Warm Muharram Greetings...

Warm Muharram Greetings 1430 everyone! May our hearts be furnished with deeper faith, spurring us to persevere in the right path towards Allah…Amin… Dear brothers and sisters, please pray with me…

"Oh Allah! Please protect our sisters and brothers in the never ending siege and cruelty imposed upon them, all over the world, especially the plight of our brethren in Palestine….Amin Ya Rabbul Alamin…."

Let us do something to help and lessen their burdens. Trim the bits of luxury that we may be indulging in, and channel them generously towards relief efforts.

Federation of Islamic Medical Associations:

Asraf Jedaar (Jordan)

ajedar@iafrica.com

FIMA Relief Coordinator

Musa Mohd. Nordin (Dr.) (Malaysia)

musamn@gmail.com

FIMA President

Banking details:

JORDAN ISLAMIC BANK
Shmeisani Branch - AmmanAccount
#46327
Beneficiary: Jordan Society for Islamic Medical Sciences.
Contact: Prof Aly Mishal: 00962795990054
E-mail: info@islamic- hospital.org
Swift Code: JIBAJOAM
Full No.: (235860 - 235821) (001) 001 0046327

Boycott Israeli products (Click here for updates)

Amidst the dunes….

“So! You’ll be doing the sand dune bashing?” said the young man sitting beside the Pakistani driver behind the wheel.

The four wheel drive we were in, was purring momentarily at the campsite, the wheels of which were let loose of the air several kilometers at the entrance to the desert. The coldness (18 degrees Celsius) was pinching my skin.

“The what bashing?” I asked, taken by surprised.

“You know! Riding in this, across the dunes,” said he, glancing to my other half, sitting directly behind him.

“Whatever!” I said, still quite confused and throwing a frown to my hubbie too, who was busy setting his camcorder.

“My wife and the two boys are not! That’s why they’re getting off here. But I think you should give it a try,” he continued.

“Okay!” said I, tilting my head, looking out of the window. Yonder, small shrubs thrived on the undulating sands, the colours of which reminded me of demerara sugar.

The driver of the four wheel was blowing his hands, smiling gleefully.

And then…it all started. The 4 x 4 vehicle, cranked its way through the wobbly dunes. My tummy felt a bit quizzy as the machine headed towards the main road. A few kilometers, then it careened to a stop, beside a fenced up area, overlooking the desert.

From afar, we could see the horizon and the beautiful, rolling sand dunes…

“There are plastic bags just at your sides. Seat belts on? All set and ready? Here we go!” said the driver.

Just then, the engines roared. And, immediately, I remembered! The look! The cheeky grin and the bright shine in the eyes of our host (Lil, my junior at TKC– sweet wifey of PP, my hubby’s schoolmate, we spent some time last week at their superbly serene abode, at their invitation) when she sent us off, outside her abode.

“Enjoy yourself!” said Lil, her eyes twinkling a naughty smile.

When I lifted myself into the Toyoto Landcruiser that came to pick us up, little did I know then, what was in store for us!

The desert safari… The journey had only just begun…

We were all smiles and giggles at the start. After a few minutes, everyone was absolutely quiet. My eyes were rolling. My stomach in tune with the twists and turns. My head getting giddier than ever as my fingers held on tight to the seat belt. The tough 4x4 continued to spur on, up the slopes and then speeding down, careering here and there, sometimes slipping sideways, bringing bursts of sands, splashing onto the glass windows. My heart was beating as fast as the wheels of the ‘beast’ we were in.

“Are you all right? Your fingers are so cold!” said my beloved, his fingers clasping mine.

I nodded, my eyes narrowing. The ride seemed like forever. My heart was screaming, “Oh! When will all this end?”

At the final moments of the half hour ride, I was already burping and trying hard to hold down whatever that was slowly creeping up my throat. My hands were already clutching the little piece of blue plastic bag, at the seat pocket just in front of me.

Just then, “Right! We stop here for a while. Watch the sunset. And you may take some pictures,” said the driver.

I heaved a sigh of relief. But my head was really heavy and I was trying to hold myself steady when we got down.

“Boy! That was some ride! I was beginning to feel dreadful!” said the other passenger.

“So do I!” said I, trying to keep my balance on the soft, fine sand.

The sun was setting. The most magnificent orange…Glory be to God! We had our pictures taken, my beloved and I. With the help of the other passenger. How lovely!

Then, we proceeded back to the camp. I was wincing again when the ride started to get rough…At last! We reached the camp. Certainly felt better after sipping some herbal tea.

My husband came running, saying, “Here! Rub this! On your forehead and nose.”

“Where did you get this?” I asked, puzzled, looking at the small familiar bottle of 'minyak cap kapak' (ointment made from eucalyptus oil).

“At the stall over there. 5 dirhams!” he smiled. I smiled in return.

Dinner was fabulous, dimly lit lights, under a clear, starry sky …How romantic! A moment to be cherished…..

Thank you PP and Lil! Thank you for having us there. Your hospitality and kindness will always remain in our hearts….May Allah always bless you and the entire family…Amin.

On track....

There is something about trains. Full of nostalgia. Reminds me of moments of my childhood. Days when we get to travel as a family during the school holidays.

Back then, my father could not even afford to buy a motorbike, so public transport was the only option. The night before, I would lay in bed, trying hard to fall asleep. Then, I would be up very early, heart pumping with excitement. Happy and looking forward to the whole idea that I will be on the ferry, across from Penang to the mainland (even though we had to brave through and squeeze our way in between the crowds to get on the bus from home to the ferry terminal) then to be on the train! I can still remember vividly, the familiar mamak selling his curry puffs, wailing “Karipap! Pap! Pap!” (the sizes of which were bigger than ordinary) and carrying his rattan weaved basket all along the carriages. Yum! Yum!

