Rachel Hajar's Blog: My Life in Doha, page 5
June 13, 2011
A HOMECOMING
In the plane going back to Doha, memories of my father and mother (who passed away 9 years ago) replayed in my mind. I grieved for my parents and the passage of time. It is a strange feeling to have both your parents gone, like losing your childhood; only memories are left . . . the house also had felt different . . . but we get on with life . . . my life in Doha waited.
Finally, the pilot announced we were approaching Doha. It was almost 10 PM, Doha time. It was a long flight, nine-and-a-half hours. I peered out through the plane’s window. The bright lights of Doha city glittered below, like a brightly-lit giant chandelier. I thought the lights seemed brighter than in other cities, perhaps because Doha is a flat desert. I remembered the luminous full moonlit nights, when you could almost touch the moon.
Family reunions are sweet. My family had a surprise for me. I was made to close my eyes, and assisted by my daughter Asma, I was led upstairs, across through my room to my library, through the French window to my terrasse. There, my husband’s voice ordered me to open my eyes . . . the terrasse was filled with plants and flowers; hanging plants adorned the walls and ceiling, the pots suspended from wooden beams. It was beautiful, like an indoor garden! In the middle of the room were comfortable garden chairs where sat my husband and our daughters Haifa, and Salma. “You enclosed my terrasse!” I exclaimed. “It’s going to be too hot!” “No, it won’t be” replied my husband. “I put air-conditioning.” I was made to sit down. “It’s beautiful” I said, “but I’ve lost my view of the sky.” Again my husband said, “No. You’ll still be able to see your piece of blue sky. We used special “plastic” to enclose the place so you’ll still be able to see outside and the sky.” I looked around in wonder. “Watering the hanging plants will be a problem” I said. “Oh, I thought about that too. Don’t worry, I found a special sprinkler. Watering the overhead plants is the easiest thing in the world”, showing me the special gadget and demonstrating.
“OK Mommy. How do you like the chairs?” Haifa asked. “I chose them so you’ll be able to sit and read comfortably here.” They were wooden chairs fitted with cushions, comfortable cushions. “Indeed, they are comfortable” I said, leaning back. Comfortable garden chairs for reading; how lovely, and I have them right in my terrasse!
Light snacks and a homecoming cake were brought to the terrasse and we ate exchanging news, and admiring the plants and flowers. It was very pleasant and soothing to be surrounded with plants.
On weekdays, my husband and I have tea in the newly converted indoor garden before going to work and in the weekends, we have tea and light breakfast there. Sometimes also, we have afternoon tea there, occasionally joined by Haifa, who, like me, love sitting and chatting there while drinking tea or eating a light snack.
I water the plants in the evening, finding pleasure in the sound of water swishing. As my husband said, the special sprinkler made watering the hanging plants a piece of cake. I spend many happy hours in the newly enclosed terrasse, with the plants and flowers. I’m even reluctant to leave it when the family and I go for our summer holiday in Switzerland, home of lovely flowers
There is comfort in little rituals and the love of one’s family is a great consolation.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Author of My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
June 1, 2011
"Old soldiers never die; they just fade away"
My father died on April 28, 2011. He was a soldier and was buried with full military honors last Saturday, May 7, 2011 at the Everest Hills Memorial Park in Susana Heights, Ayala Alabang, Philippines. Below is the Eulogy I delivered for my father.
"Old soldiers never die; they just fade away."
I am Rachel, the third child of Colonel Ramon Llanes Querubin, who now lies in peace before you. I speak this morning on behalf of my brothers and sisters to pay tribute to our father.
Our father was a soldier, a quiet and brave soldier. He was awarded the Silver Star Medal for his valiant efforts to prevent the Japanese from advancing during WWII. He said, "I fired . . . and fired . . . and fired . . . I did not retreat." We admire our father's courage.
We, his children, never knew of this medal until we found his military medals in a drawer after he died because he was humble and did not like to talk about himself. We learned that a military Silver Star Medal is the third highest military Medal of Honor given to a soldier for his valor in the face of an enemy. Worldwide, there are only 54,000 soldiers with a silver star and our father, Tatang as we call him, was one of them.
Our father was a veteran of WWII. He was captured by the Japanese during the war and became a prisoner of war. He was one of the 100,000 soldiers in the notorious Death March of Bataan, the 97 kilometer march from Mariveles, the southern end of Bataan Peninsula to Capas in Tarlac. The Japanese starved and mistreated those prisoners, kicked and beat them, and many who fell were bayoneted. There were many civilians lining the streets, ready to help the prisoners but the Japanese had prevented them from giving food and water to the prisoners. Those who tried were beaten and kicked. According to our mother, father was near death and was lagging behind the march because of thirst. Fortunately, a Good Samaritan helped our father by giving him water. Father survived the Death March by a miracle.
Father contracted malaria after his confinement as a war prisoner. He was to suffer relapses from this disease many years afterwards. The drug Quinine cured the malaria. I still remember the chills and rigors he suffered during his relapse.
Father was born on August 31, 1916, in Cauayan, Ilocos Sur. He was an only child and was orphaned at an early age. He was brought up by relatives. We don't know much about his boyhood. But I do remember my mother narrating how father was sent from his hometown in Ilocos to his relatives in Cagayan after his parents died. He must have been about five or six years old. Someone – probably a friend or distant relative – had written down father's name on a card and hung it around his his chest, put him in a ship to go to his relatives in Cagayan, and waved goodbye as the ship sailed away.
After graduating from the military academy, father joined the Philippine army. He retired with a rank of full Colonel but people who meet him after his retirement always call ed him "the General", like his gastroenterologist. He had good rapport with that doctor. My sister Connie was always amazed that whenever Tatang went for his clinic appointment, "the general" and the doctor chatted, laughed, and gossiped. I remember that when I was in the USA, I used to always address my letters to him as "General." He was uncomfortable with my habit and he would gently remind me to call him father only. But I never listened – as always – and continued my habit. I think of him always as "the General."
There is one story narrated by our mother about father that I always remember. One time, there was a bunch of promotions in the Philippine army. Father had not been on the list. Father felt his being bypassed was because he was not a graduate of the elite Philippine Military Academy, and therefore, unjust. He wrote a letter to President Marcos who was the president at that time, enumerating his accomplishments and his service to his country, and that he should be promoted. Marcos had granted his promotion after he read my father's letter. Every time I remember the story, I think, you never give up asking for your right.
Growing up, we remember our father as a strict disciplinarian. He was always concerned for our safety. He was very organized; all his personal documents are neatly filed. His motto was "You'll never know when you need it" and true enough, when he was applying for his entitlement as WWII veteran, he did not have difficulty. I wish I had inherited this trait for I have a tendency to throw things away!
Most of all, Father valued education. He constantly reminded us that our education is the best inheritance he can give us.
