A Wayward Prayer

I went for Taraweeh today. Not properly; I read my farz at home and had no intention of going to the Masjid. My head was pounding, I thought I would sleep. However, I ended up in the Masjid.

The rows were full when I went. The taraweeh had started sometime ago. I intended to read eight. So I stood at the very back, in a row all by myself. I recognised the surah as one of those which we had to understand as part of our syllabus in school. So in spite of the fact that our old Imaam Sahib mumbled away like a fighter jet, I was able to understand a few words. And that was enough for context.

Two rakahs later, the Imaam said salam, and with it the multitude of women ahead of me began shifting. Until now, the women had been standing as wide as possible, trying to not get anyone between them. It was hot. The fans were limited. I don’t blame them.

It was nice being in the back all by myself. Less distractions, too. For example; when we went into rukooh I was concentrating on the tasbeeh, if someone had been with me I would’ve definitely been thinking of their feet. I don’t know why… I just would’ve.

With the shifting, some women got up to leave. They passed by me. One of them stopped, folding her janamaz, and told me to stand with the other women. I was about to say there was no space, however, I saw the woman ahead of me had shifted just enough to let me stand. The woman who was standing repeated what she had said.

“I was late so–” I was cut off.

“Namaz hi nahi hoti. Mein keh rhi hon namaz hi nahi hoti!” (Your prayers have not been said/prayed/offered idk this is a crude translation.)

I don’t know why this bugged me. But anyways. The woman left, and I did too. The surah had ended, I would probably not have understood the rest anyways.

As I walked home, the road was empty except for the cars. I reflected on my strange behaviour. Yes, I knew the entire time I was acting strange. But I realised that I had got what I wanted.

I wasn’t there for the eight taraweehs after all. Two did me more good as eight had done in past years. I was there because of my firm belief in positive energy–positive divine energy. The place was a Masjid. A place where God’s men came to pray. Maybe not all, but some came for God. I did too. I wanted to be near God. Physically. And even though I am aware that we are nearest to God in sujood, I wanted to go to a place which had been dedicated to His name and His alone. Where everyone faced in the same direction, prayed to the same God. I needed that energy. I needed that feeling. That God was there. That there was a solution. That I was a believer.

And then there was the word of God. I just wanted to hear some of it. I never intended to stand there until my concentration weaned off and I was forcing myself to just stand. I just wanted to hear some of it. And it made me feel better than I had in some time.

With every sajda, my head felt lighter. If I had stayed for two more, perhaps it would’ve been cured completely. Perhaps the heaviness of my head would have been lifted to bestow clarity of mind. It was Ramadhan. The air was somehow cleaner, it would’ve helped me. But I didn’t stay. Why? Perhaps because I just wanted to hear the word of God. And when that Auntie approached me, somehow at the back of my head I was thinking about what these people were thinking of me. That I didn’t even know the fundamentals of praying in congregation! But that wasn’t the only reason. I didn’t know the arabic to the Surah after that one.

All in all, I am still confused. Still not clear. Still unsure. But I feel better, more at peace. He put a smile on my face, one of contentment. I know that whatever will be, will be for the better. I know that there will be a solution to everything. And why did I do this? I’m not sure. But anyways. Better get back to praying the rest of my nafl.

I realise this isn’t spiritually uplifting (as I thought it would be). But I just wanted this to be out there. And I wanted you to pray for me, too. This is quite a long post. Perhaps I should sign of here.

Remember me in your prayers.

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Slumber

It was the only day of the week where she knew she could sleep with the gas heater on. Not because this was a weekly suicidal ritual that she religiously performed, but because she knew there would be someone to turn it off.

Tonight, she was tired. With lights turned off and the blaring noise of the television in the next room, she was aware that she only had a few hours to sleep. Come, sleep, come. Come before the night has faded and trials afresh await my doom. Come.

It came, but in slow, unsure steps. Like the carbon monoxide that slowly filled up the room as she awaited her half death. Perhaps it was not sleep, but this gas, which slowly suffocated her to slumber as she thought of the exact time required by the gas to fill up this room and deprive her of air. How odd.

