A hilly journey to a waterfall site in Wayanad, Kerala

After we're done, it was time for the adieu. For past two days, the pupil of our eyes had been blessed with the dark hue of the Black Ka’aba. Now it was time to nurture that color in our hearts.

Telling tale of a travel to the Land of Saint Nino and King Tamara.

When I reached home, the meter read 3000km since I left my doorstep. Content beyond any count, I was out of words

What would it be like to set foot on that timeless soil where Past and Present played hide and seek from the other? Mujeeb Jaihoon writes on the unheard experiences in NorthWest China.

From the travel documentation to hotel reservations, this was my arrangement. A humble gift for them. An effort to gain my paradise, which lie under the feet of my mother.

The Soul whispered: He is the ocean of light. He is my Sidra… I would burn if go any further… (Jaihoon's travel notes from Umra pilgrimage)

On the night of return, TV channels flashed headlines warning about possible terror attacks. By the grace of God, there were no such fireworks.

Fragrance is in no need of advertising. Then what about the blessed one from whom fragrance borrowed its scent? Yet we are extolling him to perfume our own souls with the mercy and compassion he showered on humanity and others... Jaihoon's Muscat trip journal

The ‘barakah’ in time of Madina is incredible: it’s long, deep and thick. As if Time is in no hurry to complete its course. As if time follows another Time here.

Life is a continuous cycle of meeting and parting. One leads to another. Like spring and winter. Nay, Life and Death. So the bird has to leave the nest. And the fish out of water. Nightingale off the rose. We left by Isha prayer after bidding salaam to the Beloved.

Islam admires and reveres the sentiments of humanity. And a woman too is a part of it. Hajra ran between the two Mounts, across sands and rocks, in tear and fear, for her child crying of thirst. And since then, Allah has ordained all the believers to imitate and emulate Ismail’s Mother as an act of worship.

It’s hard to cool the heart when baked with love in the oven of desire. It is not an easy task to define and confine the meaning of our yearning. We hold dear certain persons and places as if they were genetically embedded into the veins of our soul.

With fingers crossed, we waited for a God sent angel. And then to our excitement, Sudhir called us back and asked for the hospital details. He reached within an hour of waiting.

I was fortunate enough to have a weekend vent to the weeklong suffocation of tasteless routine.