Cave of the Mind

The rock cave of Mind 
echoes dangerous duets;
swirling dark waters
threaten to drown out desire.

She knows she doesn't belong here,
trapped by worldly mimicry.

In the distance, Love beckons,
the stars come out to play
in folds of inky blue.
Moonlight sends armies of delight
to reason with misty shadows.
But Mind is the treacherous Ruler of this Kingdom,
mocking imagination and free spirit.

Broken, heart sheds hope.
Soul seeps through her eyes
to be freed of precious delusion.


S Hassim (C) 2013

Gratitude, Love and Life

On May 5, 1928 a baby girl was born to Muhammad Osman Ghoor and his young wife Mariam Tayob out in the sleepy Transvaal town of Potgietersrus. Born as second to an older brother, she would grow up to be the eldest of five more sisters and five more brothers. Today, 84 years later, I revere her influence and inspiration in my life. She is my beloved grandmother, restfully living her reflective days in Durban, SA. This is why the east coast city holds just so much fantasy for me, I admire and envy it for the job it has to have my granny living there.

Ma calls us the cream of her life, because she says, children are the milk of life, and so grandchildren are the 'malaai', i.e the cream of the milk; the delicacy, the luxury as it were. I last visited her in Durban in mid-Feb, and so a visit is long overdue, and she shared with me that she had begun writing down her thoughts about her life, not so much memories or autobiographical accounts, but rather reflections on the journey. And then she sent me to the drawer where I would find the notebook and bits of card on which notes had been scribbled in her signature, classic scrawl. She asked me to read them out loud, and I did, stopping every so often to ask a question or to listen when she prompted me to, so as to give her a chance to add or annotate her notes.

I'm thinking about those notes now, and wondering how much more she has gotten to pen in the last few weeks. It's such a thrill to know that she's actually writing! I hope the muse will allow me the luxury to do so for the next 50 years :)

Happy Birthday, to my darling grandmother. May the Beauty we love in you always inspire us to generate more of it in the work that we do, in the love that we share, in the life that we live.

This Jade

Jade is a stone,
I once heard someone say.
Light bounces off it
in an opaque, soapy way.

And I turn it in my hand,
And marvel at its stoical feel,
colour, disaffection

And then I show it to you,
tinkling voice and shiny eyed you.

You marvel, too
turning it in your hands,
curious, intrigued, and then nothing.

And, of course, I should've known
what would happen next:

It melts.

This Jade turned in your hands
is now a liquid gem;
opaque, soapy,
bouncing light,
but glassy, fluid,
like my eyes
reflected
in yours.

Madeeha on Writing...

My niece, Madeeha will be four next month.
Yesterday she asked me, 'So, masi, why did you go to Cape Town?'
'I went to a writer's convention,' I said, watching her in wait for what was certainly to be a volley of questions.
'What's a con-ven-shun?' she asked carefully.
'A place where writers get together and talk about their work. So, I talk about my work, and other writers talk about their work. And we sit around looking at these beautiful mountains surrounding us, and then we feel like writing some more, and so we write!' I said with a big smile, thinking that's probably the best way to describe it to a toddler-type.
'Oh,' she said. A serious look adorned her face. 'Well, you should tell them that I'm a writer, too!' she exclaimed. 'And so I should come to Cape Town with you, the next time they all go there, so I can talk about my work!'
'Uh-huh!' I said. 'You're right. You should!'
And then she smiled. It's a deal. A done deal by the look and sound of it.

I wanted to go to the library when I was four, and so Mum took me. I had my first encounter with Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit, there. Madeeha, wants to go to a writer's convention so that she can talk about her work ;)
I love this little girl!

xoxo

key: masi - aunt (mother's sister)

Mustafa

How insane is this passage of time?
About a year ago, my sister and I were running around getting 'last minute things' done; visiting a friend who we'd intended to visit as she had been widowed after a car crash, packed my bags as I was leaving for Cape Town before the end of week, and done other basic errands; we'd even managed to get a lunch outing in along with some shopping. Later that night, she went into labour and in the early hours of the next morning, 25 May 2010, my nephew, Mustafa Ebrahim/Gaba was born.

I'd had a dream about him just that evening. I dreamt that I was in a meeting and that I was introducing a tall suited man beside me as my nephew :)

And today, just past his first birthday (amid a week long celebration between grandparents and the rest of us), I'm sitting here wondering, where did this year go to?

All I can be certain of is the greatness of life, love and precious moments. And full appreciation for the gifts that come our way.

