Sometimes, it’s time for contemplation


Sometimes no one knows our battles except Allah

Sometimes no one knows the pain you curl up with at night,stifling the gasp of pain stabbing you,whispering for sabr or deliverance

Sometimes no one knows our unshed tears except Allah

Sometimes no one knows your silent jihad,what you gave up

Sometimes no one knows that you chose to fall silent in response to her charm,for the sake of your imaan

Sometimes no one knows that she tiredly cleaned the house while the rest were alive with laughter and indifference

Sometimes no one knows how he wanted to cry from the burden of feeding their mouths but kept smiling

Sometimes no one knows the choices you had to make

Sometimes no one knows the sweet cocoon of an illicit relationship that you gave up for Allah

Sometimes no one knows the dreams you had to see ripped apart

Sometimes no one knows you get up at night and lift your hands to HIM

Sometimes no one knows you spent your potential umrah ticket on a divorcee and her children

Sometimes no one knows except HIM

and sometimes no one needs to know except HIM


Taken from one of the pieces of paper from one of the students who passed away from a heart complication.


The Part ; The Seven

Weekends in Madressah are different. My Father made arrangements with his cousin for me to go and spend the weekend there but once Uncle X could not make it back before Maghrib to drop me off one of the weekends so,for the first time I parked at Madressah.(We used to get in major trouble if we were not back in time without a solid reason.

Many guys don’t have family or guardians to go to or even sometimes enough money to make a call home. Only now do I fully appreciate the access to all that. Whoever increases his shukar(gratitude) to Allah. Allah increases his ni’mat(favours) on him.

Saturday night at the boarding– The good guys were engrossed in muta’lah. Some went to sleep after Esha. (as was the practice of our beloved Nabi SAW and something that we should aspire to so we can wake up for Tahajjud or earlier for Fajr,inshaAllah).Some had a tasbih in their hands or silently relaxing. Some trying to whip up a snack and failing but eating the mess anyways! Some unzipping their bags and pulling out their stashes of crisps and chocs.

Tariq was heading out of the room and asked me if I’m coming. I followed. There was another room packed with guys eating and sipping on warm cooldrink. On top of the bunk Ziad was sitting with a tasbih around his neck.(No doubt irking the hell out of Nu’maan who sat there like a sadistic looking statue.) Ziad was pretending to give the introduction to a bayaan in full throttle( all Darul Uloom students make sure they try this out at least once in their student lives,don’t you?) and then burst into a song in urdu which sounded quite dodgy.

Later I came to know it was a perfectly fine song but since he was a bit of a character,he was singing in qawaali style (which I had never encountered before!) the guys were tearing up pieces of paper and throwing at him and saying wah wah! do baara! do baara! then they would pull the next guy up onto the bunk and the next guy would start.Crazy! Then one guy came on,he was a good guy and I always noticed that he’d have fun with us as long as we didn’t exceed but he’d always try to turn our attention Back to Allah Ta’aala. He started reading the 99 Names of Allah with such beauty that the room hushed.Then he started a zikr and the guys all joined in. Until then, I never knew you could have fun the halaal way. Without forgetting Allah and Nabi SAW.

The next guy up started singing in Arabic and some other guys joined the chorus.Then Ziad decided to “host” and international Nasheed contest where one guy from a different country had to sing in his home language. SubhaanAllah,how we all pray in a different tongue and our Rabb hears each call clearly.

So anyways, Hisham from Guyana won. After Ziad gave him a packet of gum, he said he was actually swearing us in Guyanese. Ziad said nevermind, he had a good tune, next time he must just change the words. I asked him to teach me some foreign swear word.

( I must make it clear that qawaali, adulation during it etc, is NOT permissible. We were just mad)

Later after laughing and talking late into the night, I stumbled into bed. 3 of my roomates pulled out their Qur’ans to read Tabarak before bed. I felt a bit bad for not following but I was so tired. If only I chose to, that Surah protects us from the punishment of the grave.Oh my laziness, how often do you lead me to decline.

Sunday late morning-  We were at the mall. It was the first time that I had been in a taxi. I couldn’t bear to be stuck at Madressah while some of the guys were out. We’re in a restaurant in a mall. The waiter,Mahir Ali who would become my good friend over the years comes over and asks

“What will you have?”

