I miss you Ma.

and I never told you this and I needn’t tell you this ever because you already know this.

She is a Super-Woman or an analogy closer home – The Durga Mata. I guess every mother is, mine isn’t any different.

And it hugely annoys me that she can’t leave that stupid home of hers and come live with me for an infinite time. That she is not here with me when I come back to home with a refreshing glass of Nimbo Pani/cold drink on hot days. Or listen to how my day had been. Or waiting to have a meal with all of us. That she isn’t here to mend my dress or fix my cold. Just like she was during my school days.

I left home when I was 17 or 18esh.. for further studies. Meh! And then I never went back. I completed my studies, met my husband, got married, visited home once or twice a year. And that’s how it has been since. 

So literally, I have been missing her since I was 17.

I tell my husband, I was just bored with living out of the hostel, being a paying-guest, being with room-mates, the nomadic life of living away from home, that I agreed to marry him. I needed a home of my own. If I had been living with my Ma, my story would probably have been different. His reply “kidnap kar leta tujhko 😉

That is utterly romantic ❤ . So I know I was destined to marry him, to have a life that I have now. I married the right guy.

But that doesn’t stop me from imagining.

I imagine a different course of my existence. One where I never left home, where am married closer home, where am with them for every festival, every small occasion, every birthday and anniversary. Where I don’t have to plan my vacation months in advance, book flight tickets. I imagine just booking a cab/ or driving to her home. I imagine picking up my bag and heading home, I imagine exchanging Meklahe Sadar with her, gossiping, cooking meals together.

None of which I can ever do in this lifetime.

All of which my sister is lucky to get with her. Damn!

Why don’t I?  I remember a conversation I had with Pa when he said, why can’t I do all that and more? Why can’t I just pick up my bag, book a flight and come home? Isn’t that the reason why I left home in the first place? So I could be independent and follow what I really desire.

Am blabbing. No one will probably get this. I don’t get this. Why can’t I do that? Why am I pissed on the days that remind me of her? (Am pretty sure this is as my sis is visiting her for a month long vacation and am sweating out here).

Everyone leaves home for a better life. I have a better life. Am not the first person to do so. I have no reason for not just booking up the flight and reaching Ma. I don’t know why can’t I manage that now?

Today is Mother’s day and am surrounded by the content this day has generated on every feed, every chat, every social media. Do we need a special day for Mother?

No, A Mother is special every-day.

Yes, because I never told her how awesome she has been, how much she had worked all her prime and how much she needs to think about herself now.

Even so, I don’t want her to think of herself. I want her to be my side. Living in the same city that I am. Not this far.

Now, We They have a wonderful house at Assam. It is my parent’s blood and sweat. Their dream home and they moved into that place after my father’s retirement, which was much later after my wedding.

I live so far from her, that I no more dump my sob story on her, I feel a bit protective of her. Shielding her from my downs. I guess living on my own since 17 has made me as independent as my parents wanted.

Now that am a mother, I know I will always be there for my son. I don’t believe in long distance love 😉 he will have a hard time moving away from my nest.

But then he is a boy. A girl pines for her parent and a boy, well just don’t care. Sorry Boys 😉  

I called Ma today and she was utterly busy with my sister and her twins. She was worried about my brother and she was going to cook dinner, fixing yard with Pa as a storm is approaching.

Day as usual for her.

Happy Mother’s Day Ma. I miss you.

Here is a Mother’s Day special from my 6-year-old boy. Aah.. he will never know the joy of leaving home. Literally 😉

Son: “Ma, What does comes first..the wedding or the kid?”

And my toughened Indian middle-class upbringing screams:
“Wedding son, definitely wedding! “

#HappyMothersDay

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Am having a goosebump moment..

The feeling, that very soon I am gonna finally fulfill my long awaited desire. That next time, when  I come across this title, I will be able to raise my hand and dig into my memory of today.

I finally have a copy of Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie!

MIDNIGHT’S CHILDREN.

Am gonna read it. It’s stupid. I have a crush on a few titles. This is one of them.

In fact, I had to bribe my dear friend/hoarder-of-books/voracious-reader/sorry-cant-part-with-my-book with another of my favorite-yet-unfinished crush of mine. I will give you my “An Era in Darkness..” in exchange for Midnight Children? She paused just for a sec before saying yes. She has her crushes too 😉 I was feeling devilish exploiting her, but heart pounding for Midnight Children!