Mum would also be lugging around her own extraordinarily sized rattan basket, full of things. Mum and dad had always inculcated in us the habit of being frugal in our ways. I remembered, there were 2 flasks, one containing piping hot coffee; the other, plain warm water. Plastic cups, plates, teaspoons, hard-boiled eggs, complete with a bottle of soya sauce to go with the eggs, a tiffin carrier containing rice and home cooked meals, usually of the dry kind, for fear of spilling when the journey gets a little bit too rough. Plus a lot of other knick-knacks. We would take the train down to Kuala Lumpur once a year, during the school holidays and would stay at our cousin’s place, which used to be one of the squarter houses at Kampung Kerinci, taking bath using water from the well, washing cloths, pots and utensils using rain water which was collected on a daily basis among other things. I wonder now, why it was, we did not complain and took life as it was. I wonder too whether the children of this era would be able to go through the same, without frets and frowns? While I was at boarding school in Seremban, we used the train to get home and back to school for the holidays. The sweet encounters I have shared in my book, “Seungu Lavendar” (Malay language readers, please click here and here for reviews). Those were happy days…simple days…Ah! For the simple pleasures of life…

So, one morning, while on my way to campus, I found myself at the railway crossing. Red lights blinking and the sound of the bell never-ending…A train! It was coming! So, I could not resist taking these pictures… Passengers in the train smiling, waving….Motorists, and the people waiting patiently by the crossing, grinning back too! Watching the train go by….What a sight!

Sadly too, this crossing would soon be gone forever. For, a flyover has been planned and work has started. These moments captured, would remain in my album. And….in my heart…

Trains remind me of another thing… The journey of our life. Trains always move. And to move, they need to be on a track, without which, they would be stranded or even worse, perish! Likewise, in charting our journey through life, we need to always be on a certain track, so we may not go astray…For Muslims, our track is the syariah….No compromise...No questions asked...

We must strive to always be on the correct track. May God’s guidance be there always, in our journey in life…towards our ultimate destination….Amin…

PS. Dr. Ez’s beloved wife has passed away in the evening of Eidul Adha. May Allah reward her good deeds, wash away all her wrongdoings and place her in line with those whom He loves…Amin. My condolences too to the souls who perished in the recent upheavals at Bukit Antarabangsa. Al Fatihah…

Small kindness (2)...

“Late again!” I scowled at myself in the mirror, my fingers deftly pulling my hijab.

“Why is there only 1 bathroom for a 5 bedroom house? Beats me!” I said half screaming.

Mornings are such a pain. If you have stayed in this part of the world before, you would agree with me. I have never understood the fact that you need to share 1 bathroom with so many other occupants. Especially if you have housemates who take all the time in the world when they are using it!

I was sprinting again that morning. Made a dash across the busy road. At the bus stop, the 111 bus was still waiting.

“Alhamdulillah!” I said, and then began to understand why.

“Come on now!” wailed a silver haired English man who was holding on to the bus; one leg on the bus, while the other on the ground, his hands waving frantically towards me.

The other passengers had taken their seats. And so, I bolted my last few strides.

“Thank you!” I said, panting in between my breaths, to the old man and the driver of the bus, as soon as my feet touched the floor of the bus.

“Welcomed! You have helped me before! Now, it’s my turn!” said the elderly man, walking past me to his seat at the back of the bus.

I sat there, confused, trying to remember his face, but to no avail. I raised my feet as soon as we approached the traffic light at Withington Hospital. Just then, the old man was behind me, waiting to get off too.

“Thank you!” said he to the driver and then turning his head towards me, he said, “See you later!”

Just then, I remembered. A few months back…

I was busy at work at the Nightingale Centre, making copies of documents at the photocopying room. Suddenly, there was pounding on the glass door across the corridor.

“Please anyone! Please open this door for me? I forgot my security pass!” was the voice of a man, garbed in blue.

And so, I rushed to answer his cries, turning the bolt that could only be opened from the inside.

“Sorry to interrupt your work. Thank you very much! It’s so cold out there!” he said, rubbing both his hands. His knuckles had turned white.

“It is alright! You’re welcomed!” I said, getting back to my work.

The elderly man, the janitor. Without his blue uniform, I could not recognize him…

“Is reward of the goodness (of deeds) anything but the goodness (as a result)? Then which of the powers of your Lord you would deny?” ~ (Al Quran, Ar Rahman:60-61)

To all readers...

Eid Mubarak! May Allah guide us all to live and to uphold the true spirit of sacrifice...Amin

A friend in need...

My dear friends and fellow readers...

I would like to extend here, Dr. Ez's blog, giving the day to day account of his beloved wife's condition. (Please click here...)

I am sure that Dr. Ez will appreciate your good wishes and your prayers...

Thank you very much...

Small Kindness...

The square numbered face on my wrist stared back at me in silence.

“Must hurry!” I muttered, pulling my socks and fastening the laces of my shoes in turn. With the thick winter jacket flung over me, I stepped outside the door of my rented abode at 29, Banff Road.

The early morning cold air, suddenly slapped my cheeks. My teeth chattered under my breath just as soon as I sped across the busy Wilmslow Road, towards Worldwide, the huge Muslim grocery store, just across. I was practically in gear 4, sprinting to the bus stop.

“Must not miss the bus!” I told myself. Just then, my eyes caught sight of the back of the number 111 bus, just leaving off. My heart suddenly sank.

“Good morning!” I said, trying to sound cheerful to a lady sitting on one side of a seat, slowly bringing myself down onto the seat still vacant on the other side.

”Hi!” said she, flashing her superbly white teeth from between thick pouting lips.

Just across the road, heavy machinery was at work, tugging and sawing off trunks of old trees at Wilmslow Park while I sat intrigued, beside the lady.

“Why do they have to do that?” I asked spontaneously, my eyes still transfixed at the site full of activities.

“Well! Winter can be cruel around here with strong gusts of wind. Branches might fall, hurt people and destroy things, you see!”

“I see!” said I.

“May I ask you something?” said the lady, her eyes looking directly at my face.

“Sure!” I said.

“Why do you have to wear that?” she asked.

“What thing?” I said, in a voice laced with an element of surprise.

“That! Covering your head!” she said, pointing her fingers up her head, and twisting them around in a circle.

“Oh! We call this hijab! It is what practicing Muslim women should be wearing.”

That was the beginning of our conversation. We talked and smiled, interspersed with occasional laughter. About our countries of origin, sunshine that we craved, right down to the different kinds, shapes and tastes of bananas which we missed so much! For she was from Jamaica, a country with a climate not much different from that of Malaysia. Just like any other places in the UK, seeing, eating and tasting the same sized bananas in Manchester can be very boring.

Just then, a number 111 bus turned round the corner at the traffic lights. Behind it, there was another one! I could not believe my eyes!

“Two at one time?” I said, my eyes were rolling.