“Chicken looks good” I say

“Which the part? ” He asks “the part ,the leg?”

“what?” I say

“ohkay ohkay, how about you order nice one? the combo the seven?good and cheap price for all you students?”

The guys fried him and kept asking for stupid things just to make him speak in broken English, as if our grammer was that hot.He took it all his stride that Mahir.

And that folks is how the chapters in this blog got it’s name. Inside joke.


“Don’t look!” Ziad exclaimed as we tucked into our the combo,the seven.

“at what?” I asked ,obviously turning to look in the direction he was trying not to.

‘Idioot’ Said Zahir. “You must be subtle bro,subtle”

I was lost till I found what their eyes were trying not to track.

“Do you think they’re Arab? Should I invoke my grandmother’s arab blood?” Ziad asked

“They look like wannabe arabs with that big loaf on their heads’ Zahir said ‘they even walk like camels’

‘Well now I feel bad for not paying extra attention in class or when my azeezti spoke arabic,dammit” Ziad said. “i’ll just have to wing it”

And he goes up to them and asks in a french/arab accent. ” Sorry but can youu tell me where izz the musalla? Min fadhlik?’

For the sake of Falasteen,spread the word.


One of the first people to make an impact on me was Ramzi,the Palestinian and the others that I encountered from there. May Allah keep your spirit of Imaan intact and bless you with his Nusrat.

Our first duty is to make excessive dua for our brothers and sisters all over the world that are suffering. And to begin istighfaar (seeking forgiveness) regularly.

I am not encouraging you to watch videos. Or to become a youtube addict but this touched something deep within my heart.  So please do copy and paste this in your browser and forward it as well.

It’s only approx 3 min.Take the time.

Thurs night once again, let’s send abundant salawaat on the Beloved Prophet SAW.

the part; the six. faith, bathing and nics


In Madressah you get guys with the looniest nics. There was this nice,friendly guy that used to eat with me at supper. We called him Ghas. But before you understand his nic, understand another story.

One day we covered the storyof Hanzalah R.A in class. Who was a great Sahabi. Infact so great was he, that after leaving the suhbat (company) of the majlis of Nabi SAW, he became afraid that he had turned into a munafiq (hypocrite)SubhanAllah!

Don’t we all get that spiritual high when we are in the company of the pious? Or in the path of Allah? Or when reading/listening to something heart moving? Or in Ramadhan? But then when we go back home, check out the food,laugh and joke or argue with our folks and the high slowly drops and we forget all our great aspirations.

As Hanzalah RA was nearing the door of the Beloved Nabi SAW,he met Abu Bakr Sideeq RA who also came with the same concern. Who Were these people? The cream of the crop, the best of all after the Ambiyaa and they worried about the level of their Imaan so intensely, do we? Ya Allah,forgive us.

So now, Hanzalah RA got married and the call of Jihaad came before his walima. His sense of faith and desire to not hesitate for a second in defending the Deen of Allah made him rush out, without having a chance to make ghusal.

He was granted the great ,great status of a shaheed(martyr) in this battle. When the Sahaba RA reached his body, they found that his body was shining  and clean with drops of water. They could not understand how this was possible.

 (Also the Shaheed isn’t given ghusal and will arise on the day of qiyamah with his blood flowing as marks of pride for what he sacrificed.)

Nabi SAW explained that because he didn’t get a chance to make fardh ghusal, the malaaikah (angels) gave him a ghusal. Thereafter he was given the title of Ghaseelul Malaa’ikah. The one who was bathed by Angels.

Back to Ghas. I thought this was his name in the start. Until I heard one of the Asaatizah call him by his real name. So I turned to Ilyaas ,

“So why do we call him Ghas?”

“Ask Ziad,he gave him that name.” Ilyaas said laughing

“It stands for Ghaseel” Ziad explained when I cornered him.

“Hey Ghas, Nabeel wants to know where you got your name from. “he shouted out as Ghas passed by on his way to the wudhu khana.

Ghas turned purple and hurried away and the seniors laughed like loons.

