A Free Preview

Mullah Mchungu shows up at my door when I am right in the middle of a vigorous seven mile run on my treadmill, from where I am following highlights of a thrilling cricket match between India and Pakistan to keep me company. I don’t like my running routine to be interrupted so I ignore the doorbell when it chimes. But it keeps on tolling; so, bothered and harassed, sweat pouring down my body in rivulets, I angrily run to the door and fling it open, wanting to ensure I make my displeasure known to the offender.

But it is Mullah Mchungu I see, leaning heavily on his walking stick, looking as if he will collapse if not immediately parked. So I swallow by ire and take him in and seat him, least he falls, breaks a leg and triples my homeowner’s insurance premiums. I run for a quick shower and then serve him tea and cookies. The Mullah informs me he has flown in yesterday for his twice-annual visit to Orlando. His son Ali and family live here in Sanford, so he is a frequent guest to see his two grandchildren; one of them must have dropped him off and scooted.     

I know there is a storm brewing; the Mullah will not come calling the next day of jetlagged travel to come just for my ziyaarat. So I steer him out to the porch after he has had his cuppa; the guy smokes smelly Indian beedees that can easily set off the fire alarm in the house. We sit in the porch and take in the wonderful weather Florida has to offer us this time of the year.

After Mullah Mchungu has his beedee and goes through the routine of hacking nicotine from his lungs, I see he is ready for battle. He regards me with a sullen, defiant look on his well-weathered face, a face well etched with years of frowning and grumpiness; no wonder the nickname?  

So you have written a novel.

It is more of a statement than a question and I at once feel wary. Yes, I am defensive about my second published book, the result of much love and hard labor.

Yes, I say self-consciously, I did.

The Mullah rains in the bombs.

Kisukaali, he snorts contemptuously, I am so disappointed in you, ashamed of you! How can you write such a filthy book? It is full of foul language, and rape and woman’s autonomies and violence and love between man and a woman and all things un-Islamic!

I am stunned by the sudden assault; feel like I have been slapped silly. Blood gushes up my face, I feel ringing in my ears and the image of the Mullah gets fuzzy with blood in my eyes. This is not a very good sign; this happens very, very  rarely, when I am on the verge of completely losing my temper and doing something stupid. I feel like lifting the Mullah by the cuff of his withered neck and shoving him out of the house. It takes utmost self-restraint and intensive dose of yoga discipline to control my fury. I take in deep breaths and recite salawaats aplenty to abate the desire to strike out and hurt.

When I can see the Mullah clearly, when the affront subsides and I can think clearly, I speak. Surprisingly, my voice is calm and steady.

Have you read the book, Mullah? I ask.

Humph, do you think I have time to read novels, Kisukaali? I am busy trying to keep my pajamas dry every time I sneeze, I don’t have time to read nonsense. But my friend in London told me about the filth you have written. His son read it, finished it in two days. He told his dad...and everybody is talking about it; in Dar, in Dubai, in London where I was recently. What made you do it, Kisukaali? You claim to be a man of God, acting pious and all; your CAI does such good for the cause of worldwide humanity. So why stoop so low, my son?

Mullah Mchungu always visits me when in Sanford and I have shown him nothing but kindness and utmost respect, even through his extreme eccentricity, but this is the first time he has called me son; I soften up to him.

Mullah sahib, I begin, I wish you had read the book; you would have thoroughly enjoyed it. The fact your friend’s son finished it in two days says a lot, nai...

He does not let me complete however, for he snorts in contempt.

He is from the same thread as you, your generation thrive on filth...

But it is the opposite of that! I shout in frustration, startling the guy, for he straightens up and reaches for his danda, the walking stick, a menacing looking thing that can be used as a lethal weapon.

Listen to me Mullah Saheb, I plead earnestly, softening my voice considerably; that danda can cause a lot of damage, even if used by a frail man. My novel is based on a true event, the massacre of thousands of Muslims in Gujarat riots of 2002. Massacres mean nasty things; riots, blood, murder, rape... Talking about these is important, necessary. I cannot write a monologue of what transpired; nobody would read it. So it had to be a story, believable story, that had to include gore and to few perhaps, unpalatable details in people’s personal lives. I have not written any fantasy, only reality. Plus, love between a woman and a man is far from un-Islamic...

I see my passionate plea does not make an impact on Mullah’s rigid paradigm; his face still reflects hostility and chagrin. So I let it go. I don’t care really, don’t care an ants ass what anybody thinks of my art. I would be ready to debate an objective opinion. To the rest...get a life!

Note: A limited number of the print version of The Chief Minister’s Assassin, my novel, a free preview is available here. You can purchase a copy here. All proceeds go towards CAI girls school / orphanage project in Kabul, Afghanistan.

Note again: My encounters with Mullah Mchungu usually traverse a very fine line between reality and hallucination. Not sure if this encounter was real or in my reverie. Not that it matters.