“Yes! Sometimes they come aplenty, while at times when you most need them, they just don’t come!” said she, with a sigh.

“Nice talking to you!” I said, getting up and held my hand out, signaling for the bus to stop.

“Thank you too!” said she.

“Thank you? But why?” I said, puzzled. My head tilted to one side.

“For keeping me company with your pleasant stories! And your recipe for banana fritters just now!” said she, her face lightened up in a broad smile. Her hands were waving gently towards me.

“And you, me!” I half shouted, my face beaming; my feet already touching the steps of the bus.

My heart felt elated. Suddenly, the cold morning air did not seem so stiff anymore……

"We will set up the Just Balance on the Day of Rising and no self will be wronged in any way. Even if it is no more than the weight of a grain of mustard-seed, We will produce it. We are sufficient as a Reckoner." (The Quran, Surat al-Anbiya': verse 47)

Sheikh Yusuf Estes here in Malaysia….

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you should never miss.

Come! Meet and listen to the real American Ambassador of Islam – Sheikh Yusuf Estes, formerly a very active Protestant priest, who has now reverted to Islam.

Click here for the schedules and venues of his talk around Kuala Lumpur....

Click here for venues of his talks, entitled "Why Scientists and Doctors are Turning to Islam for Answers?" and another "Do Dakwah Now!" around Johor Bahru.

Prayers...

Was so tied down with work. It is the end of semester and examinations are on. Piles of manuscripts to be marked, tests, quizzes, assignments to be corrected, then scanned for OBE. Also a couple of theses (Masters and Ph.D.) which I need to examine.

My phone quivered from beneath the loads of papers. Message in:

“Just want to inform you. Dr. Ez’s wife is critically ill,” message from Dr. Mz, a very dedicated doctor and specialist radiologist who is now stationed at Sg. Petani Hospital.

My thoughts immediately flew back to the trying times, 3 years ago, while I was struggling at the Radiology Dept, HUSM, Kubang Kerian. Dr. Ez, my field supervisor during my Ph.D, who was and still is the Head of Radiology Department. Without his intervention and relentless efforts in modifying the normal procedures for the management of patients, it would have been very difficult for me, collating the data capture. It was truly through his kindness that made all that seemed impossible at first, became a reality in the end. Dr. Mz was also a Masters Student of Dr. Ez.

It was during those stressful times that Dr. Ez broke the news to us i.e. my research officer and Masters student and I. His wife (also a medical doctor by profession at the USM Medical Campus) was diagnosed with leukemia, stage 4. It was so sudden. He sounded devastated and that was understandable. For his wife had just delivered another baby a few months before that. His wife could not understand why she was drained all out each time she returned home from work. And being a caring husband, Dr. Ez attributed her lethargy due to stress at work, then caring for the new baby and the other little children of theirs. Little did both of them expected that a predicament was at work.

My heart goes out to Dr.Ez, whom I am deeply indebted, whose selfless efforts made it possible for me to complete my studies. Please do join me, to pray for him and his family. Oh Allah, please give Dr. Ez, his wife and family the strength to face this calamity. May she be cured…for truly You are the Greatest Curer of all diseases, Most Beneficient, Most Merciful…Amin, Ya Rabbul Alamin.

Sense of decency (2)...

(...continued)

My fingers reached out for the ticket from inside my purse and handed it out to the man in blue who stood waiting.

All of a sudden, the sultry woman with the nail polish stood up, her fingers in the air.

She said, “I am sorry! But my ticket is right here! In the pocket behind my back!” and then she stooped, extending her posterior wrapped in the tight pants, right in the direction of the man in blue.

The crossword puzzle man lifted his head, his lips ajar. The woman reading the book beside him, turned up her face, her eyebrows raised with a frown on her forehead.

The man in blue started to laugh, breaking the silence in the carriage.

“Well! This is one of the perks that come with this job, you know! So, I am not complaining!” said he.

There was laughter. From all over the carriage.

I stood up and offered, “Here! Let me take the ticket out for you!” and without waiting for anything else, took the little card, decked out in orange, from the woman’s behind.

“Here you are, love!” said the man in blue again, after punching a hole in the little card.

I quickly took the card from him and slipped it back to its former place. The owner, still had her fingers in the air.

“Thank you!” said she, as though nothing strange had happened. Instead, she started to blow her breath all over the tips of her fingers.

“You’re welcomed!” said I, trying to refrain from shaking my head, then the inside of me was saying, “God! Don’t these people have the slightest sense of decency left in them?”

“Are you a teacher?” said the other woman, who previously was reading her book to the nail polished woman.

My ears were still perked up.

“Oh yes!”

“Whereabouts?”

“Manchester! I have just returned from home at Notts. Going back to work at school. How about you? What do you do?” she said, still blowing her breath profusely away.

“Oh! I am a teacher too! At Greater Manchester!” said the woman, adjusting her bookmark and closing her book.

“Where are you from then?” said the other, scrutinizing her own fingers.

“Oh! I have been around to see my life partner up at Nottingham for the weekend. We have been together for quite a while. Most of the time, she travels up to my place at Manchester. But this time around, I thought I will do the traveling and spend our weekend together at Notts for a change!” she said beaming a wide smile.

Hearing that, my right hand flew to my heart automatically. The crossword puzzle man cleared his throat and shot me a glance, then rolled his eyes in the direction of the ceiling.

Once again, my inner self whispered, “She? May God forgive us!”

“Why does suddenly, this journey seem like forever? I would have to shut my ears from now on!” I told myself, my eyes looking at the square numbered face staring at me around my left wrist.

Suddenly too, I remembered the words from the Hadith (sayings of the Prophet, peace be upon him):

“When you are immodest (unashamed) then do whatever you desire.” ~Al-Bukhari~

Sense of decency...

There was a certain kind of stillness. The only sound that could be heard was the drumming of the engine. The train ride was smooth, piercing the air, like wings in the wind.

Outside, everything was exquisite. My eyes were roaming across the undulating landscape, just like the folds of the ocean. Only, the colours were shades of green and the waves, static. Fields spread yonder, lined with shrubs fencing the paddocks. On the gentle slopes, small spots of whiteness, meandering here and there, looking soft and cuddly.

“Sheep? How sweet and beautiful! The Peak District. Exactly like it was 30 years ago!” said I, half smilingly.