“You see, when Ghas came here he was like 14 and let’s just say he wasn’t very hygienic. It was a nightmare to sit next to him in class. Whenever it was bathing time,he would go in dry and come out dry. Serious.Even Ramzi asked him to please shave his pits,it was killing us.” Ziad said


“So one day we made a plan like,told him that Mufti Afdhal(That’s the cover up name I’m going to use for our Shaikhul Hadith.)said we all have to come down to the mess at a time when we knew the asaatizah wont be around. We caught him and carried him to the yard. Then some of the guys opened the hose on him and gave him soap. I poured half a bottle of dish washing liquid which we nicked from the kitchen on him.” Ziad was laughing so much he couldn’t talk.

“Man we were mean but we had to do it! Then we made him repeat “I must not cause takleef to the noses of others” and gave him a razor,locked him in the shower and said if he wasn’t shaved when he came out, then we were going to wax him. From that day,you won’t find anyone more cleaner than him,serious!”

“But how did his nic come about?” I asked

“After he got cleaned up,we made him stand on the bunk and Tariq and I held his hands and said we did ghusal bandi of him and from that day his title is Ghaseelul Ulaama! Ha ha ha,got it? The one who was bathed by the Ulama,short form? Ghas,got it?” Ziad wrapped up

I laughed, crazy. No where else will you get crazy like your days here. Alhamdulilah.


on another note. I still do get messages asking me if I am so and so and to contact you, no I am not whoever you think I am. At the ijtima I hear people talking about this blog, funny thing,my friend was amongst them. They thought it was someone else. My intention was not to attract any “whose this guy etc” but to focus on the moral and to provide a real alternative to the unislamic “Muslim” blogs. And one other reason. But if all this blog is going to generate is a guessing game,then I think it’s time to close shop.



I turned the spoon round and round in the pot searching for a piece of meat.The liquid was watery and looked suspect. Uzair glared at me. “Dude can you pass the Dhall already?”

It was Jumah. I missed my Mother right now. Ok I missed her food.

Nabi SAW called Jum’ah “Sayyidul Ayyaam” ( leader of all days)

Before I came to Madressah, I was aware that Friday was important because well because we had to read Jum’ah. We had permission from the school to read at the nearest Musjid. It was special because we had a special thick lunch and not forgetting the sweet dish before and dessert and coke after. Then the Jum’ah burp. And then the sleepy feeling. My sisters would wear scarves too on Fridays for a change and my bro would show his mug. My mind went home,when I was little.”

“Nabeel you can’t watch TV” Mum said

And then to my sisters in their teen years.

“Zakia you can’t read novels now”

And then when I was a teen.

“Nabeel you can’t play video games now”

And when we asked why. Mum always replied, “because it’s Jum’ah , you can watch/ read/play after lunch.”

Woah.Back up here.Jum’ah isn’t Cinderella whose gown went back to rags after 12. Jum’ah doesn’t flee at  around 2pm. My mother didn’t know better then. Jum’ah with all it’s blessings lasts till Maghrib.

Wait a sec.

It seems like the highlight of my Jum’ah was food. Yes.

We have reached a stage where it seems we worship food. We let our women sweat it out in the kitchen going over the top with their red velvets and fresh cream cum icecream cum cheese cum toffee apple cum soji. Ok I exaggerate but you get the point.

 Mother oh mother, while you care so much about our gullets, please care about our akhirah too. Teach us that we won’t die if we eat simple or if ibadah takes priority.

After Jum’ah it was back to classes. It was Shaikh Shifu’s lessons. (I’ll get to later why he got that nic) He was a young ustadh that was unassuming,humble but got you respect without asking for it.Knowwhatimean?

When he walked in the first thing I noticed was he looked like he had make up. Well it looked like that eyeliner thing my sister puts. Later I would find out that it’s called surmah. He also had an amaamah(turban) on. Jum’ah was a big event in Madressah and Alhamdulilah stayed that way for me since. The guys would dress up in their freshly washed kurtas,whip out the surma and ood and put the miswaks in the top pocket. We were given extra bathroom time on Fridays as it is sunnah to make ghusal and you’d see the guys armed with their razors heading to the shower or cutting their nails into the pot plant and ruffling the sand over it.

The dressing up well for Jum’ah is slowly leaving the ummah. Applies to both genders. (No perfume for the ladies though)

“Who read Surah Kahf this morning in Mamoolaats?” Shaikh Shifu queried

“Me…me…me” Many hands went up

“Zubair? Dozing off while someone else is reading is not counted as your own reading” Shaikh smiled

“Aww, it was just the sakinah (divine tranquillity) overwhelming me.” Zubair replied

“I somehow feel when sakeena overcomes you then you won’t be drooling with your mouth open” Shaikh teased him

“Ok Ok I’ll read Shaikh” Zubair replied easily. That was one of the things about that guy. He would readily admit to his faults with a smile. The Asaatizah loved him.