Some titles are the legend. The authors are the greatest artist in the world. They have created a masterpiece that will live in the memory of millions of peoples, that will outlive them and their readers. That will inspire millions of minds. Will make a person completely stranger to the author smile, or cry or just connect in the deepest level of the heart without even knowing of the existence. That is the power the authors have. The magician of words, the creators of history.

So then, How can I not have a crush? 

I have to admit. I just don’t go out and buy all my favorites. They come to me. Each one is an episode. Like it is a conspiracy to slowly unravel to me instead of just heading to my bookshelf.

Here is the conspiracy.

Gone with the Wind – From a college friend, who just wanted to offload book. Was at awe at the courage of Scarlet-O-Hara then and even today.

The Kite Runner – I don’t possess a copy. I got it from my colleague. I loved Afganistan and I could see a boy running under a blue sky covered with colorful paper wings even thinking about it.

The God of Small Thing– Has its own post 🙂

The Tattooist of Auschwitz – Story of Love in the most difficult of time.

On a side note- Why couldn’t I finish “An Era in Darkness…”? because two chapters into the book, I couldn’t look at anything British..ily without resenting them. I just hated them. Plain Hate. And I wasn’t feeling good about the hate. And I know, I love Hugh Grant and Harry Potter! So, it was a tussle and the best thing to do at the time was to abandon the book and pick it up after I could stabilize the raging hormones within me.

So, what am I doing here instead of delving into the story of children born on the stroke of midnight of 15th Aug, 1947?

Am just sitting and admiring the book. Literally. Am just happy that I can start reading it. I have it. The words, the story will come alive soon and I will die knowing I have read a masterpiece, that one day my son, his child and generation of Sayed clan to come have a chance to read this masterpiece and at that moment will be connected to my soul.

Too much? I should just stop now..Am having goosebumps!

Now, tell me about your crush ❤

 

A cheesy post for a non-cheesy man..

This post is gonna be really really cheesy. The sort that I don’t do often. In fact, I may never hit Publish.

But Since you are reading this and you are not me, so I must have hit “Publish”.

Lame, I know 😉

So, what makes this cheesy? Am gonna talk about Love, the goody-cuddly love and it is gonna sound like the love declarations from FB feed that I find so cheesy! I mean, You love your husband, tell him, don’t declare to whole wide FB world.

So this is how it goes.

Today ( This post is way too late, but let’s assume today is the day when) marks the 11th year of us being married. And we decided to lunch together since I couldn’t take time off office. We aren’t a couple to go out often. So going out is special. Luckily, I have switched job to a place very near to his office. So meeting for lunchtime was easy.

Now, this is important- I switched job recently, as recent as a month. and am adjusting to the new place. It is not a struggle, but living in past is my struggle.

It doesn’t help, that sometimes I miss my old colleagues. Life was much simpler and somehow happy. Life here is fantastic, but let’s say isn’t simple. You know the feeling when you are among loads of people, yet feel lonely sometimes even though you are so chatty in the head?

Like everything is just noise and you can hear the voice inside and outside your head. Or actually no voice, coz you are just bored and don’t want to think or listen.

I have this feeling during lunch time.

Of course, today wasn’t gonna be any different.

But hey it is different! I was going out with hubby.

We decided on a fancy restaurant just two blocks from my office. As I left office and walked toward the venue, I noticed everything is so much better here than the previous job-… the work, the garden, the office. Everything here is perfect.. but not familiar, not mine. It isn’t known. And with that feeling, I was spiraling down into the same silence 😦

And then I saw him, not where I expected. He had walked a couple of blocks more to reach me. To walk a distance little with me. In the mid of all unknown, I saw him with a cheesy smile.

And I was in love again. In a heartbeat. ♥ With him of course 😀

The feeling of familiarity was back. Am home and I can drop my shield and feel what I wanna feel. I could tell him what I miss. It felt good to be me, no pretentious.

We walked hand-in-hand like lovers, like first-timers who cant get hands off each other Awwww. lovely- cuddly told you 😉

And I enjoyed it, I enjoyed the comfort. He doesn’t even have to listen to me. It is just his presence that is a comfort. And tells me that I will go past this feeling, this chatty head.

I guess I really needed to see him.

And now to the blogosphere, perhaps to FB world too, Am gonna profess my love for my really really lazy-weekend-only-on-sofa husband of 11 years! Am glad you are here with me.

So this is really cheesy? Isn’t it?

