Posted on by Zarine Mohideen

“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”

– Oscar Wilde

Isn’t this what everyone fears? To think like another person, breathe in their ideas and eventually lose sight of who you really are. I’ve been there. Waking up in the morning not feeling the least bit like yourself. Lying to yourself repeatedly. Unable to distinguish between your thoughts and convincing yourself every day that you were meant to be here, in the present. Absorbing yourself in to someone else is probably the worst thing you can do to kill your soul. Recovering from that is hell. Even when you do come out of the cage you keep doubting, is this what you want or is this what they want you to want. It is hard to break away. But you should try. You should always try.

 

Posted on by Zarine Mohideen

BIRIYANI. Now do I have your attention?

Eid. Always synonymous with biriyani, to me, Eid equals new dress. It doesn’t matter if I get a new dress every single day of the year, the Eid dress is the most important and should kick all other dress’ ass. This year I found the perfect dress. But then again, I intend on finding the perfect dress every year.So all the duties on Eid have been done; wear new dress – check, go for Eid prayer – check, collect Eidi from unsuspecting adults – check, get shouted at by mother for not helping – check, stuff face with biriyani – check, distribute biriyani to friends like an MLA collecting votes – check.

Once all the duties have been done, regular programming resumes. It doesn’t matter that we fasted for thirty days and controlled our nafs (desires) ’cause the next day our body wants three meals a day plus snacks. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that a good portion of Ramadan revolves around food. Either making, eating or distributing food. Ramadan teaches you to respect food and not sneer at it if it is something you dislike. It teaches you to make do with what is available when you wake up late for suhoor. The Prophet Mohammed (peace be upon him) taught us to never say anything bad about the food even if you don’t like it. Waking up late for suhoor to eat the leftovers is a very humbling experience. It makes you think of all those who do not have a morsel to eat and have to keep suhoor with just a date or a sip of water whilst we waste plates of food. So the next time you fuss about how you don’t like a single dish on the table just spare a thought for those whom even three meals a day is a luxury.

We need to remember that every single blessing that we have could be taken away from us at any second. In school we sang a hymn ‘Count your blessings name them one by one’ but I realize that it is impossible to  list out the blessings. We just need to be extremely thankful for everything. You and me, we are very lucky people. We don’t have to think about where the next meal comes from or worry that we have people depending on us. Thanks to one of the greatest mercies God has given us, we live in a reasonably safe place where we don’t have to be scared about bombs being dropped on us. We don’t have to worry about shelter or a plaguing disease. We don’t have to fear poverty and deprivation. Considering that we have it easy, that we have none of these battles to fight, we should be the most thankful people.

Although the little devil inside us is unleashed now I hope we don’t go back to our old ways but that we take away some lesson, no matter how small, from this Ramadan. This Eid let us be thankful for our education, for our wonderful families and amazing friends, for food and peace. Let us be thankful for our lives and for the opportunity to mold it in to a beautiful one.

Eid Mubarak.

Posted on by Zarine Mohideen · 1 Comment

Demons.

Everybody has demons. Demons that destroy you. Demons that haunt you every step of the way. Demons that rip you on your insides but leave a perfect exterior. You can run but you can never hide, the shadows will find you. You can fight but it will never be over, for the scar is permanent. Sometimes you think you’re above it and you’ve learnt to come to terms with it. It won’t take you much longer to realize that if you do say that, you are lying to yourself. You are lying when you say that you’re okay. You are lying when you say it doesn’t hurt anymore. Because the scar has been cast not on your body, not physically, but on You. You know you want to fight it. It doesn’t deserve your time. Stop thinking and start living. You want to. But there is a reminder right in front of you. A yellow Post It note describing everything you’ve ever wanted to escape from. Tear it. Make it go away. But it’s like a boomerang that keeps coming back. You don’t want it to take control of your life anymore. You want to be unburdened. But it’s hard. Some days you wake up thinking all is right with the world. Other days you go to bed crying, praying for some kind of balance in your life. Why does the thought make your skin crawl? You want to rip your skin apart. It is on fire. Burning. You are burning. The rage is unstoppable. The terror is gone but you are still frightened. Stop letting it control your life. You know you want it to stop. But the mind does not easily forget. And you don’t want to think about it but you go back. Such a bad place to be. You cry and pray for normalcy. For the scar to heal. For sanity. For lightness. To be untouched by the demons. You open your eyes and realize you’ve only told yourself what you want to hear.
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Playing By The Rules

Any event that signifies something big happening in our life is marked with certain customs. Customs that may not necessarily make sense but has to be followed as it was many years ago. We ignore The Rules of The Book to let social, familial and traditional rituals take center stage. We fail to see the fine line that divides the two and are blinded by the shadow we cast over The Rules. Things would be easier and hassle free if everyone just followed The Rules, the sunnah, that was given to us. Man made rules are tiring and do not make sense. But we feel that we are traitors if we don’t follow the customs of our forefathers.