“InshaAllah, Surah Kahf will protect us from the fitan(tests) of Dajjal. Everything,everyday convinces me the time for Dajjal is really close. Allah save us” He said in such a way that made me shiver slightly on a hot day.

Things I learnt about Dajjal.

He does NOT have only one eye. He has a pair of eyes but one is sticking out like a grape. (Uzair said it should be stabbed with a fork.)

The hadith describes his hair to be “like wheat.” Perhaps blonde.

Many women and jews will follow him.

Music will lure people to him like the pied piper did. He will move around playing this music and once you go to see who is playing it,you will  not return to your home. Therefore please make it a habit not to go to the window when we hear music parades passing by.

His culture will be established before him. It is a culture of lies. The movies,the TV,the media=lies.

May Allah save us and make us either dead before he arrives or from the army of Imam Mahdi,Ameen.

Please remember to read abundant salawaat on our Beloved Sayid RasulAllah SAW. May Allah protect us from the fitan of Dajjal. Let’s keep Friday clean and sin free? InshaAllah. Perhaps we may not get another .


the part; the four-


Nu’maan sneered at me. “You really are stupid aren’t you?” “Hey this is all new to me dude!” I shouted after his retreating back. Damn it.
Later that night,just before lights off.( Lights off was when the whole boarding used to be dark because the mains were switched off and everyone was compelled to sleep.) Only later did I come to know not everyone exactly followed that. A time would come when I would ruin my Madressa studies by becoming one of Those boys.

“Ramzi,guess what? Today we did something crazy!” I said eyeing him eating a delicious looking concoction. “Bismillah,what was it ya Nabeel?”
“Idhaafah! Like I still don’t know what the heck the baabs are all about and now they hit us with that! This is a mudhaaf and that is a mudhaaf ilai,like what the hell?”

Ramzi motioned me to sit next to him. “Bring a pen and page, I think it is time we conquer the baabs. Give to me any word besides he one male did.”
“He one male farted?” I said hopefully

“No,other word, how about the word Look? Na’am?” but we will use it in dual

“Ok fine” I sighed willing my brains to stay alive.

“Nazharaa, They two males looked. They is in DUAL. Immediately you know the word is referring to 2 people because it has an alif at the end. If it was singular it wouldn’t .

“And if it was plural?” I questioned, the light slowly creeping in

“Then it would be Nazharoo just as Fa’aloo. They make us learn these scales so we use it as a what you say?…template for other words yes. If the word is Nazharat then you know it is female because it has a TAA at then end,this has no Taa so you know it’s Masculine so you say They 2 MALES and the word is in past tense and means Look so it becomes, THEY 2.MALES.LOOKED.Let’s use another word now…”

Ramzi continued explaining patiently to me while I ate my Maggi 2 minute noodles. A Darul Uloom staple.
“Thank yoooou! Gracias! Ramzi I got it! I got it! At last!

Ramzi just shook his shoulders in that humble style of his and said “Ma mushkila(no problem)but say JazakAllah Khair,may Allah reward you with good. it is a dua for a Muslim while thank you means nothing”
“JazakAllah khair! Hey Ramzi before Nu’maan comes,why is he so faulty? He said he’s Salafi and wanted a response from me I think.
What’s a Salafi?”

Ramzi sighed. “ Salafi is someone who doesn’t follow any of the 4 A’imma(Imams) ,and this is a Deobandi Madressah so he doesn’t feel very comfortable here and sometimes the teachers don’t feel comfortable with him,some of them”
“Err what’s a Deobandi? Is it a sect?” I had never came across the word before.

Ramzi looked at me. ‘no it is not a sect, Darul Uloom Deoband was one of the major Madressahs in India.It made Islam stable there na’am.Many from all over the world came to study there and opened up Madressahs all over in the same system of teaching. Including this Madressah, that is why all graduates of these Darul Ulooms are called Deobandi ,we will be too when we graduate to some extent”

“So what’s Nu’maans issue?”

