When Doors Open

Bismihi Ta’ala

Saaliha 

Part 25

A whole new world can open up when we see things in a different way… when instead of looking at the doors that close; we see ones that open.

There’s a saying that goes, ‘Men have sight… women have insight.’

And if you think about it, it really rings so true. It’s just the little things that we do or notice that sometimes makes the world of difference…

And I’m no food connoisseur but I can tell you that when a women loves something, she gives it her all. A woman is someone who often puts her heart and soul into anything she adores. And if there’s something that I’ve come to love, cooking had become my refuge at times when I most needed it.

The thing was, as a teenager, I’d always been particularly sporty. An athlete, I supposed people would say. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought I’d become addicted to a stove but when cooking became a passion, I sort of channeled some of that energy into my new ‘sport’.

I mean, who said cooking can’t be a sport? And though I sometimes hit the treadmill and did a work out or two with lunges and a cardio-inducing routine, my constant that would calm me down; help me to think… clear my mind… was to stir and cook up a storm.

And when it came to cooking, as much as I enjoyed my traditional rice dishes… as many of us do (especially lamb Briyani on Friday afternoons), it’s common knowledge that as women.. Indian women… no-one just makes a pot of Briyani and leaves it at that.

Simply put, Briyani is not Briyani if there’s no extra mile that includes the sour milk with greens, or the mango pickle or even the sambles, which we often call katchumar (don’t even ask where that word originated from because I have no idea).

Sometimes sojee (sweet semolina dish with butter) is the starter or the dessert.. and of course, there’s always the possibility of vermicilli or some other sweet dish instead.

And that’s basically the standard menu after the Jumuah prayer but the point isn’t that.

Honestly, there’s no end to how extensive the meal could get… but the point I’m trying to make here is not really about Indian cuisine.

The point is that we, as women… we go all out. We put everything into that meal, when we want to impress. Whether it’s our families or husband, everything has to be perfect. Complete. We will go the extra mile, put our heart and souls into something that could have been seemingly simple… because we want that little bit of recognition. We appreciate the appreciation. We thrive on that little bit of hope that our efforts will be understood… and that smile… or that ‘thank you’… or even the mere knowledge that the food has met expectations… well, that’s enough, right?

And when he says it… when he makes that eye contact and tells us that our food has made the cut… well, that elation we feel at the compliment… it’s simply gratifying. Our heart and soul has been satisfied.. our efforts have paid off.

But somehow, I wasn’t sure if I was getting it all right. All that effort, and the extra time we take… as well as the toil involved…

Have we ever stopped to only imagine what the situation would be like, if we put our heart and soul into pleasing our Rabb? If, with every breath of His name we take, we give our all? If with every Salaah, we really prayed like it was our last? If we held back nothing when it came to our Ibaadat… giving it our every inch of ourselves in the process?

Because in everything else we do that, why can’t we put our focus into doing it for the one who created our heart and soul?

And it’s not only about food. Sometimes we invest in a career. A relationship. A pass-time that doesn’t give us  benefit. And because we put our heart and soul into the lesser things, often times, the investment backfires on us..

When then we end up focusing on the wrong things, and we are let down. Sometimes we are let down so badly that it seems like there are a hundred doors slammed in our face, before one finally remains open. Sometimes you have to be broken a little, to realise how it feels to finally be complete.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, next to the entrance of my open plan kitchen and lounging area, taking in the hijab-clad woman who was now in her early 30’s but still looking like that girl who was a little broken back then.

I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to that less than amazing time of my life as I pushed the oven open and placed the casserole of pasta in the oven to melt the cheese… making sure the oven setting was perfect before closing it tightly shut again.

And it was just at that moment when Imraan stepped in, smiling brightly as he saw me.

Since forever, my husband and I make it a point to drop whatever we’re doing when the other person walks through the door at the end of the day to greet them, give them a kiss or hug and connect. Even if it’s just a moment before I turn back to cooking or dishes or whatever.., we always pause to let the other know they’re priority and we’re glad they’re home.

“Hey sweets,” he murmured, planting a kiss on my cheek as I wiped my hands on my apron. “Assalamualaikum. Where’s everyone?”

”Wa alaykum salaam,” I said, smiling back at him as he peeped into the pot on the stove. “I’m here. Who else are you looking for?”

I was teasing him, because I knew that he was looking for Uthman or Hamzah, who was here for the past week.

Last Hamzah was skulking around on the patio, keeping to himself, when I saw Uthman kind of sigh out of frustration and go and play with his ball outside.

