13. MID SUMMER NIGHT PHOBIA

Might be it was a mid summernight. Dad hauled me out of my bed. Arousing hurriedly like that, I woke up shocked, shivered with panic and lay there staring in helpless bewilderment. It took some   time to get back to my senses and to get back to place and time orientation.

 Owing to summer heat we all used to sleep in the  open on the  mud verandah of our house. My mom, my younger brother and all my three younger sisters. We all used to chat and scare one another about the ghosts, our grand mother would recurrently unzip from her aboundant recollection; the yonder sky the very distant stars and maybe  about  the  heavens  their seven layers and the further  faroff galaxy; while I would be more than immersed in my own fantasy world of fairy tales and Arabian Night tales. The verandah was encircled by small  bushy vegetable plants,of ladies finger,tomato,brinjal,chillies  and thick  green creepers on which moss green and curly snake gourds and country beans would be hanging in clusters. A little further away were the jasmine shrubbery emitting erotic fragrance and trying to envelop you in amorous dreams.

 On the east lay a deep well which, had its own haunting stories; fed the trees, plants and the big neem and mango trees. Behind those huge trees stood hidden the vast dry latrine. The house had all sides mud and earthen walls which domiciled, in their fissures and cavities several horrible insects. Venomous reptiles like wild spiders, scorpions and centipedes; they would be seen pillaging after sundown.  Apart from them the wild rats pig rats and such rodents also would usually poke around the small garden. We were not scared about these little devils and would sleep in the jasmine -fresh nippy and breezy summer air of the neem and mango trees. My dad used his wooden cot as bed, where most late nights he would be seen awake reciting verses from the quraan.

17. NIGHT LIFE IN RAMADAN IN OUR MOHALLA

During the Ramadan, days would be mutely still while almost all night would be alive, with all the healthy activity around the heavily lit eateries, joints and various shops and stalls which would be open until dawn. Of course like a Los Vegas. In los Vegas you must have a precognition of the way the ball bounces. You must be prepared to be clinched, nail down abruptly, on important occasions. You   would have to bury the hatchet and act like a multifunctioning devil to sugarcoat a deal. Here you would not see any of the immoral or aberrant amusement. No scams, no hot pants, no skin tights popping with bedroom eyes batting tempting eyes on you. No boozing .No D&N, no club and no party. No drunken brawl, no hoopla or jamboree. You cannot make the sheets sing, no belly to belly deeds either.

Have you ever been to any Muslim fraternity? Anytime? Men and women boys and children would be seen busy fending for themselves with the Ramadan specific event management with just a single aim to purify their soul their heart and their mind and body.

  The Ramadan committee would be busy putting temporary shamiyanas like the ones you would have seen in the Pollachi shandy. Have you seen the ones in Pollachi?  The biggest ever shandy in Tamil Nadu is Pollachi.  The shamiyanas were for the prospective fasters for the ifthari. The committee would also set up rest house for the hafiz sahib’s stay for the complete sacred month of Ramadan, solemnly.

We all loved the old Moulana Moulvi Hafiz Naseer Ahmed Khan Sahib Professor of Arabic language and linguistics Darul Uloom College of Saharan poor. He appeared rightly cut for what he was, with all the makings of a grim reverential hafiz sahib. He had ready-built inventiveness to illumine, instruct, enlighten and inform in his own homely style with a vivid and arresting presentation of Islamic theology.

16 .MOHAMMEDAN LANE....IN THE MORNING.

These restaurants stood sprawled around the mohallah masjid and along the small, crooked meandering and congested lanes, where we had resided. The lanes were slender where two cycles would not ride side by side, and the open drains skirting on both the sides of our houses with foul-smelling garbage and snaking gutter with stinking shit would without doubt make your stomach sick.

 The lane would be hectic right from the fajr prayer, say close to five in the beautiful morning. Eastern sky would look stunning in her rose colored apparel after a restless amorous night, which would be blissfully hailed by the various early birds like the crows and sparrows flying from far off dens to the house roof tops; cooing and cackling. Small kids sitting all along the dirty drains half naked seen busy attending to morning call fully engrossed in their mischievous conversation, while the women and small girls would be seen in hysterical throng pushing their copper or mud pots at the corporation tap to have all the slow flowing corporation drinking water to themselves.  “Meen!”  “ meen!”…” meene!!!”…  would be what every time and again one could hear  somebody shouting  and speeding past your houses ;and someone else would follow him with the same shouting ,but in different pitch. Old women would stop them and purchase the fish of their choice from them:  sardines, crabs, prawns and rogues would be there aplenty.