The worst thing about man made rules is that The Rules aren’t defined. It changes from person to place. Sometimes The Rules are also conveniently over looked. Basically, they are called The Rules while they should be called Rules That Can Be Manipulated According To Whims and Fancies. Following these rules we are going down the dark ages. What is worse is we are making things more difficult than they need to be. But Ma says no, this is how it is. Everybody did these things and so should you. “Why?”, I ask her. “Because you have to.”, she says. I know that isn’t what I want to hear but I just shut up.

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Craving

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Corn Cheese Toast, Ajnabi Mithai Ghar, Chennai

I don’t know if it is the fasting or the hormones but this corn cheese toast is all I would like to eat. But since D – Day is in T minus three weeks it’s better that I impose a lot of self control.

Posted on by Zarine Mohideen

My creative juices seem to have hit the pause button of late. I have always had the most brilliant ideas only when there was an exam to prepare for the next day. I never thought I would say this but I miss the anticipations of exams, not that I would want to take them again, but just having that dreadful feeling in your chest, eating away your insides. But the exams always brought out my creative side that is seen very clearly in my mark sheets.

I have been doing nothing for a long time except “taking rest”. I’m sure that even if that was prescribed to me by a doctor it wouldn’t have been administered as strictly. To be honest, I enjoyed it for a few days. What with Ramadan happening it was nice to catch up on my sleep. But I enjoy it no more. “Taking rest” has in turn made me feel more lethargic than I should. I can’t wait to be up on my feet and do fun, exciting things. After a year of waiting around I’d like to think I deserve it.

In all fairness I’m supposed to be nervous now. Butterflies in the stomach, am I doing the right thing, why me sort of a confusion. But I’m not. And that’s good, I guess. The only nervous I am is the good kind and I’m super thankful for that.  Actually, I’m fifty parts nervous and fifty parts excited.

I’m nexcited.

Yes, it’s a word. Look it up.

–

September could not come soon enough.

…

Posted on by Zarine Mohideen
“Someday, somewhere – anywhere, unfailingly, you’ll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.”

– Pablo Neruda

Posted on by Zarine Mohideen

Crazy.

“Girl molested by army jawans in Assam.”

“6 year old girl found hanging in Noida.”

“Husband forced wife to drink urine.”

“Pak man arrested for burrying baby girl alive.”

“Two baby girls abandoned in Rajasthan, one of them left on railway tracks dies.”

Reading the paper on a Sunday is not as relaxing as one deems it to be. The newspaper is like a Sunday horror marathon, one gut wrenching story after another. It is hard to be cheerful or go one with your day after seeing headlines such as these.

Burying baby girls alive, abandoning children in railway tracks, it feels like we are living in the stone ages. Instead of moving ahead in society and leaving behind the terrible practices we seem to be taking many steps backwards. It honestly pains me to see that there are people who willingly kill their children for the big “mistake” of being born as girls. It doesn’t matter how much we’re educated, or how much money we have, it really doesn’t matter how much “awareness” we spread on issues like this. There will always be a certain sect of crazy that will not die down no matter how much we try.

Preventing situations like this is futile. The only part we can concentrate on is the cure. The proverb “Prevention is better than cure” does not apply to this context because it simply does not work. It doesn’t matter if we are the most forward thinking of induviduals with the the best of intentions in our hearts we cannot change a twisted mind.

Stories of girls being molested are printed everyday. These are just the lucky few girls who get to tell their story. But what they get in return is just some pity and perhaps two, three comments on how it was the girls fault for “encouraging” the molestor. Yes, girls wear stickers across their chests saying “I’m open for business so please feel free to rape me”. If revealing/western clothes seems to be the problem then what about the girls who wear Indian clothes and salwars. They get raped too. But the clothes aren’t the focus here. Isn’t the saree, the quintessential Indian garment previously considered the most modest form of clothing, now one among the most “sexy” clothes a woman can wear?

It is impossible to straighten a twisted mind. Burying alive your own child requires a kind of strength that I hope many of us don’t have. Molesting girls because they “encouraged” you is not an excuse. And making your wife drink urine? How absolutely sick in the head must you be to do something like that. This man was a dentist and what role did his education play here?

Abandoning girl babies in dustbins is the most common news item that appears in the paper. I read at least one such news item every week. It has become such casual news that they move these stories from page one to page four these days.

I don’t believe things like this will ever stop. Crazy is so well woven in to society that it is difficult to break the thread. Nothing is impossible, they say. Maybe here’s something that is.

Posted on by Zarine Mohideen

“Peter Walsh got up and crossed to the window and stood with his back to her, flicking a bandanna handkerchief from side to side. Masterly and dry and desolate he looked, his thin shoulder-blades lifting his coat slightly; blowing his nose violently. Take me with you, Clarissa thought impulsively, as if he were starting directly upon some great voyage; and the,\ next moment, it was as if the five acts of a play that had been very exciting and moving were now over and she had  lived a lifetime in them and had run away, had lived with Peter, and it was now over.”

– Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf