Zeneefa Zaneer's Blog

“I’ve heard enough…just leave me alone!” she yelled. Imran’s face reddened with shock. For a moment he felt lost. Finding difficult to stare back at the most adorable eye, now full of rage, he looked at his little girl who started crying out loud. Baby Amna’s cheeks flushed as if she was in a completion with her mother. She threw her baby hands towards her father knowing that he had the warmth to console her than her mother right then. Imran could feel his skin on back of his neck tighten but he tried to stay calm. With all his strength he tried to block the ways for the shaitan’s whispers enter his mind.

“The most perfect of believers in belief is the best of them in character. The best of you are those who are the best to their women.” Thick voice of the mufti he had listen to today started curling up his mind. No, he wasn’t a perfect believer as Prophet (pbuh) had described in the Hadith but he was trying to perfect himself according to the teachings of Islam. The very same thought made him sigh. Wasn’t he treating his wife well? Didn’t he adore her for everything she had? But why did she disobey him? Once upon a time there was love in both hearts but what had happened now?

He watched Fida open her closet and pull out her clothes. Imran moved a foot closer to her when the metal cream pot slipped through her hands. But then he stopped by then, bent and carried the crying baby instead. While patting Amna’s back he miserably watched his wife stuff clothes into a traveling bag. He knew her, he knew her very well that she wasn’t going to change her mind. Not at this point when she was mad at him.

He bit his lower lip while watching her mutter, curse and wipe her eyes with her hands. Unlike the other days, now she disliked his presence and he raked for a good reason to stop her madness. He remembered the days where she would come behind him. Why had she started thinking that it wasn’t the same man she fell in love with a couple of years ago? Had he changed a lot? No, it’s the very same imran to whom Fida had been the world. How could he explain her that he would feel empty without her?

His gaze caught with hers through the mirror. She looked into it for a split second but then she briskly turned away leaving him to stare at his own reflection. Amna now had stopped crying, instead sucked her thumb and flapped her right hand on his white cap which fell off a few frets away from her. At that she giggled but Imran didn’t take his gaze away from his reflection. Yes, he has changed. He’s not the funky guy anymore. He’d changed to a following Muslim, a man with a beard and a kurti, not the one Fida had fallen love with.

hanged. She didn’t like his attitudes or his looks anymore. He is not the Imran Hashim she knew from her school days. He was popular, heart winning then, but look at him now?

“Where are you going, Fida?”

This time his voice was stern. He couldn’t tolerate the agony he felt right then.

“I’m not obliged to answer all your silly questions Imran Hashim…I’m not your slave anymore…come on Amna…I don’t want you to be around him!”

She said angrily and carried the toddler. Little girl who just began to feel warm in her father’s warmth started to cry again. She hugged her father’s neck predicting the separation yet to come. Fida pulled her daughter towards her. It hadn’t been easy as she had expected to be but imran’s heart thawed watching the expressions in Fida’s face. He knew he couldn’t win her back being cruel. Perhaps the baby could feel her father’s withdrawing warmth. She soon surrendered to her mother, still crying out loud.

“You’ll regret one day Fida…” he whispered.

That is all what Imran could mutter. She gave a last frowning look at him. Imran’s lips quivered. With a broken heart he watched her slam the door behind her. Imran knelt down feeling lost as if gathering million pieces of his shattered world. Only He could hear his pounding heart with thousand pleas.

To be continued.

In Nothing but Love, the author Zeneefa Zaneer captivates the reader from the very first page. Amash, a hard-headed and cynical guy is averse to marriage, but is forced to marry A. B., upon the last wish of his mother with whom he had a strained relationship. A. B., a strong-willed and bold girl comes with the package of a mysterious past. Will Amash marry the no-nonsense practicing Muslimah his mother chose for him? Will A. B. get rid of her past and live in peace? These are some questions that will grip the reader to its end, sometimes making him/her to go back and read some parts to understand better.

The book is clearly written from the heart, with a beautiful writing style. The author’s play of words and twists and turns in the plot intrigues the reader. She also touches upon the history of Sri Lanka, and uses Sri Lankan terms explaining what they mean. Coming from a Tamilian background myself, I felt at ease coming across the terms and didn’t think twice. Issues such as niqab is dealt in a poignant yet smooth manner with teenage characters.

