He asked me for some money. Not a lot, but enough to make me angry. Dad always said that he was up to no good. I didn’t want to listen to his reasons or excuses. Just told him a flat “no”. He didn’t argue.
“That’s okay bro. No problem. I just stopped by to see you. I am tickled pink that you are doing so well.” We looked at each other, I with an air of superiority and he, just a simpleton of a brother that I couldn’t tolerate to have around.

He was a couple of years younger than me. We were brothers but we were more than that. We were friends, until he signed up to go to war. He came back a changed man. Couldn’t hold a job. Didn’t bother eating the right kind of food. Started losing weight and thought I would hold his hand and lead him the way. I had my own life, my career, my stand in the society. I was always a fighter; always wanted to do things my way, and didn’t tolerate interference.

He went away after an hour or so. Said he was returning to Kansas. I didn’t ask him what he wanted the money for. Didn’t ask him to stay and spend the night in his old room. He went away.  I let him go!

Two months later I had forgotten that he had come by and had asked for some money. I was too busy. I was making a life for myself and doing it well. In these two months, my brother was diagnosed with terminal cancer of the esophagus, and had died in the hospital.

I received the call from the nurses at the hospital. He had named me as the only surviving relative. Somewhere from the deep crevices of my brain, I heard a scream that sounded like a growl of a hunted animal. I had always protected him and fought for him. My mask of menace and hostility was unraveling and I found myself on the floor, holding on to my stomach.

I kept hearing my own voice over and over again in the catacombs of my brain.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Take this money, I have no use for it now. Please come back to me!”
“Forgive me, forgive me, please forgive me.”
“There is a hole in my life and only you can fill.”
“You are gone now, and I cannot forgive myself. I want you here my brother, the longing is like an unending prairie, thirsty and hungry for your love.” “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me that you needed the money for treatment? I would have given you my life. “

All I now have is the cacophony in my brain like a metronome, hurting me, hating me, lynching me over and over and over again.

 Zakiah Sayeed October 9^th 2015 (Fiction)

I was a third year resident at the hospital when I started having uneasy thoughts about my father. He was in India and I was in St. Louis MO. I would spend time praying for his health and would get some solace through that. And whenever I received letters from home, there was no mention about health issues at all. He sounded happy and busy as usual.

On the 14^th of March 1974 I was in a meeting with the department and came out to grab a glass of water. Alice the secretary said, “Dr. Ali Western Union wants to talk to you. They have been on line for a few minutes”. I felt like my legs had turned to granite and concrete. I knew that I wouldn’t be hearing anything good. My heart kept a rhythm of “My father, my abba, please don’t let me hear anything bad about my abba.” Why would Western Union want to talk to me? My heart beating at a horrible rate, I walked into my office and picked up the phone and in a weak whisper I said “Hello?”

“Dr. Ali, I am sorry I have some bad news for you. We have a telegram from your sibling in India. It reads, ‘Our father passed away early this morning.’ I sat at my desk stunned in disbelief. “NO,” I screamed. “It cannot be. I just received a letter from him yesterday to congratulate my daughter’s birthday. When was this telegram sent?”
“It is dated March 15^th”, he replied.
“Well then it cannot be true. It is only the 14^th here. There is some mistake somewhere. My father was healthy.”

“Dr. Ali, I am really sorry for your loss, the date in India is already the 15^th”. I apologize for this news, but it is the truth. The telegram is signed by someone named Atiah. Do you recognize the name?” In a weak voice I said, “She is my younger sister”. The guy was so kind. He wanted to know if he could call someone for me, to help me.

This was the reason why I had such premonition and unease for so many weeks. I have always had these feelings whenever things are supposed to go awry. But this was so bad and so untimely and so consuming even for the way I feel with premonitions usually.

It was the worst of times for me. I had no one in this country to reach out to. Everyone was in India, and I was so alone in a country where people looked at me as a foreigner and didn’t have much to do with me. The Niagara of my tears kept me drowned in grief. I called my mother, and it took many hours before the call could be connected. What grief and sorrow in her heart there was, when she said, “My daughter, the crown from my head has now fallen to the ground.”

