Her beads clicked rhythmically—each one the size of a pea but as clear and luminous as a sparkling water drop. If someone didn’t know any better, they’d think my OCD was a very rich old lady. “Where did you get your beads?” I asked. “Makah Sharif,” OCD replied. “Holy Mecca. Al humdu lillah, very, very expensive!” “On your pilgrimage?” I asked. “Yes, yes. Ninety-nine beads. A bead for each one of Allah’s great attributes. Come, come. Recite them for us. Now! Juldi, juldi!” I shook my head, ashamed. I couldn’t. “Aii!” she said. “Tch … tch.” “The beads are beautiful, Choti Dahdi,” I said. OCD nodded and continued reciting Allah’s praise. “You should say ‘thank you’ when someone pays you a compliment,” I muttered. “Eh? Kya bole? Vhaat you say?” “Nothing,” I mumbled. “Then why were lips moving up and down going pitter, pitter?” I snapped my book shut and turned on the TV. An advertisement for a new program came on. “La hol walla!”
What do You think about The Garden Of My Imaan (2013)?
