A Decade of Happy Marriage

 

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9 happy marriage

Being a young girl, I repeatedly had to listen to such statements: “Whatever you study, one day you have to get married and do the household chores.”

I used to ignore it as much as I could. After the bone-breaking study of medicine with all work and no play schedule, there came a time when I had to tie a knot with somebody and leave all my books. I had to start from scratch and set foot in the sea of entirely new experiences and learning. Anatomy and biochemistry that had become a part and parcel of my life got replaced by the study of kitchen management and hacks.

My married life is now ten years old, and a proud feather is added to my marriage cap. I have realized the deeper meaning of marriage – it is a pact of making your sharp corners round.

According to Mufti Ibrahim Desai: “There can be no doubt in the success of a marriage governed by the fear of Allah (swt).”

I don’t celebrate marriage anniversaries by parties or hip-hop; but I do celebrate by pondering over the lessons that I had learnt during that year and store them in my memory. Each year, I implement those lessons into my life to get more happiness and success. My secret of a blissful marriage is based on the following lessons.

  1. Silence is the best medicine

It is very usual to have differences, but to remain calm and composed is an art, which is achieved through excellent self-control tactics. Arguing at times of conflict can make the situation worse by letting the Satan enter into it.

Abu Saeed Al-Khudri reported that the Prophet (sa) said: “If anyone is humble for the sake of Allah (swt) by a degree, Allah (swt) will elevate him one degree, until he reaches the highest degrees; if anyone is arrogant towards Allah (swt), Allah (swt) will lower him one degree until he reaches the lowest of low degrees.” (Ibn Hajar Al-Asqalani)

The very first thing that took me to the tantrums after my marriage was the late night schedule of my husband’s job. As my father was a government officer, we used to enjoy the evening tea with him at home. When I shared that with my hubby, I got a mind-blowing lecture of office responsibilities and problems. The best I could do was to pray to Almighty Allah (swt) and remain silent. The next year, my hubby changed the job, in which he had the facility to return back home early and could work from home. Silence helped me keep a peaceful environment at home.

  1. Conquer through love

Love is the language that everybody understands. Showing constant gratitude and love takes your hubby to the Mount Everest of his self-esteem. In turn, he showers you with the same.

  1. To err is human, to forgive – divine

Females have a 967432 GB of memory, and on any little issue, they open up the historical book of complaints, which ignites never-ending arguments. I used to avoid it by imagining the large number of women burning in hellfire, due to ungratefulness to their husbands.

It was narrated by Abdullah ibn Abbas (rtam) that the Messenger of Allah (sa) said: “I was shown Hell, and I have never seen anything more terrifying than it. And I saw that the majority of its people are women.” They said: “Why, O Messenger of Allah (sa)?” He said: “Because of their ingratitude (Kufr).” It was said: “Are they ungrateful to Allah (swt)?” He said: “They are ungrateful to their companions (husbands) and ungrateful for good treatment. If you are kind to one of them for a lifetime and then she sees one (undesirable) thing in you, she will say: ‘I have never had anything good from you.’” (Bukhari)

  1. The foolish secret

I know this is difficult to apply for many of us, but believe me – it works. I used to surprise my hubby by listening to common talks with great astonishment. It is a secret, which I apply regularly and keep my relationship filled with joy.

  1. Invest in your relationship

Sharing lovely gifts and words adds strength to my life and fuels my passion to live together. A beautifully-wrapped present leaves a long lasting effect on the heart of your hubby – it will never be a waste!

  1. Out of sight wins the mind!

It sounds awkward but this is another secret to my fulfilling joyous life. Whenever I used to return from my mom’s house, I used to find a new spark in my married life. Being away for some time allows one to re-discover, and have some ‘me’ time. It helps both to settle and look into the disputes with an impartial aspect.

  1. Give credit

Your achievements and success must be because of your hard work, but transfer the credit to your hubby, as that success wouldn’t have been possible without his broadmindedness, compromise, support, and appreciation. Try to be more courteous and giving.

