The end of an 85 year legacy

4th May 2018 

                                                                   

As I stared at Dadis body shrouded in a piece of simple white cloth, there was only one thought that came to mind. Death is final. It is a journey that every soul will taste. It is a journey that many have embarked on but never returned to share the experience. As her soul left her body,Mrs Zubeida Mehtar lost her identity and was then referred to as 'the body'. All around me there were people crying, each one reminiscing on their interactions with ma. I was having flashbacks on the quality time we all spent together 2 weeks ago at our home. Ma would wait for us to return from work. Whilst we had dinner she and mom would enjoy a bowel of popcorn at the fire place. Mom went out of her way to make Dadis favourite foods.As I introspect on all our conversations we had I realise that she knew she was leaving this world for a better place. One Friday morning it was just the two of us at home. Mom and dad had to rush off to Cape Town to attend mom's uncles funeral. Before leaving mom gave me clear instructions as to how Dadi wanted her breakfast. First she would have a fruit, followed by a bowel of oats and then tea and rusks. Dadi loved her tea and it had to be served in a very big mug. She had this habit of squeezing her tea bags with a spoon making sure that the tea bag wouldn't go to waste. I guess she developed these habits due to her difficult upbringing. I'm not a breakfast person but Ma insisted that I join her for a cup of tea. I toasted a hot cross bun and obliged. Whilst chatting to her she poured out words of wisdom. She was insistent that I make an appointment with our in house beautician at Medix stressing on the importance of cleanliness. She said that life is so short tomorrow we can have an accident or pass away and other people would handle our bodies. She was very self conscious. I am so blessed that she spent an entire day with me at work. My staff were happy to have her and went out of their way to give her the respect she deserved. One of my male colleagues tried greeting Dadi with a hand shake. She refused stating, " Does the queen of England shake hands with strangers?..No right.. well I'm a queen too".. She was witty and straight forward too. She never kept anything inside her heart. Mom was the luckiest for being able to spend the entire day with her. They even went out shopping together and enjoyed a sumptuous lunch at a seafood restaurant. She loved mom's cooking and mom knew exactly how to prepare her meals. Due to the ulcers she had all her meals were prepared with no chillis and no ginger garlic masala. The only spices that she tolerated was turmeric, salt and jeera..Mom and her got along well as they both meticulous and fussy wanting everything to be packed in its place. Dadi loved fresh bedding every second day.I will always treasure the late night conversations we shared. She took me back in time as we travelled from 1933 until 2018. She had a remarkable memory. She remembered events as though it was yesterday. Dadi ma arrived in SA on the 8th of July 1940. She was 7 yrs old. She was born in Kathore in India and was very proud of her Indian roots, language and culture. In fact she was very annoyed that todays youth can not speak or understand their mother language. Her dad came to SA in search of work. Once he found a stable job he returned to India to bring his family over. World war 2 was about to commence and hence the ship they boarded from India was over booked with passengers. They landed up sitting on benches for three weeks as the cabins were fully occupied and double booked. It was after all the last ship to leave India. As soon as they arrived world war 2 began..Her family had to hang up dark blankets on the house windows so that the enemy can not see any light.Curfews were put into place and she always recalled just how traumatic her initial years in SA were. Dadi married Dada in 1978..Dad's biological mother passed away a year earlier and so dads father decided to remarry. It was Dadis second marriage as well. Her first husband passed away after 2.5 years of marriage due to illness. Dad's father Hafez Abdullah Mehtar was a well known personality as he was the principal at the school at Mias Farm. Through mutual friends Dada sent a proposal to Dadis family in Asherville asking for her hand in marriage. Dadi made me laugh when she said that a few family members and friends told her, " Zubeida you are a Randeree.You have a cook and driver in your papas house so how will you marry into the mehtar family that is so big with no cook." She discussed this with Dada who replied, " Yeh muqaddar ki baat hai.".. It's a matter of destiny. Dadi married Dada and walked into a huge family.Dada had 7 sons and 2 daughters. Dadi always recalled how she had to cook in huge pots everyday. Apart from cooking for her new family she also took care of students and teachers residing at the hostel. She had no kids of her own yet she was a mother to many. I must acknowledge that Dadi was a really good cook. Dadi also became a motherly figure to her sisters children. For a brief period of time her sister was ill and so Dada and Dadi brought the kids over from Durban to reside with them. She had a special relationship and bond with her nephews and nieces. She only spoke to them in Gujurati and took care of them as though they were her own kids.As a child I was closer to nani than dadi but as I grew older I developed a bond with her as well..I loved giving her a hearing. Being in her company was like being in the presence of a walking encyclopedia. There was still so much I wanted to ask her, there was still so much I wanted to say to her. Treasure your loved ones especially the elderly. Old people don't want your money, all they desire is a plate of food coupled with love and care. Give them a hearing and keep them happy.. May Allah grant Dadi the highest stages in jannah and fill her grave with lots of light.How fortunate she is to depart this world on a mubarak blessed night. An 85 year legacy has come to an end but will definitely not be forgotten...Please remember her in your prayers.....

Rahat Fateh Ali Khan illuminates sold out show

Well done Blu Blood on executing a phenomenal show at Emperors Palace on Saturday night. The living legend Rahat Fateh Ali khan illuminated a sold out show with his enthralling voice belting out one hit song after another. The venue was classy with absolutely no incident of hooliganism observed. What really impressed me was the fact that the concert started pretty much on time. I was so glad that they got straight into the show with a bang without the audience being forced to listen to our local artists. I was however disappointed with the behaviour of some of the audience. I think a big contributing factor to the bad behaviour was the fact that alcohol was allowed to be served at the event thereby turning respectable individuals into absolutely pathetic imbeciles. Also the seating arrangement in the vip section was an absolute mess. There were people who came from the back and took up seats in the front causing absolute chaos. We were asked repeatedly to produce our tickets causing unnecessary altercations with shady characters. This kind of behaviour disrupts the ambience of the show. I also think that in the future a full barricade should be erected in front of the stage as there were people walking aimlessly up and down. This is very disrespectful to the artist as well as to the audience. When an artist is on stage, his stage becomes his temple. They evolve into a different world. Some songs would require absolute silence and quiet especially if the artist sings a song that is sentimental and close to his heart. Undoubtedly the highlight of the show for me was meeting the maestro himself along with the band members. Rahat Sahab definitely comes across as a soft spoken, kind hearted, down to earth human being. Thank you Blu Blood for once again bringing world class entertainment to our country and for allowing the Indian community to keep in touch with their culture through the magical world of Bollywood and music....

As a side note, a big shout out goes out to Shazia, Aadila, Fatima, and the families who recognized me through my blog and social media posts. It was really fantastic interacting with all of you....:)

Video links:
https://www.facebook.com/sumayya.mehtar/videos/pcb.10157347953692782/10157347899122782/?type=3&theater

https://www.facebook.com/sumayya.mehtar/videos/pcb.10157347953692782/10157347912742782/?type=3&theater

https://www.facebook.com/sumayya.mehtar/videos/pcb.10157347953692782/10157347930282782/?type=3&theater

See the worry in my eyes

12 April 2018

So this morning I read Faizal Sayed's post about the piety brigade and I was left in stitches of laughter. I think I need to elaborate further. Last weekend I attended the saffron book launch and it was such an amazing afternoon in the company of like-minded intellectuals. Those of you who know me on a personal level will acknowledge that I am a person who loves singing. I grew up listening to Rafi Sahab, Kishore Kumar, Sonu Nigam and so many other world famous artists. A part of me has always wanted to learn about Indian classical singing and being able to sing difficult raags. It is a phenomenal talent that only a few have perfected. I am always in awe of these artists who place tremendous effort in being maestros in their field. At the book launch I was asked to sing a nasheed as a part of the program. Even though I am no meastro or diva,I enjoyed doing it thoroughly. The video that was uploaded on social media garnered almost 2000 views thus far and I have received so many kind and warm messages from so many new friends that I made at the function. However I have also received so many nasty inbox messages filled with criticism, hate and animosity from fake profiles. I’ve had messages stating why am I singing about the Prophet Muhammed (pbuh) and God Almighty with my shoes on. I should take it off. Another comment was related to the fact that I am a female and hence I should not have been invited to sing in the first place. A male person should have been asked to sing. What absolute rubbish. Why should a male be asked to sing at a function that was put together to celebrate the trials and tribulations of 56 inspirational women. There are people on social media who thrive on snooping at other peoples profiles and taking out fault in others. They forget their history and backgrounds. They more interested as to why a woman is not wearing a head scarf rather than airing out their own dirty laundry which is far worse than not wearing a piece of cloth.. Why is our community so ridiculous? If the neighbour’s daughter is getting married or divorced, it’s not your business. It doesn’t concern you. Worry about the happenings in your own home. I honestly don’t care about what anyone thinks about me. I live my life by my own rules. The people who are important to me are close to me and their opinion matters. My piety is nobody’s concern. The bond that I have with my Lord is between me and Him only. It involves no one else. Stop sending me messages from fake profiles. Only cowards behave in this manner. Why can’t we live and let live. Why can’t we be happy for someone else’s successes in life? By burning down someone else’s candle does not make your own candle burn any brighter. Learn to see the good in others. Juma Mubarak to all my friends and family across the globe. Kindly remember my family and I in your prayers.

Watch the video here:

https://www.facebook.com/sumayya.mehtar/videos/vb.739292781/10157312552687782/?type=2&video_source=user_video_tab

Letter from a prisoner - Wakey Wakey

                                         Picture taken from google images

One of life's simplest but greatest pleasures is a good nights sleep. As a prisoner, it took a long time before I could sleep soundly. The thought of sharing a room with convicted strangers, an uncomfortable bunk, unfamiliar nightly noises and a mind constantly thinking of loved ones; were but some of the impediments to blissful sleep.

After acclimatizing, sleep came easily enough. Falling a sleep was no longer a problem but being aroused from sleep remains a periodic issue.

For much of my life and especially as a teen, I was not a morning person; it was only after loss and tragedy that I learnt to consider each day as a blessing. On school days, mum would gently knock on my door, open it and lovingly coax me from dreamland. Knowing full well that I would simply turn over for a few more minutes of slumber, she would then shout to me as she prepared breakfast downstairs. Only at the sound of her second or third attempt, would I reluctantly rise. That was the best way, my fondest memories of waking up. Mum's method could never be replicated, but she spoiled me in that I still required a few pushes of the snooze button before I finally woke up.

Unfortunately, I have been awoken in some of the most crude ways possible. As with many others, sounds awaken me rather easily. Even at home, sounds used to wake me but these were comforting in their own way. The rustling of palm trees against the roof, dads joints creaking as he ascended the stairs, the cat pleading to enter the room, adhaan being called out, dad mowing the lawn and the like; were sounds that comforted in as much as they disturbed.

In prison, I have awoken to a plethora of sounds which elicit the worst of emotions. For hundreds of days, my after fajr sleep (the best sleep ever) has ended with the traumatic sound of the cell door being unlocked. The gigantic keys make the most horrifying clank as they turn the robust locks. It is a sound that not only jolts me from even the deepest of sleeps, but is also an emphatic reminder of where I have awoken. It is a sound that is impossible to get used to.

Occasionally, I have been crudely awoken by the sounds of men vomiting, coughing incessantly, farting at decibel levels sound enthusiasts would admire, screaming in nightmares, having sex, snoring at octaves only sopranos could outdo or simply deciding to blast a radio or TV at full volume, with no care in the world.

Sound, though, is only one sense. Long ago (and hopefully soon again), I remember occasionally being awoken by a kiss or caress. Fortunately, I haven't been awoken in that manner in prison! Prison beds are what offer a great challenge. The steel double bunks wobble at even the slightest movement. Having someone above or below, is frustrating and at times, simply infuriating. Their every motion is felt making me wonder how sailors even get used to sleeping on boats.

I have learnt to deal with sounds and touch, to some extent at least. There is however one manner that robs me of sleep to which I cannot return or ever get used to; being awoken by smell.

There are times when men defecate or fart resulting in a stench indescribable by any metaphor. I once had the horrific task of cleaning out a deep freezer that was filled with only meat, meat that had been rotting for over three weeks.  I didn't think that anything would ever compare to that, until I experienced the potential of men.  The stench is exacerbated by rooms without decent ventilation and air freshener makes no difference at all. All I can do is bury my face in my pillow and wait it out.
These putrid odours fully awaken me into instant nausea and even scares my fatigue away.So the next time a seemingly nagging voice, meow, lawnmower, adhaan or restless spouse awakens you; remember that someone dreams of having just that!

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