The houses wore old and haunted sullen look, giving the impression of badly in need of conservation and repairs. Most houses were around ruinous hundred year’s old, earthen, flakes of lime mortar falling now and then on your head and roofed with dark gray dust mantled Calicut tiles. The exception was the one where Aneesa lived; it was built by her Muscat returned hajeebhai uncle a few years back. Almost all houses would be closed, with soiled curtains hung inside on the putrid entrance and dirty windows.

"Tum kahan,wasl kahan,wasl ke arman kahan
dil ke bahlane ko ik bath bana rakhi hai."

15. SNEAKING OUT OF THE MASJID FOR TEA AND SAMOSA

High voltage Islamic inspirational ghazals of Ustad Ghulam Ali Khan, his melodious number: “Ae Momino Sahri karo Ghaflath se sona Qoob nahee…..” and ever living qawwalis of Mohammed Rafi sahib: such as “Allah tu Dikhade Karishma Quraan ka….” and Sabri Brothers soul filling qawwali “Ae Tajdar e Haram…”used to exert a pull on the locals as well as the newcomers to our mohallah, to the festooned and decorated eating joints. Old and wise such as the Retired Deputy Collector sahib, lofty and emaciated munshi sahib and the naughty young school and college boys with sporting beard  alike would swarm these eateries for hot strong tea, the various lip smacking items of ifthari and the mouth-watering suhoor stuff.

Unable to overcome the tempting aroma, of the pleasing dishes in the eateries, we 

Saleem, Saadath, and Subahan our triumvirate de mohallah would sometime craftily sneak out of the masjid exiting the extensive tharaviah salah to the Royal Restaurant standing cozily between the old Abbas Tailors and the big red old lamp post, on which proudly hung on view the billboard of Nadira and Dilipkumar starring "Aan". We would guzzle hot malai tea with chicken samoosa, arguing over who would shell out the bill and then sail into small scuffling, snatching the collars and sleeves of one another's shirts,and would end up in a small time pulling and pushing. Finally, we would search all our pockets for the available coins and share the payment and would rush back to rejoin the salah with  full taharah , unobserved by the faithful elders, of course to skip their hot, hasty, fervent and fiery remarks.

"Gar zindagi me milgaye phir ittefaq se

poochenge apna hal teri bebasi se ham."

14. WE HAD LIVED WITH THE SNAKES AT HOME.

He took me to his bed and  there was a snake  about two feet and something lying. He took me to his bed and  there was a snake  about two feet and something lying. It did not budge. The way it appeared,  I discerned it was  dead.He had killed it, but he did not say anything. Might be it was Russel’s Viper or Sand boe; might be a Mud snake or Rat-snake  I knew very little about the snakes that time and I was quite unaware if that was a venomous one or not. To my panic,he told me that it was sneaking out of  my pillow,  my blood started cuddling fast. He also said smilingly, I was lucky and it was Allah’s compassion that  it had not harmed me.  He further drew me towards him and compassionately fondling my head he had asked me to recite Ayatul kursi and sleep with no fear with the protection Allah provided. Then my dad hurled away the dead thing and that had landed precisely near my favorite mango tree where  it started fading in the shadows of the night.

 I was thankful to Allah and retired to bed jam-packed of unfamiliar worries taking root in my heart, stealthily staring every now and again in the direction where the snake set thrown, in nervousness,  if any thing would move about towards me, again to harm. Sleep encompassed me little by little, might be after an hour or so everything about me and around me faded into nothingness. I got up next morning more than drained,strangely.  While returning from the bathroom my eyes took me  to the mango tree, and I saw the dead snake half consumed by the crows the ants and our own hens and cock. The thought that we had all along lived with snakes and venomous reptiles even now makes me terrified.

"Mai ne kabhi zid  to nahee kee,par aaj shab
Ae!meh jabeen na ja ki tabeeath udas hai."

