Umrah

I recently performed my first but hopefully not my last Umrah.

Since we shifted a few months ago the mister had taken it into his head that a new leaf was called for and what better way to start of

the New Year and our new-ish life than going for Umrah as a family.

Despite some (many, many) reservations on my part. I decided to muster a little Tawaqqul in the midst of my usual existential angst and

started packing.

The mister with his boundless evangelical enthusiasm might think my dank immortal soul was salvageable.

However, I was fairly sure that God could see right through me. To its sin spattered depths which probably looked, not dissimilar to a ratty old t-shirt, frayed at the edges and knotted for convenience around the intermittently drippy faucet which is my conscience.

But this whole Umrah business was pre-mature. I’d scheduled redemption post middle age, it was to be my retirement gig after I’d gotten in another dedicated decade or so of soul tarnishing mistakes. Besides I had a frankly dim view of the number of celestial brownie points I'd be getting for my reluctant participation.

Subsequently.I couldn't fathom the un-adulterated enthusiasm of those around me and was positive that God

could see through all that empty posturing to my feckless, materialistic little core.

We'd be lucky if our airplane didn't

spontaneously implode in an act of

sudden divine retribution aimed directly at me.

So I did what I always do in times of doubt.

I googled.

Who goes for Umrah or Haj?

My parents had been , but then again my parents do many strange and incomprehensible things.

It turns out other than my parents quite a lot of people go for both Umrah and Haj.

Presidents, latter day saints, crooks turned religious icons, religious icons turned crooks. Converts, every day Muslims from across the globe, like you and I . People who are achingly poor but have more faith in their little finger than I have in my entire body, people willing and able to sell all their worldly possessions just for that one chance to visit the birthplace of Islam. Politicians, Wait, politicians?

The vetting process could not be as rigorous as I'd initially assumed. They were clearly letting anybody and everybody in. I might

make it after all.

But. Hang on.

Wasn't there a special uniform.

Another quick Google.

Yes. Ihraam. The requirements for ladies weren’t particularly stringent. But..

my habitual red lipstick would definitely be frowned upon.

Two weeks of looking at my ghastly mug without the saving grace of lipstick? Although omnipotence and endless grace probably

entailed automatic acceptance of those of His creation who looked like plague ridden Victorian orphans in Ihraam. What about the husband, would our marriage survive two entire weeks of my unfiltered barefaced

self?

Clearly I am a shallow, unworthy excuse for a human being and had no business going for Umrah at all.

I despaired of my own thought process. Surely bona fide spiritual types did not harbor such disgustingly superficial queries. I was

going for Umrah. I should be spiritually uplifted not wondering if Ihraam would be a good look.

My many misgivings notwithstanding.

I packed, the way one packs when they have two small kids in tow. Amassing roughly a years worth of clothing and enough medicine and snacks to stock a small pharmacy.

Doubt still skulked in the shadows of my sub-consciousness , so I trotted out my final argument , we had recently shifted to our own place, financially speaking, times were tight, wouldn’t we be better of going next year or better yet in a couple of decades.

The mister being the seasoned God botherer he is, told me to put away my Cassandra like croakings of impending doom and bankruptcy and to have a little faith.

The day of our departure arrived. The in-laws saw us off with instructions to be prayed for and shopped for with equal enthusiasm.

We were embarking on a voyage of spiritual renewal. So I replaced my habitual trashy airplane reads and playlist with a hastily

downloaded Quran app, a sparkly tasbih and a truly impressive selection of confectionery.

In retrospect, the confectionery may not have been the brightest idea.

I barely restrained myself from murdering my sugar crazed offspring as they wrought havoc on our fellow passengers, breathing a sigh of much needed relief only when they fell into an exhausted slumber mid-flight.

Nonetheless .We made it to our hotel in one piece and the next day we set out for Umrah..I will admit to nurturing a secret niggling hope for a sudden rush of inspiration, or at the very least a sign saying SALVATION , thirteen steps

from your next left.

You see I’m not a very subtle sort of human

being.

Ergo, I was a little underwhelmed when I completed my first Umrah and no one put a stamp on my forehead saying this soul has now been saved. Available for immediate shipping to the afterlife.

