bd_4_ever
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Shab-e-Barat is a bidaah (fabrication) in Islam.
Chill Bangladesh Thread
- Thread starter Arthur
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Shab-e-Barat is a bidaah (fabrication) in Islam.
Tai naki? Eta to Bangladesh e besh bhalo bhabe palon kora hoto.
Choto kale shob e barat er raate tarabati puratam
Arthur
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And tore it (the fabric or "fabrication") away,it will destroy the unique nature of BengalI Muslims & society. What you will be left with is this Puritanism, that's only know how to destroy.
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Banglar Bir
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12:00 AM, May 05, 2017 / LAST MODIFIED: 12:00 AM, May 05, 2017
CROSSROAD
A FAMILY PICTURE
I am not a writer.
When I read some of the introductions of myself, I see that people see me as actor-director, TV personality, social activist, entrepreneur, etc. Yes, I wear many caps. And these are things I do.
Recently, I've been trying my hand at writing. I have started a blog. For the most part, writing keeps me energised, though I am still learning “Creative Writing”. Yes, I have just finished an online course on the subject.
The name of my column, as you can see, is CROSS ROAD. I feel I am at a stage in life when I may be changing my path. From performance to writing. I know it's easier said than done, but who knows?
I will not only write about my memories, as I do in today's column. I would like to share my experiences from the stage and the world of communication.
And who knows, maybe some days I'll surprise you.
This is a family picture in black and white. My father, mother, two brothers, my youngest sister and me. We are standing in front of the newly built house in Dhanmondi. We had dressed specially for the occasion. We used to oil our hair at that time. My oiled hair appears to me to be wet. There is a reason for this.
A swimming pool was made at the back of our new house. Nothing glamorous. The tank, where the bricks were drenched for seasoning when the house was made, was expanded to a swimming pool. The idea was to make sure all the cousins and their friends learned to swim. Chlorine was added to the water to make it look blue and to keep it bacteria-free. When I see the picture, I can smell chlorine, and as I said, I imagine my hair to be wet, because we were in the pool most of the time.
I am amazed to see the exact same expression on my father and my elder brother: pursed lips and face. It was probably in the middle of 1965. Amma is smiling with downcast eyes. Alim ( Pincho bhaiya), my younger sister Sajeda (Pixie) and I are smiling freely. My younger sister is wearing a hair band of stretched material. We don't see those bands anymore. Amma is in a nylon saree. In those days, these light nylon sarees were considered fashionable. Probably the nylon saree and my sister's band were brought by my chacha as gifts from England.
I cannot see the colours as it is a black and white picture. But I remember the frocks that my sister and I are wearing. They were made of netlike material of salmon pink colour. My dress is not attached to the lining; Sajeda's is. My boat-necked frock looks more fairylike than hers. I am pretty sure my two brothers and my father are wearing white shirts. At the most, Pincho bhaiya's shirt was light blue, and Chinku Bhaiya's shirt was cream coloured. It could not have been any other colour at that time.
Why do my father and elder brother look smug? No reason for that, really. I guess in those days men did not smile or laugh as much. Though Abba was not at all the non-laughing type, sometimes he was angry and serious. My elder brother had an inverted snobbery, as his friends recall. But that was later. Here he is only 15 years of age.
We were a family of six. Did we know that we would not be able to continue to stay in the new house for more than nine months? I used to go to "Ragrupa", a dance school in Dhanmondi. Moving to a rented house in Eskaton Garden from here meant that I would not be able to continue with the dance class and that was sad for me. Maybe Abba is looking stern because there was the stirring of the conflict which led to us to leave the house. Amma was detected with hypothyroid around this time which is why she looks bloated. But the most tragic part is the story of Chinku Bhaiya. Five years from the time of this photo, Chinku bhaiya went off to the war in'71. On his way to the war, en route, he and his friend were held up on suspicion of being non-Bengalis. In a very tragic situation, both were killed.
Sara Zaker is theatre activist, media personality and Group Managing Director, Asiatic 360.
CROSSROAD
A FAMILY PICTURE
I am not a writer.