My viva for Ph.D was just over and I was back on my sabatical leave in the UK. The train was on its way to Manchester and I was in it, after spending some time visiting a colleague of mine Nz, who was still struggling with his Ph.D at Leicester. I reached Leicester station early in the day and he was kind enough to pick me up at the station, accompanied by his eldest son. I was caught by surprise! His hair was nearly white all over! Back to his home, I was treated to a delightful lunch prepared by his beloved wife, Azam who was also my old friend.

After spending a whole day with Nz’s family, I was now back on the train. In the seat right across me, an English woman was engrossed in her book while a man sitting beside her was deep in thought, trying to solve a crossword puzzle in the day’s newspaper..

The train came to a halt after slowing down a little. A signboard written with the words “Sheffield” passed slowly by. And then all was still.

The door connecting the carriage suddenly opened and a stylishly dressed young english lady in a pair of tight white pants made her way towards the empty seat beside me.

“Anybody sitting beside you here? If there’s none, then may I?” she asked.

I quickly smiled and shaking my head, I offered, ”No! Not at all! I mean go ahead. Have that seat! You need some help with the bag?”

“Thank you, but I think I can manage! It is just up here!” said the young lady, pushing her bag to the compartment high up above her seat.

The train has started to move again, gaining momentum in a split second. The young lady rummaged something out of her small sling bag. All of a sudden, there was the smell of something strong, poking my nose and making me hold my breadth.

“Sorry! I couldn’t find the time to do this in the morning! I do hope you people don’t mind!” the lady said. Her fingers were deftly applying softly coloured strokes on to her tilted nails from a small bottle.

“My nails are ever so fragile and they break so easily. That is why I have to do this often!” said she, holding her fingers apart in the air.

“Well! I have no such problems! Tell you what? I suggest you go and have your nails manicured professionally. Look at mine!” said the other lady who was engrossed in her book just now, right across me, putting her hands on the edge of the table in front of her.

“Wow! Cool! They’re nice! Maybe I should do just that!” said the stylish lady beside me, wide-eyed.

The male passenger who was seated diagonally across me suddenly lifted his head from being deeply engaged in his paper, just a few seconds ago. His eyebows slightly raised, he gave me a shot of glance and a slight smile. Then, he dropped his face, once again immersed in the pages of the daily news, his fingers dancing up, down and across the boxes of black and white.

“Wonder why the crooked smile on his face? Uncomfortable, hearing this woman to woman talk? Must be!” I said to myself. A slight smile curved on my lips too!

The carriage door suddenly opened.

“Tickets please!” said a man, smartly dressed in a blue uniform from the carriage beyond. His face was expressionless..

(to be continued....)

Perseverence....

“Assalamualaikum and welcome!” greeted the youngish-looking hotel owner in bahasa melayu, who apparently was already in his fifties, just as soon as we stepped onto the pavement next to the main entrance. His hands were grabbing our loads of luggage, pulling them into the lobby.

“You speak malay very well indeed!” said my other half.

“Sure do! How can we forget? We went to a school in Kuala Lumpur for quite a few years. My brother and I!” said he, motioning his hands to the comfortable seats.

“Oh! How interesting!” I said, lowering myself to the intricately decorated seats.

“Yes! We came from Burma. And during that time, we went to Malaysia to seek greener pastures. Times were getting difficult back home. However, after a few years, renewing visas was quite a hassle, so our father decided to find another country where we could settle in. Now, we are Norwegians and my children study here in the UK. My youngest, still in Cambridge while my eldest just graduated from St. Andrews, Scotland,” he related his past history.

He handed us the keys and ushered us to our rooms; small but very clean. That night, we took a walk in the summer night and had our dinner at one of the numerous halal eateries nearby. We were on our way home to Malaysia, after spending some time in Manchester, while attending our son’s convocation.

“Come in and enjoy your breakfast!” said the elder brother to the one who greeted us yesterday, early the next morning; his voice, cheerful and friendly.

“Thank you!” said my other half as we made our way to the breakfast table, in a cosy sitting area down at the basement.

At the other end, a couple was speaking in a language we could not understand. Once in a while there was laughter when our host joined in their conversation also in the same language.

“What would you like? Coffee, tea?” said the cheery voice again.

“Coffee please! And which country are they from, may I ask?” said my hubby.

“Norway! That is my country now, after we had to move from our country of origin.”

“We just got to know from your younger brother that your family once stayed in Kuala Lumpur. And the two of you went to school there too! Is that true?”

“Yes! It is true!” said he. In his hands were two pots of hot coffee.

“Why didn’t you just stay put?” said my hubby.

“Well! Our visa needed to be renewed every now and then and father had to go through the trouble to get it done. We were offered a permanent place to stay somewhere in East Malaysia. You see, we were city boys; grew up in Rangoon. At that time, Rangoon was not anywhere near what it is now. Beautiful, modern and a city full of heritage and life. Of course, we would not be able to adjust if we move to a remote place like East Malaysia. Father understood and that was why we landed in Norway.”

“But why Norway?” asked my son-in-law.

“Did you know that by owing a Norwegian passport, one does not need a visa to enter whichever country? Father did his homework very well and he was a well-read man. His decision was a wise one. Two of our siblings are doing business in Oslo and take charge of our family home there. While my younger brother and I man this hotel and another restaurant situated at Edgware Road nearby. Once a year, we would fly to Oslo and gather as a big family,” he said, handing us trays of toasts with butter and jam.

“Is your father still around?” said I, curious, helping myself to scrambled eggs, tempting looking mixed beans and corn, with red peppers thrown in spicy tasting sauce. How delicious!

“Oh! Yes! He is already in his eighties but still up and about. He was the one who started our family restaurant while our mum helps us here in this hotel. In the mornings, I will be here and at night, I will be helping out at the restaurant. My brother will take over this place at night.”

“You are a hard working man and full of perseverance!” quipped my other half, sipping his cup of coffee while our daughter fed little Nuha some toasts, lined with butter and jam.

“My father always said that you should enjoy doing what you want to do. Then you may reap the harvest of success. He is already well into his eighties and my mother is in her seventies. Both are still healthy and active. Father loves reading and follows whatever that is going on in the world. We are practicing Muslims, do our prayers, fast. Likewise the other pillars of Islam. And one thing I want to share with you. Not a single day went that our hotel is unoccupied. There will always be someone asking to stay. In fact, our place is very popular amongst Muslims because we serve only halal food.”