Although there are couple of minor typos, and at times a sudden shift in scenes, it didn’t hinder the flow of reading.

Overall, a wonderful read, with a good mix of masala (spice), emotions, and Islamic teachings.

After all, what is needed in a marriage? Nothing but Love.

Perhaps, another Umm Zakiyyah in the making?

Umm Afraz, Head Facilitator at Islamic Online University Diploma Section and Ameerah/Counselor atAr-Rajaa The Hope Counseling Service

I begin in the name of God, the Most Loving, the Wise, the one who deserves all praise. And we ask that He send the best benedictions upon His beloved, prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him. In writing this, I intend, after seeking the pleasure of God, to inspire people and change this world:

I haven’t really been keeping up to date with my book reviews…I’ve read a couple great books so far this year but just haven’t gotten the time to type up the reviews for them all yet. Here’s book number two of our shared reading journey: check it out then come back and let me know what you think!

So guys, I want to begin this post by establishing two things:

1. I enjoy reading but…if the book doesn’t catch me in the first let’s say, ten pages, I’m done. I can’t read a boring book. Maybe I can but it’ll just take me a long time. If it’s fiction though and it’s supposed to keep me entertained, I won’t do it. I’m very protective, when I’m allowed, of my creative flow…and I don’t force it.

2. I really don’t like writing or reading online. I’m more of a paper and pen, flip through the pages kind of person. I borrowed an eBook from the library and I think it’s really cool that that’s a thing, but I never read it because when I’m forced to sit at my computer or phone for really long periods of time, it makes me really hate being on the computer or phone.

Now that that’s out of the way, I saw a post on a cool Facebook group I’m on looking for a couple people to review a new Islamic romance novel. I want to get into this whole book review thing and I haven’t read an Islamic novel in a minute, so I said sign me up.

It was Friday night, a particular Friday night before a Saturday morning where I’d have to be out the door by 9 in the morning to volunteer for a Girls Scout event at our neighboring hospital.

I told sister Zeneefa I would read this book, it was on my to-do list for that day to get started on the reading…and plus, I was really curious to see how this “Islamic Romance” novel would turn out – especially, in light of the typical, person converts to Islam, meets totally awesome muslim usually associated to the person who helped them become a Muslim, gets married and viola – never quite as simple as that but hopefully you get the point.

It was 10:30, I said I’ll read two or three chapters. Well guys, that was a mistake. I read a couple chapters. Then I convinced myself I’d go to bed by 2am. Then I really had to find out what was going to happen next…and yeah, I didn’t get to sleep until 4:30 in the morning.

Nothing But Love was everything but a stereotypical Islamic love story – the author, sister Zeneefa touched on some pretty difficult topics with great tact and authenticity.

Lot’s of pain…both the young man and the young woman came from difficult situations but what is more, they are on guard, they are even bitter from what life has dished out to them – so how will they manage? Will they be able to open up and help one another to heal? Will they let everything come between them and let everything fall null and void?

Is it just a business contract? Does it make up for his past regret or hers?

Is it ever really the past when it involves your family?!

Will they have a relationship with Nothing But Love?

The characters were very relatable, those emotions were very real, that book is definitely engaging!

Only thing I’d say, don’t start reading at 10:30 at night!

Alexandria Potter

from the blog Alexandria Writes

My nose tickles with the smell of Kavum/paniyaram, a traditional sweet made specially in festive seasons. It’s spring here, though it’s unusually warm and people are warned throughout about the horrible weather condition. Cuckoo bird already has arrived and is happily singing. So, it’s school holidays! Should I scream yes!? Or a big nooooooo!?

Spending time with kids is fun, but that’s when you are not the mother of them

“What do you know about love? You never loved Dad…I have never heard you speak about him.”

Those were the last words I spoke with my mother. For a second I thought her eyes shone, I thought she would cry and say that I was wrong. But she just smiled instead. Was it a mocking smile? I don’t know. All I could remember was that I stared back at her furiously and slammed the door in her face. I hated her and wished I never saw her again.

My wish came true. I never did see her again. That night I packed my clothes and walked away. That place was never meant to be my home. I got married to the love of my life. Wafiq was kind and generous, filling my world with love. Wazeem was blessed as a result of that love and we were a happy family, watching our little son grow. I kept thinking that I might have never gone through this joy.

My mother was a strict woman. She wanted everything to be in order. I never felt comfortable in that house. It was more like a museum than a home. Keep your room tidy, wash yourself, brush your teeth, no drinking water in between your meals. She was a jailer and I, her prisoner.

My husband insisted that I visit my mother, but I didn’t want to. She deserved to be alone. Once in a while she would write to me. I didn’t want to listen to her orders and commands. The waste bin was the right place for her writings and one by one her letters joined the rest of the rubbish. One day instead of her letter, I received a telegram. I was curious to know what it contained. My fingers trembled. After all, one day everyone meets their destiny, my thoughts whispered, guessing what was probably written inside. And I was right. She was gone for some good reason.

It took us quite a long time to fly back to that house where ghostly spirits might have accompanied her on her death bead. Hikma, you are wicked, my mind accused myself. She was wicked too, she deserved it. I thought I wouldn’t be surprised if no one had attended her funeral as she wasn’t good to anyone.

When I was growing up, nobody visited us and I wasn’t allowed to visit anyone either. I was isolated and all she said was to be patient. When I was seven she sent me to a boarding school, so that she could do whatever she wanted and only visit me once a month. To my satisfaction she was gone, buried before we arrived. But I was quite surprised to see the number of people gathered in her house, correction my house. Everyone stared at me as if I had committed a crime. Alright now even after you’re gone you left mud to throw on me, I gritted my teeth with anger.

“Poor Sajida, died as if she had nobody left,” I heard an old woman say. I ignored her and walked in. Everyone looked at me and my little son who was hugging my neck, afraid of all the people around us.

“May Allah accept them to Jannah!” I heard another woman whisper. Who else is dead? I shook my head trying to brush away the whispers. Jannah is for good people. My mother was not a good person. She didn’t love me or my dad, how could she love anyone else? We waited until everyone left. I wanted a good sleep. I had other things on my mind. I wasn’t going to live in this house with her ghost. The thought gave me a shiver.

The next day we met the lawyer and discussed her will. She had left me everything except one third of her property to an Islamic school as charity. Whoa! At last she had thought of doing something good. When she sensed her soul would be ripped out for her bad deeds, instead of being gently drawn out, she must have been frightened. The thought made me laugh.

That evening I thought of arranging the house. As always it was too neat and tidy and I didn’t like it that way. It reminded me of my unfortunate childhood with her. That was the last place I wanted to be in, her room. It was too neat, everything was in order and all of a sudden it was too quiet. My heart felt heavy. What was there to clean and arrange anyway? Why should I be wasting my time and energy? I turned to go back, but something stopped me. A paper lay crumpled under the bed, out of place. I took a few steps towards the bed to pick it up. It didn’t look like it was carelessly crumpled. I unfolded it. My fingers moved quickly.

‘As’salamu alaikum my dear Sajida,’ It was a letter titled to my mother. I frowned and looked at the date, three weeks prior to my mother’s death. I knew it was wrong but I wanted to read further. The tiny blue letters were crooked, as if the writer had been in a hurry. I read it again from the beginning.

‘As’salamu alaikum dear Sajida, Hope you are fine with the mercy of Allah. How is our little angel Hikma? Has she begun to crawl?’

What? Even my son has begun to run! I turned the parchment to read the name at the end but I couldn’t make out the signature. So the only way to know the writer was to continue reading.

‘Or is she schooling now? How bad my memory is. When is her wedding? Being apart from you both is torture. I can’t spend a day not thinking of you. I’d love to feel Hikma’s tiny fingers running over my face. Sajida, you know not how much I miss you both. It’s terrible living here. Every day brings pain. Every night I wish I never wake up the next day. But it seems like Allah wants me to live. It doesn’t look like I am going to be released from both prisons…life itself and this cruel place. I cry when I bow down to my Lord, at the injustice of being caged for no reason. There are plenty like me here. You will never believe how life can be a hell. The cruelty I experience cannot be explained. And I don’t intend to make you cry. I’m sorry sweetheart; I’ve left you with so many responsibilities. Please bring up our child without letting her know of these miseries.’

