The measure of a man is worth his memories after his death.
This is towards a particular reference to Mirza Javed Murtuza, who despite having been born in a Lucknow elitist family, with roots from Faizabad, took for him a road less travelled. His contrast was his campaign, which he undertook, with his utmost commitment, to educate masses and classes, to seek from the Almighty God, on their own, and not through any intermediary. This was his avowed stand against the institutional clergy, which ironically, had always been ‘in consonance’ with the ruling dispensation.
Lucknow had been a seat of power, for centuries, a La Feudal state, which continued to flourish, even after Britishers had taken over. Even after the ouster of the last king of Avadh, Wajid Ali Shah ‘Akhter’, and the subsequent ‘silencing’ of the mutiny or the first war for independence of 1857, there was a ‘virtual or a real’ silence in Lucknow, for the next 90 years. Until came the dawn of independence. India, became a throbbing democracy, but the elite of Lucknow fell into a morass of decadence, in terms of social, economic, educational standards etc, and to make it worse, were the ‘debates and discussions’ over religious denomination’s considered ‘superiorities over each other’. Thus, was enamored on Lucknow’s landscape.
Rubina J Murtuza at the release of Hayat-e-Javed (2010) / Photo Courtesy: Twocircles.Net
After the post-1977 Emergency government, Iranian revolution of 1979, Muradabad riots of 1980, Javed Murtuza took to the stage, of Ali Congress as its Patron, as he could see and also foresee that the clergy, their pageboys and footmen, were all too incapable to relate to the arising situations. Babri Masjid locks were also opened in 1986. He was an advocate and started championing the cause of Muslim rights, articulated the ‘reasoning and argumentation’ not only for self emancipation but also for seeking a place in social-hierarchy in terms of getting a place in government jobs, awareness towards reservation enshrined through Constitution etc.
The issues confronting the community were with a crystal ball clarity to him. He was ahead, to clergy by a goodly margin, which was too involved, and wants to remain still, like a caged mouse on a wheel. Unable to augment any forward path! He was never an extremist showboat, but had earned a personal flak , from administration, when he had printed Ram Aur Islam, extracting excerpts from Dr. BR Ambedkar book, Riddles of Hinduism, that small booklet was a rage, in those days, after Babri Masjid had been demolished. There were reportedly raids to confiscate its copies. He even had organized a function, in the memory of martyrs of Babri Masjid, for those who had been killed in the aftermath of the demolition.
He became the proverbial deacon of a church! Without having attended any conventional religious seminary! Out of his sheer grit, as onlookers still remember him, he would drive his scooter, memorizing Quranic verses to verbalize the gospel. He had arrested the attention of the youth. There was an ever growing numbers to his followers. Young boys with their beards primed, thronged the altar of his speeches. He had to incur the wrath, and was therefore, subjected to a murderous assault, during an auspicious Ramzan night, but only the next day, he would sit, his head, hands and face ‘bruised and bandaged’, soliciting his next homily. Yours truly was present when the assault had taken place.
His avowal that community had to search for its lost self-esteem, was perhaps, his only and long standing forte. He would pass on a road with utmost humility. Always so unassuming. A true picture of keeping a low profile yet exuding high intensity. The campaign spearheaded to safeguard the Auqafs, may perhaps, has lost its steam, but he was much farsighted in his approach, as finally, the government today, is contemplating to bring all Auqafs under its thumb. Had an ear was lent to his call then, perhaps, this situation might never have occurred. But, this is how community, can share its long time complacency towards the gems of its yore.
His persona still resonates around those who sought from his brilliance. He was an engineer by profession. Edited and published Payam-e-Nau (The New Message) in both Urdu and Hindi scripts, and editorialized his vision, which was a true reflection of his time and beyond.
His father and younger brother retired as Justice from High Courts.
His daughter wrote Hayat-e-Javed (The immortal Life) in Urdu language as an ode to the long standing memories of her father. His 15th death anniversary fell on November 9.
***
The writer is a former UP State Information Commissioner.
source: http://www.muslimmirror.com / Muslim Mirror / Home> Indian Muslim> Personality / by Haider Abbas / November 15th, 2024
Falkia Khan, the Brand Ambassador of Mysuru City Corporation’s (MCC) Swachh Bharat Abhiyan and the Chairperson of Karnataka Junior Jaycees Wing, has been honoured with the District Kannada Rajyotsava Award this year, thus becoming the youngest to receive the award.