We sat mesmerized while enoying the scrumptious and filling breakfast that our friendly host had prepared with his own hands.

“I would like to share something too! Our granduncle was the first premier of Burma at that time. Dr. Ba Maw, a muslim lawyer, famous for his struggles to free Burma from the British. In fact, he decided to take up his doctorate in Bordeaux, France just to spite the British and to send them a strong message of his dislike for them. If you were to go to Myanmar now, you would see lots of schools, colleges, hospitals and public places named after him.”

“Those years in Burma, the muslims, even though are a minority, are highly regarded in the society. Because they are highly educated and profound in their knowledge. Furthermore, the economy of the country was mainly held in the muslim’s hands,” said the zealous hotel owner.

“We will definitely come here if we happen to be in London again!” said my son-in-law.

“Yes! Please do! Insha Allah! This strategic location, near to the shopping area of Edgware Road. Plus the fact that it is only within walking distance to the Paddington underground and main train station, conveniently connected to the Heathrow Airport. We are proud to own this place since 4 years ago and are always grateful to God for bestowing us his bounties,“ said our host, his face lighting up in a broad smile.

We acquired lots more life experiences from our two hosts during our two nights’ stay. The hotel which is situated at the tree lined Sussex Gardens, full of greenery and colourful blossoms, in the middle of a 200 year old Victorian terrace. It is not surprising that their family is thriving very well, being listed as one of the top ten budget hotels in London. Their restaurant too!

We now know where we would stay if we happen to be in London again, God willing. Why don’t you?

If that isn’t love… what is?

“How many days will it take?” said a man standing, his hand on the surface of the glass.

“I am not sure, mister! One day? Maybe two? We’ ll see! Is it alright?” said another, obviously the owner of the store, behind the counter.

My documents were being made into copies by the shop’s assistant while I stood, waiting beside the glass wall near to the exit. My eyes swept across, in the direction of the sound of the voices.

“Are you sure?” said the man again, his gaze somewhat intense, from behind the glasses perched on his nose. On the crown of his head, a white kopiah (skull cap), his silver hair jutting out here and there from under the headgear, framing his face, which was full of earnest.

“Yes! For sure! Don’t worry! Tell you what? I will call you, when it is ready. Why don’t you write your number here?” said the smiling young man behind the counter again, handing a piece of paper with a ball point pen and a receipt.

“Alright then!” said the silvery haired man, this time, the seriousness on his face, subsiding a little. He held out his right hand, which was previously holding onto the glass counter, from the big pockets of his apple green teluk belanga (traditional malay dress), his quivering fingers desperately scribbling.

More smiles and nods. The man in the baju melayu turned towards the exit.

Then suddenly, it dawned on me. My heart flipped. The man was struggling on his feet. No! On his one foot! Hopping! In his kain pelikat (sarong), towards the glass exit. And then, my heart flipped again. One of his sleeves was swaying too! And there was nothing there as well. He then held the one arm he had left, to open the door. Holding the door ajar with the shoulder with no arm, he hobbled onto the corridor, the armless sleeve, swaying even more in the wind. Deftly, his foot jumped over the drain onto the road in front of the store.

Beyond the tarmac, a lady in a helmet sat, patiently waiting on a motorbike, the engines running. Just then, her face broke into a smile, aggravating the deep lines on her face, as she saw the man. She held out her hand to his outstretched arm, putting it on one of her shoulders. Her other hand caught on another helmet in a basket, across the bike, gingerly putting it on the man’s already stooped head. Her fingers played lovingly around her man’s chin, fastening the straps. Just like a wife who is faithfully toying her man’s necktie on his way out to the office. The look on her face like a mother softly gazing on her baby, deep in slumber. While her man, no longer having the intense and fierce veil on his face, as in the shop earlier on. Instead, contentment and tranquilness. His gaze on her, like a small child being fussed over and his collar tinkered with his mum’s fingers, while at the school gate.

He heaved on her shoulder and then, they were off, the man holding onto her tight, with the one he had left. My eyes followed them as far as I could see. My neck straining like a giraffe holding them in my sight.

“Maam! Here you are!” said a pretty voice, startling me. Her eyes were smiling.

“Oh really? Thank you!” said I, not quite over yet with what I had just seen.

Payments were made and as I traced my steps to the car, I could not help thinking.

“Glorious is Allah! A true gift from Him. Symbol of undying faithfulness and companionship. If that is not love, then what is?”

Silently, I uttered a prayer, “May God continue to shower His love and nurture the beautiful feeling that we share with our other halves; the trust, care and lovingness that we have for each other …amongst us all…Amin”

As the sun begins to yawn…

As the sun begins to yawn..

Bowing its head,

Yonder, over the horizon...
And Ramadhan is fast slipping away..
Everwhere …smiling faces,
Saying graces…

For those who are steadfast
In their good deeds and in their fasts,
‘Newborns’ will we be…
From past sins we will be set free,
With new hope we will be looking,
As our new life is unfolding…..

But then again,
In some hearts…a certain sadness,
A certain coyness…
May we still be able to see?
Oh! Ramadhan! We miss you already…
May God lengthen our span
Till next year, we get to meet again..
Amin….


~NeenaUmi~
29th Ramadhan 1429

------------

To dear readers…
Your forgiveness ….I do seek….
And wishing you…

Eid Mubarak!


(Images were taken atop the Gunung Matcincang, a mountain on the island of Langkawi, 700 meters above sea level, overlooking the horizon at the Thai border…seconds before the sun began to utter its silent ‘good night’….dated May the 2nd 2008).

A prosperous masjid, indeed!

“Where are you from?” a lady garbed in full hijab asked me. I thought she must come from one of the countries in Africa. In her hand, was a packet of food, given away by the masjid. Beside her stood a little girl, also all covered up in the Muslimah attire.

“From Malaysia. And you?” said I, trying to lead her to join me in finding a place to sit so we could enjoy our free meal, having just broken our fast. Just before that, we had performed our maghrib prayers, together with the rest of the congregation.

“I am from Sudan. Been here a few years already and trying to finish my Ph.D!” she said in reply.

“Is that so? Together with your family?” I asked, my fingers putting some food in my mouth.

