Monday, May 18, 2009

A Gifted Week

I can hardly believe it that it's been nearly a month since my last post. Apologies to the two peole who read my blog. I know I'v been really remiss.

So what's happened since?
Not much. and pretty much everything
  • I've discovered that in spite of my previous assertations re the wisdom that comes with ageing, I did not have the foggiest idea regarding what love entails. I've been smacked about by life and have finally understood that it really is a place to call home. And I feel really blessed - alhamdulillah - to have just that
  • I was lucky enough to receive three gifts in one week. The first was a beautiful burkha. The second, a stunning handmade card, courtesy of my doppelganger and the third a delicious smelling body wash.
  • I learnt that bigotry is alive and well in the Muslim community. I shan't elaborate. But expect a rant from my alter ego, Sardonic Scholar, soon enough. (If I can just steal the time)

That's all folks.

Oh and one more little thing. A gift from me to you :

Chapter Five

Human nature is like a relentless river. Finding one path blocked, it always seeks out another. And just continues flowing. Ever forward, never stagnant. The day Farouk walked into the house a huge box in his hands, it changed Samiha’s course forever, led her to new vistas. And suddenly where she had once been, it didn’t seem quite so verdant anymore. The colours faded. The cracks began to show. And she found a way of expressing these emotions in tales that she called fiction, though there was a lot more fact to the stories than even Samiha would care to admit.

The box contained that marvel of technology – a computer.

One freezing winter’s night Farouk took his eldest son Ali along for a Qiraat recital at the home of a good friend. The Sheikh was from Egypt, and he wasn’t called bul bul for nothing. His voice was legendary.

The evening that was meant to have lasted two hours stretched. Recital was followed by snacks, samoosas, she guessed and tea. And lots more besides. Farouk lost track of time. As it was Samiha wouldn’t miss him. She was always far too absorbed in that computer of hers anyway. But she did. And the pain of that night birthed a tale, one of her first short stories.