Dew Point

This blog is dedicated to sharing my every-day discoveries of how the light and beauty of Islamic spirituality can be part of a modern, well-rounded way of life.



Thanking Big

I’d just finished getting my hair cut and styled at the one salon in London that specializes in curls only to walk out the door to find it was pouring rain. The nearest Tube station was shut that Saturday for engineering works, so I scurried down the side streets of the West London neighborhood to the closest alternative, about a 20-minute walk away.

Determined to protect my neatly defined coils from unravelling into a mass of frizz, I huddled under the red umbrella with a duck-head handle I carry with me every day.

 Google Maps recommended I walk through Portobello Market, where merchants selling vintage clothing, handbags and antiques seemed as unperturbed by the rain and near-zero January temperatures as the hundreds of would-be shoppers crowding the length of the road.

With no interest in shopping, my entire focus was to protect my hair from the rain. I tried carefully to navigate my way through the sea of umbrellas without poking anyone in the eye with the exposed metal spike that never failed to come undone from the nylon canopy at inconvenient moments like that one.

Before entering the final stretch of the street market, I came to an intersection. The pedestrian signal had just turned red, so I waited at the corner of the sidewalk, oblivious to the large puddle of water that had accumulated at the curb beneath my feet. Before I had a moment to look down or back away, a car sped through the pool of rainwater, which splashed up and left me totally drenched from the waist down.

I paused for a moment from the shock.

But I didn’t get angry.

I didn’t feel moved to curse out loud at the driver or complain bitterly to whoever was close enough to hear.

Nor did I feel embarrassed at being the only pedestrian at the intersection who seemed to lack the foresight to leave a little distance from the curb.

I felt — grateful.

Alhamdulillah,” I mumbled to myself as I looked down at my skirt and tights that were soaked through to the skin. “Ashukrlillah.”

WS Squared Photography
“Splash” by WS Squared Photography

The reaction surprised me. Not that long ago, a similar sequence of events would have sent me spinning into feelings of self pity, self-consciousness and whining at how unfair the universe was.

Continue reading “Thanking Big”


Seeking the Kaaba Within

I was fully aware that within seconds my body would be drawn into a mass of humanity unlike any other in the world. “Surrender to the experience,” I thought while stepping into the overflowing main courtyard surrounding the Kaaba. The barriers that divide us in our daily lives are lifted here at the seat of the holiest site of Islam.

No honorary titles or entitlements have worth or function, there’s no distinguishing based on whether you are a woman or man, whether your income bracket is high or low. Rather, the bracketing qualities that contain us outside–our nationality, ethnicity, age, or skin tone–are shed at the door. Wherever our outward journeys have started, we all walk barefoot inward into a single circle, devoid of these unnecessary parenthesis appended to our identities.

“The goal of all is the same” no matter what road we took to get here or what quarrels we fought on the way, Rumi writes in Fihi Ma Fihi, It is What It is.


We are both universal and singular, each worshipper an equal soul before the Creator of all humankind and all being. Here we consciously move together in a unified mass, circling seven times around this stone cube as our prophets, peace and blessings be upon them, and our predecessors have for centuries. It’s become a timeless procession connecting us to the scattered cosmos. With the right kind of openness, the pilgrimage is a truly humbling, enchanting and purifying act of dedication to God, The Gracious One.

The ritual starts at the eastern corner, where the Black Stone is situated, a stone that Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessing be upon him, said was blackened by the sins of humankind after descending from heaven as white as milk. I’ve certainly swerved from the path since I was last graced by the opportunity to visit the Holy City five years ago. My soul yearns now for nourishment as I circle the four corners of the central cube draped in black.

I yield my body to the crowd that surrounds me in every direction, letting it move my limbs. I’m here for my soul, after all, and as we give thanks and make prayers to the Infinitely Compassionate One, drawing our attention to the Kaaba as birds circle above us, I concede any claim to the personal space that I normally protect.

Sometimes I find my body being drawn inward with an uncontrollable force, and it is suddenly so close to the edge of the Kaaba I can almost touch it.
Continue reading “Seeking the Kaaba Within”

The doubt essential to faith

Lesley Hazleton, a British-American author who wrote a profile of the Prophet Muhammad, pbuh, gives a stimulating TED talk on the importance of doubt to acquiring faith. She points out that Muhammad’s first reaction to his divine revelation was one of terror, uncertainty and conviction that it couldn’t have been real.

This modest man who became an ardent advocate for social and economic justice in Arabia started his journey to Islam trembling with fear, overwhelmed by doubt, panic and disorientation. It was this visceral human reaction that “brought Muhammad alive” for Hazleton. Doubt, she says, is essential to faith. Without it, what’s left is heartless conviction that risks devolving into dogmatism and fundamentalism. And absolutism, she rightly argues, is the opposite of faith. Continue reading “The doubt essential to faith”

In her shoes

My piece for the International Museum of Women’s Muslima exhibition was published today here. It was shortened slightly from the original, which I’ve included below.


