Result!

Yay! I am officially a fifth year now, with one degree in hand alhamdulillah! :)

But it's back to uni on Monday. It's gonna be a long year.. :|

Ruined beyond our immersions that our souls could no longer withstand, even the bitterness had to surface to once again catch its breath. Lurid details seemed to derail whilst ravenous eyes sought to douse their hunger with revere.

Korea's Got Talent

This video has me cracking up every time I watch it, and I've had it on repeat for two days straight now :D

Summer Break

My summer, and I use the term 'summer' to refer to a holiday in the loosest sense of the word, is drawing to a close. All that's left is this sense of unfinished business and this intense desire to let loose on the world in some form of manic creativity and spontaneity. Instead, I find myself thinking of all the food I've managed to gorge on in the past three weeks since I handed in my final project: korean food, chinese waffle eggs, chinese bean buns, syrian food, mexican food, sushi, caribbean style gbk burgers, and numerous desserts of gastronomic proportions.

So anyway, final project: the big hoo-ha that would be the stopping point of a very long year. After spending two week researching at the Wellcome library in Euston, and an eye-liqefying number of hours staring at Google search results, I finally managed to produce a 5000 word essay structured around the art piece we had to create.

My focus: the social prejudices that refuse the permissibility of the dichotomous nature of doctors as both healers and patients. My artwork: A photo of Omar. Not that he has any illness that makes him patient-worthy, but he was willing to model for my piece. Over 400 shots later, using a borrowed DSLR camera and a carefully balanced tripod in the St Mary's Hospital main lifts, Omar's unexpected embarrassment paid off in producing my final piece. To understand the intricacies and reflections drawn from the piece (i.e. arty-farty made up nonsense that is absolutely necessary for the write-up), you'd have to read the whole 5000 word shabang. Not the best way to spend precious holiday time I must admit.

Hours after handing in the project, I made my way up north to Scotland. I spent a week between deadlines relaxing in a cottage by the sea whilst trying to rack up a decent presentation worth 20% of my module. I obviously ended up creating the presentation the night before I got back to London, but without that Scotland break, my brain would have been too exhausted to churn out even half a word. Now it's just waiting for results. Inshallah it all goes well. Duas!

Unfortunately I can't seem to access most of my photos, which is proving to be very frustrating. However, from the ones that I do have, they are enough to remind me of the awesome time I had :)

The day after my final deadline I started working in the private wing of Moorfields Eye Hospital in Old Street. Three and a half weeks later, today was my last day and I'm already missing it. The people were absolutely awesome, the atmosphere relaxed, and the drinks machine willing to provide me with endless free cups of delicious hot chocolate. After sending off most of the beautifully dressed-up staff to a ball with a Bond theme, I spent a few hours with my boss chatting and discussing life. Her words were profound and will stick with me for a long time. She was worried as she saw herself in me; an individual with all these dreams and ideas who is far too willing to lay it all down for those around me. She told me to never compromise on my happiness, to be strong, and to only be treated as something to be treasured. 'Don't let anyone change you into what they want you to be. They should instead stand back and support you and be proud of who you are. And if they don't, they don't deserve you.' My boss is one amazing woman :)

Next in the line-up for the remaining two weeks are trips to Oxford, Luton and Manchester with a couple of weddings fitted in between. 'Tis the season to be wedded it seems. May they all remain happy and forever thankful for each other :)

Reflections

We’ve made it through another year to another Spring. The weather is beautiful (the tropical downpours included), Hyde Park is bursting with happy people and there’s even an extra bank holiday to look forward to, thanks to the imminently arriving royal wedding.

However, as ice-cream vans trawl through the streets, enticing everyone with their oh so nostalgic tune, there’s a suffocating buzz of tension in the air.  As the academic year draws closer to an end, the final stretch is laced with exams, driving students into a state of mania, many of whom will spend their nights in the library and if so desired, use the washbasins as a substitute shower.

In this hurricane of movement that we seem to be entangled within, it is important to take some time out to reflect. In some students, exam time seems to induce a sudden ‘muslamic’ effect by means of giving charity and praying extra nafl in a desperate attempt to bargain with God for the all-important pass mark.  However, others may decide that praying detracts away from their time they can study and therefore forfeit their salah.