“Yes, of course! This is Aishah, our only child. My husband is studying too!” she said, her loving gaze fell on the sweet face sitting together with us. A smile broke on the little face, a smile so sweet….

For two nights, my husband, my son and I were in Edinburgh, the medieval city up north, in Scotland. Coincidentally, it was the holy month of Ramadhan, (1428 Hijrah Year), i.e. last year. My husband was with me for the last two weeks of my sabbatical leave. We stayed at a very reasonably priced place in the middle of the city, its location, a short walk from the Edinburgh Castle. A hostel like environment, the bathroom was just outside, along the corridor. It was spick and span. And to me, that was the most important thing. That season, we were the only occupants on that particular floor. So we had the bathroom to ourselves. How nice!

For the two consecutive nights, we took the opportunity to break our fasts at the Masjid Al Malik Fahd, the Central Mosque, a very prosperous masjid indeed! Swarms of people, from various countries of origin and of different races, throng its doors to attend prayers in jamaah (collectively) led by the imam of the masjid. Free food was given away in tandem with the spirit of Ramadhan.

Outside the month of Ramadhan, the masjid is a bustling centrepoint, people coming to enjoy cheap, delicious food at the Kitchen Mosque. Very popular with non-Muslims especially. The proceeds from the business fuel the activities frequently held at the Islamic Centre, in the adjoining building. Also the free food for people breaking their fasts and performing their tarawih prayers during the holy month. I saw a program about this wonderful restaurant just recently, in the Asia Food Channel (AFC channel 703 on Astro) – the Woman who ate Scotland, where the host Nell Nelson, learnt how to recite “In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful) in Arabic, before lending her hands in helping to prepare the food.

Most hours of our days there were spent on roaming about the entire city, which include the coveted place, the Edinburgh Castle. At the Royal Botanic Gardens, we saw huge varieties of chilly pepper plants, graded according to their different levels of hotness. I could not imagine how hot it would be, to place the one noted with the highest points (much like the ordinary thermometer) on one’s tongue. A good start to be able to jump up to the ceiling!

Such was a small portion of my Ramadhan last year…

Second book by Wanita JIM women writers is now out...

All Praises be to God, the Almighty…the second book produced on a collective effort by Womens’ Wing of Jamaah Islah Malaysia (JIM) is now out. This book is entitled “Mengapa Saya Bekerja" or translated as - "Why I Am A Working/Not A Working Woman”.

This is the second book project by the Womens’ Section of JIM (WJIM) which took a span of 3 years to complete. Prior to this, the first book project enabled the first book to be published entitled “Bagaimana Akhirnya Saya Bertudung" or translated as "How I Finally Put on the Hijab”, first published in the year 2003 and have been reprinted 7 times. The latest edition being only just last year i.e. 2007. I have contributed 2 chapters in the first book, back then....

In this second new book, 26 women writers from all walks of life have penned their lines from across the nation, writing from their experiences and sharing their perception on Muslim women with or without careers. If they are, then how they feel about having to juggle the balls in their hands, to excel in their profession without having to jeopardize or sacrifice the stability of their marriage, home and their children.

The contributors (from the various states making up Malaysia) for this new book are as follows:

1. Associate Professor Dr. Umi Kalthum Ngah - WJIM Perak

2. Dr. Puteri Yusman - WJIM Penang
3. Rosliya Abbas - WJIM Kuala Lumpur
4. Faridah Maludin - WJIM Kuala Lumpur
5. Norzitah Abdul Karim - WJIM Kuala Lumpur
6. Fauzianiah Mohd Zain - WJIM Selangor
7. Associate Professor Dr. Melasutra Mohd Dali - WJIM Selangor
8. Marihah Suhaimi - WJIM Selangor
9. Ummi Noor Ahmad -WJIM Johor
10. Sazira Abdul Aziz - WJIM Johor
11.Fauziah Salam - WJIM Johor
12.Sumilah Marto - WJIM Johor
13.Noorlia Abdul Hamid - WJIM Johor
14. Siti Marhamah Abdul Wahid - WJIM Main Committee
15.Ir. Endok Sempo Mohd Tahir - WJIM Main Committee
16.Dr. Sabariah Baharun - WJIM Johor
17. Farah Noraniza- WJIM Johor
18. Maimunah Mohd Beon - WJIM Kedah
19.Nona Maryam - WJIM Selangor
20.Azmi Aminuddin- WJIM Terengganu
21.Rosnah Ahmad- WJIM Pahang
22. Norliza Shamsudin - WJIM Johor
23. Mahani Yusof - WJIM Perak
24. Umi Sarah - WJIM Johor
25. Ummu Zaid - WJIM Johor
26. Zarishah Zainol Rashid - WJIM Johor

(These books are published in the Malay Language – Bahasa Melayu by PTS Publications and Distributors (Malaysia) Bhd. For those who speak the language, you may order the books directly from the Executive Secretary of Wanita JIM (WJIM) Nazirah Idris tel. 03-4107 3379 or

Ir. Hajjah Endok Sempo Mohd. Tahir 012-2292604. Price RM 18.50)

Ramadhan…a blissful beginning..

“Look, Neena! Water!” said little Nuha, a look of wonder on her cute face.

“Yes! We will have a look at it on our way back, alright?” said I, grabbing hold of her tiny fingers.

Having parked our car at a convenient spot, our steps quickened; my other half and the children. This was our first Ramadhan as a complete family after four, long years. My youngest son has just returned from far away, after having completed his studies. All Praises be to God! Little Nuha wrenched free her fingers from mine and was having a whale of a time, running on the grassy patches in between paved walkways, here and there.

”Quick! We have to get to the masjid!” called out her mother.

Just then, her father swooped her up in his arms and in a few moments, we were on the doorsteps of Masjid Asy-Syakirin, KLCC, amid the melodious sound of the azan….

Little Nuha sat with her back on to the wall, sharing a colourful book with a new found friend, while her mum and I got ourselves ready for the isha’ prayer.