A 2nd PU student, Falkia has created multiple Records including in HI VIBE Book of World Records and India Book of Records, besides bagging Prerana Award- 2022 and Iconic Speaker of the Year-2024 award.
As a sports person, Falkia has bagged gold medals in District, State and National Muay Thai Championships. She has also demonstrated exceptional public speaking skills, winning numerous competitions and has been recognised as the youngest teen to deliver maximum public speeches.
Her philanthropic efforts, leadership and motivational endeavours have earned her recognition from esteemed organisations. She aspires to become an Indian Foreign Service Officer.
source: http://www.starofmysore.com / Star of Mysore / Home> News / November 10th, 2024
My sons, Morad and Yavar, were born in 1968 and 1972, respectively, and my daughter, Ayesha, in 1974. When I was pregnant with Morad, my husband said to me that he hoped for a girl in my image. But I gave birth to a robust ten-pound son! My male gynaecologist, Dr Beck’s remark is my first recollection when I regained consciousness from the Caesarean section, “Congrats, you have a little football player!” A Canadian could not have given a greater compliment. Later I realised that my husband’s desire to have a daughter had no firm basis. Holding his firstborn, he declared to all in the hospital room that from now he wanted only sons!
When I first set my eyes on Morad, I had just come out of general anaesthesia in the maternity ward of the University of Alberta Hospital. I saw his face and I can still feel my own gasp. His face was my mirror. He was lying, neatly bundled beside me. It had been a breach delivery. It took eight days for the stitches to heal before I could be discharged from the hospital. Hameed brought us home, both mother and child, wrapped and bundled. A memory that lingers is placing him on a white sofa before a large bay window overlooking the front lawn in which the grass had begun to turn brown. It was October 12, 1968.
Over the years, how did I see my older son? Introspective, and sensitive, he used to tease me by saying that his sensitivity was the result of his regressive genes! He was thoughtful, gentle, and he always had the right words for the right moment. One summer in Delhi, my children and I were at the Jamia Qabristan to recite Fatiha at their grandparents’ graves. As we waited in the drizzle for Mohammad Yunus, who was like family, to arrive to recite Fatiha for his son, Adil Shahryar, Morad must have felt the immediacy of death. “The land on which peoples’ marble is placed,” he said to me, “is incredibly fertile.” He remarked how lush and green the place was. Death, Morad said, was just a flash in this evergreen process of incarnation and reincarnation.
I think of another side of Morad: to put away his clothes, to pay his bills, to open his cheques, and to eat his packed lunches may not always happen. But he can pick up the brush and carefully clean the cobwebs. He has beautiful hands and a mane of dark curly hair. Tall like Yavar, a little stooping (which Hameed continually checked). Always a smile and word of encouragement for those around him.
“Mother, I was just thinking about you,” he said once as I came in, sweaty, rushed, and irritated.
“About me? What?”
“How beautiful you look and how much I love you.”
Sitting in my father’s home in Delhi years later, I wrote about my children in my diary. At the end of the piece on Morad, I wrote: I hope people can appreciate his quality and I hope I don’t fall into the trap of wanting to protect him. A man who has just finished studying five months of human anatomy. A man who has been running from work to school for two years. Surely, he doesn’t need his mother in that sense. Am I pig-headed?
My second son, Yavar, was born on Canada’s Dominion Day on July 1, 1972. Morad was the firstborn but Yavar was equally the joy of our life. He grew into a responsible young man, as well as a poet and an artist. One year, when I was away in India, he was invited to deliver his class valedictory address in Grade 12. He wore his father’s sherwani and delivered a beautiful speech. Why didn’t I return for the event? It remains one of the deepest regrets of my life. Through handwritten letters exchanged with him and with my sister I learnt how hard he had worked all year. Cleaning the house, mowing the lawn, hauling the garbage, washing dishes, folding laundry, and shovelling snow. Then he would sit down and compose a beautiful poem, play his guitar, paint, act, or run a marathon for the city. Initially, he had considered a career in community medicine or public health, but then he was accepted for a joint Master’s degree in law at the North Patterson School of Carleton University and the University of Ottawa. So he became a lawyer.