“Well Nu’maans father was Salafi and the Deobandi and Salafis have some very strong differences. That’s the problem and you see you Nu’maan is …”

“Ok ok enough I’m getting bored now. Tell me more another day” I said yawning and stretching. Just on cue the devil I walked in with a scowl on his face. What’s new. If only I had heard Ramzi out before judging Nu’maan.

The lights went off and we all got into bed.

“Hey Ramzi, why don’t you read Salaah properly?” I asked in the dark.
“Matlab,meaning?” He gently asked back.
“I saw you lift your hands in Salaah more than once. I thought you’d know better since you’re a senior”
(yeah i was quite a moron)

The room burst into sniggers.
Nu’maan snorted. “Stupid Deo”
“Shut Up”
“I’m Shaafi Nabeel. That is our method of reading salaah. It is called rafa yadain”

I felt embarrassed as heck. Why did I not know so much??? Tomorrow I was going to ask my Ustadh what was a Shafi and that Yadain thing about.

Thursday night! Much anticipated and welcomed in Madressah. We got off from Muta’lah as classes resumed after Jumah the next day. I waited in line with the foreigners to make a call home. It was so weird using a call box for the first time.My cellphone was kept with one of the Asaatizah(teachers)

I called Mum first because I missed her the most, spoke to Dad who acted like using the phone was going to kill him so that was a short convo before the threw the phone at Nana.

“Take care beta and remember to practice everything you learn”
“Yeah yeah. Remind Mum to send my food stuff up with Zubair please. I’m dying without my snacks and some of these guys are real misers, they bring stacks and don’t even share their chocolate wrapper”
“ Don’t forget to share when you get your parcel.”
I made a mental note to gobble up the goodies in Nu’maan’s face. I’d share the aroma with him.Mwuhahah.
“and Yusuf called asking how you were. Phone him”

I put the phone down. Over here, away from everyone. My other life seemed so far away. My friends didn’t understand when I told them I had to enrol here. They were torn between laughter and shock and I was still pissed about them mocking me. Except Handsome of course who was his usual irritatingly encouraging self. I thought longingly of the girl I left behind,Zahira…and Shakira and Yumna and whats her name.. of course I didn’t think longingly of them! I was just 18,we don’t do emotions then. Leaving them was easy A. Yumna cried when I told her I’m going, that was great for my ego but awkward.I can’t handle my sisters crying leave alone a girl whose just my passing phase.Or as Mustafa used to say “meri timepass hai bhas bhai” (she’s just my time pass bro)
I did miss all the attention from my time-passes though.

I decided not to call Handsome. The truth was…I was kinda jealous of my own best friend. He got his dream. Was cracking it at campus. Having fun.And me? I was trapped here using a bloody callbox, in this century.

The part; the three

“ And this is the dorm.” Fadhal said opening the door to a sparse room that had military looking lockers and 4 sets of bunks.

I was here to enrol at Madressa and came with my folks for a sort of orientation.

I felt a bit queasy looking around the dormitory. I would be trapped here for four months before the first holiday! No beach! No cellphone! No movies! No sunshine! Ok I exaggerate that bit. Thinking of all that made me feel like the prison walls were closing in on me. I mean Madressa walls.

I can do this. It’s just a year and then I’m the hell outta here.

A while before.

“So our deal is that you spend at least one year in Madressa Nabeel and after that you can carry on if you want or you can got to university. Or you carry on with university and you pay me back your registration amount.”

Nana said with a straight face as if he didn’t know quite well that I didn’t have money of my own to even pay back the tuckshop. Damn this old blackmailer. I thought over it. Ok well I didn’t really have much choice did I?

Anyways how bad could it be? I aced Grade 12 without thaat much effort. I thought modestly, how bad could Madressa be? I’d breeze through it with my eyes closed.

“What the fff…”  I exclaimed looking at my Sarf  (Arabic morphology) book.

“don’t say it” murmured Ramzi my roommate from Palestine.

“I don’t understand a thing! It’s madness this. Fa’ala,fa’alaa,fa’aloo..” My head spun with memorising it. I still had so much more homework to do And still tackle Urdu which surprisingly I didn’t find That bad but bad. As for the farsi? Sheesh. They were killing me and my brains slowly but surely.

