Three Years Ago Today

Tomorrow is my son's third birthday. Actually today, I guess, since it's already after midnight. And I've been looking through some pictures to remember what I was doing three years ago today. 

On October 30th, 2006 at 10:33 pm, I took a picture of M and I sitting in the car, on the way to check into the hospital for the induction of labor. At 10:37pm, there's a blurry picture of M in our garage, working on taking out the garbage. He'd remembered that the next day was garbage pick up day and he'd gotten back out of the car to tend to that. He's a mood-ruiner like that. 

At 10:57, M took a picture of my arm when the guy helping us check in was putting on my hospital ID bracelet. There's fading henna on my hands because our son was born a week after Eid. 

At 7:16 pm the next day, our son was born.

I wouldn't get to see him until 10 that night. (A little tip from me to you; If your doctor wants to schedule you to induce labor, don't pick Halloween. When it's 6 o'clock at night and she wants to get home to see her kids trick or treating? You might end up with a c-section.)

At 11:41 that night, he yawned for the first time.

Sometime past 2 o'clock in the evening, after the baby had been fed for the first time and had fallen back to sleep, we noticed that the hospital's baby blankets and clothes had labels that said "Made in Pakistan."

We took pictures of that, too.

Kids At Work

One thing that is difficult about visiting Pakistan is that the country is literally full of working kids. While child labor was part of America's not-too-distant past, it was never something I even gave a second thought to before being exposed to the world at large. It's hard to know what to think about this, because while it seems like such a universally bad thing from my limited perspective - kids should be in school! - I also know that a lot of these kids wouldn't eat or have roofs over their heads if they weren't out working.

Some kids are actually laboring at jobs. They're called a chohta, meaning small, kind of like "younger one" or assistant, sidekick, apprentice. M says that it's likely all mechanics have a chohta, "they cost next-to-nothing, sometimes they just get food, and mostly they're just there to learn how to one day be a mechanic themselves." They're also apprentice salesmen, beggars, window washers, tea waiters - you name it there are kids doing it, probably. They're in every market, on every street corner. 

I'm never sure how to deal with these kids. In a guidebook I read before going to Pakistan the first time, it suggested giving candies to beggar kids rather than money, since the assumption is that they are working for some kind of organized beggar group where one guy is collecting money from all these kids, and he will be the real recipients of the money, not the kids. 

That plan failed quickly, though. I offered candy to the first kids that came up to me and he said to me in Urdu, "Lady, I need atta (literally flour, or basic food), not candies." It was terrible, and I never tried that again. Another time, a kid hounded M for money even after M had given him some and kept walking after us telling M that he knew he must have dollars (meaning not Pakistani ruppees, I know you're from abroad and you should be giving me more money than you have) and eventually he gave up, grabbed M's hand and said, in Urdu, "If you can't give me more than this, you must need it more than me. Here, take it back." Such spitefulness from a kid no more than 7 or 8 really surprised me. What must that kid know to be able to that at such a young age.

I have a few pictures from our previous travels of kids at work. In the first is a young boy outside of Islamabad, who was there selling roasted corn on the cob. He was really sweet and shy, and though he said I could take his picture, he was too shy to look into the camera. The second is a builder's apprentice we came across in Karachi (who I wrote about before, here) who was really happy to have his picture taken. (I really wish I had the ability to instantly print the pictures I took, I bet the people who let me take their pictures would really like to keep a copy of it. And that kid in particular really knew how to strike a pose!) In the last picture in the first beggar kid we came across, the atta one. 

I'd be really interested to hear what you all think about this issue, and/or how you deal with it.

Buying Bras With My Mother-In-Law

When my in-laws came to America for the first time for our wedding, they also did a lot of shopping. They filled the four suitcases between them with various gifts for family members, as well as some typical American products. Some of these things (like Scotch Brite sponges and Aveeno hand lotion) weren't available in Pakistan at the time, while others (like toothbrushes and candy) my in-laws just prefer the Amreekan versions. 

Since I was on vacation from school for almost the whole time they were here, I spent many days taking them on a veritable tour of our area's shopping malls. I was happy to help, happy to have something to fill our time besides sitting in the one-bedroom apartment smiling at each other, and who am I to tell my in-laws what they can or cannot fill their suitcases with, anyway? If my MIL wants eight boxes of Ziploc bags, I'll go out and buy Ziploc bags!

Anyway, so we're out shopping one day and while we're in the parking lot after leaving one store, I ask Abbu (my father-in-law and then-translator) if there was anything remaining on our many lists. He translated my question to Ammi (my mother-in-law) and Ammi then came to me and half-whispered something. I barely understood, but I did understand two words - M's sister's name and the only word Ammi had said in English - bra.

The best place I knew to buy bras at that time was Victoria's Secret. I got the idea that Abbu wasn't supposed to be involved in this conversation, so I just told him to tell Ammi that I knew a place, and we set off to the mall. As we neared the store, Abbu must've seen all the pink and all the underwear and said hurriedly "Oh! I'll wait over here!" and Ammi and I set off on our own, sans translator. 

I can't imagine what she must've been thinking in there. I asked a sales associate to show me all the various options in the size Ammi told me (in English, thankfully) and some of them were quite risque. When I saw her look away from the worst one, I told the sales lady that we were looking for "something with fuller coverage." Eventually my MIL picked out something very simple, I bought two of them for good measure, and Ammi opted to wait outside with Abbu while I stood in line to pay for our purchases. 

And they were never seen again! M and I spent a lot of time packing and re-packing their suitcases before they left. They had bought a LOT of stuff and we had to keep re-adjusting the suitcases for space and weight restrictions. I kept wondering how everyone would react if one of the suitcases burst open, it's stretched seams no longer able to hold in all its valuables - and an understated black brassiere flew out into the middle of the room in front of my horrified in-laws (and probably a horrified M, too.) 

But it never happened. Ammi must have kept it under lock and key until the very last moment, slipping it into the luggage only after it was certain the luggage situation had been figured out. And how much do two bras weigh anyway, right? It's not like anyone was going to notice.

What's the Pakistan Agenda, Mommy?

ALL DAY LONG, the baby has been saying this to me - what I thought sounded like "What's the Pakistan agenda, mommy?" He kept pointing to my computer, where I had a website open where I'd found an article about the program I talked about yesterday. 

I was like, "How the heck do I know about Pakistan's agenda, baby! And who taught you that question anyway?" I was about to go print out the application to Harvard so he could have a proper forum for his interest in international politics. 

Turns out he was asking about the picture on the top - the Pakistani junda (flag).

Strange Things Just Find Me.

M and I painted all day today. The master bedroom in our house had - no lie - flesh colored walls. And ceiling. So when you're laying in bed, it feels like you're in some kind of fleshy tupperware box with the fleshy lid on. It was one of the very first things I said I would remedy when we moved here more than a year ago. We just got around to it today, and we've been painting all weekend. Flesh colored walls need a lot of coats of paint, apparently. 

So we were exhausted, and we had to run to Lowe's for some more paint supplies. We decided we'd pick up some dinner on the way but couldn't settle on where to eat. Taco Bell? Pizza?Subway has that $5 deal! Somehow we ended up at McDonald's. We NEVER eat at McDonald's. I can remember eating at McDonald's only one time with M before we were married, and one time after. We sometimes stop there to pick up some chicken nuggets for the baby on road trips, but M never eats there. We only ate there tonight because it was the closest restaurant to Lowe's. 

(And this is not to say that we are snobs about where we eat or anything. Our most common eat-out destination is Taco Bell, followed closely by the Costco Food Court, so it's not like we're food connoisseurs or anything. I think we just saw Super Size Me one too many times.)

As we walk into the rarely-visited McDonald's, we saw the strangest thing. The restaurant was literally FULL of desis. Desis at almost every table, and all wearing the same red baseball cap. 

Of course we couldn't help ourselves but stare. The group was made up of maybe 20 or more young desi boys, with a handful of older desi men. I couldn't tell what kind of desi they were, but I'm not usually very good with that kind of identification anyway. M wasn't sure either.

Eventually, through eavesdropping, I overheard an American woman talking to a group of one of the boys say "If they think they're going to eat Pakistani every day...." and I told M about it. I suggested that he ask someone from the group where they were from, and eventually he did. Turns out they're from Pakistan, Balochistan and Sindh, and had just arrived today. (Interesting side note: Blogger thinks Balochistan is not a real word.)

They're part of some student exchange program, run by USAid. These kids had undergone some kind of pre-departure training, and now they'll spend two weeks here in America going to different lectures, attending some workshops, even getting a tour of places like the state department. 

M seemed very happy to speak for so long to another adult male in Urdu. He answered questions about himself too, and about me. When one of the men he was talking to asked if *I* had been to Pakistan, I answered "Jee" meaning yes. The man seemed surprised and asked if I understood Urdu, to which I responded "thora sa" - a little. The crowd went wild, and these are words that wowed people back in 2004! Old tricks are still crowd-pleasers, I guess.

Anyway, after having such a strange dinner, and hearing about such and interesting program, all I could think about was telling you guys! M even covertly took pictures of them with his cell phone so I could show you guys!

I wonder what you have to do to be a part of this program. I think I'm uniquely suited to showing a bunch of Pakistani kids around town. At the very least, I wouldn't take them to McDonald's on Day 1. I wonder if they'd discussed jhutka meat with them first?

What Did The Duck Say Again?

When my son was born, I learned a thing or two. Not just about the miracle of life, or about diapering butts, or about motherly love. Well, those too. But ALSO I learned an unexpected thing about Urdu.

After being married to my Pakistani husband for close to three years, and having known him for four and a half years, I knew a bit about the Urdu language. I was not fluent, by any means - I'm still not! But I could partake in some rudimentary conversations, could greet the Aunties and Uncles, and could eavesdrop on conversations (and sometimes come up with wildly inaccurate thoughts of what the conversations were about.) 

But then, an extraordinary surprise. We had a baby. And then my husband started speaking that high-pitched, cooing, sometimes senseless kind of speech one uses when talking to a baby. I've heard it called "motherease" but I guess this was "fatherease." Urdu fatherease. And it lead me to a starting conclusion:

Animals speak different languages too.

For some reason, when people talk to babies, they talk about animals a lot. A disproportionate amount of baby books have to do with animals. And the noises they make. And when M is reading a book to the baby, he reads it in Urdu. Even the animals noises.

These are NOT the animal noises I am used to. It seemed unquestionable to me that a dog say "Ruff! Ruff!" but that's not what my husband thinks. He thinks a dog says "Boh! Boh!" I hadn't thought that animals noises were just cultural. It really did come as a surprise. 

For your reference, in case you too are surprised by this revelation, I've listed some of the ones that are different:

Dog - boh-boh

Bird - chain - chain

Mouse - choon-choon

Crow - Kain-Kain

Rooster - "Kukrun-Koon

Duck - Qain - Qain

Goat - Main-Main

Frog - Turr-Turr

Fly - Bhun-Bhun

Donkey - Dheenchoon-Deenchoon

Parrot - Tahn-Tahn

Pigeon - Ghuterghone-Ghoon

Lamb - Bhan-Bhan

Lion - Oooohh (rather than "Rawr", but it doesn't translate well. You'd have to hear M say this one, it's really funny. I make fun of him all the time for it, but he stick up for it. He says his is the sound a REAL lion makes, and "Rawr" is the sound a cartoon lion makes.)

(Pronunciation Note: I think most or all of the N's at the end of those pronunciations are those nasal, almost silent kind.)

(Also, Muslim joke - when I asked M about what a Pig says, he said Pigs don't say anything. And then he joked that it's haram (forbidden) to listen to pigs anyway.)

