half past nomad

I’m at work and they just placed a giant platter filled with rich deep red, flares of yellow orange red and distinct shades of green apples. It’s for all to eat. Why apples, why at 10:30AM, why 4 feet away from me, I don’t know. I’m new here.

But green apples have always been my favourite kind. They’re the most honest fruit out there. Bitter, sweet, delicious, juicy, crunchy, tough, delicate and with parts not edible, these apples reflect more of life then any other fruit I know.

Also, they’re great for throwing at/to siblings.
Honesty. It’s important stuff man.

“You can tell in that first instant almost, who we are. But only we can tell because we know subconciously. We’re attracted to each other, people like you and me. I mean, at that Hamza Yusuf lecture that week, you turned back and looked at me and you knew and I knew. And you had me pegged and tracked me down in that crowd just to say salaam for 45 seconds, grab my digits and take off. You recognized that I too was a Western Muslim.”

-Dinner last night with my new friend.

I landed in Karachi at 3:30AM, picked up my luggage from the belt and walked out as quickly as possible. I was told horror tales of the customs (Hide your digital camera! Hide your laptop!). Alhamdulilah, I slid out smoothly and was greeted by my old college buddy Pathan. That’s right Akds, I’m staying at Pathans! And let me tell you something. There’s no hospitality like a muslim brothers’ hospitality (who happens to have his parents right next door who happen to insist on feeding you every few hours and whose younger brother happens to have that PS2 and lets you buy your favourite game and play on it). Also, the salat aspect. You’re woken up for fajr, everyone knows to stop for asr and isha is a jamaat.

So far, Karachi seems quite nice. Nicer then Lahore? Yes. The roads, the system, the entire infrastructure seems far more organized. But that’s not it, and if I haven’t made this clear enough, I’ll rephrase myself.

You can live in quiet, dull, small-town, easy livin’ Indiana (I did. For 5 years) and it can be incredible because you end up meeting people like Pathan and Akds who you’re fortunate enough to count as good muslim brothers. And it makes living there all the more bearable, it makes it enjoyable, it makes you want to come back there just so you can hang out in those tiny coffee shops (Hello Vienna Cafe! Howdy Village Coffee Shop!) with these guys.
Or can you be in New York City, the city that never sleeps and wish that sleep would overtake your senses, that something anything would make you feel, make you react once again.

Friends can do wonderful things to you.

Coming back to Karachi though, I’m in town for a few more days. Jam packed as they are with work, friends, visits, and all that jazz, if you feel like say allo, here’s your chance.
[number removed].

1)Starbucks Frappuccino, Vanilla (chilled)
2)Kellogg’s Pop-Tarts, Strawberry (untoasted)

Taken together: Wow.

#26 on list of

only things a tired graduate student could experience since he’s too tired and lazy to cook anything or walk to a restaurant.

This Ramadan wasn’t quite what I thought it would be for me. It was my first Radaman in a muslim country in over 7 years yet it wasn’t as good as those back home. I spent the entire ramadan devoid of halaqas because, well, most of them were in urdu and were held by the pakistani community folks and they’re almost intermingled with an ostenatiousness aura about them that I loathe. I think I would rather be alone, listening to online lectures, reading my books, then be in a crowd where I feel no brotherhood. I made dua that Allah grants me friends with good deen, a good crowd to be with. Unfortunately, I didn’t ask enough. Fortunately, Qiyam is everyday.

We’re walking to Isha salat, me and my dad and I ask him if he thinks Ramadan is over. Not based on facts, or moonsightings or any visual observation but rather what his gut feeling was. He doesn’t think so.

I do. I know Ramadan is over. I can feel it gone. As I look about the street, I see the children playing soccer, I see the smokers playing their cards and I see traffic passing by and I know, I know in my heart, from my heart, that Ramadan is over. It doesn’t feel like it anymore.

Despite that, we still pray tarawee’h. If nothing else, we prayed in jamaat such a lovely salat.

Eid Mubarak folks.
May Allah swt accept our fasting, forgive us our sins and grant us all a character that He loves.