“Easy for you Ramzi, this is your first language. I can’t make head or tail,it’s giving me a freaking migraine! Fa’ala- He one male did? What the heck is that supposed to mean? Doesn’t even make sense! I Hate this! What did the he one male do?       ”

“Ta’aal Nabeel. I’ll help you. It seems very hard at first but it won’t always be like this believe me akhi.”

“Don’t akhi me. I’m telling them I want to leave”

“Okay”,soothed Ramzi. “you do that but first finish your mutal’a”(-homework/prep for the next days work)Everything in Arabic is easier because the word depends on whether it is singular or plural,male or female,past or present. You will get it. Don’t get frustrated. That is from shaitan. Salli alar Rasool.”

During my time with Ramzi ,there were many times where I heard those words from him. “Salli alar Rasool” (Send Salaam on RasulAllah SAW) as an antidote to soothe the jagged edges of frustration, anger, sadness or despair. And when my heart stood still to open to such advice. It worked.

The door banged open.

“Chalo,it’s time for Maghrib and Mamoolats” Mustafa called out in his loud accent. Mamoolats was the practise of reading the surahs of the night- Waaqiah and making zikr. On my first day I leaned over and asked Uzair my classmate “What the heck are they saying?” It sounded like the buzzing of demented bees,so fast, you couldn’t hear the words!

“3rd kalima” Uzair said. “and 1st and istighfaar”

These are supposed to be part of our daily practices. But make it like you mean it. Not mechanically.

We were 8 in our room.

Ramzi-  from Palestine. Mustafa from India. Ilyaas from South Africa. Qaasimi from Malawi. Then there was Tahir,Ziad and me whose nationality I wont mention and my nemesis, Nu’maan  from Syria, his dad was Syrian and his Mum was English.

Nu’maan was in 2nd year and was the type of guy who always seemed to be spoiling for a fight. In class we were always encouraged to have “adab.” (Respect) for our teachers. So one day while we were on our way to our mutaa’la session in the hall, I heard him swear one of the Asaatiza (teachers). I was taken aback “Hey you cant talk like that about the Asaatizah dude!”

He looked at me condescendingly. “why don’t you shut up little creep, you know shit”

I would later come to know he had a major argument with his Ustadh because the importance of taqleed was being discussed.

Nu’maan said, still looking at me as if I was a grasshopper. “Do you know what I am? I’m a Salafi,we do authentic dude,A u t h e n t i c . If I could help it there is no way I’d be here.” I was obviously missing something here.

I looked at him confused. “ Wow is that like a branch of the Arab royal family or something?


the part; the two


I threw myself on Prakash’s sofa muttering how my life was ruined. Prakash was my friend from primary school days.

Woah, you mean become like a holy man? Like a Moulana?

Yeah Prakz. Sucks dhall right? (that means terrible for the unschooled in odd slang)

That’s hectic man. Will you be allowed to watch movies with me and stuff still after you become one?

I could see that was his primary concern since I always bailed him. He always just happened to lose his wallet whenever we went to the movies.

That’s the problem Prakz! I won’t be able to do so many things! Moulanas can’t go to the movies or to parties or listen to music, I’d find it weird if I saw any of them doing that. My life’s over!!

Yeah that’s way hectic man eish. Why don’t you just tell them no way Jose.

Nabeel ! Prakash’s granny ambled into the lounge. Why you boy’s don’t come watch with me? I got a nice Shah Rukh film on

Thanks Aunty but not today

You’ll so boring like that. Prakash did you get the ghee for my prayer lamp? Please go and get my stuff ready, just now it’s time for my prayers

I started getting a bit uncomfortable around this point. I read most of my salaah  though I wasn’t a very pious Muslim and got irritated when my sister told me I spend too much time at a non Muslims house for the safety of my imaan. What the hell did she mean? Now I understand. Our Imaan is like a thermometer,the temp will go up and down according to our environment.

 Al mar’u alaa deeni khaleelihi. A man is upon the deen of his friend.

A friend isn’t always someone we interact with but can apply to someone who we spend alot of time watching on screen or listening to. It affects us. 


I couldn’t think straight since Nana threw that ultimatum at me. Emotional blackmailer. He was home now. I went over to him watching Mum settle him in bed.

Nana…I need to ask you something… Err…Do I still need to go to Darul Uloom? Since like…since…

Since I never die? He asked me dryly.