Our father was a true soldier and he lived his life accordingly. When he retired from military service, he was still active. He would go for walks around the block daily, at our place in Alabang, with his baseball cap on and a walking stick in his right hand, which he occasionally waved about. That is the image that my children have of their grandfather – "the General." His active lifestyle ended when he lost strength over his lower legs and he had to be confined in a wheelchair. From then on, his health slowly deteriorated, which was painful to witness. We, his children, did our very best to make his life comfortable in his old age.
Our father was 94 years old when he died but old soldiers never die; they just fade away . . . Father, we salute you.
Good bye Tang. In our hearts you live forever.
[image error]
Col. Ramon Llanes Querubin is buried with full military honors at Everest Hills Memorial Park in Ayala, Alabang, MM, Philippines
“Old soldiers never die; they just fade away”
My father died on April 28, 2011. He was a soldier and was buried with full military honors last Saturday, May 7, 2011 at the Everest Hills Memorial Park in Susana Heights, Ayala Alabang, Philippines. Below is the Eulogy I delivered for my father.
“Old soldiers never die; they just fade away.”
I am Rachel, the third child of Colonel Ramon Llanes Querubin, who now lies in peace before you. I speak this morning on behalf of my brothers and sisters to pay tribute to our father.
Our father was a soldier, a quiet and brave soldier. He was awarded the Silver Star Medal for his valiant efforts to prevent the Japanese from advancing during WWII. He said, “I fired . . . and fired . . . and fired . . . I did not retreat.” We admire our father’s courage.
We, his children, never knew of this medal until we found his military medals in a drawer after he died because he was humble and did not like to talk about himself. We learned that a military Silver Star Medal is the third highest military Medal of Honor given to a soldier for his valor in the face of an enemy. Worldwide, there are only 54,000 soldiers with a silver star and our father, Tatang as we call him, was one of them.
Our father was a veteran of WWII. He was captured by the Japanese during the war and became a prisoner of war. He was one of the 100,000 soldiers in the notorious Death March of Bataan, the 97 kilometer march from Mariveles, the southern end of Bataan Peninsula to Capas in Tarlac. The Japanese starved and mistreated those prisoners, kicked and beat them, and many who fell were bayoneted. There were many civilians lining the streets, ready to help the prisoners but the Japanese had prevented them from giving food and water to the prisoners. Those who tried were beaten and kicked. According to our mother, father was near death and was lagging behind the march because of thirst. Fortunately, a Good Samaritan helped our father by giving him water. Father survived the Death March by a miracle.
Father contracted malaria after his confinement as a war prisoner. He was to suffer relapses from this disease many years afterwards. The drug Quinine cured the malaria. I still remember the chills and rigors he suffered during his relapse.
Father was born on August 31, 1916, in Cauayan, Ilocos Sur. He was an only child and was orphaned at an early age. He was brought up by relatives. We don’t know much about his boyhood. But I do remember my mother narrating how father was sent from his hometown in Ilocos to his relatives in Cagayan after his parents died. He must have been about five or six years old. Someone – probably a friend or distant relative – had written down father’s name on a card and hung it around his his chest, put him in a ship to go to his relatives in Cagayan, and waved goodbye as the ship sailed away.
After graduating from the military academy, father joined the Philippine army. He retired with a rank of full Colonel but people who meet him after his retirement always call ed him “the General”, like his gastroenterologist. He had good rapport with that doctor. My sister Connie was always amazed that whenever Tatang went for his clinic appointment, “the general” and the doctor chatted, laughed, and gossiped. I remember that when I was in the USA, I used to always address my letters to him as “General.” He was uncomfortable with my habit and he would gently remind me to call him father only. But I never listened – as always – and continued my habit. I think of him always as “the General.”
There is one story narrated by our mother about father that I always remember. One time, there was a bunch of promotions in the Philippine army. Father had not been on the list. Father felt his being bypassed was because he was not a graduate of the elite Philippine Military Academy, and therefore, unjust. He wrote a letter to President Marcos who was the president at that time, enumerating his accomplishments and his service to his country, and that he should be promoted. Marcos had granted his promotion after he read my father’s letter. Every time I remember the story, I think, you never give up asking for your right.
Growing up, we remember our father as a strict disciplinarian. He was always concerned for our safety. He was very organized; all his personal documents are neatly filed. His motto was “You’ll never know when you need it” and true enough, when he was applying for his entitlement as WWII veteran, he did not have difficulty. I wish I had inherited this trait for I have a tendency to throw things away!
Most of all, Father valued education. He constantly reminded us that our education is the best inheritance he can give us.
Our father was a true soldier and he lived his life accordingly. When he retired from military service, he was still active. He would go for walks around the block daily, at our place in Alabang, with his baseball cap on and a walking stick in his right hand, which he occasionally waved about. That is the image that my children have of their grandfather – “the General.” His active lifestyle ended when he lost strength over his lower legs and he had to be confined in a wheelchair. From then on, his health slowly deteriorated, which was painful to witness. We, his children, did our very best to make his life comfortable in his old age.
Our father was 94 years old when he died but old soldiers never die; they just fade away . . . Father, we salute you.
Good bye Tang. In our hearts you live forever.
[image error]
Col. Ramon Llanes Querubin is buried with full military honors at Everest Hills Memorial Park in Ayala, Alabang, MM, Philippines
May 15, 2011
"Old soldiers never die; they just fade away"
"Old soldiers never die; they just fade away."
I am Rachel, the third child of Colonel Ramon Llanes Querubin, who now lies in peace before you. I speak this morning on behalf of my brtohers and sisters to pay tribute to our father.
Our father was a soldier, a quiet and brave soldier. He was awarded the Silver Star Medal for his valiant efforts to prevent the Japanese from advancing during WWII. He said, “I fired . . . and fired . . . and fired . . . I did not retreat.” We admire our father’s courage.
We, his children, never knew of this medal until we found his military medals in a drawer after he died because he was humble and did not like to talk about himself. We learned that a military Silver Medal is the third highest military Medal of Honor given to a soldier for his valor in the face of an enemy. Worldwide, there are only 54,000 soldiers with a silver star and our father, Tatang as we call him, was one of them.
Our father was a veteran of WWII. He was captured by the Japanese during the war and became a prisoner of war. He was one of the 100,000 soldiers in the notorious Death March of Bataan, the 97 kilometer march from Mariveles, the southern end of Bataan Peninsula to Capas in Tarlac. The Japanese starved and mistreated those prisoners, kicked and beat them, and many who fell were bayoneted. There were many civilians lining the streets, ready to help the prisoners but the Japanese had prevented them from giving food and water to the prisoners. Those who tried were beaten and kicked. According to our mother, father was near death and was lagging behind the march because of thirst. Fortunately, a Good Samaritan helped our father by giving him water. Father survived the Death March by a miracle.
Father contracted malaria after his confinement as a war prisoner. He was to suffer relapses from this disease many years afterwards. The drug Quinine cured the malaria. I still remember the chills and rigors he suffered during his relapse.
Father was born on August 31, 1916, in Cauayan, Ilocos Sur. He was an only child and was orphaned at an early age. He was brought up by relatives. We don’t know much about his boyhood. But I do remember my mother narrating how father was sent from his hometown in Ilocos to his relatives in Cagayan after his parents died. He must have been about five or six years old. Someone - probably a friend or distant relative - had written down father’s name on a card and hung it around his his chest, put him in a ship to go to his relatives in Cagayan, and waved goodbye as the ship sailed away.
After graduating from the military academy, father joined the Philippine army. He retired with a rank of full Colonel but people who meet him after his retirement always call him “the General”, like his gastroenterologist. He had good rapport with that doctor. My sister Connie was always amazed that whenever Tatang went for his clinic appointment, “the general” and the doctor chatted, laughed, and gossiped. I remember that when I was in the USA, I used to always address my letters to him as “General.” He was uncomfortable with my habit and he would gently remind me to call him father only. But I never listened – as always – and continued my habit. I think of him always as “the General.”
There is one story narrated by our mother about father that I always remember. One time, there was a bunch of promotions in the Philippine army. Father had not been on the list. Father felt his being bypassed was because he was not a graduate of the elite Philippine Military Academy, and therefore, unjust. He wrote a letter to President Marcos who was the president at that time, enumerating his accomplishments and his service to his country, and that he should be promoted. Marcos had granted his promotion after he read my father’s letter. Every time I remember the story, I think, you never give up asking for your right.
Growing up, we remember our father as a strict disciplinarian. He was always concerned for our safety. He was very organized; all his personal documents are neatly filed. His motto was “You’ll never know when you need it” and true enough, when he was applying for his entitlement as WWII veteran, he did not have difficulty. I wish I had inherited this trait for I have a tendency to throw things away!
Most of all, Father valued education. He constantly reminded us that our education is the best inheritance he can give us.
Our father was a true soldier and he lived his life accordingly. When he retired from military service, he was still active. He would go for walks around the block daily, at our place in Alabang, with his baseball cap on and a walking stick in his right hand, which he occasionally waved about. That is the image that my children have of their grandfather – “the General.” His active lifestyle ended when he lost strength over his lower legs and he had to be confined in a wheelchair. From then on, his health slowly deteriorated, which was painful to witness. We, his children, did our very best to make his life comfortable in his old age.
Our father was 94 years old when he died but old soldiers never die; they just fade away . . . Father, we salute you.
Good bye Tang. In our hearts you live forever.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
April 19, 2011
A WEDDING
Last Thursday night I went to a wedding – a Qatari wedding. The bride is a friend of my daughters. The celebration was held in the garden of the bride's home. In the old days the bride's wedding reception used to be held at the bride's home and the groom would then go to the bride's house escorted by his father and close male members of his family to fetch the bride. Nowadays, most wedding receptions are held in a hotel since 1) it is much more convenient, 2) the reception hall more spacious, 3) guests can be controlled and 4) only invited guests are allowed in.
The home garden setting last Thursday night lent a much more intimate and private atmosphere to the wedding reception, unlike in an hotel setting. There were several round tables covered with embroidered green table cloths and decorated with flowers. Hanging in the back of each chair was a white umbrella. The garage floor had been wet when my daughters and I went to the car and it was drizzling on the way. We had wondered how the reception would be if it continued to rain. Fortunately, while caught in traffic, the rain stopped. April . . . April showers! I had thought. In the West, April is spring weather; the chill of winter is disappearing but weather can be unpredictable. April often produces more than its fair share of atypical days, and in Qatar, last Thursday night was definitely atypical! In Qatar in April, temperatures warm up to scorching desert summer days. Rain is definitely unexpected in April!
Wedding celebrations here are held at night, from 8:30 PM until the wee hours of morning on the women's side. Since male and females don't mix, there are two receptions: one for the groom and one for the bride. Frequently, the reception for men is held in a tent somewhere and it is more traditional than the women's. From the hour of sunset, men guests arrive to congratulate the groom and his father, stay around awhile to chat and may or may not stay for dinner. Usually, family members dance the Al Arda (Sword Dance) and guests may join in the dancing.
Weddings are formal events. The ladies dress in trailing sequined gowns and diamond jewelry, like Oscar night. The ladies look glamorous and many times I hardly recognize my friends and acquaintances at these glittering gatherings. The metamorphosis is quite stunning. Elegantly gowned ladies from the family of the bride and groom welcome guests on arrival. Bejeweled and glamorously attired ladies in trailing gowns arrive and greet the bride's family, shaking hands, and cheek-kissing. The reception on the women's side no longer bears any resemblance to traditional customs. The gowns, the jewelry, the decoration – all are foreign. Many foreign customs are being thrown into the celebration of weddings on the ladies' side. The only familiar tradition I see is the abaya (black overwrap) and sheila (black headcover) that the ladies wear on arrival and on leaving.
But I must say that it is rather fun to dress up in a ball gown, wear expensive jewelry, and mingle with others similarly dressed. I can understand the enduring popularity of Masked Balls. At weddings, loud music is the rule, making it impossible to carry on a conversation with the person sitting next to you or exchange tidbits with your friends. But it is easy to be charming and gracious because all you need to do is smile and kiss friends in greeting. When you talk you have to lean towards the person and talk in her ear! But it is entertaining because many of the ladies clap their hands and dance to the music.
It was very pleasant and enjoyable to sit outside under the moon and the stars, watching the ladies dance and clap their hands. Arab ladies can dance, and they do it with grace. I felt that they enjoy wedding celebrations since it is a time to dress up and have fun – "let your hair down" so to speak. And some of them do let their hair down with their dancing! Women of all sizes and shape dance and clap their hands. The dances usually echo the moves of a belly dancer, but done tastefully. While watching I remembered one wedding where the older women danced the Gulf Arab way, a graceful swaying of the upper part of the body and hips and demure playing with the veil to the tune of drums and tambourines.
Since it was almost impossible to carry on a conversation with the loud music, I sat watching the ladies dance, lost in thought. The wedding reception is preceded by the formal engagement, which is called "milca" in Arabic, pronounced "milcha" by the Gulf Arabs. In Arab Muslim society, the bride and groom are considered legally married on paper with the signing of the marriage contract even though the marriage is not consummated yet. Marriages are arranged here and first-cousin marriages are still the rule, which explains the high incidence of genetically transmitted diseases such as diabetes.
After the milca, the bride and groom do not see each other until the wedding celebration, which is set at a later date. Nowadays, after the milca, the future groom can visit the future bride in her home before the wedding celebration and this is equivalent to the courtship period in the days of our mothers and grandmothers. They see, talk, and get to know each other (the bride is always chaperoned during these meetings) before the wedding ceremony. The groom can call her on the phone and talk to her. In Islam, a man and a woman are forbidden to see each other unless they are legally married. The signing of the marriage contract with witnesses makes it legal. Some very, very conservative families do not allow the bride and groom to see each other until the wedding night
Whereas before, the couple does not see each other before the wedding celebration, nowadays, things have changed a lot – at least there is a grace period of getting to know each other before the actual wedding takes place. In the truly arranged marriage, where the parents arranged the marriage, there have been "divorces" occurring when both parties decide during the "grace period" that they don't want to be married to each other. A girl can be "divorced" but still a virgin. I read recently that in Qatar, 38% of divorces occur during this period.
At the heart of the milca is the dowry, which is central to the marriage contract. Dowry is popularly believed to mean "bride price" because it is the money paid to the father or senior male relative of the bride. In the Arab world, the dowry is called mahr – gift. Arab Muslim customs, especially those of the Gulf, have two mahr: one given in advance and the other differed, which involves a larger sum of money or gold to be paid to the wife in case of divorce. It is meant to discourage the man from divorcing the wife and gives the wife some financial security.
Marriage customs go straight to the heart of a society. It is the inner core that contains many dearly held beliefs and each culture evolved a distinct set of marriage customs and rituals. In societies where marriages are arranged, the dowry is a central part of the marriage contract. In Babylon – ancient Iraq – the dowry marriage system was an integral component of social and family life and Hammurabi passed laws regulating its proper use. It was a form of financial security for the wife in case of divorce or separation. Hammurabi's law stated: "If a man wishes to separate from a woman who has borne him children, or from his wife who has borne him children: then he shall give that wife her dowry . . . so that she can rear her children . . ." I believe that the origin of dowry marriage as practiced in Arabia is Babylonian.
A drop of rain fell on my arm, rousing me from my reverie. It started to drizzle. The guests opened the umbrellas provided, sitting under the white canopy. The sight of ladies in their finery sitting round tables under umbrellas in the rain was picturesque. It was rather enjoyable, especially when the ladies danced to the music with their umbrellas! It drizzled intermittently but the ladies, including me, didn't mind, finding the novelty of the experience pleasing and fun. The bride made her solo walk on the ramp in between drizzles. She was lovely. All brides are beautiful. At these events, the coming of the bride is the climax, not the coming of the groom to fetch the bride. The music changes as a signal to the ladies to veil themselves when the groom, brought by his father and other members of his family, come to fetch his bride, around 11:00 – 12 midnight. The groom is left behind to sit with his bride 45 minutes to an hour before leaving the gathering with his bride. After they leave, the guests chat and dance until the wee hours of morning.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com/title/MyLifeInDoha.html
April 9, 2011
Book Art: "A thing of beauty is a joy forever"
Illuminated manuscripts are beautiful. It gives me a lot of pleasure to look at pages of books embellished with illustrations, decorated initials, and ornament in the margins. I sigh and marvel at the beauty and art involved in creating them. Such manuscripts are the domain of collectors and are prized possessions of libraries and museums. The invention of the printing press by Gutenberg in the 15th century not only made possible knowledge more accessible through the mass production of books but was instrumental in changing the nature of reading within society. It also eliminated the creation of beautiful books. However, the illuminated book tradition survives in the printing of Holy Scriptures such as the Holy Bible, Qur'an, and Gospel, available as limited editions.
In 2000, I obtained the Illuminated Family Edition of the Holy Bible, King James Version, and First edition, published by Thunder Bay Press; printed and bound in China! It is a work of great beauty: decorative borders, column dividers, and illuminated and historiated initial capitals. The preface informs me that the design for this edition is based on the Urbino Bible, one of masterpieces of 15th century art and bookmaking. It took the scribe (Ugo Comminelli of Mezieres) four years to complete the text by hand. The numerous illustrations and decorative elements were handpainted by such masters as Domenico and Davide Ghirlandaio. For the 2000 edition, all the illustrations in the original were electronically scanned and then removed digitally from their original backgrounds. Whenever I have time on my hands, it is always a joy to leaf through my edition and read some chapters. The beauty of the decorative elements intensifies the pleasure I feel when I read through my edition.
In 2008, I received, through mail from the Folio Society, an announcement of an illuminated English Edition of the Holy Qur'an. The illuminated Qur'ans that I've seen were all Arabic editions – very beautiful: borders embellished with geometric and vegetal patterns as secondary motifs separating the verses; calligraphic letterings, some in gold, with embellished margins; and elaborate full-page frontispieces. Lavishly ornamented pages belonged to museums and glitter like jewels in spotlighted glass cases but even copies owned by ordinary Muslims were/are illuminated, varying in degree from simple to lavish. Unlike illuminated Bibles, the Qur'ans do not illustrate scenes from the texts; instead they feature attractive script, flowers and touches of gold and lapis lazuli.
For so long I had wanted an illuminated English version of the Qur'an. The Arabic words mus'haf and Qur'an are synonymous but differ in connotation, according to my husband. Mus'haf refers to the physical book whereas Qur'an refers to the content in the book. So, what I wanted was an English Mus'haf. With much excitement, I ordered one copy and awaited its arrival with bated breath. It arrived months later. The hardcover is white. The frontispiece is ornamented with a central geometric pattern in gold and blue and bordered with fine interlocking lotus and vine-leaf design in gold accented with a touch of blue, like lapis lazuli. There was no adornment inside. I was of course very disappointed. I had fantasized reading the whole Qur'an during the 30 or so days of Ramadan, every Ramadan, as some Muslims do. I had been hoping that the decorated pages would enhance the pleasure of reading Holy texts. But then, how many Muslims read the Holy Qur'an in English? Muslims believe the Qur'an is the exact record of the words God spoke to the prophet Muhammad and for this reason, the Qur'an can only be written in Arabic. The English editions are only interpretations. I am aware that non-Arabic speaking Muslims read the Qur'an in Arabic. Also, they say that the Arabic language of the Qur'an is "perfect"; so then, truly, an illuminated Qur'an is a thing of beauty, as befits a mus'haf that contains the "words" of God.
Illuminated Qur'ans are among the loveliest. As demonstrated through the various illuminated Qur'ans in the possession of various museums and libraries, spanning centuries, the art of Islam achieved its richest artistic expression in book illustration – the art of the book – particularly in the production of the Holy Qur'an. The latest in the illustrious line of beautiful Qur'an editions is the Qatari-print of the Holy Qur'an (Mus'haf Qatar), released to the public last March 2010. My husband was given complimentary copies, of different sizes. The biggest measures 17.5 x 12.5 inches and came in a big wooden box. This big Qur'an sits on a Qur'an stand in our majilis. Mus'haf Qatar is also a work of art: set in exquisite calligraphy, with margins embellished with arabesques in gold and lapis lazuli. Two calligraphers were chosen in an international competition of renowned calligraphers (122) to prepare the new manuscripts in 24 months. The works of these two calligraphers were compared by an expert panel for final selection and the work of Obeida Mohammed Al Banki from Syria was chosen. The project took 10 years to realize and cost QR30m (around US8.5m).
There is a certain thrill in leafing and skimming through the pages of an illuminated book. The embellishment visually enchants. Two years ago, my husband informed me that a package had arrived for me, from the Folio Society. He had wondered what it could be and I had replied "A book most likely, since it's from the Folio Society." He had forgotten it in his car and at night he brought me the package – a big package. "It has to be books", I said. "It says 'Fragile', he replied, making me think of glass. As I was already in bed, I asked him to just put it on the floor by the foot of the bed. We both wondered at the 'Fragile' sign. "Why don't you open it now?" my husband asked. "I'm sort of lazy now. I'll open it tomorrow when I come home from work. I'll look forward to opening it all morning at work" I replied but curiosity got the better of me and finally I got up, took a pair of scissors, and opened the box. It was a book, a big book, a beautiful book. THE FOUR GOSPELS Engravings by ERIC GILL, the title read in golden calligraphic letters on black leather. It explained the fragile sign, I thought. Around the title were golden illustrations of a winged lion, an eagle, an angel, and a winged sheep, reminding me of Assyrian and Babylonian stone reliefs. I had ordered a copy of a Folio Society Limited Edition with the special engravings months back. As I leafed through, I was delighted at the beauty and elegance of the illuminated engravings. They seemed alive; they were quite breathtaking. The engravings were superb and the finest I had ever seen. On quiet moments, I would leaf through the book and read some of the gospels. Every time I open this book, a thrill goes through me. It is not an exaggeration to say that I'm ecstatic every time I feast my eyes on the engravings.
Before the invention of mechanical printing, books were handmade objects, treasured works of art, and symbols of enduring knowledge. In the Middle Ages, the book became an attribute of God. Every stage in the creation of a medieval book required intensive labor, sometimes involving the collaboration of entire workshops. Parchment for the pages had to be made from the dried hides of animals, cut to size and sewn; inks had to be mixed, pens prepared, and the pages ruled for lettering. A scribe copied the text from an established edition, and artists might then embellish it with illustrations, decorated initials, and ornament in the margins. The most lavish medieval books were bound in covers set with enamels, jewels, and ivory carvings.
An ebook can never give as much pleasure and enchantment as an illuminated book. Truly, an illuminated book is a thing of beauty and a joy forever.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream andReality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com/title/MyLifeInDoha.html www.amazon.com
Book Art: “A thing of beauty is a joy forever”
Illuminated manuscripts are beautiful. It gives me a lot of pleasure to look at pages of books embellished with illustrations, decorated initials, and ornament in the margins. I sigh and marvel at the beauty and art involved in creating them. Such manuscripts are the domain of collectors and are prized possessions of libraries and museums. The invention of the printing press by Gutenberg in the 15th century not only made possible knowledge more accessible through the mass production of books but was instrumental in changing the nature of reading within society. It also eliminated the creation of beautiful books. However, the illuminated book tradition survives in the printing of Holy Scriptures such as the Holy Bible, Qur’an, and Gospel, available as limited editions.
In 2000, I obtained the Illuminated Family Edition of the Holy Bible, King James Version, and First edition, published by Thunder Bay Press; printed and bound in China! It is a work of great beauty: decorative borders, column dividers, and illuminated and historiated initial capitals. The preface informs me that the design for this edition is based on the Urbino Bible, one of masterpieces of 15th century art and bookmaking. It took the scribe (Ugo Comminelli of Mezieres) four years to complete the text by hand. The numerous illustrations and decorative elements were handpainted by such masters as Domenico and Davide Ghirlandaio. For the 2000 edition, all the illustrations in the original were electronically scanned and then removed digitally from their original backgrounds. Whenever I have time on my hands, it is always a joy to leaf through my edition and read some chapters. The beauty of the decorative elements intensifies the pleasure I feel when I read through my edition.
In 2008, I received, through mail from the Folio Society, an announcement of an illuminated English Edition of the Holy Qur’an. The illuminated Qur’ans that I’ve seen were all Arabic editions – very beautiful: borders embellished with geometric and vegetal patterns as secondary motifs separating the verses; calligraphic letterings, some in gold, with embellished margins; and elaborate full-page frontispieces. Lavishly ornamented pages belonged to museums and glitter like jewels in spotlighted glass cases but even copies owned by ordinary Muslims were/are illuminated, varying in degree from simple to lavish. Unlike illuminated Bibles, the Qur’ans do not illustrate scenes from the texts; instead they feature attractive script, flowers and touches of gold and lapis lazuli.
For so long I had wanted an illuminated English version of the Qur’an. The Arabic words mus’haf and Qur’an are synonymous but differ in connotation, according to my husband. Mus’haf refers to the physical book whereas Qur’an refers to the content in the book. So, what I wanted was an English Mus’haf. With much excitement, I ordered one copy and awaited its arrival with bated breath. It arrived months later. The hardcover is white. The frontispiece is ornamented with a central geometric pattern in gold and blue and bordered with fine interlocking lotus and vine-leaf design in gold accented with a touch of blue, like lapis lazuli. There was no adornment inside. I was of course very disappointed. I had fantasized reading the whole Qur’an during the 30 or so days of Ramadan, every Ramadan, as some Muslims do. I had been hoping that the decorated pages would enhance the pleasure of reading Holy texts. But then, how many Muslims read the Holy Qur’an in English? Muslims believe the Qur’an is the exact record of the words God spoke to the prophet Muhammad and for this reason, the Qur’an can only be written in Arabic. The English editions are only interpretations. I am aware that non-Arabic speaking Muslims read the Qur’an in Arabic. Also, they say that the Arabic language of the Qur’an is “perfect”; so then, truly, an illuminated Qur’an is a thing of beauty, as befits a mus’haf that contains the “words” of God.
Illuminated Qur’ans are among the loveliest. As demonstrated through the various illuminated Qur’ans in the possession of various museums and libraries, spanning centuries, the art of Islam achieved its richest artistic expression in book illustration – the art of the book – particularly in the production of the Holy Qur’an. The latest in the illustrious line of beautiful Qur’an editions is the Qatari-print of the Holy Qur’an (Mus’haf Qatar), released to the public last March 2010. My husband was given complimentary copies, of different sizes. The biggest measures 17.5 x 12.5 inches and came in a big wooden box. This big Qur’an sits on a Qur’an stand in our majilis. Mus’haf Qatar is also a work of art: set in exquisite calligraphy, with margins embellished with arabesques in gold and lapis lazuli. Two calligraphers were chosen in an international competition of renowned calligraphers (122) to prepare the new manuscripts in 24 months. The works of these two calligraphers were compared by an expert panel for final selection and the work of Obeida Mohammed Al Banki from Syria was chosen. The project took 10 years to realize and cost QR30m (around US8.5m).
There is a certain thrill in leafing and skimming through the pages of an illuminated book. The embellishment visually enchants. Two years ago, my husband informed me that a package had arrived for me, from the Folio Society. He had wondered what it could be and I had replied “A book most likely, since it’s from the Folio Society.” He had forgotten it in his car and at night he brought me the package – a big package. “It has to be books”, I said. “It says ‘Fragile’, he replied, making me think of glass. As I was already in bed, I asked him to just put it on the floor by the foot of the bed. We both wondered at the ‘Fragile’ sign. “Why don’t you open it now?” my husband asked. “I’m sort of lazy now. I’ll open it tomorrow when I come home from work. I’ll look forward to opening it all morning at work” I replied but curiosity got the better of me and finally I got up, took a pair of scissors, and opened the box. It was a book, a big book, a beautiful book. THE FOUR GOSPELS Engravings by ERIC GILL, the title read in golden calligraphic letters on black leather. It explained the fragile sign, I thought. Around the title were golden illustrations of a winged lion, an eagle, an angel, and a winged sheep, reminding me of Assyrian and Babylonian stone reliefs. I had ordered a copy of a Folio Society Limited Edition with the special engravings months back. As I leafed through, I was delighted at the beauty and elegance of the illuminated engravings. They seemed alive; they were quite breathtaking. The engravings were superb and the finest I had ever seen. On quiet moments, I would leaf through the book and read some of the gospels. Every time I open this book, a thrill goes through me. It is not an exaggeration to say that I’m ecstatic every time I feast my eyes on the engravings.
Before the invention of mechanical printing, books were handmade objects, treasured works of art, and symbols of enduring knowledge. In the Middle Ages, the book became an attribute of God. Every stage in the creation of a medieval book required intensive labor, sometimes involving the collaboration of entire workshops. Parchment for the pages had to be made from the dried hides of animals, cut to size and sewn; inks had to be mixed, pens prepared, and the pages ruled for lettering. A scribe copied the text from an established edition, and artists might then embellish it with illustrations, decorated initials, and ornament in the margins. The most lavish medieval books were bound in covers set with enamels, jewels, and ivory carvings.
An ebook can never give as much pleasure and enchantment as an illuminated book. Truly, an illuminated book is a thing of beauty and a joy forever.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream andReality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com/title/MyLifeInDoha.html www.amazon.com
Book Art: “A thing of beauty is a joy forever”
In 2000, I obtained the Illuminated Family Edition of the Holy Bible, King James Version, and First edition, published by Thunder Bay Press; printed and bound in China! It is a work of great beauty: decorative borders, column dividers, and illuminated and historiated initial capitals. The preface informs me that the design for this edition is based on the Urbino Bible, one of masterpieces of 15th century art and bookmaking. It took the scribe (Ugo Comminelli of Mezieres) four years to complete the text by hand. The numerous illustrations and decorative elements were handpainted by such masters as Domenico and Davide Ghirlandaio. For the 2000 edition, all the illustrations in the original were electronically scanned and then removed digitally from their original backgrounds. Whenever I have time on my hands, it is always a joy to leaf through my edition and read some chapters. The beauty of the decorative elements intensifies the pleasure I feel when I read through my edition.
In 2008, I received, through mail from the Folio Society, an announcement of an illuminated English Edition of the Holy Qur’an. The illuminated Qur’ans that I’ve seen were all Arabic editions – very beautiful: borders embellished with geometric and vegetal patterns as secondary motifs separating the verses; calligraphic letterings, some in gold, with embellished margins; and elaborate full-page frontispieces. Lavishly ornamented pages belonged to museums and glitter like jewels in spotlighted glass cases but even copies owned by ordinary Muslims were/are illuminated, varying in degree from simple to lavish. Unlike illuminated Bibles, the Qur’ans do not illustrate scenes from the texts; instead they feature attractive script, flowers and touches of gold and lapis lazuli.
For so long I had wanted an illuminated English version of the Qur’an. The Arabic words mus’haf and Qur’an are synonymous but differ in connotation, according to my husband. Mus’haf refers to the physical book whereas Qur’an refers to the content in the book. So, what I wanted was an English Mus’haf. With much excitement, I ordered one copy and awaited its arrival with bated breath. It arrived months later. The hardcover is white. The frontispiece is ornamented with a central geometric pattern in gold and blue and bordered with fine interlocking lotus and vine-leaf design in gold accented with a touch of blue, like lapis lazuli. There was no adornment inside. I was of course very disappointed. I had fantasized reading the whole Qur’an during the 30 or so days of Ramadan, every Ramadan, as some Muslims do. I had been hoping that the decorated pages would enhance the pleasure of reading Holy texts. But then, how many Muslims read the Holy Qur’an in English? Muslims believe the Qur’an is the exact record of the words God spoke to the prophet Muhammad and for this reason, the Qur’an can only be written in Arabic. The English editions are only interpretations. I am aware that non-Arabic speaking Muslims read the Qur’an in Arabic. Also, they say that the Arabic language of the Qur’an is “perfect”; so then, truly, an illuminated Qur’an is a thing of beauty, as befits a mus’haf that contains the “words” of God.
Illuminated Qur’ans are among the loveliest. As demonstrated through the various illuminated Qur’ans in the possession of various museums and libraries, spanning centuries, the art of Islam achieved its richest artistic expression in book illustration – the art of the book – particularly in the production of the Holy Qur’an. The latest in the illustrious line of beautiful Qur’an editions is the Qatari-print of the Holy Qur’an (Mus’haf Qatar), released to the public last March 2010. My husband was given complimentary copies, of different sizes. The biggest measures 17.5 x 12.5 inches and came in a big wooden box. This big Qur’an sits on a Qur’an stand in our majilis. Mus’haf Qatar is also a work of art: set in exquisite calligraphy, with margins embellished with arabesques in gold and lapis lazuli. Two calligraphers were chosen in an international competition of renowned calligraphers (122) to prepare the new manuscripts in 24 months. The works of these two calligraphers were compared by an expert panel for final selection and the work of Obeida Mohammed Al Banki from Syria was chosen. The project took 10 years to realize and cost QR30m (around US8.5m).
There is a certain thrill in leafing and skimming through the pages of an illuminated book. The embellishment visually enchants. Two years ago, my husband informed me that a package had arrived for me, from the Folio Society. He had wondered what it could be and I had replied “A book most likely, since it’s from the Folio Society.” He had forgotten it in his car and at night he brought me the package – a big package. “It has to be books”, I said. “It says ‘Fragile’, he replied, making me think of glass. As I was already in bed, I asked him to just put it on the floor by the foot of the bed. We both wondered at the ‘Fragile’ sign. “Why don’t you open it now?” my husband asked. “I’m sort of lazy now. I’ll open it tomorrow when I come home from work. I’ll look forward to opening it all morning at work” I replied but curiosity got the better of me and finally I got up, took a pair of scissors, and opened the box. It was a book, a big book, a beautiful book. THE FOUR GOSPELS Engravings by ERIC GILL, the title read in golden calligraphic letters on black leather. It explained the fragile sign, I thought. Around the title were golden illustrations of a winged lion, an eagle, an angel, and a winged sheep, reminding me of Assyrian and Babylonian stone reliefs. I had ordered a copy of a Folio Society Limited Edition with the special engravings months back. As I leafed through, I was delighted at the beauty and elegance of the illuminated engravings. They seemed alive; they were quite breathtaking. The engravings were superb and the finest I had ever seen. On quiet moments, I would leaf through the book and read some of the gospels. Every time I open this book, a thrill goes through me. It is not an exaggeration to say that I’m ecstatic every time I feast my eyes on the engravings.
Before the invention of mechanical printing, books were handmade objects, treasured works of art, and symbols of enduring knowledge. In the Middle Ages, the book became an attribute of God. Every stage in the creation of a medieval book required intensive labor, sometimes involving the collaboration of entire workshops. Parchment for the pages had to be made from the dried hides of animals, cut to size and sewn; inks had to be mixed, pens prepared, and the pages ruled for lettering. A scribe copied the text from an established edition, and artists might then embellish it with illustrations, decorated initials, and ornament in the margins. The most lavish medieval books were bound in covers set with enamels, jewels, and ivory carvings.
An ebook can never give as much pleasure and enchantment as an illuminated book. Truly, an illuminated book is a thing of beauty and a joy forever.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.c...
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com.
April 3, 2011
A LOVE OF ORCHIDS
I love orchids. I had wanted to grow orchids in Doha for a long time but I didn’t know if they would thrive. I didn’t even know if orchids were available in the nurseries here. One day, after a family summer holiday in Switzerland, my husband had visited a nursery and saw “a plant with delicate white flowers” and he had wanted to get one for me but “it won’t survive outside.” He had wondered if I could fit it in my library. He was told they were orchids. He thought he’d wait for the weather to improve. He had wondered if I knew about orchids. I told him we had orchids in our garden when I was a child. My father used to graft them on trees. And my mother used to tend in our garden some white orchids. It was her favorite flower. When she passed away and during her funeral service, we distributed sprigs of white orchids to the guests, which were strewn on her coffin as it was lowered down in the ground. I’m sure the gesture would have pleased her enormously.
Someone once said that “You can get off alcohol, drugs, women, food and car, but once you’re hooked on orchids you’re finished. You never get off orchids. . . never.” I can understand that.
Did anyone ever hear of orchid ice cream? I read about it once –– a Turkish dessert made from wild orchid tubers, milk, and sugar. The Turkish word for ice cream is dondurma. The frozen mixture was beaten with metal rods, eaten with a knife and fork, and so elastic that it could be made into a jump rope! Rather weird! But the essential ingredient of orchid ice cream is salep, a whitish flour milled from the dried tubers of certain wild, terrestrial orchids, which come from the wild Anatolian plateau. Apparently, salep is derived from the Arabic sahlab, which means (brace yourself for some shocking info!) “testicles of the fox” because the dried tubers bear a striking resemblance to that anatomical part. So, salepi dondurma is literally translated as “Fox testicle ice cream!” Rather amusing! The writer said it was flavored with the usual flavorings, describing a somewhat indescribable exotic aftertaste of a “sweet nutty flavor with a hint of mushrooms, yak butter and the smell of a goat on a rainy day with an earthy lanolin fragrance. . .”
Interestingly though, the Greek physician Dioscorides (who compiled De Materia Medica in the 1st century AD – the first pharmacopeia in the West, translated into Arabic and preserved in Arabic) recommended the use of orchid tubers as an aphrodisiac and Linnaeus too, the taxonomist, in 1751, mentioned the use of salep as an aphrodisiac. Orchis in Greek means testicle and it would seem that the European interest in orchids stemmed from the erotic after effects of eating the tubers rather than appreciation of its beautiful flowers. There is also a hot drink called salep made from dried orchid tuber flour, sugar, milk, and cinnamon and for hundreds of years it has been served during the cold winter months in Greece, Turkey, Syria, and even England, where it was called “saloop.”
Fascinating stuff.
I haven’t tasted orchid ice cream but the orchid flower has a delicate beauty. The orchid flower for me is exotic, charming, mysterious, alluring, and captivating. There are about 25000 varieties existing naturally. The Phalaenopsis, Cymbidium, and Dendrobium are the most popular. The ones sold in Qatar are Phalaenopis.
My first orchid was a Phalaenopsis with purple-colored flowers. It was beautiful. I sat it by the French window in my library during the day and put it outside in the terrasse at night before I went to bed. One night while working in my study, I smelled a flowery fragrance. There was no other flower in my study except the orchid and so I concluded that my orchid was emitting a lovely scent. Do orchids release fragrance at night? I emailed some friends who are orchid aficionados but none was aware of the night fragrance phenomenon as I came to call it.
Since my first orchid didn’t die on me, my husband was encouraged to get me more. One day, while I was working on my computer in my library, baby Saoud, my grandson, on my lap, my husband strode in bearing two potted orchids. He had barked “Open the window” (the French window to my study terrasse). I gasped. The orchids were beautiful! One had white flowers; the other pink blooms. He had gone to the nursery and he was told they had a new shipment of orchids, so he got two for me. I was delighted. Bombay was the sign on the pink and the white, Queen of Heart. I found that Bombay is a dendrobium but I had difficulty finding out the taxonomy of the white Queen of Heart.
My orchids have been good, blooming continuously by the window. I followed the advice of my orchid aficionado friends: No direct sunlight; water with distilled water (not chlorinated water; Orchids do not like any salt or dissolved solids); drain the pot thoroughly (if it isn’t drained the roots will rot); fertilize weakly, every 10 days or so. “Follow these and your orchids will thrive” and yes, they did.
I chattered about orchids all the time, so much so that my husband became tired of my orchid chatter. One of our friends, a famous cardiac surgeon who has an orchid collection and who lives in London brought me an orchid from London increasing the number of my potted orchids to five, a very modest number and hardly qualifying me to be an “aficionado.” He also gave me an orchid fertilizer but I was cautioned to use fertilizer sparingly. This friend clones his orchids! He says it is the easiest thing in the world and he’ll teach me how to clone mine.
When holidaying in Montreux, Switzerland, I would sometimes buy orchids for our flat and when we leave, I would give away the orchids to friends interested in orchids. One day, our friend the famous cardiac surgeon visited us there and admired the three phalaenopsis orchids that I had bought from the supermarket in Vevey. My husband laughingly told our friend that I keep the fan on in the living room for the orchids when we go out, commenting on how “crazy” I was. “I just think that the orchids need moving air”, I said lamely, wondering who had told me to keep a fan on for the orchids. But our friend had sided with me. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Rachel. Orchids develop a kind of fungal infection without moving air.”
Not only is the orchid beautiful, mysterious, and fascinating. Charles Darwin remarked that the various contrivances employed by orchids [in the process of pollination] “vastly transcend those which the man with the most fertile imagination in the world could dream up.” Indeed, Darwin was not exaggerating, for the numerous subterfuge devised by orchids to get fertilized bears similarities to human courtship. The story of the Mexican bucket orchid (Coryanthes speciosa) and the bee illustrates this point. It is a tale of seduction, betrayal, adventure, and love.
The Mexican bucket orchid grows in the wet tropical forests of Mexico and South America. Bucket orchids need the male euglossine bee for pollination. The orchid secretes a powerful intoxicating perfume that the bee finds irresistible. At the same time, a specialized gland secretes a clear, colorless liquid that drips into the bottom of the bucket, forming a small reservoir. Within minutes of the flower’s blooming, male bees in a state of great agitation swarm around the flower, near the bottom where the fluid-containing reservoir is located. They hover, seeking a foothold on the slippery tubular part that connects the bucket to the rest of the flower. Grasping the slippery tubule with their legs, the excited bees “bathe” themselves in the waxy perfume. The bee will use the special perfume to attract females. Having bathed in the perfume, the male bee then flies off in search of a mate.
Because the flowers bloom for only a few days, there is a mad rush among the bees to get at the limited amount of special scent. They shove and jostle at each other. Occasionally, a bee loses his footing on the slippery surface or gets knocked into the bucket when his wings collide with a droplet from the dripping gland. Once inside the bucket, the unfortunate bee’s ordeal begins. There is only one exit – a narrow dark tunnel that leads through the front wall of the flower to daylight and freedom. There is no room to turn around, so the bee must wiggle and squeeze his way forward, stopping to rest many times. Just before he reaches daylight, he passes beneath two paired masses of pollen attached to the roof of the tunnel. At that precise moment, the pollen disengages and attaches itself on the back of the bee between his wings like a small backpack. This nightmarish experience may take as long as 40 minutes.
Once the pollen has been collected, the flower has served its purpose. The scent vanishes and the flower quickly wilts. Wet and disoriented, the bee pauses to dry himself. It maybe a day or more before perfume from a second bucket orchid will arouse the bee’s interest. On the bee’s visit through a second bucket orchid, a catch mechanism on the roof of the escape tunnel seizes the pollen backpack. In this way, the bucket orchid is pollinated, and with luck a seedpod will form.
Freed of his backpack and remembering his own procreation duties, the bee flies off to a display site where he conducts an exotic courtship dance. He performs fancy footsteps as a heady scent of perfume wafts from his hind legs. With such captivating artistic display and alluring scent, what female bee could resist the temptation to land and get better acquainted?
Indeed, orchids are fascinating flowers!
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.c...
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com.
March 26, 2011
MOTHER’S DAY
Then, in the evening my husband called me down to the TV room to watch the news and when I went down, there was a cake and gifts for me! My daughter Haifa had baked a cake for me because she thought I would appreciate it more than a store-bought cake. Haifa is a terrific cook and her desserts are very delicious. For Mother’s Day, she made her delicious cheesecake topped with her special blueberry sauce. Next to the cake were gifts - my favorite perfume and creams – from Salma, Asma, and Haifa, my lovely daughters. My son could not attend the celebration because of a previous engagement and Alia, the mother of my two grandsons (Aziz and Saoud) was away in Germany. Both sent me text messages of greeting. Their thoughtful gestures made me tingle all over with pleasure and happiness. Receiving expressions of love from one’s children is more than enough for a mother to float with happiness. I was light as air the whole day and night.
As I put the lovely flowers in a vase – two vases because the bunch they gave me was rather fat –I reflected how my children usually astonish me by observing the event with flowers or gift or card or cake, usually a heart-shaped cake. The cards usually bear their handwritten inscription: Happy Mother’s Day and below it Best Mom in the world, standard captions for Mother’s day cards but receiving them was always heartwarming. It’s a lovely feeling when one’s children mark the event. Marking Mother’s Day is not an Arab or Islamic custom. It is a foreign tradition that has been adopted in the Arabian Gulf states. I am not aware when the custom became fashionable in Qatar, but for the last 15 years, my children have been remembering mother’s day.
From my book, My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality there is a chapter titled, Looking for Mother Pearls. In that chapter I narrated and discussed my mothering experiences. The following passages are extracts from that chapter:
“The cards they gave me over the years underscored the evolution in their development as individuals. Recently they had given me a big card. The face of the card read: For a special Mum and depicted a garden with a funny-looking woman wearing a big sun hat frayed at the edges, watering flowers, like in a cartoon. They chose that probably because they knew I enjoyed watering my plants. Their intention was humorous and made me smile and I liked very much the picture metaphor of watering plants. Love needs tender care – it has to be watered, just like flowers, otherwise it dies. Inside the card they had written: Mommy, With love and thanks for all you do./ It means so much to have a mum like you! / Have a wonderful Mother’s Day. / Love
Life is not problem-free and being a mother is hard but my children always surprised me with their little gestures of love. Sometimes when family life became turbulent, my steadfastness shaky, and my heart heavy with trials, they would invariably surprise me with little acts of tenderness, which touched me. I shall always remember how when they were small, each one of them would sometimes present me with a bunch of flowers from the garden. I always treated the flowers they gave me with the utmost care by putting them in a special vase and placing the vase in a favored place in my room. I shall never forget their radiant smiles and pride on their faces as I bustled about looking for the nicest appropriate vase, displaying them prominently, smelling them, closing my eyes, and murmuring how lovely and fragrant they were. The flowers were usually cut short and uneven but to me they were the most expensive flowers in the world—and they were. They were expressions of love.
Then they grew up and life became more complex and complicated, but still they continue to surprise me with endearing little acts when I least expect them. When they were particularly difficult, I would close my eyes in solitude and remember them offering me flowers they had picked.
Mothering requires patience, fortitude, endurance, and sacrifice. The trials, hardships, hurts and pain that a mother goes through over the years refine and polish her heart. She becomes a fountain of wisdom. And it is said that a mother’s heart is the child’s schoolroom. My mothering experience has taught me many priceless lessons, exquisite like shining pearls.”
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.c...
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com.
