A blank page is like an arousal for me. I wish to paint this blank khaghaz (paper) with words and colors. I wish to paint the man’s witty mind with lustrous idea of woman, of me. Women empowerment they say. I come from a religion which had set records straight for mankind to treat woman as not just an equal but with dignity, power and gentleness. Ironically it is women’s month and I remember the faces of the woman who have guided me through life thus far. I will start with my mother Neelam Ara. She has her own name because in Islam women don’t adopt the names of their husbands. They are liberated from this practice because on the day of judgement Allah will call each soul by the name of their father. Oh you, the daughter of so and so. Neelam was the youngest of 8 raised by practically a single widow whose husband had passed when her youngest was of two years of age. My grandmother, Anisa Khanom, was a smart lady and raised her three sons well but also raised her five daughters with caution and humility. Caution because she warned her daughter that this world was cruel but woman is strong and she has the ultimate capability to keep going. She also taught them woman has the power to uplift man which is why the union is very important. Humility as she explained, was a state of gratitude. Whenever in any situation, be happy, smile and be thankful Allah did not diminish your value, worth and concealed your sins. I can at times hear these conversations in my mind and a vivid image of my mother and my grandma speaking to each other. In my mind they laugh, giggle and embrace one another very tightly. My mother became an orphan during my own age. I am 25 now. I was yet to be born and my mother already a guardian of two, a daughter and son felt as if the weight was on her shoulders. What had she learned only at 25? What did she know more than giving birth with excruciating labor pains? My mother has dreams in all of us. What kind of mother doesn’t? Every mother does. It is because of our mother’s we are gifted with resilience and honor. Every man and every woman. Many of my morals have passed down to me dripped in gold, honey and turmeric. Honey for sweetness, gold for being genuine and turmeric to become a walking antibiotic that can heal and cure everyone! I chuckle as I type these words. Women are very complex beings. In the Qur’an, Allah says men can want this, that, this. For women, Allah swt dedicates bountiful chapters such as chapter Mariam (peace be upon her) the mother of Jesus (pbuh), the chapter Nisa (women) to portray and remind man time and time again how gifted the woman is to have true strength and piety within her heart in a vast world. I often get confused on how men and women clash. Without one there cannot be another. Allah made everything in pairs for a reason. I dance tonight and I shimmy my belly as fast as I can. I think of jail cells, sorrow and death. I think about many women who I had met and wonder where they are now and if they are safe. As much as we all think we know or understand each other we often get lost in translation trying to put pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle. Sometimes trying to get a point across, trying to fix a bad habit, trying to find love within abuse or hatred. My heart hurts as this confusion continues and underlies a dimension of ache. Constantly misusing, explaining, gravitating to anything but the care. The carress. The livelihood of gifting and receiving care. What are we really but mere beings who are only coping in a flat but round world. A world which spins in circles and us dancing to its rhythms. What am I really trying to say or write here, I have no idea. I am just tired of seeing woman command or demand some things a man should know and respect. I am tired of seeing a man disheartened by a woman who refuses to gift him the appreciation he deserves. Balance is what comes to mind. So much affliction and imbalance on this life’s beams, it is hard for me to paint into this blank khaghaz. Remember that means paper. And what if i decide to tear this page and throw it away? Will it remain in my memory? And what if I, in fact, decide to keep this page and dry a beautiful chrysanthemum between the pages. Shut. I will bound to come back to this again and read it. Savour it and enthused, maybe learn a few things. One or two. What did I start with again? Ah, yes… Neelam Ara, a pleasant lady who shares her smile with me. I am hoping she can read this or be read this text. This way, she can know her daughter will carry her legacy, morals and good conduct in this world. Proceeding with caution and humility as allah has willed and as her mother Anisa Khanom may have imagined, maybe even made dua’a for because this world is moving in circles. And we are but mere creatures who still want to cling onto good relations, care and love. We choose this. We choose scars. We choose healing. We embrace goodness. And we hold on to a promise of the infinite. And we believe in the promise. Love. Love. Love.

Fades out to Yasiin Bey’s voice.

The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ(peace be upon him) said,

“Whoever believes in Allah and the Last Day should not hurt (trouble) his neighbor. And I advise you to take care of the women, for they are created from a rib and the most crooked portion of the rib is its upper part; if you try to straighten it, it will break, and if you leave it, it will remain crooked, so I urge you to take care of the women.”