IN PERFECTION

Now, when Toobaa is asked about her faith, she is asked about her faith. Her faith is not assumed to be defined by those (television/newspaper) images, (dementor) shadows and (all meanings of) shrouds. ‘OH, but the unity! The unity! You trample upon it (softly)!’ I hear the quilters cry. Show me a slice of your unity and I’ll show you the cap under my scarf. Who needs unity when you can celebrate Eid fifty-five days a year. Or perhaps, our definitions of unity do not quite stand still next to one another because one is a Montague and the other a Capulet, the latter never having to change her surname because she is granted that right.

And this grants a flashback to Roshan and Maira who sing the poems celebrating His Oneness that they learned from school, singing ‘Say He is Allah the lonely One… He has no father, no mother, no solicitor and no brother.’ Their untrained tongues fail to express what each and every cell in their bodies hold to be true- better than most. And yet the imperfection, the folly, is utterly charmingly beautiful and testament to the numinous-inity, the Truth. The reality of a perfect filled circle is indebted to each and every angle- odd and limited.

I do not see that the problem of imperfection is one that I would dare address. Let us watch it as a spider in the dry bathtub. Hoovering it up will hide the beauty that we are blessed to witness. Its awesome trek out of the tub. Its attempted routes. Its slippery slide all the way back down. Oh, how tempting it is to lift it out, help it away from its struggle. Its potential and capacity is renowned, praised, admired, and demonstrated in tribal tales, folklore and The Daily Mail. And yet, it must demonstrate. Is that how He sees us…?

Let me emulate Nana Abu. He claims he cannot see or hear much at all anymore. Everybody goes up really quite close and shouts ever so slightly loud in his hair and yet he gazes ahead, waiting. Observing Nana Abu use his senses tactically and respond strategically has led researchers Amber (6), Talha (8), Amal (10), Usama (14) and Toobaa (121) to conclude that he is, in fact, pre-tending. But that’s because he’s 85 (akhhh thu thu thu) and very, very tired. Evidently, he finds that it is so rather pleasant, and no doubt convenient, to deny recognition of the foolishness, obscenity and mere idiocy that all people tend so readily to exhibit, by not responding. I mean, the imperfection.

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