  1. Show gratitude

Thank your hubby often; it takes just a second but kindles the light of respect and love. Nothing big is required to admit his support – only a nice comment on his return from the office or shop can make the day wonderful for both of you.

  1. Share with care

Effective communication is the life and blood of a successful relationship. Not a single day of my married life has passed without sharing problems, asking or just telling the whole day routine. It gradually and slowly builds up the understanding between the two souls.

  1. Trust is a must

Last but not the least, trust is the key to a prosperous and ever growing married life. Hiding petty matters from the hubby may be of no value at the moment, but it will eventually shake the pillars of married life. Remember the key point that after your marriage, your hubby is the most worthy person in your life. Although ten years have passed, I am still striving to the best of my abilities, so that I don’t let anyone down. Insha’Allah.

Discovering Your Middle Child

MiddleChildAs I was sitting on my prayer mat with hands lifted in Dua, tears were rolling on my cheeks. After performing my Isha prayer, I was begging to Allah (swt) for Sanya! My daughter Sanya (10) is the second of three siblings.

What is wrong with her? Your query is just! Have you ever come across the picture, in which a happy newborn is in the lap of her happy eldest brother, while the middle child is angrily ignoring both siblings? The caption reads: “The moment he realized, he was now the middle child!”

This middle child of mine is a problem for me. Sanya – a problem child. Should I say it for my talented daughter? Let me share my feeling about her!

Maria is twelve and Yasir is six. The eldest and youngest are quite reasonable, while Sanya always creates a problem for me. She disapproves of what is favourable to all of us. When I have to accommodate my offspring for any program, a refusal by her disturbs me, for then I have to revise my suggestion. Her argument in each matter creates a dispute. She is harsh in commenting. What and why goes wrong with her? Let me share some incidences.

Both the girls went with their aunt to a neighbour, who served fruits to eat. Maria tasted all of them pleasantly, while Sanya coiled and declined. The daughter of the host, who was a professional doctor and mother of a girl, exclaimed “That is why her (Maria’s) skin is glowing – she eats fruits.” I felt the toxicity of her remark that resulted in disturbing Sanya for weeks; but I must say she didn’t forget that negative response.

She went with me to a social gathering and was standing beside me. A girl from the guests pointed towards her eyes and said to her companion, “Look! Such beautiful eyes!” I noticed anger on Sanya’s face, which she later expressed as follows: “Look at this girl! She didn’t notice my poor health, just my eyes… the only good thing I have… she has a devil eye on them.”

I didn’t know that girl, but felt sorry about Sanya’s gesture on her comment. However, soon after that incident, Sanya’s eyesight got weak and doctor suggested wearing glasses. I am afraid she would relate it to that remark she got.

She is cross when her fellows are joyfully excited over a matter – either going on a picnic, getting the news of a teacher’s absence or getting a free period; whatever makes all laugh and enjoy, she over-reacts about it. The noise in the class makes her unhappy. When her siblings get any advantage by breaking any rule, she teases them. All these acts depict discipline in her nature, of course; but her isolation makes her more frustrated.

Surprisingly, all near and dear ones are concerned about her. What is she doing? What is her plan/schedule? Everybody wants to follow her. This concern makes her angry or maybe a little proud, I don’t understand. Being a child, she should like being cared about – why does she react negatively to all this care? It leaves me puzzled and worried. I get especially embarrassed during social interaction.

It does not mean that she has no good qualities. She is the most obedient child of mine. She gets up in the morning at my one call! She helps me with such domestic chores as washing dishes, spreading the cover, answering the calls, teaching younger brother and more. She is sharper and more confident than her sister, which satisfies me, as she can defend herself in any situation. May Allah (swt) save my children!

She has a good sense of humour. I enjoy her wittiness! She is definitely an extrovert. Then why pretend as an introvert? It confuses me! I know she has leadership qualities, because her friends and cousins try to follow her. I wish she would turn into a polite, contented girl; an expressive and determined girl, who didn’t like the society and termed its people as hypocrites. I feel helpless. I think she needs some counseling.

