Lazy Sunday

It's been a lazy Sunday, with the heat outside and waking up in the afternoon, I knew the day was shot. Instead of worrying about doing things, I took it easy. I watched the olympics and talked with the siblings. The night before had been spent awake at the mosque, we all came home at 5am and rolled into bed around 5:30am. When you wake up at 2pm and it's hot outside and it's Ramadan, there isn't much that can be done than to just do nothing. Sometimes doing nothing is important.

rose bloom in my garden

Iftaars

One week of Ramadan has just gone by and it has been very enjoyable. I'm spending this Ramadan with my siblings, a change from last year when I was alone for half of Ramadan. Our iftaars are filled with laughter and cooking together. My mother who lives in another town worries that we're not feeding ourselves properly. Of course we're not making the typical Indian iftaar which consists of many delicious fried goodness. We don't have the patience of making the pakoras and samosas, choley, and paranthas. Also we've all pledged to eat healthier with the occasional indulgences. Aunty, who is like our second mother called to tell us that she cooked extra food for us. She also worries that we're not able to make a proper iftaar. She asked what we ate and was aghast that it did not include pakoras and samosas. Our meals have consisted of a delicious fruit salad of plums, strawberries, cherries, kiwi, apples, and bananas; a refreshing cold drink made with all the fresh fruit that is in season for the summer; and a main course with meat and vegetables. The menu in my mind in the mornings is much longer and consists of various dishes that I know I'm not going to get around making but sounds so delicious when the first hunger pangs hits around 11am. Visions and smells of biryanis, kormas, fluffly buttery naans, lasagna, enchiladas, and chocolate cake dance in my head. By the time the sun sets around 8:30pm and we take the first sip of our drink and bite of date, all of those fantasies of food dissipate and the simple date seems to be the most gourmet and delicious food ever eaten! By the time we're done with the fruit salad and appetizers, we're so full that we just pick at the main course. The meal takes all of 20 minutes, half of that time we're talking and laughing, our energy restored by the food. Despite the whole family not being together, we manage to make the iftaar a memorable and blessed meal. Despite our hungry stomachs and the younger brother who eats the equivalent of two people, we always have food leftover, a true blessing from God. Mom will be coming next week, we will probably have pakoras and samosas and chicken biryani.... can't wait.

Roohafza lemonade with a samosa, cucumber and lemon infused water. 

Watermelon and lime cooler with mint, lentil soup with beef kabob and fruit salad, chicken tart on puff pastry with cucumber and tomato salad. 

Village memories

I recently went to India and spent time in the village where my mother is from. The way of living in the village seems a world and time apart for me, yet there is a familiarity to it. Sleeping on the charpai, cots made of rope, using a kerosene lantern at night since electricity is never regular, using a hand pump to fetch water, the smell of a fire, the low mooing of the cows, sharp acrid smell of cow manure, the cool breeze from the fields as the sun goes down. These are all fond memories that surface in my mind and eyes when I am far away from there. I can still hear the crickets at night and my grandmother calling out in the dark asking if I'm comfortable. I make sure the mosquito netting is snug around my bedding, and I drift off to sleep listening to the steady symphony of the night. 

Bhopal- A Silent Picture

Amazing photography that captures the eeriness and effects of the Union Carbide Plant in Bhopal.



Source: http://www.bhopalasilentpicture.com/

Ramadan 2012

Wow, it has been such a long time since I've posted to this blog, life and many other distractions took precedence. Well Ramadan is here and I'm looking forward to long fasts and partaking in the blessings with my family. I have alot to be thankful for this year. My mom who has been sick since last Ramadan is recovering well and her treatment is finished. I've been hanging out with my siblings all summer and for the first time in a while we will all be together for Ramadan! I'm looking forward to making some yummy food and also cool drinks especially after a long day of fasting in this Summer heat! Look forward to some posts from me and also photography, I promise I'll post more regularly.