I mean, what the hell – You love your husband, go tell him not write a post on blog 😉 next you will be sharing it on FB !

PS: The image is from our wedding, 11 years ago. Since then together we must have gained 200 Kgs. Isn’t that a #relationshipgoal!

Me: Adi, Don’t talk on the table. Nadi ho jao (Quite like a river)

He is my insane little chatterer and sometimes I wanna cap it! Just shut up boy!

Adi : Okay.

Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack!

Me: What now?

Adi : Mummy river has ducks!
And I give up!

I had a narrow escape today.

…from getting into a really (emphasis this) really weird situation. A situation where I didn’t know how I got into. No clue. Never happened before. Not in my living adult memory.

So, here is what happened.

Just like any other usual morning, I took my gamsa/towel and headed for the bath. I sat down for free-the-morning-poo activity and (very slowly I) looked at my hands.

And then I realised.

I realised that I have nothing in my hand, My hands are EMPTY. Not carrying a thing. As in no book, no newspaper or no mobile. So, What am I gonna read? All I could do now is just poo.

Pooing, an activity in which the food that I consumed yesterday, after passing through a myriad of churning, grinding, soaking, broken down, beaten will come out of me telling me (1) Human being is an open system- Bad Design. (2) I eat a lot. (3) I poo a lot.

I have never been in such a situation. I always have something to read. A book, or mobile to browse or the newspaper to look. I have to read before bath, before poo. It is important because free-the-poo activity is free because of reading. No reading could translate to no-pooing and that, I was about to find out.

Slowly, My head was registering the pain of empty hands, I could feel a growing lump in my throat, my heart beating like that of an infant. And angry voices inside my head yelling I was heading to a brainless activity of pooing.

I looked around my bathroom, It looked neat with the wall half-covered by the mirror. I have two baskets full of toiletries. And I could spot two toy-cars and one superman in one of these. Okay, For a home of a 6-year-old boy, that finding isn’t a surprise.

Before my lub-dub heart could burst out of the cage, I had to take control. Improvise. Think. What do I need….?. I need words. I grabbed the first thing that had it…. and here is what I discovered in the next few minutes reading bottles- My Shampoo has tree-tea-oil, the scrub has walnut and almond(why are we not eating this stuff ?), the face-wash has neem and the Colgate is recommended by most of the dentist in the world!

My head was trying to locate my mobile, or thinking hard where I left the book that I was reading (Devlok with Devdutt Patnaik- Avoid it, probably that is why head cannot locate it ) or where did I leave newspaper after picking up from the door.

All in the living room.

I could hear chit-chatting of humans breakfasting. Shit, now I can’t even call hubby to rescue. He is at the table with the guests.

This was turning into a full-blown crisis situation.

Well, for the readers, it may sound like a crazy woman speaking. What big deal, just do the thing, shower and move on. It is usual.

But I have never done it before. Not in my grown-up memory. I refuse to follow the social decorum which is.. just poo and move on. Do the thing. Do your thing.

I need to poo like how my son needs to eat. The skill is not to let the boy know that he is eating, and he will do exactly that without a fuss. But the moment his brain realises that his next half an hour of life is gonna be invested in eating, an activity he sees no point in doing, it turns into a rock. Solid and stubborn. No eating. I have better things to do , Like playing with the superhero. But do the same WITHOUT letting him know(distract him with superhero tales) and he will just finish the plate fine. Only, I need to hand-feed him. (OMG! I am a bad mother)

My pooing is like that. It is not an activity for my head. So I distract the head with reading. The grey cells just sends a signal for exit and then let the gravity do its work.

I need words, My brain needs words.

I had finished all the words available in that small room. Think.

The profound moment!

I have my kindle, in my office bag (I always carry it in my bag) the bag is on the bean bag, the bean is just one foot away from the bath-door.

I grabbed the doorknob and tried to listen to sounds outside. The humans are busy eating (Thank God, I made a very good breakfast today- Rawa Idli, Sambhar and ground-nut chutni)

I tip-toed to the bean, unzipped the first slot of the bag, where I usually keep my Kindle. Dunked my hand in for – Nothing.

Panic!

Checked the next slot, Nothing! Lump in the throat full to the brim ready to strangle me. Shit said the voice inside my head.

Next slot and … finally! I found it, I found my Kindle in the slot, resting next to the laptop.

Bless the soul who said Kindle’s battery should never die when a reader seeks it.