It is important that we learn to strike a balance. Hoping that we can miraculously pass as a result of duas alone but without any studying isn’t quite how it works. We are told to “tie your camel to the post and then put your trust in Allah” (Tirmidhi), thereby implying that we must do all that we can, try our hardest, and only then should we leave the rest to Allah. However, alongside this, one can never underestimate the power of dua:

“Verily your Lord is Generous and Shy. If His servant raises his hands to Him (in supplication) He becomes shy to return them empty (Ahmad, Abu Dawood, Tirmidhi)”

However, many of us make dua half-heartedly, not convinced whether our demands will be answered or not. The belief in the power of dua is just as important as the act of making dua itself. There is nothing that Allah cannot grant us if He so wills. In Surah Fatihah we attest to Allah that “You alone we worship and You alone we seek for help”, and it is to Him that we must seek help in all matters we engage in.

Another important aspect of ensuring that we try and get the most out of our time, be it whilst studying or in life generally, is to make sure that we use the limited time we have with wisdom.

Imam Al-Ghazali (may Allah's mercy be on him) wrote in his book, The Beginning of Guidance: 

"You should not neglect your time or use it haphazardly; on the contrary you should bring yourself to account, structure your litanies and other practices during each day and night, and assign to each period a fixed and specific function. This is how to bring out the spiritual blessing (baraka) in each period. But if you leave yourself adrift, aimlessly wandering as cattle do, not knowing how to occupy yourself at every moment, your time will be lost. It is nothing other than your life, and your life is the capital that you make use of to reach perpetual felicity in the proximity of God the Exalted.”

Information is not knowledge, for knowledge is acting upon information in a way which is beneficial for ourselves. I hope to instil these words into my own life :)

My newest addition to the list of things I want to do: Train as a stuntwoman!

Hackers galore

After watching 'The Social Network', all I seem to be stuck on is that I wish I had the smarts to have gone into computer science, software programming, writing encryption codes and the like and living my life at and by a keyboard. There's something immensely satisfying about the blunted fingertips and sqaured hand shape (and stiffness) you get as you type like the 'pro's' you see in films. Ah the joy.

Towards the end of primary school/ beginning of high school, I remember secretly printing off this document about hacking and being ecstatic at my amazing find. Whilst nervously watching the bedroom door, I prayed that I'd calculated the timing correctly of how much time I had before I was caught. Seems like my math wasn't too bad back then, and so my hundred page secret was safely hidden under my bed.  I was sure I could definitely worm my way into this world if I wanted to.

Unfortunately, a recurring theme in my life I've noticed, is that I get fired up about a new project and then get bored and toss it aside. Although in this case, my computer knowledge being limited to using Word and clearing browsing history (I was so excited when I learnt how to do this) combined with the fear of being smoked out, it became another 'passion' I set aside. Instead, I idolised my brother's friend who was a computer genius. Like a superhero, I never saw his face but instead, heard fantastic rumours of his work, a couple of which I was privileged enough to see. The boy truly had a gift.

Maybe I should just find and befriend a computer whizz/ hacker at Imperial and get them to teach me their stuff. I'm sure there's lots of them around. Project resumed!

< end >   ;)

Once a breeze passes by, it can never come back to the same place..

My new-found Korean obsession surpasses the previous Japanese one. Life is sweet ;)

In a hollow shell, the echoes of a fading dream knock on the doors I am forced to close. Door after door, lock after lock, I shut myself out from the corridors that I had foolishly wandered along, believing myself worthy of a choice. Of freedom and of joy. How wrong I have been shown to be.

Each moment a struggle, I force myself to breathe as I walk onto a path that will leave my self behind. To exist only in form when the soul itself has died, I lay imprisoned in a cage that I choose to deny.

Once came and now gone, I don't remember who it is that I am.

I bid my self farewell..

Struggling from the holds that choked her, each breath was an escape from the evil that slowly destroyed. There was very little left that had not already found itself within the seeping networks that let her clocks stumble some more. Mismatched, the footsteps in her shadows strayed offbeat, a slow tug that had drawn out to three, where one more marked the end..

Ridicule was written in every expression as it flitted across his face.

There was no room for growth, for the mass leverage that change could bring. There was only the stubborn pride of the limited reach that he held. Did I dare to defy?

"People tell you who they are but we ignore it, because we want them to be who we want them to be"

Dawn

Beyond the chasms of reproach
Farther than truths hold extends
Did I seek answers for the voices
That the hearts dared not hold
And in the mirrored gaze that we captured;
Turned startled and devoid
I looked far along the depths
To the blanks that arose
Yet in deemed recognition
Of a desginatory role
I beheld hung reflection,
Drawn to my own

There, desecration of the sacred
Lay ruin to the plans we decode
As the construct destroyed
In the name of resolve
Once more is absolved
Of being party to the sin
Of progress and change.
Novel, indeed
A concept of old

Kashmir

So I basically had little reminders written up on my phone of what I'd been up to in Kashmir and all the interesting things that had happened. Unfortunately, upon reaching Bahrain, I decided to play around with my phone, put a password lock on it and promptly forgot it. Thankfully my phone is no longer disabled but I know for sure now that my memory needs a serious reboot. Sigh. So here it goes, an account of the five weeks made up of disjointed and faded images and occurrences that I am attempting to recollect, and it's taken an awfully long time to get round to writing this.. I'm just really lazy..

***

The morning we were meant to leave, we unpacked our bags, called the travel agency and told them we wanted to cancel our tickets. The situation was so bad out there that we honestly didn't know if we would be able to make it back home to my brother. He was staying behind, busy with organising protests, giving interviews and being called to speak at international conferences regarding the situation into which we were literally flying into. We had our will sorted out, my mum wrote a letter that my brother would receive if we didn't make it back and I did the rounds of 'I'm going to Kashmir, I may die, so please forgive me if I've done anything to harm you. Oh and if I owe you anything, take it off my brother..' Charming, no?

Anyway, we decided to take the risk. It's my last long holiday and I was in dire need of a break from absolutely everything. You know when you're mentally exhausted and your brain is saturated to the point of insanity? Well, time away from everything and everyone you know is the perfect fix, and for me, Kashmir is my drug. You get high, you get addicted and every time you think you're over it, you relapse. An ashiq for the bonds that come with birth. Blood that can't forget. Inshallah soon again :)

Anyhow, upon arriving in the just-bearable heat, the hartaal-imposed silence was more than noticeable, moreso as it stood in stark contrast to the usual clamour and noise that we as a people maximise to our full potential. An unavoidable part of being Kashmiri. Must be something in our rice.. unless you're one of the odd exceptions of course.

And talking about being different, our thankfully uneventful journey home was laughter-ridden as we couldn't stop staring at this bizarre movie player that proudly sat in place of the usual rearview mirror. I mean, seriously, is the driver supposed to sneak peeks at some film that's playing whilst he's trying to manoeuvre the car around horses, cows, people and maniac driving, and all without being able to see whats going on on the road behind him? Crazy!

And yes, I often do wonder if God made us Kashmiris this weird and wonderful species just so that we can forget about our issues and have jokes instead as we do oddly baffling things. So basically my uncle arrives after a two hour journey, at six in the morning, on a motorbike he'd borrowed off one of the boys on his street. Fair enough, right? Apart from the fact that his experience of riding one dates back 20 years or so. And to proper hero-fy it, he came without a helmet or jacket, (arriving shivering and frozen to the bone) during the hartaal and having to endure the ken-jang going on. Errr, don hai, don. Such a Kashmiri :D

He did it again a couple of days later, but with a friend's car, and this time managed to bring us back down with him to Baramullah. It's a good thing that he did, considering the fact that the situation worsened to such an extent that we were unable to go back down a second time.

Stuck in Baramullah for about ten days, we had three different houses we could wander between, dividing our time between sleeping, eating and watching tv. We didn't get up to much, mostly spending our days with our youngest cousins and punctuating our immense amounts of rest by sitting in peaceful content at the lake or the railway station down the road.

The situation seemed to always be the worst in Baramullah. Whilst we were there, there was a boy who was beaten by the police, had his head crushed and was then thrown into the lake. Waiting for the body to be found was a tense situation and in lue of this, the army personnel were already sat in the streets, lining the sidewalks with their own terror at the anger that they were about to face from the distraught people.

Each day brought more news of more death. More torture, more unimaginable goings on. Lives were being tossed aside as though old clothes, and like uninhibited wild animals ripping through hunted flesh, it was as though the troops were craving more innocent blood. The people had had enough. Geelani saab was calling for the still ongoing strikes and the youth were on the streets protesting, throwing stones and beating anyone who dared to resume normality in the form of open shops or travel.With all phone networks shut down, newspapers censored, and the news stories on tv cut short, word of mouth and night-time movements allowed the flow of information to spread throughout Kashmir. Things were looking worse as each day passed by.

It was a miracle that we were able to leave Baramullah, get ourselves up to Srinagar, and the following day find ourselves in Pudsoo at a far too early an hour to remember. However, the two weeks we spent 'stuck' there defined the entire trip and have created such intense memories, that it is difficult to put all those feelings into words. Each time I remember my time there, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I usually end up doing a bit of both. Dealing with such incomparabale amounts of genuine love and affection from my dad's side of the family is always slightly overwhelming to begin with, but it's what we have learned as being the true definition of somewhere being 'home'.

As though the cleaner air up in the mountains purifies the passing hours, the village appears to live in a bubble of land that time has forgot. There is a stillness, an almost breathing entity that allows life to flow unbroken alongside the running streams. An infinitude of peace. A haven reclaimed.. :)

Spanning almost 20 years between the youngest and the eldest of our 30 odd cousins, we were able to enjoy each other's company for the two weeks that we were there. We spent our days traipsing around both our and neighbouring villages, eliciting unashamed stares from the natives, a very ingrained characteristic passed down through generations amongst the Kashmiris.

The fruit orchards are always something else. To spend whole afternoons in the fields looking for snakes, eating fruit plucked straight from our trees, and hearing stories about life in Kashmir, this was the bliss we had come in search of. My memories of Pudus are mostly of spending my time sitting outside on the boulders and cracking open half-ripened walnuts and almonds whilst we're sharing stories and soaking in the atmosphere and the people.

There were always funny incidents, such as when one cousin milked a cow straight into another cousins waiting open mouth, or when my sister had a tantrum on seeing a dead abandoned puppy on the road. We also learned that one of my younger cousins has built a pigeon pen in his loft and spends his time 'training' them. Although I never got round to seeing it, my sister did seem to be impressed by it!

The boys in the village would gather at a pre-fixed time to play volleyball in the courtyard everyday outside the darzga (Islamic school for the kids) and despite numerous attempts to take over the playing area, we had to settle with just watching them from an abandoned building that looked down onto them.

One of the major highlights was learning to drive. We snuck out one day to practice in the open grounds in Aherbal and also enjoy the view at the same time. Aherbal, although highly dangerous, is extremely beautiful; the water source for Kashmir, a raging waterfall that has seen the death of many. This was only the start of my many driving expeditions.

Apart from the time where we went to visit extended family in Ritnipoora and Shoonshpoor, we managed to leave the house once and went to Wazirbag, a park of sorts, followed by a quick trip to a place known for housing black fish. Our outing was however cut short as the ken-jang started up again as we made a speedy escape.

One thing I will never forget is standing on the rooftops at nightime, holding candles in order to see the young boys and adults of the village surge through the streets to nearby villages, gaining numbers as they went along, shouting their slogans and demonstrating against the situation Kashmir was arrested in. The rumble of their voices and their intense passion filled our hearts to breaking point. We only wished we could go down and join them.

Our last night was filled with singing, dancing and a lot of silences as it dawned on us that we wouldn't see them again. Surrounded by all my cousins, I couldn't help but realise what we miss out on when family isn't always in your life.

By the end of our stay, the city was ringing with the sound of the oppressed people; nasheeds, slogan shouting and restrained anger blaring out from the mosque speakers. Some areas made announcements that anyone who stayed indoors during the hartaals and didn't protest would face the wrath of the people. The women and children lined the streets outside their homes until 2am whilst the boys and men took to the streets.

The day we left Kashmir we heard the news of a child who had been taken by the army; the body came back battered with the eyes gouged out and had the ears and hands cut off. Obviously dead. The nine year old boy who had gone to play at his friends house was captured, had a baton rammed all the way down his throat, which was then used to bash his head in. Witnesses saw the army stamping on his small body until the audible sounds of all his ribs breaking were heard. Goodness knows how many more similar stories exist, I just couldn't bear to hear them all. But these aren't just 'stories', they are realities which the Indian Government do their best to hide by nation-wide media blanketing. The situation is out of control and no one in the outside world knows.

