Baba, The Quran and Me

Drama Mama
“When we were young, every Ramadan, we had to complete one recitation of the Quran because my dad made us. There was no question of not completing it. It’s just what we did.”

Sitting together with my friend and our toddlers in a Mommy & Me art class, the words were barely out of my mouth before regret kicked in. I saw the surprised and disapproving frown forming on my friend’s face. Forcing the Quran on a child? How politically incorrect. How backward. How unenlightened. One simply did not say these things in polite, modern, company. I could practically see her censuring thoughts and I felt dismay at my inability to explain myself. Thankfully, the conversation took a turn elsewhere, both of us wise enough not to go too deep into a potentially tricky topic.

Later that evening, after my kids were asleep and the blessed cover of the night slowly drifted over the city, I lay in the quiet, thinking. Remembering. And laughing over the realization that if I were to ever retell this story, I would probably begin the exact same, inappropriate way:

When we were young, every Ramadan, we had to complete one recitation the Quran because my dad made us. There was no question of not completing it. It’s just what we did.

I think I must’ve been seven or eight when I first gained an understanding of this family tradition. My Baba, during the course of some of the most precious conversations of my life time, would often tell us, my brother, sister and I, stories from his childhood. What his life and his days spent with his eight brothers and sisters used to look like.

The Ramadan stories were particularly powerful to hear because he would speak of things that seemed so foreign, so unfamiliar – like abject poverty, splitting one bowl of food for Iftar amongst a family of eleven – that it was almost dream like.

Like this?
Get more of our great articles.

The story we marveled over most was the amount of Quran that, as kids, he and his siblings read each Ramadan. “We would each try to be the one who finished it the most number of times. I usually reached four and gave up. One of my sisters did it seven times each year. No one could ever beat her.”, he would chuckle as he remembered. “But how did you guys find the time, Baba?!” we would gasp. And he would look equally amazed. “It was Ramadan. Once work is done, what else is there to do except read the Quran every single possible minute?” His genuine shock, that one could possibly, crazily, choose to spend their time in unessential worldly matters and how utterly unfathomable that was to him, seeped into our young, impressionable minds. We would pester him again and again for more nuances to this story and he would oblige. “Do you know every letter you recite during Ramadan has 70 times the regular reward? That means every letter, like saying Alif, gets you seven HUNDRED good deeds? Just do the math for reading the whole Quran! Go on! Now do the math for your aunt who reads it seven times!” Our minds properly boggled, we would be wide eyed trying to figure out the answer to this cosmic equation from the mathematics of the Divine.

And eventually, our amazement and interest in this particular competition led to the formation of our own internal, little family game. The rules were simple: The target was Eid, and, more specifically, Eidee, the cash gift that we received from Baba on Eid morning. Whoever finished one, just one, complete recitation of the Quran before the official declaration of Eid, would have their Eidee doubled.

When we first heard this wager, I think we each of us practically clapped in glee. Oooh, twice the amount of money! A parent-sanctioned chance to openly beat the siblings and earn bragging rights, and that too, not just in some vague, metaphorical way, but in actual, crisp, crackling, Saudi riyal note earnings! Oh Daddy, this game was on!!

And our glee was because, you see, the very first year, we operated from a place of total ignorance. We’d never actually attempted what was being asked and so we figured “Eh, how hard could it be? Those old aunts and uncles of ours, if they could do it up to seven times, what was ONE time? This should be a cakewalk.”

Well it wasn’t. It wasn’t the first year. And it still isn’t 25 years later.

There have been years of starting and staying strong. Of planning from beforehand. Of thinking, okay, roughly 30 days, 30 juz. If I read a little more than one a day, I am on track. And in that same pattern, of sailing easily and comfortably to the finish line. Of standing, grinning on Eid morning, keeping my palm extended as first one 50 riyal note was laid on it and then, nodding proudly, yes I did complete my recitation, getting another 50. Of exulting over my father’s proudly beaming face.

There have been years, in late tweens/early teens of total mismanagement. Of letting life take over a little too much and then realizing, aghast, that only five fasts were left and I still had eighteen juz to go. Of racing, helter skelter, through more than six juz on the very last day, squeaking past the finish line just minutes before what would be the last Maghrib prayer of Ramadan. Of encountering a slightly raised, fatherly eyebrow, “So you really did finish?” and of meekly nodding yes, deliberately neglecting to mention the particular speeds of recitation.

Later, once womanhood kicked in, there were years of getting unexpectedly overly long periods and that throwing my entire calculation off. Of feeling gnawing desperation around Day 21, 22. How will I complete it now? Of not giving up. Of, after ghusl, staying up all night and then continuing to stay awake after Fajr to complete the required reading, but now, with the sense of adulthood inside me, only reading in the most measured, dignified manner possible.

There were years when, long after the double-Eidee wager had faded away with other remnants of childhood, with all the impetuous, rebellion of youth, of spending my days in smoke-filled rooms, strategizing with socialist/activists, and my evenings protesting against the Iraq war on the frozen streets of Toronto. Of not praying at all, of not so much as glancing towards the dusty shelf where my Quran sat the entire year. But then, out of sheer habit, on the first of Ramadan, shamefaced from all the spiritual neglect of the past eleven months, taking it down, cleaning it and then getting to it. Of feeling, verse by verse, page by page, chapter by beautiful chapter, cleansed. Redeemed. Able to start over.

There was the first year of my marriage. When my brand new husband, sat back, astonished at this surprising wife of his. This wife who never even put her shoes in the right place when she got back home from somewhere. Whose phone was always misplaced. Whose closet always a disaster. “I never knew you could be so disciplined.”, he marveled as he witnessed my steady progression over the course of the month, the pages on the right of the bookmark growing and the pages on the left lessening.

There were subsequent years in which he figured if I could do it, he could too. Of motivating each other. Of gently teasing whoever was behind. Of eventually acknowledging, that his long office hours and unrelenting corporate job would get the best of him. Of consoling ,“Don’t worry. I read it for both of us. Niyyah is what counts. You got it.”, and of vowing, “I’m going to do it next time for sure!”.

There was the year of expecting my firstborn – a boy who would later go on to have developmental delays and additional needs – when Ramadan was in the month just before his birth. Of, that year, with all the nervous excitement and joyful anticipation of a first time mother-to-be, completing the Quran three times. Of growing bigger and more uncomfortable, curling up on the couch and slowly working my way through the Book again and again, and one more time, to give myself a sense of purpose and calm. A steadying feeling that I was being a responsible mother and giving my very first baby his very first gift as a Muslim child.

And there have many, many more years. Of anxiety. Of scary financial strain. Of a turbulent marriage. A difficult son. Of sickness. Of fear. And of deep, deep grief.

In all of those years, those months and weeks of uncertainty, Ramadan and the accompanying habit of completing the Quran has stood like an immovable beacon.

In the early years, the prospect of either receiving doubled earnings on Eid or facing the disappointed expression on my father’s face was the motivation. In the middling years, it was force of habit, a yearly ritual that I neither questioned nor pondered very much over. Completing the Quran was just another part of Ramadan for me, similar to fasting. I had to fast and so I had to finish the Quran. And in recent years, with the onset of maturity, the wisdom that has come in my thirties, the settling into the very bones of my life and my self, this yearly practice has become an identity and a gift. An eagerly anticipated reconnection. To Allah. To the Quran. To my childhood. To my father. To my self.

Ramadan1

The motivations behind this practice have shape shifted and blurred over the years. They have entered questionable realms and they have exited. They have wavered repeatedly, stretched unbelievably and sometimes disappeared completely. But, now, today and inshaAllah forever after, they are strong, solid and singular in focus. And so perhaps, a better way to start this story would have been:

Every year, in Ramadan, I have to complete the recitation of the Quran because this is who I am. There is no question of not completing it. It’s just what I do.

I know, in writing this, that there will be dissenters. There will be those who strongly disagree with this idea – those who will be disgusted by the linking of monetary motivation to the Holy Quran. Those who will insist everyone should give weightage to spending more time understanding the Quran rather than rote reciting it. Those who will find my descriptions of “racing” through the Quran in my earlier years the exact raison d’etre for not setting unrealistic targets.

Perhaps, they are each right in their own way. But they, their reasons, their motivations, their goals are not right for me.

I cannot explain to them how I feel about my father and how the prospect of attaining his pleasure can compel me to move mountains. I cannot explain how this practice he has instilled in me has been my spiritual lifeline. I cannot explain to them the deep, intrinsic pleasure of reading that Book from cover to cover in a fixed time frame and that too, during the most blessed days of the year. I cannot explain because I am always far too busy trying to make sense of my own story.

See, I feel, to thrive in this Life, we each have to do what we can to try and make sense of the lot we’ve given. To try and comprehend our messy, marvelous stories and see them for the treasure they are.

When I look at my life, when I take the long view, I see two, exactly opposite, completely diametrical truths. I see that I have had, through the Will of Allah, so much turbulence. Such storms. Such darkness. And I also see that my father in the form of this and other traditions, gave me such stability, so many anchors. So many lifebuoys. In all the years of my life, when I was flailing and thrashing about in the uncertain seas of physically painful, fibromyalgia-filled school days, a rebellious university life, a tumultuous early marriage, a special needs child, difficult subsequent pregnancies, financial strain and unemployment, sickness, grief, this tradition was an always present marker on my horizon. A rope to grab on to every single year no matter how stormy and darkened the rest of the eleven months were. A steady, brightly shining lighthouse that by virtue of always being there, always brought me back to my center.

As another Ramadan approaches, I think of the ghosts of Ramadan past. The years flitter in my mind like a fast paced slide show and I see my recitation efforts stacked up on each other. Year after year after year of trying. Of working towards a challenging but clearly identified goal. Of honing my discipline and time management skills. Of experiencing the fear of failure and the dedication required in overcoming that fear. Of experiencing the high of personal achievement and the two-folded spiritual satisfaction of reconnecting to this glorious book of Allah and, in the process, beating down my inner demons of laziness and indiscipline, those lesser parts of me who, every year would rather give up but don’t.

Sometimes, when I am feeling particularly lost as I look at my son, this boy who refuses to comply, whose anxiety levels are always so high, who doesn’t speak like other kids his age, I clutch to my heart the memory of those hours and hours my pregnant self spent with the Quran, those three complete recitations he heard while he moved inside me.

Sometimes, when things seem excruciatingly lonely, I think of my ancestors and my aunts and uncles and my cousins. All those children of all those siblings of my father. I think of the dozens and dozens of my family members, all of whom carry on this tradition proudly today. Each and every one of the kids and adults in my dad’s side of the family (and there are many!) completes the Quran every Ramadan. Because that is who they are. That is who we are. If they can do it, I can do it. I am reminded that I not alone. I am held aloft by a strong family, good values and faith-full traditions.

Sometimes, when life seems particularly overwhelming, too much work, not enough time, I think of all those years in which I took stock of the situation, ”Okay ten days left, 16 juz to go. How can I manage this?” and then slowly and diligently accomplished what initially felt to be an insurmountable task. I hold daily to my soul the knowledge that I am resilient. That I can overcome. That I have. That I will.

And sometimes, when my now sick and aging father is asleep, his gray hair glistening softly in the shadows, I lean down and press my cheek to his. I put my lips to his ear. And I whisper things. I whisper how the kids made me laugh today and cry simultaneously. I whisper that Ramadan is coming and he better get my double-Eidee ready. I whisper my love and my prayers and my hopes. I whisper how afraid I am of the future. How much I already miss him. But most of all, I whisper my gratitude. Gratitude for gifting me so freely all the things, all the lessons, all the beliefs, all the forces of habit and inspiring stories and abiding, enriching traditions that have blessed my life. For giving me an identity and an anchor. For always being my lighthouse when he was able, and whenever the time came that he wasn’t, to make sure to leave my life with enough Light to see me through.

Rabbir humhuma kama rabbayaani sagheera
Rabbir humhuma kama rabbayaani sagheera
Rabbir humhuma kama rabbayaani sagheera

 – – –

Hiba Masood is a writer, storyteller and speaker. You can find more of her and her work daily on the Facebook page www.facebook.com/etdramamama

33 / View Comments

33 responses to “Baba, The Quran and Me”

  1. fatima says:

    hey hiba, beautiful beautiful beautiful piece of work. Seems like i was going through all the stages you wrote and my relation with Quran, throughout my life flashed as i continue to read your words.
    just out of curiosity, when you mention completing a quran, are you refering to the translations or the arabic text?
    lots of love.