12 .RAMADHAN SPECIFIC NETWORK IN OUR MOHALLAH

 New eateries, cafeterias with  awesome multi cuisine cookies and multifarious stalls lit up with dazzling illumination would suddenly come into sight here and there catering to the Ramadan specific needs.  Roadside vegetable stores swelled; piled with blood red tomatoes, moss green beans, red and white radish, Bellary onions small and big, Ooty fresh cabbages, bright turnip, and brand new potatoes from Bangalore; everything set down unsparingly with awfully meticulous care for you only. The entire place was peopled with gorgeous sweet airs, and the place would profoundly reel headlong in luxury and sensuality.

  

The delicious aroma of some such, like the lip-smacking Hyderabadi and Ambur biriyani, of the Bangalore Biriyani Hotel, a few stalls away from the Main Corner Bus stop would be exceedingly enticing you from a fair distance.  My loving dad would usually prefer Dekhani pulav, dalcha, raitha, and parathas, Rumali rotees offered at Bhayan Bhai Non-Vegetarian Café adjacent to Latheef Khan Mutton Stall. Idiappam, chicken kadai, mouth watering mutton fry were what Aneesa, the next-door lonely idol would very much prefer which I only knew.  She was, unlike others, a soul wedded to knowledge, learning, enlightenment and understanding. She definitely knew what I would and would not take pleasure in. Obedient, respectful submissive and dutiful was she to us and especially to my mom. Now and then she would covertly spin a network of her charismatic display of her beauty and talents.

 Yummy shahi koftah and kola puttu, aloo chana subzee, palak panner qurma from Hamza New Biriyani Stall, opposite to old Rettai Pipe ground, would be tempting and alluring even when you would be devoutly doing salah in the  far away masjid. Honestly.

“UMAR DARAZ MANG KE LAE THE CHAR DIN

DO AARZU ME KATGAYE DO INTEZAR ME”

Bahadur Shah Zafar.

11.AZAN A CALL TO PRAYER AND ITS SIGNIFICANCE.

The masjid does not make use of the bells or sirens or play the drums to invite the faithful and approaching praying mass, whereas it uses the Muazzin, the one who calls azan; and he utilizes specifically the most personal medium, his voice.  You might have heard azan calls from a masjid and you would have given no notice to it as a meaningless blah blah. His azan is announced in harmonious vocal Arabic verses.

He proclaims, in his azan, an incantation in Arabic that god is great. There is no one else but god, who is great. Prophet Muhammed his messenger. He then invites you to the current prayer. To the prayer, the muazzin invites you, which is the way to success in this life here and hereinafter.

 The azan is a melodious Arabic special invitation to you to surrender yourself, a few minutes five times a day, to your creator; leaving in the rear all your enchaining, and avaricious humdrum dealings; forcing yourself out of utter frustration, and pressing ambitious bonds to jealousy, suspicion envy and watchfulness. The azan call is said five times a day to put you back in a healed, soothed, consoled and assuaged blessedness under gods own sanctified shelter for a few serene seconds, away and far away from the sufferings and sins; and tensions and turmoil of this depressed and desolate life.

“Thume ghairon se kab fursath, ham apne gham se kab qali

Chalo bas ho chuka milna na thum qali na ham qali.”

Mirza hazrath ali hasrath

10. MERE FOTO KO*******SE YAR ****** LENA FAVICAL SE"

I am sorry! I had already taken Alprazolam(Alprax or Alprazolam I guess, you know what this stuff is) but looked-for a further dose to beat the heat, nervousness and mayhem of the day. Having consumed one as desired, I retreated to bed, with a doubtful hope to feast on sleep. As it was my wont, I resorted to my usual prayers till, ah! my sleep could overtake me. With devotion and deep commitment I started invoking Allah to give health, happiness and freedom from all devouring  depression to my dear daughter, my only alter ego, on this earth my granddaughter, and my loving son in law, my wife and son and his family. My dad would often stress that our prayers should be true and earnest and should ensemble the ones like our prophet and his companions had practiced.

 Hazrath Ali, prophet’s son in law would not hear anything, see anything, and would not even  feel pain on his body or perceive anything once he entered  worshiping . So wholeheartedly and devoutly  I started: “Allahumma antha tara makani antha thasmau kalami,  antha tha’lamu sirri wa alaniyathi, wa ma yaqfa alaika shain min amri; ana baisul faqeer musthagheesul musthajeer wal wajilul mushfiqul muqeer, mu’tharafu ilaika bizambi……”…I continued with added qushoo and tawakkul and I was proudly satisfied  I was able to carry on my prayers as my dad would  have dreamt.