My eyes ran through the word ‘child’ again and again until I felt the tears welling. A letter from my father. But until now I thought he was not with us. I knew he left my mother. I thought the reason was obvious, who on earth would live with a heartless woman? But…

‘I’m sure you’ll face troubles. But be patient for the sake of Allah. He’ll help us to bring her up without all these miseries. Sajida, I feel sorry to leave you honey. You were always a wonderful wife. You made our days beautiful. You sacrificed your happiness to keep us happy. JazakAllah for sending your precious journal. I loved reading it. You are a beautiful mother; my Hikma is the luckiest child to have you around.’

The words released the tears dancing in my eyes. I fell onto my mother’s bed. There seemed to be more for me to learn about the woman I had hated.

‘Protect my child, sweetheart. I love you and this may be the last time I’m writing to you. They’ve decided the day I’ll be executed. Don’t worry. You are a strong woman. You can live without me. Wish and pray this would be the last time an innocent Muslim is being accused of being a terrorist. I’m not sad, I’m happy to be rid of this prison. This life is a prison, we never know until we realize it one day. But it hurts to think of my child. How society would blame her. Although I never lifted a weapon, not even my pen supporting terrorism, I was caught and titled as a terrorist. The only sin, if that was a sin according to their law, was working for them, serving them and voicing against them when I saw their injustice. The only thing I did was being a Muslim and bearing the name Muhammad. But gone is gone. May Allah accept our good deeds and forgive our sins. La ilaha il Allah Muhammad ar rasoolillah! There’s surely no god but Allah and Prophet Muhammad is His last messenger. Love you both, Wassalam’

I couldn’t control my tears. How didn’t I know he was alive until now? He has imprisoned for more than twenty years and my mother hid this from me. Why? Only to protect me from insults and humiliation. And what did I give in return? My fingers ran over the mattress trying to grasp my mother’s hand. My fingers knocked on a hard surface under the pillow. I quickly pulled it out, a book. Could this be the journal my father wrote about, which had filled his lonely days with happiness? I opened the book with trembling fingers.

‘Mmm…just a thought to write my feelings about you. Sweet little life growing in me…I love you…waiting for the man I love to come home to tell him the good news. Can’t imagine how happy he would be…’

Was this my mother? The woman I knew? I turned to another page.

‘A bad day, I call it. You naughty little pie…you’ve learned to strike now…refusing everything what I eat. The whole day seems to be morning for I have morning sickness throughout the day, funny hah?’

My lips curved.

‘I’m so tired and nervous. Our first scan. No matter what I bear, a girl or a boy, whatever it is, it is my child.’

‘SubhanAllah! That was one of the best days in my life. I saw you in me; I heard your heart beat. You were moving your legs like you were peddling a bicycle. Your father enjoyed watching you, honey. How Great Allah is? SubhanAllah! No words to thank HIM!’

‘Sorry sweetheart I couldn’t write anything in this passage of time. It is difficult to keep doing whatever you do when time is approaching to give birth to your own child. I’m preparing to welcome you home inshaAllah. I’ve got a huge belly and I feel your kicks. That is a great satisfaction mashaAllah.’

The words sank deep into my heart. ‘It is a great satisfaction to feel your kicks.’ What else had I done except kick her out of my life. My throat ached with regret.

‘SubhanAllah! You are soft as cotton. I carried my bundle of joy for the very first time. It was a pleasure to hold you tight, sweetheart. You cried being annoyed for I didn’t know how to carry you. Will I hurt you…? That was the only question I had in my mind. Alhamdulillah! This is called motherhood. I thanked Allah and I thanked my mother too for bearing me, protecting me and tolerating me.’

Regrets, regrets…piling in my heart for I never thanked my mother when I carried my bundle of joy.

‘You look delicious, your smell helps me feel good and your cry makes my day. I love you sweetheart.’