    • Murah says:

      duh! seriously…translation? wow! when i think i heard them all…..what planet are you living in?

      • Anonymous says:

        The Arabic text suffices as a reply. Fatima’s point is coming from a peaceful place, let us be merciful with one another insha Allah.

  2. Anonymous says:

    i can only imagine what a task this must have been for you to put this all in writing. Job well done. It was a pleasure to read, and so relatable that it made me go down my own little memory lane! Thank you for writing this!

  3. Aisha says:

    Yeah, it’s a tradition in my family too. My mum instilled it in us, though we never got any monetary benefit or so. But somehow she inspired us and till today one goes through that guilty feeling if we r not reaching our target. I m glad she forced it on us eventhough i dnt feel that dhe actually forced it. N i hope i am able to inspire my kids in the same way ins Sha Allah.

  4. Qurratulain says:

    What a moving piece of work! Made me teary. I often follow everything you write on your page and it’s true the words that seep out of suffering are undeniably beautiful. Sending lots of love. Continue writing. You inspire many unknowingly.

  5. Fatima says:

    I’m crying reading this.
    My father never forced us, but everyday it was a daily question of ‘how many did you read? Which para (juz) are you on?’
    He told us stories of his older sister reading 5 every year and we were always so impressed.

    Thank you for this reminder of my own childhood.

  6. saaliha says:

    Wow this is beautiful mashaAllah! May Allah accept you and your family and may he grant you all shade under his throne on the day of judgment, ameen

  7. umme ammar says:

    Excellent piece of writing..?. got me crying! And alhumdolillah this tradition of completing one quran in ramadan is still alive in many families includin mine… if only we can successfully transfer it to our children
    the best part
    rabbir hum huma kama rabbayni sagheera?

  8. umm e hanzalah says:

    SubhanAllah…tears r felling from.my eyes…with few changes could easily relate to the values we got from our parents..beautiful piece of writing..pulled me back to my childhood days…May Allah s.w.t help us all to transfer these values in our children..ameen..n yes off course rabbir hamhuma kama rabbiyani sagheera..Ameen..

  9. Hira Danish says:

    I have been following you since a couple of years now Hiba, and find you as a person quite parallel to my own self. I admire your courage and determination to keep pouring your heart out on paper. Sending lots of Duas for you and your generations that may you all uphold this amazing tradition of yours and be beacons of light forever.

  10. Tabassum says:

    Beautiful writing. This all sound so familiar. I have been questioned for encouraging my kids (11 and 8) to fast and recite Quran, do other activities with eid gifts and other such things but my own experience made me felt , this will work. Now reading your article make me felt more assured. Thanks for such a hear touching piece

  11. Um talhah says:

    jazakumAllahu khairan.
    The account of your teenage years both surprised and encouraged me. I didn’t expect a rebellious teen who’s not praying to recite the quran. May Allah reward your father abundantly.

  12. Spirituality says:

    Jazaki Allahu Khayran for the beautiful piece!

    Recitation of the Quran has tremendous benefits, so we should never be ashamed :)! The past few Ramadans have been difficult, as I have been unable to fast and attend taraweeh due to health reasons. So, one of my goals is to recite the entire Quran during Ramadan.

    Thanks so much for sharing your life story with us through your writings, with its ups and downs. One day, could you write about your struggles with fibromyalgia and how you overcame this disease? I and others suffering from similar health problems could really benefit.

    Also, I would love to hear anyone’s experiences of how they use Ramadan as a platform to boost not only recitation, but comprehension and deeper understanding of the Quran – for themselves as well as their children. Imagine, we get 700 rewards for reciting just one letter of the Quran. But how much more benefit would we get for really understanding the book (which is after all, a guide for those with taqwa), and trying to live accordingly?

    In addition to daily recitation, I’m trying to study the tafseer of an ayat or two everyday. I watch Nouman Ali Khan’s Quran Cover to Cover Series and take notes. Other ideas, and ideas on how to make such a process fun for families most welcome :)!