Huda - Rightly Guided

I'm not sure that we truly take into account the wonders of birthing until a child is cradled in our arms. Tiny perfection exists in quite that way: in the form of a newborn. Huda, my newest niece, was born after much contemplation at 16h51 pm on Thursday, 24 Feb. A daughter for Sarfaraaz and Amina, and a baby cousin sister for Madeeha and Mustafa, the reason I say 'after much contemplation' is because Amina carried to full term (40 weeks) and experienced a long 16 hour labour with immense effort from brave mum and extremely courageous baby girl. Also, it did seem as though baby was contemplating her entry into the world.
And so she finally made her arrival amid two sets of thrilled grandparents, and of course parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and extended family members all in all.

She's beautiful What else can I say? Or need I even?
God is Great.

And another fabulous February person has arrived! :D

xoxo

City of many seasons

There must be
something
powerful,
and beautiful,
something rather enigmatic,
about seeing the city
that you live in
turn so many shades,
show so many colours,
reveal various personas
as the seasons wash over it.

In that place that you call 'home',
sober autumns might be followed by
a bright white Christmas;
and scented springs followed by
a vibrant, raging summertime!

But, what if the same can be said of
the person that you love?

What then?

Sober moments, rare and fleeting might be
followed by blinding cold,
the winter of your Love.
Fragrant love-making, impassioned or sweet,
followed by the storms of a violent retribution.

They say that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

Either way, the seasons still wash over it;
over that place you call home.
And rest assured,
the Master Painter forever waves
a kaleidoscopic paintbrush
over that city
of your dreams.

Greedy for Air

I've been enjoying my round of fiction reads this month.

Just last week, I got through "The White Tiger". Much can be said about a book that openly reveals that greed and survival are really not the same thing. The human mind forever fascinates me. The limits we place upon ourselves, as well as the new frontiers that are challenged in those finite boxes of sanity and insanity are largely unexplored. There are, I believe, yet to be seen examples of how much the potential of the human mind will surprise and enthrall, and yes, even horrify the 'clanging masses' rest of us.

Taking from the White Tiger, although situated in India, the story has echoes of relevance for South Africa; not just from an 'Indian' point of view, but also if we were to take both a human and then even an inhumane outlook. Okay, let's not pretend that we're one swathing mass of loving humanity; there are amongst us those who will sell their mother's left hand given the right blend of conditions.

Writer's like Adiga are adept at bringing that 'potential' of the inhumane human to the fore; of highlighting the irreverent contradictions of what it is to be a human being. And while I would like to imagine, still, that it takes much of a stretch of the imagination, I know at some rational level, that I would be kidding myself: I had barely put the pages of The White Tiger to rest, when the ET debacle exploded right in our midst. Not even for 7lakh rupees. Just. Dead.
Was it because of years of pent up Hatred?
Was it an act of Love?

I don't really want to know. A human life was slaughtered at the hands of people maimed by his own acts of terrorizing them over years. Do we really reap what we sow? This might be an apt example. Still, a human life is so easily rendered to a bag of bones and flesh and blood that oozes back into the womb of the earth. We're so easily turned back into the clay from which we came.
All material, mortal. There it is again. Mortality looks back from the mirror everyday.

Which brings me to the new book that I am reading, and reviewing, this time, for an Afrikaans paper: 'Say You're One of Them,' by Uwem Akpan. I am just learning, that childhood is a commodity in Africa. Akpan brings this idea to life in his book.

And. midway through the book, I am blown away. Now to scrape and claw for some moments of objectivity. Watch this space.

S

fail to see

you say that you cannot find me

and here i am
where i've always been

i am the poet

i am the ink

i am the bark of the tree

and that blade of grass

i am the wispy cloud
the gravel on the road
the hay stack

and the humming bird

i am the poem
and the pebble

and inevitably,
i am the rock.

i am also the
person looking
out the window
every now
and then

just
in case
you come home
again.

sparkiness, samoosa crackle and family love

I am sitting in complete darkness. The lights went out at 6:20pm; I heard my mom gasp, as the samoosa's shrieked in horror from their pot of sparkling oil. Something had disrupted their little dance routine, for sure! In the mean time, speaking of routines, Madeeha sat on my lap in front of this laptop and wanted to just 'pwess buttons, masi'. Simple request. She is mesmerized by the wonders of the internet, and she's only almost two. Anyway, so the downing of lights was enough to take our attention away from magic kissing hearts, dancing bears and talking birds online.