The Chief Minister’s Assassin – A Novel

Phew! It’s done. Finally! My second novel is done editing and is currently being readied for publishing; it will be out second / third week of March insha’Allah.

Having worked on it off and on for the last three long years plus, I feel lost not having to slog over it anymore. Strangely, the feeling is not unlike, perhaps, withdrawal effects of narcotics? Not that I do / ever did drugs. Oops... a cigarette now and then maybe... Pan Paraag with Baba 160 sometimes perhaps... It is a solitary job, writing is. Unlike ordinarily going to office and interacting with colleagues, writing is a very solitary affair, with only my mind to network with. There were days, my mind wanting, struggling for creative ideas, I would find myself audibly arguing with my mind. You realize what people talking to themselves are immediately regarded as, no?

The novel is set against the backdrop of the Hindu – Muslim riots that took place in February 2002 and the subsequent massacre of over 2,000 defenseless Muslims. This mayhem, arson, bloodshed and killings were largely ignored and in many instances perpetrated by the very people who were supposed to protect the victims: the security forces and their bosses all the way to the top executive. The story, in narrative style, draws on three main characters, Salmaan, Preeti and Akaash, their lives and the destinies that ultimately draw them together. Their stories begin in Gujarat then move to Mumbai, India.

The novel is an easy read, I think, although talking or reading about mayhem and gore is never palatable. Yet, it is witty and downright funny at times. It will certainly sadden you but hopefully make you laugh as much. This is what Hussain Zaidi, author of bestselling novel Dongri to Dubai has to say about The Chief Minister’s Assassin:

'...highly riveting...profoundly gripping...Yusufali spins a darn good yarn...it will keep you awake at night!’

I must caution the book is not for the young as it has violence, gang activities, street language and some situations that some may find unpalatable? This was unavoidable due to the real terrible violence that did take place and the story would have felt hollow and superficial without the ‘real feel’ of gangster life of Mumbai. This book is a novel, a creation of my imagination and thus has no bearing on reality, even though many places and personalities I talk about are very real.

It is not a religious book, for sure. I state this because as CEO of CAI and her charitable activities, I am sometimes, incorrectly of course, viewed as a ‘religious’ man. Also, it may be viewed as a ‘religious’ book because proceeds from the sale of its print version go towards the construction of a girl’s school and orphanage project in Afghanistan.

This said, I urge you to pre-order a limited print-version, signed copy now for US$100 each, delivered anywhere in the world. All proceeds will go towards the school / orphanage project, I am not retaining a single penny. You will also be able to purchase an eBook version for much less later but these limited print books will benefit a very good cause insha’Allah. The school / orphanage will be constructed in a ‘safe’ area of Kabul, giving an opportunity for sixty very poor (some abused) girl orphans a change at a quality education and decent, safe and healthy living quarters, with three square meals, clothes, medical care and very caring people to take care of them insha’Allah. The school will cater for three hundred girls; profits from it will supplement the operating expenses of the orphanage.

For those individuals coming to the fundraiser for the same project at Imam Ali Center in New Jersey on April 26, you can collect your reserved copy at the function; please advise so we can make appropriate arrangements.

Enjoy insha’Allah.

Reserve / pay for a print version here.

My Trip To Sirsi & Phanderi – Nasser Jetta

Inna lillahi Wa Inna Ilayi Raajeoon... the profundity of this beautiful Quraanic verse hit me most when I lost someone dear to me, without whom I wouldn’t be here today - my father, Aunali Jetha, my role model. He lost his battle fighting Leukemia last year. Life hasn’t been the same ever since he passed away. Being the eldest son, responsibilities hit me head on. I had no time to prepare myself but accept fate and move on. Not a single day passes by where I don’t think of him.

As mentioned in the Noble Quran, a man’s mission is not just to live a life doing good deeds but also to have offspring’s who can continue his legacy and spread the love of Ahlulbayt (A) by giving good examples. In honor of my father, my family decided to do something that would shine his name perpetually; this is the least that we could do for him. It is said that the only investment that grows in time, producing the best results / prosperity / betterment of society is education, and my father always emphasised on the importance of education.

With the help of Yusufali (Comfort Aid International) we have been able to fulfill that commitment. He advised us to sponsor a science wing at an all-girls small school located in a rural area called Phanderi, a village in Uttar Pradesh, with many poor sa’daats.

And so, here I am today, 18^th Jan 2014, forcing myself awake at 1:45am to pursue something that we want to do for our late father. I have an early flight to catch that would take me to India to attend the inauguration of that wing.

