The Deeper Voice

And just like that

Your voice deepened

No more that of a little boy

But more of a young man

The cracking of anything marks new eras

New seasons

Growth

It also marks endings

The cracking of a seed

Of an egg

Of dawn

The ending of the prior, the beginning of the future 

I hope you never forget that your voice is a privilege, a gift, a tool to communicate

Don't weaponize it through silence, loudness or unkindness

I hope you remember that your voice has the power to reassure, comfort, inspire

It also has the power to hurt, terrorize and disrespect. 

Use your power to empower, not to disempower

When given a choice to be right or kind

I pray you choose to be kind.

The deepest wounds are through words spoken in ego and anger

Raise your voice only for justice, to speak out against wrong, for the rights of those that are vulnerable 

Your strength as a human , as a man will lie in raising your words and actions ; never your voice

Measure the distance between your actions and your words. It should never be much. Too much distance between words and actions is where manipulation, contradictions and hypocrisy flourish.

I hope the only voice that is loud and dominating in you is your inner voice that always guides you towards your divine self and to the Divine....

With loving whispers,

Mama

Sept 2023

Summer Letter for My Sons

I see you running freely in your grandparent's gardens. Without a worry, the wind caressing your soft cheeks. The dog giving you company and companionship like no other.

I see you climbing tress. Experiencing Nature in such intimate ways , holding onto branches with such agility and zest. I hope you hold onto the wisdom of trees with the same passion. They teach us the power of staying grounded,  of standing your ground, of laying your roots, of giving and giving and then giving some more. Of standing tall, of hosting, of grace.

We take our grandparent's homes for granted. We pompously assume these homes will always exist to host us, to welcome us, to indulge us, to give us comfort. We feel entitled to their hospitality.

We think our Uncles, aunts ,cousins from different parts of the world will always be cooped up in bedrooms and living rooms with countless cups of teas being served and warm snacks being presented. We are too young to remember and appreciate the youth of our elders.

I see old pictures and am in awe of how youthful, well dressed and beautiful the elders were in their youth. How fashionable our Khalas were with their radiant choice of colors before they moved to the more nude and pastel side of the color palette. How much charisma exuded from our younger Mamoo who till now is lovingly called "Chotha" but is a Dada himself. What elegance and confidence with which our phupos draped their sarees as their brothers looked handsome dressed in crisp shirts. We think who we see now was always this frail, this bland, this quiet. They were so much much more.

I look at old pictures and now notice the finer details like how artistic my parent's home was. How the plants were grouped together at varying heights with the right amount of light to make them shine. How beautiful the rugs were, how shiny my mom's exquisite silver collection was, how she hosted countless people with grace and poise, how elegant the dinner parties were  that she hosted,  how my parent's friends had not just brilliant minds but also were great souls. We forget all this or we take it for granted till you get older yourself.

I see my mom now waiting to get on the escalator, waiting for the right moment, the right step. It reminds me of my hesitation on first climbing an escalator as a 6 year old.  Almost like we are waiting for it to slow down just enough for us to take that monumental step.  I remember how my mother held my hand and got me on. I feel life coming full circle when now I hold her hand and get her on. We both have learned that the escalator like life and youth doesn't slow down or adjust its pace for our age or stage of life. We just have to be that person to each other that gives us the hand, the confidence ,the  comfort and the company to get on and seamlessly continue the conversation that was happening before the hesitation of the escalator.

I see old letters family and friends have written to me and my parents. How with age, with time, our letters and conversations  become shorter. It seemed that before  there was not enough paper to hold the sender's voluptuous emotions, stories and sentences . Words were bursting from the seams of letters, ended with words of affection, signed with sincerity. Now, the silence in many relationships seems to be bursting with unsaid words, unexpressed emotions, and signed with disillusion and judgement.

All I can hope is that immerse yourself in the moment with the same grip that you hold onto tree branches with and that you cherish these simple moments. They are not just moments but rather historic moments being written in your story, in your history, chapters in your biography.

I hope your chapters are focused more on what others have done for you rather than what all they didn't do. I pray that your pages emanate giving, loving and forgiving.  I hope I'm able to pass on the invaluable gift my parents gave me of only remembering the best times in relationships and drowning out everything unpleasant in the ink of compassion and understanding.  It is this unique gift that I rarely see around me. It is this gift that seperates the grateful from the entitled,  the givers from the takers, the happy from the unhappy.