Shame. The poor child did get lonely. The thing was, Hamzah was barely talking to anyone, which was absolutely shocking because when Hamzah and my son were together they usually couldn’t stop talking about cars, driving cars or watching car videos together. Uthman was too young to understand matters of the heart.

I hated to admit it, but I could see what kind of space Hamzah was in.

Rejection is a hard pill to swallow. No matter what the situation, when things don’t work out, there’s no pretty way to put it.

It was something that I was all too familiar with. A part of my past that I had tucked away, underneath the creases of where life had taken me, beneath the crevices of where I had hid away the feelings that had been buried and forgotten so long ago…

“What’s wrong?”

Imraan was watching me with his sparkly brown eyes, as if he was trying to read my thoughts. And when he did… He was usually on point. He knew me too well to tell that my mind was occupied. The thing was… I couldn’t exactly tell him that since Hamzah had been here in all his brokenness- my mind also had been pretty corroded with thoughts of my own past.

The thing was; some painful memories never leave you completely. Making peace with the past had taken longer than I had thought.

And I won’t mince my words, but when Bilal had called my own wedding off, literally a day before the Nikah, my parents had simply told me that it was for the best. That Allah wouldn’t take something away without replacing it with something better. That when one door closes, sometimes a brand new, amazing new door will open up.  Everything happens for a reason, they said, extremely calmly, but I hadn’t believed them or any of it.

Well, not until Imraan came along and I realised that this was exactly what they were talking about. That someone was going to come along to erase everything from the past, who wouldn’t care if I’d been proposed and things didn’t work out.

Who didn’t really worry about stigmas or the talks around… or about what was going on in the small town that we lived in.

Imraan, the guy I chose… who came to see me a few months later with such a striking sense of compassion and understanding was a definite contrast to Bilal’s stern demeanour, and completely different in almost every way. And though his best friend was Bilal’s brother-in-law, it made no difference to me because once Imraan became part of my life, when Nikah had healed me, I no longer felt like I had been broken into tiny pieces anymore, and I didn’t feel that sting when I saw Bilal with my cousin or witnessed them get on with their life. It was all okay, because I accepted that it was meant to be.

And that’s when I realised that Allah’s plan sometimes doesn’t unfold immediately. Sometimes it takes a little more time before you see the beauty in a seemingly warped situation. Sometimes there is something that may seem to be good for you, but Allah knew the harm it would have done, had it gone according to what you wanted…

”How has he been?” Imraan asked, cutting through my thoughts as he took a seat on the kitchen stool, his one leg placed over his thigh. Looking pensive. His voice was low as he glanced outside.

I could see Hamzah from where I was. He was lying listlessly on his back in the common patio area, arm slung over his eyes, almost immune to us even being on the same property, never mind 10 metres away. There were three separate houses on the property and though he stayed in his place usually, he came to the main house for most meals. The last few days though, he’d barely even ate anything.

It was really strange, considering how he was usually the biggest fan of my food and wasn’t usually shy when it came to eating. I had made his favourite pasta today, hoping it would draw at least a positive be vibe but I wasn’t so sure of it would work. Being married since the time he was a teenager, he was like a little brother to me too… especially since him and my own little brother were around the same age.

Hamzah didn’t ever come to the main house unless Imraan was around. Since he’d become mature enough to understand, he kept a respectable distance, although he always had a story or two to humour us with when he did come in. Now, though, it was like he was a different person and I just couldn’t help but feel so terrible for him…

The thing was, I always thought that men never got emotional. That they took things with a pinch of salt and moved on. After the whole proposal with Mohsina breaking off, this was something I never anticipated happening.

“I think he just needs some time,” I said softly.

Imraan nodded and sighed.

Of course he would understand. He was someone who was most in tune with people’s emotions… more than anyone else. And that’s why, when Imraan and I had made Nikah, he delved right into my emotions, without any hesitation. He don’t want me to harbour old feelings. He got to know me in a way that he even wanted to do the things I loved too. Being a sporty personality, he took it in his stride to have competitions with me, to run with me on our farm plot, and to even sometimes knock around with a tennis racquet. That’s what you do when you love someone, and besides that, he firmly believed that a healthy and active lifestyle was part of being a good Muslim. If you’re not doing Halaal things that make you thrive and pose a challenge, it’s inevitable that you will resort to Haraam.

Besides that, to be active and fit with your spouse was a great way to bond and observe a Sunnah.