Then, it was time for the much coveted tarawikh prayers…the ladies, from different countries and nationalities reminded me of my student days in the seventies, back then in Sheffield…

All garbed in white, we stood in straight lines, when the call for the special prayer in this special month of the Muslim calendar, came on. My eyes caught hold of little Nuha, putting her finger onto her lips to her new friend and whispering, “Let us be quiet, okay?” The nodding head of her new friend, the look on little Nuha’s face, made me smile a little smile…

When the sweet recital of the holy Quranic verses filled the air, I was close to tears. For me, it was like time stood still. For, the magic voice that was reciting the verses totally captivated my heart and enraptured my soul…our prayers that night was led by Brother Abdullah Fahmi, winner of Academy Al Quran, the first season. After all, it is not very often that one’s ears have got the opportunity to listen to this enchanting recital.

Questions started to flip in my head. Will I get to see another night in this special month like this, the next year? The following year and the years to come? Only God knows...All Powerful and Almighty...

We are already halfway through this fasting season. That first night of Ramadhan 1429 was precious in my heart, a night to cherish and remember….

A life more meaningful...

A few months back, I was browsing by the shelves of an electronic shop, looking for something.

A familiar voice greeted me, “Assalamualaikum!”

I turned my head towards the well-wisher, returning the greetings and was I caught by surprise!

“Good to see you!” said he.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I have just been transferred to a school around here!” he smiled.

“How have you been doing?” I asked, curious

“Never been happier!” his face beaming with a smile.

“So, you are doing well! I can see that! And your wife?”

“She too, will be coming over soon! And the new school. It is just fabulous! In a remote village. The children, especially the boys? Naughty! But lovable! I am enjoying myself and simply love what I am doing right now!”

“Good for you! Send my salams to your wife!” I said.

“God willing! Have to go to school now. Outdoor activities. My boys are waiting for me. Make sure you give her a fair price! She was my teacher, you know!” he said, turning his cheery face to the young shopkeeper. With that, he bid me goodbye and made his way out of the shop.

“You know him?” I said to the shopkeeper.

“Yes! Very well! We grew up together around this area!” the shopkeeper said smilingly.

The thing I was searching for, was a real bargain, indeed!

In this age of materialistic greed, this ex-student of mine has restored in me the hope and faith that there are still selfless people out there who are willing to sacrifice in search of a more meaningful life…God knows best…

May we be blessed by Allah and may He accept all our good deeds and ibadah especially so in this holy month of Ramadhan…Amin…

The turning point…

More than a year passed. The stark campus has grown into a beautiful one, full of greenery, some plots of the original oil palm estate, left intact for aesthetic purposes. That was when he came to see me again.

“Whatever happened to your plans? Furthering your studies and everything? I remembered you came here, asking me to be your referee some time ago!” I said, offering the seat in front of me.

“Yes! But, there has been a change of plans!”

His face drooped for a while; silent, while I waited for his answer.

“I want to be a teacher. I love being a teacher. Especially teaching those small innocent boys. And a teacher is what I want to be! That is why I am here now. To ask you to be my referee. Am applying for a Teaching Certificate at a teaching institute. I hope you don’t mind!” at last, he said.

“Of course I don’t mind! Well! Well! It’s been a long journey, hasn’t it?” I said.

“Long journey?” he asked.

“Yes! To suddenly find the thing that you really love doing! And to finally find your true self!” I said half-jokingly.

“It has been a hard one for me!’ he said, lowering his eyes.

“Look here! Listen to me! Wherever you go, remember to do good. And whatever you do, give it your best shot! Remember that!” I said, my eyes fixed on his face.

He nodded and uttered rather quietly, “I will try to remember that.”

Many months passed. I got a call. He said that he wanted to stop by my office.

“Thank you!” he said.

“Whatever for?” I asked puzzled.

“For believing in me and making me believe in myself.”

“You got the credit to yourself! Alhamdulillah! You got the place at the teaching college?” I asked.

“Yes! Thanks to your strong recommendations.”

“I was only doing my job.”

“Wanted to inform you earlier but you were not around."

“I must have been out of Malaysia at a conference somewhere or maybe on holiday. How many more months, then?”

“Only a few more! And I breezed through the interview for placement!” he said excitedly.

“Oh! Is that so?” I said, quite surprised.

“The moment I said I want to teach in primary schools, the panel all laughed and then when one of them said, “You got it!” I was quite puzzled!” he said full heartedly.

“Puzzled? Of course they want man teachers in primary schools! That is why! And that is the whole problem with our education system right now. Small boys need men that they can connect with as examples and to discipline them. You are one lucky specie!” I laughed too.

“Here is something for you. You are the first person I am giving this to, around here,” he said holding out a pale hued envelope.

“Wow! Mabruk! When is the date?” My eyes gleamed as I read the fragrant card from inside the envelope.

“In a few weeks time,” his face was full of happiness.

I marked the date in my diary. Would not want to miss this occasion, not even for a million ringgit…

That was nearly two years ago…(..to be continued..)

Remember your words that day?

About two years after that, I was busy handling correspondences with participants of an up and coming international conference that the department was organizing. We had just shifted to the new campus at Seberang Perai Selatan, a site which was formerly known as The Transkrian Oil Palm Estates.

Then, there was an incoming message in my handphone, “Need to see you today! Am on my way…”

“Sure! Will be at the ROVISP Secretariat Room, first floor,” I texted the reply.

A few hours later and there he was, with his sheepish smile, panting away.

“Yes *****! So! What can I do for you this time?” I said, turning slowly from the computer screen as he entered the office door.

“Let me take my breath first!” he said, pulling himself down on the chair at the gesture from my hand.

“You ran all the way?” said I jokingly.

He shook his head and bowed to the floor for a while.

I waited…

“Rode my bike. And thank you for waiting for me. I would like to ask you to be my referee,” he said after his pantings had quietened down.

“Good!” I said, taking hold of the pieces of paper that he handed in front of him.

Refereeing is one thing that I have gotten used to. Numerous pupils of mine have come back for letters of recommendations; for further studies, for job applications, for scholarships…I don’t mind. It is part of my job.

“You want to further your studies! Well and good!” I said with a happy note.

“Just in case, you see! I heard that some of the industries are relocating, mostly to China. Who knows?”

“What made you think that the company you are in might do the same thing?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“I have been downgraded from a engineer to a technical assistant’s post, just recently. My pay has been cut by quite a fraction. The management says that they needed to cut down costs,” he said.

“Is that so?” I said with a worried look now.

“It is all right, Ma’am! Remember your words that day? The thing that you said about survival and finding something to hold onto? I am managing just fine. Some of my friends have been given the boot! And I have been riding my bike, right after work everyday, going from one house to another, giving tuitions to little boys. I am beginning to enjoy the sessions too!” he said.