And then something profound happened. I was at home a couple of weekends later, and trying to put my baby to sleep in my arms. My tears were easy on my cheeks, and suddenly I saw that the old fake Fichus plant in the corner near me, swayed. The leaves were rustling. Everything was quiet at home, no air and no windows were open. I kept staring at that plant. And suddenly the entire room was filled with a fragrance that I cannot describe. A million bottles of Arabian perfumes couldn’t compare to the fragrance I felt all around me. I started sobbing, because I knew that my father had come to touch me, and tell me to have strength and courage. When I went home to visit my mother, the same fragrance overpowered me in one of the verandas where I sat with my mother one day.  When I asked if she was able to smell the fragrance at all, she said “NO, not at all!”

It has been so many years, but I still feel him through the truly heavenly fragrance every so often. I have traveled all over the world and have purchased the most expensive perfumes, but none can match what I sense and feel when my father visits me.

I am sorry this post is so long and wordy.

Zakiah Sayeed

A nine year old girl gets standing ovation for her performance.

Please watch.

Mohamed's birthday was coming up on the 12th, and so I told him that I would treat him to a trip top Chicago, just to gallivant. He was excited and I thought it would be good for us to get out for a weekend, especially after the fiasco of my India trip.

I talked to Eunice my friend from medical school, and we decided to party. We took the train up to Union Station on the morning of the 11th. Eunice met us at the train station, and took us to her condo. We had reserved a suite at the Hilton Hotel on Michigan Avenue, but Eunice wanted us to spend time with her first, go to a Thai restaurant in the Bloomingdale place and then she would drop us off at the hotel. She wanted us to go to her place for dinner that night. The above pictures are from her home. She had planned a gorgeous meal. The cake was incredible. It was made with Greek yogurt  and blackberry mousse. It literally melted in the mouth. The above pictures are from Friday night at her condo.

I had taken some pictures at lunch on my cell phone. There were some of Eunice and me. I have posted about Eunice in the past. She is a pediatric Nephrologist with University of Chicago. World renowned and about three years back she was recognized by the University and all her colleagues for the kind of work she had done, and many of the world renowned nephrologists/surgeons had come from all over the world to honor her. After the dinner at her place I wanted to share the pictures on my cell phone with her,, and lo and behold, I couldn't find my phone. I called the number, but it never rang where I could hear it. While frantically searching for it, I realized that during our ride from the Hilton to Eunice's condo on Lake Shore, I had called her to let her know that we were turning into her drive, and to open the main door for us. I thought I had put the phone back in my pocket... but obviously not. It must have slipped and fallen down in the taxi. IT WAS GONE! I had to call my carrier and the guy couldn't GPS it and so he suspended the number and the phone.

Not having a phone for the entire weekend, felt like as if my hands were amputated. Saturday was Mohamed's birthday, and I didn't want him to feel bad, so I told him and Eunice that I wasn't going to worry about it or talk about it. We went to the Chicago Museum of Arts and spent the afternoon there. Had lunch at The Sofitel, and at night went to The Alhambra Place for dinner. Really had a great time.

These sunflowers were all over the lobby of The Sofitel. Absolutely beautiful.

The Alhambra Place is a sort of replication of the Alhambra palace in Spain. The interior is absolutely gorgeous. Very ornate and a great experience with good dining and entertainment by belly dancers, who unfortunately were mediocre at best.

The picture below is of Eunice and her niece who was with us for dinner. She is a pediatrician in Schaumberg.

After I returned home, I went to Us Cellular and got a new phone. Fortunately all my data and contacts were saved by i-cloud. I was so relieved.

On Sunday this week end I had a couple of friends over for dinner and they brought these gorgeous and amazing bouquet of gladiolus.  Sorry about the plethora of pictures.  I thought I would  crowd you all with them since I hadn't posted in some time.

Good night. Same post going into WordPress.

Do you remember this beautiful lady? Yesterday I heard that she had succumbed to the melanoma that she was diagnosed with, two years back. She was one of the sweetest xangans I had known. Her id was sister mae on xanga, and her name was Malla Beardshear. She was always advising every one to use sunscreen. Always a gentle soul, so courteous and gracious in her comments and the sweet blogs that she would write. I am so sad to hear that she passed away. She was a facebook friend, and I think even as late as last week she had commented on my page.

She lived in Warsaw MO, and was married to Jeffrey. He was such a good support to her throughout her ordeal and took care of her extremely well. She was so in love with him and was so grateful to him for all that he did. I called the newspaper in Warsaw, and got the name of the Funeral home. I have sent a letter to her husband and daughter expressing my feelings. If any one is interested in expressing their condolences, please send a letter to Jeffrey , C/O Rea Funeral Chapel, 1001 S Limit Ave,  Sedalia MO 65301.

