11:00 AM | 11 May 2020
It’s very rare – and very fascinating – to see the child that has grown within someone you call your grandmother because when you’re a kid, you think all grown ups were always all grown up.
You loved making sandcastles. The way your slender fingers would expertly build another home is a fond memory etched over the papyrus of time now. You’d place a chair on the shoreline and go and sit there, letting the waves sink the plastic chair deeper into the moist floor, the salty water playing with the seams of your saree. And you’d sit there and smile beautifully and gaze back at the sun, your sunglasses making you look like a diva. You were gorgeous!
Life has become pretty much like the waves you’d sit with. One after another, rushing in; leaving no time for the first wave of a new realisation to engage with the brain before sweeping in another extraordinary feeling that I have to struggle to recognise. I really can’t decide whether to laugh at that or to continue to be surprised. Or why not both?
I don’t have answers to any of the questions. I don’t even have questions anymore. I wanted to climb the highest peak of Tawakkal. I wanted what Hazrat Umar wanted: “Oh, Allah! Make us of your few servants!” And this is mighty difficult, Nani Jaan. You used to say, “Allah Mian bohat piyaray hain! (God is lovely!)” He really is. I don’t know anything at all except the fact that He makes me take out my phone and open up the dua, “Allah alone is sufficient for us, and He is the best disposer of affairs for us.” (Quran 3:173) when my boss is creating a difficult situation for me in an OPD swamped with more than thirty patients. All I know is that He relieves my anxiety when my brain – more than my heart – tells me that no power is bigger than God and what will only happen is what only He wills. All I know is that these last fourteen days passed by without cough and fever and in the line of duty because He is the Omnipotent, and there’s work threaded in the lines of my palms only. All I know is that if He’s giving enough strength to the two people who brought me into this world to also send me out on this new battlefield, then only He can turn the Impossible into Possible. All I know is that if I find myself calling out to Him for help when I’m stuck in the restroom with no water or when I find myself whispering to Him to grant me the motivation to drop another few extra pounds on the weighing scale or when I make a quick dua for my favourite food, I’m free from the chains of human dependency and unfulfilled expectations. All I know is that when I find myself writing unsent letters that have no address, my soul is testifying to the power of duas made long ago, to His promise of not returning us empty-handed, to the very special heartbeat that He has hidden inside me. All I know is that when lost in the blurriness of this cacophony, the only lantern I am able to hold is that of istikhara; for every tangled knot, for every aching breath, for every dark alley. All I know is that ever since I’ve started playing this game of Tawakkal, He is increasing not only the level of difficulty, but also my bonus points, my resilience, my Love for Him, and how somehow, I know we’ll be able to fill in this crossword puzzle. Because He is our secret inner companion, after all.
And all of this because of your magical duas. I see them protecting me, making me stronger, happier. Little by little, every day. The dewdrops falling on me, calming the storms within, now comfortable with patience, waiting for and amused at the unknown path, but the known heartbeat.
Thank you, Nani Jaan.