I’ve been thinking about how she encouraged me to be myself.

There she was, a single mother of three, managing a family business that her late father had entrusted her with. She worked with such professionalism, poise and proficiency that the community of men surrounding her held her in high esteem. Known for her hard work and competence, she was also regarded as a symbol of compassion and devotion to God. A number of men, enamoured by her vitality and charm, attempted to court her. After two marriages left her widowed, she would consistently turn a cold shoulder to these suitors, not interested in forging another bond in matrimony.

Until, that is, she met him. Continue reading “In her shoes”

The 40-day spiritual challenge

When I decided to get my spiritual routine on track more than two years ago, I did it in 40 days.

Drawing from the example of an acquaintance who was following a Sufi-inspired programme for attaining consistency in prayers, I decided that I wouldn’t miss any of the five daily prayers ordained by Islam for 40 days, or about six weeks. I wrote the start date on my BlackBerry’s digital calendar, and kept virtual track of my progress each day.

Under the challenge described to me by this individual, if you miss a prayer –because, for instance, you slept through the alarm and missed the pre-dawn prayer known as fajr, or the mid-afternoon asr prayer passed you by because of a long drawn-out business meeting – you have to start back at zero. Continue reading “The 40-day spiritual challenge”

In loving memory

(A version of this article was carried by The Huffington Post)

One of my favourite pastimes while visiting British Columbia during my summer holiday is taking morning strolls down the meandering gravel trail that stretches alongside the Fraser River situated about 10 minutes from our house in Richmond, a suburb of Vancouver, Canada.

A walk along the pathway in the early morning isn’t particularly elaborate; its beauty is much more unassuming and steeped in nostalgia. The gravel path glides along an untrimmed shoreline of marshes, scattered clusters of wildflowers and trees both drooped and willowy. A backdrop of sounds combine the crunch of the gravel, singing birds, lapping waves, the occasional seaplane landing and the imbued silence and freshness of the open air. On the river’s edge, one may find a man sitting on one of the rocks or wooden logs resting against the slanted cliff of the waterbody, his fishing rod dunked into the freshwater in hopes of catching a Pacific salmon, trout or flounder. A family of ducks, meanwhile, may be gliding its way across the water nearby.

An elderly couple may be standing at the edge of the riverbank, performing tai chi as the water behind them stretches out into the Pacific Ocean in the distance. When the skies are clear, as they often are in July, it can be difficult to distinguish the horizon where the blue of the ocean ends and the sky begins. The couple will remain intently engaged in their martial art as residents pass by, alone or in pairs, jogging, walking or cycling across the multi-kilometre trail that stretches much of the length of the city. Almost everyone is ready to greet with a friendly ‘good morning’.

This winding ecological trail is evidently teeming with life, and yet across the length of it are reminders about death embedded on a sequence of wooden benches situated all along the pathway, overlooking the waterfront. Continue reading “In loving memory”

Experiencing Ramadan

Ramadan is a very unique month, uniting families, friends and strangers in an experience that is both collective and personal. It is a colourful time of the year, as people hang fawanees (lanterns) from balconies and window sills at home, and decorative tents are set up across the city to capture the festive atmosphere. Public recitations of the Quran take place each evening at neighbourhood mosques that in some cases are so congested people will assemble prayer rugs under the open night sky for long nights of quiet reflection and prayer. The ambiance of Ramadan creates a multi-sensory environment for an individual’s quiet, very personal spiritual growth.

One of the base features of Ramadan is fasting from sunrise to sunset, which is obligatory for Muslims. In addition to forgoing food and drink throughout the day, other supplementary spiritual practices can be performed by individuals that are voluntary in nature. By virtue of this, the significance of Islam’s holiest month can change throughout one’s life depending on how one perceives and practices faith. We have the freedom to take as much or as little out of Ramadan as we choose to, depending on the amount of spiritual energy we are willing to commit.

Ramadan has been my favourite time of the year for as long as I can remember, although the reasons for this have evolved over time. When I was younger, I enjoyed Ramadan mostly for the sense of togetherness it encouraged. I would find myself spending quality time with loved ones and friends more often than usual as we gathered to break our daily fasts with a meal known as iftar, served at sunset. A long day of fasting emphasises appreciation for food, making meal times more flavourful and the presence of good company more enjoyable.

For a long time, I had only vague ideas and second-hand impressions of the historical and religious significance of Ramadan, which falls on the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar. It is known most prominently for being the month that Prophet Muhammad ﷺ began receiving revelations from God.

As my interest and understanding of Islam has developed, the value of Ramadan has taken on a greater significance in my spiritual routine. Extracting the fullest experience out of Ramadan can be rigorous on the body and mind. This is not so much because of fasting – your body can quite quickly adapt to reduced consumption by refining your diet to bare essentials. Rather, it is taking part in spiritual routines that can be taxing physically and mentally. These include optional prayers, devoting more time offering supplications, giving charity, reading from the Quran, and spending extra time praying in the evenings and early morning hours.