Scattered around the house, I could hear the shuffle of feet looking for candles. My sister, Madeeha's mom, Dilshaad, sought out baby. Baby is most comfortable. Of course. Back in my room, we had discovered scented rose candles and set those alight. And baby wanted to help me. Lovely. Guided by the light of my mobile phone, we walked across to the living area. Oil still crackled on defiantly, anouncing its heated state long after the electricity cut. Samoosa's bore the brunt of this affair: browning on one side and remaining an uncooked white on the other side. What a waste. Unless you're okay with artistic re-renderings of the fried hors d'oevre.

Still, we totter about in wonder of what might be going on. Bills paid. Mains in order. Now what? Darkness is also a moment to reflect on things unreflecting.
My sister in law remembers that she misplaced her own mobile phone. Using the last of my battery power I dial hers in a rescue mission effort. Found it! The games on it will help with the mundane sitting around and waiting to see what transpires. This here laptop will last a few hours until the battery gives up from sheer exhaustion, and the 3-G modem is helpful as ever now that the adsl is down. It's amazing that we survive beyond the glory of electricity. It is a wonder, indeed.

Mums made some calls. Dad and brother have not yet arrived from work, and when they do, they will descend on a home set aside from the city by its stark darkness. But inside it, candles dance to a different tune, and hearts wait warmed by the thought that all will sit around together in this contemplation of life without sparky electric current, yet filled with the charge of love :)

10 or so things I may impart to spawn that might be born someday

1. Read. Starting with The Tales of Peter Rabbit, of course! It will kickstart your imagination.

2. Travel. Because the world is filled with fresh oyster and it's a large percentage of water (dnt want to quote just any ol' stat so this will have to do). And water quenches many Thirsts, of course! ;)

3. Paint. Crayons on walls if you must! Draw. Sketch. Create!

4. Be. Exactly who you are! And precisely who you want to be. Even if that changes every day :)

5. Sing. Because a free voice is a free soul. Even if it's a tune to the rememberance of your Creator.

6. Believe! There is a Higher Power and each living being will construe of such in their own way. There is no other way.

7. Love. Deeply. There is NO other way.

8. Smile. It's one way to share good energy with all around you. And its the least you can do for the wonders that surround us.

9. Breathe. Everything else is a bonus! :)

10. Imagine. The possibilities are endless as the grains of sand on all the beaches of the world.

11. Visit Aunty Kay. She's cool. Really! :)

12. And I think I shan't be the one to teach them how to count to ten. Or how to colour in. Because, as you can see, I rarely stay in between the lines. Sigh.

13. Sigh. Really, because sighs of life are a form of prayer (ibaadat).

I TAG WHOEVER READS THIS AND WANTS TO GIVE IT A GO. OH? AZRA? DD? SAALS? CRIMSON? LADY H? MJ? SEHER? KILLA? DL? NIKKI? SAF? ANYBLOGGIES AND BLOGGERS :)

i got a tan. well done!

i got a tan. on a roadtrip.

im tired.

tired of these

and those.

but super-exhilarated

super duper so

because the view,

the sun, surf and sand

the company of loved ones

and the faces met

were all

so...

exhilarating

:)

bits of broken glass

bits of broken glass
lie in bitter crystals,
reflecting
odds of life
that were never had
accept in the flowing
lines of milk
that look like
a snorters envy
if u don't look carefully...

bits of glass
scattered on
the porcelain floor
were once a part of
something grand;
the pride of the
glass-blower,
the finery of the
lady of the house.

now fluted crystal
lies abandoned;
lacking arrogance,
reeling along
a shiny surface,
looking innocent
but lurking;
waiting for
bare footed carelessness
to trample over glittery specks-
now vengeful,
waiting
to reclaim
the blood and sweat
of it's maker.

bit's of glass
once fit for the mantle
are now turning to dust;
bit's of glass
once found joy in
grandiose delusion
are returning, home
to You.

bringing me 'home'

Waves
crash over reason

my deepest anxieties
uncovered
by the movements not of water
and moon dancing wanton,
but of shifting tectonic plates
far below the
usual realm of
consciousness.

Waves crash
over anything remotely
reasonable

I am. And I am no more.

Content confusion a sacred state almost.
Confused contention a place to
sit and twiddle thumbs
on a fancy laptop
with no
mouse for company.

Just a burning wrist
fit for the chiropractors
skilled
wringing of his own two;
wrists and palms
and teeth, one ivory and one gold.

Spontaneity drowned
in that exchange.
Only more to contend with,
oceans of reason and un-reason
and some pain;
a meddlers chair to sit in
while wrists do their work
on my own.

And a ream of paper waiting
to be branded with
ink and words and someone elses dreams, dashed.

More waves, crashing on the shore
of newer contemplations...

Bringing me home
to simple content
and the space of knowing
that there is
no coincidence...

Only Plan.

