Firstly, a very happy birthday to Shoaib! May Allah bless you with good health!
Now, this article is a result of the “loads of appreciation” embodied within me since long which just kind of overflowed after I saw this video titled as Shoaika Se Sawal on YouTube.
Shoaib Ibrahim and Dipika Kakar Ibrahim need no introduction for they have been the loved faces in one of the highest rated TV shows of that time Sasural Simar Ka and are known for their notable performances in many popular daily soaps. But still, for first time readers, let me start with a brief recap. Dipika was a divorcee. Shoaib and his family whole-heartedly accepted her which should not even raise a question of surprise. I mean, it isn’t fair to judge people based on their past right? What matters is that she is such a loving soul. All of us know this well but not many of us are able to truly implement.
Dipika, despite of being brought up in a contrasting family background (as compared to Shoaib’s), she adjusted herself and became domesticated, living in a joint family, binding the whole family together and mind it, she did not do any of it compromisingly but she says she’s living her dream of being a full-time housewife. And she didn’t do anything special for it is the duty of every wedded woman to spread happiness wherever she goes. Why does it have to be too hard to nurture a bond with in-laws? It’s very simple and should be like that only, Dipika is a living testament to this. How organically she adjusted herself in an environment which could have otherwise been so non-negotiable, all because of her husband’s love and support. That’s how marriage works.
How humble is that of her? She won Bigg Boss 12 (though I didn’t follow the season) but ofcourse have heard things about her journey growing by leaps and bounds. And also, how “some’ people found it difficult to resonate with her because she was too kind or seemed too gentle and “perfect”. Haha! Who is to blame here? None obviously, because those people are embedded in deep roots of darkness (negativity) that their eyes hurt when exposed to the light (positivity) and they yell hard in pain. They deserve compassion not outrage. Says the Greatest, Lord Krishna in Shrimad Bhagwad Gita.
And #Shoaika, the power couple knows this well. Shoaib himself hails from a very humble background and is wary of the struggling days. And what amazes me rather pacifies my heart is that how grounded these two individuals are. I haven’t been following them since forever but I can say that they have always been living a life full of genuine simplicity. They live for just those pure moments of joy and bliss with family. I relate to mammoth extents to this couple and there’s a lot to learn from them. How do they manage to strike a work-life balance almost so effortlessly. Sometimes Shoaib isn’t working but Dipika is but should that make him an object to attract trolls? Well, sadly it happens. “Biwi ki kha raha hai”.
We talk of mental health so openly or rather we have started to talk of it post Sushant’s demise. But these social media bullies are the true culprits taking potshots at someone just because they find others’ happiness too hard to digest. Shoaika talk so wonderfully about this and how they have been dealing with the constant negativity.
But amidst all of this, I’d make a confession here that they have become my “feel good” people especially after Shoaib’s sister chose to upload that video. Watch it here: Shoaika Se Sawal . They radiate so many shades of being amazing human beings. Vitality, Respect for elders, Prioritising Family, Finding happiness in simple joys of life, Keeping the ego at bay, striking a work-life balance, staying motivated and passionate to work ( Dipika reluctantly agreed to do Bigg Boss because HER family, yes, Shoaib’s family was in need) and Shoaib works out so relentlessly hard so that whenever an opportunity strikes his door, he doesn’t lose it, because of being out of shape. You see, how challenging can Entertainment industry be. They aren’t two massively successful people but what matters is that they are happy, at peace, satisfied, guided by mutual love & respect and forever grateful to the almighty and living their life with grace, dignity and LOVE. It just feels nice to see that humans like these exist witnessing all the negativity around. But I was wrong, and I am happy to be proved https://www.instagram.com/p/Bt29ygThSRs/?igshid=cuf4q8jqxzzo wrong.https://www.instagram.com/p/By0Xkxol10L/?igshid=91lcrpsiani9
Nobody’s perfect and so aren’t they but what matters is that they never give up on trying to become better human beings and “effort” is all that matters. My heart feels happy seeing people stay grounded, honest and true to themselves in the warmth & comfort of their loved ones’ embrace. Because Family is where life bgins and love never ends.






more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.”I know how it will be,” his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; “you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice.”Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction, came into the nice division.”Do you know many of the people round here?” asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.”Hardly a soul,” said Framton. “My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.”Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?” pursued the self-possessed young lady.”Only her name and address,” admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation. “Her great tragedy happened just three years ago,” said the child; “that would be since your sister’s time.””Her tragedy?” asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.”You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon,” said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.”It is quite warm for the time of the year,” said Framton; “but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?””Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day’s shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it.” Here the child’s voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. “Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back some day, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing ‘Bertie, why do you bound?’ as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window—”She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.”I hope Vera has been amusing you?” she said.”She has been very interesting,” said Framton.”I hope you don’t mind the open window,” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; “my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They’ve been out for snipe in the marshes to-day, so they’ll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you men-folk, isn’t it?”She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic; he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.”The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise,” announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably wide-spread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one’s ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. “On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement,” he continued. “No?” said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention—but not to what Framton was saying.”Here they are at last!” she cried. “Just in time for tea, and don’t they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!”Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window; they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: “I said, Bertie, why do you bound?”Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall-door, the gravel-drive, and the front gate were dimly-noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid an imminent collision.”Here we are, my dear,” said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window; “fairly muddy, but most of it’s dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?””A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel,” said Mrs. Sappleton; “could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of good-bye or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.””I expect it was the spaniel,” said the niece calmly; “he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve.”Romance at short notice was her speciality.