And this is why I chose the name Rufayda

When I was brainstorming names for a startup that offers wellness services to healthcare providers & later aimed to branch out into healthcare management consultancy, I was looking for something that would symbolize the beautiful power of what a woman’s strength & gentleness can do. The idea of gentle caregiving & support that was empowering. Something that would resonate with me & embody the values of the strong women who raised me: my mother, & my grandmothers. 

And as our old friend, Jalaluddin Rumi said, “What you seek is seeking you!” 

A mentor, Mr Mohammad Bhanji shared a post about Lady Rufaida Al- Aslamia & her humanistic approach towards healthcare. The name intrigued me. I looked it up & the more I read about her, the more it seemed to resonate with the ethos of what I wanted my wellness organization to be. Hence, Rufayda it was.

The ‘Care for Healthcare’ was my father’s brainchild. As I sat on our dining table discussing the various options with him, he gave me this one. And enunciating it all together, “Rufayda – Care for Healthcare” came like that long lost friend you are very happy to reconncet with.

And so it is. Rufayda – Care for Healthcare.

Rufayda – Care for Healthcare, is named after Rufaida Al-Aslamia, renowned as the first female Muslim nurse and surgeon. We emulate her spirit of aiding those who dedicate themselves to helping others, of tending to those who care for others. Just as Lady Rufaida demonstrated boundless compassion for those in need, we pay homage to her legacy by extending support and wellness services to healthcare providers.

Join us in upholding her tradition of empathy and care.

Humble gratitude

When I saw the news about a young couple in @ a z a deciding to get married in a makeshift camp, I cried. Miles apart, but that could have been me if I was not destined to be born where I was. As I hopped from one shop to another, choosing embellishments for my wedding dress, I was confused and guilty. 
 
Over the past few months, the world has been an enthusiastic, ruthless accomplice to the worst atrocities committed in @ a z a, leaving almost all of us in the same pit, guilty to be alive, to feel even the slightest bit of happiness. It’s a nauseating, strangling feeling that leaves you confused, sad, angry, till you begin to question the existence of everything. You feel selfish for wanting to celebrate. You feel selfish for – in very plain terms – the roof above your head, the food on your plate, your functionimg limbs, and the voice of your loved ones. And you know that.
 
The fight against genocide is jehad, and while we couldn’t pick up arms, we could do what we could with the very conscious intention that the lowest form of jehad is recognizing and proclaiming the injustice by boycotting the products. But that wasn’t enough. That did nothing to help with the guilt. As I thought out loud to my now-husband and then-fiancè, we stumbled upon a realization that changed our perspective. That of humble gratitude. Sabr aur shukr. 
 
Humble gratitude is not just uttering “Alhamdullillah”. It’s realizing, ever so consciously, that we are incredibly lucky to be alive. To not have to stay awake through the night out of fear of being bombed. To not have to starve. To not have to wonder if suicide is a better option than waiting to get killed just so we can be free from this injustice. It’s realizing this ever so consciously. It’s realizing this and being grateful for the blessings that He chose to specifically bless us with. Be it a new job, a new degree, or a new relationship. Nothing happens without His decree. So, if He willed me to be here, in this timezone, I must be grateful for it by accepting the little hop of happiness. Because we’ve all had our fair share. Because He wrote a different story for us all. He wants us to learn different lessons and have a different purpose in life. Because He gave us all our struggles, and He knows when we deserve the ease. Because who are we to question Him? Because it feels wrong to not thank our God for saving us from that anguish. Because it feels wrong to not be humbled for all that He gave you and me. Because we must learn from the resilience and beautiful patience of our P a L e Stenians when they find joy in the darkest of nights. 
 
So we do what we can: boycott, pray, be grateful, and be humble. We worship with humble gratitude.
 
“I see you, little khushi*. I feel you. Thank you for coming. I pray that you may find your way to @ A z A.” Ameen. 

*happiness

Rufayda

“Mjhe lagta hai myn farz chhor kar nafl kar rahi houn” (I feel like I’m doing voluntary work instead of that which is my responsibility). I vividly remember how helpless the internal medicine resident trainee—also a young mother—looked. The comment was not directed towards the pile of papers in her hand; it was more of a sigh of frustration at the kind of days she was living, and the nights she was not sleeping. As she blinked through the tears, struggling to maintain a work-life balance in a demanding profession, guilt-ridden for leaving her toddlers behind, and burdened by the toll this was taking on her, I wondered how she would pull herself out of these unsettling thoughts and emotions and be fully present for her patients. It was a challenge that demanded a level of emotional intelligence not found in many. 