When I read some of the introductions of myself, I see that people see me as actor-director, TV personality, social activist, entrepreneur, etc. Yes, I wear many caps. And these are things I do.
Recently, I've been trying my hand at writing. I have started a blog. For the most part, writing keeps me energised, though I am still learning “Creative Writing”. Yes, I have just finished an online course on the subject.
The name of my column, as you can see, is CROSS ROAD. I feel I am at a stage in life when I may be changing my path. From performance to writing. I know it's easier said than done, but who knows?
I will not only write about my memories, as I do in today's column. I would like to share my experiences from the stage and the world of communication.
And who knows, maybe some days I'll surprise you.
This is a family picture in black and white. My father, mother, two brothers, my youngest sister and me. We are standing in front of the newly built house in Dhanmondi. We had dressed specially for the occasion. We used to oil our hair at that time. My oiled hair appears to me to be wet. There is a reason for this.
A swimming pool was made at the back of our new house. Nothing glamorous. The tank, where the bricks were drenched for seasoning when the house was made, was expanded to a swimming pool. The idea was to make sure all the cousins and their friends learned to swim. Chlorine was added to the water to make it look blue and to keep it bacteria-free. When I see the picture, I can smell chlorine, and as I said, I imagine my hair to be wet, because we were in the pool most of the time.
I am amazed to see the exact same expression on my father and my elder brother: pursed lips and face. It was probably in the middle of 1965. Amma is smiling with downcast eyes. Alim ( Pincho bhaiya), my younger sister Sajeda (Pixie) and I are smiling freely. My younger sister is wearing a hair band of stretched material. We don't see those bands anymore. Amma is in a nylon saree. In those days, these light nylon sarees were considered fashionable. Probably the nylon saree and my sister's band were brought by my chacha as gifts from England.
I cannot see the colours as it is a black and white picture. But I remember the frocks that my sister and I are wearing. They were made of netlike material of salmon pink colour. My dress is not attached to the lining; Sajeda's is. My boat-necked frock looks more fairylike than hers. I am pretty sure my two brothers and my father are wearing white shirts. At the most, Pincho bhaiya's shirt was light blue, and Chinku Bhaiya's shirt was cream coloured. It could not have been any other colour at that time.
Why do my father and elder brother look smug? No reason for that, really. I guess in those days men did not smile or laugh as much. Though Abba was not at all the non-laughing type, sometimes he was angry and serious. My elder brother had an inverted snobbery, as his friends recall. But that was later. Here he is only 15 years of age.
We were a family of six. Did we know that we would not be able to continue to stay in the new house for more than nine months? I used to go to "Ragrupa", a dance school in Dhanmondi. Moving to a rented house in Eskaton Garden from here meant that I would not be able to continue with the dance class and that was sad for me. Maybe Abba is looking stern because there was the stirring of the conflict which led to us to leave the house. Amma was detected with hypothyroid around this time which is why she looks bloated. But the most tragic part is the story of Chinku Bhaiya. Five years from the time of this photo, Chinku bhaiya went off to the war in'71. On his way to the war, en route, he and his friend were held up on suspicion of being non-Bengalis. In a very tragic situation, both were killed.
Sara Zaker is theatre activist, media personality and Group Managing Director, Asiatic 360.
bd_4_ever
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Not sure if I understood your sentence but culture/tradition and religion are two different aspects. If you mean following this bidaah is what makes Bangladeshi muslims who they are, then that's partially an incorrect statement. In utopia, culture does not override religion neither governs it. Conversely throughout history, religion did become the basis of many cultural aspects. However in modern society, we have an affinity to mix things up which mainly arises due to lack of knowledge and definitely due to ignorance of the Islamic scholarship. So that's the state we are in right now.
Having said that, praying all night is definitely good but one shouldn't justify it claiming that the Prophet (pbuh) did it too due to a 'special night'. There is absolutely no proof and many renowned international scholars agree.
Yes and not just in Bangladesh but the sub-continent in general. Keep it simple and just google it. There are unanimous agreement among scholars that Prophet (pbuh) never followed such a day. And anything that you do which isnt prescribed by him is a bidaah.