The reason we exert this effort is because of the sacred importance of the month. Muslims believe each divine revelation by God to the great and revered prophets occurred during Ramadan, beginning with Prophet Abraham, whose scriptures were revealed by the Almighty God, otherwise known as Allah in Arabic, at the start of the holy month. According to Islamic tradition, it was during Ramadan that God revealed the Torah to Prophet Moses, the Psalms to Prophet David and the Gospel to Prophet Jesus. (عليهم الصلاة والسلام)

Islam, which means ‘submission’ in English, refers to individuals who live in a state of submission to God. As a Muslim, I espouse belief in one God, and believe wholeheartedly that God has sent a Guide to living to humanity through numerous prophets, the last of whom was Muhammad ﷺ. The Last Prophet’s revelations began in Ramadan and continued for more than two decades to form the Quran, or ‘The Recitation’ in English, God’s message for all of humanity.

It is He who sent down to thee (step by step), in truth, the Book, confirming what went before it; and He sent down the Law (of Moses) and the Gospel (of Jesus) before this, as a guide to humankind, and He sent down the criterion of judgment. (Quran 3:3)

For those who do have a sincere faith in God and varying degrees of spiritual practice, this time of year is momentous if purely for its historical significance. In the Quran, God obliges all believers to fast from the break of dawn to sunset during the sacred month, with exceptions made for those whose health prevents them from the fast. (Quran 2:185).

Ramadan is a lunar month measured by the Islamic calendar. Every year, the start of the month moves back about 11 days on the solar calendar so over the course of 33 or so years, Ramadan will fall on every day from January to December.

Spiritually, the month promises immense rewards. Year in and year out, Ramadan is the same, but the way we draw benefit from it shifts throughout our lives depending on how we approach it. God gives us a great deal of space to discover our personal relationships with Him on our own terms. Much of the benefit we can derive during Ramadan are uncovered at our own volition.

 “The month of Ramadan is the month of God in which the doors of Heaven are open, which is full of His Mercy, Blessings and Forgiveness. It is the best of months, its days are the best of days, its hours the best of hours; the month in which one’s breath counts as an act of worship, even sleep becomes a gesture of worship and, most importantly, our prayers are answered and sins are forgiven.”

This passage by the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ encapsulates why Ramadan is so important for spiritually aware Muslims. Its importance far-surpasses fasting as there are a variety of optional forms of worship drawn from the practices of the Last Prophet that can deepen one’s experience during the month.

By showing us the difficulty one faces in refraining from food and drink, fasting helps promote kindness and generosity toward the poor. Many affluent Muslims will sponsor free meals, known as Mawaed Al Rahman, each day of Ramadan hosted at mosques or make-shift restaurants in cities and towns in Islamic countries. These meals ensure less-affluent Muslims are able to get a well-rounded meal, including meat or chicken. Poor citizens of countries like Egypt and Lebanon are unable to afford protein-rich foods throughout the year.

Each night, Muslims gather for voluntary prayers known as taraweeh, during which large portions of the Quran are recited. These prayers, which last more than an hour, take place every evening after the ‘isha prayer and are typically performed in congregation. However, some Muslims will perform them individually at home as well.

During taraweeh, the Quran is divided into 30 parts, which are read one after another each night so that by the end of the month, the entire Quran has been completed. Muslims are also encouraged to read the Quran’s 114 chapters on their own during the month, and many Muslims will pay their annual zakat, a form of charity whereby we give 2.5% of our assets to those who require financial support, during Ramadan. As a result, we need to manage our time wisely to be able to balance and commit sincerely to these practices.

The last ten days of Ramadan are especially sacred because on one of these nights, the Last Prophet ﷺ received his first divine revelation through the archangel Gabriel in 610 AD.

Known as Laylat al-Qadr, or the night of power or destiny, prayers during this night carry immense weight. Laylat al-Qadr is most-widely believed to be on the 27th night of Ramadan, although it could fall on one of the odd-numbered nights of the last 10. Many Muslims spend these nights in prayer, some secluding themselves in mosques in devotion to God. Again, this is a choice.

Last year I was in Cairo for the last 10 nights of Ramadan and it was the first time I spent these nights in prayer and reflection. For hours each night, I would offer prayers and supplications on the breezy balcony of our seventh-floor, Pyramids-area apartment. It was a magical and powerful experience to spend time alone with God in silent search of a night the Quran says “is better than a thousand months”. (Quran, 97:1-5)

The call to prayer at fajr, the sunrise prayer, breaks this silence, reminding us as we sit in quiet devotion that we are part of a community. From dozens of nearby mosques, the athan (call to prayer) would resound out of sync, yet in a way that is perfectly melodious and captivating in the crisp morning air.

Our experience during Ramadan, while seemingly collective on the surface, is immensely personal. We can choose to open doors to explore new levels of our relationships with the Almighty, or we can leave them closed for another time. Uncovering the enchanting and raw components of the month of Ramadan is in entirely up to us.

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