    Jazakum Allahu Khayran and I hope everyone is having a blessed Ramadan.

  13. Waheeda Sadik says:

    An absolute pleasure to read.I get you.jzk for your precious memories.

  14. Uzma says:

    Beautiful writing…totally relates to it.

  15. Umm Ayesha says:

    MashaAllah a beautiful piece of writing. I remember the time when we were young,the womwn in our family would challenge each other on how many Qursns they would read in Ramadhan. Five , six, seven was nothing to them. Some would even read ten Qurans. Then came duas, at tshajjud they would do the lenghthiest of duas, an hour or more, would anyone do this these days?

  16. Omer Riaz says:

    Excellent Article Hiba. .Very Well Written. One of the noblest things to do in Ramadan is to extensively recite The Holy Quran, contemplate on one’s own existence and spend as much time as possible in the remembrance of Allah (SWT). Ramadan is a very special and spiritually rich month. In it Muslims find within them cultivated a deep and sincere love because fasting is done only for the sake of Allah (SWT) and it is no doubt that those people who worship Allah (SWT) sincerely and love Him also love all those around them and are good people.

  17. Badr says:

    Beautiful and touching story Ukhti….Jazzaki Allah Kheir.
    InshAllah, I can finish reading the Quran this Ramadan. At least once !

  18. shah says:

    Quran Focus is the best place for online Quran Reading. We have excellent programs that enable kids, older children, grown ups and new Muslims to learn Quran at Home.

    Please join Quran Focus Academy (http://www.quranfocus.com) to learn Quran Reading, Hifz, Translation, Tafseer and Essentials of Islam. One to one lessons via internet, qualified English speaking teachers, one week free trial classes, no advance fee, pay fee via PayPal, low monthly fee & family discount available.

  19. KB says:

    What a wonderful article. It moved me to tears. I will go read Quran now- the month is almost over

  20. sfk says:

    You made me cry…this was such a moving and relatable piece. My father too is the person who brought me closer to the Holy Qur’an. For the past couple of years I have been slacking off and I promised myself that wouldn’t happen this year. I still have 16 juz to go and I was getting depressed but your article has motivated me to reach the finish line!

  21. Alia says:

    Mashallah thanks for sharing with us! Your story reminded me of my friend’s family teaching the kids how to pray. All the things our parents “made” us do which appeared to be chores as we were kids are now good habits which benefit our lives tremendously! This Ramadan hasn’t been the same for me, I’m so behind on reading the Quran. This article just inspired me to try! With a few days left, I’ll still do what I can to make the most of it. You’re amazing!

  22. Zeba says:

    Oh Hibz, you never fail to amaze and inspire. I miss you friend. <<>>

  23. francis Ayala says:

    Lovely article. You inadvertently demonstrate how humanity shares much in common. We all are profoundly influenced by parents and relatives, and maintain those attachments. We are lifted through spiritual disciplines –reading the holy scripture of our traditions, prayer, meditation, chanting. We suffer and rejoice throughout our lives. We see events, and form opinion through our own prism of experience. We are all one humanity, but imagine ourselves separate. Thank you for sharing!

  24. Farida says:

    MashaAllah beautiful Tradition the last paragraph about your father and already missing him touched me to tears. Our Parents did whatever they could in the best way they knew how . I hope we will be able to parent our children with such beautiful memorable Traditions. Thank you, I really enjoyed reading your article.

  25. shadia says:

    Beautiful Masha’Allah

  26. Narayan Murthy says:

    WATCH – Mr. Deep Trivedi’s fitting reply to Mr. Zakir Naik on https://youtu.be/VRZI_TGAalc

  27. Madiha Khan says:

    Masha Allah very good article , yes we all should learn quran atleast one time in a year and Ramadan days are best to finish Quran, but I will also say that we also should learn quran except Ramadan days …

  28. Mohammad says:

    Subhanallah! Excellent piece of writing! and not just writing but the piece also reminds one of their past and their identity.

  29. Umm Hadi says:

    Asak Sr Hiba,
    May Allah bless your dad with the best in duniya and Akhira.
    May I ask how is doing?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *