Btw, I’ve realized just how lazy I’ve become wrt my camera. When I bought my first digicam way back in 2002 (a Minolta summit or other), I was so excited by my shiny new purchase, I insisted on fiddling with every manual setting available. These days, I normally shoot on auto-mode. It works out okay in well-lit environments, but the picture quality becomes extremely naff (I mean, more so than I’d expect) in anything less than daylight. I keep reminding myself that I need to figure out the best settings for indoors – especially as I hate using the flash – but bah… laziness.

Then, the other day, I lent my Canon to another sister from the ISoc, and within a few minutes she’d taught me five new things about the camera, like how to control the flash intensity (I had no idea I could do that), and change the aspect ratio to widescreen (though I’ll probably stick to doing that during post-processing). This is one of the few times in my life that I’ve been outgeeked by a fellow Muslimah! I am totally going to leech off of her knowledge, insha’Allah. In a good way.

In other news, the first meeting of the Sisters Film Club went well, masha’Allah, in spite of clashes with the Muslim Medics AGM, and general exam stress all round. We have our sights on the first project, which should be ready for June, insha’Allah. More details as they become declassified for public release.

12:45 PM Apr 10th: I’m attending the Islam in Italy event this afternoon for one reason only… HALAL ITALIAN FOOOOD!! May it be as tasty as I imagine, ameen!

Unfortunately, I forgot to take pics of said tasty Italian lunch… ahem.

2:03 PM Apr 16th: Honey & marg on toast: one of life’s simple pleasures.

10:37 PM Apr 20th: I had dinner @ Satay House. Ordered banana fritters as recommended by @Teakster, but the seabass was out of my budget. :) Pics up 2moro iA.

10:12 AM Apr 21st: I’m having an egg sarny & tea for breakfast. Couldn’t be bothered with the flimsy pastry route!

Umm… I had eaten my ‘egg sarny’ by the time I had the idea to take a pic of it. I only shot the spoon to kill time whilst waiting for my meeting. I did have a photo of my tea, but it doesn’t seem to be on my pen drive anymore (I’m uploading these pics at uni, whilst MacBook is in for repair).

So, err… yes. Spoon!

The good news is, on my way home from uni this afternoon, I discovered my camera in my coat pocket. Thus I was finally able to capture some shots of the Natural History Museum ice rink, which I’ve been eager to do ever since it was set up a few weeks ago.

The last shot is my favourite… I think it would make a nice postcard. Btw, am I alone in thinking ice skating is the most romantic of the winter sports? All that huddling, cuddling and giggling… Sigh.

Happy Eid, everybody!

About a month ago I dreamt that I was on a journey with someone – a man; someone I’m somewhat familiar with in real life. We had stopped somewhere en route, and were using the computer room.

Swinging round in my swivel chair, I came to face to face with a young boy, maybe six years old or so. I said “hi”, in the kind of gentle way that you would with a small child… but for some unknown reason, he responded by launching into an unannounced bear hug! It felt like the type of sincere embrace that a child would give if they were scared, lonely, and needed reassurance.

I didn’t know the boy at all, but I was so moved by this simple gesture, by his implicit trust in me, that I couldn’t let go. As his chest lay upon mine, I felt my heart beat so strongly – almost painfully. I suspected that someone had abandoned him there, and that he had latched onto me like a lost puppy, hoping that I would love him. The whole experience evoked such a powerful maternal instinct in me; I just knew in my bones that I was meant to protect him.

I turned to my travel companion (whilst still engaged in the bear hug), who was sat on a nearby terminal. And as soon as I did, I saw a little girl do the exact same thing to him! I knew – as one usually ‘knows’ in dreams – that the little girl was the little boy’s sister. They had both been abandoned.

We carried the children to our car – a large, black 4 x 4. I was so sad. I wanted to take them with us. I wanted to make them mine, and never let them be alone again. In the background, I listened to my companion share his opinions on how unfortunate the whole situation was… but I could tell without asking that he was unwilling to take the children. He was being the sensible man; I, the emotional woman – though I reluctantly understood his perspective, and didn’t argue. I remember the solemn look on my face, and how I secretly hoped that it would be enough to make him change his mind.

Well, it seemed to have worked! Because as the dream advanced to the next ‘scene’, it was several years in the future. The travel companion and I were now married (I assume we weren’t before), and the children were ours.

There was more to the dream, which has now been forgotten, and so I assume it was less significant. The strangest part, however, happened after I awoke. I made the opening takbir for Fajr salat. I went to place my hands on my chest, and subhanallah, I felt the same strong, painful, feeling of empathy in my heart, as I did during my embrace with the little, lost child.