An Evening With Mian

Last night, after writing my post, I hounded M to write HIS version. He's been promising to write something for my bloggity-blog for some time now, and last night he tried putting it off again. He doesn't have time right now, he says, he's trying to finish prepping the bedroom so we can paint.

Well, I figured out a solution. An interview! I sat down with M, asked him some questions, typed up his responses, and here you have it - M's version of yesterday's topic.

What did you think about women before coming to America?

In what sense?

Did you think about women's issue or women's equality or any of that stuff?

Naw, I didn't really care about the issues that one could face being a women in society, especially in Pakistani society. Half of the population doesn't understand. I had absoluetly no idea about any of that kind of stuff. All the resources around the world are mostly for men, from going to the market to school or....anything, really. Like entertainment, it's not for women there. At all. Even eating out is not really for women. Average women, at least. Not...you know, some women do go out, but not the majority.

Do you remember what you said in the very beginning, that day we got pizza? About your sister and driving?

Not specifically, just about how she didn't drive. It was the norm to me.

Did you know that I thought what you were saying was really troubling?

No, we'd just met. I didn't really know about that stuff yet. But I remember that one of the first things I noticed when I came to America was wow! So many women drive here. I told my friend I feel like there are more women on the road than men.

So when did you start thinking about 'women's rights' kind of stuff?

There WERE women's rights things in Pakistan, but it's not taken seriously and as friends we wold joke about it. "What else could they want? You've got everything to keep them happy, I mean come on."

So how do you think you became a feminist?

Education, first. Society treats women differently here. And then you.

What about me?

You know, you were my first experience with a woman. I never really talked to a woman in person before and asked about thier feelings. My relationship with women...in Pakistan..even my mother and sister, was totally different. Mostly about what was for dinner or what clothes I needed washed. Also, I was responsible for taking care of you.

Taking care of me? (shocked look) What are you talking about?

You know, as a man in you life, I had to find ways to make you happy, find out what's important to you, what matters to you as a woman. I never thought about those things, even really for my family.

Do you remember seeing The Vagina Monologues?

Yeah.

What do you remember about it?

It was funny.

FUNNY? What?

Uh, I mean. (backpedalling...) You know, it was interesting. How men treat women, for most men its...you know, we don't even care what it's like. To be a women - physical, emotional - challenges one can have in the society. It was a good introduction.

Do you remember standing up to T?

Yeah, I did. And he was successfully able to make even more fun of me, too. Being nice to somebody is being weak to him.

But it still took you a long time before you would call yourself a feminist. Why?

It takes time, you know. It's a long term process. It made me think that the things that are important to me, they're also important to women, so it took me a while to see all that.

How do you feel about being a Pakistani man who's a feminist?

Outcast..... Strange.

But you won't stop talking about it. You're the one always forcing and driving these conversations with these topics.

Yeah. There is a need to educate Pakistanis. People don't think this is important. It's something I think is really important and I can't stand hearing people say stupid things.

What do you want to educate people about?

Treat women as humans, that's #1. And allow them access to things that you take for granted. For anything - choice - free will. Women in Pakistan don't have that. They're free to make what they would like to cook tonight.

There ARE pioneering women in Pakistan.

Yeah, a handful. And a lot of time they're still subject to a lot of external pressure from the society.

What will you tell your son about women?

Respect. And respect their opinion. And treat them the way you want to be treated.

What will you tell your daughter about Pakistani society?

Hmmm....Now that's a question. Uhh...stay away?

That's not true!

Yeah, I'll tell her that things are not ideal there. Hopefully they will improve one day. Hopefully she can help change things.

What about when she goes there, her day to day life when visiting there.

You probably have to fight for your rights, and for yourself to be recognized as an individual. And there will be lots of obstacles in achieving what you want to achieve. But you have to believe in yourself and be strong. And we're there to help, always.

What's the biggest opposition you face when you're talking about these things in public?

Uh, the first problem people are going to have is they say you are giving them a lot of freedom this way, and you'll create problems for yourself. Even women are against these ideas, too, a lot of the time. But the men are going to say that the house will probably be in so much turmoil, there will be a power struggle. Basically people are afraid of losing their control, which is very important to Pakistani men.

Aren't you tired of it sometimes?

No.

No?

No, I'm not tired, but a lot of people just don't understand, don't even realize, so somebody's got to say something about it.

Do you think you've changed any minds?

Uh....maybe my brothers? Or their wives. Maybe they see the way I treat you and the baby, I don't know. Not a lot, people are stubborn, and its totally ingrained in the society there.

Do you face a lot of ridicule about this from your friends?

Um....not anymore. I don't keep friends who would say those kinds of things. Maybe [name redacted], the other day he was amused by the idea that I would make tea while you sat and talked to our guests.

So what do you do then?

I just let it pass it.

Could you have ever imagined you'd be talking about theses things?

No.

Do you ever get tired of fighting about this? A lot of these conversations don't end well.

No। I think it's good, it's part of life, if you're alive you'll have conflicts and arguments. These kind are the important kind.

Our interview subject refused to take a break from work for a photo shoot.

How My Pakistani Husband Became a Feminist

How my Pakistani husband became a feminist. (The story according to me, M's version coming soon...)

On my second date with M, he said some things that really made me think this guy might be a caveman. I can't remember all of them, but I do remember asking him about his brothers and sister. His sister was in medical school in Karachi at the time, and I don't know how it came up but he mentioned something about her not being allowed to drive or walk to school by herself, and not even being able to take the bus to school by herself. At my horror-stricken face, he tried to explain further but as more and more justifications spewed forth, I remember thinking more and more "uh-oh, I don't think this is the guy for me."

He was never anything but a perfect gentleman to me, though, so I couldn't really match these two things in my mind. He brought me flowers, held open doors, called when he said he would, and was always - always - polite, kind and respectful. How could he hold such backward notions about women needing men to restrict their freedoms in order protect their innocence and honor? I just didn't get it.

These topics came up in our discussions A LOT, too. I was, at that time, finishing up college and would within the next year enroll in courses like Philosophy of Feminism, Topics in Feminist Literature, Philosophy of Race, Class & Gender and Gender & Religion. These things were swirling in my head, I was reading a lot of books on the subject matter both in class and for leisure. I was also reading books like Arranged Marriage and Interpreter of Maladies and Culture Shock! Pakistan in an effort to gain any kind of knowledge about M's history, and all these books were fodder for more discussions with M. I would always bring something with me to talk to M about. I would even read aloud some passages.

One theme that remained constant was that I was always asking about how these issues affected his mother and sister, the only women in his life he had any kind of intimate closeness. In Pakistan, especially in families like my husband's, there can be a lot of separation between female and male. As a result, M said he hadn't really had to think about women's issues before in his life. Talking about his mother and his sister in this way seemed to really engage him in these conversations.

One day, after seeing a college production of The Vagina Monologues, I searched for a production of the play in the city M lived in, bought tickets, and begged him to go with me. He was not thrilled but willing to humor me, I guees. So one day in February when M and I had known each other for six months, we went to see that play. Afterward, he said certain parts had been really eye-opening and even wanted to talk about them on the phone later. HE instigated those conversations. 

It was a few days after the play that I realized that a lot of M's views about gender and women's issues had begun to change, and that me was man enough to stand up for what he believed in. 

One of his friends (one of them), T, had gotten wind of where M had been and asked him about the play - stifling his laughs as he spoke in an obvious attempt to ridicule M. M didn't even blink, told that guy how much he'd enjoyed the play and asked T just exactly what his problem was. T backed down in an instant, and I looked at M stunned. I hadn't been expecting that and I saw M in a different light after that.

It would be a while before M would call himself a feminist though; after we were married. He had begun working and had made friends with a few coworkers. A few of those coworkers proved to be very influential in M's life (and thereby mine) and M credits one of the for inspiring him to be a great father, and I credit another one, Greg, for finally convincing him to label himself as a feminist.

One day during a discussion about how feminism has become a bad word, M said he wasn't a feminist. Shocked, I tried to explain to him exactly why he WAS, in fact, a feminist - but he wasn't hearing any of it. We had just had a dinner with Greg and his wife and discussed a book that Greg and I had both read that in part dealt with some women's issues. M had been a part of that discussion too, and in trying to explain to M why he was a feminist I said "WHAT are you talking about? What about that dinner with Greg and talking about that book! Greg is a feminist, you know!" 

The next work day M asked Greg "Are you a feminist?" Greg thought for a second and said that he was (Whew!!) and hearing that somehow alleviated whatever reluctance M felt about it. 

Now he had no problem telling anyone who's around; He's a feminist and he's proud of it. Now it seems like he's some champion of women's rights because now HE'S the one who is always refusing to let these topics drop. Sometimes I have to tell him he should stop talking because a room has become silent and people's eyes have glazed over.

It's Everywhere

Sometimes I feel like Pakistani culture is stalking me. It's everywhere I turn. Maybe it always was, and I just never noticed it? But you know what I'm talking about, right? Have you been inside a Pier 1 store recently? I feel like I'm back in Karachi up in there! And all the "chai" at every coffee shop, and elephants! I feel like everywhere I go I see pictures, figurines, paintings - all elephants, and usually they're all decorated too. 

Today I had TWO run-ins with this phenomenon, one real and one probably not. 

First, I was in the grocery store and saw this hoity-toity yogurt called "Chobani." It's not likely the same thing, but M brings back sackfuls of dried fruit called Khobani when we're in Pakistan. He's even asked his mother to bring some when she visits if we're running low. It's just a dried apricot, I don't know what makes them so special that they need to be imported? But they're really dried into hard, acorn-looking balls, not like the dried apricots I see here in grocery stores. Anyway, I did a double take at the grocery store looking at this maybe-apricot Chobani yogurt.

"Why is that lady taking a cell phone picture of the yogurt?"

But THEN! At a clothing store, browsing the jewelry counter clearance stuff (always shopping the sales, looking for gifts for Pakistan!) I found this "Zevar" brand costume jewelry. Zevar means jewelry in Urdu!

"Security, please scan the jewelry department."

Now that one - I'm pretty sure is no coincidence. Right? What do you think?

More Old Stomping Grounds

Before M and I traveled to Pakistan for the first time, we talked a lot about his life there. We talked about his family so much that I actually felt like I already knew them. We talked about his house and his childhood. He even drew me a map of his family home. I only just recently read on Gori Girl's blog about how this is can be an effective tool in intercultural communication called "storytelling."

Naturally, after all that storytelling, when visiting Pakistan I wanted to visit the settings of so many of those stories I had heard. And we did that a lot. We went to his old university, his favorite restaurants, and some of his favorite markets. We also went to the school he went through from grades 1-10 (He said that covers both primary and secondary school.)

He has very fond memories of this school, in part because he attended there for so long. It was a good school to go to, and very difficult to get into. He also says he was "one of the best kids in school" and was "treated like a superstar." His father also used to teach part-time there, even before he attended. Abbu continued to teach there up until just a year or two before M graduated. 

M loved everything about that school, even things like the uniform and the ride to school. In the beginning, he used to go to school in a horse-drawn cart! It would pick lots of students, just like a school bus. They don't have government provided school buses there, just private individuals who are in the business of transporting things who also cart kids to and from school. The horse cart was pretty slow, though, so by the time M was in 8th grade they switched to a van.

M was so happy to be back there when we visited. He went to all his old classrooms and showed me all of his favorite places. I think the chemistry lab was one of his favorites and we paused to take a lot of pictures there. Unfortunately his favorite place - where a huge neem tree used to shadow the whole courtyard - was no longer there. He took me around to meet all the teachers. So many of them were still teaching, even though he left that school in 1991. They were all so lovely to me, one even gave me a set of bracelets and another gave me some cash.

The now-shade-less courtyard.