At the same time I was perversely ashamed .Here I was at the very

heart of the Islamic world. Yet, somehow I was incapable of comprehending the enormity of the experience.

Somewhere between the unanticipated trauma of dealing with disappearing slippers, and having a pigeon relieve itself on my younger sons freshly shorn head, morning

turned into evening.

The husband sensed my very obvious disconnect when I pointed out a chiselled 6,4'

thobe-wearing silhouette in the mut’aaf and declared ‘see THAT guy would look incredible as a sorcerer type figure on the cover of a fantasy novel."

The mister discreetly diverted my attention from the fantasy worthy desert hero and suggested that maybe just maybe I wasn’t taking full advantage of the situation.

Perhaps I should get into the spirit of things a little. He offered to mind the kids and my chocolate while I took some time out

for some solo reflection and prayer.

So I found a spot and prayed.

The way I generally pray. i.e. Please God grant me and mine perfect health, effortless success, untold wealth, boundless happiness,

unconditional love, the usual list of seasonal must haves, ease in this life and the hereafter and off course flawless, pore-less skin.

I informed the husband that I had dispatched my wish list to divine authorities and was waiting for a response.

The husband knowing me, tactfully pointed out that my dua’s might have lacked a certain depth.

So I grumpily recommenced praying. This time tacking on a prayer for flawless , pore-less skin for the oppressed, the needy and the

suffering along with a desalinization plant for Karachi.

Needless to say this grudging altruism was not immediately rewarded with the immediate eradication of all visible pores and my prayers still felt like a list of demands made by a sulky toddler.

Eventually I did move on to less ephemeral more vital requests like forgiveness ,

tranquility, unwavering faith , aafiyah in every sense of the word and reliance on God

Alone. But pray as I might, that fickle sense of connection still eluded me as I sat in the mut’aaf, facing the Kaaba, Prayer beads in hand, a cool breeze playing around me.

Before I knew it , it was Isha time. And this time around when I put my forehead on the ground. I sensed a glimmer, just the merest sliver of understanding.

Maybe, I had it wrong, that connection I had so wanted handed to me on a

silver platter wasn’t to be found outside myself at all. Perhaps it was something that was already there and the onus was on me to unearth and nurture it.

In spite of my initial apathy. The longer I stayed .The longer I prayed. The more I felt aware of God.

Within three days Makkah felt like home. If home is a place where you feel fully at ease and completely accepted. Then this place where I had never set foot before in my life felt like home to me.

Since I've come back. I have realized that the ability to focus on God within my prayers is wholly dependent upon my ability to be

consistently aware of God outside them. Next time I go for Umrah .I will prepare, not just in the practical sense but in the spiritual

sense. Because we get out of our faith exactly what we put into it in our everyday lives. Through our actions and thoughts and the workaday activities of being human.

If one embarks on this journey without preparation, without having made the right intentions, without a sincere desire to seek

Allahs pleasure and forgiveness. You may find yourself like me. At the epicenter of Islam wondering what exactly went wrong.

Then again if you’re lucky like me. Allah swt in his all-encompassing grace will still enfold you in the warmth of his welcome. Ironically enough .I have gone from being completely

indifferent to this ritual to missing it intensely. That sense of.acceptance and belonging, of unity in diversity, of sheer overwhelming

faith, has to be lived to be truly realized.

I prayed in Riyaz-ul-Jannah in Madinah. Visited the twin hills of.Safaa and Marwah between which Hajar ran 7 times in desperate

search of water for herself and her infant son .Drank from the.inexhaustible well of Zamzam ,visited the sites of the prophet’s

birth and burial. Saw the battleground of Badr, the graves of the companions, the mountain of Uhud. The valley where the prophet (pbuh)

suffered a boycott for three heart-wrenchingly long years with his nearest and dearest.

I could not have predicted how visiting these

places would humanize the history of my faith for me. These were very real people. Who willingly sacrificed everything so I would have something more to believe in and work for than dunya.

On occasion. I will wake up at tahajjud in an attempt to recapture that immediacy of divine presence. That too brief interval where I

almost caught a glimpse of what unquestioning faith might feel like

and what could be more worthwhile than that?

Tldr. Umrah was an unexpected and undeserved pleasure, I hope and pray to go again.