Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Eish, I've been remiss

Just read this. Found it revealing :Niqab Ban in France - My thoughts

by a very prolific blogger i.e. anyone who does more than 2 posts a month -by my standards :P


back for a bit

As much as I tend to steer away from announcements of late, I might as well admit that I've just had my 32 nd birthday. Oddly enough, I don't really feel much different, but once you pass a certain age you seldom do. I was surprised to find a rather large bottle of Lacoste Touch of Pink waiting for me at home . Which proves that men can become romantic. It just takes half a lifetime for them to do so ;)

Yesteray the first episode of a Radio Drama entitled Khat Pat was aired on Channel Islam International. I helped create that. It was a strangely Gepetto-esque moment, listening to words that I'd carved come to life.

The 'other' Saaleha, one of the co-writers, basking in the sense of pride that comes from a job well done, asked whether the feeling could be likened to childbirth.

I think not though, since the agony with this baby was prolonged, sometimes ignored even. Each of us dipped into and out of the project as our schedules allowed.

I look forward to the second episode and think that Cii would be doing all of us a favour if they turned it into a podcast. I think I'm going to suggest that. Right after I tell the 'actors' involved just what an excellent job I think they did.


Monday, August 10, 2009


Some time back I created a man. I called him Sardonic Scholar. He was a busy body who send unsolicited mail to people on my contact list. At the time, I believed that people would find his point of view more acceptable if it was coming from a man. I think differently now. If you're interested in hearing what my alter ego has to say (more like 'has had to say') go here

Tomorrow, I may just write another Sardonic post :P


Tomorrow I will perform all my prayers on time.
I will start on a diet and stick to it.
I will be a more attentive wife, a more loving mother.
I will listen... Actually stop what I am doing and listen when my kids recount their adventures after a day at school.
I will savour the silence with my husband’s hand cradled in my own and listen to the sound of his breathing.
I will work on my novels.
I will laugh with abandon and surrender to tears as the need arises.
I will remember the good more often and forget the bad more easily.
I will move out of the shadow of myself and truly be.

What is this life, if not a series of interminable tomorrows? It seems we break the promises we make ourselves the most. Tragic, no?