In 2009, I timed my return to Canada so that I could be in Ottawa for Yavar’s birthday. He received me at the train station since I had flown directly from Delhi to Toronto and taken the train from there. We drove straight to his office where I asked him about the landmark case he was fighting. Abousufian Abdelrazik was a Sudanese Canadian who was arrested in Sudan, while he was visiting his ailing mother in 2003. He was denied re-entry to Canada based on a United Nations anti-terrorism listing. The Federal Court of Canada later concluded that this arrest likely took place at the request of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS). Though never charged, Abdelrazik was beaten, threatened, and tortured during two periods of detention totalling a year and a half. Blocked from returning to his home in Montreal, Abdelrazik went public with his story and took refuge in the Canadian Embassy in Khartoum, where he remained a virtual prisoner for fourteen months. Finally, a groundswell of public support from across Canada and a Federal Court ruling forced the government to issue permission. It was his lawyer, Yavar Hameed, my son, who fought the case with unswerving grit. He flew to Khartoum and returned home with his client.
That night I wrote in my diary: Yavar is on the brink of something big, something which will make him rise to great heights one day. I am so proud of him. His name will be up there with global crusaders for human rights.
From his office, we drove to his apartment which was across the street from the hospital where I had worked when I first stepped on Canadian soil in 1967, General Hospital on Bruyere Street. It has another name now and looks nothing like it was thirty years ago, but its sight revived some precious memories. Looking around Yavar’s well-kept apartment, I was happy to see that my three gifts were beautifully displayed. Three carpets that I had given him over the years: one from Peshawar, a Killam, one from Baku in Azerbaijan, and the third from Bokhara in Uzbekistan. The next morning, Yavar drove me to the airport. I wrote in my diary, “I am going to Edmonton with a heavy heart; it is always painful to leave Yavar.” I told him, “Yavar, you will become our torchbearer towards better climes and hemispheres. I will arrange my work so I can spend a few months with you every year.” Happiness flushed his face. At the end of my life, I say with regret that it never happened.
Excerpted with permission from A Drop in The Ocean: The Story of My Life, Syeda Saiyidain Hameed, Speaking Tiger Books.
source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Book Excerpt / by Syeda Saiyidain Hameed / October 03rd, 2024
Saba did her MSc in Wildlife Sciences at AMU, earning a gold medal. She moved to the United States with her husband, who is a computer engineer
Ghaziabad :
Saba Haider, a former student of Aligarh Muslim University (AMU) and a native of Ghaziabad in Uttar Pradesh, has achieved a significant victory in the recent DuPage County Board election in the United States. Standing as a Democratic Party candidate, she won by a margin of over 8,000 votes against Republican candidate Patricia Petty Goston, sparking celebrations in her hometown. Friends, family, and well-wishers are visiting her parents’ home here to congratulate them on this remarkable achievement.
In an exclusive conversation, Saba’s father, Ali Haider, shared insights into her background. Originally from Aurangabad in Bulandshahr, he moved to Ghaziabad for work, where he raised his family. Saba, known for her academic prowess from a young age, completed her intermediate from Holy Child School in Ghaziabad and earned a BSc from Ram Chameli Chadha College. Later, she pursued an MSc in Wildlife Sciences at AMU, earning a gold medal for her outstanding performance. After her marriage, Saba moved to the United States with her husband, who is a computer engineer.
Ali Haider emphasised that Saba’s interest in social service and politics began early in life. In the US, she initially taught yoga and soon became actively involved in community services. Her engagement in local governance led her to run for a school board position, although she narrowly missed victory in that earlier attempt. Despite setbacks, she remained determined, embodying the family’s philosophy of resilience and perseverance.
Saba’s mother, Meh Jabin Haider, expressed her pride in Saba’s determination. “We always taught her that one should never give up,” she said. “When faced with setbacks, it’s important to continue pushing forward.” Reflecting on her previous loss in a close race, Meh Jabin emphasised that Saba’s unwavering dedication and perseverance finally led to success in this election.
In a competitive race with a total of 70,109 votes cast in DuPage County, Saba Haider garnered 39,365 votes, while her opponent received 30,844 votes. Saba’s victory margin of 8,541 votes stands as a testament to her popularity and commitment to the community she now serves.
Saba’s win brings a sense of pride not only to her family and Ghaziabad but also to Aligarh Muslim University, where she built the academic foundation that has supported her remarkable journey. Her parents are hopeful that her success will inspire more young women to pursue their aspirations and make a positive impact both at home and abroad.
source: http://www.clarionindia.net / Clarion India / Home> Indian Muslim> Women> World / by Clarion India / November 08th, 2024
In the preface to her memoir, the author B. M. Zuhara writes, “I grew up at a time when Muslim girls did not even have the freedom to dream.” The Dreams of a Mappila Girl is set at the time when independent India was embracing its new identity as a free nation. It offers a rare portrait of women in Muslim households in North Kerala through the lens of a woman writer. Zuhara showcases how women, bound as they were by the rules of society, still managed to hold key positions in their family and had an important voice in the discussions concerning their lives, contrary to popular perception.
