Jharoka

My mother was very intentional and thoughtful of the words she uttered. I wonder the thought she had behind her Urdu newsletter for which this platform is named – Jharoka.

I believe she chose it as a place of quiet observation. It allowed her to see the beauty in the mundane and the Divine in the small things. Her dignity didn’t come from standing above others, but from the inner stillness she maintained. This was a quality I believe she inherited from her father’s poetic soul.

In an Islamic sense, this is the beauty of Ikhlas (sincerity)—doing good and seeking depth for the sake of the soul, not for the praise of people.

To my mother, who lived with grace in the quiet

She did not seek the center of the room,

Nor the heat of the lamp, nor the loud refrain.

She was the cool stone of the Jharoka,

The one who watched the world with a poet’s eye,

Finding the depth in the way the light hit the floor

Or the way a prayer settled into the evening air.

She carried her father’s gift like a hidden treasure

Not a crown to be worn, but a compass to be used.

From him, she learned that poetry isn’t found in the light,

But in the humble corners where the soul speaks to itself.

She lived in that quiet rhythm, dignified and still,

A woman whose presence was felt like a soft breeze:

You didn’t always see where it came from,

But you knew it changed the air.

For three years, the window has held its breath.

But she taught you how to look through the lattice,

To find the beauty in the subtle and the small.

She has stepped away from the frame now,

Beyond the need for windows or walls,

Leaving behind a legacy of quietness

That speaks louder than any limelight ever could.

If you have made it to this post / page, I would be most appreciative if you could say a prayer or recite Al-Fatiha for my beloved mother. Thank you.