Love,
Mama
Dehradun
July 2022
With rain in the background.....

Mothers, Sons and Faith

 

I wonder how many sleepless nights she endured
Or how much her hands trembled when placing her baby boy in treacherous waters or maybe they didn't because of her sacred bond with God.

I am starting to understand that single mothers like Musa's and Isa's were divinely strengthened so they don't feel "sad" or  "afraid".

The irony that the same waters that took Musa towards Pharoah were the same waters that eventually drowned him and were miraculously parted to get Musa to safety

Through the stories of Musa and Isa, I see how it's the mothers that God first blesses with faith before they can raise faithful, honorable men

How beautiful that God comforts Maryam during her painful labor and Musa's mother after she is seperated from her baby boy by saying the same words " Don't grieve".

God's promise to a distraught and anxious mother that He will reunite her with her Musa to comfort her heart and to Maryam that she will be leader of the women of faith
Maybe a lesson to learn that a woman's honor only comes from her relationship with the Divine

May we have the strength,  courage and faith of these mothers to raise men with the strength,courage and faith of Musa and Isa

Both sons of single mothers ....

Hiba
May 2023

At Home

 

I left when my yearning for home grew larger than my desire to be where I was

I just wanted to go home, to be home, to feel at home

Not an external home, I wanted to be home with myself again

I had missed myself more and more with each passing year of this union

I felt more and more distant from myself with each conversation, each infraction, each violation 

As I battled the waters of this marriage, trying to keep this marriage afloat; somewhere in the distance , I was becoming someone I had always yearned to love and be loved by

I was this abundant ,exuberant spring of light, optimism, compassion, strength and hope.

And so ,I abandoned the ship that was destined to sink. 

I freed myself from this weight that I was carrying alone

And I decided to go home 

Home to where I'd find a stronger, happier version of me

I missed myself and just wanted to be with myself again 

With a cup of tea, wrapped in a shawl, hugged by strength, caressed by zest

I just wanted to be home, home with myself. 

Never again to make the mistake of building and seeking my home in another...

HT

April 2023

Basking in Winter

 

It's you that everyone is stopping to admire
Your beauty, your blossom

They convince us of the glory of Spring
How beautiful it is to give, and give
But your real season will be your Winter
When you will be free, minimal, proud to stand bare.
Don't rush for Spring, Winter is your divine time to rest, renew and revive.
But, no one ever tells you that.

I have had my season of blooming and blossom
I have birthed enough springs for others
I want to bask in the peace of my Winter
Of being nothing, of having nothing, of birthing nothing

And from now on,
I will decide when my Winter will end, who is worthy of my Spring and when it's time to fall

Hiba
March 2023

The Eyes that Gave Birth...

 I look in the mirror

And though I love who I see

It's my eyes that make me pause

They look so clear

Clearer than ever before

No longer decorated by illusions

Or accentuated by false promises

Or outlined by society's dark expectations 

I have never seen them like this

They appear barren 

Devoid of a lot 

But no longer pregnant with tears and expectations 

It's as if my eyes have finally given birth

After carrying a burden for so long 

They have seen enough 

Sadly, they were never seen enough 

Never looked into

Only shown how invisible I was

I will do for my eyes what I have done in my relationships

Offer them grace 

Hold for them space

To grieve

To rest

But never again to make the mistake

Of unseeing what someone shows you of themselves

Of shrinking myself to fit another's vision

Hiba

Jan 2023

How the Teacup Meets the Wood

 With a tremble, sometimes

With a dash of shakiness
With whiffs of unsteadiness

How the teacup meets the wood
This meeting is so revealing of age, stage and phase of life

In youth, the teacups are drank with more speed
Put down with more fervor
Picked up again and sipped  with more confidence
The arrogance of youth and plenty of time left

In old age, they are sipped with more intention
With more patience,  each sip is experienced more fully
The sugar felt, the temperature judged, the taste deciphered
Maybe because with age, you are never sure if the teacup will meet the wood again ....

Hiba
Dehradun
July 2022
Visits to my mother's friends 

The Leaf Lets Go...

