“How are you, my child?”
I smile.
A septuagenarian smile, with all the wrinkles, crinkles, and dimples, deeper than ever.
I Never Got Used to It
Fifty plus years. later, I still cannot get used to, adapt and adopt, forget & leave behind, and simply, get over it.
Read moreSkin-Deep
“I am looking for a suitable match for my son. Do you know of anyone? She should be from a respectable family, pretty, and light-skinned.” That was the criteria in the society of Pakistan,
American Muslim Identity
As my children entered their teens, I noticed that they and their friends were expressing Islam in a manner that was quite different from their parents. A rather sensible version.
Read moreCan Eid Be Bittersweet?
Ramadan is over and yesterday we all celebrated Eid ul Fitr. But for many, Eid was bittersweet.
Read moreAround The World In Ramadan. Part 1: Pakistan
My earliest memories of Ramadan are in Pakistan. A child of seven, I would plead with my parents, ‘please, please, can I fast?’ It seemed exciting, such a grown-up thing to do. Mummy let me fast for half a day when I turned 10, but just for a day.
Read moreTwo Prophets; Two Birthdays
It’s the prophets birthdays! Prophet Jesus yes, (peace be upon him) but also the prophet who followed 600 years later. That’s right. Yesterday it was Prophet Muhammad’s 1,446th birthday (peace be upon him). It isn’t always like that i.e. Muslims and Christians are celebrating the prophets’ birthdays in December. You know why?
Read moreWhat's In A Name?
Everything. As in gender, stature, respect or lack of it, marital status, lineage, religion, even anonymity.
My grandmother never called my grandfather by his name. When she tried to get his attention, she would call out in Punjabi ‘mein kaya gee’. Translated—and it’s a terrible translation—‘I have something to say.’ The tone conveyed respect. Why the formality?
Read moreIf Only I Hadn't Waited So Long
Dear Daddy,
The moment you had been waiting for is almost here. In two weeks, my book is being published. I will rejoice, celebrate with family and friends, and display it upright on my shelf, beaming as everyone compliments the gorgeous book cover. And I will nurse my regrets in silence. If only! If only I had done this years ago! If only I could see you hold it in your hands,
When I Don’t Want To Commit, I Say . . . .
I must have laughed the hardest as Wajahat Ali made InshAllah jokes at the MUBANY gala (Muslim Bar Association of NY) last week, and I exhaled decades of pent-up exasperation. If you were there, I was the woman at the front table, laughing long after everyone else had stopped, causing heads to turn. Sadly, it wasn’t my looks.
Before I explain, let me first apologize.
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