We went again on our last visit. The first time we'd gone had actually been to drop off invitations to our wedding reception (called a valima) to Abbu's old co-workers. By our second trip, Abbu had been retired from his real job for a couple of years and returned to teaching part-time. I had asked Abbu if I could see him teaching. I was excited to go again - on our first trip I hadn't seen any of the classes in progress, and I'd never seen Abbu at work at his old job. We of course had to make the rounds and meet all of the teachers again, and then a bell sounded and Abbu escorted us to his class. 

We were a spectacle right way, with most of the students turning backwards in their seats to look at us. Abbu taught for a little while and then called M up to the front of the class to talk to the students. About what I'm not sure - I remember he said that he had told them to work hard and anything is possible, so that kind of stuff I guess. All of us who really know M know how much he loves praise and attention, so he was loving every minute of it. Even though I blocked out his face in the picture, you can still see the corners of his mouth stretched waaaaay out in a big huge smile.

I stayed in the back. Eventually M's little pep talk ended, and Abbu asked if they had any questions. I can't remember what questions they asked of M, but then one of the school girls asked a question of me, even though I was in the back of the room! Of course, it was the same question that everybody asks me first - "How are you liking Pakistan?" How do they expect me to answer? "I can't sleep at night because of all the bus horns and every time I blow my nose the tissue is black!" 

I kid, I kid. (Well, not about the tissue thing. That part is unfortunately true. The bus horns are easy to block out after the 2nd or 3rd day.) I told them I was enjoying my visit, of course. To the country AND to the school.

God Willing

The word "Inshallah" in pretty Arabic script.

One of the most oft-heard words in my local mosque is Inshallah. It means God willing, and if one can understand how the really religious could use it with many everyday sentences. I'm going to the grocery store - God willing. My flight will leave at noon, God willing. I hope you like the dinner, God willing. I say this word too when the situation calls for it, but I more often say the English translation. Unfortunately, it seems to me that it's sometimes used in ways that don't exactly mean 'God willing.'

First, I noticed that sometimes people use it to mean "maybe" or perhaps more akin to "maybe, it's really not in my hands, it's all God's will." Which would be fine if that were the case. Like if I were asking what the weather would be like tomorrow, "Inshallah, it will be nice," would be an appropriate response. But when I'm asking when you'll return my borrowed book? Something entirely within your control? "Inshallah, soon," often seems to really mean "hmm, maybe I'll remember it in a month or so." (True story, unfortunately.)

I've also noticed that it's often just a filler word or even superstition. As if you have to tack on "inshaAllah" on all your sentences or something bad might happen. I've heard some people pepper their sentences with inshaallahs so much that it becomes desensitizing, and the listener almots doesn't even hear the word anymore. One time I heard a speaker use three 'inshallah's in one sentence. In one thirty minute talk I attended during college, I counted one woman say it 41 times. I have no idea what she was even talking about I was so distracted by all the inshaAllah's flying around.

The inshallah use that really gets me is when it's mindlessly used as if it were punctuation. Just a word you have to tack onto the back of every sentence. A recent example: during the Friday religious services in the week leading up to Ramadan, one of our mosque's speakers was telling the congregation about when and where Tarawih prayers would be held. Our mosque actually rents a hall from the local synagogue and holds Friday prayers and Tarawih prayers there - both places are really dedicated to interfaith dialogue and involvement. The speaker was *trying* to explain that Tarawih prayers, the late-night extra group prayers held every night during the month of Ramadan, would NOT be held at the synagogue on Friday nights because the hall at the synagogue was not available for use on those evenings. On those evenings they held their own services for Shabbat. 

But here's how he said it: "Tarawih prayers will not be held at the synagogue on Friday nights, inshaallah."

What?! God willing, there WON'T be any prayers there? Now that really doesn't seem like an appropriate use of the word!

Keema Ka Maddatghar?

You know you're in an intercultural marriage when, looking through the freezer for dinner inspiration and happening upon a large chunk of ground beef, you think:

Hmm...I know! - Hamburger Helper today and Aloo Keema tomorrow!

*keema= ground beef

*maddatghar = helper

Shame, Shame.

When my son was a newborn, I used to change his diapers wherever we were. As long as it wasn't a real stinker, I figured no one would care if they saw a little baby nudity, and it was usually only for a second or two anyway. Little did I know this would become a battle.

Whenever my in-laws see my son naked, they say "Shame, shame!" to him. Directly to him. It is said so often and regularly among the Pakistanis that I know that EVERYone who sees it would say that - aunts, cousins, and even friends. And it's been said to every other child in M's family in the same way that even a FOUR year old once said  it to my six week old baby. People even say it to their OWN babies as they change their diapers. It's pretty ingrained, is what I'm saying. 

It's said in a lighthearted, joking manner, and it's not meant to be a reprimand. But it makes my head spin. There are so many initiatives and books and articles out there about how to teach kids to love and properly take care of their bodies, the idea that someone would want to teach body shame to any child, especially an infant, is just something I can't understand.

I was once at a dinner party with three other Pakistani American couples who are good friends of ours, all of whom were born and raised in American to parents of Pakistani descent. One of the mothers had to change the shirt of her daughter and while the baby was shirtless for a few seconds, I mentioned how I couldn't stand how my in-laws would say this thing while my son was undressed. One of the mothers there said "What's wrong with that? I say that to my baby too."

At the time, I guess I hadn't fully figured out my opposition to it. I just stammered about how I thought teaching shame to a baby couldn't be a good thing, about how perhaps it was an American culture thing to teach people to love and be proud of their bodies. The mother countered that she didn't want her daughter to think she could just get naked in public whenever she wanted, and I said I didn't think that early diaper changes generally taught kids that public nudity was okay, and anyway if my kids started shedding his clothes all over the world, that would be a different issue I would have to address anyway. The only other point I could effectively communicate was that I didn't understand why people would want to say this to kids when the kids themselves had nothing to do with the undressing. *I* am the one who took off his clothes, but they're telling *him* that he should be ashamed!

But now I have thought through it a little bit more, and I can explain it simply: Modesty and shame are very different things. Of course we all want to teach our children modesty - that thing that will let them know that running around naked when they're older is wrong. Shame, on the other hand, will be the thing that makes they hate their own body for the rest of their lives, in public and in private. Not a good thing. Modesty can be surely be taught without resorting to shame, right?

Even before that conversation at that party, I had mostly remedied the situation. I decided that this kind of talk wasn't good for my son to hear and now we always - always - go to the other room for diaper changes, and close the bathroom door for bath and potty time. I don't think my son should hear that, even if he also hears me articulating why I think it's wrong, so M and I have just tried to eliminate it entirely. 

The House Chicken Is Equal To Lentils.

One cool thing about knowing parts of another language and culture - even if maybe you only know a fraction of it - is knowing those...... uhhhh.....sayings? (Hmmm...unfortunately my English skills are lacking right now because I don't even know what to call them. Maybe they're axioms? Proverbs? Similes? Slang? I don't know - maybe all of 'em.)

Anyway, you know what I mean! All those little sayings that don't literally mean what they say. Don't cry over spilled milk. Nip it in the bud. Passed with flying colors. The early bird gets the worm. Those things. 

In an intercultural relationship - any kind of intercultural relationship, not just romantic - these things come up quite often from both sides. This is one area that M has really excelled at in his quest to bridge our intercultural gap. He really enjoys learning all these kinds of things, cataloging them all away for future reference in his big brain. And he revels in carting them back out as often as he can, polishing up his usage of these slang/proverbs/whateveryoucallit.

I also really like learning these things because they can be real crowd pleasers when the American girl tosses out an old Pakistani proverb at those dinner parties. Also, it's nice to learn them because when you're trying to follow a discussion in a different language - and trying to do literal translations in your head - things like "who's doing what over spilled what now?" can throw you WAY off.

Recently, I tried to explain one of these sayings to a friend of mine. She was discussing how she still likes eating at Japanese restaurants, and I mentioned that I found that surprising since her husband *IS* Japanese and known to be a fantastic cook of Japanese food and she said "Oh, you know how it is, when you eat that stuff day in and day out, you just want something different sometimes." 

"Gher ki murghi daal barahber," I said. "It's a saying in Pakistan - the house chicken is equal to lentils."

"WhAt?!" she said.

These things just sound so funny out of context! And it took quite a lot of explanation to eventually get the point across. Here's all the cultural information one has to have to make that saying understandable:

Most people in Pakistan eat a LOT of lentils, all different kinds and most every day. Chicken is considered one of the finer meats in Pakistan, and many people don't eat all that much of it. Chicken is also and expensive meat to buy, so it's more of a special occasion kind of thing. Lentils are an everyday, nothing-to-jump-up-and-down-about kind of food. Some people do raise chickens, though, both for eggs and occasionally to eat. But eating a chicken you raised yourself does not qualify as the delicacy of 'eating chicken.' It's just the house chicken after all - not that special. The meat of a homegrown chicken can also be less flavorful and tender, since they weren't raised and fattened up specifically for the purpose of being delicious. So eating a house chicken can feel more like eating lentils.

The first time I heard somebody say this was at our home. We have this annoying habit of forcing our house guests to tour our home and see all of M's various projects. He's quite the craftsman from painting to woodwork to electrical work. At one point the tour highlight included the handmade crib, a remote-controlled pulley system that operated our bedroom curtains, and all of our paintings. After we bought our ugly house, we changed the policy so that these tours are optional :) 

So on that particular tour, there were three couples and one of the wives turned to her husband and mentioned how she would like for him to complete these kinds of projects around the home. He mentioned that he also did a lot of things around the home, specifically that he was very busy on the weekends with yard work and restoring an old car. "Yeah, but those are boring!" she said, "you should learn how to build furniture!"

"Gher ki murghi daal baraber," he said to M as he sighed. Kind of like the grass is always greener on the other side, I guess. And apparently it is, since now M wants to restore an old car one day soon.

The Bangles

Today, when the sun was bright and high in the sky - and the baby was napping - I trekked out into my backyard with a stool, a white bedsheet, and these two boxes. It was a windy day, but I braved the wind and the cold (slash slight chill) so that I could bring you this informative post. I am nothing if not a serious journalist.

(You: I'm gonna have to go with "nothing.")

Yay! Jewelry! (I needed the bright sunlight to take the pictures. A flash would have really ruined all the beautiful colors.)

One of the first cultural items I learned about Pakistan - waaay back before I even knew we were talking about Pakistan - was these bracelets called choori. 

One day, very soon after meeting M, he told me that girls in his home country wore these glass bangle bracelets and that the tinkling sound that the bracelets made was so renowned that there were songs and poems written about just that bracelet sound. I almost immediately pictured a bracelet that looked like the one below, and I also immediately wondered whether M was smart enough to ask his sister to send one for him to give to his new girlfriend. 

I couldn't have been more wrong. My brand of Pakistani boyfriend wasn't about to tell his family about his new girlfriend. Not for awhile, and usually not ever (although thankfully it worked out differently in our case.) I thought about those bracelets many times in the months to come, especially as I came to realize there was probably never going to be a FedEx package from his sister to me with some choori inside. Also, I was wrong because that's not how those glass bracelets look at all. The bracelet I was picturing was glass beads, strung together and pliable.  But these choori are actually very rigid - a firm circle of glass, usually brightly colored and worn in sets.

Sometimes they're sold in sets, with some combination of bracelets, some plain, some fancier, sometimes of different colors. The bracelets my in-laws brought for my wedding were red and gold, and the ones I wore for our wedding reception in Pakistan a year later were pink and gold. Usually you buy a set of these bracelets to go with whatever fancy outfit you buy. 

These are most the choori I've bought or been given, except I've broken probably the same amount over the years as well. The first set M ever bought me was from the desi store near his apartment when he was a student. They were green, I broke the very first one I ever tried to wear, and I kept them until all the paint wore off. When the very last one broke, I saved its pieces. I still have them.