Reflection on Ashura

Ashura is the tenth day of Muharram, the first month of the Islamic lunar calendar. It is a historically significant day for Muslims. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) enjoined his community to fast on this day since the Jews also fasted on that day to remember their deliverance from the Pharaoh. It was a day to fast and seek forgiveness from sins. The fast was not made obligatory but was a liked act of worship that continues to this day. The day of Ashura is a day of reflection on one's own actions and safeguard against sin.

As a sunni Muslim this was the only way I understood Ashura, it was not until I was in college when I became friends with Shi'a Muslims that I understood how important this day was. On Ashura, the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), Husayn was killed along with his family on the battlefield of Karbala. This day became a day of remembrance by a group of Muslims that became the Shi'a. When I first learned of the history of this day and the way it defined the Muslim community in its infancy, I was taken back. I had never learned this history. As I read more and talked to my Shi'a friends I began to understand this day in a way that I had never thought. Husayn, the beloved grandson of the Prophet, was the son of Ali, the fourth caliph of the Muslim community, and Fatima, the beloved daughter of the Prophet. Husayn was supposed to be the leader of the Muslim community, but by that time the ruler was Yazid who had inherited the title. Yazid turned out to be a cruel ruler, and his cruelty lead him to stop Husayn who was leading his family and followers against him. On the tenth day of Muharram after a long cruel siege, Husayn was killed along with his family, the women and children were taken captive.  He was decapitated, his head put on a spear and marched for all to see. When I learned of the events of this battle, I wept, thinking how any ruler of the Muslim community could have dared to lay a harsh hand on the head of the beloved of the Prophet. I remember reading the stories of Hasan and Husayn as a child, both were noble children from whom I learned many lessons. However the biggest lesson that Husayn taught the Muslim community and one that is remembered by my Shi'a brothers and sisters is the one of standing up to injustice and oppression, to fight the good fight even after knowing you're going to lose. Husyan knew he was outnumbered but he could not remain silent, he had to stand up against the tyranny of Yazid. While he had supporters many did not join him, leaving him with a small group made largely of his family. To this day his actions and sacrifice is remembered by Muslims by retelling and reenacting the story.

While I don't participate in rituals and gatherings as do my Shi'a friends, I remember this day and remind myself of the ultimate sacrifice that should be made, to stand up to injustice everywhere. Husayn died living the message taught by our beloved Prophet, he reminded us to strive for justice and to struggle against oppression. This message holds true today, what would have Husayn done in today's world? What would he have to say about the dictators of the Muslim world? As I fast on the day of Ashura as did the Prophet, I remember and reflect upon Husayn's message. What do I do to make this world more just? What do I sacrifice for truth, freedom, and justice? I learned a great message from my Shi'a friends, "Every day is Ashura, every land is Karbala."

A Reflection on the past decade

I’ve been avoiding the coverage of the ten year memorial of 9/11. I’ve been thinking and contemplating the changes, the good and the bad over the decade. I have wavered between pessimism and optimism. Like many, I also remember that fateful morning vividly. I was a senior in high school, in second period Macro Economics class with Mr. Stocks. He began the class with the usual jokes and stories that had little to do with economics but were shared to wake us up and get us animated in the morning. We were about to start the class when another teacher barged in and told us to turn on the tv quickly. We watched the second plane hit the tower and go up in smoke and then received the news that the Pentagon had been hit. Our teacher, a member of the National Guard, stood with his mouth open, shocked by the news and images. Our class became deadly silent. My mind went numb and I felt like I had no feelings other than utter shock. All of us students walked around solemnly that day, not sure about what had just happened. That day as I left school I turned on the radio and listened to talk radio which I normally did. As I listened I was again shocked by the words pouring out of the mouths of the callers. By this time I knew that the people who had flown the planes into the towers were “Muslims”, and my naive 17 year self did not even think about the ramifications of that for the Muslims living in America. However this quickly became clear as I listened to hateful words pouring out of the radio from ordinary Americans. As a young Muslim and an immigrant from India, I became bothered and angered by this sudden display and vocalization of hate. I didn’t do anything, I thought, I don’t know any Muslims who believe in violence and would ever think to commit such an act. I was a shy person and rarely spoke up in class. I never experienced hate from others because most people did not know I was Muslim. I didn’t wear anything that labeled me as such. However I realized that many of my fellow Muslims were experiencing hate and violence.

