To call Midwinter Ball a ball always seemed like too much pressure to me. A ball conjures up images of Cinderella or maybe a British period piece. This is by no means meant to bash Midwinter Ball, but there’s something magical about the language of a ball and the expectations attached that, at least to me, could only have been met with disappointment.
There may be no worse time to talk about magic and balls than right now. It is, after all, bleak out here. And maybe you weren’t much of a Midwinter Ball person to start out with. But maybe there’s something else you miss, something that felt a little bit like magic. The buzz of a full campus, late night chats with friends that stretch out like a cat in the sun, comfortably. The feeling of finding a spot in a coffee shop that was close to an outlet. Small magics.
One of Pakistan’s most beloved historical figures was a man known as Alama Iqbal. He was, among many things, a lawyer, an Islamic philosopher, and a poet. In 1909, Iqbal recited his poem Shikwa for the first time, and people lost their minds. Shikwa means “complaint,” and this long lyrical poem was chockfull of complaints to God, one couplet after the next. People questioned if Iqbal was still Muslim at all. Four years later, Jawab-e-Shikwa or “Response to the Complaint” was published. This poem was Iqbal’s imagined response from God to the complaints of the first piece. As a cousin once described them to me, “he came out with Shikwa and everyone yelled. Then he came out with Jawab-e-Shikwa and everyone cried.”
There are all sorts of takes on this pair of poems, but I love the fact that Shikwa exists. If you can’t complain to a higher power, who can you complain to?
If there are things that you’re missing right now, it’s ok to talk about it. Everyone’s grieving, and it’s a lot to process, but it’s a long weekend, and if you feel like you want to grieve or wallow, you go right ahead. Feel your feelings (extra points if it’s in a lyrical format).
Iman Jafri
Associate Chaplain for Muslim and Interfaith Life