I once bought a few sets from Toronto too, but they were metal. I couldn't find any glass ones there. They don't make the same wonderful sound, but they travel a whole lot better and you never run the risk of cutting your hands and wrists and bleeding out all over your nice fancy clothes!

These particular sets were sent from Lahore by one of M's very distant almost-relatives as a gift for me. I've never worn them because they are slightly small. These bracelets, because of how rigid they are, come in many different sizes. But have you seen most Pakistani women? They are often tiny. And therefore have tiny, delicate wrists. So it can sometimes be difficult to find these chooriyan in a size that will fit my big American wrists.

Buying choori is also a fun experience. The first time I went to buy choori with M after we were married was in a small shop in Houston where we paid $25 for a set similar to the ones above - with maybe 3-4 slightly nicer ones spaced throughout the set that had hanging bells on them - and they weren't even glass, they were metal.

Before we traveled to Pakistan for the first time, we knew we'd want to stock up on choori while we were there because they'd be so much cheaper. But I was really surprised at how cheap they were, and these sets cost less than a dollar. As you can imagine we bought a lot of them. They wrapped them all up in tissue paper or old telephone book pages, and we tried to pack them up so they wouldn't all break on the way.

Still wrapped up.

You can also buy plain kinds of choori to wear everyday or to use in designing your own sets of them.

Plainer chooriyan

And you can also buy much more elaborate and expensive ones. They often come with bells or tiny chandelier-looking things that hang off of them, or even mirrors, wire work and gemstones on them.

In the picture below are some of my old wedding bangles. The top one is from our actual nikah or wedding ceremony. That set had some red glass choori with gold glitter on them, and some of these larger metal choori throughout the set with mirror accents on them. It was a "bridal" set, so it was pretty elaborately decorated, and it was two of them - one for each arm. Unfortunately, this kind of larger metal choori always makes my wrists break out in a rash, I'm not sure why.

The bottom three in the picture below are from the wedding reception we had in Pakistan a year after we were married, and they were an all-glass set with a few of those bells and glitter throughout. I like that in the picture you can see the paint on the outside of the bracelets and then you can see the clear glass too.

Below are the choori that I wear most often. They are the biggest size choori they sell, and they slip easily on and off my wrists. I can wear the next smaller size as well, but it's much harder to get them on and off, and it usually includes lotion or soap, a fair bit of coaxing, and some choori casualties along the way. Since these are so much easier, I wear them a lot more often. They're also a purply/maroon with golden paint, so they end up going with a lot of desi clothes. (The maroon/gold combo is very strong in my desi closet, for some reason.)

I think that choori are still one of my favorite things about Pakistani culture. They're so beautiful and interesting, and really fun to wear. And there's no denying how beautiful their tinkling noise is.

Visas And I Don't Mean Credit Cards

Quick! Anyone know anything about visa interview stuff? Because my FIL's visa still hasn't shown up because of the dreaded "administrative processing" and now M's getting nervous about his brother's visa.

My BIL's I-20 from his soon-to-be-school is in the mail, to be delivered today - Yay! And his visa interview will be on the 17th. I'm just wondering if anyone knows anything about this kind of thing; specifically, how unlikely would it be for him to NOT get the visa, and if he does get it, do student visas have to go through the same kind of administrative whatever? Because that administrative processing seems to only affect older retired men (at least from my sample size of two?)

Sending Gifts To Pakistan 2009 Edition!

Whenever Ammi visits America or we go to Pakistan, we load up the luggage with gifts. Some are for other family members or friends, and some are just things Ammi has liked and wants to take back with her. It's very difficult to convince Ammi to take something for herself, she's usually always thinking about other people and minimizing her own wants, so I often try to figure out what cool new items are useful and send them back with her. We've talked before about the various things we send back with Ammi (old posts can be found here and here) so I thought I should share some of the things we loaded Ammi's suitcases down with this time.One of the biggest hits was also one of the cheapest! Target has these large cloth reusable bags that fold down and snap into a smallish square. I first read about them when one of my favorite bloggers wrote about them, and I keep some in our cars and they come in handy all the time. We live in an area where stores are starting to get rid of using plastic bags, and it's almost expected for people to bring their own reusable bags to the grocery store. There's also a few by the front door for if we need to take stuff to the baby's school or anything like that. Ammi really liked them, and since they're only $1.49 each, I bought 10 of them for her to take back with her. (Although I couldn't find them at Target this time, so I bought ones at BestBuy, same price.) She gave most of the away to family members, and I hear everyone really liked them.

Ammi also really liked the plastic food storage boxes we use. They're called SnapWare and the lids close really tightly but are still really easy to use. Ammi has some joint issues, but she had no trouble using these, so we bought the big set of them at Costco and packed those up as well.

Ammi also really liked the herb ball I recently found and bought for myself. I was so happy to find it, I should have realized at the time that Ammi would want one as well and bought two, but instead I had to go hunting for another one. It's like a tea ball or infuser, except it's a lot bigger. Almost the size of a baseball! It's to put spices in and boil with rice or meat when you still want to be able to take the spices out later - rather than have all those seeds and whatnot floating in your rice. I use mine to make pulao, and before I used to tie the spices up in a cloth with string and sometimes find threads of cloth in my food. The herb ball is much easier to use!

One of the hardest people to shop for is Abbu, my father-in-law. He never wants anything and only complains about us wasting money - we should be saving our money for a rainy day! Of course it's lovely that he only wants the best for us, including the best financial security, but we still like to buy presents sometimes too! This time M sent a pair of pants, a sweater, a big Costco box of batteries and a new MagLite flashlight - Abbu's old one had broken when some crappy batteries had leaked inside it. But we also found this cool thing that we knew Abbu would really get a kick out of - the toothpaste squeezer! Fun and frugality hand in hand!