It is only Allah's blessings that allows anyone to survive at all..

------------

*hartaal = imposed by kashmiri leaders, i.e. Geelani. These are strikes where nothing is open. You can't go anywhere by car because the people on the streets, mostly young guys, will beat the muffins out of you or throw stones at you as go by.

* curfew = imposed by the army. shoot-on-site order if you leave the house. usually imposed during the hartaal so that people can't go out and protest.

Uraboku et al

I <3 anime more than <3 itself

Words can bear no fruit to those that will not hear

For a slip of the skin is what it takes to dream

Dubai

Four days. Dubai. With Miss Mini. WHAT an experience.

My friend invited me to go with her on a 'business trip' to Dubai. Whilst her business partners were there for their meetings, we were there to most definitely chill.

A small nap upon arriving at the hotel was absolutely essential due to the previous day's all-nighter, filled with the memory of American Alley, nice cars and hilarious conversation about banana bags, 15K and 'saamaan'.

After freshening up, we were picked up from the hotel by a jeep that would take us to the desert safari that Miss Mini had booked for both ourselves and her very cool business partners/ friends. We were also joined by a lovely serbian couple who quickly became a part of our mini family, joining in the entertainment that asians seem to bring with them everywhere they go.

The desert is absolutely beautiful. The soft undulating planes, unending waves that are gently rippled by the winds. There's something magical about the place, as though they have their own secrets, always changing, always hiding the tracks you leave behind. I have this weird fascination with sand. Give me any stretch of golden dust, be it in a glass bottle or a replication through the salt and grit they sprinkle on icy roads, and I will be transfixed by the sight. Perhaps this is what living in London does to a person, especially when you're wary to hit the beaches in a society where nakedness is seen as the norm. But whatever it is, I'm in love with it. The sand, not the nakedness of course.

Dune bashing was absolutely amazing! Whilst I was begging the guy to make it last longer and to do the twisty crazy drive on the dunes again and again, I had the two ladies girls to my right with their eyes closed, holding hands and shrieking.. I just sat there hoping the driver would listen to me instead, which he did :D

After arriving at the campsite just in time for iftar, we decided to forego the camel-riding and the sand boarding and sat down to shawarma, pakoras and samosas to break our fast with. Once we were slightly refreshed with food in our tummies, we took a look around and found there to be various things on offer, complementary to the package we paid for of course. There was henna tattooing, a chance to play dress up in thobes and abayas (for the non arabs/muslims) and stalls selling belly dancing outfits and bottled sand art. The standard shisha section seemed to be quite popular, especially as the arab and asian men seemed to be intrigued by these scantily clad europeans and americans trying out their first ever puffs on the pipes of the hubbly-bubbly.

The bbq buffet was delicious, made moreso by sitting at the japanese style tables, something that I've always wanted to do. Entertainment whilst we finished off our food had been toned down for ramadan and so instead of bellydancing, there was a man who whirled and twirled with umbrellas, skirts and flashing fairy lights! Quite a memorable act indeed!!

Whilst on our way back to the hotel (with the driver telling us how the prince himself is an elephant and therefore it is the only animal that he himself does not own), we decided the night was far too young to turn in for the day, and so picked up the rest of the crew and made our way to Madinat Jumeira. The outside seating area had its own charm with the bronzed lights and the lake below, especially in the mild warmth of the night. As though in its own separate niche of Dubai, the whole place had this quaint feel about it, a quietly bustling area with an aura of a higher-class calm. However, the numerous shops that were dotted around selling kashmiri embroidered items made me feel right at home.

Upon deciding that we didn't want to eat at Madinat Jumeira, we found ourselves in one of the restaurants on the promenade. I wasn't too interested in the food there and so myself and Miss Mini went for dessert at a nearby italian restaurant to indulge ourselves with warm brownies and vanilla ice cream, the real stuff and not the likes of Wall's.

Deciding to skip on the 2am walk, we went to sleep, ready to wake up early and check into a second hotel, one that was up to Miss Mini's high standards, and not the embarassment of a five star hotel that our current one claimed to be.

