Practicing humility

With every passing day, I am increasingly thankful to my mother for many of the religious threats that she used to give us as children. Although not always entirely rational, they instilled in us habits that are difficult to unlearn. I remember her constant refrain that if we ever left any food on the plate, it would anger Allah as we would be disrespectful of his rizq. And that he withdraws His blessings from those who are disrespectful of them. I eventually learned to eat everything that was offered to me, with thankfulness that Allah had chosen to provide for me that day, and I always finished my food even if I didn't always feel like it. Leaving food on the plate was almost unacceptable.

These days, I notice that many people have become choosy about food, or about not eating left overs. It is not only a matter of taste, but also of affordability. Can we afford to throw food away? Can we afford to be choosy about what we eat? Is it really that unhealthy to eat food left over from a day before if the other option offered to us was to eat nothing at all?

Allah has made man weak. From one weakness stems another; from our weakness to consider that we are the masters of our own dining tables, we are led to believe that if we can afford to, why shouldn't we be choosy about food? From that comes the very troubling thought that we are capable. We have worked hard to be where we are, and therefore it is our right to be choosy.

Today, after many years, I was reminded of things my parents used to say and ended up seeking Allah's forgiveness in a stream of tears. For my mother, being choosy about food or calling it names (I would include both "junk food" and "left-overs" as derogatory names, depending on how they're used) was a sin. How could we be so dismissive about food when millions went hungry? And for my father, thinking that what we had was ours was a sin as well. He once sat me down and told me that every bit of money that he had earned was attributable not just to his hard work, but largely to Allah's blessings. Did we not know of many other people who worked hard and yet went to sleep hungry? Did we not know of others who had not had similar opportunities in life despite being smart? How could we then consider this money as ours? It was nothing more than a blessing from Allah.

In that one talk, he made me realize that man without Allah is nothing but a hollow container. Do I owe my intelligence to my brain? Do I owe my hard work to my limbs? Is there anything that I own or possess that I can be proud of? Can I be proud of my parents, or of my children? Can I be proud of my family situation or my talents? And those questions gave rise to many what-if scenarios and of the power that the Lord of Kun Fayakun has. If he takes away my limbs in an overnight accident, what will I be left with? If I suffer an illness that makes me neurologically senseless, what brain may I boast of? Are either my parents or my children of my choosing? Is my money the reward of my hard work?

Hollow. Nothing but hollowness resounds.

The truth is, man's weakness makes him proud. Pride creeps into our beings ever so slowly, and we begin to internalize it. We develop tastes, style, standards. We boast of our riches, of our ability to afford good things to wear, of our talents and skills. We start being possessive about our belongings because we are misled to believe that they truly belong to us. But all that we really are, is weak. 

It is Allah's blessings alone that keep us afloat, and allow us to benefit from so many luxuries in life. If I were to utter an Alhamdulillah with each breath, that would not be enough. Every time I bend my head in prayer, I am reminded of my incapacities, of my lack of really having anything at all. And that is when I beg Allah to save me from the harmful delusions of pride, particularly, since I have nothing to be proud of.

I am a weakling, my Lord who has reached where I have because of Your blessings. If You wanted, You could take it all away in the blink of an eye. And if You wanted, You could multiply it for me manifold overnight. Oh my Allah, allow me to be humble in life, to always seek goodness in others and to remember that I am nothing more than what You choose to make me. Please save me from thinking that there is anything in this world which is not worthy of me, because if You choose, You can show me my worth any day. Allow me to always strive for simplicity and to be content with less. And yet, with the countless blessings that You do have, bless me with surfeit so that I may dedicate myself in prayer to You, and spend in Your way with ease.

And Ammi Abbu, thank you both for always keeping us humble. Ammi, for reminding me after every exam that I aced that I couldn't boast but should only thank Allah, and Abbu for always being generous with his money because it was never his to begin with. Pray for us, that the tree of our life may blossom and grow heavy with fruits of every kind and in doing so, make us only increasingly humble.  

Bringing praying back.

There is a constant reminder in the Qur'an, telling us to be steadfast in our prayers, or as many an Urdu sticker would say, "Namaz qaim karo". It is a verse that we are so used to reading that oftentimes, many of us who get stuck at almost every other line in the Qur'an will read this one over smoothly, "Wa aqeem-us-salaata..."

For the past couple of weeks, I have tried to do exactly this and I feel that it is not only us who have to be steadfast in prayer, but also that praying regularly makes us steadfast. There is a constancy in praying five times a day that almost nothing can take away from you. No matter how grave the events of the day have been, you go to sleep in peace because you know that you have a God to wake up to. There is a beauty in supplicating yourself to the Lord of "Kun Fayakun", the Allah who has always blessed you and who makes you autonomous from every human being. This is the only form of supplication, the only lowering of the ego, the only form of asking that does not denigrate human dignity, but instead increases it. It is a vent for our expectations to the one being capable of fulfilling them all, so that you stop having expectations from people. There is something strongly elevating about praying; it takes you to the above and beyond where people's remarks, their actions and their circumstances which may ordinarily have effected you or hurt you, become inconsequential. For me, prayer is what makes me steady, happy and most of all, independent. Prayer is what keeps me happy and disaffected. It is what makes me regard this world as only a temporary abode; it is what makes me sensitive to people's situations and personalities and allows me to be less hasty in judgement. Most of all, it affords me a conversation with Allah, the best of friends.

Prayer has indeed been made a coolness for my eyes.

To me, Islam's greatest gift to humanity is the routine of the five daily prayers. If a human being can establish that, everything else falls into place. And as my belief from my teenage days goes, it only takes you forty days of praying incessantly to form this habit. And once you start, it is so addictive that it is difficult to step away from it. I had almost forgotten how humbling it is to face Allah, to lower your gaze, to beg Him to keep you from going astray, to praise Him, to be reminded of his numerous blessings, and most of all, to pester Him with requests, to supplicate and to ask for more than your own desires, because you know that His ability to bless supremely exceeds your capacity to dream.

Every Ramadan since I turned 11, and completed the first reading of the Qur'an on my own, I have tried to gain something new from the month. This year, although I have been unable to fast, I am trying not to gain something new, but to regain something very dear that I had lost over the course of the last year. I am trying to regain the utter joy of being Allah's servant before I am anything to anyone else. At the brink of motherhood, this is an emotion which is even more difficult to commit to, but somehow, I know that it is the only natural state of being in which I can ever be truly happy, and truly removed from caving in to the falsity of worldly tragedies.

May Allah grant me His closeness yet again.
I have only ever been Yours, and everything begins and ends with You, and is nothing but a realization of Your love for me.

Zarra sa tau dil hun, magar shokh itna,
Wohi "lan taraani" sunna chahta hun, 
Yeh jannat mubarak rahay zaahidon ko,
Ke mai Aap ka saamna chahta hun. 

Let me steep myself in Your love to the extent, oh Allah, that I see nothing but You in everything that I do see. That is the only existence worth striving for.

Thank You, for everything.