It was reported Prophet Muhammad (p.b.u.h.) raced with Aisha his wife and she outran him. After a couple of years they raced again and this time he outran her, so he said, “this time makes up for the other.” – [Ahmad,Safwat as-Safwah, vol. I, p. 68]

I smiled sadly, as we both took a seat on the counter, even though the mat on the floor was already set for our meal. It had become a norm for us to eat on the floor, since Uthman had turned 6.

”I think let’s do this,” Imraan said softly. “Can we maybe ask someone who can motivate him… maybe Molvi can talk to him? Or what about Maulana Aadil? Isn’t Fareeha coming later?”

I nodded.

Ah, yes. Of course. Maulana Umar (aka Molvi) was Imraan’s best friend and childhood friend,and it would be great to get his advice here… but my sister and her husband were going to be here and Maulana Aadil always had a different way of looking at things.

I was sure that he was going to have something useful to say and as I heard my sisters laughter in the doorway about twenty minutes later as we rounded up supper, I already felt like the cloud that was looming above us was slightly lifted. Hamzah had come in for all of 5 minutes, taken a plate of pasta and sat outside to eat. I was just glad that he was eating a little more though.

Imraan and him had been sitting outside since then and I could see them chatting away, inaudibly, as I glanced out the sliding door, whilst cleaning up the floor mat.

I smiled as Fareeha’s girls ran outside, obviously excited about the open spaces here, I couldn’t help but grin at their eccentric matching  outfits. Her little boy was waddling away after them. My sister had the most unexpected dress sense for her three, but they all looked surprisingly cute.

Both Fareeha and her husband were such positive and comical personalities and having them around for these two weeks was such a pleasure. My two nieces often outspoke their mother, and there was no other way I’d have it. It was always so wonderful to have them all here at the farm.

Being here, settling in, after the fast pace of Johannesburg life was welcomed but it also got a bit lonely when there wasn’t a stream of visitors in and out.

A lot had changed since I was younger. Many of the younger family members had moved away from the small town into bigger cities and some families had even relocated completely, as the elder of the family passed away. Still though, the greenery was soothing for my soul. I knew that this was what was best for us too… to be away from the prying eyes of people who kept on asking why I didn’t have more kids… or why I don’t give my son a sibling. The scrutiny was beginning to kill me… and I appreciated being there now, more than ever. At l least my mum was still not too far away, and Mehnaaz, my elder sister, also popped by occasionally.

I turned my gaze back to my younger sister, watching her walk in with her flowing Abaya, her niqab into her head now as she entered the kitchen.

”Hey lovely,” she cooed, coming up and enveloping me in a huge hug. She placed the Tupperware she was holding on the counter. “I brought cupcakes. Must I make some masala chai? Laila sent me this simple and easy masala chai on Instagram and the other day but it’s made in a huge pot and I’m dyyyying to make it. I actually haven’t even had a chance to breathe since I came, we’ve been soooooo hectic… I feel like I’m getting more popular with age, so many people are inviting us home, yoh… how’s everything going?!”

I laughed. The Instagram recipes never ended. At least they used social media it for good stuff. Well. Most of the time. For my own sanity, I kept off social media. When I did go on, I got carried away and found myself going from one thing to the next in mere seconds.

“So you guys been busy, huh?” I asked with a smile.

That’s what happens when you come home to your farm town after a few months. Laila and Fareeha had been best friends since school days and she was also in town last week. Everyone wants a piece of you when you’re back. When I lived in Jo’burg it was the same story. Fareeha sighed and plopped herself on the stool, looking utterly exhausted as she grabbed a custard biscuit from the container that lay on the table.

Baking was a constant in our house. Even though cooking was fun for me, baking had become equally therapeutic… my go-to whenever I felt a little stressed or under the weather. It was one of the things that I often found myself talking about with Mohsina, not expecting her to also have a passion for it as well. She was actually someone who I really came to like. I was just sorry that it had turned out badly…

What exactly happened between Hamzah and her, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to pry and ask too many questions.

I knew that it was wishful thinking but I really hoped that they would sort it out.

And as I watched Fareeha making the tea that night whilst we chatted about general things, I was hoping that Maulana Aadil was doing some magic on my brother-in-law to get him to come around and set things right with her.

Fareeha was busy with the kids, seeing to them while I tried to help where I can. She finally emerged from the dining room where the two girls were having a small tiff – looking absolutely fed-up.

