Another Ramadan has come and gone. A sure sign of the relentless passing of time. As always, it’s been a time of trials and tribulations. Of sincere prayers and deep reflections. A time of lucid late evenings and tired early mornings. And, as always, a time of failure and of success.
Today, on the eve of the last day of this holy month, I pray that I get to experience another opportunity to seek the ultimate benefits of my prayers together with my loved ones yet again.
May Allah accept our attempts in the month that has passed, and grant us the opportunity to improve our efforts in the future. I wish all Muslims a happy and blessed Eid al-Fitr!
Thanks for sharing all your stories, big and small. Thanks for always coming through, and for surprising me when I least expect it. Thanks for your patience even in moments of stress. Thanks for always trying, and for your friendship.
No seer eg atter slike Fjøll og Dalar, som deim eg i min fyrste Ungdom saag, og sama Vind den heite Panna ‘svalar; og Gullet ligg paa Snjo, som fyrr det laag. Det er eit Barnemaal, som til meg talar, og gjer’ meg tankefull, men endaa fjaag Med Ungdomsminni er den Tala blandad: Det strøymer paa meg, so eg knapt kan anda.
Ja, Livet strøymer paa meg, som det strøymde, naar under Snjo eg saag det grøne Straa. Eg drøymer no, som fyrr eg altid drøymde, naar slike Fjøll eg saag i Lufti blaa. Eg gløymer Dagsens Strid, som fyrr eg gløymde, naar eg mot Kveld af Sol eit Glimt fekk sjaa. Eg finner vel eit Hus, som vil meg hysa, naar Soli heim mot Notti vil meg lysa.
Alt er som fyrr, men det er meir forklaarat, so Dagsens Ljos meg synest meire bjart. Og det, som beit og skar meg, so det saarat, det gjerer sjølve Skuggen mindre svart; sjølv det, som til at synda tidt meg daarat, sjølv det gjer’ harde Fjøllet mindre hardt. Forsonad’ koma atter gamle Tankar: det sama Hjarta er, som eldre bankar.
Og kver ein Stein eg som ein Kjenning finner, for slik var den, eg flaug ikring som Gut. Som det var Kjæmpur spyr eg, kven som vinner af den og denne andre haage Nut. Alt minner meg; det minner, og det minner, til Soli ned i Snjoen sloknar ut. Og inn i siste Svevn meg eigong huggar dei gamle Minni og dei gamle Skuggar.
Gaustatoppen, considered by many to be the most beautiful mountain in Norway, towers above the town of Rjukan at an altitude of 1883 meters (6178 feet). The views from the top, as well as along the route, are stunning, and on a clear day, hikers can see one sixth of Norway from the summit!
The mountain is a popular destination for Norwegians, something I got to experience a few weeks ago. There was a constant stream of people all along the route. So many that there was a queue.
Many parents had brought their children along, the youngest ones walking, only three or four years old. Many of the children were crying and begging their parents to be carried, or simply refusing to go on. Most of the parents were ignoring their cries and telling them to keep going. This is something they simply had to do, and crying or yelling would definitely not help!
So en route to the summit of Gaustatoppen, with a backdrop of majestic Norwegian mountains, I got to witness the meticulous efforts of some parents to transfer what they believe to be core Norwegian values to the next generation. It was interesting to see how parents will always choose what they think is best for their children, no matter how much the little ones oppose.
When your hand is in my hands,
when my words are in your words,
we could get lost just walking like that.
When your breath is in my breath,
and solitude is close to us,
I put my head on your shoulder and fall asleep.
I wake up in your love,
and win by losing to you.
When you get upset, I sing to conciliate you.
My breath is complete with you,
without you there is no fulfillment.
You are my love, with you the season turns to spring.
When you are here I am at peace,
and when you are not, I despair.
My love, just tell me what more to say to you, what do you want to hear?
Everything could keep going on like this,
we keep meeting this way,
but this will only happen when you’re here.
When you’re here.
(Original in urdu by Ali Zafar from his Album Masti)