 I observe the leaves in the Fall

How they hold on
Even though they know they must let go
As the warmth subsides and the coldness sets in, they start loosening their grip to what they held onto for so long
Through so many seasons,  through many years, always finding a reason
But even with a weak hold, they linger on
It's eventually a breeze,a wind, a shake that makes the falling away easy
Almost makes it seem inevitable
So gracefully they fall to the ground
Twirling, gliding gracefully even in the fall
Trying not to make too much sound
Just quietly, tiredly and finally letting it all hit the ground......

HT

Seed and Womb

 I hesitate a bit

I feel uncertain
I dread changes in routine
I feel too too tired to act

But then I think of the unborn baby
To be born, they had to leave the familiarity of the womb for the unknown of the world
Birth only happens when the painful journey from known to unknown happens.

I think of the seed
If it didn't dare to break through out of the ground, leave the familiarity of the ground,  it would never have known the heights it could rise, the fruits it could bear, how much it could give.

But how did they know it was time?
Maybe when the womb and seed could no longer remain confined in their smallness, there was no way except to embark on the journey from known to unknown.

HT

The Fall of Youth

In the arrogance of youth, the green leaf looked at the aging brown leaves with contempt
Basking in the sun, it pitifully looked as another colored leaf fell away

But ,it was Fall
And the falling leaves gracefully whispered,  "we will all meet on the ground"....

What a pompous mistake; to mistake our youth as a permanent season....

Hiba

Building or Breaking...

 I find myself doing what I'm doing a lot of in this season....thinking 

We think so much before breaking something. Despite, having more facts in our favor. Despite knowing why we are breaking something . We only consider breaking something when it's creation has subtracted more than it has added. When it's existence  does not allow co existence of our peace, happiness and dignity . There are less unknowns in breaking because you know exactly what it is that you are breaking 

Yet,  we are encouraged to happily build. We build homes and lives with people on hope and promises. With no assurance of what the result will be, yet we jump to building. We invest so much of ourselves,  we pour so much from ourselves to build. With far less certainty of what will be built,  with many more variables,  we don't think as much or as hard about the risky endeavor of building. 

Why then do we fear breaking those same things? We break with knowledge that we didn't have at the time of building which makes it a safer decision.

Yet, breaking seems more serious than building.  The future is unknown in both but breaking happens after you know...

To break or continue with what was built?

HT

Sacred Places

We celebrate the butterfly and the metamorphosis of the caterpillar
But, what about the cocoon?
The place that held space

We celebrate the revelations of God and the Prophet
But, what about the cave?
The place that offered solitude

We celebrate the baby and parenthood
But what about the womb?
The place that selflessly offered nourishment

Places matter
They hold space
They offer grace

Be the place,  be the space, be the grace because places matter..

Hiba 

Mouthfuls...

 

I see you rummaging through my mouth in hopes of finding love
I guess you fail to notice that my lips are bruised from years of trying to breathe air into our relationship

Where I once had mouthfuls of love, conversation, grievances for you; I now have nothing

What your tongue so impatiently seeks to find was swallowed a long time ago
You will now only find emptiness and silence where once was a mouthful....

Hiba

Blood and Tears

 
Just like you let your menstrual blood flow , why don't you let your tears just go?

We know our menstrual blood is part of our divine feminine power
We accept it with grace and maturity
We don't mourn our lost blood every month
Because we know it must go, it has served its purpose
Once we let go, we can rebuild

Why then do we not treat our tears the same way?
Why don't we offer our tears the same space, the same grace that we offer our menustral blood?

Rather than stopping its flow,  hiding it,denying it
Why don't we just offer it a place to go?

They are both come from deep within us
They are both born from hope,  from life
Both result from life that didn't happen

So, embrace them both
For they are divine reminders that somethings have served their purpose
And we must honor them by letting them go with grace

Hiba

Let It Go...

 It will have to be removed

For it's unhealthy
Surgically removed because it threatens the well being of the whole

We have tried alternatives.
Less invasive measures,more natural options
But it's aggressive,  it is relentless
It doesn't respond to softer measures

In removing it, I also lose a part of myself
That's sadly how disease,relationships, life are
To remove the toxic piece,  you lose a part of yourself

But then again,  is losing a part of yourself better than risking losing your whole self?
We must let it go when it threatens our wellbeing
We must understand that it no longer serves a purpose

With grace, with grief,  with conviction
But we must let it go.....