Her face was a picture of irritation and I honestly couldn’t blame her. Juggling the temperaments and grievances of three kids couldn’t be easy. As much as I wanted so badly to have more kids, I did understand what the challenge was. Seeing Fareeha was almost enough to make me reconsider. Almost but not quite.

And of course, I expected her to write it off as them being the usual kind of kids who tested you to no bounds, but what she said next was kind just a little out of the ordinary.

“I’m so sick of these kids!” she said, collapsing on the chair again, grabbing her cup of chai whilst she stuffed her mouth with a cupcake.

I didn’t want to say anything. Fareeha had been loading on a few extra kilos in the recent months but I didn’t realise how bad it actually was. She was already on cupcake number 6. With ganache and fresh cream…

“Shame, I’m sure they can be a handful,” I said sympathetically, trying to be cool while I moved the container away from her. “But Far, all kids are hectic. These days will pass and soon they’ll be-”

“Don’t you dare start with me!” she warned me, narrowing her eyes as she cut me off. “I’ve had enough comforting and coaxing. I can’t handle anymore kids. As much as Aadil is pushing for them, I’m compelled to reject his suggestions. I simply cannot manage with even one more.”

I pursed my lips.

We were one two sides of the fence. It was quite something seeing the other side of things though. Seeing someone who was so overwhelmed and exhausted by the whole parenting thing when I was so desperate for it.

“So he wants how many more?” I asked carefully, pulling a weird face.

Three was a good number. Well, I had always thought so, for Imraan and I. We just couldn’t even get to number 2. As always, I made shukar for my only son…

“At least two more!” she exclaimed with big eyes and a comical voice. “Can you believe him?!! I told him NO WAYS! If he wants more kids he must get another wife to do all the hard work. There’s no way I’m having more of his children. They’ve made me batty as it is.”

Only Fareeha would be so nuts to say such crazy things. I shook my head at her. I hope she wasn’t going to get herself into a problem.

“Fareeha, are you mad?!” I reprimanded her. “You can’t tell a man things like that. Even if you are joking. You never know what they will do… what doors it will open.”

She shrugged, as if it didn’t bother her. Like, did she really forget what happened with my mother and father all those years ago, when Mummy let go of herself?

She will swallow her words if it were to really happen. When Papa had taken another wife, we were already much older… as Fareeha insisted we find out who, when, how and all the rest because it bugged her so much.

She was feeling the worst for my mother and my mother was at least 15 years older than what Fareeha was now.

“So what did he say?” I pressed, panicking for my sister.

I was quite the possessive type, even though Far was the complete opposite. Maybe I had to have a chat with Laila about this. Laila had a way of getting through to Fareeha. Perhaps she could talk sense into my sister.

She was really behaving like a crazy woman. Off the hinges, with no control or care about herself even. She was definitely going to regret this.

“He said I have the right attitude,” she said proudly with a smirk.

I raised my eyebrows. Both Maulana Aadil and Fareeha were known to be a bit unusual on the whole. Cute in a way but also erratic and crazy, but this was just making me worried.

“What do you mean the ‘right attitude’?” I asked with a frown.

“He means,” she explained, taking one last bite of the cupcake she had and then pulling the Tupperware from me and opening it for another one. “That women need to stop behaving like it’s something wrong or out of the ordinary for a man have more than one wife.”

Really?

It was just always such a gossip factor for people.

Fareeha was chewing noisily as she went on, waving her hand dramatically.

“What’s the big deal?” She said nonchalantly. “Like it doesn’t mean she’s not good enough or anything like that. He is in full agreement that when it’s done the proper Sunnah way, there is always benefit. And I agree. He said that I must find him one at the end of next month.”

Uh oh. She was leaving way too many doors open here.

I couldn’t quite believe them. Was this another way of looking at things or was it just ridiculous?

---

Dearest readers…

Okay, I know… I know. It’s a controversial topic, especially for us ladies…

but someone asked me about this recently so would appreciate any thoughts? 💕

A xx

 

Revive the Sunnah of being Active 

Especially in this day and age when there are so many haraam things available for entertainment, it’s crucial that we try and adopt a clean environment or even a hobby that’s beneficial and Halaal.

In one of the Hadiths, Abu Hurairah mentioned that The Messenger of Allah (Peace and Blessing be upon him) said that:” A strong believer is better and dearer to Allah than a weak one, and both are good.”

This particular Hadith outlines the importance of being healthy and strong physically, which shows that exercises and keeping fit are important for Muslims. In a world where everything is one click away, people are no longer willing to do any effort to stay in good health physically or eat well.

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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