Well yes I mean it was like a bit of an anti climax I said laughing. Nana laughed too. Luckily we had a great relationship or I would have got a black eye for rudeness.

Before my folks rushed Nana to hospital, he fell and on the way to the floor hit his face on the edge of his draw,thus when Mum found him , there was blood oozing out of his mouth. Mum went hysteric and assumed the worst. However what Did happen was a mild stroke. Although he was fine now, his movements were a bit jerky and slow. I ignored the slight pull at my heart.


Yes you still need to go. You promised. He eyed me under his bushy brows.

Daamn, Nana I thought you were going to kick it. Everyone was like reading and crying, I’d like heartless if I said no right

Sometimes I wonder if you’re really my blood,What is really your goals Nabeel? Yes I know you going to tell me to get rich and own a Bugatti but is that really a goal and you can’t get rich by sitting infront of your computer playing games or loafing with your friends,Beta you can’t even take the name of Allah without looking uncomfortable. Think of that. go now I’m tired

A few days later.

I had left for a holiday with my friends as a last fling before we all started the next year.

Yusuf appeared next to me. Nutella for your thoughts? He said offering me some. I stuck my finger inside broodingly.

You and me were supposed to go to campus together Handsome. It was going to be a blast. I mean how awesome is it that we both applied and got accepted  at the same faculty at  the same University? And now my plans are Ruined! Damn it Nana!

Err…he’s not here you know. Anyways what’s so bad about becoming an Alim? I know you had this vision to be the next Muslim John Pilger ( we had applied to study Media and Comm) but I think you’ll be doing a far greater work as an Alim, you will affect hearts.

So why the hell don’t you become one killjoy? I muttered striding off into the tempting waves with my board. My passion was the beach,the surfing,the wipe outs.

Yusuf cut through a delicious looking wave and stood next to me. What is it that you’re really afraid of Nab?

Change. I am afraid I’ll have to change and be good and holy, you know?

My eyes passed  over the endless  ocean, my friends up the craggy cliffs and my phone on the shore with fresh messages from the hottest girls. I couldn’t give up this fun. This awesome life. No way! I was going to make it clear to Nana as soon as I got back

A week later.

I stood stubbornly infront of my family,hands crossed defensively over my chest.

Nana calmly looks at me; Dont scold him Rukaya..fine Nabeel …you don’t want to go? Okaybut I’ve got a deal for you.



Asalamu Alaikum

JazakAllah Khair for the support. Overwhelmed and thankful. To every reader. Alhamdulilah

The object of this blog is to take a lesson and to also be cautious from the signposts here that we might also happening see in our lives.

I will not reveal who I am, where I am from or which Madaris/ Campus I attended as That is defeating the purpose of this blog. It’s not about me. So to those who commented with such queries, I appreciate you took the time to comment but I didn’t let it go through because I don’t want it to get personal.

Also, the izzat of my fellow travellers will be protected by staying anon.Therefore when you read of someone that might seem familiar, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Don’t think too hard. 

This blog is open to compliments And criticism, however keep both decent.

Being an avid reader and hearing of this and that blog, led me to read up on some of them. While some impressed me, the content of the others which seem like rip off’s of a hollywood/bwood series. Disturbed much. Is the new ambition of the youth to party ,shop,get a girl or a guy? Bhas? 

 Will this be turned into a book you ask? Highly doubt that but never say never. (doubt it again,I don’t think this is novel material) but to all those who want to make a diff by writing Islamic lit, I say go get your dream because there is a space for it and for all those mafattias(freebie lovers) that swear you for it?  Don’t bother. When you offered it for free, they took it.

Lastly I may not always be able to reply to everyone that comments but it certainly is appreciated.

InshaAllah next post up early tomorrow. Busy. Our place is elsewhere on a Fri night.

Wa maa taufeeq illah billah


The Part, the one

I looked out of the window, anxiety creeping up my stomach like a slow snake. I nearly jump out of my sweaty skin everytime the phone rang.  My hands were still shaking from last nights “activities”. My first ‘trip’ and I couldn’t handle it? Man up I reprimanded myself annoyed.

Night before

We were at our Post Matric party, not the lame  “Debs” but the Real party the one that rocked later on that night when you feel like a bird about to fly across vast wide plains of freedom. Ha Ha…yeah right.

