One year ago: H.Res. 635: Recognizing Ramadan.

Today is the third anniversary of the October 8th earthquake which started in Kashmir, Pakistan and killed more than 70,000 people. I wrote this on October 10, 2005 and I’m republishing it now in memory of those people, among them an uncle who left behind three young sons. May we never forget our brothers and sisters.

There’s something so different in watching a disaster on the news, reading about it, seeing pictures of the devastation, saying “SubhanAllah” as you watch the death toll rising – and actually experiencing the tragedy on a personal level. Why is that? What has extinguished our humanity such that the only time we feel true emotion about a calamity is if it affects us.

In the early days of Islam, the Prophet (S) did not yet have a pulpit, so he used to preach standing next to a palm tree. When a masjid was built and the Prophet was about to leave the palm tree for the last time, there came a sudden heart-shattering groaning, moaning sound. The sound was coming from the tree, and water actually started to leak from the tree’s trunk. Out of love for the Prophet (S), the tree had started to weep as if it were a human, so hard that the Companions could hear it groaning. The Prophet gently stroked the tree, and it stopped weeping.

Hearing the tree’s moaning, one of the companions said to the people – What is wrong with your hearts that you do not weep when you heard this sound?

At least 20,000 are dead. What is wrong with our hearts that we do not weep when we hear this number?

I am one of those for whom 20,000 was just a number, until I found out that an uncle was among them.

He was my father’s first cousin and was a colonel stationed in Kashmir. He had volunteered for a task and was driving a jeep when the earthquake shattered the mountain he was passing. A huge boulder smashed on top of his jeep. My uncle was thrown from the car and tumbled down a ravine. When they found him, his body was crushed. They airlifted him and he died in the helicopter. His wife became a 30-year old widow with three sons, aged 7 years to 8 months.

My uncle’s regiment lifted the rock which crushed him and placed it in their headquarters, where it stands now as a memorial to him and all those who died in the earthquake.

But my uncle is only one of those 20,000. A family friend of mine lost 20 people all at once. Another friend lost an uncle and cousin as they were trapped underneath the rubble of a collapsed apartment building in Islamabad. They could be heard calling for help, but then it rained. The 8-year old girl’s body was lifted out later.

May Allah soften our hearts such that 20,000 is not a number - such that 20,000 becomes 20,000 fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, daughters, husbands, wives, and children.

May Allah forgive all the dead their sins and enter them easily into Jannah. May Allah give their families patience and composure. May Allah help the areas hit repair and restart their lives.

May Allah turn our hearts towards the truth. May Allah soften our hearts and grant us awareness, compassion, wisdom, and love for the fellow man. May Allah forgive our sins and keep us away from sin and may Allah protect us from the trials of the end of time and save us from the punishment of the grave. May Allah grant us all Jannah, InshAllah.

Inna lil-Allahi wa inna ilayhi raji3oon Truly, we are from Allah, and to him we return.

Before this: My Big Fat Pakistani Syrian Life: The Beginning

So now that I was engaged, it was time to break the news to my friends. Ameir and I wanted to keep the engagement party small and intimate, just close friends and family.

First, I told Sumreen, my close friend and roommate of four years, who smiled that gorgeous smile of hers and hugged me tight. We promptly launched into a discussion of wedding clothes, colors, and what she’d wear to the wedding.

In our Senior year at UNC, Sumreen and I had just been blessed with the addition of two new roommates - the Masood Sisters, known collectively as HanaMona. So one evening, after we had prayed Maghrib together and were sitting on the living room floor, I said, “Ladies, we need to have a roommate meeting.” (Mona would later tell me that she thought “Oh God…they’re kicking us out…where will we live now?”)

“So, what are you guys doing on Labor Day Weekend?” I said. “Nothing…” HanaMona answered. “You’re coming to my engagement party,” I said. First, there was a moment of silence….followed by a “Dude. Oh my God.” from Mona and an “I’m going to throw up.” from Hana (she was happy for me, just shocked ). The rest of the week, Mona (a Punjabi mutayaaran in Hyderabadi skin) played Punjabi love songs as loud as they could go on her laptop, yelling “This one’s for you, Homie!”

As the day of my engagement got closer, I stayed pretty calm. I decided what to wear (a buttercup yellow shalwar kameez with yellow and green khussay). The night before the Fatiha, my friends came over and we decorated each other’s hands with mehndi. Nadia and Yasmin, who also spent the night, were surprised. “You’re the calmest bride I’ve ever seen! Why aren’t you nervous? You should be nervous.” But I was fine.

The day of the engagement, I slept in, waking up to the smell of my mom and our longtime friend, Nazia Auntie, cooking up delicious Desi food for the dinner. Wedding-related events usually work this way: one side hosts and the other side shows up en masse all at once. Ameir, his father, and their guests were going to pray Asr at the masjid and then come over to our house.

I was praying Asr in my room, dressed in my buttercup yellow shalwar kameez. Around the second rakah, it suddenly hit me - “Oh. My. God. I’m getting engaged in an hour.”

I finished my Salah, trembling, and started making dua with the words that came into my heart. “Allah, make Ameir and I pure spouses for each other in this life and the next.” This felt right, I knew, so there was no anxiety or discomfort. Instead, I was so thankful that Allah had given me a man that I could love and respect so much, and who loved and respected me in kind.

Yasmin and Nadia were at ease, though, about my nervousness. “Oh good, now you’re acting normally. We were worried about you.”

As we waited, Mona was helping set up the delicious and expansive spread of food my mom and aunts had made. She was making placards so that those with more delicate tastebuds could know what to avoid. (Some Arab friends who don’t eat the kind of tongue-burning spices us Desis do - why would anyone miss out, really? As they like to say, “What is wrong with you people? Even your yogurt is spicy!”).

Other friends were setting up plates, teacups, sitting with me to keep me calm, or peeking out the window on “Ameir watch.” From the living room, I heard someone laugh heartily from the buffet table. “Which Hydro,” laughed Mahroo, “Made these food labels?” Sure enough, there was the label for ground beef: Kheema.

The doorbell rang and I heard everyone come in (I couldn’t see anyone from where I was sitting). There was great joy and lots of hugging. The Muslim greeting “As-Salaam Alaikum!,” “Peace be upon you” was peppered with “Ahlan wa-Sahlan!” a Syrian greeting, rooted in the story of Ali (R) coming to ask the Prophet Muhammad (S) for his daughter’s hand in marriage, which means “We are family, so there is ease and comfort here.”

In the Arab tradition, the “bride’s side” brings food to the engagement party and the “groom’s side” brings flowers. As friends filed in, our house became filled with even more food and beautiful floral arrangements that somehow ended up close to me.

The “Ameir watch” friends became the “Ameir paparazzi” friends as dinner was served. They’d snap shots of him as he was going through the buffet and run back to show me (at no cost, how kind).

The Imam made Ameir take a scoopful of the spicy-hot spinach, saying “You’re marrying a Pakistani now! You have to eat this!” (I’m proud to say that Ameir can now handle almost more spice than I can). I couldn’t bring myself to eat much, but I was as happy and content as I could be (and less nervous, too!)

I loved my house as it was at that moment - filled with the love, smiles, laughter, and prayers of friends and family from all over the world. They were my religious teachers, my childhood friends, my aunties and uncles, 3mmos and khaltos, my parents and my close family. I felt that Allah had blessed me more than I could ever have asked for.

And then, after dinner, the nervousness began again. It was time……

(But you’ll have to wait for the next installment!)

Earlier posts of My Big Fat Pakistani Syrian Life:
MBFPSL: The beginning

Imagine this: You live in a small, close-knit community in rural North Carolina, outside the limits of the neighboring city or town. Your family has been on this land for generations as it has passed down from parent to child. You don’t have much money, but you make do, and taxes aren’t much. You live a happy life.

Now imagine this: One day, someone knocks on your door and tells you that yesterday, the General Assembly decided to annex your neighborhood into the town next-door. No one asked your permission or advice, or heck, even told you in advance that now, you’re part of that city. On top of it all, you have to start paying city taxes in addition to the county, state, and federal taxes you already pay.

Okay, not so bad? Wait, there’s more: Because the NC legislature gave your neighborhood to the city (who’d long been after that area to send some developers in), the city doesn’t have to follow the usual rules about providing you municipal services. You’re paying taxes, but the city isn’t giving you running water, sewer systems, trash collection, paved roads, or street lights. And there is no law forcing the city to every do so.

Pissed? Yeah. So are the residents of newly legislatively-annexed communities all over North Carolina, such as the people of the Brandy Creek neighborhood, who are the new residents of Roanoke Rapids.

(more…)

Some other pictures from around Makkah:

Dear Friends,

My family and I are in Medina Al-Munawwarah, breathing in the kindness and light of this city. Alhamdulillah. There isn’t much that can be said about the two Sacred Mosques. All you can do is be awed, humbled, and pray to your heart’s content. This evening we go to Makkah for Umrah, InshAllah.

You’re all in my duas,

Taiyyaba

(Coincidentally, also my 100 blogpost anniversary. Great way to celebrate!)