Fishing: The Final Frontier (Part 1)

Greetings

About four weeks ago, three brave young desi men embarked on a cataclysmically dangerous yet exciting expedition that would later prove to unravel their deepest secrets and inner most thoughts, all the while making them better human beings as they reached epic proportions of enligtenment. This adventure was none other than, yes, you guessed it, fishing. And fishing in my hometown, too, which isn't anything like your nice fishing get-away spot or some sort of exotic location in the middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin. Regardless, my town has a fairly decent fishing "resort" (as they like to call it) all but 10 minutes away from my crib.

What gave us the idea to go fish, you humbly ask. Why would three hot desi guys get in a boat to be alone with mother nature when we could easily be fishing instead for hot babes on, say, Michigan Avenue? These are valid questions and the answer deals directly with one concept: Brotherhood. Oh, make that two concepts: Brotherhood and We-Had-Nothing-Else-To-Do.

The idea for fishing was actually initiated by Taha. Or Ahmed. Really, I don't remember and if you ask either one of them, they'll tell you that it was himself. The important thing here is that the idea spawned on the now infamous "Night of Ahmed Hassan" nearly a couple months back. Before we had decided to go mini-golfing that night, we were brainstorming of things to do. Two ideas that came up was going at least once to an amusement park (specifically, Six Flags Great America) and the other was fishing together. I told the guys that I just so happen to recall seeing some sort of fishing club sign in my area and so they insisted that I find out the details. Weeks passed by with casual references to fishing. Taha would inquire, Yo niggah! You find out about that fishing club? Balle balle! (he's Punjabi, if you couldn't tell). And Ahmed would yell in an interrogating tone, Hey, Punjabi Slave! You better not forget that we're gonna go fishing sometime soon (he's Kashmiri, if you couldn't tell). Continuously, I would blow them off by saying, Oh ho, bhai sahib! I'm all over it! But secretly, I was thinking to myself that these clowns were all talk. I convinced myself that if I were to actually find out all the details about fishing, at the last second Dr. Ahmed Hassan would say, "I can't make it" and give me some excuse about saving lives (how pathetic, right?). Again, that's what my single friend Ahmed Hassan, MD would most likely tell me. To reiterate, "I can't make it" is probably what my single physician of a friend, Ahmed Hassan of Stl origin would probably say. (Don't ever tell me that I never looked out for you, AH!)

Well, time slowly passed away. And so on one night in particular, just a few nights before the momentous occasion, Ahmed and Taha (but especially Ahmed) kept callin me out sayin that I would never follow-up with the details of the fishing spot because I was a "sellout" and I really didn't want to hang out with them. Now, the latter part was and still is inherently true, but I seriously resented being called a sellout! I mean, as you very well know, if you look up the word "sellout" in the dictionary, you will inevitably see Taha Ghani's and Ahmed Hassan's pictures and say to yoursef, "Ahh, yes! I should've known." But I digress...

So after one day of constant harassment about the issue, I finally called up the resort and got the information. It was open to the public. 100+ acre lake. No advanced reservations were required. Open from 7am to sunset on a daily basis. 10 min from my house. And you could rent all supplies (boat, fish pole, bait). All this for a nominal fee of about $20; not bad if you ask me. We were all excited and ready to go for that Saturday.

Or were we?

The night before, Prince AH, Taha, myself, and one of Prince AH's boys (Vishnu?) played two-on-two basketball at Northwestern's downtown campus. It was Taha and myself versus Ahmed and his friend. Taha and I dominated in true Punjabi fashion. So much so that the Kashmiri was emotionally, physically, spiritually, and intellectually destroyed. This is no exaggeration by any means, folks. On the walk back this bachara bucha looked like he escaped the local insane asylum. He had no words; just an expressionless stoic demeanor that cried for pity. In trying to cheer him up, I reminded him that he would soon forget this onslaught on the court in a matter of hours. A calm, peaceful lake awaited him in my hometown where the only thing he would have to worry about is learning how to hook a fish instead of learning how to make a hook shot on the court. Hassan slowly looked up at me (his eyes were almost pasted to the ground after being humbled by my defensive presence that kept him away from the basket) and vociferated, "Oh Master! Have but some pity upon me! I am in need of rest and shelter tomorrow for thy lashings on the majestic court of King Taha and Lord Imran were severe and swift. Alas! My body and soul have indeed failed and I cannot be in thy noble company. The pain is far greater than a hundred kicks in the balls."

Upon hearing this, I looked at Hassan deep in his eyes and thought to myself, How can I be so tyrannical as to expect him to show up tomorrow in such a defeated state of being? Should I not show him some pity? But then again I didn't show him any pity that night on the court, so why start now? "Hell no, dude. After all the shizz you've been giving me about not calling up the fishing resort, you now wanna get out of it? Are you kidding me?! You're gonna punk out on me now? Just because you seemed like you were sitting on the court making chai instead of plays, you want to me cut you some slack?! After you reamed me time and time again about wanting to go fishing and making me feel bad for not looking up the fishing stuff? You now have the guts to say that you don't 'feel' like going? WTF???!!!"

*** To be Continued ***

Coming soon...

Hi

Dear Fans,

My deepest apologies for not keeping you updated on the latest of lates. But have no fear, I'll soon put up some postings on here soon.

Keep the faith, my children. God's Speed.

Cheers

Islamic Art - Haji Noor Deen Mi Guangjiang

Hello

If you're in the market to buy beautiful Islamic art and specifically calligraphy, I strongly urge you to check our Haji Noor ud Deen's website:

www.hajinoordeen.com


It's "tightness" re-defined.


word

Planet Dubai

Hi

We all know that Dubai is in a world of its own. The touristy and architecture wonders being built there never cease to amaze. Just check this link out as a prime example (this isn't necessarily a new link for some of you, but still cool to see):

http://images.businessweek.com/ss/06/03/dubai/index_01.htm

I'd love for the opportunity to experience life in Dubai. Just to be in an environment that's accepting of Western culture, but also has its fair share of desi and more importantly Muslim influences would be phenomenal. I mean, you could walk around comfortably in a thobe without worrying what people would think. Not to say that I wear thobes too often, but the idea of being 200% comfortable with your Muslim identity is very appealing. That coupled with the experience of gaining a more worldly knowledge base or perspective is simply invaluable.

Cheers

The Sufis

As Salaamu Alaikoom wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatahu

Unlike Da Vinci's drawings, it's no hidden secret that sufism is widely unaccepted in Saudi Arabia, at least largely at the political level (just kidding about The Da Vinci Code reference). The Wahhabi influence out there is very strong, but it seems as though 'the people' of Saudi and slowly the government itself are beginning to realize the beauty of tasawwuf/sufism.

I think people that write off sufism as a sort of cult, deviant sect within Islam, or bidah (an innovation) are typically individuals who have not really studied up on it or fear it as being a force that divides the ummah up (i.e., creating sects within the deen). But this is not the case, I feel. Of course, in matters of the deen, my opinion is worth less than a grain of sand in the Sahara Desert, so don't take my word as scholarly! I would argue, however, that I do base many of my ideas -- especially on sufism -- on traditional, sound scholarship (inshaAllah).

Moving on, the individuals that I've gotten into conversations with that are anti-sufism will typically say, "Where does the Quran mention sufism?" or "Why didn't the Prophet (sw) talk about sufism?" or "Where was the term 'sufism' in the time of Prophet (sw)?" etc. You can see what they're getting at. To this, all I can say is that I'm convinced by the arguments of the sufi shayukh and their sound logic in answering such questions. Again, that whole not-being-a-scholar thing prevents me from providing answers, so I will not delve into the subject here. I would recommend, however, to those seeking an answer to listen to "real" sufi shaykhs like Shaykh Nuh Ha Mim Keller for starters. And for you desis out there, as one teacher jokingly yet accurately phrased it, I just don't get how people from the subcontinent refuse sufism considering that it was through the sufis that Islam swept across India...

It's amazing, mashaAllah: Years ago when I first heard about the idea of sufism through my brother Umar, it came from recorded tapes he was listening to from Shaykh Nuh. Listening to things like, if you take bayah (an allegiance; which is actually something that the Sahaba [rh] all did with the Prophet [sw]) with a shaykh, it's like riding a train to paradise or the right path because of your 'connection' to him and the connection he has to his shaykh and his shaykh's shaykh and so on until you reach the Hazoor (sw). I was like, Whoa! I want that! And so I started to become more and more interested in sufism at that point. I put together that the Naqshabandis are one tariqa (path; or a path to Allah) within sufism and was content to hear about this considering some familial connections with sound Naqshabandis, mashaAllah.

But later, my views on sufism became distorted. Questions like, What exactly is the basis for sufism? Why can't we all just say we're Muslims? etc. would re-surface. Privately, I found myself at times rejecting sufism all together. I still believed in spirituality greatly, but thought that taking bayah with just one shaykh and one path was not a critical element in gaining higher levels of iman (faith). More specifically, I thought that bayah was very limiting in one's quest for knowledge and ways of reaching closeness to Allah'ta'ala. But then I thought that to understand it more I should at least try to reach some sort of conclusion; because while a part of me was beginning to logically deny sufism, there was an undeniable part of my heart that accepted it without hesitation.

Flip flopping between, Sufism is amazing! and Sufism is bidah or makes no sense! caused a good deal of inner spiritual turmoil. To ease my heart, I was guided to the tariqa tapes of Shaykh Nuh (May Allah protect him. Allah huma salay Allah Muhammad. Ameen.). Miraculously, every single question (and I truly mean every single tiny doubt or question) that I had regarding sufism was answered in his tapes. SubhanAllah. Sure, there were times where upon hearing some things I was like, Huh? What? Where? Why? But then each time my heart essentially told me to be patient and listen to the message. Soon enough, I was back on the track of accepting sufism. I started to think to myself, Should I take bayah with Shaykh Nuh and be in the company of Shadhilis? Should I continue a family 'tradition' and take bayah with Shaykh Husain Sattar and follow the ways of the Naqshabandis? Or should I follow the way of the Akbari tariqa and adhere to the guidance of the shaykh of shaykhs (I purposely leave his name out for personal reasons). So around this time, the opportunity came to become a student of the latter shaykh. The opportunity came suddenly and almost urgently (I remember a phone call from my brother saying, "Dude, you know all the sufi stuff we talk about? Well, we can actually start it if we go tonight to such-and-such place where so-and-so will be talking about it, but you have to come tonight, man!") I was on my way from work on a late Friday evening. Immediately, I was excited and equally confused. To mysef I was like, I don't really know much about this shaykh and I'm really 'into' the other two shaykhs mentioned earlier. Regardless, I went to the class. During those intial classes, however, I still was listening to the Sh. Nuh tapes. I still was interested in Sh Husain Sattar. I even remember consulting Shaykh Husain and Mufti Abdurrahman ibn Yusuf about tasawwuf and I was soon returning to my thoughts of, Why can't I just follow all these ways? What's the harm in doing multiple forms of dhikr?

But the explanations of these travellers, teachers, and seekers of knowledge prevailed, mashaAllah. It's difficult for a loser like me to really explain the logic, but rest assured that it's there. SubhanAllah, both the logic and heart of sufism drive the spirituality of this deen. For you doubters out there, I just explained how I was very much like you, but through duas and pleas to Allah and the hikmah (wisdom) of our teachers, I soon began to appreciate sufism on a wholistic level. What really did it for me, though, was the adab and mannerisms of my shaykh. I know on certain points in this posting I've been decidedly vague and to no exception, I'll be even more so on this point, too. But you can't put into words the ways of your own shaykh. Mureeds (students) of Shaykh Nuh feel the same way about Shaykh Nuh. As I'm sure Shaykh Husain's (or his teacher, Shaykh Zulfiqar Ahmad) students feel about them.

You see them smile and you're convinced that it's a smile that is in conjunction with and in the spirit of the Sunnah. You feel closeness not to just the shaykh, but to Allah. Does that make sense? If not, I urge you to read books on sufism by 'validated' and true sufis. To attend their gatherings or listen to their tapes/cd's. To ask Allah for guidance and an open heart.

If you're listening to a shaykh that exclusively focuses on 'miracles' and amazing feats of sufis of the past, then you may not be in the right company. If you find a 'hippie' sufi that insists that you just need to be spiritual and then disregards the importance of fiqh and other like things, then you probably haven't followed a real sufi. Sufism is a spiritual means of seeking closeness to Allah and His Messenger (sw). It is to follow a path where the only aim is Allah. A path that follows the Quran and Sunnah. "As for those who strive in Us, surely We will guide them to Our paths; And verily Allah is with those who excel" (Quran 29:69).

Going back to the issue of sufism and Saudi Arabia (which was actually the primary reason for my posting!), I thought I would share a very intriguing article that was forwarded to me and taken from The Washington Post: In Saudi Arabia, a Resurgence of Sufism. Seriously, do read it as it's not a long read.

Well, in the end of your own journey, you may very well find out that sufism, while intrinsically beautiful, is not intrinsically necessary. And while I would say that sufism is the closest thing we have to what Islam was back in the day (I just paraphrased that from a teacher), I wouldn't think that you're in the wrong. Many good people out there do not completely subscribe to sufism and in my opinion, that's okay. But if your hearts have ever cried out to you or your soul ever yearn for something "more," then don't ignore it either.

May Allah grant us all guidance and His Forgiveness. Allah huma salay Allah Muhammad. Ameen.

Dear Taha

Salaam

Sorry, ladies (and to some of you men out there, too). I'm afraid the rumors out there are in fact true. Taha Ghani is now Mr. Taha Yusuf. In other words, he's engaged to a very fortunate person named Sana Yusuf.

While I'm typically one who gets all "girly" about this type of thing, I think that in fairness to T-Man I should tell him how I actually feel. So I thought I would share this impending letter that I'm writing to him:

Dear Taha,

'F' you, dude. Yeah, that's right. I said it. 'F' YOU! Who the frick do you think you are to up and get engaged on a niggah? Who gave you the right to take your life to the next natural, expected, and about-fricken-time step? AND without seeking prior written approval from me (hey look, dude, verbal approval just doesn't cut it these days)? What exactly can Sana offer you that I can't? Well, you fricken sellout, let me break some things down for you before you close the book on me and everything that is good:

This is what a girl (i.e., Sana) offers you:

1. Physical companionship. (Note to reader: Is it bad that I list physical companionship as the first thing?)
2. Mental companionship.
3. Laughter.
4. Additional financial resources.

Like I can't provide you any of that? LIKE I HAVEN'T BEEN DOING THAT FOR YEARS, YOU JERK?! Nearly a decade of endless bliss and you wanna throw it out because of the above mentioned and relatively insignificant points? Frick that, man.

This is what I can (and still am willing, by the way) to offer you:

1. You need physical companionship, huh? I mean, was it not just two weekends ago that you were in MY bedroom in MY bed with Ahmed Hassan and me? How special was that?* And don't tell me that the McCabe years all of a sudden is forgotten? How many times as college roommates, did you look across to my bed, which was no more than two feet away, and just either jump in or stare at me? Dude, when you have friendship like that, you no longer are in need of physical comforts. You have spirituality. (Take that, Sana!!)

*Note: We're not gay. Just passionate.

2. Emotional companionship. Niggah please! 'F' that emotional crap. We're Punjabis. All we need in life is Daler Mehndi and food. I mean, we both mashaAllah have mothers that cook, yo! Done and done.

3. Laughter? You want a girl that makes you laugh? Sana gives you laughter? What the hell am I doing then when I take my shirt off and reveal buddha? Do you think you can seriously laugh much more than when you see me without a shirt? (Wait a second...that isn't funny.) Okay, so how about my hysterically awesome Google Videos? Where are Sana's, I ask? Uh huh. That's what I thought. How about driving down Michigan Ave with the Prince listening to MJ, hollerin at the females (Sana: That's ME hollering at the females, NOT Taha!), and scaring the rich white folks? How classic is that?

4. Money? You want more money, you greedy son of a Rajpoothi? Making my salary in just a few weeks isn't enough (mashaAllah and inshaAllah) for you? You have to marry an Oakbrook baller that has a house the size of a city block (mashAllah)? The daughter of the owner of the Halal KFC? ...

Hmm. You're onto something there, aren't you? Damn. Hey, now that I think of it, does she have a sister...?

With love, Imran

;)

The Night of Ahmed Hassan (part 2)

...the conquest for Kashmir to re-take its land. Yes, Ahmed H was now representing an entire nation of people. He had something to fight for. Something to take back to the villages of Kashmir so he could yell in Braveheart fashion, "BIRYANI ZINDABAD!"

Well, okay, so maybe it wasn't that dramatic, but definitely not too far off. But where Taha and I originally placed our doubts in Hassan, soon turned into a quiet sense of awe. He was now 3/4 of the way done with my cheeseburger. I ignored and in fact denied my own hunger pains and desire for that burger so that I could bear witness to this man being a man. He was like Conan the Conqueror. He came, he saw, he conquered. If only the cow that was slaughtered knew what AH was doing, it would've willingly gave up its entire progeny in his honor.

Before we knew it, Prince Ahmed Hassan ate the entire burger. So, to recap, he ate a plate of biryani that could've fed an entire army of starved Punjabis, at least three cheese sticks before the biryani, some fries from my first burger, most of the fries from my 2nd burger, and finally the 2nd burger itself. And don't forget the mango shake to top it all (should I be saying, "MashaAllah" now?). You should know that while not built like the chiseled and I'm-too-sexy-for-my-shirt T-Man (Taha), Ahmed Hassan is not really fat either, which just adds to my confusion and/or awe to this feat.

Unshaken by this, the three of us then headed out to our mini-golf tournament of champions. But on the way out of Italian Express, AH bent over and hurled like there was no tomorrow. Or at least that's what I thought. Right before exiting the door, he bent over and leaned on me making a ghastly, "Uuuugggggggggggggghhhhhhh" noise to which I thought the poor kid was gonna die and so I - momentarily - freaked out like a little girl. After the "uggh" aftershocks wore off, I soon realized that he was totally joking around because nothing came out of the kid, but a big old smirk across his face saying, "Ha ha!" (think The Simpsons).

We finally arrived to our ghetto mini-golf/batting cage park 10 minutes after our meal and immediately headed for the 18-hole range. From the very beginning of the course, Ahmed assumed the lead and T.Ghani was a close second followed by me at a close third. Or, at times, a place far, far away type-of-third place. You see, my initial swing at the beginning of a hole was usually pretty good. In fact, I was the only one that scored a hole-in-one the entire night. But anytime I was within a three feet of the hole, I'd waste a good four to five strokes trying to get it in (umm...no innuendo implied, fellas; let's keep this kosher). Taha was off and on with the small game, but it was the leader of the night, Ahmed Hassan, that was Mr. Consistent and Mr. Rico Suave. His most impressive round was the 17th hole. You had to try to hit the ball across this narrow plank of wood otherwise it'd fall into water. Well, Taha and I never got it on the first try but Ahmed Hassan sealed the deal on that hole by getting it done the first time around without breaking a sweat. It was just inevitable, I tell ya; Ahmed was unstoppable that Friday night.

After officially spanking Taha and I (that's right, Taha, he spanked you, too, alright!), I then saw AH break into his victory dance: The Shimmy. It was...It was...well, very white. Seriously. The guy's victory dance looked like he was some sort of white 90 year old that 1) looked like he just took some viagra 2) looked like he was convulsing and experiencing a serious adverse event to some trial medication for Alzheimer's or 3) looked like he was trying to dance after a hip-replacement surgery. It was very funny yet also very scary to witness. A transformation of sorts that you must experience yourself before you die. And while I say all that, I must admit that it's also highly contagious. Randomly, I find myself breaking into The Shimmy for no real reason other than to just do it because it makes you feel cool; cool like a cat and specifically, Garfield. Yeah, I don't get either. But just trust me.

The Shimmy didn't stop with AH after golfing. For soon after golfing, we noticed that inside the park's store, there was an air hockey table. Taha and I played first. He beat me. Case closed. Blah, blah, blah. He then played The Man of the Night and fell to his magic on the air hockey field. Hassan called me out, too, and while I put up a decent defensive strategy that was reinforced by Taha's yelling, I once again tasted defeat for the third time in one night (if you're counting: 1) losing my cheeseburger, 2) losing in mini-golf, 3) losing in air hockey). Enter more of The Shimmy.

I purposely am leaving out the part where the three of us tried to hit some baseballs in the batting cage because it was so brutal. We couldn't handle the medium pitch and came no where close to swining on time for the fast pitch (~75 mph). It was depressing for all of us, but we now have a new found respect for professional baseball players that can hit 90mph fast balls...

So, at this point, Taha was thoroughly disappointed at himself and looked like he just wanted to go home and call it quits. He couldn't possibly phathom how Prince AH's luck was so spot-on for the night. Personally, I don't call it "luck" myself. No, after seeing His Royal Greatness in action, I knew it was all an inevitable reality known only as Ahmed Hassan. Nothing more and nothing less.

Before I close and move onto other postings, I'll note the remaining activities we accomplished that night:
1) Dunkin Donuts. Hell yes. Thank God that in Chicago there are 24 hour DD's. Taha went with something like three BC's (boston cream, people; get with the lingo!), AH and I went with refreshing coffee coolatas and mint choc chip ice cream (obviously, this DD had a Baskin Robins in it). As always, Prince also successfully convinced the people at DD to hook us up with at least one free donut. Being a doctor and, what I think he should be doing on a full-time basis, a hot, hot model has its advantages. And free donuts is it, baby!
2) AH opened a new account at some random video store so we could pick up the classic and inspiring First Contact, which we forced Taha to watch even though he watched it before (every time he spoke during the movie saying, "Hey, I remember this part" AH and I purposely ignored him; we weren't about to let him ruin our evening). Engage!
3) Prior to watching the movie, we went to T-Man's luxury apartment located next to Millennium Park for swimming where we played water football. Basically, one QB, one receiver, and one defender. If memory serves me correctly (and this is my blog, so it does), I'm pretty sure it was the Taha-Imran combo that went the furthest, nearly scoring a TD. But our football game was ended when the front door man came by to let us know that throwing a ball in the pool area was dangerous. WTF? Like, how old are we?! (Note: I really think, though, that the door man just wanted to get a closer look at a shirtless Taha. I know what you're thinking ladies, where was my camera?! I'll never make that mistake again and leave it behind, that's for sure!)
4) So, we immediately hit up the sizzlin hot tub, which is one of the most relaxing things you can do in life. After a few minutes, these hot girls came by and...oh dammit! Wrong blog again. Sorry! So, after a few minutes, you could tell by our mutual silence that we were probably thinking, Why aren't we doing this with a girl?, but such is the single life of three acha buchas. :) LOL. (Sorry, it's hard keeping a straight face after writing "acha buchas.")
5) We finally went to AH's MTV crib-worthy apartment where we watched our movie and finally went to bed at 5am.

Sigh. I'm done now. What an unbelievable night. If you don't really follow on that, I guess you had to be there.

T-Man, Prince AH: Many more nights like that to come inshaAllah. Of course, let's make sure I notify my mom at least several months in advance, so let's write up that permission slip now. APPNA is not too far off...!

Cheers

The Night of Ahmed Hassan (part 1)

Hi

This comes just over a week late, but is definitely man.myth.legend.sufi.lover.fighter.punjabi-worthy...

Two Fridays ago, I had the distinct honor of crashing at Doctor Ahmed Hassan's luxurious downtown apartment. To be in his company, let me say, is like being in the company of royalty. In fact, some would rightfully call Ahmed a prince. Prince AH. The royal heir of Kashmir. And I, but his simple and humble Punjabi man-toy...err, servant, had the priviledge of sleeping on his Ikea-bought red sofa bed.

But, to have had this high honor of sleeping in his two-bedroom downtown apartment located in the heart of Museum Campus, I had to first experience why in fact The Prince is the prince...

Oh, by the way, Taha was also a part of this night. But that's most definitely not the point here...

Simply put, he showed us how he owned Chicago and everything therein. It started with a traditional meal: Italian Express (IE) on Devon. I went with what's been my recent usual at IE, a cheeseburger (okay, so I ordered two). Taha and AH went with chicken biryani. When the biryani came out, each individual plate could have literally fed an entire army of hungry Gujuratis (note: I don't really know what that means, but what I am trying to say is that it was a lot of biryani for one man). To accompany our food, it was only right while on Devon to have refreshingly cold, yummy, and thick mango shakes.

So while waiting for our orders to come in, the time for salat al-maghrib came in. This maghrib prayer was 'special' though in that it was the first jammat (congregration) between the three of us. And so we prayed inside of IE's psuedo masjid/musalla in the back of the restaurant. From a spiritual perspective (in the end, the perspective that counts) that was probably the highlight of the night. Taha was the chosen imam and soon after, the three of us engaged in some hardcore dua. But I have a feeling that many of the duas were focused on winning the impending mini-golf extravaganza for the night. As fate would have it, only one man's duas were manifested into reality that night. But now I'm getting ahead of myself...

Throughout our pleasant conversation of the evening, which also consisted of a lot of mini-golf trash talking and random talks with our waiter about who looks like the best mini-golf player (note: for the first time ever, I won something. The waiter said I looked like the best player, followed by T-Man, and then AH dead last), we all made steady progress in eating our meal. Actually, to be honest (and don't tell them I said this), I didn't pay a word of attention to Taha or Ahmed while eating because I was enjoying my friggen burger way too much. So, at least 30 min into it, Taha starts to slow down in finishing his plate of biryani. Not a surprise as I've always doubted my man's Punjabihood. In the meantime, I had successfully killed cheeseburger #1 and the side of fries and was now ready for #2. Hassan, in a world of his own, finished the plate of biryani that could've fed an army of hungry Greeks that just came back from fighting for Troy herself (huh?) and then proceeded to munch on my fries. As I started to feel my stomach expanding to places outside of the known metaphysical realm of existence, I made a costly mistake and took what was supposed to be a 20 second break from it. Upon sensing my momentary weakness, the Kashmiri Ka Bucha (that's Ahmed; my reference for him throughout this posting will continuously change) immediately seized my plate like an army of...okay, okay no more of the army anecdotes...

Secretly, I was happy that he did this. I was trying to finish the burger just for bragging rights. To prove my manhood. All that heart-stopping (can we say cho-les-ter-ol?) type of fun. Taha and I were dumbfounded at The Hassan's actions. We looked at each other. Passionately. Lovingly. Oh shoot, wrong blog! Sorry... So we looked at each other, grinned, and told AH that he didn't have the guts to eat my burger and fries after eating the entire plate of biryani (not one grain of rice remained on his plate). Hassan smiled back. A self-assured, don't-mess-with-me, cocky type of smile and emphatically said that he could sooo do it. Thus began...

*** To be continued ***