Healthcare workers like her can be found in every department of every hospital in every country. Be it an underpaid, overworked nurse or a resident in training barely getting the minimum hours of sleep that is needed to be able to make life-and-death decisions, it’s every member of the medical team that looks after you when you’re sick. It is even those bitter consultants and heads of departments who staunchly believe in keeping things difficult merely because they, too, had it that way. It’s everyone who thinks that to be in healthcare means to sacrifice and only sacrifice.

I was never able to get that resident out of my mind. I would wonder if a life like that would make me happy. I would wonder if I’d be able to do justice to my patients if I were that unsatisfied, that exhausted, and that challenged. That memory has served as an inspiration for what to do and a warning of where not to head. It has been the connecting line between all the decisions I’ve consciously taken and all that destiny has brought to me. It has brought me to another beginning—a long journey to work for the wellbeing of those who work for the wellbeing of others. We bring to you Rufayda – Care for Healthcare, where we offer you expertise and tools to mitigate burnout and improve the mental health and quality of worklife of all HCPs.

If you are interested in knowing more about Rufayda and how we can contribute to your workplace, please drop us an email at rufaydacareforhealthcare@gmail.com with your organization’s name in the subject line or drop us a WhatsApp at our official number, +92 336 5411532.

Tu Jhoom

Have you ever heard the same song at two very different points in your life?

“Main raazi apni zaat toh/ Main utte apni aukaat toh/ Eh duniya meri fikaar nahi/ Main samajh gayi haar baat nu” (I am satisfied with my being; I am above my worth; I have understood the world is not my concern.)

As we skimmed through the traffic in Karachi, I played this forgotten song, listening to it for the first time again. Where previously it spoke of hope as I maneuvered my way through life, holding to prayer and patience and “Rabbi inni lima anzaltu illa min khayrin fakeer,” ( My Lord, indeed I am, for whatever good You would send down to me, in need) it now felt like a declaration of reward. Reward of hard work, of believing in my crazy ideas and not bothering with “loag kya kahyn ge?” (What will people say?) of sketching my own timeline, of perseverance, and of faith.

Receiving the Global Student Award for Excellence in Impact and Innovation at Aga Khan University’s Global Convocation 2024 has been an honor that has mirrored how perseverance and faith will pay off. It’s a reminder to myself that no matter how many times I had to hear, “You’re wasting your degree by not choosing the clinical side!” the deaf ear that I had to turn was worth it. It’s all of that and a whole lot of prayers from some of the people closest to me. It’s all of that and the unconditional support of my parents and sister, who never once questioned my decision to sway from the road oft taken and then opt for another territory unheard of as I chose health entrepreneurship to work for the mental well-being and quality of work life of our healthcare providers. But as I glance back, I’m humbled to be able to see how being sensitive to the struggles of my colleagues led to the eventual realization that a life like theirs will not keep me smiling for long. And that gave me the courage to pursue a health innovation fellowship at Aga Khan University, where, as I explored the different ways in which innovation may be defined in a healthcare setting, I chose a masters in health policy and management with the motivation to graduate with a dissertation that would be the stepping stone towards a more compassionate healthcare system. From excitedly expressing this to the two interviewers in the admission committee, to convincing a thesis committee that was very supportive, from a very long data collection process that coincided with my wedding preparations to the small gasp that escaped me as I heard my name being announced as the awardee for Excellence in Impact and Innovation, I see the ease that came with each hardship. I see each prayer coming true. I celebrate how my plans did not work out but His did.

This award is not merely an award. It’s the beginning of Rufayda – Care for Healthcare. It is more than just an acknowledgement of innovation; it is also an investment in the future health of healthcare providers. It’s a small step towards a big vision.
And so, as I hear the soulful voice of Abida Parveen again, I feel nothing but gratitude for not being in control. I feel nothing but awe at how He fills our lives with miracles. Starting out this new chapter of my professional life, I feel nothing but an easy surrender to His will and His plans, because, as this kalaam goes:

“Jo hai tera labh jayega/ Karke koyi bahana/ Tere bas mein kujh Vi nahi ae/ Dil nu eh samjhawan”. (If I get all the happiness, there will be nothing left behind; I explain to my heart that nothing is in my hands.)

