jinn, this purpose so simply illustrated in this action, yet forgotten in the millions of actions we perform elsewhere.

When we walk away from tawaaf, we have to remember how our footsteps were determined in a way that pleases Him, and start applying this principle in the actions that are not so straightforward. You would imagine the closer you are to this powerhouse, this core which encompasses so much of Islam's history, the easier it would be to live this purpose. To my horror, I see Makkah forgetting the honour it has been bestowed with. I see it being a city that has the Ka'bah and yet all of the Ihsaan that is supposed to emanate from this structure, based on man's repentance and revival is lost. Instead of breeding Knowledge, Wisdom, Learning and Power, around the Ka'bah we see rampant materialism, the purpose of which breeds the sanctity of this city into a dry stalk instead of the vibrant palm tree it has the potential to become.

Just a few steps away from the Ka'bah is Abraj al Bait, encompassing a multi-layered Dubai-styled shopping complex with international fast food outlets and branded clothing shops galore. Muslims meet in this place from all over the world and instead of sharing knowledge and creating bonds, as even the pagan Arabs did during the pilgrimage of the Jahiliyyah period, we bargain for items that help us little in our quest for Jannah and Allah's Pleasure. There is one tower to be built still, and plans are in check for it to have a bowling alley and health club. No matter that the best exercise one can engage oneself in is a few steps away. All around the current centre are LCD screens with ads of women without hijab, and as you leave the sign greets you with a pleasant "Have a nice day".

Imagine what else could we create in these blessed spaces while embracing the advantages of technology. I would love to visit Makkah and go on simulated tours of all of the Prophet's lives as Disneyland does so well. Infotainment, and yet the Wahaabism that allowed a Fir'aun-like castle to be built here, would label this bid'ah. How children would enjoy engaging in games that tested their Islamic knowledge, we could have conference rooms filled with people from all over the world attending lectures in their language and creating the bond of Grass mentioned in the Qur'an about the Sahabah RA. My ideas are breaths of carbon dioxide in a raging fire, yet I do not see how an Islamic Revival can be created when the source is so bereft.


Sometimes it feels like I've created this huge circular track with intertwining lanes and I'm playing a game of bumping cars with everything in my life. Unlike Important Person 01 whose trajectory is like a rollercoaster up which she propels herself and the downhills swirl her in unexpected momentums of bliss. Or Important Person 02 who was born on an eagle and spends most of her waking hours trying to tame it and the rest enjoying its jittery fells and swoops.

Cut and Paste

Explanation for Hijab