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Well Islam is over 1400 years old and it has mixed with so many cultures. Islam in this sub continent is a bit different than Islam in Middle East or Africa. Ideally the religion should be observed the same way by every follower but after so many years we can't say the same about Islam which has so many sects and divisions now.
Also I think people prays all night not because prophet(pbuh) did so. But because they think their future one year will be written on that night. So the pray. Also I think there is the concept of sawab multiplying for good deeds in that night. So they pray. And thus we observe shab-e-baraat
If we stop observing it the way we do because people in Middle East don't observe it then we will be copying middle eastern(Wahabi) Islam. Which is more conservative than our hanafi sect.
Flynn Swagmire
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Why man? বত্ব, লিংক হবে লিংক?
Michael Corleone
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Wrong. Anything not prescribed by Islam is not a part of the religion no matter which region you live in... there is nothing such as different Islam.
There is no evidence prophet celebrated shab e barat.... this isn't even an Arabic work.
Middle easterns are not all wahabist. While they do follow Islam and it's teaching Wahhabism is more of an ideology or an interpretation like islam's interpretation in bd with pir and shab e barat and things like that.
Layla ul qadr however is also not any specific day, all we know is it's any of the odd number of last 10 days of Ramadan. But bd muslims only go to mosque on 29th and fake cry thinking it's layla ul qadr.
Philosophical: Our future is all written before we are born that as soon as we're conceived... god doesn't write everyone's future for one year..., it's already laid out. The outcomes depends on how we choose what path. (Info based on Quran and Hadith but tunately not able to provide proof at this moment to back it up. It's 1:25am, I'm sleepy)
Bye.
Nah...those posts got deletedWhy man? বত্ব, লিংক হবে লিংক?
Well shab e baraat is not a Bangla word. It should have some significance. Afailk it is not prohibited to eat well(different) and pray more in that day. So why observing it in such a manner would be forbidden?Because middle easterns don't observe it?
Why would it be bad to observe a day by praying more and eating better than usual? Just what makes it haraam? And why? The things which are forbidden are specifically written in Quran. I don't think there is anything which says observing a day by praying more would be Haraam.
Flynn Swagmire
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তাহলে কিচ্ছু হবে না। তা কি নিয়ে পোস্ট ছিল?
Onek kisu niye. Called Banglar bir bhai delusional and idiot. Then a pakistani dude was saying how Muslims and hindus/buddhists must be enemies. Nabil bhai gave him a good reply which was deleted. Then he made abusive comments and I said he deserved the reply Nabil bhai gave him. And some other posts
Banglar Bir
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12:00 AM, May 13, 2017 / LAST MODIFIED: 12:28 AM, May 13, 2017
TANGENTS
Bicycle Dreams
Nijhum Dwip Bicycle. Photo: Ihtisham Kabir
Ihtisham Kabir
I saw this well-kept bicycle at Namar Bazar in Nijhum Dwip earlier this year. It brought back many memories.
I got my first bicycle when I was eight years old, living in Sylhet. Being too short for my feet to reach the pedals, I quickly learned to ride by inserting by leg through the frame and foregoing the comfort of the saddle. But my range was restricted inside our sprawling home. Real freedom came a year later when I was taller and could sit properly on the saddle. We moved to a new house in a newly developed neighbourhood of mostly empty space and narrow paved roads. I could ride freely, like the wind.
Since those days I have felt a special attraction for bicycles. On short notice, without the hassle of petrols, drivers or paperwork, the clumsy looking device became my engine of freedom. There is something inherently gratifying about going fast on my own power, without help from fossil fuels. Then there is the feeling of the wind on my face.
In my teenage years my uncle helped me procure a Russian bicycle with its own “dynamo” for the headlight. I rode this bicycle on Dhaka roads, which, being empty, afforded me speed. However, I did so without my father's approval and a friend, who once saw me speeding on the road from his second floor flat, chided me strongly about my unsafe ways.
As an adult I took up bicycling in California. I was so hooked that I went to a bicycle store and bought two bicycles simultaneously. One was a racer, a Lemond Tourmalet, built lean, tight, and lightweight like a sports car. I went fast but the rider's bent posture was uncomfortable. The other was a divinely pleasurable Schwinn cruiser with a soft, padded saddle.
Returning to live in Bangladesh several years ago, I brought my bicycles with me and quickly realised why mountain biking is so wonderful in Bangladesh. That's because there are no mountains here.
As anyone who has climbed mountains on bicycles will attest, going uphill on a bicycle is painful. Somehow all the pleasure and advantages of riding a bicycle turn against you. Your lungs burn, your thighs scream, and your entire body rebels against this preposterous proposition. I had this experience some years ago when I encountered the Cardamom Mountains in Cambodia while riding my bicycle from Bangkok to Angkor Wat.
Never again. Give me the delta plains of Bangladesh any day.
In fact there is no end to beautiful bicycle rides in Bangladesh. The trick is to avoid the main roads and bicycle on the smaller pathways. One can go to any village and start riding through the walking trails. Tea gardens also offer bucolic experiences as one can ride for miles through their paths, crossing several plantations. The haors in winter offer endless open areas for bicycling through.
For a number of reasons, these days I have fallen out of bicycling. But every time I see a bicycle that is treasured by its owner, my heart misses a beat.
TANGENTS
Bicycle Dreams
Nijhum Dwip Bicycle. Photo: Ihtisham Kabir
Ihtisham Kabir
I saw this well-kept bicycle at Namar Bazar in Nijhum Dwip earlier this year. It brought back many memories.
I got my first bicycle when I was eight years old, living in Sylhet. Being too short for my feet to reach the pedals, I quickly learned to ride by inserting by leg through the frame and foregoing the comfort of the saddle. But my range was restricted inside our sprawling home. Real freedom came a year later when I was taller and could sit properly on the saddle. We moved to a new house in a newly developed neighbourhood of mostly empty space and narrow paved roads. I could ride freely, like the wind.
Since those days I have felt a special attraction for bicycles. On short notice, without the hassle of petrols, drivers or paperwork, the clumsy looking device became my engine of freedom. There is something inherently gratifying about going fast on my own power, without help from fossil fuels. Then there is the feeling of the wind on my face.
In my teenage years my uncle helped me procure a Russian bicycle with its own “dynamo” for the headlight. I rode this bicycle on Dhaka roads, which, being empty, afforded me speed. However, I did so without my father's approval and a friend, who once saw me speeding on the road from his second floor flat, chided me strongly about my unsafe ways.
As an adult I took up bicycling in California. I was so hooked that I went to a bicycle store and bought two bicycles simultaneously. One was a racer, a Lemond Tourmalet, built lean, tight, and lightweight like a sports car. I went fast but the rider's bent posture was uncomfortable. The other was a divinely pleasurable Schwinn cruiser with a soft, padded saddle.
Returning to live in Bangladesh several years ago, I brought my bicycles with me and quickly realised why mountain biking is so wonderful in Bangladesh. That's because there are no mountains here.
As anyone who has climbed mountains on bicycles will attest, going uphill on a bicycle is painful. Somehow all the pleasure and advantages of riding a bicycle turn against you. Your lungs burn, your thighs scream, and your entire body rebels against this preposterous proposition. I had this experience some years ago when I encountered the Cardamom Mountains in Cambodia while riding my bicycle from Bangkok to Angkor Wat.
Never again. Give me the delta plains of Bangladesh any day.
In fact there is no end to beautiful bicycle rides in Bangladesh. The trick is to avoid the main roads and bicycle on the smaller pathways. One can go to any village and start riding through the walking trails. Tea gardens also offer bucolic experiences as one can ride for miles through their paths, crossing several plantations. The haors in winter offer endless open areas for bicycling through.
For a number of reasons, these days I have fallen out of bicycling. But every time I see a bicycle that is treasured by its owner, my heart misses a beat.
Michael Corleone
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Praying on that specific day thinking it is special occasion and more prayers should be offered in hopes of reward while not praying the rest of the year except jummah is bidaat.... things that prophet muhammad didn't do as forms of worship... so it's useless in the first place....
And bidaat is forbidden
The word is a Persian word,
So if someone doesn't pray the whole year then he is not allowed to pray in a single particular day? Or if someone prays the whole year then he is not allowed to pray more in a single particular day?
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