My regret is that when I went to the Ozarks last year, I was planning to look her up, but didn't get a chance to do that.  It will always be an ache for me.

She was kind of an introvert. Lived in her own world of make believe and dreams. Her world revolved around books, class work, and writing. She loved to write. Her greatest dream was to fly out to another world, another continent, crossing the oceans and the mountains. But she always wanted to return to her land. Her niche, and love the people around her and help who ever needed help.

Things didn’t work out the way she had hoped. Life got in the way. Her mantra was that she should find beauty in the worst of things. The ugly crow when it starts to fly, still makes the same sounds with its wings when they flap up and down, like a dove does.

She started caring for an orphan. The child was only about eleven years old, and looked so lonely, sitting on the curb one morning when she was going to college. She saw her again in the evening when she was returning home. The child had moved to a bench and was sitting with her legs dangling. She stopped the car and walked up to her.

“Hi, what is your name, and why are you here alone?”

“Myin yateem hoon!” (I am an orphan). Mera naam Roopa haii. (My name is Roopa)  She explained that her uncle and aunt had gone to the village to visit relatives and would return the next day.

There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction. What made her stop at the curb? Why did she talk to this young girl? While her heart beat hard against her ribs, she continued to question the little girl.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Nyin.” (no).

The eyes were dry but the heart cried, tears of sorrow and frustration and despair. The sounds of the street became silent, and she was lost in the pools of those saucer like eyes that stared at her, challenging her to feed her.

She took her to her own home, and asked one of the domestic helps to bathe her and feed her. The next day she didn’t go to college, but went instead to the small shack where the Roopa lived with her relatives. This became a routine, day after day, and week after week. The girl blossomed in the stranger’s love and affection. She started attending school and her life changed.

Roopa brought smiles to her heart, and where there were tears, and a fisting ache in the pit of her chest, there came now, peace and love and a feeling of belonging. She belonged to Roopa as much as Roopa belonged to her. She thought about the river of life and how it changes its course. The river runs through all beings, no matter where one comes from, all over the world. It’s the river of the heart, and the heart’s desire. It’s pure and essential to the changes in one’s life.

I missed posting this photo, and when I tried to edit and get it in, it didn't go through.

Here's yours truly with the bride and groom.

That's it.

August 15th was the day of the wedding. I was happy that the day had arrived, because I knew that I needed to head back home. My original plan was to stay in India for two full weeks. But I couldn't do that and so I returned home a week earlier!   however, I was able to see the wedding and the gala affairs of this once in a life time event.

The main ceremony of the wedding was held in the mosque. This was part of the complex which is a Trust that our family had started, houses an orphanage where I had gone a couple of times and worked with the little kids, doing physical exams on them. It also has schools, both elementary and high school, and a vocational school that my nephew had started a few years back, named after my sister. Therefore it was a grand gesture to have the ceremony in the mosque of this hallowed ground.

The bride wore the palest of green, with a veil that was gossamer thin and was bordered with pure silver work  . In her neck she wore a pearls with diamonds large emeralds bordering the choker.

This is a picture of the mother, Sadiya with the bride.

Saniya's friend keeping her company before the ceremony started.

That night there was a banquet, (another one! They were teasing my stomach!), and Saniya was dressed in  deeper green clothes. The parents and the sisters brought her to the stage for a final family togetherness.

The backdrop is an intricately woven wall of red roses. Millions of them. There were about fifteen professional photographers who were clicking away constantly. My nephew has promised to send me the link. Not sure if I will be able to go through all of them in this life time! There were so many dignitaries at the banquet. Princes from the subcontinent, Saudi royalty and Japanese and other ambassadors were all there. I was so proud of my nephew.

I am sorry that the above two pictures are blurred a bit. I think my hands were tired.

The following day, the groom's family had a reception in a palace. I am so glad I didn't take pictures of their food court. I would have been crying now. The dishes looked amazing, and there were so many different ethnic foods from the Indian Subcontinent and from Europe. It was incredibly exotic, the whole atmosphere. Yes there were cakes too! Not the kind we have here with a bride and groom on the top of the cake., but more sedate and very tasty.

And finally you get to see the groom.

I was talking to her on the stage and she whispered to me," Alabeti these diamond neckwear and the earrings are so heavy.  I just want to take them off". Poor little princess!

Like I said elsewhere, the flowers were fresh and their fragrance was heady and wonderful.

And now I will post a couple of pictures of another nephew and his wife, and my cousin's wife and her daughter Rida. My nephew reminds me a little of my father;  my father was much taller though.