For He is the Best;
the Planner.

I can take rest.

STING

- Sting Lyrics

Kareem Salama: Generous Peace

Kareem Salama: Picnics and Sunshine

songs of time and travel

We're a bunch of Idols' fans... So we were watching the Indian Idols on television, and the song from the movie RACE played at some point. And my brother in law remembered Malawi. Yes, it was the Malawi soundtrack :P (We went off to Malawi in March for my brother's wedding).

Especially Pehli Nazar. We had a CD in every car after that. In my brother's car, in my car, in my brother in laws car, in my sister in laws brother's cars. You get the sense of it. Dad had a CD in the home entertainment thingie. It was all over the place. So much so that some of the songs still remind me of my ride to work along the M4, the look of the ocean (remember, I learned how to s-l-o-w down so I could enjoy the view) and navigating the twisty ride along Ridge Rd, of course. Come rain or shine, RACE was a permanent soundtrack for weeks after the Malawi trip. I had the best of the collection. Abdur Rahim made certain of it with the added remixes and whatever else he could find to download ;)

This year went by oh-so-quickly. (Well, come to think of it, so did 2007). Sometimes I feel dizzy just thinking about it. But the songs remain. We heard some other songs today. Songs that remind us of other travels. Like Cape Town. And India. And Egypt. And London. Lol. Oh yea... Kelly Clarkson, Roxette, Savage Garden, Natalie Imbruglia, Enya, UB40, U2!!! A maze of hindi soundtracks stretching the imagination from Yeh Shaam Mastani to Teri Deewani.

There are songs that remind us of childhood. And songs that remind us of school. And songs that remind us of bittersweet days of uni. Awkward moments and exhiliarating moments. Songs for rainy days and songs for scorching summer. Moments in freezing cappuccino drugged days, and moments of hearts gladdened by the quality of togetherness. Some songs played on the Hiveld graveyard shift, others in peak traffic. Oh there are those peak traffic songs for sure! Those save sanity at the bleakest moments. Or they perpetuate insanity enough to survive the chaos, especially when power failures threaten any remaining sense of humour.

Its so easy for something you can't live without to become second rate trash. This goes for songs and dresses :P

Confessions of a Callgirl

I have just stumbled upon this weblog: Confessions of a College CallGirl; the writings are as real as it gets, extremely well-written and emotionally charged. The story of a callgirl in New York City...she uses her blog to get rid of the burdens that sit on her heart and the dust that settles on her soul from her experiences, but then she also has this no-nonsense take on life and survival... one tends to pick up on some amount of self-doubt in her ability to really hold on to a worthwhile relationship (this is beyond the scope of her 'job')..ie. once she's retired. Even so, she speaks of the number of times she has in fact, tried to retire... and the ways in which the tide pulls her back in again...

Factual accounts written here are fascinating in the humanity and necessary compassion evoked by this blogger. The link love leads to what I thought was the most distinguished of her new articles in terms of who she is as a woman. I also enjoyed the style of writing...

evolutionary, my dear

Minds are important things. I just had an evening visit with friends. And we got into this long winded discussion about minds. And survival. Of the fittest, that is. Fittest mind? Fittest soul? Not fittest ego, mind you.

Well it started out because we decided that we should measure some amount of emotional growth or change in ourselves. How, we asked, should we attempt to measure such a thing? Memories gave us a starting point. Then, as we moved along the years bringing us to a kind of resting point in the present day, all we needed to do was look back down the mountain we had climbed and to reflect. Sounds pretty easy hey. There were tons of moments for a laugh or a nice smiley memory. And since life never really lets us forget the stuff we'd rather not remember, yea there was room made for even that.

So many good memories. So many coincidences. So many mistakes. Thank heaven for mistakes! (They say some people marry others mistakes:P) Okay bygones. I can only think of one a relatively long time ago, and even then its only me making fun of things. Life is too short for regrets and what ifs. It is. Or it isn't. Thats as plain as day.

But one thing stands out for me in all of this. People need emotional compatibility. And intellect does not equate to emotional evolution. I have always been intrigued by a sharpened mind and a caustic wit. It takes some doing to be quick on your feet regards life, etc. And adding to that, a deep consciousness of self and humanity. Not ranting raving shows of purgatory. Just real humane respect for self and others. And a conscious disregard for naivete that makes one open to all forms of gross manipulation when you least expect it. Is that too much to ask for? I guess in some cases it is.

And in some cases... My mind, muse and fingers at keyboard are enticed to play a festive music to the stimuli of words and to tap-dance in tandum to the wit and mastery of The Mind. Green Geisha, I need your platform for further posts :P