I was sitting on a prayer mat, thinking about how my life started with kids. Maria, the first born in both families (maternal and paternal) was a beautiful and adorable child. She gained so much love and care along with many gifts from grandparents, uncles and aunties!

Sanya, born just 18-eighteen months after Maria, was totally different from her sister. As she grew up, everybody noticed she was more active, expressive and creative. Her learning was pronounced. She started reciting poems at a very early stage.

At the age of four, she was admitted to school. It is a big change for a child, but for her it was harder, as she missed her first week of school because of her sickness. Plus I was in hospital, as my son was born. Although I am not a psychologist, but as a mom I realized that her absence in the first week of school did not allow her to interact properly with teacher and fellows. My assumption could be wrong, but the reality is that she had a class of nearly forty hyper students; when they cried, she coiled.

Today, at each PTM (parent-teacher meeting), teachers complain about her lack of interest in class. But the fact is that she is never given a chance in co-curricular activities. She is a good writer. She expresses her thoughts eloquently through her writing. In the last PTM, I complained to the teacher about her ignorance towards Sanya: “Many of her compositions have been published in different magazines.” In a lighter mode, I told her that “in future, when she becomes a famous writer, you would say she was your student; but now, you do not even acknowledge her for her skill. This is her last year with you – she will be moving on to secondary class. Kindly, take notice and cooperate.” The teacher was surprised and promised to look into the matter. But unfortunately, when next day she was shown the magazines, she remarked, “These are published due to her grandfather!” It dimmed Sanya’s delight, and the worst was that teacher lost all the magazines having the record of her compositions! Due to all this, Sanya got upset, which affected her health.

Recently, she misbehaved with me at the time of supper. I was hurt, so was praying about her. I know she has a remarkable personality, but how can I make an ease for her? I cry and feel that Allah (swt) is answering me:

“I gifted you a unique creature of mine! Would you thank me?” Oh yes, I take the challenge, trying to stand up. Then somebody came and put her head on my lap: “Mama, sorry – I have taken bread with curd.” She was crying. I hugged her. She was Sanya, my little angel. I kissed her shining eyes and wet cheeks. I have to handle her with the care she deserves.

The Blue Coat

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It was the first time our eyes met. The morning was quite and cold though it is already February in this part of the world. Thanks to the heavy showers the previous night, the day looked more like the pre-dawn of a day in December.

In the courtyard, stood a boy, tall with an enchanting air around him. Dancing in his large eyes was sheer mischief. His complexion the blend of golden yellow and pink. It was love at first sight for myself and him. “What is your name sweetheart?” He spellbound me with a shy glimpse while his fingers were busy twisting a corner of his T-shirt.

I had joined this preschool as a teacher, just two months ago. I was battling to understand the minds of these tiny creatures. The Child Psychology theories I have learnt confused me and left me to despair in my own quarters. I had begun to wander between the gaps of the ideals and the realities.

As the day broke, I would catch a glimpse of children as they entered the class room just like pretty rose buds tumbling down from a basket. Some days I would hold a child by the shoulder and whisper with all smiles, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

We all love children because children are the mirrors from which we see our past- a time which cannot be seen.

Children change the way you look at the world at large. They are the softer side of great blunders. A child’s smile can send bouquets of love even when the earth is hit by thousands of earth quakes.

The boundless love for children gave room for a stern policy to stem out in me, not to thrash any child ever in my life.

That was the time when my family was busily engrossed in finding me a counterpart – Mr. Right.

Whenever my feelings got wounded, my abode of consolation were my school children. Leaving home and family behind, I was lost in the world of shades and fragrance for hours and hours of infinite time.

At the school, we had twenty small wonders. Each one was a separate universe, yet Ahmad was exceptional.

Witty and quick to grasp, he was way ahead of others. He kept all the others under him exactly like an efficient politician who manages his mob. I liked Ahmad a lot yet I was so careful not to show my soft spot for him in open. I treated him like I would care for any child in school.

When the children fought, making every minute of my life miserable, sometimes made me despair why this not be my last day at school. Many a time, the cause of conflict would be half an eaten eraser or a faded wrapper of a chocolate. I would smile exhaustingly within, thinking about the fights waiting in the future when these children grow into adulthood.