This cutie pie danced to a very popular song at one of the events. I video taped it. I shall post it another day. Isn't she cute?  Following this event of the reception, the next night, my cousin and his wife pictured here, had invited the entire wedding party to their new home for a dinner. OMG! What food I missed!

Hope you have enjoyed this trip and the photos that I have posted.  !5th August is also the Indian Independence Day. I took some pictures of that with my cell phone and will post them here on another day.
Ciao.

The night before the wedding was the night of thanksgiving. Again a huge function. There were hundreds of friends and relatives. The adjacent hall had tables set up for dinner. The cuisine was amazing, I think. I didn't get to eat much, I had lost my appetite by now, and was surviving on yogurt and rice and some soup. I want to cry at the thought of missing all that food. There were hundreds of people falling all over the food, and there I was fondling my angry stomach!

There was entertainment that was beyond my imagination. A few dancers were bought from Dubai, who danced like the whiling dervishes of Turkey. It was mesmerizing. Then they donned some electrical costumes and danced, and the whorls and the way they were spinning was spectacular. It really was electrifying. Then there was fireworks. Totally out of this world.

Saniya looked so beautiful in the typical red and gold of the occasion. Her jewelry was of regal and princely magnitude. Every day, was a day of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, the size of which I had not seen before. Well may be I had, but didn't remember. Doesn't she look so beautiful? Why the downcast eyes? Because Muslim brides in India and Pakistan do not flaunt their looks, and do not show off their clothes or expose any part of their body like the brides in the west.

The next day was the wedding, and I shall have more, many more pictures for all of you. Hope you are not bored by this.

Once I got into the city, I pretended that I was doing well. Smiled a lot, and hugged a lot. I did tell a few people that I didn't feel too good, but I was otherwise okay. The entrance to the house was decked with flowers, all the way from the drive way.

The above picture is of my nephew,, his wife Sadiya and their daughter Saniya,the bride to be,.

The tables of food were loaded with the best cuisine. I looked at each and every dish with longing. But knew I couldn't touch them. I had (most of the time) yogurt, and soft rice and may be a piece of kebab. arrrgh! I am telling you it was a torture to be there and not enjoy all the food. But, such is life I suppose.

The day I reached, there was a henna event for family members.  The formal ceremony would come the following day. I do not consider myself young or vibrant to want to get my hands painted with henna. When I was young, I did enjoy it; and therefore refused to have the ladies apply the mixture to my palms. But Sadiya (my nephew's wife) and all the other relatives forced me down and I got some design done. It was actually fun. I had never had any thing as intricate and pretty ever before. The three ladies came from a town called Bangalore, about 150 miles away, just to do this for the bride's family. It was like an assembly line. One would draw the outline, and the other ladies did the finishing touches by filling in. Looks like a tattoo, doesn't it? Except the color is deep red, and is gone in about a week. I can hardly see the design on my palms now.

The following day the entire bridal party moved to a hotel called the ITC Grand Chola. Chola was a dynasty of King Asoka in the fifteenth or sixteenth century I think. The hotel was immense. It is considered to be the best hotel in India, and probably the grandest around the world. I know, the Ritz Carltons of this country couldn't hold a candle to its magnificence. When I walked out of the hotel to take some pictures, the humidity was so intense that the lens of my camera fogged up. But I think it is a cool photo anyway.

The foyer had the most beautiful marble entrance I have seen.

That night there was a function of the Henna ceremony. My nephew had reserved 150 rooms for all the guests. A huge hall was decked with jasmine garlands. In the center was the station where professional henna ladies would apply the color to the guests. The bride would have her hands and feet done on a stage near by.

Elsewhere in the same hall, there were hundred upon hundreds of bangles and leis of jasmine for the guests to take and wear them. The pavilion had many small stages where the guests would sit down to have their hands painted.

Some of you know how much I crave, the fragrance of jasmines. I was in heaven with these blooms all around me. Every thing was coming up jasmines. The drapes of the center pavilion were thick strands of jasmine. I had to take a picture of myself with the sisters of the bride, just so I can remember the beauty of the evening.

Ladies waiting to show off their talent.

Each table had this enormous centerpiece of pink jasmines. I think I must have thought I was in heaven.

And finally here is my grand niece, getting her hands and arms and feet done up.

It was a memorable evening.  I shall stop here tonight, and post more photos, perhaps tomorrow night. Hope you have enjoyed these pictures.

I am posting the same on my WordPress blog. Just so you know.