 But regrettably I was sadly conscious of some troubling tunes going on ringing persistently at the backdrop of my sanctified mind. I was shockingly pained to hear “matru ki bijli ka mandola…ho ho ho matru ki bijli ka mandola” again out of the blue the tune changed to:” mere foto ko *****se yar ****** lena fevical se,…. fevical se” now hurriedly and worriedly leaving all my prayer stuff, I started researching from where these upsetting shaithans had been emerging.  Were these from the unconscious mind?  Subconscious? Or pre conscious one? There was disquieting braying and barking noise from next-door bedroom, do not mistake me,  frequently;  turning a deaf ear I concentrated back to prayer afresh:” innaka antha allamul ghuyoob wa innaka antha ala kulli shain qadeer…….” Again I became painfully conscious of the same shaithan “main pareshan   presahan   pareshan…”

"chalne ko chal raha hoon par uski qabar naheen
main hoon safar me ya meri manzil safar me hai."

 

9. POWERFUL POWER OUTAGES DRIVING ME TO DEMENTIA.

I was a bit offended last night. It has become a dirty ****routine nowadays. Honestly, I really detest  being bawled like that, by that smutty old woman, my  pretty strategic partner. You are bally lucky ! your wife does not bite you or bounce upon you with a sickle, or hound after you like the polar bitchy fox to sting with her sweet  teeth. OK!  tum to bade lucky ho yar!! you are safe, I agree. But who knows what is brewing  in your  usual late night weekend party of your "that" girlfriend, or at the eating out table hosted by your "sweet" gorgeous boss. My wife was not like this before. She was a jewel, absolutely accommodating,  extremely sweet to the extent that had made her diabetic, sure!she is after Glycomet 500. I don’t know what ****she thinks of herself! Queen Elizabeth?  Margaret Thatcher? Sonia Gandhiji ? Mayaji?   Or  our Tamil Nadu Ammaji? Does she suppose that I  ah! must  and  "mm!" crouch and lie down and roll over for what all she would drone on; and like Manmohanji walk back (zara idhar udhar hile baghair) like a lifeless robot? Without any gumption? 

 I would rather end up as a ***massager in any ladies beauty parlor than pick and choose filthy wordy brawl with her so often. Bas hogaya yar!! This, her puerile ego, ate my head all heat enveloping night and I could not sleep till two in the morning. See my plight!

 The heat! ****heat!! Oh! It was 107 and my upside was already liquefying. Sweltering, sizzling and scorching. Fans are there and so also A.C; all lazily sleepy. What would they do?But where is power? ***Power outages, my god! are raising roasting firestorm everywhere. I ran from bathroom to kitchen and from kitchen to bedroom alone  like a mad pig rat at the dead night to escape from the hounding  heat, but of no avail. Jayammaji could do well to include a UPS to a house as freebie in her next election campaign.   On top of it my ***system hardly cooperates with me;  it seems she needs more coaxing than my wife, my head already started cracking.  On top of  all this the old servant maid has all of a sudden transformed into a devout angel in this Mariamman festival season; you know what it is like in this sweltering summer! she has started prowling around the temple so very often, rather than seeing her legible service at home. Summer heat, deafening crackers and  "DUM DUM DUM" drum beats( you must see how she dances to the tune of ***drum beats, a lousy pachyderm!!) accompanying the Mariamman devotees amid the howling stray street dogs; all these drove me to the extreme Dementia. Like a fallen warrior I resorted to my daily regimen of drugs for my thirty year old hypertension: Meto.ER. 100, Coversyl Plus 4 and Diapride 500 in the morn. Prozopress xtra, Lipister and Alzolam 0.5 before retiring to my poor bed.

"Accha yaqeen naheen to kishti daboo ke dekh

ek tu hi naqudah nahee zalim qudah bhi hai."

8.WE ARE ALL ONE BEFORE ALLAH

 

The masjid, our place of worship, had always occupied a central place in Islam, and had acknowledged its authority in every Muslim’s life. It had started beginning with him and ever since then seen precipitous growth with him and his life around him.  Every Muslim whether with abandoned hope or abated pride; abiding romance or abjured ambition had seen himself bowing before Allah and had seen himself in communion with his creator in the masjid.He is proud to see himself before his creator.