At times Ahmad would show hostile and antagonistic behaviour when he was emotionally disturbed. He would be called ‘Ahmaaaaaaaaad…..’ Sometimes sweetly by a voice with the blend of love, occasionally in a more firm tone followed by a stern look. He would calm down.

Some days, Ahmad would bring me blossoms of fresh and fragrant Jasmine buds which were yet to open eyes. Half eaten Guavas, old perfume bottles, broken toy cars something or other would adorn my table at least a day or two in a week. During meal time, a piece of sandwich bitten on all sides or a handful of noodles would be forced into my mouth by little fingers.

That day still lives in me. It was drizzling and the sky was purplish…time for creative skills. The classroom walls smelt of a new aroma. Walls stood elite with the new turquoise blue paint.

‘Now look here …..Sweethearts, I am going to give you all crayons and white paper. What are you going to draw?’ I was encouraging the little wonders to give shape and colours to their dreams.

‘Miss, I will draw my home’

‘Miss I am going to Draw Aero plane’

‘Shall I draw my Daddy’?

‘Miss my hand is hurting Miss  …’

I was listening to each and every child. ‘wow, very good, beautiful…

Okay, just wait a second and draw, then your hand won’t ache.’

I was becoming a little exhausted and worn out.

The numb headache I was having from the morning was getting onto my nerves. That evening was scheduled for one of the most eligible bachelors coming to see me and I was stressed beyond words. I came out of the class room to the adjoining hall in the intention of having two pain killers.

Suddenly I saw a shadowy little creature standing by the wall absorbed in something. My eyes grew large and I stepped closer. Oh my God. Ahmad was scribbling something on the freshly painted wall.

‘You little rascal, what are you doing? Wait I will teach you a good lesson!’

A monster within me ripped open and dragged Ahmad by his shoulder. It slapped him across his cheeks. Twisted were his pinkish earlobes. It got hold of his ears and dragged him and made him sit on a chair. As the momentum grew meek, suddenly I realized his eyes did not shed even a single teardrop.

Was I acting brutish? I thought for a second and then I started to feel guilty and was blue. Ahmad stood there still like a shadow of a tree in the noon. I felt that he was more hurt by the embarrassment caused in front of the class than anything else. I could plainly see his terribly knocked ego.

Ahmad did not raise his head afterwards. Next day…The whole week…. Children greeted me every morning. I was waiting, clad in my blue attire, Ahmad did not turn up nor his jasmine buds. The urge was pushing me to visit him. I walked towards his home that weekend. Padlocked was the gate and a neighbour came to my rescue. He told in a voice that was edgy, that Ahmad was admitted to the hospital.

I hurried to the hospital to spot Ahmad as beaming as ever in the children’s ward. ‘Miss, do not give my colour box to anyone… I am going to draw this Doctor Uncle now‘… Ahmad raised his hand stuck to a cannula. He was bubbling with little talks endless and infinite as his dreams.

‘Ahmad talks nothing but about you and his school’. Ahmad’s mother stopped for a while to converse. He was infected with Dengue and according to his mother; fortunately he was out of the danger and would be discharged within a day or two. As I kept the teddy bear next to him and his favourite chocolate in his hand, I did not have even a stroke of thought that it was the last time I am seeing him all alive.

The news broke on a day in mild summer, while I was demonstrating to children how to crush the tissue into small purple balls and then to paste them on the drawn brinjal.

‘Little Ahmad passed away’ Innalillah (We all return to God). Ahmad had left us for good. I was unconsciously drawn to the walls where Ahmed carved his last scribble. I ran my fingers over the painting with my heart becoming heavy. A scribble of a person. I could not make out whether it is a woman or a man. But the person was wearing something in blue- a blue coat. Smiling was a crooked heart next to it, scribbled in red. I could not take it any more.

I collapsed down, with every bit of my heart broken. Within my heart a sparrow fell right down from the sky, dead. ‘Ahmad, will you ever forgive me?‘

I broke sobbing, drops of tears drenching my blue coat…