Both of M's brothers flew to Pakistan on the same day Ammi did so they could spent the Eid holidays back home, so we wanted to send gifts for them as well. One of the brothers has a six-month old daughter, and I was REALLY excited to send gifts for my niece. Because if there's one thing I really enjoy shopping for it's baby stuff! And I know a lot of really innovative, new baby products that I thought my sister-in-law would really like to have. My two favorite ones were the Bumbo baby seat and the Snack-Trap.

The Snack-Trap is a plastic container you can put any kind of snack in and hand to a baby. The cool spill-proof lid makes it easy for the baby to feed themselves the snack, without making a mess. Our son started using he was 1, and it made car trips alone with him MUCH easier.

The Bumbo seat is this contraption that you put babies in before they're able to sit up by themselves. The design keeps the baby sitting upright and they can't get out. Our son loved it because he just wanted to look! around! at everything! We also used it as his first highchair and fed him sitting in that thing until he grew too big for it, even after he was able to sit up by himself. Now they even make a play tray that clips to the front of the seat as well.
On the food & candy front, I tried to think of new things I hadn't sent before - things that likely weren't available in Pakistan (although I have no idea if they are or not, I've never been to those high-end shops in Pakistan that sell lots of these kinds of things.) I thought surely Pop Rocks would be new and interesting since you can barely find those in America these days. I also bought Skittles. M's brothers have brought gelatin-free (meaning pork-free) Skittles from Saudi Arabia before but I swear they taste different - especially the grape ones. But recently I read about how Skittles are now "gluten and gelatin free" so I thought it would be nice to send back some of the real deal. (You can look on the back of the package to see the gelatin-free wording, it's near the nutritional info and it's on every package I've come across.)

I also found some "Gourmet Lollipops" that were pretty big and came in some interesting flavors like pineapple, tutti fruity, caramel apple, blueberry cheesecake, toasted marshmallow, and strawberry daiquiri (all gelatin and alcohol free, of course.)

Lastly, we've been on an herbal tea kick where we have a cup of some kind of caffeine-free herbal tea before bed. It all started when my MIL was living here and M and I were trying to find a way to include a few minutes of alone time when guests are in our home. My grandmother had recently given us this Electric Water Kettle that boils water in a minute, so we started making tea and taking it to bed to read for a few minutes at night. We all would have some - even Ammi - and it ended up being a nice evening ritual. We went through a lot of different tea bags, and Ammi really liked a lot of them and requested that we pack some up for her too so that everyone could have some. She said they've all been enjoying them in Pakistan! Especially this Twinings one which is sooo good!

So those were some of the more interesting things we found to send back to Pakistan as gifts, along with the usual trail mix, vitamins, joint medicines, sweaters and t-shirts, jeans for M's brothers and baby clothes for our niece. And of course, I'm always looking for suggestions of new and interesting things to send!

Looks Like We Have A Tiny Pakistani Nationalist On Our Hands

When M picked up the baby from school today, he was sitting in the lap of the Pakistani teacher who works there. She told M that she'd asked the baby what his favorite song is and he'd answered her - apparently the baby's favorite song is Dil Dil Pakistan?

(M listens to a lot of old Indian and Pakistani music in our house, so the baby already knows a lot of it. Except he sings it as dil dil Pakstani...)

Nihari

M's favorite food is definitely Nihari. It's big chunks of beef served with lots of spicy curry sauce. It's cooked for a really long time (or in a pressure cooker) so that the meat is really tender, and it's served with all kind of garnishes like chopped cilantro leaves, matchsticks of ginger, lemon wedges and tiny, fiery chopped green chilies. 

M loves Nihari so much that it's almost an unhealthy obsession. In college and University, he used to go out once a week with a group of friends to his very favorite restaurant, Javaid Nihari. Whenever he's gone back to Pakistan he always eats there at least once, and brings some back home with him to eat the next morning for breakfast too. (Because Nihari is considered a breakfast food, too.)

In fact, he even brings some Javaid Nihari home-home, too. Like HERE home. As in he specifically travels to the Javaid Nihari restaurant on the day before our plane leaves to take us back to America, orders three or four extra portions of Nihari, takes them to a place where they can food, and packs it in his suitcase. When we get home, the cans are put directly into the freezer and then over the course of the next couple weeks and months, he'll take one out as a treat and eat Javaid Nihari in America. Even though the cans sat un-refrigerated in his luggage for more than a day. See what I mean about "almost unhealthy obsession?"

We make Nihari at home too, but it's one of those things that my mother-in-law doesn't cook from her own recipe. She uses spice mixes sold in stores and mostly considers Nihari something you go out and buy to eat rather than make at home. 

When we went to Pakistan in 2004, M took me to Javaid Nihari with one of those old friends (and his wife.) It was good. Unfortunately nihari is often served with cooked brain, and M had ordered it that way, and we were sharing a bowl, so I stopped eating after parts of his brain started coming over to my side of the plate. But that just gave me more time to take pictures of the place!

Nihari is served and eaten with naan, and at Javaid Nihari they just keep bringing out plates of the most delicious naan I've ever had - fresh and hot from the tandoor oven. I took a picture of the waiter bringing our naan, but one of the most fascinating things was the naan production line. If the restaurant just served lots of nihari, it makes sense that you're going to need lots of naan. 

There was this big area at the front of the restaurant where several men were sitting on a raised platform. They were surrounded by all these balls of dough, and there were a few guys for each part of the naan making process; a few guys making the dough, a few rolling out the balls of dough, a few guys manning the tandoor ovens. It was quite the sight to see.

The rest of the pictures are just random shots from inside the restaurant. Posting pictures from travels past means I don't have a picture from outside of the storefront, I'm not sure why I didn't take that picture. But I've got a great picture of a guy eating nihari whose hair is matted down with mehndi he's using as hair dye (and then decided to go out for dinner with the stuff still on?)

Mid- hair-dying nihari craving?

We were seating in the upstairs "family section" and this is a shot looking down at the main seating area of the restaurant.

From outside looking in at the to-go counter, the balcony at the top it the family section.