(Un)fortunately, God either thought we needed to rest a little more or that we would get up to no good with our own set of wheels, and so we were unable to collect our booked out Mercedes C class until midnight due to some difficulties in company policy. It's quite amusing to see a petulant and annoyed Miss Mini, especially when her sweet-talk seemingly held no effect on the unamused lady serving us.

However, after a grateful nap back at the hotel we managed to make our way to Dubai mall and broke our fast with Bertollis' ferrero rocher ice cream; a modern twist on the sunnah of dates, but at least it complied with being something sweet! However, for actual food, we had a spectacular meal with Miss Mini's cousin and her husband, made more so by the incredible fountain-shows that punctuated our dinner every half an hour.

After free-tasting caramelised nuts for dessert, long stays in g1 gallery and conversations with a kashmiri shop-owner and subsequent politely declined invitations, we were more than ready to pick up our car from the airport.

Freedom in hand, we decided to make our way to a suhoor majlis and took our seat amongst the bored, hungry and affluent late-chillers of Dubain society. As Miss Mini eats less than a baby still on breast-milk, I ended up consuming the entire lobster platter to myself, along with the hoummus and odd-tasting dessert. The other orders were all hers to take, including conversation with the lovely waiter who stood disillusioned by the unislamic manners of the customary attending arabs. How he dealt with the attitudes that comes with a society driven by the lust of their wealth, I don't know. May Allah give him patience..

The natural choice to make after the majlis was to go to the beach (I basically wanted to walk in the sand again), and it being 4am stood in our favour for the empty roads and cool night air. Despite getting lost and having to be shown the way, it was a surreal experience once we got there. Those moments are something I can't ever forget. Sitting on an empty beach looking out to the sea, the dark blue of the never-ending sky filling me with awe and the warmth of the sand reminding me this is real. For me, this will always be the epitome of true beauty. When it comes to the skies and the sea, something in me just stops. It's as though there's a magic that surrounds them that doesn't let me breathe, because if I dare breathe, it will disappear. How can such beauty exist? It is a power I dare not understand.

Leaving behind crushed seashells as proof of our presence there, our short wading time in the water brought along plenty of sand for a free ride as our Merc endured our salted clothes.

The next day saw us awake surprisingly early and we embarked on our journey to the souks. We quickly discovered that without Miss Mini in her Swarovski clad abaya, and my ability to hold a conversation with the shop assistants in urdu (which seemed to shock them more than anything), I could haggle prices down to any level that took my fancy . It was a liberating experience overall bar one incident which has taken me until now to get over. Let's just say that people need to learn when 'no' really means 'no' and not the asian version of an invitation.

After looking over the minimal goods we'd bought and trying to figure out where our money seemed to have disappeared, we checked out of the hotel and went over to the Arabian Ranches, a model town in which Miss Mini's cousin resides. However, our original intention to chill somehow turned into a sleep marathon and Miss Rover found us to be slightly dazed when she arrived to pick me up just in time for iftar.

Whilst Miss Mini had a flight to catch, I was welcomed into Miss Rover's family in true style with their knack for making me blush within the first few minutes of any conversation I held.

We decided to round off the night by stopping by Atlantis hotel on Palm Island. More interesting than the large aquarium and the beautiful corridors, were the ice cream men who were picking up scoops of ice cream, tossing them high in the air and catching them again in the scooper! What a sight! Another transfixing moment it seems. And apparently in America, this service comes along with a song!

My last day started off with Dubai Mall again, and after making a large detour around the area that housed the eagerly awaiting Kashmiri man, we managed to find ourselves outside the world's largest pyrex panelled aquarium (or something like that), situated directly opposite a huge candy store <3

After praying in an empty mosque, we drove down to 'old' Dubai and the underground museum that was predominantly filled with chinese tourists. It was quite cool, in both senses of the word, but I quickly got bored and wanted to be above ground again. We therefore re-entered the living world by way of a lace shop and a nice iranian man, who brought out his better goods once I told him my father used to speak farsi :)

After a quick look around Madinat Jumeira for the last time, seeing Burj al Arab from afar and taking in the sight of all the beautiful cars on the road, we picked up up some cake from Shakespeare cafe and made our way back home for my last iftar there. 

I had an amazing time with dear Miss Mini, and for that, I do thank thee <3

For You

"I miss you like omg's"
<3

William Cowper

'Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon their knees'