Tag Archives: Friday



It was the end of day, Friday — to be precise. I was tired as I had cooked too many dishes to please my Son’s palate since it was Eid day. He is happiest when he gets the food he likes. I put a little bit of everything on his plate, and pushed it into the microwave to reheat. The food remained ice cold. My first thought was: did I press the button? 

I put the plate inside the microwave again. It remained un heated. It dawned suddenly on me –the thing had gone kaput.

Today is day three of my life without a microwave. I made sure that Son had lodged a complaint with the powers to be at the management. The lady at the office told him that we will have to wait till Tuesday. Monday is Labor Day, and even then it’s not certain that anyone will come to repair, or replace it.

So my life without a microwave continues……..



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My son S, and I were on our way to Houston from Charlottesville. We were traveling in a hired truck which contained my furniture, and household items. This was the second day of our journey. We had started at nine in the morning from the hotel where we had stayed the night. It was the last Friday in the month of Ramadan known as Jumatul Wida. S is very particular about Salat (prayers), and it was time for the Zuhr Prayers.

He exited the highway to enter a city road. Finding a place to park he found out a nearby mosque on the map. It was a new place for us, and it took some time to find one in the area. He found an end road to park our truck. It took some manoeuvering on his part to park it.

We got down. Many cars were already parked near a single story building. I thought it was the mosque. It turned out I was wrong. It was a long hike uphill. The sun blazed overhead. You can imagine how the temperature sizzles in June. We went up and up. I was perspiring badly. I was tired with the traveling we had done, and my legs ached. The road climb was steep. I hauled myself with determination to the top.

At the top, the women’s entrance to the mosque was at the other end. I got there, and looked here and there for a restroom before getting ready to say my salat. My fate that day wasn’t in working order. I had to go all the way back to get to a restroom.

By the time I managed again to enter the prayer hall from the women’s entrance the salat with the congregation was over. S rang me to come out, but I couldn’t answer as I was saying my prayers. As soon as I finished, a woman tapped me on the shoulder saying my name, telling me S was waiting outside. I was surprised, how did she know who I was?

S had got worried while waiting for me, and had given my name, and description. After coming downhill, we got into the truck. We weren’t fasting because we were traveling, so we looked for a place to get a midday meal. Finished with eating we got on the highway to resume our journey.


Sep 19, 2016



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I have come across people who truly believe in their own superstitions. One of them was my (late) mother in law. New clothes couldn’t be worn for the first time on Tuesday. If you did the evil deed, bad luck was sure to follow you. If Eid was falling that day, or some other important occasion, all you could do to avert the bad luck was to wear them for a brief time some other day before the coming Tuesday. For her Tuesday was a harbinger of bad luck.

Something must have happened in her life on Tuesday to think that way.

Another superstition of her was not to use the broom for sweeping after her children left. She would get up early that day, and instruct the cleaning lady to quickly clean the house before the children left on that particular day. She feared something terrible would happen to her children, and they won’t come back  ever.

Another person I know doesn’t wash clothes, or does the cleaning on Friday. She thinks bad luck is sure to follow her if she doesn’t follow her belief.

My (late) maternal aunt thought wearing black clothes brought bad luck. When a black jora (clothes) arrived for me, from my in laws before my wedding, she was shocked at their doing.

My brother in law hid away at funerals. He thought that if he attended funerals death was sure to knock at his door. His wife died about a few years back, and he is childless. Now he comes to funerals, but keeps at a safe distance from the dead person.

Another very dear and sweet lady keeps on knocking on wood for good luck. I wonder how her knuckles survive so much knocking. It’s a continuous knock knock with her within a few minutes of talk. Many a time I would like to get hold of her hands to stop her, but then forbear and withhold my inclination. She is a Muslim, but she crosses her fingers when she wants good luck.




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