living a prayer

I’ve always believed in how duas always come true. There’s either immediate acceptance, delayed acceptance, or better replacements. I’ve also always believed that real-life unicorns and fairies are the small miracles that are happening in our lives, like when you look back and connect the dots of why certain things happened, how certain things happened, and why certain things didn’t. Like now. Amidst the ongoing holocaust of modern times and the reliving of Karbala, I find myself at an unexpected crossroad. While watching these atrocities from the comfort of my home, I’m also living one of the prayers I’d made long, long ago, a small dream I’d dreamt as the odd one out. While helplessly witnessing how the health workforce in G a Z a is crumbling, living their worst nightmare, and experiencing the worst prelude to a burnout they may not survive, I’m actively working on Rufayda, a dream project, the result of my masters in health policy and management and my passion for physician wellbeing. It is unsettling how the clock has struck, like the giddiness one experiences when boarding a wooden boat headed towards a choppy sea.

With each passing day, I’m humbled, scared, mystified, and grateful. I am humbled because, when I look back and connect the dots, I recognize why God gave me the strengths and weaknesses that He did and why He put it in me to take this up. I am scared because of the world that awaits us. And mystified at how Rufayda is a miracle—my real-life play with fairies. And I’m grateful to be able to see how each dua is accepted in a way that’s good for us.

When God made the sky, He made it for hopeful sunrises and sunsets saying goodbye. He made it for rains that would nourish the farmers’ lands and thunderstorms that would kill the homeless. He made it for you and me. Maybe we should no longer figure it all out. Maybe we should only live it with Sabr and Shukar. But there’s never a “maybe” in standing by justice, humanity, and peace. Never. I hope and I pray that Rufayda can stand by that.

the new tick-tock

Major shifts, whether those that happen under the earth’s plates or those that happen under the soul, all lead up to turning points in our lives that we either wish to forget or celebrate with all the pomp we can. And then there are also those slow and sudden ones where you accelerate from the busy hustle to a calm, reassuring journey towards your best self. The to-do lists will remain where they are, maybe adding up more. But the fight-or-flight response will give way to a peaceful stroll among the stars. Instead of worrying about ticking all the boxes, you’ll smile at the peace of the pace your new life will have picked up. It’s a sign of life. And gratitude keeps it going.

You’ll wonder if this will last, this new tick-tock of your life. And you’ll find yourself praying that it does. Because while it’s not very easy, it’s definitely effortless. Because while it comes after a lot of blood and sweat, it’s definitely also the gift of believing in yourself and your heartfelt prayers. Because while the road ahead will be difficult, there will be an abundance of people who are kind, the *rehm karnay walay.

Hopefully. Always and forever.

*the people who show kindness

too many locks

2:30 PM | 4 December 2022

One of my favorite memories from when I was a kid is dipping a biscuit (preferably a Gluco) into a cup of hot tea. Sometimes, I’d dip it in for too long, and the biscuit would become all soggy and soft and drown in the tea, which I’d spoon out after I had finished it.

It’s funny, but that’s what we do in real life, too. We dangle our happiness and peace over all that is good for us—or may be—until too much of it actually becomes too much and the goodness flies right away. And then we want to spoon it out and act disappointed when it loses what it was. It’s the kind of risk-taking that is self-destructive, unkind, and ruthless. But people still do it. And they will continue to.

The problem is in letting everything become too much.

Putting too much salt in the otherwise perfectly cooked pasta. Putting too much sugar in the *kheer that you were looking forward to. Working out for two hours instead of one. Telling too much to a friend too good. Obsessively putting things in place. Deleting old photos and conversations from your old phone’s memory. Even in expecting humanity to prevail. Too many locks for too many suitcases that hide too many cloaks for too many people, and then need too many keys and too much courage. 

The problem is in letting everything become too much until it’s too late.

*kheer: milk custard

Photo credits: Tooba Masihuddin

A dua for the light of our lives

إِنَّا لِلّهِ وَإِنَّـا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ‎

Our beloved grandmother/great-grandmother, lovingly called Amaani, Dadi Jaan, and Nanna, Mrs. Arif-un-Nisa Ghulam Mohammad, passed away peacefully on Sunday night.

