i s h t a r r i a........

I am profoundly thankful to all the readers of Ishtarria, particularly to those who sent me their marvellous emails or who left comments on the pages of Ishtarria or in its guest book. My deep appreciation also goes to all the sites that have recently blogrolled or linked to Ishtarria. Disappointing as it may be, particularly to those readers who have never ceased to express their encouraging eagerness for and anticipation of each instalment of my autobiography, I am afraid that a second intermission has become unavoidable. I have reached depletion point and one look at my August's and September’s publishing dates would reveal how hard I have been struggling to meet publishing deadlines. This intermission, however, may last longer than the first one, as I will be away for three weeks. I will hopefully resume publishing sometime towards the end of October. I finally leave you with the first post that I published on 12 Jan 2005 in didecation to: My Fellow Iraqis, In These Grievous D...

‘ Sabbah Elkhair , good morning’, he saluted us as he stepped sprightly towards the desk. ‘Is it?’ I wondered, thinking, ‘then it’s most definitely the last’ . His wishes were, nevertheless, reciprocated with quivering murmurs. ‘ Schlonil-haal , how’re you doing?’ He asked as he stood behind his desk, taking stock of the faces, his eyes bouncing from one girl to another. Thickly moustached, as was common among the regime’s angels of punishments , he was somewhere in his thirties, tall, slim and good-looking with a fair complexion. He was dressed in what seemed to be a fashionably big-ticket suit that matched nicely his shirt and his tie. His accent instantaneously betrayed his Tikriti origin, and marked him as of the same hometown as the dictator and the majority of his retinue. He took off his jacket in a well-designed stagy move, which mirrored his ostentatious savouring of authority and power, and hung it up behind the door. He returned to his previous position behind the desk...

Profoundly moved by the sad events that have been gripping my homeland lately, I wrote this poem in dedication to my fellow Iraqis and to my beloved country, Iraq. My apologies go to my non-Arabic readers for not providing a translation in English alongside the original. My fears are that the essence of the poem would get lost in the process of translation الى حبيبي.... العراق اه ه ه ه ه وا ه ه ه ه يا عراق يا ملح الارض وخبز الروح ويا لب القلب والاحداق يا ذبيح يا ممزق يا مباح في غفلة من زمن رديء سطا عليك نفر من الاشرار دنيء و بالرعب والدم والنار صيروا دارك عنوة لهم دار استباحوا دمك وهتكوا عرضك و مزقوا يومك وتطاولوا على غدك نشروا الدمار في ارجاءك وقطعوا اوصال اطفالك اما نسائك فيا ويلي على نساؤك فمآلهن شر مآل حكم الخفافيش واشباه الرجال بأن لا يربو شاًنهن على شاًن صفر من الشمال وصيروك يا موطني ارضا يباب هج رك الفرح وغاب عنك الامان وعشعش بين جنباتك الكرب والحزن والغراب وسال دمك في ارضك انهارا ولم تعد ترضى بغيرالاسود و الاحمر الوانا للثياب يومك يئن حنينا وشوقا لماض تليد وغدك موؤد ليبدو بعيدا...

My condolences and sympathies go out to the families of all those affected by the horrendous tragedies of the bridge collapse in Baghdad and Hurricane Katrina in USA. My thoughts and heartfelt prayers are with you all.

Having remained dormant for three months, the predatory monster stirred chillingly all at once. It was in the early morning, about one week past the probation period, when I received that ominous phone call. The foreign section secretariat was calling its most recent recruits to an urgent meeting at the establishment’s security office. Lexicons of the entire world would have been inadequate to describe the panic and foreboding with which I received the bidding. This was in spite of the fact that I knew that the tyrannical regime surrounded us with spying eyes and ears on every side. To acknowledge the perilous reality, however, was one thing but to face it was another. Hence, my turning into an excruciating mix of nerves and trepidation was quite justifiable and not merely the response of my inexperience and youth, since life-threatening outcomes could ensue. Desperate for reassurance, I rushed impulsively to Fury. ‘I wouldn’t have the slightest clue what it is about, Lu’, Fury repli...

Dina’s swooping visit, as it turned out, was not actuated by the desire to verify Martin’s suitability as far as that could be ascertained through appearances. Culture dictated that such aspects as age and looks were few among several others that constituted the major yardsticks for determining the suitability of a marriage partner. Despite the courtesies that our culture granted Dina as a close family member in approving my prospective marriage partner, she wasn’t there to evaluate Martin according to the usual criteria. And that wasn’t because her open-mindedness relegated such matters to my discretion. Rather she had come to the realization that the matter had already been clinched by the unfaltering intensity of my emotions for Martin. But she was not yet ready to abandon the effort of dissuading me from the whole thing. Paradoxical as it may seem, and despite her certainty about my steadfast Puritanism, Dina was inordinately hopeful that she would chance during her visit upon som...

It seemed as if the surprise element were far more excruciatingly shocking than what Dina’s usual composure could have contended with. Her face blanched in a flash; she swallowed hard and almost dropped the pot she held in her hand. “And what did you tell him?” she asked, ostensibly beaten by unruly anxiety the moment I broke to her the news of Martin’s proposal. I was on my usual weekly visit to grandpa’s house on a Friday evening, on the day following that of the marriage proposal. My parents and the boys, along with grandpa Mathew and uncle Sam, were all gathered together confabulating in the living room in front of the TV and imbibing sweet Iraqi tea. Dina and I were in the kitchen. I was relating to her the swift turn that events had suddenly taken, as I helped her with cooking dinner. I responded carefully to her question, sheathing my reply in an attitude of deliberate nonchalance, ‘I asked if we could discuss it some other time’. It was apparent that the news had struck her li...