The following piece is an excerpt from Fehmida Zakeer’s translation of the book, soon to be out from Yoda Press.
****
During the holidays, the hall upstairs turned into a playground for the children, who were allowed to play outdoors only in the evenings. Lined by long windows without grills, and furnished only with Uppa’s charukasera and writing table, the hall was an expansive place for us to jump and run and skip and play. Below the glass windows was a cement slab broad enough to be used as a seat, running the length of the hall. If you sat on it and looked out of the window, you could see paddy fields and coconut groves and people out on the road in front of the house.
One evening, I was playing with Achu, the elder brother nearest me in age. Though his name was Assoo, I called him Achu. We were racing cars, or rather matchboxes converted by our imaginations into pretend cars. Since both Achu and I were recovering from a fever, we did not have permission to go out and play with the others, and so we were playing in the hall upstairs. Suddenly I heard the sound of Umma’s medhiyadi on the staircase leading from the women’s section of the house.
In those days, people used wooden footwear indoors. Climbing stairs in a medhiyadi, gripping the peg in the middle with the big toe and the second toe, was a feat in itself. Valippa’s medhiyadi, which he wore when he went out, had leather straps. Uppa preferred to wear shoes when he stepped out of the house. Once a year, Chandu Aashari, the family carpenter, made medhiyadi for the whole family. Achu once broke the small medhiyadi made for me by Chandu Aashari, and how I wept!
Umma did not normally come upstairs in the evenings. I looked enquiringly at Achu when we heard the sound of her footsteps.
‘Umma is going to Kozhikode tomorrow morning. She knows that you will cry and insist on going with her. That’s why she didn’t tell you.’
Even though I knew Achu was trying to provoke me, my eyes started filling with tears. I was five years old at that time, and in class one at school. I missed school frequently because I used to accompany my mother wherever she went. This continued in class two. At the end of each year, Uppa would visit the school and meet the teacher, and I would be promoted to the next class. This was the usual practice.
I closed my brimming eyes and stood there thinking.
Achu spoke again. ‘Umma must have come upstairs to pack her clothes for the trip. You’d better go quickly.’
‘Don’t take my matchboxes. I’ll be right back,’ I called out as I ran to Umma’s room.
‘I told you about Umma’s trip, so now the matchboxes are mine,’ I heard Achu shouting after me, but I decided to ignore his words for now.
When I entered the room I saw the doors of the meshalmarah opened wide. The scent of kaithapoo filled the room. How it lingers, the fragrance of screwpine! The meshalmarah doubled as a table and a cupboard, and was actually a long table with drawers on both sides with space to store things below. Umma called the meshalmarah her clothes cupboard. Umma stored her clothes on one side and the children’s on the other side. In those times, children usually had only one or two sets of clothes, made from lengths of cotton. Trousers and shirts for the boys and chelakuppayam, or frocks, for me.
‘You are packing to go to Kozhikode without me?’ I whimpered.
Umma turned to look at me. ‘The crybaby has arrived!’ she said.
At that, I wailed even more loudly.
I had three nicknames as a child. Karachapetti, Tarkakozhi and Ummakutty. Karachapetti because I cried a lot; I did not know the meaning of Tarkakozhi but when someone called me that, I would put on a sullen look; I actually liked my third nickname of Ummakutty, ‘mother’s darling’. When someone called me by that name, a shy smile would tug at my lips. I liked to sing the lullaby Umma often sang to me. ‘Umma’s little girl Soorakutty, darling little daughter of mine.’
But at that moment, I was not thinking about the nicknames or Umma’s special song for me.
‘If you go without taking me with you, by God, by the Prophet, I will not go to school till you come back.’
‘Moideen will tie your hands and legs and take you to school,’ Umma said as she placed her clothes in a cloth bag fitted with wooden handles.
Moideen was the caretaker of our house, and all the children were scared of him. But even though he put on a stern face when any of us misbehaved, he really liked us. Whenever I cried and created a fuss, he would arrive and take me to the pond at the back of our house. He would get into the pond and pluck a lotus for me or teach me how to make toys with lotus leaves.
‘If I complain about a stomach ache, Ummama will not send me to school,’ I said, pouting.
‘This is too much. Don’t you want to learn to read and write? If you follow me around all the time, how will you learn your lessons?’
‘I don’t want to,’ I said resolutely.
‘Don’t imagine I’ll take you this time, Soora. If you hide inside the car, I will drag you out.’
Usually when it became clear that Umma would not take me with her on a trip, I would hide between the seats in the car without even having changed into an appropriate outfit. It did not occur to me that my grandfather, seated in the charukasera on the verandah, the driver, and the servants busy in their tasks would all notice my presence. I thought I was fooling Umma by hiding in the car. When Umma came out of the house and went up to the car, Valippa would jokingly call out, ‘Mariya, be careful, there is a cockroach in the car.’
Umma would understand immediately. She would get into the car and pinch my ear and say, ‘Don’t get smart with me. Get out of the car.’
I would hug the seat and wail loudly.
Valippa would say then, ‘Take her with you. She’s a baby after all.’
‘Baby indeed, she’s over five years old. You are all spoiling her.’
And I would get to accompany Umma to Kozhikode once again. Umma’s younger sister lived in Kozhikode and, to us children, her house was a source of wonder. Umma had to see the doctor in Kozhikode every three months and she would drop in at her sister’s house when she made the trip.
Now Umma ignored my wails and placed the bag filled with her clothes on the table. Then she went downstairs. Sobbing loudly, I followed her.
‘Why is the baby crying?’ Ummama called out from below the stairs.
‘If she complains of a stomach ache tomorrow morning, don’t allow her to take the day off from school, Elama.’
When Umma was fifteen years old, her thirty-year-old mother, nine months pregnant, died. Later, Valippa married again. Our present Ummama was his second wife. I understood all this only later. Even though my mother and her siblings called their stepmother Elama, Ummama treated them as if they were her own children.
Ummama intervened on my behalf now. ‘Take her with you, Mariyu. If you leave her here, she will raise the roof with her crying.’
By then we had climbed down the stairs.
Umma ignored me and asked Ummama, ‘Is Uppa sitting on the verandah?’
‘He was asking for you. He just sent Assan to look for you.’ Assan, the handyman, was Moidyaka’s son.
Every evening Umma and Ummama went to the verandah to keep Valippa company. This was the only time they were allowed on the verandah.
‘Aren’t you coming?’ Umma asked as she made her way outside.
‘You go on. I’ll come soon,’ Ummama said, walking towards the eastern side of the house where the bathrooms were located.
As Umma made her way to the front of the house, I followed close behind, sniffling and crying.
‘Soora, don’t irritate me. If you don’t stop I’ll lock you up in the kunhiara. I’m warning you.’
Kunhiara. As soon as I heard that word, my wails dwindled to a whimper. Kunhiara was the small room where the sparingly used big and heavy copper and brass utensils were stored. The room was dark even during the daytime and was a haven for cockroaches, moths and rats. I was not really scared of the cockroaches, the moths, the rats. What terrified me was the tomcat installed in our house to catch the rats. Its glowing eyes struck terror in my heart. To me, spending time there was like being in hell, and once locked inside I would remain there until the servants came to rescue me. I was still sobbing when we reached the verandah.
‘Chu, why are you laughing?’ asked Valippa.
My grandfather called me Chu.
‘Your darling Chu cries all the time,’ Umma said crossly.
‘Don’t say that, Mariya. Look at her smiling now. She looks so beautiful.’
On hearing this, in spite of the tears streaming from my eyes, I attempted a smile.
‘That’s my brave girl. Come here.’ Valippa beckoned to me. ‘If you massage my legs, I’ll give you a mukkal.’
Forgetting about the trip to Kozhikode, I walked towards the charukasera where my grandfather sat with his legs hoisted over its elongated armrests. I massaged his legs one by one with my small hands.
‘I want the coin with the hole.’
In those times, one pice coins came with a hole and without. I preferred the ones with the hole. I dropped all the coins I got from Valippa into a powder tin which had its top cut open with a knife.
By then, Ummama had reached the verandah. Ummama would sit on the bench and Umma would stand by the door as they talked about the events of the day with my grandfather. I listened to them talking as I pressed Valippa’s feet, directing smug looks at my mother and feeling like the valiant Unniarcha.* Absorbed in conversation, Umma too seemed to have forgotten the whole episode.
***
* Unniarcha is a mythological warrior woman celebrated for her fearlessness, immortalised in the vadakkan paatu, the ballads of the region.
Translator’s Bio
Fehmida Zakeer is an Independent writer with bylines in several publications including, The Bangalore Review, The Hindu, Al Jazeera, Reader’s Digest, National Geographic, Whetstone Magazine, NPR. Her fiction has appeared in publications such as The Indian Quarterly, Out of Print Magazine, Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Asian Cha, among others. A story of hers was placed first in the Himal South-Asian short story competition 2013, and another was chosen by the National Library Board of Singapore for the 2013 edition of their annual READ Singapore anthology.
___________________________________________
B. M. Zuhara
BM Zuhara has written novels and short stories and is the first Muslim woman writer from Kerala. She won the Kerala Sahitya Akademi Award for her contribution to Malayalam literature in 2008 and has received awards such as Lalithambika Antharjanam Memorial Special Award, Unnimoy Memorial Award and the K. Balakrishnan Smaraka Award. Her novels, Iruttu (Darkness), Nilavu (Moonlight) and Mozhi (Divorce), have been translated into Arabic while the English translation of Nilavu was published by the Oxford University Press in an anthology titled, Five Novellas. She translated Tayeb Salih’s Wedding of Zein and Naguib Mahfouz’s Palace Walk into Malayalam.
______________________
source: http://www.bangalorereview.com / The Bangalore Reviews / Home> Non-Fiction / by B M Zuhera / July 2022
Dr. Muneela Khanam received the Bharat Ratna Award as Best Life Coach of the year for her exceptional services in the field of Education and Social work received from Padma Shri Awardee Shree Padma Reddy.
She has done her Ph.D. in Psychology, Handwriting Analyst, and Graphologist. Founder and Director of ANSZ Educare India, Member of the Institute of Scholars, an Educationist, Author, Motivational Speaker, and Inspirational Master Trainer
The Global Scholar Foundation has conferred her award recognizing her contribution, appreciating her efforts, and acknowledging her success as an Educationist who plays a major contributor to the economic development of our Nation.
She has already bagged many prestigious awards at State, National, International, and Global levels for her phenomenal performance in the field of Education, Training, and Development sector.
Her expertise has helped thousands of Students and Teachers achieve outstanding results over 14 years of experience. She has a strong vision of Transforming lives and strongly believes in “Empowering the Students and Strengthening the Nation”.
source: http://www.islamicvoice.com / Islamic Voice / Home> National New and Affairs / by Islamic Voice / October 2022
Tamkeen Fatima, currently pursuing M. Tech. in Computer Science and Engineering in the second year at the department of Computer Engineering, Z.H. College of Engineering and Technology, Aligarh Muslim University has qualified the UGC-NET (JRF) examination, 2024, with an All India rank 2 (99.9933 percentile) in her first attempt.
She completed her B.Tech. from AMU in 2023 with 9.703 CPI and has been a consistent recipient of merit scholarships from class X onwards, including UP STSE, University Merit Financial Award (AMU), and GATE scholarship.
During her B.Tech., Fatima participated in research internship programmes at ISRO, McMaster University, Hamilton, Canada (Mitacs GRI), and The Fields Institute, Toronto, Canada (Fields Undergraduate Summer Research Programme).
She has also published a research paper in ACM Conference Proceedings.
source: http://www.amu.ac.in / Aligarh Muslim University / Home> AMU News / by Public Relations Office (headline edited) / November 05th, 2024
“I have decided to renounce my showbiz lifestyle, repent before Allah, and seek his forgiveness”, wrote Sahar Afsha in her Instagram note.
Sahar Afsha/Instagram
Popular Bhojpuri actress Sahar Afsha recently announced that she has decided to quit the showbiz industry to follow the religious path of Islam. She isn’t the first actress to take such a step as Lock Upp contestant Sana Khan and Dangal star Zaira Wasim also decided to leave the entertainment industry for Islam.
Taking to her Instagram on September 22, Sahar penned a long note that read, “Dear Brothers and Sisters, in the Name of Allah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful, I want to let you know that I have chosen to leave Showbiz and will no longer be involved. I want to live my future life in accordance with Islamic teachings and with Allah’s blessings.”