‘I love watching your dad playing with you. You resemble him mashaAllah. That was my wish when I bore you. To give me a child like the man I love, a man who loved and honored his wife. As I watch you grow up I fall in love with him over and over again.’

I remembered the last words I spat on my mother’s face. It renewed my tears.

‘It is nice to be a mother. I cry when you cry and laugh when you laugh. You add color to my life.’

The journal was filled with her thoughts of a dearest wife and a loving mother. One by one the pages were added to the left portion of the book. Every page was decorated with her endless love. In every word I discovered a new woman, generous, thoughtful and caring. What a great woman I’d neglected! She had sacrificed her entire life to keep me happy. She had walked away from the place she was brought up after my father was imprisoned. My father had worked for an American company and within few months he was arrested, suspected of being a terrorist. Living apart from the family and isolated in an unknown country he had less opportunity to prove his innocence. He was sentenced to death for no reason. They said he was a terrorist. Why? The only thing he had done was voicing against the injustice of his higher authorities. Bearing a Muslim name was sufficient for them to arrest him and make his life a hell.

Bearing every pain, my mother never let me know her miseries. She gave me a good education. She sent me to a boarding school not because she wanted to get rid of me, but to keep me away from the society waiting to humiliate me. She feared growing with her will cause trouble in my life. She feared when I wanted to go to school from home. And to motivate me to keep going back to boarding school,she tried to become strict so that I’d hate living with her. She was against the idea of my marriage to Wafiq because I requested for a grand function. She didn’t want me to get in touch with known folks who might humiliate me or reveal her secret.

How hard it must have been for her. I didn’t know. I turned to the last page.

‘I miss you and I will miss her. It won’t please her to go back to school. But I don’t want her to be around me. I can’t spoil her life. No one treats me with a smile. They think you are a terrorist. I don’t mind it but I worry about her. How will she tolerate it? I don’t want to see her suffering. Maybe this is the wrong decision but let it be. I will watch her grow distantly. Forgive me if I’m wrong. I want her days to be filled with happiness and I don’t want to pour my sorrows into her life. Let our miseries end with our lives.’

The tears continued to flow. Finally I saw my dad’s handwriting at the bottom of the page. ‘You are the best mother Hikma could have and the best wife a man can wish for. I love you for every struggle you went through. May Allah be pleased with you, honey.’ What else was left? I hugged the book trying to hug her love. How unfortunate I was to hate this beautiful woman? Forgive me, please! I whispered through my cry. Everything you left was love and love alone…you are the best mother a child could have.

©2011 Zeneefa Zaneer **************************************** This story won 1st place for Islamic Writers Alliance 3rd Annual short fiction story competition- member category IWA Winning Short Story 2011

Early sun rays kissed her soft cheeks

Blushed radiantly as happiness peak

Flaring velvet pleats in her skirt

Danced to the happy beat of the fresh breeze

Sprinkled the scent

Calling for the guests

Charmed with love

When visited by a handsome hunt

Cheering as rain falls

Softening her skin

Smiling, feeling blessed

Forgetting the thorns in herself

Fear enters her soul

As dark clouds veil the light

Life is to enjoy

Why bother, she thinks

Exhausted she is

Hides in her dome

Resting for the day

Expecting to bloom for another day

The sun glows

The wind blows

The day begins

With a new hope

But she stands there lonely and lost

Memories strike of her glamorous past

Life isn’t sweet at all

Indeed it is short

It hasn’t taken time to wilt her beauty

She watches with grief

The handsome dukes

Adoring the other beauties

With realization she stares up at sky

Feeling grateful for the atmosphere

For bearing her still, though withered she was

Illusion it has been where she lost herself throughout her life…

***

I imagined of a red rose as I wrote this while I wanted one meaning to be simple as it says throughout the poem. But the real meaning behind this poem,

Poem doesn’t only speak of a red rose and a similar life spent by a woman who seek pleasure in pleasing and attracting men. But it is a poem which speaks of the term love. Love is like a rose. It blooms and fades. Painful it is sometimes as the thorns of the rose pricks now and then yet we forget the soonest and share love forgetting the pains. It spreads fragrance expressing the happiness of life when it is filled with love yet there’s a time that it fades and dies.

When we are been loved we forget the hard times in life. We know there should be an end to this life, the love life. But we forget the reality and live as we never face that truth. One day or another, the love is going to expire yet we intentionally forget and fall in love with people around us. Except for the love of Allah, everything else is an illusion.

Love here is about everything. No love can be put on to same scale. A mother’s love and a wife’s love are different. Yet the one who have fallen in love with the people they love witness a change of love when a new bond is blossomed. A wife’s love for her husband is unchanged when she becomes a mother. But she keeps steps to another phase that her love takes another form as well. A mother’s love for her children is equal yet there are moments that it doesn’t get expressed in the same manner.

How do you measure love, from the flattering comments or expensive gifts? Tickets to a blockbuster movie or hotel reservations for a vacation abroad? Spending much to see your loved ones happy isn’t going to be a waste. Spending for the people in life is an investment. If our intentions are pure and for the betterment of our relationship then invest to keep the beloved ones happy.

But remember that to be happy people don’t always crave for bigger things in life. Little things we do for the people in our lives will enhance the love they have for us.

A couple of days ago while we were searching for a board game my oldest child requested, their father inquired for an electronic drawing pad. I wondered what is the need for an electronic drawing pad when kids are having so much fun splashing paint on themselves. When the salesmen asked whether it’s for kids my husband pointed at me saying he want an adult sketch board. I stood beung startled though nobody noticed that. I’m just trying my luck in illustrating picture books for my own manuscripts. I had no idea that he was admiring what I was doing, Alhamdulillah. As a fiction writer I know that it’s better to show than tell. That day I agreed that this truth is applicable for real life too. Rather telling how much you love, show. It makes a huge difference.

And then today I found an old toothbrush of mine which I had used to clean school shoes being placed in a cover and left with the rest of our toothbrushes. I smiled, my heart heavy with mixed emotions. I don’t know who did that, probably Big Brother or the Big Sister. Their love and care for me was clearly visible through their action. They didn’t just pick the brush from a corner of the washroom but also had picked up a cover for it. I don’t know what ran in their mind when they did that but I could measure their love for me. If you put every object in one side of a scaler and this brush on the other, I’m sure this will weigh too much than the other side of the scaler.

These are the little things that we often miss to see. Be an observer of yourself. Explore the unknown territories of bonds in your life. Sometimes we are too used to seeing ourselves in the mirror that we often miss to notice the changes we make each day.

Excitement is building from this end. How about yours? I’m sure you are here to take a look at what it’s all about. Here’s the first chapter from the novel “Nothing but Love”.

Here’s what some reviewers had to say.

“Nothing But Love by Zeneefa Zaneer is a unique love story set completely within the Islamic framework. The characters are well developed and the storyline keeps the reader engaged. The protagonist’s resilience through numerous obstacles makes the point clear: whomever pledges herself to attain Allah’s pleasure may not have an easy path, but she will, in sha’ Allah, be rewarded with His Grace. Three and a half stars.”- Hend Hegazi, Author of Normal Calm

In Nothing but Love, the author Zeneefa Zaneer captivates the reader from the very first page. Amash, a hard-headed and cynical guy is averse to marriage, but is forced to marry A. B., upon the last wish of his mother with whom he had a strained relationship. A. B., a strong-willed and bold girl comes with the package of a mysterious past. Will Amash marry the no-nonsense practicing Muslimah his mother chose for him? Will A. B. get rid of her past and live in peace? These are some questions that will grip the reader to its end, sometimes making him/her to go back and read some parts to understand better. The book is clearly written from the heart, with a beautiful writing style. The author’s play of words and twists and turns in the plot intrigues the reader. She also touches upon the history of Sri Lanka, and uses Sri Lankan terms explaining what they mean. Coming from a Tamilian background myself, I felt at ease coming across the terms and didn’t think twice. Issues such as niqab is dealt in a poignant yet smooth manner with teenage characters. Although there are couple of minor typos, and at times a sudden shift in scenes, it didn’t hinder the flow of reading. Overall, a wonderful read, with a good mix of masala (spice), emotions, and Islamic teachings. After all, what is needed in a marriage? Nothing but Love. Perhaps, another Umm Zakiyyah in the making?- Umm Afraz

Chapter 1

Please support me through www.launchgood.com/NothingButLove and/or share this with your family and friends.