The rest, I really don’t care. I did the thing, my way 🙂

Happy Reading folks. Keep your books close to your heart.

PS: Why is this post sprinkled with the word poo so much! I got to stop using it any further in this post.

PPS: Duh! This is the end of the post. Seems like the morning panic has damaged my brain and engraved the word poo in it. “How are you pooing doing today?” What time are you coming back from poffice office? “Poome Come early”…

PPPS. I chuckled loud writing PPPS Because I almost wrote the PPS as “..my brain and engraved poo in it”. That is pure eww, Don’t imagine it. Puff. Another narrow escape.

PPPPS: Count my blessings for today- 2(Kindle and PPPS) so far. Actually 3, I managed to poo in the end.

Moral of the story.

Always, Always, Always keep your stuff in the room attached to the bath. Not in the living room.

Order a wall-hanging bookshelf for the bath.

Let go of some towels, make space for a book in the towel stand.

Always leave the Kindle in the first zip.

The photo is of my son. I just picked it out. No reason.

Am still his favourite, despite everything.

Am a strict mother these days. Most days, am not. Meeting the supply with the demand. My son has his first first-grade school assessment coming up next week tomorrow. Maths. English, English dictation and Environment Science. But he is not showing any interest in preparing himself to be assessed. I really envy mother who has THE kid, natural in studies. (Are you reading this neighbour?)

On most of the days, I have no patience with a first-grade kid. I do not sit with him for his school work. That is the only job for my better half. He is a master. I do feel, Husband is disposable when he is around the house.  But clearly, I need him when there is an assessment next week… Get your butt here soon!  Puff! But he isn’t here this week.

So there I was, on the last weekend. Sitting along with my son, with practice sheets and prayers to God “Please give me the strength to make it alive till the end of this hour these 10 minutes and not strangle him.” Every 10 minutes, I remind myself. He is my only son. Be a saint, DO NOT kill. 

He clearly wants to escape.  Actually me too. Both of us. But Life is cruel. Doesn’t give us what we want. I hope he understood that last weekend.

Do not judge me. Before you imagine me as a  fat-rat matron holding a stick, wearing a printed knee-length frock and thick-framed black spectacles conducting a reign of terror, try spending 10 minutes with a boy who is more interested in super-hero than vowels of English.

10 minutes. Only. With a six-year-old who imagines wand in a pencil, the erasure as a transformer disguised and living among us in plain sight, who have to pee because I asked him the spelling of piled.  What?! pencil is to write notes? I thought it is a magic wand with the black core from kryptonite!

Don’t blame him though.  English is a weird language.

For instance,  Why the hell Silent letter? Silent K in Knew.  And wait, this gets better on the Island. There! A letter, an alphabet sitting right there, not making any sound. Just being there. Silently. The same S when added to “ex” becomes one hot cake bun.  Or , Don’t get me even started about Queue. That is just one letter Q. What are the others doing there? Did the person doze off with one hand on u, other on e?

So now I have to know why K is silent in Knew but not Clock.

Me: “Listen to the sound Adi, K, clock ends with K.”

Son: But Mummy ..K is silent. 

Oh Boy! Not in every word honey. That will be like a totally deaf alphabet. No sound.

Imagine how many zillions of space, wordpress would have saved, if it weren’t for these notorious silent letters. They exist but only in bytes. Taking up space but producing no sound.

That was English. Maths seems like a good boy. I mean, the subject is all logical, Right? Wrong. What the hell number-names doing here….legacy of English gf?. I mean who writes forty, repeat. forty and not 40 these days?

Meh! On the cheque lady? Hmm. Okay. But still. All the number names, just teach so he can write me a thousand dollar cheque every month. I only need that much. Teach him that. Did you notice the silent “ue” in there, with that condescending mind..won’t make a noise, these aren’t worth our talk.

So that was my Sunday.

At the end of the day, It was time for bed. The teacher was out of my system and mother was in, the guilty mother who punished her child and raised voice a bit longer than desired. He was almost asleep. Eyes closed and heavy breathing.

I said ” Adi, Maine aaj aap pe bahut gussa hui na ? Was I too angry at you today?”

Barely had these words left me and could reach my son sleeping next, I heard him reply. Yes. I signed. This is gonna be tough. All I wanted to tell him how much I love him and how important is reading, writing and learning and other parenting stuff.. yada yada yada blablabla.

Me: “But, You know that I love you no bounds. Right?”

No answer.

