Two Weeks With M.O.M

It happened two weeks ago. We had come home after attending
jumma prayers. "DeekhaiN! Chilli kai maThey par namaaz ka
nishan paR gaya hai!" , exclaimed my mother. Saarey ghar kee
mushTaba O’ mujTuba nazraiN were gaRi hoi, on my peyshani.

"Chilli bhai, kiya aap apnay kamray meiN chup-chup kar namaz-
eiN paRdh rahey haiN ?". "Nahi Tou", I said...coyly . No sense
in dismissing it out-of-hand. So what if it wasn’t happening
now ?, it COULD happen...one day. It’s possible, awite!.

But I had underestimated the significance of this mark in
our society. You have to understand, this is the holy grail
for any namazi. People spend their lives on the masalla, waiting
for this to appear. They get it on their tukhnas, on their
knees...laiken only a few fortunate ones can boast a namaaz
ka nishan on their foreheads. In Momin circles, its comparable
to recieving five stars of a Field Marshall in the army.

In the evening, I was approached by an elder. "Chilli beta,
do you have a masalla ?". "Jee haaN" I said. "No, no let me
give you my special Afghani/kamkhwaab ka masalla". Now this
is something we would not ordinarily be allowed to touch, let
alone, use. Guilt now began to weigh down on my conscience.
"Nahi jee, meiN Tou weysay bhee ziyaDa isTeymaal nahi karTa".
"Well, as you please", he said with twinkling eyes. He was
not about to give up on his dream of namazi bachey.

The next day, I was in my driveway, going out when I caught
the eye of one of our neighbours, Uncle JamaTi. He doesn’t
like many of the bey-rah O’rawa neighbours around him, which
used to include me. We would say salaam to him and would not
even get a reply . This time he saw me and nodded his head.
What was that ?, no, not a s-m-i-l-e ?. Hallelujiah!.

When I entered a shop in Saddar with a moulvi sahab incharge,
I got a hearty salaam aur phir hamari khair O’aafiyaT DaryaafT
kee gai. And all the time, I am dissolving inside, like a
sugar cube in a McDonald’s coffee. These people were showing
respect to the Mark Of The Momin (MOM), something which is
earned. Mot an allergic rash to a MasjiD’s chatai!.

In the evening I was in Clifton, shopping *cough* and maybe
it was my imagination, but MOM was scaring the babes away!.
Normaly aaj kal kee laRkiyaN lock eyes with you, until aap
hee sharam sey apni nigahaiN jhuka laiTey haiN. But today,
they were sounding the retreat and looking for cover under
a dupaTTa, chaDDar or burqah. MOM had acquired a life of
it’s own. It was large and incharge.

On Friday, ain jummey kai waqT, light chali gai. Since there
were namazis spread out in the courtyard and adjoining lawn,
we needed someone to relay the Imam’s Takbeers. A bearded
man turned around and put his finger on me, "Aap Takbeer
kahiyyea ga". HaiN ?, me ?. Why me ?. Oh, great.

I am now straining to hear the imaam’s TilawaT, through the
heavy traffic outside the mosque and the constant chatter of
kids inside. Some hundred men were now depending upon me to
properly lead them through prayers.

Oh, the pressure.

I feel like I have to uphold the MOM’s way, until this rash
goes away. I cannot allow myself to go astray, lest people
(read strangers) think poorly of MOM. I did not ask, nor
deserve this responsibility. If this thing does not clear by
the end of this week, I am going to a dermatologist...

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"Deekho, naseeb-naseeb kee baaT hoTi hai. Iss kou baiThey
biThai namaaz ka nishan mil gaya", someone remarked rather
wistfully yesterday.