As I prayed, I wept. All for the love of my dream boy.

I actually took the second one from the back of my friend’s car, on our way home. In fact, I spent more time in the car than I did watching the fireworks! Oh well… it was still an enjoyable evening, masha’Allah. :)

I want to be all clever, and write some amazing account of the myriad of emotions that I’ve experienced over the past two months, culminating in the pinnacle of nerves that was my afternoon commute into the familiar territory of what was once my undergraduate campus. But frankly, I cannae be bothered. I can barely put a sentence together right now; I don’t think mornings agree with me. Most of my day was quite “meh”, tbh. I only had two lectures, one of which was a safety induction. Yawnsville!

There are about 20 of us, maybe less, on the course. 1:1 ratio of guys to gals, with the majority of gals being bionerds, and a smattering of various other disciplines amongst the guys. One of the women was actually more research experienced than me. Not only did she have a PhD in Endocrinology (she worked on growth hormone, whereas I worked on progesterone signalling), she also spent a year as a postdoc afterwards. Isn’t that a poke in the eye for the people hating on me for taking this course? Okay, maybe not ‘hating’… I’ve just heard a lot of “Haven’t you studied enough, Mehzabeen, har har”. Yeah, hilarious. Hrm…

Though, the absolute highlight of my day was when I asked the computing lecturer if having a Mac would be problematic for the programming aspect of the course. I have spent the last fortnight worrying that I’d have to buy a regular laptop, or figure out how to install Windows/ Linux on my MacBook. The head professor – the one I refer to as the ‘bad cop’, from my initial interview – gives me a half smile and says: “You have great taste!”. Then a few moments later, speaking over the computing guy, “We all use Macs in the lab”. And then, the cherry on the double chocolate sundae: “You know what? You’ve already passed!“.

Talk about making an amazing first (or more accurately, second) impression! Alhamdulillah – thank you God! Much happiness. And thanks to Apple too! Let’s pray that it only gets better from here on in, insha’Allah. :)

Sorry about the dodgy photo. My camera doesn’t do very well in low light conditions, and I detest using the flash! Anyhoo, recipe and instructions below.

• 125g butter, unsalted
• 1/2 tsp vanilla, alcohol-free
• 100g granulated white sugar
• 100g demerara sugar
• 1 medium egg
• 250g self-raising flour
• 60g walnuts, chopped
• 120g Cadbury’s Large Buttons, chopped (this is the chocolate that we already had in the house, hehe – use whatever brand you wish)

Beat the butter, vanilla, and sugars together with an electric whisk until smooth, before mixing in the egg (both white + yolk). Add sifted flour, and remaining ingredients. Stir until thoroughly mixed. Spoon the dough onto a baking tray lined with baking paper, making sure to leave enough space between the lumps, as they do spread out. Bake at 200oC for around 13-15 minutes, or until sufficiently browned.

Results: I ended up with 24 medium-sized cookies, masha’Allah. My dad liked them, which I take to be a sign of a successful baking session, alhamdulillah – trust me, he’s a harsh critic, and doesn’t have a sweet tooth like me and mum – so I’m satisfied. :)

First off, I had a ‘mad’ craving for summit sweet after dinner – but horror of horrors: no decent chocolate in the house. What to do? I suddenly came up with the idea that I would make raw cookie dough. Them US peeps seem to be crazy about the stuff, and actually buy it in packs ready-to-eat, so I thought it must be worth a go – especially as I have all the ingredients in the house from last week.

Top Chef Google found me an egg-less, choc chip recipe. However, I didn’t have any choc chips, so I added chocolate sprinkles (insert laugh here), and a generous pouring of hundreds and thousands, for added crunch factor. It looked okay, and tasted okay, but after a few nibbles I realized that I was not going to be able to eat much more. I actually felt a little nauseous later on (don’t tell mum that; she warned me eating raw dough would be a bad idea).

So after that failed kitchen experiment (results: Americans are weird), I then decided to go all out, and just bake some darn cookies! I added some self-raising flour and a couple of egg yolks, rolled it out, cut some shapes, and shoved the lot in the oven for 10 minutes, et voila: biccies that didn’t taste all that bad, masha’Allah.

My parents were pleased, alhamdulillah, (and no doubt surprised that I pulled it off without making a big fuss). But I, being my own worst enemy, found them a tad too sweet. So, to finish off the whole American tribute, I prepared myself a plate of cookies, with a side of milk – finally, a US treat that agrees with me!