She continued, “I’m grateful to my fans for bestowing upon me many blessings, including fame, honor, and fortune. I had not even pictured this life in my childhood. I stumbled into this industry just by chance and kept on growing. But now I have decided to renounce my Showbiz lifestyle, repent before Allah, and seek His forgiveness. I intend to live my next life according to the commands and preachings of Allah.”
Concluding her note, the actress wrote, “Hence, I request everyone to pray that Allah accepts my repentance, blesses me with the strength to live in line with my resolve to spend my life upholding the laws of my Creator and serving mankind, and gives me the perseverance to do so. And I hope that I will be remembered not for my past life but for the life to come.”
Sana Khan also reacted to her note and commented, “MashAllah my sister so happy for you. May Allah give u isteqamah in every step of your life. May you inspire everyone around you and become zariya e khair for mankind.”
source: http://www.dnaindia.com / DNA / Home> English> Entertainment / by DNA Web Team / edited by Aman Wadhwa / October 08th, 2022
Ideal Indian School (IIS) alumna Sahar Abdul Gafoor has achieved first rank and gold medal at Lovely Professional University (LPU) in Delhi, India, by securing the highest marks ever in Clinical Psychology (96%) for her post graduation.
Daughter of Abdul Gafoor and Sunitha Hameed from Kodungallur, Kerala, Sahar topped the Gulf region and all of India with 100% marks in Psychology in the CBSE Senior Secondary Examination, and won an award from the Council of CBSE Affiliated Schools in the Gulf.
Later, she graduated with high distinction in Psychology from Maharaja’s Women’s College, Thiruvananthapuram, and also completed training at Oolampaara Government Mental Hospital, Thiruvananthapuram.
The IIS management, principal, teachers, and students have congratulated Sahar.
Her next goal is to pursue a Psy.D. Doctorate in Clinical Psychology.
source: http;//www.gulf-times.com / Gulf Times / Home> Community> Education / October 26th, 2024
At the age of 18, this Khammam athlete is running, not only for medals but also to help her family escape poverty.
18-year-old Sk Afreen
Khammam:
At an age when most young adults are just beginning to explore their independence and dreams, 18-year-old Sk Afreen from Khammam is racing ahead — not just to win medals but to support her family. A cheetah on the track, this second-year BA student has set her sights on using her athletic talent to help her family break free from the clutches of poverty.
She primarily competes in the 200- and 400-metre sprints and the triple jump categories. For the 18-year-old, it all began when her father, Raheem, took her to the Sardar Patel Stadium in the city about four years ago. Afreen was mesmerised by the sight of young girls exercising, training and speaking to the coaches. Soon after, she enrolled in an athletics programme under local coach Md Ghouse.
Afreen’s determination and hard work have already led her to notable achievements. She recently secured second place in the Telangana South Zone Athletics Championship, held at the Regional Sports Hostel Stadium in Karimnagar from October 30 to November 1.
She also took second place in the 10th Telangana State Junior Athletics Championships in the 400- and 200-metre races, held at Osmania University in Hyderabad on September 19 and 20. Furthermore, she achieved third place in the Junior National Athletics Championships at Nagarjuna University in Guntur, held from October 17-19. Earlier, she also claimed third place in the Telangana State Youth 400-metre Athletics Championship, held at JN Stadium in Hanamkonda from October 6-7.
Despite her achievements, Afreen’s journey has been far from easy. Her father, Raheem, works as a home guard in the Khammam police department, with his entire family relying on his salary. Supporting Afreen’s athletic needs has placed a financial strain on him. “We’re facing hardships in providing her equipment,” Raheem shared, mentioning that he recently purchased a pair of shoes for Rs 12,000, half his monthly income.
“If someone could help us, it would make a big difference,” he added, hopeful for donors who might support his daughter’s aspirations.
Khammam police chief Sunil Dutt felicitates SK Afreen after her recent performances across southern India
Coach Ghouse praised Afreen’s potential, stating, “She is talented and competes with dedication. She has a bright future if she continues like this.”
‘I want to represent India’
Speaking to TNIE, Afreen shares, “Athletics is more than a passion; it’s my lifeline.”
The starting blocks and finish lines represent steps toward a future where her family no longer struggles, she elaborates.
Afreen credits her success to her coach and her family’s support. “My goal is to represent India, secure a government job and support my family,” she says.
In recognition of her achievements, Khammam Commissioner of Police (CP) Sunil Dutt recently felicitated her at his office, commending her resilience and determination.
source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> Good News / by B Satyanarayana Reddy / November 03rd, 2024