JazakAllah Khair

For a successful management, records of accounting are essential. Every credit and debit is recorded and analysed every year or so. If the statements are financially positive the management carries its future plans and keeps steps forward in expanding and reaching its goals. If not, the management doesn’t take action in terminating all positions and shut down the company at once, but further analyses for its development. They research for the loopholes, study the consumers and try to stretch further its wings to fly towards its goals. But poor management will not foresee the shortcomings; rather it would take no more risks but decide to shut down the company.

Some of the theories that a company decides when it keeps accounting records are gain and loss recognition, conservatism and so and so.

Conservatism:

Conservatism is that Transactions should be recorded so that net assets and net income are not overstated.

Anticipate losses, but do not anticipate gains.

Gain and Loss Recognition:

Gains are recognized/recorded at the time they are realized.

For example, an increase in the value of land cannot be recognized as a gain until the land is actually sold.

Losses are recognized when they become apparent.

For example, a decrease in the value of inventory would be recognized as a loss when it becomes apparent.

Our lives should be as successfully managed companies, every time the remembrance of our records of good deeds and sins should be analyzed. There will be the One to whom our records will be shown and nothing will go unseen and unheard.

Conservatism in Life:

Anticipate the punishments, don’t ignorantly anticipate the gains. Remembrance of gains in akhira motivates us to walk on straight path, yet don’t assume that everything we do is 100% right. Search for the truth without walking blindly. But remembrance of the fire will surely keep you away from its touch.

‘When you have committed a sin, repent and NEVER repeat. When you are involved in a good deed don’t show it off, better keep it by yourself for the Almighty is all seen.’

Gain and Loss Recognition:

Gains are recognized/recorded at the time they are realized.

Like wise, you cannot measure the value of the good deed you did until they are put on the scale on the Day of Judgment.

Losses are recognized when they become apparent.

When you commit a sin you don’t have to wait until the Day of Judgment, your heart knows whether you committed an unlawful act or not.

Theories of Life are much more complex than the theories of accountancy. Manage life being proactive rather leading it towards bankruptcy.

***

I’m not a poet but sometimes my pen drives me to write a verse or two. These lines were composed in 2012. When it comes to my motherland Sri Lanka, my heart swells with pride and dignity. I’m ever thankful for my beloved country. Let it be an international cricket match or an event that representing Sri Lanka, my hands would raise up wishing nothing but victory. This is my country, the place I was born, my parents were born and my grandparents were born. This is my country where my ancestors sacrificed their lives as patriots. This is my country where I’ll raise my children to respect and love, like their own skin. Nobody can shovel down my throat the thought of being an alien for this land. We together fought for justice and we together will achieve more hurdles. This will remain to be the paradise on earth and I will not be a reason for its destruction, inshaAllah. 

There is always love

That you and I will have

There is always a place for the land

We dwell with pride holding our hands

We are born to be together

A family we are of one mother

This love cannot be stolen

Or will never be broken

Whispering meadows

Gently blowing winds

Beautiful fields

Laced with golden beads

Brooks gently flowing down to the seas

Unfolding stories

Of a proud history

O’ mother of beauty

There’s a place in our heart

That whispers our love for you

O’ mother of dignity

There’s a place in our heart

That pledges our loyalty to you

There’s a dream

Conceived in our hearts

There’s a beam of hope

that will never cease

For a better tomorrow

With no sorrow

We were meant to be one

And shine like the Sun

Born together

To be much stronger

Holding our hands

To protect our land

With differences

Yet as adherents

We are meant to be one

And shine like the sun

Sharing love

You and I have

For the mother

Who bore us in together

O’ mother of beauty

There’s a place in our heart

That whispers our love for you

O’ mother of dignity

There’s a place in our heart

That pledges our loyalty to you

There’s a dream

Conceived in our hearts

There’s a beam of hope

that will never cease

For a better tomorrow

With no sorrow

03-02-2012

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