Final Recipe (makes approx. 25 cookies, 7 cm diameter):

2/3 mug of plain flour
2/3 mug of self-raising flour
1/4 mug unsalted butter, melted
1/2 mug granulated white sugar
1 tsp of vanilla essence (alcohol-free)
2 medium egg yolks
1.5 tbsp milk (part of original cookie dough recipe, but it didn’t seem to harm the end results)
an undetermined amount of chocolate sprinkles + ‘hundreds & thousands’

Instructions: Mix ingredients in a bowl, leave the dough to set in the fridge for a few minutes, roll it out (3-5mm thick), make whatever shapes you please, bake in 200oC oven for just under 10 minutes (depending on how brown you like them), leave to cool, then eat!

]]> http://imuslim.tv/2009/09/29/impromptu-american-cookies/feed/ 3 http://imuslim.tv/2009/09/28/a-safe-space/ http://imuslim.tv/2009/09/28/a-safe-space/#comments Mon, 28 Sep 2009 13:34:06 +0000 iMuslim http://imuslim.tv/2009/09/28/a-safe-space/ I’ve noticed that I refrain from commenting on several blogs, even my regular reads, because I don’t deem them ‘safe’. I don’t mean that I fear being tagged by intelligence services (I don’t think I’m controversial enough for that; though Allah knows best), rather, I just don’t feel comfortable speaking up, for one reason or another.

I wonder, do people feel the same on my little corner of the web? I don’t think I have enough readers to warrant attention from Islamophobes and general nasties. But there are many other reasons to be timid.

Which sites to you feel safe on and why? Do you do anything special to welcome and reassure your readers?

Speaking of fear, last night I had a mini-panic attack that took me a while to overcome. I was already emotionally vulnerable as I had been suffering minor illness for several hours.

I was lying in bed, desperately trying to sleep away the discomfort, when I heard two loud screams, one male and one female, accompanied by thumps, like people rushing out of bed and running about the house. I would have sworn this was all taking place next door, and the first, immediate thought that came to my head was “fire”.

I, myself, ran out of bed to my window, looking for smoke or the tell-tale “orange glow”, but alhamdulillah, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. (FYI, I live in terraced housing which is why the thought of fire scared me even more.)

But even with no outward signs of danger, the panic had already set in, and I couldn’t hold my emotions in any longer. I switched on the landing light, and selfishly fumbled my way down the stairs, without the aid of my specs, to my parents’ bedroom. Thankfully they were both awake as they had heard the same noise. Like a small child, I latched onto my mother in baby bear fashion, expressing both my paranoid fear and physical weakness in a series of incomprehensible whines. She reassured me in her usual manner, as only a mother can. Allahu Akbar, may Allah preserve her, and make me a good daughter, ameen.

As I am not usually prone to such panic attacks, the whole experience was an eye-opener. The lack of self-control; the inability to protect one’s self, one’s family or belongings. When I eventually returned to my room, I still had trouble sleeping as I wondered about what I would do in the actual event of a fire, Allah forbid. What items would I grab? Would I have time to dress? What would I really miss if all my ‘stuff’ was burnt to a crisp? I decided my MacBook & my large-print Qur’an (please don’t think me pious; I’ve simply grown accustomed to it).

It’s clear that being an only child, I can get away with being ‘babied’, even at my age. I couldn’t help but wonder this morning, having finally 99% recovered, how a future spouse would deal with me? Would I even be comforted in the same way, him being a man? I know most women miss their mothers when undergoing physical hardship, such as illness, childbirth, or the normal stresses of life. Even my own mother misses my naani (her mother), and she passed away around 40 years ago. May she rest in peace, encompassed by the mercy of Allah, ameen.

I’m not sure of the point of sharing all of this. It was only a few moments from my life, that seem insignificant when compared to the tragedies I awoke to in the headlines today (flooding of Manilla, droughts in Iraq, etc).

All I know is that sometimes, blogging helps me to reflect upon my own weaknesses, and blessings – which is a blessing in itself. Your reading makes me feel less alone, and maybe you feel less alone too, knowing that there is someone else out there who is ‘not quite normal’, behind closed doors…

Praise God for all things.

The day involved two major meetings, each relating to the two main projects that currently dominate my unemployed life: Deaf Muslim initiatives (e.g., SignLabs), and blogging. As the content of both meetings was pretty much confidential, I’ll skip the details, and just describe the basic aims.

In the morning, I met with reps from two different Deaf groups, to discuss a newly proposed plan to translate the Qur’an into British Sign Language. It’s a really exciting project, masha’Allah, for many reasons, and of course, extremely rewarding on many levels.

Earlier the same week, I had a meeting with another group who were responsible for getting the Friday khutbah at East London Mosque translated into BSL. During that discussion, I was made aware of the struggle of presenting Islam to the Deaf in a clear, non-confused manner, especially when taking into consideration both the numerous language and cultural barriers.

Both meetings, though very useful and informative, highlighted the fact that I am such a newbie. I cannot sign, so I am useless for translating anything into BSL, and have to rely on others to interpret. I am not sufficiently knowledgeable in Islam to act as an aalima consultant-type. I’m not even a media expert to offer video production services on a grand enough scale to make a real impact. At best, I’m another pair of hands, and an extra voice, hopefully making the work of the professionals a little easier, insha’Allah.

Anyway, this realization has given me further motivation to start learning sign language properly. I submitted an application for a BSL level 1 course at my local community college, which should start in September (if they accept me; the course is quite popular, apparently). I then plan to apply what I have learnt by volunteering my spare time to London-based Deaf groups: after all, if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it (“it” being knowledge).

SignLabs started out of pure impulse to do something. Now it needs to mature into something else. I hope, in time, to figure out what that something else is, insha’Allah.

Now, onto Meeting 2.

Well, actually, there was a 1.5 hour gap between Meetings 1 and 2. My plan to fill that time by depositing a cheque at the bank failed after it only took around five minutes to cross the road, complete the form with my account details, seal the envelope, and plonk it in the letterbox. Darn. What to do now?

After spending a few more minutes standing outside the bank, looking up into the sky, and tapping my chin, (receiving a couple of odds stares in the process), I decided to risk the bad weather, and nip down the road to the Idea Store (oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I was in Whitechapel all day), which is basically a snazzy-looking public library. I failed to access the free WiFi on my iPod, and couldn’t be bothered to open an account just to use the computers, so I did something I haven’t done in a long, long time: I grabbed a couple of books, sat down at an empty table, and quietly read for the next hour or so.

Can you believe it?

Me? Read? A Book?!

I mean, I read every day… blogs, articles, instructions on the back of soup packets… but a book? Not even an e-book downloaded from the net! Paperbacks are, like, so 20th century, darlink…

Anyhoo, the first book was a general overview of Evolutionary theory, in preparation for writing my long-promised essay. The second was on the British suffragette movement. I want to know more about how women fought for their rights, as I believe such genuine, sincere struggles are being betrayed by the actions of some modern-day feminists, as well as the newly emerging ‘laddette’ culture. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to finish either book, as I didn’t want to go through the hassle of registering for a library card. So I’ll have to continue my education some other day.

Finally, the time came to make my way back up the road to the London Muslim Centre, for Meeting 2. Though there is much to say about what happened over the course of the next few hours, for now, I can only reveal that it was about British Muslims and the media. I was there as a representative of the Muslim blogosphere – though I felt like such a tiny, little sardine of a fish in the pond of large tuna-sized media fish, that surrounded me on the table. However, I became more piranha-like towards the end of the meeting, partly out of impatience, and partly because my stupid, big mouth can’t help but snap at others sometimes – no matter what their status is in comparison to mine – may Allah forgive me.

It’s funny though, because it was the second time that day that I had touched upon the subject of culture in Islam (that’s what my big mouth was debating at the time). My own opinion is that it is fine, as long as it doesn’t take the place of religion: though what I class as ‘culture’ (fashion, food, language and the arts) is regulated by Islam, to varying degrees. This opinion is based on comments made by several respected scholars.

I actually used to be far more hardline in the past, claiming that culture was the ‘enemy’ of Islam… but that was born out of ignorance, not educated reasoning. Over the years, I have been quite surprised to discover how accommodating Islam, and in turn, the learned representatives of Islam are to a nation’s culture, even going so far as to take it into account when formulating legal rulings.

However, my respected ‘opponent’ seemed to disagree with me. Or at least, insist on not understanding me, because I actually think he shared the same opinion. More likely, I didn’t explain my stance very well; I don’t claim to be a skilled conversationalist.

Anyway, I have a tendency to dwell on such incidents, because they are usually quite rare (I normally shy away from confrontation); I am sure it has been long forgotten by everyone else (at least, that’s what I hope, insha’Allah!). If not, I shall blame my behaviour on youthful impetuousness… {cough}

So, basically, that was my day. I went home with a doggy bag full of the yummy Bengali food that had been served as lunch during the second meeting, and ended up napping on the sofa. My tiredness from all the activity makes me wonder how I’ll cope with a full-time schedule this coming October. I may have to do some Rocky-style training beforehand, or something.

#Ba baa ba-ba-baa, ba-ba-baa, ba-ba-baa…# [That's the start of the Rocky theme tune, for those of you wondering if I've lost it completely...]