On Ramadan And Coffee

Coffee. The rich aroma, the bitter taste sweet to the tongue. The act of mapping out the procedure, the memory of savouring  the flavour. Closely monitoring the water temperature to make it 'just right' for the delicate coffee granules [instant, of course!]. Taking a sip and just relishing the ‘feel’…oh! *tickling taste buds*.

I'm the only coffee-drinker in the family, and my parents can't for the life of them figure why the taste for such a bitter liquid? Baba's always like, 'Alishba, fresh, plain boiled milk is good for kids, coffee is not!' and trying to convince me out of it every time he sees me with a cuppa. Mama's divided, which helps out sometimes. But when have I listened to what's being told me before? So ergo, coffee time!

Sehri is a hectic time. Mama's voice is the only sound to be heard above our varied frequency *snores*.

* 'Wake up, hurry!' 'Have you even LOOKED at the time? It's about to be Fajr!' [umm, closed eyes and snoring mouths don't really register time, do they?]

'This is the LAST <emphasis> time I'm calling you guys! I'm not coming in again!' [1min later, back to the * ]. 

Loop till one of us heads groggily to the bathroom - and you get a picture of our too-early-in-the-morning meal.

Figuring in milk, let alone coffee, is a job in itself considering the short span of time before Fajr. But na-an, Mama's watching, NO-ONE dare skip their milk. No amount of reasoning, excusing, coercing works where 'milk' is concerned. So yes, be the nice kids and drink it up in three gulps 'شا باش !'.

Mama kept strict tabs on my coffee consumption during school days. But since I've gone to university, to her remorse she can do this only in the abstract sense, from a distance of many miles. Any Skype conversation usually raises the question, 'Just one cup a day, half teaspoon, right Alishba?'; and taking note of this particular question, 'Oh mama, there's a problem with the internet connection right now, WHAT did you ask again? Too much static, ugh!' is roughly my reply.

Now I've come up to 2 cups daily. And I've simply GOT to have at least one a day. Otherwise, it feels horrible, like something important is 'missing', a stimulation my taste buds are craving...but where is it? Maybe this is what it feels like to be 'addicted'? Get me my cuppa!

Now the magic formula: milk + coffee = latte. Not really coffee, the die-hard fan might say. Plus I use the instant variety, the silly ol' saucepan in the kitchen with a lid, and the connoisseur is justified in wrinkling up his nose. It’s a good thing mama's neither, so now I've discovered an, umm, trick, you might say.*shhh* I now simply microwave the off-course-boiled milk, and spoon in some instant. There's simply no time to go through the 'real' process, no time to take the first sip and savour the taste as the liquid sloshes around in my mouth. No time to frother the milk to be added, no time to take out my special cup + saucer. Rush it up, gulp it down. Hardly a satiating experience. But it's still coffee, isn't it? And just knowing I've had it is a wonderful feeling by itself. And given it's Ramadan and Sehri time, and throwing in the watchful gaze of mama, I guess it's worth it.

So till the ‘hurrah’ formula becomes obsolete and is succeeded by an upgrade, this is the way I can sneak my 'addiction' in. And as waking up earlier is the precursor to a formula upgrade, and so not an option for a sleeper like me, you can rest assured mama, I'll still be having that full cup of milk.

Maybe now you can figure the odd combination of Ramadan and pre-dawn coffee?

coffee beans...my lifeline!

Shattering Entropy

Monday, 16th August. The summer vacations are in full swing. The day was sunny and hot. Isn't that just how all stories start, with a normal day, normal routine, and normal people? Annoying as it may be, there's a reason for this clichéd opening …because nothing, absolutely nothing, can prepare one for the impact of shocks one always assumed to be unsusceptible to.

All through life, one hears about death, sickness, disease. Even though we know it's bound to strike each one of us some time or the other, one can’t help but take the mentions as abstract, as something to happen far off in the future. And as we're instructed to live the present moment because that is what will determine the 'past moment' and lay the foundation for the 'future moment', we just dismiss the notion of ill-fate despite the very real thing that it is.

How many times have we heard about keeping our cholesterol levels in check for cardiac health? Oh-ho, beyond counting! In fact, today's newspaper had a whole article on it!

 And yeh, we pay attention to this because who doesn't want a slim waistline?

Hmm, so what about blood glucose levels? Antioxidant levels? Calcium levels? Most of will answer this with a 'many times'. But since these do not directly affect our 'looks' in the immediate, we tend to turn on mode: IGNORE.

But why am I giving this boring lecture after mentioning a date and the overly used 'normal' opening lines?

Science has given us many reasons for everything from health to 'space', from the mind-boggling concept of bent-time to cloud computing. I know low cholesterol levels are good, that HDL fats are better than LDL's, that green tea has a lot of antioxidants and so promotes fresh skin and a healthy heart. You know them too. Maybe you apply them too. So does my father.

Good cholesterol levels, a healthy blood glucose level. Green tea twice a day, low fat diet. Balanced protein, fresh vegetables. And to complete the 'healthy' picture, some added herbal precautions thrown in too. And yet, my father, a seemingly 'normal' person, on the 'normal' day of 16th August, had a heart attack.

Nothing could have prepared us for such a shocker! I mean, how could MY father have a heart attack? My father, who's a pillar of strength for us? Who's a robust man with a lot of life in him? MY father, who's so energetic and bustling, and only the night before was telling us a fun tale from university life?

Hundreds of people have cardiac arrest everyday, but how COULD my father be one of them?

The truth is, parents are the persons we look up to for guidance even though we'd like to think of ourselves as completely independent individuals. But though we may not spell out our troubles to them, they always sense the something that's wrong, the something that's bugging us to no end. They’re the guiding lights of our lives, the constant pillars in the wild weathers of this world, the solid foundations of our emotions. So when tremors begin to rise in them, it's enough to turn our worlds topsy-turvy. We no longer feel safe, begin to feel our sanctuary evaporating. We feel derived of the consolation only parents can give, that 'everything will be okey, we'll always be there for you!'

That word 'always' is what sets us at ease. What gives us the notion of immortality, of the state of no-change. The sense that things will not tend toward greater randomness, toward greater entropy against the laws of physics. That somehow, the healing touch of our parents will always remain with us in person.

Science does not provide all the answers. Why did baba have an arrest despite the all-clear tests? The doctors were baffled as we didn't even have a history of cardiac issues in our family. They factored maybe stress was responsible for the oncoming. But we'll never know. Perhaps it was a wake-up call from God to warn baba to slow down, to take things in his stride and leave some things to the Creator. Baba has undergone a successful angioplasty and the doctors say he can resume life after a few weeks' rest. For this, I'm incredibly thankful to science; it has provided baba with a new lease on life. Science has served as the matrix upon which prayers have worked.

I pray, especially since the Holy Month is here, that the flame that is my father's life always remains burning and doesn't so much as dim. I pray, God forgives each and every one of our fathers, and lets their light always illuminate the shadowy paths of mortal life.