Hiba 

The Funerals We Attend

 These funerals exhaust me

I have attended so many
Some of loved ones, some of loved parts of loved ones

I may have missed some, life gets busy
Some funerals are very quiet, very lonely
I'm the only one there
Just me and the deceased
We both look so familiar yet so different

It's always the heart
The first to beat in the human body, the first to stop beating
It's always the heart that makes us alive
It's always the heart that makes us die

Some funerals are  of a heart that gave too much
Some of a heart that forgave too much
Some of a heart that felt too much

How much deeper do we bury these people
The child, the girl, the woman
I wonder what killed them
Hope, forgiveness, abuse,  anger,  resilience, sadness?
Does it matter?

I walk away from some of these funerals relieved
That she's free at last , at peace at last, gone at last.

I wonder how many more funerals of myself  I will need to attend.....

Hiba

Married to Eternity

 You must be resting

In a way I never imagined

You are resting deeply
Deep beneath the ground

It feels surreal, it feels too abrupt
It feels wrong
Because just moments before, you were glowing like you always do
I could never tell even as a young child, what was more attractive
Your radiant complexion or your kind expression?
Always graceful, so very feminine

They say the angels will question you in the grave
It's made to sound very scary
But, I think of it as the beautiful reunion of the Creator and creation
The Divine greets the divine soul
I remind myself your death is not a farewell
But your home coming to the only promised and certain abode .
A marriage to eternity

I've known you my whole life
As a niece, as a daughter,  as a woman, as a friend

I look back at old pictures and realize how many decades old the bond is between my parents and your family

From the era of black and white to digital pictures, I see pictures of the many vacations,  the many countries, the many dinners my parents and you shared 

Even in  black and white pictures of our families together, you add color with your inner and outer glow 

I pray that you are welcomed the way God welcomes His righteous people:

"O reassured soul, Return to your Lord, well-pleased and pleasing [to Him],

And enter among My [righteous]servants

And enter My Paradise"
(Al-Fajr, 89:27-30)

I'm sure you will.
You were such a beautiful reflection of the Divine
Your light will be missed

The beautiful silver candle holders you gifted as a wedding gift sit on my table

Doing what you did....adding light 
Even though you have met the Light itself, it feels too dark without you.

Hiba
31st July,2022
Tahira Khala

 

Khamoshi Ab

 Kuch ajeeb sa rishtha bungaya hai ab

Thhha pehlay baaton ka

Khamoshiyon ka hai ab

Afsoos bhee hai aur sukoon bhee

Tumharee baaton key taqleef say mahfooz jo hai ab

Khamoshi tu phir bhee tumharay baray mein kuch achay ghumaan kurnay daythee hai

Baaton say woh ghalath fehmi rukhna mumkin nahee ab

Guftugu kay adaab jub na aayeah 

Tu karlengay tumharee khamoshiyon say guzara ab.....

Hiba 

Bhool Jatha Thha Woh

Bus uskey ek hee kami thee

Bhool jatha thha woh

Chothi baatein kurkay

Bhool jatha thaa woh 

Baday baday waday kurkay

Bhool jatha thha woh

Kabhee nurmee, kabhee qadar

Yeh zarooriyaath

Bhool jatha thha woh

Zaray see hee tu kami hai yeh

Itna kuch aur kurthay tho hai woh

Samjhatha hai zamana mujhein 

Parr meri bhee tu ek kami hai

Sub kuch yaad rehtha hai

Yeh baat

Bhool jatha thha woh

Hiba 

Good Byes...

Those last moments

Those whispered words as your voice shakes
The I love you, the I miss you, the thank you....each pregnant with so much raw emotion.
The tears that we shed but mostly hold back
The good bye kisses that we keep giving
Those many last hugs we give before they step into line

They call it the security line
But rarely do people feel secure standing there
In that line, we feel raw insecurity as we keep looking back at our loved ones

We keep waving good bye with such deep emotion
We feel truely overtaken by raw emotion
For those short few moments,  we feel utterly human and vulnerable .

The kisses blown are filled with thousand unspoken words.
The waves from across the X ray machine carry so much affection, love, closeness as we try to gather one last glimpse of them before they leave

And yet when we meet again at the same airport
So much remains unsaid, unexpressed

Until they leave again......

Hiba