The slumber now surrounded her like the stars that never shone in her sky anymore. She was losing herself, and she was aware. A conscious unconsciousness. Collateral beauty. Her eyes gently closed as the warm orange rays lit up the room to a comfortable resting place. A comfortable last resting place, as they would’ve said later.

Who was to know if this was a half death, or slumber in eternity?

Life update.

It’s a battle keeping up with these word prompts. A battle with time. And my mind.

I have so much to study. And I want to read more, too. And I have to think about what I’m going to do with my life. Also, I’ve set unrealistic goals for the weekend (again) which shall go unfulfilled (again) and that shall leave me annoyed. It’s not my fault I only get one day off.

The mind has been whispering. Doubts, fears.

The mind is uneasy. Everyday is another battle. To keep that balance between thinking and not think.

I want to exercise. Mind, soul and body. I want to get up earlier and be productive. But that is not possible.

I want a change of routine. I want this endless road to bend. I want something that would excite me, something that would inspire. My words have been kind to me. Never do they leave the mind. I have been neglecting them, I know. They have been starting to get quite difficult of late. They, too, want a change of expression. Rebellious, ungrateful. They never even realise how much I do for them. However, I in turn must not be ungrateful. They are a blessing, they could be taken away any time. I must cherish them.

I can’t wait for the fog. Glorious, vague vapours encompassing everything and anything, without discrimination.

It is another battle to see the same people every day, to disagree on the same things, to put up with the same ignorance and backwardness and still be nice. Apart from family, and that too only the most direct relations, how much sooner one tires of human company than of anything else. Cats, independent, detached creatures, infinitely cleverer than us (Though only metaphorically).

It is also a battle to be good. Evil tempts you. No matter how much one tries to purify one’s heart, it will always remain contaminated. No matter how much you try, you have been too infected. It is a battle to be kind. Especially those who don’t deserve it. But God knows you’re a monster inside, and if you start classifying and judging people, He could call you out on it.

It’s a battle to be.

How sweet would it be to not be?


Writing prompt: https://zoyakubra.wordpress.com/2017/09/23/october-writing-challenge/

P.S. Do you think my blog has become a little too dull and dark lately? Do you even enjoy? I’d love to know!

Vacant Stares

The river, it flows

Reflecting images in its course

It gushes forth, every second

A new image

Images never seen by humanity

Images the river hides

Images. The rocks’ secrets.

Of everything that took place

But wasn’t ever seen by eyes

The eyes that

When witnessed miracles

Nature’s greatest

Blinked.

And turned away

Often looked down

At artificial screens

In the presence of Grandeur.

So nature, in revenge,

Feeling insulted

At something the Creator

of the moon created

Being rejected,

Took away their sights

So that they never saw

And all that remained

Were vacant stares


I know I’m not doing these prompts everyday, and BELIEVE ME I had some pretty cool ideas too, but I just didn’t have the time! Also, I love how they make me think! It’s so fun. If you haven’t tried this already, why don’t you check it out here? Also, I’m doing two different prompts at the same time. So you can check out the other one in the previous post.

Check this one out here:

https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2017/10/01/october-writing-prompts/

Mounds of Dirt 

They lay there forgotten. The world passed by, unaware of their presence. Barely visible now. The grass had grown tall now. The vegetation didn’t seem to notice there was anything or anyone here. To the grass they were just heaps of dirt. Organic matter.

A boy walked past, whistling. Two other boys rushed past him cycling. Chasing a dog. An old woman carrying a heavy bundle of something on her bent back walked past too. A man with a saw overtook the woman with an impatient expression on his face.

The car tried its best to get through this busy market place as fast as possible. So many cities left. So many kilometres left before it would reach it’s destination. No time to waste here. But a horse suddenly pulled free from its owner and, in a desperate attempt to flee, ran onto the road. The car, however, missed it by a few centimetres. In confusion, it turned sharply to the left and stopped. People gathered around to control the rogue horse. The argument that ensued between the driver and the owner of the horse was not really understood by anyone. The city dwellers in the car could not understand the local Punjabi dialect. And the locals were confused by this city language.

They, however, heard everything. And understood it. They lay there, aware of their fellow beings wasting away in petty matters, matters that did not matter at all. Matters that would soon be forgotten. Like themselves.

In mounds of dirt.