AL FATIHA, AL FATIHA, AL-FATIHA - death and my guilty pleasures

The almarhum Sultan, at his son's zawiya in 2012, a month of two
after the passing of almarhum Shaykh Raja Ashman Shah.

Learning to Become Unlettered

I am a man of letters,

But when Love found me

Bereft of joy at the loss of a beloved,

I learn to become unlettered.

I learn to let Love write my life for me,

First, a little name was written...

"...Muhammad..."

Then a little phrase,

Next a sentence,

Then Love wrote for me

A whole paragraph...

Before the paragraph turned 

Into pages of paragraphs,

And finally concluding in

One small chapter of my life

That Angels call "One moment in

The life of Notrumi."

.................

Seconds of Love in a Day. I actually thought of ending the prose with "... One day in the life of Notrumi". But I felt embarrassed to do so. Because the truth is, sunshine, I cannot recall any whole day that I have lived allowing Love to write me and finish my sentences and actions. I am afraid that in the 24 hours of my average day, there are only minutes, or perhaps only seconds when Love furnished complete my thoughts, my words and my deeds. And the rest 99% of my day? Well... no doubt I was motivated more by my hunger, my tiredness, my search for recognition, my submission to the aimless distractions that God has filled this world with.

Oh dear.

Guilty Pleasures. I was editing this post when my friend Moses and his wife came by to join me. I felt terribly shy that they might notice my unfinished writing. I felt like a bride in the bridal chamber, and someone had left the door ajar. So I minimised the page, lest Moses might see the guilty pleasure that I am taking with you...

His Joyous Light!

I have no true pleasure in this world,

All that I have felt, all that I can conceive,

All happiness, all joy, all such things that men like to treasure,

To me, they are all guilty pleasures...

For they were not created for me,

But in truth, true Love was written for him,

Muhammad Habibullah.

And I await my real happiness,

My real joy and delight

To be in his presence...

In His Joyous Light!

...............

And I conclude this writing contemplating those whom Allah (swt) has given me the honour and pleasure to know and to know of - The Master, my Master and my Sultan, Sultan Azlan Muhibbuddin Shah ibni al-Marhum Sultan Yussuf Izzuddin Shah Ghafarullahu-Lah, Sultan of the royal state of Perak Darul Ridzuan, Malaysia... who left his physical body after a life well-lived just three days ago to return to the Almighty Sultan of sultans... 

al-fatiha al-fatiha al-fatiha

Oh sunshine, of all my guilty pleasures, perhaps they are my most guilty pleasure of all.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Notrumi Embun, 31st May 2014

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way  

The Language of the Dead is the Language of Love - Mika at the Garden of Stones

On Saturday morning, Mikhail was with me. And as the weather was lovely with just the slightest morning drizzle, we decided to visit Bukit Kiara Cemetery where rests the pusara (grave) of my late mother.

We visited her grave ready with our tasbihs (rosaries). Not that we used it, but it's good
to be ready, just in case. The black rosary from Oman was recently given to me by my father.
The colourful rosary from Mecca is Mikhail's, given by me. So grandfather to father,
and father to son. I like it when the circle is complete. And I am sure my mother loves it too.
She always had a very tidy mind, and likes thing neat and complete.

Mikhail is always drawn to the babies and toddlers' graves, just across from my mother's.

"She was only 3 months old!" Mika said, and sighing before observing,
"The good always die young, Papa..." The baby girl was born in November 2002,
before being laid to rest in January 2003. 

This is Mika's favourite spot in the cemetery, a giant boulder that was left undisturbed,
probably because it was too costly to be destroyed to rubble. The giant boulder appeared
to me to be a gravestone, but for whom? "This stone has a story to tell, Mika." I quipped.
"What story, Papa?" he asked. I told him to ask the giant boulder itself. I do that sometimes
when I do not know how to answer my son. Hehehe. Why be accurate when you can befuddle?

Beside the boulder is the New Garden of Babies. It is the latter section that now houses
the graves of babies and toddlers. It is a beautiful corner of this beautiful cemetery. Mika
went down  to have a bit of a wander-about.  

He stubbed his' Crocs' on the rock and his Sponge Bob Square Pants doll
fell off his sandal. At my suggestion he decided to give the doll to one of the
babies resting here. He picked one nearby and respectfully placed the doll at the grave.

Then he recited the al-Fatihah (Opening Verse of the Holy Quran) for the soul of
the baby. As we walked back he mused, "Papa, I hope the baby will get the Sponge Bob!"
To which I answered, "Well... even if he doesn't get the Sponge Bob, he would certainly have
received your prayer, Mika." He pondered for awhile before concluding, "That's good!"

So now Mika's right sandal is without Sponge Bob and his left sandal is kinda grotesquely missing Batman's head and right forearm. But I think that is just fine. For he has made a friend. You always make friends when you visit the cemetery, I believe. So long as you know how to speak the language of the dead - The Language of Love.

Have a beautiful Sunday, sunshine, from Mika and myself. May God bless your warm fuzzy hearts.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Live Life Right - Lessons from the Grave

68. Presently, the graves

This life I lead,

Is not for me alone,

But carry the promise and prayer

Of my ancestors before me,

And the promise and prayer

Of my children after me.

I am in the grasp

Of a past and future

Far worthier than me!

