Thursday, April 19, 2007

"God" Encounters !!!!

My first memories of God stem from the times when I was a kid. My earliest memories are that of watching my father go through the well practiced motions of standing, bowing down and then finally prostrating himself. He used to go through the same motions during each session and I still remember watching him in awe as if he was doing a trapeze act.
Each session end would mean some time spent with him. Some time when I could play with him. Time, which was scarce for me always. I never used to understand what he was doing, but nevertheless I was always in awe of the awesome ordeal that my father performed each day without fail. Then slowly as I grew, I came to know what the entire rigmarole of actions meant.
My next encounter with divinity was when I was a bit older. The festival of Eid always was special to me. It was a time when Ammi would be preparing “sewaiyan” and moreover it was a time when we would be getting Eidi, a monetary compensation after coming back from the Eid prayers.
Then came the hard times. The spring of 1999 saw my father being diagnosed with tumor of the brain. Then it was all hell broke loose for me and my family. That was the time, my inner echelons of the minds started questioning the existence of a superior power. Someone deep inside me was telling that the entire concept of God was a farce. There was this God-fearing man offering his allegiance before the Almighty five times daily. Abiding with all the rules set by the so called higher powers all his life. All through my childhood I had seen the man go through the motions of “namaaz” and here I was watching this man lying paralyzed on his deathbed hearing the ominous knells of the oncoming death.
All that went in my yet to be matured mind was, “why had it happen to us?” My values never incurred inflicting harm to anyone for personal gains. My father was a harmless man himself. In fact he was the person people used to turn to complete their unfinished business regarding the retirement. A good friend, a decent father, a docile husband to sum it all, a pretty average man and he was subjected to this heart wrenching ordeal. All I could ask was “Why him? Why us?”
After months of being bed-ridden, it was the spring of April, 2000 that my father finally went to his final calling. And I had not one tear to shed. I was in fact relieved that he was freed from the frailties’ of the mortal body. But still the question lingered. Now the question has lost its vagueness and replaced by some hard hitting tangibles.
“If there was an Allah, then nothing like that would have happened to us” In short nothing like that existed. The day I got the question, I got the answer. I went to my mother and told her that I no longer believed in the phenomenon called God. I expected hysteria; the reply I got was more than what I had expected. All my mother had to say was” your faith is just your faith. I will pray to God that He keeps up your faith in Him.”
Things started to sort out and finally my family saw the light through the haze. After the storm, like true survivors, we set up picking the pieces of whatever was left and started building a new life.
Well as I went through the process of becoming a man, I could feel the presence of a power near me. A power, that came into play whenever I needed help. An unseen force, that would never leave my side whenever I needed it. And it was not coincidental. In the beginning I was in the state of self denial making me the dog that I was, and not being able to realize the coyote in me (refer to self denial, coyotes and dogs). I was alone fighting it out all by myself in the big bad world, fatherless, with my arthritic mother and a very distant sister all engrossed in her own personal world and yet I never used to feel alone. That sense of a higher presence was always there with me. Suddenly I had the confidence to take on the world. For I knew that wherever I would be needing any guidance, the next person would turn and help me out of the situation. Somewhere there would always be a bhaiya (brother), Uncle or dost (friend) who would turn up mysteriously and help me out whenever I needed it.
It need not be any physical help. Sometimes mired in my own problems, I was looking to have some answers. Trust me when I say that the answers come. And they come from the minutest nooks and crannies from where you could never expect them to come. Some person who would be the least bothered to speak to you would suddenly come up with the answer and suddenly you felt in the tangibility of that power all the more.
In the same fashion, slowly I came out of the phase of self denial and started addressing the power. I started to speak to it. Somehow it never replied. But I was sure that it was there. I tested the power day in and out. Now with realization, at times of difficulty I would look around for the power to act. Just standing and looking around for some mysterious benefactor to come and bail me out. And that was exactly what didn’t happen. Somehow the force never seemed to act unless I tackled the problem myself. It was as if when I took one step the power took two steps ahead of me, waiting for me round the sharp unseen bend with the answer in hand.
Though the force was always there to help me out, I could never take it for granted. Whenever I was a loud mouth and a brash brat, I found myself all alone. It was as if, it was there standing next to me, yet not doing anything. Watching me face the brunt of failure, silently, with discomfiture but with knowing eyes. Eyes that meant to teach me, to guard me, guide me and yet to reprimand me too. It wanted me to be humble. It wanted me to realize the virtues of being rooted to ones modesty. And slowly I realized. The realization was huge and jolting too. The realization was slow and yet when it happened it was shocking.
I gave a name to the power. I call it “Allah”. When I realized, I prayed, I cried. The only way to pray that I knew was to offer namaaz. Not because of my religion but because my mortal body won’t accept any other forms of praying. Maybe my Muslim upbringing didn’t allow it. I prayed hard and I prayed long. I asked Him for forgiveness. All the time He was there with me, He was there filling up the space that my father had left in my life. He had made me His son, and all the while like the proverbial prodigal son, I was never able to realize this.
Somehow I saw a vision. I saw a toddler. And I saw a father. Father left his son to take his first steps. The toddler is made to stand on its feet and then suddenly, the father leaves the child’s hand. The child is afraid. It thinks that it is alone. Yet his father is always there. Now the toddler seeing no other support, takes a few steps all by itself, wobbles, falls and then again tries to stand up and walk and all under the watchful eyes of his father.
How I wish I could realize that earlier? Maybe it was again His way to make me what I am today. Now when I call myself the son of God ( Benei Elohim) people may not understand. It might bring smiles to some faces. Well I don’t expect them to. A son of God need not be a messiah. A son of God need not bring in a new religion. A son of God need not show miracles. A son of God is one who believes that Allah is more than an divine entity. He trusts in him and moreover he dares to call the divinity his father.
Now when I pray, even in a crowded mosque, as I go through the repeated motions of namaaz, suddenly I am all oblivious to my surroundings. I really don’t know whether it is forced or my mind somehow conjures up everything, all I know that somehow I am transported into a huge palatial room. Somehow through the corner of my eyes I can see gold plated walls and then I see a pair of feet. A white robe hides them partly and they are standing before me. I never dare to look up. And I see myself in tatters. I see myself as a beggar, asking for alms before a rich man. The rich man, the king is standing before me being the true beggar I am, somehow I dare not lift my head and see the person. I just bow my head and ask for alms from the king. The vision comes and goes in a flash and suddenly I am back in the mosque. Even through the vision is aeriform, startlingly it leaves me a humble person. It makes me realize that we all are beggars before a higher power asking for alms.
You may not believe in any of the stuff that I have written. After all this is supposed to be my blog. But haven’t you felt the same force around you. Haven’t you felt as if someone is keeping a watch over you?
As you walk down a street, haven’t you seen an unknown person looking at you in a very knowing fashion? It is the same knowing glance that if analyzed properly can startle one. I am not talking about the gaping sort. Nor of the ogling types. Somehow I feel that these are the guardian angels assigned to take care of me. The nankeer and munkeer’s, the quintessentially present angels that every Muslim offers his respect to during the course of the prayers ( ever noted the oft repeated turning of the heads to the shoulders by the actors in the movies that marked the end of the prayers) They are always there with us and trust me they can come up to you in any shape or sizes. ( I guess some people agree with me for there are some Hollywood movies about these things e.g. City of the Angels. Trust me I have not drawn my ideas from any of them )

Just trust in them. For when I see one, I just smile at them.

I know. Well they also know that I know … for they smile back.