“All right then! Just leave these papers with me. I will post them to the Graduate Studies Institute, main campus, by tomorrow” I said with a sigh of relief.

We talked for quite a while, about old times. Especially, about how he nearly lost his focus during his undergraduate years when we were at the campus in Tronoh. That was years ago….

(to be continued...)

Troubled but determined…

He was doing his final year project under my supervision. How I had to practically run after him every few weeks to watch his progress. He seemed excited at first. Then along the way, he lost his confidence. I did not receive his progress report. My emails to him went unanswered. Then, I had to send word through his friends (whom I tried to identify while at the university cafeteria) that he had to see me. And urgently too!

A few days later, he came.

He sat on the chair, running his hands through his disheveled hair, his eyes downcast on the floor.

“How are you doing?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“I just don’t seem to get things in the right perspective,” he replied, wiping both his eyes with the tips of his thumbs.

“And what do you mean by that, may I ask?” I said, clasping both my hands and placing them on the table in front of me.

“I just don’t know. Everything seemed fine at first. Then, things just fell out of place. I just don’t seem to get things the way I wanted,“ he said, his eyes now red at the brims.

“For example?” I asked.

Silence again.

“Actually, I have a big problem, back home. I am feeling very confused and disoriented,” he said, shaking his head.

“Everybody has got problems. So do I. In these situations, it is not about how you are going to solve the problem but how to survive without losing focus and maximizing your full potential! Find some pieces of driftwood, that you can hold onto!” I said.

“It is just that, things are so bad and I feel so helpless!...I don’t know!” his hands were clasped firmly to the sides of the chair.

“Look here! Young man! The biggest problem that you are facing right now is that – you NEED to graduate! And listen to me! Do you really want to graduate?” I firmly put the question to him.

He nodded his head.

“Do you want to be an engineer?” I asked.

He nodded his head again.

“I am not convinced!” I retorted.

“Yes! Of course, I want to become an engineer!” he said out loud.

“Then put aside your problems. Or rather, forget about your problems for these few weeks and focus!”

He was silent.

“I want to see your progress report before next week!” I said.

“I need to print some of the pages in colour, but I don’t have a colour printer,” he muffled.

“Can’t you just print them at the shops?” I asked.

After a momentous silence, he lifted his head from the floor and said in a whisper, “I don’t have the means to pay.”

“Why didn’t you just say so, in the first place!” I mumbled.

I rummaged my fingers through my handbag, handed him some cash and he was gone. Not after I dismissed his profuse ‘thank yous’…

Sure enough, his progress report was in my pigeon hole at the end of the week. And it was a job well done!

A few days before his final year project submission, I was again full of anxiety.

“Have you seen *****?” I asked a familiar face whom I met while on my way down to the general office, to get my letters.

“He is around but…” the student said, pulling his face away in another direction.

“But what?” I asked.

“He is at it again. Down and in low spirits…”

“If you see him today, tell him I want to see him by the end of this week, okay?” I said.

Two days after that, he came, his face unshaven and gloomy.

“Why do you keep doing this?” I blurted out.

“I don’t know Ma'am! It is just that, I feel so troubled and very sad. I don’t even feel like going home during the long breaks.”

“Not again?” I said.

He turned his face to the floor.

“Your final year dissertation need to be in. I want to see what you have written so far. Bring whatever you have in three day’s time. Is that clear?” I demanded.

“All right, Ma'am!” he said, his eyes were full of sadness.

“Is that a promise?” I said.

He nodded.

I shook my head and said, “I want to listen to the words!”

“I promise!”

Three days later, he turned up in my office and we went through the dissertation together. His work was excellent though not really polished. And he was willing to make amendments according to my suggestions.

The day of viva came. I was very pleased with his performance during the project presentation. So was the co-examiner.

“You could have gotten an A if you had been punctual in handing in your progress reports and all! But then, I hope you will settle for an A-,” I quipped.

“I would be so very happy even if I had managed to get a B!” he said gleefully.

(This event took place many years ago, while the engineering campus was still at Tronoh….to be continued…)

What's that, Teacher?"

“What’s that, Teacher?” a question was shot in the air and caught on my ears, coming from cute little lips…

“You mean, that one?” said a man in his thirties, pointing his fingers to a cluster of tall brick towers in the distance, with the same brick walls encircling .

Something about the children and everything else, made me stopped in my tracks. I just had to listen to the teacher’s explanation. My family and I were taking a walk beside the Thames, venturing from the Tower Bridge and we were approaching the Tower of London.

Then, there was laughter… the children running, their steps changing to small steps right after these words from their teacher, “Walk in pairs, please! And hold your partner’s hands. Don’t run! Have you forgotten what I said earlier?”

The sweet faces nodded sheepishly.

“We will be going in now! There are going to be a lot of people around. So, please remember my words, okay?” said the teacher, shaking his head, hands on hips.

I smiled a long smile.

At a corner near to the exit, a group of children were sitting on benches and the curbs, enjoying their packed sandwiches and drinks. Yet another group were hunched on the grass, their fingers holding crayons and coloured pensils, their faces intent on the white sheets spread in front of them.

This is how children are exposed to the subject of history in this part of the world. Since small, they were instilled with this type of learning, spurring inquisitiveness and the love for quest of knowledge through experiential learning. Not through spoon-feeding and boring sessions in the classroom.

Through discussions with a number of parents who have had the privilege of having their children going through their early years in school in this part of the world, I could gather a few things.

“Our children just love school. They are ever so excited here…they insist to be at school even when they are sick!”

I was in Chester, a medieval city, a short distance from Manchester early last year. At the excavation site of the Romans (only just recently discovered, i.e. in the year 2006), I bumped into a group of small children, dressed up in Roman costumes, in pieces here and there. One of the teachers was a man, all dressed up, complete with a bright red cape. He also took the liberty to act out a short skit, depicting a comical Roman emperor. Of course, the children (especially the boys) were squealing with laughter. It was January, I had three layers of clothing, including a thick jacket and gloves covering my fingers. The teacher had his legs bare to the mercy of the cold winds…

I salute the teacher, for his selfless efforts and dedication. In this western part of the world, there are still men who love teaching and being around small children. I do wonder… Do we still have such men back here in Malaysia?