And in my visitations

To the graves of my ancestors

Is the veil of physical love -

In the presentation of flowers,

The sweeping with the broom,

And the polishing of the tombstones,

The veil hides the inner love

Of a helpless sinner,

Trying against the unstoppable

Tide of promise and prayer

Flowing from his unseen ancestors,

To return promise with promise,

Prayer with prayer, beseeching

In the name of the Red Rose,

In the name of the House of the Orphan,

The Most Beloved of the Alpha and Omega,

Lord of his grandparents,

Lord of his grandchildren.

And verily, the sinner is aware

Of his miserable prayers,

As his soul whispers,

Never enough! Never enough!

Poetry Glossary -
- The Red Rose and the House of the Orphan refers to the Prophet Muhammad and his family.
- Alpha and Omega refers to the divine attributes of God, as the First and the Last.

LIVE LIFE RIGHT. When our fathers and mothers were alive, they never stopped loving us. My father, may God bless his 77 years old heart, is very much alive. But my mum isn't. Not for the past nine years. And not a day goes by that the sinner is not touched with the memories of his mother. Perhaps you are like me, who now intends to live life right, as the best ever gift that we could present to our dearly departed parents. For there is nothing more soothing to the eyes of the dead, than to see their children live life right - My mother taught me that generosity is everything. My father exemplified hard work and honesty. My mother would not approve of envy and deception. My father tells me never to limit my dreams.

So I like to visit graves. And I encourage Mikhail to accompany me, and now I am happy. For he does not fear the cemetary. He walks around the dead quiet unperturbed, reading the gravestones and thoughtfully observing, "Papa, this baby lived only for 3 months. So sad."

And when I am there, I cannot pray enough. I cannot recite the al Fatihah (Opening Verse of the Al Quran) enough nor the surah Ya Sin. Always, each time as I raise myself up from my mother's black-marbled grave, I know that this visitation is not enough for the life and devoted love that she has sacrificed for me. I tell myself each time that the only way to commemorate her is to live life right. And I am trying.

So do not forget your ancestors, your grandparents and your parents, sunshine. Dead or alive, visit them whenever you can.

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

My Auntie, St. John's and a Deep Purple Gem

78? 79? 81?This is my auntie, my late mum's last living elder sister. She is 78, or sometimes 79, or maybe even 81. In the old days, some Malays take their sweet time to register the birth of their children. So accurate information about dates of birth can be a hit or miss thing. I have known her since my birth, all that 41 years ago. When I was 6 years old, she taught me to memorize the al-Fatihah, the opening verse of the al-Quran. I am a sinner and under-achiever but however low I fall, the al-Fatihah was the treasure upon my lips, the light of my eyes and the constant calm in my heart through life's many storms. To be quite honest here, I doubt I could ever equal my auntie's gift to me. From Yusuf Ali's translation (1934), this is al-Fatihah's sublime literal meaning...

1. In the name of God, Most Gracious,
Most Merciful.
2. Praise be to God,
The Cherisher and Sustainer of the Worlds;
3. Most Gracious, Most Merciful;
4. Master of the Day of Judgment.
5. Thee do we worship,
And Thine aid we seek.
6. Show us the straight way,
7. The way of those on whom
Thou hast bestowed Thy Grace,
Those whose (portion)
Is not wrath,
And who go not astray.

ZEN AUNTIE. I was studying in St. John's Primary School in Kuala Lumpur in the mid 70s. Normally, my mother would pick me up. I would then be her passenger and observer as she goes from one social, charitable and community engagement to another. Sometimes, she is so busy, she would ask my auntie to pick me up. I would only know of the change in routine when I find my auntie waiting after school, sitting patiently under the big banyan tree (maybe it's not banyan...) in the quadrangle. That means I am going back by public bus with my auntie (always an adventure for me). But before hoping on Bus No.170, she would feed me roti canai (something like roti prata) in the Bilal Indian Muslim restaurant down the hill from St. John's. Ya Huuu! I loved my mother to bits, but she can be a bit impatient with me (to be fair, I can be difficult at times). My auntie however always had a kinda default Zen mode, and hardly anything ruffled her feathers. But I think she has always been extra kind to me.
ACCIDENTAL WORLD TRAVELLER. Well, 79 or 99 years old, she is a veteran of life and a real trooper. She's seen it all and have been to places I haven't even dreamt of going. For instance, I think she is one of the few Malaysians to have ever ended up in Acapulco, Mexico. She is an accidental world-traveller.

GRACE UNDER FIRE. My auntie used to wear a golden locket with a deep purple amethyst-like gem. I loved staring into the stone, because like my dear auntie, it looked pretty, calm and with a depth of warmth that the surface only hints at. Older people? Senior citizens? Just because they appear still, it doesn't mean that they are not moving. They are worth observing for the lessons they can teach us in grace under fire. Because, you know... they have been through it ALL.

4. Old cinders, Futuwat III
And the old?
They may appear still,
But their power hums,
Like a high-voltage generator,
Casting a constant light,
And empowering those around them
With the power of truth, patience and constancy.

For those too long suffering
In a dark and sunless place,
The blinding flashes of passion
Is too truthful.

But at the end of the day, my Auntie is worth observing because I think she is beautiful.

Don't you think so, sunshine?

Pax Taufiqa.

Pics courtesy of Balqies Arafia Zaid (granddaughter of said auntie), a talented and talkative photographer (her link is in my blogroll).