I hid the slight awkwardness I felt in the room smogged up by weed and crack by plastering an “I’m so cool, I got this” smile on my face like I was a the pope of dope. The thumping music reverberated throughout the house, shaking the walls with its sickening doof doof, at that time I thought it was cool. Sad me.

“Hey bro, try this, you’ll fly kasam. Just once.”Samir handed me a tray with a powdery line, giggling like he lost his marbles. Which he actually had,thinking of it.

Looking back why did I not have the guts to say no firmly and get the hell out of there? Why did I actually not stay away from the party totally? We think we’re so strong.Where there’s a fire burning, you going to get some smoke clinging to you. Let’s not fool ourselves otherwise. What is Taqwa? It is staying away from where your Maula should not see you where you shouldn’t be.

I looked over at Yusuf my bra. He made a slashing motion against his neck. I weakly found myself saying; Nah thanks I’m cool Sam. After a few more “just once” I gave in.

A mother sized headache greeted me when I awoke,sprawled on the floor. There was a couple next to me making out shamelessly in a full room. She wasn’t even his girl.Friends with benefits I guessed. A small group of girls huddled in a corner, snorting coke and laughing hysterically. The same girls who acted like Gino Ginellis. Hanifa, the one with the crooked nose  saw me awake and nasal’d;

Hey Nabeel, you look like the dogs breakfast

Shut up Pinocchio , you look like the wicked witch of the west, why don’t you use your nose to hang clothes on. I was witty neh? Not.

She shot me a dirty look and turned back to her fellow witches.She was just rude because I shut her down when she made a move on me.Little did I know then, I would encounter Hanifa again in later years under very different circumstances.

They had put their delicate toes in a very murky pool of destruction for the first time that night. Some would lose their chastity that night, some would get high and some would get drunk but by the time we all got home the next day, we all sobered up and looked scrubbed…of our black marks of guilt. No trace. But within the heart a roaring volcano of sin and the ripping apart of a beautiful youth.

PARENTS,WAKE UP! (do parents  of teens read blogs?)When your innocent girl who just finished her matric or your son who bicharo ,was so stressed during his finals, is saying he/she is sleeping over at a friends house the night of the matric party? 99% of the time. They aren’t. Open your daughters overnight bag, why does she have those skimpy clothes inside? Why can’t your boy come home early? And oh no, a house party isn’t always innocent. Believe me. I was at one that night.

A faint mosquito noise cuts through the buzz in my head, my phone’s beeping non stop with text messages from my Mum and Sabiha. Sabiha the pretty hazel eyed girl I’d been making a play for.Little vixen finally decides to acknowledge me. Why was I so disrespectful of females? Looking back I shudder at the teen me. The texts keep coming and I can’t deal , the next thing I hurl all over myself.

Yusuuuuf!! Yusuuuf !!Haandsome!!!

Yes that was our nick for him because , how do I put this diplomatically ? Far from handsome as can be. His face was covered in pimples till you could hardly see skin and he had a bad overbite but Yusuf being Yus, never felt bad, or so we taught.

You idiot. Yusuf says as if he’s complimenting me. He’s driving me home while I retch painfully in the back and for some reason start singing off key.

Handsome had left the party once it started getting hectic. I mistakenly called 5 people including my Dada’s sister  before managing to get to his name on my phone. That’s how spiked I was.

Shut up.

Ok Dad.

Shut up again. You shouldn’t have let them pressure you. Why so weak man? Get up now,we’re almost at your house. Hey why are there so many cars at your house at 3am?

Oh Shite! I’m going to get caught.

But no one was interested in me. For now. There was someone being carried out in a stretcher to the foreboding looking ambulance.

The phone rang again. Nabeel,come to the hospital now! Nana wants to speak to you.

An hour later I’m sitting there with Nana’s frail hands in my young ones.

Nabeel, he croaks.

I’ve never asked you for anything beta but tonight I will, Promise me you will become an Alim.

Say Whaaa????

All these years later, I think of how my head shook in agreement to something I had never envisioned for myself, even though I wanted to scream nooooo, don’t ruin my life!!!.

My years in a Darul Uloom were happy, sad, good ,bad, mind freeeing,heart shattering ,brilliant, dark, awesome but one thing it never ever was for a single moment, was ,boring.