The mighty emperor and his miserable subject; the luminous scholar as well as the vagrant idiot; the bountiful master and his famished servant; the strong and the weak, the doctor and his patient, the elderly and the small all saw themselves there together as one, before Allah without pride and prejudice. They all stood in awe and bowed and prostrated with reverence while invoking to him, their only master the most beneficent and compassionate for their hopefulness, peace sweetness and strength.

 The mohallah masjid would put on a celebratory look.

The masjid structures all would go through color wash. The huge minarets, the wide entrance gates, the long corridors, the ancient foyers, the engraved windows all would have renovated luminous and pulsating colors.   You could see the tall minarets with domes of the masjid radiant with colorful mini bulbs, from faraway Khan Market. With new loud speakers put on, you could hear clearly the azan, the beckoning call to prayer and tharaviah salah from Al Medina General Stores a mile away in the big bazaar. The masjid used to give the impression of a new bride coming up with blushing modesty to entertain the bridegroom Ramadan.

7.RAMADAN IN OUR MOHALLAH

 

Ramadan ! our  Ramadan had its advent!!  wonderful coming. When we were young, say just as you are, our hearts were full of ideals of excellence, muddles of motives and zest for every enterprise. The whole month of Ramadan was an unusually long waited one, like discovering an oasis  by a lonesome thirsty soul lost in in the Kalahari desert after huddles after seas of sandy huddles. An out of the ordinary occurrence for everyone in our family, and it was so, to everyone from Zakee, Zerlee, Zainab to  Anees, Ahmedan, and Azeemullah in our mohallah, our Mohammedan lane in Nawab Hakeem Road and so was it to every Muslim world from east to west and north to south, irrespective of caste color region and language.

We would very happily run and run ready to greet it, as you young guys do when in company of your  girls and guys  with fabulous enthusiasm eagerness and passion. We had it in every bit of our body, blood and soul, all. Ramadan, like all other worships in Islam had always taught us a sense of patience and perseverance  and a need for endeavor and endurance.  It made purity of our body mind and soul an obligation, yes! an obligation. It had imbued in us even when we were as children a code for equality, fraternity and above all it instilled in us a unique sense of unity and total surrendering to Allah our Creator. Ramadan gave us a rare opportunity of communion with our creator Allah every year.

"KOI NASIH HAI, KOI DOST HAI, KOI GHAMQWAR;

SAB NE MILKAR MUJHE DEEWANA BANA RAKHA HAI"

6.NAWAB HAKEEM ROAD,THE CENTER.

Center of the Coimbatore town was the Nawab Hakeem Road occupying a substantial Muslim population, around which only Coimbatore had stretched in all its sides and courses like an octopus, the kind you saw in the discovery T.V... The Mohammedan lane was one among the several ones connecting the Nawab Hakeem Road and the Oppanakkara Street. Just adjacent to Jamedar Street skirting the Rettapaippu maidan where local body election meetings as well as small-scale circus would come and go very often to the thrill delight and wonder of the kids.  The entire space had always reeked like a filthy beggar fresh from a rotten fish market, a real gutter.

“BALA HAI, QAHR HAI, AFATH HAI, FITHNA HAI, QIYAMATH HAI

HASEENO KI JAWANI KO, JAWANI KOWN KAHTHA HAI.”

Aqthar Sheerani

5 . COIMBATORE AND ITS FOLK

The Stanes, the Somasundaram and the Kaleeswara mills lay within the city limits with lots of daily inductees of labor waiting at the gates anxiously speculating their prospect.  They knew they would have their opportunity somewhere around. The city would somehow provide employ in some sort of industrial facilities it had already laid open.

 The city had no central bus stand then, and the commuters had to land at different rural bus stands for various destinations.  But that did not cause a hassle, as the native Coimbatore folks were the most enterprising, and never would they feel defeated in their endeavors.

 The railway station had just four platforms, where the men passengers would sit care freely smoking beedees on hot cement benches while their counterparts standing near them with the kids on their hips and baggage clinging to their back. The sheep, dogs and goats would usually be lying underneath the neem trees in the simmering sun, without caring which train  passed them and when. The tea stalls run by the bearded keralite contractors would have swarming bees on the serving tables, where you would get special Ooty varkee and double strong chaya, served hot.”Kollaaam! Alle..?”