Who is my favourite boy in the whole world?

He raised his head enough to show me his smile: Me!

Him again barely 2 secs later.Or may be less than a sec: And you are my favourite person Mummy!

❤  

My heart just melted. And I relaxed. probably the first time on that hard day.

The best part of being Ma is the love I get from my little man, No matter, how much I keep him away from his playtime and his super-hero, in the end, am forgiven and loved again. Any adult would have labelled me lunatic for life, but for my son, Am still his favourite ❤

 

 

 

Dinner conversation with son

Son : Am the King…

Me : Aha.. So who is your Queen… (Son looks lost ) She could be any girl whom you like the most..like your favorite. Could be from your school, day care or our apartment..

Son : Okay…I choose you to be my queen.

Me : Naaah.. She has to be your age…like how your Papa and I could be King and Queen. Tell me who is your favorite girl…

Son : Okay..Aarna… She can be my queen.

Thinks for a while..

No..Arey..You be my Queen. What would Aarna know about being Queen? Am the King and you are my favourite girl.

Me : I love this little King.

I hope he never grows up and am always his favourite person. 💗

Don’t we all miss Home?

Last December, I was home. Am now approx 3000 Kilometers away from home. Too far to be away from home, for anyone, Isn’t it?

My home is Assam and is part of North East India. It is one of the seven sisters and is a beautiful place.

It is my cynefin. Being there, I feel, am exactly where I need to be, among people and nature I wish to be always. Just bring in my husband and son here and the scene will be complete.

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My father, after retirement settled at his native, an indistinguishable small village, fulguri, 17 kilometers from Guwahati airport. Guwahati is the biggest city in North-east and is the pseudo- capital of Assam.

I have memories of spending my school vacation there.At least those were a month long. Ever since life caught up, I could only visit for two weeks in a year. I remember looking forward to my visit every year during school days and I was so determined that I will be more frequent when I will have my own money and time.

Hmm, Don’t I have enough money and time now?

Honestly, It is sort of unreal. My longing for this place. What possibly could be the reason for loving this place so much? I have actually never lived there, at least for any time longer than a month. I have no real friends there. No childhood chadi-badi. I cannot speak the language correctly. Am no expert in its cuisine or culture. Assam and I have nothing in common! I shouldn’t fall for it..fulguri ! Sign!

But, it feels like a big part of my heart is left there, the part refuses to come with me, miles away, where am settled with my husband and son.

Perhaps it is the people – my parent, sibling, all my cousins, relatives, uncle, aunt, niece-nephews whom I probably won’t recognize anymore.

Or perhaps it is the place- the air, the language, the culture, the cuisine, the lahe-lahe attitude, the laughter, the curated smiles, the music, the raw, the freshness, the incessant pour, the early sunset/sunrise, the terrible heat of hot summer, the bonfire in chilly winter, the warmth of winter sun, the orient eyes, the shiny hair, the makela-sadar- dress, the fashion, the nail-art , the dekhi-local grinder, the mighty river, the hills, the green, the tea-garden, the mountains.Everything.

May be it is my mother’s kitchen garden or the pukhuri.

Enough of sob story.

So, As I was saying, I was home at the end of Dec, last year. Most of the time was spent in visiting new places and meeting relatives. I was hardly home. But one day was special, between all busy schedule and slipping vacation, the day I remember the most was when my husband decided to try fishing in our pukhuri. Pukhuri is a small pond next to my father’s house. Where my mother dumps all left-over food for the fishes. It isn’t too romantic or clean. It is actually muddy water.

I forgot, how relaxing this corner of my home is.

Some of the pictures from that day below.

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Early morning, I spotted my hero 🙂 when I was looking for the warmth of winter sun after a hot-water bath , almost ready for my winter-sun-nap !.
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The morning tea-cup . This was surely an indication of a relaxing day ahead. Pls spot my mother’s kitchen garden, beyond which is the pukhuri..

And there was my little pumpkin. Trying to see how good fisherman his father is.20171230_104133.jpg

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I just settled my butt at one place and then I looked up.
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He was in for a long haul 😉 trying to find perfect location where fishes will fall for this bait.
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The expert joined us , immeditely at work..

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He did manage to catch one fish. And many more.

Moral of the story.

I miss my home. I miss pukhuri . So am gonna build one, right next to the swimming pool in my apartment. Throw in some fishes, get a fishing net and settle my butt right there…some 3000 miles away from where it wants to be.