Oh, Allah! You are Ar-Rahman! You are Ar-Raheem! Life and death are in Your hands. Every trial is from You; every happiness is from You. You love us more than 70 mothers. For the sake of that love, please welcome my Dadi beautifully! You have said that expecting good and beautiful things from You is one of the highest forms of worship, and Dadi Jaan is coming to you expecting only good and beautiful things, so please fulfill those expectations, Yaa Rabb. Reward her in a befitting way. Make this last journey easy and gentle for her. Expand and lighten up her grave with the Nur of Iman and the love she had for You. Fill her grave with as many flowers as the dhikr that rolled off her rosary. Be merciful and gentle with her when you question her in the grave. Record her deeds in the Illiyeen and give her success in the Meezan. Help her cross Pul-e-Sirat at the speed of light. Forgive her and be merciful to her. Reward her for her beautiful patience. You blessed her with a long, healthy life, one where she lived to see the happiness of all her children. Bless her now with an easy life in the Hereafter, where she can live happily with her parents, Dada Jaan, Asif Taao, and all those dear to her. Keep her in the eternal coolness of Jannah. Grant her the shade of Your Arsh on Yawmul Qiyaamah. Reunite her with those of her loved ones who left us before her. In our lives, make us a source of sadqa-e-jaria for her, and when You have destined for us to come to You, reunite our entire lineage beautifully. Dadi Jaan was the epitome of grace, strength, and courage, and an example of how to live and love our lives! We are the family she and Dada Jaan built with love so bind us together with love and keep us shoulder to shoulder in sickness and in health, in the tough times and the good. Give us the will and the opportunity to be a source of sadqa-e-jaria for her so we can keep her legacy alive through the excellent example she left for us, from how to keep a family together to taking care of her health so she could be her best self for us, from the generosity of her soul to how she always had something good, something kind to say to strangers and loved ones alike. Give us the will and opportunity to follow in her footsteps, to continue her legacy. Give us the will to love You in the best of ways, to act upon that Love, and to be kind to His people and create ease for His people. Call us when our hearts and souls are ready. 
 
Yaa Allah, create ease and comfort for each person who served Dadi Jaan and strived to keep her comfortable, both in this world and the next, the way they did for Dadi Jaan, and reward them in the most beautiful of all ways.
 
Yaa Allah, accept our ibadah, our duas, and our deeds. Give us the strength to be as steadfast in our deen and as kind in our worldly affairs as Dadi Jaan was. Make us among the muhsineen, muttaqeen, the mukhliseen, the sabiqoon fil ilm. 

Ameen, summameen.


Please recite Surah Al Fateha for her.

Thank you.

That’s how it happens

1:15 PM | 29 January 2023

If you’ve ever boarded a flight knowing that you’re never coming back, then you know the heaviness of the emotions that haunt you on your way to the airport. There’s nostalgia for the home you once had and loved. There’s remorse for having to move out of that home. There’s excitement for the good that’s to come. There’s happiness for the happiness that awaits you. There is pride in having the courage to embark on this journey. Those are a lot of emotions to feel, and as your heart grows heavy with this realization, you shiver and take a deep breath, feeling your heart beat so you can really know what is about to happen. 

That’s how it is every time you grow out of an old habit, move past a dead friendship, see your regard turn into distaste, hesitantly step out of your comfort zone to fix what went wrong, and decide to be a better you. That’s what happens when you live Tawakkal* and understand what made Noah build that ark, what made Moses step into the ocean, and how every little thing in your life is a miracle of God’s love, mercy, and kindness. That’s how it happens.

*Tawakkal: Complete faith in God

The second time

12:19 am | 23 January 2023

The first time of everything is irreversible, isn’t it? Or so we think. The first time you made chai for your dad. The first time you gave a speech during the morning assembly. The first time you broke your curfew time. The first time you had sushi. The first time you drew blood from a patient’s arm. The first time you saw grief. And also the first time you felt the wind in your hair, the water on your feet, and the sand in your toenails. The first time you smiled at that memory. The first of all things that makes you laugh and happy.

We think those firsts are it, and we’ll never feel that way again. But we do. And the second time is always better because it tells you—very lightly, in a whisper you can barely hear—that life is a gift and that all this happiness comes from within you. You laugh because you find it funny—again, not because the joke really is. And while that is both a blessing and a curse, it is also what makes you the most powerful. It is what makes the second time always special. Because if there’s a second time, the third and the fourth and the fifth is likely to follow.

Maybe that’s what they mean when they say, “Keep smiling!” and we will!