As I graduated from high school I knew that the world I was entering into was very different than I had ever imagined and that being shy would not cut it. From that day and the things I saw, heard, and read I knew that I wanted to study Religion, especially Islam and to write about it. I wanted to educate and teach others about Islam and to clear wrong perceptions about Islam. My trajectory was shaped by that day and in college I dove into my field of study, and worked with the Muslim students and became a part of interfaith activities. I also saw a awakening of the Muslim communities around me, as they realized that they could no longer remain silent and invisible in this society. Many mosques started opening their doors to the general public and hosted interfaith events and community service projects. My generation became involved in dialogue and hosted events to educate and inform others. As I graduated from college I was optimistic, I felt that Americans at large were learning to get past the rhetoric of hate towards Muslims, and that the attitude that all Muslims are terrorists was going to come to an end soon. 

However, as the years passed and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq dragged on and despite the optimism of having Barack Obama’s as the new President, I realized that America and the Muslim community had a long way to go. Every year on the memorial of the 9/11 attacks, the media opened the wounds that we desperately wanted to heal. There was constant reminders that Muslims were the ones to blame. In the past two years there was escalation in hate mongering and discrimination against Muslim communities. There was the infamous “Ground Zero Mosque” controversy, anti-Sharia bills in various states, discrimination against building of mosques in many communities, and hate filled crimes towards ordinary American citizens of Muslim, Sikh, Arab, Iranian, and Indian backgrounds. People who even looked anything like what was perceived to be Muslim were targeted and hurt. These incidents linger in the air as the decade since that day closes and the next one begins. Will these sentiments ever dissipate? Will the Muslim community ever be welcomed and seen just as Americans as the rest? When will we ever heal? 

Despite these pensive questions and feelings of pessimism, I do have an optimistic outlook. I know the Muslim community have made tremendous strides in opening up and taking control over their own identity. Many new organizations have been formed to combat extremist ideas and to project a positive image of Muslims in this country. Muslims have began to write their own narratives, to speak for themselves, and to not let a handful of violent men define who they are and what they believe in. I was elated to read the stories collected and written by the two Muslim guys of the 30 Mosques project, in which they traveled around the country giving us a picture of the diversity of the Muslim community. The profiles of various mosques and Muslims is different from the media perception of monolithic Muslims. There is also the book I Speak for Myself,  a collection of stories from American Muslim women. These and others like them have started to come out. We define ourselves. Muslims living in America are just as Americans as Jews, Christians, Blacks, Chinese, Italians, Irish, Mexicans, and all the other ethnic and religious groups that make up this country. Muslims have to take the reins into their own hands and to write their own narratives. We don’t need to be apologetic and to accept what is said about us. We should not be ashamed of being Muslim. It is only by taking this into our hands and in telling our individual stories that we can collectively define our community in positive words. 

As I look forward to the next decade I want to be optimistic. I intend to bring new Americans into the world and raise them here. They will be more American than me. I hope that they will enter into a world that does not have the hate and discrimination that my generation are dealing with. I want the next generation to know that we tried hard to make it better for them just as the previous generation strove hard to grant us the civil liberties that we take for granted today. I want them to know that there is no contradiction in being Muslim and American. I want them to have a positive narrative of the community. I want them to define the Muslim community and American society as a whole in new positive terms and images such that we are only imagining today. I hope in ten more years we will have healed and risen further than we have today.