Aha..By the way, Today is my Ma’s birthday 🎂..Happy Birthday Ma. I terribly miss you.

Karma is a bitch .

or probably a dog. I mean why bitch, why not a dog? My fellow feminist will agree.

I don’t care. Not for this post.So don’t turn away coz you smelt a feminist.

The point of this post is, Karma is indeed a bitch or dog or whatever you wanna call it if it can be called “it”.

Why?

Because that would explain, why my husband even being on the wrong side of all doing, gets his way around doing all things, the wrong way.

This case was a direct indication of Karma “Oh! Get it, lady, he is right, even though wrong.”

The Evidence

My husband never ever takes his towel to his bath.  He just conveniently whistles,open his door slightly, peeks out his head, extend his hand and I hush-phash-rush on that sound, hand him over his towel.  Please imagine it, because it is romantic. But do not imagine with my husband. Use your own. Back in days, when nothing else mattered than seeing your husband dripping wet, fresh, scented, I would wait for the whistle and rest is ahem ahem ahem.

Now the romance is replaced by war-room tactics, to get my son out of the door before his school bus honks! Breakfast – check. snack pack-check. Milk-check. Oh no ! I forgot his pencil box. Why the hell do you even take it out of the bag? Please imagine this too. With my son. I would surely welcome you to try and replace me someday. The morning 7 to 8 AM. And, In the middle of all this chaos, I have to answer his whistle. Every day, with strict notes “Take your towel with you….”.

I, on the other hand, never go to bathroom un-prepared. Towel – check. Blah blah blah – check. I do not whistle, do not disturb, do not need an attendee to attend to my bathroom calls.

Who should Karma support? The wife who is prepared, well planned or a husband who goes to take bath without his towel?

One day I decided to set things straight for good. There comes the usual whistle, and instead of usual rush to answer it, I ignored, said am busy and didn’t pass his towel for a good 10 minutes or so.

If he can’t do it himself, he better wait when I can. Lesson learned.

Or So I thought.

Happy in my accomplishment, I sent son off to school and set out to my morning duties.

And imagine what did I forget to bring with me? To my bath.

On the day,  when I thought I taught my husband a lesson in the morning duties.

 

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This is my husband, while he waited patiently 15 minutes before passing me my towel. 

Karma -You are a bitch.

Happy Ramzan…

Happy Ramzan.

We are introducing my almost 5-year-old son to the holy month of Ramzan this year. He knows other festivals of India – won’t stop saying “Ganapati bappa moria” much to my embarrassment in front of my Muslim in-laws.He knows that Diwali is the time for diya, rangoli and crackers and Holi is all about colors and water.

He can even recognize Santa Claus and won’t stop singing Jingle bell, jingle bell – again to my embarrassment. By the way, I don’t know why am embarrassed. my in-laws are lovely people. 

So we told him that this is the holiest month and he has to be a good boy. Sharing, caring and helping others.I write down all his good deeds in a diary daily and will show it to the Almighty Allah at the end of the month on Eid. If he finishes his meal, that counts too.

And in return, Allah will give him a gift on Eid. A big wonderful gift. A super-cool gift. It could be a supercar or a giant dinosaur. It could even be the spiderman figurine. How wonderful is that?

And the same goes for all of us. We get a nice gift if we behave well.

So this is how it goes at my home now…

“Mummy, what if Allah sleeps before I finish my meal, he wouldn’t know?” Allah, if you are listening, Aadil usual dinner time is 8-9 PM. Please do not sleep before 9. Nevertheless, I have the diary.

“What if Allah runs out of the gift and none is left for me ?” OMG! That would be scandalous..for all the pain the boy has taken in the month. 

“Mummy, You are shouting – you will not get any gift.”  Allah- You are all knowing and wise, you made me shout/scream… I did not. I deserve the gift.

“Papa, you are not playing with me – you will not get any gift.” Yes (raised fist) That will serve him right Allah, no gift for him.

All in all, am happy with the way Ramzan is going and I can’t wait to see the big smile on his face on the day of Eid when he gets his present (from Allah.)

Happy Ramzan everyone! I hope you may all celebrate this holy month by sharing, caring, and helping.

4 years 4 month
This was the pic taken when he turned 4 years, 4 month and 4 days, when we celebrated his Bismillah ceremony. I was so nervous that he is not gonna repeat the verses read out to him, but he did! Without any fuss, he sat through it and made be really proud that day.