A three day journey – a matter of 72 hours; enough time to meet different people who become good friends and make beautiful memories. And so I meet new brothers in faith with remarkable personalities: Yusufali aka the ‘Ayatollah Londoni’ (as someone from Afghanistan mistakenly referred his as), Akbarbhai aka the ‘God Father’ and Asgharbhai. Good, down to earth people, with a beautiful mission to help the poor across India. Wish I could do that too; some day, insha’Allah.

The plan is to stay at the Bahman Boys Orphanage located inside the massive Sirsi school complex. The journey to our destination is long, on a cold, rainy and immensely foggy day from the airport in New Delhi (such a contrast to the pleasant Dubai weather!). Even so, I experience a lot of warm humour and remarkable moments during the drive. Right from the amazing parathas served with a dollop of butter and chai served in a disposable clay pot (some well deserved traditional desi food) at a roadside dhabba, to a small stand selling exotic fruit. The fruit of the day is gulaabi, a tropical East African fruit I have before tasted.

When we finally arrive at Sirsi, I am moved by the warm welcoming given at the boys orphanage. Following a well served dinner, though exhausted, we still have room for some stories and joke time with the men – Yusufali, sharing his many adventures and trying to convince us that his famous chewro from New York and juggupak from Tanzania are the best in the world, while Aliakbarbhai cracks some jokes only he has the secret of! But what happens in Sirsi stays in Sirsi – all visitors know this rule...

That’s the end of DAY ONE!

Thankfully the weather clears up the next day. I ignore my nagging mind about my usually healthy diet plan and dig into some traditional Sirsi style breakfast - the pooris are to die for! 

It is time for some play with the boys after breakfast! Aliakberbhai is very good with his batting skills, but as cricket isn’t my cup of tea, I am glad the kids agree to play some serious football (soccer): CANADA vs. UP. Although CANADA team did score the winning goal, UP’s captain – Sir Saab – aka principal of Bahman School decided that the goal was not valid. Instead he wanted a replay in the evening. We couldn’t argue much – after all, who would argue with Sir Saab – he dons a 22-calibre revolver...

Life in Sirsi is generally hard, but these boys are blessed to be at the orphanage, rather than being left uncared in the society. Their future looks bright here. Amidst the surrounding poverty, there is hope...

It is hard to imagine the hard life for many poor; especially in underdeveloped countries like rural India, be it a single mom, a widow, an orphan... Currently CAI is funding home construction for poor widows. With 7 houses already completed (out of 50 still under construction), it is time to give them away to the deserving owners. Their contentment with a sturdy house with bare minimum makes me feel how incomparably blessed we are.

Following our visit to the Bahman School, few mosques and ImamBargah, it is dinnertime! Menu cried out loud: Seekh Kebabs!!! Cold weather, hot kebabs!! HEAVENLY!! A nice, small gathering with the orphan boys and girls.

As the little girls wish us goodnight, they invite us for dinner at their orphanage the following day, which we happily accept. That’s the end of DAY 2.

As I get up after a night of well-deserved sleep, I am a mix of varied emotions; excited, anxious, happy... This is what I have come here for; it is the big day, for me.  As we hit the dense foggy roads again, we witness a few accidents. Indian driving skills - one hand on the horn and the other on the stick shift, or cellphone or stuffing the mouth with maawo - on a foggy day; what can one expect?

Upon arrival at Phanderi School, we have a relatively lavish welcome – with flowers, green carpet walk to the stage, students reciting poems, du’aas and a ceremonial gathering with students and parents.

I am here, finally, standing in front of the veiled plaque outside the science wing. As they unveil the plaque, a rush of emotion overtakes me on seeing my father’s name. Job very well done, alhamd’Allah. It makes the whole trip worthwhile. I feel our purpose is served. May Allah (S) bless his soul.

After lunch at the Principals house we visit an uncompleted orphanage, where 14 girls are staying, CAI has undertaken to complete the project. It will house 30 orphans when complete.

In Phanderi, something else grabs my attention: a traditional ghor (Jaggery) factory. Who hasn’t had ghor with roti in the morning – such a delicacy! The ‘factory’ uses everything from the sugarcane to good use, including the dried peels, which are used for fuel. Indian creative engineering at its best!

After lengthy goodbyes, we head back to Sirsi, where the little girl orphans are waiting to have dinner with us. The drive back is very challenging, what with dense fog and almost nil visibility.

We reach the girl’s orphanage safely, where we were warmly greeted. The girls hardly have visitors so they are extremely excited to see us. No matter where you go, girls will be girls. A group of them see my phone and it only takes a click of a camera to make them smile, to pose, to feel special... so beautiful, so cute!

There is a kid who grabs my attention: Muskaan (it means smile); a lovely little girl, quite shy, but always with a smile on her face. She shows off her ‘English’ skills, reciting what her favorite things in life are. She had some problem with both her eyes. But thanks to CAI donors, she has one eye cured and the other is scheduled for surgery soon. Alhamdullilah!

Watching these girls sitting down and eating next to us fills my heart with a sense of joy and happiness. Suddenly I forget all my problems; if only life was always like this.

As we return to the boy’s orphanage to wrap up for the night, Aliakberbhai and Asgharbhai still have a lot of work to do - accounts, book keeping. It takes a lot of time and dedication to manage all this hard work. I head to bed with a little sadness in my heart. My journey is almost at its end; we head back to Delhi the following day.

I have been to India for work a few times and every time I come, I always leave with so many memories and thoughts. But this time, it is very special.

I can go on writing pages with word of praises and appreciation towards Yusufali, Aliakbarbhai, Asgharbhai and their team’s hard work and dedication. It is so easy to donate money or build an orphanage, school, clinic, etc. But it is a different ball game to manage it on a day-to-day basis. The whole team is truly devoted for this good cause and together they are paving the future for these kids... May Allah bestow the best of his blessings upon them. Ameen.

Watch a few photos here.

Out Of Africa

I fly to warm, muggy Dar es Salaam, Tanzania and immediately set on feasting on mangoes, pineapples, zambarao and plums that are in season; ahhh, what delight, but promptly get a bellyache and the runs. Dar now resembles mini Mumbai in filth, minus the curs; haphazard construction, rowdy, snarled traffic and backed up sewer lines that leaves a pong strong enough to curl my toenails. I meet grumpy old Mullah Mchungu and he is full of usual complaints: whines about DSM Jamaat accounts not prepared on time, moans that his undies are all wet because the AC at Jooma / Zohrain is switched off, the kutba is agonizingly long...I escape from him as quickly as I politely can. He may have a point about the AC, however. I wonder; why have it off with a jam-packed mosque in peak summer heat but turn it on at magreebain? Ajeeb, no?

Murtaza Bhimani, Sadiq Meralli and I fly to Zanzibar next day where we distribute CAI sponsored school desks sitting over 1,200 plus poor children who currently sit on dirty floors while studying; what a wonderful experience. CAI takes on another refurbishing project for a dilapidated wing of a local school at a remote village and the completion of a medical clinic sponsored by BETA Charitable Trust, UK. After feasting on Zanzibar mix and the super spread at Forodhani, we return to Dar and prepare for our trip to Liberia.

The flights that take us to Monrovia are via Nairobi and Accra, so it is with relief and bleary eyes when we land at chaotic Monrovia airport. Joining Murtaza and me in Nairobi is Nabeel Adamali; Sayyedna Muhammed Mussawi of WABIL and Abbas Jaffer, a CAI Trustee from NY arrive later that night. Unfortunately, Abbas comes without his luggage, misplaced on arrival due to chaos at the airport. We are guests of few Lebanese who run businesses in Liberia. We are housed in a scruffy apartment on a busy street of Monrovia, our home for the next three days.

Again, the experience of giving very poor children an opportunity at education cannot be captured in words. A modern school sponsored by CAI donors that will educate about 600 children is inaugurated and another school at Bo Watersite, some 60 miles from Monrovia is initiated; this should be ready by June insha’Allah. These poor children, some in rags literally, are trapped in the vicious cycle of poverty, with no education opportunities. Our schools will insha’Allah now provide them with this fundamental right for a better future.

Our hosts are full of gracious hospitality; the hunger pains of our last visit are forgotten as we are constantly fed. The hospitality is, at times, overdone. Especially for Abbas Jaffer. Our hosts, you see, are avid smokers so the apartment is cloudy with smoke whenever they visit. All of us, except Sayyedna of course, lose control and join in, puffing away in frenzy, as if our lives depend on the nasty habit. The place stinks, my clothes stink and I swear I can smell nicotine in the bathroom. One host takes a special liking to Abbas, offering him cigarettes, one after another and will not take no for an answer. If Abbas asks for a cube of sugar in his tea, he is ordered to have two. Poor guy, he looks to us in bewilderment for succor, but we are all full of mirth, offer him no help.

Sayyedna Mussawi and Abbas are supposed to depart one day before us but a series of mishaps keeps them around for another day. The hosts arrive late for the 3:30AM ride to the airport, some 45 miles away. The front door will not open so it has to be broken down, the vehicle going to the airport in thick fog runs out of fuel, a hard to find taxi replacement runs out of fuel as well; they miss the flight. A miracle occurs however, Abbas demands to be let in at the secure luggage storage room at the airport and recovers his unlocked suitcase, all contents intact.

Apart from the sense of great accomplishments at gifting the two schools to the poor children of Liberia, we gain much more from the companionship of each other and the wise leadership and counsel of Sayyedna Mussawi. He takes on giving short 10 – 15 minutes lectures after leading every salaat and we all learn a great deal from him. Why, this trip is a mini camp of accomplishments and learning!

A proud CAI / donor undertaking.

Please click here for some wonderful photos of our trip.